"Good morning Ignis!" said Hermione cheerfully as he stepped out of the Floo.

"Good morning Hermione, Tom." said Ignis as Dobby charmed the slight dusting of ash off his robes. As the Riddles kept their fireplace perfectly clean, there was little for him to do. Dobby retreated to a corner of Tom's office.

"Thank you for coming. Tea?" offered Tom, gesturing to the refreshments on the small table.

"Yes please."

Once the three of them were supplied and seated comfortably around the warm fire, Tom got to business. He showed Ignis the graph he'd been working on. "I've been keeping track of the customers you've been reaching, and noticed that the numbers are leveling off." The graph plotted the total number of wolfsbane customers over time. While the curve had had exponential growth in the beginning of the year, for September, the line was nearly horizontal.

Ignis peered at the graph confusedly. He shot a pleading glance at Hermione.

"I don't think they teach about graphs at Hogwarts," she told Tom.

Tom had to take a moment. He buried his face in his hands. When he was reasonably confident he was not going to go off on a rant about ignorant wizards stuck in the dark ages, he uncovered his face. "I will explain," he said pleasantly. "When you first started working on this project, you successfully advertised to many werewolves each month. See here, in April, this was your best month; you added twenty-seven new customers! That's nearly one per day. See how the dates are on the x-axis, this horizontal line here, and the total customers are on the y-axis, this vertical line. See how the line goes up a lot? And yet here, in the whole month of September, you added only two new customers, so you hardly increased sales at all."

Tom sat back and let Ignis study the graph. From the look on Ignis's face, it seemed that gears were turning in his mind— Well, not gears specifically, but whatever passed for machinery in there. Perhaps rocks were banging together.

"Oh!" Ignis finally exclaimed, for apparently two rocks had struck a spark. "Yes. Well, I could have told you that. I know I found a lot of werewolves at the start and I'm hardly finding any now."

"The question is why," pressed Tom.

Ignis didn't look nearly as abashed as someone with declining sales should. In fact he looked downright proud. "I've found pretty much all of them," he said.

"All?" repeated Tom.

"Yes," said Ignis. "Well, all who are trying to live in human society. I thought I'd found everyone, but these two," he pointed to the recent, nearly flat part of the graph, "were infected recently, so they had to suffer only two normal transformations before I found them and told them about the wolfsbane potion. And they're ever so grateful!"

"But who infected them?" asked Tom. "If nearly all werewolves In Britain are on wolfsbane, who's still out biting people?"

"Well, I didn't say I'm distributing wolfsbane to nearly all werewolves in Britain, just those trying to live in human society. Wolfsbane is easy to sell to them, since it makes living with humans so much easier. But there are still the ferals."

"Ah," said Tom. "Well then. Our next step is clear. We must advertise wolfsbane potion to the ferals as well." He sipped his tea.

"By 'we,'" Ignis observed, "you mean me."

"Of course," said Tom. "I'm not going to walk into a feral werewolf pack. That sounds bloody dangerous. This is obviously a job for—"

"A werewolf," sighed Ignis.

"A Gryffindor," corrected Tom.

That apparently worked. Ignis perked up. "All right. I'll do it. I can't start until after October's full moon, though. I've got to start distributing wolfsbane potion tomorrow, Tuesday the fourth of October, and that will take all my time that whole week."

"All your time? Could distribution be streamlined in some way?" asked Tom.

"Miss Vinter is already working overnight to have the potion ready early in the morning," said Ignis. "Every month, as I find more customers, I've had to start distributing earlier in the day to be done in time. The day of the full moon especially, with autumn's early moonrises, I've got to start before dawn."

"There must be an easier way," said Tom. "Could it be delivered by owl?"

"Miss Vinter tried that," said Ignis. "Owls refused to carry it. Probably the smell."

"Ah," said Tom. "Well, perhaps the customers could pick up their potion from Miss Vinter themselves, just as you do."

Ignis scowled. "Miss Vinter tried to deliver the potion to me by owl so I wouldn't darken the door of her laboratory in person. She said this was for my convenience, but it's easy to see how she really feels about a werewolf coming to her laboratory every day for a week. She was much friendlier when she thought I was your human errand boy. We used to chat when I picked up the potion. She was excited to figure out what this potion was used for, and I confess that I confirmed her suspicion. She's totally in favor of a potion that makes werewolves less dangerous. But when I thanked her for brewing the potion that had so improved my own life…" Ignis had to get up from his chair and look out the window for a moment.

"That bigot!" exclaimed Hermione. She looked at Tom. "We need to set her straight! She can't insult Ignis like this!"

"What do you propose we do?" asked Tom.

"Tell her… Tell her he has to treat Ignis with respect if she wants to keep her job!"

Tom had to bury his face in his hands again. When he was reasonably confident in his expression, he uncovered it. "Hermione. I hired Miss Vinter for her potioneering skills, not her tact. She is capable and works cheaply. She is not as replaceable as I would like. I do not make idle threats, and we can't endanger the supply of wolfsbane potion when so many people are depending on it."

Tom looked at Ignis, bracing his arms on the window frame. "Ignis, the contract Miss Vinter signed prevents her from relating any information about this business to anyone. That includes any details she may know about anyone working in this organization. Have no concern about that. But her behavior is still a problem. If you no longer wish to visit her laboratory in person, you need only say the word, and Hermione, Dobby, or I will pick up the potion and deliver it to you for further distribution."

Ignis answered eventually. "Thanks, Tom. But no, I'll continue to visit her lab myself. I take some satisfaction in knowing that she finds our interactions even less enjoyable than I do." He returned to his seat and took a sip of his tea.

Tom nodded. "The point remains that it would be considerably more efficient if our customers picked up their potions from one central location rather than you apparating all over Britain. Setting aside for the moment the question of what that location would be, do you think our customers could do that?"

"Some could," said Ignis. "Perhaps two thirds, I'd say. Some can apparate. Some have Floo connections. Some could ride the Knight Bus, although no, if the driver or someone suspected them of being werewolves, all going to one location regularly, that wouldn't go well. Some, though, have trouble getting around because of their Dark injuries. They need their potion delivered."

Tom nodded. "So let's find some convenient location on the Floo network for most of the customers. I'd offer my office, but of course, there goes the anonymity that the customers value, if they visited a human's house."

Ignis nodded.

"Your house, perhaps?" Tom proposed.

Ignis started. "I don't have a house. I live in my parents' house. It will eventually be my brother's house. I mean, my family are all right with me living there, but that's because I'm family. I can't expect them to tolerate any additional werewolves. That's really too much to ask of them."

"Should Hermione threaten to fire them?" Tom couldn't resist asking.

Hermione shoved his shoulder. "That's not funny."

"Help, I'm being attacked by Australia's dueling champion!"

"Honestly, Tom."

"Anyway," Ignis continued, "hardly any werewolves would visit a human house and risk revealing their identity to humans, so we can cross off any human habitation straightaway."

"I understand," said Tom. "We need a dedicated werewolf space, then." He thought. "The old Gaunt house isn't being used for anything at the moment," he recalled, verbally promoting the shack to a house.

Ignis looked quizzical.

"My wife's family's former home. My family has inherited it, but we have no particular plans for it. It's isolated enough; it shouldn't attract attention if it's frequented by werewolves one week per month. You could have McKinnon Pest Control's Floo connection transferred there. If you wanted to use the house the rest of the month, for meeting werewolves, you could use it for that as well. Or live in it, really. We could add a room for wolfsbane distribution separate from the living quarters. Consider it part of your compensation."

Ignis seemed overwhelmed. "You'd donate the use of a whole house to this project?"

"Invest, not donate," Tom corrected. "And it's not much of a house. It's been abandoned for about a year, and will need considerable improvements to be worthy of habitation, or even visits by werewolves. I wouldn't insult them by asking them to spend any amount of time in some old shack. Do you think the customers would be willing to pick up their potion in a dedicated dispensary like that?"

Ignis nodded slowly. "That sounds ideal, if I can convince them it's truly a private, safe place."

"And we have no other use for the place, so you might as well have it all to yourself. While most of our other tenants are muggles, there's nothing noteworthy about the Riddles renting one property to McKinnon Pest Control."

"I've been living with my family," mulled Ignis, "but the farmhouse is a bit crowded. And of course I've always known that Solis will inherit the farm, and I'm just sort of… there. So I've been trying to save up to get my own place, but for you to just offer a house…"

"I'm not transferring ownership to you," Tom clarified.

"Of course," said Ignis. "But even offering the use of it is very generous. I mean, if I were to live there, I'd transform there too, and for you to allow a transformed werewolf so close to your family—"

Tom waved away that objection. "The potion works, doesn't it? That's the point. You're harmless even on the full moon. Actually, if you felt like visiting us one night in your wolf form, I'm sure my father would be delighted. We've never seen a transformed werewolf." Tom didn't appreciate the look Hermione was giving him. "Sorry, that was in poor taste. I won't ask you to display yourself like a carnival freak."

"I keep myself locked up on the full moon," Ignis explained. "Even on wolfsbane. Just in case."

Tom nodded. "However you feel comfortable."

"Transformed werewolves just look pretty much like regular wolves anyway," said Hermione. "But larger. And, well, toothier. And they drool."

"Oh, yes, your Australian defense professor!" recalled Ignis. "He took wolfsbane, so it was safe for you to be around him even in his transformed state."

Hermione didn't reply to this for a bit. "Yes," she eventually said. "Perfectly safe."

"But let us not remind Hermione of lost friends," said Tom, noting her inner turmoil. "Ignis, are we agreed? You'll move McKinnon Pest Control to the old Gaunt house?"

Ignis was clearly undergoing some serious internal struggle. "Giving me the use of a whole house? You're too generous, Tom. I cannot accept."

"Perhaps I am too generous to refer to that dilapidated hovel as a house," said Tom. "You misunderstand my offer. I am expanding my business, and it would be efficient for my employee to make full use of the space. A building that's full of werewolves one week out of every month isn't good for much else. You may use it as a meeting place for your fellow werewolves, should you have werewolf issues to discuss, or simply your private residence. Accepting this offer will not put you in my debt, nor me in yours. We are two free individuals agreeing to a mutually beneficial business deal." Tom offered his hand to Ignis to shake.

Ignis looked at it. "I must see this house before agreeing to this. I mean, the Gaunts were a considerably older and purer family than the McKinnons, so it seems presumptuous—"

Tom laughed. "Oh, now I understand your hesitation! Don't worry, I'm not offering you anything too rich for your stomach. Come on, let's visit the place now. We'll walk, so you can get a feel for the surroundings."

The three of them set out. "I didn't bring my cloak," Ignis realized at the door as Tom and Hermione donned theirs. "I thought we'd just meet indoors."

"Borrow mine," said Tom, sweeping it off his own shoulders and over Ignis's. It was slightly too long on him to be fashionable, but didn't drag on the ground. At Ignis's expression, Tom asked, "Is it comfortable?"

Ignis paused. "It feels…" He seemed at a loss for words, touching the soft dark fabric. "…very warm."

"Yeti fur," explained Tom. "Warmest fiber in the world, although in its pure state, it lacks grace. Here it's blended with acromantula silk, for the drape." Tom donned one of his other cloaks. "No offense to sky-side dahu undercoat, which is almost as warm, and even softer. That's what I'm wearing now. It may even be from your family's farm. I wonder how much of a markup there was on its way from farm to tailor shop. Anyway, off we go." They set out into the bright, cold, crisp day. New-fallen leaves whirled around their feet once they left the Riddle House's manicured grounds.

Tom pointed through the hedgerow. "You can just barely see the house from here, with the leaves off the trees."

Ignis looked. "Where? Oh, you mean that?" He thought. "This is one of those places that's bigger on the inside than the outside, right?"

Tom laughed, although his laughter faded as they squeezed through a gap in the hedgerow and got closer to the decaying building.

"If it's been empty for a while, magical pests may have moved in," said Ignis. "This is my specialty. May I check?"

"Of course," said Tom, waving a gracious hand at the shack.

Ignis drew his wand and wielded it. "Hm. No boggarts, no doxies, no sign of any magical pests at all. Either the previous residents had really good, long-lasting pest-repelling wards, or there isn't enough magic here to attract anything magical. It's safe." He took a step forward.

"Wait," said Hermione, drawing her wand with one hand and gesturing with the other to hold Ignis back. "Last time I visited, I disarmed some booby-traps, but I may not have found them all. Let me check first."

Tom and Ignis waited while Hermione circumnavigated the shack, performing more extensive spellwork than Ignis had. "Nothing," she concluded, although she looked doubtful. "Unless it's very well-hidden."

It felt like Tom's turn, now. He drew his wand and waved it about in an intentionally foppish style. "No fashionable shops here whatsoever," he declared.

That got a laugh out of both Ignis and Hermione, but Hermione soon shushed them. "We mustn't let our guard down," she scolded. She held her wand at the ready as she led them forward, inspiring Tom to do so as well, as it seemed only prudent. Ignis followed their example, although he looked skeptical about the whole thing.

Hermione stopped at the door, listening intently. Tom didn't want to breathe for fear of disturbing her. She silently gestured with her wand and seemed perturbed at the results, although Tom saw no difference. Ignis looked as bewildered as Tom felt, replying to Tom's questioning look with a helpless shrug.

Hermione suddenly raised her dragonhide-booted foot to kick the door in off its rusty hinges. She cast "Stupefy!" before the door had time to hit the floor in a cloud of dust.

Tom and Ignis jumped back. When Tom looked in, he saw Hermione holding an unconscious fox at wandpoint. "Good work," said Tom. "That fox didn't even have a chance to draw its wand."

At least Ignis laughed. Hermione gave Tom an irritated glance. "Better safe than sorry. I detected something alive in here, and not human."

"You're sure it's not an animagus?" asked Tom.

"Yes; that was the third thing I checked," she said irritably.

Ignis laughed again. "Sometimes your humor's drier than Tom's."

"She wasn't joking," said Tom. "That was definitely the third thing she checked."

"After an incident with a rat," Hermione shuddered. "Anyway. Sorry about the door."

Tom examined the doorframe. "That door was bound to come down soon anyway," he observed. "This wood is completely rotten." He stepped with trepidation through the doorway onto the fallen door.

Ignis followed him in. "This, this can't really be it, right? Tom, did it look like this when the Gaunts were alive?"

"I never saw the inside, myself," said Tom. "But this matches Merope's description."

"You never—"

"Merope's family didn't want me courting her," Tom explained. "They thought me beneath her. They never invited me in."

Ignis looked bewildered. He took a step without looking, then looked down to see what had crunched underfoot. "Is this… a snake skeleton? These little bones are all over the place."

"Probably," said Tom. "The Gaunts called snakes to them."

"Why?" asked Ignis.

"Cheaper than buying meat, I suppose."

Ignis kept looking at the floor. "Is this floor dirty or is it actually just dirt?"

"I think it's just dirt," said Tom. "No basement to lock yourself in, sorry."

"This place looks like it's been uninhabitable for a lot longer than a year," said Ignis. "Humans lived here?" he marveled. "Wizards? This looks…" He looked around, understandably at a loss for words to adequately describe the place. "…muggle," he finally concluded in disgust.

Hermione, who'd been examining a rusty cauldron, took a quick breath, but said nothing. She stalked off through a doorway to another room.

"I don't mean to insult your in-laws," Ignis apologized. He looked at Tom in confusion. "But you're saying this was your wife's childhood home?"

"Yes," said Tom. "And I assure you that she was a pureblood, of an older and purer family than yours. Just think, if the McKinnons stay focused on blood purity for long enough, one day they'll achieve greatness like this."

"What?"

"Sorry. Never mind. This place unsettles me."

"Me too."

"Please understand that I'm not offering you this shack in its current condition. It obviously needs to be cleaned, and renovated, and…" Tom looked suspiciously at a toadstool protruding from the wall. "Actually, never mind. I'll have the whole place demolished and build to suit."

"You don't have to demolish it," said Ignis. "If you wanted to preserve it, for the sake of her memory—"

"I don't need to preserve this shack to remember her," said Tom, his voice sharper than he intended. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. I keep imagining that I see her out of the corner of my eye, or hear her voice, calling me."

"This is where I found the body," called Hermione, who would make a terrible estate agent.

"The…" said poor Ignis,

"My father-in-law," said Tom, following Hermione to the other room and looking at the patch of dirt floor stained a darker shade, near sticks that may once have been a bed, and rags that may once have been a blanket. Ignis followed. "Apparently, Azkaban broke his health. When Hermione first arrived here, she took walks around the area to familiarize herself with her new home, and discovered my father-in-law's body here. Not the most auspicious start to her visit."

"Felt like home," said Hermione dryly.

"For the last of the Gaunts to die like this…" marveled Ignis.

"Oh, he wasn't the last of the Gaunts," Tom assured him. "Merope's brother died in Azkaban a short time later."

Ignis's wide turquoise eyes, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight that poured through a hole in the roof, demanded an explanation.

"Merope's father and brother expressed their disapproval of me through violence," Tom explained. "Earning themselves time in Azkaban. This gave Merope and me an opportunity to marry without her family's interference. If they hadn't been arrested, if they'd managed to keep Merope from me, if they'd prevented our marriage, Merope wouldn't have died in childbirth, and—" Tom had to stop talking. He looked up and examined the ceiling for a while. Light poked through the holes, stinging his eyes. He found his voice eventually. "I don't feel safe under this roof. You may explore if you like, but I'll wait outside."

Hermione and Ignis agreed that the roof didn't look safe, and left with Tom. The three of them looked at the shack from the outside. "This is a hazard," said Tom, walking around it. "It could collapse at any moment. If some child tried to explore it…" He made up his mind. "One moment." He went back in and picked up the unconscious fox. Its fur was soft and warm. Tom could feel its steady breath, its quick heartbeat, as he cradled it in his arms. He gently set it down on a soft pile of leaves a safe distance away from the shack.

Then he looked at the shack with a calculating eye. That post at the corner looked the sturdiest. Tom set his shoulder to it, pushed with his legs, then, once he felt the whole mass shifting, quickly backed away.

The shack crumpled to the ground in a puff of mildew-smelling dust.

"Merope would have wanted me to do that," Tom explained, brushing some dust off his cloak. Then he and his friends started walking back to the Riddle House.

"I will build to your specifications," Tom assured Ignis. "I thought that perhaps Merope had exaggerated, but now I see it was even worse than she described. Please accept my apology for offering you that shack. I meant no offense."

"None taken," Ignis assured him.

"I should have gone to see it myself first before subjecting you to it," Tom said. "I should have gone alone."

"There was no need for you to do that alone," said Ignis. "You need people with you for something like that." He swung a cloaked arm around Tom's shoulders.

Tom leaned into him for a moment. The chill of the shadowed shack, which had sunk into his bones, making him shiver, was no match for the warmth of quality yeti fur-acromantula silk blend. Tom waited until he could speak steadily. "Thank you for coming with me," he said as he freed himself from the cloak. "Both of you. Anyway, let's think about the replacement. You needn't design the specifics yourself. I'll put you in touch with an architect to convert your ideas into architecturally sound plans."

"Don't go to too much trouble," said Ignis.

They took off their cloaks on the way back. "You may have noticed that we're on a steep hill," said Tom.

Ignis laughed. "By your standards, perhaps."

"Yes. We're not in dahu habitat. As the Riddle House is on one of the highest hills in the area, the local muggle children like to use this road for riding their bicycles, so you may hear the shrieks of children playing, but other than that the area is fairly quiet." Mark's description of the terrifying hill had attracted his friends, such as Sue Bosworth, who often came by to plummet down the hill on her bicycle as fast as gravity would take her. "As long as we leave the road and hedgerows unchanged and accessible to muggles, the Statute will be preserved. And perhaps the new building should be set back a bit further from the road."

Ignis nodded. "I'll put up some muggle-repelling wards."

Tom considered that. "No," he decided.

Hermione cast a nervous glance at him, which was insulting.

"Repelling muggles isn't sufficient," Tom explained. "You'll want to repel witches and wizards as well. You'll want wards that repel everyone except werewolves. If we're advertising anonymity, with no human seeing our customers pick up their wolfsbane, we'd better provide that anonymity. That means the wards must keep everyone else out: muggles, Hermione, me, everyone." He gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. "Not that I know how to set up such wards myself." He looked hopefully at Hermione. "But our resident defense specialist…"

She looked impressed. "It's a good idea," she admitted. "But I've studied ward-building extensively and I've never come across this specific type. People usually want to screen werewolves out, not let them in." She looked to Ignis.

"You'd really… But this is your property, Tom! You'd let me keep you off your own property?"

"It's Riddle property, so we may do with it as we see fit. If that means me never setting foot on it again, that's my right."

"You should set up the wards yourself, Ignis," said Hermione. "So you're the only one who can take them down."

"That's a fine idea," said Ignis. "But I don't have a clue how I'd do such a thing. I mean, a standard muggle-repelling ward is easy enough, but…"

"You know who I bet would be able to advise you on this?" said Tom. "The ferals."

Ignis nodded.

The three of them entered the Riddle House and handed their cloaks to Fiona to brush off and put away. "It's nearly time for lunch," said Tom. "Let's gather in the drawing room."

They did. Ignis exchanged greetings with Tom's parents and son.

Tommy slithered off Tom's mother's lap and across the floor to Hermione. He gripped the legs of her chair with his chubby hands to pull himself up until he stood on his own wobbly legs, smiling proudly.

"You're so big and strong!" squealed Hermione. In that moment, Tom had a glimpse of who she might have been had her timeline been different.

"Ba!" said Tommy proudly. "Bababababa!"

"And in addition to parseltongue, he speaks the language of sheep," said Tom's father.

"He's babbling," huffed Hermione as she picked Tommy up. "Perfectly normal. Well, slightly delayed, but still within the range of normal. His speech development is progressing well."

"Mirabelle babbles a lot," said Ignis. "And now she's saying 'mama' and 'papa' and 'up'. And 'Ig,' which is apparently my name now."

When Fiona informed them that lunch was ready, Hermione carried Tommy into the dining room and put him in his high chair. She set about trying to feed him, but Tommy was more interested in soup as artistic medium than as sustenance.

"May I have a turn feeding Tommy?" Ignis asked. "I have some experience feeding Mirabelle."

"Of course!" said Hermione, switching seats with him gratefully.

"Hello Tommy. Look at this delicious soup!. Would you like some? I don't know, it looks so delicious, maybe I'll eat it myself…" Tommy's little spoon did acrobatics as Ignis dithered between feeding the soup to Tommy or himself. He finally conceded. "All right, I suppose the cute one gets it." Tommy ate the soup with a triumphant grin, as if he had won something.

Hermione laughed. "That's a neat trick!"

"Well, I try to earn my keep at home, taking my turn with Mirabelle," said Ignis, continuing his performing spoon show. "I like being an uncle, especially considering I'll never have children of my own."

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

Tom thought that a rather personal question.

Ignis apparently thought so as well. He paused his spoon performance. "Well. I mean. With my condition, it's just not possible."

Tommy hissed at him. Ignis resumed his show, but seemed distracted.

"I can see how lycanthropy would cause fertility problems in women," said Hermione, "but my defense professor had a baby."

Ignis turned to stare at Hermione. "What?!"

"Cutest little baby boy."

"But was the baby fully human? Um, no, I'm not yet done with my soup, I just haven't had a chance to eat it yet," he told Fiona, who was attempting to serve the next course. She moved on to remove Tom's empty bowl.

"Yes, fully human," said Hermione, accepting her roast duck in exchange for her empty soup bowl.

"The child's mother must have been human," Ignis reasoned. "But who would marry— Was he infected after they married, or—"

"No, he was infected when he was four."

"He tricked a human woman into marrying—"

"No, no, not at all. She knew his condition long before their wedding." She thought. "He seemed like he didn't plan to have children either. You know, from his reaction to her pregnancy, it was pretty clear that it was unplanned. I almost wonder if she went off the potion without telling him. She was… decisive that way. But it worked out all right."

"Who would marry a Dark creature?" marveled Ignis.

Hermione thought. "She was a very brave witch," she summarized.

"There's brave and then there's insane," said Ignis. "I mean, barring unethical means such as deceit, Amortentia, and the like, I just don't see how any human woman would choose to throw herself away like that. I haven't met any humans who'd knowingly associate with a Dark creature besides—" He looked around at them, and a pink blush started to burn through his tan when his eyes met Hermione's. "—present company." He lowered his gaze.

"Oh don't be ridiculous," scolded Hermione. "I'm sure many humans wouldn't hold your condition against you. I understand your need for secrecy, since it would be disastrous if the wrong people knew, but that doesn't mean everyone would react badly. I mean, I'm paranoid, and even I think you're too pessimistic about this."

"Hermione is right," said Tom's father.

"And the book should help change attitudes," said Tom. "You need only be patient. And please watch your language. You're not a Dark creature; you're a human with an unfortunate but manageable disease."

Ignis fed Tommy and wiped his face as necessary, and ate some lunch himself, but said nothing more on the topic.

Tom explained his plans for the Gaunt shack to his parents, who agreed that it was about time they got some use out of the property.

"I'll find a good architect," Tom's mother volunteered. "I'll enjoy seeing our architectural style options. The building must be welcoming and tasteful. Ignis, let's discuss this in greater detail later in my sitting room, so I can take notes of your requirements at my desk."

Ignis nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Riddle. I'm very much obliged."

Tom nodded. "Thank you, mother. Also, it's time to hire more help. Once the dispensary is built, we'll need someone to staff it while Ignis does deliveries, or vice versa. The job has become too big for one man."

"Hire more?" Ignis marveled. "I know you're already hemorrhaging money on the potion itself, and now a new building…"

"The business is still in the investment stage," said Tom. "Don't concern yourself with the financial side. Your role is to advertise and distribute wolfsbane potion to as many customers as possible. If you need help to accomplish that, so be it. As you make your deliveries in the coming week, extend an invitation to anyone you think would be a good addition to the organization. We need at least one more person to help with distribution. And I've been thinking about this idea of sending you into feral packs. While I'm sure a Gryffindor such as yourself is perfectly willing to do that alone, it seems more prudent to send you with a team. Aside from the obvious safety in numbers, multiple endorsements of wolfsbane potion would be more convincing than yours alone. And of course once we have the ferals convinced, we'll need more werewolves to distribute potion to them. I assume they lack transportation to the dispensary we'll build. So there should soon be a great deal more work to do; we'd better be prepared with sufficient staff."

Tom's father cleared his throat. "When do you expect this little wolfsbane project of yours to turn a profit, Tom?"

"I'm still waiting on Miss Kettleburn's novel," said Tom. "Once that's published, I expect the tide to turn quickly."

"Profit isn't the point," snapped Hermione. "The point is that this potion is already improving the lives of over a hundred people."

"Over a hundred," echoed Tom's father in a mockery of awe. "That's cute. In other news, Professor Waxwigge reports that the muggle project is going well. In vitro trials have shown great promise. He's starting in vivo trials next."

"Good," said Tom, whose face showed no envy. His father had reclaimed the muggle project once Tom had performed his trick of passing off Hermione's handwriting as his own. Tom's task was to continue to butter Hermione up by conspicuously devoting his efforts to her pet werewolf project. A happy Hermione was more likely to drop additional details about the future, which could be exploited for additional profit.

"So my project will probably turn a profit before yours," Tom's father said smugly.

Tom nodded. "Whichever project becomes profitable first can support the other through its early stages. We know that yours has greater potential for total profits, since the market is so much greater. We're not competing in the same arena."

"Indeed."

"Although if we are in a race, I have to count myself the winner, as wolfsbane is helping people already, while your project is still in the laboratory."

Tom's father grunted. "Well of course it's easier for you, with a project that's all under-the-table. Going through legitimate channels takes time."

"These new employees," Tom said to Ignis. "Use your judgment to recruit reliable, capable people. Also, as this business grows, it will become awkward to channel all information through you, so I'll need some way to contact them directly. I would of course hold their identities in confidence, but I am asking them to sacrifice some of their anonymity for the sake of efficiency. You can't be the only werewolf who'd trust us to keep his condition a secret."

"Well," said Ignis. "As you may recall, I didn't exactly volunteer that information. I just didn't realize that Hermione would apparate me into a house with such extensive wards for identifying Dark creatures. This place is warded like, I don't know, a bank or something, not a private residence."

"Better safe than sorry," said Hermione.

"At any rate—" started Tom.

"At any rate, you've all proven yourselves worthy of my trust by now, so yes, I will wholeheartedly recommend you to other werewolves, and do my best to convince them to work for you as I do."

"Don't work too hard to convince them," said Hermione. "We don't want anyone with lingering doubts, who feel they were pressured into joining. I'd rather have a few I can trust than a lot who'll switch sides when it seems more convenient."

Ignis considered that and nodded. "Good point. Well, I'll see who's interested. I have several in mind already."

"Thank you," said Tom. "And think about what skills you'll need in the team you'll take to the ferals. Tell me about the ferals. What will convince them to take wolfsbane potion?"

"Well. I don't really know. I mean, I've met some, but I wouldn't say I know them well. When that feral pack found me, bleeding from this stump the morning after a full moon…" Ignis took a moment to compose himself, fidgeting with his silver left hand. "They expected me to join them then. They were very welcoming, and determined to convince me that I no longer had a place in human society. My former friends and family would shun me, they said, but the pack would be my family… I mean, if my family hadn't been the way they are, if they'd been like the ones in the stories I heard from the ferals, this offer might have been tempting, but as things stood, it was easy to turn them down. They seemed genuinely sad to see me go. Some said they'd tried to live in the human world themselves, for months, or even years, but eventually gave up or, as they said, realized that their true place was in the pack. They said they'd welcome me back whenever I came to this realization myself." Ignis gave a wry laugh. "And I am happy to say that their offer is even less appealing now. I mean, to live as a savage in the wilderness, gnawing on sheep taken from muggles, and rampaging around every full moon searching for others to trap into the same fate…" He shuddered. "They also said that I must not attempt to ingratiate myself to humans by betraying their location or identities, for humans wouldn't trust me anyway, and the pack doesn't allow traitorous werewolves to live. I'm sure that threat was sincere. Yes, thank you, I would like some cheese and apples," for Fiona had come around with the next course.

"I need no identifying information about the ferals," Tom reminded Ignis. "You keeping track of them all simplifies my job."

"And I must say," said Tom's father, "if the life of a feral ever seems more appealing than the life you live now, I would consider that an insult to my household. You know you're always welcome to visit us here, be it on business or simply a social call."

"Thank you, Squire Riddle. I have no intention of insulting you."

After lunch, Ignis declined Tom's mother's invitation to discuss plans for the dispensary, saying he had a lot to think about first. He promised to return for that project after the full moon. They said their goodbyes, Hermione and Tom walked Ignis to the Floo, and he Flooed home.

As soon as the flames turned from green to orange, Hermione exclaimed, "Muggle! He looked at the filthy hovel those inbred purebloods nested in and thought it looked muggle!"

"You kept that bottled up very well," said Tom. "I'll make a Slytherin of you yet."

"Aargh!"

"Would you like me to fire him?" he asked innocently.

"Tom," she grumbled. "All right, I was wrong. And Ignis is even less replaceable than Vinter. I certainly wouldn't mind replacing him with a werewolf who isn't a pureblood snob, but I understand that we won't be able to do that soon. I still get to complain about him in the meantime."

"I'm happy to listen to your complaints."

"How can you let him insult you like that?"

"What? He didn't insult me. He insulted your parents. He knows you're muggleborn. That was very rude."

"But you're the one who's actually a muggle."

"He doesn't know that." Tom thought. "It seems only fair to make the same offer to you that I made to him regarding Miss Vinter. Would you like me to arrange that you never see him again? There's no need for you to suffer his company."

Hermione answered immediately. "And I'll make the same answer he did: I'd rather subject him to a muggleborn's company than give him the pleasure of avoiding me."

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure. While I appreciate the offer, there's no point. I'd have to avoid nearly all witches and wizards if I wanted to avoid this sort of thing, and I'm not going to do that. Maybe he'll learn eventually."

"Suit yourself. Oh, and I have a question for you. Why are witches and wizards so afraid of werewolves, anyway?"

Hermione's hand moved as if she were about to pull at her hair, which was beautifully styled in gleaming ringlets, but stopped when she saw Tom's expression. She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a little shake instead. "How?!" she marveled. "How can you study fashion in such detail and not bother to research a Dark creature that could kill you?"

"I figure you'll tell me if it's something important, just as I keep you informed about fashion."

"Honestly, Tom." She let go of his shoulders with a little shove.

"I mean, I can see how an unusually large and ferocious wolf would give me trouble, but witches and wizards? Why don't they just use their wands to incapacitate it in some way? I've seen you and Ignis duel. Neither of you would have any trouble subduing a large wolf. Stupefy it like you did to the fox and wait for the moon to set. Come to think of it, why do they even need wolfsbane? They could ask someone to Stupefy them at moonrise and just sleep through their transformation."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Werewolves, in their wolf form, are Dark creatures," she said slowly, as if to an idiot. "They're inherently magic-resistant. They can't be harmed or affected by any spell. A wizard facing a werewolf is as helpless as a muggle."

"Ah."

"A wand might be of some use," she elaborated, "but only indirectly. One could use magic to move materials to create a barrier between oneself and the wolf, or use magic to throw hard or sharp objects at the wolf, but that kind of aim is tricky, and most witches and wizards aren't well-practiced at it. And it would take a really powerful, well-placed blow to incapacitate a werewolf, since they're unusually tough and strong, and not discouraged by pain."

Tom nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate your help." Such help deserved reciprocation. "And your brown cloak would have gone better with your outfit than your grey cloak, today."

"What?"

"The brown cloak would have looked better with the brown boots you were wearing. The grey cloak looks good on you too of course, but it looks better with your black boots."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. She looked at him for a while. "This evening," she said eventually, "for our reading to Tommy, I'm going to read a book on Dark creatures. You'd better listen too."

"I can't stop you, but I prefer something less conducive to nightmares before bed," said Tom. "The latest issue of Witch Weekly has a fascinating article on wand-compatible gloves. You may find it educational."

Hermione started to stomp away, but then turned to face him again and called "Tom!"

"Yes Hermione?"

"You say stuff like that just to wind me up, don't you?" she accused.

Tom didn't know how to defend himself against such a charge. For her to suggest that he goaded her to come close, to envelop him in that stormy Amortentia scent, to grasp the shoulders that he'd so diligently developed with calisthenics… Why, the accusation was too absurd to merit a response. He looked at the clock. "Look at the time; I've got to change into my muggle clothes to pick Mark up from school. I'll see you later." He headed to his room, feeling Hermione's gaze on his back.