Tom drove and listened to Mark's excited chatter about the day's school adventures. He eventually found a gap in the conversation in which to mention that the Gaunt shack and surrounding land would soon become inaccessible, for the property would be occupied by a wizard who greatly valued privacy, and would be setting up wards to ensure it.

Mark was silent for a while after this. "A wizard?" he said eventually.

"Yes."

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't believe so, no."

"What's his name?"

"Just as I don't tell your old name to anyone—" started Tom.

"Of course, no, that's fine," said Mark.

"But he is a wizard," said Tom. "It will be best to avoid him, to ensure there's no chance of being recognized. He works for the Riddles on a magical project that doesn't concern you."

Mark nodded.

"He, and other wizards and witches, will also visit the Riddle House from time to time. For those visits, of course, you will have to avoid the common areas of the house. Perhaps you could visit a muggle friend on those occasions, or stay in your room. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but—"

"It's no trouble," Mark assured him. "You don't have to leave the magical world just because I have."

"Thank you for understanding," said Tom. "I'll try to schedule any meetings while you're at school, anyway, so it shouldn't be an issue."

Mark nodded. "I know how to stay out of the way."

—-

Tom insisted that Ignis take off the day after the full moon, to rest. He returned the morning of Wednesday the twelfth of October to report on his recruiting. He, Hermione, and Tom sat in Tom's office, sipping tea.

"I've got one new recruit," Ignis said apologetically.

"One?" asked Tom. "Well, that's better than none."

"She can work in the dispensary while I'm delivering to werewolves who don't have transportation. She has experience as a shopgirl, so that seems relevant. She plans to keep using her code name, Broken Daisy, and once the dispensary is built, if you have a message for her, you could leave it at the border of the human-proof wards…" He trailed off when he saw Tom's expression. "Sorry."

"No, no need to apologize. I'm sure you tried your best. I just don't feel good about sending you out to feral werewolf packs with no assistant but a shopgirl."

Ignis laughed. "I certainly wasn't planning to bring her with me! I mean, she's a very nice girl, but not exactly the sort I'd want as my second in a duel, if you know what I mean."

"At least she's brave," said Hermione. "Clearly the bravest of the lot, if she's the only one who said yes."

"Well," said Ignis. "I think it was a combination of bravery and desperation for money, actually. I told her that Tom pays well."

"Hm," said Hermione.

Tom nodded. "A shopgirl is a good addition to the team. Thank you for recruiting her." He thought. "We don't actually know how to make human-proof wards yet, and we won't until the ferals teach you how. I'm very concerned about how the ferals would react to you telling them you're working with humans, considering that they've told you that they kill anyone they consider to be a traitor to werewolves."

"It may be dangerous, but it's important," said Ignis. "I'll do it."

"No you won't," said Tom. "Not alone. You're too important to our business to risk your life unnecessarily. You need to bring other werewolves with you, preferably ones who can vouch for us, but you're the only werewolf who trusts us to safeguard your identity, and the ones who don't trust us wouldn't make the best spokesmen…" He sighed. "We need only a few, to form a team to accompany you to the feral packs. What would it take for them to trust us? Ignis, why do you trust us?"

Ignis thought. "Well," he said slowly, "as a practical matter, you haven't turned me in for the bounty, and you've already spent far more on me than that would pay, so you're obviously not plotting to betray me for profit. Unless you're playing a very long game, using me to recruit many other werewolves that you'll turn in later… But that would be absurd."

"Why absurd?" asked Hermione. "That seems like a Slytherin thing to do."

"This is why Hermione's not in charge of the advertising campaign," said Tom.

Ignis laughed. "That's why!" he said, pointing at Tom. "Because you joke with me, because you invite me to your house to dine with you at your table… Because you treat me as if I were still human."

"You are still human," said Tom. "Only an idiot would think you're not."

"Thank you," said Ignis, his voice shaky. "It means a lot to hear someone say that. I'm, I'm trying to convince myself."

"Many humans are idiots," said Tom. "Anyway, thank you for providing a solution. I hereby invite all potential werewolf employees to dinner. As many as are willing to accept my invitation, I'll be glad to have them."

Ignis smiled. "That will be a lot of dinners, if many accept. They might want me as company, so I guess I'm getting a lot more of these excellent Riddle House dinners out of this."

Tom blinked for a bit before understanding. "I didn't mean individually; I meant all at once, in one big dinner party. That would be much more efficient."

"Really? You'd let your family be outnumbered by werewolves?"

"Do you doubt my household's ability to host a large gathering? I assure you, we can provide. You haven't even seen our larger dining room. Accio pocket calendar." Tom drew it from the presumably deep recesses of his wallet. "What date works best for everyone? A weekend evening? What are people's schedules like?"

Ignis thought it over. "Well, they have all different schedules, taking work when they can get it. Halloween's coming up, though, and almost everyone gets a major holiday like that off."

"Then Halloween it is," said Tom. "Dinner at the Riddle House on Halloween, gathering at, say, six?"

Ignis thought. "Everyone should be available then. A few may have been planning to go guising, but this is more important."

"Guising?" repeated Hermione.

"A British custom," Ignis explained. "Do you have guising in Australia?"

"I suspect things are different here," she said carefully. "And with my parents being muggles—"

"Oh!" exclaimed Ignis. "Of course, you don't know wizarding customs. You see, here, on Halloween, enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy is a bit relaxed. It's such a long-standing tradition for witches and wizards to demand tribute from muggles, the Ministry couldn't stamp it out completely, so they restricted it to one night of the year. Not officially, but they tend to look the other way, if you know what I mean. People still take the precaution of wearing disguises, particularly masks, so as not to court trouble. Some dress as other magical creatures." He gave a wry little laugh. "Caricatures of werewolves for instance. Then they go around to muggle dwellings, sometimes blatantly declaring themselves to be witches or wizards, and demand tribute, often with vague threats of vengeance if the muggles don't comply. The muggles generally do comply, but the tribute they offer is not particularly worth the trouble of gathering it: an apple, a sweet, a biscuit, that sort of thing. But I think for a lot of people who do it, they don't actually want the tribute. They just throw away the muddy biscuits or whatever. It's more the principle of the thing, to show ourselves to muggles at least once, to extract the tribute that is ours by rights."

"Do you go guising?" Hermione asked.

"Haven't since I was ten," said Ignis. "The novelty wears off after a while. Plus it requires actually talking to muggles. Not really worth the trouble. It's more popular among children, who value sweets more highly than adults do. Although for the more desperately poor werewolves, the ones who have trouble keeping a job, any bit of food helps." He shuddered. "Even muggle food. I count myself lucky that I haven't had to stoop to that."

"A funny thing about guising here in Britain, Hermione," added Tom, "is that muggles have adopted it as well. They dress up as what they imagine witches and wizards to look like, and demand tribute just like the real ones. They get it, too."

Ignis stared at him. "What?"

"You didn't know that?" asked Tom. "That's the whole reason the Ministry tolerates what would otherwise be Statute violations. Muggles can't tell the difference between fake witches and wizards and real ones. Thus, secrecy is maintained."

Ignis was clearly troubled by this news, which entertained Hermione, which gratified Tom. "You're saying that some guisers are actually muggles?" Ignis asked.

"Most of them, probably," said Tom. "It doesn't take a particularly good costume to fool muggles. Or some wizards," he added, because he was an evil villain who enjoyed torturing his victims. "Of course," he said generously, "I'm sure you've never been fooled by a muggle disguised as a witch or wizard."

"You've got me wondering, now," admitted Ignis. "I mean, I've seen guisers in some odd witch costumes, but I assumed they were real witches who'd intentionally changed their appearance for the sake of anonymity, not…" He gave Tom a suspicious look. "Are you sure? Or is this just your dry humor again?"

"Quite sure. As the Riddles honor the Statute of Secrecy by making this house pass for muggle, we occasionally get muggle guisers here. Not many bother to climb the hill to get here of course, but those who do are rewarded with sweets and praised for their terrifying witch costumes."

That was too much for Ignis, who choked on his laughter. Hermione laughed as well.

Ignis eventually regained the power of speech. "Let me get this straight. Muggles, dressed as witches and wizards, demanding tribute from witches and wizards disguised as muggles? Oh man, only a Slytherin could set up a situation this twisted."

"Thank you," said Tom. "But at any rate, we rarely get guisers here, and the few we get shouldn't interfere with the dinner party. Do extend our invitation to anyone who might accept. Surely, the hospitality of the Riddle House is more appealing than food taken from muggles. I look forward to meeting everyone brave enough to meet us. Oh Merlin, they're going to be a bunch of Gryffindors, aren't they?"

Ignis laughed. "Now that you mention it, probably."

"That's all right," said Tom. "Some of my best friends are Gryffindors."

"It will be nice to dine with someone other than these Slytherins for a change," added Hermione.

Tom laughed, and was joined by Ignis a cautious moment later.

After this, Tom and Hermione escorted Ignis to the nursery to meet with Tom's mother, who led Ignis to her sitting room to discuss architectural plans. Hermione took charge of Tommy, while Tom went back to his office to do some more work. They reconvened in the drawing room before lunch. Tom's mother was nearly glowing. Ignis looked dazed.

"It's such fun, planning a building from scratch!" Tom's mother enthused.

"You really don't have to go to this much trouble," Ignis tried hopelessly.

"Nonsense dear," she said, patting his arm. "Don't you dare spoil my fun. I'll make all the arrangements with the architect."

Tom's parents were delighted at the plan to host a Halloween party.

"About time, too," said Tom's father. "We haven't hosted a party since…" he trailed off, realizing.

"Since Merope died," said Tom to fill in the gaping silence, although the silence after this seemed even heavier.

"If it's too soon—" started Ignis, troubled.

"No," said Tom. "It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but… life goes on. And I do appreciate distractions."

"Lunch is served," said Fiona, providing another welcome distraction.

—-

When Tom picked Mark up from school, he made a point of telling him about muggle guising customs, to prevent him from portkeying home in a panic when his friends discussed being witches for Halloween.

"Oh! My friends were talking about that, but I didn't know what to make of it. Muggles really go guising too?"

"Yes. It's at least as much of a muggle tradition as it is a magical one. Have you gone guising before?"

"No. My parents didn't approve of talking to muggles, even to gather tribute."

Tom snorted scornfully. "They're neglecting the customs of their ancestors. Avoiding muggles is really the laziest way to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. The Riddles continue to live as we always have, ruling over our patch of muggles. We don't limit our extraction of tribute to one evening a year."

"But the Statute—"

"Does not require us to hide ourselves, but only our magic. Admittedly, ruling over muggles is trickier since the Statute took effect, but it just takes some creativity. Power is stronger the more subtle it is. We perform no magic in view of muggles. You're helping us stay in practice with that. The muggles in our domain think we're nothing more than muggles ourselves. Anyway, would you like to go guising this year?"

Mark considered it. "Corvus went guising. He even ate the sweets! He said they were delicious."

"They are," said Tom. "And it's fun to go out with costumed friends."

"Corvus is so brave," said Mark.

"Indeed. He was sorted into Gryffindor, by the way."

"I know. Cassiopeia told me, in her letters."

"How's she doing?"

Mark paused before answering. "Fine," he finally said. "Although Corvus is being mean to her."

"That's unfortunate. Understandable, of course. He does think she got away with murdering you." Tom wanted to nip a possible problem in the bud. "In case you were thinking of telling Corvus—"

"No, of course not. And Cassiopeia can defend herself."

"Good. So. Guising?"

"This explains my friends talking about what they're going to be for Halloween. Mabel said she doesn't want to be a witch because witches are cliché. She wants to dress up as Josephine Baker, but her parents say the costume would be too cold. Edmund says he wants to be a solar eclipse no one can see because of clouds, but he doesn't know how to actually do that."

"That sounds technically challenging. I recall my classmates coming up with costumes that had great originality in concept, but were lacking in execution. If you were to go guising, what costume would you wear?"

Mark thought. "A crumple-horned snorkack," he decided.

Should he know what that was? It didn't actually matter. "Muggles don't know what that is. You'll spend most of Halloween explaining what you're supposed to be."

"That's the idea. I like having a conversation starter. I'll tell them it's a pretend monster from Australia. I don't talk about real Australian animals, but I can talk about pretend ones that haven't killed any of my family."

"Good plan."

"I could make the horn out of a stick, and the head out of papier-mâché, and the body out of an old sheet or something. It'll be the bee's knees!"

Tom laughed.

"That means—"

"I know. I'm glad you know. And yes, I'm sure your costume will be the bee's knees. I'm glad you're learning important things like that at school."

"Everyone's so helpful, telling me about British customs so I can settle in. A lot of things seem hard to believe, but they're true. My friends are honest with me."

"It's weird, isn't it?" agreed Tom. "People miss so many opportunities to get creative."

Mark worked hard on his costume. Dobby helped by color-charming an old sheet purple and cleaning up the papier-mâché mess, but all the artistry was Mark's. Everyone agreed that the result was the best crumple-horned snorkack costume they'd ever seen.

The Riddles had preparations to make too. Ignis reported that seven werewolves had accepted Tom's invitation. "Seven's a lucky number," said Ignis.

"And a good number of new employees," said Tom.

Tom's mother took charge of party preparations. Soon, the house was festooned in autumnal colors and accented with cornucopia of fruit and nuts representative of the harvest season. Some decorating ideas were from Witch Weekly, but some were her own.

She also grilled Ignis about what menu would most please their guests, and decided that the main course would center around rare roast beef, accompanied by appropriate side dishes and wine. Ignis had no suggestions about the other courses, saying he was confident that Mrs. Riddle would plan the perfect menu on her own.

After Ignis left, the Riddles made additional plans. "I'll hire someone to help Hester in the kitchen of course," said Tom's mother, "but to serve… We have Fiona and Dobby, but that seems inadequate for a gathering of this size."

"We can't betray the werewolves' trust by hiring any witches or wizards," said Tom, "and muggles might find the event confusing, or blab to other muggles, which would get us in trouble about the Statute."

"Fiona is a treasure," said Tom's mother. "I had lunch at Portia's with some friends the other day, and the only gossip they'd heard about us is that we're hosting a beautiful Australian opal heiress suspiciously soon after Merope's death, and now an Australian boy has mysteriously appeared. Of course I explained about Thomas's Australian business associates, so there isn't much room for speculation there, but no one mentioned anything the least bit magical. They were really more interested in what face cream I've been using recently. I told them my secret is the happiness of seeing my grandson grow."

Tom smiled. His own face showed similar signs of happiness. According to Witch Weekly, finely powdered philosopher's wool protected skin from the sun's damaging rays, and extracts of rosehips and rooster combs did wonders for reversing any damage that had already occurred. Of course, high-quality beauty potions, which magically magnified the natural beautifying properties of their ingredients a hundredfold, were not cheap, but their prices were comparable to the muggle beauty products Tom's mother had used before, while providing much better value. Tom, being a good son, had ordered such potions as presents for his mother, and of course had had to test them himself to verify their efficacy.

But now they were discussing the help. "We'll just have to ask Fiona and Dobby to do extra work," Tom concluded. "We'll pay them extra, and give them time off afterwards. I'm sure our guests will understand the necessity of short staff."

Tom's mother sighed. "I suppose that's our only option. They do work well together, and Fiona has been very good at explaining household procedures to Dobby. But I just know that something will go wrong, and we won't have enough help to set it right."

"It will be fine," said Tom. "The party needn't be perfect. If we make it clear that we've made every effort to ensure our guests' privacy and comfort, it will count as a success."

—-

Mark couldn't wear his snorkack head in the car, as the horn would have hit the ceiling, so he sat with it across his lap as Tom drove him to his friend Edmund's house to start his guising adventure in the more fertile sweet fields of Great Hangleton.

"Telephone the Riddle House when you want me to pick him up," said Tom.

"I will," said Edmund's mum, who was wearing a terribly dated pointy hat, not that she could be faulted for that, being a muggle. "And I love your costume."

"Thank you," said Tom. There would be no time to change into his wizarding robes between dropping Mark off and greeting guests at the Riddle House, but that didn't matter on Halloween.

"You make a great vampire."

Perhaps Tom had overdone the complexion potions, but really, the chill in the air brought a healthy glow to his cheeks, so there was no way to mistake him for a vampire, although perhaps one who'd recently fed… "Thank you," he said, since that was easier. "And your hat looks great," he added, although the lie pained him. "See you later."

Tom drove back cautiously, keeping his eyes open for any guisers on the dark roads. Once the car was safely parked, he sprinted upstairs to his office, where Hermione, Tommy, and Ignis waited.

"Happy Halloween," said Ignis.

"And to you as well."

No sooner had these greetings been exchanged than the flames in the fireplace turned green, and their first guest arrived.

She burst from the Floo as if she'd run into it. Her olive green dragonhide boots squeaked to a stop just before she crashed into Tom, and a good thing too, for her sturdy form would surely have bowled him over. "Happy Halloween!"

Tom backed away a bit to protect his ears. "Happy Halloween."

"I'll do introductions," said Ignis. "Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger—"

"Ba!" said Tommy.

"Yes, I haven't forgotten you, and that's Tommy Riddle. This witch's codename is Harrier."

"Like the hawk!" Harrier explained.

"Ba!" said Tommy.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Harrier," said Tom. He took her hand to kiss it, but she grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake instead. Her golden brown eyes challenged him to have a problem with that. Tom had no problem. He had no particular expectations for what greeting a witch with short black hair, a wizard-style dragonhide jacket, and muggle-style trousers would prefer. He was relieved her preferred greeting didn't involve head-butting or wrestling.

Hermione reached out to shake Harrier's hand as well. "Welcome to the team."

"Ba!"

"Tommy says welcome too," Hermione translated.

"We are gathering in the parlor before dinner," Tom explained. "This way."

Harrier walked with him. "So. You're the one with the idea to take wolfsbane potion to the ferals?"

"Yes."

"When do we start?"

"I thought the whole group would discuss this once we got to know one another."

"I can start tonight."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I think this party will take our attention tonight."

She actually growled.

When Tom opened the door to the parlor, his parents stepped away from each other, thank goodness. Tom did introductions. "My mother, Mrs. Mary Riddle, my father, Squire Thomas Riddle. This is Harrier."

"Like the hawk!"

"Welcome, Harrier," said his mother. "What would you like to drink?"

"Our first guest is clearly in good hands, so I'll fetch the next," said Tom. He strolled out of the parlor, sprinted up the stairs, then decelerated to stroll into his office. As soon as he arrived, Ignis apologized. "I wasn't going to invite her, but she heard from someone else who declined, and then I sort of had to. This was before I'd convinced the others, so I thought she was the best I could get. I don't think she has quite the diplomacy we need to sell wolfsbane in the feral packs. Perhaps she could do deliveries?"

Tom didn't have time to respond before the Floo turned green again. Feet in dainty green shoes stepped out. The witch wearing them had round rosy cheeks that seemed totally incompatible with growling. Her hair, pulled into a neat bun, was a mix of gold and silver, and her dark green robes were trimmed with a tasteful copper brocade.

Ignis introduced them. "This is Pennyroyal. She's a freelance accountant."

Tom kissed her soft hand. "Welcome to the Riddle House." He had no time to discuss accounting before the fire blazed green again.

If the next guest weren't stepping out of a Floo, Tom would have taken him for a muggle tramp. His suit hadn't been of good quality even when it had been in fashion, and had suffered many misadventures since, including inexpertly-applied patches in several different shades of brown, all of them wrong. He stumbled on his way out of the Floo. Tom hurried to offer him a steadying hand.

"Sorry. Not very used to Floo travel."

"I'm glad you made an exception to visit us," said Tom.

Ignis did introductions. "This is Brownwing."

"Welcome, Brownwing."

He looked around. "Ignis said there'd be drinks."

"I'll take you to them. This way." Tom led the mismatched guests to the parlor, did introductions, then sprinted back.

The next guests had already arrived: two young men dressed with style, although Tom detected a subtle shimmer to the rich, deep blue and purple fabrics of their robes that reminded him of Dobby's disillusionment. Their robes were cut with a similar graceful sweep, with the same gleaming brass buttons, and they had the same short haircut that could pass for muggle.

"And this is Tom Riddle," said Ignis. "These are Briar and Bramble."

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Tom, shaking their smooth hands. He was pretty sure he got Briar first, then Bramble. "You two seem so similar. Are you brothers?"

They looked at each other. One had grey eyes, one green, and their faces weren't particularly similar, yet they gave the impression of being a matched set.

"No, we're—"

"—roomates," they said. They then seemed to have a discussion with each other in a language consisting mainly of eye-rolls.

"Well. Welcome to the Riddle House. Let me show you where the drinks are."

"Thank you," they said in unison.

Another trip down and up the stairs, and Tom was just in time to greet the next guest. The first step he took out of the Floo landed softly on a black dragonhide boot, and the second landed in complete silence on a wooden peg. He had a frightening visage, with a jagged scar down one cheek. His brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Dark grey robes as featureless as shadow concealed his form. He might have been forty, or thirty, for Tom knew that Dark injuries aged people more effectively than years. He scanned the room with deep-set, piercing blue eyes, and kept one hand in what Tom assumed was his wand pocket.

Tom put on his friendliest smile. "Welcome to the Riddle House. Ignis, please introduce us."

"Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, and that's little Tommy Riddle pulling Hermione's hair, I'm pleased to introduce—" and Ignis looked very pleased indeed, considering the broad grin, "—Unicorn Pants."

Hermione quickly stifled a snort of laughter. Tom had better control, stepping forward and extending his hand to shake. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Unicorn Pants." He heard Tommy's high laugh in the background.

The horned equine undergarment sized Tom up. He eventually drew his hand, wandless, from his pocket and shook Tom's. His grip was strong and calloused. "Pleased to meet you," he said in a deep, hoarse voice. Next he attempted to kiss Hermione's hand, but both her hands were busy dealing with Tommy, who had climbed out of his sling and seemed to be attempting to burrow into her bodice.

"Hi." She gave a little wave, then caught Tommy as he nearly fell off her shoulder down her back. "Sorry. Kind of busy at the moment."

"I see. Well. Pleased to meet you." He looked around Tom's sparsely-decorated office. "This doesn't look like a party," he observed.

"The party is this way," said Tom, leading him through the hall. "Our Floo connection is in my office, for convenience of taking calls, but our guests gather in the parlor before dinner." Tom ushered his guest into the parlor, now murmuring with conversation. "This is my mother, Mrs. Mary Riddle, and my father, Squire Thomas Riddle. This wizard's codename—" he took a moment to ensure the proper expression "—is Unicorn Pants."

Tom's mother's reaction was as Tom had expected, perfectly polite and calm, but his father was ominously subdued. He simply extended his hand to shake. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Pants. But that seems so formal. May I call you Eunuch for short?"

There was a moment of dead silence, then everyone, including Unicorn Pants, laughed. "Oh, bugger all, that stupid code name might be my second biggest regret. Call me Eric, all right? That's my real name."

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Eric," said Tom's father, pumping his hand vigorously. "Call me Thomas."

"Call me Mary," she said as he kissed her hand. "Thank you so much for coming. I'll introduce you to everyone in a moment, but first, what would you like to drink? We have butterbeer, wine, firewhiskey…"

"Just a butterbeer, thank you. You're his mum?" he asked, with a glance at Tom.

"Yes."

"You don't look old enough for that."

She laughed daintily. "Oh you charmer."

Perhaps she should cut back on the complexion potions as well.

Tom again strolled out of the parlor, sprinted up the stairs, and strolled into his office. There had been no need to sprint, for the flames stayed orange for a while. Tom allowed himself a moment of rest in his desk chair. "Interesting assortment of guests," he remarked to Ignis.

"Yes. Well. You haven't seen the ones I didn't invite."

"I'm not criticizing." Tom directed his attention to the zone of hissing chaos in the corner. "Are you two all right?"

"I think Tommy's disturbed by all these strangers," Hermione said. "Tommy, it's all right. And let go of my hair. What is it with you and Halloween? Do you want to be up or down or what?" He clearly wasn't happy in her arms, and rejected her offer of milk, but no sooner had she put him on the floor than he demanded to be picked up again, although once up it was all she could do to prevent him from squirming out of her arms.

Ignis looked worriedly at the clock.

"I could take Tommy," Tom offered. "My greeting task might be over."

"No," said Ignis. "There's one more yet to arrive. She'll be here soon. She said she'd come," although he looked unsure himself.

Finally, the fire blazed green and a young woman with light brown hair stepped out. Her robes were a faded brown, coordinating nicely with her tan gloves. Her collar covered more of her neck than was fashionable, but it was a cold evening.

"You made it," sighed Ignis in relief.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I was trying to fix my hair, but I finally just sort of… gave it up as a lost cause."

"Nonsense. You look beautiful," said Ignis, not inaccurately. "Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, this is Broken Daisy."

Tom bowed to kiss her gloved hand. Her little finger was curled in strangely, but Tom gave no sign that he'd noticed. "Thank you for coming. Ignis tells me that you're well-qualified to work in the dispensary."

"Um. Yes. I think. Um. Thank you for inviting me. You look just like your photos in Witch Weekly. And you too," she added, turning to Hermione. "I can't get my hair to hold a curl at all."

"Let me introduce you to my hairstylist, Tommy Riddle," said Hermione. "Want to hold him?" She attempted to untangle Tommy from her hair.

Broken Daisy squealed, "He's adorable!" but made no move to take him.

Tommy hissed at her.

Tom flipped the switch to set the Floo to accept calls only, then, with some difficulty, took Tommy from Hermione's arms. Tommy promptly punched him in the cheek. It didn't hurt much. "Hermione, feel free to take a moment to put yourself back together. I'll take care of Tommy now that my greeting duties are complete."

"Thanks." Hermione stretched, then headed to her room as Broken Daisy, Ignis, Tom, and Tommy headed to the parlor, which was alive with chatter. Ignis got butterbeer for Broken Daisy and himself and set about introducing her to everyone. Tom would have liked a butterbeer as well, but attempting to hold both a drink and Tommy in his current mood was courting trouble.

Tom found a relatively quiet corner in which to sit with Tommy on his lap. Tommy clearly had something important to hiss at him. Tom listened attentively. "Ah," he said when Tommy had concluded. "You don't like parties? Too many strangers?"

"Ba!"

"Yes," Tom agreed. "Ba indeed. But you know, once we get to know these people, they won't be strangers. Then they won't be scary. Shall we?"

Tommy just stared at him with his huge dark eyes. Tom decided to take that as a yes. He stood and carried Tommy around the room in search of interesting conversations in progress.

"—why it's so much easier to make a living in the muggle world," Bramble was saying to Broken Daisy. "There's no need to conceal clues that you're a werewolf from people who don't believe in werewolves anyway."

"But what muggle job could I do?" she asked. "I don't know how to do muggle things."

"You can do a lot with a simple Reparo," said Bramble. "Find broken old junk, sell mint condition antiques. Easy money."

"Easy for you," objected Briar. "You know what muggles want to buy, and you have to know what the end result is supposed to be for Reparo to work. I'd be lost without you to guide me through the muggle world."

"Maybe you could teach me what to do?" Broken Daisy asked timidly.

Bramble shrugged. "If Tom here has jobs for us, we won't have the time or need the money, but until then, sure. You'll need muggle clothes, too. And you'd blend in better if you bobbed your hair."

"Bobbed…?"

"Cut it very short."

"Cut it short?!" Broken Daisy was aghast.

"Ba!" said Tommy.

"Or you could style it in a faux bob," said Tom.

"Ba! Nanananana!"

"A faux…?" asked Broken Daisy, confused.

"Nanananana!"

"There's a way to conceal how long your hair is—"

"Nanananana!"

"Tommy, are you asking for a banana? Let's see what snacks we have, shall we? Excuse us." He took Tommy and let his guests continue their conversation uninterrupted. He got a good supply of serviettes, a cup of water, as that would be least problematic if it spilled, and a skewer of various fruits, which Tommy enjoyed mushing. Tom bravely set off into the crowd again.

"—lot of so-called curses are actually malfunctioning wards," Eric was explaining to Tom's father. "Last month, I was called about, they said, a curse on a house, but it turned out to be an attempted ward to keep out those of impure blood." He chuckled wryly. "Some pureblood thought it would be a great idea to ward a house with a spell that targeted anyone with any muggle ancestry with a sort of slow-acting entrail-expelling hex."

"Any muggle ancestry?" Tom's father repeated. Odd that that was the phrase that had stood out to him, while Tom was busy trying not to picture a slow-acting entrail-expelling hex.

"Any," Eric confirmed with a grin.

"Ha!" exclaimed Tom's father in delight. "Caught in their own trap! Everyone's got at least some muggle ancestry. Only some of us aren't ashamed to admit it."

"I bet they weren't happy to find that out," said Pennyroyal. "Did they pay you?" She nibbled a cucumber canapé.

Eric sighed. "Well, that's the less fun part of the story. My client was grateful I'd broken the curse, but now he says that his grandmother should be the one to pay, since she must be the one who set the curse in the first place, but she denies having anything to do with it, and—"

Pennyroyal was shaking her head. "That's not your problem. Send a dunning letter. Explain that if you're not paid by such-and-such date, you'll put the curse back." Her manicured fingers popped the rest of her canapé into her mouth.

"Put it back?" Eric seemed perturbed. "That ward amounted to a nasty curse. I'm not going to threaten—"

"Well, I'm not telling you how to run your business," said Pennyroyal.

"You just were, actually," said Eric.

"That canapé was delicious. I think I'll get another," said Pennyroyal, leaving.

"An explicit threat does seem heavy-handed," said Tom. "Perhaps something more subtle? You could use them in advertising. Let it be known that you're not a heartless businessman who serves only the rich. You also work pro-bono for the poor. Put their faces on adverts as poor souls who've benefited from your generosity—" There was no point continuing to talk over Eric's laughter.

Eric wiped his eyes. "Oh, they'd love that. That's tempting. I'll have to think about that more when I'm sober."

"You've had, what, one butterbeer?" scoffed Tom's father.

"This is my second, and I don't like anything that clouds my judgment. Anyway. I didn't tell that story in search of advice about billing. I was just thinking about wards. This house has an impressive set of them, and not by a wand I know. Who did you hire?"

"It's all Hermione's work," said Tom's father. "When she arrived, she judged our house's wards to be inadequate and insisted on replacing them herself."

Eric needed a moment to process this. "Wow," he eventually concluded.

"It was presumptuous of a houseguest, yes," agreed Tom's father.

"No, I mean… These wards are among the best I've seen. Those invisible runes over the doorways—" he waved at them, and Tom couldn't help but look in that direction, as if that would show him anything, "—are well-written, and by the time I noticed the werewolf-detecting ward, it was too late for me to do anything about it. And this is the same witch who gave us Wolfsbane, and gave Ignis his new hand?"

"That's our Hermione," said Tom's father proudly.

"What are they teaching them in Australia?" marveled Eric.

"Speak of the devil," said Tom's father.

Hermione appeared, looking glorious, her hair once again in gleaming ringlets. She headed for the snacks.

"Pa!" said Tommy. "Papapapapa!"

"Are you talking to me?" Tom asked, but he didn't seem to be. Tommy was looking at Hermione.

"You want to pull Hermione's hair again, don't you?" Tom asked.

Tommy hissed at him.

"That will have to wait," said Tom. "Let's let her enjoy the party a bit first, shall we?"

Tommy hissed and flailed his little arms. He grabbed Tom's nose.

"Ow! Tommy, let go." He pried Tommy's little fingers off his nose and let Tommy grip his finger instead. "Excuse us." He left this conversational group and found a quieter corner. "Tommy. I understand that you're unhappy. This party will be over soon. Please let it be a success while it lasts. We can't spare anyone to watch you elsewhere."

Tom's mother appeared. "Let me take a turn with Tommy. He's quite the little hopping pot this evening, isn't he?"

"He is, but it's still my turn. Please tell Broken Daisy that she can do a faux bob to look muggle, with no need to actually bob her hair. Then come back for Tommy."

His mother returned shortly. "Apparently Ignis got to her first and convinced her that she shouldn't stoop so low as to attempt to look muggle."

Tom sighed. He handed Tommy over.

"Now Tommy," said his mother. "Is there any way for me to enjoy both this party and your company? Let's find out."

Tom headed toward the snack table, but it was blocked by Hermione, Ignis, and Eric, so he couldn't actually reach any snacks. Hermione was loading her plate, but the others seemed to be occupying the space for the company rather than the food.

"Yes," said Hermione to Eric. "It can replace any body part lost to Dark injury. Would you like one?"

"It does seem useful. But I find that I don't like it, how do I remove it?"

"Oh, I'll remove it for you if you find you don't like it."

"But I really think you'll like it," said Ignis. "It feels almost exactly like—"

"That wasn't what I asked. I asked how do I remove it?"

"Oh," said Hermione. She put another canapé on her plate. "Well. You can't. It can be removed only by the person who cast it."

"Ah. Well, thanks for the offer, but I think I'll keep my peg. I don't fancy being tied to someone else's magic like that."

Ignis's eyes widened while Hermione's narrowed.

"It's just, being a cursebreaker by trade," said Eric, "I've learned to be suspicious of magic that's out of my control. You understand."

"Of course," said Hermione.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to be in the way," said Eric, noticing Tom and walking away on his quiet booted foot and silent peg.

"No problem at all," said Tom. He put a canapé on his plate.

Ignis turned to Hermione, and seemed a little perturbed to find her hair attempting to write free of her hairstyle. "He'll probably come around later," he said soothingly. "And I certainly don't want you to take back my hand."

Hermione looked at him. "Thank you."

"An interesting thing I noticed about my hand, though. You said the shape of this prosthetic is based on my, what did you call it—"

"Your body schema," said Hermione.

"Yes, that. And you said it would transform with me? Well, on wolfsbane, I keep my human mind, so I find that I keep my human hand as well. My human mind apparently thinks it should always be in a human body, and doesn't feel at home in a wolf body, so it continues to shape this prosthetic as a human hand, even as the rest of my body transforms. It's the one part of my body that still feels like me, on the full moon. I'm rather clumsy with my wolf body, but at least I can still use my human hand to turn pages of a book and such."

"Fascinating!" said Hermione. "I wonder how much of your body I could replace. That might nearly count as a cure for lycanthropy, a combination of this spell and wolfsbane."

"Um," said Ignis, for Hermione was looking at his body as if searching for convenient seams to rip. "Just the hand is fine, thank you. I find myself rather attached to my current body."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"Frankly, that seems unlikely. It was bad enough losing one hand."

"That must have been an unpleasant surprise," said Tom, "coming to your senses at moonset to find yourself missing a hand."

"What? No. It wasn't a surprise. I remember everything: my need to break free of that shackle at any cost, the feel of my flesh yielding to my teeth, every shred of skin, snapping tendon and crunch of cartilage… And when I finally felt the last shred of flesh snap, I felt the most intense…" he couldn't continue.

"You don't have to—" said Hermione, which surprised Tom, who'd had quite enough of this tale several descriptions ago. He'd thought Hermione's stomach was stronger for this sort of thing.

"…joy," Ignis concluded. "It was the best feeling I'd ever felt, finally being free. I could smell humans in the air, and I knew that if I could only get to them, I'd feel… Fortunately I passed out from blood loss before I reached anyone, as I said. I've never had the pleasure of biting a human, and I never wish to."

"You felt euphoria?" asked Hermione, intrigued.

"Yes. At the time. Of course once I regained my human mind, I felt very different about it, but I still remember that feeling."

Tom couldn't suppress a shudder, but that was all right. It was perfectly justified by Ignis's tale; no one would infer that it had anything to do with Tom's memories of Amortentia. "I do appreciate you relinquishing the chance to feel that euphoria again."

Ignis laughed. "No point feeling that good for one night of the month only to be crushed by guilt the rest of the time. Anyway, my point, Hermione, is that while I appreciate your offer, I really want to keep all my remaining body parts. Aside from the obvious pain and inconvenience, the loss of my hand felt too blatantly symbolic of the gradual loss of my humanity."

She nodded. "Right. Sorry."

"And it's really not that bad, physically transforming, as long as I keep my mind. Although— Your Defence professor in Australia, did he seem clumsy in his wolf form? Since I'm wondering if I'll ever get the hang of using a wolf body. One night a month is apparently insufficient practice to get really good at walking and such. Of course the mismatched limbs don't help."

Hermione thought. "He'd had access to wolfsbane for less than a year, when I saw him in his wolf form. So his human mind wouldn't have had time to get used to his wolf body either. Perhaps in time, he would have."

Ignis nodded. "Thank you. Not that I really need to be coordinated in my wolf form anyway. Chores can wait until I regain my human form."

"It might be worth getting your human mind used to your wolf body," said Hermione. "You never know when it might be useful."

Ignis nodded. "True. It's not like I have anything better to do in my wolf form than stumble around, relearning how to walk."

"The ferals will be hard to sell to," realized Tom. "All the werewolves here take wolfsbane to spare themselves a night of tormented captivity, but asking people to give up a night of euphoric freedom? That's different."

Ignis nodded. "They'll take some convincing."

The doorbell rang. The party suddenly went completely silent.

"Oh good," announced Tom. "Muggle guisers. I wondered if any would bother to climb the hill this year. Who wants to see some costumes?" He headed to the front door.

He heard a hubbub behind him and looked back to see if anyone was following him.

"I told you!" said Bramble, poking Briar. "Muggles really do go guising! Let's go see!" Bramble pulled Briar by the hand.

"But why would muggle guisers come here?" Briar asked.

"Because this looks like a muggle house," explained Bramble.

"What?!"

Tom picked up the basket of sweets and opened the door. A girl of about twelve and a boy of about fifteen were just walking away in disappointment, but they spun to face him as soon as they heard the door open. The flickering candles in their neep lanterns cast odd shadows on their masks. They each took a deep breath and started to sing, in an approximate sort of harmony:

"Good people, pay heed to our warning:

The veil between worlds now grows thin

So from Halloween night until morning

Do beware of the danger you're in.

We come over the country like thunder

Cause nations to quiver and quake

Many thousands stand gazing in wonder

At the havoc we witches do make.

To ensure your dear family's protection

And good fortune through all the new year

We require sufficient confection

and then you will have nothing to fear.

We have come to show you our mercy

As we frolic through fen and through fog

Like Morgana and Hecate and Circe

So pay up, or turn into a frog."

Tom laughed and applauded. Behind him, Bramble did too, followed by Briar. "Oh, well sung!" Tom exclaimed. "Aren't they terrifying?" he asked his guests.

"Very. Are you a witch?" Bramble asked.

The girl nodded, the long, green, warty nose of her mask moving up and down vigorously.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Bramble theatrically. "I'm absolutely terrified of witches."

Briar laughed as Bramble tried to hide behind him. Not to be left out of the fun, Briar exclaimed "Me too!" and tried to hide behind Bramble, resulting in the two of them doing a little dance, their blue and purple robes rippling.

The children laughed. ""I love your costumes," said the girl, breaking character. "Are you two fairies?"

"Yes," said Bramble, grinning.

"Where are your wings?" criticized the boy. "Fairies have wings."

Briar looked at Bramble. "He's right you know. We can't be fairies without wings."

"We just took them off since they were in the way," said Bramble. "I'll go get them." He darted out of sight and came back in a few moments with a set of sparkly fairy wings protruding from his back, and another set in his hand. They shimmered so unnaturally, Tom's eyes had trouble focusing on them, but they definitely gave an impression of being the approximately right shape and colors. "I brought yours too," he told Briar. "I'll just pin them on for you." His wand concealed behind Briar's back, he muttered a spell, then tucked his wand back in his sleeve in a practiced motion.

"Thank you," said Briar. "Better?" he asked the children.

"Yes," said the boy.

"Beautiful!" said the girl.

"And I suppose you're a wizard?" Briar asked the boy.

"No. I'm a werewolf! Grr! See the ears?"

"Ah," said Briar, turning a bit pale. "Very scary."

"I like the fur," said Bramble. "We'd better give these monsters some sweets if we know what's good for us."

Tom handed some sweets to the children.

"Full-sized Cadbury bars!" exclaimed the boy. "Yes!"

"Thank you," said the girl. "And happy Halloween!"

"Happy Halloween," said Tom as they left. "And thank you for not turning us into frogs."

The girl cackled. She spun and shouted "Abracadabra!" while wiggling her fingers at them.

Briar staggered back, his hand over his heart. "Ribbit," he croaked tragically. "Ribbit."

The children laughed and headed down the hill.

"See!" cried the girl victoriously. "I told you the Riddles were good people."

"If they were good people," grumbled the boy, "they wouldn't keep raising the rent. That wasn't even a costume. All landlords are vampires."

The fairy, the frog, and the vampire returned to the party and told everyone what they'd missed, which made for a good story even without much exaggeration. Briar and Bramble decided to keep their wings on for as long as they lasted.

"What actually is this thing you stuck to my back?" asked Briar.

"A serviette," said Bramble. "The transfiguration won't last long; I did it in a hurry. It looks great on you, by the way. You should wear fairy wings all the time."

"I will if you will."

Everyone at the party had a grand time except for Tommy and whoever was holding him. Finally Tom's mother declared, "This is too much excitement for Tommy. I'll see if he calms down in the nursery. Come along dear. Shall I read a book to you?" She took him away.

Not long after this, Fiona came in and announced that "Dinner is served."

"I thought this was dinner," said Daisy, looking at the appetizers.

"We just put out a few snacks to tide people over until dinner," Tom explained as he offered his arm to escort Daisy to the dining room. Her gloves were still on, despite the warmth of the room. "I hope you like rare roast beef."

"Ooh!" She took his arm and sat in the chair he drew for her.

Once everyone was seated, Tom's father stood. "Thank you all for coming. You've brightened a dark autumn evening. Let this be known as the first annual Riddle House Halloween party, for I hope to repeat this event with all of you in future years. Now let's eat."

This speech was answered with applause and cheers.

Dinner was delicious enough to whet the appetites of even those who'd overindulged in appetizers. It was a shame that Tom's mother wasn't there to enjoy the meal she'd so skillfully planned.

She came into the dining room as the beef was being served. "Tommy's worn out," she announced. "He fell asleep as I was reading to him, so I tucked him into bed."

There was general agreement that this was a good thing. Tom's mother sat and ate one of the more cooked slices of beef. The werewolves, true to Ignis's word, liked their beef very rare.

Fiona and Dobby darted around the table, refilling glasses and changing plates. Pudding consisted of multiple cakes, including a traditional parkin, but also lighter and more impressive-looking cakes, for parkin was too common for so grand a meal. It proved to be the most popular cake at the table, however.

The revelers were picking at cheese and fruit when the door to the dining room creaked open and Tommy slithered in, making a beeline for Hermione. "Mama!"

"Mama?" repeated Ignis. "He calls you mama?"

"Well, he hasn't before," Hermione explained, "but 'ma' is the easiest syllable for toddlers to enunciate, so it's not surprising that his babbling would develop like this. Across cultures, it's one of the first sounds babies make, so some variant of 'ma' has come to mean mother in every language." She lifted Tommy to her lap.

Tommy nuzzled at Hermione's bosom insistently until she unlaced the bodice of her robes. "Tommy doesn't actually know what he's saying," she added as she latched him on.

"I think he does know what he's talking about," said Ignis. "You're as good as a mother to him."

"Well. I have no ambition to take Merope's place," she said, with a quick glance at Tom: She apparently judged his control of his expression adequate for her to continue. "But it's essential to an infant's socio-emotional development to have a consistently attentive caregiver, so I'm filling that role."

"And filling it beautifully," said Ignis. Thanks to Tom's tutelage, Hermione had presented herself extraordinarily well this evening. Her curls, tamed by the finest hair potions Riddle money could buy, gleamed in the light of the electric chandelier, and the tailoring of her robes showed off how her figure had improved since she had first arrived at the Riddle House and begun eating regular meals. Of course, an unsophisticated rube like Ignis couldn't appreciate the finer nuances of her beauty: the way her sleeves were cut in the very latest fashion, the way the fabric accentuated the brown of her eyes, so Tom found himself irritated at the way Ignis was looking at her.

Ignis's admiration of Hermione propelled him to his feet. He stood and raised his wineglass. "I propose a toast."

"I'll need more wine," came Brownwing's voice from down the table, so Fiona darted forward to serve. She hurried around the table, filling everyone's glass, as Ignis stood patiently.

Tommy unlatched and reached for a wineglass like everyone else, but Hermione redirected his hand to a sturdier cup, then relaced her bodice when it was clear that Tommy was too interested in the goings-on to resume nursing.

When Fiona's gaze alighted on Tommy, she blanched, and the bottle slipped from her hand. Red wine spattered gorily across the floor. The sparkly broken glass and red puddle attracted the attention of Tommy, who slithered off Hermione's lap and towards this exciting new toy.

"No!" shouted Hermione and Tom, plus several others, but Hermione was quickest at swooping Tommy up into her arms, over his objections. "Broken glass is dangerous! Come on, you have plenty of safe toys in the nursery." She nodded to the company. "Excuse us. Tom, fill me in later."

Tom nodded at her departing back as she hauled the wailing baby from the room, Tommy's plump little hand straining over her shoulder towards the broken glass. Some chips of glass started to tumble towards Tommy, rolling faster the louder he cried. Tom rushed to close the door behind Hermione and Tommy before the glass reached the hall. A few of the sharper shards embedded themselves in the base of the door.

Ignis stood there awkwardly, wineglass frozen mid-toast.

"I'm sorry," said Fiona, tearing her gaze from Ignis to Tom. "I'm so sorry sir. I'll pay for it, you can take it out of my wages."

That bottle of wine was worth a day of her wages. "No," said Tom. "Just clean up the mess."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir. It won't happen again sir." She set about cleaning up.

"Why isn't she using her wand?" Eric asked.

Pennyroyal leaned close to whisper something in his ear.

"Oh!" realized Eric. "Sorry. I'm always putting my foot in it."

"You won't put your foot in it if you walk around that way," advised Harrier. "Oh, but putting your peg in it might be slippery! Do you need help getting past that mess to get to the lavatory or something? I can help!"

Eric buried his face in his hands, which did not completely conceal the fact that he was turning as red as the wine.

"How kind of the Riddles," remarked Pennyroyal, "to provide employment for the less fortunate."

There was general agreement among all their guests that hiring a squib was very charitable of the Riddles, and it was good to give the poor thing something to do, to make her feel useful.

"Dobby, bring more wine," said Tom.

"Yes Master." Pop. Pop. Dobby poured wine for everyone who still needed it.

Tom looked to Ignis, still standing there with his wineglass slowly sinking. "Your toast?"

"Well. I had planned a toast to Hermione, but as she isn't here to hear it, perhaps I should make a more general toast." He thought a bit. "To the future!"

"To the future!" echoed down the table as everyone lifted their glass and drank.

"Let us retire to the parlor," said Tom over the clinking of Fiona gathering broken glass, so they did.

The telephone rang, startling most of the revelers. "Excuse me," said Tom. "Muggle business." He strolled from the parlor and sprinted to his office to take the call, which predictably called him to get Mark. "I'll be right there."

He gulped a Sober-Up potion on the way to the garage. Gah! Could even Wolfsbane potion taste worse than that? He felt an even deeper sympathy for his guests, and an uncomfortable sobriety. The feeling of good fellowship that had been building all evening suddenly disappeared, leaving Tom feeling worried and lonely. Something was wrong. He'd overlooked something important, and his oversight would inevitably lead to tragedy.

It was just the potion making him feel that way, Tom knew. Perhaps he'd drunk more Sober-Up potion than necessary, considering how little alcohol he'd drunk.

He drove cautiously, and once Mark and his bucket of loot were in the car, let the boy's excited chatter wash over him the whole ride back. Then he directed him up the servants' stairs to his room. By the time Tom returned to the parlor, the party was over.

Author's Note: The guising song is sung to the tune of the Earsdon Sword Dance song.

This chapter was written in a hurry to be posted on Halloween, and may be improved later.