Eight werewolves, plus Tom and Hermione, sat at a long table that Dobby had moved into the solarium. They sipped tea while basking in what little light November had to offer.

"First order of business," said Ignis, "delivery. Broken Daisy, Harrier, and Brownwing, you're all good at apparating, so as we discussed, that will be your job." The three nodded. "Thank you. I divided the customers into three groups, so you each have your own list. Harrier and Broken Daisy will deliver to the women, while Brownwing will deliver to the men. I have their names and addresses here." He handed a folder to each of them. "I'll teach you your delivery routes before you start distribution on December first for the full moon on the eighth."

"Are there twice as many women?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"No, there are about equal numbers," said Ignis.

"Wait," said Brownwing. "So are you paying me twice as much to do twice the work?"

Hermione butted in before Ignis had a chance to reply. "Why not just divide the customers into three equal groups, sorted by geographical area, so the delivery people all have the same amount of work, and minimal apparition distance?"

"Because dividing them into three equal groups would mean sending these young ladies to visit at least some men," explained Ignis. "We can't do that."

"Why not?" challenged Harrier.

"Your reputations…" began Ignis, withering under the glares of Harrier and Hermione.

"Look, kid," said Harrier. "I have no reputation to protect. I'm a werewolf. I have no marriage prospects, no chance of marrying well and squirting out squalling little pureblood heirs for some noble and ancient family, and I'm pretty happy about that, at least now that I have Wolfsbane."

"But my aunt says," said Broken Daisy, "that even without prospects, we still must protect our reputations. Our reputations are the most valuable thing we have."

"Thank you," said Ignis. "Daisy's right," he said to Harrier. "We must act like respectable members of human society if we hope to be accepted as such. Proper young ladies don't—"

Harrier stood, and Tom was afraid the argument would come to blows, so he stood as well. "Then the solution is simple," he said. "Harrier will disguise herself as someone other than a young woman to do deliveries. The appearance of propriety will be maintained." Broken Daisy looked nervous, so he added, ''You needn't do the same. I will never ask you to go against your sense of propriety."

Broken Daisy sighed in relief.

"We can help," volunteered Briar. "Illusions are our specialty."

"Just think about what you want to look like, and we'll make it happen," said Bramble.

"Thanks," said Harrier. She sat back down. "That's settled then. Daisy does women, Brownwing does men, and I do both."

Did she have to phrase it like that?

Ignis seemed as if he was about to say something, but looking at Hermione and Harrier dissuaded him. "Right," he said instead. "I'll have to sort the customers differently then."

"I can sort them, if you like," volunteered Pennyroyal. "We want to arrange them efficiently, to minimize apparition distances."

"Yes, thank you," said Ignis. Broken Daisy, Harrier, and Brownwing handed their folders to Pennyroyal. "And I'll owl all the customers beforehand so they're not surprised to have their potion delivered by different people."

"You know how to duplicate letters, right?" asked Pennyroyal.

"Um. No," said Ignis. "Should I?"

"No need," said Pennyroyal. "I'll do it."

"Thank you. So, delivery people, you can expect the revised customer lists from Pennyroyal soon. Then I'll schedule times to teach each of you your delivery routes."

"Thank you so much for teaching me to apparate," said Broken Daisy.

"It was my pleasure," said Ignis. "You're an excellent student. I'm sure you'd have been top of the class had you gone to Hogwarts."

"You didn't go to Hogwarts?" asked Hermione.

"Couldn't," said Broken Daisy. "I was bitten when I was seven. If my aunt hadn't taken me in, I don't know what would have become of me. She taught me what she could, but she couldn't teach everything."

"She's smart not to even try to teach apparition without being really good at healing," said Ignis. "I thank Hermione for teaching me both apparition and healing."

"I could teach you a few things," volunteered Eric.

Broken Daisy bristled. "I'm sure you could," she said coldly, "but I'm not that kind of girl."

"Let's get back to business," said Ignis. "The feral pack outreach team will consist of Briar, Bramble, Eric, and me. That team should have a good combination of diplomacy and, if necessary, defense skills. We'll discuss that in more detail after lunch. The rest of you may go, although I assume you all want to stay for lunch."

"We're having pheasant," said Tom, "with chanterelles and black trumpets."

No one could refuse that, so the Riddles once again got to flaunt their hospitality. To prevent a repeat of the Halloween party, Tom's mother kept her bright little snidget occupied in the nursery.

After lunch, and after Harrier had made an appointment with Briar and Bramble to help her with her disguise, she, Broken Daisy, Pennyroyal, and Brownwing left, and the remainder returned to the solarium to discuss the feral outreach project.

"This will be dangerous," said Hermione. "I want everyone to understand that from the start. If you're going to back out, do it now instead of once the mission is underway." Her stern look was answered with resolute expressions from the four werewolves. "Thank you. Now, I did what I could to reduce the danger. I made a voice-activated portkey for each of you." She pulled four black feathers from her beaded bag and handed them out. "The activation phrase is 'I believe I can fly.'"

"Voice activated?" repeated Eric, examining his black feather.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Keep it on you at all times, and don't speak the activation phrase unless you want to portkey into Tom's office. That's the destination I set. You'll trigger the wards here so I'll know you've arrived, and heal you as necessary."

"I've never come across a voice-activated portkey before," said Eric.

"They're my own invention," said Hermione hurriedly. "I also packed general outdoor travel supplies: tents, food—"

"It's just, an invention like this is incredibly valuable," said Eric. "Think of all the people who'd find this useful!"

Hermione handed a small bag to each werewolf. "It won't be useful anymore if it becomes widely known, since people will start building wards to block it. It's got to stay secret." She looked at Eric eyeing the feather. "That's why it's set to self-destruct if anyone tries to decipher its spells."

Eric hurriedly looked away from the feather, but looking at Hermione wasn't a good option either, so he instead looked in the bag she had prepared for him. "It looks like you've packed plenty of food," he observed.

"Just Finite the stasis charms and they'll be ready for eating," said Hermione. "No cooking required."

"Is there any leftover parkin from the party?" Eric asked.

"No, sorry," said Hermione.

"I understand not wanting to share how you made these portkeys," said Eric, "but would you be willing to share your parkin recipe? That was delicious."

"I didn't make that," said Hermione. "You assume that just because I'm a woman, I do the baking?"

"What? No, it's just that you do everything so well, I assumed, since that cake was so good… I mean, I bake, that's why I asked for the recipe…" Eric trailed off helplessly under Hermione's glare.

"Eric's a pureblood," said Bramble.

Eric looked at him sharply.

"I don't think I'm revealing any great secret by saying that," said Bramble. "I'm just saying, Hermione, Eric isn't dragging around weird muggle ideas like a lot of muggleborns do, like that women should do the cooking. Whatever else you might say about purebloods, at least they generally don't have such limited ideas about how men and women should behave, aside from protecting the purity of young ladies of course, and muggles are equally guilty of that. You know where you stand with purebloods. Muggleborns and halfbloods, though, particularly ones who spend a lot of time in the muggle world…" his gaze flicked nervously to Tom, "you never know when they're going to spring muggle-style prejudices on you."

"We have no expectation that Hermione will do the cooking," said Tom, wanting to clear this mess up, for the tension in the room was such that it was a miracle nothing had burst into flame yet. "And I won't tolerate any insults to muggles or muggleborns, or even purebloods for that matter. If you must know, that parkin came from a muggle bakery in Great Hangleton. We buy it there every year."

"Sorry." Bramble drew a notepad and pencil from a pocket of his robes. "What's the name and address of the bakery?"

Tom told him. "Their petit fours are also excellent," he added.

"Ooh, we love petit fours," said Briar. "We'll have to get some celebratory treats there once we're done with this mission."

"That's assuming we have anything to celebrate," said Eric. "Are you sure you want me to come?" he asked Ignis. "I'll just muck everything up."

"We need your technical expertise," said Ignis. "But yeah, you should probably keep your mouth shut, in general."

Eric nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure it will be fine," said Briar. "And then we'll all get treats for our victory celebration at this bakery."

"Er," said Eric, clearly struggling against his resolution to keep his mouth shut. "I don't want to go to a muggle bakery."

"Like I said, you know where you stand with purebloods," said Bramble coldly. "Praising cake he thinks was baked by a witch, but as soon as he finds out it's muggle, suddenly it's not good enough for him."

"No!" said Eric. "That's not what I meant at all! I just, I mean, I've tried visiting the muggle world, but they don't like me. Children point and stare. And muggles tend to, well, run away. And sometimes scream."

"Wait," said Bramble. "You didn't let muggles see you looking like this, did you?"

"Um. Yeah? This is what I look like."

Briar and Bramble shared an eye-roll. "You need to work on your illusions, mate," said Briar. "I've been a werewolf for years. You don't think my face still really looks like this, do you? Learn how to cast glamours."

"I know about glamours," growled Eric. "I know how to dismantle them, at least. But casting them… I mean, you've got to get the colors exactly right, and then there's different lighting to think about…"

"You have a point," said Briar. "There is an art to it. Anyway, hiding scars isn't absolutely essential. Do you at least have good clothes to wear?"

"I have… I mean, these are my robes. I tried to hide the scar by keeping my hood up, but—"

Tom feared that Briar and Bramble would strain something with their eye-rolling, but they were clearly well-practiced at it.

"You can't walk into a muggle pastry shop looking like the personification of death," said Bramble.

"Unless you accessorize with a scythe," added Briar.

"As much as I'd enjoy discussing muggle fashion," interrupted Tom, "let's work out the details of our victory celebration after we've accomplished the task."

"Thank you, Tom," said Hermione. "Now let me show you how these mirrors work," she said, pulling six compact mirrors from her beaded bag.

Briar and Bramble looked at each other. "We know how mirrors work," said Bramble.

"Even Tom knows how mirrors work," said Briar. "I see he had the sense to cut back on those complexion potions before he started sparkling."

"They're communication mirrors," said Hermione. "There's one for each of us." She distributed them. "To use it, open it, and say the name of the person you want to call. I've set them to recognize your code names, and Tom and Hermione for us. When you call a mirror, it will vibrate, so the person will know to answer the call by opening it. It's best not to use them too close to each other, to avoid feedback. Let's split into two groups and try them out."

"Who fancies a stroll in the back garden?" asked Tom.

Eric volunteered. After a little discussion between Briar and Bramble, Briar joined them.

They donned their cloaks and Tom led them out into the cold. The garden was cheerful, with bright red holly berries and green leaves. Eric drew a small disk from his pocket, tapped it to expand it to a cane, and used it to walk over the slightly uneven ground, although he didn't seem to need it.

"Communication mirrors are expensive," said Briar. "And I've only heard of them being linked in pairs before, not in groups like this. You're being very generous."

"Hermione made them," said Tom. "So she's the one to thank." It felt as if a bee were trapped in his breast pocket. "And you can thank her now." He took out the mirror and opened it. "Hello," he said, as if answering a telephone call, but Hermione's face was a pleasant addition.

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

"Perfectly," said Tom. "Now everyone, practice making and receiving calls."

There was cacophony for a bit. They had to step apart to use their mirrors simultaneously without producing annoying squeals. "Can you hear me?!" shouted Eric.

"Yes!" Ignis shouted back. "And you don't have to shout."

"Oh. Sorry."

Briar's mirror produced music as Bramble's voice came through:

"Oh, the voice that's calling me

How elusive it can be

In the night or in the dawn

Close at hand and then it's gone

I can see you through a haze

Calling me with mad'ning gaze

When I reach to grasp you there

You have disappeared in air

Then as I turn away

I hear your laughter gay."

Tom joined in on the chorus:

"On the telephone

I can hear you

And it seems my own

That I'm near you

You're as haunting as can be

You are ever haunting me

Even in my dreams

You are calling

With a voice that seems

So enthralling

And I love but you alone

My lady of the telephone."

Eric looked bewildered, Briar amused.

"Not familiar with muggle music?" Tom noticed. He leaned in to address Bramble's grinning face in Briar's mirror. "It's good to meet a wizard who appreciates muggle culture."

"Oh, look at Ignis's face!" said Bramble. "He's hilarious!" The image in Tom's mirror wobbled disorientingly as Bramble tried to get Ignis's face in the mirror, without success.

Tom looked away from the dizzying image. "Anyway, I think we're all comfortable using these mirrors, so we're heading back to the house."

Once they were all inside again, Hermione continued her tour of their supplies. "I packed two tents for the four of you," she said. She fixed her gaze on Briar and Bramble. "Arrange yourselves as you like."

Ignis looked at Eric. "Do you snore?"

Eric thought about it. "I don't know. I've been asleep."

"But others, do they say you snore?"

This question required even more thought. "I've never slept with anyone."

Most were able to stifle their laughter after the initial involuntary snort.

"Oh, except in my dormitory at Hogwarts of course," said Eric. "I forgot that. It was a while ago." He blinked in confusion over why forgetting his Hogwarts years was so funny.

Ignis wiped his eyes. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm laughing. It's not like that's a surprise."

"I can set up sound-blocking wards if it's a problem," said Eric worriedly.

"Yes, thank you, I'm sure you're good at that," said Ignis.

November progressed. Briar and Bramble helped Harrier with her disguise. Ignis trained the new delivery people on their routes. On December tenth, two days after the full moon, the four wizards set off in search of feral packs. The days grew shorter and darker and the nights longer and colder, but, as Ignis informed Tom with daily calls, Hermione's supplies kept them comfortable, and the team kept their spirits up as they scanned every patch of desolate wilderness for werewolves.

—-

Yule came and went in a flurry of decorations and feasting. On December thirty-first, Tommy seemed to enjoy his birthday cake, and especially enjoyed his new (to him) toy, which Tom had carefully wrapped. Once Tommy ripped off the wrapping paper, he clutched the gold locket possessively.

"I'll show you how it works," said Hermione. "You have to tell it to open in Parseltongue, like so," and she hissed at the locket.

The empty locket popped open, but Tommy was staring at Hermione, not at the locket. He hissed something long at her.

"I'm not a fluent speaker, sorry," she said. "I know only a few words." She snapped the locket closed. "Now you try it."

Tommy hissed at the locket and laughed in delight as it popped open. Then his chubby hand slammed it shut again. He hissed to open it again. He did it over and over, very entertained by this game.

"The chain is a strangulation hazard," said Hermione to the rest of the party, "so we mustn't let him play with it unsupervised. But he seems to know what to do with it."

"And I have a present for my fluffy little yeti cub," said Tom's mother, but it was just another hand-knitted jumper, which Tommy didn't seem to have an opinion about. He enjoyed the wrapping paper, though.

"I got you a present too," said Tom's father, handing the long wrapped bundle to Tommy, who ripped the paper open with enthusiasm. He hissed at the contents, but it didn't do anything.

"You got him a broom?" asked Hermione skeptically. "He can't even walk yet."

"Ages one and up, that's what they said at the toy shop," said Tom's father. "Guaranteed not to fly higher than three feet."

"Childproofing this house just got much harder," despaired Hermione. "Tommy, look, I got you this wonderful present." Indeed, the pop-up alphabet book was entertaining to all. Tommy opened it randomly to F is for fireworks, which burst out of the page with sparks and bangs. Tommy liked it so much, he started chewing on a corner of the page.

"That's not a teething toy, Tommy," said Hermione. "Use the one you got at Christmas," she said, handing it to him, but he preferred the book.

"I got you a present too," said Mark. He handed his present to Tommy, who ripped the paper off with practiced skill. Tommy liked the teddy bear enough to chew on it, so the book was safe.

With Tommy thus occupied, Mark hissed at the locket. Tommy laughed, and the locket didn't do anything.

"I didn't think it would work," said Mark. "I'm no heir of Slytherin."

"You were really close," said Hermione. "It's more of a—" and she hissed again. The locket popped open and she snapped it shut.

Mark tried several more times as Tommy laughed and laughed. Finally, Mark must have hissed correctly, for the locket popped open. Mark stared at it wonderingly. "I really didn't think that would work."

"Parseltongue is just a language," said Hermione. "Some people are born knowing it, but it can also be learned."

Tommy hopefully hissed a long sentence at Mark.

"Sorry, Tommy," said Mark. "I don't know any more Parseltongue than that one word."

"You could learn," said Hermione. "It's easier for children than adults to learn languages."

Mark hissed at Tommy. "That was me asking you to teach me Parseltongue," he explained over Tommy's laughter.

Tommy, once he'd recovered from his laughing fit, hissed back. Mark attempted to imitate him, prompting another fit of laughter. The party filled with laughter and hissing as the others joined in.

When Tommy grew tired, Tom kissed him goodnight, then had Dobby apparate him to a dark London alley to meet Tessie, Mrs. Prewett, and Algie at Boulestin to begin their New Year's Eve revelry. He joined the Prewetts at their table, which had one empty chair for Algie. They exchanged New Year's felicitations, then Tessie enthused about her latest entertainment.

"You don't read Witch Weekly of course," she said, "but I know you enjoy Lerina Kettleburn's books, and they're publishing her latest novel as a serial. The first chapter is in the New Year's issue, a new novel for the new year. I think it's her best yet!"

"The hero is so very dashing," gushed Mrs. Prewett, "and I just know he has some sort of tragic past. I think his true love was murdered by a Dark wizard, so now he's obsessed with revenge. He won't let any personal entanglements interfere with his mission."

"I think he accidentally killed his one true love himself," said Tessie. "That's why he's afraid to get close to Caryl, or anyone."

"Oh, but he just isn't interested in Caryl because he's in love with Sophronia," said Mrs. Prewett.

"What?" said Tessie. "But Sophronia's blackmailing him. She knows his secret."

"No, no, there was all that flirtatious banter—" insisted Mrs. Prewett.

"There were double meanings, yes, but that was just Sophronia threatening him."

"No—"

"Oh Tom, you have to read it," said Tessie, pulling a magazine from a purse too small for it and thrusting it at him. "You'll see that I'm right about Sophronia."

Tom looked at the magazine, open to the relevant page, chapter one of Lou Garou. It was illustrated with a picture of the hero. The hood of his black cloak concealed much of his face, but Tom could see one blazing blue eye and a scar that decorated his sharp cheekbone. The character swirled his cloak and vanished into the shadows between the leafless trees, then reappeared to do his secretive sneaking performance again.

"He looks like a pterodactyl with a secret sorrow," observed Tom.

"A what?" asked Tessie.

Tom glossed over his mistake; using a muggle word for dragon was an odd thing for a wizard to have done. "Is Witch Weekly running a Most Charming Scowl contest this year?" he asked. "I have to practice mine." He made a few attempts, going so far as to lurk behind his menu to the entertainment of the Prewetts. "No, not mysterious enough," he admitted. "I'll work on it."

"You're a perfectly dashing hero already," said Tessie.

"But I'd be so much more interesting if I had a secret," sighed Tom. "Alas, I'm an open book." He enjoyed Tessie's smile for a moment, then looked at the illustration again. "I've got it! His parents very much wanted a child, but they couldn't have one, so they turned a bat into a human baby and raised it as their own. He lives in fear that someone will cast Finite Incantatem on him."

The Prewetts laughed. "You don't know what you're talking about," Tessie scolded playfully. "You haven't even read it."

"I have, actually," admitted Tom. "My mother has a subscription to Witch Weekly and told me I'd enjoy this serial, so I read it too." He handed the magazine back to Tessie, who lightly whacked him with it before putting it back in her purse. "I agree that it's Kettleburn's best work. And I think you're right about Sofronia."

"So do you think Lou will ever confess his love for Caryl?" Tessie asked.

"Considering the author, no. Well, possibly just before one or both of them die."

Tessie sighed. "I suppose you're right. But I can hope."

"The great thing about Kettleburn's novels is that no matter how bad one's own life is, her characters always have it worse," said Tom.

Tessie sighed again, just in case no one in the restaurant had noticed the effect of her previous sigh on her décolletage. "Tragedy is realistic, isn't it? It's good to be reminded that things don't always work out for the best. I can't wait for the next chapter. If I knew legilimency, I'd hunt Kettleburn down and read her mind to find out what happens next."

"Read whose mind?" asked Algie, appearing at their table. "If you can read minds, I'd better stuff my noggin with something more interesting than playbills and menus."

Tessie gave a guilty start. "Algie! I didn't see you coming. Um—"

"We were just discussing a novel," explained Tom. "Full of witches and wizards and magic and all sorts of imaginary things."

"Oh, one of those," said Algie. He opened his menu. "Sorry I'm late; I had to sneer at a cow-creamer. Have you ordered yet?"

Tessie and Mrs. Prewett cast questioning glances at Tom, but he didn't know that one either, so he answered with a small shrug. "We haven't ordered," he said to Algie. "We were waiting for you."

Giving their order to the waiter took a few moments. After this, Algie looked at Tom and said "Oh! Reading fairy tales to your son, of course. Sorry, I wondered at first about a grown man reading a book about witches."

"Fantastical books aren't just for children," said Tom. "This one is clearly for adults."

Algie raised his eyebrows.

"Not one of those books," Tom said hurriedly. "We're talking about a mystery, with adventurous derring-do, a touch of romance, that sort of thing. A plot too complicated for children. It's being published as a serial, and we're all enjoying the suspense."

"Hm," said Algie. "Magic, though. Doesn't that make everything too easy? I mean, the characters can't have any real problems if they can just fix everything with magic. Sounds dull."

"But when the antagonists are as magical as the protagonists, problems and solutions are evenly matched," said Tom, for the Prewetts seemed incapable of speech, and someone had to say something. "And it's fun to read about problems that don't exist, as a change from worrying about real problems."

Algie nodded. "I see how that could work. So what sorts of problems do these characters suffer?"

"Well," began Tom.

Tessie took a nervous breath and interrupted. "But we mustn't—"

"True, I don't want to spoil it for you by giving away too much of the plot in case you read it yourself," Tom said to Algie. "But I can't spoil much, for the serial has just begun, so no one here knows what's going to happen." He smiled at Tessie. "I'm sure it would do no harm to share details from just the first chapter. See if Algie likes the concept enough to read it himself. Not everyone can tolerate fiction about such unrealistic, impossible things."

Tessie, blushing pink, nodded. "Right."

"The book begins in medias res," said Tom. "So readers are left to figure out what sort of world it takes place in on our own, with very little help from the author. As far as I can tell from the first chapter, it takes place in a world in which everyone has magical powers. They're all witches and wizards, who cast magic spells by waving wands, and speaking vaguely Latinate incantations."

Algie snorted. "Seems very silly. You're not selling this well, Tom."

"It's played straight, though," Tom assured him. "And the characters are compelling. Now, with magic, all the criminals have greater power to commit crimes, which requires the heroes to be extra heroic."

"The main character, Lou Garou, he's very heroic," Mrs. Prewett assured him. "He saves the ingénue from a dragon."

Algie laughed. "Sorry, this all sounds very childish. I wouldn't have thought such nonsense would appeal to you, Tom. You always struck me as very practical."

"That's precisely why such nonsense is a pleasant break from reality," said Tom. "Besides, you're one to talk, enjoying those West End shows with characters who break into song with no reasonable justification."

"You've got me there," Algie admitted.

"And there are more interesting things in this book than dragons," said Tom. "The hero is concealing some sort of secret, which other characters are trying to figure out."

"I think Marwin will figure it out," said Mrs. Prewett. "Did you notice how Lou wouldn't meet his eyes? I think Lou thinks Marwin is a legilimens."

"A mind-reader," Tom translated for Algie. "It makes one glad that such abilities don't exist. Think what an invasion of privacy mind-reading would be."

"Oh, it would be awful," said Tessie. "Just think, some voyeur might read my memory of me looking at my naked body in the mirror."

"Do you spend much time looking at your naked body in the mirror?" asked Algie.

"Doesn't everyone?" asked Tom.

"I had to this afternoon," said Tessie, "shopping at Eulalie Soeurs, on Bond Street. Lulu recommended it." She lifted a shopping bag from below the table as evidence. "They have a very nice dressing room, with mirrors on all sides, so I could see myself from all angles as I tried on all these pretty little things." She peered into the shopping bag. "I bought so many things, it's funny how little room they take up. They're made of the highest quality silk and lace, just not much of it." She reached into the bag to draw forth a handful of the contents, which, indeed, looked like the highest quality silk and lace. "It would be such a horrible invasion of privacy if someone looked deep into my eyes to spy on my memory of me trying all these on, since I'm a very private person." She eventually broke eye contact with Algie and dropped the handful back into the bag, which she tucked back under the table, for she had to make room for their arriving soup.

Algie gripped his serviette more tightly than necessary.

"Is something wrong, sir?" the waiter asked Algie.

"No, no, everything's absolutely spiffing," Algie assured him.

Mrs. Prewett moaned in pleasure, too distracted by the food to notice anything else going on at the table. "This soup is exquisite!"

Tessie kept her eyes on Algie as she licked her spoon more thoroughly than necessary. "Mmm," she agreed.

Tom resolved to advance his occlumency studies in the new year. His memory of his naked body was nothing to be ashamed of, so depriving any interested parties of this pleasure was not a high priority, but he wanted to preserve his privacy for other reasons. He'd already learned the theory, and the mental strengthening exercises had been easy to add to his daily physical exercise routine. He'd had some success lying after dosing himself with Veritaserum, although he didn't like the resulting headache. The next step was to ask Hermione to challenge his occlumency shields with legilimency. He wondered which of his thoughts she'd try to read. Tessie's idea—

Numbers. The books suggested some basic challenges where Tom would think of a number, and his study partner would attempt to read that number. That's all they'd do.

Dinner was delicious. Then they took a taxi to the Café de Paris to dance until midnight at least. The band was in fine form, and the dance floor was crowded. Tom danced with Mrs. Prewett, Tessie, Lulu, Nancy, an endless parade of not-Cecilias.

"Midnight approaches!" announced the bandmaster. "Find someone to kiss, for luck in the new year!" Couples drew together.

Tom had forgotten this part. He looked for somewhere to hide, obstinately avoiding the hopeful gazes of legions of not-Cecilias cluttering the dance floor.

"Tom!" called a feminine voice. Oh no. He pretended he hadn't heard and strode away, but her quick steps caught up with him. Lulu caught his arm and turned him to face her. "Do you want to kiss someone at midnight?"

"No. My wife—"

"Good. Nancy doesn't either. You can protect her." She beckoned her friend over. "Nancy! Stick with Tom. He's harmless. The other blokes will stop bothering you. Now excuse me." She ran off, beaded fringe flying.

Tom and Nancy looked at each other.

"Thank you," said Nancy.

"Thank you," said Tom. "I was in a similar predicament. We both owe thanks to Lulu." He thought. "Although I don't think I've been called 'harmless' before. I wonder if I should take offense."

Nancy laughed. "She just meant you're a gentleman."

"Then I'll take it as a compliment."

"Like Algie," Nancy continued.

"Now it's ambiguous again," complained Tom.

Nancy laughed again. She looked around. "I hope he has someone to kiss if he wants. I don't see him."

Tom looked too. "I don't see him either. Nor Tessie," he realized.

"Ooh! You think?"

"I hope. Those two deserve happiness." And their own room, away from Tom.

"Of course he'd have to find somewhere to hide, with that father of his," said Nancy. "I hope no gossip gets to his family."

Tom looked around with renewed concern. "Do you see Tessie's mother anywhere? Mrs. Prewett?"

They searched the crowd, but saw no sign of her either.

"Maybe," conjectured Tom, "the Prewetts both left. Mrs. Prewett would not approve of her daughter kissing someone to whom she is not engaged to be married, and in light of Algie's constraints…"

Nancy sighed sadly.

Midnight arrived with the predictable lip exercises. Tom and Nancy agreed to share the next dance.

Algie and the Prewetts reappeared on the dance floor some time later, with no indication of where they had been, and Tom didn't ask.

—-

The next morning, Tom asked Mark what "sneer at a cow-creamer" meant, but he hadn't heard that one either. The Hangleton area wasn't London, so Mark couldn't be expected to know all the latest slang.

Author's Note:

Bramble and Tom sang My Lady of the Telephone, which is now in the public domain, thus available for free various places online.

Young gentlemen of London are regularly imposed upon to sneer at cow-creamers, despite the inconvenience, as seen in The Code of the Woosters by P. G. Wodehouse.