In the Bleak Midwinter

by TheLoud

After escaping from Merope in London and fleeing back to Little Hangleton, Tom Riddle had thought he was free of witches. He wasn't expecting yet another witch to turn up on his doorstep. This one seems different, but she too smells of Amortentia. Can he trust her when she tells him that she has brought him his baby from a London orphanage?

26. Chapter 26

The door to Tom's office burst open and Hermione burst in, slamming the door behind her.

Tom quickly closed his rolltop desk, for if Hermione wanted to see his Wolfsbane records, she'd have to wait until he prepared a tidy presentation. "What's wrong?"

"I'm hiding from Eric."

Tom found that he'd bolted from his seat and reached for his wand. He let go of the hilt after a moment's consideration. "What did he do?"

"He won't shut up! I mean, on the one hand, he's been very generous with his time, teaching me all about these werewolf-specific wards for the new dispensary, but on the other hand, these runes must have been developed by werewolves. Some of them I can't get close to, since they're literally repulsive to humans. I can't physically write them. But he keeps going on about them. Aargh!"

"Ah. You're annoyed that someone is better at something than you are."

"Tom." Hermione glared at him.

Tom liked the robes he was wearing, so he hoped they wouldn't catch fire.

"I understand the arithmancy fine," Hermione said sullenly. "Just… We need to send Eric on another expedition. Soon."

"The feral outreach team will set out in search of more feral packs as soon as Eric's done warding the new dispensary," soothed Tom.

"Good," said Hermione.

In fact it took a bit of time to set everything up properly before the team could leave. The ground floor of the new building was devoted to Wolsfbane distribution, with a dispensary staffed by Broken Daisy and Brownwing, while Harrier delivered to customers with transportation difficulties, including, once Ignis did introductions, the feral pack.

Pennyroyal pursed her lips at Tom's decision to provide Wolfbane to the ferals at no charge for now, but didn't remark on it, merely turning in meticulous records of their coded customers.

Ignis moved out of his family's farmhouse and into his new home: the upper storey over the dispensary. Ignis protested that it was grander than he required, but Tom's mother insisted that he needed the extra space in case he wanted to host guests.

The basement contained sturdy cells, dug into the bedrock, to hold whatever Dark creatures an exterminator might want to keep alive for a time before disposal. Ignis had insisted on these, for even on Wolfsbane, he wouldn't risk encountering a human during the full moon. He also wanted to provide a safe place for other werewolves to transform.

Then there was the matter of the Floo Network Authority transferring Ignis's Floo address while humans were still able to enter his house.

Once all the human work was done, Eric put the finishing touches on the wards.

Tom stood just outside the hedgerow by Ignis's house on a pleasant summer's afternoon, peering through a gap between the branches. It was a fine, sturdy building, and then, suddenly, it wasn't. There was nothing but woods in Tom's view. As arranged, he tried to part the branches to squeeze through the hedgerow, but there wasn't a good place to do it here, so he looked further along, and at some point he realized that he was walking down the road. He walked back to the general stretch of road where he remembered the house should be. "It works!" he shouted.

Eric appeared out of nowhere. "I know. I was watching you. You're all right? No headache or anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

Hermione landed beside them on her broom. "I couldn't get in from above," she reported as she stuffed the broom into her beaded bag. "No good place to land, with the trees in the way."

"There aren't actually any trees in the middle," said Eric proudly.

"I know that now," she said irritably. "But I didn't when I was up there. I did try to land on the treetops, which didn't feel safe, with them swaying like that, but the wind blew me away."

Eric and Ignis looked at each other, smiling. "There's no wind today," said Eric.

"There was up there," insisted Hermione. She took a quick breath. "These are some really good wards."

"Thanks," said Eric. "Want to know how I did that wind effect?" he asked excitedly.

"I have some unpacking to do," said Ignis.

"I should go see how Tommy's doing," said Hermione.

Eric's enthusiastic expression collapsed to his usual grim one.

"I'd love to hear all about it," said Tom.

"Really?" asked Eric hopefully.

"Really," Tom assured him. "I confess that my education in runes and arithmancy was rather lacking, so you'll have to start with the basics, but—"

That was the last word Tom was able to say for a while, as Eric didn't shut up for the next six hours. Tom was finally able to get rid of him by pointing out that it was past his bedtime.

In a few days, Ignis organized another expedition to find more feral packs, and the team left. Tom was grateful.

—-

One Thursday, Dobby informed Tom that the telephone call was for him, so he picked the receiver up off the switch hook and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oh Tom, did you read the final chapter of Lou Garou?" gushed Tessie.

"Yes."

"Didn't it make you cry? It made me cry."

"It was about what I expected from an unjust world."

Tessie sighed. "I suppose you're right. When Caryl figured it out, and then she stopped loving Lou! How could she do that, after all he did for her? Trying to call the Werewolf Capture Unit on him!"

"Well, Lou is a werewolf," said Tom.

"Oh Tom, you're just rubbing it in now, aren't you? All right, I was wrong about him. He even obliviated her as gently as possible, erasing only the last few minutes. He's too nice, really. I'd have left her a gibbering idiot."

"He does still love her," said Tom. "And I wouldn't call it a kindness, really, to erase only her reason not to love him, and leave the love. He left her obsession to figure out his secret, so they're trapped in an endless cycle. Who knows how many times he's obliviated her before?"

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that."

"He must have had time to practice his dramatic exits. I mean, flying into the sunset on the back of a thestral, as Caryl calls after him, 'Remember, I will always love you!' which he knows is untrue? Most people don't manage to be that dramatic on the first try. His previous run-throughs may have involved attempting to ride a kneazle into a slight drizzle, or a flesh-eating slug into a swamp. He finally got it right this time."

"Tom," said Tessie mock-sternly. "I'm starting to suspect that you didn't actually cry at the end."

"I cry enough."

"Oh Tom." She sighed again. "You may be right about them being trapped in a cycle. I'll have to read it again. I've got all these back issues of Witch Weekly lying around the house now. Anyway, did you see the announcement? Lou Garou is finally being published in proper book form. There's going to be an author's talk and book signing at Flourish and Blotts on Halloween. Let's go!"

"Halloween?" repeated Tom. "Interesting scheduling choice. There's always a lot happening on Halloween."

"It's at two in the afternoon, so the evening's still free," said Tessie. "My mother and I are definitely going. Do you want to come too?"

"Yes," said Tom.

"And my mother said to ask if you have any plans for afterwards."

"I do, sorry. You see, Merope was very fond of Halloween, so I plan to spend the evening just remembering her."

"Oh Tom!" Tessie sighed. "Your love for her is so inspiring, and so beautiful."

Tom looked out the window for a bit.

"Let's not mention Lou Garou around Algie anymore," said Tessie.

"As long as he considers it fantastical, the Statute—"

"That's not the problem. It's just that I don't want him to feel left out. I mean, just think how he'd feel knowing you and I went to a book signing together without him. I wish I could buy a copy for him!"

"Can't you? Or I could; I don't imagine they'll be terribly expensive—"

"It's not that! Of course it's not that. But if it has moving illustrations like a normal book…"

"I wonder if those could be deactivated," mulled Tom.

"Oh!" said Tessie. "I hadn't thought of that. But whoever did it would need to know all about runes, and I—"

"I know the perfect wizard for the job," realized Tom. "A skilled cursebreaker."

Tessie gasped. "Hiring a cursebreaker would be very expensive."

"Leave that to me," Tom assured her. "You buy the book, I hire a cursebreaker to make it suitable for muggles, and the gift will be from both of us."

"Oh, thank you Tom! You're so generous."

And that, after some discussion of the next day's outing to London, was that.

Tom hung the telephone receiver back on the switch hook and thought. The book signing needed to be a successful event, with a crowd that made an impression both in quantity and quality. Tom could help with quantity at least. He opened his mirror. "Ignis."

Ignis answered, sun illuminating his auburn hair. "Tom?"

"Good afternoon Ignis. I trust you're all well?"

"Yeah, things are going pretty well. We're nearly done searching the Brecon Beacons, but no new discoveries since that hermit I told you about a couple days ago. What's up?"

"I have an additional assignment for you. Miss Kettleburn's serial, Lou Garou, will soon be published in proper book form, with a book signing on Halloween. I'd like the event to be a success: so well-attended that anyone who isn't there will feel left out. I wondered if you, and your outreach team, and the rest of the werewolves in my employ, and some of the customers, would like to attend."

"Halloween? But you were planning that party—"

"The book signing is at two in the afternoon, at Flourish and Blott's, so there should be plenty of time to get to the party in the evening. The Riddles promised a repeat of last year's success, and we intend to deliver."

"Hm. Well, I'll let people know, but I can see some of them being wary, as they won't want to be publicly associated with anything to do with werewolves. I'm pretty sure Daisy's aunt won't let her go for instance."

Briar leaned into the mirror's view. "Of course Ignis will go since he's a Gryffindor."

The view through the mirror wobbled to show only Ignis again. "Of course I'll go because I'm the leader of the feral outreach team," he clarified. "I've found more new customers than anyone."

"You got a head start," came Bramble's voice from out of the mirror's view.

"And there's a chance that this book signing will pull some more werewolves out of the woodwork, so this might be an opportunity to find some more," Ignis continued. He looked away from the mirror. "Team, are you with me?" he called enthusiastically. He looked around a bit, then back to the mirror. "I'll get back to you about that."

"At the very least, please inform all the werewolves who might be interested, and would make a good impression. We want photographs of the event to show fashionable, society types, or at least people who don't look too downtrodden. Respectable people, worth emulating."

"Well, that narrows it down," said Ignis.

"Take a break from your exploration of the wilderness to drum up a crowd for the book signing," said Tom. "Floo-calls, owls, however."

"It will be nice to be home for a bit," said Briar.

Eric leaned into the mirror's view. "Do I look respectable?" he asked.

"Yes," said Tom.

"So I should go?"

"Yes," said Tom.

"Oh. All right."

They said their goodbyes and Tom closed his mirror and returned it to his pocket. That took care of quantity. He didn't know many wizards of quality, but he'd use what he had. He tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the Fire. "Malfoy Manor," he called.

A servant answered and fetched Serpens.

"Good day, Tom. What news?"

"I was just invited to a book signing and wondered if you'd like to join me."

"A book signing? You mean that one on Halloween?"

"I do, actually, at Flourish and Blott's?"

"Of course. There wouldn't be two book signings on the same day."

The wizarding world was absurdly small. "So were you already planning to attend?" Tom asked.

"No. But Lizzie, Abraxas's nursemaid, asked for a few hours off so she could attend."

"Oh! If you'll be busy with Abraxas—"

"What? No. I didn't give her the time off."

"Ah."

"I told her she could go if she could find a substitute to fill in for her, but apparently everyone she knows will be at this book signing, so no one was available."

"Ah."

"So what's the appeal of this event? People stand around waiting for someone to sign a book?"

"Well, the event includes an author's talk," Tom explained. "People want to ask questions, hear her insights about her writing, and so on."

"Hm. You're going?"

"Yes. And my friends the Prewetts."

"You know Balthazar?" asked Serpens, surprised.

"No. Tessie, and her mother Edith."

"Ah." Serpens nodded in understanding. "Balthazar mentioned some poor relations."

"Kettleburn's books have broad appeal," said Tom. "Her books are just the thing for passing the time when the evenings seem too long, reading about characters who suffer problems worse than one's own."

Serpens thought. "Well, I suppose it might be diverting."

"Feel free to invite more friends," said Tom. "This Balthazar you mentioned, if he knows he'll have family there—"

Serpens laughed. "Oh, it'll be more fun if I don't mention that to him. He'll be more likely to attend, anyway. I've been wondering if these relations of his are as bad as he says. All right. I'll see you there."

"See you," said Tom with a smile, although he was a bit troubled as he pulled his head from the fire.

He could summon Dobby to remove Floo-ash, or make another call first, then have Dobby remove all the ash at once. The second option was a more efficient use of their time. He threw another pinch of Floo powder in the fire. "Kneazelnook," he called.

"What is it now?" Miss Kettleburn grumbled as she answered the call. "Oh! It's you! My apologies, Mr. Riddle. I'm always happy to hear from you."

"Thank you for taking my call," said Tom. "I know you're busy."

"Thanks to you," said Miss Kettleburn. "Everyone wants to talk about Lou Garou."

"Your story is the talk of the town. That's what happens when you write so well. You have only yourself to blame for your increased popularity."

"You of all people know that's not true, Mr. Riddle. I couldn't have done this without you, or without the anonymous contributors. Oh, I hope they feel I've done justice to their stories! Have you heard anything from them?"

"I haven't heard specifics, and I suspect that many are not regular readers of Witch Weekly, but I've heard no complaints."

"Well, even many people who didn't used to read Witch Weekly have started," said Miss Kettleburn. "Their readership has increased by—"

"Still, as we know, for some, even a magazine is too expensive."

"Yes of course," sighed Miss Kettleburn. "I had no idea. The blackmail! The once mighty brought low! The deals with seedy healers and potioneers! The destruction of families, of hopes, of dreams, of love… There was this treasure trove of tragedy that I wasn't even aware of until you came along. I can't thank you enough, Mr. Riddle. Of course, I also owe thanks to all the contributors. I'd like to give them each a copy of the book at least, but I have no way of delivering them."

"You could have them delivered here, to the Riddle House," said Tom. "I'd pass them along to the recipients."

"Thank you. I'll do that, as soon as the book is officially released on Halloween. Did you hear about the book signing?"

"Yes, and I plan to be there, with friends."

"Oh good." She thought, and looked troubled. "Your friends, do you mean any actual…"

"I've let them know about the event, but most are leery of publicly expressing interest in such a book."

"Oh course. Oh, what difficult lives they live, having to keep such secrets!"

"Speaking of difficult lives, do you have plans for what to write next?"

"I've been wondering what can top this. I've made a few notes about another werewolf book, but I already used the best ideas from those manuscripts, so—"

"Then you'll be pleased to hear that I've collected more manuscripts for you," said Tom.

Miss Kettleburn gasped excitedly. "More werewolf tragedies?!"

"Not quite. These are writings by house elves."

Miss Kettleburn blinked a few times. "Sorry, this might be a bad Floo connection. I thought I heard you say house elves."

"I did. Their lives contain all the tragedy you could wish for."

"House elves?" she repeated.

"I was right about the werewolves, wasn't I?"

"Yes, but—"

"Please trust me on this, Miss Kettleburn."

She thought. "I'll want to see these writings before I sign a contract."

"I apologize, but I can't let you do that. These writings contain sensitive information about the most important families in wizarding Britain. I'll need you to sign a magical contract ensuring that you disguise anything that could be used to identify the families involved."

"Oh! Well. That does sound intriguing. All right. I'll do it."

"Thank you. Is now a convenient time for me to deliver the writings and contract to you?"

"Oh. I suppose. Please come through, Mr. Riddle."

"Thank you. One moment. I'll get the parchments." Tom withdrew his head from the Floo and called "Dobby."

Pop. "Yes Master. Oh, Master has been in the Floo." He removed the ash sullying Tom's face and collar before Tom had time to say a word.

"And I soon will be again. It's time. Dobby, would you like to deliver the house elf writings to Miss Kettleburn with your own hands? I'll bring the contract to ensure she'll turn them into a public-opinion-swaying book."

Dobby's ears quivered in excitement. "Yes Master!"

Soon they were through the Floo, and Dobby was removing every trace of ash from the hem of Tom's robes.

Miss Kettleburn's small reception room was cluttered with thickly upholstered chairs, little tables at knee-whacking height, and vases of dried flowers that perfumed the room with a scent of sweet dust. "Tea?" she offered.

"Yes, thank you."

She served, then examined the contract Tom offered her. "This is very similar to the werewolf contract," she observed. "I'll keep all identifying details in confidence, of course. That's fine. But I have to ask, Mr. Riddle, what is your motivation for wanting such a book?"

"Same as the previous book," said Tom. "Just as werewolves want their stories told, want their suffering recognized, so do house elves." He sipped his tea.

Miss Kettleburn blinked several times. "House elves want things?"

"Yes," said Tom.

Miss Kettleburn looked at Dobby, who looked back boldly with his tennis-ball-sized eyes. "But… They're property. Property doesn't have wants. They just do as their masters tell them."

"Dobby is not my property," Tom corrected. "He's my servant. I pay him for his labor, just as I pay my human servants."

"Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes and Dobby will do whatever Tom Riddle wants him to do!"

Miss Kettleburn jumped at this exclamation from a presumed piece of property.

"Thank you, Dobby," said Tom, pointedly breaking with custom. Then he addressed Miss Kettleburn. "Yes, as Dobby said, he is not property, but a free person. Other elves want the same freedom. They're tired of being slaves."

Miss Kettleburn blanched. "If people knew this… it would shake society."

"Yes," said Tom. "That's the point. I want to leave a mark on the world, Miss Kettleburn. Don't you? The quill is mightier than the wand. Yours is exceptionally powerful. Use it. Change the world."

Miss Kettleburn looked back and forth between Tom and Dobby. She dipped her quill in ink and signed the contract.

"Thank you, Miss Kettleburn," said Tom. He looked to Dobby.

Dobby handed the thick folder of parchments to her. "Dobby thanks Miss Kettleburn."

She accepted the folder graciously. "Thank you for trusting me to tell your story."

—-

Tom felt his mirror buzz and drew it from his pocket. "Hello Ignis. What news?" Ignis was indoors, so there must be some sort of news, considering that he and his team were supposed to be out searching the wilderness for feral werewolves.

"Some significant news, I think. Could I come up to talk with you and Hermione?"

"Of course."

"See you soon."

As soon as Tom snapped his mirror shut, he opened it again and asked Hermione to meet Ignis and him in his office. She untangled Tommy's hand from her hair and said she'd be a few minutes. Tom also found Fiona and told her to bring tea and light refreshments for three to his office.

Ignis soon arrived, so they went to Tom's office. Hermione joined them a moment later. "Hi Ignis! It's good to see you. How's the outreach going?"

"Well, I think," said Ignis, looking doubtful. "We found another pack."

"You didn't mirror-call from there," Tom noted.

"Yeah, they were watching us very closely, and I figured there was no need to reveal our assets, like the mirrors, and especially the portkeys. I told the others to apparate home, and I apparated back to my house."

"They don't have anti-apparition wards?" asked Hermione.

"I assume they do, in their actual territory," said Ignis. "We didn't even get into it. As soon as we got close, before we even detected any wards or illusions, we were greeted by a welcome party. They assumed we had come to join their pack. In fact it took a lot of work to convince them that actually we weren't looking to join a pack, but are happily living among humans. They seemed to think we were insane for trusting humans."

"They have a point," said Hermione. At Tom's sharp glance, she added, "Not that werewolves are any better. I'm just talking about people in general."

"Anyway, one of them went to fetch their leader, so we waited outside the wards for him. He arrived with all this pomp, an entourage of werewolves bowing before him. They announced him as 'Lord' Ralph Woolsey." Ignis sniggered at the title.

Tom laughed. "How pretentious, calling himself a lord."

Ignis rolled his eyes. "He refused to allow my team into his camp, and was willing to speak only with me, as the leader of the team, not with anyone else on it. It was all I could do to keep a straight face, but I played along well enough while I was there, I think, acting as if I were the absolute ruler of my little pack. The others played along as well." He accepted the tea that Fiona was silently offering: milk, one sugar, his usual. "Anyway, Woolsey seemed interested, but once he found out I was working for you, he said he wouldn't negotiate with me, a 'mere underling'." The description obviously rankled. "He said that as he is the leader of his pack, he deserves to talk to the leader of this organization." Ignis looked back and forth between Hermione and Tom. "I said I'd pass the message along to the leader." He took a cucumber sandwich.

Tom and Hermione looked at each other. Tom waved his hand at Hermione in a generous way. "This whole endeavor was your idea. I'm just your investor."

"You're considerably more than just an investor," argued Hermione. "All the business ideas are yours. All I brought was the formula."

"And the determination to use it," added Tom.

"You're a better negotiator," said Hermione.

"You're braver," said Tom.

Hermione thought about it. "All right. I'll go. Now?" she asked Ignis, standing.

Ignis put down his sandwich and looked at Tom. "You're just going to leave it at that? You don't want to prove that you're braver?"

Tom laughed. "I'll leave those games to Gryffindors. Hermione isn't ready to go right now of course. She has to get dressed first."

Hermione looked down at her robes. "I am dressed."

"You're not dressed to impress. Ignis promised someone higher-ranking than himself, so we must deliver."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you have a particular insight into the minds of arrogant despots."

"Come," said Tom. "I'll choose better robes for you."

Soon they were in Hermione's room, Tom searching her wardrobe as she rolled her eyes.

"I think Tom's right about this," Ignis soothed Hermione. "The more pomp the better."

"These should do," said Tom, laying his selections on the bed. "Dobby!"

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Assist Miss Granger in getting dressed. She must look as elegant as possible."

"Yes Master."

"Meet us back in my office when you're ready," said Tom to Hermione, and he and Ignis left.

They had only a few minutes to chat and sip tea before Hermione appeared.

"Sweet merciful Circe," said Ignis faintly, dropping his half-eaten sandwich to his plate.

Hermione did a little twirl with a click of her dainty royal blue dragonhide shoes, as if poor Ignis weren't having a difficult enough time already. It took practice to build up resistance to Hermione's appearance. Tom had the home advantage. "Better?" she asked.

Her robes, in a breezy vegetable lamb of Tartary wool, were a shade of periwinkle blue perfect for summer, contrasting with the warm brown of her curls. The pure white linen shirt, peeking out of her robes at her neckline and sleeves, accentuated the warm glow of her tanned skin, the mark of a modern, athletic woman. The bodice of her robes was crisply tailored with many vertical seams, highlighting her hourglass figure, animated with her usual vivacity, but still, she was no Cecilia. "Adequate," Tom conceded.

Ignis shot him a look.

"Should we bring a gift?" Hermione wondered aloud. "What does a werewolf pack leader want?"

Ignis thought. "I don't know. A bottle of wine, perhaps?

"Dobby," called Tom.

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Fetch a bottle of Tokay from the wine cellar."

"Yes Master." Pop.

When he returned, Hermione took the bottle. "Should this be gift-wrapped?"

Ignis looked doubtful. "That seems too civilized for him. I'm not even sure about the wine."

"Tokay is known as 'the wine of kings," said Tom.

"I'm sure," said Hermione with an eye roll. "Well, let's go." She approached Ignis, arm extended as if to embrace him, which was a perfectly normal position for side-along apparition and no cause for concern, but—

"Wait," said Tom. Hermione didn't look quite ready to meet an arrogant despot. One of her curls had escaped already and was adventuring on its own. Something had to be done. Tom caught the errant curl and tucked it back amongst its fellows. He hadn't known what he was expecting, but the coiled snake felt like silk. His hand lingered in her hair.

"Honestly Tom, it's fine," said Hermione, and she turned to smile at Ignis. The lock of hair slithered from Tom's grasp, too silky and too willful to stay where he'd put it. It stuck out at a gravity-defying angle as she stepped to Ignis's side. Ignis wrapped his arm around her, his silver hand on her slender waist.

Tom wanted to stop her, he wanted her to stay, since really, she shouldn't go out looking like that; it was embarrassing. But it was a lost cause. "Good luck to the both of you," he said instead.

Ignis looked disturbed. He looked down at his armful of woman and wine. "This doesn't look good, does it?"

"I didn't hire you for your looks," said Tom.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Not this again," Hermione whinged. "Let's just go."

"But your reputation!" exclaimed Ignis. "I mean, the two of us apparating alone together without a chaperone, it looks a bit…"

"Who's going to tell?" asked Hermione. "I doubt that a Witch Weekly photographer is lurking in a feral werewolf pack in hopes of ruining my reputation with a scandalous photo."

Ignis held his other arm out. "Tom?" he pleaded

"Ignis is right," said Tom. "The three of us will go together. Hermione and I are equal partners in this endeavor, so we will both meet with Woolsey. Besides, Hermione, your father entrusted your honor to the Riddle family. We can't let a young lady go out unguarded."

Hermione answered that with an unladylike snort. "If you insist."

"I'll go change into something more impressive."

Hermione sighed and leaned her head on Ignis's shoulder in a caricature of exhaustion. "This will take all day," she complained.

"Tom, there's no need," Ignis assured him. "You already look…"

"Like you always look," said Hermione. "Adequate."

"All right," said Tom, for abandoning these two to wait for him alone together would be a needless waste of their time. He glommed onto Ignis's right side and threw an arm over his shoulder, which felt like it might have been more muscular than Tom's own, damn him. Tom would have to put some extra effort into his Müller system exercises.

Ignis subjected Tom to a smile, blinding at this close range, and heaved a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Tom. Well, brace yourselves. I'm not that experienced side-along apparating two people at once."

These words were enough to unsettle Tom's stomach even before the world started spinning, but he managed to find his footing well enough afterwards. They were in a dense forest. "A reasonably smooth ride," he flattered Ignis as he let go and stepped back to a more polite distance.

"Thanks," said Ignis. "Hermione, are you all right?"

She did look unsteady, leaning on Ignis's damnably well-developed shoulder for longer than seemed necessary, but recovered eventually and stepped back. "Yes. Thanks. Your side-along was fine. I'm just used to being the one in charge. Letting someone else steer is different."

"Indeed," laughed Ignis. "And Tom, I could feel how much you trust me. You let me lead completely. Thank you for that. Well, here we are. We can walk to the camp from here, or…" He trailed off and looked into the woods around them. "Hullo!" he called cheerfully into the dark woods. "Did Lord Woolsey send you?"

Two werewolves, a male and a female, stepped out from behind some trees, their footsteps silent on the dead leaves that carpeted the ground. They had a feral look to them, with long unkempt hair, and wearing dirty rags, but had no visible scars despite the sparseness of their clothing. They were apparently human enough to hold Tom and company at wand point, though, as each held a wand in a long-clawed hand.

Ignis, hands outstretched to show his lack of wand, stepped forward to place himself between the humans and the feral werewolves. Tom no longer begrudged Ignis's muscles, and in fact wished that Ignis were wider. "Thanks for coming to meet us!" said Ignis cheerfully. "I have returned with the humans responsible for distributing Wolfsbane potion, as Lord Woolsey commanded. Please take us to him."

The two feral werewolves shared a glance, then the male said, "Come," gruffly, waving his non-wand hand to indicate the desired direction. "Bring the humans."

"Right," said Ignis, glancing back to give Hermione and Tom an encouraging nod. "This way, please." He led Hermione and Tom through the woods. The feral werewolves followed silently. Tom assumed they had wands trained at their backs, but he didn't look back to check.

They soon entered an encampment of dingy tents. Werewolves stared at them from open tent flaps, or simply the ground where they sat or lay in small groups.

A gang of bare-footed children ran to them, excitedly sniffing the air. "Fresh meat!" exclaimed a little girl, her red curls bouncing as she jumped up and down in excitement.

"These humans are for Lord Woolsey," explained their female guard, disappointing the little girl. "I'll get some fresh meat for you later," she added kindly.

"Promise?" begged the girl.

"I promise," said the guard.

The little girl smiled, baring teeth slightly too long and pointed to be human.

"How come you look like a human?" asked a boy, pointing a long-clawed finger at Ignis.

Ignis stopped walking and cast a nervous glance back at the sentries, who said nothing. He looked back to the boy. "It just takes attention and practice," he assured the boy. "I'm sure you could do it if—"

"You deny the wolf!" accused the male sentry. "You suppress your true nature!"

"Well," said Ignis. "I think I'm the best judge of my true nature, but thank you for sharing your opinion." He and the male sentry had a staring contest until the female got annoyed.

"Walk," she ordered, so Ignis turned around and continued to lead the humans deeper into the encampment. The female spoke to the children to discourage them from following, so the party soon left them behind.

They finally arrived at a sort of barbaric throne room, although it lacked the walls that would have made it a true room; it was more of a clearing in the woods, carpeted with pine needles. Several exceptionally ferocious-looking werewolves were gathered around a large throne, although they backed away as Ignis and company approached. The throne was roughly hewn out of wood, and decorated with human skulls. It was terribly tacky.

Seated on the throne was a monstrously large werewolf. Müller himself, if faced with those muscles, would beg Woolsey to teach him his calisthenics secrets. Then Woolsey would eat him and add Müller's skull to his pile, which would be a terrible end for that Danish gymnast, so it was just as well that Müller wasn't there.

Ignis bowed low and stayed down. Tom imitated him, and cast a sidelong glance to see that Hermione did too. She should have curtsied instead, but this wasn't the time to correct her.

A quiet rustling of pine needles was the only indication that Woolsey had leaped from his throne and landed on all fours in front of them. Tom risked a glance forward to see Woolsey's twenty claws sink into the ground, and wondered how disrespectful it would be to look up. He stayed down.

Woolsey's front feet, or hands, whatever they were, rose out of Tom's field of view. "Rise," said Woolsey in a deep growl. "Wolf, you may speak."

The three of them rose. "Thank you, Lord Woolsey," said Ignis. "I did as you asked, and even better, as I brought both Hermione Granger, the potioneer who introduced Wolfsbane potion to this country, and Tom Riddle, the investor who's funding the potion's production and distribution." A bead of sweat ran down Ignis's temple towards his strained smile, although the shadowed woods were chilly.

"I am honored to meet you, Lord Woolsey," said Tom. He held a hand out to shake. Woolsey looked at it for a little while. Tom took his hand back, counting himself lucky that it was still attached to his wrist.

"We brought you a gift," said Hermione, presenting the bottle with less grace than Tom would have preferred, although perhaps it didn't matter in this setting.

Woolsey looked at the bottle. "You expect me to drink something given to me willingly by humans?" he sneered.

"We'll drink it together if you like," said Tom. "Tokay is known as 'the wine of kings.'"

Hermione was apparently getting tired of holding the bottle in her outstretched hand. "I'll just set it down here," she said, putting it upright on the pine needles. It fell over.

Woolsey looked at Tom as if deciding whether to eat him, or instead spit him into his serviette. He looked to Ignis again. "This is the human who commissioned that book you mentioned?"

"Yes," said Ignis.

Woolsey looked back to Tom. "You!" he accused. "The investor! How do you expect to make money out of this?"

"That's an excellent question," said Tom with enthusiasm. "It's true that werewolves currently lack funds that could pay for even the ingredients of Wolfsbane potion, but that lack isn't their own fault, but the fault of the prejudice against them in wizarding society. Once we overcome that prejudice, wizards will welcome werewolves back into society. Once werewolves have gainful employment, they'll find the price of Wolfsbane potion reasonable, and I'll recoup my investment."

Woolsey looked skeptical.

"I already have a public relations programme underway," Tom assured him, "using a proven formula for manipulating public sentiment. Mark my words, by this time next year, humans will be much more sympathetic to werewolves."

"And what makes you think we want humans' sympathy?" demanded Woolsey.

"All the werewolves we've discussed this with as of yet want to be accepted in human society," said Tom. "I already have eight werewolves in my employ. They all agree with my aim."

Woolsey let out a growl so deep it shook Tom's bones. "True werewolves don't stoop to working for humans! You may have turned a few werewolves into your lapdogs, but—"

"I am no one's lapdog!" interrupted Ignis. "Not this human's, and not yours! Tom never asked me to bow to him. We shook hands as equals."

"If you think you're a human's equal, you're even further gone than I thought," said Woolsey. "Humans are not our equals. They are our prey. We are the hunters and they are the hunted."

"Tell that to the Werewolf Capture Unit," said Hermione.

Woolsey growled at her. "True werewolves have no fear of wizards."

"Yes you do," said Hermione. "You don't dare be seen in a wizarding district looking like this, do you? That means you're afraid, and with good reason. You live in essentially a wildlife preserve. Wizards let you hunt muggles since they don't care about muggles, but the magical world is off-limits. The werewolves who work for us, on the other hand, and our customers, move relatively freely and are accepted in the magical world, and the muggle world too if they want."

Ignis looked bemused at the addition of this last detail, but didn't interrupt.

Hermione continued. "Soon they'll have even more freedom, for once our public relations programme takes effect, they'll no longer have to hide their lycanthropy from wizards. We're offering you and your pack the option of rejoining human society. We're offering freedom and acceptance." When this speech didn't elicit the desired effect, she added, "And money," casting a sidelong glance at Tom.

"Yes, and money," said Tom. "We know that it can be hard to start a new life from nothing, so we'll pay a stipend to feral werewolves who are willing to stop living as ferals, to help them while they're learning to live among humans." In case he wasn't completely clear, he added, "For our convenience, we'd pay this money in one lump sum to you as the leader of this pack, to distribute as you see fit. The money will be delivered by the same werewolves who deliver your Wolsfbane potion, who will drink the potion with your pack to demonstrate its safety. The more members of your pack drink the potion, the more money you'll receive."

"That's an interesting offer. But you really think you can change wizards' minds, so they accept werewolves walking among them? Werewolves will no longer be driven to the wilderness?"

"Yes," said Tom.

Woolsey looked at him contemplatively. "I wonder how many in my pack would accept your offer. Bleddyn!" he called to the female guard, who'd been standing silently all this time. "What do you think of this offer?"

She blinked. "My lord?"

"Tell me honestly now. Would you accept this offer? Would you drown your wolf in Wolfsbane potion and live as a human?"

"I serve my pack, my lord. I serve you. If you say that is what the pack should do, I will do it."

Woolsey waved a clawed hand at her in annoyance. "That's not what I asked. If you were making your own choice, if I told you you were free to stay or go, would you do it?"

"I am loyal to you, my lord."

"Yes, but if you weren't. Hypothetically, would you accept their offer?" He picked up the bottle of Tokay and examined it curiously.

Bleddyn stood there silently for a while. "I can't say, my lord," she finally said. "I know how to live here. I don't remember how to live as a human."

"You could just try it for a month," said Ignis. "See how you like it. See how it feels to not be driven to hunt humans on full moon nights, but just relax. If you don't like it, there's absolutely no obligation to continue, but I will say that everyone who's tried Wolfsbane potion so far has liked it so much, they've all wanted to continue. I've delivered Wolfsbane potion to hundreds of customers, and every one of them has been overjoyed to be free of the worst aspect of our curse."

Bleddyn looked at Ignis, her brow creased.

Ignis smiled back at her, his smile seeming much realer than any of the other smiles he'd used since he got here. It was a pity that there wasn't a Witch Weekly photographer here, for surely that smile would put Ignis in the running for a Most Charming Smile award. Ignis's smiling face was suddenly hit with the bottle of Tokay, which shattered as it hit, propelled by Woolsey. Ignis staggered backwards, then reached for his wand as Woolsey threw a punch at Ignis's bleeding face. This time, Ignis was thrown backwards, landing on the pine needles, on which he slid for some distance before he stopped. He didn't get up, but lay there bleeding.

"Weak," sneered Woolsey. "You see that, Beddyn? That's what living with humans gets you. Weakness."

"Yes my lord." She looked at Tom and Hermione, then back to Woolsey hopefully. "So will there be fresh meat soon? The children have been asking."

Woolsey looked them over. "Distribute the big one as you see fit," he said. "The smaller one is mine." Tom didn't like the fanged smile he gave to Hermione. There was nothing charming about that smile at all.

"Thank you my lord." Bleddyn aimed her smile and wand at Tom.

Hermione clutched Tom's hand with her trembling one. He felt a feather poke his palm. This was redundant, as Tom had his own feather in his sleeve. The question was, which one of them could reach Ignis first? He seemed in no condition to speak a portkey's activation phrase.

"I believe—" started Hermione.

Tom didn't know her plan for extracting Ignis, but Tom had his own, so he twisted free of Hermione, tugged his own feather a little further down his sleeve as he bolted to Ignis—

A slashing pain hit his back and he fell as his legs ceased to support him. He broke his fall with his hands, then tried to use them to scramble forward, his legs a numb deadweight behind him. He mainly managed to propel handfuls of pine needles backwards rather than pull himself forwards. Ignis remained unattainable inches away.

Behind him, Woolsey snarled, and a hubbub of voices exclaimed in surprise.

Tom's scrambling hands finally found purchase on a buried tree root, so he was able to pull himself forward the final few inches. Yes! He grabbed Ignis's limp hand, feather pressed between them, and said "I believe I can fly" as fast as he could clearly enunciate it.

Why did all magical forms of transportation have to be so uncomfortable? Ignis didn't seem to suffer from it, for he lay just as still on the floor of Tom's office as he had on the forest floor, but Tom needed a moment to wait for his office to stop spinning, and then to confirm that yes, as far as he could tell by feeling, his body seemed to end at a point of agony around the middle of his back, although his eyes reported that he'd brought his whole body back with him. There was an awful lot of blood pooling on the floor, and only some of it was from Ignis.

Before Tom got his bearings, Hermione started yelling at him. "Why did you bring back this traitor? You should have left him with his own kind!"

Tom stared up at her. "What?" was all he could manage.

"This bastard led us straight into a trap! We trusted him, and…" she burst into tears.

That would have to wait. "Dobby!"

Pop. "Y— Master!" Dobby rushed to heal him. Tom felt the very odd sensation of his flesh slowly knitting back together as Dobby worked.

"Get me stable," said Tom, "then help Mr. McKinnon. He suffered some bad blows to the head. Get back to me later." The sight of Ignis's auburn hair matted with red blood made Tom fear he was going to be sick, it was such a horrid color combination.

Dobby grudgingly obeyed. Tom lay prone on the floor in his puddle of slowly drying blood and listened to Hermione sob.

"Bleeding in the brain, Master" said Dobby as he stepped back. "Very bad. Dobby fixed it, though. Mr. McKinnon should wake soon." He returned his attention to Tom.

"Thank you, Dobby." Tom admired Dobby's work on Ignis's face, still bloody, but the cuts had been magically healed with no hint of scarring. He hoped Dobby would be as successful with Tom's own wound, but he didn't know which spell had caused it. If it had been Dark magic…

He didn't dare interrupt Dobby as he worked. He just lay on the floor, feeling the sensation of pain return to his legs as the bruises he'd acquired on the lower half of his body when he'd been numb suddenly made their existence known. Tears welled in his eyes, for he was overjoyed to feel anything, even pain. He sat up when asked to drink a small vial of something that tasted vile. Sitting up felt OK.

"Dobby is done," Dobby said proudly.

"Thank you very much, Dobby," said Tom. "Can you tell what spell it was? Was it Dark magic?"

"No, Master. That looked like a simple butchering spell. Easy to fix a neatly severed spine like that."

"Good."

Dobby next turned to Hermione, whose sobs had slowed. "Should Dobby heal Miss Granger?" he asked Tom.

"I don't know what's…" But perhaps he did know what was wrong. "Ask her if she wants any help."

Hermione waved Dobby away when he came close. Dobby retreated and busied himself cleaning blood off the floor, and Tom and Ignis's clothes. He even fixed the cuts and rips in Tom's clothes so they looked like new. Soon there was no sign of any mishap. Dobby retreated to a corner to sit and await his next command.

Tom handed Hermione another handkerchief. "Hermione," he said as gently as he could in the circumstances, "I'm sure that Ignis meant well."

"We could have been killed, or worse—"

"Ignis thought that would go very differently. There's no way he'd willingly lead us into a trap."

Hermione's sobs gradually quieted.

Eventually, Ignis jerked to consciousness. He looked around Tom's office, wide-eyed, then took a deep, shaky breath. "Thanks for bringing me back."

"You'd have done the same for us," said Tom.

"Dicere Verum Aut Mori," said Hermione coldly, her wand aimed at Ignis. The silver hand jumped to grab his throat. "What did you think would happen when you took us to Woolsey?"

"I thought he'd respect you as higher-ranking than me," Ignis answered, speaking fast and eyeing the silver hand in fear. "He's very concerned with rank, with pack hierarchy." He grabbed the silver hand with his flesh one and pulled to no avail. "I had no idea he was planning to kill you. I shouldn't have led you there. He doesn't respect any humans. I was so stupid; my success with the other werewolves made me overconfident. Hermione, what—"

"Obliviate," she said, and Ignis lost consciousness once more.

Hermione, wand still in hand, turned to Tom.

Tom arranged Ignis's limp arms back at his sides. The silver hand felt just like the flesh one. "So he doesn't notice anything amiss when he comes to," he explained to Hermione.

"Thanks." Hermione sheathed her wand and started crying anew.

Eventually, Ignis jerked to consciousness. He looked around Tom's office, wide eyed, then took a deep, shaky breath. "Thanks for bringing me back."

"You'd have done the same for us," said Tom, feeling a shiver of déjà vu.

Ignis felt his face gingerly.

"Dobby healed you," said Tom. "He did a good job. No scarring."

"Good thing you have an elf," said Ignis. "Thank you, Tom." He closed his eyes and pressed his palms to them. "Well, that went well," he snarked. "How did you get me out?"

"I grabbed your hand with one of Hermione's portkeys. Would you like me to help you up into a chair?"

"I think I deserve a harder floor than this, actually," said Ignis. "Wait, where's Hermione?" he asked in a sudden panic, uncovering his eyes.

Tom moved aside so Ignis could see her crying in the wingback chair by the fire.

"Hermione!" Ignis staggered to his feet and rushed to her. "Don't cry. I'm all right."

Hermione flung herself at Ignis in one of her crashing peacock hugs and sobbed on his shoulder.

Ignis patted her back awkwardly. "It's all right," he soothed. "You were really worried about me, weren't you? But I'm all right. We're all right."

"I'm sorry," sobbed Hermione.

Ignis let out a broken laugh. "You're sorry?!" He held Hermione's arm's length. "I'm the fool who brought us there. This mess was completely my fault. If I'd known his decorating theme involved human skulls, I wouldn't have accepted his invitation."

"Moving forward," said Tom, "It's safe to say that we can write Woolsey's pack off as uninterested. Their loss. Your team should devote its efforts to finding different packs."

Ignis looked a bit nervous about that.

"Whenever you're ready," Tom continued. "We'll restock your supplies so you can set off again."

"Right," said Ignis. "Of course. Right. I'll tell the rest of the team."

But for now, Ignis took the rest of the day off. Hermione and Tom watched him walk down the hill to his house.

Then Hermione turned to Tom. "We should get some peacocks," she said.

Tom blinked at her.

"Exposure therapy is an effective treatment for phobias," she explained. "I can't go through life having a panic attack whenever I hear a peacock scream."

"Peacocks are noisy," tried Tom. "And untidy. And would they get eaten by Athena? Or by the post owls that deliver Mark's mail?"

"Peacocks make better pets than feral werewolves," said Hermione. "I…" she couldn't talk anymore.

"Let's go to the garden," suggested Tom, so they did, strolling among the flowers in silence for a while.

"Thank you," Hermione said when she was able to talk. "For saving Ignis. I panicked. I nearly killed him."

"Woolsey nearly killed him," corrected Tom.

"Which should have been a clue that they weren't working together!" shouted Hermione. "If I'd been thinking straight, I'd have realized, but all I saw was that Ignis had led us into a trap, and Woolsey was looking at me like…"

Tom offered a handkerchief, but she had her own.

"Why are you here?" she choked out between sobs. "With me? When I'm a mess. Don't you have some sort of work to do, some accounting—"

"You shouldn't cry alone," said Tom. "It's much better for one's mental health to cry on someone's shoulder." He extended his arms to make it clear that his shoulders were available.

Hermione's already shaky breath was further shaken by a laugh and she accepted his offer, stepping into his arms. Actually, his shoulders were too high for her head to reach without him doing some sort of squatting isometric leg exercise, which he didn't have the energy for at the moment, but she could rest her head on his chest, which worked as well. He wrapped his arms around her and stabilized her as she shook with sobs.

Finally she stopped shaking and stepped back from him. "I got bogeys on your robes," she apologized.

"They've suffered worse indignities," said Tom. "Today, even."

Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at his chest, so now it was Tom's turn to feel a jolt of panic, which he quashed as best he could, for of course all she did was Scourgify his robes.

Hermione sat on a bench, so Tom sat beside her. "Thank you," she said. "It felt wrong, Ignis trying to comfort me, when I'd just nearly…"

"It's completely normal to make mistakes in the heat of the moment," said Tom. "All three of us were at fault, and all three of us got out alive, with more information that we had going in, so I count the outing as a success."

Hermione looked at him skeptically, then out at the flowers again. "So. New information we gained: Woolsey does not want his pack to take Wolfsbane. They have a casual disregard for human life. Also I'd say it's likely that they're responsible for a lot of new infections, with an attitude like that."

"That seems like a safe assumption," Tom agreed.

"Also," continued Hermione, "I'm still bloody useless when I'm reminded of Malfoy Manor."

That was not a detail Tom had expected. He looked at Hermione fidgeting with a seam of her robes.

Hermione, noting his quizzical look, explained, "There was a werewolf at Malfoy Manor when I was there. Before. Not one like Ignis. One like Woolsey."

Laughter wasn't the appropriate response to a tale of what was clearly a horrifying event, so Tom stifled his as quickly as he could. "Sorry. I'm just having trouble imagining the Malfoy I know inviting someone like—"

"They didn't invite him, exactly," Hermione explained. "And they didn't seem happy he was there. They were just all working for the Dark Lord, so they had to tolerate him being there."

Tom waited, but it seemed that no more details were forthcoming. "Do you want to talk—"

"No."

Tom enjoyed the view of summer flowers for a bit. "You're remarkably good at escaping from deadly situations," he observed.

"My friends got me out that time," she corrected. "I was unconscious. Like Ignis, today, but my friends would never have left me behind. They even managed to grab a few wands on their way out. They even got Malfoy's wand!" She smiled at the memory. "They said he just dropped it, so it was easy. Didn't work for any of us worth a damn, but it was nice to deprive him of it anyway."

Tom smiled with her. "I know the feeling." He drew his wand from his sleeve to admire it. He had Dobby maintain it with the finest wand-polish money could buy, so it gleamed in the sunlight.

Hermione's lips twitched in amusement, watching him.

Tom sheathed his wand. "We'll change things, Hermione," he promised. "For everything the magical world has done to us, we'll pay them back a thousandfold. It will be unrecognizable once we're through with it."

He saw his mother, with Tommy on her hip in a featherlight sling, hurrying along a garden path towards them. "Hermione dear," she said when she was in hailing distance. "Could you look after Tommy for a bit?" She paused. "Oh. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, it's fine," said Hermione.

"Well," said Tom's mother. She resumed as if she believed Hermione, which was an impressive performance. "I couldn't get Tommy to stop pulling books off the shelves in the study, so I was hoping—"

"They should be up out of his reach," said Hermione.

"That's the thing, they are out of his reach, but he pulls them down with magic."

Tommy laughed. "Book!" he said proudly. "Yummy book!"

"Oh," said Hermione. She picked Tommy up out of the sling. "How about we play in the garden for a bit, Tommy. It's a beautiful day."

Tommy nuzzled her. "Mama!" he said happily. "Mama milk!"

Hermione sat back down on the bench with Tommy on her lap and unlaced the bodice of her robes. She cradled Tommy's dark head in her arm and he latched on, playfully kicking his chubby legs. Periwinkle blue really was Hermione's color. If Tom didn't know better, he'd think she was beautiful.