"They could attack at any time," Hermione continued, "We need to prepare immediately. Fortunately we already have fighters on their way."
"Fighters?" repeated Ignis.
"The party guests." Her gaze snapped to Eric, who was by the tea tray. "Eric, you and I will set traps, I outside the wards around Ignis's house, you inside. Briar and Bramble will disguise the traps with illusions."
Eric swallowed his latest mouthful of biscuit. "Right."
"We'll be there in a bit," came Bramble's voice through the mirror. "Give us a few minutes to get ready."
"Thank you," said Tom to the mirror, but Bramble's image had disappeared already. Tom closed the mirror and put it back in his pocket.
"Who else will be useful?" Hermione asked Ignis.
"Daisy and I have been practicing dueling," he mulled. "She's good. Harrier won't want to be left out, I'm sure. Brownwing might be willing. Pennyroyal, I don't know."
"And all the customers," said Hermione. "At least some of them must want to defend you and the dispensary. How many can you rally out of that group?"
"Oh," realized Ignis, looking more hopeful than before. "A lot, actually. Many of them have defense skills. There are bounty hunters, exterminators, former Aurors… This could be a very effective team. We might actually stand a chance against a pack of vicious werewolves."
"Vicious werewolves?" repeated Miss Kettleburn. "Why is everyone talking about werewolves? The people who attacked my book signing said that werewolves should all be killed. They couldn't possibly be…" She cast a skeptical glance at Ignis. "What makes you so sure they were werewolves? Except at the full moon, it's very hard to tell, unless you go by scars and such, and there's no way to be certain what kind of Dark magic those are from. At least, that's what those manuscripts said." She redirected her skeptical gaze to Tom. "What did you have me write? What were those manuscripts you gave me?!"
"They were all real writings by werewolves!" exclaimed Ignis angrily. "I collected them myself!"
"But the werewolf behavior described in those manuscripts was very different from what we saw today," argued Miss Kettleburn. "They couldn't have been werewolves. I don't know what makes you think you're so good at identifying werewolves, young man. At least according to those manuscripts, only werewolves can unerringly identify their fellow…" She trailed off as Ignis bolted from the room.
Hermione ran after him.
"Be that as it may," said Tom, "My friend just gave his business card to the people who attacked your book signing, then obviously worked hard to thwart their attack, so we must prepare for the possibility that he will be their next target. Now is not the time to discuss the sources of those manuscripts. Unless you have any particular talent for defense, I respectfully suggest you get out of the way. Our Floo is available should you wish to go home."
Miss Kettleburn looked worried.
"Assuming you feel that your home is safe," added Tom.
"Well. I don't know about it being safe from, from, people like that."
"Then you are welcome to stay here for now. Fiona, prepare the lilac room for Miss Kettleburn to stay overnight. It has a good writing desk and comfortable desk chair. Anything else?" he asked Miss Kettleburn.
"Oh. Um, no, just a bed would be fine, thank you."
Tom looked at Fiona. "Now," he specified.
"Yes Mr. Riddle." Fiona left.
"Let me introduce you to my parents," said Tom. "This way please."
They left Dobby cleaning blood off the floor and Eric eating biscuits.
Miss Kettleburn followed Tom through the halls. "Let's… Even if the attackers were werewolves, could we please not publicize that fact? It's just, that would contradict everything I wrote about werewolves being innocent victims."
"I'm in complete agreement," said Tom.
"And if everyone thinks they're just humans prejudiced against werewolves, that will be really good publicity for my book."
"I like the way you think, Miss Kettleburn."
Tom assumed his mother was busy with preparations for the party. He found her in the kitchen, supervising the cook. "Mother, a word please."
She joined him and Miss Kettleburn in the hall. "Yes?"
"I'm afraid this evening's party plans have changed."
"Another guest?" his mother asked, eying Miss Kettleburn. "Well I suppose—"
"The change is more drastic than that," said Tom. "First I must do introductions. Mother, this is Miss Lerina Kettleburn, the author. Miss Kettleburn, my mother, Mary Riddle."
"I'm delighted to meet you, Miss Kettleburn," said Tom's mother. "I very much enjoyed reading Lou Garou in Witch Weekly. We're honored to have you at our party."
"Thank you. Well."
"There won't be a dinner party tonight," said Tom. "Instead, we'll defend Ignis's home from an anticipated attack." Tom explained the afternoon's events.
His mother nodded. "How can I help?"
"I think Ignis has enough help, actually. Eric and Hermione will set traps, Briar and Bramble will conceal them, and an unknown but probably large number of fighters will defend him in person."
"They will need sandwiches," said Tom's mother. "I'll see what we can do about making tonight's dinner more convenient to eat." She headed back into the kitchen. "Hester, there's a change in plans."
Tom found his father in his office, listening to the Wizarding Wireless.
"Tom!" exclaimed his father. "I just heard there was an attack on the bookshop—"
"There was," said Tom. "I got Miss Kettleburn out alive, as you see."
"Perhaps you should tell the Aurors," said his father. "She's officially a missing person."
"Ah," said Tom. "Would you like to make a Floo-call, Miss Kettleburn?"
"I probably should."
Tom's office was empty when they got back. The floor was clean of blood and portkeys, and the tea tray was gone.
"Floo powder's there," said Tom, pointing out the Art Deco uranium glass bowl on the mantelpiece. (The Riddles had taken Hermione's warning to heart and purged all leaded glassware from the house.)
Miss Kettleburn threw a pinch of powder in the fire. "Auror Office," she called, and stuck her head in the green flames. "Good afternoon. Well, I mean, anyway, I just thought I'd let you know I'm all right. I heard you were looking for me? Oh, sorry. Lerina Kettleburn. Yes, the author. No, I got out of Flourish and Blotts fine. No, a friend helped me out before the wards were broken. He, I don't know, what did you do exactly?" She turned her head to look at Tom.
"Emergency portkey," he explained.
"He made a portkey out of an old quill," she explained. "Yes, right then, it was very clever of him. License?" she looked at Tom questioningly, observed the shake of his head, then faced back into the fire. "Of course he has a license to make portkeys. He made one, didn't he? I don't see why you need to know his name. I'm not going to say it through the Floo like this; I don't know who might be listening. Anyway, the point is, I'm safe, so you don't need to worry about me. No thank you. I'm fine here. You need to get to work catching those horrible people who attacked my book signing. Well, good. I'll let you get back to it then. Goodbye." She pulled her head from the fire, which turned orange. "What annoying people, asking if you have a license to make portkeys. That's hardly the point, is it?"
"I agree," said Tom. "Thank you."
"They offered to keep me in protective custody," she added. "I could do that I suppose, but…"
"Not to boast, but if I may say so, the Riddle House's hospitality should be more comfortable than whatever the Auror Office has to offer," said Tom.
"Yes, I assumed as much," said Miss Kettleburn. "Thank you very much, Mr. Riddle."
Tom led Miss Kettleburn back to his father's office to complete their interrupted introduction. "My father, Squire Thomas Riddle. The author, Miss Lerina Kettleburn."
His father said, "I'm honored you chose to visit us," stood to kiss her hand, and turned off the wireless. "It was growing tiresome," he explained. "Every interview sounded the same, describing an attack by anti-werewolf protestors. You've made some enemies, Miss Kettleburn."
She whimpered.
"You've also made many loyal friends," said Tom. He then filled his father in on the details that the wireless may have left out of the story.
"Interesting," said his father. "So you think they'll attack Ignis next rather than us?"
Miss Kettleburn whimpered again.
"We'll discuss that later," said Tom. He turned to Miss Kettleburn. "Let's see if your room is ready."
Her room was cozy with a blazing fire in the fireplace and a writing desk decorated with a bouquet of lavender chrysanthemums. Tom searched his wallet and deposited a stack of parchment, some fresh quills, and a bottle of ink on the desk. "I thought you might want to pass the time by writing," he explained. "You'll want to gather your thoughts about this for whatever interviews you plan to give to the press. Those of us who aren't busy defending my friend this evening will gather in the drawing room before dinner at six. Ask Fiona, the maid, to show you the way. You may ring for her with that bell there."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Riddle."
"Now if you'll excuse me, I must attend to some other business." Tom left and knocked at the door of Mark's room.
"Come in!" called Mark.
Tom entered and found Mark putting the finishing touches on his and Tommy's costume.
"Papa!" exclaimed Tommy.
Tom didn't feel up to exercising his Occlumency, so he avoided Tommy's eyes, looking at the children's costumes instead. Tom was no expert in the fashions of Ancient Rome, but their togas looked stylish to him. "Good afternoon boys. Ready to go?"
Mark hissed at Tommy. Tommy hissed back angrily.
"What did he say?" asked Tom.
"He said no, and some other stuff, I'm not sure about all of it. But the gist is that he wants to bring his broom, and I keep telling him he has to leave it home." He hissed at Tommy some more.
Tommy hissed back more happily.
"And what was that about?" Tom asked.
"I reminded him that he's going to get lots of sweets if he can pretend to be a muggle for a bit. And also, Tommy, remember to tell me if you need a wee wee."
Tommy hissed agreeably.
Mark hissed back. At Tom's quizzical look, Mark explained, "I just said I'd remind him, too, just in case. Now see our costume! Tommy, climb onto my back here…" Once Tommy was secure, Mark arranged his toga to cover most of Tommy, and pulled up a sort of hood to cover most of their heads, with only their faces showing, so they became one two-faced ancient Roman, turning to display both faces for Tom's admiration. "What do you think?"
"That is the best Janus costume I've ever seen," said Tom. "Which of you is war and which is peace?"
"We haven't worked that out yet." Mark looked Tom over and smiled. "The muggles will like your costume too."
"Of course."
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in!" said Mark.
Tom's mother entered. "Good, you're still here. Oh my! What a marvelous costume!"
"Thanks!" said Mark, turning around proudly. "We wouldn't have left without showing you."
"There's been a change in plans," said Tom's mother. "I will accompany you tonight."
Mark looked surprised. "But… your dinner party. You said you'd rather the children be out of the way so you're free to host."
"As I said, there's a change in plans," said Tom's mother. "The dinner party is canceled. And guising sounds fun. I haven't gone in years. If I can't throw a dinner party, I'll enjoy the next best thing. I don't want the sweets, just the experience."
"But…" Mark was too polite to say what was on his mind.
"I know you were looking forward to going out with just your friends," Tom's mother apologized. "I promise I'll stay out of your way. I'm sorry, I don't feel right letting my grandson out of my sight tonight. Anyway, this works to your advantage. If Tommy gets tired before you, I'll just tell your muggle friends I'm taking him to a friend's house, and then I'll apparate him home and you can continue with your friends. Stay out as late as you like. Just telephone whenever you're ready for a lift home. Don't worry about keeping the adults up waiting for you. We'll be up late anyway."
"Oh. All right," said Mark. "Will you wear a costume?"
"Of course," said Tom's mother. "I'll be a witch."
Mark laughed.
"I have to choose the right hat and cloak," she continued. "I'll meet you at the car in a few minutes."
And so, Tom drove his mother, Tommy, and Mark to Mark's friend Edmund's house. As Tom helped Tommy out of the car, he took care to place all his concern about what might happen tonight behind a wall of his love for Tommy before he met Tommy's uncanny gaze. "I love you, Tommy," he said to drive the point home. Whatever happened tonight, Tommy would know his father had loved him.
"Wuvsss papa," hissed Tommy happily. He planted a slobbery kiss on Tom's neck.
Tom gave Tommy a longer hug than necessary, feeling the warmth of his breath against the chill of October. Tommy eventually fussed to be put down. "Sssweets!" he demanded. "Mock sssaysss sssweetsss!"
"Mark is right," said Tom, letting Tommy down.
Tommy bounced in excitement.
Edmund seemed skeptical about bringing a grandmother along, but was reassured by her costume, which proved that she was fully in the Halloween spirit.
"I'm just here to take Tommy off your hands if he gets fussy," she assured Edmund.
"Oh. All right," said Edmund. "Your witch costume is the berries," he said approvingly. "And your vampire costume is the snake's hips, Mr. Riddle," he added. "Even better than last year's."
"Thank you. Your crumple-horned snorkack costume looks very Australian."
Edmund gloated at Mark. "I told you people would get it!"
Before leaving, Tom took his mother aside to speak to her privately. "You have a portkey?"
"Yes, that too, and of course Mark always carries his, although I suspect we'll be safer hidden out here than you will be in such a prominent house. Won't you come guising with us? You're already in costume."
Tom shook his head. "My friends expect me to join the defense."
"But what use will you be against—"
"We're not as helpless as they think we are."
His mother took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "True. Thank you for reminding me."
"Thank you for keeping Tommy and Mark safe. Enjoy guising." And that, after a hug with his mother, and another hug with a giggling, two-faced Roman god, was that.
Tom drove home carefully along the dark roads, watching carefully for guisers and any other denizens of the night.
When Tom returned home, he found the parlor hosting not a party, but a war council.
Pennyroyal was leaving as Tom arrived. "Good luck to you all," she said. "Oh, good evening Tom. Sorry I won't be joining you, but I'm useless at defense. I'm just going to get the word out to everyone, recruit some more competent fighters."
"That's very helpful, thank you," said Tom.
"You're staying?"
"Of course."
"Good luck." Pennyroyal left.
Daisy, Harrier, Briar, Bramble, and Brownwing had arrived, joining Eric and Ignis as the werewolf contingent. Brownwing was browsing on nuts and dried fruits, the few snacks that had been set out before the change in plans.
Hermione was off to the side, repairing her broom, but paused when Tom walked in. "Portkey for you, Tom," she said, handing him a black feather. Then she got back to work on her broom.
Tom's father sat in a throne-like armchair as if he were in charge. "Miss Prewett telephoned when you were out," he told Tom before he had a chance to sit down. "She wants to talk with you."
"Oh good. Please fill me in later." Tom sprinted to his office, lifted the telephone receiver off the switch hook, and had the operator connect him to Shell Cottage.
Tessie answered on the first ring. "Hello?"
"Hello Tessie. How are you?"
"Oh Tom, it's good to hear your voice! I was so worried when I didn't see you outside. Your father said you were fine, but… What happened? How did you escape?"
"I left as soon as I could. Sorry I didn't stick around to see how others fared, but I really wanted to get home before any photographers documented my disheveled state, so I had Dobby apparate me. I felt pretty useless until Dobby healed my wand hand. But how are you and yours?"
"Acantha and I got Perdita up out of the smoke. Oh Tom, her face… But we healed her and she's all right now. Then I found my mother, and she'd cast a left-handed smoke shifter charm! So everyone around her was safe from the smoke, and we huddled in the little smoke-free area until it was over."
"Oh good."
"I'm so sorry, Tom!"
"For what?"
"I'm the one who invited you, and—"
Tom was too surprised to suppress his laughter in time, but he stifled it quickly. "You have nothing to apologize for unless you were one of the witches casting that smoke spell."
Tessie let out a little laugh. "Tom, I want to see you, just to assure myself that you're all right. Want to Floo over? Or I could go there."
"As much as I'd like to see you, I'm very sorry, but we're busy here. Did you notice how Hermione and Ignis made a spectacle of themselves fighting the attackers?"
"Hermione was brilliant, flying overhead like that! I didn't notice Ignis, but the wall of smoke around us was pretty high."
"Well, they both made themselves so prominent, we're concerned that the attackers may have taken their actions personally."
"Are they all right?" asked Tessie, worried.
"They're fine now. Hermione was pretty badly hurt; it looked like some curse, not a bite from the smoke-wolves like we were getting. And I think they shot her down from her broom. She's repairing it now."
"She's so brave," admired Tessie.
"And unfortunately bold," added Tom. "That's why we're all busy here making sure this house, and Ignis's, have the best possible wards. We're not having quite the Halloween we'd planned."
"Oh Tom! Do you need any help?"
"We can handle it. I'd feel best knowing you were safely at home."
"All right."
A terrible thought occurred to him. "And please don't get any ideas about Gryffindor heroics. I don't want any uninvited guests showing up and startling us."
"Oh! Of course. You're certainly wizard enough not to need any help."
"Thank you. I'll talk to you later. Bye."
"Goodbye."
Tom hung the receiver back on the switch hook. Next he threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fire. "Malfoy Manor," he called.
An elf answered. "What does Mr. Riddle want?" she asked.
"I want to know if Mr. Malfoy is all right. Is he at home?"
"Dot will check." She popped away, leaving Tom to peer at the Malfoy drawing room through the flames. She reappeared eventually. "Master is not at home if Mr. Riddle is calling to invite him to any more entertainments," she recited.
"You can assure Mr. Malfoy that I am not calling to invite him to any entertainments," said Tom. "I merely want to check if he survived the last one."
The elf nodded and popped away again.
Serpens eventually ambled into the drawing room. "Bold of you to show your face in my house."
"I'm not asking to step through," said Tom. "But I owe you an apology, and I pay my debts."
"You owe an apology to Balthazar as well."
"No, that one's completely your responsibility. I'm not the one who invited him."
Serpens laughed. "I suppose you're right. Invitees can't really blame inviters for this disaster. It's not like we had anything to do with it. I accept your apology anyway and hope that Balthazar extends the same grace to me. You're sufficiently forgiven that I won't make you keep your head in the Floo any longer. Want to step through?"
"Thank you, but I don't have much time. I just wanted to check that you and Mr. Prewett are all right."
"Perfectly. An elf is a useful thing, as you may know. We were surprised not to see you safely aloft like us."
"I didn't mean to seem unappreciative of your generous gift, but I had other uses for Dobby, and for my own time. I had several friends there, so I had to look after them."
"Ah yes. Is your witch all right?"
"Hermione was pretty badly injured, but she's healed now."
"I meant your other witch, the Prewett. I didn't realize you have a collection."
"Oh! Tessie's fine. Sorry, you see Hermione's father entrusted her to my family, making us responsible for her safety, so when you said 'your witch'—"
Serpens waved this excuse aside. "You'd think a seer would have known to avoid this."
"Divination isn't—"
"I know. I'm in no position to complain about divination of course."
"And Tessie isn't 'my witch,' whatever it looked like. We're friends."
Serpens nodded. "Wise. Anyway, who was that wizard your seer was making such a show with near the lectern? They seemed like quite a team of skilled duelists. I've been wondering what happened to them since they both vanished under the smoke."
"He's our closest neighbor here in Little Hangleton. And yes, he and Hermione were making quite a spectacle of themselves, which is why I don't have much time to chat. I have to get back to improving the security around this house, and his. We're concerned the attackers may have taken their actions personally."
"Good point. Well, don't let me keep you. Good luck."
"Thank you. Goodbye. And happy Halloween."
"Happy Halloween, if you can manage it."
Tom pulled his head from the fire. Not wanting to impose on Dobby, who had more than earned his pay today, he cleaned up the Floo-ash on his own.
When he returned to the parlor, everyone was gone. He drew his mirror from his pocket, opened it, fixed his hair, and called "Hermione."
The mirror showed a view of the darkening sky, no Hermione, but her voice came through clearly. "Tom. What do you need?"
"Information. What's the plan? Where are you?"
"I'm flying above, under the invisibility cloak. I've disillusioned the broom. I'll report to Ignis if I see anyone. I won't be able to tell friend from foe, but at least I can tell him if someone's coming. I taught him how to test people to make sure they're not impostors. I suspect that the enemy will focus on attacking Ignis, but there's a chance they'll attack the Riddle House. The wards I installed will alert me, but mirror-call me if you notice anything out of the ordinary. I have Dobby on guard duty there, too."
"Thank you. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you have plans for dinner?"
Hermione laughed. "Why, you want a decoration on your arm as you strut into some trendy new restaurant? Sorry, I have other plans for this evening."
"No! It's just… You were badly injured a short time ago, and now you're up in the cold wind on a broom. If you're not going to look after yourself, someone has to."
"Your mum gave me some sandwiches," Hermione assured him. Tom could hear her smile in her voice.
"Have you taken a feather-falling potion, just in case you get shot down again?"
"Yes."
"You're warm enough?"
"I'm wearing the thick yeti-fur cloak you bought me. It's very cozy."
"Good. The brown one?"
"Yes."
"You aren't still wearing blue shoes, are you? Those colors don't go together at all."
"I'm under a bloody invisibility cloak, Tom!"
"But—"
"Go organize your ties or something. I have important stuff to do." The mirror showed nothing but a view of Tom's face again, so he closed it. How insulting. His ties were already perfectly organized.
He had a few minutes before it would be time to gather in the drawing room before dinner. Tom took a slow walk around the outside of the house. His eyes couldn't tell him much in the dark, but his ears reported nothing out of the ordinary, just wind rustling the trees. He looked up at the cloudy, starless sky, imagining he could see Hermione, and felt safer.
He spun to face the sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel path, drew his wand, and found that it was aimed at his father.
"What was your worst transfiguration accident?" his father demanded.
"I beg your pardon?" Tom asked.
"Hermione said we have to verify people's identities. We can't trust that anyone is who they claim to be, so we need to ask questions only they would know."
"I tried to transfigure you into a boar," said Tom, "but I only got halfway, resulting in your current unfortunate condition. Again, I apologize for my irreversible mistake. In my defense, I was only twelve at the time."
His father laughed. "Correct. Now ask me something only I would know."
"No need," said Tom, sheathing his wand. "You're uniquely annoying."
"You're too serious."
Tell that to Hermione. "All right. How did you get rid of the curly tail?"
"I didn't. Your mother finds it cute."
"This is why I didn't want to ask you any questions."
His father chortled. "Let's go in for dinner."
They did, hanging up their cloaks and heading to the drawing room.
Tom didn't know how close he wanted to sit to the fire, as he felt both chilled and in need of a shower as if he'd been exercising.
He had little time to sit anyway, for Fiona soon entered and announced, "Dinner is served."
Tom and his father looked at each other. "I'll fetch Miss Kettleburn," said Tom. He hurried to her room and knocked at the door.
"Come in."
Tom opened the door. "Dinner is ready. Will you join us?"
"Oh! I suppose, yes, I probably should. Thank you." She set her quill down and corked the ink bottle. "Sorry, I lost track of time. I got my initial impressions down, at least."
"Good. This way please." Tom led her to the drawing room, where his father waited.
"I'm glad you decided to join us, Miss Kettleburn," said Tom's father. "Although it's just the three of us, we'll eat in the larger dining room, as our servants already set the table there for our planned party." Tom's father offered his arm to escort Miss Kettleburn.
"Thank you very much for your hospitality," said Miss Kettleburn. "And your company. I feel quite safe with two strong wizards guarding me."
"We're honored to have you, Miss Kettleburn," said Tom's father. He drew a chair at the right of the head of the table for Miss Kettleburn. Tom sat at the left, and his father sat at the head.
Hester had done well considering the change in plans, and could not be blamed for Tom's lack of appetite.
Tom felt his mirror vibrate so he drew it from his pocket and opened it to see nothing but dark sky. "Yes?"
"Two humans headed your way," Hermione reported. "I saw them walk up the hill and had Ignis check that they're not werewolves as they went past his house."
"Oh good," said Tom's father.
"There's still time for me to block the road," said Hermione.
Tom's father snatched Tom's mirror out of his hand to address Hermione directly. "We already discussed this. The Riddles have always handed out sweets to guisers, and we're not stopping now."
Hermione sighed. "Suit yourself."
"I will." Tom's father closed the mirror and handed it back to Tom, who pocketed it. "We don't get many guisers here, but the few we get are entertaining," he explained to Miss Kettleburn.
"Guisers?" repeated Miss Kettleburn in confusion. "Here?"
"They think this is a muggle house," Tom explained.
"What? But how could they? What witch or wizard hasn't heard of the Riddles of Little Hangleton?"
"These guisers are muggles," explained Tom. "They think we're muggles as well. Muggles have adopted the wizarding custom of gathering tribute from muggles."
Miss Kettleburn needed some time to process that. "Muggle guisers?" she eventually said.
"You have children showing up at muggle houses in outlandish garb, demanding and getting sweets. Of course muggle children see that and want to do it too."
Miss Kettleburn was shocked. "But, but, guising is only for witches and wizards!"
"I wouldn't dream of denying muggles this fun," said Tom's father. "Poor things, they have so little. Let them enjoy pretending to be witches and wizards one night a year."
Miss Kettleburn seemed troubled. She focused her attention on the food. She was poking cautiously at her tomato aspic when the doorbell rang. A blob of aspic leaped off her spoon and lay quivering on her plate.
"Come see their costumes," said Tom's father as he stood and offered a hand to Miss Kettleburn. "They're always entertaining."
"All right," said Miss Kettleburn.
The three of them headed to the door. Tom picked up the basket of sweets and opened the door to see two children illuminated by the flickering light of their neep lanterns. The girl wore a pointed black paper hat and a green mask with a long warty nose, and the boy was dressed as some sort of monster, his shaggy fur formed of cut grey paper. They each took a deep breath and belted:
"Good people, pay heed to our warning
Life is not as secure as it seems
And if you wake up dead in the morning
You're forgotten as quickly as dreams.
Some are drunk on their wealth and their power
But regardless of fortune or birth
Death approaches by year and by hour
'Till we're all equals under the earth.
In the limited time you're allotted
And your even more limited health
Hark! The reaper of souls has been spotted
So it's time to distribute your wealth.
Now make sure your affairs are in order
'Tis the time for to give, not to save
For your gold cannot cross this last border
And you can't take your sweets to the grave."
At this last line, both children held out their buckets, already partially filled with sweets, ready to receive more.
Tom laughed and applauded. "Wonderful!"
"Thank you for the song," said Miss Kettleburn, also applauding. "I've never heard a young witch and wizard sing so beautifully."
"You've earned your sweets this year," said Tom's father.
Tom stuffed chocolates into their buckets. "Happy Halloween!"
"Thank you," said the children, inspecting their loot. "Ooh, big Cadbury—
A bang assaulted their eardrums. "Was that… thunder?" the boy asked skeptically, looking up at the sky, although the sound seemed to have come from down the hill rather than the heavens.
"Didn't sound like thunder," said the girl. She pointed in the direction of Ignis's house, not that it was visible through the trees. "Does someone live there?"
"Yes," said Tom.
"In the old Gaunt shack?" asked the boy.
"No," said Tom. "We demolished that and built a new house for a new tenant. He appreciates this location's privacy, and is not to be disturbed, even by guisers. He came to Little Hangleton for peace and quiet."
"Then why is he setting off fireworks?" asked the girl.
That was a good question. Flashes of light could be dimly seen through the trees.
"I don't think that's fireworks," said the boy. "Fireworks go up in the sky. Those lights are mostly low. Maybe it's just fire."
"That one was green, though," argued the girl. "And fire doesn't bang like that. That sounds like explosions. And… screaming? Let's go see!"
"If my tenant is inexpertly setting off fireworks, I advise staying away from the place," said Tom. "I'll have to have a word with him about subjecting my property to such abuse." A particularly loud bang made them all jump. "Once he's used up his current supply," he added. "Rather than walk back down the hill right now, would you two like to come in and warm up a bit?"
"A capital idea," said Tom's father with enthusiasm.
"Yes!" said the girl, rushing forward.
"No!" said the boy, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. "Thank you very much for the invitation, Mr. Riddle, but we don't want to impose."
"You're no imposition at all," Tom assured them. "We'd planned to host a Halloween party tonight, but due to unforeseen circumstances, most of our guests will be late, if they arrive at all. This leaves us with more party food than we know what to do with, so please, come in and help yourselves."
"We couldn't possibly," insisted the boy, not loosening his grip on the girl's arm.
"Yes we could," insisted the girl, trying to wrestle her arm free.
"I'm sure Mr. Riddle's invitation is sincere," Miss Kettleburn assured the children. "The table here is set for twelve, yet I'm the only guest who was able to come, so—"
"Twelve?" repeated the boy. He looked at the girl triumphantly. "That settles it then. We can't sit at a table set for twelve. Pretty soon some real guests will show up, and then where will we be? Sitting at a table of thirteen, that's where."
The girl sighed and stopped struggling, realizing she'd lost the argument.
"That's a silly old superstition," said Miss Kettleburn.
"Can't risk it," said the boy. "Thank you very much for the sweets, Mr. Riddle. And happy Halloween." The children left.
"We didn't have to sit at the table," the girl whinged as she walked away. "That might have been our only chance to see the inside of the Riddle House!"
"I promised mum I'd bring you back safe," the boy replied. "It's not just the table. Why was there blood on his shoes?"
"That's just part of his costume, stupid!" the girl replied in annoyance. "That wasn't real blood. Honestly, can't you get into the Halloween spirit?"
"Just the sweets part."
"Well at least now we can get closer to the fireworks," said the girl.
"No," said the boy. "We'll cut across the field and go the other way. You don't want to get too close to some idiot setting off fireworks. He'll probably blow off his own hand. Better him than us."
"You…"
They got too far away for Tom to eavesdrop anymore. He closed the door and took a brief despairing glance at his shoes. He couldn't divert Dobby from guard duty to clean them, and besides, he shouldn't tamper with the excellent vampire costume that the muggles had already admired. He'd have to give Mark a lift from the same muggle house later.
"Well, that was a delightful little visit!" said Miss Kettleburn. "What talented young singers! I've truly never heard a witch and wizard sing so beautifully."
"Lacking magic, they develop other talents," Tom's father explained.
"Maybe I should write a book about muggles, after the house elf one." She moved a curtain to try to peer out a window, but the brightness of the electric lights turned the windows to mirrors, revealing nothing outside. Tom turned off the electrolier.
Miss Kettleburn yelped.
Tom flicked the switch back on. "What's the problem?"
"Why did it suddenly get dark?!"
"I just flipped the light switch off."
"The what?!" cried Miss Kettleburn.
"This. It controls the electric light. Look." He demonstrated a few times. "Like the one in your room."
"Oh."
"Perhaps you're not quite ready to write a book about muggles," said Tom's father. "Let's finish dinner."
Miss Kettleburn let go of the curtain and headed back to the dining room. "Do you think that young wizard down the hill is all right?" she fretted.
"He has plenty of help," said Tom's father.
"No heroics, please," said Tom. "We want to keep you safe here. Your writing talents are too valuable to waste in battle."
"Thank you," she said awkwardly.
They resumed their dinner.
After dinner, Miss Kettleburn retired to her room to write more, and Tom returned to his office to await a mirror or telephone call. The telephone call came first. It was, predictably, his mother, requesting a lift from Edmund's family's house. "And is everything all right there?" she asked.
"There's been some noise from down the hill," said Tom, "but our house has been quiet. Let's not trouble the children with details tonight. Let them enjoy Halloween."
"Of course."
"I'll see you soon."
"Thank you."
Tom drove carefully. In the dark, there was no sign that anything was happening at Ignis's house.
When he arrived at Edmund's house, he saw that the crumple-horned snorkak's horn was crooked, and one of Janus's two faces was more smeared with chocolate than the other.
"You missed a fun outing," said Tom's mother. "It was so nice to show off my darling little deity."
"Sssweetsss!" exclaimed Tommy. He thrust a fistful of melted goo at Tom.
"Yes, I see you got lots of sweets," said Tom, dodging the sticky mass.
"Sssweetsss for Papa!" insisted Tommy, continuing to thrust the goo at him. He hissed unintelligibly.
"He wants to share his sweets with you," Mark interpreted, although the meaning was dreadfully obvious by that point. Mark let Tommy down off his back and did some Müller system stretches for his spine.
Tommy crashed into Tom's legs. "Sssweetsss for Papa!"
"Ah. Thank you Tommy, but actually I'm not particularly fond of… Never mind, I mean yes, thank you. That's very kind of you. I'll just take them in my handkerchief here…" He managed to get most of the blob onto his handkerchief rather than his person.
"Papasss welcome," said Tommy with a huge grin on his sweet-smeared face. "Papa eatsss!" he insisted.
Tom looked at the blob in his handkerchief. There seemed to be some hair stuck in it, and bits of dead leaves. "It looks delicious."
"Papa eatsss!"
"I'm just pausing to admire it first," explained Tom. "Savoring the anticipation."
"Papa eatsss!"
Tom gave the blob a lick, tasting painfully sugary sweets that Müller would disapprove of. It was delicious. "Thank you Tommy. This is so good, I'll save the rest for later." He wrapped the blob and put it in a different pocket than his mirror.
Tommy grinned hugely.
Tom found that he didn't have to go to any particular trouble to put his love for Tommy at the forefront of his mind, for that was where it was. His son was the most important part of his life. He picked Tommy up and hugged him, feeling his warmth, not minding the stickiness in the least.