Mark and Tommy kept up an excited chattering and hissing on the drive back, with an occasional comment by Tom's mother. Tom didn't notice anything out of the ordinary as he drove past Ignis's house.

Once home, Tommy grabbed a fistful of sweets from his bucket. "Sssweetsss for mama!" he called gleefully. "Mama!"

"Hermione is out," said Tom. "I'm sure she'll appreciate sweets in the morning."

"Mama?" asked Tommy, looking in Tom's eyes.

Tom averted his gaze too late.

"Boom!" said Tommy gleefully. "Mama fwy boom!"

"Let's get this sticky quidditch hoop cleaned up," said Tom's mother. "You can give sweets to Hermione when she gets back. Now I know she'd want me to brush your teeth…" she bustled Tommy away.

Mark looked up at Tom curiously, then looked down at his bucket of sweets. "I'd better brush my teeth too. Thank you for the lift, Mr. Riddle. Goodnight, and happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," echoed Tom. "Sleep well, Mark."

Mark headed to his room, leaving Tom at a loss. Hermione would want him to brush his teeth after enjoying Tommy's gift, so he did that. He removed the handkerchief from his pocket and considered sending it down the laundry chute but, fearing it would stick to the wall and never be seen again, opted to instead set it aside for Dobby to deal with later.

Sleep was an impossibility unless he wanted to take a potion for it, and that seemed unwise considering that he didn't know when he'd need to be alert. There was nothing to do but review his ancient runes textbook, a futile exercise at the best of times, for all he could write were practice runes, with mere ink on parchment. He'd never progress to inscribing them with his wand and activating their power. Nevertheless, he copied the book's example enchantments onto parchment as abstract shapes, their beauty needing no practical justification, quill and ink illuminated with electric light.

He felt his mirror buzz and opened it to see Ignis's exhausted face. "Ignis! Do you need help?"

"Yeah. Are you a Legilimens?"

"Why?"

"We have prisoners. They might have information—"

"Hermione knows some Legilimency. Call her down from the sky," for Tom would rather not let Tommy read the minds of these werewolves.

"Oh. All right."

"But what's happening? Is everyone all right?"

"Yeah. It's over, I guess? We're all alive, and it's been quiet for a while, so maybe that means we won. I think they weren't expecting me to have so much help, and Hermione and Eric's traps, and Briar and Bramble's illusions… They should have realized it was hopeless, but… Is your family all right?"

"We're fine. We've had no trouble here at all. I should have been down the hill helping you."

"We did all right. Come see for yourself. Meet me in the woods behind my back garden."

"See you soon." The mirror showed only Tom's own face again, so he closed it. Then he closed his desk, donned his cloak, and headed out. He held an Eveready torch in his left hand and his wand in his right. The heavy batteries of the torch would make it an effective bludgeon if necessary while his wand served as a distraction. He walked down the dark hill towards the odors of smoke and sulfur that wafted from Ignis's house. He shivered, yeti fur no match for the chill he felt.

Before reaching the wards, he switched the torch on to locate the gap in the hedgerow. He squeezed through to a nondescript but familiar patch of woods, then switched the torch off and tucked it into his wallet, for a pale bluish fire affixed to a tree branch provided all the light he required.

It illuminated a disturbing sight. Seven captives lay on the ground, bound with black ropes that resembled viney growths more than anything tied by human hands. Some had bandaged injuries. Hermione and Ignis stood nearby.

Hermione held Tom at wandpoint. "What's your favorite periodical?"

Tom sheathed his wand. "You already asked me that security question."

"I've had a very long day, Tom. Pardon my lack of creativity and answer the bloody question."

"If that's the best you can come up with, I'll ask you what your third accidental magic was, and it will have to match the story your father told mine."

Hermione sighed and turned to Ignis. "That's Tom, all right. Let's get this over with." She aimed her wand at a captive. "Legi— I need someone to hold her eyes open," for the captive had slammed her blue eyes shut. A tear escaped from each closed eye. Hermione looked at Ignis expectantly.

Ignis looked back at her. "Is there a spell for—"

"Not that I know of. Just hold them. Her eyelashes are pretty long, so you can get a good grip." When Ignis didn't obey, but stood there staring at Hermione, she said "What?"

"It's just…" Ignis looked at the bound werewolf. "She looks so young. She looks like she should still be at Hogwarts. I can't just, I mean…"

"She just tried to kill you," said Hermione. "We need to know if they're planning any more attacks. And you had no problem shooting curses at these attackers, so why this sudden squeamishness about—"

"I can't," said Ignis. "I'm sorry, I just can't. Tom?" he pleaded.

Tom involuntarily took a step back. "Don't look at me. I'm no more comfortable with this than you are."

Ignis looked around in despair. "Daisy?" he called.

She stepped out of apparently nowhere, looking pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

"I need your help again," Ignis begged. "We need someone to gently hold this girl's eyes open so Hermione can perform Legilimency."

"Is there a spell for—"

"No," apologized Ignis. "But I know you'll be gentle."

Daisy looked around at everyone watching her, then knelt by the captive's head. "What lovely eyelashes you have," she said. "Mine are so thin and pale, they're practically invisible. I was just reading in Witch Weekly the other day about a potion to make eyelashes grow better. Have you been using that? If so, they should use you as their spokesmodel. I wish I could get results like yours. Or I suppose yours could be natural. They probably are. They look so natural. Now I'm very sorry, but I just need to hold your eyelids open for a bit…"

"Legilimens," cast Hermione once she had a clear shot.

Their prisoner stuck out her tongue at Hermione, a gesture of defiance so childish, it made her seem even younger. Tom stifled his smile. But wait, those teeth, they'd looked human before, but now they were growing points, looking more like fangs. Presumably this was another defiant gesture, perhaps even a childish one by her standards, although definitely not a human one.

Then those wolf fangs bit down hard on that childish human tongue, and the resulting gush of blood did not look like a childish gesture at all. The girl let out a disgusting sound, a gurgling sort of scream.

Daisy let go of the girl's fading face and drew her wand. "Episkey!" she cast, but the blood kept gushing. She kept casting to no avail.

Ignis joined her in casting healing charms, but nothing worked.

"That's interesting," said Hermione. "I don't think that would have worked with human teeth, but wounds caused by werewolf teeth are Dark injuries, so—"

"She's dying!" cried Daisy.

"She's dead," said Ignis. "She bit off her own tongue. She bled to death."

Daisy ran away, stumbling.

Ignis ran after her. "I'm sorry!" he cried.

"Loveta killed herself!" shouted one of the other captives. "She bit off her own tongue! Everyone, before they use Legilimency!"

Tom couldn't look at the captives, but Hermione's cool gaze at them was chilling. "If we Stupefy them," he suggested hurriedly.

"Too late," she said, and the gurgling screams proved her right. "They probably didn't know much anyway," she assured him. "This one knew just a little. And keeping prisoners is such a bother."

Tom didn't dare look away from Hermione, for all around her was death. She stood at the center of it, more force of nature than human, a storm leaving devastation in its path. The pounding of Tom's heart drowned out the last of the screams.

Hermione drew her mirror from her pocket. "Ignis," she called. After a moment, she said, "All seven prisoners chose the same fate, so that didn't take long. Gather everyone for a debriefing meeting by the rowan tree."

"So there are seven corpses in my back garden," came Ignis's broken voice through the mirror. "And more—"

"We'll clean up afterwards. First we'll share all the information while it's fresh in people's minds. I'll call Eric, Harrier, and Brownwing. You tell the others, anyone who came to your aid who's willing to meet with us. Tell Briar and Bramble to disguise them if they don't want to show their true faces."

"Right," said Ignis.

Hermione snapped her mirror shut, then reopened it. "Eric." After a moment, she said "There's a debriefing meeting by the rowan tree in a few minutes."

"There is?"

"Yes."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you should be there."

"Oh! All right."

Hermione snapped her mirror shut again, and reopened it to call Harrier and Brownwing, who required less explanation. "Come on," she said to Tom before walking away. Tom followed.

Hermione cast some more pale blue flames and stuck them in a branch of the rowan tree. The red fruits looked ashen in the cold light. Then she set about conjuring crude chairs, which rose out of the leaves and moss of the forest floor with a stroke of her wand. "Sit," she ordered.

Tom sat. His chair was about as comfortable as a moss-covered log.

Eric appeared, his foot and peg silent on the dead leaves. "Tom! You all right?"

"Yes. The Riddle house was completely untouched. I felt rather useless guarding it while you lot were doing all the work here. What happened?"

"Wait til everyone gets here so you don't have to make your reports twice," scolded Hermione, so Tom shut up.

"May I sit here please?" Eric asked, indicating the chair next to Tom.

"Of course."

"Thank you. I didn't know if there was a seating arrangement we're supposed to follow. Sometimes there is and people don't tell you." Eric sat.

At first Tom didn't recognize the witch who shuffled in next. Harrier was considerably less energetic than he'd seen her last. She slumped into a mossy chair.

Brownwing appeared next. He sat down and, violating the laws of both geometry and hygiene, pulled a serviette-wrapped sandwich out of a pocket of his tattered muggle trousers. He was about to eat, but then noticed Harrier. "Hey. Harrier. You need a sandwich? Rare roast beef." He held it out to her.

She blinked at it for a bit. "Oh. Thanks." She took it.

Brownwing pulled another sandwich out of the same unsuitable pocket. Before eating, he met Tom's skeptical gaze with a defensive one. "Your mum said we could—"

"Yes. I'm glad the food she prepared is being enjoyed, even if it's not at the party we'd planned. Please, eat."

Brownwing made short work of his sandwich while Harrier nibbled at hers.

Briar and Bramble appeared next, considerably less merry than usual. They looked at the available seating, then Briar drew his wand and grew a green and brown paisley loveseat from the forest floor.

Bramble looked at Briar, his expression so tender, Tom deemed it appropriate to look away.

Ignis arrived, tugging a reluctant Daisy by the hand. Her face was tear-stained. Ignis led her to a seat and sat in the crude chair beside her.

"Is anyone else coming?" Hermione asked Ignis.

Ignis cleared his throat. "No. They send their regrets, but… Anyway, I can share what they told me about the battle."

Hermione nodded. "Right. Let's get started. What did we learn about our enemies?"

No one spoke for a moment. Tom was concerned that Hermione would call on someone who wasn't prepared, so he raised his hand and spoke at Hermione's nod. "They spared the Riddle House completely. Miss Kettleburn and my family are safe."

There were sighs of relief at this.

"Good," said Hermione. "So. They apparently hate Ignis even more than they hate us. Good to know. What else?"

Daisy looked up at Ignis's pale face, but he didn't seem to notice. He sat very still.

"I killed three of them," said Harrier, her voice so faint Tom barely recognized it.

"Good job!" said Hermione. "You're quite a duelist."

Harrier looked at her sharply. "I just killed three people! One of them, he looked like a kid…"

"You were defending yourself," said Hermione. "And werewolves aren't legally people," At Harrier's look, she hurriedly added, "Of course werewolves are people whatever the Ministry says. Anyway, these people were trying to kill Ignis, to destroy everything we're doing here. You should be proud."

Harrier didn't look proud.

Hermione tried a different tack. "You weren't really the one who killed them, anyway."

Now Harrier looked confused

"The pack leader who sent them on this suicide mission is the one responsible for their deaths," Hermione continued. "Sending child soldiers into battle…" She paused to clear her throat, then resumed. "We need to keep our true enemy in our sights, and stop him before he causes any more deaths like this."

"Right." Harrier perked up considerably at this idea.

"What else to report on this battle?" Hermione asked.

Briar raised his hand, and spoke at Hermione's nod. "Your traps worked. And Eric's."

"Yes," said Bramble. "Eric and we took the prisoners to the back garden. Is someone guarding them?"

Ignis cleared his throat, but Hermione spoke before he could.

"They all chose death when I tried Legilimency on one of them," Hermione explained. "The Dark injuries inflicted by werewolf teeth can be fatal. Most of present company probably knows that already." Her gaze flicked to Tom, then away.

Hermione hadn't actually signaled Tom that he had her permission to speak, but he spoke anyway. "I'm sorry," he said. "By the time I thought to stupefy them, it was too late. And I don't know what we would have done with them once they came to, anyway."

"I suppose we could have turned them over to the Werewolf Capture Unit," mulled Hermione.

Briar shuddered. "Well, when you consider that alternative… This was the best option. At least they could choose their own deaths this way. These were dignified deaths compared to that."

Bramble gripped Briar's hand more tightly.

"I got the information we needed, though," Hermione continued. "They were sent by Ralph Woolsey, a pack leader who refused our Wolfsbane offer and tried to kill Ignis, Tom, and me once already. The one I Legilimised wanted to do anything Woolsey said. She wasn't under the Imperius, just fanatically loyal. This was a hastily-planned attack. They'd already sent their best fighters to the bookshop, and others were feeling left out, so they wanted a chance to join this mission. They all hated Ignis with a passion, and were vying for the honor of killing him. She hoped that if she performed well on this task, her next job would be to kill Tom and me."

"So we have to attack Woolsey first," said Harrier, not bothering to raise her hand.

"How are we even going to find him?" challenged Ignis. "His pack is nomadic. They don't stay in one spot for long."

"I wonder if we could get them to attack you again," mulled Hermione.

Brownwing laughed. "How stupid do you think they are?"

"They do seem pretty stupid, to have attacked the book signing," said Tom.

"Those were some brilliant wards around the book shop," argued Eric.

"Yes, and they used those brilliant wards for a stupid purpose," said Tom. "Being skilled at esoteric magic doesn't mean they're smart. They just gave Kettleburn's book free publicity, and made anti-werewolf bigots look bad."

Eric nodded.

"Anyway, Ignis," said Hermione, "you know a lot that we don't want them to know, identities of all the customers and such. If Woolsey's pack did manage to capture you and tried to extract your secrets via Legilimency or torture, that would be a problem. Can you make your fangs grow to inflict Dark injuries like that, even when it's not the full moon?"

Ignis gulped. "Yes. I can."

Hermione nodded curtly. "Good."

"You're welcome to borrow my Occlumency books," Tom offered. "That could help against Legilimency, at least."

"Thanks," said Ignis.

"In fact," realized Tom, "anyone whose job requires knowledge of our customers' identities should learn Occlumency. We don't want that information taken by the wrong people, Woolsey or the Werewolf Capture Unit. Daisy, Harrier, Brownwing, I'll get the relevant books to you."

"Thank you," said Daisy, followed by the others.

"Learning Occlumency is a major endeavor," warned Hermione, "with no guarantee of success."

"It didn't take me that long to learn," said Tom. "Since you all entrusted me with the knowledge of your lycanthropy, I felt obligated to guard that knowledge by—"

"Not everyone is as brilliant as you, Tom," snipped Hermione. "Now let's get this meeting back on topic."

The meeting progressed to a discussion of the relative efficacy of various traps, illusions, and curses. Tom listened attentively, not having anything to contribute because he hadn't participated in the battle. He finally spoke when the meeting seemed to be winding down. "I offer the hospitality of the Riddle House to any of you who want a safe place to sleep tonight. If Woolsey continues to refrain from attacking my family directly, there's no reason not to share this safety."

"You're also welcome to stay at my house," said Ignis, "assuming they won't attack again soon. This place has guest rooms for a reason."

The werewolves considered this and thanked Tom and Ignis for their offers, but most concluded that they wanted to go home.

"Anyone who wants to help with cleanup can stay," said Hermione, "but I can handle it if you're tired."

"I've cleaned up after some wild Halloween parties, but…" said Bramble.

"Go home," said Hermione. "You've done plenty already."

Most of the group said their goodbyes and dispersed, leaving Hermione, Ignis, Eric, and Tom.

"Is Miss Kettleburn still in your house?" Eric asked Tom.

"Yes," said Tom. "I hope she's asleep by now."

"Before I go…" Eric looked even more awkward than usual, which Tom wouldn't have believed possible. "It's just, I heard Miss Kettleburn say she didn't feel safe going home, and I thought I could build some wards around her house."

"Good idea," said Tom. "How about you stay at our house tonight, and propose your idea to her over breakfast?"

"Sure."

"I'll get started on cleanup," said Hermione. She walked to Ignis's back garden. The others followed, Tom out of a vague desire to be helpful, although cleanup was a task for servants.

"I'll vanish the bodies," volunteered Hermione, aiming her wand at one.

"Wait," said Ignis. "What?"

"Do you have a use for them?" she asked politely.

"We can't just vanish them like rubbish," Ignis sputtered. "They deserve proper burials."

She blinked. "You have time for that?"

"It has to be done."

Hermione shrugged. "Suit yourself." She walked away, presumably to clean up something else.

Tom approached Ignis. "The woods over there," he suggested, "would make a suitable final resting place. I'll have Dobby dig proper graves. I don't know what we'd write on headstones. At least we know the name of one of them, Loveta. Blank markers will have to suffice for the rest. May they have the peace in death that they lacked in life." Tom put his arm around Ignis's shoulders, and soon was supporting him as he sobbed.

When Ignis was capable of speech again, he looked in the direction Hermione had vanished. "Does Hermione consider werewolves people or not?!"

"Absolutely," said Tom with complete assurance. "I'm sure she'd have treated any enemies just the same."

Ignis nodded.

"Dobby," Tom called.

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Assist Mr. McKinnon with gravedigging and other tasks as he instructs. Then return to the Riddle House."

"Yes Master."

"I'll stay and help too," said Eric.

"I feel that I can best pay my respects to the dead by ensuring that there are only werewolves at their funeral, as I suspect that's what they would have wanted," said Tom. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get home to my family. Eric, there will be a room waiting for you when you get to the Riddle House."

"Thanks," said Eric.

Tom headed up the hill, which seemed unusually long and steep tonight. Fiona was undoubtedly asleep, so Tom hurried to prepare for Eric, putting fresh sheets on a bed in a guest room. There was no blood on his hands; he'd made sure of that, washing them thoroughly before even opening the linen cupboard, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was befouling the fine lavender-scented linen just by touching it.

Eric would have to endure a night in a room that lacked fresh flowers, for Tom had other tasks. He went to his office, uncapped a fountain pen, and wrote:

Dear Mark,

I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but the Riddles are hosting two magical guests this Halloween night and for breakfast the first of November, so please stay in your suite to avoid being seen. Breakfast will be brought to your room. I'll let you know when it's safe to come out.

Sincerely,

Tom Riddle

He then wrote a note telling Hester how many breakfasts to prepare, and one telling Fiona how many place settings should be set at the breakfast table, and where to serve Mark's breakfast to conceal his existence from their guests. Once these notes were slipped under their respective doors, Tom waited for Eric and Hermione to arrive and showed Eric to his room. Finally Tom collapsed into bed.

He woke late the next morning and headed to breakfast after the bare minimum of Müller system exercises, those performed whilst showering and towel-drying.

Tom's mother, Hermione, Tommy, and Miss Kettleburn were finishing breakfast. After Tom exchanged morning greetings and started his own breakfast, Eric charged in, grey robes flying behind him, looking barbarically unkempt. His hair wasn't in its usual ponytail, but swung freely, and his face was shadowed with dark stubble.

Eric wasted no time on greetings. He started straight in by piercing Miss Kettleburn with his blue gaze and saying, "You're in danger. They might try to attack you again. I could build protective wards around your house, with alarms to alert me and others if someone tries to attack you there."

"You can build wards?" Miss Kettleburn asked timidly.

"Well, I'm a cursebreaker by trade. Figuring out wards designed by someone else is the really interesting part. Building them myself, that's easy." Eric turned to Hermione. "And she should have one of those voice-activated portkeys, in case she needs to escape in a hurry. Damn useful, those."

"Good idea," said Hermione, reaching into her beaded bag. "Accio feather portkey." She handed it to Miss Kettleburn. "The activation phrase is 'I believe I can fly.' It will take you to Tom's office."

"Oh, like the one Mr. Riddle made at the book signing," said Miss Kettleburn, tucking it into a pocket.

Hermione glanced at Tom briefly, then looked back at Miss Kettleburn. "Yes, like that."

"But first you should eat breakfast," said Tom's mother.

"Oh. Right." Eric's eyes started to bug out at the excess of choices on the table.

"We'll fill a plate for you," offered Tom.

"Of course," said Tom's mother. She loaded a plate and set it in front of Eric, who ate in distracted silence. He set a piece of parchment beside his plate and occasionally wrote tiny notes on it with a rather nice self-inking quill. Tom peered at the parchment curiously. He recognized several of the runes, which didn't mean he understood their context.

Eric noticed his interest. "I figured wards against malicious intent wouldn't be sufficient in case they hired or Imperiused anyone to attack, so…" Tom understood slightly more of this lecture than the last one, but still, his main contributions were making vague encouraging noises, and periodically reminding Eric to eat.

Tommy found Eric's eyes even more engrossing than his usual breakfast entertainment of egg-flinging. Hermione's job of minimizing his mess was easier than usual, or would have been had she herself not been similarly distracted by Eric's lecture, occasionally making suggestions that were apparently helpful, judging from Eric's reactions.

Finally Eric's plate was empty and Tom's brain was over-full.

Eric tucked his parchment and quill back into his pockets and stood. "Is your house on the Floo network?" he asked Miss Kettleburn.

"Yes."

"Floo is this way." Eric headed to Tom's office, so Miss Kettleburn, Hermione, and Tom followed. "I'll go first in case it's dangerous. I'll mirror-call Tom once I arrive. Don't follow until I call and say I've inspected everything and seen that it's safe."

"Call as soon as you arrive," Hermione urged. "Use your portkey at the first sign of danger. If we don't hear from you in sixty seconds, I'll rally some fighters and follow." She readied her mirror in her hand.

"Thanks." Eric turned to Miss Kettleburn. "What's your Floo address?"

"Kneazlenook. I'll open the Floo for you." She flipped a remote switch and returned it to her pocket. "Lord Fluffybottom, my cat, must miss me so," she fretted. "He'll probably run away when he sees you, but don't take it personally. He's like that with strangers. He's part kneazle."

Eric nodded. As he turned between Miss Kettleburn and the Floo, he seemed surprised to find his long hair swinging in his face. He laughed. "Ha, I forgot to tie my hair back. It's so weird sleeping in a different place. All my usual routines are messed up."

"I think you look magnificent just like that," said Miss Kettleburn. She blushed. "I mean… Anyway, if it were safe to go home, you'd be my hero, Mr… I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Yeah, we haven't," agreed Eric. He put his right hand in what Tom suspected was his wand pocket and threw a handful of Floo powder in the fire with his left. "Kneazlenook," he said, and was carried away by the green flames.