A small brown owl flew through the window and perched on Mark's breakfast plate, looking at him pointedly.

"I wish Hogwarts would train their owls to land more carefully," said Mark, removing, apparently, an order form for Ellery's Magical Eyelash Enhancer from the owl's leg. "No, you don't get to eat my bacon just because you landed on it. Shoo."

"We have plenty of bacon," said Tom's mother, removing Mark's plate, including the owl, which flapped its wings for balance as she transferred it to a small side table where it could eat undisturbed. She filled a new plate for Mark as he opened this supposed order form and read it.

"How's Cassiopeia?" asked Tom's father, for even he had to admit that he'd already gleaned all the humor that could be found in teasing Mark about how many order forms he got for magical beauty products.

Mark didn't answer, and his expression looked increasingly disturbed.

Tommy looked into Mark's eyes and cried.

Mark's gaze shot to Tommy and he hissed something urgently in Parseltongue.

Tommy hissed something back.

"Thank you," said Mark. He turned to Tom's mother. "Thank you for the second serving of breakfast, but I'm not hungry. May I please be excused?"

"Of course," said Tom's father.

Mark left hurriedly, eyelash order form clutched tightly in hand. Tom excused himself and followed him to his room, catching up just as Mark was watching the order form burn in the dying embers in the fireplace.

"Bad news?" surmised Tom.

"Oh, you know, just silly school gossip I don't want getting out," said Mark, hurrying to his desk.

"Of course," said Tom. "Can I help with anything?"

"No, I just want to write a note back before the owl finishes my breakfast and leaves." Mark quickly wrote a note on a bit of parchment with a quill. He bundled this note with a longer letter that had been sitting on his desk, with an outer skin advertising Pearl's Magical Tooth Whitener. He stood, but before leaving, inspected the remains of the order form, crushing the ashes with the wrought iron poker until there was no sign it had ever existed. Then he hurried back to the dining room, Tom following.

Mark tied the apparent advertisement for tooth whitener to the leg of the owl, which was just finishing its bacon. "Deliver this to Miss Cassiopeia Black, at Hogwarts, Slytherin table," he instructed. "And try to land next to her plate, not on it."

The owl hooted and flew out the seemingly-closed window.

"Have a good day at school," said Tom's mother.

"Thanks," said Mark. He hurried to the garage.

Tom followed. "I'm serious, if there's anything we can do to help—"

"There isn't. There's nothing anyone can do except pretend it never happened and hope no one notices. Thanks anyway. See you after school." Then he got on his bicycle and plummeted down the hill.

Tom watched him go. He knew that feeling of speed, of exhilaration, the cold wind in his face. He wanted to go bicycling himself, but it was less fun without Hermione to taunt for her slowness, and her taunting him for what she considered his excessive pride.

Instead, Tom returned to the dining room, where he found his mother wiping Tommy's chin. "I do hope Cassiopeia is all right," she said.

"We can hope." Tom addressed Tommy. "I suppose you promised Mark you wouldn't tell us what you read from his mind."

"Yesss," said Tommy.

"Mark knows you're trustworthy," said Tom's mother. "What a good friend you are!"

Tom couldn't argue with that; developing a reputation as a trustworthy friend was the best way of gathering blackmail material. He bade his mother and son farewell and went to work in his office.

The Wolfsbane project's cash flow problem required some adjustments to their other investments, which Tom made. If this project failed, taking a good chunk of the Riddle wealth with it, he knew his father wouldn't scold him. He'd chortle, which was considerably worse.

Tom ignored the ringing telephone, which stopped soon anyway.

Pop. "Master, Mrs. Riddle says the telephone call is for you."

"Thank you Dobby. You may leave now."

Pop.

Tom lifted the telephone receiver to his ear. "Hello."

"Hello, Tom."

"Mrs. Prewett, how lovely to hear from you."

"I have something to say," but then she paused rather than saying it.

"Do you have any suggestions for this week's outing?" Tom prompted when the pause grew long. "I haven't yet heard Algie's recommendations, but if you have any ideas—"

"How can you talk about venturing into muggle territory again, after what happened last time?!"

Tom searched his memory, but the evening he recalled had been completely delightful until he got home and heard the news. "Did dinner disagree with you?" he guessed.

"What? No! No, there was absolutely nothing wrong with dinner. That pudding especially, with the cardamom and rosewater… Never mind. The point is, muggle London was overrun with werewolves the very night we were there!"

"I wouldn't describe it as overrun. They weren't anywhere near us in the West End for example."

"They were in the same bloody city!"

"London is a very large—"

"It's too dangerous! Sure, you and Tessie have had fun galavanting about on these adventures, and I've given you plenty of opportunities to get to know each other, but you can't go on like this indefinitely, especially now that it's clear that muggle London isn't safe."

"Hogsmeade was attacked just—"

"I'm not suggesting you switch to diverting yourselves in Hogsmeade. Tom, I must be straight with you. You have been spending a great deal of time with my daughter for two years. It's time for you to make it clear that your intentions towards her are honorable."

"Mrs. Prewett, I assure you that I've never had so much as a dishonorable thought about—"

"Well that's the problem, isn't it? A man in your position, a, if I may be so blunt, halfblood, should feel flattered that a girl of good family like Tessie is even willing to give you the time of day. I think we both know how she'd respond if you finally worked up the courage to propose to her, but you haven't done it! You've been wasting her time, is what it amounts to. With you taking up so much of her time, no other wizard has even had a chance to court her, and she isn't getting any younger. She's been wasting her youth on you. A woman can't wait forever. She needs to take care of herself. This is your last chance. You need to propose to her by Valentine's Day or never see her again."

Tom hoped his pause didn't torture Mrs. Prewett with false hope, but he needed time only to choose his words carefully, not to make a decision. "I will miss Tessie's company, for she has been a good friend. But it would be cruel to ask her to marry me when I cannot give her my heart, for it was buried with Merope. I'm sorry. I hope Tessie finds a husband who can love her as she deserves." He had to hold the telephone receiver away from his ear, for Mrs. Prewett's crying was painfully loud. "I will waste no more of your family's time," he said into the transmitter, then he hung the receiver back up on the switch hook.

Tom had barely had time to digest this conversation when the Floo blazed green and his father stepped out, wizarding robes flapping. "Hello, Tom. I don't mean to interrupt. Just passing through, trying to run some errands."

"'Trying' and your expression suggest that the attempt was unsuccessful," observed Tom.

"Yes. You see, your mother and I are planning something special for Valentine's Day," his father explained, as if Tom didn't have enough troubles already.

"Hm," said Tom as disinterestedly as possible.

"I went to a few different bookstores and the British Wizarding Library, but I couldn't find the book I wanted," complained his father. "The Potioneer's Guide to Romance is supposed to have a chapter on how to use Polyjuice, but it's out-of-print, and the library has misplaced the book. That librarian seems overdue for retirement."

Tom sighed. "You will find that book hidden behind the library's collection of books on flying carpet maintenance. Please extract whatever information you need from it, then replace it where you found it. I hope that no one ever reads the chapter on Amortentia again."

"Oh! Right. Still, it seems an overreaction to hide a whole book just because one of the chapters has the potential for misuse. I mean, many tools, in the wrong hands, can be used for ill, but, that doesn't mean—"

Tom couldn't work with these constant interruptions, so he rode his bicycle up and down the drive a few times.

—

A few days later, Tom was in his office, trying to make numbers meet up, when a witch and a wizard, clutching the same black feather, suddenly materialized. The witch looked around, spotted Tom, and reached into her pocket for her wand, aiming it at Tom. "Obliv—"

Tom had no time for reservations about hitting a woman. He bolted from his desk chair. One punch and a rough scramble had the witch staggering back, her wand in Tom's hand, but that still left the wizard. Tom spun to face him, holding the witch's wand as if he could do something with it.

The wizard stood with his empty hands outstretched. The crumpled black feather fluttered to the floor. "Tom, it's me!"

Tom looked at the wizard. Was Tom supposed to recognize him? Now that he thought to look for it, there was a subtle shimmer…

"Cast Finite incantatem on the illusion; you'll see that it's me," said the wizard.

Tom kept the wizard at wandpoint. "And what happens when I do that? This sounds like a trick. Cast it yourself. Go on. Draw your wand and cast that one spell, and no funny business."

The wizard, keeping his eyes on Tom, slowly drew his wand and pointed it at himself. "Finite incantatem." The illusion faded.

"Harrier?!" Tom exclaimed in surprise.

She nodded. "Sorry to startle you. I never use my own face for werewolf business."

The witch beside Harrier was staring at her. "You're a woman?!"

"Sometimes," said Harrier blithely.

"But," sputtered the witch. "You… We…"

"Anyway, the Werewolf Capture Unit set up a checkpoint in the Leaky Cauldron," said Harrier. "I spotted this customer headed that way, so I got her out. Should I do introductions?"

"No!" exclaimed the woman. "You already pretty much told him I'm a…"

"I intend no intrusion on your privacy, madam," said Tom. "There's no need for me to know your name, or your real appearance. I assume this," Tom indicated her dumpy form, "is an artful illusion, so I assure you that I have absolutely no idea what you really look like."

"Oh," said the witch. "Yes. Right. But wait. Aren't you Tom Riddle? I've seen you in Witch Weekly!"

"That's right," said Harrier. "Tom's the heart of the operation."

"I thought I was the brain," said Tom. "Anyway, sorry for the inhospitable welcome, but you did suddenly appear in my home and draw a wand on me." He handed the witch's wand back to her.

"I didn't recognize you at first. I thought he'd Apparated me in front of a muggle," said the witch, accepting the wand. "You're supposed to Obliviate muggles when that happens."

True, in the new year, Tom had adopted the habit of wearing muggle clothes around the house, now that no one important could see him here. He hadn't considered the Portkeys.

Harrier laughed at the absurdity. "Tom's no muggle! He just dresses like one sometimes to visit the muggle world."

The witch was waving her wand, her worried look deepening. "Lumos," she tried, but her wand tip glowed only faintly. "It's switched allegiance!" she despaired. "You defeated me and won my wand fairly!"

"This is easily fixed if you defeat him," said Harrier.

"You're not punching me," said Tom.

"It doesn't have to be a punch," said Harrier. "It could be anything, really." She smiled. "How about a dance competition? I'll judge."

"I am not throwing a dance competition for your entertainment," said Tom. "Rock paper scissors?" he suggested.

Harrier and the witch both looked confused, so Tom explained.

"Oh, like wand cloak stone," said Harrier.

"But that's a children's game," objected the witch.

"If you agree beforehand that you're playing for mastery of your wand, it should work," said Harrier.

"How does that go again?" asked the witch, to Tom's relief. "It's been a while since I played."

"You know," said Harrier, extending one finger. "Wand summons cloak."

She spread her hand out flat. "Cloak hides stone." She made a fist. "Stone resurrects wand's victims."

"But it's a game of chance," objected the witch. "What if I lose?"

"Then you've lost a game of chance," said Tom. "And you'll owe me, say, a copy of your favorite biscuit recipe. Then we'll play again."

"I just use the one on the back of the box of fairy wings."

"I didn't hear that," said Tom. "Don't reveal such valuable information unless I win it fairly. So, here's our wager: mastery of your wand, gambled against your favorite biscuit recipe. Agreed?"

The witch looked skeptical, but said, "Agreed."

Tom's classmates at the Hangleton Progressive Day School had eventually stopped playing rock paper scissors with him, accusing him of cheating, but really, it seemed dishonest to ignore the signals that his opponents gave off, and not respond by changing his hand position at the last instant. How dull to treat rock paper scissors as a game of chance when it could be a game of skill, testing the players' eyesight, reflexes, and dexterity! He had to hurriedly modify his play in this situation of course. As Harrier called, "Wand, cloak, stone, cast!" and Tom saw the witch's fingers spreading to form a cloak, he had to concentrate on offering a fist, not scissors, as he was playing a different game, and to lose.

"Congratulations," said Tom. "Try your wand now."

She drew it skeptically, but looked relieved as soon as she touched it. "Lumos," she tried, and the tip glowed like a lightbulb. She sighed in relief. "Nox. Thank you very much, for everything, Mr. Riddle," she said as she sheathed her wand. "Would you like my biscuit recipe anyway? I don't always follow the recipe on the box exactly, sometimes I add a pinch of—"

"No thank you," said Tom. "I don't bake. And I don't wish to take up any more of your time than necessary."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'll be on my way then. I don't know where I'll get my hair done, though, if Diagon Alley is off-limits to werewolves now."

"Don't bother with Diagon Alley any more," said Harrier, waving aside the idea scornfully as if it were unfashionable rather than deadly. "Lots of places in Hogsmeade want our business. Floo to the Hog's Head. Aberforth will help you from there."

"Oh. All right. May I?" she asked Tom, indicating the Floo.

"Of course," said Tom, flipping the switch. "Powder's up there."

"Before you go," said Harrier, "we're still on for Thursday?"

"Oh!" said the witch. "I don't know…" She melted under the heat of Harrier's smile. "Oh all right. Yes."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"See you," said the witch. She threw some Floo powder into the fire, said "The Hog's Head Inn," and stepped into the green flames.

Harrier turned her rakish grin to Tom. The gleam in her eyes turned from green to red as she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Valentine's Day's coming up."

"Is it?" asked Tom. "I wasn't aware."

—

On Valentine's Day, Tom deemed it best to get Tommy and himself out of the house before his parents began whatever festivities they'd planned. He donned a muggle suit and dressed Tommy similarly, in a little suit befitting a young gentleman, in preparation for a trip to the toy shop in Great Hangleton, and perhaps lunch at a restaurant before Tommy's nap time. Tom was just explaining the importance of one's cufflinks and tie clip being the same shade of gold, to Tommy's rapt attention, when the telephone rang. Today it was Tom's responsibility to answer it, as his father was unavailable, so he hoisted Tommy to his hip, carried him to his office, and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello."

"Tom!"

"Tessie." She must have called him against her mother's wishes, possibly sneaked out to use a pub's telephone to avoid being overheard at home. Tom hoped she wouldn't ask him to go through with a sham marriage, since that level of deception would be a bit much even for him. Or had her mother decided to arrange a marriage between Tessie and some ugly old wizard, so Tessie wanted Tom's help escaping from it? That was the kind of help friends should give each other, but Tom had a lot on his plate already. No good could come of this call. "I'm surprised to hear from you."

"It's about my mother!"

Of course it was.

"She's missing!"

Tom immediately exercised his Occlumency, for Tommy was peering intently into his eyes as usual, and images of Mrs. Prewett being kidnapped by Woolsey were not suitable for a child. They probably weren't even relevant. There must be a more commonplace explanation. "Is she trying to avoid your wrath?" he guessed. Not that he'd ever seen Tessie's wrath, but he assumed that she had such, when sufficiently provoked.

"What? I don't think so. Why would I be angry at her, anyway?"

"I assumed you would not take kindly to her attempt to control your life."

"And why did you say you were surprised to hear from me? We talk on the telephone all the time."

"Well. Your mother was very clear, last she spoke to me, that I was forbidden to waste any more of your time."

"What?"

Tom related his conversation with Mrs. Prewett, to Tessie's surprise and growing indignation.

"That meddling… But why didn't she tell me she was giving you this ultimatum?"

"She didn't?"

"No! Well, she's certainly been complaining that you're taking too long to get around to proposing, but I didn't know it would come to a head like this. She didn't say anything to me about me not being allowed to go out with you anymore. She just said yesterday that she was going out to get her nails done, and she never came back. Axel and I are worried sick. He went out to look for her. The nail salon said she did get a manicure and pedicure there, but they don't know where she went after that. He's out looking for her now, but he said I should stay here to meet her if she comes home."

"Did she leave any clues?"

"Oh, I don't know… Could you help me search?"

Tom looked at Tommy. "I just have to wrap something up here, and I'll Floo there in a few minutes."

"Thank you!"

"See you soon." Tom hung the receiver back on the switch hook. "Dobby."

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Look after Tommy until I return."

"Yes Master."

Tom turned to his son. "Now Tommy, I will return as soon as possible. In the meantime, perhaps you can show Dobby your train set."

"Twainssss! Yesss!"

Tom didn't waste time changing into wizarding robes, for Tessie was used to seeing him in muggle attire. Soon, he stepped out of the Floo into Shell Cottage.

"Oh Tom, thank you for coming," exclaimed Tessie, distraught. She looked different in casual house robes, with her long red hair bound back in a simple plait. "I don't know what to do, and waiting alone just makes my imagination run wild."

"You've called St. Mungo's?" asked Tom.

She nodded. "She's not there."

"Auror department?" Tom suggested.

"I don't know… I mean, if there's some simple explanation, I don't want to embarrass her by having a bunch of Aurors barge in, but maybe I should? I wish I could call Algie. I'd feel so much better if he were with me, but I can't invite a muggle here…"

"I'll be as good a substitute as I can," promised Tom. "Where's her room? Maybe she left a clue there."

Tessie led the way. "The portraits didn't see anything unusual," she commented as they passed them.

"No sign of a struggle," observed Tom, for the clashing colors of her bedroom decor didn't technically count.

"She didn't pack any of her robes," said Tessie, looking through the wardrobe.

Tom looked. "Where's her green tweed suit?" he asked.

Tessie looked, her lips pursed.

"And her black evening dress, with the fringe? And that light blue tea dress? Where are all her muggle clothes? Were they all illusions, or—"

"No, they were real. She bought them in muggle shops."

"So where are they now?"

"She must have taken them with her," Tessie realized.

"I think your instinct to call Algie first was the correct one."

Tessie looked at him, eyes wide, then ran out of the room.

Tom followed and found her on the telephone.

"She packed all her clothes!" Tessie was explaining. "She's gone! I don't know what to do!" She laughed. "Yes, if I knew, I'd send your father the same way, but… Thank you. I feel better just hearing your voice. What? Um. All right. I'll wait." She leaned back from the telephone transmitter. "His valet has something to say to him." She closed her eyes and sighed. After a bit, she jerked to attention again. "The newspaper? No, I don't have… What's in the newspaper? Just tell me!" She blanched. Then, faintly, she asked, "Could you spell that please?" She took a quill and a scrap of parchment and wrote something with a trembling hand. "Thank you."

Tom peered at the paper, expecting the name of some hospital or worse, but all he saw was a name: Lord Archibald Bootle-Flournoy, Earl of Inchfar. He looked at Tessie curiously as she burst into laughter.

She let Tom take the telephone receiver from her hand and take her place at the transmitter, for they were clearly of no use to her in her current state.

"Hello Algie, it's Tom."

"Tom! What are you doing at Tessie's house?"

"She asked for my help finding her mother. The Riddles have been friends with the Prewetts for a while, so she thought I might have some insight into her whereabouts."

"But for you to travel all the way from Yorkshire to Cornwall—"

"This is what friends do for each other," said Tom hurriedly. "Anyway, she apparently should have called you first rather than wasting time on me. What's happened?"

"Mrs. Prewett got married. The wedding announcement's right here in the paper. Did pretty well for herself too: her groom is Lord Archibald Bootle-Flournoy, Earl of Inchfar. Seems a dirty trick not to tell her own daughter about her plans, I must say."

"She must have feared her children would disapprove," said Tom.

"I can see that, replacing their dead father and all, it might seem a bit much. It would be damn awkward to get to that bit in the ceremony asking if anyone has reason these two should not be wed, and then your own child stands up and says, 'I do' and makes a fuss. Not that I think Tessie would do such a thing, but she's said her brother can be an awful boor. I've never met him, myself."

"I can confirm Tessie's description," said Tom.

"Still seems an awful shock to Tessie, though," said Algie. "Although I suppose I can understand why Mrs. Prewett had to do it this way. She couldn't tell Tessie without risking Tessie telling Axel. Tessie's such an honest girl, I'm sure she'd have trouble keeping a big secret like that."

"Indeed," agreed Tom.

"Hopefully he'll come around now that the deed is done. I mean, one can hardly object to having the Earl of Inchfar as one's stepfather. The Earl has no children, so this could make Axel his heir, if he plays his cards right. I mean, the Prewetts just went from commoners to nobility. The Bootle-Flournoys…" Algie's voice faded away.

"Are you still there?" asked Tom, wondering if this was a bad connection.

"Yes. Just thinking. Sorry. Put Tessie back on the line, please. Right away.

Tessie seemed to have recovered from her fit of hysteria sufficiently to converse, so Tom handed the receiver back to her and yielded his place at the transmitter.

"Oh Algie," Tessie started, but then she just listened for a while, her face glowing pinker and pinker with every passing moment. "Yes!" she finally squealed, hurting Tom's ears. He took a step back. "Yes!" she repeated. "Yes I will marry you!"