Tom had just dive-rolled out of the way of a leg-locker curse and was about to retaliate when he felt his mirror buzz in his breast pocket. "Hold!"

Ignis lowered his wand. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, I'm just getting a mirror-call." Tom sheathed his wand and opened his mirror to see Hermione's dimly-lit face over the collar of a muggle suit, her hair in a neat faux bob that may have involved an undetectable extension charm. "Hermione! How delightful to hear from you." Even if she had called when Tom's hair undoubtedly showed signs of his recent dive-roll onto the lawn.

Ignis rushed to peer at the mirror, although Hermione had called Tom, not Ignis. "Hermione, where have you been?"

"Oh, hi Ignis," said Hermione. "I've been on holiday; didn't Tom tell you? Anyway, I've enjoyed enough, so I'm ready to come back today, if that works for the Riddles."

"Of course," said Tom. "When should we expect you?"

"In about an hour."

"Wonderful! You'll be in time for dinner. I'll tell Hester."

"See you soon." With a click, Hermione's face disappeared from Tom's mirror, so he closed it.

"It'll be great to see her again," said Ignis. "Do we have time to finish our duel first?"

"No," said Tom, returning his mirror to his pocket. "We must prepare for Hermione's return."

"Your elf is already cleaning up the damage to the garden," observed Ignis.

"Yes, but my hair's a mess," said Tom. "Your dinner invitation still stands of course. You'll want to freshen up too."

"Right," said Ignis. "See you later." He headed down the hill, chuckling.

Soon, all was ready, and Tom sat in his office, doing a bit of paperwork as he waited for the fire to turn green. It eventually did.

Hermione was wearing a smart muggle suit when she stepped out of the Floo. "Hi Tom."

"Hermione, you look—" stunning, elegant, sleek, streamlined, beautiful "—different."

She looked down at her newly improved figure. "I took an antidote to the wet nurse potion. Then I had to alter this suit to fit. Did I do it right? This is more your area of expertise."

She had the gall to direct his attention to that particular region of her anatomy, and simultaneously demand a sophisticated action like speech? Tom managed eventually. "It's fine. I like your—" If anything like the phrase "perky little handfuls" escaped his mouth, he would have Dobby dig a hole so Tom could crawl in and die "—suit's tailoring, actually." He pulled his gaze up to her face, which hardly made things easier. "It's very fashionable."

"Thanks. It's nice to get my normal body back."

"I can imagine," said Tom, whose imagination was providing him with more detail than necessary.

"But what in Merlin's name have you been doing in my absence?!" Ah, there was familiar old Hermione.

"What do you mean?"

"It's all over the magical papers. I had to cast translation charms, and those aren't perfect, but the gist is that Wizarding Britain can't keep its magical creatures hidden. Werewolves were spotted running loose in London! Attacking muggles!"

"Those weren't our werewolves. I can only assume they were Woolsey's."

"The International Confederation of Wizards called an emergency meeting in Charnoy to discuss if the government of Magical Britain is capable of honoring the Statute of Secrecy on its own, or if it needs outside help. The Supreme Mugwump

declared Magical Exposure Threat Level: Severe. There's talk of disciplinary action against Wizarding Britain in accordance with Clause 73."

"Well anyway, how was your trip?"

She shifted gears and smiled her flawless smile, as if her new figure weren't enough to deal with. "Very productive. You're right; muggle problems are easier to fix. They're still complicated, though. Sorry I'm weeks late."

"Nonsense. You're home in time for dinner." Tom offered his arm to escort her to the drawing room.

She took his arm. "Thanks."

"Ignis will join us, as we'd previously arranged that, so Mark is at a friend's house. Will you regale us with tales of your adventures?"

"I did a few touristy things to give me a cover story, so I'll talk about those. It's best I don't mention the rest. The fewer people know things, the better."

"Especially when those things may be illegal. My Occlumency isn't impenetrable, and the others' is nonexistent."

"Well. Yes."

"Then rest assured that your secrets are your own. There's plenty of local news to keep us entertained. For example, Tessie and Algie are engaged to be married."

"Who?"

"Tessie Prewett. You met her, and loaned her a muggle dress."

"Oh her. Right."

"She's marrying my friend Algernon Clamdowne-Clamdowne. I don't believe you've met him, although I have given you ample opportunities to do so. He asked me to be his best man, and I accepted the honor."

"What kind of name is Clamdowne-Clamdowne?"

"When scions of two noble families marry, they sometimes hyphenate—"

"But it's not a pureblood name."

"I wouldn't have taken you for a blood purist, Hermione."

She scowled. "You know that's not what I meant. I just wouldn't expect a Prewett to marry outside Nature's Nobility. I don't recall any muggleborns in their family tree. This will be a first."

"We still don't know if any member of that family would deign to marry a muggleborn, for Algie isn't one. He's a muggle."

Hermione stopped dead. "What?!"

"He's also a very agreeable chap, an excellent dancer, and the heir to a large fortune and the noble title of Earl of Lichford, so Tessie has done well for herself by all measures that matter," said Tom, making no mention of bulging eyes or weak chin.

"No, I'm not saying she shouldn't marry a muggle. I have nothing against muggles. I'm just surprised. This didn't happen in my timeline."

"Many things didn't."

"Right." She smiled. "I've changed so much already, this is a very small change in comparison. Congratulations to the happy couple."

When Tom opened the door to the drawing room and Hermione stepped in, Tommy exclaimed "Mama!" and rushed towards her, crashing into her legs.

She picked him up. "Tommy, how I missed you!" She sat with him on her lap.

"Welcome home, Hermione," said Tom's mother.

"About time you came back," said Tom's father.

"It's good to have you back," said Ignis.

Tommy stared at the part of Hermione's anatomy that had attracted Tom's notice. "No milk?!" he exclaimed.

"You're a big boy now, Tommy," said Hermione.

"Gramma has milk," explained Tommy, before toddling across the room to Tom's mother and proving it.

"Well," said Hermione. "It's nice to know I'm replaceable."

"You're not," said Tom, leading a chorus of his parents and Ignis, who all protested this claim.

"No, I am," said Hermione. "Tommy will be fine whatever happens to me. That's good. It takes the pressure off."

"We'll beat Woolsey eventually," said Ignis determinedly. "With the way you've warded this place, and your dueling skills, you have no reason to fear him at all."

"Oh him, right," said Hermione. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Anyway," said Ignis, "How was your holiday? Where did you go?"

Both in the drawing room and after Fiona had called them in to dinner, Hermione regaled her audience with tales of the quaint architecture of the Old Town of Warsaw, the Baroque architecture of the Zwinger in Dresden and the wonderful collections of art housed therein, the Royal Opera House of Malta, and the ancient manuscripts in the National Library of Serbia (which featured an extensive magical section, hidden from muggle eyes). Even for a mere cover story, Hermione clearly did her research.

"You're allowed to eat," said Tom after a while of this. "You needn't spend all of dinner entertaining us."

Hermione laughed. "Thanks. It's funny, though, ever since I took that antidote to the wet nurse potion I'm much less hungry, as I'm eating for just one again."

"We can take our turn providing entertainment," said Ignis. "You missed some excitement here."

"I know," said Hermione darkly. "Woolsey's getting desperate. Cornered animals are the most dangerous."

"Well, that too," said Ignis, "but I was talking about something else. Did you hear about Tom's duel with Axel Prewett?"

Hermione's gaze slid to Tom. "Tom's what?!"

"You missed a treat," Ignis continued. "Axel challenged Tom to a duel over his sister Tessie's honor, can you believe it? Tom asked me to be his second," he added proudly.

"I'd think you'd be on Axel's side," said Hermione.

"What? No, no," said Ignis. "Tom's my friend. Of course I'm on Tom's side. And Tessie's of course. We've been friends since we were both in Gryffindor together. I'm not going to side with a Slytherin like Axel. And Axel, I mean, I can see his point that his sister made a poor match, but an adult witch can make her own decisions. For her brother to butt in like this is barbaric."

"Axel had to do something to try to save face," chortled Tom's father. "I mean, he can't challenge Algie to a duel, as that would violate the Statute of Secrecy."

"Tessie hasn't told her fiancé about magic yet?" asked Hermione.

"It isn't technically legal until they're married," said Tom's father.

"And they're so happy together now, Tessie doesn't want to risk disrupting anything," Tom added. "And it's convenient, really. Axel can't risk violating the Statute by harassing a muggle, so he vented his spleen on me instead, which is much better, as I'm equipped to withstand it."

"I tried to warn him," said Ignis, shaking his head in amusement. "When the seconds met to negotiate, I told Axel's second that Axel really didn't want to publicly duel Tom, as Tom would mop the floor with him, but he wouldn't listen. He seemed to think it suspicious that Tom hadn't gone to Hogwarts, like that meant Tom was a squib! Axel thought he could restore his family's honor by besting Tom in a duel. Of course the result was completely the opposite. Hermione, you've got to picture this scene: Aberforth let us use the goat pasture behind the Hog's Head, and sold refreshments to the spectators. Axel used the dullest, most predictable spells. I'm talking Expelliarmus and worse, and of course Tom parried them all. Then Tom shot back with, I don't even know what, I'd never seen that spell before in my life, and suddenly Axel was so covered in grease, he couldn't grip his wand! He just stood there trying to pick it up and dropping it every time, until Tom said, 'Do you yield? You'll never be able to grip your wand without help, and I'd rather not waste more time on you than necessary' and Axel yielded. Afterwards, Tom had that elf of his clean the grease off Axel for him, like it wasn't worth his while to do it himself. Oh, it was beautiful. You should have been there, Hermione. You missed a great show."

"I'm sure it was really something," said Hermione, not sounding impressed.

"I don't flatter myself that you would have found any entertainment in it," said Tom. "Of course, it was mere child's play compared to a professional duelist such as yourself."

"You see, the squeaky wheel gets the grease," explained Tom's father. "Or squeaky Axel in this case. That's funny."

Well it had been, until Tom's father had explained it. At least he wasn't crowing "That's my boy!" as he'd done at the duel.

"I'm very proud of you, Tom," said his mother. "You've grown into a formidable duelist."

"Have you thought about going pro?" Ignis asked Tom. "You probably could, you know, with skills like that."

Tom shook his head. "I have nothing to prove. And I'm more interested in reality than in sport. You can hardly complain about that.

Ignis accepted this explanation with a resigned nod, and addressed Hermione. "At least I got Tom to agree to some friendly duels with me, but he refuses to teach me his tricks. I'm trying to learn what he's doing by observation, but I just can't figure out his spells."

"As I said, an unconventional dueling style loses its advantage once others understand it," said Tom.

Hermione paused her eating to rub her temples and take a deep breath.

"Anyway," said Ignis, "Tessie appreciated my support of Tom against her brother. Her family aren't taking this well, so she'll take all the support she can get. She invited me to the wedding, and now I sort of feel obligated to go."

"You're going, right?" said Hermione.

"I guess," said Ignis. "I mean, it would be weird for me to show support as Tom's second, and then not go to the wedding itself. The invitation says I can bring a guest, and I don't know whom to ask."

"The hero of Halloween has a wealth of potential companions to choose from," said Tom. "And there are no anti-werewolf wards to worry about at Inchfar Hall."

"True," said Ignis. "But she would have to be a witch who doesn't mind going to a muggle place." He said this at a table that included a witch who had, moments ago, gone on at length about her appreciation of muggle architecture. Tom had to act quickly to stake his claim to this limited resource before Ignis did, for his invitation included a companion as well.

So, once the cheese course was over, goodbyes had been said, and Ignis had donned his cloak and headed down the hill, Tom wasted no time. "Hermione, may I have a word with you?"

"Sure." They loitered in the drawing room as his parents left, his mother asking Tommy which bedtime story he'd like.

Once Tom had Hermione to himself, he got straight to the point. "Will you accompany me to Tessie and Algie's wedding?"

Hermione blinked. "Why would I do that?"

"Tessie has invited her friends. There will be many of your peers there."

"You're not selling this well. I don't want to answer questions about my hair for the whole reception."

"I'm not offering this as a treat, but asking it as a favor. If I don't arrive complete with a witch on my arm, I'll be pestered by a mob of witches hoping to marry the Riddle fortune. Tessie has been my shield for years, but for obvious reasons, she's no longer qualified for the job."

"Oh," realized Hermione.

"I'll owe you," added Tom.

"Hm. I suppose it won't take that long. I can wear the formal muggle clothes I already have, right?"

"Of course not. Those are two years old."

She sighed.

"And you'll need to know how to dance of course."

"Merlin's crystal balls. What kind of dance are we talking about?"

"Modern dances: jitterbug, bunny hug, foxtrot—"

"Why are they all named after animals?"

"I can't answer that, sorry. But I can teach you the basics of dancing them. Don't worry about learning a large vocabulary of dance figures, since as a woman, all you need do is follow."

Hermione bristled.

"You may learn both roles if you want an additional challenge of course," said Tom hurriedly. "My friends Lulu and Nancy know both roles, and often switch. They're professional dancers of course. I won't hold you to their standard."

"This sounds like it will take a lot of time."

"Every witch and wizard who attends shows support of mixed marriage, which offends blood purists. Our attendance will be a political statement as much as a social event."

"Oh all right. I'll do it."

"Thank you. I'll provide dance lessons at your convenience."

"Hm."

—

In the recently dusted-off ballroom of the Riddle house, Tom set the needle on the record and enjoyed the resulting jazz. "We both follow the music," he explained. "So in that sense, we're both followers. The convention is that the man leads the woman. This convention may have arisen from the fact that men tend to be less capable of following directions." So Cecilia had explained, and it seemed reasonable. Tom was perfectly capable of recalling such conversations while remaining calm. "Of course, we also tend to be taller, so we have a better view of the dance floor, which makes navigating easier."

"I have no ambition to wear heels higher than these, so we're stuck with our relative heights." A thought occurred to Hermione. "And if I tried that, you'd just wear even higher heels, wouldn't you."

"I wouldn't risk the chandelier messing up my hair," Tom explained, earning him a brief laugh from Hermione. "Now then. Ballroom hold: your left hand on my shoulder, here, or upper arm is fine too if that's what you can reach, while my right hand is on your back." Which felt like taut muscle, flinching at his touch. Tom took his hand away. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione took a few breaths. "No. It's fine. Come on. I said I'd do this."

"All right." He put his hand back. "And I hold your right hand in my left like so. Er. Not in a death grip. You're not dangling off a cliff like Pauline at the end of an episode. We must be linked, not trapped, both free to let go in an instant. Yes, like that. Many of the figures break out of this frame, but this will be the home to which we return. It's useful for communicating, since we have three points of contact: my shoulder, your back, and our joined hands. If you push at my shoulder slightly, while I pull at your back slightly, we form a solid frame, moving as one. Now, I'm going to lead a shift in our weight from one foot to the other, since one's weight must be on the correct foot to coordinate a step. Like so." A subtle lead wasn't enough, but a stronger one got the point across, and he felt her weight shift from one side to the other.

Her eyes widened. "Oh!"

"Yes, like that." He tried a few more times, with Hermione needing lighter guidance every time. "Perfect. Now we're ready to move about the floor like—" He had to check himself so as not to crash onto Hermione, an immovable object blocking his path.

"I'm supposed to walk backwards?! She'd got the message, at least, even if she hadn't acted on it.

"Yes. You have an objection to walking backwards?"

"I can't see where I'm going!"

"I believe I already explained that I'm taller than you, therefore I can see where you're going. I have full confidence in your ability to survive the drop into the chasm in the dance floor behind you, and defend yourself against the monsters you find therein."

Hermione laughed. "This house has everything. Anyway. I suppose the point is that I'm supposed to trust your lead."

"Have I ever given you reason to distrust me?" asked Tom.

Hermione seemed to run through the same catalog of interactions as Tom, and came up similarly empty-handed. "No," she admitted.

"Take a turn leading me after this. If I steer you wrong, you may take your revenge by steering me wrong."

Hermione considered that. "It's a deal."

Hermione was a quick study once she set her mind to it. Soon the two of them were gliding around the dance floor as one unit.

"Well done," said Tom as the tune ended. "Your turn." He cranked the gramophone and set the needle at the edge of the record again, then returned to a ballroom hold with Hermione and waited.

She looked up at him. "Now?"

"When the music moves you."

That didn't help, but she steeled herself with a deep breath and gave it a go.

Tom shifted his weight to his right foot and stepped back onto his left, as instructed. He shifted his weight back and forth a few times, and took some steps in seemingly random directions. It helped to ignore the music, as Hermione apparently was.

"It works!" she exclaimed.

Tom laughed. "What did you expect?"

She peered at him suspiciously. "You're not using Legilimency to know where I want you to go, are you?"

Tom laughed again. "I'm just paying attention. I've noticed you've stopped leading, and someone has to." He quickly pivoted her across the room, eliciting a giddy shriek so carefree, it hardly sounded like her.

"Hey! I thought it was my turn," she objected.

"It is. So lead."

"You made me dizzy, just now," she complained, leaning on him.

"Are you forfeiting your turn?"

"No, you cheater."

Tom found himself rapidly propelled backwards until she had him cornered, gloating at him with a victorious smirk. Then she blinked and glanced nervously over her shoulder.

"Our escape route is still there," Tom assured her. "Perhaps I should install a pendulum blade swinging from the ceiling, to make you feel at home."

She smiled her perfect smile again. "I could walk backwards if I wanted. I'm not afraid. But I don't actually know any fancy dance moves. I'm thinking of putting you back in charge."

"If you like. We'll have to start the record again, though. The song ended."

"Oh."

Once this was done, Tom led Hermione through a few more dance figures. She was fine for a beginner, not nearly as bad as he'd feared. She seemed to have no sense of where the beat was, but Tom could take responsibility for that. The companion of the heir of Riddle had to be believably worthy of his company, and Hermione was, even to muggles unaware of her magical prowess. She was no Lulu or Nancy, but she wasn't auditioning for a West End show, so she didn't need to be.

After a few more records worth of jazz, Hermione seemed tired.

"Shall we take a break?" suggested Tom.

"All right. You know, I actually sort of like dancing. It's like dueling, anticipating your opponent's moves."

"Partner," corrected Tom. "Not opponent."

Hermione shrugged.

Tom summoned Dobby to provide water.

Hermione drank. "You're a good dance teacher."

"Thank you."

"Who taught you?"

Tom took another sip of water. "Cecilia, mostly."

"Oh." Hermione looked at him, so Tom looked at his water. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you—"

"I'm sorry I asked. It would have been a waste of your time, anyway."

"Merope really wrenched Cecilia's life off the rails, as well as yours," said Hermione.

Tom laughed. "Cecilia's doing fine without me."

"I've been following her suffrage activism in the muggle papers. She's impressive. But there's no hint of her marrying anyone, and she's prominent enough, she'd make the news if she did."

"If she's not married, that's because she doesn't wish to marry."

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," said Hermione, taking Tom by such surprise, he burst into laughter.

"What?!"

"Not mine," she apologized. "It's a famous quote, I forget from whom."

"It's a good one. I wish I could tell it to Cecilia."

"You've really given up on winning her back?"

"Of course. She deserves better than an unfaithful man like I apparently am."

"So why do you need me to protect you from other women?"

"You understand you'll do that only visually, right? And perhaps with some phrases keeping our relationship ambiguous? While your defense skills are formidable, they shouldn't be required for this particular event."

"I know, I know. I'm just wondering, would it really be so bad if some woman got past me? I mean, you're twenty-three. Muggles don't live very long, so you don't have much time to find someone to grow old with. I'd think you'd want to make use of this look you have now—" she gestured vaguely at him, "—before it's gone. You're rich, and very conventionally attractive, so you have a lot of options."

"Whom am I supposed to court? A witch? I could do that only under the false pretense that I'm a wizard, so that's impossible. A muggle? The Statute would prevent me from relating very necessary information. No. I've been in love once, and married once, and have a perfectly delightful son, so that's enough."

Hermione mulled that over. "I've been in love twice," she concluded after, apparently, doing the maths.

"Congratulations on winning the competition."

"I didn't mean that. Just, you know, on the subject of love, I've had more than my fair share, really. Can't complain."

"What happened?" asked Tom, for the alternative seemed to be to talk about himself or Cecilia.

"They were killed in the war. Ron first, then Viktor. Anyway. Neither was much of a dancer. Viktor was so graceful in the air, though. He was part veela."

"You mean the magically beautiful—"

"The beauty wasn't the part he got. Veela can transform into monstrous, ferocious birds. He got just a little of that part. He couldn't transform, he just looked vaguely like a monstrous bird all the time, and he had superb instincts for flying. On a broom of course. Anyway. He was very brave. Everyone was watching us trying to dance at this school ball, and neither of us had any clue what we were doing. Viktor never seemed comfortable on the ground, even just walking, and I'm not graceful anywhere. We could have used your dance lessons then. We just fumbled through, stepping on each other's feet."

"I'm sure it only felt like everyone was watching," Tom assured her. "Most people are too self-absorbed to pay attention to anyone else."

"No, everyone was watching us. He was Durmstrang's Triwizard Champion, and the champions were supposed to start the dance to set an example, so…" She smiled. "All right, most of the boys were watching the Beauxbatons champion, since she was part veela too, but she got the magical beauty part, none of the monstrous bird part. I'm pretty sure most of the girls were glaring daggers at me for dancing with Viktor, though. Oh no, they're going to do that again when they see me with the heir of Riddle, aren't they."

"With your experience, I picked the right candidate for the job. So was Ron magically graceful or magically beautiful?"

Hermione laughed. "No, no, Ron was…" Her voice got quiet. "He was a good man. We danced a little at his brother's wedding, before the attack. Neither of us knew what we were doing there either, so we just fumbled through and laughed…" She laughed in remembrance. "His brother married that beautiful part-veela witch, so I'm sure no one was looking at us at all. It was nice." So nice, apparently, that Hermione couldn't hold back her tears.

Tom crouched by her chair and put his arms around her, which was an isometric exercise for strengthening the leg muscles. Hermione leaned into him as if she found comfort in his gesture, which was no inconvenience for Tom.

—

The afternoon of Saturday, February 23, Tom and Hermione sat in his office, listening to the Wizarding Wireless. His father was stationed in his own office, listening to the muggle radio.

Hermione turned the volume down a little more, so the hurdy-gurdy was barely audible. "If it's important, we'll hear it," she explained to Tom.

"Not that we'll be able to do anything about it, whatever we hear," said Tom. "Maybe we should just read about Woolsey's latest attack in the morning paper, like everyone else."

"Place your bets now. What do you think Woolsey's pack is up to tonight?" Hermione asked.

"Finding some way to violate the Statute I suppose," said Tom. "Unless he feels that what he's already done is sufficiently terrifying. His pack lost members last month, as some muggles defended themselves effectively and now have taxidermied wolves to show for it, so I'd think he wouldn't want to risk any more of his people's lives, but—"

"Hush," interrupted Hermione, so Tom shut up, but he heard only the same mockery of music. She turned off the wireless, walked to the dark window, and listened intently. "I hear howling."