Hermione stuffed the broom into her beaded bag.
"Wait, what model of broom is that?" asked the one-handed man, one-handed werewolf rather.
"It was custom-made," Hermione said dismissively as she closed her bag. "Do you have time to talk? Sorry to pull you away from that bookshop so abruptly."
"I accomplished what I meant to accomplish," he said. "With your help of course. And sure, I have time to talk. I didn't make any other plans for today. I assumed there was a good chance I'd spend this afternoon in prison, or worse."
Hermione nodded as if that were a reasonable sentence to include in a conversation. "Would you like some tea?"
"I don't want to impose."
This was a cheering statement, but Hermione ruined it by saying, "Oh don't be ridiculous, you're no imposition at all. Any particular food preferences or restrictions we should know about? Are you a vegetarian or anything?"
Tom thought it unlikely that their visitor was a vegetarian, and was proven right when the werewolf said, "Oh, anything would be fine. I'm not picky."
"Dobby, please prepare tea and snacks for our guest and serve it in…" She turned to Tom. "There are a ridiculous number of rooms in this house. Where should we entertain our guest?"
While the shed out back seemed most suitable, Tom didn't think that Hermione would agree. "The solarium?" he suggested, as that room most closely resembled the outdoors.
"Right," said Hermione, turning to Dobby. "Tea in the solarium."
Dobby popped away before Tom had time to veto this order.
"This way," said Hermione, so Tom and the werewolf followed her through the halls.
"I should tell my parents we have a guest," said Tom. "We'll join you shortly." He left the magical portion of the party and found his parents talking in the drawing room.
"What's wrong?" his mother asked.
"Hermione made a new friend at a book signing this afternoon, and has invited him here for tea."
"A wizard?" said his father, delighted.
"A werewolf."
His mother was so skilled at concealing her emotions, there was no way to tell how she felt about this, but his father was expressive enough for both of them, running through almost every expression except boredom. "A werewolf? Well. I suppose that in the wizarding world, all sorts of strange folk are accepted as a matter of course. What other species are part of this society? If we go to the seashore, will Hermione introduce us to some mermaids? Are the stages of wizarding opera houses graced by sirens?"
"I don't know about that, but I can say with confidence that werewolves are not accepted members of wizarding society. In fact, the mere rumor that a werewolf might be loose in the bookshop was enough to incite a panic. The security system that Hermione and Dobby set up in this house was immediately triggered by the arrival of a Dark creature when we apparated in, but Hermione didn't seem at all surprised."
"What? Then why did she invite him here?"
"Only she can explain her reasoning. They're in the solarium now."
Tom's mother clung to his father as they walked to the solarium, which gave his father even more confidence, which increased Tom's sense of dread.
They found the witch and the werewolf animatedly discussing the riot, with big grins and gestures. "Oh, hello," said Hermione when they came in. "We haven't even done introductions yet." She turned back to the werewolf. "I'm Hermione Granger. This little darling is Tommy Riddle."
"He's a dear little snuggle bunny," corrected Tom's mother, taking her grandson in her arms.
"That's Tommy's father, Tom Riddle," Hermione continued. "These are Tom's parents, Squire Thomas Riddle and Mrs. Mary Riddle. Squire Riddle was a friend of my father, so he invited me to stay at the Riddle House when my father died. I'm taking care of Tommy because his mother died in childbirth, poor thing. Taking care of other people is the best distraction from one's own troubles."
"Oh!" The werewolf looked back and forth at Tom and Hermione, processing this information. "My condolences for your loss, Mr. Riddle."
Tom nodded to acknowledge this sympathy. "Thank you."
The werewolf looked at Hermione again. "So you two aren't, that is to say, together?"
"My wife just died four days ago," said Tom irritably. And he was in love with someone else entirely, but that was beside the point.
"Sorry I didn't realize earlier that you were in mourning," the werewolf said.
"I'm trying to stay cheerful for my son's sake," said Tom. "It wouldn't be right for him to begin life in the atmosphere of a funeral parlor."
"I see what you mean." The werewolf looked around at the bright and cheery Christmas decorations. "Yule decorations are a welcoming sight for new eyes. Anyway, I'm very pleased to meet you," he said, shaking the hands of the men with more strength than Tom thought was necessary. When he reached for Hermione's hand, he seemed startled that she shook his hand back. Tom's mother offered her hand for the werewolf to kiss, which he did, bowing low with practiced ease. Hermione looked embarrassed, as she should.
"I'm Ignis McKinnon, exterminator, specializing in Dark creatures. Please call me Ignis." He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Hermione. She read it and put it in her pocket. When the werewolf handed one to Tom, he had to accept it as well. The printing quality wasn't very good. It gave an address in Orncrag, Cumberland, and listed his Floo-Call address as McKinnon Pest Control. Tom put the card in the section of his wallet designed for such.
His mother accepted one graciously, and his father took one with enthusiasm. "Thank you. What sorts of Dark creatures do you deal with?" Tom's father asked.
"Boggarts, doxies, hinkypunks, trolls, werewolves, whatever magical pest is bothering you, I'll relocate or kill it." Ignis smiled. "You might not need my services, as your house has an exceptionally good security system. I assume your son has told you already why I have a particular insight into Dark creatures."
Tom's father nodded. "It must give you an advantage in your work. A pity you can't list this qualification in your advertisements. I'll think of you first whenever I need a Dark creature put out of my misery."
"Thank you," said the werewolf. "I'd be glad of your business. Of course werewolves are in the 'relocate' category rather than 'kill.' They're always thankful to get a warning that they've been found out, and grateful for an opportunity to escape. I split the profit with them if they go quietly. It's a pretty good job for someone with my condition, being my own boss. I set my own hours. When someone tries to hire me to work around the full moon, I just say that I'm already booked that day. And the injuries I acquire every full moon are easily explained as normal consequences of my profession."
"Brilliant!" said Hermione. "The werewolf I knew had so much trouble keeping a job, but you've found a way around that."
"I probably would have found some way to be my own boss anyway," he said. "I never liked doing what I was told. But who's this werewolf friend of yours?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "One of my teachers. In Australia. A small school, you wouldn't have heard of it." Hogwarts, Tom filled in. "He was by far the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we had, and one of the best professors overall."
"What?" exclaimed Ignis. "How was a werewolf allowed near children?"
"He concealed his condition very well, and the other professors didn't tell anyone. They just said he was ill sometimes, and filled in for him as necessary."
Ignis shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't know Australians were so tolerant of—"
"They're not, in general," Hermione said sadly. "His condition eventually became more widely known. He resigned and left quickly, before angry letters from parents could arrive. I did manage to get some tutoring from him afterwards, fortunately. He was an absolutely brilliant duelist. He taught me much of what I know."
"Was?" asked Tom's father.
Hermione was clearly troubled by the memory. "He came to the school's defense when it was attacked by a Dark wizard and his followers." Tommy will have followers? thought Tom proudly. Or was this a different wizard? How many Dark wizards were there, anyway? "He died defending his former students. I couldn't let Picardy insult such a hero."
"So this school, in Australia," said Ignis excitedly, "are they still open to werewolves? I don't mean to teach, I mean for students, as long as they're discrete about their condition?"
That was the flaw in Hermione's cover story, that someone might actually go to Australia to check. How would she get out of this one? Tom sat back to enjoy the show.
"No," she said sadly. "There's been a complete turnover in staff since then. The school is run very differently now. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone." Well done, Hermione, thought Tom.
"Ah," said Ignis, deflating.
Dobby appeared with a pop and a large tray of tea and snacks. Once tea formalities were out of the way, Ignis once again complimented Hermione. "He taught you well. That shield spell was absolutely brilliant. How did you do that? Could you teach me?"
Hermione glowed. Tom glowered. This werewolf was better at flattery than he was. "Sure, I'm happy to teach you." She set her tea down and did so, incantation, wand movement, and, most importantly, intent. She seemed to feel that Ignis was a quick study. Tom and his parents were glad to be spectators in this magic lesson. "And now to test it."
"Not in the house!" exclaimed Tom. "I won't have spells ricocheting around in here. Take this lesson outside."
They did. Little Hangleton was colder than London. Tom and his father went along to watch, while his mother chose to sit with Tommy on her lap, by a window of the drawing room, which overlooked the backyard. The gazebo in the backyard made a pleasant spot for Tom and his father to sit. Hermione quickly inscribed some runes on the pillars of the gazebo. "Thank you," said Tom. "And the house?"
"Dobby and I already warded the house."
"Very good," said his father. "Now let's see these spells in action.
Ignis gave the impression, initially at least, of someone who was proud of his dueling skills, which made his humiliation especially fun to watch. Hermione did the Riddle House proud. She taught spells, both for defense and offense, then had Ignis incorporate them into duels. The air rippled with reality-bending power as spells shot back and forth. Some of the spells glowed like fireworks in the fading light of a short winter's day. Their yard suffered the most, as soon there were craters in the lawn, a tree trunk was oozing from throbbing yellow pustules, and one of their shrubs had melted.
Ignis moved like an athlete, quick and strong, dodging and blocking spells and firing back with all his might. He was breathing hard, his breath forming white clouds in the cold air. He called for a break to take off his jacket, slinging it over the railing of the gazebo. "Sorry I'm not putting on a better show for you," he remarked to the Riddles. "But she's dueling well enough for the two of us, so I hope that suffices." He then resumed the game.
Hermione, on the other hand, was smiling indulgently at Ignis as she thoroughly trounced him with the barest flicks of her wand. Ignis's shield held firm, at least when Hermione didn't, for example, point her wand at the ground by his feet and say, "Terraemotus," causing a localized earthquake to open a fissure, into which he, shield and all, plummeted out of sight. He reappeared, shieldless, scrambling out of the chasm an instant before it slammed back shut. Once he was safely above ground, Hermione shot a wordless spell at him before he had time to get his shield back up. "You almost got it!" she said encouragingly after her blast hit him in the face, knocking him off his feet and back a few yards, to lie on the frozen ground. He didn't get up. "Are you all right?"
"Just a broken nose. I'll fix it." Ignis pointed his wand at his face and said "Episkey. Scourgify" cleaned up the blood. "Meloflors!" he then cried, wand directed at Hermione, but she was too quick for him. Her shield bounced the spell directly back at him, turning his head into a large orange pumpkin.
Tom laughed. His father joined him, his laugher deeper and even louder.
A muffled complaint that sounded like "Merlin's balls," came from inside the pumpkin.
"That's a cute jinx," said Hermione. "I'd forgotten about that one."
Ignis lifted his heavy pumpkin head off the ground, then slammed it back down again, smashing it to reveal his human head, now covered in pumpkin innards. "Scourgify." That cleared most of the orange goo. The rest slowly faded from existence, along with the broken pieces of pumpkin on the ground. Ignis looked about as powerful and impressive as a smashed pumpkin himself. "Thank you very much for the lesson. I think that's all I can learn today."
Hermione reached a hand down to help him up. "You did very well."
Ignis shook his head as he staggered to his feet. "There's considerable room for improvement."
"In all of us," she said, as she cleaned the worst of the dirt and blood off him with her wand.
"Speaking of room for improvement," said Tom's father, stepping out of the gazebo and looking around pointedly at the damage, apparent even in the gloom of a winter's evening, "I hope you children intend to clean up after yourselves."
"Of course, Squire Riddle." Hermione set about putting things to rights, with some assistance from the exhausted Ignis.
"Remember to remove the tentacles from that birdbath," Tom's father said. Hermione shot a spell to immobilize it as it slithered across the yard in pursuit of a sparrow, then restored it to its former condition and location.
Dobby appeared with a pop. "Miss Granger, Mrs. Riddle says young Master Riddle requests your presence."
"Oh! Thank you, Dobby." She rushed back inside.
Ignis sighed at the mess. "I'm very sorry, but I think I'll need help with this. That duel took a lot out of me."
"Of course," said Tom's father. "Dobby, fix this mess. Ignis, you deserve a break after putting on a show like that. Come inside."
They all went inside to the drawing room, joining Tom's mother and Hermione, who was feeding Tommy. The windows now showed a view of Dobby repairing the backyard.
"Thank you for the fascinating exhibition," said Tom's mother.
"Just thank Hermione," said Ignis as he collapsed into a chair. "She was the fascinating one. My part could have been played by a flobberworm."
Tom's mother laughed daintily at the joke, although she must have no more idea what a flobberworm was than Tom.
"You did very well," said Hermione. "It's hard to incorporate a new spell into one's dueling repertoire so soon after learning it. I'm sure you'll do better the next time we duel."
"The next time?" he repeated, surprised.
"Only if you want to," she said awkwardly.
"I'd be honored," he said. "I'm just surprised you'd waste time on me. I have so much to learn from you, but what do you get out of it?"
"I like teaching," she said. "And it's terribly unfair that Hogwarts doesn't admit werewolves. I'm glad to help."
Tom looked at the clock. Ignis didn't seem to have the energy to get out of his chair. It was getting so late, there was no way to avoid it. "We dine at six," Tom said. "You are of course welcome to join us. I dare say you worked up an appetite after that duel."
"Thank you very much for your hospitality. I mean, to be invited to dinner by witches and wizards who know what I am, and don't shun me for it…" The werewolf was quite overwhelmed, as was Tom, although with a different emotion.
"There's no such bigotry here," said Hermione. "The Riddles were kind enough to invite me, a muggleborn, into their home, so inviting a werewolf isn't very different."
Did she have to admit that she was muggleborn? In a story woven of so many lies, what difference would one more make? Surely life would be easier for her if she could pass as a halfblood at least.
Hermione's confession of her lowly blood status had a great impact on Ignis, who was having an emotional time already.
"A… I'm sorry, what? I thought I heard you say…"
"Muggleborn," said Hermione, steel in her voice.
"But you're such a powerful witch," said Ignis, bewildered.
"Why shouldn't I be?" challenged Hermione.
"Well. Um. No reason."
"I'll tell the cook we'll have a guest for dinner," said his mother, standing and opening the door. She stood in the doorway for a moment. "Do I hear hooting?"
"Tom's new owl!" exclaimed Hermione. "We left her in my room." She stood, Tommy still at her breast. "She must be waking up for the night."
Tom excused himself to tend to his owl, glad that Hermione accompanied him without being asked, as he didn't know what care an owl needed. Their departure, he realized, left his father alone with a werewolf. While Tom had taken an instant dislike to the werewolf, the thought of leaving him alone with his father did engender some twinges of pity. Would the werewolf be all right in their absence? As he closed the door behind him, he heard his father's deep chortling. Oh no.
Tom thought fast. He opened the door again. "Ignis, would you like to come along to see my new owl? She's a beauty."
Ignis waved him away. "Thank you, perhaps another time. For now I just want to rest."
No chance of that, but at least Tom had tried. He and Hermione followed the hooting to her room.
Tom's new owl had opened her fiery eyes and was attempting to stretch, which wasn't possible in her small cage, so Tom let her out. She extended her magnificent black wings.
"Welcome to your new home," said Hermione. "This is the Riddle House, in Little Hangleton, Yorkshire." The owl paid close attention.
"Can she understand us?" asked Tom.
"Oh yes," said Hermione.
Tom addressed his owl. "Would you like an owl treat?"
Even though it was a physical impossibility for owls to roll their eyes, she expressed her opinion of this question perfectly well without this ability. Had she known she was being purchased by an idiot, she might have put up more of a fuss at the shop. Of course she wanted an owl treat.
Tom's prompt delivery of said treat improved her evaluation of him somewhat. After that incident with Malfoy's owl, Tom had resolved to always have owl treats handy in his wallet. "Would you like another?" he asked. "Or perhaps some meat from the kitchen? Or would you prefer to see what hunting the grounds have to offer?"
The third suggestion clearly appealed to her most. She looked at the window, then looked at Tom pointedly. He opened the window for her. She flew out, tucking her wings to fit through the window frame, then extending them to flap in the cold air. Tom closed the window.
"She will be back, right?" Tom asked Hermione. "Or did I just let all those galleons fly out the window?"
"She'll be back in the morning," laughed Hermione. "Owls are proud, but also very loyal."
"Thank you." Tom hurried back to the drawing room, Hermione at his heels.
His mother was back, so the werewolf hadn't been alone with his father for the entire time. His father was, however, chortling, so Tom had to assume the worst.
"How is your owl?" asked his mother.
"She seems happy enough," answered Tom. "I let her out to hunt for the night. So. What did we miss?"
"I've just been telling Ignis about young Hermione's first bouts of accidental magic," said his father.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Oh yes, your father told me all about it at the time. Hermione's father may have been a muggle, but he was a good friend," Tom's father explained to Ignis. "When I explained the significance of these seemingly impossible incidents around little Hermione, he was quite shocked. Muggles have no idea how to cope with a young witch in the family. It's a good thing I could offer some guidance. Tom, Hermione, don't worry, you didn't miss it all. There's more to tell."
Hermione was turning pink, which fit the putative situation perfectly.
"One day," his father continued gleefully, "when the Granger family was in Sydney, Hermione's nursemaid took her to a park. Of course, she had dressed her charge in clothes befitting a child of her station, which Hermione wasn't happy about, the weather in Australia being beastly hot. So do you know what little Hermione did?"
"Squire Riddle, he doesn't need to hear—" interrupted Hermione.
"Of course he does, it's an entertaining story. Imagine the nursemaid's embarrassment when she found that little Hermione's clothes had vanished completely!"
Hermione covered her face in her hands as the room filled with laughter. "I was only two," she said. "Toddlers do things like that."
"Your nursemaid gave you quite a scolding, and demanded to know where you'd hidden your clothes," continued Tom's father. "She was adamant that all proper ladies must wear clothes, and presented herself as an example. She wore clothes, so you had to as well." He smiled. "So you vanished all the clothes right off her. You always were a logical child."
Hermione turned even pinker as everyone laughed.
"Oh Thomas," Tom's mother sighed. "There's no need to embarrass the girl."
"There's nothing embarrassing about a young witch's accidental magic," insisted his father. "Especially a witch as powerful as this one. Magic's something to be proud of, isn't it? Anyway, the sudden disappearance of her nursemaid's clothes was, shall we say, surprising to the other nursemaids and children gathered in the park that day. The obliviators had a lot to do. Even after they'd set things to rights as best they could, the nursemaid quit. The Grangers had the hardest time keeping a nursemaid in their employ. They never lasted long. Perhaps that's why she grew up so wild."
"I still don't see why people wear uncomfortable clothes," said Hermione. "But I don't just vanish them now."
"Maturity for which we are grateful. As for young Tom's accidental magic," his father continued, fixing his twinkling dark eyes on him.
"Father—"
"Would you rather tell it yourself?" his father asked politely. "Don't leave out any of the good bits, or I'll have to fill them in."
"Yes," said Tom. "I think I would."
His father nodded and sat back in his chair to listen.
"Unlike Hermione," Tom began, "I always appreciated quality clothing. I remember being so proud of my new suit one Easter, my attention was all taken up in admiring my clothes, so I had none left to look where I was going. I fell in a mud puddle." All true, so far. The tragedy still ached. If he'd had magical powers, however: "I was so upset, I made all the mud on my clothes vanish, so I looked as good as ever."
"And you still pay more attention to your appearance than to your surroundings," said Hermione.
"I'm sorry, did someone say something?" said Tom. "I was too busy admiring my new emerald cufflinks to notice."
That went over well, judging from the laughter.
"That wasn't one of the better stories," grumbled his father. "Insufficiently embarrassing."
"You think that's not embarrassing, wasting magic on a frivolous thing like that?" said Hermione. "You Riddles are shameless."
"They are nice cufflinks," laughed Ignis. "I'll try to resist succumbing to their hypnotic sparkle, as it must be my turn to tell a story by now."
"Indeed," said Tom's father.
"Well. Only my family knows about this one, as fortunately I wasn't found out. You've seen those traveling carnival freak shows?"
"No," said Hermione disapprovingly. Was she fishing for more details from Ignis for the Riddles' sakes? But her tone implied she wouldn't be welcoming of more details.
Ignis seemed knocked off his stride.
Tom's father came to his rescue. "I have," he said. "Bearded ladies and such. Great fun."
Now Ignis looked confused. "Bearded ladies?" With a sudden gleam in his eye, he drew his wand, pointed it at Hermione, and cast "Barba!" Hermione immediately grew a beard as curly and wild as the rest of her hair. "Got you!"
Hermione laughed through her beard. "Finite Incantatem." Her face was visible and smooth once more. "Good shot. I think Ignis is talking about magical carnivals, Squire Riddle, not the muggle kind. The muggle kind wouldn't interest a wizard."
"That's not true," objected his father. "Have you seen a muggle 'magician' with his sleight-of-hand tricks? It can be fascinating to try to figure out how they do it without magic. And wizard or muggle, any red-blooded man would enjoy the sight of those acrobatic ladies in their leotards and tights. And muggles can perform many impressive feats of skill. I saw a sharpshooter look in a compact mirror to aim a pistol over her shoulder and shoot the ashes off a volunteer's cigarette."
Tom's mother lifted an eyebrow at her husband. "Are you practicing for a new career as a carnival barker?"
He glanced at her, then looked back to Ignis. "But I believe you were talking about a magical carnival."
"Yes," he said. "I didn't know muggles had carnivals too. Anyway, my family went to one. I don't remember how old I was. I must have been very young. This carnival barker made a big deal of this ferocious beast they had, a snake that could disguise itself as a beautiful woman to entice its human prey. We were just in time for its weekly feeding. It would look like a woman, then reveal itself as a snake to swallow a sheep whole."
Ignis was holding his audience's attention. "So we paid and went into the tent where indeed, there was a beautiful woman pacing in a large, sturdy-looking cage, looking yearningly through the bars at the audience members. After the barker talked quite a lot about how dangerous and deceptive this beast was, all while this woman was feebly pulling at the bars of her cage, I'd had enough. You see, I didn't believe the barker. I thought he'd just trapped a woman in that cage. I was so angry at the injustice of it, I glared at the cage, and the next thing I knew, it had shattered."
"So you've been starting riots since you were a boy," said Tom, imagining the scene.
"I suppose," said Ignis. "As with today's riot, part of the problem was people trampling each other as they tried to escape, and part was people trying to be heroic by shooting spells at this monster, now free from her cage. She ran backstage pretty fast, though. She wasn't hurt, thank Merlin. The sheep panicked and was running all over the place, though."
"Poor sheep," said Hermione. Of course she would think of the sheep. She'd invite one to tea tomorrow and give it a dueling lesson.
"And then there were people like my dad," continued Ignis, "who wanted to know why this supposedly dangerous beast had run instead of attacking humans, advertised as her natural and preferred prey, as soon as she was free of her cage."
"That's exactly what I would have done," said Tom's father. "Did he get his money back?"
"Well, the barker tried to put on the show anyway, once the sheep was caught. He even offered to put the cage back together, but the audience weren't interested. He did convince the woman to come out from backstage, and she apologized for the shattering cage. She'd paid to have it built herself, you see, for her show, and I'd shattered it so thoroughly, and then the pieces had got trampled, and probably many of them got taken as souvenirs, so it might not be repairable, so she was out rather a lot of money. She said she would understand if we wanted refunds, but she'd really rather we didn't insist on them since this was her only source of income. She did transform into an enormous snake and swallowed the sheep whole, but she was obviously just an animagus, not a dangerous beast, so the audience weren't impressed."
"Animagi are rare," said Hermione. "I believe I've met only three, that I've seen transform."
"Rare, yes," said Ignis. "Freakish exotic beasts, no. But I felt sorry for causing so much trouble, so I took my parents aside and told them it had been my fault, and that I didn't want a refund. My mother said I'd meant well, and my father said I'd been right that she wasn't really a dangerous beast, so they weren't angry. My brother was impressed. I think they were proud my magic had had such a powerful effect. They didn't demand refunds either."
"You did get an exciting show for it, even if it wasn't the one advertised," said Tom's father.
Fiona knocked, then opened the door and announced "Dinner is served."
"Oh, you have human servants as well?" said Ignis as she was leaving.
Fiona froze, then hurried out with renewed speed.
"Yes," said Tom's father, standing, then assisting his wife to her feet and escorting her into the dining room. "I do a lot of business with muggles, so this has to pass as a muggle house, for entertaining business associates. Before you arrived, we had a muggle guest at lunch, which explains our strange attire."
"Business with muggles?" exclaimed Ignis, following. "But the Statute—"
Tom took Hermione's arm to escort her into the dining room as well, which was a more formal way to process in to dinner than was usual at the Riddle House, but they did have a guest. Also, Tom was concerned that Ignis might attempt to escort Hermione in to dinner himself. Hermione blinked at him, but didn't protest.
"I always honor the Statute of Secrecy," huffed Tom's father. "My muggle business associates never have the slightest suspicion that I am anything more than a fellow muggle."
Ignis was still confused. "But… Why associate with muggles at all?"
"That's where the money is," said Tom's father, pulling out his mother's chair for her. "The muggle economy is so much bigger than the wizarding, there are more opportunities in it. The goblins at Gringotts exchange pounds for real money easily enough."
Ignis nodded to concede this point.
Tom pulled out Hermione's chair, which earned him a confused look, but she sat without complaint. Once the ladies were seated, the gentlemen sat, and they had their soup.
"That soup was perfect for this cold day," said Ignis as Fiona cleared away the empty bowls. "Is your cook human as well?"
Tom was concerned that Fiona would drop a soup bowl, but no. She served the next course silently and left.
"Yes," said Tom's mother. "Hester's been with us for years."
"She's very good. Sorry, it's a bit awkward, but…" Ignis drew his wand and pointed it at his food. "Diffindo." His food was now neatly cut. He sheathed his wand and picked up his fork. "At least I still have my wand hand."
"You seem to manage quite well," said his mother.
"Well, it's been three years," Ignis said.
"What happened?" asked Hermione, heedless of the look his mother gave her.
Tom took the precaution of ceasing to eat.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Ignis said ruefully. "For my first transformation, I knew I didn't want to get loose in my wolf form, but I didn't really know how to do containment spells yet, so I bound my left wrist with a steel shackle." He paused.
"And then after you transformed, you gnawed your own paw off to get free," completed Hermione. She drew her wand and pointed it at her food as Ignis had done. "Diffindo. That's very convenient when I'm holding a baby; I can cut my meat one-handed. Thanks for the idea." She ate.
Ignis nodded and continued his story. "Fortunately I passed out from blood loss before I got very far, so no humans were hurt. My howls attracted a feral werewolf pack, who healed me once we all regained our human forms in the morning."
"They didn't do a very good job," observed his father.
"There's no undoing the damage caused by Dark magic," explained Hermione. "Werewolves are Dark creatures. You can't just regrow the hand as if it were taken off by a hippogriff bite or something."
"You slept through that lesson in Defense class, did you?" laughed Ignis. "Most of what they teach about werewolves in school is bunk anyway. You didn't miss much. It makes me wonder what other nonsense I was taught."
"I always suspected my teachers were idiots," said Tom's father agreeably. "If they were so smart, what were they doing teaching, eh? Why weren't they rich?"
"There are much more important goals than wealth," objected Hermione.
"Thank you Miss Obvious," teased his father. "Family, for one. And what's the use of wealth if a man can't marry the most beautiful girl he's ever seen?" He lifted his wineglass to his wife, who blushed prettily.
"Oh Thomas," she smiled. "I believe we were discussing teaching."
"Teaching is an important profession," continued Hermione. "I'll admit that not all teachers are qualified for the job. That Professor Picardy should really be in a different line of work."
"I always hated Picardy's Defense class," said Ignis. "It didn't make any sense to learn about these exciting topics from dusty old books and a dusty old professor. So whenever I could, I'd learn on my own, seeking out Dark creatures…" His voice faltered. "That may not have been the best way to go about it either."
Hermione patted his remaining hand. "You stayed true to yourself. Let's see, driven to learn the truth, and very brave while doing it. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?"
Ignis laughed. "Both excellent guesses. I was almost a hatstall, but it eventually went with Gryffindor." He looked at her. "I suspect the Sorting Hat would have put you in Gryffindor had you gone to Hogwarts."
"Thank you," she said, beaming.
"While I would have enjoyed your company had you attended Hogwarts, I can't begrudge you your opportunity to learn from a Defense professor so much better than mine. I'm glad you're here now. Humans who would invite a werewolf to dine with them are really in the minority here in Britain." And at this table in particular, thought Tom. Actually he might be wrong about that. His father seemed to be siding with Hermione, and his mother was unreadable as usual. The werewolf turned to Tom. "Slytherin, right?"
"Excuse me?" said Tom.
"I'm pretty sure I remember you from school. Of course, Gryffindors associate with Slytherins as little as possible. I never thought I'd sit down to dinner with a Slytherin, but beggars can't be choosers, eh? You must have been a year or two ahead of me, class of '22 or '23? I got bitten when I was sixteen, so I skipped my final year, but there would still be some overlap."
"I didn't attend Hogwarts at all. I was home educated." Both those sentences were perfectly true.
"Really? I could swear I saw you lurking around the dungeons. You've got that Slytherin look about you, anyway. No offense intended."
"None taken." This wasn't a person to impress with Tommy's status as heir of Slytherin. This wasn't a person worth impressing at all. In fact, he probably didn't even legally count as a person. What was he doing here?
"So you didn't complete your schooling? You never took apparition lessons?" asked Hermione.
Ignis shook his head. "Bitten over summer holiday, just before my seventeenth birthday, so I had to drop out before my last year of school. I thought of studying apparition on my own as I study other subjects, but I can't afford to lose any more limbs, and I'm afraid that if show up at St. Mungo's carrying a detached leg, they'll send me straight to the Werewolf Research Institute rather than reattach it. The feral werewolves told me some horror stories."
"But apparition is such a necessary skill…" Hermione looked resolved. "I'll give you lessons. I'm a pretty good field medic. Something straightforward like reattaching a splinched limb is easy enough. I've done it before, so you have nothing to worry about practicing under my supervision."
Ignis's blue-green eyes were wide, not by Dobby's standards of course. "Really? That's… That would be wonderful! How could I ever repay you?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you. Now, I don't want you to feel obligated to do this. My apparition lesson offer still stands, no strings attached. But I need a werewolf test subject to drink a potentially dangerous potion."
Ignis's enthusiastic look was replaced by wariness. "You think you've got a cure, then," he said bitterly. "Every amateur potioneer thinks they've got a cure. I've read those ads in the back of the Quibbler promising amazing results, so long as you give them the entire contents of your Gringotts vault and then drink some potion that ensures you're too dead to sue them afterwards. The ferals warned me about those too."
Hermione was shaking her head hard enough to incite her curls to riot. "No. I don't have a cure. I wish I did. All I have is a treatment to relieve one of the symptoms. You'll still suffer the agony of transformation, still physically become a wolf, but you'll keep your human mind. You won't be driven to hunt and bite humans. You won't bite yourself in frustration if you're locked somewhere without humans to bite. You could spend full moon nights asleep, or reading if you can turn pages with your paws, er, paw, or pass the time using your wolf senses to hunt rabbits or something."
Ignis looked at her warily. "That's different." He thought. "You mean I really wouldn't be a danger to others? I wouldn't injure myself trying to break free to bite humans?"
"Exactly."
Ignis fought to get his emotions under control. "That still sounds too good to be true. I don't want to get my hopes up."
"But you'll try it?"
"What actually is it?"
"It's a terrible-tasting potion that has to be drunk every day for seven days, ending on the day before the night of the full moon. Every month. The main ingredient is wolfsbane, which is deadly poisonous of course, but it's combined with other ingredients that protect the human part of you from its toxicity. It's very tricky to brew. I hope I can complete it in time for this month's full moon."
"The seventeenth," he said.
"I know. I always keep track."
"But where did you learn about this potion? Did you invent it?"
She shook her head. "The Potions professor at my old school brewed it for the werewolf professor of Defense I mentioned. He was a brilliant potioneer."
"If he's so brilliant, why hasn't he published his work?" said Ignis. "If this potion works, why isn't it generally available?"
"He's dead. He didn't have time to publish it before he was killed."
"By the same Dark wizard who killed his werewolf friend?" inferred Tom.
Fiona knocked, them came in to clear away the dishes and serve pudding.
"They weren't friends," Hermione said. "Just coworkers. But yes. They died in the same battle."
Fiona hurried out.
"This school of yours—" began Ignis.
"I'd really rather not talk about it," she said while fighting back tears, or at least giving a very good impression of doing so.
"Of course, dear," said Tom's mother.
"I'm sorry," said Hermione. "The potion works if brewed correctly, but I'm not as good a potioneer as my old professor, so it's possible I'll do it wrong. You don't have to take it. My offer of apparition lessons is still open, whether you drink this potion or not."
"If you want an experimental subject to take your potion, Hermione, it doesn't have to be this particular werewolf," said Tom. "Ignis, you mentioned a feral werewolf pack. Are you still in contact with them? Perhaps you could inform them of Hermione's offer, not with your endorsement of course, just passing along the information. One of them might be brave enough—"
"Stop," said Ignis. "You know exactly what you're doing when you ask me to pass this information along to someone brave enough. A Gryffindor can't let an insult like that stand. Of course I'll drink this potion myself before I let anyone else drink it. You know the old saying: There are no old Gryffindors regretting chances not taken."
Tom thought that "Gryffindors are stupid" would be a more concise way to convey the same idea, but he didn't say this aloud. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor," he said instead.
"Thank you," said Ignis.
"Thank you for your bravery," said Hermione.
"I'll still lock myself in my cage in the basement of course," said Ignis. "In case it doesn't work."
When they had finished their pudding, and Ignis had praised the Riddle cook once more, they retired to the drawing room.
"Can I interest you in an after-dinner drink?" said Tom's father. "I have some excellent brandy."
Ignis looked at the clock. "Is it really that late? Goodness, how time flies. I don't want to overstay my welcome."
Too late for that, thought Tom.
"Thank you very much for your hospitality," Ignis continued. "Which of your fireplaces is hooked up to the Floo network? This one?" He approached it and looked for something on the mantelpiece, but didn't find it.
"I'm terribly sorry, but the Riddle House Floo connection is out of order," said Hermione.
"It's so difficult to get repairmen to show up," grumbled Tom's father, who must have had no more idea what a Floo connection was than Tom did.
"Aren't they awful?" agreed Ignis. "There was a ridiculous amount of paperwork just to change the name of my Floo address to something more memorable for my business."
"I'd offer to side-along apparate you home, but I've never been to Orncrag," said Hermione. "I could ask Dobby if he knows it."
"Don't go to any trouble. I'll just hail the Knight Bus. It's no problem, I ride it all the time. Mrs. Riddle, Squire Riddle, Hermione, Tom, thank you so much for dinner, and everything."
"Thank you very much for brightening a dark winter's evening," said Tom's father with enthusiasm. "You're always welcome here, particularly if you're willing to be trounced by a witch for our entertainment."
Ignis laughed. "I hope my dueling skills will improve until the show becomes a bit more interesting than that."
"We enjoy your company, Ignis, no duels required," said Tom's mother, smiling. Damn.
The werewolf bowed to address Tom's son in Hermione's arms. "Little Tommy, it was nice to meet you too. You stayed so quiet through all of this. What's going on behind those dark eyes of yours?"
"He's thinking about milk and cuddles, because he's a baby," said Hermione firmly. "I'll keep in touch about apparition lessons, and that potion."
"I'll get the door for you," said Tom, who felt that goodbyes were taking too long.
"I'll wait for the bus with you," said Hermione.
"Me too," said Tom, who had never seen a wizarding bus.
Once outside, Ignis didn't go far, just stood by the driveway and held his wand out as if he were hailing a taxicab. Shortly, Ignis and Hermione clearly saw something that Tom couldn't, which was very annoying. Ignis stepped forward. "Evening, Melvin," he said.
Brief pause.
"How much for a ride home to Orncrag from here?"
Pause.
"Thank you." Ignis counted sickles from his wallet as he continued to walk forward. He handed the coins to an invisible person and walked up a few invisible steps, vanishing as he did so.
"Goodbye," called Hermione, as if answering his farewell.
"Goodbye," copied Tom. He watched Hermione's eyes track the retreating bus, which apparently moved very fast.
"I bet you don't see a bus like that every day," smiled Hermione.
"I didn't see it today either," complained Tom. "It must have some anti-muggle spell on it."
"Oh! I'm sorry. It would have to. It's a bright purple triple-decker bus that moves outrageously fast. You could say you don't like riding it, if anyone suggests it. It carries people who can't apparate, the young, infirm, drunks, and so on. And it lurches very uncomfortably."
"So what you're saying is, I'm not missing much," said Tom as they went back in to the warm house. "Thank you."
"Hermione!" said his father. "Thank you for inviting that most entertaining guest. Such a pity we can't throw a dinner party for all our friends with Ignis as a guest of honor."
Tom sighed. He looked to his mother.
"A very interesting young man," she said. "Rambunctious, but reasonably well-mannered. Not all his dinner conversation was suitable for the table, but Hermione did ask, so he wasn't entirely to blame."
Hermione snorted. His mother would have to fix that too.
"At the bookshop where we met him, he was more than just rambunctious," said Tom. "He started a riot. On purpose."
"I helped," said Hermione. "Don't give Ignis all the credit."
Thus, Tom and Hermione finally explained the circumstances under which they had made their new friend.
"So, one pallet of books has been destroyed at least," said Hermione, "but Picardy is still spreading his lies. I'm sure he'll print more books, and of course he's still teaching at Hogwarts, poisoning impressionable young minds." She sighed. "He claims that werewolves have no souls, no morals. Even in their human forms, they're always plotting to kill humans. It's a complete falsehood. Most werewolves go out of their way to avoid biting humans. They lock themselves up over the full moon, biting only themselves. If Picardy has his way, werewolves like Ignis will be hunted down like vermin." She looked suddenly resolved. "I have to stop him."
"Why you?" asked Tom.
"Who else?"
No one stepped forward to volunteer.
"Won't you be busy taking care of Tommy?" asked Tom.
"That seems pretty easy, really. I'm sure I can do other things besides."
"And aren't we also working on making the Riddle name a bit more prominent in the wizarding world?"
Hermione shrugged. "That's your project. Good luck with that. I mean, I'll help as long as it's not too much trouble."
Tom knew better than to even bring up the topic of Cecilia.
"I'm sorry, I just promised that potion to Ignis without asking your permission to buy the ingredients for it," she said. "They're rather expensive."
Tom dismissed that concern with a wave. "Please don't worry about the expense. If Ignis is willing to drink this potion, I'm glad to help provide it."
Hermione's face brightened with a relieved smile. "Thank you, Tom. That's very generous."
Tom smiled too. There was still hope. If Hermione accidentally poisoned her new friend, she'd save him from the terrible fate of living long enough to regret it, which would really be for the best, for everyone.