Tom's relief at having survived lunch with Malfoy was dampened when, shortly after he stepped out of his club, he was yanked into a dark alley he'd never noticed before. The wild-haired, bony witch pressing the point of a wand into his throat was just Hermione, though, so that was all right. "When did you first hold your son?" she demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"This is a security question, to check that you are who you seem to be. Answer!"

"At the tailor shop, so you could try on your new clothes. Is this really necessary?"

She lowered her wand. "Yes. Any security questions for me?"

"I could hardly do anything to defend myself from an impostor, so I might as well assume you're genuine."

"You could punch me, like you punched Malfoy. That was brilliant."

"I couldn't hit a woman!" Even one who insulted him so.

She looked surprised. "Why not?"

Tom was speechless, even with the dregs of his spiked drink in him.

"Well anyway, how was lunch?"

"Excellent. I had mutton."

"And?"

"And mint jelly."

"Tom! What did Malfoy have to say?"

"I thought you weren't interested in my affairs, Hermione. I don't mean to keep you from your work."

She pointed her wand at him. "Specialis Revelio." She looked him over in that palpable way she had, then exclaimed, "Traces of veritaserum!"

"Yes. It's worn off by now. Your hair is flat and limp. See?" Saying it out loud made his tongue ache, but he could do it.

"What happened?"

"After neglecting to guard my drink, I let slip that Tommy is just the spare of Slytherin, not the heir while his uncle Morfin lives, but once I realized what was happening I managed to distract Malfoy before I revealed anything else of importance. He still thinks I must be a halfblood or muggleborn wizard because Riddle isn't a known wizarding name."

"How did you manage to distract him?"

Tom was enjoying this. "I truthfully told Malfoy that he shouldn't worry about the Slytherin line of succession when the Malfoy heir might be in danger. That was sufficient to derail whatever questions he'd planned. I recalled Dobby's story about Mrs. Malfoy ordering him to brew very tricky potions to give to her stepson, Corvus. That seemed rather suspicious to me, considering that she could afford to buy such potions professionally-made, if she actually wanted them made correctly. The logical explanation seemed to be that she did not, in fact, want the potions made correctly, but instead wanted to poison her stepson so that her son Abraxas could take his place as heir of Malfoy. She wanted to make his murder look like an accident."

"And you were confident enough in your suspicions that you could say them aloud under veritaserum?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"That was why he believed me. I'm sure he wouldn't have believed such an accusation otherwise. He left in a hurry, as his wife was home with his children, and he had some veritaserum left. I had to wait eight minutes for the veritaserum to wear off. I was worried I'd say something embarrassing to a waiter."

She was awestruck. "But how…"

"It was easy, to someone with sufficient force of will of course."

"So you didn't need the portkey?"

"No, not really. I thought of it, but even if I had needed it, I couldn't have used it. I don't actually believe I can fly. Damn, I should have thought of aeroplanes. Or a hot air balloon. I'll keep that in mind for next time. Anyway, I'm sure it's for the best that I didn't just vanish from a club full of muggles. I don't want to violate the Statute."

"I'd be the one to get in trouble for giving you the portkey in the first place."

"And we don't want that."

"Anyway, as you don't seem to be boobytrapped, it should be safe to bring you back to the Riddle House."

Tom considered telling her to go home without him, as it was pleasant to be back in London, and he was overdue to catch up with his muggle friends, but decided against it. He had a lot to do in Little Hangleton. "If you would be so kind as to apparate us." Tom offered Hermione his arm as if asking her to dance.

She smiled with her perfect teeth and took his arm. They whirled into emptiness, Tom letting the disorientation wash over him like music, until he found his feet on the floor of the drawing room of the Riddle House. "Thank you," he said, releasing her arm.

"You're adapting very well to side-along apparition," she said. "It can be disorienting even for wizards. I wonder how you'd handle Floo travel."

"Oh yes, you told Ignis something about our Floo being out-of-order. What is it, and how can we have it repaired?"

"The Floo is a transportation network, so people can travel from fireplace to fireplace, or just make Floo-calls, like telephone calls."

"Ah, like the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Exactly. It works even for children, squibs, and the infirm, as it doesn't require the user's magic, so it should work for muggles as well. We'd just have to buy some Floo powder and get a fireplace here hooked up to the network."

"And how do we do that?"

Hermione sighed. "I'll have to go to the office at the Ministry of Magic, stand in a queue, fill out forms, then probably stand in more queues. It could take hours, but that's the Ministry. I should have time Wednesday the twelfth. Ignis will have to start taking the potion the eleventh, so if I'm not done by then, it will be too late anyway."

"Do something enjoyable when you're done at the Ministry," urged Tom. "Go to a bookshop, buy yourself something nice. You've been working so hard, you deserve a break. I'm not going to ask you to herd a gaggle of muggle tourists around either. Just take some time for yourself."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. I think I will."

Tom smiled back. So, Hermione would be away for hours Wednesday. That would be the perfect time for Dobby to add some Amortentia to Cecilia's tea, without Hermione getting in the way with any tiresome arguments about ethics.

"But for now, back to the lab," she sighed. "Dobby has been very helpful. Thank you for suggesting him. Hopefully, future batches won't be nearly this difficult. Part of the problem is the learning curve. These instructions are written in a fiendishly unclear style, which I think must have been intentional, and my potioneering education wasn't very good. My potions professor was a great potioneer, but a terrible teacher. I'm having to teach myself a lot as I go along."

"I admire your ambition to even attempt it," said Tom. And her practicality in testing a potentially lethal potion on a werewolf who would be no loss.

"Thank you." She didn't look so terrible when she smiled.

"Now I should tell my parents I'm back. Do you know where they are?"

Hermione drew her wand. "Homenum Revelio." She looked around, apparently through the walls. "They're in the study."

"Thank you." He headed there. His father rose from his seat when Tom opened the door. His mother looked up at him with her shining black eyes. Tommy on her lap did as well.

"Welcome back," said his father. "How did it go?"

"I ran into Algie, Francis, and Nigel," said Tom. "I haven't seen them for a while."

"Tom," said his mother, so he aborted his plan to amuse himself by tormenting his audience with descriptions of mint jelly. He told all, including the good news that Hermione seemed to have bought his explanation for how he knew the heir of Malfoy was in danger, and did not suspect their theft of her book.

His mother moved an ottoman, rolled up a small oriental rug, and unlocked the panel underneath it to retrieve the 1997 edition of Nature's Nobility. She looked in the index under M, then turned to the relevant page. "If he acts in time, you've changed the Malfoy line of succession. Or prevented it from being changed. This book will become increasingly inaccurate as time goes on."

"Indeed," said his father. "The Riddles will have earned a prominent place in that book by 1997."

—-

Next morning, the Sunday Prophet had used its largest typeface to scream, "HALFBLOOD ARRESTED FOR MURDER OF NJINGA MALFOY." That wasn't quite the headline Tom had been expecting. He read the article aloud to prevent everyone from crowding around his newspaper. "Halfblood Giselle Malfoy, née Selwyn, 31, was arrested yesterday for the 1923 murder of pureblood Njinga Malfoy, née Shacklebolt, whose death was previously believed to have been an accident. Selwyn's tampering with the levitation charms on Njinga Malfoy's flying carpet led to her crash and death. The confession was extracted from the halfblood after her confession and arrest for plotting the murder of Njinga's son, Giselle's stepson, the pureblood Corvus, heir of Malfoy, 10."

Hermione groaned. "Did they have to lead with the word 'halfblood'?"

Tom looked through the paper. "They have a special feature here on Giselle's grandmother, a muggleborn who insinuated her way into wizarding society with her seductive beauty and deceptive charms."

"That sounds interesting," said Tom's mother, so he separated the page and handed it to her.

"If only her grandmother was muggleborn, wouldn't she more properly be called a three-quartersblood?" asked Tom's father.

"Wizards don't really do maths," replied Hermione. "Any witch or wizard with a mix of magical and non-magical or muggleborn grandparents is a halfblood. Any witch or wizard with four magical, non-muggleborn grandparents is a pureblood."

"That means Abraxas, son of Serpens and Giselle, is a pureblood by most wizarding standards," said Tom. "The Malfoys aren't the extreme blood-purists the Blacks are. These family trees are very interesting. The Blacks seem to prefer to marry their cousins, but the Malfoys go out of their way to avoid inbreeding, which is difficult within a small society like wizarding Britain. Malfoy went abroad for his first wife, the late Njinga Shacklebolt." He glanced at the paper. "There's an article on her too. Quite a powerful sorceress, if this is to be believed. A lioness animagus."

"Becoming an animagus doesn't really take exceptional magical talent, just bravery, since self-transfiguration is so dangerous," said Hermione. "The Hogwarts Board of Governors excluded animagus training from the curriculum, but it's still offered as an elective at Uagadou."

"That's the most prestigious wizarding school in Africa," Tom's father explained to anyone who hadn't read this in the introduction of Hogwarts, a History, which in this company meant only Tommy. Tommy didn't seem interested in the paper. His blue-black eyes instead focused on the eyes of the four adults at the table, boring into each in turn from his vantage point in Hermione's sling. Were babies supposed to do that?

"Yes," said Hermione. "Anyway, I hate to think what sort of backlash against muggleborns and halfbloods might be triggered by a headline and news coverage like this."

"That could complicate your planned outing Wednesday," said Tom, concerned. "You don't have to venture into the wizarding world if you think there's any danger to a muggleborn such as yourself. We've gone this long without a Floo connection, we can certainly go longer. And if a shopping jaunt to a wizarding bookshop won't be as relaxing as I thought, do something else. Something in the muggle world, perhaps. Visit a museum or castle. England has many sights to delight an Australian tourist." He had to get this meddling witch out of the way so he could work his plan on Cecilia.

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Tom, that's very thoughtful of you. But now I'm even more resolved to visit the Ministry of Magic. Besides arranging that Floo connection, I'd also like to do a bit of spying to see if the Wizengamot is working on any new anti-muggleborn legislation."

"That's what you do to relax?" laughed Tom.

"I can't relax when there's work to be done," said Hermione. "Anyway, thank you for another excellent breakfast. I'll be in my lab." She handed Tommy off to his doting grandmother and left.

Tom's father shook his head. "What's the point of having magical powers if one can't even relax and enjoy them? Magic is wasted on her."

"Now Thomas," said his mother, "we must keep in mind that magic seems to have brought Hermione more trouble than pleasure."

"I'd gladly relieve her of the burden," said Tom's father.

After breakfast, Tom went to his office and continued to study the Prophet, familiarizing himself not just with news, but also minutiae of advertisements, sport, book reviews… Tom could be indistinguishable from a wizard, but what good would that do? Malfoy now knew that Tommy was just the spare of Slytherin. He knew that Tom had lied about Tommy's importance, and that the true pureblood heir of Slytherin was languishing in prison. As soon as Malfoy sorted out this business of his wife's arrest, his next task would undoubtedly be assisting his fellow pureblood against this presumptuous halfblood trying to steal his title. Would Malfoy arrange for Morfin to be released from prison early? Morfin's attacks had been bad enough when he'd acted alone. Now with Malfoy supporting him, could Tom withstand such an assault even with the protection of Hermione and Dobby? Would Morfin murder Tom and his parents earlier than the 1943 date given in the 1997 edition of Nature's Nobility?

Tom also had muggle work to do, so he set his wizarding troubles aside and tried to concentrate on returns on investments until lunchtime.

Tom left his office and joined his family in the drawing room. Tommy's blue-black eyes fixed on his. "Hello Tommy," said Tom. He pulled his gaze away. "Mother, father." He forced himself to discuss his muggle work rather than his wizarding concerns.

Hermione still hadn't arrived by the time Fiona called them in to lunch. "Hermione told me we shouldn't wait for her, but to go ahead and eat without her," said his mother. "She's working on yet another tricky stage of the portion." So they went in to the dining room without her.

"Eh," said Tommy. It was so rare for him to make a sound, he attracted everyone's attention.

"It's all right, my sweet little crumpet crumb," cooed Tom's mother. "Hermione will be here very soon." She wasn't eating, just focusing on Tommy. Tom wondered if he should call Dobby to call Hermione. He couldn't very well eat lunch while his mother and son were going hungry. Look at the poor baby, sucking his tiny fist.

Fortunately, Tom didn't have to risk interrupting Hermione's work, for she soon swept in, making a beeline for Tommy. She unbuttoned her blouse to feed him, then fed herself one-handed.

"I'm glad you could join us," said Tom.

Tom's mother asked her, "Would you care to join me for a walk after lunch, Hermione? I'm sure the fresh air would do you good."

Hermione shook her absurd hair. "No time until the potion's complete. I'm getting very close."

"Hermione," said Tom's father politely enough to make Tom nervous, "As Ignis will need to start taking his potion Tuesday the eleventh, what time should we expect him? Perhaps we could invite him to lunch or dinner, so we don't leave him with only a bad taste in his mouth."

Hermione shook her head again. "There's no need for him to come here. The Knight Bus isn't a comfortable way to travel. I'll apparate to someplace with a public Floo, then Floo to the address on his card. I'll owl him first to ask what time I should show up with his potion. Tom, may I borrow Athena for that?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Once I've been to his place, I'll be able to apparate there for future visits. Or if we get the Floo here connected, I could use that."

"Or he could use it to come here," said Tom's father.

"He wouldn't need to," said Hermione. "I can deliver his potion. And give him apparition lessons at his place."

"Hermione," said Tom's father, "When your father entrusted you to my care—"

Hermione laughed.

"—I promised I would raise you as a proper young lady," Tom's father continued.

"Did you actually promise my father anything?" asked Hermione. "Considering that he was already dead by the time I arrived here?"

"This was a pact we made years ago," Tom's father explained blithely. "We had such rapport, we agreed that if anything were to happen to your parents, you would come live with us, and of course conversely, if anything were to happen to Mary and me, Tom would have gone to Australia to live with your family."

Tom burst into laughter. His mother's musical laugh joined in.

"I'm sure you would do very well dealing opals," his father assured him. "Leo promised me he would give you a good start in the business."

Hermione was laughing too. "Doesn't Tom have any closer relatives who could have taken him in? Any other family businesses he could have gone into? Hypothetically?"

Tom's parents looked at each other. His mother didn't say anything.

Tom's father continued. "My point, Hermione, is that we are responsible for your care, and thus cannot allow you to damage your reputation by visiting a young male werewolf on your own. I'm sure you can understand why that wouldn't be appropriate. He is welcome to visit us here, or one of us could escort you there. I would be honored to chaperone you myself, and thus ensure that your reputation remains spotless." He sat back and smiled.

Toms father probably thought he'd just finageled himself a free ride into the wizarding world, where he'd poke his nose into everything while Hermione and Ignis were otherwise engaged. What sort of interesting equipment might an exterminator of magical beasts have in his place of business? Tom watched Hermione's curls coiling like snakes preparing to strike, and backed away as far as possible without actually leaving the table. Perhaps he should leave. He had work to do in his office.

"Squire Riddle," said Hermione, lowering the temperature in the room several degrees. "It is not your place to allow or forbid me from visiting whomever I want."

"Hermione," said Tom's mother gently. "Perhaps things are different in Australia, but here in England, a young lady's reputation is a treasure to be guarded carefully."

Hermione turned her glare to his mother, who was unperturbed by it. "Mrs. Riddle, I have much more important things to worry about than my reputation. I will go visit Ignis on my own on Tuesday. After that first trip, I may continue to visit him on my own, or he may come here if that's convenient for him and our Floo is connected, but your opinions about my reputation will have nothing to do with my plans. Is that understood?"

"Yes," said Tom, as no one else was saying it.

Hermione ate the rest of her lunch silently. Then she handed the sleeping baby back to his mother and stormed from the dining room.

After lunch, Tom went back to his office. Soon, he heard an assertive knock on his door that could only be Hermione's. "Come in."

She did, carrying a scroll of parchment.

"My owl is at your service," said Tom.

"Thank you." Hermione woke her gently. "Athena, I have a letter for you to deliver to Ignis McKinnon. Please wait for his reply." She tied the scroll to Athena's leg, and then the owl, after a few blinks of her orange eyes, seemed to fly straight through the glass of the closed window.

"Hermione," said Tom. "I must apologize again for my father's—"

"No," she interrupted. "He was right, according to the customs here. I'm not in Australia anymore. British wizarding society is obsessed with blood purity, so they don't allow young witches to wander about unaccompanied any more than muggles do. Not respectable young witches, anyway. I must adapt. I'm sure Ignis will respect me more for being a properly-guarded young witch." This was accompanied by an eye roll. "Your father managed to fool Ignis already, so he should be able to do it again." She looked out the window and sighed. "I'll have to apologize to him."

"Apologizing is a great way to get people's guards down," said Tom helpfully. "Let him think he's won, then he'll go along with whatever you suggest next."

She looked at him askance. "Ignis was right. You really are a Slytherin, whether you attended Hogwarts or not."

Tom smiled. "Thank you. So, how will you use the goodwill your apology buys?"

"I'm not apologizing to buy goodwill, I'm apologizing because I was wrong!"

Tom blinked at her. "Then what advantage do you gain by apologizing?"

She shook her head at him. "Oh Tom. I don't have time for this discussion. I have a potion to brew." She left.

After an afternoon spent investigating whether a tenant's request for a roof repair was justified by anything other than the fact that the tenant's cousin's husband was a roofer, Tom went to the drawing room to await dinner and watch the show.

Hermione arrived promptly, took Tommy to feed him, and took a deep breath. "Squire Riddle, I need to apologize. I was wrong. If it's the custom here that a young woman doesn't visit a man without a chaperone, I should follow that. You may accompany me when I deliver Ignis's potion to him Tuesday."

Tom's father beamed. "Thank you, Hermione. I accept your apology."

Hermione continued. "I think I have some wizarding robes that will fit you. They need repair, but they started out of good quality, at least. I would have offered them to Tom, but they would have been a bit too short and broad. Accio Neville's robes." Tom, for perhaps the first time in his life, regretted being so tall, as this Neville person had much higher quality robes than this Ron person. The robes were a rich brown, coordinating well with a dark maroon waistcoat. "Dobby might be able to get these singe marks out," said Hermione. "And no one will see this bloodstain on the shirt as long as you keep the waistcoat buttoned."

"Perhaps I'll wear one of my own shirts," said Tom's father. "Clothes stained with another man's blood aren't my style."

"Oh, it's not his," she assured him. "This is from when he tried to carry Ginny to safety. Not that that's any better, I suppose."

"How did all these clothes come to be in your possession?" asked Tom's father.

"I had the biggest bag," she said. "I carried everyone's stuff in here."

"Everyone?" asked Tom's father.

"All of us who escaped from the school. And then the country. We really didn't wear our wizarding clothes much once we went on the run. It was safer to try to pass as muggles. Well, at least until… Anyway, I think these might fit you. A muggle shirt should be fine, maybe if Dobby can change the style."

"I feel a bit left out," said Tom's mother.

Hermione looked at her. "Oh, I know." She reached into her bag. "Accio Cho's robes." She drew forth a beautiful garment in royal blue, and looked it over. "Cho was good at repair spells," she concluded.

Tom's mother looked not just delighted, but relieved as she took the clothes. "You could have worn these for your first outing to Diagon Alley."

Hermione looked at the beautiful clothes. "They're too long for me. Cho was taller than I am."

"Raising a hem isn't a difficult— I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so crass." She set the clothes aside and patted Hermione's hand. "Thank you very much for offering to share these clothes. If this is too difficult for you, we don't have to—"

"It's fine," said Hermione, although she was fighting back tears. "I'm sure they would be fine with sharing their clothes. We shared everything we had, near the end. All of us who were left. And we always helped muggles. Whenever we found one alive—"

"Dinner is served," announced Fiona quickly before fleeing, clearly not wanting to be in the same room as a distraught witch.

Tom stood and offered his hand to assist Hermione to the dining room. She stared at it blankly for a moment before taking it and allowing him to lead her, as she cuddled Tommy with her other arm. "Thank you," she said as he pulled out her chair for her. She sat looking at the peacefully nursing baby for a moment, then started her soup. "Anyway," she said after a few spoonfuls. "That's neither here nor there. There's also the matter of acclimating you to side-along apparition and Floo travel. I'll have Dobby side-along apparate you in advance several times. It would probably be best to start with short distances and gradually work your way up to longer ones."

"You weren't so considerate of my comfort when you first side-along apparated me," said Tom.

Hermione shrugged. "I didn't know you'd have the patience for such a project. Now I know."

"Just around the grounds, to start with?" asked his father.

"Just across a room would be a good trip for a beginner. You and Dobby can increase the distance gradually. I'll still need him for help with the potion occasionally, though."

"Of course," said Tom.

"If Dobby can transport two people at a time," started his mother.

"Of course," interrupted Hermione. "He can acclimate you both at once. As for the Floo portion of the journey, well, perhaps you could pretend to be a bit tipsy or clumsy or something to account for any stumbling as you step out of his fireplace."

Tom's father was so excited to try apparition, he rushed through his dinner. When he put down his fork, he asked Hermione, "Is Dobby busy with the potion now, or may I call him?"

"He's busy, but I'll go relieve him soon," said Hermione, putting down her own fork. "I'll explain his task to him and send him to you." She yielded Tommy to Tom's mother and left.

Dobby popped into the dining room shortly. "Miss Granger instructed Dobby to acclimate you two to sidelong apparition," he said.

"Indeed," said Tom's father. He offered a hand to assist Tom's mother from her seat. "Let's start by apparating around the drawing room," so they withdrew. The clothes that Hermione had offered to his parents were still there, draped across some furniture.

Tom's mother turned to Tom. "Tommy has no need of this lesson, so if you would…"

Tom took his son in his arms and sat on a chair by the fire. Tommy was so tiny, a blob bundled in blankets.

Dobby took his parents' arms. Tom looked into his son's blue-black eyes. Hermione and her small band of fugitive friends had escaped from their school, escaped from their country...

Tom started when his parents and Dobby vanished with a loud crack, to reappear on the other side of the room, wobbling. His father reached out a hand to the wall to steady himself. Tom felt unsteady as well. Hermione and her friends had provided what assistance they could to any muggle they found alive…

"Are you ready for another trip?" asked Dobby.

"No," said Tom's father loudly.

"Are you all right, Tom?" his mother asked.

"Fine," he said.

"Tom," said his mother.

"It's just… The clothes of Hermione's friends there…"

Dobby took an immediate interest in them, as Tom's parents sat to recover from apparition. "This stain will never come out," he declared. "That blood was spilled by Dark magic."

"Could you tailor one of my shirts to resemble a wizarding one?" asked Tom's father. "Or piece together one good wizarding shirt out of this and one of mine?"

"Dobby has some skill at sewing," said Dobby. "Dobby thinks he can."

"Good," said Tom's father. "And see what you can do about those burn marks."

Dobby made quick work of them. He even magically smoothed the wrinkles out of the beautiful blue witch robes.

Tom's mother touched them reverently. "I'm afraid to ask Hermione what happened to the previous wearer, but I'll honor her as best I can. I also plan to have my own witch robes made as soon as possible." She looked to Dobby. "I believe I'm ready to apparate again, perhaps a bit further this time, say, to the study."

Tom's father looked skeptical of this, but he stood and allowed Dobby to take his arm again. The three of them vanished with a crack, leaving Tom alone with his son.

Were Tommy's cheeks getting rounder in the short time Tom had known him? He looked like a cherub in some insufferably sweet Victorian illustration.

They must have been running from some other Dark wizard, not Tommy. No son of Tom's would commit such crimes. Hermione had travelled back in time to stop a minor criminal, who was only moderately evil… Tom couldn't convince himself. He was a good liar, but not that good. It didn't matter. The future wasn't written in stone. Hermione had said so herself.

"You will bring glory to the Riddle name, son," said Tom. "Not infamy. Glory." Was that a faint toothless smile as those strange blue-black eyes bored into his? "You will bring enlightenment to the barbarians of wizarding society," Tom explained. "No one will dare to cross a wizard of your influence, with your connections. Once you're in power, you'll be making the rules, not following ones made centuries ago by savages."

Perhaps it was silly to talk to a baby like this, although those dark eyes were staring at him, completely transfixed. What was one supposed to do with a baby? Ah yes. Tom pulled a lullaby from his memory. "Lavender's blue, dilly dilly. Lavender's green…" Tommy's eyelids got heavy, and eventually closed as he fell asleep.

Monday and Tuesday, Tom saw very little of Hermione, as she rushed through her meals and her feedings of Tommy. Tom busied himself with his muggle work. He also read the muggle newspaper, which he'd been neglecting. He'd have to seem like a muggle to Cecilia. A perfectly normal, sane muggle, who could discuss the current news.

After dinner Tuesday, Hermione, in the beautiful new witch robes that Tom had bought for her, handed Tommy off to his grandmother. "We'll be so quick, there's no need to subject Tommy to the discomforts of apparition and Floo travel." She seemed to regret her decision as soon as Tommy was out of her arms, though. "Take care of him."

"Of course, Hermione," said Tom's mother. "What a sweet little snugglecrumpet."

"Right," said Hermione. She turned to Tom's father. "Squire Riddle, dress in your wizarding attire and meet me at the door to my lab. I'll fetch the first dose of Ignis's potion, and we'll apparate to the Three Broomsticks. That's the closest wizarding pub I know. It has a public Floo."

"Thank you," said Tom's father. "I'll see you shortly."

Hermione left for her lab, and Tom's father, grinning, went to change into the wizarding robes that Dobby had so expertly improved. Tom's mother, holding Tommy, accompanied him. Tom has not yet seen his father so attired, so we waited outside his parents' room.

His father came out soon, looking proud, accompanied by his mother, holding Tommy. Even Tommy looked impressed, although his blue-black eyes were fixed on his grandfather's eyes, not his clothes.

"Don't these robes suit him well?" said his mother. "He looks so handsome."

"Thank you, dear," said Tom's father.

"They look natural on you," said Tom.

Tom's mother wrapped Tommy in another blanket and the Riddles headed out to wait by Hermione's lab.

"Yeti fur is such a practical material," Tom's father remarked, admiring his robes. "Very warm."

"Kiss for luck," said his mother, and Tom had to look away.

"We'll be back soon," said his father, so Tom knew it was safe to look. "I have to come back, after a kiss like that."

"Oh Thomas," blushed his mother.

Hermione came out of her lab and pulled the door shut behind her. She was holding a small box with a handle. Faint swirls of blue smoke were puffing from the edges.

"Doesn't that fit in your beaded bag?" asked Tom.

"Smell this," she said.

Tom brought his nose only slightly closer, and understood why she didn't want it in with the rest of her stuff. "I see. I smell, rather."

Tom's father offered his arm to Hermione. "Take my arm, Hermione, and I'll apparate you to the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione blinked at him.

"I wouldn't expect an Australian to know her way around Britain," explained Tom's father. "I'm sorry our Floo is out-of-order. Apparating you to the nearest business with a public Floo is the least I can do."

"Right," said Hermione. "Well. Thank you. Here we go." She took his arm and they vanished with a crack.

Tom, his mother, and his son retired to the study to wait. Tom's mother read The Tale of Tom Kitten to Tommy. Tom has always found that tale disturbing. Tom attempted to read the paper, but gave up. There were too many ways his father could be getting into trouble right now.

His father and Hermione were back in half an hour. Hermione rushed to reclaim Tommy. Tom's father wobbled to a wingback chair by the fire and sat down. Tom's mother rushed to his side as soon as she was free of Tommy, and Tom had to look away again. When Tom heard his father say, "Thank you for that very warm welcome home," he knew it was safe to look.

"How did it go?" Tom asked Hermione, for "Did you kill the werewolf?" didn't seem polite.

"The McKinnons are a charming family," said Tom's father before Hermione had a chance to speak. "I do believe Mrs. McKinnon would have hugged me, had our obvious difference in class not made such familiarity inappropriate. Our hospitality to their werewolf son made quite an impression on them. I did get some very enthusiastic handshakes, and some quaintly simple refreshments out of this. It seemed rude to leave so quickly, but Hermione was in a rush."

"But how does Ignis like his new potion?" asked Tom.

"He managed to drink it," said Hermione. "I instructed his mother to give him a bezoar if he has an adverse reaction, but he seems all right so far."

"Good," said Tom.

Hermione leaned back on the settee, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "So," she said faintly. "Tomorrow morning, Ministry of Magic level six, Floo Network Authority. Oh, we need to decide which fireplace we want to hook up. Not one of the more public ones, you don't want any muggle visitors to be startled by a Floo-call."

"My office?" suggested Tom.

Hermione nodded. "Then as long as I'm there, I'll don the cloak and see what I can find out about any new legislation the Wizengamot's working on."

"With Tommy?" inquired Tom's mother. "Or do you plan to leave him here?"

"He's so quiet, he won't interfere with my plans," she said. "Then back here to pick up the next dose of wolfsbane. Then off to Ignis's place to deliver it. That'll be quick, I can leave Tommy here for it."

"What do you plan to do with whatever information you gather from the Wizengamot offices?" asked Tom. He waited what he considered a respectful amount of time for her to compose her thoughts, but received no answer. "Hermione?"

His mother pressed a finger to her lips to shush him. "Don't wake her," she whispered. "The poor girl needs her rest. I don't think she slept at all last night, she was so busy finishing the potion."

Indeed, she and his son were both asleep on the settee. "Are we just going to leave them there?" Tom whispered in disbelief.

His mother shook her head. "It's not a fit place for a baby to sleep. I'll take Tommy, you help Hermione to bed. It might be possible to carry her without even waking her. This reminds me of when you were a little boy."

Tom and his mother approached the sleepers cautiously. Tom gently moved Hermione's left arm away from Tommy so his mother could reach him.

Tom woke, with a pounding headache, on the floor. "Sorry," Hermione said.

"What…" he tried.

"You startled me," she said accusingly as she sheathed her wand. "Don't do that. Never do that."

"Understood," he said. He got up with difficulty. Hermione offered him her hand to help him up, and he was not too proud to take it. Her hand was shaking, though, and not very helpful. "Sorry," he added. He felt in need of a handkerchief, and was horrified to bloody it.

"I fixed your broken nose while you were unconscious," explained Hermione.

He reached for it in a panic, but it seemed as straight as ever.

"Don't worry, I didn't use any Dark magic," she assured him. "There's no permanent damage."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry to disturb your rest, Hermione," said his mother, "but I'm glad of the opportunity to see your reflexes in action."

"Being a witch is impressive in its own right of course," said Tom's father, "but reflexes like that are an exceptional talent in anyone, witch or muggle."

"I didn't acquire them for your entertainment," said Hermione.

"Of course," soothed his mother. "Now please allow us to assist you to bed. I dare say you need rest after all your hard work."

Hermione allowed Tom to support her as she walked up the stairs. She was still shaking, her thin bones almost rattling. His mother carried Tommy.

"Thank you Tom," said his mother when they got to the door of Hermione's room. "You may leave us now. I will assist Hermione to bed."

"I don't need to be tucked in," said Hermione, steadier now. "I'm not a child." she took Tommy back emphatically.

"Everyone needs mothering sometimes," said Tom's mother.

"You're not— Thank you, but I'm fine. Goodnight Mrs. Riddle, Tom. I'll see you at breakfast." She entered her room and closed the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary.

—-

Wednesday morning, Hermione showed up at breakfast beautifully dressed as a witch. She'd made full use of her hair potions. "I wonder if I'll get better service at the Ministry if I look like someone important."

"Of course you will," said Tom. "Just act like you deserve better than the common sorts of riffraff."

Frowning was not a good look on her. "But is it really ethical for me to manipulate the system like this, just because I can?"

"Yes," said Tom firmly. "See if you can cut in line ahead of any purebloods. The more bigoted the better."

Smiling suited her face much better.

Once breakfast was over and Hermione and Tommy had apparated away, Tom got to work. He headed to the garage. "Dobby!"

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"It's time. Fetch the Amortentia. I'll take you to Threepworple Manor, and point out where Miss Threepworple drinks her tea."

"Yes Master." Dobby popped away and was back in a moment, the tiny vial clutched in his grey hand.

"As I understand it, you can't apparate us to a place you've never been?"

Dobby shook his head. "I'm sorry Master."

"It's no trouble at all. I'll drive us there. I'll park in Great Hangleton and we'll walk the rest of the way. You can disillusion me as well, correct?"

"Yes Master. The spell isn't perfect, especially in bright sunlight—"

"Which we don't have today." The weather was quite grey and dreary. Hopefully, the stormy scent of the air would be enough to disguise the Amortentia. "I'm sure it will be fine." He opened the passenger door for Dobby. "Come on. Get in."

Dobby got in with great trepidation. "Dobby has never traveled by muggle machine, Master."

"Don't worry. Miss Granger inscribed some runes on it to make it even safer."

Some of the tension melted from Dobby's furry ears.

"Here's the plan," said Tom. "All of which must be kept secret from Miss Granger. Once we get to Threepworple Manor, I'll point out the window of Miss Threepworple's sitting room. It overlooks the rose garden. I defer to your expertise regarding magic, but perhaps you could climb the vine that grows on the wall, wait until the room is empty, open the window when you won't be observed, and wait inside until the maid delivers her tea. Add the Amortentia to the tea, stay to see that she drinks it, and then apparate home, preferably when no one's around to hear you. It is of course quite important that it's drunk by the right person, Miss Cecilia Threepworple. Here's a photograph of her." It was from a newspaper article about a suffrage speech she had made. He used to have better pictures of her, but Merope had told him to burn them all, and he gladly had. Even that relatively small loss ached.

Dobby studied the scrap of newspaper. "This is a photograph?"

"Yes. Muggle photographs are different from wizarding. But you get the idea. She's very beautiful, isn't she?"

"This is a picture of a human female?"

"What? Of course it is."

"Dobby thought human females had long hair. That's how Dobby tells humans apart. But this human's hair is shorter than Dobby's old Master Malfoy, and he's a human male. Is Master sure, not that it makes a difference to Dobby—"

"She just bobbed her hair, all right? It's a muggle fashion. I think she looks beautiful in modern fashions."

Dobby peered critically at the photograph. "This human doesn't have any teats."

"What?"

"For feeding her young. The Malfoy wives have always hired wet nurses, but even they they still had—"

"I assure you that Miss Threepworple has delightfully— Anyway, that's just the way her dress is designed, with a fashionably streamlined look. I am not going to discuss this. I don't want a critique of her beauty, I just want to know that you'll recognize her, so you can deliver this potion to the right person."

Dobby studied the photograph. "She has a very long neck."

"An elegant, graceful neck, yes. And blue eyes, which you can't tell from the photograph of course. Blonde hair. You'll recognize her, right?"

Dobby peered at the picture. "Humans all look sort of alike to Dobby, to be completely honest, Master. But Dobby will try to give the Amortentia to the right human."

"Well. I guess that's the best we can hope for. Now disillusion yourself, so no muggles see you if they happen to look in the car windows."

Dobby obediently disappeared. Tom saw no sign of him but a slight depression in his seat cushion, and a faint shadow cast by nothing. He did hear a brief, high-pitched shriek when he started the car and drove off. He resisted the temptation to speed down the hill. Instead, he drove at a reasonable speed, pointing out landmarks along the way. "That's the Gaunt shack, through the woods over there. And now we're entering downtown Little Hangleton, such as it is. Bakery, general store, farm supplies. We're just passing through on our way to Great Hangleton. And here we are. Petrol station, cobbler shop, dentist's office, cinema… I'll park here; anyone who recognizes my car should assume I'm watching a moving picture." Tom parked, and heard a sigh of relief from his left.

"Muggle transportation isn't so bad, is it? Now, if you disillusion me in the car, then any bystanders will see my car door opened and closed by no one, which might look suspicious. So. Dobby, I'm taking you to a moving picture. Nice and dark. I'll buy a ticket for one, you'll follow me in and sit beside me, then disillusion me once the theatre is dark. I suppose we'll have to hold hands or something to enable us to leave together while we're invisible. I'll walk you to Threepworple Manor. We should be able to talk without being overheard once we're out of town. Does that sound like a good plan to you?"

"Yes Master."

"We'd better both get out the driver's side door." He opened it, got out, and paused, looking up at the stormy sky. Once a faint shadow of nothing was shimmering on the ground beside him, he closed his door and walked into the theatre. He bought one ticket for this morning's showing of The Triumph of the Rat. He didn't walk far into the theatre, which was almost empty. He sat near the back, and heard the seat beside him creak as well.

The young pianist hired to accompany this morning's showing would not have been Tom's top choice as Dobby's first introduction to muggle music.

The lights went down. Tom felt a peculiar sensation, as if Dobby had cracked an egg over his head and it was dripping down over him. He put his hand in front of his face and found that he could see the screen just fine through it. He read the title card on the screen: "But it's a hard thing for a man to hitch his wagon to a star as this story sets out to tell." Dobby's disillusionment had worked. As an extra benefit of Tom's plan, he would not feel deprived to miss such a trite moving picture.

Tom felt a hand gripping his sleeve. Good. Holding hands with an elf in a cinema would have been at once too similar and too dissimilar to watching a moving picture with Cecilia. Tom stood and led Dobby out of the theatre, out of town, along Threepworple Road. Once they were in the countryside, walking between the hedgerows, Tom spoke. "The Triumph of the Rat is seventy-four minutes long. That should give me plenty of time to show you to Cecilia's sitting room and get back to the theatre. Will my disillusionment wear off by then?"

"If you like, Master."

Threepworple Manor rose before them.

"Master," said Dobby. "Is that a muggle house?"

"Yes."

"Dobby didn't know muggle houses could be so grand."

"Is it as grand as Malfoy Manor?"

"No. But it's much grander than the Riddle House."

"I know, Dobby. There's no need to tell me."

"Yes Master."

"That's not why I'm giving her the Amortentia, because she's rich. I don't care that she's rich. I love her. She's the most amazing, beautiful, passionate, intelligent, ambitious… There's no reason for me to tell you all this."

"Master may tell Dobby anything he likes. Master is Dobby's master."

"That doesn't mean my love life is interesting. What about you? Have you ever been in love?"

There was a pause that made Tom wonder if he'd lost the invisible elf, but no, he still felt an invisible hand gripping his invisible sleeve. "You needn't tell me," he backpedaled. "It's none of my business."

"Thank you, Master."

They continued their walk in silence. There were no gardeners in the rose garden this dreary day, so Tom and Dobby could converse in perfect privacy. "There's the window of her sitting room. There's no point to me pointing an invisible finger, is there? Her window is the one with the balcony around it, with the vine growing on it. Her window is dark now. You see?"

"Yes Master."

"Good. Can you break in unnoticed? When the room is empty of course, so no one notices the window opening?"

"Dobby detects no magical wards at all on this manor. Getting in will be very easy."

"Good. I hope you aren't waiting too long, She does often drink tea in that room while she works. Apparate home when you're done. Good luck."

"Yes Master."

Now that Tom was standing still, he started to feel the cold, but he waited and watched the vine on Cecilia's balcony shake slightly. The window opened, then shut, and it was out of Tom's hands.

He walked back to town, his heart pounding. This was it. It would work. It had to work. Amortentia had caused him to lose Cecilia's love, so it had damn well better help him win it back.

The sky started to precipitate on him. It was unable to decide between rain, sleet, and snow. Tom looked with horror at his sleeve, still invisible, but the flakes that stuck to it were briefly visible before they melted, forming a very faint outline of his arm. He broke into a run, the air harsh and cold in his throat as he breathed harder.

He made it to the cinema's awning and brushed the snow off himself. I'm a small whirlwind, he thought, suppressing a giggle. There's a completely ordinary explanation for anyone who sees me. Then he noticed his footprints leading to the cinema, barely visible in the light dusting of snow.

He looked around. No one was watching him. Anyone who had to be out in this weather was rushing to their destination as fast as possible, paying no attention to any odd behavior of the snow.

Sneaking back into the cinema while invisible was as easy as pie. He followed some people coming in for the next showing, walking past them as they loitered in the lobby. Tom sat in the very same seat he'd occupied before. He held his hand in front of his face to check if it blocked his view of the screen. It didn't, unfortunately, as the screen showed a scruffy man lurking around a fine restaurant full of well-dressed diners, then stealing a bone from a dog and gnawing on it hungrily. Tom paid no more attention to the moving picture, for his view of himself was much more interesting. He saw his hand appear, ghostly at first. By the time the lights came on, he was as opaque as ever.

He left the cinema, walked back to his car and drove home. Even Hermione could find no fault with how he'd handled this. The Statute of Secrecy was perfectly intact.