"Algie?" Tom repeated. "The muggle?" With the bulging eyes and weak chin?
"I don't care that he's a muggle!" Tessie exclaimed. "I love him."
"He is richer than I," Tom noted.
"Tom! How dare you! You might as well call me a, a—"
"I'm not calling you anything, I'm just wondering if you could work that angle to get your family to appreciate his finer qualities."
"You're not jealous?"
"Tessie, I'm still mourning my dear departed wife. I have no romantic claim on anyone alive." Certainly not a flibbertigibbet like you. "My darling Merope went against her family's wishes to marry me, as they felt that only the purest of purebloods was worthy of a Gaunt. Nothing her family did could separate us. True love is unstoppable. I wouldn't dream of standing in its way."
"Oh Tom! That's so romantic! You're wonderful!"
Tom wondered how much leverage he'd have over the more important branch of the Prewett family once he had evidence that their pureblood cousin was consorting with a muggle. "I'm happy to help. You'll need another introduction, as thanks to your brother, Algie doesn't remember you at all."
"I know! How is he? Is his mind all right? My brother can be so heavy-handed. I wanted to splinch him when he insisted I apparate us home."
"Algie's mind seems as sound as ever." For what that was worth.
"Oh merciful Circe!"
"So how can we arrange this? Are there any potential chaperones who would be less likely to obliviate a muggle than Axel?"
"There's no one in my family who'd approve of me falling in love with a muggle!"
"Oh Merlin, you're not planning to be honest, are you? Of course I'm not proposing you actually tell anyone you're in love with a muggle. I'm just saying that, under cover of your somewhat respectable courtship of the heir of Riddle, you could actually court Algie, if your chaperone is sufficiently unobservant. Your mother seemed to have a good sense of when to tactfully step back to give young people a semblance of privacy."
"Oh!" Tom gave her time to think about that. "That might work. Oh Tom, but to lie to my mother like that—"
"I certainly don't plan to lie to her. As I said before, I, a recent widower, do not intend to replace my dear departed wife any time soon. I am not proposing anything as serious as an engagement between us. I am merely trying to cheer myself with pleasant company, which you undoubtedly provide, as I enjoy my usual hobby of muggletouring."
"Oh, thank you, Tom! How can I ever repay you?"
"I'll think of something. Now I suggest you sneak back home before anyone notices your absence. I'll Floo-call to arrange our next muggletouring jaunt as soon as I know Algie's schedule."
"Wonderful! I'll await your call. Now, um, how do I—"
"Hang the receiver back up on the switch hook."
"Right. Um. Like this?" Tom heard a click.
Tom pressed his own switch hook down with his hand, then released it to call Algie. After he gave his name to Algie's manservant, who summoned his employer to the telephone, Tom heard a cheerful "Tom, what ho!"
"Good morning, Algie. I hope I'm not calling too early."
"Oh no, I was up like a lark with the dawn and I'm having breakfast already." Tom looked at the clock. It was a quarter past eleven. "And how are you?"
"Considerably improved, thanks to your cheering influence."
"I knew it!" crowed Algie. "Wine, women, and song are a panacea."
"I think I'm due for a second dose," said Tom. "My other friends are urging me to cheer up as well. Do you know the Prewett family?"
Algie was uncharacteristically silent after this.
"Is this telephone connection—" Tom eventually said.
"No, I'm still here, I was just thinking. I'm unused to such exercise, you know. I may have sprained something. I was wondering if I might have run into them at some society gala. Not that I'd necessarily remember if I had. Whenever familial duty requires me to attend such stuffy events, I get sozzled as quickly as possible, so if I have been introduced to them, I don't remember."
"Well, my friends the Prewetts—"
"Hold on, I'm feeling a bit out-of-sorts. Pardon my French, but is this what they call déjà vu? Most peculiar. You know Tom, I've been thinking that perhaps I should cut back on the alcohol."
"Really?" 1927 was absolutely full of surprises.
"Really. You know the last time we went out to the Café de Paris, I think I drank too much. That whole night is a bit of a blur. It's like there are parts missing. Uncomfortable feeling, what?"
"I can imagine," said Tom, who was glad he'd never been obliviated.
"I'm not going to quit completely, of course, that would be madness. I've been talking with my friends, and some, at least, agree with me. Lulu says two drinks a night are plenty for her. She says any more, and she might not be able to defend herself if a chap got too fresh. Nancy agrees, but she's agreeable to most things Lulu says. Nigel and Francis are horrified at the idea."
"Of course, they would be," said Tom.
"What do you think?"
"For me, one drink is plenty, if I want to keep my wits about me." Algie was sure to provide entertainment even when less drunk than usual.
"I suppose with all your wits, you've got to keep after them like a sheepdog. Anyway, I figured that if two is a good limit for girls, I could do three. Could you please help me count them the next time we go out?"
"Three, fine. I'll hold you to that."
"Thanks, Tom. You're a good friend. I knew I could count on you."
"Let's do the experiment this Friday. Are you available to meet at the Café de Paris again?"
"Sure! Lulu and Nancy won't be, though, their show opens tonight, so they'll be busy evenings for the run. The Apache at the Palladium, a right treat, you should see it. I saw the dress rehearsal, it was the bees' knees. I could call some other girls."
"No need. As I was saying, my friends the Prewetts agree with you that I should go to London to cheer up. It would be efficient to gather my well-wishers together. Miss Tessie Prewett and her mother Edith would like to meet me there. Tessie is an excellent dancer. I don't know about her mother, but Tessie doesn't go out without a chaperone, as they're an old-fashioned family."
"This is starting to sound like the sort of company I try to avoid. Couldn't she bring a younger chaperone than her mother?"
"I'm afraid her mother is the best option in that family."
"I'm sure I could rally some showgirls instead. Perhaps you could go out with these Prewetts of yours a different evening."
"I'm sure it will work out. Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I do. You're one of those salt-of-the-earth country folk, trustworthy to the core. All right, bring your stuffy Prewetts, but I take back what I said about my three-drink limit. I may require more alcohol to get through an evening in the company of a fire extinguisher."
Tom ended the call and decided to give Tessie a bit more time to sneak home before Floo-calling Shell Cottage.
He looked over his calendar after penciling in Friday's entertainment. February's full moon would be tomorrow night, the sixteenth. If the scaled-up batch of wolfsbane potion worked as it should, several werewolves should have a much better full moon than usual. Tom smiled at the thought of so many satisfied customers. It was time to raise the price.
When everyone gathered in the drawing room before lunch, Tom did Hermione the courtesy of inviting her along for Friday's muggletouring jaunt, and received the expected refusal.
"I'd be happy to look after Tommy while you take a break," Tom's mother assured Hermione. "Even only an hour of dancing would be a pleasant diversion. You could apparate back before Tommy even notices you're gone."
Hermione shrugged her bony shoulders. "I don't see the point."
That topic of conversation having come to an impasse, they instead discussed how to properly clothe Mrs. Prewett for her outing into muggle London. Tom described the challenge of modifying one of his mother's dresses to fit Mrs. Prewett, which was a larger problem than the slight tailoring that had been required to outfit the younger Prewetts.
"I'll talk to Dobby," said his mother.
After lunch, Tom Floo-called the overjoyed Mrs. Prewett.
"I'm so happy to hear from you, Tom. After the outing Friday ended sooner than I expected…"
"I'm afraid Axel didn't enjoy himself," said Tom. "Although Tessie, I must say, seemed both delighted and delightful. Her company was so cheering, I hope for a repeat of the outing, with a different chaperone. I wondered if you could join us."
"Oh, you don't want to drag around an old thing like me," giggled Mrs. Prewett.
"On the contrary, your company would add to the gaiety of the evening," said Tom. "Anyone who sees me will be filled with envy, as it will look like I'm out with a couple of beautiful sisters."
Mrs. Prewett giggled even more. "Oh Tom! You rake. I see I'll have to keep a close eye on you around my innocent Tessie, so of course I'll join you."
"Thank you. Please Floo here at seven Friday evening to don muggle clothes. My elf can tailor them as needed. I believe Tessie still has the costume we loaned to her, so she may wear that." And she might as well keep it, for all the use Hermione was getting out of it, but Tom would do Hermione the courtesy of asking before taking back the gift.
"We'll be there. We're very much looking forward to it," said Mrs. Prewett.
"Don't you want to confirm with Tessie that she's available Friday?" Tom asked.
"No need," said Mrs. Prewett. "I keep track of her schedule, so I know she's available and will be delighted."
"How lucky she is to have such an attentive mother," said Tom.
Once they'd ended the call, Tom marked his calendar in pen for Friday the eighteenth. Then he went to tell his mother that Mrs. Prewett would indeed need to borrow one of her dresses, and found his mother and Dobby already engrossed in a discussion of expansion charms and the application of the geminio spell to beaded fringe, so that project was in good hands.
—-
Thursday morning, the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly delivery owls eyed each other over their bacon as Tom and his mother read their respective publications. As the man in the house with the most direct interest in the wizarding world, Tom had dibs on the Prophet, while his father would read the muggle paper. Then they would switch.
As was her habit, Hermione brought a book to breakfast and would read the papers later, having declared her disinterest in "You Riddles and your silly power plays."
Tom read about a proposed increase in the tariffs on imported flying carpets, and the potential for retaliatory tariffs on British brooms. It seemed unwise, but then again he didn't know who was getting kickbacks. He read a gardening column that seemed to be a thinly-veiled advertisement for a particular brand of composted dragon dung. He even read the bloody sport pages. All the while, his mother serenely turned the pages of her magazine.
Tom finally yielded. "Anything interesting in your magazine?" he asked.
"Here's a new recipe for a potion to make one's eyes more dark and alluring," said his mother, "But isn't belladonna poisonous?"
"Mother!"
She laughed her musical laugh. "Of course you're in it." She handed her magazine over.
Hermione snorted in laughter.
True to their word, Witch Weekly hadn't published any incriminating photographs of the Prewetts violating the Statute of Secrecy. Instead, a large spread was titled Prewett Siblings Dance Muggle-Style, although the word "dance" was questionably applicable in Axel's case.
"Note that as a convenience to their readers," his mother said, "They printed that big picture of you and Tessie dancing as a centerfold, so anyone who is so inclined can easily remove and frame it."
"Someone should shoot you now," said Hermione.
That got through Tom's admiration of the picture, he and Tessie cutting a perfect figure across the dance floor. "I beg your pardon," he said.
"That photographer should do a photo shoot right now," Hermione explained. "You're practically glowing. It would be quite the celebrity endorsement of their magazine."
Tom hastily handed the witches' magazine back to his mother as if a photographer actually were lurking in the Riddle dining room. He made a mental note to inform the magazine's office of tomorrow's outing.
—-
At four in the afternoon Friday, Ignis's face appeared in the fireplace in Tom's office, asking, "Tom, may I come through? I have a full report."
"Excellent, please do." Tom closed his rolltop desk, flipped the Floo switch, and received a tired-looking werewolf carrying a sheaf of parchment. "Have a seat." He indicated the chair by the fire. "Dobby!"
Pop. "Yes Master?"
"Tea for our guest, and invite Miss Granger to join us in my office."
"Yes Master." Pop.
"I have good news," began Ignis.
"Wait for Hermione to get here so you don't have to repeat yourself," said Tom. "Where's Dobby with that tea?"
Pop.
"And some snacks, Dobby," added Tom.
Pop.
"Thanks," said Ignis, helping himself to tea. He used his new silver left hand with perfect ease. "I now realize I forgot to eat lunch today. Well, the werewolves offered me food, but it didn't seem right to accept when they have so little."
"It makes sense to save your appetite when you know better fare awaits you here," agreed Tom.
Pop. Dobby reappeared with another tray. Ignis took a dainty triangular sandwich, but put it down when Hermione, carrying Tommy in a sling, walked in.
"Come, hear the good news," said Tom, directing Hermione to another chair, and gesturing to give Ignis leave to speak.
"Everyone got through the full moon fine!" exclaimed Ignis. "I've apparated all over the place today, and every single werewolf has been thrilled with your potion. All of them want the same for next month."
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Tom. "One hundred percent satisfied customers!"
"I've got quotes from them here," said Ignis, indicating his parchments. "They all chose code names for themselves. That seemed the best way to keep their identities confidential. Look at this. The werewolf calling herself Thestral Eye says, 'At last, I don't have to worry about biting anyone if my wards fail.' And Unicorn Pants, I'm sorry, I didn't think to specify what the code names could be until it was too late, anyway, he says, ''For the first time, I had no new Dark injuries on the morning after the full moon.' Everyone is thrilled, and grateful. They all asked me to convey their thanks."
"I can read," said Tom as he took the sheaf of parchment. He held it so Hermione could read as well. Ignis redirected his attention to the food.
In their own words, their own handwriting, Tom's customers conveyed their thanks. Every letter, every curve and line was full of gratitude. "Wonderful!" Tom repeated.
"I'm so glad," said Hermione. "I was afraid the formula wouldn't scale up properly." The tension that seemed to always bind her loosened its grip for a moment, and she melted back into her chair with a sigh.
Tom set the parchments down. "With customer satisfaction like this, we can clearly discontinue the low introductory price. Thirty galleons a month would more accurately reflect the value of this potion to my customers."
Ignis had difficulty swallowing his latest bite of sandwich.
"Not to you, of course," Tom clarified. "As my employee, you get the potion for your personal use at cost."
Ignis choked down the bite of white bread and cucumber. "I'm not concerned about myself," he said as if that were a legitimate sentence. "The introductory price is already very difficult for most werewolves to pay. I was turned relatively recently. Many of the others have much more trouble finding work. Even if they're still able-bodied, they're so visibly scarred that no one will hire them."
Ignis reached for the parchments, shuffled through them until he found the one he was looking for, and read from it. "'I'm sure my dear father, rest his soul, would understand me selling the watch he gave me on my seventeenth birthday, if he knew how much pain and injury it saved me from.' That's a quote from Spleenwort. He had only the one watch to sell. He's already worried that it will be impossible to scrape together enough money to buy next month's potion, but if the price gets even higher…" Ignis sorted the parchments into two stacks. He indicated one stack. "I'm sure those werewolves couldn't afford to pay thirty galleons a month." He indicated the other. "Those probably could, for a little while at least."
Tom counted the parchments in the two stacks and made a note of the numbers.
Ignis shuffled through a stack for a parchment. "Broken Daisy gets a small allowance from her aunt. She's already decided that since she can't afford this potion every month, she'll buy it only for the longest nights in autumn and winter. She'll save her money and go without for the short nights of spring and summer, and start buying it again in October. If she's still alive."
Tom nodded. "Thank you, that's very useful information. It's good to know that the market is somewhat seasonal, so we can adjust production accordingly."
Hermione stood and glared at Tom. "How dare you!"
Tom felt himself nervously reaching towards his wand as if that would do any good. "Hermione? What's wrong?"
"How can you think of money when people's lives are at stake?" she demanded.
"How can I not think of money?" asked Tom. "We're running a business."
"I'm trying to help people!" Hermione retorted.
"Oh goodness, is that the time?" said Ignis with a glance at the clock. "I'd best be off. Nice seeing you." He threw a pinch of power into the fire and jumped into it almost before it had time to turn green, shouting "McKinnon Pest Control" as he vanished. The stack of parchment he left behind on the table rustled in the sudden breeze of his departure, then was still.
Tom opened his rolltop desk and found the relevant paper. "Look at these numbers! I'm raising the price just enough to turn a profit. Sure, we'll lose a few customers, but the profit margin from the other customers more than makes up for that. Then we'll have more resources to devote to the marketing campaign. Public relations to change attitudes towards werewolves, and lobbying to change laws, will be expensive." The paper in his hands burst into flames. Tom threw it into the fire rather than drop it on something nice, and watched his calculations go up in smoke.
"Dobby!" Hermione cried.
"Yes Miss Granger?" said Dobby, who'd been lurking with the tea things.
"Take Tommy to Mrs. Riddle, or look after him yourself, whatever. I'm too angry to be with him right now. And Mr. Riddle here's not a good influence on him."
Dobby's huge eyes swiveled to Tom, who nodded. "Go ahead, Dobby, take Tommy somewhere peaceful."
Dobby, cooing "It's all right, young Master Riddle,"
carried Tom's son out of the room.
Now Tom was alone with the witch. The air itself seemed to grow taut, as if a storm were building. The electric light bulb in his lamp grew brighter, then burnt out, so Hermione was lit only by the orange flames of the fireplace, Tom by the fading winter light from the window. "I'm sure we can discuss this rationally," said Tom.
The dark light bulb exploded, only the lampshade protecting Tom from flying broken glass.
Hermione, with a wordless cry, stormed from the room.
Tom, after sitting in his darkening office for a while, called "Dobby!"
Pop. "Yes Master?" Tommy wasn't with him, so he must have had time to take him to Tom's mother.
"Can you fix this lightbulb?"
Dobby looked at the broken fragments. "Dobby doesn't understand how light bulbs work, Master," he said apologetically.
"Never mind, it's not important. Just get rid of the broken bits. The bit still stuck in the lamp will need to be unscrewed. Wait, let me turn off the switch first."
"Oh, like thumbscrews," said Dobby as he figured out how the bulb was threaded into the lamp..
Soon, it was done, and Tom dismissed his elf. He rang the bell for Fiona.
She arrived with reasonable speed for a human. "Yes Mr. Riddle?"
He pointed to his lamp. "Fetch me a new light bulb please."
"Yes Mr. Riddle."
She came back to change the bulb. "But where's the old—"
"I ate it," explained Tom.
"What?"
"Don't ask questions, just install the bulb. Then clear away these tea things."
"Yes Mr. Riddle."
Once she'd left, and Tom's office was one more illuminated by the bright, steady light of muggle industry, he looked at a blank paper on his desk. Was there any point to redoing his calculations? No, not at the cost of an angry witch.
Soon, it was time to gather in the drawing room before dinner. His parents and son were there already, his mother cooing over her dear little wyrmling.
"What's a wyrmling?" Tom asked.
"A baby dragon," Tom's mother explained. "Tommy set the curtains on fire, but Dobby soon set them right. He's such a sweetheart, I'm sure he meant no harm. I remember when you were a baby, Tom, your chubby little legs once kicked a teacup out of my hand, so it shattered on the floor. Simply an accident, of course. Oh, you wore the darlingest little white booties in those days!"
"Tastes change," said Tom, hoping his mother wouldn't get any ideas about applying expansion charms to his old booties.
When Hermione arrived, Tom was prepared. "I've thought it over," he said. "You're right."
Hermione's coiled curls relaxed like the rest of her.
"What's this about?" asked Tom's father. Tom ignored him.
"I mustn't be impatient to make a profit off this," Tom continued. "This business is still in the early investment stage. We'll continue to sell wolfsbane potion at a loss while working on the other part of the business, improving public perception of werewolves to make them more employable."
Hermione seemed at a loss. She looked around the room and settled on Tommy. Tom's mother handed over the little wyrmling, who latched on to Hermione without setting any more fires.
Tom filled the silence by continuing to talk in terms Hermione would find agreeable. "It would be unethical to have a treatment for some terrible disease and not share it as widely as possible, even if it is a disease I didn't know was real until recently. I mean, to put it in more familiar terms, if someone had a treatment for, say, tuberculosis, and didn't get it to patients who need it, that would obviously be unethical." He waited.
The room was silent for a while. Tom studied Hermione's face. Jackpot. She was lousy at concealing her emotions. "Hermione?" he asked gently. "Do you have a treatment for tuberculosis?"
Several different emotions were warring on her face. "Not just a treatment. A cure."
His mother gasped. His father leaned forward in his chair.
"There's a magical cure for…" said Tom. Too late, he realized the flaw in his scheme. "Of course there is, and anyone who tries to treat muggles with it goes to prison for violating the Statute of Secrecy."
"That does complicate things, I'll admit," said Tom's father. "But there must be a way to distribute this cure through some sort of shell company, funneling the profits through a Swiss bank—"
"Not a magical cure, no." Hermione was giving Tom's control of his expressions a challenge.
Tom worked it out. "Not a magical cure… A muggle cure, invented in the future!"
"Yes," she said sheepishly.
"Tuberculosis has killed one out of every seven people who ever lived," said Tom's father. "And you've just been sitting on—"
Both Tom and his mother shot his father a look that shut him up immediately.
"If you can provide the cure…" Tom felt breathless. It was mind-boggling.
"The polio vaccine would also save a lot of lives if it were introduced before the epidemic," Hermione mulled.
"What do you mean, before the epidemic?" demanded Tom's father. "There's an epidemic now."
"I mean the big epidemic in the fifties," she said. "I've always wanted to save lives, but I've been doing it piecemeal, fighting Dark wizards. But disease kills more innocent people than wars and murderers ever have, so if I really want to save lives, that's the enemy to fight. I guess until now I never had enough…" she fixed her bright brown eyes on Tom "ambition."
"Do you realize what this means?" Tom felt giddy, delighted laughter bubbling up in him.
She nodded, eyes wide.
It was obvious, but he said it aloud just for the pleasure of it. "We are going to be phenomenally rich."
Those bright brown eyes blinked at him.
Fiona had to call them in to dinner twice before they noticed. The look she gave their wizarding attire was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
Once they were settled in the dining room and Fiona had left, Tom asked, "These cures, can you brew them in your lab?"
She shook her head. "It's a potions lab, not a chemistry lab. We'll need a real chemist to do it. I've never actually done anything like this, I just grabbed a whole lot of medical books that seemed like they might be useful before I left home. I'm pretty sure I have some detailed books on antibiotics. That's the class of medicines needed to cure bacterial diseases like tuberculosis. And vaccines, those are useful against viruses like polio. It will take me a while to extract the relevant information" from all the other extremely valuable information from the future she was keeping to herself.
Tom forced himself not to look at the pocket in which she kept her beaded bag. Instead he looked at Tommy, who extracted a chubby little fist from his sling and waved it around. It snagged in Hermione's hair and got stuck.
Hermione attempted to free her hair from Tommy's fist. "Please let go, Tommy. Thank you." Then to Tom, "I hope this doesn't distract from our wolfsbane project."
"The muggle world is considerably larger than the wizarding," said Tom's father. "This is a major endeavor." He directed a self-satisfied grin at Tom. "As we already agreed that you'll handle the wizarding business while I deal with the muggles, this is clearly my department. I'll need to hire experts in muggle medicine for this. I'll ask my lawyers to recommend someone knowledgeable in international patent law. We'll need chemists to make these medicines, and researchers to demonstrate that they work, in proper trials, published in the most prestigious journals. This is a much surer thing that any stock we could buy, so is much worthier of my attention."
"Thank you, Father," said Tom calmly. If Tom were a wizard, his father would be on fire right now.
Consumption of dinner was considerably slowed by the conversation, for everyone was very excited about the new project. Even Tommy flailed his little fists with extra energy.
Dobby appeared with a pop. "Master, the Prewetts are in your office."
Of course, it was seven. Tom rushed to stand and stuck his arm out at Dobby. "Apparate me there." He regained his feet in a moment. He was glad he'd left the Floo open, for there were Tessie and her mother. "Good evening," said Tom. "I'm so glad you could join me."
"We're delighted," said Mrs. Prewett. "Aren't we, dear?"
"Yes, of course," said Tessie. "I'm so glad to see you again, Tom. You're looking well."
"As are you. Muggle clothes certainly suit you." Tom needn't have worried that Dobby's temporary tailoring would wear off in the time Hermione's dance dress had been in Tessie's possession, for not only had the dress retained much of Dobby's tailoring, but it had also acquired some new features. The skirt was back to its short, original length, or perhaps was even shorter. The neckline also seemed to have dropped, exposing a greater expanse of Tessie's pink skin. This lack of surface area had necessitated some rearrangement of fringe and crystals, accentuating the features of her figure of which she was justly proud. She'd even constrained her hair in an approximation of a muggle style.
"Thank you. And I'd like to return this, with Axel's thanks." Tessie handed over Tom's father's suit, which had apparently been cleaned and repaired since Axel had worn it, and was free of any scent of singed wool. Tom accepted it with thanks.
"You arrived prepared, but I still have to don my costume," apologized Tom. "Dobby, ask my mother to help Mrs. Prewett get ready for the outing. I'll be back soon, suitably attired." He set off to return his father's suit and change into his muggle costume. Clothes. His muggle clothes. His normal clothes. Whatever.
He took his time changing, and returned to find both Prewetts dressed like fashionable muggles, with his mother and Dobby doing their best to conceal Mrs. Prewett's long blonde tresses in a modern style.
Tom's father was also there, entertaining the Prewetts with his usual comments. "Don't you young ladies need a chaperone?" he asked. "Does your family really let you out on your own? Scandalous." The witches blushed and giggled.
Finally, both ladies were properly attired, from shoes to hair, and the air was rich with perfume and flattery. It was time to go. Tom explained his disinclination to apparate. "I may have overindulged in wine at dinner," he apologized. "Starting the festivities too soon. I'd offer to side-along apparate you, but there's no need to take even the slightest risk of splinching when I could just have my elf apparate us instead." He reached for Dobby. "Disillusioned, of course." Dobby took Tom's hand, and reached another hand up to Mrs. Prewett, who took it thankfully. "Tessie, would you prefer to apparate there yourself, or have Dobby do it?"
"Oh, I can do it myself," she assured him. "I've done it loads of times."
"I beg your pardon?" said Mrs. Prewett, but Tessie had vanished with a crack.
Tom nodded to Dobby, who turned into a vague shimmer in the air, then pulled Tom and Mrs. Prewett through uncomfortable squeezing nothingness to a familiar dark alley.
"Return to the house, Dobby," said Tom to the vague shimmer, which vanished with a pop.
Mrs. Prewett continued her interrogation of Tessie. "What do you mean, you've done this loads of times? Do you mean you ventured into muggle territory alone?"
"Oh, no, I just meant I got my apparition license a while ago," said Tessie, "so if I've been to a place once, I know it well enough to go there again. Don't be silly."
"Of course. I apologize, dear," said Mrs. Prewett.
Tom led the witches to the club, down the stairs, to the basement ballroom. He gave Mrs. Prewett time to adjust to the brilliance of the electric lights, the opulence of the decor, the pounding of the drums, the odd harmonies of the wailing horns, and the elegance and energy of the dancers, before leading her through the crowd to the table from which Algie cheerfully waved, for she seemed as if she might swoon. Tom waited patiently.
"How extraordinary!" she finally remarked.
"You see?" said Tessie. "Just like I told you."
"I thought you were exaggerating," said Mrs. Prewett.
"Does she often stretch the truth?" Tom inquired, feigning concern.
Mrs. Prewett's reaction was as entertaining as he'd hoped. "No! I didn't mean that at all, she's always been a paragon of honesty. But you must admit, it's hard to believe that such elegance is all the work of muggles."
"Muggles have made great progress in recent years," said Tom, who judged that it was now safe to start leading the Prewetts through the ballroom. "They've made great innovations in science, industry, art… But let me introduce you to a real live muggle. You can't expect any great innovations from this one, but he's entertaining nonetheless."
They came within earshot of Algie, so Tom banned the word "muggle" from his vocabulary. "Algie! So good to see you."
Algie stood. "I'm glad you could make it, Tom. You're looking well. Only you could get off the Yorkshire train with nary a wrinkle in your suit."
Tom laughed. "Let me introduce you to my friends, Edith Prewett and her daughter Tessie. This is my friend Algernon Clamdowne-Clamdowne, son of the earl of Lichford."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Algie, who confused Mrs. Prewett and entertained Tessie by shaking their offered hands. "Please call me Algie." He pulled out a chair for Tessie, leaving Tom to draw one for Mrs. Prewett.
"Call me Tessie."
"You're really the son of an earl?" gasped Mrs. Prewett, delighted to see this rare beast in the wild.
Algie scoffed. "Yes, but must you introduce me with that stuffy old title, Tom?"
"Let me know if you ever do anything more interesting than be born to a noble family," teased Tom. "It's completely within your power to have me introduce you as Algie the fishmonger, Algie the ditch-digger, Algie the famed inventor of the edible umbrella—"
Algie laughed. "All right, considering the alternatives, I suppose I've found my niche. This is the age of the specialist, and years ago I settled on my career. The one thing I really have a talent for is inheriting things. I'm a natural. I'm like one of those show dogs, so perfectly bred towards one ideal that I can't breathe."
"I wouldn't go that far," said Tom, who started to fear that this was too much.
"No, it's true," laughed Algie. "Maintaining nobility is a pastime of the British public, like pigeon-fancying but messier. I can't claim I'm one of the prize-winners, though. I'm so inbred I could be a sandwich. Speaking of which, let's get some refreshments. I'm paying, so order whatever you like."
"You paid last time, so this is my turn," said Tom.
"This is still part of my overall mission to cheer you up," said Algie, "so the tab is still mine."
It would take only one more move to put Algie in checkmate and win this, but Tom considered the larger game. He was trying to impress Mrs. Prewett with Algie's wealth, not his own. He conceded with a nod. "If you insist."
Algie grinned to have won so easily, then turned to the Prewetts. "What's your poison, ladies?"
Four big brown eyes stared at him.
"He's asking what you'd like to order," Tom explained.
"What do you recommend?" asked Mrs. Prewett.
"I love champagne," said Algie. "It's the perfect drink for a night in the city. There's no need for stars when every popping bubble is like a syncopated note of the music, what?"
"Then champagne we shall have," said Mrs. Prewett enthusiastically.
"Let's also get oysters Rockefeller, and caviar canapés," said Algie.
"And mineral water," said Tom boringly.
Algie rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself."
They placed their order. The band concluded their lively one-step and started a tango. Tom stood and offered his hand to Mrs. Prewett, with a slight bow. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"
His expression gave no sign of how much her girlish giggle grated on his ears. "Oh Tom, you needn't waste time on an old thing like me. Don't you want to dance with Tessie?"
"It would be unseemly for a recent widower to focus too much attention on one young lady. It is far too soon for that. Besides, if my intentions are honorable, I need to impress the young lady's family at least as much as the young lady herself. Thus, I ask the mother to dance first, in honor of her importance, and will ask the daughter second."
"Oh! How gentlemanly of you," said Mrs. Prewett.
"I'll be fine, mother," said Tessie. "I'll dance with Algie." She turned to him. "If—"
"Of course," Algie said. "It would be my pleasure." He nodded his thanks to Tom, then led Tessie to the dance floor.
Tom led Mrs. Prewett there and gave her a basic dance lesson. It was a pity Lulu wasn't there, for Tom could have used her advice on how to fend off a dance partner who got too fresh. It took several tries to convince Mrs. Prewett that, while a tango could be danced in a close hold, it really wasn't necessary to be as close as that.
As a cascade of jazz chords poured from the band, each step in the progression stranger than the last, Tom stole a glance at Tessie and Algie. Tessie looked up at Algie with wonder in her eyes. Algie led a turn, enabling Tom to see his face, which held a similar expression. Tom's attention was soon drawn to his own foot as Mrs. Prewett trod upon it, so he had to assure her that it was quite all right, he hadn't even noticed. It wouldn't do to be photographed looking annoyed at a respectable witch. Tom gave Mrs. Prewett a photogenic smile just in case.
But for which angle should he pose? Tom glanced around, under cover of looking for an open spot on the floor to dance in, but actually looking for a vague shimmer in the air. The ballroom contained so much glimmering and shimmering in general, it was hard to tell. There, behind two arguing waiters! No wait, perhaps there at the edge of the dance floor? Would Witch Weekly have sent two photographers?
Another heavy step on his foot returned his attention to his dance partner. "I apologize for my distraction," smiled Tom. "Tessie is dancing beautifully, just like her mother. I look forward to dancing with her."
"Oh yes, she's always been so very graceful," said Mrs. Prewett.
When the band finally concluded their tune and Tom led Mrs. Prewett back to their table, he smelled more strongly of Mrs. Prewett's perfume than he would have liked. Their refreshments had been delivered. "Champagne?" offered Tom.
"Yes please."
Tom filled Mrs. Prewett's champagne flute, then his own. "To Tessie," said Tom, clinking his glass against Mrs. Prewett's. "For the cheer she's brought to my life."
"To Tessie!" Mrs. Prewett smiled, and they drank. "But where is she?"
"Still talking with Algie," observed Tom. "They might be planning a second dance together." He considered his friendship with Algie. It wouldn't do to make him less useful by subjecting him to a dance with Mrs. Prewett. "Let me introduce you to some other muggles."
"Oh!"
Tom pulled Mrs. Prewett through the crowd to a familiar face, who'd just returned a dance partner to a chair and was on the hunt for another. "Francis!" Tom exclaimed happily. "How good to see you."
"Tom! Algie said you'd be back in London, and indeed you are! So sorry to hear about your loss."
Tom waved these condolences aside. "I'm trying to lift my spirits," he said. "Thus this outing with friends. I'd like to introduce you to my friend Edith Prewett. This is my friend Francis Ballsworth, second son of the Viscount Ballsworth."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Mrs. Prewett.
"How do you do," said Francis perfunctorily. "Listen Tom, I'd love to catch up with you someplace quiet enough to really talk, but right now I've got to find a new dance partner before the band starts up again."
"Let me set your mind at ease," said Tom. "Mrs. Prewett is also in search of a dance partner."
Francis looked at Mrs. Prewett.
"How's your aunt Viola's rose garden doing?" Tom asked. "Did it ever recover from that—"
Francis looked at Tom. "Fine." He sighed and offered his hand to Mrs. Prewett. "Shall we dance?"
"I'd be delighted!" squealed Mrs. Prewett.
That got rid of her. Tom returned to the table and helped himself to a canapé. He surveyed the dancers with a smile. The sparkling mineral water with which he'd refilled his glass looked similar enough to champagne that it would be indistinguishable in the photographs.
Tessie and Algie, laughing and glowing, returned to the table eventually. Algie poured champagne for Tessie, then himself. "Thank you for the dances," said Algie. "Now I'd better return you to Tom before he accuses me of monopolizing you."
"She's not an asset to distribute," said Tom. "Although I would like to dance with the girl I brought." He held his hand out to Tessie. "If you'll have me."
"Of course," she laughed, setting down her champagne flute and taking his hand.
"I'm afraid Mrs. Prewett has a partner already," said Tom to Algie, "But perhaps you have time to find one."
"No, I think I'll sit this one out," said Algie, reaching for an oyster. "Have fun."
Tom led Tessie to the dance floor and through a foxtrot.
Tessie stood on tiptoe and pulled at his shoulder, and Tom bent down so she could whisper in his ear. "Does my mother suspect anything?"
"Considering that her attention seemed otherwise engaged, I can confidently say she had none left for you and Algie," Tom whispered into Tessie's pink ear. He looked around. "Oh, there she is now." Francis must have introduced her to someone else, for she was dancing with another muggle, and having a grand time. "She doesn't seem to be watching us at the moment, but let's put on a show for her just in case." Tom held Tessie close and led her through some figures sure to impress the Witch Weekly photographer with Tessie's sparkling, swaying fringe. Tessie followed his lead perfectly.
When the foxtrot was over, the band started a waltz, so Tom danced that one with Tessie as well. An old-fashioned, less popular dance, it left more room on the dance floor, which would give the photographer a better shot.
After that the band took a break, so Tom led Tessie back to the table and drew her chair for her. "Thank you for the dances," he said.
"Thank you," she replied. "For everything."
In a moment, Mrs. Prewett was returned to the table by a muggle vaguely familiar to Tom, and about her age. "Thank you very much for the dance," he said. "I'll catch you for the next one after the break. Promise?"
"I promise," said Mrs. Prewett.
The muggle nodded and walked away.
"Muggles have this raw physicality to them, don't they?" panted Mrs. Prewett. "So primal and vital." Then she drank the champagne Tom poured for her. "Not that there's anything wrong with wizards of course." She patted Tom's hand affectionately. "I saw you two dancing together. I must say, you seem very well-suited to each other."
"You're too kind," said Tom, but then Algie approached, so talk of wizards had to cease.
"Ran into a friend," Algie explained. "Had to see her back to her table." He sat and helped himself to refreshments. "We should do this more often, Tom, whenever you're willing to come down to London. And do invite your lovely friends again."
"Oh, we'll be back," said Mrs. Prewett.
Tessie glowed in her pink and orange way.
Mrs. Prewett turned to her daughter. "Tessie dear, where does one powder one's nose here?"
"I'll show you," said Tessie, and the two ladies left.
Algie watched them go. "Where did you find a girl like that?"
"She's certainly something," said Tom.
"Something? That's all you can say? She's amazing. The whole world seems brighter around her."
"Her hair is certainly a very bright red. It illuminates the whole ballroom. Management switched off the electric lights for sake of economy."
"Tom! I'm serious." Then he looked at Tom suspiciously. "You're not courting a new girl already, are you? Although if you are, I must admit you've chosen well."
Tom laughed. "She's a friend, nothing more."
Algie looked in the direction that Tessie had vanished in. "I feel like I somehow met her before, but of course I haven't. I would have remembered. It's strange, I feel like she's what's been missing from my life."
"Have you felt that something's been missing from your life? You never mentioned that."
"It's a fairly recent feeling. Maybe just in the last week. I hate to ask you, but you would know. What does it feel like to be in love? How did you know that Merope was the one girl for you?"
"Did you notice your champagne tonight smelling odd?" Tom asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sort of like a storm?"
"What are you talking about? It just smelled like champagne. I'm talking about Tessie here, Tom. Please stay on topic."
"All right." Tom thought about Cecilia. "Do you feel like your whole life would be meaningless without her? Like even the memory of her is more important than anything in the here and now?"
Algie thought, which took a while. "I don't think that's really applicable," he eventually said. "I mean, Tessie exists in the here and now. She's just so fun, you know? When she enjoys things, it's like I enjoy them double. And she's beautiful. I can see spending the rest of my life with her."
"She won't stay that beautiful forever. You've seen her mother."
"My eyes won't be this sharp forever, so it should all work out."
"I don't think any advice I could give would be relevant. It seems that you know your own heart already."
"I'm dizzy with the dame," Algie agreed.