Upon stepping out of the Floo into his office, Tom was greeted by Hermione slamming him against the wall and holding her wand to his throat in her usual way. "What's your favorite periodical?" she demanded.

"Is this really necessary?" asked Tom. "I thought the wards you and Dobby installed could detect any trouble."

"I can't be too careful," she said. "Answer or I'll—"

"Witch Weekly." He nudged her wand to the side, by her leave. "You didn't even care about verifying my identity, you just wanted to hear me admit it."

"Well…" she smiled. "Both, really. I'm so sorry I left you alone there."

"You missed a delightful gathering. Serpens is a gracious host."

"Any injuries?" asked Hermione, scanning him with her wand.

"No. Well…"

"What?" she demanded.

"A peacock crashed into me. It was trying to get away from Corvus, who kept chasing it on his broom. The poor panicked poultry gave me a scratch, which Serpens immediately healed himself to save me the trouble. He was embarrassed that Corvus had caused this chaos, but I assured him that youthful exuberance was to be expected and didn't bother me in the least."

"Good."

"Good? The child's a menace. I'm starting to sympathize with Mrs. Malfoy."

"I just meant it's good that you didn't suffer any worse injuries." She thought. "And I suppose it's good that you cam spend time with Malfoys without punching anyone. It's a special skill you have. I don't know if I could have done it."

"I wouldn't punch a child, however ill-mannered, and Serpens was perfectly pleasant."

"The boy seems even more bigoted than his father."

"I'm sure they're equally bigoted, but Serpens has the sense to be discrete."

"Tell me everything," Hermione commanded.

"I thought I'd tell the others at the same time. But first," Tom gently put his hand on Hermione's arm to block her before she charged out of the room. "I wanted to discuss something with you. The last time you visited Malfoy Manor—"

"I've never been there before," she said. "Not in this timeline. And that won't happen in this timeline at all, so it doesn't matter."

"Be that as it may, I was thinking, you mentioned the possibility of seeing a mind-healer—"

"I'd have to drop my occlumency shields for a mind-healer to examine me, and that's not going to happen."

"I can certainly understand wanting to maintain your privacy, but—"

"It's not that. I've done things that are not strictly legal. A mind healer might report me."

Tom did not remark on the understatement. "Could you obliviate—"

"A mind healer?" Hermione's eyes widened. "That would be a challenge."

"How do mind-healers get any business?" marveled Tom. "Or is it just that one would have to be mad to tolerate one's privacy being invaded?"

"I think many of their customers are involuntarily committed." She cast a suspicious look at him. "Don't get any ideas, Mr. 'Witches Exist.'"

"I wouldn't dream of—"

"I'm fine. I'm perfectly functional. I can feed and dress myself and everything. Don't argue with me."

"I wasn't arguing."

"You looked like—"

"All right, it is a bit of a stretch to claim that you're capable of dressing yourself, but you are improving."

She looked at him for a while, the only sound the crackling of the fire. "I'm glad you're back," she eventually said. "Come on, let's find the others so I can hear the rest."

They gathered in the drawing room for Tom to relate his tale. It took a great deal of time to describe the decor, the portraits, the grounds with their unusual choices of vegetation, Corvus's broom-riding skill… Tom could put it off no longer. He addressed Hermione. "Oh, and I'm afraid I need a new portkey."

Hermione, who had been lulled into a stupor by Tom's use of quidditch terms, instantly sprang back to alertness. "Malfoy took your portkey?!"

"No, of course not."

It took a moment for Hermione's indignation to find a new target. "You lost it?! Do you have any idea how hard it is to make the voice-activated ones?"

"I'm sure it's very difficult," said Tom. "I did not lose it, don't be absurd. I understand that it's far too precious to treat so lightly. I gave it away."

Hermione looked at him in the silent room for a while. "Wait, what?"

"To Marius Black, who was visiting Malfoy Manor to play with Corvus. I knew I might not have such an opportunity again, so I made use of it. I gave Marius the portkey and told him the activation phrase. We should expect him July second, when he doesn't get his Hogwarts letter, if not earlier."

"But…" said Hermione. "That was your only escape from Malfoy Manor. Without that portkey, you were at Malfoy's mercy."

"I know," said Tom. "I trusted his mercy to be adequate for the situation. Serpens is a gentleman. He wouldn't harm a guest."

Hermione let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Did his tour include the dungeon? That's where Malfoys entertain some of their guests."

Tom's mother blanched. "Tom. It's all well and good to help someone else's son, but what about the safety of my son?"

"What did you gain in exchange for that portkey?" demanded Tom's father. "Some useless squib? What are you going to do with a squib?"

Tom addressed his parents. "Father, I'm sure you understand that small investments can grow. Mother…" He could barely face those shining dark eyes. "My life wasn't truly in danger. Please trust my judgment on this." He turned from her. "Hermione, I'm sorry. You are of course under no obligation to replace the portkey. You were very generous to give me one. You do not owe me another."

"Tom—" Hermione said.

"You have every right to berate me for squandering your portkey, but Tommy should be elsewhere during that," said Tom hurriedly. "I stand by my choice."

Indeed, Tommy was getting restless, flailing his little fists, snagging them in Hermione's hair.

"No," said Hermione. "No, Tom, I'm not angry. I'm just surprised." She tried to rescue her hair from Tommy's fists. "Why did you do that?"

"Well..." It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Tom scrambled to justify his action. He had a reputation to uphold. He was a man of business, of reason, not of sentimental impulses. "A source of information on one of the most important families in wizarding Britain, loyal to me? That's too valuable a resource to waste."

Hermione's eyebrows huddled together as if to consult with each other. "I guess I can see that," she said doubtfully. "Whatever your reasoning, you may have saved a child's life. And turned the Black family against you. They won't be happy if they find out you prevented them from pruning their family tree."

"I don't think they like me anyway," said Tom. "They suspect I'm a halflood."

"What are you going to do with a squib?" Tom's father repeated.

"Well," said Tom. "We have until July to decide."

—-

Time passed, as it does for those who don't illegally tamper with it. Hermione gave Tom two portkeys, just in case he felt generous again.

Tommy grew into a chubby baby who learned to roll over and slither. Tom had thought babies were supposed to crawl, but no, Tommy slithered, while making cute sibilant babbling noises.

Tom's mother set up a nursery with soft carpets and toys, although Hermione magically examined and rejected some of the more brightly-painted toys, and the lead soldiers were right out. The Riddles humored her in this.

Tommy enjoyed his playroom, slithering across the soft carpets and hissing at his toys.

Hermione consulted her books and wrinkled her brow. "Well, I stocked up on muggle parenting books before I came here, and they don't mention this, but I guess it's within the range of normal for baby wizards," she said. "I was wondering why no one adopted him in the original timeline, a cute baby like this, but he is a bit…"

"He's a darling little quetzalcoatl hatchling just fluffing up his feathers," said Tom's mother, wiggling a pink knitted snake at Tommy for his chubby fingers to grab.

"Right," said Hermione. "Apparently there's not much call for that in a muggle orphanage."

—-

As soon as it was warm enough, Tom donned his light exercise wear and switched to doing his usual exercises outdoors. He invited Hermione and Tommy to join him, for it was never too early to learn the importance of physical fitness.

Hermione looked at him, her lips pressed together.

"Is that a yes or a no?" asked Tom.

"Nice shorts," she finally said.

They were, indeed, nice shorts, but Tom didn't like the tone with which she'd complimented them. Nonetheless, he obstinately accepted the compliment at face value, and even offered, "We could get similar exercise clothing for you." She tended to wear frumpy witch robes around the house for Tommy to drool on.

Hermione could hold in her laughter no longer. She choked out a "No, thank you."

"Have fun laughing at the savage in his primitive garb," said Tom. "Had you traveled back just a few more years, you'd have seen me wearing the skin of a saber-toothed tiger. It was the height of fashion just a few years ago, seen in all the trendiest caves."

Hermione kept laughing, which Tom counted as a success, as he could now pretend she was laughing at his wit rather than his appearance.

"Come on," urged Tom. "Laugh at me outside as I exercise. Bring a blanket for Tommy to slither around on. The fresh air and sunshine will be good for him as well."

They went. Hermione spread a blanket over the lawn for Tommy, who promptly slithered off it. Hermione picked him up and put him back and he immediately slithered off again, laughing.

"I see that you two have your exercise routine worked out," said Tom. "So I'll start mine." He did, enjoying the warm sun and cool breeze on his skin. He exercised more than he did indoors, since it was so much more enjoyable.

Finally, he stretched out beside Tommy on the blanket to rest. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some exercise clothing?" he asked Hermione.

"Like that? Quite sure."

"So this is it then," Tom realized sadly. "This modern fashion of wearing clothing that one can actually move in is doomed to end by your time. Pity. I'd hoped it was a permanent change. How soon will fashion dictate we all wear portable prisons again?" He took over Hermione's job of grabbing a delightedly squealing Tommy and returning him to the blanket.

Hermione blinked at him a bit, then exclaimed "Oh! No, don't worry, comfortable clothes stayed popular right through to my time, in my timeline at least. That outfit you're wearing looks remarkably modern to my eyes. But oh man, you should see the workout wear of the eighties: shiny spandex leotards and tights in really bright colors, you'd love them."

"Spandex?" Tom repeated.

"This new fiber that gets invented. It's so stretchy, it fits almost like bodypaint."

"Invented?" Tom repeated excitedly. "Did you bring the formula?"

"No, I don't think so, sorry."

"Drat."

"Sorry, inventing skintight clothes a few decades earlier in this timeline wasn't a high priority for me when I was packing."

Tom sighed. "I'll wait. Well, I now have a reason to live that long."

Hermione laughed again. Tommy looked up at them and laughed too.

After Tom picked Tommy up again and kissed his rosy round cheeks, which simply had to be done, Tom asked Hermione, "So what's your objection to the most comfortable exercise clothing this era has to offer? Not up to your futuristic standards? That's your own fault for not bringing the formula for spandex." Tommy was squirming to be put down by now, so Tom let him down to slither away again.

Tommy made it to the edge of the blanket, reached out a pudgy little hand, picked a purple flower, gazed at it wonderingly with his beautiful blue-black eyes, and ate it.

Tom let out a squawk before he managed any words. "No Tommy! Not food!" He fished the flower out of Tommy's toothless little mouth.

"Wah!" wailed Tommy.

"You're not supposed to be interested in solid foods until you're six months old!" scolded Hermione. "The book said!"

"Do you think this is poisonous?" wondered Tom, looking at the purple blob stuck to his finger with baby slobber. "What if I didn't get it all? I should check. Please say 'Ah,' Tommy."

Hermione picked another purple flower from the lawn and looked at it closely. "This is heartsease," she said. "Viola tricolor. These are edible." She shrugged and ate it. "Pretty good, too. Mild."

"A fine example you're setting!" exclaimed Tom, his heart still pounding. He wiped the purple blob from his finger onto the grass.

"I said they were edible."

"We don't want him thinking everything he sees is edible."

"The book also said it's normal for babies to explore the world by putting things in their mouths," said Hermione. "So I guess Tommy's doing that. A flower that small isn't a choking hazard. Better an edible flower than a lead paint chip."

"Oh yes, you mentioned that before. What's that about?"

Hermione told him.

Tom reeled. "We'll have to tell my father about this," he decided. "He said he'd handle the muggle side of things."

"Lead paint wasn't banned here until '92, in my timeline, can you believe it? A lot of other countries banned it earlier. I mean, France banned it in 1909 since they noticed it was poisoning painters. It took a while for scientists to figure out that even very small amounts of lead can cause brain damage in children. Not to mention the lead added to petrol for cars. Over the years, lead must have lowered humanity's collective IQ by several billion points in total."

"If we can change this—" started Tom.

"Where's the profit in it for you, though?" she challenged.

Tom shrugged. "Dropping hints to researchers to encourage them to pay attention to the effect of small amounts of lead on IQ won't cost us anything. They'll listen to us, once our drugs are saving lives." Tom realized something. "You changed the subject."

"I think Tommy did, actually," said Hermione. "Thank you, Tommy."

Tommy hissed at her.

"We were discussing exercise clothing," said Tom.

"I know! It's all very well for you to parade around in skimpy workout wear," she grumbled, "looking like that."

"I do not 'parade around,'" objected Tom.

"You totally do, Tom, don't deny it."

"Well—"

"I'm not criticizing! Hey, if you got it, flaunt it, right? But the more of me that stays covered, the better."

"Hermione! I just want you to be comfortable; I'm not trying to ogle you."

Hermione laughed. "I know, of course. Look, I was never beautiful, but I looked basically OK before the war. And then…" her voice suddenly caught in her throat.

Tom waited, not moving as Tommy defiantly ate another flower and then pursued, what was that, a cricket?

"I have scars," Hermione finally said very quietly.

"I don't care—"

"I don't care about you seeing them," she said, as if the idea were absurd. "But I don't like looking at them myself. When I see them, I remember how I got them. That's a great thing about wizarding clothes being basically medieval, practically all my skin is covered, so I hardly ever have to see my scars. I get dressed in the dark."

That explained a lot, although Tom didn't remark on this sudden solution to the mystery of her color combination choices. "I understand," he said instead. "Well, your dueling robes seem to allow you to move freely, while maintaining modesty according to the standards of the wizarding world, so there's no need for you to wear muggle clothes. I won't raise the subject again."

Hermione smiled, which had the same effect as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "Thank you." Then she looked at Tommy. "What's in your mouth?!"

At dinner that evening, when Tom offered Tommy some mashed potato, mashed peas, and a bit of finely minced lamb, Tommy stared at him as if he were insane. Put food in his mouth? Tommy had never heard such an absurd idea in his life. He patted Hermione's breast emphatically. Babies consume nothing but milk, everyone knows that, stupid parent.

—-

Tom and Hermione got in the habit of reading aloud to Tommy in his nursery after dinner. Tommy may or may not have paid attention to this, as he was generally busy picking up toys and dropping them, but Hermione assured Tom that reading to babies was essential for their language development, so read they did.

Tom concluded his rendition of a Prophet article on a proposal to ban flying carpets, which held Tom's interest considerably more than Tommy's. Tom set down the newspaper. "Hermione, would you join me for lunch at La Truffe Émraude tomorrow?"

"Why?"

Because now that Miss Kettleburn has all the material she needs and her werewolf novel is underway, I have no need to meet with her, Miss Vinter the potioneer needs no supervision, Serpens and I were just there a few days ago, and I'm tired of Tessie's frivolity. "Because I would enjoy your company."

"But why go out for lunch at all? The food here's very good."

"Because Dobby has been separated from his fellow elves for a few days, and he'd like to visit with them. He needs an excuse."

"Oh! Yes, of course."

"I think you'll enjoy their new vegetarian dishes. Several have appeared on the menu recently. Kindness to magical creatures is becoming quite a trend."

"Huh. That's interesting."

"While we're out, I could buy you a new hat."

"I already have a hat."

"Hermione, it's spring. The hat you wore in winter—"

"I know, I just said it to make you pull that face." She laughed.

Tom turned his face away from her. "Dobby," he called.

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"You'll have another chance to lunch with your fellow elves tomorrow. Do you have enough writing kits?"

"Yes Master. Teeny didn't take one last time, but Dobby could tell she was thinking about it. Dobby thinks she'll take one next time Dobby sees her."

"Good," said Tom.

"What's this about?" asked Hermione.

"Once Miss Kettleburn has completed her werewolf tearjerker, she'll have time to write one about house elves. Collecting material is difficult, but Dobby's doing what he can."

Hermione stared at him. Before Tom had time to understand what was happening, she'd crashed into him and wrapped her arms around him. If she'd intended violence, she'd have used her wand, so Tom reasoned that this was how Gryffindors expressed approval.

The sensation was rather like being crashed into by one of the Malfoy peacocks. Both gave a visual impression of immensity, due to their voluminous plumage, but the tactile impression was quite different. Under the fluff, both seemed to consist of sharp, thin bones.

The specialized hair potions from the salon had a pleasant floral scent, which was good, as Tom had a face full of her hair. "Oh Tom! You're helping house elves!"

The floral scent combined with Hermione's mild milky smell, with a touch of—

Amortentia. A storm, powerful and terrifying, and suddenly Tom wasn't home at all—

"You really are a wonderful influence on Tommy. I was a bit thrown by your style at first, but I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

—he was in that ratty flat in London, and Merope was urging him to drink his tea—

"Tom?" asked Hermione.

—but he'd figured it out, it was the tea, at least when it smelled like this, like the best smell ever, and he wouldn't drink it, no...

"Imperio" said Merope, and of course he would drink his tea, Merope had made it for him and she loved him, so he'd drink it gladly—

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione, drawing back to look at his face and moving her hand to his shoulder,

Tom wouldn't let himself shudder under her touch, Merope got angry when he did that, and when Merope was angry...

"I'm fine," he said as if he could ever be fine again. He turned in such a way as to casually free his shoulder from the witch's hand, as if unintentionally, put on a smile, and said the first non-amortentia-related thing that came into his head. "I can feed and dress myself and everything. I think I'll retire for the evening. Goodnight. Pleasant dreams." He didn't break into a run until he was in the hall and had closed the door behind him.

Author's note: I've been crossposting my stories to Archive of Our Own, which is a much better platform than this, especially because it has no ads. I plan to phase out my ffn account, finishing my incomplete stories but not posting my new ones here. My new stories will be AO3 exclusives. Please follow me to this superior website. My username there is the same as here.