Once Briar and Bramble had left, Tom searched Hermione's collection for a replacement wand. They all felt like sticks to him, so he chose the dark one that Hermione had said was useless for everyone else, so as not to waste a potentially useful wand. Also, he rather liked the look of it.
Hermione tucked the rest of the spares away in her beaded bag, then sat on the couch watching Tom getting a feel for his new wand. The balance was different from his old one. He practiced drawing it, both for ordinary and martial situations. He twirled it between his fingers and sheathed it with a flourish, repeating this until the mirror showed the reflection of a powerful wizard. He practiced his dueling stances, his jinxes, his curses.
"Tom," said Hermione.
"Yes?"
"You said the muggle side of the Riddle business could support the werewolf side."
"Yes."
"It can't. Not without help."
Tom donned an affronted expression, then replaced it with a condescending one. "Hermione, I assure you that the Riddle family's muggle investments—"
"Those are the problem," said Hermione. "You think you're great investors, but you're not. Lots of people in the twenties thought they were great investors. Your fortunes are built on top of a stock market bubble. It will pop soon, and you'll be left with nothing."
Tom traded his condescending expression for a concerned one. "Thank you for telling me." Dare he ask for details? Not yet. He sheathed his wand and sat next to Hermione. "Hundreds of werewolves are depending on our ability to subsidize Wolfsbane, and rescue them from the Werewolf Capture Unit as necessary. If we lose that ability—"
"I can help you avoid that," interrupted Hermione.
Tom didn't mind the rudeness of her interruption in the least. He waited for her to elaborate.
She reached into her beaded bag. "Accio The Great Crash, 1929." She drew forth a well-worn book and handed it to Tom, whose hands were nearly trembling in eagerness. The labor of two years was finally coming to fruition!
He accepted it reverently. It was by someone named J. K. Galbraith.
"That book explains why you need to get out of the stock market," said Hermione.
"Thank you," said Tom. "This is valuable information. I look forward to reading it after dinner." He set the book on his rolltop desk, which he closed and locked. "For now, it's time to gather in the drawing room. Mark's presence will not be the only thing preventing us from speaking of this afternoon's events, for they are not conducive to digestion."
Hermione nodded, and Tom escorted her to the drawing room.
Tom practiced Occlumency through dinner to spare Tommy any glimpse of the horror Tom had recently witnessed, as well as his excitement over the treasure in his possession. After dinner, as soon as Tom could politely excuse himself, he went to his office and dived in.
The book, written in 1955, alluded to several events that the reader, presumably familiar with the news up to 1955, should take in stride. No matter. The forties and fifties were not relevant to him yet. The stock market records of 1929 and the 1930s, however, were of supreme interest. He could worry about the casual mention of the "Second World War" later.
Tom stayed up most of the night reading. He went to bed near dawn, feeling like Pharaoh after his dream of seven fat kine being eaten by seven lean kine, except in Tom's case both the fat and the lean kine numbered ten.
He was eager to discuss his reading over breakfast, but of course had to wait until Mark left for school.
Once the boy was out of the way, Hermione helpfully started the conversation. "So. What did you learn from the book?"
"It was disappointing," said Tom, "Galbraith gave many examples of men being scoundrels and fools. Sometimes they were both at once, as they managed to delude themselves so thoroughly, they swindled themselves out of their own fortunes. And yet, after this parade of men ruining themselves and the economy, Galbraith had a sort of punchline, saying that even women invested in stocks! He presented this fact as if it were the height of absurdity for women to play a man's game, yet he provided no examples of women behaving any more foolishly or knavishly than men. In fact, he gave no examples of women's investment errors at all. He seemed to think that the mere idea of women being investors was absurd enough that there was no need for him to provide details. I'd have hoped that a book first published in 1955 would have portrayed the sexes more equitably, but if this book is typical of books of the future, I see that very little progress will be made in the next twenty-six years."
Tom's father put his newspaper down. "What's this?"
"Hermione was kind enough to loan me a book from the future," explained Tom. "I've half a mind to go find the author, Galbraith, before he writes this book, to correct his mistake about the relative wisdom of women and men. From the little biography in the back, he's twenty now. It shouldn't be that hard to track him down." He looked at his father. "I'll share the highlights with you later, but for now, please, don't let me interrupt your newspaper reading."
His father got the message and raised his newspaper as a wall between himself and the table once more.
Hermione blinked a few times. Perhaps Tom had overdone it. "That's what jumped out at you? The sexism?"
"Well, the information about the market crash was also very interesting of course, but a book from the future is a treasure, and I won't let any of it go to waste, even the disappointing parts."
"Yes," said Hermione. "That part is disappointing, you're right. Well, that was the fifties, when I think there was a backlash against advances women had made in the forties. There was some improvement in the seventies. The information about the stock market should be sound, though, at least in general terms. I'm sure this bubble will pop soon. I've changed things just by coming here, and those changes can change other things in ways I can't even imagine, so some details may be different."
Tom nodded. "Of course."
"Anyway, I've given you enough information that you'll get out of the market in time. For all we know, the crash might come earlier in this timeline, so you'd be safest getting out of the market immediately. And not just the stock market; get everything out of your bank accounts, out of savings and checking, everything. Change it all to gold in a Gringotts vault. Don't tell anyone, don't advise anyone else to do the same. Just let all your wealth sit as gold, doing nothing, for a few years. Then you may put it back in the market, and in whatever muggle banks are left."
Tom nodded again, the very picture of humble agreeability. "Thank you. That's wise advice."
Tom's father's grip on his newspaper risked ripping the pages.
After breakfast, Tom met his father in his office. "Please join me for a walk. Müller advocates exercise in fresh air."
His father grumbled but saw his point, and soon they were strolling through the chill of a March morning.
Tom wasn't certain Hermione wasn't spying on them even out here, but figured it was their best chance. He got straight to the point. "We must go deeper into debt."
His father didn't take this news well. "Deeper? But we're already—"
"I don't care. We have a book of stock market information from the future! We need to throw everything possible at this. Take nearly everything out of Gringotts except for a bit of spending money. Everything we own: stocks, land, the car, mother's jewelry, my jewelry, must be collateral for loans. Borrow as much money as possible to put in stocks. Westinghouse, General Electric, their value will nearly double over the summer. We'll buy them on margin. As they bloat in value, we'll use them as collateral to borrow more money to buy more shares. We'll ride this wave until the end of August."
"What will happen in August?
"In Hermione's original timeline, the market crashed on Tuesday, October twenty-ninth, after puffing up to absurd heights through the summer. The London stock exchange will drop a bit in September, and who knows what changes will arise from us nudging the market slightly off its course? The boom market, in Hermione's original timeline at least, is due to end September third. We'll cash out in August and switch to short sales. We can't lose betting that everything will drop through 1931 at least."
His father mulled that over. "Hermione said—"
"Hermione is a fool. We'd be fools to take her advice and ignore all this potential profit. It would be reckless to withdraw from the market too early and lose our future fortune."
Tom's father nodded. "How did you finally extract the information from her?"
"I invested another hundred and fifty galleons into the Wolfsbane project, to ransom Briar from the Werewolf Capture Unit, whilst bragging that the Riddle fortune could fund any number of such ransoms. She corrected me."
Tom's father nodded again. "Clever. Are they supposed to just ransom werewolves out though?"
Tom related the previous day's adventure.
"Money well spent," said Tom's father. "And Briar's life is worth saving, whether it made a good impression on Hermione or not. Entertaining chap. And I always appreciate men who leave all the women for the rest of us." He thought. "So your plan to defend Professor Waxwigge on the full moon has fallen through then?"
Tom sighed. "Yes. Clearly we aren't the only ones concerned that the professor is a potential werewolf target. I'll come up with some other way to protect him, although it may not be necessary if the Werewolf Capture Unit takes Briar's presence as a call for more protection of that area on the full moon."
"Have they ever protected anything on the full moon? Only the Auror department has any record of heading off werewolf attacks on a full moon, and they have to pretend they're not."
Tom shrugged. "The Werewolf Capture Unit may finally justify their budget."
"They do have extra motivation to capture werewolves now that they know you're paying two galleons a pound. They might actually do it. If they do capture Woolsey's pack, what do you plan to do with all those werewolves once you buy them? Or are you planning to leave them at Pucey's mercy?"
Pondering this question necessitated more walking. Eventually, Tom said, "Hermione will have to put them under the Imperius curse to rescue them anyway, so she could just… keep them under it."
"What were you saying earlier about Dark magic damaging the soul?"
"Hermione didn't seem concerned. I'll let her be the steward of her own soul."
"Hello, Waxwigge speaking."
"This is Tom Riddle. I'm calling to let you know that there's a slight change in plans for the twenty-fifth."
"Is there."
"Something came up, so Brian and Randall have a scheduling conflict. They won't be available that evening."
"Ah. I don't suppose this has anything to do with that strange sort of brawl they were involved in?"
"What?!" How sloppy were the Werewolf Capture Unit, to work in front of a muggle and not even Obliviate him afterwards?
"I assumed you knew they ran into trouble, with your change in plans."
"I knew, but I didn't know you knew. I saw no need to burden you with details. What did you see?"
"Well, I'd have trouble describing it in a way that makes sense."
The fire blazed green. "Hello? I'm calling for Tom Riddle."
"Sorry, I'll call you back," Tom hurriedly told Professor Waxwigge. "Something came up."
"Does 'Something came up' mean—"
Tom hung the receiver on the switch hook and knelt by the fire. "Hello," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Pucey, thank you for calling."
"Thank you for taking my call. I'm letting you know we have two more werewolves for you."
"Excellent! I could use some fresh stock. Unfortunately I'm in the middle of something now, so I'll send my associate to fetch them for me. She'll Floo there in a few minutes. Take care to keep them fresh until she gets there."
"We will."
"Expect her in a few minutes. Good day."
"Good day."
Tom stepped back from the Floo, mirror-called Hermione with the news, greeted her in his office, vetoed her clothing, and accompanied her to her room to search her wardrobe for a more professional ensemble.
"There are two werewolves suffering in that fortress right now," said Hermione.
"Yes," said Tom. "And you must look the part if you're to rescue them." He laid his selections across the bed. "Meet me in my office once you're properly dressed."
She started unlacing the bodice of her drab houserobes even before Tom had time to make his escape.
In his office, he counted out a supply of galleons, which he gave to Hermione upon her arrival. Then he made a slight adjustment to the collar of her robes and sent her off.
That rescue job would take a few minutes, so Tom made use of the time by calling Professor Waxwigge again.
"Hello?" said the professor.
"Hello. This is Tom Riddle again. Sorry about the interruption. Anyway, I was just saying that since those two bodyguards won't be available, I and a friend will guard you ourselves."
"You and one friend?"
"Yes."
The pause after this made Tom wonder if there was a problem with the line, but no, the professor eventually spoke. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I have my doubts about what two men could do against this enemy."
This wouldn't be a good time to point out that one of his bodyguards would in fact be a woman. "I assure you—"
"You assured me that the two men you sent before were up to the job. Admittedly, one of them did seem to fight well after the other vanished, but he was up against four, so—"
"The only significant point is that you were unharmed, so that endeavor was a success," said Tom. "This new friend of mine has less skill at disguise than the last two, but considerably more in defense, which is more relevant to the job. For efficiency's sake, we can dispense with introductions. I will stay close to you while my friend patrols a larger area around you," disillusioned, casting Dark creature detection spells, ready to Portkey home in an instant if necessary. Once Hermione was safe, she would tell Tom to Portkey the professor to safety as well. For a more discreet, muggle-friendly form of communication, she'd applied a Protean charm to two small notebooks, so she and Tom could write to each other from a distance.
Tom was tempted to tell the professor this part of the plan. Why should Tom have to honor the Statute when the Werewolf Capture Unit couldn't be bothered? However, Tom didn't yet have sufficient connections to avoid suffering the consequences of any wizarding crimes he committed, so he'd have to remain careful for now.
"Perhaps I should go into hiding instead," suggested the professor.
"That wouldn't help," said Tom. "We have to assume that you can be found wherever you are. Also of course, your work is important, so I won't have you separated from it."
"Right. Well. I'm glad to save lives, but I have no intention of being heroic about it."
"I'm very sorry it's come to this," said Tom. "I didn't know how complicated things could get." The fire blazed green. "So that's all sorted," said Tom hurriedly. "See you on the twenty-fifth." Tom hung the receiver on the switch hook and watched a little boy of perhaps five stumble out of the Floo, followed by a girl of about eight. They both wore colorful play robes and disturbingly blissful smiles. The little boy had bumped his knee while stumbling out of the Floo, but his face revealed no sign of the distress that Tom had come to expect when a little boy bumped his knee.
Hermione followed a moment later. "They actually didn't weigh much," she assured Tom. "And I negotiated a ten percent discount for the girl because she's bruised. Total of a hundred and seventy-six galleons, pretty good deal for two. Pucey tried to tell me they weighed ninety-one pounds, but I checked with a scale in my beaded bag and it didn't match theirs. Their scale was on an uneven patch of floor, so it read zero when there was nothing on it, but got increasingly inaccurate, in their favor, the heavier an object it weighed. Also they had rocks in their pockets, which I removed before weighing them again."
"Typical. Did you get a receipt?" asked Tom.
"No," said Hermione. "Should I have? Don't you trust me?"
"You, yes. Pucey, no. I assume he's pocketing all the money himself. It doesn't matter." Tom looked at the children, still bearing eerily blissful smiles. "When do you plan to release the Imperius?"
"I'll walk them down to Ignis's house first." Hermione set out, followed by the children, and, after a moment's consideration, Tom.
On the way, he pulled his mirror out of his pocket, but felt it buzz before he could say "Ignis." He opened it to see Ignis's worried face. "Hello."
"Tom! I just got word that two werewolf children, Wolfsbane customers, have disappeared from Hogsmeade. Do you think—"
"We got them," said Tom, angling his mirror to show the eerily smiling children. "Ransomed them from the Werewolf Capture Unit. They're headed to your house right now."
"Oh thank Merlin! I'll Floo-call their parents right back."
Tom's mirror showed his own face again, so he closed it. Then he turned to Hermione. He didn't want to look at the children. He must have looked that blissful, under the Imperius curse. It was a disturbing thought.
Tom opened his mirror when it buzzed, and saw Ignis again. "Tom? I know this is a lot to ask, but their parents don't feel safe bringing their children back to Hogsmeade, since it seems likely that the Werewolf Capture Unit will do more raids there and capture these children again, so they're hoping they can move into Little Hangleton, once it's empty. The thing is, they're human, so they can't get into my house, but for now they have a tent they could set up in my back garden."
"That's fine by me," said Tom. "As long as they start paying rent once they move into a proper Little Hangleton house."
"Of course. Thank you. I'll tell them." Ignis vanished again so Tom closed his mirror.
Tom turned to Hermione. "It's convenient how they sort themselves. Werewolves loyal to Woolsey would probably relieve us of the responsibility of ransoming them if they were captured, while others make their opinion clear by surviving long enough to be rescued."
"They might just be cowards," said Hermione. "If I knew I was more valuable to my enemy alive than dead, I'd do what I could to reduce his assets."
So it turned out that Hermione was not a less disturbing sight than the eerily smiling children. Tom was grateful to reach the patch of road near Ignis's house.
Ignis was standing on the road, near the small gap in the hedgerow. He waved. "Hullo! It's all right! You're safe. Your parents will be here shortly. Erm." He looked to Hermione. "Isn't it about time you released them from the Imperius curse?"
Hermione shrugged and looked at the children, who lost their blissful expressions and bolted down the road. Hermione cast "Stupefy" twice in quick succession to drop them to the road. "All yours," she told Ignis, and headed back up the hill.m
"I'd stay to help," said Tom, "but I don't think they'd trust an unfamiliar human, nor should they. Please invite their parents to Floo to the Riddle House, with their tent. I'll walk them down the hill to your place."
"Thanks," said Ignis, hurrying towards the fallen children.
When the parents Flooed to Tom's office, their faces revealed signs of tears, and they embarrassed Tom with their gratitude. "What do we owe you for the ransom?" asked the father.
Tom waved that offer aside. "Once I've sorted out this spot of trouble, so I can start charging for Wolfsbane potion again, I'll recoup my investment. In the meantime, I ask only that you try your best to avoid letting your children get recaptured, since that would not reflect well on my supposed potion ingredients business. Now please walk this way to Ignis's place."
The next few days were busy with many such rescues, until Tom feared that the Riddles would have little money left to invest in stocks, if this went on much longer. Also, Ignis was running out of room for tents in his back garden.
Pucey didn't try his rocks-in-pockets trick again, but he did introduce a disturbing delay between the moment when Ignis got word of a captured customer, and the time when Pucey called Tom to report a fresh werewolf for sale. This delay was caused by Pucey trying to feed the captured werewolves heavy foods before weighing them for sale.
Tom was particularly irritated whenever a larger, heavier werewolf needed to be ransomed. Children he could understand, considering they were both foolish and lightweight, but really, the Hog's Head barkeep should know better than allow himself to get captured. He was a grown man, and tall.
To make matters worse, it was clear as soon as that damned barkeep stepped out of the Floo that he was fighting off the Imperius curse. Also, the odor of goats that wafted off him dredged up an unpleasant memory for Tom. The barkeep would have no memory of tying Tom up on the floor of his goat barn of course, for Tom had been Polyjuiced as Ignis at the time. This barkeep's only memory of Tom would be of the talented duelist who'd chosen Ignis as his second in his duel against Axel Prewett.
"You're safe," Tom assured the barkeep, whose blissful smile was cracking into a furious expression, and whose body was twitching with hints of violent movements. "That potion ingredients story was just a ruse to get you out of that fortress alive. I'm a friend of Ignis, and of many other werewolves. I'll take you to Ignis's house. Hermione, you might as well release him from the Imperius curse. It's not working anyway."
Hermione looked skeptical, but gave up the struggle with a relieved exhalation and collapsed into a chair, only to be yelled at by the barkeep.
"You didn't have to use a real Imperius! You could have faked it. I'd have played along. I know how this works."
"If you know how this works, why did you let yourself get captured?" Tom argued back. "I can afford the ransoms, but I'd rather not keep putting money into Pucey's pockets."
"You outbid the protection money I was paying the Werewolf Capture Unit so they'd ignore me and my customers!" complained the barkeep. "Hogsmeade isn't safe for werewolves anymore, thanks to you."
"Protection money?" repeated Tom. "Pucey's a fool to give up a steady source of income like that for a one-time gain of a ransom."
The barkeep shrugged. "Maybe he's afraid the protection racket will fall through, now that it's hard for werewolves to keep our jobs."
Tom sighed. "I would like everyone to stop paying the Werewolf Capture Unit anything. That includes me. Please, tell all the werewolves you know to get out of Hogsmeade, whether they've paid protection money or not, since clearly it no longer buys the protection it once did. Now come on. I hope there's room for you at Ignis's place."
"But what about my goats?" objected the barkeep. "I can't leave my goats behind."
"Tell me what care they need," said Hermione. "I'll look after them for a few days, until space in Little Hangleton opens up for them. And I'm sorry about the Imperius curse."
The barkeep talked about his goats for the whole walk down the hill.
Hermione wanted a tour of Professor Waxwigge's workplace before the full moon. She decided that this would best be done under cover of darkness and her invisibility cloak, for she wanted to perform extensive wandwork: inscribing protective runes over doors, and detecting Dark creatures, and she'd rather not do so under the curious gazes of Oxford students.
Thus, Hermione swept her invisibility cloak over the two of them, tutted over Tom's excessive height, and disillusioned their feet and legs. She kept her wand in her right hand as she wrapped her left arm around Tom's waist and Apparated them there.
The campus was nearly unoccupied at that hour, and illuminated fairly well by the waxing moon. Tom stood in respectful silence as Hermione wielded her wand.
"No Dark creatures nearby," she reported. "But there is magic: runes, wards. I wish I could assign this task to Eric. Well, show me where Professor Waxwigge is likely to be."
Tom started giving the tour he'd recently received from the professor.
"It's so easy to walk under the cloak with you," said Hermione. "I'm used to tripping over people."
"But now you can dance," said Tom. "As I can."
"Right." Hermione abruptly stopped, so Tom did too. She waved her wand at the path in front of them, which they'd have to cross to reach Professor Waxwigge's building. "This line is uncrossable by Dark creatures. At least, werewolves couldn't cross it in their human forms. In their wolf forms, they're immune to magic of course, so they could cross then. This is about where I'd have put a ward line to protect this building. Actually no, this is a larger circumference than I would have bothered with. Every inch of it took time. Maybe the wardsmith was paid by the hour. They did a great job, though. Beautiful wandmanship. Saves me the trouble of inscribing all these runes myself."
"Oh!" said Tom. "Good. The Werewolf Capture Unit apparently had the same idea we did, to guard Professor Waxwigge. No doubt they'll be even more on their guard since they already captured one werewolf in his vicinity."
"Hm," said Hermione. A slight press of her arm on his back guided him across the invisible line, to the front door of the building. She waved her wand at it. "Some of these invisible inscriptions are in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics!"
"Oh. And that means?"
"I can't read them. I don't know what they do."
"Who inscribed them?" asked Tom. "An Ancient Egyptian?"
"A modern wardsmith, skilled in Ancient Egyptian warding," corrected Hermione. "So most likely an Egyptian wardsmith, or someone educated at Uagadou. Well, at least they're totally different from anything I saw Woolsey's pack put around their targets, so I'm sure they're not his pack's work. Let's see what's on the rest of the building." Another press of her arm on his back guided him to slowly circumnavigate the building with her.
"I think some of the invisible inscriptions on this window are in Japanese," she said. "I know even less about those than about the Egyptian hieroglyphics."
"Did the Werewolf Capture Unit hire foreign wardsmiths?"
"This isn't their usual style. This building is certainly well-warded, by a team of skilled wardsmiths, to protect against something. The only runes I could read protect against Dark creatures, so maybe the others do as well. It would take a real expert cursebreaker to break these, probably a team, since I don't know of any one cursebreaker who's a master of this many runic systems. Anyway. Where else might Woolsey try to attack Professor Waxwigge?"
"This way," said Tom, retracing the tour Professor Waxwigge had given him.
"Your legs are longer than mine," said Hermione, "But it's so easy to walk with you like this. How does that work?"
"I shortened my stride to match yours," explained Tom.
"Huh." She stopped, so Tom did too at the same instant. "At least I can read some of these runes: more Dark creature repulsion, and detection, with an alarm that sends a signal somewhere else." She wandered more, to buildings that the professor hadn't included in his tour, and found those warded just as thoroughly, in a wide variety of languages, some of which she didn't even recognize. "This team did a really thorough job," she concluded. "This whole campus might be the safest place in Britain."
"It seems that the Werewolf Capture Unit is finally earning their keep," said Tom. "Could Pucey have used the Riddles' ransom money to fund actual useful services?"
"I doubt it. They couldn't get this good this fast. This must be the work of international Statute-keepers sent by the ICW. They're really taking Britain's werewolf problem seriously."
"Well, good. I'm glad we finally have some help against Woolsey. Our presence here on the twenty-fifth seems superfluous."
"It wouldn't hurt to have an extra layer of security," said Hermione.
"And I promised Professor Waxwigge we'd be here," said Tom.
The next day, Tom mirror-called all his werewolves to warn them to stay away from Oxford, and to spread the word to all the werewolves they knew. He got through to everyone but Brownwing. Presumably he was in some muggle area where a mirror-call would violate the Statute. Or he might be taking a nap, or passed out drunk in a gutter somewhere. Tom would try again later.
On the day of the twenty-fifth, Tom's Floo stayed so solidly orange, he double-checked that the switch was indeed set to accept calls. It seemed that even the most foolish of their customers had finally learned to avoid Werewolf Capture Unit agents, so Hermione and Tom had no one to ransom today. Good.
Tom had a relaxing day. Tommy was getting good at flying on his little broom, so Tom went to the back garden with him to applaud his skill at weaving around obstacles. Tom had bought a junior snitch, guaranteed to fly no higher than four feet above the ground and no faster than a bumblebee, so Tommy delighted in chasing and sometimes catching that.
Tom and Hermione ate an early supper. An hour before moonrise, Hermione swept her invisibility cloak over herself and Tom and Apparated them to a dark shrubbery she'd selected on their previous trip.
Once they'd ascertained that no muggles were nearby, Tom unwrapped his arm from Hermione's waist and stepped out of the cloak. "Good luck," he told the shrubbery. That was an excellent invisibility cloak, more effective than the most expensive ones he'd seen in shops. Presumably there would be advancements in cloak enchanting in the next few decades, so if Tom wanted a cloak that good, he needed only be patient. But no, hadn't Hermione said this cloak was an old heirloom? But that didn't make sense, for invisibility enchantments on cloaks didn't last. He knew that. Anyway, that was a thought for another time.
"Good luck," said the shrubbery, so Tom nodded his thanks and headed to Professor Waxwigge's office.
He knocked on the closed office door.
"Who is it?" asked Professor Waxwigge.
"Tom Riddle." Should he have trained the professor to ask Hermione-style security questions? That would have necessitated Tom making up some personal details to reveal in advance, and it was too late for that.
Tom heard the door unlock and open. "Come in," said Professor Waxwigge, so Tom did. The professor locked the door behind him.
"Good evening," said Tom.
"I hope so. The tour I gave you the other day may have been unnecessary, as I intend to spend this evening in my office. Normally I might have some experiments running in the lab that I'd step out to check on, but I didn't want to complicate matters tonight. Also I didn't trust myself to give experiments the attention they deserve. When working with pathogenic bacteria, one can't afford to make a mistake.
"Do you often work this late?"
The professor laughed. "This isn't late for an academic. There's always more to do."
Tom nodded. "I don't mean to interfere with your work. Pretend I'm not here."
"Hm. Well, have a seat, Mr. Riddle. I hope your task tonight is boring."
"As do I." Tom sat in the chair at the other side of the desk. That seemed too close, for Tom knew how annoying it was to have someone snooping around one's desk, so he moved the chair further away. That was better.
Sitting grew tiresome. Tom walked to the window. As the campus darkened, it became harder to see out the window, as the electric lights of the office turned the window into a mirror. Tom formed a dark enclosure with his hands against the window and peered through that for a better view.
"I could turn the lights off," offered Professor Waxwigge.
"You can't work in the dark," said Tom.
"Frankly I can't work anyway, wondering what might happen. I don't trust myself to do a statistical analysis of a controlled trial under these conditions. Sorry, I realize my role is to turn your 'dreams' to reality, but this evening I'm taking a break. They can remain dreams for one more night." Professor Waxwigge switched off the lights. "I'd also prefer that my office look unoccupied, just in case."
"I'm no slave-driver. Feel free to take the evening off. And making this office look unoccupied isn't a bad idea." Tom's mirror stayed still in his pocket. He checked his notebook in the fading sunset light coming through the window. It was blank. He got his fountain pen and wrote, Nothing to report.
He was relieved to see Hermione's angular medieval lettering appearing, scratched there by her self-inking quill: I don't see any WCU agents. Not in uniform at least.
Good, wrote Tom. He looked at some people gathering outside. Those people aren't students, he observed. Right outside Waxwigge's office window.
How can you tell? Hermione asked.
Trousers too narrow, replied Tom, but it was more than that. Quite a lot about them was wrong. They'd made an effort, he'd give them credit for that, but they obviously weren't muggles.
Disillusionment, Hermione wrote. Gathering outside the ward line around your building, surrounding not-students. Problem.
Should we go? Tom peered out of the window at the darkening campus. Moonrise at 6:41, he added. He checked his Rolex. 3 minutes.
Statute-keepers in narrow trousers might actually handle it. And we don't want to violate the Statute unnecessarily.
Tom tugged his feather Portkey slightly further down his sleeve, feeling the quill poke his palm, and mentally rehearsed the two-stride sprint that would put Professor Waxwigge's hand in reach.
The red light of sunset faded as a scream outside turned to a howl, then abruptly turned to a squelching cough, then dead silence. Similarly disgusting noises filled the night, and Tom found that he actually didn't want a view out the window. He looked to his notebook instead.
Narrow trousers are handling it, wrote Hermione.
Should we go? asked Tom.
I have a great view from up here, wrote Hermione. That was a beautiful animation charm. A statue just jumped off its pedestal to crush two at once.
"Good people of Oxford," called a German-accented voice from outside. Was it amplified by a megaphone or something else? "Please remain calm, and indoors, behind a sturdy door that requires a human hand to open. We dogcatchers will catch all the dogs that escaped from the illegal dogfighting ring."
Professor Waxwigge approached the window and looked out it. "Is that German out there your friend who's bad at disguise but good at fighting?"
"I'm afraid that's a rather complicated question," said Tom.
Professor Waxwigge winced as another crunching, squelching noise came through the window. "Not your enemy, I hope. Are you sure we're safe here?"
"I trust these dogcatchers," said Tom. "At least, more than I trust the dogs."
"You know, you taking notes in two completely different styles of handwriting might be the least strange thing about this," said Professor Waxwigge.
Tom hastily closed his notebook. "I'm very glad that these dogcatchers are here to protect us from the dogs that escaped from that illegal dogfighting ring. I'm content to let them do the work so I don't have to."
"Right. Dogcatchers." Professor Waxwigge must have had a very strong stomach, for he continued to look out the window. "Unusually brutal dogcatchers. One might even say, dogkillers."
"Yes. Well. Considering the circumstances—"
"I'm not criticizing. Clearly we don't want a repeat of the last two, er, escaped dog incidents."
"Exactly." Tom was relieved that there would be few, if any, live werewolves to ransom from the Werewolf Capture Unit in the morning. That would save a lot of money, so the Riddles could buy more stocks.
Tom stepped from the Floo into the beautiful drawing room of Malfoy Manor.
"Welcome, Tom," said Serpens.
"Thank you for inviting me," said Tom.
"I hope you don't find it too stuffy in here. I had every possible protective enchantment installed in this manor, and almost wonder if they may have overdone it. Sorry for the inconvenience, but you'll find that you can't use your wand here. Let me know if you need any spells cast, and I'll handle them for you. My wand is keyed in."
"Thank you," said Tom. Malfoy Manor seemed as airy and bright as ever. "Increased security makes sense. I've seen the adverts for those enchantments. Isn't it supposed to be fairly convenient to key in more wands?"
"I should probably read the manual," said Serpens lightly. "I've been very busy of late. Anyway. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you."
An elf soon supplied them.
Tom sipped tea under the gazes of the portraits on the walls, which seemed unusually attentive this afternoon. Malfoy ancestors in a wide variety of quaint costumes crowded into the frames with no regard for harmony of historical era or artistic style.
"Thank you for coming," said Serpens. "I always appreciate your intelligent conversation, and unique insights into the news of the day."
"And I yours," said Tom. "There's a great deal of news to discuss."
"Indeed. This corruption at the Werewolf Capture Unit…" Serpens shook his head disapprovingly. "It's shameful that it took interference by the ICW to bring it to light."
"I'm glad someone did," said Tom. "I've been following the scandal in the Prophet. It's a good thing the ICW sent all those Statute-keepers to take over from the Werewolf Capture Unit and defend those muggles in Oxford last week. They showed wizarding Britain what the Werewolf Capture Unit should have been doing all along. Of course, it's unfortunate what Grindelwald got away with while so many international Statute-keepers were otherwise engaged."
Serpens waved his hand dismissively. "Foreign affairs don't affect us. The important thing is that this British werewolf situation is finally being dealt with. And It's so entertaining to see Wizengamot members scrambling like insects fearful of daylight when you pick up a rotten log. They're embarrassed, not just about the corruption of a department, but about the Wizengamot's inability to stamp out that corruption itself, so now they're trying to save face by competing to see who can be the most flamboyantly anti-corruption. Quite a windfall for me, as the Wizengamot appointed me chief investigator, considering my investigative journalism resources. Now everyone involved is begging me for mercy. It's delightful."
"Congratulations!" said Tom. "What joy to have so many powerful wizards at your mercy. How do you plan to enjoy your power?"
Serpens shrugged. "Of course they're trying to tempt me with all sorts of offers, but I think it would serve my interests better to crush as many powerful wizards as possible, not just as a show of my power, but also to sell more newspapers."
Tom nodded. "Wise choice."
"I sent my best reporters to take a close look at their books."
"Good," said Tom. "What did they find?"
"The investigation uncovered some peculiarities. The Werewolf Capture Unit indeed put a lot of money into field agents, and captured many werewolves recently, but their divisions hidden from the public suffered great cuts. Their research and disposal divisions shrank to nothing. So the question arises: what were they actually doing with the werewolves they captured? Their budget depended on werewolves being a serious threat, so they had motivation to simply release the werewolves once they made a show of catching them, and then make another show of catching them again."
Tom shook his head disapprovingly. "I wouldn't put it past them."
"Durwin Macnair, the head of the department, assured my investigators that all captured werewolves were disposed of properly, yet he couldn't provide any sort of detailed accounting. He claims to have left all administrative details to his undersecretary, a Mr. Martin Pucey. Macnair reserved for himself the arduous task of accepting the ever-increasing funds from the Ministry. He directed my reporters to investigate Pucey, and seems happy to place all blame on him. Of course, considering that Durwin Macnair's brother Torin is on the Wizengamot, this might end there, and no one will think to ask why Durwin didn't keep a closer eye on his undersecretary himself. I've half a mind to oust Torin from the Wizengamot, replace him with someone less corrupt. Durwin Macnair is trying to deflect attention from himself by sending Pucey to Azkaban, but I think I could send Durwin in after him, and possibly even Torin. It's such fun to crush the powerful."
"So Durwin Macnair threw Pucey to the dragons," observed Tom. "Is Pucey being charged with anything yet?" Tom was chuffed that at least one member of that organization would suffer some sort of punishment.
"The investigation is ongoing, so the list of charges is growing. He's trying to slither out of some of them with the claim that all werewolves taken in recently were properly disposed of, by being sold to a potion ingredients dealer, who would come to the Werewolf Capture Unit fortress to Imperio the werewolves and take them away. Pucey obviously got the idea from that rumor going around about a Dark wizard Imperioing an army of werewolves to get them to attack humans more viciously than usual. It's a stupid story, since the punishment for embezzling money from a potion ingredients dealer could hardly be much milder than the punishment for simply letting captured werewolves go, and if anyone thinks about this story at all, it's clear that anyone putting werewolves under the Imperius is much more likely to be a Dark lord, amassing an army of Dark creatures, than some potion ingredients dealer collecting material for potioneers. But Pucey stuck to his story until I pointed out these problems. I asked if he was claiming to be in league with a Dark lord. Then of course he backtracked, claiming he'd misspoken, and actually hadn't sold any live werewolves at all."
Tom laughed. "Did he have any proof of this story?" he inquired in idle curiosity.
"None whatsoever. He neglected to write receipts for the money he supposedly took in, and this supposed income was never recorded in the Werewolf Capture Unit's books."
Tom laughed again. "Good for him he didn't think to create a parchment trail for a lie that would have got him into even worse trouble than the truth."
"Yes. All he had was this potion ingredients dealer's business card."
Tom reinforced his Occlumency before meeting Serpens's gaze, although he didn't detect any Legilimency. "Ah."
"Which I took of course, in the interest of a free press." Serpens drew it from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. The logo, with the tentacles writhing out of the cauldron, was beautiful, and the kerning was absolutely perfect.