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Chapter Text

‘Take a deep breath- in and out, in then out…’

Those words Abraxas Malfoy repeated in his head for the last few hours were easier said than done. Disturbed- was the best term to describe his state since he returned back to the manor. It was evident by the way he kept his head low, as he paced around his study. Whilst he wrung his wrists like a nervous child. His shock, added to the fact what day it was, had Abraxas driven up a wall. Much to the concern of his wife before he shut himself in his office to try to sort through what he had just discovered.

Was it just his atrocious luck that he had learned of this on the exact day he would be coming- in exactly five minutes?!

He almost dropped his pocket watch no thanks to his shaky hand. No, he needed to compose himself. He must act like nothing was amiss. At least, for as long as he could. He had no intention of keeping this from him. Merlin, he didn’t want to die young. Lucius hadn’t even received his Hogwarts letter yet! He had every right to know, but the problem was how to best deliver this news and wish for the best reaction possible…

In a few minutes, the meeting room on the second floor of the manor’s west wing will be filled by him and his old mates- the Knights of Walpurgis. Circumstances given, the brotherhood that began during their youthful years at Hogwarts, became a solid part of their identities all throughout and up to their graduation. Even when their numbers have increased, the title of the Knights remained; acknowledged as the innermost circle, highest in the rankings, and comprised of the six original members.

At least twice a month, they would hold their exclusive meetings, the host rotated among them, where they would discuss politics, business, and magic. It was nothing new. They’ve had these discussions while they were in Hogwarts, as far back as their fourth year, at a time when they had to start establishing their feet in the big world.

But Abraxas knew that later in the meeting, they would have to discuss more than just the usual topics.

“Bloody hell…” Abraxas cursed as he raked his hand through his short platinum blonde locks.

He was not a religious man, but he prayed that if there was some higher being up there, it would help quell the inevitable fallout he just knew would rain down upon him later.

.

“Abraxas.”

The Head of the Malfoy House nearly jumped out of his skin.

“M-My Lord?”

He winced at his own stutter, but tried to keep his posture straight. His blood felt cold within his veins as he felt an invisible weight come down on his shoulders. It was a weight made heavier by the numerous pairs of eyes that shot towards him in shock, and even more so by the specific pair of black eyes as dark as the void that he knew were sending glances at him halfway through the meeting. It also didn’t help that Abraxas was sitting just to the right of the man positioned at the head of the table.

Here he thought he had managed to do a good job in keeping a straight face. The others didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in his behavior. Theoden Nott had given his uneventful monthly summary of his family’s publishing company, Philip Rosier happily reported how he secured the shipment of goods as per Tom’s order, Leander Mulciber had noted a number of names that showed promise to be vetted to join the ranks, Jericho Avery mentioned how the werewolves continued to reject their offers, and Markus Lestrange expressed his satisfaction on the training of their new recruits. As for Abraxas, he was sure to deliver the growing tension in the ministry calmly. Calmly.

He shouldn’t be surprised he had managed to sniff him out.

“I can’t help but notice…” Tom drawled, though pleasant it had seemed, still sent shivers down, not only in Abraxas’ spine, but also to the rest of the Knights. The way the dark-haired man tapped his finger over the polished wood of the table only unsettled them further.

“…that you seemed distracted throughout the meeting. Is there something you wish to share?” the specific order of “to me” went unsaid. He didn’t have to.

Seconds of silence passed by as Abraxas scrambled his brain on how to form a proper sentence. For there was no easy way to deliver what he had seen.

“You hesitate,” Tom followed with a nearly-imperceptible click of his tongue. Clearly, he didn’t like that he wasn’t given an immediate answer. “You dare withhold information from me, Abraxas?”

In an instant, red flashed in Tom’s eyes and everyone present froze in their seats. Some had even sent pleading looks to Abraxas- who only became paler than he already was- to just spit out whatever he was keeping. No good ever came to anyone who crossed their dark lord. Especially when the offense was withholding information, no matter how trivial it may seem. To the Death Eaters- the Knights, most of all, knew that the fault of one was the fault of all.

They also knew Tom never had reservations when it came to inflicting punishments, magical or otherwise.

“No, my lord!” Abraxas shot up from his seat in alarm, having finally found his voice, “It’s not like that at all!”

“Not like what?” Tom goaded; his voice adopted a dangerous timbre.

“It’s just… I d-don’t know how to say…” the blonde’s tone lowered as he looked down at his feet.

“If you can’t say, then perhaps you should just show.”

He snapped his head back up, but before he could say anything, he froze. Quicker than the eye could see, Tom whipped out his wand and casted a silent Legilimens.

.

Abraxas smiled his practiced smile as he bid farewell to the ministry official that had faithfully been under his thumb ever since the start of his career. As the one with the most connections in the inner workings of the Ministry of Magic, Abraxas made it a point to always check on his contacts under the guise of lunches and dinners. He befriended them, and were generous with his gifts under the table. These tricks he learned from his father, and practiced with Tom’s guidance.

Fortunately, apart from a small mishap on the appointment for a new Head of the Department of Mysteries, there had been nothing more noteworthy to add to his report for the meeting later. At least, none that they haven’t already known.

With Tom’s frequent travels to who-knows-where for the last decade, Abraxas and the rest of the Knights were given bigger shoes to fill. The blonde liked to think it was because Tom trusted them these responsibilities. They weren’t boys anymore whose hands were held for every move in the gameboard by the Grandmaster.

Some may complain for their slow and silent method, but it would be un-Slytherin-like of them to establish themselves and their cause with their wands blazing. Tom had imparted them a philosophy: a tree can only be as strong as the soil and water its fed with. And oh how effective it was when put into practice properly. In just after five years since their graduation, their efforts have shown fruit- and how sweet the nectar was!

Abraxas passed through the busy street of Diagon Alley. He smiled back and made small talk to those familiar with him. It was important that he maintained a healthy relationship with people, especially those of importance. One could never know when he would be needing them in the future, after all.

He paused momentarily in front of the Quality Quidditch Supplies where he peered through the glass that displayed their newest line of Quidditch kit for children. Would it be too soon to add another gift for his son’s upcoming birthday? An associate of his who worked in the leading company making the best brooms to date had told him that the newest broomstick (tailored to children) wouldn’t be released for another month. Of course, he had already pre-ordered said broom and suggested that his would be delivered as earlier as possible than the actual release date.

‘Ah but it’s only appropriate to pair a new broom with a new kit, right?’

Abraxas’ hand was literally inches away from the doorknob when his whole body froze from shock. As if someone had splashed him with freezing water.

There, on the reflection of the glass display, a little boy had passed him by.

His eyes widened in alarm. Was it just an illusion? A trick of the light? Abraxas wondered as he whipped his head around it nearly gave him whiplash, to the direction the boy went off to.

No, it couldn’t be… He was probably just tired and thought of his son… but even then, why would he see…

Having already preconceived that this would haunt him later, Abraxas clenched his fists and followed after the boy- who went inside a second-hand bookstore.

Inside, the Head of the Malfoy House grabbed the nearest random book in an attempt to make himself look less suspicious. His eyes shifted between the book (which he opened to a random page), the shelves, and the boy perusing the stacks. Not a second later, a title caught the boy’s eye and immediately reached for the book to read through its first few pages. Abraxas took this opportunity to move across the wide middle aisle to get a better look of the boy’s face. Fortunately, the boy chose a book from a low shelf so his entire face was open in full view.

Abraxas nearly dropped his book from the shock.

The boy- based on his height and features, looked no older than ten- the same age as his own son, Lucius. He was neatly dressed in a matching pair of vest and trousers of the darkest blue it was almost black, over a long-sleeved white shirt, and a pair of polished black shoes. Having grown in an environment who only accepted the finest luxuries, he could tell that they were tailored and made from the best quality thread.

The boy also had black, wavy hair that was combed in a way it was parted from the side some fell stylishly over his forehead. He was lean but still had hints of baby fat over his cheeks that made him look angelic. His skin, while a bit pale, still had a healthy tinge of light peach to it. With a button nose, pressed lips and brows slightly furrowed in concentration over black eyes darker than the night sky, only the blind wouldn’t be able to notice how angelic the boy looked.

However, it was exactly that face that made Abraxas’ blood run cold.

He felt like he had been transported back in time. Back when he himself was just a little boy- wide-eyed and excited as he stepped inside the grandness that was Hogwarts for the first time.

Back when he first met a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle for the first time.

Abraxas felt himself swallow a lump he hadn’t known formed in his throat.

There was no mistake.

He had grown up with Tom, was in the same dorm as him, went to most of the same classes, all through seven years.

And even if he didn’t, he would bet a thousand galleons that anyone who knew Tom and saw this boy; would say the exact same thing.

“They look exactly alike.”

.

As soon as it came, it ended. Abraxas fell back hard in his seat as if hit by a charging erumpent. His once kept hair was amess, and sweat had poured from his temples from both pain and exhaustion for having his mind forcibly invaded. Tom Riddle was a master legilimens. Many times he would will himself into the minds of many with ease and peruse through their head as he would casually skim a book. Most couldn’t even notice his coming and going, and only the rare few who were gifted in occlumency, and those trained in it, could feel his prodding as swift as the sharpest blade.

However, the fact that Tom wrenched free with the brutality of a crude axe was indicative enough that what he saw in Abraxas’ mind unsettled him enough to break from his perfect control.

True enough, when Abraxas finally managed to lift his head up and cleared the bit of haze from his vision, he saw how Tom Riddle sat there on his seat. One hand gripped the arm so hard his knuckles turned white, while the other held his own face. But it was not to hide his expression. For between his long fingers, Tom’s eyes had become so wide with shock the white sclera could be seen all around his dark irises that held dilated pupils. It was the most expressive the Knights had ever seen of him apart from anger and manic joy.

On that day, Abraxas wasn’t sure whether to be afraid of his lord’s impending reaction, or for the boy that mirrored his likeness so much he could only be his son.

Tom sharply tugged on his robes and adjusted the cravat around his neck. He paid no heed as his magic thrummed dangerously around him no thanks to his barely-concealed ire.

It had been a week- an entire week since he saw the boy from Abraxas’ memories.

That boy who looked exactly like him he almost thought he was seeing a past memory of himself. To say he was shocked was a great understatement. The rage that followed even more so.

Tom Riddle hated being caught off-guard, and the boy’s existence was certainly something he didn’t expect. In fact, he never even fathomed such a possibility.

This boy… his sudden appearance… it could throw a wrench in his plans that could ruin everything he had done for the last eighteen years.

Where did he even come from? How long had he been here? He may have been traveling to distant countries, but a magical artefact he owned allowed him to never miss a single meeting with the Knights, or the Death Eaters. Had someone betrayed him? No, they were all equally as shocked when Tom allowed Abraxas to tell them what he saw. He was certain that they would’ve mentioned something to him long ago if there was a child that looked exactly like him running around Diagon Alley.

Days have passed and it seemed that this sudden turn of events would prove to be more difficult than he thought.

After securing that this information would not be leaked outside the innermost circle, Tom had ordered his Knights to tail and gather whatever information they could about the boy and declared it as their number one priority. This in turn had set back their plans indefinitely, and Tom was forced to pause his travels until this matter was resolved.

In the meantime, he had busied himself with the Malfoy’s pensieve to pilfer through his memories of previous liaisons. Tom was sure, he always made sure, that the witches he used during the days when he had less control over his hormones and libido, were protected exactly for the sole purpose of preventing this accident. When he found nothing amiss, he scoured each of his memories to find any sort of mismatch. Anything that seemed remotely off that allowed this possibility to slip under his nose. Based on his estimations, the boy could only be around the age of ten, but just to be thorough, Tom also made sure to see through the start of his forays in sex.

But much to his anger and frustration, he found nothing.

There was no evidence of his mind being tampered with, and all of his memories were fully intact. There weren’t even any clues of spells, potions, or attempts in legilimency backfiring on him that could cause this. Yes, he had caught two handfuls of witches who attempted to use amortentia on him, but those he made sure to give a very special kind of punishment.   

Was this what they called fate’s irony?

In the past, he had shocked his father of his own existence by suddenly appearing at his doorstep. And up to now, he could still vividly recall the day he laid waste on his filthy muggle father and grandparents. He had relished the look of utter terror and despair on Tom Sr.’s face with his magic fueled by wrath and bitterness. Too bad he couldn’t do the same for his equally pathetic and disgusting mother. A witch- who might as well be a squib- who was so utterly unworthy of the precious blood in her veins. She was a woman so weak to have succumbed to death, thus leaving him to the mercy of wretched muggles until he discovered magic.

And now it was his turn to be shocked by his own son’s existence that suddenly appeared before him.

There was a saying that ‘History repeats itself’. Was he destined to be killed by his own son?

No.

He refused.

He has his horcruxes.

He cannot die.

He wasn’t even sure the boy was truly his son. There were more ways other than the Polyjuice potion to capture another person’s likeness. In fact, a more advanced variation of the potion could even manipulate the drinker’s age. But even so… why his image?

No, it doesn’t matter who the boy was. Tom would find out, and whether he was really his bastard son or not, he must be removed.

He didn’t care if the boy truly was just a child.

And as for the witch who birthed him? Well, death would be too merciful.

Tom halted in his steps as soon as he saw them.

Much to his displeasure, his followers found nothing on the boy and his apparent mother. There were no recordings of any documents found in the ministry archives for registered English citizens, and his familial background might as well be nonexistent. The most they could tell about him were the boy’s daily activities, where he lived, and the shops he frequented in Diagon Alley.

According to their report, at around noon, the boy and his mother would appear at the Fountain of Eternal Spring in Wizarding London. It wasn’t difficult to spot them amongst the crowd. This was the first time for Tom to see the boy with his own eyes, and from what he saw, he could only, begrudgingly, admit the uncanny resemblance between them. The only good thing he had gotten from his father were his looks, and that trait apparently held strong as it carried over to his apparent progeny.

If he didn’t know any better, the boy might as well be his twin. But that couldn’t be anywhere near plausible. He had checked. Tom Riddle Sr. had lived a life of celibacy ever since he broke from his mother’s spell. Furthermore, the timeline wouldn’t add up. The boy couldn’t be older than nine or ten. Apart from Tom, there were no other living Riddles left.

Regardless, there was a part of him, the ever-insatiable curious side, who spoke out of turn and expressed their want to know more about the boy. Not out of paternal instinct, but more of an academic curiosity.

Marriage, much less having a child, had never been part of his plans. He saw no need of it, found it a nuisance even, especially in his pursuit of immortality. There would be no point of creating any descendants if he were to be immortal.

But… if this boy really was his own flesh and blood, then what would it say about his magical prowess?

Then there’s also the boy’s mother.

The nameless witch he had apparently impregnated and bore him his ‘son’. Just what part did she play in all of this?

Tom’s dark eyes narrowed at her bushy, brown curls crowning her heart-shaped face.

She was another variable he never anticipated. Not only for the current circumstance regarding his bastard, but also for the disturbing fact that he couldn’t remember anything about this witch, let alone bedding her. Even if she was just some random romp he snagged on a drunken night, he would still be able to recall her. However, his memories had failed him as it turned up with nothing that could help explain things to him again. Thus, inserting another mystery into the equation.

His blood boiled at the possibility that this slip of a witch somehow tricked him and got away with it. His search may have proved null, but he still couldn’t rule out the possibility that his memories have been tampered with one way or another. She had done something. Surely, she must’ve! What other reason could there be?

And after all this time, why appear now?

Should he expect an owl to knock on his window with a letter demanding financial support and compensation anytime soon?

Tom continued to watch even as the witch and her son stopped in front of the fountain. Other wizards and witches became a blur as they passed by in his eyes.

His sights were focused solely on them.

His dark pools then narrowed in disgust at their carefree smiles as the witch cupped the boy’s cheeks in her gloved hands. Her lips were moving, but Tom couldn’t hear whatever it was from his distance, and the boy nodded obediently. She then bent down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead before touching their noses together in eskimo kisses. He was certain they were even laughing between their grins.

Then they parted. The witch pulled up the hood of her cloak and gave the boy a final wave before she turned on her heel and slipped through the crowd.

When his Knights confirmed the boy had a mother, he had also ordered his men to gather information about her. In fact, he had given orders to tail her, capture her even, but as much as they tried, they couldn’t. For as soon as the witched turned a corner, she vanished- disapparated, he surmised. To where? None of them knew. To work? Probably. But Abraxas had yet to fully comb through his resources to figure out her place of employment. They were certain, at least, that she didn’t work in the ministry or in any of its departments.

‘And how irresponsible of her. To leave her own child in such a busy area.’

But the witch can be dealt with later.

For now, Tom would have to make do with what’s in front of him, and the boy was certainly an easier target.

.

Diagon Alley was certainly an intriguing place.

Of all the places he had ventured in Wizarding London so far, this shopping area might be his most favorite place yet. Numerous shops of various kinds filled the place and its many shoppers. All of the hustle and bustle even made the cobblestone alley festive.

Personally, he favored Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop and Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour the most. His mother permitted him to indulge this time as a reward for behaving and he’ll surely take advantage of it.

With his small and agile body, he snaked between the crowd of magic folk coming up and down the alley. His dark eyes were set on the shop painted pastel pink. A bewitching scent assaulted his nose the moment he opened its doors.

It wasn’t long till he stepped out with a bag full of cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, liquorice wands, and Droobles Best Blowing Gum. The store owner always gave him more than he asked. Especially when he said his mother allowed him to sate his sweet tooth this time. He had only intended to buy some cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, but he certainly wasn’t complaining the added goods. Food was especially delicious when it’s free.

Who was he to deny such generosity anyway? It wasn’t as if he had charmed them or something.

With the treats secured in his messenger bag, he fished out one of the chocolate frogs. After he had learned his lesson since the first time he was introduced to the treat, he immediately grabbed the enchanted chocolate inside before it even thought of taking a leap. The frog squirmed between his forefinger and thumb as its limbs flailed around helplessly. Its croak broke half-way when its head was suddenly bitten off. The magic dispelled instantly and its limbs no longer moved as it turned back into ordinary, frog-shaped chocolate. A headless frog-shaped chocolate, to be exact.

His dark, bottomless eyes peered down the wrapper where a collectible card of a supposedly famous witch or wizard came with it.

‘Albus Dumbledore’ it said.

He dumped the wrapper and the card along with it into the nearest trash bin before he resumed his walk down the alley. More pieces of the chocolate frog were bitten off with a satisfied smile on his face.

Maybe he could convince his mother to eat out for dinner and then have dessert at the ice cream parlour later? She mentioned that her workload hadn’t been as busy as before, so she could promise to coming home early to spend more time with him. Though she always made sure to come home as early as she could.

He paused for a moment when his eyes were caught with one of the animals at the window of Magical Menagerie. It was a Ball Python. Its forked tongue slipped in and out to taste the air as its large eyes fixed on him. He stared back just as intently and for a moment, his left thumb caressed the ring around his left middle finger- a gift his mother gave him on his birthday. Dark eyes focused on the python’s for a few more seconds before he finally broke it to fish out another chocolate frog. He bit its head off first yet again.

The bell rang overhead the second he opened the door and the shop owner’s head snapped up from where he was reviewing his ledger behind the counter.

“Alduin m’boy!” Garrick Ollivander greeted exuberantly.

Alduin flashed his pearly-white teeth at the wandmaker, “Hullo, Mr. Ollivander. I hope your day has been well so far?”

“It certainly has been. What about yours? And how’s your mother?” he asked as he let him slip around the counter to follow him towards the back of the shop where his workstation was.

Due to the nature of his mother’s work, Alduin had to be left on his own a few times a day. Of course, his mother would never allow to leave him be unattended. She worried constantly for his safety, but fortunately, not to the point of suffocating. The only way to appease her worries was by befriending a local whom they could trust to look after him until she gets back.

Fortunately, Alduin was inherently curious and eager for new knowledge. He knew his mother would never leave him in harm’s way, so it was no contest at all that Alduin had no qualms about being left alone with a wandmaker this time. Previously, he was left in the care of a Potion Master during their stay in Louisiana. And Mr. Ollivander, the jolly and enthusiastic artisan that he was, was more than happy to share his knowledge and passion in the art of wand-making. Although Alduin had no plans of making wands himself, he was interested in the crafting and lore behind such artefacts, along with the ingredients used in them. His mother always told him to never pass up an opportunity to learn.

 “She’s been well, sir. Thank you for asking. And I’m excited what new things I will learn today,” he answered, “Oh! I also brought you something, Mr. Ollivander. It isn’t much but I do hope you will accept them.”

He pulled from his bag a dozen pumpkin pasties he had asked the shop owner to place in a separate paper bag.

The wandmaker’s eyes widened at his gesture, “Oh Alduin, you didn’t have to m’boy. I never asked for anything when I agreed to your mother that I would watch over you.”

“I know, but I couldn’t possibly let your goodwill go unrewarded, at the very least. I may be young but I know that it’s considered unwise to do a favor from a stranger. We’re hardly related by blood yet you agreed to watch over me. Please sir? It would make me really happy if you accept this. Think of it as a small token of appreciation for the knowledge you’ve shared with me so far. I certainly wouldn’t know all about the art of wand-making from a book alone!”

“That’s very sweet of you, Alduin, but…” the raven-haired boy looked up at him with a coquettish tilt of his head. His eyes widened up at him with a hopeful gleam, and finished it off with a shy smile.

The moment the man sputtered; Alduin knew he won. He quickly learned that most people couldn’t resist him whenever he made a face like this. The only exception was his mother, who seemed to have an immunity to it… occasionally.

“Oh alright! You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Granger. I just hope you won’t cause your mum any trouble in the future.”

“But sir, I would never! I promised mother I would be a good boy, after all,” he mocked affronted with a gasp before he broke into a laugh as he handed the bag of pasties.

Alduin then made his way to the small desk across the man’s worktable and took out his quill, as well as a leatherbound journal his mother gave him, as if he was a student eager to start his lessons.

“Now, where were we?” Mr. Ollivander hummed gleefully. His previous reservations gone after he swallowed a pasty.

“You were talking about the yew wand, sir, and how it’s known for making heroes and villains.”

“Ah yes! The yew wand. Made from the long-lived trees.”

Hours passed with most of it spend with Mr. Ollivander just talking. Every once in a while, Alduin would ask a question or two, to which he would jot down notes while also taking a bite off the treats he brought with him. Fortunately, the start-of-school season was past them and apart from the occasional customer coming by the shop, Mr. Ollivander was free to do his craft. When he wasn’t lecturing about the properties of wood and core ingredients, he would do a demonstration of making a wand.

Alduin always found that more interesting than lectures. Not that it wasn’t welcomed. For people to harness such power through a stick… well, the magic folk from other countries used staffs and books. And while his own mother had a wand (an old, weathered thing carved with vines that snaked around its namesake wood and empowered with a dragon heartstring core), she rarely used it at home. He was more used to her just simply flicking her wrist or waving her hand around without saying a single word.

He couldn’t wait to do magic like her!

Alduin bid the wandmaker farewell and promised to return tomorrow at the same time. The raven-haired boy wanted to stop by Eyecatcher’s before going back to the fountain where he would wait for his mother. Even though it would be safer to just head home and wait for her there, he didn’t mind waiting for her at the apparition point. Besides, the fountain there was a piece of art that had caught his eye the first time he saw it.

He had about two hours to spare, and while he can take longer hours, it was enough time to check the shelves and read the opening chapters if something caught his fancy. His mother may be a bit strict on his diet but she had absolutely no problems if he spent his allowance on books. She encouraged him even. Then again, maybe there was something at the store that he could get her as well. Eyecatcher’s may not be updated with bestselling works, but his mother told him that the hidden gems were always found in the unlikeliest places.

‘Who knows what books people sold, not knowing their true value?’ she once said.

Lost in his thoughts, Alduin unceremoniously stopped in his tracks no thanks to the figure he accidentally bumped into. No, not accidentally. The man in the hooded cloak purposely stepped into his path at the last second.

“You brat! Watch where you’re going! Now look what you’ve done!” the toxic green color of the cauldron cake’s filling stained the man’s robes. His hand caught Alduin’s much smaller wrist, and the way he yanked it up made him drop the half-eaten cake from his hand. “Do you have any idea how expensive this robe is?!”

Alduin only looked mournfully at his wasted cake.

“Where are your parents, boy?! I demand compensation!” the man shouted at his face like a yapping dog. The way he looked down at the raven-haired boy was deliberate with the intent of making himself look big and intimidating. His shouts have also started to garner attention from the crowd, and while most of them looked aghast and pitying, Alduin knew no one would step in unless there happened to be an Auror among them, or the occasional good Samaritan.

Instead of shaking in fear, the raven-haired boy only gave the man a dark look.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” he said with a disappointed click of his tongue. Then he looked up.

Taken aback from the unusual reaction, the man tightened his grip on his wrist and further shouted, “Are you deaf?! I said, where are your pa-!”

His tirade was cut short as something heavy and wooden fell on top of his head. The man cried out in pain as he bent over. He let go of Alduin’s wrist to clutch his own head.

“OW! What in Merlin-“ the man was once again interrupted when a peddler’s cart suddenly came rolling down the sloping cobblestone. It startled the owls as it passed by Eeylops Owl Emporium and added to the noise as it crashed squarely on the man’s back and made him fall face first on the ground.

Amidst the chaos, Alduin had stealthily slithered to the nearest alley between two shops and let the shadows hide him. He took a peek from his hiding spot and couldn’t help the triumphant smile that pulled his lips as he watched how the man was crowded. Some belatedly came to Alduin’s defense while the most vocal of them was the peddler as bits of the cart and its goods got broken off on its way down. They were demanding the man for compensation instead.

“My, my.”

A deep drawl came from behind him that made Alduin snap his head back in surprise. He watched as silent footsteps came forward from the dark end of the alley. The shadows stretched as another wizard, this time in complete black robes that blend with the darkness around them, levelled him with a look. Alduin instinctively straightened his back to meet the man’s equally dark eyes.

“Tell me, boy,” he began, “How is it that such… misfortune came upon that man at such an opportune time?”

“I wouldn’t call it a misfortune, sir. Luck was certainly on my side,” he answered smartly.

“Luck? Yes… how lucky you are that the chain of the shop’s sign and the wheel on the peddler’s car suddenly broke off and hit that man. Such an accident could’ve been yours if he weren’t there to take the brunt of it instead.”

Alduin shrugged noncommittally. That’s when the stranger took more steps closer until he was only a few feet away from him. The light from the setting sun that snuck between the buildings gave enough light for him to see his features.

He couldn’t help tilt his head curiously.

“What is your name, boy?”

“My mother told me it is proper manners to introduce yourself first before asking a name,” he answered instead.

Red flashed from the stranger’s onyx eyes but it was gone as soon as it appeared. That only made Alduin more curious about the man before him.

“Of course, my apologies,” he gestured to himself with his hand before motioning back towards him, “My name is Tom Riddle, and you are?”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle. I am Alduin Granger.”

‘Ah, I do believe mother mentioned that name once.”

Chapter Text

In the dwindling twilight, time is unwinding as lines are blurred.

Under the guise of a child, into your nightmare I’ve been lured.

Wand poised at the brass knob; it sent out a single subtle wave- no more than a pulse. Whatever locking mechanism it had, the spell broke it successfully along with the wards laced with it. There was a soft click before the knob turned itself and the door swung gently with a creak of its hinges. The sound reminded her of horror movies she had watched once long ago. Her charmed boots produced nary a sound as she made her way across the wooden floors.

The house itself was barely kept. Though as magical as it was for a wizard that’s supposed to live there, the state of its décor and furniture was absolutely abysmal. Then again, critiquing another person’s home wasn’t her intention for coming here in the first place.

She continued to walk through the stranger’s home. The pull of a hunter, and the dark pulse that beat like a heartbeat was something she’d became familiar with since long ago, and happily let it be her guide. There, at the end of a corridor after she rounded a corner, was a door where the pulse beat fastest and hardest.

This time, she didn’t need her want and just turned the knob slowly and carefully. All in order to not startle the person whom she knew had sequestered himself behind it. With time and experience, these tasks have become easier on her. Whereas before she would’ve turned at the very thought of it.

Evidently, she had come a long way from the girl she once was before.

Over the last decade, she had learned that there were two types of people she could possibly meet in this situation: those who willingly surrender, and those who stubbornly fight. Not that she could judge the latter for at least trying though.

The room she had walked into was undoubtedly a study. If possible, it was in an even more pathetic state of disarray. Books and scrolls littered every surface available, parchment scribbled with diagrams, advanced equations, and barely legible writing were pinned to the walls. Her umber eyes focused on the person’s back that stood behind a large desk.

Hunched over the dark wooden furniture was a man of salt and pepper hair. He was clad in an unimpressive robe, with a manic look in his eyes. She could also hear him mutter incessantly between the broad grin that reached ear to ear.

“I did it… it’s here… it’s here… I did it… I did it… It’s mine…”

She followed his gaze to where he stared covetously on the seemingly normal black orb before him.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

Her head snapped back up on the man’s disheveled face- made even more frenzied by the touch of wrath from his red eyes.

“Mr. Lucero,” she began. It was never required of her to know these people’s names, but she learned of his when she read the numerous letters scattered on the floor at his foyer. “I-“

“I know! You’re here for my relic, aren’t you?! You want to steal it from me,” he bombarded as he gathered the dark orb in his arms. Safeguarded to his chest like a child who refused to give their favorite toy.

She frowned, “No, I’m-“

“Well, I WON’T LET YOU!” he roared and whipped out his wand.

The nonverbal curse collided with her shield. The spell fizzled away like smoke but the man didn’t stop there and made a beeline to the other side of the room where another door was hidden behind a tower of books.

Hermione stared mournfully at the tomes that kicked up clouds of dust as they fell on the floor.

She sighed, “I always hate it when they run.”

.

At some point in her life, Hermione had mastered the skill of apparition to the point where she hardly felt the twisting pull for crossing through space, and made her travel as silent as a butterfly’s breath rather than the gunshot bang that could damage ears. That, added to the fact that she had to be extra careful considering she had a ten-year old boy now. Thankfully, apart from turning pale for a while, Alduin’s constitution was strong enough for his young body to not even feel sick on his first side-apparition.

Hermione appeared at the apparition point in front of the entrance to Diagon Alley. The sun had already set by the time she finished and the lamps have been lit as wizards and witches milled about doing their own business. She walked out of the alley and her sight immediately fixed on the fountain. The fountain featured a large tree at its center. Imbued with magic, the stone sculpture swayed to nonexistent wind while tendrils of water danced and twisted around it in a never-ending loop.

There was also a little boy who sat at the edge of the fountain. His arms rested over the messenger bag he pulled to his lap as he watched with slight fascination at the water that flowed and took the shape of flowers and birds every now and again. From his complexion to the artful way his dark hair curled over his forehead, his cherub-like face could mistake him to be another sculpture that’s a part of the fountain.

Really, at first glance, no one would correctly guess that they were mother and son. Then again, the thought of having children of her own had never even crossed her mind before. And how could she? Not when there was the constant threat of death that hung over her like a shadow. Not that she didn’t like children. She just wasn’t irresponsible enough to have one when she could hardly keep herself safe.

‘And yet here I am,’ she thought to herself. Life was just full of the unexpected that way.

As if he felt her eyes on him, the little boy turned his gaze from the fountain and immediately found hers. A huge smile broke on his face that only made him look even more angelic, as he hopped off the fountain and ran towards her. All Hermione could do was open her arms and brace herself for the incoming impact.

“Mother!” he greeted as he looked up from where he hugged her around her stomach.

“Hello Al,” she smiled back. His smile had always been so infectious, “How was your day, sweetie? Did you learn anything new at Mr. Ollivander’s today?”

Alduin nodded as he let go. His onyx eyes shined under the light of the lamps, “He taught all about yew wands and their properties today. He even let me watch him finish making one. I also brought him some pumpkin pasties.”

She nodded approvingly before her brow arched at him, “Oh? And I suppose you didn’t take more than what you’re supposed to, did you?”

“Well…” Alduin drawled. His head cocked to the side as if he was thinking before his smile turned into a smug smirk, “Certainly no more than I deserved, mother.”

Hermione could only shake her head from both amusement and defeat. She made a mental note to have another word with the sweet shop’s owner the next time she passed by. As grateful as she was, she feared the woman would go out of business before the year ended and not even notice it. It was one thing to allow her son to indulge in his sweet tooth using his allowance, it was another to let him accept more than what he paid for.

‘Really, where did he get it from? Was she this cheeky when she was at that age?’

She felt a tug at her hand and she looked down on her boy, “What about you, mother? You didn’t get hurt anywhere, did you?”

Hermione stared back at his bottomless dark eyes. His innocence always made her forget how observant he can be.

“All is well, Al,” she smiled reassuringly before she bent down to kiss his forehead, “Don’t you worry. Now, I think it’s about time we have some dinner, don’t you think?”

The intensity in his eyes immediately faded at the prospect of food, and shone once more with child-like innocence as he began reciting restaurants.

.

Tom sat on the couch of his guest room at Malfoy manor. His eyes were on the open book on his lap, but he could hardly register the words written there as his mind wandered off to the boy.

There was no mistake. He had seen it with his very own eyes.

It was no mere accident that the shop’s sign fell on the man’s head, and it was no coincidence that the peddler’s cart careened right towards the man not a second later.

He knew bouts of accidental magic when he saw one. It often occurred during an emotional moment. He had even witnessed Abraxas’ own son’s first accidental magic when he turned his entire room green.

But that incident with Alduin was no accident at all.

The boy was fully conscious with his magic, and used it to his bidding.

Tom would know. he himself always had better control over his magic even before he entered Hogwarts. Even though he didn’t understand his extraordinary abilities at first, he always had a firm grasp over it and often experimented with trial and error. This in turn was reflected at how he could perform spells so effortlessly, oftentimes on the first try.

‘How long has the boy been able to control his magic? Did he even understand what he’s done? To what extent can he do?’

Surely, the boy knew it to be magic. Seeing as both he and his mother lived in the wizarding side of the world. Unless the irresponsible witch knew nothing about his prowess.

This was quite the discovery, and certainly unexpected.

How rare was it, for a child to consciously perform magic even before they were of age to have their wand?

Tom was certainly that exception; and if the boy really was his…

.

He narrowed his eyes at the boy who had a polite smile playing on his lips.

It was really uncanny… how the boy looked so much like him.

The only differences were that while Tom was drab from the unpleasant condition of the orphanage, clad in grayish tunics carrying not a single personal possession, Alduin’s cheeks were full and there was life on his fair skin. His clothes were fitted and new, and even his hair had a shine to it even under the setting sun.

Tom couldn’t help but wonder… if this was what he could’ve looked like if his childhood had been a little different.

His hands balled from his sides. Just seeing the boy looking so… healthy, made him feel really unpleasant.

“A little boy like you shouldn’t be out on his own,” he began after a long pause. One in which they’ve done nothing but stare at each other- assessing, “Something bad might happen to you, like earlier.”

“Bad, sir?” Alduin tilted his head to the side. The polite smile never once faltered as his eyes shone with faux innocence, “Forgive me if I didn’t feel endangered at all. In fact, the only casualty had been my cauldron cake. Which reminds me…”

Tom scoffed. As if he couldn’t see behind the boy’s… eerily familiar façade.

Alduin broke eye contact to rummage through his bag. He noticed how his arm went further down than what should have been the bag’s entire length. After a bit of searching, he pulled out another piece of cake under a napkin and held it out to him.

“Would you like some, Mr. Riddle? I was going to share the lot with my mother, but I wouldn’t mind sharing with you.”

“That’s very kind of you, Alduin,” he said with a polite smile of his own that didn’t meet the cold indifference in his eyes, “but no thank you.”

Unperturbed by his rejection of his generosity, the boy gave another shrug. Tom’s eyes further narrowed however, when he saw the split-second smirk and knowing look on his features before he bit off the cake. Seemingly unbothered at how nonchalant he was acting in front of a stranger.

Almost as if he was more amused at how he rejected his offer.

‘Cheeky brat.’

“Nevertheless, it’s almost nighttime and you should be running off to your parents,” Tom continued as he watched the boy continue eating without a care, “You wouldn’t want to worry your mother, would you?”

Something passed over the boy’s features at the mention of his mother. It made Tom arch his brow curiously at his reaction. Then Alduin’s polite smile curled ever-so-slightly into a smirk- a smirk Tom was certainly familiar with as well, because it was the type he would plaster on his own face to serve as a warning to others that they said something they shouldn’t have.

“How about I accompany you back to your home?” Tom offered.

“You are too kind, Mr. Riddle,” Alduin answered magnanimously, “but I simply couldn’t impose you on my account. You do not have any responsibility over me.”

The older raven-haired placed his hand over his heart in a modest gesture, “Oh but I insist. My conscience would never let me sleep peacefully if I were to leave a child alone and defenseless. Why, if I were your parent, I would feel at ease to know that my child is properly looked after in my absence.”

Suddenly, in a move Tom didn’t expect, the boy’s small hands shot up towards his own mouth. His cauldron cake was surprisingly missing. The treat required more than three bites- since when had he finished it?

Alduin’s shoulders also begun to shake and his eyes curled into half-moons. The blackness of his eyes reflected uncensored mirth.

Tom’s jaw clenched behind his practiced mask while a vein throbbed on his temple in irritation.

How dare this brat laugh at him!

“You…” Alduin sputtered as he removed his hands enough to reveal his wide grin, “You’re funny, Mr. Riddle.”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. His hand twitched in barely concealed control to grab for his wand tucked inside the pocket of his robe.

He should just get this over with. Clearly the boy’s uncouth and a waste of space. He had since declared that the boy’s a liability and an immeasurable risk. Tom wasn’t above getting rid of anything that might throw a wrench in his plans. Furthermore, who knows what the boy’s mother had planned and what she might demand from him? Child- bastard son or not; he should not waste any more precious time over this.

The alley they were in was secluded and away from prying eyes. One quick spell was all it took. No one would be able to hear him scream if he died before he could open his mouth.

“I say there’s no need, but if you really insist…” Alduin continued. His hands were now clasped behind his back, and his grin returned to a polite smile. Though this time, he didn’t bother to hide the amusement that danced in his equally dark eyes, “would you be so kind as to tell me the time?”

Tom blinked, “How is that relevant to getting you home?”

“Well you see, sir, depending on the time, my mother could be in one place, or somewhere else,” he smiled knowingly.

Did that mean he referred to his mother as his home?

Tom swore he tasted bile at the back of his throat. This was worse than he thought. The boy’s sentimental and clearly attached to his mother.

He’s no son of mine.

He raised his hand, and reached into the pocket of his robe.

.

Tom closed the book on his lap as he finally relented to the fact that he was too distracted to even understand a single word. After he took out his pocket watch and indulgently told Alduin it was quarter to seven, the boy bowed to him in thanks and then turned on his heel to run.

Aside from the boy’s agile speed that allowed him to disappear into the crowded street of Diagon Alley, the only reason Tom didn’t give chase was because he knew already where he could find the boy again. His followers have observed that the mother and son would always part and meet at the fountain, so that’s where he hid and waited.

An hour or so later, Alduin emerged from another street and made his way towards the fountain where he sat and waited at the edge. His eyes followed the waters to pass the time. Tom was set on confronting the boy then and there, and the thought of punishing him for his insolence had even crossed his mind. However, that ever-curious side of him reared its ugly head once more. His march turned into a walk, and that walk turned into measured steps, until those steps made him stop altogether.

For a moment he just stared at the boy’s profile. His mind became unnerved once more at their striking resemblance, until Alduin’s mother finally appeared.

The witch, whom he’d yet to know the name, much less remember, greeted the boy with a hug and a smile. The street lamps gave her brown curls a golden glow like a halo. What’s more, the boy smiled back, without a hint of anything belying his smile. It was so unlike the one he showed him earlier in that alley.

Son or no, to see an exact image of himself in his childhood, smiling so unabashed and carefree… it made the uneasiness churn in his stomach evermore.

He didn’t like it at all.

.

Hermione smiled down at the moving picture of herself and Alduin wearing the traditional, brightly colored Gákti worn by the Sami tribe. She had her hands on his shoulders and was smiling encouragingly down at him while he was petting a large white reindeer. He was stroking the animal’s neat coat before she tapped his shoulder and pointed at the camera, to which they both turned to wave at with broad smiles on their faces. Although it had been very expensive, she was glad that colored images were already a thing in this time. their clothes, colored predominantly with blues, reds, and accented with yellows, were a beautiful contrast to the open snowy landscape of the northern part of the Scandinavian Peninsula.

Not that money will ever be a problem for her anymore. The fact that she could afford to rent a flat that even a wizard with a full-time job as a manager in the ministry would have trouble with was proof of that. It was no luxury suite but it was fine. After all, her only criteria in choosing a place to stay was the room’s dimensions. It was just a bonus that their flat building was conveniently near Diagon Alley, a plaza, and a park. Then she would know her son wouldn’t get bored with how easily accessible these places he could go to.

She was just thinking about taking another picture with her son, this time in front of the Fountain of Eternal Spring, while she sipped from her morning tea when the door to his bedroom opened.

“Morning, mother…” Alduin greeted with a big yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still clad in his pyjamas.

Hermione smiled as she set her cup down, and tried to withhold her giggle at her boy’s messy bed hair.

“Good morning, sweetie. You’re up early today. Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm… couldn’t sleep anymore,” he nodded cutely, “What’s for breakfast?”

“I’ll whip something up,” she closed the photo album. With a wave of her hand, it flew back to the shelf with the rest of the albums she managed to fill up over the years. The brunette tied her hair up into a messy bun as she asked, “Is there something you like?”

He hummed in thought, “Meat?”

Hermione sighed, unsurprised, before she nodded at him indulgently, “You go wash up and I’ll prepare us something, alright?”

“Okay,” he yawned one last time before turning back to his room.

He had one hand on the doorknob when Hermione decided to call him, “Alduin.”

He turned, “Yes?”

“You don’t feel anything… weird now, do you?” she asked carefully. Her chocolate-colored eyes watched him keenly.

At that, Alduin’s sleepy expression faded and was instantly replaced by a wide, reassuring smile, “Not at all, mother.”

“That’s good,” she nodded, relieved, “You’ll tell me if you feel something’s off, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will,” he smiled wider, “I swear I’m alright, mother. I promise.”

He didn’t wait for her response and went back inside his room. He had a bathroom for his own. Hermione sat there on her chair and stared at his door only for a few moments before she took a deep breath and drank the rest of her tea.

She might as well make breakfast- the muggle way.

Cooking had never been a strong skill of hers. Years ago, she knew only enough how to whip something edible and not burn down the kitchen. In the beginning, it had been difficult for her to acquire money for food and supplies. Her real-world inexperience was telling and her face was simply too recognizable. Therefore, on the occasions where she had to avoid places of civilization, she had no choice but to learn how to forage, and even hunt. Her father was no hunter, but he remembered fondly on the hunting trips he spent with his own father, and thought it only appropriate to continue the traditional experience with her. She remembered how he taught her how to set up a trap, basic tracking and navigation. Actually preparing the rabbit she had caught however… was certainly something she never thought she would have to go through in her entire lifetime. And do it again, and again, to even bigger game.

Then again, she never thought she would have to go through any of the things she went through since she was twelve years old.

While she had been on her own, cooking had only meant to be a skill for survival, maybe for a bit of pleasure as well. But when Alduin came into her life, she decided to learn and improve. If only to see her son smile and tell her the meal she had prepared was delicious.

Cooking also made her remember her own mum. Back then, she would often help out with preparing the ingredients. She was usually relegated to handling the knife and mixing the bowl while her mother stood in front of the stove and oven. Sometimes, she would let Hermione operate too.

For Hermione, cooking reminded her how she bonded with her mum over a seemingly mundane activity, and how it made them feel closer despite the months she had to be away to school.

She wanted that sort of bond with Alduin. She wanted him to feel cared for and loved all the time. That even in her absences, he would always know her affections would never change. Her son wasn’t a baby anymore, and can take care of himself to a degree. She no longer had an excuse to ignore those impulses and must leave her son with nothing but trust and the bond that connected them together as mother and son being the only tether to ease her worries. What she was doing was for his sake anyway.

Sometimes, she even forgot the real reason she came here.

And she’d be damned if she didn’t spend the rest of her free time with him.

Hermione had just about finished frying the bacon when Alduin came back to the kitchen. And as per routine, he went over to the cupboards to take out the plates and cutlery from the drawers to set the small table in the kitchen. Their home rarely received any guests, and on the occasion that they did, the number of people did not exceed more than two.

It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t relieved at how well her son had grown up to be so far. Not that she would. The brunette had no one to teach her about motherhood, and- loathe as she was to admit it- books could only do so much to instruct her on how to be a good mother. Not only that, but being a single mother in the current era had raised a lot of eyebrows no matter where she went.

Well, except for that old man whom she still wasn’t sure whether she was being helpful or judgmental on her apparent lack of skills in caring for a babe.

Her Alduin came into her life on the 5^th of March, and ten years later, he had grown up into a sweet, polite, oftentimes formal, and lovely boy. Not to mention that he’s absolutely adorable. Even though he doesn’t resemble much of her, as his mother, she’s biased that way.

But what they lacked in physical similarities, they made up for in his spirit.

Alduin was inherently curious with an insatiable appetite for knowledge. Which wasn’t surprising at all, to be honest. Her boy was just as worse as her in that he would stick his nose into whatever book he could get his hands on. He’s also a quick study too. Their lifestyle for the last decade often made them move from place to place, from nearby cities to far-off countries. Thanks to that, her son was able to pick up a language here and there and easily became a polyglot.

He also wasn’t a problem child. He pouted and complained but did not throw tantrums. He’s very sweet and charming with others, he’s obedient and listens to her, and he even knew etiquette and proper manners. The last bit was what other mothers had praised her with the most. When in reality, she herself had no idea where or from whom he learned them from.

The only thing that concerned her, was Alduin’s voracious appetite and growing preference for meat. But that choice of daily meal was minor compared to his condition. Alduin had only been five when he had first fallen ill. It sent her into a frantic frenzy as common cures didn’t work on him. Ever since then, she had learned and vowed to never let something like that happen again.

Then there was the matter of Alduin’s father.

She dreaded the day he would ask. He was old enough to know that every child had a mother and father, but as the days went by, he’d never thought to ask her about his. Not even a hint about the topic. It made her worry, because she honestly had no idea what to answer.

“Mum.”

Hermione nearly choked on her toast, “W-What was that, Al?”

“Mum. I noticed that most kids call their mothers that way,” he swallowed the last of his bacon before he looked up at her with wide, curious eyes, “You’re English, aren’t you, mother?”

She blinked, unsure where this was going, “Yes, I am. Why?”

“Would you prefer it if I call you ‘mum’ instead of mother?” he asked, but didn’t wait for her answer as he continued, “I might have gotten used with other languages that had ‘mother’ as their direct translation. Then I realized calling you ‘mother’ may sound too formal and less affectionate in English. Though I think ‘mother’ sounds more respectful than ‘mum’.”

 Hermione’s lips tugged up into a smile as she leaned towards her son across the table. This tendency to ramble… he’s definitely her son.

“You can call me whichever you like, Al. I wouldn’t mind.”

He tilted his head, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she nodded. “Now, what would you like for us to do today? I was thinking about taking a picture of us at the fountain. We haven’t had a picture to add to the album since coming to London. Then we could go do some shopping. You’ve outgrown most of your clothes and the weather’s been getting colder.”

“Cold weather always makes me sleepy,” Alduin commented with a snicker to himself, “But don’t you have to be somewhere today, mother?”

“Maybe not until later tonight,” she guessed, “so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

He beamed up at that and it was enough for her to break into a huge grin of her own.

“That’s excellent!” Alduin cheered.

“Yes, it is,” Hermione chuckled, “There’s also someplace I’ve been wanting to take you to, Al. A very special place.”

“A special place? What? Where?” he nearly bounced on his chair excitedly.

Hermione only held a finger up to her lips in a secretive gesture, “You’ll find out later.”

.

Using a thick cloth made of hidebehind fur, Hermione held the dark orb gently with both hands. The dark pulse that beat with a heavy bass rhythm was almost deafening to her ears if she wasn’t used to it already. Slowly, she placed the orb inside a wooden chest that was small enough as if it was custom made for its exact dimensions. While it may look completely ordinary on the outside, it had foreign runes carved inside it, yet only a handful of magic-folk alive would be able to recognize what they were.

Since she was going to leave it alone and unguarded for most of the day, she wanted to take extra precautions in keeping it hidden, just like with the rest of her acquisitions. Even if the flat she lived in had security measures that could rival Gringotts.

For the briefest moment, a swirling vortex of fire and darkness flickered within the orb. Then the runes within the box glowed a bright golden hue, and the chest suddenly closed itself shut so tightly it looked as if the box had no lid at all.

Hermione breathed out in relief. It had been years since her hands shook from holding a dark artefact, yet it still begged her to ask whether such an immunity was something good or not. Would it also be hypocritical of her to ask that? Not when casting dark spells have become as easy as breathing to her over the years?

“Come on, mother!” she heard Alduin’s voice outside her bedroom door, “We’re losing daylight!”

“Coming!” she answered back before she chuckled at her son’s excitement. She stood from where she sat on the bed and tucked the chest inside a warded cabinet before she grabbed her beaded bag. It wasn’t the same bag that she had before, but the resemblance with her old one was so close that she just had to buy it the moment it caught her eye in a random store. Reapplying the Extension Charm was no monumental task anyway.

The sun was high with minimal clouds in the sky. It was a perfect day to get a picture, and Hermione and Alduin smiled and waved in front of the camera she had bought from a friendly source. All the while they ignored the curious onlookers to why there was a floating camera taking pictures in the middle of the plaza.

After that, they went to a clothing shop to grab a couple of coats, parka, scarves, gloves, and a hat. Where, as per usual, her Alduin practically wooed the shop owner and seamstresses working inside the shop with his manners and just sheer adorableness.

Honestly, where did he get it from? Alduin had always been very polite. Respect was one of the first virtues she ever taught him, but she noticed that he’d gotten better at charming other people as well. There wasn’t anything malicious about it. People just happily ate up every word of praise and flattery he gave them. She couldn’t honestly say if she should be proud or worried.

It also made her wonder if it was alright for her to feel relieved that most of the attention was directed at her son. She had never been one for the crowd, and her isolation years ago only reinforced that. Not to mention the last decade had not been kind to a nameless, single mother like her. She learned early on that it was best not to mention anything unless directly asked if she didn’t want to deal with drama that would only give her a headache. Whether people assumed her to be a married witch, an unmarried mother, a young widow, or even a divorcee, it didn’t matter to unremarkable faces she wouldn’t be seeing again in the future. She had much better things to do with her time.

They then passed by Ollivander’s to inform the wandmaker that he didn’t have to watch over Alduin for the day. She almost felt bad at the disappointment that crossed his face at the news. Still, she was happy that the wandmaker had grown fond enough of her son. It also made her feel glad to see Mr. Ollivander so young and carefree. Even though she never knew him as more than the person who gave her wand and helped them with their horcrux hunting, she knew him to be a kind man and was quickly becoming a family friend and trusted associate.

After all, the last time she saw him, he was killed by the very same bone-white yew wand he created in the hand of its very owner.

“What is it, mother?”

Hermione barely heard her son’s query when she suddenly stopped and turned her head sharply to the direction behind her. Years of battle-honed instinct made her eyes automatically scan the ever-busy street of Diagon Alley. Surely, she couldn’t have just imagined the sinister sensation of being watched that tickled the back of her neck seconds ago.

“Mother? Are you alright?”

Her eyes narrowed at a general direction between two shops. When she was certain that there was nothing there, Hermione set her eyes back down at her son and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m alright, Alduin. I thought I just saw something.”

They continued walking down the path, unaware of the pair of eyes darker than black watching them.

.

“Where are we? Are we still in England?”

Hermione had to suck in a heavy breath as she took in her surroundings. From the sky, the trees, the river, even the grass beneath her feet… would it be cruel of her to say everything was the same? Even though she knew that it had all changed… or had yet to change.

“Yes, Al,” she finally answered as she smiled down and took his hand in hers, “Here we are. The Forest of Dean.”

Alduin looked around the forest inquisitively, “This is your special place?”

“Yes,” she said breathily, “to me, this is a very, very special place.”

“Oh.”

Hermione chuckled, “You don’t sound impressed.”

“Well, it’s…” he worried his lip as he thought of a suitable answer. A dab of blush colored his cheeks, “I just don’t see anything out of the ordinary. It looks like a normal forest to me.”

Well, compared to the rainforest in the Amazon, the Forest of Dean did seem to be a bit more tamed.

“What makes it special for you, mother?”

She heaved another deep breath as emotions laid long dormant had begun to bubble up inside her once more. She led Alduin to a nearby fallen log where they sat. As Hermione tried to rein in the feelings of nostalgia and heartache inside her, Alduin kept respectfully silent as he waited for her to answer.

“This place is special to me because… because this is where I came with my mum and dad… years ago.”

His eyebrows shot up, “Really?”

“Yes,” she let out a sad smile, “I was about your age when we came here to camp. It’s all the more special for me now because…”

“Because?” her son encouraged gently.

'Because this was the only place I could remember that wasn’t tainted by pain anymore.'

“Because you’re now here with me,” she answered instead.

Alduin smiled back sheepishly.

“So err, your mum and dad… did you mean my grandparents?”

“Yes, Al, your grandparents,” her smile widened, only for it to fall a second later, “I’m so sorry that you’ll never get the chance to meet them…”

“Oh… that’s unfortunate,” he looked downcast, “Do you think… do you think they would’ve liked me?”

Hermione’s eyes widened at that. She turned on her seat to fully face her son, and her hands cupped his cheeks to turn his head up so he could meet her eyes.

His dark eyes that hid a burst of stars like her own in their deepest depths.

“Oh Alduin,” she smiled lovingly, “They would’ve loved you.”

Unaware of the confusion that crossed his face when she mentioned the word ‘love’, she pulled him to her in a warm embrace. Both for his comfort as well as her own. It was selfish of her, but she needed this. Needed whatever closure she could get. No matter how long it was, no matter how cold the scar those memories left in her heart had gotten, she would never forget. For even if those memories made her sad, it also reminded her to keep moving forward.

No matter what lied ahead in the future.

They would always be alive in her heart.

Especially now that she’s not alone anymore.

Despite the circumstances that brought them together, neither her nor her son would ever be alone.

She’d make sure of it.

She’ll never let anything tear them apart.

Or anyone.

“I also came here with my best friend and brother once,” she said. She had felt her heart swell when her son’s hand gently rubbed her back in comfort.

Alduin looked up from their embrace, “Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, right?”

“That’s right,” she brushed a stray lock of his hair away from his face, “The Bravest of Them All, and The Boy Who Lived.”

Chapter Text

Mannequin paired with marionette,

In dissonant discord, their deadly duet.

She closed her eyes from the blinding flash of lightning that illuminated the dark, stormy sky. The crash of thunder that followed after felt like they cracked just by her ears, but it was nothing compared to the screams of the child in her arms.

The newborn wailed and flailed. He did not drink his milk, and if it were possible, his cries would get even louder for each cracking whip of the thunder outside.

Honestly, she was at her wit’s end.

Six years of school and an entire war couldn’t have prepared her for this moment. She was utterly on her own. To be fair, becoming a mother was the last thing she expected to happen to her after everything she went through. She had absolutely no idea how to care for a child. She could barely take care of herself during the first few years of the war on her own.

This… this was different.

This was nothing like fighting a horde of dark wizards and witches, or creatures that stalked in the night.

This was about caring for a newborn baby. Helpless, innocent, and completely defenseless.

She was required to shoulder a life that wasn’t her own.

Her own child.

And she would damn herself if she didn’t care for her own son properly.

“Shh… Alduin. I’m here, I’m here…” she shushed as she rocked her baby to her chest. Imitating as closely as she could of the nursing mothers she saw once long ago.

But he still kept on crying.

What to do? What could she do? If only she had someone to turn to. Like her own mother, or even Mrs. Weasley.

That’s when she remembered.

Back when she was just a little girl, when she started displaying bouts of accidental magic, her family had joked about her being a witch. It was her father’s valiant attempt to ease the strange things that happened around her. And for a purely non-magical family, it was certainly strange. Hermione herself had been anxious of her unexplainable condition. So in order to quell her worries, and to show that her parents would never love her any less despite the bizarreness happening to her, her mother sung her a lullaby.

When Hermione started humming that beautiful song that helped her sleep restfully since she was six years old, her son’s flailing stopped.

When she started singing the words that brought her comfort, he stopped crying, and a bubble of magic muted the storm raging outside.

Unbeknownst to her at that time, her song was sung in a language no human ears were meant to comprehend.

Alduin swallowed the last of his lunch, vegetables and all, that made Hermione inwardly sigh in relief.

She wasn’t exactly sure if her son’s strange appetite was a cause for concern or not. While her son would still eat everything served before him, he would always ask for meat-based dishes whenever possible. He has never been a picky eater. In fact, as long as it was actually edible, he’d never turn down any food offered to him.

‘Maybe he’s just stating to have a preference?’

They had spent the rest of the day there at the Forest of Dean. Both mother and son walked down an unbeaten path she hashed out from her memories while she told him stories about her family and friends. As usual, Alduin absorbed all of her words like a sponge, and even asked questions and details, or clarifications every once in a while. Her son was especially fascinated about her childhood, and at that moment, she was more than happy to oblige. Although she withheld bits and details about things that wouldn’t fit in the current era.

She wasn’t sure how to explain how a laptop worked, after all.

During their travels, Hermione ensured that her son would have a good dose of the life in the muggle world as much as in the wizarding realm. She would never censor her son about that side of his heritage when it flowed thickly in his veins. For as much as she spent most of her life in the wizarding world, she was still proud of her muggle roots. Besides, it would be a great advantage for her son to know how to navigate amongst muggles. Thankfully, Alduin’s innate inquisitiveness had no problems about the non-magical world. In his words, he was quite curious at how muggles were able to live without the convenience of magic.

Something soft tinkled through their ears that broke their peaceful silence. Not a bell, but more like the soft melody of wind chimes in the breeze.

“Well, he’s early,” Hermione commented as her eyes fell to the door of their flat.

Alduin nodded in agreeance, “Oh, can I please open the door, mother?”

She smiled down at his grinning face, “Of course you can.”

Her son all but jumped from his seat as he dashed towards the door. Hermione drank the rest of her water before waving a hand at the table. The empty plates and cutlery floated in answer to her magic towards the sink, where they immediately began to wash themselves. Meanwhile, she quickly slipped towards her room to retrieve the seamless chest from her warded cabinet.

When she returned to the foyer, she watched just in time for Alduin to hold onto the doorknob and slide it over across the wood to the other side without any resistance at all. When the door swung open, instead of the carpeted and beige blossoming wallpaper of the hallway, it opened to a porch made of stone that looked bleached white from the glaring rays of the sun, where an old man in his mid-fifties stood. He wore a striped penny collar shirt underneath a navy herringbone suit. A long black overcoat hung over his shoulders while a newsboy cap hid his graying blonde hair. In his hand was a seemingly normal briefcase.

 “Buon pomeriggie, Postino!” Alduin greeted exuberantly.

“Alduin!” the old man grinned widely as he practically scooped the boy up in his arms and kissed his cheek, to which her son kissed back. “My, you grow taller every time I see you!”

He laughed good-naturedly, his Italian accent thick, as he set him back down on the floor.

“And you haven’t changed a bit, signore,” Alduin gestured with his hand, “may I take your coat and cap?”

“Certainly. Thank you, my boy. That’s a good lad.”

Alduin hung said coat and cap on the rack beside the door. His wavy, black hair fluttered with the hilltop breeze somewhere in Sicily as he closed the door behind the old man.

“Postino,” Hermione greeted as she approached. They briefly hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks in greeting, “How have you been? How’s your wife?”

“Hermione, dear, I’m glad to see you’re doing fine. Carmela and I are doing wonderfully. We just got back from a vacation at the Caribbean. Such a nice place. Wouldn’t mind going back there,” he gave another laugh. “Carmela sends her regards.”

She smiled sincerely at the news, “That’s good. Now, humor me, won’t you?”

“Don’t I always?” he followed her past the foyer towards the table where he set up his briefcase.

“Coffee?” she offered as she set down a mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of him, having known of his arrival today.

“Ah grazie,” he smiled.

Hermione met Postino De Sena after one of her hunts eight years ago. He was a connoisseur of magical artefacts (both dark and not), as well as a trader of uncommon magical goods. She had acquired an artefact that had no use to her except for its value that could fetch a high price. But because she acquired the item from unconventional means, she had to approach more obscure channels, which eventually led her to the Italian wizard. They have been business partners ever since.

The locks snapped open and one by one, Postino took out a myriad of items and set them on the table. she stood adjacent to him while Alduin took the seat opposite her.

“Two rolls of hidebehind fur… one clutch of ashwinder eggs… five ampules of unicorn blood- Oh! And you’ll love this- screech beetle from Amityville,” he listed.

She took the silver tin from his hand. It was only the size of a matchbox and looked no more extraordinary than that, but she could feel the scuttling of insect legs inside once she held it up with her fingers. When she shook the tin, it let out a high-pitched sound that was like an amalgamation of an insect’s screech and the scream of a dying rabbit. The metal container also shook from the vibrations followed by the frantic beating of its wings inside.

“Funny to you, but to the inferi and other fell creatures, that’s like nails on a chalkboard,” Postino divulged when he noticed the amused tilt of her lips. "Oh don't look at me like that. Things haven't been easy since that trading company popped up. Lucky you, I still know a lot of hidden channels. Still, have you thought of making business with them instead? You know they have the World Serpent for their name, right?"

"I've thought about it."

When she set the tin down, her son took his turn to grab and examine it in fascination.

“What is it with you and bugs, Postino?” she asked bemusedly.

The old man scrunched up his face in a pout, “I just like them.”

She shrugged with a small smile before resuming her examination of the rest of the goods he brought for her. Although by now she knew the items he brought have only been the best in quality.

“Ah, ah, ah, careful there, Alduin. That’s Dragonsbreath.”

Both mother and son snapped their heads to the innocuous-looking trinket in Alduin’s hands. Their eyes widened in astonishment. Cupped in his small hands was a beautiful ornament made of gold plates engraved with intricate designs formed into the shape of a closed flower bud. By itself, it would make a good shelf décor.

“I thought you couldn’t get anymore,” Hermione gaped, mesmerized still.

“Oh, my dear, you know how friendly I can be,” Postino grinned mischievously, “Plus, that dragon breeder owes me. Said it was a gift from an actual elder dragon for saving one of its young ones.”

Hermione's eyes sparkled in interest while Alduin rolled the item in his hand, as if intending to memorize every detail. He then turned to his mother with a pleading gleam in his eyes.

“Can I try it, mother?”

Hermione chewed on her lip in contemplation.

Dragonsbreath, as extremely rare as it was, couldn’t be considered any darker than the ones decorating her warded cabinet. Still, it didn’t make it any less dangerous.

“Alright,” she relented carefully, “but be careful.”

She reminded, but Alduin had already jumped from his seat and positioned himself facing the flat’s foyer which had a large open space. He raised his arm and steadied his feet firmly on the floor. When he pressed his thumb on one of the gems studded beneath the flower, the golden petals opened and fire- colored in bright hues of red and orange to blue and white- spewed forth. If they listened closely, they could even make out a faint roar of a dragon. Alduin held it open for no longer than three seconds before he pressed his thumb on the gemstone again. The petals clamped themselves shut and gray smoke filtered between the plates.

“Wicked,” her son said almost breathlessly before he placed the magical item back on the table. His eyes shone with wonder as he looked up to the two adults, “I’ve read in a book that only one out of one hundred thousand dragons can produce true dragonfire. It’s said that it can melt stone and burn bodies into ashes in seconds. That not a single thing or spell could extinguish the flames, and the only way for it to disappear is to let it burn whatever it’s on until nothing’s left.”

“And even rarer to harness them into these items,” Hermione added as she took her turn to touch the metal flower. It felt cold as if it didn’t just let out the most searing heat in existence that could rival fiendfyre. And despite herself, her eyes sparkled in curiosity at the intricacies of how the container could hold such magic.

When the excitement over the dragonsbreath calmed down a bit, Postino resumed pulling stuff out of his briefcase.

“One jug of water from the Jordan River… two bags of lavender and knotgrass… one phial of acromantula venom… and lastly, a violin.”

“A violin?” Hermione raised a brow as the old man took out a violin case.

Postino sent her a quick grin before he set the case in front of her intrigued son, “Here you are, Alduin.”

Alduin’s wide eyes shifted from the old man to the case. His hands stayed on his sides in resistance to the temptation of touching it, “A gift… for me? But it’s not my birthday.”

“No, it’s not, my boy, but when my wife and I visited her hometown in Naples and saw this, we just knew it had to be yours,” he said proudly, “This instrument was made in the 1700s, and there’s only around six hundred or so left in existence. I know you’d take good care of it.”

Alduin turned to Hermione. His gaze clearly sought for her permission, and who was she to deny him?

She nodded her head along with an encouraging smile. Her son beamed a smile back to her and unlatched the case’s clasps without further prompt. When he opened the lid, Hermione could hear his sharp intake of breath and a small gasp of her own. Even Hermione had to marvel at the polished wood that mirrored their reflections.

Alduin stared at it so intensely as if he’s never seen anything like it before. Hermione wondered what sort of value her adorable little connoisseur could digress from such an old instrument. While Hermione knew how to play the piano, and appreciated the music of other instruments, she didn’t develop a keen eye in discerning instrument value.

From an early age, her son found a proclivity to music. She had purchased a piano sometime when Alduin was only two years old, and she would sometimes play it whenever she felt sad and nostalgic from remembering her past. Her son would listen every time, and soon as he was able, he practically begged her to teach him how to play. Alduin took to playing music instantly, much to her delight. He took great pride in it as well. To the point that he developed an abhorrence to charmed instruments most wizards and witches use. He claimed that the quality of the music was subpar and unauthentic.

The violin was the second instrument he learned how to play and instantly found a preference in it. One of their favorite bonding times as mother and son was playing classical muggle music together.

“I’ll be right back,” Alduin said quickly before he grabbed his gift and zipped towards his room. His door closed with a soft click of the lock.

“Did… uhh… didn’t he like it?” Postino turned to her, confused.

Hermione just smiled at the old Italian wizard reassuringly, “He loves it. Don’t worry, Postino. He’ll be back in a few.”

Relieved, Postino tucked away his briefcase on the floor by his feet and sat down on the chair opposite her.

“So, what’s the action?” he finally asked now that her son wasn’t around.

Without missing a beat, Hermione pulled out the seamless box from who-knows-where and set it squarely on the table. Meanwhile in the background, the safest materials Postino brought marched their way to the spare room, which she had converted into a personal potion lab, like in old cartoons, with a wave of a hand. Though she left out the rest that were more sensitive to magic on the table.

Hermione fished out her wand from its holster strapped around her arm beneath her robe sleeves- thank the stars that long-sleeved robes were a constant fashion in the wizarding world- with a flick of her wrist. She moved her hand in a series of complex arches until a thin line reappeared around the plain-looking chest as if an invisible knife had cut through the wood. Hermione lifted the lid carefully with her free hand to reveal the dark orb inside.

Postino practically spilled his coffee in shock. He knew instantly what she had just shown him at a glance. She made sure he was alright between his choked coughs before she swished her wand around some more. This time, she temporarily disabled the runes that safeguarded the dark artefact and rendered it useless to ignorant hands.

“I got this one from my latest excursion,” she informed as she kept her eye on the orb. As fascinating as it was, even she wouldn’t dare touch that thing so willy-nilly.

“Allsehend…” Postino said breathlessly, his wide and unblinking blue eyes reflected on the polished black surface.

“It was basically leeching off of the wizard who found it. Keeping him alive long enough as some sort of protector and until it could find another host to feed on. The poor soul had already lost his mind by the time I arrived,” she eyed the orb with absolute disdain. As much as war had changed her, she still had a sympathetic heart. Even if, in this case, it was the wizard’s fault for falling into such a trap in the first place. “I just found a way to destroy the first part. It was a double tetragram array.”

Postino shot his head up at her, aghast, “You can’t be serious! There’s only eight of these in existence!”

They both knew. Wizards and witches who specialized in Divination, especially, would kill to have one of these dangerous orbs.

“And that’s seven more still out there,” Hermione hissed, “And you know I don’t really destroy them- just tame them.”

Unless, of course, the artefact proved itself to be so corrupt. Then she will have no choice but to destroy it.

Hermione’s fascination into magical objects began during her first year. Back when she was with her boys, trying to uncover the mystery of the Philosopher’s Stone and the conspiracy of it being in Hogwarts. She had always believed that magic was something intangible. Something that cannot be sensed but existing. Like gravity. Which can be manipulated through the use of wands. But by that logic, don’t wands count as magical artefacts as well? An object that can invoke, evoke, and even store magic.

That passing curiosity grew exponentially during their horcrux hunting and never went away ever since.

To Hermione’s benefit, her accumulated knowledge and honed expertise made quite the acceptable profession in her new life.

“Oh yes, you’re right. After all…” Postino turned his gaze back at the orb. Except his pupils had dilated with rapture as he slowly leaned towards it with an outstretched hand, “It would be a shame if something so precious would go to waste…”

One second there was a flash of swirling fire and shadow, the next, the chest’s runes glowed a bright gold and then snapped itself shut. The seams once more disappeared.

“Are you alright, Postino?” Hermione turned his face towards her while her other hand discreetly tucked the chest away again. Her umber pools flecked with stars watched him carefully for every minute movement, “It’s a lot more powerful than I thought. If it could influence you just by looking at it.”

The old man blinked owlishly. Once, and then twice, before he shook his head as if to get rid more of the mental haze that caught him into a stupor, “Was I…? Oh dear… I’m sorry, Hermione. I lost myself there.”

“It’s alright, Postino. I didn’t think this Allsehend would be this strong either,” she placed a comforting hand on his, “You know I won’t let anything happen to you while I’m here.”

Her words were sincere, and she did promise that Postino and his wife would be safe from any artefacts presented before them. Before she came along, the couple had amassed quite a collection. Most of which never saw the light of day for no one else knew how to ‘tame’ dark, rare, dangerous, but valuable artefacts.

“I know. Thank you, Hermione,” he cupped her hand with his other, and smiled at her in acceptance of her comfort. He pulled back to gesture between her, the spot where the orb had just been, and her son’s bedroom, “Speaking of dangerous artefacts, how is little Alduin faring about the nature of your… occupation?”

Hermione drew in a deep breath through her nose. She had been expecting this question from him for some time already. They may be business partners, but the De Sena couple had practically elevated into family friends the second they met her son as a toddler. It was obvious they saw him as their own grandchild, and by extension, her. Although it was more like they saw her as the respectable, mature daughter than no longer needed any coddling.

She’d let them. They were sincere. They were sadly never blessed with a child. Her son deserved to at least have a semblance of what it felt like to have grandparents. Especially since her own parents weren’t in the picture anymore.

“As well as he can,” she answered, “He already has an idea of what I do. You know how special he is. His curiosity is insatiable. Just as he’s inquisitive about muggles, he also has no problems with… all forms of magic.”

If there was one thing Hermione learned during the war, it was that nothing was so black and white. The world was a canvas painted in shades of colors, including magic. It was a complex concept, and honestly, she doesn’t think there’s a best method to teach her son this fact. Nevertheless, she didn’t want her Alduin to be a misguided dark wizard, nor a righteously blind one either. It would be hypocritical of her, considering that she couldn’t call herself a ‘light’ witch anymore.

“I just recently showed him some of the safest artefacts in my closet,” she confessed.

The old man frowned, “But he’s only ten.”

It was a weak argument. They both knew it would be also hypocritical of Postino to say anything magically virtuous due to the nature of his own not-so-legal lucrative means and not-so-innocent collection.

“And he was only a toddler when he had his first accidental magic, and four when he could already use and control it consciously,” she said with her chest puffed out in pride.

It had been quite the sight.

Alduin’s first accidental magic was to shoot out sparkles of light from his hands. They were watching a meteor shower and the bright sparks came out for every clap of joy he made. Then, because she didn’t allow him to play outside because of the rain, he had filled their entire home full of autumn leaves where he would dive and swim around clad in full autumn-wear. Her initial annoyance eventually turned into mirth as she chased him around and played hide and seek with him in the leaves. A few years later, Alduin would start fetching nearby small items towards himself just by looking at them. Like some wandless, nonverbal accio. Hermione suspected that he had just copied from her doing the same thing to do simple chores. She had to control herself every time to not completely show how proud and impressed she was of her son to chide him. She didn’t want him to become lazy.

Hermione continued, “My son is unique, Postino, you know this. Alduin is not an ordinary boy and I chose to keep up with him, while also guide him as best I can. I’d rather be there every step of the way whenever he discovers something new to give him an unfiltered opinion than leave him on his own. I can only hope that he remains that way.”

“Well, he is his mother’s son, after all. That mind of his is definitely from you,” Postino chuckled good-naturedly before he reached out to squeeze her hand in a comforting manner, “And you’re right. As a parent, your job is to guide him, not control him, and as far as I can tell, you’re doing a magnificent job. He’s young, yes, but he’s sharper than most his age. Alduin may not have inherited much from you in appearance, but he does have your spark and spirit.”

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. With no one else around, it was really nice to hear such sincere, kind words. She supposed, as a mother, there will always be a part of her that worried over her child, and whether she’s been doing a good job or not. It’s not like she could get her performance graded every year, after all.

She loved Alduin with all her heart, and as much as she wanted to keep him safe and close to her side always, she won’t disrespect him by blinding him from the dangers that were wrought along with all the good in this world.

Besides, it’s not like they’ll be separated anytime soon.

“Thank you, Postino, truly.”

The man smiled contentedly before he let go of her hand. But then, he leaned forward and his face took on a serious expression, “While we’re on the topic of parenthood, any chance you’ll tell me about the boy’s father this time? or any prospective candidates for the position?”

Hermione threw her head back in laughter despite his seriousness. She waved a hand dismissively. It wasn’t the first time he and his wife asked this question. She also knew they were only asking out of concern.

‘If only they knew.’

“Oh no, no, no. Honestly, Postino, I don’t have time for any of that. It’s not my priority, and I doubt there’s anyone willing to take on a single mother with a ten-year-old son at this age.”

Not that there weren’t those who tried. Hermione just… couldn’t find it in herself to give any attention to romance, nor had she felt any spark of romantic interest towards another person since Alduin was born. She had too much enough on her plate already.

He huffed back with his arms crossed against his chest, “You underestimate yourself, Hermione. Mother or no, you’re a very beautiful witch, and a powerful one at that. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already had some besotted wizard looking at you from afar.”

“Don’t let your wife hear that,” Hermione chuckled.

“Hermione, my Carmela will have me sleep at the stables if I say otherwise!”

They laughed together good-naturedly.

“But seriously, Postino, it’s alright. I don’t need a man. I’m perfectly content with my Alduin.”

“Well, you should at least tell your son something when he asks about his father.”

“If he asks.”

Before he could ask her to elaborate further, Alduin finally came out of his room. A wide smile was plastered on his face, while he held in his hands the new bow and violin he had just been gifted with.

Alduin thanked Postino for the wonderful present, said how much he liked it, and offered to play a song for him as thanks. The Italian wizard couldn’t be more eager to listen to his song, and Alduin even convinced Hermione to do a duet with him on the piano. Not that she needed much convincing.

Infected by her son’s excitement, she hardly put up a fight as she sat on the stool in the sitting area.

With the aid of her magic and a bit of her son’s, the moment they played the first note of their song, the entire flat was suddenly illusioned as if they were under the sea.

.

“You be careful now, alright Alduin?” she reminded as per usual before she left to go on another hunt.

“I will. You be careful too, mother,” Alduin smiled at her reassuringly.

Hermione brushed away a few stray locks from his forehead before she placed a kissed there.

“I’ll see you later, sweetie.”

With that said, Alduin turned on his heel and ran towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, only to stop mid-way to turn and wave goodbye at her. Hermione waved back and watched her son go until he disappeared through the entrance.

She hadn’t even fully turned around when someone bumped into her.

“Oh terribly sorry, miss,” said the stranger hastily.

“It’s alright,” she muttered back, but the wizard with a hat and coat seemed to be in a hurry as he didn’t stop to wait for her response.

Years of her war-addled paranoia suddenly kicked in and Hermione quickly casted diagnostic and searching spells on her person. When she found nothing out of sort, nothing stolen nor were there any items or spells placed on her in that brief contact, she quickly searched for the necklace hidden beneath her blouse.

She held it up to her face and examined it critically before she let out a sigh of relief.

It was still cold to the touch.

“No certificates, no references, no registrations, no proof of employment, no passport, no identifications… nothing. It’s as if they just appeared out of nowhere,” Abraxas reported from his place in the long table of their meeting room. Ever since Tom had finally met the boy, he’d been adamant, almost obsessed even, to find any sort of information on both mother and son. “They don’t even have a vault at Gringotts.”

“And yet they live in a flat that’s worth no less than two-hundred galleons a month,” Tom glared intensely at the papers strewn about before him. It was obvious he didn’t like a single bit about the results his followers have gathered.

Why? Why couldn’t they find anything on them?

Malfoy, Avery, and Nott even had to pull some strings to dig through classified documents in the ministry and the bank’s archives. Just in case their papers have been purposely hidden.

The only bit of information worth reporting were his men’s observations about the mother and son pair. Tom had made them swore that until he had made a decision, the conspiracy about his bastard son would never leave their circle.

He picked up one parchment that showed a diagram of the Dagworth-Granger family tree. Though to be precise, the Dagworth family tree. Since the story behind that combined name had been quite scandalous when it happened. This had been the highest priority of all his orders. Most pureblood families have a sort of archive that traced every existing family member. While it was understandably safeguarded, his access to the rough draft he held in his hand was only possible due to the Lestranges being the closest to the Dagworths.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t provided him any more fruitful results than the last.

Tom’s glare intensified at the last entry on the tree: Hector Dagworth-Granger. He knew the name, of course. Though a bit of a recluse, he was a renowned Potion Master that founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Slughorn had boasted time and again how he was an honorable member in that organization. Tom had also referred to his work after that one summer in Little Hangleton. Of all the potioneers, he was the one who had the most considerable knowledge on the nature and effects of love potions.

But that was where the problem was. For no new entry was added below the Potion Master’s.

The name ‘Alduin Granger’ was missing.

He was greatly expecting that he would be able to get his answers about the boy’s date of birth and his mother’s name in this parchment. He was sorely disappointed.

What happened? Had there been a conflict in the family? Did the Dagworths not deem any descendants of Hector to be worthy of being written in the family tree? But that couldn’t be. Unlike other pureblood families, the Dagworths were wise enough to note all names that shared their magical blood. Lestrange hadn’t reported any squabble in that quiet family’s inner politics either.

Could it be that the mother and son weren’t related to the Potion Master after all? Had it been just some coincidence that they shared a similar last name? Like how the surname Smith had become so common that anyone who claimed to be part of the first family had to undergo a special blood test.

Despite this, Tom had still learned the name of the boy’s mother. From the most unexciting source, even. In the logbook of their landlord.

Hermione Jean Granger.

Tom knew no one of that name.

He had never heard of that name until Mulciber had reported it to him.

Was she Hector’s illegitimate daughter? Was that why her name wasn’t included in the family tree, even though she technically had Dagworth blood running in her veins?

His thought’s raced in rapid fire of all possible scenarios. One of the best he could come up with was that she was a nameless, random romp he had ten years ago whom he (as baffled and infuriated as he was still) had unknowingly impregnated. A witch who had also managed to tamper with his memories.

Though he also had a more optimistic theory: it was still possible that this Hermione Granger might not be Alduin’s real mother at all. After all, the woman looked nothing like the boy. She could’ve adopted him, or the boy’s real mother had entrusted him to her. That would at least explain how he never knew her.

But that’s all they were. Theories. He needed more concrete proof of their genealogic ties.

A knock on the door broke Tom from his thoughts. When he allowed their entry, Avery came in with a small ornate box in his hands.

“My lord,” he bowed in greeting.

“Avery, I trust you didn’t come here to disappoint?” came Tom’s rhetorical question. He made it explicitly clear to him that he wasn’t allowed to step a single foot in Malfoy Manor unless he found what he had ordered him to find.

“No, my lord. I have found it.”

With his permission, Jericho Avery stepped forward and set the box before him like an offering.

.

The next time Tom saw the boy again, he wasn’t sitting at the fountain, nor wandering the streets of Diagon Alley, nor at the wandmaker’s shop. Alduin was at the park behind their flat building. Apparently, Mr. Ollivander had to close up shop to attend some sort of conference with other wandmakers in the Mediterranean.

So with no one to watch over him, the boy was left to his devices and Tom immediately seized the opportunity.

Whenever he could spare some time from his search regarding the mother and son’s background, he would tail the boy himself. From what he had observed so far, either the boy was just sickeningly innocent, or he was superb in acting. It didn’t take much time for Tom to learn that the boy had most of the shop owners in Diagon Alley wrapped around his little fingers. The boy was respectful to his elders, curious, easily gave compliments, and exceedingly polite- or so they said.

Unfortunately for the boy, Tom could see better.

If not for Alduin’s overall pleasant manners, then the boy’s looks also played a big factor in ensnaring these clueless civilians. After all, Tom himself wasn’t above using his own physical appearance in getting his way. Especially during his time at Hogwarts. Usually it only took one, charming, well-practiced smile, and he would have anyone scrambling at his feet begging more of his attention.

Alduin certainly employed the same strategy. Regardless if his intentions were more innocent compared to him.

Somehow, this thought made Tom want to puff up his chest and snort in amusement.

The boy was far from a saint… except when in front of his mother.

He took a moment to stare at the young boy that might as well be a carbon copy of himself. Alduin was lying down, asleep, on a grassy slope of the park a bit farther away from the path. His arms and legs spread out a tad comfortably as he soaked in the sun’s rays.

Did the boy have no sense of self-preservation? How could he just lay there, unguarded, when anyone or anything could just come up to him?

Like himself.

To his credit, the boy didn’t seem to be wholly unaware as his eyelids fluttered open. As if he felt someone was staring at him. Alduin turned his head to Tom’s direction and sat up in one fluid motion.

He smiled congenially, “Good afternoon, Mr. Riddle. Fancy seeing you again.”

“Afternoon it is, Mr. Granger,” Tom answered dispassionately, “However, whether that afternoon would be good or not remains to be said.”

“How fortunate that it’s been good for me so far then,” Alduin answered without missing a beat and a smile, “Hopefully, the odds would be in your favor as well. You still have a lot of time left, after all.”

“Hopefully.”

Alduin took his turn to stare at him this time. Despite the small, polite smile on his face, Tom could never mistake that certain look that glinted in the boy’s equally dark eyes. The boy had the nerve to assess him. He was sizing him up like some animal trying to gauge whether the creature before him was any real threat or not.

Then Alduin tilted his head at him curiously, like a cat, “May I help you, Mr. Riddle?”

“No,” he answered, “I was just passing by. My apologies if I disturbed your sleep.”

“That’s alright. I wasn’t sleeping anyway. I just like bathing out in the sun like this.”

“Ahh it is a lovely day for it, and here I thought you preferred running around Diagon Alley and getting into trouble with strangers.”

Alduin’s eyebrows furrowed in response to his little slip, was it because he had gotten caught? Regardless, it was the first reaction he’d ever shown him that wasn’t his polite mask or amusement.

“Trouble finds me because they think me defenseless. It’s not my problem if they’re so uncouth to not stop and think if I have fangs,” the boy halfway muttered so softly it was almost inaudible. Still, Tom’s sharp ears caught them just fine and felt another wave of intrigue and amusement wash over him about the boy. “I like my peace and quiet as much as I like exploring. Don’t you, sir?”

“I do like my privacy,” Tom acquiesced.

Alduin nodded, satisfied with his answer, before turning to his messenger bag lying beside him. He reached his arm inside and wiggled about as if in search of something. Tom took a step closer to get a better look. He was certain at that point that the bag had an Extension Charm, possibly even an Undetectable one.

‘Fascinating,’ Tom couldn’t help be impressed. Extension Charms were considered to be advanced magic. Alduin may be gifted for his conscious use of magic at an early age, but he highly doubted he would be able to cast the spell himself. That would mean it was casted by his mother.

As far as he knew, Extension Charms were strictly subjected to the Ministry of Magic’s control. There was even a law that prohibited anyone in using them under private use. It was also worth reflecting that the boy’s mother, Hermione Granger, had absolutely no ties to the ministry.

It seemed that the witch might be worth visiting after all.

Finally, the boy took his arm out from the bag, and in his hand was a small bag of beef jerky.

Tom’s brows furrowed slightly, ‘Food again?’

“Does your mother not feed you enough?”

The boy shook his head, “On the contrary, my mother’s quite attentive to my meals. She always makes sure there’s food available for me whenever I get hungry. Ah! But this one is a gift from a family friend from Italy.”

Unsurprisingly, after opening the bag, Alduin held it out to him.

“Would you like some, Mr. Riddle? It’s only a tiny bit spicy.”

“No thank you, Mr. Granger.”

“Please, call me Alduin, sir. Mr. Granger was my mother’s father.”

There was so much to unpack from that one sentence alone. Firstly, it confirmed to him that Alduin’s surname was from his mother, that he didn’t have a father to take a name from as per tradition. At least, none that he knew of. The possibility of that Granger woman not being Alduin’s real mother resurfaced. The witch may not even be related to the Dagworth-Granger family line at all. However, it wasn’t the first time someone had thrown away one side of one’s family. Salazar knew Tom would’ve wanted to disregard both the Gaunts and Riddles in a heartbeat if things wouldn’t become more difficult for him if he didn’t have a family name. He couldn’t take up the Slytherin name either because that would reveal a whole can of worms Dumbledore will surely use to bring the truth to that Ravenclaw girl’s death.

“Do you have a habit of refusing gifts, Mr. Riddle? Gifts are given freely, after all.”

“Please don’t be offended, Alduin. I’m just not hungry at the moment,” Tom added with false sincerity, “and I only accept gifts I deem worthwhile, of course.”

The boy hummed. Before he popped a stick of jerky into his mouth, he said, “That’s a shame. You live to eat, after all.”

“I believe the saying was: ‘You eat to live’,” Tom corrected, but the boy didn’t answer as he continued to chew. In fact, Alduin only smiled at him in response.

That’s when Tom saw it.

There, as Alduin continued eating nonchalantly on his bag of jerky, the sun glinted off the silver band on the boy’s left middle finger from where his left hand held up the bag.

“That’s quite the ring you have there, Alduin. May I see it?”

The boy turned his eyes towards him and waited to swallow the meat he’s been chewing before setting the bag down on his lap. He lifted his left hand and examined his ring as if to check if the jewelry was really there. A small smile tugged at his lips.

It was genuine.

“Only if you show me yours, Mr. Riddle,” he turned his gaze towards Tom’s own ring that was also on his left middle finger.

Reflexively, Tom caressed said ring with his other hand, as if shielding it from the boy’s sight. The black stone and the gold ring cradling it have never lost its sheen since it came under his care. He had never taken it off, and on the chance that he did, he made sure it was tucked away safely at that hiding place along with his diary.

“Fair enough,” he relented.

He stopped in front of the boy’s feet and held out his hand. He didn’t see the need to take it off. Alduin didn’t even seem to mind as he leaned forward to examine it closely with a curious gleam in his eyes.

“How peculiar,” he said, his eyes trailed across every inch as if etching it into memory, “and what a curious symbol. Dare I ask, Mr. Riddle, is it your coat of arms?”

Tom had wanted to snort. No doubt he was referring to the symbol of a triangle, circle, and line engraved within the stone. No, his true coat of arms should be the elaborately designed letter ‘S’ of the Slytherin family. But the boy didn’t need to know that.

Instead, he answered, “Well, this ring certainly has been in my family for generations. I got it before my uncle passed away.”

“Ahh, I apologize.”

“No need, Alduin. That was a long time ago. Now, may I see yours?”

The boy casted a glance at his ring one last time before he held up his own hand towards him in the same manner he did. In contrast, Tom held the boy’s fingers and tugged it up further for an even closer inspection, but he didn’t touch the ring itself.

His greedy dark eyes drank in every detail and design, even to the manner of how the metal bounced off the sun’s light.

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a hint of praise. Because it certainly was.

Alduin’s ring was a silver snake with its mouth devouring its own tail. An ouroboros. Its eyes were made of small, precious emeralds, while a crown of stars rested on its head. It looked simple enough, but the craftsmanship was top notch. Not only that-

“Thank you, sir,” Alduin responded cheerfully even as he carefully retracted his hand back, “My mother gifted it to me on my seventh birthday. She said she had it customed by an artisan in Norway. It’s charmed so it can always fit my finger as I grow.”

Charmed, yes, but the ring was charmed with more than just that. They were small, and couldn’t be seen with the naked eye without the help of a magically-enhanced jeweler’s loupe, but Tom was able to detect them thanks to his senses. His time as a shop boy at Borgin & Burkes allowed him to hone more than just his ability to persuade people to buy and sell precious wares. He had developed a keen eye for all magical artefacts.

As for Alduin’s ring, he could tell instantly that the ring was special. There were runes carved along the snake’s body. Which runes? He couldn’t tell. They were too small. If he were to hazard a guess, one of them functioned as protection. However, Tom couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something more. If what the boy said was true, then his mother knew what she wanted done when she commissioned that ring.

He was also certain that it was not made by human hands.

First the secrecy, then the bag, then the ring… it was obvious that this Hermione Granger was no ordinary witch.

“I see,” Tom voiced, “Did she also pick the design for it?”

Alduin nodded, pleased by his question. His small thumb caressed the crowned snake as he answered, “Yes, sir. Mother said it was only fitting.”

“Fitting?”

“In her own words, she said it’s only fitting…” onyx eyes stared back into equally dark pools, “for someone with ancient blood.”

Tom’s entire face turned blank the moment Alduin said those words. His back became rigid and straight as he held his solid stare with the boy’s equally blank look. And for a moment they just stayed like that. Unrelenting, unflinching, unmoving, unblinking…

Like two snakes that crossed each other’s paths.

…cautious, waiting, and gauging, as if the slightest movement from the other would detonate something.

Then Tom raised his hand and settled it on Alduin’s head.

The boy blinked in surprise.

“I best be going now, Alduin. As I’ve said, I was just passing by,” Tom said with a smile, “Thank you, by the way, this has been most illuminating. Please, enjoy the rest of your day.”

When he ruffled the boy’s hair, it messed up his combed raven locks. Alduin threw him a glare and swatted his hand away before combing them back to order with his fingers.

Tom snorted. He’ll let this one slide.

He also didn’t wait for his response when he turned on his heel and walked down the path. Not once did he look back.

.

The dark Lord all but flew off the door to his guest room from its hinges. Vitriol practically bubbled in his veins. His heart drummed in his ears. The darkness within him roared as his eyes bled into a crimson color. His face was absolutely thunderous as he grabbed for the box Avery had given him.

He tore the lid open and took out the bowl cushioned in a velvet bedding. It was a white bowl made of porcelain, inscribed with runes, and painted blue with the traditional brush art of ancient China depicting cranes and flowers. The magical artefact was used in wizarding families in Asia, particularly in China, as a paternity and maternity test. This one though, had been in the Avery family for generations and was used to distinguish their own family members.

Tom didn’t even bother to take off his coat as he filled the bowl with water.

The use of this artefact was simple. After adding water, simply drop a piece of a person they wished to do the test on. Blood, saliva, hair, or even tears. A corresponding color will change the water in the bowl for each piece. If the two colors mix, then they were biologically, directly related as parent and child, but if the colors don’t even touch and remain separated, then they were not.

From his pocket, Tom took out two phials. One contained a long, curly, brown strand, while the other held three pieces of short black hair. Mulciber had been assigned with this task. All it took for him was to bump into the witch ‘accidentally’ to nip a single strand of her hair. It was more than sufficient.

First, he needed to test both mother and son.

Tom didn’t take any more preamble and dropped the witch’s hair on the bowl. Instantly, the blue paint glowed and the water turned into a rich golden color. As if the water turned into liquid gold itself. When he dropped a strand of Alduin’s black hair, the water turned into a deep navy blue like the color of the sky on a starless night, or the very depths of the ocean where no light can reach.

Then the navy-blue color began to swirl around into a slow whirlpool within the bowl. As if an invisible ladle had stirred it. The golden liquid returned immediately after.

Both of the colors blue and gold mixed together in a harmonious, slow-turning vortex speckled with stars.

Tom swallowed thickly as he took a moment to stare at the colors. It was the stark answer he needed, but it also raised newer and numerous questions.

With a slightly subdued motion, he vanished the contents of the bowl and refilled it with water.

He dropped another strand of Alduin’s hair and the water once more took the deep navy-blue color.

Then Tom reached a hand towards his own head.

His hair turned the water as black as tar.

Then the water shifted as it swirled around again.

The navy-blue color trickled from the sides of the bowl as the water continued to swirl…

…and swirl…

…and swirl…

…and swirl…

Blue and black water turned together like a slow whirlpool.

They mixed.

Tom’s entire body shook as he threw his head back with unfiltered dark laughter.

Down in the depths, reality’s a façade.

What we call Death is just a sleep of the gods.

Chapter Text

The warrior’s game spilled the blood of my own.

Now a different light fuels the fire in my chest.

Slowly and steadily, Abraxas opened the door.

The Dark Lord’s room had returned to its former impeccable state after his less than savory reaction. Abraxas had no doubt it had something to do with the boy. Hush their conversations were, he and his fellow Death Eaters have expressed their befuddlement to the situation. They knew Tom was far from being reckless. If there was anyone who embodied the Slytherin House, it would be him; self-preservation was a tantamount trait next to cunning and ambition. And based on Tom’s reaction to the situation, it certainly wasn’t something he had accounted for. It’s extremely rare to incite a reaction out of that man nowadays.

Frankly, a small part of Abraxas had thought Tom would consider finding a wife like the rest of them. He was the only one left who hadn’t married in their circle. Not as a means to settle himself down, but because Pureblood Society practically mandated marriage to any respectable wizard with the main purpose of having an heir.

There’s also that part of him that wanted Tom to have that bit of happiness. Even though Abraxas’ own marriage had been arranged, he eventually grew fond of his wife more than what’s expected of their contractual partnership, and this fondness had also extended towards his son.

But then, even he would admit that to be wishful thinking. Tom was just far too goal-oriented for that and he highly doubted marriage and heirs had been part of his plans.

Fate loved to prove herself to be a cruel mistress though, and that fractional part of Abraxas’ wish came true in the most ironic way.

The real question that held his breath now however, was what Tom would choose to do from now on.

Abraxas wetted his lips before he dipped his head towards his lord’s rigid back standing before a window, “My lord, you have summoned me?”

Tom didn’t turn his way and instead answered, “I have a son. His name is Alduin Granger.”

He blanched, and dared to take a couple of steps forward towards the small table provided with the suite. His grey eyes peeked over the porcelain bowl and watched the mixed colors of navy blue and void black slowly turning harmoniously together like a harmless whirlpool.

So it had been confirmed.

Tom had sired a son with a nameless witch.

Setting the mystery of how such a thing could’ve possibly slipped past him aside, this revelation could easily damage Tom’s carefully built reputation. Contrarily, illegitimate children were considered uncommon, even rare, in Pureblood Society because of the self-preservation within the families. No one wanted to risk feuds in future successions and inheritance, and break years of alliance with other houses.

Even if Tom wasn’t married, the existence of a bastard would not endear him to those who haven’t allied with him.

Not unless, of course, if Tom already had a plan to take care of this predicament.

“What must be done of him, my lord?” he asked.

“What else must be done of him?” Tom said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “Kill him.”

The Malfoy head felt himself ashen at the man’s dispassionate answer. Void was his voice of anything that could tell him even an inkling of what he actually felt about the decision.

Abraxas knew Tom Riddle was no saint. At times, he even believed him to be the devil incarnate. He had stolen, extorted, exploited, manipulated, blackmailed, threatened, pressured, tortured, and even murdered someone in cold blood. However… to suggest killing a child… bastard he may be… his own son…

Yes, Tom was no saint; but surely, he wasn’t a monster. At least, not yet.

Abraxas suspected this tug at his conscience was from the fondness he had over his own family, but he couldn’t help from feeling how his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it.

“We-“ Abraxas swallowed a lump in his throat, “If that is what you wish, my lord. We will… take care of hi-“

“No,” Tom cut him off, “I’ll deal with him. Lure him in if you can, but I wish to see this through personally.”

He wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse.

Still, the Malfoy head bowed in obedience, “Yes, sir.”

Hickory-colored eyes were on the wall behind her, but her gaze was far away; as if she was seeing far beyond the stone that made up the wall. In one hand, she kept a firm grip on her wand, while the other came up to take out the necklace beneath her shirt.

She let her gaze fall down on the trinket she had once been acquainted with during her third year. The chain that anchored the Time-Turner around her neck was still gold. The rings that held the hourglass were still gold. However, the golden sands within the glass were no more. It can never turn back the time again. As it were, it served as a reminder. A fragment of her past. Her own personal artefact.

‘I mark the hours, every one. Nor have I yet outrun the sun.’  Those were the words that used to be engraved around the rings. Except now they said: ‘I bear the feast, this prize you yearn. Hunt, eat, swallow, this reward to earn.’

It served as a reminder that she didn’t accept a gift.

Hermione’s eyelids closed as her hand balled around the old time-turner. She relished the feel of the cold metal, only partially warm thanks to it being tucked safely between her breasts.

‘He’s fine. Alduin’s fine. He’s safe,’ she chanted in her head. The item in her fist was proof of that. Yet something deep down inside of her, something primal and instinctive, told her otherwise.

War taught her to trust in her gut. It taught her to think as fast as she reacts.

She loved Alduin. She trusted him. He’s a very special boy, but that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?

At the end of the day, he’s just a boy.  

She needed to get home soon.

Hermione snapped her eyes back to the corpse slumped over his seat. With a ghost of a smile on his aged face, he only looked as if he had fallen asleep. For someone who played god and created chimeras without remorse, this one did not put a fight when she arrived. He knew the consequences of his actions and caved willingly. Not that the acrid venom his masterpiece rewarded him gave him any chance to relish his achievement.

She looked at the poor, pitiful creature writing on the man’s floor. The ritual circle painted with its own blood was the only thing that kept it alive. She didn’t even want to begin guessing what sort of creatures that made up the mass of flesh before her. The only thing remotely recognizable about it was the huge snake head with glass eyes that never once strayed away from her visage. The serpentine head rose up, the action was reminiscent of a snake preparing to attack anything that dared to approach. The monstrous amalgamation of the noises it made was as worse as its appearance. Loud hisses laced with growls created a fearsome distorted symphony.

Yet Hermione’s expression softened with sympathy.

It sounded so sad.

“It’s over now,” she said softly as if it could understand her.

But it did.

It stared at her for another heartbeat before it lowered its head to the floor in complete submission. Eyelids fell over glass eyes no snake should have.

Hermione took a deep breath before she turned to face the wizard again and pointed her wand towards his still chest. Without saying a single word, tendrils of gold slithered from the man’s heart. Like growing vines were reaching towards her as if she were the sun.

She didn’t stop until all of the golden ribbons were extracted from the man’s body. Then gold burned away into blue fire. and all that was left was a fiery ball that fit the palm of her hand.

“My stomach is turning and churning with greed. Has someone cursed me? I’m yearning to feast. Can somebody give me more than bread and dead meat? I want to feel it squirm in my teeth,” Alduin sung in a casually merry tune as he unwrapped the sandwich in his lap.

His mother hadn’t returned yet from her hunt since she left some time in the night when he was asleep. Although times like this happened occasionally, it still made him feel a bit… discontent whenever he woke up to find that his mother wouldn’t be there to greet him. This day had been one of those days. He woke up to a silent home and a covered plate of food waiting for him on the kitchen table. A note stuck on the lid reminded him to be careful, and that she would come home as soon as she could.

Alduin knew how important these hunts were, and never held it against her. He would also admit that he enjoyed his alone time as much as he liked being with his mother. No matter the activity, whether it be going shopping, cooking, taking a walk, helping her in the potion lab, or even lazing around reading books together, he’d never tire of being with her.

Not only was she strong and had an answer for everything, she’s also very kind and always warm. She’s very attentive and caring, but not to the point of smothering. If he were being honest, he relished her attention more than the people who easily fell for his smile and manners. He could tell. His method towards other people didn’t work on her. Then again, it was her special brand of care that he preferred anyway.

He really hoped that she would come home soon. Maybe they could even have a picnic in the afternoon and even take a nap under the sun together. Alduin wanted to enjoy all of the warm, sunny days left before the full blast of the autumn chill and winter took over.

For a while, Alduin just sat there at his usual spot in the park, wondering what he could do for the rest of the day since Mr. Ollivander hasn’t returned yet from his trip. Maybe he should just stay at home? That book about the creatures of Asia was the next on his list of texts to read on.

But it would be a waste to not enjoy the sunny day.

Then, amidst his chewing, Alduin felt a grumbling sensation deep within his midsection. He pressed a hand down on his stomach that remained flat no matter how much he ate, and felt the small tremors there.

“I’m getting hungry again,” he said to himself nonchalantly before he reached out to grab another sandwich.

.

The only reason a lioness would risk her life to hunt is to feed her cub.

.

Carkitt Market was an outdoor shopping area located on a side street from Diagon Alley. It was centered around a Victorian wrought iron arcade whose shop facades were painted over in bright technicolor palette. Its most noticeable landmark was the small, gothic building sitting at the center- a humble shop called Eternelle’s Elixir of Refreshment.

It could be counted as an extension of Diagon Alley filled with shops of various kinds. However, today of all days, the everyday hustle and bustle of the crowd had to stop in lieu of a certain shop called Concordia and Plunkett Musical Instruments. And who wouldn’t want to stop and listen? As the most soulful sounds could be heard from within the shop. One could even say the music itself was laced with bewitching magic for anyone near to hear.

To add even more surprise, the source of the music did not come from a charmed instrument, but from a little boy who expertly moved a bow along a violin’s strings.

Alduin slowly opened his eyes as the last note of his song faded, along with the sparks of light that appeared during his performance and glowed in sync with each beat. As he were, he couldn’t plunge an entire room into an illusion yet without the help of his mother. Still, he could already do this much as his magic responded to the music he played.

“Bravo! Bravo! Oh Bellissima! Encore! Encore!” the shop owners- Mr. Concordia and Mr. Plunkett, cheered the loudest amongst the audience Alduin had gathered.

He dipped his body down in a showman’s bow as he relished the praises. This shop was his favorite after Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop and Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. If there was one thing he greatly praised muggles for, it was their rich culture in art, especially in music. Something which, unfortunately, the wizardkind seemed to be lacking. He was honestly disgusted that they would just charm the instruments to play music. As if that method would even produce anything with real quality. Not to mention that he’s also unimpressed with the so-called song artists of this realm. Compared to them, his mother had the most beautiful song of them all, and that’s not him being biased just because she’s his mother.

“Thank you, Mr. Concordia, Mr. Plunkett,” Alduin smiled cordially at the two. Every time he visited their shop, they would always allow him to play a song for them- insist him even. He knew, that each time he played a song, it lured more and more customers into their shop. They even asked his mother once if he could play in their shop a few times a week, with pay. Of course, his mother denied them, but Alduin would allow them this every time he came by since they reward him in return either way.

“So, have you chosen which one you’ll take?” Mr. Plunkett asked as he held out the bow he had used earlier.

Alduin hummed in contemplation as he looked between the bow in his hand and in Mr. Plunkett’s. The former was made of Abraxan hair while the latter, Granian. He had thoroughly enjoyed Postino’s gift and had played it so much with the most difficult song he currently knew until all of the hairs of his bow snapped. It was previously made of Aethonan horsehair and he wondered how different his music would sound if the bow was made of different breed of winged horse. Unlike muggle-made instruments, whose tunes relied on the instrument’s pegs, wizarding instruments were made from materials laced with magic. Part of the fun of using these instruments was mixing and matching to find the perfect tune the musician wanted.

Wizarding instruments also served as a good conductor for magic.

“I like them both but…” he drawled in unnecessary suspense, “I think I’ll have to settle for the Abraxan.”

“Oh, are you sure? But they both sound so lovely!” Mr. Concordia said.

“I’m sure. Besides, I only have enough money to buy one of them,” Alduin scratched his cheek sheepishly.

Both co-owners of the music shop widened their eyes in surprise, but just before they could offer him a better deal (or give the other bow for free), they were cut off by a woman with light, almost platinum, hair who suddenly stepped in from the front of the shop.

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with the soft clacking of her heels, her French accent thick, “Wrap them both. I’ll pay for them.”

Alduin casted a quick glance over the woman who looked to be his mother’s age. From her dress to the accessories and even just by the way she carried herself, everything about her screamed of a woman of high stature.

He feigned a look of shock, “Oh- no, ma’am! Please, you don’t-“

“Hush, child,” she shushed, “It’s the least I could do after that wonderful performance you’ve shown. I just came from the jewelry shop across the street when I heard the loveliest sound. Never have I ever heard such beautiful music before! C’est magnifique! That kind of talent must be rewarded.”

For a moment, Alduin just let himself stare at the witch with nervous wide eyes as she stared down at him encouragingly to accept her offer.

“You are very generous, ma’am, but…” he shifted his weight on one foot to another, “But I couldn’t possibly just accept someone’s money-“

“Oh please, little one,” her gaze softened at the adorable anxious face he made, “Perhaps… you can think of it as a gift, or reward instead?”

Something deep inside him laughed at the use of the words gift and reward, almost like a personal inside joke. Though he didn’t understand why.

Alduin brought his arms together, making himself look small to add to the shy and nervous look he displayed before finally nodding his head.

“I-If you insist, ma’am, then I will happily accept.”

With his consent given, the witch beamed and practically shooed the shop owners to get going and have the bows wrapped with their best case.

“Thank you very much, ma’am. Even though you didn’t have to…”

“Think nothing of it. As I’ve said, it’s a reward- rather, a gift for you, Little Maestro,” she winked at him, to which he giggled.

“Well, if you insist,” then he suddenly spoke in fluent French, “Then I will cherish and be reminded of the kind lady that has given me this gift.”

The witch’s eyes became as wide as saucers.

“You… you spoke French… are you French as well?” she gaped.

Alduin continued to smile politely, “Not at all, ma’am.”

“But you speak it so fluently!”

“Ah, but my mother is a polyglot and she has taught me many things.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish in complete astonishment of his mastery of the language. His accent was even perfect! People would mistake him to have actually grown up in France.

Alduin and his mother had stayed in Paris for a year and a half, and he was nothing if not insatiable when it came to knowledge. That included learning other languages. Fortunately, speaking in other languages seemed to come as easy for him to learn, almost instinctual even, as talking to snakes.

In an instant, the woman’s regal façade had completely broken. Her joy over meeting someone who knew how to speak her mother tongue as fluently as her (and from someone so young!), had all her reservations thrown out the window.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for her to completely fall for his charm.

“Is there something wrong, ma’am?” Alduin asked as the witch suddenly fell silent after gushing in her excitement just a second ago.

“Nothing wrong, Little Maestro- oh! How rude of me, I never even introduced myself! Dear Morgana, I am not myself today,” she chuckled at herself before placing a hand over her heart, “My name is Serafina Marie Malfoy.”

Alduin bowed in perfect curtsy as expected from any well-mannered pureblood boy, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. I am Alduin Granger.”

“Granger?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hummed as she leaned closer to his face, to which he just stared back curiously, “I swore you look like someone I- oh yes! Now I remember! You look just like Tom Riddle!”

Alduin’s ears perked up at the name but controlled himself to maintain his clueless, polite façade.

“Tom Riddle?” he tilted his head to the side like a cat.

“Oh yes. He’s a very powerful wizard, and he’s also my husband’s… friend.”

Her pause didn’t escape him, and it sent a rush of excitement up his spine.

How curious.

As if this day couldn’t get any better, another person had entered the shop. This time, it was a man with bleached-blonde hair.

“Oh darling! There you are!” Mrs. Malfoy exclaimed as the man came to her side.

The moment the man, who could only be Mr. Malfoy, took one look at him; Alduin didn’t miss his shocked expression and the sudden pallor of his skin.

Behind his polite, innocent mask, Alduin’s grin widened.

Knockturn Alley was a dreary, gloomy place. It still was, and probably always will be.

The pathways were narrow and cramped, the air was humid during the warm months and bitingly cold during the rest, and the shops themselves were unimpressive and just overall depressing.

Honestly, the wizarding black market in Brazil had more life than this.

Had it been like before, Hermione wouldn’t have stepped a single foot in this place unless it was completely necessary. Like that time when she and her boys spied on Draco at Borgin and Burkes in their sixth year.

But the tables have turned when the war happened. Hermione found solace in the darkness, and friends in the shadows. By some twisted irony, those who once hid in obscurity freely walked the streets under the sun, while people like her- the defeated party- were reduced to be hunted down like animals, who had to resort to scuttling between nooks and crannies and become masters of hiding and illusion. It allowed her to buy some time, but it all became futile in the end.

She could still taste the saltiness of the sea at the back of her tongue.

Her ‘visit’ to that chimera creator had been a success. She hardly even had to do anything. Though the only thing that kept her long was because of the numerous text and research material the dark wizard had. She would never pass up the opportunity to acquire new knowledge, nor the chance to obtain new artefacts to add to her collection. There were also the cages upon cages of monstrosities hidden in the dark wizard’s basement. It wasn’t her responsibility. The wizard had been her primary reason for breaking into his home, after all. Still, she couldn’t just leave those tortured creatures to continue suffering, but she couldn’t let them loose in the world either.

Hermione also learned, during the war, that it was better to be prepared for anything and not need it, rather than not be ready at all. It was like a wake-up call to her; to realize that being book-smart wouldn’t be enough to keep herself, or the people around her, alive. And was that not why she was sorted into Gryffindor in the first place? The Sorting Hat had asked her if she would be content in just knowing, and she answered “What would be the point of knowing, if she couldn’t act?”.

So she learned. She studied, researched, and experimented. It was one thing to just study and practice spells, it’s another to invent them. Not only did it require her to have impeccable understanding of the physical world, she had to accept magic in its rawest, colorless form, rather than the black and white she had grown to believe.

Too bad the people around her had to die first before she learned this harsh lesson.

‘Ah, I still have to tame that Allsehend,’ Hermione made a mental note as she continued to walk down the shadowed street.

That artefact had been her trophy from her last hunt. Honestly, she never expected to find one, considering how extremely rare they were. There were, as Postino said, only eight of them in existence. She wouldn’t put it past people to believe they were just myths. The Allsehend was an artefact heavily tied to Divination. And Hermione, in all of her wisdom and discoveries, never changed her stance in abhorring the so-called ‘magical art’. However, that artefact would be the only thing that she would make an exemption of about the subject. Regardless of it being a dark artefact.

Though it wasn’t as if she’ll ever want to use it. Even if it can retell the past, show anything about the present, and whisper things about the future; if the witch or wizard did not have perfect control and solid mental fortitude, the artefact would leech onto the host like a parasite and warp their mind to the obsession of showing them more and more. Until the host became nothing more than a mindless puppet with the sole purpose of safeguarding the artefact until every bit of their magic and sanity had been sucked away from them.

It made her wonder if the prophecy they fought for in the Department of Mysteries had actually been an Allsehend. After all, Voldemort certainly lost his mind with all that prophecy trollop.

Hermione raised her hand to rub the necklace beneath her robes. After that chimera architect, her next prey to hunt lived here in Knockturn. But compared to her previous hunts, the witch did nothing more than practice dark magic and had nothing more to offer. Hermione left her corpse in her flat without a speck of dust out of place with a morbid disappointment that the witch didn’t have anything worth adding to her collection.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump…

Hermione halted in her steps when she heard that telltale rhythm.

Driven by curiosity, she turned on her heel and followed the source. She had encountered numerous magical artefacts in the past. Both dark and not. But amongst those that were considered dark, there were those who possessed a tell-tale blackened heartbeat that set them apart from the rest. Just like the Allsehend she found, those sorts of artefacts might as well have a will of their own. In a sense that they gave an illusion of being used, wherein reality, the host would be slowly chipped away of what was precious to them without their realization. Until ultimately, every captured host would be doomed to one singular fate- Death.

Though considering where she was, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. This was Knocturn Alley, after all. This was the ideal place for all sorts of dark artefacts.

Hermione stopped in front of the shop where the heartbeat was beating strongest. When she raised her head and read the sign, she couldn’t help but groan and roll her eyes.

Borgin and Burkes. What a cliché.

She let her gaze fall on the cabinet beyond the dirty glass in front of the shop. The pulse was beating louder, almost enticing her even. Hermione never considered herself a collector. At least, not outwardly. Since she would happily seize any book or scroll she could get her hands on. Her penchant for amassing dark artefacts just so happened to be a bonus from her hunts. It may or may not have helped that those artefacts would be objects that she would never get the chance to see in her life ever again. She felt it was her obligation to keep them away from innocents who wouldn’t know better. There was also the thrill of taming such objects. As each one presented itself to her as a unique and complex puzzle that required her keen attention to detail and critical thinking.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the high of satisfaction of successfully taming one.

With a deep breath, Hermione squared her shoulders and opened the door to the shop. Better to get them now than later.

She strode into the dingy shop with purpose as she ignored the rest of the items on display. Her sights focused towards the beat drumming with her magic.

Her eyebrows shot up the moment she was in front of the cabinet and had gotten a closer look. It was a necklace- a festoon necklace studded with diamonds that caught the smallest glint of light. A big ruby served as its centerpiece.

The last time she saw one, she was in Greece, and she had already tamed the one she had at home.

“It’s a very peculiar piece of jewelry,” said a smooth deep voice that suddenly came up behind her. Her years of practice in control had been the only reason she didn’t flinch in surprise.

“Peculiar…” she parroted as she kept her back towards the stranger. Except her eyes watched him keenly from the reflection of the glass cabinet. She couldn’t see his face because of the dim lighting of the shop, but she could see his pressed vest and white cravat. He’s also very tall.

She highly doubted he was either of the shop owners.

“Yes,” he drawled, unmoving from his position behind her to the right, “See, this one is charmed to accentuate the wearer’s features, making them look more beautiful than they already were. It will make them… irresistible.”

Hermione hummed as if in thought, “Is that all you think it can do?”

He was silent for a moment. He probably didn’t expect this kind of response. She knew, just by that description alone, any reputation-hungry witch would jump at the chance to acquire such an item. But Hermione knew better.

This necklace will significantly enhance the wearer’s beauty, yes, but it will also increase their vanity to the point of obsession. It would give them the confidence and conceit to proclaim themselves to be the most beautiful of them all. But the more they held onto that belief, the more they would grow insecure to the point where they would easily be jealous of every person who so much received a whisper of a compliment. This would drive them mad till they resort to murder or suicide.

“No,” he answered.

Can this stranger also feel that dark pulse? In all her travels, she had only ever met one person who can, but she already killed that witch.

Cautiously, Hermione turned around.

Hard hazelnut eyes met cold piercing black orbs. Her brows scrunched up together. Has she met this person before?

“Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” she asked innocently.

“No,” he answered as dispassionately, “but you could say I’m an old friend of Mr. Burke.”

She didn’t answer as she continued to stare back at his eyes. They were intense, piercing, lulling, glacial. As if the void itself was behind those very eyes. It made the hairs on her back stand on end.

She didn’t like them at all.

Unconsciously, she took a step back and mentally cursed when she felt the glass cabinet on her back. The blackened heartbeat of the artifact behind her now completely forgotten.

She swore she’d seen this man before…

“Have we met before?” she asked slowly, carefully.

If possible, his eyes turned only darker; she couldn’t tell the difference from his pupil and irises anymore, “I was hoping you would be able to tell me.”

Her brows furrowed in contemplation. Part of her, that war-honed instinct, screamed for her to heighten her senses and observe his every minute movement. Everything about this man was dangerous despite his handsome face.

Then she felt it. It was subtle. So subtle she almost didn’t feel it. That featherlight brush through her skull starting from her forehead.

Legilimens.

Walls of blue fire sprung forth, climbing ever higher like a tempestuous sea. She could feel him push his way through the searing heat, but the more he forced his way, the hotter it became. Even as he tried using his own magic and sheer willpower to douse the flames, the fire showed no sign of relenting at all.

It was overwhelming, suffocating… drowning.

She remembered the feeling of drowning.

In her panic of being reminded of that memory, Hermione forced him back with the excruciating heat and force of an exploding star.

Hermione shook her head as if to help clear her mind of the haze brought by his intrusion. She realized belatedly that she was panting. Her breaths were heavy as if she just ran a marathon, and her hands were braced against the frames of the cabinet behind her.

When she looked up, there was now a significant distance between her and the stranger. He, too, was braced against the shelf behind him as if he was physically thrown back. But what was most noticeable about him were the tendrils of smoke that were hissing off of his hair and clothes. When he looked up, his handsome face was twisted in pain, his pale face was flushed as sweat fell from his temples, and he was hissing between gritted teeth as if he had been burnt even though there wasn’t a single singe on his clothes.

“That… wasn’t very… nice…” she growled between pants.

His eyes flashed a crimson red and her own eyes narrowed back dangerously to the challenge.

He wasn’t the first person she met with red eyes.

“I suppose you are more than what you seem,” his voice was deep, hissing with a hint of a growl that betrayed his own ire. She had to commend him for his self-control, “Hermione Granger.”

Ten thousand sparks of gold radiance shot from within the rings of her russet irises.

“You seem familiar with my name,” her boot-clad feet slid ever so slowly to the side as she shifted into a position poised for fight or flight, “but I don’t seem to recall yours.”

Embers of crimson shards glow an eerie iridescence in contrast to the globe of darkness.

“No?” there was no humor in his voice. His intense, unblinking eyes never once strayed from hers as he slowly righted himself like a snake ready to strike, “Then allow me to refresh your memory. My name is Tom Riddle.”

Tom Riddle.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

The immediate flash of recognition in her eyes snapped that tense cord between them completely.

She flung a hex meant to twist every limb in his body. If he was surprised by her use of dark magic, she didn’t stop to see as she all but flung herself out the door. Narrowly missing a spell aimed at her head by a hair.

As her heart raced and her mind went into overdrive to just run, run, run! Hermione shoved her way through the narrow streets, pushed away witches and wizards without a care, and not once did she dare to look back. A trail of black smoke raced beside her, but she recognized it too late as she was pushed to the side and pinned to the wall of a dead end.

The black smoke billowed and coalesced until it took Riddle’s solid form. His hands pinned her wrists up high over her head while his face looked absolutely thunderous.

“Enough!” he roared to her face, crimson eyes flashed ever brightly, “You will tell me everything you know and you will tell me now!”

But Hermione wasn’t listening. She reared her head back and slammed it squarely at his nose with a shout. Riddle grunted in pain, making him release her wrists and stumble back as he held up his hands to his nose where blood instantly started to drip down from.

It only made him angrier.

The second he casted a curse, her blood sung.

She conjured a shimmering blue shield with a flick of her wrist (her ever-faithful wand immediately answered to her call) that absorbed the attack. She retaliated just as swiftly with a concussive shockwave that rattled the windows of the buildings around them. It should’ve knocked him back. Unfortunately, he didn’t, as he negated it with a counter-spell.

The words that tumbled from their lips were barely inconceivable as their arms moved in a blur of arches, slashes, and jabs. Both were unwilling to give any sort of room that could be taken advantage of as an opening.

It became clear to the both of them that any spell was free game, and neither questioned the unspoken rule as they fired the darkest spells they knew against each other.

Theirs was a battlefield of a flurry of colors. A kaleidoscope of fireworks laced with malevolence and full intention to hurt the other.

It was messy.

A flurry of dark dust-like material gathered from the tip of Riddle’s wand and coalesced together like a spinning drill that shot straight towards her. Hermione instantly recognized this one to have no counter-curse, and hastily conjured three layers of shields around her person. Her feet slid back from the onslaught of dark magic intending to spear right through her complex layers.

Shatter, shatter, shatter.

The spinning darkness drove through each of her shields, producing cracks akin to breaking glass before they shattered completely; and those shards dissolved into particles of light. But with each shield gone, the drill, too, had noticeably weakened. That by the time her last protection came down with a flurry of red sparks, the darkness dissipated like fading smoke.

Hermione jabbed her wand out and a ball of golden light burst forth. Riddle hurriedly conjured up a shield around him.

“Devorare!” she shouted just as the ball was a hair’s breath away from his shield.

Instead of it dissolving, the ball splattered over Riddle’s shield like some sort of paint. Then it began to grow. With its shimmering yellow coat of slime-like texture, it began to crawl all over Riddle’s dome-like shield, intending to swallow its entirety.

Behind the goo-like substance, she missed the way Riddle’s eyes widened in alarm for the first time since the start of their fight as he casted the strongest shield he knew. But it wasn’t enough. Cracks started to form from all sides as the goo began to shrink in size. Its intention was to constrict until his safeguard shatters and he becomes completely devoured.

Riddle had no choice but to concentrate his magic into one acute point and let it explode.

His own shield, along with the yellow substance, burst forth with his shout that covered a wide radius. This would surely alert all of the residents in the Alley, and even the aurors, if not already. Every window was shattered, all of the loose boards, bricks, and stones blew away with an intensity of a bomb, and clouds of dust were kicked up all around them. The very air itself became charged with their magic.

Neither of them cared about the collateral damage.

Hermione peeked from behind her cloak that was capable of deflecting and shielding her from most spells.

Both of them were panting, their hearts were racing wildly, and their blood continued to sing from the high and danger they engaged themselves in.

It had been a long time since the both of them fought like this.

Hermione shot her wand up-

“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, and the force flung her back to the wall so hard, cracks like a spider’s web broke the bricks upon impact. Her wand flew a couple of feet away from where she stood.

“Insolent wench!” Riddle stomped a foot towards her, his bone-white yew wand aimed true to her coughing form at the ground ion her hands and knees. “Remember, you struck first. I intended to be lenient but you forced my hand. I’ll force the answers out of you even if I have to tear away your mind.”

She couldn’t care less what the hell he was talking about.

Her eyes snapped up at him with the same level of intensity. If Riddle’s were the freezing, glacial pressure from the deepest depths of the ocean, Hermione’s were the searing, scorching blaze of the brightest star in the night sky.

“Drop dead,” she spat.

She raised her hand and summoned her familiar blue fire. She swung her arm in a wide arch and a wave of the smokeless flames rushed towards him. And as he drew up a shield to protect himself from the hottest fire color, Hermione summoned her wand back to her hand while with the other pulled out two items the size of marbles.

She first threw the crystal of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder onto the ground, and they were instantly surrounded by an impenetrable cloud of darkness.

Despite her blindness, she held up the other item to her lips. It was a small sphere containing dancing white light like a snow globe.

 “The Den,” Hermione whispered hastily, before she, too, threw it to the ground at her feet. The artefact had cut through the fabric of space as a portal appeared that was only big enough for her to go through.  Beyond the circle of shimmering light was the living room of her flat seen from the top view.

Hermione didn’t waste another second to jump down there.

The thing about magical artefacts, was that they were practically bastardized magic turned into objects. Bastardized, because they were capable of doing numerous, permanent effects that should be impossible to be replicated with the wand while also, paradoxically, adhering and defying the multitudes of established laws and theorems about magic. That was why the most competent and useful ones were so rare, limited, and coveted. For example: to the people who knew their intricacies like Hermione and Postino, one of the best advantages that came to mind in using magical artefacts, was that they were nigh impossible to be traced back.

“Stupefy!”

She should’ve known Riddle would never let her cast the last spell.

In that fraction of a window as she fell down the portal, the stunning spell hit her temple and rendered her unconscious as she dropped to her flat in a disgraceful heap. The portal closed the second she went through, and the smoke dissipated half a second later.

When Riddle saw her gone as if she were never there, he shouted in anger and frustration.

As for Hermione…

A mantra of words filled her thoughts before darkness consumed her.

No.

No.

No.

This is impossible.

Impossible!

How is he here?

He’s not supposed to be here!

This wasn’t the deal.

He should not be here.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here…

He shouldn’t be here…

.

.

.

Alduin

Where are you?

Gifts are given freely,

But rewards must be earned.

You need to work for your prize.

Chapter Text

Been around, I’ve survived among the best.

Cold-hearted but I’m human,

There’s a heart still beating in my chest.

If you challenge anybody that I love-

I’ll cease your breath.

Alduin hummed in interest at the flock of white peacocks freely roaming the grounds of Malfoy Manor from the window of the parlor room. In Mr. Malfoy’s insistence, he invited him to his home on the notion that he would love to hear the music that impressed his wife so much she felt obligated to buy him his violin bows.

Despite the obvious discomfort over the man’s aristocratic face, Alduin just smiled throughout the conversation and accepted his invitation without question.

Within the pocket of his short trousers, he rubbed the prickly piece of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and the smoother Sote with his fingers. The latter was the first artefact his mother showed and allowed him to use. First, a person must visualize the location they wished to go to in their head, then they were to whisper the place to the marble-sized object, and lastly, throw it. Regardless if it was thrown on the ground, a wall, or even the ceiling, a portal will appear where anyone can pass through for a limited time. The artefact was immensely valuable, not only with its ease of use, but also the fact that it can bypass difficult and complicated wards. However, this also made it very limited and can only be used once. His mother hadn’t told him how she made it, but she mentioned that it had something to do with a Diricawl- a flightless magical bird native to the island of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean that can apparate at will. She also made him promise to have one on his person at all times and to use it only in case of emergency. Preferably, to get himself home safely.

Alduin looked away from the window and took another once-over around the room. It was his first time inside a mansion. Neither he nor his mother were afficionados of such luxurious fineries, except when it came to clothes; his mother surprisingly had a discernable eye for it. Apart from their basic necessities, their miscellaneous expenses were mostly spent on books, scrolls, and magical artefacts.

‘So this must be what a wealthily elite wizarding family’s house looks like,’ he hummed.

His mother had told him to never receive nor go anywhere with someone whom he didn’t know, especially someone who looked suspicious, but it should be alright since he didn’t feel an ounce of danger from the Malfoy couple, right? They were just like the avians that paraded around in their gardens- all glamorous feathers and no talons.

Besides, he’d been meaning to make contact with the Malfoys, hadn’t he?

From his other pocket, Alduin took out a pack of chocolate frog. With practiced accuracy, he plucked the enchanted treat mid-leap with his free hand, while he flipped the card with the other. Once more, he saw the familiar face of Albus Dumbledore.

‘Again?’ Alduin rolled his eyes before he decidedly threw the pack and card in the fire at the hearth.

He stared as the flames ate the materials while the trapped chocolate frog squirmed between his fingers. The image of the old wizard had disappeared the second the heat touched the card. Personally, he preferred the cerulean blue of his mother’s flames. On one night, as he laid on his bed, he asked his mother to tell him a story from her youth. She told him about the time she and her brother once saved a man’s life from a werewolf and a horde of dementors by time traveling and also saving a hippogriff. He laughed along with her when she told him how afraid she was of flying. She told him that story using her flames as a visual aid to play out the scenes. Alduin remembered falling asleep to the sight of a flaming hippogriff flying circles atop his bed with to figures riding on its back.

Since then, it became his goal to conjure blue flames just like his mother. Those flames which she never needed a wand nor any hand or finger movement to cast; flames whose heat she can also control. When he had asked about them once, she told him it started from a charm she was fond of using as a child, which she then modified in her teens. As is turned out, she had an easier time manipulating it due to her natural affinity to fire.

Alduin had just bitten the chocolate frog’s head when he heard a soft hissing sound behind him. He raised a brow as he turned around towards the door left ajar by the Malfoy couple when they excused themselves to ‘talk’.

“Well, hullo,” he greeted with a grin at the massive head of a reticulated python as it slithered up the back of a nearby armchair. Alduin then bit the frog’s upper torso.

“Another kinspeaker… curiouser and curiouser…” the snake hissed, voice feminine, as she flicked her forked tongue towards him, “Your scent… is familiar and not…”

“Really now? How curious indeed,” Alduin replied. The sibilant words tumbled out of his lips as naturally as English.

She stared at him for a long moment. Even as she moved her body to coil around the armchair more comfortably, her unblinking eyes never once strayed from his own onyx pools.

Alduin popped the last of the frog in his mouth and licked his fingers clean.

“I am called Nagini. What is yours, little one?” she introduced with a dip of her raised head that now met his at eye-level, which only showed off how massive she really was from the average python of her species. It was highly possible she could eat him if he were any smaller.

Nevertheless, Alduin was more pleased with the snake’s display of polite manners. He stepped towards Nagini with confidence and placed a hand over his chest before he dipped his head down in the same level of courtesy he showed Mrs. Malfoy.

“Pleased to meet you, Nagini. My name is Alduin Granger.”

“Al-du-in…” the snake hissed loudly as she enunciated each syllable of his name, “You have a very powerful name.”

“Thank you, Nagini. My dearest mother named me that,” he beamed, “I like your name as well.”

.

Tom appeared at the apparition point right outside the large, wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor with nary a sound. His dark, handsome face was twisted into a deep frown. His teeth gnashed together in barely-concealed rage as he held his wand in a white-knuckled grip that could’ve snapped it in two if not for its own magical affinity.

Without a single pause in his stomping steps, his magic flared over the manor’s wards and allowed him entry instantly.

Burning gold behind russet irises flashed in his mind’s eye, and his magic answered with an explosion of a random bust he passed by as he made his way inside the mansion.

He couldn’t help but think about what had just occurred a few hours ago.

First, there was her unusual defense against legilimency. The most common tactic for occlumens would be to erect walls up to safeguard one’s mind. Those who had greater mental fortitude and creativity would even design them as labyrinths against their would-be invaders. Whether they be the weak kind or thick and imposing, decorated with thorn vines and brambles, it all depended on the occlumens. The quality of the walls also spoke of the wizard or witch’s level of power. Point was- it had always been walls, and walls were meant to be broken down.

However, the witch’s mind was a misty bog that became a sea of flames, which only grew hotter and hotter the more he tried to wade through.

It was only belatedly did he realize that the heat not only affected him mentally, but physically as well. That even though it left no tangible evidence, Tom felt the temperature of his entire body increase as if he was in the throes of a dangerous fever.

It was… creative.

How did she do it?

She was able to resist his legilimens… and provoked him into a duel.

A duel that ended in a stalemate.

Curse for curse.

Counter for counter.

Magic for magic.

Since when was the last time he had fought someone that proved to be a real challenge? Someone who could actually threaten him with defeat?

Not to mention… she was actually able to escape from him. HIM! He literally had her in his clutches, and she just slipped away.

Was it apparition? No. He had perfected and improved upon that spell. He never heard the telltale sound nor had he felt the minute twist of magic in the air for jumping through space. The use of the Instant Darkness Powder may have effectively incapacitated him for a moment but he was sure his stunning hex hit true… but where did she go? They were fighting at a dead end with the wall to her back. Even if she had managed to jump over the wreckage that resulted from him breaking free from her spell that nearly suffocated him, he had searched around Knockturn Alley until the aurors arrived to investigate the scene. For surely, she couldn’t have gotten far?

But she did disappear… as if she was never there.

There was also the revelation that the cantankerous witch was a practitioner of dark magic herself. He had recognized those dark spells she used as those which could be seen from ministry-banned, ‘BURN ON SIGHT’ books of several countries. Books of which he had difficulty or luckily acquired during his own travels.

Tom had already guessed her to be an unordinary which, but this was the first time he actually had a tangible experience on how unordinary she really was.

Hermione Granger was beyond his expectations.

However, out of all his ruminations, only one thing stood out to him the most.

She knew him.

The moment he said his name, her eyes widened with a hint of an emotion he knew all too well from the eyes of others- fear.

Even though it had been odd that she did not show any signs of recognition in the beginning, the fact remained that in the end- she knew his name.

So, naturally, the next question that came was: Why does Tom still not know her?

Could that witch actually have done something to his memories? How else could he explain how he couldn’t remember anything about her? Let alone for her to be able to conceive.

Tom continued to march his way to his suite amidst the turmoil in his head. He had just climbed the first few flights of the manor’s grand staircase when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“My lord?”

He casted a glance at Abraxas from over his shoulder, just in time to see the way his brows lifted in surprise.

The first form of respect given to a person depended on how they clothed and carried themselves. Regardless of one’s preferences, no one would ever take another seriously if they were less than presentable. Tom had always made sure to make himself look neat and impeccable ever since he started Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Tom hadn’t exactly came out of his skirmish with that witch unscathed. His once pressed robes were frayed, and cuts both big and small littered around him in various places, from the hexes that managed to get past his shield. There was also a noticeable singe on his forearms from when he initially protected himself from the blue flames.

That too. He needed to look into that as well. How was she able to conjure those flames non-verbally and wandlessly? He had never seen such a thing before. Although there were magicfolk who chose the path to specialize in elemental magic, the witch made it look so natural. As if the flames have always been a part of her.

“There’s someone whom you must see-“

“Not now,” Tom broke from his reverie and growled between his teeth. The rush of battle still made his blood and magic sing. He was absolutely in no mood in entertaining anyone at the moment.

It had been a really long time since he needed to put any effort into a duel like that.

“But-“

“Do you have trouble hearing, Abraxas?”

Red flashed behind his eyes in irritation. He was just about to continue moving up the stairs when Abraxas suddenly blurted, “It’s the boy, sir!”

It effectively made the ravenhead freeze at where he stood. Then his eyebrows lifted fractionally in realization.

“He’s here in the manor,” he stated.

“Yes,” Abraxas visibly swallowed.

Tom snapped his head towards him, “How?”

“M-my wife, my lord. She was the one who met him first.”

“Oh?” Tom drawled without bothering to hide the dangerous lilt in his seemingly casual tone, “And just how did dear Serafina came to know about him, hm?”

He made it explicitly clear that no one outside the inner circle could know about Alduin’s existence and his connection to him until he said otherwise. This included their wives, closest friends, and even their children. Tom did not need people talking unless they wanted their tongues cut off permanently.

“I swear I never told her about him, my lord!” Abraxas defended hastily, “She met him at Carkitt Market, in a store called Concordia and Plunkett Musical Instruments. She was at Finn’s Finest Fineries looking for new jewelry when she told me she heard someone playing very lovely music. She had been so impressed of the boy’s talent that she bought him bows for his violin. We agreed to meet there after I finished doing business with some contacts, and that’s how I was able to meet him. I swear she knows nothing about the boy’s connection with you… but she may have her suspicions already because of your resemblance…”

“Music?” Tom wondered oddly before he clicked his tongue in annoyance, “And just how were you able to convince him to come home with you?”

“I… invited him over, my lord,” he answered, sounding unsure how he had easily accomplished it himself, “I told him I would love to hear his music that impressed my wife so much at the manor, and that I have a friend who would be very interested in meeting him. I also offered him tea and sweets.”

“And? He just came willingly? Surely that couldn’t be all there is. What else did you say?”

“I-I swear, my lord. That was all.”

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. He could always tell whenever someone was lying to him, but despite the obvious uncertainty and nervousness of his old classmate, there was no lie in Abraxas’ voice.

Which only spoke volumes to Tom.

Had he given the boy too much credit? After all, if the boy was anything like him, then he should have some sense of self-preservation. Didn’t his mother teach him about stranger danger? Surely, the boy knew better than to just go to a stranger’s home and let himself be lured with sweets like some gullible child from a muggle fairy tale. But the presence of his ring was strong evidence that his mother was quite protective of him.

Then that only meant that Alduin wanted to be here.

“Where is he?”

“We left him in the parlor, sir. We brought him here through the floo.”

“I see. Then make sure he stays there. I’ll see to him shortly. Oh, and Abraxas?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Is dinner ready yet?”

Abraxas blinked owlishly at his strange question, “I’m… sure the elves have already prepared something… Shall I have one send a meal to your suite?”

“No. The boy and I will be dining together.”

With that said, Tom returned to his suite and quickly changed his clothes. All the while his mind whirled of the impending meeting with his bastard son.

Truthfully, he had not anticipated meeting the boy’s mother in Knockturn Alley so soon. He had planned on lying-in wait at her chosen apparition point outside the plaza to confront her, somewhere more private and whisk her away to finally make her sing. But as luck would have it, she was brought to him on a silver platter when she entered Borgin and Burkes just as he thought of paying his old employer a ‘visit’.

He knew it was her the second she came in. That wild mess of brown curls were a dead giveaway.

‘Typical,’ he had thought with a roll of his eyes when she stopped in front of one of the shop’s glass cabinets to peer at the studded necklace.

He thought she was like most women who were drawn at anything that glittered. That was, until she alluded that there was something more to the necklace than meets the eye. Of course, he had known of its effects already. Years of working around magical artefacts had trained his eye to quickly appraise such items to something beyond mastery. But that woman…

How did she know? Could she sense it too? That peculiar dark pulse that could only be borne from exceptional artefacts?

But it was one thing to feel its danger, it’s another to have enough knowledge to even guess the artefact’s effect.

‘Interesting…’

He definitely did not expect to meet her so soon, let alone duel against her. Now, by some sick twist, he was also going to meet his bastard son in a few moments.

How… utterly convenient.

With his shoulders squared and emotions more composed than a few minutes ago, Tom approached the parlor room where Alduin had been obediently staying for more than an hour already.

He turned the knob gently and paused at the sound of the boy’s laughter.

“That story amuses you?” he heard Nagini hiss.

“Of course it does! That was absolutely brilliant of you!” came Alduin’s enthusiastic sibilant words.

“Thank you, snakelet.”

It made Tom grip the knob tightly before he pushed the door further to see the boy and his familiar. They were in front of the open fire at the hearth, as if keeping themselves warm. Alduin was sitting on the carpeted floor with his legs crossed while Nagini had her massive body coiled around in a mass behind him. The boy was leaning back on her while the snake rested her head on his lap.

They looked so comfortable in their positions conversing with each other, as if they were old friends.

“You have nice manners, Nagini. I like that. It’s more than I could say with most people,” Alduin said conversationally.

“And you, as well, little one. You are not as bothersome as most human offspring.”

Alduin smiled gratefully, “Why thank you! My mother taught me that it pays well to have proper manners. She said it spoke to a person’s character. I also would not want to dishonor her for being a crude, ill-mannered son.”

“You speak very highly of your mother.”

A softer smile graced his lips this time as he stared into the fire, “Of course I do. She is kind, warm, takes very good care of me, and has always protected me. I am… very fond of her. Especially since we only have each other.”

“If you say so, then she must be someone worthy of respect.”

“She does, and she’s very powerful too.  I once saw her behead a Nundu with just a swipe of her arm without even using her wand!” he boasted excitedly before looking back down on the massive snake head on his lap, “Would you like to meet her, Nagini? I promise she has no qualms about snakes. In fact, she’s very fond of the ouroboros herself, and her magic is the best music in all the worlds!”

“It would be my utmost pleasure to meet the honorable mother of the young lord,” she hissed reverently, “May I ask, where is she now?”

“Out hunting. I do hope she comes home soon. She’s been gone since morning.”

“You always mention your mother, little one. What of your father?”

 “I don’t have one,” Alduin answered without a single pause, “Speaking of which, Nagini, have you eaten yet?”

“Nagini.”

At the sound of his voice, Alduin turned his head around towards him. His practiced polite smile now plastered on his face, whereas Nagini raised her head from the boy’s lap to greet him.

“Hullo, Mr. Riddle,” the boy greeted as he rose from where he sat.

Tom stared at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes at his own familiar, who has yet to uncoil and return to his side like she would usually do whenever he was in her presence.

He hissed, “What is this?”

If the boy was surprised of him speaking in parseltongue, he didn’t show.

Nagini hissed loudly as she circled around Alduin, and then raised herself up till her head was almost lying over the boy’s shoulder.

“Alduin… Snakelet, master…”

Tom’s jaw tensed at her answer, turning his sights back at the boy who only stared back unflinchingly.

Must he look so much like him?

He decided to not respond to Nagini’s endearing term for the boy and instead said, “Alduin, you must’ve waited long.”

He casted a glance at one of the side tables where an empty plate (that had once been full of tarts based on the sort of crumbs left behind) and teacup was left forgotten.

“A little,” Alduin said humbly, “but Nagini here had been a very pleasant company.”

“How wonderful,” he said dryly as the boy caressed the massive snake’s head with the back of his hand without a hint of fear.

“Although, I admit I was expecting either Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy to fetch me. I was beginning to think I came here for naught,” the boy smiled pleasantly.

“I apologize on their behalf. Something came up that required their immediate attention.”

Truly, Abraxas had to explain to his concerned wife why they had to bring the boy to their home, an act that almost equated to kidnapping him.

“Ahh, how irresponsible of them, to leave me here on my lonesome. Although, they did keep their promise of giving me sweets,” he shrugged, “So no harm done, I suppose. Furthermore, I was able to meet Nagini.”

“You should not speak ill of the owners of this manor, boy.”

Alduin met his stare head-on, “Yes, but they’re not the ones who lord over this house, do they, sir?”

“No, I suppose not,” Tom had to grit his teeth to suppress the smirk at the boy’s sharp intuition. He taunted, “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go with strangers and accept anything from them?”

“Yes,” he nodded firmly but didn’t elaborate further.

Seeing as he had no intention of saying anything else, Tom took out his pocket watch and feigned looking at the time.

“Well look at that, it’s almost time for dinner. Would you like to join me, Alduin?”

“I would like that,” his dark eyes glinted and his smile widened at the mention of food. Then he casted a quick glance at the snake beside him, “Can Nagini come too?”

Tom looked between his familiar and the boy. He wasn’t sure what to make of the immediate bond that was forged between them. Surely, they just met. Was it because the boy was also a parselmouth? He remembered how snakes also easily followed him around as a boy. But Nagini was no ordinary python. Her loyalty towards him should’ve taken precedence among everyone else. Was it because she could tell that Alduin was his son?

“Sure,” Tom answered, and watched as he held the door open for Alduin and Nagini- who slithered faithfully beside him, before taking the lead to the meeting room.

The short trek had been silent, save for their light footsteps. Once inside, Tom waved his hand at the hearth to start the fire, and then to the long table to shorten it for a couple of chairs. Without pause, Tom took his seat at the head, which garnered him an inquisitive look from the boy who wisely chose not to question it.

“Won’t Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy join us?” Alduin asked once Tom gave him permission to sit. He chose the other end of the table.

“No. I asked them to leave us alone.”

Alduin hummed, “How generous of them. You must have quite the influence, don’t you Mr. Riddle?”

Instead of answering that, Tom called for a house elf whom introduced herself as Dusty. When he ordered the creature to set up a meal for two, the subservient creature bowed to him reverently with the same level of respect towards her Malfoy master. Just as she was about to pop away, the elf did a double-take when her huge eyes caught sight of the boy. Dusty looked so shocked her eyes looked as if they would pop out of their sockets. In response, Alduin just smiled and even waved a small hand towards the elf. Dusty then sputtered before popping away. It didn’t take long for them to wait as the house elf reappeared and set each of them a plate of freshly grilled venison and pumpkin soup.

Both Tom and Alduin ate silently. The former kept his eyes on the boy like a hawk, while the latter ate nonchalantly as he savored the meat with an appreciative smile on his face. Tom took note, from the way the boy sat straight on his chair, to the practiced way he held his cutlery. It foretold him that the boy was brought up better than he thought for having a no-named single mother. Such distinct behavior was practically expected from wizarding families of reputable names. Tom himself had to quickly learn such manners of etiquette in order to not stand out in Slytherin any more than he already did in his first year. Meanwhile, Nagini kept silent at her place in front of the fireplace.

Once dessert was brought in, Tom decided to finally break the silence, but not before he caught the way Alduin enthusiastically delved into his dessert with unabashed glee like the child he was.

“How did you get here, Alduin?”

“Mr. Malfoy invited me here. We came through the floo,” he answered before shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

Tom felt his eyebrow twitch, “No. I meant, how were you able to get the attention of the Malfoys?”

Alduin hummed and continued eating a bit more as he thought of his answer.

“My mother taught me to always keep an open ear, sir, and I happen to have a very good memory,” he began, and his tone shifted from cryptically snooty to being a prideful know-it-all, “I don’t like crowds, but in places like Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market, where the everyday hustle and bustle of commonfolk happen, people tend to talk. When people talk, they gossip, and in those gossips, names are easily mentioned. Hypothetically, let’s say some shopkeeper had been praised for knowing everything about everyone in Wizarding Britain, and because they like to act humble, they mention another name that happened to be Mr. Malfoy. Then it just so happens that another shopkeeper, this time a certain Mr. Raoul Finn, happened to mention acquiring a newly imported gem to show off to a certain Mrs. Malfoy who has a habit of coming to Carkitt Market every fifteenth and last day of the month to personally check for new arrivals in order to stay on the newest trends. Not only that, they also seemed to mention that Mrs. Malfoy has a certain taste for music that I happen to provide. And because I happen to be an adorable, innocent, little boy, the shopkeepers saw no harm in talking about anything in my presence. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Yes, hypothetically.”

Brilliant.

Tom had to steeple his fingers over his mouth to hide the smirk that broke from his face upon hearing the boy’s explanation. He was then reminded how he used to do the same as a boy. He’d do anything to get out of that damned orphanage, and if that meant listening on to useless drivel to know whom to grab favors and run errands for, he’d do it.

“You’re a sharp one,” Tom complimented his son for the first time.

“Mother and I like playing puzzles. She said that every piece, no matter how insignificant they look, fits somewhere in the grand picture,” he said as if that answered everything.

Tom’s brows furrowed at being reminded of that insufferable witch, “Indeed.”

“I think this is the part when you ask what you really wanted to ask me from the start, Mr. Riddle,” Alduin said as he licked the last of his ice cream.

Bossy brat. He must’ve gotten that from his mother.

“Why are you here, Alduin?” he relented.

Alduin once more stared straight into his eyes, “Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to meet you again, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom knew there was a reason the boy targeted the Malfoys specifically, and he had just confessed to it. It was true, Abraxas knew almost everyone in Wizarding Britain. His sources run far and wide, and is especially thick in the Sacred Twenty-Eight and those of great influence and power. Tom’s guidance and Abraxas’ family’s immense wealth made that possible. If he were to give an educated guess, the boy must’ve planned of getting information about him by getting close to Serafina through music. He wouldn’t even be surprised if she had already fallen for the boy’s charms. And knowing Abraxas’ fondness for his wife, it wouldn’t be long for him to get what he wanted.

Begrudgingly, Tom had to give credit where credit was due.

“Pray tell, why would you want to meet me again?”

Alduin answered almost immediately, “You’re intriguing, and I am very curious about you, sir. You’re also very funny.”

Funny? Him? Tom’s brows furrowed deeper. How in the bloody hell was he in any way funny? He then remembered their first meeting in that alley where the boy outright laughed at him. Alduin called him funny then as well.

However, before Tom could ask, Alduin continued with a question, “Did it surprise you, Mr. Riddle, to meet another parselmouth?”

His jaw tensed. If his eyes flashed crimson, Alduin made no indication of noticing nor did he care. The boy was too smart for his own good. Did he already know beforehand that he was his father? Did his mother tell him? If so, how much did she say? The boy already has a mastery in talking that befit the Slytherin House, and a part of Tom just wanted to shake him to get the blatant answers right out of him.

He had never tried using Legilimency on a child before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

“Did you?” Tom asked instead.

“No. Only one specific bloodline has the right to become parselmouths.”

‘So he does know about his heritage to some extent,’ Tom concluded. The way he casually talked with Nagini, his ring, and the fact that he knew what the language of the snakes was called was proof of that. But why would he go out of his way of meeting him himself? The boy’s either really brave or reckless. Did he think he would be able to endear himself to him? Did it stem from a child’s paternal longing? Or was the boy just lying when he said he wasn’t surprised to discover another parselmouth? As far as Tom knew, he was the only parselmouth left in the entire world.

Until now.

Instead of answering, Tom’s eyes locked with his son’s equally void-black pools and casted a silent legilimens. With the masterful swiftness, sharpness, and accuracy of a snake, Tom slithered into Alduin’s mind with careful consideration only because he didn’t want to indispose the boy until he got what he wanted.

Unbeknownst to him, the emerald eyes of Alduin’s ring glowed in reaction to his invading magic.

He had expected a jumbled world, perhaps even a gallery of adequately organized memories given the boy’s level of maturity and intelligence, but instead, Tom found himself inside a white void full of thick fog. It was freezing. Alduin’s mindscape was empty, and when he pushed himself forward, Tom was met with a giant wall hundreds of meters high that continued even through the fog and clouds above.

Tom felt his hand on the wall, intending to break his way through, but something made him pause.

The wall. It wasn’t made of rough stone nor was it decorated with brambles for added protection. Instead, it had a smooth, almost glossy feel to it. It also had a silver sheen, almost opalescent, despite the absence of any direct source of light.

Perplexed, Tom reversed his steps and that’s when he noticed the familiar alternating pattern of a reptilian body.

He had been touching a giant snake scale.

In a blink of an eye, the wall moved and slammed against him.

Tom felt his chair tilt back as he returned to reality. There was a harsh throbbing on his forehead as if he had been physically hit. His hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t care less if his eyes had turned completely red as molten magma coursed through his veins in anger.

His legilimency had been thwarted—again.

Tom glared at the boy across the table who mirrored his intense grip over his own chair.

A fierce scowl twisted across Alduin’s face as he, too, glared back at him in irritation and without fear. It was the most genuine expression he’s ever shown him.

“That… wasn’t very… nice,” Alduin growled between pants.

His once bottomless eyes were now shining with the burning golden glow of an exploding star.

Just then, the entire Malfoy Manor shook with great intensity.

He and his mother were having a picnic. It was such a beautiful summer day. Out in the rolling hills of France with the sun high in the sky, they ate over sconces and sandwiches, they pointed and laughed at clouds taking various shapes, and his mother read while he napped on a huge blanket. Then while she was teaching him how to make flower crowns, he discovered a colony of puffskeins. He laughed and giggled as he chased them around the field until he strayed a few ways away. There was a small muggle village there, but what made him pause was the small family of three smiling together.

A mother, a son, and a father.

He stared at them with an impassive look on his face until he heard his mother call for him. Alduin raced back to her without a single glance back.

Bloodlines are broken to pay the price of a house once proud of its name.

Teach the son of his mother’s strife now that vengeance sets her aflame.

Bold and bright are the fires that burn as her conquests stretch to the sea.

Fear not son, now the tables turned, let your soul walk free...

Lal ilah eth drowl reeta, lyon nos fo avretno, bifrnorst fo dortemlov!

She remembered.

It was warm, and then it was cold.

The sun was high on that day, and the sky was the bluest she’s ever seen.

It was ironic.

She felt the warmth enveloped her as she fell… fell… fell…

-and then the biting cold as she drowned… drowned… drowned…

The sheer chill that filled her lungs was numbing. She lost the feel and control over her body in an instant. There was no point in resisting even if she wanted to.

She supposed it was better this way. It was more merciful. She had seen worse after all.

It made her wonder if this was what Harry felt.

In that last moment before darkness took her, she felt comfort knowing that the brother she never had didn’t have to suffer.

And when her mind strayed out of thought in time, she remembered, because she can’t forget.

She can never forget. She doesn’t want to forget.

Both the good and the bad.

Because that’s all she ever has left.

She remembered everything, for every day that was as long as a life age of the earth.

Of her world that was no more.

But to her greatest surprise, it was not the end.

.

Hermione woke up with a sharp gasp as if she had been held underwater for too long and was granted air for the first time. She raised herself from her awkward position on the waxed floor of her home- her home…

She was back home!

She whipped her head around and saw the polar bear rug by the front door, the full samurai armor in the corner, the painting of a family of tigers, the piano, the humble living room, the two doors for each bedroom, and the empty kitchen.

She made it to the Den. She made it back home.

She was able to escape from him.

The events from before she lost consciousness played back in her head like a film played in fast-forward, and her entire body jolted as if electrified upon remembering the dark wizard she had just desperately tried to run away from as the rush of blind panic and adrenaline overtook her.

Harry had told them about him, of course. They knew his name was Tom Marvolo Riddle before he started calling himself Lord Voldemort. She had seen and even held his diary herself when Harry showed it to her after she was cured from her Polyjuice Potion mishap.

She knew his story, knew it from Harry, but she had never really seen him until the Battle of Hogwarts in all his monstrous glory. Even when everything went to hell after that; even when she went into hiding for years and embraced magic in its true colorless form in the name of survival; even when she, too, fell to her own demise with the warmth of the sun on her face and the cold of the sea swallowing her, she had never seen Voldemort ever again.

Until now.

Only Harry and those who knew him before his resurrection had known what he looked like in his youth. There was a reason why she strode into Borgin and Burkes so confidently in this time period.

They made a bloody deal!

Something churned and ignited at the pit of her stomach. She was no stranger to anger- to fury.

Was she double-crossed?

No… there was no reason to be.

Gifts are freely given but rewards must be earned.

You need to work for your prize.

The fact that her Alduin exists was proof of that part of the deal was kept.

She knew why she was here. She knew it was her turn to fulfill her end of the bargain.

But why is Tom bloody Marvolo fucking Riddle here?!

Not only that but he knows about her. He called her by name. He demanded answers from her. But what answers? What even were the questions? He came at her with accusations she had no idea what about.

But how?

In this time period, no one should know a thing about her. She had no documents- she didn’t need them. If she needed anything, she let money do the talking. It was a hard pill to swallow back then, but she had to concede that anyone will open their ears if she put down the right amount. She had more than enough to make every vault in Gringotts look like pocket change. The only measly exceptions were those whom she held business with and even then, communication with them had only been brief. If she ever needed anything, illegal or no, she only had to contact someone to get them for her- Postino being one of those handful of people she chose throughout her travels.

No. No matter how she looked at it, Tom Riddle shouldn’t know about her. She wanted nothing to do with him- she didn’t even think he could be here! But now that he does…

Oh… Oh no…

The blazing fire that lit her very heart was suddenly doused with freezing cold waters. Every question, every hypothesis, and every reason that bombarded her came to a screeching halt as the face of her only living family left came to the forefront of her mind.

Alduin.

She needed to find her son.

NOW.

She checked the time and apparated to the fountain, expecting to see her boy watching the magicked water and statues, trying to decipher how they worked on his own, as he waited.

He wasn’t there.

She circled the plaza and searched the entirety of Diagon Alley thrice.

He wasn’t anywhere.

She waited for him at the fountain.

He never showed.

The ever-freezing clawed hand of fear gripped her heart for the first time in a very long while.

Recklessness was a quality she had always frowned at. Even more so during her time of hiding and surviving long enough to see another morning had been her highest priority. But at that moment, when her only son’s smiling face pumped the blood in her veins and washed every other thought in her head, her innermost Gryffindor Lioness reared its head and roared in demand for her precious cub.

Hermione practically tore the sealed cabinet in her room. The very enchanted furniture itself complied to the call of her magic like a humble servant and allowed her free entry. She stepped into a vast room full of shelves and glass casings similar to a museum. Except every item on display, tamed or no, held power that served no one but their own. In a way, it could be said that these limited magical artefacts were sentient.

However, Hermione couldn’t care for the lot of them even as their blackened heartbeats pounded against her ears, like sirens singing to her with the sweetest temptation.

No. She was a woman- a mother- on a mission.

Her vinewood wand (loyal and true, returned to her) shot into her hand the second she stopped in front of the familiar seamless box. With graceful arches of her arms like a conductor to an orchestra, the box itself opened and disabled its function for protection as it presented to her its contents like an offering.

She placed her free hand on the shiny dark orb and all at once, a tempestuous whirl of fire and shadow stormed inside. It was wild in the most entrancing kind, that those with weak wills would’ve found themselves raptured at the very sight of dancing flames and darkness alone.

Ask me… ask me… ask me…

The Allsehend’s sibilant whispers rang in her head. It reminded her of Voldemort’s own cruel whispers that time he practically demanded for Harry to march to his own death in the Forbidden Forest.

I will tell the past… I will show the present… I will whisper the future… all you have to do is ask… ask… ask… and you will be All-Seeing-

“Shut up,” Hermione spat as if it was an annoying, talkative person. There was no past of hers it can tell, nor did she want to hear anything about the future. She only needed to see one thing in the present. “Where is he? Where is Alduin? WHERE IS MY SON?!”

And because she asked, even if she outright demanded, the Allsehend could do nothing but comply.

The spinning fire and shadow pushed to the sides of its glass prison and the image of her son’s frowning face appeared.

Why was he frowning?

When the image pulled back, her breath caught in her throat. Alduin was at a dinner table frowning at Tom Riddle.

When the image pulled back again, she could almost hear her teeth grinding as her face twisted into a snarl.

Her son was sitting at a dining table, with Tom Marvolo Riddle, at Malfoy Manor.

She could never forget the cursed place where that mad witch Bellatrix scarred her arm in.

Her necklace suddenly burned hot.

Tunnel vision was a deadly thing to have on the verge of battle. It meant that emotions have dominated, thus had rendered the mind and eyes blind to the world around them; and an unfocused, defenseless mind was easiest to defeat.

Constant Vigilance! --Alastor Moody used to say. She had no doubt he would be furious with her if he saw her now.

If he saw her apparate to Malfoy Manor with her magic roiling and toiling with absolute anger (and fear) in her urgent bid to bring back her son.

Hermione stopped at a distance from where she could sense the wards of Malfoy Manor. Wards that were no doubt ancient and powerful that befit an old family like the Malfoys.

Wards that were about to be destroyed.

With one hand holding her wand firmly, the other held a single black and red arrow tipped with white feathers. However, instead of a sharp, pointed, metal end, a blunt golden knob was at its opposite end. Strips of parchment made of ashwinder skin painted with runes of the most exotic malevolent kind were tied together by the feathered end with two golden bells.

She waved her wand at the arrow and it floated up. She then moved her own position standing side face with her arms straight as if she were holding an invisible bow. The hand that held her wand was the one beside her head, and she used it as a guide to lock the blunt end of the arrow to point straight at the wrought iron gates where locks were supposed to be.

The Japanese were truly creative people- both the muggle and wizard-kind. But once the language barrier had been brought down, they opened her eyes to methods and possibilities unheard of in Europe. One of those, she learned, were their love of use in talismans of various forms and functions. It was their unique version of warding. The most common of which were those meant for protection- whether it was for their homes, individual people, or even their own pets.

This one, however, she would have to apologize for creating this abomination to their craft.

For instead of protecting a home, she twisted it in order to invade.

She flicked her wrist and the arrow cut through the air with a whistle until it hit the gates.

The entire property shook as her lone arrow fought through the wards with a ferocity of an enraged dragon. The point where the arrow touched the invisible shield created by centuries-old wards sizzled and sparked to the point visible bolts of electricity manifested. As if to show the intensity between the warring magicks. It rippled and electrified the air around her, cracked the invisible dome of the property like precious glass, and shook the very earth beneath her feet.

She had no doubt those within the manor felt it too.

As much as her old grudge demanded vindication for what she had gone through in that house, she knew that this lone arrow of hers wouldn’t be enough to completely destroy it. If she wanted to, she should’ve brought more. But time was against her for every second her son was in the presence of that man.

She would ask her questions later. For nothing was more important than getting her son back and making sure he’s safe.

A resounding boom! Signaled the end of the conflict between her arrow and the wards. For the briefest moment, the invisible shield dome flickered in appearance but it was more than enough for her to see the gaping hole in front of the gates.

Hermione blasted the iron gates open and strode down the gravel path with purpose.

Figures were appearing all around her.

Most likely, Voldemort’s followers. But whoever they were, she didn’t stop to even wonder. Not even for a second.

At first there was only one, then two, and then three, until she lost count upon the flurry of spells firing her way like fireworks.

She had no time to waste on this lot.

If there was one more thing war taught her—it was that anything goes, and even the safest spells could turn into the most lethal ones.

The Bubble-Head Charm, for example, a spell with the primary purpose of giving the caster a continuous supply of oxygen to breathe underwater, could be twisted to do the opposite instead. And fire eats oxygen to keep it burning. It was only a matter of casting them around mouths like a mask; because these were magical fire, they couldn’t easily be taken out nor touched.

A human brain can only last less than a minute before losing consciousness due to oxygen deprivation. She was merciful enough to lift the spell before it could hit the sixty-second mark, because despite her unbridled anger, she did not come here to kill.

There was only one man whom she will not hesitate to unleash the product of years of war and paranoia.

Dark Lord or no, if she found even a single scratch on her son…

With the burn of the necklace on her chest, Hermione let it guide her to her son’s whereabouts until she stood once more in that vast drawing room.

Like another sick cliché.

“Mother!”

Her burning hickory eyes snapped immediately towards her son before she even heard him call for her.

“Al…” she breathed before her eyes fixed on the man she had fought in Knockturn not so long ago. All traces of panic and fear were replaced with the scorching heat of anger as she watched her son being held hostage with a bone-white yew wand pressed at his temple.

She enunciated, “Let. Him. Go. Riddle.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands,” came his deep, smooth, dangerous tone. One that belied his own anger, “You are the one who owes me explanations, after all.”

“I owe you nothing,” she hissed as her hand shook with how hard she gripped her wand.

He ignored her, “To be fair, this wasn’t exactly the family reunion I had envisioned, but I do believe that fire should be fought with fire. An eye for an eye, per se.”

She ignored him too, “Al, don’t be afraid. I’m here now.”

She couldn’t care less what the bloody hell he was talking about.

She just wanted her son back.

Alduin didn’t answer as he held onto the arm that grasped him across the shoulders, locking him in place. His face still had a deep frown as he kept trying to look at his side where the wand was pressed on his head.

“You’re a very curious one, aren’t you, Alduin?” Tom looked down at him who now had his eyes shut close so tightly his brows scrunched together deeply, “That’s why you came here to me, didn’t you? Don’t you think mommy has a lot of explaining to do? I wanted to settle this quietly but she came in here with wands blazing. It’s only fair if I return the sentiment. Don’t you think so, son?”

Hermione blinked.

Son? Why would he…

Her bunched-up brows began to lift as realization finally dawned on her.

The same raven locks.

The shape of their faces.

The bottomless, hypnotic, dark color of their eyes.

Oh.

Oh no…

“You sick snake!” Hermione roared with all her might.

Four things happened in that next couple of seconds—

One, smoke filtered between Alduin’s fingers from where he held onto Tom’s arm, that caused the latter to let go in shock as intense heat ate through his sleeves and reddened his skin.

Two, Alduin had only covered a few feet in his sprint towards her when Tom recovered. Seeing this, Hermione slashed her free hand at her son’s direction and he was pushed back to the side and away from the battlefield.

Three, Tom and Hermione made a circling motion above their heads in sync.

Four, their magic- called forth from its rawest, most primal form, took shape and collided.

Tom’s magic was an acrid green while Hermione’s was a shimmering gold. Manifested like bolts of lightning, their magic clashed together in a spine-tingling, breathtaking deadlock. Neither of which had any intention of giving the smallest fraction of a window as both held their grounds with only their raw power and emotions fueling them.

While the former was full of rage at the audacity, insolence, and confusion, the latter only had the desire to protect her precious person against the evil she knew that stood before them.

It was beautiful, blinding, suffocating.

The point of collision was a burst of light that sparked off a display of fireworks. Fireworks that blasted everything away from their path, tore holes and splintered wood, stone, and furniture, billowed their clothes with the wind brought by the force alone, and electrified the very air that would’ve made any living creature flee on sight.

This collision of magic was a proof of their power.

That they were at least evenly matched.

Both had the desire to win.

Neither wanted to admit defeat.

So what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?

It explodes…

Unless something intervenes.

“Stop it! Both of you! It doesn’t sound right anymore! STOP IT!”

In the midst of the chaos brought by their magic, Tom and Hermione heard Alduin’s desperate plea. It startled them out of their deadlock stupor and fizzled out the magic between them.

However, neither had the chance to see as Alduin threw the Instant Darkness Powder and Sote at the ground and in that darkness, he pulled his mother with a strength permitted by adrenaline and desperation and they both disappeared once more through the portal to their Den.

“Al?” Hermione approached her son carefully as he backed himself away to the nearest corner. His hands held the sides of his head where his ears were as if he was desperately blocking out a very loud noise.

“Stop it… It doesn’t sound right at all… mother’s magic doesn’t sound nice anymore… I don’t like it… I don’t like it at all…”

Alduin muttered between hiccups as fat tears poured down his closed eyes.

Couldn’t bring back the world I lost.

Could I walk a better path?

Give my soul a second chance.

Chapter Text

I’ve lost everything, but I always bounce back.

Thorns riddled the years passed.

What words are there for you to understand?

But know this secret to you I vowed,

To desert you, I will never be.

This gift I claimed is not for me.

Hermione woke to the feel of the sun’s warmth over her closed eyelids. From how bright the light had filtered through the curtained window of her son’s room, and her internal clockwork, it was probably already late in the morning. It was uncommon for her and Alduin to sleep in like this.

Alduin.

She looked down on her boy sleeping on his side, with his back towards her. The events of last night had rattled them both to their cores. The clash of magic between hers and Riddle’s had ignited an inferno she had never felt before. Contempt had been there for sure. Then there was resentment, grief, and definitely anger. She had never met Tom Riddle, not in her past life, nor from the years before. But she knew all too well of his dreadful moniker, and that alone resurfaced too many painful, sad, and bittersweet memories.

Yet not even those memories could ever override her desire to save her son. The sick sensation of fear and loss reared its ugly head from where she had buried it in the darkest recesses of her past. Whether they be acquaintances, friends, or worse- family; the severity of loss was different for each, but the pain was always present. It left marks she felt deep within her bones, in her very own soul. Worse, she had no choice but to force herself to crawl out of those murky depths, even if it made her number than the last.

Hogwarts was nothing more than a pile of rubble.

Ron was gone.

Ginny, Fred, George, and the rest of the Weasleys were gone.

Luna, Hagrid, Lupin, and everyone else in the Order of the Phoenix were gone.

Her parents were gone.

Harry was gone.

And she’s never going to get them back again.

One might say that even years later, she would’ve been very familiar with the feeling of loneliness. She was, after all, able to survive so many years with no one but herself. It granted her opportunities, and allowed her to realize things she wasn’t able to before. Like with magic. For books were a restricted source, and therefore she had to think, be creative, innovate, and look once more at the world unlike before.

But despite her acceptance and embrace of the complex colors, of the power granted to her, she still yearned for those old bonds that kept her from falling completely into despair.

It was a bittersweet reality, that the world will continue to move on despite all of its tragedies.

She had never planned to have a child. Perhaps, in a better world she could’ve met a good man and had children of her own. But that was not this world, nor her previous one.

Though unexpected, Alduin gave her new reason, a new chance to truly live again.

To be happy again.

No matter the reason or purpose of his birth, he was her son, her family. She’d set the world ablaze if it meant he’d keep the smile on his face, and spare her from the torment of loneliness she had once cursed herself into.

Because it was much easier to die for someone, rather than to live for them.

However, that inferno subsided to measly embers at the sight of Alduin hunched into a ball at the nearest corner of the living room.

She never got to ask her questions. She couldn’t find it in herself to wonder. For how could she subject him to further emotional stress?

The last time she saw her son cry was back when he was four, when he had tripped while running around and scraped his palms and knees.

Last night, he had cried himself to sleep, and she couldn’t find it in herself to part from him to sleep in her own room.

She had felt her necklace burn. It only burned whenever her son was in great distress. Although the ring she had grinded hours into to design ensured his safety, it was not a panacea to all harm. The last time it burned was when Alduin had succumbed to his condition and gave in to his hunger.

Her hand came up to gently comb through the black locks that were just a tad wavy compared to her many curls. As coiffed as it was most of the day, it would always become a mess whenever he slept. It was one of the only physical traits he resembled with hers.

A flash of Voldemort’s youthful visage appeared in her mind’s eye and she couldn’t help the twang of resentment that churned her stomach.

She raised herself from the bed and casted silent diagnostic spells over his person to ensure that he was alright. When she found nothing was amiss, she made her way to the door, intending to freshen up and make herself a cup (or two) of tea to help with her own mental stress of what had just occurred for the last twenty-four hours.

She missed the ways Alduin’s eyes opened just as she closed the door behind her.

“What are you doing, Al?”

Her head cocked to the side curiously at her son. They were eating dinner at the rooftop of the building she had rented their flat from for the last year. It was their last day in Spain before they had to travel to Egypt. Postino had referred to her a portkey master to cross countries, albeit illegally, but that wizard had proven himself worthy to be part of her short list of associates after a back and forth of business transactions about potions and money. For a while she had just been moving from one place to another around the continent, but now she felt it was time to move somewhere farther.

As it was, traveling across such large distances required unique means of transportation. In truth, she was free to choose from muggle commercial flights and boats, to specialized Floo Networks permitted for international travel. The only problem was that those methods required identifications and paperwork, and even though she could easily falsify muggle documents, she just deemed it too tedious to deal with. For one, she didn’t want to leave a paper trail that might bite her back in the arse someday. Neither she nor her son needed those documents anyway.

Whether this world acknowledged their existence didn’t matter in the long run.

It took some time for her to get used to the unsettling feeling; of how she just knew where to look, whom to seek, and when to hunt her prey. If she noticed any pattern, those whom she hunted were all on the verge of death by the time she appears before them. As if she was some sort of grim reaper. Now, that feeling told her to make her next hunt in Egypt.

“Listening to the music,” Alduin answered. Throughout dinner, he would sometimes stop eating and close his eyes.

“Music?” Hermione looked around them and appreciated the bountiful cultural art of Muggle Barcelona that had greatly influenced their Wizarding counterpart. From their rooftop table, she could see below the streets that were alive with the Spanish night life.

She thought it was a perfect opportunity for her son to experience other cultures during their travels, both the muggle and wizardkind.

“You mean Flamenco?” she herself had grown a liking towards the lively music and dance. It was an art form both the muggle and wizarding folk of Spain enjoyed without discrimination.

“No. I mean the music coming from people.”

At that, Hermione stilled, and it wasn’t because of his odd choice of words.

“You… can hear it?” she said carefully in astonishment, although she worded it more as a statement than a question.

She had her theories, of course. Her son couldn’t possibly come into being by her own power alone. This admission only confirmed it, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Mmhmm,” Alduin nodded before finally opening his eyes again. His stygian pools were large and innocent like his smile, “It’s magic, right? The music I’ve been hearing.”

Indeed. He had asked her one day where magic came from, and she told him what she had discovered before he was born— Magic came from the soul, and each soul had their own song.

“Yes,” she swallowed, “Do you… hear it often?”

He shook his head, “Only if I want to, and if I try hard enough. Ah but yours is the best song of them all, mother! I like listening to yours the most!”

Her heart softened at his enthusiastic and honest proclamation. Within the black inkiness of his eyes, the very stars he adored shone brilliantly.

It wasn’t the first time someone said those words to her.

“Thank you, Al. That’s very sweet of you too.”

A dab of blush colored his cheeks still full of baby fat, “Mother, I know you told me to never tell anyone of this ability, but mayhap you know anyone who can also hear these songs?”

Hermione’s smile faltered. She herself couldn’t hear it and she highly doubted there was anyone in the physical world who also can.

She casted her gaze back to the streets below as she answered, “Just one.”

From her periphery, she saw his head perk up, “Really?! How did you meet them?”

“I woke him up.”

The continuous flow of water hitting her head brought a relaxing quality to her as she remained standing beneath the showerhead. It couldn’t capture the same sensation of being submerged underwater, but it was an adequate substitute. She needed something to cool herself down. She had let her emotions run rampant last night, the first time in a very long while. Now that the fog of emotions was blown away, the clear picture of logic and reason could be seen.

Behind her closed eyes, Hermione organized a mental list of the fact before her.

‘One, Alduin is still here and nothing fundamentally changed.’

That meant that the terms of her agreement remained. Facts that were previously unknown had just made itself known like newly gained information. If only the method on how to earn her prize revealed itself to her with time as well.

‘Two, Tom Riddle also exists.’

Wasn’t it a fact that he was one of the cruces that led her series of circumstances? He may not be the main focal point but if there was something that needed to change to make her wish come to fruition, then shouldn’t it include his existence?

When she had asked what she should do to claim her reward, he answered:

“Hte snacav si savt sa hte srats rea nyplet.”

Meaning, she was free to go about it as she wished.

Did that mean Riddle has something to do with her prize? Or was it sheer coincidence that they crossed paths? Should she be blamed for her own oversight in assuming she was finally rid of him? How was he able to know about them anyway? Technically, neither she nor her son existed- on record.

Should she have resisted in coming back to her motherland even though her Hunter’s Pull strongly wanted it?

‘And lastly, Tom Riddle is Alduin’s father.’

A chill ran up her spine at the mere thought of it.

How could her sweet, wonderful, beloved son could share the same flesh and blood with that monster?

Hermione could see him at the center. Alduin’s form was straight and rigid like a puppet while the dark, volatile haze surrounded him like a protective barrier. Corpses laid still by his feet; their bones protruded from their skins as if their very flesh was sapped from their bodies. Shriveled up like dry leaves, one touch could reduce them into dust. When she called his name, her son turned his head and smiled at her over his shoulder. Bright and unabashed. Oblivious to the carnage. He walked back towards her with a skip in his step as if he had done nothing wrong. All of the plates full of food remained untouched on the tables.

Her teeth grounded harshly together and tried to dismiss the thought.

‘Al should be awake by now.’

A level of anxiety still buzzed within her even when she deemed herself ready to face her child. Instead of catching Alduin sitting on the dining table patiently waiting for breakfast, she found him sitting in front of the piano.

Her heart clenched at the sight. Her son was a creature of habit, and he never failed to do his routine every morning. So of course, it troubled her to see him with his dark hair amess and still wearing his pajamas with such a forlorn expression.

Alduin noticed her from his periphery, and offered her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes, “Morning, mother.”

She took note of his omission of the ‘Good’ in his greeting.

“Morning to you too, Al,” she greeted back after swallowing. Her throat felt parched, “What would you like for breakfast?”

He turned his head back to the large instrument and stared at the keys unseeingly before he answered, “I’m not hungry.”

It felt like he had just slapped her hard.

Alduin had never ever refused any of her food.

Without saying another word, Alduin lifted his hands over the white wooden pieces, and pressed.

Her teeth gritted together reflexively in response to the sharp tone he missed after one sequence. For a moment she just stood there, watching her son miss and hit another wrong note every now and then, before restarting from the very beginning.

Music was more than a hobby for Alduin. It was his passion, and he took great pride in his talent. With every note he played, he was able to practice, weave and control magic in a manner she had never seen before; until she could perform it herself. Music was also his tool of expression. For all his charming politeness and ability to talk his way in and out of nearly everything, he always showed his true feelings best with a song.

She would know, because he’s her son, and she’s his mother.

And right now, as she listened to his slips and missed keys, she knew then that he needed her.

But how does one comfort a child? Especially someone as unique as her son?

Should she just go and hold him like what she had done for Harry when they visited his parents’ grave at Godric’s Hollow that one Christmas Eve?

Should she just hug him and whisper that everything’s alright?

No. That would insult him. Alduin was a sharp child, not only book smart. A simple pat and whispered promises wouldn’t be enough to make him feel better. He’s young, still a child, but he was undoubtedly more mature than most children his age.

She needed him to talk and express what he’s feeling, even if she already had an inkling of what they were. It would be best if he told her himself.

But first, she needed him to talk.

Her chest heaved with her deep breath before she approached the stool. Alduin hesitated only for a moment before scooting over to give her space to sit. Hermione’s heart ached once more at his silence. Her son looked so… lost. It was an expression no one would ever expect from a child, neither was it something a parent would ever want to see.

After another breath in, Hermione straightened her back and raised her hands over the keyboard. She pressed onto the keys and the combined notes filled the silent emptiness of their home. From the musical selection of her mental library, where she stored all of the songs she learned over the years, she pulled out one of their favorites. This one was a simple piece, fairly easy, but no less beautiful. It was one of the first pieces she had taught her son before he took up the violin.

She kept her hands on the left of the keyboard, purposely not crossing to the right half where the keys for the higher pitch was. Her eyelids fell over her chocolate brown eyes as she let muscle memory play for her instead.

Just in time as her magic arose in response to the soft melody of her song. The world turned to reveal an endless blue sky from where their ceiling was, and the walls fell to boundless grassy hills as far as their eyes could see.

It still amazed her to this day to know that magic had music. An intangible form made present with an auditorial existence. It was fitting. For if she were to succumb to that numbing darkness for eons, she wouldn’t feel as lonely if she always listened to such symphonies.

It didn’t take long until she heard another set of notes join with hers. The diatonic chords created a sense of simplicity and purity. Its harmonic structure maintained common tones of consistency despite its progressions, evoking a sense of tranquility and reflective mood that set as the emotive undertone of the composition.

It was then that Hermione’s lips tugged up into a smile. She didn’t need to open her eyes to feel the gentle breeze through her hair and the warm sun on her cheeks, nor the rustle and smell of grass on her feet, and the sound of birds chirping above.

Hermione knew magic. She had studied it, mastered it, and even designed some of her own; but there had only been a handful of times when she could truly say, think, and feel that what she was experiencing was magical.

This was one of those times.

Not because she and her son could plunge an entire room into an illusion where they might as well have transported themselves into another world, nor was it because the melody they were playing was imbued with their magic, thus making it more ethereal. Just the simple act of playing a duet over a piano with her son felt like pure magic itself.

The power behind a killing curse or the serenity of a patronus charm could never hold a candle to a moment like this.

As their song came to an end, one of the treasured rooms of her mind palace opened. She saw, as clear as it was on the day it occurred, a memory of her precious Alduin, too small to reach the keys of the piano himself, sitting on her lap with his chubby little hands over hers as she played the same song they were currently playing. A moment of peace when she poured all of her love to the song and more to the son giggling and smiling up at her just as he called her “Mama” for the first time.

When she finally opened her eyes, she watched the grassy hills fade away as the last note faded in her ears, and she was back once more within the protective walls of their home. This time, when Alduin smiled back up at her, she felt an immense weight lift from her shoulders when it met the sparkle in his eyes.

Hermione couldn’t resist pulling him close to her side and pressing a kiss on his head as she felt his arms circle around her back.

“How are you feeling now, Al?”

“Much better now. Thank you, mother,” he answered before they pulled apart.

“That’s good,” she said before she locked their gazes. As much as she wanted to prolong this moment of peace, that topic was just not something they could just brush away, “Al, what happened last night… how did that happen?”

Alduin’s lips pressed together tightly and his head lowered as if in shame.

“I promise I won’t be angry. I just need to know.”

.

His mother was a soldier- powerful, brave, and fearless.

She wasn’t afraid to do anything. With her head held high in pride and confidence, he had marveled at her magic ever since he could remember.

His mother was a muggleborn- a rogue, discriminated, and unyielding.

She knew and understood the life and what was best in both worlds, and she happily shared them with him. She wouldn’t blatantly reveal her blood status unless someone asked, but on the chance she had to, she would proclaim it strongly, shamelessly, and with grace. So he became livid when he finally understood what 'mudblood' meant. From then on, he found discourtesy to be unspeakably ugly- far uglier than any slur anyone could hurl at another.

His mother was admirable- intelligent, wise, innovative, creative, elegant, and graceful.

She always had an answer to any of his questions. She taught him everything he knew, and challenged him in unique ways.

His mother loved him, and he was very fond of her.

Even though that word- love- still confused him with all its complexities, she never failed to express how much she loved him.

His mother was hurt.

He learned it was sorrow when they would light a lantern and let it fly to the air every Christmas Eve. He learned it was yearning when she would tell him about her family and friends- people whom she could never be with ever again.

Yes, his mother was hurt, but her eyes that reflected the stars would sparkle every time she looked at him like a candle lit anew.

His mother wasn’t perfect.

He knew there were things she kept from him. Details she deemed unnecessary or information he wasn’t ready to know. From her not-so legal business with her associates, to the stories she told him at night.

And it was fine, because he trusted her judgment. It was a child’s duty to honor his parent.

He never asked, because he could already see how hard she worked. For there was no one else. No one to protect him, provide for him, care for him, and most importantly of all- hunt for him.

But as long as they have each other, as long as he could stay by her side and listen to her song, everything would be fine.

“I was curious,” he finally answered after a pause.

“About?”

“About him, about Mr. Riddle.”

When he had asked her more about magic coming from the soul, she told him a story about a man who tore his very own soul apart. His mother told him that story as if she knew the man personally, as if she had seen those pieces of souls with her very own eyes. She had told him how that man feared dying so much he willingly shredded his soul, and the magic in it, till there was nothing worth for death to claim. In return, he grew so mad with fear and paranoia, he suffered in his own design without any rest till the world ended.

Despite himself, Alduin sputtered a laugh, “He’s very funny.”

His mother blinked at him in confusion, “Funny? How is he funny?”

“His song was really funny,” Alduin continued, “I’m honestly not sure if he was the man in the story you told me about, and I didn’t think I would get the chance to actually meet one. I was curious to know what his magic sounded like. I wanted to know what a broken soul sounded like.”

“And? What did he sound like, Al?”

He stifled another giggle as he remembered how he listened to Mr. Riddle’s soulsong for the first time in that alley.

“Mother’s song has the melody of a piano. It is sweet, rich, and clear, while Mr. Riddle’s is deep, mellow, and sonorous, like a cello. But whenever I hear him, his music would always have this bounce and squeak and dissonance every now and then. It sounds like this-“

Alduin flitted his fingers over the keyboard for a simple melody until he purposefully stopped half a beat and then pressed a key with a very high pitch. He would then repeat it a few more times, skipping and hitting random notes out of tune until he heard her try to stifle her own laughter too.

“Like that,” he finished, “It’s as if his music sheet has missing and wrong notes. His soulsong is… incomplete.”

Hermione paused before prompting, “But that wasn’t what you’re only curious about, was it?”

He shook his head no, “He looked like me, mother, or I suppose the more appropriate thing to say was… I look like him. He called me his son. Did you… have you known all this time?”

His dark eyes observed the way his mother’s jaw tensed. Her fists clenched and unclenched on her lap, and her eyes shifted uncomfortably, but when she finally answered him, there was no hint of lie in her tone.

“No.”

Dark brows furrowed together. He believed her, she was telling the truth, but that only made him confused, “I see.”

“Al-“

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, “Honestly, I don’t really care whether we’re… related or not. There’s just something about him that I’m drawn to. I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s his broken song, or just him as a person- I honestly don’t know, mother. All I have is this feeling that tells me it wouldn’t be so bad to get to know him. That’s why I… I arranged a meeting with the Malfoys.”

“How did you managed to do that, Al?”

Alduin confessed how he had been talking to people in Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. How he learned that the person to go to if someone wanted to find out about another person was Mr. Malfoy thanks to his vast network. That he had considered that the only way an elite pureblood would ever notice him was by going after whom he valued most- his wife, whose fondness and affection was an open secret in wizarding society. There were many things he had heard about Mrs. Malfoy that worked in his favor.

Although if he looked back, he would realize that the real reason Mr. Malfoy easily accepted him was because of his close ties with Mr. Riddle. As well as the fact that the man who claimed to be his father was someone more than he initially thought.

The most obvious clue were the peacocks and Nagini. White peacocks freely roamed the manor, but Nagini told him about the time she ate one of the prized birds and instead of being punished, her master just told her to hunt in the forest that surrounded the estate from then on. That simple story alone spoke volumes. For if the Malfoys were truly the masters of their own house, Nagini wouldn’t have been left off so easily and still come and go the manor as she wished unharmed.

“I actually told Nagini that I would really like it if she were to meet you,” he said shyly.

His mother didn’t answer immediately as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, “You like her?”

Alduin nodded firmly with a smile, “She has really nice manners, mother. Although she calls me the Young Lord, at least she was proper enough to call you Honorable Mother. I think you would like her too.”

“Maybe someday.”

There was a hint of reluctance in her tone but that was fine. He’d let it slide because what’s more important was that she agreed to his wish.

“Riddle,” his mother began carefully, “Has he talked to you before?”

Alduin nodded and recounted to her how he first met him in the alley, how he caught him using magic and their short meetings afterwards. He had an inkling then, that Mr. Riddle was curious about him too, and how he felt his interest only grew when he caught him talking with Nagini in parseltongue.

“I didn’t know mother disliked him…”

Dislike was probably putting it mildly. There was more there, a stronger, more unpleasant emotion. It reflected in both his mother and Mr. Riddle’s eyes.

He had seen his mother angry before; seen her bare her fangs and heard her roar. But last night, had been different.

Last night, her anger called onto her magic, and he didn’t like it at all.

If he were to put a word to it, it was… hate.

“I heard it, mother. Yours and Mr. Riddle’s. When you both attacked and sent your magicks against each other, I heard it.”

Something coiled within his stomach and traveled all the way up to his chest. His mind replayed what he had heard the night before, and this made his breath ragged.

“It was so loud-“

His eyes widened, the pupils dilated.

“-it was so loud and horrible. It didn’t make any melody at all!”

His hands balled into fists.

“There was no harmony, there was no symphony, all I heard was something like this-!”

He slammed his palms over the piano keys. Pounding and smashing random notes it echoed horribly throughout their flat.

“Mr. Riddle’s song may be funny and broken but there’s at least something there to hear. But his song sounded uglier too, and mother’s… mother’s song shouldn’t have been like that! Mother’s song is kind and warm and strong and free, but back there- it wasn’t. It sounded ugly and I didn’t like it at all! Even if I tried, it was too loud I could still feel it pounding in my ears! And it hurts-“

Sometimes, once in a while, when he fancies to listen to other people’s songs, he would find two people creating a harmony together. A harmony that sounded far better than they were apart.

Mr. Riddle’s and his mother’s… they didn’t make any symphony at all.

It hurt his ears, and it hurt his chest too.

His hand clutched his shirt where his heart was, “It hurts here. Seeing mother like that, feeling and hearing her magic like that- I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all! I… I hate it!”

He didn’t realize tears were once more falling down his cheeks until he choked on his sob when his mother pulled him in her embrace.

“But what’s worse was what happened afterwards. Everything was so loud, and then suddenly it just stopped. Everything stopped. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t do anything. It’s like I went to some sort of void and I just…  disappeared.

More tears fell down his face.

“It hurts,” he choked, “because I’m the reason mother’s song became like that. I ruined your song. Because I hadn’t been a good boy like I promised. Because I caused you trouble. Because I-“

“No,” she cut him off firmly before she pulled back to cup his face between her hands and forced his teary eyes to meet with hers, “No, no, no, Alduin. It wasn’t your fault. None of that was your fault.”

“No mother…” he sniffed, “If I hadn’t acted on my own- if I just told you about it first- you magic wouldn’t have…”

Mother once said that no one was perfect, and that she didn’t expect him to be, either.

But his mother always kept her promises.

Alduin promised he’d be careful. He promised he’d stay safe. He promised he’d be a good son.

He couldn’t keep his promise.

“I’m sorry, Mama…”

His face was buried to her bosom when she pulled him towards her in a full embrace.

Arms cradled him securely yet tenderly, and held him there as he continued to sob.

Alduin knew he had done wrong, and he knew it was the reason for the pain in his chest.

He didn’t like this pain.

He wanted it to go away.

She had been angry at Mr. Riddle, but that wouldn’t have happened if he just stayed put.

Because of him, his mother’s magic became chaotic and sad.

And it disappeared.

It hurt because it was his fault.

Amidst his choked sobs, he felt his mother’s lips press on his head.

“Oh sweetheart,” she began as she pulled away a bit only to cup his tear-streaked cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at the wet trail while he looked at her with watery eyes, “Can you do me a favor, Al? Can you listen to my magic?”

He shook his head vehemently. Why would she ask him of that? He would rather not hear magic at all if it meant he’d never hear his mother’s ruined song again.

“Please, Al? Trust me. You won’t get hurt. I promise,” she said gently, her voice so soft only he could hear.

Alduin bit his lip in thought. His mother promised. She always kept her promises, and of course he trusted her.

He nodded anxiously before closing his eyes and focused his ears in finding that hidden music the rest of the world was deaf to.

A familiar string of melodious notes.

Mellow and sweet. Like the soft chirping of birds on a summer day. It made his skin tingle and his heart tickle. The melody like a symphonic harmony as each tune transitioned with each note with the grace of flowing water.

It was the sound of home.

“But… But I thought…” he mumbled, confused yet immensely relieved that he could hear that beautiful song again.

There was a softness on his mother’s face as she wiped the rest of his tears away.

“See? You didn’t ruin my song.”

“But how come…” he trailed, unsure how to ask.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said, “I can’t hear magic like you, Al, but I can feel it. Maybe… maybe my emotions called and reflected on my magic. They were very unpleasant emotions. I’m sorry my magic frightened you.”

He knew, too. His mother had been angry before, but her magic didn’t change and it didn’t force him to hear. It was only when hers and Mr. Riddle’s collided did it change.

Mr. Riddle’s may sound broken, but even his got worse when his magic clashed with his mother’s.

Why?

“But Alduin- I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” his vision was clearer now, and he could see the burning golden ember behind her eyes, “Yes, I was angry for what happened last night. I wish you had never met Riddle and set foot on that place. But by the end of it all, it doesn’t matter to me. You know why? Because you’re here- you’re safe. And that’s all I ever wanted. As long as you need me, I would storm that manor again and again, because you’re my son. You’re mine. Mine to me, no matter who your father is. I don’t ever want to lose you. I love you, Alduin.”

This time, it was he who initiated their embrace, and Alduin closed his eyes as he relished the warmth no sun could ever give and the music no instrument could ever deliver.

Love… was such a confusing thing.

.

Magic manifested in bolts of lightning filled the dark void of nothingness. A streak that cut through the very air beheld between the deep forest and shamrock green, only to meet the swift, sharp tendrils of honey and Tuscany yellow.

They pushed with great resistance like parried swords. Electrifying and burning; freezing and suffocating; living and dying; it tore through flesh, blood, and bone till it reached the very core that was the soul. Igniting a sensation only the rarest, chosen few, could even dream of remotely experiencing. The sheer power, mental fortitude, and indomitable will forced both into a deadlock that foretold failure to be a nonexistent option.

‘I WANT YOU TO DISAPPEAR!’

Only for it all to be swallowed with a singular, desperate cry.

A complete negation- an obliteration- for only but a moment before a burst of color took its place. Brighter, bigger, and far stronger than the last.

Like a dying star collapsing on itself only to explode and give birth to something new.

It was a conflagration of two different forces.

A symphonic harmony that breathed into something novel.

Tom had felt it then.

However brief, he still felt it.

He felt it pierce through his very flesh, blood, and bone, and into the very tattered remains of his broken soul.

He couldn’t hear it, but if he were to describe it- his soul thrummed.

Like the low, sinuous start of a deep song.

He couldn’t hear it.

But he felt it.

And it unsettled him.

Tom looked down at his left arm where the sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. A salve had been enough to quell the minor blisters that erupted there. Now it just looked red and raw akin to sunburn. It hardly stung anymore, but the minute tingle of the burn and residual magic of the enchanted flames still lingered. His skin would return to its usual pallor in another hour, but for now, he would have to bear the remembrance of his son’s rejection in the form of two small hand-prints on his arm.

Life was full of the unpredictable. A weak man would whine and complain, a smart man would avoid it entirely or painstakingly plan to keep things as they were, but a wise man would know how to adjust and turn the odds in his favor.

“It seems… I have acted rashly.”

After all, the only thing that is true and matters in this world is power.

And Alduin and Hermione Granger have power.

Now how should he acquire that power for his own?

Chapter Text

I am one with the blade I wielded.

My emotions contained- I’ve shielded.

I’ve not forgotten the bloodline I lost.

Honor the fallen, for honor never falls.

“Tisfg rea vieng yleref, tye oyu esufre ti. Awht oyu hiws si a darrwe, dan darrwes rea endrae. Utb ta awht soct rea oyu ligliwn ot cerfon?”

“All that is me.”

Hermione’s eyes opened before she lifted her head back up with a gulping breath. Water splashed all around her and onto the tiles. She took a moment to recollect her thoughts, more than to regain the breath she had held for staying submerged beneath the water for too long. Her visits to that floor of her mind palace remained the same. Nothing has changed. Therefore, Tom Riddle being here was not a mistake.

She felt a shiver wrack up her spine. Not from the waters that once stole her last breath, but from the new question that rocked the foundation of her faculties.

What is Riddle’s purpose in all of this?

Her hands swept back her drenched curls away from her face before she held one up before her eyes. Azure flames coated over the skin of her palm and fingers, yet she didn’t worry, because they can never burn her. Instead, she remembered how it had burned a man to ashes. Out of desperation, anger, and revenge, but murder still. He was the first, but not the last.

Now in her new life, she has taken many, but has never killed. So long as no one forces her hand, then she wouldn’t have to.

A sigh escaped from her lips as she leant back against the tub. Eyes still fixated on the dancing flames on her hand. Alduin told her how he was able to free himself from Riddle’s hold, and she felt her chest swell with parental pride once more. Although he wasn’t able to manifest the flames itself, Riddle’s reaction told her enough how much it hurt him.

That’s right. Regardless of his twisted connection between him and Alduin, their bond as mother and son is stronger.

But that still doesn’t change the fact that Tom Riddle will be looking for them.

After Knockturn Alley and Malfoy Manor, she’s certain that he would be even more determined to find them. If he hasn’t already. Which is a bigger problem., because- They. Can’t. Go. Anywhere

Her mind continued that train of thought even as she rinsed and changed into more casual clothes. In the comfort and privacy of their Den, she didn’t have to wear region and era-appropriate clothing. She’s never been one for fashion, but in order to save herself from the headache of weird inquisitive looks from other people, she had to relent and wear dresses and clothing styles she couldn’t be bothered with before. Thankfully, her bottomless purse was more than enough for seamstresses and boutique owners to accommodate her with their best customer service.

When she stepped out into the dining room adjoining the kitchen, she caught her son preparing the teacups and snacks on a tray to be taken to their mini-library. Although calling it ‘mini’ was putting it humbly. Hermione had dedicated an entire room just to fill every wall with books from floor to ceiling, and furnished it with a settee and matching round table and chairs atop a carpet depicting a Celtic design of the ouroboros. 

“Don’t you think that’s enough macarons, Al?” she asked teasingly with a raised brow at the 3-tiered pastry stand full of sandwiches, macarons, cupcakes, berries, scones, and tarts they baked together since morning. Between her own parents, as particular as they were about her oral health, her father had a guilty habit of baking and he was more lenient with her with desserts. Especially if her mother wasn’t around.

‘Da would’ve loved Al,’ she thought wistfully.

“No,” Alduin piped with a pitch in his voice and a blush on his cheeks, embarrassed that he had been caught.

Shaking her head, Hermione waved her hand and a bit more of each pastry were added onto the pile as she strode towards the counter to prepare their tea, much to her son’s delight. Beside the teapot was an outdated newspaper she’s yet to throw away.

She casted a glance at the bold headline.

MALFOY MANOR ATTACKED

CULPRITS STILL UNKNOWN

It was dated the day after she and Alduin escaped the manor. Despite its partial isolation in Wiltshire, something big of an event like this (especially to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight) couldn’t be missed to the wizarding community. Curiously though, upon reading the article, it mentioned nothing about her or Alduin, nor was there even a hint about other families involved in the incident. She was certain those people who tried to stop her before reaching Riddle were Death Eaters. According to the story Abraxas gave to the press, it was a masked intruder whom appeared out of nowhere and stole artefacts from their treasury- that description wasn’t that farfetched though. Except for the thievery part. Although it would be a lie if she said she wasn’t curious what artefacts an old family like the Malfoys would have in their house. She wouldn’t be surprised if she would feel a dark pulse somewhere hidden either.

‘So that’s the story they went with,’ Hermione scoffed when she read it the first time. They deliberately shrouded the attacker in mystery, thereby raising a bit of alarm with the other old pureblooded families. The current news in the prophet speculated it as an individual who had a vendetta, if not against the Malfoy family alone, then with the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as well. Although, in a way, given her history with them in her past life, that was close to the truth. The other theory was that the attacker was a master thief- and a powerful one at that, considering the destruction they left in their wake.

Oh, and of course, they suspected the culprit to be a man.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that, but it’s better for her that way. Let them believe these spun stories.

What’s most important however, was that her and Alduin’s names weren’t mentioned. She has a strong suspicion that was Riddle’s doing. If they didn’t make up a cover story, everyone would know that Tom had a son out of wedlock, and if this was the time Voldemort still had a stable mind and cared about his reputation, as well as the political climate, he wouldn’t want such a truth to come out. Having a bastard son would besmirch that image.

Not that she cared about him, so long as Alduin is kept out of it.

“Ready, sweetie?” she turned her head over her shoulder to see Alduin nod his head enthusiastically.

While her son carried the tray of teacups and pot, Hermione held the heavier pastry stand as they made their way to the mini-library where they would continue his lessons on Ancient Runes and how to formulate basic constructions for simple spells.

Ever since their heartfelt moment following her impromptu rescue of Alduin from the viper pit, she decided to play it safe and stay at home for the meantime. Alduin didn’t seem to mind staying at home either as he seemed to have this sense of making up for his mistake. Her son always gave this impression of being a prodigy, and in a way, he was. So the fact that he recognized that he had done something wrong and apologized for it relieved her still, even though it hurt her to see him sad and in pain. For there are some things he needed to learn on his own. She’s sure, that this experience had taught him that not everything will always go as planned.

Although the main reason for her decision for homestay was to also reaffirm her connection with her son, another reason was because she needed to sort through her thoughts and review everything she knew in her past life to prepare for their current situation.

Hermione’s mind palace is exactly as how she calls it. Beyond her sea of flames was a mental manor where she kept all of her knowledge and memories. Each floor represented important points in her life, and each room was a dedication for every person whom have greatly impacted her life- both the good and the bad. She wasn’t bitter to not include those who have also wronged her.

She had constructed that palace during her time of isolation during the war. As a form of exercise to keep her sanity against the chaos that plagued the world. It was a place where she could put those she held important.

For the last few days, when she didn’t need to tend to her son, she had retreated to the suite she dedicated to Harry. It had been a while since she visited him- no, she was under no illusion and knew full well that he was nothing more than a ghost she conjured for her selfish comfort and built from all the memories she had of him.

“Hullo, Hermione. You look well. How have you been?” he greeted her with that boyish smile of his.

Even though her heart no longer ached as much as before, seeing her best friend- her brother- always gave her comfort. Even if he’s nothing more than just a memory.

There, she would consult with Harry and he would retell her everything he once told her about Voldemort- about Tom Riddle. Beyond the facts they needed during their time for hunting Horcruxes. There had been a point, when he had confided in her about his feelings regarding Voldemort’s- Tom Riddle’s childhood. Having grown up parentless in a cruel household himself, Harry empathized with the child Tom Riddle.

“I suppose I sympathize with him, ‘Mione. I’ve seen what he’s like from Dumbledore’s pensieve, but I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand what he had been through. At least I was lucky enough to have met you, Ron, Hagrid, Sirius, and everybody else. You lot were the closest family I ever had, even more than my own blood relatives. Riddle… he didn’t have anything like that. No one gave him the chance, so he couldn’t be bothered to look for one himself. I almost felt sorry for him.”

It would be a lie if she said she hadn’t sympathized with Tom Riddle’s story too, enforced with Harry’s words. Unfortunately for all of them, the Tom Riddle from her past life was no more and, in his place, a shadow of his former self. Voldemort had been beyond saving, and even when he succeeded in taking Harry away from them- from her, the loss of all his Horcuxes had forced him to sequester himself into solitude. Fueled by the fear of his invulnerability, he delegated a chaotic world to his followers to do as they wish with the condition of him remaining as the sole overlord. For as mad as he had become, Voldemort had still amassed enough fear for even his followers to keep from sniffing the food on their plates without his permission.

The following years after that had been spent on nothing but hiding, traveling, studying, and surviving.

“Mother, you’re doing it again,” Alduin’s careful, almost whispered voice broke the silence of the room.

Spine turned rigid from snapping out of her reverie, heat wafted through her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled apologetically while her hands clutch her skirt from beneath the table. They’ve been twitching again. Itching to grab her wand from the holster she fashioned across her hip for whenever she didn’t fancy wearing a robe or with long sleeves.

“You want to hunt, don’t you?” Alduin sets his quill down primly by his open notebook, scribbled with practiced neat script. Anymore practice and his handwriting would turn better than hers.

In the privacy of their home, the term ‘hunt’ is used, but when in public or when in the company of another, they call it her ‘work’. It would save her a lot of questionable looks that way. People would automatically assume she has some form of employment in order to raise her son, and that was more acceptable. Fortunately, Postino and her other associates have chalked it up to illegal magical artefact and potion trading and appraisal. But no one else knows what she really takes on those hunts of hers.

“You have to go, mother.”

Alduin understood why she has to do these hunts. Oddly enough, he never asked for the details. As far as she knew, her son was aware he has some sort of affliction and what’s needed to stave off his symptoms, but he’s never asked the reason why he needed them. Alduin is always curious. So his silence is a bit concerning for her.

Is it because he knew the reason? If so, how did he find out?

The image of more than a dozen shriveled bodies flashed in her head, and her mental-self rushed over to quickly slam and lock the door to that memory in her mind palace.

They can never step into Buenos Aires ever again.

“I know,” she relented, “but that’s not what I’m concerned about. I can’t just cage you here, Al.”

His features softened at her words. Even if he says he would be alright with it, it wouldn’t be fair for him to stay cooped inside their den while she goes away for hours a day. But danger lurks outside these walls. One that’s definitely interested in her son.

Tom Riddle killed his own father. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same for his own son?

Their Den, was actually a flat spelled by a modified Undetectable Extension Charm. In her previous life, she had acquired the magizoologist- Newt Scammander’s journals after she found Luna and buried her together with her husband- Rolf Scammander. They were the last friends she saw and died before she eventually followed.

Apart from the detailed descriptions of various magical beasts, she was especially fascinated by his suitcase. Unlike her own beaded bag, Mr. Scammander’s housed entire enclosures and habitats for the beasts he studied, essentially making it his personal study on the go. With her travels and increasing collection, it would be less of a hassle if she had something similar. The only difference was that she didn’t fancy carrying her home and important collections around for anyone to just stumble in and carry around while she’s inside sipping a cup of tea, wholly unaware.

It had been tedious work, forcing her to sacrifice a few days ignoring that hunter’s pull, but she had somehow done it. One could say their Den now existed in a sort of pocket dimension where she could install whenever she wanted. The only cost was that she needed a space that’s roughly the same size as the Den, hence the need to find a suitable place to rent in. She also still needs to place wards outside the door and windows. Done correctly, anyone who forces their way inside will only see the original, empty flat. The only way inside was to be invited by either her or her son, and the only way in and out is through the door.

Asking someone to watch over Alduin was also out of the question. As close to a family friend as they were with the De Sena couple, she can’t risk them knowing the truth of her hunts.

And by Shesha, she really needs to hunt again.

Alduin was left so emotionally exhausted he became hungry afterwards, and as of now, Hermione has nothing she could give to feed him if he ever gets hungry again.

Hermione took a deep breath, “If Tom Riddle finds you again, what would you do?”

The moment of silence that kept him from answering immediately shot an arrow of dread into her.

“Mother doesn’t like him, so I shall run and return home-“

“No, Alduin. Not me,” she interrupted sternly, “What would you do?”

This time, his answer was immediate, “I will go with him, until you come for me again.”

She was grateful for his honesty, but she wasn’t happy with his answer.

Whenever she asked him about Riddle, he would always say that there’s something that compels him towards him. Although she has a strong theory, she wasn’t completely certain.

“Do you want to eat him?” she can’t help asking.

Her fingers twitched once more as his face scrunched together in thought.

“I’m not sure yet,” he answered truthfully and casually as if there wasn’t anything wrong with her question, “but he does have something I’m craving for.”

Eyebrows furrowed. Alduin is always eating, but he’s never placed any meal in the same category as a craving before.

“What do you mean, Al?”

He raiseed his left hand, and with his right forefinger, caressed the ring on his finger.

Hermione’s lips parted at his confession before she felt the first tell-tale signs of an impending migraine.

Seeing that she understood what he meant from her expression, Alduin beamed with his smile wide and hopeful eyes.

“Can I have it, mother?”

It seems that avoiding Riddle is completely unavoidable now.

‘The Great Chain in motion beneath the waves of the sea- whom all good things flow. The sweat from your brow is what you reap and sow. Forge your own fortune from salt and from sand. No good or evil, only man,’ while he sings the lyrics in his head, Alduin hummed merrily as he slips boxes of wands into their respective shelves.

After much convincing, his mother finally relented into going out to hunt, but not after sitting him down with a lengthy talk. She had also walked him to Ollivander’s instead of stopping at the fountain like they usually did. Although his mother seemed just as delighted to see the wandmaker back safely from his travel, Alduin also knew she went out of her way to walk him to the shop herself simply because she was just worried about him. As much as he likes her attention, sometimes she just fusses too much. He understood that his mother doesn’t like Mr. Riddle, but was this amount of precaution necessary? He already swore to be careful this time. She had even given him more magical items to protect himself with.

It’s almost as if his mother is scared… but that couldn’t be. His mother is brave; like a lioness. Is it fear brought on by anxiety over his well-being? Probably. Is it because of Mr. Riddle?

But what is there to be afraid about a broken soul? 

In his opinion, he finds it curious and interesting how a person could still function the way they do. Not to mention he still finds Mr. Riddle’s song to be really funny despite their previous encounter.

“I have finished sorting the wands into their shelves, Mr. Ollivander. Is there anything else I could help you with?” Alduin said as he approached the front desk where the wandmaker was hunched over looking through his ledgers. Not wanting to bore him since he was still buzzing with energy about his travel, Mr. Ollivander tasked him to put the wands he had yet to sort on the shelves. All the while he merrily regaled his time at the Wandmaker’s Convention he had attended in Wales.

“Ah already? Thank you very much, m’boy,” Mr. Ollivander smiled behind his spectacles, “Helping me and listening to my tirade about wands for the last few hours.”

Something gentler touched Alduin’s lips, “Not at all, sir. I find that it is always fascinating to learn new things, especially on something one is passionate about. I would be just as enthused as you, Mr. Ollivander. In fact, I’m quite curious if you would also dwell with Dual-Core wand experiments.”

“Ah yes, but it is still just a theory. I must say there’s not enough trials to support it for me to have a hand on it myself.”

“Well, if ever you change your mind, would it be alright to ask you to share to me what you have found?”

The older man beamed with a toothy grin, “Why certainly!”

“Do you think it would really improve the power of a person though? If their wand has two cores?”

“Ah I can’t say for certain, Alduin. As I said, there’s not enough to support that theory. But if we’re talking about powerful wands then nothing beats the Elder Wand, you know,” he let out a chuckle.

Alduin cocked his head to the side curiously, “The Elder Wand, sir?”

Mr. Ollivander looked at him inquisitively, “Surely your mother has told you about The Tale of the Three Brothers? It’s quite the common story for children.”

He nodded his head in confirmation, and couldn’t help the grin from breaking through his polite façade. Yes, his mother had told him about that story before. The story about three brothers tricking Death-personified and gave them three powerful magical items as reward only to be claimed again at the end.

It was the funniest story he’s ever heard.

The very idea of Death being personified and becoming its master through three measly, earthly objects is absolutely hilarious.

When his mother told him some people actually believed the myth and sought to claim to be the Master of Death, Alduin laughed even more. It was honestly the hardest he’s ever laughed yet.

“Oh come now, Alduin, I see what you’re doing,” Alduin blinked curiously at the wandmaker’s mischievous grin, “You’re trying to wheedle me into telling you which wands is the strongest of them all aren’t you? So you would know which to get when it’s time for you to go to Hogwarts!”

Onyx pools widened in genuine surprise. Well, he certainly didn’t expect Mr. Ollivander to come to that conclusion. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

The wandmaker chuckled back, mistaking his surprise for having been caught his scheme, before raising a finger knowingly, “You’re quite the ambitious young lad, Alduin, and I understand that you are excited, but I should tell you that a wand chooses the wizard. Not the other way around. Your rightful wand is out there somewhere and it would make me incredibly happy if it happens to be here in this very shop.”

Mr. Ollivander’s smile was bright as he imagines Alduin acquiring his wand- a wand he had made himself.

“You wouldn’t happen to have already gotten your Hogwarts letter, would you?”

Alduin shook his head, “No, sir. I haven’t.”

“Ah not to worry, m’boy! I’m sure it won’t be long now,” Alduin smiles congenially at his wink.

Hogwarts.

He’s heard of it, of course. As well as Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Koldovstoretz, Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, and more. From the books he read and from the people who were proud to share about their Alma Mater during their travels, but he wasn’t interested enough to ask his mother whether he would be attending one. She never mentioned it nor did he ever ask.

Come to think of it, when he had asked his mother if she went to a wizarding school (although he had already suspected that she did, considering she’s a muggleborn and there must have been some way she had learned about magic), his mother only confessed that she did attend one; but when he had asked which school it was, she only shook her head at him sadly and said- ‘That school doesn’t exist anymore.’

What did she mean by that?

After Mr. Ollivander relented into letting him stock the shelves with a few more of his finished wands, he finally let Alduin go in his desire to get to the bookstores after being absent for a while. But not before promising to return to the wand shop shortly after making a quick stop.

Alduin entered the brightly colored sweet shop and relished the heat mixed the conflagration of scents coming from freshly baked pastries and sweets.

“Alduin!”

He smiled widely at the couple behind the counter.

“Hullo Mr. and Mrs. Sugarplum,” he greeted with a cordial dip of his head.

“Oh Alduin! It’s always so good to see you!” Mrs. Sugarplum gushed.

“And you as well, Mrs. Sugarplum. Those earrings really bring out your eyes, and I like what you’ve done with your hair. It certainly suits you,” the compliments slipped out of his tongue like smooth butter.

“Oh ever the sweet-talker you are,” the woman giggled behind her hand as she brushed an invisible lock away with the other, “Thank you, love, you’re very sweet, but trust me when I say you wouldn’t need to say a single word. You’ll have ladies throwing themselves at your feet when you grow up.”

He blinked as he continued to smile politely. It wasn’t the first time someone commented about his looks. He had even overheard someone telling his mother that he would be ‘Leaving a trail of broken hearts’ in the future. Which he didn’t understand. How could his physical appearance break hearts? He’s pretty sure the person would die if he rips their heart out of their chests before he could break it. He should probably ask his mother.

“Stop teasing the boy, Miriam. You’ve already fawned over the boy to put those ladies to shame,” Mr. Sugarplum teased his wife with a wink, earning him a giggle and a playful slap, before turning to Alduin. His grin was just as wide, “Happy to see you again, Alduin. How’s your mother?”

“You too, Mr. Sugarplum. My mother is doing well, thank you for asking.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the couple finally asked what he wanted to which he ordered half a dozen pumpkin pasties and a couple of chocolate frogs. The pasties would be for Mr. Ollivander as a Welcome Back Gift. His mother told him to also treat kindly those who have treated him kindly, after all. Despite how easy the wandmaker fell to his smile, he could tell Mr. Ollivander genuinely cared about his wellbeing and wished well for his mother, and Alduin respected him for being a master of his craft and imparting his knowledge to him willingly. He deserved to be rewarded for his courtesy.

“Oh Mr. Sugarplum, you shouldn’t have,” Alduin grinned widely when he noticed him take out another bag to put a couple of cauldron cakes there.

“Anything for my number one customer,” the older man winked as he closed the bag before he could protest any further. He also made sure to grab the ones that were fresh from the oven.

“That’ll be four galleons and twelve sickles for the frogs and pasties, love,” Mrs. Sugarplum winked at him as well. Completely on board at her husband’s actions.

Not minding the freebies himself, Alduin quickly reached for his bag. However, just as he was about to take out the required money, somebody came in to his line of sight. Alduin felt the air shift in the movement before he hears the sound of coins being placed on the countertop.

“Here.”

Alduin didn’t need to look to know who owned that familiar deep voice, but he has to. Onyx eyes met equally dark pools.

“There you are, Alduin.”

“Hullo, Mr. Riddle,” he greeted back softly for only him to hear.

They stared at each other for moments. Faces betrayed nothing about their feelings except for the curious glint in their black eyes. Mr. Riddle looked as fine and impassive as the first time they met. Either he had recovered well or he wasn’t as affected from their last skirmish as he thought. Alduin broke the contact to look down at his left arm covered by the long sleeves of his high-collared shirt. The black, lapeled, hoodless cloak he’s wearing laid heavy across his shoulders. He can’t help but notice he and Mr. Riddle have the same taste in clothing.

Carefully, he focused his hearing to that invisible tune only he can hear.

A deep and sonorous melody suddenly breaks into a screeching squeak as if the cello player stumbled, making them slip his bow across the strings.

Alduin sputtered a laughter before he even thought to stop himself, his hands shot up his mouth to try to muffle them as his eyes curled into crescents from mirth. The space between Mr. Riddle’s brows furrowed at his slip, and he supposes it’s a bit rude to suddenly be laughed at for no reason.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a grin still tugging at his lips.

A resounding cough forced them to look back at the couple behind the counter.

“Here you are, Alduin,” Mr. Sugarplum slid the paper bag across the surface with a smile towards Alduin and a quizzical look at Mr. Riddle. Meanwhile his wife didn’t bother to be discreet in her scrutiny. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the two of them until her eyes widened as if a metaphorical lightbulb lit up atop her head.

“Thank you, sir. Have a nice day,” he smiled politely before grabbing the bag and make his way towards the door, wanting to get away from the sudden awkward atmosphere.

Alduin shifted the bag in his hold to reach for the knob but another, much larger, hand took hold of it before him. He didn’t need to look up as Mr. Riddle opened the door, letting him go out first.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Back in the streets of Diagon Alley, Alduin’s eyes remained looking forward. His hearing could pick up the soft sound of another set of feet. Mr. Riddle kept pace with him despite his longer legs, following his lead whilst remaining at the very edge of his periphery. Alduin kept his focus on these as he ignored the people milling about the Alley stopping and staring at the two of them. Some even did a double take.

‘How unsubtle of him.’

When the wand shop finally came into view, Alduin turned on his heel to look up the tall man. Mr. Riddle was much taller than his mother, probably by a full head, and he briefly wondered if he would also be as tall as him one day.

“May I help you, Mr. Riddle?”

“A talk, if you are amenable to it,” his voice and expression remained passive, almost as cordial as his, but that did not hide the demand hidden by his veneer of suggestion.

“That depends whether you would try to invade my mind again.”

One of Mr. Riddle’s brows arched up at his frankness, “You know Legilimens.”

“My mother taught me many things.”

“So it would appear,” there was a slight hum in his voice, “Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Why would I want to do that which I obviously proved unsuccessful the first time?”

.

“Mother, what happened to that man who broke his soul? After he broke it to the point there’s hardly anything left.”

“He went insane, Al. Both in mind and magic. He became nothing more than a shell of his former self.”

.

At the most opportune time, Alduin’s stomach grumbled loudly, causing heat to creep up his cheeks in embarrassment despite himself.

“Lunch it is then?” Mr. Riddle’s brow rose again and all he could do was nod in agreement.

“I’ll just stop by Mr. Ollivander’s first.”

He went in and out of the shop as quick as he can. Although the wandmaker had to be convinced once more to accept his present. His humility only earned him more points in his book. Mr. Ollivander finally let him go with a bid farewell and a favor to extend his thanks to his mother.

Mr. Riddle waited patiently for him outside the shop, and when it seemed that neither of them wanted to initiate conversation, he cocked his head to the side like a cat. Alduin took this as his cue to lead the way, feeling a little elated that he gets to choose where to eat. Mr. Riddle walked into step beside him at an amiable distance but not far enough to count them as strangers.

.

They ate in silence for the most part. Like that time they ate at the Malfoy Manor before chaos broke.

Alduin led him to a humble restaurant, or more aptly- a hole in the wall, a place he and his mother had eaten at before. If Mr. Riddle noticed how he chose the booth beside the largest window, closest to the door, where they can easily be seen, he made no mention.

“May I ask, Mr. Riddle, how Nagini is faring?” he asked as they were halfway done with their meal.

Mr. Riddle stared at him for moments. His bottomless eyes piercing him to where he sat. His mother told him to never show fear in his face, no matter what the man says. So he stares back with as much curiosity and innocence he can muster, drawing from his genuine concern over the well-mannered serpent who called his mother- Honorable and him- Powerful.

“She is doing well,” Mr. Riddle answered, “You seem to have taken quite a liking to her, and it seemed that she favors you back.”

“Nagini is courteous, sir. I will always think favorably to those who have good manners.”

“How virtuous of you.”

“Do you follow current events, sir?”

“Religiously.”

“Then may I ask your opinion on the attack at Malfoy Manor? I’m not very familiar with the Malfoys, but I have met Mrs. Malfoy and she was kind enough to buy me bows for my violin. Can you tell me how they are faring?”

Mr. Riddle’s stare wasn’t as long as his passive façade broke with a huff of amusement and tilt at the corner of his lips. If Alduin had to be perfectly honest, he has a level of appreciation towards Mr. Riddle in the manner of conversing with him. Apart from his mother, he could only count people he knew who can talk in subtlety in one hand. He found such conversations more stimulating. Almost like a game of puzzle, except with words, and the pieces are those which he can find between the words. And unlike an actual puzzle game, one loses when they couldn’t keep up or understand what’s really being said.

Like the dragons his mother told him about. Fictious beasts interpreted by a muggle author. Just as they were notorious for their destructive ferocity, they have a love of speaking in metaphors, riddles, and tongues. Speaking in conversations needed to be deciphered spilled by their forked tongues.

“What led you to believe I would know that?” he tested.

“Because a snake ate a peacock and lives within its walls,” his casual answer slipped from his lips before he took another bite off his food.

“They are well,” Mr. Riddle answered indulgingly, “Shaken, but well. As how would anyone react to having their home invaded. Fortunately, their son was away with relatives so he was safe from the attack. Much to his parents’ relief.”

“That is fortunate. It wouldn’t do to have a child getting involved. I couldn’t imagine what might happen if he somehow found himself in the middle of the crossfire. I’d wager his mother would be furious if anything happens.”

“That would be his fault for coming near the trouble instead of avoiding it.”

Alduin wet his lips, eyes hardened at his insinuation and for remembering what had happened that night that made him snap, “At least the thief came and go without taking a life. Whatever they stole must’ve had more value than anything else in the manor.”

“Are you defending a thief, Alduin?”

“I am simply looking at the bright side of the outcome, sir. It’s all a manner of perspective.”

“Well, either way, the Aurors are trying their best in their investigation. Though I would think the thief would’ve escaped the country already for offending someone so powerful, wouldn’t you think so too?”

“Perhaps. That is the most logical reason to avoid getting caught, after all.”

“But hypothetically, what if they didn’t? Run away that is.”

“Then I suppose that means they still have an objective they still need to achieve. Another valuable artefact to steal, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. Would they risk another excursion? They might end up in a viper’s nest this time. A snake would not take thievery as kindly as a peacock.”

“Who could say?” Alduin shrugged nonchalantly, “If this thief is as powerful and amazing as they say, then could it be plausible they wanted to get caught in the first place?”

“They ought to learn to have some self-preservation if they value their life.”

“That would imply the thief would be in harm’s way.”

“Isn’t that to be expected?”

“Well, there’s this speculation that the thief was actually someone who had been wronged and their attack was just an act of vindication.”

“And you believe that?”

“That would explain their, as you alluded- ‘lack of self-preservation’. If that were true and the magnitude of their wake was not exaggerated, then it would be best for those people whom have wronged the thief to practice caution. Within the level of walking on thin ice over a freezing lake- kind of caution.”

Mr. Riddle almost laughed. Almost, “Surely, you can’t expect the serpent to not retaliate and hunt them back? A snake would never harm another unless they try to hurt it first.”

“True, but a snake doesn’t hunt like a lion. It prefers to lie in wait and attacks when the opportune time comes. Either they hold on and never let go, or let their prey succumb to their venom with a slow death. Even I know of that, sir,” Alduin stared unblinkingly at the older man. His silence being the only confirmation that his message had been clearly received and understood, “Why are you here, Mr. Riddle?”

“Is it not a father’s right to spend time with his son?” Mr. Riddle said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world and he was the odd one to not realize it.

His answer however, only made Alduin rear his head back as his brows furrowed deeply. Before he could respond however, a waitress came by to ask if they would like to order something else.

“No, thank you,” Alduin and Mr. Riddle said in perfect unison, startling the waitress and, apparently, the other diners who have been glancing towards them every now and then since they entered the restaurant.

The waitress blinked out of her stupor for a time and politely left them be with an amused smile on her lips as if she found the two of them fascinating. That didn’t escape Tom and Alduin’s notice however, as they returned to silently finish their meal.

.

No words could describe the level of worry and anxiety Hermione has over her son the second she parted from him at Ollivander’s.

Part of her berated herself for relenting in the first place.

She turned on her heel, leaving behind her latest hunt in the humble cottage just seconds before the witch’s relatives could find their cold, lifeless body, and apparated at the apparition point in front of Diagon Alley.

She told Alduin that she would be coming home very early and knew her son should be waiting for her there already. However, when her eyes fell on her cub sitting at his usual place at the edge of the fountain, her body froze and she had to muster everything in her willpower to not fire her wand at the man sitting beside him.

Tom Riddle was talking with her son. All the while his hands were pointing and motioning at the fountain behind them. And her son, her Alduin, was nodding along eagerly as if the man before him didn’t hold him at wandpoint a few days ago.

When Alduin said he was still interested with Riddle, she was more than ready to pack up for and leave for another country. Hunts be damned, she’ll find a way to manage that later.

But her son just had to say he was craving…

And to be perfectly honest, that was more cause for concern than whatever Riddle can threaten them with. She doubted even he would be able to do anything to save himself if he had been there in Buenos Aires.

Hermione closed her eyes and took deep long breaths. She has to trust Alduin. All she has are theories and she knew her son knew more even though he couldn’t fully explain it himself. She had to remind herself that despite how much she loved him and treated him as the child he was, he wasn’t born for no reason.

Although she would be lying if she said Alduin’s apparent lack of concern about the danger that was Tom Riddle did not frustrate her. Her son had always been fearless. Even when he faced a horned serpent for the first time, he merely talked to it as if it were an old friend. The only time she had seen him afraid of something was when he thought he had ruined her soulsong.

She didn’t like this. Not. One. Bit.

She could only hope whatever Alduin’s interest in Riddle wouldn’t last long. If things were only different, then Riddle and her son wouldn’t have met in the first place.

Hermione stopped walking closer to the pair when Alduin’s head suddenly turned towards her as if he could sense her. His polite façade broke into a huge, excited grin as he hurriedly stood up and practically ran towards her.

“Mother!” he greeted her with a hug at her midsection.

Her eyes made a quick scan over his features and after making sure not a hair on his head was out of place, she let her inhibitions slide to hug him back and kiss him on the forehead. Immense relief washed away some of her worry.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she whispered to his ear.

“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Alduin smiled up at her innocently. Then he turned, “Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Riddle.”

Hermioned felt herself swallow a lump in her throat before finally meeting the gaze of the man who’s said to be the darkest wizard of all time.

Riddle cocked his head to the side at Alduin, “Of course, Alduin. It wouldn’t do to leave you on your own unprotected.”

His cold eyes turned to her own at those last words and Hermione felt every nerve ending in her to ready for battle. She had fought in the war, drowned, and faced dangers no one could even comprehend; but there’s just something about Tom Riddle that made her raise her hackles as if she would be facing her last battle.

“Mother, don’t be rude,” Alduin nudged, breaking her from her stupor.

For a brief moment, Hermione shot him a disbelieved look before willing herself to rein in her reservations. Her face was surely one of distrust as she said begrudgingly, “Thank you, Mr. Riddle.”

“Of course,” he answered smoothly, “He is my son, after all.”

Hermione felt her fists tighten beneath the long sleeves of her robe. Her nostrils flared at his insinuation. The way he said that sentence didn’t sit right with her- at all.

“Well, we should be going home now. Let’s go, Alduin.”

Without waiting for a response, Hermione marched her way back to their Den, only seeing her son wave and bid goodbye to the man from her periphery before falling into step beside her. Once inside the safety of their home, Hermione couldn’t wait any longer to ask.

“What did he say to you, Al?” she asked softly.

No matter how curious or interested or whatever hidden agenda her son’s subconscious has for Tom Riddle, the man is still extremely dangerous. She couldn’t stress that enough when she had sat him down on all the warnings and flags he had to watch out, knowing that interaction between the two would be unavoidable. All she could do was to make sure Riddle wouldn’t get the upper hand.

She may be a lioness, but she can play the snake’s game too.

“He said he just wanted to get to know his son,” Alduin answered as clearly as he can.

Based on the expressions on their faces, neither mother nor son believed a single word of it.

Whose is the house of honor?

For I am not its host.

I know no code of honor,

For I am nothing but its ghost.

Chapter Text

What would you do if you could manipulate time?

Would you meet your demise and rewind?

Make every consequence part of your design?

The sands of time are no longer in your hands,

Tell us how will it pass?

Simple-folk.

The people of Diagon Alley, and by extension- Carkitt Market, could be summed up as simple-folk. They trudge along day after day working, providing services to fellow wizards and witches in need of their everyday auxiliaries, ensuring to make ends meet, only to repeat it over again. It’s a monotonous, yet to most, a content and satisfactory life. The most excitement they may have, if not from within the happenings of their own lives, then from whatever made the headlines of the Daily Prophet. They are mostly people of habit who wouldn’t mind having a little spice every now and then.

Even if that took the form of a little boy.

“The boy came to the shop with his mother. Wide-eyed and all as he looked around the shop. It was a slow day so I got to observe him a bit. It was quite curious, honestly. He skipped the shelves kids his age would typically go to and went straight to the more advanced books. Didn’t think he understood them, honestly,” recounted Mr. Trihart, the current manager of Flourish and Blotts.

“Did he buy anything?” asked Mr. Biscus, the owner of Eyecatcher’s Second Hand Books.

He nodded, “Sure did. I was surprised, really. He pointed at the cage where I kept stock of The Monster Book of Monsters when his mother asked him if he wanted anything.”

“Truly?!”

“Yes,” he nodded again, firmly this time, “Of course, I warned them about those special books. Wouldn’t want those little devils biting off the boy’s fingers, after all, but both mother and son seemed sure, and they were paying customers so… I punched it in. But then…”

“Then? Come now, don’t leave us in suspense!” Mr. Buttonwood exclaimed, a mutual friend of the shop owners who had asked if anything interesting happened in their day-to-day lives in their weekly get-together at The Hopping Pot- a wizarding pub.

“Alright! Alright!” Mr. Trihart held his hands up to placate his ever-excitable friend, “See, before I could even tell the boy to stroke the book’s spine, he just up and opens the book with no problem at all! The book barely even growled in his hands! Honestly, it was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. I would have thought it defective if it didn’t snap at me when I tried to get it out of the cage. I’ve never seen that book so docile in another’s hands before.”

A collective hum in wonderment came from both his companions. Their eyes wide in amazement, with a hint of disbelief. He wasn’t offended because even he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen the occurrence with his own eyes. Those books aren’t called Monsters for no reason, after all. An adult would still have some semblance of difficulty using them, let alone a child.

Mr. Buttonwood snapped from his momentary stupor and turned to the bookstore owner, “What about you? Have you met this extraordinary boy as well?”

The owner of Eyecatcher’s nodded, “I sure have. Although I’ve never seen his mother. He comes by the shop every other day to check on whatever’s new. I’ve chatted with him as well. He’s a good lad, seems smart, and very polite too. Hasn’t caused me any trouble and always puts back the books in the right shelves. So I just let him stay in the shop and read if he ever came by.” He finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“He doesn’t come by my shop as often as yours,” Mr. Trihart commented, “but when he does, he only does a quick browse. I’ve seen him come and go Ollivander’s though. Do you think they’re related?”

“Maybe? Though I can’t say for certain,” Mr. Biscus held his chin in thought. He wasn’t that close with the wandmaker but he’s had a couple of drinks with him before, “I’ve only ever talked about books with the boy- and you know I’m really not one for formalities. I just personally find it odd when conversing with a child that way. So, I let him call me William, and he introduces himself as just Alduin. Although I have seen his father.”

“Oh?”

He nodded firmly, “I’ve not conversed with him, but trust me when I say there is absolutely no doubt that he is Alduin’s father. They look exactly alike it’s almost scary! They stopped by the shop twice already and both times he bought the boy a book.”

If only he could show his friends how eerily the two looked so much alike. Children looking closely like one of their parents aren’t uncommon, but that father and son was on a whole other level of similarities. They even give off the same vibe. It made him wonder what the boy’s mother might’ve looked like or if he resembled any part of her at all.

There’s just no question about the relationship of the two.

They continued to converse a bit more about the unusual boy who favored books more than Quidditch, drawing their own assumptions on why he seems free to roam around the ever-busy Diagon Alley unsupervised. Someone so young shouldn’t be left by their own devices, after all. Until their conversation eventually drifted to their personal lives. Finding nothing else unusual about the boy who frequented Diagon Alley for the last few weeks.

.

“You’re late!”

The group of witches, huddled together at a booth of a café, stopped in the middle of their chatter to turn to the figure heading towards their way.

“I’m so sorry ladies. Truly, I am,” the newcomer, Lavinia, said with her head dipped in apology before she slid onto the empty chair they had saved for her.

“I’m surprised. You’re not usually the late one to come to our soirees,” commented Holly, eyeing Lavinia’s slight breathlessness. She obviously speed-walked her way to get to them.

“Yes, well, Madam Benette had us all very busy lately,” she answered, taking a sip of the offered tea before continuing, “Someone had asked for a commission that had the madam dump all of the work to us.”

“Oho?” Rosia hummed, her eyes wide, “That must be quite the commission if the Madam Benette had to make it a priority. Is it a request from the Malfoys? The Blacks?”

Lavinia shook her head, “Neither. None of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, actually. Now, did I miss anything before I got here?”

“Nothing much. We’ve just been catching up actually,” Eloise supplied, “Although Sierra was just telling us about this charming little boy.”

“Oh ladies, you have no idea! That boy is just precious,” the apothecary assistant cooed. “I’ve never met such a well-mannered child before. Such a little gentleman. He’s even more polite than any of those pureblooded children.”

“Who put up the commission then?” Rosia pushed, leaning towards Lavinia, “Were they a noble foreigner?”

Lavinia stared down at her friend for a moment with a quirked brow. Noting the eager expression on her face. Although she supposed she couldn’t blame the witch for being curious. Any witch whose even remotely interested in fashion would know the brand Benette. Infamous for only having one store in the entirety of UK, in London; if there are restaurants whom people had to make reservations months in advance, Benette’s would be its tailoring equivalent. Unlike other stores, they sold no ready-to-wear collections, and only accept commissioned work- that never seem to run out. Anyone whose anyone would want to wear a tailored outfit made from them, and anyone who had been fortunate enough to wear one would all say that they feel like royalty.

“I don’t think so,” she finally answered after a moment’s thought, “They seemed as English as we are.”

“So they just happen to be sickeningly rich? Surely, that can’t be all to sway the Madam to make them a priority. Can’t you give us a hint of a name, at least?”

“Rosia, you know I can’t tell that kind of information. Even if they’re not from the Twenty-Eight. Besides, the commission was for a little boy. I’ve only ever seen the missus and she’s not someone whom I recognize so I don’t know which sickeningly rich husband she has. The boy is such a dear though, very well-mannered,” Lavinia suddenly paused upon remembering the customers in question who gained the Madam’s favor. Then unbeknownst to her companions and herself, her eyes glossed over absently for a moment, making her seem to have been lost in thought before her brows creased together, “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever quite gotten their names.”

“Welcome back, husband.”

The greeting came to him the second he stepped out of the fireplace and Abraxas let his public mask slip as he approached his wife. The bags under her eyes were about nonexistent by now since the incident. To his relief, Serafina had kept herself hidden and safe when the boy’s mother came and practically tore down their home.

“Things are progressing smoothly, Sera,” he said after giving a kiss to her cheek, “Just be patient a bit more and we can finally go home.”

A small understanding smile was her response to his words.

It would be a lie if he said he was no longer in shock and denial over what had happened to his ancestral home. How could he not? When the very manor that withstood the test of time and history had fallen in one night by the wrath of a single witch. Fortunately, her only goal in mind had been to retrieve her son so the only carnage she left in her wake was the path that led to the meeting room, but it did not mean the damage was any less extensive. Putting back the house together was easy enough, and any furniture and décor can easily be replaced, but the greatest challenge was restoring the wards that had been destroyed, and frankly, Abraxas would not want him and his family to be left vulnerable in their own home.

“How is Lucius?” he asked.

“He misses us. Worried, but in good health,” Serafina answered, cupping a hand to her weary face, “I miss my boy, Abraxas. Can we not call him back to us now?”

A deep breath left his lips in thought. Because of the incident, the Malfoy couple had to stay at one of their nearby villas while they wait to get their house fixed. Whereas they had decided to extend their son’s visit at his grandparents as an added precaution. But with the way things are moving now…

 “I suppose that is possible. Although we would still have to stay here in the villa for a few more days. I don’t think Lucius would mind,” He lets out an encouraging smile, “Besides, Tom is helping restore the manor’s wards himself so I’m sure it won’t be long now until we can finally come back home.”

Abraxas did not miss the way the shine in his wife’s eyes at his acquiescence of reuniting with their son again, had dimmed at the mention of his esteemed lord’s name.

As far as he knew, his wife knew nothing about Tom Riddle apart from being the charismatic, powerful wizard he was. He had introduced him as an old friend since his days in Hogwarts whom he deeply respected with the highest regard. She may not fully understand the grasp of his influence and power over him and the other Knights but she was a witch who knew to stay out of his business. However, the happenings of a few days ago may have stirred guilt and doubt over herself for approaching the boy in the first place.

Even though he knew she was not to blame as circumstances just happened like a chain reaction; a little too well, in his opinion, that he might’ve thought it was staged. Surely the boy’s meeting with his wife was just pure coincidence, right? But if Tom’s son inherited more than just his appearance…

He shuddered at the thought.

“Oh I almost forgot. Your friends have come and are waiting for you at the parlor.”

He blinked his eyes inquisitively at her. He did not recall any meeting being held today but true enough, the familiar faces of the Knights of Walpurgis greeted him the moment he entered the room.

“Gentlemen,” he started, squaring his shoulders, “I must admit this is quite the social call.”

“We apologize for the short notice,” said Theoden Nott, “but each of us here are in a consensus that this is a most pressing matter.”

“And you all believe this pressing matter is best consulted with me because?” Abraxas drawled, his grey eyes surveyed each of his fellow Knights and noted the uncertainty in their expressions. He was tired from the restoration of his manor (there were specifically tailored wards that can only be used by those within the Malfoy bloodline), ensuring the ties with his associates, and steering off any curious reporters wanting to get anymore scrap out of the story he told about the incident.

“Because as you are the one directly related to the recent misgivings, you would have the higher opinion second only to our lord,” answered Jericho.

Understanding what they came for, Abraxas heaved out a sigh before sitting himself at an unoccupied chair.

“Well then, let us hear it.”

Jericho Avery, Theoden Nott, Philip Rosier, and Markus Lestrange, turned to one another in silent conversation. Each of them made up the innermost circle of Tom’s Death Eaters, and all of which now heads of their own houses with families of their own. If there were anyone who believed in Tom’s cause then it would be them. So with that in mind, Abraxas highly doubted they came because of a sudden doubt they developed over Tom’s integrity. Their lord always kept his promises especially in terms of power, and he had delivered on numerous occasions even whilst they were still at school. Just being by his side and in his favor already made them feel powerful. Besides, it would be foolish (more so suicidal) of them to suddenly jump over the fence this late in the game.

“I suppose I could start,” Markus volunteered. He gestured with his hand, “I know none of us here are much into women’s gossip, but my wife had told me this interesting thing she saw the other day whilst she was having tea with Theoden’s wife and some of their friends at a café. They claimed to have seen our esteemed lord walking about the streets of Diagon Alley with a little boy that looks exactly like him.”

“Apparently, it gave them quite the shock,” supplied Theoden, “Melissa had to harp it over me the second she came home.”

“My wife had the same reaction as well,” Philip added, “Except she was out shopping with our house elf when she saw them browsing at a bookstore.”

Abraxas turned to Jericho, “And did your wife happen upon the same sight as well?”

“No, but this kind of gossip travels fast and she heard it from Melissa,” Jericho answered, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you verbatim over the hype they said about it but I can say it was a bit exaggerated if it even sparked the interest of my wife to interrupt me in my study just to ask about it.”

“Well, knowing your reticent wife, I have no doubts,” quipped Markus, to which Jericho just waved his hand in no offense.

Meanwhile, Abraxas had to gather all of his willpower to suppress a groan, knowing full well where the direction of this conversation was going. Except for his wife, theirs have attended Hogwarts alongside them. Even though Jericho and Theoden’s wives were in the year after them, they all knew of Tom Riddle and have known him personally since they married their husbands. Obligations mandated them to know the man whom their husbands held highly so it’s no surprise that they would have such reactions if the charming, powerful, dark, and mysterious Tom Riddle suddenly appeared with a miniature version of himself for the world to see.

“But the query still stands,” Jericho continued and now all eyes were fixed on Abraxas, “Why is Tom freely walking around with his bastard?”

A litany of words erupted with their own variation of the question. Not that Abraxas blamed them. Weeks ago, Tom ordered them a tight lip as if the boy was their own closely guarded secret, but now he’s practically announcing that he has a son.

“We were wondering if our lord has mentioned anything to you about this sudden turn of events,” said Theoden, “because we certainly weren’t sure what to say. We understand if he wished to remain it as a secret but this is just…”

Abraxas nodded slowly in understanding. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I think… our lord wants everyone to know,” he started, “Honestly he hasn’t told me of his plans directly but if you think about it, just by walking with the boy, anyone would conclude that they’re related. And from the blasé way he’s doing it, I say it’s purely intentional.”

“But why is he risking it?”

“Tom’s not even married.”

“People will talk, and with our wives- women of high society- knowing, word will travel fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if other houses have heard of it already.”

“I agree,” Abraxas quipped, “But thinking about it, what do the words of a few shopkeepers and bystanders matter? He and the boy’s mother didn’t exactly go off on the right foot.”

“That’s an understatement,” someone snorted.

“Don’t misunderstand. The witch is clearly still a problem, and we all know Tom wouldn’t just let this offense go without retaliation a hundred-fold,” Abraxas leaned forward, elbows atop his thighs, “I hypothesize that Tom wishes to lure the witch through the boy. What better bait to use, after all?”

“But wouldn’t he also put himself at risk? Having a bastard would not bode well for his reputation.”

“True, but it’s not as if he needed to say anything. After all, some houses would endear more to him knowing he’s a family man. Like the Blacks and Selwyns. It’s not the first time for him to capitalize on a situation and turn it in his favor. I just don’t exactly see the picture, but I’m sure that’s the gist of it.”

Something feels wrong.

“-and then, he showed me the difference between linear and circular arrays-“

Hermione listened to her son’s rambles while half of her attention was on the bubbling cauldron before her. While she was relieved that she had collected enough from her hunts to compensate for the time she had initially ignored the pull, she can’t help but notice that unexplainable force has been waning bit by bit. It concerned her because after each of her son’s feasts, the number would usually increase in order to satiate him for his next hungry bout.

But recently, the pull hadn’t been as strong as it was compared to the last five years. She could still feel it regularly; feel it call to her inner hunter, but something niggled at the back of her mind that this almost undiscernible feeling shouldn’t be ignored. Has something changed in her son’s appetite? Is this related to what that Allsehend showed her? If she couldn’t feel that tell-tale pull anymore, then how would she be able to feed her son? Will she have to go look for the prey herself?

She shuddered at the thought. Even though her hands have long since been stained during her past life, she had never killed anyone in cold blood. But if it’s for her son…

Something feels very, very wrong.

“-said this book will help me understand better about the basic principles. Mr. Riddle said he’d give me a week, but I believe I can finish it in three days.”

The brunette smiled at her son’s raised chin in pride and challenge, yet her brows were furrowed slightly in concern. She was happy to see her son happy. There was that usual shine in his eyes whenever he found something interesting, and just like her, he rambled whatever he learned to her willing ear, foretelling his excitement of learning something new. The only problem was the source of his current interest.

Ever since she resumed her hunts, there wasn’t a single day Tom Riddle didn’t take advantage of her absence to get close with her son. She wasn’t surprised. She had even expected it. Whenever she came from her hunt and meet her son at the fountain, Riddle would be there too, talking to her son. Every. Single. Time. It was only because of Alduin’s insistence on cordiality that made her give him terse thanks, and in return Riddle would make a suggestive remark about Alduin being his son.

Oh, the nerve of that git!

“Al,” she turned to him over her shoulder, “Has he done or… said anything else while you’re with him?”

Alduin cocked his head at her before he shook his head, making her frown.

As promised, Alduin would tell her about how his day went, especially during the hours he spent with Riddle. While it’s blatantly clear that he was trying to get close to her son, the only exchanges that had happened between them so far were about topics on magic. From potions, ancient runes, arithmancy, even magic theory; it seemed that Riddle even tested how much Alduin knew about every subject. And these discussions then brought a shine in her son’s eyes.

The churning in her stomach grew worse each time Riddle’s name flew easier and easier out of her son’s lips. Diagon Alley could only offer so much for Alduin’s entertainment, and learning about wandlore had satisfied him for a time, but Riddle’s presence had provided that intellectual stimulation her son needed during her absence. She knew Tom Riddle was a brilliant wizard, both in power and intellect. He had even received the title as the best student to have ever graced Hogwarts. Harry had told her so. And based on what her son had told her about the knowledge Riddle had shared with him, she’d have to begrudgingly admit it.

Still, it didn’t mean she liked the idea of her son growing fond of the dark wizard just because he- in her son’s words- can also answer all of his questions just like her.

But really, what is Riddle playing at?

He hardly even made a move to confront her since that incident at the Malfoy Manor. If it hadn’t been for the sheer cold beneath his void-black eyes, she would’ve thought otherwise.

For all his claims of being Alduin’s father, she had absolutely zero faith that it was because Tom suddenly developed a paternal instinct. He’s interested, yes, but for what reason? She’s not foolish to believe this façade of his.

.

“Mr. Riddle asked where we use to live before coming to London.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Here and there. I told him we’ve been travelling around the world, and when I asked him if he had gone anywhere outside the country, he said that he had been travelling too.”

.

“Has he taken you anywhere you’re not familiar in?”

“Not at all, mother. In fact, Mr. Riddle just follows me around wherever I go. No matter which shop I go to. Sometimes he would even pay for the things I buy. I would’ve found it strange but he actually makes a good conversationalist. We often just talk about magic though.”

“He doesn’t ask you about anything else?”

“No… well, sometimes… he asked bit about our travels like where we went, how long we stayed, and what we did. He only asked once what your occupation was and I told him you make potions and do curse-breaking. I promise I didn’t tell him anything else like our Den and your hunts!”

.

“Blood? Well, Mr. Riddle asked if we have relatives here but I just told him that my grandparents aren’t here anymore like you said I should. Other than that, he’s never questioned me about family or anything related to blood status again.”

.

She noticed the rod stopped stirring in the cauldron from her periphery and peered over the contents. This potion was meant to freeze the cells of any organism, thus losing their metabolic function in exchange for keeping itself perfectly preserved until an external source destroys it. It was a recipe she made to preserve the flower her son had given her for Mother’s Day. Satisfied at the shimmering light blue liquid and slightly spicy scent, she turned to her son who had been reading silently atop one of the clear desks with the new book Riddle had bought him on his lap.

“Hey, Al, would you mind helping me? Postino ordered a batch of my Eterna Solution for the flowers he’d want to give to Carmela on their upcoming anniversary.”

Alduin perked his head up at her words. Just like he wouldn’t mind sitting and reading all day, he also wouldn’t mind doing any physical activity. Besides, helping her with potions is the only time she would allow him to use a knife.

His head turned to the cauldron and then down to the book as he hummed in contemplation. Hermione didn’t even try to hide her smirk when Alduin set the book down and grabbed the nearest stool to set beside her.

As if she’ll let Riddle hog her son’s attention while she’s here.

Alduin stared up at the older man with his head cocked to one side in silent wonder, question, and confusion. Mr. Riddle had only ever followed him around wherever he went, falling into step just a foot behind him. Not too far to say strangers nor too near to invade his space, but just enough to convey they were familiar with each other.

He would also only arrive after he’s done with his meeting with the wandmaker. No matter how early or late he decided to leave the shop, Mr. Riddle would be there, appearing out of nowhere just waiting for him outside. He never once stepped foot inside the shop.

Until now.

Which is why Alduin can’t help but wonder why. He entered the wand shop just as he was bidding farewell to Mr. Ollivander.

Alas, Mr. Riddle only met his curious stare with that familiar nonplussed expression of his. His chin high and head tilted just slightly to the side in mockery of his own. Alduin was no ignorant that Mr. Riddle was a man on a whole other category. His mother’s evident worry and constant warnings told him more than enough. But he didn’t need his mother to tell him of his capabilities as well.

Mr. Riddle’s soul song may be broken, but the melody still played a mesmerizing tone almost as equal to his mother’s.

He was powerful, and someone whom should definitely be wary of, but in the face of Alduin’s hunger, the craving he’s never felt before took great precedence above everything else. Now if only his mother could also see that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

He was also aware that Mr. Riddle wanted to form a sort of bond or connection with him but he’s yet to solve the reason behind them. His mother’s constant reminder not to trust the man also added fuel to his own precautions. He wouldn’t want to upset his mother again, but he would be lying if he said that Mr. Riddle wasn’t compelling. If there’s anything Alduin couldn’t resist, it’s good food and new knowledge, and Mr. Riddle knew a lot of things. He gives a new perspective on topics (magic), even the ones he had tackled before with his mother.

So, for today… should he just… play along?

“I’ll be off now, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you again for today,” Alduin snapped his head towards the wandmaker behind his front desk. His grin split his face from ear to ear.

“O-Oh yes, of course. It’s a pleasure as always. Do send my regards to your mother,” Mr. Ollivander stammered, eyes blinked rapidly as if in a trance. He wore the same expression as all the other shopkeepers, and even passersby, who saw him and Mr. Riddle together. The man whom he resembled so much didn’t even need to utter a single word.

“Of course, I will, sir,” Alduin said cheerily before walking towards the door. It didn’t take long for Mr. Riddle to follow suit.

Once outside, Alduin waited for Mr. Riddle to close the door behind him before opening his mouth. An innocent, playful smile tugged at his lips while his eyes shone with mirth. Wholly unafraid of the man who had pointed his wand at him in clear threat not too long ago.

“I’m hungry. Can we go eat first?”

Mr. Riddle’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, “Haven’t you eaten enough at breakfast this morning?”

“I ate a lot,” he answered as-a-matter-of-factly. He had noticed how Mr. Riddle became quite inquisitive whenever food became a topic or whenever he mentioned he was hungry, “but I’m a growing boy so…”

He rolled his wrists and shrugged his shoulders playfully. Mr. Riddle huffed out in response.

“Very well. Where would you like to eat this time?”

Alduin pressed his finger to his chin and hummed dramatically, “I was thinking maybe you should pick a place this time, Mr. Riddle.”

A fine brow arched at his suggestion, “I suppose. Any requests?”

“Something new?”

“Something local then. Come,” with a swift turn of his heel, Mr. Riddle began walking down the cobblestone path. Alduin dutifully took his place just a foot shy behind him as he followed in curiosity.

Yes, maybe it would be more fun to play along with Mr. Riddle in the lead this time.

The older man led them to the end of Diagon Alley, where a small chilly courtyard stood. Alduin knew this area, of course. There was a brick wall at the end that would shift and mold into an entranceway where both wizards and witches alike would come and go. However, instead of the familiar wall, Alduin averted his gaze towards one particular dark corner. Its entranceway was a lopsided sign that read Knockturn Alley.

“Have you been down there before?” he heard Mr. Riddle ask as he kept his curious gaze on the alley.

“No,” he answered, “Mother said I shouldn’t go down there without her.”

“But would you like to? I can take you down there, seeing as you’re so curious.”

This time, Alduin turned to look at him. There was something strange on Mr. Riddle’s expression, as if he was anticipating something that was in his favor, or like a cat that finally caught the canary.

“Don’t you want to know what’s down there?” he goaded.

Alduin hummed as he placed his hands behind his back, then he turned away from the shifty alley.

“Not really,” he said with a bit of pep, “Mother said there are a lot of riff raff there that don’t have any manners, and I find discourtesy to be unspeakably ugly.”

“Pity,” Mr. Riddle said noncommittally.

With that topic dropped, Mr. Riddle opened the brick wall as expected where he led him inside an unassuming door.

Dingy, was Alduin’s first impression of the pub he stepped into. Despite the early hours, the place had a stark contrast of lighting that needed the aid of candles. It was a bit noisy from all the patrons talking amongst each other, and there were even those occupying the bar getting drunk.

“Mr. Riddle,” Alduin began as he followed him to one of the unoccupied tables, away from the long table at the center, “Where are we?”

“The Leaky Cauldron,” he answered once they sat themselves comfortably, “it’s a known pub and inn here in Wizarding London. Mostly because just outside that door is the muggle side of London.”

The older man gestured with his head towards another nondescript door. It swung open as a witch entered and showed him the sunlit road where a noisy car just passed by.

Alduin hummed, “Ahh, not bad. It has a convenient and strategic location.”

“I take it you’ve never been here before?”

“No, but I’ve heard of it. I’ve never been in an inn before,” Alduin said as he let his curious eyes wander and commit to memory every detail of the place.

“No?” came Mr. Riddle’s genuinely curious tone.

“No,” he confirmed, “Mother always found us a flat so there was no need for us to stay at an inn. But we ate at a pub once because I was curious of the food there.”

“It must be daunting jumping at one place to another all the time,” Mr. Riddle commented before casually asking, “Wouldn’t you like a more permanent residence?”

Alduin shrugged, “Not really. I like learning and seeing new things so I don’t mind. We even lived inside a tree once.”

At this slip, the older man’s stygian black eyes snapped into full attention, “A tree?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How peculiar,” he drawled in exercise of patience, “would you mind elaborating on that?”

Alduin fought the snicker at his apparent sire’s obvious interest, “I apologize, sir, but I can’t tell you much at all. Mother only said we stayed there until I was three years old. I wouldn’t even know about it if she didn’t tell me! It makes me wonder what it was like. I couldn’t imagine how someone could live inside a tree, could you?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Ah but knowing mother, she probably did something amazing to make it possible,” Alduin leaned forward playfully with a toothy grin, “because my mother is a very, very powerful witch. Don’t you agree, Mr. Riddle?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but there was a wrinkle between his brows that only encouraged him to keep up his grin.

“Yes, she is.”

This time, Alduin couldn’t help bark out a laugh. Mr. Riddle always seem to get riled up whenever his mother was mentioned, no matter how much he expertly hid it. The songs he could hear never lie, and Mr. Riddle’s would always increase in tempo. Fortunately, whatever retort Mr. Riddle had over his response didn’t came out as a waitress arrived at their table to fetch them their orders. And just like almost every other person, she had an awed expression on her face as she looked at him and Mr. Riddle more times than it was necessary. It’s honestly starting to get bothersome.

“What’s that?” Alduin paused from taking another bite off his kidney pie to point at a man who began plastering posters along the walls and pillars of the pub.

Mr. Riddle set down his mug to follow his line of sight. Alduin’s blatant pointing and louder question must’ve caught the man’s attention as well, as he turned to the boy with a smile. It was only when Mr. Riddle motioned for the man to approach did he dare to step closer.

“Good day!” the man greeted cheerily, lifting his newsboy cap. There was nothing to take note of his meager clothes, his face looked ordinary as well, perhaps a shy of a few years younger than Mr. Riddle. The only things that stood out and caught Alduin’s interest of him however, were the rolled-up posters tucked under his arm and the pin of a red tower at the lapel of his outer robe.

“Hello, sir,” Alduin led, “I apologize if I bother you, but I can’t help but notice the posters you were putting up. Might I know what it is?”

He beamed, “Why certainly, young sir! Here, have a look at this.”

Shifting to slip his hand into the bag that slung across his chest, the man procured a simple flyer for him to take. Alduin gasped as his eyes widened at the picture of a red tower protruding out of a striped tent. Creatures of different kinds made up the space unoccupied by the large text as they moved about in a constant loop.

“A circus!” he turned the flyer around and shoved it across the table for Mr. Riddle to see. Excitement sparkled his equally dark pools.

“So it is,” Mr. Riddle commented casually, his eyes passed over the paper boredly.

“That’s right, sirs, the Redtower Circus!” the man enunciated with jazz hands, “With over fifteen sensational acts from the most unique talents you’ll ever see! This is our third stop in our European tour and we boast not only an amazing show but there will also be games and prizes, and a parade of exotic beasts from all over the world! I guarantee you will have a most fun and exciting time of your lives!”

Alduin was practically beaming at this point. He’s never been to a circus before. There just wasn’t any of those traveling shows during their travels, and he’s always been curious to see one.

“Would you like to go?” Mr. Riddle asked, the corner of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly in amusement, no doubt at his expression.

“Oh yes!” he answered before suddenly deflating a bit, “but I will have to ask mother first.”

Looking back down on the flyer, the event will start two days from now. Maybe, if he asks nicely (with a little show of his puppy-dog eyes), he could convince his mother to reschedule a hunt or whatever plans she has on that day so they could go see it together. After all, it’s just for one day and who knows when he’ll have the chance to see another circus?

“I’m sure she can be convinced,” Mr. Riddle said, “If not, we could just go together.”

At this, Alduin’s smile completely dropped. Any shine of excitement in his eyes faded as he stared at his apparent sire. He vaguely even heard whatever their audience said, except for the key words: ‘father’ and ‘son’, when Mr. Riddle dismissed him and he went back to his work.

The silence stretched, and though Mr. Riddle had his brow up in question, he didn’t dare break the silence, as Alduin noticed it was his way of prompting others to talk out of their own volition.

“Mr. Riddle,” Alduin began, not caring at all that he dropped his cordial façade, “Do you think yourself as my father?”

To the unaware, that question might’ve been strange. For their appearances alone spoke of their relation.

“Have I not been clear during these past few days, Alduin?” he answered back with a question.

“Yes, but I was asking if you think of yourself as my father,” Alduin stressed those chosen words. He was not ignorant that Mr. Riddle was making it clear to others that they were father and son, he might as well announce it. The question why though, remains unsolved.

As expected, Mr. Riddle understood his question. The silence that followed spoke volumes for it. So before he could come up with another cryptic answer or elusive question, Alduin continued.

“I think you misunderstood something, Mr. Riddle. I apologize for being frank, but I don’t particularly care about this biological relation between us,” he motioned between them, “I am intrigued by you, yes, and I admit I enjoy our discussions but I can never forget the discourtesy you showed my mother. See, until the day my mother acknowledges you as my father, then I will never call you otherwise, Mr. Riddle.”

Something shifted in the air. Subtle and unseemly, only for the small bubble around them. Alduin felt it, his natural sensitivity made it so, and he heard it even as he didn’t need to try, the deep sonorous tone echoed in his ears for the briefest moment. Enough to tell him the displeasure that wrought the man before him. Mr. Riddle’s eyes were alit. The lone candle stuck to the wall beside them gave his visage a stark contrast with the pub’s dingy atmosphere.

Mr. Riddle was angry.

It made Alduin’s hackles rise a second time. The first being when he tried to force his way into his mind if not for the gigantic body of a snake that pushed him back.

Quick as a serpent’s strike, Mr. Riddle’s hand clasped around one of Alduin’s wrist. His fingers sunk into him like fangs, and Alduin tried not to wince at the pain of his vice-like grip.

A deep, mocking laugh rumbled from the older man’s chest, his next words a sibilant hiss only meant for him to hear, “Is that what you think I’ve been doing, Alduin?”

His much larger hand tightened and Alduin couldn’t hold his expression as the pain coursed through him. His own fists balled as he mustered his strength to endure this unpleasant sensation. His mother would never even dare to think of raising a hand on him, but that did not stop others, and the first time that happened, he suddenly became indescribably hungry.

“I think,” Alduin began, meeting brave eyes with his threatening ones, “I think you should show some semblance of courtesy to the mother of your son next time. Casting legilimens without her knowledge is pretty rude, you know.”

“You’re too bold for a snake.”

“No, sir. I’m just an adorable little boy,” willfully ignoring the pain on his wrist, hoping that it wouldn’t bruise for his mother to see, Alduin smiled a genuine, innocent smile, his pearly white teeth flashed unabashed under the candlelight. “Now, if you would please, sir. I need to go.”

Mr. Riddle sneered. His grip loosened only slightly at the flash of his smile, “Do you think you can escape that easily after saying all that?”

“Not at all, sir,” came Alduin’s immediate reply, “It’s just that I really need to go. Right now.”

The thick tension that wrapped around them snapped, popped like a balloon, especially when Mr. Riddle realized what he had just said. Now there was an incredulous expression painting on his face. Yet his eyes remained untrusting as his grip still locked in place over his wrist.

The silence stretched, and Alduin squirmed in his seat not because of his scrutiny. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to go. wordlessly, Mr. Riddle’s hand loosened considerably, and Alduin took that cue to stand from his seat. As a show that he will not be running away, he left his bag on his chair before approaching the nearest staff to ask them where the loo was. He didn’t need to look back to know Mr. Riddle was watching him closely.

Inside the small bathroom where a lone toilet and sink was, Alduin raised his wrist to his eye-level and clicked his tongue in displeasure at the small patches of discolor there. Who knew Mr. Riddle couldn’t handle a bit of criticism? No, he wasn’t afraid. No matter how powerful, there was nothing to be afraid of a broken soul.

From his pocket, he fished out a small tin and opened the lid to reveal mint-green colored cream. He spread a bit of the salve with two fingers over the colored splotches of burgeoning black and blue and watched in satisfaction as the cream and bruises faded as if they were never there.

Alduin sighed. Honestly, if Mr. Riddle didn’t have that something he was craving for, he wouldn’t even be exchanging a single word with the man.

After doing his business, Alduin exited the small bathroom with squared shoulders and unblemished wrist. Gingerly, he maneuvered his way around the busybodies of the pub to return to his table where his apparent sire was waiting in, hopefully, a little better mood.

Suddenly, a mug was dropped in front of him. Alduin stepped back quickly to avoid the suspicious liquid of mead from staining his shoes. When he looked up, Alduin tried not to stare rudely at the fat man with a small gingery blond moustache and thick straw-colored hair. His pudgy hand remained outstretched to where his mug had been as he froze from where he stood. Despite his girthy appearance, he wore velvet waistcoats made from fine material whose buttons he feared would pop out anytime soon. However, what Alduin noticed the most, was the uncensored look of shock on the older man’s face, as well as his ashen white complexion as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Excuse me, sir,” Alduin began, his brows scrunched in mockery of concern, “but are you alright?”

The fat man stammered incoherent syllables, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Alduin had half a mind to just excuse himself when he suddenly said, “T-Tom?”

At that, Alduin blinked and stood straighter.

“Tom Riddle?” the man pointed a shaky finger at him, “Y-You look so... so… young!”

How curious. This is the first time he met someone who knew his apparent sire. At least, someone who told so in his face.

A genial smile pulled up at the corners of his lips, making the man gasp once more, “Well, I am only ten years old, sir. But I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am not Tom Riddle.”

“Alduin.”

As if being summoned, Mr. Riddle came up to them in measured strides, “I heard a noise. Is everything alright?”

Alduin looked up at him and noted the expression on his face as that of concern. As if he had not just grabbed his wrist and held it so tightly it bruised.

“Tom?” said the fat man again, earning his attention.

At this, Alduin watched Mr. Riddle very closely.

“Professor Slughorn,” he greeted with a practiced smile of his own. “It’s been a while.”

“It is you!” the fat man exclaimed, his face instantly brightening up like a fireball, “My word! It’s been years! You look swell, m’boy! sharp as ever! Then that means this must be…”

The fat man, Slughorn, turned his attention back at Alduin. A knowing grin now pushed the fat of his cheeks. Alduin however, just kept his silent smile as he waited for what’s to come.

“Ahh, this is my son, Alduin,” Mr. Riddle introduced, the hand he gripped his wrist with now held his shoulder in a familiar gesture while he motioned for the professor with the other, “Alduin, this is Horace Slughorn. He was my potions professor and the Head of our Slytherin House during my time at Hogwarts.”

Smaller black orbs looked up at sharp stygian ones. So this is how he would play it? Well, Alduin did decide to play along today. It would be rude to go back on his own word to himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Slughorn,” Alduin beamed and stretched out his hand, “I’ve heard of your name, of course, but I never thought I would actually meet you so soon.”

If possible, the man’s expression became brighter as he shook back his hand most enthusiastically. His round stomach bounced as he gave off a hearty laugh, “All good things I presume? But it is my utmost pleasure to meet you! Do excuse my blunder earlier, m’boy. I mistook you for your father there. You just look so much alike! Why, for a moment there I thought I was dreaming, or Tom had found the solution to eternal youth!”

“Not at all, sir. You aren’t the first person to make that mistake.” Alduin laughed along politely at his joke, “My mother reads the Potions segment of the Daily Prophet all the time, as well as The Practical Potioneer. She’s very familiar with you, sir, and says that your inputs are always a welcome read.”

“Really now?” Slughorn beamed, his thumbs hooked at the lapels of his jacket in clear display of pride. Alduin found him funny, “Well, of course, I am a professor at our illustrious Hogwarts and also a proud member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. I was surprised myself when the editor approached me to write in that segment of theirs.”

He guffawed.

“Very eloquent, sir,” Mr. Riddle deadpanned to which Alduin let out a genuine laugh.

“Your mother must be very adept at potions, and also a formidable witch to garner your father’s interest,” Slughorn gave Mr. Riddle a nondescript wink. A gesture that Alduin eagerly lapped up especially at the praise of his mother. “As for you, Tom, I didn’t know you were married! And you didn’t think to invite your dear old professor?”

There was a brief flash of conflicted expression on Mr. Riddle’s face. Alduin decided then and there that he liked Horace Slughorn.

.

“Don’t look so smug.”

He heard Mr. Riddle say with a hint of a warning growl, but Alduin just flashed him a smile as they continued to walk towards the fountain. Conversing with Mr. Slughorn had been most illuminating, not to mention entertaining. He learned a lot about his apparent sire and Mr. Riddle’s responses gave him insight to what he was really planning.

Oh how he can’t wait to tell his mother!

She won’t like it. He would bet that she would probably even be angry, but the amusement granted upon him was just too much that he was almost skipping in his step. To be honest, he didn’t particularly care about what Mr. Riddle was planning. So long as he got what he wanted from him in the end, then everything else he will freely give to his mother to decide.

“Mother!” Alduin exclaimed, both in joy and surprise as, for the first time, his mother was the one waiting at the fountain.

He rushed to her side to give her a hug to which she hugged back. However, once he pulled back to tell her a prelude of what happened today, he paused at the expression on her face that made his lips clamp shut.

His mother’s face was stormy, and the tempo of her song was raging just like Mr. Riddle’s earlier at the pub.

It wasn’t directed at him. No, never at him, but that didn’t stop the shiver that went down his spine.

His mother was extremely angry, and her eyes blazed the moment she looked up at Mr. Riddle.

Horace was practically glowing as he sat on his seat at the staff table. Who knew his quick excursion to Diagon Alley would grace him such auspicious results! To the point the joy and pride of his discovery had followed him back to Hogwarts even when the sun fell down.

“Why Horace, you look as if you found the secret to creating the Philosopher’s Stone!” Professor Beery said good-naturedly beside him, “Or tell me, with whom have you won a bet against with?”

The potions professor guffawed, “Oh Herbert, as theatrical as ever! No, no, I did not acquire that kind of accomplishment I’m afraid. In fact, I say I found something better!”

“Ho ho? Care to share?” Silvanus Kettleburn piped in.

Horace grinned widely, unable to hold himself, “Well you see, my dear fellow-professors, my little trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon had let me to an unexpected reunion with one of our proudest graduates in Hogwarts’ history! No- I dare say, he is the greatest student that has ever stepped foot into Hogwarts!”

“Greatest… you don’t mean?”

“Are you referring to Tom Riddle?”

At that, Horace was almost bouncing at his seat in nothing but pure excitement like a child. “Precisely!”

Upon hearing that, the rest of the nearby teachers became abuzz upon remembering the boy with extraordinary talent and intelligence.

“How was he, Horace?”

“I haven’t heard from him in years.”

“Was he not offered several positions at the ministry?”

As the questions piled up, Horace took the reins by recounting his tale of how he stumbled upon an incredibly charming, polite, and courteous little boy who looked exactly like his most favorite student.

“-and as you can imagine, to my utmost surprise, it turns out the boy wasn’t Tom Riddle at all! In fact, he was his son!”

Gasps of awe and delight erupted from his coworkers except from one man who about spit his drink.

“I beg your pardon, Horace,” Albus coughed as he hastily wiped his mouth, “but did you just say Tom’s son?”

Horace hooked his thumbs at the lapels of his coat as he puffed out in pride some more, “Alduin Riddle! A powerful name, if I do say so myself. It seems that brighter days will be heading towards Hogwarts again. Next year, perhaps? He did mention he was ten years old. Oh! How could I forget to ask!”

“You are saying… Tom is married?” came Albus’ additional befuddled question amidst the excited chatter.

“Well of course he is, Albus! How could you think otherwise?” Horace retorted, “I have not met her personally as she was not there but the boy spoke very highly of his mother and she seems to be familiar with my name as well!”

There had always been a bit of tension between Tom and Albus, but how could he even question such a thing? Obviously, Tom is married if he had a son. Anyone could easily assume that. Someone like Tom would never do something so… so… scandalous as to impregnate a woman out of wedlock!

Last time he had heard from Tom, he was working at some shop at Knockturn Alley. He never understood why he would choose such a career and for a time, he lost contact as if he disappeared. Now however, Horace finally got his answer about his favorite student’s sudden disappearance. He had apparently been traveling, and no doubt in those years he had met an extraordinary witch that had caught his attention, and now he is raising a family of his own!

It made him immensely curious about this supposed wife of his. During his time at Hogwarts, Horace was a bit concerned for Tom in his apparent lack of interest in romance. He was always so focused in his studies that it made him worry over his health as a growing boy. Ah but now those concerns are finally put to rest. And if he were to put money on a betting pool, he would put it all in that she is someone brilliant, if not as closely talented as Tom. He wouldn’t expect less from Tom to choose someone up to his caliber.

Not to mention his son. Uncanny resemblances aside, he would also bet the boy had inherited his father’s talents as well. He could tell. He can spot a diamond in the rough a mile away and Alduin was certainly a beacon; he would be blind to not notice!

Oh if only they weren’t in a hurry and he wasn’t in a time crunch to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, he would’ve loved to know more about them!

“But does it not make you wonder-“ Albus followed with a stroke of his beard.

“Oh Albus,” Beery, ever the romantic at heart, came up in defense, “I’m sure we are all curious to know about the witch that had captured our brightest alumni’s heart. Aren’t you the one always toting on about love and fate and destiny and whatnot? I bet theirs is a romance befitting a play!”

Excited chatter once more erupted, this time at the prospect of a new generation to grace the halls of Hogwarts that would add another gem to the school’s crown of jewels.

“Ah now that I think about it, Riddle once asked me if he could take up the position as the new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts after Galatea’s retirement,” Headmaster Dippet said, cupping his chin in recollection.

“And what did you say, Headmaster?” Albus asked.

“I told him he was too young and to come back in a few years to gain some experience,” the older man waved off a hand casually, “I wonder if he’s still interested in the position? But either way, I don’t think I’ll be here to make that decision seeing as this will be my last year in Hogwarts. I will be leaving everything in your hands, Albus.”

He placed a hand on the soon-to-be-new-Headmaster’s shoulder.

“Come now, Armando, don’t be so ominous,” Albus chuckled jovially.

Dfpc bv bjv Rwkwiv fd iam Eqijs tb Eqijs’l Mvf.

Nftkm bjv kdhv ncuch tvl vyc hnv kqcjpiamu.

The only beast that should give you a fright-

Is the thing inside you called your appetite.

BONUS SNEAK PEEK OF THE NEXT CHAPTER:

“You are a self-respecting witch, Hermione, of course I would think you’re married! Now I wonder why I would even think you were a single mother…” Mr. Ollivander hummed absently before waving his hand in casual dismissal, “Ah silly me. I mean no offense, my dear. My brain must’ve fried from all the work I’ve been doing lately!”

Hermione stared blankly at the wandmaker. His dismissive joy and amusement at his own apparent silliness juxtaposed the horror that reflected in her eyes.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Hermione began, her voice croaking, “I can’t be married. I don’t even wear a ring.”

“Is this a test?” he murmured softly as he tilted his head, “So? My own parents married but they never wore a ring. I’m not sure what kind of marriage you and your husband had but traditional binding rituals never required an exchange of rings. In the wizarding community at least, because that’s just a trend that decided to stay. Ah! Now that I think about it, I’m afraid I never did quite get your last name. You never did mention it.”

Chapter Text

Fallen from grace, swallowed by a watery grave.

Now I frolic on this stage, because I’m part of the play.

Nothing.

‘I feel absolutely nothing,’ Hermione’s brows furrowed deeper as she mulled over the thought. She had done it. Her latest hunt had been successful, (although she had rarely failed any of her hunts for the last five years anyway) she was even able to take another dark artifact to add to the trophies she had on her cabinet. But compared to those previous hunts, the urge, that pull telling her where to find her next prey had weakened considerably.

As she crossed the ever-busy streets, away from the humble cottage house before she could hear the heartbroken wails of that little girl’s parents, she willed part of herself to return to her mind palace while she let her feet take her home.

It’s definitely odd.

Hermione looked back at the time when she first felt that pull. Her body had moved by itself then, her mind half-conscious of what she was doing, as she just suddenly had this feeling of needing to go somewhere. Before she knew it, she was face-to-face with a dying wizard that had gotten lost in the swamp she had currently resided then. His injuries indicated that he had been attacked by wild beasts. But instead of helping him as she would have done in her previous life, she pointed her wand at him and delivered him out of his misery.

She had an inkling of what she was doing then, especially since she had to do it in nearly a daily basis. It wasn’t until that tragedy in Buenos Aires, did she fully understand what it was. And the same pattern would repeat ever since.

Wait- pattern?

She had long since established that the amount needed to feed her son would increase after each of his feasts, but that wasn’t always the case when she visited in other countries such as Spain or France. Not unlike when she went to America, South Africa, and Japan (to name a few)- countries that were considerably farther away from Europe.

The farther she was from Europe- from her home country, the more frequent Alduin would feel hungry. Ergo, her need to hunt even more.

However, this realization was immediately followed by a question- Why?

Why is that to be so? What is in Britain that affects her son’s hunger? Why does it matter?

Hermione tried not to pull her hair out in frustration. Things only got complicated when she returned and met Riddle.

Riddle.

Does he have something to do with it? Apart from the thing her son was craving from him, Alduin is strangely attached to his apparent father- a fact she still had a hard time believing much, much to her exasperation. After all, of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him?

It made her feel like she had been played. Like some sick cosmic joke that’s not even remotely funny.

“If I tell you how you would earn your prize, then where would the fun be in that? I look forward to what story you will tell me the next time we meet, sweet Himig.”

She should’ve known better than to take their words at face value with a response like that. How typical of them to ensure that they would get the better half of their deal. She wasn’t even given an inkling that she would have a child! Not that she regretted it. Oh no, no, no. Alduin was nowhere near the reward she asked for, and he may have been an unexpected surprise, but he’s definitely a treasure she’ll never regret.

Hermione felt as if she was solving a giant puzzle with over a thousand pieces; where the most recognizable pieces have already been set, and all that was left to do was connect them together. The only problem was she didn’t how to fit them all together.

Her hand came up to rub the dull ache throbbing at her temple, not because of her apparition at the entrance to Diagon Alley. She had been stressed ever since that incident at Malfoy Manor and even more so when Riddle began snooping around her son. Even if she said she trusted her son to take care of himself (his ring would see to that), as a mother, she can’t help but worry. After all, the most dangerous wizard in the world has his eyes set on her son. How could she not be anxious? Not to mention he’s yet to confront her.

Should she just initiate it herself? After all, the main reason her Alduin would entertain Riddle was because he wanted something from him. Then it wouldn’t it be more convenient to just steal it and leave? The sooner the better, after all; before Riddle’s claws could sink any deeper on her son.

Unfortunately, there was just one conundrum in this brutish tactic of hers.

Hermione can’t beat Riddle. In a sense that their power was equally matched. The proof being their last fight when their magic collided just like when Harry fought against Voldemort in her previous life. Except their fight had a winner and a loser. Hers and Riddle’s however, and she had just realized this belatedly, could’ve caused a magical explosion that would’ve left unimaginable damage if her son hadn’t stopped them.

If she chose to duel Riddle again, she would have to fight as if it were her last day, even if she had to fight dirty. Riddle would surely do something underhanded so she might as well even the playing field. But if she does…

Alduin.

Alduin would no doubt hear their magic again, and if he had gotten upset at that mere collision, whose to say how worse it would become for him? Even if she made sure their fight would be somewhere thousands of kilometers away, her connection with her son would render that useless.

Hermione shook her head vehemently as an image of her son upset and in tears huddled in a corner of their living room flashed in her mind.

No. She can’t let him go through that again.

After taking a deep breath to help calm her nerves, Hermione scanned the plaza. Her chocolate brown eyes fell automatically at the fountain that had become a very familiar landmark for her and her son. She a approached the decorative reservoir as she took in the artistic sculpture at its center. She was never one for the arts, except as a child when she briefly attended ballet classes during the summer before coming to Hogwarts. Very few items in her home were also functioned as purely decorative, as most were placed there for functional reasons. Such as the scroll painting of a family of tigers she had purchased whilst in Japan. At night, the inked creatures would crawl out of the scroll and patrol through the walls as moving semi-sentient beings.

However, as Hermione stared at the display stuck in a never-ending loop, she can’t help but feel a sense of appreciation and bittersweet irony over it.

A never-ending loop.

A cycle.

An eternal return.

The ouroboros.

She could feel her back flare up with intense heat just thinking about it.

Hermione looked down at the stone edge of the fountain. Particularly, at a specific spot directly between the tree’s largest roots. Her son wasn’t there. Of course, he wasn’t. it’s still early, and she had finished hunting sooner than she thought.

It made her feel both grateful and daunted. For one, wasn’t this a good thing? She always strove to finish her hunts as soon as she could so she would have more time to spend with her son. And now this seemingly fortunate change of events has laid itself to her in a silver platter.

Hermione would’ve taken it if her war-addled mind wasn’t suspicious of it.

From within her faithful beaded bag, she fished out her pocket watch- a gift her parents had given her on her seventeenth birthday. it was a wizarding tradition her parents only knew when Mr. Weasley brought it up some time ago during one of their trips when they accompanied her to Diagon Alley. It was also the last gift they’d ever given her. Something she was extremely grateful for, considering that the only items she brought back on her person were the clothes on her back, her wand, and bag. The contents of her bag had remained untouched upon her return.

As she looked at the time, Hermione surmised that she had a few hours to kill before meeting with Alduin (an unfortunately suffer another encounter with that dark lord twit). She supposed she could send for him via a message by her patronus? Ah but when was the last time she had time for herself?

‘I might as well use it to my leisure,’ she decided before turning on her heel to head to Carkitt Market.

The market area always had a steady foot traffic of wizards and witches, and even the occasional elves and goblins. However, today seemed to be a particular exception as the area was absolutely packed. Specifically, there was a huge crowd gathered on one side.

She let her curiosity lead and weave her through the crowd until she was near enough to see three identical people- triplets- dressed in colorful vests and trousers atop two large shipping crates brought together acting like a makeshift stage.

“Come one, come all!”

“To the most mystical show you’ll ever see!”

“The Redtower Circus!”

The way they finished each other’s sentences and eccentric motions shot an arrow of grief to her heart, as they reminded her eerily of Fred and George. Except these ones had an additional person and their hair were a dark brown instead of red-orange.

In her mind palace, she let herself see the twins in their room for a moment before closing the door to focus back on the triplets.

They were advertising a magical circus that was set at the square just a block away from Carkitt Market. They boasted of acts performed by talented individuals, a parade of exotic beasts, a performance of said magical creatures, games and prizes for children, food that cannot be found anywhere else, a grand fireworks show as a finale, and so much more.

Everyone present stared back at the triplets, completely entranced and in awe of their words as they performed small tricks and casted spells as a visual tease to the audience on what awaited them. This included Hermione, whose heart fluttered in excitement thanks to her long-dormant inner child, as well as the thought of her son. Hermione had seen a circus before, when she was a child, her parents brought her to one when they set up near Hampstead. Although she had fun and was part of her precious memories with her parents, what she had attended was a muggle circus. This, however, was a magical one.

Right then and there, Hermione decided she would go with her son. Besides, Alduin had mentioned before that he wanted to see one, and just who was she to deny her darling son’s wish?

Besides, it would be a good opportunity to one-up Riddle and his blatant leeching off her son’s side.

Hermione clapped along with the crowd, and a chuckle even left her when the triplets disappeared in a puff of glittering smoke, leaving their audience in awe.

Oh yes. They will definitely go. It’s about time she and Alduin did something fun.

When the crowd dispersed, Hermione resumed to her initial plan of doing some window shopping, noting anything of value she might find interesting. She also thought of stopping by a muggle bookstore to buy a new cookbook. She had acquired quite an arsenal of recipes from travels, mostly from the wives or sisters of associates who were kind enough to show her the ways around a kitchen. As daunting and embarrassing as it had been for her during her first few tries, it eventually became enjoyable for her especially if she’ll be able to see Alduin’s delighted smile in the end.

Before she knew it, she wound up in Diagon Alley. The first shop that caught her eye was a boutique with a simple yet elegant sign. The name ‘Benette’ was written in a neat golden script over black polished wood.

“Welcome to Benette. How may I help you?” said a young woman as she stepped inside the shop. Her eyes widened in recognition, “Oh! Ma’am, you’re here. I assume the Madam is expecting you?”

“Yes. She wanted me to do an additional fitting,” Hermione informed.

“Of course! Of course! I will go inform the Madam right away.”

It didn’t take long for her to wait. Hermione only had a moment to look around the dresses and clothes of previous commissions on display before the young employee came back to lead her to the fitting room.

Just like with art, Hermione wasn’t the type of woman who was keen on fashion. At least, not in a way most women would invest heavily of their time and resources to satisfy their vanity. However, the shop tugged on her nostalgia as she remembered those times overhearing Parvati and Lavender awe and giggle at dresses featured in Witch Weekly as they lounge around in their dorm. The name Benette had tumbled out of their lips more than once and even Ginny had mentioned dreaming of wearing one. She couldn’t help respecting the dressmaker for establishing such a successful business. One that remained famous and trending in Wizarding Society decades from now.

Initially, she had only wanted one commissioned an outfit for her son. There was a suit fitted for a young boy on display when they passed by the shop the first time and a thought came to her that Alduin would look good in that attire. Perhaps it was her motherly side wanting to provide and to see her son looking at his best. In a small twist, however, Alduin openly suggested in the middle of his fitting that she should also have a dress commissioned for herself. She saw no point in it though. Hermione had no intention of getting the attention of high society. Most of the clothes she had, even the era-appropriate casual dresses, emphasized more on functionality. It’s not as if she’ll suddenly be invited into a classy party anytime soon, nor did she intend to. But… let it be known that she has a weakness for her son’s pleas.

“How is it? Is it not too tight?” Madam Benette, a woman in her late forties, asked as she passed her eyes over the dress with a critical eye only achieved for training years in the business. A quill and notepad levitated by her head, charmed to take notes in her stead, reminded her begrudgingly of that sleezy reporter Rita Skeeter.

Hermione turned to the many mirrors formed in a half-circle around her. She moved her arms around and twisted her torso, testing their range of movement.

“No, it fits just right,” she admired the comfortable feel of the fabric as it clung to the curves of her body. The overall design remains to be said at this part of the process but it wasn’t difficult for her to see the final result in her mind’s eye, and she had to admit it certainly was a level of its own compared to the dress she wore at the Yule ball back in fourth year.

“Splendid! Now all that’s left is to sew in the lace and embroidery. Unless you wish to make a last-minute change on the design? I must say the ouroboros was quite a unique design of choice,” the Madam prattled as she made did a few more inspections before letting her go change back behind the curtain.

A small smile tugged at her lips at that as she shimmied out of the dress, careful as to not ruin it, “Well, I’ve always fancied the concept behind it.”

“No complaints here, dear. Plus, I would think it matches well with your son’s snake design. May I be bold to assume you’re a family of Slytherins?”

Hermione nearly bit her tongue off in a bid to stop her retort. Even though she had no animosity over snakes- the animal- whatsoever, as a Gryffindor by heart, she still took offense to being associated with that house. Let alone be assumed to be one of them.

“Well…” Hermione chewed on her lip, choosing her words carefully, “snakes have been part of the family.”

“I thought so,” she heard the woman chuckle, “Although, in my opinion, it would still be best if we made your dress backless. Are you certain I cannot change your mind on that?”

No. She can’t afford anyone seeing her back. Literally.

“I am certain.”

Hermione stepped out of the changing booth, clad once more in her simpler era-appropriate dress.

“I shall send an owl to you once they are all finished, but by my estimation, they should be done ten days from now,” Madam Benette informed as she had her wand float the dress back to the adjoining room where her personal work station was.

“Marvelous,” Hermione said idly as she clasped her cloak back around her shoulders.

“We could also have them delivered to your address, although it would be best for you to pick it up yourselves for a final fitting. Just in case there are any last-minute changes needed to be done,” the older woman suggested.

The brunette hummed in thought, “That’s actually a good idea, Madam.”

“Brilliant,” the Madam nodded, pleased, “I’m sure the girls would be delighted to see your son in our shop again. He certainly captivated them.”

At that, Hermione chuckled with a small shake of her head, “Yes, he’s certainly growing to be quite the charmer.”

“Well, seeing as how he looked so much like his father, he certainly wouldn’t have any difficulty in that area.”

If the Madam hadn’t hid herself behind her hand as she laughed in amusement, she would’ve seen how Hermione froze the moment the word ‘father’ left her lips.

Her throat felt dry, “Di-Did they come here?”

“Heavens no! You know how men are with shops like these. Unless they wanted something for themselves, they’ll avoid it like the plague,” she shook her head, “The girls and I have seen them come and go the last few days. I must say it certainly caught us off guard. Your son looks so much like his father! Oh, you must be very proud! You’re a very lucky witch to have snatched such a handsome husband.”

Huh?

“Oh, why don’t you bring him to the final fitting? I assure you he would be left speechless once he sees you in that dress,” the Madam continued, giving her a surreptitious wink.

“My… husband?” the word tasted like rotten meat in her mouth.

“Why of course! I swear, Mrs. Granger, he will-“

Mrs.?!

“Excuse me but,” Hermione interjected, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, “did you just call me Mrs.?”

The older woman gave her a very confused look, “Yes. Now that you mention it, I don’t know why we signed you as Ms. in the ledger. Must’ve missed a letter, I apologize.”

“No!” the brunette shouted, startling the other, “I-I mean, you’re not wrong. I’m not married.”

Eyes riddled with the beginnings of crow’s feet narrowed slightly, confusion laced in her voice, “You’re… not? But you have a son, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“And is the man he’s with not his father?”

“He is.” Much to her displeasure.

“Then he’s your husband,” she concluded.

Hermione paled at the assumption before her blood instantly boiled within her veins.

“No, he’s not! As if I would have any sort of relationship with that arse!”

“My word,” the Madam gasped. Her hand over her chest as her cheeks colored at her profanity. “Mrs. Granger, I apologize if I had opened any marital issue but there’s no need for such vulgarity, especially in my establishment. You are a highly valued client of mine so I will let this slide, but please, whatever quarrel you have with your husband to warrant you to say such… proclamations, does not mean you can take it out here.”

The Madam’s shift from pleasant and accommodating to icy and stern in a heartbeat reminded her why many respected, and to a small extent- even feared, her to the point many vied for her favor and why her business gained the reputation it deserved.

Hermione would’ve apologized if she didn’t follow up it up with that last sentence.

Unfortunately, though, the Madam would have none of it as she was led out of the shop after a final reminder about her fitting.

‘What in bloody hell was that?’

Her head was practically spinning about what had just occurred. She knew- she knew Riddle was making a show of being Alduin’s father. He didn’t even need to say a word. Anyone with half a brain could see how much they looked alike. At that time, she was more concerned of why Riddle would risk people knowing. It was one thing for him to avoid Alduin from being seen in public eyes but why involve himself? Why would he risk people knowing he has a son out of wedlock? Knowing the conservative nature of the wizarding community and the current political climate, it wouldn’t bode well for his reputation. Considering that this was a time when Riddle hadn’t (fully) succumbed to the madness brought by ripping his soul apart.

She had hypothesized that he was doing it to pressure Alduin. Based on what her son had told her, Riddle would only follow him around, and would talk only when they’re at a secluded place. It wouldn’t even surprise her if Riddle was testing her son’s capabilities as Alduin admitted he caught him using his magic consciously during their first meeting.

She trusted Alduin’s independence, and would even discuss how they could avoid falling for his traps.

But at what point did the tables turn on her as well?

Much to Hermione’s despair, Madam Benette wasn’t the only one who assumed the same thing.

Eyecatcher’s, Sugarplum’s, Flourish and Blotts, and even the apothecary!

She stopped by to gather some materials for her own, as well as to pay for any ‘gifts’ or discounts the shopkeepers had given her son whenever he stopped by. Hermione had no idea what Alduin did to charm them to such a degree, and as pleased as she was on other people adoring and appreciating her son, her gray morality wouldn’t let these good people go out of business.

Unfortunately for her, her visits hadn’t been very auspicious. In fact, each stop only added to the dread and anxiety welling up inside her.

To her horror, people were singing Tom Riddle praises.

“Your son looks so much like your husband! Oh, how adorable!”

“What a responsible father.”

“You must be very proud. Mrs… I’m sorry dear, what was your name again?”

“You do not usually see fathers taking the time to spend with their sons out in places like these. Let alone every day!”

“Isn’t it endearing for your husband to make time for your child?”

“I wish my husband would dedicate that much time on our own daughter. Especially at that age when they would be sent off to school. You won’t have a lot of opportunity to bond with them anymore. Oh how I envy you Mrs…?”

By the time Hermione stepped out of Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop, she realized three things.

One, people are praising Riddle for being a good ‘father’.

Two, people assume that they are a ‘family’.

And three, people had forgotten her name.

What, How, and Why?

What in bloody hell?!

Why is this the picture people are painting of him?! Tom Marvolo Riddle was far from a good father, let alone a husband. He doesn’t even fit anywhere in those two categories!

At this point, Hermione was downright panicking and mentally beating herself up for not looking further into the situation going on in the background. It sounded like an excuse, but her topmost priority was to make up for the time she ignored the pull. It is imperative that she would be ready to feed Alduin when he gets hungry again unless she wanted a repeat of what happened in Buenos Aires. An event that instantly took first place as the most gruesome tragedy that ever happened in wizarding South America.

A MASSACRE NOT EVEN GRINDELWALD CAN COMPARE – said the headline in one of the newspapers a day after. It had caused quite an uproar and panic in the continent that they were forced to leave and cross countries immediately.

How did things spiral into this?

With desperation clawing at her stomach, Hermione bolted towards the only person she knew who would either give hope or seal her fate in this whole ordeal.

“Mr. Ollivander!” Hermione shouted, nearly blowing the door off its hinges upon her entrance.

“Merlin’s beard! My dear, you startled the pixies out of me!” the wandmaker jumped, making him drop the boxes of wands in his hands.

“Where’s my son?” she practically demanded. Her panic making her drop every manner and politeness out the window.

Mr. Ollivander’s brows furrowed at her in obvious concern as he picked up the boxes and turned to his place behind his front desk.

“I already let him off a few hours ago.”

“Did you see him go with anybody when he left?” her fists clenched at the edges of the desk.

His brows furrowed deeper at her actions, but chose to answer her still, “Yes err- he did. His father actually came to pick him up.”

“His father?” Hermione asked softly this time, the dread dripped faster within her.

“It wasn’t difficult to miss. They both look so much alike, after all,” at that, he chuckled amusedly. “You must be very proud. Your husband is very dashing and no doubt Alduin would follow in his footsteps!”

Over my dead body!

Hermione took (very) deep breaths, “But Mr. Ollivander, don’t you remember? I’m not married. Why would you think that?”

It was one of the reasons she trusted Alduin in the wandmaker’s care. Mr. Ollivander was more sympathetic to her situation as a single parent. He didn’t pry and welcomed Alduin with open arms. He had even praised her for raising Alduin all these years on her own!

“You are a self-respecting witch, Hermione, of course I would think you’re married! Now I wonder why I would even think you were a single mother…” Mr. Ollivander hummed absently before waving his hand in casual dismissal, “Ah silly me. I mean no offense, my dear. My brain must’ve fried from all the work I’ve been doing lately!”

Hermione stared blankly at the wandmaker. His dismissive joy and amusement at his own apparent silliness juxtaposed the horror that reflected in her eyes.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Hermione began, her voice croaking, “I can’t be married. I don’t even wear a ring.”

“Is this a test?” he murmured softly as he tilted his head, “So? My own parents married but they never wore a ring. I’m not sure what kind of marriage you and your husband had but traditional binding rituals never required an exchange of rings. In the wizarding community at least, because that’s just a trend that decided to stay. Ah! Now that I think about it, I’m afraid I never did quite get your last name. You never did mention it.”

“I never mentioned my last name?”

He shook his head, but just as he opened his mouth to supply his answer, Mr. Ollivander’s face instantly became alarmed and rushed to round his desk.

“Sweet Morgana! Are you alright, dear? My word you’re as pale as a ghost! Come! Come! Sit here. I’ll go fetch you some tea.”

Hermione could hardly register what he said. His words like a distant muffle as realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The puzzle pieces fell and fit themselves together seamlessly and she did not like what she saw.

Not. One. Bit.

Over the last few days, Tom Marvolo Riddle had been parading himself as Alduin’s father for all the people to see. By taking advantage of their physical similarities, people would easily assume they were father and son. This was not lost on her and she had to admit that fact no matter how much she hated it. In addition, Alduin’s seemingly casual attitude towards him renders no conflict between them, giving no suspicion of their relation.

The same however, couldn’t be said for her part. People knew her to be Alduin’s mother thanks to the previous times they’ve ben together and her son’s proud proclamations. There was no question about that and she would fight tooth and nail against anyone who would question that fact. To her horror, however, the public’s assumptions extended to her being married to Riddle.

This made her remember a story her father once told about her great grandmother. How she almost gave up her child because apparently, it simply wasn’t acceptable for a woman to have children without being married first. As it was, it made a woman tainted and even scorned in society, sometimes even thought of as evil. And that was a time when conservative practices were at their prime. If muggle society was bad for her great grandmother that time, then the wizarding community would be even worse.

No wonder people made that assumption! In this era, it was still expected of women to raise the child virtually on their own as the men had to do most of the work, but it was frowned upon if they weren’t married. Which was why no one questioned Hermione for being seen with only her and Alduin, especially when she showed that she had the money to pay for whatever purchases they made. She thought it was only due to people’s greed and that may partly be the case, but to think it was also because people thought her husband made a decent living to cover these expenditures?!

Decent living my arse! Bloody Riddle is practically unemployed and just mooching off of the Malfoys! He doesn’t even have his own flat!

“Here you are, dear. Drink up, it will help calm you.”

Hermione snapped from her enraged, silent stupor when she felt the press of a cup on her hand. The steaming amber fluid had a pleasant fragrance. With a swallow, she followed the wandmaker’s advice and drank from the cup, taking a few more sips until it was only half empty.

She took a deep breath through her nose and blew it out from her lips. The tea definitely helped. And the shock that rocked her mind palace allowed her to stand steadily once more.

“Are you alright now?” came Mr. Ollivander’s gentle question.

The brunette smiled gratefully at him but instead of giving an answer, she said, “I’m sorry for this, Mr. Ollivander. I promise it won’t hurt.”

Before he could even react, Hermione’s wand shot from its hidden holster and into her hand and pointed it between the wandmaker’s eyes.

She was no gifted Legilimens like Riddle, but she had enough mastery of the spell to ensure her target wouldn’t be able to fight off her intrusion. In a rush, she flipped through his memories until she found the one approximately two months ago. It was the time she and Alduin came to his shop for the first time.

Everything was intact. The comment he had about the condition of her wand was perfect word for word. However, something was wrong at the end of that memory. If she were to describe it, it was like watching a movie with a very bad transition, or a poorly cut film.

There, right at the part where she introduced herself, she had only mentioned her first name before everything became muffled. Even the Alduin in his memory had become disjointed when he was supposed to mention his last name.

Human memories have always been fickle. Most of the time, they would become obscure and fade unless the ones deemed worthy were chosen to stay. However, even those memories would become vague and in order to compensate, the brain would supply those missing gray areas on their own for the sole purpose of ensuring the event would make sense. In this case, Mr. Ollivander had forgotten their last names because in spirit of their familiarity, being referred on a first name basis was enough. As for the other shopkeepers, with the exception of the Sugarplum couple and Madam Benette, they wouldn’t find it suspicious as names wouldn’t normally exchanged between the cashier and customer.

If only that were the case.

No, those people more familiar with her and Alduin were made to forget.

Because she knew a memory charm when she saw one.

She knew because spells regarding memories were one of her greatest masteries, if not the best of them all.

She used it to falsify her parents’ memories into believing they lived a life all these years without her existence.

She used it to cover her tracks when she had to run from Death Eaters.

She used it on business transactions she had no trust of keeping her anonymity.

She used it on witnesses who have seen Alduin enter that restaurant where the massacre occurred.

She used it to lure the Argentine aurors on a false trail to ensure their escape.

And they all worked.

Hermione Granger was a master of memory spells. Her additional studies on the human mind from muggle neurologists and psychologists allowed her to know everything about them inside and out. Because to tamper with the mind was a seriously difficult thing to do, which was why many wizards and witches steer clear of them.

So it goes to show she knew what a victim of a memory spell looked like when she saw one. No matter how perfect it may seem. If done carelessly, the victim would lose all of their memories and even go mad. Even if it was performed successfully, the average legilimens would be able to know something was amiss.

In Mr. Ollivander’s case however, it was done with a precision she would’ve praised for if not for the roiling toiling anger bubbling in her veins. Wiping away an entire block of memory was easy, and constructing false memories took careful consideration and imagination. However, to remove one measly detail in a memory and ensure the mind would make sense and not suspect of anything amiss, was like finding a very, very specific piece of hay in a haystack.

And in this time, in this world, there was only one other person near enough whom she knew had an equal mastery of the art.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Alduin said Riddle never entered the shops he went to, but whose to say he wouldn’t enter those shops when he was away?

.

“Mother!”

She saw them approach before Alduin even noticed her. Her lips twitched upwards when her son immediately left Riddle’s side to rush towards her welcoming hug.

With her son back at her side, Hermione fixed her gaze at the bane of her existence. Her chocolate orbs burned a golden fury as the dark lord dared to step closer till he met their usual distance. And based on the way one of his delicate brows raised in wonder, he didn’t miss her burning, scathing glare.

If looks could kill, Riddle would’ve dropped dead then and there along with his horcruxes.

“Evening,” Riddle greeted with a small tilt of his lips that nowhere near met his eyes.

“Evening it is, Mr. Riddle,” she greeted back in her own sweet saccharine tone as her eyes continued to burn in rage. Her own lips lifted into a smile as she continued, “Thank you for watching my son again. It’s quite diligent of you to do so every day. It must’ve been quite daunting, unless you have no business to attend to, of course.”

Her underlying insult of his unemployment wasn’t missed. Even Alduin had snapped his head towards her, eyes wide in blatant shock. Usually, she would just thank Riddle through gritted teeth but this time, she decided to take it up a notch.

At the end of her sentence, Riddle’s polite smile dropped and a moment later, the corners of his mouth stretched into a wider smile. His perfect set of teeth nearly shined under the lamps. It was a smile that would’ve swooned any unassuming witch in sight. On the outside he appeared polite, delighted even, but Hermione knew better. She wasn’t blind, and she could see the dark fury that mirrored her own in those void-black pools of his.

“I thank you for your concern, Ms. Granger,” came his smooth deep voice, “but it’s no trouble at all. It’s my pleasure to prioritize spending time with my son. A responsible parent should always put business after their child’s needs. Don’t you agree?”

It was Hermione’s turn to drop her smile this time. Her hands unconsciously clenched and unclenched at her side as she willed all of her strength to not snap at his insinuation.

He was basically saying she was a bad mother for leaving Alduin on his own while she has to go hunting. He might as well say she had been neglecting her son.

The nerve of-!

“I most certainly agree!” she chirped with a clap of her hands; a wider smile plastered on her face. “Which is why I am happy to say you are now relinquished of your volunteer duty as I will be spending more time with my son from now on.”

The older ravenhead squared his shoulders in response. His jaw tensed at her words even as he cocked his head to the side in silent question and a smile was left unrestrained on his handsome face. His eyes remained furious.

“Some unexpected development happened on my end so I can relinquish my hours at work. I fully intend to, as you say, spend more time with Alduin,” Hermione added sweetly, and if her grin had a sprinkle of triumph in it, she didn’t care to hide it.

“How fortunate,” Riddle replied, “However, I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, I’ve grown fond Alduin and he to me. You could say we’ve even formed a father-son bond between us. You wouldn’t want to deprive Alduin of his father now, do you?”

Neither of them noticed the eerily similar way Alduin lifted his brow as Riddle.

“Oh, I apologize, Mr. Riddle. As it is, there are some bonds that are stronger than others.”

If she sensed the temperature dropping a few degrees, she made no show of noticing as Hermione held her innocent smile.

“Now, if you would please, we best be on our way-“

“Ah but I’m afraid this will leave us at a conundrum, Ms. Granger,” he interrupted with the most imperceptible bite in his tone. Hermione tried not to flinch as Riddle took measured steps closer. Her eyes remained locked with his as she discreetly steered her son (who has been watching them diligently on the side) behind her.

He continued, “There is an unspoken agreement between Alduin and I. One that I’m sure you’re aware of, if I’m not mistaken.”

At this point he was practically looming over her smaller stature, adding something physical in his intimidation. His eyes ablaze in challenge and retrained fury from her insults she had said earlier. Unfortunately for him, this was not her first rodeo, and as someone who had actually experienced death before, it would take a lot more than this to rattle her nerves. Even if the person she was facing down against was Voldemort himself.

“Furthermore, my son asked me quite a favor earlier today. He told me to show courtesy to his mother,” her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Riddle suddenly closed the gap between them, snatched her hand, and brought it up until it was a hair’s breadth away from his lips, “Now how am I supposed to show that if you relinquish me of my, as you say, ‘volunteer duty’?”

She couldn’t help the shiver of mortifying disgust run up her spine at the feel of his hot breath over her cold knuckles. Meanwhile her unoccupied hand balled into a fist so tight it shook a bit and she wouldn’t be surprised if her nails had pierced her skin it bled. The part of her brain that was yet to be clouded in rage at his audacity, that told her to keep in mind of their current setting and the fact that instigating a duel with Alduin was right behind her was completely unacceptable, was the only reason she hadn’t yet drawn her wand and Avada’d him off his feet.

“Please,” she said between gritted teeth.

Their eyes not once left the others. Both lost and neither willing to bend to the fury of the other.

“Come now, Ms. Granger, you assume that I am not capable,” he taunted.

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re capable of, Mr. Riddle,” she spat in a whisper.

His hand encircling her fingers tightened to the point of pain, making her channel her strength and even more of her self-control to not flinch or show that it had affected her. She knew better than to show him weakness in any form.

“You assume to know a lot about me.”

His silken voice was poison to her ears in their proximity, and the way his lips remained so close to her knuckles stirred a desire in her to rip out his forked tongue.

“I don’t need to assume. I know.”

Well, she has her own fangs too, and she wasn’t afraid to bare them.

“How fortuitous that you know so much about me already,” in her mind’s eye, his form was like a snake coiled around her, looming and ready to strike at any unperceived moment, “Would you grant my wish to know more about you?”

Her fangs and claws were ready to pounce at his neck.

“Not a chance.”

A loud, obnoxious cough came up on their side. That tense cord between them snapped as they turned to Alduin innocently smiling up at them.

“There’s quite a crowd tonight, huh?” he motioned with his arms outstretched as he did a little twirl.

Around them, wizards and witches continued to pass by, but there were a select few who had the gall to stop and stare at them. Mostly a group of witches were whispering and giggling with each other non-discreetly behind their hands as they continued to look as if they were a show. No doubt assuming they were a couple having an intimate moment.

Displeased at the attention they garnered but with their prides refusing to show they were affected by them, Hermione met Riddle’s gaze once more. Their anger not quenched even the tiniest bit. After a few heartbeats, Riddle squeezed her fingers so tightly nearly to the point of breaking before suddenly loosening his grip. Hermione spared no second to bring her hand back to her side. She would need to wash it later and she might need an entire bar of soap for it.

“Until next time, Ms. Granger,” he bid, that infuriating polite smile back on his face.

“That’s assuming we’ll meet again, Mr. Riddle. Let’s go, Alduin,” she motioned for her son with the hand Riddle didn’t touch. She turned on her heel, intending to be far away from Riddle as soon as possible, but not before hearing.

“Oh, we will, Ms. Granger. This I promise you.”

.

Hermione scrubbed a bar of soap over her hand harshly. Making sure to get between each fold and nail twice- no, thrice before rinsing only to repeat it again.

“Mother?”

“Yes, sweetie?” she turned her head to the open door of the bathroom. Her son had a small, amused smile on his face as he leaned casually on the door frame.

“Something interesting happened earlier,” he said conversationally.

“Yeah?” she encouraged as she kept rubbing. Her arms were practically buried under a cloud of bubbles on the sink.

“Mmhmm,” he nodded sagely, “I met a person who knew Mr. Riddle today. He was a portly man, easy-going, and a bit funny. Mr. Riddle said he was his Potions Professor and Head of House while he was studying at Hogwarts. I believe his name was Horace Slughorn.”

Hermione froze, her eyes widened and her throat felt parched.

“Professor Slughorn… he saw you and Riddle together?”

“Yes. I nearly bumped into him, and he nearly mistook me for Mr. Riddle. He also mentioned that he would like to meet you. Funnily enough though, he assumed that you and Mr. Riddle are a married couple!” Alduin’s grin was wide with, what most would assume as, naïve innocence. His eyes reflected uncensored mirth.

SLUGHORN?! That gossip queen?! Of all the people in the world!

Hermione felt a sudden urge to drown her head in the sink.

Chapter Text

Hermione stared down with no small amount of trepidation, but despite her reservations, her heart still swelled at the sight of the child peacefully sleeping before her. Wrapped in clean blankets on the softest mattress she could find, so innocent and unaware, she briefly wondered if he would grow up to know what he truly is. If one day, a time would come for her to tell him why he was born, or if she should just stay silent and let this blissful ignorance stay for as long as possible.

Unconsciously, her hand came up to her lower stomach at the area of her womb. Her mind replayed to her the day, and the feelings wrought with it, of the shock, fear, relief, and delight that warred within her when she finally held him for the first time. Kicking and screaming like all newborns, but most especially of all- alive.

She blinked from her reverie when she heard his soft coo. Alduin squirmed in his crib, kicking his blanket in the process, while his small chubby hands rubbed over his face. He looked adorable. She smiled. Her fingers came up to gently caress a soft cheek, and let out a small gasp at the tingling spark of magic between them when his small fingers found one of her own.

Her magic recognized his, and he knew hers. It meant that he was hers. There was just no denying it and it was about time she accepted it.

Gently, she picked him up to lay him across her chest. His cheek rested comfortably over her shoulder as he was lulled back to slumber by her soft humming lullaby. All the while her fingers traced large circles on his back.

The source of your power- you’ll fight to contain,

But the sorcery of ancients run wild in your veins.

“Mother, I’m fine already,” Alduin whined, the most childish she’s ever heard of him in a long while, as she adjusted the black bowtie around his neck.

It wasn’t anything fancy. The matching pinstriped knickerbockers and vest over a poly cotton blend shirt was perfect for any occasion. Tonight, was supposed to be casual and fun but of course, she would want her son to look his best.

Now she understood her mother’s fussing whenever they went out to do anything.

“Alright, alright,” she finally relented, before helping him into his jacket.

She then secured her gloves and double-checked her wand within the holster hidden beneath her long sleeves. Her beaded bag was replaced by a Kelly that had a minor extension charm and atop her braided curls was a matching cloche hat with a subtle ouroboros design wrapped around it.

Hermione settled her hands on her son’s shoulders as they checked themselves one last time in the mirror.

“Right. Shall we go?” she asked, smiling at him through their reflections to which Alduin responded with a fervent nod. His neat raven locks were hidden under his own pageboy hat that matched the rest of his outfit.

They left their flat with Alduin eager to lead the way. The hidden runes etched on the wooden door flashed a brief golden color, activating any security measures put in place. Both mother and son crossed the familiar streets all the way to the venue where the show would take place. All the while most wizards and witches, most of them in groups with children also in tow, walked towards the same direction as them. Instead of using the streets that would usually lead to the open plaza however, they moved to a pathway that normally led to a dead end. There, the once empty brick wall was guarded by stone statues of a hippogriff and kelpie, trotting and moving in welcome, while the circus’ logo hung overhead, as the people marveled at the beauty and detail that was put into the carved stones.

“Come on, mother!” Alduin exclaimed, grabbing her hand to speed them along.

Hermione chortled as she matched his speed, letting him maneuver them effortlessly in the crowd. It’s been a while since she’s seen him this excited, after all. Alduin didn’t slow the tiniest bit as they headed straight towards the brick wall. A memory flashed in her mind’s eye and for the briefest moment, she was a little girl again running towards the wall between the signs 9 and 10 with a cart full of her things and Crookshanks’ carrier; excited to start another year at Hogwarts.

There was only a moment of silent darkness before their eyes were greeted with an assault of colors and their ears rang with crowd noises and music.

“Wow,” came her son’s audible reaction beside her as she, too, had to stop and stare at the magnificence before them.

As time crawled into night, the sky was painted with a beautiful gradient of blue, purple, orange, and yellow. Overhead were colorful streamers and fairy lights that glowed and flashed to the beat of the band playing lively music with trumpets and drums by actual people. At the center of it all was a tall, striped tent where the show would take place.

Impressively, it seemed that word of the event spread far as there were already a lot of people in attendance. They chose to arrive nearly two hours before the show began so they could have more time to watch the small performances scattered around the plaza, as well as play on the plethora of magical carnival-like games. Hermione figured it to that, unlike the muggle world, there aren’t really that many places (aimed at families) for wizards and witches to have fun at for their leisure. Considering that muggles still outnumber the wizarding community, there was a risk and high level of maintenance needed to contain an area of high daily magical activity. It’s simply too difficult, risky, and taxing to open up a business like that. So it was quite innovative for this circus to adopt such attractions other than their own show. The biggest event she’s ever attended was the Quidditch World Cup, and that was back in her own world. Hermione prided in herself that she, and especially her son, were able to experience what it was like to ride on carnival rides. They made a quick stop at Chicago while they were in America to go to Riverview Park. If memory served her right, it would be closed in a year or two due to economic reasons.

A round of applause snapped them both from their marvel when fireworks shaped like a dragon flew over their heads before flying high up and up and up towards the darkening sky only to explode into a myriad of colors.

“So, Al, which should we start first?”

Alduin’s grin stretched wide like a Cheshire’s smile, showing off his canines, before tugging her hand to lead her towards the two people dressed in brightly colored vests juggling balls of fire and water.

.

“How about a snack, Al?” Hermione offered. They had just finished playing a magical version of ring toss, in which her son won a bag of Gobstones.

“Yes please,” Alduin beamed up at her before heading immediately towards a cart displaying rows of candied apples.

“Good evening, ma’am and young sir! What can I get you?” greeted the vendor.

Hermione tipped her head towards her son, waiting patiently beside him to decide. His lips were slightly pursed in thought as he stared at the treats as if they were a difficult puzzle. There were ten apples to choose from, all of which were coated and designed differently, offering diverse flavors as well.

“There’s so many choices and they all look delicious,” he hummed, furrowing his brows in deep thought before suddenly brightening up. Alduin turned his head towards her with a wide smile, “Can I try them all, mother?”

Smiling indulgently, she supposed she could spoil him for today.

“No. You can only choose one. You won’t even be able to finish it all and you could get a stomachache.”

Hermione felt herself immediately go rigid at the sound of his voice cutting in just before she could reply. Her glare instantly snapped towards him but Riddle didn’t appear the least bit deterred as he only met her stare even when he stopped to stand at Alduin’s other side.

“But-! Mother!” Alduin mocked an exaggerated whine before looking back at her with a pouty face. He didn’t mind Riddle’s presence at all.

“Of course, you can try them all, Alduin.” Out of spite, Hermione took out two galleons from her bag and dropped it on her son’s expecting palms with an encouraging smile, “Tell him to keep the change.”

With her eyes set on Riddle, she missed the way Alduin sent his sire a triumphant smirk before bounding close to the vendor. She didn’t, however, miss the way Riddle’s jaw clenched in displeasure at their defiance. It only made her square her shoulders back and lift her chin in challenge. That’ll show him for ordering her son around. Who does he think he is to decide what her son can and cannot eat?

‘He should be grateful Alduin didn’t want to eat him. At least, not yet,’ she hoped. Otherwise, she wouldn’t hesitate to sic her son at him even in broad daylight.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, reminiscent of a cat baring its fangs. Not that she wasn’t expecting him to show up. Quite the contrary, actually. She just wished Riddle had appeared a lot later. With him around, she’ll have to constantly be on guard and knowing her son’s observative nature, it might dampen his mood when he should be having fun.

“Alduin expressed desire to attend the circus. I was with him when he learned of it, after all. He’s been such a good boy recently. So it’s only natural that I see to his reward as his father,” he stared back in equal challenge, taunting her to refute or make any comeback at his words.

In their current stalemate (and due to the public setting), they couldn’t risk another fight unless they wanted a scene. Not to mention she didn’t want to hurt Alduin again. But it seemed that Riddle had no interest in gaining that kind of attention either, so in a way, they came to an odd unspoken agreement. Of course, that didn’t stop them from trading barbed words and underlying insults at each other. It also pissed her off that Riddle kept bringing up her frequent absences; all in front of Alduin! As if he’s painting a bad impression of her on her son.

As if that would work. Alduin is smarter and more mature than children his age, and she wasn’t buying whatever show he’s selling. Knowing the kind of man he was, she highly doubted Riddle actually cared about Alduin as a father. Riddle was planning to use her son for some nefarious plan and displaying himself as a doting family man was just a ploy to hide his true intentions. That much she can deduce, but whatever that ultimate goal was, she doesn’t know. Fortunately, she was no novice in dealing with people like Riddle, both in her previous and new life. Although she’s certain none of them were near his level, she was confident enough to know how to stand her ground.

“How responsible,” she said dryly, “even though you’re not his father.”

“I think you know that I, as well as many others, would beg to differ,” he answered back, “Between the two of us, I’m sure it’s no difficult which is more convincing to be Alduin’s parent.”

His words made her remember the comments people had made about her and their assumptions about her ‘marriage’. It made her unbelievably infuriated; that the thought of going out and implanting a false memory of her own to reestablish herself as a single mother again, to counter what Riddle had done, had even crossed her mind. But whom and exactly how many people did Riddle brainwash? Which were those who just ignorantly assumed this misunderstanding? And who’s to say he didn’t do more than just make them forget her last name?

“I’m back!” Alduin piped up (again) between them with a clearly amused, sing-song voice. Enclosed in his hands were the assorted array of candied apples. Two of which were already eaten as an empty stick was the only thing left behind.

Riddle snapped his head at her son, and said in a calm voice that belied his admonishment, “Didn’t you hear me say to buy only one?”

“But mother said I could try them all,” Alduin countered and moved his apples away in case he would take them.

“You can’t possibly finish them.”

“Yes, I can!” her son’s retort was promptly ignored however, when Riddle turned his gaze back at her.

Riddle tutted, “Are you deliberately raising him to be a spoiled brat?”

Hermione could feel her face redden at his blatant insult of her parenting. She had barely even stopped herself from whipping out her wand and cast a stinging hex that would leave him sore for weeks. Consequences be damned, he has no right to make any comment on how she should raise her son! And what did he know about parenting anyway?

“I’m not a brat,” Alduin quipped in defense. Three of the remaining apples have already disappeared in that brief moment they had their attentions away from him. Her son licked a trace of chocolate syrup from the corner of his lip- something that wasn’t there before. He added, “Besides, how would I know which one’s the best if I don’t try them all?”

For a moment, Riddle was silent. The only clue of what ran in his head in that moment was the way his brows slightly furrowed as he stared at the six empty sticks in Alduin’s hands. He was confused. When he opened his mouth to say something, Hermione chose that moment to intentionally interrupt him rudely.

“Oh, leave him be,” she snapped, “I’m his mother. If he wants to eat one of every snack in the plaza then he can,” Riddle’s gaze was intense with irritation behind his onyx eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess he wasn’t used to being interrupted, “and of course I would know if he can finish them. Now tell me, Alduin, what do you think?”

Hermione broke their staredown to look back at her son. As expected, all that was left in his hands were empty sticks. Even though she had years to get used to her son’s uncanny ability to devour large portions of food in mere seconds when no one was paying attention, she still couldn’t figure out how he could do it. Though honestly, she preferred him eating actual food instead of the ones she had collected into the broken-time-turner-turned-storage around her neck.

“Well, the butterscotch with chocolate spiderweb drizzle was a strong contender, but it had a subtle aftertaste…” Alduin listed, reviewing each apple he had eaten like a food critic in a way that reminded Hermione of herself. Her son may not have resembled her physically but she recognized some of his mannerisms that was very much like her own. It made her feel warm and proud, the latter more so to the fact that during Alduin’s report, Riddle was rendered speechless. Hermione liked to believe his blank stare was due to astonishment and confusion at what just happened.

“…so, I say the golden apple is the winner. I think mother and Mr. Riddle would like it too,” Alduin finished with a small giggle as if laughing at a private joke*.

“Thank you, Al, maybe I should try one later,” she replied, and was ready to give Riddle a smug look, to imply how she’s the better parent for knowing more about Alduin, but much to her dismay, Riddle had quickly broken from whatever stupor he had fallen into seconds ago and bent down in front of her son.

Hermione’s wand instantly dropped into her hand. If she really was in a time Tom Riddle was still deemed ‘sane’, then he wouldn’t try anything. But just in case, if she detected the slightest bit of his magic, or the second he pointed his wand at her son, then she’ll gladly forgo her Gryffindor honor to curse him on his back.

“Alduin,” he began, and Alduin looked back at him curiously, “Why don’t you go buy something else you like? Your mother and I just needed to have a little adult talk. Don’t worry, I promised I would show your mother some courtesy, didn’t I?”

Riddle took Alduin’s hand, faced it palm up, and dropped ten galleons there. Hermione had a grating feeling that giving her son five times the amount she gave him earlier was deliberate.

The complaint that took center stage for her, however, was the feeling of outrage that Riddle had just made a decision for her without her consent. But before she could voice her protest, Hermione caught her son’s eye. Alduin shifted his gaze between hers and Riddle’s at least twice before beaming a seemingly innocent grin.

“Alright, Mr. Riddle,” he said cheerily, “I’ll be right back!”

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd before she could even call out his name.

“Now, Ms. Granger, if you would please,” Riddle started. It wasn’t a suggestion. His head was cocked slightly to the side, prompting her to follow.

Hermione defiantly crossed her arms over her chest, “And why should I? I don’t remember agreeing to have a ‘little adult talk’ with you.”

Riddle’s eyes became stormy and her sensitivity instantly felt the first signs of magical pressure against her. Now with Alduin gone by her side, they were back at an even playing field.

He stepped closer to her and Hermione stood her ground as she let her own magic push his back. Even when Riddle invaded her personal space like that time at the fountain, she kept her chin up. She kept her gaze locked with his, as she remembered a lesson she learned in her previous life: in a matchup between two predators, the loser was the one who succumbed to the other and broke their gaze first.

From her periphery, his hand came up, but instead of taking her hand like he did before, he pushed back a stray lock behind her ear. The gentle brush of his fingers on her skin made her freeze on the spot, but it was the feel of his hot breath on her ear that made her shudder.

“I suggest you to not be difficult, Ms. Granger,” the low timbre of his voice was a sinful whisper that she had to fight herself from shuddering once more lest he’ll notice how he affected her, “It would be a shame if anything were to happen on this joyous night.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief.

No… he’s bluffing.

There are too many people!

He wouldn’t dare launch an attack, would he?

By reflex, her eyes immediately darted here and there. Looking for anyone that looked even remotely suspicious amongst the crowd.

If he’s really sane, she could call him out on his bluff. Hermione knew that Riddle had amassed quite a number of subordinates after his graduation from Hogwarts, but most of them were heirs (now heads) from pureblooded households who are above doing grunt work. But this Tom Riddle wasn’t fresh out of Hogwarts. Who’s to say he’s already recruited people who could? According to what Harry had told her, Riddle shouldn’t have actively started his campaign for dominion over the wizarding world but that didn’t mean he just stood idly by. Even more so, knowing his capacity for cruelty, it also wouldn’t be far-fetched for him to act on his word.

“Think about how disappointed Alduin would feel if he couldn’t see the circus show he’s always wanted,” he taunted further.

At the mention of her son, Hermione mentally cursed.

Forget about feeling disappointed, if Riddle really wasn’t bluffing and an attack would take place, then a confrontation between them wouldn’t be avoided. Who knew what that chaos alone would make Alduin feel? She had already sworn to never let her son feel distressed like that again.

“What do you want?” she asked between gritted teeth.

“Nothing much,” his lips were still near her ear. From an outsider’s perspective, their closeness would suggest they were having an intimate moment when in reality, both of them were just itching to wring each other’s throats, “Just a little talk. As civil adults.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. She really, really didn’t want to do anything with Tom Riddle, much more be alone with him.

But what other choice does she have?

“Fine.”

At her consent, Riddle finally leaned back. Triumph danced over his dark eyes as he led her away from the crowded street and into an alley. Somewhere not far from the bustling crowd but isolated enough to give them privacy.

Hermione fell into step with him. There was no way she’s ever going to show her back while in the company of an enemy. Upon reaching the alley, she immediately pressed her back to one wall and positioned herself near the corner in case she needed to make a quick slip. She has no idea how this ‘talk’ would turn out. Even though, technically this will be her first consented ‘civil’ encounter with him.

Ironically, despite being Harry’s muggleborn best friend, she had very little to no exchanges with Voldemort. Even though she would’ve made a primary target in his suppression of muggles and muggleborns. The most would be just seeing him in all his monstrous glory but they had never actually engaged with each other. Then again, Voldemort was too hyperfixated on that damnable prophecy with Harry.

“This should do,” Riddle finally said after finishing. She had been paying him extra closer attention when he took out his wand to put up wards for further security and privacy.

She breathed out a sigh of relief when he had only casted silencing and notice-me-not charms.

For a moment, they just stood there facing each other. Each of them occupying a wall and staring, but no less on high alert. Both were unarmed, Hermione had slipped her wand back into her holster, and he had his wand tucked away with his hands in his pockets, but both of them had already seen the level of the power the other had. Even someone as powerful as Tom Riddle would know to exercise caution. An experienced predator would know to never do the first provocation when facing another predator with equal power.

“Ms. Granger,” Riddle began, “I know we didn’t exactly have a good first impression. Circumstances led to… unpredictable happenstance. If I could, things would’ve transpired a lot more favorably.”

‘More favorably to you,’ is what he left unsaid that Hermione understood. For all she knew, Riddle would’ve wanted to kill Alduin from the start.

“Well, you didn’t exactly give a favorable first impression yourself,” she referred to their first meeting at Borgin and Burkes. As impressive as his level of mastery in legilimens was, it was uncalled for. Then again, if she hadn’t trained in occlumency, she wouldn’t have felt the tiniest pinprick of his spell.

Under the light, Riddle’s dark eyes sharpened. It made her bite her inner cheek. In both her previous and new lives, she’s never met anyone who had such intense eyes. A gaze that penetrates through skin; as if he can see right into her soul and all her secrets were laid bare before him.

“You have quite the unusual magic for a witch,” he said and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was that a compliment? No. Tom Riddle doesn’t give compliments unless he’s putting on his charms. It’s better to say that it was a statement.

“Obviously, I’m no ordinary witch,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Obviously,” he parroted dryly.

“Then that means you mustn’t have met a lot of witches.”

“Oh, I have. And I remember at least one thing about all of them. You, however, I know none of. Now why is that?” if possible, he was staring at her with more intensity.

Hermione stood stock still, not giving the slightest bit of movement, not wanting to give him any sort of reaction, while her mind raced. Of course, his questions would be geared towards that. And the both of them knew she has the answers. Now the real question was whether she’s willing to give them or not.

The silence between them stretched, his question remained hung in the air. But Hermione remained tight-lipped, the roots of her stubbornness and distrust of anything that came out of Riddle’s mouth dug deep and firm.

When it seemed that she wasn’t going to open her mouth anytime soon, Riddle took a deep breath through his nose as an exercise of patience, “Now, now, Ms. Granger, a chat is not a one-way conversation. I’m sure you know that Alduin has an abhorrence for the rude. What would he say if he learned his own mother doesn’t know how to show some courtesy?”

Despite her efforts, mentioning her son had effectively chipped through her own mask. Hermione’s brows furrowed and her brown eyes were alit with displeasure.

It was her turn to breathe deeply. She mocked, “Hard to be courteous given your reactions to past happenstances.”

“My reactions, you say?” Riddle’s voice had suddenly gotten deeper.

Her nerves jumped in preparation for fight or flight when he pushed his back off the wall and closed the distance between them once more. She could feel his magic surround her, pushing and caging her in until she felt her back flush to the wall behind her. Still, she didn’t dare break her gaze from him.

“Picture me this, Ms. Granger,” he began with the subtlest hint of a growl, “I have been away for the last decade, only occasionally stopping by to check up on old friends. Then one day, one of those old friends suddenly tells me he saw a little boy who looks exactly like me as a lad. Out of the blue, I learned that I had apparently fathered a son with a witch who evidently knows me, yet I know nothing about her. Now tell me, Ms. Granger, how exactly did you expected me to react?”

He was standing so close now; taking advantage of his superior height to loom over her like a shadow. If it wasn’t for her own stubbornness and strong will, those glacial void eyes would have rendered her paralyzed. Riddle had a serpent’s stare.

A snake through and through.

She bit harder on her inner cheek. What exactly should she say? That she was a witch from the future who had lived through his reign of terror and died by drowning in the ocean when she fell from a cliff? That she was resurrected in a time nearly forty years into the past to do an obscure task in order to receive the reward she asked for? That she raised a child whose father she didn’t know of until now? That she thought he didn’t exist in this new life of hers?

Oh yes. Riddle would definitely love to hear all of that. Not to mention the confirmation that resurrection exists. For someone who’s so hung up on immortality, he would be over the bloody moon. And that’s only the concept of resurrection. What more if he learned what she knew about reincarnation? The cycle of death and rebirth?

‘Yeah, right, as if I’ll ever tell him.’

Hermione let out a gasp when Riddle suddenly gripped her chin. As if she hadn’t been looking into his eyes the whole time, he forced her gaze up to bore his own set of stygian pools on her, “Hermione Granger, who exactly are you?”

She should hex him. Jinx him. Curse him. Anything.

She could do it. If it’s Riddle, she has enough animosity for the Killing Curse to work.

Hermione caught a glimpse of the horcrux decorating his finger on the hand he used to grab her chin before he forced her to look back into his eyes. He wasn’t using legilimens on her. She would know. Still, that didn’t stop him from using intimidation.

And Tom Riddle was certainly intimidating.

Any lesser person would’ve broken already. Especially when the color of bright crimson blood took over his irises. Those demonic eyes that were the proof of his self-corruption to the darkest forms of magic.

Too bad Hermione was anything but lesser.

“I,” she began, ignoring the fingers that dug into her chin, “I am someone whom you will regret to have ever messed with.”

Metaphorically throwing her indifferent mask to the ground, Hermione slapped his hand away. Her unexpected answer caused him to relax his grip a bit. By her will, she forced her magic against his until he took a step back. Thus, allowing her to step into his space this time.

“It doesn’t matter who I am, Riddle,” she growled, her face twisted into an angry snarl as she jabbed a finger squarely at the center of his chest, “I know all of your tricks so do us both a favor and keep that forked tongue of yours inside your mouth before I rip it out.”

Another jab.

“-You may be able to sway these clueless people but you’re sorely mistaken if you think some pretty words and giving Alduin gifts would be enough to sway him for whatever bloody scheme you have.”

Because how dare he underestimate her son?

“-Yes, I know what you did to the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. You think you’re the only one who has talent for memory spells?”

She was livid. She was stressed. She was frustrated. She had been ever since she realized who he was back in Borgin and Burkes. Honestly, she’d rather have people pitying and talking behind her back for being an unmarried woman and single mother than being assumed to be bound to him in any way.

“-I don’t know what bloody idea you’re trying to pull with this stunt you’re going on about being a ‘family’- you are the last person in the entire universe whom I would consider to be my son’s father.”

Without that Hunter’s Pull coming to her as frequently as it did before, she had no outlet, no release, for all of the stress that had accumulated in her from these unanswered questions. It had been boiling steadily for the last few days, and she’d rather curse herself than take it out on her son or any innocent soul. At least during her hunts, she would have the opportunity whenever her prey chose to make a run for it.

Voldemort wasn’t the only one who feared their own demise.

Now that bubbling cauldron had tumbled over. The spilled contents of past resentment, confusion, anger, and protectiveness for her son, had blinded her to proceed with this tirade even though a sane person should’ve tried to escape and flee instead.

“-So don’t delude yourself. I don’t care whatever proof you have but I will never acknowledge you as Alduin’s father.”

She needed more time to research. Now that she knows Tom Riddle still exists, the tables have turned.

“-So if you so much as touch a single hair on his head, I swear by the Cosmic Audience, I will make you wish you never existed.”

She knew exactly who could tell her all the answers, but the question was how to initiate contact with them? Should she… try drowning again?

After all, as long as Alduin lives… she-

“Then why are you still here?”

If her anger was the roaring, raging fire storm, Riddle’s was the suffocating, overwhelming freezing bite of a blizzard.

“If my presence is such an abomination to you, then what’s keeping you from running?”

In the shadows of the alley, Riddle’s crimson eyes glowed.

“After escaping Malfoy Manor, you had enough time to escape. You could’ve easily fled back to any country you’ve travelled in, yet you didn’t. Alduin said you have some unfinished business here. Money? Child Support? No, you avoid me like the plague and ran as soon as you learned my name. So which is it? You made it clear that you despise me, for whatever reason, yet you let your son stay in my company. So if it’s not for yourself, then it’s for Alduin, isn’t it?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She would’ve been impressed by his deduction if not for the dread she felt at how accurate it was.

“What is it?” Riddle pressed, taking full advantage of her look of shock, “What is it that he wants for you to risk staying here?”

She bit her lip.

“What does he want?”

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump…

Came that familiar dark rhythm.

“What does our dearest son want from me?”

Ba-dump…

Ba-dump…

Ba-dump…

‘He wants to eat your bloody ring!’

“Nothing you’re willing to give,” she hissed.

Quicker than she’s ever encountered from any opponent she had before, Hermione found herself stunned. For one moment, she had just felt the skim of vine wood on her palms, the next, she was caged between long, slender arms on both sides. Trapping her both physically and by magic.

Her wand clattered loudly in their makeshift bubble.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can give him an offer he can’t refuse.”

There was a sinister smile painting his face now. The tarry, sinking sensation of darkness poured out from every part of his being.

“Whatever happened to showing me some courtesy?”

“Well, Alduin’s not here, is he?”

Despite herself, Hermione’s heart clenched.

Riddle’s smirk… that wide stretch of his lips showing teeth, and the wild look of rapture behind his eyes… she had seen that look before.

On that day five years ago in Buenos Aires, Alduin nearly folded himself in half clutching his stomach as if in excruciating pain.

When he looked up, gone was the sweet child she had grown to love and cherish above everything. Riddle and Alduin… both had the same look that promised nothing but pure malevolence.

“Mother… I’m starving.”

She hated it. She hated seeing Riddle. Hated how they looked so much alike, as well as the shot of fear and anxiety that pierced her heart- that Alduin might’ve inherited more from him than just his looks.

“There you two are!”

Hermione’s heart nearly leaped from her throat at the sudden, peppy tone. Both hers and Riddle’s gazes snapped at Alduin standing nonchalantly just a foot away from the wards Riddle had set.

He had a smile plastered on his face, the kind that made him look angelic, while his hands were clasped behind his back as he roamed his eyes around in front of them. Can he sense the wards placed there?

“How did you find us?” Riddle snapped. The first time she’s ever heard him use a tone other than cordial with her son.

Alduin, however, merely cocked his head at him as if he was confused with his question, “I can always tell where my mother is!”

He smiled wider as he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He continued, “Are you done with your ‘adult talk’ now?”

There was clear amusement reflecting from his obsidian eyes as he kept on watching them. Only then did Hermione realize she had yet to move from the… precarious position they were in.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Forcefully, Hermione pushed against Riddle’s chest and slipped underneath his arm. She felt the wards fizzle on her skin when she stepped out of the alley and stood by her son’s side. With a flick of her wrist, her wand shot back into the holster hidden beneath her sleeve before she moved them to hug her arms.

Anger and embarrassment filled her at the thought of anyone, especially her son, seeing her in such a… position with Riddle. A position that can be easily misunderstood as one of intimacy. She should explain it to him later. All these years, there’s only been the two of them. She’s never engaged upon her return, as she was too focused on raising a son, making money, taming the most wicked of dark artefacts, and hunting down people on the verge of death. Not that it was an issue for her. She had no interest outside familial affection, but knowing her son, he would be curious. No matter how much he misunderstood the atmosphere or if he even has any idea about romance, it’s best to nip this at the bud before it becomes a problem.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Alduin supplied cheerily.

“Was I not clear with my implications that you are to entertain yourself for a while?”

Hermione recognized the tone of rebuke in Riddle’s voice. How dare he! He has no right to scold Alduin for anything!

“Oh, you were, sir, and I was gone for ‘a while’, wasn’t I? You should’ve been more specific on how long you wanted me gone if you wanted to keep my mother to yourself.”

She snapped her head back at her son. Any sense of anger and embarrassment drained from her being and was instantly replaced by an odd mixture of pride, shock, disbelief, and a hint of betrayal. She was proud at how casual Alduin interacted with Riddle; how brave and uncowed he was of him knowing the kind of power the older ravenhead held. She drew comfort at the fact that whatever scheme Riddle’s been planning did not involve any harm on her son.

However, his words just now made her feel as if he had just thrown her under the bus.

Alduin was teasing Riddle.

But his tease included her too.

She knew her son to be a bit cheeky. If not food, he’s always looking for some form of entertainment. But in this instance… does it also have to be in her expense? Thus, she can’t help feel a bit betrayed.

“Al-“ she began, not noticing the outrage in Riddle’s expression at his words.

“Anyway!” Alduin interjected and began rummaging in his bag, “I found this small tent- they were selling all sorts of weird, fancy knickknacks from around the world. So I got us these! They have an entire wall full of them!”

He fished out three objects from his bag. All were half-masks designed as animals. He handed each of them with brimming excitement like the child he was. He also explained that when worn, certain parts would move. For Riddle, it was the top half of a snake’s head colored white with a bluish tint for its scales. When worn, it would let out hissing noises and the eyeholes would illusion the wearer’s eyes with a snake’s as well. For Hermione, she received a lioness. The texture used for its fur was soft and even, she wondered if it was made from the animal itself. The ears would twitch and the eyes would glow a golden color.

“And this is mine,” Alduin proudly held up his own mask before putting it on.

His mask was a dragon**. A black, menacing-looking dragon with bony ridges. Its slits for nostrils would glow a fiery color and blow out small fumes of smoke every now and again. But what stood out the most were the two large horns that curled atop its angry eyes.

Eyes that glowed a ruby red.

.

Alduin’s heart was racing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled a genuine smile for so long (except during the times he spent with his mother), and this… feeling of excitement was so new.

For the first time, he was left genuinely stunned and confused when Mr. Riddle kissed his mother’s hand the other day. He’s familiar with the gesture, and he himself had kissed the hands of a few ladies out of courtesy, but… there was something different about them.

He was no stranger to his mother’s animosity for him. She couldn’t have made it more evident when she scrubbed her hands red raw when they returned from the fountain. He also knew Mr. Riddle was circling cautiously around his mother.

Honestly, he couldn’t quite describe this sensation.

His mother and Mr. Riddle… they don’t like each other.

But…

There’s just something… different about those two.

Something that he’s only noticed recently, at the fountain, that made him see them in a much different light.

It wasn’t particularly bad, but it wasn’t necessarily good either.

It is a very… selfish sensation.

Something self-serving and satisfying.

Something that is utterly…

Entertaining.

Eating all sorts of food is his pastime. Learning about magic is his favorite hobby. But this?

He came to the circus to have fun and see the show, but now he can’t help but think that the show had already began.

And it is going to be spectacular.

Part of him should’ve known better to choose his words properly, on account of his mother, but really, he just can’t seem to mind at the moment. He’s willing to accept any reprimand she would give him by the night is over but for now, he’s determined to not miss a single part of this exciting act.

The more he thought of it, the more his stomach churned and coiled. It was a familiar sensation, but unlike the previous times, he doesn’t feel hungry at all.

And sometimes, he swore he could smell and taste the distinct, salty tang of the ocean.

“Oh, and I also bumped into someone. We should go and meet them now. It would be rude to keep them waiting for long,” Alduin informed, grabbing his gaping mother’s hand, knowing Mr. Riddle would follow.

He worried in the beginning, of course. He wouldn’t want to hear that abomination of a noise again.

But his mother had promised she wouldn’t let that happen again, and she always kept her promises to him. He could trust that she wouldn’t attack Mr. Riddle unprovoked. Then there’s Mr. Riddle. Since that time at Malfoy manor, he resorted to proceed in a different course of action.

Speaking of which…

He led them through the throng until they were faced to face with the Malfoy couple, along with a boy his age standing close to his mother.

Alduin had seen them on his way back to look for his mother and Mr. Riddle. The family of three had very distinct long, straight, platinum blonde hair that anyone with basic knowledge about Britain’s infamous Sacred Twenty-Eight would be able to identify them off the bat.

He decided then to greet them and express his sympathies. Knowing that they didn’t exactly part ways peacefully. As expected, they had been reserved in their responses. But Mr. Malfoy was under Mr. Riddle’s thumb so he was the first who made an effort to be cordial. His wife though, took a bit of time and some prodding at an amiable direction, but she eventually gave in and genuinely inquired about his health after a few more exchanges in her mother tongue. As for the boy however- their son, named Lucius, had a conflicted expression on his face throughout his exchange with his parents and even when they shook hands.

Alduin didn’t mind. He was of no value to him (yet).

When Mr. Malfoy inquired about Mr. Riddle, Alduin gathered from that question alone either Mr. Malfoy had already expected Mr. Riddle to be with them, or Mr. Riddle was expecting Mr. Malfoy’s attendance in coming to the circus.

So here they were, two parties meeting each other after a previous incident that left one party considerable damage. One, a family, while the other… well, that’s yet to be decided.

.

“My lord, may I?” Abraxas began once they were at a considerable distance away. Right on the side of the street and away from the foot traffic. Far enough to be out of hearing range but near enough where they could still see the women and children

Tom turned to him and immediately noticed the thick roll of cigar between his fingers. He tucked the mask Alduin had given him inside his suit.

“Go right ahead,” he nodded almost dismissively. They did intend to talk under the guise of a quick smoke after all, “and pass me one as well.”

The blonde momentarily froze just as he took out his wand to light up his cigar. Tom didn’t commonly smoke like the rest of his Death Eaters, or even amongst the Knights. He preferred his simpler indulgences in vintage wine tasting, and ideally chose to get high through the power of the dark arts. But he had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

Nevertheless, Abraxas didn’t question his order and promptly took out another stick. He then lighted them (Tom’s first before his), and for a moment, they stood in silence as they inhaled and puffed out from their expensive branded cigars. Breathing in the thick, pungent smoke that had a strange combination of coffee, chocolate, peppery and earthy scent. Occasionally, they would blow out the smoke in shapes and figures just like they had done in previous bachelor parties.

Tom mused at the small, wispy boat Abraxas blew out before starting, “How goes your search, Abraxas?”

The blonde inhaled a long drag, “A thousand pardons, my lord, but we are doing our best. I’m afraid Mr. Hector Dagworth-Granger is too much of a recluse. The last person, one of his friends, who had correspondence with him said that he had begun focusing more of his work in the Alchemic arts, but ultimately, no one has seen or heard of him for the last ten years.”

“Ten years,” Tom repeated softly before taking another drag.

He had not ceased seeking any information about the genealogical line of Alduin’s mother. No matter how hard they dug in any department in the ministry, there was absolutely no record about her or Alduin. Not even papers saying they had reported into the Ministry’s Department of Magical Transportation, as it was considered protocol. It would be impossible to say they didn’t know or simply forgot to do it, considering the number of countries the mother and son had visited over the years. At this rate, they might as well be illegal immigrants.

He was not a fool to continue fighting an opponent unprepared. Knowledge is power, and as infuriating as it was, Hermione Granger has more advantage in that area than him. Especially now when she had practically confessed to knowing a lot of information about him. She seemed to know what he was capable of and was not afraid to challenge him.

If he hadn’t known the extent of her power from their previous bout, he would’ve thought her mad.

“Contact every known alchemist in the country. See if you can find one who had exchanged letters with Dagworth-Granger the most and which one of them is the most recent. The priority is to pinpoint his location and current whereabouts,” Tom ordered. Granger’s power… it couldn’t possibly belong to a mudblood. So it begs to differ that she is a pureblood- or if not, a half-blood just like him.

It wasn’t a surprise to learn the infamous potioneer had decided to try his hand on alchemy. That branch of magic had strong ties with Potions. Alduin had also mentioned his mother brewed potions for a living, so there’s evidence of skill and practice there. Not to mention the word she used to name her son after was rooted in the most vague and complicated subbranch of Alchemy. Tom had dabbled in it during his travels, yes, and he knew enough that the word Alduin is a moniker for the Ouroboros. It made him wonder if Alduin knew his name meant ‘World Eater’ in parseltongue.

At least the witch had enough brains to give his son a unique name.

“As you wish,” Abraxas dipped his head. “May I ask, my lord, how you are faring?”

Tom gave him a sideways glance, prompting him to elaborate.

“Me and the others, the Knights,” he specified, “are wondering how are your proceedings with the boy and the witch.”

“Call him by his name, Abraxas. Alduin is my son. There is no point in further denying that,” Abraxas gave a soft ‘Yes. Of course, sir’ as Tom took a moment to best describe the two people who had practically sprung out of nowhere and unwittingly entered his life. “Those two… are like twin double-edged swords.”

Accepting that he has a son was one thing, acknowledging the witch that birthed his son was another. Especially if said witch had equaled him in power and had successfully rebuffed his past actions.

It was fortunate that he had learned about them before he decided to return to Britain. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at the idea of getting rid of the two for the sake of his reputation. He also wasn’t keen on the idea of having a ‘family’. But the tables have turned when he had finally confronted the witch and had spent time with the boy.

Both of them were powerful.

Tom looked back at where they left the women and children just in time to see the boys run off somewhere. Probably to play a game or get a snack.

Alduin, his son, who was the spitting image of him; not only does he have the magical aptitude to use magic consciously before he was of age to use a wand, he was also bright and knowledgeable on a plethora of subjects. Not only is he book smart, but also capable of problem solving and critical thinking.

At least he knew all those things Alduin said about his mother being a good teacher wasn’t all talk.

He has no doubt Alduin could easily take the top spot of his year once he starts school. And that is a decision not up for questioning.

“Double-edged sword, sir?”

“Alduin is young, a child, but he’s not clueless, less so an idiot.”

There is childish innocence there, but his son is also observant, more mature, cunning, and not afraid to use whatever he has to his advantage. That fact made him feel oddly relieved and frustrated at the same time because it also meant the boy would not be swayed to his side so easily. Obviously, using force was out of the question. After what had happened at Malfoy Manor, one would think the boy would avoid him at all costs and run away screaming. But he didn’t. in fact, Alduin acted as if the incident didn’t happen at all. Even when he was almost threatening him, the boy had his mother’s infuriating resilience and ability to look at danger back in the eye.

Nevertheless, Alduin is strangely comfortable around him and Tom will hang on to that bond to keep the boy close.

He may not have planned to have any heirs, but Tom always knew to make do what’s available in front of him.

After all, such power and potential cannot go to waste, and cultivating the boy into his fold to the point where he wouldn’t even think of challenging him, his father, in the future, is best be done as early as possible.

His only complaints were Alduin’s confidence to cheek him every chance he gets, and that voracious appetite. The boy might as well be eating five meals a day yet he still remained lean and healthy.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the witch with riotous curls speaking amicably with Abraxas’ wife, “Granger, however, is a treasure chest implanted with bombs.” Handled improperly and it would explode with the slightest touch.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Tom will give credit where credit is due, and admit Hermione Granger to be a powerful witch. This mysterious woman who seems to despise his very being, had magic he’s never encountered before.

Someone this powerful… it would be impossible for him to have forgotten. But knowing her capabilities now, and her admittance to having a talent for memory spells, chances were, she really did tamper with his memories. If so, then her resentment may be from their shared past- he must have offended her in some way to hold such a grudge.

Still, unless he learns the whole truth, that theory is still up for speculation. Unfortunately, it seems that Granger wouldn’t be telling him anything about their past anytime soon. For her, he would need to step up his game since his usual tricks obviously doesn’t work on her.

He hated her.

How dare she deny him his answer?!

He hated how close she and his son were.

Tom is inherently possessive. He has a son whom he can rightfully call his, yet no matter what knowledge he’d imparted him during the day, the boy wouldn’t think twice of running towards his mother.

He hated how protective she was.

Alduin looked so much like him… and seeing him being held so tenderly like that… times like those were when he could say he hated the boy.

And that’s where the dilemma laid and why he chose to describe those two as double-edged swords.

Alduin doesn’t care about their biological tie but he is strangely comfortable in his company, and apparently, there is something the boy wanted from him.

He cannot force the boy because he has a very, very protective mother who’s ready to protect him with her life. A witch that could match him in power, who also seem to know a lot about him. if he were to describe her, she is like the most fearsome beast who would not hesitate to bite his head off if he so much as touches her cub.

He cannot force the woman into submission either, because not only does she have a chance of actually harming him (though he’ll never admit it), her bond with his son is far stronger. At this point in time, any harm done on his mother would render any cultivation done on him as useless.

Ergo, if he cannot touch the players themselves, then he’ll just have to manipulate everything else around them.

“People have begun to talk, my lord,” Abraxas informed, “Melissa Nott had seen you kiss her hand by the fountain the other night. I’m sure our wives are fully convinced by now that you have gotten married and raised a family during your absence.”

Of course, women would talk. That’s what they do. Not to mention Slughorn would only help paint the picture a little better in Tom’s favor.

“Good,” Tom exhaled a puff of smoke. The words of common shopkeepers had no weight on him, but they can make excellent witnesses to solidify his claim. All he needed to do was use memory charms to iron out any wrinkles that may damage his crafted story. It doesn’t matter if the witch had figured out what he had done. Between a no-named witch of obscure background and a wizard with the backing of several influential families, it was inevitable whose word people would believe more. Now is only a matter of time for her to concede, and the witch made it clear that the best way to get to her was through her son, “And what were your answers about their inquiries?”

“We have told them that it was your wish to keep your family a secret because it did not concern our ‘businesses’ and mainly because you wish for some peace with your family during your travels.”

“Excellent,” he nodded, and Abraxas practically beamed at the praise.

“Thank you, my lord,” the blonde dipped his head, “But if I may ask a question, my lord?”

“You may.”

“Will there not be any problems in your claim?”

“That is why the stage has been rigged, Abraxas.”

Even though there is something keeping the mother and son here, Tom will not risk them getting away as soon as they get what they want.

“All you need to know is that the three of us share a connection,” he said as-a-matter-of-factly, “one that I will gladly exploit.”

Alduin is close to his mother and wants something from him.

Granger is risking to remain here despite her hatred for him for Alduin’s sake.

And Tom is no fool to let go of such magnificent sources of power and has questions yet to be answered by the mother of his child.

Tom Riddle is a Slytherin, and a Slytherin would use any means in order to get what they want in the end.

Even if it means fabricating this makeshift, reluctant family.

“Rest assured, Abraxas,” Tom rolled his unfinished cigar between his fingers. When he closed his fist around it, it burst into bright flames until all that was left were ashes. Although they weren’t blue, he was still able to conjure flames from his will and hands alone. Just like her. “It will be my victory in the end.”

Awake from my demise,

With reforged golden eyes.

Chapter Text

Hermione trudged along the pathless forest floor. Her boots, after learning her lesson the first time, were charmed to remain heavy on impact against assailants, yet weightless for her feet and soundless on any terrain.

Apart from the birdsongs of the Lithuanian forest, she and her companion were as silent as wraiths. Without moving her head, she let her eyes travel to her right towards said companion. Keeping pace with her at a respectable distance, not too far in order to quickly aid the other yet not near enough to provide each other their space, was none other than Draco Lucius Malfoy.

If someone had told her back then that she would one day be working together with him, relying on each other to watch the other’s back for more than a month, she would’ve called them mad with no hope for recovery.

Yet here she was, standing with the very prat who bullied her throughout her school years. His boots were also imbued by her spellwork.

She watched on as he rechecked everything in his pack. It had been four years since Harry died and Voldemort claimed complete victory. They were both twenty-two, still young and at their prime, yet the fallout of the war had aged and tired them significantly in all mind, body, and spirit. She honestly didn’t recognize Draco at first when they literally bumped into each other. Both of them were running away from Snatchers, and in that single minute, an armistice was signed.

“I have everything,” Draco announced, pack secured once more on his back. Gone was the sophistication in his aristocratic features; a five o’clock shadow now decorated his face, his skin sallower than pale from lack of nutrition, and bags weighed heavy under his eyes from paranoia and lack of sleep.

The boy who once had house elves at his beck and call, who catered to his every whim, born with a golden spoon in his mouth, someone who didn’t need to lift a single finger in his life, was reduced to a fugitive forever on the run.

Not that she was faring any better. At least back when they were searching for Voldemort’s Horcruxes, she still felt secure, knowing that she had Harry and Ron watching over her while she slept. Now she bolts up like a frightened cat at the faintest hint of footsteps that wasn’t hers.

As both a muggleborn and the last surviving closest person to Harry Potter, the bounty on her head would secure any wizarding family’s life for a lifetime.

“Good,” she replied.

She’s heard, of course. Before she went to Australia and returned to Europe, how the Malfoys had fallen out of the Dark Lord’s favor and were branded as blood traitors. How every coin in their coffers now belonged in Voldemort’s pockets. No amount of history and wealth could sway Lord Voldemort, and at his behest, the Malfoys had been reduced to the same level as muggleborns they happily despised.

With large targets on their backs, England was no longer safe for any of them. So what else was there to do but run? For Hermione, it was to jump from one wizarding community to another, no matter how big or small. Returning to the muggle world was out of the question, and she’d be damned if she didn’t learn everything she can about an area before it could reach Voldemort’s dark grasp. This included their magic, the ins and outs of their cultures, and even the shady underground channels.

 As for the Malfoys, they have dug as deep as they could of their roots and found hope in Lithuania. Unfortunately, they had been ambushed on their way and Draco had gotten separated. Fortunately for him, Hermione was also heading towards the same direction.

“Here,” Hermione held out her hand holding a journal between her fingers.

“What is it?” Draco narrowed his eyes at it in suspicion.

She sighed in exasperation but nonetheless understood. Just because they have formed a temporary truce during the time they traveled together, did not mean the previous years and transgressions were so easily forgotten.

“Just take it,” she insisted, “Consider it a gift.”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment before eventually accepting the journal, but not before leafing through the pages. It was a thin notebook, and it didn’t contain much, but the contents should be more than enough. Draco thought so too, because his scowl had morphed into surprise.

“You’re seriously giving me this?”

“It’s just a copy,” she shrugged. Besides, it’s not as if she put everything she knew in there. The defensive and protection spells, as well as runic wards, should be enough for them. Because despite her envy, her hardening heart still couldn’t allow her to let Draco experience what if felt like to lose one’s parents.

A scowl was fixed on his face again, though it wasn’t as bad as before. Nevertheless, their conditions have been met and there was no point in staying together any longer. While the Malfoys would be content to go into hiding, Hermione would rather remain on the move. Just as she was about to bid him farewell, Draco did the unexpected and took out something from his pack.

Her eyes opened as wide as saucers.

“It’s Snape’s,” he said, pointing his chin on the much thicker journal in his hand, “A compilation of all the material he left me when he died.”

Ah yes, she nearly forgot he was their late professor’s godson.

“Why would you give them to me?”

This time, Draco actually rolled his eyes and Hermione once more saw the haughty boy untainted by the war, “Please, Granger, as if I’ll allow you to have me owe you anything.”

Her lips parted, intending to refute and stand by her genuine intentions, but then she remembered what was willingly being offered to her. No matter how unfavorable Professor Snape had been to them, not even she would deny the man’s talent. And Hermione Granger always had a voracious appetite for knowledge.

Carefully, she accepted his counter-gift. He also looked nonplussed when she skimmed through the pages.

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. Her arms brought it over her chest, as if afraid he would take it back. The gesture and treasured knowledge bound in her arms made the journal feel heavier than it should. Was the protection magic she shared him with to use with his family truly as valuable as the Potion Master’s works?

He huffed as he mimicked her shrug, “It’s just a copy. In case something happens to the original.”

That said, Draco readjusted his pack and turned on his heel. Seeing as if that was the end of their exchange.

Hermione didn’t expect a goodbye. Their truce was one forged from a temporary common goal. It did not instantly mean they had become friends. Furthermore, she understood that her former classmate still had that stubborn pureblood pride in his system. She should at least give him that.

Not to mention… it was nice seeing a familiar face again.

“Granger,” she stopped mid-step and looked over her shoulder. They were a couple of yards apart now.

“Yes?”

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. With those weary shoulders, she wouldn’t doubt it, “You watch yourself out there.”

There was still reluctance and haughtiness in his voice. It did not have the warmth she longed for, but it was a comfort still with the shred of sincerity she had picked up among them.

“You too, Malfoy. Your mother’s probably waiting for you right now.”

Though it was only wishful thinking, she really hoped for it to be true. Draco had no way of communication whatsoever with his mother and was only holding onto their promise to meet at their destination in Lithuania. Nevertheless, Draco accepted it with a nod of his head.

 “Oh, and you better not help out any more people! In these times, it will break that bloody bleeding heart of yours,” he said with finality as he walked away in the opposite direction.

Those were the last words he’d ever spoken to her and the last time she’ll ever of see him. She genuinely hoped that he would reunite with his mother.

Hermione stared at his retreating back until he finally disappeared between the trees. In her mind’s eye, she saw her brother lying in her arms as a promise was made between them, the snake made of fire swallowing the Burrow and all of its residents inside, her parents’ eyes reflecting the acrid green of the Avada in their Australian home, and her Crookshanks lying in a grave she dug herself in the Forest of Dean.

A wry, bitter smile twisted Hermione’s lip.

“Already broken.”

.

Ahh a door inside her memory palace had opened by itself again.

Though she supposed it couldn’t be helped with the man standing before her.

She had been too blind with rage during her rescue of her son to look at him properly, but now that she had sobered, it felt like seeing a ghost.

Abraxas Malfoy. Although he did not have the same uncanny resemblance with his grandson as Tom had with Alduin, his platinum blonde hair and some facial features had undoubtedly passed down the generations.

That alone was enough to pry the lock.

In her stupor, she vaguely recalled returning the other family’s greetings in an almost robotic manner. Especially when their scion had introduced himself, whom she couldn’t help stare at. It was… strange, for lack of a better term, to see Lucius Malfoy giving her such practiced courtesy befitting an heir in training. She had no other memory of the man who would one day sire her childhood bully other than his unsavory remarks about her blood status and parents. He was always looking down on her, but now she was looking down at him. Literally. The Lucius before her was just a little boy no older than her own son. It was almost laughable.

Come to think of it… whatever happened to him after his family fell out of the Dark Lord’s favor? During her travel with Draco, though he barely talked unless out of necessity, he had only ever mentioned his mother. Did… he not survive?

“Wonderful,” Abraxas’ clap prompted her to blink back to reality, “Now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, Lucius, why don’t you and Alduin get to know one another? He’s your age so I’m sure you have plenty to talk about.”

“A grand idea, Abraxas,” Tom added, “It is best for children to be amongst their peers. In the meantime, why don’t you join me for a quick cigar? I remember you mentioning you’ve gotten a new brand.”

Something with the way the two men worded that conversation didn’t sit right with her. She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, but Riddle only met her with an aloof expression.

“Then, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, ladies,” Abraxas inclined his head to his wife and, surprisingly, to her as well, albeit with a level of wariness and disdain, before following after Riddle.

‘Poor man,’ she lamented minutely. He was obviously cautious around her because of the stunt she pulled in his mansion (Though she was hardly apologetic for it), but he can’t even fully express it. The most probable reason being that Riddle had roped him into this ‘family’ act of his. Especially in such a public setting. It wouldn’t paint a pretty picture if the Malfoy head showed any untowardness to Riddle’s ‘family’, and it certainly wouldn’t do well for him if he displeased his master.

Not that it mattered to her anyway. She had no real quarrel with the man apart from him being a dog of Riddle’s and by proxy, a man possessing dark qualities. Furthermore, she had no real obligation to connect with these people. However, for civility’s sake, she’ll at least allow this veiled cordiality of his.

She let her gaze trail after their retreating backs, focusing more so with Ridddle’s, as a random thought niggled her curiosity.

‘Voldemort smokes?’ she mused, not knowing what to do with that little fact. He did mention cigars, but she thought he’d be more like the type who smoke two cigarette sticks at a time.

“So how are you enjoying the circus so far, Lucius?” her attention turned back to Alduin. Ever the polite boy that he was, he initiated conversation with the Malfoy scion with a pleasant smile with his hands behind his back.

The blonde boy blinked owlishly. He looked up to his mother as if seeking permission, and when she nodded at him, he cleared his throat, “Yes, well, it’s a lot more festive than I realized.”

“Ah is this your first time in a circus?” Lucius nodded, making Alduin beam, “Mine as well! Have you played any of the games yet here? Or tried the food?”

The blonde boy’s brows furrowed, clearly not liking her son’s tirade of questions. He looked so stiff in his straight posture and the way he had his nose up as if to look down at the other boy. Unfortunately for him, Alduin wasn’t the least bit fazed and just continued to smile at him.

“Yes, I have. There’s this candy that changes between two flavors every time you bite into it,” he shared, albeit with great reluctance, “but I haven’t tried any of the games yet. Though I was hoping I could play some before the show starts.”

At this, he looked back up at his mother again.

“Is that so? Well, I’ve played quite a few of them myself already. I’d be happy to accompany you to play. Is there a particular type of game you like? That is, of course, if Mrs. Malfoy is alright with it?”

It was Alduin’s turn to look at the Malfoy matriarch, seeking her quiet permission on her son’s behalf. The other woman had been silent all this time, choosing to nod her head at appropriate moments behind her fan.

“Hmm, I suppose that is fine. So long as Mrs. Riddle thinks so too,” Mrs. Malfoy answered, her French accent still discernable, as she smiled politely at her.

A vein throbbed heavily at Hermione’s temple at the name the other woman addressed her with. Part of her wanted to correct her immediately. Just what is it with these people instantly assuming her relationship with Riddle?

“I don’t mind it either. Just come back before the show starts, alright?”

There was a gleam in her son’s eyes at her acquiescence, and she had a feeling that his teasing grin was because of what Mrs. Malfoy had called her.

So her son was at the age where he could tease his own parent? She didn’t mind Alduin’s free spirit, but really, where did he get it from? She certainly never teased her parents except for the littlest, most trivial things. She wasn’t that cheeky.

‘I blame Riddle,’ she accused with much conviction.

“Alright, mother. Come, Lucius, most of the games are set up over here.”

After politely excusing themselves, the boys scampered off.

Hermione’s connection with her son gave her the confidence to let him do what he wants. Even if he’ll be with the company of a Death Eater’s child, Lucius was hardly a threat to any of them at this point. What’s the harm of letting him spend time with other children his age? It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would be strange if she’d deny the request of two children just wanting to have fun. Besides- though this may be stemming from her pride as his mother- she highly doubted the Malfoy heir could hold a candle against her son’s wit alone. So long as the blonde boy doesn’t say anything untoward her son, she wouldn’t openly antagonize a ten-year-old.

At that train of thought, a wave of dread suddenly hit Hermione as the image of her Alduin and Lucius overlapped with Tom and Abraxas.

She mentally shook that thought away with ferocity. No. Her son may be cunning but he’d never treat another living being as cruelly and lesser as Riddle does to his followers.

Really, the uncanny likeness between her son and Riddle is troublesome sometimes.

Once composed, Hermione straightened herself and turned back to her last audience. Even as the other witch hid part of her face behind her fan, Hermione could instantly see the familiar quizzical look in her eyes. In her previous life, her travels brought her to all sorts of magical communities and not one was ever the same. From shady places with dubious residents to the gated communities exclusive for the rich, she had spent time in all of them in her hiding and gaining any knowledge she could along the way. And the key ingredient in order to succeed in them is to learn how to blend in.

Hermione cleared her throat and channeled her previous years of living in purely pureblood communities. At least, outside Europe, no one knew her name so as long as she played her cards well, none would be the wiser of what her blood status really was. Furthermore, she wanted to know what sort of person Serafina Marie Malfoy was. From her son’s words, the woman was amiable with her son even though she did not realize she was just being used so he could get into contact with her husband. She wasn’t about to antagonize anyone who treated her son well.

“This may be bold of me to say, but your son, Lucius, he looks more like you than his father,” she opened, making the other witch close her fan to show her smile. Still proper, but obviously appreciative.

“Yes, he is, but he has his father’s spirit,” she answered. “I could say you are in the same case, yes?”

Hermione withheld her snort, “That is true. Which is why it brings me relief that my Alduin is nothing like his father.”

Just mentioning Riddle as her son’s father tasted like ash in her mouth. However, there’s no point in denying that fact. But that doesn’t mean she can’t work around that fact to put her in the advantage.

Hermione added, “Though does it not worry you? Your son has quite the expectations set upon his shoulders, knowing who his father is.”

Interestingly, instead of huffing and raising her chin, the Malfoy matriarch hummed and lowered her eyes as she answered, “Yes, it does worry me. He is young but many eyes are looking at him now. But I have faith he will not disappoint his family, so long as my husband and I are there to guide him in the proper path of a pureblood worthy of the Malfoy name. As a mother, you understand what I am saying, yes?”

Disregarding the other witch’s emphasis of being a proper pureblood, Hermione was genuinely surprised at the level of sincerity and affection the woman just shared. It made her wonder what had happened to Lucius in the future if he had someone like her as a mother.

Well, at least she’s better than most pureblood mothers who wouldn’t be caught dead openly showing such affection towards their children.

“Yes, I do understand,” Hermione answered with a small smile.

Still, the other witch seems to be more relaxed in her presence compared to her husband. They may have submitted a cover story for the paper when she attacked their mansion but surely, she had been there, according to her son. Had she escaped? She didn’t recall fighting any women in her blind rage. Then were she not made aware of who she really was? Either that or she’s just an exceptional actor.

A moment of acknowledging silence passed between them before Serafina decided to break it, “Ah so how do you find this circus, Mrs. Riddle? I admit it is rowdier than the events I am used to.”

Hermione felt her eye twitch, “It definitely has been an experience so far. I take it there aren’t much events such as this back in France?”

“Unfortunately. You are aware of my heritage?”

“My son may have mentioned it,” she said in fluent French that immediately perked up the other witch, “He said you were quite appreciative of having someone speak in your mother tongue again.”

“Oh yes, I was. My husband only knows to speak the basics and my son has no interest in learning,” Serafina lamented, “I envy you, Mrs. Riddle. Am I correct to assume it was you who taught your son how to speak another language?”

“Yes, but my son learns fast so I did not have to assist him so much.”

“Ah what a bright child you have. Meanwhile my son is fixated in anything that is Quidditch.,” Serafina tittered, “Which is why I am grateful to Mr. Riddle to have told us about the circus. It would be a good change of pace for all of us.”

“I suppose that is true. Given the recent misgivings,” Hermione drawled, observing the other woman closer this time. Serafina kept up her polite demeanor, yet the way she pressed her lips a bit tighter was telling of her distress about the incident.

“Of course. It is to my utmost relief that no greater harm had befallen our loved ones. It is quite fortunate that your husband had been there to fend off the thief and protected your son. I had evacuated as soon as I could to where my son was staying with relatives so I only heard from my husband. Still, I could only imagine the fear you must have felt to know your child was so close to danger. Although I must admit I did not expect to have met your son in such a way. Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised seeing how young Alduin looked so much like his father.”

Hermione’s hearing had dulled halfway through Serafina’s words. She swore to herself she wouldn’t ruin this day for her son’s sake but by all that is magic, how can her blood not boil upon hearing that bollock?

 Tom Riddle fended off the ‘thief’?

The Dark Lord ‘protected’ her son?

HA! Of all the confounding lies she’s ever heard! It’s so like him to twist the story in his favor!

“Eep!”

Small shrieks suddenly erupted all around her. No doubt in response to the boiling waves of magic slipping out of her control.

Why that miserable, two-faced son of a-! Breathe, Hermione. Breathe…

In midst of her impending rage, the logical part of her interrupted. For one, she’s in a very public area. She would not be the one to lose control and create a scene that would bite her in the arse later on. Secondly, her son is just somewhere nearby.

‘In and then out, Granger,’ she reminded herself.

“Breathe, woman, just breathe.”

She heard first before she felt the weight of a firm hand over her shoulder. Followed by a hot breath next to her ear that sent chills down her spine. Part of her wanted to whirl around and unleash this fury. Or at least, slap him hard for the story he weaved. It hadn’t been long since their ‘little adult talk’ and yet here she was on the verge of exploding at the same infuriating man as before. However, part of her also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of unleashing her anger. Knowing that he’ll most likely pin the fault all on her. Loathe as she was to admit it but Riddle’s words weighed more in this country than hers ever could.

Riddle, being the vile opportunist that he was; she could only imagine how he would spin this tale against her this time.

‘Unstable wife losing magical control. Helpless husband and father working hard for the sake of his family.’

Granted, that may be stretching it quite a bit but no doubt Riddle would create something like that. It’s just the perfect story for him to get rid of her and take her son for himself. Especially since he has quite the number of prominent pureblood families in his pocket.

Begrudgingly, she steadied her breathing to a calm just as the voice that kept whispering on her ear like a sin instructed her so.

“Feeling better?”

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at the man holding her to his side as if in comfort. Her newly formed reins over her control being the only reason she hadn’t shuddered from their close proximity. Too bad he had such an aloof expression on his face so she couldn’t tell what thoughts were exactly going through his head at the moment.

“Yes,” she answered simply and felt his hand slackened a bit. When she turned back to Serafina, whose husband had joined her and was holding her in a more comforting manner, she nearly winced out of guilt at the sight of her pale complexion and guarded expression. She dipped her head a bit, “I apologize, Mrs. Malfoy. I lost my composure.”

“O-Of course, please do not think much of it.”

“What exactly happened?” Abraxas interjected, sending wary looks at her.

Serafina casted her an unsure glance.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with,” Hermione answered, but before any of them could ask her to elaborate, the boys returned.

“Father! Mother! Look at the prize I won!” Lucius exclaimed excitedly, practically bounding up to his parents. It was definitely something she would never have thought to see on Lucius Malfoy. No matter how young he may be at the present.

In his hands was a box with the picture of a golden snitch. Hermione recognized it as a toy that functioned similarly to an actual snitch. Except it can only fly at a certain radius, and flies slower and lower to allow children to catch it themselves.

Meanwhile, following less enthusiastically behind him, but no less with a smile on his face, was Alduin casually chewing something in in his mouth.

At least boys’ return and Lucius’ cheerful chatter effectively shifted the topic earlier.

“It’s the first prize of this game where you have to use a preset wand to fire as many targets as possible,” Lucius explained, chin raised high in pride.

“And you did that all on your own? As expected of my son!” Abraxas boasted with a huff as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“W-Well, of course I did…” curiously, the blonde boy glanced over Alduin with an unsure expression that resembled his mother’s.

Alduin swallowed whatever he was chewing and smiled broadly, “Of course he did it on his own, Mr. Malfoy. I hardly had the chance to participate at all! But I am grateful for Lucius’ generosity. He gave me this box of chocolates, which was the bonus prize, instead.”

He showed the box tucked under his arm and sent the Malfoy scion a wink. Lucius beamed at that, and tugged on his father’s sleeve.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“Can Alduin sit with us during the show?”

Surprise instantly morphed the older Malfoy’s face, followed immediately by veiled nervousness as he almost reluctantly looked at them. Specifically, to the man who still had his arm over her shoulder.

There was a gleam in Tom Riddle’s dark eyes.

.

What looked like a decently-sized red tent for a circus show on the outside, was actually three times bigger and taller inside. Good thing too, because they were just able to seat every single one of their audiences in attendance; Hermione would’ve thought every family in Wizarding London had come to watch the show.

And as expected of the Malfoy’s, they were seated at the best place to see the entirety of the circus performance.

Music instantly filled the tent the second the lights dimmed and focused on the circular center stage. To Hermione’s surprise, instead of a ringmaster appearing to host and explain everything that was going to happen, it started with an eerie, mystique opening that was immediately followed by performers dressed in the strangest costumes with faces painted to exaggerate their expressions.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! DO YOU WANT TO SEE THE DIVE?”

Oohs and Ahhs escaped the audience as they watched in amazement at the myriad of tricks being done one after another, acts that were choreographed in sync with the music constantly being played by live people and singers that had Alduin applauding from that alone.

It honestly felt like she was watching a musical theatre than a circus show, if not for the fact the performers followed up with bizarre tricks one after another.

Hermione leaned forwards in her seat when the performers started doing an act that had them walking in the air.

“Levitation charm? They can’t be using artifacts since they’re barefooted,” she mumbled, eyes focused on their elegant movements; it made her wonder if they practiced their gymnastics with muggles. “Ah no… they’re using an invisible platform!  Where did they get them? What spells did they use?”

Her excited ruminations were abruptly cut short at the feel of eyes looking at her. Two pairs of eyes to be exact. Sitting to her right, Riddle stared at her with raised eyebrow, making her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Two lives later, but old habits still die hard.

Meanwhile, on her left, Alduin was looking at her with clear amusement, but at least he quickly turned his attention back to the show. Unlike his older look-alike whom she could still feel his stare burning holes at her.

‘Nope! Not this time!’ she said to herself with conviction as she straightened herself to look back to the show. She won’t let embarrassment shake her; not when Alduin’s having the time of his life.

If only it could be as easy as imagining he wasn’t there, but alas, Hermione had to keep her guard up.

Fortunately, she had mastered the ability of multitasking. While part of her was with her son enjoying a unique circus that took the showmanship of magic to a whole other level, the other part of her remained steadfast and observing of the dark wizard beside her.

Observation that had her mind running to a fact she would kick herself later for just realizing it.

Throughout their encounters, this was the first time Hermione actually had the chance to really look at Tom Marvolo Riddle without any animosity curtaining between them.

With a clinical eye, she took in his features. A jaw with a defined cut, dark wavy locks of hair, fair complexion, unchapped lips, straight nose, high cheekbones, and sharp dangerous eyes. The only thing anybody would find strange about that would be how unfairly handsome he looked. She would be lying if she said she didn’t find him gorgeous; the very definition of a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

But that was the problem.

Tom Riddle was still handsome.

If her mental timeline was correct, here in 1963, Voldemort’s period of evanescence should be over.

After the murder of Hepzibah Smith, Riddle had supposedly disappeared. For ten years, no one knew where he went or what he had been doing, and it was only through extensive research did they learn that he had used that time to delve deeper into the Dark Arts, and more importantly- create more horcruxes and hid them in their respective locations. It was also supposed to be during this time, or a year later, when Riddle should have returned to Hogwarts to reapply for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

His second application that would’ve been rejected by the newly-appointed headmaster- Albus Dumbledore.

Harry told her, when he saw that memory from Dumbledore’s pensieve, that the Tom Riddle that entered the headmaster’s office was no longer the same man as before. Verbatim, he said that is was as if his features had been burned and blurred; that they were waxy and oddly distorted, the whites of his eyes had a permanently bloody look, and his face was as pale as snow.

No. The Tom Riddle sitting beside her did not match Harry’s description at all.

And that’s exactly what’s wrong.

Why? What happened? Did Riddle not disappear for ten years? But she had checked. After their encounter at Borgin & Burkes, she checked old news clippings and confirmed that Hepzibah Smith was allegedly poisoned ‘by mistake’ by her house elf- Hokey. Riddle should’ve resigned and disappeared by then. Going to Albania to find Ravenclaw’s diadem and whatever else he did in that obscure time.

Her eyes fell to the ring adorning his finger. If she focused enough, she could hear that specific dark rhythm exclusive for something as vile as a horcrux.

The cause for Tom Riddle’s physical deterioration was due to splitting his soul. She had learned this later on in her travels in her previous life. To break the soul is to break everything else about a person. For the soul is the very source of one’s life and magic.

But the way Tom Riddle looked like now… did that mean he hadn’t made more horcruxes? Or perhaps he did but had done something else?

Nevertheless, something changed, and she had a dreadful feeling it had something to do with her and Alduin’s existence in this world.

‘Bloody hell,’ she cursed mentally, ‘It seems that I’ll have to write a letter.’

.

“That was a splendid show!”

“It was definitely worth coming all the way here.”

“My favorite part is when the magical creatures finally came out.”

“I wish I could watch it again!”

Men, women, and children sung their praises for the circus show as they trickled out of the tents and on their way back home.

Hermione couldn’t find it in her to disagree with them, as it was indeed, a spectacular show. Especially as she watched her son smiling brightly as he chattered with an equally cheerful Lucius Malfoy, recalling the performances they liked best.

Although she was delighted to see her son happy, part of her couldn’t help but be wary of the sudden friendship between her son and the Malfoy scion. She honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it. On one hand, Alduin’s natural charisma easily endears him to other people, including other children. Lucius’ instant change of tone, when moments ago he was struggling to even reply to Alduin, and then was practically asking his father to let him sit with him during the show; Such a sight was no longer new to Hermione.

She could hardly see Lucius as a threat even if he’s a Death Eater’s son. After all, what can a little boy do? At least, compared to Alduin.

It was obvious that Riddle orchestrated them to meet. But for what purpose? Hermione could only think of Riddle wanting to iron out some wrinkles between him and the Malfoys. Even though he has the patriarch eating out of the palm of his hand, he wouldn’t risk it. Especially since not doing so would be crude and more like something his dictator overlord persona would do. A persona that he wasn’t…. yet.

“Mrs. Riddle?”

Hermione bodily flinched. She willed herself to calm and not snap at the shuddering title. She’s far stronger than to be affected by some name. Still, it’s best that she corrected it now. The first few times she didn’t have the chance to correct it.

She whirled around, “Mrs. Malfoy-“

“I’m really sorry,” the woman apologized in her mother tongue with such dignity and grace, but the fact that she actually apologized was what caught the brunette off guard even more.

“Come again?” she replied, eyes slightly wide.

“About what happened earlier. I humbly apologize. I did not mean to remind you of the incident that nearly put your son in danger. But please know that I understand why you reacted such a way. Even though it is against my teachings, I, too, would feel enraged if something were to happen to my child,” Serafina Malfoy looked up from where she had been looking at her shoes. The genuine sincerity there as definitely something she didn’t expect.

It almost reminded her of Draco.

In her travels, she had met all sorts of people, and just like not all muggleborns are kind and sympathetic, not all purebloods were conceited and condescending. It was the reason she gave this woman the benefit of the doubt. Especially since she married into the family. Thus, having a different upbringing.

‘She’s very proud of being a pureblood though,’ Hermione deduced, ‘but she’s also sympathetic about the joys and trials of being a mother.’

A fellow mother…

“Please, think nothing of it,” she finally answered, feeling her shoulders lighten a bit for some reason, “It is my fault for mentioning the incident in the first place. I apologize if my reaction had upset you.”

The other witch smiled demurely, “Please, Mrs. Riddle. As I’ve said, I understood you completely.”

Hermione’s eye twitched again, “Then why don’t we put this thing behind us? And if you’re amendable, you may just call me Hermione.”

“Then please feel free to call me Serafina, Hermione.”

“That I will, Serafina.”

They exchanged a moment of appreciative silence, oblivious to the stares the men were giving them. For Abraxas, he had a look of both relief and worry. He’d been getting even more restless as the days led up to this moment. After he agreed to Tom’s suggestion of modifying his wife’s memory a bit so she would forget the terror of the incident, he wasn’t sure what would happen once his wife came into contact with the fearsome witch.

Meanwhile, Tom only had a gleam in his dark eyes that indicated their exchange to be worth something for him.

“Are you ready to go home, Al?” Hermione asked after they exchanged farewells with the Malfoy family.

Alduin looked up at her with a small, shy smile, “If it’s alright, mother, I would like to meet the band and singers of the show. I just want to tell them how much I really enjoyed their composition! For me, they brought the show to life!”

“I suppose,” she hummed. Though it didn’t take much for her to relent to her son’s wish. After all, how could she say no to that adorable face? “I don’t think they would allow non-staff near their trailers but maybe we would get lucky?”

Grinning, Alduin then turned to Riddle, “Will you join us, Mr. Riddle?”

Riddle shot her a quick glance before nodding, “You two go on ahead. I just need a word with Abraxas.”

He turned on his heel without further pretense towards the Malfoy family who were still visible a few yards away.

Hermione hoped he doesn’t come back.

It seems that Lady Fortuna even favors her son. For as they neared the area that separated the trailers from the main tent, the next person to cross was the main singer herself. What happened next was something Hermione had already seen hundreds of times.

Charmed by her son and his enthusiasm, the singer was immediately taken with him and it wasn’t long until she gathered the rest of her fellow singers as well as the band. After briefly greeting her, they gushed.

“Lara puey ra, Lara puey, Lara lara paririri,” the circus band sung, including her son, not wanting to be outdone.

Hermione was contented to just stand by the sidelines and watch her son enjoying himself with fellow music enthusiasts when she felt it.

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

A shiver shot up her spine as her eyes turned sharply towards the direction of the familiar dark rhythm. Not only that, but she also felt that hard, insistent pull deep within her stomach.

‘A dark artifact and the Hunter’s Pull? Here? Now?!’ Hermione’s brows furrowed deeply. Of all the time this could’ve happened… couldn’t it have waited until they got home?

She spared her son a quick glance. Seeing as he was sufficiently distracted by the musicians and vice versa, she stepped back and stealthily slipped into the restricted area.

‘I’ll just be quick,’ she said to herself, since both sensations were coming from the same direction.

She slipped between the brightly colored wooden trailers. Careful to not be noticed by any of the circus staff already mingling about until she reached her destination.

Hermione rolled her eyes disdainfully at the small trailer painted with the stage name of the witch occupying it.

Her target was a fortune teller.

She never liked divinations. Still does to this day. Even after all her travels, it was the one area of magic she could never connect with. And after what she learned upon her death, the one thing she despised the most.

Wanting to get this over with, she slipped her wand into her hand but before she could reach out for the door, it opened to reveal a hunched over old hag holding a staff with both of her very wrinkled hands. Rings of various colors adorned each of her fingers while a dark shawl was placed over her thin shoulders.

If there was a way for Hermione to describe the hag in simpler terms, the old woman was the picture-perfect definition of how muggles depicted witches.

“Haa… to think I would see something interesting in this old age of mine,” the hag cackled lowly while the brunette’s brows furrowed at her words. The milky whiteness of the old witch’s eyes was more than enough proof that she was blind.

“Madam-“ she began, but the old hag suddenly started walking circles around her, scrutinizing her with those haunting milky eyes that showed as much history as her physical appearance.

“Oh… Oh- Ohh!!!” the old hag shrieked, startling Hermione into taking a step back.

She’s never experienced anything like this with her hunts before.

Faster than what she thought the old hag was capable of, her spindly hands clutched Hermione’s cheeks and brought her down to her height. Wide, brown eyes with specks of gold stared straight into unseeing clouded eyes.

“My dear…” she breathed, almost reverent, “You have the stars in your eyes…”

Hermione froze.

“Not only that…”

“What are you- Hey!” Hermione protested, but they came out weak even to her own ears as the old hag suddenly tugged her towards a certain direction with surprising strength.

They stopped in front the crowd where her son and the musical artists were just in time to see Riddle ask her son: “Alduin, where’s your mother?”

The old hag choked out a loud gasp and let go of Hermione’s wrist as if she had been burned. Evidently, that gained them their attention but the old hag couldn’t care less of the artists who were already trying to approach her as she looked between her, Alduin, and Riddle.

“Y-You!” she pointed a shaky finger at the three of them. Hermione was too bewildered by her target’s erratic actions and moved back close to her son, “You are this boy’s parents?!”

Riddle, whose dark eyes were narrowed at the woman’s strange behavior, answered, “Obviously.”

“YOU FOOL!” the old woman shouted, shrill, and as loud as she could, nearly making everyone flinch.

She slammed her staff onto the cobblestone before pointing a finger at Alduin’s face, “HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT THAT THING IS?!!!”

Overridden with anger at the accusatory words directed at her son, Hermione glared menacingly at the old hag. Her wand held tight in her hand as she stood protectively in front. Alduin’s small hand clutching her dress being the only reason she hadn’t fired a spell at the old witch. Even as other circus folks crowded in front of them, one half escorted the old woman away (who continued to look at them with unmitigated fear), while the other half apologized profusely and said excuses about the old hag being the eldest member of their circus family, how her health hasn’t been doing well lately, and whatnot; they all fell into Hermione’s deaf ears.

But amidst all of this, if Hermione noticed how Riddle moved to stand in front of her and Alduin, with his wand appearing in his hand, and how her son’s other hand clutched his pant leg, she made no comment.

“Mother… can we please go home now?” Alduin asked softly, his eyes shaking.

In the silence of the night, the soft click of a small trailer’s window went unheard by the people near it. Inside, only a single lamp provided a dim light for its sole resident lying on a bed of furs and soft feathered mattress and pillows. Meanwhile, the silent visitor stood in the shadows like a hidden predator.

The golden flecks in her eyes nearly made them glow against the darkness.

“Two hundred and one years…” the old hag wheezed under the covers of her bed, addressing her surprise visitor.

Surprise, but not unwelcome.

“To think… that I believed I’ve seen everything…” a dry laughter, “Life is so unpredictable like that… don’t you think so?”

Hermione remained unmoved from her position at the foot of the elder’s bed. Her hand clutched her wand with the remnants of her anger.

“Isn’t that ironic coming from a fortune teller?”

Her target snorted.

The brunette added coldly, “I did not appreciate what you called my son earlier. Nor did he.”

“I was… startled…” the elder breathed heavily between words, unapologetic, “such a sight… has only been described by le… legends… after all…”

“You’re blind.”

“HA! My eyes may no longer see, child… but I… am not blind… You and your son… are special…”

At that, Hermione swallowed. She knew exactly what the old hag was talking about, but it was precisely because she knew that she didn’t know how to react.

“He seemed scared… your son… was it because he was found? Or perhaps…”

Hermione bristled.

“Oh… Oh dear…” another dry chuckle, “he does not know what he is… does he? Your so-called ‘son’… does he not know that he is a-“

“A boy,” the brunette snapped, “My son is just a little boy-“

“A little boy who is so much more,” the old hag countered.

For someone who’s about to die, she’s quite the chatterbox, and it’s getting on Hermione’s nerves.

“Does… his father know?”

Hermione snorted, “He doesn’t have to know anything.”

“Ahh… trouble in paradise?” she glared hard, and the woman followed it with another hearty cackle.

“You know… there is a saying…” the elder breathed once she calmed from her laughter. Her eyelids closed over her milky eyes at this point, “When a parent dies… the child realizes their mortality… but when a child dies first… the parent loses their immortality…”

That’s it.

She’s had enough.

This old coot had said far too much.

“You’re going to die now,” Hermione said measuredly.

The old hag nodded without protest, “I know… however… please answer me this…”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve after the slight you told to my son.”

She ignored her.

“Oh lady of space… and walker of time… tell me… how bright do the stars shine in your eyes?”

Hermione’s mind reeled at the titles.

Really… this was the strangest, most fearsome hunt she’s ever been to.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Particles of light burst from the darkness behind her closed eyelids.

“They are the brightest I’ve ever seen them in any night sky,” she answered.

“Ahh…” the old hag smiled, and breathed for one last time, “How lovely…”

The last inhale, followed by a shudder.

Hermione held up her wand.

She need not any incantation to do this. Primal instinct allowed her to command her magic to do its bidding. There was no fanfare to withhold, no flurry of winds or eerie sounds. Nothing but golden tendrils sprouting from the old hag’s chest where her heart was supposed to be. Like snakes, they slithered and coiled into the air towards her direction. stopping only a hair’s breath away from the tip of her wand, the golden bands circled and coalesced until gold became the color of mist.

She remained steady until all of the golden ribbons disappeared, and she was looking at a glowing misty ball the size of her palm. Like a patronus without its corporeal form.

With her wand, she directed it towards her broken time-turner. As she brought the sphere of the old hag’s soul closer to the necklace, its golden rings spun like it used to do, but instead of turning back time, it allowed her to see the hourglass that was supposed to be empty of golden sand, to be half-full of tiny misty spheres.

Souls she had gathered in her hunts to feed her son.

I bear the feast, this prize you yearn.

Hunt, eat, swallow, this reward to earn.

Chapter Text

In my veins,

No hunger courses stronger than I.

Revitalize the beast before I die.

Alduin let out a groan as he threw his head back. Dressed in his house clothes, his body bounced a bit before settling into the lush cushions of the settee in their home library. The book he had been reading rested over his stomach. For a moment, he stared up at the high ceiling where an upside-down, translucent tree stood that functioned like a chandelier. Except it would light up according to the will of the current occupant in the room; its long roots that crawled all over the ceiling and walls, and branches filled with leaves and bulbous fruits, ensured to provide light for its readers.

He was alone at home today. He’s starting to become sleepier as the days were getting colder. It’s always been like that and not once has he ever found it weird. Probably more like a peculiar quirk. Just this morning, he woke up a little later than usual and nearly skipped breakfast. While he and his mother were eating pancakes, a letter flew onto their table from the fireplace in a burst of blue flames. Due to their travels, it would be hard pressed for them to have a permanent residence. Especially since they live in an enchanted home his mother ensured not even owls could find. She also found it to be troublesome to just send letters to associates about their current addresses. So instead, his mother devised special pieces of parchment and envelopes that would always end up in their home by simply burning the letter once finished. This special stationery, she gave only to her chosen associates.

This occurrence happen often, and usually it was business related whereby his mother would stay in her laboratory, or in that one room in The Den where he was explicitly told to never go inside unless she says so. For that was where she ‘tames’ dark artifacts.

This time, however, his mother didn’t go to those rooms and instead changed into clothes and a hooded cloak that covers all of her. Every now and again, his mother would leave The Den- not to hunt, but to meet with her contacts around the world. Business meetings, she explained. She taught him the importance of keeping tabs with people. For no matter how powerful an individual is, they cannot navigate the world on their own.

As his mother turned the dial on their door and slid the doorknob from left to right; Alduin almost asked her to take him with her when he saw the bright Egyptian sun.

Alas, he did not ask, and Alduin sequestered himself to their library. Intent to just spend the rest of the day reading while popping chocolate bonbons as a snack. However, three hours or so of reading later, the words in the book started to fail him.

As he continued to stare up at the ceiling, thinking of nothing particular, his hand reached out to pick another bonbon. When he realized that his efforts had been for naught, he pouted at the empty bowl where he caught the sight of the ouroboros tapestry hanging above in front of the chairs and settee.

Unlike the carpet, which featured a celtic serpentine symbol, the image of the world serpent on the tapestry looked more like a dragon. Its wings were open while its claws held the earth, and its tail (as usual) trapped between its jaws.

It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say his mother has a little obsession with the ouroboros imagery. Every part of The Den has at least one or two images or decoration depicting the serpent. She had even named him after it.

Alduin opened his mouth and a string of hisses spilled out naturally. His name had a peculiar translation when spoken in parseltongue. In his innate knowledge of the snake language, Alduin means ‘World Eater’. When he had asked his mother about it, she just smiled indulgently and explained to him why the ouroboros mattered so much to her.

She didn’t exactly answer his question

The icon of eternity, life, death, and rebirth. It is because of this knowledge his mother imparted in him that allowed him to understand these complexities even at such an early age. Which then led him to believe that the story of the Deathly Hallows was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Death is eternal. Therefore, Death-personified is not real, and cannot be lorded over. His mother said so.

She also said that even though he doesn’t fully understand all of her words yet, he would someday soon. Although he’s more curious as to why his mother’s smile was sad when she said them.

Alduin allowed his eyes to trace the dragon’s design. Not that he minded his mother’s penchant. He himself has a liking towards snakes and dragons. Especially the serpentine dragons that lived in the east. There’s also the story of the World Serpent in muggle Norse Mythology. Jormungandr. Midgardsormr. Sometimes he wondered if such a creature truly existed.

But his mother said such gods don’t exist.

“HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT THAT THING IS?!!!”

His brows creased before finally sitting himself back up. The words of the old woman from the circus were like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. His mother comforted him, of course, when they got home; and she had told him to forget it as they were just ramblings of a senile old woman.

Still…

For whatever reason, his mother wasn’t able to fully comfort him and something ugly would coil and churn inside his stomach just thinking about it.

He turned to the windows partially covered by curtains and thought of an idea to quench his current lethargy. His mother said she’ll be coming home late anyway.

After changing into a set of warmer clothes, Alduin closed the door of their home with a faint click. The multitudes of locks and wards automatically sealed the room once his hand let go of the knob.

He stepped out into the plaza where the fountain was, filled with the usual crowd of passing wizards and witches. The snow had yet to fall, but the air has certainly become chillier as of late. It’s not that he can’t help dozing off. Alduin can go about his day normally during the middle of winter as he would during the summer. However, if the opportunity arises, he would gladly stay in his pajamas, wrap himself in his warmest blanket like a cocoon, and sleep the rest of the cold on his soft, comfortable bed. Preferably, after a mug of hot cocoa.

Alduin turned on his heel and went to the street leading to a dead end. He found the entranceway to the circus, but at this time, the statues guarding the enchanted brick wall were silent and unmoving. The circus announced it would be staying in London for a whole month, and will be performing a few times per week. Today, was not one of those times.

‘So… how do I get in?’ Alduin wondered, finger pressed to his chin and a tilt of his head.

He pressed a hand on the cold wall, the bricks rough against his smooth palm. Yet something faint was also there. Like an extremely thin veil was curtained over it.

“Maybe I could…”

Alduin breathed deeply; his sight focused on his pressed hand. In his mind’s eye, a silent cloud swirled from him and focused on an acute point. He let that cloud swirl before him into a ball and let it sink into the veil. He’s seen his mother perform magic without wands numerous times, and she told him that it took extreme discipline and control to do so. Sometimes, she would only need to look at something. Yet another reason he admired his mother so much, and it brings him immense joy to see the proud smile on her face whenever he was able to do wandless magic as well.

A short burst, like an electric shock jolted Alduin for a moment. He shook his head and pressed his palm flatly against the brick once more. His fingers spread a tad bit. He whispered to himself, “Again.”

Of course, because of its difficulty, it isn’t done without practice.

Alduin wasn’t sure how long he stood there, refocusing his magic again and again. Only for each time, it would break his concentration like a popped bubble.

“You’re using too much.”

The young ravenhead snapped his eyes open, having only realized that he had closed them. He turned his head over his shoulder, unsurprised to see his sire standing there at the entrance of the alley. Without removing his hand on the wall, Alduin blinked his curious eyes at his sire, prompting him to continue.

Mr. Riddle approached him with confident strides. At this point, he wasn’t surprised anymore at the fact that the man always seemed to know where he was and pops out anytime at his convenience.

“When it comes to wards and enchantments; usually, what you are doing is enough. However, for an intricate spell such as this, the best method is to search for a weak point in the veil and strike there,” he continued once he was beside him. Mr. Riddle teaching him about magic isn’t something new. During their lunches, it was usually the topic of discussion unless he would squeeze in a question about him and his mother. Alduin has read every book he had recommended him, and he liked to believe he surprises his sire every time he came back and was able to answer all of his questions.

Mr. Riddle and his mother were similar in that regard. In that they have the same air about them. Both thrived in the teachings of magic and its complexities, and were willing to share their knowledge with him. Alduin was actually surprised to learn about this scholarly side of Mr. Riddle. His mother, naturally, he didn’t question. She taught him everything from walking to playing the piano. He didn’t expect his sire to share his knowledge.

Then again, his mother did tell him never to look a gift horse in the mouth. So he’ll gladly accept these free lessons. Especially since Mr. Riddle has a similar yet unique perspective on magic as his mother.

“Describe to me what you have been doing,” Mr. Riddle continued.

Alduin blinked up at him, “I’m concentrating my magic in one point to break the spell.”

His mother said it was one of the basics and easiest way of breaking wards. Unfortunately, ordinary wizards and witches don’t have high enough magical perception to do so, but on the chance they do, they were required to have a level of control over their own magic- the ‘Raw’ form of magic, as his mother would say. For sadly, wizards and witches today have grown used to the given spells and incantations to bother tapping into what lies underneath.

Alduin, of course, had no such problems in his magical perception.

“While you understand the principle correctly, there is the matter of consideration of the kind of enchantment you’re working on. Can you guess the purpose for this ward that’s been set up?” Mr. Riddle asked, his tone akin to a professor would be to a student.

“I’m guessing… since this is an enchanted entranceway from the start, the ward is set up to prevent people from passing through.”

“That is correct,” he nodded satisfyingly, “Now the next is to determine its level of strength- and I do not mean the capability of the caster to create such a strong ward- I meant in conjunction with its purpose. Since this is one of the available entrances and exits, we can assume it is used to ward off muggles as well as magic folk. And knowing the magical creatures kept on the other side, it should work as a barrier preventing them from getting out easily as well. For complex wards like this, the method of choice is to find the anchor points.”

Ahh, he gets it. So basically, Alduin needed to find the metaphorical support beams of the invisible framework to bring it all down instead of metaphorically tossing balls of explosives at it like what he had been doing earlier.

With renewed concentration and the feel of expectant eyes on him, Alduin did as intend. Instead of focusing his magic, he let it spread over the brick wall, sending out waves in spurts. In his head he imagined a sonar bleeping emptily until he found points across the veil of magic where the spell is mostly concentrated.

He discovered three across the wall, so he concentrated his magic there. Hitting the points till they become nothing more than holes.

Alduin let go of the brick wall, but when he opened his eyes, he frowned.

“You missed one,” Mr. Riddle said, and with his finger, he tapped on a random brick. The entire wall sheened for a moment. Thanks to Alduin’s magical perception, he knew then that single touch completely broke the ward. He felt it like a curtain was pulled off its brackets and faded as it fell on his feet.

Alduin pouted.

“Considering the type of layered warding they’ve done, I already expected you wouldn’t be able to get them all at once,” his sire looked down at him, “Then again, hardly any other wizard or witch nowadays can do even the first step of what you just did. If this was a test, I’d give you a grade of Exceeds Expectations.”

The young ravenhead reared his head back at that. His eyebrows raised as he blinked up at his sire owlishly.

“Mr. Riddle… did you hit your head?”

It was Mr. Riddle’s turn to blink.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Or maybe you ate something weird? Mother always said to take measures as soon as possible if you feel ill after eating. Especially if it’s a magical food.”

“Thank you for the advice, Alduin, but I assure you I’m alright. More importantly,” he gestured to the wall, “shouldn’t we be going?”

“You’re coming too? Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t find a reason why,” Alduin answered directly. He was in no mood to play with his words today.

Mr. Riddle cocked his head at him like a cat, seemingly perplexed at his forward behavior, “That old hag from the circus called my son something inappropriate. Isn’t it only fair to return to address such rudeness? You’re here for the same reason, aren’t you?”

He did not miss the way his sire emphasized the word he’s sensitive to.

Shaking his head, Alduin stepped through the brick wall and into the familiar plaza. The numerous stalls still stood at the places they had been on their opening night but they were devoid of their keepers and display of prizes. His sire followed just a step behind him. The silent circus venue felt a little foreign to Alduin. He usually doesn’t like loud things and crowds, but if there’s an event or festival happening, he believed it should be lively.

With Mr. Riddle falling into step with him, Alduin approached the trailer area where people were milling about even from a distance.

“You two! How did you get in here?!” cried out one of the circus crew when they neared.

It didn’t take long for other members to gather around and berate them along the same lines. Though most were wondering how they got in in the first place. Nevertheless, Alduin and Tom seemed unfazed despite the onslaught. At this point, Alduin had already plastered on a polite, patient smile on his face as he waited for the people to catch their breath so he could explain. His sire, on the other hand, remained quiet with an aloof expression as he let his son break the ice.

“Oh my!”

Pushing their way through the throng of people; it was Miss Donna, the female singer Alduin first met after the show.

“Hello Miss Donna,” Alduin greeted, grinning wide, “I’m glad to see you in good health. Do you perchance remember me?”

“Thank you, Alduin,” the singer greeted back with an equally delighted smile. Of course, how could she forget such a charming boy who praised her singing? Usually, she would get such praises from adults so it was definitely a surprise to receive it from someone so young who also clearly appreciated music in its artform. “Although I’m glad to see you again too, may I ask- how did you-“

A deliberate cough interrupted her question.

“Excuse me, Miss Donna, was it?” Mr. Riddle introduced with his hand outstretched for a shake. His small, practiced smile graced his lips, “My name is Tom Riddle, Alduin’s father. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

A dab of blush colored the singer’s cheek as she accepted his handshake, “O-Oh, pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle.”

Seeing the casual exchange between them, Miss Donna signaled to the others that she would take it from here and her circus family reluctantly relented.

“Do excuse our sudden appearance but my son and I could not wait any longer. I’m afraid the events of our last visit had still left us quite… upset. We came here in hopes of finding peace over the misunderstanding.”

The singer’s eyes widened in understanding, “O-Oh of course! I completely understand and I do apologize for what happened. But if you’re asking to meet the Madam, I’m afraid that’s not possible. The Madam had passed away so please let me apologize for causing such a scene on her behalf.”

Miss Donna even bowed her head to them to further show her sincerity, but despite this, Alduin and his sire stood silent in concealed surprise as they processed the information given to them.

“The old woman who called my son a thing- this Madam you’re calling- she’s dead?” Mr. Riddle voiced.

She visibly winced, “Yes, I’m afraid she died in her sleep. We found out this morning when one of us fetched her from her trailer when she was late to breakfast. Our healer confirmed that she died peacefully during the night.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“I’m sorry,” Alduin said.

“We offer our condolences,” Mr. Riddle added.

At this, the singer finally raised her head. There was a sad smile on her face as she shook her head, “Thank you but please don’t think much of it. All of us here in our circus family had known this day would come soon, so we’ve long since prepared ourselves already. We had just contacted her family and we’re now securing a trip to Belarus so we can bury her there in her homeland.”

“Then we seemed to have come at the wrong time,” said the older ravenhead, “We apologize for suddenly barging in your time of grief.”

“Yes, we’re sorry,” Alduin added, riding along his sire’s lead.

It was really unfortunate. He was hoping to ask the old woman what she meant by what she accused him of. There was just something with the way she said it with so much conviction that Alduin can’t help dismissing it as purely the ramblings of a senile old witch like his mother wanted him to do.

And it appeared that Mr. Riddle thought so too.

For Alduin though, it felt a little bit more personal. It’s as if the old woman didn’t even consider him human, and that greatly bothered him.

“No, please. As I’ve said, I understand,” Miss Donna turned to Alduin, “I’m really sorry her words upset you and your parents. Could you please extend my apology to your mother as well?”

There was a certain look that passed through the singer’s eyes at the mention of his mother. If Alduin had to guess, it was probably because she thought back to what happened and wondered how his mother was pulled from the trailers by the old woman.

“Of course, I will,” Alduin answered with a sympathetic smile.

“If I may, Miss Donna, could you at least tell us more about the late Madam? Color us curious,” Mr. Riddle added.

“Well… I suppose,” she passed a glance at Alduin to which he nodded in agreeance, “The Madam’s name is Cassandra Trelawney and she has been a part of our circus family since its founding nearly fifty years ago. According to our ringmaster, she persuaded him into letting her join. She’s quite spirited for an old woman, you see. The Madam has a family but she said they’re well off without her and wanted to have a little bit more adventure on her own. She has her own stall where she would divine people small fortunes wherever we set up our shows. She’s a genuine Seer, you see.”

Two sets of black brows rose at that. Although one out of two rose only ever so slightly because of his impeccable control.

“A Seer, you say,” Mr. Riddle drawled, “How rare.”

Miss Donna nodded proudly, “Yes. Even though she had completely lost her eyesight twenty years ago, she was still able to predict and use her divination tools without a problem. In fact, she even said that she’s able to see clearer now that she had gone blind, but I think that’s just per pride talking. Unfortunately, our last show in Moscow was the last time she could divine for the people. Her age had finally caught up to her and her health had worsened ever since. We just couldn’t leave her as she had become a part of our family. She died at two hundred and one years old.”

Alduin became silent for the remainder of their visit at the circus. He graciously let Mr. Riddle take hold of the conversations and would only pipe in a word or two when needed. After learning that his trip outside had proved to be futile, his lethargy returned to him with a blank mind and a desire to return home.

‘I should’ve just stayed home,’ he thought defeatedly as he followed his sire’s lead. He should’ve just listened to his mother and ignored the old woman.

With half a mind, he and Mr. Riddle paid their respects to the rest of the circus family. Though some were still incensed at their trespassing, they were immediately shot down by Miss Donna. Apparently, the singer was closest to the Madam so she felt responsible for their little altercation. Besides, it’s not that they came here to do any harm. They just wanted some answers. She reasoned.

“A Seer, who would’ve thought hmm?” Mr. Riddle started conversationally when they finally exited the plaza. The brick wall gleamed briefly the second they stepped out, indicating that the circus folk re-casted their ward.

Alduin blinked up boredly at him. He was no longer in the mood after this failed excursion and just wanted to go home, make a steaming mug of cocoa with marshmallows, build a pillow fort in front of the hearth, maybe even grab a book from the library, play some soft music on their muggle gramophone, and then sleep until his mother comes home; when she would wake him up to eat the dishes she brought from whichever country she visited for dinner.

‘Yes, that sounds like a perfect plan.’

But first he has to get away from his apparent father first.

“It’s almost time for lunch. What say you to some Sheppard’s pie, Alduin? You must be hungry, aren’t you?”

‘Maybe after lunch.’

.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I have,” Alduin answered before gleefully shoving another spoonful of said pie in his mouth.

Mr. Riddle sat back comfortably on his chair, unfazed by his current behavior. Having already gotten used to it. If it were like their first lunches, the man would’ve already been scowling at his attitude (albeit subtly, of course) but he seemed to be in a very talkative mood after they left the circus.

A mood that, unfortunately for him, despite the hearty meal on the table, Alduin did not meet.

The older ravenhead tapped his finger on the arm of his chair, “Does your mother know about the things you can do?”

“Of course she does,” he answered as-a-matter-of-factly, “Mother teaches me a lot of things, not just those written in books.”

“I see. Does she also set up wards for you to practice on?”

Alduin chewed slowly, giving himself time to answer. In a roundabout way, the answer to that question is a yes. Except that instead of wards, his mother lets him practice on the least volatile artefacts in her cabinet. Under her supervision, of course. His mother also taught him a form of meditation she had learned when she visited India before he was born.

But of course, he can’t say that.

“Yes,” he answered instead, “She casts wards around the flat and lets me break them under her supervision. She said that a person is shaped by the education they receive, and you know that she’s a powerful witch so this much isn’t tedious for her.”

“I think insufferable is the better term,” Mr. Riddle huffed quietly but Alduin let it slide out of amusement. Who knew his sire was a man who can’t accept defeat?

Though normally, what Alduin has been doing could be considered as underage magic- something that is prohibited in some parts of the world, especially in Europe; since he doesn’t have a wand for any Ministry of Magic to use to regulate him with, his performances could be chalked up as just accidental magic. Especially since it’s incredibly rare for a child to know how to consciously use their magic under the age of eleven. Evidently, his mother had no qualms about it. She even highly encourages his early exposure to magic. Something they both delightfully agree on.

“Back in the circus,” Mr. Riddle continued, “The Madam being a Seer, did it not fascinate you? You know what a Seer is, right?”

“Yes, I know what a Seer is, sir. They are people who have the gift of seeing into the future with their Inner Eye. They predict prophecies but they are also considered to be extremely rare.”

“Five points to Slytherin,” his sire nodded satisfyingly, “Pity the woman died. Your mother must’ve heard of her and tried to get a reading before that little mess happened.”

At this, Alduin snorted in a way that he would’ve kicked himself for such an unsightly behavior, “I highly doubt that, sir. Mother hates divination. Says it’s all nothing but hogwash.”

Silence fell between them for more than a few heartbeats. When Mr. Riddle didn’t respond immediately to his words, Alduin took a peek up at him and met his penetrating gaze. His expression remained unchanged, aloof and seemingly uninterested. Except one of his eyebrows was slightly raised, displaying his interest of his claims.

“A witch who doesn’t believe in divination,” he enunciated, “and here I thought your mother is smart.”

Alduin shot the man a glare at his blatant insult of his mother. The pie in his mouth instantly tasted like ash. Mr. Riddle huffed in both dismissal and amusement though. Unaware that his scathing look reminded the man of his mother.

“And you? Do you also hold the same belief?” Mr. Riddle asked.

“Yes,” he answered with conviction, “Mother said that predicting one’s future is a worthless endeavor. Not to mention one cannot accurately divine something anytime they want.”

“I assure you, Alduin, Divination is a certified branch of magic. Wizards and witches have practiced the art for centuries and its still recognized and taught in institutions to this day. Don’t you think it wouldn’t have survived this long if it is, as your mother said- hogwash?”

“Oh I understand what you’re trying to say, Mr. Riddle, but it’s the principle behind the practice is where I’m basing my argument,” Alduin answered, feeling defensive, “I’m sure my mother would gladly recite her arguments herself, but if I may offer my personal view on the subject, I think Divinations is boring.”

“You’re using methods to achieve an outcome that foretells you what lies ahead in your path. How is that boring?”

“It is exactly because I’ll be able to learn about my future is what makes it boring. If I know what’s going to happen then I’ll be spoiled of my future and lose the thrill of days leading to that event. That sir, to me, is incredibly boring. Although… not that it matters,” Alduin finished the last of his pie and leaned back on his seat, mirroring his sire’s posture, “because my mother told me there’s no fate that knows what I’ll become.”

“And you believe her?”

“Wholeheartedly.”

“It seems you really do have much to learn,” Mr. Riddle commented after a moment of silence, but before Alduin could make a rebuttal, he was procuring something from the inside pocket of his coat. In his hand that he held out was an expensive looking white envelope with embossed peacock designs. The deep green wax seal showed a large letter M. “This is for you.”

Without much prompting, Alduin accepted the letter with both hands and internally commended the quality of the paper alone as he stroke it with his thumbs. He turned the letter over and there was his name with a missing address and the name and address of the sender written in cursive that still needed practice.

“It’s a letter from Lucius.”

“Yes,” Mr. Riddle drawled, “It seems that you made quite an impression. You two looked like you’ve gotten along well despite your first meeting.”

Alduin shrugged, “He’s alright.”

He had met and mingled with children his age before. Whilst he and his mother were in Spain, they stayed at an upper-middle class residence so most of the children he met were mostly proud and entitled to their rich heritage.

If he were being honest, Alduin didn’t care for them. Mainly because he found them boring. Lucius Malfoy was no exemption.

He bragged about many things, with a tone that was obviously meant to demean him. However, Alduin just couldn’t find it in himself to care, let alone be offended at his attempts. It was only due to pride that he rebutted him with stories of his experiences traveling around the world. Stories he made sure to exaggerate and sugrcoat just a tad tastefully for the other boy.

Although he found the Malfoy scion boring on their first meeting, he would be lying if he said he didn’t find his reactions to his stories very amusing.

“He’s a bit of a prat though,” Alduin added, eliciting a huff of amusement from his sire.

Turning the letter back over, he broke the seal and took out the letter inside. The perfectionist bit in him instantly thought the other boy needed to work more on his penmanship.

“It’s an invitation,” Alduin shared, his brows raised in genuine surprise as he skimmed his eyes over the letter, “Lucius is inviting me to his house to play.”

The letter also mentioned wanting to hear more of his stories, riding brooms, and meeting his friends. What caught his eyes the most though, was the short sentence of tea and cakes he and his mother brought back from France.

“How nice of him,” Mr. Riddle added, “He’d send the letter to your home but he seemed to have some trouble with your address. Fortunately, I was there when he asked permission from his father. So I volunteered to hand you the letter myself.”

As sound as his explanation was, Alduin knew that there was more to be said from Mr. Riddle’s words. When he said there was trouble with the address, he meant that letter couldn’t be sent like normal via owl, and that’s because of his mother’s enchantments. Lucius also couldn’t leave the letter at the front desk of their flat building because it would be unbecoming of a prestigious family like the Malfoys to send such a letter by proxy.

It also doesn’t take much to conclude Mr. Riddle ‘volunteered’ so he could see Alduin’s reaction himself.

“Ah but how unfortunate. It isn’t like you are going to accept the invitation, right?” the younger ravenhead shot his head up at that. His brows furrowed in confusion at his sire’s words. “After all, your mother dearest couldn’t possibly want you anywhere near that house after what happened last time.”

A scowl painted Alduin’s face as he thought back to that incident. The one where, because of his selfishness, gave him the fright of a lifetime and nearly costing his mother’s song. He never wanted to hear that wretched noise again. He never wanted to make his mother so upset again. He never wanted to-

‘It might be fun.’

Words whispered in his own voice echoed in his head, dominating his thoughts and the heavy guilt in his heart.

There it was again. That ugly churning in his stomach that mimicked the pull of desire. Like a call for hunger. But instead of food, it was a hunger at the prospect of experience. He may have found Lucius boring for having an attitude he’s seen before, but the bits of lifestyle he shared during their small interaction sparked an interest in him.

He’s felt this way before.

During their travels, Alduin had the luxury of experiencing plentiful things from different cultures. However, since the moment he and his mother had set foot in Wizarding Britain, he’d yet to experience something interesting and new, that made him churn his stomach in want.

He may have mocked them, but Alduin has never experienced what a pureblood lifestyle was like before.

He looked up at the man staring intently at him from across the table. This was also a good opportunity for him to see Mr. Riddle in his environment. He didn’t lie when he said he didn’t care about their biological tie to one another, and he does have something he’s craving, but it was a lie when he said he didn’t find him interesting as a person, and that’s beside the broken tune of his soul. Alduin had always wondered what Mr. Riddle was really like when not in such a public setting. What was he like when not playing the role of a dutiful, attentive father?

‘And here is one being offered in a silver platter’

“Such a pity,” he said in a forlorn tone, “Then I suppose I’ll have to tell Young Lucius the unfortunate news-“

“No!” Alduin exclaimed, only loud enough to not disturb the other diners, as he retracted his hands when Mr. Riddle reached forward to take back the letter. He stared back at him right in the eye, “I-I accept the invitation. I’ll talk to mother.”

He didn’t miss the gleam in those equally dark eyes.

Hermione smiled as she bid the herbologist working for her in Portuguese. Duarte Santiago was a wizard kicked out from Castelobruxo during his fifth year after an incident with another student. Because of his lack of schooling and poor, muggleborn background, he had a hard time making ends meet. However, he had a passion for the study of magical plants that reminded her so much of Neville that she offered him a proposal. She will give him his own place on a remote land in the Amazon where he can freely live and expand his independent study, and in return, he will share any discovery he made in his research and provide her with continuous supply of all the rare herbs she needed for her advanced potions.

Her only ultimatum was that he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone who his sponsor was nor was he allowed to share any of his knowledge to anyone. Especially to a wizarding governing body. And should the time come for him to accept an apprentice, he had to present them to her first.

Fortunately, Duarte, after having experienced one misfortune after another since he was kicked out of school, was more than happy to accept her offer.

As capable as she was to do all of these herself, there’s only one Hermione Jean Granger, and there wasn’t enough time in a day to do all of this. Not when she’d rather prioritize in taking care of her son.

After closing the large greenhouse door behind her (reinforced with wards she placed herself), Hermione took out an empty vial from her beaded bag and activated the portkey.

She reappeared in a dark alleyway in a dense residential area of muggle Greece at night.

Already knowing her way, Hermione let the shadows between the tall buildings hide her as she went about a familiar path. Even when she passed by muggles, the enchantments she placed on herself prevented them from even noticing her, as if she was a ghost.

Finally, she stopped exactly in front of two houses. The House of Black at 12 Grimmauld Place was the last place Hermione went to before leaving England for good. There, she made sure to not overstay her welcome. Not when it was no longer safe after the apparition mishap with Ron and Yaxley when they ran from the Ministry after getting the locket horcrux. There, she gathered everything she can, knowing that there were books and artefacts an old and prestigious house as the Black may possess. Some may call it thievery, and Hermione may have found it appalling before, but morality is easily grayed when it came to survival. Especially after all of the hardships she went through.

Besides, after the promise Harry made her make, she liked to believe he wouldn’t mind her taking his late godfather’s and his family’s belongings.

Once the soft rumbling of the street stretching, as a new house suddenly appeared, stopped, Hermione approached the door with her own key in hand.

The door opened to an interior much larger than seen from outside. The house was silent with the dark of the night giving its white stone walls almost a blue hue. She passed through the foyer and walked nonchalantly down the hallway, ignoring the minimalistic furnishing of the rooms.

Then suddenly she stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught an unusual movement of the shadow of one of the hanged paintings. It was unusual, because shadows shouldn’t be moving without a light source. Then she heard low growling seemingly coming from all around her. The shadow she had noticed earlier moved more noticeably this time. From the painting, it stretched down to the floor in front of her like a dark curtain. Then it rose up like a pillar as tall as her until it formed an elongated shape. A pair of striking eyes opened as the growling grew even louder.

At any given moment, Hermione would’ve already took out her wand the second she saw the shadow movement. Instead, she remained stock still, wand secured in her holster, and she smiled.

“Hello Mia,” she greeted the shadow that had formed into a dog-like shape by now.

Below its eyes, on its long snout, the shadow split to reveal rows of sharp fangs and a long red tongue.

A tongue that licked her from chin to forehead.

“Oh no- Mia! Bad girl!” she admonished as she quickly took out a handkerchief to wipe her face.

The large shadow faded and instead a lean dog that reached only up to her stomach appeared. She had brown fur with black stripes that resembled a tiger’s, a pair of large pointed ears stood erect atop her head, but what’s most prominent were the sets of large and sharp claws.

Mia only let out a loud bark as she hopped in place. Her thin tail wagged excitedly. The dog before her was a magical creature called a Sigbin. Found only in the deepest jungle in the Philippines of Southeast Asia, it’s a ferocious and commonly aggressive creature that preyed on livestock and even human babies. However, if successfully tamed, it can become the most loyal companion a witch or wizard could ever have. Especially with its ability to travel in literal shadows, they make excellent guard dogs. Hence, their other name as ‘Witch Dogs’. Unfortunately, the creature also has the uncanny ability of refusing to breed outside the country so being able to breed one outside the Philippines was nigh impossible.

They’re an unknown species current books on magizoology don’t know about, that only the few magic folk in the Philippines knew of, and only a handful of them knew the secret to taming them.

A secret Hermione shared to the wizard she’s helping to hide.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Hermione relented after cleaning herself. She smiled down as she patted the dog’s head. “You seem healthy. Your master didn’t miss a day feeding you again, did he?”

Mia barked resolutely, as if understanding her.

“He didn’t? That’s good. Wouldn’t want you causing a ruckus and eating the small animals in the muggle streets again like last time, would we?”

Another bark.

After giving the dog a few more pats and scratches, Hermione continued walking down the hallway with Mia following behind her. At the end of the hall to the left was a door inscribed with a plethora of runes. Almost as if every security measure known to wizardkind was placed there. Undeterred, Hermione opened the door. The blood magic there instantly recognized her from her touch alone. It revealed to her a flight of stairs that led down to the basement. The traps placed there also remained inactive upon her recognition.

“Hector!” Hermione called the moment she was at the bottom. The large basement-turned-laboratory, complete with every tool, equipment, and shelves brimmed with books about topics from Potions, to Alchemy, to Astronomy, even Philosophy, was a room she would bet even Severus Snape would envy.

She traversed through the tables when she received no answer until she reached the furthest back where a big drawing of the ouroboros hung. Beneath it was a tall wizard with select strips of grey hair against light brown, hunched over a long table. His frame hiding the source of a golden glow.

“Hecto-“

“SPIES!!!” the wizard shouted as he immediately whirled on his heel. His wand shot out a spell with excellent precision to where her heart was.

Hermione dispelled it instantly before it was less than a feet from her chest. Beside her, Mia barked loudly as if in amusement.

“Hello Hector,” Hermione smiled.

Hector Dagworth-Granger, after realizing it was just her, lowered his wand followed by a loud sigh of relief.

“In the name of magic, Hermione, don’t scare me like that, child!” he admonished. The Potioneer-turned-Alchemist huffed before quickly gesturing at her with his hand. “Come! Come! You must see this!”

She approached the long table he was working on and stopped right beside him. Atop a drawing of a transmutation circle, within a round-bottom flask held up by a metal tripod, was a floating blob of gold emitting a soft glow.

“Is that-“

Hector grinned broadly, “Pure Liquid Gold.”

“Amazing,” Hermione gaped, hands falling atop the table as she leaned to get a closer look.

“While those fools only care about turning common metals into gold and silver, I have successfully changed the state of one metal to another while also maintaining all of its magical properties! Just think about all of the possible creations and improvements on existing fields that could be done with this!”

Hermione could only mentally agree. Her mind instantly worked double its speed as she thought exactly of what Hector said.

“By the way, did you say that you would be coming around seven?”

She snapped out of her scholar’s zone at the question and finally teared her gaze at the man old enough to be her father, “It is seven, Hector.”

The man blinked owlishly at her. The growing wrinkles on his face stretched as he turned to his dog, “Mia! Why didn’t you tell me Hermione had arrived?”

Mia just growled at him in annoyance.

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at their exchange. Hector’s eccentric personality was always a welcome break. Despite the man’s almost introverted nature in regards to socialization- always wanting to be left alone to his research- they both got along swimmingly. Probably because he respected her as a witch and appreciated her academic mind.

Never mind the fact she’s also sponsoring and helping him hide for the last nearly ten years.

“You can make it up to me by having that drink with me like you promised.”

They had left his house and ventured to the wizarding side of Athens where they entered their usual pub.

After they got home from the circus, Hermione immediately sent Hector a letter, telling him that she would need to talk to him about a personal matter apart from her monthly check-ins on the progress of his research. She also said she would appreciate any advice he can give her during their talk.

Out of all her associates, the wizard whom she was unrelated yet shared her last name with, was the only person she was willing to share a bit about her secret due to the nature of his work and her request of him.

But first, since it’s been a while since they’ve sat down and talked, they both agreed that a couple of drinks would be a good ice breaker. It had been a while since she had any liquor herself, not having the need to indulge with Alduin around.

“Ah! Madam Hermione! Sir Hector!” greeted the bartender behind the counter when they entered. “Welcome! Welcome!”

“Hello Basil,” she greeted as she settled on a seat at the bar; Hector took the empty seat to her right, “Just a mild please.”

“I’ll have a mild as well, Basil,” Hector ordered.

As the bartender turned around to get their drinks, Hermione turned her head over her shoulder left and right to observe the patrons already enjoying their drinks and smoking in their booths and tables. Most were wizards and only a handful of witches. Yet when she met her eyes with every single one of them, they all nodded to her in acknowledgement, and some even raised their glasses at her.

“On the house, Madam,” Basil said cheerily as he set down his best glass mugs in front of them.

She smiled gratefully at the man before lifting her own drink.

“Cheers, Hermione,” Hector toasted.

“Good health to you, Hector,” she toasted back.

They clinked their glasses together and drank. Hermione could only drink up to half of the full glass whereas Hector kept gulping them all down in one go. It really has been a while since she last drank.

After ordering himself another mug, the two unrelated Grangers began chatting. Asking each other how the other had been since the last month they saw each other. Hector talked freely with her, knowing that his identity was kept safe in this pub.

“So how is your boy, Alduin? Finally ran out of books to read in your home library?” he teased.

Hermione chuckled, “Not even close. He still has a lot more books to go through before he could be done with even half of them. But… I am getting worried. He’s growing up so fast he’s at an age where he’s even starting to tease his own mother!”

Hector guffawed, “That little rascal! This is why I don’t have children, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find the misery of parents amusing!”

He laughed a bit more to which Hermione just rolled her eyes.

“He’ll be turning eleven next year, yeah? Seems about the right time to get his Hogwarts letter. That’s the reason you came back to London, right? You think you’re ready to let him go for months for the next seven years?”

Hermione chewed on her lip, unable to answer. It’s not that she hadn’t thought of it before. But there were just so many things that needed her attention more than worry about her son going to school. Does he even want to go to school? Alduin never talked to her about it even when the topic was brought up. Would it even be possible for her son to go to school? Will any magical school even acknowledge him?

If things were a bit different, she would be counting the days herself until her son finally got his Hogwarts Letter. Because, of course, she’d want her child to experience the majesty she felt when she entered Hogwarts.

“I trust Alduin can take care of himself,” if the time comes, she left unsaid. Then added proudly, “I bet he would even claim the top student spot in his first year.”

“Not to mention he’ll be a total heartbreaker in the following years. If the witches today are still the same as back in my time at Hogwarts, your boy will be leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever he walked.”

At that, her eye twitched. She adored her son, beyond his physical features. But she’d be lying to say she doesn’t feel proud of mothering such an adorable, handsome boy. But knowing now whom she owed Alduin’s looks to… just sent shivers down her spine.

At least the genetics on Riddle’s side were strong. Harry mentioned the Gaunts didn’t look exactly as… beautiful in comparison.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there, Hector. Right now, I’d like to enjoy my time with my son while I’m still taller than him.”

“Yes, yes, every mum wants their children to stay little and adorable forever,” the Alchemist said good-naturedly as she finished the rest of her mug with an agreeable smile on her face.

“By the way,” Hermione turned, face a little more serious. “You mentioned in your letter you’re suspecting trouble. You know you’re always protected with me, right?”

Hector stared ahead as he drank a bit of his drink. The joviality in his amber eyes lost its shine, “I received a letter from my friend in Birmingham. Said there were some shady people looking for me.”

Her brows furrowed, “Looking for you?”

“Said they came to him a few times already. Asking him where did I go, the last place I went, what I’ve been doing, who was the last person I talked to, why did I suddenly turn to alchemy, and more questions like that.”

“It’s been nearly ten years, Hector. Why would people suddenly be looking for you again?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “But I’m… worried. I got a bad feeling ever since I read Tim’s letter.”

Hermione held her chin in thought. Trying to make sense of the news. She doesn’t suspect Mr. Cainsworth- Hector’s most trusted friend and colleague whom he chose to be the only person he was willing to remain in contact with outside his hiding. Or else, she would’ve known.

Then who were these people? Old colleagues? Fanatic scholars of his previous works? Did Hector have enemies he didn’t tell her about? An aspiring auror wanting to crack the mystery of the esteemed Potion Master’s disappearance? Or could it be a certain dark lord hung up on blood heritage?

“Rest assured, Hector, I won’t let anything bad happen to Timothy and his family. I gave you my word,” she said with conviction.

“I know you do,” he nodded before giving her a small smile, “Knowing what you’re capable of, I have no doubt you can. Sometimes I wonder if there’s even anymore room in that head of yours.”

“I’ve told you about my memory palace, haven’t I?”

“Ah yes. For the memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.”

‘Did he just quote Cicero to me?’ She raised an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re starting to get philosophical with me now?”

The wizard ignored her, “You’ve achieved something even a natural Oclumens would be envious of, my dear. A man’s memory shapes his own Eden within. Yours is a grand palace full of the vivid memories you had from your entire lifetime.”

“That’s true, but it isn’t without its downside. Because that’s all they are, Hector, memories. I can view them whenever I want but the true experiences that brought those memories… nothing can bring them back.”

“You sound like one who tried.”

A sad smile curled her lips as she nursed her drink, “Tried… is the best way to describe it.”

BANG!

The door to the pub opened with a sound akin to the crack of thunder. Instantly, everyone was out of their chairs on their feet with their wands drawn, ready to fire their spells at the intruder, but when they saw the person, they just pressed their backs to the nearest wall they can find.

Except Hermione.

The man who barged in was tall with a slightly muscular build and swarthy face. He ran inside the pub, flipped the nearest tables and tossed the surrounding chairs. Sending glasses and ashtrays flying. He was sweating all over, and there was a dazed look in his eyes as if he were in an enraged trance. Broken, incoherent screams left his lips.

Hermione shot a spell at him a spell that rooted his feet on the ground and instantly, the people nearest to him held his arms back.

“THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!” the man shouted, voice raspy and dry from previous shouting.

“Put him down!” she commanded.

“On three!” Hector shouted to the others as he held the man’s forearm, “One, two, three, GO!”

They heaved and fell onto the wooden floor in a loud thud. Yet despite the resistance, the man continued to struggle and fight back as if his very life depended on it.

“THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME! THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME! THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!”

“Breathe, Claude! Breathe!” Hermione cried as she moved in front of the crazed man who continued to shout the same sentence.

“THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME! They’re gonna kill me! They’re gonna kill me-e-e,” his shouts fell into wretched sobs as Hermione’s words finally reached him.

“Claude! Claude, you are home,” her tone fell but remained firm as she continued to talk to him, “You’re not in the woods, Claude. You’re back home and safe in Athens. You’re not a mindless monster being hunted, Claude, you’re a man. You’re a wizard. Do you hear me? You’re a human being, Claude. You’re all right.”

She made sure to keep repeating his name. Wanting to snap him from his crazed state until eventually, his breathing fell and shallowed. When she knew he had completely calmed, she signaled to the others to let him up.

Claude breathed hard but when he saw Hermione, his eyes widened and gaped, “Oh hell… Madam Hermione. I-I didn’t mean to- I-“

“It’s alright, Claude,” she assured, looking at him in the eye, “You’re all right.”

“I swear I-I-“ he whimpered helplessly that made even Hermione’s heart pinch.

“Did you miss your potion, Claude? Didn’t you receive any?” The full moon wasn’t that long ago.

“I-I did but t-there were these people. They were carrying w-w-werewolf traps and I-I panicked. I don’t know how long I’ve been running. I just…”

Hermione breathed in deeply through her nose. Part of her was upset at the information while another part did her best to control her expression so as to not agitate the already shaken man before her. Just as there were Witch Hunts conducted by muggles centuries ago, there were also Werewolf Hunts. However, unlike the Witch Hunts that became nothing more than a dark stain in wizarding history, Werewolf Hunts were still being conducted by a number of people around the world. And no, the hunters weren’t muggles, but fellow wizards and witches. Magic folk who had such extreme prejudiced views against creatures. They claimed that those infected with lycanthropy are a blight to the wizarding society and are nothing more than dangerous beasts that should be hunted down before they could further spread their disease.

In response to those hunts, werewolves formed packs or colonies as they could only trust one another to keep each other safe. Hermione had encountered such traveling packs a few years ago, and had been helping them ever since.

In respect to Remus Lupin, the pride of her improved Wolfsbane Potion, and for the bleeding heart still beating on her chest for those who were in need. Especially since she was also prejudiced for something she can’t be helped with.

Further research since her previous life had allowed her to take the Wolfsbane Potion a step further. Not all werewolves sided with Voldemort back then but those who were discovered to be infected were recruited to join the ranks under the pretense of unity. Those who were vehement in hurting anyone tried their best to run and hide. And for a time, she found companionship with them as people in hiding.

Although her improved potion was still not capable of curing them from the disease, it at least prevented them from transformation during the full moon. However, they are still subjected to their werewolf instincts and certain triggers but to those infected, it’s enough for them to fall on their knees in thanks and swear fidelity.

“Drink this Calming Draught, Claude,” she instructed, taking a bottle from her bag and enclosing his hand around it. “Drink it and go home to your family. I’m sure they’ve been worried sick looking for you. Could someone help him get back home please?”

She announced and one of the patrons stepped forward as the others looked back at her with newfound respect. All of these people were infected with lycanthropy, and therefore indebted with her monthly supply of potions.

In return for their fealty, because they can’t accept no for an answer no matter how hard she tried, they swore their wands and services to her. To call when she needs of them, and to ask what she would of them.

“Yes… T-Thank you, Madam. Thank you.”

Escorted out by his fellow werewolf, Hermione swished her wand around the pub and all of the broken furniture and glasses returned to normal. There’s no saving the drinks that spilled though.

“That’s for the trouble, and give everyone here a free drink,” she said to Basil as she nonchalantly dropped a small bag of galleons on the countertop.

“You’re too kind, Madam!”

“Thank you, Madam!”

“Please come again, Madam!”

A chorus followed after her as she exited the pub. Her mind whirling around one bad news with another.

“I know there are a lot of secrets you’ve yet to tell me, Hermione. Despite your… circumstances,” Hector broke the silence once they were in the safety of his home. “But I’d like to believe I know enough that there’s something going on for you to write a letter practically asking me for advice. Hermione, child, what is going on back in London?”

Hermione took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, “I found the father of my son, Hector, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Calling on the future, I heard humanity’s screams.

Bouncing back and forth, reality wasn’t what I once believed.

Chapter Text

Good Hunter, Let me free you from this dream.

Devote thy life to this vacuous cruel mercy.

The most commonly accepted description of Alchemy is it is a branch of magic and ancient science concerned with the study of the composition, structure and magical properties of the four basic elements, as well as the transmutation of substances; it was thus intimately connected with Potion-making, chemistry, and transformation magic. Alchemy also concerned philosophy; one interpretation of chemical literature, which was known to be dominated by mystical and metaphysical speculation, were that the study of Alchemy was symbolic of a spiritual journey, leading the alchemist from ignorance (base metal) to enlightenment (gold).

Alchemists enjoyed prestige and support through the centuries, though not for their pursuit of those goals, nor the mystic and philosophical speculation that dominates their literature. Rather it was for their mundane contributions to the chemical industries of the day the invention of gunpowder, ore testing and refining, metalworking, production of ink, dyes, paints, and cosmetics, leather tanning, ceramics and glass manufacture, preparation of extracts & liquors, and so on It seems that the preparation of aqua vitae, the “water of life”, was a fairly popular “experiment” among Europeans. Potions, from antiquity until well into the Modern Age, a physics devoid of metaphysical insight would have been as unsatisfying as a metaphysics devoid of physical manifestation. For one thing, the lack of common words for chemical concepts and processes, as well as the need for secrecy, led alchemists to borrow the terms and symbols of biblical and pagan mythology, astrology, kabbalah and other mystic and esoteric fields; so that even the plainest chemical recipe ended up reading like an abstruse magic incantation. (Borage, L. 1946. Advanced Potion-Making)

“A boy needs his father.” The dry look Hermione gave him made Hector cough into his fist, “At least, that’s what nearly everyone in this society would say. Especially since it seems that you’re the only one against it.”

“But not every parent deserves a child,” she countered.

“No,” Hector agreed, “but from what you’ve told me, the father hasn’t done anything to hurt the boy.”

Well, technically, no. Riddle hasn’t done anything that caused her son any harm. Even when he had held him at wandpoint. Not to mention the special connection between them would instantly tell her if her son was ever put in grave danger.

“Even though you paint your former beau as someone left to be desired, from what I understood, Alduin seems to be very interested in getting to know his father and the interest is mutual,” the Alchemist added.

She shot him a glare, “He was never my beau.”

He raised his hands up in a placating gesture, “Err… former lover then?”

That’s even worse. Her disdain at the thought of her and Voldemort being placed at such an intimate relationship must have shown as the older Granger shook his head in defeat.

Even if she trusted Hector the most out of all her associates, and knew the man would keep her secrets with or without a contract, she just can’t find in her to confess that she’s originally from a time over thirty years in the future and that she was living her second life. She can’t fault him for assuming she had a romantic past with Riddle that fell out of favor that resulted in her son’s conception. She knew that eventually, all veils of her omission of the truth would eventually come crashing down. If the need arises, she’ll have no choice but to confess, but before that could happen, she’ll try her best to keep those secrets for now. The reason for her request for consultation was to get an outsider’s perspective after all. She knew that her past experiences against Voldemort’s evil even before the war had made her views biased.

She knew this, and she also knew that this wasn’t about her. It’s about her son and the next best course of action she should take.

“Alduin’s father,” she started, almost as if reminding herself, “is not an ordinary man.”

In fact, her best advice would be to avoid him at all costs.

“So you’ve alluded, but then you have this… fierce resolve to give your son everything he wants as if your very life depended on it. It’s a miracle he hasn’t become like one of those spoiled pureblood brats in the old families.”

That’s because her life is depended on it. The cosmic audience is always watching, and she must uphold her part of the deal.

“I understand he’s your only son and family left, and as his mother- which you have been doing a magnificent job by the way- you only wanted to provide your child with everything, but…”

Hermione can’t help but smile at his words. She knew Hector only meant well. Maybe because she and her son are the only people he’s been mostly in contact with for the last decade, or perhaps it was their shared last name that formed a pseudo-familial bond between them; even if he won’t say it out loud, he cared, and she’ll never resent anyone who truly does.

She shook her head, “I understand what you’re trying to say, Hector, but trust me, it isn’t about that.”

Silence passed between them with Hermione lost in her thoughts about her situation and its inevitability and Hector just silently staring at her across the table of his tea room.

The dilemma was this: Alduin craves Riddle’s ring. If it was just a whim, she could’ve denied him and her son would obey. That would’ve been the end of it. But no. She could not deny him this time. No matter how interested Alduin was in his father as a person, they would still need to get close to him to get his ring. Even if she herself had gotten powerful from her experiences, the battle between her and Riddle proved that they were at least in equal footing. Not to mention the Voldemort of this time is more cunning and manipulative than the reckless madman in her previous life.

For no matter how smart and observant her son is, Alduin is still a child, and children are impressionable. Especially since they’ve fully captured his attention. She has no doubt Riddle has something planned up his sleeve.

“You really are a riddle, Hermione.” Hector confessed. “That’s without saying our unusual meeting, of course. It’s not every day you meet someone offering a full sponsorship out of nowhere after all.”

As Hector let out a hearty laugh as he recalled the night the witch before him practically broke into his former hideout and threw bags of gold and precious stones at his feet to do research in her behalf, he failed to see the shocked, almost horrified expression on her face as she broke from her musings.

“What did you just say?”

Seeing her conflicted expression this time, the man looked at her quizzically and answered, “Err… our unusual meeting? Can you blame me for thinking as such? You asked for me to research about the World Serpent- Jörmungandr; Miðgarðsormr! Something that is even considered a myth in the wizarding world.”

To be more precise, Hermione asked him to research about the World Serpent’s alchemical equivalent- the Ouroboros. By definition, it is simply the representation of the unity of all things- material and magical. It is a basic philosophical lesson for any aspiring alchemists that says nothing truly disappears, but only change in form. It is the reason why the 3 goals of Alchemy are deemed possible despite its excruciating difficulty. Changing any metal into pure gold, creating a panacea, and the universal solvent, all boils down to the transmutation of one state to another.

Hermione Granger, however, adamantly believed there was something more to it than meets the eye, and in the last ten years he’s done research for her, he eventually believed her.

“No, I meant before that,” she supplied.

 “You are a riddle,” Hector, though he looked confused at first, schooled his features into something more serious as he regarded the witch before him. He may have his eccentricities, but Hector Dagworth-Granger was no Master Potioneer for nothing. His keen observance had helped him greatly in that regard.

It took them five years to realize that Hermione Granger hasn’t aged a single day since they first met ten years ago.

“Apart from the fact we’ve yet to understand what’s really going on with your body,” he alluded her mysterious background she’s yet to share with him.

Hermione’s throat bobbed in trepidation before she answered, “Alduin’s father… his name is Riddle. Tom Riddle.”

Instantly connecting the dots and the reason for the witch’s strange expression, Hector burst out a laugh that had him clutching his stomach and throwing his head back.

“I guess that settles it! Should I start calling you Mrs. Riddle from now on?”

Really, this woman who didn’t even flinch at the sight of a debauched chimera, recoils in fear at the thought of marriage.

“Hector!” she exclaimed; face flushed. Her mind reeled at the innuendo of that alone. Even she was amazed at the level of restraint she had when Serafina first associated her in that way. Just how did the Potion Master even know where her mind has taken her so easily? Really, after Luna, she should’ve learned by now not to take lightly eccentric Ravenclaws.

As the older Granger’s bellows subsided into giggles, his eyes widened and pounded his fist on an open palm. His expression was suddenly alit with recognition as if a lightbulb had flashed above his head.

“Ah hold on a minute now,” he looked up in thought as he caressed his small beard, “Tom Riddle… Tom Riddle… now I believe that’s a name I recognize.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes! I remember now. If this is the same man we are talking about, I received a letter from him regarding my findings about Amortentia. He had very insightful questions about its creation, effects, and how to counter them. I should know because he’s one of the rare few I bothered replying to, but that was around… sixteen or seventeen years ago.”

Oh, that’s definitely him.

“You don’t think…” he glanced at her warily.

Hermione’s response was quicker than she would’ve liked for Riddle’s defense, “It’s him, Hector, but trust me, he wouldn’t.”

It’s more likely that Riddle sought information about Amortentia, not for the sake of using it, but in order to avoid it and possibly learn its effects as a child born from fake love. Tom Riddle abhorred at the thought of becoming anything like his parents. He despised his mother for her mortal weakness, and disgusted at his father for being a muggle.

“If you’re sure,” Hector relaxed a bit on his seat. “So, what is your plan? The father and son want to know one another, but you have reservations because of your past with this Tom Riddle. If you ask me, I say nip it at the bud. You’ve been doing marvelously in taking care of your son on your own. You never needed him then; you don’t need him now. He doesn’t seem much of a threat to you and really, your only concern is the two of them getting close. I say so because I have no reference to speak about a boy’s development with their father. Especially someone who grew up so far without one.”

She shook her head, “No, Hector. It is important that Alduin gets what he wants.”

Whether it be her or Alduin, they must get his ring as soon as possible. Too bad she can’t just rush at him and steal it through brute force. Riddle, in this time, is in his prime, and there’s also the fact she can’t engage with him in a confrontation. She won’t risk upsetting Alduin like that. Either way, by force or by subtlety, they need to get closer to Riddle.

So she supposed, in the grand scheme of things and knowing the danger present, the real question is not what she should do, but to ask if she has the will to do it.

“You know, there is a saying,” Hector gestured to himself first then towards her, “Keep your friends close, but…”

He drawled, and Hermione finished after wetting her lips, “Keep your enemies closer.”

“Right!” Hector cried with a loud clap, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, since you’re already here, would you like to see what I’ve gathered so far? Although you’ll have to excuse my report about the liquid gold process. I’ve still yet to revise it.”

Grateful for the small break to her troubled thoughts, Hermione happily agreed and let the older Granger present his findings. It felt like she drank liquid luck when she saw Hector on the night her son came to this world. As capable as she was to do these herself, her son was her priority and she didn’t have the luxury of time to do both. Fortunately, Hector was very agreeable after they’ve ironed out their contract. In exchange of doing research for her about Alchemy- with the focus on the Ouroboros and keeping her secrets to himself, she would help him disappear and provide him with funds and all the materials needed.

Of all the parchment and journals Hector gave her, Hermione first opened a leatherbound journal that had monthly entries for the last ten years. Each dated entry was a sketch of a woman’s naked back, but what was noticeable of them were the thick lines drawn there. These lines started out small and few, just below the shoulder blades. As Hermione flipped through the pages (the drawings were followed by writings of questions, answers, and theories) the lines grew thicker and plentiful, until she stopped at the last entry and saw the lines nearly mirroring each other on each side. Like the roots of a tree or a branch with many, disjointed fingers, it covered the entirety of the woman’s back from the base of her neck to her tailbone.

Hermione wished she could see it. Black the lines may be because of the charcoal used to sketch it; people could initially mistake the lines as some sort of tattoo.

But no.

She had to use a charmed mirror to see them for herself. One at the back and one in front of her. For her to see the black lines to actually be tendrils of opalescent hues. Light blues, pinks, purples, greens, yellows, and more; colors that were moving within their confines across her back.

Lines her body seemingly possessed the moment she came back in the waking world of March 8, 1953.

The same day her son was born.

.

The Den was dark by the time she returned home. It wasn’t that late, but she was definitely late for their usual dinner time. She had a lot to think about that didn’t require half of her attention focused on her son. Her visit with Hector allowed that much needed peace and distraction with their talk about his findings.

On a surface level, Alchemy may seem to be a very lucrative career due to its dabbling with metals, especially gold, however, many failed to comprehend its involvement with philosophy, as well as concepts and methods unseen that produced varying results that no definite procedure could ever be written on a book. Because of this, many turned to other professions as no one, not even a Ministry, would guarantee funding to an aspiring alchemist even if it is a highly respected profession. Hence many failed and only a handful of wizards and witches could really call themselves True Alchemists. 

Fortunately for Hector, he didn’t need to worry about funding. Although he can make off with the wealth he had as the sole heir to his family’s riches (on his mother’s side), and the royalty of his published works and patented potions, Alchemy required special attention and materials. Especially since his focus of study was about the World Serpent, which would not promise him any riches at all besides the knowledge he could gain.

“Have you heard about the Throat of the World, Hermione?”

The teacup she was holding rattled against its saucer. If the elder Granger noticed, he made no comment about it.

“I have,” she admitted, and as if her body had a will of its own, her eyes focused on the ouroboros tapestry hanging on the wall, “It was said to be the highest point a witch or wizard can climb. Legends said it held the very secrets of magic. Many thought it was somewhere in Mt. Everest, but those searches unfortunately yielded no results.”

“Yes. To be more specific, it was said that whoever reached the Throat of the World would be able to learn the language of magic itself.”

Her brows furrowed as she turned her gaze back at him, “Where did you find that?”

Hector slid an open book across the table. On one side is a full-page picture of a wizard with receding hairline dressed in deep green robes and a locket resting on his chest. Hermione instantly recognized him as Salazar Slytherin.

“This isn’t Hogwarts: A History,” she commented.

“No. It’s not a bestseller compared to that one, but it is still about Hogwarts and this book briefly mentioned about other magical schools. I was reminded of your boy when you sent me a letter that you’re coming earlier than your usual visits. He should be at an age where he’s getting ready to attend school, yes? I thought of letting him borrow this for a while. But as I was skimming through the pages, this one caught my attention.”

On the page next to Slytherin’s unmoving picture was a full text, in which Hector pointed at a few lines of verses written in a much more elegant script centered in the whole page. It read:

To the children blessed by the stars,

Steadfast thy desire in hand.

To hesitate would be blasphemy.

Sing the language of power within Delft Harrow Tooth.

“Now I first thought it was nothing more than a message for the future students of Hogwarts, but I couldn’t help but notice the last verse, especially the last three words.”

“Delft is a tin-glazed earthenware, typically a decoration. Harrow most probably means to cause distress to, and Tooth could be taken for granted,” she looked up at him, “It’s a metaphor for a snake’s beautiful yet deadly fangs.”

“Yes, and at a glance, it may also refer to a typical Slytherin’s cunningness. However, I’ve always believed to look underneath the underneath and what I found was this-“

Hector placed a sheet of parchment where a jumbled mess of letters and words were written. Some were crossed out, scratched, underlined, encircled, but ultimately, her eyes fell onto four words that made her chocolate brown eyes widen in shock.

Delft Harrow Tooth

Delf rw ooth

Del rw o

=

Throat of the World

“Now you’ll have to forgive me for being presumptuous, but I can’t help but notice… one of the founding fathers of Hogwarts, whom heavily associates himself with snakes, and possessed the only bloodline in the entire history of the world that can precognitively speak in a language no other being can learn, would subtly put a mythical location in a message meant for future students. And if you must know, Hermione, Salazar Slytherin isn’t someone known to believe in minstrel’s fancies. Might I also point out that your son, Alduin, is a parseltongue, and you- yourself- have an obsession with the ouroboros imagery. Which is often depicted as a dragon or snake biting its own tail. Now is that a coincidence?” he paused, “Hermione… do you think the Throat of the World truly exists?”

Hermione cursed Slytherins and their penchant for anagrams.

She paused when she entered the sitting room where she followed the glow of the fire that snuck all the way to the foyer. Her heart melted at the sight of her son sleeping peacefully in his pajamas in front of the hearth with his lips slightly parted. Sometime earlier, he had built himself a pillow fort using whatever pillow he could grab and laid it around the floor as a makeshift mattress. He even had a blanket as a tarp overhead; supported by the chairs and furniture he could pull together.

Hermione knelt beside him and softly caressed his hair, careful not to wake him. She giggled softly at how his black curls looped around her fingers. Once Alduin’s head hits a pillow, his hair would always and easily muss up to resemble her more chaotic curls. She thought it was adorable especially in the morning when he would greet her in his half-asleep state. She wished a silent magical camera would be invented to capture quiet moments like this without the threat of interrupting it. It’s almost a sin to disturb his sleep.

Oh well, in the memory palace it goes.

Hermione stopped her caresses for a moment to direct at the empty mug of hot cocoa and plate of biscuits. As the dishes floated away to be washed in the kitchen sink, she also picked up a book that was left open beside him; fallen from his hands when he succumbed to slumber.

Her lips pressed tightly as she read the title: The Book of The Greater and Lesser Houses. As it says in the title, it’s a book featuring every known wizarding family in Europe. This was the latest edition, and it also had an overview of the life and differences between pureblood, half-bloods, and muggleborns. Especially the pureblood society.

She looked worriedly over her son, and was once more reminded of her dilemma. Could she risk his safety over this? Is there really no other way? If only she could do this on her own, just like with her hunts; but no, Alduin is involved, and his attention is caught.

Her eyes trailed above the fireplace where a decorative plate rested proudly at the center with the painting of Midgardsormr (because of course there must be).

I need to work for my prize.

“Oh Al…” she sighed, and as if broken from a spell, her son woke up with a flutter of his lashes.

“Mother…” he yawned, blinking a few times before jutting his lower lip at her in a pout, “You’re late.”

She smiled apologetically at him, “I’m sorry, Al.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Just lost track of time, I suppose. Hector had some very interesting findings, but more importantly- aren’t you hungry? I’ve brought souvlaki.”

Her hand was already fishing out the box from her bag when her son perked up and nodded enthusiastically. They settled themselves in front of the fire, with Alduin cross-legged at the edge of his pillow mattress.

They ate their dinner mostly in companionable silence, Alduin interrupting between bites of his skewered grilled meat to ask how her associates were doing. He knew some of them, of course. Most of the time, her associates were people whom they met along the way during their travels. As far as he knew, her associates either worked for her or owed her favors. Thus, the extension of courtesy towards her and her son. Although he doesn’t know the specificities of those favors, Hermione believed he didn’t need to know that. At least, not until the time comes. The only people whom her son didn’t know of, were the people she deemed to shady or dangerous for her to even imply his existence. Such as her dealings with the underground.

“And how was your day, Al? Did you have a nice nap?” she asked, already full from their meat-heavy meal and just watched her son devour the rest one after the other it almost looked like he didn’t need to chew. No, he wasn’t a sloppy eater either unlike a familiar Weasley from her past. Her son’s appetite juxtaposed a level of finesse one would expect from years of practicing table etiquette. Because of this, almost no one could even be bothered by his rate of eating.

“Mmhmm,” he nodded before his eyes looked a bit downcast, “I had that dream again.”

Hermione paused mid-chew. She swallowed before asking gently, “Has anything changed? In your dream?”

Alduin shook his head, “It’s still the same dream, mother. I was still underwater, in the dark. There’s still only one source of light shining above me, and I was still just staring at it. Bubbles come out of my mouth whenever I breathe, but I wasn’t drowning. It still… felt nice, just floating under the water without needing to surface.”

It was the first dream her son ever had, and every now and again, the same thing he would dream of. According to dream interpretations, being underwater meant the person was overwhelmed with something. Whether emotions, thoughts, uncertainties, and responsibilities; always negative. But that couldn’t be possible for her spirited son. Not to mention it was a recurring dream he had to this day. Because she had made it clear about her abhorrence with the subject of Divinations and its branches, he did not press for her to interpret it.

But of course, Hermione knew better. She also knew that no book nor divine practice could ever interpret her son’s recurring dream.

For it was not a dream in the first place.

“I also went out a bit today,” Alduin continued.

“Oh? Did you visit Mr. Ollivanders?” she replied, glad for the change of topic.

“No, mother. I… went to see the circus…”

Silence passed over them with Hermione’s lips just pressed together in a thin line. She watched as her son’s eating slowed, and awkwardly chewed on his food. He shouldn’t be ashamed. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She may be overprotective of him at times but she’s no helicopter parent.

Still… the implications of his actions are striking.

“That old hag’s words bothered you so much?” she said questioningly, but the way she phrased it was a statement.

Alduin gave her a single nod, “She called me a… a ‘thing’, mother, and she sounded so sure that I wasn’t human.”

Her brows furrowed deeply, “Al-“

“But it’s alright, mother. It doesn’t matter anymore. The old woman- Madame Trelawney was her name- Miss Donna from the band said she passed away in her sleep. I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.”

‘That blind old hag’s name was Trelawney?’ she groaned behind her hand on her face. If she didn’t believe in fate, she might actually think it was making fun of her.

“Mr. Riddle was also there,” Alduin continued, placing down the last empty stick on the box, “he also wanted to confront the Madam about what she shouted at me.”

At this, she deliberately rolled her eyes. She said sarcastically, “Of course he was. That man is like a mushroom for springing out of nowhere all the time.”

Her son laughed at that. It brought a smile to her face for a second before she was reminded that her last prey was a Seer, and if Riddle had gone to the circus with Alduin, he would’ve known about it. She mentally cursed. She could only wish this Riddle wasn’t as hung up on Divinations as he was in her previous life, or else what sort of ideas he would come up with if he associated it with her son?

“He uhmm… he gave me a letter,” Alduin continued, but before she could prompt him for more, he was already lying down with his arm outstretched under one of the pillows. When he pulled back up, he handed her a white envelope embossed with peacocks and a broken green wax seal with a large letter M. “It’s from Lucius.”

With narrowed eyes, Hermione took out the letter from inside and read each word carefully. She made sure to read the entire letter twice before finally speaking.

“He’s inviting you to his home.”

Alduin nodded. She lowered the letter to her lap and met her son’s large dark eyes, glowing with a red-orange hue from the fire.

“And?” she urged.

“I’d like to go, mother. Please?”

She stared at her son for a long moment. A thousand thoughts raced her mind before funneling into one conclusion.

Hermione sighed in defeat and stood from her position, “Alright, Al, but first we’re going to have to write a letter.”

She wondered if it’s time they finally bought an owl.

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” the shrieks made Hermione wince more than the slap she received to her wrists. She forced herself not to glare at the old woman in front of her.

Plump face sagging with age, a hooked nose, and gray hair pinned behind a dark veil; the older witch may be smaller than her in height but her small sharp eyes were harsh as she stared down at the brunette with scrutiny.

“Stupid girl! You chose the wrong pattern!”

Hermione cursed mentally instead. Here she was trying to survive with a bounty still on her head no thanks to a certain madman and she’s studying embroidery. EMBROIDERY OF ALL THINGS!

If only she had been more careful then she wouldn’t have been in this situation.

She had been on the move, as usual, and her travels this time had brought her somewhere in the countryside of Germany. Winter had come especially harsh this year and she found herself stuck in a small muggle village. But knowing nothing of German, the villagers could only direct her to a lonely mansion a few ways past a forest trail where the only person they knew who can speak English resided.

Hermione felt like the helpless beggar in the story of the Beauty and the Beast as she braved through the biting winter wind. The mansion itself was small, a stark contrast to the grandness of Malfoy manor, but its impeccable architecture set it apart from the rest of the houses in the village. To her surprise, instead of a maid or butler greeting her on the front door, a small old woman with a seemingly permanent scowl stared at her through the crack.

Still, Hermione asked for help. Since she doesn’t have any more money to spare, she figured her skills would be enough as compensation in return for food and lodging. At least until the winter dies down. If she was a muggle, then she could do housekeeping.

“I’ll let you in,” the woman said without a hint of accent, “If you surrender your wand. I know you’re a witch, girl.”

She should’ve turned and ran at that moment. But the winter storm had started to pick up, and the sliver of warmth she could feel from the crack of the old woman’s door only reminded how cold, homeless, hungry, and alone she was.

During their Horcrux hunting, she had experienced what it felt like to go on rations, but it wasn’t until she was truly on her own did she understood what true hunger felt like.

Maybe it was because of that desperation that pushed her sense of logic and reason out of the way. A passing thought even came to her that she can hold her own against this frail-looking woman, even without a wand.

Oh, how naïve she was.

As it was, Madam Rosemary von Reicher, as she would later learn, was no ordinary witch.

She was powerful. More powerful than Bellatrix and, dare-she-say-it, Professor McGonagall.

And worse- she knew who she was.

Needless to say, with the winter storm blocking every road, her weakened state due to hunger, paranoia, and fatigue, wandless, depression from her losses, and the threat of exposure by the old witch, Hermione had no choice but to comply to her demands.

Which was to serve as her handmaiden.

Even though Mrs. Reicher owned a house-elf, she had Hermione do menial chores such as scrubbing the floors and dusting the furniture. She didn’t mind it as much really. She grew up doing chores around the house with her parents, and she had fond memories of helping her mother tend to her rose bushes in the front yard.

If only Mrs. Reicher wasn’t so strict.

She felt like Rapunzel stuck inside her tower because of a conniving witch, and like Cinderella who was reduced to become a maid because of her wicked stepmother; but unlike Cinderella, Hermione was not abused nor mistreated. She may have received slaps in the wrist and harshly scolded for not meeting the old witch’s standards, but apart from that, she was treated well with warm food, soft bed, and clothes. Mrs. Reicher also treated her house-elf, Fren, properly, much to her relief. And unlike Rapunzel, she would only have to wait until the storm settled down to leave.

“Until you can retrieve your wand from my hand yourself, you are forbidden to break from your servitude!”

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Winter had turned to Spring, and Hermione was still stuck in that house.

Getting her wand back proved to be harder than she thought. Despite her age, Mrs. Reicher’s wit and instincts were still sharp. Hermione hated the sound of her cackles after every failed attempt, and each loss only gave the old bat more incentives to make her do ridiculous things such as arranging flowers (she’ll never admit how impressed she was of her greenhouse), cooking food using only the finest ingredients and how to serve them properly, sorting her perfume and cosmetics and how to apply them, picking out her clothes for each day, and many more.

It was utterly, utterly-

“RIDICULOUS!” Hermione snapped, throwing the sewing needle and woven fabric on the rug at their feet. Mrs. Reicher, however, remained nonplussed as she continued her own sewing, “What’s the point of all of this?!”

“You ought to lower you voice, girl-“

“No! I’ve been here for two months and while the entire world is collapsing because of a psychopathic dark lord, I’m sitting here doing all these menial tasks for you! Just what exactly do you want from me?!”

How could she? How could she have all of this when everyone she knew and loved were either dead or missing? How dare she start to feel this sense of normalcy? All these stupid tasks that forced her to rise out of bed every morning, when all she wanted was to curl up in her sleep and wish that she would never wake up; she deserved none of these things.

Mrs. Reicher’s wrinkled fist pounded on the table beside her as her aged blue eyes stared squarely back at her infuriated umber.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?!” her harsh yet firm words made Hermione rear back from her depressive thoughts, “Muggleborn or not, you’re supposed to be the brightest witch of your age, aren’t you?! Look at you! And they say you’re a Gryffindor… HA! You’re more like a frightened kitten who forgot that she has fangs and claws! You’re a disgrace to every respectable witch in the world! Show some dignity and that lion’s heart, you ignorant, pitiful brat!”

Things changed between her and Mrs. Reicher from then on. Eventually, Hermione came to appreciate all the little things she had to do. It was a learning experience, and like a true Gryffindor, her pride was a hard pill to swallow, but she appreciated the routine that developed between them.

Six months later, Mrs. Reicher finally allowed her in the library, which was bigger than she expected, that actually made her cry.

She still hadn’t stopped getting her wand back, of course, but those attempts were done more out of challenge than the desire to leave. And because she had no wand, she practiced her wandless magic. Sometimes under the woman’s guidance, and she was good at it too, because the madam was once the Dark Arts professor for Durmstrang.

“Clean up this mess, girl, then draw up my bath,” Mrs. Reicher ordered as she dabbed her lips with her napkin after dinner.

Instead of piling up the plates herself, Hermione waved her hand over the plates and cutlery and they all marched in a single file towards the kitchen sink. She grinned broadly at the older witch.

Mrs. Reicher huffed and snorted as she stood to leave. She muttered under her breath, “Show off.”

Although Fren was more open with his praises and cheer at her level of magical achievement, the ghost of a smile she saw on the old woman’s face made Hermione happier than she ever felt in a long while.

A year later, Hermione learned how to differentiate types of fabric and threads, know what was real from fake jewelry, read the current trends, and memorized what was in season. These may seem inconsequential, maybe a waste of time to Hermione’s younger self (not that she’s being neglectful because she was still devouring everything she could from the library and practicing advanced magic), but young Hermione Granger had never missed doing something with another human being unlike her present self did.

She would also only appreciate the knowledge she had acquired later once she truly began traveling the world on her own.

Hermione also learned that Mrs. Reicher was a witch who fought against Gellert Grindelwald’s rise to power. That she, her husband, and other families stood in opposition from letting him take over all of Germany.

Mrs. Reicher was yet another example that chipped Hermione’s negative impression on purebloods.

Another year later, Mrs. Reicher taught her family’s techniques on how to properly sew runes into fabric and invoke their magic.

A year after that, Hermione was taught the customs of wizarding pureblood society. She learned how to speak and understand metaphors and double talk, as well as the subtle languages between ladies.

She also learned that Mrs. Reicher lost all of her children while they were young. Her youngest son died from a birth defect of having a hole in his heart, her eldest son had been a casualty in the fight against Grindelwald, and her only daughter died of an accident. Hermione learned that Mr. Reicher died only fifteen years ago from old age.

It was then she understood why the old woman only wore black clothes and a black veil over her head, why her more colorful dresses were tucked away at the back of her closet, why there were certain rooms locked and forbidden to be opened, and why there wasn’t a single picture of her family.

Stuck in that silent mansion with only a house-elf for company, grieving yet with no will to leave behind those she lost, and forced to live out the rest of her life until death came to her naturally, Hermione understood that feeling very much.

For a while, it made her afraid for her own future. Would she end up just like Mrs. Reicher? Would she find herself a remote home and spend the rest of her days as a hermit with a house-elf to assist her? Would she grow embittered about life and all its blessings and tragedies? Would she let herself be tormented everyday with the loss of her loved ones until death comes for her? Could she live that life?

Three and a half years later, Hermione would be introduced to Mrs. Reicher’s remaining contacts as her ward. She would learn to write letters and conduct business in her stead, as the old witch preferred to sew and embroider. She also learned how to manage properties, allocate funds, and everything there is to know how to manage the household.

Such was Hermione’s life for the last eleven years.

“Look at me. I used to command other witches and wizards like a general with a woman’s body. Now… I’m so old and weak, and I’m far too much of a coward to tell others about it,” a wry smile curled at Mrs. Reicher’s face as she stared up at her bedroom ceiling.

Hermione could only sit in silence as she listened to her words. Her fists shaking on her lap and the hard clench of her teeth being the only thing that kept the tears at bay.

An effort that was failing for every second that passed.

She had anticipated this. She had noticed the signs. It was obvious with the way the older witch could barely walk on her own, how she was losing her appetite, and how she couldn’t hold onto a needle for more than ten minutes anymore.

She saw it whenever they had their nightly teas, and how Mrs. Reicher would just stare up at the moon and stars with longing in her eyes.

“You know you could leave anytime you wanted, right? But you didn’t. Why?”

The brunette swallowed before nodding her head. The answer was simpler than she wanted it to be.

“Because I didn’t want to,” she choked at the end. The whole reason she was here was because her wand was held captive. The moment she could easily perform most wandless spells, she knew she could successfully get her wand back if she attempted it. That was six years ago.

But still, she didn’t.

Because that would mean she had to leave.

She made many excuses; she wasn’t done studying everything in the Reicher library, she wasn’t confident she could have her wand back, she wanted to wait for a correspondent’s letter, there’s still so much left to do.

However, she knew, deep in her heart, that the real reason was because she was afraid.

Hermione Jean Granger was afraid.

She was afraid of being alone again.

“Foolish girl,” Mrs. Reicher said, her usual bite nonexistent. “It’s in the box atop the mantelpiece in the library.”

At this, the brunette smiled fondly, “I know.”

The old witch huffed before a moment of silence passed over them.

“What are you just sitting there for? It’s a cloudless sky tonight. Open the curtains, girl. I want to see the stars.”

“Yes, Madam,” Hermione acquiesced, a small smile still on her lips. Despite the older witch’s snooty, and harsh demeanor, she has a soft side to her only a handful of people knew and that Hermione was happy to be at the receiving end of. She cared. Just in her own, subtle way. From the birthday gifts, the lessons, the veiled compliments and praises, and life advices she shared.

Although the both of them knew, that in a way, they were just using each other as a stand-in. For Mrs. Reicher, Hermione was the daughter she could’ve had, had she survived, and for Hermione, Mrs. Reicher could’ve been her own parents, if she had the chance to take care of them into their old age.

“Beautiful,” Mrs. Reicher breathed out. Indeed, the sky was dyed a deep dark blue and the crescent moon was high and shining a bright silver above them. The stars shine ever plentiful in the countryside. “What do you think happens when we die?”

Hermione felt herself go rigid as another wave of tears threatened to spill from her eyelids, “I don’t know, madam, but I do know that the people we left behind… will miss us dearly.”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Reicher hummed, her tired eyes still fixed on the window from where she lied down on her bed, “My husband believed in rebirth though. He believed that when a body dies, the soul would go to sleep, and after time has passed, it would wake up again in a new body where you could experience a new life. Or would we experience the same life we had before?”

“Like reincarnation?”

“Perhaps… maybe you would be reborn in the same body you once had, maybe one or two things about you would be different, or maybe you would be reborn completely different. Such is the teaching of the ouroboros… that we are all connected by a force greater than any mind can comprehend.”

“Ouroboros? Like in Alchemy?” Hermione queried. Mr. Reicher came from a family who practiced Alchemy.

“I wonder…” Mrs. Reicher continued, “If our feelings would be strong enough to reunite us with whom we love in that new life… my husband, he believed in that too.”

Hermione said nothing as the old witch turned her head to her bedside table. She followed her silent command and opened the drawer there. Inside was a framed picture of a young couple. The woman in the photo was beautiful in her yellow sundress and long dark brown hair. She was laughing and smiling in the arms of a handsome man with blonde hair and a small moustache above his lip.

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat with great difficulty.

“Ahh I remember that dress…” Mrs. Reicher said, breathing a bit shallower now, “It was a very nice dress…”

“Yes… it is. I saw it at the back of your closet, Madam. Why don’t you wear that for tomorrow? I-I could adjust it to your measurement just like you taught me. It would be perfect for you to wear in the greenhouse. The flowers… the-the flowers are blooming beautifully this year. I-I could make your f-favorite tea and F-Fren could bake your fa… favorite tarts. I’m sure… I’m sure he would be happy to.”

She didn’t realize she was kneeling at that point. Beside Mrs. Reicher’s bed, with the old picture of the witch clutched to her chest. The witch whom she grew to see as her own family, who helped her move out of her depression, and helped her grow her magic.

Hermione’s heart stilled when Mrs. Reicher’s usually stern face broke into a smile. A genuine, beautiful smile like the one in the picture. The one she was only able to see a few times in the last eleven years. Her hand came up to let her thumb caress her cheek.

“That sounds lovely… can you tell Fren to make a few more for himself?”

Hermione’s hand cupped hers, her voice cracked with her concealed sobs, “O-Of course I will.”

Mrs. Reicher’s smile widened.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

She knew exactly what that thank you meant.

The next morning, Hermione reunited with her wand and told Fren he didn’t need to make breakfast or any meals for the Madam anymore. She let the house-elf cry on her chest, and she let him cry some more when she forced herself to write letters.

It would be a small funeral, as only a few families remained close to the lonely Mrs. Reicher. The solicitor would come to read the Madam’s will after. Meanwhile, Hermione made all of the necessary preparations. She also requested the mortician to dress the late Madam in her yellow sundress, and to surround her with cosmos- her favorite flowers.

The Reicher family also had a tradition of covering the dead with a blanket to be burned along with them. Hermione thought the best would be the tapestry embroidery Mrs. Reicher had been working on for the last few years.

She didn’t cry when the following morning came and saw the unbreathing body of the Madam, and she didn’t cry along with the guests who mourned (she just felt numb), but when the tapestry was laid over Mrs. Reicher’s body, Hermione broke down.

Displayed on the woven thread was the expertly embroidered image of an alpine mountain with every flower the Madam grew on the edges of the canvas. However, it was the animals that overwhelmed her the most.

For the Reicher family, their chosen animal symbol was the Ibex. Standing atop were a couple representing the late Mrs. and Mr. Reicher, while below their hooves were three kids to represent their children. And lastly, there, just beside and slightly below the mother Ibex, was a lioness lying proudly beside them.

The stars made up the sky above the mountain.

It was a statement, that Hermione Jean Granger was an honorary member of the Reicher family. It was a bold move, especially to a muggleborn. But the Reicher family was too highly respected to be denied, so the guests said nothing, and let the brown-haired girl wail her heart-wrenching cries as she clutched onto the tapestry over the late Madam’s body in dear life.

After Mrs. Reicher’s ashes finally joined with her husband and children’s in their family mausoleum, Hermione said goodbye to Fren as he was taken in by another family- a friend of the Madam’s. The solicitor had also proclaimed her as the sole heiress to the Reicher family fortune and per her will, the old mansion hidden in the woods was burned to the ground.

“Frau Hermione, know that our doors will always be open for you.” Hermione bowed graciously at the families whom she had befriended over the years.

She left that village, not with a broken heart, but a mended one with newfound resolve and an entire arsenal of power and knowledge to survive.

This cycle of anger, pain, loss, depression, and solitude… she will not be part of this cycle.

“Nobby Leach! Nobby mudblood Leach! Just where did he even get the gall?!” Philip Rosier cried, throwing his hands up in outrage while the rest followed suit.

Before them was the latest newspaper headline of stating that Nobby Leach was vying for office as new Minister for Magic.

The first major move Tom and his Death Eaters made in the Ministry was the manipulation of candidates and votes in the succession of then-Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon. It was a major project Tom devised that would ensure their place as high-ranking people in the wizarding community once they graduate, not only in association of their family name, but as themselves. It would also be their graduation gift for themselves should it come to fruition.

Tom had promised them power, and what benevolent lord would he be if he did not deliver on his subordinates?

And it did. They succeeded.

Tom taught them how to whisper better to commandeer their pawns (including their own parents) into their desired actions. No one would suspect a bunch of seventh year boys, who should’ve been busy with their N.E.W.T.s to be the ones pulling the strings on the political battlefield.

No one. Except for those directly involved, and their parents who only realized it later when Spencer-Moon retired three years earlier than planned and the new Minister for Magic, Geoffrey Hawkswallow, had taken his oath.

If their positions as heirs to their family name were ever in doubt, this groundbreaking victory completely abolished that.

This victory had also guaranteed them the attention and reverence of other houses. It was only a matter of time before Tom could gather them into his fold, and with their puppet sitting prettily atop the Ministry, it had allowed Tom the freedom to pursue his true goal- his quest for immortality.

It was only convenient that he was able to recruit more magic folk and creatures along the way.

Speaking of creatures, the werewolves seem to be more troublesome in reasoning with than Tom initially thought.

But he’ll have to dwell on that later.

“Jericho,” Tom called, instantly cutting their noise into silence, “You know what to do.”

Avery nodded determinedly, understanding his unspoken instructions, “With posthaste, my lord.”

Tom turned to Nott, “Theoden?”

“I will not let a single stone unturned, my lord,” Theoden said with the same level of zeal as his fellow Knight.

“Good.” The raven-haired straightened in his seat. His fingers laced together and one leg crossed over the other like a king addressing his royal court. Calm and collected he may seem on the outside, part of him was livid at this article almost to a personal degree.

After all, how dare some no-named mudblood question their authority?

Tom relayed, “While this was certainly a surprising turn of events, rest assured that we will not let this slight go unrewarded. Though your outrage is understood, remember that we are above such petty provocations. We, after all, are men who win our battles before they are fought.”

Like the loyal Knights they were, they eagerly lapped up his promises and words of wisdom. If Tom had taught them how to be incredible chess players in their metaphorical gameboard of life, then Tom would be the Grandmaster of them all.

“In the meantime, we will put this matter on the side until we’ve obtained the sources we need. Now, is there something else on the agenda?”

They talked more about their findings, mostly politics-related and even a bit about the market. Their meeting was just wrapping up when Abraxas raised his hand, to which Tom allowed him to speak.

“If I may just remind you, my lord, and everyone else here,” he said with one hand holding his pocket watch, “it’s almost time.”

Silence passed over them like a tense cord. Eyes subtly shifted toward the man still sitting regally at the head of the table. Though to the trained eye, his shoulders were more squared and his eyes had a glint in them no one can explain.

Tom was not oblivious to the silent queries of his followers about Alduin and his mother. Apart from Abraxas, he hasn’t told them anything concrete about what he was planning to do with them. Although even the Malfoy head knew just as little despite being the first to be involved with his supposed ‘family’. He made his orders explicit when he said he wanted the Malfoys to meet them first. Of course, none of them questioned it and knew that he had a reason why. So, like the obedient dogs they were, they postponed their respective families’ trip to the circus on another date.

Which was why it brought the others much excited wariness when Tom suggested to set a playdate for their boys. The keyword being ‘their’, as it would appear that their lord had finally decided to stake his claim on his bastard son.

The full logic behind that decision however, has yet to be disclosed, as there was still the matter of his reputation being soiled.

What the Knights of Walpurgis do know, however, was that this playdate between their children has a hidden purpose. One that belied more than just introducing Tom’s son to the rest of his peers after the success with Lucius. It would also be a lie to say the Knights were not looking forward to this.

Just what kind of boy would Alduin, their Lord- Tom Riddle’s son, be like?

Will he be as politely cold and calculating as his father?

Does he have his magical potential?

Will he be able to meet the silent expectations set upon him the moment he steps foot into Malfoy manor?

Just how much did their wives exaggerate their tales about the boy?

“Well gents,” Tom announced after a loud clap that caught their attentions, “If you’ll excuse me, I will join you all in the parlor room later. I have to greet my son first.”

Without much pretense, the meeting was dismissed and Tom was already striding out the door before everyone else exited. The only one who followed after him was Abraxas. As head of the house, it was his duty to receive his guest.

Although internally, Abraxas had been praying to magic itself that no such incident would repeat in his house like last time.

But he didn’t need to worry because the boy’s mother- Granger- wasn’t coming, right?

Tom and Abraxas stood outside the main doors of the Malfoy manor while a house-elf was already ordered to fetch Lucius. As his personal guest, it was only common courtesy to greet him himself.

As for Tom, of course, what father wouldn’t want to see his son?

His very, very mysterious and powerful son, whom he greatly expected to not disappoint him this day.

He was confident Alduin would be able to convince his mother as he said he would. Based from their previous conversations, Granger couldn’t say no to the boy. Not to mention whatever occupation the witch had took precedence, and Alduin’s response letter only confirmed it.

From their distance, they saw the wrought-iron gates open on their own. Two figures walked forward just in time for Lucius to join them. The Malfoy heir adjusted his hair and waistcoat before standing stiffly next to his father, trying to mimic his imperious façade.

Tom’s eyes narrowed at Alduin’s mother walking gracefully with her chin held up in confidence.

Already, he could sense something was wrong.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” the brunette witch greeted when they finally came up the steps.

Tom’s iron-clad control prevented him from showing his surprise when she bowed a bit in curtsy. His mind instantly became suspicious especially as he took in her form.

Usually, the witch was dressed with a long, hooded cloak that covered her whole body as if she was hiding behind it. The only exception had been when they attended the circus. Granger’s attire however, was a deep green dress covering from a modest dip of her collarbones to below her knees. The dress itself was simple, with no embroidered figures nor jewelry, yet artfully designed with folds. On her left wrist was a bracelet of a golden serpent biting its own tail with a crown of stars similar to Alduin’s ring.

Tom had half a mind to change to gold into silver.

While he may not be one for fashion, Tom knew as much that this kind of attire was not something to be worn without purpose.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Alduin.”

“I am delighted to be here, Lucius.”

At least, as the two boys exchanged greetings, Tom was satisfied with his clothes. Smartly dressed and obviously tailored to fit just for him; something dark churned at the pit of his stomach at the sight but he quickly snuffed it out before his mind could stray to unnecessarily dwell on it any further.

“Thank you for bringing Alduin all the way here,” Tom finally spoke. A polite smile graced his lips, “I hope it was not much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Granger replied, her smile, though polite, was not as saccharinely sweet, “I would remiss if my son did not arrive safely, after all.”

“Indeed. Now, I’m sure the boys would like to be on their way. Please, let me escort you to the gate,” Tom gestured and took a step towards her.

Granger didn’t budge.

“Oh? While I appreciate the gesture, I’m afraid I was expecting to be escorted in and not out of the manor.”

Abraxas looked at her strangely, “I apologize, Mi- Madam, but my son only invited Alduin today. Didn’t you, Lucius?”

The Malfoy heir nodded up at him.

There’s a rule closely observed in the pureblood society that only those invited were allowed into someone’s home. To barge in uninvited would be considered extremely rude and the owner and invitee had the right to have the person removed from the property by force, if necessary, or arrested.

Surely, the witch wouldn’t try to be difficult, especially in front of children, would she?

“Oh, I am aware. How fortunate it is then, that I am not your son’s guest, Lord Malfoy.”

Granger’s smile stretched satisfyingly like a cat that caught the canary as her eyes focused behind them. The men followed her gaze, and much to their (especially Abraxas’) shock, Serafina Malfoy came walking towards them with a smile already painting her face.

“Oh Hermione! I apologize if I was late in greeting you.”

What?

“Not at all, Serafina. Alduin and I just arrived. Thank you for inviting me.”

What the hell is this?

Tom’s eyes further narrowed as the two witches exchanged greetings. Even pressing their cheek with the other’s as if they were old friends. Even more telling was that they were in a first-name basis.

Since when in any timeframe did those two witches were able to grow close?

His sharp look shot at Abraxas, but that proved to be pointless as he wore an even more bewildered expression.

For a brief second, Granger met Tom’s eyes and the corner of her lips twitched up in a small smirk.

No. He didn’t plan the witch being here at all.

O Hunter, squandered maiden’s blood newborn.

Here lies the divine blood of the void child torn.

Chapter Text

As the lady of space, and the walker of time,

I am much more than a ward of mere mortal eyes.

Hermione watched her son trail behind the Malfoy heir after giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. A reminder. Not for him to behave, but for him to keep himself safe. She knew she could count on her son behaving. Alduin acting rudely would be the last thing she expected from him. She had taught him the basics of proper manners, sure, but only enough to ingrain in him a level of respect he should give towards others. Whatever advanced etiquette he had adopted, he learned himself. Though she highly doubted Lucius could do anything to outmatch her son, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Now, she walked just a step behind beside Serafina, making herself a participant in their idle chatter while also letting the other woman lead her to where she had set up their tea.

The sun room was beautiful, with its framed glass walls and roof, light colored furniture to match the aesthetic overlooking part of the large garden, and the few plants and decorations. Though she shouldn’t have expected any less. It was her first time to see the manor in light and appreciate its grandeur beauty. Given her first experiences in the manor had not been the most pleasant, the difference in experience was already striking.

“Please, sit,” Serafina gestured to one of the plush chairs, making sure to situate her guest first before herself as a proper host should.

Hermione accepted the invitation graciously, channeling the teachings Mrs. Reicher drilled into her until she operated through muscle memory alone.

“Tea?”

“Yes please.”

The blonde rang a silver handbell and with a small popping sound, a house elf appeared. Hermione watched silently as she observed the tiny house elf named Daz as Serafina instructed him. He had a large, round nose, pointed chin, erect ears, and small eyes. Curiously, instead of the ragged clothes she expected from a Malfoy house-elf, in reference to Dobby, Daz’s clothes were a lot cleaner. Though it looked nothing special, she saw not a single tear, patchwork, nor thread out of place.

It reminded her of Fren.

“Yes, mistress,” the elf bowed subserviently as he went about pouring tea into their cups and set it down in front of them. All the while using a pristine white cloth as a barrier for his hands from touching the fine china.

As expected, Hermione was served her tea first, but before Daz could set the cup in front of her, he froze. His small eyes widened and his ears shook. Commendably, there was nary a sound of the tea cup clinking in his apparent shock.

Hermione could only raise an eyebrow in curiosity. Did she have something on her face? She didn’t think there was something that would warrant such a reaction from him- or from other elves. Occasionally, she would see a house elf during her visit to a black market. Most of the time accompanying their masters during their shady dealings as well as acting as guards in case business would go awry. Elf magic was a poorly studied subject, but many elf owners wouldn’t hesitate to use their unique magic, especially their power in appararition where they can bypass most wards. One time, she even saw elves being sold. These were auctioned off for having unique features ranging from albinism, being only as tall as a toddler, having no ears, and the like. She remembered when she passed by them, they looked away and cowered. Two even kowtowed at her feet but Hermione just chalked it up as them being afraid. She wasn’t exactly being subtle with her presence. In the underground, titles and lineages meant nothing. The only things that would make those people take someone seriously, was one’s magic prowess and number of galleons in their pockets.

Fortunately for Daz, the interaction was very brief and he recovered before his blonde mistress took notice. The nervous glances sent her way as he served Serafina was not missed though.

“What a proper house elf you have,” Hermione commented when the elf popped away after giving them a courteous bow.

“Why thank you, Hermione,” Serafina smiled, happily speaking her mother tongue, “Daz was my personal elf since I was a little girl. I brought him and his mate with me after my wedding. I admit it was quite astonishing when I met my husband’s elf staff. In House Cartier, it would be something… unsightly.”

The brunette nodded in understanding, “Truly. A servant reflects the master. I certainly prefer to have an elf who knows basic manners to serve me.“

“My! Hermione, I do believe this is the first time I’ve heard an English witch agree with my views on servants.”

“Well, Serafina, you may say that I’ve spent some time in a similar environment.”

She had been surprised. Servant, yes, but it was the first time for her to see a house elf treated so well outside Hogwarts’ kitchen staff. In fact, Fren would go out of his way to find the littlest task he could do to better serve his aging mistress. In the beginning, the Reicher elf even resented Hermione out of jealousy as Mrs. Reicher had her do tasks he would usually do. But time eased that tension and she was even proud to say she learned a lot about cooking from an elf.

Although it wasn’t lost to her that Serafina and Mrs. Reicher didn’t view their elves any higher, at least they didn’t treat them as slaves as most wizarding families had.

“I hope your transition here had not been too taxing. I can only imagine what you must’ve felt like,” Hermione added.

Pleased by her well-wishes, the blonde witch’s shoulders relaxed, “I confess the adjustments hadn’t been easy. Even when I attended Beauxbatons, our language classes were focused on French, Spanish and Dutch, and we were encouraged to speak in those languages in respect to our schoolmates. There was a language barrier between Abraxas and I that our chaperone had to act as translator. Fortunately, my then-betrothed had been a perfect gentleman and ensured my comfort. He’s also treating me very well and dotes on our son, so I was able to embrace the changes better than I thought.”

‘What a personal answer,’ Hermione thought.

But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?

Serafina Marie Malfoy nee Cartier. The youngest daughter of House Cartier from Bordeaux, France. A proud graduate of Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons. Wife to the current head of House Malfoy- Abraxas Malfoy, and mother to its only scion- Lucius Malfoy. Her wedding with Abraxas was a grand spectacle practically everyone in wizarding Europe knew about. With both rich families sparing no expense, their union was declared the Wedding of the Century that was published on the first page of the Daily Prophet. Their eventual romance despite having an arranged marriage also set a bar and became a subject of envy from other young ladies and married women who desired more affection from their partners.

She was a model woman for any witch, especially those of pure blood born in high society.

She’s also estranged from other pureblood wives.

Initially, it may be because she’s a foreigner with a slightly different upbringing, but that is a weak argument. The truth was her way of thinking and ambition that seem unorthodox to the norm.

This, she all learned from Alduin alone. Not that it was difficult. With a reputation like that, such information was practically basic and can be heard from gossip alone that she didn’t need to use her little birds. It was one of the ways Hermione learned in her previous life. By training her ears to pick up conversations and gossips in public settings, she was able to learn the movements of Voldemort’s Death Eaters and Snatchers. Thus, allowing her to leave the place she’s currently at before trouble could come near. Alduin, the observant boy that he was, just picked up the old habit from her after asking why she goes quiet from time to time whenever they go out.

“But let’s not talk about that. We can speak about our past and the men in our lives another time. Because that’s not what I invited you here for, yes?” Serafina continued, then laced her fingers together on her lap. A benign smile on her face.

Hermione’s lips quirked up into a small smirk as she remembered the looks on Riddle and Malfoy’s faces as she confidently walked, practically skipped, past them as she followed Serafina. Abraxas looked like he was having a diarrhea but the dark look Riddle had brought her pleasure the most.

In wizarding society, at least in Europe, the unspoken rules and norms of high society closely resemble those from the Victorian and Edwardian period with a few differences.

For example, while a wife may need the permission of her husband when she has to leave the house, she does not need his permission to invite someone whom she deemed a friend over tea and cake.

If they happen to talk about topics other than their hobbies, motherhood, trends, and gossip, well…

It’s not his obligation to know what women talk about.

“Please, try the tea. It’s lapsang souchong,” the blonde looked at her knowingly, “I brewed it myself.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hermione picked up her tea cup, making sure to pinch the handle with the forefinger and thumb while using the middle finger to support the base.

Years of being in the black market, where nearly everything is sold, allowed her to recognize the fine bone china to be part of a Royal Collection made from Staffordshire. From the glaze to the intricate gilding by hand using 22 carat gold, she didn’t need to look to see the hand numbering to know it was a limited edition.

This detail was important. Had she been like before, she would’ve thought the use of the expensive set was meant to boast. While some would have that conceited intention, after getting a grasp of Serafina’s personality, convinced her otherwise.

According to Mrs. Reicher, it was a form of respect, because it brings a subtle message to a guest that the host wanted to make their guest as comfortable and welcomed as possible by using the best of what they have.

As Hermione inhaled the tea’s campfire-like smell, she caught a glimpse of a canary fly over the glass roof of the sunroom.

After taking a sip, she smiled warmly at the other witch, “It is excellent.”

.

The following morning after she gave her son permission to accept Lucius’ invitation, she brought him with her to the largest shop in the world that sold owls, in Zambia. Alduin insisted in coming along. He loved Africa, and Hermione had a deep respect to the land that had the most unique form of magic. She had only intended to buy an owl, and thought that the shop (that had nearly every species of magical owl) would have that special bird that would have the least trouble in keying to The Den. In the end, her son found said bird and named him Orphnaeus, a Stygian owl known for their eyes reflecting the color red.

But when they got home, she told him to delay his response. Mainly because she still had to ensure their new avian friend became accustomed to his new home. The owls used by wizards and witches as messengers are a special kind. They have natural magical sensitivity and have higher intelligence than regular owls. Since The Den is more special than the regular magical home, she needed to make sure Orphnaeus was comfortable and recognize The Den as his new home. The problem wasn’t whether the owl could send letters from The Den, it’s whether he wouldn’t get lost because he couldn’t find his way back with how the level of complex magic practically made The Den invisible.

Fortunately, her son chose wisely as it only took a day and a half for the owl to key himself to the flat, with the aide of a few spells of her own.

Immediately, she tasked Orphnaeus to deliver a letter to Serafina before she let her son deliver his to Lucius a few hours later. The blonde witch disguising her invitation to exchange letters before they parted ways after the circus.

They wrote briefly about trends and jewelry, of which Hermione admitted to having a preference for gold and precious stones that look as if there are tiny galaxies inside them. But what really stamped their friendship was their mutual belief that parents should have a more active role in raising children. Since most families from the upper crust usually left the raising duties to house elves or nurse maids. This was the reason Hermione actually liked the other witch, even though it wasn’t lost to her she took pride of being a pureblood. It made her wonder how much she knew of the darker side her husband’s business, and the current relationship of the Malfoys with Riddle.

Fortunately, Hermione only needed to send a little package with her letter for the blonde witch to mention Lucius’ invitation to Alduin in her reply. Needless to say, the brunette easily accepted Serafina’s offer for tea and cake.

Which was her goal all along.

Mrs. Reicher said it was rude to directly ask something of someone. Especially since Serafina belonged to the group of people who were constantly barraged by others wanting to curry their favor.

For Hermione, she genuinely wanted to know the witch better as she realized she was a unique case. Even though her primary reason for contacting Serafina was to gain an invitation herself.

As if she’ll ever let her son go inside a place equivalent to a snake pit on his own. Especially when she’s one-hundred percent sure that man would be there. Watching her son’s every move.

With this, she’ll be hitting three birds with one stone.

It was about time she established a connection with someone here in wizarding Britain. Especially since it seems that she and her son will be staying here for a while. And no matter how involved Serafina was with Riddle’s plans, she’ll still have someone who can look at things from a different angle.

“That face cream you sent is an absolute treasure, Hermione!” Serafina chirped, “None of the ones I’ve used have lasted so long after application. I had even tested it out in the sun and my face is still as smooth as a babe’s.”

“I’m glad you liked my gift, Serafina. Although it is my own creation for personal use, I hope you keep it a secret between friends,” she winked and the other woman tittered behind her hand. The face cream was actually something she had made in her previous life. It was a gift meant for Mrs. Reicher.

“Of course. Though it’s a pity you haven’t decided to sell it. I would be more than willing to help set up this business should you change your mind. I assure you every single witch across the continent will have no less than two of these at home,” the blonde looked up after sipping her tea, “Now I understand the secret behind your youthful visage.”

Hermione kept smiling politely. She hardly used the moisturizer, honestly. Although she and Serafina were technically the same age, Hermione still had the figure and face of a woman in her late twenties.

“If you would allow me to be so bold, I would like to admit that I was surprised to meet you. At a circus no less.”

“Oh?” Hermione prompted, curious.

“Well, I suppose you would know that our husbands are close friends. What with them being in the same year and house at their school. Abraxas holds Tom in high regard and he had stayed in our manor a few times to talk business and politics with my husband and their other friends. The first time I met him was on my wedding day,” Serafina perked up as if realizing something. Her brows furrowed apologetically while her free hand came up to cup her cheeks dusted with a light pink, “Oh listen to me ramble. What I was trying to say, was that I would’ve hoped to have met you sooner at a more formal gathering. The parties I’ve hosted would’ve certainly been more pleasant.”

Well, it’s not that she’s fond of parties anyway. Dressing up alone in ball gowns was so tedious. Hermione shuddered remembering the dress rehearsals Mrs. Reicher made her go through. And because Mrs. Reicher couldn’t assist her, the old witch made her dress herself until she met her high standards.

It made her want to go back in time just to strangle the person who ever invented corsets in the first place.

“I honestly thought Tom was a bachelor all these years,” Serafina added and winked, “Then again, he never did bring another witch in any event.”

The casual way the blonde witch said Riddle’s hated given name piqued her interest.

Hermione chuckled, “Well, I suppose we share in that sentiment, Serafina. I honestly have never met your Abraxas until that day at the circus. You see, we have been doing a lot of traveling these past few years and simply didn’t have the time for social events.”

By ‘we’, she meant just her and her son.

“I figured as much,” Serafina nodded in understanding. Assuming in her mind that Hermione and Tom’s relationship mustn’t have been deep enough for the latter to invite her as a date to the wedding. After all, although Serafina’s marriage with the Malfoy was done as soon as possible, it took them nearly three years to get pregnant. “My husband said that Tom has always been a private man. He also told me Tom was traveling doing research on magic. I assume the both of you had the same agenda?”

That… was worrying.

From Serafina’s words, that confirmed that Tom still disappeared after Hepzibah’s murder to expand his knowledge on magic. Nothing diverted from the norm there. Now the question was what might have happened for Riddle to retain his… healthier complexion. Did he not find Ravenclaw’s diadem this time? Did he discover a new method for immortality? No, she could feel the malevolence on his ring so he still created horcruxes. What sort of magic has he learned and discovered during his own travels? Did he also jump from country to country like her?

Was there a chance their paths have crossed and were just not aware of it?

Hermione shuddered at the thought.

She took a sip of her tea to gather her thoughts before answering the other witch’s assumptions, “It had not been easy. Traveling, studying, and caring for Alduin at the same time.”

“Oh yes, I can only imagine. You have my deepest admiration for that, Hermione. I envy you had such freedom.”

There was more unsaid in her last sentence than just about her ability to travel wherever she wanted as she pleased but Hermione decided to save the prodding for that at a later date.

Instead, she said, “Friends or not, I am deeply grateful for your family’s kind hospitality, and I do hope Tom hasn’t step over any bounds. You know those men speak as if generations hang by their mouths.”

Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes flecked with stardust watched the other witch’s reaction with keen eyes trained for years. For any twitch of an eye, a quirk of a brow, a scrunch of the nose, falter of lips, clench of jaws, grip of hands, or even a stiffening of posture.

She saw none.

Instead, Serafina only smiled wider and even leaned towards the table.

“Not at all! Tom has been quite the gentleman and has given us helpful advice on various topics numerous times. Although I wish he would share more about his family, as enlightening as his views are about blood and magic, but I suppose I have you now for that, no?” she tittered.

And there it was.

Tom Riddle’s advocacies and belief about blood status hasn’t changed at all. Though the chances were slim, she still had hope that this world would throw another curveball at her. Alas, she ran out of luck and as she continued to converse with Serafina, moving on to more mundane topics, Hermione imagined a hundred scenarios what would happen if Riddle ever found out the mother of his child was a muggleborn.

None of which were good.

.

My father told me to be cordial with you.

Well, Lucius didn’t say it outright, but the notion was so palpable he might as well have broadcasted it. He supposed it was more appropriate to say the Malfoy scion was more cautious, wary, and doubtful to the point of uncertainty. His uncertainty and conflict were obvious in the way he wouldn’t look at him in the eye when spoken to, but would chance glances at him when he thought he wasn’t looking; his speech would also change awkwardly from haughty to reluctant humility as if he just realized who he was speaking to.

It was so amusing. Alduin had to rein in his laughter numerous times.

Mr. Malfoy must’ve given him quite the warning to force himself to act as such.

That hypothesis only became fact when Alduin saw Lucius’ true colors when they stopped to play. The toy snitch caught the blonde’s eye and practically demanded the person manning the store to give it to him. Alduin had to convince him himself that he should play the game to win the prize and wait patiently for his turn to save the man the grief.

He nearly lost his self-control when Lucius didn’t hit a single target, not at the fact that he lost, but at the words he said afterwards when the operator denied him to make the game ‘easier’.

“My father will hear about this!”

Honestly, Alduin wanted to laugh out loud his stomach would hurt. Instead, he tried to calm the blonde down and asked the operator to give his new friend another chance. Of course, he was aware that these games were rigged. His mother said it would be bad for business if people could easily win, as unfair as that sounded. So they have to get creative and add a gimmick. For this particular game, a layer of optical illusion was casted before the targets like a thin veil mirror. Making it so the targets would appear just slightly away from their original places.

The player had three tries to shoot the wand to hit the targets. To get the golden snitch, Lucius had to hit all three. But before Lucius could demand to restart when he was down to only one shot of his fake wand left and had only managed to hit one target, Alduin whispered in his ear.

“Do you want to have the snitch that badly?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then do as I say and aim between the third and fourth targets from the left on the second row.”

Lucius didn’t even try to hide his expression when he looked back at Alduin as if he had grown a separate head.

“Why would I aim between the targets if I was trying to hit them?”

Alduin shrugged, “I thought you wanted that prize? It’s up to you if you are to listen to my advice or not. Then again, it’s not as if you have anything left to lose, right? I’m just afraid we wouldn’t make it to the show on time.”

He smiled brightly. It didn’t take the Malfoy scion much convincing as he aimed his wand to where Alduin just said, but just as he made a flicking motion to release the harmless spell, Alduin suddenly grabbed his arm, and with the other, the length of the wand.

“On second thought- let me try!” Alduin exclaimed, surprising Lucius. His hand on the wand made it tilt slightly downwards just as the spell shot out of the tip.

He had to aim it at the right angle after all.

“What have you done?!” Lucius shouted; face flushed with anger.

Alduin just kept up his smile, if not a touch wider, as he held his hands up in defense and tried to apologize. However, whatever else retort Lucius had died on his lips when the spell hit one of the targets with a pop. It also hit the mirror behind it (also meant to add to the optical illusion), making the spell ricochet into another target and it from the back.

It was a perfect bullseye.

“Would you look at that! You won, Lucius! That was an excellent shot! I couldn’t have done that better myself!” at his enthusiastic cheers, the people around them, who mostly only saw the result, cheered along. Amused that a child won the first prize.

“Err… Alduin? Back there- h-how did you… my hand-?” Lucius stammered. His expression hadn’t changed from disbelief even after he received his prize.

Alduin raised a brow at him inquisitively. So the other boy realized what happened wasn’t an accident. Perhaps he wasn’t as dull as he initially thought.

“No need to say anything, Lucius. You held the wand and fired the spell. The prize was yours as you rightfully earned it,” he winked conspiratorially.

Needless to say, the Malfoy heir changed his tune towards Alduin instantly, and Alduin decided to give the other boy a bit of his companionship.

After all, how could he say no to a box full of premium chocolates?

.

“And this is the kitchen. It’s usually manned by our house elves since they prepare our meals, but sometimes my mother would bake flaky biscuits herself, or cookies, if I ask,” Lucius said proudly.

“Ooh!” Alduin marveled.

The kitchen, just like most of the rooms in Malfoy manor, was huge. Alduin greatly appreciated the pots and pans of various sizes hanging on the walls, the row of latest ovens (they have four!), even the tiled floors and marble countertops. Even from a distance at the entrance, he could see that they were clean to the point of shining. He could even bet he would be able to see his face reflected back on the surface.

 “You’re odd, Alduin. You didn’t blink when I showed you the trophy room but you reacted when you saw the kitchen. It’s not even that impressive,” Lucius whined.

Alduin chuckled, “I mean no offense, Lucius. You could say that I am just fond of kitchens. This is where the food we eat every day is prepared after all. My mother, too, makes food whenever I ask, but she can also do more than just bake treats. I would also sometimes help out in cooking.”

The other boy’s eyebrows rose, “You know how to cook?”

“Of course. I can even make a few dishes on my own,” it was Alduin’s turn to lift his chin in pride, “I’d have to learn at least the basics if I wanted to help my mother, after all.”

Lucius frowned, “But cooking… it’s unbecoming, don’t you think? It’s a servant’s job! You should just let the elves prepare your food for you.”

A dark brow raised at him, unimpressed, nor was he going to clear his assumptions that they have a house elf to order around. “My mother isn’t around all day every day. Cooking together is one of the few times I can enjoy her company. Besides, my mother said she likes seeing me enjoy the food she made. Is your mother not the same?”

At that, Lucius’ frown deepened. He was the same, to a degree. If his mother wasn’t out attending social functions with other ladies, shopping, managing the household, or discussing whatever adults talk about with his father, he only gets to see her during meals, between his tutoring lessons, and at night before bed.

If only he knew how lucky he was his mother wasn’t dismissive like other unfortunate pureblood children.

In his mind, he recalled his mother’s smile when he called her biscuits delicious, as well as the secretive promise they made about keeping it from his father when he wasn’t supposed to be eating outside meal hours.

“She is… but still,” Lucius squared his shoulders, channeling his father’s persona, “cooking is unbecoming of a wizard.”

Alduin didn’t look convinced, “But it’s something a filial son would do for his caring mother who would happily do a ‘servant’s job’ just to see her child happy, isn’t it?”

Lucius’ strong demeanor faltered again. He mumbled, “I doubt she’d want me in the kitchen anyway.”

Unfortunately for him, the ravenhead had good hearing, “Did you ever try to ask? I’ve only met your mother briefly, but I think Mrs. Malfoy would be happy if you did.”

Silence fell between them with Lucius sporting a very contemplating look on his face.

Seeing he had gotten his point across with the other boy and wanting to spare themselves from further awkward silence, Alduin cleared his throat and pointed at two double doors on one side of the room.

“What’s behind there, Lucius?”

That seemed enough to break him from his reverie. The blonde sent him a quick, thankful look before he answered, “Ah, that’s the pantry. My parents said I shouldn’t go in there but…”

Lucius sent Alduin a devious smile to which the latter mirrored. “No one else is here anyway.”

Without further prompting, both boys raced towards the pantry doors. Each had both hands on the handle where they opened on the count of three. This time, even the Malfoy scion ‘ooh-ed’ along with Alduin at the sight. Shelves upon shelves of ingredients, condiments, spices, flours, and more, were organized in neat rows in the seemingly endless number of shelves. However, their gazes were locked on the back of the room where jars upon jars of sweets were aligned and labeled.

But just before they could take a single step inside the room, they heard an obnoxious POP! Behind them followed by a gasp and shriek.

“Young Master Malfoy!” an elf dressed in neat clothes slapped his cheeks together, aghast, “The Young Master is not allowed in the pantry room! The master and mistress forbids it or he would get fat!”

Face flushed with embarrassment, Lucius whipped his head around and glared as hard as he could at the elf. “Alright! I get it already, Daz! Stop embarrassing me in front of my guest!”

Alduin, who had kept silent during the ordeal, looked back in amusement until he met the house elf, Daz’s eyes, who looked away quickly. Which made him raise a brow in wonder.

The elf bowed his head before them. His tone pleading, “Most apologies, Young Master Malfoy but please step away now. I do not wish to call upon the mistress.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucius said dismissively, feigning nonchalance even though the thought of getting scolded by his parents made him shudder.

Alduin shared his woe on that. His mother had caught him with his hand literally inside the cookie jar before. It was one of the few times his mother scolded him for something he had done wrong and was punished to not have any treats for an entire week. If he didn’t realize he was in the wrong, he would’ve thrown a tantrum. That didn’t mean he wasn’t in a sour mood for a few days though.

“Where did you pop up from anyway?” Lucius meant it rhetorically but the elf answered nevertheless.

“I had just served tea to the Mistress and her guest the Lady, Young Master. They are dining in the sun room. The Young Master and the Young Lord should also be at the garden with the other Young Masters to eat now.”

Deciding to take pity on the house elf who was doing an excellent job from shaking visibly out of fear, Alduin turned to Lucius with a patient smile, “I suppose it is time for a break. Don’t you think so? Plus, the friends you’ve mentioned must be bored to tears by now. You can always show me the rest of your lovely manor at a later time.”

Withholding his exasperated sigh, Lucius pouted and just gave the elf an annoyed look, “Fine. If you finished preparing the table by the time we get there, we won’t go near the kitchen again today and you won’t say a word to mother and father. Am I clear?”

“Yes, of course, Young Master. I swear I never saw the Young Master and Young Lord near the pantry room.”

“Good,” Lucius was about to turn on his heel before he cut himself short, “Hold on. Why do you call Alduin ‘Young Lord’?”

Alduin cocked his head at that. He, too, was curious. At first, he thought that the elf was probably just being polite and generous with the title but then he mentioned ‘other Young Masters’ just seconds ago. He would’ve asked the elf later but he wouldn’t mind getting the answer now either.

“I-I… That is…” the elf stammered; his wrinkly face actually started to break out in sweat. His nearly perfect speech disappeared, “T-The Young Lord… err… the Lady-“

“Oh, wait, I remember now. No need to tell me,” Lucius waved his hand dismissively. His tone more than indicated that he was done with the matter, “Never you mind it, Daz, just get our tea ready.”

Just like that, both boys left the kitchen with Lucius mumbling his annoyance about ‘bloody elves and their timing’. They were now heading to the garden to meet Lucius’ friends where they had been waiting while the latter insisted of giving him a tour of the house first.”

“Are all your house-elves dressed so neatly?” Alduin asked, breaking the silence. And his mumbling.

“Hm? Oh, yes. That was mother’s idea. Even though father said it was fine for the elves to just wear rags. Mother insisted that it wouldn’t look good for the Malfoys if guests see the servants in something so unsightly.”

“Ahh, how wise of her. By the way, what was that about me being called the Young Lord?”

Lucius looked at him funnily, “Well, isn’t it obvious? Your father’s the Dark Lord. So it only makes sense that you’re called the Young Lord, and your mother- Lady, right?”

His dark brows shot up to the coiffed hair over his forehead in surprise. Lucius, thinking not much of it, just resumed leading the way without a single look back. Thus, missing his new friend’s reaction, and oblivious to his contemplative expression to this revelation. Though it wasn’t long for Alduin’s face to break out into a wide grin.

‘How interesting. I wonder if mother knew about this.’

Deciding to save that question for later, Alduin walked beside him and the two started a conversation about their time in France. Lucius’ whine about his parents abruptly stopped when the other boys finally came into view. Apparently, the Malfoy couple are proud alumni of their respective schools and their debates have only increased since his birthday.

This part of the garden was more like a clearing; away from any masterful topiary and prized blossoms. An area perfect for the occasional picnic, and to fly a broom in.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, gents. Though I hope you weren’t having too much fun while I was away,” Lucius said.

There were five of them, and they responded to Lucius in kind with teases and laughter. Apparently, they had been taking turns doing laps around the clearing on their brooms and attempting tricks they saw; trying to outshine each other with Lucius’ extra brooms for children (their father forbade them from bringing theirs).

“And this here’s Alduin Riddle,” Lucius introduced on his behalf.

Alduin nodded his head and met each of their gazes, “A pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

After a round of pleasantries, they all moved on to the picnic blanket already set up when they arrived by the dutiful Daz. Though he’s already flown on a broom before, he can’t say he’s a massive fan of the sport as he preferred playing music and reading. Still, Alduin swallowed his boredom and kept on a friendly face while he observed the other boys as he kept up with their simple topics for conversations. His mother always said to never judge and to give people the benefit of the doubt. He certainly found Lucius amusing despite the first impression.

Alphonsus Avery was the most humorous of the bunch and had a penchant for puns that admittedly made Alduin chuckle on some parts. Evan Rosier expressed his excitement the most about finally learning magic, sharing that he wanted to learn his family’s martial magic in order to be a skilled duelist. That also sparked a new interest in Alduin. For all his early practice in magic, he mostly did it out of defense or to entertain himself. He’d never given thought of using it to duel against another since he’s never had a reason to. Then he remembered the times he saw his mother fight. She had a ferocious style, opting to deal heavy damage to finish the fight as soon as possible, but with a certain grace like a proud lioness.

‘I wonder if mother would also teach me combat magic.’

Leander Mulciber also had a humorous side, easily understanding and laughing at Alphonsus’ jokes. He also shared a prank he and his cousin did to another cousin of theirs during the summer. Theodred Nott was the most silent of the bunch. Happy to let the others do the talking and only sharing a comment or two occasionally. He and Alduin talked about a book about common ingredients used in potions. The mousy boy perking up at Alduin and the knowledge he shared since it was a book he had read before.

Overall, they were an alright bunch. Not that he was expecting much. At least their high society backgrounds granted them good manners and proper etiquette (though, by his standards, they still need practice), which Alduin greatly appreciated. Their lack of use in metaphorical speech also allowed the ravenhead to piece together what their lives were like growing up and how different it was compared to his. The main difference was they were basically confined in their homes. Their basic lessons attended to by tutors or even governesses, with house-elves at their beck and call, and only entertaining themselves with toys brought by their parents and visiting the homes of friends (oftentimes the children of their parent’s friends as well) and extended family. Travelling for them depended on their parents (usually their fathers) and usually never ventured far from the continent.

Unlike him, they weren’t allowed to leave the house as they pleased without either parent or guardian. Not even to visit or hang around Diagon Alley or Carkitt Market. Reasoning that they might get lost, kidnapped, involved in an accident (because that’s absolutely unacceptable to family heirs, right?), or worse- be exposed to ‘mudblood and muggle filth’.

Alduin couldn’t help raise a brow at such a pathetic reason.

When the conversation turned to him, Alduin indulged their queries with tales of his own. They easily accepted that he had spent most of his time traveling from country to country. Especially since he told stories at such a convincing way, it would be difficult to doubt him even if he was lying. They were fascinated about his experiences attending festivals and magical events around the globe. He’d even spotted some envy and jealousy on their faces. Especially when he told them he had traveled by boat sailing underwater, underground rails, and a flying carriage.

With hungers sated by sandwiches and sweets (although there was a brief moment of them wondering why their food seemed to have run out so fast), Lucius suggested playing again. This time they thought of racing against each other by pair around the clearing. The Malfoy heir graciously lent another spare broom for Alduin as a proper host should since he wasn’t informed that they would be playing with flying brooms. Though Alduin admitted he has his own broom (from the Raijū series made from Japan, but they didn’t need to know that) at home. The brooms they used for playing were manufactured specifically for children though. The kind that was set in a specific speed and could only fly at a certain height, and with a design meant to focus on comfort than aid in aerodynamics unlike professional-grade brooms.

“Don’t worry, Riddle, we promise to go easy on you… on the first three seconds!” Alphonsus offered good-naturedly, which was followed by laughter from all of them.

“You’re too kind, Avery. In return, I promise to wait for you at the finish line for five seconds so you can catch up,” Alduin quipped back, earning him a large grin from the other boy.

“You know what? You’re all right, Riddle! You can just call me Alphonsus,” he said with a thumb jabbed at himself.

“It’s Granger, actually, but alright, Alphonsus. Please feel free to call me Alduin.”

“Granger? I thought your last name was Riddle.”

Yes, these boys are an alright bunch.

Then there was Rowan Lestrange. While they all had varying degrees of skepticism over his person, Rowan was the least subtle of them all. Even though he happily took part in the conversation and even shared his annoyance about his cousins. He didn’t shy from showing his doubt.

‘What’s so special about you?’ Is what his face had been saying.

Not that Alduin faulted him for it. After all, the son of the man their fathers held in high regard suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Not that he cared about it either.

“Ahh I suppose my father’s name is Riddle,” Alduin hummed. “Granger is my mother’s family name.”

“Why would that matter? I’ve also never heard of the Granger family before. Is it even a pureblood family? Wait- don’t tell me your mother’s a mudblood!”

“Rowan!”

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered about it too.”

“W-Well- I might have… but you know he’d never marry someone of lesser birth.”

“And that’s another thing! Why did he have to mention his mother’s last name? It’s just so odd! Either he’s not who he says he is, or he’s a bastard!”

Alduin had stopped listening the moment the word ‘mudblood’ left his mouth. His ears only heard white noise as every mask of politeness washed away from his face.

“Mudblood.”

“NOOO!!! PLEASE HELP!”

“Lesser birth.”

“We were in the wrong! Please have mercy!”

“Bastard.”

“I don’t want to die!”

The screams of people stuck in agony echoed in his head.

“Haa… Rowan Lestrange, was it? Such uncouth words you just uttered…”

Alduin’s head dropped as if in shame. From their point of view, shadows casted over his eyes, adding to his forlorn expression. But just before they think he was going to cry; Alduin lifted his head up just a tiny bit for them to see his eyes.

They all froze in place as if a gust of cold wind hit them like a tidal wave, and dread unlike anything they’ve ever felt before paralyzed every nerve they had.

At that very moment, what stood before them was not another boy their age, but an angry beast.

It reflected in his eyes that glowed despite the shadows over them.

Eyes as black as the void that showed the blinding supernova of a dead star.

His round pupils morphed into vertical slits.

“How very rude of you.”

.

Hermione walked back to the sun room with her back straight. Even though there was no one around, she needed to keep up a confident appearance wile a thousand thoughts raced in her head. She had excused herself to the restroom (guided by another house elf who couldn’t even dare to look at her and disapparated away as soon as they could) to refresh herself and to gather her thoughts. The bits and pieces of information she picked up from her conversations with Serafina. As much as it shudders her to think it, she’s glad the other witch went with her assumptions and didn’t ask much about her true relationship with Riddle. Thankfully, her attempts of diverting the conversation to other topics saved her from the impending awkwardness.

A loud hiss met her ears, making her stop short.

In front of her to the left, lined along a wall of tall windows breeched by sunlight, was a marble statue of a woman holding a jug reminiscent of a Grecian artwork. Its proportions and details down to the folds of her flowing dress made it seem as if it would come to life. Hermione had just raised her head towards it just in time to see the thick body of a repeated pattern of black X’s creating diamond-like patters.

She watched on as the familiar reticulated python circled around the statue until she was staring straight into unblinking brown, nearly-honey, colored eyes with black vertical slit for pupils.

Nagini’s sibilant noises only grew louder the longer she stared back at Hermione. Her forked tongue flickered as the hisses change in tone as if she was shifting from one emotion to another.

Hermione kept her silence as she let the giant snake speak. But as soon as the hisses came, they stopped. Nagini’s tongue retreated back in her mouth and retracted her head back as if poised to strike. To her surprise, instead of baring her fangs, Nagini lowered her head before her until she fully saw the singular black line bisecting her head from the first pattern of her back down to her snout. If the snake had eyelids, it would’ve closed, and if she had been born a parseltongue, Hermione would’ve understood the string of hisses that came with her subservient position.

“I bow before the Honorable Mother.”

Doors of her Mind Palace opened at the sight of Nagini. She remembered Mr. Weasley and the terrible state he was in when they visited him at St. Mungos. She remembered Professor Snape and how the light faded from his eyes when he bled to death from his throat torn and shredded. She also remembered Neville, and how he made Gryffindor proud when he swung Godrick’s sword to neatly cut off her head like hot knife through butter.

But something else overpowered her contempt for the serpent before her. Something that morphed her expression into something solemn, sad, and even yearning.

She hadn’t even realized she had raised her hand to hold her massive head, while the other ran down the length of her body with the gentlest caress.

In her eyes, she saw instead white, nearly opalescent scales with a tinge of blue, and eyes that reflected the endless stars.

“Nagini.”

Hermione pulled back her hands so fast as if her skin was scalded by boiling water.

Standing a few feet before her was none other than Riddle. His face the picture-perfect look of displeasure. Those dark eyes of his that seemed to suck all light. His narrowed gaze was fixed on her, mixed with suspicion, before he turned them to his familiar. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at the string of hisses exchanged between them, the language he’s so proud of that no other living being can learn.

Curiously, Nagini opened her mouth towards her master at one point in their conversation. Something that evidently didn’t sit well with Riddle.

He shot a look at the brunette witch, “Is she now?”

Hermione’s brows furrowed at that but Riddle didn’t deign her any chance to react as he gave the serpent a louder hiss that made Nagini clamp up after hissing back a softer reply. She then uncoiled herself from the statue and slithered away as if dismissed. Leaving the two of them locked in another stare down.

At this point, both knew that neither was afraid of the other. For Hermione, she knew better than to let her guard down when it came to this man. If it was possible, she would prefer to fight him head on even if her chances of victory were fifty-fifty. For Riddle however, his pride was the only thing that kept him from admitting aloud that the witch before him shouldn’t be underestimated. In magic, and intellectually, it seemed. The fact that he had to forgo his usual strategies and had to rethink his course of actions disconcerted him more than intrigued. Then again…

As if he’ll be rattled by a mere witch with a dubious background.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Hermione broke the silence. Her expression less than friendly.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an infuriating woman?”

“I’ve heard worse,” she scoffed, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a conceited worm?”

Hermione cheered at herself inwardly at the sight of Riddle’s thunderous expression. To be referred to as a worm, something known to be the lesser form of snakes, was a massive insult to his serpent pride.

She said before he could make a witty remark, “If you would excuse me, it’ll be very rude if I keep my host waiting.”

But Riddle didn’t budge. His face changed to a look of amusement and knowing after calming himself from her blatant insult. Although his knuckles were still bone white from his grip.

“Ahh yes, how gracious it was for dear Serafina to invite you. It’s almost curious how well you two had gotten along in such a short amount of time.”

“Well Riddle, there’s just some things women are more compelled to talk about with each other.”

“Clearly.”

“At least Serafina was kind enough to inform me about today’s playdate. I found it quite offensive that I wasn’t even made aware about it as well.”

“That’s because there wasn’t any need to inform you, Granger. As Alduin’s father, I have already given my express permission,” there was a look in his eyes that dared her to refute his claim.

Instead, she bit back, “And you didn’t expect that I would just let this go sitting down?”

“No,” the immediate admission nearly threw her off. “Come, it would be proper to continue this at a more private space, wouldn’t you think? It would be most unfortunate if someone overhears your true intentions coming here.”

“And what makes you so sure of my intentions? Besides, as I’ve said, I shouldn’t keep Serafina waiting.”

“She wouldn’t mind,” he answered confidently, “She should be having her own conversation with her husband as we speak. We wouldn’t want to disturb them now, do we?”

She supposed, if the stories behind the Malfoy couple’s romance were to be believed, she wouldn’t be hard pressed to believe that Abraxas would be worried about Serafina. He certainly looked like he was going to have a heart attack when she exchanged greetings with his wife. She just hoped that whatever conversation the couple were having didn’t broach anywhere ugly. She needed to stay on the witch’s good side, after all. It might not be good to call it too soon, but the Malfoy matriarch is her only ally in this snake pit and she knew better than to tread without one.

Taking her sigh as acquiescence, Riddle turned and began walking down the hallway. It didn’t surprise her at all that he had a gait that as if he owned the house. Her hand flexed to grab her wand hidden in her dress as she watched his back. At least, she was sure that he wouldn’t try anything this time. Not that she wouldn’t retaliate if he did. The best course of action was to get Alduin and escape. In the meantime, she watched his back. His broad shoulders hidden under a crisp dark suit. For all of the wizarding community looking down on muggles, even they had to concede to the need to blend in with the population that outnumbered them 10:1. Food and clothes were part of that major exception; as the magical community has this penchant for taking anything muggle that interested them and then modifying or infusing it with magic for their egotistical satisfaction.

How confident was he to show his back to her?

Squared shoulders as opposed to the lanky ones hidden behind dark billowy robes in her past life. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she preferred this version of the Dark Lord or the madman she knew. At least, she knew what to do with Voldemort’s ruthlessness. Win or lose, she wouldn’t hesitate to fight, Tom Riddle, however, might as well be someone else entirely and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it and remain to have the upper hand. Therefore, the need to constantly be on guard, of which she hoped she wouldn’t fall into mindless paranoia.

Eventually, Riddle led her to a room used as some sort of spare sitting room or lounge area. Complete with a set of chairs, furniture, decorations, and even a few shelves with books. Large windows showed part of the massive garden where an albino peacock just passed by.

Neither of them sat down.

“Pretty things, peacocks, don’t you think?” Riddle started, his eyes staring outside the windows, “Alexandor Malfoy, Abraxas’ grandfather, was quite taken with them during his trip to India and brought back two pairs. The family garden was expanded and redesigned just to accommodate these creatures, despite being non-magical, and were bred so no generation would pass without having an albino chick. Nowadays, albino peacocks are as widely associated with the family as being Slytherins.”

This time, he turned to fully face her. Hermione’s back facing the closed door, which she met bravely; confident that he wouldn’t get past through her sea of flames for an occlumency shield.

“Canaries, however, are a different matter,” his eyes flashed knowingly, “While I promised not to harm another peacock, other creatures are free game.”

As if appearing from thin air, she caught the sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. Sure enough, there, at the foot of one of the chaise chairs was a small snake coiled around in a ball. The kingsnake with its dark scales and white rings along its body, was contrasted by bright yellow feathers peeking between its coils.

The canary’s head already swallowed by the snake’s unhinged jaw.

“Vipera Evanesca,” Hermione casted without taking out her wand nor moving her head away from facing Riddle’s. Both the snake and her summoned canary disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” said Riddle. His tone so casual as one would comment about the weather.

“Showing a lady something grotesque isn’t very nice either.”

“Why Granger, I would think it a service to let you know what happened to your summon beforehand.”

“What makes you think it’s mine?”

At that, Riddle narrowed his eyes. Seeming to have taken offense to her denial, “Come now, don’t play dumb. You should know as well as I what kind of wards that surround this property.”

Unconsciously, Hermione bit her lower lip. Of course, she knew. Which was why she only summoned one small bird and had it hide amongst the thickest part of a tree to watch over her son in her stead. Like most spells she had learned, she had tweaked this bird-conjuring charm and gave it a function to act as a sort of surveillance. Once dispelled, she would learn whatever they’ve seen or heard as if the memories were her own. It had been disorienting at first, since looking through the eyes of a bird was a bit jaunting. Too bad she had been caught immediately.

Hermione cursed Riddle in her head. Did he just have summoned snakes roaming around the property? Of course, he would know it was her doing. Who else would dare conjure something like this in a place with a ward that forbid any other creature or animal?

Unless… was Riddle also surveying Alduin using a summon?

“It’s a harmless precaution,” she defended.

He gave her a pointed look, “Would you believe I would put our son in harm’s way?”

“Our?” Hermione hissed; the word twisted her expression.

“Unfortunately,” Riddle replied, his face also looked as if he had bitten off a fresh lemon. Clearly, he still wasn’t a fan of the fact that she was his son’s mother. Whether because it was her dubious background, her magical prowess that matched his, or her defiant attitude alone, she wasn’t very sure.

Well, that’s at least one thing they both agree on. She wasn’t a fan of him being her son’s father either, (however in the name of all that is magic that happened) and probably never will.

“So how has your stay in London been? Alduin said it’s your first time in the continent.”

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. What was he getting at? Granted, she wasn’t sure what sort of conversation they would have, but she highly doubted he really meant to inquire about her well-being.

“It’s… fine,” she answered slowly, “Though there’s some things I don’t recognize since my childhood here.”

“You never spent your childhood in London, so don’t lie to me,” something sharp flashed in Riddle’s eyes. His look a mix between triumphant and suspicious. “I have eyes and ears everywhere in the United Kingdom, Granger. No one has heard of you.”

That’s when Hermione realized she had slipped. Her teeth bit down hard on her lower lip. Technically, she wasn’t lying because she did grow up in 8 Heathgate, Hampstead Garden Suburb, London. Although she’s yet to dare to check what her childhood home was like in the 60’s. But that was in her past. Here, it would be her first time in London, and between her and Alduin, of course Riddle would take her son’s word more than hers.

“My guess is…,” Riddle continued, “you’re a girl from a good, English, magical family, someone whose parents often traveled for their occupation. It’s a lifestyle you’ve adapted into adulthood, and even after you’ve gotten yourself pregnant.”

Is that what he thought her background was? She’s almost amazed at his assumptions, and in a way, it worked to her favor. Though she supposed it wasn’t that hard a conclusion. She wouldn’t have put it past him to not gather information about her or her son. And because his efforts on that end had been futile, he would have no choice but to pick up the pieces from the source itself.

It’s not hard to assume she came from a magical family with all the magic she knew, which could only be honed by constant travels to other magical communities; a taste she had given him on a silver platter during their bouts. It also wasn’t a lie she and her son had done nothing but travel starting when Alduin was only three years old.

“What’s it to you?”

“You seem to be an intelligent witch-“

“Seem?”

“-so I think I do not need to further explain,” a magical storm reflected from Riddle’s gaze.

His eyes held her whole.

“I will not have my only child be known as a bastard.”

Her genuine surprise and his bluntness and confession broke her ironclad control. Had she known less, she would’ve thought Riddle actually cared for his son. But she knew better. If nothing else, this was about his reputation. Something Tom Marvolo Riddle would care about than Lord Voldemort.

So he had decided denying Alduin’s existence would be a grave mistake. Unless he did a mass obliviation, he wouldn’t be in good favor with the other magical families he’s yet to collect in his pocket.

Wait- collect?

That was the moment Hermione understood. That sent her blood boiling towards the man once more. if her health wasn’t reinforced by magic, she would’ve started worrying about her high blood pressure.

She should’ve known better.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone was presented as the illegitimate child of a magical family. A stigma would surely be stamped on the child and both parents, but no one would also be able to do anything about it. And she highly doubted Riddle would let other people besmirch him over this matter. So why would he go over his way to use every opportunity to twist the story into saying Alduin was always his?

Because he’s a collector.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a collector of rare magic. It was the reason he chose to work for Borgin & Burkes despite the better opportunities presented to him, because most of that rare magic could be found in artefacts. She knew, she has a whole enchanted cabinet full of her own collection, after all.

And Alduin, her precious, adorable, only son, is certainly a rare magic.

If not rarest of the rare.

Including her.

To Riddle, Alduin is a gifted child capable of performing wandless magic at such a young age. On the other hand, Hermione is a powerful witch capable of matching toe-to-toe with him in a duel. And because Alduin wouldn’t think twice to choose his mother over his father, he had to consider her as part of the package.

Especially since she made it clear that she’s neither afraid of him, nor can he take her out of the equation (so posing as a widower is just not possible).

“I see you’ve given this some thought already. Tell me, how difficult has it been navigating the world with a child and no ring on your finger?”

She considered denying him, of course. If not put him in a very embarrassing situation, she’d never even dream to associate herself with him in that way.

But Alduin craved his ring.

“I’ve managed,” she answered instead.

In all honesty, it had been hard. The stigma of having a child outside of marriage was much difficult on the mother than on the father. She was not oblivious to the looks of disgust and pity sent her way. In this era and community of stagnant morals, no matter the causes of such a circumstance, the blame fell completely on the woman. There was a reason she only associated to those necessary, and learned to be shameless with her resources to ensure their silence. She’d also rather shield her son from all those comments and insults.

Hermione continued, giving him an annoyed look, “You seem to have fun parading around with Alduin. Advertising yourself to the busiest street in wizarding London, with how much you two look alike, no one would even doubt you’re his father. As if you had a less than savory reaction the first time you saw him.”

“And you raised your wand at me. I was within my right to defend myself.”

“By holding him at wandpoint?!” she shrieked, how dare he call that self-defense!

“Nevertheless, plans change,” Riddle retorted as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Obviously,” she scoffed, her expression still irate, “I’m not oblivious, Riddle. You told the Malfoys to attend the circus. Why? Because you wanted Alduin to meet Lucius. You wanted to see how Alduin would act with another child his age. Fortunately, those two had gotten along swimmingly. Not to mention the fact that he’s a pureblood from high society, and the child of your closest minion.”

His unperturbed expression cracked only to show his amusement, “Minion, you say?”

But Hermione wasn’t finished, “Then there’s me and Serafina. You wanted to see how I would act around her too, don’t you?”

“And yet you’ve done nothing to argue the notion, eh? Mrs. Riddle?”

Although she’s committed acts Gryffindor would not approve of, she’s still a bloody proud lioness.

Therefore, the way Riddle said that should not have brought a shiver down her spine.

“And because Alduin was successful in establishing a friendship with Lucius, you’d have him socialize with the other children.”

“For which, once again, you’ve done nothing despite being fully aware.” For the first time since they entered the room, one of them decided to move. Riddle circled around her, watching her with those stygian eyes as a predator would a prey. But he should no better that she’s no prey herself. “Such a powerful, protective mother, who wouldn’t hesitate to cast dark curses nor destroy ancient homes, would hide her fangs and relent to the whims of her son. How very… curious.”

She watched him from the corner of her eyes, “My desires are second to Alduin’s wants. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“How fortunate that Alduin’s wants seem to align with my own then.”

Coincidentally, it aligned with hers as well. At least, as a solution for this predicament.

Still, she had to ask, “What’s your end game here, Riddle? Presenting this show as a family.”

“Show? Why, no show at all, Granger. I simply want to be with my family.”

She didn’t believe him, and it showed on her face by his bemused reaction. Riddle finished his circle and stopped in front of her. In a move faster than her eyes could even follow, Riddle grabbed her chin between his forefinger and thumb. Forcing her to look up at him as he deliberately loomed over her, adding his physique into his intimidation. Hermione winced at his tight hold. Her determination to stare back, to show not a hint of fear, being the only thing that kept her from punching his gut.

“Such hostility… it’s as if you see someone else when you look at me,” he said. Voice so low and smooth as silk in her ears at such close proximity. “I wonder what your basis for comparison is.”

They stayed like that for what felt like minutes. His eyes searching as if looking for something, as if trying to uncover all of her secrets with just that gaze of his. But just as abruptly, he let her go, and Hermione instinctively took a step back to reestablish the distance between them.

“Now, what say you we go where the boys are? I’m sure you’d love to see Alduin right now, don’t you?”

Hermione squared her shoulders, channeling her pride, and having enough of their conversation as well. She turned on her heel towards the door but stopped only to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Just so you know, this changes nothing. Alduin may be a carbon copy of your appearance, but make no mistake, my son is nothing like you.”

“Your confidence is adorable, Granger,” Riddle huffed, chuckling mockingly. He said as he walked towards her, “It makes me excited for your look of disappointment. But as they say, one step at a time. But make no mistake, Granger, your turn will come, and I will loosen these lips of yours.”

He then gave her golden bracelet a baleful look.

They stepped out of that room with an unspoken agreement. But the thread of contempt for each other snapped momentarily when they were met with the Malfoy couple moments later. Serafina admitting that she had thought Hermione had gotten lost when she didn’t return after some time. Hermione apologized and to her surprise, Riddle confessed to snatching her to talk. Something the blonde witch thought nothing of and easily forgave. When they said they were off to see the boys, Serafina thought it a brilliant idea and decided to tag herself along with her husband. Of course, between his lord and his wife, Lucius couldn’t say no.

Hermione and Serafina filled most of the talking along the way while their ‘husbands’ trailed behind. The brunette witch indulged in the mundane conversation about this season’s color trends after her tense one-on-one with Riddle.

However, just as they neared the clearing where the boys should be, the peaceful silence of the garden was pierced by an ear-shattering scream.

“ARGHHH!!! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”

Immediately, they rushed over to the source of the scream. There, she saw six boys around the same age standing at a distance from each other surrounding one boy curled into a ball near a tree.

Alduin was closest, looming over him.

“MY LEG! IT HURTS SO MUCH!” the boy shouted in raw agony. His voice loud enough to be heard within the mansion.

Hermione’s feet moved before she thought of guessing who the child was. Her motherly instincts and bleeding heart reaching out for the helpless boy practically writhing in immense pain sprawled over the grass.

“Shh, it’s alright now. Everything’s going to be alright,” she said as she knelt in front of him. Behind her, she heard Serafina gasp in horror and she had to rein in her reaction when she saw the state the boy was in.

The boy with dark ringlets, his arm and leg were broken, and it was something very unsightly. His shoulder, which he was clutching with his good arm so desperately, was oddly lower than the other side. While one of his legs, particularly, his knee and ankle, were rotated at an angle the normal body shouldn’t be capable of doing.

She focused on the boy whose tears and snot were freely rushing down as his face twisted so tightly from the immense pain, “My name is Hermione, can you tell me your name?”

Amidst his sobs, the boy heard her, calmed somewhat by her soothing yet firm voice,“R-R-Rowan Les-Lestrange.”

Hermione mentally threw away his last name.

“Alright Rowan, I’m going to help you now, okay? I’m going to cast a spell to heal you. It’s going to hurt only for a moment but I promise you’ll be all right. Do you understand?” he gave a weak nod, wanting to be relieved from the pain more than anything, and Hermione positioned herself over him. Her wand, seemingly materialized out of nowhere, appeared in her hand. She first casted a spell diagnosing his condition, and learned that aside from the dislocated bones, there were large bruises over them as if he had been hit by something big. Fortunately, there weren’t any fractures or worse internal damage, “On a count of three now- one, two-“

There was no three. With quick, precise movements she was more than familiar with, Hermione casted the spell to realign his bones into their proper places. An ear-cringing sound of bones snapping was heard loudly across the silent, tense clearing three times followed by more shouts. This time from shock. She then followed it with a special, complicated spell to facilitate white blood cells into speeding up to clear the red, and help fade the wound faster.

She was, after all, no stranger to injuries. Unfortunately, no one told her that a physical aspect was involved in a true duel between wizards and witches. Her initial survival was only thanks to the basic healing magic she learned herself when they hunted for horcruxes (because years later, she still fixed Harry’s glasses for him). Hermione herself had worse injuries than dislocated bones, both magical and non-magical alike. Some, she still couldn’t fathom how she was able to survive from.  

“There. That should do it,” she said after checking once more and helping him sit up. The Lestrange boy patted himself down carefully as if to test if something was still out of place. His bruises should’ve been better healed using a potion for instant effects, but this should work just fine. No need to take this to St. Mungo’s and escalate this matter, right?

“Now, what happened?” Hermione turned to her son for the first time. Alduin’s obsidian eyes were fixed on Lestrange. His expressionless face eerily similar to Riddle’s it brought a shiver up her spine. “Al?”

Behind her, he heard Abraxas address his own son, “Lucius,”

The Malfoy scion nearly jumped out of his skin in his startle. There was a sick look on his face as if he had just watched a puppy die in front of him. He stuttered, “A-Ah, well…”

Around them, the other children wore similar expressions. Mainly with shock, utter disbelief, and fear. Only one boy, Nott, she would later learn, was also reduced to tears. That was when Hermione realized they were joined by a larger audience, as if summoned. If she had to guess, they were the fathers of these boys.

“An accident,” Alduin finally answered calmly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “We were racing against each other around the garden. We were having a terrific time, but I think Rowan got a bit overzealous. He hit a tree.”

True enough, on the tree Rowan had been curled at, was a large dent with bits of bark flaked off as if something had crashed hard on it, and just a few feet away was a broken broom snapped in two. As he let the words sink in to the adults, Alduin approached Lestrange, whose father was hovering closely, and extended his hand towards him.

She did not miss the way the other boy flinched.

“My mother knows healing magic, so it was a good thing she had come by at the right time. Good for you, don’t you think so, Rowan?”

Shaking minutely, Lestrange accepted Alduin’s proffered hand and helped him up. His head was lowered in shame as he awkwardly tested his previously injured leg. Internally amazed how good they felt as if he hadn’t been hurt at all. But as if he remembered something, Rowan turned to Alduin, then to Hermione, to which he lowered his head once more to show his sincerity.

“T-Thank you very much for healing me, M-Madam.”

Behind them, Riddle placed his hand over his mouth to hide the feral grin that stretched his lips.

Things were ablur after that. Hermione vaguely remembered excusing herself and her son with Serafina as well as the obligated introductions with Riddle’s, based from her knowledge, Knights of Walpurgis. She also vaguely remembered Riddle escorting them back to the fountain, wanting to focus on her son and his unusual silence. Of course, Riddle had to use that opportunity to put in one last word that very nearly sent her fist flying to his smug face.

“Isn’t it assuring, to know Alduin really is my son?”

Hermione and Alduin returned to their quiet Den, with Orphnaeus slept silently on his perch, none the wiser to their inner turmoil.

“Alduin, what-“

“Is it really such a big deal that you’re not married?” he interrupted.

Her eyes widened at that. Immediately understanding and having a good guess on what might have happened. She didn’t need him to say more.

“Alduin…” she pinched the bridge of her nose. Equal parts frustrated and worried for her son.

The screams of people stuck in agony echoed in her head.

It felt like hours for them just standing there, lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Hermione moved in front of her son and knelt down. She lowered her gaze to meet his, “Al, do you still want Riddle’s ring?”

Alduin’s determined nod was immediate.

“Alright… alright,” she breathed deeply, choosing her words correctly on how to broach the subject, “Then there’s something you must know. Al, mama’s going to set up a stage.”

At that, her son blinked from his stupor and looked up at her. Curiosity sparkling his onyx eyes, “A stage?”

“Yes. I promised that I’d give you what you’re craving, didn’t I? But don’t think I can do it on my own. Riddle… Riddle has set up all the props, now I’ll have to set up the stage, and you, my son, will be part of the play this time.”

“I will?” he cocked his head to the side like a cat, and Hermione was only happy to see his usual childish innocence back.

“If you like, we can just call this a game,” she suggested, “Riddle is no ordinary opponent, Alduin, so this game will be very challenging. However, whether it’s you or me, as long as we get his ring, we win.”

This wasn’t the first time she used this tactic on him. The first was when he was three, and again when he was five after his sickness in Buenos Aires. Her smart, talented boy, so eager to indulge in new experiences, never failed to agree.

This time, however, he gave her a skeptical look, “Mother… may I ask… what kind of stage are you trying to set up, exactly?”

At this, Hermione took another deep breath, “I think it would be good for you to know what it would be like to have a family.”

“But you’re my family!” Alduin declared, bringing a smile on her face.

“I know, sweetie, you’re my family too, and I love you so, so much, but the audience of this game… will not agree.”

Alduin turned his head away, knowing exactly whom she was referring to. He mumbled under his breath, “So that’s why other people are rude to you…”

Hermione decided to not stoke that flame, “You know that Tom Riddle is your father, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he nodded before looking her in the eyes again, “But so what? Just because he’s my father does not mean he’s my family.”

“Oh Al…” she sighed patiently. She was happy her son understood the meaning of family, but now just wasn’t the time. “I swear if there’s another way, I wouldn’t… unless you stop craving-“

“No! Mother, I-I want it. I want the ring so bad…” her head snapped at him, eyes widened at the sight of her son. His eyes were blown wide, and his pupils dilated it was harder to differentiate from his dark iris. But worse were his hands on his own throat, the skin starting to redden from the scratches he dug on them as if wanting to claw something out, “Mother… I’m hungry.”

Wasting no time, Hermione took out the broken time-turner and held it aloft in her palm. With her wand held in her other hand, she took a deep breath before a string of words left from her lips. To the human ear, the words sounded gibberish, which would be not far from the truth.

The words were unknown, a mixture of every known language and none, yet Hermione sung that chaotic language as if she knew them by heart. Here, she casted no spell, and instead sung with her very heart, even as she watched the souls of her hunts- reduced to balls of light, glowing but not illuminating more than a single matchstick can, enter and disappear into her son’s open mouth. Their light faded as they went down his throat.

“You have a very beautiful song.”

“You all right now, Alduin?” she asked once her son closed his mouth. Any souls left for him to feed on for his next hunger returned to the confines of her time-turner.

“Thank you, mother,” Alduin smiled after a nod. Then he pursed his lips in deep thought, “Does this mean I have to share you with him every day now?”

Hermione hid her bemused chuckle with a cough, “Al, I’ll never ask you to do something you don’t want.”

“I know,” he nodded again, and after a moment, he looked up at her with shining eyes, “I trust you, mother, truly, and who knows? Maybe I might enjoy this game.”

Ah, there’s her Alduin.

“There’s also another reason why I decided to do this, Alduin.”

“What’s that?”

“I think it’s about time for you to learn how to hunt on your own.”

You were born of the lion,

With the hunt in your blood.

My beloved child,

It’s time to learn to roar.

Chapter Text

How far would you go for the people you love?

“Please, please, pleaseee mother!”

Keeping the firm line of her lips was a losing battle the more she stared at her son’s pleading face. His cheeks puffed with an adorable dust of pink, while his dark eyes reflected the night sky.

“Oh, can those eyes get any bigger?” she raised her hands up in surrender before standing up from where she sat on a blanket laden with empty plates and baskets. One would say it unconventional to have a picnic at night, especially in a place as remote as the edge of a forest by a cliff with the sea just beside it. But it had been a tradition for both mother and son. Every year, on his birthday, they would find a place where there would be nary a cloud in the sky to eat and bask under the moon and stars without fail.

Letting out a cheer, Alduin stood fully facing his mother, not wanting to miss a single moment. His tiny hands clutched in fists from excitement of the spectacle he never grew tired of.

Hermione didn’t do this often, likely because she found no practical use for it, and it tired her more than any other spell she ever casted. Nevertheless, for once a year, for her beloved son, she’ll happily do it as much as he pleased.

Drawn from magic’s purest form, she conjured first- one of her bluebell flames in one hand. Then with the other, she hovered above it without touching. By her will and control, the blue flame squirmed and flapped as if surrounded by wind until it compressed into a tiny ball of pure white light.

She lifted her hand, and the dot of light floated up two more heads above them. Then she snapped her finger.

The tiny ball of light burst forth in a blinding shock that could’ve been seen from miles away. Yet her and her son’s eyes were protected from it. So they freely watched in marvel as the light dispersed as quickly as it came, into small sparkles of twinkling stars hovering around them like a blanket.

Alduin laughed and chased after a comet that whizzed by under his nose, making his mother’s heart swell as plucked specks of light and formed them into familiar shapes like a skilled artist. Draco, Aries, Cygnus, Leo, Ursa, and more; given solid form by the powerful witch, jumped and ran and galloped and glided around the black-haired boy. Doing tricks for his enjoyment alone.

Later, Alduin would pull on his mother’s hand and they would dance and laugh without a care for the world within their illusion of a sea of stars, while the full moon hung big and bright above them along with the real stars of the cloudless night sky.

The radio Hermione brought aptly played Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon.

Fill my heart with song, and let me sing forever more.

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the light scratching of his quill onto paper halted finally. Signing off his latest entry with the current date: 8^th of March, 1957.

Tom’s gaze looked out to the window of his personal home. A single house stood on an island he declared as his own. An isle unknown to anyone in the European continent, protected and warded from both muggles and magical folk alike, where he could freely do as he wished.

He stood from his chair and walked out to the balcony of his modest two-story house. He briefly thought that if he still went with his original plans after finding Ravenclaw’s Diadem, he wouldn’t have been able to grant himself this luxury. Living by lonesome on an island that rivaled Elliðaey, he couldn’t have had it any other way.

Looking up, Tom stared back at the full moon. It seemed larger and brighter tonight with not a single cloud in the sky. Even the sea was at peace with its gentle waves crashing against the island’s cliffsides.

There was something… different tonight. An unknown that would’ve irked him but instead found himself feeling rather calm, subdued even. Not only this night but the previous nights before. As he had noticed, on the night of March 8^th for the last four years.

Without fail, he would find himself staring at the moon and stars until that compulsion left him as soon as it came.

Tonight, as he quietly watched the sky for the fourth year in a row, the wireless he had set up in his home office let out a scratchy static sound. The wizarding version of a muggle radio wasn’t perfect. Sometimes, it would pick up the frequencies of other channels including muggle ones. For a moment, he had half a mind to turn it off, but changed his mind and decided to pay it no heed as he returned to just watching the moon and stars.

A jazzy song echoed throughout his home.

Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars.

Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

Tom could only be described, in the most blatant way, as extremely pleased.

That image of his son replayed again and again like a looping picture in his mind. It made the muscles of his cheeks ache at how much it made him smile- though grin would be a more apt word to use. He was so pleased he had to hide it behind his hand or turn his back. It’s a moment he willingly let his perfect mask slip but not so that he would let other people see it. The last time he had been very pleased was when he successfully gathered all of the giants under one banner- under the name of Lord Voldemort- and secured their unwavering loyalty. Even so, that didn’t hold a candle to what happened during Alduin’s playdate.

Though his subordinates’ children hardly had any use for him in the years prior, he was not completely dismissive of them nor their characters. They are his future soldiers, after all. In any kind of group, one cannot simply just waltz in and claim a position in an already-established community. Though he doubted Alduin would go out of his way to integrate himself, judging from his lack of interest despite establishing a friendship with Lucius. He only needed Alduin to be acknowledged by the other children, because no matter the layers, his son still, in a less roundabout way, had popped out of nowhere. Of course, Tom could’ve easily just ordered their servility, but there’s a proper time when to use force.

What happened at the garden, however, was beyond his expectations.

Of course, he wouldn’t allow his son to be at the same level as the other heirs. He could’ve implanted that thought once the boy attends Hogwarts, but no.

His son went ahead and did it.

With his back straight, shoulders squared with confidence and power, and a gaze that foretold unspoken promises of pain to the one who offended him; for the briefest moment, he saw instead an abandoned classroom, with boys at the same age wearing robes of black, green, and silver, with the Slytherin emblem on their chest, and a lone, dark-haired boy with eyes as black as the void looming over frightened faces and bowing heads.

Now no one would question the boy’s power and, Alduin had just secured his position in his own circle.

It had completely ebbed his annoyance with the boy’s mother and Nagini.

Now wasn’t that curious?

Twice his familiar had spoken out of turn in defense of another person. Specifically, Alduin and Granger. It was something completely out of character for her. For she usually did not care about others and even reveled at how others would look at her in fear from her size alone. With Alduin, he understood. The boy was his son and even an animal would be able to connect their relation, let alone a magical one. But Granger?

“It will be unbecoming of me to not show my deference. This woman deserves the greatest of respects apart from my master. For she is the Honorable Mother.”

What could’ve earned the witch such a title? To have his merciless serpent reciting it like a prayer. Was it just because she gave birth to his son? Did snakes value parentage that much? Or was it just the magical variety? In the wild, only a handful of snake species would stay by the nest long after the eggs have already hatched. And the magical serpents Tom had met in his travels were mostly solitary. Or does this only apply to his case? Since he’s a descendant of Slytherin, he had inherent prestige among the Serpentes. His son was no question, but did that extend to the boy’s mother as well?

Still, Honorable Mother, was too specific of a title.

He’ll have to ponder that for later though.

His musings halted when he caught sight of the fountain, specifically on the little boy sitting at the edge.

Alduin seemed to have sensed his gaze and locked eyes with him even from afar. As usual, it was like looking at himself in the mirror when he himself was ten.

Except he didn’t own a scarf or coat or gloves to protect him from the Autumn chill. He didn’t own anything that was explicably his at that age.

“Good morning, Alduin,” Tom greeted with a cordial smile that had a tinge of truth. That pleasant sensation of a job well done had returned upon seeing his son.

However, something didn’t seem quite right. For one, it was usually Tom who waited on his son at the fountain.

“Hm? Is something the matter?” he inquired. Was he in one of his moods?

The boy should’ve returned his greeting by now. With a polite smile that was just a touch brighter than his own. Instead, he had only stood when Tom stopped just a few feet away from him. His gloved hands stuck in his pockets as he gazed up at him.

For a while, neither ravenheads said anything. Tom still had a polite inquiring look as he tried to decipher what the boy could be thinking, while Alduin just looked at him with an odd expression.

His lips were pressed tightly together, with the lower lips jutting slightly outwards reminiscent of a pout. A wrinkle between his brow would also appear every other second as if he had thought of something unpleasant and hurriedly composed himself.

Tom believed he had never made such a face, even in childhood.

“Have you eaten yet, Alduin?” Tom asked, knowing by now that any mention of food would garner him a reaction. He was only secretly thankful for whatever metabolism the boy had, or physical activity he does, that kept his son’s lean physique.

As expected, Alduin reacted. His eyes widened before tucking his chin under his scarf in an almost bashful way, only to… suddenly glare up at him like he had said something offensive instead… Tom’s perplexity of the boy’s behavior overrode his need to ask him what was wrong. So instead, he let the boy go through whatever ruminations he’s having as Alduin looked skittishly from side to side and swinging his fist at his side, occasionally hitting it on his thigh.

Eventually, the boy finally sighed and looked him in the eye again. His expression this time was like he had just been arguing with an annoying person and relented only to shut them up.

“None of that today, sir. My mother… she said she wants to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Tom’s brows rose minutely in interest. Though the day ended in his favor, his last conversation with the witch left him vexed if not curious, suspicious, and intrigued. He didn’t need to either deny nor outright affirm her deductions of his actions. She proved to be sharp enough, but that did not mean it annoyed him any less.  

Still, this would mark the first time the witch came to speak to him of her own volition, albeit using Alduin as an invitation.

“Would you please follow me, sir? She’s… she’s waiting at the Den,” Alduin continued, reluctantly.

‘Den?’ Tom raised a brow at the odd term, as he looked down at his son’s conflicted expression.

“I’d be delighted to.”

His answer only made his son’s face scrunch up more but the boy gestured and began leading the way to their flat building.

Like with most buildings in the wizarding world, the interior was much larger than what it seemed on the outside. While others kept the trend of a medieval-esque architecture to distinguish themselves from muggles, the owner of this building was one of the rare handful who dared to integrate modernism in their design. Instead of wood slats and beams, the floor was polished tiles and the columns were made of marble, and overhead, the ceiling had a chandelier with luminescent stones instead of candles.

A far cry from the dark building he had rented a flat in Knockturn Alley years ago.

He expected no less from the more expensive street in Wizarding London. The magic folk who decided to stay in one of these rooms were those who either found the modernism actually appealing, or simply had the money for it.

Tom followed Alduin silently. The boy not once looked back at him. Either he was confident or simply didn’t care whether he was following or not.

Up the stairs, on the third floor. Turn right and count the numbers stuck on the doors up to 310.

Yes. He knew where they lived.

Tom had come here before. The day after he learned where they lived.

The first time he tried to force his way in, intending to catch them by surprise when they returned.

He failed.

The irksome witch enchanted her own door. A complicated, powerful enchantment at that.

He could commend her for doing so. He had done the same. It pays to be extra cautious.

What irked him was his failure to crack it. When a simple unlocking spell had worked, he was only met with a silent room gathering dust, and nary a sign of any living being living inside. Even when he tried to crack it and countered with his own set of spells, the door did not relent and opened yet again to an empty room.  

He could’ve waited, could’ve caught the mother and son by surprise at the lobby or in front of the building, but he had yet to make contact with any of them then and his intrigue of the witch’s spellwork overrode the ire over his unsuccessful attempts.

Still, he had theories.

Plus, it would not do to suddenly appear and scare them off. It was pointless for a predator to roar before sinking their claws into their prey.

Nevertheless, he was here once again, and Tom clenched his fists in anticipation on finally passing through the door that denied his entries.

“Mr. Riddle,” Alduin looked up at him over his shoulder. His face was one of seriousness and resignation, “Please behave yourself.”

An elegant brow rose at his audacity but the boy didn’t wait for his response as he turned his head back and placed his hand over the door.

There was no grand ceremony, nor any fireworks show. His son simply opened the door without a key and entered inside.

He held it open wide for him to enter.

Tom immediately knew it was not the same room he had entered before.

.

Hermione rubbed her temples as she took in a deep breath. She woke up with a headache but thought it didn’t hurt that much to drink a potion for.

‘I might’ve overdone it a bit,’ she lamented. She had only intended to return to the Tree to reinforce the door, what she didn’t expect was to have to do a repair job because some bloke had apparently tried to break through the Den.

And almost succeeded.

Damn Riddle.

She was wholly confident it was him. Loathe she was to admit it, she has yet to meet another witch or wizard that stood a chance of even scratching the work she had done besides that man.

Shoulders rolled back, Hermione opened her eyes and saw herself in her vanity mirror. Her fingertips brushed across her smooth cheeks, under her eye, then across the subtle line of her jaw, to the middle of her lips, careful to not smudge the bit of rouge there.

Mrs. Reicher taught her dignity and restored her grace; enemy or not, she refused to appear any less.

She heard the soft tinkle of windchimes and knew it was her son with that man in tow.

After giving herself one last once-over, she opened the door of her room only to see her son with an odd look on his face and Riddle… just staring at her door.

With his profile just slightly turned from her, knowing better than to completely turn one’s back in an unfamiliar environment, she could see his dark eyes roving over every inch like a keen scientist observing a specimen under a microscope.

She cleared her throat but he still didn’t turn towards her.

“You applied Lowh’s law of Spatial Compression and reinforced it with Grecian runes,” he said as casually. Pointing out the facts that did not surprise her since the inscriptions were plainly etch over the doorframe. He then pointed at the symbol for Aether and then to the doorknob before finally turning his head in her direction. “This doorknob, however, looks commissioned but not goblin-made. What is-” he paused as if catching himself and turned a quick glance at Alduin who still had a conflicted expression on his face, “May I ask what was your reference?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, unsure where he was getting at. Reluctantly, she answered, “A traveling suitcase… with an Undetectable Extension Charm.”

“Ahh,” Riddle hummed, his hand came up to cup his chin in thought as he surveyed the room before looking back at the door again. “But the fact you chose a door tells me you only took the principle of the charm in regards to spatial adjustments. Since the charm only works for objects with a three-dimensional exterior, and to use these specific set of runes- ohhh I get it now.”

He fully turned towards her this time; the corners of his lips stretched into a pleased, smug smile that was more chilling than it should.

“We’re not in London anymore, are we?”

A chill went up her spine.

How did he do that? She knew he was brilliant, but to dissect and rebuild one of her proudest works in no more than a few minutes?

It should be illegal to be that smart.

“W-What gave it away?” she mentally cringed at her stutter, but she had to ask. Not even Hector was able to get it on the first go, and he was one of the brilliant minds she came across since she came back.

“Just the door, actually. If your only intent was to expand the interior of this room, there wouldn’t be a need to use those set of runes. Then to use a door meant coming and going from one place to another. Not to mention this room has a completely different interior than the other rooms in this building,” he paused, “Though I must admit I didn’t expect you to use blood magic for your wards. Rom Arcanum, right?”

He asked but it sounded more rhetoric with the confidence in his tone. Still, it made Hermione flush for some reason. There are simpler spells and rituals in establishing wards, even those tied specifically to members of a family, that did not need the use of blood. Since blood magic has its own complexities that could produce more troublesome results when not handled perfectly, it’s considered riskier, more dangerous, and even archaic than some practices of dark magic.

However, if handled properly…

“Yes, with a little variety,” she confirmed, “Instead of going through the third step, I switched it with my own formula for magical transformation and fixation via multi-layered interference.”

Arcana are a set of instructions created in order to make a magical artefact. Unlike items spelled with charms or curses, the use of arcana is more permanent and gives the person freedom to design the artefact however they wished with its versatility. It combines the uses of runology, advanced arithmancy, and even astronomy. In a way, it is the magical equivalent to computer programming. Each arcanum have their own language or set of rules like syntaxes. It is a primary requirement to have great patience and a deep sense of logic in order to create one from scratch. For no two kinds of arcanum are the same and it involved a lot of trial and error in order to succeed. The only issue with using them by companies making magic tools, or shops similar to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, was because it takes too much time to create just one item and requires specific materials for the arcana to work. It simply wasn’t a method for mass production.

The Rom Arcanum is one such language which gives the primary function of concealing. Her use of blood magic was only to reinforce the condition that only those of her blood are allowed to enter, as well as those who were given permission.  

“Did you not consider the Arcanum of Logarius? Or Micolash?” Riddle asked, head cocked as he anticipated her answer.

Hermione let out an unlady-like snort, “Please, Riddle. Logarius does not allow the use of Grecian runes, and I’d rather save myself the headache of using Micolash, would you?

“Ahh I suppose it wouldn’t do to hurt Micolash’s… sensibilities.”

At this, she couldn’t help let out a bit of laughter, “Yes, I wouldn’t want to handle with that tantrum.”

The Micolash Arcanum, apart from concealment, included entrapment in the form of a misty maze. The issue was it does not allow any alteration whatsoever of its preset rules. If any attempts were made, the arcanum would retaliate and would instead show the solution to its supposed victim itself. Those familiar would akin it to a spoiled child used to having things done their way.

At that thought, Hermione and Riddle shared a laugh despite themselves. The whole notion just too ridiculous to not find it humorous. Only for the sound of a throat clearing popped that bubble.

They both turned to Alduin who looked unimpressed if not for the light that sparkled in his eye.

Still, that effectively snapped Hermione back to reality as she squared back her shoulders. She gestured but avoided eye contact. Feeling a bit embarrassed, “I- err… I’ve prepared tea and biscuits.”

“Well now I certainly can’t say no to that, can I?” he answered. She shot him a quick glare when she detected that hint of sarcasm behind his politeness.

It was just a quick trek past the foyer. The small table and said tea and biscuits were already set up and kept warm via magic.

There were only two seats.

Hermione turned to the younger ravenhead just as Riddle went ahead and sat himself on one of the chairs. His dark eyes rapidly flit across his surroundings, going from one item to the next as he knew for sure were more magical than at first glance, “Alduin, I’ll need you to go into your room now.”

Alduin abruptly froze as if he was hit by a spell. His eyes raised at her almost as if in alarm before that odd look showed in his face again. She wasn’t sure at first, but as she looked at it closer, she recognized it and almost couldn’t believe it.

Her son… was sulking.

“Al,” she said carefully with a little firmness, “we talked about this.”

His lower lip seemed to jut out even more, “But aren’t I also involved with this?”

Hermione sighed patiently. For a brief moment, she saw her younger-self pouting up at her parents when they would talk about adult things and wouldn’t indulge her curiosity.

“Yes, but there’s also some things Riddle and I have to talk about that don’t involve you,”  she bent down a bit to encourage him to look into her eyes, “So be a good boy and stay in your room until we’re done, alright? Besides, didn’t you say you were still sleepy earlier?”

“Not sleepy anymore,” Alduin mumbled.

“Well if you want, you could always go to Diago-“

“I’ll be in my room,” he interrupted and headed straight for the door to his room. Taking one last glance at her and Riddle before opening and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Hermione sighed in relief and when she looked back, she was met with Riddle’s incredibly amused expression. With his long legs crossed and cheek propped up by his fist, and elbows resting on the arm rests of his chair; looking so comfortable as if he owned the place. She had a feeling this is the sort of demeanor he would show when he’s in the house of his minions.

“Did you let him stay up all night?” he asked as she sat on the chair opposite him.

“No,” she shrugged, “He just likes to sleep in when the weather’s cold.”

He made a hum of acknowledgment but otherwise said nothing more. Probably chalking it as a quirk of Alduin’s.

Their tea was served with a lazy-looking wave of her hand. The teapot floated and poured their cups with steaming liquid of red gradient. Riddle had a look of uninterest on his face yet watched her perfect wandless, silent magic keenly nonetheless.

“It’s assam tea,” she explained by reflex when he picked up his cup and brought it close to his nose, “It’s a bit strong but its perfect for breakfast. I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet?”

She gestured towards the small basket full of breakfast biscuits. His gaze fell on it for a second before adding a cube of sugar and taking a sip.

“Well don’t mind if I do,” he said in satisfaction, accepting the food prepared for him without hesitation. She would’ve found it odd if she didn’t know already that poisons wouldn’t have any effect on him. Because of his horcrux, so long as his body didn’t receive any irreparable damage like getting a limb or finger cut off, he will be fine and even heal quickly. Not that the thought didn’t cross her mind. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure, if she did manage to hurt or kill him, how it would affect his ring and therefore her son’s craving. She still wasn’t sure if the reason was because it was a horcrux or it was one of the Hallows. Furthermore, she needed to be in the most favorable position in dealing with Riddle right now and poisoning him just isn’t the way to do it.

“Good?” she couldn’t help ask, leaning forward after he took a second bite. His other hand hovered under to catch any bits that flaked off.

Riddle lifted his gaze up questioningly at her but otherwise continued eating. Then after a moment, he paused, having caught her implication, “You’re saying you made these?”

“Alduin helped,” she supplied readily before fondly picking up one with a little uneven shape from the rest.

They had a moment of silence. Hermione, relishing one of her son’s creations, while Riddle chewed slowly, almost contemplatively. He thanked her out of polite obligation but didn’t grab for another.

He still ate the entire thing.

In her mind, she thought ‘so far, so good’.

“Now, shall we begin, Ms. Granger? Or perhaps Hermione would be more appropriate?”

She countered, “Hermione’s fine, if I call you Tom.”

His mouth twitched down a bit but he relented easier than she thought, “Fair enough.”

“May I first ask how you were able to figure out our names?”

“Alduin was polite enough to introduce himself, and the both of you are people of habit. The man behind the reception desk of your flat building was also more than helpful.”

She frowned, “You can’t just go ahead and ask something like that.”

Riddle smirked, “Oh not to worry, I didn’t.”

The brunette opened her mouth but her rant fell short when she caught on his meaning. Of course, Riddle wouldn’t need to do information gathering himself. His smirk stretched triumphantly at her exasperated groan.

“So you are the one who tried to break into my home,” she narrowed her gaze at him.

He shrugged and took a sip of his tea, acting like he had done nothing wrong.

Seeing that he has no intention of explaining himself, Hermione plucked five flowers from the bunch decorating the glass vase on the table and transfigured it back into it’s original- five pieces of parchment, and held them out to him. Tom’s head tilted at it in regard, he looked back at her in amusement after reading the first few sentences.

“You seriously wrote this in paper?”

This time, the brunette looked back at him oddly, as if he was the strange one, “This is a business negotiation after all.”

“Ahh, of course it is,” he replied indulgently and accepted them with a lazy hand.

 “Listed there are all the terms I want fulfilled in our agreement,” Hermione began to explain, but as Tom continued to read, his amused expression turned sour by the second until his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

He looked back at her with narrowed eyes, “Surely you jest.”

She sat straighter in her seat, “I most certainly am not. You wanted us to pose as a real family for the last decade and I want to ensure a safe environment for Alduin and myself. You might as well do your part.”

“You also want me to hand over fifty-percent of all my existing assets,” he glared, ”I understand adding a clause for security but these are just ridiculous. Especially in regards to Alduin- if he doesn’t want to do anything, I’m not allowed to force him? Demanding is prohibited? If he wants something, I give it to him?”

“I want you to treat him like a person- like the boy your son really is. No cursing or hitting out of any intent. Don’t throw around objects, either, and if you get angry or end up hating him, then simply ignore him- oh! And no shouting at him either. Those terms apply to me as well, of course.”

Tom leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, “There’s a line between gifting and spoiling, Hermione. Discipline is a part of a child’s growth.”

“I am against applying any physical harm to be a form of discipline,” she pinned him with a hard glare, daring him to refute. She’s willing to negotiate with everything else but anything that contests her son’s safety is out of the question, “There are other ways to enforce discipline.”

“And his claims? His wants? And here I thought you didn’t raise him to be a spoiled brat.”

“Alduin’s a very intelligent boy. He can-“

“Can you honestly believe that? Regardless of his intellectual and emotional maturity, Alduin is still just a little boy and children can go from one whim to another in a heartbeat. Can you assure that he would never ask for something outrageous? What if his action could cause harm onto others, or himself? And the only way to prevent it is simply saying ‘no’? Are you willing to risk that?”

Her teeth bit hard on her lower lip. Tom had a point. But isn’t it a bigger risk for him to take advantage of this and make Alduin do something dark behind her back?

“I-I’ll handle it.”

“Do you really believe that? Are you not absent most hours of the day? I’ll be establishing myself officially as Alduin’s father. It would be strange if I can’t secure time alone with my son. Are you saying you would be with us twenty-four seven? Watching our every step and listening to our every word? If so, then it is only fair that I demand the same for me.”

It was unusual to hear him talk about fairness, but she highly doubted that was the case given their situation. He was most likely pushing her into a corner so he could strike with his own terms that would yield more results for his own benefit.

Hermione pursed her lips and stared back at him in the eyes, “You’re allowed to deny or force him to a degree within reason that would keep him from harm only.”

Their stare down lasted for several heartbeats before he nodded, “I accept.”

She felt her shoulders relax a bit.

Tom continued, “There’s also this.”

Her brown eyes fell on the parchment he laid down between them, facing her direction, and followed his tapping finger over another clause of her written terms.

Her expression back at him was similar to disbelief, “What’s wrong with requesting that you keep only one mistress? I don’t like men who keep many lovers.”

There was an odd expression on his face again, almost like a mix between frustration and exasperation. Yet he carried it so well on his handsome face, it would’ve looked ugly if worn by another.

“Hermione, I don’t need any lovers, especially not a mistress.”

“Can you be really sure of that? We won’t be marrying for love, Tom.” she stated factly, and she honestly didn’t expect him to.

Romantic love was the furthest from her mind and she’s got her hands full to even include something unnecessary. She’s fully content of giving all of her heart to her only living family. The same couldn’t be said for the man before her. She honestly couldn’t care less if he decided to have a lover. Though she couldn’t speak for him, she at least knew Voldemort never had any with the lack of a Dark Lady and his apparent self-isolation. What she’s asking from Tom was to at least make it discreet. She didn’t want her son to get entangled if some woman decided to antagonize him for being his son. If they were really going through all of this for the sake of reputation, then he wouldn’t oppose to this, right?

If only she knew that at the same time, Tom was thinking the same. In that he had been busy himself with his projects and research that it basically robbed him of his urges besides the occasional wank unfortunately given to him physiologically in the mornings. Besides, he can’t be sure about her need for intimacy as well. And if she so chose to have a lover… it just wouldn’t bode well for his plans for her.

“No, we’re not,” he agreed, “Then you also realize this would have to be applied to you as well?”

“That wouldn’t be a problem,” she said in confidence, picking up her own tea. “I have no intention of sleeping with any other men.”

“On that note, there’s a clause that you seemed to have missed,” he tapped his finger on the parchment again, “There seems to be no clause about a future child.”

Hermione choked. Spittle and tea flew as she coughed hard and loud, she even had to tap her chest. Her throat hurt from trying to force out any liquid that fell down the wrong pipe. When her coughing fit subsided, she was surprised to see a hand holding a napkin stretched out to her. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it and mumbling a small ‘thank you’ between coughs. Heat began to rise on her face as she processed his words again.

“That was a strong reaction.”

“Of course i-“ she coughed, “it was! Did you not hear yourself? ‘Future child’? Are yo- are you even capable?”

She mumbled the last part in a soft whisper but he heard her regardless. His head cocked to the side, “Of course. Do you think babies are brought by a stork? Considering Alduin’s existence, I think this proves that I am capable of reproduction.”

“That’s not what I- Of course I don’t- I mean that meant you and I-“ she babbled for the first time since the war in her previous life. By now her face was as red as a tomato as she tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. Sure, since wizards and witches have a longer lifespan, their body would enable them to reproduce past the normal age limit for muggles. Still…

How could he suggest that they would ever do that?

Didn’t he hate her?

“This is just a precaution, Hermione,” he supplied. If her senses were still keen, she would’ve noticed amusement in his dark eyes and laughter at the corner of his lips, “From what you presented, you prefer to keep this as detailed as possible, yes? Should another child be born between us, I want full rights as with Alduin. On a related note, if you had past dalliances, that’s fine with me, but I must warn you- if you become involved with another man after we marry, rest assured that I will do something about it.”

It was the most direct threat he ever gave her without their wands out that she couldn’t help the shudder run down her spine despite herself.

She swallowed, the heat over her cheeks dissipating a bit no thanks to the open threat, “So it’s agreed that neither of us will be taking lovers.”

“That seems to be the case.”

The rest of their talk went surprisingly smooth after that. Hours passed by without neither of them noticing. Hermione mostly stressed her need for security while Tom kept making counteroffers for every other condition. Numerous times she had to pause and think just to keep herself from saying anything reckless as she deciphered his words. It was different from dealing with her associates and shady businessmen from black markets. Maybe because she knew beforehand that Tom wasn’t someone to be taken lightly. A lot is at stake here and contrary with her experience with time and space, she has absolutely no control of it so she had to seize every precaution possible. It certainly been a long time since she had to do this much critical thinking with another intellectual.

It was honestly… refreshing.

Until it wasn’t.

“As for residences, I’m afraid you can’t stay here,” she said. “You know that there’s no modifying an arcanum and I have no plans of starting from scratch and gathering all the ingredients needed again in such a short notice. I know people I can contact to find a suitable home. Money won’t be an issue either. After all, it would be strange if you keep staying with the Malfoys instead-“

“Wait a moment,” Tom raised his hand to stop her mid-sentence and brought it over to his face as he took a deep breath, “Are you insinuating that I’ve been mooching off of Malfoy? That I’m some… beggar with nothing to his name that just happens to be well-dressed?”

His magic surged like a tidal wave against her skin. It reminded her of the sensation as she was crashed between the wild currents, and she swore her nose even smelled the sea.

Tom Riddle was angry at her.

So deeply offended, his knuckles were bone white over the armrests of his chair in his restraint as a long blade was held across his throat the moment he let out such dangerous magic. The samurai armor kept in one corner of the room came to life with blue fire behind the darkness of its helmet. Made to protect its masters against any threat, it withdrew its sword that can cut through iron and poised over Tom’s throat just a hair’s breath away. Its armor was made to be immune to as much spells as possible. The same goes to the other magical artefacts displaying the Den. The tigers leapt off their paintings and circled around his chair. The polar bear rug filled like an inflated balloon as it positioned itself behind him with steel-like claws and teeth out.

Yet, despite the existing danger literally surrounding him, Tom’s hardened glare hiding the very void never once left hers.

And for the first time, at the face of his magic, she couldn’t find it in herself to retaliate. Instead, heat welled up in her cheeks once more as embarrassment filled her this time.

“I- Well, you never mentioned where you lived,” she tried to reason, “And Serafina mentioned you’ve stayed with them for days on end…”

“You never asked,” he bit out. The ironclad control he had over his magic as he still had to consider the literal sword on his throat was amazing, “The suite I have at Malfoy Manor was a gift from Abraxas. I only stay there if I have businesses that require me to attend to for days since I’m out of the country.”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to offend you,” her gaze dropped to her lap, feeling pathetic. There was just something different in his expression. It was the most genuine she’s ever seen of him that clearly showed his true feelings.

She already knew how to deal with his anger, his ire, and his frustration. But this…

He’s hurt.

Of all the things this world could throw at her after her death, this wasn’t one of them and she didn’t know what to do.

“Well consider me offended,” he hissed, voice straining against his own self-control.

Hermione supposed she could admit it was her fault. She wasn’t informed about this side of Voldemort and during his reign of terror, people feared him so much they just gave him anything he wanted without question just to spare their lives. Even before he created his new body, he sequestered between the Riddle manor and the homes of his followers who were more than happy to shelter him until he could rise again.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Hermione raised her hand and motioned to the magical artefacts. She said ‘stop’ in Albanian, “Ndalo.”

The artefacts obeyed her in a heartbeat and returned to their motionless positions at their respective places. When she peeked back at Tom, his hand was inspecting his throat for any droplet of blood in case the sharp blade nicked his skin.

“That was insulting,” he stated, glaring at her.

“I said I was sorry,” she apologized truthfully.

“Congratulations, Ms. Granger, you have successfully offended me,” he added, “and for your information, I do have my own house and source of income.”

She bit back her reflexive question to ask. She should’ve known when he didn’t bat about sharing half of his assets the first time they started this negotiation.

It was a miracle he didn’t lunge at her the second she called off her artefacts.

Instead, she asked, “Still, about our place of resi-“

“I’ll take care of it.”

There was a finality in his tone that gave no room for argument. Hermione may be proud but she knew when to admit when she was wrong and decided to let him have this. In retrospect, reminding him of his poverty-stricken life and implying he still lived in such conditions was in very poor taste. Hermione grew up in comfort and even when she experienced hunger and went through days without a roof over her head, she still had magic and her travels allowed her to meet new people who helped her.

But little Tom Marvolo Riddle, orphan boy, who did not fully understand his gift, for the first twelve years of his life, had nothing.

Silence passed over them with some awkwardness. Hermione, stewing in her embarrassment as she mentally scolded herself that distinctly reminded her of Mrs. Reicher, and Tom, simmering down from his anger.

When enough time had passed, Hermione cleared her throat, “We still haven’t decided how to carry this, yet. Supposed an Unbreakable Vow would be agreeable for the both of us but…”

Tom huffed, “But it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy all of these conditions in one sitting, and we can’t afford someone else to do the binding for us.”

Yes, apparently, he had already made up a story that would be a perfect cover for their fake family. She couldn’t say she was a fan of it but it worked so well for the timeline of events no one would even think of questioning its validity. Especially if he had his Knights to testify for them. It also wouldn’t interrupt with her and her associates. Although she would need to personally inform some of them about it as soon as possible.

“So what do you suggest?”

From the inside pocket of his blazer, he took out a small dirk with a silver handle inlaid with green stones. Hermione’s eyes widened when Tom turned the blade and sliced a small wound on his thumb just enough for blood to flow out freely for a short time.

Without even asking for her consent, he began drawing on the polished oak of her table. It looked like an intricate looking ‘S’ almost as if done with a calligraphy pen with how fine the strokes were. Which was honestly amazing on itself since he was only using his thumb.

Once he was done, Tom held up his thumb over the small symbol as big as a coaster and let a single drop of blood fall on top of it. However, instead of splashing over the letter, it disappeared just before it hit and if she had blinked, she would’ve missed how the letter rippled.

A small ‘pop’ came from beside their table and before them stood a creature that closely resembled a goblin with its pointy ears, sharp teeth, and sharp nails. It was plump despite its small height and wore a simple-looking tunic if it weren’t for the fact it was made from metal thread and its leather belt was imprinted with complex designs and the buckle was made from adamantine. A small bag and alcohol flask hung on each side of its waist. But its most distinguishing feature was its elongated skull that tapered at the end colored a bright, bloody red that contrasted heavily against its green-tinged skin.

“My liege!” the creature exclaimed the second it spotted Tom. Its bearded face, braided in intricate styles, stretched into a wide genuine smile showing its sharp teeth, “I am always honored to receive your summons. How can this humble servant be of any service?”

Tom acknowledged, pleased at how the creature bowed before him so lowly at his feet. He then turned to her, “Hermione, this is Zanrasa, he is a-“

“Red Cap,” the brunette breathed, closing her mouth, unaware it had opened from her shock. She shot him a look that could only be disbelief, “You have a pact with a Red Cap too?”

“Too?” Tom frowned.

Hermione summoned her own dirk and performed the same ritual as Tom. But instead of a letter ‘S’, she drew a single circle with a star on top of the ring. When she fed it her own drop of blood, another Red Cap appeared with a pop much closer to her side.

“My liege!” her Red Cap cried out with the same exuberance as Tom’s upon seeing his master, “No words can describe the joy I feel whenever you call upon me. Ask me, my dear lady, and I promise you shall receive.”

“Ziryushu,” she nodded.

Red Caps are a species of magical creature that closely resembled goblins in appearances but that was the extent of their similarities. In fact, goblins absolutely despise Red Caps. As younglings, they were born with their conical heads a pale white, which would change into varying shades of red as they grew from feasting on the blood of other creatures. But unlike vampires or other blood-sucking creatures, they didn’t need to physically harm their prey and just needed to be near to siphon them of their blood. They do not hunt to kill and they are as elusive as sprites so they were never categorized as creatures to be wary of by any magical ministry. Additionally, they stay away from any human settlement and lived in unoccupied ancient ruins. In truth, Red Caps are considered weak creatures. Their magical capabilities only allowed them to hunt for their survival, but there is one thing that makes them stand out from any magical creature.

Red Caps make the best oath keepers. If a successful pact was made, they would ensure any sort of transaction between their master and another would be followed to the letter. They would also ensure their master would reap the most benefits out of any deal or promise, whether it be business or personal. Their magic allowed them to bypass and override any existing vows prior, no matter if it was an Unbreakable Vow or blood magic. Which was why goblins abhorred them, because they could not go against a Red Cap’s magic, they felt cheated and robbed of the gold rightfully owed to them by a witch or wizard.

The only reason every other household did not have one, is because, like giants, Red Caps are creatures that recognize only the strong and powerful, magically. In their eyes, they would not be able to see any difference between other species. Dogs are all dogs, hippogriffs are all hippogriffs, humans are all humans. No matter the gender or distinguishing feature, they would never be able to tell. They only recognize the soul, which defines a living being’s might in magic. Which was why they chose to drink blood, because that is the closest physical thing to a soul- to magic.

Their inability to recognize differences also disallowed them from seeking creatures with powerful magic as well. Which was why one must seek them out themselves. Unfortunately, Red Caps are extremely picky. Even if successful contact was made, if they do not deem them as strong, they would just leave, or even siphon out their blood as a snack.

On the chance they did meet a powerful individual, that would be the only time they could recognize differences to ensure they knew their master. Their heads would also color in accordance with their master’s power and even adopt their might. In their hierarchy, the more bloody-red their heads were, the more powerful they were.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF MAGIC ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Eyes wide from the sudden outburst, Hermione stared back at the fat, older Red Cap absolutely shaking from anger from where he stood.

“Why if it isn’t old Zanrasa!” Ziryushu exclaimed, disdain behind his toothy grin.

The older Red Cap turned his gaze at Hermione, his beady eyes with no sclera widened before turning back to the former, “She is your liege?”

Ziryushu did the same with Tom, “And I suppose he is yours.”

“Ziryushu, how do you know Tom’s err- Red Cap?” she couldn’t help asking.

Her Red Cap answered, tone and posture returned to utmost respect in the face of his master, “He was my former clan leader, my liege. But after our pact was made and you have blessed me with your magic, I claimed his only daughter as my mate and his hate for me burned as hot as the sun ever since.”

“Zanrisa should know better than to accept you, you belligerent ninnyhammer!”

That was only partially true. Ziryushu used to be considered one of the weakest in the clan (clans composed of different unrelated families sharing one homestead). But a year later, he returned with a head as beautiful crimson red as Zanrasa, who was already the clan leader and became one of the most powerful after his pact with his liege.

With the appearance of a new powerhouse, their clan, which was considered one of the largest, was cut in half as some decided to follow Ziryushu, and to add salt to injury, he took his former clan leader’s daughter as his own.

However, the real reason the older Red Cap had such disdain over the younger, was because Ziryushu would not reveal who his liege was. Though he was bound and would never betray his own master, as a creature who greatly valued power, Zanrasa was more than eager to meet another powerful individual.

Especially since Ziryushu’s liege was just as powerful as Zanrasa’s own.

It was an interesting story, Hermione had to admit. Even though she did not appreciate the seemingly convenient coincidence that further tied her with Tom Riddle than she already was.

“Enough!” Tom barked, effectively ceasing the exchange of profanity between the two Red Caps. “I did not summon you here to watch you fight with your in-law, Zanrasa.”

The older Red Cap instantly turned and bent on one knee, “My deepest apologies, my liege. Chiefest and greatest of all wizards in the world.”

Ziryushu did the same, genuflecting before Hermione’s feet, “I regret you had to witness something so unsightly, my liege. Please accept my apology, crowned witch by the stars.”

Hermione groaned internally. It was bad enough when the werewolves called her ‘Lady’. As appreciative as she was with Ziryushu, the Red Cap’s attitude towards her turned a complete 180 after their pact and he hadn’t stopped calling her with such titles and praises. Even if it was customary for them to do as such for the masters they recognized as strongest of the strong.

Tom, however, greedily lapped up all the praise though.

“I will be making a contract with this witch here, Zanrasa,” Tom explained, gesturing to Hermione, “and I want you to oversee it.”

“And since you are here, I would like you to do the same for me, Ziryushu,” Hermione added.

The two Red Caps looked at one another. Despite their transgressions, they readily set aside their qualms to fulfill their master’s wishes.

“These terms are for business… and marriage…” Ziryushu mumbled as they shared the parchment between them. The younger Red Cap snapped his eyes up between his liege and the wizard before his expression lit up. He clapped his hands together in realization, “Oh of course! As expected of my liege to choose someone as strong to father her child!”

Beside him, Zanrasa’s expression also lit up in excitement. Even though he’s never met his liege’s child, he was also praising Tom for choosing a powerful witch as his mate, and by Ziryushu’s reaction, their child must have powerful magic as well.

“I… That’s not…” Hermione fidgeted awkwardly. After all, she can’t outrightly say she explicitly chose Tom as her son’s father. Of all people. She wasn’t even aware her son had a father prior to meeting him.

All this time, she thought Alduin’s existence was the same as her’s.

She threw a look over the ravenhead but Tom looked absolutely nonplussed as he poured and drank more of his tea. Content to just watching the show.

Another set of hours passed as they let the Red Caps read their contract. It was almost fun watching the two debate, edit, and make counteroffers for the benefit of their masters. Hermione and Tom mostly remained silent and only interjected when needed, adding another condition if they thought of any.

She never noticed his stares as she lost herself to her thoughts.

“All of the conditions have been accounted for and the details are ironed out,” Ziryushu announced as he sent Hermione a silent, apologetic look. Zanrasa and Tom were relentless but at least he was successful in establishing her wish to prioritize their security.

“However, we have agreed that it would be best for you two to marry first before we do our parts. Depending on the rite you chose, some of these conditions will be fulfilled and our magic would only reinforce them further,” Zanrasa added. Neither Red Cap questioned why they had a child before they married. They have no concern for the customs and traditions of other species and only care about fulfilling their master’s wishes.

At this, a newfound wave of apprehension came over Hermione. She had thought the clauses she included regarding marriage would save her from having to go through an actual ceremony.

“Ah about that,” Tom started, “I propose we do the Rite of Ringwreath. It’s the same ceremony and vows my ‘minions’ used for their own marriages and-“

“No.”

The corner of his eye twitched, “No?”

“No,” Hermione said firmly. She then picked another flower from the vase. Instead of another parchment, it was just a small piece of paper.

“I am unfamiliar with this rite,” Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously at her, not liking what he understood from the passage.

“I doubt you would. Only a handful of people in history went through this, and I only knew because a friend of mine had parents married with it,” she answered before taking a deep breath, channeling all of her courage before meeting Tom’s eyes again. Her eyes shone with the brilliance of stars, “I am willing to play this game and set up this stage with you, but I will not let this change anything, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

He snorted, “What, just so you could keep your name? Mrs. Riddle-Granger-”

“Everything, Tom,” she stressed, “Half of mine for half of yours. And it’s Granger-Riddle, for your information. The maiden name comes first.”

Tom’s eyes widened in shock and understanding. He stood abruptly his chair fell back in a hard thud, startling the two Red Caps who kept watch of their masters.

“You have some nerve,” he hissed, voice dripping with venom, “Do you realize what you’re asking? If you just want our names hyphenated-“

“No,” she refused him again, standing up as well to meet his gaze despite the height difference, “I would never present this if I didn’t know exactly what I’m asking. This is more than just mine, if you look closely, this also benefits yours.”

“If you give me time, there are other rites-“

“No,” she denied for the third time, “I want half of everything, Tom. This is my last condition. We are equals or we are nothing.”

Tom’s silence was unnerving this time, and Hermione tried not to squirm under such drowning eyes. In another time, she would’ve called herself mad, and compared this to making a deal with the devil, but she honestly didn’t care about that right now. She has no plans of playing on this stage in the long run, and if the price to pay to finish this as soon as possible would be in her expense and kept her son safe, then that would be more than acceptable to her.

“I just have one question,” he broke the silence after what felt like an eternity, “Alduin-“

Hermione stiffened at the mention of her son.

“-was it forced?”

Her eyes and lips parted in surprise. Of all the questions he could ask, this was one of those she didn’t expect. She couldn’t help but swallow as the dark lord before her seemed to bear an even graver expression. As if he was determined to memorize every inch of her face.

She took a deep breath.

“He was… unplanned,” she confessed, recalling her own shock at the realization that the newborn baby she held the day she came to this world was explicably hers, “But no, never forced.”

“Then, my dearest Honorable Mother, it is done.”

There was no lie in her confession and he knew that, because Tom only looked to the side. His eyes closed as if processing what she just said, and the next time he opened them, he met her gaze with a raised hand.

Just like that, their negotiation finished with a shake of hands. No words were needed to be exchanged.

As if on cue, they heard the sound of knocking and they turned to the door behind Hermione and their son revealed half of himself, dressed in comfortable clothes meant for lazing around.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, but it’s dinnertime.”

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes snapped to the nearest clock and true enough, it was well past the usual time for her to prepare for dinner. “I’m so sorry, Alduin. I swear I didn’t even notice we missed lunch.”

The windows were temporarily charmed to show a fake landscape without the passage of time going by, not wanting to have any distractions for this day.

Alduin smiled at her easily, “It’s alright, mother. I woke up past lunch anyway.”

“Did you just sleep for the whole day?” Tom asked.

“No, I was also reading in the library.”

“Then how about we eat out? You can have anything you want.”

Whatever mood he had against his father that morning seemed to have washed away at the mention of food, “Then can we have steak?”

“Of course. That should be fine, right?” Tom turned to the mother of his son.

“I- yes, that should be fine,” Hermione answered.

“Then I’ll go get ready!” Alduin perked up, and moved to return to his room when he finally noticed the two other occupants with his parents. “Oh hello, Ziryushu, and to you, sir. My name is Alduin.”

He introduced with a polite smile that made him look majestic despite the plain-looking clothes he wore. While Ziryushu returned his greeting, Zanrasa’s jaw hung low as if popped from its hinges. His eyes widened as much as they could. The elder Red Cap turned from the boy, to the witch, to the boy again, and then finally, to his master.

“AS EXPECTED OF MY LIEGE!”

She was surprised when Hector shared this rite to her. He told her how the relationship between his parents wasn’t approved by both sides, with his mother being a pureblood and his father- a mere halfblood with nothing to his name, but they were relentless and cared not for the words on his mother’s side. And because his mother was a rebel by heart, they eloped and used a rite that only insulted her family more.

It was reckless, unheard of, risky, and completely unacceptable to tradition.

Half thy sorrow, and half thy joy,

Half thy body, and half thy soul,

From life unto death,

Thou and I are whole.

They exchanged their vows with the bright full moon, the stars, and sea as their only witness. With no audience, no fanfare and no one to officiate them. It fit accordingly to Tom’s fabricated tale, and Hermione would have it no other way. So long as she is witnessed under the endless sky and the one that lied beyond it.

Hermione blinked when Tom pulled out a velvet box from his pocket.

“Is this really necessary?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“This is my last condition,” he returned her words back and Hermione took a deep breath through her nose.

She accepted with a nod.

At least they didn’t need to exchange a kiss.

She did not, however, expect the ring to be an ouroboros. Other women might be disappointed, expecting a golden band with a giant precious stone, but for Hermione, she would definitely prefer this over any rock.

The second the silver band sat comfortably on their left ring fingers (overcoming a split-second temptation to snatch his family heirloom there), the brunette opened her mouth to question his choice in design.

But before the words left her lips, Tom’s arm wrapped around her waist and pressed her body to his. Their skin separated only by the simple robes they wore as opposed to an elaborate dress and robe.

Her eyes widened in shock as his other hand gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb.

His smile was manic.

“Now you’re mine.”

In the year 1945, a boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry with the highest honors since the school’s founding. Coming from humble beginnings but brimming with intelligence and magical talent, he took up a job at an antique shop called Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley much to the befuddlement of his peers and former professors. After eight years of working as a humble shop boy and gaining enough funds, he resigned from his employment to pursue his passion and further expand his knowledge about magic.

What he didn’t expect however, was to meet an extraordinary witch at the start of his journey.

Hermione Jean Granger, an English witch born in the life of travel, had the same purpose as Tom.

Taken to one another the first time they met at a store of magical artefacts in Albania, the two instantly fell in love. Swept by the throes of passion and romance, it wasn’t long before they decided to marry. On March 8, 1953, the Granger-Riddle couple was blessed with a son who was the spitting image of his father, with the heart and spirit of his mother.

They named him Alduin Azoth Granger-Riddle.

The family of three continued with their travels, moving across the world learning more about magic and uncovering its secrets while caring for their only child who mean the world to them.

Finally, after a few months since their son’s 10th birthday, they decided to return to their homeland to reestablish themselves back in wizarding society.

.

.

.

Or so the story went.

Chapter Text

So when you meet your end,

Your journey just began.

Cast not your eyes downward.

For no fate knows what you’ll become.

He was floating.

Suspended weightlessly in an intangible space.

It felt a little different from flying. He felt no wind buff through his hair or kiss his cheeks. Instead, he felt a sense of the gentlest caresses.

It was dark as well. As if he was plunged down to the deepest depths of the ocean where the sun couldn’t reach.

Except there was light in front of his eyes.

A show of brilliance that defied the darkness around him.

Before him was a stream of light. Large and unending.

It was made of tiny glittering specks, like fireflies flying closely together in the summer night.

Stardust.

Moving in a single direction, following an invisible stream.

If he looked closely, he could see each dot of light as something more.

A beautiful spread, followed by gentle flaps of motion.

There were no distinguishing features that set one apart from the other. Nothing but a uniform of small bodies made of pure light.

Their motions differed from the flapping of birdwings.

It reminded him more of a school of migrating manta rays.

Or a group of butterflies.

Yes.

Before him was a kaleidoscope of colors swallowed in luminous brilliance.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel.

Yet he was strangely unbothered.

He could only watch as the kaleidoscope flutters on.

While he remains exactly where he was.

A single fluttering stray rippled the calm stillness of the void’s black water.

Tom rouses from his sleep feeling a heavy weight atop his chest.

Eyelids snapped open, revealing brown eyes flecked with gold stars.

Jolted awake from her dreamless sleep by an excruciating pain, Hermione’s first instinct was to scream.  Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest in panic like the thundering of a thousand hoofbeats. Even when she stumbled and fell from her bed when she pulled her bedside drawer for a Sote, all she felt was the burn across her back.

“The basement!” she shouted; her mind conjured a perfect picture of the alchemist’s laboratory for a split second before it fogged once more from the pain. But it was enough for the marble-sized artifact to act to her bidding.

When she dropped it, the Sote shattered like glass into a million particles of brilliance before it followed an imaginary circular trail, showing the familiar stone floor framed by light like a picture frame. Hermione let herself fall into the portal with a dull thud.

“HECTOR!!!” she cried in desperate plea as her arms wrapped around herself in a bid to fight against the overwhelming sensation.

The first to notice was the Sigbin that manifested from the shadows, woken from her slumber in the jar that was the equivalent of a doghouse the second it sensed the foreign magic that appeared in her master’s coveted laboratory.

Hermione barely heard the hurried barks and scrambling sandals against stone, or the panicked cries of her name. She couldn’t sense anything else but pain.

It was horrible. As if someone held a branding iron, the tip glowing white from smoldering heat, and pressed it onto her skin to trace patterns across her back. From the base of her neck to the end of her spine, from one end of her shoulder blade to the other, from one hip to another; it left her back a trail of fire.

If she were to compare, it was similar to when Bellatrix carved the derogatory term on her arm with her cursed blade, if not hotter, more burning.

Hermione didn’t know how long time had passed. At one point, she fell unconscious, the burning pain tempered by a wash of calm as soon as it came. When she opened her eyes, she saw the light fractured by water.

Water always calmed her.

When she moved, water fell from her hair and face. Belatedly, she realized she had been submerged in a tub filled with water.

The burning on her back was now nonexistent. As if it never were.

“Oh, thank the stars you’re finally awake,” a voice breathed out, overwhelmed with relief after a long suspense.

“Hector…” Hermione said weakly, turning to the man who stood from the chair beside the tub to grab a towel.

“Come now, child, it’s over. Time to dry yourself,” Hector offered his hand. His expression was a strong calm but his eyes were uncensored with his worry.

She accepted his hand and the sound of water echoed in the brightly lit bathroom. The clothes she wore to bed clung to her like a second skin.

Despite the tribulation she had just gone through, the brunette found herself steady on her feet. Her strength returned to her even though she felt slightly lightheaded.

Then a large towel was draped around her shoulders in respect to her modesty followed by a smaller one atop her head. She blinked when she felt the weight move across her wet locks, adding fuel to her growing guilt. Briefly, she was reminded of how her own mother dried her hair after a bath, followed by her father combing it before bed as a child.

“I’ve left you a change of clothes there,” Hector pointed at a set of neatly folded robes resting on the nearest countertop, “I’ll be just outside. Holler if you need anything else, alright? Mia, watch her for me. Make sure she doesn’t slip and hit her head.”

The magical dog-like creature, who kept watch over her as long as her master, barked at his command.

Hermione could only let out a small ‘thank you’ before the alchemist, who shared her family name, closed the door behind him with a soft click after staring at her for another moment.

She first went to the mirror atop the sink. Apart from that and the droplets of water still clinging onto her person, she looked as fine as she could ever be on a peaceful day. Her eyes weren’t even swollen from her previous tears. It was as if she hadn’t just undergone one of the most painful experiences done onto man. An experience that reminded her of her own torture in her previous life.

Her eyes fell on her arm where the word ‘Mudblood’ was supposed to be etched there and found none. When she took off her wet clothes and expected a litany of scars of varying sizes, proof of her survival against numerous lethality, she still found none.

Her body was unmarred. Free from any blemish that would’ve garnered her pity and disgust. As if her body was remade anew, except for the opalescent lines branding her back.

Mind now clearer, she stepped out of the bathroom dry and wearing a unisex robe that fit her size just right, with Mia in tow. With the dog as an escort, she was led to a table where Hector was waiting with tea already prepared.

The silence between them was telling, relieved with her return to wakefulness, but still tense from questions yet asked.

She readily accepted the tea offered to her, and welcomed its warmth down her throat. The liquid free from any calming draught or the like. Both knew it was unneeded.

It wasn’t the first time this happened, after all.

Eventually, the guilt proved too much for her to bear and Hermione raised her head to the alchemist who had been as equally silent all this time. She spied him still wearing his pajamas beneath his large thin robe.

Hermione started by clearing her throat, “I’m sorry for suddenly barging into your home like this, Hector…”

“Damn right, you should!” he snapped, voice laced with worry despite the bite in his tone, “Waking me up at three in the morning, writhing and screaming on my floor, were you trying to kill me?!”

Still, her gaze lowered. She never wanted to enforce this responsibility onto anyone. If possible, she wouldn’t let anyone else know this secret of hers, this… affliction that plagued her that she has yet to understand.

“I’m sorry,” were the words she could only say given the situation.

Hector rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. Despite his seemingly harsh tone, he was genuinely beside himself with worry. Though he never admitted it aloud, he respected the witch and eventually saw her, and her son, as his own. Neither bothered to do a blood test simply because neither cared for it. They started as scholarly associates, after all, or even business partners. Only time blurred that line to something more friendly, more familial. Especially since he doesn’t have anyone to call his family anymore. Sharing their names may have added fuel to that, but deep inside, he saw Hermione as a niece, if not a daughter he never had.

“Hermione,” he started after taking measured breaths. Bluntly, he addressed the elephant in the room, “This is worse than the last time.”

Unconsciously, Hermione chewed on her lower lip.

The first time it happened, she only felt a dull throb beating down her nape to the tip of her spine. She thought nothing of it at first. Chalking it up as fatigue from rearing her three-year-old son after the events of last night. It had been bearable, but when she had bathed later, the throbbing lessened to a calming degree it lulled her to sleep. It was a wonder she hadn’t drowned in her tub then.

The second time felt like razor sharp claws were scratching, or whips searing lines across her back. Hector had been there, after she sought out his refuge after what happened in Buenos Aires. It made her hiss and grit her teeth but it was still bearable somewhat. Still, she asked him if she could borrow his bathroom, and when the cold shower wasn’t enough, she filled his tub and submerged herself face down in its waters. He thought her mad back then.

This time, however, was the first time that made her cry.

At least Hector knew what to do this time. Even though neither understood why water was the balm for the pain.

It wasn’t as if they could test it anyway. Neither knew when or what triggered such attacks. Though Hermione does have a theory.

They do, however, knew that it was related to the mystery of her back.

“I think we should take a look at your back,” Hector suggested to which she readily agreed.

Exposing her bare back had become natural, procedural even. She trusted him implicitly, and the older Granger only cared to satiate his scholarly hunger.

The second she felt the robe pool just above her bum, she heard an audible gasp.

“Hector? What is it?”

She looked over her shoulder only to see him flapping his lips like a fish, “It’s… bigger.”

“What?” brows furrowed. When she asked if she could see it, Hector snapped from his shock and fetched an identical pair of mirrors. He levitated one in front of her while with the other, in front of her back. Her own eyes widened at the sight.

Of all the observations they made, the only change that ever happened were the increase in number, branches, and length of the lines. In the beginning, they were about the size of a yarn, or the thickest crochet thread. Now, they grew half an inch larger in width, making it easier to see the opalescent colors swirling within. They did not glow, nor did they shine. It was as if parts of her skin were cut out and replaced by them. In a way, they reminded her of mirrors, or even stained glass. However, when she tried touching the nearest one her fingertips could reach, by her hips, she instead felt skin and not the smooth surface she expected.

It truly boggled her.

“What does this mean?” she said aloud, still staring at the colors that contrasted her fair skin as she held the front of her robe over her chest.

“Actually,” Hector answered, “I had an epiphany. All this time I thought that what you had was a curse mark. If you remembered, we had discussed about this since- well, you aren’t exactly shy of delving into the dark arts.”

Hermione broke her gaze from the mirror to look back at the alchemist, prompting him to continue.

“But just the other day, I was taking stock of my inventory and that’s when I noticed it. The marks on your back- they resemble that of insect wings. Insect wings! Look here-“

Voice now mixed with excitement, he hurriedly dashed towards one of the long tables in his laboratory. Hermione had redressed herself by the time he gave her three books, already opened to a bookmarked page. They were all encyclopedias about insects, one of them was even a muggle entomology book. Yet the opened pages all displayed winged species- butterflies, dragonflies, moths, billywigs, glumbumbles, and moonflies. Specifically, the page showed a drawing of them with their wings spread with arrows labeling parts of their bodies.

Hector continued, pointing at the venations of a billywig’s wing, “See? At the beginning, there’s hardly a resemblance. Initially, we even theorized them to be tree roots growing out of a seed, or even branches. Now, however, I’m starting to believe otherwise. This may sound presumptuous of me, but I would like to start looking into tattoos.”

Her eyes were wide with realization. Her mind recalled a picture of her back and she had to concede that Hector was right. The patterns on her back, now fuller than the measly lines from years ago, truly resembled that of insect wings.

But why?

“Are you saying… that what I have is a living tattoo? Like Manallo Māhoe’s?”

Manallo was another close associate of hers. She had met the wizard and his family during their stay in Samoa. As with other cultures, Polynesian magic-folk have their own brand and practice of magic. Specifically, tattooing. Like their muggle counterparts, tattoos were a tradition, a rite of passage even. For both men and women, the process was supposed to be painful, and if one cannot go through with it till the end, they are deemed as cowards- which might as well label them as outcasts. They do not care about blood origins. If in Europe, a child can officially be called a witch or wizard once they obtained their wand, to the people of the Pacific, a child will only be accepted in their magical community if they have a complete tattoo.

For these tattoos were supposed to symbolize stories, mark them as a warrior, proof of honoring their ancestors, and harness spiritual power. Called Tatau, the patterns weren’t chosen by the receivers, but by the masters themselves. Masters who trained for years in the art of magical tattooing. This tradition was especially treasured by the Pacific magic-folk. The only difference was that the tattoos of these magic-folk are magical itself. In a sense that the tattoos actually move across their skin. Waves push and pull; spearheads move in circular patterns; and they chose magical creatures to invoke power from.

Manallo, specifically, had an Aniani. Literally translating to mirror, it’s a magical creature that looked like manta rays with two, barbed, whip-like tails and two pairs of fins. Its skin is especially unique in that it reflects light with its surroundings like a mirror, thus making them appear invisible underwater. They are supposed to symbolize wisdom and graceful power. Her son would especially be fascinated whenever Manallo’s tattoo would ‘swim’ across his arms, uncovered by the sleeves of his clothes.

“Not exactly,” Hector answered, “It is certainly… living, for lack of a better word, but I don’t quite believe that it’s a tattoo either. For now, I believe that what you have is more symbolic than it is branding.”

“They’re the venations of insect wings…”

“Yes, but what specific insect it could be, I have yet to know. It might take a while as I wouldn’t know if it’s from a magical creature or regular animal.”

“I know an ento-magizoologist,” she suggested, “You can contact them and… tell them it’s a project for a new potion you’re making?”

“Yes, I suppose that would work. Still…” he rubbed the growing beard on his chin, “are you sure you don’t want me to call a healer?”

“No healers, Hector,” she answered quickly, “I’m fine.”

Hector didn’t bother hiding his look of disbelief. Worse, he didn’t say anything more as he crossed his arms over his chest. It only made Hermione rub the nape of her neck at his pointed stare. She understood his silent message. Neither really knew much about what was going on with her. Her only answer was resurrection, but she had kept that to herself as the last time she broached the topic, Hector was very adamant in his belief that resurrection is an impossible feat. She didn’t attempt talking about it again since she was sure what happened to her was resurrection… right? What else could’ve brought her back when she had clearly died before? It couldn’t be reincarnation either because she was not reborn as a babe, but as a full adult.

There is a difference.

So the only logical answer could be resurrection.

Voldemort did the same, after all, didn’t he? Using a complex spell. Harry had asked her about it, when they dissected the events that happened on the night of his return. Though, whatever magic used on herself was far better since Hermione regained the image of her original body whereas Voldemort could only achieve such a monstrous, nose-less, form. The only difference was that she seemed to have been sent back in time.

But… if she considered what happened to her just a few hours ago… perhaps her resurrection wasn’t as perfect as she first thought.

“Alright, Hector, you win,” she sighed in defeat, “But I want it to be Healer Sofija.”

Hector was more than agreeable to her condition and immediately grabbed for one of her special parchments for her to write before she could change her mind.

They were in the middle of discussing his latest liquid gold procedure, they had also moved upstairs to a proper sitting room, when Mia rose to her sleeping position at Hector’s feet and began barking before they heard the knock on the front door.

“Madam! My lady!” Healer Sofija exclaimed, her face brightening the moment she saw the brunette. Hector trailed just behind her from when he fetched her from his door.

Hermione tried to ignore the honorifics as she returned the older witch’s hug. The witch was a talented healer respected in her field until she was bitten by a werewolf. A prime example of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She tried hiding it at first, but it was extremely difficult to keep such a malady a secret for so long. Needless to say, no witch or wizard wanted to be treated by a werewolf and she became a social pariah overnight. Her contributions in the medical field were the only reason her healing license wasn’t revoked, but they might as well have when no hospital wanted to hire her because of her affliction.

Ironically, the werewolf that bit her was also the same person who saved her when she had fallen into depression. Incapable of hating the person who turned her, knowing she was partially at fault for being in that situation herself. By the time Hermione found their pack, Sofija had resumed healing people. Albeit her patients were mostly fellow werewolves, treating their injuries after they turned. None of them had the means to procure the ingredients for the wolfsbane potion even though she was confident of brewing it herself.

Until Hermione arrived with her much improved potion.

Now, she had set up her own private practice with preference to her fellow werewolves. Successful, and no longer in fear of being discovered. Married to the man who had turned her into a werewolf, and with a daughter that was free from the affliction they suffered from. A miracle, indeed.

“I came as soon as I received your letter,” the other witch said hurriedly, “You hardly summon any of us and I feared something terrible happened because you requested me as a healer and-“

“Sofija, please,” she cajoled, smiling a bit, “Just breathe, please. All is well.”

The healer did as she was told and breathed in and out deeply. Her frantic state now calmed as she looked at Hermione from head to toe. “How can I be of service, my lady?”

“I would just like you to give me a thorough check-up, Sofija. Is that alright?”

“Of course! It would be no problem at all!”

For the next few minutes, Hermione just sat there on her chair as she let the older witch catch diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell at her. Some of which she didn’t even know, including spells to determine specific rare maladies. Although Hermione had trained herself in healing spells, she did not have the extensive training a healer had, nor did she have the time to. And as confident as she was in her abilities, it was best to have another examine her. Just like it wasn’t advisable for doctors to self-diagnose, or so her parents said.

Meanwhile, Hector made himself comfortable sipping his own tea as he watched the procedure. They trusted Healer Sofija to keep his location secret. Plus, it was best that he at least knew a healer to turn to or call on in case of emergencies.

“I found not a single thing out of sorts, my lady,” Sofija concluded, “I say you’re even the perfect description of ideal health.”

Hermione blinked numerously at that. Her lips parted slightly, “Thank you, Sofija.”

When she turned to Hector, the alchemist was just silent but his eyes had that familiar observing sheen to it.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Hector said, setting down his cup.

“Yes, but uhmm…” Sofija asked reluctantly, “Is it alright if I ask why you wanted a checkup so suddenly? O-Of course, if you don’t want to answer that’s perfectly fine, my lady! I did not mean to pry.”

Hermione smiled comfortingly at her. It felt a bit weird being addressed as such especially since the other witch was a few years older than her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t confess the truth to the witch. As trustworthy as she was, it’s more than enough that Hector already knew about her situation.

“Something just came up, Sofija, and Hector convinced me it was best to have myself checked. It’s nothing serious, I promise. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Sofija did not look like she believed her, but she nodded otherwise.

“Also, I would like to ask you to please keep this a secret. I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone else with this,” Hermione added. Sofija wasn’t the only one who was… indebted to her, and she didn’t even want to imagine how they would react if they found out that she requested a sudden check-up, and think the worst that she was afflicted with some sort of disease.

“Of course! Fortunately, I was alone in my clinic office when I received your letter. This is easily something I could do for you, Lady V-“

“Don’t,” Hermione shot her a sharp glare, making the healer clamp her mouth shut instantly.

Hector, however, let out an amused chuckle, “I don’t understand why you always shoot them down for that. I say it’s a great name! Very appropriate too, isn’t that right, Sofija?”

The other witch nodded vigorously at that before looking down to where a small brooch was pinned secretly in her inner robe.

A brooch of a wolf’s head with a broken chain between its jaws.

The brunette groaned exasperatedly, “I can handle being called ‘Madam’ and ‘Lady’ but that moniker is just too much.”

“Do excuse your lady, Sofija,” Hector turned to the other witch, “This child still doesn’t comprehend the gift she had bestowed to you werewolves.”

“It’s a shame, really, Sir Hector, but I really hope she will soon,” Sofija answered, “She hardly asks us for anything so it is difficult for us to show our appreciation.”

“Can you please stop talking as if I’m not here?” Hermione shot them a deadpanned look, which only made the other witch giggle and the alchemist chuckle, “Nevertheless, I would like to thank you again for coming in such a short notice, Sofija.”

“Please think nothing of it. If I may be honest, I would be happier if you call upon me often. It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

“Yes, well… I’ve been busy…” Hermione trailed, and at that moment, she finally felt the weight sitting on her finger. She stared down at her silver ring and appreciated the image of her beloved World Serpent (she had yet to test it for any secrets but she would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the workmanship into the design), before taking a deep breath and meeting the gazes of her audience again, “Well, since I’m here, I might as well tell you-“

She raised her left hand and let the light bounce off the silver.

“-I just got married-”

While Sofija gasped loudly in shock, Hector was grinning broadly. He had seen the ring, but given the situation, did not think it was appropriate to mention it then.

“-with Alduin’s father. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

.

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face when she reappeared at the apparition point in the plaza. In her painful haze, she was only able to grab a single Sote so she couldn’t directly return to the Den. And as convenient apparition was, there’s a limit to how far one can go even with her capabilities. Thankfully, Hector lent her his portkey that brought her to King’s Cross. From there, she apparated to the plaza in front of her flat building.

Ironically, explaining her marriage to the two tired her more than the ordeal she went through that morning. Although one of them was enjoying her fluster more than the other, given that Hector already had context of what was going on. For Sofija, she had to leave out the parts that the marriage was more of a business deal than one of love.

Part of her deal with Tom was the story they fabricated would not be compromised. She may get away with other people in keeping silent, but for her close associates who knew she was an unmarried single mother the first time they met, she would have to convince them to go along with the story that she had a husband all this time. Fortunately, witches accompanying their children to places without their husbands was a more common sight than wizards with their child. Banking on the belief that men should be more focused on work.

She would have to bear recounting the tale of how she was reunited with Tom and how their love rekindled despite the years apart. How he hadn’t known he had gotten her pregnant before they went their separate ways, and how he proposed to her for Alduin’s sake… which wasn’t exactly a lie but she didn’t like how it painted Tom as an honorable man who embraced the responsibility of being a husband and father.

Fortunately, her blunder and reluctance in telling the story were mistaken as embarrassment so it was easier for Sofija to believe. It also helped that there were some truths to the story so it reinforced the lie. Thankfully, all of her close associates adored her son so she expected the others would also play along for his sake.

Damnit, she really hoped this wouldn’t snowball into something troublesome.

She really needed to get Riddle’s ring as soon as possible.

“Good morning, Hermione.”

She shrieked, nearly jumping before whipping around to glare at her ‘husband’, who had a very smug smirk on that infuriatingly handsome face of his.

“You need to stop this bad habit of sneaking up on people,” she growled.

Nonplussed, Tom shrugged and raised his hand, drawing her attention to the object being offered to her.

Her brown eyes widened in genuine surprise.

Flowers. A bouquet of flowers. Tom Riddle… Voldemort… was giving her a bouquet of purple flowers.

She couldn’t be more relieved that Harry and the others couldn’t see her at this very moment.

“Err…”

Her brain seemed to have short-circuited.

“Very eloquent, my dear,” Tom said, looking even more pleased.

She broke her gaze from the, admittedly, beautifully arranged set to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, in the middle of the plaza, Riddle’s public display of affection had garnered them an audience. She spied, from the corner of her eyes, a couple of young witches giggling behind their hands and fans, and some older folks shaking their heads at them.

The heat that welled up in her cheeks initially from annoyance, now became one of embarrassment.

It didn’t help that the wizard before her was clearly enjoying this moment either.

Groaning, Hermione accepted the bouquet, albeit reluctantly.

“Let’s just go,” she said defeatedly before turning on her heel leading towards the Den. Tom gladly followed suit.

She glanced down at the bouquet in her arms. In the language of flowers, (because apparently, reading flowers was supposed to be something a witch should also know about, according to Mrs. Reicher) a purple-dominant arrangement meant success and even royalty. She wasn’t sure if the success on their deal he was trying to convey was supposed to be sarcastic, but it did make her wonder if Tom knew something so seemingly mundane as the language of flowers.

“You’re here early,” she couldn’t help commenting.

“We had an arrangement,” he said simply, dark eyes turning to her from the corner of his eye, “and I could say the same to you. Disapparating from who-knows-where so early in the morning.”

Of course, he saw that.

Hermione’s brow twitched, “There was an emergency.”

“Ahh, I take it all is well now then?”

“Yes,” she said with finality, refusing to give him an opportunity to dig anymore information out of her.

Fortunately, they arrived back in front of her flat door, and Hermione felt her shoulders relax. They may be married now but because Tom wasn’t her blood, the security on her door would still work on him.

The rite they used, as pretty as the vows were, did not bind them so literally. Because the rite’s ultimate purpose was to unite two people, they would be married by magic itself. Hence, the unnecessary need for an officiator. And because they were married by magic, no law ever made by man will have any sway about their union of hearts. Even if someone from high standing were to complain, neither they nor anyone would be able to do anything about it. Not even the Minister for Magic themselves. For no one can go against something magic itself had approved.

In return, both husband and wife are forbidden to have any sort of separation equivalent to a divorce.

Perhaps that was why Tom had to take a moment to think about the sort of rite she wanted. Technically, he’d be binding himself to one person for as long as the other lived until their natural death. And at this time, Tom was nearly deathless while Hermione… well, she could say she’s in the same boat.

That was part of the reason purebloods did their damnedest to hide this rite into obscurity. Another was its enforced vows that went against the traditions of what they deemed a proper relationship between the husband and wife should have.

She should’ve known that one of the core traits of a Slytherin is that they would use any means to achieve what they want.

Hermione opened the door only to be met by a wave of notes. Past the foyer, in the sitting room where a piano was propped to the side, Alduin was playing. Hermione instantly recognized it as one of his favorites. And just like all the times they played, immersed in his zone of symphonic harmony, her son’s magic answered in turn. A beautiful crescent moon hung above his head along with clouds floating in a nonexistent breeze. The small dots for stars twinkled in time with his notes, making them appear as if they were dancing as a shooting star or two flew around him. Below his feet was a circle of darkness that would ripple every time his feet made the slightest movement.

Like calm waters mirroring the night sky.

When the song ended, the magic manifested also faded away.

“Oh, good morning,” he greeted with a smile as his eyes shifted between his parents, and the bouquet in his mother’s arms.

“Good morning to you too, Al,” Hermione greeted back. Any annoyance or fatigue she felt instantly washed away at the sight of her son. Especially since he was still wearing his pyjamas, and his hair was all frizzy and untamed.

So cute.

“A good morning it is, Alduin,” Tom said a second later, “That was a beautiful song. I did not know you could play.”

While they were just standing by as their son played, Hermione was granted the sight of Tom’s genuine surprise. Or as surprised as his controlled expression could show, with his eyebrows raising just a tad and his lips parting just enough from the seams. Still, a surprise nonetheless, and Hermione could only feel pride knowing the Dark Lord didn’t expect his son to have such musical talent.

“Mother taught me,” he said proudly, swinging his legs and grinning broadly, “It’s one of our favorite past times together. Do you know how to play, Mr. Riddle?”

“I can’t say I do, Alduin. Music isn’t exactly a pursuit I deem worthwhile.”

Instead of being offended, Alduin’s eyes widened, “Really? I think you would do well to pick up an instrument. Might I suggest a cello? I strongly believe you would be especially proficient at it.”

“Thank you for the suggestion,” he said politely, obviously uninterested. But that only resulted a small laugh from the boy, who tried to keep it by biting his lip, “Nevertheless, it’s good to know you achieved mastery in something you were taught. But tell me, do you often play while in your pyjamas?”

“No…” his smile fell, “I woke up and mother wasn’t here so I thought of playing a bit to pass the time.”

“I’m so sorry, Alduin,” she interjected immediately, “I had to attend to an emergency and didn’t have time to tell you.”

Her son didn’t respond immediately. There was a muted expression on his face as he looked between his parents. Eventually, he smiled back at her reassuringly, “It’s alright, mother. You’re back now.”

“Yes, and you should wash up and change now. Tom is-“ she cut herself short, turning to the tall man beside her, who looked back at her from the corner of his eye, “He’s going to take us somewhere after breakfast.”

“Oh, alright,” Alduin obeyed readily, but just as he leapt down from his chair, he turned towards the older ravenhead, “May I ask where will we be going, Mr. Riddle?”

“You’ll know when we get there,” Tom answered, “and shouldn’t you address me properly from now on, son?”

Alduin blinked. They had sat him down before the ceremony about what was going on, and much to their relief, Alduin was more agreeable than they expected. Besides some choice questions, Alduin only shrugged, said: “As long as my mother agrees.”, and smiled.

“Of course. Err… uhmm… papa?”

One second both father and son had looks of practiced politeness and the next, their expressions twisted as if they had bitten off a lemon.

A very, very sour lemon.

Even Hermione couldn’t help her mouth from hanging open in shock, from hearing the word from her son’s lips, before she had to hold back her laughter from the faces they made. Never had she ever seen her son look so… disturbed and close to gagging. And that was telling because he didn’t even blink when he ate worms, scorpions, and other bugs while they were in Asia and proudly claimed it as part of his exotic experience.

As for Tom… well… she really had to commend his ironclad control. Still, if the pinched expression on his face told her anything, she’d have thought a troll had shat on his favorite book and chucked it to the depths of the Black Lake.

“Just…” Tom breathed deeply, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just ‘Father’ is fine, Alduin…”

“Agreed,” Alduin acquiesced instantly. His tongue had lolled out as if he had tasted something really awful.

Hermione tried to disguise her laughter behind a cough but she couldn’t control the smile that stretched her lips. To be fair, she certainly never expected such a comical interaction like this.

“Well, go on now, Al,” she prompted.

“Yes, mother,” he headed to his room with hurried steps, but before he opened the door, he turned his head back towards them. “Ah, by the way, father?”

Hermione and Tom blinked up at him.

“Roses are mother’s favorite flowers,” he looked pointedly at the bouquet before meeting his father’s eyes.

Tom’s eyebrow rose.

Hermione’s mouth hung open in disbelief. All mirth now gone from her face.

“Both the wild and cultivated variety-“

“Hold on a minute, Al-“

“-the redder the better.”

“What are you-“

“She wouldn’t mind if there-“

“Alduin-!“

“-are still thorns on the stem either,” he finished with a toothy grin and just like that, zipped inside his room in a flash. Leaving his mother and father standing there, mouth agape and smirking smugly, respectively.

“How helpful, that son of mine,” Tom had the nerve to gloat and in response to her irritation, her magic sparked and her blue flames ate the bouquet in her hands until they were nothing more than ash.

Her husband however, didn’t look the least bit affected and even tutted condescendingly, “How petty you are, wife.”

Now she wished she didn’t burn the stupid flowers just so she could throw it back to his face.

“Answers?” Tom asked, reclining back on his seat with his jaw resting on his fist as he stared at her across the table. Alduin had excused himself to the loo so they had enough time to discuss more about private matters.

The restaurant they were currently having dinner in boasted about their tables being charmed by privacy spells. Still, Tom casted his own set of spells with none of the employees or other diners the wiser.

Except her.

They had agreed that being seen eating out together would help enforce their image as a family. Who knew whose eyes would be around to see them, after all. Especially if it was someone who knew Tom; word travels faster in the grapevine of gossiping purebloods than the Daily Prophet.

“There’s something I need to do- research,” she supplied vaguely, her gaze falling to the glass of water she was cradling between her hands, “Questions I need answers to, and I need time and resources for it.”

As agreed per their contract, they were supposed to confess the purpose of their marriage. For Tom, it was to show that he had a family of his own as expected of a respectable wizard his age. While people can turn a blind eye to purebloods, especially those in prestigious families, it would certainly be odd if someone of Tom’s age had yet to marry with child.

It was an answer she readily accepted. She knew better that Tom didn’t propose this arrangement out of pure intentions. If he had, she would’ve likely denied him even if she knew she needed him close.

Perhaps it was his preconceived notion that she knew something about him- the real him- that made him more honest. Though part of her worried, she would honestly prefer this than whatever bullshit he dishes out to other people.

As for Hermione, she gave him the pretense of research. As someone who valued magic and wanting to unravel all of its secrets despite having already seen into its abyss, this sort of goal wouldn’t be far-fetched for someone like her. For all the dark lord before her knew, the purpose of her constant travels was to learn more about magic, but caring for Alduin at the same time had given her limitations. Marriage would help blur that handicap on the notion that she would have someone else to look after her son.

Not that it was exactly a lie. She really needed to research to solve her own mystery, and with Hector not knowing her full truth, his help would eventually hit a dead end and she would have to take over. Not that she would let Tom steal her son away from her under her nose.

Furthermore, having married parents would shelter her son from anymore unwanted remarks and discrimination.

Yes, the reasonings were sound.

That would be more than enough to disguise their true goals.

Fortunately, they didn’t need to share more than that.

“And what exactly does this research entail?”

She met his eyes this time, “Have you ever heard of the Throat of the World?”

A beat of silence, and then a bark of laughter.

Hermione felt her eye twitch in irritation at his blatant mockery, but she managed to rein in her control and let him laugh.

“That was good,” he said as he finished, his smile showed a perfect set of teeth her parents would swoon over, “I’m almost sorry to tell you that you’re chasing a fantasy.”

“It’s true,” she grounded. She never liked it when people made fun of her knowledge, “I have proof.”

“Please, do share your findings,” he gestured with his other hand.

Stubbornly, the brunette crossed her arms over her chest, “If you’re born and bred here in Europe, you should’ve received education from Hogwarts, haven’t you?”

Tom’s smile faltered. He answered after a beat, “Yes.”

“Which house were you in? The school was supposed to be divided by four, right?”

Of course, she already knew the answer, but asking these questions would deliver the context behind her answer and with the way the mirth was slowly fading from his eyes, she most certainly captured his attention.

“Slytherin.”

She nodded before smugly answering, “Well, did you know that your founder- Salazar Slytherin, had supposedly reached the Throat of the World himself?”

That’s it. Any form of mockery was instantly replaced by a glimmer of intrigue and disbelief. Unconsciously, Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat as Tom gave her his undivided attention. His elbows rested on the seat of his chair, and his legs uncrossed as he leaned forward in clear interest.

His eyes were so dark.

So… so dark.

Like it could swallow all light in its abyss.

“Explain,” was his singular answer, and she did not miss the command behind it.

“There is a passage in a book- a book that featured all known wizarding schools- that claimed to be Slytherin’s final words meant for the future students of his house, before he left Hogwarts.”

“A book meant for commercialized publication,” Tom scoffed, “Whoever the author was could’ve easily written and claimed it as the original words of the founder. Was there even a citation? Or a footnote?”

“No, but-“

“Then you’re a fool to believe such tripe,” he remarked, sounding very irate and even… disappointed? At her?

“Of course I didn’t easily believe it!” Hermione defended, her voice rising, “Still, information about the four founders of Hogwarts is valuable, and I thought verifying the claims would be something worthwhile. If it was truly fabricated, the author should be tried for their fraudulence.”

She recalled the time in her second year under Gilderoy Lockhart’s tutelage. Books were more than objects containing knowledge for Hermione. They were her first friends, her source of joy, her treasure. So when she found out the book she had was authored by a cowardly fraud… needless to say that was the first time she ever felt betrayed, and had hated authors like Lockhart with a burning passion ever since.

“But on the chance that they were true, well…” she contested, “how come the last words of such an esteemed founder never graced the pages of the school’s official history book- Hogwarts, A History?”

She got his attention again. This time, there was even a wrinkle between his brows.

Hermione took that cue to continue, “So I contacted the author. He didn’t have the original source but after much… persuasion, I was able to track it down.”

She sent a silent apology in her head. She wasn’t the one who literally found the original source, after all, but one of the werewolf packs stationed in America, who were more than eager to treat her request as a mission.

As if she’ll ever reveal to Voldemort that she has werewolves in her deck of cards so early in the game.

Her face looked absolutely proud while Tom’s hands balled into fists. His conflict was evident the longer he stared at her confidence. Here was a stranger who knew something about his ancestor he didn’t know of.

As Slytherin’s heir, excluding Alduin, he should have the right to that information.

“You didn’t…”

“It was written in a letter. Inside an envelope with a broken wax seal of the Slytherin family, addressed specifically to Rowena Ravenclaw, and sitting prettily in one of my glass cabinets at home as we speak.”

To be fair, she was just as shocked to find out it was true.

The fact that she wasn’t the only one who reached the Throat of the World.

“Is this… a muggle village?” Alduin asked.

“Yes,” was Tom’s only answer before turning on his heel and started walking up a cobblestone road towards a hill.

The mood between the three had sobered during breakfast. That did not save her from sulking a bit though.

How could Alduin just reveal that to him?

Granted it was harmless information, but she couldn’t help feeling slightly betrayed by his action. Was it because she laughed at their reactions? But she couldn’t help it! She doesn’t really care about Tom’s but she’s never seen such a face on her adorable son before. At least, Alduin had been content with his petty revenge (against his own mother!) as he happily ate away his pancakes. He also made up for it by offering her one of his own. Which she accepted by taking a piece because she couldn’t help herself.

After breakfast, Tom took out a single tarot card from the inner pocket of his robe. The Hanged Man.

It was a portkey.

“1743.”

Hermione halted in her step when she heard her son read the numbers embossed on the bronze plaque on the brick wall surrounding the manor just past the wrought-iron gates.

She had her suspicions the moment she saw the quaint muggle village. Then at one point, she felt a small shudder run down her spine. Of which she instantly recognized as having passed through a ward.

A very complex and multi-layered ward at that.

If she hadn’t been on guard, she was sure she wouldn’t have been able to feel it.

Then she saw the brick wall and black gate, nearly overtaken by moss and crawling vines. Lastly, there was the mansion sitting at the hilltop. A once grand piece of magi-architecture left colorless and in ruin. Even from afar she could see broken windows and parts of the roofs open. The tiles weathered and carried off by previous storms. Its surrounding yard didn’t fare any better. What were once trimmed hedges had overgrown into unrecognizable shapes and had crawled their way up the mansion’s walls all the way up to the tallest peak.

“Once, this place was called the Riddle Manor,” Tom explained to Alduin, who went up by his side to get a closer look at the abandoned house.

Hermione shot him a look from behind. He was supposed to be showing them their new home today. Surely, he didn’t seriously decide that they would stay here? Here, where he killed his grandparents… his father… his own family…

The place of his first murder.

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself just in time. Was it really wise to say something? Hadn’t she said enough? Of all the information she knew about him, revealing that this was the place he conducted his first kill was one of the top things she shouldn’t reveal. Even without a contract that obliged them to share part of their possessions and occupation, exposing a secret as worse as murder would likely put herself and her son at risk. Marriage and contract be damned.

‘She could just say that this isn’t an appropriate place to live in.’

Yes, that would work.

But before she could circle around Tom, he had picked up a stone by his feet, drew his arm back, and threw it at the mansion’s nearest window.

The sound of glass shattering was loud, it jolted both Hermione and Alduin in their place.

“What the bloody hell was that for?!” Hermione shrieked.

Tom had only given her a quick glance before turning to their son, who were just as surprised at his action. He fell down on one knee in front of him, making sure to meet Alduin’s equally dark eyes.

“I had been considering what you told me since we last spoke, Alduin,” he began, “and I do believe you’re right.”

While Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at him, Alduin’s head cocked to the side curiously like a cat, “Right about what, father?”

Pleased by his proper use of address, he let the corners of his lips lift ever so slightly. Tom met the brunette witch’s eyes for a moment before turning back to his son, “About how new beginnings cannot come from nothing. To destroy is necessary, for only then will something bigger, and better can be forged from the broken remains.”

By this time, the boy’s eyes widened and his face had split in recognition, “For rot festers between the cracks, and consume the beauty of what once was.”

Tom nodded before turning his head towards the dilapidated mansion. His expression was dark as if wishing it be in a worse state than it already was, “This house is an example of that, Alduin. Only decay had allowed to keep it standing. Its history is not for the books to keep. No sunlight could ever pass through its windows, and not even ghosts would want to haunt its walls. Now, Alduin, don’t you think we should put it out of its misery?”

He picked up another stone at his feet, and with his other hand, directed Alduin’s wrist so he would receive it instead.

Tom continued, “After all, what comes after the beginning of an end…”

“Is the end of a beginning,” Alduin finished.

He gripped the stone in his small hand, big enough to fit his palm. His father had risen back up to stand, and let him stew in his thoughts. But it wasn’t long for Alduin to take a pitcher’s stance, mimicking a baseball player, and threw the stone at the window next to the one Tom threw at. The entire property once more echoed with the loud shatter of breaking glass.

In the following moments, Alduin was running around, picking up any stone he could get his hands on and hurled them at the old Riddle Mansion. Smiling and laughing with the innocent joy of a child with a new toy.

Then, Tom had taken out his wand. Without uttering a single syllable, he motioned his wand and per his command- the stones Alduin threw were reinforced with his own magic. The stones crashed, not only through glass windows, but through brick and cement as well. Along with renewed speed and durability, they tore through everything in their path.

But Tom was not satisfied to end it there.

With a wider movement of his arms, he recalled the stones Alduin threw back out to the yard. Only to let it charge at the mansion again.

This continued on for a while. Alduin kept picking up stones and his father would imbue them with his magic. The stones circled out, then in, out, and then in again. He turned them into a barrage reminiscent of artillery fire.

All the while Hermione just stood there in shocked silence.

Her mind was absolutely baffled by what was going on. Centered around the fact that Tom Riddle had willingly, instigated even, the destruction of Riddle Manor.

Which she didn’t understand at all.

Didn’t Voldemort allow the continued care of the manor? In her previous life, before his return, he had even used the manor as a hideout. Harry had said so, in the visions because of his link with the Dark Lord, the mansion, though abandoned, was kept intact and not so… broken.

They never knew the reason why. And considering that he had let a muggle caretaker watch over it, meant he never took legal action to claim it as his own.

But just a few minutes ago, they freely walked through the property, and the mansion before her was left for time to decay and ruin naturally. Additionally, the ward she felt couldn’t possibly be set up recently.

Here, Tom Riddle had claimed his father’s property, set up a ward to keep anyone from trespassing, and left it to ruin.

Only to return and invite his son to destroy it together with him.

Hermione snapped from her thoughts when she spotted Tom take a step closer to her. A considerable space still left between them, but close enough for her to hear him say, “Miðgarðsormr, the World Serpent, also known as Jörmungandr- the huge monster; in alchemy, Greece, and Egypt, it is known as the Ouroboros.”

Her brows furrowed together as she kept her eye on him, unsure where he’s coming from. His eyes broke from watching Alduin running around the mansion only to meet hers.

“The great snake that slumbers at the very bottom of the ocean. Waiting for the day it wakes to deliver the earth its due demise… Were you aware that the name you gave him meant ‘World Eater’?”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, before her shoulders tensed in defense.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all. I think it is… unique,” he tilted his head to the side inquisitively, “I’m just curious. What is it about that snake that you would center even your own son’s education about it? Not to mention, after seeing your abode, make you obsess over it.”

Heat crept up her cheeks at that. It wasn’t the first time someone pointed out her obsession. It even came to the point her associates would inform her about any product they found, whether they be magical artefacts or simple decorative pieces, with the ouroboros motif.

Oh she couldn’t imagine the kind of faces her old friends would make if they ever see her willingly spend thousands of galleons and gold about a snake. Or dragon.

“Well, I have no obligation to explain that to you,” she crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly before glaring, “But if you must know- that serpent is something very dear to me. So I will not stand if I hear you speak ill of it.”

“Oh not to worry. You won’t hear a single word from me against the Serpentes,” he smirked in amusement, “Or did you forget that I am a parselmouth like our dear son?”

“Well isn’t that wonderful,” she grumbled sarcastically. Her face turned back towards the mansion still receiving a continued barrage of magically enhanced stones. “What is even the point of this? I’ve not the slightest clue why you even brought us here.”

“It is what it is,” he answered, “If you like, you can take it as a gift.”

“Gift?”

“Of my appreciation for your core principle and letting Alduin act upon it. I’m sure you, of all people, would appreciate this,” Tom paused for a few heartbeats, “This place belonged to my father.”

That… never had she expected he would ever confess that…

Not to her.

Not so soon.

The sound of stone crashing against stone and joyous laughter were muted in her ears at that moment. Part of her was instantly suspicious of his confession. What was his goal for telling her this? But if she was really honest with herself, she was just incredibly shocked.

“What was he like?” she found herself asking before she realized what she even just said.

His answer came faster than she expected, “He’s not anyone worth remembering.”

She wasn’t sure where she had courage to ask another, “How long did you live here?”

“I never did.”

She was aware that certain changes were imminent, expected it even, the moment she realized she was not in her proper time. Even more so when Tom Riddle still existed.

She didn’t think it mattered. Whatever changes in the past brought by her and her son’s existence did not matter if it meant achieving her goal. If it granted her reward.

Now faced with the reality of these variables, it was only a matter of time before she learned whether these changes would help her or not.

A moment of silence passed over them before their attentions were taken by their son making his way towards them.

“That was fun!” he said cheerily between pants, wiping the sweat that gathered on his forehead from running around, “But at this rate, I don’t think we’ll be able to finish anytime soon.”

Sadly, the mansion was a lot bigger than it looked.

Hermione hummed as she motioned for Alduin. Using her own handkerchief, even though he had one of his own, she wiped away the sweat and dirt from his hands and face. It made him grumble slightly but otherwise let his mother coddle him; completely unashamed under his father’s gaze.

He had an expression neither of them could make out of.

By the time the witch finished, she had taken out her wand from its secret holster. She glanced at Tom for a moment before arching her free hand above her. One by one, balls of blue fire hovered above her like a group of will-o-wisps. When she pointed her wand at the mansion like a general commanding her army to charge, the azure flames snapped towards every stone the wizard charmed, making them even more lethal. And because these were no ordinary fire, the flames would instantly attach to any surface it touched.

The family of three watched in fascination as blue flames crawled all over every inch of the mansion. Be it wood or stone, the magical fire didn’t care until it covered every inch of the mansion. All the while the stones continued its barrage, still enveloped in fire.

Hermione smiled in satisfaction, Alduin let out a noise of amazement, and Tom scoffed.

When she snapped her gaze at him, he had taken two steps forward and raised his wand arm once more. First, a full circle, then a slicing diagonal motion, and finally a jab.

Lightning shot forth from the tip of his wand in a continuous stream. Twitching jaggedly in the air yet staying true to its target. It tore through the house, sending bits and debris flying as he moved his wand across in a slow stroke.

He had already destroyed a quarter of the mansion when another stream of magic joined his in his demolition. A fiery tornado of white and blue, spinning and coiling around itself, began eating through the other half of the house.

Elemental magic. Spells that could manipulate fire, water, earth, and wind, are considered one of the most basic forms of magic to learn, but also the most difficult to master.

Some would view it as cooperation, a show of support between husband and wife in their shared goal. While others would also see it as a match. A competition between powerful individuals who treasured magic above all else. Even more than the people who were born with it.

Amidst their display of magical might, any semblance of hostility they harbored for the other temporarily set aside, they failed to notice a certain raven-haired boy staring at them with an inscrutable expression from behind.

His dark eyes morphed into slits with the brilliance of galaxies.

.

“Can we do this again the next time we move?” was Alduin’s cheery question after the complete destruction of Riddle Manor. The magical stream of lightning and tornado of fire finished into an explosion that only left pillars of smoke billowing in the wind.

Then they went off for lunch as per Alduin’s insistence.

For once, Hermione felt exhausted. Not from the magical display from earlier but from the mental gymnastics her mind has to go through since this morning.

Too many facts and speculations had rattled her mind.

One was her apparent condition. Why insect wings of all things? It would’ve been easier if it were some sort of archaic runes from time forgotten. She wouldn’t mind if it had a form of an animal either. Insect wings were commonly used for potion making. Some even used them for collection’s sake. But apart from those, she honestly didn’t know what other purpose there could be. Hopefully Hector would be able to determine the species of insect the venations look similar to. At least she would have a lead.

Second, Salazar Slytherin had reached the Throat of the World. She honestly did not know what to make of that discovery. Even she herself thought it was just some dreamer’s fantasy, or a prank to send the desperate on a wild goose chase.

But she had also reached the Throat of the World too, hadn’t she?

Did that mean Slytherin had also met the Cosmic Audience? Did he also ask for a reward? Or made a deal? …no. The Cosmic Audience said she was the only one who didn’t accept a gift. Of all the four founders, Salazar Slytherin was the closest to his name’s motif for his house. As opposed to Gryffindor’s lion, Ravenclaw’s eagle, and Hufflepuff’s badger. She has her own specific reason for obsessing over the World Serpent imagery. But what about Salazar? It was thanks to him that snakes were considered an iconic symbol in the wizarding world. Even the only inheritable language in the world only allows one to talk to snakes.

At least this revelation was enough to avert Tom’s attention. That her research pursuits were something worthwhile. The only problem now was to determine what kind of material to use to fake her supposed search. Because even though she knew the Throat of the World existed, she neither can nor was she willing to reveal it to anyone else.

Lastly, she was yet to get over the fact of what she had just witnessed in Riddle Manor. Certainly, she did not miss the symbolism behind the action. To think he would also use her core philosophy to exact his actions.

An action she honestly couldn’t object lest she be called a hypocrite.

Then there was the question ‘Why’. Of course, she did not completely believe him when he said he simply appreciated her belief. Surely, he had something else up his sleeve.

He had his son destroy his father’s house only to build his new home over it.

“You will be introduced to the magi-architect and engineer tomorrow,” Tom announced before wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“May I ask, why didn’t you just choose a house already built?” Alduin asked as he sliced through his third steak.

“Your mother and I had an agreement that we have equal say on certain matters especially if it involved you, and one of them is our place of residence. Which I’m sure she would like to make a few changes of her own,” he gave her a pointed look across the table to which she only nodded in return. This way, she would be sure that she and her son wouldn’t enter enemy territory completely unaware. Not to mention she wanted to provide a safe and comfortable place for her son even if she had no intention of making their arrangement a permanent thing. And she would ensure she would have a place to install the Den in the new house.

“Oh. That’s fair,” her son hummed, “But wouldn’t it be inconvenient to wait for magical house to be built? I read that construction would take at least ten months to two years. If it’s as big as a mansion, that is.”

“Not to worry, Alduin. I have no patience to wait for that long either. I’m sure the person I hired could be persuaded to speed up the work.”

Hemione tried not give him a dry look at that.

Then the younger ravenhead beamed, “Then is it alright if I join you during the meeting? I would really like to see what the house would look like.”

Tom stared after him as he took his time drinking from his glass, but it was Hermione who answered before he could utter a single word.

“Of course, it’s fine, Al,” she smiled, “I’m sure you would like to see how your new room will be. That much is fine, right Tom?”

“I suppose. You might as well see to your study room as well. Though you won’t be able to use much of it once you enter Hogwarts.”

The whole world seemed to have stilled at that moment. Like someone had dropped a glass and everyone in the room fell into dreadful silence.

Alduin stopped eating.

“What?”

Tom, however, just continued as if nothing happened, “There’s still a year left. Once you turn eleven, you will receive your Hogwarts admission letter at least two months before September 1^st. So make sure to make full use of your new study room until then.”

“And if I don’t?”

It was at that moment when all three became fully aware of the tension in the room. There was another look on Alduin’s face. One that she had certainly never seen before. But unlike earlier, this one didn’t compel her to laugh at all.

Tom met his son’s equally narrowed eyes, “Didn’t you say so yourself that you’re a proud scholar for magic?

“May I speak freely, sir?”

There was a moment of silence.

“You may.”

“I’m sorry. You seemed to have misunderstood my words. I meant- what if I don’t want to go to school because, say… I think it is a waste of my time?”

Tom’s sharp intake of breath was audible.

“Boy, I think it is you who doesn’t understand this opportunity given to you. Hogwarts is a very respectable institution for education. Many esteemed wizards and witches for nearly the last ten centuries attended that school. Why, one of the four founders is even-“

“Hog-wash to that I say!” Alduin cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Why would I even need to go to school if I can learn everything right here- from you two! Schools have restrictions, and I would most likely just be bored from the curriculum. I mean I’ve already been carving runes into stones since I was six, and I’ve even already ridden on the back of a Kelpie!”

Tom’s fist fell hard on the table, making the utensils clatter in their place but that didn’t deter the boy the least bit.

“Watch your tongue! You have some nerve insulting the name of Hogwarts-!”

“And that’s another thing! Of all the magical schools in the world, why would I have to go to Hogwarts of all places?!”

“Why not?!”

“Well for one, it’s just some dingy old castle found in the Scottish Highlands posing as a ruin. And were the founders drunk when they named the school, or did they just have no creativity? Hog-warts?! It’s a stupid name!”

“Alduin!” Hermione admonished. Too shocked for the last few minutes hearing the words come out of her son to even say a single word.

She just couldn’t believe it.

She loved Hogwarts. It was her second home. It was a place of wonder, that made her fall in love with magic and made her proud of being a witch.

Even though she could never enter walk through its halls again, or even say she studied at such a proud establishment. For all the good and bad that happened, she would still proudly say that her time in Hogwarts were one of the best years she ever had.

But to hear her son, her beloved boy, didn’t feel the same way…

“Well too bad because whether you like it or not, you will be attending Hogwarts next year and you will be getting on the Hogwarts Express even if it means dragging you by force!”

“Well, I would rather paint the entire ceiling of the Sistine Chapel!”

Chapter Text

BANG!

Orphneus shrieked in surprise on his perch, wings spread open and feathers ruffled, while Hermione flinched out of her shocked stupor from staring at her son’s now-locked door. Just in time to use herself as a shield against the marching dark lord whom she’s obligated to call husband.

“Tom- stop,” she managed to squeeze herself between the vexed wizard and the door. Her arms stretched long to push him as far as she could.

“Don’t get in my way,” he growled, and she could feel the reverberations from where her palms were pressed against his chest.

“Not when you have that look on your face that says you want to break down his door.”

“I just might.”

He placed a single step forward, uncaring about the contact of her ungloved hands fighting against his clothed chest in his one-track mind to confront his stubborn son. Whereas Hermione held back her squeak at how easily she skidded backwards in the face of his physical strength. Her travelling lifestyle and the lessons she learned from her previous life had successfully ingrained in her a discipline to be mindful of her body. Magic may have its many uses but it can’t help her run faster, endure longer, and punch harder. Magic-folk who had grown too reliant on magic would never expect such a muggle retaliation during a fight. Even in her new life, she hadn’t been a slouch either. Especially since there were times her prey would try to run or fight back during her hunts.

Summoning that strength, Hermione had managed to push Tom away just as her heel touched the door behind her. Her push wasn’t strong enough to make him fall back but it was enough to make him take a step back.

“Please Tom,” she started again. Retreating her hands from his hard chest but still keeping them up in a placating manner. As baffled as she was for this sudden turn of events (and how secretly amusing it was to see Voldemort being denied something), it’s best to act as mediator. Especially to the most unpredictable of the two first. “Do you really believe Alduin will talk to you after you upset him?”

“Oh, he’s upset?” he wasn’t shouting yet but his voice was noticeably louder. “He’s the one who raised his voice first and started spouting insults.”

 ‘Well, you did allow him to speak freely,’ she bit her lip. To be honest, the brunette didn’t like her son’s… reaction either. Hogwarts may not be the most appealing name but an insult was still an insult to her second home. And it seemed that her husband shared the same sentiment. ‘Still, knowing Alduin, he must’ve had valid reasons.’

“Nevertheless, now’s not a good time to confront him about it and neither are you,” she drew in a deep breath, “I think it’s best for you two to cool off first.”

She believed her suggestion was logical. Even though a petty side of her didn’t care about appeasing Voldemort, Alduin’s her greatest priority and she can’t talk to him if there’s a dark lord on a warpath to his room.

“I think you should leave.”

The sneer that followed was more than enough to display his displeasure of her suggestion. Faster than her eyes could follow, Tom grabbed her face by her lower jaw. His fingers dug painfully into her cheeks as he loomed over her. A red haze stormed in the depths of his dark eyes. Delivering an unspoken promise quite clearly without the reinforcement of his magic. As much as he was magically capable, he had only been in the Den less than a handful of times and he knew better than to act with so many unknowns.

Yet his eyes held her whole.

“Watch your tongue, woman. I let you yap for the sake of the boy per our agreement but you have no right to tell me what to do,” he hissed. His breath had a hint of mint, bereft of the meal he just ate.

He should’ve learned by now that she doesn’t take well with threats.

“I’m not ordering you, Tom,” her voice was calm despite the fire in her eyes that met his, “I’m asking you.”

She wasn’t cowing to his threat, but she really needed him to back off. Tom wasn’t convinced however, and she fought to roll her eyes. Obviously, the man wasn’t used to people defying him.

“I’ll talk to him,” she offered, “What you said definitely set him off, but I know Alduin. He must have his reasons.”

He snorted, undermining their son’s opinion on the matter. He humored, “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I’m his mother.”

It was a simple answer, but it carried a weight both of them felt.

The red haze in Tom’s eyes disappeared almost instantly, but the intensity of his stare never left. As if it only took a different turn. One that she wasn’t familiar of. She followed his gaze when it briefly fell to her lips, and that’s when she realized part of her lower lip was kissing the length of his finger.

It shouldn’t startle her. He was the one who grabbed her face after all. Still, a shiver ran up her spine as part of her couldn’t help find it strangely intimate. Especially when she knew that the bit of rouge she lightly painted on her lips would leave a mark there.

Eventually Tom let go of her face, and she tried not to think about the butterfly’s touch the tip of his finger lingered over her lower lip as he retreated his hand.

“Fine,” he relented, expression still stern as he took a step back, “I’ll be back tonight. That should be enough time for you to talk some sense into that son of yours.”

“Oh so the moment he disagrees with you he becomes my son now?” came her snarky reply.

“It certainly answers where he gets his stubbornness from.”

“To be fair, you did spring this on him without warning,” she defended as she crossed her arms stubbornly, “We haven’t even discussed about his education.”

“Because it’s not open for negotiation.”

“But that goes against our contract!”

Her protest fell into deaf ears as Tom just walked away and saw himself out. Not bothering to give her anymore word on the matter. Even after she heard the door click shut, Hermione just stood there fuming at his audacity.

That… that infuriating man! But really, what did she expect?

A throb erupted at her temple, making her press two fingers to rub, hoping to quell that spot. She really needs to get that ring soon.

But first…

Hermione knocked on her son’s door, making sure to lean her ear after calling out to him, “Alduin, it’s me. Can you open up? I’d like to talk to you if that’s alright.”

She counted to ten but received no answer.

“Al?” she tried again and this time, tried the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand and she pushed it just slightly ajar. Taking notes from her parents when she herself had thrown a tantrum and retreated to her room as a little girl. “Sweetie, I’m coming in, alright?”

When she was a child, she would dive under her covers and wrap herself around it like a cocoon. An attempt to shut herself off from the world in her upset. Her mother would also be the first to talk her out of her shell, metaphorically speaking. However, when she entered her son’s room, she saw no lump on the bed. In fact, everything was neat and in place as always. From the books arranged alphabetically and by subject, to the trinkets he gained as souvenirs from their many travels.

“Alduin?” she called out again yet silence only greeted her.

Then her eyes caught sight of another open door. Feeling her shoulders relax exponentially, Hermione approached her son’s bathroom and first peeked inside. She first noticed clothes on the tiled floor just haphazardly strewn about, which only made her raise a brow in bewilderment than anger at such an untidy sight. She made sure to pick them up and dump them on the hamper as she made her way inside, specifically towards the pristine white tub full to the brim with water.

There she found her son, clad in nothing but swimming trunks, lying on his side at the bottom of the water-filled tub. His eyes were open and staring blankly at nothing, completely unbothered by the water. Tiny bubbles of air floated up to the surface but didn’t care for it either with his innate ability to breathe underwater.

Yet another secret ability they shared.

Hermione pulled out a nearby stool and sat close to the tub.

“Al? Sweetie, can you please talk to me?” she coaxed, her voice gentle, knowing full well her son could hear her just as clearly.

It took a moment before Alduin moved. Hermione managed to avoid most of the water that splashed, but ultimately didn’t care much for it, as her son’s head broke the surface of the water. His curly locks were damped down and clung onto the sides of his face.

She couldn’t help giggle at how water droplets cutely fell from his nose.

“Is he gone?” he asked.

“Yes, but he said he’ll be back later tonight.”

Alduin groaned loudly before diving back down underwater. It only made Hermione chuckle.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you act this way, Al. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing but your reaction was definitely surprising.”

That effectively raised her son’s head out of the water again. This time, there was a noticeable pouty expression on his face. It wasn’t the first time he was denied of something. While Hermione wouldn’t second guess giving her son what he wanted most of the time to the point it resembled to, as most of her close associates called it, spoiling, she could freely deny him if needed. However, this was the first time Alduin became upset to the point of storming off.

“I guess I did act a bit rudely earlier… I’m sorry, mother,” he passed a glance at the bathroom floor and noticed it was clear of his clothes, “and I’m sorry for the mess. I was going to pick them up later.”

She shook her head, “Don’t worry about it. But since we’re on the topic- do you want to talk about it?”

Alduin didn’t answer immediately. Instead he moved to lay his arms over the tub’s edge and prop his chin over it.

“Just so you know, we haven’t really talked about your education. I know we mentioned it in passing before between the two of us, but honestly Tom never mentioned anything to me about the subject either.”

“He can’t just decide on something like that, can he?” he asked, looking up at her.

“No, he can’t,” she shook her head, “Still, that was quite a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? You’re usually so calm about things. Do you… hate Hogwarts?”

His eyebrows knit together at the center, “It’s not that I hate Hogwarts specifically… I just don’t want to go to school.”

Hermione felt a small weight lift from her shoulders. She prodded, “Why is that?”

Alduin motioned with his hand, “Well for starters, like I said- if I attend school, I would be subjected to their curriculum and that would mean I can’t study what I want. You know I want to learn all forms of magic, mother.”

She couldn’t help internally wince at that. A lot of wizarding communities, especially the large ones like Europe, did their best to be black and white in their depiction of magic, and this reflected in their education system. Mahoutokoro, the wizarding school in Japan, was especially strict about the type of magic students delve into. To the point they even charmed their very uniforms to change color for everyone to know if they’ve touched the Dark Arts. Even Durmstrang, whom had the infamous reputation of teaching Dark Arts, had to teeter on a very fine line to appease not only their own, but international ministries as well. As a former Dark Arts professor of Durmstrang, Mrs. Reicher had been open about her gripes about the times she had to deal with the complaints regarding the school’s curriculum. Especially since she’s mostly at the center of fire for teaching the Dark Arts. Granted, Mrs. Reicher might not be someone Hermione would’ve wanted to associate with how open she was into using dark magic in her younger years, but Mrs. Reicher made a very valid point that while learning to defend against dark magic would be useful, being ignorant of it is also bad in the long run. Especially to those who were hoping to pursue a career in Curse Breaking or becoming an Auror, since they would be exposed to those kinds of magic the most. Similar to how one can’t go into battle with just a shield and not knowing anything about the enemy. She also remembered fondly at how unapologetic Mrs. Reicher was for being a strict instructor. Her core principle with the Dark Arts being that it should be dealt with great discipline.

“Well, I can’t say in confidence that I know what Hogwarts’ curriculum is,” she said honestly. She wasn’t sure how different it was compared to when she studied in the 90’s, “but even if they’re not partial to some branches of magic, school is a place that offers more than just academics. I’m sure it’s a good place to grant you many opportunities you wouldn’t be able to have if you choose to remain homeschooled. Isn’t that what you wanted too? To experience a lot of things in life?”

“Yeah… but…”

He trailed off, and Hermione filled in the next words, “But that’s not the biggest reason you don’t want to go to school, is it?”

She watched as he chewed on his bottom lip, taking his time to answer.

“Mother is right. I will be able to experience a lot of things if I attend school, and I am curious about what it’s like, but…” Alduin casted his eyes down and said in a soft voice, “I don’t want to be away from you.”

Brown eyes widened at his admission. She never thought her son would experience something like separation anxiety. Her son grew up independent extremely fast that it actually concerned her more that he didn’t even cry the first time she had to leave him to someone’s care. “Al… I don’t know how much you know, but going to school doesn’t mean you’ll be away forever. I’m sure there are breaks and vacations you can use to come home to.“

He wasn’t moved. Instead, it only made his head fall lower and more droplets of water fell from his hair as it casted a shadow over his eyes.

“Two weeks,” he started, “They say students only have two weeks to celebrate the Christmas holiday- to go back home. Then there’s Easter, which students aren’t even allowed to go home despite having no classes.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, unsure where he’s getting at.

“Neither of those have a chance of falling on my birthday. So… if I go to school… I won’t be able to watch the stars with you again… ”

“Al…”

“I thought that wouldn’t change even after you got married to him. So when father said I had to go to school, I just…” his small hands gripped the edge of the tub so hard till his knuckles turned white, “It was like he was taking me away from you. Mother… please don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

Eth srast rea ym tsearget tuareser.

Cahe dna yvree liengs noe.

Nda now…

Re’oyu ptar fo ti.

Hermione enveloped her son in a tight embrace. She cared not for the water that wet her clothes, only for the boy in her arms who refused to look into her eyes so she wouldn’t see his sadness.

“Oh my sweet boy,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his wet mop of hair.

“I’m sorry, mother,” he mumbled lowly, “I know it’s a selfish reason but…”

“I know, love,” she cooed, “I know full well how much the stars mean to you. I love the stars too.”

Yma eth yvre srast nrowc oyu.

Hermione continued, “But didn’t I promise we’d always see the stars together on your birthday? I’ll never break that promise.”

At this, her son finally looked up at her, his dark eyes shining, “Then does that mean you won’t make me go to school?”

“You know I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want,” she poked his nose playfully, making him scrunch his face cutely, “But if I’m perfectly honest, I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of you going to school. Like I said, you’ll be able to gain a lot of different experiences if you attend. You will be able to interact with a lot of people your age too- gain some friends of your own.”

“I don’t really need friends…”

“Don’t say that,” she chided lightly before heaving out a sigh, “You don’t have to worry about my answer, Alduin. If you don’t want to go to school, that’s fine, but I don’t think he’ll give the same answer though.”

Her son’s expression twisted sourly, “Why does his opinion matter when he clearly didn’t ask for mine?”

The brunette sighed exasperatedly, “Well, according to our contract, he has the right because he’s your father. But you’re also correct, Alduin. He shouldn’t be allowed to make a decision on his own, especially if I have a say about it as well. But I’m curious, Al, how much do you know about wizarding schools?”

With the mood easing, Alduin waded in the tub till he settled himself in a comfortable position facing his mother, “I only know as much as the alumni told me. Some people are really proud of their Alma Mater. Like, while we were in America, there was this witch who told me how much she missed Ilvermorny’s snakewood tree and how majestic it was as the leaves change with the seasons. There was also this wizard from Koldovstoretz, who boasted about his school’s yearly racing competition using sleighs pulled by Inktailed Foxes.”

“Well now how fascinating!” she beamed. Hermione never had the chance to learn about the other schools besides Durmstrang thanks to Mrs. Reicher. Whatever information she knew, she learned from other wizards and witches who were proud alumni from said schools just like her son. “Do you have a favorite among all of them?”

“Uagadou!” Alduin answered excitedly, making Hermione blink in surprise.

“Err… the one in Africa? Why is that?”

Her son raised his finger for each of his answers, “For one, it’s in Africa so it’ll be warmer there, it’s built on and into a mountain, its location point is the highest among all of the schools- so that means I would be closest to the stars, their specialty is in astronomy and they encourage students to practice wandless magic and become animagi!”

“That’s great, Al. Do you have a second favorite?” Hermione smiled at him indulgently, trust her son to list the climate at the top of his rubric. However, she may not have anything against other wizarding schools, she was hoping her son would at least mention Hogwarts in a positive light this time. He may not like the school’s name but surely he’d also had his fill of proud alumni of her former school. Discounting the fact that both of his parents studied there.

“As a matter of fact, I do, mother. It’s Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons! It’s warm there in Southern France. The chateau, and its many gardens are said to be absolutely stunning. Not to mention the school have arts and languages as part of its core classes! No other wizarding school have that!”

Okay…

“Err… is there a third?”

At this, Alduin paused to ponder, “Well, Castelobruxo specializes in potions, and magical plants and animals.”

Both of her mind and body didn’t know how to properly express her reaction to her son’s answers. On one hand, she was happy that her son was open in his opinions and appreciation of the other schools, but there was also a sinking feeling of disappointment that he didn’t even so much as mention Hogwarts. Surely, he’s heard of the majestic castle that withstood the test of time? What about its rich history? The black lake? and heck even the Hogwarts Express! But Hermione also knew she couldn’t show it or even comment on it. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for his mother to incline him to Hogwarts when she had been vague about where she learned magic. She also didn’t want to risk Tom catching whiff of her attending Hogwarts as that would be an impossibility in this time.

Best to let him believe whatever hypothesis he had of her to avoid further complicating things as they already were.

“All of these are good points, sweetie, but if there’s anything I know about Tom, he won’t be going down without a fight,” she said more to herself. Hermione also knew Tom wouldn’t hesitate to use something underhanded to get what he wants either. Alas, another thing to watch out for when he gets back.

“Mother, may I ask- how well do you know father? From the way you speak, you seem to have a lot of preconceived notions of him but for father… it’s like he doesn’t know you at all.”

Of course he doesn’t. Because the first time they ever interacted in both her lives was that unexpected encounter in Borgin & Burkes.

“You don’t have to worry about my relationship with him, Alduin. It’s not something you should ever be concerned about. You just focus on yourself, alright?” she gave him a reassuring smile. Besides, it’s not like either of them wanted more out of this contractual relationship. At least for her.

“Alright, mother,” Alduin nodded in assent, yet unconvinced.

“On that note, I know it’s a bit late to ask but I’m curious- what do you think of your new father, Al?”

“I think…” he hummed, looking up at the ceiling as he put a finger on his chin, “I think he’s the kind of person who practices his evil laugh.”

Their hearty laughter echoed loudly in that bathroom.

.

BANG

Hermione couldn’t help slapping at her own forehead. At least the slam of her son’s door wasn’t as bad as the first time. Alduin didn’t close it for storming out either. More likely in frustration at how his father didn’t so much as budge an inch during his entire spiel.

Though to give credit where credit is due, Tom didn’t interrupt Alduin once as he relayed all of the cons of him going to school. From pointing out how attending would more likely impede his growth and learning to why Hogwarts should not be the school of choice. It was a valiant effort. Truly. She could feel her son’s confidence from how he stood alone. Unfortunately, it was a difficult sales pitch and Tom was one very difficult customer to convince.

For the last three days.

Hermione knew Tom wouldn’t budge on this. He was the heir of Slytherin. That fact hadn’t changed even in this new life of hers. And he was still proud of it. Now that he has a son, Alduin is the new de facto heir, and letting him enter Hogwarts would be the metaphorical equivalent of him passing the torch.

She knew all of this, had seen his true intention since he first mentioned Hogwarts.

But she couldn’t say anything about it.

Both of them had the right to have a say on Alduin’s education, but between the two of them, hers would have the weakest argument. She wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t be opposed to Alduin going to school just to grant him the experience. And while her concern of his wish to watch the stars on his birthday and feeding him were valid points, she can’t say them either. She has absolutely no intention of revealing her son’s condition.

The only hope she was currently clinging on to was the fact the magic of their contract was still intact. They both agreed, with a bit of reluctance on Tom’s part, that neither of them were allowed to make demands of their son unless his safety was at risk. Unfortunately, the contract will not register Alduin’s hunger bouts as a risk to his safety because, should he ever experience another instance, the people around him would be the one in danger. Not him.

Therefore, should neither Tom nor Hermione agree unanimously, the only way to turn the table would be to convince Alduin of their wish even if one of them is disagreeable. Hermione fought hard for that clause that her son gets the final word. So, while Hermione couldn’t help her son with her argument, so long as Alduin remains stubborn in his refusal to attend school, Tom wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Such was the beauty and tragedy of forming contracts enforced by Red Caps. Normally, those who violated would be met with a variety of punishments from sudden unexplained, incurable diseases, disability, a mockery of the Imperius Curse, or even death.

Normally.

They may as well be the first to make a contract overseen by Red Caps in each party, but that did not mean they were exempted from such consequences. If anything, it only forced them to be more cautious of their actions. Tom and Hermione acknowledged these risks. Too bad each of them had a pact with a Red Cap so neither couldn’t get the upper hand.

Tom was also fully aware of this, which was why he couldn’t openly declare Alduin going to Hogwarts no matter how much he wanted to. Therefore, the only path to take was to somehow convince him.

“What was your education growing up like?”

Hermione blinked out of her stupor at the sudden question. A moment of silence had blanketed over them when Tom dismissed Alduin to allow them to talk.

“Err…” she coughed into her fist to regain her composure, “Freely. For lack of a better term. I am sure my learning environment was different from yours, or for most people. I traveled a lot and I couldn’t stay at one place for too long so I had to learn as much as I can.”

He had once speculated that she grew up traveling, and it was best to give him a half-truth. She didn’t need to lie that she didn’t go to Hogwarts, and she can also truthfully confess that she did learn a lot more about magic during her travels.

Hermione couldn’t afford to slip and needed to be careful with her words, especially with the way Tom’s entire focus was on her again.

“So you agree with Alduin then.”

“I agree that Alduin would learn far more while homeschooled,” she turned to meet his gaze, “You tested him, didn’t you? Alduin told me. Then you should be aware that he already knows more about magic than children his age.”

“Yes,” Tom cupped his chin, seemingly in thought, “All he’s missing is a wand and he can already outperform his peers. Perhaps even those in second and third years.”

“Oh I’m sure he can!” Hermione beamed. A wide smile breaking from her careful façade as pride filled her chest upon hearing Tom’s acknowledgement of Alduin’s capabilities.

Her cheer was only met with a pointed look and raised brow however, making Hermione fidget slightly back to a more composed position.

“You taught him all he knew, yes? What were they? Arithmancy, Runology, History?”

“They’re one of the most basic subjects that didn’t necessarily need a wand. Alduin grew too quickly out of his storybooks,” she chuckled, remembering fondly the first time her son ditched said storybook and crawled into her lap to attempt to also read what she was reading. It was a book about carnivorous plants in Asia.

“And Astronomy? Potions?”

“Alduin loves the stars. I say that might be his favorite subject,” she shrugged, “And I sometimes lose track of time whenever I brew. So I let him assist in preparing ingredients if it’s safe. Of course, I never let him brew on his own. But Alduin did manage to brew a perfect wiggenweld potion when he was eight.”

“Really now?” dark brows raised. A wand wasn’t needed in creating that potion.

“Mmhm. I even had a bottle preserved as memorabilia.” Hermione wasn’t aware but she was smiling again. The direction of their conversation opened doors in her memory palace she happily looked into.

“And what of Herbology? Care for Magical Creatures?”

“We encountered a lot of things in our travels, and Al’s very curious and eager to learn the world around him than he looks.”

“The Dark Arts?”

“Only the most basics. I haven’t taught him beyond recognition and the difference between transfiguration and spells for body modification.”

“You introduced him to the Dark Arts…”

The slow drawl of his sentence was like a bomb had set off on her face. Hermione broke from her blissful trip down memory lane as she realized what she just revealed. And just when she said she had to be careful of her words…

Tom was looking at her, not with a careful regard, but with a glimmer in his eyes and a crinkle at the edges. He was sitting more relaxedly on his chair, his fingers interlaced as he rested his elbows on the armrests, and there was an amused smirk that tugged at one corner of his lips.

“I knew you had no qualms with dark magic, but…” he recalled to their fights, “to think you even intended to teach your own son.”

“It’s nothing like that!” Hermione exclaimed defensively, but Tom was nonplussed as he continued to look at her like a cat that had caught the canary, “It’s best that he knew what he might encounter. And better he learned it from me, who can supervise and guide him properly, than risk him learning by himself or from someone else. Besides… magic isn’t supposed to be as black and white anyway.”

“Oh? What is it then?”

She caught herself from answering and instead shot him a glare, “What is with these questions? We’ve gotten off topic. We should be discussing about Alduin’s education.”

“Of course, of course, my apologies,” Tom nodded almost condescendingly. But the glimmer and smirk didn’t recede, “I just didn’t expect this revelation.”

“That’s not a complaint, is it?” her eyes narrowed.

“Hardly,” was his only answer followed by a show of teeth with his smile. She hated how charming it looked on his undeniably handsome face despite the less than innocent cause behind it.

“I believe I’ve answered your questions,” Hermione huffed, “Ultimately, I’m on the fence. If Alduin likes to go, then I won’t mind. But if he doesn’t want to go to school, then that’s perfectly fine for me as well.”

“You do realize that going to school would grant you the time you needed to conduct your research.”

“I’d never prioritize anything above my son.”

There was a steely edge in her eyes. One of determination and unshakable will. One that effectively diluted Tom’s earlier amusement.

“Your opinion has been noted,” he said diplomatically but suddenly changed his stance as he rested his cheek on one palm, “So you believe a simple levitation charm can harm a person?”

“Of course. Raise an object high enough and then let gravity do the work. Let it hit headfirst if you’re even merciful enough to end your target quicker.”

His smirk returned, wider, and this time Hermione openly cursed at herself. But before she could redirect her ire at the wizard sitting opposite her, Tom suddenly asked.

“What are your plans this Halloween?” his face was serious. Bar of any teasing he had for her earlier.

Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of how easy and quick he could shift from one behavior to another. Still, she didn’t like how he had successfully caught her off guard through her son. She couldn’t be helped looking fondly at those memories, but she needed to be more careful from now on. Under the security of the contract or no, she should still be careful of the man in front of her. after all, this Voldemort is a lot more cunning than the one in her own.

The brunette asked with narrowed eyes, “Why?”

Ironically, Hermione and Alduin had no special activity or tradition during Halloween. Nothing more than to prepare their table full to the brim with as much dishes they could to commemorate the season of harvest and bounty. Although her son had participated in Trick or Treating with muggle children before. Who was to stop them anyway?

Instead of answering, Tom took out a single envelope from the inner pocket of his suit. When it seemed that Hermione had no intention of accepting it from his hand, Tom placed it on the table between them, surprisingly without fanfare but a keen eye observing her actions.

Despite herself, Hermione’s eyebrows raised the moment she read the name of the sender: Horace Eugene Flaccus Slughorn

“I suggest you wear something green.”

“An ascot?” Alduin asked holding said fabric aloft in both hands. It was a deep emerald green with swirling silver patterns. At a glance, anyone could tell it was made from expensive material.

It matched Tom’s own already tied around his neck.

“The first step of playing a game, Alduin, is you have to equip yourself properly,” he said, “Now go on, you also need to put this pin on you.”

His son stared at said pin in his hand. A green diamond held by the fangs of a silver snake’s open mouth. Then the boy looked at his neck, before blinking down on the ascot in his hands.

“Err…” he uttered incoherently as he laid the cloth across the back of his neck. But that was the extent of it, it seemed. As Alduin started to fumble which side goes over which. Each time he looked up Tom’s neck as if trying to decipher the instructions as he went along.

“Clearly you don’t know how to tie one,” Tom observed.

The boy defended, “I’ve only worn bow ties, and its not like I have to wear something so fancy while traveling.”

“Of course,” he said dryly, exhaling in exasperation. Tom motioned with his hand at his son, “Come here.”

Obediently, Alduin approached as Tom knelt down on one knee. He first popped open the first two buttons of his shirt before tugging each end of the ascot in its proper length.

“It’s almost the same as you would to a tie,” the older Riddle said as he proceeded to do a four-in-hand knot. Once he was contented with the width, Tom tucked them inside his son’s shirt. Making sure to leave the first button open before pinning the green diamond on the left lapel of his dress robe.

He never understood wizarding fashion beyond what was needed for him to look presentable. For all its intent and purposes to be unique, it still had a reminiscent style with mugglewear. Case in point, his and his son’s would look like any black on black embroidered suit if not for the knee-length cloak.

“Mother!” Alduin exclaimed to the direction over his shoulder.

The witch wore as she was told. Her own dress robes were made of deep green material that clung her upper torso and hips appreciatively. Below her waist, it flared slightly around her as it pooled just by her heel-clad feet. And her wild mane was somewhat tame for once in long elegant waves

As a man, he could acknowledge the beauty of the opposite sex. He had long since accepted that (begrudgingly) if he had taken the witch to his bed ten years ago. The only thing that kept him from fully appreciating her assets, however, was the prominent color of gold on her person.

While the dress robe itself was predominantly green, there was a large golden embroidery of roses and butterflies, which would sometimes flap their wings, decorating her upper torso. At the hem were also faint golden patterns akin to flames billowing in nonexistent breeze. Admittedly, he had never seen such style before. And the artful design of the embroidery did further compliment the swell of her bosom, the dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips.

However, he couldn’t help ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that her choice to wear gold over the green was something deliberate.

At least she wore the necklace he had given her already.

“Where did you get this?” she asked. Her eyes widened upon seeing the glimmering jewelry in its velvet box.

‘From a loyal jeweler in the black market.’ Was the truthful answer.

Tom’s involvement in the wizarding black market was limited to the procurement of rare, and highly illegal, ingredients needed for his personal projects. As he preferred to conduct his business in the shadows of aboveground. However, during his time as a shop boy, tempting people to relinquish their treasures, Tom had developed an eye for jewelry. While he had no intention of being a jeweler himself, he learned that certain minerals and precious stones have inherent magic of their own. And the only people trained to invoke said magic are the jewelers and runesmiths of magic-kind.

Mr. Harsen Callisto was one such professional. While the techniques were phenomenal as they were passed down from master to apprentice, the business itself was complicated. It was not difficult for Lord Voldemort to become his saving grace, and his followers were more than happy to be associated with a rising brand of jewelries to decorate themselves with.

The old man was also wise enough to never question his benefactor whenever he needed his services. In fact, the jeweler was almost delighted to have the opportunity to gift his lord’s wife his own work. Tom vaguely remembered how Mr. Callisto boasted of acquiring the main piece of the necklace from an infamous source.

Apparently, there was someone in the black market who caused a boom to involved jewelers with their method of paying with ‘the highest quality gems one could ever find’.

Someone who shared his initials: LV

“From a friend who knew how much he owed,” Tom answered instead.

“My mother looks so pretty, doesn’t she, father?” Alduin asked, even nudging his side with his elbow when he didn’t answer immediately.

Tom, however, was staring scathingly at Hermione as he caught her giving him an odd look. An expression he knew stemmed from having caught him dressing up their son. While the witch had proven herself to be an amicable business partner, he did not need any of her snark tonight. No, tonight is all about Alduin and how he would settle the boy’s refusal to go to school once and for all.

“Yes, adequate,” Tom answered. He passed a glance at the witch’s wedding ring worn over her long white gloves before turning on his heel towards the door, “Let’s go.”

.

Gaining an invitation to Slughorn’s yearly Halloween party was just as easy as Tom expected. Fortunately, his former professor had not changed over the years. He did not miss the way Slughorn looked at Alduin when they had literally bumped into each other at the Leaky Cauldron. And being the opportunistic man he believed himself to be, no doubt Horace Slughorn had already reserved a top spot for Alduin in his metaphorical shelf of collections. After some choice words and a generous gift of frozen pineapples, Slughorn’s response couldn’t have come to him any sooner.

If words weren’t enough to convince his son, then perhaps the real deal would. Tom also figured it would be best that he showed Alduin what he needed to see himself.

What he didn’t expect, however, was Hermione’s compliance. Whereas he braced himself for the witch’s resistance to the matter, the witch had been more than easily acceptable to the invitation despite the shakable veil of reluctance. Though he supposed, as someone homeschooled, the witch’s eagerness to enter an actual school was understandable. At least between her and their son, one of them was appreciative of his Hogwarts.

The green flames from the Floo gave way immediately to the sight of bright colors and lively music. It seemed that the theme this year were trees. Dark, gnarly, bare, misshapen trees to be exact, holding up decoration and drapes as illusions of bats flew overhead.

Tom felt his chest swell at the familiar sight. It had been years, but his Hogwarts had not changed. The air and majesty he felt that tingled his bones felt like a welcome home. Of course he had intended to return at one point. He just didn’t expect to do so with his makeshift family in tow.

He looked down at his son to his right. The boy was taking in all the sights with a bored expression. Meanwhile, the witch hanging on his arm to his left was more expressive of her wonder.

Which was not what he had imagined.

It should be Alduin who should be looking about in excitement. Not his mother.

Tom dropped his arm only to circle it around the witch’s waist. Effectively breaking her out of her musings as he tugged her close to his side. Her hands instantly came up to his chest in an attempt to break free from his hold but stopped as Tom leaned over to hiss at her ear.

He tried to ignore the subtle yet pleasant whiff of her perfume as he whispered, “I trust you know what’s expected of you tonight.”

Predictably, she glared at him, “Of course I do.”

“Then you know it’s in your best interest to behave, wife,” he added with a squeeze of her soft hip.

“I could say the same for you, husband,” she replied dryly, making him snort.

Tom leaned back and resumed to holding his arm for her to hold onto, while with the other, placed it over his son’s back just between the shoulder blades. “Then shall we greet the host?”

.

“TOM!”

The loud bellow of Tom’s name was like someone had casted a sonorous spell. Thus earning more attention from the party-goers, both students and guests alike, to the small family making their way to the host.

And who would even dare to not stop and stare? Here was a tall, devastatingly handsome wizard with a gorgeous young witch on his arm, as well as a little, adorable, handsome boy who looked so much like the older wizard.

“Horace,” Tom smiled his practiced pleasant smile as he stopped in his tracks to let the pudgy man meet them halfway.

“You finally arrived! It’s so good to see you again!” the potions professor cheered as he clasped his former student’s shoulders in lieu of a hug. Displaying just how absolutely delighted he was to see him.

“Thank you for having us, Horace. I realize how last minute it was.”

“Not at all! As surprised as I was, I was more than happy to receive your letter!”

“I’m sure you were,” Tom’s lips tugged into a small grin before he directed the professor’s attention to his family, “I’m sure you remember my son, Alduin.”

As expected, his son knew to play his part and smiled politely at the grinning man, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. I hope you remembered me.”

“Of course I do, Alduin m’boy! My, I dare say you’ve gotten taller the last time I saw you,” Slughorn gave a hearty laugh as he shook his son’s hand exuberantly, before turning between him and Tom, “My word, you really do look like your father.”

Good.

Tom then gestured to his left, “And this lovely witch here is my wife. Hermione, this is-“

“Horace Slughorn,” the witch cut in, unknowingly unintentional. He noticed the way she said his name carried a recognition akin to acquaintances who had not seen each other for a long time.

Slughorn, however, remained clueless, but the excited expression he wore became even more pronounced if possible.

“Ahh to think I finally had the chance to meet Tom’s wife,” the potions professor couldn’t help opening his arms as he reveled at the opportunity.

This seemed to have broken her out of her momentary stupor as she held up her dress and curtsied the best she could while still holding onto his arm, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Hermione Jean Granger-Riddle.”

Slughorn blinked numerously, “Granger-Riddle? You combined your names?”

Tom felt a nerve tick at his jaw but otherwise smiled and nodded his head naturally.

“My word…” Slughorn mumbled in bewilderment. But instantly in the next second, his wide eyes returned to excitement once more as he focused on his wife. “Are you perhaps related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?”

From the corner of his eye, Tom watched the witch keenly. From her slow blink to the way she chewed on her lower lip in reluctance.

Eventually, she lifted her head and smiled at Slughorn politely, “We try our best to spend at least an entire day every month. Thankfully, bringing his favorite treat always spares me from any scolding for lost time. It’s the least I could do to repay him for taking care of me, after all.”

Her answer wasn’t direct but it still spoke volumes that forced Tom to fight off the triumphant smirk from cracking his polite façade.

Despite the vagueness, the witch still confirmed that yes, she did know Hector Dagworth-Granger. Yes, they have a close relationship. And most importantly- YES, she knew where the elusive potioneer-turned alchemist was. Now the only thing left to question was how close their relation was.

Slughorn, however, caught onto her affirmations as well and it was more than enough for him to put her in a positive light in his conclusions.

“Oh how absolutely wonderful! Do excuse my forwardness, my dear, but I just couldn’t possibly contain myself! You were quite the mystery ever since I learned Tom had gotten himself a family. I have been meaning to meet you, and I’m just so grateful you came to my humble party. And to think, you’re related to such an esteemed potioneer! I am a fan of his work, you know, and I’m proud to be part of his Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers myself! Ah! that reminds me- your boy had mentioned you were quite talented in potions yourself. Oh but of course you are! I expect nothing less from my star pupil to choose such a beautiful and talented wife!”

.

Alduin dropped his gaze from his parents being surrounded by a variety of guests to the glass of orange fluid in his hand.

“Not bad,” he hummed in approval as he took another swig of his pumpkin juice.

After sensing the direction of where the conversation was going, Alduin successfully excused himself. Even though Mr. Slughorn displayed a bit of reluctance, he was still spared as it seemed that he was more interested on getting to know his mother. He had also caught his father give him a warning look but otherwise allowed him to go.

Of course, his destination was towards the large food table complete with a large chocolate fountain that changed between three flavors for per interval.

Alduin was content in just standing there eating and drinking as he observed the rest of the party. Paying no heed to the people whose eyes he could feel on him, nodding politely if their gazes met, but otherwise didn’t bother initiating any conversation. He especially tried to ignore the music playing in the background. Pleasant it may be to normal ears but to him, it lacked a quality his high musical standard found vexing just for the mere fact that it was being played by charmed instruments.

They should’ve at least chosen a better song than this boring drivel.

As his finger plucked the last bat-designed tart on the tray, he felt a small presence pop from beside him. Alduin winked secretively and as usual, the invisible house-elf squeaked in surprise and showed its form for a brief second. The third flabbergasted elf, just like the ones before who immediately replaced any empty tray of food on the table, bowed their head at him deeply before popping away. In the meantime, Alduin chose to target a different tray of food this time; with everyone around him oblivious to how quickly he consumed right from under their noses.

He wasn’t sure why his father brought him here, but he had a strong suspicion it was another ploy of his to convince him to go to school. In fact, he had every intention of refusing to go to this party, but then he saw that flicker of emotion on his mother’s face. One he recognized very much whenever she talked about her friends and family who were no longer around.

He didn’t understand why she would have that look in relation to Hogwarts. She wouldn’t have gone to that school, or else she would’ve told him. But Alduin had a feeling that attending would make his mother happy. And he was correct.

She tried to hide it, but he could tell how excited his mother was after his father left as the days led up to this Halloween Party.  

His mother hardly asked for anything that wasn’t his safety and happiness. So for once, he would at least grant her this. Even though he didn’t understand, it’s nice to see his mother happy.

“Excuse me.”

Alduin turned just as he refilled his glass for the nth time tonight. Standing at a polite distance in front of him were twin boys a couple of years older than him. He hadn’t noticed any other children around his age.

“You’re Alduin Riddle, right?” one of them asked, probably the eldest.

“Granger-Riddle,” Alduin corrected, “And you are?”

“Ah, apologies. My name is Rodolphus Lestrange, and this is my brother Rabastan Lestrange. I believe you know of our cousin, Rowan Lestrange.”

Alduin hummed in recognition as he put on his polite mask, “Of course I do. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rodolphus, Rabastan.”

Alduin asked after they shook hands, “May I ask how Rowan is doing? I do hope he’s faring well.”

Rabastan raised a brow at him, “No need for that, Alduin. We may be older but there’s no need to speak so formally to us.”

“I appreciate it, Rabastan, but I couldn’t possibly act so familiar with people whom I just met,” he answered with a smile. The underlying message of observing caution in their familiarity was more directed for the twins than to Alduin himself.

“Err…” Rodolphus, having caught on, cleared his throat and smiled back pleasantly, “Well I suppose we should be grateful that you allow us to call you by your first name.”

“Indeed. Not to mention it would be quite confusing if I refer to the both of you as Mr. Lestrange.”

“Indeed it is!”

They laughed easily at this.

“But to answer your question, Rowan is doing just fine.”

“He’s only ever sung your praises, might I add.”

“Oh?” Alduin quirked up a brow.

Rodolphus answered, “Excuse us but we are aware of the incident that happened on our cousin. As family, we are grateful for the assistance you and your mother provided for him. I just hope no such altercations would happen again in the future.”

“You’re very welcome. Though the incident was between me and Rowan, I’m glad that he seemed to have moved on from it. Hopefully he’d watch where he’s flying the next time he’s on a broom.”

“There you two are!” someone cried before another boy arrived. He was much older than the Lestrange twins but also dressed in fine dress robes. He came from behind the twins and slung his arms over their shoulders in a familiar gesture, “I had wondered where you ran off to. How’s your first attendance to Sluggy’s party? Hmm? Who’s this?”

The eldest boy cocked his head curiously at Alduin who only smiled back politely at the newcomer.

“You look… familiar,” he said, hand rubbing his chin in thought. “I didn’t think Slughorn would invite a first year… but I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Which house are you in?”

“Corban!” Rodolphus cried, shrugging the older boy’s arm over his shoulder. He gestured, “This is Alduin.”

“Granger-Riddle,” Rabastan finished.

“Riddle?” Corban frowned before his eyes widened in disbelief, “No way…”

Alduin kept his silence as he continued to watch Corban’s expression in slight amusement. His eyebrows had risen as high as they could go, his eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth was steadily lowering from its hinges, and his posture had become lax. Overall, he looked at Alduin as if he was a creature of myth-turned-reality.

“Corban Yaxley,” he finally introduced with his hand out.

The youngest boy in the group stared at his offered hand for a moment before accepting it. His smile pleasant. “Pleasure, Mr. Yaxley.”

Yaxley opened his mouth, intending to tell him to drop the honorifics, but Alduin interrupted him in time.

“May I ask, do you have a habit of suddenly interjecting yourself between people who are obviously in the middle of a conversation?”

“I… well- I…” Yaxley stuttered, having caught completely off-guard at the question from the ten-year-old boy.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Rodolphus and Rabastan seemed to have caught on the venom hidden behind his words as well. Further reinforced by a steely glint in Alduin’s bottomless eyes. It was an unsettling look in of itself. Even more so coming from a young boy who barely even started school yet.

“Alduin.”

“Father,” Alduin greeted over his shoulder as he sensed his father coming from behind.

“How are you enjoying the party, son?” he asked, lowing his head a bit to meet his equally dark eyes.

“The food has been wonderful, father,” Alduin answered with a grin. The dangerous lilt he possessed just a second ago suddenly disappeared, “though I can’t say the same for the music.”

“Pity,” his father then turned to the other boys, “And these are?”

“Corban Yaxley, sir!” the eldest boy stepped forward, hand already outstretched. His eyes were practically shining with admiration as he stared up at his father.

“Yaxley’s boy,” his father hummed after shaking Yaxley’s hand once, “You are a prefect, aren’t you? Graduating soon?”

“Yes, I am, sir. I’m in my sixth year so I still have a year to go,” he answered, posture straight and proud if not a little flustered, just like how someone would act around an idol.

“I see. Well good luck. I’m certain your father expects greatly from you.”

“Yes! I will do my best, sir.”

His father nodded at Yaxley’s beaming face before turning to the twins, “And you are?”

Both twins bowed their heads in perfect unison, “Lestrange, sir. My name is Rodolphus.”

“And I am Rabastan, sir.”

“Ahh I think your uncle mentioned you’d be here. How are you boys taking your first Slug Club party?”

“Very well, sir,” Rabastan answered.

Rodolphus added, “Especially since we were able to make your son’s acquaintance, sir.”

“Is that right? Well, I’m grateful you boys kept my son company, but do you mind if I borrow my son for a while?”

It wasn’t a question.

“Not at all, sir.”

Just like that, the Lestrange twins and Yaxley excused themselves after an exchange of polite farewells.

“They’re all students from the Slytherin House,” his father said once the boys were far enough away, “Should you attend school, they will be your seniors, and many more would want to introduce themselves to you.”

“Where’s mother?” Alduin asked instead, dismissing his words as he looked up at him.

“Around,” he answered curtly, a muscle on his jaw ticked in annoyance, “She’ll be fine. She knows how to play the game. Now come, there’s something I want you to see.”

Curiosity piqued, Alduin followed after his father as they made their way towards a large set of double doors.

“Is it really alright for us to sneak off?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

To Alduin’s amazement, none of the guests seemed to have noticed their departure. Soon he was following just behind his father as the elder Riddle led them through numerous corridors. Making turns around similarly-looking corners as if he was walking on a memory’s footsteps. Or like a king exploring his castle- a castle he knew well like the back of his hand.

Every once and a while, he would notice his father glancing at him as if watching his reaction. Unfortunately for him, Alduin remained nonplussed.

Stone. Statue. Wall. Sconce. Armor. Window. Stone. Statue. Wall. Sconce. Armor. Window.

To the boy’s eyes, there wasn’t a single thing around him he found impressive. Not even the lingering magic within its very walls.

“Err… father, I don’t think we should be here,” Alduin said uncertainly after reading the sign nailed at the door.

His father, however, didn’t seem to care as he leisurely entered the girl’s lavatory, making sure to hold open the door for his son. He ordered, “Come.”

Alduin shot him a dubious look but there wasn’t a hint of mirth nor mischief on him. After making sure no one was on each side of the empty corridor, Alduin stepped inside the lavatory. His eyes instantly fell on the sinks grouped together in a circular pattern.

“Over here,” his father called, stopping in front of one of the sinks.

Alduin stared at their reflections before lowering his eyes to the sink. The stains on the marble were indicative that it wasn’t of use. He was about to question his sire but his eyes caught a curious shape engraved on the side of the faucet.

It was a snake.

“Open,” his father spoke in parseltongue after ensuring he had seen the mark, and in the next second the sink began to move.

The sink itself sank, in a hollow place hidden on the stone floor. Until it showed a pipe large enough for a man to slide into.

“That looks unsanitary,” Alduin commented as he stared down into the abyss, unafraid.

“Yes, we can’t have your mother seeing your clothes stained, can we?” his father replied sarcastically but otherwise took out a wand. He made a couple swishing motions and a layer of magic surrounded both of them. “That should do. Now, after you, son.”

Alduin cocked his head at him for a moment before a wide grin broke from his face.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Then the boy willingly jumped into the darkness. His cheery ‘Ya-hoo!’ echoed up to the surface.

The further down Alduin went, the darker his surroundings became until he was completely swallowed by darkness he could no longer see his own hand. Yet he remained unafraid. Even as he steadied himself as his feet felt the bottom of the slide.

It wasn’t long until he heard another set of two surfaces sliding towards him. His father landed gracefully on his feet with his wand aloft. A ball of light at the tip of his wand illuminated their surroundings and that’s when Alduin noticed that the floor was covered in bones from various animals.

Alduin’s eyes were wide in surprised amazement.

“Still as unpleasant as ever,” his father commented, wrinkling his nose before gesturing for Alduin towards a corridor, “Follow me.”

And follow he did. At the end of the corridor was a large door with two snakes interlocked in each other’s coils. His father stopped in front of it, stepping to the side to allow him forward. Alduin obliged and observed the carved serpents hissing at each other. Each scale was expertly carved, down to the smallest details. It was a beautiful piece of art whose grandeur was preserved thanks to the magic placed on it even in the dark dampness of this sewer.

“Try it.”

Alduin looked up at the older man. Under the light of his wand, he could clearly see his expectant look. It wasn’t difficult for him to figure out what he meant.

Taking a step back, the boy stared at the entirety of the carved serpents before opening his mouth. He hissed, “Open.”

There was a groan and the sound of stones grinding against stone. The carved serpents uncoiled from each other before the door opened by itself. It revealed to them a long stretch of stone path. At each of its sides were statues of snakes baring their fangs, looking as if they were rising from the dark waters that filled the rest of the large expanse.

“Now from here on out, I want you to- Alduin!”

He heard his father call for him but Alduin didn’t stop. The second he saw the large head statue at the end of the path, Alduin broke off into a sprint. The splish-splash of his feet hitting the puddles of water bounced loudly against the walls.

Alduin stopped just before the stone path fell to another pool of water beneath the statue’s mouth.

“Alduin!” he barely heard his father stop beside him. His tone uncensored with his annoyance. “You would do well to not run off on your own like that again.”

He heard him.

But he wasn’t listening.

The boy was too focused on staring at the statue.

Unaware how his pupils morphed into slits.

“It’s Salazar!” Alduin exclaimed, his finger pointing at the statue with excitement.

Beside him, his father’s annoyance faded at his son’s recognition of their ancestor.

“Yes, he’s Salazar Slytherin. You know of him? Did your mother tell you?”

Alduin grinned pleasantly, “Of course I know of him! He looks a lot older here though, but he was very polite.”

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just say?” his father was frowning at him now. His perfect brows wrinkled closely together in confusion.

When Alduin blinked back up at him, his eyes were as dark as the void. He parroted innocently, “What did I just say?”

“You said Slytherin was very… polite.”

“Oh, yes… I think… I did… didn’t I?” he felt his own face twist in confusion at his own words. One hand even came up to his head as he wondered their validity.

His father obviously wanted to press further, to confirm what he just said, but the sight of a large mass breaking the surface of the pool before them interrupted him. Followed by loud hisses, both father and son watched the majestic reveal of the ancient basilisk of Hogwarts.  

Later, Alduin would learn that even though his father had commanded its slumber prior to his departure, the serpent would still wake every few decades to eat and shed its skin. Hence the ever-increasing pile of bones outside the chamber.

They were fortunate to have today as such occasion.

The basilisk hissed menacingly, but upon recognition of the intruders, it lowered its scaly, almost-draconic, head. Its eyes even closed in reverence.

“A thousand greetings. I bow before the Young Lord and Master. I thank that you have blessed me today with the return of your presences.”

Alduin stared back at the legendary creature. He had seen a lot of other magical snakes; from Horned Serpents to Runespoors, but this was the first time he had ever seen a basilisk. Known for its extreme difficulty to be bred, if not for how dangerous it was.

Still, Alduin approached without a hint of fear. His hand was outstretched to touch the basilisk’s lowered snout. He could feel his father’s observant eyes watching him from behind.

“What’s your name?” he asked in parseltongue.

“Shesha, my Young Lord,” it answered.

“Shesha… you must’ve been very lonely…” Alduin lamented. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but he felt his heart constrict in sadness for the creature before him. With his other hand, he cupped what he could of the serpent’s giant maw as he approached and touched his forehead on its hard scales. His hands gently caressed the protruding scales. The boy didn’t even so much as flinch when he met its deadly eyes.

“Father,” he said after some time, turning his head towards the man who only watched him in silence as he greeted the basilisk like an old friend, “What is this place?”

With that, his father approached and placed his own black gloved hand on the giant serpent. When he knelt before him once more to meet his gaze, his usual black eyes were a deep crimson red.

“Our legacy.”

.

Hermione breathed a sigh in relief.

Finally, she managed to get herself a breather. She did not expect to be crowded like that in her return to Hogwarts. She hadn’t been close to Professor Slughorn in her previous life, and she never knew what became of him after they lost the war. But seeing such a familiar face, laughing and smiling so freely without a care in the world, sparked in her a feeling of relief, content, and happiness.

So much so she didn’t even feel as disturbed as she should while pretending to be Tom’s wife, nor Slughorn’s exuberant interest in her as his star pupil’s wife and someone related to a master potioneer.

She didn’t mind at all.

Because she was lost.

As if Hogwarts itself had casted a spell on her the moment she stepped foot back inside the castle.

She was back.

She’s in Hogwarts.

Hermione had returned home.

At one point, as the guests corralled her into their own conversations, she was separated from Riddle. Which was fine. Most of the guests were more interested in him anyway. As many recognized him as a powerful, well-connected wizard from so and so. Even though Slughorn was more interested in getting to know her, he wasn’t shy to sing his former student’s praises either.

But that vigilant side of her had reared its head.

A few minutes ago, she saw her son eating by the food table. Then he wasn’t there. Tom had also disappeared as well.

Now, Hermione was staring at the firelit ceiling of a corridor. Having successfully excused herself to the loo. It was no coincidence those two suddenly disappeared. She needed to find them.

Nine steps.

Hermione only managed nine steps before her memories mixed with her reality.

It wouldn’t hurt to explore a bit… right?

The smile on her face was wide as she took the time walking down the empty castle corridor. She recognized it as the second-floor of the castle.

Overwhelmed with nostalgia and longing, the doors in her memory palace opened, and this time- in this moment- she saw herself not as a war-hardened adult, nor a married woman, not even a mother.

No. right now she was a little girl. A little witch basking in the glory of Hogwarts’ majesty. Wide-eyed, innocent, and eager to learn all of magic’s secrets.

Her heart lurched as her fingers trailed over the stone wall as she went.

She choked as her mind brought back each memory.

How she missed this.

For every crack on the stone floor, every gentle carving on the wall, the orange hue of the fire’s glow in their sconces, and even the silence of the night.

Little details she had taken for granted.

Little details she never knew she would miss the most.

Here, Hogwarts wasn’t a broken rubble.

It wasn’t the battlefield that changed the wizarding world forever.

Here, Hogwarts is whole.

It is still alive.

Hermione stopped in her tracks abruptly. The door she had passed by instantly gave way as she passed her hand along the old wood.

What was a door doing left unlocked in Hogwarts?

An empty room perhaps? Or did someone just forget?

She peaked her head inside and as it turned out, it was the former. Specifically, it was a disused classroom.

In front of the room was a large blackboard, while on one side were desks and chairs neatly piled up against the wall. It was dusty, and clearly had no sign of any use for years.

Still, in that room bathed in the dim light of the moonlight penetrating the glass windows, Hermione sighed in longing.

Just a bit more…

She circled the room, unbothered by the dust that collected on her fingertips as she skimmed every surface she could touch with the gentlest caress as if they would break.

She could easily picture a room like this on a sunny day.

She could imagine students sitting on their seats. With books, parchment, and quills in front of them.

She could visualize a little girl with wild, bushy hair and slightly large front teeth raising her hand before anyone else at every question from a professor.

She could see Harry and Ron snickering, teasing her playfully for being such a swot-

“Harry…? Ron…?”

Hermione’s mouth opened in shock. Something was constricting around her neck. Her throat instantly felt dry.

“Harry… Ron…” this time their names came out as choked sobs.

There. There they were.

Right in front of her.

Her brother and best friend.

Standing beside her.

The brunette gasped and whipped her head around.

There was no one there.

But when she looked back, they were still there.

And they weren’t alone.

This time, she couldn’t help the tears from welling up her eyes.

“Mum… Da…”

Her parents were there, standing on her other side. Smiling back with their warm smiles.

Her son was standing in front of them.

And that’s when she realized what she was seeing.

After another glance around, Hermione realized she was in front of a mirror. A magical artifact she never had the chance to use as it was destroyed since the fall of Hogwarts. Something she only knew from the words of Harry and Ron.

The Mirror of Erised.

With its unique magic, the mirror was said to show the heart’s greatest desire. Harry said he saw himself with his parents. Ron confessed he saw glory and fame.

Hermione saw her loved ones.

Alduin, her parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Hagrid, Mrs. Reicher, Hector, even Crookshanks. And many more faces the mirror couldn’t fit but knew in her heart.

They were all there.

Complete. Happy, and smiling.

Even her own son was holding her reflection’s hand in the mirror.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

But it was a sad smile.

Because it was so cruel.

It was a cruel image.

For she knew… she knew… that this was something she could never have.

Not after that deal she’s done… and not after she was going to do… should she succeed.

She can never be with them all again.

And yet…

Her lips moved but her voice was lost to her unshed tears.

I miss you.

“Excuse me, madam?”

The voice that broke the silence was like the crack of thunder after the quiet reprieve.

In her shock, her body’s developed defense mechanism kicked in. Hermione’s wand appeared in her hand and a hex shot out of its tip towards her intruder that managed to sneak up behind her.

“Madam please!” said voice cried out after they successfully shielded against her quick shot. “I mean you no harm.”

There was a cautious gentleness in his tone. She didn’t fire again but she didn’t lower her wand either.

“Please, madam, may you please lower your wand? I apologize if I startled you.”

The stranger came into the light, and Hermione had to summon all her willpower to not fall on her knees in shock.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

Chapter Text

Pointing at the broken sky, we laugh together with childish eyes.

Let's bathe in the light that peeks in from the gap in the night, and sleep right here,

Where no one will find us,

Together, you and me.

Wise old man.

Were the words to describe Hermione’s first impression of Albus Dumbledore the first time she saw him. Before she knew the existence of Hogwarts and magic, and before her taste in literature moved on to science, math, and biology, she would sit on her mother’s lap and listen to her read books. With her mother being a classical romanticist at heart, Hermione became familiar with the tales from the Grimm’s Fairy Tales to the Odyssey. Her name, after all, came from those classical stories.

Dumbledore had fit the stereotypical character in any adventure story. The one whose role was to guide and impart wisdom on the hero as he travels through his epic journey. And in a way, the old wizard played that role for Harry. Even though he was absent on the last leg of the story, he still helped Harry the way he could. And for that, Hermione will always be grateful.

Even if, after years of reflection, she realized things could’ve been handled a bit differently… but what else did she expect from a man who believed in prophecies?

She dearly missed those she lost, but she had shed enough tears already.

“See, madam? I am not here to harm you. Now, may I please ask you to lower your wand?” Dumbledore coaxed like she was a cornered cat, lowering his own wand.

Having realized what she’s done and the person before her, Hermione’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment. She immediately tucked her wand back in its hidden holster- earning a curious look from the man, but otherwise smiled wider at her acquiescence.

“I-I’m very sorry,” she stuttered. Part of her felt like a student caught after curfew by her professor.

“Please, there’s no need to apologize ma’am. It was callous of me to disturb you when you were obviously engrossed. Though I must say the reaction was very surprising indeed,” Dumbledore followed with a laugh, easing the mood.

“I’m sorry, sir. I just… I have my fair share of dueling,” she rubbed her arm sheepishly.

“So it seems,” he replied, taking her amicable response to his questions as cue to step forward. He stopped across from her in front of the mirror. “I was afraid you had been too ensnared by this artefact. The Mirror of Erised, you see, shows not your face but your heart’s greatest desire.”

“Yes, I know of this artefact, sir,” she turned her head back at the mirror, and silently read the words arranged backwards engraved atop its frame. It wasn’t a dark artefact like those in her cabinet, but the fascinating magic it held would be most welcome to be part of her collection if given the chance, “I know its history began before the end of the nineteenth century. While the creator remained unknown, it was said to be originally intended for fun and wonder. Unfortunately, many people did not react as so positively in the face of their true intentions. It’s quite tragic.”

Her eyes glossed sadly as she dared to look at the faces of her loved ones once more. While beside her, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in intrigue at her knowledge.

“Quite true, madam. Too often I’ve seen witches and wizards become lost in the images,” his gaze fell to the ring over her gloved fingers, “You seem to have quite the extensive knowledge on magical artefacts, madam. Am I correct to assume you are a guest invited by Horace for his Halloween party?”

This time, Hermione’s smile came easily, “I am, Professor Dumbledore. Though I must insist on my apologies. I understand I’m not supposed to wander off the party’s venue but… I simply couldn’t help myself from exploring. The castle- Hogwarts- is truly enchanting, and… as you have seen, I might’ve also been caught by the mirror.”

She rubbed her arm more, wondering if her explanation was enough for the older wizard. Their reunion may have brought her nostalgia, but she could never forget the kind of man he was.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore smiled and nodded at her in understanding as he stroked his beard. His auburn hair sported streaks of silvery-white strands.

“Ahhh I was wondering why I couldn’t recognize your face, madam. You did not attend Hogwarts, did you?”

Yes, I did.

“No I didn’t, sir. I was homeschooled, or- well, if that’s what you can call it since I spent most of my life traveling the world,” she answered instead.

Dumbledore nodded his head again as if he had just mentally ticked off a mental checklist, “That explains it then. Hogwarts, you see, is a place of ancient magic. The castle itself was built upon the will of its founders since it began as a mere idea. Can you guess what that will could be?”

Hermione couldn’t help but blink at the sudden history lesson. It made her wonder what kind of professor he was before he was relegated to the seat of headmaster. Did he have a habit of questioning students outside the classroom? Harry occasionally went to her to ask for her perspective on the questions and words of wisdom Dumbledore gave him . The man wasn’t often fond of giving direct answers. Though she supposed that just came with age.

“Well,” Hermione cupped her own chin in thought, “I know that the school was created during the height of witch hunts. From what I’ve read, Hogwarts was created to be a place of learning for future wizards and witches. So if I have to guess what could be the will of the founders… is it to have a sanctuary where people could practice magic freely?”

The current Transfigurations Professor beamed and clapped his hand at her answer, “Excellent! That is exactly correct, madam. I believe that deserves ten points.”

Despite herself, the brunette’s stomach flipped in elation at his praise. Mentally, she dedicated those imaginary ten points to Gryffindor House.

He continued, “It is the will of the four founders of Hogwarts to create a safe haven for us magic-folk to use our gifts without needing to hide nor fear of being caught by muggles. So you see, there’s no need to apologize, madam. You getting lost in the castle halls is just the ancient magic, the will of the founders, reaching out to you to make you feel safe and at home as a witch. First year students would’ve felt this magic upon their arrival and would grow into it. So fret not. This happens all the time for guests who came to Hogwarts for the first time.”

Lips parted slightly in shock. Did Hogwarts always have this sort of magic? She’s never heard nor read any inkling about it! When she was a first year, she could admit to being enchanted by the castle’s grandeur and getting lost in its splendor as she took in everything it had to offer with wide, excited eyes. But she thought it was all just childish wonder, of stepping into a whole new world. Hermione could admit to herself that her mind went blank from nostalgia and longing of the past, but could it also be possible that the will of the founders came to effect on her as well? Was it because she stepped into Hogwarts in a time she wasn’t originally supposed to be in?

“Nevertheless, your apologies only spoke for your politeness, respect, and consideration for our beloved school, and for that, I thank you, madam,” Dumbledore added, breaking her from her musings, with a slight bow of his head.

“I…” Hermione started but stopped herself short. If she started apologizing again out of modesty, knowing the wizard also had a stubborn streak, it’ll become a back and forth she wouldn’t hear the end of. So she smiled, “Then thank you for understanding, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Not at all, madam. Now, I’m afraid we’ve been swathed by the dust in this room for long enough. It would be a shame on your lovely dress. Please, allow me to escort you back to the party.”

As they made their way back to the party, Hermione couldn’t help getting lost in her thoughts once more. This time in reflection.

Cordial. Polite.

Hermione had her own reasons for not seeking out Dumbledore for help when she finally realized the time and place she had woken to. One, her travels and hunts didn’t allow her the chance for contact; and two, she just simply didn’t need his assistance. However, should the slim chance really did come for her to meet her former headmaster, she certainly didn’t imagine this.

She could feel the gazes he sent her way from the corner of his eye. The part of her that remained aware, realized that the old wizard wanted to ask her something.

Perhaps it was the far-off look in her eyes, the wandering gazes and the lingering touches on statues they came across, that kept him from speaking. It seemed that he was content on observing her for now. Did he find her character suspicious for some reason? Or was he curious at how the ancient magic he spoke of worked on their newcomers?

Nevertheless, they both enjoyed their companionable silence. It was only when the collective sounds of merry-making people become too loud in their ears did they decided to also break the silence.

“I see Horace had outdone himself again,” Dumbledore started, “Last year, the theme was ‘Pumpkins’.”

“Does Professor Slughorn often host such parties at Hogwarts, professor?”

“Often enough, madam. It’s not good for the students to always be so focused on their studies. It is important to also give them leisure and activities outside of school to help them relax. Ah! But please, madam, there’s no need to call me ‘Professor’. You are hardly a student nor a fellow staff of this school, so please feel free to just call me Dumbledore. I am sure Horace would also extend the same offer, if he hadn’t already.”

Brown eyebrows raised, “Oh but I couldn’t possibly! Your- uhm- your reputation precedes you, sir. And while you are a great wizard who had done heroic feats, I’ve heard you put more value in your career in academia. I thought calling you professor would be more respectful.”

His sapphire eyes twinkled as his closed smile stretched against his bearded face, “You truly are too polite, madam, but please I insist. It has been a while since I’ve witnessed the will of the founders at work. Seeing you so enchanted by a fragment of the castle alone gives me greater pride in working here. Please, it is the least I could do to welcome you here.”

“I…” she gaped at him like a fish. It’s true that she wasn’t a student- hadn’t been for years- but to refer to her former headmaster something casual felt a little weird. Then again, it would be even weirder if she refused, “Very well, sir. Thank you.”

“I’m glad, madam.” This time, he didn’t try to be subtle in looking down at her wedding band, “If I may be bold to ask, madam, did you get invited to this party by Horace personally?”

And there it was. She was anticipating this question of his, however leading it was. At least her first impression of her reunion with her former headmaster had been good.

“Not really, sir, no,” she confessed. There was no point in giving vague answers for this.

Especially not when she caught sight of a familiar tall, dark, and pale visage making its way towards them.

“My husband is an alumnus of Hogwarts and is close to Mr. Slughorn. I was fortunate to be allowed to come along. I heard some of his parties were for exclusive guests only.”

“Husband?”

“So this is where you were, Hermione,” Tom said as his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to his side. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Tom,” she replied with the subtlest hint of warning. Wary of the heavy hand holding her.

“Tom.”

He broke his seemingly unfazed look from hers to finally address the other wizard. His eyebrows raised minutely in mock surprise. She didn’t believe a single ounce that he didn’t already see his former Transfigurations Professor as he approached.

“Dumbledore,” the slight tilt of his cordial smile did not meet his eyes.

Hermione could feel the tenseness of his shoulders, and the way he straightened his back even more. It was like seeing a raised king cobra with its hood open in display. But instead of doing so to instigate fear, it was more like showing itself off. A proud display saying: “Look at me! I am bigger, better, and more dangerous than ever before”.

A freezing claw dug under her skin as the weight of the situation made itself known to be more than she anticipated.

“Tom. Why it’s been so long. You look well.” Dumbledore’s smile was more convincing, but there was no more twinkle in his eyes.

“I could say the same to you, sir. Age has been good to you,” Hermione couldn’t help looking up at him for his petty insult, “though I remember you weren’t quite fond of attending parties. It’s a surprise to see you here.”

Dumbledor chuckled, “Not at all, Tom. I was just here to escort the madam back. She had gotten lost, you see. The magic of Hogwarts had enchanted her quite a bit.”

“Is that so?” Tom spared a brief glance at her while Hermione tried to keep up her polite façade, “Then I thank you for your assistance and keeping my wife company.”

“It was my pleasure. Though I suppose it was impudent of me to not ask her name first.”

She had no doubt things would’ve gone very differently if he had.

Hermione dipped her head at the older wizard. Unable to curtsy properly with the way Tom kept a steely arm around her, “My name is Hermione Jean Granger-Riddle, sir. Do excuse me for not introducing myself earlier, I did not mean to be rude.”

Instead of replying, Dumbledore’s graying eyebrows raised. His eyes darted between the two of them, “You combined your names…”

Hermione frowned a bit at that. It wasn’t the first time someone commented about their combined last names. The practice itself wasn’t new. Even muggles have done it before. Like Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff in her year. Then again… Justin was a fellow muggleborn.

As for Tom and Hermione, the latter would have a better chance fighting off a bear without magic than to be able to convince the former that he had met his match in magic. Even though their previous fights proved them to be equals in that regard already. Tom would never admit he was inferior against anybody, and Hermione was too proud to bow the slightest dip before him. So what was the next best thing but to consider themselves as equals even in paper only?

Or was it Dumbledore’s precognitions about Tom that made this all the more shocking?

“Oh good, you found mother.”

She turned her head towards the direction Tom came from. Her eyes scanned her son from head to toe, and to her relief, he looked just as fine as the time they left the Den. From his shiny shoes to the perfect ascot tie to the artful waves of his dark hair, not a single thing was suspiciously out of place.

“Perfect timing. Alduin, come over here,” Tom gestured and Alduin stepped forward obediently until he was standing at the other side of his father, with his larger hand holding onto his shoulder. “Son, this is Albus Dumbledore. He was my former Transfigurations Professor.”

Large, dark eyes flecked with stars gazed up at the much older wizard.

He looked unimpressed.

It only lasted for a split second, but neither of his parents missed it with how closely they were watching him.

“Oh, I know of him, father. Everyone knows he’s the wizard who defeated Grindelwald,” Alduin smiled politely as he broke from his father’s hold. He took a step forward and held out his hand towards Dumbledore, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Alduin Azoth Granger-Riddle. Your reputation precedes you.”

No one moved.

Dumbledore, for all his control and cordiality, just stared at Alduin. He didn’t even register the hand offered to him.

“Uhm… uhh… sir?” Alduin said awkwardly. His outstretched hand lowered to his side. The older wizard was sporting a strange look, making the boy shift uncomfortably and turn to his parents.

“Sir, are you alright? You’re looking very… pale…” the boy tried again.

“Indeed sir, are you ill? You’re as white as a sheet,” Tom added, his eyes gleamed at the sight before him. “It’s almost like you’ve seen a ghost.”

There was a dangerous lilt in his voice. A daring insinuation that fueled the tension between former student and teacher. Something Hermione wouldn’t have understood if she didn’t already know the background of his story. Despite this, it was ultimately overwhelmed by Hermione’s growing apprehension.

It was true. The look on Dumbledore’s face could’ve been what she imagined his expression had been when he first discovered about Voldemort’s horcruxes. It was the look of familiarity, a haunted past, a dawning horror…

And he was looking directly at her son.

Hermione felt her hackles rise. Her protective instinct kicked in. While her priorities didn’t include interfering the conflict between the two wizards, she would not hesitate on engaging anyone who antagonized her son.

She forcefully broke from Tom’s hold.

“Mr. Dumbledore, do you need assistance?” she asked as she subtly circled around her son, shielding him behind her as she feigned concern for the older man.

“I…” Dumbledore stammered. He blinked and realized he was no longer looking at Alduin- who might as well be the direct replica of the boy from the orphanage he met years ago. “No, no, no, no need to fuss, Mrs. Granger-Riddle. I’m all right. I suppose I’m just more tired than I realized.”

He waved his hand up in refusal for any more attempts in assisting him. The old wizard even removed his half-moon spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose and massage the spot between his eyes. When he placed them back on, he looked more compose and the color returned to his features, yet his stance remained guarded.

“Did I… say something wrong?” Alduin peeked from behind his mother, and shifted his gaze between the adults as he waited for any of them to answer his question.

“Not at all, Alduin- was it?” Dumbledore answered before turning to his former student who just stood there in silence with an expressionless face. Not even bothering to feign concern, “I was just… astonished. When Horace told us you had a son that looked just like you… well, I’m afraid words alone didn’t do it justice.”

Tom chuckled, “Thank you, sir. But make no mistake, while Alduin resembles me greatly, he also has his mother’s spirit, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Three sets of shocked eyes whipped towards him. All of which had varying degrees of disbelief and incredulity. But none attempted to refute his words.

“It seems that… a lot has happened to you, Tom… for the better, I suppose?” Dumbledore said carefully.

“I have a wife and son now, Dumbledore. Those alone changes things.”

“Yes… I suppose you would know how to treasure family the most, don’t you Tom?”

The insinuation was not missed. Alduin had a sharp mind despite his age, but he didn’t have enough context to understand what it meant. Whereas Hermione felt a cold shiver run up her spine. While she would enjoy seeing Voldemort get knocked down a peg or two, Dumbledore’s remark of his orphan past… it was a low blow even for her. And as someone who lost her loved ones and valued family greatly…

“Thank you for your insight, Dumbledore,” Tom replied coldly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dance with my wife.”

He only spared a glance at their son as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along to the dance floor where a few couples were already dancing to the music that were constantly playing throughout the night.

Hermione didn’t have the fire to refuse him.

.

Alduin watched his father pull his mother along to the dance. Apart from music, he and his mother had enjoyed other forms of art- dancing being second to love for playing instruments, and she once told him before that she used to dance ballet as a little girl. So he’s confident to say his father had a knack for the art as well.

However… to the untrained eye, no one would’ve noticed anything amiss, but to Alduin, he could see the forceful tugs and somewhat erratic footwork. As if his body was more attuned to a fight rather than a harmonic waltz. All the while his mother just let him lead, and tried to keep pace.

He turned his head towards Albus Dumbledore, who had been caught surrounded by people like moths to a flame. The first time he became familiar with the man, was in a card for his first chocolate frog. He didn’t care much for it. And over the years, he had heard of him being one of the most powerful wizards in the world- especially in his victory over the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald.

Surprisingly, France- whose wizarding ministry had fallen under Grindelwald’s rule- were split in their opinion over the man. While some were grateful and regarded him a hero, a greater percentage didn’t paint him so favorably. Apparently, Dumbledore had earlier chances of fighting him but chose not to for whatever reason.

He’s also in conflict with his father.

Did he know that his father was another dark wizard? His mother also practiced a wide spectrum of magic, including the one many wizarding communities deemed as ‘Dark Magic’. Does that make her a dark witch? But his mother is a very kind person.

Prior to coming here, his father only reminded him to act his part. He had already met Mr. Slughorn, and had anticipated people introducing themselves to him. From what he could sense from his father, meeting Dumbledore wasn’t something he expected.

The music of Albus Dumbledore’s magic was… okay. In a way that it was exactly Alduin expected. Dumbledore’s song was like a trumpet. The overall melody was like a march, a call to battle that spoke of a warrior. Befitting for a hero that triumphed over evil, someone with a strong will of heart and unwavering of his values and good morals. But when slowed, there’s a bittersweetness to it that only told Alduin that the wizard had experienced great losses and sacrifices, and is willing to create more for the sake of what he defined as the greater good.

If he were to liken it to a classical piece, it would be the trumpet excerpt from Antonin Dvorak’s 9^th symphony.

Alduin also couldn’t say he was disappointed. To be disappointed meant that his expectations weren’t met and he didn’t really expect anything from the man as just another wizard no matter what people say of his heroism. At least his father’s broken song was amusing, and there was no song more beautiful than his mother’s.

He stared back at his parents dancing to subpar music.

Alduin lasted for only five seconds.

“Well, this is insulting,” he muttered to himself before he slithered through the crowd.

He smiled demurely when he stopped in front of Mr. Slughorn and patiently corrected him when he referred to him as ‘Tom’. Perhaps in his inebriated state that he still viewed him as his father, or because he was his father’s son, that the plump wizard easily granted his permission. Nevertheless, Alduin didn’t waste a second in approaching the dais where the charmed instruments were.

Despite himself, his face still twisted into a scowl at the sight. If there was a word he could use to describe the music charmed instruments make, it would be bland. Like food arranged into a beautiful presentation, but disappointingly flavorless once bitten. Or like how one took a photo of a painting and sold it for cheap. The beauty of it may be captured, but the message of each color and the feelings the painter poured for every dip and stroke could never be conveyed. He had even asked his mother before if charmed instruments were made as a joke.

Alduin reached out and took the violin and bow. The charm placed over the instrument broke the second he touched it. He tapped his fingers and tested the strings, and noted that they were muggle-made. Nothing like his own which were made from Firehollow trees and various winged horse hairs. But this was fine. The first instruments he touched and practiced on were non-magical anyway.

There was a conductor’s podium with a music stand in front of the instruments. The thing about charmed instruments, especially when using more than one, was the need to set up a music sheet for all of them to follow as the charm itself as well as the chosen song can only be casted per instrument. Even if they were charmed to play the same song, they would never be able to harmonize properly. The solution was to charm a music sheet of choice and link those instruments to it. Misters Concordia and Plunkett taught him this.

Alduin swept his eyes over the music sheet once before closing it and set it down at his feet. Instantly, the rest of the instruments stopped playing. He picked up the baton- a normal wooden stick, and tapped it against the stand thrice to get the instruments’ attention as if there were actual people holding them.

“I lead, you follow,” he ordered, and set up the violin below his chin and played.

The first few notes started as a solo, his fingers worked through the strings expertly. Several people had stopped to stare at him but Alduin didn’t care as he focused on his task. It wasn’t long for the rest of the charmed instruments to follow, especially the cello and piano. Even with the music sheet closed, because of the link between the instruments, Alduin’s music was able to reach, and soon the entire room was swept by a beautiful melody that was better than anything the guests have ever heard.

Once confident the other instruments were in sync with his, Alduin turned on his heel and played. Behind his closed eyes, he thought of the lonely basilisk hidden under the castle and hoped the music reached it.

As well as his father.

.

“Tom,” Hermione called gently.

His eyes were staring forward, but he was looking anywhere but her face.

“Tom,” she tried again, and this time she tugged back to a stop when he tried to pull her to another step again.

That caught his attention.

He snapped, “What?”

Hermione breathed deeply in and out of her nose before answering, “Alduin is playing. Listen.”

His brows furrowed and that’s when he stopped to really listen to the music.

It was a waltz. A well-refined sound of 3/4^th time signature orchestral music telling a story than the just the melody pleasant to the ears.

The violin that was distinctly louder than the others spoke of a single person. Supported by the rest of the instruments that followed a symmetrical pacing with the chords despite the alternating notes. There’s an elegant repetitiveness to it. Eventually, the chords changed into something happier, bringing a sense of wonder and curiosity of an impending journey. Even if the repetitive pacing was still there.

“Want to start again?” she asked, making the dark wizard finally affix his gaze at her.

Hermione straightened her back; she knew he forced them to dance as a distraction. She felt the sting in Dumbledore’s words even if they weren’t directed at her. And thanks to that, she needed one too.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, not liking the veiled command in her tone, but it was proof that her voice had reached him.

They agreed to provide a show as a loving couple, and she had a feeling that Alduin was helping them. Though her son’s choice of song was a little odd. It was a waltz, yes, but it was the song to a story. A piece she had listened to in her previous life and liked. Her memory palace served as a perfect record and she had played it for her son on their piano before.

The Merry Go Round of Life.

A couple of heartbeats passed as they just stood there, their ears filled with their son’s music, before Tom tugged at her hand once more. Hermione felt his hold on her slacken a bit as he raised their joined hands high. His own wedding band shined under the light. And in response, she placed her hand on his shoulder while his free one took her waist.

They danced to the song their son was playing for them.

And though they would never admit it aloud, it was surprising how easy they fell into step with each other. Obviously, both of them had practice. It was all Hermione could do to not think that she was dancing with Lord Voldemort- the man who took everything away from her. All to keep up their charade as a couple to drive away annoying and suspicious people.

And yet here she danced.

She danced with the man she knew as evil in her previous life. Her husband, who knew nothing of her but as the mother of his child; to a melody that spoke of new beginnings and unknown wonders.

He twirled and pulled her closer at the slow reprise of anxious and regretful anticipations.

Their pace picked up at the allegro, the brisk and lively tempo for pleasurable discoveries and curious excitements.

And for a short time, they slowed to their son’s violin solo telling sorrowful losses and unexpected revelations.

Then there was an amalgamation of sadness and joy, of regrets and reliefs, a summation of a tale retold over and over in a climactic moment.

The song ended to a note that was the same as in the beginning, that left the audience to decide whether the story had been a comedy or a tragedy.

Tom and Hermione ended their own dance pressed close to each other. Ensnared by their own son’s song, as a willing distraction. Her breasts to his chest, and his hand at the small of her back. Surrounded by other couples both guests and students alike, as they took the center of the dance floor. Not knowing that with each step of their feet, the floor rippled as if they were standing on water.

Their son stood alone on the dais, watching them as he was surrounded by charmed instruments.

.

All the while, from across the room, Slughorn was swaying and humming in tune with the music. On one hand he held his nth flute of champagne for the night while the other held a handkerchief. His rotund face was red from all the alcohol as well as his eyes. Between his hums, he would hiccup and sob into his handkerchief as he watched his former student.

Really, Tom had grown into a fine wizard just as he had envisioned. While he was disappointed he strayed from the political field, seeing him again, and dancing so close with his beautiful wife had him tearing up in joy. He had never had children of his own, but seeing his most favorite student and his family is the closest he’s ever felt to knowing what’s it like to be a proud father.

And their son! Oh! Who knew his child would be such a virtuoso! Alduin looked healthy and happy, and that only meant he had grown up in a good environment. Unlike his poor, pitiful orphan father.

“Horace, my friend, I believe you’ve had enough drinks for tonight,” Dumbledore said to him gently as he took his flute away and set it aside on a nearby table. He was able to get away from the people who crowded him as they were all captured by the lovely music a little boy was playing.

“Oh Albus!” Slughorn cried, dabbing his kerchief on his eyes again, “Just look at them! Why, they haven’t looked away from each other ever since they started!”

It was true. Tom had not once strayed his eyes away from the brunette witch. He could tell they were lost in their own little bubble as they swayed with the music.

And what gorgeous music it is!

Even the other dancers, his own students included, had been sucked into their own worlds as if nothing else existed.

Dumbledore couldn’t recall Tom ever picking up an instrument. Perhaps his son’s talent came from his mother? She certainly seemed to be a witch of great many feats, if the way she divulged information about the Mirror of Erised was any indication, or even the accurate way she answered his question. She was very polite and respectful too, and he had sensed a bit of childish naivete on their walk through the castle hall back to the party. Obviously, she was a witch who had great practice in culture. In fact, she mentioned her name was Granger… could she be a relative of Hector Dagworth-Granger? He hadn’t heard of the man having a daughter.

So it was with those thoughts that had Dumbledore wondering… how did she end up being Tom Riddle’s wife?

“And here I thought Tom was not interested in love,” Slughorn beamed, “to think it’s only because the witch of his flavor was just waiting for him outside the country!”

They left Slughorn’s party earlier than Horace liked. But even if Hermione wanted to stay a bit longer, to reignite her connection more with her beloved school, seeing her loved ones again other than inside her memory palace, and the cold war between Tom and Dumbledore had caused her enough stress than she cared to admit. Even if Professor Slughorn obviously wanted to get to know more about her, his drunken state wouldn’t be able to remember a word she said even if she tried.

But more importantly, she doesn’t think she could last another second with the way Dumbledore looked at her son.

So even if she didn’t like the way Tom decided it was time for them to leave without asking her first, she complied easily.

They stopped abruptly when Alduin turned on his heel to face them.

“Mother, father, I have decided- I will agree to go to Hogwarts-“

Tom perked up, Hermione’s eyes widened, and Alduin raised three fingers.

“-on three conditions.”

“And what would they be?” Tom asked with an indulgent tone, taking a step past Hermione.

Alduin looked up bravely at him as he folded his finger for each of his conditions, “You will tell me everything about Salazar Slytherin.”

“Done,” Tom answered immediately.

“I will be allowed to continue studying any branch of magic I want. That means all of them. Even the ones outside the school curriculum.”

At this, Hermione interjected, “That would require discretion, Alduin. I’ve told you before that some forms of magic… it’ll be risky to practice them inside a... controlled environment.”

“I can be discreet, mother, or if it pleases you more, I promise I won’t practice on my own outside of theory. I just want the promise that my studying avenues won’t be restricted just because I had to go to school.”

“Then that won’t be a problem,” Tom confirmed, nodding at his son in approval, “And what’s the last condition?”

“Every year, on my birthday, I want to be able to go home. Even for just a few hours.”

“Why?” Tom asked after a moment of silence.

Alduin didn’t answer. He just shook his head and met up his father’s eyes. The world’s most dangerous dark wizard. Oh her brave, precious boy.

“Those are my conditions,” he said with finality that, loathe she was to admit it, was eerily similar with Tom’s. Then he clapped, and beamed at the both of them, “Well! That’s that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a quick bath and then go to bed.”

Tom made a face of protest, but her son just skipped beside him and Hermione bent to kiss her son’s forehead just as he kissed her cheek goodnight.

“That brat’s got some nerve to demand like that,” said Tom, moments after Alduin closed the door to his room.

“Don’t call him a brat,” Hermione snapped, “Besides, you’re making him do something he didn’t want from the start. It’s only fair that he asks for something in return.”

“How is the price of three demands for one favor fair?” he snapped back at her.

“He’s never left the comfort of home for ten years, and you want to kick him out of the nest for the next- what? Six? Seven years? With only less than ninety days to come home in a year. I say that’s an equivalent exchange.”

Tom muttered under his breath and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him more when she caught him saying along the lines of ‘nettlesome mother hens’.

“He changed his mind anyway. You can’t say I forced him into it.”

“But you manipulated him into changing his mind in the end.”

She refrained from alluding her suspicions. After all, Tom was certain she shouldn’t know the existence of the Chamber of Secrets.

Didn’t she have an idea he would take her son to the chamber? Yes, she did. She had been thinking of following them to the girl’s lavatory on the 2^nd floor and feign ignorance.

Was it foolish of her to let it happen? Maybe, but she was already aware of Tom’s plan the second he showed her Slughorn’s invitation.

Did she want Alduin to know his connection to Salazar Slytherin? Yes. Even though she doesn’t have to. Alduin’s too curious for his own good sometimes and to keep him from this, something Tom also wanted him to know, would just be delaying the inevitable.

Was she confident Alduin wouldn’t get hurt? Yes. His ring and the contract would ensure it. In fact, she was certain her son would be safer with the basilisk than his father.

Did she trust Tom Riddle? Absolutely not.

His expression remained impassive as she carefully watched him. She knew Tom to be the kind of man who didn’t take any form of insubordination lightly. While he couldn’t lash out on her son, she was a different matter. Unfortunately, her Red Cap couldn’t extend the same form of protection to her no thanks to Tom’s own sanguine creatura. But no matter, she can handle herself.

So she braced for his retaliation… for nothing.

To her surprise, Tom’s lips curled up into a small smile as he took a step closer.

“My, you clearly seem to know me so well,” he said lowly, eyes still so, so dark, and stopped once he was near her grounded form.

What is he playing at?

She chewed on her lower lip, an action he shamelessly followed.

Then there was a growl. A familiar, humane gurgle that dropped Tom’s painted smile and colored Hermione’s face a scarlet red.

“Now it’s certain where Alduin gets his voracity from,” Tom gazed down at her abdomen just in time as it chimed another sound of protest.

Meanwhile, Hermione sputtered. Shocked and aghast at her own traitorous body and the embarrassment it brought her. She tried to defend herself, “I-I didn’t get to eat anything at the party!”

It was true. Swarmed as she was, and with Slughorn’s attention alone, she only consumed a couple of flutes of champagne before she went off her merry way reuniting with the halls of Hogwarts.

Tom was having none of it and just shook his head, unconvinced and was that an amused smirk just now? The bloody bastard was laughing at her!

“Thank you for taking us home. Please see yourself out,” she snarled and smiled at him unwelcomely.

Hermione huffed and almost stomped her way to the kitchen. She nearly threw open the tenerefrigus. No, it’s not a spell. In true, wizarding hypocrisy, wizards developed their own version of a refrigerator. Which… isn’t exactly anything different from the muggle appliance. The only point of comparison was the source of its functionality. Because the wizarding world did not adopt the electrical power grid of muggles, as they relied on magic stones and archaic candlelit objects, among other things, they used magic.

Though, to be fair, the tenerefrigus is better in than a regular fridge. The different layers inside its confines were consistent in the amount of temperature they advertised, and it also has a slight extendable charm that can store more items than it looked on the outside.

She reached for the container of leftover roasted duck they had for lunch. For a moment, she thought of knocking on her son’s door to ask if he would like a few bites. Knowing him, he would most likely accept but then again, she had seen him happily gorge himself on the food table during the party, and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was really tired. By the stars, she was as well, but clearly her body demanded she put something in her stomach before turning a shuteye.

She contemplated this while she reheated her food. On her kitchen countertop was a silver item that looked like an egg the size of her fist. She hovered the container above it and the egg-shaped object broke into six equal parts. Out came six small ropes made of fire and wrapped themselves around the container without burning it. The container remained aloft while the fire continued to circle around it like slithering snakes. While a preservation charm is good on most objects, applying it on food would be a waste. Yes, it will not go bad easily, but it can never preserve its flavor or temperature especially if hours have passed.

Just as she decided to change out of her clothes while she waited for her food to heat, she cried out in shock to find Tom sitting on her kitchen table. Watching her with cool interest as moved about with his cheek resting on his fist.

“What are you still doing here?” she demanded, “I thought I told you to see yourself out.”

“I didn’t want to,” he answered coolly, “Besides, I haven’t eaten anything yet either and am quite famished myself.”

“That’s not my problem.”

While she agreed to act as his wife in public, she wasn’t obligated to do any domestic duties expected from a real wife, least of all to him. Tom wasn’t obligated to be a husband to her either. At this point, their relationship would be akin to business partners. With Alduin being the only factor that allowed this cooperation in the first place.

“That looks good enough for two. It would be a waste to still leave some for the morrow, right?” he stared pointedly at the hovering container before returning to her, “And our discussion isn’t over.”

Was he serious? Did he really expect her to invite him to eat with her? Did he-

Tom leaned back and shrugged his coat off. He nonverbally sent it to hang on the coat stand by the door with a flick of his wand.

By the stars, he is serious…

And apparently shameless.

He rolled up the sleeves of his fitted robe up to his elbows, exposing surprisingly well-defined arms. When he finally caught on to her openly gaping at him as if he was the strangest creature she’s ever seen.

Tom motioned his hand lazily, “I’d offer to set the table, but I don’t know where you keep your belongings.”

The nerve of this man! Just because she consented that he would be welcome and not be harmed while inside the Den, unless he instigated the danger first, did not mean he could just act as he pleased as if he owned the place!

“You are a shameless man,” she hissed.

He tilted his head at her, his expression incredulous, “Is that a compliment?”

.

“What do you know about Dumbledore?” Tom asked as they nearly finished their meal.

Dinner was a stilted, silent affair. Which was fine because all she could think about was how rotten her luck had become. Marrying Voldemort was one thing, dancing and calling him her husband was agreed upon, but having dinner with him? In private? Just the two of them?

The cosmic audience better be happy.

“I know that he’s a powerful wizard, that he defeated a dark wizard that had caused havoc throughout the continent all the way to America a few decades ago,” she answered.

“Was it your first time meeting him?”

“Yes.” Technically, in this new life, it was legitimately their first meeting.

“What do you make of him?”

“I- He’s… fine? I guess,” she frowned, scrambling for the proper words. “I’m not really sure how to answer that. I don’t really expect anything from him. I’ve never been into the hype of things. I can sense power in him, yes, but I’ve sensed other people with greater power.”

She couldn’t help glancing up at him. Which might have been a mistake because he caught her eye and squared his shoulders, pleased. Smug. Flattered.

Hermione kept from giving him a deadpan expression.

Still, he continued, “Whatever you believe or heard, you should know not to trust him.”

“And why’s that? I noticed there was some tension between you two.”

“He’s a meddlesome old coot,” he snapped, stabbing another piece of meat with his fork.

Hermione pursed her lips but decided to keep playing the clueless card. She prompted, “That can’t seriously be the only reason.”

“Believe me, you’d best keep your guard around him.”

“Even more than you?”

“Especially because of me,” he answered, much to her surprise. “When we made that contract, we agreed- my enemies become your enemies, and yours will be mine.”

“I don’t have enemies.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from slipping anything unnecessary. While she did not actively seek out enemies, it hadn’t always been a pleasure to deal with the people in the black market. And after all this time, she had managed to keep herself out of the radar, but that did not mean she’s wholly confident to say no one would recognize her with unsavory intentions.

“So what now? You obviously don’t like the man, and yet you want Alduin to go to the school he teaches in,” she deflected.

“He won’t be for long. By next year, he’ll be stepping up as Headmaster instead.”

“Isn’t that much worse?”

She couldn’t understand his logic. If the Dumbledore in this time resembled the old man from her previous life, she would know he would keep to his good intentions and proper morals. But Alduin was no ordinary boy, and there was no room for doubt he was Tom’s son.

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest.

“If Alduin gets near any danger-“

“He won’t,” Tom interrupted, voice so sure and confident. “The House of Slytherin will protect him, and not even that fool would be able to do anything about it.”

“And what makes you so sure? How would you even know he won’t be sorted into the other houses?” she countered, her inner Gryffindor pride awakening against his claim.

While she wouldn’t mind if her Alduin ended up in another house, she would be lying if she said she wouldn’t be extra pleased if he ended up in Gryffindor like her. Alduin may be a quiet boy but he’s fearless, valiant, passionate, and valued honor- traits most welcomed in the house of lions.

“Because he is my son. Slytherin’s blood runs thick in his veins as it does mine. You know this already. You knew it the moment Alduin started talking to snakes, didn’t you? Alduin said you had his ring crafted because it only fits someone with ancient blood, and there’s no other explanation why he can speak parseltongue. It would be imprudent if such a gift ends up in another house.”

Oh, if only he knew that power was once in the hands of a lion she happily called ‘brother’.

She shook her head and steered the conversation back on target, “But so what? Will this guarantee his safety?”

“I guarantee it. So long as the boy doesn’t get himself into trouble for whatever reason, he’ll be fine.”

“And what about his studies? You agreed to his condition that he’ll be free to practice and learn any branch of magic he wanted, and last I’ve heard, the only wizarding school that’s somewhat lenient on the Dark Arts is Durmstrang.”

“And he will.”

“I will not allow him to practice without supervision.”

“If you really know our son, then you know he’s capable.”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I know my son less than you,” she snarled, “It’s because I know he’s capable that I don’t want him to practice on his own. He’s never practiced outside of theory. He’ll be unaware of the consequences. He needs someone to be there to understand that the core principle of dark magic is that-”

“-everything has a price.” They said in unison.

A moment of silence passed between them. Their heads slowly came to terms that was the first time they openly agreed on something.

“Exactly,” said Tom, and after another moment, he continued, “I will be present. If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been meaning to be more involved in Alduin’s education. Including this area of study.”

The word ‘specially’ went unsaid.

She eyed him suspiciously, but he was undeterred as he met her stare. In fact, he looked at her challengingly. And Hermione couldn’t help the feeling he saw this more as a competition to teach their son more than she had ever taught him. What she feared, however, was what Tom will be teaching him instead.

“Then what about his last condition?”

At that, Tom frowned. Instead, he asked, “Why would be ask something like that?”

“Does it matter?” she challenged. Tom would have no choice but agree with Alduin’s wish. Unless he could somehow manage to change his mind again, he must comply by the terms of their contract. “Can’t a special request be made for this? It’s only for a few hours for one day in the entire school year anyway.”

“Hogwarts only permits special emergencies. Not to mention, with Dumbledore becoming the next headmaster, it might as well be impossible,” he glared at his empty plate as if he was seeing his old teacher’s face. Then he looked up at her, “Don’t you have a transportation artefact here?”

“What makes you think I have one of those?” she frowned.

Tom crossed his arms and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what she just said, “I used to work at a shop that buys and sells magical artefacts. Your flat has more enchanted objects in one room than in any mansion I’ve been in. You’re quite the hoarder, aren’t you?”

She followed his gaze towards the closed door to her room and Hermione felt her hackles raise in alarm. Her heart pounded in anxiety at the knowing look on his face.

No… he couldn’t have.

He’s never been inside her room and she never opened it in all the times he was here.

“I-Isn’t Hogwarts supposed to be an impregnable castle?”

“Ahh, I’ll confess to you a little secret about that,” he lounged, “While it is true the Hogwarts’ wards are one of the strongest in the wizarding world, the focus of those wards was to keep from individuals from getting in. It’s supposed to be a safe haven, you see, for magic-folk against filthy muggles-“

She frowned at the venom in his voice but otherwise kept her silence as he continued.

“-It’s the reason why it’s a castle- a fortress. It’s supposed to keep its inhabitants safe, but while it’s near impossible to break them covertly, it’s another for those inside getting out.”

Hermione pursed her lips as understanding came to her.

“And magical artefacts are bastardized magic,” she mumbled as Tom drank from his glass of water.

Still, she it did not guarantee her son’s passage. In her sixth year, Draco had used the Vanishing Cabinet to travel to allow Death Eaters to infiltrate the castle. But she didn’t have the other half of the cabinet and she had no guarantee that they would be in their respective places (Hogwarts and Borgin & Burkes) in this time. The only solution was to check, and to do that-

Hermione visibly perked up from her thinking position and announced, “I need to go to Hogwarts.”

Tom raised a single brow at her as his eyes sparked in interest.

Hermione knocked on the door, which was immediately responded by a familiar voice that said “Enter.”

She stepped inside an unfamiliar room. Dumbledore’s office was not the same as the one in her previous life. For one, he still occupied the office of the Transfigurations Professor. There were no circling staircases at the sides of his desk, nor sleeping pictures of past Headmasters. Still, she spotted the familiar weird knick-knacks and strange models filling the spaces. Outside, bluish flecks of snow drifted past the window to build up on the outside ledge.

Her eyes warmed at the sight of Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch, the phoenix that had saved her brother.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk and showed no sign of surprise. He had been expecting her. Even though he was not yet officially the Headmaster, with how Dippet eagerly dumped the work and proceedings on him since the school term began, he may as well be. And that included her job interview- the very interview that was supposed to be between Voldemort and Dumbledore.

“Good morning, Mrs. Granger-Riddle,” said Dumbledore easily, “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you,” she said graciously with a smile, and took a seat to the gestured chair across from him. “It was failed to mention to me before, but it seemed that you’re to be headmaster next year. Congratulations, sir. It’s a worthy choice.”

He smiled back, “I am glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?”

“That would be welcome, sir. The trek here was colder than I expected.”

Dumbledore stood and swept over to a cabinet full of boxes of labeled tea. He handed her a cup of steaming earl grey tea before pouring one for himself, “So, Mrs. Granger-Riddle… to what do I owe the pleasure? I must admit you returned sooner than I expected. Has Hogwarts truly piqued your interest so?”

“You could say that,” she answered, taking a sip before adding a bit more cream. Hermione set it back down once she was satisfied with the taste, “I have returned, on behalf of my husband. I believe Headmaster Dippet had once told him he was too young to acquire a position as part of the Hogwarts staff. He was very receptive when I sent him an owl, but he directed me to you since any new employee would be under you in a few more months.”

“Yes, I’m afraid Headmaster Dippet could not wait till next year for his retirement,” Dumbledore set aside his cup and took out a few pieces of parchment from one of the desk drawers. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles before perusing through each of them. “It says here that you were homeschooled, but received apprenticeships from different organizations around the world- and you’re also a member of the Huánglong Coven.”

He looked impressed at her at the last one, and Hermione felt her head lift in pride. There was a complexity in establishing wizarding schools in some countries, and covens were the response to that. It is a group of magic-folk, majority of which comprised of witches, who traveled around the world to small magical communities. Their mission was to teach the children of those communities, especially muggleborns, how to use and control their magic. The Huánglong Coven, whose name came from the fifth divine beast of Asian mythology, which represented wisdom, good fortune, and power, was the oldest and most well-known coven in the whole world. And as the name implied, the coven circled mostly around Asia but was widely respected in the entire wizarding world.

Hermione had become a member not by traditional means. The Head Witch had taken an interest in her- especially in her son- and had allowed her to travel with them as they navigated around Asia. In return for their kindness, Hermione offered to also teach children and motivate her fellow-muggleborns to not be afraid or be ashamed of their powers. She had also spent quite a substantial amount of time in the countries of Asia so the language barrier was a small hurdle. It was during this time that Alduin revealed his gift of tongues. Her son showed a mastery in learning languages, from Chinese, Indonesian, Korean, to even Vietnamese, at twice the speed she had been able to.

As for the rest, her associates were more than happy to provide her their signatures and references. None of which cared that she intended to create fake documents to verify her background just for this very purpose. Only Hector asked for payment in the form of telling him the details of how this meeting went afterwards.

‘Whatever you’re up to is surely going to be interesting.’ Is what he wrote back to her.

“Yes. As I’ve mentioned in our first meeting, I mostly traveled, even at a young age. So my education is scattered due to learning from different people.”

It was mostly true. And this way, it would be difficult for anyone to trace her ‘traveling childhood’ even if they tried.

“Many spoke highly of your achievements, that you’re highly proficient in a lot of different subjects… except Divinations?” he raised a brow at her amusingly.

Hermione huffed. Even she can’t lie about her hate for that field of pseudo-magic, “I have great reservations for the subject, sir. But for the rest, I can confidently say I can do an excellent job of. My travels have allowed me to see and master areas of magic uncommon and unheard of. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other witch.”

Dumbledore considered Hermione over the top of his own teacup for a while before speaking.

“Yes, I have no doubts of those who vouched for you,” he glanced at a letter specifically signed by Hector, “But I’m afraid I can’t accept in confidence some of your aspects with the company you chose.”

A wrinkle formed between her brows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He steepled his fingers at his chin, “How is your husband doing, Mrs. Granger-Riddle? Has he treated you and your child as well as he should?”

“Yes,” she answered coolly. While she didn’t like to paint Voldemort in a positive light, her hackles once again rose at the mention of her son, “He is a very attentive man. He also puts great stock on our son’s education.”

“I’m afraid, Mrs. Granger-Riddle, that certain rumors of your husband’s doing have reached his old school. I should be sorry to believe half of them.”

“Rumors?”

She didn’t like where this was going.

“Unflattering rumors, madam. Your husband,” he said softly, “has been pushing the boundaries of magic. Of some kinds… that should remain still… or is it that you know of this already?”

Hermione’s expression remained impassive except for the furrow between her brows. Some kind of urge overcame her to defend herself.

“Travelling grants us a new perspective of the world, sir. Especially magic. To develop and expound, requires experimentation. There is nothing wrong with seeking answers.”

“No, there isn’t. But oftentimes the answers we seek come at a cost. Would a child understand what their parents were seeking?”

At this, Hermione’s hands balled into fists. Tom was one thing, she can endure his jabs at her association with him just because they were husband and wife, but how dare he involve her son?! Alduin has nothing to do with their decisions to court the darker shades of magic.

Hermione breathed deeply, “Our child is young, sir. There is many he’s yet to learn about the world. Then what better place to start his fresh curiosities than here, at Hogwarts? Will you accept me, sir? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command.”

“And what will become of those whom your husband command? What will happen to those who call themselves- or so rumor has it- the Death Eaters?”

Hermione bit back her curse. This was a setback. Things have happened differently. The events she knew of were happening earlier than her memory served. Voldemort is still known as Tom Riddle here. Appearance-wise, he had yet to descend down the spiral of madness, but what did that say about his influence?

“I do not know what you are talking about, sir,” she lied, “There has only been me and my husband. Our son joined us not long after. We’ve met many friends along the way but there’s only ever been the three of us. Dumbledore, I fail to see how this is relevant to my-“

“I am glad to hear Tom had found himself such a supportive partner,” he cut in, “I was concerned that his upbringing had made his nature immune to change, and disallowed him to see the more joyful gifts of life.”

“Change is nature, sir, but in juxtaposition, Tom is still his own person. And I would appreciate it if you refrain from mentioning such sensitive topics.”

“Then if I were to go to Hog’s Head later, I would not find my old student awaiting your return? Devoted husband indeed, to travel so far with you on a snowy day, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post he did not want anymore.”

How did he know that? Was there a detail she missed? Harry never mentioned Voldemort came with anyone, let alone waiting for him, when he sat down for his interview with Dumbledore. So how could he- oh… Aberforth.

“You are quite an omniscient man, Dumbledore.”

“Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen,” said Dumbledore lightly, “Now, Mrs. Granger-Riddle… Let us speak openly. Why have you come here today, with your husband, to request a job we all know neither of you want?”

Hermione looked coldly surprised, “A job I do not want? On the contrary, sir, I want it very much. I asked it from Tom the night we came home from Horace’s party. Hogwarts has greatly inspired me. In fact, were you not there to witness it yourself, sir? How the castle’s ancient magic, the will of the founders, captured me?”

“Oh, you were certainly captured by Hogwarts, but your intentions are more focused than simply teaching the impressionable young minds of the student body, is it not?”

Hermione sneered, “If you do not want to give me a job-“

“Of course I don’t,” said Dumbledore bluntly, surprising even her, “No more than I would’ve if your husband sat where you are now instead.”

Now completely vexed, Hermione stood up, her features reflected her internal war of rage, “This is your final word?”

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment before also standing, “It is.”

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other.”

She nearly slammed the door on her exit. Her blood bubbled in outrage at his blatant accusations. If she were calmer, she would’ve understood Dumbledore’s perspective. She was the wife of his least favorite student. She would’ve understood his suspicions. But didn’t he get the chance to know her before she revealed to be Tom’s wife?

She had hoped, seriously hoped, that she would have a better chance of securing the DADA Professor’s position than Voldemort had. Her involvement with the Huánglong Coven should’ve instantly sealed the deal. That coven was highly respected, they held no blood prejudice whatsoever, and although their culture allowed them some practices the western hemisphere deemed as gray, they did not teach the extremes of dark magic.

Hermione didn’t like his accusations, but she was willing to defend herself if need be. Just because she dabbled did not make her evil. But what really set her off was his insinuations regarding her son. He might as well tell her she was corrupting her son to her face! If anything, Alduin’s introduction to the dark arts allowed him a broader perspective about magic as a whole.

The brunette witch breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her racing heart. She was counting on succeeding this interview. Not only would it give her a chance to be close to Hogwarts again, she would be able to keep an eye on her son. Make sure he’s safe, and be there if anything unexpected happened. But then it came to this…

She really should’ve known better.

Once she brought her breathing back to normal, she focused her gaze on the hallway she knew that led to the Room of Requirement.

If Plan A didn’t work, there’s Plan B.

And this time, she will succeed.

“Then I will see you at dinner, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Very well, Professor McGonagall.”

Albus smiled back at his fellow Transfigurations Professor as she made her way to her next class. With him coming up as Headmaster, Minerva would become Head of Transfigurations and Head of Gryffindor House in his transition. She had remained a close confidant of his, even helping him during the war with Grindelwald. In fact, he might even consider her a position as Deputy Headmistress someday.

Nevertheless, he knew the students would prosper in her hands.

He thought of this while making his way up to a small locked tower no student has ever visited. Inside the tower was, arguably, the most important magical artefact owned by Hogwarts.

The Book of Admittance.

The room itself was small, only big enough to allow a stand for the book and another desk supplied by parchment, envelopes, quill and ink, to the side. Every year, he would come up here to write letters for the new batch of first-years coming to Hogwarts. He especially liked doing this part of the job, even if it made his hand cramp from all the writing he had to do. It brought him pleasant anticipation and excitement knowing these children would come and learn at their prestigious school, and wondered which one of them would be a gem of magical talent hidden among them.

But that wasn’t his purpose for visiting the book today.

Albus stopped just a foot away from the book. The magic quill whose ink never ran out remained motionless. The book itself was open to this year’s list of students. By the end of the school year, it would automatically flip to the next batch of students to write letters to as no one was allowed to touch the book.

Still, there was a way for someone to navigate through the book without the need to touch it.

Albus cleared his throat and said, “Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

 The pages flipped backwards as if buffed by invisible wind. It went on continuously until it abruptly stopped. Now it presented a page full of names. At the top was the batch’s starting year and graduation. Albus followed the list of names magically sorted alphabetically along with their birth date.

‘Tom Marvolo Riddle – 31 December 1926’

When Albus first heard that Tom had married and had a son, he didn’t believe it. Even though he knew Horace would never lie about something like this no matter how highly he regarded his favorite student.

But he was proven wrong.

He had been out on a walk the night of Slughorn’s Halloween Party. To get some fresh air and do a bit of patrolling while he’s at it before he went to bed to rest after another tiresome day. Then he noticed someone had entered the unused classroom where the Mirror of Erised was kept. He certainly didn’t expect to see a fully grown woman to be standing there instead of a student.

Not to mention someone with such honed battle instincts!

When he first met the brunette witch, he was genuinely impressed. There was intelligence behind her umber, golden-flecked eyes. She was polite and kind as well. Her mannerisms also spoke of someone practiced in wizarding culture. She also did not hide her admiration for Hogwarts, which greatly made her endearing.

He didn’t recognize her as a former student, so when she confessed she had gotten lost, enchanted as she was with the castle’s ancient magic, he believed her. Albus also didn’t have to ask her how she knew him, rarely anyone nowadays asked for his name anymore.

Apparently, it was a grave oversight to not ask for her name beforehand.

Hermione Jean Granger-Riddle.

The practice of combining last names was not uncommon between muggles, but it was different for magic-folk. Even without knowing the kind of marriage rite used, the shared names between a witch and wizard connoted more than just spouses bound by mutual understanding.

It meant they acknowledge each other as equals in magic.

In the wizarding world, such a practice became lost to time. If not for the fact couples nowadays did not care to consider magical compatibility so long as there is love (that, and no matter who the person was, a seedling of doubt and conflict would always be planted if a person learned they were inferior in magic- the very power that defined them- compared to their partner). Even purebloods did not care for it since their only concern was to keep the ties they have with other families.

It baffled him, really. Tom would be the last person he thought that would allow himself to combine names with someone else. But nothing shocked him more than when he finally met his son.

Albus iterated, and the book’s pages flipped once more.

‘Alduin Azoth Granger-Riddle – 5 March 1953’

When his eyes first saw the boy, he did not see Alduin.

No. He saw Tom.

He saw Tom as he was the first time he met him in his small, cold room in the orphanage. The boy who looked so thin but had eyes so dark- so ravenous for more.

It indeed felt like he had seen a ghost.

Tom Riddle has a son.

Tom Riddle has a wife.

Tom Riddle has a family.

He couldn’t believe it. And yet, despite his less than warm reunion with his former student, he had hoped- hoped, that this was the sign he had finally turned around. That he had finally learned what he had been trying to teach him for years. That maybe, this woman- Hermione- had successfully warmed his heart. Specially when he saw how close they were and how relaxed Tom was while danced.

Albus hoped.

Yet the rumors about Death Eaters continued to reach his ears. A group he knew was connected with Tom.

And for a moment he feared. He feared for the mother and child Tom called his wife and son. Was history repeating itself? Did Tom make the same mistake as his mother?

But Hermione did not act like someone laced with a love potion… but if that was the case, and Tom’s dark activities continued as they were. That can only mean one thing-

Hermione, his wife, was his accomplice, and a witch who also practiced in the dark arts.

This theory was only confirmed earlier in the day. He was surprised that Mrs. Granger-Riddle would be coming to apply for the DADA position. Whereby he expected Tom to return for it instead. Still, he knew he should give her the benefit of the doubt.

He would give her a chance to prove him wrong, but he was wary.

As it turned out, it was all for naught.

When he mentioned about the rumors regarding her husband, about his involvement in the dark arts, he did not expect her to react so… impassively. To his surprise, she even defended it under the guise of travelling.

Usually, people would’ve denied any involvement regarding the dark arts. A subject so taboo only those with a certain clearance can touch it, and even then they would never talk about the subject without caution or shame.

She should’ve denied it. He wouldn’t have minded if she exploded in denial. He would’ve also accepted if she defended her husband’s innocence. So long as he couldn’t sense a lie, he would be willing to give her a chance. Maybe even accept her into the position.

But she didn’t.

How could he accept someone like her in Hogwarts?

He had heard snippets of their relationship. That they met while traveling and were instantly taken to one another. He didn’t think Tom would be the type who would fall in love at first sight. But perhaps there was truth to that.

A grim truth.

He did not believe Hermione was a bad person, he didn’t get any impression like that from her. Then again, he had been wrong before.

It only made sense he would be taken with her. Hermione was a smart, beautiful woman who had no qualms about forbidden magic.

Only a woman like her could capture his attention.

And now that attention had borne fruit.

A fruit that would arrive at the steps of Hogwarts on September 1^st next year.

And because the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance’s decision was final, and no child was ever admitted whose name had not first been inscribed on the book’s yellowing pages, Albus would have no choice but to welcome Alduin Azoth Granger-Riddle to Hogwarts just as he did the same for his father.

When Albus first saw Alduin, he had a foreboding feeling that something was not quite right about him. And as for Hermione, the last thing Albus thought after she stormed off from his office, was that Horace was right.

“She’s definitely Tom’s flavor.”

I hunt without the pride.

You are the sheep.

I am the lion.

Chapter Text

“A gift?”

Determination. The hymn of old songs that filled the empty void. Melodies that formed and kept into tangible memories.

“You were told… May I ask, who had told you?”

Blank. Like the dark, empty nothingness. The incapability of perception and nonexistence of senses.

“…”

Shame. A question unanswered but the recall of familiar notes only slightly more remarkable than the rest. A song heard much closer than what would sometimes be heard in the distance.

“So there were others who came before me…”

Anxiousness. The uncertainty of unseeing what is ahead.

“Oh! Oh of course I accept! How could I deny such a gift? It would be sacrilege onto itself! It was already an honor to have been given the chance to meet someone as you. This… please accept my celestial gratitude.”

Bewilderment. A delightful surprised unexpectedness most perplexed and welcomed. Delight. A thrilled rumble that vibrated the emptiness that reached the nearest, loudest song.

“Of course! Although… this may be impertinent of me to ask… but may I also ask for your name?”

Curiosity. A return to the void full of nothing and empty of everything.

“Yes. Humble a creature as I am compared to you, nothing I can give could possibly repay the gift you shall bestow upon me. Therefore, at the very least, I would hope to ask for your name. So I may wear it. I swear to carry it with great pride, and let it serve as an immortal reminder of my gratitude.”

Pleased. A lovely tune of sincerity. Lyrics of an immortal promise. Disappointment. Another unanswered question.

“You… you don’t know what a name is? but… how then… how can you be remembered if you have no name?”

Bittersweet. The sense of contentment and loss. The view of nothing and explosion of everything in the next. Always watching. Only listening. Primal obedience.

“Still… that is not… you should not be deprived of such a basic thing. To have a name is a mark of one’s existence.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Like the symphony of songs in the distance. The pattern of sparkles flickering in rhythm to an endless cycle. Dying and living. Doubt. The lyrics mean to exist is to live. The tune, determined and confidant. Confused and sad.

Query. The right to bring forth this song’s existence.

“Why- it was my mother.”

Confusion. A term unencountered. Foreign to the sliver of space where this dwell. Familiar to one’s only duty.

Determination. A shift in the nonexistent tide. A ripple yet to form waves. The question that would call upon time and space to the realm they are barren.

“Well… a mother is someone who-”

Ahh, Sweet Child returned to the sea.

The bottomless horizon,

Accepting of all there was and will be.

Flying down where the hymns beckon so sweetly.

The plume of smoke that slithered out of his parted lips was formless, but it had a silver sheen and a hint of color blue mixed with the gray. It joined with the rest of the smoke that formed a swirling cloud on the ceiling of the parlor room since hours ago. Bottles of various fine alcohol laid scattered around him in various levels of emptiness, as well as plates of food that were once filled with various meat dishes that perfectly match with their intoxicating drinks.

Bodies also sprawled around him in various contortions. Each member of the original Knights of Walpurgis occupied their own space as they succumbed to their inebriation. An outsider would’ve been aghast at the sight of such upstanding men at such states. But here, in the four walls of one of their own, with the approval of their lord, they shed their masks of obligations. Especially when they have a perfectly valid reason to do so. That being the marriage of their lord.

If Tom was surprised to find his Knights knocking on his door bearing gifts in hand when he returned to his suite at Malfoy manor, to spend the night there for the last time, he didn’t show. Nor did he deny their request to toast the end of his bachelorhood, however abrupt and bizarre the circumstances it led to. Which then led to more toasts, then a call for the elves to bring food, and then the start of some games.

The first time Tom allowed himself to lower his guard for the spirit of festivities’ sake, was on the eve of their Graduation Day. With the entire common room reserved for their graduating class, Tom sat on his favorite wingback chair near the large hearth roaring green-colored flames. For once, he drank firewhiskey for the enjoyment of it and mused along with the others as they reminisced on memories that happened for the last seven years.

The only key moments not mentioned were those that concerned Tom’s humble beginnings.

He had sat there on his chair once the merriment had died down somewhat. Determined to burn into his memories every detail of the common room. From the tall marble columns of slithering serpents, to the way fishes swam across the windows. As he rescinded to the fact that it was the last night he’ll ever spend in the castle he first called home, and that he won’t be coming back for a very long time.

Then the last had been on Avery’s stag night. But that was more to the fact that he had already been high off his latest experiment just a minute prior to joining them than to genuinely celebrate the last of his Knights finally tying the knot.

Then again, he supposed none of them, not even Tom himself, would have predicted that he would also follow after them in the binding ritual of matrimony. There were benefits to it, yes. Especially if the spousal candidate had a strong name and large coffers of resources to back their value. He was confident in his ability to woo, if not pay for a bride price. However, Tom had weighed the pros and cons and decided it was more trouble than it was worth for him to marry. For one, marriage would give him a set of obligations he was not keen on fulfilling. Love, being at the top of that list. While he can give the most arousing lyrics and wax heart-clenching poetry to entice any feeble heart, there would be no affection there. Nor was he willing to waste precious time faking it to appease a wife he would’ve considered baggage by then. It was precious time that would be best spent on more worthwhile endeavors- his magic.

There’s also the notion of an offspring, or heir for whatever name he bought.

As a wizard intending to overcome the mortal weakness of death, it would be unnecessary to commit to the process of leaving a genetic legacy if he himself could just reap the benefits for his own.

There was also the fact that there was no guarantee a child, even coming from his own loins, would meet his high standards and become competent enough to be worthy of carrying his blood. Tom learned this fact from the people of his own house alone. Children who earned such privileges from riding on the coattails of their competent parents or relatives. Prestigious in name only but couldn’t even cast a decent charm to save their life. It was a discipline he had to beat out of his Knights, oftentimes literally. He would use their names, yes, but why settle and endure insufferable incompetence if he knew there was potential that can whet a sharper blade? When the tables finally turned and it was their turn to scramble at his feet, he made it explicitly clear that they needed to earn the spot beside him. And they benefited from this too, did they not? Whatever competition for their status as heirs were squashed and now, they became men greater than their predecessors.

But those things can be learned.

What mattered to Tom the most was power. Magical power. Followed closely by intelligence and talent. Even if by some miracle, he found a suitable woman who did not care for affection and had adequate power in magic, it will still not guarantee a child would be produced with promising qualities. Tom learned of this in his own research and travels. He had even seen it for himself. Parents of great magical competency with a child who had no talent for it. Or vice versa, a talented child born from absolutely dull parents.

It was an infuriating fact that convinced him that magic was as generous as it was stingy with its gift. While the ability to use magic would be guaranteed, the talent and power to wield it was not. At least with genetics, the probability of a person’s features could be calculated. Magic itself, however, was tied to a person’s nature- and nature was not something that can be measured. After all, wasn’t he the same? He, whose father was a lowly muggle without a single drop of magical blood, while his mother- a witch of such rich magical lineage; would turn out to be so magically inept and weak. The fact that she died at childbirth spoke volumes of how weak she was. And not just her. His grandfather and uncle… no words could describe how much of a disappointment they were and how unworthy they were of calling themselves descendants of Slytherin.

So yes, there was no point in wasting years to raise another life that would only later reveal to be a bad investment.

Then he met Alduin and Hermione.

.

“Are you certain?”

It was Abraxas who asked, warily. He will never question Tom’s decisions, especially if he had finally made up his mind. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have… concerns. Especially when he decided on something as big as marriage.

Tom may not put much stock on the ceremony, but he, and most of wizarding society, did.

“We still don’t know where she came from, let alone her blood status,” the blonde added.  “What if… her blood isn’t clean? Marrying her would certainly solve the problem of your bastard but the witch- your reputation…”

Tom regarded him with bored eyes, eyelids half-mast. Trust Abraxas to put so much stock in reputation. Then again, his family didn’t become what they were today if they didn’t take such pristine care of their name.

He also came a long way since Tom snuck snakes into his pillow and blankets after their first month in Hogwarts as first years. He should be grateful he didn’t even use the venomous ones.

When he had cast legilimens on Abraxas on the day he found about Alduin, he had sensed the blonde’s anxiety over the matter. He had no intention of hiding the truth from him, in fact, Abraxas was convinced that Tom should know the truth- as was his right. But his concern fell more over Tom’s reaction. Especially with how little they knew of the sudden turn of events.

Granted, Tom had not reacted in the best way but who would?

So he supposed, he could throw the man a bone for his efforts.

“Power precedes everything,” he answered simply.

Both mother and son have power. It was the kind of power that was rarer than the rare artefacts in his collection.

Jewels far more precious than all the glittering pieces in a dragon’s horde.

Tom would be a fool to let it slip through his fingers, and a fool he was not.

He needed to ensure Alduin would also bring pride to the Slytherin blood in his veins, and Hermione still owed him a wealth of knowledge she refused to give.

Not only was she the only one who knew the truth of Alduin’s conception, she also knew something about Salazar Slytherin nobody else knew.

With power, an underdog can become the alpha. It can turn lead to gold. Without it, the chapter heads of history become footnotes in later editions, and towering spires become fragile sandcastles easily washed away by the more powerful tide.

People will believe more what they see, and this marriage can easily display the kind of image Tom wanted them to see. Regardless of what others may have heard of him or whatever preconceived notions they had of him.

The boy was unprecedented, yes, but his son gained his favor the moment he displayed his magical talent. Disregarding the physical similarities, that alone secured Alduin as undoubtedly his. And Tom was never one to reject what rightfully belonged to him. He grew up to learn how to take good care of his belongings, after all.

As for the boy’s mother… well, she’s proven to be more difficult than she let on. She wasn’t like most witches, even compared to the ones who did seek power for magic’s sake. Hermione, as far as he knew, was an uncaged wild cat who enjoyed the great liberty of nature’s boundless horizons. She was familiar enough with the sheltered life, but wasn’t shy to show she is above the norm.

A flame burning hot and bright, and untamed.

There’s also the saying- “The harder the challenge, the sweeter the prize.”

.

“At least you don’t have to… to go through the noisy, s-smelly phase, mi-lord,” Abraxas hiccupped. His pale complexion flushed from the wine he brought out of his own cellar.

Tom snorted in amusement as he picked up his own half-empty glass, “And what do you know about changing nappies?”

“I know how!” he blurted, almost defensively, and then brought his hand up with all five fingers raised, “S-Sera said every father should’ve at least ex-exper…ienced it.”

This time Tom scoffed. But while he didn’t agree to the necessity of it, he did have to agree that it was a small fortune on his part that he had learned about Alduin at an age when the boy can already hold a decent conversation. Not that he was foreign to the blonde’s experience himself.

At a certain point during the second world war, the slew of deaths had brought with it a spike of orphans. Day after day, a new child would be brought to Wool’s. Some as young as a newborn to as old as teens. Stressed and understaffed, everyone was expected to pull their own weight.

It was a new, oblivious helper who assigned Tom to the nursery. Her logic being that Tom’s “calm” demeanor would finish the job faster. Honestly, he would rather scrub the halls with a toothbrush and a bucket of cold, soapy water than go anywhere near those noisy, disgusting babes. But they threatened to withhold his food, his share that would be most welcomed by the other children to add to their plates. Though thankfully, Tom only had to endure for a short time because when things have finally settled somewhat, and Mrs. Cole was able to regain a modicum of order, she snatched a toothbrush and bucket from another child and shoved them at him. She then proceeded to rebuke the helper with her dialogue being along the lines of “-dare you let that demon spawn anywhere those innocent angels?!”.

The sight had been really amusing.

Tom watched with mild amusement at Abraxas’ inebriated state. His head lolled this way and that as he tried to keep himself upright. The blonde was probably Tom’s closest confidant amongst his Knights. His best mate- an annoying sap would call. Despite their very ugly start during the first few months of their first year. Though the same could be said for the rest as well.

He was ambitious in his own right, and cunning enough to place himself in a position where he could easily weave around the ministry and easily remove himself should things go awry. He also had a strong need to prove himself to his father- of which Tom had properly fueled and assisted.

Oh, what a generous and obedient lamb he turned out to be.

Tom also knew that Abraxas was the only one who still had that ridiculous thread of hope that concerned Tom’s wellbeing.

There was a point in time, when his men had fallen into a sort of wedding and baby fever. One by one they stepped into their duties to bring prosperity to their houses. Some held degrees of excitement, while others lamented the impending responsibilities. Tom had just sat back and left them be with only one ear half-listening. He did not care for it so long as it doesn’t impede their given roles. Plus, their union with those witches would make great additions to his collection.

Abraxas had been the only one brave enough to ask if Tom would also get himself a wife, and eventually, produce a child. Tom had only given him a look for such an asinine question and the blonde never asked again.

Yet here he was.

Tom was rather surprised to find out that there had been a bet about whether or not Tom would marry. Needless to say, Abraxas had happily gathered all of his spoils as the sole victor. Tom would’ve retaliated at them for doing something behind his back if he hadn’t been feeling the buzz and heat from all the alcohol he had already drank. He wasn’t stupid to cast magic while drunk.

“To the- hic- prosperity of House Riddle!” Abraxas had toasted at one point in the night.

One would think the blonde would begrudge Tom’s new wife for the damage she delivered to his ancestral home. But surprisingly, Serafina had taken to Hermione instantly- found a sort of kindred spirit, he said, and Lucius developed a respect for Alduin since the circus, and even more so after the incident.

It was no secret that Abraxas adored his family. For a time, Tom had purposely stayed at their manor under the guise of an extensive business venture in order to observe the Malfoy Head. To his chagrin, the blonde had, indeed, become soft, to a degree. Fortunately for the blonde, Abraxas’ ability to fulfill his role to their cause was still outstanding. Enough to warrant him a pass for Tom’s… reeducation.

Alas, while he welcomed the budding bond between the boys, he couldn’t say the same for their wives. He had wanted to wring the witch’s neck when she smugly followed after Serafina, essentially inviting herself when Tom set up that playdate for his son only. How did that bint even know to contact Serafina?

“So what’s the witch like, Tom?” asked Theoden, “You got to at least know her a little before proposing, right?”

Mulciber snickered, “She be a spitfire I bet.”

Tom hummed in contemplation as he swirled his drink. He supposed he can’t berate them for asking. The woman was certainly difficult, and just because he married her didn’t mean she would automatically become part of their fold. Still, as his wife and for the sake of the display they would have to act, his men needed to know how to behave accordingly. As interactions would happen between them in the near future.

So yes, Theoden had asked a very good question, but he would rather not repeat himself when they’ve all finally become sober.

As he continued to swirl the dark liquid in his glass, his eyes caught sight of the flames being reflected in its clear surface. Those flames that danced and crackled on wood, docilly contained in the stone hearth, were unlike the roaring, ravaging sea of flames that was the witch’s mindscape.

He remembered how he dragged his feet on smoky ground that he couldn’t see halfway below his knees. How it oddly felt like he was walking through marshland. He couldn’t even think of running as the azure embers closed in on him; pelted him with intense heat he felt deep in his bones. It still astonished him, even now. What sort of occlumency training did she have to affect both his mental and physical self?

Tom wanted to go through her mind again. He wanted to traverse that burning sea, if only to reach the island where a lone mansion- a palace- which he knew held the very secrets he wanted and more.

“She’s a tease,” Tom answered nonchalantly before finally drinking.

His men hooted and jeered.

“Well, if it’s Tom, I’m sure he’d have that witch wrapped around his finger in no time.”

Tom smirked. Oh how true was that. He had impregnated the witch with his child after all. For all that he learned about mind magic, while the memories may disappear, the body and the emotions felt never went away.

He had obviously ensnared the witch before.

How hard was it to do so again?

The carriage was a bit rocky as it took her from the castle to Hogsmeade. It was a weirdly fond familiarity she never thought she would even miss. Too bad Hermione couldn’t fully appreciate the nostalgia of sitting in one of Hogwarts’ carriages as she was first brought to the castle hours ago.

Her interview with Dumbledore was an utter failure. As she used the carriage ride for a bit of quick reflection, she realized that she could’ve handled it better if she had better control over herself. Well, she certainly had, at least compared to her younger self. She also knew that the trigger had been her son. She just couldn’t stand any slight made towards him. Her only child and family. He was all that she had left that was explicitly hers.

Alduin. Her reminder why she was doing all of this in the first place.

Though at least, even with her failure of obtaining the DADA position, she was able to accomplish her other goal: to establish a method for her son to travel from Hogwarts back home. It was fortunate that most of the wards of Hogwarts remained consistent with those from her time. That being mostly focused to block out spells, anti-apparition, and external muggle forces. Begrudgingly, she had to (mentally) thank Tom for giving her the idea of using an artifact instead. As it was, Hogwarts’ wards were really weak to bastardized magic.

As Hermione asked the house elf, who was tasked to escort her to and from Dumbledore’s office, to let her go to the loo, she was fortunate to find the first-floor girl’s lavatory to be empty. Prior to coming to the interview, she had stuffed her beaded bag every artifact she thought that would help her in her endeavor. It was only at her fourth artifact that she had been successful.

A piece of chalk.

A chalk that looked no different than a regular chalk used to write on a blackboard, but was actually made from the ashes of a special tree. A legendary tree Neville once told her that can only be grown by elusive creatures called forest sprites. A tree whose ashes were said to grant the ability to fast travel from one place to another.

She had obtained the item as a trade after encountering said sprites who wanted her bag of wild magical seeds. Hermione figured, that if her son only used the chalk once a year, then a single piece would be more than enough to last him till graduation.

Though hopefully, this farce with Tom wouldn’t last that long. She had just started to accept the fact that she would have to live with the man. She couldn’t imagine how it was going to be like for seven years.

.

Hermione stepped out of the lavatory with a small triumphant smile on her face. Her mood instantly improved with her recent success. She would’ve closed the portal door from her side, at the Den, if not for the fact Tom was still waiting for her at Hog’s Head and she can’t just leave her house elf escort (who seemed very determined to keep his eyes on the floor) completely unaware.

A fleeting thought also came to her to visit the Chamber of Secrets. She knew where it was, how to open it, and what to expect. If only to check on the basilisk and how it compared to the one from her time. And to know how the basilisk reacted to her son. If Hogwarts’ basilisk was anything like the horned serpents she and Alduin had encountered before, she wouldn’t have to worry at all. Furthermore, she didn’t want to raise anymore suspicion for being in the castle for too long.

When she and Jaxx, the house elf, resumed their walk back to the school’s entrance, classes had just been dismissed and students began to trickle out of the classrooms to head for lunch. Most stared at her in curiosity but otherwise didn’t pay her much heed. Hermione also found nostalgia in this. The mere act of walking along the corridors surrounded by fellow students.

Though she didn’t expect to experience the same feeling as she had been a schoolgirl, she also didn’t expect to be stopped by a group of Slytherin boys, and one girl. To be fair, they looked just as surprised when they saw her. At least two of them.

“Mrs. Granger-Riddle! Good afternoon to you, madam.”

Two boys, a pair of twins with dark hair, greeted her first with a small dip of their heads. At the mention of her name, the others quickly followed suit with their own unsynchronized greetings.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” she returned politely that hid her perplexity with the sudden treatment. Then she turned to the only girl in the group, who also looked to be the youngest. “Miss.”

The girl’s eyes widened, as if shocked that she had been acknowledged, before she quickly dropped her gaze down. There was a small smile on her face.

Hermione turned back to the boys, particularly on the pair of twins who seemed to know her the most, “May I ask, how you two knew of me? Misters…”

“Lestrange, madam. My name is Rabastan.”

“And I am Rodolphus. We have seen you at Professor Slughorn’s Halloween party.”

“We also apologize for not introducing ourselves back then as well. We didn’t get the chance.”

“Ah,” was Hermione’s only verbal response. Her expression, however, showed only her recognition and not the apprehension she felt.

It was one thing to meet again the acquaintances from her past-future, another to be face-to-face with those she once called her enemies. And how exactly was she supposed to feel? When these two boys, who looked only a few years older than her son, had once perished at the end of her own wand.

The twins though, seemed to have misunderstood her expression as their faces brightened. As if they were actually delighted that she knew them.

Her gaze fell to the others, one which they followed and scrambled to introduce themselves. Daniel Helm, Aykut Shafiq, Johannes Snyde, and Wilhelmina Buckthorn. They were names Hermione absolutely did not recognize.

Still, what is with this… reverence? While it was obvious that they knew her by association with Tom... it hadn’t been long since she married him. Her reputation couldn’t have reached this far already, could it? It would be understandable if these were the children of Tom’s Knights- because they would be in the innermost circle- but she hardly recognized any of them. And while she knew the Lestrange, she didn’t believe they would be close enough to Tom to know about her at this moment in time, especially their children. What also compounded to her apprehension, was the fact the people before her, were nothing more than children.

It was that train of thought that had laxed Hermione’s control over her magic- the type of magic often associated with accidental magic; manifested by strong emotions; that was usually curbed by the practice using the wand. At that moment, it was her motherly instinct that unknowingly triggered her. To a skilled witch or wizard, it may have felt like a drizzle (or a drop of water for her and Tom), to these children at their current levels- it felt like being washed by a tidal wave.

“It was a pleasure to meet all of you,” she said hastily in recover, “but I’m afraid I can’t stay. My husband is waiting for me at Hogsmeade.“

They perked up at this.

“Though it’s nice to know that the House of Serpents have such…” her eyes shifted briefly to the twins, “promising snakelets. Have a pleasant rest of your day. Jaxx!”