Epilogue: Nine Years Later

Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.

The castle was very different these days. Most significantly, it was much noisier. The sounds of four children, all close in age, rang through every corridor that was not warded against noise whenever the children were awake. Sometimes, there were five children stalking the halls—or even six. It all depended on whether the Blacks were visiting at a given time, and today was to be one such visit.

"Malcolm—Morgan—that's quite enough," Hermione said authoritatively, breaking up a squabble between her eight- and seven-year-old. Interestingly, Morgan had appeared to have been winning it, despite being almost a year and a half younger than her brother and also smaller. The little girl was very bold, though, even to the point of being bossy—of which Hermione approved as long as it did not cross the line into bullying her milder older brother. She wondered if her daughter would even be in Slytherin House once she went to Hogwarts. She seemed very much like a Gryffindor to Hermione. It ultimately would depend on whether the Sorting Hat considered her boldness or her leadership ambitions to have primacy.

Though, Hermione thought, forcing them apart, I am not so sure if Malcolm will be in Slytherin House either. Her son, like all the rest of the family, was very sure of himself in his own way, despite his tendency to concede defeat to his sister in brawls. Hermione suspected that was just because he did not want to hurt a little girl. He had already declared what he believed he wanted to be, and that was a Hogwarts Master.

He is only eight, she thought. Much can and will change. But if that particular ambition does not, then—unless I have more children—Morgan will be the heiress of Parselhall. In a way, it seemed appropriate, almost fated, due to the child's name. That had been Tom's idea, giving honor to his ancestor without saddling the child with the identical name.

"Yes, that's quite enough," sniffed Eileen Snape, who—with her twin brother Padrig—stood by in prim superiority.

Morgan eyed her. "You can't tell me what to do and neither can he."

"We are older than you. And you should call me 'Aunt Eileen,'" the girl said haughtily, though it was clear to Hermione that she was being deliberately provoking.

"That's right," Padrig chimed in. "You should listen to your elders."

Morgan was furious. "Elders? Only old people get to say that. You may be older, but I'm as big as you, and you're no better than us! I won't."

Severus entered the hall with Merope, his black robes trailing behind him imperiously. "That's enough from the two of you as well," he said pointedly, staring at his children. "I don't want to hear of this type of argument again. None of you have the right to tell each other what to do. That's for us adults—myself, Lady Merope, Lady Hermione, and Lord Thomas." He turned to Hermione. "He will be here soon."

"What is he doing?" she asked.

"Writing a letter to Lord Malfoy about the tax dispute," Merope said.

"Ah," said Hermione. That had been a point of contention between the Riddle-Snape family and Lucius Malfoy the last time the Wizengamot had met. Tom had wanted to impose a tax on wine from France; Lucius had not. Although Hermione was not about to pick a fight with him—it wasn't that important to her—she was privately on Malfoy's side in this, because she knew that Tom's motive was not about leveling an unfair market. The wine that came from English vineyards really was inferior, though Tom refused to admit that.

"He should be with us shortly," Merope continued. "In the meantime, I think that what everyone needs are sweetmeats! Fionn"—she summoned her most attentive house-elf—"please bring out a platter of them for the children."

That distracted all four of them from their childlike squabbles. Hermione shot Merope a wry smile.

The Black family—at least, that part of the sprawling family that lived in Castle Leo, formerly Castle Draconis—arrived with their retinue. Sirius, Marlene, Cassandra, Marlene's ten-year-old daughter from her first marriage, and the two little ones that the couple had had together in the intervening years arrived, accompanied by Harry, Luna, and Lily. Harry was now Sir Harry. He greeted his old schoolmates with a wry smile as Sirius's older son, Phineas, immediately cut loose upon entering the keep of Parselhall.

"All right, remember your manners," their mother scolded her son—in vain. She was struggling with a fussy toddler, Lycoris. Meanwhile, Morgan was already taking possession of Phineas as her very best friend, leaving her quieter brother by himself.

"Leave them be," Sirius croaked, trying very hard to keep a grimace off his face as Morgan grabbed Phineas's hand eagerly. "At least they get along."

Tom finally emerged from his study to greet his guests. "Sirius—and family. Welcome. I apologize for my tardiness in greeting you. The Wizengamot is a demanding beast."

"We are all friends here," Marlene assured him.

Sirius eyed Tom. "The Wizengamot? Are you really going to pursue that—"

"Please, not now," Severus cut in before Tom and Sirius could get into a debate on the merits of the import tax on French elf-made wine. They glared at each other but subsided.

Harry, Luna, and Hermione exchanged glances of relief; Sirius and Tom disagreed on the subject, and Tom had made several choice comments to the effect that Sirius drank too much and just wanted cheap wine. That had led to a duel, which Tom had won—unfortunately, because Sirius had been tipsy when he issued his challenge. It had been an embarrassing, awkward situation, and no one cared to repeat it. Hermione had always known that her family and her allies would sometimes be at odds in political matters. Peaceful—mostly peaceful—disagreement about politics is a luxury that we did not have in the days of High Lord Armand Malfoy, she thought.

"Indeed," Merope said authoritatively. "Let us all retire to a private room." She led the way to one of the larger parlors in the castle, ushering everyone else inside—including the children. There was an alcove set aside for them to play, if they liked—and they did. Morgan, Phineas, Eileen, and Padrig all went eagerly to the side nook, which had been warded with spells to reduce noise. Hermione and Tom's older child, Malcolm, hovered between the adults and the others. He looked torn between duty and desire—but, contrarily to what one would expect for an eight-year-old, he seemed to perceive his duty to be to play with his peers, and his desire to sit quietly with the adults.

Hermione understood. She had been that child once. "Malcolm," she said gently to him, "if you don't want to, you don't have to. You may sit with the rest of us if you would prefer that."

He nodded gratefully at his mother. "Thank you, Mother," he said quietly. He shuffled to a chair near his parents, across from Marlene's firstborn, Cassandra.

"You visited your parents recently," Tom remarked without preamble. "What was that like, if I may ask?"

Sirius glowered, certain that Tom was baiting him. In truth, Hermione knew that he wasn't. It was just a sensitive subject for Sirius, even after years.

"Lycoris had his first magical breakthrough during the visit. They were thrilled about that," Sirius said, attempting to keep the sourness out of his words and not entirely succeeding. "The heir of House Black certainly must be magical, and a pureblood, of course." Sarcasm dripped from his words. "Even now, I do not understand why Dora couldn't do it. She is a grown witch. They know her capabilities. I do not mean to speak ill of my own child, of course—but what do they know about a three-year-old?" He sighed. "But she made her choice with her eyes open. I'm glad she is happy. Remus is my friend, but I would call him out if he ever made her unhappy again, considering what she gave up to be with him."

Hermione remembered: Eight years ago, Remus and Dora Lupin had been estranged due to a panic by Remus about having a family as a werewolf. Harry had been utterly furious, as had Sirius, and they had scolded the werewolf ferociously, invoking James Potter's ill-treatment and abandonment of Lily. It had enraged Lupin at the time, but he had returned to his family at last.

"She made her choice, as you say," Tom remarked. "I don't like it, but your parents do have the right to dispose of their fortune and title as they see fit. That was one of the rights we fought for, after all… the rights of wizarding families to manage their own affairs, not to have them dictated by a High Lord."

Sirius stared at the floor. "I suppose so."

"We also visited Hogsmeade," Harry remarked. Sadness came over his face. "It has not been the same since Dumbledore…." He trailed off. "Well, High Mistress McGonagall is doing well, at least."

Tom's face was expressionless, Hermione noted, but she understood Harry's point of view. "He was the last living person who studied directly under the Founders of Hogwarts," she said. "It is a loss indeed. But at least he left behind a cabinet full of memories, I've heard."

"No one has been able to go through it yet, though," said Harry.

"Do you mean that no one has been able to get inside the cabinet because it is magically locked, or that no one has felt like it?" Tom pressed.

"The latter," Harry said curtly. "Perhaps you should go, since it does not seem to trouble you."

"I could look at them," Luna mused, oblivious to the tensions between the two wizards. "It would honor him. He saved them for a reason. He wanted people to see them—to remember him that way."

Harry blinked, caught off guard.

"It would be a very interesting view of Hogwarts history," Hermione said at once. "I think Luna is right. We should go there—all of us who want to—and ask about it."

They lapsed into silence for a while, which was broken by the rumblings of the children that made it through the magical wards. The adults glanced quickly toward the alcove; it appeared that a squabble had broken out, and Phineas had managed to put a wandless hex on Eileen that made her hair wet. The girl was throwing a tantrum over it, although it was just water. Morgan was laughing with glee, and Hermione strongly suspected that she had been the instigator. Phineas Black looked a bit too frightened and awed by his own actions for her to believe that this had been entirely his idea. Tom smirked broadly, though he attempted—badly—to cover it.

"Excuse me," Sirius said, rising from his seat to scold his son.

Reluctantly Tom rose as well, ignoring Snape's smirk of pleasure. If it were up to him, Morgan—and Phineas, for that matter—would not be punished. In his opinion, his half-siblings were too priggish for their tender ages, had too high an opinion of themselves, and deserved to be taken down a notch by their peers sometimes, but he supposed it would look extremely ill-bred to allow another man's child to take the full blame for this.

Hermione and Merope exchanged mildly exasperated glances, but neither was troubled.

The families had a nice dinner in the grand banquet hall that evening. The family dining room was too small for so many people now. Hermione set up a table for the children, who were thrilled to eat with the adults—but who, except for Cassandra and Malcolm, could not be trusted to behave at the main table.

"You must do as they tell you," she told the younger ones, who all pouted, including the young Snapes. "You must. This is an honor. If you abuse it, we may not offer it again soon."

That got their attention. Even spitfire Morgan scowled in resignation. However, Hermione could tell that her daughter did not resent the situation that much. She got on well with her brother as long as he was fair, which he usually was, and the young Snapes were not interested in starting a provocation that would get all of them removed from the dining room and shamed. Malcolm takes after me so much that it is almost scary, she thought as she went back to the main table to take her seat.

The house-elves brought out dinner in a flash, as if by magic. Hermione made sure to thank the elf who served her. It troubled her that so many wizard nobles took the elves for granted… including, she hated to say it, her own family. At least they did not abuse them, though.

"I saw Draco a fortnight ago," Luna remarked airily. "Draco and Lady Astoria."

Tom nodded curtly. Draco Malfoy did not visit them much, due to the current disagreement between the Riddles and the Malfoys about taxes. Unlike his parents, Draco seemed to take Tom's view personally.

"How are they?" Hermione inqured.

"They seem all right," Luna said in her musical voice. "They were expecting the Fitz Lestranges and some of the Blacks"—she nodded at Sirius—"to join them in a hunting party."

"My parents," Sirius said in a surly tone. "They always did like those things."

"You could go," Harry said. "You could be Padfoot and play a joke on the lot."

Sirius glowered. "I could, but they might take me for one of their hounds and try to boss me. It would end badly."

Harry and Luna exchanged exasperated glances. Sirius was determined to be unpleasant and contrarian, it appeared. Something was irking him. Although Harry and Luna did not have a guess, Tom and Hermione knew exactly what the problem was. Sirius was despairing over the friendship between Phineas and Morgan, not because he disliked their child—both Hermione and Tom knew that he actually liked their mischievous, bold daughter quite a bit, as she reminded him of himself—but because that friendship could very well lead to the very match that he had not wanted to happen and the life that he had not wanted for his family.

Too bad, Tom thought. He had little sympathy. It was a good thing that everything appeared to be working out: that Malcolm appeared to have little interest in the title of Hangleton, that Morgan liked Phineas, and that it was mutual. He only hoped it lasted.

"It was a good thing that we decided not to have a wizarding High Lord after the war," Sirius remarked, changing the subject, as he picked up his slab of roast beef and took a bite. "I'm worried about the long-term stability of the Muggle throne."

"I am worried about the Muggles," Tom groused. "They spent years fighting a war to install a king, and then after his rule ended, the throne passed to the son of the woman who had been his rival. Whatever did they fight for?"

"We fought a war too," Harry reminded him.

"Ours was brief, and we fought for ideas—ideas that we put into practice after we won. I think Muggles just like to choose sides and fight for the thrill of it. They have jousting and tournaments for that purpose, and that's their 'entertainment.' Some are different," he said hurriedly, nodding to Hermione. "Some are cultured and gentle. But on the whole, they are a violent people."

"We duel," Harry countered.

"We do not usually duel in groups for the amusement of spectators," Tom replied. "And what is your point, Potter? Your godfather agrees that there are reasons to be worried about the Muggles' political situation in the long term, due to their instability."

Sirius looked hunted, as if he did not like being brought into the debate—but he had begun it. And on this issue, Hermione took Tom's part.

"The Muggle royal family of Plantagenet is… potentially going to be a problem," she said delicately. "I do not know when it will all come to a head, but they have significant Muggle noble support for involvement in foreign wars. I cannot say whether these 'Holy Crusades' are a good or a bad thing for wizards who live in the affected countries, because I don't know how they currently live, but I do know that the Muggles are not fighting these wars for the sake of witches and wizards."

"I expect it will come to a head in our lifetimes," Tom said glumly. "We may need to consider completing what we have already begun, and sealing ourselves away from the Muggles for our own protection."

"That would be difficult. We have Muggle subjects. Are we going to enserf them once again, forbidding them to leave the lands to which they are bound? Or meddling with their memories every time they want to? If we do not, then we will have to give up being nobles, because how will we support our holdings without them?"

Tom did not like the implication that his status as a noble was dependent on Muggle subjects working his farms and engaging in non-magical trades, but he could not argue the point logically. His facial expression soured.

"My uncle Alphard will keep us all informed at the Wizengamot about what is the thinking of the Church," Sirius said confidently. "Whatever happens, we will be able to prepare for it."

"Having a seat reserved for a member of the priesthood was a good decision," Merope murmured. "It is a voice we need to hear frequently."

Tom continued to be troubled by the discussion of Muggle politics and wars. After the Black family had settled into their quarters, and all the children were put to bed, he and Hermione—and Merope and Severus—took private walks on the castle grounds to talk together.

"I thought my life's work would be ending the tyrannical rule of Armand Malfoy," Tom confessed to Hermione as they turned a corner. He gazed the stars, then back down at the grass. "The impeccable wisdom of seventeen."

Despite herself, despite the worries that she had about the future of their children, Hermione managed a laugh. "In fairness to you, he was a menace. It was hard for any of us to see past the immediate threat when it was so great, and removing him was the right priority."

He smiled briefly. "It is easy to fight a foe that you can name and to whom you can put a face," he remarked quietly. "If the Muggles' religious warfare continues, it will touch us, and we will not have a name or a face for it. It will not be about one person. We're lucky, in a way, that it has not yet. Perhaps I should give Armand Malfoy some credit: He did isolate the wizarding population from the problems of Muggle kings and Muggle lords. It was so that he could usurp power to himself without being answerable to anyone, including the Muggle king to whom he officially owed fealty, but it did protect us from the Muggle wars, both domestic and foreign."

Hermione raised her eyebrows teasingly at him. "Perhaps there is your answer, then."

"Reinstate Malfoy's title and take it for myself?" Tom said with a smirk. "I want to, but I don't think the others would stand for it. They are used to having power restored again too, with the Wizengamot."

"That is very true," she said.

Conversation between them subsided as they continued their nighttime stroll.

Elsewhere on the grounds of Parselhall, Severus and Merope were also walking hand-in-hand like a pair of young lovers, despite being over forty.

"Do you think they will be able to handle what the future holds?" he asked her quietly.

"I do," she said, not waiting a second to respond.

Severus continued walking. "You didn't even have to think about it."

"Severus," she said, "we do not know what the future holds—and yet, we usually do rise to meet it in some way. Tom and Hermione showed that they were leaders when they were barely adults at all. They made alliances, and those alliances have held all these years."

"Despite the constant tensions with Black," Severus sniped.

"Black truly never wanted to live as a nobleman," Merope said. "That is clear. Even now, he would rather raise his family in the cottage at Godric's Hollow. He also sees the friendship between his son and little Morgan and realizes what it could mean. He is having to let go of his hope that his children will reject the path that was set out for them. That's all that it is. He is our ally. All of the alliances remain strong, and it's a credit to the young people that they do. I have faith in them." She stopped and reached for Severus's cheek, caressing him with a wry smile. "And we will be there too, most likely. Anything that happens in Tom and Hermione's lifetime—anything in which they must be active—will also happen during ours. They won't be alone."

He could not smile, but he accepted her words nonetheless. Something about her always brought peace to him. "I just hope they have a few more years—decades, better yet. That way, the youngest generation will be old enough to help." He smirked proudly. "They are going to be powerful, you know."

Merope understood which set of children he meant. "I am proud of them," she said. "I wish they would get on better with their niece and nephew—and how odd it is to say those words!—but it should improve later. They are all trying to establish their places now—all except Malcolm, who seems to know already."

Snape grunted. "Swot. He reminds me of… someone."

"Of yourself?" Merope said pointedly, but a grin was tugging at both sides of her mouth.

At last, Severus smiled. It was a wry smile, but his so often were. Merope liked them that way.

No one was watching, especially not the younger couple who were still wandering the grounds, as they embraced in the summer starlight.

Tom and Hermione returned to the castle when the summertime damp started to vex them. They retired to their bedroom, instantly stripping off their robes, the inner set of which were beginning to cling to their bodies.

"Ah," Hermione said, collapsing on the bed. "Much better."

Tom took off his robes but put on his sleep robe, belting it loosely around his waist. "You will get cool quickly," he remarked to Hermione, joining her on the bed.

"I could just steal your warmth, then," she replied immediately.

Tom smirked. "Very funny."

"You won't refuse me."

"I won't," he agreed mildly. He sighed. "Hermione, love, have I ever told you that you actually keep me warm?"

"You have said it in winter, when it really is cold, but I doubt that is what you mean."

He cracked a smile. "Well, yes, that is true too… but you're right. I haven't wanted to talk about it for a long time, but it was one of the effects of creating a Horcrux. I feel cold unless I am thinking about someone I care about."

Hermione stared at him. "I never knew that. Oh, Tom." She curled against him, gazing tenderly at him. "Don't hold painful secrets for years. You can share them with me. I would rather know. It won't hurt me."

"I understand that now," he said. "It's more that I haven't wanted to reflect on that memory much until now. It was traumatic at the time, and so many other traumatic things happened around the same time. Then we had to fight a war, and I learned the truth about Slytherin and didn't want to think about the locket at all…. Some scars take a long time to heal."

She hugged him. "I miss my family every day. I understand that… and they never truly heal. We're always different for what happened."

He sighed again. "I hope that the children don't have to experience anything like what we did, but I fear they will."

She drew his robe open and caressed his lithe body, making him shiver—not with cold, external or otherwise, but with the warmth that comes from the touch of one's beloved. "It won't be their fight alone, if it happens. We will be there for them."

He considered that. "Yes. We will be."

End Notes: And that, dear readers, is a wrap! Thank you so, so much for reading this long, winding, uncomfortable, dark story and offering your feedback along the way. A special thanks to those readers on ffnet and AO3 who have consistently provided large amounts of detailed feedback and constructive criticism in their reviews. You know who you are, and I am not exaggerating when I say that your feedback often helped shape certain details of the story.

I have to acknowledge the many inspirations for this story: Harry Potter, of course, but also (obviously) Game of Thrones and The Once and Future King for the version of Arthurian legend that my "enhanced" take is somewhat based on. In addition, I acknowledge inspirations from the video game Dragon Age: Origins. I'm not much of a gamer and haven't yet played this one (though I'm wrapping up the sequel, curiously), but my friend plays this series of games and I have read a lot about them due to her fanfics. The occupation of Ferelden by Orlais in the backstory of this game was an influence for my depiction of certain elements of the Norman wizards' occupation of the English wizarding world, particularly the disbanding of the Wizengamot. Finally, I have to pay tribute to the metal bands Blind Guardian, Demons and Wizards, Falconer, The Wolves of Avalon, Forefather, Crimson Shadows, and Cruachan; and the Modern Celtic/New Age musicians Loreena McKennitt and Govannen. Their magnificent music was my soundtrack for inspiration and writing.

If I ever write a sequel about this Tom and Hermione during the lead-up to the Third Crusade, it will probably be a story even darker than this one. I do not have this story idea "planned," but never say never.

Until then!