The next morning, Tom hurried through breakfast and set off early with Dobby. He'd be damned if he gave so much as one knut to the writer or publisher of such a book, so a bookshop was out, which left the library. He wouldn't let himself be seen checking it out, but he could read it there.

The bloody thing wasn't even in the restricted section. Tom pulled it off the shelf, his hand shaking with rage. The Potioneer's Guide to Romance, by A Lady, looked worn, its pages fluffy and browned like puff pastry. The swirly hearts decorating its cover were losing their gold leaf.

Tom had never in his life so wanted to burn a book.

He merely skimmed the actual Amortentia recipe, with its variations for slightly different effects. When properly brewed, it had a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, and the vapor that rose from it in spirals smelled—

Different to every person. The book made no mention of it smelling like a storm, like the first breath of fresh air after being cooped up inside, like change, like danger and opportunity. It gave examples of scents other noses detected: baking bread or biscuits, roses, pine needles, new-mown hay, tea, boring things. It smelled like whatever the victim liked.

Tom considered the possibility that Hermione just smelled like that. The air around her crackled with energy. Her hair writhed with it.

Tom kept reading. The book acknowledged that the potion worked as well on muggles as on magical folk. It urged users to clean up after themselves, obliviating the muggles afterwards to avoid violating the Statute of Secrecy.

Tom feared he would be sick right there in the library. It was small consolation that he remembered everything, so at least Merope hadn't tampered with his memory. Would he be better off if she had? He decided not to think about that.

Tom put the book back on a shelf. First he took care to find a shelf of appropriate books, on flying carpet maintenance. He removed some books so he could put this horrid thing behind them, perpendicularly, completely concealed.

His next step was clear. Tom found a book on Veritaserum and sat down to read.

Damn. Serpens had mentioned, and the book confirmed, that exceptional skill at Occlumency could overcome Veritaserum's effects. Hermione had said that seeing a mind healer would require her to drop her Occlumency shields, so Tom could assume she had exceptional skill in that, as she had in so many other branches of magic.

That reminded him to check out some books on Occlumency for beginners, and then it was time to go.

Dobby and Tom Flooed back to the Riddle House in time to drop off his library books and meet Hermione for their Diagon Alley outing. She and Tommy were in the back garden, on a blanket. Tommy was sitting up, enthusiastically mouthing an unpainted wooden block, while Hermione, in faded robes, sat on the blanket beside him, reading The Little Kneazle that Could aloud.

She looked up at Tom when he arrived. "You left in a hurry this morning."

"I remembered I had some library books coming due."

She nodded. "Get anything else interesting?"

Tom sat beside her and Tommy on the blanket. "Books on Occlumency for beginners. I don't know if it's possible for me to master the art, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

Hermione thought. "Hm. That's an interesting idea. It's very difficult even for wizards, but I don't want to say there's anything you can't do, lest I be proven wrong."

"Thank you."

"You'll need a study partner," she said. "Someone who knows Legilimency, who can challenge your shields." She looked at Tommy.

"Couldn't I simply dose myself with Veritaserum and then attempt to lie?" Tom asked. "I could do that on my own."

"Oh! Yes, that's an interesting idea, if you want to practice for that particular challenge, that might work. But to practice against Legilimency, you'll need a Legilimens."

"Could you help me with that?" asked Tom. "I can't think of any other witch or wizard I'd trust inside my mind." That sounded more intimate than he'd intended.

Hermione's blush confirmed it. "I know just the basics of Legilimency," she said. "So I wouldn't be much of a challenge. I have trouble in other people's minds; they're so disorganized, I trip over stuff. But yes, there's no one else you can trust, so I'll do my best."

Assuming she was telling the truth about that, she wasn't presenting herself as much of a threat to Tom. If she was untrustworthy, he was already lost. He had to make a leap of faith. "But my main reason for visiting the library was to read about Amortentia," he confessed in a rush.

He had her attention.

"I wondered if extended use of the potion has any known after-effects that might explain my symptoms."

She was on the alert. "What symptoms? You should have told me before. Maybe I can help."

"The problem is. I mean, it's not really a problem, it's just a smell. I keep thinking I smell Amortentia. It's a smell I associate with Merope, which is unsettling, as it's a smell I used to enjoy. But now…"

"After suffering its effects for so long, a smell you can no longer enjoy," said Hermione.

"Exactly."

"Like me and the sound of peacocks screaming. Not that that was ever a pleasant sound, or a common one, so that's no loss, really." She considered the problem. "It would be awful to have an aversion to something you used to really like. Has your appetite been OK?

"My appetite?"

"If you used to enjoy fresh bread or chocolate or something, but now even the smell of your favorite food puts you off—"

"No, no, nothing like that."

"Then what—" she stopped and shook her head, the sun striking sparks from her hair. "You don't have to tell me."

"It smells like a storm."

"A storm?"

"Yes. A certain quality to the air… Anyway. Nothing we're likely to find on the menu at La Truffe, so let's go."

—-

Friday, July 1, Tom met with Algie and the two more tolerable Prewetts for their usual Friday outing. They sat in the Shaftesbury Theatre waiting for Castles in the Air to start.

"Even the orchestra tuning up sounds exciting," said Tessie, almost bouncing in her seat. "I'm so looking forward to dancing after this,"

"Unfortunately, I can't stay out too late tonight," said Tom. "I have business matters to attend tomorrow." He didn't know when Marius would arrive, and wanted to give a good impression.

Tessie looked pleadingly at her mother. "But we can still go dancing, right?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Prewett. "I promised a dance to Archie at the Cafe de Paris. I can't disappoint him."

"Who?" asked Algie.

"Archie, a most charming gentleman, and excellent dancer. A man of substance." It took a gesture of both arms to convey how substantial he was.

"You mean Lord Archibald Bootle-Flournoy, Earl of Inchfar?" asked Algie, to whom Mrs. Prewett's gesture had apparently been informative.

"Yes," said Mrs. Prewett.

"Perhaps I can join you briefly for that," said Tom. Then the lights dimmed, although Tessie's jeweled headband caught the faintest light and scattered it as scintillating sparks. The orchestra started the overture, and the audience sat back to enjoy the musical.

Their party sat in a row, Mrs. Prewett, Tom, Tessie, and Algie, ostensibly so Mrs. Prewett could keep an eye on Tom and make sure he didn't get too affectionate with Tessie. In practice, Tom noticed, Tessie held Algie's hand. Her mother seemed completely oblivious, as all her attention was taken by the show.

"How delightful!" exclaimed Mrs. Prewett after the cast had taken their final bow. "The plot was too predictable, though. I could tell all along that John was really the Latvian prince."

"I thought it was wonderful," said Tessie.

"I think I fell asleep during the ballet number," said Algie. "Did anything happen after that?

Tessie excitedly filled Algie in on what he'd missed. Algie was absolutely shocked to learn John's true identity.

They took a taxi to the Cafe de Paris, where Tom danced one dance each with Mrs. Prewett, then Tessie. "I hope you don't mind me leaving early tonight," he said, his lips by Tessie's ear as they danced close. "Will you and Algie have enough time together?"

"It seems that there's never enough time," she sighed. "But don't worry about us. Once my mother gets some champagne in her she hardly pays any attention to us. It can be hard to find her when it's time to go."

"Good," said Tom. "I'm glad you and Algie have sufficient opportunities for romance."

Tessie sighed again. "He doesn't really make use of his opportunities, though. He's a perfect gentleman, a bit too gentlemanly if you know what I mean. Tom, do you think he likes me?"

"I know he does."

"Then why doesn't he say so?"

"You must understand the constraints under which he's operating. Lovers who try to please their families as well as themselves are servants of two masters."

"But I don't care that he's a muggle! I don't care what my family thinks!"

"His family has strong opinions about the girls with whom he associates," said Tom. "He must be careful not to make any promises his family won't let him keep."

Tessie's coral lips pouted. "I'm a perfectly respectable girl. He's met some of my family, but why hasn't he introduced me to any of his?"

"Because he knows they would forbid him from seeing you again if they knew of you. In the muggle world, his family is noble, while yours is unknown. To put it in more familiar terms, you might as well be a muggleborn pursuing a pureblood."

Tessie's usually graceful feet stopped dancing. Her eyes widened in outrage. She took her hand off Tom's shoulder and stepped back. "What?!"

Tom was concerned that some observer might assume Tom had made an indecent proposal to his dance partner. "You're from different worlds," he explained quietly. "If you want to flaunt your pureblood pedigree, you need to limit yourself to the wizarding world. Out here it's worthless."

Tessie got her emotions under control. "I see what you mean." She stepped forward into Tom's arms again. "I was thinking only that my children would be halfbloods, and is it really fair for me to doom them to that, all for the sake of my infatuation with a muggle? But you're right, my own blood loses its value here."

"I don't consider life as a halfblood to be such a terrible fate," said Tom with a smile, but there was steel in his voice.

Tessie blushed. "Well, you know what I mean. It's no wonder you choose to spend so much time in the muggle world, where your blood isn't held against you."

Tom looked around the ballroom pointedly. "I'd spend some of my time here even if I were a pureblood," he said. "I couldn't stand to be constrained to one world, particularly one as small as that." He led Tessie through only the simplest dance figures, as she was clearly deep in thought.

"Yes," she finally concluded. "I agree."

When the music ended, Tom led Tessie back to their table, where Algie was waiting for her. Tom took his leave of the lovers, found Mrs. Prewett to bid her farewell as well, and had Dobby apparate him home from a dark alley.

—-

Tom had informed Hester that on July 2, they would have a guest for lunch, dinner, and until further notice. He'd had Fiona prepare a room for the boy. Tom had purchased some muggle clothing for him.

He'd thought he was prepared, yet he found himself surprised when, as he sat in his office with the window open, doing some calculations and awaiting his visitor, not one but two children appeared, both clutching the same black feather. The ugly girl drew her wand, quickly scanned the room, and pointed it at Tom. "What do you want with my brother?" she demanded.

Tom held his hands out in a gesture of peace, showing that he definitely wasn't drawing his wand. "I just want him to be safe. That's it."

"Why?"

"I think squibs deserve to live as much as anyone else."

"Why?"

"I just, I just do."

"I want him to live too," she admitted, "but that's because he's my brother. He's not your brother."

"Well—"

Tom was saved from having to justify his actions by the sudden appearance of Hermione, wand drawn. "Expelliarmus!" The girl's wand flew from her hand to Hermione's. "Who are you?" Hermione demanded.

"Cassiopeia Black," she said proudly, which matched Tom's recollection of Nature's Nobility. "And this is my brother—"

"No you're not," said Hermione. "The alarms notified me that someone disguised by extensive glamour charms just portkeyed into the house."

"Salazar's serpent!" the girl exclaimed. "Quite a security system you have here."

"Who are you really?" Hermione demanded.

"I really am Cassiopeia Black," the intruder said, quite miffed.

"She is," Marius said. "I know my own sister."

"Specialis revelio," said Hermione. Dissatisfied, she tried "Specialis revelio maxima." She peered intently at the girl. "Why do you have—"

"Please don't undo them!" the girl begged, her confidence suddenly gone. "I had them done at a very exclusive beauty salon. Most wards don't even detect them. I couldn't bear it if people saw me as I am."

"Oh," said Hermione.

Tom realized with horror that the girl didn't actually look like this. This was the best that even a magical beauty salon could do. She must have been as ugly as Merope under all that magic.

"Well, it does look like just a lot of cosmetic charms," said Hermione. "No Dark magic, anyway. I suppose I'll let you keep them on."

"Thank you," the girl said sadly. Poor child, it wasn't her fault the Blacks had been marrying their cousins for generations.

"Would you like some tea?" Tom asked.

Cassiopeia glared at him suspiciously with her small grey eyes. A pity she didn't even have her brother's eyelashes.

"And biscuits?" Tom added.

Marius looked up at his sister.

"Give back my wand if you want me to trust you," she said.

Tom looked at Hermione. She handed the girl's wand back.

"Dobby," called Tom.

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Fetch tea and biscuits for our guests."

Pop.

Marius stepped forward, knelt before Tom, then looked up with tears in his eyes. "I owe you a life debt," he said.

"Get up off the floor," said Tom, taking Marius's hand and pulling him up.

"I mean, if squibs can owe life debts," Marius choked out. "Maybe we can't. I mean, a life has to be worth something to owe a debt for it, so—"

"Have a seat," said Tom, pushing him into a chair. "Where's Dobby with that—"

Pop.

"Oh good," said Tom. "How do you take your tea?"

"Cream and sugar," Marius answered automatically.

"And you?" Tom asked Cassiopeia.

"No thank you."

Tom nodded to Dobby, who provided tea quickly, setting it on the small table.

"Thank you," said Marius.

"You're quite welcome. What kind of biscuits do you like?" Tom continued. "We have custard creams, Garibaldis—"

"They'll notice we're gone soon," said Cassiopeia. "We need a plan."

"My plan was to assure young Marius that he's safe in his new home," said Tom. "I confess that I didn't anticipate your arrival. Should I have prepared two rooms? How long will you be staying with us?"

The children looked intently at each other for a painfully long moment. "I've got to get back as soon as I can," Cassiopeia eventually said.

Marius slammed his eyes shut. Tom silently placed a handkerchief in his hand.

"I just came along to see where the Portkey went," Cassiopeia continued. "I needed to see if he was safe. I've been protecting him for years, faking accidental magic for him, but I'm afraid our parents started to get suspicious once I went away to school last year, and he only had magical outbursts when I was home for holidays. They kept up hope until today, though. Corvus Floo-called to talk about his Hogwarts letter with Marius. He wanted our families to go wand-shopping together. I told my parents I was going to Marius's room to call him to answer the Floo, but I told him to use your portkey instead."

"It was very brave of you to come," said Hermione.

It was hard for Cassiopeia to look down her nose at any adult, but she somehow managed.

"I have a plan," said Hermione. "We were going to do it ourselves, but it'll be easier with you helping." She took a small, crude clay doll out of a pocket of her robes. "Marius, I need one of your hairs."

Marius finished wiping his eyes and looked to his sister, who nodded, so he ran his hand through his hair and pulled out a strand, which he handed to Hermione.

Hermione pressed the hair into the soft clay of the doll's head, then addressed Marius again. "And I'll need your clothes."

"My…" Marius clutched at his robes.

"We have replacement clothes for you of course," Tom assured him. "Come with me, they're in your room." They abandoned their tea and Tom led the little party there. It was pleasantly sunny and nicely furnished. "Although I suppose that for expediency's sake, you could just change into this dressing gown and figure out the muggle clothes later."

Cassiopeia nodded. "Go on Marius, get out of those robes. They belong to the House of Black."

Hermione, Dobby, and Tom stepped into the hall to give the children privacy. Soon, Cassiopeia came out with an armful of clothes, and pulled the door shut behind her. "We've got to hurry," she said.

Hermione put the crude clay doll on the floor of the hallway and tapped it with her wand. "Lutum Carnis."

This wasn't a good time for Fiona to come bustling down the hall carrying a vase of sweet peas from the garden, as she came across Tom and company stuffing the pale, naked, disturbingly bruised corpse of a boy into wizarding robes. She screamed and dropped the vase, which shattered on the floor.

"Reparo," said Tom with a casual wave of his wand, for Dobby's gaze had been attracted to the noise like everyone else's. The broken vase reformed like a movie reel played backwards. The water and flower stems jumped into it. The flowers looked only slightly worse for wear. "Your services will not be required in this wing of the house today," said Tom.

"Yes Mr. Riddle," said Fiona before she turned and bolted, leaving the vase on the floor.

They finished dressing the fake corpse. It lay on the floor, looking disturbingly deathlike.

"Accio Harry's broom," said Hermione, drawing it from her beaded bag. "Accio Harry's cloak. I think this could cover both of us and the simulacrum," she said to Cassiopeia. "The ends of the broom will stick out a bit, but not too noticeably. We don't have to do any fancy flying. I'll apparate us to the air above your house. Show me his window and we'll drop the simulacrum so it lands hard on the pavement below. Then I'll land to let you off, and you can run from your front steps to discover the body. You'll have to make a show of crying to make it seem realistic."

"No," said Cassiopeia. "Crying over a squib wouldn't be realistic."

"Well," said Hermione. "I trust that you know best. Anyway, you'll tell everyone that Marius jumped to his death when he didn't get his letter. That way they won't look for him. Think you can manage?"

Cassiopeia thought. "My parents might think I threw him out the window."

"I don't want you to get in trouble," started Tom.

"No, they'd approve. They'll be proud of me. It's a good plan."

"The simulacrum will revert to clay after three days," said Hermione. "Make sure your family buries it fast."

Cassiopeia nodded. "Let's go."

Hermione wrangled the simulacrum onto the broom in front of her, folding its waist over the broomstick in a way that was stable, but would have been uncomfortable if it were a real person. "Sit behind me," she ordered Cassiopeia, who did so.

Hermione hovered the broom and wrapped the cloak around them, tucking it underneath them so they wouldn't be seen even from below. The ends of the broom did stick out.

"You disillusion things well," said Tom to Dobby. "Could you get those?"

Dobby did. The end result was perfectly invisible, mostly, except for the barest shimmer of the ends of the broom.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

"You'd better take good care of Marius," said Cassiopeia's disembodied voice. "I'll be checking in to make sure." Such a threat from a child should have been comical, but Cassiopeia delivered it convincingly.

Tom nodded. "I will. We can communicate by owl once you get to Hogwarts."

"We're off," said Hermione. "Back in a jiffy."

Tom would hardly have been able to tell when they left if not for the cracking noise.

"The servant saw me, Master," fretted Dobby.

"It's fine," said Tom. "She knows not to speak of any of the goings-on here."

Tom knocked on Marius's door. "Would you like assistance donning muggle clothes? I could send in my elf to help you. He understands both wizarding and muggle fashion." There was no answer. "I hope they fit," continued Tom. "I relied on my memory of the last time I saw you for size, and then chose clothes a bit larger, but you don't seem to have grown much so they may be too large. My elf can adjust them as necessary."

Silence from behind the door. This wasn't one of the doors that had been made eavesdropping-proof.

"I noticed that the simulacrum of you seemed a bit bruised," said Tom. "Does that reflect your actual state? We have some healing potions on hand."

Silence.

"Just say no if you don't want us to come in."

Silence.

Tom addressed Dobby. "Fetch whatever healing potions you think would be appropriate."

"Yes Master." Pop.

Tom picked up the vase of sweet peas, then knocked at Marius's door. He opened it slowly, took no visible notice of Marius crying on the bed, and set the flowers on the dresser. "I set some handkerchiefs on the bedside table."

Marius silently wiped his face.

"Cassiopeia seemed quite adamant that I take good care of you, so please, let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay here more pleasant. I wouldn't like to face her wrath."

Pop. Dobby appeared with a tray. "Dobby brought the healing potions, Master."

"Good. Use your judgment about what Marius needs." Tom admired the flowers as the elf worked on the boy.

"Does Marius feel better?" Dobby asked when he was done.

"Yes," Marius said dully.

"How did Marius get so many bruises?" asked Dobby.

Marius stared at the elf. "That's an impertinent question. You should be punished."

"I have given my elf permission to speak his mind," said Tom. "You needn't answer him if you prefer not to."

Marius's pale grey eyes looked at Tom suspiciously. Eventually, he addressed Tom. "I was trying to get my accidental magic to work. I tried everything." He grabbed another handkerchief, for he needed it.

"Ah," said Tom.

"Cassiopeia helped," the boy sobbed. "But even that didn't work."

Tom needed some fresh air, so he moved closer to the window. He took some deep breaths until he could be sure his voice would be steady. "There will be none of that here," he said. He opened a dresser drawer, selected a khaki playsuit suitable for the warm weather, and arranged it on the bed for him. "Are you accustomed to an elf helping to dress you?"

"Yes," Marius said dully.

"Good. I'll just have Dobby perform the same service for you here." Tom nodded to Dobby. Tom looked out the window again to give the boy some privacy from human eyes.

"Marius is dressed, Master."

Tom turned around. "Wonderful!" he said, which he would have said whatever Marius looked like. He looked fine except for the slouch, the tear-stained face, and the hair, which was too long, in a wizarding style. The bruises on the pale legs looked old and faded, not fresh as they had looked moments ago. In fact rather a lot was wrong, but most of it could pass for a muggle sort of wrongness, so that was fine. "Here, take a look in the mirror. Your new clothes suit you, I think."

Marius shuffled to the mirror and looked into it the minimal amount before looking away.

Tom didn't press the point. Instead, he offered, "When Hermione gets back, I'll drive us to Great Hangleton for some ice cream."

Marius looked less enthusiastic than a child who'd just been offered ice cream should. "I can't go to a wizarding shop. I'm supposed to be dead. I can't be seen."

"I wasn't suggesting a wizarding ice cream shop, but a muggle one," Tom explained.

"You want me to eat… muggle food?!" The poor child's voice rose to a horrified squeal by the end of the sentence.

"Food is food," said Tom.

"Muggle food is all I deserve, anyway. I'm no better than a muggle." He was crying in earnest now, there was no denying it. He took another handkerchief from the bedside table.

"Yes, you're no better than a muggle," Tom agreed. "Just as I am no better than a muggle."

That shocked Marius enough to pause his crying. "But you're—"

Tom continued. "Just as Miss Granger, and Cassiopeia, and your parents, and your friend Corvus, and everyone you know, are all no better than muggles. We're all human."

Tom was getting tired of people looking at him like he was insane.