Epilogue

Seven Years Later

The inhabitants of a little town in the Czech Republic were barred inside their cottages by the piling snow outside. It was the winter of 1951, and Mr. Riddle's wife was sitting cross-legged on their sofa in their quaint living area. She had a multicolored wool blanket on her lap which did nothing to hide her distended belly. Hermione Riddle was seven months along with her first child. She was pouring over a few Diagon Alley advertisements.

Since Tom's birthday followed Christmas so quickly, she wanted to purchase a few things for her husband. Tom Riddle was now making a living for his budding family as a Curse Breaker. Self-employed, of course, as he was still a fugitive. This scared Hermione whenever he got an assignment, worrying her about whether or not the Ministry of Magic had finally found them. Hermione tucked a curtain of her thick dark hair behind her ear and felt her baby stretch inside her belly after a nap.

"Hey, my little angel." she cooed at her protruding midsection, stroking where she had last felt her child's hand. "Are you hungry?"

Moments like this made Hermione think her son or daughter already knew English, because, the baby seemed to be getting a little fussy. Tom's baritone voice was the most powerful anecdote for this. Hermione heaved herself to her feet and waddled into the kitchen. If he were back already, Tom would remind her that she was a witch and that she could have summoned everything she needed from the cushy sofa. As she thought this, Hermione heard a faint pop in the foryer of their crowded house.

Hermione and Tom had cast every spell, charm, and curse, which she reluctantly agreed to, that would keep intruders out. This meant that they could not invite any of their neighbors or friends over for tea ... let alone a baby shower. Tom had told her he was working on a way to let her experience that part of being pregnant. The house was so heavily guarded that they would have to recast them once the baby was born so that it would recognize and accept a third occupant. Tom beamed at his little expectant wife when she joined him at the front door.

"How are you feeling? Are your feet still as sore as they were this morning?" he asked, bending down greatly to kiss her passionately after hanging his heavy black robe, dripping in melting snow, on the rack by the door.

They kissed like they had that first time in the corridor at Hogwarts that night of Slughorn's party. They kissed as though they were still young in their relationship. Worrying about whether they'd see each other again almost every day didn't hinder that throbbing level of passion.

Hermione smiled and massaged her belly, "We're both doing fine. A little hungry, though. My ankles felt better after applying that hot-cool cream of Mrs. Bartunek across the street. See, muggle medicine can be just as helpful as magical ones."

"I just want you to have the best care," Tom grinned as he guided her back to the sofa. "Now, what are you craving today? If I need to go to the market, say so now before the storm gets too rough for flying."

He seemed a little worn and exhausted from working all day, so Hermione replied, "Whatever we already have that you don't have to cook, Tom."

They kissed again and Tom pecked her swollen belly before straightening up. The couple talked about the day they had apart like they did almost every day. This was their life now. Sure, it was stressful to be secretive for possibly the rest of their lives. But, after saving Tom, Hermione was used to leading a complicated existence. As long as they were together, they could face everything the world threw in their path.