The poem is by Jorge Luis Borges, who is Argentine and well-regarded.
Grandmother embraced him right on the front lawn, before he'd gotten much farther than the gates.
"Tommy!"
Tommy's knees buckled under the weight of combined grief. He was taller than Grandmother now, but she'd borne so much more.
"Grandmother," he said.
"Tommy, my poor boy! You aren't going back to that wretched school, Tommy, you're staying here with us. I'll find a place for you in the local grammar school. We'll try Brackenwood Hall. Tommy," Grandmother's voice finally broke.
Tommy led her, her arm around his shoulder, back up the lawns and into the sitting room. Mum's piano stood closed and covered with a black cloth. Tommy choked and swallowed hard on the lump in his throat.
Alec had followed them to the door, but he stood by looking awkward.
"Tommy, we wish you'd been here for the service. It isn't right, what those people did at your school. They should have known you belong with your family at this time," Grandmother said, her voice thick with tears.
Tommy nodded and held back from crying. By force of will, the tears that had threatened to spill over stopped.
"I wanted to come," he whispered. Alec shifted on his feet and coughed.
"Lady Edmondes? If you and Tommyknocker need a mo'," he waited as Grandmother hiccoughed at the name, "I can always come back. I wanted to pay my respects."
Grandmother nodded and beckoned Alec closer.
"Of course Alexander, you're a friend of the family. We'll all go. You know, the little boys have been distraught since it happened? We have war guests," Grandmother said in response to Alec's look.
"Oh, aye," he said, taking Grandmother's arm from Tommy.
The walk to the cemetery took just long enough for Tommy to go numb inside. Alec led Grandmother by the arm, Tommy held her other hand limply. The churchyard had a yew tree bowed over the gate. The grass around the graves was as bright a green as the lawns of Crossfields. Many of the graves were new.
"Tommy my boy, my poor dear boy. We brought quite a few flowers when…all of them were Gwen and Aneirin's favourites. We thought about adding a few growing plants, but…and anyway it's just too soon. Oh," Grandmother stopped to take a shuddering breath, "oh, too soon."
Grandmother stopped when they came within sight of two shining new headstones.
"Part of the family plot," she whispered. "And my poor Gladys beside Gwen with her dear Wynn." Grandmother pointed to the two older graves beside his mum's.
Tommy looked up at her, for Grandmother had drawn another deep, shaking breath.
"They were such bright young things, Tommy. Gwen never knew her mother, and neither did you, but my daughter was just as wonderful as you can imagine," she said. Tommy shivered. He didn't yet want to get closer.
"Your daughter?" he whispered. Grandmother nodded.
"Go on, sweetheart. We'll let you have a moment," she whispered back, giving Tommy a nudge forward.
His parents' graves weren't as fancy as the older gravestones. With the war, he imagined there wasn't the time for marble angels and weeping figures. Grandmother had left baskets and wreaths of flowers all over both; it looked like half a greenhouse had tipped out onto the two plots.
Mum's headstone had the lyrics to Suo-Gan, which Tommy knew well enough to hum under his breath:
"Sleep child on my bosom
Cozy and warm is this.
Mother's arms are tight around you,
Mother's love is under my breast;"
Papa had a verse from a Spanish poem he had once read to Tommy:
"When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream."
Tommy waited to feel sad, but the longer he stood staring at the two new headstones, the less real they seemed. Surely mum and papa would come round from behind them, shouting for him? There must have been a mistake in the morgue.
He edged closer to mum's wreath. Lilies-of-the-valley and tuberoses, flowers mum loved for their scents. Their perfume brought stinging tears to the corner of his eyes. He looked over at papa's wreath. Grandmother had gone to a lot of trouble to find rich purple orchids. Tommy couldn't imagine papa wearing or liking such flowers in life. But then he couldn't imagine a world without his papa in it.
"Oh mum, papa," Tommy moaned. Tommy closed his eyes and reached out to touch the headstones. If they were real, then this was real and his parents really were gone. His fingers found cool, smooth stone just as the lump in his throat burst into a cry.
Tommy opened his eyes and read the dates to be sure. Aneirin Bautista Eduardo Davies-Maldonado. Born November 3rd, 1892, Died January 2nd, 1941. Gwendolyn Eilonwy Edmondes Davies-Maldonado. Born October 3rd, 1890, Died January 2nd, 1941.
They were gone. Really gone.
"Bye mum. Bye papa. I wish you could come back as ghosts," Tommy had to stop talking to snivel. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
When he returned to Alec and Grandmother, he caught the tail end of Grandmother murmuring,
"…And if they hadn't gone to Cardiff, if they'd come back on the train before…"
She stopped when she spotted Tommy.
"I'm glad you picked poems," Tommy said, once he could swallow and speak. Grandmother nodded and pressed her handkerchief to her face. Alec looked distressed.
"Tommy dear, it's the last thing any parent ever wants to do," Grandmother said, muffled by her handkerchief. Tommy nodded and then, because they'd both faint if he didn't, he reached out and gave her the strongest hug he possibly could.
They both cried and shook and pleaded together. When Tommy's belly was empty of everything but a dull pain, he took Grandmother by the arm, Alec on her other side. They went to tea in the fine hotel nearby.
Tommy spent many of his days trying to read. Every book in his room had either been a gift from mum or papa, which left only his wretched homework. He'd received the school list by owl, as usual, and promptly thrown it aside, along with mention about an award for academic achievement. Grandmother said he wouldn't go back. He was man of the house now, he must stay. Martin and Daniel Plaskett, however, both needed new uniforms and school supplies, for they went to the village grammar school.
"It's a much nicer school than the one we went to back in Finchley," Martin told Tommy while he helped the younger boy with his homework.
"Mmm," Tommy said.
"But you're really lucky! You get to take a train all the way up North. What's it like?"
"I'm not going back to that school," Tommy said. Martin blinked at him before grinning and giving him a shove.
"You can't drop out of school. You're too young for the army! What are you going to do?"
"I dunno," Tommy said.
He hadn't looked into the two-way mirror since reporting to Alfie a very abridged version of his meeting with Thomas Riddle and the ghost of Marvolo Gaunt. Once Martin left to go plane-spotting with his brother, Tommy pulled the mirror out.
"Psst!"
"I'm not speaking to you, you dirty dog!"
Hearing Alfie's voice, even pretending to be angry, was a balm. Tommy smiled at Alfie's ridiculous pout.
"I miss you, Alf," Tommy said. Alfie went pink and for a moment his lovely dimples flashed. Then it was all scowls again.
"Don't think you can butter me up, you absolute dog! I'm never speaking to you again!"
"That's all well and good, then, Alfie, because I don't think I'm going back to Hogwarts. Grandmother wants me to stay. I don't want to leave her. She's my only family. Her and Liz, and Liz's parents of course."
Alfie stopped pretending to be furious and went white.
"You have to come back! If you leave Hogwarts now, they'll take your wand!"
The words left a grain of fear in Tommy's belly, but not enough to make an impression.
"So what? I can do loads of muggle jobs without it," he said, to squash that little germ of fear. Alfie heaved a huge sigh.
"So what? So what! If you do any magic at all without a wand or license, they'll lock you in Azkaban!"
Tommy didn't yet want to go into detail about the dementors, but he couldn't hide a shiver from Alfie.
"So what? They don't scare me —"
"— You're a dog and a liar, Tommy Davies!" Alfie said, on the verge of tears.
"Alright, if you want me back so badly, I'll go to Hogwarts. But I mean it about dementors. I've already fought them off. I fought them when I went to the Gaunts' home."
Alfie was agog at this.
"No! What on earth were they doing there?" Alfie said.
Tommy shivered again.
"They arrested Marvolo Gaunt. When he went to Azkaban, he was injured. They must have released him and brought him back," Tommy said.
"And then they killed him?" Alfie said.
"No…he didn't die by them," Tommy said. He wouldn't bring Grindelwald up here and now, when he could talk to Alf about pleasant things instead.
Alfie gave an even bigger shudder and then gaped at Tommy. "How on earth did you survive?"
"Well, according to my research, if you have hope you can fight them off. If you can summon a patronus, that's ideal. So I did."
"Did what?"
"Summon a patronus," Tommy said. The intensity of Alfie's staring made Tommy hot under the collar.
"That's bloody marvelous! What form does yours take?"
Tommy flushed but tried to laugh it off.
"Oh, um. A pig," he said.
Alfie went pink as well and snickered.
"A pig? Well, and here I thought it would be a dragon, or something more Welsh!" he said, with a giggle.
"Pigs are Welsh. The boar of Twrch Trwth is Welsh," Tommy said.
Everything seemed brighter when Alfie laughed, which he did plenty of now. Alfie appeared to have fallen back on his bed, howling with laughter. Tommy waited until the last peals of mirth had faded before adding, "I can meet you in Diagon Alley if you like. I have so much to tell you."
"Well you'll have to tell me everything or I shall be so cross with you," Alfie said, the threat ruined by the way he wrinkled his nose.
They agreed to meet in a week, when Grandmother brought the little boys up to London to buy their school things and visit their mother. Uncle Stig and Aunt Marie were both accompanying them.
Tommy had never been to Diagon Alley without an escort. Grandmother and Aunt Marie were shepherding the little boys around London, even taking them to the cinema at Martin's begging. This left Tommy with Uncle Stig.
Uncle Stig had never been particularly talkative, but now he'd clammed up, cold as stone. He shrugged off Tommy's questions about the Home Guard. He grunted when Tommy asked if they might also go to the cinema. Uncle Stig didn't say more than two words at all until Tommy'd dawdled through five used bookstores. When they exited, Uncle Stig grabbed Tommy before he could cross the road to the next one.
"Don't bother. Don't know why you're wasting my time, Tom. Been meaning to speak to you about your folks," he said, tone gruff.
Even in the late August sunshine, Tommy shuddered. The Blitz had left scars all across London: streets diverted because of unexploded shells. Whole blocks reduced to rubble. Home Guardsmen at every intersection. People wandering about, looking like lost souls.
"What about them?" Tommy said. Uncle Stig readjusted his grip so that it was gentle.
"You really certain you want to go back to school all the way in Scotland?" Uncle Stig said. He steered them into a pub, and shushed Tommy when he started to object.
"I have to go to school or I'll be in trouble. I don't want to be sent down," Tommy said rather than fight over the pub. Uncle Stig frowned but he kept quiet until they were seated.
They sat in an unoccupied booth. Uncle Stig got a whiskey for himself, and a coca-cola for Tommy, with crisps to share.
"Look, old man, sometimes even when its hard, you have to make your own way in the world. A lot of people are going to want to protect you from that," Uncle Stig said. He sighed and pretended he was laughing at the callous world. Tommy saw behind the blisters and darkened eyes. Uncle Stig only knew a callous world.
"If we win the war, it'll be better," Tommy said, wanting to say something that might change his uncle's mind.
"Sure, they'll jolly you along that everything will be fine, a rainbow after every storm, all our brave boys home and safe and healthy. I'm not going to lie to you like that, old man. Don't see the point," Uncle Stig said.
He wouldn't be jollied along and Tommy didn't have any cheer in him to try it.
Tommy tried to look past the gas burns, to whatever was left of the boy Tommy'd only glimpsed in old photographs. Pain had been written into every blister and freckle on his uncle's skin.
Pain and an anger that had smoldered so long it would never be put out. Pain, anger and love, love for Aunt Marie and Liz. Love for his papa so deep and strong it was an ocean to itself, within an ocean of suffering and hate.
"I, I know why you're telling me. I do understand, a little bit. You lost papa before I ever did," Tommy said. They weren't cheerful words, but they needed saying.
His uncle flinched at these words, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he put a shaking hand over Tommy's.
"Your pa was my best friend. He was never too high and mighty for anyone." Uncle Stig stopped to laugh quietly and Tommy did too, because it was better than crying. "I'm glad you had the chance to know him. I'm glad he had the family he wanted. It was a different time, then," Uncle Stig said.
Tommy didn't pull away. He knew what was coming. Uncle Stig shifted a little in his seat and looked down at his whiskey.
"I went stone sober after the war. Didn't want to be a drunkard with a baby on the way. Even when your pa married, I stayed sober. This is the first drink I've had in…you weren't even born yet, old man," he murmured.
Tommy tapped the table beneath Uncle Stig's hand.
"We can leave, if you want to. You don't have to have a drink. I promised I'd meet a friend. There's a pub you can wait for us in, if you'd like that," Tommy said, hurrying to smile when his uncle looked at him.
"You and that Alfie you're always on about?"
Now it was Tommy's turn to remain silent, to not deny it. Uncle Stig grinned, an echo of the boy he'd been in it.
"Ah, me, young love. Don't you ever hide it, old man, don't deny it. It's going to be a different world when this war's over."
"Will it really be that different? Was it different for you and papa?" Tommy whispered. Uncle Stig shook his head and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
"Maybe you'll be able to come out in the light of day. If you bury it, it'll only poison you from the inside," Uncle Stig said, tapping his own heart. "The heart wants what the heart will, eh, old man?"
Tommy swallowed hard and finished his cola in a gulp, the way a seasoned drinker finished slugs. Uncle Stig laughed.
"That's right," Tommy said, and burped. Uncle Stig laughed.
"Well now! Let's not keep your sweet prince waiting! You just show me to this watering hole and I'll leave you lads to run the roads a bit."
They entered the Leaky Cauldron about tea time, when the barman had tankards lined up along the counter. Tommy wasn't certain Uncle Stig would blend in, what with all the wizards inside. But, the Leaky Cauldron opened to the muggle street as well as Diagon Alley. They must be used to getting muggles in sometimes. And Uncle Stig's appearance would draw less comment than the hag who was ordering pints of something red and sticky.
"Bit of a queer spot, this is," Uncle Stig whispered. Tommy looked at him, praying he wouldn't be upset.
"Well, yes, people here are uniquely gifted," Tommy said. He led Uncle Stig to a shadowy corner. "If you don't want to stay, just tell the barman where you'll be. And, erm, if you see anything funny," Tommy said, trailing off. His Uncle was looking around, at the hag, at a pair of goblins arguing over a betting game, at the wizard wearing a magenta top hat rather than a pointed cap.
"What is this, a pub for circus folk?" Uncle Stig said.
Such relief spread through Tommy, from his toes all the way to his fingertips.
"It is. You must ask them to show you a few tricks, if you like," he said, with his best try for a teasing nudge. Uncle Stig nudged back.
"Go on, you're keeping loverboy waiting."
Alfie stamped his foot when he saw Tommy, shouting,
"You absolute cad! How dare you keep one of the Blacks waiting!"
Tommy ran up to him and wanted to hug him so tight he'd forget what loss meant. Instead, he smiled and let Alfie seize his hand.
"I had to tell Cyggy and Wallie I was meeting a girlfriend because of you! And then they wanted to know who she was and how distantly we were related and if she had all her teeth and wasn't a half-wit," he said, prattling as he dragged Tommy into Gringotts for change, then to Flourish and Blotts for their books.
Tommy stashed his shopping in Alfie's mokeskin satchel and they turned down a lane into Knockturn Alley. Alfie was recounting the story of how the bombings had frightened a dragon loose from a reserve near the coast and of how fifty muggles needed to be tracked down and Obliviated before they could contain the damage.
"This war can't be over soon enough, if you ask me! And that Grindelwald has been making a real stink in Ruritania. Now he insists that all the squibs in Ruritania's colonies register, or they'll be interred in Nurmengard," Alfie finished.
They stopped outside a shop called Borgin and Burkes. It appeared to specialize in magical antiques. Tommy remembered Marvolo's threat about the locket. His real mother's locket, passed down from Slytherin himself.
"Alf," Tommy said, staring into the shop's dusty window, "If I told you I was making a plan to stop Grindelwald once and for all, what would you say?"
"I'd say you'd be mad to try. They're certain he has the Elder Wand. It's just about the most powerful wand in existence, and Grindelwald hasn't lost a duel yet." Alfie squeezed Tommy's hand as they both peered at the silver and opal necklace in pride of place.
"Tommy, I say, do you want to go inside? Mother says the proprietor can be a bit stingy, but she's found just marvelous things inside. A music box that puts you to sleep so you're in your happiest dreams forever until you close the lid! And a pair of pearl earrings that could charm anyone just by looking at them. I've always said Wallie needed the wretched things. She'd usually hex me for it."
Tommy laughed and went for the door.
"Do they sell lots of jewelry?" he said. Alfie shrugged as he followed Tommy inside. The shop smelled of magic as much as it did of the strange unguents and potions bottled behind the counter.
"I expect they do. Mother's always in here for something," Alfie replied.
"There's something I'm looking for, you can help me," Tommy said, lowering his voice when the shopkeeper spotted them. A little old man with a shifty demeanor, he'd been arranging a display of beads all made to look like eyes. His cold eyes brightened when he recognised Alfie.
"Young Black, always a pleasure. And how is Madame Black?" he said, sliding Tommy suspicious looks between sucking up to Alfie.
"Sour as always, Burke, as you know very well. My companion and I were looking for something, however," Alfie said, dazzling with his smile.
Burke smirked appreciatively. Tommy caught the briefest insight through the man's eyes. Pretty and wealthy Alfie, the sort of gull who spent with abandon on whatever Burke chose to peddle. Tommy scowled.
"And what can I help you find today, Young Black?" Burke said. He must have felt Tommy glowering, for he stopped casting sideways looks and focused a weak smile on Alfie.
Alfie turned his own far brighter smile on Tommy and nudged him in the side.
"Do go on, Tommy. It'll be on my account. Call it a belated birthday present."
Tommy wouldn't trust this Burke to be honest with him, nor Alfie, no matter how large Alfie's account. He coughed and indicated that Alfie should step aside with him.
"I don't know if it'll be here. It was very valuable to Marvolo Gaunt," Tommy whispered. Alfie tapped the side of his nose, so Tommy sighed and said, "My mother had a locket, apparently from Salazar Slytherin himself. Marvolo said she stole it when she ran off. Who knows where it is now. It might be anywhere."
Alfie gave a scoffing little laugh as he tossed his head.
"You watch me," he whispered. Turning back to Burke, Alfie upped the wattage on his smile and spread his hands as if taking in the whole shop. "We're looking for one of your specialties, Burke. I know you have a nose for every ancient artifact in the British Isles."
Burke demurred with a shrug, shooting Tommy a look. He returned Alfie's smile briefly.
"You aren't looking for Merlin's teapot, are you, Young Black?"
Alfie chuckled and rolled his eyes.
"Ah, your little joke, Burke! No, we're hunting for one of Slytherin's artifacts. Haven't come across his old teapot, have you?"
Tommy watched Burke the way a cat watched a mouse. A tic twitched in his jaw, and his hands jerked before he picked up one of the glass beads. His eyes never left Alfie's.
"Slytherin's, eh? We rarely get artifacts that old, even here, Young Black. You ought to know it can be next to impossible."
"For the right price, Burke, anything is possible," Alfie said, leaning against the counter so that his curls fell over his eyes. This sort of winsome behaviour only upset Burke more. The tic returned as he appeared to search for a new excuse.
"I'd have to go through our shop records, Young Black, and that could take some time," he said. Alfie pouted adorably, but Tommy'd had enough.
"Don't you have an assistant who could do that?" he said, putting a hand on the counter, the other on his wand, beside his wallet. He wouldn't put it past Burke to make free of other people's money or magic.
Burke looked down his nose at Tommy, before showing a smile that was all teeth and no charm.
"The position is currently unfilled. We have a discerning clientele here, and I can't trust most youngsters with the responsibility of assisting us. Some of our artifacts are not only highly magical but highly volatile," he said.
Tommy snorted and gestured at the glass beads.
"These are mal de ojo, or the Evil Eye," he said. Burke's mouth quirked in a patronizing smile.
"And the amulets we carry here can bring about major jinxes against those who look into such an eye," he said. Tommy shrugged, looked around and spotted an old-fashioned camera.
"That camera does the same thing, it jinxes whoever it takes a picture of," he said. Burke's eyebrows raised. He considered Tommy before pointing at a large round mirror with the silvering clouded by age.
"And what do you suppose that is?" he said.
Tommy felt his neck, but he wouldn't let Burke on to that. Alfie too watched him with more focus than usual.
"May I have a closer look?" Tommy said. He knew of half a dozen cursed mirrors from folklore and his research, but this might be something else again. Burke took the mirror down and rested it on the counter before Tommy.
Although there was no clear reflection, Tommy caught yellow shapes shifting in the silvery distance. He closed his eyes and touched the edge of the frame. For just a moment, the smell of sulfur and Bay Rum cologne.
"It's a Foe Glass," Tommy said, opening his eyes on Burke's astonished expression. Alfie looked ready to go into raptures.
"Clever boy," Burke said, replacing the Foe Glass to avoid meeting Tommy's gaze. When he turned back, he asked, "How old are you?"
"I'm fourteen, sir," Tommy said, in a nod to propriety. Burke looked him up and down, before doing the same to Alphard. Alfie hadn't stopped staring or lounging against the counter as though he could buy the whole shop if it entered his mind to do so. When Burke could no longer avoid returning to Tommy, he said,
"Now boy, you're a bit young yet, but when you've qualified as a wizard, come 'round. We might have work for a lad who knows his artifacts."
Tommy glanced around as well. The more he looked, the more he felt a tug of curiosity towards the treasures on display. There was a porphyry sarcophagus under dusty glass, a gleaming suit of mail and, hanging from the ceiling, a perfect dragon skeleton.
"You don't have anything of Slytherin's do you?" he tried, hoping to rattle Burke. "No one's ever brought one of his belongings to you?"
Burke did not shift visibly, nor give any other tell. Tommy caught a glimpse of a haggard, pregnant girl holding up a gold locket behind Burke's weaselly eyes.
"As I say, I'd have to look through our records," Burke said.
"Right," Tommy said, locking his gaze with Burke's. Burke, to his credit, didn't flinch.
On the cobblestones outside, Tommy held Alfie back before he could swank into Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. "He was lying."
"Mm. Well, you can't expect him to treat you the way he'd treat one of the Blacks," Alfie said. As they entered Fortescue's, a familiar voice boomed out,
"Black, Davies! I'm glad I had a chance to catch you boys before term started," Slughorn said.
He had a magnificent pineapple and banana sundae before him. Alfie giggled at the sight of it, giving Slughorn the opportunity to drag over two more chairs.
"It's good that you're out with friends, Davies," Slughorn said, lowering his voice as they both sat beside him. "If there's ever anything you need, lad, don't hesitate to ask. Terrible thing to happen, especially to a young man. You still have family, if I'm not mistaken?" he said.
Tommy nodded and composed himself.
"My Grandmother, Lady Edmondes, and my aunt and uncle."
The pause didn't go unnoticed. Alfie's hand slipped into Tommy's, beneath the table, as a secretive look went around their trio. Slughorn waved Fortescue over to order ice creams for Tommy and Alfie. Once they arrived, he leaned forward and said,
"You haven't learned more about the Gaunts, have you?"
Slughorn clearly couldn't help himself when confronted with a real mystery, any more than Tommy could. Tommy sighed but had to laugh.
"I have, professor, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't let it get around the staff. I know you said Marvolo Gaunt wasn't a colleague, but I don't know if you'd understand what's happened."
Slughorn, like Alfie, sat agog while his ice cream melted.
"Go on," he breathed.
Tommy shrugged.
"Marvolo Gaunt was arrested for attacking muggles, including," Tommy glanced around, but the shop was crowded with end-of-summer holiday-makers. No one looked at them twice. "Including my real father. Marvolo grew sick in Azkaban, and died after they released him."
Slughorn looked ill at the mention of Azkaban, but Tommy pretended not to notice.
"It's never comfortable hearing that someone we once knew came to a sticky end, no matter how, how unpleasant. I don't suppose there are any other living Gaunts, aside from you, Davies?"
Tommy winked at Alfie out of the corner of his eye Slughorn couldn't see.
"Not living, professor, no. But I did meet Marvolo Gaunt. He was a ghost, and he told me about my mother."
Slughorn's eyes, which had always been large, looked ready to pop out of his skull. Alfie clearly found this amusing, for he took an extra large swallow of melted Neapolitan.
"My goodness, Davies. He wasn't a happy man, old Marvolo."
"No, professor, especially not after the dementors."
"Dementors?"
Alfie nudged Tommy under the table in encouragement. Tommy made one last sweep of the room, before leaning in and dropping his voice so it wouldn't cary beyond their table,
"There was a swarm of them around Marvolo's old house. I had to fight them off," he said.
Slughorn gasped, while Alfie giggled again and nodded.
"It's true! He can conjure a corporeal patronus! It takes the form of a pig," Alfie said.
Slughorn looked from Alfie to Tommy in confirmation. When Tommy nodded, Slughorn spread his hands wide and patted them both on the shoulders.
"That is extraordinarily precocious magic, Davies! I doubt even Albus could have, at your age."
Tommy brushed aside mention of Dumbledore with just a frown.
"I didn't have a choice. They would have killed me and my friend. Thankfully they didn't kill Marvolo, or I might never have learned the truth," Tommy paused, while Slughorn and Alfie both gave him their undivided attention.
"Marvolo had a locket and a ring with him, from the Peverells and Slytherin himself. His ghost was furious they'd both been stolen."
It was Alfie's turn to give a huge gasp.
"Stolen?" he asked.
"By the person who did kill Marvolo," Tommy said, doing his best not to grit his teeth.
"This doesn't have something to do with your plan about Grindelwald, does it?" Alfie squealed.
Slughorn pulled a grimace at the mention of Grindelwald.
"Really, Davies, a fourteen year old, no matter how bright, can't possibly hope to stand against a tyrant of Grindelwald's calibre."
Tommy nodded, but remained relaxed.
"Not even if he's descended from the great Salazar Slytherin?" he said. Slughorn shook his head.
"Ah, but Davies, they say he has the Elder Wand," he said. "And you'd be expelled if you tried to fight."
Tommy brushed aside the Elder Wand as well. He had a plan for dealing with that.
"If it's true that I'm Slytherin's descendent, then it follows that I'd be able to access some of his secrets. Ones that have remained hidden in the castle for centuries…"
Slughorn and Alfie both whispered in chorus,
"The Chamber of Secrets?"
Tommy let his grin speak for him.
Uncle Stig hadn't gone without company in the meantime. When Tommy and Alfie met him in the Leaky Cauldron, he'd been singing ballads in Irish with a leprechaun and a warlock.
"Not exactly the sort of place you'd think to find yourself in, in the middle of a war," Uncle Stig said. Like Alec, he could drink hard with little to show for it. As he got to his feet to shake Alfie's hand, he didn't even sway.
"Well, we all know there's a war on, moron," Alfie said, softening the insult by giggling. Tommy wasn't sure if he wanted to kick him or kiss him. Uncle Stig seemed taken with Alfie at once. Maybe some of his own memories of papa had something to do with it.
"And that's why it's best you and Tommy stay in school. We don't need any more brave stupid boys in the trenches," Uncle Stig said.
They left the Leaky Cauldron for the Underground, where Alfie said he had to leave them.
"But I shall see you in school, Tommy," Alfie said, dimpled and pink and too pretty to bear.
"Right," Tommy replied. After Alfie'd disappeared into the crowd, Uncle Stig kept giving Tommy knowing winks.
They met Grandmother and Aunt Marie at Paddington. Martin and Daniel were practically asleep on their feet, but Martin roused himself to tell Tommy about the musical they'd seen.
"…And then Smitty and Herbie run into a theatre that's being used as a draft centre, and the dummies sign up for the draft!" Martin said. Tommy and Daniel giggled, until they noticed Uncle Stig wasn't smiling.
By the time Tommy boarded the Hogwarts express on September the first, he had the entirety of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" memorized. Martin and Daniel hadn't stopped singing it or running around with their toy bugles, sending Grandmother into a temper when someone so much as hummed the first bars.
"You actually seem happy," Alfie said the moment he'd laid eyes on Tommy. Tommy'd chosen an empty compartment, but he welcomed Alfie's company. They were joined by half their house within the hour, boys and girls alike. After a while the noise, what with the exploding snap cards, the squeals when someone got gobbed with a gobstone, the sparks from people play dueling, broke the last of Tommy's patience.
"Oh blow it eight to the bar!" he hollered, when Cuthbert Crabbe had demonstrated his mastery of the Sonorus charm for a group of third year girls for maybe the hundredth time.
"Eight to the what?" Crabbe said in a magnified whisper. One of the girls squealed and added,
"He blows it eight to the bar!" and began tapping out a familiar rhythm. The other girls watched her, giggling, before joining in. The rocking carriage set the beat for them, while the boys pressed against the walls.
"He blows it eight to the bar, in boogie rhythm!" the girls sang. Tommy caught Alfie's eye and they both grinned. Tommy hummed along, "The company jumps when he plays Reveille! He was the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B!"
"We're going to need that wireless now, so we can have a proper sock mop," Alfie whispered, while the girls begged a few boys to dance, cackling like mad.
"Hop, sock hop! And I'll be busy looking for the Chamber," Tommy replied. Alfie pouted, but then a girl named Druella dragged him into a furious jig they were performing.
At the opening feast, Tommy was shocked to discover he'd been made a junior prefect, what had in papa's days at Brackenwood Hall been called 'fagging'. He'd spent so much of the summer ignoring his Hogwarts correspondence that it took Professor Dumbledore snapping at him to assist in collecting the first years to bring the message home.
"We're getting off on the wrong foot, Davies," Dumbledore said, within hearing range of the little first years. They goggled at Tommy, then at Druella Rosier, the other junior prefect.
"Yes, sir," Tommy said, scowling at Dumbledore's back. He adjusted his new badge and gestured at the first years. "Come along."
They followed him in silence, but quite a few continued to stare. Once they were down in the dungeons, Druella said,
"He was completely out of line, that Dumbledore. I'm glad the Ravenclaws are stuck with him."
A first year girl tugged Druella's hand, drawing her attention.
"Er, we don't have to sleep down here, do we? There aren't monsters?" she whispered.
A couple of the firstie boys smirked. Tommy and Druella looked at each other, before returning to the girl.
"No, there aren't any monsters. It's actually rather nice in our common room. We're having a wireless put in," Tommy said.
Druella grinned, humming a few more bars of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy".
After dispersing the new password to the firsties and telling them about their timetables and curfews, Tommy found Alfie lounging with Cyggy and their cousin Orion, who was in Cygnus's year.
"Lestrange is being a wart, he thinks the commendation should have gone to a pureblood," Cyggy said, his whining tone suggesting he wanted to wind Tommy up.
"He's welcome to think it, if he can string a thought together," Tommy retorted. Cyggy nudged Orion.
"Why'd they let you back? You ran off last year, left a month early. Didn't your parents die?" Cyggy continued, in a whine. All the air left Tommy's lungs, but Alfie screwed up his face and snapped,
"Oh shut up, Cyggy-soggy-pants!"
"They were killed, yes," Tommy said. Cygnus, whinging at his brother, didn't reply. Orion shrugged and eventually intervened, when Alfie and Cyggy drew their wands.