"Through your mind?" Tom asked coldly, "I see; you let him perform Legilimency on you."
As they descended to the Quidditch shed, Mary dared not look at her brother's face.
"Mulciber's memory charm was botched!" She blurted out, "Cass knew you disarmed him, b-but, but he didn't say anything… he believes in you, Tom — just like I —"
"Be quiet," Tom warned.
They touched the ground, and Mary had to jog to keep up with Tom's pace. Usually, Tom would slow down so that Mary, who had shorter legs, would have no difficulty keeping up with him. Now, he strode ahead, straight into the Quidditch shed. She waited outside; there was an audible thump, and Tom came out of the shed right after he went in—evidently, he hadn't bothered fixing the broom to its proper place—it was carelessly tossed it in.
"Cass brewed a potion that returned his memory!" Mary all but shouted, "It wasn't my decision, Tom… I-I, I would've kept it from him if I could…"
Tom said nothing. Instead, he grabbed her wrist, and dragged her towards the castle. She didn't fight his tight, painful grasp; instead, she just focused on the smooth lacquer of Alan's Starsweeper in her other hand.
"I know you feel trapped — compromised, by Cass, Tom," She tried to speak calmly, "But he truly doesn't mean ill for you!"
As they went into the castle, Tom quickly shoved Mary against the wall and pressed a hand to her mouth. Fear burst in her stomach, but as Tom twirled his wand to render both of them invisible, she saw that he was merely evading a pair of Ravenclaw Prefects.
"There's no one here, Fran. I told you, it's getting late, you're hearing things," said the male of the two, a spectacled boy with neat brown hair. He pointed his wand, the end of which was glowing white with Lumos, directly at the invisible twins.
"I'm not hearing things, Tal. The door opened, and unless you mean to say that the wind pushed it open, I intend on catching our little curfew-breakers," responded Fran, the girl, in a feisty tone. Her styled blonde hair reminded Mary of an actress she'd seen in a picture; perhaps she was muggleborn?
Tom's grasp was still painfully tight on her wrist.
The female Prefect walked towards Tom and Mary, her male accomplice grudgingly following her. Then, chaos—
Firstly, a hand came over Mary's eyes.
"Homenum Revelio!" Came the blonde Prefect's voice.
"Lux Opprimo! Oscar, run!" Tom shouted in an unfamiliar voice; even with a hand on her eyes, Mary saw nothing but blinding white light.
"Gah! Cursed firsties, Fran — get them!" The male Prefect exclaimed, "Arresto Momentum!"
Tom grabbed Mary and they ran through the corridors, making a ruckus, no doubt. It took her a minute to figure out that there was no Oscar. After running for some time, the twins stopped in their tracks—the footsteps of the Ravenclaw Prefects were no longer audible. But Tom's half-invisible figure kept pulling Mary by her wrist; they passed through many corridors, and Mary realised they were going farther and farther from both the Hufflepuff Basement and the Slytherin Dungeon.
"Tom, where are we going?" She whispered.
Her brother made no response and kept walking. His grasp on her wrist was so tight that she was sure she would bleed.
"You're hurting me," She pointed out.
Although he made no vocal response, his grasp relaxed a great deal, and Mary sighed in relief.
Soon enough, they reached a dingy little classroom in a passage of the castle Mary had never come across; Tom impatiently flicked his wand to open the door, before dragging her inside. There was a tiny window that let the cloudy moonlight in, and there was no furniture in the room save for three rickety wooden chairs. Tom pushed Mary onto one of the chairs; it was very uncomfortable. She tightly held Alan's Starsweeper, as though her life depended on it.
"Tom, w-what are you doing?" She asked timidly.
Though it was dark and his face was partially silhouetted, Mary could make out the expression on her brother's face—there was anger, but also excitement.
"You've left me no choice," He drew his wand and pointed it at her, "Legilimens!"
Mary felt and expected the familiar sensation of 'falling' back into the subterranean level of her perception—she wasn't entirely sure if it was the 'unconscious' or the 'subconscious', as different books used them interchangeably. However, Tom's presence in her mind made itself known, like an welcome gust of cold wind from an open window. She had grown used to Cassian, who was patient, gentle, and conscientious; Tom was the opposite—frantic, rough, and frustrated—immediately, Mary had a splitting headache.
Although her brother was furious, it was his desperation that Mary felt more strongly than anything. Tom loathed the idea that Cassian knew of his crimes; he desperately wanted to know if he was truly condemned, or if Mary had overstated Cassian's knowledge of him.
It was as though her mind was a horse pulling a carriage carrying a malicious master; Tom whipped away unwanted memories, from her conversations with her fellow Hufflepuffs during mealtimes, to her duels with Melanie Fronsac in Merrythought's classes. Mary made no effort to occlude; soon enough, Tom found her alone with Cassian.
"A recollection potion… the DMLE has an oversupply of them…"
Tom saw Cassian's memories through Mary: recollection potions were small vials of green—the DMLE's infirmary had crates full of them. She felt Tom's hatred for the freckled sixth-year; it was scorching, like boiling oil on a hot stove.
"I'm sorry… I should've done something… please-please-please don't get Tom in trouble… I'll do anything…"
"Unlike Mulciber, Tom can be redeemed…"
"We'll meet on Mondays… I need to watch how Tom progresses."
"And if he doesn't progress?"
"I hope it doesn't come to that, Mary."
Tom's presence burned in her mind; his anger caused her physical pain, and she was almost certain he was consciously trying to hurt her.
He saw Cassian in her mind, observing their afternoon dates in the library. Cassian watching as they happily shared the last of the candy Mary bought during Christmas. Cassian watching as Mary turned Tom's two arms into four arms, and as Tom transfigured Mary entirely into a squirrel—adeptness at human transfiguration was necessary, before drinking the Animagus potion. Cassian watching as Tom eagerly recited how he found out they were descendants of the great, noble Salazar Slytherin.
He saw Mary hiding in the second floor girls' bathroom, avoiding Cassian, for she had no idea how to explain Tom's increasing appetite for Dark Magic.
Her brother's frustration and indignation turned into fury. She could feel it in her mind, as if hot charcoals were pressing against her brain. Tom made her relive seeing Mulciber unveiling his Inferii; he made her relive helplessly hearing Crickerly and Lestrange's malicious laughter as they made foul jests about her and tossed her wand to each other, and he even prompted her mind to recall Cassian arguing with his dad; of Mr. Strangehouse driving Cassian to tears.
"Get out… get out… get out!" She tried to shout at Tom, but her words didn't reach him, "How dare you! Tom, GET OUT!"
He then returned to her memories of mother and Edward, and Mary mistakenly felt relieved—but then he changed their faces to look like the maggot-eaten face of Mulciber's werewolf, making them squirm and twist as though they were burning alive, on top of the mahogany dining table in their Salisbury home—Mary watched as Tom stood behind the kitchen counter, watching with clinical interest.
"W-WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? GET OUT!"
She couldn't occlude; she was too angry—she couldn't breathe, she was in too much pain.
He then invaded her memories of playing the grand piano, only to make the sound of her beautiful instrument grating and harsh; every key sounded off-tune, some keys wouldn't press down at all. In any other scenario, it would've been merely absurd—but it felt every bit a nightmare to Mary. She tried to play a piece—any piece, but whenever she played any melody, she could see the piano's treble strings vibrate violently, blaring out the unmistakable shrieking of Mulciber's undead werewolf.
Everything Cassian taught her became useless; she desperately wanted Tom to leave her mind—she knew how to Occlude, but she couldn't even find the energy to try. Despair overcome her—she just wanted to be anywhere from here, she wanted to disappear — to sleep — anything.
The invasive presence in her mind dimmed; Mary wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she could feel guilt come over Tom as he watched her suffer.
Then, her sight and senses returned, but there was no relief. She had no idea where she was; some small, dreary place, facing the silhouette of her brother, who had just hurt in ways she didn't even know were possible. She was shuddering, she had no idea what Tom would do.
"Get up."
Tom yanked her arm, and she found that he was shivering as well—from rage, rather than fear.
"Tom, I'm sorry —"
"Shut up!" He dragged her out of the classroom, "Shut up! You've put everything I've worked for at stake—everything."
"B-but Cass only knows you d-disarmed him," She babbled, sniffing, "I, I didn't tell him about Milanna or anything…"
"You should've told him nothing," Tom hissed, sounding like his terrifying Animagus form, before his voice turned strangely calm, strangely pleading, "Do I mean so little to you, Mary? After everything I've done for you, for us, you give me to Strangehouse, like a bone to a dog?"
Once again, Mary was at a loss for words. Shame and fear wrestled in her stomach like two growths of mould; after years at Wool's, Hogwarts was a breath of fresh air for Tom, a sanctuary where he could develop as he pleased and do as he desired. He was finally free, as every child should be—of course he was indignant at Cassian's sanctimony for trying to take it away.
"Cass — he — but he knew either way!" Mary blundered, "The potion — the r-recollection potion! He was trying to give you a-another, another chance! He —"
"Be quiet," Tom said, as his nails dug into Mary's wrists.
They walked in silence for a little longer. Mary couldn't make sense of all that had happened. She wanted to become the little green bird of her Animagus form again, to just fly away from it all and hide in a warm nest.
"Where are we going?" She asked, staring at the floor.
"I'm returning you to your dorm," Tom answered promptly.
"What?"
The absurdity of his answer made Mary want to laugh. Tom had just learned that he had been watched all year by Cassian, like a rat in a laboratory, and that Mary had been complicit in his surveillance. He punished her by invading her memories, contorting them into unholy pictures—and now, he was sending her home?
"Of course, if you'd like, you can find your own way back."
Although Mary couldn't see it, she suspected he was sneering; Tom let go of her wrist and quickly strode ahead of her.
"No!" Mary ran to Tom, and tightly clutched his arm as if her life depended on it, "No, Tom, walk me back—please…"
Her brother didn't shrug her off, and he even let her rest her head on his shoulder, which was so firm, and so reassuring.
They continued to walk through the dark hallways in silence, but Mary heard Tom's laboured breathing—either he was struggling to breathe for no apparent reason, or he was very, very angry, and silently so. As they reached the soothingly familiar area of the kitchen corridor, Mary breathed a sigh of relief.
At last, they reached the barrels of the Hufflepuff basement. Mary let go of Tom. She wasn't sure whether bidding him goodnight was appropriate, but as she pondered this, Tom spoke first, in a voice equally devoid of warmth and malice.
"I wish I could hate you."
Without waiting for her response, Tom's tall, slender silhouette disappeared back into the dark corridors of the castle. Mary blinked; she was at once confused and very, very upset.
Nonetheless, with a numb mind and trembling fingers, she drew her wand, and tapped the series of barrels that made the common room's password. She went straight to her dormitory. Her dorm-mates looked to be asleep; Mary went towards her drawer, opening it as soundlessly as possible, to change into her pyjamas.
"Mare, hello…" Caoimhe's sleepy voice whispered, "How'd it go?"
"It went well, Key. I'm a bird. A little green bird, with a tiny beak," said Mary as she walked towards her bed, falling onto it in relief.
"Oh, congratulations…" Caoimhe gave a tired whisper.
"Goodnight then, Key?"
"Goodnight, Mare."
Just as Mary was about to tuck into her blanket, she felt her mattress slightly shift towards the left.
"Key?"
Her small brunette friend was sitting by her side.
"You're sad… was your brother being mean?" Caoimhe's small hand—so much smaller and gentler than Tom's, touched her shoulder.
"Key…" Mary breathed sleepily; she appreciated her friend's comfort, but she just wanted to rest.
"I see. You're tired — we'll talk tomorrow," Caoimhe reassured her. But rather than returning to her bed, Caoimhe walked to Alice's bed, tapping the tall girl's shoulder.
"Key-ah… Bint!" Alice hooted, "Geh… geroff me!"
"Mary's sad," Caoimhe whispered, as if that explained everything.
"Ehh?" Alice groaned, before her voice turned wakeful, "Wait — why? What happened —"
"Sssh. She's tired," said Caoimhe, "Come."
Mary heard Alice shuffle out of bed; her two friends then went into her bed, Alice from the right, and Caoimhe from the left. Without a word, the two girls tucked themselves under Mary's blanket, pressing against her like human-sized teddy bears. Excitement immediately replaced her anxiety; she hadn't slept in the same bed with anyone else since Christmas. The warmth of her friends' bodies and the softness of their arms put Mary at ease; she felt tears well in her eyes, in part from misery, and in part from joy.
As Mary woke, she felt someone hugging her tightly, with their arm over her shoulder, their leg over her hips, and their stomach against her back. For a dazed moment, she thought it was Tom; but she quickly realised their limbs were too slender and soft, their scent feminine, and that it was undoubtedly a girl's bosom pressing against her back. Still, even if it wasn't her brother, it was nice to be cherished so tenderly by someone.
"Key?" Mary murmured sleepily.
There was no response. Of her friends, Caoimhe was the most physically intimate with Mary. But as Mary turned her head, she saw Alice snuggling her—Alice, who, despite being perhaps the most trusted of Mary's confidants, was without a doubt the least physical among them. Before she knew it, a smile came on Mary's face; although Alice presented herself as snooty and even outright mean at times, Mary knew she was soft and loving on the inside, like a turtle, perhaps.
Then the events of last night returned to Mary, and her smile faded. Her chest tightened as though someone had tightly tied a huge shoelace around it; she had no idea how to fix things with Tom. But at the least, her two friends were there to support her, once again.
Mary shifted her whole body to face Alice, shrugging off the taller girl's slender limbs as she did. Even in slumber, Alice's foxlike face made her look sharp, as though she was ready to pounce up at any moment to do anything—her naturally shrewd expression was oddly reassuring.
The dormitory's door opened.
"Hello, sleepyheads," came Caoimhe's soft voice, "I brought breakfast."
Mary sat up, and Alice mumbled uncomfortably as Mary shuffled the blanket they shared. Caoimhe carried a large wooden tray towards Mary's bed. On it, there were jars of honey and jam, dishes of butter, and plates of sliced toast, fried eggs, rashers of bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, oatcakes, sliced fruits, and a large golden pitcher full of pumpkin juice.
The small girl sat by Mary's side, and Mary conjured a low table for her to place the expansive tray.
"Goodness... thank you, Key," Mary buttered a slice of toast with apricot jam, "This is a little much, don't you think?"
"Your Animagus form is a bird," Caoimhe said wistfully, "Birds eat a quarter to half their weight every day."
"For me, that'd be twenty to forty pounds," Mary gave a playful grimace, gesturing at the tray, "I'm afraid you've fallen awfully short, Key."
She quickly nibbled her toast, imitating the motions of a bird's beak with her lips. Caoimhe giggled. As the two girls piled their plates with steaming delicacies, Alice stirred in her bed, giving a loud, long yawn.
"Rise and shine, witch," Said the poster of the fierce, purple-robed witch by Alice's bedside, "You have an essay on the potioneering properties of lacewing flies due by —"
"Shut up, Faustine," Alice's tone was as irritated as it was drowsy.
"Morning to you as well, Al," Mary gestured at the spot on the bed beside her, "Join us."
The tall girl sat up on Mary's bed, her keen grey eyes opening wide as she beheld the sight before her.
"Helga's humongous head, Caoimhe," Alice called out, "Do you intend on feeding us to death?"
"You needn't be so rude to your friend, Alice," Poster-Faustine began, "If you're already full, you don't need to —"
"Faustine, you will not speak for the rest of the day, unless Lucella returns, in which case you shall annoy her," Alice dictated.
The poster of the Quidditch Star-Singer-Auror gave Alice an assenting nod.
"Some centaurs only eat breakfast," Caoimhe stated, "It helps their digestion to only have one meal a day… we're not so different."
"I'm not a horse, Key," said Alice, as she ruffled the small girl's hair.
Alice sat to the left of Mary. Just like how she slept, Mary found herself eating breakfast with a friend at both of her sides. The three girls presented a palette to the poster of Faustine Gould; Alice, in an extravagant red pyjama robe painted with roses that swayed from invisible wind, Caoimhe, in a rather silly but still luxurious green robe painted with clouds from which fruits fell, and Mary, in the middle, in her rather plain muggle shirt-and-trouser silk pyjamas.
"Mare… how are you feeling?" Alice asked, in a distinctly gentle tone.
At first, Mary was confused; her tall friend was never gentle; she was blunt and brazenly sincere—it was what Mary liked about her. But then she realised what Alice was meaning to ask; what happened last night?
"Tom's angry with me," She confessed, stabbing bacon with her fork, "It's… complicated, but I betrayed his trust, and, w-well, he's right to be angry."
"No he's not," Alice calmly insisted, as though she knew exactly what had happened, "I remember what Tom said to you on the Hogwarts Express. Your brother is nasty, Mirabel and Lucy might forget that, but I won't, Mare."
Mary dearly wanted to tell her friend everything, just like she had months ago, after her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class; but back then, it was just her inability to rein in her emotions and her magic—now, it was so much more…
"Tom's not nasty!" Mary protested, dropping her cutlery on her plate with a clank, "Back on the Hogwarts Express, he was right to be angry at me; h-he should've — he should've hurt me more! Al, you don't understand —"
"I do understand," Alice said forcefully, "Nearly every girl in our year is convinced he's an angel, and he's your brother, it'd be —"
"I could care less what Lucy and Mirabel and Milicent and all the Slytherin tarts think of him! Plus, Melanie doesn't think Tom's an angel — she thinks he's the devil, and-and —"
"That's okay, Mare," Alice resumed in her unfamiliar, gentle tone, as she wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulder, "But I know the fault lies more with him than with you. In either case, I'm sure he'll come around."
Mary blinked, recalling Tom's words last night, which she began to grasp—I wish I could hate you. Although she'd never confess it to anyone, Mary often felt the same way towards him.
"Yeah, I know he will…" Mary breathed shakily. She cleared her throat, and straightened her white pyjama shirt, "I guess that's enough of me being sentimental... what happened was this — I put Tom in a perilous position, and I owe it to him to straighten things out."
Alice vanished some breadcrumbs from her cherry-red robe, before fixing her sharp gray gaze on Mary.
"A perilous position? You mean someone's caught wind of his naughtiness?"
"Indeed," Mary gave her friend a bemused look, "This, uh… boy knows things that could get Tom into trouble, and he only knows these things only because I told him. The only reason he hasn't told anyone is because he thinks Tom could still be good."
"So, Tom found out that this mysterious boy has dirt on him, and that you were the one dobbing on him," Alice noted, "So long as you keep this boy quiet, and keep Tom confident that he'll remain quiet, I'm sure all will remain well."
"Mary…" Caoimhe began, "What things has Tom been up —"
"That's none of our concern!" Alice snapped at the small girl, "Tom's charm is completely lost on me, but so long as Mary cares for him, so will I."
Mary looked down at her breakfast, pretending she didn't hear Caoimhe's question.
"You see, I had an arrangement with this boy. Once a week, we'd meet, and —"
"So that's what you've been doing with Strangehouse!" Alice exclaimed in a proud tone, "The Legilimency 'lessons' — of course!"
"Yes, precisely," Mary scoffed at herself for being so transparent, "The thing is, I've been skiving off our lessons for over a month, by now… I'm afraid that Cass will do something — and so is Tom."
"So?" Alice gave an indifferent shrug, "Tell him to stop."
"Easier said than done, Al," Mary said in an incredulous tone, "Cass is an Auror-in-training, he feels as though he's responsible for everything…"
"Perhaps. But you're forgetting something, Mare," Alice said with a teasing smirk.
"And what's that?"
"He's a boy," Alice said slowly and clearly, as though she was pointing out the obvious to a small child.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Something like this," Alice put down her cutlery, and dramatically clutched Mary's arm, leaning her head on Mary's shoulder—
"Cass, Tom found out our secret… He… he's forgiven me, but h-he's worried that… that you'll have him expelled from Hogwarts!" Alice turned her head to Mary and gave her an exaggerated look of pleading, "The orphanage was horrible for him — for us — and, and I don't know what I'll do if Tom's sent away —"
"That's enough!" Mary shook off her tall friend, barely stifling laughter, "Not to be rude, Alice — but this is stupid; Cass isn't going to fall for damsel-in-distress theatrics —"
"Oh, but he will," Alice sat up, her voice resuming in a very serious tone, "Boys are dumb. They can't say no if you're pretty and talk pretty."
"I'm twelve; Cassian's seventeen," Mary began in a scandalised voice, "I'm not going to seduce him —"
"No, 'course not, but he'll want to protect and care for you — like a baby little sister, see?" Alice cocked her head, "Being so beautiful only helps your case."
Mary's instinct was to chastise her friend for being absurd, again, but she recalled how furious Cassian had been upon learning what Crickerly did to her—three flowerpots exploded from his accidental magic, and Mary had still been able to pacify him, only because at the time, she didn't want him to provoke a feud with Thane Mulciber.
Perhaps Alice was right.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll give it a try," said Mary, "and Al — you're beautiful as well, I hope you know."
To her surprise, Alice said nothing in response—instead, she bowed her head down, as if in shame, but Mary saw a wide smile on her face, and an unmistakable blush tinge her cheeks.
"I'm glad I could help," She offered in a strangely feeble voice, "by the way, Mare — you can be sentimental with me whenever you want."
"The gall of 'em!" Ben Chapman slammed a newspaper onto the Hufflepuff table as he sat by Elias Anderson in the Great Hall. "When's Chamberlain gonna set 'em straight? We've been letting 'em cop the better o' us for too bloody long!"
Hitler Declares Naval Treaty Invalid: Poland At Jeopardy?
Mary noticed that there were no moving photos on Ben's newspaper, and then she saw the emboldened gothic font at the top of it—
The Daily Herald—a muggle publication. Mary hadn't seen a muggle newspaper in months.
"Where did you get that?" She asked.
"Holmes," Ben promptly responded, "I mean, ever since the Krauts invaded Bow-emia and More-avia —"
"Those pronunciations don't sound right," noted fellow first-year Wallace Davies.
"— I'd known war were comin'... but now, now it's certain, Mary."
Mary was caught a little off-guard; not by the war on the continent, which still felt distant for her even if she knew better, but rather, by the fact William Holmes had given Ben a copy of The Daily Herald. Not only was the handsome, lean Quidditch Captain a muggleborn, but a reader of The Daily Herald at that—a working class publication. She had unconsciously assumed that Holmes, who was a dorm-mate of Cassian and who was held in high regard by Alan, would've been from a family of good means.
"War became certain when Velasco took over Spain," said Marcel Chandelier, a tiny boy with an absurdly deep voice.
Salazar de Velasco was the Archwizard of Spain; Mary learned that he seized power from the Spanish Ministry when the Nationalists won the muggle civil war, barely a month ago. He was a celebrated figure among the Slytherins, not only for his 'protective' policies against Muggles, but also for sharing a name with their founder, and Mary's ancestor.
"Velasco declared neutrality, though," added Torgan Sleekglass, a hunchbacked third-year boy, "and isn't he one of those religious nuts? Doesn't seem like he's in tow with Grindelwald."
"Exactly," Marcel said with a smirk on his small, square face, "Velasco's neutrality means Grindelwald doesn't need to worry about the Spaniards; his hands are free."
"To be frank, I don't see why we ought to care about the continent at all," Another older boy added, "Let the continent sort itself out. If Grindelwald touches British soil, we'll kick him out."
Clamour broke out at the boy's declaration—someone threw a baked potato at him, and a vine of grapes spurted from each of his ears; it seemed that even in the wizarding world, pacifism was frowned upon.
"Everyone, settle down!" exclaimed Cassian, who had been sitting next to Caoimhe, "The issue with Dark Lords is that they don't stop; Dark Magic makes the soul hungry, like a vulture—it makes the soul want more and more, and it'll never find peace."
Cassian's words prompted murmurs of agreement.
"Suppose Grindelwald conquerors Europe," Cassian continued, "What reason, then, will he have not to invade Britain?" Cassian looked around, and seeing that no one tried to rebut him, he finished his toast, "It's settled then — we ought to attack Grindelwald before his lackeys apparate into British territory."
Cheers broke out around Cassian, as though his words were of actual consequence. Mary gave him an encouraging smile, but she could not help but feel as though he was being a little insincere. After all, a few days ago, Mary had done precisely as Alice advised; she hugged Cassian, and in a sing-song voice, she urged him to forget about Tom, even if she'd missed four Legilimency seances in a row—it worked; Cassian assured her he would do nothing about Tom.
Whenever Mary reminisced on it, she could not help but furtively smile. She had always known she was quite pretty, but she was only beginning to understand that her prettiness gave her a strange power over boys.
She had told Tom of her success, and she even offered Tom to perform Legilimency on her again—but he coldly dismissed her, insisting that the fact Cassian had any dirt on him at all was an incorrigible crime Mary was responsible for.
The last few weeks of the school year passed morosely, under the ugly grey cloud that intersected between quietness and tension. News pertaining to the wars, muggle and magical, came every week—Grindelwald formed a pact with the infamous Sicilian necromancer-alchemist Julius Cagliostro, who had overthrown the Italian Ministry and seized control of most of the magical ports of the Mediterranean; Japanese muggles besieged a British settlement in China, and giving into public pressure, the Wizengamot called for the Minister of Magic to be reelected; incumbent Minister Hector Fawley was too indecisive and weak in the face of growing chaos.
It was clear that war was coming; all that was needed was an official declaration from the Ministry of Magic in Whitehall, and from the Muggle Cabinet in Westminster. Cassian became entirely absent from Hogwarts, spending all his time training in London. Irate muggleborns and spiteful blood-supremacists duelled with ever darker curses in the corridors of the castle. One day, during breakfast, all the students went silent at an impossibly loud sound, as though Scotland was a drum, and God had smacked it. Headmaster Dippet announced that some of the castle's oldest defenses had been activated for the first time in centuries.
In spite of the growing closeness of the war, Mary found her last month of her first year at Hogwarts eerily reminiscent of her first month; in both, she was distant from Tom, and in both, she had immersed herself deeply in magic as a distraction from her emotional toil. However, she still saw Tom once or twice a week—they had become partners in Herbology, sharing responsibility for the same bouncing bulb, a purple plant with a cheeky disposition. Although he recognised that Mary had persuaded Cassian to do nothing, Tom couldn't quite forgive her for disclosing his secrets in the first place.
With the help of Caoimhe and Alice, she spent hours every day investigating the anatomy of her Animagus form, the Wood Warbler, to improve and perfect her flying. As a bird, she was able to fly over twenty yards, but it was difficult to manage her sense of direction. Much of her spare time was devoted to practicing spells of her own choosing in empty classrooms. She hadn't seen Tom as a snake since that fateful night weeks ago, but he told her that he was becoming adept at slithering.
Last of all, there were the End-of-year exams, which Mary found utterly stupid. Their results counted towards nothing; regardless if one topped the year or failed all their subjects, they would still be admitted into second year, and be in the same classes assorted by their house. There were two demons haunting her year-mates, Mary thought—the desire to impress their parents, and the desire to be perceived as smart. In either case, Mary was just as culpable as them; she tried to memorise every spell, potion, and formula in their first-year syllabus.
She thought she did well; all her teachers complimented her at the end of her practicals—she had particularly impressed Professor Rotaru in her charms practical, where she was given an unclothed, faceless mannequin. She turned it into a beautiful, lifelike doll with a brunette ponytail, piercing gray eyes, and a cherry-red robe with roses. She made the doll sing the first melody of Mozart's Fantasia in D Minor, in an operatic style. However, like the rest of her year-mates, her results would only be delivered to her by owl, sometime during the summer.
With Freddy comfortably cradled in her left arm and her white purse in her right, Mary tried to shuffle her way through the huddled mass of students at Hogsmeade Station. She was ending her year in the way she began it; looking for Tom on a crowded train station. The Hogwarts Express was departing in ten minutes.
Mary had an easier time finding him than she did nine months ago, at King's Cross Station. Back then, he was tall for an eleven-year old boy—but now at Hogsmeade Station, he was taller than most of the third-year boys. His robe had become too short for him, it was starting to look silly.
He was flanked by a few Slytherin boys; among them, Mary recognised the short, portly blonde form of Ruben Macnair, and the freckled, sandy-haired second year, Sabien Wilkes. She glared at the latter.
"Leave us," Tom told his friends, in a commanding tone. "Hi, Mary."
"I have a plan, Tom," Mary said carefully, "Once we're in London, you'll come with me. We'll spend the summer together in Salisbury.'"
Tom's plain expression barely changed—Mary thought he would be happy.
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why?'" Mary asked in an incredulous tone, "The orphanage is an awful place; Salisbury will be very hospitable, Tom… and, who knows if London's safe anymore, with the war in Europe —"
"You mean to say you want your parents to adopt me?"
Mary blinked; she hadn't considered that possibility at all—before Hogwarts, it was a recurring fantasy, but the idea of asking for it it felt blasphemously ungrateful on her part. But now, it was perfect—
"Yes! Yes, Tom — I'll make it happen!"
"And what makes you think I want to be an Annett?" Tom asked in a threatening tone, his voice indignant in a childlike manner, "Perhaps I would've, eight years ago."
She should have foreseen this; of course Tom's pride was going to get in his way.
"Oh, for God's sake, Tom, don't get upset over ancient history now," Mary scoffed, "Riddle, Annett — it's just a name! It doesn't matter — it does not matter."
"Then pray tell, dear sister, what does matter?"
"That we're together!" She cried out, "You said it yourself — everything else is secondary to our time together — to us, Tom —"
Her brother stood still for a moment, before resuming in a faint voice—
"You're right…" He paused uncomfortably, "But I can't forgive your parents for taking you away from me. See you in September, Mary."
She recalled a distant memory, from their Legilimency seance during the Christmas break—it was true, Tom loathed her parents, even if he held a strange admiration for her mum.
"What? At least share a compartment with me!"
"I have to go over some things with Milicent Bagnold," Tom measured his words, "for a… project."
Mary didn't even ask him to elaborate, not just because he wouldn't tell her of his 'project', but because she ran into him, and pulled him into a tight, devouring hug. Tom returned her hug, his arms wrapping around her head, but only for a moment, before they retracted and he hissed into her ear;
"Get off. Someone might see."
"We're twins, Tom," Mary said sheepishly, but she let go nonetheless, "We're allowed to hug."
She drew her wand and pointed it into her white purse; during her first visit to Diagon Alley, mother insisted that she carry a large quantity of galleons in her extended handbag at all times, in case she got lost, or something silly like that. She had no need for them; her Gringotts vault had over two thousand pounds worth of galleons—but Tom, who was so insistent on subjecting himself to staying at an orphanage for three months, would benefit from having some spare change.
But right as she drew the sack of galleons from her purse, she found that Tom had disappeared.
She ran to the back of the Hogwarts Express; the last three carriages of the train were considered Slytherin territory, and as soon as she stepped foot in one of them, she realised she would get cursed and thrown out the carriage before she could search for Tom. Tom was gone, and Mary realised that she already missed him dearly, as though she hadn't seen him in months.
'You're an idiot, Tom Riddle,' Mary thought, as she felt a familiar wet sensation prickle in her eyes, 'You're always up to no good, you're too impatient, and you lie to everyone.'
Thus, Mary left for the three forward-middle carriages of the train; the Hufflepuff carriages, where Alice and Caoimhe were waiting for her. As the train began to move, the three girls talked of their summer plans—on account of the war, none of them were leaving Britain. In fact, none of them had any plans—only promises to write, and hopes that all-out war wouldn't break out too soon.
As Caoimhe showed Alice how to transfigure a chocolate frog into a chocolate lizard, Mary decided she would read Edward's letter, which was sent to her early in the morning—
Dear Mary,
My little sister, my brittle sorceress,
Good News awaits you in this letter; but first, you must be patient, as I set all the mundanities in order. I apologise if mother has already written to you regarding the affairs I am about to divulge. Uncle Philip shall meet you at King's Cross Station; he will be waiting outside Platform Nine, in a pinstriped blue suit and a walker cap. He has no children of his own, Mary—you ought to be kind to him, and hug him whenever the opportunity to do so is presented. He shall walk you to Waterloo Station, from where the two of you will catch the 3:15 train to Salisbury. Mother, of course, will be awaiting you at home.
As you are aware from my previous letter, I became a fellow of the Marshall Society earlier this semester; the seminars are most intriguing — John Keynes, an alumnus of our school, has conceived of a brilliant and potentially revolutionary theory regarding the relation between interest rates, and employment. In short, he believes that employment is a function of demand, rather than supply, and that as such, achieving a perfect unemployment rate would be impossible. Thus, like the laws of nature and of our digestive system, the Empire's economy and the global economy will forever be cyclical, rather than eternally expansive. If His Majesty's Treasury took Keynes' propositions into account, you may see a much more prosperous Britain when you're all grown up, sister.
Anyhow, my semester ends on the 6th of July, and I will arrive home on the 8th. Unfortunately, Father shall not be joining us — do not be upset at his absence, Mary. With the impending war, duty has become more important than it's ever been in our lives — Father's duty has obliged him to the Superintendence of a steelworks, near Strasbourg, in Northern France. I am certain, however, that you will be able to telephone him every night.
Now, for the news you've undoubtedly been eager to hear, in response to your inquiry. I must confess that I often disclose the contents of your letters to my dearest friends; how could I not, when you endear all of us? Anyhow, a lad by the name of Alfred Curzon, a yearmate of mine at Eton who I'd only grown intimate with as of last year (we reconciled over a game of billiards; I won) told me that he may be able to help.
Alfred told me that his godfather was a Senior Commissioner at the Foreign and Commonwealth office. He said that he could, to quote, 'sneak a peak' in the Registry of Titles and Endowments — in other words, a list of landed gentrymen in England. His investigation proved fruitless; it seemed that there were no Baronets or Viscounts by the name of 'Riddle'.
However, Alfred the Obstinate's search did not end there; he told me he intended on scouring every archival he could lay his hands on, old newspapers and college ledgers notwithstanding. None of that proved necessary, for one day, I went to dinner with him, his godfather, and his godfather's younger brother, a man named Reginald. It was the Reginald who became the lynchpin; he recalled his Oxford days — he had a peer named Thomas Riddle, who fell out of contact with him towards the end of the Great War. It was Reginald's understanding that Riddle had perished in the trenches of the continent; our conversation prompted him to try and corroborate his theory.
Days later, I was invited to lunch again. Reginald told me that he telephoned the handful of Oxford fellows around his age who had publicly listed phone numbers. One of them, a Chemistry Professor at the University of Surrey by the name Willoughby Hays, told Reginald that he was a friend of Thomas Riddle — and not only that; Hays also visited Riddle whenever his schedule allowed him to. The man didn't die in the trenches of France or Belgium; he was having tea in Surrey! Furthermore, it was discovered that Thomas Riddle had a son, a son likewise named Thomas Riddle (a choice that betrays a startling lack of humility, if I may say so), who was born in 1905. Hays told Reginald that the junior Riddle had been something of a romantic in his youth; he eloped with a pariah of a girl, for well over a year, before he returned to his father's estate, in a place named Little Hangleton.
I am certain that this man is your father, Mary. Little Hangleton isn't far from Guildford in Surrey — I've yet to use my Lincoln Roadster for a cross-country trip. Surrey isn't far from Salisbury; we would be able to drive there in half a day. If you wish, I shall gladly drive you there, to reconcile with this man who had abandoned you, for reasons inexplicable to us — we mustn't judge him, not yet.
With Love,
Edward
A/N: That's first year all tied up, and I've hit 100k words, woohoo! Also, I've changed nearly every single hyphen in this fic into an em dash :)