Chapter 2 – Ministry of Magic – February 9th, 1947
Tom straightened his plum Wizengamot robes, with the gold 'W' over the left side of his chest, and the insignia of Slytherin on his arm, as he took his seat in the voting chamber. Today, a motion would either be passed or rejected, specifically on whether to allow Hogwarts to specifically celebrate other religions, besides the Celtic Faith.
He didn't know for certain, but he felt that this had Dumbledore written all over it, and he'd have to give the eccentric old wizard some credit, as it was a smart move. It was a point of contention that Hogwarts was not self-governed, like the local schools scattered throughout the UK, and with the position of Chief Warlock coming to a vacancy, there was no doubt in Tom's mind that this move was to cushion the deputy headmaster's consideration for the position.
The way schools worked in the magical world was odd, but in Tom's opinion, efficient, for governments to be apart and have a representative seat within the ICW, a relatively new institution, as it was only three hundred years old, they must submit an official school to put on record.
These schools that were put on record, were given certain advantages, like the opportunity to offer international standardized testing that carried over a witch or wizard's credentials should they immigrate to another country, which would offer them advancements in their new home in terms of job prospects, these tests were OWLs and NEWTs.
Unfortunately, within the ICW, governments were sectioned into both countries and landmasses, which was why there were smaller governing bodies for everyday decisions like infrastructure, taxes, and the census for Northern/Southern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England, but an encompassing UK governing body that consisted of laws, Wizengamot, and International Cooperation.
Every country had a representative seat, but those seats were sectioned off by another representative for the landmass, and those landmasses were the UK, Western and Eastern Europe, North and South America, East and North Asia, and finally, Africa, to prevent countries from all squabbling with each other. Making the schools registered: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Illvermorny, Castelobruxo, Mahoutokoro, Durmstrang, Koldovsteretz, and Uagadou the bigger more infamous schools within the magical world (but by no means the only ones).
All magical children who were added to their government census' were told of these benefits and parents decided if they wanted their child to attend the ICW approved (usually) boarding school, or if they preferred their child to go to a local day school, which most of the local schools tended to be. Children without parental guidance were automatically admitted to the ICW represented the school as an official ward of the landmass government (as Tom had been, which was probably why he felt it was efficient, as he was probably biased). This, however, meant the landmass government had a direct hand in how that listed school was run, and Hogwarts, being one of the oldest and bigger schools, had been chosen (despite the vexation of every headmaster since the ICW's conception).
This was a clever idea on Dumbledore's part (if he was behind it) because, as they moved forward into the twentieth century, more witches and wizards emigrated to different countries, Britain, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales being of that list. This meant the number of people who celebrated the Celtic Faith decreased with every passing decade, as immigration sky-rocketed, bringing in different faiths from all around the world. With Hogwarts being the school with the highest population of students, and the Chief Warlock position being a democratic election of the people, similar to Minister for Magic, it was a smart move.
In a move to understand better how he should be expected to vote and keep the peace, Tom had visited each of his knights of differing faiths for their opinion on the matter, as well as all those alike that were in the Traditional Party. He concluded that he was voting against the motion today, as almost all of them preferred instead to have no religion in the school, rather than all differing faiths added, and of course, that decision would keep those that still celebrated the Celtic faith satisfied, so Tom was content, for now.
He surveyed the now full seats of the Wizengamot, eyes roving passed the stoic expression of Lord Black, to the purposeful avoidance of Lucius Malfoy. He felt a smirk tug at his lips but restrained it, despite all the medical attention that the most accomplished healers money could buy, Draco Malfoy had ended up disfigured for life from his duel with Tom.
'Honestly,' he scoffed in his mind, he felt he went easy on the ferret. Draco's insult against his person was not anything anyone should allow to slide, and it was insulting that the Malfoys had expected him to lay down and accept it.
He also didn't appreciate the insult against Hermione, the younger Malfoy had been blinded by his indoctrination of Hogwarts, while Tom already knew he wasn't doing anything truly scandalous, not by the cultures' standards. Lord Lucius Malfoy was quite careful around him to this day, and Abraxas had eventually come around when Tom had pointed out his glaring privilege, though the other wizard was lucky Tom didn't turn his ire onto him, as he was the reason his brother was in the position he was, what with his probably complaining about Hermione.
He turned his attention to the Progressive Party, and back to the seats closest to him, he felt a hand on his shoulder and snapped his attention to find Ramsey Lestrange, a much older wizard who gave him a brief greeting, before heading further to his seat.
Tom did not appreciate the informal approach and watched the older wizard as he returned nods and greetings, all those directed at him in clear respect, and he narrowed his eyes. Wizards like Ramsey did not act haphazardly, so his little shoulder pat had had a purpose, he scanned the crowd and found Dumbledore gazing at him with a disturbed expression, crossed with disappointment, and he restrained the sneer that almost made it's way to his lip before diverting his attention.
Very few people knew of the Lestrange 'business', those who did had some form of hand in it, or were clients themselves, so what was the point of Ramsey's gesture? Where did Dumbledore fall on the scale? He was broken out of his thoughts by Chief Warlock Marchbanks's gavel hitting the podium and the session beginning. He would come back to that train of thought another time, so he tucked it away, for now, his day was spoken for, as after he was finished here, he would be meeting Hermione in Martinique, as it was Helen's birthday and she wanted to visit her parents' grave.
The vote went fast, and the motion was rejected with the Minister for Magic's vote, as it had almost come to a draw, equally between Progressive, Swing, and Traditional. No doubt it would make it's way back in a couple of months with a few amendments, at least, with that close of a win. For now, he didn't need to expend any more energy towards the venture, and he closed his eyes momentarily, exhausted with the posturing that politics required of him.
He opened them again, standing with the rest of the governing body, nodding his greetings to other Traditional Party members, witches and wizards still wary of him and not showing him the respect he deserved. It came in waves, he found, their respect and good judgment, coming and going with how he acted in their favour.
Did he want to slit their throats where they stood? Yes, a part of him felt that he'd much more prefer their fear than their respect, but it was the benefits of not acting out of rash violence that would make the future power he would hold so much sweeter.
They could smile to his face and drag his name through the dirt in privacy if they are so pleased, and he would posture and preen, being the ever agreeable Lord Slytherin, and then they would be far too entangled in his web before they realized that they were never the spiders themselves, but the flies. He could be patient, he would take the subtle disrespect directed at him, and when the time was right, he would return it a hundredfold, until they began to weep for the old days, for when he had been agreeable.
His operations were going smoothly, he'd met with a muggle gang leader yesterday to close a deal on the shipment of firearms, the family business ever so popular, even during this post-war era, and he almost begrudgingly had to give muggles credit, at least they were consistent in their violence and need to kill each other.
In a few weeks, he would be meeting with a representative from a family-based conglomerate in Sicily, opening an account for them, and it reminded him of his dearly departed cousin. It had been little more than a year since she had been killed, and with her death, he'd dropped any interest in her ploys, though he thought that perhaps now was a time to trace down those loose ends.
When he thought of Helen, at least for the past year, he had been satisfied because it had been the final nail in the (almost) proverbial coffin that had driven Hermione right into his arms. It was something he was grateful that had worked in his favour, but at the same time, he almost felt...regret, at her death, since she had, after all, changed his destiny. Helen had been the catalyst for the explosion of fortune that he's been reaping since 1943, not to mention, she'd been a magnificent specimen of a muggle, one he had to applaud for her grace and tact, so much so, that his willingness to ensure her dignified burial had been genuine.
There were times he'd ever considered her death to be such a waste, as he did not doubt that she would have eventually made the most worthy of adversaries. There were times where he caught Hermione with her mind utterly shut to him, and her eyes so much like her mother's, that he was almost giddy at the idea of her finally stepping into the true ruthless brilliance he knew she was capable of, which had been so very out of reach during her grief.
Oh, she was still very much trapped in his grasp, he had no intention of letting that change, but the possibility of her challenging him, and the possibility of moulding that tenacity to his favour, made him very eager. Not, of course, that he didn't enjoy their moments of domesticity, or the almost adoring shine that crossed her expression when she thought he wasn't looking, he just wanted more, he wanted to consume all of her, be her entire world.
He said his clipped farewells and began heading towards the lifts, changing his Wizengamot attire to plain, nondescript black, with a flick of his wand. Hermione would already be in Martinique, as she'd left earlier this morning, at around five, while it was now nine. He would be meeting her there, at her old residence, so with little fanfare, he boarded the lift that would take him to level eight, the Department of Magical Transportation.
He was almost annoyed at still having to rely on the ministry for travel, as it meant that his privacy was non-existent, which had been evident with the article back in September, with his trip to Greece. That had both amused and enraged him, which had been the reason he'd selected that intern for his third Horcrux, to scratch that itch in him that leaned towards violence to solve his problems, it had been a rash decision, but he'd also been correct that hardly a hiccup had been raised at the muggleborn's disappearance. Anyhow, eventually he'd make his own portkeys, or research a way to apparate between countries when he wasn't more susceptible to the consequences of his actions, but for now, he'd put up with the Ministry.
It only took another ten minutes until he'd apparated into the courtyard of Hermione's old home, he noticed that it seemed neater, with the weeds gone, and a colour charm sprucing up the outside yellow concrete and orange roofing tiles. He walked into the dwelling to see it cleaned of all dust, and the radio was on, with a mix of street foods on the kitchen table, but no witch, that he could tell.
He removed his robes to reveal the same pair of white trousers and tunic shirts she'd purchased for him the first time they'd been there, and he smirked at the memory. He went up the stairs to check her room, noting all the dust was gone and it was clean with the window open to let in some air, however humid.
He glanced at the bed, since Helen's burial here, they'd come to visit a handful of times throughout the last year, and on the second time, they'd decided to toss her old one, and a larger bed had been added instead, for the times they spent here, as she refused to even enter her parent's room or take it for herself, though, he was sure she had her reasons, so he didn't bother to question her on it.
Frowning when he didn't find her there either, he stepped towards the window and froze when he heard a laugh, unmistakably hers. He exited the room and descended the stairs, using his wand for a quick 'point me', which led outside and into the small alleyway to the main street. He followed it but stopped before revealing himself at the sound of a deep, distinctly male voice.
Feeling an unpleasant sensation curl in his gut, he disillusioned himself and watched from the shadow of the alleyway. She was standing there, speaking to a tall, broad-shouldered black man, and Tom decided to study him for a minute. He could not see his face, as his back was turned to him, but he held a youthful countenance, with firm, strong arms, dark brown skin, closely cropped woolly black hair, and an impossibly deep voice. They were chatting in a rapid exchange of French, his eyes glided to her, and he was struck for a moment, how beautiful she was.
Of course, though, she'd always been, and that wasn't because he'd chosen her. Had they been strangers (he scoffed at the absurdity) he would have recognized her as so. Under the Caribbean sun, it seemed as if she'd gotten darker in the scant hours she'd been here, the UK winters dulling the warmth of her brown complexion, and although she'd never be considered fair, she glowed under the sun as if it were made for her.
Her brown unruly coils suddenly had glints of gold peppered throughout, and her smile was wide with her teeth straight and white, allowing for the barest of dimples to show themselves on her cheeks. Her nose, which had a Nubian shape, scrunched playfully, and her big brown eyes squinted at the man.
Perhaps she was not the willowy, graceful beauty preferred in Europe, of lighter-skinned women, like Bellatrix, with her tall, elegant stature, delicate nose, lips, and dark silky hair, but that did not diminish that she was positively radiant in her own way. He felt a purr of satisfaction in his chest because she was his, and she always would be.
He undid his disillusionment and approached them, noting as her eyes immediately went to him and she grinned, she turned to introduce him to her companion. When the other man had turned, Tom had been correct that he seemed youthful, as he looked about their age.
"Tom, this is Cécile, we grew up together, he lives in the house right next door," she began, and Tom held out his hand, gripping Cécile's tightly, nodding in greeting.
"Cécile, c'est Tom," she introduced briefly, and he almost snorted at the lack of descriptors. He knew, of course, that muggles would not be nearly so accepting of their relationship as magical folk were, but it also went suggested that she possibly just didn't know what to call him, something he'd have to think on. He responded a greeting to the man, and then turned his attention to Hermione, not missing the way Cécile solely had eyes for her either, fury climbing up his spine.
"Are you ready?" he asked, and she nodded, she waved her farewell, and he waited for her to walk before following her back through the alley and into the house. He closed the door behind him with finality, a niggling sense of discontent and anger roiling inside of him, clawing at his chest. She had nothing to call him, and that was a problem certainly, but the idea of her deciding that they had nothing, and pursuing other relationships sent him into a cold fury like no other, and she turned to him, eyes wary as if she knew.
"Tom-" she began, and he crowded her until her knees hit the armrest of the couch, causing her to fall back onto the cushions, but he didn't touch her, instead he just watched her, admiring how her hair fell around her head like a halo.
"Do you know what you did?" he asked, tapping her knee that was still hitched over the armrest, and she held her breath, looking at him before nodding slightly.
"You can't be angry that I speak to men other than you," she spoke softly, a strip of light from the window fell across her face as she titled her head to address him, highlighting only one of her eyes. He tilted his in return.
"You're right," he began, and he watched as she let out of a shuttering breath, closing her eyes in relief, before jerking her legs open. Her eyes snapped back to his as his hand reached forward to cup her mound.
"I think you just need to be reminded of who this belongs to."
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – February 16th, 1947
Jaismine walked through the halls of her Alma mater, hand nervously holding the missive sent by Dumbledore. If she didn't physically look as confused as currently felt, then clearly she was doing an alright job at acting impartial. She had received this summons from Dumbledore a few days ago, and she had no idea why, as he had not been her head of house, she had no camaraderie with the professor, and she'd never spoken more than two words to him that hadn't been academically concerned.
So, here she was, walking along the fourth corridor, dodging children in their civvies, as it was a Sunday, heading towards the office of the deputy headmaster for a four o'clock appointment for tea.
She let her mind wander on what it could be about, she knew her uncle Kingsley was a close confidant of Dumbledore's, so maybe it had something to do with that? She'd been a fully-fledged Unspeakable for a couple of months now, but it couldn't be that because, well, self-explanatory. She paused in her steps because a thought hadn't occurred to her before and it just flashed into her mind now, what if it was about Hermione? And by extension, Riddle?
She mentally grimaced, her thoughts of the two were not a place she liked to dwell on, stemming from her feelings for Hermione, another difficult entity of its own that she didn't like to dwell on. She continued walking, locs swaying behind her, but she couldn't stop the direction of her thoughts. She had learned early on in Hogwarts not to underestimate Tom Riddle, being in the same year and the same house as him, allowed her to be privy to the social hierarchy within Slytherin house, and the utterly impossible way that Riddle had been rocketed from the bottom tier to the top (though, in retrospect, it made sense now).
Jaismine, as she was, was not a complicated person, she liked it when things made sense. If there was a rule, she followed it (within reason), if there was homework, she did it, if she was born with a body she didn't connect with, she changed it, and when her classmate showed a tendency for both brilliance and violence, she kept her distance.
That's what she'd done, up until fifth year when the entirety of Slytherin house had been "encouraged" by Slughorn to take part in the 'Knights of Walpurgis' duelling club, and it was there that she'd witnessed Tom Riddle destroy anyone who questioned or ridiculed him. It was after that, and the following years, that she noticed Riddle's propensity for control, she was observant enough to see that nothing good happened to those who opposed him. Perhaps some would think that cowardly, she thought it made her smart, you live to see another day by not seeking out bad fortune, and all that.
Then Hermione happened, and when her name had been called during that fateful sorting years ago, she'd almost cringed in sympathy. There was a witch who would have Riddle's attention on their person immediately, and not know the gravity of their situation. Curiously, she'd watched for months as Riddle's attention zeroed in on the pretty French transfer student, all because she had the same name as him, and the more she watched, the more she admired her, especially after she put Abraxas Malfoy in his place with the back of her hand.
A part of her felt it was almost too coincidental that Ron broke up with Hermione just as Riddle's regard for her seemed absolute, but she'd had no proof to lobby accusations. So, she kept her mouth shut, and when the crying witch barrelled into her that day in the library, she'd decided to do something completely unlike herself, and that was to get involved, so she became Hermione's friend, unknowing of the path of hurt it would lead her down.
The first time she realized she might have a crush on her friend was that day they first visited Angelina's shop, and Hermione shot a smile at her while petting the silk moth in Angelina's hand, and it had been instantly an 'oh' moment. Honestly, Jaismine had been afraid of the feelings she'd discovered, so she had tried to put some space between them, having no idea if Hermione had even the slightest preference for witches, she told herself she hadn't wanted to ruin their friendship, which was a load of tripe when she thought about it now.
In retrospect, she wished she had acted back then, she wished she'd had the bravery of a Gryffindor, and had just kissed her. She foolishly liked to imagine that maybe it would have put Riddle off, that the witch he wanted, liked other witches, but her logical and observant mind takes over and she realizes that it would have never been enough.
After the disappearance of Kai (another event that was far too coincidental, yet too tragic for her to spit on with her theories) she realized there would never be a way to shelter her friend from a wizard like Tom Riddle, and she'd been correct, even when she'd had to reject Hermione, who then had been broken by the death of her mother, and struggling to stand again. It was true she hadn't wanted to get hurt, nor did she want to die, but also, she had no way of knowing what Riddle would do to Hermione should she reject him again, so she rejected Hermione's (finally) reciprocated feelings, and she'd hated herself for it, and she hated Riddle more than anything for forcing that reality upon them.
For the last year, she watched as her friend drew closer and closer to that bastard, regardless of how often she and the rest of their friends tried to tug her back. She looked at the missive in her hand, perhaps...perhaps this was the helping hand she needed, that Hermione needed.
She stood outside Albus Dumbledore's office door, and thought, then again, maybe she was getting ahead of herself. She looked down at her watch, noting that it was still five minutes to four, but knocked anyway, a yearning for something curling in her chest.
It was once she was sitting in front of the deputy headmaster, teacup, and saucer in hand that she turned her questioning gaze towards him. Dumbledore chuckled as if understanding her confusion.
"I can see the questions in your eyes Miss Shacklebolt, but more than that, I see your suspicion, which means you have an idea as to why I've asked you here," he began amiably, and she took in his emerald green robes, decorated with gold stars, that offset the lingering traces of auburn in his hair and beard.
"Sir?" she asked calmly, taking a steady sip of her tea to keep her guard up, either her occlumency shields were failing, or he was just incredibly perceptive, either way, it did not mean he had the right to ask any of the questions she suspected she might be here about, which meant he was hoping she'd divulged.
"I'm unsure if you know, Miss Shacklebolt, but there is a deep rot in the world we know today, one that I, unfortunately, have come to suspect a certain powerful player may have a hand in, and unfortunately, once again, there are no persons close to this player except-"
"-Hermione, I'm not a fool, sir, you have some vendetta against Lord Slytherin -or, Riddle, and Hermione is close to him, and I am close to her, what I don't know is what you expect of me if I do not know what I'm even looking for," she spoke curtly if he was going to suggest that she manipulate her friend to get to Riddle than he had another thing coming.
"I see your indignation, what if I told you that the threat itself was against Miss Granger-Riddle the most?" he asked somberly, and her eyes traced his expression for any sign of duplicity, what did he mean by Hermione being the one threatened? How does he know of any of this, and why was he entrusting the action to her? He was the one who defeated Grindelwald, surely he had more influence than her. She asked all of this, and he put down his teacup and sighed.
"I'm afraid I am not the most adequate person for this job, as Tom would see right through me," he replied sagely, and she mentally scoffed, thinking that's what he got for denigrating Slytherins, and now he expected her to work for him, but...her heart thudded, what was the threat? And why would it target Hermione? Or was she not even a target and this was all Dumbledore's hand at manipulation to get at Riddle?
"What is the threat?" she asked, cutting to the chase, watching as a sorrowful light entered his eyes.
"An operation that holds muggleborns as a certain...commodity." and her eyes widened, understanding immediately what was not being said.
"With all due respect, professor, why me? You could take this to my uncle, who is an Auror, easily," she asked, and he took a sip of his tea, before setting it down.
"Therein lies the dilemma, this had been something buried and at play for centuries, with those that uphold it in power, that includes our brave Aurors, but now with this window of opportunity with this new player, I am hoping to finally bring light to those responsible," he responded, and it hit her what he expected to happen, and anger boiled in her blood.
"Hermione is not a window, and she is not bait either." she set down the teacup roughly and stood, he expected Hermione to lead them all there, the muggleborn bait, who will no doubt find all the evidence, he theorized, through Riddle, and he wanted her to be the messenger in between.
She did not doubt that if Hermione already knew about this, then she was likely already on it, what she didn't understand is his insistence that Riddle was in on it too. She stepped her way to the door, she didn't care for Tom Riddle anymore than the next foolhardy Gryffindor, but to automatically assume that he was apart of such a disgusting operation suggested Dumbledore wasn't telling her everything.
"Why are you so convinced of Riddle's guilt?" she asked, turning slightly to regard her old professor, and he observed her quietly before responding.
"I have seen suggestions that he may be, and though I pray he is not, I need to take the opportunity as it presents itself," he finally replied, and she nodded, thinking it was the first thing he's said that's made a modicum of sense, it also suggested that he knew who was truly responsible, and for whatever reason, was not willing to give up that information.
"I'll think about it," she replied, mostly to placate him, before opening the door to leave. She would speak to Hermione first and tell her the whole truth, Dumbledore could take a skip into the giant lake, she was not manipulating her friend. She would see what she knew, and if it was anything then she would help her, and if it was not, she would tell her, because if it was true, and she was truly in danger, Jas would rather inform and protect, rather than simply protect.
She walked through the hallways, mind no more at ease than when she'd first arrived, ears positively ringing with more questions than before and the most damning one?
What in Merlin's tit had she gotten herself into?
Authors Note: Sorry again for the info dump, I'm mostly trying to make sense of how for an entire world there are only 8 schools? (or, well, apparently there are 11, but only 8 have been named, which isn't much better)
So, hell, I had a bit of fun with it, trying my inexperienced hand at finer details of world-building, I think I did alright, and I know in canon Hogwarts is apparently self-governing, but I've changed it for the AU to make it make sense.
Anyway, Happy Holidays! Hope you're all staying safe and healthy!
