A/N: God, it has been a crazy few months, but I am finally back with another update! To all of you who have been following this story, thank you so much for your support and your patience. My work life has been hectic to say the least these past couple months, and I wish I had been able to dedicate more hours to writing during that time. Regardless, I'm so excited to put this chapter out and see what y'all think!
As always, thank you to my fantastic beta, Reign (RudeHellion on AO3) for taking the time to beta when she herself is also a crazy busy human. I adore you.
I hope you all enjoy the update!
Entwined
Ch. 7
Harry flopped back against one of the plush seats in his compartment and let out a relieved sigh. With the door closed and his trunk shrunk and stowed away,, Harry could finally relax with his journal and a few books. He had hung his plum outer robe on one of the available hooks that each train compartment offered for the young wixen during the ride. Safe in his isolation, Harry allowed his cheerful mask to crack and his tumultuous magic more leeway to crackle. His fingertips glowed golden, the soft light seeping out from where his hands laid against the soft silk of his dark charcoal trousers.
The train hadn't even left the station yet, and Harry was glad for the momentary solitude. While a part of him wanted to crawl over to the window and search for his family's familiar faces on the platform outside, a smaller part of him that he didn't often let out just wanted a moment without having to please anyone.
Here, alone and away from the curious eyes of other Heirs or his parents, Harry could let himself feel anything he wanted. He didn't have to press the joy and excitement for his first glimpse of Hogwarts to the front. When he was by himself, he could let frustration bubble up his throat and transform his features into the angry child he had so desperately wanted to be these past few weeks.
Harry leaned his head back against the cushioned wall and clenched his eyes shut, hoping to rid himself of the memory of his parents' apologetic grimaces and pity-filled eyes.
I know they needed to tell me. It was better to hear the rumors from friendly lips, especially if I sort Slytherin. My reaction to such information coming out in the common room or being whispered about in the dormitory would have been revealing, not to mention dangerous. Still, they should have told me sooner! If they had told him months ago, Harry could have come to terms with the rumors by now. Probably. He could have at least had enough time to mull over their words in his mind so that his magic wouldn't rise along with his agitation whenever he thought of—
Harry's nose jolted him from his fury and alerted him to the state of the compartment. The scent of smoke and charred fabric wafting from the seats was acrid in the enclosed space, and once he noticed it, his eyes sprung open and widened at the sight in front of him.
"Shite," he muttered. The cushions were smoking and the edges had blackened as Harry's magic had spread from where he had dug his fingers into the seat. The metal accents had carried the magical current across to the other benches and had tarnished slightly under the intense heat that passed through them.
Harry took a deep breath in and pushed his anger out along with his exhale. A small tongue of fire flickered from his mouth, something he'd grown used to every time he'd felt that flush of anger rise within him in the handful of weeks since that discussion with his parents. Better out and dissipating in the air than pushed down through his fingers and destroying more furniture.
He got up to open the window so the cool London air could clear out the burnt smell. While standing there, Harry gave in and sought out his family still standing on the platform so as to wave the train, and him, off to school. They stood near enough to Harry's compartment that he could make out their faces with ease.
His uncles and father were clearly placing bets, most likely on Harry's sorting. He couldn't stifle his fond smile as he watched his dad's hand swat at Uncle Padfoot's head. He swore he could hear Moony's rich laughter echoing around him in the compartment, even though he knew it was wishful thinking amidst the cacophony of platform 9 ¾.
His mum was chatting with Lady Longbottom. Harry remembered his mother saying they had been friends during their school years despite the two-year age difference between the women. Connor was still taking in the scene around him. He looked both awed and overwhelmed as he scanned the gleaming scarlet train and stood amidst the press of hundreds of families seeing their children off to another term in Scotland.
Harry chuckled to himself as he saw Connor startle. A family bustled past the younger boy, clearly in a hurry to get their daughter on the train, and her tawny owl hooted indignantly as its cage knocked into Connor. It must have been a hard hit, because Harry watched his already overbalanced brother topple over and crash to the ground while said owl looked on approvingly.
Connor scrambled up frantically and glanced about, surreptitiously checking to see if his parents had noticed his graceless tumble. Harry could see his shoulders slump as he sighed in relief at their distracted and oblivious faces. Connor continued to scan the crowd, looking around to see if anyone else had been witness to his run in with the harried family. Just as he relaxed, thinking himself in the clear, his eyes locked with Harry's and widened in a mixture of horror and embarrassment as he saw the mirth clear on his brother's face.
Harry couldn't stop laughing. Connor looked so ruffled. The boy made a rude gesture in Harry's direction and the elder just laughed harder. He waved at his brother from the window of his compartment and then used his index finger to clearly tap against the left side of his chest twice. Connor's exasperation disappeared and a sad smile took its place as he lifted his own hand to double tap over his heart in reply.
The private goodbye settled Harry and helped him pull the rest of his magic back under his skin. Today wasn't about frustration. This wasn't a day for anger or sadness or even the small seed of fear planted deep within his heart. There were plenty of other days to dwell on what his parents had told him. No, today was about excitement. He was finally headed to Hogwarts!
He'd heard so many stories over the years. He couldn't wait to explore the castle and carve out a home for himself within its stone walls. His father had passed along the map he and Harry's uncles had spent hundreds of hours creating within the Gryffindor dormitory, and his mother had given him her first-year journal filled with her notes and observations as well as a beautiful empty journal for him to fill himself. It had a lovely plum vellum cover with the Potter House crest stamped into the center, and Harry couldn't wait to put his experiences on its pages.
Harry sat back down and as he did so he remembered the state in which his magic had left the compartment. He shook his head at himself and withdrew his wand from the holster his godfather had insisted he purchase before they had left Ollivanders. The holly wood felt smooth and supple in his grasp, and the comforting warmth of his wand filled Harry with confidence. He pushed his resolution down its length and pictured the image of the compartment's original state. When Harry felt like he could visualize each detail as it had been, he loosened the intense hold he had over the tumbling magic in his chest and fed a small strand of it through his wand.
The soft reparo seemed to echo loudly in the empty space despite barely being more than a whisper.
Each time he was able to successfully cast a spell, Harry felt relief and gratitude flood through his veins. His father had taken time away from his work with the Wizengamot to coach him through the beginning theory and practices of spell-casting, making it so Harry didn't have to spend the first few weeks of his time at school full of fear that he'd hurt his peers when trying to use his unruly magic. Normally his parents wouldn't have taught him anything beyond the absolute basics in any of his wanded subjects, but from almost the moment he'd brought his wand home it was obvious that if there was any spell Harry needed to be able to produce, it was reparo.
He'd had to practice for hours each day with his wand ever since coming home with the phoenix-feather focus three and a half months ago. His father had helped him figure out how much magic he needed to expend from his core in order to power the mending charm, in addition to covering the basic spells that Harry would be learning during his first term.
The necessity of these lessons, beyond just learning how to repair the damage from his ambient magic, had become obvious when Harry had gotten over excited upon returning home and accidentally pushed a burst of fire through his wand, setting the kitchen curtains alight.
It had been disappointing, realizing how much work he still had to do to maintain control when most other kids his age wouldn't have to worry about regulating their power. They hadn't experienced an influx to their system the way Harry had so their wand would connect to their cores naturally. Their spellcasting would be effortless and instinctive, coaxing out only as much magic as required. Harry, with his unresolved bond, had an excess of magic bottled up that jumped at the chance to escape, especially with a focus that was so attuned to both Harry's and Tom's magic.
Ollivander had left him with that revelation just as Harry had handed over the galleons to pay for his wand and holster.
The wandmaker's features were relaxed as Harry dropped the coins into his palm, but his eyes focused on the boy in front of him. Harry felt as if the man was searching for something within him and he couldn't tell whether or not Ollivander had found whatever it was.
The rest of Harry's family were either casting small charms to straighten their now-ruffled appearances or deciding on which flavors they'd be trying at the upcoming stop at Fortescue's. Their chatter calmed Harry slightly, even while under Ollivander's intense gaze.
"I find the case of your wand rather enlightening, Heir Potter." Ollivander was not the type of man who deigned to whisper, but his voice was low and quiet, going unheard by anyone other than Harry amidst the din of the group's jests and conversations.
"I have no doubt you learned much today, Mr. Ollivander." Harry agreed wryly.
The man's eyes softened slightly. "Yes, but I've seen my share of early bonds. It happens more often than you'd think. Oh," he shook his head slightly at Harry's obvious surprise, "it's still not a common occurrence, but yours isn't the first opened bond I've seen among your soon-to-be yearmates."
Harry plucked that piece of information from the air and filed it away for the future. Free gifts like that didn't come often.
"It's not an easy wind to fly against and for that I wish you all luck, but," Ollivander chanced a glance towards the door, making sure Harry's family was still occupied, "I was referring to the particular circumstances of the wand that chose you."
Harry kept his face blank as he waited for the next thing that would corrupt what should be a joyful moment in his life. He already felt a deep affection for his holly wand. The instrument sang to him, to his soul, and that instinctual rightness that has resonated within him at the first flick of his wand was a balm to the empty wrongness that had clung to him ever since that fateful Wizengamot meeting. He should have known that this moment couldn't go untainted.
"Phoenix feather wands are already less common than wands of unicorn hair or dragon heartstring, but that wand, your wand, has a connection that most other wands of a similar core do not."
The man could see the question in the child's eyes, and he once again offered more knowledge than Harry would have expected. "It is rare to be granted a feather from a phoenix. The birds are grand creatures, each as different in temperament as the various forms of a flame. It is even rarer still to be granted more than a singular plume from the same phoenix, but Fawkes has seen fit to bestow me with two of his feathers over the course of my lifetime."
"I can't think of any other wand in my shop that shares a single-sibling core, Mr. Potter." He said as he went to gather Harry's holster and the small tin of polish for the supple dragonskin. "The heartstrings of a single dragon provide for hundreds of wands, and a unicorn sheds many hairs simply by accident. The circumstances of Fawkes giving a second feather for your wand would be incredible enough on their own if I didn't remember every wand I'd ever sold. But, for better or for worse, I do." The pause that followed this statement lingered in the air and Harry couldn't help but tense as he waited for Ollivander to continue.
"That wand you now carry has a brother," Ollivander looked at the young Heir, impressed with and saddened for the boy, "and I think you know who wields it."
Harry had to remind himself to breathe.
The pieces started to come together in his mind: why his union with his wand was so much less destructive than they had assumed and planned for, why the connection to his focus had snapped into place within his core rather than grating against the flow of his magic like his dad has predicted, why the song of the phoenix crooned at the right tempo for his new magic. His wand had always been a partner; not half of a whole but a compliment to its counterpart.
"Before you ask, such information will, of course, stay between us." Ollivander had given him enough time to process, but they could only tarry at the counter so long before his family noticed.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, voice steady even as his fingers trembled. "For everything."
Harry held onto that knowledge as if it were a candle in the dark of midnight. His and Tom's brother wands reflected the crux of what his parents had taught him about soulmates. Everyone is complete on their own. We aren't half of ourselves without them, but we are our best selves with the one person meant to stand beside us.
It was the thought of Tom's specter that had helped Harry gain enough control over his magic to begin using his wand. He had so much to learn to even be safe around his classmates, and the idea of Tom's blue eyes watching his progress, seeing him fail, witnessing his success, formed much of his determination to master what his dad was showing him. Every time he was able to stem the flow of magic into his wand enough to produce a spell instead of a pyrotechnic display, Harry heard the soft notes of phoenix song. It felt like pride.
The lessons with his father had been, well, brutal wouldn't be a bad description. They had only had one single session in the study where Harry had been working on occlumency and reigning in his magic before they moved to the warded dueling chambers in the cellar for the remainder of his lessons. Fewer valuables to destroy, significantly less flammable material. Once he had achieved a little more control, his father had made plenty of jokes about the irremovable scorch marks that scored the walls of the study. Pads had taken a single look before ruffling Harry's messy hair and telling him, "Now that's impressive, Pronglet."
With another few whispered reparo's, Harry had the train compartment mostly back to rights. The metal accents still had a hint of discoloration to them, but there was only so much he could do, even with his most-practiced spell. He slumped back into his seat, pulling his left leg under his right thigh. He withdrew his journal from his robe pocket so he could detail what had happened. He hoped to track his progress with keeping his magic under control, or at least to track his triggers so he could work on them during his meditations.
Others withholding information that I should objectively know upsets me. What a surprise. The tip of his quell pressed into the page hard enough to leave divots on the backside. Harry felt the vibrating rumble of the train engine roaring to life and shifted a small handful of pages ahead to begin his actual journal entries for the year with a note about the upcoming train ride and the heartfelt goodbyes with his family. His pocket jangled with loose coins his uncles had given him for the trolley as he fidgeted in his seat. He'd leave the beginning of his journal to his meditation training and incident reports. He snorted at the thought. Incident reports, Godric, I sound like Uncle Sev.
He was just putting his quill back to parchment when the compartment door rattled as someone tried to pry it open. Harry looked up and righted himself, sitting straighter, closing his journal and sliding it back into one of the inner pockets of his robe.
Whoever was at the door finally got the latch to slide back, and pulled the door open.
Harry offered a small polite smile and said, "Hello, my name is Harry Potter. You're welcome to join me, if you'd like?" gesturing to the many empty seats in his compartment.
Inwardly, Harry grinned. Let the games begin.
"Well, Tom, this year's crop of first years has emerged from under the hat."
Tom looked up from his notes on the newest import agreement draft to see Abraxas standing in the doorway of his study, a length of unfurled parchment spooling from his hand. Tom beckoned his friend forward to settle on the loveseat while he sent his various papers into the appropriate trays on his desk with a few flicks of his wand. He leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the comfortably worn leather for a moment before leaning down to pull out the bottle of firewhiskey and pair of glasses he had set aside for tonight.
By the time he'd poured them each a healthy measure, set the bottle on the coffee table and settled into his own spot on the other couch, Abraxas had curled up on the sofa and left the parchment face down on the seat next to him. Tom smiled, just a quick lift in the corners of his mouth. Seeing his uptight friend unwind here in Tom's home always sent a spike of satisfaction through him. I never would have thought this possible, that first night after we had sat beneath the sorting hat. But now he has seen me at my worst and, somehow, trusts me still.
It felt like an accomplishment.
Tom toed his shoes off and followed his friend's example, leaning back against the soft cushions as he allowed himself to finally relax. This little tradition was something of a night off for both men, and Tom was ready to do down the lists and take note of which houses gained which Houses in this year's sort. It would, of course, devolve into gossip, speculation and plotting, but they had been doing this for four decades. They both knew why they were here.
Tom took a sip of the smooth whiskey and raised an eyebrow at his friend's twitching arm. His fingers were bouncing along the fabric of the couch in an even more unusual display, but the silver-haired man's features were emotionless, the few lines on his face slack as if he were bored. If the restless drumming wasn't enough of a sign of his effervescent mood, Abraxas' eyes gave him away, shining with a pleased, almost jovial light. Ah, his grandson sorted today. I had almost forgotten.
He shouldn't have though. Now that Tom thought about it, this year's cluster had quite a few Primary Heirs as well as Secondary Heirs and House Representatives. He was also interested to see who had been selected as the prefects and Head Students. If it were that Burke boy, well, Tom wouldn't riot but he would offer some scathing commentary the instant anyone asked his opinion.
He'd set out loose parchment on the end tables earlier in the day, but they preferred to talk through the sorting with their gut reactions before actually scribbling down notes on the politics of house placement.
"I see you broke the seal already," Tom teased, using his glass to gesture towards the list that Professor Vector had sent. The Head of Slytherin House would send out lists to any Slytherin alum who requested it, allowing those who cared to see the results before they were posted in the paper the next day. After a decade at the helm of the house after Slughorn's retirement, Septima didn't even need to consult her records to know she'd be sending an immediate copy to Lord Malfoy and a delayed copy to Lord Slytherin. Tom liked to let Abraxas have the first list, as had become their tradition, but he wanted his own scroll to file with the notes he would take tonight.
Abraxas scoffed. "I did a quick check to see where my grandson had gone, nothing more. Didn't take in anything other than the column that had Malfoy underneath it, so don't get your robes in a bunch." He pulled the sheet up from where'd he'd left it and dropped it on the coffee table between them. He rolled his eyes at Tom who hadn't stopped an amused rumble of laughter from escaping his throat. "Shut up, Tom. Like you wouldn't do the same in my situation."
Tom was so used to the bright flash of grief that he had pushed it down as soon as it had risen.
"I have no doubt I would, my friend," Tom sighed in response. Before Abraxas could do something ridiculous like pity him, Tom withdrew his wand and pressed the tip into the parchment on the table. He looked back at Abraxas, who had used the time to wipe his expression of anything other than lazy anticipation, and waited for his nod. Once he got it, Tom gave the parchment a tap over each column and then flicked his wand up sharply.
He sat back just as Septima's voice began reading out the newest inhabitants of Gryffindor House. She had designed the spell that accompanied the parchment to pause at the conclusion of each house, once the first years, prefects and, if necessary, head students had been listed.
Gryffindor
Lavender Brown
Nathanial Fenwick
Seamus Finnegan
Gregory Goyle Jr.
Hermione Granger
Neville Longbottom
Marrion Meadows-McKinnon
Parvati Patil
Allison Prewett
Sally Smith
Dean Thomas
Ronald Weasley
5th Year Male Prefect: Percival Weasley
5th Year Female Prefect: Anastacia Coleman
Head Boy: Hector Burke
As Septima's voice rolled smoothly through the list of students, one particular name had both sets of eyes widening in unexpected shock. When the spell paused, the friends exchanged amused glances.
"An even split for the lions this year," Abraxas started.
"Three newbloods, two halfbloods and seven purebloods," Tom added. "Not to mention two primary Heirs, three secondary Heirs and two House representatives."
They let the dragon in the room linger, unmentioned, until l Abraxas broke and huffed out a laugh. "Gregory is going to be stunned stupid when he finds out! Not that I know the boy, but my grandson assumed he would follow his family's tradition and sort Slytherin. It's been a long time since a Goyle went anywhere else."
"I've never met the child, but we both know there's plenty of reasons to sort outside family lines," Toms said. They'd seen it time and time again over the years. Non-traditional sortings were important in opening lines of communication and friendship between families that had fallen into stagnant generational patterns. This could be quite good for House Goyle down the road. "He'll have plenty of housemates who could be good allies once they take up their titles. It looks as if everyone else did follow their house lines though, with the exception of Granger, Thomas and Smith of course."
"I wonder if the Meadows-McKinnon girl received any of her presenting House's particular talents," Tom speculated.
"I hope so," Abraxas said. "We all breathed a sigh of relief when they chose McKinnon as the primary donor. Despite her being born fourth, Marlene had more Sight than anyone since her great-grandmother, and they've had enough children to make the start of the second-generation line for the Meadows family."
Tom nodded. He too remembered being pleased to hear that one of the Seers lines had been so greatly extended. Marlene and Dorcus Meadows-McKinnon already had five children, and the oldest was just 11. Sounds a bit exhausting, but power to them, he thought. Still, maybe it was worth having that many pairs of little feet running around since two of their children had been designated as the second generation of the Meadows establishment.
"I cannot discuss the fucking Burke boy yet. Not until after the second glass." Tom groused, shaking his head gravely while his friend threw his head back and laughed at Tom's visible disdain.
"He can't be as bad as you say." The look Abraxas received in return was filthy and had him holding his stomach while he guffawed at his red-faced friend.
"Ready for the badgers?" Tom asked, deliberately changing the subject once the man had his mirth under control. Abraxas answered by raising his glass and taking another sip as Tom's wand once again tapped the parchment. Septima's voice rang out again.
Hufflepuff
Hannah Abbott
Susan Bones
Millicent Bullstrode
Vincent Crabbe
Kevin Entwhistle
Justin Finch-Fletchley
Wayne Hopkins
Megan Jones
Ernie MacMillen
Roger Malone
Sally-Anne Perks
Sophia Roper
5th Year Male Prefect: Gabriel Truman
5th Year Female Prefect: Jennifer Bones
Head Girl: Amanda Prewitt
Abraxas hmmed thoughtfully as the names echoed in the study. "Five newbloods, three halfloods and four purebloods, of which there are two primary Heirs, two House Representatives and a secondary Heir. That's quite a good balance there."
Tom nodded and said, "Hopefully the slight majority of wizard-raised children can teach the first-generation wixen our traditions. Hufflepuff is so go-with-the-flow. They'll probably succeed at being kind and welcoming whereas the other three houses would be more pedantic when presented with five newbloods at once."
The sound of Abraxas's laugh made Tom smile in return. "Slytherins and Gryffindors would fear a mutiny and Ravenclaws would be so adamant they are right about the knowledge they have that they'd alienate the rest on the first night," said his chuckling friend. "If you mention I said this, I'll kill you, but," Abraxas admitted, "thank god for Hufflepuffs and their soothing way of making eleven-year olds comfortable in our world."
"Secret's safe with me," Tom said, miming the wand movement for a silencing charm. "The Bones, Bullstrode and Abbott girls will be able to keep Robert MacMillen's Heir in line," he added after relaxing his wand arm. The pair shared a look, shivering slightly at the memories evoked by that trio of women. Mrs. Bones, Lady Bullstrode and Mrs. Abbott are . . . formidable.
"The boy looked puffed-up and proud as a lion when he accompanied his father to the ministry a few months back," Tom noted. "A little humbling from the girls and learning from his newblood classmates should be good for him."
"If only he could pass that lesson on to his father," Abraxas mumbled. They both drained the rest of their glasses, fully in agreement on Lord MacMillen. No more needed to be said of him and the ridiculous way he preened when motioned to speak at Wizengamot meetings.
Tom moved the conversation along to the choice for this year's Head Girl. "Well, at least they chose the perfect candidate to match with Burke as Head Students. Amanda Prewitt is a credit to her House, and will make an excellent Lady if her OWL results and the notes from her internship with William Griffiths are any indication." The Arithmancy master had been singing her praises for the past six weeks now that she had completed her second summer working under his tutelage.
"She's Fabian's daughter?" Abraxas asked thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side. "Or Gideon's?"
"No, you were right the first time. She and her two younger brothers are Fabian's," Tom confirmed. "Gideon has the fourth-year son, first-year twins and the younger daughter."
Abraxas pulled his parchment over to note that down. "Those Prewitts really do make procreation look simple" He said idly as he wrote. "All three of them found their soulmates at sixteen and really got to work. I'm half impressed and half disgusted."
"Don't you mean half envious?" Tom quipped sourly, his own jealousy thrumming in his veins. All three of the Prewitt children had found their soulmates and completed their bonding before their nineteenth birthdays. The day Molly Prewitt's bonding had been announced he had been frozen at the age of 25 for almost two decades. Tom had gone home that night and destroyed his dueling room, shattering the targets he had set up in the warded space beyond all hope of repair as he worked through his bitterness and pain.
"Oh, full envious," Abraxas said, face emotionless but fingers flexing so tightly he almost snapped his quill. He'd already refilled his drink, and the subject had him reaching for it once again.
Tom felt a wash of shame run through him as he saw Abraxas hold his own pain inside. Despite all the years since he had left the orphanage, Tom still had a tendency to lash out when reminded of his own hurts. He may have become more restrained in his methods, but he knew better than to bring up such a subject with his friend. Each generation the Malfoy main line struggled to have more than one child, and at this point there were so few offshoot lines that any and all Malfoys were bordering on desperate to produce more than a single heir.
"Shall we learn of the newest eagles, hmm?" Abraxas said lightly after both men had pulled themselves together.
With a tap of his wand on the parchment and a subtle smile at his oldest friend, Tom agreed. "We shall."
Ravenclaw
Terry Boot
Mandy Brocklehurst
Michael Corner
Stephen Cornfoot
Isaac Crouch-Lestrange
Noah Dearborn
Anthony Goldstein
Su Li
Morag MacDougal
Padma Patil
Oliver Rivers
Leonora Shafiq
Lisa Turpin
5th Year Male Prefect: Macauley Foster
5th Year Female Prefect: Penelope Clearwater
"Now that's another interesting mix," Tom said as Septima's voice finished reading out the thirteen names that made up the first year Ravenclaws.
"Indeed," the other agreed. "Three newbloods, four halfbloods and six purebloods, with three House representatives, three secondary Heirs and a single primary Heir in the bunch. A non-volatile group of 'Claws for once, how novel." Abraxas finished wryly.
Tom smirked into his drink. The past few year groups had been explosive. One year had seen children with extreme family enmities placed in the same dormitories, and another had ended up with a roster of eight newbloods who had stormed the tower, raising questions like, 'how do we define logic in a world where non-magical logic can barely coexist with the wizarding definition of normal?' Merlin, owls had flown all across the United Kingdoms as parents tried to answer such a question in terms their children could understand and the traditionalists tried to use the frenzy to push for reinstating the Wizarding Traditions course that had changed Tom's life.
While such things were useful and a perfect example of why he and Abraxas said they met each evening of September 1st, Tom was still pleased to see a calmer set of names this September. With a year group that had so many Heirs and what was shaping up to be a volatile Slytherin sorting with the absence of some names he had already been expecting to hear, he was quietly grateful that Ravenclaw would likely be a non-entity at least for a year or two.
"I'll have to drop a note to Rabastan tonight. He has predicted his boy to be an eagle almost from the start," Abraxas continued. Tom hummed, jotting a note to himself to send an owl to Barty with his congratulations as well. He had taken the Crouch Heir as something of a mentee when the man had graduated from Hogwarts, and knew he must be pleased that his eldest son had followed in his footsteps.
"How much do you know about the Li family?" Tom brought the conversation back to its point. "All I know is they emigrated from China and this Su is the first child of the family born in Britain."
Abraxas tilted his head, looking off into the space above Tom's shoulder as he rifled through his memory. "Well, I think they were a case of a secondary Heir connecting with the Family Magic better than the primary, to the point of the title automatically passing over the primary during the ceremony." Tom's eyebrows rose of their own accord. Wow, such a rare occurrence. His older sibling must have been furious, murderous even.
Unknowingly agreeing with Tom's thoughts, Abraxas continued, "Unsurprisingly, it caused quite a bit of tension within the family, so Bohan decided to transplant the line. I assume he chose the UK because his bonded was born here, but I'm not sure they ever confirmed that line of thought. He still fulfills all his duties to the line and the family spends all the major holidays back in China."
The girl would be an excellent connection if all of Abraxas' intel proved true. Tom had no doubt the man had already coached Draco to at least attempt to befriend her.
"Two first-generation prefects, not really a surprise considering how many that class had," Tom said, shaking his head fondly at the thought of Clearwater, Foster and the other children who had made it look so likely they'd regain the traditions class.
"Ready for the main event?" Abraxas asked. He had topped off their glasses while Tom was commenting on the pair of Ravenclaw prefects, and he was jiggling his leg in anticipation. Tom laughed and agreed, "Of course. Let's welcome our newest snakes." He gave the parchment its final tap and prepared to listen to the names with pride in his heart.
Tom still remembered what it had been like to step into the common room his first night. The feast had been the single most overwhelming experience of his life. That much food after the strict, borderline dangerous rations of the orphanage had had him shaking as he tried and failed to pace himself, not wanting to come off even scrubbier to his clearly posh classmates.
He had been fighting his drowsiness on the walk down to the dungeons, forcing it back with the ruthlessness that he buried any possible weakness. Despite the uncomfortable fullness of his belly, Tom's eyes had been alert and his muscles tensed in readiness when his year had presented itself to Slughorn's attention and the flat, analytical gazes of the rest of the house. Everyone was sizing him up and finding him, lowly Tom Riddle with barely a galleon to his name and no name worth speaking of, lacking.
Tom's anger had simmered for the entine half an hour that Slughorn had introduced them to their new home, to their new rules. Even as he struggled to choke down his resentment, he had been forced to fight against the awe and scorching envy that had welled up in him as he took in the rich, tasteful furnishings and the understated opulence of the students around him. They exuded wealth and testing, probing scrutiny with every word they spoke, in every tilt of a coiffed head and shrug of a perfectly tailored shoulder It was a world into which he desperately craved entrance. The hat had put him here, told him it was within his grasp. Tom just had to reach out and take it.
It had been the start of something wonderful, at times miserable, but ultimately fulfilling. Tom had known well what it felt like to miss something you've never had, but becoming a Slytherin had let him regain a piece of himself he hadn't known was gone. Something, in retrospect, that made even more sense when he discovered his bloodline connection to House Slytherin.
Slytherin
Tracey Davis
Lucas Fraser
Daphne Greengrass
Cassian Lestrange
Draco Malfoy
Lily Moon
Theodore Nott
Pansy Parkinson
Harrison Potter
Monica Prewett
Roslin Shacklebolt
Persephone Tonks
Blaise Zabini
5th Year Male Prefect: Alexander Avery
5th year Female Prefect: Gemma Farley
Tom's eyebrows rose of their own accord as he heard the list of names from this year's sorting, but he knew the first thing he had to tell his friend was, "Congratulations, Abraxas." Tom was as heartfelt as he knew how to be. His friend wore that same content happiness that he had last seen upon Draco's birth and Lucius' wedding, graduation and sorting. "You, Lucius and Narcissa must all be so proud of Draco. He certainly has an influential group surrounding him. Plenty of opportunity to prove himself and to build alliances."
"Thank you, my friend," Abraxas told him. "I hope he is able to do all that and more. If he's lucky, he'll find someone who can be more than an ally, someone who can be his friend, his most trusted brother." The man's light eyes were clear and sincere as he added, "Like I did."
Tom cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the uncomfortably fond feeling that was choking him. How dare Abraxas make him emotional with kindness! Tom raised his glass to clink against the proud grandfather's, trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes as he drank, and the pair toasted.
"To Slytherins, the old and the new," Abraxas said, placing his now empty glass on the table and gesturing to Tom to do the same so he could refill them.
The warmth from the drink had set in, and Tom decided to blame his response to the touching moment on the firewhiskey's influence. Even so, he let the man pour another measure of amber liquid into his glass.
"Alright," Tom cleared his throat once he had his drink in hand again. "We have a stacked class of new snakes to discuss. Septima must be thrilled and wary in equal measure."
"Wouldn't you be if you had four primary Heirs in a single cohort?" Abraxas retorted. "Not to mention the three secondary Heirs and two House representatives. For god's sake, there's only a single newblood in the lot." His glass came down harshly on Tom's end table, but there was no point in asking him to watch it, especially since Tom shared his frustration.
"Two or three would have certainly been better, especially with the examples of their own classmates. Gemma Farley has been tipped for prefect since the beginning of her third year, and was set to be one of the best Traditions tutors we've found, and she has only a single first year to mentor!" Tom sighed as he finished his short rant.
"And all four of the half bloods come from families that already follow most traditions or have at least one parent from a major House," Abraxas said, shaking his head. "At least Narcissa will be pleased to see both her niece and her nephew in our house, though. She says her sisters have had both children pegged for Slytherin since they began to speak." They shared an amused look at that. What wizarding parent didn't try to pin their children's Hogwarts houses down the instant they begin displaying a personality?
"Will Draco be happy to have his cousins with him, do you think?" Tom asked, slowly making notes on his parchment, connecting as many familial relationships across the houses as he could see.
Abraxas sighed and said, "The boy gets along better with Bellatrix's oldest two boys, and he's long been jealous of the Tonks girls' metamorphmagi talents." He waved off Tom's concerned look, "Oh, they'll band together if and when necessity calls for it. I just think Draco wants to make his own way." Abraxas sounded approving, but Tom was silently skeptical.
The Blacks, for that's what the three cousins were even if they each had different last names, had always been strongest because they stood together, immovable immutable walls separating family from outsiders. He had a hard time believing the Black Sisters Three wouldn't have prepared their children to do the same, but Abraxas most likely knew better than he did about Draco's plan of attack at school.
"A few surprises as well, this year," the silver-haired man noted.
"Yes," Tom agreed. "I find it a bit odd but intriguing that both sets of twins have gone to different houses. I didn't expect Gideon's other daughter to wear silver and green, but I don't know much about the family other than what's common knowledge."
Abraxas made a sound of agreement, "Neither do I. Well, I think she'll have a strong contrasting perspective that will be good for our snakes, the Potter boy too." He sipped from his drink, mulling the idea of the Potter Heir in Slytherin over in his head. "I probably shouldn't be as surprised by the boy's placement as I am. Fleamont and James have both followed the old party lines rather than the new spectrum divide, and Lady Potter was one of those children who suffered the absence of the Traditions class but flourished once she was given access to all the information on how our world runs." Tom noted down the points his friend had made and murmured his agreement, keeping the rest of his opinion off his face.
He thought back to when he had last seen the Potter Heir. The boy had been observant, poised and attentive. He had sat at his father's side, taking ample notes and subtly cataloguing the behavior of his peers. Tom may have caught him off guard for a moment, but the child had recovered quickly, had shown he possessed that fire that Tom had seen in his allies back at Hogwarts, in himself when he looked in the mirror.
No, it shouldn't have been a surprise. "He is one to be watched, I think." Tom said, keeping his further thoughts to himself.
Abraxas raised an eyebrow at his weighted silence but tipped his head in agreement. "I won't ask more, since I know the game starts tomorrow and your involvement is, by necessity and honor, different from mine, but if you could give one line of advice to Draco for me to pass along, what would it be?"
Tom hesitated before he spoke. He could tell that Abraxas, and probably Lucius as well, had prepped the boy with a primarily Malfoy-style approach, a route that had proven successful in the past, but would be difficult to utilize in an environment full of heavy hitters. The future politics of these eleven year olds could change the structure of their society. Such a concept would receive scoffs from others, but Tom and Abraxas had witnessed it twice on a large scale and countless times on a small scale. This group, of all the houses, was made of those who would grow to become key players over the next twenty years. The Slytherins had the highest concentration of connections to major political leaders, forcing them into the views of those paying attention sooner than usual. Third and fourth year was usually when the old crowd started taking note of the newest arrivals.
He hoped, for his friend's sake, that Draco would realize the allies he automatically brought with him were a strength rather than a weakness from which to separate in order to prove himself but . . . well, Tom didn't expect the child to see the wisdom of that approach without having learned it from his family.
"I will say this," Tom said, finally. "I would counsel any of these players to be adaptable, be dynamic. Everyone, with the exception of the Fraser boy, has ties, lifelines. Underestimating someone, undervaluing someone, making assumptions and dismissing someone as irrelevant, those will be the biggest mistakes for this group. I hope Draco can avoid that mental trap." Abraxas' cool gaze searched Tom's face for any indication of what Tom knew, had already started to plan, but, even with his friends, Tom's mind was a fortress, protected by a shield of white-hot fire and impenetrable when it came to his responsibilities as Lord.
Lord Malfoy nodded in forfeit, moving on to more general discussion. "Anything of note about the Greengrass and Nott Heirs?"
Tom shook his head. "Nothing other than what we already know from Theodorus. The Greengrass girl is said to be the spitting image of her mother with the tactical mind of her father, so I'd keep an eye on her as well. Between her, the Prewitt girl, the younger Tonks daughter, the Shacklebolt girl—I had forgotten she was in this year group, I think she's on the younger side, born late August or something—the youngest Parkinson and the two half-bloods, the young ladies will grow to be formidable."
"Still, it's hard not to think the lads are the ones to watch," Abraxas countered. "Malfoy, Lestrange, Potter, Nott, Zabini, and the Fraser boy." He paused, eyes glazing as he thought about the ties and political backgrounds of those families. "They're a powder-keg. The newblood will be crucial I think. I'll hint to my grandson about it, but even I want to see who takes the initiative with him."
Tom let a considering look settle on his face but didn't say a word. Instead his quill flew as he penned his impressions onto the parchment. That Fraser child would indeed be telling.
Inwardly he doubted Draco would be the one to pull the first generation wizard into the fold. Out of all the children and grandchildren of his friends, he had spent the most time around Draco. The child was rarely interested in those who he thought were beneath his station. No, the child had that easy condescension that was so prevalent in the Malfoy line. Hopefully he'd pick up the subtlety and grace of his parents, but at eleven those traits hadn't sunk in yet, as evidenced by his behavior at the meeting in October and the last four garden parties of the spring and summer season. Not to mention his distraction on the summer solstice.
Of his party's Heirs, the Lestrange child would be his guess, but the Zabini and Potter boys were more likely candidates to befriend the boy. There was also Theodorus's child, born oh so late since his parents had not met for decades longer than most bonded couples. Tom had been sympathetic to Lord Nott's plight but had shattered every mirror in Slytherin Manor the night that his friend had written to tell him that he'd found his soulmate. Their heir was a shy, quiet child. 'Dorus had sighed upon telling Tom of his son's disposition a few years back, but he had leaned into the boy's natural reticence, as he'd told Tom one night over elf-made wine.
The Nott Lord had confided that he taught his Heir how to blend in, how to listen, how to offer comfort and be open to confidences, how to make himself heard when the time arose. Young Theo may never rise to be a Party Leader, but if he continued under his father's tutelage he'd be a whisper in the night, a subtle and powerful player behind the scenes. There was strength to be found in being the shoulder on which others would cry.
Tom approved. Dorus had always been best at adaptation. He was never the strongest with a wand or the best at any subject, but he had always been in the right place at the right time when he was still Heir during their years at Hogwarts. He worked hard, always within the top fifteen in marks and invited to every Slug Club gathering, witty and opinionated but caustic and sharp in equal measure. He made others earn his friendship, setting himself up to be valued as a social player who could be your second or your secret keeper.
There was a reason Tom had always played the fence between Abraxas and Dorus. Oh, the two got along fine, but their styles grated upon the other. Their friendship was full of showmanship and needling and it amused Tom to no end, but he much preferred having the confidence of both. The information that could be gathered from two such differing tactical players was invaluable in revealing the full scope of the board to his eyes.
So, the Nott boy would likely flit in and out of however the groups divided this year, keeping his options open and his circle of acquaintances wide on 'Dorus' advice. Abraxas would lead his grandson to gather a single ally or two, strong and connected, who would help him make inroads with the year above and their relatives the year below. He'd also probably tell him to stay close with Rabastan's boy in Ravenclaw, the best advice of the bunch, Tom thought. They'd all learned that lesson themselves back in the thirties and forties, how important it was to have ties to the other houses.
Zabini and Potter were the wizards that would have unknown strategy and untold options. The Zabinis had international connections, and the first year was the third child of the Lord, the first born of his second wife. The older two Zabini children were from his bonded before she had passed away during childbirth gone horribly wrong. With relations in Italy and Spain, and a mother who had introduced the child to the British circuit early, but sparingly, the boy had become a valued commodity, a rarely seen and often coveted presence. She'd done him a favor, without doubt.
He'd seen the boy once this summer. He'd no doubt grow into his looks. Exotic and familiar all at once, he was sure to gain attention merely for his appearance, but the boy had proven quick-witted during the brief conversation they'd shared under his mother's watchful eye. Tom had told the pair he'd do well in the house of snakes and had steered Abraxas away from them as subtly as he was able. He didn't need his friend claiming the connection for House Malfoy's betterment. Young Draco would not allow Zabini to consolidate the power he would be able to accrue outside of the Malfoy shadow, and Tom felt certain the boy would sort Slytherin so it benefitted Tom to keep the boy untethered to start. Maria Santori's lips had curled as she'd caught him in the act, but he'd seen her whisper to her son and the pair had nodded slightly at him. Tom knew the importance of international connections after all, and Zabini would see the possibilities of the lone newblood in Slytherin immediately. He'd bet plenty of gold that the boy would be one of the first to make overtures.
And yet, something told him Potter would be the one to win that connection in the end.
A half-blood with power in his future and complete training at his fingertips. How everyone seemed to forget that Lord Black was the boy's godfather was beyond Tom. Sirius Black, the Heir that had been chosen over his own father by the former Lord and by Lady Magic, was too often underestimated, and Tom could not understand why. Bellatrix and Narcissa reminded their husbands constantly that for all Lord Black had sorted Gryffindor, he knew how to play the game as well as they did. They had been adamant in warning their Party Leader that Lord Black had received private lessons from old Arcturus and had spent his years at Hogwarts playing so covertly that most everyone didn't even realize he was playing at all.
Narcissa had been the one to whisper to him about how heavily her cousin doted upon his godson and the boy's brother. She'd seen the boys in the Black Family Library when she'd stopped by to have tea with Regulus' wife one afternoon, and she knew they had rooms in the manor. Her husband had disregarded her advice (that classic Malfoy arrogance, Tom thought bemusedly), had dismissed the idea as unthinkable, but Narcissa was adamant that both boys had Black Family Training. Tom, reflecting on Lord Black's ever watchful eyes and aura that tasted of protectiveness that lingered around the entire Potter Family, had to agree with Narcissa. So when it came to house politics and seeing the first necessary move, Tom felt certain Harrison would know how to walk the line.
The son of a first-generation witch himself, the Potter Heir would know the importance of bringing a newblood into the fold, helping him adjust and guiding him on the path to excellence, to recognition. Being the person to help the newblood embrace wizarding tradition and set down roots would create ties that would yield dividends long into the future. It would be a victory, the victory, in the game this first year and the Potter child would know it. If he got him to establish, well there's no doubt whether the Potter child knew what it would mean for his family. He had too many teachers to not seize upon that opportunity immediately.
Of all the children sorted into Slytherin, it was he and the Prewitt girl who would have the easiest time making connections in other houses, particularly with the lions. It could cost them in-house if they played their hand wrong, but they had years to make up for any missteps if they went that route. They each had younger siblings, too, although Monica Prewitt's cousins would be of immediate use to her, whereas Harrison Potter wouldn't have immediate family until his third-year when his brother came of school age.
The Tonks girl would have her older sister, a seventh year and a fellow metamorphmagus who had her eye on the Aurors. This was an eminently useful connection, if only in the advantage to be found in having an older partner from a different house to help you navigate those first crucial months in a new environment, and that didn't even take into mind her cousins, including Cassian's older brothers. Parkinson's brother graduated two years ago, so she would only have her older Travers cousins if he remembered correctly. The Davis, Greengrass and Shacklebolt girls all had older cousins as well, and two had younger siblings who would join them in the next few years.
Yes, this group would be a banner cohort for Slytherin House, and Tom, as its Lord, would be alerting Septima that this was a full-investment year.
Salazar, I haven't had a full-investment year since Bellatrix's cohort.
Septima would be thrilled at the news. She'd never worked with him for anything beyond a quartet. Over the past decade, Tom had grown to trust the majority of her advice and recommendations, but he still remembered her bewildered hesitance the first time he'd directly interfered during her time as Head of House.
Being Lord Slytherin meant something. More than just a recognizable title or the continuation of Salazar's most famous talent, taking on the mantle of Lord Slytherin meant taking on the betterment of Slytherin house as an entity, and for the first time in over twenty years Tom had an entire cohort that could contribute the the strength of House Slytherin.
Outwardly, Tom kept a straight face and agreed with his friend, "Yes, it will no doubt be a fascinating class to watch," but inwardly he felt a cruel, hungry, almost giddy excitement take ahold of him. Let the games begin.