Her wand was unusual.
Tom, she knew, had gotten his Yew wood, Phoenix-core wand.
It was one of a kind, said Ollivander, his pales eyes memorising everything. Her brother looked delighted, as though it confirmed everything the boy needed to know. Of course, he was special, he seemed to exude, he had no doubt even among wizards he would be unique.
She did not expect hers to be as well.
It took her hours. One wand after another was placed into her hand. Each felt wrong after a wave. Too temperamental, took weak, too unsure, Ollivander exclaimed. A small part of her wondered if this was all a mistake. If she was not meant to be a witch, that she was in fact, a Squib when the wandmaker stopped, then stared at her.
She recalled how Harry had said Ollivander was disconcerting and gazing into those pale, silvery eyes, she found herself agreeing.
"...hmm, most unusual. It seems these wands found you...disagreeable. Curious, very curious," he muttered, his long fingers steepled together. Then his eyes widened, "I wonder, would you kindly wait I think, yes, perhaps, yes, I do believe I have the wand just for you," the man then waved his wand to conjure up a set of tea and sweets, before vanishing to the back of his shop.
Tom, who had spent the time waving his hands, muttering a few spells he had learned from the books they nought, eyed her like a cat would a wounded bird.
"Do you think, maybe we ought to try another shop?" she said halfheartedly.
Tom shook his head, "This is the only one we could afford," he countered, sipping his tea.
Before she could reply, Ollivander returned, his clothes covered with dust, in his hand a battered box.
"This is most unusual, yes, most unusual, do excuse the state but I had never thought that one of my earlier works..." he rambled excitedly as he placed the box onto a table.
He didn't have to say it, even from far she could feel its pull; a yearning so deep swelled within her as her fingers brushed the dusty layer from the box's cover. She could feel Tom's eyes behind her as she pried the box open to reveal a long, white wand.
She could feel a surge of warmth coursing through her veins like a good friend who arrived to visit (like a lover embracing another, she felt, deep down). She took one wave and a spark of light burst forth.
She had found her wand.
"Vine, thirteen inches, pliable and contains a single thestral hair," Ollivander explained.
"Thestral?" Tom asked. Ollivander turned towards her brother, "Ah, yes, forgive me. Thestrals are magical creatures strongly associated with death. They are invisible lest a person was unfortunate enough to have seen death and accepted it. I don't normally use them but it seems that Miss Riddle here is not compatible with the wands I had made. But this is most unusual," he explained, his lips broke into a smile.
It looked so much like the one her brother was wearing.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Why, I had twins before who came to my shop. I had assumed twins would share the same wood, if not the cores but here you are with a wand so utterly different from your brother!" Ollivander exclaimed. "Phoenix and Thestrals, of life, rebirth and death, it's quite poetic."
The man continued on but she stopped listening.
Though Tom nodded as the wandmaker continued spouting theories, she knew that her brother's eyes was on her and she didn't need to see the look in his eyes.
Of one who had just won a prize.
#
If she thought seeing the Hogwarts Express made her (and Tom, though he'd forever deny it) squeal with delight, it paled in comparison to the expression that came from her mouth as the boat they were on came into Hogwarts' view.
The castle was magnificent.
She could even hear Tom's gasp of awe as the caretaker, a squat wizard by the name of Mr. Apollyon Pringle, barked for the boats to slow down as they reach the castle's dock.
As they passed the great doors, it was all she could do not to weep.
She was at Hogwarts. Hogwarts. She knew of millions in her previous life would have killed to be in her shoes. She soaked in the stone steps, the imposing doors and large tapestries. Despite knowing it would move, she could only gape as the paintings flit in and out, its subjects peering over the newcomers with interest. There were no ghosts, yet, but she caught herself looking around for them.
She had been in castles before, but never one so steeped with magic.
Tom's hand found its way to hers.
"This is true, isn't it, Mary?" he asked, his eyes large with wonder.
"It is, I just, this is amazing Tom," she replied, smiling sincerely since a long while.
Her brother smiled, releasing his hand when Dumbledore appeared before the great doors.
"Welcome all, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Just beyond this door, lies the Great Hall where food awaits. But before that we will be doing a simple sorting ceremony in which you will be placed in a house that will be your new home and family for the next seven years!" The man continued explaining each house, extolling each of their virtue. She could not help but note how there were no sneers when one house was mentioned over the other. She knew that Grindelwald was out there, in the continent but it seemed that wasn't much of a Pureblood vs Muggleborn prejudice. Not outwardly, anyway.
When Dumbledore had finished his speech, he ushered them in.
The Great Hall was larger than she had imagined. Candles hung above them without strings and a few students pointed as the enchanted ceiling. Four rows of tables stretched from the entrance to the teacher's seats. The older ones watched them with great interest. She did not recognize a single professor at the table, except for Dumbledore and the Headmaster who she assumed would be Dippet. There was no greasy haired Potions Master, the towering but good hearted Hagrid or even Binns. But she supposed as a ghost, Binn probably didn't care very much for banquets.
Suddenly, her hands felt clammy.
She realized that she was about to be sorted, and that her mind would be read to the Sorting Hat. She disliked the very idea of a magical being perusing her memories like it was an open book but another part of her wanted it. The Sorting Hat was old and had seen countless minds, a part of her wanted to know if she was the only person with her 'condition'. (If there was a way for her to get back home.)
"What house do you think we will be in?" Tom asked, breaking her reverie.
Slytherin. She had thought but instead she said, "I don't know. I feel like I could be in any. What about you?"
Tom eyed each table as the Dumbledore took out a battered old hat and placed it on a stool.
"I hope we'd be together, wherever we're sorted." He answered, looking at the hat with curiosity.
"Are we supposed to pull something out of that?" he asked
She shrugged as Dumbledore called out the first name from a long scroll.
"Angus, Benedict!" A round faced boy, with pale hair stepped forward before Dumbledore placed the hat onto his head.
"Hufflepuff!"
Tom just blinked, "Oh, I see," and they both waited.
It was truly different than in the books, she observed. When the first Slytherin, an Irma Bulstrode was placed in, there were no jeers but polite applause, even from Gryffindor. The same was true in reverse. It was sad, she realized that this camaraderie would be gone by the time Harry Potter or perhaps even in James Potter's time, was enrolled at Hogwarts.
Eventually, "Riddle, Mary!" was called. She strode forward, nervously clenching her fists.
"This is it!" she thought. She had so many questions to ask when she sat down, smiling nervously at Dumbledore. The man's blue eyes twinkled then vanished as she felt the hat sat on her head.
"…ah. This is unusual," a voice spoke, startling her. She bit down her lips then thought, "Am I the only one? Mr. Sorting Hat, sir?"
She heard a laugh, "Unfortunately. I'm afraid you're the first witch I've known to have been…resurrected,"
Her heart clenched with disappointment but she knew it had been a long shot. The books she read mentioned nothing about returning from the dead, exception to the Resurrection Stone and she knew Merope never owned such an object.
…except she was close to someone who did.
The Gaunt Family Ring.
"Unfortunately, my abilities lay solely in Sorting Miss Riddle. You're a smart child and though you'd never admit it, you're ambitious as well. You know what will come next, don't you?" the hat continued.
Her mind raced but not when the Hat cried out, "Slytherin!" and the hall burst into applause again.
She walked dazedly to the Slytherin table, ignoring how part of her uniform added silver and green upon its cloth. Tom joined her next, sitting beside her as the rest of Slytherin offered their welcomes and patted her brother's back.
She knew of one person who did return, who came back even after being killed by a spell meant for death.
She needed the Hallows.
She needed to be the Master of Death.
#
Authors' Note: Apologies for the delay. I wasn't in the best of places last year. Again, thank you to all my readers and those who reviewed. I appreciated every single one.