Astor
"Lestrange, Eros!" McGonagall called, and she watched as the boy strode over to the stool, sat down with far more grace than she could've imagined, and placed the dirty old hat on his head.
Silence.
That was something odd about the hat. Sometimes, it decided instantly, but other times it would take a few moments or even minutes to sort a person.
Beside me, Bryony began to shift. I reached over, taking her hand, and squeezing tight. I'm here, I reminded her, I'm here and there's nothing to be afraid of.
And Bryony straightened up, focusing on the hall ahead to distract herself.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat finally yelled, and Bryony didn't even notice, scanning all the tables and faces.
Eros stood up and strode over to the proper table, not looking back until he settled in. I smiled at him, then, and he gave a slight bid in return.
The Sorting continued.
Livi was called soon after, and like Eros, she was Sorted into Slytherin, although it took half the time for the hat to decide.
"Malfoy, Polaris!"
The pale girl strode forwards, head raised high. The Hat hardly touched her head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
There weren't many people left now.
Moon… Nott… Parkinson… then a pair of twin girls, Patil and Patil (how many twins were there?)… then "Perks, Sally-Anne"… and then, at last–
"Potter, Astor!"
My stomach dropped, but I shoved all that away, releasing Bryony's hand as I stepped forwards. Silence fell across the hall and eyes focused on me, but I stared straight forwards at the stool, ignoring all that.
I sat down on the stool, crossing my ankles, and carefully placed the hat on my head. It slid over my eyes, hiding the hall from view.
"Ah… interesting, very interesting." It was a small voice, whispering right into the tiny corners and crevices of my mind. My skin crawled. "There's courage, I see, a fierceness to you.. a clever mind… but more than that, I see a fierce desire to survive, a ruthlessness… why, you'd burn the very world itself down for what you want."
No. That wasn't true..."I wouldn't."
"Oh?" Sarcasm was clear in its voice. "You've stolen from your aunt for years, saving every penny for the day you could leave. You've plotted in the dark, when locked in that cupboard, what you'd do to them once you were powerful enough… yes, there's only one place to sort you…" And then, to everyone: "SLYTHERIN!"
I plucked the hat off my head, and… Everyone was staring at me, utterly silent. Not even a whisper filled the hall. My stomach twisted, and I had to force myself to stand, to move.
I was halfway across the hall when the whispers started:
"A Potter in Slytherin?"
"No, impossible!"
"Has she gone dark?"
It was a relief to reach the Slytherin table, even if I was wedged between Eros and another girl who was utterly ignoring me, focusing on the dark haired girl to her other side.
I turned back to the front of the hall in time to watch Bryony place the hat on her head. A few beats passed, then–
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Applause filled the crowd, especially from the table of kids with yellow and black on their uniforms. I clapped along with them as she took off the hat and headed to her new house's table. She glanced at me, and I smiled, encouraging her.
And then my sister sat on the other side of the hall, separating us for the first time in either of our memories.
Bryony
Bryony didn't know what to do. Never before had she been separated from her sister. Astor had always been there, taking care of everything, leading the conversation, and now…
Now, Bryony looked at the others gathered around her. A girl with long blonde hair, a skinny girl who seemed to look down her nose at everyone but the pair of boys flanking her, a black boy talking quietly to the boy beside him. The girls to her left – Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott – chatted quietly about something, and on her other side was an older student, a page saying prefect in scrawling cursive, who completely ignored the younger students beside her.
Bryony swallowed, and focused on the Sorting. There were only a few students left, now. Weasley, Hattie - a skinny, blonde girl – became a Hufflepuff right after her and, by some insane twist of fate, the only seat was beside Bryony.
She watched the girl approach with a lump in her throat, remembering the blow out on the train earlier.
"Hi," she muttered as "Smith, Zacharias" was called.
She smiled back hesitantly. "Hello."
They both stared at each other for a moment. Then, at the same time, spoke:
"I'm sorry–"
"My brother shouldn't've–"
They both cut off at the same instance. Bryony's cheeks burned.
Hattie took a deep breath. "I apologize for Noah and Ronald. They lack a certain level of sensitivity."
Yeah, they definitely do, Astor's voice snarled in the back of her head, but Bryony just felt amused. Was there something wrong with her, for being so forgiving? "It's fine. It's just… a delicate topic, and Noah seemed to know exactly what not to say."
Hattie laughed. "He did, at that."
"Weasely, Ronald!"
They both turned back to the hat as the name was called. Ron looked like he was about to puke.
"He'll be a Gryffindor," one of the boys said. Walter, or Winston, or… something like that.
"Why'd you say that?" the boy beside me – Granger, Hector – asked.
"He's a Weasley," the brash boy replied, "they're always in Gryffindor."
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat yelled, immediately followed by applause.
"Do people often go to the same houses as their parents?" Hector Granger asked.
"No." It was Susan Bones who answered. "It's usually unpredictable. But, some of the old families have a sense of pride for their houses, and they almost always go there." She waved her hand, scowling. "It's this whole big thing, especially for the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Like, really, does it matter later on in life if you were a Ravenclaw or not?"
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat called, concluding the Sorting ceremony, and a skinny black boy made his way over to the other table.
Then, silence fell over the hall as Albus Dumbledore stood. His silver hair shone as brightly as the ghosts wandering around the hall. "Welcome!" He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered.
"So, uh, what's your Quidditch team?" Hattie asked, and the two quickly fell into conversation when she admitted she had no idea what Quidditch was.
It would only be late into the night, when she'd settled into her bed, that she realized she may have made a friend. And not through Astor, not someone who was only friendly because of her sister – like the pair on the train. No, this she had done all on her own.
Bryony fell asleep smiling.
Astor
"Is he a bit mad?" I asked Eros after Dumbledore concluded his "speech".
"Potentially," Eros said, keeping his voice pitched low so that others couldn't easily overhear, just like everyone else at the table – the Slytherin table was the quietest in the hall. "But he's also a genius."
On his other side, Livi nodded. "My uncle's a bit like that. Brilliant, but a little… eccentric."
"All the best people are," I muttered as food appeared on the tables.
Eros snorted.
We both stared at him, but both of us decided not to press it, and instead focused on portioning food onto our plates.
"That does look good," a ghost said, settling into a seat beside Polaris Malfoy, who looked horrified at the sight –probably due to the smears of blood across the ghost's robes.
"I suppose you can't eat?" I asked politely, and his lips quirked up.
"No. I haven't had a meal in a thousand years."
"That sounds like quite a long time."
He inclined his head regally.
As dinner passed, we kept up a delicate conversation over trivial matters, at some points the others at the table chiming in. I learned that Theo Nott lived with his grandfather, Pansy Parkinson was a snob who for some reason catered to every word Polaris Malfoy said, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were best friends who didn't want to talk to any of us, and Blaise Zabini's mom was known as the "Black Widow" and to never mention this fact within his hearing, because he looked like he wanted to stab Avery when he so callously commented on it.
Partway through the meal, as conversation waned, I leaned back in my seat and glanced towards the high table.
On the end nearest us, sat a group of four professors. There was something different about them, an insularness, as if they didn't quite fit with the rest.
A greasy haired man with a hooked nose was ignoring the prattling of a man with a ridiculous lavender turban, who in any case seemed to be more focused on a teacher as short as I.
Next to him, was a rather handsome teacher, the kind who belonged on the cover of one of those romance novels Aunt Petunia kept hidden away where Uncle Vernon couldn't find them, his skin a shade too pale to be natural, like a vampire.
He spoke to the two professors at the very end of the table – a man and woman, both several years his senior, the woman even had grey in her hair, and yet they both seemed to differ to him, nodding and speaking in agreement to whatever the handsome professor said.
"Who are they? Those professors at the end?" Who is he?
As if hearing me, the professor looked up. His eyes were a brilliant scarlet, like two drops of blood, dropped on a white canvas. My breath caught. His gaze seared into mine, holding me captive, and my lungs burned for air–
He looked away, gaze returning to the professor beside him. Air whooshed into my lungs.
"Vector, Strachan, Gaunt, Snape, oh, and Quirrell, too, I suppose," Livi recited rapidly, as if from memory.
I blinked.
"How do you know that?" Polaris Malfoy asked.
She blinked, looking at him. "It's in the school pamphlets. You can buy them on Diagon." She opened his mouth. "My uncle felt that I should know who the professors were for any prospective house I entered."
"Do you know the names of all the professors?" I asked.
"Their credentials, as well."
Eros nodded absently to that.
Polaris Malfoy looked murderous.
Dinner passed quickly after that, and soon enough Albus Dumbledore was standing again, the food and plates vanishing. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few laughs drifted across the hall, but they stood out in the otherwise overwhelming silence. Dumbledore… he couldn't be serious could he?
But his eyes weren't twinkling, no, he looked as stern as Aunt Petunia, bearing down on me after Bryony had broken her prized crystal vase – I'd lied and told her I did it, earning two weeks in the cupboard.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
The other teachers' smiles became rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune,' said Dumbledore, 'and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
Polaris
A prefect appeared at their end of the table, gently laying a hand on Polaris's shoulder and she barely kept in her flinch of revolusion - who did this girl, in her clearly second-hand robes, think she was? "I am Gemma Fawley, and that is Lyon Rosier."
Fawley. The last of the line, Richard, had run off with some mudblood tramp – she must be the result. And now Polaris definitely felt sick at her touch, soiled as the girl was with filthy blood. She wasn't even worth breathing the same air as Polaris. It was nauseating that such filth was allowed to even wander the esteemed halls of Hogwarts.
If only Mother had allowed me to go to Durmstrang, Polaris thought. There she wouldn't have had to sludge through such muck.
"If you'd follow us to the dorms," the girl continued, and why was Rosier – of good, noble stock – allowing her to speak for him?
The first years dutifully stood and allowed themselves to be organized into a line. Fawley fell at the back of it, and Polaris directed a sneer at her as she slipped past, her skin still crawling from the touch.
Ahead of her, Bulstrode had fallen back a little to speak with Potter, just like she'd fawned over her all evening. Bulstrode, and all the other first years, even a couple older years had looked interested in the girl and made the occasional comment. People who belonged to her – Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery – all so eager to talk to the precious Girl Who Lived. What a ridiculous upstart.
Polaris itched for her wand, so that she could show the half-blood her place.
Then, the mudblood's daughter leaned over and said something to Bulstrode. The second girl glanced at Rosier, then nodded and fell back in line. At the mudblood's command. What was she, a dog?
And then the girl kept talking, speaking to Potter and Eros of all people – Eros, who should be at Polaris's side, who was meant to speak to her in whispers and give that lazy smile of his. The three of them spoke quietly and continuously as they descended further into the dungeons, through twisting corridors and past tapestries, and all the while Polaris watched, half wishing she could hear what they were saying, this odd, twisting feeling in her stomach.
Watching them, seeing them together… it was so… so… unnatural. Yes, that was the proper word: unnatural. A mudblood, a halfblood, and a pureblood shouldn't be speaking, unless it was for the pureblood to command the other two. They were very separate creatures, one far superior to the other two, and seeing this…
It was a perversion of the natural order.
It was there that Polaris Malfoy swore that she would mend such an error. Whatever it took, she would ensure that everyone at Hogwarts fell into their natural places.
Astor
The Slytherin Common Room was striking. There was no other way to describe the cavernous room, twisting and dark like it had been chiseled out of some deep cave, all dim ambery lightning and deep pockets of shadows. Murky light trickled down from above, and I glanced up to find a massive round skylight set into the ceiling…
Only, it didn't look out onto the sky.
Instead, the window peered into the depths of the very lake that we'd crossed mere hours ago. Schools of vivid red, deep blue, pale yellow swam past, as well as other, stranger creatures, there was even a quick glimpse of a massive grey tentacle, and how big did the rest of the creature have to be compared to that? What would happen if it broke?
I shook the thought from my mind as Prefect Fawley led us down the steps to the massive sunken space in the center of the room. The elder students, all having to be sixteen or seventeen, flocked to the seats around the fireplace, thrice as large as the others scattered across the room, that somehow seemed to draw all focus, perhaps due to its size, perhaps the intricacy and near life-like detail to the snakes carved across the black wood, perhaps because the entrances of the dorms - flanked by a pair of stone knights - were on either side of it, forcing all the students to stream past. And beyond the fireplace was a balcony, and a steady stream of students gathered there-
Only, no, they didn't go all the way to the top, instead lining up along each of the curved staircases, girls on the left and boys on the right, each falling into place like pawns being arranged on a chess board. Except a chessboard had clearly organized pieces, yet this one's didn't make sense – they weren't arranged by age, with some clearly younger ones placed above older students, perhaps alphabetical?
Livi nudged me when I stalled, lost in thought, and I quickly fell into a row with the rest of the first years. The prefect pair had gathered us in a semicircle near the main fireplace, in an area clear of plush armchairs and velvet loveseats and green ottomans before us, and it was only then that I realized that was another way the area drew the eye - the fact that the collection of seats around the massive fireplace were held apart, separate from everyone else, a reminder that they were better, somehow, just like the students on the staircase.
A ranking system, then – just like the students assembling on the balcony steps.
Finally, each step was filled, and there, standing were the two staircases met, was a boy. He looked a bit young for a seventh year, his face still rather rounded, very boyish… almost. It was difficult to describe, exactly, but there was this hardness to him, as if his entire body had been chiseled from stone, a rigidness to the clench of his jaw and a steel to his pale blue eyes. Like someone who could - and would - break any and all things that stepped in his path.
He stood there, waiting, hands on the metal railing, until the common room door sealed again and everyone had gathered on the couches and chairs or just stood, leaning against an armrest or stone pillar, and only then, once everyone had settled, did he speak.
"Welcome back." His voice held none of the warmth that Dumbledore's had. "I know that this last year was a hard one. I know that you probably want to relax, to forget, to move forwards as if it never happened. However, that would be a mistake."
He paused, here, to look over all the students. Nobody moved, nobody dared to even breathe too loudly. "We cannot continue on our way as if unchanged. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it, and we will not repeat our past follies. Too long has our noble, cunning house followed fools to ruin or cowered at the feet of madmen who seek to destroy our world. Our reputation has been tarnished by Corvinus Gaunt, Zetta Lestrange, Oran Alardice, and Lord Voldemort."
A harsh intake of breath at the last name.
"We are looked on as cowards, as fools, and as monsters, and Aveline Pucey has regretfully only reminded the school of this. Tomorrow, they will cower before us, they will whisper about our supposed evilness, and they will do their best to punish us. We will stand united before their hostility, and endure.
"To those of you who have only joined us tonight," here, his gaze fell on us and it was like a bucket of ice had been tossed over my head, "I have but a few words to share. As Slytherins, each of you will face prejudice and injustice, and I'm certain that it will break some of you. However, remember this: You have the potential to become great… or to become fools and monsters. It is our choices, in the end, that will define your destiny as a failure or a success."
Now, he stepped back and vanished into the deep shadows of the balcony.
"I feel like I'm missing the context for most of that," Livi murmured beside me, and Eros nodded in agreement.
Then, a girl and boy stepped onto the platform the boy had just left. They both looked vastly different, the girl with golden hair and clothes neatly pressed, while the boy had lost his tie at some point, his brown hair mussed as if he'd just gotten out of bed, and a lazy look to his eyes reminiscent of the bored glaze that Eros had held for much of the train ride.
It was the girl who began. "Since our wonderful comrade neglected this: welcome, first years. Before our newest prefects led you to your dorms, there are a few rules that we expect all Slytherins to adhere to."
"Including the fifth years," the boy pitched in, a sharpness to his eyes as he looked over at the group nearest the common room door.
"Firstly," the girl continued with a serene smile as if she hadn't been interrupted at all, "we expect a certain amount of decorum from each of you. No shouting at teachers over poor grades, no running through the halls, no public dueling. To do so would be a disgrace to our house, and you will likely suffer through as many dreadful detentions with Professor Snape as it takes to drive the point home."
"Or until he gives up," an older student murmured somewhere behind me, and a few students laughed.
The girl's seemed a little more fixed, now. "Secondly, we will remain united. As our darling Prince has mentioned, the other houses have a certain disdain for us, and therefore we must not splinter before them. I don't care what the problem is, Slytherins do not turn on each other."
"Thirdly," and this came from the boy, "we have a dueling chamber for a reason. If someone's pissed you off that much, use it."
"Or present the issue to a prefect or one of our Assembly, and we will do our best to help you resolve the problem. Do not do it alone." She gave us a very stern look
"Fourthly," the boy pitched in again, "keep up your grades. If you get below an A in any class, you will be given detention."
"However, if you do need help, then we have several study groups, as well as tutoring. Check the announcement board for more information."
"And lastly…"
"Don't get caught," all the Slytherins chorused at once.
"Dismissed," the boy said.
The girl looked over them all again, then strode off into the shadows. The other students on the stairs followed after her.
Gemma Fawley stepped in front of us, surveying each of us first years. "That was Atticus Crowle, our reigning prince, and the consuls: Lucille Hayes and Lycan Broderib."
Several other first years nodded or made sounds of acknowledgment, as if that made all the sense in the world.
Prince and consul… those sounded like terms used in some sort of government. Did Howgarys even have a student government like Muggle schools?
"Now, girls, if you'd follow me. Boys, with Rosier."
I fell into step alongside the other girls, muttering a quick goodbye to Eros that was quickly smothered by a yawn. Princes and consuls, rules and speeches, a balcony and its strange hierarchy… then, there'd been the Sorting itself and a corridor forbidden on pain of death, new possible allies and… it was all a bit much, rolling through my head in this odd, twisted jumble.
After such a long day, it was hardly surprising that I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Albus
Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Albus could admit, it had been quite a while since something had surprised him - since his appearance, an insidious voice whispered, but Albus ignored it - and yet having the Girl-Who-Lived and her sister sorted into Slytherin and Hufflepuff, respectively, had been a shock.
Of course, he had hardly anticipated Gryffindor after witnessing Severus's memories – from a pensieve, of course – but he supposed some small part of him had still hoped… No matter. It was no true problem, Hufflepuff valued hardwork and Slytherin cunningness, both traits that would serve the girls well in their battle against Tom's many faces… yes, perhaps this was better than a brash Gryffindor… especially now that Tom had changed tactics once more, a Gryffindor would've had far less ability to understand the subtle minutiae of this new, more political war…
He watched the children clamber off to bed, feet stomping and voices echoing and merging in the hall, and then the teachers follow after. With a sigh, he rose from his own chair, old bones groaning and aching in protest. He was not the young man he once was, spurred to action and capable of fighting the age's dark lord, not anymore…
If only he could, and spare the Potter sisters the coming agony.
Some time later, he was hardly surprised when the wards alerted him to Severus stalking up the spiral staircase to his office. The man would likely pretend to want to speak of Gaunt, as if anything could be done about the man at the moment, but really worried over the Potter girls.
Albus could imagine the sour look on the man's face if he realized how predictable he had grown.
Sure enough, as soon as Severus entered the room, he said, "Gaunt has spoken to the first years. He has done nothing untoward yet."
Albus eyed the tattered old hat resting on one of his many shelves, half-hiding the titles of several books on dueling, arithmancy, and defensive curses. It was curious that Astor was a Slytherin, he had been more inclined to think Ravenclaw… if only he could ask the Hat what it had seen, but the founders themselves had bound the Hat to keep the students secrets, and Albus was not so arrogant to believe he could break that spell.
"I've always found it rather curious that, among the four houses," he mused lightly as if he hadn't even heard the other man's words, "Slytherin is the only one with their own rules and hierarchy."
Severus said nothing in response.
"Perhaps it is simply an old man's curiosity that leads me to speak out." He smiled, as genial and amused as ever, his eyes twinkling in a way that had taken years of practice to master. "I should know by now that you'd never spill the secrets of your house." He let a breath pass, long enough for Severus to respond if he wished, before broaching the true topic himself, "Has he shown any interest in the girl?"
"Not yet," Severus bit out as if the words tasted sour in his mouth.
Albus nodded. "He may come to seek her out, but I am certain that the girl will never support the man who murdered her parents." And yet… the words did not have quite the same certainty as they should have, once wild have, before a blue eyed boy who spoke oh so charmingly, seducing his way into the hearts of his teachers and peers and committing murder as easily as breathing.
He, Albus could with reluctance admit, may hold some small bias against the House of Slytherin.
"You are worried about her Sorting," the potion's master said, settling into one of the overstuffed armchairs on the other side of his desk. It was a rather blunt remark, one normally quite unlike Severus, but Albus liked to believe that the pair of them had become rather familiar with each other over the past decade. Enough, certainly, to be aware when Severus did not wish to discuss something and when Albus was pondering random ideas aloud as a distraction from darker thoughts.
"It is troublesome."
"Why?" In the dim, flickering light, his eyes were black as the sickly dark shadows of a particularly nasty dark curse that had cost him the mobility in his left hand. A curse he had never seen before, and one that only one wizard had known. "Ambition? Resourcefulness? Many would consider those useful traits."
"Ruthlessness and selfishness?" Albus countered.
"There are flaws to every house, Albus," Severus replied coolly. "Your own may be brave and chivalrous, but they are also reckless, prideful idiots."
"Ah, but a few unsavory apples do not make the entire tree rotten," he replied.
Severus smirked… almost. It was a mere glimmer in his eyes, but Albus knew instantly he'd been trapped by his own words. "As it is with Slytherin."
"I suppose you are right." Albus settled heavily in his own chair, aching muscles and worn old bones relaxing gratefully. "Not all Slytherins are Tom Riddle. You yourself are an example of that."
His eyes flickered at that, and Albus knew he'd be displeased by the remark. Severus did not like being reminded that he was anything less than a selfish fool. Perhaps that was why he worked so hard to make others hate him; because he felt that he deserved their disdain as penance for his own mistakes.
But Albus was not so much an old fool to say any of that.
"The girl seems to have already struck a friendship with the McKinnon girl and Lestrange boy," Severus said, returning their conversation to its initial topic.
"Ah." That may be concerning. "It is good to see she will not prescribe easily to blood prejudice." It was unlikely some would say, given her parentage, and yet Albus had watched a young Tom Riddle fall to that terrible bias.
"The girl is Muggleborn?" Severus inquired.
"I confess, I know little of her. I believed the McKinnon family to have died out in the war, though the Book has marked her as Marlene's daughter." It had also, curiously, said nothing of her paternal parentage, which was quite disturbing. It took very powerful and dark magic to interfere with the Book of Admittance. "The friendship with the Lestrange boy is more concerning, however. I understand his mother is unbalanced?"
"She's madder than a hatter, Albus," Severus replied coolly. "The last I saw her, she spoke with a teapot about how Narcissa had earned straight Os in her OWLs and proceeded to blow up a two hundred year old portrait of Cadmus Gaunt."
It was that same madness that had nearly cost her custody of her children to Andromeda, but naturally Tom had interfered.
"If you see any indication of… instability in her son, inform me immediately."
Severus gave a nod.
"Will we need to watch Bryony as well," Albus noted, and something flickered in the other man's eyes. "It would be unsurprising if we watched Astor, and Tom chose to move on to Bryony instead." He sighed. "I suppose, for now, we must simply watch and wait."
And hope. For, in the end, that was all any of them could do in the face of this oncoming storm: hope that, somehow, someway, they would find a way to weather it and survive.