Author's note: Hi tomiones, this is my first longfic in this good ship. I'm really nervous about posting for some reason! Hopefully some people like it :) I've had a great time drafting the outline and creating the story!

I followed the classic Tomione tradition of having a complicated, non-English title haha – so complex there are journal and Wikipedia articles you can read about it with linguistic, historical and international political analysis :). Here is the quick version: Mokusatsu is a Japanese word meaning "take no notice of" or "treat with silent contempt". It's a phrase used for language misunderstandings that can cause problems of international significance. It is appropriate for this fic on a few levels :) if you like, that is a fun, low-stakes mystery to consider while reading this fic!

Abraxas was frowning at him.

"What?" Tom repeated, lifting the Muffling Charm on his ears. Hopefully Abraxas would finish saying what he needed to before the next eleven year old got loudly, suddenly applauded, like it was a great achievement to get Sorted instead of a mandatory bureaucratic process.

Stupid tradition. Clapping was – irritating. Surely the reason Hogwarts was established in rural Scotland was at least partially because it was quiet here, so students could focus on studying?

"Granger," he repeated. "I didn't know there was a Granger around school age."

Tom jerked his head non-committally. "The potioneering family?" he asked. That was all the context he had. The Hogwarts library did not deign to publish the minutiae of children, so hours wasted fruitlessly scraping for anything about his magical family had limited utility in pureblood gossip about the blood status of some poxy first years.

"Yes," Abraxas nodded, craning his head to watch the unfortunate Granger join the Slytherin table. "Maybe a distant relation?" His pale eyes were so narrowed they were almost slits. The concern and judgment about magical blood did not need to be stated.

Tom shrugged and recast the Muffling Charm before the Sorting Hat reached a young Greengrass' head. A perfunctory performance before the hat would no doubt scream he should be in Slytherin, Tom was sure, and hundreds of students would kick off again with their incessant hand slapping.

If this Granger was Muggle-born, they were still sorted into Slytherin. They should have some sort of basic self-preservation that would kick in when the Malfoys of the world started circling with probing questions about their parentage.

As the resident Muggleborn suspect, Tom could even give them the detailed guide of their next steps later this week. How lucky for them and generous of him to share his hard-earned knowledge so they didn't have to figure out by themselves to make up an absent father or distant relative no one would bother asking about. He could even show them where to begin their pain-staking ancestry research in the library, so they could just focus on researching and praying they found a magical link quickly. As opposed to the years of drudgery Tom continued to suffer through.

His eyes glazed over as he thought of entering the fourth year of his magical heritage search. There had to be someone in his ancestry who was magical, he was sure of it. No Muggleborn could talk to snakes. It was just infuriating trying to find the link. If there was a God, it felt like a punishment. God could go on the list of people to repay in kind too, Tom supposed, after he took up the mantle of his destiny and put Britain under his dominion. Underneath Reginald Carrow for throwing his Potions textbook into the fire in March earlier that year. Maybe He could also be set on fire like Carrow would be by the end of this week, if Tom could finally stabilise his encasing rune charm so he didn't set the entire Slytherin seventh year dorm ablaze…

Tom yawned. He hadn't slept well since leaving Hogwarts in June. The muggle world was always terrible, but this summer had been truly heinous. The Germans seemed content to throw their entire nation's production into carpet bombing London, every single night –

He shook his head. If the Sorting Hat could kindly hurry up and deliver the children unto their houses, that would be great. It wasn't like it mattered where any of them got put anyway, not like when he was Sorted into Slytherin and obviously destined for greater, important things. It seemed a safe bet they would all be about as useless and below his notice as plankton, until at least a couple of years of education had been rammed into their heads, and some began to poke their heads out of the magical primordial soup.

Abraxas interrupted his thoughts and proved him wrong again the next morning, two of Tom's least favourite things.

"She's a Muggle!" he hissed, leaning over the marmalade dramatically. "That Granger child is no relation at all! She's a Muggle witch!"

Tom shook his head over his tea, throat suddenly dry. "Surely not," he said, but Abraxas had the hard evidence of girly gossip on his side.

"Heather Parkinson's cousin is in her dorm, and she told her. Her parents apparently operate simple torture devices in people's mouths!"

"Dentists?" Tom said before thinking. Abraxas' look of horror grew cold with the unforced error of reminding him how very muggle Tom's upbringing had been.

"Yes, that's what she said," Abraxas said stiffly, finally sitting down and crossing his arms. "In Slytherin!"

"Impossible. Maybe her father's not really her father," Tom suggested. He hadn't even met this imbecile yet and he was having to tidy up after them. It was too early to be adding people to the list of wrongs to be repaid. The caffeine hadn't even kicked in yet. Maybe they could merely owe him a favour rather than be immediately condemned to suffering and punishment.

But Abraxas shook his head again, eyes wide and leaning in again. "That's the other thing," he whispered loudly. He was secretly loving this, Tom was sure. Abraxas should just admit it and beg a witch magazine to hire him and manifest his destiny of trading frivolous housewife gossip. "She's mixed. Says her father's from Jamaica and her mother's from London." He tutted as he finally started the meal he was supposed to be there for rather than this gossipy drivel, coating his toast in marmalade. "What a shameful day for Slytherin house," he drawled, poorly hiding his delight at the scandal.

More like what an annoying day for Tom. He had spent three years under the loathsome Muggleborn suspicion. It had taken far too much grovelling and carefully noting all of those who had wronged him to get to the tentative place he had now. He was finally ahead of Slytherin house's collective average of magical talent and could start more efficiently paying back his fellow students who had wronged him in kind. And some efficiency was needed, there were at least a dozen of them in Slytherin house alone.

Maybe a few of them could be shoved into the same fire hex Carrow would wake up in later this week. Some trading off of personalised, ironic punishments for quantity might be required if Tom was to have any time left to continue hunting for his magical heritage and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets this year…

Anyway. This new kid was threatening to ruin the delicate balance Tom had worked hard to create with their big, fat mouth. It was unacceptable.

"Who else knows?" he asked casually. It wasn't like anyone would notice an Obliviated Abraxas, his head was so far in the weeds that a dazed expression on his face would be more in character than not. Tracking down this Granger and telling them to stop talking, for the love of God, was very appealing.

Abraxas snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Everyone, of course."

One day, Tom decided, he would create a magic that could overcome the rapid spread of rumour, and when that happened Tom would personally make sure he showed it to Abraxas so that blond twat could watch the only thing he ever loved turn to ashes. But for now, he ground his teeth, shoved himself away from the table and headed to Transfig. Which was just what he really needed, right now – two hours of Dumbledore staring at him like he knew precisely all the ways Tom imagined murdering him.

This was his first day back at his real home after months away, and everything about it was working against him. When Tom found this Granger he was going to scare some sense into them.