Birds flocking together, above his head, fluttering like shadowed butterflies. As if the flapping of their wings caused the breeze in his hair. He stares at them for a long time. He walks down the path.

He knows his path. He's been here before. The flesh trees and the natural trees. The rock in his shoe. His ex-housemate at the end of the path…

Much is the same, this time around. Ximena lies asleep: something red and pulpy in her hand. Half-eaten. A fruit or a flower or a small animal-A bird? He still cannot tell but he still wants it. Desperately. He's upset that she didn't stay awake for him. Did not share with him.

Much is different, though, this time around: there are bells, loud and clanging church bells in the distance. There's lights out in the mountains (there are mountains!), and shadows of dancing devils being cast upon the cliffs. It is a holy night, of all nights.

Another thing that is different: much more noticeable, perhaps more alarming: Ximena is small. Yes. Much more than before. How could he not have noticed? She is small, a toddler, in the lap of Balam. His teacher. Where did he come from? He lies asleep too. Until he is no longer grown either: he is suddenly a child in a baptismal dress holding Ximena. He is in the lap of his mother: Inés. Or Señora Rivera. Asleep. Soon, she too is small. A little bit older than her son. A little bit older than her granddaughter. A woman he does not know is holding her. They are all asleep.

It continues like this, a strange chain of Mother cradling child, with only Balam as the sole male. The oldest woman looks it: deep wrinkles cutting into her skin, age spots dabbled over her body, snow white hair braided down her shoulder. She would be Ximena's great-great grandmother. She looks half-dead. Clinging to life.

The youngest is Ximena, looking like a child born too early. Small in the chubby hands of her father: barely more than a baby himself.

It makes him uneasy. Angry. Looking at the display of age, at the woman at death's doorstep. At his own friend looking so small. So weak. Fragile. In the hands of her father (father to be?), she looks about to fall. Die on the ground.

And then a skeleton is in the chair. Embracing them all.

He wakes up with a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

In the morning, Tom receives a reply from Balam via his barn owl. He reads it with Ambrose at his side, feeding him a steady supply of treats. The man is all too similar to his daughter, he should have known. But at least Tom knows that there's a willingness to answer his questions. It's a start.

Here at Hogwarts, there aren't many he can trust with his dark curiosities. Slughorn, maybe, if it came down to it. But trying to cater to the man's light sensibilities is exhausting. Especially since the trial and the subsequent investigations into how he runs Slytherin house. One would think the man was allergic to the mere mention of Dark Magic.

And isn't that a shame? Isn't the tradition of Dark Magic interwoven into Slytherin house? The diary of Corvinus Gaunt praises his (their) ancestor's use of the practice. Why is it so shunned if it was used by a Founder?

He could (should), of course, inquire Ximena about it. But the sudden interest in Salazar Slytherin… Would it be suspicious? Something to note? He's not… ready yet. To share his finding. His Parselmouth. He wants it to stay his secret. He wants the whole world to know it.

His indecisiveness is pathetic.

.

When he had first stumbled upon the Room of Requirement, it had been a complete accident, though he had been looking for months prior. Truthfully he had been searching for Evan rather fruitlessly: the boy's usual salt-like magic missing from the usual spaces. Tom had walked past the same corridor twice, whence upon the third time, a door had appeared to him. Inside was a cramped room, the size of a closet, with only a single note on the ground, He's in the kitchens.

He forgot all about Evan for the rest of the day.

Now, he paces before the room quickly. He doesn't have time to pretend to be lost, it's worth the risk of attracting attention from those he would rather have ignore him. Though, said risk is very low: he's chosen a Hogsmeade weekend for a reason.

Give me a place. A place to practice my reign, to improve the lives of those who follow me. To host my coven and grow in power.

The door reveals itself to him.

Inside, the space is cool. Similar to the Slytherin common room, but much less dank (not enough to dry out one's skin, though, of course). Even the lighting is better, despite not having any windows in the room, bathing the area in a powder blue, early daylight.

There are dummies to practice on in the back, a wide-open space for both one-on-one dueling and for having multiple pairs practice at once, a small library of reference in the corner. This is it. A proper training room for his coven to be. As if his home itself were encouraging him onwards, towards his destiny. The inevitable.

He thinks about the red door back in Mexico and wonders what else the Room of Requirement can give him.

In the meanwhile, he has to fill in this training room.

It's certainly not the biggest hurdle (at least, if one is always thinking towards the future), but it'll certainly prove to be a most annoying one. He already knows. Already knows as he stands before his boys' group, in their tailored robes made of ostentatiously expensive material. The smarter ones are already trying to make their wealth more subtle, but the ones who have yet to get the message still display their money openly. Without regard to the growing resentment among lower class wizards.

How any of them lasted more than six minutes outside the womb is beside him. Especially once he brings up his idea.

"A coven? Outside our families?" Katux sounds uncharacteristically nervous.

"Scandalous." Dion's excitement is subtle, looking happy to be involved in something against the grain.

"It's not done." Abbas states, attempting to exert his authority as a fifth year.

"And why is that?" Tom replies, completely harmless, just curious.

Abbas, not expecting pushback, takes a moment to formulate his response. "..A wizard's loyalty is to his family." He glances at the other boys around him for support, "Blood is stronger together."

"And…" Tom continues, toying with the wand in his hands., "Where has that led you?"

"..What?"

Tom stops toying with his wand."Where has that led you?"

"I...I don't understand-"

"It has led you to isolate yourselves even further than before. To hoard your secrets and resources, even when it would be better to share. Keeping your magic so tight to your blood, that you've resorted to marrying cousins, even siblings if the ugly rumors I hear are true. The purebloods aren't aligned… The highbloods aren't even on the same page as to what to do with Muggles. What can binding your magic with your blood give you? Truly?"

And here, he reaches back into his memory, quoting from the heart, "There's only so much magic you can really grasp when you only have samples from such a small pool…

"Families like… the Blacks, for example, they've specialized in dark magic for centuries. And they're impressive for it, of course, but there's no flexibility… They have so much trouble conjuring even the simplest of light charms, it's embarrassing." He manages the same amout of contempt in his voice as Ximena did when she first told him these words, "All that careful family planning and...Dare I say, many of you are in the same boat." He raises a brow, "Am I wrong?"

He's not. He's shared many classes with these wizards. Attended countless hours of Dueling Club with them. Tom knows their magic. Their strengths and weaknesses. Of course he does. There's no way he would have allowed them to be associated with him otherwise (their influence and power can only be tolerated so far).

There's a cautious silence over his retinue. None of them have any counter to his words, but all of them want to challenge him. It's immensely pleasing that he has them all domesticated.

"Do you know," Tom continues, "why Nemesis and Hedwig aren't here with us in this meeting?" The boys stare, silent. "It's because they don't need to be told this." His hands, wand in his left, open out, as if there wasn't anything left to say, "Their families, pure as all of yours, track their marriages, same as all of yours...But not to keep watch over when and where they can re-marry into the same bloodline." He pats his wand into the palm of his hand, not harsh enough to be a smack, but enough to show impatience. "It's why they're so much better than the lot of you at casting." Not exactly, but he knows now it's one of the reasons, "The variety in their magic. Hedwig's American mother. Nemesis's Spanish mother." A glance at Evan, "Evan's Spanish mother is a much-needed addition to his gene pool. So much to make up for, and so much to show for it."

Evan, to his credit, doesn't so much as stiffen up. He remains looking down, giving no eye contact. As expected: they already had this conversation earlier, albeit less tedious.

"They'll be a part of the coven, of course." He slips in before anyone can say otherwise, "You're all smart enough to see why." Whether that be how magically superior the two witches are or the gossip that none of their families have produced a squib in years. As for actually having them join, well, Tom has to break the idea to them first, but he's confident in himself. They both owe him. They both trust him. They're both loyal to him.

"After all I've done for Slytherin house, isn't there so much more I can do for wizarding kind?" Tom prompts. "Especially with such sturdy backing. Why, there's nothing to stop us but our own selves. Our own limits." His eyes, alight with passion, make contact with all the boys in the circle.

"Magic blood should stick together, don't you think?"[1]

.

There's no contract for his coven, not yet. It still hasn't even really formed. Not officially. Tom gives his retinue time to think it over, knowing what they'll end up deciding. Fools they may be, but a Slytherin is always self-serving.

When he's in charge of all of them, he'll think of a way to mark the occasion. A deed or degree signed with blood. With magic? Magical oaths are barely being touched on in Charms, and he has not had the chance to research on his own (how busy he's been!) His offhand question to Balam seemed to have drawn a sort of suspicion, but definitely nothing to be concerned about. If anything, Balam is as morbidly curious as his daughter is.

Runes might be a good place to start, he's already doing marvelous in the class (so much so, that he'll be in an advanced one for it next year). The symbols in themselves are so old that they carry their own magic with him, so if he were to combine that magic with his, then his contract would have no way out. Not without death. Theirs, of course, not his. He's already surviving war, famine, poverty, all that's left is death.

Rain pelts against the surface of the Black Lake. The common room lies still and silent. The remembrall in his palm blooms red. It reminds him of...something. A dream he had. Of Ximena's room at the abbey. He never did get to see her real room, did he? A pointless regret.

He wonders what he's forgotten. Surely something insignificant: he always remembers even that which he does not want to. A face or a name, perhaps of his childhood. Of some firstie classmate from years before. Maybe soon he can forget all of it: the worst of his life. Others will forget about it too: where he came from. How he grew up. He'll have no confirmed beginnings, he'll simply always have been.

He tucks the trinket into a charmed box and ties it shut with a ribbon. He writes a small greeting on a slip of paper (a quick happy birthday, maybe something that could pass as heartfelt), his handwriting floral and sleek. While he waits for the ink to dry (quick dry ink is more expensive than the parchment it's used on), Tom's gaze returns to the open notebook before him.

Multiple ideas for his coven come to mind. While traditionally, one would use the name of the head witch, Tom does not want Riddle anywhere near something he would work to make his legacy. At least not until he's sure. There's the idea of the Hogwarts Coven, for location is another traditional means of naming, but as much as it pains him to admit: they will not always be at Hogwarts. Eventually, they will all grow up and leave it forever.

So he makes a list. Of all the grand and impactful words he knows and combines them together to make sure that anyone hearing of his coven will know how formidable they are. He is.

Sangris Sagrada

Salazar's Soldiers

Sun Swallower

Clearly he's a fan of alliteration, though he wasn't doing it on purpose. Maybe his head is filled with the sounds of Parsel… Perhaps? He could give it a name in Parsel, so exclusive that only he would be able to understand…

No. Unworthy tongues will only butcher it. He already knows. They will be lazy and unlettered, not bothering to check their pronunciation or understand how the language is spoken. He couldn't do that to the only thread of evidence he has that his family was great. Is great. Just hidden.

The tip of his quill wanders into circles, Sun Swallower. The ouroboros coven could be a magnificent name. Infinite. Everlasting. Never beginning and never ending. Always has been and always will be.

But then again, he'd prefer that title for himself. Not for all in his troupe. Still, something to think about…

Alchemical language is a great source, regardless. Sun and moon together to create a perfect being. A phoenix rising from its ashes: eternal even in death. All of these and the previous ideas entice him. But none of them are right. None of them are personal enough...

...

He remembers the toy knight given to him for his first Modranicht. Remembers the bright textbook illustrations of witches dancing hand in hand on a mountaintop. The present that sits before him. The feel of Ximena's hands tying back his apron for him.

He scribbles down a new name.

[1] Chapter 3: Their Severance. This was said by Hedwig to Tom, re: the Roma wizard two other children were bullying.

Tom's quoting Ximena's words from Chapter 11: Real Talk.

I wish I could have gotten this chapter out by Ximena's birthday, but eh. That's life.

I try really hard not to repeat phrases or words willy nilly, so if you're noticing patterns or repeated usage of a certain word or phrase, it's on purpose for purpose I promise.

Thanks to Jac for looking over the chapter, my writing is better because of u.

Oh and to the Guest Reviewer/Sharmin: this website blocks your email in reviews because of spam, but I'm going to turn down the offer. If anyone's going to translate Serpentine into Spanish, it's going to be me with the help of my dad (ya he knows I write fanfic jkdfjkdsljf). Thanks tho, and I'm happy you're enjoying the fic.