When the Dark Lord's crimson eyes flickered open on September 1st after a restful night of sleep, his fingers automatically gliding through the thick raven locks of his Equal, who was quietly snoring by his side, he could not help but muse how quickly the last month had passed, his lips curling into a devious smile.

The reason for his amusement was currently located a couple of doors further down the corridor, already wide awake for a few hours, devouring yet another book, the way her magic was swirling around her like a swarm of aggravated bees thirsting for knowledge.

Chuckling to himself, the Dark Lord closed his eyes, letting himself sink back into the softness of the pillow, his fingers continuing to navigate their way through the velvety locks of his Equal while letting his thoughts drift back on the events of the past month.

Given that he had got to know the witch over the past year without her being aware of the fact, he had half expected her to shy away from him the way she had tried to push away her true family heritage. When Hermione had been sitting at the breakfast table, staring at him with a mixture of defiance and curiosity silently trying to suppress her fears, Tom had known that her thirst for knowledge had won the battle raging inside her. Daring her to ask the first question, the Dark Lord had raised a single eyebrow while his Equal had quietly chuckled by his side, mentally counting down the seconds until Hermione would open her mouth.

In the end, it had taken about three seconds.

Afterwards, there had been no way of stopping her as Hermione did everything in her power to make the best of the concession, she had been given in turn for swearing a Vow of Secrecy. The more questions she asked, the bolder her words got, not that the Dark Lord minded. He, too, never sugar-coated his words, never veiled his words in lies. Furthermore, it was simply wonderful seeing her slowly turning into the Witch she was one day destined to be.

While he did not answer every question, he saw the respect for the Dark Lord sprouting within her before slowly starting to blossom. While it was nowhere near her ultimate trust for Harry, there was potential, especially the way her self-esteem was growing, not just the survivor who had hidden behind her best and only weapon – her knowledge.

Still, the questions were by far not the only source of her transformation.

A few days after the first breakfast with the Dark Lord at Spinner's End, Hermione had stepped out of the fireplace, almost gracefully at that, much to the annoyance of his Equal, a wide grin etched onto her face as she returned from her first visit to Lestrange Manor.

Given her enthusiastic recount of the day and the later exchange with her grandfather, it was not hard to conclude that the first meeting with her uncles had gone well. According to Corvus, Hermione and Rabastan had hit it off immediately, like two moths endlessly circling the same flame, their insatiable thirst for knowledge serving as a bridge between them.

Unsurprisingly, Rodolphus had been a bit more reserved than his younger brother, having always been a lot more wary and mistrustful than the outgoing Rabastan with all his natural charm. Thankfully, that trait of the younger Lestrange twin had not been lost to the Dementors and the freezing waves of the North Sea. Despite the differences in character of the twins, it was more than clear that both equally adored their niece ever since the first time Hermione had visited Lestrange Manor, although they displayed their affection quite differently.

Over the next few days, Hermione's days had alternated between Spinner's End, grilling the Dark Lord and his Equal with a never-ending stream of questions, and the Manor of her ancestors.

This rhythm had however changed about a week after her departure from the Muggle world.

Slightly unsure, she had been standing by her grandfather's side in the large duelling hall of Malfoy Manor, awkwardly fumbling with the hem of her new duelling robes while the large room had slowly started to fill up.

As promised, Tom had finally started to teach Neville how to defend himself. Naturally, Draco was present, too. The blond was looking slightly nervous under the watchful eyes of his father whose walking stick with its hidden wand was tapping on the floor in a steady yet impatient rhythm.

Not being one to miss a chance like this, Corvus had insisted that his granddaughter should be a part of the little defence club, too. A Lestrange should know how to defend themselves. A Lestrange should know how to fight.

Under normal circumstances, the training of a Lestrange started long before they first set foot into the great halls of Hogwarts. Therefore, Hermione had a lot to catch up on in the eyes of the Lord of the Lestrange family, especially in the more practical, combat oriented fields of magic and of course the Mind Arts. Still, given Hermione's natural talent and her stubbornness to master Spells, Charms, Transfigurations, and soon Curses and Jinxes, too, as quickly as possible, the Dark Lord and his Equal were positive that she would be on par with the others rather sooner than later.

During their first session, Tom and Harry had spent most of their time assessing the skills of their three new students. While Draco had been training for most of his life and was a good duellist for his age, the Dark Lord really was impressed by the progress of Neville ever since he had got his new wand. The new wand and the extracurricular training sessions at Hogwarts had done wonders to the formally shy boy who by now had mastered almost all of the second-year material in Charms, Transfigurations, and Defence and was already moving on to some third-year wand work.

Hermione though was a different story.

While the young witch was brilliant for her age, especially for having grown up oblivious to magic outside of the Wizarding world, her lack of practise clearly showed in comparison to Draco and Neville. While it was obvious that Hermione had read up on the second- and third-year material in all of the practical subjects taught at Hogwarts and even practised some of the Spells, Charms, Jinxes and even a few of the more harmless Curses, it quickly started to show that reading up on Curses was not everything.

Given her heritage, the magical core of the Lestrange Heiress certainly was well above average in its vastness and resources. Still, possessing a large magical core did not equal being a proficient duellist. One also had to exercise their core frequently, stretch it, and access it regularly. Otherwise, their magical resources would either be drowned too quickly or not being fully accessible in a duel. After seeing her go against one of the training dummies, Tom could clearly see that Hermione was struggling to keep up her Spellwork as her core was not used to such strenuous activities. Neither was her body. Just like the Dark Lord himself, their bodies could not tolerate the strain yet.

During the first mock duel with his Equal, the Dark Lord, too, was remined of the shortcomings of his new physical body. While his stamina, both physically and magically, had improved tremendously since undergoing the Resurrection Ritual five weeks prior, mostly thanks to the help of the Potions Harry had developed and rigorous exercise, he still had a long way to go. Although his previously non-existent patience had come a long way since meeting Harry, he still was a perfectionist. Anything less than a perfectly trained body and magical core was unacceptable, even if it meant pushing yourself well past your own limits.

Hermione got to experience that the first time she joined the Dark Lord and his Equal during their mourning exercise routine a few days later.

"Are you… are you okay?" the witch asked, looking shyly at the wheezing figure of the Dark Lord after he had finished his run.

"Not really," Tom coughed out, desperately gasping for air, his lungs burning, while holding his aching sides.

"He's fine," Harry laughed, being barely out of breath after completing the same distance the Dark Lord had, "although he should not have run the last kilometre yet."

Silently, the Dark Lord agreed with his Equal, even though he did not admit it out loud.

A few days later, their routine was once again interrupted. This time, it was because Severus had been called to Hogwarts for the annual staff meeting before the start of term. Under normal circumstances, the stuff meeting was supposed to take place much sooner. During the last few years, the date kept being pushed back as it became harder and harder for Dumbledore to find new Defence teachers. The Dark Lord was curious who he had found this time.

A few hours later, they found out as the billowing robes of the Potions Master appeared in the fireplace.

"Get your cloaks," the icy drawl of the Potions Master echoed through the small living room of Spinner's End, "we are leaving for Diagon Alley immediately."

"Is it that bad, Severus?" the Dark Lord chuckled.

"Worse," the Potions Master spat as he slammed the Hogwarts letters of his wards on the nearby table.

"The collective work of Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry asked once he had ripped open his letter, his mocking question accompanied by a raised eyebrow, "the new Defence teacher must be a real fan of that fraud."

"He surely is full of himself," Severus remarked dryly, his lips curling into a sinister sneer, "quite literally. I hope that the Curse on the Defence position will once again be as… reliable as ever."

"Oh, I think you will love our new Defence teacher," his Equal chuckled, his vibrant Avada-green ones meeting the crimson ones of the Dark Lord.

"Who is it?" Hermione asked, not having caught up to them yet.

"The famous author himself," Tom answered with an evil smile which could mean nothing good. Maybe, just maybe, the Curse on the Defence position would strike sooner than later. Maybe.

"Gilderoy Lockhart himself will be teaching us?" Hermione exclaimed in disbelief, an excited glint in her eyes, "finally, we will get a competent teacher who knows how it is to be out there. Have you read how he banished the Bandon Banshee-"

"Miss Granger, just because you have read something in a book, it does not mean that the information within must be true," the Potions Master's familiar drawl cut through the enthusiasm of the witch like fire through ice, "even someone as dense and illiterate as Ronald Weasley could have written that dreadful drivel. If he has even done one of the feats he claims to have achieved, I will stop wearing black."

For a moment, Hermione looked like someone had pulled the rug from under her feet, "But-"

"Hermione, just think for a moment. Severus here betting on his favourite colour should be telling," Harry chuckled, looking far too amused, before shifting his attention to the Potions Masters, "eager to miss the crowd?"

"Most certainly," the dour wizard hissed, "I am already dreading to see those moronic dunderheads in September let alone our latest… incapable addition to the staff. There is no need for an untimely reunion."

The sign in front of Flourish and Blotts advertising Gilderoy Lockhart's presence for the next day, signing copies of his latest book Magical Me, was reason enough to prepone the trip to Diagon Alley, especially since the fraud would be residing at the Wizarding bookstore for the next two weeks. Because he needed to prepare himself for those strenuous two weeks, the great Gilderoy Lockhart had not graced the Hogwarts staff with his presence yet. Reading his work alone was evidence enough of his incredible feats for the Potions Master to come to that conclusion. Because of the fraud's absence, they luckily managed to finish their Hogwarts shopping rather quickly.

Unfortunately, Draco and Neville, who had visited the magical bookstore a day later had not been so lucky. Besides being surrounded by an excited crowd of enthralled elderly women and the publicity-seeking fraud, their trip to Flourish and Blotts had taken a turn for the worse as a flock of redheads had suddenly come into view. According to Draco and Neville, the Potion Master and his wards had missed a rather physical encounter between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley centred around their different standards of living and their ideas about proper Wizarding customs. Maybe he should ask Draco for the memory. Then again, the moving picture on page five of the Prophet served just as well.

While the Dark Lord's fingers continued to wander through the untameable raven locks of his Equal, already eagerly awaiting but simultaneously dreading the moment they would leave the safe haven that was Spinner's End to depart for Hogwarts, his mind wandered back to the numerous discussion which had followed their trip to Diagon Alley.

Despite Severus' more than clear words concerning the credibility of Gilderoy Lockhart, Hermione still tried to make a point that the information in his books were true, after all, Lockhart's subpar, rather unimaginative fiction had been officially published. Tom had only laughed at that. Hermione could be stubborn and occasionally rather dense if she wanted to be. Especially when it came to her firm believe that every printed word must be true.

"Having fun?" his Equal chuckled, sounding like he had just woken up which he indeed just had.

"Always," the Dark Lord replied, the corners of his mouth curling into a devious smile, "although some people do not need to be aware of my internal… amusement."

"I have no idea who that could be," Harry continued to chuckle before turning serious again, "what time is it again?"

Neither of them had to answer.

It was time to leave.

Sometime later, Tom, Harry, and Severus watched Hermione's robes disappear in the fireplace. Since no one was supposed to be aware of her family heritage and her connection to the Dark side, the Longbottoms would be taking her to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Furthermore, her name had not been changed to Lestrange yet. Within the official records of Hogwarts, she was still listed as "Granger".

The Dark Lord and his Equal would meanwhile be foregoing the Hogwarts Express since Severus had a staff meeting to attend and would be taking along his wards so that Thomas would have the possibility to familiarise himself with the castle.

"Are you fully prepared?" the Potions Master asked, an undercurrent of concern swimming in his voice as his onyx eyes were wandering over his two wards, "once we have stepped through this fireplace, there is no way back."

"We are ready," The Dark Lord answered, sounding steadier than he felt, steeping forward to grab a pinch of Floo power. After all, he was returning home, even if it meant that his enemy was waiting there.

A few seconds later, the familiar sight of Severus' office came into view. Before his eyes could even focus on the myriad of jars filling the seemingly endless shelves lining the walls, overwhelmingly crushing weight of the wards took Tom by surprise, making him gasp for air. While it had been years since he had personally experienced the impressive creation protecting Hogwarts, he was shocked at the poor state of the Wards. It hurt to see how much the once invulnerable Wards of the magical school degraded.

"Quite shocking, isn't it?" the words of his Equal softly brushed against his ear, "the castle almost feels desperate for help, like she is begging for us to do something about her degrading magical resources."

Too shocked by the pitiful state of the castle, the Dark Lord only lowered his head in understanding.

"We will help her," Harry said, his voice stern and determined," we will."

"Whatever you do," a familiar drawl echoed through the gloomy office, "please do not enlighten me."

"We will try," Harry chuckled before turning towards Tom, "care for a quick tour of the castle, Thomas?"

"And here I thought you would never ask," the Dark Lord chuckled before every bit of confidence vanished from his face as he slipped into his role. Fractions of a second later, the calculated predator that was the Dark Lord had vanished, being replaced by the façade of insecurity and shyness that was Thomas Nero Prince.

"Have fun," the Potion Master's familiar drawl reverberated after them as they left the office. Once they had dropped off Harry's trunk in the now second-year dormitories, the possessions of Thomas shrunken down, his Equal led the Dark Lord up towards the grand Entrance Hall of the ancient castle, pointing out a few rooms, passages, and paintings here and there.

Given that most inhabitants of the castle had just departed from London's Kings Cross station, the Entrance Hall, much like the dungeons, was deserted.

"Having fun, boys?" a familiar voice echoed through the previously assumed to be empty Entrance Hall, which apparently was not so empty after all given the steady sounds of sturdy leather boots on the well-trodden grand staircase.

Moments later, Bridget Hawthorne came into view, a genuine smile on her face. As always, she was dressed in duelling robes of the finest quality, her magic swirling around her, ready to attack at any given moment.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," the Historian smiled, "let's hope that this time, it will be better than the last. Thomas, how was your summer?"

"Go… good," Thomas stuttered, offering a faint smile to his future teacher, "I… I lea… learned quite a bit. Ha… Harry is a g… great teacher."

"That's good to hear," Bridget Hawthorne replied, the corners of her mouth curling upwards, "but given your performance a month ago, I sincerely doubt that you will have a difficult time here. Unless Mister Potter here did a terrible job at teaching you Transfigurations."

"No… of… of course not," Thomas answered, carefully staring at his feet, "he… he… is a… g… great teacher."

"Of course. If Mister Potter here is anything like he is in my class, you will earn your Transfiguration Mastery in no time," the Historian chuckled, her eyes sparkling with glee, "I hope he also taught you how to hold on to that broom. It looks fast. A Nimbus 2000 if I am not mistaken."

"I… I…. It is," Thomas began to stutter before Harry eventually had mercy with his protégé, "Yes, Professor Hawthorne, it is indeed a Nimbus 2000. It actually belongs to Draco, but he lent it to Thomas so that we could explore the grounds from above. Draco and I taught him how to fly although our instructions really were not necessary. Thomas is a natural as he has proven time and time again over the summer."

"Really? Should I take your word for granted, Mister Potter?" Bridget Hawthorne asked, although rather teasingly at that, "it is such a shame that I have a staff meeting to attend. Otherwise, I would dust my old Thunderblast and try to keep up with you in case one should fall off their broom."

"You own a Thunderblast?" Harry could not help but ask, "an original Japanese Thunderblast?"

"Yes," the Historian smiled, "as a matter of fact, I do."

"But… but," now it was his Equal's turn to stutter, "only 27 of them were ever made and almost all of them were used by the Japanese National Quidditch team. They are almost impossible-"

"I know," Bridget Hawthorne chuckled, "it was a gift from the former Japanese Chaser sensation Kazuchika Tanahashi in exchange for a bit of research of his ancestry."

"A bit of research," Harry asked, one eyebrow shooting upwards, "for an original Thunderblast?"

"Well, that bit of research might have coincidentally helped him retain his family's position against their biggest rivals, the Okada family," the historian shrugged her shoulders, "just a small coincidence really."

"I see," Harry replied to the smile, "does it still… you know… hold up?"

"Well, it certainly isn't a Nimbus, and it was manufactured more than twenty years ago," Bridget Hawthorne began to explain, her voice laden with mischief, "still, it flies remarkably well for a broom that age. At least if you know how to properly maintain such a magnificent creation and maybe improve a few thinks here and there to make up for its age. Of course, one should never tinker with their broom."

"Never," his Equal replied, trying his best to maintain a blank face, "nobody would ever do that."

"No," the historian chuckled before sighing, "as much as I would like to join you two, I am afraid that I must go now. Funny grown-up business to attend. Have fun and please stay on your broom."

With that, Bridget Hawthorne winked them goodbye and turned on her heels, heading towards the Great Hall. Internally musing, the Dark Lord and his Equal left the castle, their brooms shouldered and a light spring to their steps.

A few hours later, two sweaty, slightly dishevelled teenagers entered the Great Hall, equally wide grins etched on their faces. By that point, all eyes in the Great Hall with its vast ceiling were focussed on the pair.

"I am glad to see that you are still in one piece," the amused voice of Bridget Hawthorne greeted them, before anyone else could raise their voice, pointing towards two empty chairs opposite of her at the lone long table in the centre of the Great Hall the Hogwarts staff was currently sitting at, "did you have fun?"

While Thomas only smiled sheepishly in answer, intimidated by all the teachers present, Harry enthusiastically replied, "Oh yes, Professor Hawthorne. First, we flew a bit around the castle. Then, I showed Thomas the grounds and a bit of the Forbidden Forest, although we did not enter of course. We even flew over the lake and saw the giant squid before we played a bit of one-on-one Quidditch."

At the word 'Quidditch', Dumbledore's formally neutral expression morphed into a grimace, obviously not having anticipated this turn of event.

To overplay this rather awkward moment and the fact that he had noticed the Headmaster's shift of expression, the Dark Lord's eyes quickly moved over the table, looking for an opening, before stopping on an unfamiliar figure, seated on the left of Bridget Hawthorne, even further away from Dumbledore, "He… Hello si… sir. A… a… are you… Pro… Professor Lo… Lo… Lockhart?"

"If I were a wizard as busy as Gilderoy Lockhart, Mister Prince, I would not be here," the man with perfectly chiselled cheekbones and a razor-sharp jawline clad in the most exquisite Wizarding robes money could buy which obviously were of French origin given the fine black silk answered, "I am Perseus Selwyn, the new Professor of Muggle Studies. Therefore, I am afraid that we will not have the pleasure this year. Maybe next year, our paths will cross."

Next to the new Professor of Muggle Studies, the corners of Bridget Hawthorne's lips curled into a mischievous smile at the obvious jab.

"Mister Prince," the Headmaster raised his voice for the first time, trying to maintain his benevolent grandfatherly voice despite the looks of displeasure he was shooting towards the two latest additions to the staff, "I know that you must be excited to meet your new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, especially given his reputati"-

A coughing sound made Dumbledore stop in his explanation.

"Is everything alright, Professor Hawthorne?" the old fool asked with barely hidden displeasure.

"Eh… yes," the historian answered after one last cough for good measures, "I should not have eaten that lemon drop."

Trying his best to keep his face neutral, the Dark Lord watched the staring contest between Bridget Hawthorne and Albus to-many-names Dumbledore unfold. Sadly, Dumbledore pulled away after a few seconds.

"I see," the old fool eventually said, his voice icy before returning to his previous explanation and his grandfatherly tone, "Professor Lockhart is a very busy individual. Therefore, he could not join us sooner. He will be here by the time of our welcoming feast. You will meet him and learn from him in no ti-"

Dumbledore's voice broke at the silent laughter of his History of Magic Professor, "Did I say something funny, Professor Hawthorne?"

It certainly was not a secret that Bridget Hawthorne did not feel particularly enthusiastic about her future colleague, his abilities, and achievements.

"That was one sour lemon drop, Headmaster," the historian replied without a blink of her eye.

What followed could only be described as an awkward silence which was thankfully broken by Professor Flitwick, "Mister Prince, Mister Potter, what are your plans for the afternoon?"

"Professor," his Equal answered, eager to fill the silence, "I am going to show Thomas the castle, at least the most important parts so he hopefully will not get lost."

"How nice of you," Perseus Selwyn interjected, "I wish I could join you."

"Why, Professor?" Harry asked with a faint air of confusion, "did you not attend Hogwarts? Did you go to Ilvermorny?"

"Mister Potter, as someone who does not possess the gift of magic," the Professor of Muggle Studies answered, not bothering to hide the truth, "I never attended any of the great magical school. I spent most of my schooltime at Eton College before studying engineering at Oxford University. Although I am a member of the Wizengamot, I have mostly worked outside of the Wizarding world. This is my first time at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I did not know, Professor," his Equal said quietly, "Sir, if you want to, we could show you the cast-"

"While this is kind of you, Mister Potter," Perseus Selwyn cleared his throat with a smile on his face, "Professor McGonagall and Professor Hawthorne already offered to show me this magnificent castle. Therefore, I politely decline."

Once the awkward lunch had been declared to be over, the Dark Lord and his Equal quickly left the Great Hall and the explosive atmosphere within behind.

Over the next few hours, Thomas was shown around the castle. Since Hogwarts was quite large, he was first shown the quickest ways to the main classrooms, the owlery, the library, and the kitchens. Throughout the tour, they made sure to be seen by plenty of ghosts and paintings, as Harry did is best to explain the oddities of the castle while Thomas appeared to be completely mesmerized by the magic of the castle.

They continued their tour until the sun was already starting to set and the Hogwarts Express could not be too far away. They briefly retreated to the Slytherin Common Room to take a quick shower and to change into their school uniform – silver and green robes for Harry and plain black robes for Thomas. Although Thomas had not been sorted yet, the teachers would be too busy to notice that an unsorted student had entered one of the four common rooms.

Once they had fully changed into their robes, they quickly headed for the entrance hall. When they arrived, the large, airy space was deserted safe for the quiet, looming figure that was the Bloody Baron. While Harry appeared to be at ease with the scariest of all ghosts, Thomas kept throwing nervous glances at the Baron.

Under the threatening glares of the ghost, they did not have to wait for long.

"Mister Potter, Mister Prince," the stern voice of Minerva McGonagall echoed through the vast space, "just the two students I have been looking for. Mister Potter, you can enter the Great Hall. Mister Prince, stay with me while we wait for the new first years to arrive as you will be sorted together. "

"Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall cleared her throat before Harry could even open his mouth, "I think Mister Prince can stay without you for a while. I will keep an eye on him."

Not giving in to Harry's protest, the Dark Lord's Equal was eventually forced to leave. A few minutes after the heavy door of the Great Hall had been closed, the first students arrived, many of them throwing curious glances in Thomas direction. It was not every day that a student did not travel with the Hogwarts Express, least of all a student who was unsorted beyond first year.

Once Professor McGonagall had confiscated three dozen of dung bombs from the Weasley twins and the last students had entered the Great Hall, silence returned to the entrance hall. Given the company of Professor McGonagall, it was not a pleasant one.

Therefore, the Dark Lord was rather thankful when a loud knock at the door announced the arrival of Hagrid and the new batch of nervous first years. While the new body of the Dark Lord certainly was a bit underdeveloped for his taste, the new first years were tiny. Despite his meagre frame, Thomas was easily several inches taller than any of the new students. Before he could inspect the new first years, Professor McGonagall, never being one for pleasantries and unnecessary talk, quickly escorted them to a smaller chamber next to the Great Hall. The Deputy Headmistress curtly welcomed the new first years and shortly lectured them on the Sorting ceremony and the different houses, before telling them to wait for her return.

Thankfully, most first years were too occupied worrying about the upcoming sorting ceremony to pay much attention to the shy, tall boy who had not been on the Hogwarts Express and were thus ignoring him.

Well, except…

"Hullo, my Lord," a dreamy whisper barely reached his ear.

Still, even if the room had been filled with nothing but silence, the strange mesmerising magic next to him reminding the Dark Lord of the ancient creatures that had once ruled the face of the earth would have drowned the whispers.

Following the mesmerising waves of magic, the Dark Lord's eyes landed on a small petite frame. She was small, even for her age. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. While on the outside, the girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness, the Dark Lord was certain that it was just an act, just like the necklace of Butterbeer corks she was wearing.

Her magic simply gave her away, not that many would notice since most simply were not in tune enough with their magic. Far that, the waves were too subtle and most Witches and Wizards too blind. Thankfully, the Dark Lord was not amongst them.

"It is an honour to finally meet you, my Little Moon," the Dark Lord replied, having no idea why he had said the last two words. In fact, he only realised that he had said them once they had left his lips. It almost felt like Magic Herself had compelled him to do so.

Opposite of him, the lips of the dreamy Witch slowly curled into a smile.

The Dark Lord was about to reply that he was there to protect her and that she should try to get sorted into the same house as Tom, but Professor McGonagall's arrival forced him to abandon his endeavour. Moments later and escorted by a myriad of nervous first years, they passed through the threshold that was the large double door of the Great Hall, leaving no room to talk.

The countless candles above him and the sea of curious students dressed in black was just as he remembered, only this time, he tried to ignore the influx of magic, curious eyes, and excited whispers. Trying his best to project a mask of nervosity and awe on his face, Tom covertly kept his eyes on the petite witch.

"Is everything alright?" his Equal's faint, slightly concerned words reached him over the link.

"I found her," the Dark Lord mentally whispered back, "she is here."

"Who?" Harry immediately asked, a mixture of confusion and eagerness coating his voice.

"The descendant Lady Aurora spoke of," Tom whispered, still in awe at the gravity of the discovery, "she is here."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, she found me. She must have envisioned me," the Dark Lord explained quickly, "I also felt her magic. There is no denying that there is Elven blood running through her veins."

Before he could say more, the Sorting Hat had already started with his latest song. Although he had not intended to listen, the Dark Lord realised after a few seconds that it was the same song the Hat had sung when he had first started at Hogwarts. Sometimes, fate was a strange little thing – as if the Hat was in the known. Hopefully, this small detail would go unnoticed, especially by the Wizard sitting at the centre of the staff table watching his every move.

Once the Hat had stopped singing about the dangers of stagnation and the chance of progress, Professor McGonagall unrolled the list of names, and the first student was called to the front. Not paying much attention to the sorting, the Dark Lord's eyes flickered between the petite blonde whose name he did not know, Harry, and the staff table wondering, whether Thomas Prince would be called to the front when it was his turn in the alphabet or after all first years had been sorted since he was older. Unfortunately, seven years of having studied at Hogwarts did not provide him with an answer since there had never been a transfer student back in his day despite the Wizarding War raging havoc across most of Europe.

A small tumult at the front forced him to abandon his thoughts on the lack of transfer student as a small boy with mousy brown hair and a Muggle camera hanging around his neck called Colin Creevy started arguing with Professor McGonagall about his sorting, refusing to head for the Gryffindor table. Instead, the small boy loudly demanded to be allowed to sit at the Slytherin table because the famous Harry Potter was there.

While a spark of jealousy flashed through the Dark Lord, his Equal appeared to be consumed by a wave of anger at the words of the small boy who obviously was a Muggleborn and his audacity to demand to be close to someone like him.

In the end, Professor McGonagall ordered Creevey to sit at the House table he was sorted to. Otherwise, there would be severe consequences. Eventually, the stubborn new lion complied, although rather reluctantly and the Sorting continued.

Well, either there had been no young Witches and Wizards and thus, no transfer students, which the Dark Lord sincerely doubted, or the affected students had been sent to other magical schools instead, or worse, Hogwarts had refused to accept any foreign students. Regardless of the real reason behind the lack of foreign transfer students, it could not mean anything good.

Just when he started to wonder what role Dumbledore had played in this mystery, Professor McGonagall's stern voice cut through the Great Hall and the petite blonde began to move.

Her name was Luna Lovegood.

The name Lovegood rang a bell. As far as he was aware, the main family line was headed by the rather eccentric Xenophilius Lovegood who was the editor of the equally eccentric magazine The Quibbler, one of the lesser, obscurer newspapers of Wizarding Britain. He had married a Witch who went by the name Pandora. Besides that, little was known about the mysterious Witch apart that she liked to experiment with spells. Besides that, Tom realised that he did not know anything about her ancestry.

Hoping that they would be sorted in the same house for the sake of her protection, the Dark Lord looked up just in time to see the Sorting Head open its mouth, "RAVENCLAW!"

Not letting her mask of dreaminess slip for one second, the petite blonde skipped over to the blue and bronze table, not caring a bit about the hundreds of eyes staring at her with a mixture of disgust and confusion. Even at the Ravenclaw table, her housemates kept their distance, leaving plenty of space between themselves and the petite blonde – not a good start.

The sorting certainly did complicate things. If it had not been for Harry, Tom might have tried to aim for Ravenclaw, too. Given their special connection, the thought of being separated from each other for possibly six years was more than slightly unappealing.

It was unbearable.

When the name Prince was skipped during the Sorting, he was almost relieved, thankful for the additional time he had been gifted.

There was just no way that the Dark Lord and his Equal would voluntarily be separated., especially for such a long time, even for an important cause such as protecting a descendent of the Ice Elves. They would somehow manage to fulfil their vow regardless of the hurdle. There would be a way.

As he thought more and more about the situation, the circle of students thinned until there was only one small red-haired Witch left, her hair, freckles, and faded robes giving her away as a Weasley. His assumption was almost immediately confirmed. When Ginevra Weasley was called to the front, he could not help but remark that the youngest Weasley to grace the walls of Hogwarts appeared to be rather tired as her magic was swirling around her in uncontrolled torrents.

Then, her head disappeared under the far too big Sorting Hat. Unlike the countless Weasleys he had witnessed being sorted in the past, the Hat did not immediately open his mouth. While it appeared like the Hat had been about to open given the slight twitch of the Hat, there was a strange although faint spike of magic erupting from the Weasley girl.

Before he could investigate the strange spike, it was already gone and the Hat suddenly opened his mouth, proclaiming, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Weasley girl had not sat down yet when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, "As it may have come to your attention, we have a transfer student this year. Thomas Prince was previously home-schooled and will join our second years. Mister Prince, please come to the front."

With all eyes on him, the Dark Lord slowly made his way to the front, keeping his eyes down and making sure that his feet were occasionally dragging over the floor, making him almost tumble once.

Eventually, he had passed Professor McGonagall and slowly sat down on the rickety three-legged chair. Moments later, he felt the magic of the Sorting Hat and in turn the magic of the Founders running through his veins.

"Hello, old friend," a familiar voice spoke, "I was curious when I would see you again, although I had hoped the circumstances would be better."

"One could say that," Tom replied dryly.

"However, I cannot express how glad I am that you have returned," the unmistakeable voice of the Sorting Hat continued, "the castle needs you. And Mister Potter of course."

"Is it that bad?" the Dark Lord asked.

"You already know the answer," the Sorting Hat whispered, sounding sad and rather heartbroken, "You have felt the castle. If it continues much longer than this, the wards of the castle will fail. This cannot happen. Under no circumstances should this be allowed to happen."

"It will not happen," the Dark Lord replied sternly, "we will not let it happen. This castle must be protected."

"With you, it hopefully will be," the Hat's voice echoed through his mind, "it was nice talking to you again, Lord SLYTHERIN!"

The last word echoed loudly through the hall.

The Dark Lord was home again.