Beta: lil'hawkeye3, thank you!
"Wiping the floor with a bird" had just gotten a new meaning for Ragnar Lestrange. The wizard had been trying to decipher his most charismatic friend, who was casually explaining the fire-making spell to Avery, when his fiancée – well, according to them, they weren't engaged, but everyone else thought so – slammed open the large doors of the Great Hall and dodged a disarming spell.
What followed afterward was a mixture of intelligent use of spells they had learnt that year by a Slytherin and a bunch of complicated spells by a Ravenclaw. The most intriguing fact was how basic Anya's spells were – anyone who had seen the books the witch read, or her wand practicing – could pinpoint the fact that her knowledge was much deeper than that. The heir of the Lestranges followed the girl's glance to the teachers at the Head Table with interest. Intriguing.
The girl quickly transfigured the arrows the Ravenclaw had summoned into birds with the Aviafors spell. Kneeler tried to hit Anya with the Curse of Bogies, but again the emerald-eyed witch dodged it.
"Serpensortia!" Elizabeth Kneeler enchanted, summoning a snake from the tip of her wand.
Anya conjured a jet of flames at the other's feet with a mutter of "Incendio," and taking advantage of the blonde's distraction, the Slytherin jinxed her opponent with the Knockback jinx.
"Spogify," Anya charmed, making the floor in which her attacker was falling bouncy enough to repel the freckled girl like a trampoline. Anya seized the other's surprise at her return to illuminate the tip of her wand directly over Kneeler's eyes.
Anya took the wand of the dazed Ravenclaw's hand with a smirk, just remembering the summoned snake after defeating the other. It was an adder, venomous, and it had just approached an Eoessa Cadogan, who had just opened the doors of the Great Hall.
The worst of it was than in the confusion of Anya's and Kneeler's little fight, the thing seemed a bit agitated. The look of bewilderment in the eyes of Ragnar's housemate substituted the winning smirk she had before.
And then, Anya hissed.
The snake stopped dead on its tracks and Ragnar could only think that maybe he should be more careful with Riddle's fiancée. But his trail of thoughts was interrupted when the bitchy Ravenclaw shrieked. "See! She is dark, evil! She is going to kill us all, the serpent who hisses!" The girl wept loudly. "It is going to attack us in our beds, it's going to bury us in snow." The girl cackled, throwing herself in the floor, her hands reaching for something nobody else could see.
Tom got up to his feet, deciding to use that moment to reveal his abilities as well. He approached Anya and hissed to the snake before vanishing it into a puff of black smoke as the blonde Ravenclaw yelled out loud, grabbing his ankle and spitting on it.
Tom shook the half-crazed girl off with a jerk, as if she was just filth in his feet. And maybe she was.
"Are you accusing the founder of my house of being a dark lord, Ms. Kneeler?" Professor Slughorn spoke up, walking to where Anya was. Tom did as well, reaching his partner first and vanishing the snake into a puff of black smoke.
"Are you saying that Paracelsus was an evil wizard, Ms. Kneeler?" Tom questioned. "Are you saying that I and Anya are evil? Because we can speak with snakes – a non-magical reptile?" He said with amusement.
"Tom is right. Being a Parselmouth is a gift, and we would do well to remember that." The headmaster said as he also got up. "Attacking a fellow student – a fellow witch – behind her back, however, is a despicable behaviour that won't be accepted in Hogwarts. All involved are to accompany Professor Dumbledore to my office."
Tom and Anya easily approached the Deputy Headmaster, but the same couldn't be said of the Ravenclaw, who seemed to have lost any trace of sanity she had had, and was now mumbling in the middle of room, shivering. Tom, Anya noticed, seemed strangely satisfied by the whole incident. When their Transfiguration teacher was obliged to stun the girl and levitate her, Anya was sure that her partner was making a meaningful effort to contain his glee.
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It was impossible to tell how the others houses would react to the news of Anya and Tom being Parselmouths after the headmaster had chastised Elizabeth Kneeler in public – and sent her to St. Mungos, as she had apparently lost her mind – but in Slytherin, the students threw a party worthy of a victory by the Quidditch Team as soon as the Parselmouths returned from the Headmaster Office (in which they had had a meeting with Dippet, Dumbledore and Slughorn to sort things out). Tom had left the office with an evil grin on his face, his delight obvious to anyone who cared to watch.
Anya was also pretty excited to see the faces of their fellow students when the headmaster announced at the breakfast of the next morning that they would have one less student in their year, as she was being interned in the Janus Thickey Ward. It was hard to contain such excitement and telling their housemates the truth; however, she remembered seconds before almost slipping it to Orion- it was in name of mirth.
The fifth-year prefect Tamora Prewett had summoned a grass snake and they would talk with it once in a while. The snake adored the ground the Parselmouths walked on like most of them did, so Anya left most of talking to Tom, not really interested in the snake's words.
"So, will you be marrying your cousin?" Anya almost choked with her chocolate liqueur when she heard Dorea's question. "What?!" She shouted, attracting the attention of everyone around the common room.
"Well, you don't really look like brother and sister, but Parseltongue runs in the family, you know." Dorea pointed out.
"Indeed. Actually, is Britain, there is only known Parselmouth, the founder of our house. You must be descendants of Salazar Slytherin!" Orion seemed to notice.
"Yes, genius. It's mainly because of that we are celebrating; don't tell me you just realized it." Dorea chastised, and if the ashamed expressions around the common room were anything to go by, Orion wasn't the only one.
"Your mothers were cousins, weren't they? I remember you talking about something like that in day we meet." Orion said, ignoring Dorea's comment. "You didn't remember that, did you, genius?"
"Alright you two." Ragnar intervened. "So, it comes from your maternal side of family. Did your father know that he was marrying a Parseltongue? What does he does by the way?"
"I don't think he knew, we keep it a secret usually. I apologize for not telling you before, speaking of it." Tom told them with a sheepishly look that Anya knew very well to be fake. "And he works in the real estate sector."
"Oh, a true lord then." Abraxas commented.
"Indeed." Tom made sure to look thoughtful before standing up. "Actually, I need to ask him about it, now."
"Remember the curfew starts in forty minutes, Riddle." The fifth-year prefect called out. "No need to have our points deducted. The ravens may be out of the game, but we still have the badgers and lions to worry."
"You may lose your sleep over Puffs and Griffins, Prewett, but I will stick to my sleep beauty." Tom said before closing the door. A look from the female prefect made Anya rise up her feet too, although she did it with reluctance. "I suppose my parents will have an interesting information to offer, as well. And someone give a rat to the snake, it is begging for one."
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The descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Tom had never thought that he and Anya could be related, and more than that, that they could be related to one of the founders of Hogwarts – admittedly, he had never researched much about their abilities without a wand except Anya's seer abilities; he had no idea that they could be that rare.
That changed everything in his research on their families.
He knew a bit about how bigoted against muggles his ancestor was. There was no way the family of the descendants of Salazar Slytherin would mingle with muggles – his mother had to be magical, his father would never had approached a muggle. Maybe she was really weak-powered. Perhaps she had been the target of some curse – a curse which she had been hit with at the end of her pregnancy. It was possible that it had happened during a combat, and his father had been killed in it as well.
So, his parents were…weak?
Tom contained a grimace, watching students walking to their dorms from the Great Hall as he headed to the Library in order to get some books on his ancestor. No, his parents couldn't be weak; after all they shared the same blood of the one of the greatest wizards of history, Tom.
No, that couldn't be. Maybe they had killed each other? It was a possibility.
Tom knew that Madam Litruth, the librarian, was in her chambers by now, as the Library closed at 8 p.m. With a quick unlocking charm, Tom opened a gap on the doors and slipped inside.
Waving his hand, he summoned all books in the Library that had a paragraph at least on Salazar Slytherin and a mention of Parseltongue. Almost a hundred books flied in the direction of one of the tables. Great, now he had to sort them out and make a copy of those he wished to take with the doubling charm.
Tom decided he had enough reading material twenty minutes later and banishing the books to their shelves, he sighed. Thanks Merlin for the undetectable extension charms, or else he would have a lot of difficult carrying all those books around.
A snicker behind him made him turn on his heels to look at his partner-in-crime. "He works in the real estate sector? What a fancy way to say that Mr. Riddle is just more a lazy pureblood lord who does nothing more than rent lands and live on his family money."
"Well, not all of us are hard-workers like Aunt Harisa and Uncle Sigmund." He pointed out, arching his eyebrows to Anya. "How are your parents by the way?"
"Wonderful." She lied, reaching for strand of hair in his forehead. "Too long, I will cut it latter." She decided. "They are making a fortune with Blibbering Humdingers choirs. Frankly, I cannot believe how someone would appreciate their music, it's dreadful. But who am I to disagree?"
"Blibbering Humdingers?"
"You don't know them? Oh, what would Salazar think of such illiteracy? The Quibbler published an entire article about them!" Her hands held Tom's shoulders and Anya wrapped her legs around his waist. "Carry me." She ordered.
"That's unladylike-"
"Hush!"
"As you wish, my fair lady." Behind him, Anya grinned. There were very few times you could take advantage of Tom, one of them being when he was in the process of redemption. Of course, he only allowed someone to take advantage of him if one was as nonsensical as Anya, otherwise, he would deny one's requests completely. "Back to the matter, the Quibbler? That journal to half-insane, half-mad and half-crazy asylum residents?"
Anya laughed. "That one. Speaking of half-crazy asylum residents, I wonder what happened to Kneeler. Laws actually mentioned her weird behaviour, but she forgot to mention that she had turned out to be insane."
They walked through the dungeons for a little more, until they reached the Slytherin dorm. Before, they entered, though, Tom pulled her aside and asked in a whisper: "Have you had any dreams?"
"I would have given you the notebook but I had none." She lied, not feeling like sharing the dream she had had at the garden while modelling. It wasn't about Germany, anyway.
"Have them tonight."
"Yes, sir."
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The Slug Club. A club for the most promising young witches and wizard out of the British Wizarding World. An honour and an exclusiveness, everyone who had been part of it had found a place in this narrow and selective world. To the best, to the brightest.
An anthem of connections.
He smirked, watching the collection his professor had gathered through the years: the Gryffindor Quidditch star, Ezra Campbell, a half-blood who was said to have a contract with the Montrose Magpies already; the son of the current Minister for Magic, Albrecht Fawley, a Hufflepuff fifth year; Georgiana Moon, the half-blood niece of the rising in office Leonard Spencer-Moon, who was said to be a brilliant Ravenclaw fifth year; Blishwick, who Tom suspected only had been invited because of the fact he belonged to Slughorn's house team; the half-blood son of an unspeakable, a third-year Gryffindor boy named Levin Stanley; the heir of the Prewetts, Ignatius, a seventh year raven. He recognized Euphemia Cadogan with her boyfriend; the heir of the Notts, Caelum; the Burke scion, Ferbus; as expected, all Blacks seemed present; and every pureblood heir Slughorn could get his hands on.
Tom was aware he was part of the most exciting conversation in the ballroom – he was pretty sure that if Slughorn hadn't been dancing with Madam Bagshot he would have come to them already. Fawley's father was constantly being criticized by political analysts due to his inattention to the turmoil in the German government; and some were even suggesting a vote of no-confidence towards the current Minister and his replacement by Moon's uncle. The tension between the fifth year badger's and raven's houses was palpable – worse than the Slytherin/Gryffindor feud some said – but not worse than the tension between Georgiana Moon and Albrecht Fawley.
Their current subject of their talk was the prohibition of the use of flying carpets – one of the oldest law projects that no pure-blood conservationists wanted to approve. "The muggles have developed an engine called aircrafts which allow them to fly in the air, and soon they will perfect a device that allows them to detect flying objects near it which they call radar. In such scenery, you want to allow wizards to fly around their magical carpets?" Moon spoke in a jesting manner.
"What's the problem? Nobody in the other countries worries over it! Why should we?"
Tom contained his sneer at the poor eloquence of the teenager. Frankly, how did he intend to ascertain his point with such argument? "First of all, because such device is being mainly developed in England. After that, I must point out that we are famous for being pioneers, why shouldn't we be the first to act?"
"So you are with the filthy blood-traitor, congrats, why don't you stop destroying our culture with your muggle beliefs?" Fawley scoffed.
"I assure you that I have no reason to love muggles, and that Ms. Moon was only pointing out their threat." Tom defended. Honestly, who would call him, the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, a muggle-lover? Fawley was reminded of it with his nearly hissing manner, the blood rising into his cheeks as he understood how serious his accusation was.
Parseltongue seemed to have rather different levels of acceptance around the school. Because of Slughorn's and Dippet's defence of them in the Great Hall, most students weren't open to showing their dislike, and actually, the only ones seemingly really disgusted by their abilities were those of extreme-light families – who Tom couldn't care less about, with their fascination for muggles. The remainder of the school could only think that while Herpo the Foul had been truly evil, Paracelsus was a great wizard, and Salazar Slytherin…well, he had founded the school so they couldn't really talk ill about him. Aside from those three, there was no one else who had been a Parselmouth for sure.
And because of that, most students had accepted their ability, like those who accept a Metamorphmagus, or natural born Mermish-speakers, or natural-born Occlumens.
"Aw, you are so cute when you try to talk about things you don't understand." Georgiana said at to Fawley. "I can see you have set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public, but why don't you go to people who will find it funny instead of deplorable?"
Tom snorted at that, together with all those who were discretely listening to them. Talk about sharp tongue. The Hufflepuff's face reddened again, but this times probably more in anger than in embarrassment; Tom and Moon watched the boy leave with a huff.
Georgiana Moon was a dark-skinned slender girl whose voluminous curls of hair framed her face, pinned to her head. With her sonorous laughter, she faced the first year in front of her. "Thanks for the help; Merlin, he is so annoying. It's refreshing to see a pureblood heir who doesn't fear defending muggles and despising them at the same time. Actually, it's refreshing to see someone like you, Riddle."
"Ms Moon, I assure you that you are the refreshing one out of us – the daughter of a politician speaking out her mind, and standing up for her thoughts? That is…revolutionary."
She snorted. "Call me Georgiana, Riddle, Miss Moon sounds too lyrical to my tastes." She took a sip of her daisyroot draught and Tom reflected the action with his quintin black. "Don't think you have managed to dazzle me yet, Riddle, but if you prove good enough, maybe I will allow you some opportunities to do it."
"As you wish, Georgiana." He said, rising his glass as a salutation as she walked in the direction of her housemates.
Meanwhile, in the other side of the chamber, Anya was surrounded by the group of scholars. Mr. Switch, a transfiguration master; Mr. Pollingtonious, a healer who had authored The Healer's Helpmate; Mr. Waffling, a magical theoretician; Mr. Marwood, a linguist and writer; Mrs. Stitch, a charms mistress; and the last in the group, Madam LaFolle, to whom all the others were kind enough to not expel from the group of scholar, even if she was only the author of the best-selling fictional series of romances, Enchanted Encounters.
In the middle of them, shorter than even her twelve-years old self, was Ragnok the Pigeon Toad, a goblin activist and author.
One could wonder what a first-year was doing in the middle of this group and one's answer would be discussing with Mr. Waffling, Mr. Marwood and Ragnok the pros and cons of their languages of choice – Latin, Mermish, Gobbledegook respectively, Anya's being Parseltongue.
"I see your point, Ms. Donbyre, but of course you must know that your language is impossible to be taught, or learnt. Latin otherwise is the source of every spell used in England nowadays." Mr. Waffling had reasoned.
"Please call me Nastya, I'm far too young. I can see your point very well, Mr. Waffling, I myself take Ancient Studies and I must say they come in handy. However, most Latin-spells' purposes can be deduced without further knowledge, simply by the colour of them or by the similarities of the language with English. There are several theories about which creatures speak Parseltongue aside common snakes – sea serpents, Selmas, Occamys, cockatrices, Basilisks, Runespoors, Ashwinders, and even the legendary Jabberwocky or dragons. I have never come to meet any of those creatures, of course, but ask any magizoologist, every dragonologist and each cryptologist in the world if they wouldn't like to take these studies further and you will see my point." She stated with an excited smile.
"You are right, my girl, and I must encourage you to accompany one magizoologist in their travels and discover the boundaries of your powers." Mr. Marwood had said amiability. "I guess I will be forced to stay with Merpeople however, and engage further in my capacities. If you feel like learning more about them, I will be glad to help. And I will be honoured if you share some of your discoveries with me." He winked at her, his grey goatee contrasting with his tanned skin and defined muscles – something strange to find in an over-middle-aged man like him.
"Of course, sires. I would be very pleased to learn all your languages- there isn't, after all, a space in mind that cannot be occupied."
"As soon as you need, Nastya. My race has big dreams, and I know we can make use of them to our mutual advantage." Ragnok declared. "I'm very sure that the day you find a cockatrice, it will be very profitable, meanwhile, I would like to add that the Jabberwocky isn't the only legendary creature in our list." He had provoked good-naturedly, to the amusement of all. Anya was almost sure that goblins were different than him, but perhaps for being an activist, the man – because he was a man, even if he wasn't human – had adapted to the environment.
"An experiment then, in order to freak out more ignorant minds." Mr. Waffling had proposed. "One phrase from each other, one language from each other – and we will recreate the most perfect Babel Tower."
Probably because Mr. Marwood was a pureblood and Ragnok a goblin, none of the two had understood the reference. But Anya had laughed, because it was so weird to think of those scholars joking around. And they did it, talked their own languages and watched as the others stared at them. It was a rather perfect Tower of Babel, except for not being abandoned.
Someone touched her shoulder, and the younger witch understood the subtle touch as a signal to walk out of their circle. The girl turned on her heels to face his indigo eyes of Tom, wearing the linen and goldwork embroidery robes he had received from his supposed father – which he had actually won from her, bought with stolen money, and delivered by a random owl of the owl post in the breakfast of his birthday. "Dance with me." He demanded.
"Well, sires. It seems my fellow Parselmouth wants to recreate the dance of serpents" She said, cheeky, bidding them farewell as Tom already dragged her to the dancefloor and waited for the beginning of a foxtrot.
Neither of them had ever had a dance instructor (not that anyone could expect orphans to have one) but as most people who were left to wander in London at the 1930s, they had the ingrained knowledge of how to dance foxtrot, jazz and even some ragtime and waltz. Certainly, they had never danced wizarding compositions – but despite all, wizards seemed to be greatly influenced by muggle music.
They danced in silence, beautifully, one, two, three songs – Tom's grip of her hand never loosening to her.
"Well, this is our fourth dance. It wasn't just one?" She inquired between breaths as she did the so-called Charleston. "Merlin, this dance has been out of fashion for ten years! Why am I dancing it?"
"Because all pure-bloods are." Tom whispered to her, and in fact they were. It was quite interesting to watch a bunch of stuck-up bigoted purebloods swinging their arms and kicking up their heels. It was fun. "If you feel so disgusted dancing with me, then stop at the next song." And stop they did, mainly because they had no energies left to dance more and because they had no idea how to dance a mazurka.
Anya walked to Dorea, who had also left the dance-floor with Abraxas, Tom following her closely behind. "You two are good dancers. And what was that with the special guests?" The Black girl asked, taking a glass a house elf had offered her.
"We were exchanging promises of teaching one another a new language; I think I will start with Mermish. Next year I will be found around the Great Lake talking with Merpeople, do you think they will lock me into St. Mungos's Janus Thickey Ward?"
"Probably." The other witch agreed. "But then Kneeler might try to murder you again."
"That would be unfortunate. Are you going to drink this?" Anya questioned, breathless.
"You can have it, if you want." Dorea gave her the stemware. "It's gillywater."
"It will do." Anya assured her, swallowing the contents of the entire glass in one gulp and making a face. "As foul-tasting as always – or worse."
"If you don't like it, why did you drink?" Dorea inquired.
"I was thirsty." She explained, shrugging.
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Anya watched as a sixth year ripped his heart of his chest and felt into his knees, trying to reach for the young, beautiful, beating heart at the floor. She exchanged a smile with Tom over the scene, doubting very much that all those purebloods in the Great Hall knew they were listening to a muggle piece, Danse Macabre.
Her bow stroke the cello in the final minute of the composition, at the same time the warlock played by the sixth year Ravenclaw, Andrew Grainger, grabbed the maiden's heart. The members of her string quarter seemed to be only ones to not be paying much attention to the dramatic scene. Wayne Mason-Buckley, a muggleborn third year Gryffindor, the viola player, was deeply focused at the sounds of his viola. Anne Harris, the other violinist, was determined to look anywhere else.
The warlock died across the maiden's dead body with one heart at each hand and they ceased their song, watching as the upperclassmen uncovered the eyes of the younger kids and started to clap, because – despite the fact it was a gruesome play, it had been acted beautifully, and Anya liked to think they had played well. The dead maiden seemed to wake back to life with a satisfied grin, and Mirena Hewitt, her player, thanked the applause with a deep bow.
She stepped the balcony and traded smiles and waves with her classmates. It had been the best year of her life probably, even with the assassination attempts and everything else. Magical, almost. She and Tom had the best grades of their year, followed by half of the Ravenclaw house – as expected. They were respected, a feeling she hadn't known before Hogwarts. Parseltongue aside, fights aside, feuds aside, they have found a home.
"If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with."
Anya smiled. Maybe she could find happiness there after all.
End of the first year.
A/N update: Hey, I won't be publishing another chapter until I reach fifty reviews, so review! This is a demand! :p