January 1943, 5th year
There was a girl crying in the bathroom and although Naenia should have done something about it – she was a prefect, after all – she just did not have any sympathy in her for this. So she turned on her heel and left.
There had been enough turmoil she had had to deal with recently, because there had been some nasty incidents just after the new term had begun. There were only rumours going around, no one was really sure what had transpired. Even the victims, three second-year Gryffindors, could not recall what had happened to them.
They were muggleborn, all three of them, and that meant the Slytherins were immediately suspicious. Naenia couldn't blame the rest of the school – it wasn't like their reputation was unfounded – and she was used to being treated with a healthy dose of wariness, so nothing really changed for her, personally.
The same could not be said for all of her housemates. They were Slytherins, they could not afford to show any sign of weakness, but she saw how it chafed at some of them. Her personal friends were either unbothered or hid their true feelings well, so she didn't pay it much heed.
As a prefect, on the other hand, she had responsibilities. And while those did not necessarily mean she had to comfort random girls in bathrooms, it meant she had to deal with nasty incidents happening to unsuspecting Slytherins.
There were most likely some stupid Gryffindors behind them, but they hadn't gathered any evidence yet and Professor Dumbledore, who was Head of Gryffindor House, neither liked Naenia nor Tom very much, never mind the Slytherins as a whole. He probably wouldn't believe them even if they had evidence. Three of his own students were lying in the Hospital Wing and that was reason enough to turn a blind eye on the incidents happening to some Slytherins who were so obviously guilty and deserved it.
Naenia was, maybe, just slightly annoyed.
This was nothing new, she had to remind herself. Slytherins, the younger ones in particular, were advised to never be seen alone in the corridors their first day at Hogwarts for a reason and the prefects were constantly watching over the others, to make sure the worst could be prevented.
She still hated being a prefect. It forced her to look out for others and Naenia could not muster up the empathy for it. Unlike her Hufflepuff friend and fellow prefect, Amelia, who had gladly promised to help the moment Naenia had brought the topic up.
Maybe she should tell Amelia about the crying girl. Amelia would be able to deal with it in an instant.
Tom fulfilled his duties with the same ease and willingness the Hufflepuff displayed, although his reasons were much more calculated and less out of honest sympathy. (Naenia doubted he had any sympathy in him at all.)
And he was awarded for it. The handsome model student. The poor, but brilliant orphan boy. Tom took full advantage of his image and his flock secretly snickered amongst themselves while Naenia just rolled her eyes and ignored the whole drama.
Well, it had its benefits for her, too. For one, Tom did not neglect his prefect duties in the slightest, even went so far as to do more than necessary just to look good. For another, doing most of her work with him made it way easier than had she been on her own.
This became apparent to her once again, when she came across Malfoy standing over a younger student, wand raised and the word 'Mudblood' on his lips.
She had been on her way to meet Amelia for one of their walks across the grounds, when she rounded a corner and found the scene unfolding before her.
Naenia glanced at the cowering boy, then back at Malfoy who had noticed her presence.
"Honestly, Malfoy. Could you sink any lower?" she said coldly.
Malfoy immediately straightened, but didn't lower his wand. "Lémure, surely I misunderstood. You can't be implying –"
"That you're a prat? Oh, but I am." Naenia flicked her wrist and his wand went flying. She caught it out of the air, before crouching down to the smaller boy. "Are you alright? Do you want me to bring you to your common room or the Hospital Wing?"
The little boy stared at her, trembling, then his eyes fell on her badge. He did not relax in the slightest. Nor did he answer her.
"Lémure," Malfoy growled.
Naenia sighed and stood up again. "Five points from Slytherin, for insulting another student. Another five points taken for physically harming him."
"You can't be serious!" Malfoy spluttered. "Taking points from you own house?! Because of a –"
"Don't," Naenia said in a dangerously low voice, "even think about finishing that sentence."
"A pureblood!" the blonde exclaimed, outraged. "Such insolent behaviour from you of all people!"
"Do you want to make the situation worse?" Naenia hissed. "With everything that has been happening lately because of those Gryffindors, you should really behave more responsibly. The younger Slytherins have all been suffering immensely and it is behaviour like this that has caused the rest of the school to treat us with contempt."
Malfoy snatched the wand Naenia was offering him.
"Riddle will hear about this," he hissed back and the turned on his heel.
"All are equal in death, Malfoy," Naenia said, knowing he could still hear her. "You would do well to remember that."
Then she turned back to the young boy, still quivering on the ground.
"Come on, up with you."
That, at last, seemed to get him moving and he scrambled up, hastening to get away from her.
Naenia could only shake her head. If he was muggleborn, then his fear did not come from her family name. Was she truly so scary after all? Maybe it was the Slytherin tie.
True to his word, Tom did hear about the incident from Malfoy, but he reacted as Naenia had predicted and not as Malfoy had hoped. Naenia didn't know what Tom did to Malfoy, but the boy came to her with a forced apology on his lips and Naenia didn't catch him harassing any student again.
That did not mean that he had stopped altogether, just that he was not doing it openly anymore. It was something, at least.
Ꝋ
"I have found him," Tom said and Naenia looked up from her potions essay.
She glanced around the library and then performed a silencing charm.
"Found who?"
"Morfin Gaunt," Tom read from the scroll lying in front of him, "arrested 1925 for assaulting several Magical Law Enforcement Officers. Sentenced to three years in Azkaban."
"Morfin," Naenia repeated. "Marvolo Gaunt's son, I presume?"
"Yes," Tom said. "Marvolo Gaunt was arrested on the same day, sentenced to six months." He skimmed the rest of the parchment. "It says something here about a daughter, must have been my mother. They even list their address."
"Do you think he's still alive, Morfin?"
Tom shrugged. "Maybe. Who knows?"
"Are you going to search for him?"
Tom did not answer. He kept staring at the scroll, apparently deep in thought, and Naenia let him. She had homework to finish.
Tom didn't bring it up again and Naenia didn't ask. There was not much he could do about it while he was in school anyway. She wondered whether he would visit the address over the summer and how he would afford it. He was still underage and bound to the Muggle orphanage, after all. But then again, he probably had gathered enough funds or items he could sell from his various admirers, as it occurred to her that very same evening, when they were sitting in the common room.
It was just the fifth years for once, and they had gathered in their usual place in front of one of the fireplaces. Tom had directed Naenia to sit on one of the couches with him, instead of separate armchairs like the usually did.
Avery and Lestrange still had to do their homework, occasionally asking Tom or even Naenia for advice, while the two of them were enjoying some light reading for themselves.
Naenia looked up from her book when she heard some rustling beside her and saw that Tom had pulled out a chocolate bar from somewhere. He was looking very pleased with himself.
"You like chocolate?" Naenia asked astonished.
Tom arched an eyebrow. "Everyone likes chocolate."
Well, that was true, but she had never seen him enjoy some chocolate.
When Naenia trained her gaze back on him, she was surprised to find a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.
Deciding not to comment on it, she asked, "Aren't you worried it might be poisoned?"
"Do you want a bite?" Tom said in lieu of answering and broke off a piece, offering it to her.
Naenia took her time eating the chocolate. She let it melt in her mouth, let the bitterness unfold itself and –
"Is that chili?" she asked.
Tom nodded. "It was a birthday present."
Naenia blinked. "You receive birthday presents?"
He smirked and looked, if possible, even more pleased with himself. "And Christmas presents. Do you not?"
The only presents she had ever noticed him receiving had been a tome that she, herself, had given him and the dress robes which he had received before Christmas.
"I don't celebrate Christmas, do I?" she said.
And no one except Tom had known when her birthday was until it had already been over.
"That is true," Tom said and looked at his chocolate bar contemplatively. "It's supposed to help against the aftereffects of encountering a Dementor." He gave her a curious look. "Have you ever encountered a Dementor?"
Naenia couldn't say that she had. Dementors and Necromancers didn't mix very well.
"Are they not linked to Necromancy?" Tom inquired further.
"Not at all."
He hummed, looking at her thoughtfully.
Naenia sighed. "One might think so, judging by their physical appearance and reputation, but they're really not. Dementors are vile creatures that dishonour Death. We do not want to have anything to do with them."
"I can see that," Tom said slowly, still not quite convinced.
"We try to stay clear of them in general," Naenia continued. "Not just because of their nature, but also because we are incapable of casting the Patronus charm."
Another thing that fed into their bad reputation, because people thought one had to be pure of heart to be able to successfully cast a Patronus. Which was untrue. The Lémures were merely too apathetic. Although Naenia doubted that an undead Necromancer would be able to cast one, even if they were experiencing emotions as vibrant as any other person.
"Wait," Lestrange said, looking up from his half-finished essay, "that's true?"
Naenia raised an eyebrow at him. "Is anyone in your family able to cast a Patronus?"
"Well, no, but –" He paused. "You know what? Never mind."
Naenia smiled to show him she hadn't been offended by his remark and Lestrange went back to his task. Avery, who had clearly been listening in, turned a page from his Transfiguration book.
Tom cocked his head. "Would a Dementor's kiss even work on a Necromancer?"
Naenia shrugged. "I don't know. On a living one such as myself – most certainly. On an Undead – I have no idea."
Tom leaned closer to Naenia and let his side rest lightly against hers. They resumed reading after that.
The next morning, the Great Hall was filled with whispers and furtive glances to the Slytherin table once again. There had been another incident in the night, but it soon turned out that the student in question had just been stupid. Some Hagrid, a third-year Gryffindor boy, had sneaked into the Forbidden Forest because he had wanted to wrestle Trolls and landed himself in the Hospital Wing.
At least no one could blame the Slytherins for that.
With all the homework the teachers assigned them in preparation for the O.W.L.s, prefect duties, Slug Club meetings and attending the Duelling Club, Naenia had already more than enough to do. Tensions between houses were never good and she preferred a peaceful school, if only because it meant less work for her.
Though no one was as busy as the seventh years, Black and Mulciber, who were both known for avoiding the library as much as possible and could barely be seen outside it these days – and when, then it was mostly on the Quidditch pitch.
As Naenia was quite often in the library, too, that wasn't really much of a problem. They had managed to wrangle a permission from the librarian to continue using charmed study group tables, so they didn't have to worry about being too loud. The librarian had been very reluctant about it, but with some flattery and charm – mostly Tom's – they had managed it somehow.
Malfoy, who was only in fourth year, complained quite a lot about all the time they spent in the library, until someone pointed out that he didn't have to join them. Carrow hadn't even bothered to in the first place. They barely saw him anyway and Naenia wasn't friends with either of them, so she really couldn't say that she cared overly much. Tom kept up the connection, because he still had use for them, but that wasn't her problem.
"Good riddance, if you ask me," Black said, once it had become apparent that neither would join them in the library anymore. (Malfoy still joined their meetings outside the library.) "They are too immature for my liking."
"They are only one year younger than Tom an me," Naenia said, "and the same age you befriended us."
Black waved a dismissive hand. "You two are too grown up for your own good, it doesn't compare."
Naenia had nothing to say to that.
"They will mature in time," Tom said, not looking up from his book.
It was about ancient potions, but somehow Naenia doubted that the contents matched its cover.
"But I won't be around for that, will I?" Blacks said.
"Do you not wish to stay in contact after your graduation?" Tom asked, eyes still on his book. "I had assumed we would all do." He looked up, piercing Black with his gaze. "Or was I wrong?"
Black visibly gulped. "Of course not. That's not what I meant. I just – well, I won't be around to see the young ones grow up, right?"
Naenia watched the exchange warily. She did not know what to make of it.
"What will you do after graduation?" Rosier asked.
He had long abandoned his homework and begun doodling on some spare parchment, seemingly bored.
Black shrugged. "Manage the family until Orion is of age. No idea what to do after. Maybe I'll join the Ministry. There isn't much else to do, is there? Not in my position, anyway."
Nott snorted. "You could always become a burned spot on that fancy tapestry of yours. Maybe start a career as shop assistant in Diagon Alley, run off to America, do a Muggle job – the possibilities are endless."
"No, thank you," Black replied dryly. "My parents would rather dispose of me quietly than let me bring shame to the family."
"If they do, please make sure they use the Killing Curse," Naenia said with a straight face, "keeps the body nicely intact."
Black grinned at her. "I'll keep that in mind. Will you revive me, then? Or make me into an Inferius?"
"I just might," Naenia said and smiled.
"How can you even joke about that?" Lestrange said, his face slightly green.
Naenia raised an eyebrow at him. "Death is inevitable."
"Yeah, sure," Lestrange shifted uncomfortably, "but I'd prefer to die of old age or something. And then be put into a casket to rot."
"Make sure to put that into your will, so we can respect your wishes," Naenia said in a light voice. "The Lestranges are one of our most loyal customers, after all."
Rosier whipped his head around. "What? That's news to me. Who else is buried in your graveyard?"
"Cemetery," Naenia corrected. "And, apart from the Lestranges and Rosiers, quite a few wizarding families, actually – the Carrows, Prewetts, the Crouches, to name a few. None of the Blacks, as far as I am aware, and we have only a select few of the Peverells, which is truly a shame."
Because the Peverells were not only a famous pureblood family, but also said to hail from the Three Brothers known to have met Death Himself.
She tilted her head and mentally went through the list of names she had memorized from her many times spent wandering around the graves. Except for Mulciber, who was bent over his notes, brows furrowed in concentration, everyone was looking at her curiously.
"The Malfoys have decided to leave and build their own family grave," she started. "The Notts are still debating whether to stay in the vicinity of their estate or switch over to our services. The Runcorns can't afford us anymore, but the Fawcetts do. Last I heard, they made arrangements for their sick great-grandmother. There are many more names lying below our grounds, but as times have changed, so have our prices and our customers."
"That's why we agreed to let their daughter marry into the family," Rosier said. "Because the Fawcetts have made a name for themselves, accompanied by quite a bit of money."
Naenia nodded. "Only stands to reason that they would let their members be buried in our cemetery, then."
Because while they were generally feared, the Lémure burial grounds were high in regard. They took great care of them, making sure nature still thrived and keeping every grave in pristine condition. If so requested and provided with the required expenses, they even offered to preserve a grave forever with magic.
Lestrange cleared his throat. "Would you mind talking about something that's less dire, please?"
Naenia grinned. "Why, do we make you uncomfortable?"
But she allowed him to steer the conversation away, while Mulciber – Quidditch enthusiast and simpleton Mulciber! – remained the only one to continue his diligent studies and the librarian watched them with narrowed eyes, unable to hear a single word.