Tom hid it well, but he was furious with Hermione's Sorting. Based on the reactions of the Slytherin table, Gryffindors were not admired; their clapping was performative at best; some actually released low hisses. Nearby, Avery had scoffed at Hermione's Sorting and the boy had seemed for Slytherin.
He didn't care about anyone else's Sorting, just his own and Hermione's. He had hoped she would go to Ravenclaw. It was a far more respectable House than one that sought to place a moral code on its students like Gryffindor did. Honestly, the whole House seemed self-righteous.
If only they divided their students differently so he and Hermione could be together…
It was too late for that now. He could not stomach being among that sea of scarlet and facing constant scrutiny.
Tom Riddle knew who and what he was. He was a high-functioning psychopath who cared little for others. Hermione had only wormed her way in because she offered him something he wanted: books. As he had gotten to know her, he'd realized she was a trove of knowledge. While he was highly intelligent, more intelligent than she was, her memory was near-eidetic. If she read it, she remembered it. If she heard it, it was on the tip of her tongue.
Hermione was useful and Tom knew just how to manipulate her by now.
I should have started working toward her House choice months ago , he realized. After they had both read Hogwarts: A History, he should have talked with her about the possibilities of their Sortings and steered her toward Slytherin, or at least Ravenclaw. He could abide Ravenclaw if it meant he had one loyal friend.
All his life he had abjured the word friend until Hermione came along. Once the other orphans started to use the word to describe the pair of them, he realized it had more uses than the insipid and affectionate. It could also describe those who were loyal to one another and who had an ongoing exchange.
Hermione certainly liked that they were considered friends. He'd seen how it impacted her and realized he could use it to his advantage. When he had threatened to remove said friendship, it had led to the results he wanted, proof that she was as special as he, in one way, at least.
Having spoken to wizarding adults and interacted with a few children thus far, he suspected her brilliance would continue to be useful to him.
She was worthy of his friendship and would likely maintain her position as his only friend, unless some of the others proved themselves useful as he got to know them.
At last, his name was called and Tom sat on the stool and placed the ridiculous Hat on his head.
"Here he is. Hello, Mr. Riddle. Your reputation proceeds you."
"You mean Hermione, I presume," he said, suppressing the little shock that was the Hat speaking directly into his mind. It reminded him somewhat of his own ability and he did not like it.
"Indeed. And you are fit for Slytherin. Ah, it seems you are in agreement. Shall I announce it, then?"
"Go on," he answered.
"Good luck to you in…
"SLYTHERIN!"
Far from the enthusiastic greetings most students received, Tom's was reserved. The green-tie-clad students clapped politely for a moment, then dropped off and waited for the next student to be Sorted. They were silent even as he sat down.
It was quite different to Hermione's welcome, which had continued as she joined her table.
It didn't much matter to Tom. He would eventually show them all he was superior and they would have to acknowledge him, or they would suffer just like the children at the orphanage.
"Welcome to Slytherin." Avery leaned over the table to greet him. "A shame about your friend though."
"It's hardly as though we won't see each other," he drawled. As though anything would get in the way of his wants.
Avery clicked his tongue. "Slytherin and Gryffindor have a feud going back to the Founders. We've never gotten along."
"A House feud? How childish." He saw no point in caring about Houses past what they might provide him with. If Slytherin was truly the home of the ambitious, the sly, then it would be the best place to make connections and rise up in the ranks.
"We are children, Riddle," Avery pointed out, to which Tom shrugged. He didn't care to act childishly at the orphanage in order to fit in; why would he do so here?
"Riddle," said a student who hadn't been Sorted long before him; he had pale blond hair above his shoulders and heavy-lidded blue eyes. "Is that a muggle name?"
Tom's jaw firmed. "I wouldn't know." He already disliked this one; the cut of his robes was fine, his buttons of a higher quality. Everything about him screamed money.
"Riddle's an orphan," Avery explained for him and he resisted the urge to shoot the boy a scowl.
"It must be then; a wizard would be sent to family," said the unknown blond.
"And if they had no family?" asked Tom. "Where would they go then?"
The blond did not have an answer to that. "I have never heard of a wizarding family named Riddle."
"You know all the wizarding families, then?" he snapped.
"All that matter," said the other.
Avery watched the battle between the two with something akin to curiosity writ across his face.
"All I know is that my father was 'Tom' and my grandfather was 'Marvolo,'" Tom replied after a brief hesitation. "Perhaps the matron at the orphanage gave me the surname." He knew it came from his father as well, but it was not quite a lie; he hadn't stated it outright.
Those bright blue eyes narrowed. "Tom is common enough amongst muggles and wizards, and I have never heard of a 'Marvolo.' There is no indication you have any proper wizarding blood in you, yet you sit here, at the table of Slytherin. You do not belong here."
"The Hat said otherwise," he replied.
"You are a mudblood—"
"Malfoy," Avery interrupted, glancing toward the teachers' table as though one of them may have overheard.
"A mudblood?" Tom didn't have to be a genius to figure out the meaning, but he was, and thus also deduced that it was a grave insult based on Avery's reaction. "Has a mudblood ever been Sorted into Slytherin before?"
Malfoy frowned as he thought, then said, "No, never."
"Then wouldn't it stand to reason that one has not been Sorted in now." He leaned across the table, words low as he spoke. "That Hat seems more clever than it lets on. If it Sorted me here, perhaps I am not the mudblood you think I am."
He could see it in the tick of Malfoy's jaw; Tom's words made sense, but he did not want to agree with this unknown factor. However, Avery was considering him with a new respect in his eyes. As he glanced askance, Tom noticed more Slytherins had been listening into the little tiff. He hoped they would see his reasoning as well and not create more trouble for him.
It was good he'd told Hermione to be circumspect about their status, as it seemed wizarding lineage mattered quite a bit. There was even a slur for it. Perhaps he should warn her about that.
If no muggleborn has ever been Sorted into Slytherin before, then I doubt I am the first. I must have wizarding blood.
It would only make sense.
That evening when Hermione was led to her dorm, she took it upon herself to meet all of the other girls. Unfortunately, two of them flatout ignored her, while the other three seemed less than enthused.
Of those that introduced themselves, there was Arianna Shacklesbolt, a lovely, leggy girl who had been sorted not long after Tom. She tilted her head and watched Hermione with catlike amber eyes as she spoke and then deigned to give her name.
Next was Maryanne Weasley who proudly proclaimed she was the younger sister of Septimus Weasley, Head Boy. She had short ginger hair and wide blue eyes, and seemed to look down on Hermione for some reason.
Last was Alanna Kinsley, the girl who she had noticed before. She had scoffed and said, "I know," when Hermione gave her name.
She did not get her fourth and final roommate's name, but thought she would know it soon enough.
It seemed since they were so late in the week that tomorrow would be a freeday before the weekend, a day to get to know the castle and grounds ("and to finish any lingering summer work," the Headmaster had said to the older students). She was looking forward to time with Tom for the pair of them to process together what had happened this day. It had been such a whirlwind and she was both thrilled with nervous excitement and exhausted to the bone. She worried she wouldn't fall asleep, but the moment she closed the drapes of the lovely four-poster bed and laid back on her pillow, she was overcome.
Upon completing her morning ablutions, Hermione found her way down to the Great Hall. It was a good thing her memory was sharp, as she would get lost if she were anyone else. With its great moving staircases and the hall upon hall of classrooms, Hermione was dizzy with the vastness of the castle.
There were fewer students than she expected in the hall, though it was early. She nervously took a seat at her table and glanced around, meeting eyes with Tom. He was one of a handful at the Slytherin table as well. He nodded to her and she tipped her head questioningly. He lifted a brow, then conceded to nod, to which she smiled, then focused on her breakfast.
There were traditional food and drink aplenty. Indeed, she could have a full English breakfast if she wished, but there was also somewhat strange dishes here and there, like a type of pheasant she didn't recognize, or an orange drink that turned out to be pumpkin juice. It was not as sweet as orange juice, darker in color, and lacked the tartness. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, but sipped a glass anyway; perhaps it would grow on her.
Once she had finished her light breakfast, she primly wiped her face, stood, and walked toward the doors. Tom already stood there. "I suppose you have some idea where to go?"
"Yes," she said. "I ask the Head Boy where the library was last night."
The corner of Tom's mouth twitched. "Then lead the way."
She directed him toward a set of stairs and within a few moments they were at the entrance to the most magical place in Hogwarts, at least according to Hermione.
The moment they crossed the threshold, she was subsumed in the scent of old books— vanilla and almonds and that slightly acrid undertone— the one that sang to her heart. She could almost feel magic in the pages, for surely these books had absorbed some from the air around them. They were at a magical school, for goodness' sake!
She and Tom peeled off to roam the stacks separately; Hermione began with the History section, since she wanted to know all she could about the world around her. She pulled books from their slots to read their covers and skim the contents, then slid them back into their places, other than the rare one that joined the growing pile in her arms.
After History was Transfiguration, the subject which most interested her out those she would take. There was so much to learn, and she only had a limited time here. How would she manage before graduation?
When Hermione came to the Restricted Section, she almost salivated. A whole collection of books forbidden to the average student; it was tantalizing and just out of reach, like the fruit tree in the myth. She wanted to reach in and pluck something out, anything, but also knew better. Hermione Granger did not break rules.
"I see you've found it, too," a familiar voice whispered into her ear. Hermione turned to find Tom's impassive gaze. It flicked to the Restricted Section, then back to her. "I bet we can get in there quicker than any of our peers."
"You're not thinking of sneaking in, are you?" she snipped.
Tom shook his head. "Doubtless, there are wards."
She agreed; it would only make sense to protect something off-limits. She sighed. There was nothing for it. "Well, there are plenty of books to read for now. Have you found some?"
He gestured toward a table which was laden with two tall stacks in front of one seat. She followed him back to it and set down her own armful before sitting opposite him, her ankles crossed demurely. Then she pulled out her first book, Life Before the International Statute for Secrecy, and began to read.
This was how the pair spent their day, and the next, and Sunday as well. They were among the only first years to spend time in the library, and the only students to spend so much time there at all. Even Ravenclaws seemed to have better things to do, but not Tom and Hermione.
By Monday morning, both had read thousands of pages on all sorts of topics ranging from history of magical theory to magical herbs and fungi.
They had also gotten acquainted with the librarian, Madam Landsberry. She appreciated both their interest in the written word and their respect for the volumes themselves. Already, she had allowed them to take out double the prescribed amount of books.
All-in-all, Hermione thought it was a weekend well-spent.
Hermione's first class was Charms with the Ravenclaws, taught by a gentleman named Octavius Evander. He was slim, on the shorter side of average height, and had salt-and-pepper hair.
"Goodmorning class, and welcome to Hogwarts! I am your Charms Professor, Professor Evander. Now, please put away any notetaking material or textbooks. We are getting right into learning your first charm. It is the Levitation Charm. Can anyone tell me the incantation?"
Hermione's hand flew into the air.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Hermione Grager, sir," she said primly.
"Miss Granger, what is the incantation?" he asked.
She cleared her throat. "It is wingardium leviosa! "
The man clapped his hands once. "Exactly right! Ten points to Gryffindor for your absolutely spot-on pronunciation. You wouldn't believe how many of my students get it wrong."
Her cheeks burned and she tried to suppress the pleased smile that threatened at her mouth. She'd done well.
The class continued with the professor demonstrating, and then it was on them.
Hermione took out her wand, nervous despite knowing she could already perform. "Wingardium leviosa!" she spoke and directed her little feather to rise.
Professor Evander had stopped a few feet away and he beamed at her show. "Excellent job again, Miss Granger. Ten more points for being the first student to accomplish the spell. You have a knack for charms, I think."
"Thank you, sir," she murmured breathlessly. She was used to praise from her teachers, but this was praise about her magic and that felt like something else entirely.
Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration were much the same, with Hermione being the first student to raise her hand and supply any knowledge. The teachers all applauded her and she had House points heaped onto her, but she had already noticed the whispers of her housemates and how they all looked askance at her. Were they already starting to hate her?
It wouldn't matter, she reminded herself at Potions. This was her first class with Tom and she was thrilled when she stepped into the dungeon room to see him. She slipped into the empty seat beside the boy and he favored her with a cool look.
"Your day is going well." It was not a question, but she answered all the same.
"Yes, I've been getting loads of House points," she said, unpacking her quill and parchment, as well as her textbook. She wanted to be ready just in case.
"Have you given anyone else a chance to answer a question?"
Hermione clicked her tongue. "Hardly anyone else ever does; you know that. It's almost always one of us."
He shrugged and faced forward again.
An older, somewhat rotund man stepped in front of them, watching the students begin to settle in their seats. "Good afternoon, students. I am your Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. I will be teaching you the keys to brewing your best potions, so be sure to pay attention.
"Now, an important announcement before we begin. Where you sit now is your workstation for the remainder of classes. If this is an issue—" and here he pointedly glanced toward Tom and Hermione at their seats up front— "you have two minutes to change."
A few students rearranged themselves, but the two friends remained firmly where they were; if they were to have a brewing partner, it was even more important they were together as neither of them could trust that the other students wouldn't ruin their grades.
"Very well, let's get started by seeing who read the first few chapters, yes?" There were a handful of groans. Hermione smiled. "What is a cure for the popular Pimple Jinx?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air while Tom glanced over, nearly rolled his eyes, and slowly raised his own.
"Yes, miss in the front. What's your name?"
"Hermione Granger, sir. It's the Cure for Boils or Boil Cure Potion," she said.
"Right you are, five points to Gryffindor," said Slughorn.
Hermione turned to Tom as though for approval, but he was still facing forward.
"How might one identify that a Boil Cure Potion was successfully made?" the professor asked next.
Hermione's hand once more shot into the air and she nearly bounced with excitement. Tom's rose more slowly.
"You there, young sir." Slughorn pointed at him.
Tom smiled gently. "It produces a pink smoke, sir."
"And your name is?"
"Tom Riddle."
"Correct, Mr. Riddle. Take five points for Slytherin— that's my own House, you know," he told the children as though it were a secret that he was Head of Slytherin.
They began the lesson in truth after that, though Slughorn still asked questions throughout, such as what reaction might occur from a certain combination at a certain heat, or what would be added next to produce a specific potion, and every time it was either Hermione or Tom who answered. The other children didn't seem to have read the texts at all.
"Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger, could you come here a moment?" he asked the children when everyone was packing up to go.
They joined the teacher at his desk, standing in front of it, Hermione with her hands folded in front of her and Tom with his hands at his sides.
"The two of you seem to be intelligent students; are you usually at the top of your class?"
The pair of them nodded. "Yes, sir," added Hermione. "Tom and I tend to compete for the top spot."
"Though it is usually mine," Tom added without inflection.
"Not always," she said tartly.
Slughorn watched their interaction curiously. "The two of you know one another from outside of Hogwarts, then?"
"Yes, sir," said Hermione. "Tom and I—" she glanced at him and saw his dark eyes flash. She wondered if he didn't want her to say how they actually knew one another, and was at a loss as to how to finish her sentence.
Tom came to the rescue. "That is to say, Hermione is my friend, sir. My best friend."
It was a term that she had heard but never had reason to use bacause she only had one friend, as did Tom, but she was not going to correct him.
"I see," said Slughorn. "I'm pleased to see two such eager students in different Houses— Gryffindor and my own, no less— get along so well. I can only hope your friendship continues throughout your years at Hogwarts."
"It will," Tom assured him, and Hermione smiled. It almost sounded like a promise, and Tom typically didn't do those. He always kept his word, but it was rare that he gave it in the first place.
"Now, run along. I'm sure you have much to do," said their teacher, and the pair returned to their items at their shared desk.
The days from there followed the pattern of the others; they ate, visited the library, and then went to bed, with the only difference that they had actual homework now.
The next day Hermione had her first Herbology lesson (which was a double with Hufflepuff; apparently each class had a double at least once a week other than History and Astronomy), and her first History class. The first was taught by Professor Herbert Beery, a kind-faced man who had a love for plants. History was taught by a ghost of all things, and Hermione was excited at first, until she realized that the man was truly stuck in his own time. He asked no questions and launched straight into lecture.
The upside was that she had the class with Tom, who sat beside her.
The two saw one another later that day for their first Potions practical, and Slughorn was pleased when they made two perfect Cure for Boils as their first ever potions. He applauded them both on the excellent pink rising from the surface, how thick and robust it was, and awarded them both five points.
"What a talented bunch this is," specifically referring to his new favorite Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.
They continued to prove themselves as competition for the top slots as the weeks waned on, much to the chagrin of several Ravenclaw students; meanwhile, others had begun to notice the steady increase in points. Hermione's birthday passed without fanfare, except that Tom somehow procured a cupcake for her and they had a miniature celebration just the two of them; he refused to eat more than a bite of the sweet.
"I hear you're somewhat of a genius," Ignatius Prewitt said, settling beside Hermione at dinner. "That every class period, you rake in thirty, forty points easily."
She blushed behind her spoon and set down the mouthful of stew. "I'd hardly say I'm a genius. I'm just highly logical, which allows me to overlook extraneous details and, and…" Her blush deepened. "I wouldn't say I get that many points in a class. Perhaps a day, depending on which classes I have."
"Oh, just thirty or forty on a good day, then?" He nodded, then bursted out laughing. "Miss Granger, you might not say you're a genius, but I would bet our professors do."
She saw one of the other girls from the corner of her eye and suddenly felt sad, staring down into her bowl. "Yes, well, it hasn't won me any friends."
"What?" Ignatius glanced around and saw a few heads hurriedly turn away. "I bet they're all jealous you're so smart. They'll be singing a different tune in a few years. A clever bird like you?" He grinned. "I would want to be your friend."
No one, not even Tom, had ever said that to her before. Her one friendship seemed to come by default. To hear someone tell her they would want to be her friend was like sun parting the clouds. "Really?" she asked, then frowned. "But only if I were in your year, right? So I could help you with essays and such?"
Ignatius considered her for a moment. "You know, I think I'll be your friend anyway. Maybe some of your cleverness will rub off on me."
She laughed. "And what do you offer in this friendship?"
"So friends must offer something?" Ignatius said, affronted. "What I offer is," he gestured to himself, "all of this."
Hermione giggled at the recently-turned fourteen-year-old. He was gangly and awkward, but he was funny, and pleasant to be around. He often invited her to take part in conversations. Being his friend would be good.
It was in October that Tom decided to do something about the boys in his dorm. He had come across a bit of surprising information in the library, one that made him suspect something about himself, and he decided to put it to use in the most creative way. He learned a highly useful spell in his freetime, excusing himself from library study with Hermione with the excuse that he needed to tend to something in his dormitory (which was true) and he found a safe place away from everyone to practice.
It was an old classroom on the fifth floor, a little dusty, but nothing too bothersome. Besides, the Banishing Charm proved easy to master. Soon, all the dust was gone from the surfaces.
Once Tom had learned the spell he needed to put the others in their places, he prepared.
It was simple enough. He forewent dinner one evening in favor of staying in the common room. He adored it there, with the eerie green glow and the view of the lake. There were mermaids, though he had yet to see them, and supposedly a giant squid. Tom had though giant squid could only live in the ocean, so this was quite the news.
During his time in Slytherin, Tom had learned quite a bit about the wizards and witches who inhabited the House.
They cared about blood purity to a high degree. While they could somewhat accept a talented or useful halfblood, a muggleborn was not to be tolerated outside of a menial position. Thus, those of no known name, like he and Hermione, were to be distrusted. Him all the moreso for sneaking into their House.
Family, like bloodstatus, was all-important. One did as the head of one's family wished, or one would be blasted off the family tree, so he heard. Tom assumed that meant they were disowned. Marriage, as such, was a huge topic of conversation, especially among the older students.
Subjects that would be questionable at best outside the House were welcome within the confines of the common room. The students discussed the politics of a dangerous wizard known as Grindewald, a Dark Lord, apparently. Tom quite liked how that title sounded, but nothing he had heard thus far made this Grindelwald seem particularly dark; then again, almost no one would speak when Tom was would catch sight of him and fall silent.
What happened among Slytherins stayed among Slytherins. None of them seemed to like him, but they did not extend that dislike to any snide comments outside Slytherin boundaries. No one knew they had compromised his uniforms once or tripped him coming down the dormitory stairs. They would never do such things outside the dungeons.
Slytherins respected power. It was half the reason they admired this Grindelwald, and why they grudgingly respected the Gryffindor Head of House, Professor Dumbledore.
Tom would give them something to respect.
He went from bed to bed and cast, hissing down instructions.
By the time his dorm mates had returned he was ready. He settled down in bed with a book and waited. Slowly, the others fell into bed, the sounds of deep breathing and faint snores filling the air.
It was when the clock struck midnight and all was as silent as it would be that Tom hissed out another set of instructions. Sleek serpents slid into the sheets and around the boys, and they woke one by one, screams filling the air as they realized their predicament.
Tom lit his wand and stood in the center of the room, watching the chaos. The snakes had been ordered to hold off on biting, but his dormmates didn't know that. In the dim light, they slowly noticed exactly what the snakes were.
"It's a boomslang!" came Malfoy's usually haughty voice made small from fear. "It's a boomslang." He was now standing absolutely still if one did not count the fine tremble along his limbs.
James was still in bed, huddled against his headboard as the serpent at the bottom hissed and lashed at him. Across from him, Lestrange was performing a strange dance as he tried to remove the snake from his nightclothes. At Malfoy's pronouncement, he stopped.
"It's what?" Lestrange asked.
"Boomslang!" gritted out Malfoy.
Lestrange weaved dizzily on his feet.
Black was still lying in bed, motionless as the snake danced over his form. Tom couldn't tell whether he was awake or not.
"Riddle— Riddle help," said Malfoy when he noticed the boy standing in the center of the room.
Tom smirked and opened his mouth and hissed. The snakes all redoubled their efforts.
"What was that?" cried Avery.
"That was me," Tom said calmly, "Ordering them to tighten their grasps."
"R-riddle, you must'nt joke of such things," Malfoy stuttered. "It's not, not possible."
"Because I'm a mudblood?" Tom asked. There was a pregnant pause. He laughed his real laugh, high and cold. "Whatever I am, it is powerful, and you would do well not to get on my bad side. Right now, there are six boomslang in this room: one for each of you, one on the door, and one at my feet to protect me."
"Riddle— Riddle, how are you controlling them?" Malfoy asked shakily. He was the worst of the bunch, not as violent as Lestrange, but always looking down his long, pointed nose at Tom. He hated it.
Tom hissed again and the serpent on Malfoy rose to reveal his fangs an inch from the boy's face.
"Do you doubt that I speak to them? Is it such a rare ability? I wouldn't know, being a mudblood."
"B-but you can't be," whispered Avery. "Are you really a Parselmouth?"
Tom let loose a set of commands and the serpents rolled down to the floor beside the beds and the boys, risen up as though still prepared to strike. He gave them all a moment to digest the lowered risk. "What do you think, Avery?"
"There's only one bloodline with such an ability," murmured Malfoy.
"Oh?" said Tom. "And what bloodline would that be." It was not a question. He knew exactly what bloodline it was, having found the information himself a month previous. It had sparked this little plan of his.
None of them wanted to say it, but the incomplete silence rife with the dry shift of scales against the floor was too much, and eventually Lestrange couldn't help himself. "Slytherin…"
"Indeed?" said Tom. "Salazar Slytherin's bloodline itself holds the key to Parseltongue? And there has never been a case of it outside his bloodline?" He waited, but none spoke. "Therefore, it would reason that I am not a mudblood, wouldn't it?"
"Riddle, Riddle, I'm sorry. Please call off the snake," Alphard Black sounded very small and very afraid, tearful, in fact. It was a mighty win for Tom, though the Black family scion was the least guilty of insult against him. The boy had ignored the antics of other Slytherins, but was otherwise cool to Tom, and that was the extent.
It seemed he was afraid of snakes, what a strange coincidence given his House.
"As soon as everyone here apologizes for their slights against me." He surveyed the remaining offenders. "I can be a benevolent friend or a horrifying enemy. The choice is yours."
"I'm sorry, Riddle," said Avery next.
"Yes, sorry!" said Lestrange. "I'll never prank you again, I swear!"
Malfoy held out until the snake spat at him. He flinched away then and finally conceded. "I'm sorry, Riddle. You are… more than you seem."
Tom spoke next to the snakes. "I shall send you all back now. I appreciate your assistance." He had become good enough with the Banishing spell that it took care of all half dozen at once when he said, "Evanesco." For a moment, all five lads remainded still and contemplated the series of events that led to this, then Tom broke the silence. "I do not know my parentage as yet, but I will find it. It's a matter of time. What I know, what you have discovered today, is that I seem to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. You would do well to remember that you are in his House, my ancestral House. From what little I have found thus far, I am his only living heir. Do not dishonor him."
With that, he turned and climbed back into bed, drawing his curtains to indicate he was finished with them for the night.
Outside his drapes, her heard them all whispering and scurrying about for some time before they settled down again.
After that night, things were different in Slytherin House.