AN

Warnings for Necromancers being Necromancers and Dead People (in general), with some really weird trains of thoughts from Naenia. But nothing graphic.

August 1940, summer of 2nd year

"Pity."

Aunt Lethis took one look at Tom, turned on her heel and left without another word.

Naenia knew exactly what that meant. Tom didn't have an aptitude for Necromancy.

If he had, they would have probably accepted him into their family immediately, already forming plans for his future betrothal to Naenia or something like that. But he didn't, so that was that.

Naenia watched her aunt leave and tried not to frown. She was supposed to show Tom around and explain the house rules to him.

Naenia and her mother had picked Tom up from the orphanage, but because Naenia's parents were very busy people they didn't have the time to tend to some child that did not even belong to their family.

Naenia sighed. "Guess I'll have to show you around instead."

Tom remained silent.

There wasn't much to show. Sure, the house was huge – especially compared to the tiny orphanage Tom had been living in – but there just was not a lot to see. The parlour, the living quarters, bedrooms were off-limits for obvious reasons except for the guest room Tom would be staying in, the library.

"Do you not use the North Wing?" Tom asked once she had shown him everything.

"Off-limits," Naenia said and gave him a meaningful look. "And protected by many very complicated spells to keep intruders out."

She showed him the gardens next, from where they had a wonderful view of the cemetery on one side and the forest on the other.

"All you can see belongs to the Lémures," Naenia explained. "I would not recommend entering the forest, because dangerous creatures live there." She glanced at Tom. "That includes some of our eldest."

Tom startled at that. "Your eldest?"

Naenia nodded. "Some of us do not do well with eternity." She gestured to her head. "Their minds deteriorate over time. But because they're immortal we can't do much about them."

"How many of you are there exactly?"

"Immortals? Not as much as one would think, considering how old our family is. Not everyone wants to exist forever and not all of those who do are actually granted immortality."

Tom gave her an incredulous look at that. "Why would anyone not want to live forever?"

"Because it's not the same as living."

"How does it differ?"

"In a lot of ways," Naenia sighed. "It's hard to explain to someone who is not as close to Death as we are. But really, Tom, dying is not that bad."

The way his face scrunched up at that showed Naenia that he did not agree with her, but didn't want to start an argument, either.

Dinner was a strained affair.

The Lémures usually started their meal with discussions about any important affairs or discoveries in their research and studies (which they couldn't do with Tom around), then moved on to more trivial matters until the food for the living and those who wanted to eat arrived.

Undead didn't need to eat or drink – or do anything the living did to survive, for that manner – but they liked going through the routine, gathering together at set times. Some liked to eat now and then. And there were two people, three now, who were still very much alive and did need to sustain their bodies.

One of the elders had once said that they tended to forget all about the basic needs of the living after a while if they didn't uphold these traditions and that could lead to rather embarrassing situations whenever new blood or, at the rare occasion, guests were around. Both of which did not occur very often.

There were a number of reasons the Lémure estate was not overcrowded with Undead. For one, as she had already told Tom, not everyone became immortal. For another, their family actually very rarely reproduced. Which was a somewhat weird topic. Undead women were barren. Undead men were, too, but could still father children – given the right circumstances. Naenia was rather appalled by the subject and preferred not to think about it if she could help it.

This meant, however, that if the current head of their family was a man there was technically no need for him to produce an heir before being granted immortality. Nor did he have a limited amount of time to do so. (Except for the growing age difference with his wife-to-be as the centuries went on, but that was another can of worms altogether.)

It was still preferred not having to resort to the magical means and therefore for the head of their family to still be alive. Which was why Orcus dying before upholding the family legacy and producing heirs was generally frowned upon. But it wasn't the end for his claim upon the title of Head of House.

They could also just decide to put Veiovis in charge instead. He was still alive, after all.

(Not Naenia, Naenia neither wanted to be in charge of their family nor have children. She was only thirteen and way too young to think about these things just yet, but she would prefer to have a choice in the matter all the same, thank you very much.)

The family was run by whoever ensured the survival of their line – currently Lore Lay and Catonius Asphodelus Lémure, parents to Orcus Catonius, Veiovis Catonius and Naenia Proserpina Lémure.

So if Orcus decided not to make use of the magical means, it would fall to Veiovis. (Or Naenia.) And if neither of them did, then they had a minor problem. Naenia wasn't actually sure what exactly would happen in that case. But that was just her musing about events that would most likely never occur.

Naenia's father had been sensible enough to have children before dying. As had her mother, obviously. Catonius had been rather lucky to find Lore in Germany, because their kind was rare. The Lémures were pure of blood not exactly because they intentionally married pure, but because they only accepted those who had an aptitude for Necromancers and those were – for reasons still unknown – never found among halfbloods or muggleborn.

Naenia's musings were interrupted by the arrival of their dinner.

At her side Tom went very, very still.

She turned her head to get a proper look at him and watched in fascination as he carefully observed their servants and came to the conclusion that these people were not, in fact, alive.

The weakly masked horror on his face followed by something akin to awe and then – was that hunger? – brought a kind of satisfaction Naenia could not quite explain. That was probably not a good thing, but at that moment she couldn't bring herself to care. Or spare more than one or two of her multiply lines of thought on the matter.

The Lémures did not own any house-elves, as most pureblood families did. They were instead served by Inferi they had made themselves. These had all died by causes entirely unrelated to the Lémures and had been, at the moment of their death, of legal age at minimum. They were also in pristine condition, autonomous and almost seemed alive if you didn't look at their eyes too closely. (The eyes were one of the few things they hadn't quite managed to get right so far. Something about interfering magics, but Naenia wasn't well-versed enough in the subject just yet.)

Tom didn't ask her about them until after dinner (a very uncomfortable dinner), when they had retired to Naenia's room.

"Are they –" He shook his head. "What are they?"

"Our servants?" Naenia asked just to make sure. "Inferi. Undead, but different from the kind of undead we Necromancers become upon being granted immortality. I believe they will be covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts at some point. Maybe in sixth or seventh year."

Tom stared at her, before heavily sitting down on Naenia's bed.

She frowned at that. One did not just sit down on another person's bed and she told him as much. Tom only shrugged.

"So they're corpses?"

Yes. No. "In a way."

"Of Muggles?"

Her frown deepened. "There was a person, once, who contributed to the Danse Macbre, the Totentanz like this: 'Wer war Thor, wer Weiser, wer Bettler oder Kaiser? Ob arm, ob reich, im Tode gleich.'"

Tom gave her that look again – of curiosity, admiration and envy. But also some disbelief and shock remaining from what he had previously learned.

"What it comes down to is this," Naenia continued. "It doesn't matter who you were in life, as all are equal in death."

"So? Are they Muggles or not?"

Naenia sighed. "Yes. No. Maybe. We do not discriminate the dead, Tom. If they meet the requirements, then they are made into Inferi, Muggle or not."

"So you just kill anyone who meets the requirements and make them into your slaves?"

Naenia glared at him. "Absolutely not! They are servants, not slaves. They can think for themselves. And we did not, ever, kill a single one of them."

"What?" Tom actually looked surprised at that.

Naenia wanted to slap him.

"Why not?"

Oh, she definitely wanted to slap him.

But she didn't.

"Death is sacred. We would never presume to prematurely take what is not ours to take."

"Dead is dead," Tom said and shrugged seemingly nonchalant, all the while watching her carefully.

"Death will claim them all the same, that is true. But murder is still a violation against Death." She levelled her glare at him. "Whom we worship, might I add."

"You're talking of death as if it were a person, again."

A frustrated sigh.

She couldn't believe how much he managed to irritate her sometimes. Or just get a reaction out of her in general other than blank looks. She wasn't used to express so many emotions, let alone experience them.

"We have discussed this, Tom."

He smirked. "That we have."

Naenia glanced at the clock.

"Go to bed, we can continue this conversation in the morning."

Ꝋ

On the Twenty-Fourth of August, 1940, the first bombs fell over London.

Orcus glared at Naenia over breakfast the next day, occasionally glancing at Tom, who raised an eyebrow at them in return. Veiovis looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be amused, irritated or fascinatingly interested in Tom.

"Remember our deal back in first year?" Naenia asked Tom afterwards, when they were wandering the grounds, discussing what to do with their day.

Normally, Naenia would study Necromancy in her spare time. But she couldn't do that with Tom around.

"I am kind of breaking my end of the deal," Tom mused. "By being here, safe from any bombings and other side-effects of the war, am I not?"

Naenia nodded. "Orcus thinks he is robbed of the information he was promised."

"Well," Tom shrugged. "He is not wrong."

Naenia said nothing.

He gave her an odd look. "Why did you convince them to take me in anyway? I didn't take you for the caring kind."

It was almost tender, Naenia realized, the way his expression had softened. It didn't quite fit the overall image he liked to present. Always in control. Though this was probably calculated as well. Just because he was more honest with her and didn't put his mask on most of the time, he was not an open book, someone to trust and take at face value. He was still very much a sly bastard trying to manipulate her into whatever it was he wanted from her.

Naenia would not let herself be fooled.

Tom Riddle was not tender.

(She shuddered internally at the very thought.)

But he had a point.

"We will get what we want either way," she replied carefully. "And it wouldn't do to have you die just like that."

"And where would you get your information then, right?"

Naenia allowed a small smile to appear on her lips. "Exactly."

That night Naenia awoke to something feeling off.

She was not alerted by any wards, no one from her family was – because no alarms had been activated.

It was Marin, she realized, after sitting up in her bed and trying to sort out the various impressions she got from the house and its magic. Her mink had been ordered to secretly watch over Tom during his stay at the Lémure estate. And for good reason.

"Was the promise of forbidden knowledge really too much for you to handle?" she said upon entering the library, clad in a black gown covering her nightwear.

Marin emerged from the shadows and Naenia picked the mink up so it could settle on her shoulders.

Tom just gave her an irritated glare.

"At least you were clever enough not to trigger any of the protection spells," Naenia continued. "Or one of the others might have found you instead – and that wouldn't have ended well."

"So there is a secret entrance," Tom said. "Somewhere."

"Of course there is."

"What do you really do in the North Wing?"

Straight to the point.

He wasn't always, only when he didn't see any use in hiding his true intentions behind measured sentences and questions.

Technically, they didn't do anything in the North Wing. The building was empty. What they called the "North Wing" was actually the basement underneath. But Tom didn't need to know that.

And she certainly wouldn't answer his question anytime soon.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't report this to my parents," she said instead.

Tom scoffed. "Oh, come on. If you wanted to actually do that, you would have done so already."

Naenia gave him an unimpressed look.

"Because you actually like being my friend? Because you want me to owe you a favour? I don't know, Naenia. Why didn't you tell your parents?"

"I'm giving you a chance, Tom, to explain yourself."

He had the audacity to roll his eyes at that. "You're cleverer than that. You know why I did it."

"And I still want to hear your reasoning." She raised an eyebrow. "What made you think you could actually manage it? And get away with it after?"

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line and averted his eyes. "I didn't. I'm not stupid, Naenia."

"Are you?"

He sighed.

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to report this incident now. If you'll excuse me." Naenia made to leave.

"Wait!"

She stopped, had Marin look back over her shoulder. His arm was outstretched as if he had wanted to grab her. His eyes were narrowed, his teeth gritted.

"I couldn't resist," he said. "All that knowledge and power. You can't just present it to me on a silver plate and expect me to do nothing about it."

He waited for her reaction, but Naenia just turned around and regarded him with an impassive look.

"I knew I wouldn't be able to break through the protection spells, but I wanted to at least look at them, see for myself how intricate and complex they were. And so I did."

"And now what?"

Tom shrugged. "I got what I wanted, didn't I? And it's not like I broke any rules, because, technically, I never attempted to enter the North Wing. There's no need for anyone else to know, is there?"

Naenia pretended to contemplate her answer. She had never intended to tell her parents in the first place, but that didn't mean she could just let him get away with this.

"Fine," she said eventually and watched how his face transformed with triumph. "But there won't be a second time."

Tom nodded. "Of course n–"

"No, Tom. There won't be a second time. You clearly can't control yourself surrounded by all this ancient magic and knowledge and power. Therefore, I won't invite you over again. Besides, you still have to uphold your end of our deal and you can't do that if you're here with us, sheltered from the Muggle war."

Naenia left without another word, didn't wait around to observe his reaction. She knew he wouldn't be pleased about this. But it was for the best. She still wasn't sure what had compelled her to invite him over in the first place, it obviously had not been the right choice.

Later – when they were already back to Hogwarts and the bombings truly started, lasting for more than half a year – both of them were glad that Tom was not in London right now and hadn't been during the latter half of the summer holidays either. But neither would admit to that out loud, of course.

AN

Tom makes this friendship thing unnecessarily hard…

Do the Lémures ever run out of names, I wonder? I mean if no one ever permanently dies, then they can't exactly reuse the names of their ancestors too often, can they?
And their numbers are accumulating over time, just not as fast as one would think. It's actually starting to get rather crowded, even with some of the elders moving into the forest. They'll probably have to expand the house at some point. Or build a second one. Or think of another solution.