August 1938, Wool's Orphanage
There was a knock on the door and then Mrs Cole entered their room.
"Tom? Naenia? You've got a visitor. This is Mr Dumberton – sorry, Dumberbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it."
Tom glanced at Naenia, who was watching the door with a cold smile. Never a good sign.
The man that entered was … old. He had long auburn hair and an equally long beard to go with it and was wearing an eccentric, plum-coloured, velvet suit. Tom already disliked the man before he had even spoken a word.
"How do you do?" the man said, approaching the bed Tom and Naenia were sitting on – reading, as usual – with an outstretched hand.
Tom hesitated, but decided there was no harm in shaking the man's hand. Naenia just looked at his hand, then at the man himself, and then waited until he awkwardly pulled it back again.
"I am Professor Dumbledore," the man introduced himself, drawing up the only chair in the room, so he could sit in front of Tom and Naenia.
"'Professor'?" Tom repeated warily. "Is that like 'doctor'?" He scooted closer to Naenia. (And she let him – it had Tom taken four and a half years, but she allowed his touch, now.)
There had been a visit from a 'doctor' before. It had not gone well. Tom had thought Mrs Cole had learned her lesson from that incident.
"Don't professors usually teach at university?" Naenia asked.
The man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I work at a school called Hogwarts. The teachers there are all addressed as 'Professors'."
"But you did not actually earn the academic title? None of you own a professorship?"
"Hogwarts is a very special school," the man replied, his smile now strained.
Tom thought it sounded like an excuse. So the teachers weren't actual professors.
Naenia tilted her head. "I know."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
Naenia regarded him silently for a moment. Tom thought she looked like she was judging the man for his trustworthiness. "I was raised by magical blood until I turned seven. I understand that Hogwarts is a magical school like Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."
"I see. Well," the old man visibly gathered himself again, "I have come to offer you both a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come. Hogwarts is a school for people with special abilities, a school of magic – as I am sure you have already guessed."
Tom looked at Naenia. He would have thought this an elaborate ploy of Mrs Cole's to finally get them into an asylum. But Naenia knew things about their talents, about their magic. Naenia had lived in the world of magic before she had come to the orphanage. If Naenia thought the old man was telling the truth …
Naenia was watching Dumbledore with a cold and calculating gaze.
"What would happen if we refused?" she asked.
The old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well … Durmstrang might offer you a place, young Miss, but not Tom here."
"Why not?" Tom demanded to know.
"Durmstrang is very selective. They only accept students from wizarding families." The man's mouth twisted in displeasure. "Even though there is nothing wrong with having a Muggle background."
"Muggle," Naenia repeated.
"People without magic are called Muggles in our world," the old man explained.
"I know," Naenia said. "We call them Muggel in Germany."
"And if we accept your offer?" Tom said, displeased with what the old man had said about the other magical school.
Dumbledore gave them a scrutinizing look. Then he took a long, wooden stick out of his sleeve and waved it through the air. The wardrobe burst into flames.
Tom jumped to his feet in shock. He had already opened his mouth to – to – cry out or something, when Naenia put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. She was looking at the wardrobe calmly and as Tom watched, the flames first turned green, before dying down entirely. Then Naenia turned to Dumbledore and whatever he saw on her face made the old man flinch. A deep satisfaction spread through Tom's chest at the sight. He could always count on Naenia to have his back.
"I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe," Dumbledore said mildly, once he had collected himself again.
There was a faint rattling coming from inside the wardrobe.
"Open the door," Dumbledore said.
Tom didn't know how the old man knew, but he knew and Tom did not like that.
"You will return those objects to their owners," Dumbledore told Tom once he had retrieved his box of treasures and shown him what was inside. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
He turned to Naenia, who shrugged and said, "I do not own anything I could actually give back."
Tom thought of Billy Stubbs falling down the stairs, losing his life.
"And besides," Naenia continued, "he lost it. I didn't steal it."
Naenia had been thinking about the same thing, then.
Dumbledore looked very concerned at those words, but did not comment on them. "At Hogwarts," he said instead, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it."
Tom thought back on the many hours he and Naenia had spent practicing their magic and perfecting their control.
"You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school."
Tom narrowed his eyes. He hadn't said anything, yet somehow the old man seemed to know regardless. There was something not right with that.
"You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers more severely."
Next to Tom, Naenia snorted silently.
"All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."
"Yes, sir," Tom replied.
Naenia remained silent.
"One last thing," Dumbledore said, looking sternly at Naenia. "Necromancy is considered illegal and will be punished severely, young Miss."
Naenia looked the man dead in the eyes and replied, "Is that why people from the Ministry murdered my parents?"
The old man had no answer to that.
"Was it a good idea to alienate that man?" Tom asked after Dumbledore had left them with instructions to a magical shopping street and money from the Hogwarts fund 'for those who require assistance to buy books and robes'.
"I am not going to pretend that I don't hate him for seven whole years," Naenia said. "Besides, he has already made up his mind about us – and not in a good way. He will look at us with suspicion no matter what we do."
"How can you be sure –"
"Tom," Naenia interrupted him. "Stop arguing. It was obvious."
Yes, Tom silently agreed, it had been obvious.
"In fact," Naenia continued, "he had already made up his mind about us before he had even entered the room."
Understanding dawned on Tom's face. "Mrs Cole."
"And you can't tell me you actually trust the man after he set your wardrobe on fire."
Tom had nothing to say to that.
⸸
The money given to them by 'Professor' Dumbledore was not nearly enough.
Normally, Tom wouldn't have any problems with pickpocketing some coins from unsuspecting victims, but he was wary about Dumbledore's reaction. The man knew their funds were limited, after all.
Naenia arched an eyebrow at him in response. "Do you want to be mocked for wearing worn-down robes and carrying second-hand books, or do you want to endure Dumbledore's suspicious scrutiny?"
"Dumbledore is already suspicious of us," Tom said.
Before he could add that they shouldn't make it worse, however, Naenia nodded and said, "Exactly."
In the end, they resorted to stealing money pouches and using the money to buy for things or just stealing the items they needed, themselves.
First, they bought three sets of school robes, which almost emptied their pockets completely. Putting on one of the sets at least made them less conspicuous and allowed them to go pickpocketing more easily. One of the pouches Tom nicked was actually bigger on the inside, so they collected all the stolen money in there and burned the other pouches to get rid of incriminating evidence.
Next, they went to buy trunks and stole a pair of messenger bags with permanent, undetectable extension charms and featherlight charms cast on them in which they would be able to store all their purchases. The robes and trunks went inside first, followed by a full wardrobe for each of them. (For which they scouted out a different shop, one that was cheaper and less likely to ask questions compared to the one they had gotten their school robes from.)
They almost weren't able to pay for it all, but Tom managed to haggle with the shopkeeper to give them a discount. After that, they had to go pickpocketing again. At this point, Tom was glad he had listened to Naenia about the money issue. Even if they had to steal a lot.
Gringotts came next. Tom wasn't sure, at first, why Naenia wanted to go to the magical bank, when neither of them had enough money to open a vault or anything like that. But Naenia determinedly entered the imposing, snow-white building and strode to one of the counters lining the long, marble hall.
"I wish to ask after the Totengräber vaults and whether there is a way to determine someone's heritage and attached vaults," she said.
The – creature – behind the counter mustered her with distaste.
"The Totengräber family vaults are with our German branch. No access can be granted from here."
Naenia cursed under her breath. "So they didn't leave me anything, the bastards."
Tom was slightly confused by her use of the word 'bastard', and even more when Naenia suddenly switched languages to talk with the – creature. (He really ought to ask Naenia what those little, sour looking creatures were. It seemed important.)
Finally, Naenia sighed and turned to Tom. "For a fee of thirteen sickles they would be willing to do a blood test with you. If one of your parents was of magical blood and left you any money, we can find out that way."
Tom nodded. "Then let us do that."
He counted out the silver coins and put them on the counter. The creature behind the counter sneered at them and then bellowed some kind of order to another creature. After a moment, that one returned with a sharp, golden needle, and a thick parchment that was filled with all sorts of strange symbols and various circles. With Naenia's help, Tom pricked his finger and let a drop of his blood fall onto a specified spot on the parchment.
The creature snatched the parchment back immediately and disappeared behind the counter, where the other one took the parchment and looked at it for a long moment.
"Relations to the House of Gaunt on the mother's side," the creature said dryly. "As the only blood heir to the name, you can claim the title and all properties that come with it."
Tom licked his lips in anticipation. "What kind of properties would those be?"
The creature grinned, showing off two rows of nasty, pointed teeth, and Tom's excitement instantly wilted. "A shack in the countryside and a very heavy debt."
Naenia tilted her head. "I thought the Gaunts were an old pure-blood family?"
"They were," the creature said.
So they left with nothing, in the end. Thirteen sickles and a drop of blood for the revelation that his mother had been a witch – the weakling that had died giving birth to him. And she hadn't even left him anything useful other than old debts. At least Tom had not been forced to actually accept those debts. He would have thought bankers were more greedy, but perhaps they had seen no hope in his prospects of repaying those debts. The thought did not sit right with Tom at all.
"So your family is still out there," Tom said to Naenia and he didn't regret the accusing tone in his voice.
His companion shrugged. "I didn't lie about my family being dead. It's just that I took some liberties with the definition of 'being dead'."
Tom blinked. That actually … made a lot of sense, coming from her.
"Books next?" she asked, unconcerned.
Tom sighed. "Alright. The books next."
For their school textbooks, Naenia and Tom combined their magic to convince the shopkeeper that there was definitely only one set of books on the counter he had to charge them for, despite two sets lying in front of him. Unlike the bag shop, this one had anti-theft spells in place that Naenia noticed, but couldn't disable. They left the shop quickly after that and did not come back. They purchased a lot of things – cauldrons, glass phials, scales, potion ingredients. Naenia refused to buy quills and convinced Tom to get a pair of nice fountain pens in Muggle London instead, as well as ink. The parchment and the telescopes, as well as a few more pricey items, they stole.
And then, lastly, it was time for their wands.
"Do we have to?" Naenia whined in an uncharacteristic bout of childish reluctance.
Tom arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Do you want to stand out for not using one?"
Naenia sighed and grumbled, but allowed herself to be dragged into the dusty wand shop.
Ollivander was a creepy, frail and old man. There was no other description that fit as well.
Tom, of course, went first. Ollivander measured his body and his right arm and then muttered to himself and puttered around the shop, before finally presenting Tom with his first wand. Tom promptly set a chair on fire. With the next wand, Tom toppled over a whole shelf packed with wands that had to be saved by a dismayed wandmaker. It went on like that for ages, until a yew and phoenix feather wand finally chose him.
Naenia tilted her head in consideration, but did not comment. She took considerably longer until a walnut and dragon-heartstring wand at least did not react violently – one of the wands, made of cypress and unicorn hair, had even wilted in her hands, making it unusable for future customers – at which point she asked the wandmaker whether he had other cores. To which Ollivander began to babble something about professionalism and reliable cores and Naenia just left.
Tom gaped at the door for a moment, before he remembered that he still had to pay for his own wand.
"Yew and Phoenix Feather," Naenia said, when he finally caught up to her, blinking slowly. "Huh."
Tom eyed her warily. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Naenia."
"No-thiiing," she sang, skipping ahead. "Are you coming? I still need a wand for myself."
This behaviour alone was unusual and out-of-character enough for her that Tom could only trail after her, nonplussed. One day, he would find out that yew wood symbolised death and resurrection, just as phoenixes stood for immortality and resurrection. One day, he would find out that the wand of Naenia's scary old grandmother was of the very same combination. But that day was not this day.
On this day, he followed Naenia down Knockturn Alley – which they had scouted out earlier – deeper than the robe shop they had purchased their full wardrobes from.
The shop they entered was dark and cramped and the air full of dust – which actually wasn't all that different from Ollivander's. The shopkeeper promptly dropped the parcel he was holding when he saw them. He was a grimy, little man, with a sleazy expression on his face that Tom instantly took a disliking to.
"A l-little y-young, are-aren't you?" he stammered. "W-Wouldn't you b-better go to O-Olliv-vander's?"
"Ollivander's wand cores do not suit me," Naenia said smoothly, ignoring the shopkeepers leery look. "I need something that works well with the dead."
"A l-little N-Necromancer! Yes, yes! We have just the right th-thing for you, we have!"
Where Ollivander had been creepy in the way someone knowing too many things he wasn't supposed to know was creepy, this man was creepy in an entirely different way. Tom consciously stepped closer to Naenia, his new wand ready, his eyes following the sleezy man warily. Naenia gave him an amused smile, but did not comment.
The wand that chose Naenia was the first one she was presented with, made of walnut and Thestral bone – Tom did not know what 'Thestrals' were, but from the way Naenia's face lit up at the mention, he gathered they were creatures linked to the dead in some way or another.
The shopkeeper of course tried to overcharge them – special wand cores, the risk of having a shop in Diagon Alley, needing to make a living and all that – and Tom had the happy fortune of watching Naenia delight in threatening him to accept the same amount Ollivander had asked of Tom.
As it turned out, the shopkeeper apparently enjoyed being afraid for his life.
"Ohhh, ye-eesss," the man moaned. "Yes, yes. W-we can su-surely do something about th-the price." And then he smiled toothily, his face flushed, and rubbed his hands together.
Tom found himself all the more disgusted with the man and was glad to leave after that.
They had just left Knockturn Alley and returned to the main street, when Naenia suddenly snatched Tom's wand out of his hand. His protests died on his tongue when he saw how intensely she was studying the two wands in her hands, twirling them around and comparing them with a frown on her face.
"There's and enchantment here that's not supposed to be there," she said.
Tom snatched his wand back to confirm that for himself. He wasn't as good as Naenia at sensing magic, yet – in that he didn't do it passively all the time and so he hadn't noticed, himself. But she was right.
"It's … a monitoring spell?"
"Ah," Naenia said. "Die Spur."
Tom furrowed his brows. "What?"
Naenia tilted her head. "The Trace? Or maybe The Trail? I'm not sure whether they call it that, here, but it sounds about right. It's a spell that allows the Ministries to monitor underage magic. It's not very reliable, mind you – there are a number of ways to go around the stupid thing. But it's still annoying."
"Then we get rid of it," Tom said. "That shouldn't be a problem, right? Or will they notice when someone tries to temper with the spell?"
Naenia shrugged. "Let's find out."
No one came knocking on their door in the orphanage in the days following, nor where there any owls carrying letters of any kind. Tom thought it safe to say that the Ministry had not noticed them getting rid of the Trace (it was mentioned as 'The Trace' in two of their school books) and so they could continue using magic without a worry and while away the time until the train departed for Hogwarts on the First of September.