September to October 1938, 1st year
On the first of September, Tom and Naenia gathered their trunks and magical messenger bags, said their obligatory goodbyes to the matron, and took the bus to King's Cross. Platform nine-and-three-quarters was behind the metal barrier between platforms nine and ten, just as Dumbledore had explained. The red steam engine was already waiting for them, even though they arrived almost an entire hour early and so the two of them leisurely entered and sought a compartment for themselves.
During the entire train ride, no one dared to enter their compartment. Tom was fairly sure Naenia's appearance was to thank for that – her white hair was conspicuous enough, but the moment her eyes landed on you … Even Tom sometimes found himself uncomfortable, looking into that odd shade of green.
After the train ride, the first-years took some boats that glided across a large lake and gave them an incredible, breath-taking first view of the castle up ahead. Naenia sent Morrigan out to 'find some crow friends', which, to Tom's amusement, made the two children sharing a boat with them scoot back even further – just a bit more and they would have fallen into the lake.
Whispers followed everywhere they went, the other first-years kept pointing at Naenia behind her back, flinching back whenever her gaze fell upon them. Even the gnarled wizard that had steered the boats and the tiny one that greeted them at the entrance kept glancing in their direction. Naenia, for her part, found the whole situation amusing.
The Sorting went by in a similar fashion. The older students and the teachers at the head table had a very similar reaction to Naenia. Not even the old, tattered hat opening a crease to sing could deter them from staring at her – and, really, a singing hat?
A singing hat that was responsible for sorting the newcomers into the four houses, apparently. Tom had, of course, read all about the four houses and their values and origins. Tom was sure he and Naenia would both be sorted into Slytherin. There was no place more fitting for them.
Tom was right.
The hat had barely touched his head, before it had shouted "Slytherin!" and for Naenia it didn't even get close to her head, instead squirming in the tiny wizard's grip to get as far from Naenia as possible. It made Tom wonder whether the thing was actually alive in some way.
There were no introductions made at the Slytherin table. All the other first-years seemed to already know each other and regarded Tom with barely masked distaste and Naenia with open apprehension. Tom did not like this. He had a suspicion as to why they were behaving that way and he liked that even less. Naenia, for her part, ignored them all, carefully selecting food to put on her plate. (It had taken Tom embarrassingly long during her first years at the orphanage to realise that Naenia was not, in fact, a picky eater, but could actually not tolerate certain foods.)
So Tom had to endure a rather uncomfortable Welcoming Feast and wait patiently until the prefects had led them to the Slytherin Common Room to have his suspicions confirmed.
"You may stay up past curfew today," one of the prefects told them after all the house rules had been explained to them, "and today only. We recognize that sorting out new blood can be," and here his eyes lingered on Tom and Naenia, "difficult."
With that the prefect nodded to his partner and they both left the first-years to their own devices.
Tom was still contemplating how to go about this, when one of the snobbish-looking boys opened his mouth – only to get interrupted by Naenia.
"So. How do you determine your hierarchy?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "Is there a list that ranks the magical families of Britain or something like that?"
All the boys but Tom turned to sneer at her. Even the girls looked at her with disdain.
"What? Are you a mudblood?" one of them said derisively.
Naenia arched an eyebrow. "I am of pure Necromancer blood, thank you very much."
Tom noted with interest how every single one of the first-years, himself exempted, flinched at the word 'Necromancer'.
"But," Naenia continued, "in case you are too stupid to realise, the Totengräbers are a German family and the magical families of Germany handle things differently."
"British pure-blood families are ranked by their relations to the Sacred Twenty-Eight," the boy who had dared to insult Naenia said, nodding at another boy.
"Indeed," this boy continued. "My grandfather took great care in assembling that list for the Pure-Blood Directory."
"And how are those 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' ranked?" Naenia asked.
"Out of the three oldest and most revered wizarding families, only the Lémures remain. Seeing as there is no Black, Malfoy or Ollivander in our year, that makes me, as a Nott, the highest ranking pure-blood among us."
Tom watched Naenia's eyes light up and the way all the others subconsciously took a step back, away from her.
"Lémure?" she said. "The Necromancer family?"
The boy who was apparently a Nott gulped and said, in a feeble voice, "Yes."
Naenia's smile widened. "Well, then – I suppose that puts me a rank above you. My father is a Lémure."
"But you –"
"Carry the name Totengräber? Yes. There was apparently a huge argument between our families some years ago whether my mother would marry into the Lémure family or my father into the Totengräber family." Naenia shrugged. "It does not change the fact that both families take great care to only allow other Necromancers to marry in and there have never been any Necromancers found among half-bloods and Muggle-borns – to our knowledge, at least."
Tom filed away the fact that Naenia had kept that specific piece of information from him for later inspection.
Naenia cocked her head. "Does that suffice as proof to my claim?"
The others all looked at Nott expectantly. Nott briefly closed his eyes and then nodded.
"Perfect," Naenia said, delighted. "I shall make one thing clear, then: Should any of you inconvenience me, dead mice will be the first and only warning you get. After that I cannot guarantee for anyone's wellbeing. And I am not above murder, mind you," she added, smiling sweetly, "no one would even know you had died and been reanimated as an Undead."
There was a round of murmured "Yes." and "Understood."
Tom found this whole development not only irksome, but also odd. He had never taken Naenia for someone who would actually want a position of power.
"I am willing to allow someone to help me in this task, of course," Naenia said, "as I am unfamiliar with the British ways." She turned to Nott and held out her hand. "Naenia Totengräber."
"Theobald Nott," he replied, bending over to kiss the back of her hand.
Tom carefully kept his expression neutral, but internally he was seething.
⸸
Naenia neglected to tell the pure-bloods that she hadn't been in contact with her family since she had been seven and had no fame, nor money to her name – everything she and Tom owned was stolen one way or another, after all. Tom did not tell on her – even though he was sorely tempted to, if only to see how Naenia would handle such a reveal. He did wonder, though, how long Naenia would be able to keep that ruse up.
Tom had, by know, filled his gap in knowledge regarding both British pure-blood families and known Necromancer families. The latter only consisted of two – or, at the very least, Tom's sources were only aware of two. The Lémures were infamous in Britain for practicing what was known as the Forbidden Arts – which were illegal – and had a rather dark reputation despite taking great care to never get involved in any conflicts. The Totengräbers were infamous in Europe and, unlike the Lémures, widely known for their use of curses and their love for experiments that often resulted in all sorts of beings, human or not, losing their lives in gruesome ways. The Totengräbers' reputation was so much worse than the Lémures', but British wizards tended to be rather ignorant of anything that happened outside the British Isles. Which included, among many other things, the newest rising Dark Lord Grindelwald – a topic Tom would have to look into as well once he found the time.
So Naenia's position at the top of the Slytherin Hierarchy was secured by the intimidation her relation to the Lémures caused, rather than the more obvious threat the Totengräbers posed.
Interestingly, it was Nott who dealt with most – if not all – issues that arose among the first-year Slytherins. Whether he acted on Naenia's command or his own, Tom could not say. But Naenia was there, watching, every time.
She only stepped in once and it was the one time Tom didn't want her to interfere.
The Slytherins highly valued blood purity and family relations. Tom, as the poor orphan with the Muggle name – both first and last – was, therefore, at the very bottom of the hierarchy. It did not matter that he claimed to be a half-blood, for he had no proof despite having undertaken an official Gringotts blood test – Tom had not claimed the Gaunts' inheritance, after all.
He was used to the taunting. They claimed his robes were stolen – which they technically weren't, they had paid for the robes … with stolen money. (Dumbledore had not said anything on the matter, but the mistrust in his eyes was clear as day every time he looked at either Tom or Naenia.)
He was used to being called names and 'Mudblood' was not even all that original. The other kids at the orphanage had possessed much more colourful language.
Broken items and ripped clothing could easily be repaired with magic. Tom had learned how to do that years ago. And even if he hadn't, the Mending Charm was part of the first-year curriculum.
The spells thrown his way posed more of a problem, but all the years he had spent honing his magical senses under Naenia's instructions paid off and soon he became used to either dodging or blocking whatever was thrown his way.
His bullies did not like that.
Tom found their frustration rather amusing. He was not afraid. No, he would not be cowed. He would patiently bide his time and strike back when the best opportunity presented itself. And then he would assert himself as the one who deserved the spot at the top of the hierarchy, once more. He had done it before, at the orphanage. He could do it again.
Tom did not need Naenia. If Naenia had found someone new, someone who was certainly not better than him, then Tom did not need to be sad to see her go. She had been useful to him, but he now had access to a vast library full of knowledge. Tom did not need Naenia, anymore. And Naenia apparently did not need him anymore, either …
At Wool's, Naenia had never interfered with the bullying. No one had dared to lay a hand on her, because her Necromancy allowed her to cause an indescribable pain to whoever touched her skin, and Tom could take care of himself.
At Wool's, Naenia had not been interested in being at the top in the slightest, but she had always been happy to aid Tom's revenge.
At Wool's, Tom had had the advantage of knowing magic.
At Hogwarts, everyone knew magic.
Tom wasn't special, anymore. But Naenia was. Naenia was powerful. Naenia was respected. Naenia was feared. And Tom resented her for it.
So when Naenia decided that this was where she would interfere – not at Wool's, where he had been special, but at Hogwarts, where he was just a lowly Mudblood – Tom did not feel an ounce of gratitude. No. Tom was furious.
"I warned them," Naenia said tonelessly, unaffected in the face of Tom's seething anger. "They chose to inconvenience me, so I had to put them in their rightful places. Slytherin presents a united front – that rule is absolute. Yet they took their little antics too far and the consequences were beginning to show in public. I have a responsibility to uphold, Tom. If you did not want me to step in, then all you had to do was take care of the situation before it became a problem."
"And how was I supposed to do that?" he bit out.
Naenia gave him an unimpressed look. "Have you not always claimed to be special? Where is your cunning? You ambition? You are at a school for magic, Tom. Be resourceful, for once."
The anger drained out of him instantly and, in its wake, a cold clarity remained.
In the weeks that followed, Tom dedicated all of his time to intense studying. He rapidly overtook every single one of his housemates in regards to their classwork – even Naenia had to acknowledge that. He took the spot of top student with ease as he delved deeper and deeper into the realms of magics no first-year had ever traversed.
Where Naenia always came off as cold and indifferent, not even hiding her disdain whenever she tried her best to be polite to all the idiots they were constantly surrounded by, Tom perfected his mask of the perfect, innocent, studious boy, beloved by teachers and fellow students alike. Tom would be the best at everything and no one would ever be able to ridicule him again.
The Slytherins were leaving him alone, for now, because of Naenia's interference. But one day, Tom was sure, they would leave him alone because of his own accomplishments. One day, they would cower in fear before him and they would show him the respect he was due. One day, he would take Naenia's position and he would revel in her jealousy and envy. Yes, one day …
On Halloween, Tom had to face yet another shortcoming of his own making.
The Slytherins – or rather, all pure-bloods – liked to talk of the Old Traditions, of days long past, when the eight sabbats had been celebrated instead of the Muggle rubbish they had to put up with these days. Tom had not paid those words as much heed as he should have. Tom had not thought that there was actual merit in them. Until he came face to face with the stark difference between the ridiculousness of the Halloween celebrations and the sheer power in the Samhain rites.
Samhain was celebrated in dedication to the dead. The rites were designed to honour one's ancestors on the night where the veil between the worlds was thinnest. Under the night sky, witches and wizards came together in circles of seven to call upon their ancestors, their departed loved ones, and to invite them to join in the celebration so they may be honoured and receive the gratitude they were due for protecting and guiding their children.
And at the heart of it all was Naenia.
Being a Necromancer at the heart of celebrations for the dead was one thing, but being familiar with the rites and rituals was another. Perhaps Naenia still remembered the traditions her family had observed five years ago, but the familiarity and ease with which she officiated the Feast of the Dead hinted at something else.
Tom did not even wait for the next morning to confront her.
"How have you been able to adapt so quickly?" Tom hissed. "You've barely done any research since we came to Hogwarts. You didn't even do any research for our assigned homework."
For all that Tom had not said a single pleasant word to her since their first night at Hogwarts, Naenia never seemed to take his tone to heart. It was infuriating.
"I've been using the excuse of having been raised in Germany," she replied in a careless tone, "by Necromancers." Then her voice went up an octave, "Oh, you celebrate Halloween? No? Ah, yes, the Samhain rites sound much closer to our own. What do you do for the winter solstice, then? My family never really cared much about traditions outside those associated with the dead, so I'm afraid I lack the appropriate knowledge regarding many of the ones you hold in high regard."
Tom blinked, processing her words.
Naenia gave him an amused look. "And that is how I learned about the Old Traditions of the British magical community and how the 'mudbloods and Muggle-lovers' keep pushing for the nonsensical Muggle customs to be celebrated instead – Halloween instead of Samhain, Christmas instead of Yule, Easter instead of Ostara, and so on. On that matter, I doubt they even believe in God and worship him the way we worship Death and, therefore, it makes absolutely no sense to abandon the old sabbats, which are rooted in the magic of the very earth.
"And that," Naenia concluded, "is how you adapt quickly – not by perusing old and dusty books, but by learning directly from the sources – living, of course, unless you know ghosts with reliable historical knowledge or have the ability to call upon the dead. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to retire. Have a good night, Tom."
Tom watched her go, watched her disappear up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and kept staring at that spot until Nott of all people snapped him out of it by calling his name. Tom did not deign to reply to the boy who had chosen to bow down to Naenia just to keep a high position, but still went to his own dorm, where he could shut the curtains of his four poster and contemplate hexing every single one of his classmates behind the safety of his wards and privacy spells.
Naenia was right and Tom hated her for it. But no matter. Tom did not need to rely on others. He would be more careful henceforth to not dismiss everything the irrelevant lowlives had to say, but there was no need for Tom to lower himself to actually play nice with them just to get his hands on information he could just as well attain by broadening his already intensive research. Pretending to be nice on the surface and actually having to be nice to people were two very different things, after all.
AN
Art for Naenia & Tom
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