November to December 1938, 1st year
Tom did not understand why he was being dragged out of bed by an undead crow just after he had fallen asleep, at first, but then the 'undead' and the 'crow' registered in his still half-asleep brain. So he put on some robes and followed Morrigan down to the common room, where Naenia was already waiting for him.
"Perhaps you should retrieve your cloak," she said in lieu of greeting. "Unless you want to waste energy on maintaining a Warming Charm for a few hours."
Naenia did not speak another word as she led him out of Hogwarts, over the grounds and past the village to a small burial ground. The full moon shone brightly above them and only when a shadow moved over its surface, did he realise what was going on.
Naenia had brought him out to witness a Lunar Eclipse.
As she danced with the dead under the red glow of the Blood Moon and Tom saw the joy and happiness she had not expressed since coming to Hogwarts, he remembered what it had been like between them, before, and something loosened in his chest.
This was something she would only ever share with him, he was sure – not with Nott or anyone else. This was a secret shared only between the two of them.
It did not take long for Tom to realise that it might be the only one, because he soon found out that Nott actually knew the truth of Naenia's family situation and had known for a while. Naenia had even told him, herself.
"Oh, it's fine," she said, when she saw Tom's expression. "You can trust Theo."
'Theo'?
"And it's not like I have to worry about anyone else finding out, anyway. There are enough excuses I could make up for the orphanage and no pure-blood would willingly contact my family for, say, marriage prospects, because their reputation is so terribly dark – assuming they were able to look past the Necromancy in the first place. The Totengräbers don't even accept anyone into their familiy who does not have – ah, what is it called? – Affinität – hm … affinity?"
"Yes," Nott said, without looking up from the Transfiguration essay he was working on, "an affinity – although we tend to use the word aptitude instead."
"Aptitude," Naenia repeated to herself and then tilted her head. "Why?"
Nott shrugged. "It has just been adopted into our day to day language over time. I cannot say why."
"An aptitude for Necromancy, then," Naenia said. "Anyone who wishes to marry a Totengräber – or a Lémure for that matter – is required to have an aptitude for Necromancy."
"And how does one know whether they have such an aptitude?" Tom asked curiously.
"Death calls to you," Naenia said, shrugging. "There are also those who can tell with a single glance. I know of several Necromancers who can do that. And, of course, some basic blood rituals."
"Basic blood rituals," Tom repeated flatly.
"They really aren't all that complicated."
Nott furrowed his brows. "You are aware that Blood Magic has been banned by the Ministry of Magic, yes?"
"As has Necromancy," Naenia replied evenly. "Yet the Lémures practice the – what was it again? – 'Forbidden Arts' openly, regardless of the laws."
"Well," Nott began sheepishly, "no one is able or willing to stop them."
Naenia nodded. "Problem solved." Then she picked up the books he had discarded earlier and went back to reading.
Nothing was solved, really, but Tom had long ago learned that, sometimes, it was better not to argue with his friend.
He looked at Nott, who was leafing through a book Tom knew wouldn't be helpful for the Transfiguration assignment he, himself, was almost done with. Then he looked back at Naenia, who was reading some kind of novel, twirling a fountain pen in her hand.
(Nott had asked about the fountain pens exactly once. He had not liked Tom's perfectly reasonable response, but accepted the very similar one given to him by Naenia regardless. Tom's dislike for the boy had only grown.)
"You should spend your free time more wisely," Tom remarked.
Naenia only hummed in response.
Tom sighed. "You are aware that you will not be allowed to advance a year if you do not turn in any homework, yes?"
"I already did it."
"… When?" Tom certainly hadn't seen her do it and Naenia had been at his side all day. There was no way –
"During Charms," Naenia replied.
"Charms?" Tom repeated, taken aback. How on earth had she written the entire essay during those forty-five minutes of Charms Theory and with no books to look up the information needed to reach the required length?
Naenia finally looked up from her book to raise an eyebrow at him. "Did you honestly think I would take notes in class? The only subject where I do not do my homework during theory lessons is Herbology, because a greenhouse doesn't make for clean writing."
Tom did not ask how she had managed to write that essay. Tom ignored the nagging voice in his head and instead chose to ask, "What do you write during Herbology, then?"
"Whether I could work better with dead plants, random thoughts and ideas, calculations, possible applications of Necromancy in everyday life …" Naenia shrugged. "Whatever comes to mind. In any case, the Transfiguration homework wasn't even all that interesting. What do I care about the difference in transfiguring a needle and a pin cushion? It would be so much more interesting to ponder the question whether objects transfigured into animals are actually alive. Can they bleed? Can they die? Can they be reanimated? And are animals transfigured into objects temporarily dead? Unalive? What if the object is broken – will the animal die? It's like a magical version of Schrödinger's cat."
"Sh- Who?"
"A Muggle scientist. You should read up on his experiment sometime, I believe he published a paper about it a few years ago. I'm sure you would appreciate quantum physics much more than I do. Seems to be the sort of advanced intellectual challenge you like so much."
Tom frowned. "So what about the cat?"
"Quantum physics," Naenia repeated, as if that explained anything. "Ah, well, setting that part aside – essentially, you put a cat and a bottle of poison in a box. If the cat inhales the poison, it dies. The chances of the bottle of poison breaking are equal to the chances of it not breaking. Until you open the box, you have no way of knowing whether the bottle has broken and the cat is alive or dead, so it exists in a state of being both alive and dead simultaneously." She titled her head. "Unless you are a Necromancer and can sense the cat dying, which defies the purpose of the experiment – the box is designed to make it impossible for you to determine the cat's state unless you open it, after all."
"The poor cat," Nott murmured.
Tom ignored him. "How do you even know about this?"
"I stole a book from that arrogant prick who came looking for a rare talent to adopt. It was as pretentious as the man, himself. Schrödinger's cat was the only interesting bit."
Tom remembered the man in the fancy suit. He had been sorely tempted to reveal his intellectual superiority over the other orphans if only to prove that there could be talented minds among those without proper education and background. But that would have put him at risk of being adopted by the 'arrogant prick' – as Naenia had so fittingly put it – so Tom had bitten his tongue and remained silent.
By the time Tom had collected his thoughts and come up with another question, Naenia had already returned to her novel. It was better than her engaging Nott in another conversation, so Tom let her be.
⸸
As a general rule, Naenia did not let people touch her – only Tom was an exception and Tom had worked hard for that. But now he watched her allow Nott to offer his arm and escort her to breakfast in the Great Hall and the tightness in his chest that had only eased mere days before returned twice-fold.
Naenia immediately noticed his mood souring, of course.
"When I have gained their respect," he said in reply to her arched eyebrow, "I shall take to escorting you, myself."
He had stopped being careful in Nott's presence as it became clear the boy wouldn't dare betray Naenia's trust. Additionally, it was amusing to watch the boy's frustration grow when Tom kept ignoring him altogether, pretending he wasn't there in the first place.
Naenia huffed. "You should perhaps rethink your strategy, then. You haven't been making much progress in that regard."
"Earning the respect of narrow-mined people is a hard and long process. They will keep denying my superiority as long as they can."
Tom resolutely ignored Nott's snort, but Naenia's lips twitched traitorously.
"While you have achieved outstanding academical results recently, you have not shown them directly that you are actually better than them – despite being 'of dirty blood' and all that."
Tom frowned. "Have I not been doing exactly that for the past months?"
"Academically," Naenia emphasised. "But barely anyone outside of Ravenclaw really cares about that. No, what I meant, is this: Make it absolutely clear to them that you are superior. Make them bleed. Show them that their blood is just as red as everyone else's. You are an orphan, a half-blood, your magical parent came from a line of inbred madmen that could barely perform any magic whatsoever. And yet you are clearly the most powerful wizard in our generation. Their pure blood is worth nothing compared to your power."
Nott was watching their interaction with an intensity that gnawed at Tom's resolution to disregard his presence. They had almost reached the Great Hall, too, and Tom was not sure he wanted his housemates to overhear this particular conversation.
"You are pure of blood and magically gifted," he said. "You perfectly validate their side of the argument."
"It's not an argument," Naenia returned, "it's a – ah, what's the word? – eine Ideologie der Überlegenheit von Idioten, die im Irrglauben sie seien mehr als sie jemals hoffen sein zu können andere zu unterwerfen versuchen."[1]
Tom blinked, perplexed, at her sudden outburst. While he did not understand her words, the sheer irritation in her tone told him more than enough.
"A supremacist ideology," Nott said, as if he wasn't part of it.
"Not an argument, but a supremacist ideology," Naenia agreed. "And I am pure of Necromancer blood and a Necromancer. Among His faithful, I am not special at all."
"Do you or do you not believe in the superiority of pure magical blood?" a voice interjected and Tom, Naenia and Nott collectively turned around to the two boys that had approached them from behind.
Tom had long learned to recognize the one who pretended to be confident even in the presence of a Necromancer as Avery and the one who could never hide his fear of Naenia as Lestrange – even in this very moment, the latter looked pale and withdrawn, like he did not want to be there, at all.
Tom knew what Naenia's answer would even before she tilted her head and said, "What does blood matter, if everyone dies in the end?"
"Ah," Avery said, lacking the refined elegance he liked to flaunt, sounding somewhat strangled instead. "So you are of the opinion that blood purity does not matter."
Naenia smiled. It was not a nice smile. (Her smiles usually weren't – if you were anyone but Tom.) "I do not care about the colour of your blood. I only care about you dying one day and when that day is going to be – preferably right now."
Avery reared back, looking deeply disturbed. Lestrange only paled further.
"Oh, I wasn't speaking about you, specifically," Naenia added, not sounding reassuring at all, "I was merely using the impersonal, generic 'you'."
Tom thought about the outrage the pure-bloods would feel once they all realised what Naenia's words implied – that she, who was officially at the top of the first-years' hierarchy and could potentially rise to the top of all of Slytherin's hierarchy, did simply not care about the very foundations that made up said hierarchy. The thought made him smile to himself.
Avery and Lestrange unsurprisingly took their seats as far from them as possible. To Tom's chagrin, Nott did not join them. Then again, Tom had noticed that Nott appeared to not be on more than polite terms with anyone other than Naenia. Whether it had always been that way or had become like that because of his choice to stay by a Necromancer's side, Tom did not know. His decision to ignore the boy as much as possible had, unfortunately, resulted in Tom learning less about the boy's personality compared to all the other classmates he carefully observed any chance he got. Perhaps he should rectify that.
"Pure-bloods," Naenia muttered as she sat down at the table, wrinkling her nose – at the thought or the food, Tom didn't know. Perhaps at both.
"They cannot do anything about it anymore, at this point," Nott said. "We made sure of that."
"Yet I still have to deal with them. Did I not choose you as my second precisely so I would not have to do that anymore?"
Tom arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Naenia sniffed. "Power and influence are nice things to have when you need them, but the responsibilities attached to them are too bothersome to deal with on a daily basis."
So Tom had been right, after all – Naenia had not actually wanted a position of power. "So you appointed a lackey to do the work for you," he said.
"I laid down some ground rules," Naenia said with a shrug, "but otherwise gave him free reign."
Nott nodded. "I can rule Slytherin House however I see fit and if I ever make a mistake, I won't have to bear the consequences – because I 'acted on her orders'."
"'Rule Slytherin House'?" Tom repeated.
Naenia grinned. "We – that is to say, Nott, using my name – are going to take over Slytherin House entirely at one point. Not right now, but maybe next year."
"And what of others who aspire to do the same?" Tom asked carefully.
Naenia, of course, saw right through him. "Like yourself?" she said, arching an eyebrow. "You are welcome to try. Anyone is welcome to try." She grinned sharply. "Though I doubt they will succeed. You may very well be the only one with an actual chance."
"How flattering."
"You have yet to prove your superiority over us," Nott interjected, his voice devoid of emotion. "You cannot expect to succeed without having gained the necessary respect first."
Tom narrowed his eyes at the boy. "So you want me to make you bleed?"
The smile Nott gave him made Tom's blood boil. "Oh, not at all. I want you to make them bleed."
"Why is it," Tom began in a low tone, "that one moment you maintain that pure-bloods are superior, yet the next moment you admit to supporting Naenia's plan of undermining their authority?"
Nott's smile widened while the look in his eyes grew colder. "Wouldn't you like to know? Unfortunately, I cannot say that I respect you enough to deign to answer your question. But I will be nice and give you a hint: My lack of respect for you has nothing to do with the colour of your blood."
The only thing that prevented Tom from hexing the boy right then and there was the laugh that startled both Tom and Nott. They simultaneously turned around to look at Naenia, who was unsuccessfully hiding a wide smile behind her raised hand, her eyes twinkling with unmasked mirth.
"Adorable," she breathed.
"Excuse me?" Tom hissed, feeling indignant.
Naenia lowered her hand, her grin sharpening into something mischievous, something dangerous. "You two are utterly adorable – like two predators prowling around each other, changing your masks to adapt to each new piece of information you gain about your foe."
Tom did not expect Nott to snort. It ignited a spark of anger in his chest, but Tom was too busy staring at his friend in disbelief to act on that spark. He had the sneaking suspicion that Naenia would have erupted into a bout of giggles – or perhaps even outright laughter – if they weren't currently sitting in the Great Hall and Slytherins on top of that. Slytherins did not laugh loudly – neither in public, nor in the privacy of their common room. It was inelegant. It just wasn't done.
But Naenia certainly looked like she wanted to and it made it all the more impressive that she wasn't even shaking with the supressed laughter. Tom knew Naenia was capable of controlling her expressions just as well as he, himself, did on a daily basis. She merely did not bother, usually. Tom had to play the perfect student. It would be detrimental to all of his plans, were rumours about his true self start circulating. On the day he would finally make the idiotic pure-bloods bleed, he would also ensure that they were frightened enough to never even think about letting that little secret slip. They would revere him as their superior and obey his every command.
Naenia, on the other hand, did not need to do that. She was already feared and respected and Tom doubted playing nice, no matter how convincing, would have soothed the inherent fear of death that came naturally to everyone else. Unlike Tom, Naenia was free to do whatever she wanted and still got everything he coveted.
"Either way," Naenia said, interrupting Tom's line of thought. "While you are free to fight each other as much as you desire, I would much appreciate it if your dispute did not result in any increased workload on my end. I would rather not have to deal with the pure-bloods."
"Deal with politics, you mean," Nott said dryly and Naenia smiled in response.
Tom was sorely tempted to roll his eyes at that. "Why did you even seize that position in the first place, if you never actually wanted it?"
"Oh, but I told you already," Naenia said.
Indeed she had, Tom remembered. "'Power and influence are nice things to have when you need them'," he quoted.
"'But the responsibilities attached to them are too bothersome to deal with on a daily basis'," Naenia finished, nodding. "Feel free to accomplish your goals of gaining respect and taking the position from us as soon as possible."
"I beg your pardon," Nott said. "I rather like our arrangement as it is."
Tom allowed himself to smirk. "If Naenia gives me permission, who am I to refuse her?"
He did not like Nott, he would never like Nott. But, at the end of the day, Naenia was on his side and that was all Tom needed. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting her go because she had something he wanted ever again – he was sure, now, that she would willingly give up everything he longed for, if he could prove to her that he deserved it. Nott, on the other hand … But that was a problem he would deal with when the time came. Nott would bleed just like everyone else would.
Tom's smirk widened at the thought and the flicker of unease Nott wasn't quick enough to hide made the satisfaction in his heart deepen.
[1]"It's not an argument," Naenia returned, "it's a – ah, what's the word? – an ideology of the supremacy of idiots who, under the delusion that they are more than they can ever hope to be, try to subjugate others."