September 1941 to March 1942, 4th year
"How would you feel about entering the Duelling Club?" Tom asked as he settled back into his seat.
"Did Professor Slughorn suggest you enter?" Naenia asked, not bothering to look up from the book she had been reading since they had settled into an empty compartment on the train.
Tom's lips quirked upwards. "He may have mentioned it, yes. He also asked after you."
"Goodness, what a horrible thought."
"The Slug Club isn't that bad, my dear. All it requires is patience and you will be rewarded in turn. It will certainly provide me with excellent connections for the future and it shows our peers that I do, in fact, deserve to be treated with respect."
"You're still working on that, I see."
"I believe the Duelling Club will be of great assistance as well."
Naenia hummed. "If you play your cards right."
"So, how do you feel about it?"
"Indifferent."
"Then you wouldn't mind joining with me, would you?"
Naenia sighed, finally tearing her eyes away from the pages of her book. "I might be persuaded to attend one meeting."
"And in return …?"
"You will kindly continue to find nice little burial sites for me."
"I would have done so regardless."
"And provide me with an alibi whenever I wish to leave for – ah, how did our dear Professor Dumbledore put it? – 'nefarious practices'."
Tom paused. He blinked.
"You want to actively practice Necromancy during the school year?"
"I have been advised it would be beneficial for me to do so."
"I see … And only I am privy to this?"
"Who else would I tell?"
Tom smiled. "One meeting of the Duelling Club, then. And afterwards, you may decide for yourself whether you wish to continue to attend."
It would be an excellent way to determine her prowess in combative magic, Tom thought, as he turned to watch the countryside fly by outside the window. He, himself, was planning to use the opportunity to experiment with creative ways to apply magic in battle – not using the Old Magics, of course, for it wouldn't do to reveal all of his cards like that.
("Impressive," he overheard one of his housemates say – and only their opinions mattered, the rest of the school was already in awe of him, after all – "for a mudblood.")
He should have known Naenia wouldn't bother beyond using some light Necromancy – pain inducement, from what Tom observed, making people lose consciousness with a mere touch. He supposed she could have easily killed them by cutting the threads tethering them to life while she was at it.
It was … rather unspectacular to watch, from an outsider's perspective. Or so Tom thought.
"Creepy," Tom heard Avery comment not far from him. "She's not even pretending to be using her wand."
"Has a certain charm to it, though," Rosier replied. "In an intimidating kind of way."
Tom glanced over to confirm that Rosier was, indeed, smirking.
"Intimidating, yes," Lestrange said, apprehension written all over his face. "I hope you have not forgotten what happened in our second year."
"How could I," Avery said dryly. "You cannot imagine how much that hurt. And I wasn't even doing anything to the bloody wench."
Lestrange shushed him. Tom pretended not to notice the way the boy looked at him nervously, nor how he flinched when he saw Naenia coming their way.
Tom smiled.
"That was marvellous," he said just a tad louder than was normal. "As expected."
Naenia arched an eyebrow at him. "If you say so."
"Have you considered joining permanently?"
"I don't see any reason to." She turned her head to where their housemates were gathered. "And I believe our peers would be glad to not see me return." She looked back at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I can think of better ways to use the time – after all, it will be a good opportunity to get together with Theo, undisturbed, to discuss our plans for Slytherin House."
Tom's smile fell.
"You can take over any time, Tom," she added cheerfully.
Well, he thought, better this than the damned melancholy.
"I am working on it."
Tom had always been brilliant, but now he could finally shine in a way that mattered to his housemates. It would be great.
Naenia gave him an amused look. "I don't doubt it."
⸸
Tom did not look up to watch the group approach, carefully affecting nonchalance and continuing to work on his research. Naenia didn't bother acknowledging them either, but in her case, it was actual, honest indifference. Nott did look up, but a pointed side-glance from Tom thankfully made him go back to his homework.
"Excuse me," Avery spoke up.
Tom looked up at them questioningly. Nott took this as permission to look as well and watch.
Avery cleared his throat. "May we join you?"
Got you.
Tom gave him a small, nonplussed smile. "Of course."
He gestured to the free seats on the side across from Naenia rather than next to her, then watched them settle down with a polite smile affixed to his face. To his displeasure, only Avery and Lestrange sat where he had indicated while Rosier chose the other side of the table, across from Tom, next to Naenia and Nott.
Naenia continued reading.
Oh, well. Rosier would learn, given time.
When Montague and Mulciber asked to join, less than a month later, Tom could barely hold back a satisfied smirk. They relocated to a larger table the next day – after all, it wouldn't do to have any of them take up space on Naenia's or Tom's side. They didn't even question it and Tom counted another win for himself.
(When Mulciber carefully asked Naenia and Nott about a house-related matter on Montague's behalf, Tom calmly did not react, nor did he count it as a loss. Everything was fine.)
(When Rosier made a comment about how hard Tom must be working to accomplish such feats for someone of his blood, Tom calmly did not react, but tucked the memory away for later.)
⸸
Tom stopped short on his way across the common room and turned his head. It was rare to hear someone play the grand piano in itself and he had only ever heard classical pieces being played on it. This was … different, but oddly familiar.
The glimpse of white hair was all he needed to realise what was going on.
Naenia didn't acknowledge his approach, keeping her eyes closed as her fingers flew over the keys.
"And here I thought I was the one with hands befitting a pianist."
"You are," she replied. "This would be so much easier were my fingers as long as yours."
"Did Nott teach you?"
A smile spread across her lips. "How ever did you know?"
Tom hummed in lieu of giving an answer. He went to perch at the edge of the piano stool, but then Naenia scooted to the side to make space for him to sit properly next to her, melody never faltering.
Tom frowned at the lack of sheets. "Are you playing from memory?"
"In a way. I didn't memorise the Partitur, if that's what you're talking about."
"The what?"
Naenia opened her eyes just to roll them at him. "The score."
Tom watched her look at the piano in contemplation for a moment, before smoothly transitioning to a different song.
"It's a form of translation," she told him. "I am translating the music my mind hears into music my ears can perceive. Of course," she smiled wryly, "if I cannot remember a song fully, I cannot translate it completely – in the end, I really am playing from memory. I actually cannot read Partituren, yet – partiturae? – but, ultimately, that is just another form of translation, is it not?"
"So you have taken up another hobby. I thought you were discussing plans for our house?"
"Theo has it well in hand, I'm sure." She gave him an amused look. "And if he doesn't, all the better for you."
Tom laughed and leaned into her.
He looked down at the keys. "Show me how you do it."
⸸
Not for the first time, Tom was sorely tempted to rub his forehead in frustration. Avery and Rosier really knew how to test his patience. Lestrange was too timid for his own good, but Tom couldn't say he minded. He preferred Lestrange's quietness over the idiotic nonsense Avery and Rosier kept spewing anytime.
"If you cannot even tell the difference between a charm and a jinx, hex or curse," Tom said, putting all his efforts into refraining from gritting his teeth, "then there is truly no hope for you."
"Hey, now!" Rosier protested. "I know that. Charms do stuff to things and the other spells do stuff to people."
Tom cut his eyes at him.
"And what," he said in a low tone, "is the difference between a jinx, a hex, and a curse?"
He watched in satisfaction as the boy failed not to slump his shoulders in defeat.
Tom had never agreed to any tutoring sessions and he never would. But he could hardly refuse to answer when one of his housemates asked a question, could he? He could even understand where the confusion between the Explosion Charm and the Blasting Curse came from. But apparently, his explanation of the difference had been too complicated. Or rather, his listeners were too stupid to understand the basics of spellcasting.
"I don't get why we have to let a mudblood tell us these things," Avery muttered, barely audible.
Tom was a half-blood. They knew he was a half-blood.
Give it time, he thought to himself. Patience.
"I don't know why you bother," Nott commented in a light tone, smirking at Tom. "'All magic is the same', isn't it?"
It sounded as if he was quoting someone. Naenia, probably. Tom glanced over to where she was sitting with Malfoy, privacy spells firmly in place to keep all sounds and thoughts of their conversation private.
"While that might be the case," Tom replied neutrally, pointedly looking at Avery and Rosier as he spoke, "the distinction remains. It may not be a magical distinction, but rather one meant to categorise spells for easy reference – our exams will expect you to know the difference either way and if you ever wish to amount to anything, you need to perform well on those."
"Right," Avery said, clearly not understanding at all.
Rosier let his head fall onto the table and muttered something along the lines of, "Who needs good marks when you'll inherit the family business, anyway."
"If your foundation is lacking, even your family's fortune won't save your future," Tom said primly.
Rosier just groaned.
⸸
"I see you have not been idle while I've been away," Naenia murmured, surveying the room Tom had wished into existence for them.
"Surely you already knew about the room's secrets."
"Perhaps." She sank down onto the cushions of the homely sofa and gingerly picked up one of the fine porcelain cups from the low table in front of it. "Oh, how lovely."
Tom procured the tea he had brought from his pockets and waved his wand to fill the accompanying teapot with water to boil.
Naenia looked at it with delight, then leaned forward and tapped her finger on the table, making a plate of biscuits appear seemingly out of nowhere.
"Now," she said, once the tea was ready, cup cradled between her hands. "What did you wish to show me?"
In reply, Tom raised his wand and turned to write his name in the air. With a wave, the letters rearranged themselves. He had thought long and hard before finally coming up with this.
He turned back around, excited. "Brilliant, isn't it? It means –"
"I know what it means," Naenia interrupted him with a scoff. "And it is ridiculous. 'Lord Voldemort', really?"
Tom felt himself wilt in the face of her obvious disapproval.
"The 't' is silent," he said quietly.
Naenia gave him a withering look.
"Your name is a special name," he said, ignoring how petulant he sounded even to his own ears, sitting back down, "but 'Tom Riddle' is such an ordinary name for the extraordinary person I will become." He quirked up one corner of his lips. "And 'Tom Totengräber' sounds rather … Well."
"I like your name," Naenia mused. "It has a nice ring to it. I would enjoy being a riddle."
"Naenia Riddle?"
She furrowed her brows. "No, of course not. But we are digressing. 'Lord Voldemort' is a ridiculous moniker no matter how you look at it."
"What else am I to do, then? Take the disgraced name of my mother's relatives?"
"You could."
Tom crossed his arms. "'Tom Gaunt' does not sound any more refined."
"Change it to Thomas Gaunt, then. Or make use of your ridiculous middle name."
"You just called it ridiculous."
"Others won't think so."
"Will it earn me respect?"
"No. Whatever you choose to call yourself, it won't erase your past."
"It won't erase my heritage you mean. Unless I built an entirely new identity from the ground up."
Naenia inclined her head in acknowledgement. "It's simply what pure-bloods are like."
Tom allowed himself to let out a long-suffering sigh. "All I want for my future is respect, power and immortality."
"What small goals to have," Naenia said dryly. "Will you sit down already?"
Tom sat down.
"What do you want for your future, then?"
"Me?" She laid a hand on her cheek, pondering the question for a moment. "I suppose, I would like … to open a funeral parlour of my own. Securing the funds might prove challenging if the Totengräbers decide not to support me, but I'm fairly positive they will be in favour of such an endeavour."
Tom hummed. "Yes, that would … provide a great opportunity for me. If you provide a steady income, I will have more room to steadily spread my influence without worrying over working a respectable job at the Ministry of Magic."
Naenia gave him an odd look. "You want to become a househusband."
Tom blinked. "We would have servants for the housework, would we not? Preferable undead servants, as I imagine those would need fewer resources to manage. I can imagine myself working better," he continued, "seated inside a snug and comfortable home. Isn't that what you wish to do, as well – with your funeral parlour?"
Naenia tilted her head. "I suppose." Then she chuckled to herself. "What would dear Professor Dumbledore say, do you think, if he learned you wished to become a househusband? Perhaps we should tell him about these plans when he next invites us over for tea."
"Do you really think he will?"
Naenia shrugged.
He did.
Tom did not understand what the old man hoped to achieve with these meetings, but he knew better than to tell Dumbledore what a waste of time it was to his face. Well. If inviting them to tea now and then was all the old man was doing, Tom supposed there could be worse things. He wouldn't let his guard down, of course, for he was well aware that the old man was a far more cunning manipulator and schemer than his public façade of a gentle, grandfatherly figure made people believe.
As if to spite him, Tom and Naenia sneaked out the very same night to go and witness a total lunar eclipse outside the castle's walls. (Tom wondered, briefly, if the date Dumbledore had chosen for his invitation had been a coincidence or not. It didn't matter, in the end.)
Sneaking out was almost like second nature to them at this point. Usually, they went out to visit the local graveyard or ventured further to other burial sites, official or not. On this night, Naenia led them straight into the Forbidden Forest, carefully keeping the moon above them in sight, not bothering with a light of her own. Tom never minded letting her take the lead and he knew she would be able to sense any living or dead beings approaching, but there was something about the deep shadows of the Forbidden Forest in particular that never failed to make him uneasy – it wasn't a nice place to be during the day, never mind in the darkness of the night. (And what about the things that were neither alive nor dead, part of his mind wondered, what about those?)
"He will keep us safe," Naenia whispered as if she had read his mind.
Tom didn't need to ask who 'He' was. It didn't reassure him in the slightest, even though he trusted Naenia.
Sometimes, Tom wondered if the Legilimency went both ways. Or perhaps Naenia simply knew him too well, reading him like an open book no matter how perfect his mask of calmness.
By the time the eclipse began, they had already ventured far deeper into the woods than Tom would have ever dared to at night. An unnatural red glow that couldn't possibly have come from the moon began to illuminate their surroundings. He could hear the leaves rustling as if they were – no, those were actual whispers. And laughter that sounded like little bells.
Tom turned his head warily, slowly inching closer to Naenia.
There, in the distance – spots of blueish light began to glow, contrasting the ominous red glow, brighter and brighter, dancing between the trees.
Will-o'-the-wisps, Tom realised, and they were slowly but surely surrounding them on all sides.
Naenia laughed, sounding almost like the bell-like giggles coming from the will-o'-the-wisps, and extended her hand to touch the nearest one.
"Little ghost fires," she cooed in a tone that made Tom stare at her in bewilderment, "dancing so beautifully."
As if wanting to hear more praise, the floating blue flames began to dance with even more excitement, bobbing up and down, chasing one another, whispering and giggling and chattering in words Tom could not understand.
Had they been made of real fire, Tom and Naenia would have been singed – perhaps even burned – so close did they come.
One of the flames persistently circled Naenia until she actually joined them and Tom could only watch in stunned fascination as his oldest and only friend began to dance with the will-o'-the-wisps.
He had watched her sing to the dead, radiating peace and happiness, but this was entirely different. This excitement and radiance were so unlike her, it took Tom's breath away.
When the moon eventually returned to normal and the ghost fires danced away into the darkness of the forest, there was a spring in Naenia's steps and Tom wondered if it would always be like this.
AN
Neither of them even stopped to consider that there's a possibility they might not spend the rest of their lives together. It's almost as if their entire lives revolve around one another ...