September 1940 to February 1941, 3rd year

Tom leaned his head against the cool window and allowed himself to close his eyes.

They had made it. They had finally returned to Hogwarts. They were finally back in their own common room, where they could sit by the high windows showing the murky waters of the Great Lake and enjoy a moment of peace.

He would have been perfectly fine to not spare a single thought about the war during the entire school year, but that was impossible. Even if he wasn't well on his way to advance his skills in Legilimency and general mind reading to a passive skill and even if the Muggle-born students weren't constantly whispering their concerns and worries for their families to each other wherever they went – Naenia was keeping herself actively informed about the bombings that devastated London. ('The Blitz' they called it.)

"What about other areas?" Tom asked.

They were sitting close enough for Tom to feel her shrug. "I'm only interested in London."

"But it is always worthwhile to be well-informed," Tom said – as if he wasn't secretly wishing to not be informed about the war at all. "What if there is a pattern to the air raids that will allow us to predict when and where the next one is going to be?"

Naenia gave him a flat look. "There is no pattern, this is war. And London is the capital, so it will be a primary target, anyway."

Tom highly disagreed with her first statement, but he didn't want to argue with his friend. He never did.

Deciding to change the subject, he asked for her opinion on their electives instead.

Naenia shrugged once more. "They're fine, I suppose."

"Just 'fine'?"

"I expected … more."

Tom hummed. "It is quite disappointing that Study of Ancient Runes is no more than a language class when they aren't even teaching us Latin. But you must have known Arithmancy would be all about divining the future – it's literally in the name."

Naenia sighed. She was aware of that. But what else could she have realistically chosen? Arithmancy was at least better established and more challenging than the broader subject of Divination.

"No one would have dared to say anything had you chosen Muggle Studies," Tom commented.

He understood why Care of Magical Creatures had never been an option for her. He didn't much care for it, himself, but the knowledge gained from it was still valuable.

Naenia put her head on his shoulder. "I'm tired, Tom."

She wasn't talking about physical exhaustion, he knew.

"We will see about visiting a graveyard soon," he promised. "In the meantime, perhaps talking to the ghosts might help?"

"Maybe," she said listlessly.

I want to go home, went unspoken.

Tom's breath hitched.

Naenia looked up at him questioningly.

"What do you mean by 'wanting to go home'?"

"Reading my mind again, are you?"

"Did you not notice?"

"I haven't paid it much mind since you started doing it last year."

Tom … didn't know how to feel about that.

Naenia sighed. "I meant home, Tom – where my family lives. I miss being among Necromancers, among those who devote their entire existences to Death, among those who understand."

"I want to understand," he said quietly. "You know I do."

"It's not the same."

Tom had no reply for that.

⸸

There were moments, throughout the year, when Tom realised that he had begun acting on Naenia's thoughts rather than his own. He didn't think much of it at first – reaching for foods Naenia preferred was something he already did more often than not, anyway. Considering the likelihood of certain classmates dying anytime soon wasn't a novel thought. Feeling restless after having been cooped up in the castle for too long was normal.

But what if it wouldn't end with the little things? What if he started thinking and acting and behaving like Naenia without even noticing? Where would his own self end and hers begin?

This was his own fault, of course.

And Tom – Tom did not want to give up the intimacy, the control, the certainty it gave him about Naenia's thoughts and opinions and loyalty. He couldn't give up on it. It gave him –

He stopped caring eventually. He stopped trying to differentiate between their muddled surface thoughts too hard. It was fine. It was – good, actually.

Tom paused on his way to his dormitory. There, by the window, Naenia was sitting all on her own.

"Where's Nott?" Tom asked softly once he was close enough to touch her if he so wanted.

He remembered the two of them setting off together earlier that day.

"Theobald has already retired for the night."

The look in her eyes – It was forlorn. Tom had seen it before, but he could not reconcile it with the image he had of Naenia in his mind.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

She gave him a half-hearted smile, gesturing for him to go ahead.

Their common room was beautiful and their view of the underwater world of the Great Lake even more so. Tom had always thought so. (Even if you couldn't see much on most days, for the waters were often murky and dark.) On rare occasions, one of the older students would play on the grand piano, accentuating the dream-like atmosphere.

They didn't often sit in silence like this, simply watching, observing, doing nothing with their time. Or they hadn't done it often in the years before. It concerned Tom. Tom did not like that. A soft, quiet, melancholic Naenia was … too odd.

He looked down at where their hands were entwined. This was also something they had not done often, before. This, Tom did not mind.

Looking at them, Tom couldn't help but wonder about the differences between their hands. Compared to her fingers, his were long and spindly.

He could almost hear Naenia huff mockingly in his head.

Compared to his fingers, hers were short and stubby.

Tom frowned at the thought. That didn't sound right. He would never –

Naenia turned their hands over, so she was now gripping his fingers lightly.

"Such slender and elegant fingers," she said, amusement lacing her voice, "fit for a pianist."

"A pianist," he repeated dryly.

Naenia smiled. "These short and stubby fingers of mine cannot compare," she said teasingly.

They lapsed into silence once more.

It was not an uncomfortable silence, but it made something itch underneath Tom's skin. It irked him that he did not know what it was.

Finally, eventually, after some time had passed, Naenia spoke up once more, "London is burning."

Tom frowned. "Again?"

"Another Great Fire," Naenia confirmed, "caused by yet another air raid."

What a birthday present, Tom thought to himself. "Then it is a good thing we are spending our holidays here instead. As always."

Naenia gave him an indecipherable look and for once, he kept himself out of her mind willingly.

"I suppose," she said then, quietly, but Tom heard the doubt in her voice.

He sighed. "Naenia –"

"Excuse me."

Tom whirled around. Who dared –

A young boy with long, platinum blonde hair tied together by a fancy bow stood before them, looking between them.

"Miss Totengräber?" he asked. "I was wondering if I might speak to you in private."

Abraxas Malfoy, Tom's mind supplied, second-year student.

The boy was hiding it well, but Tom knew he was incredibly nervous – apprehensive about approaching the Necromancer, but Malfoy knew he would only find the help he needed from the highest-ranking person in Slytherin and that was –

"Naenia?"

Naenia glanced at Tom and smiled knowingly at whatever she saw on his face. But then she turned away, turned to send a message to Nott and before Tom could get another word in, she was already leading Malfoy away. Away from Tom.

When had they taken over Slytherin House, he wondered, without him noticing the shift in power?

⸸

Talks about Grindelwald were considerably more common than talks about the Muggle war, though neither could be encountered particularly frequently in the halls of Hogwarts castle. The magical community of Britain, Tom knew with no small amount of bitterness, did not care much for things that happened outside their little bubble, even if it had the potential to greatly affect them in the future.

Next to him, Naenia was hiding a smile behind her teacup, confirming that she was indeed listening to their housemates' disparaging conversation about Grindelwald's German origins. Any other German would probably have been highly offended. But Naenia wasn't 'anyone'. Tom had learned that a long time ago.

Their eyes met.

He isn't even German, Naenia was thinking, amused.

"Do you think Lord Grindelwald would advocate for the old sabbats?" Nott suddenly spoke up, his eyes trained on the other Slytherins. "It would certainly endear him to a lot of the older, more traditional families."

Naenia raised her hand to hide a yawn. "Doubt it."

"And why is that?" Tom asked curiously.

"Half of those so-called 'sabbats' are actually rooted in modern paganism, which in turn reimagined old traditions based on what people thought might have been celebrated in ancient times," Naenia said in a dry tone. "I'm not even sure why the British pure-bloods call them 'sabbats', when sabbats have Hebrew origins."

"What," Tom said flatly. "Why have I not heard of this before?"

"Because the British don't want to admit they lost their actual traditions?" Naenia shrugged. "Because they love to stay ignorant and keep the next generations ignorant to their own failures and so take care not to leave any records of their true origins?"

"You're only miffed about Imbolc coming up," Nott grumbled.

For some reason Tom had still not managed to wheedle out of her, Naenia really disliked the purification rituals of Imbolc. He had a suspicion the problem lay with the 'salt for the body' part in particular and less so with the rest – incense for the thoughts, a candle flame for the will, water for the emotions, a crystal for the spirit – but he couldn't figure out why.

"That is entirely irrelevant to this argument," Naenia returned primly.

Nott sighed loudly. "Just because they are derived from modern pagan rites, does not mean they are meaningless. You, yourself, have officiated the Samhain rituals. You know they are rooted in magic."

"Well, some of those were introduced by my own ancestors and kept alive by the Lémures as far as I know."

How, though? Tom really would have liked to know how Naenia knew these things.

"So, no," she concluded, "I do not think Grindelwald would advocate for the 'old sabbats'."

"What about the oldest forms of magic, then?" Tom asked. "The kind you and I practice?"

Naenia paused.

"If he is aware of the Old Magics," she began slowly, "he might garner the attention of the Totengräbers and that will not, in any way, ever be a good thing."

Tom sat up straighter. "I thought they had already taken an interest in him?"

"That is different. His actions are causing people to die, after all."

"What would happen, should he … garner their attention?"

Naenia looked at him, her face and mind unreadable. "Nothing good."

⸸

"Your smile is alarmingly bright today", Nott said with trepidation as Tom entered the Arithmancy classroom. "Did something happen?"

"Runcorn tripped on the stairs today. It was brilliant."

Naenia perked up. "Oh, did he break his neck?"

"… No."

"Well, that's a shame." She went back to the book she had been reading. "The calculations for today's assignment predicted an unfortunate event in the vaguest sense possible. It was positively maddening."

Tom blinked, accepting the piece of parchment she handed him to look at an unfamiliar matrix. "How do you know today's assignment?"

"Calculated it."

"Right."

It took all of Tom's willpower not to react when their professor did, in fact, introduce them to a matrix that looked exactly like the one Naenia had shown him earlier and had them fill one out and calculate simple predictions for their day. It took even more of his willpower when his results turned out almost identical to Naenia's.

During their lunch break, a younger Slytherin delivered an invitation to tea with Professor Dumbledore. Tom and Naenia looked at each other. No words were necessary.

"Come in, come in," the man greeted them with his falsely warm and cheerful voice on Saturday afternoon.

Trying to meddle again, Tom thought to himself.

"I trust you have both been well? Tea? Biscuits?"

"Thank you, Professor," Naenia replied in a perfectly courteous tone. "Tea would be appreciated."

Tom nodded along, deciding to let her take the lead and use the opportunity to better observe the old man. Naenia had a tendency to confound people, which sometimes startled them enough to reveal hidden sides, Tom had found.

"How has the school year treated you so far? Are the new subjects to your liking?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled annoyingly. "I'm sure you appreciate the challenge."

"We are doing well, Professor," Naenia replied for them both, not even glancing in Tom's direction. "I mourn the free time spent reading, but as you said – the challenge the new subjects provide is indeed appreciated."

What challenge? Tom thought. He kept his face perfectly blank, taking a cursory sip of his tea. It had a sweet fragrance he did not like.

"And your classmates?"

Curious, Tom thought, that he didn't use the word 'friends'.

Naenia tilted her head. "What about them?"

Tom thought he caught the old man faltering, but it was too brief to be sure.

"How are they doing? Are you still getting along?"

"Everything is well."

"I see …"

They lapsed into silence. Tom took another sip of his tea and tried not to grimace.

"There was," Dumbledore eventually began slowly, "another matter I wished to discuss. I have heard –" The old man took a breath, as if to compose himself. "Concerning rumours have been brought to my attention."

Naenia furrowed her brows. "Rumours, sir?"

"About – Well. You must understand, I am not trying to accuse you both of anything."

"Of course, Professor."

"But it is my duty to ensure all is well."

"Perfectly understandably, Professor."

Ah, yes. It had been the right decision to let Naenia take the lead. Dumbledore was beginning to look unsettled.

"Have you had any contact with your family, Miss Totengraber?"

Tom almost twitched at the mispronunciation. Naenia did not react at all.

"They wrote to me," she answered truthfully.

"Might I ask when they did so?"

"You may."

A pause.

"Last year, Professor. We have not been in contact since."

"I see. And may I ask what the content of your correspondence was?"

"Professor, with all due respect – I fail to see what this has to do with any rumours you might have heard."

"My apologies. It must be hard, knowing you have a family out there while living in an orphanage."

Tom's mind wandered to the Gaunts and a certain Chamber he had still not managed to locate.

"But we should not give in to the urge to – ah – follow nefarious practices just to feel closer to them."

There were no rumours of such nature. Tom was sure of that. No matter what Tom and Naenia were or were not doing, no rumours about any 'nefarious practices' existed.

Naenia deliberately picked up her cup of tea to take a long sip, before putting it down with a soft clink.

"If you are referring to Necromancy, Professor, then you should outright say so."

The ever-present twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes had disappeared, replaced by a piercing stare that Tom knew was probing at her mind. Tom's gaze sharpened, trying to take in every little detail of Dumbledore's reactions – it wasn't much, but Tom saw the man's smile becoming slightly strained, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He would have liked to observe the man's hands, too, but they were hidden behind the desk.

"We would never dishonour the dead," Naenia continued softly. "It is not in our nature to do so. If you were able to look past your prejudices, you would know this, Professor. The Totengäbers might be out of your sphere of influence, but the Lémures are just as diligent in their service to Death and have never made a secret about it, either."

She rose, then, slow and deliberate.

"It seems to me an abuse of authority for a teacher to accuse and interrogate his charges like this. Have a good day, Professor."

Tom waited until they had put a considerable distance between themselves and Dumbledore's office, before asking.

"An impressive display," he praised. "But it doesn't seem wise to me."

"He never even had the chance to ask about your illicit practices of Legilimency," Naenia returned.

"Were you protecting me, Naenia dearest?"

"Unlike you, I do not much care for anyone's opinion of me."

Tom couldn't tell whether it was meant as a critique of himself or stating the sacrifice she had made for his sake. He truthfully did not care either way. In the end, Naenia was his and that was all that mattered.

"And whatever will you do if he decides he cannot let you continue unchecked?"

Naenia smiled and wriggled her fingers. "Spook him."