AN
If any of you have read Lemuria, you might remember the conversation in the first scene of this chapter happening quite differently for obvious reasons. Ahh, that brings me back…
April to August 1942, 4th year and summer
"What's weighing on your mind this time?"
Tom looked up from his notes, glanced around only to realise the others had all left, even Nott, and that he was not alone with Naenia in the library. He had been so absorbed in his research that he hadn't noticed them leaving.
"They all left for lunch."
Tom blinked. "And we didn't join them because …?"
Naenia shrugged. "I don't much care for lunch and you were obsessing so frantically over whatever it is that you are currently researching … You wouldn't have wanted me to ask in front of the others."
With a sigh, Tom braced his forehead on one of his hands. "They've taken up the air raids again."
"But it is not nearly as effective as the Blitz was. I don't believe we'll have to worry about the summer for now."
"That might be true, but …"
Naenia tilted her head. "Are you researching ways to achieve immortality?"
"How ever did you guess?"
"What else would have you so obsessed? What else would have you repeatedly peruse the Restricted Section? Have you found anything worthwhile?"
"Perhaps." Tom looked around to confirm no one was watching them, then waved his hands to put up basic privacy wards. He sat up straight and looked Naenia in the eyes. "What is your opinion on Horcruxes?"
Naenia frowned. "I cannot remember encountering the term before."
"It is a container for a fragment of one's soul," Tom explained, "to anchor oneself to this world in case one's body is fatally damaged."
"Splitting your soul?" Naenia said blankly.
Tom nodded.
"That cannot be a good idea. Mutilating your soul, your very being, for the illusion of immortality …"
"Illusion? How can it be an illusion?"
"In the same sense the Elixir of Life created with a Philosopher's Stone would only be an illusionary immortality – I could destroy the Stone and then you. The same goes for your Horcrux – I could just destroy your Horcrux and then you and then you would end up dead all the same. Besides, neither of these take care of your body's ageing."
"But destroying a Horcrux is a very difficult feat indeed," Tom said with false calmness, "as they are said to be nigh indestructible, but need to be broken beyond repair. And as long as the Horcrux remains, even if the body is destroyed the soul remains on earth. The Elixir of Life makes you dependent on it in every way, it is too great a risk. But if one were to make a Horcrux that person would not need for such a thing. That person could live independently."
"And then wither away and die while their soul remains on earth, broken beyond repair, unstable. No, this is no true immortality, Tom. And what would you do?" she continued. "Without a body. Wander the earth forevermore, seeking a new body to inhabit, relying on others to provide you with a new vessel?"
He smiled. "Isn't that what I have you for, my dearest Naenia?"
She gave him a withering look.
Tom shrugged. "I am still conducting my research, I am sure there are ways to provide against all contingencies."
"That is not where the issue lies, Tom. Splitting your soul is a perversion of Death, of life, even of immortality. Only the most gruesome fate will await those who dare commit such an atrocious act."
Tom considered this for a moment.
"It is not the murder you take issue with, is it?"
"Of course not." She sighed. "Why would you mutilate your soul, anyway, if you can just hide the whole thing? You could, for example, hide it in the tip of a needle, put the needle inside an egg, the egg inside a duck, the duck inside a hare, the hare inside a chest, then bury the chest under the roots of an oak tree on a deserted island placed under the Fidelius Charm." Naenia's eyes shone unsettlingly bright as she continued, "And then you may call yourself 'The Deathless' – which sounds so much more menacing and intimidating than 'Lord Voldemort'."
Tom couldn't help but stare at his friend incredulously. "... What."
Naenia tilted her head, blinking innocently. "Have you never heard of Koshchey the Deathless?"
"Is that a Muggle folktale?"
"A folktale, definitely – Russian, if you were wondering. Muggle? Who knows."
"So you would be fine with the creation of a Horcrux," Tom said slowly, "if it contained the entire soul instead of splitting off a fragment?"
"I would prefer it if you looked for alternatives first, but I wouldn't be entirely opposed to it."
Tom slumped back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Further research is needed, then." He looked at Naenia, who was watching him calmly. "How do you feel about going to the kitchens for afternoon tea?"
A smile spread across her face. "That would be lovely."
⸸
Everything was going splendidly. Tom's marks were perfect as always, he was the most respected member of the Duelling Club, regularly invited to meetings of the Slug Club, had finally earned recognition from his fellow Slytherins, and Naenia stood by his side as she always had – all was well.
Only his research about immortality was barely going anywhere, but such things took care and time.
And he still had not found the Chamber of Secrets, but he had managed to track down his remaining family to a small town in the English countryside.
The most pressing part of his plans, currently, was to get rid of that cursed word the pure-bloods still used for him. Telling them he was a half-blood and showing off his superiority in literally everything was apparently not enough. It was only a matter of time, of course. Lestrange had already converted and all it had taken was one single duel against Tom to cow him. The others would follow suit sooner or later and if it 'later' took too long, there was always the option of simply torturing them into obedience.
Granted, should Tom decide to discard his identity of 'Tom Riddle' entirely after graduation to get rid of his Muggle relation once and for all, he might have to do it all over again. But this entire scenario was good practice either way. And if he didn't discard his identity in favour of a new one – well, then the groundwork for his future would be laid by the time he graduated and wasn't that a neat little thought?
Someone cleared their throat and Tom looked up expectantly, but the two visitors had their attention focused entirely on Naenia – two girls with long, black hair who were trying their best to look confident and self-assured rather than intimidated at the prospect of facing a Necromancer.
"A moment of your time, if we may, Miss Totengräber?"
Naenia smiled at Walburga and Lucretia Black, already aware of what their purpose was. "How may I help you?"
The girl with the curls – Walburga – extended her hand to offer a fancy envelope decorated with embossed flowers of all kinds.
Naenia slowly reached out, careful not to touch the girl directly. "Thank you, the honour is most appreciated."
The two Blacks nodded curtly, then quickly returned to their own social group on the opposite site of the common room.
"Naenia?"
Naenia hummed, turning the envelope in her hands.
"… Naenia?"
She sighed. "It is an invitation to the Black Summer Ball – to celebrate Lughnasa. It serves as the balance to the Malfoy's Yule Ball. I did not expect the Blacks to extend an invitation before the Malfoys, truth be told."
"The Black family tree extends further, does it not? More influence and all that."
"Hmm … Perhaps? The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is related to almost every pure-blood family of Great Britain, but the Malfoys have connections with a larger variety. Theo would know this better, having grown up around both."
"You expected to receive an invitation eventually."
"It was inevitable. I am, in the end, still a pure-blood descended from a prestigious family, even if we are Necromancers and rather infamous for it."
And Tom was not.
(Small steps, Tom reminded himself, small steps.)
He did not ask whether he might accompany her. It would have been meaningless.
"Naenia?"
"Yes, Tom?"
"Why is it called the Black Summer Ball?"
"Lughnasa Ball doesn't roll off the tongue."
"I see."
A pause.
"Naenia?"
"Yes, Tom?"
"I was wondering …" Tom glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. "Perhaps we could pay a visit to my remaining family this summer."
"Gaunt or Riddle?"
"Both."
Naenia tilted her head. "As long as you organise everything, I wouldn't mind accompanying you."
Tom smiled faintly. "Of course. I was also considering taking a summer job in Diagon Alley."
"Good luck."
"Perhaps you could accompany me for that as well?"
"Why would I? I have better things to do with my time than idle away in Diagon Alley."
"Better things than getting away from being potentially caught in an air raid?"
"I would argue getting potentially caught in an air raid is the better thing, but we both know you would vehemently disagree."
"I see."
⸸
Naenia looked around, pretending to take in the sight of the rather mundane countryside and not pay attention to the way Tom had to take a moment to steady himself and try his hardest not to throw up. He hadn't expected a ride with the Knight Bus to be quite so … turbulent.
"How quaint," she commented.
Tom took a large gulp of sweet summer air. "Quite."
The bus had delivered them to a patch of trees on a hillside overlooking a valley with a little village that must have been Little Hangleton. Tom already knew they were going to visit the graveyard later the moment he noticed it. There was a manor on the opposite hillside that Tom assumed belonged to the Riddles. Just his luck to have rich Muggle relatives of noble Muggle blood and dirt-poor, horribly inbred magical relatives. Perhaps his information would be proven wrong yet, but Tom hardly ever was.
Tom offered his arm to Naenia. "Shall we, then?"
As they walked, his gaze kept returning to that splendid manor – it was hard to ignore, honestly. It made his trepidation in approaching the Gaunts' place grow immensely. It had taken pulling quite a few strings and a considerable amount of subterfuge to gain access to the precise location of their home.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Tom got the distinct impression that the path grew more and more unkempt and the hedgerows wilder the closer they came. The patch of dark trees was hard to overlook, while the little wooden house nestled between them was barely visible. 'House' stretched it a bit, if Tom had to be honest.
He was about to comment on it, when Naenia stiffened and abruptly stopped in her tracks.
"Naenia? Is everything alright?"
She pulled her lips into a smile. "Yes, quite. I think I better wait here while you conduct your business, lest I be … tempted."
Tom blinked. The whole point of asking her to accompany him was to not have to do this alone, to have someone there to keep him from being tempted.
"Kindly look out for any kind of object that bears the Peverell Crest."
"Peverell?"
Naenia turned her head, eyes searching for something, then bent down to pick up a tree branch. Tom watched her draw a triangular symbol into the dirt.
"The Peverell brothers are well known among our kind for having encountered Death and received gifts from Him, personally."
"Your kind?" Tom followed up.
"Our kind," Naenia replied. "It is a well-known story." Her mouth twisted. "Told as a fairytale to magical children. And also a story for another time."
"I see," Tom said slowly, reigning in his curiosity.
Naenia was right. This really wasn't the time.
He looked in the direction of the Gaunt's house, wondering what would await him there.
Naenia patted his arm. "You'll be fine. If you kill him, no one will care."
"Very reassuring," Tom said wryly. "Shouldn't you rather convince me not to commit a crime?"
"But if Death wants the man's life, who am I to say otherwise?"
Tom sighed. "He is home, then? You can sense his presence?"
Naenia nodded.
"Alright." Tom took a deep breath. "Alright. This should only take a moment."
Leaving Naenia behind by the treeline, Tom steeled himself and strode towards the rundown shack with a confidence he wished he actually felt. The house didn't even resemble a house anymore – the walls were more moss than walls and what little wood peeked through appeared to be rotten through and through, the roof was full of unpatched holes as were the windows, a tree had broken through one side of it. At first, Tom thought it was a disguise – the truth hidden by magic. But when he stretched out his senses, he came up empty. This really was the Gaunt home, then – disgraceful and utterly pathetic.
Tom fixed his expression and knocked.
The man who opened the door looked as wildly unkempt as what little Tom could glimpse of the inside of the house (mould and dust and cobwebs). Mottled hair covered his entire face, his clothes were less than rags and Tom was more surprised about the wand he was gripping than the knife.
For a moment, the two of them simply looked at each other.
Then, recognition flared in the man's face.
"You!" he hissed and Tom deftly dodged the knife thrown his way.
He would have caught the knife, had he trusted in himself to do so without injuring himself.
The use of Parseltongue confirmed that this was not some random tramp, then, but truly the last remaining member of the House of Gaunt.
"Stop!" Tom replied in the same hiss, taking what he presumed to be Morfin Gaunt entirely by surprise, making the man stumble back into a table.
There was a crash and Tom's eyes flitted to the mouldy pots rolling across the floor. Disgusting.
"You speak it?" Morfin Gaunt asked after a long moment of silence.
Tom did not close his eyes and put his head in his hands, because he didn't wish to risk taking them off the man. They had barely begun their conversation and it was already testing his patience. No matter. He would simply have to endure. It couldn't be much harder than teaching his imbecile housemates or dealing with the fools at the Ministry.
⸸
Tom stepped out of the trees and turned his face to the sun, basking in its warm light for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, it was to Naenia's gaze fixed on the pocket he had put Morfin's ring in.
"You found it, then," she said, her eyes as bright as the curse they took after, hungry and longing in a way that momentarily startled Tom out of his dark mood.
"I did," Tom said, taking the ring out of his pocket and presenting it to her.
The hunger in Naenia's eyes intensified, but she did not reach out to touch it. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.
Tom carefully put the ring away.
Once she had reigned in whatever had overtaken her, Naenia asked how his visit had been.
"Unpleasant," Tom said, keeping his tone level and his hands unclenched.
Naenia, of course, still noticed his mood. She tilted her head, "You rarely allow others to upset you so."
"I am not upset," Tom said calmly. "I am furious."
"Dare I ask why?"
"My … uncle … had quite a few things to say about my …" His lips thinned. "About his sister and the man she absconded with. I have yet to confirm this with the man in question, obviously, but I am – to my own chagrin – inclined to believe he was speaking the truth."
"Yet you didn't kill him."
He had only stunned the man and taken his wand.
"I have other plans for him. First, I must speak with the Muggles."
"Well, then," Naenia held out her arm. "Shall we?"
Riddle Manor was such an extreme contrast to the Gaunt's pitiful hovel, it almost gave Tom whiplash. The splendour of both the exterior and interior were not at all a credit to the man he shared a name with, but rather his parents – Tom's grandparents.
Tom had braced for the worst, yet it was still a shock to have his worst expectations confirmed in every single aspect.
"I want one for myself," Naenia said, almost casually, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Tom didn't have to ask what she meant. "Of course, my dear. You may have two, even."
A smile bloomed on her face. "A pair, how delightful."
⸸
"Oh, what a lovely place."
Tom hummed, opting to watch Naenia rather than their surroundings. Graveyards tended to be beautiful whether they were well-kept or not, but for him, the wonder had worn off before they had even visited two dozens of them. It would never wear off for Naenia, he was sure.
Little Hangleton's graveyard had a lot of old graves – something Tom knew Naenia appreciated – many of them clearly having once belonged to wealthy families, ranging from stone sarcophaguses to mausoleums to what Tom by now recognised as entrances to underground catacombs and vaults.
"I was going to frame Morfin for their murder, you know," he commented.
Naenia didn't even glance at him. "I do know that, yes."
"But …?"
"There it is!" She skipped ahead a mausoleum standing in the shade of a yew tree, one of the few that wasn't overgrown with moss and ivy.
There were a lot of yew trees in this graveyard. How fitting, Tom thought. He wasn't surprised to find the name 'Riddle' engraved into the stone.
"Are we going to bury them with their ancestors, then? What about the rest?"
"No," Naenia said, letting her hand glide over the stone as she circled the mausoleum. "I want to bury everyone on equal grounds. Except Morfin, perhaps. Not that it would make a difference."
"Why wouldn't it?"
Naenia's eyes found his as she rounded the monument. "Because all are equal in death."
"Even the worst scum of the earth? Even murderers? Rapists?"
She tilted her head, clearly not understanding. "Yes. Denn wer war der Thor, wer Weiser, wer Bettler oder Kaiser? Ob arm, ob reich, im Tode gleich."[1] She smiled, then, and it sent a shiver down Tom's spine. "Death comes for all, in the end. Mors vincit omnia."
"Or so you say."
Tom still thought his original plan would have made more sense, been more foolproof. But he couldn't deny that helping Naenia perform the burial rites for the entire Riddle household and even Morfin was … meditative. Calming, in a way. It helped take his mind off of things, though he couldn't help but muse about the difference in how she had killed them compared to his own rather clumsy approach. Naenia's method wouldn't even have set off the Trace, had either of them still to worry about it.
And all the while, Naenia carefully avoided looking at Tom's pocket, where a thick golden ring with a stone bearing the Peverell crest sat, and Tom wondered what it meant.
[1]"Yes. For who was the fool, who the wise, who beggar or emperor? Whether poor, whether rich, all are equal in death."
(AN: The original German version rhymes nicely. Thor is an archaic spelling of Tor btw (someone who is töricht/foolish), rather than the Norse god.)
AN
Tom: So I want to kill someone. Three people, tops. But only one, really. You can have the other two.
Naenia: Let me kill the entire household, then.