July to August 1943, summer before 6th year
Tom turned the letter over in his hand again.
"And here I thought you would have been elated to spend yet another summer in a bombed London."
"Oh, I would have been. You know me." Naenia waved her hand carelessly. "This is an opportunity for you more than me. I was merely curious and Theo offered."
"Horse riding, really?"
"You saw the horses your father kept. I do hope the villagers noticed the Riddle household had disappeared in time to take care of the horses. It would be a shame if they had starved, locked in their stables."
Tom didn't believe a single word. Naenia would have loved to find the horses dead, so she could have reanimated them.
He still remembered the day Nott had told them of the horse show the purebloods were planning to hold at the end of the summer the following year – an event that took place every three years to show off their superior breeds to one another. The House of Black was hosting next year.
Neither Tom nor Naenia knew anything about horses, never mind how to ride them or even owning one. Though Tom could have been owning horses, clearly. He hadn't taken much notice of them last summer, but Naenia was right. The Riddles had had quite magnificent horses.
Riding wasn't a must when attending a horse show, but Nott had told them the children liked to go for casual rides while their parents swaggered about – the ladies to socialise, the boys to race.
Tom hadn't expected Nott to offer an invitation for the event and had even less expected the boy to offer to teach them.
"Would a summer suffice, do you think?" Naenia had asked.
"Would your families allow you to spend the whole summer holiday's elsewhere?" Nott had returned, knowing full well that both Tom and Naenia lived in an orphanage.
"Oh, mine does not care what I get up to during the summer," Naenia had replied. "It won't be of any consequence."
And now he was holding the official invitation from the House of Nott in his hand, the writing as elegant as the paper it had been written on. (Paper, not parchment.)
He would have to research horses and horse shows and all the breeds and everything associated. Nott would likely offer the use of his family's library if asked. Tom would have to refrain from getting distracted by whatever else said library housed.
But the important part was that they were getting away from London – that they were going to spend the summer in a magical household, a pureblood household of high standing – that they were going to learn and be prepared for an event all those snobbish hypocrites held in high regard.
It would be an invaluable experience.
"I find myself looking forward to it," Tom told Naenia. "Even if I have to suffer Nott's presence for it."
Naenia snorted. "You'll be fine. Theobald is a perfectly reasonable person."
"Even though I am trying to steal his place at the top of Slytherin's hierarchy?"
"As if that were a position of lasting importance."
"It is, if one plays their cards right."
"Yet I don't see you doing so."
Tom smiled. "Yes, you do not see."
⸸
"Perhaps a pony would have been a more fitting choice for you, hm?"
Naenia gave him an unimpressed look as she placed the stepping stool Nott had procured for her next to the mare she was learning with.
"Not all of us can be as tall as you are. At the rate you're growing, I'll never catch up anyway."
Tom leaned down and lowered his voice. "I think I prefer it like this."
Naenia ignored him, stepped onto the stool and swung herself up on her mare.
It wasn't hard to ride a horse. The ones Nott had provided were patient and well-behaved. Once Tom overcame his initial trepidations, he found he actually enjoyed riding. Of course, proper etiquette demanded more than simply getting from one place to another and staying on top even during a gallop, but Tom had always been a fast learner. He could almost say he even enjoyed the learning process.
Although watching Naenia was far more amusing. The riding itself was not a problem, but communicating with the horse and steering apparently proved to be far more difficult. It was an odd paradox to behold.
"If it were dead, this would be so much easier," she grumbled as she fiddled with the reigns.
"Please refrain from killing one of our horses, Naenia," Nott called out from where he was circling an obstacle course.
"Don't tell me you wouldn't prefer communicating with your own horse telepathically," she called to him.
"I am," Nott called back and then steered his horse around and began to clear the obstacle course with practiced ease. Nott and his horse were one unit, having clearly worked together for many years.
Tom almost envied him.
Nott was teaching them a mix of hacking – riding for pleasure – and the basics of competitional riding such as dressage, show jumping and cross-country. He was also teaching them about different types of horses – which extended far beyond their breeds. Apparently, jumping with a school horse was quite different from jumping with any other horse. Which made sense, if Tom thought about it. Temperament, training and experience made quite a difference in humans and horses alike.
Maybe he should look at the purebloods like horses, Tom thought to himself as he mounted his mare – treat them in accordance with their upbringing and temperament.
"Are you both ready, then?" Nott asked, coming to a halt next to them.
Tom looked at Naenia.
"Don't give me that look," she scolded, "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."
"As comfortable as on a dead horse?" Tom teased.
Instead of replying, Naenia urged her horse into a trot and left for the gates. Laughing out loud, Nott did the same, quickly catching up and taking the lead. Above them, the flapping of wings alerted Tom to Morrigan's arrival, the undead crow joining to fly by Naenia's side. Tom had no choice but to follow.
Nott was taking them out for trail riding that day. The Nott house-elves had even packed them a nice picknick, so they could stay out for as long as they wanted to.
"I never imagined I would one day teach two rising stars in the social scene how to ride," Nott said later, when they had slowed down back to a walk to traverse a denser part of the forest they were crossing. "It is certainly more enjoyable than my usual summer obligations."
"Aren't you missing out on quite a few important events?" Tom asked. "Summer is the social season, isn't it?"
He knew Nott had left the manor to partake in a few events, but he had spent most of his time with Tom and Naenia so far.
"Oh, not at all," Nott said lightly. "I have the perfect excuse. And it is quite refreshing not having to partake in the social season more than I actually want to. I see most of the people I'll be forced to interact with all year around at Hogwarts, anyway – the bootlicking and networking is simply less obvious when you're at a school instead of a gala or the Black Summer Ball. The ladies have it worse, I imagine, with all the fancy tea parties they have to host."
"Aren't tea parties hosted during all seasons?" Naenia asked.
Nott turned to her with a shrug. "By the matriarchs, sure. But their daughters can only do so during the holidays, so their mothers are always especially keen to have them show off their social skills – or so I hear."
"Speaking of the Black Summer Ball," Tom said. "I hear it's not taking place this year?"
Nott hummed. "The Black patriarch's younger brother died. Considering the Summer Balls is just a lavish affair to show off their wealth and nothing more, I imagine they think the funeral will be enough to serve the same purpose. And the horse show next year will certainly make more than up for it. Here we are, then."
Nott slowed his horse to a halt as they arrived at a nice clearing, then swung himself off and walked over to help Naenia down before Tom had the chance to dismount, himself.
But Naenia didn't accept his hand, huffing instead and telling Nott, "I can get down by myself just fine, thank you."
Tom smiled to himself. He could suffer Nott's presence for a little longer, he thought. The benefits would by far outweigh the little annoyances.
⸸
The air was hot, filled with smoke and dust. The smell of burned bodies assaulted his nose. It was hard to breathe.
Gripping his wand tightly, Tom hurried from one ruined building to the shelter of the next one.
"Naenia," he whispered harshly. "We need to leave."
But Naenia didn't seem to be listening, carefully pulling yet another body from the smouldering skeleton of what might have once been a town house, Morrigan circling above them, looking for more corpses to excavate.
"We are not supposed to be here."
This was madness. They couldn't just wander onto a former battlefield to lay the dead to rest. It was way too dangerous. Never mind that they were near the borders to Germany and definitely not supposed to be here.
But Naenia didn't budge.
"I just need to –"
Tom whirled around at the sudden cracks, wand raised high. Behind him, Naenia slowly rose to her feet.
Cursing under his breath as he spotted the dark robed figures, Tom blindly reached behind him to try and grab Naenia to apparate them out of there.
„Ihr wollt uns doch nicht etwa schon verlassen, meine jungen Kameraden."
„Wir bitten um Verzeihung. Wir haben nicht erwartet hier jemanden anzutreffen." [1]
Naenia stepped past Tom, deftly avoiding his outreaching hand. He could see a smile on her face as she sketched a small bow to the man who had spoken. He looked to be in his forties or fifties – though appearances could be deceiving for magical people – with a silver streak in his dark hair and a charismatic smile on his face that did not at all befit the scene they found themselves in. In comparison, the man's companions, who were all half a step behind him as he casually strolled through the rubble, looked rather … plain.
The man swept his gaze over the battlefield, glanced at the crow flying above their heads, a glint in his eyes that could almost be called amused. „Ein ungewöhnlicher Ort für solch junge Leute. Wurden etwa eure Angehörigen in dieses Unglück verwickelt?"
„Aber nicht doch, Herr Grindelwald", Naenia replied smoothly, her eyes on the man's wand.
Tom froze.
„Sich um die Toten zu kümmern ist eine ehrenvolle Aufgabe für jeden."
The glint in what was apparently the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald's eyes intensified and Tom had to steel himself not to take a step back.
„Ein Paar junger Nekromanten. Ah, aber natürlich." Grindelwald's eyes flickered to Tom and back. "I did not expect to meet a Lémure here – though I should have guessed from your hair and your eyes and your magic. Your German is flawless, my dear." [2]
Tom almost frowned in confusion, before he caught himself. Naenia had told him Lord Grindelwald wasn't aware of the Totengräbers' existence, yet.
"My mother was born German, sir."
"Oh, I see. Perhaps I even met her, when I last spoke with your family. What brings you here, my dears? Aside from the dead, of course."
Tom would have very much liked to know that, too. All Naenia had told him was that she had received news from her family and wished to go and see for herself. She hadn't even warned him they were about to enter a recent battlefield.
But instead of replying to the Dark Lord, Naenia merely smiled and remained silent – though Tom noted the way her eyes kept returning to the man's wand, held loosely at his side.
"I see," Grindelwald said softly, then returned the smile. "It is not my place to question the ways of Necromancers, of course. Tell me, my young friends. What is your opinion on this war? I have heard your elders' words, but I always find young minds to have a much more … varied perspective."
"I cannot say I understand the necessity for it," Naenia said. "And it is a sad reality to think about the many dead that will never receive the proper respect they are due. There are too many to find and bury and we can only do so much."
Grindelwald turned to Tom, expectant. Should he – no. It wasn't worth the risk. Someone as powerful as Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald would notice an intrusion upon their mind immediately. Better to keep his mind confined to himself.
"Wars can be fought in a multitude of ways," Tom said carefully. "Those fighting for a righteous cause have the responsibility to ensure their methods are just as righteous and not misguided."
The Dark Lord's smile widened. "Well said. Ah, if only it were that simple and easy to realise." He turned his head to the side, facing the bodies Naenia had been arranging. "The Muggles will never stop their pointless squabbles. There will always be another war on the horizon. Is it not our responsibility to show them the error of their ways? They are arrogant and hunger for power. How long will it take until those hungry eyes find us?"
There was merit in the man's words. Tom could see it. Tom agreed. But Tom was not foolish enough to choose a side he couldn't be sure would win, certainly not while he was still in school and barely experienced enough to look out for himself. Tom was not foolish enough to put himself in any battles that could very well cost him his life.
(But Naenia was.)
"We would never dare take from Death what is not ours to take," Naenia said and Tom couldn't have told she was parroting someone else from her tone alone.
"So you would take neither side and condemn them both."
Grindelwald's reaction confirmed that it was something he had heard before – a phrase the Lémures used, then. From what little Tom knew of the Totengräbers, he could make a good guess as to how little they thought about that.
Naenia was not a Lémure.
He wondered, sometimes, how Lord Grindelwald remained unaware of the Totengräbers' existence when even the ignorant British community had at least some knowledge of them, however little it was. Perhaps a deliberate design on the Totengräbers' part. Tom couldn't be sure how infamous they were in Europe, in what circles and what capacity their infamy was known. But it couldn't be easy to evade the gaze of someone as influential as Gellert Grindelwald.
Naenia made a gesture and Morrigan came down to settle on her shoulder, fixing its undead eyes on the Dark Lord.
"It is not our right to interfere," Naenia said, raising her hand to scratch her crow under its chin. "We care not for the living."
Rather than continue arguing his case, Grindelwald inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Then we shall part ways here." He glanced at the corpses. "I wish you good fortune in your endeavours. May we next meet under better circumstances."
Tom followed Naenia in bowing respectfully and they both watched Grindelwald and his followers walk away into the ruins of the battlefield.
"You've been unusually quiet," Naenia said into the silence.
Tom gave her an irritated look she ignored.
"What an interesting wand he had."
"Did he?" Tom said distantly.
"It seemed to be made of Elder." Naenia paused. "I did not expect that – for him to be so … open and direct." She tilted her head, considering. "He was … grounded, in a way. It is admirable. Dumbledore is certainly not like that. No wonder so many follow Lord Grindelwald willingly. And who else is there? What other side does this war have other than the Muggles?"
"We are not joining this war, Naenia," Tom said through gritted teeth.
"No," she agreed in a solemn tone, "we will not."
And then she turned around, directed Morrigan to scout the area once again, and continued excavating the dead from the ruins to prepare a proper funeral for them later.
[1] "Surely, you are not planning on leaving us already, my young comrades."
"Apologies. We did not expect to encounter anyone here."
⸸
[2] The man swept his gaze over the battlefield, a glint in his eyes that could almost be called amused. "An unusual place for such young people. Were your relatives caught in this tragedy?"
"Not at all, Lord Grindelwald," Naenia replied smoothly.
Tom froze.
"Taking care of the dead is an honourable task for all."
The glint in what was apparently the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald's eyes intensified and Tom had to steel himself not to take a step back.
"A pair of young Necromancers. Ah, but of course." Grindelwald's eyes flickered to Tom and back. "I did not expect to meet a Lémure here – though I should have guessed from your hair and your eyes and your magic. Your German is flawless, my dear."
AN
One would think writing in your mother tongue would be easy. But I found it oddly hard to get the phrasing right, having only written stories in English for several years now.