July to August 1944, summer before 7th year

They were staying with Nott again for the summer, spending their time riding and working their way through the library. Tom needled the other boy into showing him the ropes of the social season whenever Naenia retreated to practice Necromancy.

The horse show held that summer was as impressive as Tom had imagined it would be. With the House of Black hosting, the splendour was truly unsurpassable.

According to Nott, most of the members of the House of Black actually lived in London. Their property in the countryside as well as their prized horses were being maintained by the few that preferred a quieter life and several half-blood servants.

Tom was too busy smiling politely and working his way through carefully constructed conversations to actually pay the showhorses much attention. He didn't know whether Naenia was being kept just as busy or had made herself scarce, but he barely caught a glimpse of her during the entire event either way.

Having done his research and pestered Nott about every little detail Tom had been able to think of paid off. It wasn't perfect – there was nothing he could do about his blood status or the disgraceful state the Gaunts had fallen into in recent years. But Tom made do. 'Networking', Nott had called it – and network he did.

The invitation to the Black's Summer Ball did therefore not come as a surprise at all.

⸸

The scene was a most romantic one: The beautiful white cliffs to one side, the wide expanse of the ocean to the other, the warm sand underneath the hooves of their horses. The sun was about to set, bathing everything in a lovely purple and orange glow.

It would have truly been romantic, had it not been for Nott's presence.

"You know, this could almost count as a romantic outing," Nott said with a laugh, as if he had read Tom's mind, "with me as your chaperone."

"A poor courtship it would be," Naenia replied in the same joking tone, "for Tom has yet to give me any appropriate gifts."

"Just the ring?"

"Just the ring."

"And the scandal!" Nott grasped his chest in mock offense. "The amount of time the two of you have spent without a chaperone, sneaking off into the night – unacceptable!"

"We have yet to exchange love letters, too," Naenia mused and then sighed theatrically.

Tom kept his expression carefully neutral as he endeavoured not to react outwardly. Naenia's friendship with Nott had always grated on his nerves and seeing them this familiar with each other – joking and teasing – made him want to loudly grind his teeth together. It was aggravating.

He would have commented on the stark resemblance to the regency era, had it not made him look like a fool. The purebloods' customs often resembled outdated Muggle ones, but there was always a twist to them. Tom had never really looked into courtship traditions, having deemed it unnecessary. If he were to take a guess, he would say the gifts were likely to follow a set of rules that only made sense in a magical context. Perhaps the letters would contain some coded language. Tom was sure there were other rules and customs, too, that Naenia and Nott hadn't even mentioned.

Did he need to begin a formal courtship with Naenia? Would that elevate his standing in the eyes of his peers? But neither he nor Naenia had any use for the act, itself. They knew where they were standing, Tom was sure of that.

Still. Watching Naenia joke around with Nott like that – something she never did with Tom – it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

⸸

They were still in London when the bombs were launched.

Why the House of Black kept their residency in London was beyond Tom. He would have disappeared back to Nott Manor the moment the ball was over had Naenia not asked him to stay for just one more day so she could renew the protective wards she had set up around the orphanage all those years ago. Tom would have preferred seeing the damn thing burn, but Naenia apparently held some sentimental attachments that were so out-of-character for her that Tom forgot to keep protesting.

They were on their way back to the Leaky Cauldron when it happened, the sun already down, having stayed far longer than Tom was comfortable with.

For all that they had spent the first three summers of the war in London, Tom and Naenia had never experienced an actual air raid before.

The sirens came first – loud and harrowing, making Tom's heart skip a beat and dread pool in his stomach. The people around them had already started moving by the time Tom managed to get his own body back under control, heart beating loudly in his ears – someone was dragging him with the crowd – he recognised the feel of Naenia's hand in his.

He couldn't hear anything over the sirens other than his heartbeat and the thoughts screaming in his head. They had to – to get away. They couldn't stay. Tom couldn't stay. He refused to be caught here. He refused to die like this. He refused.

He could feel Naenia's hand trembling in his. He could feel himself trembling, underneath the cold, numbing shock.

He had to think – He needed to – to think of – of something.

Tom felt like throwing up.

"Tom?"

He clutched his aching chest, trying to gulp down as much air as he could.

"Tom, are you alright?"

The voice came to him from far away, as if he were underwater.

"Hey, look at me."

A cold hand touched his cheek. It made him shiver, goosebumps rising on his arms.

They were underground, he realised. They were underground and surrounded by people.

Tom closed his eyes. He didn't want to look around. Their thoughts were already so loud.

"Why did we not apparate away?"

Now it was too late. They were surrounded by Muggles and couldn't get away. Not without breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

No, he thought, nonononono.

This couldn't be happening.

"I wasn't thinking," Naenia was saying. "There was this sense of – of something coming and – I had to stay. I had to – Oh, Tom, I can feel it. People are dying out there."

Tom pried his eyes open to look at her, to look at the mix of flushed excitement and anticipation and bliss on Naenia's face.

"There is – a lot of power in such a large –" She closed her eyes and hummed. "It's – mhh -– making it hard to think, taking it all in."

Tom breathed. In. And out.

"Did you plan for this?"

"What? No, of course not. They said they weren't expecting anything currently. I think this took everyone by surprise."

"We can –" He let his mind race, going over all options in his head. "We can cast notice-me-not spells. That should – That wouldn't break the Statute, right? And then we could slip away to apparate. That would work, right?"

"Tom, I'm not leaving."

He looked up. "What?"

Her steady gaze met his. "I'm not leaving, Tom. I'm staying to help with the body recovery."

"They won't let you," Tom heard himself say. "They will say you're too young."

"They will be glad for every helping hand. And my knack for finding the dead or simply discerning whether someone may yet live will be most valuable."

"You're staying," Tom repeated, feeling numb.

"You can leave, if you want to. I won't mind."

"No, I –" He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to – turn around and run. Just run. "I won't leave you behind all alone."

"But I won't be alone."

Tom shook his head. "You know what I mean."

There was a hand on his shoulder. "If that is your decision."

⸸

Naenia's aid did prove to be immensely helpful. The bombs had thankfully not fallen anywhere close to the Tube Station they had used as shelter, so they needed to travel a bit before they reached the latest site of disaster.

True to Tom's words, the adults were reluctant to let her work with them initially, but Naenia had a talent for finding bodies. Tom couldn't stomach it and busied himself with playing errand boy, calling people over whenever Naenia found someone. He never stayed to watch – neither to see the corpses, nor to watch those unfortunate enough to still be alive. Naenia never found those that could still be saved.

"Oh," Naenia said and Tom made the mistake of following her line of sight. There was a girl buried underneath some rubble not far from them. She looked to be around their age.

Tom couldn't make out the words she was trying to say, her voice too feeble, too weak.

The sight of her bruised body nauseated him.

That could be me, he thought. That had almost been me. Because I panicked.

"Oh, dearie me," Naenia said in an oddly pitched voice, before lowering herself to the ground. "I believe you are going to die, my dear."

She slowly reached out to touch the girl's cheek and Tom could see the raw fear in her eyes. The fear of death. Rage burned through his chest at the thought that this random Muggle would harbour the same fear as he did. It was not shame, Tom felt. He was not ashamed of being afraid of death.

The girl looked at Naenia with wide eyes, so deeply terrified. But Naenia's touch did not hurt her as she gently caressed the girl's cheek.

"Don't be afraid, love," she said gently, her expression soft in a way Tom had never seen before. "It will be alright. You're going to be okay."

It felt surreal. Never could Tom have imagined he would one day witness Naenia giving comfort to – anyone, really. It was simply unfathomable.

He watched, rooted to the ground, as the life slowly left the girl – as her laboured breathing slowed and her eyes dulled and her movement ceased.

Naenia kept patting her cheek and murmuring reassuring nonsense.

There was something wet on Tom's cheek and he absently raised a hand to wipe it away.

"Tom? Tom, why are you crying?"

"I don't know," he croaked. "I think I didn't want her to die."

Naenia looked at him blankly. "Since when do you care about other people's wellbeing, Tom?"

What? Why was she saying that?

"We could have done something! She could have still been saved!"

Naenia blinked. "By magical means perhaps, but we can't save every Muggle we come across."

Tom stared at her. "Do you not care at all?"

"Death had already claimed her for Himself. I helped her pass away peacefully. What else should I have done?"

"What if it had been me?" He could hear his own voice breaking. "Would you have let me die?"

"If that is what He wants." She hesitated. "I could … bring you back afterwards?"

"That's not the same. I wouldn't be the same. Billy was never the same."

"Billy wasn't one of my better works."

Tom gave her a helpless look. "That's beside the point, Naenia."

She sighed. "You're right. No one ever returns from Death unchanged. Is that what is bothering you? That Death will change you?"

"No, Naenia. I simply do not want to die."

"But why? I don't understand. It's not the pain of dying you fear – so why?"

"I can't explain this to you, Naenia, I just am! Can't you accept that? Can't you respect that?"

"In what way am I disrespecting you, Tom? I don't –"

"Stop saying that you don't understand!"

"What –"

"Stop saying that! Stop! Just – Stop! I don't want to hear it, anymore!"

"Everything alright over there?" one of the Muggles called and Tom had enough.

He had enough.

Let others deal with the consequences, he thought, as he turned on the spot and apparated away with a loud crack.

⸸

By the time Tom felt a bit more like himself, had cleared his head enough to actually think, the exhaustion and weariness finally caught up with him. There was a hollow feeling in his chest, an emptiness he couldn't grasp.

Tom looked around at the familiar surroundings – the hedgerows and the pathways, the village nestled in the valley below, the manor on the other side.

He had subconsciously apparated to Little Hangleton.

Might as well, he thought, starting the trek. He had wanted to clean up the manor, anyway – set up some wards, get started on the paperwork so he could wait for it to go through at the Ministry while he rebuilt whatever disrepair the house had fallen into. He had some funds saved from the summer he had spent working in Diagon Alley, they would have to suffice. He would have to send a letter to Nott, so the boy could send his possessions over. (He wouldn't ask about Naneia. He wouldn't ask whether she had returned or went to the Lémures or even the Totengräbers. He wouldn't.)

Little Hangleton was not unaffected by the war, but it was so remote that the consequences were barely noticeable. Tom would spend the rest of summer here, leaving only to attend events of the wizarding social season, surrounded by blissful ignorance of what went on in the rest of the Muggle world.

It would be odd not to spend the summer with Naenia for the first time in many, many years, but it would be fine. Tom did not need her to survive. Tom did not need anyone to survive. Tom would manage on his own.

He had to.