It was a beautiful September morning, the next day after returning to Hogwarts. Tom and I were having breakfast together at the peaceful end of the Slytherin table.
I had told him about Lucretia's marriage in a letter and expressed my worry of sharing the same fate. He had reassured me that I was still too young for that, but it hadn't killed the restlessness in me. Lucretia, however, behaved as if nothing had happened ever since the birthday party. Even now she was her usual self, laughing and chatting with her friends at the other end of the table. But every once in a while, when she stopped talking or laughing, you could catch a glimpse of her mask of joyfulness slipping. The moment was so transient that it could only be noticed by someone who knew to look for it.
"So", I began. "How was your summer?"
Tom snorted and glared at me. "Fantastic", he stated dryly.
"I'm sorry that I couldn't invite you over this summer."
"It's fine", he replied and I could see from the clenching of his jaw that it was time to change the subject.
"I think I need to get to the restricted section of the library", he suddenly blurted.
"The restricted section?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. I haven't been able to find any information about my relatives anywhere else. I need that permission slip."
"Or you could just wait until it's nighttime and sneak in there on your own. It's not like you haven't done that before."
Tom snorted, recalling that time during the first year when we ran into each other in the dark library. "This time I'm going to have to do more thorough reading than what can be done in one night, I'm afraid."
"Why don't you just ask Slughorn? I bet he wouldn't think twice about it."
"I intend to, but it has to be done correctly", Tom explained. "You know how strict the teachers are about allowing younger students to enter that section."
"What do you have in mind?"
"We're going to wait until he throws another party or dinner. Then we-"
"We?" I interrupted.
He cast a persuasive glance at me and leaned toward me. "Of course. We make such a great team!"
"Mm hmm", I mumbled and crossed my arms, yet felt my cheeks twist involuntarily.
"Besides, this is important to me", he continued with a more serious tone. "It will help me discover my roots."
"Alright, but I can't see why my help would even be necessary."
"As I was saying, we wait until he has another gathering and during that gathering, we spend as much time around him as possible. We must wait for the right moment where he'll be willing to write the slip. It'll be easier if we both are in on it."
"I see", I replied thoughtfully. "Well, I think I might have an idea on how to make that happen."
Tom's face brightened and he carelessly leaned back in his chair. "See? A great team!"
The chance to carry out the plan presented itself rather soon. After a few weeks Slughorn invited the Slug Club for a dinner in his small, cozy office. Tom and I chose seats on the left and right side of Slughorn in order to easily maintain his attention when the proper moment arrived.
As the evening grew darker, most of the students started to gradually return to their common rooms. Slughorn had switched his regular seat into a plump armchair and was now lounging at the end of the table. He had downed a few glasses of Firewhisky by now and was eminently relaxed. If there ever was a chance to get a permission slip from him, it would be now.
"Sir, have I told you about the magnificent birthday party my mother threw me this summer?" I chirped.
"No, you haven't!" exclaimed Slughorn. "Must've been great, lots of remarkable faces, I'm sure?"
"Oh yes, many of the most known names in high society are family friends. But you, sir, must already know all about them!"
"I have had the pleasure to get acquainted with most of them, yes", chuckled Slughorn. "I assume Tom was there as well, rubbing elbows with the finest?"
Once Slughorn had turned to Tom, I quickly pointed my wand at his glass and refilled it, then gave Tom a meaningful look. Fortunately he had already caught on. His face fell and he presented the professor an impressively convincing expression of misery.
"No, unfortunately I was not", he said quietly. "The muggles in the orphanage I live in do not let us leave very often."
"It is most unfortunate that you must live there, and with muggles, for Merlin's sake!" gasped Slughorn and took a large gulp of his refilled glass.
"It certainly is. I cannot move away until I am eighteen years old or a family member comes to get me."
"How could anyone abandon a child in a place like that?" wailed Slughorn and once again drank the glass empty with a big sip. I discreetly filled it again, while a tiny crease had formed between Tom's brows as he processed Slughorn's words.
"The problem is they don't know I exist", he eventually said to Slughorn, who was now sipping his Firewhisky non-stop. "And I haven't been able to find them anywhere. My mother died in labour and I believe she didn't tell her family about me. I have no means to contact them."
Slughorn listened intently, a tiny tear drop forming in the corners of his eyes. "Oh my dear boy, I am so sorry!"
"We have tried to search for them in the books of the library, but it has been fruitless" I said. "I don't know what else we could do, since we have already gone through every family history book the available section of the library has to offer."
Something glinted in the bleary gaze of Slughorn as he turned toward me.
"What are you saying?" he asked curiously and for a second I wondered whether I had given us away. Then Tom suddenly grabbed Slughorn's wrist which made him startle and spill some whisky over himself.
"Sir, I wouldn't ask this if there was any other way", he said hastily. "But would you be willing to allow me enter the restricted section? I believe those books may have more in-depth knowledge about the histories of wizarding families."
"The restricted section?" mumbled Slughorn.
"I know it is unusual to let younger students enter", huffed Tom, staring Slughorn straight into the eyes. "And there is no guarantee I'll find anything useful, but I have to know. I have to, sir."
There was a long pause, but eventually Slughorn's gaze melted and he let out a heavy sigh.
"Remind me when you are ready to leave, I'll write you a slip", he said, then gulped down the rest of the Firewhisky. As he looked away, Tom sat back on his chair and gave me a triumphant glance.
The next day I met him in the Great Hall at dinner. He had rushed to the library as soon as our classes were over with Slughorn's permission in his hand and spent the entire evening there. Now he entered the Hall looking agitated and took a seat next to me. He placed his school bag on the floor in between our chairs with a loud thump from the weight of all the books he had borrowed.
"I see you have found something interesting, then?" I said to him. One of the books was almost falling out of the bag, so I picked it up to put it back in.
"The Secrets of the Darkest Arts?" I read, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think there will be much about the history of magical families in here."
Tom quickly took the book out of my hands and shoved it deep into the bag. "I know, it's just... for our Dark Arts classes. It looked interesting."
"Sure, whatever", I huffed. "Have you ever considered not studying all the time?"
"These books aren't all for studying", he said. "I think I might have found something."
"Like a relative of yours?" I inquired excitedly.
"I'm not sure yet. Someone called Marvolo Gaunt was mentioned in one of the books, along with others with the same surname, but that alone doesn't get me very far."
"Gaunts?" I repeated.
"Yes", replied Tom. "Do you know them?"
"The Gaunt family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and rumored to be descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself", I recalled. "None of them have been seen in decades, though, and I'm not sure if there are any Gaunts alive anymore."
"Is there any chance I could be related to them?" he muttered.
"I can't say for sure, but the name Marvolo is certainly not very common. Besides, your ability to speak parseltongue indicates that you might very well be the descendant of Slytherin, like them. They're definitely worth looking into."
An intense glow lit up Tom's eyes as he stared vacantly ahead. "Descendant of Slytherin...", he muttered. "If only I had been named after my mother's family..."
"I wish I was able to honor my heritage with a worthy name", he growled. "I wish I didn't have to be reminded of my useless father every time someone calls me by my name."
"Tom...", I whispered and touched his arm. "You're more honorable than your father ever will be, no matter what your name is."
He merely buried his face into his hands and sighed. "You don't know what it's like. You were born into one of the most respected families in wizarding history."
"You're right", I mumbled. "I don't know what it's like. But what I do know is that you don't have to deal with it alone."
Tom glared at me in a way that made me feel extremely nervous. It was one of those rare moments where I felt like I could see beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Jillian who collapsed on the chair opposite of me, exhausted after a particularly intense Quidditch practice. As she went on about her day I discreetly glanced at Tom, but the moment had passed and I knew he wouldn't bring up whatever he was going to say ever again.
That night Jillian, Tom and I had gathered by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. Tom was buried in a book as usual, while I inconspicuously observed him. I thought about what he had said earlier about honoring his heritage and loathing the name of his father. I had known him for four years, yet always found myself feeling surprised by the depth of his sorrow. It broke my heart to imagine how abandoned he must have felt all his life. I knew I could never replace biological family, but that night I made an oath to myself to become the next best thing.
My thoughts were once again interrupted by Jillian, who was urging us all to go to bed. Tom decided to stay by the fire place while Jillian and I stood up to leave. As I climbed the stairs leading to the dormitories, I turned to look at Tom for the last time, only to see he was staring back at me. Somehow it felt like he knew what I had been thinking a moment earlier, which made me feel rather exposed. For a second I felt an urge to should stay with him and continue the conversation we had in the Great Hall, but in the end I merely gave him a slight smile before vanishing behind the door of the dormitory.