Originally Posted on AO3 September 2022 to date

complete in 25 chapters

Part 3 of memento mori

Tom looked at the twisted body at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His arms and legs were spread at odd angles and his neck twisted in a way that couldn't be comfortable – or, well, wouldn't have been comfortable, had Billy still been alive. He definitely wasn't alive anymore. There was no way he was.
"They will never believe it was an accident," Naenia said calmly.
Tom winced and cursed under his breath as he looked over at her. "We need to get rid of the evidence."
Naenia mustered the body with a contemplative look on her face.
"Naenia?"
She turned to him. "I have an idea. Let's reanimate his body."

In which a young Tom Riddle meets a Necromancer at the orphanage and things do not turn out for the better, at all.

AN

Can be read on it's own.

AU of Lemuria [fanfiction net/s/14363077/1/Lemuria] – What if Naenia had been born a Totengräber and not a Lémure?

For those that have read Lemuria – because this is an AU, I took the liberty to change some aspects of how Necromancy works and other worldbuilding details that I established previously.

I shall ignore the Fantastic Beasts Movies completely and it's also probably not going to be historically accurate, but I'm going to try my best.

I hope you enjoy this story. It's going to be dark.

1933 to 1934, Wool's Orphanage

The orphanage was a dreary place, especially during the cold winter months. Everything was black and white and grey and, despite the place being scrubbed clean regularly, everything looked shabby and worn-down. There wasn't enough money and what little money could be spared went into Mrs Cole's not-so-secret stash of gin.

The children came and went with the seasons, except for those that would never be lucky enough to escape this hell. Those children were a tight-knit group, having spent so much time together – with the exception of one boy.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a strange child, even the adults thought so.

Tom disagreed, of course. Tom thought of himself as special and all the others were beneath him.

He had a room all to himself, because no one wanted to share with him anymore and Mrs Cole had long ago accepted that it was better if Tom were left to his own devices. He could do special things, although he had only discovered this a few months ago – he could move things without touching them and set them on fire. He could make animals do what he wanted them to do – Billy's stupid rabbit was his favourite victim, but he liked bringing mice and rats inside whenever he felt some trouble needed to be stirred up, too. Dorothy's shrieks were always music to his ears.

Tom was sure that he would eventually be able to make people do what he wanted them to, as well. He only needed to train these special powers. And then he would finally be able to take his rightful position at the top of the pecking order and all the incessant bullying would stop. No more broken things and ripped clothing. No more being pushed to the ground or kicked or tripped or shoved aside. No more cold water being poured on him from the top of the stairs. No more name-calling.

No more!

Tom would –

There had been a new girl brought to the orphanage in the middle of the night and where Tom normally would have ignored such an event and continued refining his plans to take over the orphanage, this new girl's name was enough to stir his interest.

Her name was Naenia Proserpina Totengräber (he had to sneak into Mrs Cole's office to get the spelling right, because not a single person could decide on how to pronounce the girl's last name properly – and that was how he discovered her middle name) and if that didn't scream special, Tom didn't know what else would. If this girl had come to steal his rightful place at the top, then he would need to get rid of her immediately. But what if she wasn't special? What if she wasn't like him? A name did not make a person after all – and Tom would know, two thirds of his own name were utterly normal, but he, himself, was certainly not.

There was no need to be hasty. If the girl wasn't special, there was no need for him to go to the trouble of getting rid of her. If she was special … Well, it wasn't like Tom needed her for anything. He didn't need anyone.

The girl was his age, just two months older (another fact he learned when he sneaked into the matron's office) and had been brought in by some random tramp. Her family was dead and apart from the clothes she was wearing, which were entirely too thin for winter, she did not possess anything else – no money, no food, no shelter, and no one to look after her. The girl wasn't even from England, had been born and raised in Germany until now, which made the adults rather uncomfortable around her for some reason – although, perhaps, that was simply due to her odd appearance rather than her heritage.

She didn't sound like a German, though. She sounded like Tom imagined a snobbish, British, rich kid would sound like – the way he always tried to sound like, no matter how much the others laughed – clear and posh and very refined. And she either could not explain how she had gotten from Germany to a dark and cold London alley in the middle of the night – because that was what her story sounded like – or she refused to, and only explained that her father had come from England and she had grown up bilingual.

Everyone kept their distance from the new girl, which gave Tom more than enough opportunities to observe her, to find out whether she was special or not, to figure out a way to get rid of her if necessary.

And then she sat down next to him during breakfast one morning and Tom didn't know what to make of it. She didn't say a word, just put down her tray next to his and sat down to eat and then continued doing so during every other meal. And she sat in the room with him during free time, reading the same books he did – the only books that weren't children's books – instead of going outside to play or join the girls with their dolls like a sensible child.

She was even placed into the same classes as Tom – though they did not, of course, attend them together, because boys and girls were separated in school. But the fact remained that this girl was apparently far ahead of her peers and able to keep up with lessons above her age group – just like Tom.

It was maddening.

Special powers or not, the girl had to go. And because Tom was observing her all the time, he noticed that there was something going on with her and that something surely would help him find a way to get rid of her.

There was something very odd about the girl, something that strengthened his suspicions about her being special, like him. It was the combination of her green eyes and her slowly, but surely whitening hair. Now, green eyes were rare but nothing out of the ordinary. Yet the girl's eyes were of an unnatural shade that made even Tom highly uncomfortable if he looked at them for too long. The girl's hair was of a dark brown, but had white streaks as if she was an ageing woman and not a seven-year-old girl – and the white seemed to grow each day. Or perhaps not each day, Tom noted after paying closer attention. It didn't take long for him to figure out that it only happened after nights of clear skies, when the weather wasn't wet and the winds biting.

To confirm his suspicions, Tom sneaked out of his room on such a night, just after the children had been sent to bed, and positioned himself in a corner by the stairs that he knew the adults didn't pay enough attention to when they went by.

He had to wait for at least two hours, before – just as he had predicted – the new girl appeared, heading straight for the front doors. Just as she reached for the door handles, though, she turned around and looked directly at Tom in his hiding spot.

Instead of showing guilt, the girl beamed at him. "Hello, Tom. Do you want to come with me tonight?"

Tom was too surprised to refuse.

"You could have just said so earlier," the girl continued, when he had walked through the door she had held open for him. (He had scowled at her for doing so, but she had only continued smiling at him.) "I would have told you that I usually go out at half past eleven o'clock."

She led him around the building, to a corner where the wall surrounding the orphanage was as high as everywhere else, but the windows were mostly of rooms that weren't occupied during the night. There was the caw of a crow and, as if in answer, the girl raised her head and smiled even brighter than before. The brighter her smile, the more out of place it seemed. Tom followed her line of sight, but whatever she saw, he couldn't make out in the darkness.

Another caw – and then he saw it, a crow circling above them, flying lower and lower, until it could land on the girl's shoulder.

"This is Morrigan," the girl said, caressing the crow's feathers.

The crow was blind, Tom realised, when he saw that its eyes were clouded over. The crow didn't need to see in the dark, because it couldn't see at all. How it managed to survive like that, Tom couldn't begin to guess.

"This way," the girl said and then jumped onto the wall – a wall that was at least twice, if not three times her height.

Tom could admit to himself that he was openly gaping at her.

"Come on," she said. "I know you can do it. You are special, like me."

That word, more than anything, convinced Tom to move. He had been right! The girl was special, like him. He would have to get rid of her. (If he survived this night.)

(Was that her plan? To get rid of him first? She hadn't been at the orphanage for long, but Tom knew just how attractive that spot at the top of the pecking order was.)

Tom looked up at the high wall critically. No normal human could jump that high. But he had seen the girl do it with his own eyes. It was possible. So he concentrated hard and then – he jumped.

He didn't make it – at least not on his own and not as elegantly as the girl had done it. No, the girl had to help him by catching his hand and pulling him up. How humiliating.

Jumping down on the other side was easier. He didn't glide or land as softly as the girl, but he didn't hurt himself, either. It was only then that Tom noticed that the girl must have been muffling her steps all this time. She was wearing heéled shoes, yet soundlessly walked across the paved path behind the orphanage.

Tom knew that path led to the nearest church – they had to walk that path every Sunday – and they did indeed go to the church, but the girl went around it and entered the graveyard, where her eyes suddenly started glowing in that weird shade of green that made Tom so uncomfortable and with the dead surrounding them, their spirits glowing faintly in the same shade of green, she began to sing.

Tom did not realise the dead weren't supposed to be visible as translucent, faintly glowing people, until she stopped singing and by then it was too late to show terror. Tom was not weak. If this girl could dance among the dead without fear, then Tom could do better than that. He didn't know what would count as 'doing better than that', but he knew he could do it. So he did not show any fear as he watched her talk to the dead and exchange smiles and laughter with them, her blind crow hopping from gravestone to gravestone, picking at the engraved names and the flowers that wilted in her wake.

"It's an exchange," she told Tom, when she had circled around and returned to stand next to him. "A song for the power I gain from them."

"Power?" Tom asked, torn between fear and fascination. The girl was not only special, but she could do things that Tom could not do and that was unacceptable.

The girl hummed. "My family has a special connection to the dead."

"So your whole family is special?"

She gave him a grin. "There is a whole community of special people out there. Our connection to the dead is not common even among them. People do not worship Death like we do."

Tom frowned. "I thought your family was dead."

"Oh, they are."

Tom thought there must be more to that, but doubted she would give him a straightforward answer if he asked, so he saved himself the trouble and instead asked, "Is that why your hair turns white? Because of this … exchange?"

"Partially. It is a sign of how much Nekromantie I practice."

"Necro … manty?" Tom frowned. "Necromancy?"

She nodded. "Magie des Todes. Death's Magic. I believe it is actually illegal here." She tilted her head. "It might be illegal in Germany, too. Never stopped my family from practicing it, of course."

"Can I learn how to do that?"

The girl shrugged, almost giving Tom hope, until she opened her mouth to say, "I don't think so. I won't stop you from trying, though. But you can do all sorts of other things – magic is very versatile, after all."

"Magic," Tom said, trying the word out on his tongue. Magic. "And you can teach me how to do that, at least?"

As much as it pained him to admit it – she was better than him. He had seen her do things he struggled to with absolute ease and it hadn't even been a whole night.

"If you want me to."

Tom nodded to himself. "How did you know I was special, too?"

"I can sense it. All magic leaves traces."

"Can I learn that, too?"

"Sure."

Perhaps he would not have to get rid of her just yet. Yes, Tom decided, the girl could stay until she had lost her usefulness to him. And by then, he would know for sure whether she was a threat to his position at the top. He could always get rid of her afterwards. It was a perfect plan. All his plans were.

⸸

The girls that had originally been living in the room Naenia had been assigned to all asked to be moved, one by one. There was not nearly enough space to have two children keep a room each all to themselves, but the other girls would rather share a cramped room than stay with Naenia. Mrs Cole was desperately trying to convince them otherwise, but had to give up eventually.

This worked out in Tom's favour, because he did not have to worry about outsiders whenever he came into her room. Naenia didn't come to him, usually. If he wanted something from her, if he wanted to learn from her and for her to teach him, then he had to come to her. Naenia never wanted anything from him. (Tom did not like that. It made him feel as if he owed her, no matter how many times she told him she didn't really care – and he liked the fact that she might truly not care even less.)

Naenia taught him all sorts of things. She showed him how to move things with his will and how to make them fly. She showed him how to freeze the very air in the room and then warm it back up. She even showed him to how to set things on fire. But, most importantly, she showed him how to sense magic – and, suddenly, a whole new world opened up to Tom. A world of wonder. A world of magic.

Together, the two of them tried changing the colours of their walls and furniture. They practiced growing plants, although Naenia's always wilted the moment she touched them. Tom tried to show her how to control animals – he reckoned it wouldn't be hard for her, as she was already in control of that blind crow – but Naenia only smiled at him and shook her head. When he demanded that she had to try, the mouse he had found for her squeaked in terror and died on the spot. He didn't practice his control over animals with her again.

Until now, Tom had always had to concentrate very hard to get his powers to do what he wanted them to – but Naenia showed him how easy using magic could be, if you just knew how to do it right. Still, she used it with an ease Tom could only envy, no matter how often she assured him he, too, would get to that point eventually.

Easy did not equal effortless, though. It was easy to heat up a room, but it took a lot of energy, even if Tom's room was small, and it was hard to maintain all night, when the walls were thin and the window had cracks that let the cold seep inside.

It was cold in winter and the blankets were thin.

The other children stayed warm by huddling together, sharing their beds and blankets. Tom could not do that. He hated the other children and they hated him. But – Naenia could not do that, either, could she? And while she had told him, once, that she liked the cold, Tom was sure that did not make her immune to the freezing winter nights. So the solution was simple, in Tom's mind – take his blanket and crawl into bed next to Naenia. There were no screeching girls left sharing her room that could have protested.

Tom pointedly did not touch Naenia when he did this and Naenia did not protest. She didn't even raise her head. Tom suspected she had sensed him coming, but her breathing was deep and even, as if in deep slumber.

Naenia did not like to be touched. Tom had been lucky to figure that out by observing rather than the hard way. He could still vividly remember the way Martha had suddenly screamed in pain and fallen to the ground. And then Henry had tried to 'come to her help' – not by soothing Martha, of course, but by eliminating the assumed threat, and he, too, had begun to scream the moment he had touched Naenia. No one had ever touched Naenia again, instead going out of their way to give her a wide berth at all times. Tom couldn't even remember what it had all been about originally, but it had been glorious to watch in the end.

Humans needed touch to survive. This was a fact not even Tom could refute. (And Tom hated that fact, because it meant that he did need other people, after all, not that he would ever admit it – not even to himself.) If Naenia wanted to survive, Tom therefore argued with himself, then she needed to learn how to tolerate touch. And who better to do that for her than Tom, himself? This was not born out of the selfish desire to be warm during those cold winter nights, instead of merely being not cold by lying next to her – and, maybe, falling asleep without the fear of waking up with immense pain. (He wasn't sure whether Naenia had caused Martha and Henry to feel pain voluntarily or involuntarily.)

Tom would help her, he decided. Tom would begin by actually asking her whether she could be touched safely and then Tom would begin initiating light, casual touches now and then. He would go from there. It was a very simply plan, but one he was sure would be effective in the long run.

Only when winter came to an end and the need to share a bed left with the warming temperatures, did Tom realise that this plan was not useful to his long-term goal of getting rid of her, at all. It took him even longer to realise that he didn't actually want to get rid of her, anymore.