June 1945
The dagger gleamed in the light, reflecting the flames of the fireplace perfectly.
"Stunning work," Avery commented with honest awe. "What craftsman did you hire?"
"No one you would wish to associate with," Tom replied tartly.
He had pulled quite a lot of strings to acquire the athame without having to spend too many of his resources. The effort had paid off.
"Whoever you are gifting this to will be very lucky indeed," Avery said. "Though I must admit I expected you to go for jewellery instead, as is customary – especially in the early stages of courtship."
"So you have said."
Having judged the books in the library insufficient, Tom had eventually given in and asked Avery for advice, deeming him the safest option. Rosier was too much of a gossip (and a man-whore). Lestrange and Nott and even Malfoy were loyal to Naenia more than Tom and the rest of the Slytherins were too low in standing to matter. He would leave Hogwarts in just a few weeks, but it would have still felt awkward to ask about such a thing in letters to his graduated housemates.
Tom sheathed the dagger – the leather just as intricately crafted as the blade, itself – and carefully tucked it away into the little black box it had arrived in.
It would be the first of many, burning through what little assets he had – but it would be worth it, in the end. Tom was certain of it.
The rest of June passed like that. Avery told Tom a bit more about courtship rituals while Rosier was off 'making the most of his last days at school' and Tom kept himself busy preparing for the future.
Naenia never so much as glanced in his direction any more than she did with any other entirely unimportant person she occasionally had to interact with.
It was Malfoy of all people who figured it out, in the end. Avery never realised who the gifts were intended for, Rosier didn't even know there were gifts in the first place and Tom definitely had been careful not to let anyone else catch on. He couldn't see Naenia telling Malfoy, either, so that begged the question how the little brat had found out.
If not for the actual, useful advice Malfoy went on to give him, Tom would have hexed the boy.
"The Muggle war is finally approaching its end," Tom was musing as he sat with Avery and Rosier one evening, "not that the magical world cares much. I wonder though, how this will affect the Dark Lord. We haven't heard much of him lately."
"Grindelwald is losing."
Tom blinked. "He is?" He turned to look at Rosier. "How do you know that?"
"Lestrange told me." Rosier shrugged. "Apparently, Totengräber discussed it with her Slytherins."
How curious, Tom thought, not allowing himself to let his mind wander beyond that.
"So she did," came an unwelcome voice.
Tom and his companions turned in their seats to watch Malfoy saunter over.
"You're not going to win Totengräber over with inconsequential little trinkets like that," he told Tom apropos of nothing.
"Excuse me?"
"You are courting Totengräber?" Avery asked.
"He's what?" Rosier added, sounding entirely flummoxed.
Tom ignored them.
"Any other person, perhaps," Malfoy continued, "especially with that athame. Truly impressive, that one. But Totengräber is different. One would think you in particular were aware of that."
"Have you come here to mock me, Malfoy," Tom said, playing with his wand in an ostensibly casual manner, "or are you going to actually contribute anything useful?"
"First rule of courtship gifts: Customised to match the recipient in all aspects."
"He's right," Tom heard Avery murmur.
"My resources are rather limited, Malfoy," he forced through his gritted teeth.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. "I believe the kind of gifts she would value are not that hard to come by. One simply needs the stomach to handle them."
Tom went quiet at that.
Having clearly achieved his goal, Malfoy threw him a self-satisfied smirk and left with a mocking bow.
Entirely disregarding the questioning glances Avery and Rosier were throwing his way, Tom folded his hands underneath his chin in contemplation.
So. How did one go about acquiring an appropriate corpse to gift a Necromancer?
⸸
"You forgot the most essential rule of courtship," Naenia told him with an exasperation Tom much preferred over the blank void of emotions she had treated him with thus far.
They were attracting a small crowd, public as they were in the Slytherin Common Room and it being the last week of school on top of that, making the room rather cramped.
"And which one might that be?"
"Ask for permission."
Tom blinked. "From yourself or your parents?"
"My parents, if you were to go about it the correct way. They would never have given their approval, of course. Myself, if you were to go about it in a way that actually mattered."
"Would you have said yes?"
Naenia took some time, seemingly giving his question some earnest consideration.
"Perhaps," she replied eventually. "It depends, really. Care for a walk?"
"Of course," Tom said smoothly, rising from his seat and offering her his arm as he had always done, before everything. "It would be my pleasure."
The silence was not frigid or oppressing or tense in any way, this time. Tom would even tentatively call it companionable.
He wanted to ask whether she had forgiven him but refrained.
They wandered outside the castle, uncaring for curfew – not that anyone would have stopped them even if they hadn't been the Head Boy and a prefect. This was their very last week at Hogwarts, after all. They weren't the only ones disregarding the rules these days.
"What will happen to the Basilisk once we leave?" Naenia asked as they walked along the shore of the Great Lake.
"I already told it to return to hibernation," Tom said. "What other option does it have?"
"How sad," Naenia said and for once, Tom believed her heartfelt tone.
It would be about a Basilisk of all things.
There were students playing in the water, even though the sun had already gone down, their laughter drifting over to them. The leaves of the Forbidden Forest rustled to their other side, the woods looming as dark and ominous as ever. A soft breeze gently ruffled their robes. A crow cawed as it circled overhead.
"If you want this to work," Naenia told him softly, "you will have to make it up to me."
"Of course," Tom replied and then, despite knowing better, added, "Anything."
A smile appeared on her lips at that. "Then I want you to accompany me on two outings this week. There are some places I must visit before I leave the area."
Already knowing where this was going, Tom swallowed his sigh and acquiesced.
"Naenia," he said and brought them to a stop, still caught between the Great Lake and the Forbidden Forest, though now further away from the people playing in the water. "After we leave Hogwarts, will you marry me?"
"Yes."
There was a moment of silence during which Naenia continued to calmly look over the dark surface of the lake and Tom couldn't help but stare at her.
Eventually, he dared to ask, "Truly?"
"Yes," Naenia replied.
Tom found himself speechless. And to think …
"I had this whole speech prepared," he muttered.
"I'm sure you did," Naenia said, eyes not leaving the lake.
There was another moment of silence.
Then Naenia glanced at him, her face carefully neutral. "Do you … still want to hold your speech?"
Tom closed his eyes. "What would the point even be, now? You already agreed to it. You don't need me to point out all the ways we would both benefit from this for you."
Naenia gave him a smile and then turned her attention back to the dark water. After a while, Tom turned as well, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close so he could press a kiss to the crown of her head, quietly admiring the view with her.
⸸
The first place Naenia wanted to visit was apparently somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest in the middle of a seemingly ordinary night. Tom came to the Forbidden Forest at night rather often, but it was quite different to walk so deeply into it with only some faintly glowing blood mist to light the way. (Though he had been pleased to note that Naenia used his athame to make the cut.)
The trees were so thick that no light from the moon or even the stars filtered through anymore. The darkness pressed in around them, shifting constantly, looming on all sides. The rustling of leaves almost hid the crunching of dirt that indicated another being stalking through the undergrowth. A wolf howled in the distance.
He knew Morrigan was scouting ahead, occasionally caught what he hoped was the crow's shape moving between the branches above. But that did nothing to calm his racing heart.
Tom disliked not knowing what danger might lurk nearby. His Legilimency was useless against non-humanoid creatures and magic was present in abundance here as it was up at the castle – unless one had a very precise trail to follow, extending one's sense for magic just asked for a sensory overflow and a migraine.
Pale eyes glowed in the dark, announcing a small herd of Thestrals that silently approached.
"Hello," Naenia greeted them softly, reaching out to pet their flanks.
Tom remained silent, gripping his wand tightly and keeping the Thestrals within his line of sight as he kept carefully observing their surroundings.
Naenia spent several minutes petting the Thestrals and crooning nonsense at them, before they parted ways with the herd and continued on, deeper and deeper into the dark forest. She eventually stopped, though Tom could not discern why. The place looked exactly like everywhere else in the forest. The only difference was the blood mist being thicker, here.
"Now we wait," Naenia told him and settled down with her back against one of the trees.
Her undead crow came gliding out of the treetops to settle on her shoulder.
With great reluctance, Tom lowered himself to the ground next to her, back against the bark of the tree, wand raised in front of him.
Hours might have passed or maybe mere minutes. It was hard to tell being surrounded by a constantly shifting darkness and ominous sounds and no indicator to mark the time.
Then the slow, measured, heavy steps of a large animal filtered through the forest's noises – louder and louder, closer and closer.
At first, Tom thought it was a lion, but then he made out the shape of its tail, prompting him to take a sharp breath.
A Manticore.
A rather old and weak Manticore, he realised after a moment, its fur greying, skin hanging loose, breathing laboured as it dragged itself closer.
It became clear to Tom then, though he really should have known, that Naenia had brought him here to watch a creature of the forest die. She had brought him here to watch as she guided a creature that was known for its violent tendencies – a creature that could kill instantly with a sting of its tail – to lay down and rest its head in her lap, so she could card her fingers through its mane and sing to it while the rest of its life slowly faded away.
He was reminded, suddenly, of that very first night he had followed Naenia out of the orphanage and watched her sing to the dead in a graveyard, eyes glowing green in the night.
After – once the light had finally left the Manticore's eyes and Naenia's song had come to an end – Tom was tasked with digging a grave while Naenia went through what he assumed were customary funeral rites. He watched her work her magic as her hands slid over the corpse, words flowing from her mouth, and wondered what it was all for. Certainly not to prevent decay, he thought to himself – if anything, the magic would probably aid the decomposition process along. Perhaps a smooth journey for the soul to whatever came after death? Preventive measures against reanimation and resurrection? Or were they simply traditions that had no true purpose beyond a sentimental meaning?
Tom couldn't imagine Naenia doing anything out of sentimentality, even if it concerned funeral rites.
Grave dug, rites completed, Naenia levitated the body into the earth and helped Tom close it up again. Flowers sprouted seemingly out of nowhere and after squinting at them for a moment, Tom identified them as red spider lilies.
When he turned back to Naenia, she was smiling at him.
"See?" she said. "That wasn't so hard."
Tom shrugged and said nothing.
⸸
The second outing Naenia took him on occurred on their second to last day at Hogwarts. With permission from Professor Slughorn, they left the castle grounds and travelled to a nearby village, where a middle-aged woman greeted them with the air of someone resigned to their fate.
"Miss Lémure," she said, making Tom want to arch an eyebrow at Naenia, "I am glad that you came. And right on time, too. I fear my father is nearing his last breath."
The woman brought them to a small house with only two rooms – a living area with an open kitchen and a folding screen hiding a bed from view, and a bathroom.
On the bed lay an old man, eyes closed and body still, his breath only a faint rasp.
"I have said my goodbyes," the woman told them. "I will wait outside."
Naenia nodded at her, then brought over two chairs for them to sit on and then they waited.
Apparently, Naenia's work involved a lot of waiting.
She told him, clearly not intending to spend this particular wait in silence like they had done the night the Manticore had died, that the Lémures were rarely called in before the death occurred. But it did happen. Some people could not bear to remain at their loved one's side in their last moments, but did not wish for them to die all alone, either. Or they simply wanted to ensure the body wouldn't be left unattended for too long.
"They cannot actually afford a proper funeral, but I offered," she said.
"You're doing this for free?"
Naenia gave him a patient look. "I gain power from Death, Tom. It is payment enough."
Unlike that night with the Manticore, Naenia asked him to assist her with the body this time. Tom would never be able to forget what it felt like to handle a dead body. He would try his hardest, though, to banish the memory into the farthest corner of his mind never to examine it again.
As they worked, Naenia explained the differences between the bodies of people who had died just moments ago and those whose deaths lay further in the past. From an academic standpoint, it was quite interesting. From a personal standpoint, it was nauseating. Tom had to keep a very tight hold on his Occlumency to make it through without throwing up or thinking about the fact that he might end up like this old man one day – dead and cold and soon forgotten.
(He would become immortal, he swore to himself once more, no matter what.)
Together, they cleaned the body – spelled not to empty its bowels, thankfully, because apparently that was a thing corpses did and Tom could really do without that – and restored it to resemble a healthy, old man looking as if he were merely asleep. Naenia worked her magic to preserve the body until it was six feet under and perform the same rites he had seen her perform for the Manticore, some of which really were to prevent reanimations from both Necromancers and practitioners of the Dark Arts. Then they redressed the body and called the daughter back inside.
Tom could see the tears spring to her eyes as she covered her mouth, but she thankfully remained composed enough to answer Naenia's questions and direct them to the village's graveside, where they held a small funeral. A very small funeral. So small that it made Tom wonder what the old man had done to deserve a funeral held only by his daughter, a Necromancer and an unrelated bystander.
Another reason Tom would not allow himself to die. He was fairly sure Naenia would be the only one to attend his funeral and that was simply too pathetic.
(The thought of his own body being lowered into the cold, hard earth was too much and Tom had to avert his eyes and simply breathe for a moment. But, in the end, Tom had no choice but to persevere.)
"I can comprehend why people would fear dying," Naenia told him on their way back, arm linked with his, "for it could be lonely. It could be painful. It could be slow. You could be slowly losing control over your body while your mind stays intact. Or the other way around – which would be harder on the people around you than yourself, I imagine."
"It is the unknown after death that I fear," Tom admitted quietly. "The uncertainty of what will happen to me. What happens after death? Nothing? Will I just disappear? Will my 'self' be gone forever? Or is there an afterlife of sorts? Do heaven and hell exist? Eternal punishment? Reincarnation? What kind of reincarnation? I neither know what will happen nor will I have any control over it."
He slowed their steps to a halt, took a breath and let his gaze sweep over the Scottish Highlands, vast and empty as they were.
"Why do you think people believe? Because they want to hold onto the hope that whatever their religion is telling them will happen after death is what will actually happen. They want to hold onto that instead of facing the unknown."
"You could have just asked me."
Tom's head whipped around. "What?"
Naenia was looking ahead, not sparing him a glance. "I won't tell you what comes after Death, but I could have told you about Death's Realm any time. I could have even taken you there for a visit." She hummed to herself. "And perhaps I still will, one day. But perhaps I won't."