March to May 1945, 7th year
Seven months.
Tom was now starting his eighth month without Naenia by his side.
It was odd. Tom felt her absence keenly still, reminded of it whenever he found himself on his own – which was more often than not – or when he caught glimpses of her during class and, rarely, in the common room. (He knew she kept visiting the Basilisk, having heard the infernal thing reminiscence about her visits often enough – but he didn't know how she did it nor did he ever catch her with the Basilisk.)
At the same time, seven months had already passed as if they were nothing. Time was running away from him and crawling at a snail's pace at the same time.
He had once thought Naenia would remain at his side forever. He knew she had thought the same. There had never been any doubt about it. They hadn't even needed to discuss it.
It did not help that Dumbledore kept making remarks about their broken friendship.
Still irritated about being held back after Transfiguration class for yet another inane conversation with the old man and running into Lestrange and Walker right afterwards – honestly, he had it with these two – Tom was not prepared to hear the grand piano upon entering the common room. In his almost seven years at Hogwarts, even with Naenia learning how to play, for some reason, the grand piano had only ever sparingly seen use. It was more for show than anything else and Tom suspected the only reason it was never out of tune was some spell someone had once cast that hadn't worn off, yet.
He stopped short, barely even noticing how his feet stopped moving, and blankly looked at the person sitting behind the piano, eyes closed, fingers flying over the keys, a small audience gathered around.
Tom could not remember ever crying in his life, but in that moment, he felt like crying – a heavy weight settling in his chest, his eyes prickling.
Tom did not cry.
Instead, he turned on his heel and left.
⸸
More flying bombs had been launched to attack London. How fortunate it was that Tom need not return there. Ever. He would have to politely decline the Blacks' invitation for their Summer Ball this year, wanting no repeat of the incident from last summer, but if he made all the right excuses, they would understand.
Not a great way to start the Easter Holidays, but no matter. Tom had other concerns to worry about. Like Lestrange and Walker exploding in the library.
"Can you two not –"
Tom froze.
Lestrange and Walker froze, too, which was not helping the compromising position they found themselves in.
Resisting the urge to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, Tom levelled them with a stern look. "This is a library. Twenty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor each for disturbing the peace and improper conduct. Another ten points each for being a constant disturbance instead of talking things out like adults." He paused. "Ten more points shall be deducted for indecent appearance in public."
He turned away.
"Lestrange, find me in the common room after dinner. Clearly, I need to have some words with you."
Then Tom left, erasing the image that had seared itself into his eyes from his mind. It explained a lot.
Unfortunately for his brewing headache, Lestrange got Naenia involved. They had barely talked since Tom had walked away that day in early August and Tom had not cared for her indifference so far.
Having it directed at him like this took things to another level, though.
"Lestrange came to me with concerns about an abuse of authority," Naenia said in a bland tone. "I explained to him that it is within your right as prefect and Head Boy to ensure the students behave and that the peace is being kept."
It was as if she had entirely forgotten about their eleven years of friendship, not caring in the least.
Tom berated himself for feeling stung by that. She was just another pawn in his plans – one that had switched colours, but a pawn nonetheless.
He calmed himself. "This has been going on for too long already. They are being a nuisance to everyone around them."
Lestrange said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. The common room was oddly empty, though Tom had his suspicions about that. No doubt a direct confrontation between himself and Naenia would have garnered a lot of attention otherwise.
Apparently deciding his words required no reply, Naenia turned to Lestrange. "As you can see, there was no need to be worried."
Worried? Tom internally furrowed his brows. Worried about what? Surely, Lestrange knew that Tom was merely going to remind him of proper etiquette and manners befitting a Slytherin.
"If you were able to keep a cool head," Naenia continued, still in that bland tone she had addressed Tom with, "instead of giving in to Timothy's temper, this would have never become an issue."
'Timothy' Tom mouthed to himself. What on earth was happening.
"A misunderstanding," Lestrange mumbled, glancing up at Tom. "My apologies, Riddle."
"See to it that it doesn't happen again," Tom replied stiffly. "Or there will be consequences."
He watched the other gulp, clearly intimidated and relished in the satisfaction the small reaction gave him. Lestrange should know better than to cross him.
And yet he watched the boy leave with Naenia, remaining behind alone with an odd feeling in his gut.
Tom wanted to stab something. Or someone. Preferably Lestrange. Maybe Nott too, while he was at it.
⸸
What are the chances, Tom thought to himself as he gathered potion ingredients under the waning moon and watched a murder of crows cawing at him from the trees, that Naenia is currently out and about, as well?
It was too dark to see whether any of the crows had clouded eyes, though. All he managed was to make out the grey of a few hooded crows mixed among the all-black carrion crows. If Naenia was nearby, though, Tom was fairly certain Morrigan would ensure they would not cross paths.
So he went back to his work and banished all thoughts of her to the back of his mind, sending a warning spell to scatter the crows. He couldn't afford to be distracted by them while in the Forbidden Forest at night. You never knew what lurked in the dark and Tom was unsettled enough as it was. He didn't know why he felt so uneasy – ignoring curfew in favour of gathering ingredients had never been an issue for him, after all. There was just something …
He couldn't explain it. It was odd.
The murder returned after a while, watching him, cawing at him when he came too close to the trees the crows were sitting in. An omen, perhaps. Or simply persistent crows, annoying little buggers that they were. Tom had never liked them. (Or had he?) They were too intelligent for mundane birds, would harass you as an entire species on principle if you so much as looked wrong at one of them, ate carrion, mobbed other predators, and their cawing never ceased. Naenia had once told him that crows even mourned their dead and held funerals for their deceased.
Truly a perfect familiar for a Necromancer, Tom thought, shaking his head and shooing the crows away once more.
The papers the next morning did not indicate anything out of the ordinary had happened safe for an off-hand comment that Tom would have overlooked had he not already heard the news from the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods whose parents had sent them urgent letters:
Germany had surrendered.
The war was not officially over, yet, but Germany had surrendered.
(And Grindelwald was still out there, some whispered, fighting his own war, though far away from Britain.)
When Tom heard the news, he closed his eyes and breathed.
⸸
"Please let her know I need to talk to her," Tom told the crow, feeling a bit awkward, "that she can come find me anytime. She knows I spent almost all of my free time in the library."
He was certain that this was indeed Morrigan and not a random blind crow – for one, its magic was familiar and for another, what were the chances? And he was also certain Naenia would get the message whether she was currently actively looking through her familiar's eyes or not. But talking to a crow he had taken several hours to track down would have felt weird under any circumstances.
He didn't know where Naenia had disappeared to – off to practice Necromancy, most likely – but he did not wish to put this off any longer than necessary and he had tried approaching her during the week to no avail.
The crow that was most likely, probably, certainly Morrigan tilted its head at him and cawed.
"Right," Tom said more to himself than to the crow. "Right. Thank you."
Then he nodded, still feeling awkward and turned to go back inside. When he glanced back over his shoulder, the crow with the clouded eyes was still sitting on the tree stump he had coaxed it down to, ostensibly watching him walk away.
And now he would wait.
⸸
For once, Tom was not alone in the library. He would wonder later if that was the reason or whether it had simply been a coincidence.
For all that Avery and Rosier had been panicking over some late homework when they had initially joined Tom, they were now very eager to hear all about his forays into spell creation, not even bothering to hide their awe.
"Always knew you were a genius, Riddle," Avery said, gaping. "But it's still baffling to hear you speak about these things so casually."
Tom was a genius. But Tom also thought most of his peers were just plain stupid – Naenia had never had any problems keeping up with him.
When Naenia appeared at their table, a silent spectre appearing seemingly out of nowhere, Tom didn't even bother excusing himself. Neither Tom nor Naenia exchanged a word as they quietly made their way up to the seventh floor.
"You've been visiting my Basilisk," Tom started with once they had settled on the armchairs the hidden room had provided – which was not what he had meant to say but he couldn't take it back, now.
"Your Basilisk?" There was a hint of amusement in her tone, though her face betrayed nothing.
"Slytherin's Basilisk," Tom amended. "I should have known you wouldn't let yourself be deterred when it came to the infernal thing. Next, you'll be giving it a name."
"Oh, I'm fairly sure she already has a name," Naenia replied lightly. "You just never bothered to ask and I can't do it, myself, and hope to understand the answer, now, can I?"
She did not call him out on it, but Tom knew she was waiting for him to address the reason he had asked to talk to her.
Between the news of Germany's surrender and the day he finally tracked down Morrigan, Tom had actually taken the time to think. He had not wanted to, would have preferred making use of his time in other, meaningful ways, would have preferred never to drag up that specific topic out of the deepest, darkest corner of his mind – but Tom was no fool. An issue like this would not disappear if only you ignored it long enough.
He had kept telling himself that he did not need her – but it had never been about that at all, had it? His whole life had always seemed to revolve around her one way or another and Tom had wanted that.
No. It had never been about needing someone or being dependent or even just wanting to be close or any such things.
It had always been about Tom's fear of death. Yes, Tom had felt hurt by Naenia's indifference about the topic even though the rational part of his mind understood where she was coming from. Tom wanted her to understand but he knew she never would. He wanted her to accept his fears and respect them for what they were but he knew she never would do that, either. It was impossible for her. Tom understood that much. And he knew it was no ignorance, no ill will – it was simply who and what she was.
Tom may never be able to ever fathom the true depths of a Necromancer's devotion to Death – and he did not need her to tell him he had no aptitude for the art, for he could never devote himself like that – but he did understand the single-minded focus and the loyalty to one's own principles.
"You know about my fear of death," Tom told her, now, looking down at the folded hands in his lap, "and I know you will never understand it. And that's okay. I have come to the conclusion," and here he dragged his gaze up to meet her cold, green eyes, "that I still want you in my life – despite everything. And I am willing to compromise. I will try to accustom myself to the parts of your life I have been trying very hard to ignore until now. All I want in return is for you to be more mindful of my fears. That is all I ask."
He would not apologise. He had no reason to. And he did not want any apology from Naenia, either, knowing how insincere it would be.
It had all been very clear and straightforward in his head, but as the silence stretched on, his confidence in the outcome of this conversation began to falter.
Her face gave away as little as the thoughts he could not read, her green, green eyes trained on him with a calm, blank gaze.
Eventually, though, she did open her mouth to reply.
"Did you actually miss me, these past months – or have you simply come to the conclusion that you have need for my abilities as a Necromancer still?"
Tom was too stunned to come up with a reply, making a vaguely confused noise instead.
"I have realised," Naenia continued, her voice so bland and emotionless it cut Tom more than any iciness would have, "during these nine months we spent apart – that we have no need for each other."
"No need for each other?" Tom echoed faintly.
"It was odd, at first, but no great loss."
"No great loss. What – Naenia – Is that what you think this is about? That we – what? – only spent our time together out of convenience? To use each other?"
"Is that not how you perceive every single person in your life?"
"But not you. You were always the exception. You should know that. We never needed our relationship to be transactional – friendship doesn't work like that."
"Does it not? Our environment never encouraged us to form relationships for the sake of the relationship. We were put in Slytherin House for good reason. You don't have friends, Tom. You never had. Besides," Naenia shifted her legs, "if you cared about me at all and not only yourself, only ever yourself, then you would have noticed that you were not the only one that got hurt that day."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Naenia levelled another calm look at him, her eyes still eerily void of emotion. "You walked out on me, Tom. Instead of staying and at least attempting to talk about it, you fled."
"I did not –"
"You fled, Tom. Don't deny it. You know it's the truth."
And he did. He did know. That was precisely what he had done that day.
"You walked away instead of staying to listen and allow me to at least try to understand where you were – and still are – coming from."
Tom bit his tongue before he could retort with 'You wouldn't have understood no matter what.' Because that was the entire reason they had fought.
Only, they hadn't actually fought. Because Tom had walked away
"And while your fear of Death is something I cannot even begin to fathom, I do accept it as something real to you. But that does not excuse your behaviour. It does not excuse the way you continue to disrespect Death at every turn." Her eyes narrowed. "Nine months of nothing, Tom, and now you suddenly come crawling back because you received news of the Muggle war finally ending."
"Naenia, that's not –"
"Have a good day, Tom."
He barely had a moment to react before she was already at the door.
"Naenia! Naenia, wait!"
He followed as fast as he could, just a hair's breadth behind her – but when he reached the corridor, there was no sight of her anywhere.
Tom stood there, somewhat forlorn, and wondered where everything had gone wrong.
AN
And now she walked out on him.