The air was filled with the sound of explosions, screams and tumbling stones as a figure moved slowly and unsteadily through the corridors of an ancient castle, his left hand supporting his body against the wall as he moved deeper into the darkness. His breaths were long and deep as his right hand was held tightly against his stomach, blood slowly oozing through his fingers, despite his best attempts to stem the flow. He walked down the familiar stairs leading to the Dungeons, his mind trying to understand where it all went wrong. Was it when he allowed the so-called Chosen One to live in his first year at Hogwarts, when he could have ended the miserable boy's life with but a flick of a wand? Was it four years later, when he used the boy to discover the truth of the Prophecy that bound them both together in a struggle for survival and once again allowed the old man to thwart his victory? Or was it just a short year back, when he ignored the signs that signified that his enemies had discovered the secret to his immortality and had begun to destroy them one by one? He honestly couldn't figure it out. After all, everything seemed to have progressed exactly as he had envisioned.
The Ministry of Magic had wasted away a full year denying his return from the dead, while he cared for and restored the strength of his most faithful followers in anticipation of open war. His other followers, those who escaped the manhunts after his own unexpected downfall, had placed themselves in strategic posts within the Ministry, allowing his forces the ability to not only move freely anywhere within the bounds of Britain, but to attack and slaughter his enemies while the pathetically staffed forces of the DMLE were unable to do anything but arrive in time to put out the fires and tag the bodies of the dead. Even the old man's best and brightest were powerless to stop him, as the Order of the Phoenix was stretched far too thinly to actually achieve anything other than a few skirmishes when his followers attacked the homes of the Order's members and their allies. Then, everything changed. Fifty years. It took fifty years for the thorn in his side to die and he celebrated the old man's end. Within a month of his death, his Order was scattered to the winds, the Ministry had fallen and his forces were finally able to capture the single greatest prize of all.
The man dragged his hand across the surface of the stone walls of the dungeon, feeling the echoes of magic that could be traced back over a thousand years. Hogwarts. From the moment he entered the grand doors of the Castle's main gates, to the sight of the ceiling that revealed the night sky beyond the stones that sheltered them all from the cold winds of the Scottish Highlands. From the moment he entered into his ancestor's Common Room, the far wall reflecting the lights of the fires that kept the area warm, the Black Lake's waters pressed into the glass that allowed the children to gaze at a world hidden from view by the murky waters of the surface, to the green curtains that adorned his four poster bed in his own private quarters, a privilege of fate. He knew then just as he knew now. Hogwarts was his home. This ancient structure that had seen to the education of countless children, showing them the ways of sorcery, magic and witchcraft. This place that his ancestor, the noble and cunning Salazar Slytherin helped to construct from the ground up. This was where he belonged. As his strength failed him and prevented him from reaching the hidden staircase that led into his Ancestor's Chamber, he also knew another truth. This would be his grave.
For decades he dreaded this moment. The time when his strength would fail him, when even magic, his greatest source of joy and hope, would abandon him just like everything else in his life. There was no comfort to him here, besides the fact that at least he had robbed the worthless masses of their saviour's life. He grinned softly as his back pressed against the stone wall before he slid down to the ground and his legs stretched out before him. Over sixteen years. That's how long it took him to put an end to the life of the Old Man's favorite pupil, his prized student. His Gryffindor Gold Boy. Gods did he hate how the boy was treated by the brainless fools. From the moment the boy appeared within the interior of the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by well wishers and sycophants, he knew they were destined to be enemies. The boy glowed in the adoration of the masses, while he himself was despised and feared, with everyone refusing to even utter his name after his supposed death. That day he walked up to the boy and spoke to him amicably under the guise of one of Hogwarts many Professors, while internally he sneered. He would one day kill the Boy Who Lived. He swore it.
Now the deed was done. Within the confines of the Castle's Main Courtyard, he and the boy had dueled with the fate of Britain on the line, their supporters waiting with baited breath for who would come out on top. It should've been a contest of skill and power. The boy was outclassed in both. Instead, Fate intervened. The most powerful wand ever created, the wand he rightfully claimed from the Old Man's grave, betrayed him at the last second and abandoned him, turning to ash in his fingers. He remembered lying on the ground as the boy hovered over him, a satisfied smirk on the brat's face. He was glad his time on the streets of London had treated him so poorly, since it meant he never went anywhere without an old favorite of his. With a flick of his wrist, a press of a button and a lung, and the Boy Who Lived, Neville Longbottom, was no more. Unfortunately, he didn't account for the boy to also have an ace up his sleeve as one of his constant companions came at him with Godric Gryffindor's sword. Ordinarily he wouldn't be any more scared of that blade than of his own switchblade, especially with the countermeasures he took to prolong his life. Yet that blade had been drenched in the venom of his ancestor's guardian. He snapped the redheaded brat's neck and tossed the sword away as he stared down at the body of the boy who ruined everything for him since 1981. At least they would both die this day.
After ordering his followers to lay waste to his enemies, he made his way into the castle, hoping to reach the Chamber of Secrets and it's supply of antivenom. Now he sighed to himself as he knew he would never reach the vials in time, his vision narrowing. This would be the end of his life. Despite his achievements in the Dark Arts, his accomplishments against the Old Man and successfully taking over the entirety of Magical Britain, he could feel that this would be his end. He hated it. He hated it so much. Where did it all go wrong? That thought repeated itself over and over in his mind until he realised he wasn't alone anymore. Someone was talking to him. He tried to focus his eyes and found he couldn't. All he could see were a pair of green eyes that seemed to pierce into his very soul. Beautiful. Those eyes were beautiful. As his mind faded, he heard a faint whisper of soft spoken words from what he believed to be a young woman. Then a new sensation filled his mind. Lips, warm and wet, tasting of iron and salt, pressed into his own as a new blade seemed to pierce his heart. Magic, the magic that seemed to have betrayed and abandoned him moments ago, flared inside of him as his vision and mind turned white. Out of all the ways the Dark Lord Voldemort envisioned his final moments of life to be like, this was an unexpected and oddly welcomed end.
-✦-
A young man of barely fourteen years of age woke up with a start, as if the breath had been driven out of him by a knife. He moved himself to sit on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply as the scenes of his nightmare refused to leave him. It had to have been a nightmare, there was no other explanation. Yet it felt so real to the young Tom Riddle. Stumbling in the dark of his room in the Leaky Cauldron, he took the box of matches from the side of his bedside table and lit the wick of his candle, gaining some comfort from the warmth of the flame as his body felt unnaturally cold. Finding his face covered in sweat, he took the candle holder into his hand and made his way to the bathroom, where he placed the candle on the side of the sink and proceeded to wash his face with cold water from the tap. After closing the faucet, he looked himself over in the mirror, his blue eyes reflecting back at him in the dim light. Tom was no stranger to nightmares. Ever since last year when the German Luftwaffe decided that the coastal and RAF targets were not enough to dissuade the British Government from continuing the war, he had an up close and personal experience with the muggle conflict.
Wool's Orphanage was, unfortunately for him, far too close to the industrial areas of London that the Germans decided were prime targets for bombardment in August. He could still remember the moment the recently established raid sirens went off and the panic the noise caused in the streets on one of the few days he had decided to take a walk as everyone made for the nearest shelters. Tom had rushed his way to the nearest London Tube Station when the building next to him exploded, launching him a few feet away, raining concrete and dust on top of him and the other poor souls caught up in the blast. He remembered the ringing in his ears that followed soon after, even as he felt the vibrations on the ground that signaled other detonations close by. With blood dripping from a cut on his scalp, his ribs feeling tender and bruised and on unsteady legs, he did his best to reach the station as hundreds of people tried to get to cover, all the while cursing the British Ministry of Magic. Without being able to use his wand, he was powerless to do anything about his injuries, the ringing in his ears or the throngs of people in his way. He spent hours in the Tube line, huddled with the muggles as dust was dislodged from over their heads with every new detonation, before silence returned and everyone could finally head home.
The streets above ground were Hell on Earth. The stores, bakeries and restaurants that had made the area so inviting to Tom, especially after he exchanged some of his Galleons for pounds, were a mess of mangled iron bars, broken glass and shattered wood and bricks. Corpses sporadically dotted the roads, with the police trying their best to pull them to the side and cover them, but there were too few officers to get to them all in a timely manner. Tom vividly remembered walking past the corpses of a woman cradling her child, both covered in bruises and blood, feeling something stirring in his heart. He wondered for the thousandth time if his own mother had loved him, despite the fact that he was responsible for her death at the moment he was born. The weeks and months after his near death were filled with a never ending stream of nightmares of that day and every day since, as the bombings continued well into August and beyond. Getting into Diagon Alley and King's Cross had been all the more difficult during the war, as the station was only made operational when the government said so, so as not to draw the enemies attention to it. The moment he sat on the Hogwarts Express that year was the moment he could finally breathe again.
As Tom dried his hair and face with a towel, he walked out of the bathroom with his candle and placed it on the table, before he turned to look out the darkened window that looked over the Alley. Again, he had begged Dumbledore and Dippet to be allowed to stay at Hogwarts for the summer. He even asked Healer Prewett to provide him with a copy of his medical evaluation from the year prior, making it clear that staying in Muggle London wasn't safe for him, especially with the war still ongoing. Yet again, both men turned him down, saying that Hogwarts simply couldn't house him for the summer. That it was against the rules written into the School's Charter. Fearing this inevitability, Tom had done his best in his third year to make as much money as he could. He ended up helping many of his fellow Slytherins with their Defence, Charms and History assignments, all to save as many Sickles and Galleons as possible. Despite his hard work, the amount didn't cover the two full months of board in the Leaky Cauldron. He was forced to return to Wool's for a full month before being able to afford a room till the end of Summer Recess. He spent that month anxiously listening for any sign of another air raid, of which there were a few.
This last dream, however, was different. Hogwarts looked the same, minus the clear damage done to it by whatever had been happening. Was it his imagination blending the War with his time at school? It wouldn't be the first time, as he remembered waking up with a start the first few weeks back. He had to avoid the Library for that time as the students were prone to slam the massive tomes harshly on the tables, much to Madam Bulstrode's disgust. Yet something in him told him that this was different. For one thing, he had called himself Lord Voldemort. Sure, it was a name he found appealing when he started making anagrams in his diary while he tried not to fall asleep in Professor Binns' classroom. Yet he hadn't thought about using it at all. Though the fact his dream self had achieved his grand yet somewhat impossible ambitions to one day rule Britain felt great to Tom. And yet what was this about Prophecies and Chosen Ones? He knew Divination was a class at Hogwarts, but his schedule didn't allow him the chance to take it. Arithmancy, Runes and Dueling took up all his free slots and were far more important to him than bloody Divination. Though if he was honest with himself, the class he was most looking forward to was NEWT Spell Creation. He would have taken Alchemy as well, but Dumbledore was a bastard and would probably refuse his application.
Tom went back to his bed and sat down, running his hand through his short brown hair. He would be back on the Express soon, on his way back to his true home. He hoped that once he was back there he would have the chance to discover more about his heritage. He was sure he was related to the Serpens or Slytherin Families, both of which had Parselmouths in their bloodline, but both had gone extinct centuries ago. The family trees had been lost to time and even the Hogwarts Library kept little to no information on the Ancient Families beyond the names and some of their public accomplishments. Everything else was a closely guarded family secret, which many of them took to the grave. He hoped that the rumored Chamber of Secrets held something he could call his own. But first he had to find it. Thoughts of the Chamber made him remember the dream again, where he had apparently found it somewhere in the Dungeons. Was it a dream? Or was it something … more?
-✦-
"Riddle." Tom nodded his head as he stared out one of the many windows of the Hogwarts Express. "Heir Nott. How was your summer?" Tom's classmate sat across from him after he stored his trunk on the rack above the seat. "Not as bad as last year. My father was less vocal about his support of Grindelwald." Tom turned his attention away from the throngs of parents and children giving each other tearful goodbyes, burying a feeling that had welled up inside of him, and looked at the young man with brown eyes and short dirty blond hair. "What changed? I thought the Dark Families were closely aligned with Grindelwald's stance, especially under Lord Rosier's guidance." Theodore Nott waved his hand dismissively. "That was last year. As the war has dragged on, it seems that Grindelwald has taken a less than acceptable stance. Prominent and Ancient Families of France and Germany have been wiped out by his Hexenmeisters forces for refusing to support his actions or to join his cause. The deaths of the Droiturière and von Schwarzwald families, both of whom were some of the most Ancient and Dark Families on the Continent, has drawn the ire of the Blacks and the Malfoys. Lord Rosier has been trying to smooth things over but the brutality of the deaths has everyone on edge."
Tom rubbed his chin in thought. "Does that mean that the Wizengamot is closer to going to war against Grindelwald's forces?" Nott shrugged. "Possibly. Lord Potter continues to advocate for the British Ministry to declare war against Grindelwald. Word is his own son and Heir, Charlus Potter, is already in France, helping out the ICW Peacekeepers." Tom leaned back into his seat, lost in thought. When Grindelwald had started the war, Tom had been supportive of him, like many of the Dark and several Neutral Families that had children at Hogwarts. Grindelwald was right in that Muggles were violent and dangerous, especially those who held too strongly to their beliefs. The Matron at Wool's had shown him just how terrible these muggles were, after having him go through several exorcisms as a child. He still bore scars across his back from some priest who resorted to striking him with a cane after the exorcism only seemed to send the magic inside of him into greater disarray. It was only after speaking to Healer Prewett that he learned it was simply his heightened emotional state causing his magic to go out of control. The failed exorcisms didn't stop the Matron from hating him, the woman trying her best to get him to starve, though his own reputation and a careful application of his knife kept that from being too much of an issue.
Still, he had to agree with the Dark families that were now distancing themselves from Rosier and Grindelwald. It was one thing to target muggles and to start a war with them that didn't violate the Statute of Secrecy. It was another thing entirely to slaughter an entire family that refused to support your position, especially the Ancient families. All that history and knowledge, lost forever. As Tom was deep in thought, the cabin door was opened and a young platinum blonde peeked inside. "Ah, here you two are. Heir Nott. Riddle. May I join you? The cabins are filling up with first years rather quickly." Both Riddle and Nott made space and, after placing his trunk in one of the racks above, Malfoy sat down beside Nott. "Tell me, Theodore, has your father said anything about the motion to officially condemn Grindelwald's actions?" Theo shrugged his shoulders. "He hasn't mentioned it to me in full detail but I assume it's going to happen. This is one of the few times the Light and Neutral Factions are more than happy to back a Dark Faction proposal." Malfoy nodded. "Of course, but the votes are only so important. It's the names attached with it that mean a lot more." Tom raised an eyebrow. "I take it that the Black's and Malfoy's aren't interested in just being the outliers?"
Abraxas sighed, his light blue eyes looking out the window. "If there was ever a moment when all families should stand together, it is with this. The Droiturière were a fine family and strong allies of the Malfoys for centuries. They had their own troubles in the Napoleonic Wars when my predecessors were forced to flee for Britain, but they still aided us in our escape from France. Their deaths are a travesty of the highest order and shouldn't go unavenged. The more Families add their names, the more we can make clear to Grindelwald that Britain won't accept such behaviour out of him or his allies. Our numbers are far too few as it is without him diminishing our bloodlines any further." Nott nodded. "I can see the value in banding together, especially if it keeps the war from our shores." Tom turned his attention away from the two, silencing his own protest. The war was already here. It had been for over a year. For the Old and Ancient families, as well as the magical population that tended to congregate in the more rural regions between England and Scotland, the war was a distant thing that barely had anything to do with them. Only he and the Muggleborns knew better. They all lived the horrors of the raids in the populated urban sprawls.
Unfortunately, telling a Pureblood they were wrong didn't make them think about how they were wrong. Instead they would think there was something wrong with you. Tom had to learn to bite his tongue and silently agree with all of them, if only to keep his own position within Slytherin secure. If he wanted to get anything done in this country, he would need the support of the Purebloods. Approaching Nott and Malfoy had been the easiest of tasks, with both having families that held some political capital, but nowhere near as much as the Rosier, Fawley and Black families. Like himself, both Abraxas and Theodore had been trying to gain some entry into Valerio Rosier's circle of followers at the school. The Rosier Heir was notoriously picky and difficult to please by anyone who wasn't a woman or from a known allied family. Tom had been hoping to improve his own reputation this year to approach Rosier, but if the news from these two acquaintances of his were true, the Rosier name had just lost some of its value, as had Grindelwald's Greater Good cause.
For now, Tom had no choice but to watch the changing dynamics in Slytherin and hope that the next King or Queen of Slytherin was more approachable for him, though the chance that they would utter derogatory slurs and ignorant rants were still high. Getting a strong position in whatever new factions developed meant he had to swallow all of the indignation and rage their ignorant and racist words elicited in him and just pretend to be like them. Easier said than done. As the whistle blew and the Hogwarts Express moved out of the station on it's way to Scotland, Nott and Malfoy started talking about the latest Quidditch news, leaving Tom to his thoughts. He honestly preferred to be ignored like this. The two Heirs had a habit of leaking important news and information about their families within earshot of him, especially concerning their stances in Wizengamot matters. The most valuable information he would get was concerning the Blacks, whose children were notoriously tightlipped about family matters. The fact the Blacks had turned against Grindelwald meant that something else had happened that was important to them. Tom wondered what it was.
-✦-
Tom looked down at the Slytherin table and sighed in his mind, before making his way down and sitting next to the Prefects in charge of the first year arrivals. The dark haired sixth year across from him looked away from her cousin and looked him over. "You are looking a bit more presentable, Riddle. We might make you a proper Halfblood yet." The Slytherin Prefect beside him sighed. "Walburga, be nice. Riddle was exemplary this last year." Walburga Black turned back to her cousin and gave her an appraising look. "Careful, Lucretia. You almost sound like you have a crush on him." Lucretia Black raised an eyebrow at her Walburga. "If I did it would be none of your bloody business." The male Prefect across from Lucretia sighed. "Could you two go one moment without trying to bite each other's heads off?" The synchronized "She started it!" from both Blacks made Riddle raise an eyebrow before a voice behind him joined in on the conversation. "What's this? Little Orion isn't even sorted and yet there are already fireworks going off? It's not even Saturday at Grimmauld." Tom tensed a little as Alphard Black sat between him and Lucretia, one of the few rare shows of familiarity from the estranged member of the family.
Alphard was a conundrum that made Tom's head ache every time he tried to figure the boy out. Out of all the Blacks at the school currently, he was the least interested in gaining personal favors or exceptional grades. The boy with a curly mane of black hair and the usual Black family grey eyes was often found either drawing on a sketchbook somewhere at the edge of the Black Lake or hitting on the nearest boy he found appealing. Tom himself was a constant target of Alphard's teasing, yet Tom was certain there was something more. Alphard's eyes were always looking at people with a calculating edge, as if he were measuring them all in his own personal way. The looks he gave Tom made him shiver down to his core, especially as he seemed to delight in dragging Tom into a few discussions concerning every topic under the sun. Tom always felt so exposed under Alphard's gaze. Tom often wondered just how far the eccentric member of the Black family had guessed about his true nature. Still, He had to make an effort to be civil to the odd boy. "I take it that a member of the Black family will be joining us this year at Hogwarts?" Alphard smiled at him. "Quite. Little Orion is Uncle Arcturus' first born son and the likely Heir Apparent after his father."
Tom raised an eyebrow, surprised at the amount of information Alphard was sharing. Was it a bluff, a slip up or a test? Tom didn't know and it bothered him. He decided to err on the side of caution. "I take it you are all looking forward to having him in Slytherin?" Lucretia, who was apparently listening in, bent down and smiled at Tom. "Of course, I can't wait to have my little brother join us here. I am taking him around and showing him all the sights the rest of us have been talking about for years." She looked like she was about to continue speaking before the Headmaster drew everyone's attention from his place at the Speaker's Stand. Armando Dippet, who seemed to Tom like a stereotypical wizard in dark grey robes, minus his growing bald spot that was hidden beneath a pointy drooping grey hat, long white hair and short and pointed white beard with longer sideburns, cleared his throat. "Good evening, everyone. Tonight we begin another year at Hogwarts. As Professor Dumbledore gathers the first year students that will soon be sorted, I do have an announcement to make. Firstly, the Board of Governors has decreed that Hogwarts will remain Neutral with regards to the current conflict in Europe. However…"
Dippet took a moment to scan the room, momentarily pausing over the students at the Slytherin table, with Tom guessing who he looked at after his following remarks. "... this does not mean that inflammatory rhetoric or threats will be allowed within these Castle Walls. These are difficult times for all Witches and Wizards across Europe. There is no reason to bring those troubles here where they don't belong. This leads me to my next announcement. Due to the upheaval caused by the war, several families have taken refuge within Britain and their children have been permitted to continue their education at Hogwarts. They will be Sorted as soon as our first years are among their Houses. I ask all of our students to treat these refugees well, lest we become refugees ourselves one day and find no comfort or mercy in this world. Let the Sorting begin." Dippet walked away from the Speaker's Stand as the doors of the Great Hall opened. Tom, as always, gave the students a cursory glance. At the back of the younger years were what he assumed were the refugees. They were a mix of ages, with the oldest potentially being either a sixth year or a seventh year student. Seeing no one of interest, he returned his attention to the front and the man responsible for much of his difficulties at Hogwarts.
Albus Dumbledore stood at the front of the line of first year students and was looking at the list of students as the Hat sang it's song. "Beware students of red and green / Children of yellow and blue / Beware and take care of each other / Times grow bloody and lost / Take care not to become lost / So long as the Houses remain united / Hogwarts shall stand triumphant." The moment the Hat's song ended and the silence stretched on, Tom realized that the last lines of the song were something new. He looked over at Alphard. "I take it that doesn't happen often." Alphard shook his. "No, it doesn't. Look at Headmaster Dippet. He's the oldest person here and even he looks stunned." Tom looked at the clearly stunned and somewhat worried look on the Headmaster's face, when Lucretia spoke up. "I think the last time a warning was made by the Hat was during the Napoleonic Wars." Tom froze at that. Over a century had passed since the last warning, and it just so happened to be during the last major war that involved both Magical and Muggle societies going to war together. That definitely couldn't be a good sign.
As Dumbledore cleared his throat and called out the first years, Tom sank deep into thought. If Nott and Malfoy were speaking the truth and the Wizengamot was preparing to make a stand against Grindelwald's growing brutality in the Continent, it stood to reason that Grindelwald would retaliate. Taking a careful look across the table, Tom watched as the Heir Rosier started discussing things with the Heirs to the Goyle and Burkes Families, the other students near him listening in. Grindelwald would keep his hands clean until he had the necessary force. This was how he responded in the past. The failed arrest of the Charismatic Wizard in Paris almost two decades prior showed that he only ever acted when he was certain of his position and power. His subsequent disappearance in Paris and reapperance in Germany a decade and a half later at the side of Adolf Hitler's Nazi Party showed him to be a careful tactician, especially as his supporters continued to carry out attacks in the years of his apparent abscence, meaning any attack against Britain would start from his local supporters and only escalate when he had the necessary forces to accomplish his goals. That gave them some time, time he needed to spend watching Rosier.
If Grindelwald's biggest supporter took any improper action, it would be aimed at those who defied his master. If the attack was anything like the ones in Europe, collateral damage would be high, as it would only serve to bolster fear and reticence. An effective tactic, one he wished not to become a statistic of. But would it be enough to dissuade Grindelwald's enemies? Tom snapped out of his thoughts to check on the selection. As expected, the students were mostly sorted into Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, with Slytherin only getting half a dozen first years, one being the little boy that was clearly Orion, as he sat happily at the side of his sister. Slytherin's population was known to vary in size from time to time. As the refugees were sorted, Tom watched the Deputy Headmaster. The man had been a thorn in his side since the moment he arrived at the school. Many of his late night explorations of the castle were ended quickly by his sudden appearance, which kept him from making a proper check of the Castle for the Chamber of Secrets. Tom had a hard time determining if it was just his paranoia talking, or if perhaps the reason no texts on Slytherin's achievements or bloodlines endured in the Library was because Dumbledore removed them. He really didn't like the implications if his paranoid thoughts ended up being true.
Dumbledore's face changed slightly before he called the next name on the list. "Lilith von Schwarzwald." Tom turned his gaze towards the student walking up, just barely becoming aware of the silence filling up the Great Hall, his ears picking up a few random bits of conversation. "A Schwarzwald? I thought they got slaughtered… aren't those the Dark Witches and Wizards that practiced Black Magic in Austria?... She looks so mature. I wonder what year she will be in… I love what she has done to her hair… Bet you she ends up in Slytherin." Tom did his best to store all those bits of conversation in his head, even as his eyes tracked the moving figure, realizing she hadn't been visible when he looked over the refugees when they arrived. In fact, he could do nothing but look at her. While her Hogwarts uniform seemed to be the same as any other students, her bearing was anything but normal. When Purebloods entered a room under the gaze of others, they did their best to present an air of sophistication and smug superiority. This was often just an act. Yet nothing from the young woman's posture screamed smugness, only certainty. Her steps were measured and steady and her back was rigid to the point that made Tom feel his own back was slouched. As the young pale girl with curly red hair filled with streaks of black color sat down underneath the Sorting Hat, the students and the Faculty seemed to hold in their breath.
Everyone was forced to breathe as the Hat remained silent atop the girl, the pointy top swinging or simply moving as it contemplated her future house. Minutes grew longer as the students started looking at each other, wondering when the decision would be made. Alphard leaned over. "Is it me or does it look like she is arguing with the Hat?" Tom nodded as he watched the girl's posture grow ever more aggressive, her jaw clearly clenching repeatedly. After over ten minutes, the Hat finally yelled. "Slytherin!" Tom clapped along with the table as the girl retook control of her body language and returned to her more controlled state, handing the Hat to a clearly unhappy Dumbledore. He wondered what was going on in the man's mind. The girl came to sit beside the young first year refugee on the other side of the table from Tom as the banquet appeared. As she served herself her meal, Tom watched as Cygus leaned over. "Excuse me, would you be the Heiress to the House of Schwarzwald?" Tom felt his hairs stand up on end as the girl's deep green swept over the table before looking at Cygnus. "Is it not customary to introduce oneself first, before enquiring as to another's identity, der Herr… ?"
Cygnus seemed to freeze for a second, realizing his mistake. "Black. My name is Cygnus Black, Fifth Year Prefect of Slytherin House." Tom watched as the green eyes seemed to glow for a second. What was that? "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am afraid I am unaccustomed to how the British Magical Community refers to each other in accordance with custom. Is there a proper term when addressing someone of your standing?" Cygnus seemed to struggle for a second before Alphard sighed. "By the Gods, Cygnus, get your head out of your ass. My apologies, Fräulein von Schwarzwald, my brother is currently having trouble thinking straight. If you wish to refer to those not in possession of an Heir or Lord Ring, the polite terms would be Mister and Miss. I believe the rest are self explanatory." Those green eyes focused on Alphard for a second and then a smile formed on her face. The sight of it filled Tom with an unknown sensation, one he had no name for. "Danke, der Herr…?" Alphard seemed to blush. "Alphard Black, Fräulein von Schwarzwald." The young girl nodded and looked at Cygnus. "While I am unsure as to how British Family titles go, in our region, age holds no distinction. As the last of my family, I am Frau von Schwarzwald. I believe the term is Lady? I am uncertain as our family followed many old traditions abandoned by others, even concerning our use of the German language."
Tom ate his meal quietly as he listened to the Black's questions and von Schwarzwald's answers. A part of him wondered if there was a familial connection between them, even as neither side voiced it. It would explain the Blacks sudden shift away from Grindelwald supporters. If what he heard from Abraxas, who was apparently hoping to court a member of the Black family, was true, then they valued blood above anything else. If you were a Black by blood, you were protected by the family. Any slights or attacks on one was considered an attack on all Blacks. As dessert appeared on the table, Tom began to notice something as well. Whenever his attention was elsewhere, he would feel someone's eyes on him. Usually it was Dumbledore, but when he checked it wasn't the bastard sitting at the Staff Table. It took him a few more tries before he spotted who kept eyeing him. Lilith von Schwarzwald's gaze was almost always fixed on the person she was talking to, but in the two instances he checked, her eyes were on him. Did he make some error in decorum that made her focus on him or was there something else? What he did know was that this year seemed to be a lot more interesting than the last.
-✦-
A sigh escaped Lilith's lips as she finished drying her red hair with a towel, having opted to shower before heading to bed. The last few months since arriving in Britain had been long and grueling as she had to not only settle the issues surrounding the von Schwarzwald family's finances, which had mostly been stored within the family estate before Grindelwald pillaged it, and her own important documents. The most annoying documents to fill out had been the placement exams she had taken to be admitted to Hogwarts, since Lilith had been taught magic by her family. While the material wasn't anything new to her, writing it down in excruciating detail was frustrating, especially with just how different her knowledge of Magical History and Potions was compared to Hogwarts' curriculum. After spending two weeks on that, time she could have spent on any number of more important things, she barely had the time to buy the books and materials for the school. At least the fact she didn't have a proper family home during the height of the War wasn't an issue since she would be spending most of her time at Hogwarts, so small favors abounded. Wiping clean the mirror above the closest sink in the bathroom that was shared by the rest of the fourth year girls, Lilith looked at her reflection.
She had never been vain about the way she looked, but she was at least happy that the attack on her family's home didn't leave her disfigured. The Purebloods of Magical Britain were notoriously vain and would judge one's looks almost as much as one's blood. Though she was technically a Halfblood, no moron within their circles would dare mention her blood status, even if they knew it. Not yet anyways. The infamy of the von Schwarzwald family, which had been a prominent Magical family in Austria since their emigration from the German Black Forest region during the rise of the Holy Roman Empire, would give her some protection. And if that didn't work, her personal collection of blades would keep the hotblooded males away. Lilith sighed as she wrapped the towel around her naked body, her left hand bearing the only scar that was visible for anyone to see if she refrained from wearing her leather gloves. The four sided star was the only indication that she survived the one thing that no living being should survive: the Killing Curse. Her left hand clenched as she walked out of the bathroom and made for her room, sensing that the ward she had erected was still intact. Stepping into the room, which was thankfully without a roommate, the benefits of being last when all other rooms had been divided amongst the others, Lilith took off the towel and slipped into a nightgown. She looked herself over in the mirror one last time, sighing to herself.
The Blacks had been insistent in trying to figure out how she had survived the slaughter of her family. It wasn't like Lilith could tell them she survived a Killing Curse. She had enough of the notoriety that bit of information brought to her and her god brother Neville back when it happened the first time. Back when she had been Lillian Potter, the Pariah. Nor could she tell the Blacks that their distant relation didn't survive at all. Resurrection was a dreadfully complicated thing to discuss, even more so when the initial soul was replaced by another. Adding to it the fact that her actions had essentially been a crime of untold proportions… there was no need to tell anyone else about that. Dropping onto the bed, Lilith stared at the canopy roof. Traveling back in time had seemed such a good idea at the time. She knew some of the details concerning this time period, most of them dealing with Non-Magical History. At the same time, she knew next to nothing about the Hogwarts of this day and age, other than it was the same Hogwarts that gave birth to Lord Voldemort, that it played host to a large group of Blacks and the rise of the early Blood Supremacy movement. Two of those things she needed to deal with, which had been compounded by a major complication.
The transfer of her soul into Lilith's body wasn't as cut and dry as she would have liked, not that she knew it was going to happen at all. Now there were two competing sets of memories in her head, echoes of feelings and emotions that were now utterly unfamiliar to her. It was hard to know where Lilith ended and Lillian began, which was made worse by the fact that she couldn't go by her future name. The Potter family was currently at the height of its power in the 20th century. Lord Henry Potter was a powerful speaker in the Wizengamot and the current ICW delegate for Britain, while Charlus Potter was apparently playing soldier with the French Aurors. Lilith wondered if Dorea Black was already out there, caring for the wounded as a Healer. Other than them, there was Fleamont Potter and Euphemia McKinnon, either in the school with her or were already of age, courting or married. She hadn't managed to look in on them all that much, feeling conflicted about what she might uncover about her grandparents. There was also the fact that the echoes of who Lilith was before her untimely death refused to shed her family name. Lillian could relate. So she decided to go by Lilith and to keep the von Schwarzwald family name alive. Then there was the other issue about having Lilith's memories.
The rage that existed within her towards Grindelwald and his forces was beyond anything Lillian could remember experiencing herself. Her life as the Pariah had taught her to bury her emotions and to just go with the flow, adjusting her plans whenever a new opportunity presented itself. Her yearmates, minus a certain blonde Ravenclaw, called her cold and unattached. Lillian had embraced that. Now that she was Lilith, the need to avenge her family was like a raging fire that threatened to overwhelm her, and it seemed to fuel her other issues, especially with a certain no longer dead prick called Albus Dumbledore. She would have to sit and watch before she decided what it was that she wanted to do with him. But for now, none of those goals were attainable. Only one was. Tom Riddle. The future Lord Voldemort was in her year. If the Diary's memories were anything to go by, he had yet to find The Chamber of Secrets or to uncover the truth of his heritage. So many things could go wrong with that. All she knew of Tom was that his Muggle father was from Little Haggleton, which might be where his mother was from. She needed to discover his heritage first, to make sure he was capable of handling it.
As her thoughts swam around, a familiar pain shot across Lilith's body and she bit her lip. Trying desperately to not scream, Lilith pulled her knees into her chest as arcs of red and green magic jumped across her skin. Blood started to drip from her lip as the pain grew, with Lilith whimpering, her mind praying that the episode would lapse. As soon as it did, she stretched out, feeling her skin ache all over, her bones feeling tense and unresponsive. Lilith pressed her finger into the wound on her lip and closed her eyes. " Episkey. " She felt the skin knit back together slowly. There were so many issues she would have to deal with while being here, but the problems with her magic would be the most frustrating as it was an issue that had no existing fix. At least nothing short of taking another Killing Curse, which she really didn't want to do. So she would have to endure the pain, the different times and the political machinations of not only the children of all the major Dark and Neutral Families, but the growing darkness within a potential future Dark Lord in a time of war. For the thousandth time Lilith wondered if death was preferable to her current predicament. As with all those times, no answer presented itself. She would have to make do.