The field smelled of morning dew and damp grass. First-year students stood lined up beside battered old brooms, the excitement thick in the air.
Flying class.
For many, this was the moment they had been waiting for.
Tom Riddle stood quietly near the edge of the group, eyes fixed on the broom at his feet. It looked unimpressive — twisted straw bristles and a warped handle — more like a broken stick than a magical object.
Still, the other students were grinning, whispering, elbowing each other.
"Everyone ready?" barked Madam Hooch, striding between the rows. Her silver hair was tied tight, her yellow eyes sharp as glass. "Feet beside your broom. Wand hand over it. On my count, say the word loud and clear."
A whistle shrieked.
"UP!"
Dozens of voices echoed hers.
Brooms leapt off the ground. Some shot into palms. Some wobbled mid-air. One smacked a Gryffindor in the nose.
Laughter followed.
James Potter's broom rocketed into his hand with a loud snap.
He twirled it once, smugly, and nudged Sirius with a grin. "Still got it."
Then he glanced across the field — and stopped.
Tom Riddle was standing still.
His hand outstretched.
His broom lay flat on the grass.
Unmoving.
James raised an eyebrow.
Tom tried again.
"Up," he said, low but clear.
Nothing.
Not even a tremble.
James smirked. "You've got to mean it, Riddle. Try saying 'please.'"
A few students chuckled. Even Sirius grinned.
Tom ignored him. He stared at the broom as it had personally insulted him.
Professor Hooch was moving down the line.
"Up," Tom said again — sharper now.
Still nothing.
James leaned toward Sirius, loud enough for half the field to hear. "Maybe he needs to hiss at it — you know, speak snake."
Laughter broke out across the group.
Tom's teeth clenched.
"Enough," Madam Hooch said without looking.
James raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. "What? I'm just helping."
"I said enough, Mr. Potter," she snapped, turning toward him now. "Five points from Gryffindor for your mouth."
The laughter died instantly.
James's smirk dropped.
Sirius muttered, "Ouch."
Tom didn't speak. He didn't move.
But his fingers curled slightly at his sides.
Madam Hooch stopped beside him. "Mr. Riddle."
"Yes, Professor."
"Try again."
Tom looked at the broom. He didn't want to try again. Not in front of all of them. Not with their eyes on him like daggers.
But he raised his hand.
"...Up."
Silence.
The broom didn't twitch.
Madam Hooch gave him a long, unreadable look. Then she said, "It happens. Flying comes more easily to some than others. Practice in your own time."
And with that, she turned away and blew her whistle.
"Mount and rise! Only a hover — no dives unless you enjoy broken bones!"
The rest of the class kicked off — brooms wobbling upward as students laughed and shrieked through their first flight.
Tom remained on the ground.
Watching.
Burning.
And saying nothing.
Class ended a few minutes later,
Tom didn't speak to anyone as he walked off the field.
He kept his eyes straight ahead, fists clenched in his robe pockets, boots crunching over gravel as he crossed the outer courtyard.
The cold air bit at his face, but he didn't feel it. He only felt the heat rising in his chest — the kind that couldn't be cast out by warming charms.
Why hadn't it worked?
Why wouldn't the broom listen?
He'd done everything right — voice clear, posture correct, focus intense.
And it still lay there like it knew him and refused him.
Like it could sense what he really was.
He stopped beneath the shadow of a stone archway and stared out across the Black Lake.
His reflection shimmered faintly on the surface of the water — a boy with too-sharp cheekbones, shadowed eyes, and a calmness that was never truly calm.
He hated this feeling.
Helplessness.
The same feeling he had when they took Mary Polly's body away. The same feeling when the nuns told him not to ask questions. The same feeling when the Sorting Hat paused too long before calling out Slytherin.
He wasn't used to being watched. Judged.
He was used to being in control.
He pulled out his notebook. The one he kept hidden beneath his mattress, protected by a soft locking charm.
He flipped it open to a blank page and wrote:
"They laugh when you fall. They mock what they don't understand. But they always stop laughing once you rise."
"The broom obeys the worthy. Maybe it didn't lift… because it knew I wanted more than just to hover."
He paused.
Then added:
"James Potter thinks he won today. He didn't."
"He reminded me I'm still learning — and that's the most dangerous version of me."
A breeze rustled the nearby trees. Tom looked up, and for a brief second, he thought he saw something coiled in the branches.
Not a snake.
A mark.
It faded before he could be sure.
He tucked the notebook away.
It was just after lunch, and most of the students were still scattered across the courtyard or heading back to their common rooms.
Tom wasn't interested in the noise.
He needed somewhere still.
He walked with purpose, robes swaying gently, until he reached the spiral staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower. There wouldn't be class for another few hours. The door was slightly ajar.
Quiet. Empty. Or so he thought.
He stepped inside.
And paused.
Lily Evans was already there.
She stood at the edge of the tower balcony, sunlight glinting off her hair, a sketchbook half-open in her hands. Her eyes weren't on the page though — they were on the sky.
Tom hesitated.
She turned.
They both froze.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lily offered a small smile. "Didn't think anyone else came up here."
"I didn't either," Tom replied.
She moved aside slightly. "You can stay. I don't mind."
Tom crossed to the opposite edge, keeping a polite distance, but still drawn to the quiet — and to her presence.
They stood in silence for a few beats, the breeze soft and cool between them.
"Peaceful up here," Lily said, voice low. "You can't hear the bickering or shouting."
Tom nodded. "You can barely hear the castle breathe."
That made her glance at him — surprised by the poetic phrasing.
"I come here when I need space," she said. "It feels like the one place Hogwarts isn't watching."
Tom looked out over the grounds. "Everyone's watching. Just not always when it matters."
She tilted her head. "Like during flying class?"
Tom didn't respond.
"I didn't laugh," she added.
"I know."
"I don't think it was funny," she said. "Some people just think making others small makes them bigger."
He gave a small nod. "James Potter," he muttered.
She smiled faintly. "He means well. But he doesn't always know when to stop."
Tom didn't answer. He stared out at the horizon — the lake shining under sunlight, the trees bending gently in the wind.
"My sister doesn't stop either," Lily said suddenly. "Not with magic. She doesn't understand it. She doesn't want to."
Tom glanced sideways, curious.
"Petunia," Lily continued. "She used to be my best friend. Then I got my letter. And… it all changed."
Tom's voice was quiet. "She resents you."
"Yes."
He looked back at the sky. "I know what that feels like."
For a few moments, they were silent — two students from different houses, from different worlds, but oddly… in sync.
Then he asked, "Have you heard of the Gaunts?"
Lily nodded. "From class. Some ancient dark family. Why?"
"I think I'm related to them."
She didn't look frightened. Only intrigued.
"I don't know for sure," Tom said. "But something tells me I am. The name keeps appearing. The signs..."
"I'll help you," Lily said.
He blinked.
She met his eyes. "If you want to find out the truth — I'll help."
Tom was silent. Staring.
No one had ever said that to him before.
"No one should have to search for their name alone."
He didn't smile.
But something inside him softened.
"…Alright," he said.
And for the first time, he didn't feel completely alone.
There was a brief silence for some while, then Tom said
You draw?" he asked, looking at her sketchbook.
"A little," Lily replied. "Just to think. It helps me figure things out."
Tom nodded. "That's... smart."
She looked at him, a little surprised.
He added, quieter this time, "I've noticed you don't try to be like the others."
"Like who?"
"The ones who follow James around. Or pretend not to notice things."
Lily laughed softly. "Trust me, I notice everything."
Tom's mouth twitched slightly. It was almost a smile.
"You're different," he said. "Not just because you didn't laugh. But because… you listen."
Lily's expression softened. "So are you."
Tom stiffened slightly. "So they keep saying."
"I don't mean like that." She looked at him. "You're quieter. You listen. You see things. Most people just... talk."
Tom studied her for a moment. "So do you."
She tilted her head. "Do I?"
"You watch people. But you don't judge them immediately."
Lily blushed faintly. "You pay a lot of attention for someone who says nothing."
Tom almost smiled. "You talk like you've been here for years."
She laughed softly. "I've only been here a few weeks. But it already feels like a second world."
She paused, then added, "At home… it wasn't like this."
He waited.
"My family's… normal," she said. "Ordinary. My parents don't know anything about magic. Neither does my sister."
Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. "They're Muggles?"
Lily nodded. "Yes. I'm the first witch in my family."
He said nothing.
She studied him carefully, probably expecting a reaction.
"I didn't ask to be," she added quickly. "But it's a part of me. And I won't hide it."
Tom looked away from her, staring out at the distant hills.
Finally, he said, "It makes you more interesting."
Lily blinked. "You mean that?"
He nodded. "Most people try to pretend they're part of something great. You don't. You just… are."
For a long moment, Lily didn't say anything. Then she whispered, "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me here."
Tom said nothing in return.
But something in his expression changed — like a door inside him had shifted slightly ajar.
"What are you drawing?" Tom asked after a while.
"Constellations," Lily said, flipping the page to show a half-finished star map. "I'm not very good at it. I just like how small everything feels when I look up."
"That's why I come here too," Tom murmured.
She turned to him. "To feel small?"
"No. To feel like I'm not being watched."
That made her smile more thoughtfully.
"What's the deal with James and his crew anyway?" Tom said, breaking the kind of awkward moment
"You mean the marauders," Lily said,
"James, Sirus, Remus and Peter, those four became inseparable ever since they got sorted into Gryffindor" Lily denoted
"The marauders, that's the best name they could come up with" Tom said
"That's the least dumb thing you need to worry about" Lily said, "Imagine being in the same common room with them" making a vague look
Silence bloomed for some moments,
Then they both burst out in laugher
After a while, Tom realized that he did not know why he opened up to Lily in such way, Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was her eyes — not cold or cautious, just curious.
Night wrapped around the castle like a heavy curtain.
The Slytherin dormitory was quiet — lit only by the soft, eerie green glow of the lake pressing against the underwater windows.
In the bed across the room, Severus Snape was already asleep, his face barely visible beneath a curtain of greasy black hair. His breathing was slow, steady. Dreamless.
Tom sat upright, back against the stone headboard, wand held loosely in his left hand.
A faint beam of light glowed at the tip — just enough to illuminate the page.
The same notebook.
The one he never showed anyone.
He dipped the quill. Waited. And then:
She said she'd help me.
She didn't laugh.
She looked at me like I wasn't dangerous. Like I wasn't broken. Just… seen.
Lily Evans.
Too curious for her own good. Kind to a fault. She sees too much — and says too little.
That's dangerous.
That's rare.
I don't know why I told her anything. Maybe it was the quiet. Or the way her voice didn't flinch.
I'm not sure I trust her.
But I didn't want her to leave.
Strange.
No—
Important.
Tom stared at the final word.
Then quietly closed the book.
He glanced once toward Severus, who hadn't stirred. Then blew out the light.
The dark pressed in around him — but for once, it didn't feel as cold.
The next morning Tom rushed to the great hall,
The Great Hall looked different that morning.
The four House tables had vanished. In their place stood a long dueling platform raised down the center, surrounded by a ring of benches, enchanted to adjust for height and space. Warm torchlight flickered against the enchanted ceiling, which showed storm clouds slowly swirling — almost as if it sensed what was coming.
Professor Merrythought, standing at the edge of the platform, tapped her wand twice against the stone floor. It echoed louder than it should have.
"First years," she said, "welcome to Dueling Club."
The room fell quiet.
She let her gaze sweep across the gathered students.
"Some of you are here to learn. Some of you are here to show off. In addition, some of you, Merlin, help us, are here to hurt each other. I advise you to find the line — and not to cross it."
She paused.
"You will be sorted into pairs. Spells are limited to standard charms, defensive magic, and simple disarms. No hexes, no blood, and no glory-hunting."
The class shifted with a murmur of anticipation.
Then — the cast assembled.
Tom Riddle stood toward the back, arms folded.
His face was unreadable, but his eyes missed nothing. He was not here to show off. He was here to observe, to measure, and — if needed — to dominate.
James Potter stood dead center, wand already in his hand, twirling it like a sword.
Confident. Charming. Born for the spotlight. He grinned as if the entire club existed for his entertainment.
Sirius Black, beside him, leaned with practiced arrogance, tie loose, posture perfect.
He tossed his hair like a curse breaker and grinned at a Slytherin across the room.
Remus Lupin sat on the bench nearest the wall, hands in his lap.
Quiet. Thoughtful. Watching everything. The only Marauder who did not need to talk to be present.
Peter Pettigrew hovered near James and Sirius, laughing too hard, nodding too quickly.
Eager. Anxious. Always a few seconds behind the mood of the room.
Lily Evans sat alone for now, sketchbook tucked away, wand balanced on her knee.
Sharp eyes, soft presence. She looked calm — but even Tom could see the light in her hand.
Severus Snape stood two students away from Tom, jaw tight.
He was already mumbling spell formulas under his breath, rehearsing. Not to win — but to prove something.
Lucius Malfoy leaned against the nearest pillar as if it belonged to him.
Slick. Superior. Calculating. Eyes half-lidded as if bored, but his wand hand was ready.
Bellatrix Black stood at the edge, smiling like a shark.
Her robes perfectly pressed her stare burned holes into Sirius across the room.
"Come on, cousin," she said under her breath, "let's see if that lion's spine is real."
Frank Longbottom stood by Lily, tall and quiet.
He nodded politely at Tom — the only Gryffindor who did. His eyes were honest. His stance was solid. Unshakable.
Other students milled in:
Emmeline Vance, fast-talking, clever, wand twitching with nervous energy.
Marlene McKinnon, tall, fierce, already sizing up James.
Rabastan Lestrange, pale and silent, trailing just behind Bellatrix like a shadow.
Dorcas Meadowes, composed and direct, whispers a strategy to Frank.
Bertram Aubrey, twitchy Ravenclaw with a smug grin and a hex-happy twitch.
Barty Crouch Jr., quiet, intense, lurking in the far corner, eyes on Tom just a little too long.
Professor Merrythought raised her voice.
"Pairs will be chosen at random today. Tomorrow, you'll choose your own."
She flicked her wand — glowing names appeared in the air.
James Potter vs. TomRiddle
Sirius Black vs. Bellatrix Lestrange
Lily Evans vs. Lucius Malfoy
Severus Snape vs. Frank Longbottom
Marlene McKinnon vs. Barty Crouch Jr
Peter Pettigrew vs. Dorcas Meadowes
Remus Lupin vs. Emmeline Vance
Other names followed,
After the pairs were announced,
The hall buzzed with rising tension.
Bellatrix's smile sharpened. "Oh, cousin… don't blink."
Sirius tilted his head. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Bella."
Thoughts roamed through Toms head,
James shot a glare at Tom, "Well call this luck, dueling would be fun riddle"
Tom didn't blink. "Try not to miss."
Professor Merrythought clapped her hands once.
"Wands up. First pair — Potter and Riddle— to the platform. Let's begin."
The room stiffened.
Even some of the upper years turned in their seats.
James grinned like it was Christmas morning.
Tom stood slowly. He didn't smile. He didn't flinch. But inside, something tightened.
He didn't know many spells. But he knew how to fight. He knew how to read people. And he could learn.
James climbed the platform with swagger. Tom followed, quiet as smoke.
Professor Merrythought stepped between them, raising a hand.
"Disarming spells only. No jinxes, no taunts, and no flair magic. Wands at the ready."
The boys bowed — barely.
James looked amused.
Tom looked focused.
"Begin!"
James was fast.
"Expelliarmus!"
Tom barely raised a shield. The red spark grazed his robes.
He countered — not with power, but with speed.
"Protego!"
The shield snapped up again as another spell came crashing toward him.
James moved like a duelist, not a student. He was confident, clean, and too casual.
"Expelliarmus!" Tom shot back.
James blocked it easily.
"Is that all you've got?" he called.
Tom didn't answer. His lips barely moved as he muttered a basic knockback charm.
"Flipendo!"
It pushed James back a step — but he caught himself, grinning.
"Cute."
Then James twisted sharply, aimed low, and fired again.
"Expelliarmus!"
This time, Tom's shield flickered too late.
His wand shot from his hand, spinning across the floor.
Silence fell.
James lowered his wand, panting lightly.
Tom stood still, fists clenched — not from fear… but from frustration.
Professor Merrythought raised a hand.
"Winner: Potter."
Sirius whooped.
Peter clapped like it was a Quidditch final.
Remus gave a small, respectful nod.
Lily didn't move.
She just watched as Tom stepped down from the platform — face unreadable, but eyes quietly burning.
All Tom could think was:
He wasn't stronger. He was faster. More experienced.
That's all.
Next time… I won't lose because I don't know enough.
I'll lose only once.
The stage is set perfectly after the Tom vs. James duel. The room is tense. Some students are still buzzing, some are watching silently. Now it's time for the most explosive match of the day:
Sirius Black vs. Bellatrix Black.
Blood relatives.
Opposite houses.
Opposite values.
As Tom stepped down from the platform, he passed Sirius on his way up.
Sirius gave him a half-grin. "Not bad, Riddle. You made James sweat."
Tom didn't reply.
But Bellatrix — standing tall at the opposite end of the hall — raised her voice just loud enough for the room to hear:
"So the heir of Slytherin can't even hold his wand straight."
A few Slytherins snickered.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Save it for the duel, Bella."
Bellatrix walked up to the platform like it was her throne. Her robes didn't move in the breeze, but her presence alone seemed to make the torches flicker darker.
Sirius climbed the other side with a smirk and a dramatic bow to the crowd.
"Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Black versus Black," he said loudly.
"Whoever loses gets disowned."
A few students laughed — nervously.
Professor Merrythought didn't.
"This is a duel, not a family feud," she warned. "Disarming spells only. Nothing else. Understood?"
Neither Black nodded.
They just raised their wands.
And smiled.
Begin said by Merrythought.
Bellatrix struck first.
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell cracked the air like lightning. Sirius spun sideways, barely avoiding it, and fired back.
"Stupefy!"
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Merrythought's wand twitched. "Black!"
"Sorry, reflex," Sirius called — but he wasn't sorry.
Bellatrix laughed darkly.
"Try harder, little lion. I thought Gryffindors were brave — not sloppy."
They circled each other like wolves.
"You know what they say," Sirius muttered. "The mad ones always come from our side of the tree."
Bellatrix didn't answer.
She fired three spells in rapid succession. One clipped Sirius's sleeve. Another cracked the platform where he'd been standing.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. Now he was serious.
"Expelliarmus!"
Bellatrix blocked.
"Flipendo!"
He stumbled back — just enough for her to raise her wand, whisper something dark and ancient—
Merrythought's wand flared with a silver burst of light.
"Enough!"
The platform lit up in a silencing field. Both duellists froze mid-motion.
"That's twice," Merrythought said coldly, glaring at them both. "One more step out of line, and you'll duel me instead."
Sirius lowered his wand slowly, breathing harder now.
Bellatrix smiled — not out of joy. Out of promise.
"Family, huh?" she said as she stepped off the platform. "Some things rot from the inside."
Sirius said nothing.
But his hands didn't stop shaking until he reached his bench.
Bellatrix returned to the Slytherin bench, smiling coldly — like she'd won something bigger than a match.
Professor Merrythought stood in the center of the platform, arms crossed.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't need to.
"Enough."
The entire hall went still.
"This was meant to be a learning exercise. But clearly, some of you have mistaken it for a battlefield."
Her eyes scanned the room — pausing on Sirius, then Bellatrix, then Tom Riddle, who still sat as still as a statue.
"There will be no more duels today."
A groan rose from the benches. Frank Longbottom just sat back quietly, accepting it.
Murmurs of protest rose immediately.
"But I haven't gone yet—"
"My name was next—"
Even Lucius Malfoy sat straighter in irritation. Severus Snape snapped his notebook closed with a sharp crack. Lily Evans exhaled in frustration — she'd been quietly excited to show what she could do.
Tom Riddle didn't speak.
He simply sat. Watching. Burning silently.
He had lost to James Potter. That was fact.
But he had wanted another chance — against anyone. He had planned for a rematch eventually.
And now it was gone.
"I gave you all a chance," Merrythought said, voice firm but cold. "Two duels in — and one of them nearly turned into a blood feud."
Her eyes flicked between Sirius and Bellatrix.
"Dueling Club will resume next week. And if anything like that happens again, it won't be wands that get taken away. It will be house points. And freedom."
Then she swept her robes and turned.
"Dismissed."
They all began to leave one at a time — shuffling out of the Defense classroom in pairs and clusters, voices still buzzing with theories and mockery.
James led the charge, tossing a final smug look over his shoulder. Sirius followed, grinning, while Peter trailed behind them trying to keep up.
Even a few Slytherins gave Tom sidelong glances as they passed.
He stayed back, as usual. Slower. More deliberate.
Then, just as he stepped into the corridor—
A hand grabbed his sleeve.
"Come with me," Lily said quietly.
Before he could reply, she tugged him toward a side passage — away from the press of students and the echo of careless laughter.
They slipped between two high stone arches and into a rarely used hallway just off the main corridor. It was quiet there, lit only by a floating candle near a tapestry of a three-headed lion.
Tom turned to her, his voice low. "What is it?"
Lily glanced down the hall, then looked at him directly.
"I found something."
His posture stiffened, just slightly. "Related to—"
She nodded. "The thing you asked me about. I think I know where we can start."
Tom studied her for a second — not with doubt, but with quiet intensity. As though he were reading a rune that only half-made sense.
"And you waited out here to tell me that?"
"I didn't want to say it in front of everyone. You've had enough stares for one day."
He looked past her, briefly, toward the now-empty corridor.
"People always stare. Doesn't mean they see anything."
Lily tilted her head slightly. "Maybe. But I figured you'd want to know this in private."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then she said, "Meet me in the library after dinner. I'll show you."
Tom didn't answer immediately.
Then he nodded once.
"I'll be there."
Lily didn't smile. She just stepped back, gave him a slight nod of understanding — and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Tom stood there for a few seconds longer, alone now — but no longer entirely in the dark.
The Great Hall was alive with the clatter of forks, the rustle of robes, and the familiar hum of floating candles overhead. Golden light danced across the four long house tables.
It was dinnertime.
Tom sat near the end of the Slytherin table, as usual — quiet, listening.
Across the room, fellow Gryffindor has surrounded Lily, but her plate remained untouched. She glanced up, once.
Tom looked back at the exact same moment.
The gaze was brief.
But thick.
Unspoken. Precise. Message sent.
It was more than a look — it was a confirmation.
And Lucius Malfoy, sitting beside Tom, happened to glance up at just the wrong time.
He blinked.
Looked at Lily.
Then at Tom.
Then at Lily again.
And with all the grace and smugness of a boy who had never once minded his business, Lucius leaned slightly toward Tom and whispered from the corner of his mouth:
"If you're going to start having inter-house eye conversations, could you at least warn me first? I nearly swallowed my goblet."
Tom didn't even blink.
"Try chewing next time."
Lucius raised a brow, half-smiling.
"Touché."
He turned back to his meal with a small huff and an exaggerated sip from his goblet, muttering something under his breath about "Gryffindor softness infecting the air."
Tom didn't say anything else.
But as he stood from the table, leaving before dessert, Lily was already doing the same.
Both of them walked out of the hall and made their way to the library simultaneously, without being observed.
No one called after them.
No one noticed the perfect timing.
The crowded hall kept buzzing behind them — laughter, cutlery, stories, house rivalries — but they slipped out like shadows through the side entrance, one moving from gold, the other from green.
Two steps apart.
Headed in the same direction.
And neither one looked back.
The library was nearly silent.
Rows of tall shelves stood like sentinels in the soft candlelight, casting long shadows across the floor. The smell of aged parchment and binding glue hung in the air — thick and timeless.
A quill scratched faintly behind the main desk.
Madam Pince, the castle librarian, sat perched like a hawk over a stack of overdue returns. Her beady eyes flicked toward the doors the moment they creaked open — but she said nothing.
Tom entered first. Lily followed.
Neither spoke.
They walked with measured steps down the center aisle, their shoes making only the faintest sound against the stone floor. They passed under arched beams, past floating candles and chained tomes that pulsed faintly with magic behind glass.
In the far corner, beneath a high window dusted in moonlight, Lily stopped beside a table already set with two books she'd hidden earlier beneath a folded map of magical surnames.
Tom slid into the seat opposite her without a word.
Madam Pince coughed once — loud enough to be a warning — then bent again over her quill.
For now, they had privacy.
And the room felt like a sealed vault, where only truth and ink mattered.
Tom glanced at the cover of the book nearest to him.
It was thick, bound in worn dragonhide, with no title on the front — only a faded symbol, half-erased by time. A curling rune, shaped like a broken ring.
He ran a finger over it.
"Where did you find this?"
Lily leaned forward slightly, her voice just above a whisper.
"Technically, I wasn't supposed to."
Tom raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.
"There's a shelf in the back," she said, "behind the seventh column on the east wall. Madam Pince uses it to sort books she's not finished cataloguing. Not officially restricted — but not exactly available."
She looked at him evenly.
"It was buried under a stack of curse theory manuals. Dusty, half-forgotten… but the name was in the index."
Tom's eyes sharpened. "The name?"
She nodded.
"The one you're looking for."
Tom sat still, letting the weight of it settle.
"You knew I'd come."
Lily gave the smallest shrug.
"You would've done the same."
For a moment, there was no sound but the crackle of candlelight and the soft rustle of parchment.
Tom opened the book carefully.
The pages were stiff, browned at the edges. But the ink was sharp. Sharp enough to slice.
"The House of Gaunt — descended from Salazar Slytherin — was once regarded as a sacred line. But the centuries warped them. What began as pride in their lineage turned into poisonous obsession."
"Their bloodline was kept 'pure' through generations of inbreeding. This led to madness in nearly every branch of the family — whispered voices, cursed tempers, erratic spells, and deep paranoia. They trusted no one, not even each other."
"The Gaunts were feared not only for their ancestry but for their affinity for Dark Magic. They could speak Parseltongue — the language of serpents — and were said to be able to command creatures ordinary wizards could not even name."
"Their signature trait was unmistakable: striking, vivid green eyes. Described by Aurors and survivors alike as 'venom in glass.' In the dark, they seemed to glow — a color too bright to be natural, too sharp to be safe."
"It is said they were born with shadows instead of souls."
"Their home — a rotting shack deep in Little Hangleton — became a place of legend. No one who entered without permission left unchanged. A Ministry raid in the early 1900s recovered cursed items, unstable relics, and a journal filled with a list of 'the impure to be erased.'"
"Their purpose, once noble, became vile. The Gaunts believed it was their divine right to 'purify' the wizarding world. They targeted Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and even purebloods who intermarried with Muggles. Their goal was not dominance. It was extinction."
"The line collapsed upon itself. One vanished entirely — a daughter, unnamed in records. Some say she fled. Others say she was destroyed from within. Either way, she took the last thread of that line with her."
"Yet… no record has ever confirmed the death of the last Gaunt by blood."
"And the green-eyed curse… may yet survive."
Tom closed the book.
The candle beside him flickered.
For a moment, he didn't move. His fingers remained lightly pressed to the cover, as if the pages were still speaking — even in silence.
Lily waited, watching him carefully from across the table.
He hadn't said a word since reading the last line.
He looked distant. Not frightened. Not angry. Just... caught between thoughts.
"Tom?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer.
His brow furrowed — not with rage, but with something harder to name.
Then, slowly, he turned the book over.
And there it was.
A faint mark, almost invisible unless the candlelight hit it just right — burned into the leather at the back of the book. Circular. Spiraled like a snake eating its own tail. Within the circle, a symbol that almost looked like a letter… but older. Twisted. Wrong.
Tom stared at it.
His hand hovered above the mark — not touching, just hovering.
And then—
His eyes changed.
Just for a moment.
A pulse of green lit in his pupils. Bright. Unnatural. Almost reflective, like emeralds catching fire.
Lily's breath caught.
"Tom…?"
He blinked.
The light faded.
He looked up at her, startled — not by her voice, but by what had just happened.
"Did you see—"
"Yes," she said quickly. "Your eyes—they glowed."
He said nothing.
But Lily saw it — the brief flash of wonder, the curl of something ancient and dangerous behind his expression.
Not fear. Not even excitement.
Just... recognition.
As if something had looked back at him from the book.
He placed his hand over the mark.
But this time, it didn't glow.
Only his fingers remained still, pressing into the shape like he was trying to remember it forever.
Lily's voice cut gently through the silence.
"Tom… are you okay?"
Tom didn't answer.
His fingers were still resting on the strange mark burned into the back of the book. The green in his eyes had faded, but something behind them remained alight — like a lantern in fog.
He finally looked up.
"I don't know."
Far from Hogwarts, past fields that had long turned to frost and valleys erased from maps, lay a forgotten stretch of land known only to those who whispered in Parseltongue.
The Hollow of Wyrms.
A cursed graveyard sunken into a ravine of black rock and thorn root. Headstones leaned like broken teeth. A stone mausoleum jutted from the earth like a wound. Fog clung to everything like old skin.
Inside, cloaked figures stood in absolute stillness.
Until one… stirred.
His breath caught.
A second man's eyes flicked open, pale and glassy.
The tallest among them stepped forward. Slowly. Like a shadow remembering how to move. He pulled down his hood.
The torchlight hit a face warped by a jagged scar — one that split through his brow, down his cheek, and across the top of his lip. Like someone had carved a symbol there… and it never healed.
He raised his head — eyes turning toward the north.
Toward Hogwarts.
Toward him.
"He touched it," the scarred man said. "The mark. It's awakened."
No one replied. But they all felt it — a low hum in the stone beneath their boots, like a drumbeat buried under the earth.
"After all these years…"
His voice cracked slightly, from age or awe.
Then it steadied. "Our legacy is alive."
A gust of cold air swirled around the chamber. The blue fire trembled in its sconces.
"He bears the blood," the man continued. "The gift. The sign."
His eyes burned with something older than madness.
"The heir walks again."
Then, a final whisper escaped his lips, almost reverent:
"Gaunts… our time is near."
NESSGEEORIGINAL