House of Selwyn: Book 1

September – 1942; Hogwarts

“Tom Riddle?” The fifteen-year-old Ravenclaw boy beside me had a tone of mild confusion, “Who’s that?”

My eyes moved from the parchment the Head Boy had sticky-charmed to the door of the Prefects’ meeting room to the boy beside me; Septimus Goodwell. He was my male counterpart prefect for our shared house of Ravenclaw in this our fifth year of Hogwarts. The silver pin on the breast of his black robes was just as shiny and new as my own. His face was a bit screwed up, as if he’d already clear idea of what the roster for this semester’s patrol rotation would be.

“It is strange,” I admitted, my eyes going back to the name slotted next to my own for Monday and Wednesday night, ten to two. Tom Riddle, a Slytherin in our year. “It’s always been paired based on house and year previously.” But to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very concerned with who my patrol partner was, I was more dreading the time slot for my patrol. It was shit shift. I’d be exhausted by the end and barely get any good rest before having to get up at seven thirty for class at eight.

“Fucking hell, I got Tuesday and Thursday ten to two.” Septimus swore. His face fell into a scowl as he continued to scan the parchment. My eyes scanned the parchment again as well noticing the other fifth year prefects also were being given the most damning time slots.

“Must be some sort of seniority thing.” I mused. My eyes lifted back to my rotation partner for the semester. Tom Riddle. I had only spoken to him once, and very briefly in second year. His face was a blur in my mind, non offensive but unremarkable enough for me to forget. And with how little class overlap our houses had, I knew even less about the boy wizard.

“That sounds like hazing, maybe we should say something to Dippet?” Septimus suggested, brows still pinched in irritation. This time my own face screwed up, and I looked to my counterpart with a raised brow and loosely concealed grimace.

“Your cowardice is unsettling. It’s a few long nights, that’s it.” I pointed out. “Have some gall.”

“It’s not about ‘gall’, it’s about fairness.” He corrected sharply, paying me a

glare. “I’m not going to get walked all over because it’s my first year as a prefect. Besides, we’ll be up studying later than that most nights anyways. We have O.W.L.S. this year.”

“Got me there.” I conceded. I’d nearly forgotten why my schedule this year was so full of holes; exams. The one of the two most important set of our lives.

“I wouldn’t say anything to Dippet.” Came a voice from behind us. Septimus and I turned to see a tall, dark haired boy looking over our shoulders as the rotation schedule. His black robes were trimmed in emerald, and he wore a newly minted silver Prefect pin on his chest just like my companion and I.

He didn’t even look at us, instead eyes so dark they were nearly black, stared ahead at the bit of parchment still clinging to the door.

“Shows weakness early on.” He explained. His sentiment was similar to my own. Then he asked,

“Would either of you two know Serraphina Selwyn?”

My eyes rounded a bit at the sound of my own name as I realized I was staring at Tom Riddle. Suddenly, the memory I had of speaking to him in second year cleared. Those sharp dark eyes and straight angled nose settled rightfully onto the blurry face of the twelve year old in my memory.

“That’s me.” I said after a moment. Septimus lingered, but behind me, as if I was some sort of shield. But why? This Tom Riddle, though clearly a muggle name, seemed appropriately average. A little tall for only fifteen, but maybe he hit a growth spurt. I searched his face discreetly, noting nothing of concern; Good bone structure, decent teeth, a thin lipped but friendly smile. He seemed unassuming.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Tom Riddle” He said, sticking out a hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” I said, shaking his hand. His hands were large, but slender, cool to the touch as if he’d just been outside. I met his eyes, and paid him a polite smile, as anyone with an ounce of manners would.

“While I have you here, let’s agree on the meeting spot for our rounds.” He suggested, our hands falling back to our sides. His tone was pleasant. Reasonable.

“I reckon this is good a spot as any.” I suggested. Also pleasant. Also reasonable.

“Excellent. Thank you for being so agreeable.” Gracious as well. Tom Riddle seemed perfectly polite and normal.

“No problem at all.” I inclined my head slightly in my own show of graciousness.

“Well then, see you for rounds. Selwyn…and?” His eyes drifted to Septimus behind me.

“Goodwell. Septimus Goodwell.” He introduced, a bit cooly for my taste. Honestly, these half-bloods and their lack of decorum.

“A pleasure. Tom Riddle.” He extended his hand to Septimus who took a moment but reached for it as well. Their handshake looked hard and brief.

“Enjoy your first of term.” I said to Tom as Septimus withdrew.With that, my Ravenclaw counterpart and I headed back to the First Day Feast in the great hall to help wrangle the first years. I didn’t see Tom turn, but I could have sworn I felt eyes on us as we left the room.

“That was like watching two sociopaths try and have a normal conversation.” Septimus muttered under his breath as we found ourselves striding in through the doors of the Great Hall.

“That’s enough of the muggle insults, half blood.” I shot right back. I wouldn’t bother trying to explain the ins and outs of good manners to the likes of Septimus Goodwell.

I arrived to the agreed upon spot ten minutes early. Unsurprisingly, there was no elder prefect or professor there to offer their guidance this evening. It was rounds after all, something simple enough that the three paragraphs written about it in the onboarding pamphlet I’d received with my badge had been over kill. Essentially there were only two things to do; walk around and punish any of the misbehaving miscreants that we caught out of bed after curfew. It seemed kind of boring though, but well, with shiny badges came prestige, I guess.

Tom found me at exactly ten o’clock, leaning against the door, looking through my Prefect pamphlet for the hundredth time. Just in case I missed something the first ninety-nine. He looked at his watch as he approached and I realized he might be worried he’s late.

“You’re on time. I just came a little early.” I explained, holding up the pamphlet as if that explained anything. Idiot, I cursed myself before dropping it back down to my side.

“I know that.”

“What?”

“I’m never late.” Tom looked at me with a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The arrogance in his tone had my opinion of him lowering slightly and my lips thinned. I tucked away the pamphlet into my robes.

“Well,” I said unable to help myself from pointing out his objectively incorrect fact, “Everyone is late sometimes.”

“Not me.” He looked down to his watch again. “Should we get started?”

“Sure.” I said tersely, stepping forward. It took him a moment but then he followed.

“We will go to the dungeons and work our way up.” He said, his pace bringing him a step ahead of me. I picked my pace up stubbornly, despite my shorter legs.

“Why? We are already here lets just start.” I objected. “You’re making more work than necessary.”

“I’m just suggesting we structure things for the sake of efficiency. But if you want to divide and conquer… I’d be more than happy to take the dungeons and the first three floors.” Tom offered.

“Are you joking?” I asked, too quickly and too sharply for my liking. It made his eyes catch on me a moment before looking back ahead to the corridor. “The pamphlet says exactly not to do that.”

“Aren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be out of the box thinkers?” He asked, his voice sounding tighter than it did before.

“I am a very multi-dimensional thinker thank you,” I sniffed, turning up my nose slightly at his quip. “But anyone with a brain between their ears knows its about knowing which rules to break… and when. Not just all out disregard for the powers that be!”

“Selwyn, ‘powers that be’?” I saw Tom grimace out of the corner of my eye, “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You’re the one that’s exaggerating,” I denied, hands fisting at my sides, “I know you know what I mean.”

“You do, do you?” Tom asked, “You know about me?”

“I mean not in general, but this yes. You can walk and talk at the same time so I figured you had an iota of critical thinking skills. Was I wrong in my assessment?” I stopped then, turning towards Tom with arms already crossed over my chest. He stopped as well, looking down his nose at me with the beginning of a sneer.

“Do you talk to everyone like that?” He asked in a quiet tone.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re above them?”

His words stunned me, and I felt my eyes round as I stared up at him, horror struck. And here I was under the assumption that Tom Riddle had any manners.

“I do not talk to people like that.” I hissed, “And if you had even an ounce of graciousness or proper-“

“You’re doing it again.” His voice was lower this time, and his dark eyes had gone cold, his handsome face falling into a full blown glare directed right at me. A chill ran up my spine at it, but I refused to wither in front of him. He was just some... some fifteen-year-old boy. Not even a man yet. And I had my wand already falling down my wrist. Before I could catch it though, Tom’s hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist, wrenching it up into the air. I felt my wand fall down my sleeve away from my hands.

“I don’t like being talked down to. And I like even less when impudent little witches try to pull their wand on me.” He squeezed my wrist, hard and I winced. I tried to pull free, but his hold was like steel.

“Let go of me.” I demanded with a scowl. The left side of his top lip curled away from his teeth, but he released me and retreated to the other side of the corridor.

“You’re ridiculous. I’m starting in the dungeons.” He announced, turning on his heel. I blanched, still rubbing my sore wrist as I ran after him, back towards the stairs we’d passed earlier.

“Hey!” I called. “Tom, we can’t split up. It’s against the rules.”

“Leave me be, Selwyn.” He called, hurrying down the steps. I continued after him.

“You really think I want to spend the night, trolling around with you? After you man handled me like that?” My voice was echoing slightly as we hurried down the steps of the cavernous stair case, earning many rude hushes and grumbling complaints from the near by paintings. Tom finally stopped then and spun on me again. I stopped short this time, not willing to get within grabbing distance again.

“I did not man handle you. You tried to pull your wand on me.” He pointed an accusatory finger at me, his voice a rattling hiss.

“Tell that to my bruises.” I snapped back, still cradling my wrist to my chest. The joint was sore, but I also knew I bruised like a peach. I’d be certain to have a five-finger bruise wrapped around my wrist by morning. Tom’s eyes flickered between my wrist and my face as we stared each other down, neither one of wanting to admit defeat, but also neither being able to settle on what the next move would be. If I jumped on him from here, maybe I could push him hard enough down the stairs he’d break his neck. Or maybe he’d drag me down with him and we’d both be the newest pair of Hogwarts’ ghosts.. He was probably plotting something equally as sinister, no doubt.

“I’m not waiting for you, let’s go.” Tom finally conceded with a sigh, turning to continue his path towards the dungeons.

“Fine,” I sniffed, dropping my scowl as I followed Tom.

In the bowels of Hogwarts, a damp air hung in the dungeons. Errant drips from hundred year old leaks echoed through the stone walled corridors. The only light to be found down there was by the eerie green glow of enchanted, heatless sconces. This left the twining tunnels in a perpetual morgue-like coolness. The type of cold feelings that a long hot bath was often needed to recover from. Despite the dank surroundings though, the dungeons in the end were simply a means to Potions class. Their mystery and dark allure had faded for me shortly into first year, but apparently for Tom, he had never become disenchanted.

“Tom?” I asked, cocking my head “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He asked, not even looking away from the wall he was currently counting stones on. “I’m looking for miscreants.”

“By counting stone faces?” I asked, not really feeling like that level of detail would allow us to be very efficient in our patrols.

“Yes, now quiet.” Tom said as he crouched down and was looking at something on the stones.

“Godderick’s Beard, Tom.” I sigh, “You’re a bloody wizard just cast revealio.”

Tom ignores me blatantly.

“Fine,” I snip. “I’ll do it.” I flick my wrist, summoning my wand down form it’s pocket in my robe sleeve and lift it to the wall.

“Stop!” Tom snapped, standing up and spinning towards me. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t like that.”

“You’re wasting our time.” I try to reason with him. But before he can respond, I hear a voice distantly down the hall. It’s soft, but grows even softer, as if the individual is running away.

“The only waste of time here-“

“Shut up!” I snap, whipping a hand out over his mouth. He tears my hand away and opens his mouth to no doubt fling something foul at me, but he pauses when I soundlessly touch my ear. I watch his face fall into one of concentration as he listens. Something flashes in his eyes and he looks to me in surprise.

“You can hear that?” He asks after a moment. What a ridiculous question. I look at him with eyebrows raised in judgment.

“Of course I can, now let’s go.” I say incredulously, pulling him along down the hall, chasing the voice before whoever it was could get too far.

“Release me.” Tom demanded, digging his heels into the stone floor.

“Fine.” I released my hold on Tom without looking back and took off after the noise without him.

The voice started to get louder as I turned a hard left corner and I pulled out my wand, casting a lumos spell to help me see better what was in front of me, maybe I’d be able to see who it was running around like a mad man after curfew.

“Hey!” I called out, “I can hear you, you know? Do the responsible thing and come receive your reprimand!” The voice was getting louder, I must be closing in. I heard the voice again, soft and feminine, or maybe just high pitched in childlike, it was hard to tell. I couldn’t quite make out what it was saying either, I felt just too far away to fully understand what was being said.

I took another quick right, thinking I was just going deeper into the dungeons, but instead I found myself running face first into a wall. A very hard, very cold, very unforgiving stone wall. I bounced off it like a rubber ball, crumpling to the ground instantly, vision blurring from impact in the already dark passage.

“Damn it all,” I cursed, touching my forehead with one hand while I grabbed for my wand with the other. My fingers slipped through something wet and warm on my forehead. When I drew my hand back I could tell in the sconce light alone it was blood. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and sat up onto my knees.

“Serraphina…” It was the voice I had heard, but this time much more distinct. I still couldn’t quite decipher if it was a woman or a child, but I could make out the words now. Only here was the confusing part: the voice was coming from somewhere in the walls. I growled in frustration, not liking how this person was taunting me by calling my name through the stone walls. There must be some sort of hidden room behind it. I pulled up to my feet and raised my wand.

“Revealio,” I cast. Purple magic gathered at the tip of my wand before it spit forth against the wall where it sputtered like a small firework along the stone and died. But for a moment, I could have sworn I saw the briefest blue outline skirting the wall’s edges. Time for bigger guns. I reached into my robe breast pocket and took out the piece of chalk my father had always insisted every curse breaker keep with them. I drew a large sweeping circle with twelve smaller ‘Ogham’ symbols dispersed evenly along the inside of the circle’s edge. I took a step back and aimed my wand at the center of my creation.

“Equitum solis ruptor.” I cast. Another jolt of crackling purple magic jetted out from the tip of my wand, snapping into the center of the circle and it’s glyphs. Suddenly, layers upon layers upon layers of wards presented themselves to me in blue ephemeral light. They stretched around the wall like ribbons, runes and glyphs, ancient beyond the point of recognition, were revealed to me. A good portion of them withstood my ward breaking spell, and the wall itself did not change, but I could see now someone, a long, long time ago had hid something behind this wall. And not only that but they went through painstaking lengths to do this. The runes and glyphs I could recognize had to do with ‘concealment’, ‘confinement’, and ‘exchange.’ Exchange was never a good sign. I didn’t want to jump the gun, but exchange was usually seen when petitioning a deity, and deities usually wanted blood to help lowly mortals. I stepped closer, raising a hand to one of the trailing ribbons of protective wards in order to examine it closer when instinct stilled my hand. I sniffed at the air and beneath the usual moldering damp smell of the dungeons was something metallic, smokey, and distinct; dark magic. My eyes narrowed, that didn’t bode well.

But why? I wondered. Dark magic hadn’t been approved topic at Hogwarts since the Founders’ days. It made sense in connection with the glyphs that had to do with “exchange”, but the tie there was loose as well, based mostly on my own assumptions and without being able to see the whole picture. The amount of glyphs and runes I could read were doubled by those I couldn’t.

“What did you do?” I felt now familiar fingers wrap around my arm and whip me backwards. I was spun, coming face to face with an irate looking Tom Riddle, his lips already pulled back in a snarl… only for that terrible face to drop. I followed his gaze and realized he was looking at my forehead. Just as a fat glob of nearly black blood slid down over the bridge of my nose, all the way to my lip.

“You’re bleeding.” He said, eyes lingering on the blood. He swallowed and sealed his lips into a tight line. Did blood make him unsettled, I wondered.

“Here.” He extracted a handkerchief from the sleeve of his robes.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, accepting the handkerchief. I cleaned off the blood the best I could without a mirror and then turned to Tom once more.

“Would you mind sealing it shut for me please?” I asked, rather uncomfortable having to be this humble after how heated our exchanges had been all night. Tom seemed to have trouble deciding what he wanted to do for a moment before he mumbled a resigned,

“Sure.”

He took out his wand and crossed the few steps to me. I looked up at him as one of his hands came up to steady my face. Instead of cupping my cheek though, his large hand gripped at me, his pointer and middle finger on one side of my mouth while his thumb sat tight at the other side, while the rest of his fingers were curled under my chin against my throat. I swallowed as he examined me, eyes dark and prodding. The worst part about it though wasn’t his weird grip on my face, it was his proximity. He stood close enough our robes brushed, his body heat pushing through to me in the coolness of their corridor. His cologne, nearly gone now so late in the evening, hung to him by tendrils, mixing with something almost smokey. It made my mouth dry and I licked my lips absently, trying to quell the sensation.

“Can you shine your wand on it?” He asked. I lifted my wand and recast lumos to lighten his view. Once he could see the gash in my forehead better, he cast episky and I felt the sting of my skin stitching back together as he drew the rough edge of his wand along my gash. He continued to hold me for a moment, inspecting his work closely before he practically shoved me away. I stumbled back and felt along my forehead; it felt smooth minus some gritty bits of tacky blood.

“You didn’t maim me, right?” I asked, wishing I had a mirror just to see for myself I wasn’t disfigured.

“You think my healing spells are poor enough I’d leave a scar?” He scoffed, “That’s insulting.”

“Well, I’m not exactly acquainted with your magical aptitude.” I reminded him, “I can’t even remember the last class we had together.”

“Well, I wish I could say the same about your ability but…” His eyes drifted back to the glowing ribbons of wards still wrapped around the wall, and my drawn rune at its center. “Even I can admire talent.” Tom stepped closer, getting dangerously close to the dark magic but not seeming perturbed. In fact, the wards… they seemed to almost bend around him.

“What type of magic is this?” He asked. “I recognize the Ogham, one of the three transmutive languages, but not the sigil lay out or chalk application. Is it alchemy?”

“No. It’s curse breaking.” I explain, my ego swelling a bit now that Tom has finally admitted me being his magical superior. More or less, at least. Runes, Ogham, and Sanskrit were the three principal transmutive languages Tom spoke of, but Alchemy was largely latin and Arithmancy based if my understanding was correct.

“Curse breaking?” Tom repeats thoughtfully, “How did you come to learn that? Been keeping up with prowling the restricted section?” He finally looked back over his shoulder at me, a smirk on his lips.

I remembered then fully the details of our first encounter; Second year early in the semester. All that horrible stuff had happened over the summer with my brother and the binding ceremony, I had been looking for a way to set things back to how they used to be. I had been naive at twelve, and unwilling. Unwilling to accept change. Unwilling to accept the consequences of my actions. Tom had been much shorter then, but too thin and angry looking all the same when we had crossed paths in the restricted section. He had been carrying a heavy black book bound in burnt leather with a large silver buckle on its front. The tomb was so sinister I remember it emitting a horrid burning smell as it growled warningly in Tom’s arms, like a creature backed into a corner. Tom had turned his dark eyes on me and placed a finger to his lips before disappearing back into the stacks.

“No.” I answer honestly, “Not quite. It’s family magic, passed down curse breaker to curse breaker. Surely, you’ve heard of my family before?”

“No, I’ve heard of you Selwyns. Pureblooded, decidedly grey though, and world renowned Curese Breakers, the likes of which Gringotts and the Ministry keep on retainer.” Tom recited perfectly, almost like he was reading from a book, “I just didn’t expect you to be one.”

“Why because I’m a witch?” I snapped, already poised to argue the senselessness of gendering magical roles. I saw his shoulders sag as he sighed.

“No, because I’m rarely fortunate enough to meet someone with some actual talent.” He clarified. “You shattered some of the wards completely.

“Well wards need maintaining or they can get kind of brittle.” I explained, my cheeks pinkening from his compliment. It wasn’t like I didn’t know I was talented, my father wouldn’t have allowed me to become only half decent at the family trade. He had groomed me for this power. It was just nice to hear someone else acknowledge my prowess every once in a while.

“I’m still learning,” I explained, “My father would have been able to turn that wall into dust. My apprenticeship can’t start fully until after graduation though. Then I’ll really be able to do some proper magic.”

“I thought all good little pureblood witches were to get married and start solidifying the blood lines after graduation. Isn’t that the priority?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be pedantic or if he truly meant it. This question lead me to believe perhaps he was curious to the inner working of pureblood society. Either way, what did it matter to him? With such an obviously muggle name there was no way he was more than a half blood at best.

“It depends on the family. Just like any other us purebloods have our… quirks.” I explained. “Rituals, dark rites, bindings, that sort of thing.” All the secrets and darkness and savagery I’d witnessed because it was ‘part of the culture’. But it was more than just a defiant stance against wizarding society’s progress, it was these traditions from which most families drew their power. Some appealed to ancient gods with sacrifices of rams and muggle children. Others held orgies and feasts for more pleasant entities and some even bound demons into servitude. All to get a leg up on the impure witches and wizards that entered our world in droves every year.

“Occultatum.” I cast at the wall, and the wards once again became invisible to the naked eye.

“We should finish our rounds.” Tom said after a moment, finally turning back to me. The lack of blue glow from the wards made the corridor substantially darker and the strange green sconce light drew menacing shadows over Tom’s face.

“But I heard something Tom,” I insisted, “Someone was calling my name. They led me here.”

“Look, I heard it too, earlier when I was counting stones, but whoever it was is long gone by now.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, urging me away from the wall, “We still have a long night ahead of us.”

“Ah!” I gasped gently, my hand going to my head as a pulse of pain rolled through like a vice around my skull. It only lasted a moment, but it left an ache as I lifted my head back up and lowered my hand.

“Do you want to go to the matron?” Tom asked, removing his hand from me and taking a wide step away. I exhaled through my nose and shook my head gently, swaths of my long dark hair, shifting around my face. I wouldn’t be the clumsy Prefect that gets hurt on her first night of rounds.

“No,” I denied. “Lets just keep on.”

“As you wish.” Tom had returned his voice to a tone of gentlemanly neutrality as he fell into step beside me.

It took about an hour or so for us to encounter anything again. By this time, we had cleared the dungeons and the first floor and were running behind on time due to the incident in the dungeons. I could tell because Tom kept checking his watch and it was already nearly midnight. We still had five more floors to clear.

“That’s enough.” Tom said in a cold commanding voice as he drew back a tapestry on the second floor near the History of Magic classroom. It revealed a small alcove, and within, two lovers. A boy and a girl holding each other as they looked at us with wide eyes and red cheeks.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff,” I said with arms folded over my chest. I recognized Penelope Merryweather, a third year Hufflepuff I had tutored in Charms.

“And twenty from Slytherin. You know better.” Tom said to the male, obviously recognizing him if they were from the same house. His punishment was harsh, especially because those were his house points as well, but I could admire his dedication to the job.

“Now get back to your dorms.” Tom snapped. They cowered, and I stepped out of their way as they exited the alcove.

“We’ll be informing your Heads of Houses, so I’d get a move on.” I added, shooting them reproachful glares. Penelope’s cheeks darkened and she dropped her gaze, sweeping past me. I took out a small notebook and pencil from my robes and wrote down Penelope’s name, year, and house to add to the report after our shift.

“Who was the boy,” I asked Tom as we began to continue our rounds.

“Marcus Flint. Fifth year. Slytherin.” He drawled. Flint, I should have recognized him. My family knew the Flint’s well.

“A little old for her.” I murmured with disapproval, mostly to myself as I jotted down Flint’s information.

“You’d think he’d be smarter at such an age.” Tom remarked with a sneer, “An entire school to snog in, countless empty classrooms and you choose an alcove off a main hall without so much as a door?” He made a sound of disgust, “Preposterous.”

“Maybe next time you should give him a list of your favorite snogging spots, so he doesn’t get caught.” I retorted, my tone dry and sarcastic as I slipped the notebook and pencil back into my robes.

“You joke entirely too much, Selwyn.” His voice was a cold threat that couldn’t penetrate me.

“The issue is he’s out of bed past curfew. Not that he didn’t pick a good enough snogging location.” I said with a roll of my eyes.

“Idiocy like Flint’s should be bred out of the gene pool, not encouraged to copulate. I thought you purebloods were supposed to be elite.” His tone was harsh but also sort of… melancholic to my ears. As if he was disappointed. Tom Riddle was a strange one, wasn’t he?

“I assure you imbecile’s come in all shapes and sizes.” I responded back cooly, “Beside the Flints, ugh.” I shivered thinking of the broader family I’d been introduced too at various galas over the years, “Terribly inbred with no concern for appropriate distancing or ethical propagation. It will be the family’s ruin, mark my words. Just like the Gaunts.”

“The Gaunts?” Tom echoed, his pace matching mine now. I could feel him looking down at me from where he loomed beside me, the sound of our hard soled school shoes snapping against the stone floors as we finished up second floor rounds. “What do you know about the Gaunts?”

“It’s a sad story really,” I explained with a sigh. These were not pureblooded secrets by any means, in fact the Gaunts were commonly used within our society as a tail of caution.

“There’s keeping the blood line pure,” I continued, “And then there is what they did. What the Flints are currently doing.” I shivered as I recalled first hearing this story from Druella Rosier when we were children. “Uncles marrying nieces. Sisters marrying brothers. I’d even heard of fathers…” I shivered in disgust, unable to even finish that particular thought, “The Gaunts committed vile acts in the name of ‘blood purity’, but most could see it for what it was; A perversion allowed to propagate and spread like an infection until the entire family tree was afflicted. Their progeny were sickly and weak either of body or mind, or both sometimes. Madness, lameness, and slowness became their most recognizable traits.”

“I had heard they used to be a noble house. Parseltongues, descendants of Salzar Slytherin himself.”Tom retorted, his tone clipped. I sucked at my teeth and shook my head.

“Perhaps way back when.” I conceded, “But they’ve since fallen into disgrace. No fortune to speak of, and too many holes in the brains of their heirs to have any hope of earning it back. The last I heard of the Gaunts, the last two remaining are either still locked away in Azkaban for killing muggles, or died in that hovel up north they were living out of.”

“And this is common knowledge?” Tom asked further. The question struck me as odd. Didn’t he want to know about the illness or the incest? The fall from grace in general? Those were the juicy bits of the story to me at least.

“Yes. I wouldn’t even consider it gossip at this point. It’s more like warning, especially to houses like Black and Flint that get too comfortable marrying their first cousins. But if you ever do find yourself in a room of purebloods Tom, keep your ears open.” I passed him a conspiratorial grin, “When you have all the money and influence you could wish for, there’s really only one bartering tool you have left; information. And there’s no better place to get it from than that of a bored trophy wife at her third luncheon of the week. You’d be amazed at what I heard as a child on my mother’s knee.” Tom went quiet for a long few moments before I heard him take a breath as if to speak, but then he closed his mouth again. I could practically hear gears turning in his head as we finished up the second floor and took a winding back staircase to the third floor.

“So there’s really no hope for them?” He finally asked as we emptied out into the third floor corridor.

“The two remaining Gaunts were locked up before we were even born.” I explained, “They’ve no heirs, and one of them is completely mad. Their House and name will die with them most likely. They are already quite old I believe. Which is a shame, the Gaunts did have one redeeming quality.”

“Which was?”

“Well, it’s been a few generations since they’ve married outside their own house, but according to the conjecture at least, they would produce very powerful wizards if… mixed appropriately.” I tried to explain, but it was a hard concept to verbalize.

“What do you mean?” He pressed.

“The Gaunts used incest to protect their magic and their interests.” I continued, “It ended up spoiling it, but if you could get one to marry into a less related family, like the Peverels for example, the union would produce some of the finest wizards of the age. The Peverels became the Potters. And I believe the Gaunts married into the Dumbledores as well. A while back of course, but it can be argued that the effects of Gaunt blood are still being felt in the family.”

“Aren’t they considered blood traitors?” Tom pointed out as we rounded a corner. The corridor opened up into a narrow passage lined by tall wrought iron windows. Patterns made by moonlight and the iron’s shadows created long swirling patterns along the stone floor.

“Blood traitors.” I couldn’t help but snort, “I guess. I think of the Potters as more of Hypocrites. Like the Weasley’s and the Prewetts. They preach equality and tolerance and want us to share all the wizarding world has to offer with this halfbloods and muggleborns, but when’s the last time they married anything but another pureblood?” I shook my head. “They’re justappealing to emotion. They see the growing number of halfbloods and muggleborns, and they want to appease them. Easier to control that way.”

“That’s devious.” Noted Tom, “How do you know so accurately who married who and everyone’s blood status?”

“Well for generations our families kept records of course. Marriages and births recorded in painstaking detail in the family Grimoires.” I explained, “The Ministry also keeps close records of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that magically update. But… take everything I say with a grain of salt. We’re just gossiping.”

“What?” He blanched, “Didn’t you say that information is a currency? Please don’t tell me you chatted my ear off for nothing.”

“Good listening Tom,” I teased, “I did. But be realistic, if all these families were really as pure as we claim, we’d all be just as damned as the Gaunts. There are… ways around things. Adopting half blooded bastards into the family, marrying creatures instead of other mortals. Veela and Selkie are often known to create powerful wizards and witches. The wizarding trait will always be dominate after all. The term ‘pure’ is much more… loose than people like Yaxley and Lestrange would lead you to believe.”

“Like eugenics.” Tom muttered.

“Like what?” I asked, not familiar with the word.

“Selective breeding. Fostering and eliminating certain genes intentionally.” He explained. I nodded my understanding.

“Yeah, it’s exactly like that, I suppose. Marriages are arranged specifically in hopes of creating a certain connection or producing an heir with a certain power. It’s kind of… dehumanizing.” I admitted.

I wasn’t unfortunate enough to have already been arranged to marry someone post-graduation like some of my other companions such as Druella Rosier and Wallburga Black, but I knew that the day would come where Mother and Father would sit me down and present me with a list of options. I’d be made to go on a handful of chaperoned dates with these pre-qualified wizards and my parents would pick one for me from the lot. If I was a good girl, they may even ask me which is my favorite. There was no either-or in my world. Just because I was allowed to become a Cure Breaker, didn’t mean I could forgo my responsibility to my lineage. While the concept of learning intricate magic and traveling the globe as a Curse breaker was exhilarating, it lived in stark comparison my future as a matriarch which weighed on me. It made the future hard to look forward to.

“So what’s your lore?” I asked, switching the topic away from the same old pureblood rhetoric and gossip I had heard my entire life. “Muggle father, witch mother?”

“…What makes you think that?” He asked in a tight voice. I couldn’t see his face anymore, at least not well, only the hard angel of his jaw was visible in the warm light of the torches running along the walls. We had passed the moonlit corridor and were now walking through a much more open space near the classrooms.

“Riddle is a muggle name.” I pointed out. He was again silent for a long moment before he spoke in a very controlled voice,

“My heritage is complicated.” He annunciated each syllable of each word slowly as if he had to force it through his teeth. As if he resented every letter.

“You don’t have any family you can ask about it?” That would have been my first go to if my parents weren’t as upfront about the complications and expectations that came with being a Selwyn.

“Not that I speak to, no.” Another biting, stiff answer.

“Potter is also a common muggle name,” I pointed out, “But their family are respected pureblooded wizards.”

“Don’t compare me to those blood traitors.” These last words of Tom’s were overtly vicious, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Sorry.” I murmured, closing the topic. It was clear he didn’t wish to speak on his family anymore. But I couldn’t help but wonder why he resented the comparison that much? Who’s blood did he feel like he would have been betraying?

We caught three more sets of students out of bed before we made it to the seventh floor. Mostly just underclassman goofing around and happy to be back at school where they could explore the castle to their hearts’ content. They were wrong about that last part of course, and the damage Tom and I had done to the point system by the time two o’clock came around proved that. Rule breakers would be punished under our watch.

“I’m ragged.” I declared with a yawn as we finally headed back to the Prefects’ meeting room to write up our reports for the evening. I reached my arms up as he opened the door for me, stretching my back with a satisfying pop.

“You look it.” I heard him murmur. I spun on him with a glare. Hadn’t he just opened the door for me? How could he swing so readily between perfect gentleman and completely deplorable?

“Ugh,” I made a sound of disgust, “You’re incredibly rude.”

“Thank you for noticing,” His reply was quick, unflinching, and most annoying of all, unemotional. Instead he moved past me soundlessly, to the far wall. There, a set of counters ran the wall’s length and above it several different metal hanging file organizers all meticulously labeled. I however, took a seat at the meeting table in the center of the room, letting Tom handle grabbing the necessary forms.

“We need one for each house.” I reminded him with a tone of exasperation.

“There’s no spell that can handle this?” He asked, retrieving a blank incident report sheet for each house. “It seems very…”

“Very what?” I asked with a tired sneer as he sat down heavy in the seat beside me.

“Muggle.” He said eventually, frowning down at the forms.

“So the muggles suffer under the relentless brutality of bureaucracy as well?” I drawled, “That’s comforting to know.”Tom slid the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw forms to me across the table while keeping Slytherin and Gryffindor for himself. Right. Time to get to work. I leaned back in my creaking chair and reached into my robes for my little note pad where I’d recorded the information of all the students we had caught this evening. I put it on the table in front of us and reached for an ever-ink quill. It was time to get to work.

After a few minutes of filling in various information on various sheets about this evening’s miscreants, we filed them away into the meticulously labeled wall files and mercifully, our evening came to an end.

“So what did you think?” I asked Tom as we both tucked our chairs in, intent on returning to our dorms.

“About what?” He asked, turning to me. The lighting in the meeting room was of much better quality than the halls we had just stalked and I could see all the more clearly, the tired, slightly annoyed face he was giving me at my question. Purple bruises were starting to form under his dark eyes making his fair skin look all the more palid.

“Well, about our first night as prefects, obviously?” I said, looking at him like he was stupid because, to be fair, I found his question quite intellectually challenged.

“It was fine.” He said with a shrug, slipping his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Our conversation was enlightening.” His face became slightly more thoughtful as he remembered what I liked to consider a gossip session. I grinned.

“Are you a ‘goss’, Tom?” I asked cheekily, bumping him with my elbow. That thoughtful face dropped and he scowled at me instead.

“I’m going to bed.” He turned away from me with a flourish, robes whipping out behind him. “Nice scar by the way.”

“What?!” I screeched, chasing out after him, “You said it didn’t scar!”

“Good night Selwyn.” Tom called, not even bothering to look back at me. I seethed as Tom disappeared into shadows and out of my sight. This was going to be an incredibly long Semester, I could feel it.