The Slug club
September 1940
The castle was nothing like Cecilia had expected. Being used to French architecture that displayed wealth—from the limestone floors to the gold-adorned windows with stained glass—Hogwarts was a stark contrast. The towering columns and endless corridors gave the place a cold, imposing air, and the moving staircases and countless portraits were reminders of the centuries of history the castle sheltered.
Everyone in the Great Hall was deep in conversation after the Sorting Ceremony. Druella and Cecilia sat at the far end of the table with the other first-years. Druella was already gossiping about their classmates, but Cecilia wasn’t listening to a word. She was too mesmerized by the boy with pale skin and dark features. She had yet to learn his name, but she already knew who he was—a Gaunt, just like her. The spitting image of a Muggle, just like she was.
"Rosier, your sister is quite the personality. She already has all the girls watching her." Howard Mulciber poked Dominique Rosier in the shoulder.
"I'm sure she must be delighted with the attention."
"Her friend doesn’t seem that interested in her," Abraxas Malfoy remarked with amusement. "She keeps glancing at Riddle."
Tom, who until that moment had not paid attention to the girls, looked up at Abraxas and smirked. It wouldn’t be the first or last time girls stared at him. He was handsome, and everyone knew it. He was painfully aware of his looks and where they came from. Finally, he turned to the other side of the table, and when his eyes met hers, something twisted in his stomach. He couldn’t quite explain it, but the girl was different. Her dark eyes held the same exhaustion he carried—the weight of magic. No ordinary eleven-year-old could hold that kind of knowledge.
"Riddle, you’re going to scare the girl on her first day if you keep looking at her like that," Adrien Lestrange teased, making Tom turn back to the group.
"Aren’t you going to greet your sister, Rosier?" Tom asked, as if he hadn’t just been the subject of conversation.
"I’ll show her to the common room after the feast is over."
Richard Nott and Edwin Avery were engrossed in some joke Tom couldn’t quite make out—he was too deep in thought. His mind grew even more clouded when he realized he couldn’t get into the girl’s head. He looked back at her, only to see her now standing up with Druella.
"Druella, wait! I’ll walk you," Rosier said, getting to his feet abruptly, followed by the others.
"Oh, you remembered you have a sister. How nice," his sister mocked.
"Well, nothing was stopping you from coming over to sit with me."
"Sure." She dismissed him.
"Hello?" Abraxas interrupted their exchange, reminding the siblings of their audience.
"Right. Druella, you already know Malfoy and Lestrange. The others are Riddle, Mulciber, Nott, and Avery," Rosier introduced them, pointing at each as they nodded toward her.
"I won’t say ‘nice to meet you’ because if you’re friends with my brother, I can only assume you’re as insufferable as he is," Druella said with a sarcastic smirk.
Her brother made a rude gesture, and they started a silent argument.
"And you are?" Tom asked, turning to the dark-haired girl who stood a few steps away.
"Cecilia," she said simply, offering her hand.
"Cecilia... what?" Lestrange asked as Tom shook her hand.
"Boucher. But don’t bother trying to remember if you’ve heard the name before—you haven’t."
"You’re a Muggle-born?" Tom asked, unable to hide his disgust.
"No, I’m an orphan. It’s a made-up name." Her voice was firm.
"I’m sorry, Ceci, but at least you were an orphan in Paris," her blonde friend offered, as if that were some sort of comfort.
"You’re French?" The other Rosier brother questioned her.
"I am. We should go to the common room, Ella." She changed the subject, and her friend nodded as they all headed toward the Slytherin chambers.
"Don’t worry, Cecilia, we’re not prejudiced against orphans. Tom here is one too," Mulciber said, patting Riddle on the back.
Tom. So he was named after his father, just as she had been named after her mother. She thought they had so much in common—perhaps it was worth telling him the truth. But when she saw the look he shot his friend, she knew he was not someone you could be careless around.
—
"This is it," Nott said, diffusing the tension between the boys as they reached the common room.
"Thanks for the entertainment, gentlemen. Au revoir," Druella said, dragging Cecilia toward the girls' dormitory.
"Just ignore them. Boys—you know how they are," Druella said, settling down on her bed.
Cecilia nodded. Before Druella could start interrogating her, Cecilia stood up and announced she was headed to the bathroom for a shower, yawning to emphasize her exhaustion. As the hot water relieved the tension in her shoulders, her mind remained fixed on Tom. How much did he know? She could tell he was aware of his own power—it was rare for a thirteen-year-old to perform Legilimency. Then again, not many eleven-year-old girls could perform Occlumency.
Tom stared at the ceiling, wide awake, while his roommates slept. The midnight silence was comforting—his thoughts, not so much.
Returning to Hogwarts for his third year, Tom Marvolo Riddle had developed an obsession with finding his family. Not out of some foolish desire to reunite with them—he couldn’t care less about being an orphan. His real interest lay in the origin of his powers. But every search with the name Riddle led him to dead ends, which frustrated him. His mother couldn’t have been magical—she wouldn’t have died otherwise.
When Dumbledore visited him in the orphanage, he had made the silly mistake of revealing his true nature. Now, and in the years since, the professor kept a close watch on him. It felt as if he were being spied on. Much to his annoyance, he had the same problem with Cecilia. Her gaze always lingered too long on him. At meals, her eyes burned into his side. In the common room, when Druella was talking to her brother, her friend would stare at him—not subtly, either.
Not once could he decode her expression. It was as if she were cracking him open with nothing but her dark eyes.
The situation was unpleasant, but Tom maintained his façade more tightly than ever. He never dismissed Albus and always greeted the first-year girl. They could search all they wanted, but they would never find a crack in him.
The days passed like weeks. Classes and tests were growing more intense for the lazier students. However, Cecilia found Hogwarts to be exactly what she had expected: boring. Her previous education had already covered most of what others struggled to grasp, and her natural ability didn’t go unnoticed. Druella relied on her to practice spells and finish homework faster, and it became clear to Cecilia that a pureblood education was more about manners than actual knowledge. Whenever she felt something was important—though it rarely happened—she would write a letter home, keeping it as straightforward as possible. She knew better than to waste their time with futile details about her feelings. Though, she truly wanted to ask Gellert about Tom—if he knew anything about his past.
Cecilia spent all week looking forward to Herbology. While her classmates considered it boring and pointless, she found it to be the only class where she actually had something to learn. Every new plant she discovered became a rich new detail for her paintings. Professor Beery was an exceptional teacher—the best, in her opinion. Unlike others, he didn’t play favorites.
"I can still hear that plant screaming in my ear," Druella complained as they walked back to the common room.
Cecilia lifted her wand and whispered a spell, restoring her friend’s hearing. Druella beamed, surprised at her skill.
The girls were thankful for the free period before lunch, which gave them time to prepare for their afternoon Potions class. Slughorn was a narcissist at his finest, always boasting about some important former student of his.
"I wish I’d gone deaf just to skip Potions," Cecilia sighed, settling onto the couch.
"Why? Not fond of Slug?" Lestrange appeared behind them, making Druella jump in her seat. Cecilia, however, only turned her head.
"No, I’m not. He’s so full of himself—no one cares about his past students."
"You say that because you’re not part of his club," he challenged.
"Club? Merlin, I don’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary."
"It’s a gathering he hosts for the top students in the school. You’d want to be there—it’s great for making connections."
"Well, if it’s based on grades, I’m sure she’ll be invited. She got all her Potions right on the first try," Druella muttered with a hint of jealousy.
And she was right.
Later that day, Cecilia brewed an excellent Pompion Potion, and Slughorn asked her to stay after class. When she finally joined Druella in the Great Hall, she shared the news about a dinner that would take place before the Christmas break.
"I guess we’ll see you there, then, Boucher," Abraxas said, making it clear they had been listening.
"Except for Mulciber and Rosier, of course," Avery added.
"I have better things to do on a Friday night," Rosier said, his usual arrogance on full display.
"I bet you have a lot of goodbye kisses to give before we leave," Abraxas teased with a wink.
"Gross," Druella muttered, standing up.
Cecilia took a moment before following her best friend—she was too deep in thought about having to endure dinner with that kind of people. But this was the opportunity she had been waiting for. If Lestrange was right, people would be there to make connections, which meant they would talk about themselves and their families. She would finally get her information.
The weather was getting colder, and her robes weren’t enough to keep her warm as she walked to the owlery. She instantly recognized Vinda’s handwriting on the letter.
Cecilia,
I’m delighted that you have found such great company, and your academic performance is everything your father and I had hoped. I’m sorry about your trip, but it would be better for you to stay at school. Our business has kept us very busy, and we have been traveling a lot.
Keep us updated on how things are going. Have a nice holiday. We’ll talk again before your birthday.
P.S.: You packed a beautiful black dress—wear it to the dinner!
With love,
Mom
Cecilia felt her stomach twist at the mention of mother and father. They had told her to say she had been adopted by a Muggle couple. The story was dull enough that no one would question it, but she had a feeling Slughorn would enjoy discussing their Muggle business.
She was utterly disappointed about spending Christmas—and her birthday—at school, even more so because Druella had invited her to France. But with most students gone, she would at least have peace and quiet to paint.
Druella helped her get ready for the dinner. Glamour was something Cecilia lacked knowledge of, but her blonde friend had grown up attending galas, balls, and events that required her to always look her best. With her hair half-up and half-down, Cecilia looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself.
"Thank you, Ella. Really," she said, looking at Druella as if she might disappear at any moment.
"Oh, it’s no bother, Ceci," Druella whispered.
"What’s wrong?" Cecilia asked, stepping closer.
"I’m going to miss you. I can’t believe you’ll spend your birthday here. Everyone will be gone—well, except for Tom," she said, and Cecilia pulled her into a tight hug.
"I’ll be fine. But I’ll miss you too."
"You better go—being late is rude," Druella said, pulling away.
Cecilia made her way downstairs, barely paying attention to her steps, too distracted by the fact that she would have to spend the next few weeks alone with Tom. Throughout the term, she and Druella had spent time with Rosier and his friends, but she and Tom had never exchanged words. Yet, they had countless conversations with just their eyes.
Maybe, without anyone around, she could finally get it off her chest and tell him the truth.
"Want someone to escort you?" Abraxas asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Where are your friends? You always walk in a pack," she replied, taking a moment to notice how well-dressed he was.
"They prefer being on time over looking like this," he said, gesturing to his suit. She laughed at how silly he was.
"We better get going. I don’t want to keep you from them too long," Cecilia said as they started toward the dinner. Their walk was silent.
"After you," he said, holding the door open for her.
"You’re a gentleman, Malfoy. Thanks."
"Look who we have here—charming Abraxas and Cecilia, my best first-year!" Slughorn beamed at them.
"Thank you for the invitation, sir," the blonde said, taking a seat next to Lestrange, while Cecilia sat next to Avery.
"I appreciate it, sir," Cecilia said with her best fake smile.
The dinner was nothing like she had imagined. The guests were the usual Slytherin faces, a few Ravenclaws, and a lone Gryffindor—none of whom she recognized. She gathered no useful information. It was just an ego contest—who had the wealthiest parents, who had the best grades, and other nonsense. But the worst part was when Slughorn asked about her parents. The whole room looked at her as if she were the Muggle.
"Please don’t take anyone for prejudiced, dear—it’s just curiosity," Slughorn assured her as he walked her to the door. Most people had already left.
"Don’t worry, sir, I don’t mind it at all," she replied.
He smiled at her politeness.
"Go on, then. You must have things to pack." He patted her on the back.
"Oh, I’m actually staying." Her voice cracked slightly.
"Well, you’ll be in great company. My boy Tom is staying too," Slughorn said.
At the mention of his name, he appeared as if from nowhere.
I was just telling this lovely lady that you’ll both be here for the holidays. Why don’t you walk her back?"
"Of course, sir. Have a nice holiday." Tom smiled.
"You too, boy. And happy early birthday." Slughorn waved them goodbye.
"When’s your birthday?" Cecilia asked. He had never seen her look that happy.
"The thirty-first."
"Mine is January first." They fell into silence.
"Does it bother you to be alone for the holidays?" she asked. He was clearly annoyed by her attempt at conversation.
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes. I’d rather go with Druella to France."
"Hogwarts is like no other place for me."
They stopped in their tracks when they heard footsteps behind them.
"Good evening, Tom. Cecilia."
"Good evening, Professor," they both said in unison.
"It’s past curfew."
"We were at Professor Slughorn’s dinner. We’re heading back to the common room," Tom said.
"Very well, then. Off you go."
The rest of their walk was silent.
Tom could tell that something about Dumbledore unsettled her, too. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
He wouldn’t find it so horrible to share the space with her.