Chapter 3
i.
Tom's twelfth birthday came and went like a gust of cold wind from Evenmorrow. The ones who sent him a present for his birthday were his parents. No one knew his birthday, so Tom celebrated it alone.
Truthfully, Tom loved Evenmorrow; the clear water brought him peace, like he was connected to the past and present as he ate the lemon cake prepared by one of Petunia Leverrette's house elves.
During holidays, Tom got one day off every week after his lessons. He usually spent it alone, bored out of his mind. There was no telly in Petunia Leverrette's house, only books and tomes.
He was alone.
It must be lonely to spend countless days in this desolate place.
ii.
Tom's lessons were mainly about the history of magic and rituals. Petunia Leverrette's library was full of tomes and books that her ancestors handwrote.
Most books in Hogwarts were written by some famous author, yet reading the books here felt like a diary, full of personal detail down to the last page. It was something that he never read before, even from books his mother inherited.
"—when wixen joined hands and borne fruit, their children ought to be wrapped in the woven magic for four and ten days in the mother's bosom to ensure the child grew strong."
Tom huffed and scribbled Woven Magic, Rowena Leverrette: Magic and Motherhood, page 182, on the books father brought him. Petunia Leverrette's teaching method was... unconventional, to say the least.
She didn't sit Tom down in a room and taught him like professors did. She told him to read two books a day, write something he didn't understand, and they would discuss it on evening tea.
It was better than Professor Binns' class, not that Tom would say it out loud.
He flipped the page and continued reading. "No more than a day after the child shows magic, they were to be presented at Lady Magic Hecate's Court. Ordinary wixen who did not hold a position at the Court ought to prepare thirty fruits from the Juglan tree, thirteen wreaths made of olive leaves and their daily offerings."
Tom wondered if he was ever wrapped in woven magic by his mother.
iii.
"Woven magic was a type of magic of pregnant wixen," Petunia Leverrette said as she sipped her tea.
"How does it work?" Tom asked, nibbling on his macaroon. "Rowena Leverrette said it was to be wrapped on a newborn. How is it possible?"
Petunia Leverrette pursed her lips, thinking. "Woven magic was a special magic, the same concept as knitting, but instead of knitting needle and yarn, we used our fingers and magic."
She showed Tom both of her index fingers. "To do this, wixen had to pour their magic outside their body little by little over time. Some wixen started early, so by the time their babe was born, they had enough woven magic to wrap the babe around."
Tom nodded and wrote down her explanation. "But wasn't it easier to release all the magic and do it in one go? If it were me, I would do it in a day."
Petunia Leverrette sneered condescendingly. "This is why Lady Magic never trusted a wizard for this task for five centuries."
"Hey!"
Petunia Leverrette put down her cup and looked at Tom. "Do you know the differences between human and wixen, Master Gaunt?"
"We had magic, and they don't?"
"Precisely." Petunia Leverrette nodded. "Wixen was blessed with a magical core; the core stored our magic from the moment we were born until the moment we were dying. Now, it thinned when we released the magic outside our magical core."
Tom furrowed his brows. "So?"
"So, young master Gaunt, if we were to release the magic in one go, that meant the wixen were dying. Even releasing magic slowly could mean the wixen was open for attack, whether from another wixen or muggles. That was why witches did it slowly over time in the safe haven of their coven or home, where they knew they were safe and surrounded by people they trusted."
iv.
"The birth of another generation of wixen was a joyous occasion," Tom read out loud. "Though, oftentimes, the child borne from wixen held no magic in their magical core, their birth was celebrated as any other magical one; they drank the same milk, taught the same lessons, and fought all the same, for all of them were the subject of Lady Magic Hecate."
Tom pursed his lips and turned to Petunia Leverrette. "So it was a squib, then? They had magical core but held no magic?"
She nodded, looking pleased. "You are not so bad yourself once you read enough."
Tom's cheeks reddened. "But it was shameful for the wizarding family to have a child who didn't hold magic, right? That was why many were shunned."
"Unfortunately, the meaning of the squib was corrupted over time, just like the word Mudblood." Petunia Leverrette sighed. "At first, squibs were celebrated because they had a special mission from Lady Magic. They got to witness the wonder of magic and experience the safety of muggles, the best of both worlds, really."
"What was their mission?"
"They were tasked to bring muggles and wixen together, to finally coexist in harmony."
Tom tapped his fingers. "Then how come they were shunned as it was now?"
"Everything changed when wixen started to think that their power was theirs and not from Lady Magic. They forwent Lady Magic worship, even as far as leaving the Court, thinking their power was enough to sustain them."
Petunia Leverrette's voice was pained, like she had spoken from experience and seen her fellow wixen forgo the worship, leaving the coven bare and shunning children that were supposed to be special.
"How could Lady Magic do nothing then?" Tom asked. "So many histories were different from the reality, the actual history. It was a blasphemy."
Lady Magic was sovereign of magic; she controlled the magic all over the world, yet why did she do nothing when she had the power to?
If it were Tom, he would right the wrong. If only Tom had the power to change the wizarding world, he would.
"Never go there, Master Gaunt," Petunia Leverrette reproached him. "There would be no end of wondering what ifs and what could have been."
"What should I do, then?" Tom raised his voice. "The wizarding world had been corrupted beyond propriety; it was sickening."
Magic had been the whole world for Tom; the first thing his parents taught him, the only thing that made him different from the rest of the town.
If it was a lie, what would be left for Tom, then?
Petunia Leverrette looked at him, mulling. For once, Tom wanted to know what was going on inside her head, to know her every thought.
"When you were older," she started. "You should contest your inheritance to be Lord Slytherin before Wizengamot."
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Tom was struck. "What?"
"Your grandfather and uncle failed to do this, and your mother had never contested nor had any contact with the wizarding world before you enrolled in Hogwarts." Petunia Leverrette continued.
"Why would I have to contest my inheritance to do something?" Tom argued. "The name Gaunt should have at least meant something; why can't I do things as Tom Gaunt?"
"Water always flows from the top, Master Gaunt." She added, sighing mournfully. "People flocked to you not just because of the name Gaunt; they flocked to you because you might continue the name Slytherin. The name Slytherin bore meaning, and whatever the Lord or Lady Slytherin said, it would happen. In the same way, they would do every bidding of any Lord or Lady Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw."
It was only natural, Tom's mind said. People always followed someone above them, never bellow.
"The only thing we could now was to keep educating people around us," Petunia Leverrette said haltingly. "Traditions happened because someone started it. The old wixen in power won't always be around; the future is us, the children of the future. Even a ripple could make waves."
"Just that?"
"Just so. One thing at a time."
v.
Tom woke up to a chilly early morning.
When he was still in Little Hangleton, Tom used to be wakened by his mother every day. But now, he woke up alone.
The house elf woke him at precisely six in the morning on his first stay, and he tried to adjust his body to do the same ever since.
From the window, Tom could see the gazebo where Petunia Leverrette offered her daily offerings and prayers.
She always woke up before the first light and went to the gazebo, kneeling for hours as the incense smoke wafted through the air.
Tom wondered where she did all that while she was in Hogwarts. There were few places he could think of, but she was always in the company of another.
Dorea Black was her constant companion; never once had Tom seen Petunia Leverrette without Dorea Black at her side.
Tom huffed and put on his robe, walking to the gazebo.
vi.
"Good to see you here this morning, Master Gaunt." Petunia Leverrette greeted him as he knelt on the cushioned floor.
Tom ignored her, looking around. "Where's the incense stick?"
"Incense stick?" She looked puzzled. "I do not use such a thing."
"Then where did the smoke come from?" He asked, looking around the gazebo. The smoke was thin, yet it carried pleasant aromas.
Petunia stood up and pointed out a stone bowl attached to the railing. "It came from my offerings to Lady Magic. If she liked my offerings, the smoke would smell pleasant; if she did not, you will know."
"What did you pray for?" Tom asked, looking at the smoke twirling in the air. "I have never prayed before. My father tried to take me to church, but it wasn't for me. I did get baptised, though, for formality."
Petunia Leverrette hummed. "I just pray everything will get better, eventually."
"Did Lady Magic answer your prayers?"
"One way or another."
Tom pressed his hands and thought for a long time. He prayed for his parents' health, for his studies and wardship to be smooth sailing, and for Lady Magic to bless him.
When he was finished, Tom stood up and looked at the golden hue of the sky.
"It was beautiful." He said, suddenly felt a little lost.
"It is." Behind him, Petunia Leverrette said. "Speaking of, it's for you."
Tom turned to her and saw her hand; she held a little rectangle box. "What is it?"
"It's for you." She said, putting the box in his hand. "It took longer than I thought, but I hope you like it."
Tom opened the box, and inside it was a wand holster. The holster was made of dark green leather and imbued with magic; it was sturdy and the perfect length for his wand. On the side was a carving of his initial, T.M.G, in silver marking.
"Happy birthday, Tom."
Tom's eyes flickered upwards, and he clutched the holster tight. "Thank you, I will cherish it."