Tes2

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was a cathedral of light and noise, a jarring contrast to the silence of the Welsh borderlands Melusine had pretended to leave behind. High above, the enchanted ceiling reflected a turbulent September sky, dark clouds swirling amidst a sea of floating candles. Below, the four long tables groaned under the weight of the Welcoming Feast, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, pumpkin juice, and the nervous energy of a new school year.

Headmaster Dippet stood at the podium, his hands raised for silence. The chatter died down, though the Slytherin table remained a bastion of calculated poise. At the center of that table sat the elite—the "Snake Pit," as the younger years whispered. Tom Riddle sat at the head, his posture regal, his expression one of polite, detached interest. Flanking him were the newcomers who had changed everything three years ago: Hadrian, Regulus, and Draco. They sat with a closeness that bordered on the predatory, their eyes scanning the room with a weariness that didn't belong on the faces of seventeen-year-olds.

"Before we begin our feast," Dippet announced, his voice amplified by magic, "we have a rare addition to our seventh-year Slytherin family. Please welcome Miss Melusine, who joins us to complete her N.E.W.T. studies."

The doors at the back of the hall creaked open.

Melusine did not scurry. She did not hesitate. She walked with the rhythmic grace of someone who heard a beat no one else could, her footsteps light on the stone floor. To the casual observer, she was the picture of pureblood elegance. Her curly brown hair was pinned back neatly, save for a single, striking white streak that framed her face like a bolt of frozen lightning. Her skin was a warm, sun-kissed tan, and her Slytherin robes were crisp, though a keen eye might notice the strappy flat sandals peeking out from beneath the hem—an odd choice for a Scottish autumn.

She moved toward the Slytherin table, ignoring the frantic whispering from the Gryffindors and the appraising stares of the Ravenclaws.

"Is she a Rosier cousin?" Druella Rosier whispered, leaning toward Walburga Black. "Look at that bone structure."

"Quiet," Tom Riddle commanded softly. He didn't turn his head, but the girls instantly fell silent. His dark eyes were fixed on the new girl. There was something about the way she displaced the air around her that felt... intentional.

Melusine reached the table and found a seat opposite Abraxas Malfoy. She offered a small, polite smile. "Good evening," she said, her voice like honey poured over gravel—smooth, yet with a hidden resonance.

"A bit late for a transfer, isn't it?" Abraxas asked, his tone a mix of charm and interrogation. "The Welsh borderlands are a long way from the Highlands."

"My parents preferred the isolation," Melusine replied easily, reaching for a crystal goblet. "My mother taught me Charms, my father History. Their passing was... sudden. I found myself in need of an accreditation that only Hogwarts could provide."

"A tragic story," Hadrian Peverell remarked. His green eyes, usually sharp and haunting, were narrowed. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. "Though, usually, traditionalists like your parents would rather die than send their kin to a public institution. What changed your mind, Melusine?"

She turned her gaze to him. For a moment, she didn't speak. She looked at Hadrian, then flicked her eyes to Regulus and Draco, who were watching her like wolves guarding a kill. She didn't look intimidated; she looked as if she were solving a puzzle.

"Tradition is a cage if the bird inside grows too large for it," she said simply.

She reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. As her fingers brushed the silver handle, the candlelight caught the blue snake ring on her finger.

Then, it happened.

Melusine tilted her head, her gaze meeting Tom Riddle’s. For a heartbeat—less than a second—the glamour over her soul flickered. The warm, mundane brown of her eyes vanished. In their place, two pools of molten, liquid gold erupted. The pupils didn't just dilate; they stretched, thinning into sharp, vertical black slits that pulsed with an ancient, predatory heat. It wasn't the look of a girl; it was the look of a dragon staring down from a mountain of gold, or a star collapsing in on itself.

Tom’s breath hitched. His hand, resting on the table, twitched as his mask of perfection suffered a hairline fracture.

Regulus Black, sitting beside Hadrian, stiffened. He had seen the Master of Death in his own timeline; he knew the weight of a soul that had tasted the void. This wasn't that. This was something older, something that didn't belong to the cycle of life and death at all.

Then, she blinked.

The gold was gone. Her eyes were brown again, soft and unremarkable. She poured her juice and took a delicate sip, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"The pumpkin juice here is much better than the stories suggest," she remarked to a stunned Abraxas.

---

The feast ended, and the Slytherin common room was a hive of activity. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone and expensive cologne. Druella and Walburga took it upon themselves to corner Melusine near the fireplace, performing the ritualistic welcome of the House of Snakes.

"The dormitories are through that archway," Druella said, her voice tinged with a territorial edge. "We share with the sixth years' overflow this year, but you'll find your trunk has already been delivered. And a word of advice—we don't mingle with the Gryffindors. Dumbledore encourages it, but he’s a fool for lost causes."

Melusine nodded politely, her hands tucked into her sleeves. "I appreciate the guidance. I’m sure I’ll find the geography of the castle quite fascinating."

"Don't go wandering tonight," Walburga added, her eyes flashing. "The Prefects are strict about the first night, and Riddle doesn't tolerate sloppiness."

"Of course," Melusine said, her smile widening just a fraction. "Thank you, ladies. I think I’ll retire for a moment to unpack."

She watched them walk away, their heads together in hushed gossip. Melusine waited exactly ten minutes. She didn't go to the dorms. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked straight back out through the stone wall, the portrait of the serpent sliding shut behind her.

It was 9:15 PM. The corridors were shadows and echoes.

She hadn't gone three hallways before the air behind her grew heavy. The sound of multiple footsteps, synchronized and deliberate, filled the corridor.

"The common room is in the other direction, Miss Melusine."

Tom Riddle stepped out of the shadows of a suit of armor. He was flanked by his Inner Circle—Abraxas, Orion, and Rosier—but more importantly, by his shadows: Hadrian, Draco, and Regulus. They formed a semi-circle, effectively cutting off her path.

Melusine stopped. She didn't look startled. She didn't even reach for a wand. She simply turned around, her expression one of mild curiosity.

"Is there a curfew I missed?" she asked. "I was told I’d have time to explore."

"Curfew is at ten," Tom said, stepping into the dim light of a wall sconce. His face was a mask of cold, handsome authority. "However, it is a tradition in Slytherin that new students are escorted. The castle can be... treacherous for the uninitiated."

"I’ve always found I have a very good sense of direction," Melusine replied. She looked at Tom, her gaze lingering on the sharp line of his jaw, then moved to the three men behind him.

Her eyes settled on Hadrian. A flicker of recognition passed through her—not of a face, but of a frequency. She looked at Draco’s pale, sharp features and Regulus’s quiet, observant stance.

"You three," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "You smell like salt and old smoke. Like things that were burned and then brought back from the ash."

The atmosphere in the hallway turned frigid. Draco’s hand drifted toward his pocket, his eyes narrowing. Hadrian stepped forward, his presence expanding, the air around him crackling with the suppressed power of the Elder Wand.

"You have a very strange way of speaking for a girl from the Welsh borders," Hadrian said, his voice a low growl.

Melusine let out a soft, melodic laugh. "And you have a very strange way of existing for boys who should be ghosts. I suppose we all have our little secrets, don't we?"

Tom Riddle stepped closer, his personal space a concept he expected others to respect. He was inches from her now, towering slightly. "What are you?" he hissed, the sound dangerously close to Parseltongue. "I saw your eyes in the Hall. That wasn't a glamour. That was a leak."

Melusine didn't flinch. She leaned in, her nose almost touching his. The scent of her wasn't perfume; it was ozone and ancient parchment and something that smelled like a thunderstorm about to break.

"I’m a student, Prefect Riddle," she whispered. "A Bard, if you want the technical term. I deal in stories. And yours? Yours is much more interesting than the one the Headmaster has in his files."

She stepped back, sweeping a mock-curtsey that was entirely too graceful to be humble.

"Thank you for the 'escort,' gentlemen. But I think I’ll continue my walk alone. I find the stars are much easier to read when there isn't so much... ego in the way."

"We weren't asking," Abraxas snapped, stepping forward, but Tom raised a hand, stopping him.

Tom was staring at her, his dark eyes searching hers, looking for that flash of gold again. He found only the reflection of the torches.

"Let her go," Tom commanded.

"Tom?" Draco questioned, his brow furrowed.

"She isn't going to the Gryffindor tower," Tom said, his voice tight. "And she isn't going to the Ministry. Let her wander. I want to see where she ends up."

Melusine smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "A wise choice, Prefect. I’d hate to have to sing a song that none of you are ready to hear yet."

She turned and walked away, her sandals slapping softly against the stone. She didn't look back, not even when she turned the corner and disappeared into the darkness of the Astronomy wing.

"She knew," Regulus whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Hadrian, she looked at us and she knew."

Hadrian gripped Regulus’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the empty hallway. "She’s not a witch. Not a normal one, anyway. Did you feel the magic when she laughed? It didn't come from a wand. It came from the air itself."

Tom Riddle stood in silence, his fingers tracing the wood of his wand inside his sleeve. He had spent years planning to conquer the wizarding world, to reshape it in his image with the help of his time-traveling consorts. He thought he knew every variable.

"Follow her," Tom said, though his voice lacked its usual icy certainty. "But stay out of sight. If she’s a Bard, she hears the heartbeat of the castle. Don't let her hear yours."

High above in the shadows of the rafters, Melusine sat on a stone ledge, her glamour dropping for just a moment. Her ears lengthened into delicate, elegant points, and the glowing blue tattoos across her collarbone pulsed with a rhythmic light. She pulled a small, silver lute from a space that shouldn't have existed and plucked a single string.

The note resonated through the stones of Hogwarts, a low, humming vibration that only those with ancient blood could feel.

"Oh, Tom," she murmured to the empty air, her eyes glowing molten gold once more. "The story you’re writing is so much better than the original. I think I’ll stay and help you with the ending."