3.

TOM watches, as do all the children, as the happy, perfect couple takes the even happier child for their perfect, loving family. It's the sort of thing you'd see in a book — the sort of thing they'd advertise orphanages as, all cheerful and idealised. Tom has long since past the point of jealousy, but even he can't help but watch every time a child escapes this hellhole. He wouldn't have a chance, anyway; he's too old to be desirable. Adults who come through here only want the youngest, only even considering it because they can't make their own children. Tom wouldn't want to be taken by such flawed people. He's better off by himself.

Even if he doesn't want to be taken by them, seeing those new families so happy does put a sour taste in his mouth. His unappetising, warm grit is even more unappealing. He scoops another spoonful of sludge into his mouth and fights the grimace as it coats his mouth in its claggy consistency. No matter how much he eats this, he'll never adjust to it.

"One day, that'll be me." Some naive child pipes up from nearby Tom. No one ever sits near him, but with limited seats and strict adults, the unlucky ones are forced to at least share a table with him. The wizard slides his cold eye towards the boy, who hasn't noticed his gaze as he talks to his friend. "My dad is going to come get me. I just have to wait."

Oh, to be young and hopeful. To have dreams and believe someone out there still cares about you, that you're here for a reason other than your parents didn't love you or are dead. Tom doesn't remember being like that. He's not sure he ever was. He remembers being angry — being angry that his mother was so weak that she gave up the second he was born, that his father didn't want anything to do with him. He still is angry.

Adoptions put Tom in a foul mood.

*

Dillion has never had Cheerios before. He's only ever had porridge, bacon and eggs, toast — cooked food where a degree of time and care, even for a house elf, has been put into it. This milk and cereal is effective in filling the hole in his stomach, but it lacks that warmth both literally and figuratively.

"I'm going to clean the house today." Dillion tells Ambrosio after glancing around the kitchen. He'd cleaned it a little while stocking up the house, but he can see the spots he missed even from here. It gets worse when he looks out to the untouched lounge room. Merlin, it just makes him shudder.

"I'm sure the house would appreciate it," is Ambrosio's response, which gets a frown from Dillion. The boy doesn't say anything straight away, eating a mouthful of his Cheerios first. They've started getting soggy and what little appeal they had before is quickly disappearing. Someone should have told him cereal isn't the sort of meal you savour.

"You don't mean that literally, do you? The house can't actually appreciate it, can it?" With magic, it's always hard to tell. Worse still, when you start to take into account ghosts and spirits. Dillion has read books on spirits possessing objects, though never anything as big as a whole house. He's also read books on how to cleanse and exorcise, but he's not sure he's quite ready to actually try his hand at one.

"Well, the house itself can't." A 'but' weighs heavily within Ambrosio's words that fill the younger with dread. "But, it is, in some regards, a part of me. So, on some levels, it probably would because I would."

"You could have just said you'd appreciate it."

With magic, cleaning the house is made a fairly simple task. Due to its size and the sheer number of furnishing and decorations, however, it still remains a time consuming one. It takes Dillion a few hours alone to complete the bottom floor, during which he discovers there's not one but two fireplaces that are unfortunately not enchanted like the one he had at home. Dillion has never started a fire before, so he leaves that for another day.

Upstairs is a simpler task, already significantly cleaner. The bathroom remained neglected in the enchantments and needs fixing up, as does the second bedroom. It still takes far less time and energy than downstairs.

It's not long before Dillion stands in front of the ladder that leads to the attic, a wooden structure that's more like a staircase than a ladder at the end of the hallway. Ambrosio rests besides him in the only painting in all the hallways. Dillion assumes that, if it's the only door that has a painting look out, it must be the most important one. With that in mind, he places his hand on the rail and prepares to climb up. Ambrosio remains silent. Dillion puts his first foot on the step, then another, and continues until he's at the trapdoor. Before he can even go to push it open, the door swings open by itself.

The room that awaits Dillion isn't some dark, musty room filled with storage, cobwebs, and shadows. Dillion lets out a soft gasp as he takes in the attic: a large library following the t-shape of the roof, though it feels bigger than it should be. Where the rest of the house was in various stages of neglect, this room remains in pristine condition. It's warm, as if heated by a fire though Dillion can't see a fireplace. As he steps inside, candles flicker to life and fill the room with their orange glow. Books upon books rest in wooden shelves, the same colour as the exposed timber ceiling. An odd static hangs in the undercurrents of the air, soft but still noticeable if you pay enough attention.

"I didn't think the room would let you in." Ambrosio confesses as he takes his place in the frame that rests within this room. Dillion draws his gaze from the books to look at the man curiously. The question must rest clear enough on his face, as the man explains, "I made sure to charm this room more heavily. Not only is it charmed by me, but by other... things I'm sure you're aware of if it even let you in in the first place. Dillion, is it safe to assume you were disowned because you were practicing dark magic?"

"Only once. It was a protective ritual, no actual magic involved. I just wanted to know how it felt." Dillion admits softly. While judgement is clearly not what he needs to fear now, the words still get caught in his throat from his conditioning. His heart race has already picked up as if he's been caught again.

"How did it feel?" Dillion can't meet Ambrosio's gaze, turning casually to the bookshelves. He's sure his affected relaxed manner is completely see-through, but it's better than revealing he's still a nervous wreck. It was only two days ago, so maybe it's understandable, but it's not really a context Dillion has ever had to consider or prepare for. Emotions aren't usually good for any other context — why would here be any different?

"Good." He says, after much hesitation. "Warm."

Ambrosio is silent. Dillion looks to him but doesn't see any judgement, doesn't see any anger, coldness, or hatred.

"No matter what they told you, what you did... It wasn't wrong." The old man's voice is soft, careful, as if Dillion is some volatile child in need of soothing. It's patronising, as if Dillion doesn't know any better.

"I know that." Dillion snaps as fear turns to anger. He sees the words catch in the old man's throat, reconsidering what he was saying. It doesn't make Dillion feel better. "I wasn't doing anything. It was one time. How are you supposed to learn anything if you don't actually try it, practically?" These words aren't meant for Ambrosio. These words aren't even directed at him anymore. "I know I did nothing wrong. I just did what anyone with an enemy would do and learned how it worked. Hiding just makes it weaker."

"The Dark isn't the enemy, Dillion." Ambrosio says carefully, watching his words.

"It's always been the enemy. I should have been allowed to learn about it." Dillion pauses and takes a deep breath in. Then a deep breath out. With it, he forces the tension to leave his body. "None of it matters now."

"Well, this library opened itself up to you. You can read whatever you want — there's no restrictions here." The boy nods his head slowly, taking in all the books once again. He would like to read them. It would pass the time until school goes back, which grows closer and closer. He's not sure he's ready to face his friends and classmates. By the time he's there, he's certain at least someone's parents would have heard the news. And if just one person knows, then everyone might as well know. His social life could be ruined now as well. "I'm going to give you some time alone. Call out if you need me."

"Ambrosio," Dillion calls out just as the older man goes to leave, catching him at the edge of the painting, "Thank you."

"Of course." Ambrosio offers him a warm smile. Dillion can't return it, but he does appreciate it. He hopes that can be communicated silently. The older man doesn't give any indication, just leaves all the way.

Dillion doesn't move immediately. He remains stuck at the top of the stairs, trapped in his thoughts. He'd lost control before. He's not even sure where it came from. The bitterness remains on the tip of his tongue, bubbling up from some barely repressed part of his emotions. It was like he'd been transported back to that night and those emotions. All because Ambrosio had agreed with him, supported him.

Needing a distraction, Dillion moves to the first bookshelf. At a glance, the titles suggest that all these books are dedicated to various aspects of the Dark Arts. Picking randomly, he pulls one of the books from the shelf — one titled 'Magical Traditions'. He sits himself down on a chair resting in the top of the 'T', by the only window in the attic. He would have thought magical traditions were something he'd have a decent grasp on, but it soon becomes apparent that he does not. He'd known about Yule, the equivalent of the muggle Christmas, but it turns out his knowledge isn't much better than a halfblood or well-educated muggleborn.

Dillion soon loses himself in the history of magical celebrations and traditions, the previous outburst forgotten. He remains in this spot until nightfall — somehow, the library always seems to know the next book he'd want. It's only his stomach that draws his attention from the books, forcing him to take a break. And then, once he's full, Dillion returns to keep reading until he falls asleep.

*

The day Dillion has been dreading has arrived. He stands at the entrance to Platform 9 and 3/4, his enchanted suitcase in his hand. Hesitance keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground. Not even on his first year, so eager to begin learning, had he been this nervous. In fact, he's not sure the nerves had even kicked in until the Sorting ceremony and he was faced with the common concerns of what house he'd be sorted into. Of course, it had been an instant decision — Ravenclaw, just like the rest of the family. As if it would have been anything else.

Dillion forces himself to take a step forward, legs feeling like lead. It takes great effort but, slowly, he manages to pick up the pace. Before he'd like, he's walking through the wall and onto the platform. Unlike the other side, this platform is full of chatter and excitement, full of parents and students all bustling around. Dillion pushes through the crowd to the train, having no need to say goodbye to anyone. His mother was usually the only one who dropped him off — she'd always give him a hug, make sure he knew to write, check that he had everything. His father hadn't been there since his first trip, the only important one.

The carriage brings a rush of peace in comparison to the platform, even if it's no less quiet. At least it's less claustrophobic. Dillion doesn't have to fight his way through the walkway to find an empty compartment, which fortunately comes sooner than he'd expected. He settles down in it, putting his suitcase on the luggage rack above him. If his friends haven't abandoned him, they'll find him.

Jude Adams finds Dillion first, after the train has left the station and the boy has convinced himself he's been abandoned. Jude, his lanky housemate who got a growth spurt last year and still hasn't quite grown into his new found height, spots the older boy while wandering the halls, a shining prefect badge resting on his robes. It's with evident pride that he highlights this badge after greetings are through.

"Mother hasn't stopped gushing. I'm the first Prefect in the family, so it's a big deal." Jude explains with a sheepishly pleased smile, unable to confidently brag but still needing to get it out of his system. He settles in slightly, leaning against the entrance to the carriage with his arms folded over his chest. The robes threaten to cover the badge as they fold. "Hornby is the other Prefect. I think it's going to be a challenge working with her?"

"Hornby is the Prefect?" Jude nods his head, clearly as unimpressed as Dillion. "What's she going to do — insult first years into line?"

"Well, that's only one responsibility of a Prefect and it's– well, yes, she probably would do that."

"They're not even clever insults." Dillion lets out a heavy sigh as he considers their newest set of Prefects. Jude make sense, practically being a walking rule book with a love for sucking up to teachers. He's been working towards this role since first year. But Hornby, a bully that still thinks 'four-eyes' is a good insult? The girl is an insult to the concept of a Ravenclaw bully. Not to mention, and more importantly, horrible to the younger students.

"Well, I had better get back to my job. These carriages won't patrol themselves." Jude breaks through Dillion's thoughts with his chipper departure.

"What an eager beaver. It's almost embarrassing how excited you are to go patrol." This only gets a chuckle from Jude, fortunately not insulted by the comment. He gives Dillion a casual half-salute before closing the compartment doors, disappearing down the carriage. Alone again, Dillion is left to wonder if he was abandoned by his other two friends. It would make sense for Jude to not know; his entire family is a completely different circle to Dillion's and Jude is rarely in the loop anyway. But Clay and Solas are far more likely to have received the news. Especially Solas, with her family being so close to Dillion's. It's likely Dillion has lost his best friends as well as his family.

And if they stuck by him after he was disowned, would they stay if they knew why? He's not a dark wizard, but he's clearly tainted by most standards. It was enough for his family to cast him out.

*

The first dinner at the Great Hall is always one of torture. The food is too rich and plentiful. Tom takes one look at all the food spread out in front of him and, every single time, is filled with the desire to eat as much as he can. Of course, in reality, this is never much. Not only does he have to pace himself for appearance sakes, he always feels sick if he eats too much at once. Especially on the first night.

"Black, Alphard." Dumbledore calls from the head of the Great Hall, looking out at the group of first years eagerly awaiting their Sorting. Tom wonders if those students all look at Dumbledore as if he might be their saviour, the man they've been waiting on for years to come and collect them. If they are, they should crush those dreams now. Outside is the classroom and his duties as a teacher, in any personal manner, this is the last time his eyes will set on them.

The dark haired boy that was called is sorted into Slytherin, receiving a collection of cheers from his new housemates. He joins the groups, sitting next to an older girl so strikingly similar even someone that didn't know she was Walburga Black would know they were siblings. The Black family is another strong name that Tom has worked hard to keep on his side. However, if there is one thing Walburga is, it's ruthless in her beliefs — even as a half-blood, raised by muggles no less, Tom has never quite managed to gain her complete acceptance or trust.

Once Dumbledore finishes the sorting, which follows much like any ceremony once the few names of interest pass, Dippet rises from his chair to address the students.

"Welcome, students old and new, to a new year at Hogwarts." Even for a wizard, the man is well past his prime — old and frail both in appearance and voice. Despite this, his voice carries across the quiet audience in a cheerful manner. "It's good to see all your faces and I trust your break was pleasant. I hope, over the break, none of you have forgotten that the Forbidden Forest still remains forbidden. First years, the forest is filled with many inhabitants that may harm you, intentionally or unintentionally. For your own safety, entering the forest is strictly prohibited."

"I bet it's not even that bad." Mort Avery mutters, earning a few chuckles from around him. Tom allows the corner of his lip to quirk up in a slight smirk, before he returns his attention back to Dippet. The headmaster has gestured for a man at the end of the table to stand. Another dark haired man, this one young and only a few years out of school if that. Tom recognises his face, but lacks a name.

Fortunately, Dippet supplies it, "Some of you may know Michael Lux — some of you may know his brother, Dillion Lux."

Tom notices the way the older boy tenses at the mention of the younger Lux, eyes scanning the Ravenclaw table.

"He has returned to us, no longer as a student, but this time as a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He will be teaching the younger levels, while the older years will still keep Professor Merrythought. Please join me in welcoming Professor Lux back."

As clapping erupts across the Great Hall, Eric Nott leans over the table conspiratorially, "So, here's what I heard: Dillion Lux was disowned from his family. Nobody really knows why, family is keeping it hush because, duh, scandal. But it's proper. I bet this reunion is awkward already."

"Who's Lux?" Dominic Rosier, from his seat beside Tom, asks with a confused frown. This earns an eye roll from Eric.

"Pureblood family that worships Light. Does no one keep updated with the Pureblood families or is it just me?"

"If they're not on our group, what do they matter?" Samael pipes up.

"They matter because they can still be useful. Case in point, recently disowned Dillion Lux. If we swoop in now–"

"Fat chance there. Look at the older one." Dominic nods his head towards the teacher's table, where Michael Lux has his head bowed in evident prayer even while everyone around him has already begun eating.

"He could have been disowned for anything." Tom adds as he spoons some mashed potato onto his plate. With someone finally supporting him even slightly, Eric gestures rather aggressively towards Tom as he looks to the other boys — his expression very clearly reads, 'Exactly!'

"Look, I'm just repeating what father told me, okay? I don't know a thing about the Lux outside of that."

"I still don't think there's any point. The guy's a nobody." Dominic says before taking a swill from his goblet. A gold ring glitters on his tanned finger, one that hadn't been there last year. Tom makes a mental note to ask about it later. "He's been disowned from his family so he's got no power. Probably got no money either."

"You don't have to care about him, I was just explaining why I keep up to date with people outside 'our group'." Eric leans back with a quiet huff, muttering under his breath, "Bloody hell."

"Names aren't the only thing that's important anyway." Cessair Lestrange pipes up, casting a glance towards Tom that was far too purposeful to not mean anything. It gathers the older boy's interest, enough to at least see where he's going with this. "If you're not clever or good at magic, your name is only going to get you so far."

"Maybe, but it's about blood. Everyone knows pureblood's magic is better. Muggle blood taints the magic — sorry, Tom." Eric quickly adds as he realises his company. Tom can barely hold his glare back, coming out in a insulted frown.

"Tom is better than all of us and he's got at least one muggle parent." Cessair rushes to Tom's defence.

"An exception, not the rule."

Fuck the lot of them. Really. What right do they have to talk about him like this, as if he's not even here? This is why Tom needs more secure power. Blood is what matters to these people, his brilliance in classes will only last so long. He can't change his blood, so he has to ensure his position remains. Forget loving him — they do that and still manage this. He needs them to fear him. He needs to become the greatest wizard known to man.

"Shut up, you lot. The choir is starting." Dominic brushes the discussion away as a group of students gather in the front of the Greath Hall, toads in hand. Tom has seen a lot of strange things since entering the wizarding world, but this remains on his list of strangest. Who thought toads would serve as musical instruments? They have magic and they chose toads.

The previous argument is soon forgotten by everyone as they choose to instead watch, and at times laugh at, the toad choir and the students unfortunate enough to be holding them. All except Tom.

This year, things are going to change. He doesn't need friends anymore — he needs followers. He needs to know who he is, who his mother was if his father really was such a nobody. Perhaps it's time to accept what he'd been denying all this time — his mother, the woman that couldn't survive childbirth, was magical.

He just hopes 'Marvolo' might mean something. It's time he rid himself of this riddle.

*

"Hi-de-ho!" Clay's voice, thick with his Irish accent, calls as he takes the recently cleared spot beside Dillion, Solas taking the other. It fills the boy with relief to see his other two friends, having spent the whole evening so far with only Jude. Not that the younger boy isn't good company — he just hadn't known where the other two were either, and at this point Dillion was certain they'd abandoned him. "We've come to grace your evening with our presence."

"Where have you two been?" Jude asks with a small pie resting precariously on the tips of his fingers. With one already taken from it, its fruity filling threatens to spill out of its pastry confinement.

"We were waiting for you two on the other end of the table." Solas answers as she gestures further back in the Great Hall, closer to the front. The dark haired girl has gotten a haircut since Dillion last saw her, her hair now resting in a neat bob. "Did you see me with the choir?"

"You were great, Solas. I almost forgot you were holding a toad." Jude praises her eagerly. As predicted, his pie begins to slip, filling dropping onto his plate in a small clump.

"Thank you, Jude. Congratulations on Prefect, too. I told you you'd get it."

"Yeah, 'cause he's such a teacher's pet." Clay comments as he grabs one of the pies from the centre of the table. He's shoved the entire pie in his mouth before he realises Jude is glaring at him. This doesn't stop him from speaking with a mouth full of food, "What? It comes from a place of love, Jude."

"Sure." The younger boy shakes his head softly before he takes a bite of his own pie. His attention is distracted by the food, allowing silence to fall over the group. In that time, Dillion accidentally makes eye contact with Solas, which he'd been avoiding since she joined them. She knows. He knows the second he looks at her that she knows he was disowned. She has that look about her.

That and their families are close. They've been best friends for as long as they had any concept of what best friends were, and longer. She's been with him through everything — which hasn't been much in terms of seriousness, but it's still been his entire life. If they were firstborns and expected to continue the family line, they might've ended up getting married. But neither of them are, so instead Solas is basically a sister to him. So, really, it's no surprise she found out before Dillion could tell her. What is the surprise is she's still allowed to sit with him.

Thankfully, she doesn't say anything in that pause. Before she can, Clay fills the quiet of the group once again, "So what classes are you all taking?"

"Arithmancy and Runes." Jude is the first to answer, quite eager in his response.

"Divination and Magical Beasts. I hear they're easy to get marks in and don't require as much spellwork." Solas answers next, her tone taking on the common tiredness that only grades can bring out of her. For her whole education, Solas's grades have hung on a very shaky pass. She might be the one they all go to for homework, but none of them are about to copy off her in an exam.

"Runes, Arithmancy and Divination." Dillion's classes had been chosen before he was disowned, by his father with future studies in light magic in mind. If it had been Dillion's choice, he might have chosen Care for Magical Beasts instead — something harder to study without the practical element. The boy says as much, leaving out the fact he'd been disowned.

"Maybe you can ask Favian to switch." Jude suggests, nodding his head towards the teachers, where their head of house sits. Dillion and Professor Favian have never seen eye to eye — purely because Dillion chooses when he learns things and Favian is a strong believer of learning what the teacher says. It's hardly his fault the professors can't provide stimulating enough material. It has resulted in several detentions, however.

"We'll see."

"Not that anyone cares, but I am taking Muggle Studies and Arithmancy. Sounds like I'll be all alone in Muggle Studies." Clay pipes up, affecting a sad tone as he looks between his three friends.

"I'm sure you'll be with other people whose parents didn't forbade them from learning it." Solas responds as Dillion nods in support.

"Maybe you both should just do what you want."

"That's the sort of thing that gets you... gets you disowned." Yep, Solas definitely knows. She casts a nervous glance towards Dillion, who chooses to be very interested in his goblet. The conversation is inevitable, but now is not the time or place.

"Then get disowned. If they're not going to accept you for something like your classes, they shouldn't be your family." Foolishly, impulsively, Dillion casts a glance to where Michael sits up with the teachers. His older brother fortunately isn't looking at him, but just the sight of him puts a lump in Dillion's throat, a painful reminder of what he'd lost. This position hadn't been in the works when Dillion was a part of the family — it's a recent development. He wonders if it was because of him.

Dillion realises too late that the group has fallen silent again, and that they're all looking at him. From the looks on their faces — the barely concealed regret on Clay's, the worry as if he might snap on Solas and Jude's — he's beginning to suspect all three of them know. Solas wouldn't have told them before she spoke to him, would she? Even if she didn't, that would just mean someone else knew. Which would mean his family were quite happy to announce disowning him to all their friends — or one of their friends is the gossip.

No matter what, things aren't looking good. Unless his grades save him, he's the very bottom of the pack now. He's no better than Myrtle or Hagrid. Fair game.

"I'm going to get some rest. I'll speak to Favian later." Dillion announces, getting up to his feet. Fortunately the group knows not to follow as he stalks out of the Great Hall. Suddenly, as he leaves, every laugh, every loud but indiscernible chatter is about him. He's nothing.

Desperate to be alone, in the privacy of the dormitories, Dillion makes it to the Ravenclaw tower entrance in no time. It takes the eagle far too long to spring to life, as if taunting him. After a few seconds of silence, Dillion gives the knocker a sharp rap, the sound of metal hitting metal ringing out through the tower.

"Alright, alright, no need to get aggressive!" The door knocker squawks as it looks up at Dillion indignantly. "You see a boat filled with people. It has not sunk but, when you look again, you don't see a single person on the boat. Why?"

Dillion has to pause to think. He's not in any state to be solving riddles now, too caught up in his current social standing.

"They all went under the deck." He knows he's wrong before he even finishes speaking, but he can't be bothered.

"Wrong!" The eagle squawks far too gleefully. "Are you sure you're a Ravenclaw?"

"Shut up." Dillion mutters, sinking down to sit against the wall. He'll be stuck here until dinner ends, unless someone else decides to leave early. Might as well be comfortable.

"Dillion..." The wrong voice calls out, footsteps filling the silence of the tower. Dillion glancing up to see his brother looking down at him, the last person he wants to see right now.

"Disowning me wasn't enough — they had to have you spy on me as well?" Dillion spits, relishing the way Michael recoils at his tone. Whatever concern, genuine or fake, that might have been on the older man's face quickly drops into a frown.

"No one is spying on you, Dillion. I saw you leaving early and wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You were going into the Ministry. Now you're suddenly a teacher."

"I still am going into the Ministry. I'm getting experience here, then I'm entering the Ministry in a better position." Michael pauses as he rests his hands on his hips, letting out a tired sigh. As Dillion flares at him, the older boy fails to meet the younger's eye, looking around the tower instead. "Not everything is about you. In fact, more attention has been on me than ever since you screwed up."

"I never said it was about me. It's about that paranoid man not being able to stop at taking everything from me — at him needing to watch me, to make sure I'm still behaving." Dillion wants things to go back to normal. He wants to pretend that night never happened. But he can't. Not without getting on his hands and knees and begging, which he'll never do. Besides, the damage has already been done. There's no reversing that now. "I don't care. Watch me. Tell him everything he wants to hear. Maybe then you'll be the favourite."

"He would have beat me for what you did. He wouldn't have even let me pack, or given me any money–"

"What? I should be grateful all he did was disown me then spread it around so everyone knows?"

"No, I just– Please, Dillion... You're still my brother. I don't want to fight you."

"Then go away, leave me alone. I don't want to deal with you more than I have to." Dillion won't admit his words hurt even him. As long as he's a part of that family, Michael is just their puppet. It's better this way. He'd rather be enemies than pretend there can be any positive relationship between them. He'd rather not get his hopes up. "Get lost."

"Can I at least answer the riddle for you?"

"No. I don't want anything from you." With a soft sigh, one last look at his brother, Michael finally turns and leaves. Dillion watches him go, listening as his footsteps fade into silence. It's only once his presence is completely gone, does Dillion allow himself to relax once again.

"And this right here is why we make sure we answer the riddle correctly." Jude informs the group of first years behind him in amusement as he spots Dillion leaning against the door, now standing. He'd heard them approaching and figured it'd be better to be caught standing than sitting. Then he can pretend he wasn't here for as long as he was. Without allowing Dillion a chance to defend himself, the eagle doorknocker begins reciting the same riddle for all the newcomers to hear.

As it stops, several voice cry out the actual answer — all the people on the boat are married. Of course.

The group begins clambering into the dormitory with Jude at the lead. Dillion slips in a gap, surrounded by small first years all eager to see where they'll be living. On the other side, as he makes a beeline for the boy's room, he's caught by Clay who grabs his elbow rather tightly.

"Word's going 'round that you were disowned." Clay mutters in a low voice, watching Dillion carefully.

"Did Solas tell you?" Clay shakes his head. "Great... Merlin, how many people know?"

"Not sure. Probably a lot, given the person that told me heard it from a Slytherin." At least it wasn't Solas. Though, Dillion isn't sure if that makes it any better, really.

"You know glasses don't really make you smarter, don't you, four-eyes?" An older girl's voice carries across the room, an unfortunately familiar sound in the Ravenclaw dormitories. In response, there's a loud, frustrated wail from the third-year Hornby is tormenting. Another familiar sound.

"I bet you think you're so funny, Hornby." Myrtle snaps back in her high-pitched voice, only worsened in her anger. "Let's make fun of Myrtle because she can't see."

"Talking back to a prefect... Maybe I should take house points away!"

"Hornby, you'd be taking points from your own house!" Jude yells exasperatedly, distracted from his current introduction to the first years.

"Let's move to the room." Clay suggests, guiding Dillion by the arm before he has a chance to say anything. "Why were you disowned?"

"Exactly what you said — learning what they didn't want me learning."

"What absolute shite. They've got no right restricting what you learn like that." Clay mutters under his breath, something indiscernible but no less angry. As they enter their dormitory, only the quiet chatter of the few other boys settling in fills the room. "I stand by what I said. Fuck 'em. You're better off without them."

Easier said than done. But Dillion doesn't say that. What he does say is, "Yeah."

"Oh, right, timetable. Jude talked to Favian for you. If you talk to him tomorrow, he said you can switch classes. You'll miss the first class if you do it later."

"Thanks." Dillion takes the piece of paper, not bothering to look at it. He'll worry himself with that tomorrow, after he's rested.

"What was it, exactly, that they didn't want you learning?" Clay asks quietly after a pause. There aren't many people around, but Dillion already has one rumour to worry about. He doesn't need another one circulating so soon.

"Nothing big — just didn't fit with what they believed." Dillion brushes it off, but gives Clay a very purposeful look that hopefully communicates 'I'll tell you later'. He's not sure if he will, but at least it'll keep him quiet for now. "I'm going to sleep early. I really was tired."

"We're all still here for you. Don't forget that."

Dillion mumbles a thanks for he heads towards his bed. Within minutes, he's in bed, ready to fall asleep. Sleep doesn't come so easy, however. Instead, he's lying there, wide awake. All he can think about is his brother, his father, the rumours spreading around him. The worst things in the world, all happening to him. All because of dark magic.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe dark magic really is evil.

Because of this, Dillion makes a quiet prayer to Light as he lies there. It doesn't make him feel better, and it doesn't bring sleep any faster, but maybe it did something. If it didn't make him feel so bad, he'd almost be inclined to say it was better than nothing.

Still, it could be worse.