Chapter Text
Names hold power; she was never told hers. Sometimes, when she stumbled across a pretty name, she tried shoving it onto the end of hers, hoping - praying - the taste of belonging would roll across her tongue. Just once. But no name ever granted her that satisfaction, and she suspected no name ever would.
So, Acantha forced an ill-fitting piece into the blank space - the same piece every other unfortunate soul had taken when they entered these halls: Raguel. The biblical angel of justice. It suited them in an ironic sense: all the Raguel children delivered the justice they never got.
At that moment, their most deadly harbinger of justice fired curse after illicit curse at her, threatening to break through her shield. The golden globe surrounding Acantha splintered every time Cecile’s spells hit it, and she barely had enough time to repair the damage before the next one hit. Acantha couldn’t deny the sheen of sweat which had broken out on her forehead, though she would never admit it to her training partner. Relief washed through her as the power in Cecile’s onslaught of dark magic slowly seeped out, blow after blow, until they ceased altogether. Silently grateful, Acantha wondered how many days in the infirmary she had avoided.
Cautiously, she lowered her shield, glimpsing a panting figure doubled over across the room, her mess of auburn hair strewn across her face. Before Acantha could jeer, however, a prickle crept up her neck.
There was someone at the door.
It took her every instinct to not whirl around, wand at the ready. She reminded herself only Reguelians could enter the pocket.
‘Acantha,’ Professor Merrythought greeted. Even after their few meetings, Acantha had to take in the professor’s impressive height every time. She wondered how it felt to look at the world from the professor’s vantage point - everything probably seemed a fraction less significant. The woman towered over her, the top of her shiny black bob grazing the doorway as she entered. As she walked in, Acantha realised other Councillors including Professor Volkov had joined them as well. Or maybe he was just Volkov. Illegally teaching children - who didn't even exist for that matter - dark magic probably wasn’t recognised as professorship…
‘Professor,’ she replied coolly, eyeing the little entourage, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.’
‘Neither was I,’ she muttered vaguely, waving her hand dismissively. ‘But it seems that some dire circumstances have forced our hands to push the plan forward earlier than expected.’ Acantha restrained the urge to gape at the professor’s nonchalant words, instead waiting for her to continue.
‘The dark energy we’ve been tracking through Hogwarts suddenly spiked yesterday, with a student death immediately following. It may be a coincidence, but the student was muggle-born.’ Merrythought's gaze fixed on Acantha as she finished.
‘You don’t think it was a coincidence,’ Acantha said more than asked. Of course, it wasn’t. Grindelwald’s radical supremacist ideals had even managed to penetrate the esteemed walls of Hogwarts, infecting vulnerable young minds with delusions of “purity”. Acantha turned to Volkov, watching his gaze turn down in shame.
She saw the guilt lurking in his eyes. Even after years of fervently trying to destigmatise the negative views surrounding dark magic, the world had only hated it more after the rise of Grindelwald - the man who was once a boy under Professor Volkov’s tutorship. He realised that the world would never accept his preaching and instead, resorted to teaching those who would listen, forming the Reguelian Council.
She wondered if it was noble of him to take in orphaned and abandoned children or absolutely horrendous of him to take them in purely to train them in the dark arts and eradicating the Grindelwald-inspired supremacist ideals in order to ease his own guilt.
‘We think it is best to send you in now. The circumstances of the event clearly evidence the creation of a Horcrux and whoever is creating them must be stopped before more students - most likely muggle-blooded - die,’ Professor Volkov explained.
‘Would the untimely transfer not be problematic and perhaps suspicious?’ Acantha asked as she followed Volkov and Merrythought to the Council Room where the rest of the Reguelian Council had already gathered. Acantha realised the “last-minute decision” had been much longer in the making than she had first assumed.
‘Of course, it will be problematic,’ Merrythought huffed. She took the head seat usually reserved for Volkov without a moment’s hesitation, marking the beginning of the meeting.
‘As we all know, we have been preparing to send a Raguel child into Hogwarts to further investigate both the rising blood supremacist ideologies emerging within the student body and the recent dark energy surges within Hogwarts,’ she said. ‘However, with the recent death of muggle-blooded student Myrtle Warren which coincided with the most likely creation of a Horcrux, these two events seem very much related. Of course, this would mean that there is potentially a very dangerous student in Hogwarts cultivating radical views of maintaining purity of blood by murdering all muggle-bloods.’ A tense silence settled across the room.
Grindelwald’s departure from England was a chance for the country to finally let go of the breath they had been collectively holding. The last thing they needed while Grindelwald was off terrorising Europe was for one of his slavish worshippers to follow in his footsteps - in Hogwarts nonetheless.
‘The best course of action right now would be to send Acantha Raguel in, and to continue as planned.’ Merrythought nodded toward Acantha in acknowledgment. ‘But of course, we will only go ahead with the council’s unanimous decision. If anyone has any rejections, please speak now.’ Slow chains of murmurs went around, some more uncertain than others, but no one spoke.
‘Then it’s decided,’ Merrythought announced. ‘Acantha, a word, dear.’
Acantha remained in her seat as the rest of the Reguelian Council members filed out of the room, leaving only the professor and her.
‘Now, there will certainly be some hiccups due to the early mark,’ Merrythought began. ‘We’ll need to work through them. First and foremost, it would be impossible to forge a pureblood identity in only a few days. We’re going to have to offer the story that you were born to wealthy muggle parents who had the means to send you to an overseas magical institute. I’ll legitimise your background as much as I can, but we’re racing against time. Thankfully, it’s unlikely anyone will think to look through the lineage of a muggle-blood, unlike purebloods.’
‘Would it not be best for me to use my real identity, then?’
‘No, that would create some problems for existing students.’
Acantha considered the excuse for a moment. ‘The Council doesn’t want me knowing.’
Merrythought also took a thoughtful pause. ‘And that, yes.’
Acantha sighed.
Merrythought continued to list the “hiccups”. ‘You’ll need to pick out a name and practise a backstory before next week - send me a copy of everything. And since we’ll need to improvise every once in a while,’ she added, holding out a thin gold bracelet, ‘the crystal in this is powerful enough to communicate even across Hogwarts borders since there’s no actual transfer of matter taking place. Cecile and Volkov will be on the other side, so just hold down on one of the stones to alert one of them when you need any help.’ Acantha turned the bracelet over to see two inlaid stones: one white and one black.
Acantha nodded dutifully. ‘Will there be any problems with the late transfer?’
‘For administration, yes - many. But for you? No. You’ll just have a larger volume of readings and work to do before finals exams.’
‘What do you mean?’ Acantha asked. There wasn’t ever any talk of “finals exams” at any point of the plan in the past two years of creating it.
‘Dear, you can’t just attend Hogwarts and be exempt from the exams,’ Merrythought chided. ‘Don’t worry yourself. You’d have learnt most things from the council classes, and you only really need to just pass the exams to continue into the seventh year.’ Despite her reassurances, Acantha could already feel the weight of another task adding itself to her ever-growing pile of concerns.
‘Students, I would like you to all welcome a new addition to our sixth-year cohort, Flora Carina.’ Professor Dippet announced, though his tone wasn’t quite as friendly as his words. ‘I expect everyone will welcome her in the warm Hogwarts spirit.’ Acantha didn’t bother to smile. There was a scattering of applause throughout the hall, but she could hear all the whispers poorly masked beneath.
Did you hear? She’s from Durmstrang.
I heard they produce dark-arts-practicing lunatics. After all, it’s where Grindelwald graduated from.
You think she’ll try to do the same as him here?
‘Take a seat,’ the professor instructed, lifting a lofty leather hat above her head. As soon as it touched her scalp, she heard a voice resonate through her mind.
And who are you? The Sorting Hat mused. Acantha was unsure of whether she was meant to reply. You’re quite an interesting one, aren’t you… Hmm… Let me see. A smart one, I must say. Courageous too - recklessly so.
Acantha rolled her eyes at the old hat’s theatrics. It was painfully obvious where she was headed.
But what is this? You have ambition I haven’t seen in a while. Cunning too. That must mean you belong to house-
‘Slytherin!’ it bellowed. A small cheer went up from the Slytherin table as Acantha made her way over and everyone started lining up to return to their common rooms. Someone from the front of the line started calling for a “Flora”; it took Acantha a moment to realise she was calling her .
‘Ah, Flora, I’m Estara Lestrange,’ a gangly girl with the blackest hair introduced. ‘I’m the senior co-prefect of Slytherin. Unfortunately, my partner, Oliver Hugh, has fallen a little sick and wasn’t able to come today. Our sixth-year prefect, Tom Riddle, will be filling in for him.’ A slender boy from behind her smiled at Acantha, offering his hand.
The girl simply nodded, ignoring their odd cheeriness.
‘We’ll be giving you a short tour around Hogwarts for now, just enough for you to get by,’ she continued, leading Acantha ahead of the throng of students with Riddle right behind her. The two took the new girl through several corridors, the library, the Slytherin dormitories, and finally, the common room.
‘And this,’ Riddle concluded, ‘is where we spend most of our free moments. The password at the door is “pureblood”.’ Acantha nodded vaguely, taking in the room. For dungeons, the Slytherin Common Room was quite inviting. The high ceilings gave off the impression of a cave. Small couches were arranged around the area; a lone armchair in front of the hearth seemed especially tempting to curl up in.
The green glow which illuminated the room was surprisingly pleasant as well, so unlike the noxious green Acantha spent most of her days firing in the council training room.
‘Do you have any questions?’ Riddle asked. Acantha quipped a “no”, glancing around to see where the doors leading to the dormitories were.
‘Ah…’ Estara hummed awkwardly, ‘...well if you don’t mind me asking, what’s Durmstrang like?’
‘Drab,’ Acantha replied disinterestedly, pulling from her practiced story. ‘Cold and rainy. Too many slobbering giants who think they’re smarter than they are.’
‘I’m guessing your parents sent you here to be further from the war? They must miss you,’ Estara offered.
‘No, they’re in South England. They only sent me to Durmstrang to learn dark magic.’ Acantha meticulously picked at the dirt under her nails, deflecting Estara’s eagerness.
‘Oh!’ the prefect exclaimed. ‘Oh my, what’s your family line?’ Acantha watched as the crowd in the common room discreetly gravitated towards them, the pack becoming tighter and tighter with every question.
‘Oh, I don’t think you’d know. We’re pretty new money.’
‘Just tell us,’ Estara pushed, now hanging from Acantha’s arm. Acantha shook it but Estara clearly didn’t take the hint. ‘Which bloodline are you from?’ Ah, yes, the same old blood supremacy bullshit. Repulsive.
‘Bloodline?’ Acantha asked, purposively turning the word over in her mouth like a foreign phrase. Estara nodded fervently, her eyes gone freakishly wide. Acantha scoffed at the image of desperation before her and took every pleasure when she opened her mouth.
‘Oh, no,’ Acantha giggled more dramatically than necessary. ‘My parents are muggles, darling. Born and raised in a quaint little muggle town with muggle friends and now the owners of a muggle business.’ Acantha made sure to enunciate the word muggle as much as possible, relishing the way they all receded step by step. The crowd around her dispersed as if she had caught the plague.
‘Oh.’ Estara's friendly face twisted with disgust. Acantha mentally took note of the faces which seemed the most appalled. Her eyes trailed to the few faces she already recognised from the short profiles she had begun building the week before. Finally, they landed on Tom Riddle. The facade of friendliness he had miraculously maintained for the past hour slid right off, revealing a god-awful sneer waiting underneath.