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Chapter Text

When Hogwarts first felt the touch of the boy’s magic, it was on the robes of the Transfiguration Professor when he arrived back after a trip into the Muggle city.

Hogwarts didn’t know the boy that the magic belonged to, but she knew it was lovely magic. Strong and powerful and smart and so very clever and curious.

But scared. Oh, it was scared.

She couldn’t wait until the boy arrived so she could take care of him and encourage him to grow and learn.

(Even if Dumbledore had already decided he didn’t like the boy.)

(Not that she knew exactly what had happened, but the pictures and house elves gave her a clear picture of his muttering, and she got the gist.)

But he would be hers, and she would protect him. (Regardless of what that Professor thought.)

When her Tom Riddle arrived on September 1^st, Hogwarts reached out to him with joy. Finally, he was here!

When she touched his magic, familiar but so much larger than that single glimpse had given her, it leapt for her touch, aching for kindness and connection.

When she knew him, from that ever-so curious reach, she mourned for yet another lost childhood. His magic was wary, and defensive, and tinged with the cruelty that he had picked up from those around him. Only the inherent protectiveness and possessiveness of her own vast magic was enough to have him reaching for her. Everyone else, he was closed off from.

His magic was not cruel, in and of itself. No child’s was. But it held a thin veneer of cruelty for defense, and she mourned that. Hopefully, with time and careful guidance from her own magic, he would unlearn that defense mechanism before it burrowed any deeper into his magic.

She also knew that he hated, and was terrified of, Dumbledore for what he had done. She didn’t know the exact details.

Yet.

It took until Yule break for her Tom to tell her what that Professor had done to him that left such a deep scar. The boy was curled up in a comfortable chair in one of the normally deserted rooms within her walls that was free of pictures. She had made certain to have her elves set up the room for him and send him snacks whenever he asked for them. He was still far too thin for her liking. He had been suspicious of the room for quite some time, before he realized that it wasn’t a set-up.

(He still didn’t know it was her directly, but he was aware that the house elves would give treats to those who treated them nicely, and he was always so polite to them when he could be. (Her elves understood the necessity of acting around those who thought themselves better than them for their own protection. They didn’t hold it against her Tom. Not when he did the best he could.))

Her Tom often used the time alone to talk out loud to himself, musing about this subject or another. This time, his musing took a darker turn, working through options of what he could do to the old goat to get back at him for what that Professor had done to him before September.

When Hogwarts heard what the old goat had done, she raged, deep within her where it would not hurt her children. (Never hurt her children.)

(She didn’t fault him for the fantasies (or plans) of revenge. After all, she was planning something much worse for the old goat.)

Alone, and separated from the culture he should have grown up in, and ostracized by those around him, and still scared of what he could do, and that Professor set what little he had on fire! All because the old goat listened to a matron who was also scared and overworked, and the words of the boys who had bullied her Tom so badly.

And because her Tom had a gift, that of Parseltongue. A gift of magic, like many others, yet since that Professor saw it as Dark (it was not), it coloured his interactions with her Tom significantly.

That was the turning point. None of her professors were allowed to act that way towards one of her children. She had been watching the Transfiguration professor and was aware of his inclination for plots and manipulations of other people. She had tolerated it, simply because she didn’t interfere in the severe ways the situation would have required unless necessary, and because she was aware that some of those who were hers were simply wired that way.

Until they used that inclination to deliberately hurt one of hers. (Especially as an adult towards a child, and as a teacher towards a student. Student to student was managed a bit differently. She drew the line at causing harm, but plots and pranks were allowed, unless she needed to interfere. She had her ways, and her professors that could hear her helped immensely. (Even she was not omniscient.))

Dumbledore had to go.

Fortunately for her, a single professor, powerful though he was, was not capable of inserting himself into her wards enough to block her from doing anything whatsoever. So Hogwarts began to plot, and plan, and gather what she would need to rip that infestation of a poisonous spider from her walls.

She could be patient, especially as he had not moved against her Tom since then, but simply acted as another teacher, albeit one who did not nurture her Tom but was fairly cold towards him.

Cold as he was towards all her Slytherins, though he held almost all the tendencies of that House. (Ambition and resourcefulness and determination.)

(She would not destroy anyone for prejudice, though it was when it escalated to harm that she stepped in.)

But for all that Professor’s patience and cleverness, he could never hope to match Hogwarts, especially with her house elves on her side.

She could wait until he stepped over a line within her walls. Then she would rip him out of her magic and rebuke him and refuse him re-entry. The old goat would no longer be trusted with the care of her children. She would monitor him closely, and pick at him, until he cracked (without hurting anyone) and she could get rid of him.

(Plus, the house elves loved the opportunity to implement some of their meaner tricks and games. It was good practice for them, to keep their skills up just in case it would ever be needed.)

(And if, somehow, news of what her elves were doing found its way to the ears of her Tom, well, it was her prerogative to bring her children joy, was it not?)

Chapter Text

She watched that Professor carefully, and closely, for her Tom’s first three years. Year One and Two, there was nothing that she could exploit.

(She was unable to remove a Professor without sufficient reason, and proof.)

(But he would slip up, of that she was certain. Prejudice that strong will always come out. And she would be ready when it did.)

But she kept a close eye on her Tom, nevertheless. Watched him as he grew every stronger in magic and charm both, working his way up through the ranks of the Slytherin hierarchy. Most of the teachers enjoyed having him in class (which only made the old goat more suspicious.)

Her Tom could not hear her, not fully, not as much as some could. But he would pay attention to her magic, and could feel her warnings and rebukes and praises and comforts. She was able to guide him away from some of the more self- and other-destructive magics, and towards the fascinating and complicated ones that would harm neither himself nor anyone else.

Hogwarts was able to protect him from some of the other students, before he showed his strength, when whispers of blood prejudice ran through his House. (But it didn’t take long until that subsided, as her Tom reached the upper ranks within the House.)

(She could not prevent all the bullying within her walls, but she could help, and would, as much as she could.)

She was able to comfort him when he didn’t want to go back to the orphanage, that first and second summer. He went, but his magic clung to hers until the last possible second, leaving the train station at King’s Cross, stretching thin and far before snapping apart and recoiling into his core in order to slam his walls shut once more.

(She didn’t blame him. Wixen, especially lone children, were not safe in the Muggle world.)

(She resented the Ministry for cutting funding to the Department for Families and Children. So many wixen children on their own, in Muggle, and therefore unsafe, environments.)

(Not that she loved her muggleborn children any less. Simply that a wixen child alone with Muggles meant that said wixen child was inherently not safe, whether because of parents or because of others. Even if they were safe, they were not a part of their culture, and it would never become quite as natural to them as to those wixen born into it. She wanted all her children together, and safe.)

Year Two and Three Septembers, it took no time at all for her Tom’s magic to reach for hers the second he was in range. It did take longer for him to be able to hear her, and she again mourned the loss of the security that should be present in childhood.

Year Three, her Tom came back to her more terrified than he had been before. Over the course of the year, she heard his whispers to her about the war in Europe, the Second World War, and all the changes that were happening. She heard of the mass evacuations of children, of the intermittent bombs being dropped on London. Of the food restrictions, of the drafts already rolling out, of the shortages. Of the air raid drills and blackouts.  

She heard his terror that he would be sent back again over the summer, and that the orphanage would be empty and evacuated. Or bombed and destroyed.

That he would die, blown up by a bomb or trapped in a shelter or stuck outside during an air raid.

Hogwarts heard all this.

And then she heard that Deputy Headmaster tell her Tom that he would have to go back to London over the summer, because they could not find a place for him to stay and it was not allowed.

And with that singular statement, Hogwarts had what she needed.

According to the Charter, the decision to leave a student in harm’s way, even over the breaks, in full knowledge of the harm that could happen, counted as an unforgiveable offense against a professor, much less the deputy headmaster, who was in charge of student welfare.

It was not like it would be impossible, or even difficult, to find a wixen for her Tom to stay with. Despite only being fourteen, he would have been able to start an apprenticeship. With his strength and grades, many would have taken him.

He could have been billeted in the boarding house in Hogsmeade. He was old enough to stay there with only minimal supervision for less than three months.

He could have stayed with another family with children within her walls. Many would have offered, if only for the social capital.

But that Deputy Headmaster, that Dumbledore, simply said no. Decided to condemn her child to a summer of horror and terror for his own life, in addition to all the hardships running rampant in the Muggle cities at the moment.

In doing so, he signed his own condemnation as well.

She immediately ejected him from his office, and his belongings from his quarters (her house elves delighted in roughly handling his delicate instruments.)

(He was not polite to them.)

Within seconds, the previous professor found himself standing outside her gates, outside her wards, with all his belongings in a messy sprawl across the grass, thoroughly locked out.

As was protocol, the Headmaster was notified that the castle had taken such decisive action.

As were the Aurors.

Both Headmaster Dippet and the Auror team arrived at her gates at approximately the same time, only minutes later.

The old goat attempted to start hoodwinking the lot of them, but Hogwarts portrayed her judgement on her gates, clear for all to read.

Albus Dumbledore. Condemned for intentional mistreatment of a child and deliberate mishandling of the placement of a child under need of assistance. Albus Dumbledore is now banned from Hogwarts permanently.

Under the old, old protocols put into place for this sort of scenario by the very Founders who laid her foundation stones, the old goat was taken into custody immediately.

Her investigations were incorruptible, her evidence unmistakable, and her judgement final.  

The ex-professor would be assigned a punishment by the courts according to the judgement she had laid down. No further evidence needed to be given, and the child in question did not need to be involved.

The punishment would be heavy, as every wixen child was precious, but the societal ramifications would be far worse.

No one would trust the old goat for much ever again, not once they knew it was Hogwarts who had cast her judgement upon him.

The castle had not acted upon a professor in over a hundred years.

She had not needed to.

Said child had watched all of this happen from the magically magnified window in the office he was still standing in. She wrapped him in a thick cloak of her magic, and satisfaction was radiating from her.

Her Tom was slightly in shock, though the warm blanket of her magic helped.

She made certain that no one would enter the office until her Tom left. He needed a little bit of time before anything else happened.

Her Tom was silent for several minutes, though his magic was whipping around agitatedly.

“Hogwarts?” he whispered.

She warmed the magic still wrapped tightly around him and sent a feeling of praise and confirmation through it.

“Oh.”

It was silent again for several minutes before her Tom whispered again.

“Thank you.”

Her magic swelled with protectiveness and possessiveness, and her Tom’s magic responded as it always did, except this time he was aware of it. His magic twined through her with fondness and a rare feeling of safety.

Hogwarts basked in the moment with her Tom until he started getting restless, then she called a house elf.

Her Tom jumped at the sudden crack behind him and whipped around to face it.

His wand did not come out, though, and she was proud of him for that.

(She made sure he knew it, too. His ears pinked.)

The house elf, Hines, held out a small hand, looking up at her Tom. “Mistress Hogwarts says to take you to Headmaster Dippet, Mister Tom. To sort out where you’ll go over the summer.”

(Her house elves know how to talk properly, always have. Improper grammar was a good way to make people underestimate you. Her house elves knew the value of being underestimated. (It helped them in their games.))

Her Tom reached out, and Hines popped them both away. Hogwarts was satisfied that, after that show at the front gates, Headmaster Dippet would figure something appropriate out. (Not that she wouldn’t be watching, mind you.)

(The list of options she’d had a house elf leave on his desk wouldn’t hurt matters, either.)

Her Tom would be safe now. Physically and mentally.

Being that afraid wasn’t good for anyone, never mind a child whose mind was still developing.

She wanted him to have the best opportunities he could, and not have him pull himself down into Dark magic because of his fear and genius.

Her Tom could hear her now, and he would listen.

And the old goat was out from her walls, and under shame from society, and so his opportunities to manipulate the next generation were cut off at the neck.

Everything was changing for the better, and Hogwarts was pleased.