A/N: I'm sorry I'm still trash with schedules. I've been preparing for NaNoWriMo and I'm already low-key panicking. (It's a rewrite of my other HP TR/OC fic, just so you know. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

CS

Tom feels a familiar but much loathed sensation of intense disconcertion caused via unknown adults being within the vicinity. (It'll go away when he's older and has a wand of his own to use, he's fairly certain. After all, they're a lot less intimidating if he's as tall as they are.) But, instead of a noticeably distrusting frown, he opts for something a little more neutral and mildly curious.

"Children," Marcelin begins with an amicable smile. He waves his a hand in the general direction of his two guests and says, "I'd like for you to meet your tutors and my close friends; Isra and Amon Ajmal. These two attended both Uagadou and Hogwarts during their formative years, so I'd like to think that they'd be well suited to assist you with your magical development."

Seated in the lush lounge directly across from his father, Tom examines their features and comes to the quick realisation that they're siblings rather than a couple. (Although, one can't be too sure, considering how often pure-bloods seem to breed amongst one another. At least the Maries understand the detriments of continuous incest.) Perhaps even twins, for the way that they turn towards him and Morgan and smile in unison is uncanny.

Impressive, indeed, but no doubt unnerving. It's probably their intention, if one catches the matching gleams of mischief in their upturned eyes of hazel. The black around their eyes makes it easier with the way it almost forcefully brings one's attention to them.

"Hello," Tom greets while Morgan yawns. He doesn't particularly like the way that he's being so blatantly scrutinised, but he hopes that his opinion isn't so obvious.

The female of the pair leans forward, then, her expression becoming more devious than what's comfortable. She's a woman he would describe as aggressively beautiful. With beige skin, bold makeup, windswept curls of chocolate and navy robes accented with gold; Isra Ajmal looks like the kind of woman that could dominate the world with relative ease.

When she smiles at them with pristinely white teeth, Tom struggles to mask his grimace. She knows she's intimidating and she has little care for anyone who's bothered by her presence. If anything, it's as though she's silently daring anyone to challenge her for her own entertainment.

Tom can respect that, he supposes. It doesn't mean that he likes being on the other side of such a person, however.

(What will Morgan look like when she's an adult, he wonders? Perhaps he'll ask Matthias if there are any photos of Jannetta around that he can use as a point of reference.)

"Sister, please," says the brother, who, in contrast ̶ despite matching his sister to the point of abnormality ̶ exudes an aura that is much calmer and less overtly dominating. "I've told you before that your smile scares even grown men, let alone children. Cease." Then, he lifts the teacup in his hand to take a graceful sip.

Isra's smile becomes more amused than challenging as she leans back and breaks eye contact to let Tom breathe. "My bad, Tom," she apologises as she picks up a biscuit from the tray on the coffee table. "I've been hearing all sorts of interesting tidbits from your father, so I wanted to test your mental fortitude."

Tom glances at Marcelin with a mild frown, but the bespectacled man merely hides a smile behind his teacup. "That's alright," he eventually replies, shifting his gaze to Morgan as she stares into the distance, completely uninterested in their surroundings. The sight makes his lips twitch with mirth. "If I may ask; how did I do?"

"Well, I won't be surprised if you become a prominent figure in the future," Isra remarks, and Tom only just realises that neither of them seem to have strong foreign accents. "I approve of your student, brother. He'll do well."

In response, Amon's gaze slides over to Morgan ̶ to assess her, most likely ̶ who diverts her attention from the window to make eye contact. The former raises a slight brow and blinks, while the latter tilts her head slightly and stares into his soul.

"Well, isn't that unsettling?" he murmurs with a thoughtful hum, sounding rather the opposite of unsettled. "Tell me, Morgan; how would you describe mankind?" Amon takes another sip of tea, then, his eyes taking on a sharper, more calculative edge as he watches the enigma that is Morgan.

While Tom feels a slight frown tug at his face in bemusement, Morgan merely blinks and replies, "Self-destructive." (And the air around them feels like it shifts and gains weight with every syllable.) "Am I in the stars, Amon Ajmal?"

At this, the twins smile together in apparent approval while the male of the pair says, "You already know the answer to that, no?"

Then, without another word, Morgan returns her attention to the window; the world around her ignored once more.

. . .

. . .

Maxence is threatened by the Ajmal twins, Tom realises. He manages remain composed when they pass one another in the hall, of course, but they smile at him in their predatory manner and his fingers twitch as he gives a tense smile in return. It's as curious as it is immensely satisfying.

"Do you think there was another reason for making the Ajmal twins our tutors?" Tom queries, half-expecting an answer and half-not. His brother is certainly more talkative than Morgan, but he can be just as elusive by occasionally going off on a tangent about something else entirely. It's something that Tom thinks he does on purpose, more often than not.

Matthias swallows the bite of the apple he's been chewing on before replying, "One aside from the fact that they're father's close friends and actually capable of tutoring you and Morgan in the art of both wand and wandless magic?"

"Yes." Obviously.

"Well, then." The older boy leans back into the lounge as he turns the page of the book in his lap. "Perhaps it's just an added bonus that they're sufficiently petrifying in uncle Max's opinion. He wouldn't be the first, you know. Aunt Isra and uncle Amon don't stand for slights directed towards their person. You should hear some of the stories about what they got up to in school; Slytherins, through and through, yet they wore blue."

Tom taps his fingers against the library desk in thought. It's possible, of course… Perhaps he simply wants to believe that his father is devious enough to add what could be called extra security. (It still… makes him uncomfortable to realise that he does see Marcelin as some kind of father figure. He's never had one before, after all. What if he betrays him and Morgan, his paranoia whispers?)

Running a hand through his hair, Matthias then says, "But, you understand… Father probably did count on the two of them to be some kind of deterrent." A tired sigh escapes him and he takes another bite of the fruit in his hand before murmuring, "Uncle Max is regressing, I think. Not that he made much progress in the first place, but… It's a shame."

"Yes," Tom drawls, satisfied despite the likelihood of confirmation bias coming into play. "It's a shame, indeed."

(The paranoia is quietened once he reaffirms that Morgan wouldn't lie to him.)

Matthias gives him a knowing smile and says nothing.

CS

A/N: I wanted to make this longer, but then you'd all be waiting for even longer and I'm supposed to be chilling the fuck out with chapter length. Oh, well. Here's some random trivia; Amon and Isra were originally meant to be for a Marauder's Era fic where Sirius already likes the OC and needs to process such horrors. As it is, I once tried to sync my OneNotes and the tab for that particular idea was sent to the abyss. I'm still salty, so here they are.

Also, have you heard of the whole FFN virus shit where you shouldn't go to people's profile pages? If it's still going on by the time NaNoWriMo hits (and you want to read a story I'm going to bullshit my way through), you can either get the links via my Discord; discord. gg / BqB3qu9 (if you're not following me for new stories) or go to AO3 for the cross-post (I'm still MerhppDerhpp). I should probably move most of my stories to AO3, actually.

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.