I don't like the terms "good person" or "bad person" because it's impossible to be completely good or bad for everyone. You're a good person to some people and a bad person to others. © Attack on Titan
***The conversation with Meda and her husband left me with mixed feelings. Part of me, down to my puppy dog tears, was happy to mend relations with my family, to see my niece, to just sit and drink tea with my sister. But another part of me whispered in a nasty, squeaky voice: this beautiful, friendly family is not yours.
"You're just an alien who has taken the body of a person you are not and never will be..." pounded in my head as I said goodbye to Meda with regret, promising to visit again soon. And why are the most bitter, hard-hitting words the words of truth? But I didn't want that, did I?
"Maybe I should see a therapist after all?" I wondered, watching a few boys making snowballs and throwing them at each other."Did you say something, sir?" came the clear voice of one of the boys, who was huddling and shaking the snow out of his coat. Apparently, I had spoken some of my thoughts aloud.
"No, mate, you imagined it," I tried to smile cheerfully and cast a distraction spell around me with my hands. Not only did they distract the Muggles, but they also influenced their minds, creating the most convenient explanation for what they had seen. As for me, it was too early to see a psychiatrist; I had unfinished business to attend to today.
***
Lucius Malfoy was born into a very ancient, wealthy and noble pure-blood family. From childhood, Lucius was taught that he was special, because, first of all, he was a wizard, secondly, he was pure-blooded, and thirdly, he was a Malfoy, whose family inspired confidence in the magical community and had great influence in the Ministry of Magic.
Lucius's father, Abrahas Malfoy, taught him to maintain prudence and a respectable appearance above all else, demonstrating his privileged position among his peers, as well as to show respect to members of the ruling class, from whom the family could derive enormous benefits.
Lucius always followed the advice of his late father, took pride in his origins from an early age, and socialised exclusively with children from trusted pure-blood families who, like him, believed in the genetic superiority of those who were "pure-blooded." Following his father's advice, he built up his influence, using kind words and with hard cash, binding promising people to himself. Following the same instructions from Abraham, who, after a quarrel with former minister Nobby Lich, began to finance the Dark Lord when he was still a successful and charismatic politician, Lucius joined the inner circle of the Order of the Valpurge Knights, which promised considerable privileges in the future in the event of success...
Well, in case of defeat, there were always plans to retreat. The Malfoys always come out on top, said Malfoy Senior. And Lucius always listened to him. He was always impeccably aristocratic, controlling his emotions, his clothes, his surroundings, his life, his children... So why now did Lucius Malfoy want to shove his father's advice up his impeccably pure-blooded dead ass?
Lucius Malfoy — the epitome of pureblood, refinement and much more — was now just getting drunk like the lowest of the damned Muggles. The lowest, Mordred his son, a common Muggle.
Lucius Malfoy's world had been shattered three times during his extremely eventful life. The first time was after his parents died of dragon pox, when, left an orphan, Lucius survived to preserve the trading empire he had inherited and earn the approval of the Dark Lord. Then, after the collapse of the latter, when only his accumulated influence, long-standing connections, and huge pile of money were enough to pull himself and a couple of close people out of the cold embrace of a lifetime of living next door to the Dementors.
The funny thing is that half of the charges against him were completely false. Lucius was never a fanatic like Crouch, who truly believed in the nonsense intended mainly for the scum of the Wizarding World and their ilk. Nor was he a psychopath with sadistic tendencies who simply enjoyed killing and torturing, like the Lestranges. He was most attracted to money and the power it gave him. As for Muggles and the rest? Lucius simply never liked senseless cruelty. As a method of influence, perhaps. But simply torturing someone for pleasure — he always preferred dry lines of numbers, preferably seven digits long. Fortunately, that was almost always more than enough.
However, even that half that remained true was enough to ensure that Lucius would never see his son grow up. The unprincipled accountant had managed to ruin the lives and financial well-being of too many people. Too much had been staked on the Dark Lord. And when he disappeared, who would care about the opinion of a loser if it wasn't backed up by goblin gold?
However, he still managed to do it. He endured the collapse of his reputation and almost complete bankruptcy. He managed to get back on his feet, improve his financial situation, and even partially restore his lost influence. He had everything he needed — money, a beautiful wife, a beloved son, power — not the same as before, but still.
In a matter of minutes, Lucius Malfoy's world suddenly began to crumble again, and it was all because of a single letter.
***
A little old bat, worn down by life, with an envelope tied to her wrinkled paw, flapped her wings heavily and flew out of the open window. I hope Malfoy is not asleep yet and will read the letter with the encrypted message within the hour. I need to know whose side he is on.
London is a city of contrasts. Majestic palaces, monumental cathedrals, bright brick buildings of the Victorian era, museums and squares. In the 1960s, London became a centre of youth culture, which influenced its development until the end of the century. The youth culture of that time developed thanks to two factors: the musical success of British performers such as The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, as well as a significant influx of immigrants from Commonwealth countries. It was in London that the world's first underground railway was built and many modern subcultures originated. All this is London.
However, like any city with a long history, London has places where time has no power. Holborn is a district of judges and jewellers located on the outskirts of the City of London. It used to be home to judges' guilds and jewellers' workshops. One of the most famous streets in the neighbourhood is Chancery Lane, home to the famous Silver Pits. In the 19th century, a huge silver storehouse was set up in the basement of one of the buildings, where wealthy Londoners could store their precious metal items, including tableware.
"I have travelled the world, seen all its wonders,
From the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru,
But there is no place like London."
So, it seems, was sung in an old film. I agree, there is no place like London. Near Cheshire Lane, if you turn into an inconspicuous alley, you will find the London slums to this day. In 1844, Irish poet and publicist John Fisher Murray described them as follows: "Hideous, one-eyed, pockmarked creatures... look suspiciously through dirty, paper-covered windows. Rickety children crawl in the mud. The food sold in the local shops is worse than the offal thrown to cats."
Yes, that was over a hundred years ago, but as I said, there are neighbourhoods in London where time has no power.
I was standing on a grey, dirty street near a large cast-iron gate with the half-erased inscription "Wool's Refuge."
"I hope you have a good reason for arranging a meeting... in such a place," said Malfoy, looking around with disgust at the piles of rubbish along the deserted street.
Apparently, he had moved slightly away from the appointed place, as I did not hear the pop of transgression. However, it was a reasonable precaution. Knowing the slippery nature of a hereditary aristocrat, I already thought that he would not dare to come at all. Or that he would not come alone. Fortunately, I had something to interest him.
"Of course, Lord Malfoy, an exciting tour awaits you today," I smiled.
"If this is some kind of joke, then..." Lucius began, but I interrupted him.
"A tour of the past of a certain Thomas Riddle, if that name means anything to you," I continued innocently.
Judging by Malfoy's widened eyes, it did. So much so that he didn't even notice the shift to the familiar "you."
***As far as I know, Riddle didn't share many details of his personal life with his minions. Or, to be more precise, anyone who knew anything about Thomas Riddle's past had long since been fed to the worms. Except for Dumbledore, of course, and a couple of other people he hadn't gotten to yet. However, neither the former nor the latter are likely to tell anyone anything. For various reasons.
While inquiring about the location of the orphanage where Riddle grew up, I was surprised to learn that teachers who bring Muggle-borns into the world of magic simply cannot reveal the secret of their whereabouts to third parties without the official consent of the Muggle-borns themselves. All Hogwarts teachers take this oath, in accordance with the school's charter, when they are hired, along with others — for example, to deliberately not harm students, to defend the castle in case of an attack, to not have sexual relations with persons under the age of consent, etc.
The oath was as old as the hills, some of its points were so archaic that it was enough to make you tear your hair out, but it was still effective, unless Dumbledore had abolished it, along with corporal punishment, of course. It was not a panacea, not at all. If you really wanted to tell someone, you could do so through a mind-reading spell, for example, but it did protect against some very strange inclinations. However," I looked at the pensive Malfoy, "it's getting late, we should hurry up a bit.
"Perhaps," Malfoy muttered indifferently under his breath, but still followed me.
Curiosity and caution — I'm willing to bet that these two traits were battling in my companion's mind right now. The desire to learn about the former "master's" past and caution for exactly the same reasons. However, after Riddle's disappearance, I think the fears of his former comrades should subside a little. After so many years, few believe in Voldemort's return. And they're wrong, by the way.
We passed through the gates and found ourselves in the inner courtyard of the orphanage. The building was abandoned. Before Malfoy arrived, I had already wandered around here a bit in search of documents, not expecting to find anything, but fortunately, no one had thought to take them away. The small room with several shelves of old papers, proudly called the "archive," was almost untouched. It was there, through the dreary black-and-white tiled hall, that I led the disgruntled Lucius, beginning my story."Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort, was born late in the evening of 31 December 1926 in London, in this remarkable orphanage, where his mother, Merope Gaunt, had arrived with her last ounce of strength. An hour after his birth, the baby was orphaned, but before she died, his mother managed to tell the nurses who delivered him that the boy should be named Tom after his father, Marvolo after his grandfather, and Riddle as his surname. Since the ragged beggar woman had not brought a penny with her, the child was raised and educated solely on donations from benefactors. Like most of the pupils at St. Vol's orphanage.
Soon, the nurses noticed something strange about this boy. From early childhood, Tom hardly ever cried, kept to himself and even seemed alienated. And most importantly, strange and frightening things began to happen around him. These were not just spontaneous bursts of magic; no, Riddle most likely already knew how to control them.
From childhood, surrounded by people who hated him, Riddle absorbed this hatred and turned his "unusual abilities" to his advantage. Soon, the children stopped hating the unusual boy, and the hatred in their hearts was replaced by fear. Therefore, when a strangely dressed man with a long red beard came to the orphanage from nowhere and introduced himself as a teacher at a school that wanted to accept Tom Riddle, Mrs. Cole was only too happy.
"Dumbledore? You mean Dumbledore took Tom Riddle himself from the orphanage?!" Malfoy stopped in front of the old, cracked door.
"I think it would be much easier to believe if I saw some proof. Please," I opened the door for the stunned wizard, letting him in. Fortunately, the Supreme Minister of Wizengamot, in his former life as a simple Transfiguration teacher, had suffered from a certain vanity, willingly signing any official document with a long signature. Where is it... Ah, here it is.
I pulled an inconspicuous folder with documents inside out of the cabinet and handed it to Malfoy. He ran his wand over the yellow pages and eagerly read the text. However, there was nothing unusual there, just a consent form from Thomas Riddle's guardian for the boy to attend Hogwarts boarding school, signed with an elaborate signature by a representative of the school.
"As an addition to this document, the folder contains the names and surnames of the children who were in the orphanage with Riddle at the time. In case there are any doubts about the authenticity of the information I have provided," I distracted Malfoy, who was frozen in place, "a couple of memories will suffice.
"Yes, but I think you wanted to show me more than that, Black," Malfoy finally came to life, having overcome his emotions, "otherwise you wouldn't have dragged me here just for a folder."
"Of course," I agreed easily, smiling smugly.
Still, no matter how much of a bully Malfoy was, nature had not deprived him of analytical abilities. The information I had given him today already allowed him to draw far-reaching conclusions. However, it was not quite enough for what I needed.
"The next stop on our tour is the Reddlovs' house. Are you coming after me or do you want the coordinates?"
"After you," Malfoy replied curtly. Apparently, I had already earned a certain degree of trust.
"Let's go," I smiled broadly and spun on my heel.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970