I told you that telling the truth is painful. Condemning yourself to a life of lies is much worse. © Oscar Wilde
***The tour of Thomas Riddle's past continued until almost morning. The once beautiful mansion, the most majestic building in the entire neighbourhood — the Riddle House, now overgrown and boasting boarded-up windows, did not make much of an impression on the sophisticated Malfoy. The same could not be said of the grim history of the old house. Of how the glorious descendants of "Slytherin himself" lived in poverty and filth, how the desperate Merope Gaunt bewitched the handsome Muggle Tom Riddle Sr. About the fruit of their love, who came in the summer of 1943 to take revenge on his father and, at the same time, on his unwelcome relatives, getting rid of his last relative, Morfin Gont, by framing him for life imprisonment in Azkaban.
The old Muggle gardener who looked after the Riddle house in Little Hangleton, Frank Bryce, who suffered from memory lapses, kindly shared some memories of the life of Merope Gont, Tom Riddle Sr. and his family.
Fortunately, or perhaps through oversight, the future Voldemort did not pay attention to the old gardener, who was peacefully dozing in his room at the time of the murder. Well, the Aurors were quite satisfied with the testimony of Morfin himself, whom Tom had implanted with memories of the murder of the Riddles and the examination of the latter's wand. Only the memories of the employees themselves and their visit to the Riddle home were erased.
"That concludes our tour for today," I said, putting the old veteran to sleep with a spell, while also adjusting his memories of the erased day. Because of the rude Obliviate, the old man was still tormented by guilt, suspecting himself of murdering the owners of the house. Now I "helped" him remember that ill-fated evening and left him some money he had "saved up for his old age" as compensation. After all, the old man had served this house faithfully for many years, and he certainly wasn't to blame for the fact that the evil puppet of all Britain needed revenge. "So..."
"For today," Malfoy echoed, looking at the cracked walls with an expressionless gaze. "So you have something else?"
"I don't know, Lucius. It all depends on the answer to one very important question," I said, leading Malfoy to the obvious conclusion.
The purpose of today's performance was extremely pragmatic. After giving in to the impulsive part of my soul and taking my godson away, I was faced with a fundamental question: what to do next. With my intervention, the chain of events described in the book had been interrupted. The future could go anywhere.
It would have been easier if I knew for sure that Dumbledore was on the side of good and wanted to destroy Voldemort, that the characters in the book were really divided into "good and bad," and that a happy ending awaited us all in the end.... However, in the real world, there is no black and white; most often in life, there are shades of grey. And the canonical happy ending may only be happy for some, and it is unlikely that Harry and I are included in this list of lucky individuals, despite the notorious luck of the Chosen One.
I thought long and hard about what to do next. Leave the country? Very funny. This is not the modern world of the twenty-first century, where the phrase "citizen of the world" sounds quite contemporary. The world of magic is, in principle, quite medieval, with its clannishness, secrecy and blood feuds. You can hide somewhere in the wilderness your whole life, but it's hardly possible to live a normal life. Especially considering that the psychopath Tom will return, even without our help; he has enough followers.
"No one can live in peace while another lives" — that's how the prophecy goes. And it doesn't matter what I believe, the main thing is what Riddle himself believes. This means that Harry will not be safe in England, France or the Arctic Circle as long as this maniac has even the slightest chance of returning to his existence.
The only guarantee of a peaceful life for me and my godson right now is to rise to the top of the food chain, destroy Voldemort, and protect myself and Harry from his minions, Dumbledore and the rest. It is impossible to do this alone, which means that I desperately need Malfoy and his connections. As an unprincipled financier who has already been through the shit and has no desire to return there. As a politician who already has a lot of power. As a man bound by both blood and a common goal. Or as a man who is no longer a threat to anyone.
"And what is that?" Lord Malfoy turned his light eyes on me.
"Tell me, Lucius," I looked him straight in the eye, activating my aura vision, "do you want the Dark Lord to return?"
***
"Tell me, Lucius," Black said in a cold, expressionless voice, "do you want the Dark Lord to return?
"I don't understand... He's dead, isn't he?!" Despite all the artefacts he had prepared for emergencies, Malfoy became frightened and suddenly wanted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
His companion's dark grey eyes suddenly seemed completely black, literally filled with darkness. Damn Lord! Damn Black! Damn Narcissa!!! Why did he agree to this meeting...
"Not quite, my slippery friend," Malfoy suddenly heard a painfully familiar intonation, "I have reliable information that your 'Lord' is not only not dead, but is planning to return to the world of the living in the near future. The mark hasn't completely disappeared, has it?
"How do you...," Lucius replied automatically, as a terrifyingly realistic picture unfolded before his eyes.
The Dark Lord is returning, what will he do next? Just live? Ha! A new war will break out, even more uncompromising and bloody than the First Wizarding War. Before Voldemort took action, Malfoy participated in his political programme, helped draft it, and bribed the right people. Slogans of equality for all wizards, the revival of a magocratic monarchy, the study of all aspects of magic, and much more were attractive even to some ambitious Muggle-borns, who were destined for minor roles in the wizarding world. If he is revived now, this will not happen. Only rivers of blood, murder, and chained dogs roaming the streets.
"So tell me, Lord Malfoy. Think carefully. Is it really you who wants the return of Tom Riddle, known as the Dark Lord Voldemort?" Black continued to stare intently at Lucius, who stood there, frantically pondering the sudden revelation. "Especially considering who he is and how he will use those who betrayed him once."
And Lucius broke. He suddenly understood what awaited him after Voldemort's return. First, the resurrected Riddle would need his money. Then, when he no longer needed it, Lucius himself would also become useless. Perhaps his family would be spared, Draco would accept the mark — but for the Malfoy family, it would be the end. Not with the knowledge he had gained today about Lord Voldemort's past. Lucius loved money very much, but he loved his wife, his son and his life even more. And Lucius suddenly realised that Sirius Black, who had returned from Azkaban, was not the rebellious Sirius that Narcissa and he himself had known. Nor was he another of Dumbledore's puppets, as he had first thought.
Instead of a slightly crazy former prisoner, standing before him was someone truly worthy of the head of the Black family. Lucius couldn't help but notice the manipulation of his curiosity, greed, and vanity, which had ultimately led him here and left him no choice but to speak honestly, as honestly as a true Malfoy could:
"No, Lord Black. I do not wish to resurrect the half-blood Thomas Riddle, and I am prepared to assist you in your endeavour, whatever it may be," Malfoy finally decided, this time looking boldly into the abyss that was drawing him in. "But I have a few conditions."
Malfoy remained Malfoy in any situation. Even when diving headfirst into the abyss. At least with this abyss, it was still possible to negotiate.
***
The conversation with Lucius had exhausted me. All these plans, machinations and so on were not my forte. In my previous life, I had helped my father in his business and even managed his company for a while, but all these games of thrones... TV series were much more interesting to watch. The exhaustion from the tense negotiations was compounded by a sleepless night, so when I arrived at Grimm Square, I collapsed straight into bed, only managing to cancel the tasks I had assigned to Creacher.
I managed to get a little sleep, there wasn't much time left before dawn, but a complex of potions quickly brought me back to normal. Fortunately, magic allows you to push the boundaries of what is permissible with virtually no consequences. If you don't abuse it, of course.
When I went down to the kitchen, I found Harry stuffing his cheeks with cheese pancakes, Lucky lazily gnawing on some bone, and an unusually contented house elf, who was apparently preparing yet another serving for the little one.
"Siri!" the little one greeted me happily when I appeared in the kitchen, rushing from the table towards me and accidentally stepping on the dog's tail. To his credit, Lucky didn't even put the bone down, just looked at me with a pained expression, as if to say, "And I have to put up with this?" I laughed, hugged my godson, and winked at the dog.
"No messing around during dinner," I said, waiting for the child's excitement to subside, and sat him back down at the table.
"So, I can misbehave, but only after?" Harry continued in an innocent voice, helping himself to another serving of pancakes.
"Before and after, but only neatly," I said, not surprised by the boy's quick wit. "Did you drink the potion?"
"Well, Si-i-i, they're so disgusting!" my godson grimaced.
"Medicine often doesn't taste very good," I replied, also paying tribute to Kreacher's culinary masterpieces, "but that doesn't mean you shouldn't take it."
"The young gentleman drank it all this morning," Kreacher squeaked unexpectedly. Then he added proudly:
"I keep an eye on the master's health.
Unexpectedly. However, I did order the house-elf to take care of Harry in my absence. Still, I need to buy him another elf to help him. Once activated, the altar will attract a dozen house-elves. Well, according to my calculations, I sincerely hope that's correct.
"What are we going to do today?" Harry asked me after a short break filled with pancakes.
"Today I'll introduce you to your aunt and cousin. We'll go visit them," I finally decided, thinking over Malfoy's condition. Among other things, Lucius really wanted Harry and his son to become friends. In principle, the motives behind all this are not difficult to understand. Extra security, and the status of being friends with the boy who lived for his son — a more than solid contribution to political capital. However, Harry's social circle should be diverse, at the very least. And I would like Harry's first friend to be the cheerful and mischievous Tonks, not a baby snake.
So, after destroying everything Kreacher had prepared, I sent Harry to get ready for his visit, and quickly but carefully looked through the letters that had accumulated over the past few days. There was a lot of waste paper, and I sorted it, as usual, wearing dragon skin gloves. There were no obviously dangerous ones among them; the house's defences automatically burned such letters along with the owls that delivered them, as well as anything containing even a gram of magic, but this did not apply to non-magical poisons, so I had to be constantly on guard.
And in the charms of my head bubble, just in case. And I checked everything several times with spells. My paranoia only subsided with the last letter, which, incidentally, contained congratulations from some French reporter who insistently offered an interview.The rest of the letters were similar: interview requests, congratulations, invitations to various receptions, a couple of anonymous insults and wishes for a quick death. It's called "feel like a celebrity," huh. I burned the letters, setting aside only a few: an invitation from the Minister to a ball in honour of the winter solstice, a letter from Rita Skeeter reminding me about an interview, and a letter from the mercenary guild, to whom I had long ago sent a request for a combat magic teacher and tutors for Harry. Since he doesn't go to school, I'll have to hire tutors, fortunately my finances allow me to pay for the guild's services, which are far from cheap. It's a pity that tutors don't deal with socialisation issues.
Another letter I had set aside was a message from Crouch Senior with a single question: "Where is my son?" Not very timely. It seems that this issue needs to be dealt with first.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970