Snakes' den, part II
— CHAPTER FOURTEEN —
Snakes' den, part II
"What else you need to know about Secundus is that he has two brothers. The eldest, Primus, is the head of the family and runs the law firm with his uncle, his late father's brother," Riddle continued, his wine glass almost empty. He set it back on the coffee table. "He got married last year, presumably for love, although I suspect Madelline's family fortune played a role in his decision."
"It sounds like marrying for love is something to be despised," Harry interjected, unable to contain himself.
Riddle's response was a meaningful look.
Harry waved his hand dismissively. This was about the pre-Death Eaters, after all.
"So, Primus is the oldest. I guess Secundus is the middle one," Harry concluded.
"Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me," came Riddle's snide remark. Harry ignored the jab. "Secundus assists his brother in the family business, and the youngest, Tertius, is still at Hogwarts, in his sixth year. You won't meet him tomorrow, of course."
Harry sighed. "I was supposed to meet all of them," he grumbled.
Riddle smiled ominously.
"Don't worry, you'll get to know him. And it'll be soon."
o.O.o
Soon after they were comfortably seated in their armchairs, the others joined them. Tom, of course, took the central seat, with Abraxas, Primus, Secundus, and Sebastian surrounding him, sitting like an entourage around their king. For the moment, however, his courtiers were unaware of their subordinate position, still believing themselves to be his close friends, not tools to be used.
Abraxas Malfoy, always the picture of aristocratic elegance, lounged to Tom's right. His pale blond hair caught the light as he turned his head, his steel-blue eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Tom, concealing his irritation behind a facade of politeness. Primus Lestrange, tall and imposing, sat with a straight back and a calm, confident demeanor. His handsome face exuded kindly interest. His younger brother, Secundus, appeared more relaxed, his brown eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and intelligence, though when they met Tom's grey eyes, a hint of caution appeared in them. To Tom's left, Sebastian Selwyn, with his roguish charm and easy smile, leaned back in his armchair, spreading an air of casual confidence.
One day, they would crawl to him on their knees, kiss the hem of his robes, and call him their lord, just like those Death Eaters in the graveyard Riddle had seen in Potter's memory. One day. Sadly, not yet.
For the time being, both he and they had to play roles for which they were not destined. So Riddle pretended not to notice the irritation in Abraxas' eyes, letting Malfoy think he was hiding his true feelings well. Nor did he pay any attention to Selwyn's overly casual pose, or the conviction that sometimes emanated from Primus that he was doing Tom a favour by treating him as an equal. In time, he would teach them otherwise.
"Abraxas, you know how to throw a party," Primus Lestrange said, raising his glass to Malfoy, his voice calm and measured. Thanks to the silencing spell, the music from the other end of the ballroom could be heard but did not interfere with the conversation. "The food is exquisite, the music excellent and the wine..."
Abraxas smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. "One must maintain standards, Primus. After all, what is the point of wealth if not to use it?"
Secundus laughed slightly. "Touché. Brother, you should follow his example. I don't think our clients would be offended if we served them wines from the Rosier vineyards. It's from Everett, isn't it?"
Abraxas inclined his head slightly. "Yes, it's a gift from Everett. This year, he outdid himself."
"I'll have to tell him to do the same for my birthday," Sebastian said, taking a rather large sip of wine. "Too bad they don't make Firewhisky. If they did, I'd be a regular customer."
"If they started, I would personally recommend that Everett cut off your access to it," Abraxas laughed.
Sebastian gave him a look of indignation, though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"I would have bribed him. Or sent Aspara to him, then he'd give it to me for free, just to get rid of her."
Primus shook his head disapprovingly.
"You underestimate her. Madeleine always speaks highly of her."
Sebastian squirmed ostentatiously.
"Because she doesn't live with her every day," he retorted tartly. "If she grumbled at her like she does at me, she'd be sick of her too."
"You know, women have their own needs," Primus began in an expert tone. "If you satisfied her from time to time, she would probably be less annoying."
"I'd have to force myself to touch her first," Sebastian said, feigning a shudder of disgust.
"You're exaggerating," Tom said lazily, joining the conversation. With a wave of his hand, he summoned another glass of wine from the tray. This single, effortless display of wandless magic had, of course, not escaped the attention of his Slytherins. And that was the point. "Your father could have chosen an uglier wife for you," Tom added as he gracefully grabbed the glass floating towards him and took a sip, smiling under his breath.
Sebastian's eyes gleamed with keen interest and hunger for knowledge.
"Tom, I hope you know that showing off wandless magic like this is cruel? At least tell us where you learned it if you don't want to teach us."
The looks of the others expressed similar sentiments; wielding wandless magic wasn't something common among wizards. Abraxas pressed his lips together slightly, though the corners of his mouth still curled upwards.
"I was taught by a wizard from Cappadocia," Tom replied mercifully, deciding that after weeks of demonstrating his new skill to his Slytherins, he could finally satisfy their curiosity. "I spent several months in his company."
He did not add that after the wizard had shared all his knowledge, he had killed him without remorse because the price demanded for his teachings was too steep. Tom hadn't set out on his journey to Albania to leave Rowena Rawenclaw's tiara in the hands of some old man living in a cave. Such details were irrelevant.
"Cappadocia..." Primus Lestrange repeated thoughtfully. "You never mentioned traveling so far on your journey. You must tell us more about it. You were gone almost a year and a half, and we don't know what happened to you during that time."
Riddle suppressed a feeling of irritation and a growing desire to curse Lestrange. He didn't like being told what to do. Unfortunately, for the moment, he still had to endure this impertinence.
But he didn't have to reveal all his secrets.
"Abraxas' birthday party is not an appropriate occasion for tales of my travels," he replied evasively, raising his glass in Malfoy's direction. "I don't want to divert the attention and interest he deserves today."
"As secretive as ever," Secundus sighed, seemingly to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear.
One day they would fear him enough to keep such thoughts to themselves. Or not have them at all.
Sebastian smiled mischievously. It was clear that dropping the subject of Aspara had served him well.
"Speaking of secrets, where's your elusive brother? I heard you brought him with you. I'd like to finally meet him."
Abraxas' lips tightened further, and his knuckles whitened slightly as he gripped the stem of his glass.
"The last time I saw him, he was on the terrace with Curtis, Brandon, and Everett. But have no fear. Sooner or later, he will grace us with his presence, and you will have the opportunity to meet him," Riddle said calmly, feigning obliviousness to Malfoy's reaction. Perhaps he couldn't yet throw the Cruciatus Curse at his Slytherins every time they displeased him, but he had plenty of other ways in his arsenal to punish them and subtly show them their place.
"I've met him," Abraxas spoke up, his voice perfectly controlled. "Tom, with all due respect, I'm not impressed thus far."
Riddle shrugged elegantly.
"You don't choose your family," he said. At the same time, he looked at Selwyn meaningfully. "But I can assure you there is potential in him. It just needs to be awakened. He's still young, which is good, because I'll be able to shape him in my own way," he added with a sly smirk.
"How old is he?" asked Secundus.
"Sixteen. But he'll be seventeen at the end of July."
"He's young indeed," concluded the younger Lestrange brother.
Primus raised his glass in Riddle's direction.
"If you need advice, I have experience." Secundus didn't even flinch, although Tom knew that Primus had taken his role rather seriously and had proved to be a strict and demanding guardian, unlike their gambling addicted father. "I've heard your brother is quite a troublemaker," added Primus, taking a measured sip of wine.
This time it was Riddle who showed extraordinary composure, though inside he was raging with the desire to throw Crucio at Potter again. That was why he had been so angry when he had found him in the Leaky Cauldron; he knew that this matter would come back to haunt him more than once. Dolohov must have found out and told Primus.
"What did he do?" Abraxas was immediately interested.
Primus looked at Tom as if to ask if he could tell them. Riddle nodded almost imperceptibly; if Primus didn't do it in front of him, he would probably do it when they were alone. That way at least Tom would be able to steer the conversation.
"He was rumoured to be caught stealing in the Leaky Cauldron."
Tom sighed so that he sounded like an older brother tired of his younger sibling's antics.
"Unfortunately, it's true. He did it to spite me," Tom admitted.
Abraxas scowled in obvious disapproval. He was being too theatrical for Tom's taste. Secundus frowned slightly, while Sebastian burst into genuine laughter.
"Well, you've got yourself quite a brother," Selwyn stated lightly, still inappropriately amused. "You know what? I like him already."
Riddle remained calm.
"Of course I dealt with him. Enough to put such ideas out of his mind for the future," he assured them. They couldn't doubt that Tom was in control of his younger brother. "Unfortunately, old habits die hard sometimes."
His Slytherins must have guessed how Riddle had punished his younger brother, judging by the expressions on their faces. Abraxas didn't bother to hide his satisfied smile, Sebastian shrugged his shoulders as if acknowledging it as a natural consequence of such behaviour, although an uncharacteristic seriousness lingered in his eyes. Secundus, meanwhile, went slightly pale. He had been fourteen when his five-year-older brother became head of the family.
Primus looked at Tom knowingly.
"Younger brothers have that. They just need a firm hand; you can't indulge them."
"I have no intention of doing so. Fortunately, Harry is a quick learner," Tom added to conclude the subject. "But since we're on the subject of advice, I'm going to need your help, gentlemen," he said in a more serious tone. At the same time, he waved his wand, discreetly casting an anti-eavesdropping spell on them. He could have done it wandlessly, but for now, he didn't want to reveal the extent of his skill.
The atmosphere around him changed instantly. Everyone straightened up, their faces more serious and expectant. Even Abraxas stopped sulking.
"With what?" asked Primus immediately, his confident tone suggesting that whatever Riddle needed, he could safely consider it taken care of.
"I have to meet Dippet at Hogwarts and I'd like to avoid meeting Dumbledore on that occasion. I need you to come up with an excuse to get Dumbledore out of the castle for a day or two."
Abraxas smiled confidently. "I think that can be arranged. Some sort of time frame?"
"By mid-April at the latest."
His Slytherins exchanged knowing looks. But before either could add anything, Sebastian Selwyn sprang to his feet.
"Oh no, she's coming here!" he groaned, hastily placing his glass on a nearby table. "Excuse me for a moment, but I'm still too sober for her company."
o.O.o
"The company and behaviour of Sebastian Selwyn can be deceptive, don't let him fool you," Riddle advised, moving smoothly on to the next Slytherin. "If I had to point to the most talented among my Slytherins, it would be Sebastian. At first glance, he doesn't give the impression, although he enjoys playing and pushing the boundaries of magic almost as much as I do."
"Oh, a rival, then?"
Riddle gave an icy, predatory smile.
"Not at all. I said 'almost'. Mind also that, for some reasons Abraxas thinks of him as his best friend. And true friendship among Slytherins is rare. We don't have friends, we have allies."
"Or followers."
"I see you're beginning to think like one of us. It's a shame you convinced Tiara to put you in Gryffindor. I think you would find your place among the snakes," Riddle said in such a tone that it was hard to tell whether he was teasing Harry or being serious.
Harry regretted telling this Riddle for perhaps the hundredth time. But it had been either the truth or a pretext for Legilimency, and he preferred to avoid the last at all costs.
"Is there anything else I should know about Selwyn before I meet him?" he asked, to change the subject. He'd already drunk the cocoa and eaten the biscuits, so he had nothing to occupy his hands with, and it was becoming increasingly awkward to sit on the couch opposite Riddle and just talk to him. Inappropriate.
Riddle, unlike Harry, seemed completely relaxed. He looked towards the fireplace where the wood was burning. The glow of the crackling fire illuminated his face.
"One of his ancestors invented Fiuu powder, which has made the Selwyns incredibly wealthy. Sebastian is the only son of the current head of the family. And he recently married, but fortunately not for love. If you're lucky, you might be able to avoid his wife."
With his luck? No way.
o.O.o
Harry had finally found his way to the balcony and, leaning his forearms against the intricately carved balustrade, he looked out over the sea of guests enjoying Malfoy's birthday party. Somehow, he had managed to slip away from Nott, Avery, and Rosier, who were now dancing with a group of young witches on the crowded dance floor. They weren't alone in their revelry; the band had struck up a lively tune, prompting more guests to join in. Even Harry found himself tapping his foot to the infectious rhythm, as if the melody itself were compelling him to do so.
At the other end of the ballroom, Riddle sat in an armchair, surrounded by his loyal followers, all engaged in lively conversation, their attention focused on the future Dark Lord. Even from a distance, it was clear that they were drawn to him like moths to a flame, ready to be burned to please him. Pre-Death Eaters, no doubt. Harry felt an instinctive dislike for them, though he recognized none of them except Abraxas Malfoy.
At one point, Riddle raised his head and looked directly at Harry, their eyes locking for a moment. The others followed his gaze as if they had just been talking about him. Harry forced himself to nod, keeping his composure and hiding any trace of surprise or intimidation.
Harry was watching with a neutral expression as Malfoy and Riddle rose from their seats almost simultaneously when his brief respite was interrupted. He jerked as another pair of forearms casually leaned against the balustrade next to him.
"Quite a view, isn't it?" came a soft, slightly slurred voice and the smell of alcohol filled the air. Harry turned to see a tall, dark-haired wizard with a mischievous smile and a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. The man's dark brown curls fell freely around his neck, framing a handsome face with a straight nose and high cheekbones.
Harry shrugged, not really knowing how to answer. "Yeah, it's... something."
The wizard, about Riddle's age or a little older, seemed harmless and friendly at first glance. If he had shown up at Borgin and Burke's, Harry would have thought he had wandered there looking for something to impress his friends, not due to malicious intent. On the other hand, the fact that he was the first to speak to Harry made the teenager wary. No one who had spoken to him of their own accord this evening could be an innocent, random guest.
Another pre-Death Eater?
The man, hearing Harry's response, chuckled and took a sip from his glass. "Sebastian Selwyn," he introduced himself, holding out his hand with an exaggerated flourish. "Nice to meet you."
Harry shook it, trying to hide his disappointment. So, he was right.
"Har–"
"–ry Riddle, I know," the wizard finished, waving his free hand dismissively.
Harry's brows furrowed. One more time an unpleasant feeling of being gossiped about seized him.
"How do you know?"
Selwyn grinned shamelessly.
"You're the only person here I don't recognize. That makes you Tom's brother by default. Process of elimination, really."
Tom's. The name was spoken so simply, so freely. So naturally.
What about 'Voldemort'? What about 'my lord'?
Something of Harry's surprise must have been reflected on his face, as Selwyn seemed to interpret it in his own way. Unexpectedly, he put his arm around the teenager's shoulder. With his other hand, still holding the glass of Firewhiskey, he gestured towards the throng of guests below.
"What you see here today is nothing compared to the crowd that turned up for Septimus' birthday party last year, but he is, after all, the head of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, and Brax is merely his heir. Oh, and the Order of Merlin, First Class, certainly played its part. But there are some interesting figures here too, and since I hear you're not from here, let me tell you a bit about them." Selwyn pulled Harry closer, and the teen was once again enveloped by the distinct scent of alcohol on the older wizard's breath. "Where to start... Oh, I know, look over there," he said. Harry's eyes involuntarily wandered in the direction indicated by the glass of golden liquid. "See that man in the dark red robes talking to those two witches? That's Nihel Petau, the French ambassador and the nephew of Brax's grandmother, Genevieve. A terrible bore, if you ask me. If he catches you, he'll talk your ear off. Even Clotilda, Brax's mother, the woman in the gold dress, cannot stand him. See the look on her face?" Sebastian chuckled slightly, then pointed his glass at a not-so-tall, stocky wizard in dark, plain robes who was standing near the entrance with a grim expression on his face. "And here we have Manfred Carrow, Chaser and former captain of our national Quidditch team. I'm surprised he has the guts to show himself in public after what he did to our team at the last Quidditch World Cup. I regret all the Galleons we spent with Brax on the opening match; I haven't seen anything more embarrassing in a long time. But he's Viola's brother, so his parents must have sent him to represent them tonight. Although he's not fit for that either..." Selwyn tsked, shaking his head in disgust.
Harry kept quiet, letting him speak, as he was already getting lost. His brain was still processing the information that some Malfoy had been awarded the Order of Merlin, and a first class one at that. What was wrong with this world?
"Oh, and look over there," Selwyn made a sudden movement, forcing Harry to turn the other way. The alcohol in the glass swayed, spilling out slightly. "It looks like Brax has finally gotten his way and snatched your brother for himself. And managed to present him to Rowle. He's the head of the Department of Magical Locations. He's the shorter one. The other, taller one, who is also talking to them, is Septimus, Brax's father."
Harry forced himself to look in the direction Selwyn indicated. Though the conversation was drowned out by the sound of the music and the general hustle and bustle, it was clear from the gestures and facial expressions that Riddle was in his element and had just wrapped another wizard around his finger.
Harry felt a knot in his stomach and involuntarily clenched his hands into fists. Riddle and Ministry officials were not a combination that boded well.
Selwyn fortunately missed his reaction, too busy picking out more familiar and influential faces from the crowd.
"And what are they doing here?" he asked himself, sounding genuinely puzzled.
He took a sip of Firewhisky, then pointed to the group standing at the food tables. The wizard, who looked a few years older than either Riddle or Selwyn, had his hand lightly on the back of a witch of about the same age. The two of them were talking to another witch who was clearly older than them. And while the women, despite their age difference, looked similar and radiated the same unforced elegance and ease, the man, though dressed appropriately for the occasion, seemed to be looking for an opportunity to sneak back home. Harry's eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the wizard. There was something strangely familiar about him...
"Who is it?" Harry asked, wanting to hear the answer as much as he dreaded it. No, that would be impossible…
"Those younger ones are Charlus Potter and his wife Dorea. They're talking to Adele Avery, Brandon's mother. I hear you've already met Brandon, by the way."
Harry nodded reflexively. His ears buzzed and his heart began to beat faster. In the photo album Hagrid had given him, there was a picture of his father with his side of the family. Harry remembered that when he had taken the photo out of the album and turned it over, there were names written on the back. He knew them all by heart. Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea, second row from the right. Though they were definitely older in that photo, when Charlus Potter raised his head and looked around, as if sensing that someone was talking about him, Harry recognized one of his family members. A younger, living one.
Within reach.
"You've met Curtis and Everett as well," Selwyn added, bringing Harry back to the present.
"I've already had the pleasure," Harry replied.
Unfortunately, he added mentally, thinking only of how he could free himself from Selwyn's company and approach the Potters, if only for a moment. An unimaginable longing overwhelmed him.
Selwyn smiled broadly. "You will have to meet the rest of us, we're all looking forward to it."
"I'm waiting for that too," he pushed himself to say, trying to extricate himself from Selwyn's grasp, but for someone drunk, the man had quite a bit of strength.
"Brandon's sisters are probably around somewhere. Their father and Clotilda are cousins. Hmm... maybe they're dancing…"
Selwyn made another sharp movement, this time again towards the dance floor, and suddenly Harry felt all the wizard's verve evaporate almost instantly.
"Oh no. She. And she's with Primus," he groaned, disgust clear in his voice.
Harry, who had tried to turn away to keep his relatives in sight, glanced reluctantly at Selwyn, recognizing the name.
"There, that witch in the violet dress. Aspara Selwyn, née Shafiq. My belovedwife." He said the word 'beloved' in such a way that left no doubt about his true feelings for her.
Harry sighed and searched the dancing crowd for the woman in question. He was surprised to recognize the witch he had seen twice before, the same one who had probably been the only one to show resentment towards Riddle.
As she twirled around the dance floor in the arms of a haughty, handsome wizard, she looked much prettier and happier than when he had first met her.
Harry felt a little sorry for her. Probably Selwyn wasn't the only one unhappy with the marriage. But that was none of his business, he was no expert on matters of the heart — quite the opposite.
"But the less about her, the better," Selwyn said, finishing his Firewhiskey. He let go of Harry to reach for his wand and almost immediately summoned another glass from the tray floating among the guests below. He also dropped the empty one, which to Harry's surprise didn't fall on the heads of the dancers below, but instead flew silently away somewhere behind them.
"Still too sober," Selwyn muttered to himself, then took another massive gulp, emptying half the glass in one go.
Harry took the opportunity to look over at the Potters. They were still talking to Mrs Avery. Good.
Selwyn must have misinterpreted Harry's behaviour again, because he suddenly spoke up:
"Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners. Would you like one?" He raised his glass so there was no doubt what he was asking. This time he sounded much more cheerful.
Harry shook his head, forcing himself not to stare at the Potters so obviously, as it would eventually seem suspicious to Selwyn.
"No, thanks."
Selwyn raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing at his lips.
"Let me guess, Tom doesn't want you to drink, does he?"
Harry flushed slightly but eventually nodded. Accepting that he would not soon be free of Selwyn's company, he glanced furtively at the Potters one last time. Just keep an eye on them and find an excuse to approach them, he thought. The whole night was still ahead of him. He had time.
"Yeah," he admitted, sighing slightly.
A mischievous smile again appeared on Selwyn's lips. "And you comply? I'm a little surprised, as I've heard that you have a knack for trouble."
Harry looked at him questioningly.
"I’ve heard about your stunt at the Leaky Cauldron," Selwyn added casually.
Although Selwyn's tone was merely amused, Harry could feel himself heating up at the mere mention of the incident. It wasn't because of the punishment he had received afterwards; rather, he wasn't a thief and didn't want others to perceive him that way. Yet it seemed this label was starting to stick to him more and more.
The irony of his degradation from Chosen One to thief was almost comical.
"Doing something like that to spite Tom, you have the nerve," Selwyn added lightly, still looking at him, the amused smile never leaving his face. Suddenly, though, seriousness crept into his eyes. "But be careful. When he gets angry, he can be..."
"Unpleasant, I know. I 've experienced it firsthand."
Harry mentally chided himself for the admission, but something about Selwyn's demeanor made him feel different than he did around the other Slytherins. Perhaps it was due to Selwyn's openness and directness?
After all, Selwyn was one of Riddle's Slytherins. He had probably been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse more than once. Or had he not? Harry had already noticed that Riddle had a strangely familiar relationship with his followers. But the gravity in Selwyn's eyes couldn't have come from nowhere.
Selwyn didn't respond, merely taking another sip of his Firewhisky.
"I've done far more foolish things in my life," Harry said, surprising himself. Since Riddle had decided to tarnish his reputation from the start, Harry realized he needed to manage his own public image. Besides, it would be unwise not to seize this innocent opportunity to test the magical restraint Riddle had placed on him a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the Potters were still engaged in conversation at the table, albeit with someone else.
Where to begin? His mind raced through memories: a troll, Mr. Weasley's car, Hagrid's Acromantulas, dementors, the Hungarian Horntail, the rescue mission at the Ministry of Magic, the cursed wardrobe...
Maybe with the troll?
"Once, when I was eleven years old and a friend of mine locked herself in one of the Ho..." He furrowed his brow. Suddenly he couldn't remember where Hermione had locked herself in. Or even who Hermione was. She was someone important, that much he knew. He shook his head, slightly annoyed. "Never mind."
Almost instantly, all the memories came flooding back. Harry realized what he had just experienced, and a shiver ran down his spine.
So that's how it worked.
Selwyn was still looking at him expectantly.
"Go on, don't be shy. If it's something Tom doesn't know, rest assured I won't tell him."
Harry tried to mask his true feelings with a fake smile.
"Maybe it's better not to share. I've only known you for ten minutes."
A hearty, rich laugh answered him.
"Oh, I almost had you, but I see Tom has prepared you well."
o.O.o
"Well, you’re right, Aleksandr can be intense,” Riddle said, his lips curling into a slight smile when he heard Harry's opinion on Dolohov. "Yes, that's a pretty good description," he added, as if in afterthought.
Harry shifted uncomfortably. The word "intense" hardly did justice to the unease he felt about Dolohov.
"What does he do for a living?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Is there a difference?" Harry asked.
"Officially, his family runs betting operations on Quidditch matches, broom races, and wizarding duels. Unofficially, they're one of three families that rule Britain's criminal underworld. Their advantage over the other two families lies in their Russian relatives involved in similar enterprises. Unfortunately for Aleksandr, he's the younger brother's son, so he won't inherit the family business. And he is... ambitious."
Harry raised his hand in a halting gesture.
"I don’t think I want to hear about it.”
Riddle shrugged, a gesture so ordinary it seemed unfitting for someone destined to become one of history's most powerful dark wizards in the future.
"As you prefer. You've already met him, anyway. Perhaps it'll soothe your Gryffindor heart to know that another one of my Slytherins is an Auror."
"Who?!"
Riddle grinned like a dragon eyeing a sheep grazing in a meadow. Bastard, he was doing it on purpose.
"Alastair Macnair is an Auror," he repeated calmly. "What’s more, he was in the same year at Hogwarts as Primus and Aleksandr.”
Great. A lawyer, a criminal, and an Auror sharing the same dormitory in the past. They were probably still helping each other and covering their backs.
Harry shook his head in distaste. How could someone supporting Tom simultaneously aspire to become an Auror? It defied logic.
"How did the three of them start supporting you?" he asked, genuine curiosity overriding his feigned disinterest. Anything related to the pre-Death Eaters shouldn't pique his interest, and yet it did.
It was logical that wizards sharing a dormitory with Riddle for seven years had fallen into his trap. He could even understand why Malfoy had started supporting and sponsoring him, but students four years older? Riddle was only in his third year when those trio were preparing for their final exams. Harry knew from experience how he approached younger students; the age difference between them was like a chasm. Perhaps it would be more understandable if Riddle came from an influential, pure-blood family. But he had come to Hogwarts as a boy from a Muggle orphanage, with a name that meant nothing to anyone.
"It was due to my personal charm.”
Harry looked at Riddle doubtfully.
"Primus is Secundus's brother, so I was in contact with him from the beginning," Riddle surprisingly decided to elaborate. "Alastair was captain of the school Quidditch team that Avery and Selwyn played on. And Aleksandr just needed to be impressed with the right magic."
"And as a third-year, you were already capable of showing it?"
Riddle's gaze turned sharp. "Do you have any doubts?”
Harry sighed, eager to change the subject. "Back to Macnair, is there anything else I should know about him before I meet him?"
"Oh, you won't meet him tomorrow," Riddle said casually. "He's still on the continent, finishing up helping to catch Grindelwald's followers. But he's supposed to be back in a few weeks at the latest."
"Will someone else from your pre... er, Slytherins not be present?" he asked resignedly.
He would really like to get this over with. Judging by the reactions of the pre-Death Eaters he had already met, his appearance would not go unnoticed. Obviously, he could not count on anonymity at any time. Either the Chosen One or the brother of a magical genius.
"Alphard Black, but that's because he's still studying at Hogwarts."
Harry's heart beat faster. Not just the surname sounded familiar...
o.O.o
"Your surname sounds familiar," Rowle said thoughtfully, looking at Tom closely. "Though I can't recall meeting another wizard who shares it."
A flicker of irritation crossed Riddle's eyes, though his expression remained one of polite indifference. He did not, however, deign to answer.
"Perhaps, dear uncle, it's because Tom received an award for special services to the school a few years ago," Abraxas interjected, overly eager to cast Tom in the best possible light.
Ever since Tom had hinted at properly punishing his brother for the incident at the Leaky Cauldron, Abraxas' mood had visibly improved. Of course, his Slytherins must have guessed that nothing but Crucio was out of the question for such a transgression.
"The Daily Prophet wrote about it for weeks," Abraxas added, noting Rowle's still-puzzled expression.
"Ah yes, it was in connection with the case of that poor girl who was murdered," Septimus Malfoy, Abraxas' father, chimed in unexpectedly. "What was her name..." he mused, idly swirling the Firewhiskey in his glass.
Despite his initial aloofness and condescension, Septimus Malfoy had taken a liking to Tom. Apparently, like his son, he saw potential in an orphan from nowhere and thought it would be advantageous to make him his protégé.
Tom inwardly recoiled at the thought, but he played along with the purebloods' expectations. The Malfoys' patronage occasionally proved useful, though not at present — he had no interest in the position of assistant to the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Locations. If he were to change his path and enter the Ministry of Magic, it would be in a position that offered access to knowledge and opportunities for further development. In fact, he had already chosen a department — all he had to do was subtly steer his Slytherins towards it and make them think they were the ones helping him.
But first, he had to conclude his current objective - his gaze drifted to Alexander Dolohov, who had been lingering by the buffet for an unusually long time, as if awaiting something. Or someone.
Riddle smiled slightly.
"Wasn't that when Hogwarts was in danger of being shut down?" Rowle finally recalled. "I remember now... Poor girl... But I always thought that half-breeds shouldn't be allowed wands," he added with obvious disgust. "It's a good thing the culprit was caught."
"Tom deduced who was behind the attacks on the students and aided in catching the half-breed," Abraxas added, looking at Tom with calculated admiration.
Mr. Rowle raised his wine glass in a toast.
"In that case, we have you to thank for my daughter being able to continue her education."
Riddle nodded slightly, accepting the compliment. When he had released the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets, he had been more curious about how much havoc the ancient creature would wreak, but the other benefits were not insignificant either. Apparently, he could still capitalize on the fame he'd garnered from the capture of the offender.
"I just did what every prefect should do. The wellbeing of the students and the school was my priority," he lied smoothly.
"As modest as ever," Abraxas sighed. "You've done what Dippet and Dumbledore couldn't do for an entire year. But it's hardly surprising. Uncle, you should know that Tom was the only student this decade to achieve the highest grades in both O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Even Dumbledore didn't manage that feat. In the Dueling Exam, he disarmed the examiner in under seven minutes."
"Five," Riddle corrected, concealing a self-satisfied smile behind his glass. "Abraxas, I am flattered by your complimentary words. I hope you'll forgive me if I excuse myself for a moment. This way, you can continue your praise, and I won't risk blushing at the next compliment." Tom nodded in Rowle's direction. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
Rowle returned the gesture, though his nod was curt.
"Perhaps our paths will cross again," he said, glancing at the elder Malfoy with a hint of amusement. "Surely someone who has managed to impress your son must be no ordinary wizard."
"Believe me, he is not," Septimus replied enigmatically, eyeing Riddle intently.
Freed from the company of the Malfoys and Rowle, Tom approached the buffet table, stopping a few paces from Dolohov. Aleksandr, who had evidently been observing him closely, took the cue immediately and approached Tom a moment later with his characteristic grace.
As expected.
"Interesting conversation?" Aleksandr's low voice rang out beside Riddle as Dolohov leaned over the table and placed pickled herring on his plate.
"I've had more interesting ones," Tom replied, setting his empty glass on a levitating tray. With a subtle flick of his fingers, he summoned a plate and fork and, mirroring Dolohov's actions, helped himself to some sausage rolls.
"Well, let's hope this conversation will not disappoint you," Dolohov said, elegantly scooping the herring onto his fork and turning away from the table.
Riddle also turned away. Sensing the direction the conversation might take, he put his fork down on his plate and made a spare gesture with his right hand, casting a non-verbal, wandless anti-eavesdropping spell on them. He did it discreetly, but openly enough to ensure that Aleksandr would not fail to notice.
"Now we can talk freely."
Aleksandr arched his eyebrow, visibly impressed.
"I see you've expanded your repertoire. "Wandless and non-verbal. You continue to impress, Tom."
Tom took a small bite of sausage roll and, after swallowing it, said casually, "Practice makes perfect. And this is only a fraction of my capabilities."
He hadn't lied to Potter when he said that as far as Dolohov was concerned, all he had to do was impress him with the right kind of magic. Back at Hogwarts, it had been Parseltongue. These days... Well, they weren't children anymore, so the magic should be more advanced. And darker, of course.
That's why, before heading off to Eastern Europe, he had allowed Aleksandr to challenge him to a duel. Unlike his lengthy and playful duels with Sebastian, where he'd let the game stretch out and Selwyn try new tricks, Tom had taken Aleksandr down in under five minutes. When he returned from his trip, it took even less time — just three and a half minutes, and Aleksandr hadn't managed to throw a single curse. And instead of bitterness, when the older former Slytherin rose from his knees, there was only a look of recognition in Dolohov's eyes, an acknowledgement of Riddle's undeniable power.
It had been at that moment that Tom had known for certain that Aleksandr was his.
"Perhaps another demonstration is in order," Dolohov suggested, a hungry gleam in his eye.
Riddle looked at him briefly.
"Who knows, maybe as a reward, if your information satisfies me..."
Aleksandr straightened, his eyes sweeping over the crowd dancing in front of them.
"I think so. I have a name for you: Hepzibah Smith."
Tom's interest piqued, though he kept his expression neutral. The name was familiar — a regular at Borgin and Burke's. An old, slightly plump woman who was always trying to get on his good side. And even flirt.
"Go on," Tom prompted, his eyes drifting to the balcony where he could see Potter engaged in conversation with Sebastian.
"My family tried to free some of the items belonging to her collection." Dolohov continued in a low voice.
This immediately aroused Tom's alertness.
"Did they try to liberate this?"
Alexander shook his head slightly in denial.
"No, though I think they knew about it too. After all, it's no secret that Smith considers herself a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. It was all about the music box."
Tom had heard of it, too, but over the centuries so many wizards and witches had claimed to be heirs to ancient lineages that it now drew only pitiful smiles.
In his case, however, this proved to be true. So would old Hepzibah Smith prove to be the key he needed so badly?
"A music box?"
"My mother insisted. It was said that it belonged the tsar's family."
That explained everything. Though Dolohov would never admit it openly, the rumours about his family clearly pointed to a connection with the Russian Tsars who had been murdered years ago.
"Did they succeed?"
"Unfortunately, no," Dolohov replied, a rare note of frustration colouring his tone. "Smith proved craftier than they anticipated. But that was when I was still at Hogwarts, so I don't know the details."
Tom's mind raced with possibilities. "Can you find out more?"
"I think so, although it will take some time. It's still a sensitive issue for my father. To this day there are rumours in my family about what might be in her collection."
Tom nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on Potter. The boy seemed distracted, his attention repeatedly drawn to something out of Tom's line of sight.
"If the rumors are true, then this information definitely deserves a reward," he finally said, slowly finishing the rest of his sausage roll.
Meanwhile, Aleksandr also finished his herring and followed Riddle's gaze.
"It looks like your brother is settling in well," he remarked in a seemingly casual way, though with a clear undertone.
Riddle, satisfied with what he had just learned, decided that this time he would indulge Dolohov's curiosity.
"How about joining them and disrupting their little tête-à-tête?" he suggested, hoping that from the balcony he could better see what had so captured his charge's attention.
"After you," Aleksandr replied with a slight bow, gesturing for Riddle to lead the way. A satisfied smile played across his thin lips.
As they made their way through the partying crowd, Tom's sharp eyes spotted a tray of sobering potions floating nearby. With a fluid motion, he picked up a vial and tucked it discreetly into his pocket. Dolohov, ever observant, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I want to have a word with Sebastian in private, so I would be grateful if you could look after my little wayward brother," he said to Dolohov as they climbed the stairs to the balcony.
Aleksandr smirked slyly.
"Oh, a private meeting? Have I pleased you that much?"
Tom reached the top of the stairs.
"When you've finished with him, you can hand him over to Primus and Secundus. They haven't met him yet," he added dismissively. "But take as much time as you need."
Aleksandr did not reply, but the satisfaction radiating from his magic was almost palpable.
Tom, meanwhile, had already turned his attention to Potter and Selwyn, who were still engaged in a lively conversation. Though to call it a conversation was an understatement; Sebastian dominated the exchange, gesticulating vigorously, while Potter listened, interjecting occasionally.
Riddle smiled inwardly. This was going perfectly according to his plan.
Wearing one of his friendly, innocent expressions, Tom walked imperceptibly towards the talking pair. Aleksandr followed like a shadow.
"Sebastian, I hope you're not trying to talk my little brother to death," he said lightly, joining their conversation. Potter jumped slightly, startled by his sudden arrival, while a broad grin appeared on Sebastian's face. He made a clumsy gesture with the empty glass in his hand, inviting them to come closer.
"We were discussing Quidditch," Sebastian replied in a voice that suggested he was already far from sober. Tom suppressed a flicker of annoyance; that was something he would deal with in a moment. "We were exchanging experiences. Did you know that your brother played as Seeker at school?"
"Yes, he mentioned it," Tom replied curtly, looking at Potter intently. Somehow the boy managed to keep an innocent expression on his face. It looked as if he was beginning to learn.
"Harry was just telling me how the Whomping Willow destroyed his broom when he fell off during a match. His teammates were more concerned with saving his life than the equipment," Sebastian continued, clearly amused. "I didn't know they had such aggressive trees in Ireland," he chuckled.
"And Sebastian, in turn, shared some of his exploits on the Slytherin team," Potter added, a hint of genuine amusement in his voice.
Sebastian? That's interesting. He really hadn't suspected it would turn out to be so simple.
"Just don't tell me you told him how you charmed the Bludgers before the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff match," Aleksandr said in his deep, vibrant voice.
A wide, mischievous smile answered him. Dolohov sighed.
"Tom, I hope you'll agree that your brother could benefit from some more sensible company after what he's obviously been exposed to by Sebastian. I wouldn't want him to think that we're all like him. I volunteer, of course."
Tom had been waiting for this.
"I don't mind," he said, silencing Potter with his eyes, as the latter already had an objection on the tip of his tongue. Potter looked up at him reproachfully from under a fringe of his black hair, which could clearly use a refreshing of the combing spell.
"Harry, how about a walk in the gardens? Judging by the concentration of alcohol around us, I think we could both use some fresh air," Dolohov suggested. Potter sighed with evident reluctance, glanced once more at Tom as if deluding himself that he would be spared this, then nodded resignedly, pulling away from the balustrade
"We'll join you later," Tom assured him, knowing full well that this would be of no comfort to the boy.
As Harry and Dolohov disappeared down the stairs, Tom turned his full attention to Sebastian. Selwyn swayed slightly, his usual composure beginning to crumble under the influence of alcohol.
"I see you weren't joking when you said you wanted to get drunk," Riddle remarked sourly, reaching into his pocket. "Unfortunately for you, I want to talk."
Sebastian grimaced ostentatiously when he saw what Tom was holding.
"Do you know how much time and whiskey it took me to get to this point?"
"I have my suspicions," Riddle replied, handing Selwyn a vial of the potion. Sebastian took it and held it between his fingers as if it were poison. Tom, leaning his forearms against the railing, tilted his head and looked at him intently.
"You're a cruel man, Tom Riddle. Absolutely beastly. You know that, don't you?"
"Drink it," Riddle commanded firmly. The change in his demeanour was immediate and striking — he was no longer a polite guest trying to make a good impression, but a wizard accustomed to having others obey his commands.
Sebastian sighed and, looking at the bottle with obvious disgust, uncorked it and drained the contents in one gulp.
Hiding a satisfied smirk, Riddle remembered he wanted to check what had attracted Potter's attention earlier. He glanced in the direction the boy's gaze had fled, just in time to see Charlus Potter and his wife Dorea, née Black, saying goodbye to Abraxas and heading for the entrance.
Riddle furrowed his brow.
The Potters? Why had Abraxas invited them?
Meanwhile, Sebastian, standing next to Tom, shuddered as the potion took effect. When Riddle looked at him again, the flush had faded from his cheeks and his eyes were clearer and more focused.
"There," Sebastian said, his voice noticeably gloomier. "Happy now? I hope whatever you have to say is worth sacrificing what promised to be a thoroughly enjoyable evening of indulgence and forgetting my harsh fate."
Tom's lips curved into a small smile. "Oh, I assure you, Sebastian, what I have to propose is far more intriguing than any fleeting pleasures this party might offer. You might even manage to forget that you have a wife."
Sebastian straightened his robes, curiosity replacing his earlier whining, though Tom noted the slight tightening of his jaw at the mention of Aspara. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. What grand scheme have you cooked up this time?"
Tom moved closer to Sebastian, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. "I have recently come into possession of a most... unusual magical artifact. A map, to be exact. I would like to duplicate it. I could do it myself, of course, but I thought of you. I think it could be a unique experience, as it's a very unusual map."
Sebastian's eyes widened in interest. "Go on."
Riddle slipped his wand out of his sleeve and discreetly cast an anti-eavesdropping spell for the third time that evening.
o.O.o
That evening was a complete catastrophe.
It wasn't that they hadn't made it to the gardens at all, because Sebastian's wife had changed her dancing partner and Primus Lestrange had bumped into them on the way out. Nor was it that the Potters had left before Harry could say a word to them. It wasn't even the fact that when Malfoy's summoned house-elf (who, to Harry's astonishment, turned out to be a very, very young Dobby) had offered Harry a glass of pumpkin juice and Harry, out of habit, had thanked him, drawing reproachful looks from everyone around him.
This disaster was about something else entirely.
Harry looked around at the wizards surrounding him, sprawled elegantly on sofas and armchairs, and his stomach clenched with fear as he grasped the gravity of the situation. These weren't just Slytherin students anymore; these were young, ambitious wizards with connections in every corner of magical Britain. The foundation upon which Voldemort's future empire would be built.
Abraxas Malfoy, with his aristocratic charm and his family's political clout, could open doors in the Ministry that would otherwise remain firmly shut. Selwyn, though outwardly charming and carefree, had both the wealth and the social influence to aid Malfoy in his machinations, and the fact that they were supposedly friends did not help. The Lestrange brothers, cool-headed lawyers, had the knowledge and ability to manipulate the law to their advantage. Alexander Dolohov's criminal connections provided a network of underground resources and information. Curtis Nott's position at the Daily Prophet allowed him to control the narrative in the most influential newspaper in the British wizarding world. Brandon Avery, a trained healer, offered valuable medical expertise and access to St Mungo's. Even for Everett Rosier, whose connections extended beyond the borders of magical Britain, Riddle was likely to find a use. Not to mention the absent Alastair Macnair, the Auror currently battling Grindelwald's followers.
Harry realised, with a sinking feeling, that Tom Riddle was weaving an intricate web of power and influence that touched every significant aspect of wizarding society. With these men at his side, Tom Riddle had eyes and ears everywhere, from the highest offices of the Ministry to the shadowy corners of Knockturn Alley. It was a stark contrast to the ragtag group of Death Eaters Harry had encountered in his own time. These weren't desperate, outcast dark wizards rallying behind a resurrected Dark Lord. No, these were the cream of pureblood society, young, ambitious and at the start of promising careers. With a shudder, Harry realised that by the time the wizarding world understood the threat Tom Riddle posed, it might be too late. The foundations of his power were being laid right here, right now, in this very room, and Harry was witnessing it all, helpless to intervene.
And just as he was losing himself in his gloomy thoughts, a snippet of conversation in which Malfoy and his beliefs played a central role reached his ears.
"...therefore the problem with our society," Malfoy continued, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass, "is that we've become far too lenient with Modbloods. They're intruding into our world, diluting our traditions, and weakening the magic that flows in our veins."
Primus Lestrange nodded in agreement, his handsome face taking on a serious expression. "I couldn't agree more, Abraxas. I was once confronted with a case where a Modblood witch demanded equal treatment in a field traditionally dominated by purebloods. Such audacity!"
"Imagine something worse," Nott interjected with genuine concern. "Recently, some deranged Modblood started flooding our newsroom with howlers because we wouldn't print his petition to abolish the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. He claims that not being able to share his secret with his friends is a restriction of his civil liberties."
"The Modbloods are getting more and more outrageous," Avery concluded. "Not long ago, my mother had to explain to one of them, who was demanding that we help her Muggle brother injured in their stupid war, why magic cannot be used to heal non-magical people. She threatened to sue us!"
"Such insolence," Rosier said, shaking his head in disgust.
"Brother, do you recall that case where a Modblood wanted us to sue our Ministry of Magic on his behalf because they wouldn't let him put protective spells on houses belonging to Muggle members of his family during the war?" the younger Lestrange, Secundus, asked rhetorically, his voice promising a story that would cause widespread outrage. "Imagine that, he had the nerve to come into our law office, throw a pouch of Galleons on our desk, and tell us to take care of it. On top of that, he chose us because he heard we were the best."
"Oh, I hadn't heard about that. How did it end?" asked Selwyn.
Primus Lestrange took a sip of Firewhiskey before answering.
"We reported the illegal use of magic in the presence of Muggles to the Aurors, as it turned out that he had already cast protective spells regardless."
Harry felt his blood boil with indignation. But he managed to hold his tongue. It doesn't make sense to speak up now, he said to himself.
Then Aleksandr Dolohov entered the conversation.
"You know, if they're so bossy and have the audacity to impose their demands on our world, to change our laws, especially those regarding magic in a Muggle presence, perhaps we should consider a more... proactive approach," Dolohov suggested, his deep voice carrying a menacing undertone. "After all, if they're so inferior, why let them into our world in the first place?" he finished, looking meaningfully in Riddle's direction.
Unable to hold back any longer, Harry burst out, his voice cutting through the murmur of agreement. "That's absolute rubbish!"
All eyes turned to him, a mixture of surprise and indignation on their faces. Tom Riddle's gaze was particularly piercing, a warning glint in his grey eyes.
Having had an earlier conversation with Selwyn, Harry already had some ideas how to speak to get around the restrictions of the Thought Warding Curse, so he continued undaunted: "I learned in Ireland with a Muggle-born witch who is the most brilliant, capable magical person I've ever met. Her background has nothing to do with her abilities or her right to be a part of our world. What's more, she perfectly understands the laws governing the magical world and would never, ever put anyone in danger of exposure."
A heavy silence fell over the corner where they sat. Dolohov's face contorted in disgust, while Primus Lestrange's eyes narrowed dangerously. Sebastian Selwyn, though looking more amused than offended, also looked at Harry intently, with an unexpectedly thoughtful and sober expression.
It was Riddle who broke the silence, his voice dripping with mock disappointment.
"Congratulations. You have just ruined any good impression you may have made on my Slytherins tonight in ten seconds. I must admit, I'm impressed, I didn't expect such stupidity even from you."
"I don't give a damn," he retorted angrily. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this bigoted nonsense."
It was only after the words left his mouth that Harry realized what had happened. Though it had seemed utterly impossible a moment earlier, the stunned expressions on the faces of the pre-Death Eaters only grew, their eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Riddle as they processed what they had just witnessed.
Harry had said the last sentence in Parseltongue.
Riddle's lips curled into a barely imperceptible smirk.
"Don't thank me, little brother. But don't waste a second chance, because you can't count on a third." And then, switching smoothly to English, he spoke directly to Malfoy, "Abraxas, are you sure there was no alcohol in that drink your house elf gave my brother?"