I'm not scared of the dark
I'm not running, running, running
No, I'm not afraid of the fall
I'm not scared, not at all
Why would a star, a star ever be afraid of the dark?
~ Scared of the Dark x Lil Wayne & Ty Dolla $ign
Chapter 52: Sea of Darkness
Atlas woke up the next morning in a room that looked fit for a king. The feel of silk sheets and mattresses that felt like he was sleeping on a cloud. Pillows that he was sure was made of actual bird feathers and a blanket that had been stitched from the finest material on Earth.
So, this was what it meant to be a wizard?
He sat up in his bed, taking in his surroundings. This was extremely different than waking up in his bed back home. Though he wasn't very fond of his room back home, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this life of luxury. Especially with those set of black robes staring at him from across the room. And beside those robes, a silver skull mask.
There was a loud crack, and the house elf from yesterday appeared in his room.
"Mister Riddle," She squeaked. "Master Riddle wanted me to inform you that the briefing is in an hour, and that you should get dressed."
Atlas nodded. "Uh, thank you…ummm—what do I call you?"
The house elf shuddered. "Master didn't give me a name."
The boy stared at the house elf, now being able to take a closer look at the creature. She wore what looked like a dingy pillow case, covered in food and oil stains. She had no shoes—nothing that matched the luxury he had seen so far. Atlas widen his eyes in realization…she was a slave.
"I'll give you a name." He said quickly. "What's your favorite flower?"
"You…you want to give me a name? But Master Riddle—"
"I'm Master Riddle's son." Atlas interrupted. "Meaning…meaning you belong to me, too." He squirmed in his bed, feeling uncomfortable with owning a slave elf. "And I asked you a question. What's your favorite flower?"
Atlas watched as the house elf thought. He assumed that the elf had never been asked to do something for itself.
"Master Riddle's friend…from another country brings beautiful red flowers." The house elf said, closing her eyes to remember. "Dahlia."
"Then it's settled." The boy smiled. "Dahlia."
Dahlia smiled as well, but there was another crack, and the elf was gone. Atlas figured he would get up now. Today was his first day as Atlas Riddle, son to Tom Riddle, and his first day as a Death Eater.
He put on his robes, staring at himself in the mirror as he put on each piece. As he took off a piece of his own clothing and replaced it with a piece of his uniform, he felt like he was shedding his own skin and taking on a new one. He picked up his wand and his mask, refusing to put on the mask. He wasn't ready to shed his face just yet.
He made his way down the hallway, down the grand staircase, and into a room that seemed like a dining room. He walked inside, seeing a group of men—all of them dressed in black. At the head of the table is where he found his father, Tom Riddle.
"Atlas." The man said proudly, and everyone at the table rose at the sound of his name. "I think introductions are in order."
He started with the man on his left. A man with black, greasy hair, who had a stare of death. Atlas didn't know what to make of the man, but it was obvious that he didn't want to end up on his bad side.
"This is my first Lieutenant, Severus Snape."
Snape nodded towards him. "Atlas."
The next man. A man with silvery, blonde hair. He stood like a true aristocrat, with eyes like a snake. A man who looked as if he could slither his way out of anything. Atlas knew exactly who he was.
"Lucius." Atlas greeted him.
Lucius smiled. "Atlas. I see you've turned in your rags for a true believer's clothing."
Then his father went to a man on the right of him. A man of medium height with brown neat hair. He wore glasses—no doubt he was the brains behind his father's organization.
"This is Terrell Nott." His father said. "He is the scholar of our group."
Terrell Nott nodded at him, just as Snape did. "Atlas."
Which left them with the last man, who looked like the spitting image of a Death Eater. The exact picture Atlas would see in his dreams. Determined, focus—yet unhinged. The man stood strong, with his deadly brown eyes and straw-blonde hair.
"This is Bartemius Crouch Jr." said Riddle. "My Hunter."
Crouch Jr. nodded. "Atlas."
Atlas figured it was time for him to introduce himself, but surely everyone knew who he was. Had they been waiting for his arrival this whole time? The way they stood at his name…
"And this, everyone…" Tom Riddle continued. "Is Atlas Riddle…my son. The new Hound."
And at those words, it seemed everyone's reaction changed—even Atlas's.
"Son?" asked Snape.
Crouch Jr. frowned. "This is the new Hound? This kid?"
"Does he have the mark?" Snape asked next, his eyes narrowing at the boy. Atlas responded by pulling his robes back, showing his Dark Mark for everyone to see. If it satisfied the black-haired wizard, Atlas wasn't sure.
"Lucius has trained him proficiently for the task." Tom Riddle said. "He will prove to be a great ally, Crouch."
"What exactly is the Hound?" Atlas asked. He thought he was going to be a Death Eater…not a dog.
"The Hound." Said Terrell Nott. "Is a just a code name Atlas. A name for the one who silences the Hunted."
"Who are found by the Hunter." Lucius explained.
Silences? But that meant…
"Lucius. Terrell." The Dark Lord ordered. "Brief them on the mission."
Terrell started first, opening the contents of a black portfolio. "It has come to our attention that in allowing Blaise Zabini to go back in time this summer, we have created an alternate timeline. Along with the creation of the timeline, came a few negative effects—the highest being the dementor attacks on two of our heirs. Blaise Zabini himself, and our top heir, Tobias LeStrange."
Atlas didn't know why, but he could feel the jealously pump in his veins at the sound of Tobias LeStrange. Top heir? The boy looked younger than him.
"Another effect," Nott continued. "Is the re-existence of persons—both muggle and wizard kind—who are known to be dead in the original timeline. As long as these people exist, the timeline will eventually collapse in itself, and we will all cease to exist."
"Your mission," said Lucius. "As the Hound and the Hunter—is to find these Time Anomalies and eliminate them. Once they are all eliminated, this timeline will become stable."
Terrell Nott then pulled out a piece of parchment from the black portfolio, handing it to Crouch Jr.
"Once you start scratching names off that list," Nott said. "You will attract Ministry attention, but we have found a way to keep you out the crosshairs."
Lucius nodded. "The notorious murderer, Sirius Black, has also escaped Azkaban. Given his reputation, there is no doubt Fudge will try to pin these incidents on him. The Ministry will then increase their search on Black, and you two will be free to operate under the radar."
"Any questions?" Nott asked.
Crouch Jr. turned to look at Atlas. He couldn't lie—the boy showed promise. He would be way easier to manage than Bellatrix, so that was a plus. He just couldn't believe this was Lord Voldemort's son. The true heir to the Dark Lord.
"Just one." Atlas said, catching all the men off guard. This was his chance to prove his worth. That all his training wasn't a waste of time. This was the life he chose, and he was going to make the most of it.
"When do we start?"
The train ride home for the Christmas holidays was the most awkward ride yet. Theodore, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Neville rode in their usual compartment together—yet they didn't feel complete without their sixth member.
Tobias LeStrange.
None of the five had seen the Slytherin boy since that day at Hogsmeade. Draco had done his best to reason with Tobias, but it seemed the boy needed space. For the first time ever, the blonde Slytherin felt ashamed of himself. He felt horrible, now realizing that keeping the truth form Tobias wasn't the right thing to do.
He remembered the look on Tobias's face when he confronted him at the Black Lake. Through his anger and tears, Draco knew that his cousin was truly hurt. They always had their secrets, but it was always something small—but this…not so much.
Hermione couldn't help but feel guilty as well. She had also been keeping the same secret from Tobias—she had promised Draco she wouldn't tell. And though she had urged the boy to come out with the truth, she couldn't help but feel that she was responsible, too. She could have easily told Tobias the truth as well. But now they were here.
Tobias found a compartment at the back of the train. He tried to wipe his mind of everything, but some things were easier said than done. He was tired of fighting, he knew that for sure. He also knew what he had to do now. He suppressed his anger, allowing it to simmer at the bottom of his pool of emotions. Only until he came face to face with Sirius Black. Only then, would he unleash it—returning the man the same favor he had given his father. He was the Heir of the Dark Lord, and starting today…he was going to truly embrace it.
"Didn't think I would find you back here."
Tobias looked up, seeing that his compartment door had been opened. Blaise Zabini was standing there, with his usual prep-boy posture—his hands in his pockets. Tobias only looked back at the window, not having the energy to find some petty remark to spit back at him.
"The news is spreading." Blaise continued. "That you found out the truth about your father. Not many Slytherins shocked—but the Gryffindors and the rest of the castle. They feel for you."
Tobias scoffed then. "They feel for me? Was their father also betrayed by Sirius Black and murdered?"
"No." The other boy answered. "But you aren't the only student on this train who has one living parent. Some of them don't have fathers or mothers because our fathers and mothers decided they didn't have the right to live anymore."
"Your point?"
Blaise shrugged. "No point. You wanted to know how someone else on this train could feel how you're feeling now. And I told you."
Tobias sniffed. He felt bad, but he didn't necessarily care about the other students who had lost their parents in the Wizarding War. At least they knew the truth about their parents—Tobias was just learning the truth about his father…twelve years later.
"You want to kill him." The other heir said. "I can see it in your eyes."
Tobias raised a brow. "You're here to stop me?"
"Of course not, I was actually waiting for the moment you stopped playing investigator and started being an Heir. Everyone's been treating you like you're fragile—a King that needs to be protected. You're the Heir to Lord Voldemort—what do you think your grandfather does when someone wants to kill him?"
Tobias knew the answer to that question. He had heard the stories of his grandfather from the first Wizarding War. He had literally heard his grandfather hunting his prey. But yet he had the audacity to tell Tobias to not go after Sirius Black, when he knew the truth all along. But now Tobias knew the truth as well, and no one—not even his own grandfather- could stop him.
"Our mission will have to be put on hold." Said Tobias. "If I'm going after Black, I'll have to put all of my attention there."
Blaise smirked. "Oh our mission won't be put on hold. We're just adding an extra layer."
"Meaning?"
"Let's take what we know. The dementors are after you, me, and Sirus Black. Once you go after Sirius Black, outing him to the public eye—the dementors will come after you both. You'll need extra defenses to hold the dementors off while you battle Black."
Tobias thought about it. "And those extra defenses are you and the Patronus Charm, I assume?"
"Correct." Blaise nodded, his smirk growing bigger. "We've already covered the Patronus part. We just need to handle Black—we need to find a way to lure him out."
"Well, I guess we have the whole Christmas Holiday to figure that out."
"Seems so." Blaise agreed.
Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey found their own compartment on the train. They had all heard the news—through Daphne, of course—that Tobias had found out the truth about his father. It was the talk around the school since the Hogsmeade trip yesterday. All the conversations on the train were centered around 'What should Tobias do now?'
"I've heard from a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor," said Tracey, "that Tobias should kill Sirius Black. Leave it to a mass murderer to unite the school."
Daphne twirled one of her curls. "I imagine Draco Malfoy might be the first on his kill list. Word is Draco knew the whole time and didn't tell Tobias the truth."
"And why would he?" Tracey shot back. "We all remember what happened to the last person who tried to tell Tobias LeStrange the truth."
The girls remembered—Professor Quirrell. Everyone in the castle remembered that night. They thought the castle was under attack from how hard it shook. Nobody knew what was happening until the next morning, when word got around that Professor Quirrell and Tobias LeStrange had been found on the Third-floor corridor. Daphne had overheard a few professors discussing the event—that Professor Quirrell had tried to tell Tobias the truth about something, and that Tobias had gotten so upset that his magic literally destroyed the corridor.
"Whatever his reason," Daphne said. "He just lost his best friend because of it."
Pansy didn't say anything—she only listened. One part of her felt bad for Tobias—so much had been going on since the term started and now this? She couldn't imagine how the boy felt. She only hoped that this situation didn't change him from who he was now, into something completely different.
A true Slytherin.
It was what she had always liked about Tobias—the fact that he wasn't like the other Slytherin boys. Yes, he was cunning and sly, but he always found another way out of a bad situation. It was never the Slytherin way with him. It was his way. But now that he knew the truth about Sirius Black and his father, Pansy was afraid that the Tobias way wouldn't stand. And that Tobias would become the thing he had always been destined to become.
And if that became a realty, Pansy wasn't sure if she would be able to talk the boy out of it. Everyone knew when Tobias LeStrange put his mind to something, he was going to see it through. It would take more than his betrothed to snap him out of it.
For the first time ever, Pansy Parkinson was scared. Not just for Tobias. But for everyone. What would happen if Tobias LeStrange embraced his role as the Heir of the Dark Lord? Not just in appearance, but in his actions and his decrees. Just like every other Slytherin, she knew the real stories of Lord Voldemort's rule, and how he swept through the wizarding community during the first Wizarding War—destroying everyone who was against him. She could only imagine that Tobias would be ten times as bad.
She could only hope that she was wrong.
Quirrell wanted to throw up in his mouth. What part of 'no' did the Order not understand? He didn't want to fix the timeline. He didn't want to help the Order. He didn't want to be the hero they needed him to be.
Yet here they were, all of them, sitting in the living room of his apartment. No doubt his mother let them in.
"I thought I made myself clear." The wizard said, taking a sip of firewhiskey. "I'm not helping you all."
"We're still hoping you'll reconsider, Quirinus." Said Molly Weasley. "But yes, we know you have elected not to help."
"But yet you all sit here in my living room."
Snape spoke next. "Lord Voldemort has sent the Hound and the Hunter on a mission to eliminate the Time Anomalies from the alternate timeline. The Dark Lord has already confirmed that your name is on the list Quirrell. They're going to come after you."
"Let them try." Quirrell spat, taking another sip. "I've fought against Bellatrix and Crouch Jr. before, I can do it again."
"Being as it is," Snape continued. "Lord Voldemort has brought in a new Hound. A boy named Atlas Riddle."
The living room went silent, for more than one reason. They had never heard of the name Atlas Riddle. And the surname—could he be related to Tom Riddle? They knew nothing about this boy—which put them at a greater disadvantage than before. How could they ambush somebody they knew nothing about?
Professor McGonagall looked at Snape in disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Not her Atlas. It couldn't be. "Atlas Riddle? As in—"
"His son." Snape finished her sentence. "He has already taken the mark and Lucius has ensured that he's been trained properly."
The witch couldn't believe the words coming from Snape. Tom had never told her that Atlas was training, nor that he had taken the Dark Mark. Anger boiled in her stomach as she realized Lord Voldemort had done it again. He had lied to her—and took her son under his wing right before her eyes.
"So, when they come," said Quirrell. "I assume you all want to protect me?"
"Yes, and no." said Lupin. "We want to set an ambush. Without that list, we don't know who's considered a Time Anomaly and who isn't. The only way we can get this list is through Crouch Jr. and the Riddle boy."
Quirrell took another swig. "And in return for your services, what do you want?"
"Nothing." Said Dumbledore. "You allowing us to set this ambush is enough."
Mad-Eye grunted. "Would rather you be helping us change the timeline, lad, but I guess this'll do."
Quirrell looked amongst the members of the Order. He assumed if it wasn't one problem, it was another—and if he denied them this, they would be back again to drag him into something else. But deep down, he knew he couldn't let Lord Voldemort kill all those people. And frankly—he didn't want to die. That was his whole reason for denying the Order the first time. He took a deep breath.
"Fine." The man said. "I assume we'll still be using the old ways of communication?"
Dumbledore smiled, pulling out the golden coin. "We'll be seeing you soon, Quirinus."
There was a flash of white, and a smoke of black, and the Order was gone. Quirrell reached inside his own robes pocket, pulling out his own golden coin. He twirled it through his fingers, remembering the days where it meant something to him.
"Hopefully not too soon." He said.
"Pureblood." He whispered, and the wall to the Slytherin common room opened at his command. He didn't bother changing into his canine form—the dementors were gone. The Order was gone. No one was patrolling the halls. He was free to roam.
He stepped slowly inside of the Slytherin common room, the present in his hand. He took in his surroundings, he couldn't remember the last time he stood here—if he had even stood here before. It was ironic, his whole family had been sorted into Slytherin and yet he was chosen for Gryffindor. This room should have felt familiar to him, yet it repelled him—he didn't belong here.
Yet, his godson found some way to call this place home. He walked deeper into the room, his heels clicking on the stone gray floor. The room glowed an emerald green—the Emerald City of Hogwarts. A slow fire burned in the fireplace, making the room warmer than he thought it could be. He ran his fingers along the black leather couches, the hardwood tables and chairs, the soft cotton material of the rugs.
His eyes ran across the photos of previous Slytherin students. They were smiling, laughing, joking—things people thought Slytherins couldn't do. He recognized familiar faces, people he once hated. People he had fought against. People who didn't make it past the first battle. Seeing them now, in a form he had never thought possible, it broke his heart. Because of Harry.
He had seen these people—these Slytherins—as enemies, when all along they were just like him. He had only found out too late. He had fought against them, plotted against them, discriminated against them because of the house they were sorted in—instead of who they were inside. They were all kids back then—full of life, hope, and joy.
He didn't want that for his godson because he knew who he truly was. But what about those who didn't? Those who would fight against him? Those who would plot against him? Those who would discriminate against him? Those who wouldn't stop fighting until he was dead? Just because of the colors he wore on his tie, and not what was in his heart.
He heard the wrapping paper crumple and realized that his grip had increased on his godson's present. He forced out a laugh, trying not to choke on his tears. He couldn't believe it—he was tearing up for Slytherin. After all this time, he finally understood.
His final stop was the silver and green Christmas tree standing in the corner of the room. He laughed once more, once expecting the tree to be covered in coal. But he found the tree surrounded by hundreds of gifts, each one addressed to someone in the Slytherin house. He knelt down, reading each name, recognizing the surname of each child. Names that reminded him of those who were still here, and those who weren't so fortunate. He set his present down amongst the rest of them.
"Merry Christmas, Tobias." He whispered.
Dear Mr. Hagrid,
Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.
However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mrs. Talia Zabini, and this matter will there be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.
Yours in fellowship…
Hermione didn't bother reading the rest. Out of all the things that had happened so far, this was the icing on the take. The Gryffindor witch was sure that Hagrid had sent a copy of the letter to the other five, but she wasn't sure how much help they would be. Tobias wasn't talking to them, and it seemed the other five weren't talking to each other. They didn't talk about what happened at Hogsmeade on the train, or what happened when Draco found Tobias at the Black Lake. It was like nobody knew what to do without Tobias in the picture.
Draco threw the note down on his bed, flopping down with it. He honestly had forgotten about Hagrid and the Hippogriff incident. Though he and Hagrid never saw eye to eye with the kind of creatures the Gamekeeper liked to keep around, he did feel bad for Buckbeak. He knew about Talia Zabini from the Ministry talks he overheard when he visited with his father. She was a spiteful and conniving woman. Whatever she wanted, she would take it. Even if Hagrid wasn't in trouble with what happened to her son, somebody was going to take the blame.
And from the letter lying beside him on his bed. That somebody was Buckbeak.
Ron crumpled the piece of parchment, hurling it across the room in a fit of anger. None of this was Buckbeak's fault—it was Zabini who had aggravated him, causing the hippogriff to lash out. Now he was being held accountable by a Committee who literally hated magical creatures. And if he had to admit it, Buckbeak was one of Ron's favorite creatures—it was certainly calmer than a fire-breathing dragon, an angry three-headed dog, and a giant man-eating spider.
Ron had hoped he could ask his dad for help, to stop Talia Zabini's case on Buckbeak—but the damage was already done.
"Zabini's worse than Lucius Malfoy." His father said. "Anybody who goes against her must have a death wish. And I don't have one son."
Theodore sat on the roof of Nott Manor, reading the contents of the letter from Hagrid for the third time. Buckbeak was going to trial—and there was no doubt that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures would elect for the hippogriff to be executed. It was like the darkness was finding its way to seep into everything Theodore held dear.
His friendships. His love for magical creatures. Quidditch games. He wished to go to Tobias's Manor for Christmas, but he was afraid of how the boy would react. To be honest, it hurt Theodore's feelings when he saw the boy walk right past their compartment on the train. They hadn't spoken since Hogsmeade and it wasn't like Tobias to blatantly ignore people.
He knew that Tobias needed time to process the news about his father. But how long would it take him to process it?
Neville wasn't sure what to make of the note. He didn't know if he should write to Hagrid—to inspire some form of positivity in this sea of Darkness. But he didn't feel in such a positive mood—and every time he tried to think of the bright-side to the situation, he couldn't. He didn't feel capable to cheer up Hagrid. It usually took Tobias's reassurance, Theo's humor, Draco's aggressiveness, Ron's determination, and Hermione's brains to get Hagrid to turn his mood. Neville wasn't sure if he could do it all himself.
But he wasn't sure if his friends could do it either. Since Hogsmeade, their friendship had been…off. Draco barely wanted to talk to anyone after he confronted Tobias at the Black Lake—and Tobias wasn't talking to anyone. No one knew what to say. Nobody knew what to do.
It was a horrible waiting game. But who would make the first move to mend their friendship?
Tobias didn't know how to feel about Hagrid's news. He did feel bad for Buckbeak—and he wanted to be furious with Blaise Zabini for putting Buckbeak in that position, but things had definitely changed since then. He and Zabini were allies now, working together to learn the Patronus Charm and to find a way to kill Sirius Black. It put him in a complicated position.
And besides the issue with Hagrid, Tobias had been waiting to confront his grandfather with the truth. To ask why he hadn't told him about his father, and what Sirius Black had done. Why he was so intent on keeping Tobias away from the ex-con. He wanted to help Hagrid, he really did—but he couldn't push past the fact that everyone was keeping secrets from him.
He tucked away the letter in his robes, so he wouldn't forget about Buckbeak's trial. But he had to put that dilemma on hold.
Right now—he had to focus on his other mission.
That night, Atlas and Crouch Jr. left LeStrange Manor and started their mission to find their first target. The first name on their list was a wizard named Travis Perry. Crouch Jr. was already familiar with the name, suggesting that they start their search in his last known location.
London, France.
Their first stop was at a pub, where Crouch Jr. insisted he needed something to drink. Atlas didn't protest—he was just happy to be away from his usual surroundings. LeStrange Manor was nice, but this is what he was looking forward to. Going on missions and traveling the world.
They sat at the bar, where a woman with long red hair came and took their order. She was very attractive, but she had to be at least ten years older than him.
"What can I get you boys?" She asked, smiling seductively at Atlas.
"I…uhhhh—" the boy started.
"He'll have a firewhiskey." Crouch Jr. said. "And I'll take a glass of your strongest Brandy."
The Barista nodded, turning around to fix their drinks. Atlas noticed that the woman hadn't asked for any identification. She had to have known that he was nowhere near old enough to drink.
"Does she know I'm fourteen?" Atlas whispered to Crouch.
The man laughed, pulling back his left sleeve. "When you have this, lad, you can do and get whatever you want."
The woman came back with their drinks. Crouch tipped her with a few—gold coins?
"What are those?" asked Atlas. He took a sip of his firewhiskey—it burned his throat horribly, but the boy enjoyed the cinnamon taste that came with it.
"Galleons." Crouch said, taking a sip of his drink. "Wizard currency. The smallest are Knuts, Sickles are the next size up, and then these…" He held the coin up. "They say the richest wizards in the world have never seen the other two—only Galleons."
"Are you rich?"
"Nope." The man said, tucking the galleon back in his pocket. "But you are. Your father owns the LeStrange fortune—they were once the richest family of the Sacred 28. That is…until the Malfoys came along."
Atlas frowned again, seeing as he didn't know much about the wizarding world. "And…the Sacred 28 are?"
"Ancient pureblood families. Most of them are Slytherin families—they don't allow marriages to mudbloods. A few of the names you've heard already—LeStrange, Malfoy, Nott. They're all pureblood…and their sons have to continue that legacy."
"Is Riddle a pureblood name?" Atlas asked.
"The name Riddle didn't come up until your father." Crouch answered, taking another sip. "No one has ever asked him his true blood status, and those who have—aren't alive to spread the news."
"What about you? Are you pureblood?"
The man smiled. "Since the day I was born. But I didn't grow up in those big fancy mansions…we weren't as popular as the rest."
Atlas took another sip of his firewhiskey. He had a thousand questions to ask about the wizarding world, and the only person he could ask was Crouch. If they were going to spend a lot of time together—he might as well use it to his advantage.
"What does…mudblood mean?"
Crouch laughed. "You ask a lot of questions, kid."
"Sorry, I-" Atlas started.
"I get it." The man said. "All of this…it's a lot to take in. You aren't the only wizard to grow up away from home."
He took another swig of his drink, signaling for the barista to bring him another. "Mudblood is a name purebloods—most purebloods—use to describe Muggleborn wizards. It means dirty blood."
The boy frowned. "Muggleborn wizards? How is that possible?"
"Genetics, I guess. Somewhere in their family line, somebody was a wizard, and then the trait disappeared and manifested several years later. Muggles are called muggles for a reason—and when those muggles inherit the same magical powers as us…you can see how that upsets the balance."
Atlas nodded. "And do they marry their own kind, like us?"
"Sometimes." Crouch answered. "Or sometimes they marry pureblood wizards, which creates half-bloods."
"So, if they're aren't pureblood, they can marry who they want?"
"Sounds restricting, but it's just how everything is. Pureblood boys are promised—or betrothed—to pureblood girls. Your father's grandson, Tobias, he's betrothed to a Parkinson, another Sacred 28 family."
"Will I be…promised to someone?" Atlas felt his cheeks burn red hot at the questions, but he was curious.
"You're the Dark Lord's son," said Crouch. "Once you finish this mission, everyone will know your name, pureblood girls will line up to be your wife. You don't know it—but you're already promised to everything you've ever wanted."
Everything you're ever wanted. It sounded like a dream in Atlas's head. In the span of two days, he went from having nothing, to being one of the most respected wizards in the Wizarding Community. All because of his last name. It was overwhelming, but Atlas was sure he would get used to it.
"And what about the purebloods who don't?" He asked suddenly. "What if they decide to marry a muggleborn? Or a half-blood?"
"Depends on the half-blood in question." Crouch answered. "But muggleborns—that's different. Any pureblood wizard that marries a mudblood, or a muggle period—becomes what we call 'blood traitors.' For example, the Weasley family. They adore the muggles—Arthur Weasley went under investigation last year because he made a muggle car fly."
Atlas could see the disgusted expression on Crouch's face, but he couldn't deny that seeing a flying car would be a cool thing to see. "So are all the Weasley's blood traitors?"
"Every single last one of them, right to their youngest daughter. They were ripped from the Sacred 28 years ago. It's the reason they're so poor now—nobody sponsors blood traitor families."
Atlas nodded, drinking the rest of his firewhiskey. He decided he had asked enough questions for today. He pondered his previous conversation with Crouch Jr. There were a lot of rules to being a pureblood wizard—he was surprised by how Lucius Malfoy and the others made it look so easy.
But one thing that stood out to him, were the muggles. He immediately thought about Demetric, and how the man had no magical powers. Demetric was a muggle—and it made Atlas wonder. Had his blood already been tainted by staying with the man for so long? Atlas didn't know anything about the wizarding world, he didn't even know he was a pureblood wizard until a few minutes ago. Would somebody know he was different by looking at him?
He needed to learn as much about this new world as he could, not just the spells. He wanted to uphold the Riddle name, and to prove his worth to the rest of his father's followers. He remembered how they looked at him when he was first introduced. He assumed that they didn't see him as worthy—they couldn't believe that he was Lord Voldemort's son.
Atlas signaled for another drink. He was definitely going to change that.
He locked the door as quickly as he transformed. He needed to breathe—he needed to think. He was lucky that Ron had decided to go home for the Christmas Holidays—he wasn't sure how long he could hide from Black and that bloody cat. Three people were after him now and it was stressing him out.
Peter Pettigrew looked at himself in the mirror—he looked way worse than he did before the Weasley boy headed to Hogwarts. He found himself rejecting the rat tonic—seeing as he wasn't a real rat, and the constant hiding and running around the castle didn't help either.
The mark on his left arm had been tingling lately—a sign that Lord Voldemort was calling his followers home. Peter had half the mind to give up, to return to LeStrange Manor and face the Dark Wizard. But he quickly refused this suggestion, thinking about the consequences that would follow.
He had deserted his Oath and duty as a Death Eater. He had hidden with blood traitors for twelve years. He didn't want to imagine the punishment the Dark Lord had in mind for him. The thought of it made his breathing grow rapid—the bathroom mirror fogging as he breathed.
"Ron?" He heard someone say, outside the door. He recognized the voice as Arthur Weasley. "Ron are you in there?"
"No." The Weasley boy answered. "I'm in my room."
"Then, who in Merlin's beard locked the bathroom door?"
Peter jumped as the man began to fumble with the doorknob, rattling it violently. The man took one last look at himself before transforming back into his rat form. He couldn't risk Arthur Weasley seeing him—not now at least.
The door opened with a loud BOOM and Arthur Weasley trampled in. He looked highly confused as there was no one in the bathroom—no one to explain why the door had been locked. The wizard looked down, finding the rat named Scabbers shivering on the bathroom floor.
"I was expecting to frighten one of my children." The man said, kneeling. "But it seems I've frightened you, Scabbers. Come."
The Weasley man picked up the rat, taking him upstairs to Ron's room. Peter's breathing settled—wishing that he could stay with the Weasley's forever.
But he knew he couldn't.
Author's Note:
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~ TheeStoryTeller
