Nobby Leach arrived in the Ministry wearing a muggle suit. He had a polka dotted tie. Next to him was Mandy Sullivan. She was wearing a muggle dress. Anxiously she held onto her clutch bag and trailed next to him. They looked out of place in the Ministry, where everyone wore robes and smelled of perfume that Nobby Leach swore smelled just a tad like a love potion. He couldn't be certain, but he had heard from Septimus Weasley that pureblood women put a drop of a love potion into their perfume to smell just a tad more alluring than they were. And the men, too, really. That Abraxas Malfoy had the right idea, otherwise he'd smell like a drug addict sweating and ruining and yearning for cocaine.
But no. This wasn't about him. This was about Nobby Leach. He asked one of the aurors standing watch where he could find the Wizengamot and the Ministry candidates. They, thinking he was just there to watch, happily pointed him in the direction. Though, one of them made a remark about their clothing. Sepcifically Mandy's, which in their opinion garnered a whistle and a leer. She quickened her step and pulled Nobby Leach to walk faster, to not jeopardize everything they had worked for in order to tell off two idiots.
He listened to her, softening his angry expression when he saw hers. She guided him to the door and then both of them had to close their eyes when they walked through, for a blazing fire met them there. It danced in the clearing surrounded by the wizengamot seats. Around said seats were people that had come to watch the initiation of the mages who were going to run for Minister for Magic. But in the centre, in the centre of the spectacle was a raging, twisting, magnificent blue fire. Blue, one might even say if they were really willing to look for symbolism, like blue blood.
Nobby Leach straightened himself up. He looked to Mandy Sullivan and thought about changing her name to his. She beamed with joy and rubbed her hands together with jitters. He winked at her and she returned it, the bold thing that she was.
Among them were scattered pieces of the world, pure, half, muddy, and the forgotten. Most of them were Black, Nobby Leach could instantly tell by their dark hair and impervious eyes. Walburga Black was among those standing in the very first lines. Their faces were illuminated by the dancing fire, beckoning them closer. Nobby Leach had asked why it was fire that ignited in the centre of the wizengamot chambers and Filius Flitwick had told him, as gently as he could: ''They say it's to filter those who are too dirty blooded to enter.''
Nobby Leach had nodded in thanks. His eyes glowed with even fiercer determination. He balled his hand into a fist and he held it close to his chest as he moved through the crowd. Next to Walburga Black was an imposing man, also a Black, because they travelled in packs like wolves and dogs.
Arcturus Black, otherwise known as Lord Black, gave a look of contempt for any and all that were beneath him. He held his head up high and regarded the flames like his next conquest. He was Walburga's uncle and father-in-law. Nobby Leach wished he could cough Borgia in front of them, but it would be a futile reference for someone as uneducated in muggle history as them.
Ignatius Tuft stood on the opposite side of the Blacks. He was current Minister, but they were trying to get rid of him because he wanted to breed Dementors and let them run rampant. He was just a tad mentally unstable for the position of power being Minsiter lend him. He was wearing a robe bedazzled by jewels. Like a crazy emperor from Rome or some other misfit creature that needed to be stabbed thirteen times and told to take a break and stop wanting to kill people through un-thought out political decisions.
The Head of the Wizengamot welcomed everyone and said that those who wanted to run for Minister were free to step up into the flame and have their magic recognized. It was the right of any mage that was not a Dark creature. And due to technicality this included parselmouths. Nobby Leach tried to find Tom Riddle through the crowd. It was too risky to wave to him, but he could see him standing next to a rattled and bouncy Abraxas Malfoy. That man looked just a bit too high to be all right.
By law and out of respect for the hierarchy of Ministry regulations the first to step into the flame was supposed to be Ignatius Tuft, but when he spotted Lord Black take the first step, he pulled back two steps. Whatever whine he had on the tip of his tongue turned to steam and evaporated. Lord Black's gaze was unmoving as he stepped into the flame. He embraced the fire dancing across his form and moved to be in the centre, the very beginning of its reach.
''Lord Arcturus Black III of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.''
Then, Ignatius Tuft stepped into the fire and moved to the centre. He was ready to fight for the Minister position until his dying breath. Lord Black welcomed the challenge.
''Current Minister Ignatius Tuft of the Loyal House Tuft.''
Ignatius proudly preened. He bounced on the back of his heels as he waited for the flame to peter out. Lord Black's expression was predatory. Because anyhting a Black wanted, a Black would get no matter the cost. He planned, already, to walk over Ignatius and bury him like the worm he no doubt was. His grin was toothy. He, too, couldn't wait until the flame extinguished so he could prepare for the infamous silver-tongued duel against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. For any wizard or witch, there was no greater honour! Ignatius Tuft moved where Lord Black remained stoic and assured. Ignatius Tuft looked towards the rippling flame first, where Lord Black remained stone-faced of the intruder.
The Wizengamot official did not speak the name. He had to ask for it because he did not know it.
And then the voice pierced the air and the flame and welcomed the fire just as easily, just as readily as Lord Black and Minister Tuft. ''My name is Nobby Leach.''
The ripple effect this had. It could not be explained in mere words. There was a chain of gasps. A chain of words, of profanities, of horror, of elation, of happiness, of wondrous hope. Nobby Leach was a name nobody knew, yet everyone felt like they knew. Nobby Leach was a name that dared to want to be known.
Blue fire slowly began to flicker around them. Nobby Leach hurried to the centre for the fire to recognize him.
The Wizengamot official said, finally, manifesting forth into the world something dangerous and changing: ''Mr. Nobby Leach.''
Mind Magic was Black Magic. This all knew. And whatever Lord Black told Ignatius Tuft must have been pretty severe, because, pale and frightened and shaking, Ignatius Tuft nearly ran out of the circle and took back his candidacy run. He kept his gaze on Arcturus Black as if he had seen the devil. He fell, then, when Arcturus turned his gaze away to fix it on Nobby Leach. Without using any words or hand movements, he cast legilimens on him and said: ''Boy, do not fight fire when you are green like a mandrake leaf.''
Nobby Leach, in his suit and polka dotted tie, regarded the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and said, not in his mind, but out so the world could hear because he had no secrets he was not ready to die for: ''I will enjoy being your opponent, Lord Black. I will savour my victory more, however.''
The fire disperesed. Lord Black and Nobby Leach remained the candidates for Minister. Ignatius Tuft shook like a leaf when Lord Black swept past him. He paid him no mind, only looking ahead and planning how to defeat the pest known as Nobby Leach.
Tom Riddle could be seen walking out of the room with Abraxas Malfoy in tow. The latter held onto the former, feeling just a smidge off balance when the high fell.
Nobby Leach walked past Walburga Black's stricken face. He placed a hand on her shoulder in passing and said: ''Tag. You're it, Lady Black.''
He didn't see her expression. He didn't need to. Mandy told him it was priceless as she pulled him into a hug.
Hermione had never had the pleasure of hearing Nobby Leach speak. No, she had heard him in memories talking to people, but she had never heard the campaigning, she had never heard the infamous Mudpride speech of 1962.
And it was time. It was time for her to hear it. If nobody had filmed it or kept it on record, it was time for her to hear it here and now in Tom Marvolo Riddle's mind. She breathed in shakily because she could feel herself brimming in the crowd with joy and anxiousness and liberation. It swept over the vampires, the werewolves, the squibs, the muggleborns, the halfbloods, and the purebloods like a tsunami.
A man wearing an expensive robe introduced Nobby Leach to the podium where all the Minister candidates were to hold their speech. She turned to look at her mentor and asked him if this was The Speech. And he nodded, signifying that it was. This was the speech that got the people on board with Nobby Leach. This was the speech that broke them from the Black hold and got them to stop voting for the same old people for over thirty, forty, seventy, hundred, two hundred, three hundred years. However long the Statute of Secrecy was at the time. Hermione's attention was glued to Nobby Leach and his apparel. He wore a robe that denoted classiness, but not class. His watch (and what mage did not have a watch?) was worn out and scrounged up by his close friends when they were all seventeen and wild.
Now, now he was not as wild. But he was not tame by any means. Nobby Leach waved at the crowd and beamed at them all, knowing that among them were people who were already in his corner, people who would never be, and there – also – were people who wanted to be inspired, who wished to be seduced to the side of the mudblood.
''Hello, Magical Britain!'' He opened up his arms, showing a different pose to the one Lord Black exhibited, with his crossed arms and snotty demeanour, ''Unlike my opponent, I need an introduction. The lot of you that do know me, know me as Nobby Leach. Those that don't know me personally know me through a smear campaign done by my opponent that proves I am illiterate, therefore ineligible for the Minister for Magic position.''
Hermione turned to her mentor for aid. ''Smear campaign?''
''Someone asked him to read what a bunch of runes said and when he floundered used that to drag his mudblood name through the mud. As it were...''
''Just that?''
''That wasn't even a third of it, Hermione. They wanted to bury him alive and watch him die. I intercepted most of it, what with being on the inside of all of those plans. Lestrange always did wonder how the aurors just so happened to know when they were planning an assassination here and there.''
''An assassination?'' Hermione squeaked in disbelief. ''He hadn't even won?''
''They knew he would.''
''They knew?''
''If they didn't know, they knew after this speech. The only ones that clung onto hope were the Blacks.''
Nobby Leach scanned the crowd again and used the silence to say: ''Aren't you tired?''
Nobody said anything. It was no matter. Nobby continued, his voice louder. ''Aren't you tired of the way you can count on one hand how many creatures there are in the Ministry? And even that is grunt work that everyone makes you feel bad to work. No work should be looked down upon. We, as a society, have to be better for the sake of our children.''
Someone shouted through the crowd, planted there no doubt by the purebloods, how Nobby Leach was a liar to speak about children and family when he himself had neither children nor a wife.
Hermione spotted a galmoured man – who looked the spitting image of Montgomery Goldsmith (the American, the glamour, the disguise) rush through the crowd and silence the planted fiend. She turned to her mentor, who stood beside her, and opened her mouth in a weird, little, 'oh'.
Nobby Leach spoke over the instigator. He would not let this deter him. Not when he and Mandy and Voldemort and everyone else that had worked so hard, given their lives for this moment – no, he would not stop when he was so close. When he could taste their votes on his tongue.
The vampires and the werewolves and the rest of them who hadn't come, who had tuned in to listen to the radio, all craned their heads to listen more keenly. There was something in the air, somehting that felt of change and prosperity, but, also, fear of the unknown, trepidation for what was to come. Nothing could be either-way when it came to the election of 1962. Every vote counted. And for some, it was a matter of life or death.
Nobby Leach called forth then: ''What about the injustice of the squibs? Are they truly expected to be discarded by their families and this world, this magical, wonderful world? It is flawed, yes, I see this first as a mudblood.'' The older muggleborns still twitched, but the ones from the Mudpride years looked at Nobby Leach and clapped loudly, cheering him on. Mandy was the loudest, her voice carrying volumes of love. And she had fallen in love with him while handing out fliers with him and being spat on by the purebloods who told them to go back to the muggle world where they belong. ''But,'' Nobby Leach's voice was strong and assured, and unlike Lord Black, he spoke from the heart and believed in justice with all of his might. If not this justice, then Nobby Leach believed in God's justice. He wore a cross around his throat that many a media had criticized as otherworldly and a show that he is out there to change things that didn't need changing. ''Squibs are citizens of this world! They have the right to vote and squib voter turn out is next to null statistically! How can it not be, I ask you! How can it not be when they have never had a candidate that does not look down on them and their existence, doesn't look down on them like they are lepers? I hope, more than anything, that they use this right of theirs because they have been pushed out of Magical Britain. No, I promise you now, this is over. I will fight for you as I will fight for the creatures, as I will fight for the mudbloods, as I will fight for the halfbloods who tell me – and this pains me more than anything - how they fit neither in the muggle world and in the magical world. How it is difficult for them to find jobs, how they have had to flee abroad and learn magic from different masters and see that belief in blood is just as dangerous as spilled blood. Because the former leads to the latter, Magical Britain.''
Nobby Leach glanced over to Lord Black, and his entire family that had come out to support him. He saw Walburga Black's black eyes pooling into devouring black holes. He looked away form them then, electing not to get sucked in and side tracked. Legiliemency was always a threat when dealing with the Blacks. He held his hands onto the podium because if he waved them around they would write about his inability to be still and strong, how he was neurotic and unhelpful and ill and most-certainly drugged off of his arse to even be attempting such a thing as running for Minister. ''Did any of you notice how nobody introduces Lord Black?''
He could feel Lord Black's eyes on him. They were always a lot stronger than Walburga's. More hateful.
The disguised Tom Riddle shouted then, his face broad in a smile and his voice is disguised, too, because there are a couple of people who would be able to tell and he cannot afford that. ''Oi, right! What is that all about? It's like the wanker thinks because everyone knows who he is that we'll all vote for him or somehtin'? NO BLOODS!'' He shouted then and pumped his fist into the air. When he spotted aurors being signalled to catch the instigator he twirled on his heel and disapparated. Only to later apparate back looking like Tom Riddle. He waved at Abraxas Malfoy, who was seething.
''He does not care for any of you. It's in his bloody House Motto – Toujours Pur. Always pure. There is no conjecture here, there is no possible subtlety here. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has built their name and their family fortune on the backs of hardworking mudbloods, halfbloods, creatures, and squibs! It is on the backs of people like US that they get to talk like this and look down on us. In his speech, Lord Black cited that he was going to work harder to lower tax, but that does not benefit any of us – that only benefits the Twenty-Eight – and we all know who the Twenty-Eight. We all know who the Malfoys, the Lestanges, the Blacks, the Notts are.''
Like a preacher's son he allowed his own magic to travel through him and out of his mouth, as a companion to his words. He had spent his entire pay check to buy that robe for this, and he said it. He spoke of poverty openly, looking into Septimus Weasley's eyes as he did so. ''Their struggles are not ours.''
''What struggles?'' Cohen shouted, having put a wand to her throat to amplify her tone. ''Half of them get wet over Grindelwald rhetoric! If you mean they're struggling to accept Grindelwald's imprisonment, then, oh yes, I can definitely see it!''
Someone asked Cohen to tone it down. She had to be threatened with a wand to shut up before she did. And only then she did so if not to take too much light off of Nobby Leach.
''Magical Birtain, our voices have never had this chance before to be heard. I will speak for you, instead of about you. I will protect your interests and I will fight for your voices and your children and our future. I will fight for you, Magical Britain, as diverse and mesmerizing as I know you are!''
Swept up in the élan of the moment, of the cheering, and the atmosphere, Nobby Leach said: ''When I say MUDPRIDE, it does not only hold meaning for muggleborns, mudbloods – it represents a safe and welcoming space for squibs, for vampires and veela and werewolves and all creatures whose rights have been tarnished for too long, it welcomes the halfbloods which tell me they have no place in either world, it welcomes the allies of pure blood who tell me that are looked down on by the Twenty-Eight, those of pure blood who tell me that they cannot find abide by the way this world continues to mistreat and abuse others based on blood. So, when I say MUDPRIDE, I mean all of you. I mean all of us! I mean every single one of us that needs to hear their voice represented and heard! MUDPRIDE!''
A sea of chants echoed: ''MUDPRIDE! MUDPRIDE!''
One person added on: ''NOBLOODS!'' And everyone mimicked them, singing the words like the sweetest symphony.
Nobby Leach glanced over where Tom Riddle was and winked. Abraxas Malfoy, thinking the wink was aimed at him in form of mockery, seethed even more, sputtering: ''The NERVE!''
Tom Riddle didn't wink back. But he did smile like a goof. That smile would come to cost him, especially because Walburga Black saw and catalogued it for later.
''That was... amazing.'' Hermione had no words to describe what she felt. She couldn't fathom it into words.
Her mentor smiled. He almost agreed. ''I suppose now comes the blatant corruption.''
Her smile fell. ''Excuse me?''
''Oh yes. Loads of that in politics, on either side.''
''I will skin you, Tom Riddle.''
''Not if I body slam you first, bitch. You think I'm above hitting women who are taller than me? Hate to disappoint you, but I've wanted to go up against you since the first moment you called me mudblood, you cantankerous cunt.''
Both Walburga Black and Lord Voldemort aimed their wands at each other.
''Turns out imperiusing the Wizengamot isn't as easy as one thinks when Walburga Black went to do the same bloody thing for her father-in-law.''
''Oh my God, the absolute corruption from the both of you!''
''You think you can win against me?'' Walburga Black, an immovable object, said to Lord Voldemort, otherwise referred to as unstoppable force.
''I know I can win against you.'' Lord Voldemort said. ''I'll obliviate you and I'll imperius the lords and ladies of 300 summers.''
''Huh?''
''You need to be, at least, one hundred to be a part of the wizengamot.''
''What kind of Spartan nonsense is –''
''I really do not make the rules of this weird, horrid country, Hermione.''
The duel that unleashed itself forth was both legendary and incredibly painful to watch. Mostly because Walburga Black losing didn't bode well for anyone. She fell after being knocked down by a cruciatus curse. Lord Voldemort hurried to her side and sent a spell that blinded her temporarily so she wouldn't be able to enter his mind. When such a connection was formed, it was worse than being held under an unforgivable. He did not want Walburga's lecherous hands curling around his brain.
He pressed a wand to her forehead and said: ''Obliviate.''
She'd remember this transpiring, of course, because she was a Black. But it would buy him time and she would remember it after the vote and then he would do damage control. For now, he needed to work unhindered.
''It was fun, Walburga Black. I will admit. Especially fun when I got to rearrange your brain for a change.'' He laughed and it was not a kind laugh. Oh no. He reserved his cruellest laughs for Walburga Black.
''Did she remember?''
''Of course.''
''What did she do?''
''She made me swear a vow, that when she needed me to do something for her, I would. But only when she was at her lowest, most desperate state.''
''When was this?''
''1970 when she begged me to come back to society. I had barricaded myself in a swamp, you see. It was a very low point for me.''
''Oh yeah, the Dementor swamp. I'd heard rumours about that.''
''Nasty business, Hermione.''
''Right.'' Hermione nodded.
Nobby Leach kneeled to propose to Mandy Sullivan before the announcement of the new Minister, saying that he didn't want it to appear like he only married her because of giddiness and adrenaline. ''I love you, Mandy. I love you with all of my heart, be I Minister or not. I will love you and I will always want you by my side.''
Mandy Sullivan said yes right around the time when someone, it sounded a lot like Cohen, shouted out: ''YOU'RE MINISTER, NOBBY! YOU'RE BLOODY MINISTER!''
''MUDBLOODY thank you very much.'' Nobby grinned. He smiled with his eyes, too, and that was where he and his opponents differed. They only smiled how the photographs wanted them to.
Hermione giggled.
Her mentor looked softly at the man. There was love in his crimson, sad eyes.
It was an office wedding. Neither member of the recent marriage had wanted to change religions for each other. They were adamant about this and therefore agreed to forego the clerical aspect of this union. Neither had a problem with this, what with both the bride and the groom being reasonable and quite savvy people. Their families, however, were a whole other story. This was a difficult situation. One that ultimately led to estrangement and disownment.
Nobby Leach bent down to sign the piece of paper joining him and Mandy in wonderful and law binding matrimony. Next Mandy signed the paper, glowing brightly in her fancy skirt and blazer. It was not a day full of people. It was only for their loved ones and closest. Given how their blood family (and even the muggles put value on blood, it was obscene) had decided to be petty over whether or not a catholic and a protestant ought to marry, Nobby and Mandy had only invited the two people who did not give a single fuck about such things.
Lord Voldemort aka Tom Riddle when it came to dealing with muggle affairs bent down to sign his muggle name as Nobby Leach's witness.
Mandy's witness was a woman who would die swiftly in the first war. It was Cohen. She would later be famous for making jokes about this day. "How many people does it take in order to marry off the Minister for Magic? Four: a catholic, a protestant, an atheist, and a Jew." Then she would laugh at her own joke the hardest, finding it the funniest thing in the world. Tom would nod along, not quite sure if he was allowed to or not.
''I am going to forever remember this day!'' Nobby Leach wiped a tear away. Today was a happy day for him and his wife.
Mandy took a hold of Nobby's hand in hers and said: "If I had to tell them to fuck off all over again, no matter how difficult, I would do it. Nobby, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to grow old together."
He replied: "Mandy, there are not enough words in the world to describe how you make me feel. Some of them are definitely aggravated and embarrassed because you never hesitate to put me in my place - which Tom tells me is something he appreciates because you make his and mine life much easier." Nobby Leach was the type of person that often went off tangent about things and spoke about the world while forgetting to talk about the current situation. It was a trait of his not many people could get used to. "However, you make me feel like we can do anything. The way you glow with strength and how unapologetic about it you are inspires me. Everyone says that out of the two of us I am the one who inspires, but you are the one who actually gets things done. My talk would be nothing without you. This I want you to know and remember. I am a man with too many ideas, but with you- I am a man who doesn't just talk people's ears off - I am not a man-"
"For the love of god, Nobby, will you get to the point please? There are people waiting to get married." Tom Riddle tapped his foot on the ground.
Nobby flushed red and whispered: "I am so sorry. It appears I am still a man who can talk everyone off their feet." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.
Mandy shook her head. "I knew what I was getting into. Don't worry yourself too much, Nobby."
Cohen whispered under her breath: "My husband better not be like this." Then she looked at Riddle for a moment and the contemplative expression which crossed her face passed just as quickly. She fanned her idea away and said: "Traumatized and a goy. My mother would forgive the former, but not the latter."
Soon after their merry band of misfits went to celebrate this recent marriage.
It was a sight to behold, truly. There was merry singing involved, catastrophic dancing, and hilarious drinking. Cohen remained the only designated driver/apparater. She smiled at her lovely band of drunken idiots and mocked them happily. "Look at you, the lot of you are so drunk you will not even remember you had gotten married. This one forgot how to speak English!"
This one was less known parseltongue Tom Riddle. He was hissing. What he was hissing about was anyone's guess.
Their place of partying was none other than the new Leach residence. It was a gift from the Ministry for Magic for the Minister for Magic. Once Cohen saw it she blinked in amazement. "Now I see why Black wanted to be Minister. This place is incredible."
And on one of the many intricate rugs of said incredible place rested the drunken body of one Lord Voldemort aka Tom Riddle. He kept hissing. Mandy attempted to hiss back. Cohen joked about them being very funny together.
Nobby Leach began sobering up Tom Riddle, who kept looking at him in sheer awe. And this person resembled more Tom Riddle than he did Voldemort. Voldemort was not nearly as hero-worshiping of anyone. But Tom, especially here, looked absolutely smitten. Kind of in that way that most crushes evolved: 'I want to be him à I want to be WITH him'.
''I am never going to have a wife or children.'' Tom Riddle whispered. He longed for one, secretly, but it was much easier to destroy such wants and yearnings. They did not fit his life nor was it kind to be an immortal parent. He would only face heartbreak were they to die (and yes, he had considered even this – if he ever dared to love, honestly, entirely love – he would need someone immortal to do so with and for. Anything else would be torture). ''You are living the dream, Leach.''
''Mandy and I do not want children.'' Leach wobbled, his being drunk notwithstanding. ''But, shhh, that is a secret in a world riddled and run by people who only make children for legacies and the continuation of incestuous blood.'' Tom Riddle laughed, fully aware who the targets were in this jab. He did not even need to speak their name. This day was about the Leach couple and their additional misfits. No, Cohen wasn't a misfit, she was much too practical for that. Too practical not to run from Britain in time because she was spending too much time planning said escape down to a tee.
''What a life.'' Tom Riddle continued. He leaned hard against Nobby Leach, but not hard enough to topple them both down.
It was this point that Tom Riddle got too lazy to move. He forced Leach to drag him along like a sack of potatoes. ''It is good practise for when Mandy sends you grocery shopping.''
''I wonder if today is just going to be remembered by the amount of terrible jokes we've made and not that Mandy and I got married...''
''I've got a good one about a catholic priest and an orphanage matron!'' Tom Riddle exclaimed, his eyes aglow with victory. Nobby Leach sighed and let him tell the joke wobbly. He was being dragged to a bathroom where Nobby Leach grabbed a hold of a shower head, aimed it at Tom Riddle, and turned the water on.
After some sputtering, Tom Riddle (who looked like a wet rat at this point) asked him what it felt like to have a family.
Nobby Leach, who had earned family and lost family because of each other, sighed. ''I asked you once what it was like without a family and you said it was complicated. It's complicated this way around, as well.''
Tom nodded. He looked dejected as he leaned against the bathtub. ''I cannot understand why you asked me to be your best man.''
''Because you're my best mate.''
Tom nodded. He was still disbelieving. ''Right.'' It didn't feel right. ''That makes sense.'' It didn't to him. People wanting to be his friend still didn't make any sense nor did it feel right or acceptable. The orphanage children had treated him like the antichrist, the Slytherins like a leper, and the rest like a god to endear themselves to. Nobby had always just treated him like a person.
Nobby Leach tried to move around Tom Riddle, ultimately decided it was too much effort, and plopped down on the wet tiled floor. He regarded Tom with a cheeky grin. Tom grinned back at him, equally as pissed. They laughed after only a single moment more. The sight in front of them, respectively, was too hilarious not to laugh at.
Their laughter died down. Nobby Leach couldn't resist filling with another monologue. This one, however, he had kept short and concise. He moved towards Tom and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing some awareness into the other, somewhat sober man. ''Mate, whatever you like to be called, Voldemort, Tom, I don't mind any of it. I want you to know that you always have a place with me. No matter what. You may not have had a family growing up, but I'm your family now.''
Hermione looked at her mentor and remembered him saying this exact same thing to her in a Munich hotel bathroom.
Nobby backtracked quickly, as if realising he'd let on too much. ''Mandy and I are your family. Mandy and I. Not just me. No, no, Mandy and I. Yeah. Mate, biological family – not all that. Look at my biological family – told me to never contact them again because I was going to besmirch the family and its values by marrying the woman of my dreams.'' It hurt Leach to mention this. He had always dreamed of his father and mother being there at his wedding. Of his father maybe even officiating his wedding. Small tears formed in the corner of Leach's eyes. He rubbed them away quickly and tried to laugh them off.
''My father bloody asked me to leave when he saw me for the first time.''
''Fucker, see! They think because they made you they're entitled to be shitty to you when you need them the most! No, blood family is out. Found family is in. Chosen family. Found family. I don't know what you wanna call it.'' Nobby Leach was going to need to drink an intense amount of water the following morning just to function normally. A lad he was not. Well, compared to Tom Riddle he was (but, really, anyone was), but compared to his wife he wasn't.
Mandy and Cohen were having a genuinely articulate conversation meanwhile the best man and the groom had devolved into two hurt men talking about how hurt and scarred emotionally they were.
Vaguely Leach heard Mandy say to Cohen: ''And I think we'll paint the master bedroom a nice beige.''
Cohen, here, nodded. ''Sounds about right.''
But, back to the matter at hand – Tom Riddle was existing and by seeing his existence, Nobby Leach was overcome with lots of emotions. Most prominent of which currently could be summed up as Leach's need to comfort everyone around himself and therefore himself, as well. ''I'm your family now. Stop crying over this. Nobody needs blood relatives anymore. It's dépassée!''
Tom Riddle slowly blinked. Nobby Leach, who had owned a cat during Hogwarts, was incredibly touched by this show of trust. He fell over Tom and they hugged like absolute loons. It turned out to be a day everyone remembered in varying degrees of embarrassment.
''You were family.'' Hermione's mouth turned to ash as she finished that statement. She could not fathom it. ''He asked you to be his best man…'' Why would anyone do this willingly and later on turn their back and kill someone like Nobby Leach? Hermione needed to see more.
Her mentor warned her as the new memory morphed around them: ''They do not get easier to look at.''
Nobby Leach and Voldemort – because he was Voldemort at the time – were sitting out on the back patio of the Leach residence. It ought to show how much Voldemort trusted Leach to accept clear water from him without any fear. Leach had something a tad stronger. He said that he'd gotten vodka from a benefactor. ''They, my dear opposition, think I'm a communist and I'm inclined to believe them.'' Leach merrily laughed. Just near the end of said laugh it fell down into murky waters of humourless force. Even he didn't have enough strength to keep playing up his positive attitude and outlook on life. Sometimes, and this was important to know, it was okay not to be happy. Sometimes it was okay to be tired.
And Leach was tired. He had a child of a pureblood lord sleeping under his roof, half-obliviated, half-crying. Neither Voldemort nor Leach knew what to do with him. They had Mandy tend to him, as cowardly as that was. She'd just given him something to drink that knocked him out. It seemed that she was the worst equipped to take care of him. At least, what with her being a healer, she ought to know the correct dosage.
Mandy trailed down to the patio and conjured herself a third chair. She plopped down on it and asked Leach if he could get her a stiff drink. ''I'm Irish, remember, sweetheart.''
''I know what a stiff drink is, love.''
''I don't know what you know.'' Mandy fanned away tiredly. She looked at Voldemort and asked him while Nobby went inside to fetch them drinks. ''What possessed you to bring him here?''
''Forgive me for finding it uncomfortable to watch a child get hit in front of me by a man I thought I lo-cared for deeply.''
Mandy snorted at his lack of emotional intelligence. ''You can't even say you love a man you've been living with for years. You've been having sex with.''
''Sex shouldn't be an indicator of love.''
Mandy inclined her head to agree. ''True. It shouldn't. It isn't.'' She made a grimace that Voldemort found very comical. ''Do you know what an indicator of love is, Voldemort?''
He could feel that this wasn't going to paint him in a good light. He nearly didn't dare to ask. But, it was Mandy. Mandy had never hurt him more than he could handle, nor had she done so maliciously. He would give her the benefit of the doubt. ''What, o great Mind Healer Leach?''
She cracked a small smile at that title, thrilled at her accomplishments and exhausted by the mess it was causing her and her loved one's lives. Nobody took her merit as her own while her husband was Minister for Magic. Nepotism was a word that purebloods tossed around quite frequently, whereas only a couple of years ago they would never dare call true nepotism by this word in fear of ruffling a few peacock feathers.
''An indicator of love is to stop your loved one from self-destructing. Not to self-destruct alongside him.'' Her words of wisdom got overshadowed by Leach's entrance. He held two glasses of vodka now, which he happily clinked when he handed one to his wife. ''We're going to drink and we're going to forget that this house has an underage resident in it.'' Leach turned to Voldemort then and said. ''While I do appreciate what you did, please, don't bring him over again. Abraxas Malfoy strikes me as the kind of person to... how do you say it... hmmm... find a way to make even the most innocuous sleepover into some scandal. My re-election is coming along and I do not need that.'' He topped this off with taking a shot of his vodka and coughing at the end of it. ''Christ.'' He blinked rapidly. ''That packs a punch.''
Voldemort moved from his seat to stand and look at Leach. ''About that,''
Mandy whispered, ''I knew it.'' She said louder at Voldemort's prompt, more heated this time, ''I knew you wouldn't imperius them again. You're losing control over your little following, aren't you? As much as they respect and revere you,'' she was standing now, so quickly that the chair fell behind her, ''they hate Nobby even more.''
''I never said this.'' Voldemort hissed, nearly flinging himself into parseltongue. ''I never said this at all, Mandy. You ought to watch your mouth.''
''You're a coward, Head Boy!'' Mandy shouted and her words razed him to the ground. ''You don't have enough nerve to tell Abraxas to get his behaviour under control so you flee with his son to us – as if we owe that brat anything.'' She shook in his presence, balling her hands into tight fists. ''We do not owe him anything. We aren't an orphanage nor some mock up of the Red Cross. Having him here is dangerous for us, for Nobby. For Minister Leach.''
''Mandy,'' Leach tried to intervene between the two heated geniuses. He was a genius, too, in his own way. But they were the more easily noticeable of the trio. ''Mandy, there is no need to attack Voldemort like this. He has been our ally.''
''Ally?'' Mandy scoffed. She pointed at her scar. ''Some ally.''
''You should consider not running.'' Voldemort said just in time for Mandy's raucous laughter. She shouted: ''I knew it!'' There was no triumph in that 'told you so'. Only disappointment.
Nobby Leach could see beyond people. He could see beyond their words. It was one of the reasons why he had gotten along with Voldemort for such a long, long time. He told Mandy that he wanted to hear what Voldemort had to say, but Mandy (who would learn only later how to be calm in a world of injustice) said that she didn't need to be here for this. ''I am going on a walk.'' With a crack she apparated.
Leach led Voldemort inside gently, coaxing him through the threshold like a baby deer. He sat him down on a couch in their sitting room and asked him if he might want some of that vodka. ''I do not drink.'' Voldemort said. ''Not often. I speak parseltongue when I get too drunk and nobody can understand me. There is a lot of room for misinterpretation because of this.''
''A creature of caution.'' Leach snorted and decided against pouring himself a third shot of vodka. He sat down next to him on the couch, leaned back leisurely, crossed his legs, looked ahead at a painting of a supporter of his politics (it was either a copy of a Picasso or an actual work by him, Leach had forgotten what he'd been told), and said: ''Mandy thinks that I cannot win without getting the wizengamot under control.''
''She is correct.'' Voldemort admitted. ''You do not hear the purebloods, as well. When they are behind closed doors – in rooms I happen to be in when they talk of politics and assassination attempts – ''
''Do you obliviate them?''
''I plant an idea in their mind that it isn't worth suffering a Dementor's Kiss for.''
''How many times have you had to do this sort of thing? To stop people from wanting to barge into my home like this and kill me?''
''Well, they never imagine killing you in your home, actually. They all suffer from some sort of superiority complex thrust upon them by their environment so they all want to kill you in the public atrium of the Ministry.''
Leach laughed. He actually found joy in hearing this. Next he clapped. ''I love it! Now that shows character.''
''Are you ignoring the fact that the Twenty-Eight actively want to end you? I keep placating them and telling them not to exert energy for a one time thing. A fluke in the system.''
Nobby Leach's smile faded. ''A fluke?'' He nodded. ''I understand that you would have to frame it like that. Of course, you have to make them believe that you are on their side, when, in fact, you are on ours.''
''I am on mine.''
''You are my best man, Voldemort. I hardly believe that you can be so detached from my and Mandy's cause? No,'' he corrected himself hastily, ''this is the cause of halfbloods like you, mudbloods like us, creatures like that poor Lupin child – got bit as a kid and now he's going to live in a heinously misunderstanding world for the rest of his life – if we don't do anything. And, of course, squibs. Squibs that have every damned right to live in this world and have just as many opportunities as our population. Sure, they can't do everything because they lack magic – but do you think it's such a faraway concept to have someone working at Hogwarts that isn't magic?''
''It's never been done before.''
''Not even as a bloody caretaker? You don't think a squib can clean? I bet they can. I bet they can do a lore more than that if they're just given a chance and a podium to shine on and show the world what they can truly offer.'' Leach uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. He leaned in a different way then to better regard Voldemort's facial expressions. ''Do you think that it is really that difficult to grasp that I want equality in a world I love? In a world that is supposed to belong to us all? I want to stop the gatekeeping.''
''You are being far too idealistic.'' Voldemort groaned. He groaned because he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say into words. ''You aren't there. You don't hear how they speak, Leach. You are my friend, my longest friend, and I must tell you this.''
Leach grabbed his hand, against his better judgement, or because of his best judgement. ''I appreciate it. Truly I do. Without you I would not have this power nor a platform to speak and implement my ideas.''
''Nobby Leach and his ideas.'' Voldemort said it with love. Everyone else said it with exalted hate. He pulled away his hand first. ''I am begging you to think clearly about this. Are you sure you will run again?''
''I have so many things to do that I have not yet.'' Minister Nobby Leach gently said. He looked to the Picasso painting hanging in front of them. It depicted what one could assume was a rider on a horse.
Voldemort sighed deeply. His voice wavering as he sighed. In order to keep himself sane and to alleviate the tension built after these words, he asked, suddenly: ''Is that supposed to be Don Quixote?''
Leach peered a little more intently at the painting. He tilted his head: ''I think so.''
A laugh tore from Voldemort's mouth then. ''Oh how fitting.''
It was during the re-election of Minister Leach that the aforementioned Minister dared to do something out of character. He wore his wedding ring proudly, a faithful man that he was in every sense of the word. They did not have children and it was a curiosity that got brought up over and over again to make him seem bad. And Mandy had first begun saying that they were hopeful that they would be blessed with a child, soon. If only to take away any rumours that they did not want children, or goodness forbid, didn't sleep together as husband and wife. There were fickle things to take care of when in such rigorous and blinding spotlight.
Things that Mandy and Nobby were careful to take care of.
The re-election wasn't spent with the team. Well, it was. It was spent with Cohen, Mandy, and Lord Voldemort. Nobby Leach had said he would be at home with his team waiting for the results. Voldemort had infused the wards around the Leach residence to keep certain people away and to never be able to see certain people come in. Lots of dark magic business to be seen, ahem, if one were an amateur. Lord Voldemort was not.
He stretched out on a couch and waited for the results like he did New Years. Except it wasn't nearly as depressing because his birthdays tended to be subpar at best. This was more… nerve wracking.
Cohen and Mandy were going over plans, never quite ready to settle down and enjoy the moment. Their minds were hot-wired to create new schedules and new spider webs for networking.
Nobby Leach sat down next to Voldemort. His cheeks burned red from the mulled wine he had begun making. Absinthe was all well and good, but it reminded him too much of family that had discarded him. Mulled wine seemed to be a thing that he made for enjoyment. He offered some to Voldemort, who took him up on the offer. ''You will make an alcoholic of me, yet.''
''I hope one day you might gain a resistance. Being a light weight at your age is nothing to laud, my Lord.''
Voldemort loved being called my lord. Given how Abraxas called him Tom pointedly and reminded him of his muggle roots, having Nobby Leach call him by his chosen title and name sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He lifted his glass of mulled wine and clinked it against Nobby Leach's: ''Thank you, my Minister.'' There was a world of fondness gathered in that last word.
Nobby Leach looked away and took a sip of his mulled wine, quick to get away before he had to come to terms with the feelings nestling in his chest, much alike how he had nestled cut out shards of orange and lemon into the wine.
He went to see what Mandy was up to. Soon they started dancing. Cohen stood by the radio and listened, telling them to silence the darned music and that, yes, they were all so bloody adorable and cute and IT WASN'T ABOUT LOVE RIGHT NOW. IT WAS ABOUT POLITICS!
Voldemort agreed. ''Ugh.'' The mulled wine was hitting him. He had yet to find one alcoholic drink that didn't outright demolish him. Cohen told him that he needed to ease up on the drinking else he was going to end up in a ditch somewhere. ''Or a swamp.'' She said offhandedly. ''You might end up in a swamp without your recollection.''
''If I go to a bleeding swamp, Cohen, I'll go fully sober and hating myself.''
''So mote it was.'' Her mentor winked and snapped his finger.
Hermione didn't know how to react to her mentor. Sometimes it was quite obvious he was a teacher at heart because only a teacher would do something so embarrassing. ''Right.'' She only nodded.
When they announced that Nobby Leach had become Minister, yet again, there was uproar at home. Minister Leach flung himself to kiss his wife. This lasted a good minute, really. Cohen and Voldemort never could fathom such ease when it came to public shows of affection, them being in the Leach residence notwithstanding.
''I'll become bloody jealous, I will. Oi!'' Lord Voldemort was tipsy. He knew this because every word that came out of his mouth sounded like it represented all of Woolwich at once. He stood up and walked over to Nobby Leach to congratulate him on a job well done and that he hoped that his thirst might finally be quenched. That once this was done he would quietly leave politics – but he didn't get to any of that. Because, Nobby Leach turned from his wife, saw Lord Voldemort, got swept up in all of his emotions, and pulled him close. But he didn't do anything. No, he hesitated. Lord Voldemort felt Nobby's hand on his cheek and blinked, giving him a lopsided smile. ''My minister. Do you want to kiss me?'' He bared his teeth in a filthy, wanting grin.
It was like nothing existed around them. Time stretched. Nobby Leach only saw Voldemort and Voldemort only saw Nobby Leach. He saw him as he leaned closer, more assured now that he saw that Voldemort would not mock him. And why would he mock him? Why would Nobby Leach think that a man who lived in another man's house would mock him for wanting this? For wanting him like everyone had wanted him, from Myrtle Warren to Abraxas Malfoy. But there was a difference when it came to the way Myrtle Warren had looked at him with obsession and how Abraxas Malfoy looked at him with dependence.
Nobby Leach closed his eyes when they kissed. Voldemort leaned forward into the kiss, tasting mulled wine and love and triumph and peace. He looped his hands around him and held him close, tasting him, savouring this moment as if it had come straight from one's deepest desire.
''Should we kiss?'' Cohen asked, then. ''It seems to be the theme.''
''No, we should bloody not kiss.'' Mandy said. She was a heterosexual, thank you, and not nearly drunk enough to drunk kiss her best friend. ''Whatever the hell this is, it's a long time coming and I'll demand an explanation properly after.''
Voldemort laughed into the kiss when he registered Mandy's words. Of course, Nobby had fancied him. It would make sense. Now that he was free from his parents and their influence that he would prove more daring. He ran his hand through Nobby's hair and claimed him all for himself. It was a possessive hold. He wouldn't let go unless Nobby wanted to. And he did, after a time.
The expression on Nobby Leach's face was surprised when they parted. ''Oh my lord.'' He couldn't help but say through a giggle.
Lord Voldemort found himself winking: ''Yes,'' he said, ''I am.''
Hermione just raised her hands in the air and said: ''I have no words.''
''Well, you found four.''
Hermione glared at him.
Nobby Leach was sitting at the piano, playing a tune that all three parties knew very well. Outside of their window, their home, snow fell in abundance.
''I really can't stay – '' A man's voice sing sang. He had a playful smile on his face.
'Baby it's cold outside.'' Mandy Leach pulled the man closer. She winked at him and mouthed: ''My lord.''
''I've got to go away –'' Voldemort cracked a brighter smile as he tried to escape Mandy's hold and go to the front door of the Leach residence. Nobby's piano accompanied them.
''Baby it's cold outside~'' Mandy was relentless. Her pitch was perfect. Not only that, but her confidence was seductive in a way Voldemort didn't yet know why he found seductive. It was all powerplays with him, he'd later crystalize and find out that he quite liked people who led during these liaisons. It was a tad too much to ask of him to constantly be the one planning things out. Sometimes a man just wanted to follow along and have a fun time.
''This evening has been – '' Voldemort sang,
Mandy sang over him: ''Been hoping that you'd drop in.''
''-So very nice –''
''I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.'' Mandy took a hold of Voldemort's hands in hers and had to say that she wasn't exaggerating, song lyric aside.
''Abraxas will start to worry –'' Voldemort deliberately changed the lyrics to fit their narrative. He found it funny. Nobby Leach laughed at the piano. It was funny.
''Beautiful, what's your hurry?'' Mandy raised and lowered her brows like an absolute fiend. Voldemort nearly lost his character and burst out laughing.
He looked outside and saw that a somewhat snowstorm was forming. Magical weather was very unpredictable. It was bloody July and someone had cursed the sky. Voldemort bet all of his money on their professor Kettleburn being behind this. That man was a walking disaster creator.
''Lilith will be pacing the floor – '' Voldemort was lacking people in his life that fit this lyrical beat. He sacrificed Lilith Selwyn for the task.
''Listen to the fireplace roar.'' Mandy directed.
''So really I'd better scurry –''
''Beautiful,'' and there was something magical in the way Mandy called him beautiful, ''please don't hurry.''
''Maybe just a half a drink more –'' Voldemort grabbed a drink off of the nearby table as a prop.
''Put some records on while I pour.'' Mandy said, walking specifically nearby Nobby. He mouthed: Hey.
''The neighbours might think –'' Voldemort tapped his foot against the ground.
''Baby, it's bad out there.'' Mandy poured some juice into Voldemort's glass.
''Say, what's in this drink?'' Voldemort asked, peering inside of his glass. Leach broke his silence to say, just over Mandy's lyrics: ''A little bit of amortentia, I reckon.''
Voldemort sipped his juice, fully aware that neither of these parties present would ever do something so grave to him. Mandy, on the other hand, became more offended about the joke where she demanded that Nobby apologize for it. She was the Healer out of the three of them, she knew the effects it had on people in the most clinical sense.
Only once Nobby apologize did she finish her lyircs: ''No cabs to be had out there!''
''I wish I knew how –'' Voldemort walked over to their liquor cabinet and made juice vodka for himself. It made him want to learn Russian.
''Your eyes are like starlight now~'' Mandy neared him again and gazed into his somewhat crimson eyes. It was the least truthful lyric of all. They all admitted it. It brought a faint, amused smile to each of their faces.
''To break this spell –'' Voldemort finished.
Mandy conjured him a hat on and sang as she took it off: ''I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.'' Her hand ran through his hair and tousled it gently.
''I ought to say no, no, no,'' Voldemort cracked a brief grin, knowing very well that he trusted only these people present with him to take those words seriously.
''Mind if I move in closer?'' Mandy breached his personal space and snuggled up to his chest, grabbing his hands in hers and batting her eyelids.
''At least I'm gonna say that I tried –''
''What's the sense in hurting my pride?'' Mandy almost broke character at this line, finding it utterly hilarious.
''I really can't stay –''
''Baby don't holdout!'' Mandy pressed. She wrapped an arm of Voldemort's around herself and danced.
''Ah,'' all three sang in unison, ''but it's cold outside.''
Finally, they allowed each other to laugh.
Hermione looked to her mentor and asked him: ''What's wrong?''
He was trying to remain put-together. It was a difficult endeavour. His voice cracked. ''This was the last time we were all together.''
Abraxas Malfoy walked through the Ministry for Magic easily. He would not be stopped. He would not be asked about his business. When someone looked at him, they saw nothing out of the ordinary. Felix Felicis left a taste in his mouth that smelled of victory.
His fingers brushed gently against his willow wand. The robe he wore, as well, didn't indicate anything out of the ordinary. It was just as obscene as all of the other robes he'd worn now that he could dress himself without anyone nagging at him not to embarrass the Malfoy name and reputation. He would find that dressing up in bold colours had little to nothing to do with actually disrespecting his family name.
He did not say hello to anyone passing by him, letting them all know that he was incredibly busy and going on a mission of sorts that better not be interrupted. There was a craze in his eyes, this he was certain was evident. Well, no, that wouldn't be quite polite to say, would it? It wasn't a craze. It was cocaine. His pupils were shot wide and he moved as quickly as a Dementor after spotting new food to feast on.
The way his feet pounded against the intricate marble floor reminisced that of a general leading an army. This general, to make matters worse, had a shitty, shitty day and he was taking it out on his clacking footsteps, hitting the floor harder than was necessary.
His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and ideas each worse than the last. The world was in front of him. And he, in his jumbled mind, knew that it needed saving. He knew that this world needed someone to save it from the mudbloods and the upstarts and that someone, oh, that someone was going to be him.
There was a man sitting in auror robes on a chair. He was half-dozing off, half-paying attention to his surroundings. They taught them this during auror training. He spotted Abraxas Malfoy and woke up, or at least opened up his eyes. And what a sight it was to see this man with two eyes.
''Wait... that looks like...''
''Alastor Moody, yes.''
''I have business with the Minister.'' Abraxas said the title as hatefully as he could. Then, realising his mistake, he tried to amend it, all while snorting and twitching in an obvious fashion. ''Are you going to tell me where he is or should I just divine it from your expression?''
Alastor Moody didn't immediately tell Abraxas what he wanted to hear. It was, as if, he was contemplating whether or not that seemed like a sound idea. But the fatigue could be seen crawling all over his form, nestling in his eye bags and just giving him that overall exhausted working man look. He was young, much younger than Hermione remembered him as, but he was much less careful. As youth tended to be. At the end of the day he could see how much he was itching to get that cup of coffee and enjoy his five-minute break and he had planned it all out specifically during this period – only for Abraxas Malfoy (a respectable and influential and dangerous member of society) to come and demand an audience with the Minister.
Moody contemplated. He thought hard and long about what to do. His father and grandfather were aurors. His mother and grandmother as well. They had to have, at least once, done something that didn't perfectly abide by the book? Alastor gave a grimace. Abraxas waited. His foot tapped against the marble floor hard and quick and annoyed. His fingertips twitched. His face kept spasaming, as well.
Any other man or woman or otherwise inclined would have seen something was wrong with this picture. But Moody was verging on twelve hours. His colleague had lost his mother and therefore couldn't come in today. Moody was an admirable and wonderful auror that had decided he did not mind to take over his shift as well. Now, now that was going to not only give him a headache he already felt come his way, but his decision was going to cost him an eye, too. Because, and this was the real kicker, he looked at Abraxas Malfoy, leaned closer, and whispered: ''Mind telling me your business with the Minister, Lord Malfoy?''
Lord Malfoy twitched up a smile. His eyes glowed and they were remarkably silver. Moody had only ever seen this shade before upon gazing into Elektra Lovegood's eyes. Now that was a scary bird, if nobody minded Alastor saying so.
''What's wrong with him?'' Hermione asked.
Her mentor just looked at her, unsure of how to proceed. He cleared his throat and finally answered: ''Abraxas Malfoy is a drug addict. Cocaine, specifically. He said that it made him a seer and that it amplified his connection to the deceased.''
''That's…'' Hermione looked at Abraxas and her insides turned, ''I did not know that.''
''I wish to speak with the Minister,'' and how eloquent Abraxas remained while high on cocaine still was something to watch out for, something that Moody, in his tired and fed-up state wasn't doing, ''about his newest couple of ideas. You know how he is. So full of them all the time.'' Then he couldn't quite keep up the cheerful façade, finding the matter too disgusting for him. He rubbed his index finger against his thumb and embedded his nail as he tried to keep track of what to speak next. ''It is a wholly informative matter, Mr. Moody.''
And Moody really wanted to believe it. Bloody hell he really needed a bathroom break, too. So, he turned a blind eye just once, thinking that nothing too terrible would happen. Certainly not the beginning to the end of the most prosperous time in the Ministry for Magic.
''Aye, go on ahead.'' Moody turned a blind eye. He was quite lovingly looking towards the bathroom and the pot of coffee not too far.
Her mentor snorted. Hermione asked him what was funny. He answered: ''Abraxas once told me that since Moody had turned a blind eye, Abraxas had turned his eye blind. It was the first moment of guilt I ever saw in him.''
Abraxas nodded. He almost apparated into the office.
Hermione saw Abraxas Mlafoy, but it was exactly as if she didn't see him because the man circling Nobby Leach was not the man she'd grown fond of and likened to family. This man looked hateful and inexplicable If Hermione crossed paths with him then she was sure that he would have harmed her without a single thought of guilt coursing through him.
She glanced to her mentor for aid, realising that this was something she found frightening. He felt her eyes on him and offered her his hand. Hermione took it. She saw Nobby Leach, wearing his Ministry apparel, greeting Abraxas with nothing but utmost respect and politeness.
He smiled even, unafraid where Hermione didn't know if she would be able to stand up against the imposing presence of Abraxas Malfoy. It could be because she had never seen Abraxas Malfoy in this light.
She had never seen him in a fight or ever this angry, or this out of his mind, but it scared Hermione to look upon Abraxas Malfoy like this. He was unrecognizable. The sight of him chilled her. Even further when she compared this man to the cheerful old man that she knew him as.
He glared daggers at Nobby Leach. He had yet to greet Leach back, electing to take out his wand oh so casually, as if he purposefully acted like that wasn't a threat in on itself. He kept glaring at Leach, and he wished for nothing more than to scream an agony of curses upon the outsider mudblood, but something stopped him.
Hermione asked what it was that stopped Abraxas from killing Leach upon sight.
''He had a plan that he wanted to keep intact. Also, he had drunk Felix Felicis, Hermione. He had wanted to cause nothing but grave misfortune to Nobby Leach. I brought you into my mind to see how he devised Nobby Leach's death. That I was the easy out for his crime. I may have been responsible for a lot of atrocity, but this was not one of them, Hermione. This death is not mine to claim. Please, never forget this. People whom you love and cherish are capable of the grotesque and you must be ready to accept that. You, yourself, are capable of doing the most macabre deeds, sweet child. Nobody will tell you this, but you have to be better than that part of yourself. You have to be, Hermione, or else this part of yourself will devour you. Like it had devoured Abraxas.''
Abrxas, then, speared Leach with the most inquisitive as well as the angriest look he could muster. Following this he said, nonchalantly, how much he had waited for this moment where he had gotten a hold of Nobby Leach all to himself so they could speak eye to eye.
''I must speak with you about your newest idea.'' Abraxas said the word as derisively as he could. And that was such a strange thing to hear, wasn't it? To hear a word that had only ever been used in a positive context when it came to Leach's mind, be warped into something this irate and vile. ''I have a few notes. If you would be kind enough to permit me to speak.''
Nobby asked if Abraxas wished to sit down and, then, he told him that how he was happy to talk about any and all questions and misgivings that Abraxas might be having. Abraxas laughed then, unable to help himself. He laughed at Leach and said that he had a lot of nerve to take pagan rituals from the pagans. ''You disgust me.''
Abraxas continued over whatever Leach wanted to say: ''You have the audacity to change the world you have stolen your way in. Whoever it is that you robbed of their magic has suffered, but we, too, have suffered.''
''Excuse me?''
''I regret having this in my mind. I must confess that he makes bloody zero sense. I took this memory from him in order to see what he was on about and what his plan was, but it is legitimately 100% cocaine talk.''
''You came into our world, a world that doesn't belong to you and will never belong to you and to have the nerve, the audacity to change things? Nobby Leach, faux Minister, I must confess myself surprised and disgusted that you want to make my father's world into a chaotic mess of religion and barbarism! I think not! I will make sure to fight for the freedom of my people from oppression and thieves like you! My world is perfect just the way it is. Your abuse will not be tolerated nor will I allow it to infest the minds of proper witches and wizards any longer. I am their saviour. I am the seer that foretells your fall and by the strength and power vested in me by my family's gods I will put a stop to your evil machinations.''
''I think that this a very interesting topic that we can talk more in depth about. Please, take a seat, Lord Malfoy.'' To the untrained eye, Nobby Leach would look completely at ease. But Hermione's mentor said that he was scared. Rightfully so. He kept glancing outside to see if there was any security. There wasn't. It would seem that that Constant Vigilance would come as a direct result of this failure.
''Do I want to live in a world that has my children going to mandatory brainwashing classes wherein they are taught about your so called God, your rituals – which, by the way you've, aha, yes, simply, stolen from the pagans and perverted into something unrecognizable and untrue!''
''Now that's just not true!'' Nobby Leach shouted. He couldn't help himself.
Abraxas sneered when he heard him speak up, finding the Minister a parasite of society. ''Your kind… Your kind, you mudbloods, know only how to steal and force your way of life on real mages like me and my ancestors. You are unclean and evil. You say you want equality, but no, you actually want to dwindle purebloods away until there's nothing of my father's and his father's world. I will not be idle as you strip away my rights and put me into a pile with the creatures, halfbloods, and mudbloods like YOU.''
''Lord Malfoy,'' Nobby Leach must have moved too suddenly for Abraxas' taste because – and this was painful to admit – Abraxas quickly fired off a petrificus totalus at Leach, freezing him mid-sentence.
''I will not stand by and let you bar me from celebrating my Samhain rights and and – and I will not let you take all of this way from me! It is the only time I get to speak to my father and my ancestors. He has been taken from me once and I could do nothing. I will not allow him to be taken from me again. And especially not by the likes of you, Leach. You, much alike a leech, have simply embedded yourself into a world and culture that will never be yours and you take and take and take and take! Well, let me show you how evil mudbloods are. You have always wanted to take our rights, I could see it in your eyes whenever I would be better than you. I could see how you hungered for our prestige and power. You have ALWAYS been evil. Your kind has ALWAYS inflicted your way of life onto us without our consent. IT IS THE BLOODY REASON, IS IT NOT, THAT WE HAD TO HIDE AWAY!''
Nobby Leach, what with being immobile, tried his best to articulate through his eyes that he thought this a great matter of bullshit. Abraxas pretended he was blind.
''I will use an evil and despicable spell that your kind has once abused us with. It is time to give you a taste of the horror mudbloods and muggles who believing your fake God have done to us!''
Abraxas cast the Theophilius hex of Enlightenment on Leach. As the spell took hold of Leach, Abraxas whispered: ''I will show you true enlightenment, Minister. In the name of your so called God and saviour I want you to confess your crimes to me!''
''Well, I did jaywalk yesterday.'' Nobby Leach admitted, now free from the petrificus totalus to move about, but unable to because his mind had been taken over by a spell.
Abraxas fumed. He twisted his hand and pushed more of his magic onto Leach, thinking that the man had fought the spell, when in fact he had simply replied what he constituted a crime. ''Tell me about your crimes against pureblood kind!''
Nobby Leach stared through Abraxas, unable to comprehend what he'd been ordered. ''I don't have any crimes against them.''
Abraxas tightened his hands into fists. He moved closer to Leach, who remained smiling and numb. He lifted one of his hands and was just about to bring it down on Leach, when an idea came to him. And if people thought that Nobby Leach and his ideas were dangerous, they had never seen Abraxas and his ideas in action.
Slowly, casually, beautifully he leaned into Nobby Leach's space to say: ''Oh.'' And what a soft 'oh' this was. One of the gentlest, softest, most wonderful sounds in Abraxas' vocabulary. ''You cannot help it, can you, darling?''
Nobby Leach didn't really know what was going on. Twas a shame, really. Otherwise he'd reply with one of his dry quips that weren't so much dry as they were long-winded and extremely inspiring.
Abraxas smiled. ''You're beyond help, aren't you?'' The smile widened. ''I suppose there isn't any use to you anymore. Your existence must be painful. I ought to relieve you of the burden.'' He laughed, then: ''Oh my! I'm saving you!''
''That rehab must have been killer.''
''Took him about two years to get clean. There was a lot of back and forth. Black told me he ran out a few times with a muggle.''
''I'm glad he's clean.'' Hermione said.
''Well. I imagine he'll forever have substance abuse issues.''
Hermione, in order to distract herself from high on cocaine Abraxas, decided to mention old Abraxas: ''You know, he still likes you a lot.''
''I poisoned the man, Hermione.''
''Hey, if anything, at least I'm not completely on his side now. He's no saint. That's what this is all teaching me.''
''He's a terrible human being.''
''You're perfect for each other.''
''Hermione, I'll tell you exactly what I told Zorka: my relationship with Abraxas is a shitshow.''
''Reckon, though, it'd be incredibly entertaining if it were a book.''
Her mentor snorted, horrified at the thought of someone painstakingly writing about all of these events.
Like a conductor, Abraxas moved his hands gently through the air. He had Leach trapped and he was in no rush to get to the bottom of this. There was a certain elegance in the way he conducted his magic to attack Leach, to enter through his nostrils and his mouth until it corrupted his brain and had his eyes glow from those boring muggle, deviant eyes. They shined with Abraxas' magic, wild and untameable and sick.
''I see now,'' he sniffed, ''that you do not want to cooperate, Nobby Leach. That is fine.'' There was nothing fine here, but Abraxas, while elegant, had no patience for these sorts of things. ''I shall save the whole world from extinction. I shall help everyone see what evil has entered our midst. If you will not step down willingly, after I have given you ample chance to do so.''
''EXCUSE ME?!''
''Having you here to react to all for this does help me not to break down, I will admit.''
''WHAT IS THIS MADMAN TALKING ABOUT? HE NEVER GOT PROSECUTED FOR THIS? DID HE BLAME YOU? HE FUCKING BLAMED YOU!''
Some people found that yelling when helpless to stop something was a good enough way to cope with that something being committed. Hermione was one such person. Her hair was fiendfyre red and scorching to be nearby. Like Medusa's snakes, her locks rose and whipped at their surroundings.
When she turned to look at her mentor she saw that there were currant sparks surrounding his body, flickering and bouncing off of his skin. He held onto himself, crossing his arms and holding his arms with his palms, embedding his nails into his clothes, and watching in horror as Abraxas continued to speak.
''You only listen to your fake god,'' And there was such ignorance in Abraxas' words, coupled with hatred for the unknown, that all made an amalgam of suffering, ''so now listen to him.'' And he cast a spell. He cast a spell that had Hermione's knees grow weak. Her breathing shallowed out, and her expression turned painful. She remembered hearing about this spell in Montenegro. Slowly she turned to her mentor and remembered being appalled at it, wondering how it could have ever been something legal and her promise to make it illegal and abhorred grew stronger. ''Now I am your god. Will you finally ''
Abraxas laughed, swinging from one foot to the other, readjusting his weight and his centre. He didn't even use a wand when he cast this spell, electing only to speak the incantation. After, seeing that it took hold of Leach fully, he said, proudly, unable to stop himself from basking in his triumph and joy. He clapped his hands together and finally said: ''Bow to your god, Nobby Leach.''
Nobby Leach moved down on his knees in front of Abraxas, looking at him with reverence and awe. Abraxas relished in it. He relished in it, especially, when he said: ''Do you want to please your god?''
He nodded, eager to do as commanded. ''Of course! Anything!''
Abraxas' expression, then, wasn't any Hermione had ever seen. She was sure of it. A part of her almost wanted to say that these two were different people, but that would be cruel to Nobby Leach and Mandy Leach. This was the same person. This was the man that tortured and abused Nobby Leach in his last moments, twisting his perception of reality and forcing his last moments to be full of helplessness and confusion. She cried when Abraxas cupped Nobby Leach's face in his hands and said, manic now with glee and euphoria: ''What an obedient little mudblood you've become when properly trained! Oh the things I could have done to you, the things I would have done to you had you only been this agreeable form the start. Your kind is not meant to prosper. Your kind is not meant to sit at the table like adults, like people. You are animals, at best. With your little religions and your little changes and your little voices and – we've heard you – loud and clear – AND WE DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOU. NOT WHEN YOU WANT TO CHANGE EVERYTHING THAT MAKES US THE PEOPLE, THE CULTURE, THE WORLD WE ARE!''
Abraxas grabbed Nobby Leach by the throat then and pushed his strength onto him, watching as Nobby didn't do anything to defend himself. He yielded to the will of Abraxas, of his spell made god. But then, the anger melted away from Abraxas' face; for a brief moment he was scared. The fear transformed then. Into something dark.
''No, a god does not bloody his own hands. And now, now I am a god. I am your god! I am the purest god you have ever seen, the most powerful to ever look down on you. Walburga may lay claim to being the purest witch with a family born from incessant incestuous deeds, but I am born of fairies. I am born of the first magic. No one will ever be on my level. No one will ever wield magic how I do. I am a god among men and Nobby Leach, as your god, I command you to take your wand.''
Nobby Leach took his wand.
''I want you to place the tip of it to your throat. Will you do that for me?''
''Anything.'' Nobby Leach gasped out as he did as bid. ''What next?''
''Next? Next,'' Abraxas was shaking at the mere thought of what was to come. ''Next you are going to do something for me. You are going to make a world a better place. You want that, don't you? Your whole speeches are all about changing the world and making it a better place?'' He nodded. ''Well, I found a way that you can do that for me, and you will do it, won't you, Leach? You'll please your god? You pray to your god and he does not answer, but I answered your call. And how you called for me. How you called and demeaned everything that I stood for. I had to act. I had to lead you to enlightenment, Nobby Leach.''
''My lord?''
''Clear and concise now, Leach. You've got to mean it and I know you'll mean it. You want to make your god happy? You want to be a good little worshipper and go up to Heaven – is that right?'' Abraxas moved his hands as if immersed in the most lovely melody, ''Say it with me now: Avada Kedavra.''
Nobby Leach didn't close his eyes. He looked on reverently at Abraxas Malfoy, basking in his presence and looking upon him as if the sun itself had decided to warm him in a world of ice, as if rain fell upon him in a drought. He smiled and pressed his own wand harder against his throat. ''Avada Kedavra.''
The room was washed in green light. It had never resembled finality more than in that moment. When Nobby Leach's body fell, lifeless, the world changed.
''Abraxas,'' a voice said, riddled with disbelief, ''Abraxas, what have you done?''
Abraxas turned to Voldemort and laughed, his voice going up high like a peacock's. ''I've saved the world, Tom!'' He pushed past Nobby Leach's body, not registering the way Voldemort's eyes glued to his form, the way Voldemort couldn't move from the door frame: ''Do you think I shall be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class?'' Abraxas readjusted his robe, as if preparing for the honour right away. ''I think they ought to for the remarkable deed I have done, isn't that right, Tom?''
Voldemort could say nothing. When he heard a shout that sounded distinctly like it had come from an auror that would forever carry Nobby Leach's death on his shoulders, he hastily grabbed Abraxas' hand in his and twisted to disapparate them both to safety.
''See.'' Tom Riddle turned to Hermione, his voice a mess if he disallowed it to show on his face. ''I did not kill Nobby Leach. Your history books lie, Hermione.''
''I'm so sorry.'' Hermione only had to say this on repeat. She was drowning in tears. And anger. And couldn't quite come to terms with what had transpired. And then she was forlorn. No, yes, she seemed to be quite proficient and efficient in her five stages of grief. Truly, a queen of time management. ''You loved him.''
''I did, yes.''
Hermione remembered their flight together, their dance in a winter night, and choked on her tears loudly. She surged to hug him again. And he hugged her back. But then he had kind of adjust his position because he was going to eat Hermione's wild hair otherwise and that really wasn't on his agenda.
''Tell me it can't get any worse than this. I don't think I can handle more of this.''
A door materialized at that exact moment. Were there no subtlety at all, the door might as well have had a note on it that said: GO HERE FOR WORSE THINGS TO COME. Luckily, because this mind was a reputable place that allowed subtlety and ambiance to shine through – it didn't have that sign. What it did have, however, was a woman's muffled scream coming through it. To Hermione, who was deciding that coming back to Montenegro to be a part of this Voldemort mission wasn't worth all of this anguish, the woman's scream didn't ring any bells.
To Tom Riddle on the other hand, the woman was someone he knew very well.
Hermione broke off the hug and made for the door. ''We should? Go?''
''I'd rather not.''
Hermione blinked. ''Okay?''
Then Nobby Leach's corpse reanimated in form of the Darkness. ''Yes, please, do keep me company. I have a nice plot of mind to bury you in.''
Hermione screamed. Tom Riddle screamed. There was, sadly, no ice cream.
They ran through the door.
The Darkness followed.