Once the world had finally stopped spinning, Tom gracefully stepped out of the fireplace, a grin plastered on his face.
" Welcome, my friend ," the voice of one of his oldest echoed through the massive office with its marble-clad walls, " given your state, I conclude that the negotiations have been successful, have they not?"
"As if I have to tell you, my old friend ," Tom chuckled as he took the chair opposite Ragnok, answering in smooth Gobbledegook, "you already know that Augusta agreed and that the Vassal Bond has been completed. I am more than aware that Gringotts gets informed immediately once something as significant as a Vassal Bond has been finalised."
"Of course you know," Ragnok replied with a smirk that was all teeth, " I simply wanted to hear it from you personally. Anyway, before we move on to the main reason for our meeting, I must ask you how young Harry is faring now that you will be gone for the next few days. Does he understand?"
"He surely does. Still, understanding the reason for our current situation does not make it easier," Tom sighed, "after all, he has never been alone before and even I have to admit that I have grown quite accustomed to our unique situation. Him not being here feels odd, like a major part of myself is missing."
"At least it will not last for long," Ragnok replied while reaching out to grab Tom's hand, squeezing it reassuringly, "if everything goes to plan, you will be reunited on Wednesday. Only a few days from now. Trust me, we have planned everything to the smallest detail. The Goblins in France did assure me…"
"Did they?" the Dark Lord asked, failing to hide the steely undertone in his voice, " I know that you have repeatedly reassured me that you trust the French. Still, I would have preferred if you had prepared the whole set-up and not them."
Opposite of him, Ragnok snorted, "Even if I wanted to, it is their sovereign territory. While we are of the same race and conduct business with each other, the Goblins of this Gringotts branch operate in Britain alone. Sure, some of us can be transferred to another branch if necessary. Still, in general, we do not interfere with other branches' business. We do not differ much from your kind in this regard, although we are more inclined to cooperate than most witches and wizards. Still, I trust the French and the reason will become quite apparent once our contact has arrived. Before that, I must ask you to swear a vow of secrecy. If overheard by the wrong set of ears, the information you are going to learn could endanger not only our contact for assisting us but also myself."
Intrigued by the words of his friends, Tom quickly agreed to the terms and swore on his magic to not reveal the identity of the contact to anyone but Harry. Once the vow had been completed, Tom's curious eyes followed the movements of the Goblin as he began to twist the silver band of the otherwise midnight black ring gracing his right ring finger.
"And now, we wait," Ragnok said once the silver band had been returned to its initial position while his eyes were glued on the fireplace. Instead of following Ragnok's example, the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he inspected the ring. Before now, the ring never had caught his attention. Apart from the silver band, the piece of jewellery was rather inconspicuous, safe for the exquisite quality of the material. It was void of Runes or any other form of engraving and previous to witnessing the Goblin twisting the silver band, he had never felt a spark of magic being emitted from the ring. Now that he was aware that this could not be an ordinary piece of jewellery, he focussed his magic on the object, sure that Ragnok would not mind his curiosity. At first, the results were rather disappointing since the ring did not appear to possess an ounce of magic. Only once he had finetuned his senses twice, he finally found what he was looking for. A single eyebrow shot upwards as the mystery of the ring slowly started to unravel. The ring itself was not a powerless piece of jewellery as he first had believed. Instead, quite a lot of magic was stored inside. The sole reason why Tom had not discovered this sooner was because the magic of the ring only marginally differed from Ragnok's own magic. This was most curious since the Dark Lord was quite certain that the ring was not a Horcrux. What else could it be?
Before he could contemplate any further, he heard the crackling of the fireplace followed by a beam of green light illuminating the marble office, "So, I take that this is your favourite client, Ragnok?"
"It is," Ragnok answered, "has everything been prepared?"
Following the direction of the newcomer's words, the eyes of the Dark Lord stopped on an impressive figure. Her long hair was skilfully braided back stopping at the middle of her back. For a Goblin, she was unusually tall. As far as Tom guessed, she was only an inch or so smaller than Ragnok who himself made an impressive figure amongst the Goblins. Unlike most female Goblins he had seen, she was wearing a pair of sturdy dark Dragonhide pants tucked into knee-high Basilisk hide boots. The leather corsage and the loose dark shirt underneath certainly had not been selected to appease the eye. All items had been solely chosen with conflict and battle in mind. Practicality clearly was the sole motive, something which the Dark Lord did not mind at all. He was not much different after all.
"Of course everything has been prepared," the female Goblin answered, the corners of her mouth curling into a sharp smile, which somehow reminded the Dark Lord of Ragnok. The similarity was almost uncanny. Before he could think more, the female Goblin had already stepped closer, inspecting the Dark Lord more closely. The bone wand in her hand did not go unnoticed. Neither did the poison-drenched dagger in her boot. Before long, the smile on her face only turned sharper if that was even possible.
"Are the two of you somehow related," Tom could not help but wonder, one eyebrow shooting upwards as his eyes moved back and forth between the two Goblins.
Laughter filled the office. Either what he had said was the most hilarious thing, or he had hit the nail right on the head. Given the reaction of the two Goblins, it seemed like he had at least not insulted them.
Once the laughter had died down, Tom noticed that the wand of the female Goblin had mysteriously disappeared. Meanwhile, Ragnok wiped a tear off his cheek, "How perceptive of you. Tom, let me introduce you to Ragnar, my twin sister. Sister, this is Tom Marvolo Riddle, one of the Dark Lords of the British Isles."
Despite being slightly baffled by the introduction, Tom did not forget his manners, taking her hand, "Lady Ragnar, it is a pleasure to meet you. May your enemies quiver at your feet and your vaults never run dry."
The corners of Ragnar's mouth twitched, "Mister Riddle, may the Light never extinguish the Darkness inside you."
"Thank you, Lady Ragnar," the Dark Lord replied, the words smoothly rolling off his silver tongue. Before he could continue, the female Goblin had already waved him off, "Enough of the 'Lady' business. I certainly am not one. Ragnar is fine."
"Only if you call me Tom," the Dark Lord smiled, "I insist."
The corners of Ragnar's mouth twitched, as she took the seat her brother had signalled her to take, "Your Gobbledegook certainly is impressive, Tom. Almost like you had grown up amongst us. Even Bartemius Crouch Senior's language skills pale in comparison to yours, no matter how good dear ol' Barty thinks he is. I must say that I am impressed. Still, given my brother's continuous praise of your skills, I am hardly surprised. After all, he rarely exaggerates."
"I never exaggerate," Ragnok said, which was promptly replied by a snort of his sister, "Of course."
"While I am certainly highly entertained by the both of you, " Tom said after a few minutes of back and forth, "I am afraid I have to ask. As far as I was aware, Ragnok, you told me that you only have one older brother who wandered off to hunt for treasures. You never told me that you have a sister."
"You seriously told him about Ragnos?" the female Goblin asked incredulously, "about our nutter of a brother who believes that the Scandinavian Mountains are still full of gold although the Norwegian Goblins never found much to begin with? The brother who still hunts after the Nibelungen treasures despite it being nothing but a made-up tale of the Muggles? The broth-"
"Yes, that brother," Ragnok cut her short, "enough of him. I never told you about my sister, because the knowledge of our kinship could seriously jeopardise our positions and safety. I told you before that the leading families of the different Gringotts branches rarely, if ever, get involved with the dealings of other branches. By mutual agreement, the leading families have never tried to control more than one branch ever since the days of the last Great Goblin War. Our kind suffered greatly due to the struggles amongst ourselves, making us vulnerable in the process. The wizarding population obviously took advantage of our situation, denying us some of our basic rights we still have not recovered, like voting on legislation as equals. To ensure that something as damaging would never happen again, the leading families decided to not interfere with others."
"Still," the Dark Lord said, one eyebrow raised, "I was under the impression that Tornuk III was the head of the French Gringotts branch and no-"
"You are well-informed," Ragnar chuckled , "to answer your question, he indeed is the head of the French Gringotts branch, but he is also my husband. Do not get me wrong, we love each other. Still, if the true source of his ideas was ever to be discovered being so closely related to the head of another Gringotts branch, the outcome certainly would not be pleasant. Before you even ask why I would ris-"
"There is no need for that," Tom interrupted her, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, "you desire power and freedom as much as I and your brother do. Playing second fiddle to your brother would surely not satisfy you. You are too ambitious for that. While others would surely scold you for taking such risks, I can understand you. I would have done the same."
Opposite of him, the smile of Ragnar turned all teeth, "Yes, you would. I am sure of that. Anyway, if you ask me, the risk certainly paid off, do you not agree, dear brother?"
The entire frame of Ragnok appeared to be shaking as a series of dark cackles escaped his lips , "Oh, I agree, dear sister. Without you, Tornuk would certainly be lost and the entire Goblin nation would be without our most skilled Legilimens. Since we already mentioned your special skills, I think it is time for you to tell Tom what you and your team have been up to during the last few weeks."
"Well, we have been rather busy," Ragnar said, a devious smile gracing her face, "while your outline of Thomas Prince's life was certainly impressive, I could not help but feel that it might not be enough. Therefore, we tracked down quite a lot of people, magical and non-magical, to implant memories of Thomas Prince and his family. If I had to guess, I would say between 520 and 530. Some of the-"
"You and your team implanted false memories to over 500 people?" Tom asked incredulously, "in less than a month? How is that possible, especially given that we cannot afford to be discovered should Albus Dumbledore decide to look more closely into my apparent past?"
"Tom, you have no idea about the events we have covered up," the female Goblin chuckled, " while this is one of our larger and more delicate operations, covering up the death of the Brazilian Minister of Magic certainly was worse. Anyway, we first tracked down a few of Nero Prince's and Madeleine Lefebvre's acquaintances from their time at Beauxbâtons and their short stay in Southend-on-Sea before they were murdered in a Death Eater raid. Those that we have found are now under the impression that your supposed parents had instead fled to France shortly after the birth of their son. Once they supposedly arrived in France, it gets a bit complicated. They moved around quite a bit, mostly sticking to the Muggle world, before settling down in Le Havre when you were six. Your father started working in an apothecary, while you were home-schooled by your mother. Visits to Magical Paris were kept to a minimum. On Thursday this week, a lorry crashed into a building just as they were passing by. They were killed in the following explosion, while you were discovered by French children's services a day later. Given that no relatives were listed, you were taken to a local orphanage, where you are currently residing. Still, I think you should see for yourself and make sure that you approve of my work, right?"
Three hours later, Tom, Ragnok, and Ragnar emerged from the Pensieve. Ragnok had been right, the work of his sister and her team was extraordinary. The quality of the implanted memories left nothing to be desired. While most practitioners of the Mind Arts were under the impression that a well-tailored false memory was characterised by its level of details, a lack of distortion, and the otherwise absence of any indications of tinkering, there was one vital factor missing.
Emotional depth.
If discovered by an ordinary Legilimens, or if viewed in a Pensieve, the lack of emotions was often overlooked. Still, there was a chance that the one whose memories had been modified would grow weary of their own memories due to the unexplainable lack of emotions. While the chances for that were relatively slim, a Master Legilimens would not be fooled easily. Should a Master Legilimens decide to directly invade a person's mind, the modified memory, if discovered, would stand out because of the missing emotions connected to the memory.
Since he was a Master Legilimens himself, Tom only knew too well how difficult it was to attach emotions to a modified memory. It was a tricky and complicated endeavour not many were capable of. Much to his surprise and despite being viewed in a Pensieve, Tom had been able to sense the emotions connected to the forged memories, even if it was just a faint notion, like a cashier in the local grocery store being slightly annoyed that Nero Prince was taking so long to pay for his groceries. The crafted memories simply felt real, especially the dislike of one of Nero Prince's colleagues, and the jealousy of the family's landlord, who envied the Prince patriarch for his beautiful wife.
" I must congratulate you, Ragnar ," the Dark Lord said in smooth Gobbledegook, smiling at the female Goblin once they had taken their seats, " as a Master Legilimens myself, I must say that I have rarely ever seen finer work than yours. I am impressed ."
" Well, that is the reaction I had hoped for ," Ragnar chuckled, " I only hope that you will manage to construct believable memories of your own supposed path should somebody try to invade your mind, especially since Albus Dumbledore will no doubt question your sudden appearance. He will not be fooled easily. "
" Most of my 'supposed' memories have already been crafted. I only need to incorporate the faces of those you have shown me and add details. Otherwise, most is completed. Given that I will have plenty of time over the course of the next few days, my forged past should be completed once I will get back to Britain," Tom explained, before leaning forwards, "still, before we depart for France, I would like you to describe the major developments of my supposed past, present, and future from the death of my 'parents' until my return to this very office. While I have seen the memories, I would like to get a bit more context concerning the sequence of events, at least if we have time."
"Luckily, we still have time for that," Ragnar said, leaning back in her chair, "this week on Thursday morning at seven minutes past eight, a larger Peugeot estate car raced through a red light at a busy intersection in the centre of Le Havre at high speed. The car then crashed into a lorry, and the two skidding vehicles were pushed off the road into a crowd of seven waiting people, amongst them your parents, who were about to cross the busy junction. Since the car directly crashed into the tank of the lorry, both vehicles immediately started to burn. By the time the firemen arrived at the crash site, there was not much left of the vehicles, their drivers, and the seven crash victims. Since your father did not appear at work, the French police could identify your parents relatively quickly. They found you early in the evening. Since no relatives, or other potential legal guardians could be identified, you were taken to the local catholic orphanage the next day. There, the matron, and the local priest tried to talk to you several times over the next few days, but you would remain silent, clearly in shock. There is not much that you must keep in mind regarding the schedule since we will take care of most things once you are in position. The only thing you have to do is to make sure that you will be discovered by the French Ministry of Magic late Monday afternoon. From there on, everything should go according to plan. Is everything acceptable so far?"
Tom merely nodded his head in confirmation,
"Good, " Ragnar continued, "we tried to keep your time in the Muggle world at a minimum, but I am afraid that this is the shortest solution we could come up with to solidify the memories of the matron, and the Father Jacques. I hope you understa-"
"I have survived my entire childhood in an orphanage. I will most certainly survive another day there," the Dark Lord said, determination lacing his every word, as he pushed himself off his seat, "I am rea-"
The hand of Ragnok on his forearm stopped his movements, "Not quite yet, my friend. Your eyes."
Internally, Tom wanted to curse himself. He rarely forgot something, least of all something as important as this. Cursing under his breath in something similar to the Cockney he had grown up speaking, the Dark Lord lifted his right hand to his eyes. After a fast series of hisses, he felt the Parselmagic taking hold.
"While I must say that the onyx colour suits you to some extent, " Ragnok chuckled, as he stared straight into the eyes of his friend, "I prefer the crimson."
"I agree," his sister spoke before reaching for her wand. Tom watched as one of the quills on the table was turned into a Portkey, which was then swiftly offered to him, "Ready?"
"Take care, my friend," Ragnok said, concern clearly present in his eyes. The Dark Lord merely nodded his head, reaching for the Portkey. Fractions of a second later, Ragnok's office disappeared in a whirlwind of colours.
The interior of his room at the Orphelinat Sainte Marie, the Orphanage of the Holy Mary, was only marginally better than the one at Wool's Orphanage. Surely, the furniture was newer and the painting on the wall was only slightly flaking, but the room itself was just as unwelcoming as the home of his childhood, if one could even call that hellhole 'home'.
The obvious difference were the two menacing looking Goblins guarding the shabby door. While neither of them was as tall as Ragnar by his side, they made an impressive sight with their broad shoulders, nonetheless. Both were clad in the same sort of sturdy attire their leader seemed to prefer, minus the corsage of course. A Dragon's fang was dangling from an earring of the larger of the two of them, while the smaller Goblin was grinning toothily, thus showing off a rather impressive set of sharp fangs.
"About time that you arrive, Ragnar," the smaller of the two spoke, "that annoying woman tried to enter this room thrice already."
"I am here now," the female Goblin replied. She was about to turn to the Dark Lord, when the taller Goblin cleared his throat, "And your husband contacted us. He said it was urgent."
"What does Tornuk want now?" Ragnar sighed, while rolling her eyes, "please tell me it is not because of the new gold scales again?"
Both Goblins nodded their heads in confirmation.
"How many times do I have to tell him to not touch those things?" Ragnar muttered under her breath before turning to the Dark Lord, "I am afraid that I have to go. My 'dear' husband simply does not understand that he should not fiddle with any sort of technology. Modrek and Zordrak will inform you of 'your' time spent in this charming establishment. Tom, I wish you the best of luck. May your plans unfold in your favour, while never forgetting that Magic herself is by your side."
Hours later, Tom was finally alone. While Modrek and Zordrak had left fairly quickly once they had informed him of all the comings and goings of the last two days he had supposedly spent in the orphanage, the matron had not given up easily. While at first glance, Madame Petit appeared to care more about 'her' orphans than the ever-suspicious Mrs. Cole, Tom could feel that her seemingly caring demeanour was rooted neither in compassion nor altruism. Even without scanning her surface thoughts, it became apparent that the matron was only interested in extracting any sort of information that might be helpful to get rid of her newest ward. Her attempts at comforting a boy who had seemingly just lost both of his parents eventually turned into nothing more than interrogations to obtain the names of his relatives or other possible guardians who could take care of Thomas Prince instead of herself. After the second failed attempt, Madame Petit thankfully left with the words that Father Jacques would visit him tomorrow.
Left alone in the semi-darkness of his room, the expression of absolute misery and grief on the face of the Dark Lord gave way to an ugly sneer. While his childhood certainly had been anything but pleasant, most of it had been tolerable. He had survived after all. Still, the interactions with the Catholic Church had crossed his lines a few times too much, and that was still a generous way of expressing his encounters with the local Catholic priests. He would gladly prefer to forget the numerous exorcisms and those shameful moments. Thankfully, Modrek and Zordrak had already informed him about Father Jacques' special kind of desire. The knowledge did nothing to reduce the dread he was feeling inside, but at least he was prepared.
Sparing one last glance at the poor excuse of food on the tray Madame Petit had left on the battered table by the dirty, streaked window, Tom was more than glad for the rich meal Ragnok had insisted on after they had viewed half of the memories. Leaving the tray as it was, the Dark Lord let himself fall on the ratty cot, forgoing his usual graceful movements. A wave of his hand later, he was surrounded by soothing darkness. Since Thomas Prince, unlike all first years attending the major Wizarding schools, had been tutored by his mother, he was free of the Trace and could thus perform magic as he pleased, although there were a few limitations.
Closing his eyes, the Dark Lord tried his best to ignore his dismal surroundings, the even worse prospects concerning the following day, and worst of all, the absence of his Equal. Taking a deep breath, Tom submerged himself deeper in his mind. After all, he had memories to construct.
Hours later, at least it must be since he had lost track of time, Tom felt like he had made good progress. While most of Thomas Prince's memories had already been constructed, certain elements, like the appearance of his supposed parents, and most emotions had been missing; the former because he had not known yet how his supposed parents would look like since he had left that to the Goblins, and the latter because emotional depth was best to be added once a memory had been fully constructed.
After hours of work, Tom felt exhausted. Before he could allow himself to drift off into the awaiting arms of Morpheus, there was still something important to be done.
Minutes later, a silent tear rolled down the Dark Lord's cheek as wished his Equal a good night, feeling happy and sad at the same time.
The next morning, the sun still had not risen outside, Tom was violently ripped out of his dreams by the loud banging on his door accompanied by the shrieking of Madame Petit, " Wake up! Wake up! Breakfast is in twenty minutes! Wake up !"
Her shrieks soon moved further down the corridor while Tom let himself fall back into his meagre excuse of a cushion, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead of him.
" I do not care about whatever excuse you have to behave as you do ," Madame Petit shouted in fast French fifteen minutes later as she stormed into his room, " this is not a hotel with a room service for children who think themselves special just because they have lost their parents. There are plenty of you out there. You will either take your meal downstairs in the dining hall, or your will starve. Be warned."
Growing frustrated with Tom's unresponsiveness as well as his refusal to move, the matron quickly crossed the room. Fractions of a second later, Tom felt her sharp nails scratching over his scalp as her fingers closed around a tuft of his hair. Surprised by the viciousness of her move, the Dark Lord gasped in pain as he was yanked off his bed.
" Stop crying!" the matron yelled, a furious glitter in her eyes as she stared at her newest ward, an expression of disgust on her face as she yanked the hand that was grabbing his hair upwards, forcing Tom to straighten his back, " you have had enough time to mourn. Come!"
Streams of tears were running down his face as he was forced to follow the matron down the stairs, her movements unrelentless. He was then roughly shoved into the already full dining hall.
Immediately, he felt a myriad of eyes on his hunched, trembling form. Feeling like a small fish in a shark tank, Tom shyly inspected his surroundings before stumbling towards the end of the line. A few minutes later, a sparsely filled tray was shoved into his shaking hands. On his way to a deserted table in a dark corner of the large room, he almost tripped twice due to several extended legs. Once Thomas Prince had taken his seat, half of his meagre meal already split, loud and uncontrollable sobs began escaping his throat, while streams of tears continued flowing down his face.
"Did you see him almost fall?" an older boy with broad shoulders and a flat nose, which without doubt had been broken at some point, laughed, " what a big cry baby."
"Missing your mummy and daddy?" a small boy yelled gleefully, clearly enjoying that he was not on the receiving end for once , "look at your eyes! All swollen up and red."
Soon, others continued to join the choir.
Under normal circumstances, the Dark Lord would have never shown this kind of emotions in front of a room full of people, especially not orphans. After all, showing any sort of weakness only made you a target. Far too early he had learned that crying did not solve any problems. Crying only made your problems worse as others would take advantage of one's weaknesses, turning you into the punching bag of the orphanage.
Still, this was the exact thing he wanted. While Dumbledore was more than well aware of his acting skills, acting weak in front of Muggles would be too much of a stretch for the old fool.
Burying his face in his hands, Tom continued to sob quietly. Thankfully, breakfast was soon over. As he looked up, his previously untouched tray was empty, all the food taken. During his time at Wool's Orphanage, this would have been one of the worst things that could have happened to you and a clear sign of weakness. If you could not even defend your own meagre portion of food, you had reached the absolute bottom of the food chain. After somehow managing to return the tray, he quickly headed upstairs again, hiding in his room. When it was time for lunch, nobody called for him. His door remained closed. Once lunch had been finished, Madam Petit stormed into his room without knocking, curtly informing him that she did not care if he starved and that Father Jacques would arrive later this afternoon.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom stared at the door the matron had closed on her way out. He really did not want to do this. Still, he knew that it was necessary. Sinking back into the meagre excuse of a cushion, he closed his eyes.
Originally, he had planned on continuing with the forging of his false memories. Well, he had done just that for an hour or two until something else had caught his attention. When he had been about to add emotional depths to the memory of his mother teaching him how to ride a bicycle, the weakened link flared up. While he somehow knew that Harry was not in danger given the rather euphoric state of his emotions, Tom still felt the need to check on his equal. Also, there was no way that he could resist the temptation. He was simply too curious for that, especially since his current surroundings were rather lacklustre.
What he saw surely surprised him. Instead of simply declaring Sirius Black innocent on the basis of Peter Pettigrew's confession under Veritaserum, as most Ministry officials surely would have done, Amelia Bones appeared to be determined to grant each of the involved the chance to tell their take on the night of Samhain 1981. While he had never made the mistake to underestimate the skills, power, and the sense of justice of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he must admit that the respect for the righteous witch had just increased exponentially, especially the longer the interrogation of Sirius Black went on.
Sensing the confusion of his equal concerning the missing memory of Sirius Black, Tom simply could not hold his tongue, "The old manipulator must have used several highly-powered Compulsion and Memory Charms. While Dementors can 'destroy' memories over time, they never vanish completely unless the person in question is Kissed."
The intoxicating feeling of warmth leaking over the link made the Dark Lord feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Sadly, his short moment of comfort was cut short as he heard heavy steps in front of his door.
"Somebody is coming," he managed to utter, before quickly adding, "I have to go."
Fractions of a second later, the door was thrown open. Refusing to look at the intruder, Tom only pulled his boney knees tighter to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible on his ratty excuse of a bed.
" My boy, may God always watch over you ," the slightly nasal, too highly pitched words of Father Jacques echoed through the room as he closed the door behind him. Refusing to react, Tom pressed his face deeper inside his arms, listening to the approaching feet. Moments later, a chair was noisily dragged towards the bed. The frame of the bed shook slightly as the priest's voluminous body was lowered on the protesting piece of wooden furniture on top of the creaking floorboards.
" My boy, I am so happy to see you again ," Father Jacques continued, his voice sounding very close, " I know that our last meeting was to neither of our expectations, but I hope that today will turn out to be much better. Do you not agree ?"
Instead of answering, Tom remained quiet.
" Good ," the priest said, taking his opposite's silence for an answer, " I think we should start where we finished last time. As I recall, you never answered if you think God watches over you. Now, my dear boy, do you believe that God is there for you ?"
Again, Tom remained silent.
" Good, " Father Jacques whispered, his hot breath brushing over Tom's ear, " God is never outdone in generosity. Today, you will learn how true these words are ."
A cold shiver ran down the Dark Lord's spine at the feeling of the sweaty fingers on his bare forearm, trying to pull him closer to the priest. At first, there was not much force behind the priest's grip, but the longer Tom refused to react, the stronger the sweaty fingers closed around his thin arm, urging him to move. Eventually, the force was stronger than his meagre bodyweight and much too soon, Tom found himself faced with the hungry eyes of Father Jacques. As the priest leaned forward, his hand clearly on the way towards his thigh, a whimper escaped the Tom's lips, begging Father Jacques to stop. Without success.
The eager fingers of the disciple of God landed on his thigh, gently caressing the delicate flesh through the thin fabric of his trousers. Without asking for consent, the fingers began to move in a dangerous direction.
" Please, stop ," Tom whispered in French, feeling a hot tear rolling down his cheek, trying to supress the dark memories of his previous encounters with the catholic hierarchy.
Once again Father Jacques did not listen as he reached for the crown jewel.
Instinctively, the Apple wood wand of Thomas Prince slipped into the hand of the Dark Lord and Father Jacques was blasted through the bare room, crashing into the wall opposite the bed. Suppressing the glee he felt at the sight in front of him, Tom forced an expression of shock and anxiety on his face as he stared at the lifeless body of Father Jacques.
A few tense seconds later, the priest drew a raspy breath, his eyes full of fear as he stared at the Dark Lord in disguise while clutching his right arm tightly to his body. Shaking his head in denial, Father Jacques stumbled to his feet. A thin stream of blood was running down his chin emerging from the right corner of his mouths as he whispered, " Y…you… you… "
The longer the priest stared at him, the larger his eyes grew, fear written all across his face as he screamed, " You shall not tempt me! You shall not hurt me! God, protect me from the spawn of Satan! "
Being the spineless man he was, Father Jacques spun on his heels and fled instead of facing the apparent evil in the room any longer, slamming the door shut behind him. Once the priest was gone, the Dark Lord closed his eyes, exhaling in relief. He had experienced enough unpleasant encounters with the Catholic Church in his life as it was. Sensing the dark memories of dimly lit sanctuaries, greedy and sweaty hands, the ruffling of black cassocks, heavy crosses shoved in his face, the revolting wafts of frankincense, and hushed chants in Latin breaking free from their prison, Tom tried his best to strengthen his Occlumency shields. Deep breath after deep breath filled his lungs as his Occlumency shields prevailed and the horrors of his childhood were banished to the deepest dungeons of his mind.
Once his emotions were under control again, Tom opened his eyes, listening to the noises in the hallway. Everything was quiet except for the sound out children in the yard. Nobody had arrived yet. Tom was deeply thankful for the moment of quietness and peace. He was not sure if he would have been able to cope with the situation without the chance to gather himself. The results could have been catastrophic, maybe even to the point of ruining their entire plan.
Luckily, the French Ministry of Magic appeared to require as much time as the British to react to a situation like this. Since Thomas Nero Prince had never crossed the gates of one the major magical schools, or had been registered as home-schooled at one of the Ministries of Magic, the Trace had never been applied to him, making him almost invisible to the authorities. Therefore, he was free to practise and to use magic even when his parents were not around. Apparently, he did not exist in the eyes of the French Ministry.
Still, there was one exception. One way to alert the authorities.
Following the defeat of Grindelwald, most settlements within Europe had been covered with magical wards, so called Muggle Protection Wards, which would inform the respective Ministry of Magic whenever magic had been performed in the presence, or worse against a Muggle. While similar, although weaker wards had been present ever since the days of the Statue of Secrecy, they had been patchy, only applying to larger cities and villages with known magical communities. Back then, his magical outburst would have gone unnoticed, but not anymore. Still, despite the strengthened and improved nature of the Muggle Protection Wards, there were plenty of loopholes around being detected. Since he had not bothered to hide his actions, Ministry officials would soon arrive to investigate the use of magic against poor Father Jacques and thus find him.
Taking a deep breath, the Dark Lord focussed on the next step of the plan: making the perfect first impression. For that, one key ingredient was missing.
In the past, crying had never done him any good. Therefore, he had spent most of his life avoiding it as best as he could. Now, though, it was different. When he had first contemplated this aspect of the plan, he had been quite unsure if he, the Dark Lord, was even able to shed a tear. Fortunately, Harry had reminded him that he was not the emotionless monster Dumbledore believed him to be. Speaking of Harry, the past few days without his Equal had affected him more than he would ever admit. The thought of not being with Harry, not talking to him, not laughing with him, not plotting with him, not creating with him, not touching him, not feeling his magic was powerful enough to shake the foundations of the most hardened being. Never in his life would the Dark Lord have imagined that crying was so easy as he felt the first tears rolling down his face.
A few minutes later, the quietness was shattered. Two sets of heavy feet were making their way up the creaking stairs, while the noise on the yard outside had mysteriously died down.
" Whoever thought that it was a good idea to break into a Muggle orphanage and fire off waves of raw magic at one of their priest deserves to be carted straight to the Bastille, " a deep, rather rough voice spat in French, " still, they will probably be gone by now."
"Henry, we do not know yet," a second voice replied, this time much higher and calmer, " we still have the upper levels to go through and Aurélie and Raphaël are still questioning Father Jacques. Something is off about this attack. If it even was an attack."
"Of course, it was," the voice belonging to Henry bellowed, "what makes you think that it was not? The priest hallucinating about his encounter with Satan? They fantasise about stuff like that all of the time. Remember that book Laurent ga-"
"Quiet, Henry," the female voice spoke up. Fractions of a second later, Tom felt a wave of magic, probably an advanced Detection Charm, spreading through the walls and the rooms of the first level of the building, before the female voice gasped, " Mon dieu."
Without warning, the door was blasted open and the rough voice of Henry echoed through the small room, " Hands in the air. You are under arre-"
"Stop it, Henry! It is just a boy, although I have no idea why the Trace failed to alert us since he clearly is a wizard," the female voice interrupted the speech of her partner. Through the fingers of his shaking hands Tom could see two Aurors standing in the doorframe. Like all members of the Bureau des Aurors, they were clad in sturdy, yet elegant navy-blue duelling robes paired with dark dragonhide pants, boots of the same material, and a form fitting black shirt. The male Auror, Henry Tom supposed, had his wand still pointed at the trembling child in the corner of the room. His face which was framed by a mane of curly darkish brown hair was contorted into a grimace. With his tall and wide frame, he was towering over the delicate form of his partner, who had instead lowered her wand and was eyeing Tom with a calculated but also concerned expression. Pushing her jaw-length auburn hair behind her ears, the middle-aged witch threw a quick glance at her younger partner, silently ordering him to guard the door, before turning back to the trembling, sobbing form in front of her. Placing her wand back in the holster strapped to her arm, the witch slowly stepped closer to the bed, her empty hands clearly visible.
" We are not here to harm you, my dear. I promise. We, the members of the Bureau des Aurors, serve to protect the magical citizens of France," the words of the witch were soft and soothing, " are you hurt?"
As his body continued to tremble, Tom did not react to her words, his face remaining buried in his hands as tears continued to flow down his cheeks.
"Dear, if you do not object, I am coming closer to you. Is that alright?" the witch asked. Taking Tom's lack of reaction for an answer, she slowly stepped forward until she stood right in front of the bed.
" Dear, " she repeated, the concern in her voice real, "are you hurt? "
Continuing to sob in his hands, Tom quickly shook his head, while otherwise ignoring the two Aurors.
" I am glad that you are unharmed, dear," the Auror said, clearly relieved that the child in front of her appeared to be unharmed, "still, I must ask you what happened. We got alarmed that somebody used magic against a Muggle. Do you know anythi-"
"What did you do to the Muggle priest?" Henry bellowed, cutting short his partner, "using magic against Muggle is illegal and could easily land you ten years in the Bastille. It is a clear breach of the Statue of Secrecy and cou-"
"Enough, Henry," his partner said sharply before turning back to Tom, " do not listen to him. We do not know the entire picture of what happened. Innocent until proven guilty, as I like to say. Dear, there are extraordinary circumstances in which the use of magic against Muggles is legitimised, for example if you were trying to defend yourself. Now, dear, did you use magic on the Muggle?"
Hopefully, Tom looked up from his hands, the female Auror was smiling at him reassuringly. He then slowly nodded his head, opening his mouth to explain himself.
Before a single sound could cross his lips, Henry's voice thundered through the room, " I told you that he did it, Auberée. I knew it when I first saw him. He is resp-"
"Henry, this is the last time that you have interrupted me and more importantly obstructed the investigation," the female Auror, Auberée, hissed, having lost all softness in her voice, "I am the higher-ranking of the two of us and I am certainly not the one on probation for unprofessional conduct. One word about your lacking professionalism to Head Auror de Valois, and your badge will be gone. If I were you, I would tread carefully. Is that understood, Henry?"
As if frozen, the bulky Auror in question stared back at his partner, his eyes open wide like a scolded child. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly nodded his head in understanding before stepping back, leaving the questioning to the higher-ranking Auror. Once her partner had retreated, the female Auror turned her attention back to Tom, rolling her eyes in the process as if to say 'see, what I have to put up with', before her expression turned soft again. She then slowly sat herself down on the edge of the bed, placing her steady, warm hand on his arm to soothe the anxious child.
Tom flinched back from her touch, his voice sounding desperate, " Please, don't… Not like he did. Please."
The hand froze in mid-air, as the expression on the witch's face turned steely, " That priest touched you?"
When Tom did not react, the Auror quickly added, " We will certainly not harm you in any way. We are here to protect you and to punish those who have done you wrong. In order to do that, you must tell us what happened. I promise that we will help you."
For a long moment, Tom stared at the witch as if to determine whether she had spoken the truth. Seemingly having come to a conclusion, words began to sputter out of his mouth accompanied by a new stream of tears, " He… he came to… to visit me two… two days ago…. They… they told me he would help me… pro… process everything… but instead, he… he touched me… It felt… felt weird… I did not like it at all… and I decided to not answer his… his questions. I was so relieved when he left… But today, he… he came back and to… told me that he… he would show me how… how gracious God is and… and reached for my… for my… It was horrible… I have never felt so… helpless and before I knew it… my wand was in my hand and he… he was flying through the room…"
Before he knew it, two strong, yet soothing arms were wrapped around his boney shoulders, "Dear, I am so sorry. I truly am. No child should be treated like that. Henry, inform Aurélie and Raphaël of the recent developments. I want you to thoroughly question the priest. Use Veritaserum if he should prove to be uncooperative. After all, this concerns the safety of a minor. If Head Auror de Valois should question your doings, send him to me. I vouch for you. I want this case to be solved as quickly as possible."
Once her partner had left, the Auror simply continued to hold him, trying her best to soothe the traumatised boy. No word was spoken, and for that, Tom respected the Auror. Her behaviour might not have been typical for her line of duty, but in this situation, it was exactly the right thing. After what must have at least been twenty minutes, Tom finally allowed himself to relax slightly.
Having felt the shift in the child, the Auror loosened her embrace without letting go of Tom. Instead, she leaned back slightly and carefully wiped the last tear off his cheek. For a moment, their eyes met, before Tom quickly averted his gaze.
" It is alright, dear. It is alright," she said, gently patting his back, "I must apologise to you. I have not even asked for your name, and in turn, not told you mine. I am Auberée de la Roche, Senior Auror of the Bureau des Aurors. What is yours?"
"I… I am Tho… Thomas," the Dark Lord stuttered, carefully leaving out his surname.
"Nice to meet you, Thomas," Auberée smiled , "I could not help but notice that you mentioned that this awful man who calls himself a priest was supposed to help you 'process' something. Thomas, you have not been in this orphanage for long, have you?"
At first, Tom remained quiet, refusing to tell the Auror, playing his part of a child raised by paranoid parents on the run. After a bit of back and forth, Auberée de la Roche finally managed to win his trust and he eventually told her why he had ended up at the orphanage, about his home-schooling, and the constant moves from city to city and town to town, carefully leaving out any names and the reasoning behind his parents' behaviour. Throughout his tale, he had to stop several times, tears flowing down his face, while the Auror tried to comfort him.
" Do you know if you have any relatives who could take you in?" Auberée asked once he had finished, " while you certainly will not be staying here, it would be a lot easier to have you move in with a relative."
"No," Tom answered after a while, " maman and papa never spoke about any siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles."
Auberée de la Roche sighed, "It certainly would have made quite a few things a lot easier."
"Does… does that mean I have to… have to stay here?" Tom asked, looking at the Auror with sad, hopeless eyes.
"No, certainly not, Thomas," Auberée answered quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, "the Ministère des Affaires Magiques firmly believes that no young witch or wizard should remain alone in the Muggle world. While there are exceptions if the parents or guardians are non-magical yet grasp and cherish the gift of their ward, Muggles rarely react that way. Therefore, I can promise that even in the case of failing to find any relatives of yours, you will never be forced to come back here or to live in any other Muggle orphanage or non-magical foster family."
"Thank you, Madame Auberée," Tom said, his facial features morphing into a smile.
" That is the least I can do, Thomas," the Auror smiled, " well, how about we get you all packed up so I can take you to the Ministère to start looking for you relatives?"
Instead of the smile Auberée de la Roche had expected, a fearful expression appeared on the face of the child before her.
"The Ministère?" Tom whispered, the knuckles on his shaking hands turning whiter the tighter he clutched his knees, " I… I cannot go there… They… they will tu…. turn me in and wi-"
"Turn you in to whom?" the Auror asked in confusion, " the Ministère des Affaires Magiques is not going to send you to somebody you do not feel comfortable with. We are not going to abandon you. We are here to protect you. Whom do you fear?"
" You… you do not work together with… with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Tom stared at her with big eyes.
" The Dark Lord of the British Isles?" Auberée asked incredulously, " he has been gone for a decade. Defeated, quite possibly killed by an infant. No one has seen him ever since."
"He is gone?" Tom asked, his jaw slightly unhinged, " but my parents said…"
"He is gone," the Auror said, her words filled with determination, " you do not need to fear him or any of his lackeys. Magical Europe has been enjoying a decade of peace ever since the war ended in Grande-Bretagne. If he was the reason why your parents were on the run, I am afraid they hid for naught. Besides, the Ministère des Affaires Magiques has and will never cooperate with criminals. Do you understand?"
After a minute, Tom slowly nodded his head, thinking in the back of his mind that he really deserved an award for his stellar performance up to this point. Eventually, Thomas agreed to be taken to the French Ministry. Once his meagre belongings had been packed, the Auror explained that she would take him to the nearest Apparition point from where she would take him to the Ministère, more specifically to one of her acquaintances in the Département de la Famille. Afterwards, Tom quickly followed her out of the orphanage. According to her explanation, it would not be a long way.
Before they had even crossed the yard of the depressing building, a deep voice called after the Auror, " Auberée, wait."
Stopping in her tracks, Auberée de la Roche eyes landed on the fast-approaching form.
" Auberée, you were right. I am sorry," her partner gasped once he was in earshot, " that priest really tried to… touch him, and it was not the first ti-"
"Henry, enough. He does not need to hear more," the female Auror spoke quickly, throwing a concerned glance at the child at her side, before turning to her partner again, " he will pay for what he has done. Still, I think Thomas here should be the one you should apologise to and not me."
Opposite of her, Henry's face turned an interesting shade of red as he stuttered a hasty apology while his partner only rolled her eyes. Once the rather embarrassing encounter was over, Auberée de la Roche briefly instructed her partner on how to proceed with Father Jacques, before finally departing with Thomas.
Stumbling for appearance sake, the grip of the female Auror was the only thing keeping him upright upon arrival at the French Ministry. Once the disorienting feeling of being forced through a very tight rubber tube had faded and he had straightened himself, Tom's jaw dropped as his eyes wandered over the lavish entrance hall of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques, some of the emotions being real for a change.
In his previous life, he had never set foot in the French Ministry. Therefore, he was quite surprised by the grand, yet airy and tasteful interior of the entrance hall. While the French had always been much more tasteful than the British regarding fashion and design, he had not expected their Ministry to represent this virtue in quite such a way.
The white marble on the floor and the large marble pillars were reminiscent of Gringotts, but that is where the similarities ended. Unlike the sheer dominance of marble at the Goblin bank, the walls were whitewashed. If it had not been for the delicate gold ornaments around the large windows, one could say that the design of the entrance hall was unspectacular. Given the fantastic view of the Place de la Sorbonne with its famous Chapelle, the statement was entirely wrong. To say that the Dark Lord was surprised about the location of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques certainly was an understatement. During his travels, he had visited this part of the City of Love. Never in his dreams would he have imagined that the French Ministry was located right in the heart of Paris, especially since it was not underground like its British counterpart.
Once he had processed the location of the Ministère, his gaze wandered upwards. The high, airy light-blue ceiling was covered with a large fresco. Unlike the tasteless Fountain of Magical Brethren at the British Ministry, all sorts of magical creatures and beings were depicted side by side with magical France's most renowned witches and wizards like Nicolas Flamel, the famous playwright Malecrit, or Pierre Bonaccord, the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The artistry was simply magnificent and by far the most detailed and life-like fresco he had ever seen. A true masterpiece.
Sadly, there was only little time to inspect the spectacular entrance hall as Auberée de la Roche signalled him to follow her towards a security checkpoint. Once a few words with the two Aurors on duty had been exchanged and his Apple wand had been registered, they headed towards a row of lifts.
Already dreading what would come next, Tom almost instinctively reached for one of the handles which thankfully had been installed with not only tall witches and wizards in mind. Much to his surprise, the passengers were alerted by a female voice that the lift was about to move. Instead of the suicidal speed he had expected, the lift began to move upwards at a gentle speed, making Tom once again question the sanity of the British Wizarding community. Why nobody had adjusted the deathly contraptions at the British Ministry, Tom did not know. Who in their right mind would insist on keeping magical lifts which would make you nauseous whenever you used them? Even in the magical world, simple things such as lifts could be enchanted to transport you without turning your stomach upside down, even if it took a moment longer.
After a minute or so, the female voice informed them that they had arrived at the level which housed the Département de la Famille. Much like the airy and welcoming entrance hall, the third floor of the Ministère was kept in light colour while small tables and chairs as well as plenty of plants scattered between every second or third door all along the corridor giving the Département a much more homely character than its British counterpart.
Auberée stopped at a door towards the end of the corridor, the nameplate reading ' Apolline Delacour, Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille'. Knocking twice, Auberée was quickly signalled to enter. Inside, Tom found himself in a spacious, tastefully furnished office with a large mahogany desk at its centre. A petit, beautiful woman with long silvery-blonde hair, who was wearing green leafy robes, was sitting behind the desk. Sensing her alluring aura, Tom immediately knew that she must have Veela blood running through her veins. Given the strengths of her allure, it must have been a quite recent addition to her line. The moving pictures of what must be her daughters on the desk only supported his theory.
Taken slightly aback by his revelation, he almost missed the beginning of the conversation between the two women once they had taken seats in front of Madame Delacour's desk. Luckily, he quickly caught on to the explanation of how Auberée de la Roche had discovered Thomas in the Muggle orphanage in Le Havre.
" Mon dieu, my poor boy," Madame Delacour said once the Auror had finished, her voice kind and soft, " I am glad that we got you out of there. Still, I hope that we will continue to help you. First, I have a question for you. Do you want us to help finding your relatives?"
Staring into the shiny, large, deep blue eyes of the part-Veela, he nodded in confirmation without much thinking.
"Tres bien," Madame Delacour smiled , "in order to find you relatives, we need as much information as you can remember. I must remind you to be as forthcoming as possible but remember that the information will be used to your benefit and your benefit only. We will not hand you over to some evil forces. We are only trying to help you. Do you understand, dear?"
Despite averting their eyes, Tom squirmed underneath the intense gaze of the two witches, eventually clearing his throat, " Yes, I do."
"How about you start with their names?" Auberée suggested, smiling encouragingly at the Dark Lord.
"Well, maman and papa never told me much. They said it could endanger us if I knew too much," Tom sighed, closing his eyes in concentration, " in public, my parents went by the names 'Joan' and 'Anton', although I am pretty sure that these were not their real names. I know that papa used to call maman 'Madeleine' whenever they thought I was not listening. I never overheard papa's name, but I think 'Prince' is our real surname. Apart from that, I only know that both of them used to attend a school called Beauxbâtons I think and that both grew up close by the sea. They never liked staying far away from the ocean. Papa loves Potions and maman likes Arithmancy and music, although she does not like the Wizarding kind. She always said that Muggle music is much better."
He finished staring at his knees, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.
" Is that all?" Auberèe de la Roche asked, one eyebrow raised.
Tom quickly nodded his head in answer.
" Thank you, Thomas," Madame Delacour said, trying to hide her shock that the parents of a child had gone to such lengths to stay hidden, " although it is not much, I think we can work from here on. We will try to find your relatives. Should you remember anything, do not hesitate to inform us. For the time being, I think it would be best for you to stay here. We have rooms here for young Witches and Wizards in dire situations where they can stay until a solution regarding their whereabouts has been found. Currently, there is one young Witch staying here, although you will of course get your own room. There is always at least one member of the Département de la Famille staying here. Therefore, there is always someone present for you to talk to no matter what kind of help you require. Once we get the permission from Head Auror de Valois, we will immediately start our investigations. You, of course, will be informed about our progress. Does that sound acceptable to you?"
Unlike the British Wizarding community, the French appeared to take greater care of their minors instead of blindly trusting in the good hearts of the Muggles. Surprised by their care, Tom only nodded his head. Given that they did suspect his parents to be Muggleborns, it was rather unsurprising that they did not consider the use of Inheritance Ritual and instead would try to search for any records of Anton and Madeleine Prince.
Once the two witches had informed him of all further proceedings, he was led to separate part of the Département. The room he was given was airy and welcoming, containing a medium-sized, comfortable looking bed. Once Auberée de la Roche and Apolline Delacour had shown him the rest of the wing reserved for young witches and wizards in dire situations, the two insisted on keeping him company throughout the rather late dinner. Tom thought it was a rather nice gesture.
The next morning, he woke up well rested. Unlike the previous night at the rather shabby Orphelinat Sainte Marie, the Ministére des Affaires Magiques really seemed to make an effort to properly care for Wizarding France's young ones.
Once he had opened his eyes, the Dark Lord's eyebrows shot upwards. A bundle of new clothes was resting on a stool in the corner close to the small window. The quality of the simple Wizarding robes was more than decent, especially in contrast to the patchy Muggle clothes he had been wearing. After a quick shower in the small adjunct bathroom, he noted that the robes fit rather well, gently hugging his skinny frame.
Before he could even think about what to do next, a knock echoed through his room. Once he had given the permission to enter, Madame Delacour wished him a good morning, complementing his new clothing before asking him if he had slept well. After Tom had indeed confirmed that he was feeling much better than yesterday, the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille informed him that once he had finished breakfast, there was a meeting scheduled to announce the possible start of the investigation to find his relatives. Sensing his nervousness, Madame Delacour tried to calm him, ensuring him that it was very rare for such a request to be denied. Furthermore, herself and Auberée de la Roche would be present during the meeting.
Half an hour later, he was escorted to a smaller conference room. Once Madame Delacour had opened the door, his eyes quickly moved over the figure of Auberée de la Roche who was sitting at a round table in the centre of the room, a stack of papers in front of her, before moving over a hospital bed in front of the wall opposite the Auror, finally coming to a halt on a tall, regal figure in front of the large window opposite the door.
" Monsieur Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you," a deep baritone voice was greeting him as the tall, regal figure turned around, offering Tom his hand as he crossed the room. Being the naïve child that he portrayed, Tom immediately accepted the large, calloused hand that spoke of a hard-working wizard and was in stark contrast to his otherwise immaculate exterior speaking of a rich and long ancestry and more in line with the powerful aura of magic surrounding him.
"Auror de la Roche informed me of the very unfortunate circumstances leading to your discovery. On behalf of the entire Ministère des Affaires Magiques, I, Charlemagne de Valois, Head of the Bureau des Aurors, offer you my most sincere condolence to your losses and everything that followed afterwards," the tall Auror continued, his grey eyes filled with sincerity, while an expression of concern had replaced his mask of indifference of his finely sculpted Pureblood facial features which were framed by a mane of long light-brown curls falling past his muscular shoulders. The cut and quality of his robes was exquisite and would turn every British Auror and even some of the rich Purebloods green in envy.
"Merci, Head Auror de Valois," Tom replied, slightly squirming under the intense gaze of the tall Auror, " your words mean a lot."
"Yet they are only words," Charlemagne de Valois sighed, letting go of the Dark Lord's hand, " it pains me to see a magical child in such a situation. I wish we could have done something to prevent this happening to you, but sadly our hands were bound as we have only learned very recently of your existence. Still, I hope that we can assist you as best as we possibly can to ensure that your future will be much brighter. Therefore, it is my pleasure to inform you that I have given green light for the search of your relatives. The investigation will be conducted by Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour since both are already familiar with your situation. They will start immediately. For the duration of the investigation, Auror de la Roche will be freed from her duties within the Bureau des Aurors. You, of course, will be informed about all developments."
"Je vous remercie, Auror de Valois," Tom thanked the Head of the Bureau des Aurors, seemingly overwhelmed by the care of the French Ministry and its officials.
" Monsieur Prince, that is the least we can do," Charlemagne de Valois said, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile, " furthermore, to ensure that you are well, Guérisseur Orléans will check your health."
This Tom clearly had not expected. At least not here in front of so many people.
The feeling must have been mirrored on his face as Charlemagne de Valois continued to explain, " There is no reason to worry. Guérisseur Orléans is one of the best healers here in France and very used to dealing with children. He will cast a few of the standard Diagnostic Charms on you to see if you are developing as you should or if there are any hidden ailments. Again, it is a fairly standard procedure every child here is subjected to."
As if on command, a small figure stepped forwards. Given the rather dominant magical aura and the overall impressive frame of Charlemagne de Valois, it was hardly surprising that Tom had failed to notice the healer. With his short chocolate-brown hair, unremarkable facial features and simple robes, there was hardly anything memorable about the healer.
" Monsieur Prince," Guérisseur Orléans said, his voice surprisingly deep and melodic for his short frame, " if you grant me permission, I will cast a few standard Diagnostic Charms on you. The Charms will not hurt or affect you in any possible way. Instead, they should uncover any sustained injuries, badly healed bones, Curse damage, malnutrition, and allergies. Should we find something, we will of course try to rectify the damage. Monsieur Prince, would you mind hopping on the hospital bed?"
Praying to whoever was listening, Tom slowly made his way over to the hospital bed, eyeing the Healer suspiciously. Having anticipated the possibility of a Diagnostic Charm cast on him, the Dark Lord had prepared for this situation, something, which certainly had not been easy and would certainly not be easy to pull off. After all, it would be quite suspicious if the medical record of his new body would turn out clean. Climbing on the hospital bed, Tom's eyes followed the movements of Guérisseur Orléans as he produced a short, rather thick wand out of a hidden holster and began to explain the proceedings.
Pretending to listen to the explanations, Tom instead focussed on the modified version of his medical record of his previous body he and Harry had put together. Originally, they had hoped to permanently attach the modified medical record to his current body, but it had not worked out that way. While the ritual they had created had miraculously merged the modified medical record with his new body, it had somehow failed to completely replace the blank record of his new body. All attempts to rectify this slight inconvenience had failed so far. Still, they had at least figured that there was a way to prevent both medical records to show up on a magical health report.
Concentrating very hard on the modified medical record, Tom pushed back the true, yet blank one of his new body, which was easier said than done, to the point that he almost missed the question of the healer, " Monsieur Prince, are you alright?"
The question was met by a silent nod of his head as he continued to focus on the task.
" Would you allow me to cast the first Diagnostic Charm on you?" Guérisseur Orléans continued to ask.
Again, the Dark Lord replied with a faint nod. Moments later, he felt a rather gentle wave of magic washing over him. Once the magic had faded, the wand of the healer swirled through the air in a series of complicated movements before coming to a halt over a piece of parchment on a nearby table. Trying his best to hide his nervousness, the Dark Lord's eyes were firmly glued on the parchment.
A wave of relief surged through his body as the writing on the parchment got longer and longer. Internally, Tom sighed in relief as the healer began to check his medical record.
" Monsieur Prince," Guérisseur Orléans cleared his throat after a while, " I am relieved to announce that you appear to be in good health. There is nothing out of the ordinary on your medical record except that you appear to be a bit on the lean side, a bit too much maybe. With the right diet we should get you on a healthy weight in no time. Speaking of a healthy diet, and I do not know if you are already aware of this, but you have to be careful with dairy produce. While it does not appear to be a strong allergy, I would advise to keep your intake of dairy produce at a minimum."
In answer, Tom once again nodded his head, musing to himself that his new body had developed the same quirk his old one had had. While he had not checked his body for any allergies, he had simply stayed away from dairy products out of habit. During his miserable stay at Wool's Orphanage, he had basically eaten anything that had somehow ended in front of him, ignoring the backlash some of the food seemed to cause. Only later at Hogwarts he had discovered that the source of his discomfort was milk, although the effects of cheese were not as bad and relatively tolerable. Therefore, he had stayed away from certain kinds of food if he could afford to be picky.
" I was aware of the allergy," Tom said quietly, " and know from which foods to stay away from."
"Tres bien," Guérisseur Orléans smiled before turning to Charlemagne de Valois, " Monsieur de Valois, as far as I can tell, Monsieur Prince is as healthy as one can be. Should you have any questions or require my help, feel free to contact me."
After the medical examination and a few last words from the Head of the Bureau des Aurors, Tom was escorted back to his room. The rest of the day paled in contrast to the rather eventful morning. While Madame Delacour and Auberée de la Roche would join him for lunch, not much else happened, leaving Tom to entertain himself. Luckily, there was a small library in the separated part of the Département de la Famille where he found a few introduction texts used at Beauxbâtons. Although there was nothing new in the books, it was quite entertaining to see that the French books contained a much broader range of spells and charms than the biased texts currently used at Hogwarts.
The only real surprise was the visit of Henry, Auberée de la Roche's partner, shortly after lunch. The first few minutes of their meeting were rather awkward given the previous behaviour of the Auror and it became apparent rather quickly that he had been bullied by Auberée to further apologise to Thomas by spending time with the poor orphan. Despite the rough start, they soon found a topic to discuss.
Much to Tom's surprise, the Auror appeared determined to not disappoint his partner and thus seemed adamant to keep Thomas' company. In search of a safe topic, he had offered to answer any question the orphan might have about Wizarding France. While the Dark Lord had spent some time in the continental European country and was aware of most influential families and their political ambitions, his knowledge really was not up to date. Therefore, Tom decided to try his luck with the Auror. Surprisingly, Henry proved to be rather resourceful. After all, Tom quickly realised that he was a Capet.
As the fourth son of the Duke of Burgundy, Eudes XVII, the patriarch of one of France's oldest and purest bloodlines, it was hardly surprising that Henry Capet was aware of the finer workings of France's Wizarding society. Unlike most though, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the knowledge as well as enjoy telling people about the workings of the French Wizarding society, while Tom in turn filled him in on the supposed past of Thomas Prince . It was well past dinner when the Henry Capet left, leaving behind an expertly entertained Dark Lord.
When Tom awoke the next day, he was feeling rather restless. It was Wednesday and today was the day of the trial of Peter Pettigrew. It was also the day Thomas Prince's true heritage was supposed to be discovered, although he had no idea how that was going to happen, especially since so far very little had happened. Deciding not to worry too much, Tom grabbed his toiletries and headed for the shower.
Exiting the bathroom, drying his hair with a wave of his hand, he had just been about to wonder about breakfast, when a knock echoed through his door. A few moments later, Henry Capet entered the room, two tablets filled with a hearty breakfast floating in front of the Auror.
" It is good to see you eat. A fine young lad such as yourself should not be as skinny as you are," Henry spoke up once he had finished his last of his croissant, pushing a plate with slices of cucumbers and camembert in the Dark Lord's direction, " Thomas, I know you must have been wondering why I am here. As you must have guessed correctly, Aurors usually are not used as breakfast company. I just thought it would be nice for you to not be alone. Furthermore, I was told to fetch you after breakfast. Auberée and Madame Delacour want to show you something they have discovered, but only after that plate of yours has been cleared."
Staying true to his words, Henry Capet had only let Thomas leave the table once his plate had been emptied. His full stomach was making funny twists and turns as they were finally approaching the office of Madame Delacour. Wondering about the discoveries of the two women, he followed Henry into the office.
" Bonjour, Thomas," Apolline Delacour greeted him immediately, a warm and welcoming smile on her face as she signalled Tom towards the chair opposite the two witches, " did you sleep well?"
While the corners of his mouth curled into a faint, rather shy smile, the Dark Lord nodded in confirmation, " Bonjour, Mesdames"
"It is good to finally see a smile on your face, Thomas," Auberée de la Roche said, " I hope Henry did not bother you too much. I thought it would be good for you to not be alone for too long."
"No," Tom answered quickly, " I am really glad that he was there, especially since he answered a lot of my questions. I know so little about the Wizarding world."
"It shall be rectified," the female Auror smiled, " starting with your family. Luckily, Apolline and I did not have to search for long."
Reaching for an open, rather heavy tome, Auberée de la Roche placed the book in front of Tom, pointing towards the picture of a young woman, " This is the yearbook of Beauxbâtons' graduating class of 1973. While we did not find a 'Joan', we found a 'Madeleine Joan' who matches your description. Could this be your mother?"
Upon seeing the moving picture, the Dark Lord slowly nodded in confirmation, seemingly fighting against the tears which were trying to make their way down his cheek at the sight of his supposed mother. While he had not truly identified the picture, the name, and date of birth had done the job.
"It's alright. We are here for you," Auberée de la Roche's gentle voice echoed through the spacious office, as she patted his back, "I am glad that you can confirm our suspicion, Thomas. Apolline and I had a feeling that this would be her, given that she apparently went by her second name. Therefore, we did a bit of digging before you arrived. To our knowledge, there are no witches and wizards with the surname Lefebvre. Since it is a rather common Muggle name, Apolline and I agree that she must be a Muggleborn. As the policy of the Ministère does not allow magical children to be placed with non-magical guardians unless the child has grown up there, it will be unlikely that you will be allowed to stay with any potential relatives on your mother's side. Let us now move on to your father's side."
Once Thomas appeared to have processed the discovery of his mother, the Auror started to flip through the large tome, coming to a halt at a marked page.
" You were right in your assumption," Auberée began, looking up from the page ahead of her, " his real name was not 'Anton', but I think we have found him. You look just like your father, 'Nero Aurelius Prince'."
Staring at the moving picture of his supposed father with big eyes, Tom almost missed the next words of the Auror, " Unfortunately, we think that he must also be a Muggleborn, given that there are no magical families with that name here in France, only Muggle families, although most do not live here but in pays anglaise. Therefo-"
"What did you say was his name?" the deep, rather rough voice of Henry, who surprisingly had not left, thundered through the office as the tale, rather bulky Auror stepped closer to the table.
While an expression of confusion was gracing the face of Madame Delacour, the eyes of Auberée were narrowed in calculation, as she offered the heavy tome to her partner, " His real name is 'Nero Aurelius Prince'. Does that sound familiar to you, Henry?"
Without saying a word, the tall Auror accepted the heavy tome, his eyes narrowed to slits as he studied the moving picture in front of him. Silence was heavy in the air as Henry continued to study the short text underneath the portrait of Nero Aurelius Prince, while his eyes would occasionally move over Thomas . Taking a deep breath, the Auror closed his eyes and began to mumble, although neither Tom nor the two witches in the room could understand anything.
" Look, Henry," Auberée said after several minutes, " there are no magical families with the surname Prince, especially not here in France. I have no ide-"
"Not here, but in England," the bulky Auror finally said, his eyes never leaving Tom , "although the name Prince is a rather common Muggle surname, there has only ever been one magical family with the name. The Prince family was one of the oldest and richest British Pureblood lines. Unlike most magical British families today, their ancestors did not originate from continental Europe but have always lived in Britain, making it one of the only true British lines. 'A clever line of Spellcrafters and Potioneers with smooth dark hair and onyx eyes' they were described. Much like the Black family is known to name their children after stellar constellations, the male members of the Prince family all bear the names of Roman Emperors. For example, the last Lord of their line that I can remember, although he passed a decade ago, was called Octavian. Given that they were rather reclusive and never traded much with witches and wizards outside of Wizarding Britain, little is known about them. Therefore, it might be possible that some of your relatives are still alive, Thomas."
For a moment, no one spoke.
" You think that Thomas is a descendant of this obscure line?" Auberée finally asked.
" Oui ," Henry replied, his head slightly tilted as he stared at the page ahead of him, " this just cannot be a coincidence with the father bearing the name of two Roman emperors and the description matching. Thomas, while I know that they did not tell you much, does any of this sound familiar to you? Do you maybe remember if they ever talked about your second name, if there is one, or did your parents ever talk about Britain, except that they were fleeing from the Dark Lord?"
"Well," the Dark Lord began, seemingly in thoughts, " when dad was not working at the apothecary, he sometimes brewed Potions at home since he did not trust anything pre-made. When I was older, he would also teach me… They never really talked about Angleterre, only about the war going on there…"
"Nothing else?" Madame Delacour asked softly, " maybe something that seems trivial to you."
Closing his eyes, Tom seemingly contemplated his answer for a moment, " Sometimes, dad would joke how bad mom's English was. Therefore, only he taught me English, using it whenever he was talking to me. Although when I asked him why he would do that, he said that it was quite normal for children to learn foreign languages. Hence, I never questioned it."
The three adults in the room exchanged glances, before Henry cleared his throat, " This cannot be a coincidence. He has to be tested."
"Tested?" Tom asked, his eyes growing wide as a fearful expression was forced onto his face.
" Calm down, my dear," Madame Delacour said, " what Auror Capet refers to is a magical Inheritance Ritual which will determine whether you indeed belong to a magical line. The Ritual itself is conducted by the Goblins at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. All you have to do is donate three drops of your blood. I know that this does not sound pleasant upon first hearing, but otherwise, you will not be affected, and we can heal the small cut immediately. If you choose to offer you blood, the Goblins will be able to determine if you are indeed a part of the British Prince family. Furthermore, they will be able to identify your magical relatives. Should some of them still be alive, the Goblins can help us contact them. Given that we thought both your parents were Muggleborns, we had not considered this step. I know how… new this must all sound to you, but is there a chance that you might consider going through with the Inheritance Ritual? It would make a lot of things easier."
Like a deer caught in the headlights, all Thomas did was to stare at the three adults ahead of him while no word left his mouth.
" Is it the ritual, dear?" Madame Delacour asked softly, " we will of course accompa-"
Before the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille could finish, Tom was already shaking his head.
" What else bothers you, Thomas?" Auberée de la Roche leaned forward, once again placing a reassuring hand on his arm.
" It… it's just if we do not find anyone," Tom whispered, as he tried to make himself smaller, " or if we find somebody and I do not like them. Do I have to go wi-"
"Most certainly not, dear," Madame Delacour said, radiating calmness and determination at the same time, " no matter the outcome, you shall never be forced to live with someone you feel uncomfortable with, be it a stranger, or a relative. Should there be no relative alive that could take care of you or that you like, we will find a magical family or guardian who fulfils our strict requirements and only has your wellbeing and happiness in mind. Of that, we will make sure."
"Thank you," Tom whispered, his eyes filled with reverence as he returned the faint smile of Madame Delacour, " thank you so much for everything."
"That is the least we can do, dear," Madame Delacour replied, before looking at the female Auror next to her.
Clearing her throat, Auberée de la Roche leaned forward, " Thomas, I want you to know that you and no one else sets the pace. If you are not ready yet, just tell us and we will wait. We can visit Gringotts anytime. We can wait if you would prefer."
"No," the Dark Lord added quickly, " I… I just want to know."
"Are you sure?" Madame Delacour asked, looking rather concerned.
Again, Tom nodded his head in confirmation, " I am sure."
"Henry, inform Head Auror de Valois of the recent discoveries," Auberée de la Roche's intense eyes were piercing her partner, making it clear that she expected him to follow her words without question, " tell him that I and Madame Delacour are accompanying Thomas to Gringotts. I might be gone for most of the day. Thomas, shall we get your bag just in case?"
They were just about to leave the office of Madame Delacour when the deep, rather rough voice of Henry stopped them, "Thomas, I know that the two of us did not have the best start. Still, I want you to know that my door is always open for you. If you do not find someone you feel comfortable living with, you can stay with me."
Surprised by the words of the bulky Auror, Tom could not help himself but to stare. Realising what he had been doing, he blinked before whispering, " Thank you, Henry."
In the distance, a tall building of nothing but white marble was rising into the cloudless sky as he was led down the meandering la Rue Royale, France's more elegant and much grander equivalent of Diagon Alley.
"Thomas, how do you feel about Henry's offer?" Auberée de la Roche brought him out of his thoughts.
" To be honest, I was quite surprised," Tom answered.
" You certainly were not the only one," the Auror chuckled before turning serious once again, " I want you to know that Henry, unlike most, would not take advantage of you should you be the sole heir of a rich Pureblood line. As a Capet, although only the fourth in line, he already has enough money and political standing as it is. He would not care about your past, whether you are related to the British Prince family or not, as long as you are happy and healthy. I have known him for quite a while, and he is a very bad liar. He really meant what he said. Still, there might be other choices."
For the remainder of the walk, both witches remained quiet.
Inside Gringotts, Madame Delacour stopped in front of the only Goblin teller currently not occupied, " Good day, Master Goblin. I am here on urgent Ministère business. The young man here with me is in desperate need of an Inheritance Ritual."
"Bonjour, Madame Delacour," the Goblin replied with a smile that was all teeth. Rather sharp teeth. The Dark Lord only then realised that it was Modrek sitting in front of him. Without the dark sturdy attire he had worn at Orphelinat Sainte Marie Tom had almost failed to notice the Goblin clad in the standard uniform worn by all tellers of the Magical bank.
" Shall the money be taken out of the usual vault and the receipt be sent to the Head of your Département?" Modrek asked, the French the Goblin was speaking, sounding somehow out of place in Tom's ears. Also, this clearly was not the first encounter between the Goblins and the French Ministry regarding a minor.
" Of course," Madame Delacour answered, lowering her head slightly in respect.
" Please, follow me," Modrek said without further ado.
Much like the London branch of the Goblin bank, the white marble building in the centre of Wizarding Paris was a maze of endless corridors flanked by countless rather uniform doors.
The office they were led into was empty except for the large, currently unoccupied marble desk at its centre. Once three chairs had been conjured by Modrek, of course wandlessly, they were instructed to wait.
Luckily, they did not have to wait long until the massive door was opened again and a relatively large Goblin with broad shoulders strode into the office. Due to the previous encounter with Modrek, the Dark Lord was able to identify Zordrak immediately underneath his splendid uniform despite the absence of the Dragon's fang that was usually dangling from his ear.
" Bonjour ," the broad-shouldered Goblin greeted them in quick French once he had taken his seat behind the large desk, " my colleague informed me that this young man wishes to conduct an Inheritance Ritual. Am I correct with my assumption?"
"You are correct," Madame Delacour smiled, " Thomas here requires an Inheritance Ritual since we assume that he is not a Muggleborn and there might be relatives who could care for him. Before we start, I hope my question is to be excused and I certainly do not wish to disrespect you, but is Wotar not available? I am just so used to working with her in situations like this."
"Wotar is currently staying at our Tehran branch working on a short-term assignment. She should be back soon to resume her usual tasks. I will inform her that you asked about her. Meanwhile, I am filling in for her," Zordrak explained before producing a small vial, a silvery needle, and an empty piece of parchment. Without further ado, the Goblin explained the components of the Inheritance Ritual and its procedure. Unlike the solely blood-based Identification Ritual Ragnok had performed, which had focussed more on Thomas Nero Prince himself, the Inheritance Ritual would instead create a detailed family tree going as far back as the conductor of the ritual, Zodrak in this case, would allow his magic to power the ritual. Given the Laws of Magic, the further back the tree was supposed to reach, the more power it would require to achieve.
Before long, Tom uncorked the small vial, downing its content in one gulp. Ignoring the bitter aftertaste, he accepted the shiny needle. Once seven scarlet drops had been squeezed on the parchment, he handed the needle back to the Goblin. While Auberée de la Roche was healing his thumb, Tom watched out of the corner of his eye as Zordrak cleansed the needle with a wave of magic. While he trusted the Goblins, one could never be careful enough with blood. Once the task had been completed, the Goblin directed his magic at the parchment. A frown appeared on his face as no letters started to form, forcing the Goblin to push harder.
" Is it the Adansonia Leaf Extract again?" Madame Delacour asked. Faced with a single raised eyebrow from her opposite, the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille' continued to elaborate, " Wotar keep complaining about the declining quality of your Madagascan suppliers, and that you are trying to find better solutions."
Ignoring Madame Delacour's words for now, Zordrak continued to focus his magic on the parchment, only answering when the first letters finally started to form, " Yes, the recent quality of the Extract leaves much to be desired. While it works, it requires much more magic from our behalf to get it to work. Therefore, we are currently testing alternatives from Botswana, and Namibia."
Acknowledging the nod of understanding of Madame Delacour, the eyes of the Goblin quickly moved back on the advancing letters of the parchment. A few seconds later, his eyebrows shot upwards as he stared at the growing family tree in disbelief.
" Excusez moi, Master Goblin," Madame Delacour asked, " did you discover something peculiar?"
"Peculiar indeed, but not just one thing," Zordrak almost snorted, his eyes still glued on the parchment, " I never thought that I would 'discover' one of them since they never settle outside of the British Isles."
" What is it?" Auberée de la Roche's voice was barely above a whisper as she leaned forward to get a better look at the parchment.
In answer, the Goblin placed the parchment in the middle of the large desk for all to see, simultaneously cutting of the stream of magic that had previously been feeding the Inheritance Ritual, before pointing out a few names on the parchment as he spoke directly to the Dark Lord, " Firstly, you, Thomas Nero Prince were identified as a member of the Ancient and Most Noble Prince family, one of Magical Britain's oldest Pureblood lines. To my knowledge, they have never lived anywhere but the British Isles. Therefore, finding you here is nothing short of a wonder, although I must point out that you do not belong to the main branch of the family. Secondly, I was under the impression that the main branch of the family had ceased to exist following the death of Lord Octavian Prince more than a decade ago. To my surprise, this is not the case as Lord Octavian's sole grandchild, the son of his daughter Eileen, has taken over the mantle of the Prince estate. He appears to be the last living Prince besides you."
For a moment, Tom remained quiet, seemingly shocked by the discovery, before a whisper eventually escaped his lips, " I… I did not even know that I have a middle name."
"You do, young man," Auberée de la Roche said lightly, gently patting his back, " and best of all, you are not alone. There is family out there. I know this is a bit much for you right now, but would you like to meet them?"
Like a deer in the headlights, Tom slowly nodded his head, still staring at the myriad of names on his supposed family tree.
" Good," the Auror finally said, concern clearly written in her eyes as she eyed the young wizard, before eventually turning to the Goblin, " I know that this might be a bit of a stretch given the rather… stretched relationship between the current Lord Prince and his cousin twice removed… Still, would it be possible for us to establish contact with Lord Prince, maybe even arrange a meeting at the Ministère?"
"No, sadly that is not possible," Zordrak answered, the emotion as he looked at Tom seemingly genuine, " I wish you could, but the Prince family is very… selective, some would even say secretive with their dealings. In general, they shun any contact with Witches and Wizards outside of Wizarding Britain as most foreign mail cannot reach them. They rarely if ever venture outside of the British Isles, and they do not acknowledge any foreign evidence like this family tree. Therefore, the chances that you can successfully contact and establish a functioning communication with the current Lord Prince are slim to nil."
"Is there nothing that we can do?" Auberée de la Roche asked, scepticism clearly written across her face, " not even for you at Gringotts? If you would approve the legitimacy of Thomas' claim, an-"
"No, that would not work either since all their dealing go through their personal account manager at our London branch, and the document in front of us would be regarded as void," Zordrak explained , "the only thing that might work is if I directly contact our London branch, and proving the legitimacy of Thomas' claim there to then contact the current Lord Prince. Would you like me to do that?"
"Oui," Madame Delacour answered immediately, " should it include a fee, you know which vault to use."
"Of course," Zordrak said with a smile that was all teeth, " please wait here."
For what felt like hours, but probably was much shorter, the two witches tried their best to soothe the seemingly nervous and shaken Thomas, while also pointing out details on the copy of the family tree Zordrak had left behind.
Eventually, the Goblin returned.
" Monsieur Prince," Zordrak began, not even taking his seat as he remained standing in front of the Dark Lord, " I am pleased to tell you that I managed to talk to the current manager of the Prince estate. Although he is rather sceptical of your claim, he assured me that everything can be legitimised should your heritage be confirmed in his presence at our Gringotts branch in London. Of course, the Inheritance Ritual would have to be repeated, and the current Lord Prince would have to acknowledge your claim. Under normal circumstances, an officially scheduled appointment would be required with the manager of the Prince estate to confirm your claim, which might sound easy at first, but is a rather lengthy and complex process given that you are currently not living on the British Isles. Due to your rather… special situation, the manager agreed to meet you without a proper appointment. Of course, there are limitations. Firstly, his offer only stands for today. Therefore, it will be invalid by tomorrow. Secondly, I must accompany you since I conducted the first Inheritance Ritual and since it is rather difficult to travel to other countries outside of our personal Floo Network. Thirdly, you should only accept if you agree to go through with a second Inheritance Ritual. Monsieur Prince, while you can decline, I would advise you against such action since it is indeed quite bothersome for foreigners to schedule appointments with our London branch."
"Ehmm… I… I…" Tom stuttered, confusion projected on his face, " I… am… unsure… I do not have a… have a problem with the conditions… It is just that I have never left France… especially not alone… Could… could Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour… come with me?"
"If Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour want to accompany you," the Goblin began, " they can…"
" Of course ," Auberée de la Roche said quickly, " you are not alone, and nor will you be."
"Good," the Goblin continued, while the expression of confusion and uncertainty on the Dark Lord's face gave way to relief, " since you are currently serving as his temporal guardians, they can and should accompany you. Apart from that, do you agree with the terms, or do you need more time to consider? If not, we could leave immediately."
For a moment, Tom remained silent as if to contemplate his decision. Then, he straightened his back, looking at Zordrak with new-found determination, " I want to go."
Ten minutes later, they were escorted into the tightly guarded private Floo room at the centre of the Paris branch of the Goblin bank. Usually, international Floo connections, or Portkeys were tightly guarded by the Ministry of Magic of the respective countries. Because of the Goblins' declaration of neutrality, they were exempt from the laws, although they were still fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way. Therefore, the Gringotts' Floo Network was isolated from the Wizarding Networks, and only the Goblins themselves, their employees, and their customers were allowed to use it, the latter only if the dealings with the Goblins warranted and justified the journey to a different Gringotts branch. Still, sometimes the Goblins connected Wizarding fireplaces to their network, or let others use their Floo network, but only if it suited their agenda, and if the price was right. Luckily, the majority of the Wizarding world was unaware of these special services of the Goblin bank.
Pretending to stare at the massive marble fireplaces with a mixture of awe and confusion, the Dark Lord instead listened as Zordrak informed the guard of the Floo Network, a menacing looking female Goblin by the name Groza clad in an impressive, and expertly crafted chestplate on top of her elegant, yet sturdy uniform, of the destination, and reason behind the travel, of course in quick Gobbledegook. Once the connection had been set up, Zordrak turned back to Thomas, switching back to French, " Monsieur Prince, everything has been prepared now. Have you ever travelled via Floo before?"
"No," Tom answered, shaking his head, eyeing the now burning fireplace with suspicion.
" I can accompany him," Auberée de la Roche said, placing an ensuring hand on his shoulder, " if that is possible."
Opposite the Auror, the Goblin nodded his head, " Oui, Madame. Once my colleague has activated the Floo connection, all you need to do is step into the flames. Since the destination of travel has already been keyed into the fireplace, there is no need for you to voice the location of our London branch. Monsieur Prince, just close your eyes, tuck in your elbows, and you should be fine. Once you have arrived there, Madame Delacour and I shall follow."
Taking the lack of question as an answer, Groza reached for an iron goblet. The Floo powder that was thrown into the fireplace was a lot darker than the standard powder used by the Wizarding community. The colour the rising flames turned into was also significantly darker than the usual emerald green. Accepting Auberée de la Roche's hand, the pair stepped into the awaiting flames.
Once they had stopped spinning, the Dark Lord tried his best to land as ungracefully as possible, playing his part of an inexperienced Floo traveller to perfection. In the end, it was only Auberée de la Roche's strong grip that prevented him from falling. For his flawless performance, the Dark Lord felt he really deserved an award.
Assuring the concerned Auror that he was not feeling too sick, he took a few tumbling steps forward. While awaiting the arrival of Madame Delacour, and Zordrak, Tom inspected the familiar white marble around him, pretending like he was seeing it for the first time.
Once everyone had arrived, they were escorted to a familiar office.
Somehow, Ragnok appeared a lot less friendly than Tom was used to when they were told in rather poor French to take the seats opposite the manager of three of the largest estates of Wizarding Britain, " Monsieur Prince, bienvenue à Gringotts. Je m'appelle Ragnok. Je suis le gérant du domaine Prince."
Still, given that Ragnok's French really was not the best, it was an almost impossible task maintaining a straight face as he replied the greeting.
"Sadly, that is as far as my French goes," the Goblin said, switching back to English, "therefore, I would prefer to conduct the remainder of this meeting in the official language of the Prince family. Should you, or your temporal guardians have any problems with the language, do not refrain asking for clarification. Zordrak assured me that he can help with the translation."
"No, English is fine for me," Thomas replied, while Madame Delacour, although with a very thick French accent, and Auberée de la Roche assured that English would not be a problem for them.
"Very well," Ragnok continued, while producing small vial filled with a familiar substance, a silvery needle, and an empty piece of parchment out of one of the many drawers of his desk, "I am afraid before I can discuss anything with you, Mister Prince, your claim must first be verified."
Once the vial had been emptied, and a sufficient amount of blood had been squeezed on the parchment, Ragnok directed his magic at the parchment. At first, much like before, nothing happened. Muttering under his breath about the quality of the Adansonia Leaf Extract, the Goblin continued to push.
Minutes later, Ragnok finally looked up from the completed family tree, "Congratulations, Mister Prince. Your claim is indeed legitimate. Please wait here while I contact Lord Prince."
Some time later, Auberée de la Roche cleared her throat, " Excusez-moi, how long do you estimate it will take for Lord Prince to arrive?"
"I am afraid that I do not know," Ragnok replied, looking up from Thomas' family tree he was still inspecting, "currently, he is at the Ministry of Magic, attending to his duty as a member of the British Wizengamot. Since the circumstances of today's session are rather extraordinary, I have no idea how long the session will last. Maybe you have heard about the recent discovery of Peter Pettigrew, the one who truly betrayed the Potter family to the Dark Lord."
While the two witches nodded in confirmation, an expression of confusion appeared on the Dark Lord's face. Over the course of the next hour, Madame Delacour and Auberée de la Roche explained some of the major events of the last British Wizarding war to their protégé. Grateful for the distraction from the waiting, the Dark eagerly soaked up the take of the French Witches on the foreign conflict, while both Goblins continued to discuss the family tree.
Just as Madame Delacour started to explain her account on some of the Death Eater trials, Ragnok looked up from his desk, a frown on his face as he cursed in quick Gobbledegook.
The reason for his peculiar choice of words became apparent rather quickly as Tom felt the powerful magical aura which had just entered the Goblin bank.
Dumbledore was at Gringotts.
While he had hoped to prolong Thomas Prince's first encounter with the old fool for a bit longer, the Dark Lord could not deny that the prospect of meeting Dumbledore was rather thrilling.
"Is everything alright?" Auberée de la Roche asked, forcing Tom to concentrate on the here and now.
"Yes," Ragnok replied, "just an unexpect-"
Before he could finish, a loud knock echoed through the office before the doors were opened, revealing Severus, Harry, and one Albus Dumbledore. The moment the Light Lord's eyes fell on Thomas Prince, his eyes grew wide, while his jaw dropped once more as he whispered, "No."
