Bonus 3. Part 1

Bonus 3. Part 1

***

Lord Gaunt sat in a deep armchair behind the massive desk of his study and massaged his temples with an effort. The migraine that had appeared in recent years played on his nerves mercilessly. And no remedies, neither magical nor even Muggle - to which former Lord Voldemort sometimes resorted in secret - helped. The most he ever got was a reduction in symptoms. But there was no cure, even temporarily, no medicine, magic, potions, or rituals.

Lord Gont waved his wand, resorting to a last resort that he used more and more with each attack. The old Muggle gramophone, from his childhood days, obediently started up and played soft, quiet music. The Muggles called it "classical," but Thomas didn't care what the Muggles called it. All that mattered was that the music was helping. And the fact that he himself was increasingly using Muggle inventions in his daily life was the influence of bloody Potter. It was his way of justifying himself. Or rather, not Potter himself, but his followers, who had once been his personal slaves.

Thomas lamented over and over again when the lovely company dropped in on him in the evenings or on weekends. Lucius Malfoy, Julius Nott, Severus Snape, and Sirius Black. They all forgot about robes, strutting around in Muggle clothes. They discussed Muggle inventions and drank Muggle hot drinks. They omagled. Completely magical," Gont sincerely tried to assure himself, swallowing a soothing potion every time the company dropped in on him. Thomas still remembered, and was unlikely to forget, the day the fair company had shown up at his door, not just through the fireplaces, but by flying in on Muggle motorcycles. They were all wearing black leather, leather jackets, and chains. Some of the Muggle invention was making the monstrous noises that Sirius called the best music of all time, deafening and frightening to his surroundings. And Lucius then - oh the disgrace of his kind - in response to his request to turn off the, so to speak, "music," declared that Rock was "cool." Thomas wondered then who had gone mad, the four or himself, and he was just imagining it all...

They did not appear often, but each time they drove Lord Gaunt mad with their antics. And they influenced him, influenced him. So he gradually acquired jeans, which he really found comfortable, a laptop, working on magic and forcibly imposed on him on the "day of rebirth" so he could always contact "friends", and a bunch of other small things that (it was worth recognizing the ingenuity of Muggles) were useful. But one thing he managed to insist on, remembering who he actually was: no "rock" in his presence, and no modern music speakers instead of his old gramophone! Sirius still sulked at him like a child, having made more than one attempt on the life of a musical instrument. Yes, and yet they influenced him... Thomas had once remarked to the company that he never thought they would become accomplices. Sirius then called him senile and, with a sigh, told him that if the distributing hat had sent him to Slytherin - he couldn't help but become part of his Eaters.

"Yes, those were the days..." - Thomas wistfully recalled the years of trying to take power. What a stupid, naive fool he'd been! Why hadn't he had a normal life? Half-blood orphans did not have a good position in the wizarding community? Or envy of Dumbledore, whom young Tom perceived as a role model at first and a rival afterwards? Or maybe he still held a grudge against the now long dead old man, who had once forced him to return the orphanage children's stolen goods?

That's what Potter himself once suggested, once again trying to "shake Gonta," as all the Pied Pipers now called the game.

Pfft, the milk on his lips isn't even dry enough to play such games with him, the Lord of Darkness himself!

However, the former Dark Lord was now merely the Grey Cardinal of magical Britain. He had a lot to do, mostly of a paperwork nature, and a lot of headaches. What could he do? The magicians of old England, as it turned out, were very much behind the curve and behind the world. Magic had all but abandoned them, which was the "beginning of the end"... Oh! I mean, a harbinger of "the coming of Potter." It was a bit of a shame that it was not he, Lord Gont, a descendant of Slytherin, who had awakened the magic in people, but the "chosen one". Especially since that very Chosen One had safely shucked responsibility for what had been done on him and went off to sunbathe in hot countries. And who will clean up the Augean stables? That's right, the poor unfortunate retired Dark Lord, who was even deprived of the title of Dark Lord, not to mention his most useful followers.

So he had to do all the spinning himself, drafting new laws to control the wizards who had gone wild with the awakened magic, a new curriculum that taught how to control the force on an intuitive level. There was a lot of panic and madness that had to be contained through public statements by various officials who still had to be instructed, newspaper articles that still had to be written, and so on and so forth. No, he had helpers. The old guard, the remnants of those Potter hadn't taken with him to Barbados, the Lords, or rather, their remnants again, more people to whom something could be delegated. But the system had to be controlled! Then again, pulling the Ministry's strings wasn't easy, it was nerve-wracking," as Potter used to say.

Ugh, and there he was! Oooh, Morgan's ubiquitous son. He would soon be mentioned more often than Merlin... And the most frustrating thing was that he had to re-learn how to control magic himself, and from whom?! From a boy he had tried to kill more than once! What did the prophecy say? "...No one can live in peace as long as another lives..."? Exactly! Holy truth. No Thomas could live in peace while Potter was alive! But Lord Gont had to admit to himself: he was comforted by the thought that while he himself was alive, Potter did not live quietly either.

No, he was wrong to use Potter's blood in the rebirth ritual. The fact that his body was the same age as his rival's was a good thing. But his blood had clearly, CLEARLY influenced Thomas himself. Otherwise his self-control wouldn't have gone to hell every time he met one of the goddamn-boy-who's-a-splinter-in-many-asses gopos.

And otherwise he wouldn't be thinking about how nice it must be to live in a community of only close people, proud of his son, raising his daughter, sincerely devoted to his wife and expecting another girl from her...

Family. A word that used to evoke only anger, rage, and hatred, now evoked longing and envy... Lord Gont sighed noisily and put his hands behind his head, enjoying the particularly virtuosic overtones of some Muggle musical instrument and trying to ward off irrelevant thoughts. He needed to finish his part of developing the new collaborative project before... But the headache seemed to make him lose track of time. The fireplace flashed green, tearing the mage from his thoughts. Out of the fire came... Lucius," Lord Gaunt exhaled, and immediately laughed as he looked at the "hairstyle" (no less) of his old acquaintance. Malfoy's long hair was crookedly braided into a bunch of little thick and thin braids, half of which would probably have to be cut off because they couldn't be unraveled even with magic. - You're early. Running away from your youngest granddaughter again?

- She announced today that she wanted to be a stylist. I retreated when she was distracted to get her lipstick," explained the older Malfoy, who had passed on the lordship to his only son not long ago, and was now taking care of his many granddaughters without interfering with the education of his only grandchild. Thomas had to give Lucius his due: he could save face even like that. And he did not react in any way to the laughter or the remark.

- "I never thought that a Malfoy would allow himself to be treated like that, even by his granddaughter," Gont remarked, either mocking or stating.

Lucius allowed himself a smile. "No Malfoy has ever felt as alive and as happy as I do," he retorted, taking a step toward the table but... stumbling across the rug and falling straight onto an old gramophone. It fell off the stand with a pathetic twang, and... hovered half a meter above the floor, continuing to play, I think, Mozart from there.

Thomas, startled at first, now smirked smugly at his former follower's displeasure: "Black put you up to this, too? - Lucius, rising to his feet with a chuckle, rolled his eyes: "Don't you see that this," he nodded at the gramophone, "is old, and modern technology has a better sound! - Malfoy senior grimaced with overplayed disgust.

- Good thing I foresaw such a development and worked to protect the. best. musical. device. in. the. world," Lord Gont said impressively, confidently, in his words, as if to say that he would not tolerate any infringement on the life of the only friend who was not trying to drive him mad, but to soothe and restore sanity.

Malfoy snorted, but, walking calmly over to the table, he promised, "Then Potter will take care of your gramophone. Then Potter will take care of your gramophone." He was trying to get us to let him keep the old man's, but we managed to convince him and..."

"I don't understand," Thomas interrupted Lucius, "are you threatening us?

- He cocked an ironic eyebrow in a purely Snape-like manner, though inwardly he shuddered: if they've got Potter mixed up in this too, then... No, he didn't want to think the worst of it. In his mind he consoled the gramophone with promises that he wouldn't let it hurt. Especially since Malfoy had only shrugged his shoulders, too. - Okay, what's up?

- Potter asked me to hurry you up. He's all set," the former follower muttered as if rehearsed.

But then he exhaled noisily and inquired intriguingly, "Why don't you tell me what you two are up to? Potter is dancing with impatience. He paces from corner to corner, rubbing the floor to a mirror shine with his sneakers. His son is up to his ears in some blueprints. Daphne is spinning in front of the mirror in an unusually tight suit, rehearsing some kind of speech. Dudley looks over at his cousin mysteriously and laughs merrily.

You know, Lucius, if you hadn't made an attempt on my gramophone life, I might have told you," Thomas informed him with a sneering squint.

- But if you're in league with Black, you'll know when you know it," he finished with a vengeful grin.

Lucius rolled his eyes. The Dark Lord, whom he had once admired, worshipped, and crawled underfoot, was shredding. He was no longer... unattainable. But Malfoy Senior had already learned, mostly through his son and his friends, that greatness was not about blood, bills, or power. It was business, and only business. And Lord Gaunt was even greater than Lord Voldemort, for he had already done more for the wizards of England than any Minister of Magic in history had ever done.

Thomas's own thoughts were occupied with less lofty philosophical musings. He was thinking about the fact that he would soon have to meet Potter, and that Harold himself would have to go back to old England and do some interviews with him. Lord Gaunt thought that everything had to be done to make Potter feel in his skin and not return to the islands for years to come.

The magical world was in for a new upheaval. Or not...

***

The sun was particularly merciless, but the day and hour had long been set, and many were eagerly awaiting their arrival, so members of the small magical community in Barbados, along with hundreds of journalists from around the world, influential people, and those simply interested, braved the heat to gather around the small wooden podium. At the podium, the magician stood lonely, looking around the crowd with a meaningful, patronizing gaze. Those who knew the man well were beginning to smell the nasty stench of a travesty, usually orchestrated by the very man whose name was now and then being bandied about all over the world. Behind the wizard's back rose a low fence, and to his right, in that fence, was a beautiful wrought iron gate, bound by a taut scarlet ribbon. And behind it was a complex of beautiful modern buildings, seemingly made of the same glass. In fact, this very complex was the reason for the meeting, because of those present only a handful of people knew what it was. Today was the opening. And a lot of angry and disgruntled people were looking impatiently at the wizard on the podium. They were terribly intrigued and, given the big names of the organizers, couldn't help but come.But they didn't understand why the wizard was trying their patience in this heat, not arranging not just refreshments, but even just benches...

But here, the speaker coughed, drawing attention to himself and breaking away from the conversation, solemnly speaking in an established voice:

- Dear friends, we are gathered here today... Someone in the crowd groaned expressively. Almost immediately, people standing close by could hear a loud whisper: - I've heard that somewhere before... Shut up, let me hear! - another voice interrupted the first, almost to the entire crowd. The crowd instantly hissed at them, fearing that the speaker would interrupt and then they would have to listen to the speech all over again, as has happened many times before. But the wizard at the podium didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to all this, enthusiastically broadcasting, and the voices didn't think they would subside. - After a long search for solutions and days of organizing..." his voice resounded through the crowd.

- You see, I told you," It was clear from the tone of the voice that the owner of the first voice had rolled his eyes defiantly before he grumpily spoke, "I think Potter is testing us with that speech. It might as well be written down as a form of particularly elaborate torture.

- It's just Harold Potter. It's about time we got used to it. - The other voice seemed to roll its eyes wearily, too.

- "No, listen to his voice," came a third voice from somewhere nearby, a female voice, so breathy and enthusiastic, "the way he sounds, with that huskiness..." "Girls," came a scornful resounding from the crowd on different sides.

- ... And finally, we made it. Thanks to the persistence of..." The wizard's confident voice on the podium could be heard in astonishment. It wasn't the first time he'd... Pardon me, it wasn't the first time he'd ever made that kind of speech. No one could ignore the voice, no distraction, no plugging of ears, nothing could save him, including magic. Even the American wizarding scientists who experimented with implanting magic with magical creatures in muggles couldn't have obtained such superpowers. They already got Spider-Man, Beaver-Man, Beetle-Man, Bat-Man, Catwoman, Octopus-Man, Blimp-Man, Cthulhu, Mummitrol, and other mutants, but they failed to create a Potter-insensitive human. Although, there was a rumor that research had been going on for years and was incognitively sponsored by many mages who had British citizenship. But those close to Potter knew that there was no escape from this wizard in the other universe: even there he would torture with hiccups caused by constant remembrance.

- How long until the end? - The first voice inquired, with carefully concealed hope. - You mean, until he announces the essence of the event?

- Three minutes, maybe," the second, more... sedate voice answered thoughtfully.

- WHAT? - his interlocutor exclaimed three times louder than the speaker, who, by the way, did not notice it either. But the shouting man was hissed at again, and he lowered his voice again to a whisper: "Three more minutes? Shoot me with Avada... In the forehead or in the heart? - Someone nearby asked mockingly, as if twirling a wand or cocking an eyebrow.

- Oh-oh, L-Lord Gont," the first one said in a husky voice, muttering without breathing: - Sorry, I was only joking... ...I want to thank one of the authors and founders of the project, who is present among us..." the wizard at the podium, clearly getting a buzz out of what was going on. I mean, from his own voice, which was keeping the crowd awake..." "Oh, Mordred and Morgana, come on! - A fifth voice in the crowd shouted, and was interrupted by a frail old woman, apparently suffering from Parkinson's disease, who was leaning on a walker. - she practically shouted, much quieter, but not in a whisper, adding: "I can't hear..." - Hey, is that the great-grandmother of Siri and Sev's wives? - a second voice asked someone else.

- "She is," answered the first one stunnedly.

- "But she's deaf! Who invited her to the speech? - Everyone present was jerking at the prospect of retelling Potter's speech to the old lady, so the whole crowd considered it the wiser choice not to answer the question, and to ignore the old lady. A thought slipped into someone's mind that the old woman must have been the supermutant with the superpower to not only not hear Potter, but not to be influenced by him. The thought was immediately passed on to the neighbors, and the neighbors passed it on to their neighbors, and... soon the whole crowd was jealous of the dried-up old lady.

- ... And finally, I am proud to report..." The ear-splitting phrase was reassuring, but no one in the crowd believed the hope. No one. Not with this man. No one, except that first voice: "Really?

- ...That life exists on Mars! And... You shouldn't have come! - The owner of the first voice groaned frantically, grabbing his hair and almost ripping it out. But then... he realized the last phrase spoken by the speaker... - Stop... - WHAT?! - The crowd shouted with a resounding chorus. The orator stopped in mid-sentence and expressively fluttered his eyelashes with an expression of naive bewilderment. However, almost at once his lips were stretched in a sly grin... Where was I? Oh yes! Dear friends, we're gathered here today... NO! - the crowd howled doomfully. Harold laughed so merrily and infectiously from the podium that the screaming stopped.

- I knew I could babble all I wanted with that speech! - he said with a chuckle. - Really, I didn't think you'd notice the difference in the words... - POTTER! - the crowd bellowed in one voice angrily. Lord Harold James Patrick Nicholas Potter, known to the world as "boy-who-survived-that-get-it-all" and "the chosen splinter," raised his hands in a defensive gesture, winding up his re-started intoxicating introduction:

- Okay, okay. Sorry, I couldn't help it. You've got funny faces when I make this speech," he said fearlessly, and then he waved his arms as the crowd bellowed like a beast. I'll tell you everything," he vowed. There were snorts, chuckles, and chuckles from the crowd. Some rolled their eyes, some wrung their hands. And there was a lot people wanted to do, but... this wizard's antics were world-famous, so people were used to it. All truly great men are insane in some way, and even the likes of Potter were celebrated and loved... but, they preferred to keep him out of their community as little as possible. - Dudley, Thomas and I have long been concerned about the problem of magical orphans forced to live in Muggle orphanages," Harold explained the reason for the meeting calmly and seriously from afar. Everyone present knew perfectly well the people he was mentioning, so they did not need introductions or clarifications of personalities. The crowd could be addressed as one's own, because there were no strangers in it. Even journalists and those Potter had long known intimately. - The magical emissions made little mages outcasts among the Muggles, and it wasn't easy for them to live. We know from our own experience," Harry exhaled, knowing that there were two more exhales just like that in the crowd at that moment: they remembered life in Muggle asylums. - That's why ideas had been swirling in our minds for a long time about creating an orphanage for magical children. There are few of those orphans because there are few of us Muggles. And it simply does not make sense to create an orphanage for orphans of one country. So we decided to gather children from all over the world, into a magical crèche and school at the orphanage. And it finally became possible.

Since we're all scholarly but bored people here in the community, we decided to create a shelter here. Daph enthusiastically wished to be the director of the shelter. Jonathan created the project," Harold was especially proud to mention his son, who had recently graduated, combining Salem Institute and Muggle studies as an architect, and who was commissioned to design the orphanage complex.

John thought it through to the smallest detail and brought it to life. What pride for a parent! - Thomas created the foster care and education program. Dudley created a system for detecting and registering orphans, children with magical abilities who have no one to take care of them. With the full support of the international confederation of wizards and the governments of the magical communities of many countries, the orphanage was finally established. And it was the result of the work of all the Pied Pipers, who had no idea what they were actively involved in creating... It took the crowd a while to digest the short but succinct speech. But it exploded with applause and enthusiastic shouts as soon as it happened.

Journalists rustled with feathers, pens, key snaps, and witch-cam flashes, and the crowd applauded enthusiastically. The red ribbon was cut, and all the magical and Muggle supply systems of the complex began to work. And by evening, the rapturous voices of the first children who had been taken from the Muggle orphanages, along with their papers, were added to the clamor. The Muggles thought that the children were going to the orphanage for difficult children, and since the children, given their magical abilities, were difficult, they did not arise, especially since the pickers had all the paperwork in order. The children were afraid, but once they had an explanation for their hardships and found themselves among peers like them, they were timid, but beginning to hope for a happy future. Harold, Dudley, Thomas, John, and Daphne gave tours for all comers and arranged for the children, not forgetting to answer the many questions.

And no one, absolutely no one cared about the merciless Barbados sun...

***

Lord Gont watched furtively as Daphne Potter embraced the still timid little ones with care and tenderness, answering their questions, helping them settle in and get along with each other, settle in. He watched the mischievous gleam of dark eyes with green flecks, watched the mesmerizing curls of dark hair scattered over his shoulders. He could almost hear something clicking desperately in his head, and he thought that the name Lady Slytherin or at least, well, maybe Lady Gaunt would suit this girl very well... Putting off the thought that came to mind, Thomas did not put it off...

***