64 CH64 - The Average Joe
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A NEW LORD SLYTHERIN COMES FORTH! WHO IS MARVOLO SLYTHERIN? MAJORITY SWINGS IN THE WIZENGAMOT YET AGAIN!
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June 22, 1994
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Although these headlines may read like a poorly written spoof, I assure you dear readers that your eyes are not deceiving you! In yesterday's summer solstice session of the Wizengamot, the seat of House Slytherin was reactivated after centuries of idleness, by a man who introduced himself as Marvolo Slytherin.
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When questioned about his affiliation and thoughts about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Marvolo Slytherin had this to say:
Marvolo Slytherin (MS): Voldemort...
*At this point, a rather loud gasp erupted in the chamber, my own included, at the new Lord Slytherin's boldness.*
MS: Voldemort is a fabricated name. A falsehood. A misdirect. I ask you, lords and ladies of this Wizengamot, have you ever come across such a name before, be it wizarding or Muggle?... The answer is no.
*Much conversation ensued after these statements, and the Chief Warlock was forced to use his gavel to call for order.*
"I am aware that this 'Voldemort' has claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin in the past. In response to such a bold lie, I would like to propose several problems with this assertion. Firstly, what is Voldemort's claim to House Slytherin? Is it his bloodline? If that were so, why is his family history still unknown? Is it his abilities as a parselmouth? Because although the gift is rare in Britain, it can be found in other parts of the world as well and presents itself in many of non-Slytherin heritage. This is a simple fact, which I'm sure that the Chief Warlock can confirm.
*Chief Warlock Dumbledore did indeed nod after being prompted.*
MS: Furthermore, why would Voldemort declare himself the Heir of Slytherin? Why not the Lord? Leaving that matter aside, why did he have no signet ring as proof? If I were truly Voldemort as I know some of you believe, why would I have waited so long to take my seat? Why do I not wield the same wand as him? Why would I even be pursuing diplomacy if I were the dark lord?
*Lord Slytherin took a brief pause after these questions.*
MS: Why, why, why... Perhaps these questions may seem tedious to you, but their answers are important. Rather, their lack of answers is. Should I be condemned for having an unconfirmed familial relationship with someone with a sinister history? Will a house of my ancient lineage be turned away because of frivolous slander? I am under no obligation to plead my case before this body, yet I speak on this matter openly so that it will lead to better communication and cooperation between us all. I hope I will be given a chance to restore House Slytherin's glory.
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No comments were made regarding the blood status of Lord Marvolo Slytherin, which has lead to widespread speculation about his mysterious entrance into society.
Some believe that Lord Slytherin is the latest in a hidden line of all pureblood descendants of Slytherin, unbroken since the age of the founders. Others have chalked up the enigma to squib theory, hypothesizing that Lord Slytherin is a muggleborn descended from a discarded squib offspring of Salazar's blood from centuries past.
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With House Slytherin aligning with the traditional faction in the Wizengamot, the tenuous hold that the progressives had managed to gain over the past year and a half has been lost once more. What changes will this new ruling authority bring? We can only wait to find out.
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- The Daily Prophet
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"You interested in the news, sonny?" an old lady doddered as she shakily set the newspaper in her hands back into her lap.
"On days like this, it's hard not to be," Edmund smiled, grabbing onto a handhold just in time to prevent being ragdolled to the side.
"Ohhh, yes. Ignorance is unacceptable in dark times such as these," the lady coughed bitterly. "Or maybe I'm just being the pessimistic old shrew that I am." The bed she was laying on swung from one end of the aisle to the other, creaking wildly as its metal hinges struggled to maintain themselves.
"Old? Why, you don't look a day over thirty!" Edmund exclaimed.
"You flatterer," she laughed indulgently. "But you'll need to work on your smooth talk if you want to impress someone who's actually under the age of thirty."
Edmund chuckled. "Noted." He grabbed an empty cup from her bed, placing it into the kitchenette sink in the corner. It was just in time too, as a sharp turn caused another man's hot chocolate to go flying.
Edmund winced. 'That would be a bitch to clean up without magic. Thankfully, it's not my problem anymore.'
Sure enough, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt at Charing Cross, as its doors opened for customers for the final time in the night.
"Diagon Alley! Last stop, Diagon Alley!" Stan Shunpike hollered with his wand pressed against his throat for a Sonorous charm. "Everyone on board has to disembark here, or they won't get down at all till the morning! That includes you lot on the third floor! Come along now!"
"Damn right," Ernie Prang muttered as a stream of passengers rushed down the stairs and out of the bus.
Once the last of the riders had stepped off, Edmund turned to his now-colleagues. "I'll be getting off here as well if that's alright. You guys don't mind parking the bus yourself, do you?"
"No problem kiddo," Ernie waved him off. "Get home safe."
"Hey! When I started you made me stay half an hour overtime for the first six months," Stan complained. "What's the deal?"
"The deal," Ernie said as Edmund opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, "is that he isn't an annoying fuckwit that doesn't shut up."
Edmund mentally tuned out the rant he knew Stan was about to go on, instead ducking into one of the toilets near the back of the pub. 'Got time?' he asked.
A few moments passed without response, and Edmund had almost given up waiting when he finally heard back.
'Hmmm, the usual place,' the voice answered in his head.
'Be there in five,' he replied.
However, the person who emerged from the stall Edmund had gone into seemed to be someone else altogether. Subtle glamours accentuated previously non-existent wrinkles on his forehead. Another wave of his wand had caused a fuzzy-looking growth to appear on his face. His hair became shorter, more manageable, styled into a buzz cut. With a crooked gait and a stumble added into the mix, Edmund seemed like just another average Joe after a night out drinking.
The perfect disguise to blend in after hours.
Paying the small fee for a fistful of Floo powder by the fireplace, he quietly mumbled, "The White Wyvern."
A rush of green flame enveloped him, heatless, practically soundless, before spitting him back out into a dingy room half the size of the previous one he had been in. The White Wyvern was also a pub, but a seedier one located in Knockturn Alley that catered toward shadier individuals more concerned about their privacy.
Normally, Edmund would be worried about walking down the road to this particular bar, let alone spending some time in it. This time, though, he knew he would not be there for long.
In the far corner by a hastily completed sculpture of a sleeping dragon, a hooded figure stood completely still. Even as Edmund walked over to him, he gave no indications that he had seen him. However, as soon as Edmund made contact with the stranger, he felt a tug on his internals, his stomach almost flipping inside out from the force it was being assaulted with.
Wordlessly, without provoking any suspicion, Edmund was gone.
