Legacy of Evil: My last name is an Enigma

There was only one answer to give to an old man hoping to lure you to his castle, with what was your wildest dreams.

"No."

I think the swiftness of the reply was what surprised him, as Dumbledore peered at me in mild confusion before he asked. "May I ask why?"

Why? Because I hated what younger Tom...Or me I guess, did? Because it meant hopping headfirst into the hateful cesspool that Tom had only been an instigator rather than the cause of, or maybe because British food was just that horrible. Take your pick, I had a million reasons to refuse and a million more to avoid it altogether. I refused to be any kind of catspaw into the political landscape that was Wizarding Britain and the only real way to win, was not to play. I knew that much. Of course, I couldn't just say it outright... I was British after all, in some small part of me so all I said was, 'I'm still inexperienced. All I've done is play around with some concepts here, rather than kept up on my dueling. Really Headmaster, you may as well pick up some vapid mutt off the streets to be a teacher than someone like me."

He was looking at me oddly now, and I wondered if I revealed too much. Tom had never been what you'd call a humble person. The bullshit I was serving up to fill the air sounded almost like humble bragging and Dumbledore was old enough that he would know how to bypass it. He was also wearing that twinkle in his eye again that made me wary, the sort of look on a man that after you shake hands with, you check your fingers to make sure you still had your nails.

"Well, it's not really a pressing need right now. Our current defense professor is not set to retire, for quite some time. Travel the world, brush up on your skills and at the end of...Shall we say, five years if you still feel this way, I will not ask again." He sipped the tea, let out an appreciative sound and set his mug down as he got up.

"Thank you very much for letting us catch up. I do hope to see you at Hogwarts, in five years' time. I'm sure you have many memories of it, as I do." With that, he walked out and left me sitting in my chair, the snapping sound of his apparition heralding his exit as I just contemplated it.

Old bastard. He chose the very words he knew would capture my imagination, as something approaching wistfulness filled my heart.

Despite wanting the post to pilfer more artifacts, Tom Riddle did love Hogwarts as much as he could love anything. It was home to him, and subsequently to me as well. Without having stepped foot in it, I could tell you where the vanishing step was, how to enter the kitchens where the house elves would wait hand and foot for you, smell the cut grass of the Quidditch Pitch and marvel in my mind's eyes, the ceiling that was the Great Hall as a work of magic and art.

I realized that despite not wanting to go back to the mess we had created, at the same time I wanted that post. I wanted to be a professor, to mess with the minds of the newest magical generation and idly, I realized I had been running lesson plans. I scowled and with a wave of my wand, set my tea set to wash themselves as I spoke to myself aloud.

"No. No. We came to Canada to get away from that shit. We're not going to think about this anymore than we should. That way lies madness."

I lied as easily as I breathed.

And having finished my days activities, I dressed for sleep and went to bed. Tomorrow should be a lot better.

=====

It was not better.

Dressed like some old western, mountain man I stomped my way through the Canadian wilderness, grousing as I carried a number of buckets. Sleep had not come easily to me, if at all and bereft of my beauty rest, I might had accidentally terrified a generation of garden gnomes. The snow crunched beneath my boots, as I tried to talk myself out of the half-baked ideas percolating in my mind.

"You don't want to go to Hogwarts. You'll get fat. You'll be hounded constantly by the spawn of evil, every day without end." I approached a tree, hooking the first bucket under a spigot as I turned it on and moved to the next one. "And then all your schoolmates will be there. 'Oh, my lord, where did you go?'"

I scowled, my voice becoming a shade higher pitched as I adopted a snobbish tone. "Oh, my lord, why can't we have a little bit of genocide? Oh, my lord, take this wand and shove it up my-FUCK!"

I threw a bucket into the air and blasted it out of sheer frustration, before proceeding to do the same to the rest. After I was done, I felt better and proceeded to repair them all as I got to the heart of it, with my inner thoughts.

The truth was, that I was running from my responsibilities. Sure, I wasn't THAT Tom who inspired a new generation of bigotry, but at the same time I was. I could remember everything in clarity, every dark art, every cult leader smile and secret handshake, all for the sake of power. Honestly, even now I don't think Tom really knew what to do with that power. Hell, he could had gone into politics, and everyone would have loved him. This dark arts bullshit was just arrogance. Or maybe it was just his nature that the horcruxes situation uncovered, as I thought about the people, he had surrounded himself with at school.

Rowling had described them as, 'the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty'. All true, all of whom would be waiting for me back in Britain if I went back. I took a moment to consider what would happen if I just killed them and be done with it-hells bells, I did it rat catching, what would stop me now?

.... What would stop me now? I mean, besides basic decency and the fact I wasn't Tom Riddle junior, even if I was? I sighed out, conjured up a chair and sat down, unable to handle this much synaptic stimulation as my emotions ran wild. My hand moved to rub my face, I took in the Canadian wilderness and let myself just... Settle. The Land simply was and would remain long after I was not, as I listened to the birds and spoke aloud.

"I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed. You goddamned little shit. Had to make your play at lichdom."

I was broken. I had told that Nazi that much. Even with my own addition, our soul was more of a patchwork than anything. Even then, there was the whole breadth and life we experienced. When you see the good and the bad, remember it as if it was yours? You got a copy, a clone... A shadow. I was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and yet I was not. It was a paradox, a mystery, an enigma and the answer to what IS Tom Marvolo Riddle had yet to be determined by me.

Would I let history repeat itself if I returned? Would I find the idea of power intoxicating, a slope easily slipped on with the way my mind was formatted? Or would I go mad, striking down everyone in society before I was put down like a dog? There was a reason I had found myself living the hermit life despite the allure of the wizarding world and I had no good answers. Only more questions as Dumbledore's words played in my head rent-free.

My headache grew, I could hear my mind exploding as I rested my face in my hands.

.... Wait.

No, those were actual explosions. I raised my head in confusion, looking to the south-east. Someone was dueling and if I focused, I could hear screaming.

With a flick of the wand, I set all my buckets to their place and began running towards the sound.

=====

I walked into an attack.

This was a magical campsite, the dueling wizards showed that much. A set of old style, Romani wagons would be set in a semi-circle as Thestrals screamed and tried to kick the masked figures attacking the people. Various families, some of them still on the ground, others terrified and trying to run as wizards clad in raven masks and puritan hats struck them down with binding curses, as well as a few nasty jinxes.

In the midst of them all, was an old grandmother in a shawl, wand more reminiscent of a rod as she dueled four of the wizards at once. Not too well, I could see her sweating, the stress getting to her and then I realized why she was fighting so hard. There was a boy there by her, head bowed and hands over his head as he shuddered, that these people tried to get.

I thought for a moment, that I should walk away.

And then I was ashamed, as I snarled and conjured up an illusion on myself before entering the fray.

My bombarda aimed at the ground set off a shockwave, enough to send three of their number flying as I landed in the midst of them, using the most terrifying image I could muster.

A face reminiscent of a skull, a nose more slit like a snake. Eyes that burned red in the shadow of the hood and cloak worn, its edges like dark mist as I held my wand aloft and hissed.

"So very rude."

And for a moment, I allowed myself to be Lord Voldemort as I went to work on the masked men and women.

It was almost unfair, the sneer on my face not entirely fake as I slammed logs, both on fire and not, animated the knives and hatchets and did a number of spellwork that ended with a few vaporized corpses and the rest of them rapidly apperating away. My work done, I dispelled the illusion and took inventory, before being confused.

This was a wizarding campsite, but no one was cleaning up with magic. Instead as they gathered themselves up and mourned, they worked no-maj style. Save for the grandmother, fussed over by the boy as he hugged her tightly. As I walked closer, she gave me a Look and then nodded wearily in thanks.

"You came in the nick of time, stranger. I hate to ask, but could you-?" I nodded, waved my wand and began setting the camp to rights. As I did, I asked with concern. "Who were those people? And why were they attacking you?"

She scowled and her wrinkled hand began to run through the hair of the boy on her side.

"Scourers. A hateful influence, still active on this side of the world. Even so, it's easy to attack my son and his family and friends."

"Mama!" We turned, and I blinked. A heavyset man with his right sleeve tied into a knot approached and hugged them both, looking them over as I asked slowly.

"You are wizards, yes?"

The man looked warily... Not at me, at my wand and so was the grandmother before she placed her hand on his and spoke, as regal as if she was royalty.

"I am... The rest of my kin are not. I am Zev Greyback. This is my son, Conan." I blinked, feeling the world's rug pulled out from under me as I stared at the boy. That tear-stained, awed expression on his face as he looked at me from the safety of his grandmother and father.

"And this is Fenrir, my grandson. You have our gratitude."

Merlin's beard.