A Legacy of Evil: My first name is Tom (Patreon)

The year is nineteen-fifty-three and the world turns as it always has. Stalin has died and the dictatorship he has built is crumbling, repercussions echoing through both worlds. Racial segregation is being hotly contested in the United States and to my personal shame and distaste, my own society is trailing far behind in that regard to the point it hasn't even gotten to the debate stage yet, and of course-mundane society is leaping ahead rapidly.

Colored televisions had been out for a few years now, as rock and roll take the world by storm. They hadn't seen nothing yet, if this timeline goes on as it should and in a couple of years, some quiet investments in a certain boy down south should see a few returns.

Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I can hear the wheels clatter as my coach lands on the dirt road, the driver letting out a grunt as he pulls the Thestrals back. He thumps on the roof and that's my cue to leave as I open the door and emerge, blinking into the light. I'm not sure if I should be worried that the man's body and skills, I've gained has the same fashion sense as myself. Shabby black, little else and well suited for the overcast weather of the UK as well as the wizarding society I find myself in. Of course, in the fiendishly bright lands of South America, I stand out like a sore thumb and grabbing my case, I give a nod to the driver and the tip of two silver sickles before making my way through the rural village.

There's some degree of encroaching, western civilization here despite the isolation. I can hear a radio playing music, as the heat makes men lazy as chickens scrabble for grubs and crumbs. Children are playing somewhere, the game coming to a halt as the obvious foreigner is seen but they don't come like I expect. As if they had learned to fear those who looked like me. I pause and a few moments, amused despite myself I slip out my wand and with a lazy gesture, summon up some sweets. The display of magic is enough to get their attention and smiling, I crouch and offer up the candy as I ask, staring at them.
"Verstehen sie mich?"

They flinch back, terrified and I add it to the number of context clues I've needed as I nod and speak in English.

"I'm seeking a bad man. He lives here. Where?"

I repeat this in Guarani, and the children stare blankly. A few moments later, one among them-the eldest, it seems stands between me and the rest as he stares and his eyes flick to my wand.

"Bruja." He says accusingly and I nod in reply.

He seems satisfied and points to a direction. I leave the sweets behind.

=====

It's a manor, of course it is.

Walled up, protected and all manner of protections, arcane and otherwise set upon it. The privacy one's I've overcome by sheer dint of stubbornness, hunting down the others one by one to get the information I require. The rest of it requires a bit more cunning, far more in the way of curse breaking. Of course, considering whose body I currently reside in, I opt to get away from all of that through sheer, brute force.

My wand is raised, I set up anti-apperation charms and then proceed to do the magical equivalent of a battering ram as the gates crash and the protections explode. As I step through the flames, I hear curses and a voice crying out.

"IT'S HIM! I'LL HOLD HIM OFF-!"

My wand flicks and a car parked in front of the door is flung at the man, squashing him before he could even scream as I continue to stride forward. Servants are running, fleeing and I ignore them after a brief, mental lookover to ensure there's no shapeshifting skullduggery involved. Finally, I come to a room and the irony of it just makes me sad.

My target is standing over a crib, one finger gripped by an infant as a latina woman with dark eyes holds a knife and rushes for me. I knock her out with a sleeping spell and make sure to set her down gently. The old man sighs and looks to the ceiling before he finally speaks hoarsely.

"I knew this day would come." Even now, his homeland accent is present as the infant gurgles and smiles. His back remains to me as he continues to talk.

"We have so much to answer for after all. But even so, my son was innocent."

"Who?" I ask, in clipped tones and for the first time, there's anger in his voice as he snarled. "The man you killed with the car. He was my son. You killed him with as little effort as squashing a fly. You didn't have to."

I considered it and then nodded, once as I agreed. "I suppose I could have, yes. Sit, please."

I conjure up chairs, taking my own and as he looks warily, he sits as well. For a moment, we just look at each other before I remark, leaning back in an attitude of rest.

"Are you aware of what a Horcrux is? No? It's not a magic most would know offhand, save scholars and folks like me. It's an art that requires you to sever your soul, empowering yourself with an act of murder-or sacrifice of a soul, to bind it and thus yourself to the world, escaping death with immortality, but not eternal life. As far as I know, there are... Two, three perhaps? In the known world today, all of them destroyed by my hand."

He stared, his expression confused as I chuckled. "It does seem counter-productive, doesn't it? Well, the man who did create them was no longer the same man I am today. However, it was too late." My expression grew thoughtful, my gaze glancing at the crib behind him as I rocked back and forth as I continued.

"The soul was already shattered and despite... ME filling in those lost spots, there's a disparity there. A predisposition to evil, to the path easily trod and only through effort can I master myself to make a difference. In this case, turning it towards those who deserve it. And when you're gone... I'll have nothing left. No more rats to put down, nothing more to turn my time and intellect over to. It's a bit scary, admittedly."

I spin my wand between my fingers idly, thinking as I speak. "Nature abhors a vacuum. And without a Voldemort to rally the worse factions of the UK openly, putting them down becomes almost impossible. Becoming their leader? Ha! Why couldn't I have woken up in the orphanage instead of in Borgins and Burkes is beyond me. Ah well." I take a deep breath and smile. "At any rate, your daughter in law and grandson will be safe. I'm sorry for your son, for what its worth. Are you ready?"

"You're insane." He says quietly, looking at me with fear and I give a little shrug. "Nobody's perfect."

I make a gesture with the wand and point it towards him. "Avada Kedavera."

The green light flashes, something screams and the man falls dead. The baby begins to wail and I sigh out, feeling a brief rush and then emptiness as I see the child, see the woman and feel my mind idly trying to construct reasons to kill them too.

"Not today." I say aloud as I get up and begin to clean my mess. When she wakes up, it'll be a raider attack, her husband and father in-law dying to them far away from here and no memories of myself.

And nothing else. I say it again aloud, as I turn and head for the porch to repair it and put the car back in place.

"Not today."

=====

I apparated by the Leaky Cauldron and enter the premise. Tom the barkeep, glances up and beams. Around us, wizards and witches go about their evening, getting drinks, catching up on gossip. "Ah, good evening Tom!" I smile back and slide into my seat.

"Evening Tom. Firewhiskey please." He nods, sends me a shot glass sliding to my hand and I enjoy it-another acquired taste, which helps blunt my current thoughts and my swiftly, spiraling mood. Fucking Tom. A sociopath to the core, terrified of death and more issues than the entirety of Playboy. And this was before he thought it'd be jolly swell to, doncher know.... Cut up his fucking soul like it was pieces of taffy. Who the fuck thinks like that?

I swirl my drink in my mouth, swallow and ask for another as I brood. My ratcatching days were over-however it went where I was from, as it turned out a determined, less morally bound pre-Voldemort when he was earnestly on the hunt made for an effective hound and while I had enjoyed the peace of mind it had brought, now there was the question of what to do now.

I could ignore Wizarding Britain. Dumbledore was well and alive, and with enough incentive to keep an eye on what would have become my core followers, bringing the Death Eaters into the world. In fact... Why not? The more I thought about it, the more I started to like the concept as I knocked back a third firewhiskey. Why shouldn't I just leave? Canada sounded nice this time of year. Pine forests, snowy mountains, maple syrup... Those gravy fries... Thing. I had no job, I could use magic to work myself up a decent home and between trade and such, food and drink would be no problem. Just me and magical research and that would be that.

I let out a maniacal laugh and rose to my feet as I turned with a grin towards Tom, who seemed startled.

"Thanks for the drink Tom! TO EVERYONE ELSE!" I turned, yelling as the crowd paused to stare at the crazy man, drunk on life and relief.

"DRINKS ON DUMBLEDORE!"

That was something they could get behind and having satisfied my one, act of snideness I strode out and vanished.

As far as I was concerned, the Wizarding World could go to the cleaners.