I am Voldemort's friend

 Chapter Seventeen. Propaganda

Yol celebrated at home, but then spent a lot of time visiting guests. And to be honest, it wasn't just financial matters and establishing relationships with schoolchildren that were to blame, but also... his wives. 

Five pregnant women is a lot, and when they are carrying children and becoming mothers themselves... It's hard. He performed all the necessary rituals — including sleeping with each of them — and left. Of course, he didn't talk about it, claiming it was out of dire necessity...

Magic? A magical marriage is great, of course, and it greatly smooths out contradictions, but some "rough edges" remain, and I repeat — FIVE PREGNANT women.

Visits from his friends and their parents were brief, a kind of courtesy call, with which Rod Tally confirmed or established friendly intentions. Just enough for this "friendliness" to be understood, but not enough to warrant return visits. My family's unsociability was borderline, and this was treated with understanding, but only because I had started a series of rumours before entering Hogwarts. They said we were all nerds and experimenters... This was generally justified by some projects launched on behalf of Rod Tally, such as the televisions. I also started some parallel rumours: in some, we were hiding from unknown enemies, in others we wanted to remain as neutral as possible, and in others something else entirely. We/I weren't the only ones who were such paranoid homebodies, so the Tallies' unsociability was more or less understood. In fact, many probably even envied us — in magical Albion, which had essentially fallen under the rule of goblins, many would have liked to live like this, on their own, dependent on almost nothing. 

I also decided on a shade of Power. As it turned out, I am Light with my wives, but let's say... in moderation. If we translate this into the measures familiar to the Celts (who studied the Seeds better than anyone else), then I could be called the Prince* of September — the time of year when it is still warm, but the harvest is already gathering. If we translate it into poorly preserved Etruscan standards, I would be the Pre-Sunset Prince — that is, the sid of the Day (Light, Warmth), but neighbouring Night. Translated into English, I am the Prince of the Good Court, but friendly to the Princes of the Bad Court, still Light, but on the verge of Darkness. 

That is, I am Light, but one of those who, for their own good or the good of their loved ones, can sacrifice an entire city. And I will not be punished for this. Incidentally, there will be no "kickback" because my essence is such that the public good and my own good are inextricably intertwined. It's like now: I work for the sake of my Clan and my World, but at the same time I help Tom and through him I hope to help the magical Albion. 

The Midday Ones think exclusively in terms of some kind of "abstract" good bordering on fanaticism. Such Light does not so much shine as blind and burn.

Dark (unfortunate) egoists. Of course, healthy conservatism and the preservation of families and traditions are also necessary. 

And then there are those like me — the Dawn-Sunset people, who live on the Edge or close to it. 

Complicated? I agree, I don't understand everything myself... But where can we go when the only more or less reliable information about the Sidhe comes from the Celts and, according to rumours, the Slavs? The Slavs... they'll probably just slaughter me on the altar, enslaving the world. They're not evil, but... I'm a stranger, and I have a "homeless" world... 

The Celts... well, they're not much better, really. The only thing that would stop them from putting me on an altar is some kind of superstitious respect for the sidhe, stemming from the fact that there are many entrances to the worlds of the sidhe in Celtic culture, and not all of these worlds have completely broken ties with Earth. That is, sooner or later, the sidhe would learn of my death and avenge the death of their kin. Even if it took a century or two. 

But while death on the altar does not really threaten me in Wales, becoming a prisoner (even an honourable one, in comfortable conditions) is quite possible. Or other intrigues: a real living sid, albeit "ownerless" and (if it turns out) with his own World... Such a gift cannot be let slip through your fingers!

So I'm searching for information bit by bit and putting it together... And I've already made several mistakes. Fortunately, I brought back about fifty thousand rewritten volumes from Hogwarts (and how much money I spent on blank parchment!), so maybe I'll find something useful there. But that will clearly not be soon (if at all). In the meantime, here's what I've got...

I figured out the Second Appearance a little more, and now my squirrel-like instincts are helping me, but I am guided primarily by reason. I figured out animagi in the first, outer Manor, where I lived for several days before returning to Hogwarts. I also decided on my next Form — a jay. My Forms are all so harmless... But at least I have something, not everyone is given animagi in principle. 

I consider Parseltongue to be my main achievement during Yule. I haven't mastered it yet, but at least I've got the hang of it. I can't speak properly yet, but I've mastered "crawl away, crawl over, food" and a few other phrases in just a few days, using a snake I found in the garden and warmed up in my terrarium. I have plans for snake language, I do... Maybe even a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, or a messenger snake with a letter (very useful during a siege — no one would expect that), or a killer snake... But even if I don't master it to a significant level, a few dozen words in the style of "mine is yours" could still come in handy — I have a long life ahead of me...

Upon my return to Hogwarts, a surprise awaited me: bored students. I had already gotten used to being one of the leaders of Ravenclaw, and not only among my peers. I had an equally strong position in the Castle as a whole. But "Dippet & Co." were quietly undermining my influence, and during the holidays they dealt a series of blows – not only to me, but to all the students who were trying to pursue a more or less independent policy.

"Due to the complicated international situation, the Hogwarts administration is forced to take a number of measures. We hope that students will treat them with understanding, as they are all for their own good.

Students are forbidden to leave the School on weekends. The only exceptions are Heads of Houses and Heirs. The rest must provide information about their plans outside the School..."

There were other points, many points... Most of them can be challenged, and I'm sure the Board of Trustees will do so. I also have no doubt that this was done deliberately to give the administration an excuse to bargain. What a convenient time to tighten the screws.

 "They've really got their work cut out for them," Formik said, squinting as he read the list. "I'm glad I'm only here for one more year. And..." Sid looked around. "I doubt my kids will go to Hogwarts with rules like that."

 "What's wrong here?" Sam Davis, a fifth-year Muggle-born from Gryffindor, asked somewhat unclearly. Despite his origins, the boy turned out to be a real Quidditch star and, since his second year, had been studying just enough to avoid being expelled — fortunately, Sam had received an offer from the Wilburn Eagles in his fourth year. It was clear that his studies were his last priority — he would pass his O.W.L.s "by the skin of his teeth," but even then, with minimal effort, and then it would be on to professional sports. "It's okay," Formick reassured him and shrugged his shoulders, leaving for training.

 "But everyone else is screwed," I muttered under my breath. Control is already tightening, which is unpleasant, and the war has only just begun... Hmm... I'm not thinking clearly and... 

A week later, Ravenclaw was gripped by "Puppet Fever." Marionettes on strings had always been popular with Muggles, but magicians disdained them, preferring illusions. But when I showed that puppets could be controlled directly, with bare control... 

Almost all pure-bloods and most half-bloods managed to do it. For some, puppets became an interesting way to increase their level of control, for others, entertainment, and many took it as a challenge from the administration. 

"Stupid, stupid boy," said an important puppet dressed in a teacher's robe, "I'm looking out for you.

 'But I want to go out, I want to visit my family,' protested the boy doll.

 "It's for your own good," replied the teacher solemnly, "it's dangerous out there.

 "But my family can decide what I need!

 "You don't understand anything, silly boy, you're not grown up yet. And your family must believe that it's for your own good and theirs!

 "All right," replied the dejected boy, "then since we're not allowed to leave the castle, organise some extra classes in combat magic — since it's dangerous now.

 "No! You'll hurt each other! And before we send you off to die for our interests... I mean, to fight for Good Old Albion! 

 "But I don't want to fight, I want to go home! 

"You must!

 "For whom?

 "Um... There's evil out there!

 "Then teach me how to fight!

 "No, you will go to war knowing Petrify and Stupefy! And you will also have the Power of Love! With it, you will die... I mean, you will defeat all my enemies... The enemies of Albion, I mean!"

Simple and even primitive, but sufficiently malicious, and most importantly, topical. Dozens of similar scenes were played out, but most of the students simply did not understand the Ravenclaws, thanks to some fairly skilful counter-propaganda, and laughed merrily at the performances...

Recruitment among the upperclassmen took place right in Hogwarts. Dippet, Dumbledore, the witch Rose Fox, the flying instructor Roland Grass, and several other teachers leading extracurricular activities conducted rather unscrupulous propaganda on the theme of "Fighting Evil." At the same time, they themselves were in no hurry to fight... The situation looked particularly despicable when you knew that a powerful wizard (and Dippet and Dumbledore were just that) could even "pressure" a weaker one without using mentalism, forcing them to make the "right" decision. And they could "pressure" almost anyone — even pure-blooded students could not stand up to adult magicians. By the age of thirty, when they had fully matured — yes, but until then, alas...

According to rumours circulating among pure-blooded senior students, those who were recruited were not sent to help the Battle Mages of the Island, but for some reason, after a short training period, they were immediately thrown into landing parties on the mainland. The mages of Wales, Ireland... almost all of the British Isles were, to put it mildly, puzzled by this approach. It turned out that, formally, Albion was participating in the war, but in reality, yesterday's schoolchildren were essentially being sacrificed.

This was accompanied by pompous statements from the administration and the Ministry, but young magicians from pure-blooded families opposed to the authorities were simply sent to their deaths. Opposed? Most of these families had signed contracts stipulating that their children must study at Hogwarts and could not be taken out before the fifth, and in some cases the seventh, year. Protest? Please, within the strict limits set by the Ministry. If your family was not among those who signed the Capitulation, then yes, it was easier...

It's clear that the pressure on students didn't start yesterday, but earlier it was sluggish — they were "brainwashing" them, but more on the topic of "patriotism in general." Although some purebloods received special attention... But what's interesting, I only realised this now, is that you can't keep track of everyone, and Dippet knows how to work subtly. 

Earlier, the pressure was sluggish also because the Ministry was seriously considering joining Grindelwald. And as far as I can tell, the only thing stopping them was the need to become a junior ally — Gellert did not recognise equality in principle. And most of the purebloods from the Old Families were against Grindelwald and his idea of the "Greater Good." They did not consider themselves English at all, but were Celts, Saxons, Normans, Norwegians, Danes... traditionally opposed (within the framework of the Treaty of Capitulation) to the Ministry, where the less noble Rods, who considered themselves Anglo-Saxons, had entrenched themselves. 

This opposition was largely formal, a kind of symbol of rebellion... But nevertheless, even a symbol of resistance was enough to turn the purebloods' hostility towards the Ministry against them this time. Since the Ministry wanted to join Grindelwald, they automatically became the opposition — and the officials allowed themselves to be "outplayed"! In return, they demanded that the pure-bloods themselves form combat units to fight Grindelwald...

In short, no matter how you look at it, the pure-bloods would be on the front lines of this war. Whether they succumbed to the propaganda of the school administration or joined the opposition... it didn't matter, they were all going to fight and die.

The puppet shows didn't catch on, remaining little more than a new exercise in control. The scenes were played out, of course, but the school administration outsmarted me by letting their people start a trend of short, funny scenes criticising other students.

Prince*" As I said, Mc fits the definition of Prince Sid more than perfectly. The unborn Founder of the Clan, owner of his own World. 

Found the way**" In the canon, the same Crouch spoke an unimaginable number of languages, including mermaid, which is theoretically almost impossible for a landlubber to learn (squeaks, screeches, howls). That is, magicians have some alternatives to conventional language learning, and I don't mean banal Memory Potions, but something more (even more, if you like) serious. 

In some fanfics, partselang is closely related to mental practices, which I personally find logical. Well, my Mc is a mentalist and a sid (+100 with animals)), so there you go.

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