Talking big was easy, but actually adopting Tom proved far more troublesome than he had imagined.
First of all, looking at Tom Riddle in his arms kept sending a chill through him.
Could a notoriously brutal Dark Lord really change?
And whenever he thought of the look in Tom's eyes earlier, he could not help feeling uncertain.
Seeing a hint of snake-like coldness in the eyes of a swaddled infant was abnormal, however he looked at it.
Considering the boy's wizarding bloodline, there was no way he could ignore that abnormality.
Perhaps the only thing to be thankful for was that this was not the first orphan his orphanage had taken in.
For someone of mixed Chinese and British descent, surviving in Britain at this time had never been easy.
Even with what little protection his father had left him, this traditional, xenophobic country had nearly left him without a place to stand. Even the old mansion his father had left behind had almost been seized by greedy officials.
Fortunately, he had still found a way to survive here.
Situated in the East End, London's most chaotic and impoverished district, it suffered from disorder, rampant thugs, difficult neighbors, chronic shortages in government funding, and sporadic charitable donations.
In a sense, such a chaotic area also offered an opportunity to survive in the cracks.
Opening an orphanage had initially been nothing more than a means of protecting himself.
Although a private orphanage could barely obtain any government support, it did have its advantages.
The nature of the orphanage meant that local thugs did not encroach too heavily on its territory. As far as the government was concerned, withholding support was one thing, but if a few thugs caused money that should have gone into their pockets to disappear, then those thugs would be at fault.
Yes, that was right. The government did subsidize private orphanages, but whose pockets that money ultimately ended up in was hard to say.
Of course, orphanages run by the church were much better off by comparison. Aside from subsidies, their charitable donations were no small sum. Some people even deliberately sent over large quantities of textile equipment so the orphans could earn a living... but... sending large amounts of industrial equipment to places like the church, which hardly lacked money, mostly ended with it gathering dust...
Perhaps some of it was sold cheaply to other factories, too.
That was getting off track. Taking stock of his own orphanage was what mattered. In Mo Fei's memories, several children already lived here.
Whatever he did with Voldemort in the future, providing an environment in which the boy could change was not something he could accomplish alone.
But the more he thought about it, the more hopeless he felt.
Every child here had serious problems.
They had been sent here for all sorts of reasons: illness, domestic abuse, crime... in this era, broken families seemed all too normal.
The oldest child here was twelve and the youngest five. Every one of them was withdrawn, sensitive, insecure, and covered in scars.
Before Mo Fei transmigrated, this director had already been doing everything he could, but looking after their mental health had been beyond him. Simply staying alive had left him exhausted in both body and mind.
Now, the arrival of an entirely new problem baby seemed to have brought him even more challenges.
If he had not had a golden finger, he would have wanted to start a new run.
Things would work themselves out when the time came. All that could wait. His first task now was to wipe Tom clean.
He did not know whether wizards could fall ill and develop a fever from getting caught in the rain, but remembering the Potions specifically mentioned in the original story, he supposed they could. Keeping the boy from falling ill right away was his first priority.
Cradling the tiny, warm, soft body and ignoring the somewhat eerie look in the boy's eyes, Mo Fei shut the creaking door firmly, keeping the wind and rain outside.
The storm still howled beyond the windows, but at least the room no longer seemed quite so cold.
By the flickering candlelight, Mo Fei finally got a clear look at the orphanage's true state.
Memories were one thing, but seeing it with his own eyes still made him suck in a sharp breath.
One word: shabby.
Two words: really shabby.
Three words: far too shabby...
The mud-brick floor was badly worn and riddled with pits. Moss and mildew covered the corners, and a lingering smell of decay hung in the damp air.
Large patches of plaster had fallen from the walls, leaving mottled shapes as unsettling as ghostly shadows.
Several cracks also ran across the dull brickwork, speaking of the ravages of time.
The few old wooden tables and chairs in the hall creaked whenever anyone sat down, while the edges of the tables were so badly worn that the original wood grain showed through.
And this was where he would have to put down roots and survive, his foothold in this world.
Mo Fei looked down at the baby in his arms. Tom had stopped crying and closed his eyes, drifting peacefully to sleep with his head resting against Mo Fei's chest. There was no trace of his earlier chilling, sinister appearance.
Just as he was about to wipe Tom down, a creaking came from the stairs.
He turned toward the sound and saw the oldest child in the orphanage coming downstairs with a badly worn piece of clothing draped around him. His name was Aiwen, and he was the most mature of the children. His father had been executed for theft, and he had been taken in after the police arrested him for fighting in the street and sent him here.
As those officers had put it, "A child his age should be growing up in an orphanage..."
In truth, the main reason was that the police station had no more space to hold anyone. Unable to pay a fine and incapable of providing any labor, little brats like him were the most troublesome of all.
They could simply have released him and left him to fend for himself.
Just like most of London's vagrants, he could have been left to muddle along, with no one knowing whether he lived or died.
But one of the officers had happened to feel charitable that day and brought him straight here.
It had also been fortunate that Mo Fei had just completed the procedures for opening the orphanage, though he had no idea how to care for anyone.
As the first child taken in, Aiwen had also gradually taught Mo Fei how to look after children.
They had stumbled along, learning to adjust to each other. Back then, Aiwen had only been eight...
Aiwen saw the child in Mo Fei's arms, but his expression barely changed. His voice carried a hint of mockery. "Oh, our great philanthropist Mo. The orphanage can barely put food on the table, and you're still willing to take in another child? Are you trying to starve everyone?"
Though he sounded thoroughly disgusted, he carefully walked over to Mo Fei and gently took the baby from him.
Who knew where he had learned to say one thing while doing the opposite? Fortunately, Tom was already asleep, or he would certainly have been startled.
"You're always so clumsy... honestly..."
After taking Tom, Aiwen carefully produced a clean cloth and wiped his body clean bit by bit. Then he carefully wrapped him in a fresh set of heavily patched swaddling clothes and carried him upstairs.
Ever since Aiwen appeared, Mo Fei had said nothing. He simply stood in the dim candlelight, watching the boy's practiced movements.
Then he followed him upstairs.
There had originally been several rooms on the second floor, but there were too many children for him to look after, so he had simply knocked through the rooms and turned them into a communal dormitory.
When he pushed open the aging door, the cold damp of the rainy night washed over him.
The feeble fire burning in the room's fireplace seemed to do nothing at all. It was still just as cold.
Eight crude plank beds stood in different corners of the room. The two youngest children slept closest to the fireplace.
No, Tom was the youngest child here now.
Aiwen's bed was nearest the window, which seemed to be letting in a constant draft of cold air.
After carrying the child into the room, Aiwen first picked up a few pieces of firewood from a corner and tossed them into the fireplace.
As the wood caught fire, the temperature in the room finally seemed to rise a few degrees.
By then, he had carried Tom over to the bed nearest the fireplace and carefully woken its occupant.
"Jimmy... Jimmy..."
Jimmy slowly opened his bleary eyes. Seeing big brother Aiwen's face, he still looked somewhat dazed and half-asleep.
Aiwen offered no explanation and simply handed the sleeping Tom over.
"Be careful. Keep an eye on this child. He's new here..."
Still not fully awake, Jimmy did not understand what he was saying. He merely took the child instinctively, made plenty of room beside himself, and even helped cover him with his somewhat battered cup.
Once everything was settled, Aiwen came over to Mo Fei.
"My dear director, it's too late tonight. Go and rest. We can talk about it tomorrow..."
With that, he returned to his own bed and curled up to sleep.
Mo Fei felt a pang of sadness, but also a little comfort.