Chapter 26

SOCIALITE

Summer was the most active social season in wizarding Britain, and my many Slytherin acquaintances made sure I had something to do every single day even if I had abandoned all my training sessions in the Kwikspell Company and the meetings with Harry and his friends. The most important families seemed to have some kind of a competition on which one of them threw the most spectacular party. I visited the manors of the Malfoys, the Notts, the Jugsons, and the Greengrasses, and had to endure their extravagant displays of wealth. Unlike Professor Slughorn, who was always present and overflowing with almost childish enthusiasm, I grew tired of it very soon.

But socializing was a necessity if I wanted to achieve my goals. However, I preferred to do it my way. In July I arranged the first meeting of the Slytherin alumni who had graduated in the recent years, and over fifty people showed up in my house in Diagon Alley. Ethan Jugson was my intermediary in dealing with them, and he was present as my right-hand man. I had also asked Draco and Theodore to come; although they were much younger than the rest, their presence meant that their two powerful families approved of my plans. Lastly, I had ordered Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, Graham Montague, Miles Bletchley, and Cassius Warrington to come too. Their role was to show that brutish Quidditch-enthusiasts could also be interested in what I had to say.

The name Valedro was unknown to my guests; some of them had heard a little about me from their younger relatives, but it was not enough to establish me as the future Slytherin leader I was determined to become. That was why I had to make a favourable first impression by imitating the ways of the aristocrats who had nothing better to do. I had hired more house-elves for the day, I had put on display many of the relics I had stolen from the Black townhouse and bought from Borgin and Burkes, and I also made sure they noticed my Firebolt. (For some reason that I did not fully comprehend, broomsticks were the most important status symbol of a wizard. It was shallow, but shallowness did not prevent me from using it for my advantage.)

Most of my guests were much like Flint: mediocre wizards at best, but still convinced that they were distinguished by the simple virtue of their lineage. As I started to get acquainted with them by subtly demonstrating how I was superior to them in every way, I felt as if I was hosting a poor man's Slug Club. Few of these people would have been invited to Professor Slughorn's dinners, but perhaps it was better that way. Rich and powerful aristocrats would have their role as my lieutenants, but unless I was ready to force them to service like Voldemort had done, it would have been impossible to herd just them. These plebeians suited my purpose much better; in their unwarranted arrogance they felt that their lack of power and prestige was because of some injustice towards them, and I had experience in using such feelings for my benefit.

In fact, as I exchanged greetings and introductions with them, I felt I had experience with dealing with them specifically even though I had not. The majority of them were people whose forebears I had known in my first life, and I had successfully dealt with them back then. I would again utilize methods I had tested and found worthwhile.

"Welcome, my fellow Slytherins," I said after everyone had arrived and gathered around the table that had been enlarged for the meeting. "It's been a little more than a year since I came to Britain from New Zealand, and I think it's high time we start actually doing something. I've discussed with the patriarchs of a few powerful families – " I gestured to Draco, Theodore, and Ethan, who were sitting close to me " – and they all agree that we Slytherins have been too defensive and reactive ever since the disappearance of the Dark Lord. Suspiciously, this has been for the benefit of Albus Dumbledore's political games. Most of you have surely heard of the theory that's been going around?"

My guests nodded and muttered in confirmation.

"Lord Voldemort was Albus Dumbledore in disguise! I was the one who suggested this idea, and as of yet, I have no reason to think otherwise. Everything has happened too much according to Dumbledore's goals to my liking. But what, exactly, are Dumbledore's goals?"

I took out an old pamphlet which I had bought from an antiquarian in Knockturn Alley – a pamphlet with Grindelwald's translated speeches.

"For the Greater Good," I read. "To understand the contemporary world, we must not forget the history – although Professor Binns has made that quite difficult." Some of my guests chuckled dryly. "Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, putting an end to the campaign of making us wizards the rulers of this world. While Dumbledore has, with Voldemort's help, made sure that we wizards have wasted our time with internal disputes, Muggle scientists have created vast arsenals of weapons beyond any magic known to wizardkind. Our advantage against the Muggles is quickly diminishing."

After this introductory speech I proceeded to the part that I had rehearsed many times at Hogwarts the previous year. I told them about science and technology, and Muggle weaponry in particular. The illusions that had made such an impression on the younger Slytherins were again demonstrated in their frightening efficiency. And while talking, I scanned the minds of my guests with Legilimency, seeking out those who were the most receptive to my ideas.

After that day, more meetings followed the first one. Some of the Slytherins were not interested enough to put aside their Quidditch nonsense for my plans, but I did not consider it a loss. There were also those who had not come to the first meeting, but joined the fledgling conspiracy later.

Flint had become genuinely interested in Muggle weapons, and while waiting for the start of his military service he practiced with the weapons I had acquired for him. It was his task to convince more people to grasp this unorthodox way of securing future power. I was happy to find out that several older Slytherins, mainly those who were not talented enough to play Quidditch in any local team, heeded his words.

By the time I graduated from Hogwarts, I would have the beginnings of a private army.


Social manipulation was the most Slytherin thing I could imagine, but when meeting more and more important wizards who had been Professor Slughorn's favourites, I began to wonder if I was one of the very few truly Slytherin people in wizarding Britain. Every occasion when I had to deal with another human being was a part of some mission or another; I never did so without some kind of a goal and a purpose. But, to my frustration, few other people were like this. The aristocrats who were occupied in a competition of giving the grandest banquet were just wasting their time.

Power had been my goal ever since I had been old enough to understand the concept. Nothing had seemed more tempting to the hungry orphan who had been constantly reminded of living on the mercy and goodwill of other, more fortunate people. My window at the orphanage had shown the dreariest of sights to the narrow alleyway, there had never been enough food, and other orphans had annoyed me with their crying. As I had felt magic inside me, I had decided that I would follow the footsteps of emperors and forge a new world where the blights of the old one would no longer trouble me. It had been a vision of glory.

The contrast of that vision to the pointless social activities of the aristocrats was appalling. It was actually quite shocking how easily I earned the favour of the most important people of wizarding Britain. I just had to attend every event, act politely, say some insightful things, and let Professor Slughorn compliment me to his other favourites. It was not the glorious way to power. Nor was it a way to the kind of power I wanted. I could become Lucius Malfoy's equal or even the Minister for Magic, but to truly become a lord I would have to show my superiority and put them all in their places. Voldemort had succeeded in it, regardless of his flaws.

Because of this attitude of mine I could not enjoy the long days and evening spent in the most luxurious palaces of wizarding Britain, but even that appeared to be an advantage to me. My constantly bored and unimpressed demeanour was considered very sophisticated. The actual members of the high society did their best to appear bored, but they had become so good at seeing through the acting of one another that they could not hide the fact that they enjoyed every opportunity to gossip. In such a company I was on a totally different level, and they looked up to me because of it. (It was bittersweet irony that I had found myself in a situation where being apathetic was a good thing. The thought made me grimace.)

However, one of the manors where I became a frequent visitor suited my taste much better than the other ones. The House of Nott lived in Nottinghamshire, in a magnificent building which had been an abbey before the Statute of Secrecy. Like the Malfoys, the Notts had been a clerical family, ruling over thousands of Muggles, and they had been vocal in their opposition of the Statute, because it had rid them of their subservient peasants and much of their land. Theodore Nott the Elder, my Hogwarts dormmate in my first life, had recently become the patriarch of his family, and he was not as interested in such frivolous occasions as so many other pure-bloods.

Broxtowe Abbey had a pious atmosphere that demanded silence and reverence, and it was difficult to even imagine Dr Filibuster's Fireworks flashing above it the way they had done above Jugson Manor, disturbing the sanctity of the place. I liked the home of the Notts, because it had a similar feeling as Hogwarts, and I decided to borrow some of its stylistic elements when designing my future castle in the Scottish Highlands.

Guests were wandering around the nave of the abbey in small groups, speaking in whispers, while they studied the animated stained glass paintings and the sculptures, and listened to the harp that was playing by itself. But some things were not different from the feasts arranged by the other families. A house-elf hurried to me shortly after my arrival and offered me a goblet of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. I accepted it, because it would have been an insult to decline, but not without wrinkling my nose.

With an inconspicuous tap of my wand I evaporated all alcohol from the goblet before taking a sip. As a child I had seen how alcohol had reduced the already miserable victims of the Great Depression into totally wretched ruins. They had wandered on the shabby alleys of London, trying to forget the fact that they were totally worthless waste of space, and I had sworn to myself that I would never drink a drop of alcohol. That decision had never wavered.

Theodore Nott the Elder was sitting near the place where the altar of the abbey had been before his ancestors had abandoned Christianity. I sat down on an armchair next to him, and he greeted me with the interest I had already grown used to. His grandson had written to him much after the Malfoy Yule Ball, telling everything about me. I was not sure if he suspected anything about my connection to his old school friend or if he was just curious about the similarity.

There was something very nostalgic about us sitting there together. We were the only ones who remained of the small gang I had gathered around me at Hogwarts. Edmond Lestrange, Roger Avery, Sebastian Rosier, and Matthias Mulciber had all died in the war while doing some fool's errands for their insane leader. That was the reward for pledging their lives to Voldemort.

"On Christmas Day, you told me about my namesake whom you knew when at Hogwarts," I said, going directly to the point. Nott's eyes focused on me sharply, and I could see and feel him tensing. "I did some research and found out that he was Tom Riddle, an orphan who lived at a Muggle orphanage and who supposedly became Lord Voldemort. Is this not true?"

"Yes, it is so, unfortunately," he said, glancing around to make sure we were not being eavesdropped. "Very few know about it. He forbade us from telling anyone about his origins, even his name."

"My first thought when hearing about his talents was that he and Voldemort were not actually one and the same person, but that Dumbledore stole Mr Riddle's identity for his own purposes. Can you tell if you noticed any changes in his personality before his disappearance?"

Nott did not answer at once. Perhaps Voldemort's forbiddance still frightened him, but then again, I already knew more than most Death Eaters.

"Tom Riddle – he was quiet and timid at first," he said, looking absentmindedly into his goblet. "No one knew him, and he was an outsider in the Slytherin social circles. Some of the students treated him badly because he had no magical relatives, but he was very ruthless and creative in his retributions."

It was actually nice to get this acknowledgement even after all these years. I had forced Edmond Lestrange to submission by slightly shrinking all his left shoes. It had resulted in his left foot growing crooked, causing him much pain over the years in the form of squashed toes and ingrown toenails. Ah, the happy memories!

"But as he demonstrated his amazing talents, talks about the "Slytherin Mudblood" quickly subsided. We came unanimously to the conclusion that he was an heir of a pure-blood family and that only bad fortune had forced him to live in the Muggle world. Everyone in our year and the younger age groups, as well as quite a few older students, accepted him as our leader, and he chaired our homework clubs and other activities with unquestionable authority. In our fifth year the Chamber of Secrets was opened."

I grew very interested. I had not had the time to find out what my minions had thought about the incident.

"Every Slytherin suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin, but he denied it. I remember him being much more silent and distant that year, but since it was the year of our OWLs, it was not unexpected or uncommon. When he found out that the half-breed oaf – I cannot remember his name – was the Heir, we all snorted with incredulity. But Headmaster Dippet was so keen to have a scapegoat that he believed in it, or at least pretended to do so. In our sixth year I began to notice the first signs of Riddle's personality changing."

As I had expected: the creation of the Horcrux had damaged the mind of my other self.

"He was irritated all the time," Nott continued. "Sometimes he got sudden fits of rage, and they became more common as time passed. He showed less and less interest towards other people, and when we graduated, he did not celebrate it at all. He was quickly employed by Borgin and Burkes, and when we tried to offer him more suitable jobs for someone of his potential, he told us to get lost. Then he disappeared, only to reappear over two decades later as an immensely cruel and powerful snake-man."

Nott shook his head.

"I can understand why you think Dumbledore might have stolen his identity, but I saw myself how he changed. I do not know why, or how, but it happened."

"Well, it is now all but confirmed that Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin," I said. "When the Chamber of Secrets was reopened the year before last, it was his disembodied soul that forced Ginevra Weasley to order the monster around. At least, this is what she told after Harry Potter had saved her. I can't rule out the possibility that Dumbledore used mind magic on her and some Dark magic of his own to petrify the students who were supposedly attacked by the monster."

"Why would Dumbledore have done such a thing?"

"To redirect blame? Potter told me that Dumbledore accused Lucius of being uncooperative as a member of the Board of Governors, and succeeded in having him sacked."

"Oh yes, Lucius was quite livid about it."

"Do you have any idea what the purpose of the Chamber of Secrets is?" I asked, finally getting to the topic I had had in mind for months.

"Besides ridding the school of Mudbloods? No. Why do you think it has some other purpose?"

"Because it's just so stupid! I can't believe Salazar Slytherin thought that the monster would have solved anything. The school would have been closed and a new one built. The education of Mudbloods would have continued. And even if it was Slytherin's plan, why did he leave the Chamber closed, to be opened by his descendant? Its name is the Chamber of Secrets, so there should be some secrets down there. Maybe the monster is one, but the name suggests there are more."

"Interesting speculation, I must admit. There have been many scholars in my family, but none of them has discovered any other legends of the Chamber of Secrets besides the one known to everyone."

"I wonder if Voldemort knew something more – let's agree for the sake of the discussion that he was not just Dumbledore's guise. It seems he continued Slytherin's plan during his reign of terror, but what if it was deception? Pure-bloods have been disdainful towards Mudbloods for over a millennium, but never before Voldemort did anyone bother to start their genocide. Do you know anything about Voldemort's actual plan? I've read that he wanted to become immortal."

"Yes, that was his obsession," Nott mumbled. "That is why he named his followers Death Eaters. I think he feared death, but made a show of despising it."

"Don't you see that there's something wrong about him? He wanted to become immortal, possibly succeeded, and wanted to kill all Mudbloods. Why? Why would an immortal wizard-god care if the magical blood became diluted? Such a thing should be beneath him."

"Perhaps…"

"Did he ever speak about Atlantis?" I pressed on. "You said there have been many scholars in your family. You probably have an extensive library?"

Nott glimpsed at me warily.

"Yes, after he reappeared, he asked to see whatever texts we have about Atlantis. He spent quite a while in our library, but he did not tell me about his research. It was Augustus Rookwood with whom he talked about all obscure pieces of magic and lore. I doubt he found much, because Atlantis is so shrouded in legends and speculation that it is probably impossible to discern any truths from the mess."

"The Department of Mysteries… I've been thinking that I'll pursue a job there after graduating. Mr Slughorn will certainly give me a letter of recommendation. Would you be willing to give one, too?"

"Certainly, but it is not easy to get a job there. I think they only recruit from within the Ministry, people who have been serving in another Department for at least five years."

Five bloody years, just to have the opportunity to steal a Time-Turner and whatever else there might be? It would be faster to just break in, even if I prepared with painstaking care.

"But the Ministry is known to make exceptions," Nott said. "Letters of recommendation will open some doors; giving pouches full of Galleons to the right people will open some other doors; your… shall we say… Riddle-like talents – " he gave me a very sharp look " – will open some as well. All of them combined, absolutely. But you are in luck, because next school year you will have a rare opportunity to get valuable publicity too. Have you heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"In history books, yes. Are you saying they're coming back?"

It was intriguing, stupidly grandiose of course, but it was in my nature to grasp every opportunity.


One morning in August Harry came for a visit. He had been staying with the Weasleys after his birthday, but Dobby answered his calls and frequently Side-Along-Apparated him between The Burrow and Diagon Alley.

"Good morning, Tom," he said. "I thought you might like to know that my scar hurt last night after I had a dream about Voldemort."

"Really? When did that happen last time?"

"It was when I faced Voldemort when he was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, over two years ago. For a moment I thought he had come to The Burrow, but everything was all right."

"What was the dream about?"

"Well, here's the strange thing," Harry said and sat down, frowning slightly. "He was talking with Peter Pettigrew. They had killed someone, they planned to kill me, there was a huge snake, and an old Muggle… I dunno, it doesn't make sense."

"Dreams rarely do. Why would Voldemort have anything to do with Pettigrew? I think your mind just mixed various things together. But your scar hurting is troubling. Nothing is known about scars like yours, because normally the Killing Curse does not leave physical traces. But it seems there is some kind of a connection between you and Voldemort, something which causes the pain you experience."

"Do you think he's regaining his strength?"

"I know he is. There was ten years of total silence, then the Philosopher's Stone incident, then the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. Who knows, perhaps Sirius Black's escape was his doings as well? Sooner or later he will find his way to true life again, and we must prepare for it."

"Yes, we must," Harry said, twirling his wand in his hands. "I'll use more time for training during the rest of the holidays. But not for a few days." His eyes lit up in enthusiasm. "The Quidditch World Cup final is in a few days!"

"I hope it'll be exciting," I said.


I really did hope the Quidditch World Cup final would be exciting, because when the day came, I found myself in the Top Box. It was a necessary inconvenience, just like the other social events. Tom Valedro was the most esteemed young member of the Slytherin high society, new favourite of Horace Slughorn, fabulously rich, leader of a group of Slytherin alumni, student leader of Slytherins at Hogwarts, recently appointed Head Boy, hopefully the winner of the coming Triwizard Tournament, soon a Hogwarts graduate with the best grades ever… I simply had to be seen in the Top Box with other important people. It was a part of the image that I hoped would give me a faster access to the Department of Mysteries.

Theodore Nott the Elder sat next to me, which was a good thing. He was not particularly interested in Quidditch either, and we could continue our conversation about Voldemort. A magical barrier around us muted the clamour of the stadium into muffled and easily disregarded noise, making the evening tolerable. But I still would not have agreed to come if I had not known that the Triwizard Tournament would mean the cancellation of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. This was probably going to be the last match I would have to endure.

The Weasley family was in the Top Box as well. They had not bought their tickets, but got them through Arthur Weasley's connections, but it still showed his infuriatingly bad sense of finance. He could have sold the tickets to richer people in exchange for cheaper tickets. But, of course, this kind of common sense should not be expected from a man who had wasted his windfall into a holiday trip to Egypt the previous summer.

Lucius sneered coldly at Mr Weasley, but Draco nodded politely to Harry who nodded with equal politeness in reply.

Just the right amount of friendliness, I thought.

The game itself was in a way even less interesting than Quidditch normally was. I felt detachment from the hundred thousand enthusiasts around me, because the Quaffle moved so fast it was difficult to process everything that was happening. The players certainly did a good job; their graceful aerobatics was beautiful in a way, and I thought by myself about how much of an advantage their talents would be in a battle.

The teams were from Ireland and Bulgaria. England, Scotland, and Wales had all performed poorly in their games, and once again I wondered why the tiny magical population of the British Isles was divided to the same four nationalities as the Muggle population. All wizards were educated at the same school, and they had one Ministry and one central hub in London. As they did not have any social or logistical limitations based on geography, it would have been natural if they had all merged into one nationality of British wizards.

The Irish players were really good, even I understood it with my limited knowledge of the game. They probably had totally dominated the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup during their school years. But why was it that the current players of the Hogwarts House teams were not as good? Did one have to graduate before one could become such a virtuoso?

These questions would remain unanswered for some time. Not that I was very interested about the answers anyway. I wanted to be alone and play the violin. That, at least, was a dignified pastime.

Luckily the game turned out to be short for a Quidditch game. The Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum caught the Snitch in a situation where the Irish team had a hundred and sixty point lead. That saved his team from a total humiliation; it was a kind of a ritual suicide to save their honour.

As the celebration began, I bid my farewells to the Notts, the Malfoys, and Harry and his friends, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. As I played a calm and quiet piece with the violin, I truly realized that Quidditch was over for me. It brought a smile on my lips.


The next morning dispelled all that remained of my good mood. The Daily Prophet told a very gruesome and detailed story of a Death Eater attack in the aftermath of the game, the Dark Mark appearing after almost thirteen years, and numerous casualties.

I had wasted most of the summer integrating into the Slytherin high society, and now they showed their true colours. Yes, I had no doubt that Lucius and his friends had been the ones behind the Death Eater masks. Probably some of those younger ones whom I had invited to my house many times had participated in the vulgar revelry as well.

Insane or not, Voldemort had been right in at least one thing: these people needed to be kept in a tight leash. And the leash consisted of two parts: the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse.

The first thing my future conspiracy would purge of unworthiness would be its own ranks.


Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's office, reading the report of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a frown. The situation was not as bad as the Daily Prophet had written in order to increase its sales, but the news about Harry Potter's wand being used to conjure the Dark Mark was troubling.

Dumbledore turned to look at the chess board he kept on a side table. As Sirius Black had not been seen in months and Hogwarts had been secured during the summer, he moved one of the black bishops away from the white pieces. Then he moved all of the black pawns forward.

The black king stood alone in a corner.


Published on the 7th of April, 2020.