Chapter 27

THE WATCHFUL EYE

The rest of August was rather subdued in the Slytherin social circles, much to my relief. Those families who had aligned with Voldemort were embarrassed and frightened, and they stopped inviting guests without explanation. Everyone knew that they had been the ones causing havoc after the World Cup, but since no one had proof and they were important people, the Ministry was forced to let them be. Of the wealthiest Slytherin families only the Greengrasses continued normally; they had been neutral in the war, and they wanted to show that they had nothing to be embarrassed about. However, they were suddenly much more interested to socialize with the families usually considered non-Slytherin. Also Professor Slughorn seemed shaken, and his past as the Head of House Slytherin disappeared from his boasting repertoire.

I no longer invited any of the Slytherin alumni for meetings, but the other part of my conspiracy was alerted to the approaching storm. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George came two days after the World Cup final, and told me everything that had happened. Remus was also present, and I realized that I was enjoying the company of these seven Gryffindors much more than that of my fellow Slytherins. So far my House had fallen!

Harry, Ron, and Hermione explained in detail their adventure in the forest, the appearance of the Dark Mark, and the discovery of Bartemius Crouch's house-elf with Harry's wand.

"The elf claimed she had picked the wand up?" I asked.

"Her name is Winky!" Hermione snapped fiercely for some reason. I waved my hand dismissively.

"But she was hit by a Stunning Charm mere moments after the Dark Mark appeared? And she was in the same direction as the voice that shouted the incantation?"

"Exactly so," Harry assured me.

"Then it is impossible for her to have picked the wand up after the Dark Mark was conjured. She must have been even closer to the supposed Death Eater than you were."

"She did act kinda strangely," Ron said in his usual confused tone. "I got the feeling she was trying to hide something."

"But what?" Harry asked.

"Her master, obviously," I said. "That is the only explanation that makes sense, though, admittedly, not much sense. Bartemius Crouch conjured the Dark Mark using a random wand he had Summoned, Disapparated, and then Apparated back with the other Ministry people. But he forgot to take the elf with him."

"Why would he have done it? Do you think he's a Death Eater?"

"You don't have to be a Death Eater to conjure the Dark Mark," I explained. "It's rare magic, yes, but Crouch certainly is familiar with it. He dedicated himself to the fight against the Death Eaters, and he was willing to turn any and all weapons of the enemy against them. Very unlike Dumbledore. As to why; there are many possible reasons. Perhaps he expected correctly that it would end the Death Eater attack. Or, more likely, he tried to lure the Death Eaters to the Dark Mark, tricking them into a trap. That's what I would've done."

"Crouch has many flaws, but you can't deny that he's a strong and capable leader," Remus said. "As Tom likes to point out, Dumbledore was quite careful during the war. Crouch was proactive, and many people thank him for saving Britain from Voldemort. The war would've been much more costly if he hadn't taken the Death Eaters seriously from the beginning."

"Well, I'm taking them seriously for sure," Harry said. "Let's practice some fighting, shall we?"

He drew out his wand and went to the room I had furnished for our fighting sessions. Hermione, who also had the right to practice magic under the supervision of Remus and I, followed him, along with Ron, Ginny, and Remus. The Weasleys could not participate, because their mother was quite vehement about keeping them out of trouble.

I stayed behind with the Weasley twins. Over the summer we had exchanged a few letters about the magical applications they had been studying for years.

"Here's the starting capital for your business," I said and tossed them a bag full of Galleons. "Keep creating pranks if you want – if you seem trivial, you will be underestimated. But I want you to create magical weapons. I've taught you my Triggered Firing Charm; perhaps you can use it inside a firework to fire a Blasting Curse."

The twins grinned mischievously.

"That would've been useful during the Death Eater attack," they said.

"More such occasions will be coming. We must be prepared. Si vis pacem, para bellum."

On the 1st of September my last trip to Hogwarts began. Even though I still had almost ten months left of staying in my favourite place on Earth, the thought unsettled me. I looked at the noisy flocks of students and their parents. They did not have to leave their homes for good.

"I remember when James had one like that," Remus said wistfully, pointing at my Head Boy badge.

"James Potter?" I questioned after resurfacing from my thoughts. "I thought he was quite the troublemaker. How did he become even a prefect?"

"He didn't, but he was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. In our sixth year he greatly improved his reputation, because he became better… no, not as a student, but in not getting caught. Maybe he wasn't a good choice for Head Boy, but the least bad. The boy prefects in our year… well, they were like me." Remus grimaced, but Harry grinned at the characterization of his father.

"I'll let you know when we have a Hogsmeade weekend," he said. "If I'm allowed to go this year, that is."

"Have a nice term, then," Remus said.

The Weasleys were bidding their farewells close by. The two oldest siblings were hinting about the Triwizard Tournament, and the younger ones were demanding answers. Shortly after everyone had boarded, the train began to move, and I headed to the first compartment for the prefect meeting. The trainful of students was now my responsibility. Failure would put an end to my plan of getting legal access to the Department of Mysteries. (I thought only very briefly that taking the students as hostages and demanding a Time-Turner as ransom might be a very effective way of getting what I wanted. However, such a plan would have had problems that outweighed the positive result.)

The new Head Girl was Pauline Ardrey of Hufflepuff; I knew her from Potions where we had cooperated every now and then. Our subordinates were the twenty-two prefects gathered into the compartment; it would be enough of them for me to delegate most of my duties to them. Every great leader delegated, and usually their subordinates were happy to do their work for them. It was a win-win situation.

Ardrey had, in a typical Hufflepuff fashion, written and rehearsed her speech in advance, making it sound memorized and feel sterile and emotionless. I, on the other hand, spoke without any guidelines in mind, and the audience seemed to welcome it. Later I could not remember what I had said.

Some students had not forgotten the threat of Sirius Black, and they feared that the madman might try to attack whoever he was after before we reached the safety of Hogwarts. It was not a totally groundless concern, and I spent most of the day watchfully walking back and forth the train. Looking out of the windows was of no use; water was pouring down from the sky, veiling everything in a grey blur. For a moment I imagined the grim form of Black standing by the railway, waiting for the train to come, water seeping through his clothes. If that was what he was really planning, there was little I could do. He would see the train long before anyone had any chance of spotting him, and he would probably easily blast the locomotive to pieces. Wet clothes, especially shoes, had a reputation of greatly amplifying the power channelled to Dark magic.

Thunder was rumbling when the Hogwarts Express stopped at the Hogsmeade station. I was the first one to step out, and greeted the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt who was there with a group of Hit Wizards. They had searched the surroundings and found no signs of Black, but ushered the students to the carriages quickly. Hagrid led the first-years to the shore for the traditional boat ride across the Black Lake, a tradition so hallowed that not even the beastly weather was a good enough reason to cancel it.

I checked that the train was empty before boarding a carriage. I cast the Infrared Seeing Charm on myself so that I would be able to notice if Black was lurking among the trees. No blotches of warmth could be seen, until the carriages neared the gates to the grounds. Three massive forms blazing with infernal heat were positioned near the gates with dozens of tiny humans bustling around them. They were the dragons Minister Fudge had replaced the Dementors with. I could recognize them all: a Swedish Short-Snout, a Common Welsh Green, and a Hungarian Horntail. Each one of them was capable of gulping Black down for an appetizer – or a student, for that matter. But many people considered the Dementor's Kiss a fate more horrible than getting physically eaten, thereby the new guards were an improvement.

But finally I had seen Hogwarts as I had first imagined it: a mighty magical castle protected by dragons! Perhaps I should let the Basilisk loose again just to complete the picture…

As was fitting for the student leaders, Ardrey and I were the first ones to enter the Entrance Hall. Mr Filch was there, looking at our muddy shoes with sullen resignation; he did not greet us, but muttered to himself something about a never-ending nightmare. In a totally different mood was Albus Dumbledore who looked at us with a seemingly benevolent smile as he descended the marble staircase. He had probably spent decades mastering his acting so that he always seemed delighted when seeing his usually troublesome students arriving.

"Good evening, Pauline, Tom," he said. "I hope you had a pleasant summer. Sherbet lemon?"

He took a few yellow sweets from a pocket on his right hand's side and offered them to us.

"No thank you, sir."

He popped one of the sweets into his mouth and winked.

"I take it the journey was safe?"

"Yes, sir," Ardrey said.

"No signs of Sirius Black," I added. "By the way, I like the new guards."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Dragons have keen eyes and snouts. Black will not sneak through them, I assure you."

What about under them? I thought to myself, deciding to place a few detection charms on the passageway from under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore did not need to be informed about his forgetfulness or negligence; after I would catch Black (and let Harry practice the Dark Arts on him), I would tell everything to the Ministry and, hopefully, get Dumbledore sacked.

I sat down at the Slytherin table near the far end from the High Table; usually the oldest students occupied that end and the younger ones the other one, but there were some exceptions. Members of the most powerful families sat where they wished, and ever since my manipulative speech at the start of the previous year, they wished to sit around me. Draco's seat was on my right side, Theodore's on my left side, and in front of me sat Sara Jugson, Ethan's sister, a new prefect. All of them children of Death Eaters, but they were going to be my minions. Unfortunately, as the events in the Quidditch World Cup suggested, I probably had very limited time to form my conspiracy before I would get tough competition.

The first-year students were soon led inside, the Sorting Hat gave one of its nonsensical songs, and the Sorting took place. Once it was over, Dumbledore rose to his feet, but did not bother us with lengthy words, and the Start-of-Term Feast began.

Once the food had been eaten and the jingle of cutlery had been replaced with conversation, Dumbledore demanded our attention again for his traditional speech. He announced the best news ever, that there would not be Quidditch during the coming year. He was just going to tell us about the Triwizard Tournament that I had decided to win, when there was a rumble of thunder and the unrivalled master of timing and dramatic entries slammed open the doors to the Entrance Hall.

He was an old wizard with a long mane of grey hair. He swept between the House tables with speed and an air of alertness, and his peg leg clanked on the floor ominously. I did not have the time to study his face before he had gone past me, and with hundreds of other students I just stared at him as he approached Dumbledore who had went as silent as everyone else.

As the stranger turned to take his place at the High Table, I saw his face and realized in an instant who he was: Alastor Moody, one of the few Aurors who had lived long enough to retire. He had been the greatest warrior of the Order of the Phoenix in the war against Voldemort. While Dumbledore had done next to nothing for some reason, Moody had fought Death Eaters tirelessly and filled Azkaban with them.

The next instant my attention focused on his eyes, because there was a glaring difference to the pictures I had seen of him. One of his eyes was different: it rotated madly, but most of the time it was focused on me. I recognized the item. The Eye of Vance. With it, he could see right through my disguising charms; to him they only seemed like the feeblest way of concealing an identity. The most paranoid person in existence was at Hogwarts, and he knew I had something to hide. To what conclusion would he, in his Constant Vigilance, come? That boy is Voldemort, no doubt.

Moody talked briefly with Dumbledore before sitting down and starting to eat. Dumbledore nodded, took a sherbet lemon from a pocket on his left hand's side, popped it into his mouth, and turned to face the students again.

"May I present the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," he said. "Professor Moody."

The announcement was met with silence, but Moody did not seem to care. He took a sip from his flask, but his magical eye did not rest; it moved with maddening speed, but always returned to stare at me. Even though the eye made me nervous, I dared to breathe again after hearing Dumbledore's calm voice. It appeared he was not going to attack me, and my frantic thoughts of summoning Dobby to evacuate me made room for confusion. Perhaps I would have time to assassinate this serious threat.

I really should have used non-magical means of altering my looks. Moody probably saw through hair dye and cosmetic contact lenses, but they did not draw his attention like magical disguises. But now it was too late. I would have to be Constantly Vigilant.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued his interrupted announcement, "this year Hogwarts will have the honour of hosting an event not arranged in over a hundred years: the Triwizard Tournament."

He popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth and proceeded to tell about the history of the Tournament and about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang whose delegations would be coming to Hogwarts. Numerous students got expressions of ecstasy on their faces when they imagined themselves as the winners of the Tournament. Moody's eye was not the only one that glimpsed at me when people were speculating who the Hogwarts Champion would be.

Dumbledore tapped a spoon against his goblet when he was beginning to lose the attention of his audience. He popped yet another sherbet lemon into his mouth before smiling and continuing.

"There is also another interesting piece of news. For some reason British witches and wizards lack the curiosity towards history that is so common in all other magical countries."

There was much muttering among the students. For everyone but Dumbledore the reason was obvious.

"However, to make things right, the Hogwarts staff has decided to expand the Trophy Room into a museum of magical artefacts. There will be several sections which present historical items from different parts of the British Isles. It will take time to collect items in such quantity that it will be sufficient for a museum, and so I implore you, dear students, to let your parents know that Hogwarts is willing to buy or rent historical items that are currently unused in your attics. For no particular reason the first section will present items which have history in Yorkshire."

All of a sudden, I was alert. Yorkshire… what a coincidence. I had just a few months ago visited my ancestral lands in Little Hangleton and found a historical item there. Well, I was not going to give one of my Horcruxes to a museum, especially one administered by Dumbledore, so no thank you.

"That will be all," Dumbledore said. "You must be brisk and rested when your lessons begin in the morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Popping one more sherbet lemon into his mouth, he sat down and turned to speak to Professor Moody.

"Don't you think his addiction to sherbet lemons has got out of hand?" I asked Draco as we stood up.

"I hope he's suffering from an unstoppable disease and wants to use up his sweet storages before kicking the bucket," Draco replied with a sniff.

The House of Slytherin marched through the dungeons to the common room, the new students desperately trying to memorize all the twists and turns on the way. I checked the Marauder's Map and saw that Snape was not coming to speak to his House. In the thirties and forties Professor Slughorn had always welcomed his House members and the unofficial student leaders had also spoken every now and then, but these traditions had been abandoned during my absence. It was something to be corrected.

"Welcome to Slytherin," I said as the prefects had guided the first-years in the middle of the common room. "My name is Tom Valedro, and the duty of making sure you settle well in Salazar's House has befallen to me. Slytherin is a House of cunning and ambition, and for that reason many of the most powerful people in Britain throughout history have begun their journey to greatness in this very room. Slytherin has always been the least liked one in the other Houses, but that's no reason to accept it as the way of things. Let me give you this advice: at every moment you interact with the members of the other Houses, imagine yourself as the future Minister for Magic. You do not want to create a burden for yourselves by misbehaving at school."

The first-years looked quite nervous.

"You will meet people in this House whom you will not like," I continued. "Any and all quarrels will stay within Slytherin; we will present a unified front towards the other Houses. Perhaps you will make enemies here. But in that case keep in mind that wizarding Britain is small and the lifespan of wizards is long. Unless you're certain that you will be able to eliminate your enemies, you should be prepared to spend a hundred years or more with them in this tiny society. Most schoolyard feuds are not worth it. Lastly, I offer you the timeless wisdom of the founder of this House: Anything can be an opportunity. No matter how huge the disaster, someone always finds a way of profiting from it. It is a central trait of a real Slytherin to try to be that someone."

Many of my minions clapped as I headed to the dormitory of seventh-year boys.

The first breakfast of the year was very unpleasant as Moody's magical eye kept focusing on me. It was much more unnerving than even the glances of the shallow girls who had taken a fancy on my appearance. I waited nervously for the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, hoping to somehow resolve the situation.

Defence was the one class that everyone studied after the OWLs, even those with a Troll grade. That was because most teachers were totally inept, and the Ministry wanted everyone to have two more opportunities of getting a decent teacher. Remus had been good, but everyone expected much more from a living legend like Moody.

And he did start promisingly: Unforgivable Curses and unembellished warning of the threat that wizards with bad intentions posed to us. Professor Merrythought had been soft compared to him. I wondered how much threats he had purposefully veiled in his lecture; he held no love for Slytherins, and his all-seeing eye scanned the whole class as if expecting an attack.

Once the bell rang, the seventh-year Slytherins left the classroom, both impressed and a little frightened by the attitude of the new teacher. I lagged behind, because I had decided that the tension caused by my disguising charms had to be released right then, before Moody informed Dumbledore about them, and I was not disappointed.

"Valedro," Moody grunted, "stay for a while." After everyone else had left the classroom, he turned the attention of both of his eyes to me. "Why the disguise?"

"I'm practicing Constant Vigilance, sir," I said. "I heard from a Ministry acquaintance of mine that you are the Defence Professor this year, and I decided to make a good first impression."

"Well, I'm not impressed," he informed me. "My eye sees through all disguising charms; in fact, I can see all such methods of subterfuge like bright spots of light."

"I wasn't aware of you possessing the Eye of Vance. You've acquired it after the war."

He gave a short bark of laughter.

"Well, everyone starts somewhere. I'm not expecting all students to be as well-prepared as I am, otherwise I wouldn't be here as a teacher. You, at least, show some level of competence, even if it's far too inadequate to fool me. Here's my hint for you, boy: if you want to disguise yourself, use Polyjuice Potion. It truly changes your form, and that's why not even my Mad Eye can notice anything."

"The downside is that you always have to keep drinking it," I noted.

"Aye, that is a problem," Moody said and took a sip from his flask. "There are no easy ways of keeping ahead of everyone else. That's why you need to be Constantly Vigilant and never stop learning new ways of defence. Hmph. Even though your disguise is far from perfect, I have to commend your safety precautions. You're wearing some kind of a protective vest, and you've reinforced it with the Unbreakable Charm and cast lots of automatically activating Shield Charms. Very good indeed. And you're carrying Essence of Dittany, Blood Replenishing Potion, and a bezoar."

"I'm not a careless Gryffindor, sir," I said, grinning.

"Add a Bone Mending Potion, a Feather-Falling Potion, Gillyweed, and an emergency Portkey, and I'll give you an Acceptable grade," he told me. "You ain't getting an Exceeds Expectations from me, boy, because they can't be exceeded or even met."

I gaped at him.

"Off you go," he said and waved his hand towards the door.

I left the classroom, angry at myself for having forgotten the safety precautions he had mentioned, but at the same time relieved by the fact that Alastor Moody did not know what Voldemort had looked like in his school years.

Unless that was what he wanted me to believe.

Published on the 17th of April, 2020.