Chapter 28
PHANTOM OFFENSIVE
Professor Moody's curriculum turned out to be more intense than anything any student had ever experienced, even I, who had been taught by the competent Professor Merrythought. However, it was not more intense than my training sessions in the Kwikspell Company, and my Slytherin housemates witnessed just how effectively I put up a fight against Moody. As the word of these lessons spread, no one doubted that I would be judged the best student to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament.
There was a shock when Moody announced that he would be casting the Imperius Curse on each student. Only I was confident, because I had a strong will, and resisting the curse was a branch of Occlumency, an art which I had successfully mastered. (I had taken a book about Occlumency from the library against the rules for my first summer at the orphanage, and I had used almost the entire summer practicing meditation. Protecting my mind from outside intrusion had been very high on my list of priorities, and the fear of Dumbledore had motivated me to an accomplishment unprecedented for a twelve-year-old.)
When it was my turn to be subjected to the Imperius Curse, I stepped forward to face Moody without trepidation. He seemed eager to see his most promising student fall victim to the curse like all the others, but when the curse struck me, I shrugged it off with a combination of will-power and clarity of mind.
"I don't say this often," Moody said after recovering from his shock, "I am impressed. You may have a great destiny as an Auror – or as an entrepreneur. You don't have aspirations of becoming a Dark Lord, do you?"
"Undoubtedly someone will consider me one," I mused. "It's impossible to please everyone."
"Well, if you decide to join the Dark Lord, we will meet again one day," he warned me.
Moody's classes were not the only lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts for me and a select few of other students. I continued to meet Harry and his friends in the Room of Requirement regularly, and as their skills increased, our fighting drills became rougher and rougher. Fred and George were determined to somehow trick their way into the Triwizard Tournament and practiced eagerly all kinds of methods they might use in the coming Tasks.
It was quite distressing how quickly my final autumn at Hogwarts passed. The last sunny and warm days were soon gone, and the usual almost perpetually rainy weather came in their stead. Thus it came to me as some kind of a surprise that the arrival of the delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang was announced. Excitement about the Triwizard Tournament increased, and every day numerous Slytherins encouraged me to enter the Tournament, as if I was in any need of it.
Eventually it was the day before Hallowe'en, and all Hogwarts students had gathered in front of the front doors, waiting for our foreign guests. Beauxbatons was the first one to arrive with their carriage drawn by mighty winged horses. They were led by Headmistress Madame Maxime, easily the largest woman I had ever seen. Her students looked at the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts with visible apprehension; it certainly looked gloomy and dreary compared to the luxurious palace that the French wizards had built as a part of their boastful architectural competition with King Louis XIV.
The arrival of the Durmstrang delegation was more impressive: their magical ship emerged from the Black Lake, using some exclusive method of teleportation. Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, a former Death Eater who had been willing to buy his freedom by turning in his comrades, approached, and I could hear hostile muttering among the Slytherin students. I actually did not understand why they disapproved of Karkaroff's treacherousness. Betraying comrades to save one's own neck was a very Slytherin thing to do. Certainly Karkaroff was faring better as the Headmaster of Durmstrang than Augustus Rookwood as a prisoner of Azkaban.
Suddenly everyone noticed that among the Durmstrang students there was someone notable called Krum. The name was vaguely familiar to me, but as hundreds of conversations broke out about the Quidditch World Cup final, I remembered that he had been the Bulgarian Seeker. Apparently being the only successful player in the losing team had done miracles to his personal fame.
I led the Slytherin students to the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. The Durmstrang students decided after a short deliberation to sit at our table, and Krum sat down on the other side of Draco. He seemed not to be much of a conversationalist; it was as if he had not even heard Draco telling him about being the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team. I would probably get along with him perfectly if there ever could be a possibility to – but there could not. How could two people who did not care about other people meet?
The other Durmstrang students were more talkative than Krum, and they soon warmed enough to tell us about their school. Apparently, it was a smaller and gloomier castle than Hogwarts, located on top of a hill in the middle of wilderness – but where this wilderness exactly was, that was something they refused to speak about. Their school had a long history of teaching the Dark Arts, and many of its alumni had gained reputation through the use of them. Grindelwald was the most famous among them even though he had never completed his education due to having been expelled because of his deadly experiments. After Grindelwald's defeat some of his fellow Durmstrang alumni had roamed around the world as magical criminals until Voldemort had recruited them. Karkaroff himself was one of them, and as it usually happened at Durmstrang, he had become the Headmaster by usurping his predecessor.
Hogwarts had two more visitors that day: Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman had come from the Ministry to the opening of the Triwizard Tournament. Crouch ate in silence, looking bored, while Bagman had enough enthusiasm for the both of them.
Once Dumbledore started speaking after the plates had cleared, excitement in the Hall increased.
The Goblet of Fire was revealed. It was an old relic created to bind magical contracts, but for some reason it was no longer used for anything more important than selecting the Triwizard Champions. A babble of conversations broke out after Dumbledore told that the Goblet would be in the Entrance Hall until the Hallowe'en Feast the next day, and until then students old enough had the opportunity to enter their names.
"Now, Tom, enter your name!" Draco urged me.
"Yes, yes," I said and took out my quill and a piece of parchment. "This Tournament is not something I'm willing to miss."
A crowd had gathered around the Goblet of Fire as I exited the Great Hall. People were eyeing warily the Age Line Dumbledore had conjured around the Goblet, none brave enough to test what would happen to those too young trying to cross it. I stepped over the line without noticing anything at all, and put in the piece of parchment with my name on it.
"Good luck, Tom," Hermione called out. "I really hope you'll be selected. You represent inter-House unity, and that makes you the best possible Hogwarts Champion."
Gullible, I smirked, but said out loud, "Thank you, Hermione. Your faith in me means so much."
Such little words were enough to keep my Gryffindor minions convinced that I was a goodie, and I exchanged an amused look with Draco as we headed back to the common room.
Throughout the next day, I worried about the selection. While it was clear that I was the most qualified Hogwarts student, my superior magical talents might actually turn against me. The Goblet of Fire had to be very cleverly enchanted to be able to judge people by just their names. What if it wanted three Champions of equal level so that the Tournament would not be mere child's play for the most talented Champion?
The Goblet of Fire blazed in the Great Hall during the Hallowe'en Feast, making it difficult for many people to concentrate on anything but the approaching selection of Champions. I, on the other hand, suddenly realized that it was once again the Day of Calamity. Quirrell's troll, Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black, and now this. As Dumbledore stood up, tossed a sherbet lemon into his mouth, put out most of the candles in the Hall, and directed everyone's attention to the Goblet, I tensed up. I felt an urge to check the Marauder's Map just in case there was an army of drunken Death Eaters preparing to storm the castle.
The Goblet of Fire spat out a red flame and a piece of parchment.
"The Champion of Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."
As the grumpy Quidditch star rose up from the other side of Draco, everyone applauded, except some of his fellow Durmstrang students who looked disappointed. I heard them muttering sullenly about Krum getting all the attention all the time. Dumbledore directed Krum through a door behind the High Table and popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth.
"The Champion of Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore announced after the Goblet of Fire had ejected the second piece of parchment. A girl of unnervingly perfect beauty left the Ravenclaw table and followed Krum out of the Hall.
"The Champion of Hogwarts," Dumbledore proceeded after the Goblet of Fire had returned the final name, "is Tom Valedro."
I took a deep breath. My concerns had been unfounded, and the outcome of the Tournament was thus doomed to be a foregone conclusion. But I would not have any regrets about ruining the excitement of this spectacle.
The applause was not particularly loud; few had expected anyone else to be selected. I smiled at my fellow Slytherins and gave an indistinct wave of my hand to the rest of the Hall. Then I joined the other Champions in the back chamber.
Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, they were whom I was to compete against. Krum was a Quidditch genius, but that did not mean he would be a total idiot like Bagman. Delacour was almost certainly a part-Veela, that was obvious from her looks. I thought it was probably a good idea to befriend both of them. A real mastermind always had associates abroad.
"Tom Valedro, of the House of Slytherin," I introduced myself. "Seventh-year, Head Boy of Hogwarts."
I shook their hands. Krum merely grunted something I interpreted as a greeting. Delacour smiled warmly at me, and I wondered if she planned of turning me into her puppet. Well, I was blessed with immunity to her special ability. In the Quidditch World Cup final the Bulgarian mascots had failed to affect me in any way, even to strain my Occlumency protection.
I was just listing in my mind the ways the Veela allure could be weaponized when I heard someone coming. To my surprise it was Harry.
"Tom," he said before I had the time to greet him, "the Goblet of Fire just returned my name!"
"What?!"
"I dunno how!" Harry claimed in apparent shock. "I didn't put my name in! This is again one of those things… you know… things like this always happen to me!"
At that moment we were joined by Ludo Bagman. He looked as baffled as the rest of us and tried to explain the situation to Krum and Delacour. He did not get far before the door was opened again and Dumbledore, Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape burst into the room. Karkaroff was complaining to Dumbledore, who looked uncharacteristically annoyed.
"Please, calm down, everyone!" Dumbledore said as heated conversations erupted. "We will solve this situation with calmer minds. Would any of you like to have a sherbet lemon?"
He took a handful of the sweets from a pocket on his right hand's side and offered them to us. That gesture of hospitality did nothing to improve the mood, and Karkaroff huffed angrily. Even I had to wonder about Dumbledore's lack of discretion in the situation. As no one took the sweets, the Headmaster shrugged, put them back into his pocket, and then took a sherbet lemon from a pocket on his left hand's side and popped that one into his mouth.
If I had not had so many other things to think about, I would have been really intrigued. This all but proved that Dumbledore had spiked his sweets with something!
After that brief episode the argument resumed. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were furious that Hogwarts was getting two Champions, Snape accused Harry, and even Dumbledore questioned him. No one seemed to realize that it was an assassination attempt before Moody stepped into the chamber and brought some common sense into the debate.
"It's a binding magical contract," the old Auror reminded us. "Someone put Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire knowing that he would have to compete if the name was returned. But before you accuse Potter of doing it, remember that the Goblet is a very powerful magical item. To make it forget that there are only three schools in the Tournament requires a very powerful Confundus Charm, far beyond the capabilities of any student."
"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Are you saying that you can create a binding magical contract to anyone without their knowledge by simply writing their name on a piece of parchment and putting it in the Goblet?"
"So it appears," Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.
"What exactly happens if Mr Potter does not compete?" I asked. "What are the consequences of breaking such a binding magical contract?"
"That is somewhat unclear," Crouch said in his monotonous voice. "Breaking the contract may result in losing magical powers or losing life."
"You might be able to kill someone in that way?!" I said incredulously.
Note to self, I thought. Steal the Goblet of Fire at the earliest convenience. Then cast a Confundus Charm on it, put in the names of all people I want to die, and enjoy the show.
"Once the Goblet of Fire returns the name of a student, that student has to compete," Crouch said. "There is no other option."
I was just going to suggest that Harry would do something that would lead to disqualification at the start of each Task, but then my Slytherin instinct kicked in. Anything can be an opportunity. If I helped Harry to survive this Tournament, he would be even more indebted to me.
"This is preposterous," Karkaroff growled. "I'm going to appeal to the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards…"
"You really think this is just a prank?" I asked coldly.
The Durmstrang Headmaster looked at me, infuriated by my tone.
"I see your deranged Defence Professor has filled your head with – "
"Just because he caught you and sent you to Azkaban, you shouldn't disregard – "
"Silence! Don't speak to me like that, boy! There's no reason whatsoever for me to believe – "
"Voldemort!" I snarled, making him jump in sudden terror. "Do I have to remind you of what has happened in these recent years? Three years ago Professor Quirrell tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and if the rumours I've heard are true, he did it for Voldemort. The next year the Chamber of Secrets was reopened, and again it was Voldemort who was behind it. Gilderoy Lockhart, one of the greatest heroes of this century, had to give up his life to stop him!"
That brought tears to Madame Maxime's eyes.
"A little over a month later Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, being the first one ever to accomplish in it. I'd wager he had outside help. The Ministry of Magic is convinced that he's after Mr Potter here, and placed a hundred Dementors around Hogwarts. Black still managed to enter this castle twice, and even assaulted Mr Potter's dormitory. And there's still more. Death Eaters were on rampage after the Quidditch World Cup final, and the Dark Mark reappeared. Now Mr Potter is forced to participate in a dangerous competition! Do these incidents seem isolated to you?"
Karkaroff spluttered something, both angry at my lack of respect towards him and taken aback by my undeniable arguments.
"Considering this context, today's incident seems very clear to me," I concluded. "Sirius Black has once again entered this castle undetected. After failing in his blunt attempts at Mr Potter's life, he came up with something new. He hopes this Tournament will be the end of Mr Potter."
"I agree with everything Mr Valedro just said," Moody grunted. "Good to know I'm not the only one who has his eyes open."
No one had any counterarguments. Dumbledore and McGonagall had listened to me intently, and Snape's sneer had been replaced by a thoughtful frown as he nodded slowly. Crouch was expressionless; I had probably said out loud his thoughts too. Ludo Bagman had become nervous, and he glanced around as if fearing that Black might be watching us from one of the shadowy corners and preparing to attack.
"Director Crouch is right," Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "It seems we have no other option but to let Harry compete, but to do everything else we can to keep him safe. If Black really is behind this, he has cleverly forced us into a situation where there are no good and easy options."
"Why was Beauxbatons not informed about a murderer going around 'Ogwarts?" Madame Maxime asked with her eyes squinted.
"We have no proof that he has been here since March," Dumbledore said. "I assure you, Black seems to want to prevent causing collateral damage. If he has chosen the Tournament as his way of attacking Harry, it is unlikely that he would resort to such blunt methods as the assault on Gryffindor Tower. Your students will be safe."
"I 'ope I could believe you," she sniffed.
"Well," Bagman said in a slightly quivering voice as he stepped forward, "I reckon we should give the instructions to the Champions. Barty, if you would?"
Crouch, who looked as bored and indifferent as an Inferius, gave a short lecture in a voice as monotonous as that of Professor Binns'. He looked extremely stressed; he had probably worked day and night after the World Cup final to discover the truth about the Dark Mark. I sadly reminisced of the determined young man who had made such a good impression on me on my very first day at Hogwarts. Bartemius Crouch the Head Boy had been in many ways more formidable than he was as one of the most powerful officials in Britain. One could see a parallel to Tom Riddle the Head Boy versus Voldemort the Dark Lord.
"Are you sure you would not want to stay at Hogwarts for the night?" Dumbledore asked, popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth.
Crouch declined, insisting that he had work to do at the Ministry. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff left sullenly with their Champions, and Dumbledore dismissed Harry and me.
"Tom, this is getting serious," Harry said as we walked across the empty Great Hall. "Not to mention insane! Black sneaking into Gryffindor Tower is one thing, but… this is different. If he can concoct and implement a plan like this… it shows creativity."
"I agree," I said, studying the Marauder's Map. "I can't see him anywhere. He must've found some new way to Hogwarts, because none of the detection charms I placed on the secret passages have triggered or been dispelled. This does not bode well. I suggest you start carrying your father's invisibility cloak with you at all times."
"Yeah… but I'm worried about the Tasks. I don't think I'm up to the challenge."
"Don't worry, I'll help you," I promised. "We may be competing against one another, but in this war we stand together. Black has made this Tournament a part of the war, and we adapt."
"Thanks. Good thing you've taught me so much ahead of the curriculum."
"Let's meet tomorrow in the Room of Requirement, and we'll get to the really advanced stuff. I'll have Dobby bring us books about the historical Tournaments, and we can simulate their Tasks and devise successful strategies for them."
"Sounds good. See you."
We parted in the Entrance Hall. I was deep in my thoughts as I navigated through the dungeons to the Slytherin common room.
The Slytherins welcomed me to the common room with applause. They were very happy that a Slytherin had become the Champion of Hogwarts as it was a good opportunity for us to remind the other Houses that we too were members of the Hogwarts community, not just next door neighbours. This was also the reason why they were indignant about Harry becoming the fourth Champion.
"How do you think he managed to arrange this?" Draco asked me.
"I don't think he did. Moody made quite a good point about the Goblet. No student should be skilled and powerful enough to Confund it so that it forgets the rules. He believes, and so do I, that this is some kind of an assassination attempt. Sirius Black has struck again."
"The Gryffindors will use this as an opportunity to undermine your status as a Hogwarts Champion. We'll be considered outsiders, just like our foreign guests."
"Be that as it may," I shrugged. "When one door closes, another one opens. You know what they say: a friend in need is a friend indeed. I want the House of Slytherin to be wholeheartedly supporting Potter. Many people will treat him as a pompous, attention-seeking braggart, especially Snape. We will not. To us, he'll be a victim of an insidious plot. Is that clear?"
"It is clear!" my two hundred minions said and saluted.
I celebrated with the other Slytherins for fifteen minutes before retiring to my dormitory. There I checked the Marauder's Map again. Harry was in the middle of a huge crowd on Gryffindors in their common room, but both Hermione and Ron were in their dormitories. I wondered if they disapproved of Harry's supposed new demonstration of foolhardiness.
Black was still nowhere in or around Hogwarts, but there was one thing that drew my attention. Even though Crouch had claimed he needed to return to the Ministry, he had found his way to Moody's office where the two of them were undoubtedly having a grim discussion. If two of Britain's most obsessed anti-Dark wizard people were having a secret meeting, they had to be preparing for the worst. And it was delightful to notice that they were excluding Dumbledore from it; the Headmaster was about to enter his office, oblivious to Crouch's continued presence at Hogwarts.
As I lay down in my bed, I thought about the First Task which would take place in less than four weeks. It would be folly to face the challenge without the best possible precaution. I had postponed the moment I would try to bind the three Horcruxes to me for too long, but soon the situation would be corrected.
Albus Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster's office and conjured a glass of water. He had eaten so many sherbet lemons that their sour flavour was beginning to nauseate him.
He looked at the chess board. If it was true that Black had somehow orchestrated this new offence against Harry Potter, the black bishop representing him needed to be placed again nearer the white pieces.
The black pieces had been on the move after the Azkaban breakout, and despite being the underdogs, they had been able to claim the momentum. The row of black pawns was ready to step forward again.
The black king stood alone in a corner.
Published on the 2nd of May, 2020.