The Hell of Fourth Year.

Minerva swung around and faced her boss and long-term colleague with a glare which could probably melt iron while there were screams of panic and terror in the Quidditch stadium from Charlotte's announcement although she was positive the fear came from the name, rather than the person. She was willing to guess many of those same people panicking at the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn't believe Charlotte. Not one little bit. They'd likely heard stories about the Dark Lord's appearance and likely did not believe it.

"What is this?" Minerva spat at Albus, who wasn't affected by her anger in the least.

"It is part of the task, Minerva," Dumbledore replied calmly, looking up at the mirror with an expression she recognised immediately as triumphant. The expression was so surprising it actually made her take a step back, realising this was another one of Albus's twisted games, although this time she couldn't work out why he would have it broadcasted to the entire world. What was the point? What was going on?

The old Transfiguration Mistress had been watching with incredulity and pride as she watched her former Gryffindor fend off the acromantulas with spells Minerva had never imagined possible, and some of them were so downright vicious Minerva didn't really need to guess if Fudge would label them as dark or not. The Minister would. In Fudge's small excuse for a brain, anything he couldn't understand was either dark or impossible. There was nothing in-between, and since some of the spells were dangerous, clearly, Fudge would likely label Charlotte as dark.

Minerva doubted it would make an impact on Charlotte. She was never really seen around the castle anymore, so even if Fudge went over Amelia's head and despatched a group of Aurors to find Charlotte, it would likely not work out the way the imbecile expected.

Seeing the way Charlotte recovered the diamond without any help or knowledge from the other Champions made it obvious to Minerva that her former Gryffindor didn't care about the order for teamwork; Charlotte had already made several contributions already, so it was likely she had decided just to go it on her own for the time being.

But this….

She couldn't believe it.

She didn't want to believe it…. she could not believe nor could she even understand what, the name of Merlin, would even possess Dumbledore to even include a spectre of the Dark Lord.

At first Minerva wondered if Charlotte was making it up, even after everything she had been through today, but after a moment thinking about it and looking at Albus, she could see her hopes crash and burn.

Charlotte hadn't disguised her hatred for the spectre of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and there was even a look of smug satisfaction on Dumbledore's face. Minerva wondered, right then, just how far Dumbledore was going to go, given this latest blow.

"Albus, what have you done?" she hissed, demanding an answer instead of being fobbed off again, channelling her inner cat at the man she had once followed without question but was now starting to wonder if all those rumours about him losing his sanity were starting to have some wait after all.

Unfortunately, others had the same idea as she did.

"What is zis, Dumbledore?" Madame Maxime growled, glowering down at the Headmaster with her dark eyes smouldering with a mix of disbelief and rage.

Minerva looked at the Beauxbatons Headmistress, wondering if a teacher of equal rank would make Dumbledore provide a straight answer for a change instead of him either ignoring the question or giving a half-truth.

"What is going on here, Dumbledore?" Crouch demanded, looking dangerously at the Headmaster. "Is what Miss Potter saying the truth? Is that…him?"

"Yes, Barty," Dumbledore pressed his wand against his throat, making McGonagall realise her old friend and mentor had deliberately come up with this scheme. "That is Lord Voldemort when he was much younger."

Minerva didn't know what was worse. The fact Dumbledore had even done this in the first place, using the Second Task of the Tri-wizard Tournament which was already becoming convoluted with the different challenges in the Task, or the fact he was using Charlotte to further his own agenda. There was no doubt in her mind at all Dumbledore had planned for this to happen, and McGonagall knew, thanks to her many talks with Dumbledore over the years, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still alive, and while in hindsight her participation in the mess three years ago with the Philosopher's Stone had the potential to have blown up in their faces in so many ways, she knew Dumbledore had dedicated his life into ending the Dark Lord.

But now she was questioning his methods.

XXX

Dumbledore had to breathe a mental sigh of relief given the sonorous charm he had cast over the whole group of judges consisting of himself and the two Headteachers of two other parts of the Tri-Wizard event, otherwise, his image of an otherwise calm and wise wizard would be ruined. It was a slightly petty and pathetic reason, but Dumbledore needed to keep some of his thoughts to himself and unknowingly, Fudge had provided it.

Dumbledore was surprised Fudge had come to the Second Task, but he hoped he didn't cause any real problems for a certain Fourth Champion. He didn't have the time to look into Fudge's mind to find out what the Minister was doing, but he was grateful it was only Fudge who had spoken and not Umbridge.

He had wanted this to happen for some time, ever since he had heard from Severus how much clearer the Dark Mark was becoming, and he realised Voldemort was on the rise again. For too long, Dumbledore had been aware of the fact Voldemort was still alive out there, not dead like so many people like Fudge believed. His return was inevitable.

A part of Dumbledore wondered if his encounter with Charlotte was a reason behind the return, or if he had simply become tired of being a disembodied wraith, which was a testament of just how far gone Voldemort had gone about with the Horcruxes. But whatever the reason, Dumbledore had decided they needed allies. He had quickly worked out no-body would truly believe him if he outright admitted Voldemort was alive.

What would be the point?

Everyone believed he was dead.

Dumbledore knew including this spectre of Tom Riddle was a risk, but it was one he needed to risk. He would need all the allies he could get, and while many would still be attracted to Voldemort, either out of fear or because they knew he could give them an excuse to do what they really wanted, they would know more about him, so theoretically Albus would have more people to fuel the ranks of the Order.

Albus closed his eyes and he reopened them quickly while he watched the mirror. He could see the disgust written plainly on Charlotte's face, and he knew while the girl no longer trusted him anymore, she would make this a lot easier.

She would know what he was trying to do, of course, but that could not be helped. There was no way out of that challenge until Riddle was beaten.

XXX

"This is You-Know-Who?" Cedric repeated, glancing between the other teenager who appeared to be his own physical age and Charlotte, completely unsure of how he should react to this. "But how?"

"This cannot be him!" Krum argued.

Riddle smiled and he took out a wand, ignoring Charlotte who stiffened, and he used the wand like a stylus. With it, he wrote in the air in fiery writing

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.

Riddle swished his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves. Now they read;

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

"This isn't the Voldemort I know; he started out like this, and then he changed," Charlotte said, puzzled about why this version of Voldemort was so open with revealing the truth about himself when he had never gone to the effort in the past.

"But my father described him," Fleur said, looking at Charlotte with a desperate scepticism the younger witch was irritated by, even with the proof in front of her, but she pushed it aside, guessing Fleur was only asking because she was trying hard to convince herself and indeed, she sounded desperate. "This guy doesn't look anything like him-."

"He used rituals and other forms of magic to change his appearance," Charlotte replied. "I don't understand why, but when he began his campaign of genocide, he appeared to be the bastard son of a human and a snake."

Riddle's smug expression of triumph which had been there since he had revealed the name he had oh so cleverly created for himself vanished. "I am pure-!"

"Then why didn't you just go for your ordinary name, Riddle?" Charlotte asked, hoping the egomaniac here had the big mouth she remembered from her last encounter with this particular version of Voldemort and took the bait.

She was torn between her desire to just get this mess over and done with and at the same time deciding to throw Dumbledore a bone with this one. She had a good idea about his motivations behind this. Ever since the Dark Mark was seen over the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, she had wondered if Voldemort really was making a comeback even if the Death Eaters were said to have run away from the Dark Mark.

But if she were honest with herself, Charlotte could happily say she did not really care if she played one of Dumbledore's games in this case, but it would be a punch in the nose from her. Not only would tidbits of Voldemort's history be revealed, but his followers would be seeing it as well.

Dumbledore might want people to get along and play his games, but she wanted the hard facts.

Riddle's expression turned dangerously insane. "What? Use the name of my filthy muggle father which my weakling mother gave me? The stupid bitch; she used a love potion on a muggle, and when she stopped, she thought he would still love her. How pathetic is that? And fools like Dumbledore wonder why I detest love? Love is a weakness, but then again, you don't believe that do you, Potter?"

Charlotte shrugged dismissively although she was confused about what would make any version of Voldemort go into so much detail about their collective past after he just said that crap about being pure, and she wondered if Dumbledore had purposefully made this version a bit over the top. "I've never experienced love, so I can't answer. But that doesn't explain why you're here?"

"Why, I am here to challenge you, of course, my dear Charlotte," Riddle smiled smoothly, but the look of hunger in his eyes made her skin crawl, "you have become very powerful now, haven't you, my dear. Powerful…"

Charlotte made a disgusted face. "Eww," she remarked. "Are you propositioning me? Sorry, but I'd rather not; I've got better taste. I don't date psychopaths."

"If you join me-!"

"I'd get nothing!" Charlotte finished with a derisive snort. "All of your promises are empty; you don't give a damn about your followers. I worked that out within thirty seconds of hearing you speak two years ago."

"Hold on, how did you meet him two years ago?" Cedric asked in surprise. "How?"

"Through a stupid girl who didn't use her common sense, Riddle reopened the Chamber of Secrets two years ago to finish the job he started fifty years ago."

"Fifty years ago, what happened then?" Fleur asked.

"There were a number of attacks carried out on muggle-born students," Charlotte explained solemnly as she recalled what she had discovered when she had launched an investigation into the original opening of the Chamber, "finally, a student died. Her ghost is still in Hogwarts. You'd know her as Myrtle, Moaning Myrtle. She was bullied heavily by many of the Gryffindors, and if you mention the name Dumbledore to her, well you'd better be prepared to cast a silencing charm for the miracle of silence. This thing was the reason why she now haunts the bathroom."

"Moaning Myrtle was his first victim?" Cedric asked in shock, looking at Riddle in horror.

"Yeah, but don't ask me how he found the entrance to the Chamber. All I know is he unleashed the basilisk inside on the muggleborns, but he didn't look to the long-term consequences of the decision," Charlotte spat the last few words of the sentence. "Myrtle was crying in her bathroom when she opened the door and looked the basilisk straight in the eye."

"Consequences? What do you mean?" Krum asked, looking down at the smaller girl, looking pale at the description of Myrtle's death.

"Riddle found out the school was closing in the wake of the attacks, and he framed Hagrid for them quickly; Hagrid was raising an acromantula at the time, so it lent credence to the accusation," Charlotte said, not taking her sunglass covered eyes off of Riddle.

"Hagrid?" Cedric repeated in disbelief while he looked incredulously at Charlotte, knowing other Hogwarts students would be feeling the same thing he was at this news. "But he hasn't got a mean bone in him!"

"Didn't matter to Riddle. Hagrid was merely the means to an end for him. Riddle doesn't care one way or another what happens to his victims, or even who those victims are. He's a psychopath, an egomaniacal liar. He spent years lying to the blood supremacists, giving them the crap they wanted to listen to on a plate," Charlotte turned to look coldly at the spectre of the Dark Lord who had caused so much pain and grief over the years. "In any case, no-one barring one or two likely had a few questions or suspicions about what really happened, but nothing came of it. And once he left Hogwarts, he spent decades preparing to unleash his war on the magical world, coming back as the twisted SOB we know him as. Along the way, he twisted himself, so then his former good looks dissolved away as if he'd been bathed in acid."

"Don't speak about me as if I'm not here-!" Riddle spat.

"Oh, you're here alright, Riddle. In any case, why shouldn't I? It's not as if you're arguing back," Charlotte broke off suddenly, wondering why this version of Voldemort seemed….content just standing there, listening…only interrupting at different intervals.

"But he left something behind, something that took over someone else….," Fleur said, looking at the shadow of the Dark Lord apprehensively. "All to open the Chamber again….but what is the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I don't know if it was as simple as that," Charlotte shook her head. "When I spoke to the spectre I encountered two years ago, he essentially said he just wanted to meet me; attacking the muggle-born students was just a way of passing the time. And as for the Chamber, it was built by Salazar Slytherin, one of the Hogwarts Founders. It housed a basilisk, but what the rest of the Chamber was for...I don't know."

"I….see," Fleur whispered, looking at Riddle with revulsion, but the look of fear in her eyes at the mention of the basilisk was clear in her face.

"Killing mudbloods didn't mean anything to me then, Potter," Riddle said.

"No, just like setting off a full-scale war of magical genocide means nothing to you!" Charlotte burst out, surprising the other Champions with the intensity that surprised them. "Admit it, you don't really care about the pureblood supremacist junk; you're just an angry child lashing out at the world simply because you can."

"You know nothing about me, you filthy half-blood bitch!"

"Bit hypocritical, considering you're a half-blood yourself!" Charlotte shouted, spitting her blood rank out of her mouth with disgust. "By your own sick philosophy, you shouldn't even exist! Pity you won't do the world a favour, and finish the job. Rid the human race of your filth! You are a liar. All you've done is adopt that sick blood philosophy and twist it, saying all that crap about who should be alive and who shouldn't. You're one to talk. When you do return, your bastard followers who got off for their crimes because the Ministry was filled with dicks who were easily bought, should kill you with the same level of mercy you've shown your own victims, which is none!"

"It will never happen. I am the greatest wizard in the world!"

"That won't matter in the end, not if they work together to bring you down. You see, that's the problem with the British Magical World - I don't know if it applies with the other communities about the world - everyone just wants someone else to clean up the mess instead of taking responsibility personally for some crisis. But together, everyone is strong enough to take you on."

Riddle sneered disdainfully. "Big words for a girl who prefers to be independent."

"I've been fighting for so long by myself. I don't work in teams, and in any case, I think the British Wizarding community can work together for a change," Charlotte countered. "Drop that pathetic holier than thou crap about not wanting to get your hands dirty thinking you're better than others, take responsibility for a change."

Charlotte flicked her wand at Voldemort's spectre, suddenly tired of the meaningless discussion/argument, but mostly because so she could confirm a theory of hers.

The image of Tom Riddle just..disappeared.

Charlotte closed her eye in relief, pleased her hunch was correct, that the image of Riddle was just that, a plain image and nothing like the thing she had encountered two years ago. It was a relief, really; she hadn't wanted to go through a fight.

"That was….disappointing," Krum commented.

"True," Charlotte replied, turning to face him. "But something tells me he wasn't here in the sense he was here. I think that was an illusion of the real Tom Riddle."

"Was he really like that?" Fleur asked shakily. "I've heard stories about him, and they were terrifying-."

"What? Arrogant, domineering, evil, disgusting? Oh yes. He is like that. The bastard is still alive; he drove himself on to live forever, he's not going to stop because arseholes like Cornelius Fudge believe it's impossible," Charlotte replied. "No, he's out there, somewhere. Disembodied, holding onto the corporeal world by threads, but he wants to come back. And he's not the type to give up."

The Champions looked at each other, worried and concerned. Cedric was just scared in general about the war starting up again, but he also knew Magical Britain was simply not prepared for something like that.

Fleur and Viktor's worries were the same.

Voldemort, although not the same type of Dark Lord as Grindelwald, had spread his poison, and very rarely he had launched attacks against other magical communities. It had caused a lot of trouble for British relations, given how the British Ministry hadn't learnt anything from the old war with Grindelwald.

The notion of him coming back…

The diamond suddenly glowed, vibrating slightly.

"The portkey is active again. We can leave," Cedric pointed out, sounding tired.

"Tired, Cedric?" Charlotte asked.

"A little. When I woke up this morning, I expected an easy enough task. I guess I shouldn't have, eh?"

"I don't see why you're complaining, you haven't just witnessed the spectre of someone who's haunted you for years," Charlotte retorted while she stepped close to the diamond. The others came over as well.

"Do you think he'll try to kill you?" Fleur whispered.

Charlotte sighed. "Yes. I humiliated him, so long ago…Voldemort is a powerful, experienced wizard, but his greatest weaknesses are his ego and arrogance. He believed he was on top of the world, only weeks away from taking over the Ministry," she went on, recalling everything she had gleaned from the copies of the old newspapers she had found when she had researched the war her parents had fought in, "only to mysteriously lose his power, fighting a one-year-old baby girl."

"Do you know why-?"

"No, I never found out," Charlotte's voice was sharp as she interrupted Krum's question, knowing what it was the Bulgarian had in his mind, but she didn't know why he'd come after her requiring a fidellius charm in the first place, nor did she know how he had been blasted out of his body.

But as she touched the portkey and was whisked away to another part of the task, she wondered to herself what Voldemort was doing at that moment. She had no doubt it was because of him she was in this mess in the first place, but she hoped it had pissed him off what she had just said to that version of him just now.