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Chapter Forty One
Setting the Stage
Fae Coven hid her concern behind a small pleasant smile as she sat on the latest of several Council meetings regarding the hunt for Zhar Quelmok. As she had expected, the other eleven members of the Jedi High Council had grown uncomfortable with the disappearance of four of their most skilled Shadows with no news of their quarry.
"Isa clear to mesa dat somethin nefarious is goin on," Master Chobsu Hando, one of the more vocal members of the council, was saying, "una darku Jedi dosen defeat yoosa Shadows witha no word reachin us…"
"I agree," Fae said, subtly offering her view in a different light than what the Council would otherwise ignore, "It seems more plausible that Zhar is receiving some sort of assistance that we are as of yet unaware of."
"You are referring to this mysterious being that Sorin Kress saw flying what he believed to be a Meditation Sphere?" Master Cedmel Antross said, leaning forward and running a hand through his beard. "We still cannot jump to the illogical conclusion that the Sith survived, Master Coven."
Annoyance flittered through Master Coven's mind, but she removed the emotion from her immediately. There was no place for contention in the Council, let alone the Jedi as a whole, it was what led to such problems as this.
"Sith or no, Master Coven's thought has more merit than we previous gave credit," Master Aaro Cater said. The Bith was always quick to see and diffuse possible tension throughout the temple.
Master Isshaartu grumbled a comment, shaking his thick furry head.
"I agree," the Falleen Council Member, Ir Tangrin, added, "We've allowed far too many others to fall into danger pursuing Quelmok. If we are to continue the chase, and we must for the safety of the Galaxy if he did indeed defeat so many of us, than a Council Master will be required to oversee."
"But who should be sent?" Master Antross asked, looking around as them all.
Fae knew that she would not be chosen. As Grand Master her place was at the temple to monitor the daily activities of the Order, as well as the Council's lack of confidence in her motives. She wasn't perturbed by this, as it was a justified concern. With no hard evidence to back up her fears, she wouldn't have believed herself if in their place.
"Mesa believen Master Lalsok should go," Master Hando said. The Gungan's eyes were fixated on the holoprojection of the Weequay Jedi Master. The sternest and least social of the Council, Master Rar Lalsok was admired for his dedication to the statues of the Jedi Code over all else. He was also one of the few Jedi to master the seventh form of Lightsaber combat, the controversial Juyo.
Fae had to nod in agreement, Master Lalsok was indeed the best choice to hunt a Dark Jedi, "I agree." She voiced. Around the room, seven of the other masters voiced their agreement, while the last two, Master Antross and Togruta Master Queesa Sen remained neutral.
"Motion passed," Master Cater stated. "Master Lalsok, we ask that you continue the search of Zhar Quelmok, as well as discover the fate of Jedi Shadow Ferros Oduro and his team, if at all possible."
"As the Council requires of me, so shall I do." The Weequay Master said humbly, his image shimmering slightly.
"Very good," Master Antross said, "Council adjourned."
Fae waited for a few moments as the holos of those members who were off-world vanished and her fellows here in the temple stood, a few speaking among themselves as they vacated the Council chamber. She didn't like being so secretive with her fellow Masters, but she was pleased that a Council member had been selected to follow up from this point onward. If the Sith were involved with Zhar and his continued evasion of the Order, than Master Lalsok would be better equipped than any to hold his own.
Fae just hoped that it would be enough to convince the Council that there was more afoot here than just one fallen Jedi, but it was still a glimmer of hope, and that was more than the Genet Grand Master had had for a while.
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Remus wouldn't have known how long he languished in his little cell, if not for the four excruciatingly painful transformations he had been forced to endure. Small amounts of food and water would appear between bouts of unconsciousness, but it was little more than what would keep him alive.
At first, he had no visitors whatsoever, but sometime after the second transformation, the door had rattled a few times, revealing the worst torment of Remus' entire life. Harry, red eyed, pale skinned, dressed in black robes and exuding an aura of pure evil, visited him a totality of four times.
Remus had cried out the first time Harry had come, ranting at the boy for allowing Sirius' death and demanding to be released, but the boy had just smiled cruelly before unleashing torrents of lightning. Pain, worse than any Cruciatus curse or Werewolf transformation ripped through Remus' body as the wolf howled in agony within him.
Without a word Harry had departed soon after, leaving Remus in darkness and sorrow for what could have been several days. When he returned, Remus begged, wanting desperately to just understand why Harry had done these things. If anything, this enraged the boy more, and the dosage of lightning had been held for far longer than the first time. Remus' screams were still ringing in his own ears as the door slammed behind Harry.
It wasn't for another week or so till Harry had returned the third time. Remus chose to remain silent; warily watching the boy's every move. Harry had said nothing in reply, just stared at Remus with those deadly red eyes that seemed to burn in the semidarkness.
Remus had started to worry what the boy wanted with him, when he felt nails dragging through the inside of his mind. The chains on his arms clanked as he clasped his head in pain as muted screams gurgled forth. The wolf whimpered, also feeling the foreign invader storming through memories and surface thoughts.
Falling to his knees, Remus felt the agony relent, just as the door closed yet again behind Harry. Why was he being held here? What sort of sick game was the son of his best friend playing? The questions burned, his raw and tender mind still reeling from the mental abuse he had just endured.
The last time had been the worst of all. It was a night that the full moon was set to rise. Remus could feel it in his bones; the wolf was stirring within him. The chains on his arms would hold, as they had the previous two transformations; as they were enchanted silver, and most uncomfortable for Remus to wear. His head snapped up as the door opened, revealing Harry.
"N-no," he gasped, "Harry please, stay away from me. I'm not safe now."
Harry hadn't replied, but watched from a safe distance as the moon rose. Remus buckled, the transformation starting. Mooney lurched, sensing a human nearby, the bloodlust stirring, yet fear in his heart as well. Remus was forced to watch, unable to control his own actions, yet able to see, as Mooney snarled and snapped at the boy in front of them.
For his part, Harry hadn't reacted to the werewolf rearing to its full height and straining at the bonds restraining it. Then there was pain. Mooney howled, and Remus felt the scraping nails digging through the werewolf's mind, searching for him. Once Harry found him, the pain ceased. How had the child learned Legilimency already? He was barely fourteen at the oldest.
Mooney, enraged, strained to break the silver chains and attack, but another bust of agony rolled over them. The blue-white lightning from Harry's thin fingers was terrible to see, even through the werewolf's senses. It was unnatural, evil even, and the beast feared it even more than Remus did.
"So weak…" Harry had said, shocking Mooney again, "but I still have a use for you. Much like the body of my esteemed godfather proved to be useful."
Remus hadn't understood, barely even heard with the pants and growls Mooney was sputtering out, lying on the floor.
Harry smiled again, "Goodbye Remus, the next time you see me will probably be the last…" he said as he exited, leaving Remus to the madness of the wolf.
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Septin flexed his cybernetic arm in muted annoyance, itching to drawn his new sabers. With his original lost who knew where in some Korriban crypt, he had fashioned twin sabers under the recommendation of his master, Ocraadi Nuhok. The synthetic red crystals felt unusual to him, but the insane Togruta had promised that he would become accustomed to them with time and practice.
Other oddities that these new weapons had were the special deflection emitters, which widened the blades, which made defense from blasters and other ranged attack far easier, as well as the Kunda lenses he had claimed, making each of his sabers very strong and menacing. While obvious built for offence and attack, his weapons were well guarded against counter attack from both blasters and other lightsabers. Combined with the Jolt energy cells that would electrify the blades, they were far superior to the one the Jedi had supplied.
Now, he was trapped in a tiny shuttle with his new master, flying off to some system for what Ocraadi had called, 'bonding time'. the sickening way she had said it, all pretended, was just vile, and Septin wanted as little to do with the female as possible, not that that was going to be possible.
"Aww, is my little apprentice pouting again…" Lady Nuhok said, clicking her tongue tauntingly. "Don't worry, baby, we're going to have oh so much fun together... I might guess that by the time we return to Dromund Kaas, we'll be the best of friends…"
Septin scowled, flexing his metallic hand again. The thought of it squeezing around her throat, cutting off the mocking chatter was soothing, but not enough. "Where are we going, anyway," he said, changing the subject abruptly.
The Togruta frowned, obviously annoyed that he wasn't enjoying her escapades as much as she was, and shrugged, "Not somewhere you may have heard of before, it's the planet Gamorr, in the Opoku system of the southern Outer Rim. It's nothing special in and of itself, just a primitive world of pig-like brutes with little control, but the Brotherhood of Darkness felt it was a perfect hiding place to train their warriors. It is to this academy that we are going, to find any lost records of the Sith Marauders of old, which will directly influence your own training, along with untold others who will come after."
Septin said nothing in reply, mulling over the information. It was oddly confusing how much the Sith were taking an interest in him now, sending him on an important mission and assigning him a new master so quickly after he tried to kill Zhar. It disturbed him, but at the same time it seemed that his potential was being closely monitored by the Supreme Prophet as much as Feyd has said it was.
Their shuttle coasted out of Hyperspace into orbit of the terrestrial world of Gamorr hours later, and the lack of space technology left Septin with an idea of what to expect: primitive barbarians, operating in a near feudal society, with many clans constantly at war with each other.
"The Gamorreans once feared the Sith," Ocraadi explained as they landed in the general location of the secret Sith base, "but time and countless deaths has more than likely dulled that fear from their tiny minds. We may yet need to refresh their memories of the power of the Dark Side."
Septin smiled slightly at the thought of venting his anger on any who would dare to cross them. The short range sensors immediately picked up the approach of several large groups of natives, and Ocraadi smiled as she read the instruments, "Our welcoming committee has arrived," she said, turning to the rear of the ship where the landing ramp was located.
Septin followed; curious as to what sort of welcome the hulking Gamorreans were going to give them. There couldn't have been many off world visitors that came through here, so he had no idea what to expect.
The ramp descended, and they strode down amid the hissing of the ship depressurizing to match the world's atmosphere. The new black robe that Septin had been given to cover his arm fluttered around his ankles with every step, and casually he glanced toward where the groups of natives had been assembling.
He did not see anything close to what he expected. A full blown battle was being waged not far from where the ship had landed. Septin was sure that the groups had not been there prior to their arrival. "Interesting," Ocraadi said, "they seem to be fighting over who gets the right to approach us…"
"Petty…" Septin commented, but Ocraadi just giggled at him, "On Gamorr, everything is a matter of strength, it's a perfect representation of the Sith. Only the strongest survives to achieve their desires."
They watched for nearly half an hour before the battle winded down. Apparently two smaller clans had arrived first and began the battle, when a third, much larger army had turned up, and numbers were stacked in their favor.
While the remnants of the two smaller clans ran for their lives, the victors turned their attention to the Sith and their vessel. Their leader, a massive specimen with a huge gash across its snout approached with half a dozen warriors, all coated in blood and sweat.
He grunted and squealed in their language, pointing at Lady Ocraadi and the ship, but it wasn't anything that Septin could understand.
"Ah," Ocraadi replied softly, batting her eyes at the monstrous creature. "You think you have right to simply take out ship for scrap because you beat the other clans do you…" she simpered.
The leader grunted some more, pounding a meaty fist to its chest proudly for emphasis. Whatever the creature had said though, the Togruta found insanely funny, as she cackled uncontrollably. "Oh ho! You think you can take it by force then. Well listen here you squat-nosed brute, my apprentice could defeat you, despite being half your size!"
Septin widened his eyes at what the mad woman was suggesting, as the Gamorreans around them laughed. The leader snuffed once, before turning his beady eyes on Septin, throwing his bloody axe to the ground and charged.
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Darth Millennial held a small polite smile as he piloted the stealth infiltrator over the English countryside. None would ever notice his passage, magical or muggle, as the wizards had no knowledge of the technology, and the muggles had nothing of their own that could pick up the cloaked ship.
It was finally time, now that attention was about to be focused on Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament, for Millennial to claim the servant he created in the prison Azkaban. It wasn't as though the wizards had bothered to hide its location, so sure they were in its security.
The Ministry might be well familiar with Lord Blackmoore poking his nose in odd places for unknown reasons, but the Sith Lord Millennial was a foreign entity to them. He wasn't planning to allow anyone who saw him who could be believed to survive, and even if some did see and report him back to the Ministry, it would be blamed on Voldemort or his followers.
Setting his ship down in the wide outer courtyard of the fortress prison, Millennial waited for the Dementors and guards to approach in curiosity before lowing the boarding ramp. Hood drawn and saber in hand, the Lord of the Sith descended to the weaker creatures in menacing silence.
"Stop, no one is permitted here," one guard said, shakily pointing his wand at the Sith Lord.
The fool was silenced when his neck snapped from a quick gesture from Millennial. The other mortal guards flinched as their fellow dropped to the ground, dead without a word. Crimson light bathed the area as the dueling saber was activated, making the Azkaban guards retreat a step in shock.
"Take him out!" someone shouted, and spells lit fog covered fortress. In response, Millennial fell into the all too familiar routine of Form Three's total defense, easily batting the red lights of stunning spells away, while dodging around the long arc trails of cutting curses and black starbursts of blasting hexes, still maintaining his forward progress.
Dashing up to the first Auror, Millennial severed the man's wand arm from his torso, snapping back around to relieve the screaming head from the rest of its body. Flipping to the next, he stabbed the woman in the chest, before pivoting away to contend with the other half dozen that poured out of the offices.
It had been a long while since he himself had engaged more than training against droids and turrets. While significantly less difficult, it was none the less refreshing to battle living opponents, to feel the life energy drain away as they died. The dementors swooped overhead, but whatever hope the guards may have had about their assistance were dashed when Millennial smiled before blasting three more of them with torrents of lightning.
Thus empowered, Millennial felt his bloodlust rising, but he kept himself in check. He did not have time to dispense with every guard, as well as make it to the most secure part of the prison and back with Bellatrix. Ripping the last guard back as she tried to flee, Millennial skewered her on the end of his saber, before throwing the dead witch aside in disgust.
Retracing the path he had taken before, Millennial only encountered a slim handful of guards deeper in the prison. Each was painfully easy to dispatch, none having heard the commotion out front. Millennial inwardly scoffed at the one directional security. Bellatrix was in much the same state and position as when Millennial had previously left her.
Her hollow eyes turned to him as he approached, "My Lord," she rasped, eager pleasure hinted in her weak voice. "It's time to leave this place," Millennial said, imitating the dark wizard's voice as he slashed the bars into pieces.
The woman rose, unsteadily, but Millennial made no move to support her. Already he was darting around, depositing clues to lead any investigators to conclude that the witch had escaped on her own, and not due to outside influences. The other nearby prisoners were cowed into silence by the Sith Lord's dark aura, and offered no distraction as they started the slow journey back to the outer courtyards.
No other guards revealed themselves, and Millennial guided Bellatrix past the dementors that glided down to bar their way. Thankfully, their powers' ineffectiveness on Millennial caused them to hesitate and focus completely on him. If not for his surety that the dark vortexes would be impervious to any Force based attack he would have attempted more offensive means of waylaying them, but things as they were he merely maneuvered the witch past them and into his ship without their notice.
In her state, Bellatrix merely looked around owlishly, much like Veneficus when he first set foot consciously on the vessel. Millennial, not wanting extra questions from the witch that may damage her trust that he was indeed her beloved Master, moved forward and touched her between the eyes, overloading her senses and rendering her unconscious.
Millennial left her for the medical droid to recover, and strode quickly to the cockpit, igniting the engines and lifting off. Rotating to face the prison they had just exited, Millennial smiled as he fired two photon torpedoes, blasting a massive hole into the complex. That would give the wizards something to think about, further distracting them from the truth. Setting the cloaking and autopilot, Millennial returned to check on his newest guest.
Geeaych-Seven had gathered the debilitated woman into the medical bay, and was running diagnostic scans of her vitals as Millennial arrived. "Report," the Sith commanded, and the droid responded immediately.
"Medically, she's remarkably healthy for her situation. Underfed and dehydrated to be sure, but the real damage is to her mind, years worth of psychological torture that have caused derangement and a massive list of other complexes to manifest. Nothing that rest and a calm environment couldn't cure, but even still it would be a long and difficult road to recovery."
"Her mental state is secondary to her health right now, make certain that her body is in top condition. Otherwise just leave her unconscious till we arrive." Millennial commanded as he turned to leave, not bothering to listen to the droids affirmative. There was little for him to do until they returned to Blackmoore Manor, so the Lord of the Sith returned to his personal chamber on the ship to mediate.
In the seclusion of the dimly lit room, Millennial cast his mind back in the direction of the manor, seeing in his mind's eye the goblins of Gringotts, pouring through notes and parchment in their bank. He recognized one, Griphook by name, holding an ancient tome in hand, comparing it to more notes laid out before him. There was something up with the little green creatures, something that had to do with Millennial himself, and the Sith had a keen insight that the goblins may have wised up far quicker than their human counterparts regarding his true identity.
The book slowly drifted back into view of his senses, detailing about men from the stars that rode within beasts of metal and flame, an archaic description of visitors from off world no doubt. And coordinating that with the information from the Ork, Gor-lak, Millennial guessed that the goblins had records about the visits of the Je'daii from centuries previous. If they were so quickly making the distinction between that and himself, the Sith were clearly and immediately threatened by the goblin nation.
They had scant time still, as the goblins knew more of the danger that Millennial potentially posed than others, and would tread most carefully, which allowed for Millennial to formulate a strategy to disrupt their scheming until the right opportunity to strike revealed itself.
This world was slowly awakening, in part, to the knowledge of the Force and its differences, but Millennial and Veneficus would only allow it to happen on their timescale, not anyone else's.
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Albus spent the first few weeks of term coordinating from Alastor on the best way to monitor Harry without the boy's knowledge. With his eye, the retired Auror could see through walls up to his normal vision range, which for a man his age was still impressive. It could also pierce invisibility cloaks and disillusionment charms, as well as ignore most other forms of magical concealment. Yet still, there were potential blind spots, not that Alastor would admit to them.
Albus felt very relieved that his old friend had agreed to come assist him in this desperate hour. More than most, Alastor had trusted Albus during the first war, and had come out of it mostly unscathed, the majority of his injuries being in hunting down Death Eaters that had evaded justice after their lord's fall.
But still, the man enjoyed his time to himself, experimenting on Merlin-knew-what in his secured home. Rumor had it that his eye was truly one of a kind, and that Alastor had built it himself, with small assistance from muggle technology no less, but Albus wasn't one to pry into the slightly paranoid Auror's business.
Together they had agreed that teaching the fourth years about the Unforgivable Curses would give them the excellent opportunity to cast the Imperius Curse on the boy, in hopes to reveal information about Harry being dark, but unfortunately the boy had completely resisted the effects of the curse altogether.
It truly seemed that their options were being funneled toward the Tournament which, while Albus had been eager to throw a seemingly dark Harry into on the eve of Sirius' death and Remus' disappearance, he was now having second thoughts. Did he really want to risk Harry life just to potentially save him, along with everyone else?
'For the Greater Good, Albus, just as you said so many years ago…' taunted the memory of Gellert in his mind. Closing his eyes, Albus tried to think of any other option. He truly cared about Harry's welfare, even if he made many mistakes in the past. Arabella Fig had mention the neglect and abuse that the boy had gone through while he lived with his relative, but he hadn't come up with a stronger protection.
Had he allowed fear for Harry's safety from Voldemort cloud his judgment towards Harry's immediate safety and happiness?
Scouring the doubt from his mind, Albus steeled himself. He was the leader of the Light, the opposing force to Voldemort and dark wizards everywhere. It was too late to change the past, Albus could only proceed with what he knew to be the right thing. And currently, that involved revealing Blackmoore to be the dark wizard that he was, and wresting Harry from the man's control.
And if that required placing the boy in danger once again, unfortunate though it was, it was needed. Now it was almost too late to turn back, with the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arriving in mere moments.
He was already privy to the means and rough times of the delegations arrivals, but for the sake of the students he hadn't made that information public, hoping to surprise them with how their foreign friends wanted to impress them.
As the grounds started to darkened with the approach of evening, Albus scanned the skyline, until he spotted the dark speck on the horizon, "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approached!"
"Where?" many of the nearest students said eagerly, looking this way and that, not knowing what to expect.
Many different pronouncement of what the vehicle of choice was, once the students spotted it. Albus chuckled to himself as the gigantic, powder-blue carriage landed with a resounding crash on the grounds near Hagrid's hut. The dozen winged palominos pawed the ground tiredly, swinging their massive heads as they looked about for refreshment.
The door opened, and one of the students of the French school jumped out to unfold a stepladder, before springing back in respect of his Headmistress. Madam Maxime looked as large as ever, and Albus led the students in respective applause, welcoming their guests.
Face relaxing to a gracious smile, the dear Madam was somewhat sensitive about the impression she had on some people, the Headmistress strode forward toward Albus, offering her hand, which he kissed in welcome. "My dear Madam Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr," she said in her deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," Albus replied politely.
"My pupils," the woman said, waving her hand behind her, well over the heads of her dozen boys and girls, all dressed in the same powder-blue color that the carriage was painted. Many were wearing scarves or shawls, as the warmer weather of France was quite different this time of year.
"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxine asked, turning back to Albus.
"He should be here any moment," Albus replied serenely. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"
"Warm up, I think," the French Headmistress said, glancing back at her shivering students again. "But ze 'orses..."
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Albus interjected, knowing full well that Hagrid would relish the chance to care for such creatures, until he met the dear Madam that was. Albus was more than certain that Hagrid more than anyone would be enchanted by the Madam's statue and features, as the man had never met another part giant in his life.
"My steeds require... er... forceful 'andling," Madam Maxime said doubtfully, unaware of Hagrid's size or way with animals. "Zey are very strong..."
"I assure you that our Hagrid will be more than up to the job," Albus reassured.
"Very well," she replied, bowing slightly in thanks, "will you pleasse inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"
"It will be attended to," Albus said, bowing in return, before motioning toward the castle.
"Come," the Headmistress said to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted respectfully to admit passage to the warmth of the castle.
It was only a few more minutes before the Durmstrang group arrived, the smooth surface of the black lake churning and sloshing to reveal a ship from the depths, bobbing slightly to the top and beginning to glide toward the near bank.
"Dumbledore!" Igor Karkaroff called heartily as he led his dozen students up the slopes from their ship. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Albus replied, shaking hands with the man. Knowing his checkered past as he did, Albus was warm, but not overwhelmingly telling in his words or movements.
"Dear old Hogwarts," the man continued, looking up at the castle and smiling unconvincingly. The man was cold and detached, regardless of what his actions portrayed. "How good to be here, how good... Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."
Albus didn't, even if the man was using the famous seeker as a trophy for his school. Beckoning for his students, Albus led them all into the warmth of the Great Hall, chatting neutrally with the Durmstang Headmaster.
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Veneficus surveyed the Hall with a casual glance. The foreign students were no more special than the countless others he had seen already, and there wasn't a speck of Cosmic Force sensitivity among them. In reality, the most interesting individual among them was the shift Headmaster of Durmstrang, Karkaroff. The Sith Lord could sense the distinct magic of Voldemort on the man, and he knew that it meant at one point or another, Karkaroff was one of the branded servants of the fallen dark wizard.
Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman were also in attendance, as judges in addition to the three Heads of the respective schools. As Dumbledore welcomed Hogwart's guests, Veneficus felt himself drifting off from paying absolute attention. The old man was distracted for the moment, and Veneficus was more than aware of the Tournament and its specifics than most present.
The feast was uneventful; despite the dishes served that originated from other countries and the new company of the Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table, Veneficus found himself more desirous to just depart back to the common room so he could slip away to practice more spells to use in the coming trials that wouldn't implicate him.
When the old fool finally shut his mouth and dismissed them, Veneficus slipped through the stream of departing people, reaching the door at the same time as the group of Durmstrang students. Karkaroff was shepherding his star pupil along, "Back to the ship then," he was saying as he passed by Veneficus. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchen?"
Krum shook his head as he pulled the massive furs back onto him. "Professor, I vood like some vine," said another nearby Durmstrang boy hopefully.
"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," the Headmaster snapped back, his false paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy…"
Veneficus paused, smirking as the group passed. "Thank you," Karkaroff said carelessly as he passed, glancing at the Sith Lord and presuming that he had paused to allow him passage. That was when Karkaroff froze, turning to stare at Veneficus. Behind their Headmaster, the students of Durmstang paused to look as well. Veneficus stared back, feasting on the fear that permeated the air around the Durmstang Headmaster.
"Yeah, that's Harry Potter…" growled Crouch, stomping up in his disguise as Moody.
The Death Eater in disguise spun around to glare at the man he believed was Alastor Moody, color draining from his face. "You!" he said coldly.
"Me," Crouch replied grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."
Without another word, Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Veneficus caught a small glance from Crouch, and knew that there was some history to be told there. But for now, he removed himself to the Slytherin common room. The boon of his previous year, the time turner, was all the more precious this year. Not only was he able to devote all its power to recreational activities, but it was the only one in the school, and no one could suspect that he had it, so long as nothing happened to reveal its existence.
The children were all chattering about the tournament and who would be chosen as Champion for Hogwarts. Veneficus was about to slip out to go train, when he spotted Zabini with Anguis. The blond Darksider glanced at him and nodded, causing Zabini to glance over his shoulder. The dark skinned boy smiled slightly.
"Oi, Potter!" called the pug nosed Parkinson from a gaggle of fourth year girls. "You going to try and enter the Tournament? Think your good enough?" the sneering tone was pathetic, and Veneficus merely looked at her as he paused.
"I don't need to enter the Tournament to prove that I'm better than you, Parkinson." He retorted blandly.
"But you are entering, aren't you?" asked a calm voice nearby. Blaise Zabini had approached, Anguis by his side. "You'll just have to wait and see I suppose," Veneficus replied teasingly, motioning to the dormitory. Training could wait if the hesitant boy finally wanted to speak with him openly.
Theo Nott glanced up from a solitary corner of the dorm, grimacing as Veneficus entered with Blaise and Anguis. "Leave us," Veneficus stated flatly, and Nott scampered, darting out of the door with book in hand. Anguis followed behind, shutting the door.
A few spells from Veneficus made certain that they wouldn't be disturbed. "So, you've come to me at last, Zabini…" Veneficus said slowly, taking a seat and watching the boy's every move.