Blood On My Name

by sadlybeans

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was defeated as the prophecy tells, by a teenage boy who had nothing but love and friendship at his side, his reign of terror over in a single night. After darkness enveloped him, Tom Riddle woke up in his eleven year old body, with the knowledge of the future and his past mistakes… Now the question is, will that knowledge help him avoid his destiny?

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Notes:

My apologies for the long wait! I've been in vacation and hardly had any time to write down a word or two, but now that I am back I should have more time again.

Answer to Helily's review: My deepest thanks for your very kind comment, I am so very glad you've enjoyed the story despite the wild changes I've introduced at some point. It is indeed unfair only Harry ever gets to time travel! Tom is my absolute favourite character and he's much more compelling than Potter in a lot of ways, plus it is undoubtedly fun to have his adult self return to his teenage years... I hadn't seen a plot like this be used before and I was disappointed so I decided to give it a go myself. We will indeed make Dumbledore's life hell- as to his little death problem, do not worry! Without any spoilers, I can tell you I do have a happy ending planned. Again, thank you very much for reading.

.

TW; mentions of death -and mass death-.

.

.

.

.

The first two months of classes were hectic as the professors packed their schedules with as much work as possible so that they could enjoy the tournament later. Most of their classmates complained loudly about it, but Marzan was happy with working on his classes since they offered a distraction… he wasn't ungrateful for the compassion and support he had been given after his whole background was revealed, but it could get too overwhelming for him since he was used to being lonely. The attention was getting suffocating and his mood had started to sour… he hated it, he hadn't felt this emotional since he was last alive and the childish bursts of frustration were driving him up the walls, but he really couldn't bring himself to say anything about it, not wanting to risk offending his friends. And that was not counting the intense vigilance of his professors! Merlin forbid Marzan ever forgot to drink one of his daily potions.

Death had never bothered him too often before, but now it liked to be in the corner of his peripheral vision, a constant reminder of his imminent second death… the kindness of his teachers and the nurse were definitely welcomed, but the potions that were meant to fix him were slowly pumping him full of poison. The obscurial grew weaker, he didn't expect he would live much longer than a few months. Now, Marzan wasn't truly afraid of Death, not anymore, but he was annoyed; he had worked hard to get where he was now and at this rate everything might as well be over unless he decided to just kill Dumbledore at breakfast and drag him down to hell with him. Or well, limbo, as he figured he'd simply be put back in the eternal void. That would be a shame however, he really had wished he could inflict some mild torture on the old coot, at the very least.

Alas, his inner complaints and light rants to Rai had to be filed to the back of his mind when October was coming to an end, and Hogwarts finally welcomed the coming of their guests for the tournament. He did not attend the arrival since he was in his weekly checkup with Madam Magnolis, but by the time he made it to their corner of the Slytherin table he had heard of the carriages pulled by thestrals a thousand times over.

"There you are! The ceremony is about to start" Abraxas pulled him down to sit next to him and pushed a plate towards him, already full of food to his tastes. "What did Madam say?"

He sighed softly and shook his head with a lighthearted roll of his eyes as Alphard put a cup of water in front of him.

"All is going as expected" he replied calmly to ease their worries. "As always"

"You also said that before we found out about it!" Orion pointed out.

"Well yes, but—"

"You didn't tell anyone when you burnt your hand with dragon's breath last year" Tiernan raised a brow.

"I was perfectly capable of healing myself"

"You're brilliant, and so very stupid" Alphard huffed.

"I… would argue that I'm not" he replied, a light pink tinting his cheeks out of embarrassment.

Abraxas gave him an unimpressed stare and a hand landed in Marzan's shoulder, nearly causing him to flinch.

"I agree with your friends, Mr. Gaunt" Professor Dracul placed two phials in the table. "What's that I hear about dragon's breath burns?"

The vampire's red eyes narrowed at him and he snatched the phials off the table to drink them.

"Nothing" he replied quickly.

Dragon's breath could be interpreted as an actual dragon's firebreathing, but it was also the name of a very rare ingredient used in potions. It was highly volatile and highly dangerous, but Tom was an experienced potionist and he had his ways of acquiring such things… still, it came to no surprise that he had gotten some burns as his gloves were not made to handle such heat and melted away. Every single time he did something even remotely out of the expected since then, they reminded him of the incident to make a point.

The headmaster stood up and the Great Hall started quieting down, so professor Dracul leaned down to look at him closely.

"We're going to talk about this later" he promised, before straightening back up and making his way up to the main table.

Orion sniggered once the professor was out of earshot and Marzan kicked both him and Tiernan under the table.

"Thank you very much" he hissed.

He was most definitely going to get a stern talking to later— Professor Dracul was sure to tell professor Staghart, who ever since that first winter in the castle had taken it upon himself to keep a close eye on him and his general wellbeing. While the chinese professor wasn't one to get angry often, it seemed that Marzan was always able to poke at the exact pressure points to make him snap… Tom was praised as the perfect golden student, never having been in detention and never letting his grades fluctuate, but the fact he had never been punished did not exactly mean he had never been in trouble; most of the time it was hours long disappearances he wouldn't explain but which were technically not against the rules, and in separate occasions was by attempting to perform magic 'too advanced for his age'. He had tried before to express that he wasn't a child and that he was capable of looking after himself, but his professor didn't ever take it seriously… sometimes he deeply resented being trapped in the body of a teenager.

"Stop it" Abraxas declared firmly before Tiernan could get back at him.

They all reluctantly looked up to the headmaster, who had walked to the podium to address the students. He dressed in formal robes, as did all the professors, and similarly all the students were looking as polished as they could make themselves.

"Settle down, settle down— thank you. The day we have been awaiting has finally arrived… today, we are joined by the students of other two great schools of magic for the legendary Triwizard Tournament!" the students erupted into applause and Dippet nodded "Without more ado, please give a warm welcoming to Ilvermorny!"

The double doors of the Great Hall opened for the first guests, and the students turned to see in curiousity. They were lead by a man dressed in blue robes, his white hair gathered back in an elegant low ponytail, and behind him the students walked in; their uniforms were quite different from the fashion in Britain, with a closed robe over their pants, shirts and ties for the male uniform, their school emblem proudly displayed on their chest. The pants and tie were cranberry, while the robe was blue. In the case of the female students, they wore the same ensemble but with robes that reached the ground instead, and a belt that gathered it in their waist to give a more defined silhouette to the dress-like robe. As they arrived to the front of the hall Dippet greeted the headmaster, Arthur Carmine, and the Hogwarts' students clapped for them. Marzan didn't remember much about Carmine, he didn't think he had ever seen the man after the tournament.

He didn't bother to pay much attention to the formalities, drinking the last bits of his potions and downing the awful flavour with a cup of water just before Dipped announced the arrival of Koldovstoretz, and he finally looked up again.

Russia was much too big for a single school— well, in reality a lot of countries were, and they indeed often had many schools, but Koldovstoretz was the most prestigious institute in the entire country, famous for educating the Romanovs ever since the dinasty came into power. Although the tsar had been killed in 1918 along with his entire family, they had never lost their high reputation. If Marzan recalled correctly, the headmaster Radmir Savasin had been heartbroken to hear of the deaths of his favourite students, the princesses, and he fully retired from teaching since; Savasin was one of the only masters that dominated transfiguration to near perfection, unrivalled by most other masters in the world, and it had been a great loss that he refused to ever teach anyone again. The Koldovstoretz students walking behind Savasin did not wear tunics but a military-esque uniform consisting of pants, knee high boots, a closed black jacket with silver buttons and a thick grey fur coat that reached down to their knees. The female uniform was much the same, but the pants were replaced by opaque thights with a skirt on top, and some chose to wear a fur hat to complement their coats.

Marzan stared ahead to their grey coats, remembering how they had been dyed with deep red the tournament he had presenced in his previous life, the one that had seen it cancelled until 1994. Back then he was distracted in his delusions of power, but regardless of his little interest he had still shown up to see the three tasks, which were absolutely brutal. Actually, he could not quite remember the first two beyond the fact all three champions were severely injured, but the last one was… something. It consisted of a moving platform divided in hundreds of sections, pressure plates with different spells embedded into them, and as long as they decoded the correct safe path they could reach the middle and grab the cup, simple although not easy. Unfortunately, there was a terrible mistake in one of the pressure plates set close to the edge of the platform where the Koldovstoretz students were seated; when the Hogwarts champion set it off, the mechanism sank too deep and shattered the gears connecting the nearby circuits, which were fuelled by none other than dragon's breath… the result was instantaneus, a huge explosion that completely obliterated the side of the platform and set a chain reaction into all the other traps, killing all three champions and a huge part of the audience's stands on that side.

Tom had been seated on the very back, but the Ravenclaw student in front of him had been struck by a piece of flying debree right through the throat, and he saw him die right there. At least a couple dozen students of all three schools were killed, the majority russian, turned to a red mist that hung in the air of the arena, and the Triwizard Tournament was officially cancelled after the tragedy as it should've remained forever. It was the most gruesome accident related to the bloody event in all its history through the ages, even more so than the tasks during medieval times. Koldovstoretz had closed its doors for five years before they reopened their doors to new students, and Hogwarts had dwindled in student population for the remainder of his time in the castle, which on top of the losses by the war meant the castle had been considerably deserted.

"May we sit with you?"

He blinked, looking up along with his friends to see a group of three Russian students standing to the side. The one that had spoken was a beautiful young woman that was their same age, with long platinum blond hair spilling down her back in perfectly straight liquid silver, pale skin and grey eyes. She wore dangling silver earrings embedded with sapphires, as well as a ring with the emblem of a noble house. Tom would've liked to say he did not know who it was, but he did… this was Lucius Malfoy's mother, the woman that Abraxas had married down the line in his old life, Kseniya Vasilyeva. Her eyes found his and he kept his face carefully neutral as she soon lost interest in him but zeroed in on the pale green gaze of the blond sitting next to him, looking him up and down discreetly.

"Where are my manners… Kseniya Vasilyeva" she presented herself, offering up a perfectly manicured hand with nails painted with a thin layer of shimmering white. "This is Anton Makarov, and Mariya Morozova"

Orion raised an eyebrow to him when Marzan made no move to display his usual charm, clearly surprised by his blank expression and lack of response, but Abraxas filled in the gap seamlessly as the natural main leader of the group, and shook her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle" he offered politely. "Abraxas Malfoy, at your service. If you allow me, my friends here are Orion and Alphard Black, Tiernan Lestrange, and Marzan Gaunt. Please, do sit"

Her eyes shone as he spoke, not quite hiding her pleasure at the sight of who was clearly a pureblood heir of the finest quality. She sat along with her companions, right across from Marzan and Abraxas.

"I didn't expect to find a French noble here today" she commented.

"Only half French, I'm afraid. Born here, raised there"

"And your friends too?"

"All our families are of French descent, curiously enough" Alphard answered amicably, also eyeing Tom's strange reaction "Except for Marzan, whose family is Persian"

She looked at him then, and he forced a ghost of a polite smile on his lips.

He had always despised Kseniya Vasilyeva with all his being, unable to stand her elitist arrogance and snide remarks about him. In his first life, by the time he was in fourth year he wasn't outright respected by his peers, but they had already learnt that displeasing him carried harsh consequences, and they were at least civil whenever they were not ignoring his existence. Abraxas and Alphard had been polite in contrast, for whatever reason… they had always been. Vasilyeva never liked that Abraxas held a good opinion of one mudblood Tom Riddle, and she had never respected him even after his heritage was revealed, or after he became the most feared Dark Lord of all time.

It didn't seem like it would be any different this time either, despite the illusion of a pureblood heritage this time, he observed as she gave a cold smile right back.

"Interesting. You must all be really close"

"We are bound to tolerate each other, sharing a dormitory" Alphard chuckled. "Are you and your friends close, Miss Vasilyeva?"

Makarov and Morozova proceeded to nod, and explain something about their families being close and growing somewhat together, but Marzan did not bother to pay much attention, moving his food on his plate more than he ate. He hardly listened much to the conversation anymore, although he tried to participate and be as civil as he could muster up to be.

As the dinner came to an end they rose from their seats to return to ther common rooms -or in the others' case, to their guest quarters-, but he then caught sight of professor Dracul subtly gesturing for him to follow and he sighed.

"I will return to the common room later" he announced "Professor Dracul still wishes to speak with me"

Tiernan at least had the decency to look chastised.

"Sorry about that"

"Good luck" Orion pat his shoulder with only half assed sympathy.

Marzan said then his goodbyes and walked over to the dungeons, all the while running his perfectly crafted excuses through his head as he smoothed down his robes as if they were not still perfectly free of wrinkles. He almost tried to reach for Rai over his shoulders before he remembered he had chosen to stay in their room to avoid the crowd of people, so he would be alone. One more turn, and he found himself knocking on the door…

"Come in"

Professor Dracul's quarters had been renovated and redecorated once Slughorn packed up his tacky decorations, walls painted black and windows shut by velvet red blood curtains, the furniture matching the sombre vibe with very dark wood and intricate red and gold detailing. The receiving area had a fireplace that never quite warmed up the room, and three couches of red dragon leather, with an entire wall dedicated to a bookshelf enchanted to connect to the Dracul Fortress' library. A hallway at the back led to the professor's bedroom, which he shared with his husband. Once he entered, he saw both of them standing directly in front of the fireplace and he contained another sigh, closing the door with a light click and making his way over to the biggest couch, sitting down in the middle to face them.

"Well?" the vampire prompted him "Are you going to explain yourself, or would you rather I find out the truth on my own?"

Marzan considered his words for a moment.

"I know dragon's breath is a controlled substance…"

"And?"

"… and I don't have authorisation to handle it"

His eyes narrowed.

"Then, why did Lestrange mention you being burnt by handling it, hmm?"

Tom forced himself to look down at the intricate hand woven carpet to not let his defiance show.

"It was a needed ingredient"

The professor's boots moved across the room as he paced up and down, clearly irritated, but after two laps he planted himself in front of him once more.

"Who gave it to you?"

"Nobody—"

"Do not lie to me"

Marzan clenched his jaw for a moment.

"Nobody" he repeated "I bought it with my own money. I knew exactly what type of injuries can be sustained, and how to handle it safely. Unfortunately, acquiring the right gloves was completely out of my budget and reach, but I calculated the injury and decided the price to pay was not that high"

"… Not that high?" Dracul's voice was a deceivingly soft question, but with burning anger laying beneath. "The possible loss of your arm is not that high of a price? Just how stupid do you are, boy!?"

The last part was said with a shout that made the crystal phials on the potion's desk tremble, infused with the strength of the elder vampire, enough to make even Marzan flinch. In the corner of the room, barely within his field of vision, Death moved as if giggling.

"'Rhys!" professor Staghart tried to calm him down. "You can't just say that!"

He tore his arm away from his husband's grip, resuming his pacing.

"What do you want me to say, hmm!? He's not a toddler, coddling him evidently will not get it into his thick skull that he can't do whatever he wants!"

His primary urge was to stand up to the elder vampire with his head high, which would undoubtedly lead to an altercation, but he could not afford to lose his temper in such a way, he had worked so hard to leave Voldemort's short temper behind. But he did not know what to say, unable to understand just exactly what they expected from him.

"I can take care of myself" he raised his voice slightly to make himself heard, lifting up his chin to look up at the man. "It was a minor accident"

"No, evidently you cannot! Would you have ever said anything about it if your friends hadn't let it slip!?"

"It wasn't necessary!"

"Not necessary—! You little brat think you can handle everything on your own!? You know absolutely nothing!"

"That is not true, and I would appreciate it if everyone stopped treating me as if I'm made of glass!"

"Then perhaps you should stop behaving like it!"

Both of them had devolved to fully shout at each other by then, having equally messy tempers, until suddenly professor Staghart pushed his husband aside and dropped to his knees on the carpet to take hold of Marzan's arms. The look on his face gave him pause— while he had expected him to be angry -and likely he was-, more than anything he looked… desperate. Disappointed.

"How much longer is it going to take you to understand that you can't do everything? Marzan Gaunt, you're the most brilliant student this castle has ever seen, smarter than all of your classmates, perhaps even smarter than a few professors, but you are still just a child!" if he even was going to consider protesting, the hold on his arms tightened, shaking him lightly a couple of times. "You are fourteen years old, you hear me? You're not an adult yet, and all the frankly impressive knowledge you posses is not infallible. You could've died. Why do you consider your life so unimportant as to trade it as currency?"

Marzan didn't have any words to answer for once, opening his mouth and then closing it. His life was unimportant, it had already ended fifty six years in the future to his own hubris and reckless actions, he had already had his life and this was just a favour, a task given to him because he was much too stubborn to see it fail. Be it if he died by someone's hands or judgement day returning for him, the outcome was the exact same. But he— he wanted to live, even if he knew he was currently dying and that he could die not too far into the future, he wanted to live and not have to worry about stupid prophecies. He wanted to not be head of a cult and to not fight Dumbledore for the rest of his miserable existence… More than anything, Marzan now wanted to read his books, travel the world in hunt of ancient relics and answers as to where his family came from, he wanted… he wanted to not lose his friends, he just wanted to be normal. He knew he would never be, burdened by the memories of his past, but he had a unique and priceless opportunity to live his life right, and he didn't want to waste it.

But even admitting it to himself, what could be do about it? He was dying slowly, the strain on his magic started being evident and the ache in his chest where the obscurial started to agonise sometimes distracted him from class… He saw Death at least once per day from the corner of his vision, the timer was ticking fast and he did not know if he would even finish his fourth year of school. He didn't want to die… but he was dying.

"I don't know…"

And suddenly he was pulled forwards into the arms of his professor, gentle arms wrapping around him and the warm weight of a hand holding the back of his neck in a tender gesture.

"You are not alone, even if you sometimes think you are. You can ask for help any time you want, for whatever you need… Your life is completely priceless, and I need you to promise that you'll treat it like so" Marzan's eyes stung, and his fingers trembled as they took hold of the soft green hanfu. In turn, professor Staghart rubbed a hand up and down his back. "You're going to do great things one day, so don't you dare throw your life away before then"

After a moment he pulled back, and although he did not know what the man saw, his expression softened and a hand wiped away one stray tear with his sleeve.

"Can you make that promise to me?"

Marzan didn't have the words but he nodded.

He heard a soft sigh and professor Dracul moved to sit on the coffee table in front of him, just next to where his husband knelt.

"I need you to understand that as much as a genius as you are, there are things you do not meddle with until you're an adult. You may come to me for potions related questions if you must, but never act so recklessly behind our back again, understood?"

He nodded again.

Professor Staghart brushed his hair back into place and then stood up.

"Alright, let's get you to your common room"

He accepted a hand to pull himself up, and if he leaned his weight on his professor when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders to accompany him, nobody else would have to know.

.

.

The Goblet of Fire was delivered two days later by a professor representing the winner of the last Tournament, Eydís Rutdottír. Freyja's Hall, the Icelandic school of magic, had been the champion and thus they had the honour of passing on the Goblet of Fire, which in turn would later stay with the champion of this tournament… if it didn't end in tragedy once more, that is. However, it wasn't a surprise to see that other two representatives came to see the tournament… Cyrille Chaleyer was a young professor of charms in Beauxbatons and Leslie Clarke the deputy headmistress for Blue Mountain College in Australia. It was not uncommon for someone of the next tournament to come watch the current one, as the participants were chosen two tournaments in advance— the champion didn't go on to participate in the next round, so they were chosen completely at random, and then one of them would draw to see which school would host. This ensured all eleven schools had a moderately equal chance of participating after an even amount of years of waiting, and it wasn't unheard of for a school to withdraw for whatever reason to clear up space so oftentimes they participated more often than not.

But now that the Goblet was there, headmaster Dippet had more to say.

"I'm sure every student present here today is anxious to put their name forwards and be the one to win, but before that, there are things you must know" his tone was serious and even somber, the lights of the Great Hall dimmed into a tetric ambience. "Since ancient times anybody has had the right to enter their name, but the tasks of the tournament are harsh, designed to test the champions' abilities to the maximum, even the older students will have a hard time keeping up. This is an event of survival, and you must know within yourself if you are willing to sacrifice everything for glory or not… Permanent injuries are not unheard of. Nightmares that plague your dreams neither… and only if you have considered all the unimaginable dangers, then you may walk forwards and drop your name into the goblet for the upcoming week. But beware! Once you have been selected, there is no going back; the Goblet's magic creates a binding contract with the participant, forcing them to compete less they wish to lose their magic forever. Once you are selcted, you will compete"

Even with the heavy warning most students fourteen and older looked excited and started talking to their friends about just how amazing it would be if they were chosen. Marzan remembered red mist floating in the air and thought they were so foolish, for thinking it would be an event full of wonder and fun.

In the upcoming days nobody would stop talking about how they would wait for the best moment to drop their name, or how they had dropped it and were so sure they were going to be selected. Their group of friends did not talk about it but none of them seem as if they wished to participate either, and they simply sat in the room where the Goblet was waiting to observe everyone that came through. Unfortunately Vasilyeva had stuck herself and her friends to them, but he was doing his absolute best to pretend she was invisible, and so far it was working.

A professor was always in the room to observe the students coming through, and in rare occasion stop a very young student by talking to them privately, after which they always looked pale and queasy before changing their minds. Most days it was professor Dracul who kept vigilance, as his enhanced senses were perfect to keep track of everyone who came in and out, but Marzan was glad to notice he wasn't keeping an eye on him… well, to be fair, Marzan hadn't shown himself to be the type to like anything remotely related to this, even if he actually liked it. But lately, he would dream of explosions and red mist, and he could not bring himself to actually put his name in despite knowing he would likely survive the tournament without effort.

Almost exactly a week later, every student and guest returned to the Great Hall, eager to find who the champions would be. He didn't bother to hear the speech about glory and fame and whatnot, calmly turning the pages of a book on his lap, and then professor Rutdottír walked forwards as having the honour of calling out the champions.

"The first champion" she spoke making herself heard across the dead silent hall "Representating Ilvermorny…"

The Goblet's blue flames surged upwards as they turned a multicoloured beacon, and when they retreated back to their usual tamed state, a piece of paper floated down to be caught by the professor, who unfolded it after patting away at a still burning corner.

"… Gerald Maynard!"

Ilvermorny erupted into cheers and applause as a sixteen year old student rose from his seat, congratulated by all his friends and classmates. The other schools didn't fare behind, their energy being contagious. When he got to the front the professor pat his shoulder in congratulations with a few words and then he walked to stand behind the goblet next to headmaster Carmine, who nodded at him with visible pride.

Professor Rutdottír waved down her hand and the students slowly subsided.

"The second champion, to represent Koldovstoretz…"

A column of flames, and a piece of paper being caught by her before it fell back into the flames.

"… Ipatiy Yevstigneyev!"

Another roar of applause, and even some light elegant enthusiasm from Vasilyeva and her friends in their table. Like Maynard, Yevstigneyev walked to stand by Savasin, who pat his back with pride before they settled, although the Russian headmaster looked undoubtedly worried as well. The hall calmed once again and there was a dramatic pause.

"And lastly, the champion that will represent Hogwarts this tournament…"

The Goblet erupted once more in the column of multicoloured flame, and she caught the last name. The blue flames then dimmed and lessened until they were barely over the Goblet, signifying that it had gone back to its dormant state; until the next tournament came, no more names would come out.

"… Marzan Gaunt!"

He heard cheers and applause as he slowly looked up from his book, his friends staring at him in shock before their faces turned to worry at his reaction. Instantly they knew it; he hadn't put his name in. If he had, he would not be still sitting down gripping the cover of the book until his knuckles became white.

"Marzan Gaunt?"

He folded the book shut and placed it on the table, standing up silently from his face with a carefully blank expression as he made his way towards the front. As he did his eyes found professors Dracul and Staghart, although he couldn't quite read what they were thinking, and then he walked towards professor Rutdottír, grabbing the parchment she offered. There, plain as day, was his name. It was also not his handwriting, as it was put down with bold capital letters, unevenly spaced and levelled… but Marzan only ever wrote in perfect cursive, and his hand tightened around it, crumbling it. What use there was in pointing out the cheating? He was now magically bound to participate.

He walked forwards, silver blue eyes hardened with ire, and he stood next to headmaster Dippet, forcing himself not to look behind him to the head table.

That was one point to Dumbledore… and he would pay dearly for it.

.

.

After the ceremony they were guided to the headmaster's office, and he was finally able to see the other two champions properly.

Maynard was tall, with brown hair to his shoulders and half of it pulled backwards to be tied with a ribbon. His brown eyes focused on Marzan as if he was an alien, probably shocked that a fourteen year old had just decided to jump head first into danger.

Yevstigneyev on the other hand was seventeen and tallest of the three of them, with long blond platinum hair completely straight and flowing down to mid back, evenly parted on his head and without any accesories, simply a couple strands framing his face and the rest tucked behind his ears where he wore diamond earrings. He was undoubtedly handsome, sharing some of his features with his half sister Kseniya Vasilyeva, icy blue eyes staring at Marzan from a blank face in a manner that would've been unnerving to a real fourteen year old. Marzan on the other hand, faced it head on and stared right back without trouble.

He hardly paid attention to their introduction to the tournament, even as the details of the magic contract were laid out, and then they were given a schedule as to when they would have pictures taken, the examination of their wands, interviews… Marzan resisted the urge to burn that stupid piece of parchment.

Once they were dismissed for the night, he walked outside with professors Dracul and Staghart, silently making their way down to the dungeons.

"I didn't do it" he finally said after a while, staring with anger at the floor. "I didn't want to participate"

A slight pause.

"I know" professor Dracul spat, just as angry as he was "I would've seen you if you did"

The rest of the way down to the dungeons was silent, but Marzan didn't think he would sleep at all… he was going to die. He was never going to survive the tournament, not with the strain on his magic, and the very real possibility of the explosion happening again.

Death wasn't seen that night, but it might as well have been laughing right in front of his face.

.

.

.

.

* As I mentioned in the notes of chapter 4, credit for Freyja's Hall and Blue Mountain College does not come to me but to two separate reddit posts/threads about it, and they are not my personal creations. You can find the links in chapter 4's notes.

* All the information about this tournament is obviously made up, as in canon it had been cancelled way long back, but I did want to portray just how brutal it was, as it is mentioned in HP that the way they brought it back was tamer and safer than before… so I must make a dragon look like the safer alternative. I just thought that'd be more interesting.

* If there is a detailed family tree about the Malfoy family that lists Lucius Malfoy's mother… I do not care. She is not going to be wholly relevant to the story either way.

* I chose to have all three champions be men since the year is 1941 and although I've made the magical society less sexist in comparison to real life 1941, I'd imagine the female students are still not encouraged to go into near certain death situations. As well, I imagine the vast majority of the schools' population must be male due to the time.

.

Well! Counter is now at:

Tom I

Dumbles I

As you can see, I am immensely enjoying Tom's obliviousness to the fact he is indeed, acting like a reckless teenager, or that he's gone through the equivalent of being scolded by your parents. Since his upbringing was utterly horrible, he has absolutely no idea of what parental affection is like, he does not know how any of it works… for all that he's a bit of a know it all, he can also be so silly.

Oh well! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter and I should be back soon with the next installment.