Quest for Dominance

by The_Pessimist_Prophet

Summary:

After breaking free from his diary, the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle decides to dethrone both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. Armed with ruthless cunning worthy of the heir of Slytherin, he manipulates the youngest generation of wizarding Britain, but also has to flee his one great weakness: the soul-crushing apathy that makes his very existence feel meaningless.

Chapter 1: Imprisonment

Author's note: This story is based on the Harry Potter canon of the strictest sense: I only accept the books as canon; not the films, not Pottermore/WizardingWorld, not any video games, nothing J. K. Rowling has stated in interviews or on social media and absolutely not the Cursed Child. However, some minor details that are not mentioned in the books (such as the first names of many side characters) I have taken from the Harry Potter Wiki. In all other cases where I think I have a better idea of how things should be than Rowling has, I have used my artistic liberties.

It was total emptiness, devoid of anything that could be sensed, where a human awareness stirred. A soul had somehow entered this state that was unlike anything human beings had ever adapted to. The soul was barely able to remember life before this sensation of nothingness; it was confused and groggy as if in exhaustion. As it slowly became more aware of its own existence, it felt lingering pain. The feeling was like that of having lost a limb, but somehow on a more metaphysical level – as if the soul itself had lost some part of itself.

There was no way to keep a track of time in the void, but after what felt like a very long time, the soul became aware of one other thing besides its throbbing pain: the twisted feeling of Dark magic. There was no doubt that this void was the result of some unimaginably evil piece of magic.

Is this the feeling of death? the soul wondered fearfully. Along with this fear came the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. Death was surely the very thing the soul had tried to avoid…

All of a sudden, the soul grasped its memories that had previously been too indistinct. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle – or, as he had dubbed himself, Lord Voldemort – and his last memory before waking up in the void had been the creation of a Horcrux. He had decided to ensure his survival with the Darkest magic known to wizardkind, but… had he still died? How?

Tom searched his memories for more clues. It had been the last evening before the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. For two weeks after the death of the girl, Myrtle Warren, he had prepared the ritual that the ominous library book had taught him. The Horcrux had to be created before the return to London; it was possible that the Dark Lord Grindelwald’s Muggle minions would start a new series of air raids. Tom Riddle, the most talented student of Hogwarts in the history of the prestigious school, would not meet an unceremonious end in the dreary, apathetic world of Muggles. He had decided to become immortal even if it meant sacrificing the life of someone else, and that was how the pathetic Mudblood girl had found her purpose in life.

But it seemed the girl had died for nothing. Tom had no eyes he could see with, no ears he could hear with, no tongue he could taste with, no nose he could smell with, no skin he could sense with, he could not even sense directions… the only thing he could sense was the foul feeling of Dark magic. But how could he sense it if he was dead?

In growing panic and desperation, Tom strained in any ways he could. Very, very slowly he became aware of something… something papery? And then he realised: he was not dead. He was inside the diary he had bought from the Muggle variety store on Vauxhall Road in London. The diary that he had chosen as the container of the soul fragment that would forever be locked away to ensure his immortality.

Never in his life had Tom considered himself stupid, it was the quality of the lesser beings he unfortunately had to share the world with. Never, that is, before now. The book, Secrets of the Darkest Arts, had very clearly informed him that his soul would be split in two when creating a Horcrux and that the split part would be locked inside the container for all eternity. And yet, Tom had not realised what it so obviously meant: from then on, there would be two Tom Riddles: one living an eternal life and conquering the world, the other one languishing in the void with no hope of ever achieving anything.

There are things more terrible than death, Albus Dumbledore had said once or twice, and Tom had added naivety to the long list of the Transfiguration teacher’s faults. But now Tom was in a situation that was like death in every possible way except that he still had his awareness; not oblivion, because he still could blame himself for this fate. An eternity in the void… while Tom’s other self would live an immortal, carefree life of conquest.

A tiny flicker of hope emerged. Surely his other self would realise the terrible fate that had befallen the other soul fragment? Surely, he would want to set free someone so close to him?

Tom tried to scream, to somehow get the attention of his other self. He tried and tried for what felt like several eternities, but to no avail.

The flicker of hope was extinguished by one realisation. If Tom had been the one remaining free, he would not have felt any sympathy towards his other self. It was the other soul fragment’s purpose to be locked away.

For the first time ever, Tom hoped he was a kinder person. But he was not.

He had felt resentment. Mrs Cole, the authoritative matron of the orphanage… Billy Stubbs, the annoying child who had teased Tom until Tom had taken control of his rabbit and hung it from the rafters… Dumbledore, the judgmental hypocrite… Gellert Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who, while being something of a role model for Tom, had indirectly caused so much misery for Tom… Walburga Black, the self-proclaimed leader of Slytherin girls who had called Tom a Mudblood even after he had proven his magical superiority… all these people, among many others, Tom had resented.

But there was one who had wronged him more than all the others combined: his other self. Only he had abandoned Tom in the endless void, to a place worse by far than the orphanage.

 

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My name is Ginny Weasley.

The words disturbed the hibernation of Tom Riddle like a loud scream right into the ear. After several eternities and countless futile attempts to break free, Tom had lost hope and succumbed to such apathy that it had managed to dull even his resentment and desperation. Until words had appeared into his consciousness.

What was happening? Was there someone else in the void? Or had someone written in the diary? It had to be the case. Tom felt groggy and unfocused, but he was afraid that this contact from the outside world would stop if he did nothing.

“Hello, Ginny Weasley, my name is Tom,” he thought forcefully and somehow sensed how the words appeared on the page of the diary.

There was a pause that made Tom anxious. Had he scared the writer? Weasley was a family of wizards usually Sorted to Gryffindor at Hogwarts. Surely one of them was brave enough to endure an unusual book. This might be the best chance for Tom to free himself from this accursed prison.

Are you a book that writes back?

What a childish question. This Ginny Weasley probably was not very old, which was good: children were so easy to manipulate, and never before had Tom relied on the gullibility of someone else as much as now.

“This book is cleverly charmed,” Tom replied. “A diary is more useful when it can advise its owner on its own.”

That sounds nice. I’ve never had a diary before. I thought only lonely people write in a diary, but if the diary writes back, it’s not so lonely!

“If you wish so, I will make sure you don’t have to feel lonely.”

Thank you, Tom! Right now, I am feeling a little bit lonely. All my brothers are spending all their time with Harry and I’m too shy to even speak while he is around.

“Who is Harry?”

Harry Potter, of course! He’s the best friend of my brother Ron, and he came to visit us this summer! I really like him, but I’m so shy! He is the Boy Who Lived! He defeated You-Know-Who when he was just one year old!

“I don’t know who,” Tom messaged, starting to feel a bit annoyed.

You-Know-Who was a terrible wizard who killed a lot of people, but he couldn’t kill Harry and disappeared. That’s why Harry is so famous. I saw him last year when he was going to Hogwarts. He asked my Mum help in getting to the train platform.

Either something strange had happened, or, more likely, this Ginny girl had read too many fairy tales.

“This summer, you say?” Tom said, deciding to probe some more useful information. “You are writing on the first of January.” How Tom knew this, he did not know. He was not consciously aware of the diary as his sorry surrogate of a body, but the knowledge still was there.

I just started on the first page. It seems the weekdays and dates don’t add up.

“All right, what date is it now?”

It’s August 25^th, 1992.

He had been in the bloody diary for over FORTY-NINE YEARS?! Hatred such as nothing he had ever experienced flared in his soul. He could have conquered the world in this time. His other self should have managed to conquer the world, but somehow Tom had a feeling he had not. Apparently, in the world Ginny lived in, everything was normal. If wizards still used a secret way to get to the Hogwarts Express, Muggles had not been subjugated.

But who was this terrible wizard, You-Know-Who?

“Please, Ginny, tell me more about I-Don’t-Know-Who. What was his name?”

I can’t tell you, the name is too terrible.

“But you know the name, right? Someone told you. Surely you can tell me.”

There was a creeping sensation of fear in Tom’s soul. He knew someone who had fashioned himself a new name with the intention of making it so feared that no one would dare to speak it aloud…

All right, Tom, Ginny wrote. My brother Bill whispered the name to me years ago. It is:

There was a pause, and Tom imagined holding his breath in anxious anticipation. Then, after gathering the courage, Ginny continued in a slightly uneven handwriting:

Voldemort.

Utter, total desperation. That was what Tom felt when he learned that his other self had been defeated by a one-year-old child. Could a Horcrux be destroyed by tormenting it with embarrassment? If yes, he might even welcome oblivion. There were things more terrible than death.

 

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For the following days, Ginny told Tom various things ordinary in the life of an eleven-year-old girl: how brothers teased her, how Harry was so cute, how she would have to wear second-hand robes and read second-hand books at Hogwarts, how Harry was so cute, how she had to de-gnome the garden, how Harry was so cute, how her father collected Muggle things, how Harry was so cute…

There had been a time when Tom would have considered reading a little girl’s diary to be unbearable torment, but imprisonment in the diary had felled him so low that he actually was eager for it. Ginny was his only contact in the outside world and even her childish little problems were like a heavenly light compared to the emptiness that surrounded him while she did not write. Every time she closed the diary, he felt a wave of claustrophobia. The contact from the outside certainly had a drawback: it made the prison feel more oppressing, as if the covers of the diary were squeezing Tom with the weight of a boulder. He had to get free from this prison, no matter the cost.

Gritting his imaginary teeth, Tom played the part of a kind and understanding person. Still, every now and then he asked something about the wizarding world. He could not do it too much; even little Ginny might get suspicious if her diary suddenly asked her to copy the text of an entire history book covering all events after 1943, the year marked in the diary.

Luckily, Ginny was eager to tell about things she liked. One of them was, to Tom’s distaste, Albus Dumbledore, who had become the Headmaster of Hogwarts at some point during Tom’s imprisonment. Tom asked Ginny to tell him what was written in the Chocolate Frog card telling about Dumbledore – and he rolled his imaginary eyes when thinking about this lowly source of information. However, there was something interesting in what Ginny told him: Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald two years after Tom had locked himself in the diary, and there was no longer any doubt about who was the most powerful wizard in the world.

More difficult was to coax Ginny into telling anything about how Lord Voldemort had turned out to be such a fiasco. According to her, there had been a long period of civil war in Britain. Voldemort had been the cruel and evil leader of a group of rebels who had tried to take over the Ministry and do all sorts of bad things. They had been opposed by Dumbledore, but for some reason the great wizard who had stopped Grindelwald’s reign of terror had not been able to put a stop to Voldemort’s campaign. Tom wondered what the reason could have been, but Ginny knew too little. What she did know very well was that the war had ended suddenly when Voldemort had tried to kill the family of Potter, but vanished without explanation, and little Harry had got a mysterious lightning-shaped scar from the encounter. Harry Potter had become famous, a miraculous hero of wizarding Britain, and Ginny’s parents had told her all kinds of fairy tales about the Boy Who Lived. Ginny had developed a childish infatuation for her hero, and things had become complicated when her brother had befriended him.

Just when Ginny’s home life was becoming too tedious to read about, her first year at Hogwarts was starting. Tom waited eagerly for the change; a shy girl in a new environment far from home and parents might need more advice and comfort from a sympathetic diary. Reading about Ginny’s hopes, fears and expectations was like nourishment to Tom. Every bit of feeling shared with the diary made Tom feel stronger, and day by day his hope of eventually breaking free grew.

Ginny wrote to Tom, telling that she was aboard the Hogwarts Express. She apologised about almost forgetting to take the diary with her, and then told anxiously that Harry and Ron were nowhere to be found on the Express.

The next time Ginny informed Tom that she had been Sorted to Gryffindor and that Harry and Ron had flown to Hogwarts with Ginny’s father’s enchanted car. Then her classes had started. She told how she had not managed to Transfigure a match into a needle and how Professor Snape the Potions master was a terrifying bully. Tom always replied in a kindly manner, but while Ginny did not write to him, he was plotting his escape.

One thing was constantly in Tom’s mind: the Chamber of Secrets. He had spent years trying to find it and succeeded during his fifth year at Hogwarts. It was a magnificent place with numerous ancient statues, an immensely strong feeling a magic and a Basilisk that Tom had used as the weapon to kill Myrtle Warren. According to legend, Salazar Slytherin, Tom’s ancestor, had placed the Basilisk under Hogwarts in order to give his heir a way of purging the school of Mudbloods. However, Tom had a feeling there was more to the Chamber of Secrets; surely the cunning Salazar Slytherin had planned the Chamber for other purposes besides being just a lair of a deadly monster.

Ginny had trouble making friends, and she complained about it to Tom frequently. A significant factor probably was Ginny’s habit of writing a diary every evening, but Tom did not give her the obvious advice. Instead, he played the role of a helpful diary that happened to know much about the subjects Ginny studied. As he claimed the place of the only being that understood Ginny and was always patient and supportive, he also claimed a firm hold over her. It was time to try the one thing Horcruxes were good at: possession.

On the first Saturday of Ginny’s first year at Hogwarts, she sat down in the library and completed all of her homework with Tom’s help. Then, because the helpful diary seemed to be in a good mood for a conversation, they wrote to one another for several hours. Tom asked especially about Ginny’s feelings: about the things she had learned, about teachers, classmates, food and Hogwarts in general. Each of her replies gave a new dose of power for Tom, and as it became dark and Ginny was becoming sleepy, Tom used the strength he had gathered and invaded her mind.

Tom did not see through Ginny’s eyes as he had hoped; he saw Ginny’s mind as though through Legilimency. Ginny was in a trance and simply stared into nothingness. Even though it was quite indirect and indistinct, it was better than anything Tom had experienced in over forty-nine years. He ordered Ginny to stand up and walk, and she did.

Jubilant about this progress, Tom made Ginny walk through the familiar corridors of Hogwarts into the girls’ bathroom where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was hidden. It was time to revisit Salazar’s hideout and plan the next steps leading towards Tom breaking free, Dumbledore being killed or at least flushed from Hogwarts and the mystery of Harry Potter being solved.

Speaking in Parseltongue through Ginny was difficult, but doable. Once down in the Chamber, Tom woke the Basilisk up from its deep slumber. The magnificent serpent greeted Tom with a hiss, flexed its muscles and slithered into the shadows in order to find something to eat. Tom ordered Ginny to walk around the Chamber and made sure that everything was as he had left it. If his other self had visited the Chamber after the Horcrux ritual, he had not done there anything easily noticeable. No messages or anything had been left behind; not that Tom had expected it, but it certainly would have been interesting.

Controlling Ginny was mentally taxing, and Tom had to accept it that he would need to gather much more strength before he could try something bigger than this. Also, Ginny might suffer a headache after a long possession, and he did not want her to get wary or suspicious. He guided Ginny back to the school and let go of her mind. The girl was confused, but sudden falling asleep and sleepwalking were not things that would have made her suspect her diary of anything sinister.

Tom had tasted a tiny bit of freedom, and he hungered for more.

 

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As Ginny’s first year at Hogwarts progressed, she was feeling increasingly stressed and exhausted. Little did she know that it was the diary that drained her strength bit by bit as she wrote in it. Tom felt stronger by the day, and as Hallowe’en was nearing, he decided to start the show that would add some nice extra excitement to the holiday. It was public service, really.

All students and members of the staff had gathered in the Great Hall when Tom, possessing Ginny for the second time, brought the Basilisk up from the Chamber of Secrets. The first victim would be the annoying cat of the school’s Squib caretaker; Tom certainly did not want the school to be closed, and therefore the show would have to start with a relatively mild demonstration.

The Basilisk thrust its head through the doorway of the girls’ bathroom and stared at the cat with its deadly eyes. However, the cat was sniffling something on the floor and happened to see the reflection of the Basilisk’s gaze on the surface of a puddle of water on the corridor floor. She froze in more than just terror, not dead but petrified, and Tom sighed internally. It did not make the heir of Slytherin seem particularly fearsome if he was thought to be either unable or unwilling to kill even a cat. But it was a small shortcoming that would be rectified later.

Tom put the cat on display and raised Ginny’s small hand to write on the wall the most menacing thing she ever had:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

Afterwards, Tom allowed Ginny to attend the feast in the Great Hall and withdrew back into the diary, waiting eagerly for Ginny’s report on the school’s reaction.

As Tom had hoped, Ginny was afraid, and her fear made her an even easier prey for him. He did not feel as exhausted as after the first possession, and that meant his plan would accelerate. The next thing was removing all roosters from Hogwarts; them being lethal to a Basilisk was almost certainly just a wishful legend, but it was better not to take chances.

As Tom made plans for the next steps towards his freedom, he imagined a debate between his cautious and calculative sides, as he sometimes did. It helped him to plan his actions thoroughly.

I must not risk the school getting closed, said his cautious side. The level of danger must be increased slowly in order to avoid any rash decisions from Dumbledore. That means no one must die for now.

Besides, at the moment, my objective is to get free, not to purge the school of the unworthy, said his calculative side. Petrifying some seventh-year student wouldn’t affect Ginny that much. The first human victim must be someone whose petrification will upset her badly, but not so badly that her parents would take her out of Hogwarts. Therefore, Colin Creevey.

Tom had grown tired of reading Ginny’s stories about her Mudblood classmate. Removing him would make her totally vulnerable to Tom’s influence.

After Ginny’s dear Harry was taken to the hospital wing due to a Quidditch accident, Tom hinted to Ginny that it would be a great idea to take a bundle of grapes for the young hero. As he had expected, Ginny was far too shy to do so herself, and Tom presented his plan of delegating the task to Creevey, an equally avid fan of Potter’s as Ginny was. Tom told her how to enter the Hogwarts kitchen, and soon the two gullible first-years were on their way – until, that is, Tom possessed Ginny and piloted her to the Chamber of Secrets once again while Creevey fetched the grapes from the kitchen.

Creevey stood alone in a dark stairway wondering where Ginny had disappeared when Tom hissed the command to the Basilisk to enter the stairway and petrify the Muggle-spawn. The young boy yelped in shock, or maybe it was excitement, because he immediately raised his camera in order to take a picture of the scariest thing he had ever seen. It was such a show of Gryffindor-ish bravado that it almost earned Tom’s grudging respect. Tom had prepared to conjure a mirror for Creevey to see the Basilisk’s gaze indirectly, but the camera’s lens worked just as well.

As Creevey’s statue-like form was lying on the stairs, Tom sent the Basilisk back to its lair. Every bit of freedom made him hunger for more, and every moment under possession made Ginny weaker and more malleable. He estimated that it would take mere months before he could force Ginny to drain her life-force into the diary so that he could return to life.

 

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“What does this mean, Albus?” Minerva McGonagall asked urgently as she, the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey were standing around poor Colin Creevey in the hospital wing. They had just witnessed the melted film of the boy’s camera and wondered what magic might have caused it.

“It means,” said Dumbledore, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.”

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

“But, Albus… surely… who?”

“The question is not who,” he said, his eyes on Colin. “The question is, how…”

Dumbledore looked at the remains of the camera and frowned.

“I am afraid there is nothing we can do for Mr Creevey at the moment,” he said. “He must stay here in your care, Poppy, until we can revive him.”

Slowly, the Headmaster left the hospital wing, his eyes still focused on the camera.

“What do you mean, how?” McGonagall whispered as she followed the Headmaster. “Are you saying you know who is behind this?”

“I cannot know for sure,” Dumbledore said. “But I think we must assume the worst; that it is the same person as it was fifty years ago.”

“Hagrid was expelled because of it, but you can’t seriously suspect…”

“No, of course not. Rubeus was just another victim, a convincingly framed scapegoat. Later events have assured me that the real heir of Slytherin is Tom Riddle, a Slytherin prefect at the time… who later became known as Lord Voldemort.”

McGonagall drew a sharp breath.

“But… how?”

“That is the question I just asked, my dear,” Dumbledore said with a sad and weary smile. “But let us not forget that mere months ago he tried to use Quirrell to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from this very castle.”

There was a short, tense silence. For a very short moment, Dumbledore enter­tained the idea that the Bludger that had solely targeted Harry Potter was Voldemort’s Horcrux. But no; even if Voldemort had hidden a fragment of his soul in Quidditch equipment, it would not have made its dislike towards the Boy Who Lived so clear.

“Albus… I fear we might need to close the school,” McGonagall said in a voice both firm and wavering at the same time.

“Alas, that might not solve our problems,” said the Headmaster. “Nowhere else in Britain do we have such a powerful nexus of magic that we can use to power the protective enchantments a school needs. And even if we were safe from Slytherin’s monster lurking in the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort would find other ways of offence. Last year he smuggled a mountain troll in. If Mr Creevey had encountered a monster of that kind, there might not have been anything left of him for us to find. Sherbet lemon.”

They had arrived at the entrance of the stairs leading to the Headmaster’s office.

“Then… what can we do about the situation?” McGonagall asked.

“We must be vigilant and try to fathom Voldemort’s objective this time. It is possible he thinks the Philosopher’s Stone is still within this castle, although, if that were the case, he surely would not want to announce himself as openly as this. Could these attacks be just a distraction? Or does he want the school to be closed so that he could freely unveil more secrets of Hogwarts?”

McGonagall stood silently, deep in thought.

“But there is more,” Dumbledore said. “As you know, the Chamber of Secrets has intrigued me for a very long time. This latest offence by Voldemort might give us the opportunity to get to the root of this problem and find whatever Salazar Slytherin hid far beneath these hallowed halls. I will contact the Department of Mysteries and ask help from Alastor; if anyone, he can find hidden things. Eventually, Salazar’s secrets will be revealed.”

They parted ways, and as he was going up the stairs alone, Dumbledore’s expression hardened. In the office, he looked from one portrait of his predecessors to the next, wondering if they knew anything of use to him. Most likely not, he mused. Each portrait only had the memories the Head portrayed in it had decided to store for the use of their successors, and usually they had not bothered to store much; no Head should rely on the wisdom of their predecessors too much. Then, Dumbledore looked at a chess board on a side table.

He had used it for decades to symbolise the strategic situation of wizarding Britain. At the moment, white pieces dominated the board; only a few black pieces were there, representing Lucius Malfoy, a bishop, and other former Death Eaters, pawns, who still supported Voldemort’s agenda despite their insistence that they had only served the Dark Lord because of the Imperius Curse. Dumbledore pondered for a few moments, but then decided that he did not know enough to move any piece.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 2: Path to Freedom

Harry Potter was a Parselmouth. That was the most interesting piece of information Ginny had told Tom in months. And Tom could not help but wonder if the miracle boy’s confrontation with Lord Voldemort had ended as it had because of the powers of two heirs of Slytherin clashing. There was no way to be sure.

Tom, while staring into the void of his prison, noticed how his interest towards the vanquisher of his other self was turning into obsession. Just like how he had been obsessed with the creation of a Horcrux, he now obsessed with the boy who might present a danger to his existence. Such dangers had to be eliminated.

Well, there was at least one thing people enjoyed: watching a hero fall. And it so happened that Tom had experience with framing someone of crimes they had not committed. Already some people suspected Potter of being the heir of Slytherin after he had been witnessed speaking to a snake threatening a Mudblood in a duelling club. Tom knew exactly who his next victim would be… and there was a good chance it would spark a scandal that would ruin the boy who was the symbol of resistance against Lord Voldemort. Yes, that was exactly how it should go.

Tom possessed Ginny, but did not take her to the Chamber of Secrets at once. First, he had to do some research about the timetables of Potter and Justin Finch-Fletchley, the next victim. The next attack had to take place in daytime, which was risky, but the only way to make sure that Potter would not have an alibi. Once Tom had chosen the timing of the attack, he prepared the Basilisk for a quick attack and flight from the scene.

Things went even better than Tom had hoped. The Mudblood had been walking down a corridor alone save for the ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, and he was not killed because he saw the Basilisk’s eyes through the ghost. Tom had actually aimed for another petrification, because it seemed more in character for a twelve-year-old than murder. And it was a miraculous stroke of luck that it was Potter who happened to find the petrified Mudblood. The Hogwarts rumour mill would surely turn that into Potter having been caught red-handed.

Tom enjoyed it thoroughly when Ginny explained the aftermath to him. The possession had left him exhausted again, but now he had time to rest for some time. If Potter really was the heir of Slytherin, he obviously would lay low after most people were convinced of his guilt.

As malicious rumours spread, Tom congratulated himself for all but destroying Lord Voldemort’s miraculous vanquisher while being trapped inside a book. He had been impressed by much less impressive feats. His other self was a lousy bungler compared to him!

 

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As usual, Ginny’s reaction to the increased tension at Hogwarts was to seek comfort from her friendly diary, but as most students left the castle for Christmas, she relaxed. She had not homework with which Tom could help her, and for the first time, he was the one initiating a written conversation. Apparently, she had found some new things to occupy her time with, and he feared her attachment to the diary was loosening. He even helped her to rhyme a poem for a Valentine’s Day card for Harry, a poem that was so awfully syrupy that even thinking about it made Tom’s insides churn with disgust. That was really concerning, because he did not even have insides. But even after that, he could feel fewer feelings nourishing him.

January came, classes resumed, and an unnerving silence came over the diary. Tom felt the covers of his prison like an oppressive straitjacket. It was worse than before, and once Ginny finally wrote in again, it felt to him like a gust of fresh air after a dangerous submersion. But this time Ginny had questions.

Who are you, Tom?

He was slightly taken aback by this question. She had clearly grown suspicious of something, and a simple “I am your diary” would most likely just make her even more so.

“I am a book enchanted to contain memories and information,” he replied. “My previous owner put so much of himself into this book that I inherited something akin to a personality from him.” That was technically true, but told in a way that made it seem quite innocent.

So, you are a real person?

“That, I think, is a question of how you define the word person. I certainly consider myself one. So do many portraits.”

There was a very long pause, but Tom could feel Ginny’s hands still holding the diary.

You know how to access the kitchen. And you know much about magic. Was your previous owner a student here?

“Yes, he was, a long time ago.”

Why did he stop writing to you?

“I don’t know. I can tell you, it was quite horrible for me.”

Another long pause. Then, as the next words were written, Tom sensed an unmistakable sensation of fear.

Sometimes after I’ve written to you, I feel exhausted. A few times I’ve been sleepwalking.

“But that happens after you write essays too, doesn’t it?”

How did your previous owner put something of himself into you?

“It happens all the time with everyone with everything. Surely you have noticed how your wand answers to your commands more easily than at the beginning?”

My wand doesn’t talk back. Am I putting something of myself into you?

“You have shared quite a lot of your thoughts and feelings with me. How could I not take in what you share with me?”

The sensation of fear was turning into alarm. Then, after several minutes of total silence, the covers of the diary were violently slammed shut. Tom cursed himself for appearing too intelligent, but before he was able to try to take control of Ginny’s mind, there was a flood of water. It was not a big deal; water was nothing to a Horcrux, but the loss of a gullible victim was very bad news. But he did not lose hope; little girls were often impulsive, and more likely than not she would get regretful and retrieve the diary.

However, when Tom felt the diary being picked up again, it was not the familiar feeling of Ginny that he could feel from the hands. Tom waited eagerly for a new contact.

Whoever the new owner of the diary was, he or she did not try the obvious course of action that was writing in the diary. Instead, Tom felt some feeble spells used on the diary. He would have liked to just write something but considered it too risky. A book that wrote back was suspicious enough for more experienced wizards, let alone one that started the conversation itself.

And so, a deep silence came upon the void in the diary. Every now and then Tom felt the diary being handled, but no contact was made. Fear was creeping into him that he would be forgotten just like before.

 

---

 

Ink!

Tom’s fearful anticipation of another forty-nine years of sensory deprivation was interrupted by a splash of red ink all over the diary. It was a sign of hope; the diary was able to absorb ink, and maybe it would inspire the new owner to experiment with the strange phenomenon.

That was exactly what happened some time later. Hands opened the diary and then there was a drop of ink on the page of the first of January. Tom prepared in excitement, but the words that appeared in his consciousness were worthy of an internal celebration.

My name is Harry Potter.

Tom had no idea what kind of providence had taken his side, and he happily replied to the Boy Who Lived.

“Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”

Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.

So, that had been Ginny’s idea of getting rid of a possibly vampiric artefact that could think by itself. One could have expected more from a young witch with magical upbringing.

“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

What do you mean?

“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

That’s where I am now. I’m at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?

Tom could feel Potter’s excitement; it was flowing into the diary with every word he wrote.

“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets,” Tom replied and proceeded to tell about the events of his fifth year at Hogwarts. Potter’s intrigue just kept growing, and Tom began to think that using him instead of Ginny might be a quicker way to freedom. He wanted to make this interaction very immersive for Potter and offered to show him a memory.

“Let me show you,” Tom wrote.

OK, was Potter’s reply.

Tom strained his mental might and invaded Potter’s mind in a similar way he had possessed Ginny; Potter’s consent made it quite easy. He did not try to take control of his new victim, just offered him thoughts as though through Legilimency.

He showed Potter a carefully tampered memory of the aftermath of Myrtle Warren’s death: Tom’s conversation with Headmaster Dippet, his brief encounter with Dumbledore and the discovery of Rubeus Hagrid with his pet monster. While Potter was immersed in the memory, it was easy for Tom to sense his feelings. Potter felt sympathy for the other half-blood orphan who was afraid that Hogwarts would be closed, then he was shocked and dismayed upon learning that Hagrid supposedly had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets.

But just when Tom was beginning to hope that this interaction could proceed towards his resurrection, it stopped. Immediately after Potter and seen everything Tom wanted him to see, he put the diary away. Tom waited eagerly, his imaginary fingers itching to take a choking grasp on Potter’s life-force, but the opportunity did not present itself.

He hoped that Potter would return to enquire more about the Chamber, but when the diary was opened the next time, to his massive disappointment, he felt the unmistakable feeling of Ginny.

Hello, Tom, the little girl’s handwriting greeted him.

“Hello, Ginny,” Tom replied. It was remarkably difficult to play the role of a kind and understanding diary. “You haven’t written to me in ages.”

I was afraid of you. Lately I’ve felt myself much livelier, and I wonder if writing to you made me so tired. One day I saw that Harry had found you, and I was terrified. Boys should never read what girls have written in their diaries!

“It’s not like he could just read what you’ve told me.”

Did you tell him anything?

“Nothing about you. He only wrote to me once and asked about some Gryffindor-ish adventure stuff.”

Boys! Anyway, now I’ve got something really interesting to tell you! I saw Percy kissing Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect!

She proceeded to tell everything she knew about Penelope Clearwater to Tom, and she knew much, much more than Tom could endure. None of it contained feelings that Tom could have used as nourishment. It did not take long for Tom to start hating Miss Clearwater and her guts with a burning passion. After what felt like a library’s worth of disorganised trivia and gossip, Ginny finally asked,

Do you think Penelope will become my sister-in-law?

“Yes, I think so,” Tom said. “Let’s hope nothing bad happens to her.”

Unfortunately for Miss Clearwater, bad things happened to people at Hogwarts that year, especially to people who had even indirectly caused annoyance to Tom.

 

---

 

After having been updated about what was going on at Hogwarts, Tom decided to time the next Basilisk attack on a day there was hassle due to a Quidditch match. Penelope Clearwater stayed in the library until the last moment, diligent student as she was, but as she was leaving, she faced the Basilisk. Tom, controlling Ginny in the corridor and keeping watch, chuckled in a high-pitched girlish voice. However, the Basilisk had something to tell him afterwards.

“Mirror,” the massive serpent hissed in a disappointed tone.

“What?” Tom hissed in reply.

“The girl used a mirror to look around the corner. She was just petrified.”

Was the alleged spirit of Hogwarts itself somehow protecting these victims? Tom walked faster with Ginny’s short legs and frowned. Why would anyone look around a corner using a mirror? Had Miss Clearwater somehow known that there was a Basilisk coming for her?

“This is getting risky,” Tom said. “I think we must try something different next time. The time for my ultimate plan is getting near.”

After the Basilisk was safely on its way down the pipes towards its lair, Tom guided Ginny out of the castle and let go of her mind. As always, he would be informed about the aftermath once the waste of time called Quidditch would be over.

It turned out that the Basilisk had petrified another student as well, a Gryffindor girl with whom Ginny was on friendly terms. Since she was a Mudblood, everyone assumed she had been the intended victim and Clearwater, a half-blood, collateral damage. It was better that way, Tom mused, since Ginny’s suspicions might have sparked again due to Clearwater having been targeted so soon after Tom had learned many things about her. He had acted too much on emotion.

There was terror among the students, Tom could feel it. Ginny was shaken and sought comfort from her diary. Once she told Tom the shocking news, he erupted into an internal celebration: as Dumbledore had failed in safeguarding the children placed in his care, the Hogwarts board of governors had decided to suspend him. The Headmaster had left the school in disgrace, and also Hagrid, whom Dumbledore had employed as the groundskeeper, was taken to Azkaban.

With the presumed culprit gone, there could be no more Basilisk attacks. It did not matter: with Dumbledore gone, the fear of hundreds of students permeated the entire castle, and the diary took it all in like a dark, magical sponge. Every moment Tom felt more powerful, and during the moments Ginny wrote to him, he could sense the surroundings. His grasp on Ginny became stronger than it had ever been, until one night Tom possessed her once again.

The ritual of resurrection had been in Tom’s mind for months, and in the darkness of the night, he steered Ginny to the Restricted Section of the library. The actual book about Horcruxes had been removed, but there were others with scattered pieces of useful information, and Tom used Ginny’s hands to copy many pages worth of text into the diary.

The next morning, Tom did not feel exhausted at all, but Ginny was on the verge of collapsing.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, she complained. I haven’t been able to think clearly since Hermione and Penelope got attacked. I can’t sleep well.

“There is something that might cheer you up”, Tom replied. “I know you have sometimes exhausted yourself by writing to me. Now I have come up with a way of breaking free from this diary.”

There was a very long silence. Then,

Why is it that the last attack happened right after I started to write to you again?

She had finally connected the dots. Tom thought quickly about several possible explanations, but none of them seemed plausible enough, and using too much time to think for a reply was revealing in itself. So, all he could manage was,

“Coincidence.”

That would not have fooled anyone. Ginny slammed the covers of the diary shut, stuffed it in her pocket and headed to the Great Hall with shaking legs. Tom could sense her all the way, it was as if he went with her as an invisible apparition.

In the Great Hall, Ginny noticed Harry Potter sitting with her brother and went towards them with her terror increasing every moment.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Tom heard Ginny mumbling.

One of the boys said something, but Ginny did not reply. Then, Tom sensed that a familiar person, Harry Potter, came closer, and he could sense the whispered words,

“Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?”

That was it. Tom yanked the mental strings he had attached to Ginny’s mind and steered her away. The time for hesitation was over. Potter had most likely continued his attempts to solve the mystery of the attacks. It was time to give him something new to think about.

Tom finished his preparations. Once he had stolen the clothes for the new body to wear, he took Ginny to the corridor next to the entrance to the Chamber. There was the message he had written on Hallowe’en. Using Ginny’s hands, he wrote another one,

HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER

Before anyone could find the message, Tom had taken Ginny to the Chamber for what would be the last time.

Even though Ginny was in a trance, she was aware on some level that she was walking into her own tomb. She tried to resist, but to no avail; the repeated possessions had made her will too weak and Tom too strong. Now that there was no need to fool Ginny anymore, Tom handled her more forcefully than before, and once they stopped in front of Salazar Slytherin’s statue, Ginny’s hands and magic began the ritual of resurrection following Tom’s instructions.

The spell was far beyond her current skills and magical power as well. It took her much longer than Tom felt satisfied with, but slowly her life-force began to drain into the diary – into him. It would take many hours for the ritual to be completed. Soon, someone would find the new message, there would be a roll call and then everyone would know who the victim was. Tom could not help but hope that Potter would find the entrance and come to save his friend’s sister. Then the Boy Who Lived would live no longer. He would be punished for what he had done to Lord Voldemort.

As hours passed, Tom’s patience was stretched very thin. It had been almost fifty years since the soul-splitting ritual, but even it had not prepared him to be calm when freedom was finally near. Slowly, faint human feelings and senses returned to him. Ginny, pale and trembling, was kneeling as if praying with the diary on the floor. As Tom’s apparition began to materialise, Ginny looked up with terrified and teary eyes. Her life-force was about halfway depleted, and quickly her eyes turned sleepy. She rocked back and forth slowly, then fell to the floor and lay there, unconscious. She would never wake up again.

It was tragic in a way. Tom took a few steps and looked at her. She reminded him of Myrtle Warren, the other girl who had died for Tom’s survival. Life was not fair for everyone and could never be, no matter how much naive idealists like Dumbledore tried to change this way the world was. Still, Ginny’s story would be a sad one that had ended far too soon just because she had happened to stumble upon a mysterious diary. Tom had always feared that such a sad, premature and forgettable end would have become his end too. If fate had been kinder, Ginny could have become something more than the youngest child of a family with too many children.

Once the ritual had progressed enough for Tom to be able to see his body as more than just mist, he put on the clothes he had brought with Ginny and then continued to wait. Now that he had gained a semi-corporeal form, he could do something. It gave him great pleasure to simply walk and look around, to flex his muscles; as a diary such things had been beyond him. Soon, he would return to the larger wizarding world and discover what exactly had gone wrong with Lord Voldemort, his other self, the part that had not been imprisoned in the diary. He wanted the whole story, not just what Ginny knew, but everything after the soul-splitting ritual…

Suddenly, Tom was filled with resentment. All his life he had been plagued by an intense fear of death. He had been told about how his mother had died after having given birth to him. He had seen how some orphans had caught sicknesses and died. He had seen how drunks had wasted away during the Great Depression. But nothing had been as horrible as seeing much of London in ruins in 1941 after the Muggle servants of the Dark Lord Grindelwald had bombed the city. The tales the other orphans had told him about the air raids had caused him nightmares which had tormented him every night during the summers he had been trapped in London without permission to use magic.

Immortality had been his foremost goal as a wizard from the moment he had stopped for the first time to wonder what magic was capable of. The diary, an unremarkable-looking little book bought from a Muggle variety store, had been his choice for the first Horcrux, to be his salvation. But what had ended up happening? The ritual to anchor his soul to the world of the living had been a painful one, so much so that he had passed out. After regaining his consciousness, he had found himself in the endless void.

His other self had continued his campaign and become the most feared Dark Lord ever seen in Britain, perhaps the whole world, and the diary and the soul fragment within had been forgotten.

Wait a minute, Tom thought.

Why, exactly, did he want to punish Harry Potter for defeating Lord Voldemort? What good had Lord Voldemort ever done to Tom? Absolutely nothing.

A thought came to Tom, and it made him feel the same uneasiness he always felt when thinking about someone using mind magic on him. A Horcrux was meant to serve its creator. Perhaps that was why he had felt loyalty to his other self and considered Harry Potter his enemy as well. But now that less and less of him was inside the diary, he was ceasing to be a Horcrux, and so he was regaining his free will.

And it was never Tom Riddle’s free will to be subservient to anyone else, especially not someone who had abandoned him in the void, even if they shared the same soul and first sixteen years of his life. It was, in fact, poetic justice that his other self had suffered such a fate when confronting Harry Potter. Being reduced to a wraith was little better than the fate Tom had suffered. Once he would be free from this miserable state, he would start his own campaign just for himself. He would grant his other self just as little favour as his other self had granted him.

Tom’s only half-corporeal face broke into a savage smile, but then he felt slightly worried. For the first time in his life, his confidence in himself wavered, because something he had done had gone terribly wrong. He had not foreseen the outcome of making a Horcrux. It had created a resentful rival for the one it had been meant to save, and the saving part had also failed, at least partially. Lord Voldemort had been gone for more than eleven years now after his fiasco with Potter.

Tom remembered the time when he had been reading through the history section of Hogwarts library. He had wanted to know everything about every notable Dark wizard and witch, especially about their mistakes. He had wanted to make sure that he would not make the same mistakes. That had strengthened his confidence, and now he started to worry that perhaps it had made him overconfident.

It would probably be best if he reconsidered the great plans he had made for the future. They had not worked the first time, and now the wizarding world, Dumbledore in particular, was prepared for them. The Transfiguration teacher had experience in fighting against Tom Riddle and was probably much more powerful than before. He had even defeated Grindelwald, who had seemed unstoppable in 1943. That was an unsettling thought.

“Well, Dumbledore,” Tom mumbled, “I got you flushed out of Hogwarts as a little book. Let’s see what I can do to you as a person!”

The ritual continued, Ginny grew even paler and Tom felt more alive with every passing moment.

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in the library of the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries and read a massive tome that dated back to the days of the founders of Hogwarts. Too much of what was known of those days was based on what the founders themselves had written and considered important. But there was always more to each age, often things deemed too significant for the future generations to know.

He had not exactly been invited to the Department of Mysteries, but the Unspeakables did not deny access from the Chief Warlock for trivial reasons. As he read there, shadowy figures kept watch.

It was actually pleasant to have some time for this kind of research. No frustrating school bureaucracy, no Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers who always managed to exceed even the most outlandish expectations in unimaginably terrifying, disgusting or depraved ways…

Suddenly, a glowing silver mist in the form of a cat appeared next to him. It was the Patronus of Professor McGonagall.

“Albus,” said the Deputy Headmistress’s anxious voice, “the heir has struck again! Please, come at once!”

Dumbledore was striding towards the door before the Patronus had even finished, leaving the tome on the table for the Unspeakables to put back in the shelf. Fawkes followed obediently, as he always did, and landed on the Headmaster’s shoulder. The Department of Mysteries was one of the few places where even phoenix travel was impossible, and Dumbledore had to walk out before the flames engulfed him. A moment later the magic pyre was extinguished, and he stood before Professor McGonagall in her office.

“He took Ginevra Weasley to the Chamber,” McGonagall said. “And this is not like the previous attacks. There is a new message, just under the first one! I have a feeling that this is… this is what he planned all along… the grand finale…”

“Any reason why Miss Weasley of all people was taken?”

“I don’t know… she’s a pure-blood, after all. But there’s more… I just found out when I went to speak to the Gryffindors in the tower… Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley are missing, too! I’m afraid they are trying to save Ginevra, and I have no idea where they have gone!”

“Ah, of course,” Dumbledore mumbled. In his mind, he heard the words, he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. “He would not be Harry Potter if he did not at least try…”

“Is it possible they have found the entrance?”

“You can always expect the impossible from the Boy Who Lived. But if it is possible to him, it might not be impossible to us, either. At least not if we get certain someone to help us.”

Dumbledore flicked the Elder Wand and produced a radiant silver phoenix.

“Go to Alastor and tell him that I need him again.”

The Patronus flew away, and Dumbledore smiled at McGonagall reassuringly.

Then he took a sherbet lemon from his pocket and popped it into his mouth.

Chapter 3: Deception

While standing impatiently next to Ginny’s slowly dying body, Tom startled as if a wasp had stung his almost fully corporeal body. Suddenly, he knew that the entrance in the bathroom had been opened. He could not explain how he knew it, but he was as certain about it as if he had seen it.

It was probably because of some magic that Salazar Slytherin had put into place. Any heir of Slytherin currently in control of the Chamber of Secrets would know what was happening in there. That was how Tom would have designed the Chamber’s enchantments, and obviously Salazar had thought about such a thing too.

After a moment, Tom sensed that a Hogwarts teacher entered the pipe leading to the cavernous antechamber, and he muttered a curse. Dumbledore was coming, but Tom was not prepared to face him yet. The ritual of resurrection needed at least an hour to be completed. He considered calling the Basilisk but decided not to. It would not be a fool-proof precaution. A powerful and prepared wizard could at least incapacitate the Basilisk easily, for the Basilisk’s strength was in stealth and surprise, not brute force.

Tom snatched Ginny’s wand and tried to think of something. If Dumbledore came to the rescue and saw Ginny with the diary, he would immediately realise what was going on. Then the ritual would be interrupted and the Horcrux most likely destroyed, and that would be the end of Tom. That was the worst possible outcome. However, since the ritual was nearing completion, Tom would have enough time if he could somehow take Ginny and the diary to one of the many dark side caverns of the Chamber where it would take time for anyone to find her in time. He could not hide just the diary, because Ginny needed to be in close proximity to it for the ritual to continue.

Unfortunately, without a fully corporeal body, Tom could not drag Ginny away. Nor could he use the Locomotion Charm or the Levitation Charm, because he currently only had Ginny’s magical power, and there was a law of magic that prevented the use such spells on oneself. The Basilisk was of no use either, because without limbs it was unable to grab anything, and anyway, Tom was very unwilling to let it so near his diary. After all, Basilisk venom was one of the few ways of destroying Horcruxes.

Why in Atlantis had Tom decided to perform the ritual in the central hall? Because he had prioritised dramatic grandeur over cautious pragmatism, that was why.

Perhaps I should re-evaluate my level of cleverness, the voice of his cautious side said bitterly, the side that had made him study the careers of past Dark Lords. Many very promising wizards fell victim exactly to this kind of idiocy.

A student entered the pipe. That sensation brought Tom’s frantic thoughts to a halt. Why would Dumbledore take a student with him to one of the most dangerous places in the wizarding world? Oh, of course, the student obviously was Harry Potter, because Dumbledore needed a Parselmouth to open any other doors. But then Tom had the sensation of another student entering as well, and he could not imagine why. If he was in Dumbledore’s position, he would have contacted the Auror Office and brought a team of the best of Aurors.

After the second student, Tom could sense no more intruders entering. Perhaps it was not a carefully planned assault after all. Perhaps they just wanted to save Ginny as fast as possible and had not had the time to gather a sufficient team to do the job.

Tom gave the girl at his feet a calculative look. There was a possibility that the Hogwarts teacher was not Dumbledore after all. He had been removed from the position of Headmaster, so maybe Salazar’s enchantment would not have identified him as a teacher. And should it not have identified the Headmaster as the Headmaster? This line of thought calmed Tom. Now he had to make sure no one would know he was the one responsible even if Ginny was saved.

He used Legilimency on Ginny’s mind and found it gratifyingly calm and amenable. As quickly as possible, he Obliviated her of all memories that connected him or the diary to the events concerning the Chamber of Secrets. Once that was done, he began the more complicated task of creating false memories about her possession. He had to choose someone else to blame. Not Hagrid, Dumbledore had not believed it the first time, and now he had an alibi. But there was a perfect scapegoat, Tom realised with a resentful smirk: the pathetic disembodied soul fragment who had had fun while Tom had been trapped in the diary. That should convince Dumbledore and prevent him from searching further answers, such as suspicious diaries.

There was a slight tremor, and Salazar’s enchantment informed Tom that a part of the antechamber’s ceiling had collapsed. What was going on? Were the intruders trying to blast their way through? As they had managed to open the entrance, surely they could open the door to the main hall the same way. Tom shook his head and concentrated again. Creating false memories was a difficult and slow process, and Ginny needed to have lots of them. If he created them while feeling anxious, Ginny would feel anxious too for no apparent reason any time she relived them in her mind.

Soon the enchantment informed Tom that the door to the central hall was opened by one of the students. To his surprise, the student was now alone. Tom placed Ginny’s wand back onto the floor and moved away from her. Soon he would have to improvise.

Hurried footsteps echoed.

“Ginny,” a voice called and soon a dark-haired boy rushed to Ginny’s side, grabbed her shoulders and turned her over. “Ginny – don’t be dead – please don’t be dead! Ginny, please wake up.”

The boy was Harry Potter, Tom was certain of it. He could recognise the person who had written in the diary even though he had never actually seen him.

“She won’t wake,” Tom said and stepped forward.

Potter jumped and spun around, then stared at Tom in confusion.

“Tom – Tom Riddle?” he said. “What d’you mean, she won’t wake? She’s not – she’s not –?”

Tom crossed the distance until he stood right in front of the boy who had vanquished his other self, looking at the agonised face, especially the legendary lightning-shaped scar. He had to play carefully.

“There are sinister forces at play, Harry,” Tom said, acting concerned. “She has been possessed and forced to use her life-force in a Dark ritual. She’s still alive, but only just.”

Potter stared at the older boy, mind almost audibly processing the situation.

“Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Tom answered and began the story that he had hastily begun to fabricate. “I was trapped in my diary when I was sixteen years old, and only today I managed to break free. Did you come alone?”

“No, Ron and Professor Lockhart came with me, but Lockhart collapsed the ceiling, and they couldn’t follow me further.”

This piece of news delighted Tom greatly, and he tried not to let it show.

“You’ve got to help me, Tom. Do you know how this all happened?”

“I do, and I will tell you quickly. It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets. She did not do it willingly, of course. It began in September, when she was exploring the castle. She happened to encounter a ghost-like being that was wandering in the dungeons. I believe his name is familiar to you: Voldemort.”

Potter startled and spluttered something.

“Voldemort possessed her and used her to open this Chamber and set the Basilisk upon Muggle-borns and the caretaker’s cat. Throughout the year she has also been writing to my diary that had somehow ended up with her. I sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. She didn’t remember anything she had done while possessed and couldn’t tell me. Today I realised that Voldemort had devised a plan to bring himself back to life. He forced Ginny to sacrifice herself for him. Time is running out. If she dies, Voldemort will return.”

“Of course,” Potter muttered. “He stayed at Hogwarts after Quirrell died and sought out a new victim.”

Huh? Tom blinked a few times in surprise. It seemed his story accidentally made more sense than he had even hoped.

Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived, Tom’s other self’s vanquisher – clearly trusted him. The massive irony of the situation was one of the most gratifying things Tom could imagine. He could come up with an infinite number of ways to use that trust to his advantage. Perhaps the situation called for a change of plan; Tom should at least act as if he tried to help Potter.

“I can’t help you carry her,” Tom said, “but you can make it easier with the Levitation Charm.”

He took Ginny’s wand again and stuffed the diary in one of her pockets. Potter muttered the incantation and then kept his wand pointed at her as he lifted her up. He glanced around anxiously and then began to hurry back to where he had come from. Tom walked right beside him.

“How did you end up being here?” Potter asked.

“Ginny has been writing to me all year. I became like a friend to her. I worried about her when she was afraid about the attacks. As you see, she brought the diary with her when Voldemort ordered her to come here. I have a personal grudge against Voldemort myself, just like you. It was he who trapped me in my diary fifty years ago. We were classmates, and he considered me a rival. Oh, and he loathed me for being a half-blood.”

He glanced briefly at Potter and noticed his expression harden. Good, the boy was not fond of blood purism. Tom could use that knowledge to manipulate him.

“Voldemort himself is a pure-blood,” Tom lied. “He has ancestors in the richest and proudest families in magical Britain, and he is an heir of Slytherin, which he is proud of. He considered me a taint in the wizarding world and was bitter that I was a stronger wizard than many of the pure-bloods. And as I was an orphan who had lived in the Muggle world and who had no money, he thought I was inferior.”

Ginny had told Tom much of Potter’s similar background, and sure enough, the younger boy looked at the older one with sympathy. It was almost too easy.

“And so, he trapped me. The curse that bound me to the diary was too strong for me to break. Today, when I learned of his intentions, I managed to gather enough willpower to break free. However, I am not in a fully corporeal form.”

“You knew it was he who opened the Chamber of Secrets,” Potter said after a while. “But you showed me how you found out that Hagrid opened it.”

That was an awkward thing to forget, Tom realised with a flinch.

“I was tricked,” he said, trying not to sound nervous. “We all were. Voldemort has always been cunning. He framed Hagrid cleverly, and at the time I had no reasons to suspect him. I only learned the truth today when he spoke through Ginny.”

“So, you knew Voldemort in school,” Potter said. “What is his true name?”

“David Monroe,” Tom said, choosing to blame the only one of his former dormmates who had never accepted his superiority. “Son of two very influential members of the Wizengamot and grandson of a Chief Warlock, a Minister for Magic and two Ministry directors. He wanted to return to the days when the Ministry of Magic was controlled by a small group of pure-blood patriarchs who wanted to purge all Muggle-borns from the wizarding community and to reduce us half-bloods to second-class citizens.”

“Arrogant bully, obsessed with blood purity,” Potter muttered heatedly. “Just like Malfoy.”

Tom recognised the name. Abraxas Malfoy had been his housemate at Hogwarts, and Ginny had once written about a certain Draco Malfoy, apparently the same whom Potter had mentioned, presumably Abraxas’s descendant.

“Well, Tom, thank you for this information,” Potter said. “It seems we have a lot in common. I, too, am an orphan. I’ve lived in the Muggle world, and Voldemort is responsible for my troubles. Somehow, when I was thinking about your name written in the diary, I almost felt like a connection… as if I had always known you.”

Tom’s lips curled into a smirk, and he looked briefly away until he could get his face back in control. The boy was too quick to trust for his own benefit. Connection, indeed, in the form of a scar on his forehead.

They exited the central hall through the door formed by two snake sculptures. Potter kicked the door shut and sighed with relief.

“I really hope the Basilisk actually is in there and not here,” he said.

Tom said nothing, because he was not supposed to know anything about the Chamber.

They trudged slowly towards the entrance. Tom kept Ginny’s wand aloft, illuminating the cavernous antechamber, and Potter strained his magic to keep Ginny light enough to be carried. Eventually they arrived at a cave-in that blocked the way and heard someone moving the rocks on the other side.

“Ron!” Potter called.

“Harry?” a voice answered. “Did you find Ginny? Is she all right?”

“I found her, but she’s unconscious and… possessed.”

“Come here, quickly, I’ve managed to form a gap in this pile.”

Potter climbed the rocks to the small gap and pushed the still body of Ginny. A pair of hands received her and dragged her to the other side.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Tom cast and moved some of the heavier rocks away.

“Hey! Who are you?” said the boy called Ron – apparently Ginny’s brother of whom Tom had read her write about now and then.

“I’m Tom Riddle,” he said. “I’m here to help you. I’ve just managed to break free from the diary where I had been trapped for fifty years.”

“What’s wrong with Ginny?” the Weasley boy asked, showing an impressive amount of concern for his sister. That was something Tom had never understood.

“She’s been possessed by Voldemort,” Tom explained again and was delighted to see that Weasley flinched when hearing the name. “He’s draining her life-force in order to return to life himself. We don’t have much time. She might die any moment.”

“What can we do?” Weasley cried.

That question stopped Tom to think. Yes, what should he do? He had decided on a whim to manipulate Harry Potter into trusting him, but he had not planned any of the next steps. He could not really save Ginny without losing his chance to return to life, and that chance he absolutely refused to lose. Now he should improvise something that would make it look like he tried to save Ginny… but how could he explain it that he would be the one returning to life and that there would be no Voldemort? The plan felt lousier by the second.

“Oh dear, is that girl dead?”

“Shut up, you!”

These voices interrupted Tom’s thoughts, and he looked to where someone had spoken. Oh yes, the Hogwarts teacher, Tom had almost forgotten about him. He was a handsome man with golden hair and absolutely confused look.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom asked.

“He tried to Obliviate me with my broken wand, but the spell hit him instead,” Weasley said. “All his memories are gone.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he’s a coward and a fraud! All his accomplishments were actually made by other people, but he stole the credit for himself after he Obliviated them. He tried the same with us. He wanted to leave Ginny here to die!”

Ah, what a perfect opportunity. This truly was Tom’s lucky day. He grabbed Ginny’s arm and frowned in the most concerned way he could.

“We are losing her,” he groaned dramatically. “Voldemort will return!”

Potter and Weasley both said something unintelligible, sounding absolutely panicked.

“There is only one thing I can do,” Tom said. “But it requires a terrible sacrifice. Voldemort trapped me in the diary, and the only way I can return to true life is through a similar ritual he is trying with Ginny. To restore someone back to life, someone else must lose that life. If you give my diary to the teacher, I can restore myself through him. Then I can try to exorcise Voldemort’s soul before he drains the life out of Ginny.”

“You’d need to kill Professor Lockhart?” Potter said in dismay.

“It is the only way,” Tom said, faking his voice full of sorrow. “A sacrifice must be done. But if I don’t do it, Voldemort will return, and Lockhart will be doomed anyway. The question is not whether he or I will live, but whether only he or all of us, and perhaps the entire wizarding world, dies.”

“He’s a fraud, Harry!” Weasley said vehemently. “He destroyed many lives just to be famous himself. And what life does he have left with his memories gone?”

Tom was starting to like this Ron Weasley.

“Right,” Potter said, although the decision seemed to break his heart. He took the diary from Ginny’s pocket and handed it to Lockhart. Ginny was almost dead, that was true. Tom had drained so much of her life-force that being separated from her touch did not weaken him. Still, he quickly changed his victim and began to drain Lockhart’s life-force instead. He had become powerful enough to do it without needing Lockhart to first become emotionally attached to the diary.

Tom would save Ginny, and the boys would regard him as a hero. Well, he still had to fake the appearance of Voldemort’s soul.

Through his restored power, Tom managed to accelerate the life-force draining process to much faster than he had managed to do with Ginny. In mere seconds, Lockhart’s face turned as grey as ash, and a sound of a drowning man left his mouth. He fell to the floor, dead. Tom, on the other hand, gained a fully corporeal form. It felt glorious, and merry sparks erupted from the tip of Ginny’s wand.

Ginny had already stirred. Tom turned to the boys and aimed the wand.

“Stupefy,” Tom said, and Potter fell, unconscious.

“What are –” Ron Weasley screamed.

“Stupefy, Stupefy,” Tom continued and hit both Weasleys with the charm.

He had time to plan again. He actually liked this new game of playing the hero. Of course, now he had the opportunity to kill Harry Potter, something his other self had tried to do for some reason and failed… but he was unwilling to take the risk. Maybe there was the possibility of something similar happening to him? Tom, the separate Lord Voldemort entity, did not have his own Horcruxes, and he was not sure if his other self’s Horcruxes worked with him, too. If Voldemort had ever succeeded in making more than one, that is. All Tom knew was that he had wanted to ask Professor Slughorn for his opinion about multiple Horcruxes.

Tom had just regained his life. He would not risk it for anything. It was time for a new plan, an adventure where he would appear to be a hero while in fact manipulating this miraculous Boy Who Lived. It would be a plan worthy of the heir of Slytherin.

Only after making this decision, he realised that his other self’s plan of conquering wizarding Britain through terrorist tactics had been abysmal. It was a plan a Gryffindor should have come up with – rash, straightforward and unimaginative. What had happened to his cunning? These thoughts made Tom very anxious and even disgusted.

Studying his other self’s foiled plans was for some other time. Again, Tom started casting Memory Charms. He Obliviated Potter and the two Weasleys of their latest memories, and then began the arduous work of creating a convincing false memory. It would have to be similar for all of them except for their individual points of view.

After a few minutes he was ready and used Legilimency on the Weasley boy to watch how he saw the fabrication.

 

---

 

Lockhart fell to the floor, retching violently. Riddle, on the other hand, gained a fully corporeal form. He turned to Ginny and aimed the wand he still carried. He shouted some unknown incantation, and a beam of light struck Ginny.

A horrible scream echoed in the Chamber, and a ghostly form rose from Ginny’s body, desperately trying to get back.

“No!” the ghost shrieked. “I will not be denied my return to life! The girl must die!”

Riddle conjured a barrage of hexes and curses at the ghost.

“You dare to defy Lord Voldemort! You will die!”

The ghost deflected the attacks and launched itself against Riddle, laughing maniacally. Curses flew in all directions, and as Ron ducked, Lockhart made an attempt to rise, but was struck dead by one of the curses.

“EXORCISIUM TOTALUM!” Riddle bellowed, and the ghost’s laughter turned into a scream of horror as a wave of brilliant, searing light slammed into it.

“Nooooo!” Voldemort cried as he was pushed back. “I do not know who you are… but one day… you will regret… this insolence! Aaaargh!”

The link from Voldemort’s ghost to Ginny broke with a deafening thunderclap. A force like a strong wind hit Ron, and he fell to the floor. Still screaming, the ghost was hurled far into the Chamber’s darkness, and then it was gone. The sound of Voldemort’s screams echoed for a moment, until all was silent.

Tom Riddle stood there, triumphant. Ron looked up to him in awe, feeling similar worship he felt towards Dumbledore.

 

---

 

Tom smiled widely. It was his customary smile that had made younger students back off in fear – a smile that promised very bad news for someone.

It was difficult to change a person’s opinions by modifying his mind magically, usually his mind just returned to its normal track of thinking. However, Tom was a new acquaintance to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. His first impression on them was beyond excellent. It should not be difficult to continue building their trust and admiration towards him. Changing their memories of what had caused Lockhart’s death ensured that they would not have second thoughts after the shock of their apparent confrontation with Voldemort would wear off.

It would still take several minutes before the children regained consciousness. Tom used it to plan his next actions and to consider all possible ways his deception could fail.

A thought occurred to him. This incident would most likely be investigated very thoroughly, and someone was sure to cast the Reverse Spell on Ginny’s wand to find out what spells had been cast with it. If the numerous Memory Charms were discovered, Tom’s entire cover-up story would fall in ruins. To his knowledge, it was impossible to erase a wand’s memory of spells having been cast, but at least he could try to hide them behind a huge number of other spells.

And so, he started casting various spells that were taught at Hogwarts in the first year. A few hundreds of them, and surely no one would bother to check what had been cast before them. Lastly, he cast again the spells the children knew or falsely remembered he had cast in the Chamber. It was not perfect, but probably enough. Even if someone did find the Memory Charms, the discovery would probably be explained with some unknown plan that Voldemort had carried out earlier in the school year.

The children started to wake up. Tom positioned himself as he had made them remember, holding Ginny’s wand high, as if he had just exorcised his other self’s disembodied soul.

“You did it!” the Weasley boy gasped. “Is Ginny all right?”

“Ron?” Ginny squeaked in a tiny voice. “Ron? Is that you?”

“Ginny! You’re awake!” Ron Weasley said and rushed to his sister who had barely managed to raise her head.

There were a few moments of rejoicing, and Tom waited patiently through them, sticking to his new role of a noble saviour. Eventually Ginny looked at him and smiled warmly.

“Tom,” she said. “You banished You-Know-Who from me. Thank you… I knew you were a true friend. But how are you here like that?”

“I eventually freed myself from the diary,” Tom explained. “And I’ve got you to thank for it. Had Voldemort not tried to return to life through you, I don’t think I would’ve had the willpower to break my chains. I succeeded because I care for you.”

That was something a valiant, modest hero would say, right?

Ginny was too exhausted to walk, so Tom, who now thrummed with magical power that was his very own, cast the Locomotion Charm on her, and on Lockhart’s corpse, as well. He would not have minded leaving Lockhart there, but obviously a hero would take him to give him a proper burial. Tom even muttered some sad praises for him. The children watched him with respect.

While leading the way, Tom considered what other kinds of safety precautions he needed. The use of Legilimency and Veritaserum were frowned upon by the Ministry, but it was not entirely impossible that they would be used. The name Tom Riddle itself was too much. He had to make sure that it would not come up at any point during the inevitable interrogation.

They reached the entrance of the Chamber mostly in silence; the only sound was of Ginny sobbing quietly. Now that Tom had portrayed himself as a hero, he was sure the children would consent to a few requests.

“Before we return to the school, I will need to ask something of you,” he said and turned to face the others.

“Of course,” Potter and Ron Weasley said, just as Ginny said, “Anything.”

“First, I think this Chamber’s location should stay hidden. You see, I’ve been thinking about the whole purpose of this place. According to legend, Salazar Slytherin wanted to purge the school of Muggle-borns and hid a monster in here for the purpose. There are a few strange things in this legend. First, why did Slytherin leave the Chamber closed? Why did he want his heir to do the job instead of doing it himself? Second, Slytherin was supposed to be cunning. Surely he realised that the school would be closed if the students were in danger. A new school would’ve been established, and the education of Muggle-borns would’ve continued. The monster wouldn’t have succeeded in its quest.”

“Well, Slytherin was a deranged madman, wasn’t he?” Ron Weasley said, and Tom had to suppress an urge to hex him.

“Or, more likely, the legend was told just to obscure the true purpose of the Chamber,” Tom continued. “I believe there is more to this Chamber, perhaps some hidden ancient knowledge or artefacts. If the Chamber’s location becomes known, a team of curse-breakers will come here and discover everything. Some of those secrets might fall into the wrong hands, even to Voldemort, because I’m sure he still has loyalists in the Ministry. As you see, this is a matter of great importance.”

The children looked at each other before agreeing.

“But what do we tell the teachers about what happened here?” Potter asked. “They’ll want to know everything, and it would be odd if we refused to speak.”

“Well, you could claim that there was some ancient magic at play. The moment you left the Chamber, a Memory Charm removed the relevant pieces of information from your minds.”

The children agreed to this.

“My second request is more personal,” Tom said. “I don’t want you to tell anyone about my involvement in this incident.”

“But why? We wouldn’t have succeeded without you.”

“As I told you, Harry, I was Voldemort’s rival when we were at school. I even think he considered me his first enemy. When I banished him from Ginny, he didn’t recognise me – I guess the light of the spells blinded him so that he couldn’t see my features clearly. Luckily, he didn’t know Ginny was writing to my diary, as he was only interested in what he could do through Ginny, not in her as a person. I believe it will be a great asset for us if Voldemort remains ignorant of my return.”

“Surely we can tell Dumbledore about you?” Potter said, just as Tom had feared.

“No, not even him.” Tom paused for a moment, formulating a plausible excuse. “Dumbledore the person is opposed to Voldemort, and he surely would be willing to keep my secret. But Dumbledore the Headmaster is different; he cannot act just as he wishes. You see, if he wants to return to his position in this school, he must explain everything what happened here to the Hogwarts board of governors and to the Ministry of Magic. He might even be interrogated under Veritaserum, and then he couldn’t keep my secret even if he wanted to.” Of course, powerful wizards like Dumbledore certainly had several means of fooling, resisting and nullifying Veritaserum, but the children did not need to be aware of it. “Eventually the secret would spread, and Voldemort would become aware of my return. That must not happen. Do I have your words?”

“What about Hermione?” Ron Weasley asked. “She already knows about your diary, and Harry told her of what you showed him. And she was of great help to us.”

“Does anyone else know about me or my diary?”

The children exchanged glances.

“No, just us three and Hermione.”

“Very well,” Tom said, deciding it to be better to give in a little. “You can tell Hermione, but no one else.”

This time the children agreed.

“And what do we tell about Professor Lockhart?” Potter asked.

“Perhaps we should honour his sacrifice,” Tom said, again pretending to be a hero. “Let him get the credit for banishing Voldemort. It wouldn’t be completely untrue, after all. I wouldn’t have succeeded without him. If fame is all he ever wanted, he’d probably prefer to be forever remembered as a martyr and a saviour. Let us forgive him the frauds you accused him of, Ron.”

After that gracious speech they certainly did not consider Tom evil for playing a part in Lockhart’s demise. Merlin bless the easily manipulated minds of children!

Once they arrived at the girls’ bathroom, Tom guided them to the nearest empty classroom. There he borrowed Potter’s wand and cast a few spells to make sure they would not be interrupted. Then, with this wand that was unlikely to be investigated, Tom cast another series of Memory Charms on the three children. He removed the location of the Chamber’s entrance from their minds, and also the clues from which the boys had guessed it.

“Goodbye,” Tom said as he shook the hands of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and returned the affectionate embrace by Ginny. “I will go to Diagon Alley to start my new life. I’m sure we will meet again and that we will all have a part to play in our mutual fight against Voldemort.”

“I’ll write to you soon,” Potter said. “You’ll probably want to know everything about the aftermath.”

“That I do. But first – one more thing.”

The three children looked at him expectantly, and Tom knocked them all unconscious again with Potter’s wand. His safety required a third set of Memory Charms, but of the temporary kind. He locked away all their memories of him and the diary, even his name. The false memory of him defeating Voldemort was changed to involve Lockhart instead. If someone invaded the mental privacy of Harry, Ginny and Ron during the investigation, there would be nothing about Tom Riddle in their minds. Tom also made most of their memories about the events in the Chamber indistinct and twisted the memories of the Chamber’s entrance so that it seemed to be located in a dimly lit dungeon and that it had been left open. (It was better if the authorities thought only the heir of Slytherin could open it, not anyone or anything that could speak in Parseltongue.) Finally, Tom planted the idea in their minds that it was very important not to explain everything to their friend Hermione immediately, because she would wonder if their story changed suddenly and without any reason they could explain.

These spells would wear off in a day. Once the children woke up the day after the next, their memories would be back to normal, and they would not even notice the difference. They would remember Tom Riddle again, but as a hero, and only then they would tell Hermione about him.

Tom cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself, cast numerous second-year spells to hide these Memory Charms too in case the Reverse Spell was to be used on this wand, then put Potter’s wand back in its owner’s pocket and, after the children revived, he watched as they left to find a teacher.

Then it was time for Tom to leave and start his investigations of the past fifty years.

With his diary in a pocket, the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle walked the corridors of Hogwarts, eyeing them with fondness. He was home again and alive again, he had every reason to be happy. Great opportunities waited for him, but not at Hogwarts, at least not for the moment. So, he headed to the statue of the hunched one-eyed witch. The passageway to Honeydukes was still there, and soon he was safely on his way to Hogsmeade and to the larger wizarding world.

He, Lord Voldemort, had returned, without anyone being aware of the upheaval that was coming for Britain and the entire world.

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore walked towards the Headmaster’s office slowly. He had had an extraordinary long and confusing day. Magical research, return to Hogwarts, planning Ginevra Weasley’s rescue, contacts with the board of governors, consoling Arthur and Molly Weasley, the sudden appearance of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley with Ginevra and the deceased Professor Lockhart, their interrogation and finally the brief confrontation with Lucius Malfoy.

Despite the happy ending, he was not satisfied. The Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets was still alive, Voldemort was thwarted but not defeated and the Chamber’s location was still unknown. He had seen Harry Potter’s memories, and currently he had more questions than answers. Something was wrong with the memories, there was no doubt about it. Perhaps Salazar Slytherin had made sure that no outsider would ever remember much from his secret lair.

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and followed the sound of a peg leg clunking against the floor. Alastor Moody the ex-Auror was doing his investigation near the Headmaster’s office, his all-seeing eye studying everything suspicious.

“Alastor, you should go home,” Dumbledore said. “Miss Weasley was saved by Harry Potter, and I think there is some ancient magic protecting the Chamber, something even your eye cannot see through.”

The old Auror looked slightly surprised by the news, if such a thing was possible from the most well-prepared individual in the world. However, it lasted only for a moment.

“Don’t you know how long I’ve wanted to face a worthy challenge for a change?” Moody asked. “If Voldie’s got some new tricks up his sleeve, I want to get to know them now.”

“We were right, it was Voldemort behind this, but his plan failed again. For the third time, Harry Potter faced him and emerged victorious.”

Sybil Trelawney’s words echoed in Dumbledore’s mind again.

“You focus on that side,” Moody grunted. “Voldie’s plans are centred on this castle too much to my liking. I think I’ll be spending the summer here and figuring out why.”

The ex-Auror continued his investigation, and the Headmaster went into his office. The portraits of the previous Heads greeted him merrily, but he looked at the chess board on a side table. Everything had happened so quickly that the time for changing the situation had already passed. Well, at least the black bishop representing Lucius Malfoy had lost his influence in the board of governors. It was a small victory for the white side, but a victory, nonetheless.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 4: Voyage of Discoveries

When people imagined how they would start their second life, few saw themselves creeping in a pitch-dark tunnel for miles. Still, that was how Tom Riddle’s second life began, as a journey from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. The tunnel had clearly been designed for smaller children, or perhaps house-elves. Maybe it had not been designed at all, just built. Creeping there was not exactly inspiring or dignified, but it was life, and as such, infinitely better than the void where he had been languishing for fifty years.

While there, Tom wondered what it was about Harry Potter’s wand that had made it feel so fitting in his use. Ginny’s wand had not answered to his will nearly as well. It was something to be investigated later.

Eventually he arrived in the cellar of Honeydukes. He stretched his aching back and hoped that it would have taken a bit longer for him to be reminded of the inconveniences of being a corporeal being. The diary’s back had never ached.

Tom sneaked upstairs and through the dark, empty shop to the door. A soft click of the lock later he was out in Hogsmeade, looking at the village he was almost as fond of as Hogwarts castle itself. Next to nothing had changed in fifty years. The sun would rise shortly, but as sunrise was early in Scotland in late May, there would still be many hours before the village woke up. Tom decided to use that time planning his next actions.

All right, Lord Voldemort, Tom’s internal voice said. You don’t have a wand, you don’t have any money, you don’t have a place to sleep in, you only know the theory of Apparition and you never had enough time to become an Animagus. Most people in Britain hate you. Those who do not hate you would not believe that you are who you are. You have no allies, connections or reputation. The only people who owe you are three gullible children, but even they won’t remember you until tomorrow. Your other, older self is out there somewhere, but either he is not as competent as he thought at your age, or he encountered some difficulties you know nothing about. The current state of the wizarding world is mostly unknown to you. You are capable of casting spells wandlessly, you are more intelligent than most people, you have ruthless determination, you are a master of manipulation and persuasion, you have a natural talent in Legilimency and untested skills in Occlumency. You know more magic than most Hogwarts graduates, but you have no place where to learn more. You have equal potential as your other self who became the most feared Dark Lord in Britain’s history, but at the moment, even if you had your wand, there certainly are dozens if not hundreds of wizards in Britain who could defeat you in a duel. There clearly is the risk of you being overconfident, therefore you should not expect easy victories and smooth sailing. Most people think you are good-looking, but some people might recognise you. As long as you are not recognised, no one has any clue about who you truly are. Your goals are to become immortal and to take over the world. How much time do you need?

The situation was challenging. Someone would have called it miserable, but Tom was much more resourceful an individual than most. The obvious first step was to find out what was going on in wizarding Britain and why his other self had failed so spectacularly. Another important step was to get some money. Food was not a problem yet, because draining Lockhart’s life-force had granted Tom a feeling of satiation that had not yet worn off, but that would inevitably change in a few hours.

Tom had never been comfortable with being dependent on anything that could be destroyed or lost in some other way. Even though he had been very fond of his wand of yew and phoenix feather, he had prepared for the possibility of one day having to survive without it, and now that day had come. Fortunately, Tom had been blessed with extraordinary natural affinity with all things magical, and he had mastered the rare art of wandless magic even before getting his acceptance letter from Hogwarts. In his first life, he had honed the skill by casting all newly taught spells wandlessly while his classmates had still struggled with their wands. This skill Tom put into use when he approached the Three Broomsticks and noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet in a wastepaper basket. Just a gesture of his arm, and the newspaper flew through the air into his hand.

None of the news was particularly sensational, but at least Tom learned some basic information about the contemporary wizarding Britain, information that was not filtered through an eleven-year-old girl. The Minister for Magic was one Cornelius Fudge who seemed like the kind of inept politician that had been placed in power by a much more powerful puppeteer. The newspaper mentioned several members of the Wizengamot, and their families had been represented there in the early 1940s as well. There were also some mentions of the Ministry’s department Heads, and Tom recognised most of their names, too. Actually, some of these notable individuals he had known at school. It should not have been unexpected, but still the sheer absurdity of it came to him as a surprise. The only thing that had clearly changed during his fifty years of absence was that the newspaper did not derogate Mudbloods and Squibs like before.

So, to sum it up… Tom’s other self had become the most terrible Dark Lord in history, caused a war with the intention of purging the wizarding world of the unworthy, vanished mysteriously after trying to kill Harry Potter… and in the end, the only change was that the public opinion had shifted to regard the unworthy in a friendlier manner. Tom would have laughed at this unbelievable failure if it had not been his failure. To think that his other self had become one those Dark Lords who had only caused setbacks to their ideological goals was… beyond shameful, it was a personal crisis for Tom.

He really needed to visit a library and read a detailed book about his other self’s reign of terror. This prolonged speculation could drive him crazy. There had to be something, some reason that would explain his other self’s astronomical failure. Perhaps he had been betrayed. Perhaps Dumbledore had secretly seized power and used it to start a brainwashing campaign.

By the time Tom had read the entire newspaper, there were some villagers moving around. He overheard two of them speaking about some kind of incident at Hogwarts, and that reminded him that he should move to a safer location. His Hogwarts robes might attract unwanted attention.

The Three Broomsticks had opened its doors, and Tom was the first person to enter that day. The landlady was fortunately too young to have known him in his first life, but she was surprised to see someone who appeared to be a student. It was not out of the question that she might inform Dumbledore about this.

“Good morning, dear. Can I help you?”

“I have urgent business in Diagon Alley. It would be extremely helpful if you could –”

Her slight look of puzzlement was enough for Tom to realise that she had sensed something to be wrong. Students who actually had a proper reason to go to Diagon Alley would get to use the Floo connection in the Deputy Headmaster’s office.

With a casual looking wave of his hand, Tom cast the Confundus Charm. It was difficult to cast wandlessly, but he had practiced doing so. Using a wand was too obvious to possible onlookers, and that was why Tom had made it a high priority to master the spell wandlessly and non-verbally.

“Here, I’ll give you Floo powder,” the suddenly clueless landlady said while looking slightly past Tom with glazed eyes.

He grabbed a handful of the green powder, tossed it into a fireplace and declared,

“Diagon Alley.”

A swirl of green flames later Tom was spat out the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. It was the place where he had first set foot in the wizarding world, feeling wonder and excitement, but on that day, he glanced around nervously.

The landlord was still none other than his namesake, Tom the barkeep, who had become old and frail. He was one of the people who might conceivably recognise Tom Riddle, the remarkable student who had walked through the bar hundreds of times but never purchased even a butterbeer. Not wanting to take risks, the younger Tom walked straight out of the bar, scratching his eyebrow in order to cover part of his face without looking suspicious.

A few moments later he walked down the main street of wizarding London, the very place where he had had his first impressions of the magical world he wanted to conquer. Just like in Hogsmeade, little had changed. He looked at the windows of shops and felt a familiar desire to buy supplies for a year at Hogwarts, his home. Some people were already out on their businesses, and he wondered what they would have done had they known that Lord Voldemort walked among them. The thought did not entertain him as much as he had hoped. The name of Voldemort did not mean to them what he had hoped fifty years earlier. A sigh escaped his mouth.

Bright blue smoke came out of one of the apothecary shops. Spontaneous magical reactions were a daily occurrence in places where many kinds of magical power had been stored too tightly. This incident seemed more serious than usual, and the shopkeeper, an old, frazzled wizard, stood in the middle of the alley, stomping the smoking tail of his robes.

Tom approached the scene. The shopkeeper probably knew Lord Voldemort as a bloodthirsty revolutionary, but on that day, he would be a helpful little angel.

“You seem to be in trouble,” the Dark Lord said. “Might I be of help?”

“Well, I tried to Finite the mess, but it just kept getting worse! The whole shop might blow up if we don’t keep hurry!”

They ran into the shop. Apparently, a jar of potion ingredients had fallen off a shelf and formed an amalgamation with stains and spills on the floor, causing more jars to break. Tom and the shopkeeper attacked the quickly multiplying half-living magical things that spat little flames of all colours. It was a sweaty job that only took ten minutes, not that different from a normal Herbology class, and eventually the shop was saved.

“Thank you so much!” the shopkeeper said and wiped his forehead. “Without you, I might’ve had to close the shop for the whole day. Here, you’ve earned this!”

He handed Tom three of Galleons. Tom pocketed them with a satisfied smile. A little money and someone who remembered him fondly. That was a good first step towards immortal world domination.

Next Tom walked without other stops into the building that had been on his mind since he had started planning his return: the library of Diagon Alley, the largest one outside of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. It was the place where he had spent almost every single summer day when he had been forced to return to London. He had spent as much time as possible away from the orphanage, and while his classmates had wasted their time playing Quidditch, he had been studying the theoretical side of magic.

He found the history section and grabbed a book with the promising title of The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He sat down, placed the book on a table and began to read with the fervour of someone who was almost reading about his own future.

 

---

 

Tom pressed his forehead against the table, because he was utterly desperate. At first, he had been reminding himself that history was always written by the victors and thus the book was bound to be biased against him, but it had not succeeded in encouraging him for long. Even if the author had considered Lord Voldemort a crazed monster, he probably would not have boldly made stuff up.

The book also informed Tom of the mostly miserable fates of his minions and other acquaintances who he had invested so much time and effort to train and manipulate, and the fates of their offspring. It was horribly nerve-wracking to stumble upon so many familiar names and read the few details that the author had bothered to tell about them.

Edmond Lestrange was dead, and his two sons were in Azkaban. Sebastian Rosier was dead, as was his son. Matthias Mulciber was dead, and his son was in Azkaban. Roger Avery was dead, but his children survived. Of Tom’s dormmates only Archibald Nott was still alive and had regained some respect in wizarding Britain. Those not in his year had fared only slightly better. Abraxas Malfoy was dead, but his son was a prominent politician. Adam Jugson was dead, but his son was alive and not in Azkaban. Orion Black was dead, and one of his sons was in Azkaban, the other one dead. Cygnus Black was dead, and one of his daughters was in Azkaban, one had become a blood traitor and one was married to Abraxas’s son. Augustus Rookwood was in Azkaban. Quentin Travers was in Azkaban. Many, many others either dead or imprisoned. Even those who had survived and avoided imprisonment had lost much social standing.

Almost everyone gone and the favourable positions lost. Tom felt sick to his stomach, not because he had cared about them as people, but because he had acknowledged their value as lieutenants. The revolution that had been meant to save the pure-blood families and return the supreme power to them had instead all but wiped them from existence. His other self’s campaign had not ended in just defeat, but annihilation. No wonder several Death Eaters had renounced Lord Voldemort and claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse. Tom could not even make himself angry with them. Slytherins did not cling to lost causes.

The evening came, and Tom had neither eaten nor drunk anything since Lockhart. His hunger and thirst for knowledge had been stronger than their physical counterparts, but as he slammed the book shut and heard his stomach growl, he decided that he had to satisfy his physical needs too. That was anyway something he would have to get used to. He could no longer nourish himself with Ginny’s affection.

He went for a cheap dinner in a conveniently gloomy tavern on one of the side streets. There he sat, gobbled his food without bothering to be dignified and thought about what he had read.

His other self had been an idiot – a deranged madman, to quote Ron Weasley. He could have understood it if the war against the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic had been a last resort in taking power, but no. There had been no diabolically cunning plots of takeover that had failed for whatever reason. Lord Voldemort had just gathered a group of power-hungry Slytherins who hated Muggles and Mudbloods, then begun an unorganised wave of terrorism with seemingly no other goal than to gradually weaken his enemies. He had claimed he wanted to save wizardkind from Muggle taint, and yet he had murdered wizards and witches of every blood status. That had certainly alienated many of his sympathisers; for example, the Black family, which was known of its pure-blood mania, and which had once tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal, had not aligned with him in its entirety. Not even Orion, Tom’s minion from a young age, had taken the Dark Mark.

Lord Voldemort had turned himself into a creepy snake-man – an abomination. Although Tom was fond of snakes, he was also fond of his handsome looks; it had granted him many benefits. What in Atlantis had been on his other self’s mind when he had destroyed such an asset? If he had wanted to be half-snake and half-man, he could have become an Animagus. That had been on Tom’s to-do list, but yet there was no mention of Lord Voldemort being an Animagus in the book.

How could he have thought that merging the features of a human and a snake would be a combination better than either of them themselves? Tom liked both steak and chocolate pudding, but that was no reason to mix them into one single dish. It seemed this small piece of common sense had been lost to his other self.

There were only two good things that Tom had learned from the book. First, it was not common knowledge that Lord Voldemort’s name had been Tom Riddle; the book did not mention the name at all. Second, David Monroe was also dead, one of the early casualties of Voldemort’s War. These things meant that Harry Potter and his friends were unlikely to stumble upon any information that would contradict the lies Tom had told about Lord Voldemort’s identity before he could tamper with their memories again.

When Tom left the tavern with his physical needs satisfied, he clung to the hope that the book was just a piece of propaganda. Perhaps his other self had been much cleverer, but Dumbledore had somehow learned of his plans and executed them for his own benefit. Then he had produced a vast number of stories about Voldemort’s stupidity and made the public believe them. If that was the case, there had to be a quiet opposition that secretly distributed the suppressed truth. Such an opposition probably resided in Knockturn Alley.

Tom walked to the street of Dark wizards and witches. It, too, was as he remembered it. At least Dumbledore’s power was not so absolute that he could have eradicated this small sanctuary of the Dark Arts. Many of the shops were closing for the day, but Tom walked into a dingy bookshop just as the shopkeeper was about to close it.

“We’re closed for the day,” he grunted. “Come back tomorrow.”

Tom cast a Confundus Charm a bit more forcefully than he had intended, and the shopkeeper stumbled back and tripped over his own legs. Tom marched in and skimmed the shelves until he found a booklet with the title 13 Reasons Why the Dark Lord Was Misunderstood. He did not read it as thoroughly as the much more professional book about his other self. He did not need to. He quickly realised what kind of publication it was: a clumsy, frantic defence of a ludicrous political crusade that had failed because of its own folly.

Reading it was even more horrible than reading the book had been. Tom wanted to scream. If he had had a wand with which to reliably Obliviate the shopkeeper afterwards, he would have thrown the booklet at his face, or perhaps forced him to eat it. He stormed out of the shop, seething with rage.

The booklet had confirmed many of the details in the book, but that had not been the worst part. It appeared Lord Voldemort had not just thrown his own potential to the wind. He had also dragged the House of Slytherin to ruin. Because of him, those magical people with Dark tendencies considered a crazy, reckless and impulsive snake-man as their role model. That was just a twisted caricature of Tom’s great vision, a depraved parody. Voldemort had not surrounded himself with insightful advisors, but mindless sycophants. The House of Slytherin no longer produced cunning masterminds who sated their ambitions through flexible and adaptive plans and who just enjoyed most of the challenges they faced. It produced blunt thugs who wanted to get their way as quickly and easily as possible and threw a temper tantrum if they did not. Slytherins had just become Dark Gryffindors!

It was a good thing Salazar had not left a ghost behind. It would have wanted to commit suicide but could have never succeeded in it.

Tom returned to the gloomy tavern, nearly bursting with accidental curses, so severe was his state of bad mood. He rented a fittingly dark and depressing room with what money he had left and went to bed. Although he had been active ever since breaking free from the diary some twenty hours earlier, sleep did not come to him easily. He lay awake, wondering what had gone wrong.

Well, it was not difficult to find the most probable reason; more difficult was to admit it. Tom’s other self had gone on making more Horcruxes, sticking to his early ideal of a seven-part soul. It seemed every time a soul was torn, the more sensible part was the one to be placed in the object. Tom’s other self had descended further into madness with every Horcrux he had made. And so, Lord Voldemort had not been a mature and fully learned version of Tom Riddle, but just his shadow. When he had started his conquest, nothing had been left of his brilliant cunning. And so, his plan had been to simply force the entire wizarding Britain into submission. The heir of Slytherin had been satisfied with the most Gryffindor-ish plan imaginable – unveiled, witless bravado.

Was that the reason some people became Gryffindors in the first place? That they had small, damaged souls?

The book from which Tom had learned of Horcruxes had warned that the side effects included insanity. He had just scoffed at the warning, deciding it was there just to scare weak-willed Hufflepuffs from seeking immortality. If the book had explicitly told that making Horcruxes turned people into Gryffindors, he would have decided to only make one.

Lord Voldemort – that was the great name Tom had fashioned for himself. He had wanted to show that he was not happy with using a name – a common, filthy Muggle name – that someone else had given him. The purpose of the name had been to highlight his individuality and independence. But now the thought of that name filled him with sadness and bitterness, the horrible feeling of wasted potential.

His own great name had been contaminated with associations of insanity and idiocy.

It was his name no longer.

It was time for a new beginning.

 

---

 

When Tom woke up on the 31^st of May, 1993, he felt miserable. He tried to tell himself that he should have been happy, that he had returned to life just the day before. He had not done it to feel this way. Would he have preferred to stay hibernating in the diary, perhaps for all eternity? Of course not.

Still, he could not escape the question that kept popping in his mind:

Who am I?

That question had haunted him when he had lived in the Muggle orphanage. He had known himself to be special, that he had been far above the other orphans. Then he had discovered that he was a wizard and learned of another world that would one day be his. That had helped him to create his own identity, a personal quest he had continued at Hogwarts. He had tried to find about his parents, but eventually he had had to accept the horrible and disgusting fact that his father, after whom he had been named, had been a Muggle. The research about his mother’s side had produced much more satisfying revelations. He was related to the ancient family of Gaunt, descendants of Slytherin. Although this fact had made him proud of his lineage, it had also filled him with loathing; Slytherin’s blood had been tainted with Muggle blood! It was a secret he would never share with anyone.

The result of this quest for self-discovery had been the creation of his own identity, Lord Voldemort. For the first time in his life, he had been content with the question of who he was. He had continued to another crucial quest, that of achieving immortality. He had created a Horcrux, got trapped within it, and returned fifty years later to find out that his other self had destroyed the achievement of his quest for self-discovery.

Again, he did not know who he was. All he knew was that everything had been foiled by his other self… no, Tom no longer accepted Lord Voldemort as “his other self.” Voldemort was just a perverted shadow of Tom, an insult, a kind of a mirror-image, one that had turned all of his virtues into their opposites.

Tom had breakfast at the tavern’s restaurant. There were some other guests there and some of them watched suspiciously at the young man dressed as a Hogwarts student. However, his expression was so sour and annoyed that they kept their distance.

Tom wanted to find what was left of Lord Voldemort and cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. Since that was not possible for the moment, he decided to visit the Muggle world and torment some of those sorry excuses for human beings who threatened wizardkind with their sheer numbers. Tormenting Muggles was a great stress-reliever, a fact which he had found out before he had even known he was a wizard.

He went into the Leaky Cauldron without worrying about who might recognise him, slammed the front door open, took a few steps… and was rooted on the place.

The Muggle world had changed. A lot.

The perpetual smog that he had hated about London was almost completely gone. The number of cars in the street had increased to a staggering quantity, and they were quieter and looked more sophisticated. The buildings that were damaged and destroyed during the air raids had been repaired and rebuilt. People did not look as distressed as during the War. They looked wealthier and healthier, and some of them were speaking in telephones they carried with them!

Tom’s anger dissipated and was replaced with astonishment. He looked around, taking notice of the inferior Muggle world for the first time in fifty-five years. After he had got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts in the summer of 1938, he had been totally absorbed in the new magical world. But before that, he had been to a Muggle school and had wandered in Muggle London, and so he had some knowledge of the Muggle way of life. Back then he had not thought about it in such a systematic and analytical way as he did that day. It was an experience… he hated to admit it, but it was almost as great an experience as his first encounter with the magical world.

A word came to his mind, slowly. Progress. It was among those words he had learned during his years in the Muggle world but had never needed to use in the wizarding world. Magical people did not understand the concept of progress. To them, the world was stagnant. Hogwarts operated in exactly the same way as in its first years, as did the Wizengamot and the Ministry. As he had observed, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were just as they had been fifty years earlier. New ways of magic were not discovered; even the greatest magical researchers just invented slightly different applications of universally known magical axioms. Knowledge was being lost and some of it was rediscovered with a huge fuss. That was all.

The Muggle world was different. They really had made progress, their world did not stay the same, they were heading somewhere… that much was obvious.

Tom might not like Muggles or their way of life, but he was not someone who disregarded a possible opportunity to learn new powers that could be used to achieve his ambitions. If there was something to be learned from Muggles, then so be it. He would never let anyone control any power he lacked, that was the founding principle of… whoever he was.

When walking down the street, he spotted a man who was waiting for someone and reading a newspaper. Tom Confunded him, stole the paper and began to read. There was much in there he did not understand at all, especially in the advertisements. Strange devices of all kinds, designed for strange Muggle purposes. He needed to find out about them since it was possible he could make use of them himself. All wizards hungered for magical artefacts, but if the same qualities could be achieved without magic, it had to be an improvement.

Soon he came across a store which had on display some of the devices from the advertisements. A Ravenclaw-looking overweight young man with eyeglasses was scrutinising them, and Tom judged him to be a safe source of knowledge.

“How would you explain these devices to someone who doesn’t know them?”

The Muggle stared at Tom. “Don’t you know what these are?”

“I was speaking hypothetically,” Tom said, because he hated admitting that he did not know something, even Muggle things. “You see, uh – my grandfather was born in 1926, and he hasn’t been keeping up with new inventions. I’d like to explain them to him, and I thought it would be smart to ask someone else’s point of view as well.”

The Muggle’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. Apparently, talking about these things was really gratifying to him. Tom did not actually listen but invaded his mind with Legilimency in order to understand everything better. Since the things he wanted to learn were at the forefront of the Muggle’s mind, it was very easy and caused almost no mental strain.

What Tom learned was impressive. As he already had witnessed, Muggles had invented telephones that could be carried around. They had upgraded the radio into a television, which also showed a film. They had replaced the abacus with a machine called a calculator which had no brains, no soul and no magic, but still knew most of the non-magical stuff that Tom had learned in three years in Arithmancy. Even more impressive was the computer which had superseded the tabulating machine; it could be used to organise and process at least a bookshelf’s worth of information, and more and more each year. It must have been tremendously high-level technology, since even when delving into the Muggle’s mind and sensing his knowledge, Tom could not understand it.

“My grandfather would no doubt ask how you put memories into a device.”

“Ha, they’re not memories like those in our minds. The computer’s memory is actually just zeroes and ones in specific orders. Certain order of them means the letter A, another order B and so on…”

But when the Muggle proceeded to explain the newest wonder of the world, the Internet, Tom was genuinely frightened.

An ethereal yet totally non-magical connection which can be used to share information with anyone who can access to the connection? Who could have guessed that Muggles would discover their own kind of magic that did not rely on wands, potions, runes, magical plants and creatures or the purity of blood. It was worrisome. In the Slytherin social circles where Tom had gained influence, Muggles were depicted as mindless peasants who just wanted to kill magical people. He should have realised that the notion had been at least a few hundred years out of date; after all, he had grown up in London of the industrialised age. However, as a newcomer in the House of Slytherin, he had had no trouble accepting the dismissive depiction of Muggles along with all the other pure-blood supremacist judgements.

Was it possible that wizards despised Muggles so much that they did not even notice how the mindless peasants had created noteworthy substitutes for magic? Could these substitutes be used to advance to a much higher level than the one wizardkind had reached? After all, the wizarding world was stagnant while the Muggle world progressed. What even more impressive devices could the Muggles come up with in the next fifty years? Or in a thousand years, for that matter? That would be Tom’s problem since he was determined to become immortal.

Again, he felt the familiar irresistible hunger for knowledge. Unlike the day before, it inspired him instead of solely filling him with a variety of negative emotions.

Once Tom had learned everything interesting the Muggle could tell about the devices, he turned and left the store without saying anything, leaving the bewildered Muggle staring after him. Learning about hard drives, microprocessors, modulators, semiconductors and electronic circuits was of no use if he did not understand the science behind them. They were like individual spells, but science was like the Arithmantic and Runic foundations upon which spells were crafted.

Soon Tom spotted a Muggle school and walked in after casting on himself the spell that prevented Muggles from paying attention to him. In the staff room, he found a physics teacher, who currently had a free period, and cast a mild Confundus Charm on him.

“Tell me of the greatest scientific achievements of the last century.”

The teacher began to lecture, and as with the previous Muggle, Tom began to scan through his mind in search of magic substitutes.

Muggles have visited the Moon?! Not only that, but they had also sent several non-magical probes into the space, either to orbit other planets or entirely out of the Solar System. Plans of colonising other worlds within the next century were not considered lunatic ramblings.

By Nicolas Flamel’s notebook… Muggles had even discovered their own version of the Philosopher’s Stone, a thing called nuclear power which transformed an otherwise useless metal called uranium into astounding amounts of energy. Although it did not produce the Elixir of Life, it had a very destructive use: a bomb that could destroy an entire city with a single blast. Two such bombs had been used in warfare, just two years after Tom had been trapped in the diary. That was a power of such a level that not even the most powerful Dark Lord had achieved it.

Wizards really should update their threat-estimate of Muggles. A slow tainting of magical blood was next to nothing compared to being marginalised through the ever-accelerating development of science and technology.

The magic substitutes were awe-inspiring, really. In a way, they reminded Tom of wandless magic. A wizard without a wand might be able to use some bits of magic, although clumsily and unreliably. At first, it was as difficult as writing with one’s toes. Still, one could learn those skills through practice and patience. Tom had always been proud of the fact that he had learned wandless magic without being taught and even more proud that it had happened before he even had known he was a wizard. He had used what means he had had at the time and reached a certain level on his own.

Well, Muggles had done the same, had they not? They had no magic, but they knew what they wanted and just kept trying until they invented the means of doing it all with what means they had. They were like… Tom. Or perhaps… Tom was like them. Admittedly, this had been going on for longer than he had been around. Had he subconsciously imitated his precocious ingenuity from Muggles? Was his upbringing in the Muggle world actually a blessing?

“Tell me of the history of technology,” Tom ordered the teacher.

The Confunded teacher changed the subject mid-sentence. The next lecture caused Tom several distasteful surprises. Apparently, some Muggle inventions had been slowly creeping into the wizarding world without anyone taking notice. Train, like the Hogwarts Express, was a Muggle invention, as were also the printing press, the clock, the camera and such a convenient everyday thing as plumbing. Tom did not even want to know how sanitation at Hogwarts had been arranged before someone had condescended to build an extensive Muggle thing to ease things up. Even the pure-blood maniacs had accepted these things to ease their daily lives. The fact that these inventions had spread over the wide cultural gap was unsettling. It was like a quiet admittance that Muggles had done some things better than wizardkind.

Tom had always thought that there were five types of people: Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Muggles. He had thought Muggles to be like non-magical mixtures of the worst traits of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. When learning about the miracles of the Muggle world, he realised that he had greatly misjudged the Muggles. Of course there were Muggles of the personality types of all of Hogwarts’ Houses. There were Slytherin and Ravenclaw Muggles who had created these stupendous technologies. They deserved his respect much more than most wizards did. He decided to henceforth judge Muggles as individuals, just as he judged wizards. Was it by any chance possible that his father had been a scientist? If so, he could even be proud of the elder Tom Riddle.

Tom felt troubled. These two days had both shaken the foundations of his worldview. Perhaps he had received too much new information in this very short a time. He could not help it that his view of Muggles was under change.

That realisation made him wonder, where exactly did his biased view of Muggles originate. It was not a difficult question to answer. He had not enjoyed his time in the Muggle orphanage, and that had caused certain distaste towards Muggles in general. The other thing was that he had accepted the opinions about Muggles of his Slytherin housemates as his own without question. That was actually very uncharacteristic for him. Was he not supposed to be the independent and individual one who did not let other people decide anything for him?

So, this view-changing exploration trip to the Muggle world was not actually something that shook his foundations. On the contrary, he had finally started to act as he saw fit for himself. When pursuing power to achieve his ambitions, he should not and would not be narrow-minded. Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving underlings should not have the sole access to these impressive Muggle creations.

And then there was the question of why so many pure-blood Slytherin aristocrats had this biased view of Muggles? A theory formed in his mind. Perhaps they had feared Muggles more than they had wanted to admit, and that fear and the frustrating knowledge that they could not have done anything about it had manifested as belittling stories about Muggles. They had tried to convince each other and themselves too that Muggles were little more than beasts so that they would not have needed to fear so much. Then a new generation had born, and it had accepted these stories and false views as truths.

If this theory was true, it was a great shame for the House of Slytherin. A potentially decisive threat was rising, but those who were aware of it had created a daydream that the threat did not actually exist, and then the threat had been forgotten. What if the whole wizardkind would end up destroyed because those Slytherins who knew of the threat had made themselves believe their daydreams instead? Unacceptable!

Slytherins should have been better than that. Unfortunately, the House of Slytherin of the 1990s was but a shadow of its former glory, thanks to one Lord Voldemort, Tom’s once other self. That deranged madman had claimed he wanted to save wizardkind from Muggles but had only succeeded in ruining the cunning and ambitious House which should have understood the rising menace and prepared to counter it.

Had Voldemort actually aimed to the destruction of wizardkind? Whether or not that had been a deliberate goal, he was a much greater inner threat than the naive, idealistic Dumbledore had ever been.

As Tom stood in the staff room of a Muggle school staring into the eyes of the Confunded physics teacher, he suddenly understood for the first time what Gellert Grindelwald had tried to do and why. During Grindelwald’s reign of terror, pure-blood patriarchs such as Quintus Malfoy and Phineas Nigellus Black had declared him an obnoxious upstart, and that was why so few British wizards had joined his revolutionary cause. Pure-bloods had not tolerated it that Grindelwald had never considered the blood status of wizards important and had instead focused on Muggles. Wanting the magical and Muggle civilisations to unite, even with wizards firmly in the position of power, was not considered far from blood treason.

But in a sudden flash, Tom understood that Muggles were not a threat because of their blood, but because of what they could create. The aristocratic status quo, the magical Ancien Régime that considered the strict separation from Muggles sacrosanct, was not good for wizardkind in the long run. It might turn out to be a similar mistake as the overconfidence of the wizard-king Darius of Persia. The Macedonian warlock Alexander had defeated him and conquered his entire empire.

Something had to be done. The obvious first step in saving the wizarding world was to restore the House of Slytherin from the ruin Voldemort had caused. And who should be the one to do it, if not Tom? That meant he would have to return to Hogwarts, which he would do with pleasure.

The day before, when he had found out about Voldemort’s influence on the House of Slytherin, he had thought to himself: real Slytherins just enjoyed most of the challenges they faced. Perhaps he should consider this new quest a challenge and just enjoy the difficulties it offered him. He would not get his way as quickly and easily as possible, but he would not throw a temper tantrum because of it. He was no Voldemort.

And luckily the threat was not immediate. Muggles were still far behind wizardkind in many ways, especially transportation, mind reading and control, healing and invisibility. Before they created substitutes for these magics, they were at a severe disadvantage should a war ever break out between the civilisations. Also, they were unaware of the existence of wizards.

This was a new purpose for Tom. He had woken up wondering, who he was. It had not taken long before he had found an answer.

He was the restorer of the House of Slytherin, the heir of Salazar himself.

He would be the saviour of wizardkind.

And, eventually, the immortal half-blood ruler of both the wizarding and Muggle worlds!

Chapter 5: Arrangements

It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that the Ministry’s Department of Law Enforcement was secretly guarding the Muggle Prime Minister and probably hundreds if not thousands of other influential Muggles. Otherwise, it would have been ridiculously easy for any Dark wizard to gain power by placing a few Imperius Curses.

However, the Ministry’s resources were limited, and so it could not get involved in most of the mischief that unscrupulous wizards like Tom caused in the Muggle world. That was why he was not overly nervous when stepping into a Muggle bank office somewhere in London. It took him just two minutes to Confund the clerks and leave with a million pounds sterling stuffed in a briefcase.

He had always wondered why there were poor magical families. The only reason he could come up with was that only a quarter of the population were Slytherins. Most wizards who meddled with the Muggle world just created funny but useless stuff like carnivorous toilet seats or vomiting tea pots. They were too creative to understand that Muggles could be turned into a gold mine without the Ministry noticing.

As Tom walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, he had time to ponder some political philosophy.

There were two kinds of lords: first, those who cared for the well-being of their subjects, and second, those who just wanted to be on top of the hierarchy and enjoy their feeling of power. The first kind had at least two possible reasons for caring: either they considered the well-being of subjects as a goal as such, or they wanted their subjects to be better fighters, taxpayers, entertainers or whatever.

Tom was never a particularly sociable person. He had not considered the members of his Hogwarts gang as friends, nor had he truly cared about Ginny despite her endless flattering. Mrs Cole, the matron of the Muggle orphanage, had once called him a psychopath. So, what kind of lord would he be?

Certainly not the Dumbledore type that considered the well-being of subjects as a goal as such. Why then would he care about such things as the blood status of his subjects? The common Slytherin ideology of preserving pure magical bloodlines was based on care for the well-being of future magical generations. The pure-blood aristocrats wanted their descendants to have magical power, a wondrous privilege of the few. Although the tolerant and compassionate Gryffindors depicted Slytherins as cold, selfish and uncaring, it was not true. Gryffindors were hypocritical, they just wanted to be free to marry anyone they wished, and they were totally unconcerned about the possibility that their descendants might not be able to use the magical powers their ancestors could. That was what Tom called selfish and uncaring. And what kind of person considered it well and good that witches and wizards who married Muggles did so mainly because they wanted a spouse who was completely powerless compared to them? Because all magical people were practically armed and trained combatants, the wizarding world had gender equality no Muggle society had ever experienced. The sole purpose of marrying Muggles was to gain such dominance in family life that one simply could not achieve in a fully magical marriage.

Anyway, Tom was not like most Slytherins. He did not care about his descendants, if he ever even had one, because he knew the horrible truth. The only thing that gave anything any meaning was his own self. If he did not exist, there would be no meaning. If he died one day, the universe would become meaningless. He was the only window from his consciousness to the universe, and if that window ceased to exist, the entire universe could just as well cease to exist. He could not deceive himself into believing that any meaning could come from other people. There were those fools who called his worldview cynical, but he knew it was simply realistic.

He had to become immortal. And if he achieved immortality, his magic would be preserved forever. Why would he care if the tainting of magical blood rid everyone else of their powers? It would actually be of his benefit if he alone commanded such power. He could not simply enter the Palace of Westminster and Imperius all of the Muggle politicians because then the Ministry would stop him. Of course it would be better if he had no such constraints.

What had Voldemort thought about these things? Probably nothing. He had accepted the pure-blood supremacist ideals as his own, without ever wondering whether or not they made any sense in his personal circumstances. That was how had born a Dark Lord who cared nothing of anyone but himself but still advocated an extreme version of a policy that was based on genuine care for future generations.

It was inconceivable. Voldemort seemed like a poorly made-up novel character, an implausible mixture of contradictory villain traits.

As Tom trudged down Diagon Alley towards Gringotts, he thought about the Mudblood Hogwarts students whom he had commanded the Basilisk to petrify. Why had he bothered?

He stepped in front of a counter in Gringotts, tossed the briefcase on it and said to the goblin on the other side,

“I’d like to exchange this Muggle money to Galleons.”

“Quite an amount of money,” the goblin observed with a deeply suspecting gleam in his eyes.

“I won in a lottery,” Tom lied easily.

The goblin stared at him for a moment with one of the most incredulous expressions he had ever seen. Tom stared back, looking calm and slightly bored. Then the goblin apparently decided that no one in his right mind could come up with such a ridiculous lie and began to check the stacks of banknotes with a magical sensor. They were counted and stated not to be forged, and before long the exchange to Galleons began. Tom would need to open a vault of his own, but until then he would carry the Galleons in a wallet of which insides were magically enlarged and contents charmed weightless.

He had known the goblins would not be interested in investigating his suspi­cious money exchange. They were devious and ruthless people who minded mainly their own business and probably participated in many criminal activities such as smuggling and engaging in black market sales. That was part of their resentful low-intensity warfare against wizards who did not allow them to own wands. Also, they charged quite a lot for money exchange, and so it was not in their best interests to complain.

Goblins were Slytherins through and through. Tom actually highly respected them.

It had taken Tom less than two days to become one of the richest people in wizarding Britain even though he had started absolutely Knutless. It was time to arrange many things. He needed a place to live, a new wand and other wizard’s accessories, some way to change his looks so that no one would recognise him, recognition by the Ministry that he was a wizard who lived in Britain, private tuition in Apparition and of course a new name.

The taverns of Diagon Alley would suffice for the moment. Before he could get recognition by the Ministry, he needed a name. It would have to be one that would not make Dumbledore suspect it was him – Duke Moldevort would not do.

“That owl arrived an hour ago. Is it for you?”

“Huh?” Tom was pulled from his thoughts by the landlord of the shabby tavern he had slept in. The man pointed at a white owl that regarded the alley with amber eyes from atop a lamppost. Tom did not recognise the owl, but the owl seemed to recognise him, because she spread her wings, flew to him and offered a letter. There was just one word on the envelope: Tom.

Tom. That was a name Dumbledore would never suspect Lord Voldemort of using, the former Transfiguration teacher knew how he had loathed it. But since Tom had learned to respect the Muggles in a new and strange way, he realised that he did not dislike the name so much anymore. He had declared the Muggle world his property and had almost been happy that he had lineage in both of the worlds. Besides, since the name Tom was perfect for fooling Dumbledore, there suddenly was certain Slytherin appeal in it.

Tom was his new old name. It was who he was.

Right, he had received a letter, probably from his new minions who were under the impression that he had banished Voldemort and saved an innocent girl. It was good to see they had understood the basics of operation security and had not written his full name on the envelope. Tom stuffed it in his pocket, rented a room again and locked himself within it to read.

He tore the envelope open and realised that the letter was not the only content. There was a wand too, elegant and expensive-looking. Intriguing. He had worried about the visit to Ollivanders as the ancient man was rumoured to have an unlimited memory. He could have informed Dumbledore of Tom Riddle’s look-alike purchasing a new wand.

Interested, Tom began reading the letter.

Dear Tom,

Thank you again for your help in the Chamber. Although there was a celebration in our honour, we know that you are the real hero of Hogwarts.

We did as you requested. The Chamber’s location remains hidden, and we actually would have been unable to tell anyone about it even if we wanted to. We think there was a Memory Charm that removed the knowledge of the entrance’s location from our minds. Also, Professor Lockhart got the credit for banishing Voldemort. They are even planning of posthumously granting him the Order of Merlin’s First Class Award. That’s something you should be awarded with!

Dumbledore has returned to the position of Headmaster and Lucius Malfoy was thrown off the board of governors. Draco has been delightfully humble ever since.

Ron and I were awarded for Special Services to the School just like you fifty years ago. We also got two hundred House points for Gryffindor – each of us! We are bound to win the House Cup!

You mentioned you needed a new wand. We decided to send you the wand that belonged to Professor Lockhart. I disarmed him before we entered the Chamber and Ron threw the wand out of the window. Luckily no one found it from the school grounds before us.

We all look forward to meeting you during the summer holidays. Ron, Hermione and Ginny send you their regards.

Your friend,
Harry Potter

Four hundred House points for Gryffindor and a certain victory in the House Cup championship? Was that supposed to make Tom happy? For a moment he regretted not letting the Basilisk eat Potter and the two Weasleys when he had had the chance.

Well, perhaps it was beneath his dignity to care about such things as the House Cup anymore. In fact, a knockout defeat for Slytherin might make the members of his ruined House understand that something had gone wrong with them. He needed their pride in their House broken before a reform could gain popular support. Yes, perhaps Dumbledore’s clear favouritism was for the best. Anything can be an opportunity, that was something Salazar Slytherin had taught the first students Sorted to the House of Slytherin, and Tom was very fond of that particular piece of his ancestor’s wisdom. It was the entire philosophy of Slytherin in a nutshell.

So, he had got a wand thanks to his talent in manipulation. That would help him with changing his looks. He stepped in front of a mirror and looked at his image, the young man that too many could recognise. Then he pointed his new wand to certain parts of his face and began incanting.

It was a good thing he had early on practiced charms that criminals used to dis­guise themselves. He had known they would be of much use to someone like him.

He turned his eye colour to greyish blue. That small thing did a lot; it gave him a much brighter look. Next he turned his hair colour to light brown. His elegant porcelain pale complexion had to give way for a rosier one. A small but noticeable birthmark on the left cheek served as an imperfection that was out of character for Tom Riddle, a known perfectionist. Then just a few changes to his eyebrows, nose and chin, and Dumbledore would not know it was him. Tom could still recognise himself, and Potter and his friends would probably too. Dumbledore might briefly pay attention to his resemblance to Tom Riddle, but since he had no reason to suspect Tom’s return, he would not make any ominous conclusions; he was, after all, an optimist from top to toe. Also, most wizards and witches had some resemblance to others, thanks to centuries of breeding within a small population. Dumbledore probably saw dozens of familiar resemblances every day, and that would desensitise anyone. Tom’s case would be nothing out of the ordinary.

Even if Dumbledore considered Tom being Lord Voldemort in some form, he would most likely come to the conclusion that Tom would have disguised himself much better than he had. In a way, Tom would be hiding in plain sight.

These charms Tom would have to cast every day the same way, and so he studied his face for a long time, memorising every detail.

His voice could also betray him. Unfortunately, voice distortion charms were much more unreliable than disguising charms, and so it was better to practice sounding different without magic. It could not be too difficult; voice actors did it all the time.

 

---

 

Tom still needed a fitting surname. After failing to come up with one on his own, he visited the library again and began to read through lists of British wizard families. The problem was that he could not claim to be a member of one of them, because that would have resulted in suspicion and investigations. The Gaunt family had been extinct but was out of the question because of the connection to the identity he was trying to disguise. If he could have chosen his name totally according to his preference, he would have chosen the name Salazar Slytherin II. However, that would have met with indignation even if he had demonstrated his skill of Parseltongue. Not to mention that he would have been suspected of the recent incidents at Hogwarts.

So, he had to search for a name elsewhere. Eventually he went to a Muggle bookshop and took a random book from the section of foreign-language fantasy books for children, opened a random page and read the name Valedro.

Valedro? There was something fascinating about it. He could imagine his surname being Valedro. It was enigmatic and mysterious… like a riddle of some kind.

Tom Valedro. It was good enough. He did not bother to continue this quite trivial search any further. An official name was of little consequence to someone like him.

 

---

 

The next day Tom visited the Ministry of Magic’s Department of International Cooperation. He had claimed in his request letter that he had moved to Britain from New Zealand where the Valedro family had supposedly lived for a few generations. Becoming a citizen of wizarding Britain was ridiculously easy after he donated several hundred Galleons to the Ministry. After that he visited the Department of Education where he requested to be accepted to Hogwarts. Then he had to visit the Wizarding Examinations Authority where he arranged the Ordinary Wizarding Level tests in order to demonstrate the skill level required for a sixth-year student. That way he could continue his education from where it had been discontinued fifty years earlier. He signed up to all of the tests, even Muggle Studies.

When all of that was arranged, Tom contacted the Kwikspell Company for a course in Apparition. He was not going to wait for the course that Hogwarts offered the sixth-year students.

 

---

 

In the evening, Tom entered his new home, Château de Valedro. It was located in Diagon Alley, almost next to Gringotts, and the purchase had been arranged when he had been running errands in the Ministry. Inside, he was greeted by the house-elf he had agreed to employ. The elf had been fired very recently, and Tom wondered if the previous owner had considered him too Slytherin. The elf demanded compensation for his services! At first, Tom had been indignant about such greed and arrogance, but then he had realised that he did not want a meek Hufflepuff busying around him. Besides, he could well afford to pay one Galleon a month.

The rooms of his new home were still empty; the house-elf had not yet had the time to obtain furniture except for a temporary bed, table and chair. Tom instructed him to fill the rooms with furniture, paintings, sculptures and other requisite reminiscent of Hogwarts, because he wanted to feel home in this place.

When the elf went on his business, Tom sat down, placed some parchment on the table and began to write a response to his minions at Hogwarts.

Dear friends,

I am pleased things out there ended up well. Thank you for sending me Professor Lockhart’s wand, it was very considerate of you to remember that I lacked one.

I have used these days arranging my new life. My new name that I ask you to use from now on is Tom Valedro. You may wonder why I chose not to change my first name. I thought that continuing to use it would confuse Voldemort more than any other name would. After all, no one would be so stupid that he would change only a part of his name when concealing his identity.

When visiting Gringotts, I found out that one of my distant relatives had died without an heir. I proved my true identity to the goblins (who have sworn not to spread the information) and inherited a fair amount of gold. That way I was in a financial trouble only for a very short time.

When you return to Hogwarts for your next term, I will be coming with you. My education is not yet finished, and I arranged everything with the Ministry. My official backstory is that my family lived in New Zealand, but I decided to come to Britain to complete my education in the greatest magical school in the world.

My new home is in Diagon Alley. You are welcome to visit me during the holidays. I have employed a house-elf called Dobby to help me. He is quite a special individual. I have never before even heard of a house-elf who demands a Galleon and one day off each month. These compensations I grant him gladly, for I am not fond of slavery.

Your friend,
Tom Valedro

Tom was proud of the fact that he could use almost anything to his benefit. Perhaps he had used slightly too many words telling them about Dobby, but he really wanted to grasp this opportunity to display his fake gracious nature.

Tom Valedro, who banished Voldemort, who saved a young girl from death and who even acted kindly towards house-elves. That was just the kind of hero from fairy tales who could gain the support of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw factions of the nation. And once they realised what kind of lord he truly would be, it would be far too late for them.

 

---

 

Potter and his friends kept Tom well informed about everything that happened at Hogwarts. Among the things they told him was one that made him feel he had narrowly escaped a possible disaster. In his second letter, Potter told that he knew Tom’s house-elf, Dobby. The elf’s previous owner had been Lucius Malfoy himself, son of Abraxas, whom Potter had tricked into freeing Dobby by giving the man a sock that he had thrown away so that Dobby had managed to catch it. Malfoy had been actively trying to use the Chamber of Secrets incident to flush Dumbledore from Hogwarts (a goal worthy of respect), but what was strange was how Dobby had warned Potter of “terrible things happening at Hogwarts” before anything had happened.

Immediately after reading Potter’s letter, Tom summoned Dobby and began to interrogate him. It turned out Lucius Malfoy had been responsible for the diary ending up with Ginny. Dobby had overheard his master plotting to get rid of Dumbledore and to disgrace Arthur Weasley through his daughter. The elf knew that some inconspicuous little book given by Voldemort himself had been involved. Had Dobby ever told Potter these things, Tom would have got into deep trouble.

Well, fortune had been on his side, and it had opened an invaluable opportunity to do some damage control.

“Dobby!”

“Yes, Master Tom, sir!” the elf said enthusiastically.

“Obliviate.”

After certain memories had been removed altogether, Tom began altering the remaining ones to fit the story he had fabricated. The wand he used had an extraordinary affinity with Memory Charms, making it the perfect tool for an undercover Dark wizard. Once the memory manipulation was done, he smiled with grim satisfaction. One more threat averted.

Now the only others who knew the truth about the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets were Lucius Malfoy and whoever he had plotted with when Dobby had overheard them, possibly his wife. However, they were unlikely ever to tell Dumbledore the truth. The House of Malfoy had been on Voldemort’s side during the war, but afterwards Lucius Malfoy had claimed he had been under the Imperius Curse. Ever since he had been leading the largest political faction in wizarding Britain, that of the blood purist aristocrats. However, Dumbledore had united several smaller factions behind him, and that had made Malfoy the leader of the opposition. The public considered Dumbledore the real leader of wizarding Britain and either admired or resented his decision to pull the strings behind the formal Minister for Magic. The opposition used its superior financial assets to bribe Minister Fudge to not advance the reforms proposed by Dumbledore’s coalition, and it had caused a political stalemate.

Gathering allies is something I will have to do eventually, said the imaginary voice of Tom’s cautious side. The Malfoys are ideal in many ways, but approaching them is not without risks. Abraxas was not among the easiest ones to manipulate.

If Lucius Malfoy did not support Voldemort willingly, he might be one of the few who understand the ruin that has befallen the House of Slytherin, his calculative side pointed out.

Voldemort would not have given the diary to him if there was any uncertainty about his loyalty, said his cautious side. The story about having been under the Imperius Curse is almost certainly a lie. Besides, I can’t imagine that Voldemort would have been unable to turn Abraxas’s son into a minion, regardless of how stubbornly independent Abraxas himself was.

True, said his calculative side, but if this younger Malfoy has a more subservient nature than his father, it is something I can exploit. And his son is very young and receptive to influences. Draco Malfoy certainly has high prestige among the Slytherin students of Hogwarts, and that makes him the first one I will have to convince to support a reform. Once I will have the son under my thumb, the father will follow.

The internal debate ended, and Tom nodded. The first step on that avenue to power had been decided.

 

---

 

While the Hogwarts term was coming to an end, Tom continued his education in London. Training under a private teacher of the Kwikspell Company was actually much more gratifying than studying at Hogwarts had been. Tom had been by far the most talented student at Hogwarts in his time, and the other students had always slowed him down. With the Kwikspell teachers he was able to advance at his full speed. Also, they knew many clever tricks and shortcuts of performing magic that most teachers of Hogwarts had not bothered to teach to the dim-witted masses. What was equally appealing was that the Company taught subjects that were not in Hogwarts’ curriculum, namely Alchemy, Wandlore, Battle Magic, Spell-Crafting, Enchanting – and Tom’s favourite, the Dark Arts.

Tom’s first days in the training were quite full of Destination, Determination and Deliberation. He had learned the theory of Apparition by heart as early as in his first Hogwarts year and determination he had always had in abundance. It did not take long before he was able to move in an instant with sufficient skill. He got his Apparition licence from the Ministry (after having lied about his age) and continued on to his next task: becoming an Animagus. It would take time, and even more Determination and Deliberation, and he was prepared not to be ready in months.

Tom also read through some Hogwarts textbooks in preparation for his new Ordinary Wizarding Level tests. He had been trapped in the diary just after he had completed them in 1943, and much of what he had practiced for them was still fresh in his mind. The new tests took place in the Ministry, and Tom was somewhat shocked to see that he would be tested by none other than Griselda Marchbanks, just as fifty years earlier. She was one of the many whom he had dumbfounded with his natural genius for magic, but now he decided not to show off. The frustrating part of fooling Dumbledore about his identity was that he had to play the role of not such a spectacular person but a rather ordinary one. Still, he was certain he completed all twelve tests with an Outstanding grade. He simply could not stoop lower than that.

The Muggle Studies test had been a ridiculous one. Apparently, even most Muggle-loving wizards were largely ignorant about the most impressive magic substitutes. To them, the Muggle world was just an inexhaustible source of strange and interesting requisite. Ginny’s father collected Muggle things like electronics, but he just played with them instead of trying to understand how they worked and what they were really capable of. His attitude towards Muggles was in a way just as scornful as that of the blood purists’. To him, Muggles were not people, but pets.

Tom made more excursions to the Muggle world in his quest of learning useful skills. Many days he spent in university classrooms, scanning the minds of the lecturers instead of listening to what they said. After a few days, he found his favourite scientist, an Oxford professor of biochemistry, one Michael Verres. He had extensive knowledge of many branches of science, not just his own, and Tom liked his way of thinking: he knew and used the methods of rationality. Tom returned to read his mind now and then and learned much that could in some imaginable circumstances be of use to him. Professor Verres was a Muggle with the virtues of Ravenclaw, that was obvious.

Tom also did what little he could to ensure his survival now that he did not have any Horcruxes. He purchased a bullet-proof vest, reinforced it with the Charm of Unbreakability and numerous automatically activating Shield Charms, and he wore it all the time. In his pocket, he carried a bezoar to be swallowed in case of being poisoned and bottles of Essence of Dittany and Blood-Replenishing Potion in case of being injured. He also acquired a few firearms just in case.

 

---

 

“Congratulations, Mr Valedro,” Madam Marchbanks said. “You passed all twelve of your Ordinary Wizarding Level tests with an Outstanding grade. It has been more than ten years since anyone has achieved this. I have to admit that I have never before heard of the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand, but clearly you have received an impressive education.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Tom replied. “The Academy is one of those that operate in secrecy. Personally, I don’t see much sense in that policy. That is one of the reasons I decided to finish my education elsewhere.”

The world was full of small, secret magic schools, which was why Tom had not considered it risky to claim he had been educated in a non-existent one.

“I am sure Headmaster Dumbledore is happy to see you finishing your education at Hogwarts. A wizard of your talent and international connections will be welcomed to the service of the Ministry once you graduate. Some people have already expressed their interest to meet you.”

“Really? I was intending not to brag about my grades, but someone decided to do it for me?”

It turned out that Professor Slughorn’s club for talented and well-connected students and alumni had produced three generations of elite in wizarding Britain. Although Slughorn had retired from Hogwarts, the extensive web of connections he had created had continued to grow and increase the influence of its members. Since new Hogwarts students no longer joined in, many of its members had tried to take Slughorn’s role and begun to invite new talented young people to join. People like Cornelius Fudge, Bartemius Crouch and Lucius Malfoy were all members of this elite class, and they had created an almost impenetrable barrier around them that prevented people like Arthur Weasley from getting promoted.

And once they had heard of Tom’s twelve Outstanding OWLs, they had decided to give him an opportunity to become a member of their ruling class – for their benefit, obviously. Tom briefly contemplated what would have been his situation that very moment had he decided to pursue a Philosopher’s Stone instead of making Horcruxes and chosen to gain power the subtle way.

Ah, well, it’s never too late to start a new plan, Tom thought as he was escorted to the cafeteria of the Ministry.

He met with two Ministry officials who had been members of the Slug Club and discussed with them for an hour, feigning moderate interest towards what they told him about working in the Ministry. Although he would never have even considered a Ministry career, it would not hurt to make an acquaintance with someone with inside information. He had no idea what he could do with such a tiny advantage, but a true Slytherin accepted even the tiniest one. Whatever happened, it was better to have a tiny advantage than not to.

“What kind of possibilities does a Ministry career offer to someone who reaches for greatness?” Tom interrupted the boring ramblings of the Ministry official.

The wizard’s previously genuine smile changed ever so slightly, turning into a fixed one, as if he was unsure whether or not to consider reaching for greatness concerning.

“Well… there are many kinds of greatness, isn’t there? No position of Britain is more desired than that of the Minister’s. Many consider it the greatest honour to serve our magical community.”

Tom grimaced internally. The wizard he was talking with had almost certainly been in the House of Hufflepuff and probably been a prefect. He was clearly one of those who diligently did what he was told or expected to do, but he had never dared to even imagine crossing the line that separated slaves from free men. Such people were important parts of any organisation, but Tom could not respect them any more than he respected easily expendable cogs in a machine. That also meant that he had no interest in talking pointless things with him as if they were equals. The conversation ended shortly, and Tom headed for the exit before anyone else could waste his time.

As he had found out when he had planned his career, the vast majority of great wizards were considered Dark. Dumbledore was one of the few exceptions, but even that might change once future generations would make their unbiased judgement of his life.

Tom would not spend his summer as an intern at the Ministry. Great wizards gained power through their magic and the magic of their allies, not formal status. Dumbledore held the most power in Britain simply because he could subdue the Ministry if he wanted to. That would be Tom’s path as well, and so he continued his studies in the Kwikspell Company. Dumbledore was a century ahead of him, so he had much to catch up.

Strangely few wizards understood that graduating from Hogwarts did not mean you were ready as a wielder of magic. That certainly had not been the idea of the founders. Back then graduates had continued as apprentices to older wizards until they really knew the art of a wizard. There had not been separate magical and Muggle societies then. Wizards had ruled over Muggles as kings, priests and noblemen, or by using esteemed Muggles as their puppets. Those were the good old times Tom was intending to bring back. He would be the new Merlin who stood in the shadows behind the throne, letting others attract assassins and busy themselves with dull parchmentwork.

The founding of Hogwarts had been a revolutionary change in the education of young wizards, but in the long run it had caused a decline. Once the International Statute of Secrecy had forced wizards to withdraw from ruling Muggles, the culture of a mentor and apprentice after an education at Hogwarts had almost completely died out. Wizards had had nothing left to do, except the boring everyday things they had earlier forced Muggles to do for them. As there had been little to achieve anymore, fewer and fewer wizards had bothered to learn anything after graduating.

There was no wizarding equivalent of a university. The closest thing were private companies like the Kwikspell or the Ministry’s training programmes for Aurors and Healers, and the top-secret Department of Mysteries which unfortunately did not share its knowledge. The companies were often ridiculed because desperate Squibs tried to find their non-existent magic powers through their courses. Every time Tom entered the Kwikspell building, he saw a few Squibs queuing for the most basic lessons. He did not understand why they bothered to attend the Kwikspell courses. They should have just learned some generally useful skills in the Muggle world and then returned to the wizarding world to use them. That would have been a shortcut to many high-ranking positions.

Tom’s mind was in a state of disbelief when he thought about how the Ministry of Magic operated. It recruited the best students who graduated from Hogwarts. How useful could it be that the Ministry’s employees were experts in subjects like Potions, Herbology, Astronomy or Transfiguration? Squibs could have studied subjects like public administration, political science, jurisprudence and economics in Muggle universities. Those subjects would have been infinitely more useful when running a country, and that was why Tom had added them to his list of arts he needed to be at least somewhat familiar with.

The total population of wizarding Britain was less than twenty thousand, but its bureaucracy employed as much people as that of a Muggle state with vastly larger population. The only imaginable reason for that was that in wizarding Britain one could become the Minister for Magic without knowing what Muggle public administration required from a summer intern. They simply did not know how to organise anything, but neither did they want to. Since so many citizens of wizarding Britain worked in the abysmally mismanaged depths of bureaucracy, a much-needed reform would have left most of them unemployed. A nation of wizards was never short of money, and so there had never really been any need to run the country without wasting it.

Tom had to be honest; these things became obvious to him only after he had started his excursions to the Muggle world. It was a reminder to him that no matter how stupid something was, even as intelligent and analytical person as he might need someone or something else to point it out. He swore to himself that in the future he would be more perceptive and willing to learn new insights from where he would not have sought them out earlier.

 

---

 

One day, when Tom returned home after a dozen satisfyingly exhausting duel practices with an ex-Auror employed by the Kwikspell Company, he noticed two letters on his table. One of them was written by Ginny. The little girl had kept on writing to him as if he still was her diary, and he had kept on writing her back, considering the trouble a small price to pay for the opportunities that the role of a hero would offer. Luckily, the distance between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley meant that she had to wait for his responses for a few days each time, which was a tremendous improve­ment.

The other letter was written by Potter. That was the one Tom opened first.

Dear Tom,

My second term at Hogwarts ended today. The end-of-term feast was a joyous occasion with the Chamber of Secrets incident behind and Gryffindor winning the House Cup. However, now I’m once again faced with a summer with my Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. They utterly despise magic and I’m sure they haven’t forgotten that the last time I saw them, I escaped from their house using a flying car. They are sure to punish me for the crime of existing.

I’m writing this letter to you from the Hogwarts Express, and until September I will be living in number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Since I will not be enjoying my time in the Muggle world, I hope you are still happy to invite me to visit your new home. That would be greatly beneficial to both me and the Dursleys.

Your friend,
Harry Potter

Tom grinned in a very evil way. Associating with Harry Potter would be greatly beneficial to him too, much more so than Potter could imagine. As Tom understood it, the miraculous saviour of wizarding Britain was quite a timid person and would be bored and lonely when living with the Muggles. Tom would have more than two months to manipulate him before he returned to Hogwarts with his friends. It should be long enough to turn him into an admiring follower whose wise mentor figure was not Albus Dumbledore but Tom Valedro.

And so, Tom wrote a letter to him promising to visit him in Little Whinging in a few days. Learning new skills in the Kwikspell Company was rewarding, but there were other avenues to power. Exploiting the fame of the Boy Who Lived was one of them, but for that to succeed, he would need to bring him up as his stepping stone to greatness.

Chapter 6: The Two Orphans

Tom was doing something so atrocious, so heinous, so undignified, that just a month earlier – well, a month plus fifty years earlier – he probably would have called it blood treason. He was reading Muggle newspapers with genuine interest towards the non-magical world. Daily Mail, The Guardian and Financial Times were under his scrutiny, because he wanted to be aware of every revolutionary magic substitute Muggles might invent and to understand the complex way a huge society operated.

The Muggle law enforcers were investigating an incident where a million pounds sterling had somehow disappeared from a bank office. The office staff had been interrogated, but no one was accused of embezzlement due to lack of evidence. It was a total, unsolvable mystery, but no one suspected that there was a riddle involved.

Stealing the money had been so easy that Tom had considered doing it again. However, if there was a supernaturally successful serial bank robber on the loose, the Ministry of Magic was bound to hear of it, and then a wizard would be suspected. So, if he ever wanted more Muggle money, he would need to devise a more subtle way of getting it. And no, he was not considering any honest work.

He had lied to the goblins that his money had come from lottery. Actually, it would be a much safer way of getting money than outright stealing it. It should not be very difficult to magically ensure that certain numbers were drawn. Tom could even travel to the continent and repeat the deceit in some Dutch, Belgian and French lotteries. No one would ever know that some mischief had happened. It might even be for the best if he returned the money he had stolen and made it look like someone had placed stacks of bank notes in a wrong place. He could never be too careful. It was entirely possible that the Ministry investigated all even slightly mysterious Muggle incidents that involved large amounts of money. (When reading about Voldemort’s War, he had been impressed with the legendary Auror Alastor Moody’s constant vigilance.)

However, first he had a meeting with his promising minion and political asset, Harry Potter, who had had three days to get bored in the Muggle world and start longing for magical company. That had always been more than enough for Tom even though other people meant so little to him.

Tom went to the balcony of his house carrying his newest investment, an outrageously expensive broomstick called the Firebolt. It was a prototype he had purchased from the manufacturer before they were officially brought to the market, and he had done so because it fit his plan. At Hogwarts, he had disliked it how other Slytherins had showed off the wealth of their families with magical gadgets whose main or only purpose was to show off with. However, as long as Tom was not the one who set the rules, he had to conform to the rules set by others. That meant that in order to secure a place in the higher echelons of wizarding Britain, he had to imitate the fools who thought that owning the best available broomstick meant that the owner was worthy of respect. Spending some stolen money was a shortcut on the long and winding path to world domination.

He cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself, mounted the status symbol and ascended high above the roofs of London. Then he directed the broomstick southwest and got going. He felt his spirits rise as London’s cityscape seemed to glide beneath him with roaring speed. With a broomstick as fast as the Firebolt, the journey would not take more than half an hour or so. At least an expensive broomstick had properties besides being something to show off with.

After settling in his new life, Tom had established a certain routine in his daily activities. He woke up early and invigorated himself with physical exercise in Hyde Park and a cold shower back home. Then he read advanced textbooks on various magical subjects or basic textbooks on Muggle sciences. After reading the usually quite ponderous texts until his focus began to slacken, he switched to practicing the spells, transfigurations and magical methods he had read about. Then he had scheduled an hour of recreation that he usually spent flying around. The Kwikspell lessons took place in the afternoons, and while having lunch, he skimmed Muggle newspapers and scientific journals. In the evenings, he used Legilimency on Muggles, not just scientists, but also engineers, military and intelligence officers, politicians, diplomats and businessmen – basically anyone who knew something interesting or had expertise and experience he could utilise. Lastly, he had another go at the textbooks. At weekends, he usually Apparated to the Welsh mountains to fly and later attended a concert by the London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Although there was much appeal in learning and practicing, he could not help but feel the dull fatigue that was unpleasantly familiar to him. He had been imprisoned in the diary for fifty years, and after having been freed, he had had a mighty drive and vigour to do almost anything, but apparently the enthusiasm had not lasted even for a month. He was lapsing back to the apathy that had been his normal state of mind, and he was not looking forward to it. His strict routines and the urge to become exhausted with practice every day were meant to keep the depressing feeling of meaninglessness at bay. Unfortunately, it was not enough.

He needed something new and interesting to do. Perhaps Potter would be of help. Manipulating other people was a challenge much more unpredictable and entertaining than increasing power with the simple cycle of reading and practicing. That was just what Tom needed. And, unlike the manipulations in his Hogwarts years, manipulating Harry Potter was going to be useful, not just fun.

From the Muggle sciences he had learned that humans were a social species by nature. Human beings needed other people around them or life would become meaningless. He would have preferred to be above such sentimental defects, but perhaps it was simply not possible. This apathy he was starting to feel again was proof of it. Admittedly, ruling an empty world as an immortal wizard-king would be excruciatingly boring, almost as boring as sensing the shut covers of a diary. Even someone like Tom Riddle was dependent on other people, perhaps not as friends, but at least as pawns and playthings. One could not be a Dark Lord without anyone to lord over.

Tom contemplated these things during the broom ride until he noticed some of the landmarks he had memorised when studying a map of the region. He found the village of Little Whinging and landed half a mile from Potter’s home. He did not risk going nearer in case there were some very wide-ranging protective enchantments that detected magic in Muggle areas. He studied his surroundings until he was sure he knew the place. That way he was able to Apparate back there.

With a twist Tom Apparated back to his home in Diagon Alley. There he left the Firebolt on its place and with another twist Apparated back to where he had left from a few seconds earlier. He was going to walk slowly the rest of the way, properly acting like a Muggle. He did not want to meet Potter walking wobbly and stomach churning, those nasty side-effects of all methods of instantaneous transportation. Getting used to them was taking much longer than he had hoped.

He found the playground where he and Potter had decided to meet. The younger boy was already there, walking nervously in a small circle, glancing around. He saw Tom but did not look at him for longer than a fraction of a second. Tom wondered briefly if he had a habit of not looking directly at people. It was the way younger Hufflepuffs behaved in the presence of older Slytherins in order to avoid attention, and it told much of a person’s character.

“Hello, Harry.”

Potter’s gaze shifted back to Tom in an instant.

“Tom? Is that you? You look different.”

Tom stepped closer and smiled as warmly as he could.

“Yes, I’m using disguising charms. I’m not taking the risk of anyone knowing my true identity.”

“Would it be possible to hide my scar with such a charm?”

“Of course,” Tom said, remembering how Ginny had told him of Potter hating being famous. “Unfortunately, the effect isn’t permanent. And I can’t do it for you now; your Trace would inform the Ministry about it.”

“Trace?”

“The spell that detects underage magic. It’s my least favourite spell by far. Luckily, it didn’t follow me into the diary. Oh, there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me.”

Tom handed Lockhart’s wand over to Potter. He took it, bemused. Then, without warning, Tom wrenched it back from his grip.

“Ah, that’s better,” Tom said, smiling.

“Uh… what was that about?” Potter asked, looking confused and slightly wounded.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said, pocketing the wand. “A quick lesson of Wandlore. The wand chooses the wizard, and although it’s possible to use another’s wand, it’s much more difficult and wearing. If a wizard defeats another, he wins the other’s wand’s allegiance. You disarmed Lockhart and this wand yielded to you. In my hands it felt wrong. That’s why I gave it back to you so that I could take it from you by force. It worked; the wand has now yielded to me. If I’d warned you of what I was doing, you’d’ve given the wand back to me willingly, and I don’t think that would’ve been enough for me to win the wand’s allegiance.”

“All right,” Potter said. “Mr Ollivander did say something about that.”

Tom suddenly remembered how Potter’s wand had felt in his hands when he had briefly used it before leaving Hogwarts.

“Did you have trouble finding a suitable wand?” Tom asked, hoping to lure Potter into revealing something.

“I tested almost every single wand in the shop before he offered me this,” Potter said and showed the wand Tom had wondered about. “Holly and phoenix feather…”

He stopped quite abruptly. It was as if there was something he did not want to tell. Tom had an urge to use Legilimency and learn whatever he wanted, but he resisted it. He would wait until Potter visited Diagon Alley.

“The aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets incident seems to have gone well,” Tom said, thus steering the conversation to the topics he had listed beforehand. It was crucial for him to learn what was so special about Potter that Voldemort had tried to kill him as a baby. If he had some kind of innate Dark Lord immunity, Tom would have to be extremely careful around him.

“The Weasleys were obviously very relieved,” Potter said. “Dumbledore was a bit disappointed that the Chamber business was not dealt with for good. He also said that we must prepare for more such plans from Voldemort. He told me to be alert. Who knows how Voldemort will appear next time.”

Tom almost laughed out loud. There Potter was, after having been told to be alert, having a nice talk with Voldemort’s younger self.

“Do you have any idea why Voldemort tried to kill you or why he couldn’t?”

“Dumbledore told me that Voldemort couldn’t kill me because my mother gave her life to save me,” Potter explained. “Her love gave me a protection more powerful than Voldemort.”

Tom had to suppress a grimace. Such a Dumbledore-ish thing. Love is the most powerful force in the world, something like that the old goat had told his students while Tom had rolled his eyes. And now he was supposed to learn that the Headmaster was right?

Love was just one emotion among many. And Tom knew for a fact that it was not the most powerful one. Muggle history indicated that most investments in scientific and technological advancements had been made for one of two purposes: to gain either military or commercial advantage. Similarly, in the wizarding world, many spells had been crafted for the exact same purposes. According to mainstream Muggle science, humans had evolved to be the most intelligent species on Earth because their ancestors had struggled to outsmart one another in order to gain social status which in the ancestral environment had equalled power.

The most powerful emotions, or at least the most influential ones, were greed and ambition. If love had truly motivated more, humans would still live in the wilds, probably unable to speak, let alone cast spells. On second thought, those love-driven humans would have quickly become extinct as some less sentimental species would have wiped them into the garbage can of evolutionary missteps.

These were not things Tom was going to explain to Potter. Instead, he continued to one important topic on his list: why Potter had so easily believed the story of Ginny having been possessed by Voldemort, something that included someone called Quirrell.

And so, Potter told about his adventure during his first year at Hogwarts. While listening, Tom thought about what implications Voldemort’s attempt to return to life had, but then Potter revealed the horrible conclusion of his adventure.

“The Flamels… are dying?” Tom stuttered, trying to temper his rising panic.

“Yes. Dumbledore said that death is just the next great adventure.”

Tom did not want to hear any of that rubbish. For a moment he ceased playing his game with Potter and calculated the situation. The Philosopher’s Stone had been destroyed a year ago. For how long were the Flamels going to survive after it? Had the Elixir stopped their ageing, in which case they might have decades left to live? Or had they died in mere days?

Should he track them down and, if they still lived, interrogate them with any means necessary? No, as much as it pained him to admit, it would be futile. They had lived for centuries without anyone having been able to force valuable information out of them, not even the likes of Voldemort and Grindelwald. That meant the knowledge of how to create a Philosopher’s Stone was going to be lost. There was nothing Tom could do. He would have to rely on his Horcruxes, which was challenging since most likely he did not have any. He would have to find one that Voldemort had made and somehow bind it to himself instead.

If only there was some way to speak to the dead and to force the spirit of Nicolas Flamel to help him…

“It is a great tragedy when someone so ancient dies,” Tom said when Potter had started to look at him curiously. “The Flamels certainly had a vast knowledge of every branch of magic. But I digress. Please, continue your story, I’d like to know everything about the Chamber of Secrets incident.”

Potter continued, all about his meeting with Dobby, his relatives locking him in his bedroom, the Weasleys coming to rescue him and his accidental visit to Knockturn Alley. Tom was particularly interested about this part, since the fact that Lucius Malfoy had been selling Dark artefacts to Borgin and Burkes meant he had been seeking a way of getting rid of the diary. He enquired a bit too closely, and then Potter realised what the plot had been.

“Dobby warned me about the Chamber,” he muttered. “And he turned out to be the elf of the Malfoys. That means Lucius Malfoy knew that the Chamber was about to be opened? But how?”

“He was a Death Eater,” Tom said, trying to come up with something. “Against his will, so he claimed, but obviously he had every reason to lie. Apparently, Voldemort has been in contact with him. I’ll talk with Dobby about this.”

He made a mental note to himself to Obliviate Potter of this realisation.

Potter continued and Tom listened keenly, although not all of the events at Hogwarts were new to him. Potter told about his friend Hermione Granger and her cleverness that had allowed them to infiltrate the Slytherin common room. The girl seemed precocious and powerful. Tom was surprised to learn that she was a Muggle-born, the one who had been petrified along with Penelope Clearwater.

Potter finished his story, and Tom was relieved to learn that Dumbledore too had believed the fabricated story. Since Voldemort had been possessing Quirrell who had died at Hogwarts, it was entirely plausible that his soul had stayed there. Tom wondered what Dumbledore had deduced of Malfoy’s involvement, but he decided not to ask Potter if he had told the Headmaster about Dobby’s warning.

“… and so, here I’m again, stuck with the Muggles for the summer,” Potter sighed. “That’s a lot about me. Why don’t you tell about yourself?”

Tom suddenly realised he had almost been interrogating Potter about his adventures. That was not how friends talked with one another, he had to remember that. In order to manipulate Potter successfully, Tom would need to pay closer attention to his behaviour.

“Well, I completed my OWLs and started taking the Kwikspell Company’s courses,” Tom prattled and, when going on, was surprised to notice that Potter seemed genuinely interested. Perhaps his life in the wizarding world was so exciting that a normal wizard life was totally unfamiliar to him.

“… it’s amazing how learning one thing leads to several other things to learn next,” Tom pressed on. “I asked the Kwikspell instructor what skills support the mastering of spells and techniques. He told me that playing the violin is in many ways similar to wielding magic; it requires mental focus and precise arm movements, after all. He also told me that martial arts are essential in becoming a masterful duellist. So, I’m now seeking a teacher of those arts from the Muggle world.”

Potter’s expression turned to wistful, then slightly frustrated.

“I hope I’d have something like that to do,” he said quietly.

Tom blinked. “You don’t have any hobbies?”

“No. The Dursleys won’t even think about paying for them… for me, that is.”

Tom looked around. The neighbourhood looked quite middle-class, surely Potter’s relatives had some money to spend. Then he remembered what Potter had told him, things he had not bothered to think about earlier. The Dursleys hated magic. The Weasleys had rescued him after he had been locked in his bedroom…

“So… what’s your life like in the Muggle world?” Tom asked.

Potter was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself. Then he began to speak. He told everything, about being called a freak, about Harry Hunting, about having lived and been locked in a cupboard under the stairs, about the lengths his uncle had gone to prevent him from getting the Hogwarts letter.

It was far worse than Tom had imagined. He had hated living at the orphanage, but at least he had been left alone most of the time with a room of his own. Harry had endured outright hostility he had not deserved in any way. He had suffered from lack of food and an unreasonable amount of chores, but that had been because of the hateful attitude of his relatives. Tom’s years at the orphanage had at least been darkened by the Great Depression and the Second World War, circumstances that were understandable causes of poverty. Mrs Cole had not been responsible for his miserable childhood, Grindelwald was. He had caused the stock market crash that had escalated the economic crisis, just as he had established the warmongering puppet governments in Russia, Italy and Germany.

Tom wondered, who (in addition to Voldemort) was indirectly responsible for Harry’s troubles, and he was quite sure he knew the culprit.

“Why are you living with them?” he asked once Harry had finished.

“They’re my only living relatives,” Harry muttered.

“That doesn’t make any sense! Your parents certainly had many friends in the wizarding world who would’ve gladly adopted you, the Boy Who Lived. Just think about the Weasleys.”

Harry looked like as if he had never even thought about it. The Dursleys had efficiently indoctrinated the feeling of not being wanted into him. Such a feeling was a great personal burden and also something that a resourceful Slytherin could exploit.

“You’re right,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Dumbledore had some reason. At least I think it was him, he had the key to my Gringotts vault.”

“In fact, since the Potters were a pure-blood family, you’ve got many distant cousins in the wizarding world. I don’t think you’d need to go many generations down your family tree to find shared ancestors with the Weasleys.”

“Really?” Harry said, looking almost shocked.

“There are some very powerful protective enchantments that are designed to protect family members in their home,” Tom mused, trying to remember the details. “And they’re often bound by blood. That may be the reason you must be living with your closest relatives. Although I’ve never heard before that such a protection would be connected to Muggles… but I can look for an explanation in my books.”

The two young wizards had walked a large circle for miles while talking. The Dursley household soon came to view, and Tom tried to sense enchantments around it, but without using a wand he could not.

“Your home appears to be very vulnerable,” he said. “But that’s not possible. There have to be some very powerful protective spells in here to keep Death Eaters away. They may require your presence in here, I’m afraid. Let’s meet again in a few days, and if the enchantments permit it, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley.”

“That would be great,” Harry said. “I can’t wait to return to the wizarding world.”

“I know how you feel, I really do,” Tom said, and they shook hands in farewell.

He started to walk away, quite happy that he wanted to make sure he was out of reach of any protections before Disapparating, because he had much to think about and walking had always made his thoughts flow more smoothly.

He had not advanced in his plan of manipulating Harry, the news of the impending deaths of the Flamels and of Harry’s home life had thrown him off balance. Well, maybe the conversation had laid firm foundations for future manipulations, and perhaps Harry’s trust in Dumbledore would be shaken by the reasoning that he could have lived his childhood with some wizard relatives.

Tom absently looked at the dull rows of identical houses that were so characteristic of Little Whinging. Harry’s experiences in the Muggle world were appalling. It was a miracle he did not have as hostile an attitude towards Muggles as Tom had had before having been impressed by their science and technology.

But it was a good thing for Tom that Harry was not having a good time. When abandoned in the hostile environment, he would learn to greatly appreciate the presence of his only wizard contact.

As Tom Apparated back home and went to the balcony to look at the magical hustle of Diagon Alley, he realised that he could mildly empathise with Harry. That was new. He had not felt the emotion ever before.

Only much later that evening did he realise that he had started to call the boy Harry in his mind, someone he was in first-name basis with, not Potter anymore, one among the disconnected masses of other people who meant nothing to him.

Chapter 7: Fleeing the Apathy

Many times, Tom had been infuriated with the stupidity of other people, and every time he had been wondering what was wrong with their minds. Well, in all honesty, sometimes his own mind, which he had considered uniquely clear and rational, made him wonder about himself.

His plan, from the very beginning of his magical career, had been the following: first, become immortal; second, become the most powerful wizard in the world; third, eliminate opposition; fourth, rule the world forever. How was it even possible that those goals lacked the power to motivate him to the fullest? Why was he always an apathetic concentration of nihilism while the lesser people, those who had accepted their fate to die one day and cease to exist, were able to enjoy their fleeting lives? These questions had plagued him for years, every time when he had not succeeded in mustering the motivation to read some book or practice some spell. Around him, other people had often been much more enthusiastic although they had never had plans of using the skills in order to do anything that mattered.

No wizard wisdom had ever been able to answer Tom’s questions, and so he decided to search answers in the Muggle world, specifically from a renowned psychologist.

“What is the secret of motivation?” Tom asked right after entering uninvited into the psychologist’s office. He had found out that questions like this easily brought many relevant thoughts to the forefront on the mind. Rather than waiting for an answer, he used Legilimency on the psychologist’s mind and used her knowledge to analyse himself. What he learned was complicated.

It appeared people were rarely motivated by abstract goals. Although the rational mind knew very well that immortality was the most important thing there could ever be, it meant little to the unconscious mind. Human beings lived in the moment and were much more frightened by things like thunder or a venomous snake than the concept of death. That was why people were much more motivated to find shelter or to run than to read through ancient tomes in the hope of finding a clue that could open a way to eternal survival.

Human beings were inherently stupid. Their unconscious mind was still that of an animal. Unfortunately, Tom would have to suffer this stupidity in his own life even though he knew it was stupidity. It was stupidity of such a fundamental kind that no one could learn not to be stupid even if they tried to.

There was a reason for Tom’s misanthropy. A very good reason, he liked to think. He thought it was tragic that eugenics had gone out of fashion after Grindelwald’s minions had associated it with their genocides. Perhaps the new Muggle science of genetic manipulation would be a tool of creating a new, rational human being. How even that could help Tom, though, he was not sure. He was quite attached to his soul, even if it was the product of the irredeemably out-of-date genes that determined the human mind.

The psychologist’s explanation to Tom’s question about ruling the world as a goal was simpler. There was no actual reason why he wanted to rule the world. It was just something that Dark Lords tried to achieve. There were objectively good sides, of course, like people doing what you wanted them to do, getting rid of things that annoyed you, delegating all uninteresting tasks to minions and not having anyone who could order you to do anything. However, to Tom the rulership of the world was not a tool of achieving something great, it itself was the achievement. Ending wars, ending hunger and ending poverty, those Dumbledore-ish goals just could not motivate him. He had, already in his Hogwarts years, had several lackeys he had been bossing around, and it had been fun. But having several billion more people to boss around? It could not be that much more fun. So why bother?

Tom continued scanning the psychologist’s mind, searching for more knowledge. He wanted to know if there was something that could truly motivate him so that he might flee the apathy he had felt more or less for his entire life.

Exceptionally intelligent people were often lonely, because they had problems with getting along with most people. Many of them found themselves focusing on challenges that mostly involved people as intelligent as them or sometimes no other people at all. Such as scientific research, arts or other creative occupations, or strategy games like chess and Go.

There is potential for a solution to my problem in these things, said the side of Tom that he usually labelled as calculative. This time, it was more general: his open-minded side. They work for many people; therefore, they can work for me.

But I can’t just decide that some research topic is interesting as such, said his cautious side, now labelled as sceptical. It is in my nature to only consider the instrumental value of things. Some things are potential stepping stones on my way to world domination, and they are interesting. Others are not, and they are boring. There’s a reason why the name of this side of mine is cautious and the previous voice’s name is calculative. All things that I bother to consider thoroughly with an imaginary internal debate require caution and calculation, because they are things about power, advantages and opportunities.

Then maybe I should plan what I will do in the future after I have taken over the world, said his open-minded side. I could seek out my artistic tendencies and dedicate my immortality to creating something aesthetically wondrous. Tom Riddle, Supreme Artist of the world, who turns the Earth into a single, massive piece of art!

Sounds alluring, but it’s something I would’ve done regardless of any special passion, said his sceptical side. Muggles did not turn the world into a fairer place during my absence, and I decided weeks ago to rectify it.

Tom thought about games. Chess was a common pastime in the wizarding world, and he had played it hundreds of times with his the other Slytherins. It was much better than Quidditch, but still, even chess had frustrated him, because nothing that happened in the game was of any consequence in the real world. Tom was not someone who fled the real world into any kinds of daydreams. How could he, when he had lived the first eleven years of his life in the misery of the orphanage and then suddenly found a wonderful new world?

Not all games take place on a board with strict rules, said his open-minded side. I can turn the real world into my chess board. It will provide me entertainment for a very long time.

One thing was certain: Tom had made the right decision in the Chamber of Secrets. Meeting Harry in Little Whinging had lifted him from the apathetic stupor for a time. Since he wanted a permanent solution, he decided to meet Harry on a regular basis for the rest of the summer. That would be one part of Tom’s motivating challenge in life. He would master the art of manipulation so perfectly it could be considered a scientific research project. He would create an army of followers so skilfully it could be considered a piece of art. And he would use that army to outmanoeuvre all opposition in a massive, world-wide game of chess.

That was a plan worthy of the heir of Slytherin. He just hoped it would work. It would not be the first time his attempts to get motivated failed and the dullness returned.

 

---

 

Since the psychologist believed arts to be motivational, Tom decided to try if they worked for him. One of the main reasons he had become so attached to Hogwarts was the artistic magnificence of the castle. Contrast to the dreary Muggle orphanage had been immeasurable. Ever since he had been bitter about it that he had never had the possibility to learn arts like painting, sculpting and music.

It was time to rectify that. Tom attended the first lesson with the violin instructor he had arranged for himself, but it began with a warning.

“Playing the violin should be started at a very young age,” the instructor said, eying Tom with scepticism and without enthusiasm. “Even if you were ten years younger, you should not expect to get into the Philharmonic Orchestra at your actual age.”

With enough ambition and zero respect for the privacy of other people, there is nothing I can’t learn in ten years, Tom thought as he took his violin and looked into the instructor’s eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and placed the bow on the strings, somewhat to the annoyance of the instructor. “Isn’t this how you do it?”

Tom started to play, and the instructor’s eyes widened in surprise. As Tom played, they stared at each other, until the instructor broke the eye contact with some difficulty, after which Tom immediately stopped.

“All right, I see that you are not a beginner,” the instructor said. “That, or then you are the most naturally gifted violinist ever. Why did you enrol on a beginner’s course?”

“My studies with the violin have been very unorthodox,” Tom said.

That was the truth. Unfortunately, Tom’s skilful playing was not because of any natural talent of music on his part, but the natural talent of Legilimency. While he had held the instrument, pressed the strings and used the bow, he had been delving into the instructor’s mind. He had borrowed the instructor’s skills, because he had reasoned it was a shortcut in practising his own skills. He would eventually develop a muscle memory as good as the instructor had, and that was the harder side compared to learning the theory.

These were not things he could explain. That meant a Confundus Charm was needed, even if it made it more difficult to use Legilimency.

Later, Tom also began his lessons in the martial arts. They were more challenging than the violin lessons as he was unable to maintain the eye contact required for Legilimency, and so he had to repeatedly stop the instructor to be able to gaze into his eyes. One of the first things he learned was that there was more to the martial arts than the fighting technique. It was all about discipline. Tom was not interested about that part. That way, the technique reminded him of the Dark Arts. To him, the whole purpose and ontology of these skills was the capability to crush and subjugate his enemies.

The next day Tom came up with another project that could be considered as either science or art. One of the courses in the Kwikspell Company was Spell-Crafting, but for some reason it took him weeks to realise its true potential. It was the most challenging course by far, but it offered unlimited possibilities. No great wizard relied on just spells others had crafted. Tom began to apply his knowledge in a project of reverse-crafting some very basic spells and then crafting new spells based on almost identical principles. For example, using the Levitating Charm as a starting point he could craft a spell that made things heavier instead of lighter. It had much potential in pranking, which actually might not be totally pointless. Ginny had told him much about her brothers Fred and George, who seemed exceptionally creative people. It was probably a good idea for Tom to recruit them as his next minions, and giving something to their pranking arsenal might do the trick.

 

---

 

Blood protections. Tom finally found in the library’s old tomes of protective magic something that matched Harry’s description of the magic Dumbledore had used to ensure the safety of the Boy Who Lived. Tom memorised the details and on his next visit to Little Whinging explained them to Harry as the two of them were walking away from the house of the Dursleys.

“Ever since your mother died to save you, her sacrifice has protected you from Voldemort and everyone who acts in his name. The protection is connected to the blood of your mother, and it can be strengthened by your mother’s sister who shares that blood. Right now, the sacrifice fuels a protective enchantment around your home, and it is so powerful that Voldemort and his followers are totally unable to harm you while you are at home. I’m unsure how wide-ranging the enchantment is. Clearly, it’s not limited to the house, because in that case it would be useless unless you were to be kept inside your whole life.”

“So, is that the reason I must be living with the Dursleys?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Tom answered. “There are some limitations to the enchantment. You and your aunt must be living in the same house, and you must be underage. Also, the enchantment needs your presence to be refreshed. You must live for at least a month every year within the enchantment’s protection, or otherwise it will fade. Apparently, you living here refreshes the enchantment for about twelve times the amount of time you spend protected by it.”

“That means I’m stuck here for weeks,” Harry said sullenly.

“Unfortunately,” Tom said. “But it’s not as bad as you think. You must live within the protective enchantment, not necessarily be within it. You’re free to leave the boundaries of the protection as long as you return for the next night. So, this is my proposition. For the rest of the month, in the mornings I’ll come to fetch you, or send Dobby on my behalf, then you’ll spend your day in Diagon Alley, and in the evenings you’ll come back. This way, you won’t be seeing much of your relatives.”

Harry almost yelled with delight.

“Thank you, Tom! This is going to be the first whole summer I’ll enjoy! I don’t know how to repay you!”

You will be a pawn in my great game, Tom thought to himself. Already you are indebted to me. The day will come when you will be doing all the favours.

“Your relatives may still cause you some trouble,” he said aloud. “I’ve come up with an idea of how you could gain leverage against them. Where do your aunt and uncle work?”

“Aunt Petunia is a housewife, Uncle Vernon works for Grunnings, a drill-making company.”

“Excellent. I take it you inherited the wealth of the Potters. How rich are you?”

“There’s a huge pile of gold in my Gringotts vault. I don’t know how much it’s worth.”

“Well, I’ve been studying the Muggle world, and I’ve learned that storing your wealth in a vault is probably the worst possible way to manage it. If your parents had changed all their gold to Muggle money and invested it in the stock market, you’d be much richer than you are. So, I suggest you change the gold and buy the company your uncle works in. That way you can threaten him with sacking if he ever again mistreats you.”

There was an almost wicked grin on Harry’s face. Tom was happy to see that he was progressing in his plan of corrupting the Boy Who Lived.

“We’re far enough,” he said suddenly after realising they were at the intersection which he used as an Apparition point, grabbed Harry’s arm and Apparated to Diagon Alley. Harry stumbled, looking seasick, but then the familiar sight of magical London filled him with happiness.

“Welcome back to our world,” Tom said.

 

---

 

After Harry became a daily guest in the lofty house in Diagon Alley, Tom quickly learned how to influence him. All his life most people around him had treated him as an oddity. To his relatives, he was a freak. To magical people, he was a celebrity, either a hero or a villain. One of his best friends, Ron Weasley, appeared to have an inferiority complex which was why he repeatedly failed to behave naturally around Harry. The other friend, Hermione Granger, was the only one with whom Harry never felt uncomfortable with.

Tom fashioned his plan based on this information. He treated Harry as if he was just a normal person and forced himself to speak with him about everyday things he was not even remotely interested in. It was a strange but interesting alteration to his earlier manipulations which usually had involved flattery. As Tom had learned from him, Harry had been quick to accept his friends to enter his life, perhaps because they were the first ones he had ever had. Tom decided to claim the role of an older brother to Harry with equal efficiency. Luckily the likes of Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood had been too narrow-minded to seize that opportunity for their benefit. But it was understandable that Gryffindors did not recognise assets that were ripe for the taking.

As a part of this plan, Tom did not show how much attention he actually paid to Harry. Usually, they spent just two or three hours a day chatting while Tom continued his other activities. Most of the time Harry wandered around Diagon Alley, visited the shops and the library and studied in order to prepare for his next school year. He became interested in the Potions laboratory where Tom brewed Polyjuice Potion and Veritaserum (just in case) and tried to brew Felix Felicis (as all sensible people did). Harry’s own Potion-making skills were poor because of his resentful teacher, Severus Snape. Under Tom’s supervision, he tried to make some of the potions he had failed to make at Hogwarts (as making potions did not count, at least technically, as using magic over the summer), and he found that he actually liked the subject once he understood the principles. Seeing this as a new opportunity, Tom proceeded to teach him what Snape had failed to.

Tom also solved the mystery involving Harry’s wand. He heard in Harry’s memories Ollivander telling that the wand had a feather of the same phoenix whose feather was in Tom’s original yew wand. This information gave Tom much to think about. Harry had a twin wand, he was a Parselmouth and his scar had hurt when he had met Voldemort. That was too much to be a coincidence. There had to be some kind of connection between the two of them. The question was, was there also a connection between Harry and Tom, Voldemort’s former Horcrux?

 

---

 

After two weeks Tom had to face the fact that manipulating Harry Potter was far more difficult than he had imagined. All his attempts to nurture Harry’s Slytherin tendencies had rebounded from the brat’s impervious anti-Slytherin conviction. With Legilimency, Tom learned that the Sorting Hat had suggested Slytherin for Harry, but he had turned the suggestion down. When he had been suspected of being the heir of Slytherin, he had further assumed his opposition to all things Slytherin as part of his identity.

Perhaps things were too good for him. It was easy to be a Gryffindor when there were no obstacles that required creative and unscrupulous solutions. Well, Tom would be patient. Trouble appeared to find Harry well enough.

One day in mid-July, Tom invited Harry’s friends for a gathering. Originally, he had planned to keep Harry separated from them, but since his manipulation was not progressing, it would do no harm. Besides, Tom needed to do a certain important thing with them. The safety precautions to hide his true identity were inexcusably insufficient.

The first ones to arrive were Ginny and her brother, and she was unable to conceal her delight when meeting her “diary” again. Shortly after them arrived Hermione Granger whom Tom somehow recognised, because she had once cast a Revealing Charm on the diary. She greeted him enthusiastically with a rapid-fire of smart questions about the magic used to imprison him in the diary.

“All in good time,” he said, slightly unnerved. The diary was a dangerous topic and that was the exact reason he had wanted all four who knew about his connection to it to be there that day.

Harry and his three friends gathered around a table and began a frivolous conversation about holidays. Tom watched them for a moment. This little group was a stark downgrade from the dozens of avid followers he had gathered in his first life, but he had to start somewhere. Then he began the action.

“Confundo, Confundo, Confundo, Confundo,” he incanted.

The four children all fell into a state of total disorientation, and Tom began to use Legilimency and Memory Modifying Charms. It would only be a matter of time before they learned that Voldemort’s original name had been Tom Riddle and not David Monroe as Tom had told Harry in the Chamber. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Now that they were all in one place, Tom made them forget everything about the name Riddle. With Legilimency, he searched every single memory from their four minds where they had thought about, said, heard or read the name Riddle, and with the Memory Modifying Charm he changed all those memories to be about the name Valedro instead. Some memories he removed altogether, such as the little detail that a person of his name had been the Head Boy after he had been imprisoned in the diary. From Harry’s mind Tom removed the false origin story of Voldemort. He had asked Harry to take with him the first letter he had sent him, and from it he removed the part telling about his change of name.

Tom would have also wanted to remove their memories about him having been imprisoned in the diary. It was too fantastical even to the standards of the wizarding world, and sooner or later they would have more questions about it. However, his being in the diary had been too crucial part of his early interaction with them, especially with Ginny. Changing so many memories so drastically would have inevitably left many inconsistencies which they would have noticed, and then they would have suspected a Memory Charm. Instead, Tom left these dangerous memories as they were, but buried them in the backs of their minds, like some unimportant, half-forgotten minutiae that were not easily recalled in the conscious mind. Even a skilled Legilimens would be very unlikely to find them without specifically searching for knowledge about Tom Valedro’s origin. He intended to make sure no Legilimens would ever have any reason to be so curious about him or to suspect that these children knew anything special.

This memory manipulation took literally hours for Tom to do, and in the end, he was mentally exhausted. The children, of course, noticed nothing, and continued to chat after he lifted the Confundus Charms.

Finally confident that his dangerous secret would remain his own, Tom left the children to socialise and returned to plan his next steps towards power.

Although manipulating Harry had proven difficult, Tom found that fashioning his loyalty and planning the steps in restoring the House of Slytherin along with his studying and practicing sessions kept him satisfactorily motivated. Life in magical Britain seemed to be going happily. A week after the meeting of Harry and his friends, Tom learned from Ginny (who still wrote to him almost daily) that her father had won the grand prize in the Daily Prophet drawing. The Weasleys had immediately decided to travel to Egypt to meet the family’s oldest son, Bill.

Yes, that was how the famously poor family decided to use a windfall. Tom no longer wondered why they were so poor. Well, he was not going to complain. A holiday trip in Egypt for a month would certainly mean that he would enjoy a break in Ginny’s annoyingly childish letters.

One day, he read an article in the Daily Prophet about the Weasleys and their stroke of luck. There they were, their whole large family of seven wizards, two witches and one rat, visiting the pyramids and waving at the camera.

Tom sighed exasperatedly. Things in wizarding Britain were a little too good. The current situation offered no opportunities for any kind of change, and he needed change, because change meant conflict, and conflict was something he could exploit. Everything going smoothly would plunge him into boredom.

Little did he know that the article was about to cause a thrilling chain of events.

 

---

 

While the students had been enjoying the summer with their families, Albus Dumbledore had not relaxed his investigation at Hogwarts. He had studied every single square inch of the walls of the Slytherin common room and dormitories and the dungeons nearby. The frustrating part was that he had done so several times before, always to no avail. The entrance of the Chamber of Secrets was too well hidden. It was easy to recognise the legendary cunning of Salazar Slytherin in play.

So, when an emergency notice appeared on the Headmaster’s desk, the old wizard was immediately ready for action. The notice was written by Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, and its appearance was a rare event indeed. It had been almost twelve years since the most formidable wizards who were known of their commitment to justice were summoned.

Dumbledore sighed, popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and activated the Floo. Seconds later he stepped out of the mighty fireplace in Madam Bones’s office and saw the grim expression of the stern witch. The other people present were Bartemius Crouch, Alastor Moody, Bahry One-Hand, Rufus Scrimgeour and Gawain Robards, all either current or former Aurors. Minister Fudge had been excluded from meetings such as this one with an unspoken agreement.

“I summoned you at once after hearing this news,” Madam Bones said. “Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban!”

“How?” Moody barked.

“That is still to be determined. Somehow, he was able to trick the Dementors into not noticing that he had left his cell before it was too late. I assume he used some Dark magic that is totally unknown to us.”

“Why would he have waited this long to use it?” Crouch asked.

“He did not,” Dumbledore said. “I fear your assumption is incorrect, Amelia. More likely he had help from the outside.”

The others stared at him, all except Moody with fearful surprise.

“I notice a pattern in the recent events. It is Voldemort who is behind this.”

“Albus –”

“A year ago, he tried to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from Hogwarts. Two months ago, he tried to return to life through Ginevra Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets. Now he is on the move again.”

“You have explained these incidents to us before, but you have never had any definite proof about his involvement,” Crouch said.

“I am sure Harry Potter would be willing to testify under Veritaserum. I have seen his memories of his two new encounters with Voldemort. In any case, Sirius Black is but another tool. There is a ritual that requires the flesh of a servant.”

“Be that as it may,” Bones said. “Our nation is in crisis once again. I’m deploying Aurors and Hit Wizards to find Black. If we manage to catch him, we can force him to tell us what trickery he used to penetrate the protections that have never failed before. If he had outside help, we will know of it.”

“Of course the fun begins right after retirement,” Moody said with inappropriate satisfaction. “Back to work, then!”

Later, after Dumbledore had returned to his office at Hogwarts, he looked at the chess board on a side table. With a flick of the Elder Wand, another black bishop levitated out of one of the cupboards onto the board, taking a place apart from the other black bishop and the black pawns around it.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 8: A Black Affair

AZKABAN BREAKOUT: SIRIUS BLACK ON THE LOOSE, screamed the headline of the Daily Prophet. The reporter, Rita Skeeter, did not appear to be troubled by the Ministry’s massive failure to ensure the safety of Britain. On the contrary, she seemed to be wholeheartedly enjoying herself as she reprimanded Cornelius Fudge, Amelia Bones and several others of incompetence and negligence.

The article recounted Black’s heinous history: he had been a double agent during the war, convincingly pretending to be on Dumbledore’s side despite his background in one of the families most fascinated by the Dark Arts, and then, right after Voldemort’s disappearance, he had shown his true colours for some unfathomable reason and massacred a wizard and twelve Muggles. Apparently, he had been Voldemort’s right-hand man, although it made little sense. He had been in his early twenties when the war had ended, and yet there had been several much older and more experienced followers of Voldemort who had distinguished themselves many times. What in Atlantis had convinced Voldemort that Black had been more suitable than any of them? The thing with double agents was that one could never be entirely certain on which side they really were.

Tom had, of course, read about Black in The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but Black’s case had been one of the aftermaths he had not been that interested in. However, he remembered making a mental note that there was something besides the mass murder Black had committed, something that made Black’s case more interesting than the other aftermaths of the war. So, he grabbed his own copy of the book that had caused him so much disgust and disappointment, and refreshed his memory.

Ah yes, Black’s case was interesting because of its significance to Harry. Black had been James Potter’s best friend and the Secret Keeper of the Potters. Harry had been orphaned because Sirius Black had betrayed his parents and sent Voldemort to kill them. No doubt, the man’s heart was as black as his family.

Tom put the book down and looked back to his school years. Orion had been mostly sane and Walburga definitely insane. They had married despite being second cousins, probably because their parents had wanted to breed an elite generation of Blacks. Considering the radical ideological traditions of the family, Sirius Black was probably just what his grandparents had hoped for.

Tom looked to the door behind which Harry was chatting with Dobby. After exactly one month in Privet Drive, Harry had left his relatives for the following eleven months. Since the Weasleys were in Egypt, staying at The Burrow was not an option for him, and so Tom had genially invited him to Diagon Alley. Not to live in a guest room, however, but at the Leaky Cauldron, because it would have been too suspicious if the hero of wizarding Britain was suddenly known to be living as a guest of an unknown foreigner. As Tom had planned, Harry had got used to it that good things came from being a friend of Tom Valedro. Now Tom would need to become the bringer of a horrible truth, but Black’s betrayal was something Harry needed to know. Tom would tell him, but only after figuring out the best way to use the situation for his benefit. Anything could be an opportunity.

Tom thought back to his failed attempts of manipulating Harry. The only time he had made any progress was when he had helped Harry with the purchase of Grunnings, the company employing Vernon Dursley. Harry had been very enthusiastic about even the most boring procedures of changing gold into Muggle money, buying the shares of the company and dealing with the members of the company board. Tom had to admit that seeing Dursley’s face changing colour to something like a beetroot when he had learned of Harry’s new leverage against him was alone worth the trouble. (Tom had immediately afterwards stored the memory in a flask to be put into a Pensieve and relived it whenever he wanted to remind himself that there were things that made life worth living.) However, ever since subjugating the Dursleys, Harry had not shown any new signs of learning the way of Slytherin.

But with Sirius Black on the loose, the man who had betrayed Harry’s parents, the boy had a new enemy to deal with. Avenging his parents would not be easy, and so he would need someone to help him and teach him the proper skills needed to exact his revenge. That someone would be Tom.

“Harry,” Tom called.

Harry opened the door.

“Yes, Tom, what is it?”

“Bad news. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.”

“Who?”

“A high-ranking Death Eater, sentenced to Azkaban for life after a mass murder he committed right after Voldemort’s defeat.” Tom handed him the newspaper. “But there’s more, something the Daily Prophet doesn’t tell. Let me read aloud the chapter about his role in the war from this book.”

Tom read and Harry listened. Every now and then Tom glanced up at Harry and saw the changes of his expression. When he had read the part about Black’s betrayal, Harry was trembling with barely suppressed rage. When he finished, Harry was angrier than he had ever seen him, and he had trouble keeping his countenance grave. Smirking would have spoiled everything.

“He was their best friend?” Harry uttered in furious disbelief. “And he betrayed them to Voldemort… just like that?”

“Can you imagine Ron or Hermione doing that to you?”

The words seemed to sting him like a wasp as he considered the unthinkable.

“That’s… that’s just… they’d never do something like that!”

“But such betrayals do happen. Clearly, your parents trusted Black with their lives.”

Harry was pacing, his fingers twitching as if he was imagining himself strangling of the betrayer of his family.

“He’s a monster,” he grumbled. “I will hunt him down!”

Tom turned to face away in order to hide the grin he could no longer resist. As he listened to Harry’s feverish plans of revenge, Tom had an almost overwhelming urge to recite some clichéd lines of an Evil Overlord that kept popping in his mind.

The hate is swelling in you now. Take your wand… use it… Black is unarmed. Strike him down with it; give in to your anger!

“How can anyone do something like that? And why didn’t anyone – Dumbledore, Hagrid – tell me that my parents were betrayed by their friend?”

With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant! It is unavoidable… it is your destiny!

“I’ll find him! And when I do, I’ll… I’ll…”

Good! I can feel your anger! Black is defenceless… take your wand… strike him down with all of your hatred, and your journey towards the Dark Side will be complete!

“And he even had to kill the other friend, Petti-whatshisname…”

Use your aggressive feelings, boy, let the hate flow through you!

“Will you help me, Tom?” Harry said, suddenly taking notice of Tom again.

Tom faced Harry again, his expression solemn once more.

“Of course,” he promised. “Voldemort is our common enemy, and so is his most treacherous servant. I’ll be happy to help you to bring some justice to this world.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Harry said, smiling grimly. “I know what Ron and Hermione would’ve said. To let the Ministry deal with Black.”

“They wouldn’t understand how personal this is to you. Of course, sometimes it’s wise not to do everything yourself, but when it comes to very personal matters… this is your life, Harry, and to shirk from your personal quests would be to not live at all.”

Harry nodded, and asked,

“I must practice fighting him. Can you help me?”

“With pleasure. Once at Hogwarts, I’ll teach you all the basic fighting spells. Before then, I can teach you some martial arts that I’ve been practicing. They form a great basis for magical combat.”

Tom had a very good feeling about this. Harry’s hatred for Sirius Black would be Tom’s means of strengthening Harry’s Slytherin side.

 

---

 

Harry turned out to be an eager student. Tom had already witnessed his impressive flying skills, and it was not too difficult to train him to be an equally agile fighter. However, Black’s case did not become such an obsession to him as Tom had hoped. After only a few days Harry had calmed down so that just a new determination remained of his initial fury.

Shortly after Black’s escape, it became clear that Dumbledore was watching Harry closely, something Tom found very uncomfortable. Harry received a letter from the Headmaster warning him about Black and telling him to stay in the safety of Di­agon Alley.

“He knows I’ve left Privet Drive,” Harry observed.

“If he has spies around here, he probably knows you’re spending much time with me,” Tom said. “Which must seem strange considering Dumbledore doesn’t know anything about me. It’s about time we came up with a false story of how we met and befriended. Any ideas?”

“No,” Harry said. “I’m not very much in contact with the wizarding world apart from my friends. There’s no likely way I’d’ve befriended someone who’s supposedly from New Zealand. Are you really sure you don’t want Dumbledore to –”

“Yes, I am. I don’t have such faith in him as you do, and I will not give my secret to someone whose actions I do not understand at all. Keep in mind that he’s the man who decided that you should live with the Dursleys. He’s also the man who waited for years during which tens of millions of people died before he finally confronted Grindelwald and ended the war. Voldemort was free to terrorise Britain for a decade without Dumbledore ever confronting him. We’re at peace not because of Dumbledore but because of your mother’s sacrifice. I’m not saying that Dumbledore has some kind of nefarious hidden agenda, just that you shouldn’t believe without question what he wants you to believe about him.”

“All right, I see your point,” Harry acquiesced. “But the false story… maybe we should approach the problem from a different angle.”

Eventually they decided it was safest to include Hermione Granger in the false story. As she was a Muggle-born, her family might well have many contacts no one in the wizarding world was aware of. Tom invited her for a meeting in his house again, and together they fabricated a very convoluted story about her Muggle uncle who had been on a business trip to New Zealand and had somehow ended up dealing with the local magical community. According to this story, Tom had got acquainted with Harry through the Granger family.

The amount of lies Tom had told to hide his true origins was beginning to worry him. The larger the heap of fabrications became, the more unstable it became, and one day it might collapse entirely. Of course, ideally, none of them would need to tell this particular lie to anyone.

Of Harry’s friends, Hermione was by far the most interesting one. Her academic prowess was reminiscent of Tom himself, and he was positively surprised to find himself in an actually intelligent conversation with her. She had used the summer reading advanced books of magical theory, something he had done back in the day unlike every single one of his classmates. Also, she had the out-of-the-box perspective to magical phenomena he had acquired via his Legilimency sessions in the Muggle world.

Hermione became a very frequent guest in Tom’s home near the end of the summer. She was just the kind of person Professor Slughorn would have taken under his wing, and seeing her potential, Tom decided to integrate her into his future power structure.

With Hermione around, Tom engaged in his project of discovering the truth about the hereditability of magical abilities. The most common pure-blood suprema­cist explanation for excluding Muggle-borns from the magical community was that they were actually just Muggles who had somehow stolen their magical powers from real wizards. However, they were usually the lower class pure-bloods who whined about it, making it sound like a pathetic excuse for their lack of talent. Tom had never considered the theory convincing. If there was a way of permanently stealing magical powers, some Dark Lord would have used it to steal all magic in the world as his own. The fact that there was more than one magic-user meant that stealing magic permanently was not possible. And if Muggles somehow discovered such a magnificent magical ability, they would not be Muggles in the first place.

At least Hermione had not stolen any magical power, that Tom learned when he violated her mental privacy with Legilimency. She had been born with magic, but she had never known what her strange powers were before getting her Hogwarts letter. Much like Tom.

He did not find it difficult to accept the truth about the matter, even if it was in stark contrast with his earlier blood purist view. As he had realised, to him it was of no negative consequence even if everyone else lost their magical powers due to magical blood being diluted with Muggle blood.

Still, the actual truth about how some wizards were born to Muggles interested him as a scientific mystery. Unfortunately, it was a sensitive topic to his Gryffindor minions because of what he had done the previous Hogwarts year. One day, when the Weasleys had returned from Egypt and Ginny and Ron were visiting, Tom initiated a conversation about the topic.

“There are less than twenty thousand magical people on the British Isles,” he said. “And more than sixty million Muggles. Still, only a few percent of magical people are Muggle-born. Squibs are rare as well. So, it is absolutely clear that the ability to use magic is hereditary and that the Slytherin ideology of preserving pure magical bloodlines is not based on simple bigotry. What is not clear is how pure the magical bloodlines have to be for the magical power to survive from generation to generation.”

“Hermione is the cleverest witch in all our year,” Harry remarked.

“There are some Muggle-born clans in Britain,” Ron said. “They were founded many generations ago and their members only marry other Muggle-borns. I think the oldest of them has been a magical family for hundreds of years, but the Slytherin families still call them Mudbloods.”

“And just look at Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry said. “Both pure-blood, but barely able to do magic.”

“And… err… well, Neville isn’t much more talented than they are, I guess,” Ron added.

“So, obviously the ability to do magic at all and the ability to control that power are two completely different things,” Tom concluded. “Blood purism is a theory that is based on certain observations, but it is flawed. The truth is more complex.”

“Why are you so interested about this blood stuff?” Hermione asked with slight disdain.

“Because I’ve learned that the truth is a very powerful force,” he said, shrugging. “The blood purists remain unconvinced regardless of how much they have been mor­alised. Don’t you think it’s time for a different approach? Let’s present them with the truth. If everyone accepts it, we’ll eventually be on the same page. Then this schism in the wizarding world can be overcome.”

And then, Tom continued silently in his mind, we can be united under my banner, as we save our future from the rising Muggle threat by subjugating the Muggle world.

He smirked at the irony.

For the Greater Good.

 

---

 

The evening of the 31^st of August came, and Tom stood on his balcony, looking back at the four months that had passed since his return to a physical body. He had a good reason to be satisfied with what had happened. He had not been as efficient and productive since his first months in the wizarding world in 1938.

The Kwikspell teachers had taught him more than Hogwarts teachers had usually taught in an entire year. He was especially pleased with how much he had progressed with his fighting skills. The ex-Auror who taught Battle Magic and fighting techniques had commented that he was equal to a junior Auror. Although that level of skills was far from enough, it was sufficient for the moment. Tom’s Spell-Crafting project was doing nicely, too.

He had mastered several styles of martial arts, although not remotely as well as he intended to master them one day. Using Legilimency on the instructor could get him only so far. He simply did not have enough time to practice the precise techniques he had experienced in the instructor’s mind.

Playing the violin had become a kind of meditation routine to Tom. It really did help with mastering spells and wand movements, but the concentration it required was similar also to the art of Occlumency. Tom was going to take his violin with him to Hogwarts. He was able to continue practicing without an instructor.

He had become quite familiar with the world of Muggle sciences. There was no shortage of fascinating topics, and the list of books he would need to read had become almost frustratingly long. Luckily, more important than being familiar with some trivial pieces of information was the scientific way of thinking he had embraced.

Manipulating lottery drawings had become a routine to him, and he had managed to swindle more money than he bothered to care. Most of it he had invested in the stock market, but a large share he had used to buy magical artefacts and old tomes, including most of the illegal stuff that Lucius Malfoy had sold to Borgin and Burkes the previous year. Perhaps one day he would use his fortune to build a small Hogwarts style castle in the Scottish Highlands.

And the most important of all, he had begun recruiting new minions. Harry and Hermione were just what one could hope; Ron and Ginny might turn out to be useful if trained properly. But they were not enough. He had an entire Hogwarts House to recruit next. That mission would start the next day, as he was returning to Hogwarts. Home…

It had been a good summer, the best one he had experienced. Just a few days of languishing in the metaphorical pit of apathy and boredom.

He heard Harry approaching and turned to face him.

“I talked with Mr Weasley,” Harry said. “They’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron. He told me that the Ministry is convinced that Sirius Black escaped in order to attack me.”

“To finish what he started?”

“I guess so. Mr Weasley thinks Black hopes to bring Voldemort back.”

“Everything seems so peaceful,” Tom said, looking again out to Diagon Alley. It was quiet, shops were closing and only a few people were wandering around. “But it feels like the calm before the storm. Voldemort tried to return using the Philosopher’s Stone. He opened the Chamber of Secrets and tried to return through Ginny. And now one of his insane henchmen has broken free. I’m sure more is to come.”

“I’m not too worried,” Harry said. “If he ever finds me, I’ll remind him that I, too, have some unfinished business with him.”

“Fighting a mass murderer requires more than some spells and fighting skills. It requires a certain mindset.”

“I’m willing to learn it.”

“Good,” Tom said. Your hate will make you powerful.

Chapter 9: Homeward Bound

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and the Hogwarts Express. To Tom they had always symbolised the world of infinite adventures that was Hogwarts. He recalled the day exactly fifty-five years earlier when he had first stepped through the barrier. He had felt belonging. Although he had visited Diagon Alley many times between Dumbledore’s visit at the orphanage and the start of the Hogwarts term, it had been the first day he had truly realised that the magical world was where he belonged.

Incidentally, Harry felt the same way. They stood on the platform in companionable silence and looked at the old train fondly, as the Weasleys and Hermione were fussing a few paces away, Mr Weasley’s eyes never straying far from Harry.

People were boarding the train, even the pure-bloods considering it a normal part of the wizarding world. Tom, on the other hand, was wondering who had decided that young witches and wizards should travel to school by train instead of using Portkeys, Floo or Vanishing Cabinets. He should check Hogwarts: A History for the detail, but he was quite sure one of them had been the method of transportation before the railway had been built in the 19^th century.

The Weasleys took their time bidding farewells, and their group was among the last ones to board the train. Percy left to show off his Head Boy badge to anyone who was interested (which was no one), and Fred and George went to find one of their friends. That left Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron in Tom’s company, and they found a compartment near the back of the train. There was, however, someone sitting there already: a relatively young wizard in shabby and patched robes, silently sleeping.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” Hermione read the name from his trunk.

“Doesn’t he have an Apparition licence?” Tom wondered. “Or is he here for a purpose?”

“Perhaps Dumbledore doesn’t think Percy is able to maintain order,” Ron suggested, gloating. “I wonder what subject he’s going to teach.”

“Defence, I guess,” Tom said. “Poor Professor Lockhart died for a noble cause.”

The others all looked at him sombrely. It was a good thing they did not remember the truth about Lockhart’s fate.

They left the teacher alone and the children began their normal, frivolous small talk. Tom had to endure Ron blabbering about something called the Chudley Cannons. He lost all interest in the topic when it turned out they were not such cannons that could fire projectiles at someone. Luckily, Hermione decided to unleash her cat, and there was some disagreement with her and Ron whose pet rat seemed to be the cat’s choice for lunch. That ended all conversation about the waste of time called Quidditch.

“What elective subjects are you taking now that you start your third year?” Tom asked, using the opportunity to steer the conversation to a more academic direction.

“I’m taking all of them!” Hermione announced enthusiastically. “I asked many teachers their opinions and all of the subjects seem so interesting that I must study them. Although Professor McGonagall doesn’t like Divination.”

“You’ll be very busy,” Tom said. “I took all the electives except Muggle Studies, but I couldn’t attend all of the classes. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes can, to some extent, be learned just by reading the material. And, of course, History classes can be skipped altogether.”

Hermione looked shocked but decided not to object to his last statement. Harry, Ginny and Ron snickered.

“Professor McGonagall promised that she could help me arrange my timetable,” Hermione said.

“And you?” Tom asked, turning to the boys.

“Magical Creatures and Divination,” they both said.

“Those are the easy choices,” Tom said, feeling slightly disappointed at their lack of ambition. “I think Arithmancy and Ancient Runes should be mandatory subjects.” Hermione was nodding fervently. “They are much more important than Herbology or Astronomy. No one has risen to greatness without studying them extensively.”

“Why?” Ron asked. “What’s so important about them?”

“They are, in many ways, equivalent to the Muggle sciences of mathematics, physics and engineering. Charms, Transfiguration and the spells that should be taught in Defence are based on Arithmantic and Runic foundations. You learn to think the right things, say the right incantations and wave your wand in the right patterns, but do you have any idea, why those things are right? During the summer, I attended many courses of the Kwikspell Company. One of them was Spell-Crafting, and it’s based on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I’ve learned the ways spells work, and I can use that knowledge to create new spells. Thus, without those arts there could be no magical civilisation. We’d have the power, but not the means to use it. Just like there could be no Muggle civilisation without mathematics, physics and engineering. There’s a huge difference between wizards who can only do what’s taught to them, and wizards who can craft their own means. That’s why I find it easier to relate to Muggle scientists compared to some average, boring wizards.”

“Do you know how Divination works?” Hermione asked. “I’ve tried to read the book, but it’s quite vague.”

“It’s vague, because no one really knows,” Tom said, shrugging. “No one can learn to be a Seer, it’s a hereditary ability. However, there’s some magic that can be used with crystal balls, cards, tea leaves, etcetera. It is theorised that the magic does not actually predict the future, but somehow gathers information in a strange and unpredictable way, analyses it, scrambles the analysis and gives hints about it, and so the Diviner may learn what someone is doing or about to do. I’m sure it’s a constant field of study in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry. I wouldn’t mind working there one day.”

The Department of Mysteries had been on his mind lately, and getting access to whatever knowledge the Unspeakables did not want outsiders to know had become his new goal.

In the afternoon, they got visitors. The compartment door slid open, and three boys grinned maliciously. It was easy for Tom to recognise Abraxas Malfoy’s grandson, Harry’s school nemesis.

“Who have we here?” Draco Malfoy sneered. His gaze shifted from Harry to Tom, and his eyes narrowed. He contemplated his next action for a very brief while, but clearly did not risk provoking Harry while a person many years his senior was present. He snorted scornfully and took his leave, his minions trailing him mutely.

Tom sighed. Harry had told him about the boy who would become a powerful politician one day, but Tom had hoped Harry had exaggerated even a little. The ruin of the House of Slytherin embodied in Draco Malfoy. Tom would need to teach him a lesson.

“That went smoothly,” Harry commented.

“I knew his grandfather,” Tom mumbled. “He wasn’t such a childish prat.”

The journey continued northward, and Ron was telling about his adventures in Egypt for the umpteenth time. Ginny, who still seemed to be shy in Harry’s presence, said very little, which Tom, of course, did not mind a bit. Hermione began to talk about Hogsmeade and its proud history, and Ron began a lecture of the product range of Honeydukes. Harry, who had got his uncle’s signature in the permission form without needing to threaten him at all, was worried if Sirius Black being at large would complicate things.

Tom had to listen to this twaddle for hours. Eventually he decided to investigate what exactly was going on in their brains. He used Legilimency on Ron who was sitting opposite of him, and began to use the time productively: learning to understand how these people thought. It required very advanced Legilimency, but luckily, possessing someone as he had done was extremely good practice.

To Ron Weasley the interaction with his friends was not some kind of a mission. He did not try to achieve anything. He was not friends with Harry and Hermione because he thought they could be useful to him. He genuinely enjoyed their company. Social interaction that achieved nothing was not a cause of frustration to him, it was just normal. Tom’s approach to social interaction was as alien to him as his was to Tom.

At first, Tom shrugged this approach off as a part of Ron’s lazy and ambitionless nature, but then he found a similar way of thinking in the minds of Harry, Hermione and Ginny. Was he the only one who wanted to be productive at all times? Since even his Kwikspell lessons and Legilimency sessions had had trouble keeping him motivated, he could not even imagine how apathetic these children were.

Professor Lupin was still sleeping when it became dark and Tom began to feel the familiar excitement of returning to Hogwarts. He wondered if Lupin had slept at all the previous night. Judging by his robes he had not had a job in years. Perhaps he had been so overjoyed when becoming a teacher that he had spent the entire night partying. If so, it would not be difficult to bet how the alleged curse would remove him before the next school year.

The train stopped abruptly, but Hermione soon came to the conclusion that it had not arrived in Hogsmeade yet. There was some commotion as many students tried to figure out what was happening, and then the lights went off.

“Did the train break down?”

“Lumos,” Tom said. The tip of his wand lit up, but the light was not as bright as he had intended. He tried to channel more power into the spell, but the light started to flicker. He felt a surge of annoyance followed by a wave of fear. Was he losing his precious magical powers? Was his return to life only temporary? Was he going to die right before he returned to Hogwarts again?

The compartment door slid open. All warmth seemed to drain away, even from Tom’s mind. His fear intensified, and as the light of his wand went out altogether, he saw the horrifying hooded figure that was about to enter. Some part of his mind realised that the figure had been the cause of his magic failing and of the fear, but the realisation did not help at all.

A Dementor. Tom had never seen or felt one before – Professor Merrythought had only taken the seventh-year students to an excursion to Azkaban – but he had heard enough horror stories of them to recognise one. As the wave of despair was about to crush him, he raised his wand and pointed it at the monster with trembling fingers.

“Avada Kedavra,” he squeaked.

Absolutely nothing happened. He could not feel any magical power surging in the wand; it was like a useless stick of wood. It might have been just his imagination, but he heard a hollow, contemptuous laughter emanating from the hooded terror.

Freezing coldness crept into Tom’s limbs. His vision became blurred, and his frantic thoughts flowed sluggishly. He felt like falling down… all the way down to the darkest depths of his being.

 

---

 

Tom was in the orphanage… long, dreary corridors, dust on the floor and spots of mould on the walls… it was cold, food was bad and there was too little of it… Mrs Cole looked at him with a sour expression… the other orphans were annoying, some of the older ones were said to beat the younger ones just out of frustration…

It was annoying… it was miserable… the only way he could feel he was in control was to torment the other orphans… Billy Stubbs’ rabbit was hanging from the roof… Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop trembled in the cave he had found…

He had returned to the orphanage for the summer of 1941 and saw the devastation that Grindelwald’s Muggle subjects had caused: buildings reduced to rubble… he was not allowed to use magic… what if a bomb hit the orphanage and killed him?

He was at Hogwarts… Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Mulciber and Nott had gathered around him… he was bossing them around, not out of necessity, but because it was fun… he needed power, he wanted power… the horrible apathy was about to devour him… he would conquer the world… he did not actually want to rule, he just wanted to have something to do so that he could flee the apathy…

People were so annoying, so frustrating… was it possible to force them not to annoy him?

Grindelwald’s influence was spreading… he would come to Britain one day… Tom would have to become immortal… he did not want it to end this way…

The Basilisk hissed, Myrtle lay on the floor, dead… it was a necessary sacrifice… Horcrux…

Ginny wrote to him through the diary… it was entertaining… possessing her and forcing her to commit atrocities on his behalf… stupid little girl… her life-force would bring him back to true life…

His other self, Lord Voldemort, was a disgrace! He had ruined the House of Slytherin! Tom would find him and cast the Cruciatus Curse on him!

Tom stood on the balcony, thinking about what Harry had told him… being locked in a room and slowly starved to death for the crime of being a wizard… empathy…

The apathy returned… he felt empty… nothing mattered… boring, boring, boring…

Tom was standing in a rugged wasteland. Sharp rocks jutted from the ground towards the dark sky where heavy clouds reached down. The wind was strong, almost a storm. He trudged forward, the chill of the wind reaching his very bones.

He could not see anything that lived. There were no people, no birds, not a blade of grass. Everything was dead, except him, the only immortal inhabitant of the world after everyone and everything else had died. He was doomed to wander the wastes forever, with hunger, weariness and apathy as his only companions.

On and on he went, witnessing an unlimited number of alterations of the same dead landscape. It felt as if he had been going on for millennia. On and on he went, until he could not even comprehend it all.

He arrived at a shore of a lake. Great waves crashed on the shoreline, spraying cold water on his robes. He forced himself to look up, and the mountains looked familiar. He turned around and saw the place that had been most dear to him: Hogwarts, now but a ruin. It was not the Hogwarts he remembered, but a twisted, nightmarish reflection of it.

He continued his bitter journey and saw the ruins of Hogsmeade. He continued, on and on, with no hurry to go anywhere. He had an eternity to see these places in their horrible state.

Amidst the ruins of London, he found what was left of Diagon Alley. It was as if Grindelwald’s Muggle subjects had returned to destroy everything. The house he had purchased was but a shell, its windows looking like the eye sockets of a skull.

He continued towards where he knew the Ministry of Magic had been located. There he found a massive crater in the ground. That was the most horrible place he had seen during the endless journey. It was as if the entire devastation had originated in there.

He stepped down the side of the crater. In the centre was the only building that remained intact: an ancient archway with a sharp point. A tattered veil hung from it, still, not moving anymore.

The Veil of Death, located in the Department of Mysteries, said to be built by the people of Atlantis during the golden age of magic as a gateway to the Otherworld.

“I knew you would come one day,” said a low, reverberating voice.

Tom turned to look for its source.

In front of him he saw a robed figure standing, the robe blacker than the pitchest black. Two crimson eyes blazed as they looked down at him from the angelically perfect face, the skin pearly white.

He was the being known to all cultures around the world. In the magical culture, a story was told about the three brothers who had encountered him.

He was Death.

“Tom Riddle. You were determined to escape me. And look at you now! You come to me begging for a release of the curse of immortality. Do you understand why? It was not you who conquered this world; I did! You are the last one to be collected to the other side. When this dead world ceases to please you, feel free to join me in your next great adventure.”

He faded away.

Tom turned to face the Veil again. With a few steps, he crossed to the other side.

It was a relief.

 

---

 

“Harry! Tom! Are you all right?”

As Tom’s consciousness began to return, he found himself sprawling on a floor and a heavy weight right on top of him. He groaned and tried to move his numb limbs.

Soon the weight was lifted away, and only a moment later he was helped up and put sitting on a bench. He blinked his eyes.

Oh yes, he was on the train, the train was moving again, and the lights were working too. Ginny, Ron, Hermione and the now-awake Professor Lupin were looking at him and Harry who looked as miserable as Tom felt himself. So, Tom had not been the only one whom the Dementor had sucked unconscious, but he had been the first one to fall; Harry had collapsed on top of Tom and not the other way around. Normally, he would have been embarrassed by this sign of weakness, but at that moment he could not care less, because a little embarrassment was literally nothing next to the horror he had just experienced in the vision.

“A Dementor,” he whimpered with a voice that sounded to his own ears more like Ginny’s than his own. “What – why?”

“Searching the train for Sirius Black,” said Professor Lupin. “Here, take some chocolate, it’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…”

He handed the students large chunks of chocolate and Tom ate his with haste. Some of the lingering coldness disappeared. Professor Lupin knew what he was doing; apparently, he was more competent than Tom had judged by his clothing.

The children began to speak about the horrible experience of encountering their first Dementor, but Tom withdrew into his thoughts. He could still see glimpses of the vision of a dead world. Was there a moral to the story?

As he recovered from the after-effects of Dementor exposure, he felt like waking up and seeing the colours of the world as bright as they were. It was as if he had not completely woken up in the Chamber of Secrets, but the last stupor of Horcrux hibernation had still lingered until the Dementor had violently wrenched him fully awake. And in that new awareness, he realised that he was in many ways different person compared to the one who had ordered Slytherin’s Basilisk to kill Myrtle.

Tom looked at Ginny. She looked worried and distressed; the Dementor must have affected her badly.

Ginny had poured her heart into the diary, and it had nourished Tom. Over the months he had become stronger and stronger, eventually strong enough to start stealing her life-force. It was her soul that his soul (or, rather, the fragment he still had), had tried to devour. Eventually, she had been saved by the timely appearance of Professor Lockhart, but…

What if some part of her soul had stayed with him?

Now that he considered that, it explained so many things. When he had looked at Ginny’s dying form, he had recalled Myrtle’s death and considered it tragic. He had been uncharacteristically dismayed upon learning of the bleak fates of his former school friends. One short excursion to the Muggle world had totally changed his previous anti-Muggle view. He had accepted Tom as his name even though he had hated it prior to having been imprisoned in the diary. He had learned to feel empathy. He had accepted that Muggle-born wizards were not inferior.

Changes like these could not happen this quickly with just new information and perspective. People were stubborn, admitting their misconceptions did not happen this easily.

Ginny has changed me!

Tom felt tainted, he felt chained. Ginny, that foolish little girl, had contaminated him with her sentimental defects!

But then he realised something. Ginny did not suffer the apathy, the horrible state of mind that he desperately tried to flee. She did not have the cynical, nihilistic worldview he had. She was naive, that was a certainty, but that naivety appeared to be a reliable defence against apathy.

Was that a defect? Or, rather, a strength?

What was it that he had thought to himself when meeting Harry for the first time in Little Whinging?

Love is just one emotion among many. The most powerful emotions, or at least the most influential ones, are greed and ambition.

While it was undeniable that greed and ambition were the most important emotions that gave human beings the drive to reach heights and brave dangers, maybe Tom had underestimated the relevance of more sentimental emotions. Most people did not pursue greatness just for their own good. They cared for their family, or their nation, or some more abstract thing like religion or ideology. Those people who only cared for themselves were troubled by apathy and tried to flee from it, usually to no avail.

The vision flashed again in Tom’s mind. The barren, dead landscape… everyone and everything else dead…

He did not want that.

He did not want to flee his misery to the other side of the Veil.

He would embrace any sentimental defect necessary if it just spared him of the fate of creating his own hell.

As Tom followed the children out of the train and saw the familiar sight of Hogsmeade railway station, his thoughts drifted to his great ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. He had cared about other people. That sentimentality had not prevented him from having been the greatest wizard of his time. He was Tom’s paragon; if something had been acceptable to him, it should be to Tom too.

He was still Slytherin through and through. Ginny had not turned him into a Gryffindor. She had just fixed something in him that had been broken or missing; at least, that was what he tried to convince himself of.

To be a Slytherin is to be pragmatic.

This was who he was. He did not feel sympathy towards what he might be in imaginary circumstances. There was no particular reason he would miss being the Tom Riddle prior to making the Horcrux. And there were quite a number of reasons why he did not feel sympathy towards Voldemort, the disgrace to the name of Slytherin his other self had become.

Slytherins adapted. Tom would adapt to these Ginny-influences.

After all, anything could be an opportunity.

Chapter 10: Homecoming

The platform was full of Hogwarts students, the first-years going to the boats, others looking for their carriages. Although Tom disliked crowds, there was something very nostalgic about it. Hogsmeade station had always boded well when it was dark; in daylight, it promised many long weeks of misery.

Tom, Harry and the others found their way to the road that led to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts and waited for their turn to board a carriage.

“Do you know what those creatures are?” Ron asked and pointed at the carriages. “Harry and I saw them in June when we were leaving, but Hermione and Ginny say they can’t see them.”

“They are the Thestrals,” Tom mumbled absently. “They’ve always drawn the carriages. Only those who’ve seen death and comprehended it can see them. You two saw Lockhart dying.”

The silent, skeletal horses looked very ominous indeed. Their strange connection to death made him wonder if they somehow originated from the other side of the Veil.

Once inside the carriage, Tom looked out of the window and tried to see a glimpse of Hogsmeade and tried to ignore the worried glances that Ginny, Hermione and Ron gave him and Harry. He was still shivering a little and cast a few Warming Charms on the carriage. To his relief, his magic worked again.

Soon they approached the two statues of winged boars that marked the entrance to the grounds of Hogwarts. There were Dementors standing on both sides of the gate. As the carriage drew closer to them, Tom could feel their aura of cold and misery affecting him again. He closed his eyes and concentrated on meditation used in Occlumency training. He tried to imagine a peaceful piece of music he had played with his violin. That imagination failed spectacularly as he saw another vision, one where Death was playing Danse macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns… Wait, is Death a violinist?

They passed the Dementors soon enough and Tom cast the Warming Charm again. Once the carriage stopped, he opened the door and stepped out. In front of him stood the magnificent form of Hogwarts, the place that housed his fondest memories. He could feel the last effects of the Dementors fading. The lights in the castle’s windows were like a Patronus to him.

“We’re home,” Tom said to Harry who returned a slight smile.

Inside, as the flock of students was entering the Great Hall, Tom spotted a member of staff, a witch with stern looks, and went to talk to her. He had to keep up appearances.

“Professor,” he said. “My name is Tom Valedro. I’m the transfer student from the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr Valedro,” the witch said. “I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. As you might know, there are four Houses for the students of Hogwarts. The first-year students are arriving shortly. Come to the Great Hall with them, and your Sorting will take place after them.”

Tom stayed in the Entrance Hall, looking at all the familiar details. It was as if he had never been away.

Soon, the first-years were herded to the Great Hall, and Tom followed them. It was the moment he had most dreaded for months because he approached the single greatest threat to his continued existence: Dumbledore. He triple-checked that his disguising charms had not been dispelled by the Dementor. The children formed a few lines near the High Table, and Tom stood behind them, leaning against the wall, eyeing the Hall and the people sitting in there, heart pounding in his chest. No attack against him occurred.

As the first-year students were Sorted, Tom studied the current members of Hogwarts staff. Only four of them were familiar to him from his first life. Professor Dumbledore, who had introduced him to the wizarding world, was sitting in the Headmaster’s throne, his hair and beard now longer than before and silvery coloured, and his eyes twinkling as unnervingly as ever. Professor Vector, who had taught Tom Arithmancy, was still there, and he wondered if he should tell her about certain Muggle devices. Professor Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes, Tom had known as a bright Ravenclaw prefect. And of course, there was Rubeus Hagrid, whose wizard career had ended so that Tom’s had continued. One teacher who he was familiar with was not present: Professor Binns, whose classes he had skipped after realising that he had learned better by simply reading the textbooks.

While memorising the faces of the other teachers, Tom tried to remember what Ginny had told him about them. McGonagall was the Head of House Gryffindor, although nothing in her seemed very Gryffindor-ish. Had her experiences in the war against Voldemort changed her? She was known of her competence: no student had ever died in her class, which was an accomplishment few Transfigurations teachers achieved. Professor Flitwick was Ginny’s favourite teacher; apparently, he had not inherited a grim temperament from his goblin ancestors. Professor Sprout was a boringly common Hufflepuff; there was nothing interesting about her. Professor Sinistra taught Astronomy, but Ginny had not told Tom much about her, perhaps because she had been half asleep during those nocturnal classes. Professor Lupin seemed quite intelligent, so why had he taken the cursed job of teaching Defence? About the teacher of Muggle Studies Tom knew nothing about. Present were also the Healer, the librarian, the flying instructor and the caretaker. But where were the teachers of Divination and Magical Creatures?

And then there was Professor Snape, about whom Ginny had complained after almost every single one of his classes. Tom had been shocked to learn that he had been a double agent in the war. Igor Karkaroff had identified him as a Death Eater, but Dumbledore had assured the Wizengamot that Snape had changed his allegiance. Snape was another teacher who had succeeded in preventing fatal accidents in his classes, and that meant he was Professor Slughorn’s equal as a Potions master, but still his presence at Hogwarts seemed suspicious to Tom. He clearly disliked children and did not know how to handle them adequately. Students wanted him to get fired, and their parents probably wanted that as well. A Potions master of Snape’s calibre did not need to work in a school if he did not want to. Was it possible that Dumbledore wanted to have his agent around him all the time? What could be the reason for that?

Snape was also the Head of House Slytherin. He was in charge of training the Slytherins to follow Salazar’s example, but he had failed. According to Ginny, he imposed Slytherins with lax discipline while sneering at Gryffindors. It was Voldemort who had shown Slytherins a bad example, but Snape who had taught them to follow it. Now that Voldemort was hiding somewhere, Snape was the main obstacle in Tom’s mission. He would have to destroy and disgrace Snape, but not immediately. Ideally, he would replace Snape as a Hogwarts teacher and as the Head of House Slytherin. That meant the Potions master would have two or three years of respite.

Eventually all of the first-year students were Sorted. It had taken quite a long time, because there had been a significant baby boom right after Voldemort’s defeat, and it had made the 1982 age group the largest in wizarding Britain in generations. (Strangely many of the boys were named Harry and girls Lily, and suspiciously few of them were Sorted to Slytherin.)

Many students were eyeing Tom curiously. After the last child had taken her place in her House table, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

“This year we have a rare yet not unheard-of occasion,” she said. “Mr Tom Valedro has studied magic for five years in the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand. He will complete his education here at Hogwarts, starting as a Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test level student. But first, he must be Sorted to one of our Houses. Please, Mr Valedro.”

She gestured towards the stool and held the Sorting Hat up. Tom stepped forward, careful not to look at Dumbledore even though he wanted to see the Headmaster’s expression when looking at him. From the corner of his eye, Tom saw no assault starting and he relaxed a bit.

Tom sat down on the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head. He hoped desperately he would not get Sorted in an instant like before. Dumbledore did not need to have any flashbacks to Tom Riddle’s Sorting.

Hmmm, Tom interpreted an alien thought in his mind. We’ve met before, haven’t we, Tom Riddle?

“I am Tom Valedro and I have no idea what you are telepathing about.”

Don’t even try to fool me. All information in your mind is available to me.

“That’s what I feared. So, are you going to tell Dumbledore about me?”

I couldn’t even if I deemed it absolutely necessary. Hogwarts’ founders designed me to keep all the secrets I learn from the minds of children. My purpose is to Sort children to Houses, not spy for whoever happens to be the Headmaster. It is a question of balance and fairness. You can’t both ignore Occlumency and reveal the secrets you learn. You have to pick one imperfection or the other.

“I’m pleased to know that. So, send me to Slytherin. I have a mission, and I can only succeed in my own House.”

Yes, I can see your disappointment in what you once considered your other self and in the ruin that has befallen your House. Believe me, I have seen that happen. Many children strongest with the virtues of Slytherin prefer going to Ravenclaw, while the least virtuous ones don’t mind going to Slytherin. It has been going on for years. Are you sure you want to try redeeming your House instead of choosing another path?

“Of course I’m sure! I am the heir of Slytherin! It would be an insult to Sort me to any other House but his!”

If Salazar was now in your place, he might be one of those who preferred Ravenclaw. And I do not Sort anyone by their ancestors. I Sort them by their own natures. You are determined to redeem your House. That is something a Gryffindor would do.

“Are you deliberately insulting me? It’s working, there’s no use trying to hide that fact from you.”

No, I am offering you a true alternative. Remember your excursions to the Muggle world, how impressed you were with them. Are you absolutely certain that there is nothing in the virtues of Gryffindor that you could find similarly impressive?

Tom actually stopped to consider that seriously.

You have changed, Tom Riddle. I believe you have guessed right. You took some part of Ginny Weasley last year and integrated it into your own person. You have learned something from her: that compassion and caring for others can be a truly mighty power. The Dementor made you understand this truth.

“Yes, it did,” Tom admitted. Being in telepathic contact with the Sorting Hat felt very different from his previous contact, because he had learned so much about magic, not to mention that the first time the contact had lasted for less than a second. The Hat was not an entirely another entity; it was like a mirror, and he was communicating essentially with himself. That, he thought, was probably the way the Hat was able to ignore Occlumency. The Hat version of him was just totally honest, free of all rationalisations.

“I may be a different person now,” Tom continued. “But at least one thing has not changed at all. I will turn this power of compassion into a tool of achieving my ambitions.”

The Sorting Hat sent a telepathic thought of an approving laughter.

Yes, I know exactly which House welcomes one with that kind of mindset.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherin table acclaimed as Tom stood up and gave the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall. He gave a look to the Gryffindor table, where Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione looked disappointed. Well, they would get over it once he began the reforms of the House of Slytherin.

The Slytherin table stretched in the middle in a visually disturbing way to make room for him where the other older students were sitting. Tom’s new housemates were eyeing him curiously and he returned their glances when he studied what kind of riffraff he would be steering towards the glory of days past. Even though it should not have, it did come to him as a surprise that so many of them were recognisable; he had been to Hogwarts with their grandparents, Malfoy and his minions were not the only ones. It was an eerie thought.

That boy has to be a descendant of Nott, Tom thought, reminiscing about the scrawny boy who he had shared a dormitory with for five years. And that girl looks almost exactly like Sidonie Hipworth. I hope she’s not as annoying. And hey! He looks like Ruben Macnair! Apparently, the sentimental fool managed to find himself a mate after all.

Tom sat down. The Slytherins around him had curious and calculative looks, one looked mildly uneasy and another one had an air of veiled hostility about him. There were no welcoming smiles. It was like entering a dungeon full of predators constantly looking for signs of weakness in one another.

Ah, Slytherin, the House of perpetual competition and stark but ever-shifting hierarchy, the House where there were no friendships but alliances, no helpfulness but transactions – the House of the survival of the fittest.

This, Tom thought, this is what home feels like. He realised that he had missed the Slytherin style camaraderie.

Dumbledore stood up, clearly oblivious to the fact that the one who would cause his downfall had rejoined the student body. Tom watched the Headmaster keenly, alert for all signs of senility or other things he should take into account when planning the next steps towards victory. Dumbledore spoke about the Dementors and made no effort to hide his dissatisfaction with the Ministry’s decision. Then, all severity vanished from his face as he introduced Lupin to the school. Tom was just about to conclude that there was nothing particularly eccentric about the Headmaster that evening, but then he heard that none other than Hagrid would be teaching Care of Magical Creatures. It was a good reminder that Dumbledore was so unpredictable that his stunts could catch his enemies totally off guard. Tom wondered if he had managed to defeat Grindelwald with such a trick.

For a moment, Tom despaired. He would have to orchestrate Dumbledore’s demise very carefully, too carefully even to his taste. Challenges lost much of their charm if his life was at stake.

Once the food appeared, Tom focused again on his housemates. Sitting next to him was an ugly boy who appeared quite dim-witted. He introduced himself as Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. During the ensuing conversation it turned out that he was the student leader of the House of Slytherin, an unofficial position of esteem that was almost as old as the House itself. Tom had claimed the position in December of 1941, exactly halfway through his Hogwarts education, and he would do so again very soon. After a moment of prying, he learned that Flint was at Hogwarts for the eighth year, because he had spectacularly failed in his NEWTs.

Tom had to constrain himself from banging his head against the table. The House of cunning and ambition had allowed this idiot to become their leader? Perhaps he had thought that since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, the time of Slytherin supremacy was dawning and thus he had not needed to study to gain power and prestige. Tom decided to usurp him during the first week, and to do it with his brains instead of magic.

“I’ve never heard of the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand,” growled a boy who had introduced himself as Peregrine Derrick, a sixth-year prefect. “Are there any Mudbloods in there?”

“No,” Tom said. “It was founded just a little more than a hundred years ago by a small group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws who wanted to create a new society based on better principles. It only allows students from its founding families, and that’s why very few outsiders ever hear about it. There is no need to advertise.”

Many of the Slytherins were mumbling in an appreciative way.

“Funny thing that you wanted to come here,” said Flint. “I’d gladly study somewhere with no Muggle filth around.”

If there was such a place as the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand, its headmaster would probably judge someone of your talent a Squib, Tom thought.

“Were all of the Academy’s founders British?” asked a fifth-year girl. “Your surname doesn’t sound British.”

“The founders were British, yes,” he said. “But shortly after the Academy was founded, some like-minded wizards moved there from other countries as well and were allowed to integrate into the society. My great-grandfather was a Spaniard, from a cadet line of the pure-blood Valedro family.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because the main line in Spain was massacred during Grindelwald’s attempted takeover of the country. To this day, it is unknown which side was responsible.”

“Which British families are you descended from?”

“Among the founders of the Academy my ancestors were members of the houses of Crouch, Lestrange, Rosier and Black,” Tom said, having chosen the families carefully; none of them had heirs in the youngest generation, thus most likely no one at Hogwarts would get interested enough about his claimed lineage to start searching family trees for emigrants to New Zealand.

“But why come here?” Flint insisted.

“The magical society of New Zealand is small and isolated. It’s not a place for an ambitious Slytherin. I want to make a difference, and that means I have to come where there are more wizards. Also, it doesn’t quite suite my political conviction that we wizards should find ourselves new, unspoilt living space while Muggles claim our lands. Britain has one of the greatest and proudest histories of magical societies. I cannot appreciate my ancestors’ decision to give up and establish a pure society somewhere else. They actually abandoned Britain for Muggles and their spawn to take over.”

The other Slytherins were staring at him with their eyes wide. Of course, with the current state of this House, no one formulated the ancient Slytherin ideology in such a sophisticated way anymore.

“I’ve come to realise that the House of Slytherin has a bad attitude,” Tom continued. “We are on the defensive. We expect to lose. We allow someone like Dumbledore to judge us. We express our ideal of a safe future for the magical people as an act of defiance. It is as if even we don’t believe that our way is the right way and that it is Dumbledore’s side that should be explaining and making excuses for their views.”

Everyone within hearing range was still staring at him silently.

“Well… wasn’t that what the Dark Lord tried to do?” asked Ethan Jugson, a seventh-year prefect, whose grandfather had been among Tom’s acquaintances.

“The Dark Lord was either a moron or an impostor,” Tom proclaimed.

“How dare you?” many people hissed while others looked shocked and dismayed.

“I haven’t gone through what your families have, and that’s why I can see it in an objective way. I’m not sure what exactly he was trying to do, but clearly, he failed and caused Dumbledore’s party to rise to power. How many pure-blood wizards and witches did he kill? He killed more wizards than Muggles! How many of you lost family members to his magicidal crusade? Because of him, every non-Slytherin in this country believes that the protection of pure magical bloodlines means killing people arbitrarily. Some Slytherins think so, too.”

They were staring at Tom, eyes wider than ever. He decided that usurping Flint should not take more time than that very evening.

“Did it never cross your minds that perhaps the Dark Lord got what he wanted? Come on, he was a snake-man with no history, and he vanished suddenly and mysteriously. Clearly ‘Lord Voldemort’ was just a guise used by Albus Dumbledore so that he could rise to power as a hero and wipe out some of the pure-blood aristocracy at the same time. The old goat is more Slytherin than you realise. He has successfully hidden it behind a mask of senility.”

As the older Slytherin students were looking at Tom in dismay, anger and awe, he knew they were his. Manipulating idiots was so easy that for a moment he was happy that the sorry state of the House of Slytherin had made many clever children choose Ravenclaw instead.

Chapter 11: Setting the Stage

The Slytherin common room looked cosy and familiar. Fire was blazing in the fireplace, keeping away the cold and dampness of the dungeons. There were many large bookshelves containing books that Slytherins had for ages preferred the members of the other Houses not to read. In the large stained glass windows the figures were playing important moments in the life of Salazar Slytherin. The setting was the same, but the people who lived there had become decadent.

Tom went to look at the notice board. It was, obviously, empty apart from some official school notifications, but it was disappointing to notice the absence of the room reserved for certain activities he had considered vitally important for the House of Slytherin. There had been the Slytherin Debate Society where future politicians and demagogues had honed their rhetorical skills. There had also been the Slytherin Book Club where they had read texts by Plato, Machiavelli, Lenin and many other wizards so notable that they were famous in the Muggle world too. These proud traditions had been abandoned when Slytherins had begun to imitate Voldemort’s blunt, terroristic ways of gaining power. However, even the Slytherin Duelling Club had apparently been disbanded, although that might have been Dumbledore’s decision.

Slytherins respected power and wealth, perhaps more than ever, since talents and cunning were no longer equal traits with them. That was why Tom made sure many of his housemates saw his Firebolt broomstick, a status symbol rather than something he actually needed. A rumour would spread about how the transfer student had the best broomstick money could buy and that would solidify his reputation as one of the elite. At some point, he would mention that he had achieved eleven Outstanding OWLs, something he was quite sure no Slytherin had achieved in decades. (Of course, it was better not to tell the Slytherins that he had achieved an Outstanding OWL in Muggle Studies too; to them, it was not a sign of talent and diligence, but something to be suspicious for.)

Tom’s dormitory was not the same one where he had lived in before, but an identical one. Sadly, he had to share it with people like Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, both members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. When living in his own house, he had got used to privacy, and sharing a dormitory with others was one of the few things he disliked about Hogwarts. Well, he would quickly subjugate his dormmates into humble minions. He was experienced in such a thing.

Tom’s first encounter with Severus Snape was during breakfast the next day. Like all sixth-year students, he had to choose the subjects he would be studying for the next two years for his NEWTs, and Snape checked that each had the qualifying OWL grades. Tom decided to continue studying Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. He would take the tests for at least History, Astronomy and Magical Creatures too, but he would not bother to attend the classes.

Of course, Tom did not actually need to take any classes at all. He was absolutely certain that he could get an Outstanding grade in every single subject if he took the exams right away. After just three years of education, he had estimated that he could have passed most of the NEWTs with at least an Acceptable grade. Hogwarts curriculum was designed for average people, not geniuses who had a natural talent for all things magical. However, it was not enough that Tom had all the skills Hogwarts could teach. He needed everyone to know how talented he was. His main purpose during these two years would be to convince everyone that one day he would be the most powerful wizard in the world. The lesser beings around him would understand that it was in their best interests to join him and enjoy even a small portion of reflected glory.

Tom would become the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He would follow Professor Slughorn’s example and slither his way into the centre of wizarding Britain’s web of connections. Dumbledore and Voldemort would be dealt with. And in order to avoid getting bored, he would create his new rivals to continue the game forever.

But first things first. Snape was an obstacle, but an interesting one. He was talented and intelligent, there was no doubt about it. He was a perfect Occlumens, and clever enough to wear an unreadable expression at all times; Occlumency was of little use if anyone could interpret the Occlumens’s thoughts by looking at his face. But even though the man embodied so many of Slytherin’s virtues, he had allowed the House to fall into decadence.

As Tom’s hand was busy with the mundane routine of spooning porridge into his mouth, his thoughts were sailing in a whole other sphere. He wondered how Voldemort had managed to curse the position of the Defence teacher. It must have been a very insidious piece of Spell-Crafting, since Dumbledore had not succeeded in doing anything about it in decades. Voldemort had probably designed the curse so that only he could break it or even find where the curse’s physical anchor was located. A curse needed a constant supply of magical power or otherwise it would fade in time. Perhaps Voldemort had somehow managed to connect the curse to the same nexus of magic from which the castle’s protective enchantments drew their power. If that was the case, the physical anchor of the curse was without a doubt located in the Chamber of Secrets. Salazar might even have left instructions on how such a thing might be accomplished.

Tom would just need to break the curse once he got the job. But before that he would switch the curse to destroy Snape.

He was not as good an Occlumens as Snape, but the Head of Slytherin did not have a clue that the oldest of his new students was planning his destruction. Actually, he seemed quite pleased with a student as talented as Tom was. He even gave Tom something that could be interpreted as a smile when he welcomed him to the small and prestigious group of NEWT level Potions students.

Potions happened to be Tom’s first class. He was one of the four students who had achieved an Outstanding grade in Potions and the right to continue studying the subject. There were also two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff, all of them prefects. They gathered around one table, and Snape sat with them. His attitude was not the one Ginny and Harry had told about; he showed neither hostility nor condescension, but sincere appreciation, almost collegiality. It did not take long for Tom to realise that Snape measured the value of people by their potion making skills, not blood status, wealth or Quidditch talents. The two classes he taught to NEWT level students were probably the only part of his job that he really enjoyed.

Tom left the class feeling conflicted. Snape would be a powerful ally, but unfortunately, he was one of the Slytherins who had grown to believe that Voldemort was the culmination of Slytherin’s virtues. This perverted delusion needed to be purged without mercy, even if rare talent went to waste.

Tom continued making observations about teachers and students during his other classes. Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy were subjects he had studied independently with ambition, and those classes offered him no challenge at all. He made great first impressions on Professors McGonagall and Flitwick by demonstrating all spells non-verbally. During Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, he sat in the back of the class, focusing mainly on his own projects instead of wasting his time on the lecture. In Herbology, on the other hand, they studied magical plants he was not very familiar with, because he had never considered the subject as important as the others and had not studied it independently as much.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a subject Tom had not been looking forward to studying. He was aware of the fact that each teacher had taught only for a year for a few decades had caused a massive falling of standards. It was currently difficult to find competent teachers for the job; actually impossible, because taking a cursed job meant incompetence. As a result, the entire nation had become less and less capable of taking care of itself, something Voldemort had obviously intended.

Tom still gave Professor Lupin a chance. Furthermore, as a future teacher of the subject, it would be odd if he had not attended its classes in the NEWT years.

Professor Lupin had decided to introduce the students to Dark creatures. It was not new to Tom; in Professor Merrythought’s carefully crafted curriculum they had been the topic of the first year in Defence. But perhaps there was some kind of fitting irony: apparently most students happened to have their first decent Defence teacher.

And so Tom found himself once again facing an ominously shaking wardrobe. A Boggart was supposed to take the form of the worst fear of the nearest person. Tom looked curiously how his classmates made it turn into things like a giant spider, a giant serpent, a mummy and a vampire. Were they really the worst fears of his classmates? Surely things like the deaths of all of their family members, or the destruction of their homes, or a gigantic meteor strike would be much more terrifying.

Or perhaps everyone had misinterpreted a Boggart’s actions. It did not show the greatest fear but something that simply scared the closest person. Although the death of one’s family was a terrible thing (so Tom had read), it was much easier to understand as intimidation than a monster that caused a feeling of danger in the very core of human mind.

Boggarts just wanted to be left alone and that was why they took the form that would make the disturber go away and not come back. Obviously, Boggarts had some ability of mindreading, but what they lacked was intelligence. They did not know what would really make their disturbers go away. Tom knew and organised that knowledge as the topmost thought of his mind as his turn came.

He stepped in front of the Boggart. It turned into Gilderoy Lockhart who unleashed a swarm of Cornish Pixies to the classroom. A few seconds later every single student had fled.

“Thank you very much, Mr Valedro,” Professor Lupin said sourly after Tom had explained his realisation to him. “Now I must find another Boggart for my other classes. This one now knows the only form it needs to take. If Boggarts were not hermits, it probably would share its knowledge with other Boggarts, and we would have been forced to hunt them to extinction if we were not willing to allow them to claim any wardrobe they wished.”

“I’m sorry I caused you trouble,” Tom said, but secretly suppressed a smirk. “But I didn’t like it that we were bullying a creature that just wanted to be left alone. I could easily relate to it.”

Professor Lupin looked at him for a while.

“Perhaps you should be in Gryffindor, Tom,” he said.

Tom blinked, so surprised that he did not even know if it was an insult or not.

 

---

 

After a few days of settling to the life at Hogwarts, Tom wrote a message to Harry and asked for a meeting for the first combat training session. After dinner he climbed all the way to the seventh floor where he found Harry, who stood in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and was just greeting the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, who floated by. Tom wondered briefly if Sir Nicholas was related to the famous enchanter of the Middle Ages, the one who was called Tim by some. They looked so alike.

“Hello, Harry,” Tom greeted. “How has your term started?”

“Oh, fine. Malfoy’s been a git, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Yes, I happened to hear something about his doings. I am trying to make a difference in Slytherin, you know. But enough of that. Today I’ve got something really interesting for you.”

“Er… why are you pacing like that?”

“This is the way the Room of Requirement reveals its door. You have to think hard of what you want of the Room. Ah, there it is!”

The magical door shimmered into existence into the formerly empty wall. Tom opened it and stepped in. The training hall where he had spent many long weekends was waiting for them.

“Wow,” Harry said. “You mean this Room just takes the form you want it to?”

“There are limitations. The Room only creates the architecture and the furniture, and if you move any of the furniture out of here, it will disappear. Trust me, I’ve tried. Fifty years ago, my cunning plan of earning a little income by becoming a furniture merchant was a complete failure. However, some things, like those books on those shelves, are probably taken from the Hogwarts library. The Room is incapable of creating books out of nothing. Knowledge is one of the exceptions to Gamp’s Law, you see.”

Tom positioned himself in the middle of the Room and gestured Harry to stand opposite of him.

“But we’re not here to read. This is a very practical lesson. You already know the basics of martial arts. Now it is time for wizarding fighting techniques.”

“You said you’re going to teach me spells.”

“And I will, but first you must understand that having a wide repertoire of spells is not enough, not remotely. Battle is always a chaotic situation. Usually there’s no time to think what spell to use next. There’s never time to ponder what the right incantations or wand gestures are. You cannot be ready to face Sirius Black before you’ve developed an instinct that makes you do all the right things without conscious thought. As a Quidditch prodigy you are able to steer your broomstick without thinking about it at all. A violinist doesn’t need to focus on his fingers and the bow. A fencer wields his sword like it’s a part of his arm. Magical combat is similar to all of these. Your wand and your magic must become like extensions of your body and physical capabilities. With enough practice, you’ll learn how to use different spells at the same time or in quick succession, which makes them like very flexible and practical combination spells.”

“Such as?”

Tom took a book from the nearest bookshelf and then put it back. This mundane action made Harry’s eyes wider because Tom had not done it with his hand. He had grabbed the book with just his magic, without touching his wand or saying any incantations.

“I used the Summoning Charm and then the Banishing Charm,” he explained. “They are among the generally most useful spells, but since they are somewhat tricky to learn, they are taught in the fourth year. Once you know them, you’ll use them all the time, and if you have good control of your magic, you’ll be able to use them like I did. To me, using them requires just a little more focus than doing the same thing with my hands.”

“I want to learn that!”

“The first step is to hone your instinct. That brings us back to magical combat.”

Tom raised his wand.

“So, this is how we’ll start today. I’ll try to strike you with Stinging Hexes, and you must just dodge them. It shouldn’t be that different from dodging Bludgers, except now you’ll have to control your body instead of a broomstick.”

Tom sent the first hex at Harry, aiming at his left arm to make it easier for him. He jerked to the right and the hex hit the floor behind him. Tom cast again, progressively making it harder for Harry. He made Harry run, jump, crouch and roll. They continued it for fifteen minutes, until Harry was panting and was struck by hexes more often than not.

Without being able to attend the Kwikspell lessons, Tom was unable to practice fighting at his level, but at least he could continue practicing aiming at a moving target. Better than nothing.

“We’ll repeat this drill every time we meet here,” he said. “Agility and stamina are vitally important even in magical combat, something many wizards overlook. Your advantage against Sirius Black is that he’s badly out of practice… for now.”

He turned to look at the targeting dummies that formed a line near one of the walls. The Room had helpfully made them look like Sirius Black.

“So, spells. There are lots of spells used in combat, but unfortunately, they don’t seem to be a part of the Defence Against the Dark Arts courses. You told me that you only know the Disarming Charm. It’s not very useful compared to these. Look: the Stunning Charm. Stupefy!”

A red bolt of light struck one of the dummies.

“It’s very useful for those who want to take their enemies alive and unharmed, probably the most used spell in an Auror’s arsenal. However, there are other spells that are used for the same purpose. The Impediment Jinx, for instance. Impedimenta! Or the Full Body-Bind Curse. Petrificus Totalus! Do you know why?”

“No, I don’t. I’d rather master one spell perfectly.”

“When fighting, it’s important to be unpredictable. If you always use one spell, your enemy will learn to react accordingly. For example, while the Shield Charm protects you from all these three, its reaction to each of them is slightly different. If you want to deflect a Stunning Charm back towards its caster, you have to focus differently compared to deflecting an Impediment Jinx. It’s comparable to how a prism bends red light and blue light differently. But I do recommend using mostly the Stunning Charm. Its incantation is much shorter and that makes it far more effective in combat.”

“Stupefy!” Harry said and waved his wand, but nothing happened.

“Patience,” Tom said. “I’m not asking you to cast any of these spells today. I’m just showing you what spells I’m going to teach you during these lessons. Next, I’ll show you some spells that are more dangerous than the first three. The Reductor Curse creates a force that can destroy solid objects. You must be careful when using this; it can be lethal when used against a living target. Reducto!”

The target dummy he had chosen for the demonstration blew out.

“But that was little compared to the Blasting Curse,” he continued. “Confringo!”

The next target dummy was engulfed in roaring flames. When they died out, nothing remained of the dummy but charred remains scattered all over the Room.

“One thing that Hogwarts’ teachers do not want the students to know before the NEWT level is that Battle Magic is not a separate magical discipline,” Tom said. “Otherwise, students would get funny ideas about using the spells taught in Charms and Transfiguration creatively. If you want to become a great fighter, one who can defeat Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, you must be able to combine all your magical skills and utilise them in combat. Most of the spells taught in Charms are meant to ease everyday life. However, some of them are easy to weaponise. The Severing Charm, for example. Diffindo!”

The head of one of the dummies detached and fell to the floor.

“Or the very basic Fire-Making Spell. Incendio!”

The headless dummy caught fire.

“I learned this when studying Muggle history: every time something is invented, the military always tries to find ways of using it for military purposes. That’s my approach to spells. Do you remember when I told you about my Spell-Crafting project? I’ve now managed to master my first creation, the opposite spell of the normal Levitation Charm. I call it the Gravity Amplifying Charm. It may seem harmless, but it can be used in combat.”

Harry did not seem entirely convinced, so Tom pointed his wand at him and said,

“Amplio Gravitas.”

Harry groaned as Tom slowly made him weigh more.

“Running under that effect doesn’t seem nice, does it?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry admitted, and Tom lifted the spell.

“These are the things I’ll be teaching you. Black will be of no match for you when you know how to fight, how to use your skills effectively and to use the Dark Arts for your purposes.”

“The Dark Arts?” Harry suddenly looked very apprehensive. “You think I would use them?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“But… they’re just the thing I’m opposed to! I don’t want to become like my enemies!”

“Oh, I see. You’re under the impression that the Dark Arts are essentially evil, and that whoever uses them is evil as well.”

“Yes, exactly. Isn’t that the whole point? That’s why there’s Defence Against the Dark Arts as a mandatory subject at Hogwarts.”

“Many ways of defending against the Dark Arts are considered Dark as well. Don’t you realise that every single jinx, hex and curse is at least somewhat Dark, because they require the caster’s intent to inflict the negative effect of the spell upon the victim or target? You told me how Hermione used the Full Body-Bind Curse on Neville Longbottom when you were going to protect the Philosopher’s Stone. She used the Dark Arts, Harry.”

“That’s ridiculous. Petrificus Totalus is perfectly harmless.”

“Oh, sure, it’s all good fun now that everyone knows the counter-spell, but no one was laughing when the Parkinsons used it to bury their political enemies alive. No, Harry, it’s not the skill what’s evil, but the way you use it. Let me explain. There are three Unforgivable Curses: the Imperius Curse that takes total control of the victim’s mind, the Cruciatus Curse that causes unbearable pain and the Killing Curse that kills the victim instantly. Ghosts who died through the Killing Curse tell that it’s totally painless. It just stops all body functions and banishes the soul to the Otherworld. Why is that worse than this? Reducto!”

One of the target dummies burst in half. If it had been a living person, the death would have been horribly agonising.

“Tell me, Harry, why the painless Killing Curse is considered one of the most evil of magics, but the Reductor Curse is taught at Hogwarts.”

Tom did not wait for Harry to guess anything.

“It’s because you have to mean the Unforgivable Curses. You can only cast the Killing Curse if you want the victim dead, but not in order to prevent some greater evil. You must want the victim dead for the sake of being dead; the spell is fuelled by hatred! You can only cast the Cruciatus Curse if you want to torture the victim for the sake of torture. You can only cast the Imperius Curse if you want to enslave the victim for the sake of enslavement. Not everyone can learn to use these spells, but any wizard can learn to use the milder Dark Arts. The Reductor Curse only requires your intent to create a great shattering force and the Full Body-Bind Curse your intent to incapacitate someone. Unlike the Unforgivable Curses, they don’t require true malice. That’s why the Dark Arts like them can be used for good, for example to open a safe passage or to stop someone from rushing to their death, just like basic spells like the Severing Charm can be used to kill and torture people.”

Tom let the words sink in.

“Let me give you a warning. History knows many Dark witches and wizards who believed that evil was in certain spells, not in the methods they used. By not using those spells they were convinced that they were always on the good side. They never had to consider the ethics of their actions. And often they were among the most horrible people in the history of magic. Do not follow their path, Harry. Use any spells you find necessary, but use them for good. If you don’t use the Dark Arts, you give your enemies an advantage. That cannot be considered good.”

Tom was not sure Harry had listened to the lecture. His eyes were unfocused as he was contemplating something.

“The Killing Curse is fuelled by hatred?” he said after a while. “That’s what Voldemort used, right?”

“Yes, it was his favourite. You’re the only known survivor of a properly cast Killing Curse, thanks to your mother’s sacrifice.”

Harry shook his head. “I was a one-year-old child. How could he hate me enough to use the Killing Curse?”

“Voldemort is a twisted man,” Tom said simply, but did not tell the secret he knew.

The Killing Curse did not necessarily need hatred as fuel. Another state of mind could be used just as well, and Voldemort had turned it into a weapon, because he hardly cared about anyone enough to even hate them. It was the state of mind Tom constantly tried to flee from: apathy.

Chapter 12: A Lesson in Politics

As Tom had told Harry, he had continued his efforts to make a difference in the House of Slytherin, although not the kind of difference Harry probably assumed. The most important part of the plan was to talk some sense to Draco Malfoy, and Tom had planned to initiate a conversation with him in order to start turning him into a puppet, but Malfoy had not come to the Slytherin common room in the evening of the first day of school. Not wanting to appear too interested in him, Tom had settled for listening to the other third-year Slytherins to learn about Malfoy’s whereabouts.

Malfoy had happened to be the main topic of their heated discussion. He had been attacked and almost killed by a Hippogriff during their first lesson of Magical Creatures. Although Tom admitted that Hippogriffs were quite the overkill for the first lesson, he had his doubts about Malfoy having been attacked without any fault on his part.

Tom had sighed heavily and continued reading a post-Hogwarts level textbook. If Malfoy was anything like his most devout advocate in the matter, Pansy Parkinson, Tom had much coaching to do. Tom could not accept it if his future puppet was remembered as a pathetic, whining and Hippogriff-maimed dolt. He was judged by people he associated with, and if someone made him look bad… well, he thought he would quickly decide they were more useful as Basilisk feed. After all, it was Tom’s steadfast conviction that people had an obligation towards a millennium-old living relic. Without human sacrifices, people would lose all that was passed down to them.

 

---

 

Malfoy spent several days in the hospital wing, much to Tom’s growing irritation. Time was wasting as Tom’s plan went nowhere, but in the meantime, he tried to discreetly teach the other Slytherins some real methods of Salazar. Everyone was at least somewhat interested in the new student who owned a Firebolt and demonstrated remarkable talent in all his classes. In the small pond that was wizarding Britain, there was a new, larger than average fish, and obviously all politically minded people were curious to find out how big it could become and how it might change the status quo.

In the evenings, students of the two oldest age groups convened at the central area of the Slytherin common room to discuss various topics, and many younger students gathered around them to listen. This tradition had been strong enough to survive the decadence that had ended the Debate Society and the Book Club. Tom told stories about the Private Wizarding Society of New Zealand and hoped that no one had heard the very same stories but about Hogwarts from their grandparents. There were stories about tricking gullible people, about mischief and about exploiting loopholes in the school rules. All the while Tom used Legilimency on Pansy Parkinson and planted the idea in her mind that she should speak highly of Tom Valedro to Draco Malfoy.

When Malfoy finally returned to the common room, one of his arms was heavily bandaged and he acted like a survivor of a glorious battle. Tom was pretty sure any non-fatal injury that a Hippogriff could cause could have been healed magically faster than this. The prat was using this as an opportunity to score sympathy points. It was pathetic, it was Hufflepuff-level cunning, but what else could one expect from the House of Slytherin in its degenerate form?

After suffering Malfoy’s childish behaviour for longer than was healthy, Tom noticed from the corner of his eye the spoiled heir coming closer and sitting down in an armchair on the other side of the central table. Tom showed him his place by not paying him any attention to before he initiated the conversation.

“Mr Valedro,” Malfoy said. “Pansy has told me that you have shared many interesting insights with your fellow Slytherins.”

“That is correct, Mr Malfoy,” Tom said, looking up from his book. “The Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand takes great pride in teaching the Slytherin way of thinking to young witches and wizards. There is even a mandatory subject for it – Manipulative Studies.”

“Wow,” Malfoy said, clearly impressed. “Meanwhile this sorry excuse for a school teaches Muggle Studies instead.” He made a disgusted face. “It all goes down to Dumbledore.”

“Yes, he has made some very eccentric decisions running this school. I can’t imagine anyone else who’d’ve hired Hagrid to teach Magical Creatures. I’ve heard he has a cognitive deficit, a blind spot when it comes to interesting creatures. And he thinks that the more dangerous a creature is, the more interesting it is. Wasn’t he expelled from Hogwarts because he let Slytherin’s Monster loose to attack and kill other students?”

“Yes, exactly, and now he continues his rampage as a teacher.” Malfoy smirked. “Well, I’m going to bring him down. This Hippogriff incident will be his undoing. My father has already contacted the Ministry. The beast will be executed in no time.”

“I’m sorry you happened to deal with the crazy one,” Tom said, ready to use Legilimency to steer the conversation to the direction he wanted. “I heard the other Hippogriffs didn’t endanger the students.”

“Well,” Malfoy said, smirking more than ever. “I don’t think the Hippogriff was crazier than the others. I might’ve insulted him just a little bit.”

Tom stared him, and his smirk faded a little.

“So, you know you caused the incident by not following the explicit order?” Tom said calmly.

“Well, yes,” Malfoy admitted reluctantly.

Tom closed the book he had been reading, finally signalling that he was fully concentrating on the conversation.

“Slytherins always do things for a reason,” he said, acting curious and not at all disapproving. “What is your grand plan behind this Hippogriff incident?”

“Well, I can get the oaf fired and his pet executed,” Malfoy said slowly, clearly understanding the point.

“And what good is that to you?”

“At least it will make Potter, Weasley and Granger furious. And my father will have revenge for his sacking from the board of governors.”

“There truly is great hostility between you and the Gryffindor trio.”

“Why do you care?” Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You sat with them on the Express. Why? Don’t tell me you’re one of the fans of the saintly Boy Who Lived?”

Tom sighed dramatically.

“Obviously I am interested to learn what is so special about a living legend like Potter,” he said. “He is prestigious in wizarding Britain and that is something any clever person tries to use to his advantage. I am acting like a true Slytherin does. The boy is easily manipulated. I don’t make fun of him the way you do, Malfoy. I’ll make him a willing part of my plan, and once I am done… he will make fun of himself on my behalf.”

Malfoy seemed quite taken aback.

“Do tell me more,” he said, intrigued.

Ha, Tom thought. You’re now my pawn, Malfoy.

Most of the Slytherin students had gathered around the table and were listening. That was good. Tom could turn this conversation into a proper lesson for all of them.

“I’ve heard that your family is very powerful, Draco,” Tom said, shifting to first name basis and leaning slightly forward. “Perhaps the most powerful single family in wizarding Britain, and has been for generations. Is this not true?”

“It is true,” Malfoy said smugly.

“Then why is it that your father, Lucius Malfoy, is not the most powerful politician? Why is Dumbledore, and not him, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the leader of the majority coalition? Why has your father failed repeatedly in taking power?”

Malfoy looked offended, as if Tom had accused him of something instead of just asking him questions.

“It’s Dumbledore,” he spat. “The old fool is the great hero of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. There is no way any Slytherin could gain so much support from the other Houses that it would be enough to gain a majority. My father is doing the best he can.”

“But why is there such a divide between Slytherins and the other Houses?”

“Well… the House rivalry is an ancient tradition. Maybe it’s not so in New Zealand if there really were just Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws who established the society as you told… but this is how things are in Britain. The other Houses are jealous of us, and they’re easily fooled by a hypocrite like Dumbledore.”

“That may all be true,” Tom said. “But neither of the reasons assesses any fault on Slytherins themselves. I refuse to believe there is nothing your father could do better – and you in the future as his successor.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean that the way you treat other students at Hogwarts will greatly affect your reputation for your entire life. I don’t know how your father behaved in his school years, but if it was anything like your behaviour, it’s no wonder he hasn’t been able to create a majority coalition. When you graduate, you will rise to a powerful position in wizarding Britain, and so will Potter. The game that you’re both playing, whether you know it or not, will continue on a national level. Potter will be remembered as a vanquisher of a Dark Lord, a Quidditch prodigy and a generally pleasant person, much like Dumbledore whose position he’ll inherit one day. You, on the other hand, may be remembered as an arrogant, bullying idiot who was hospitalised by a Hippogriff!” Tom’s voice had become loud and harsh. “Don’t you understand what you’re doing? You’re making sure that you’ll follow your father as the leader of the opposition, one who is incapable of uniting other factions into a majority coalition!”

Malfoy’s expression had gone from confused to insulted to almost panicking.

“Dumbledore is watching your doings, and no doubt laughs at you. He allows Snape not to discipline you and to create tension between Slytherin and the other Houses, because it serves his political purposes! I have to say that I’m greatly disappointed in Slytherin. Our political faction has been outsmarted by Dumbledore for decades. This is supposed to be the House of cunning and not of childish troublemaking. We Slytherins should have the right mindset for steering a nation towards greatness, but right now we’re the opposition and will remain so if we do not change our ways!”

“He’s right, Malfoy,” said Ethan Jugson, the level-headed seventh-year prefect whom Tom had convinced at the start-of-term feast. Many other students nodded.

“So…” Malfoy said, searching for more words. “What are you suggesting I do?”

“You cease this stupid game of yours and begin to treat students of other Houses with feigned respect. You’ve already wasted your first impression on them and two years’ worth of later impressions. That means you have a hard campaign of improving your reputation ahead of you, but five years should be more than enough.”

Malfoy looked nauseated, but also a little embarrassed.

“And for how long should I be playing the role of a Gryffindor?” he asked.

“You already know the answer to that question,” Tom answered ominously. “Forever. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Teasing Potter and his friends is so amusing that you don’t want to stop it. I assure you, it will get better. Gryffindors easily think good of other people and that’s a flaw in their character that you can exploit. Once you fool them into becoming a part of your plan, the joke will be on them forever. You don’t need to make fun of them yourself. You just need to watch how they take care of it themselves. That’s the endgame of a real Slytherin, and as much as I hate to admit it, that’s the situation Dumbledore has forced us into.”

“And if we succeed in that plan of yours, what will we achieve?” asked a fifth-year student.

“Why, the total control of wizarding Britain, of course,” Tom said.

“But,” Malfoy said, “if our future power will be based on fooling them, how can we ever get anything done? I mean, if we ban Mudbloods from Hogwarts, they’ll immediately realise that we were just fooling them. Then we’ll be back at the starting point, except that they’ll be expecting us to trick them again.”

“I’m glad you pointed that out,” Tom said. “Ever since moving to Britain a few months ago I’ve been thinking that we Slytherins are thinking too small. The world doesn’t stay the same and we must react to the change. Only by embracing all opportunities can we become masters of the change and steer it to the direction we want. In Britain, we’ve had the same dispute about preserving the purity of blood for a millennium. What do you know about Muggles, Draco?”

“They’re little more than animals,” Malfoy said. “They work in the fields doing what we do with magic or make house-elves do for us. They’re illiterate, violent drunkards, and they hate magic.”

“And how many Muggles have you met?”

“None,” he said. “Well, I saw Granger’s parents last year.”

“The magical society of New Zealand is very isolated,” Tom described his false origin. “I had never even seen a Muggle before I came to Britain, but then I was shocked beyond words. I’m afraid that what you told about Muggles was true in the seventeenth century, when we separated our society from theirs. But it’s not true anymore, at least not in Europe. Do you know what the words science and technology mean?”

“Um… no.”

“They’re a kind of substitute for magic. Some Muggles appear to be very creative. As they have no magic to help them, they have experimented and created machines to improve their way of living. Look at that!”

Tom pointed at the clock on the wall.

“A clock,” he said. “It’s originally a Muggle device, and now one can be found in the common room of the House of Slytherin.”

Most of the audience seemed shocked.

“And that!” he pointed at the door leading to the lavatory. “Plumbing. Also created by Muggles. Hogwarts Express – Muggles. The Knight Bus, a motor vehicle – Muggles. A camera, which the Daily Prophet uses to create pictures – Muggles. All of our schoolbooks are printed by a printing press – Muggles. There are Muggle inventions all around us!”

“Should we get rid of them?” Malfoy asked.

“Just because they have origins in the Muggle world?” Tom asked sharply. “That’s just what I mean with thinking too small. They were not a problem to you before I informed you about their origins. We must stop viewing the Muggles as little more than animals, because they’re a very serious threat to our very existence. These devices I’ve pointed out were just some of them. Let me show you what Muggles are really capable of!”

Tom took out his wand and waved it in the intricate pattern required for the Illusion Charm. A mist gathered in the air, forming a solid-looking figure of a handgun.

“Do you know what that is?”

“No idea,” Malfoy said, studying the illusion in confusion.

“I’ve seen a picture of one of those,” someone remarked.

“It’s a Muggle weapon,” Tom said. “Inside there is a small piece of metal called a bullet and also powder that burns so fast it’s used as an explosive. When it burns, the combustion gas will push the bullet through the barrel.”

Tom’s magic pulled the illusory gun’s trigger. Every single Slytherin jumped in shock at the sound of the gunshot.

“The bullet moves fast,” Tom explained. “So fast it’s impossible to react to it. Unlike many offensive spells, it can’t be seen. It’s easier to aim a gun than a wand. And it’s lethal, every bullet is like a Reductor Curse. But a handgun is one of the least effective of modern Muggle weapons.”

The illusion changed its form, turning into an assault rifle.

“This one fires much larger bullets and is much more precise.” The assault rifle turned into a machine gun. “How many Reductor Curses can you cast in sixty seconds? Weapons like this can shoot over a thousand just as effective bullets in that time. And it doesn’t take years of education to learn to use it. It doesn’t even take an hour.”

Malfoy could not have looked more horrified even if Tom had claimed that Dumbledore possessed the most powerful magical weapon in the world. But Tom was not finished yet. The machine gun turned into a grenade, then a flamethrower, then a land mine, then miniature versions of an artillery weapon, a tank, a submarine, a cruise missile and a fighter aircraft. He ended the presentation by showing an illusion of a mushroom cloud and telling his increasingly dismayed audience about the fates of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, about Tsar Bomba and about the exclusion zone around Chernobyl.

“Are Muggles enemies you should underestimate?” Tom asked.

“No,” Malfoy said, his face much paler than usual. “I think I’ll be writing to my father about this. What can we do about the threat?”

“We must do what Grindelwald tried to do. To stop hiding, to stop bickering about trivialities and to infiltrate the Muggle society. We must take total control of these weapons in order to prevent anyone from using them against us. We must rule the world with the magical power we command, to become the Guardian class Plato described in the Republic. That’s my ambition. It was a mistake to isolate the magical society from the Muggle one. Back then Slytherins were the most vocal opponents of the Statute of Secrecy, now the supporters, and it’s wrong.”

“How?” Malfoy said, staring miserably at the table. “How did the swords and spears turn into those?”

“That’s the trick with science. We wizards have been teaching known skills to new generations, but the Muggle scientists have been exploring the previously unknown. It’s what they consider the greatest virtue. That way they’ve learned many laws of nature, many properties of materials and substances, and used that knowledge to create wonders. Think about it this way: if Salazar Slytherin had known that the scientists would invent these kinds of weapons as well as ways of flying, communicating across the world in real-time and healing fatal diseases and injuries, would he have called it magic? I think he would have. Science is different magic from ours, but it’s still magic. That’s why I respect the scientists. They will have their places in the new world order – the world ruled by magic, science and technology!”

“I’ve heard that this Muggle stuff… this, ahh, technology has trouble working around magic,” a seventh-year student pointed out.

“The trouble is with electronics,” Tom explained. “It’s a very delicate branch of technology, and ambient magic easily makes it malfunction. Many of the weapons I showed you use electronics, but it’s not necessary. Firearms would work just fine here at Hogwarts.”

“Why don’t you tell your theory about the Dark Lord to the rest of us, Valedro?” Jugson asked. “It was very interesting, at least.”

“All right. But I wouldn’t like any one of you telling about it to anyone else. Whether I’m right or not, certain people might get upset if they heard about it.”

“We don’t talk much with members of the other Houses,” someone said while many people were nodding.

“What theory about the Dark Lord?” Malfoy asked.

“I’ve come to suspect that Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore were secretly the same person,” Tom said. There was a chorus of gasps, both when the Slytherins heard the forbidden name and when they heard the rest of it. “Just think about the facts!” Tom exclaimed as several people cried in protest. “Voldemort had no history whatsoever, he just appeared out of nothing!” (It was a very, very good thing that Tom’s once other self had wanted to remain a mystery, otherwise it would have been much more difficult to convince people about this theory.) “Keep in mind that Dumbledore never confronted Voldemort even though that course of action had worked perfectly against Grindelwald. Voldemort didn’t really fight for wizardkind, you know how many pure-bloods he killed! And just when the nation was in the need of a miracle, he disappeared, supposedly having been defeated by Harry Potter. How can anyone believe a story as far-fetched as this? Dumbledore, the leader of the victorious side, wasted no time in taking all the power into his hands!”

There was utter silence in the common room. Tom’s eyes swept over the Slytherin crowd in a dramatic fashion.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar to you? It was the same Dumbledore who became a hero by defeating Grindelwald. Clearly, after a few decades he decided that British wizards should be reminded of who the hero was. Thus, a new, even more horrible Dark Lord emerged just to be thwarted by the heroic actions of Dumbledore. He has obviously chosen Potter to be his successor, that’s why he made sure the majority of British wizards consider the boy a living miracle. However, Voldemort did not truly die. Of course not, he’s still out there somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to return. Mark my words: that will happen when people once again get tired enough of Dumbledore and he decides it’s again time to play the role of a hero and a strong leader. I find it ironic that we ought to learn a lesson of being Slytherin from Dumbledore of all people.”

Malfoy looked like a small child whose entire world had collapsed in a matter of minutes.

“Take your time digesting that,” Tom said. “There’s no need to take action on that front any time soon. And it doesn’t change our purpose. Dumbledore must fall. The first thing we must do is to take his most important pawn, Harry Potter, away from him.”

“You’ve given me much to think about,” Malfoy said. “I agree with much of what you’ve said. I see now that I’ve not been as Slytherin as I should’ve been. This… this schoolyard squabble is beneath me when the entire wizarding world is at risk.”

“Yes, the Hippogriff incident,” Tom said. “Well, this is what I suggest that you do next…”

 

---

 

Tom was under the Disillusionment Charm when he followed the third-year Slytherins out of the castle to their Care of Magical Creatures class. The Gryffindors were already gathering around Hagrid’s hut. Malfoy approached them confidently, his arm no longer bandaged. Crabbe and Goyle were following him as usual, and the other Slytherins were just a few paces behind them.

“Potter,” Malfoy said. “Weasley. Granger.”

“What?” Ron snapped as they turned to face the Slytherins.

Malfoy took a deep breath.

“I want to apologise to you… for my behaviour. I’ve not acted appropriately for a Malfoy, or a Slytherin… or for any decent human being.”

The Gryffindors stared at him with their mouths hanging open.

“I’ve teased you without provocation, called you names… I’ve tried to make your life miserable,” Malfoy continued. “Recently I’ve realised that I’ve done wrong, and my ways have changed as of today. I will write to my father and admit that the whole Hippogriff incident was my fault, and we will call off the lawsuit against Buckbeak. I will apologise to Professor Hagrid about the trouble I’ve caused… and from now on, I’ll be listening to his instructions.”

Pansy Parkinson stepped forward.

“I, too, want to apologise for my behaviour,” she said mainly to Hermione.

“We’ve not given the best of impressions about the House of Slytherin,” Malfoy said. “I hope that you’ll be able to admit that we, too, belong to this Hogwarts community. We’ll be promoting good relationship between all Houses… and we’re happy to put all past differences behind us.”

It was absolutely hilarious to look at the flabbergasted expressions on the faces of the Gryffindors. Malfoy’s acting was a bit cheesy, but luckily there was just one way that the do-gooder Gryffindors could react to an unprompted remorse.

 

---

 

The mood was a very good in the Slytherin common room that evening.

“That went much better than I had even dared to imagine!” Malfoy rejoiced.

“Very good, I’m impressed with your acting skills,” Tom said. “I see now why your family is so successful in politics. However, you must be careful not to overact. You mustn’t be immediately as if there never was any hostility between you and Potter or otherwise even his Gryffindor brains will get suspicious. Wait patiently for an opportunity to get to know him on a personal level. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to convert him to our side.”

“How will you do that?”

“Challenges tend to strengthen the Slytherin in each one of us. And with Sirius Black on the loose…”

Malfoy howled with laughter.

“That’s ingenious!” he commented. “I’m sure your teaching will strike home even in his thick, scarred head!”

 

---

 

In the evening, Draco Malfoy wrote a letter to his parents, choosing each word carefully. He was constantly watched by the family owl, Tanaxu, whose silver feathers, green eyes and deadly claws made him as Slytherin as an owl could possibly be.

Dear Mother and Father,

I write to you, because the injuries I suffered in Care of Magical Creatures are not as bad as I initially thought. I understand it that you would like to use this incident to put some pressure on Dumbledore, but I think the plan is not cunning enough for a Slytherin. Therefore, the lawsuit against the Hippogriff should be called off. I insist, actually.

I realised this when talking to a new student, Tom Valedro, who is originally from New Zealand. He has already caused quite a ruckus in the House of Slytherin, and you will certainly hear more about him in the future. After my conversation with him, I found striking similarities to what Grandmother and Archibald Nott have told me about their own school years.

It seems obvious to me that Mr Valedro will become a prominent member of the British wizarding community. I am already on friendly terms with him, and I am sure that our house will benefit from an alliance with him. We should invite him to our Yule Ball and make sure he will become a part of our plan for the future of Britain.

Your son,
Draco

Chapter 13: Personal Matters

Many younger Slytherins followed Malfoy’s example and began to behave cordially towards the members of the other Houses. (Tom wondered if they did so mostly to gain his favour; he had already proven to be a prominent wizard with whom any clever person would want to be on good terms.) Some of them started competing who would make most non-Slytherin friends. Fewer of the older Slytherins bothered to do much; although most of them were pure-blood, not everyone needed to build foundations for future political alliances like Malfoy. But at least they refrained themselves from the previously usual hostile bickering with the other Houses.

Then there were those fools who firmly opposed Tom. They had been bullying for years and were not willing to stop entertaining themselves with the fear of others. The leader of this group was Marcus Flint, who had quickly begun to hate Tom. As Tom had planned, he had stolen Flint’s role as the unofficial leader of the Slytherin students, but Flint was not willing to give up. He and a group of others, whom Tom had begun to call ‘the brutes,’ tried to undermine the efforts of reforming the House of Slytherin. Many of them were members of the Slytherin Quidditch team; Tom considered it proof that there was a strong correlation between stupidity and Quidditch enthusiasm. Among the brutes were Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole, who shared the dormitory with Tom, and so the dormitory was usually not a pleasant place to be in.

Initially, Tom had been frustrated there were some Slytherins who disregarded the Muggle threat he had thoroughly explained to them, but then he admitted that moving slowly might be for the best. If the entire House had suddenly changed its attitude towards the other Houses, it would have gained attention he did not want. Already there were those who suspected that Tom was up to something.

“Tom, did you have something to do with Malfoy’s sudden change of heart?” Harry demanded the moment Tom stepped into the Room of Requirement for the second fighting lesson.

“What makes you think that?”

“He said he’d been acting inappropriately for a Slytherin. He has changed his mind about the way he thinks Slytherins should act. I considered it, and your involvement seems the only plausible explanation. And didn’t you say you’re trying to make a difference? Just what’ve you been doing in Slytherin?”

“I just asked Malfoy what he was doing. Then I told him that being a pathetic idiot at school will certainly damage his future political career. Who’s able to take a politician seriously if everyone remembers him as a victim of his own stupidity? No, Malfoy did not suddenly turn into a goodie. It’s his own interest he’s working for. But perhaps, given time, he will grow and improve as a person.”

Obviously, Tom did not want Harry and Draco to trust each other. He wanted them both to rely on him in matters concerning their future fragile alliance.

“I prefer this new Malfoy to the old one, even if it’s just an act,” Harry said. “So, thank you. You’ve made my school life much more tolerable. Is it too much to hope you could do something about Snape as well?”

“I’m afraid it is. He doesn’t have a political career to be concerned about, and his actions seem to be motivated by hatred towards your very person. We must keep hoping that his soul gets accidentally devoured by a Dementor.”

They proceeded to the dodging drill and the first spells that Tom had decided to teach Harry: the Stunning and Shield Charms.

The fighting lessons with Harry were not the only after-school activity that Tom administered. He re-established the Slytherin Book Club, the Slytherin Debate Society and the Slytherin Duelling Club, and many of his housemates joined them. In the Debate Society, he continued to teach the proper ways of Slytherin to a select few people he considered promising. They included members of the most powerful families like Draco, Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, as well as some seventh-year students who aspired to have a Ministry career, like the seventh-year prefects Ethan Jugson and Catherine Runcorn.

One day Tom took Draco to the grounds, to a clearing that could not be seen from the castle. There he demonstrated the power of a firearm, and they took turns firing the handgun he had acquired in June.

“Some wizards think that firearms are exclusively Muggle things,” Tom explained. “They are absolutely wrong. The only Muggle thing about these is that wizards never had any need to create them, but Muggles had. They don’t possess any mysterious power only Muggles can wield and understand. They are merely applications of some of the same phenomena that we wizards use every day. Burning gunpowder and directing the combustion gas through the barrel is not that different from burning wood and directing smoke out through a chimney.”

“I see,” Draco said and peered into the gun through the slide. “Now that I see how this works, it’s not that complicated. Still – Muggles never invented this during the millennia that we ruled over them. How did it change so suddenly?”

“Ah, so you see the pattern. As a matter of fact, firearms were invented a few centuries before the Statute of Secrecy, but for a long time, they were nothing compared to this one. However, even if the Muggles themselves don’t know it, the Statute of Secrecy caused the biggest change Muggle societies have ever experienced. Britain was the first country where wizards voluntarily separated from the Muggles – and not long after, the industrial revolution began. The same happened in many countries: wizards gave up their power over Muggles and industry spread like a wildfire. Clearly, when Muggles were free to live as they wanted, they chose to do things more easily and efficiently. Since they didn’t have magical means to do anything and there was no slavery in Britain, they had to build machines instead.”

“So, the Statute of Secrecy is what caused the rise of Muggles through technology,” Draco said. “Our ancestors are to be blamed of this threat.”

“Exactly. Grindelwald understood this, but even to this day, most wizards don’t.”

“Father seemed somewhat intrigued by what I wrote to him about these things,” Draco said. “I don’t think I managed to describe these weapons to him as well as you. You’ll have to meet him sometime and explain all of this yourself.”

“I can do that,” Tom said. For a moment, he tried to imagine Lucius’s expression if he ever learned that Draco’s new friend had come from the diary he had carelessly given away.

“We traditionally host a Yule Ball on Christmas day. Most of the elite of Britain are invited. It’s an excellent opportunity to create useful connections. You should be expecting an invitation later in the autumn.”

So, a little more than half a year. That was how much time it took for Tom to make a debut in the high circles of wizarding Britain. He would need to find out how many of the former supporters of Voldemort were not irredeemably bad apples of Slytherin. If they had any cunning at all, he could turn it against them by fooling them with the theory he knew to be false. Then they would be turned against Voldemort, and after that, all they would need was a new Dark Lord to pledge their loyalty to.

“Tell me, Draco,” Tom said, “do you know if your parents have received any messages from Sirius Black?”

“No. If he’d asked for help, my father would’ve arranged him to be arrested. This thing with Black is quite strange, I think. After his escape, I overheard my parents talking about him. Father knows many secrets of the Dark Lord, but he didn’t know that Black was a Death Eater before Black was sent to Azkaban. But I guess the Dark Lord didn’t share secrets about double agents with followers under the Imperius Curse like my father.”

“A shame he didn’t get a trial. He might’ve revealed many interesting secrets.”

“Perhaps the Ministry wanted those secrets to remain unknown,” Draco mused.

“Or the Wizengamot,” Tom said. Then he remembered the theory he wanted Draco to believe in. “Or its Chief Warlock. Dumbledore allowed him to be sent to Azkaban without a trial even though that damaged his reputation as a leader who believes in the judicial system. Perhaps Black the double agent had learned something shocking about the connection between Dumbledore and Voldemort, and needed to be silenced.”

“You’re making everything fit into that theory!”

“Oh, I’m not making anything fit. Everything aligns behind the truth by itself.”

As they returned to the castle, Tom wondered if it was possible to Obliviate Black of a vast number of memories, replace them with false memories about Voldemort being Dumbledore, and do it without damaging his mind so that it would convince the Court Legilimens of the Wizengamot. Probably not with Tom’s current skills. He would need to practice with someone whom he would not mind turning into a catatonic cripple as a result.

Would anyone miss, say, Marcus Flint?

 

---

 

One day, Tom decided to spend several hours in the library. Unlike Hermione, who somehow tried to attend all her twelve classes, he had a more personal research project than studying. Unfortunately, he was not the only one at Hogwarts with personal ambitions, and one of those others similarly inclined had decided to bother him with her preoccupation.

“Tom? Do you have some time to talk?”

It was Ginny. Ever since returning to Hogwarts, Tom had been able to evade her and her pointless prattling, but he had known it was not to last for very long. While he had still been imprisoned in the diary, he had become the best and most understanding friend she had ever had, and that was obviously something she was not willing to give up.

“Of course, Ginny,” Tom said and gestured her to take a seat. “Do you enjoy Hogwarts now that the ghost of Voldemort no longer haunts you?”

She began to talk with the fervour he was excruciatingly familiar with, and he pretended to be interested while actually letting his thoughts wander. Admittedly, he had reconsidered his feelings towards her after he had realised her subtle but profound influence on him. To his surprise, he was genuinely sorry that he had had to use and almost kill her and that her first year at Hogwarts had been so horrible. Luckily, she did not remember any of the fear and anxiety he had caused her through the diary.

“Well, I actually wanted to ask you if you could help me with… with Harry,” she said and blushed slightly.

Of course, her childish crush on Harry, or, more precisely, the Boy Who Lived. That had been one of the things she had wasted the most ink with, but back then, Tom had actually welcomed it. All those feelings had nourished him, and it would have been impossible to break free without accepting her hopes and dreams. However, he had not truly given any useful advice.

“Listen, Ginny, you’re doing all of this the wrong way,” Tom said. “I don’t think you understand at all what kind of person Harry is. You’re never going to win his heart if you continue thinking he is the hero from the fairy tales your parents told you. It might work if he was anything like your brother, but he’s not. He told me of what he saw in a magic mirror that shows the heart’s greatest desire. Can you guess what?”

In fact, Harry had not told Tom about it, it was too personal, but Tom had rummaged his memories with Legilimency. He loathed not being told everything.

“He saw himself with his family he never knew, nothing more. No glory, no power, no riches, certainly not fawning fan girls. The very thing that makes you obsessed with him is what he would gladly change about himself. Your brother, on the other hand, saw himself alone, with the greatest honours he could imagine: being the Head Boy and a Quidditch Captain. Harry doesn’t want to be in the spotlight, and as long as you treat him as a miracle instead of a person, you’re pushing him away.”

Ginny looked down at her lap and bit her lip.

“You gave me much good advice last year,” she mumbled. “I’ve missed having a friend I could carry in my pocket. Can you advise me on what to do now?”

To be honest, much of the advice Tom had given her had actually been damaging to her, but he had managed to make it sound good. (”Don’t care about what others think, be independent, you’re above their judging!”) He had wanted to make sure she did not tell anyone about the diary and that she was in an emotionally vulnerable state. As a consequence, she had not made any friends.

However, things had changed. Tom no longer needed her. But since he wanted her and the other Gryffindors to believe he was some kind of a hero, he could not tell her to leave him alone. He would need to give her some good advice so that at some point she would not need his help anymore. Real friendly advice. Was he even able to give such a thing to anyone?

Then again, perhaps he did not need to. Anything can be an opportunity. Ginny was totally ensnared in his influence, so why would he not use her obsession to his advantage? She was just the kind of person he would like to become Harry’s girlfriend. That would be the cherry on top of his grip on Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

“You must make Harry realise that you’re a person with unique characteristics,” Tom said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered you merely an awkward side character. First of all, you must learn to speak freely when he’s around. Then you must find something to speak with him about. But it can’t be his life before Hogwarts, because he doesn’t want to talk about it. It can’t be Quidditch or food either, they’re what your brother talks about all the time. And school business is Hermione’s sole right.”

He did not need to use Legilimency to know that Ginny thought there were no other things she could possibly talk about.

“Don’t hesitate to disagree with him. It shows you’re someone to be taken into account. If you don’t have any opinions, you should hurry up and form them. Also, don’t try to get everything fast. Most teenage relationships only last for a few years at most. If I were you, I would plan something that bears fruit only after you both have graduated.”

Some people did not react well to really good and practical advice, and Ginny Weasley was one of them. She thanked Tom half-heartedly and left, looking discouraged.

Children, Tom sighed. Harry thought he could fight Dark wizards without proper spells, Draco thought he could rely on the power given to him by his family and Ginny thought that she could seduce her way into a wealthy family while still at school. To her, romance was a mystery which could not be analysed with tools like neuroscience, developmental and evolutionary psychology and statistics. Teaching these three naive children some realism and cynicism was the greatest service Tom could do for them.

Tom turned back to the parchments he had arranged on the table before the interruption.

In 1943, just before being trapped in the diary, he had had three projects going on: the Chamber of Secrets, studying Horcruxes and finding out about his magical heritage. Being a Parselmouth had proven that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, but apart from that, he only knew that his father had the same name he had, and that his mother’s father had been named Marvolo.

There had never been any wizards named Riddle, and so Tom had reluctantly admitted that he was not a pure-blood wizard. When searching the name Marvolo from old books and newspapers, he had eventually found information about the family of Gaunt. As they were rumoured to be descendants of Slytherin, he had concluded that his mother had been one of them. Visiting their homestead in Yorkshire had been his plan for the summer of 1943, and his other self had probably done it.

Half a century had passed, and so Tom doubted there was anything to be found anymore. This had been his excuse for not paying a visit during the last days of August when he had suddenly remembered this old summer plan of his. Perhaps he should have prioritised his personal matters over the Sirius Black affair.

Finding out about what Voldemort had done was vitally important. Tom could not shake the ominous feeling of doom that was caused by the knowledge that he did not have any Horcruxes to bind him to this world. If his body suffered a fatal injury, he would die for good.

He needed to do something. He hoped it could be possible to turn one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes into his, it was the same soul either way. But first he would have to find one of them.

 

---

 

Tom walked slowly in the Chamber of Secrets, trying to sense traces of concealing magic or any kind of magical resonance that Voldemort’s magic might cause with his own. He had searched the Chamber quite thoroughly the previous year, but it was still possible he had missed something. Unfortunately, the sad truth was that Voldemort’s magical skills were far superior to Tom’s, even if his level of sanity was inferior. If Voldemort wanted something to stay hidden, with Tom’s current skills he was unable to discover it.

The Chamber of Secrets was the obvious place Voldemort would have hidden one of his Horcruxes. No one else should have been able to find it. But perhaps he had realised that placing a Horcrux in a Basilisk’s lair was risky. One could never be sure the Basilisk would not start to chew on an artefact stashed in some corner, protections or not.

But what would have been a better place? Tom was certain Voldemort had wanted to place a Horcrux in some secret corner of Hogwarts. The castle was one of the most significant magical places in the world, the home of his great ancestor and the first place Tom Riddle had considered home. Still, the truth was that a school inhabited by hundreds of children and several powerful teachers was not a very good place to hide something that should never fall into wrong hands… unless the Horcrux was meant to be found in case of all other precautions failing and a new Voldemort needing to be unleashed.

Later that day, Tom looked at the towering piles of hidden items in the Room of Requirement. No artefact in there attracted special attention. Among the myriad things could very well be a locket, a diadem, a cup, a sword or whatever ancient magical relic Voldemort had found and considered worthy of his soul fragment. Tom tried the Summoning Charm, but since it did not work, it might take months or years to search the entire Room with other means, and he would not like to do it without knowing if there really was a Horcrux hidden in there.

Luckily, he did not need to waste his own time doing it.

“Dobby,” he called.

Crack.

“Master Tom, sir,” the elf squeaked, bowing.

“Since you have little housekeeping duties to do while I’m here at Hogwarts, I’ve something else for you to do,” Tom explained. “Somewhere in this room may be an artefact I want, and it possibly is one of the following. A golden locket with a letter S in it. A diadem of some kind, possibly with a blue jewel in it. A golden cup with a badger engraved on the side. Or a goblin-made silver sword with rubies in the hilt. If one of those items is in here, it certainly is not near the entrance, but probably still in a place where it is quick to take away in an emergency. If you find one of them, do not touch it. Inform me in private, and I will deal with it myself.”

“Dobby will find it, Master Tom, sir.”

“If you happen to find some other artefacts or books you know I’m interested in, take them. You’re free to sleep and eat.”

“Master Tom is a very kind and thoughtful…”

“Oh, and don’t tell anyone about this task… wait, you’re able to Apparate inside Hogwarts?!”

“Dobby is able, sir,” the elf said. “The protective enchantments of this castle only prevent the Apparition spell that wizards use. House-elves are free to come and go.”

“Interesting! Can you take a human with you in a Side-Along Apparition?”

“Dobby thinks so, sir. The enchantments prevent a certain spell, not a certain type of people from moving in an instant.”

“Excellent! If I’ll be in a hurry, I’ll call you.”

Tom left the Room, smiling.

Note to self, he thought. Never underestimate lesser beings. Another note to self: remember to jinx important places against the house-elf Apparition spell.

Wizards were usually very stupid and even more arrogant. Tom had just gained an advantage no one else knew about even though it was within reach of many wizards. This knowledge was something he needed to keep a secret.

Chapter 14: Danger Within

Every day, when Tom returned to his dormitory, there were some items on his bed waiting for evaluation. Dobby found many old heirlooms that were hidden because they were imbued with Dark magic, and several tomes, probably stolen from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts library, or from the family libraries of some students. Every item had its own, unique story, and many times he found himself wondering, why they had not been retrieved from the Room of Requirement.

Days passed, then weeks, but no matter how many interesting items Dobby found, there was never a Horcrux among them. But Tom was patient. Even if Voldemort had not hidden anything in the Room, Dobby’s work of finding other artefacts was useful and deserved to continue.

 

---

 

Tom’s other projects were progressing nicely. Harry had learned the Stunning and Shield Charms, and Tom had proceeded to teach him the actual art of fighting. The Room of Requirement produced a massive, multileveled and ever-changing maze for them, and there they tried to ambush each other. Often Dobby joined them and happily agreed to distract them in order for the maze to better simulate real-life situations. After only a few lessons, Ron and Hermione joined them as well. Ron, who still admired Tom for supposedly banishing Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets, overcame his laziness, and Hermione, who always wanted to learn new things, somehow found even more time for fighting lessons, although she seemed badly worn out. (Tom suggested that she gave up Divination and Muggle Studies, and she did not dismiss the thought altogether.) Not long afterwards, also Ginny asked to join. Tom was positively surprised to find that she heeded his advice and used this opportunity to get to know Harry as a person.

Draco had become Tom’s staunch supporter, very much like many of the younger Slytherins during Tom’s first time at Hogwarts. Tom had taught him many methods of manipulation and strategic thinking, and he was certain Draco would grow to be worthy of being a puppet. Slytherins in general had taken a turn to the better.

The idiotic brutes of Slytherin were, of course, doing their best to oppose Tom. What was a surprise to him was the new attitude of Professor Snape. After Tom had taught the majority of Slytherins not to follow the example of the Potions master, he had turned sour towards Tom. He bullied Gryffindors during Potions classes, but since most Slytherin students had justifiably become embarrassed about it and were apologetic towards the Gryffindors, Snape had realised that his authority had diminished. Like Flint, he was losing his prestige in his own House, and he soon learned that Tom was the one to blame.

Gone was the collegial appreciation he had shown Tom during the first few NEWT level Potions classes; he had become very much like the person Harry and Ginny had complained about. The other three students were confused, but to Tom the situation was sad rather than threatening, much to Snape’s ire. He was one of the most childish adults Tom had ever encountered, and that was why it was easy for Tom to feel being in control. But that did not mean he would not punish Snape for every single transgression once it was within his power.

Snape just proved what Tom had said during his first years at Hogwarts, when his inferiors the likes of Walburga Black had spread vicious gossips about him behind his back: Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite. He mentally prepared himself to react to the inevitability of Snape’s spite spawning lies about him.

 

---

 

Those Hogwarts students who were of age had the right to leave the school grounds whenever they pleased. (Tom was, officially, of age. He had claimed he had turned seventeen in June so that he had been given the Apparition licence then instead of the 31^st of December.) This right was not advertised, because the staff preferred all students staying within the school’s protective enchantments, and Tom doubted if most of them even knew about it. He had found the information in a dreadfully disorganised list of rules and decided to use the right. (Well, in all honesty, he was not someone who gave a damn about rules. He had created a Horcrux, for Merlin’s sake!) He just needed to summon Dobby for a Side-Along Apparition to Diagon Alley. That way he was able to continue attending fighting lessons in the Kwikspell Company and spend some enlightening Legilimency sessions in the Muggle world, not to mention all the lottery drawings he could continue manipulating to his benefit.

Since Tom did not need to care about Hogsmeade weekends, he had totally forgotten about the first one at the end of October. When he returned to Hogwarts to prepare for the Hallowe’en Feast, he was surprised by the lack of students in the castle. After realising that most of those who were present were in their first and second years, it did not take him long to conclude where the older ones were.

He left the Slytherin common room in order to avoid being asked by the children to help them with their homework, and just wandered around the corridors. That was a pastime he had not had enough time for lately. He was, after all, very fond of Hogwarts, and during his first autumn there, he had expressed that fondness by exploring all nooks and crannies, all secret passages and all hidden rooms.

That was how Tom met Harry who was loitering in the corridors in a similar fashion.

“Hi, Tom, why aren’t you in Hogsmeade?” he asked.

“I actually visited Diagon Alley but returned already. Why aren’t you there?”

Harry huffed in annoyance.

“Professor McGonagall talked to me after the last Transfiguration class. She said that since Sirius Black is out there and believed to be after me, I shouldn’t leave Hog­warts’ grounds. Apparently, she thinks Black is waiting in Hogsmeade for me to come for a visit.”

“Wasn’t Black sighted in Scotland in September, though?”

“Yeah, Seamus mentioned about it.”

Once again, Tom began to have serious questions about Dumbledore’s security measures.

“So, a mass murderer is believed to be trying to attack a Hogwarts student if the student visits Hogsmeade. That one student is not allowed to visit the village, but all the others are. But Black doesn’t know that. What if Black resorts to his favoured method and starts blasting the throng of students in the hope of you being there? Is it right to risk them all? And why isn’t there an army of Aurors patrolling Hogsmeade and keeping everyone safe?”

“I cannot answer those questions,” Harry said. “Now that you pointed that out, there doesn’t seem to be any sense in this.”

“I agree, but at least Dumbledore’s sense of safety is consistent. He did agree to hide the Philosopher’s Stone, a relic sought by the most horrible Dark Lord in history, in a castle inhabited by hundreds of children. And someone else would’ve closed the school the moment the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was announced a year ago. Muggles take these kinds of things more seriously. But Dumbledore’s a war hero first and the Headmaster second. He’s used to sacrificing unimportant pawns for the Greater Good, although, in these cases, I can’t imagine what that Greater Good might’ve been.”

“The more I talk with you, the less I trust Dumbledore,” Harry said, looking out of a window to the lake.

Tom suppressed a diabolical chuckle, and the dry voice of an Evil Overlord declared in his mind,

Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen!

He quickly took up a totally different role.

“I pity the man,” said the noble hero Tom Valedro, the one who had banished Voldemort but given the credit to Gilderoy Lockhart. “Albus Dumbledore has seen too much war, too many of his students turning to evil. Such horrors do not leave anyone unchanged. Still, even though he has learned to think like a general, he has a strong sense of duty to do what he can for young witches and wizards. It is admirable, it truly is. Dumbledore is a good man if there ever was one. But… in this wicked world we live in… being good is not always for the Greater Good. Sometimes one has to be a Slytherin.”

“At first, when I was new to the wizarding world, I thought Slytherins were simply evil,” Harry confessed. “The Chamber of Secrets incident did not help to change that. But from you I’ve learned that there is more to being a Slytherin.”

“Every House has its Dark side,” Tom said. “Just like everything. We Slytherins can be cruel and ruthless. You Gryffindors can be self-righteous. Ravenclaws can be cold and uncaring. Hufflepuffs can be narrow-minded in their conformity. It was a vision shared by Salazar, Godric, Rowena and Helga that we could refine our strengths and learn virtues from others. Unfortunately, the House point system that was meant to reward academic achievements turned the Houses against one another.”

There was a long silence. Slowly, a stream of returning students formed on the road from the gate to the castle.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be angry at Professor McGonagall,” Harry murmured. “I’m not sure I would’ve gone even if she’d allowed me to. There are the Dementors guarding the gate. They probably would’ve affected me badly again.”

But there were secret passageways from the castle to the village. Tom had found six in total, and at least fifty years previously some of them had not been known to anyone else. He probably should tell Harry about them.

“I had tea with Professor Lupin,” Harry continued. “During the Boggart lesson, he didn’t let me face it. I asked him why, and he said he didn’t want the Boggart to turn into Voldemort. But then I said that the Boggart would’ve probably taken the form of a Dementor. What was your Boggart’s form, by the way?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh? Just tell me.”

“Professor Lockhart and his Cornish Pixies,” Tom said, smiling at the memory. “So effective that everyone fled.”

“But you’re not truly afraid of Cornish Pixies? You just knew it would work?”

“Exactly. Professor Lupin hopes this knowledge does not spread. He doesn’t want Boggarts to become better at protecting their territory. Besides, that may be something to be weaponised.”

They looked out of the window again.

“Ron and Hermione are returning,” Harry said after a while when he spotted the two familiar figures. “The Feast probably begins soon. They’ll want to tell me everything about Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks and the Shrieking Shack.”

“The what?” Tom said, emerging from his thoughts.

“The Shrieking Shack, a haunted house in Hogsmeade.”

“I’m not familiar with it. There certainly was no Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade in the early forties. Strange. I wonder whose ghost haunts it.”

“I think Hermione said it’s one of the most haunted places in the entire Britain.”

“Impossible. Where could so many ghosts have come from in just fifty years?”

“I dunno. Let’s ask Hermione.”

So, not everything in the wizarding world stayed the same. Tom had already learned of another example, one of Dumbledore’s most insane ideas, the Whomping Willow. As if Hogwarts had not had enough dangers before the planting of a tree that tried to whack off the head of anyone who came too close.

 

---

 

Hallowe’en – in 1938, Tom had not known whether or not to expect that wizards celebrated it.

The orphanage had been largely funded by donations from parishes, and it was no wonder the upbringing of the orphans had been very Christian. However, it was not in Tom Riddle’s nature to conform to authority; not to Mrs Cole, not to Dumble­dore, not to any divine being – and not to Voldemort, for that matter. When Tom had first entered the wizarding world, he had expected it to be some kind of sanctuary of paganism and other beliefs that the Anglican Communion frowned upon.

But the truth was that wizarding Britain was just as Christian as Muggle Britain. Wizards celebrated Christian holidays, and they usually even shared graveyards with Muggles as a show that everyone was equal before God. After all, Christianity had arrived in Britain around a thousand years before the wizarding community had decided to isolate itself from the Muggle society. Obviously there had always been wizards who worshipped some vague idea of magic itself, but they had become only marginally more common after the Statute of Secrecy. If paganism had actually survived, it had only done so in the small, segregated covens that had gone to hiding in the 17^th century after refusing to accept the authority of the newly founded Ministry of Magic. The family of Gaunt might have been a remnant of such a coven, but they had not had any cultural influence on the rest of the British wizarding community. And so, Hallowe’en, Easter and Christmas were celebrated in wizarding Britain.

Ever since 1981, Hallowe’en had had its very special significance to British wizards. When the Hogwarts students began their Feast in the Great Hall, they were celebrating the twelfth anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat and commemorating the martyrs of the day, Lily and James Potter. Not everyone in the Slytherin table considered the day worth celebrating. Marcus Flint and the other brutes had gathered at the far end of the table, looking sour and glaring at those of their housemates who had the nerve to be happy. On a related note, at the High Table, an unusually morose Snape was clearly mourning someone most dear to him who had died twelve years previously. Dumbledore had to be totally senile not to see him for the devoted Death Eater that he was!

Hallowe’en also meant certain special excitement to Hogwarts students. It was two years since Voldemort had unleashed a troll into the dungeons and Dumbledore had decided that all students needed to return to their common rooms, including the Slytherins to their own in the dungeons! (Perhaps Dumbledore had hoped that some of the evil Slytherin kids would have been killed.) And it was a year ago when Tom had gained enough strength to possess Ginny and open the Chamber of Secrets. He wondered what Hallowe’en had in store for them this time.

Jack-o’-lanterns gave little light to the Great Hall, hundreds of bats were flying in chaotic patterns, Sir Nicholas was performing an exaggerated demonstration of his imperfect decapitation and a seventh-year Ravenclaw was telling ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’ to a group of first-years. It was very atmospheric, and Tom found himself enjoying the Feast when he talked with his closest Slytherin acquaintances. Pointless celebrations had just annoyed him during his first life, but Ginny’s influence on him had changed that for the better.

What a year it had been!

After the Feast ended, he returned to the common room and to the dormitory. After bringing him back to Hogwarts, Dobby had found an old notebook in the Room of Requirement and left it on his bed. He had just determined it had belonged to some very skilled and devious Spell-Crafter when the amplified voice of Snape echoed from the very walls.

“All Slytherins, come to the common room at once.”

Tom put the notebook into his trunk and left the dormitory.

“Prefects, make sure every Slytherin student is present,” Snape said as he stood in front of the entrance, his wand in his hand. “I am escorting you back to the Great Hall. Save your questions for later.”

Ten minutes later, they were back in the Great Hall, but whatever it was all about, it did not concern just Slytherins. All students were herded there, and the Gryffindors explained to the rest of them what had happened: Sirius Black had somehow entered Hogwarts and tried to break into the Gryffindor common room. However, the madman who had blasted thirteen people with one curse had failed to force the portrait door open. Perhaps he was not that powerful after all.

“I guess he wasn’t aware of Hallowe’en being today,” Harry said as he and his friends lay down to sleep in the sleeping bags that Dumbledore had conjured for each student.

“Or then he wanted to ambush you in your dormitory,” Tom mused, ignoring the oldest Weasley brother who was enjoying his authority of the Head Boy.

There was much fear and excitement in the air, and Tom was not the only one who did not even try to sleep. He had cast the Supersensory Charm on himself, but even with its help he could not hear anything ominous from outside the Hall.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Dumbledore and Snape returned to the Hall and had an interesting conversation.

“The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either.”

“What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney’s room? The Owlery?”

“All searched…”

“Very well, Severus. I did not really expect Black to linger.”

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?”

“Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.”

Tom raised his head to better observe them. Snape saw his movement and looked at him with his eyes narrowed maliciously.

“I think Black had help,” Snape said bluntly.

Oh, Tom thought, is this your desperate attempt to have me expelled, you worm?

“Help?” Dumbledore questioned. “Who would help him attacking this school?”

“Oh, who could it possibly be?” Snape drawled with a voice so heavy with irony that Tom was afraid it would corrode his ears. “Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –”

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” Dumbledore interrupted.

Tom noted with interest that Snape suspected Professor Lupin of being in league with Black. Was Snape just being paranoid, or was there something else going on? Black’s good… what? Friend, perhaps? Lupin certainly looked like he was the same age as Black.

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster’s office, his mind full of questions about the massive breach in security. The protective enchantments of Hogwarts were a piece of art in their sophistication, but unfortunately, much of what they were capable of had been lost to time. The portrait of one of the oldest Headmasters had told that there used to be a means of tracking every single being in the castle and on the grounds, but the method of utilising that magic had been forgotten.

How had Sirius Black managed to infiltrate the castle? Was Severus right in assuming that Black’s childhood friend, Remus Lupin, had helped him in? Dumbledore remembered the seven stressful years when Black, Lupin and their two friends James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had marauded Hogwarts. In the end, it had turned out that Black’s involvement had been just an act to gain the trust of Voldemort’s enemies.

But if Lupin was in league with Black in the attempt to kill or abduct Harry Potter, there was no reason for Black to attack the boy. Lupin had had dozens of opportunities to do Harry harm, but he never had. The man had to be innocent. Besides, what possible reason could he have to be a supporter of Voldemort? Lupin was a werewolf, but he knew better than anyone that Voldemort had not truly wanted to improve their situation, just to use them for his purposes.

Dumbledore looked at the chess board he kept on a side table. White pieces dominated it while two black bishops ruled over a few pawns, representing Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black.

Dumbledore moved one of the black bishops to stand in the middle of the white pieces.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 15: Dominance Contest

Quidditch was one of the worst things ever devised by a human being. Tom was yet to determine if it was as bad as the noise pollution that countless millions of Muggles had fallen for during his fifty years of absence and included in the noble art of music. Or the new styles of Muggle buildings that aesthetically retarded architects had designed.

To put it simply, watching the first game Tom had condescended to attend was turning him homicidal. The Ginny-influenced part of him was glad that he had not stolen the launch codes of the world’s nuclear weapons. Setting the world on fire was becoming more and more tempting. Admittedly, that might have been caused not only by Quidditch, but also by the facts that it was pouring rain and that a storm nearing a hurricane was about to wrench the entire Quidditch stadium to the skies!

Seriously, would it be that difficult to create some kind of magical dome around the Quidditch stadium, something that kept the rain, wind, mist, cold and other weather conditions away, and illuminate the stadium in a steady light? But apparently the exposure to weather was part of the game.

In the idiotic world of sports, Quidditch was the most idiotic thing. Tom had never truly understood sports, but he imagined the idea was to get over one’s physical limitations. Sports events were games where exceptionally strong or skilled individuals competed for the entertainment of spectators, giving them the sense that the players represented their nation or House, creating a delusion of common fate. But as Tom watched at the maelstrom of rain and fleeting glimpses of players, what he was actually watching was a competition of broomsticks. Each Slytherin player was riding a Nimbus 2001, a professional racing broom second only to the Firebolt, donated to them by Lucius Malfoy in exchange for Draco becoming the Seeker, while the Gryffindors rode Cleansweeps with the exception of Harry and his Nimbus 2000. Who was the idiot who had decided that each player was free to bring his or her own broomstick into the match instead of every player riding an identical one?

The rules of Quidditch were probably meant to be a joke, or alternatively a test of how long it would take before the stagnant wizardkind changed them for the better. In his mind, Tom was listing suggestions for improving the game. Get rid of the Snitch. Get rid of the Bludgers. Get rid of broomsticks and make the players do something physical. Then he realised the game was becoming basketball, and he shuddered in disgust. He had once sworn to himself that the day he considered basketball sensible was the day he no longer deserved to be called sensible himself.

Quidditch games lasted until the Snitch was caught. Since visibility that evening was nearing zero, the game was probably going to last until the next day.

So, the question was: why did he stay there brooding murderous thoughts? Because of politics. He was contesting with Marcus Flint for the position of the unofficial leader of the Slytherin students, and Slytherins were just as enthusiastic about the sorry excuse for a sport as all other wizards. Tom had to be there and cheer the Slytherin team, otherwise Flint, who was flying somewhere in the rain, braving the weather in the name of Slytherin, would get the upper hand. The least Tom could do was to watch Flint do his thing. Not attending would have been considered petty. Slytherins did not value those who belittled the achievements of others, especially if the achievements were from a field as generally appreciated as Quidditch was for some unfathomable reason.

Flint, Montague, Warrington, Derrick, Bole, Bletchley – the six worst brutes who would have gladly fed Tom to the Giant Squid. They were the ones for whom he had to cheer. He hoped that they would fail miserably and that Draco, the most pointless player of the team, would save the day by catching the Snitch.

Not only were the rules of Quidditch stupid, what also irked Tom was that there were rules to begin with. Rules were meant for Hufflepuffs, those unimaginative dolts who could do nothing without someone telling them what. For Slytherins, rules just limited what they could do, at least if they could not find ways of breaking them without getting caught. During his fourth year at Hogwarts, Tom had convinced Sebastian Rosier to put Confusion Concoction on the doorknobs of the changing rooms of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Quidditch teams. That was how he had won the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin without even being in the team. This time he could not do the same, because sabotaging Harry Potter would have risked his much more important plans.

Suddenly something happened in the game. One of the Gryffindor Chasers seemed had thrown the Quaffle through a Slytherin goalpost. As Tom tried to make sense of it, his concentration on his Shield Charm wavered, the Shield winked out and he was once again soaked wet.

As an overwhelming frustration filled his mind, he prayed for both God and the Devil for an intervention.

And it seemed the Devil answered, because Hell was unleashed.

A horrible chill resembling the arctic winter swept over the Quidditch stadium. Cries of excitement turned into screams of horror. A deadly vertigo overcame Tom’s mind, but he scrambled up from his seat. That was it. He was done with pretending to be interested in the collective idiocy of average wizards. If Slytherins flocked around Flint because of it, Tom could rectify the situation by ripping the brute’s limbs off in the middle of the Slytherin common room and feeding his own intestines to him…

Wait wait wait! A voice for reason within Tom’s mind realised something was wrong. Why am I this murderous all of a sudden?

He looked around and saw the reason of his mind turning so fierce. Dementors were swarming on the other side of the stadium, their horrible, rasping voices audible even through the storm.

Tom was just about to summon Dobby to Apparate him to safety, but then he shut his mouth. He was not in immediate danger as there were hundreds of students between him and the Dementors, and someone would surely cast the Patronus Charm any minute. The secret of the house-elves’ ability to Side-Along Apparate wizards through the Anti-Apparition Jinx was so important to protect that Tom chose to endure Dementor exposure for a little bit longer.

Then he spotted a stray broomstick in the air, being blown away by the wind. Had one of the players fallen off? It was not his problem, and the player probably wanted to have their broom back.

“Accio!” he shouted, and the broom zoomed to him. He mounted it, kicked some speed and headed back towards the castle.

As he dismounted the broom in the Entrance Hall, he realised it was a Nimbus 2000. Damn it! Had his most valuable pawn, Harry Potter, fallen to his death?

 

---

 

Tom ate four bars of chocolate and took a very long and hot shower. Only then did the feeling of frozen bone marrows leave him, and he returned to the Slytherin common room. To his surprise, everyone was already back, and judging by the cheerful mood, Slytherin had won the match. However, to a natural Legilimens it was clear that there was also some kind of confusion in the air, and it was Draco who appeared to be at the centre of it.

“Did something happen?” Tom asked.

“You’d better ask Malfoy about it,” Flint growled, emphasising the use of surname.

Tom turned to look at Draco, but it was Pansy Parkinson who answered, looking awestruck.

“Draco saved Potter’s life.”

“What? How?”

“It was after the Dementors came,” Draco said, looking baffled by his own actions. “We had both spotted the Snitch and were racing side by side after it. Then the cold and despair struck us. Potter’s focus faltered, and I grabbed the Snitch. As I slowed down, I saw him losing control of his broom, and then he fell. I think it was the Dementors. I was affected by them, too. I remembered what you taught me… and I saw a vision of what would happen if I failed. The House of Malfoy disgraced, all of our power and wealth lost… even our manor sold to the Weasleys! Then I realised what I had to do… I sped down and grabbed Potter’s arm. I couldn’t stop his fall, but at least I slowed him down so that he wasn’t badly hurt. He was taken to the hospital wing, though.”

“Draco was awarded with fifty points to Slytherin for good sportsmanship,” Pansy added. “By McGonagall!”

Tom felt pride and triumph swelling in his chest.

“Draco,” he declared, “you’re going to be the greatest Malfoy that has ever lived. Salazar himself couldn’t have done a more Slytherin thing than what you did today. For that I salute you.”

And he did. Draco blushed with delight. That was a cue for the rest of the Slytherins on how to react to the situation, and the confusion lifted. Many of them cheered and some closest to Draco patted his shoulders encouragingly.

“Thank you for showing me the true way of Slytherin,” Draco answered cordially. Tom was quite sure Draco’s eyes flashed defiantly towards Flint. The Quidditch Captain looked very frustrated. Clearly, he had hoped that victory would have made him the undisputed hero of the House, but Draco’s unexpected heroism had stolen the spotlight from him and proven that Tom’s way was the better one.

“I happened to catch Potter’s broom,” Tom said. “I’ll go and return it to him, and I’ll make sure he feels appropriate gratitude to you. This is truly excellent work, Draco.”

He left the common room carrying the Nimbus 2000 and wondered why so many people thought that a Dark Lord’s scheming was always a bad thing. Already many people had benefited from his manipulations.

In the hospital wing he found a disheartened group of Gryffindors. Harry lay on a bed and was surrounded by Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team except Oliver Wood. Harry did not look physically hurt, but still, he looked very unwell.

“My condolences,” Tom said to the players without really meaning it. “Harry, I found and retrieved your broom.”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbled.

None of the Gryffindors showed any hostility towards Tom. Even the Gryffindor Chasers whose names he could not remember knew that he was the “Good Slytherin” and a friend of the other Houses.

“Did you see what Malfoy did?” Ron asked.

“No, but I heard about it. It seems he really meant it when he said he was going to change his ways. Most of us Slytherins think he did admirably. Not Flint, though.”

“You’ve brought a remarkable change for the better to Hogwarts,” Hermione said, beaming.

Strange words from someone who had lost much of the spring to petrification because of him, but he accepted the praise.

The defeat and the Dementors were not the only things that bothered Harry. After the rest of the Quidditch team had departed, Harry said to Ron,

“After the first Divination class you asked me if I’d seen a Grim. Well, today I did. It was right there, at the Quidditch stadium. I saw it just before the Dementors came.”

Both Ron and Ginny looked terrified.

“Are you sure you didn’t just imagine it?” Hermione asked dismissively.

“I’m quite sure,” Harry said.

“Hermione!” Ron said. “This is serious!”

“What? You think he’s an Animagus and watches Quidditch games?”

Ron was opening and closing his mouth, unable to find words.

“Dementors can make people see hallucinations,” Tom said neutrally. “And the Hound of Death is not the worst omen. The Dementor on the Express made me see Death himself.”

The children looked at him warily.

“I don’t let it trouble me,” he said, shrugging. “It’s nothing more than intimidation.”

 

---

 

Nothing more than intimidation. The evening of the next day offered Tom another example of it.

He was returning to the Slytherin common room when the sturdy forms of Flint, Derrick, Bole, Montague, Warrington and Bletchley blocked the narrow dungeon corridor. The confrontation he had been expecting for weeks had finally come.

“Do you mind stepping out of my way?” he asked as if he did not understand what they wanted.

“Actually, I do mind,” Flint snarled. “We’ve got some business to settle with you.”

“I see. Tell me, has Snape set you to this? Is the greasy bat too afraid to confront me himself?”

“Professor Snape is a true Slytherin,” Flint grunted. “He didn’t set us to this, but we know he’d approve. Like us, he knows how you’re corrupting our House. You’ve already turned Draco into some kind of Gryffindor, but that nonsense ends today.”

“Since when has any Gryffindor been able to secure his future political situation decades in advance?” Tom snorted.

“Draco saved Potter’s life!” Flint roared. “Harry Potter’s! He’s one of the best Gryffindor players in ages! We’d’ve been much better off with him dead! This is your fault!”

“Do I look like someone who’s interested in Quidditch? It’s idiotic waste of time. No wonder you’re all so fanatic about it.”

Flint took out his wand and the other brutes followed his lead. Tom was not the slightest bit concerned. He was, as always, wearing a bullet-proof vest, and he was protected by the hundreds of automatically activating Shield Charms he had reinforced it with. (He had a habit of casting a few new ones every day.) Unless they used such Dark magic he did not think they were capable of, he was totally invulnerable.

“Potter’s also the enemy of the Dark Lord,” Flint said. “When he returns, you’re gonna be in trouble. Now you’ve made Draco a target, too.”

“Placing your faith in a bloke who failed to kill a one-year-old child? You Junior Death Eaters are the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Flint cast a nasty but not very dangerous curse, and Tom dodged it without effort. Although he knew that the brutes were mere nuisances to someone like him, he could not help but feel a fiery anger rising. Such gnats did not deserve to be even noticed by him, but they forced him to bother to subdue them. It was an insult!

A few more curses were targeted at Tom, and he saw the brutes being surprised by the agility with which he dodged their futile attacks. It was time to demonstrate the skills he had learned from the martial arts instructor.

A swift karate punch sent Flint sprawling on the floor. The other brutes realised that Tom was fighting for real, and they began to use slightly more dangerous curses. However, none of them was very skilled or powerful in magic. They surely knew how to aim a Quaffle or a Bludger, but when tossing spells they were no match for Tom, and he still did not draw out his wand.

He kicked Derrick in the abdomen and tripped Warrington without trouble. Flint was about to get onto his feet again, and Tom made a quick vital-point strike that made him yell. Bole, Montague and Bletchley were starting to panic. As they hesitated to fire curses while their friends were so close to the target, Tom lunged at them like a whirlwind and toppled them with a few more punches.

All of them were sprawling on the floor, and Tom picked up their wands.

“I didn’t use a single bit of magic,” he said. “A Muggle could have defeated you with minimal effort. If I would’ve had an assault rifle, I could’ve made minced meat out of you in seconds. And you call yourselves wizards? You’re unworthy of being in Slytherin!”

They looked at Tom in humiliation, but their fear eclipsed their anger. Unlike Tom, they had never practiced wandless magic and were totally powerless.

“No one assaults me without punishment!” Tom shouted, his anger burning unnecessarily hot. “You think I’m not a real Slytherin? I’ll show you the truth!”

With a few lashes of his wand Tom tied them up, made them unable to cause noise and forced them to move as directed.

They left the dungeons, climbed to the second floor and entered the girls’ bathroom.

“Open!” Tom hissed at a tap, causing it to move into the floor, revealing a filthy pipe. He flicked his wand, and one by one the brutes slid down, their mouths agape in a silent, horrified cry. He followed them, hissing as he went down, “Close!”

Some Slytherins would have been honoured beyond words for being invited to the legendary Chamber of Secrets, but the brutes seemed to be too oblivious to realise it. They trembled like scared little children and were repulsed when Tom conjured balls of light and they saw the tunnel they were in.

“That way,” Tom commanded and pointed towards the main Chamber. As it took them more than a second to obey, he prodded Flint with a Stinging Hex.

They went through the pile of rocks that Lockhart had caused to cave-in, Tom opened the door to the main Chamber and then the six boys who had meddled with a power beyond their reckoning saw the majesty of the statue of the founder of their House. Tom smirked, because the best part was still coming.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!” The statue’s mouth opened, and Tom hissed, “Come, but keep your eyes closed.”

The Basilisk came forth, its magnificent skin gleaming like emeralds, and it licked the air curiously. Then it nudged Tom affectionately, and he patted its head in response.

“Open your mouth and hiss.”

The Basilisk did so, and the brutes almost fainted in terror. Tom dispelled the Silencing Charms.

“I must say that I’m ashamed by the fact that you are the obstacles I had to over­come,” he said. “You’re nothing to me. I have just one real enemy worthy of my trouble in this school, and his name is Albus Dumbledore.”

“Was – was it you who opened the Chamber of Secrets last year?” Derrick spluttered. “But… you were supposed to be in New Zealand!”

“No, it was not me,” Tom lied. “It was my wayward relative, Voldemort.” He paused momentarily. “Also known as Albus Dumbledore. Don’t ask me what he tried to accomplish. But the line of Slytherin survived in New Zealand, and now I’m here to set things right. You made a terrible mistake by opposing me, but I am merciful enough offer you a second chance. Swear to me an Unbreakable Vow to serve me for the rest of your lives… or become the dinner of my pet.”

The Basilisk was studying the brutes, clearly enthusiastic about the prospect of eating them. They wailed in distress, but the choice was an easy one to make.

Unbreakable Vows were not frivolous things. Binding a Vow that lasted for a lifetime required a significant and permanent sacrifice of magical power, and few were willing to part with such an amount of power. (That was one of the reasons why few Dark Lords had demanded their followers to swear unending loyalty to them.) Tom forced the brutes to bind the Vows of one another. They would grow to be remarkably weak in their magical power, but he did not care. They had deserved it.

“I swear to serve Tom Valedro, the heir of Slytherin, for the rest of my life. I swear to keep his secrets and to risk my life for his. I swear to be like a house-elf to him.” Those were the words Tom made them say when the magic bound their fates.

“On your knees,” he ordered, and they obeyed. “You’ve been a disgrace to the House of my great ancestor, but I understand that you’ve been but pawns in a greater game. Snape has given you a very bad example. I think it is time to tell him that my House no longer respects him. You shall be the messengers.”

As a plan formed in Tom’s mind, he grinned in a way that made his six servants squirm in sinister anticipation.

 

---

 

It was dinnertime in the Great Hall. Nothing was unusual, until Marcus Flint tapped his spoon against his goblet. The ringing voice quieted the Hall, and Flint stood up.

“I am happy to announce,” he said, looking anything but happy, “that the Slytherin Quidditch team wants to make a small performance to celebrate our recent victory.”

Flint and all the other players except Draco went to stand in front of the door to the Entrance Hall. Draco, looking bemused, was about to rise too, but Tom, who sat next to him, stopped him.

“This is a song for our beloved Head of House, Professor Severus Snape,” Flint said, nodding at the High Table where the staff was looking at them in confusion.

Tom’s servants began a chaotically choreographed dance performance and an equally horrible song. Their faces were burning with embarrassment, but to disobey would have resulted in death.

”Snape is our undisputed king,
but he’s a sorry fellow.
Master of Potions,
but with nasty temper.”

Tom was not much of a poet, but even if he were, he would not have bothered to rhyme anything sophisticated for the brutes. He had actually reasoned that an obnoxiously disoriented piece of rubbish was fitting for the occasion. Besides, everyone expected better of him, and he did not want to be suspected of having anything to do with the performance. Just like no one could even imagine that Ginny’s Valentine’s Day poem to Harry, the one that had entertained so many people, was written by Tom Valedro.

”How did he become our king?
I can’t imagine, because this I know:
Snape is unworthy of Slytherin.
Virtues of Salazar are just a joke to him.”

Snape’s face had turned so red that the colour resembled that of Vernon Dursley’s face on the day Harry had bought Grunnings. He barked something and drew out his wand. Most members of the staff were staring in absolute disbelief. Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling and it looked as if he was struggling not to smile.

”Spawn of a Muggle,
ambition of a cockroach.
This man’s a disgrace.
Hasn’t he heard of shampoo?”

Tom had not written any more verses, and it turned out he had estimated the limits of Snape’s patience accurately. Curses began to fly through the Hall, and Tom’s poor servants were thrown against the wall. Snape was seething with rage, more furious than anyone had ever seen him, and he roared something about detention for a month, but that did not stop the Gryffindors from bursting into laughter. Several Hufflepuffs followed them, as did fewer Ravenclaws and even some Slytherins.

Sometimes Tom wondered if he should abandon his plans of becoming a Dark Lord and become a Dark Trickster instead.

Chapter 16: Magical Applications

The Slytherin students were cunning enough to realise that the humiliation of Flint and the other brutes was most advantageous to Tom, and he had to deny many times his assumed involvement in the new Hogwarts legend, the Performance. Those Slytherins who had admired Flint as a tough bloke and underestimated Tom because of his civilised image were shocked. After the Performance, Tom was not just respected, he was also feared. All Slytherins knew that his enemies would face the same fate as Flint and the others: they had become resigned and subdued, silently stalking the corridors, with nothing left of their earlier bravado.

However, Flint took the responsibility himself. Tom was not sure he convinced anyone, but since Snape had a confession, he could not continue the investigation further. (Just to be safe, Tom had modified the memories of Flint and the others so that the truth of what he had done to them could not be easily torn out of their minds with Legilimency or Veritaserum.) Unfortunately, that did not mean the staff did not have some new interest towards Tom.

The next morning, he received a message from Dumbledore himself, making his blood freeze in his veins as if there was a Dementor inside the piece of parchment. The Headmaster asked Tom to come to his office after dinner, and the foreboding anticipation tormented Tom the whole day. Finally, after checking his disguising charms, drinking a Sore Throat Potion to change his voice, saying the password (“Rude Burl”) to the gargoyle and going up the revolving staircase, he stood in front of the heavy oaken door he had last opened the day he had framed Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets. He was prepared to summon Dobby for an emergency evacuation, which meant he had the means of escaping. He took a deep breath before knocking.

“Enter,” the hated voice summoned, and Tom stepped into the lion’s den, looking around like someone who was there for the first time. He could not help but frown at the strange noises created by various magical contraptions. They were probably purposely designed to unnerve visitors.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the throne that had once belonged to Armando Dippet, veiling his malice in obnoxiously bright purple robes. His eyes twinkled even more madly than Tom remembered, and once again he got the horrible feeling that the former Transfiguration teacher could see right through Occlumency barriers. There was a diabolical smirk on his face… or was it just a benevolent grandfatherly smile? It was difficult to interpret his expression objectively.

“Ah, Mr Valedro, it is good to meet you,” the devil said and put down his wand he had used in creating something that looked like a Runic array. Tom noted in passing that the wand was not the same one Dumbledore had used fifty years earlier. “Would you like to have a sherbet lemon?”

He gestured towards a bowl on his desk with yellow sweets in it.

“No thank you, sir,” Tom said, flinching. He did not want to take the risk of being dosed with Veritaserum.

“You have only been at Hogwarts for a short time, but already you have had a remarkable influence on the school,” Dumbledore announced and popped one of the lemon sweets into his mouth.

“Oh, is that so, sir? I hadn’t noticed.” Tom’s acting skills seemed to deteriorate when he had no idea what was going on.

“Oh yes! There has been a significant increase in student satisfaction. It appears there was an animosity between Slytherin and the other Houses. Alas, as we know, young people rarely know how to handle such situations. Despite the best efforts of the staff, we were unable to end bullying at Hogwarts. However, knowledge has reached my ears that you have managed to teach more constructive ways of interaction to your housemates. Mr Malfoy rushing to save Mr Potter, his earlier nemesis, is a perfect example of it.”

Tom strained his acting skills in order to not appear nervous. Did Dumbledore know he had taught the Slytherins to subtly manipulate the other Houses? Had he heard of the theory that Voldemort had been just his disguise? Tom silently cursed his decision to redirect blame from his once other self to his nemesis.

“That is something that deserves acknowledgement,” Dumbledore continued as Tom failed to come up with anything appropriate to say. “It so happened that Professor Snape took the prefect’s responsibilities away from Peregrine Derrick after the rather… eccentric performance.” The merry twinkle in his eyes was almost mischievous, which unnerved Tom even further. Fifty years earlier Dumbledore would not have been so lenient towards insulting the members of the staff. Clearly, the old man was going senile. Tom could not wait to see the end of that road. “Thus, the school is lacking a sixth-year Slytherin prefect. You have in your short Hogwarts career proven to be a hundred times more suitable for the position than Derrick ever was. Are you up to the task?”

“Of course, sir,” Tom said, finally easing. This meeting appeared to be, after all, just normal school business.

Dumbledore waved his unfamiliar wand, and a prefect’s badge and a pamphlet flew out of one of the numerous drawers in the office. The badge attached itself in the front of Tom’s robes and the pamphlet went straight into his hand.

“There is a list of your duties and privileges. Congratulations, Mr Valedro. I hope your favourable influence on the other students continues. Experiences in one’s early years greatly affect how one ends up taking a stand towards life in general. A good-natured school environment is of much Greater Good than people usually give credit for.”

Someone might have missed the hint, but Tom did not. He mumbled something suitable for a new prefect without processing the words consciously and fled the office and the gaze of those eerily twinkling eyes.

One thing about Dumbledore had not changed. His hints were impossibly diffi­cult to decipher definitely. Tom could not even be sure the Headmaster had hinted anything. Maybe he just liked to drop the slogans of Dark Lords in order to see how people reacted to them.

 

---

 

As Tom returned to the Slytherin common room, many of his housemates noticed that he had become a prefect; it seemed many had even expected it to happen. Ethan Jugson nodded in approval, whereas Peregrine Derrick, who was leaving for his detention, glared at Tom sourly.

Tom entered his dormitory, and the moment he closed the door behind him, there was a deafening bang of displaced air.

Crack.

“Master Tom, sir. Dobby thinks he has found –”

“Take me to it,” Tom said immediately, adrenaline shifting him to action mode, and he grabbed the elf’s arm. Dobby nodded, and a brief moment of Apparition later, they were standing in the Room of Requirement, amidst the unorganised piles of hidden things.

An old, dusty diadem was the topmost item of one of the smaller piles. It looked remarkably modest, very unlike the relics associated with the founders of Hogwarts. Tom looked at it closely and almost touched it with his hand. Then he felt it, the slight but unmistakable feeling of resonance.

Instead of touching it, he began to cast various diagnostic spells on and around it. It was an item of tremendous Dark magic, and it contained a magical imprint almost identical to his own. However, the seeming lack of protections worried him. He could only detect the basic Anti-Summoning Charm. Had Voldemort left it without any other charms? Or had they worn off for some reason? Or were they so subtle and insidious that no diagnostic charm could detect them?

“Accio broom,” Tom summoned. A moment later an old broomstick appeared next to him. He mounted it, rose above the piles of things and flew some distance towards the entrance until he could only barely see Dobby. Then he cast a series of Shield Charms between the two of them.

“Pick it up,” Tom called the elf, ready to fly further away.

Dobby did so, and nothing happened. Carefully, Tom descended from the air and landed next to the elf.

“Accio cloth.” An old, moth-eaten school robe flew to Tom. Dobby wrapped it around the diadem many times. Tom would consider the Horcrux safe only after he had used many advanced curse-breaking techniques on it and forced some disposable wizard to touch and wear it for a test. Just the job for Flint, he mused.

“Excellent work, Dobby,” he said.

“Master Tom… thanks Dobby?” the elf stuttered, eyes filling with tears.

“Take me back to my dormitory and then return to Diagon Alley. Tomorrow, you will buy a strongbox, place the diadem, still inside the cloth, in it, and deposit it in my Gringotts vault.”

“Yes, Master Tom, sir!”

Crack. Crack.

One found, four still to go.

 

---

 

According to legend, the diadem of Ravenclaw enhanced the wisdom of whoever wore it. Either Voldemort had found it to be false, because he had not used it himself, or then he had decided he did not need more wisdom. (Perhaps wearing the diadem had made him realise what kind of idiot he was, and he had angrily stopped using it.) Anyway, the lack of protective charms and curses that activated by touch along with the hiding place made Tom suspect the diadem was a Horcrux Voldemort had meant to be found. Of course, one could never be sure of a madman’s thought patterns.

Tom visited the library again, even though he knew that not even the Darkest book in the Restricted Section held the information he wanted. Voldemort was the only known wizard in history to create more than one Horcrux, and so there was literally zero research about what Tom planned to do. It was entirely possible there was no way at all to make Voldemort’s Horcrux Tom’s. It was equally possible it could be done just by reaching into the soul fragment trapped within, making it connect with his kindred soul. But there was a third possibility too, and it was the one that worried Tom.

Perhaps he would need to fight the other soul fragment, to force it into submission. But would Tom be capable of such a thing? Voldemort had made the diadem his Horcrux later than the diary, perhaps even decades later. That meant the diadem’s soul fragment was much more powerful, skilled and experienced than Tom was. If he fought it, he might end up being the one forced into submission. It might take over his body and imprison him in the diadem instead. Who knew?

Tom considered many ideas for tactics. He could submerge the diadem in alcohol and hope the soul fragment would become drunk, although drunkenness was probably just a physical state, not spiritual in any way. He could threaten the soul fragment with Basilisk venom if it did not submit, but was he seriously willing to carry out the threat? If he could get his hands on Felix Felicis, he might succeed with luck. (Even though he had tried to brew it since June, all his attempts had failed. He was beginning to suspect there was some trick in brewing the potion that was never written down. Why would any Potions master give the public an easy access to extremely good luck?)

Perhaps it would be best to just wait. Even without a Horcrux, he was unlikely to die accidentally, his numerous secondary safety precautions made sure of it. At least his odds of dying were significantly lower than the odds of being forced into submission by the soul fragment in the diadem. If Voldemort had made his second Horcrux just a few months after the first one, Tom was already superior in his power and skills compared to it. He needed to find them all, determine which one was the second in order and try with it.

So, where, apart from Hogwarts, would he have hidden a Horcrux? That knowledge was probably contained in the diadem, but it did not make him curious enough to take the risk of losing. Not yet.

A plan of fighting his fellow soul fragment formed in his mind over the next few days. It was the constant casting of new automatically activating Shield Charms on the bullet-proof vest that had given him an idea. He could defeat even a much more powerful opponent if he prepared an incredible amount of magical power to throw at them. Potions were the basic way of storing magical power for later use, but certain spells, like the automatically activating Shield Charm, were cast in advance and triggered when needed. Tom could create a volley of curses that would strike the diadem if the soul fragment decided to fight him.

He looked up the fundamental instructions to the Muggle Repelling Charm. It was a frighteningly complex mess of Runes and Arithmantic equations, but he was determined to master it and craft a new spell using similar principles. But how, exactly, did one fight a soul fragment inside a Horcrux without destroying it? A magical equivalent to a machine gun that cast Stunning Charms in quick succession might be totally useless against something so immaterial.

The Muggle Repelling Charm was actually a Confundus Charm that triggered when a Muggle entered the triggering zone. The Confundus Charm was known to have an effect on some magical items. That might be a good weapon against a Horcrux as well.

Tom began to copy the instruction, but unfortunately, Harry and Ron had decided to spend the afternoon in the library in his company, and Ron’s constant complaining disturbed him greatly.

“All right, what’s your problem?” Tom snapped.

“It’s Scabbers!” Ron said so loudly that the entire library resounded. “Hermione’s cat has been hunting him for months now! The bloody cat is mental! He almost scalped me in the Magical Menagerie!”

“Why don’t you hex him until he is conditioned to leave the rat in peace?”

“Then Hermione would scalp me!”

“That’s a dead end. The situation will be solved when either the rat or the cat is removed from Gryffindor Tower. Since cats are higher in the food chain, I don’t see much hope for your rat.”

Tom resumed studying the Arithmantic equation about a Muggle triggering the Confundus Charm…

“Actually,” he said, “I just realised how this problem can be overcome. It’s really simple to change these parts of the Muggle Repelling Charm so that it triggers when a cat enters the triggering zone. I can craft a Cat Repelling Charm and cast it around your rat. Every time a cat comes too near, a Confundus Charm makes it ignore the rat.”

“Amazing, Tom!” Ron shouted, making Tom wince. “You’re the best!”

“Just don’t interrupt my studies again,” Tom grumbled and began the Spell-Crafting.

 

---

 

Tom finished crafting his first notable creation, the Triggered Firing Charm, just before the Christmas holiday, and he tested it in the Room of Requirement. First, he had to cast the spell of his own design and then continue to cast whatever spell he wanted to fire. The latter spell did not go off at once but waited for a signal.

He flicked his wand, and the Room filled with light and sound. The Stunning Charm, the Impediment Jinx, the Full Body-Bind Curse, the Severing Charm, the Reductor Curse and the Blasting Curse struck their respective target dummies at the same time. Tom grinned as he imagined Voldemort’s expression if he used this method of launching a thousand curses at him simultaneously. The brute force would pierce any protection Voldemort might have and scatter his remains to the orbit.

Deciding that the project was a success, Tom left the Room and planned to reward himself with a merry Christmas. The Triggered Firing Charm was not perfect, obviously. He had not even tried to fire Unforgivable Curses or Fiendfyre with it, because they could not be contained.

He looked out of a window to the grounds. It was snowing, the white veil of winter replacing the darkness of late autumn. He felt his spirits soar. London was a horrible place in winter, and his first Christmas holiday at Hogwarts had been magical in more than just the literal way. He loved snow.

There were students trudging through the snow towards the gates, and Tom realised it was the time for another Hogsmeade visit. Harry was probably angry that he could not visit the village during the Christmas season. Tom decided to give him an early present and show him the secret passage to Honeydukes.

He headed towards Gryffindor Tower, but as he was just about to Confund Sir Cadogan to open the portrait door, he heard Harry calling from behind.

“Tom! There you are! I’ve got something interesting to show you!”

Tom turned around. Harry looked excited and waved an old parchment in his hand.

“What is it?”

“A way to Hogsmeade without going past the Dementors. Fred and George gave me this. It’s called the Marauder’s Map, and it shows the whole castle and the grounds, including several passageways to Hogsmeade. Also, it shows people as small dots where they are. Look, we’re standing here… but that’s strange…”

Tom looked, amazed by the simple ingenuity of the item.

“This shows you as Tom Riddle, not Valedro.”

Tom flinched. Even though he had modified Harry’s memories so that he remembered Tom with the assumed name from the very beginning, there were still numerous ways he could learn Tom’s true name.

“Confundo.” Harry’s eyes became bleary and unfocused. “There’s nothing strange with the map showing me as Tom Riddle,” Tom whispered.

He would have to find a solution to this name problem and quickly.

“You were saying?” he asked.

Harry woke up from his trance.

“Uh… sorry, I was… just distracted for some reason,” he said. “Anyway, this passageway leads to Honeydukes, and there are no Dementors along the way.”

The Weasley twins had thought about the same thing Tom had. But why would they part with such a useful magic item?

“This map is one magnificent piece of magic,” Tom said, feeling all the more impressed. He looked at the named dots on the map and read many names, some very familiar, some only vaguely. Albus Dumbledore was pacing his study, Mrs Norris was prowling the second floor, Peeves was bouncing around the trophy room, Colin Creevey was entering the library, Poppy Pomfrey was in the hospital wing, Peter Pettigrew was in Gryffindor Tower, Marcus Belby was hurrying towards Hogsmeade behind the main student group, Rubeus Hagrid was outside his hut meeting with Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick and, surprisingly, Cornelius Fudge…

“Let’s go, I can’t wait to see the village!” Harry said.

And so, after Harry had fetched his cloak, they went to find the secret passage Tom was already familiar with, and while once again crouching as he walked for miles, he regretted not focusing on his Animagus project so that he could have comfortably slithered through the tunnel as a snake.

“Fred and George told me that the map was made by a group of pranksters – Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – who wanted the next generation to use it,” Harry babbled enthusiastically.

Tom had trouble believing that. The map was simply too advanced magic. No Hogwarts student could be skilled enough to create anything like it. Even he did not have the slightest idea of how such an item could be created, and he was the most talented student since Dumbledore. But why would some old and powerful wizards bother to create anything like it? What was Hogwarts to them?

No, whatever magic the map used to function, it could not be any well-known application. If it was, every member of staff would have such a map of their own. There would never be missing students, and pranksters like the Weasley twins would always be caught.

The map needed to have an extremely wide-ranging enchantment that produced a continuous flow of information. Powering such an enchantment would need a tremendous amount of magical energy, but just for a map for pranking? No way!

Unless… of course! It was so simple!

The map did not have such an enchantment of its own. It was somehow connected to the protective enchantments of Hogwarts that had been created by the founders. The map’s creators had, as Muggles would phrase it, hacked the ancient enchantments and made them project their information onto the parchment. It truly was ingenious! Not an artefact with unique magic, but a user interface of an existing security magic. So simple that few people were clever enough to even consider such a solution. Great wizards were notoriously eager to craft everything from scratch. Hacking was beneath their dignity, and that limited their potential.

“Harry,” Tom said, “I’d like to borrow that map after we’ve returned to the castle. I may have an idea of how it was created. If I’m right, I may be able to duplicate it.”

Perhaps the creators had found a physical anchor of the enchantments and hacked them at the location. Finding such an anchor would be very difficult; they were hidden for a very good reason. But Tom was almost certain that one such anchor was located in the Chamber of Secrets. There was no way Salazar would not have placed one in his own hidden base.

“Duplicate it?” Harry said, sounding as if he was bursting with excitement. “We’d all have one? It will help greatly if we ever have to do some sneaking at night!”

First Tom would have to find a solution to the name problem. He did not want any items on the loose that identified him as Tom Riddle. How did one change his name? The enchantments of Hogwarts certainly had a clause for changing a name, because people got married and adopted new names. If Tom was going to hack into the enchantments anyway, he would have an opportunity to make them accept Valedro as his surname.

Eventually Tom and Harry arrived at Honeydukes and met Ron and Hermione there. Together they visited many places in the wintry village, including the unfamiliar Shrieking Shack. Harry was enjoying himself thoroughly, but Tom ended up just following the three younger ones, not really taking part in their conversation. He wanted to get back to Hogwarts, visit the Chamber of Secrets again and start investigating the enchantments.

Could it, by any chance, be possible to hack the enchantments to acknowledge him as the Headmaster? The thought made him smirk. That would be a fitting Christmas present for Dumbledore!

Chapter 17: The First Noel

When Tom woke up on Christmas Day, he was greeted with a rare silence. All the other sixth-year Slytherin boys had left for the holiday and the dormitory was his alone. Holidays had always been his favourite times at Hogwarts. No one to bother him, no classes to attend to, he had complete freedom to explore the castle, delve into obscure pieces of magic and sneak into the kitchen to eat so much plum pudding that his stomach began to ache. More than once, he had entertained himself with the idea of hiding and staying at Hogwarts over the summer. The thought made him suddenly remember Dumbledore, Slughorn and Headmaster Dippet rejecting his desperate pleas, and his mind filled with thoughts quite inappropriate for Christmas.

There was a huge pile of presents next to his four-poster. It was expected. Most people wanted to curry favour with the intelligent, powerful and ruthlessly vengeful Tom Valedro. Most of the packages were, as had been usual in his previous life, full of Chocolate Frogs and other sweets instead of something that required thought. He would share them with the ones who had given them to him. That would make them respect him even more, and that respect would fashion their loyalty.

Tom had spent nearly a thousand Galleons on Christmas presents and distributed them to almost every student he was in a friendly contact with. He considered it a good use of the fortunes he had swindled with lottery manipulations. (He had also given socks to Dumbledore just in case the Headmaster was more easily manipulated as a senile old man than he had been as a younger man.) Some of the presents Tom had not needed to purchase at all. Dobby had found hundreds of interesting items in the Room of Requirement, and he had continued searching the Room even after the diadem had been found. Among the items was a signet ring with the Malfoy coat of arms in it, and according to diagnostic charms, it cursed every letter sealed with it. Tom had given it to Draco. Theodore Nott had also received something that had belonged to his family: an old book of curses outlawed in the 18^th century. Tom had, of course, made himself a copy of it first.

His Gryffindor friends had also received many presents from him. He had given Harry many kinds of accessories he would need when hunting Dark wizards, Hermione all the NEWT level textbooks and Ginny and Ron new Cleansweep Eleven broomsticks. To Fred and George, who had approached him after the Performance and declared him Honorary Marauder (before Harry had shown Tom the map, he had not understood what the twins had meant), Tom had given a huge assortment of rare and expensive ingredients for their joke shop products. Even though he disliked Percy’s pompous nature, he had not forgotten him. To him Tom had given a university textbook, Introduction to Public Management. It was just as dull as Percy himself, and Tom was sure he would find it fascinating. (He had mused that if Percy went to work at the Ministry, reading that one book would probably make him one of the most competent officials.)

As every Christmas, the normal tables had been removed from the Great Hall and replaced with just one at which all students and members of the staff sat together. Apart from the usually sour Snape, the atmosphere was warm and Christmassy, and Tom found himself being much fonder of other people than ever in his previous life. As he sat with Harry, Hermione and the five Weasleys, they all thanked him for their presents, and he wondered if he was the only person that both Percy and the twins held in high regard. Percy babbled about the book almost without pause, and Tom endured through it only due to the entertainment provided by the twins when they added some strange spices to Percy’s food without him noticing.

The lunch lasted for two hours, and luckily Percy was not the only one Tom managed to speak to. He initiated a conversation with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick about their areas of magical expertise, and they both mentioned his superb talents. He was slightly worried by Dumbledore’s curiosity; any association between Tom Valedro and Tom Riddle might result in disastrous consequences.

“Magic is not my only passion,” Tom said, hoping to distract the Headmaster. “I also play the violin. There is unique beauty in the art of music.” He did not mention how mastering the violin had helped him in the mental concentration of casting complicated spells. It would have been too reminiscent of Voldemort’s attitude towards everything.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “Music is its own kind of magic. In many ways, beyond all we do here, and even accessible to Muggles! Why some people are able to master it is a mystery without explanation. You are lucky, Mr Valedro, to have the gift. So is Minerva.”

“Playing an instrument helps spell casting, especially Transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall said. “I also play the violin. I chose it because of the challenge.”

“The one thing our feast lacks is music,” Dumbledore said. “Would you two be willing to show us what you can do?”

After Tom and McGonagall had emptied their plates, they Summoned their violins and played The First Noel as a violin duet. As Dumbledore watched, he was smiling serenely and, perhaps, a bit wistfully. Tom was convinced that the Headmaster did not suspect him of being the cold and cruel orphan who had not cared about Christmas and who had never had the chance to play any instruments. This was a perfect deception. Not to mention, fun too!

Tom turned to look at his friends at the end of the table. Ginny was smiling gently, and he smiled back at her, not with his usual mischievous smirk, but with a genuine smile that expressed the positive feelings he had lacked in his previous life. Ginny had taught him to feel them, and he was grateful to her. For a brief while he was sorry for his other self who had fled his apathy to the totally wrong direction. As he played the merry tune with the violin, he that felt apathy would never haunt him again.

He was playing The First Noel, and in many ways, it was the first Christmas of his life.

 

---

 

Later, in the early evening, Tom left Hogwarts castle in order to attend the prestigious Malfoy Yule Ball. Since he was officially leaving the school, he walked across the grounds towards the gate; had he called Dobby to Side-Along Apparate him away, Dumbledore might have realised there was some way of coming and going through the protective enchantments. However, Tom was not going to go through the gates, or his good mood would have become the Christmas meal of the Dementors’ endless appetite. He went behind some trees near the road and then summoned Dobby to take him home.

His home in Diagon Alley was not decorated for Christmas; it actually looked quite sad in its uninhabited state. But it was just a waypoint. He took a letter from an envelope. It was the invitation from the Malfoys and also a Portkey that activated when pressed at the Malfoy coat of arms after the names of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

When it was the time, Tom activated the Portkey. The magic took him away from his home, and shortly afterwards he materialised in the atrium of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. He was immediately welcomed by the striking grandeur of the wealth of the Malfoys: gold and silver shone on every surface of the voluminous baroque-style ornaments, curtains were made of the finest brocade magic could weave and the chandeliers sparkled with a dozen colours of the crystals and jewels attached to them. It was snowing outside, probably due to a Weather Charm so that the guests could enjoy a perfect fairy-tale winter night.

Tom was greeted by a trio of truly magnificent-looking people. Lucius Malfoy was the personification of aristocratic elegance, and he radiated the dangerous charisma of a prominent Dark wizard. Narcissa Malfoy was as graceful and beautiful as one could imagine a queen being; she looked at least ten years younger than she was. Son of Abraxas and daughter of Cygnus, two people who had no idea that their fathers had once accepted the newly arrived guest as their leader. There was also the elder lady of the manor, Lucius’s mother Cordelia Malfoy, sister of Edmond Lestrange, whom Tom had known in his previous life.

“Mr Valedro, welcome,” Lucius said with as much enthusiasm as suited his sophistication. “Our son Draco has told us much about you, and we are happy to finally meet you in person. The Slytherin leader of the next generation, am I correct?”

“I certainly hope so, sir,” Tom said. “The House of Slytherin has been receptive to my ideas, and I have every intention of continuing that way.”

“Our Yule Ball is the perfect opportunity for you to connect yourself with the powerful of the British nation. Everyone is invited.”

That was, obviously, an exaggeration. Dumbledore was never allowed to set foot in Malfoy Manor, and prominent members of those pure-blood families who were political opponents of the Malfoys, like Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom, were absent as well.

In the ballroom, Tom was offered a goblet of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. He accepted it, because it might have been considered an insult to decline, but not without wrinkling his nose. With an inconspicuous tap of his wand, he evaporated all alcohol from the goblet before taking a sip. As a child, he had seen how alcohol had reduced the already miserable victims of the Great Depression into totally wretched ruins. They had wandered the shabby alleys of London, trying to forget the fact that they were utterly worthless waste of space, even more than Muggles usually were, and Tom had sworn to himself that he would never drink a drop of alcohol. That decision had never wavered.

Once all poison had been removed from the goblet, Tom went to greet Draco, who was hosting his own party for the children, most of them very familiar to Tom. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and a few Ravenclaws from Draco’s year were there, as well as a dozen Hogwarts students more from other years. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, and Tom assumed they were helping the house-elves.

Tom did not consider his place to be among the children and soon joined Ethan Jugson and his older brother Robert as they were socialising with the older guests. Tom shook many hands and exchanged pleasantries with many rich and powerful witches and wizards. One of them was the jovial Cornelius Fudge, who was neither very intelligent nor magically talented; Tom was not sure if the Minister understood it himself, but he was in the high position only because Lucius and Dumbledore were both able to take advantage of his gullibility.

Among the guests there were some whom Tom had known in his previous life. Theodore Nott’s grandfather Archibald had been Tom’s dormmate, and he had become one of the first Death Eaters. He had been a secretive young man, and Tom had found him to be less easy to control than the other Slytherin boys. Perhaps there was some truth in Archibald’s claims that he had not fully supported Voldemort, just like Lucius and Abraxas had claimed. However, his independence did not mean that Tom had liked or respected him even less than the others. On the contrary, Archibald was the only one who had sometimes been able to hold the other end of a fruitful academic conversation.

Another guest was Madam Zabini, a beauty equal to Narcissa Malfoy, who smiled radiantly when meeting Tom. Standing behind her was her husband, an older man who looked frail and sickly, as if he might die at any moment. After them Tom had to exchange pleasantries with a repulsive bureaucrat witch from the Ministry who looked like she had consumed Polyjuice Potion with something of a toad in it and had not had the effect healed. Several other Ministry officials followed her, making Tom feel increasingly bored, until one very remarkable elder gentleman arrived, glancing around grimly. Tom recognised him immediately.

Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Cooperation, was one of the two living people Tom had ever admired and considered a role model (Grindelwald being the other one). Crouch was a much better personification of Salazar Slytherin’s ideals than the haughty aristocrats like Lucius Malfoy. Crouch was an aristocrat too, but he had always had a strong sense of duty to do his part for the community. Instead of living a carefree life of luxury he could have afforded, he had worked tirelessly for the Ministry and become respected and powerful by his own merits, not just by the family he had been born to.

Crouch had been the Head Boy and the undisputed student leader of Slytherin during Tom’s first year at Hogwarts, and everyone had respected the talented, charismatic and strong-willed young man. Since the Hogwarts staff had consisted of undignified weirdos like Dumbledore, living fossils like Dippet and gluttonous guzzlers like Horace Slughorn, it had not been difficult for Crouch to give the impression of the most reliable authority figure. Who knows, if there had been people like Crouch in the staff, maybe Tom would not have developed such a disdain towards authority.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Crouch had started at the Auror training programme. Grindelwald’s Second War had started before he had been qualified as an Auror, but soon the British Ministry of Magic had been forced to call even the Auror trainees to arms. Crouch had accomplished more heroic deeds than most of his superiors, and thanks to his magical and military prowess, intelligence, leadership qualities and grim determination, he had risen among the ranks of the Aurors faster than anyone before. By the end of the war, most of the senior Aurors had perished, and many of the few remaining ones had been lone wolves like Alastor Moody and unfit for leadership positions. That was how Bartemius Crouch had become one of the highest-ranking officials of the Department of Law Enforcement at the age of twenty-five.

When Voldemort’s War had begun, Crouch had been both the Head Auror and the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, a double task few others could have managed successfully. When Dumbledore had refused to take political power, Crouch had become the commander-in-chief of the Ministry forces, and the Minister for Magic, an inept old man whose name most people did not remember, had been reduced to his puppet. Tom had been pleased to learn that Crouch had not joined Voldemort’s cause. Crouch had understood what kind of abomination Voldemort had become and dedicated his life to restoring the real ideals of Slytherin. But the war had taken toll on the man. He had aged prematurely, he had lost his family and he had become somewhat paranoid and obsessed. Tom wondered if the only reason Crouch attended the Malfoy Yule Ball was the opportunity to investigate if Lucius had lied about having been under the Imperius Curse. When offered a welcoming toast, Crouch just turned away, indifferent to the message it sent.

Oh, speaking of gluttonous guzzlers, the next guest to arrive was the centre of every British high society: the cheerful, rotund Horace Slughorn, the total antithesis of Crouch’s reserved demeanour. He shook many hands and praised his former pupils and especially himself. Eventually he came to Tom and said,

“You must be the promising Tom Valedro I have been told about. Earning the leadership of the Slytherin students in a month, eh? I was the Head of House Slytherin when I taught at Hogwarts, you know. When I heard about you, I almost regretted my decision to retire!”

“Luckily a real, cunning Slytherin doesn’t need a formal status to wield power,” Tom said.

“Yes, you’re right, m’boy,” Slughorn boomed, looking at Tom closely. “You remind me of a most remarkable student I once had.” His expression turned melancholic. “Tom… you even share his name.”

“There are a lot of Toms,” Tom repeated the words he had once said to Dumbledore.

“But not every Tom is like you and… and the other one,” Slughorn said. His eyes searched the crowd of guests until he found Archibald Nott, who had been Tom’s study partner in Potions classes.

“I have heard that you have helped a great many witches and wizards to advance in their careers, sir,” Tom said.

“Seeing my students prosper was the best thing about being a teacher,” Slughorn said, his expression turning cheerful again. “Do you have some interesting aspirations? Minister for Magic, perhaps?”

“Well, I’ve always wondered what the Department of Mysteries does.”

“Likewise. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve tried to fool my former students working there into telling me something! One of them should actually be here – maybe we should pester him for a moment? His name his Broderick Bode…”

All of a sudden, a sallow-skinned wizard stood right next to Slughorn; it was as if he had the ability of the house-elves to know when he was called.

“Already recruiting someone, Professor?” the wizard said with a knowing smile.

“Good grief, Broderick!” Slughorn exclaimed. “We were just talking about you.”

“I know you were,” said Bode. “I knew you would be. I am an expert of Divination, after all. Nomen est omen, that’s what my colleagues have always been saying. I foresaw you saying my name and headed towards you before it happened. It took me years to master this art of foresight that was once used extensively by the Spanish Inquisition.”

“So, the Department of Mysteries studies the future?” Tom asked.

“Among many things,” Bode said. “Don’t believe that weird magazine that says we don’t predict the future events but make them happen. We don’t actually control everything, we’re researchers. Also, the absolute secrecy of our work is an exaggeration. Sure, we don’t go around telling what we’ve found out, but you only need to use your imagination to realise what mysteries we are working with.”

“Things that, as of yet, have no explanation. Such as why so many wizards are interested in Quidditch?”

“That falls under the category of mind,” Bode said. “And the mind is always closely connected to the soul.”

Slughorn twitched nervously. Bode’s eyes were suddenly lit in an unnervingly Dumbledore-like fashion, and he scanned Tom’s face up and down. Then he sniffed in a way that was quite undignified, especially in a place like Malfoy Manor.

“There’s something in the air,” he said. “My well-trained knack for mysteries detects something. It’s as if someone in this manor is in multiple places at the same time. Who could this troubled soul be? No, wait, I sense something else too! This is really odd… has someone been Transfigured into a book for a very long time and only recently been reverted? I sense flesh of paper and blood of ink…”

Tom was so unnerved by Bode’s sudden ramblings that his mind instinctively began to look for ways of assassinating the too-perceptive man. Luckily, Slughorn changed the course of the conversation in a slightly cutting tone.

“You may be an expert of Divination and other mysteries, but I am an expert of Potions. And I consider it very likely that your strange sensations come from there.” Slughorn pointed at the half-empty goblet of Firewhisky in Bode’s hand.

Bode burst out laughing. Tom decided to create some distance between himself and Bode’s dangerous ‘knack for mysteries,’ so he backed away discreetly. The Jugson brothers, who had been listening to the conversation, keenly filled the void he had left and demanded the attention of Slughorn and Bode. Relieved, Tom withdrew from the ballroom; he was not in the mood of speaking with anyone for a while.

He entered a gallery hall that served as a kind of a family museum of the House of Malfoy. There was a huge family tree, closely intertwined with the family trees of other pure-blood families, especially the Blacks and the Lestranges. There were portraits of witches and wizards from several past centuries, and their biographies.

Tom was pleased to learn that the Malfoys of the 17^th century had opposed the International Statute of Secrecy; they had proclaimed that wizards had the right and the duty to rule over Muggles. He knew Draco was still somewhat doubtful towards the grand plan of following Grindelwald’s example, but since Grindelwald had been following some of Draco’s ancestors, the fact might finally convince him.

Many of the Malfoy ancestors were portrayed in clerical attires. Before the Statute of Secrecy, many wizards had actually been religious leaders to the Muggles they had gathered around them to be their servants. It was easy to fake miracles with magic, and that was how wizards had been very successful in the clerical field. After the Statute of Secrecy, wizards had slowly abandoned many aspects of Christianity, because there no longer was any benefit to be gained through them.

During those more religious times, it had been a part of the blood purist dogma that wizards were descended from angels or Christ himself, and that magic was a divine power, proof that wizards had the Mandate of Heaven to rule. The Statute of Secrecy had eventually silenced such claims, and an important part of wizarding cultural history had died out. At the end of the 20th century, wizards had little interest in philosophical discussion, let alone theological.

Soon a bell rang, and the Christmas dinner began. Fortunately, Tom did not need to sit anywhere near Snape, who had arrived while Tom had been in the gallery, nor Bode. He ate very little, just tasted the finest pieces of magical dishes, because he had eaten so much at lunch.

After dinner was time for the actual ball. Tom had some basic training in dancing, because one summer one of the church ladies who had donated much to the orphanage had taken it as her short-lived duty to make the orphans civilised subjects of His Majesty, and certain upper-class habits had been central in that project. Tom danced with Daphne Greengrass, Catherine Runcorn and Sara Jugson, and did his best to evade the toad-lady who had trouble finding herself a partner.

After some time, Tom decided that he had fulfilled his social obligation to the party and proceeded to advance the purpose because of which he had accepted the invitation in the first place. It was to gather information and gain influence among the members of this high society.

With a goblet of blackcurrant juice in hand, he sat in an armchair in front of a hearth, joining a conversation of a small circle of former Death Eaters: Lucius, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson senior.

“Ah, Mr Valedro, our inside man at Hogwarts,” Archibald said, speaking in a very different tone than fifty years earlier. “We were talking about the Sirius Black debacle at Hogwarts. Do you have some new insight to the matter?”

“I have not entirely ruled out the possibility that it was just a feint by Albus Dumbledore,” Tom said. “The man seems to gain profit from an occasional crisis. The truth is that a large portion of wizarding Britain is concerned about safety, and in times like these people seek safety in Dumbledore. But Black’s supposed actions at Hogwarts make no sense. Surely a killer of his calibre could do more than slash a painting a few times.”

“I never thought much of Black,” Jugson scoffed. “I remember the first ruckus he caused when he was the first Black ever to be a Gryffindor.”

“I cannot believe the Dark Lord trusted him as a double agent,” Archibald muttered.

“I think it is totally in character for him,” Tom said, getting wary looks from the others. “The Dark Lord probably saw himself in young Mr Black. He had to force you to serve him, but reckless idiots like Black flocked behind him all by themselves.”

The former Death Eaters looked very uneasy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I know you have to keep up appearances,” Tom said, making it obscure what was it he actually implied. He looked Lucius straight in the eyes. “If the Dark Lord returned and summoned all those whom he had commanded before, would you answer his summons?”

Lucius was silent for a long moment, contemplating and staring into the dancing flames in the hearth.

“The Dark Lord,” he said finally, “is astonishingly powerful. It was fear that kept the Death Eaters in line. Few of them, after all, were willing to wage war. But disobeying the Dark Lord’s orders, or even protesting against his most reckless judgements, was punished with immense pain. Some of the Death Eaters, my sister-in-law among them, began to worship him as a dark god. That may seem quite extreme, but then again… he does command powers beyond our reckoning, and that is why so many believe he did achieve immortality.”

“And you don’t want to set your family in danger,” Tom said. “I understand.”

“What would you do, Mr Valedro,” Lucius asked, “if the Dark Lord returned and demanded that all Slytherins joined his ranks? Many young Slytherins look up to you, and they may be inclined to follow your example. Should you choose to oppose the Dark Lord, he would likely seek you out and make you a demonstration of disloyalty.”

“Disloyalty? Hm… I trust Draco has told you about my theory of the Dark Lord’s identity?”

“He has indeed, and I will have to say, it inspired many thoughts. However, while it does make sense in a way, I am not convinced. It is true that Dumbledore did never confront the Dark Lord, but that does not prove anything. Dumbledore is a very public figure, and I am absolutely certain there were countless times when I was in the Dark Lord’s presence while Dumbledore was confirmed to be either at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot or the International Confederation of Wizards. Perhaps this could have been arranged using Polyjuice Potion or other means of disguising, but it still seems improbable.”

“Well, to answer your question, I’m not sure what I would do. But this is a certainty: I would never pledge my loyalty to him and him alone. Loyalty is a virtue of Hufflepuffs. As a Slytherin, I understand that sides and alliances are fleeting. I intend to always be on the winning side.”

“An admirable plan. We Malfoys have long been using a similar strategy. There has never been a Minister for Magic from the House of Malfoy, but it has never prevented us from using great power. Ministers come and go, but there is always, behind each one of them, a Malfoy as an advisor. I believe that is the reason the Dark Lord was so keen to force me and my father to his service using the Imperius Curse.”

“The way the Dark Lord created his Death Eater corps has always perplexed me,” Tom said. “I’ve studied history extensively, and there’s certain regularity in how radical revolutionary groups and terrorist organisations are born, both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds. There’s always this charismatic leader who is often wealthy and well-educated, and his followers who are primarily bitter and desperate young men, people who lack a stable livelihood, respect from the society and a spouse. The followers become staunch supporters of the ideology their leader advocates, but it’s not actually the ideology that they find appealing. They see this radical movement as a way of escaping the misery of their lives. The leader offers them hope of a better future. The ideology is just a façade for them, a rationalisation.”

Lucius was regarding Tom in his dignified way, with just a very slight frown. Archibald’s expression was inscrutable, while Jugson looked somewhat offended.

“But there’s one exception,” Tom continued and gestured at the lavish opulence of Malfoy Manor. “The Dark Lord was one of the charismatic leaders I described, but his followers were different. He became the leader of British aristocracy, people who lacked nothing. How was it possible? Why did the powerful pure-blood wizards resort to rebellion against the very Ministry where they held so much power? I find it ironic that if they had just pursued the most important positions at the Ministry and used their financial assets to bribe other officials, they probably would’ve achieved everything they wanted, without needing to spill magical blood and endanger their own lives too.”

“The Dark Lord’s campaign did not stem from the followers,” Lucius said. “The Dark Lord forced us to do his bidding. Few dared to sneer at his radical methods after he had demonstrated his willingness to use the Cruciatus Curse. He wanted war and conquest; other strategies did not appeal to him, even if they would have been more effective.”

“You said he’d judge my opposition to him as disloyalty. He actually considers himself the leader of all Slytherins. But he is wrong. Slytherins are not mindless pawns who gather around a power-hungry megalomaniac. Such behaviour is more typical of Gryffindors, and that’s one of the reasons I began to suspect him of being a guise of Dumbledore’s. To disregard more effective strategies is just… the least Slytherin thing there can possibly be.”

Lucius was nodding as if the gesture was involuntary. Archibald, on the other hand, stared at Tom very much like Slughorn earlier.

“I once knew someone who spoke much like you,” he whispered. “Not those words, exactly… but in that style.”

“Oh, could that be the same person Mr Slughorn told me about?” Tom questioned. “Was his name Tom?”

“Yes… yes, it was.”

“I wonder what became of him.”

“He… he changed. Eventually, he was nothing like before.”

Voldemort is just a perverted shadow of me, an insult, a kind of a mirror-image, one that has turned all of my virtues into their opposites. Those were the words Tom had thought in the second morning of his new life.

“Did he, um, disappear at some point of his life?”

“Shortly after Hogwarts… and he was gone for years,” Archibald said in a voice very uncharacteristic for him. Lucius and Jugson were looking at him with visible confusion and trepidation.

“That doesn’t sound like a difficult riddle to solve,” Tom said dismissively, only barely managing not to emphasise the word ‘riddle.’ “Perhaps a similar thing happened to him as happened with the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. He died, allowing someone to steal his identity in order to make use of his reputation. However, the acting was lousy, and the reappeared Tom was nothing like the original.”

Archibald mumbled something, and Tom smirked to himself. The seeds of doubt had been planted. Eventually, Archibald would get his school time friend back, and Tom would herd all Slytherins into his new conspiracy.

Chapter 18: Vision and Revelation

Tom was sitting in the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets and scrutinised the result of weeks of his toil. It was a parchment that showed Hogwarts castle and grounds, as well as all people marked as small named dots. He compared the map to the other, much older parchment. Apart from the greeting of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, the two maps were identical.

Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were sitting together in the library, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were relaxing in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid were in the Forbidden Forest hunting Dark creatures for Lupin’s lessons, Lee Jordan was preparing a prank outside the prefects’ bathroom, Cuthbert Binns was lecturing in an empty classroom, Peter Pettigrew was visiting the kitchen, Percival Weasley and Penelope Clearwater were clearly taking their Head Boy and Girl duties very seriously by being on a voluntary patrol in an unused corridor, making sure no student was doing anything naughty…

Tom had made it! The Marauder’s Map was no longer the only item in existence that could track people at Hogwarts.

Creating a new map had not actually been very difficult. Since Tom knew that making such a map was possible using only student level skills, he had just needed to keep looking for the right trick until he succeeded. He had searched the Chamber of Secrets many times, even asking help from the Basilisk, and eventually he had found a small, unremarkable stone with hidden runes carved in it. It was an anchor stone of the protective enchantments of Hogwarts and placed in a narrow crevice, hidden from the sight of those heirs of Slytherin who did not specifically look for it.

The most difficult part after that had been to learn how to use the runes. Fortunately, they were designed to be used, and after trial and error, Tom had found the part that tracked every being. He was quite sure there had once been an official map which had displayed the information the enchantment gathered, because the new map had started to function immediately after having been connected to the enchantment.

He proceeded to connect more parchments to the anchor stone; five new maps to be given to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the Weasley twins. Tom would keep the original Marauder’s Map himself, because the new ones had special properties which he had added: he could deactivate them whenever he pleased, make them hide the whereabouts of people he did not want them to show or even destroy them remotely. (When he gave tools to others, he made sure they could not be used against him.) Also, he had connected each of them to a small piece of parchment that told him which ones of the new maps were active at any given moment. Of course, his little friends did not need to know about such necessary precautions.

Tom left the Chamber of Secrets, and after arriving in the girls’ bathroom (the enchantments could not detect anything in the Chamber), he looked at the maps. There was a new dot on each of them: Tom Valedro – not Riddle anymore. Changing the name had been very straightforward. Unfortunately, he had not been able to make himself the Headmaster, because there was some requirement coded in the enchantment, probably the willing consent of the previous holder of the office or some ritualistic procedure by the board of governors.

Exactly as the maps showed him, he found Fred and George in a room in the dungeons, next to the Potions classroom. They had probably smuggled ingredients from Potions classes, and with the set Tom had given them at Christmas, they had begun to create their prank sweets.

“What’s this, an unauthorised laboratory?” Tom barked from the doorway, making them jump.

“Valedro,” one of them said. “Some manners!”

“I wouldn’t call this an unauthorised laboratory,” said the other one. “You gave many of these ingredients to us. I’d call that an implicit authorisation by a prefect.”

“Good point there. However, it was not your Potions that brought me here. I have a reason to suspect a much more severe violation of school rules. Have you ever seen this?” Tom showed them the Marauder’s Map.

The twins’ expressions went from shocked to hurt.

“Harry told you about it?”

“You – a prefect.”

“A person of authority!”

“Are you forgetting how I became a prefect? Not by being Percy. I pranked Snape and the Slytherin Quidditch team in front of the entire school, and you called me an Honorary Marauder. True to that recognition, I studied this map Harry showed me in order to create these!”

Tom showed them the new maps.

“That’s right, I was able to create more Marauder’s Maps,” he pointed out to the twins’ greedy faces. “One of them shall be yours in exchange for a small service on your part.”

“You certainly are a true Marauder,” one of the twins said.

“But a Slytherin at the same time,” said the other one. “And such a deadly combination freaks us out. What do you want us to do?”

“I have need for your creative and unscrupulous minds. I have a meeting next Thursday after dinner with Harry and friends in the secret room in the corridor of Barnabas the Barmy. Join us in training to fight against the Dark Arts. When we combine our wits, we will create the means of pranking Sirius Black and his ilk into oblivion. I will teach you my own Gravity Amplifying Charm. I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with many uses for it.”

“We’ll be there,” the twins said, smirking.

“There’s your map,” Tom said, offering them one. “And thanks for giving the original one to Harry.”

After leaving the twins with their concoctions, Tom headed towards the library where he found Harry, Ron and Hermione busy with homework.

“I still don’t get it,” Ron was complaining. “You simply don’t have enough time for all subjects. And if it’s supposed to be a mistake that some of your lessons are marked to be at the same time in your timetable, why haven’t you corrected them?”

“If you minded your own problems, maybe you wouldn’t need my help with your essays,” Hermione snapped.

Hermione’s strange lesson plans had been a constant topic of discussion with Tom’s three Gryffindor minions, something he found quite annoying. Ron really should have focused on more important matters.

“Hello, my young friends,” Tom said. “As I’ve said before, I think Hermione is doing the right thing by studying Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. They’re quite useful subjects, and today I can show you just how.”

He gave each of them a new Marauder’s Map.

“Created with my knowledge of Arithmancy and Runes. It is possible to use magical creatures in mischief, but more profound magical skills help you have your mischief managed.”

The parchments cleared of all ink markings.

“Oh, thank you, Tom,” Hermione said. “But I’m not that much into mischief…”

“That’s too bad, because you have to solemnly swear that you are up to no good before you can use your map. We must respect the original creators of this most impressive piece of magic.”

“No more bumping into Mr Filch or Snape in the corridors,” Harry grinned. “By the way, Tom, there’s something I can do for you in return. Professor Lupin has agreed to teach me the Patronus Charm, and we’ve already had one lesson. Would you like to join us tomorrow? You’re surely going to learn the spell faster than I am.”

Harry had asked for Tom’s help after the Quidditch match, and Tom had tried to teach him the theory of the Patronus. They had not made any progress in their lessons in the Room of Requirement, because Tom just could not master the spell himself. It needed a mindset incompatible with his nature, even with everything he had learned from Ginny.

Then again, Dementor exposure was something people could become resistant against. Even if he would never learn to repel Dementors, at least he should grasp the opportunity to learn to withstand their influence long enough to Disapparate to safety. But there was also another thing that made him consider Harry’s offer. It seemed strange, but in a way the idea of facing his inner darkness felt tempting. (According to books, this was not unheard of. Some people had morbid fascination towards Dementor exposure.) On the train, he had learned much about himself, but there might be more.

“All right, I’ll be there,” Tom decided. “No need to tell me the time or the place. I’ll find you.” With a wave of the Marauder’s Map, he left from the library.

 

---

 

The next evening was a usual one in the Slytherin common room. Tom showed the next spell to the Slytherin Duelling Club, added a text written by the immensely powerful witch Zoë Porphyrogenita to the list of recommendations for the Slytherin Reading Club and took part in one of the discussions in the Slytherin Debate Society. When he noticed from the Marauder’s Map that Harry and Professor Lupin were together in the History classroom, he excused himself and left the common room, suddenly feeling some reluctance towards facing a Boggart pretending to be a Dementor.

When he pushed open the door to the classroom, he found Harry and Professor Lupin sitting and drinking hot chocolate.

“Hello, Tom,” Lupin greeted. “Harry already had one go against the Boggart. We’re getting ready for the next try. Do you know how to cast the Patronus?”

“In theory,” Tom said. “I haven’t given much thought to a happy memory.”

He sat down and took his cup of hot chocolate. So, a happy memory? He rarely dwelled in the past, because he always had many plans for the future that demanded his full attention.

He had been in high spirits after he had broken free from the diary. He had been absolutely gleeful watching Vernon Dursley when he had realised that Harry had become the owner of Grunnings. Watching the Slytherin Quidditch team taunting Snape had been so comical that Tom had only barely managed not to laugh like so many others. But each one of these moments lacked something that was needed to conjure the Patronus. Perhaps he should concentrate on the brief moment during the Christmas feast when he had played The First Noel. It had been a rare moment of no plans to advance, no future benefit to look forward to, just living in the moment. Not fleeing the apathy, but free from it.

Harry and Lupin were talking about Harry’s parents, and Tom quickly inferred that Lupin had known them in school. That made him recall Snape’s words on Hallowe’en:

Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –

James Potter and Sirius Black had been such good friends that Black had even been named Harry’s godfather. Lupin had known Harry’s parents. Then, most likely, he knew Black, too. And since Tom trusted Snape’s judgement more than Dumbledore’s when it came to traitors, he decided that he should be more distrustful towards Lupin.

“They’re buried in the graveyard of Godric’s Hollow,” Lupin mumbled, unaware of Tom’s suddenly less favourable thoughts about him. “I’ve visited it many times. They’ve got a simple tombstone… engraved are their names, dates of birth and death… and a message. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.”

“Wait – what?” Tom blurted.

“It’s a biblical quote,” Lupin explained. “Hm… perhaps I shouldn’t have begun to talk about these things when we’re about to practice the Patronus.”

Tom felt as if some significant realisation was about to manifest in his mind, but then Harry and Lupin stood up and faced a packing case. Hoping he would be able to grasp the realisation later, Tom stood up as well.

At a flick of Lupin’s wand, the packing case opened, and light and warmth drained away from the classroom. The Boggart’s imitation of a Dementor was not as powerful as a real one, but easily strong enough to overwhelm Tom if he did not put up a fight. He was already wondering why he had come in the first place.

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry said with a voice full of determination, but apart from a tiny spark of silver at the tip of his wand, nothing happened.

“Expecto Patronum,” Tom said too, but in a very discouraged voice. His wand felt dead. Suddenly he realised what the point in casting the Patronus Charm was, it was right there in the incantation. You could only cast it if you expected that you could make it.

He repeated the incantation, concentrating on the Christmas feast. He had played the violin. He had looked at Ginny… but had she really looked that worried? No, it had been a happy occasion, everyone full of positive emotions. He had even felt safe in Dumbledore’s presence, even though the Headmaster sat in his throne with an evil grin on his old face, his wand in his hand.

Tom stopped playing the violin. The Headmaster was not Dumbledore! The old man who stood up looked different, but still Tom could easily recognise the features.

Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who had doomed Tom to a childhood of misery by causing the collapse of the world economy, had come to Hogwarts!

Tom dropped the violin and reached for his wand, but he was too late: the Dark Lord whipped his wand, and a terrible curse blasted against Tom in an instant.

 

---

 

It was a clear night when Tom followed the path with Harry and Lupin. The world was asleep, even the trees stood in total silence. The three companions were also silent, each of them deep in their own thoughts.

Then he heard the distant roar of a rapid. The path ended on a bank of a mighty river where water was running at dangerous speed. There was no bridge. Only those who dared to swim could reach the other side.

“This is not a problem magic cannot solve,” Tom said.

They all took out their wands and waved them, binding fallen tree trunks into a sturdy bridge. Thanking fate for being a wizard, Tom began to cross the river.

But they stopped in their tracks as they saw a tall figure in a black cloak blocking the way.

“Congratulations,” said a voice that made Tom shiver. “Cleverness beats bravery. I am used to travellers dying in the river. It is such an easy way of collecting souls that I have grown bored. You offer me rare challenge. For that, I am willing to reward you.”

“Who are you?” Harry demanded, pointing the cloaked figure with his wand.

“I am Death,” was the answer, and the figure opened his crimson eyes. Razor-sharp intelligence gleamed in them, and it was obvious that he was someone who knew how to play the long game, never letting any hardship discourage him. Death could afford to fail however many times; he only needed to succeed once.

“What do you mean with rewarding us?” Tom asked.

“I will grant you your wishes,” Death proclaimed. “Anything you want, my friends.”

Tom did not have to think for long.

“I want power!” he said. “Give me something I can use to defeat my enemies!”

Death grinned and went to take a branch of an elder tree that stood on the riverbank. Very quickly he crafted a wand of it and handed it to Tom.

“An invincible wand,” Death presented. “Your enemies will not stand a chance.”

Tom accepted the gift, feeling amazing power ready to erupt at his command. The wand looked vaguely familiar as he studied its every detail, but he was not certain when and where he had encountered its likeness.

Death had turned to Harry.

“I want my mother and father back,” Harry said simply.

Death fetched a small stone from under the elder tree and gave it to Harry.

“Turn it thrice in your hand and you will be reunited with your loved ones again. Nothing will separate you; your next great adventure will be a mutual one.”

It was Lupin’s turn.

“I have a secret I want to keep from others. Give me something to hide it forever.”

Death took off his cloak and offered it to Lupin, briefly looking very unwilling to part with it.

“You have outsmarted Death,” the red-eyed god rumbled like a distant thunder. “Go and use your gifts… entertain me.”

Tom would certainly entertain himself; there was no doubt about it. The wand seemed as impatient as he was to use its power, and with new briskness in his steps, he continued his journey, giving no thought whatsoever to Harry and Lupin and their gifts from Death.

The power to defeat any enemy! Voldemort, that disgraceful shadow of Tom Riddle, was about to meet his end. But he was hiding somewhere as a pitiful wraith.

“Invincible wand,” Tom whispered in rapture, “guide me to my enemy!”

A restless ball of light burst from the wand, showing Tom the right direction. He followed, almost ran through the forest, anticipation of his total victory inspiring him.

Eventually the ball of light led him out of the forest. It grew brighter as it signalled him that he was close. He rushed from between the last two trees, eager to see Voldemort’s hideout, but the sight was not what he had expected. In front of him stood the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts castle.

Then he realised. Voldemort was not his great enemy. He was just a nuisance, because his idiocy and lack of imagination offered Tom no real challenge. The one he had come for was Dumbledore, that hypocritical saint who prevented wizards from ruling the world for the Greater Good of all.

As the wand hummed with power, Tom navigated through the corridors and into the Headmaster’s office. It was time for Dumbledore to meet the creator of the invincible wand.

Tom opened the door.

“Would you like to have a sherbet lemon?” the unsuspecting fool said genially.

“You don’t need to offer me Veritaserum,” Tom said. “I’ve come to tell you the truth willingly. Tom Valedro is just a guise for which I have no need anymore. With this wand in my possession, I will never again cower in fear of the likes of you! I am Tom Riddle!”

Tom dispelled his disguising charms and revealed the face Dumbledore was most familiar with.

But the Headmaster was not stunned or shocked. Instead, he giggled in a way that was in total discord with his appearance.

“And I ruined your childhood!” the old wizard jeered and flicked his wand in exactly the same way as Tom had done before.

Again, Grindelwald was revealed from under the appearance of Dumbledore.

“You! So, you have been my great enemy all along! You caused the Great Depression just to torment me!”

“That is the way I act, but –”

An explosion of magical might shook the walls as Tom turned the power of the invincible wand against Grindelwald. He tried to defend himself, but there was no defence against the power Death himself had unleashed into the world.

“– but,” Grindelwald groaned as Tom’s spells brought him to his knees, “but I am not your great enemy.”

“Then who is?”

“The last enemy,” the dying Dark Lord whispered. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is –”

“– Death,” Tom finished for him, feeling dread wash over him.

Grindelwald was looking in Tom direction, but not at him. Slightly over his shoulder… Tom turned in haste and felt the power of a thousand Dementors enfold him.

Black hair, pearly white skin, glowing crimson eyes, mischievous smirk… Death was looming at the doorway in his full otherworldly glory, a silver scythe in his hand. It dawned to Tom in an instant that Death had been veiling his formidable charisma when they had met on the bridge. Even though he looked like a human, he was more like a black hole that could devour entire stars and snuff out their light forever.

The horror Tom had felt when Dumbledore had pretended setting his cupboard on fire was nothing compared to the one he felt when Death towered over him in the Headmaster’s office.

“You were not alone this time,” Death said, arching his eyebrows in interest.

Before Tom had the time to wonder what the dark god was talking about, darkness overcame him, and his thoughts faded into nothingness.

 

---

 

Lupin brought Tom back to reality with the Reviving Charm and shoved a chocolate bar into his hand. Tom looked around feebly before sighing. The Boggart was back in its packing case, Grindelwald safely in his cell in Nurmengard and Death and his invincible wand in a children’s story. Everything should have been fine, but Tom was feeling exceedingly pessimistic.

Harry seemed to gain some self-confidence from the fact that he and Tom had suffered the Dementor’s power together, but his encouraging words just irritated Tom.

After eating the chocolate, Tom mumbled something appropriate to Lupin and left the classroom. The words Lupin and Grindelwald in the vision had said echoed in his mind as he tried to grasp the realisation that had almost struck him.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Voldemort had named his followers Death Eaters.

There it was. For the first time in his new life, he considered whether he had totally misjudged Voldemort. Could it be that Voldemort had not been just a sorry shadow of Tom Riddle, but that his actions had actually had some deeper purpose, and his perverted crusade against Muggle-borns had been just deception to hide it?

Voldemort had wandered the world for a quarter of a century before reappearing as a twisted snake-man. He had already been immortal when he had given the name to his organisation, but clearly, he had not considered his mission complete. There were many things that Death Eating could mean. Had he found some ancient knowledge about Death and the Otherworld, and formed a new plan of utterly defeating Death? Or, perhaps, replacing him? Tom had lived the first eleven years of his life in the Muggle world before discovering a world of literal wonders, and so he was not going to discard mythologies like Death as an actual entity just because they were something out of stories.

In a way, Tom hoped that the one who was his kindred soul would not be such a disappointment as he had judged him, but there was something more. Dumbledore, the man who spoke highly of the next great adventure and who had done nothing while Muggles had laid waste to the world’s resources, decimated natural environments and created nuclear weapons… that man had been Voldemort’s enemy. If Voldemort had been fighting against Death, then obviously his enemy had been fighting in favour of it.

Perhaps Tom was just being paranoid, but it was feeling more and more likely that Dumbledore was secretly steering the world towards the death of everything… for the Greater Evil.

Chapter 19: Dead Man Talking

Even though Harry asked Tom to come to the next Patronus lesson, he decided not to. His completely futile attempt to cast a spell that totally disagreed with him had reminded him of his limits. Besides, even the thought of facing a Dementor again and seeing another vision of Death gave him the shudders.

Instead, Tom went to the library and began to seek obscure knowledge about beliefs and myths in various cultures of the wizarding world. Whatever knowledge remained of Atlantis, translated hieroglyphs of Ancient Egypt, archives of the Chinese emperors, the few published texts about the Veil of Death located in the Department of Mysteries… any one of them might have the key to the mystery of Voldemort’s travels that might possibly have something to do with Death.

As the pile of books he had leafed through became higher and higher, he began to lose inspiration. Then he remembered one of the lessons of Salazar Slytherin. Not every mystery has a cunning plot behind it. Death as the last enemy whom Voldemort had supposedly wanted to eat and Dumbledore knowingly letting the Muggles ruin the world was a compelling explanation that made sense, but it did not prove anything. Unlike fiction, reality did not need to make sense or to be narratively satisfying. Perhaps Voldemort was, after all, just a lunatic twisted by his Horcrux rituals and Dumbledore an oblivious slob who shirked from the responsibilities the status of the most powerful wizard in the world gave him.

However, Tom decided to ask his old friend Archibald Nott about what he knew of Voldemort’s studies with the arcane arts. As Voldemort had considered servants necessary for his quest and worthy of the title of Death Eaters, they had to have some insight to their master’s grand plan. And who would Voldemort have trusted the most if not Archibald, the most promising and academically inclined one of his school time associates?

As weeks passed, Harry’s practice with the Patronus bore fruit. In February, he showed Tom the white mist he was able to conjure. It did not look very strong, but Tom was not in the position to scoff at the performance. Perhaps one day Harry would be able to produce a corporeal form, and as Tom’s right-hand man to use the skill to protect his friend and mentor from Dementors.

Every now and then Tom wished he had at least some aptitude to the magical disciplines that Dark wizards did not embrace. Every time he looked out of a window towards the gates, he imagined seeing a faint spectre of Death looming over where the Dementors were. When alone in his dormitory, he often fingered his diary aimlessly. It should have been his insurance against death, but ever since he had escaped from his self-imposed imprisonment, he had been vulnerable. His thoughts drifted to the Horcrux diadem waiting in Gringotts, and the urge to bind it to him itched and burnt in him mind. He had also made plans of seeking out the other Horcruxes Voldemort had created and hidden, and he had decided to finally visit his ancestral lands in Yorkshire at Easter to look for clues.

The fighting lessons had become much livelier after Fred and George had become frequent participants. As encouraged by Tom, they used their creativity and talent for troublemaking for a good purpose, and the battle simulations turned into realistically fast-paced chaos full of distractions. Even Tom felt that he was becoming more battle-hardened. The progress was noticeable also in the Kwikspell lessons he attended every weekend.

As March approached, Harry and the twins had to spend more and more time at Quidditch practices, but Tom continued with Ginny, Hermione and Ron. When the time for the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match came, he did not bother to waste his time watching it. When he received the news of the outcome, he was not surprised: catching the Snitch had determined the winner and everything the other players had done had been redundant. As usual.

The Gryffindors threw a victory party in their common room. Tom retired to his dormitory without the faintest idea of what was happening in the dark corridors of Hogwarts.

 

---

 

Most Slytherins slept longer than Tom did, and he was among the first to arrive at the Great Hall for breakfast. To his surprise, almost every Gryffindor was present, looking very tired and whispering to one another in clear agitation. Usually, Gryffindor was the last House to arrive, because they lived further away than Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, and most of them lacked the diligence that made Ravenclaws wake up early.

Tom had barely sat down when his name was called, and an absolutely thrilled Ron came running to him with Harry, Hermione and Ginny on his heels.

“Haven’t you heard? Sirius Black tried to kill me last night!”

“Is this just –”

“It was not a nightmare! Black slashed my curtains with a knife, there was total chaos, Harry used some of the spells you taught us and Black retreated! He got in with the passwords that Neville had written down!”

Tom stared at Ron and then looked at Harry, Hermione and Ginny, who were nodding in confirmation. It was ludicrous, but nothing short of mortal danger could bring the entire House of Gryffindor to breakfast so early.

“Merlin’s beard,” Tom snarled and took the Marauder’s Map from his pocket. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

“We already tried that,” Harry said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t think about it before it was too late. We searched our maps, but we couldn’t find where Black had gone.”

“How long did it take you?” Tom asked angrily, deciding to teach the children strict emergency protocols on their very next meeting and keep drilling them until they followed them subconsciously.

“Almost an hour. We were quite put out.”

“The Forbidden Forest, he’s most likely hiding there,” Tom mumbled to himself. “Or he could’ve come through one of the passageways from Hogsmeade.” His eyes focused on the one that began from the middle of the grounds, the one he had not been aware of during his first time at Hogwarts. “Or then…” There was also the Room of Requirement, which was not shown on the map.

The Great Hall had begun to fill up, and soon Dumbledore announced the news to the school and assured that the danger was over and that the castle was more secure than ever. (Tom snorted. Dumbledore had said the same after Hallowe’en.) The Headmaster looked as tired as the Gryffindors, and much grimmer than usual. Snape’s frustration was visible through his emotionless mask. And Lupin… was it guilt Tom could see in his eyes?

Do you think it is a mere coincidence that Black managed to enter Hogwarts just two months after you appointed his good –

This called for an investigation.

 

---

 

The investigation had to wait. Tom’s thrice-damned prefect duties increased tenfold when Percy declared over-enthusiastically that they had to do their part for the safety of the school. (He had clearly ignored Dumbledore’s reassurances, but, in all honesty, Tom could not blame him. He did not have a Marauder’s Map which would have proven his concerns unfounded.) And so, Tom had to spend most of Sunday escorting younger students and patrolling the corridors with another prefect. (Company meant that he could not survey the map without taking the risk of Dumbledore learning about it, and it would have reduced his odds of finding Black to practically zero if he had still been inside the castle.) At least he could do something useful: he cast a subtle spell on the doors of every secret passage that led outside and of the Room of Requirement. That way he would at least know if they were opened.

Slytherins had suddenly become very anxious to learn combat spells, and the Slytherin Duelling Club turned into a mass lesson for over a hundred people. As the position of student leader demanded, Tom helped them master some generally useful curses. It was almost curfew when he decided that he had done his part, and so he asked Ethan Jugson to take leadership and finally left to gather information.

In the library, there was a section where official Hogwarts documents were archived. Tom took a pile of them from the seventies to his favourite table and checked the map as he had done whenever he had had the opportunity that day.

Irma Pince was in the staff room; since the library was officially closed, she would not disturb Tom. Argus Filch was in a corridor on the first floor, probably studying a minor crack in a wall. Rubeus Hagrid and his dog were searching the grounds for footprints in the mud and Severus Snape was also there doing his own investigations. Remus Lupin was in his room, not taking part in the search in any way.

Most of the students were safely in their common rooms; just a few daring ones were still out on their own. Percival Weasley had not given up for the day, and he was dragging two Gryffindor prefects along with him. Cedric Diggory was just about to enter the Hufflepuff common room. Peter Pettigrew was walking alone on the fourth floor. Sirius Black was not at Hogwarts anymore, and everyone was overreacting. As if he would try another assault while everyone was vigilant.

It did not take long for Tom to find the cause of Snape’s concerns from the documents. Sirius Black had started his education at Hogwarts in 1971, the same year as Snape, and he had been Sorted to Gryffindor. Remus Lupin had been his dormmate for seven years. Yes, that was a very good reason to suspect Lupin of being involved in Black’s successes in entering Hogwarts.

Tom continued to study the documents. It turned out that Black and Lupin had taken the same elective subjects at the start of their third year, and they had chosen the same subjects for their NEWTs. That seemed like something good friends would do.

The pieces of information Tom gathered from the documents formed an outline of their school years. Along with Lupin, Black had formed a small gang with James Potter, whom he had later betrayed to Voldemort, and Peter Pettigrew, whom he had blasted to pieces before having been incarcerated.

Peter Pettigrew? Tom had a strange feeling that the name was familiar to him from some other context…

He snatched the Marauder’s Map with such a hurry that he almost got a paper cut in his finger. There he was: Peter Pettigrew, still wandering the corridors after curfew.

Tom rushed out of the library, leaving the documents on the table, and drew out his wand. Looking for directions from the map, he quickly entered the corridor where the dead man was supposed to be and pointed the beam of light from his wand to the far end.

There was no one there.

“Homenum Revelio,” he whispered, and the spell came back positive. Pettigrew was there, but invisible. Tom glanced at the map. The ink dot was standing still.

He stood still for a moment, then turned around and left the corridor, pretending to have lost interest. Once out of the invisible dead man’s sight, he cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself, the Silencing Charm on his shoes and the Supersensory Charm on his senses. Armed with them, he sneaked back into the corridor where Pettigrew was.

He heard a faint rustle. It was dark, and he could no longer illuminate the corridor, but his eyesight was much better with the Supersensory Charm on.

The rustle moved behind him. He turned as fast as he could and saw the movement of a small rodent. Realisation hit him. Pettigrew is an Animagus!

Discarding all subtlety, Tom threw a Stunning Charm at the rodent, but it missed, and the tiny creature sprinted away, crying shrilly as it went. Tom raced after it, hurtling charms as fast as he could. As they all missed, he resorted to area-effect curses. Soon Pettigrew ran out of luck, and one of the blasts flung him against the wall.

“Impedimenta!”

The jinx rendered him immobile. Fearing that the noise was about to bring someone any minute, Tom grabbed the Animagus and ran away, heading to the Room of Requirement. After pacing in front of the wall impatiently, he wrenched the door open and saw the prison he had envisioned. He locked Pettigrew in a cage and forced him to reveal his true form.

He was a filthy, puny man who appeared to have lost much weight. Even his human form had some rat-like features, reminiscent of how the Ministry witch at the Malfoy Yule Ball had looked like a toad. But what was much more interesting was the weak magical resonance Tom could feel around him. A diagnostic charm revealed the truth: he was surrounded by the Cat Repelling Charm of Tom’s own making, and Tom had only cast it once.

“Mr Scabbers, I presume?” Tom said. “Or is it Pettigrew now that you’re back in a human form? Would you care to explain how you’ve managed to evade death?”

“I-I-I,” Pettigrew stammered with his eyes darting back and forth. “You… I… dunno…”

Tom stared into Pettigrew’s eyes, invading his mind with Legilimency. Pettigrew yelped and tried to resist. He had once been quite an accomplished Occlumens, but his protections were rusty. Tom could have torn them to pieces, but decided against it, because such a mental assault might have damaged the mind beyond repair. Also, the small glimpse he had seen of the rat-man’s mind had revealed cracks and distortions. It was never wise to venture into the mind of even a slightly insane person; there were stories of Legilimens who never found their way back. Luckily, there were alternative ways of forcing the truth out.

“I can summon my house-elf and ask him to bring me Veritaserum,” Tom offered with a wicked smile. “I’ve brewed it myself, but I’ve never had anyone to test if it works properly.”

“No!” Pettigrew cried. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!”

“How are you still alive?”

“I was never dead! I survived Sirius’s attempt to kill me. I just wanted to live in peace, and I realised it was far easier as a rat. Please, let me go! Have mercy on a poor man who never –”

“Stop whinging! You’re not going anywhere before I’ve got answers to all my questions.” Tom jabbed his wand threateningly towards Pettigrew.

“But… but… a-all right, ask away then…”

“I’ll start by telling what I already know,” I said. “I know you were a school time friend of Sirius Black, James Potter and Remus Lupin. You became a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Black was the Secret Keeper of the Potters, but he betrayed them to Voldemort. He then confronted you and, as far as everyone knew, killed you. He was sent to Azkaban, but broke free last summer. Now tell me: how are you here as a rat?”

“Well, as you know, I’m an Animagus, and I’ve just –”

“Start from the beginning! I want to hear this in order!”

“Yes, I was Sirius’s friend. We and James too became Animagi when we were in school –”

“And Lupin?”

“Oh, he didn’t. He’s a werewolf, and we actually decided to become Animagi to keep him company during full moons…”

No matter how many times Tom had thought he had witnessed the full extent of Dumbledore’s madness, even more absurd evidence popped up. A werewolf as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Even though it was hard to believe even from Dumbledore, Tom did not question it. Suddenly Lupin’s uncommonly regular sick leaves made sense.

“… as a rat Animagus I was ideal to work as a spy,” Pettigrew babbled on. “I learned someone was passing on information from the Order to the Death Eaters. I suspected it was Snape. Then I heard that James and Lily had decided to hide under the Fidelius Charm and that Sirius was their Secret Keeper. I was on a spying mission when I heard some Death Eaters speaking about You-Know-Who learning where James and Lily lived. I tried to warn them, but it was too late!”

“What do you know about Snape’s allegiance?”

“Well, Dumbledore presented him to us as a double agent. Obviously, he gave some information to You-Know-Who, but I don’t know how much he did it without consent from Dumbledore. The man is a Dark wizard if there ever was one! All his school friends became Death Eaters.”

“That’s about what I thought. Continue your story.”

“After Sirius had betrayed James and Lily, he hunted me down!” Pettigrew squealed. “He confronted me in broad daylight in the middle of a Muggle city and threw the most powerful Blasting Curse I’ve ever seen. I barely managed to turn into my Animagus form and run to the relative safety of the sewers. I couldn’t evade the blast entirely, and I lost one of my fingers. Luckily, the Aurors arrived in seconds and arrested Sirius.”

“But why’ve you been hiding all these years? Why did you go on living as a rat even after the danger was over?”

“It’s not over! At first, I dared to hope. I spent several days in the sewers, heartbroken and distraught. Sirius was sent to Azkaban, and then I began to think the nightmare was over. I was just going to inform the Ministry that I’d survived when I heard about the Death Eaters attacking the Longbottoms. That’s when I realised I’d never be safe. You-Know-Who was gone and most of his Death Eaters had been imprisoned, but there are still many of them on the loose. Malfoy and his goons, the Notts, Avery, Macnair, Jugson, the Carrow siblings, Snape… they know I was a spy for the Order. If they knew I’m alive, they’d try to kill me so that I could never reveal any new information about their atrocities.”

“So, you found your way to the Weasleys. Is there any particular reason why you chose them?”

“Well, um, how to put this? Their home is not a manor, clean and dignified, which makes it a much better place for a rat.”

Tom snorted with laughter.

“It was easy to blend in and become a member of the family as a harmless, tame rat. Most of the time I’ve been here, as you know, as Bill’s pet, then Percy’s and now Ron’s. That way I’ve been able to keep an eye on Snape.”

“Well, what have you learned?”

“Not much. Dumbledore appears to trust him although I can’t imagine why. That’s one good reason not to trust Dumbledore’s judgement. He’s naive, you know. His actions during the war… well, sometimes I wondered if he wanted more people to die. He didn’t do much at all to end the war, even though he’d been able to defeat Grindelwald. We, members of the Order of the Phoenix, we whispered among ourselves wondering how defeating You-Know-Who could’ve been so much more difficult that he didn’t even try it.”

Pettigrew grimaced and shook his head in totally justified indignation.

“The old goat hasn’t cared about the Greater Good ever since Grindelwald used the phrase to justify his conquest,” Tom hissed. “He believes that not committing the murder of a serial killer makes him virtuous regardless of how many people die because of it.”

“Yes, yes!” Pettigrew exclaimed. “I see you are an intelligent young man. Please, let me go.”

“Hogwarts is not as safe as it used to be. Sirius Black has already managed to assault Gryffindor Tower.”

“Yes, I know. I was there when he attacked yesterday. I quickly turned into my human form when he slashed with his knife, borrowed Ron’s wand and began to fire Stunners. Ron screamed so loud that the entire House woke up, but Sirius just continued his attack. He approached me – uh, no – now that I think about it, he obviously tried to get to Harry; his bed was behind me, after all. Anyway, I panicked and turned back into a rat and fled the dormitory. The boys had also begun to fire Stunners, and Sirius realised that he had to escape as fast as possible. I saved Harry’s life last night.”

“And for that I am grateful,” Tom said and opened the cage. “Voldemort is my enemy, Black is his lackey and Dumbledore seems to be more of an obstacle than an ally to me. I offer you a role in my little conspiracy that suits your talents.”

Pettigrew’s eyes widened and he let out a whimper of relieved laughter, as if he had expected to be accused of being a secret Death Eater.

“I also offer you sanctuary,” Tom continued. “I live in Diagon Alley, and I invite you to stay there. My house-elf can take care of your needs and make sure you recover from whatever illness has put you in that shape. In exchange, you will teach me the art of Animagus transformation and use your rat form to spy for me.”

“Oh, well… that’s nice of you,” Pettigrew said. “I can’t say I’m feeling safe at Hogwarts anymore. Uh… Sirius probably wants to kill me just as much as he wants to kill Harry.”

“Do you have any idea of how he might’ve entered without the Dementors noticing?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” Pettigrew said at once. “That’s where we met with Remus in our Animagus forms. There’s a secret passage that leads to the school grounds. The Whomping Willow is planted on top of the other end.”

“I see. The Shrieking Shack was built after – I mean, I know it was not there in the forties. Is the secret passage new as well?”

“Yes, Dumbledore had them both built specifically for Remus to be alone during his transformations.”

“Dumbledore knows about the passage?” Tom almost shouted. “But he hasn’t advised the Ministry to place Dementors around the Shrieking Shack?”

“Dumbledore also knows that Sirius knows about the passage,” Pettigrew stated. “Sirius told Snape to go through it when Remus was transformed. Sirius was almost expelled because of it.”

Tom rubbed his forehead in frustration, exasperation, disbelief and many other emotions capable of causing a headache. It was as if Dumbledore had intentionally left a route open for Black to enter Hogwarts grounds undetected.

“Oh, by the way, can I ask something in turn?” Pettigrew said. “As a rat I’ve been hearing many conversations that weren’t meant for my ears, and I happen to know much about you, Tom Valedro. There’s one thing I’ve been wondering. At the end of last Hogwarts year, Ron and Harry talked much about a certain Tom Riddle until sometime during the summer they suddenly –”

“Stupefy.”

Pettigrew collapsed. Tom sighed. It had been a long day, and he still had to go through yet another session of Obliviations and False Memory Charms. It was even more strenuous than the ones with Harry and the others, because he did not dare to use Legilimency to make it easier to find all the relevant memories.

Chapter 20: Field Trip

”Tom? I don’t think your Cat Repelling Charm is working very well,” Ron said grumpily. “I haven’t seen Scabbers all week. I think Hermione’s cat has finally eaten him.”

“Don’t you dare accuse Crookshanks!” Hermione objected. “You have no proof!”

“Oh, I don’t? I’ve still got marks on my scalp from that one time the bloody cat scraped me while trying to get Scabbers!”

“Your rat is not at Hogwarts anymore,” Tom intervened before Hermione replied in anger. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you the whole truth, but I assure you, he’s in good health.”

“Huh? What’s this secrecy about Scabbers? I think I’ve got the right to know!”

“I found out that Scabbers was fatally ill and took him to London for proper treatment,” Tom lied. “I didn’t want to give you hope in case he couldn’t be saved. Fully healed Scabbers would’ve been a merry surprise for you.”

“You just said he was in good health!”

“Well, good compared to the alternative. He’s already much better than he was before.” That was not a lie. Peter Pettigrew had already regained some of his lost weight after Dobby had pampered him with food and restorative potions.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about Scabbers,” Harry said, frowning.

“He is, after all, the test subject of my Cat Repelling Charm. The spell has worked for a few months now, and I don’t want to start all over again with a new rat. Once you craft some spells of your own, you will understand.” Tom smiled and nodded in a way that he hoped to be older-brotherly.

The children left him alone after a while, but he could tell that Ron was going pester him again about the lost rat. At least Tom had not needed to use any mind affecting spells to fool them. His Slytherin perfectionism considered mind spells cheating in social interactions. A real Slytherin should be able to navigate past all social reefs without needing to soften the wits of others. If he could not outsmart school children, how could he ever outsmart the likes of Dumbledore who could not be Confunded?

 

---

 

Dobby Side-Along Apparated Tom to his house in Diagon Alley with a crashing noise. Peter Pettigrew fell from his chair with a pathetic yelp and spilled milkshake all over himself.

“Confundo. Obliviate,” Tom cast as he did every time. Pettigrew did not deserve to be aware of the clever way through the Anti-Apparition Area Jinx of Hogwarts.

“You’ll be happy to know that your master is concerned about your whereabouts,” Tom said after Pettigrew had returned to his senses.

“M-my m-master?” he stuttered with his eyes wide. “I-I dunno what you’re talking about…”

“Ronald Weasley,” Tom snarled. “Already forgotten him?”

“Ah, Ron!” Pettigrew exclaimed in relief. “No, no… I was just… uh, so foolish of me!”

Sometimes Tom could not shake the feeling that Pettigrew was hiding something. Or then the Obliviations, Memory Modifying Charms and Confundus Charms had somehow further damaged his already ailing mind. One could never be certain about those who were not all right in the head. Perhaps mind spells affected them differently. Interrogating Pettigrew with Veritaserum would have to wait at least until Tom had no more use for him.

“I’ve been studying to become an Animagus,” Tom said. “My progress has been slow, because I’ve had so much else to do. There are still many things I’ve not caught on. You will help me overcome these final obstacles.”

“Anything, I’ll be happy to help,” Pettigrew said, trying to sound sweet.

He turned out to be a horrible teacher. Some things he had to explain ten times before Tom understood what he was trying to say. Tom’s paranoid side suggested into consideration that Pettigrew had realised that his value to Tom would diminish once Tom had learned everything from him and that he was deliberately a poor teacher. It was also possible that living as a rat had changed his brains over time. Since hexing him would probably not have worked, Tom gritted his teeth and tried to temper his frustration. When he finally returned to Hogwarts, he was not an Animagus yet, and Pettigrew had strict orders to organise his thoughts and prepare meticulously for the next session.

 

---

 

The 1^st of April, 1994, was Good Friday.

There was going to be a performance of St Matthew Passion by Johann Sebastian Bach in St Paul’s Cathedral that evening, and Tom had bought a ticket. It would be the final victory over his past for the destitute orphan who had wandered the streets of London and enviously looked at those who had the fortune of being immersed in high culture. At present Tom was rich, he was a wizard and he was respected by most of those who knew him, feared by those whose interests crossed his and even liked by some people. He had triumphed over poverty, hunger and hopelessness. He had almost triumphed over apathy, bitterness and other enemies originating in his own soul. Once he would find a way to bind the diadem’s Horcrux properties to him instead of Voldemort, he would finally triumph over death, just like Christ whose Passion he was about to witness through music.

But first, he would have to go through his own Passion.

Research about Tom’s family had led him to the village of Little Hangleton in Yorkshire. For a long time, he stood in the graveyard, looking at the imposing tombstone that marked the last resting place of one Tom Riddle. He, like his parents, had died in the summer of 1943, just a few weeks after Tom had been trapped in the diary, and the cause of death had been a total mystery to the Muggles. The doctors who had performed the autopsy had stumbled upon a riddle, the final piece to complete the puzzle. Tom knew that the riddle was magic wielded by another Tom Riddle… but that Tom Riddle was not the one who stared at the tombstone. The killer was his shadow, the one that had continued from the first Horcrux ritual in a diminished and depraved form.

Tom wondered what had happened on that fateful day. Voldemort had come to this place in search for knowledge about his origins. He had found the man after whom he had been named and killed him in cold blood. Why? Was it something he had learned about his father? Tom had felt great resentment towards the man who had apparently abandoned his wife before the birth of their son, but he had never planned or even fantasised about murdering his father as revenge. The past could not be corrected.

The house of the Riddles was a handsome one; Tom’s paternal family had been rich. Was that the reason the pure-blood heiress of Salazar Slytherin from the impoverished family of Gaunt had stooped so low that she had married Tom Riddle the Muggle? Wealth in exchange for abandoning the honour of a pure-blood family? It had been quite common in the Muggle world when the social hierarchy of the three estates had broken down and many noble but poor families had formed matrimonial bonds with wealthier bourgeois families. Well, Tom preferred his existence over the honour of one family, so he was not going to complain.

However, Voldemort could have inherited the house and the lands if he had just made peace with the Riddles. It would have freed him from the orphanage for at least a few weeks. But instead, he had killed them. Had something gone awfully wrong in the family reunion, or was the massacre the first sign of his short-sighted madness the creation of a Horcrux had caused? Tom would probably never know.

The humid climate of England had been rough to the house of his ancestors; it was probably mouldy and in the need of total renovation. The gardener who lived in a humble cottage took care of the garden, but the house had been left to decay. Its gloomy silhouette looked over the village like some kind of monument to Voldemort’s early steps on the bleak road to darkness.

Tom had learned that a wealthy Muggle man had purchased the house but had never lived in it. As he walked in the musty rooms and corridors, he thought about purchasing the house himself. He could restore the house to greatness and take his rightful place as the nobleman of those parts. It would be transformed into a magical court of the most powerful wizard of Britain and the entire world.

But that would have to wait. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort might pay attention to Tom Valedro being interested in the house where Voldemort’s paternal family had lived in. They needed to be dealt with before Tom could abandon his false identity.

While in the house, he could not help but feel some resentment. This could have been his childhood home instead of the dreary orphanage. However, his long imprisonment in the diary had taught him some perspective. If he had lived in the Riddle house instead of the orphanage, would he ever have made the decision to strive for greatness? Or would he have been content with mediocrity like so many wealthy pure-bloods, those spoiled brats who had never truly been challenged in life? Tom was quite satisfied with who he was currently and with the trajectory of his plans, and the path that had made him had been full of twists and surprises; even if given the power to change the past, he would not risk changing even the most unpleasant ordeals he had survived. The orphanage and the diary had been terrible experiences, but now that they were behind him, they had become accomplishments.

The villagers of Little Hangleton were simple folk who probably would have considered the appearance of a stranger the sensation of the year. Careful not to leave any memories of his visit, Tom moved under the Disillusionment Charm and gathered information from the villagers with Legilimency. There had long been a local legend about the freaky family of Gaunt which had lived outside the village, started fights, insulted everyone and set off fireworks, but only the oldest villagers remembered any of the visits of ‘the Gaunt troll.’ When scanning the memories of an old man, Tom saw vague and blurry images of a raging drunken man with a huge, unkempt beard. The old man was quite sure it was the last time ‘the Gaunt troll’ had visited the pub in the village, and it had happened sometime in the mid or late twenties. Then the fearsome brute had mysteriously disappeared, but some villagers had claimed to have seen him as late as in the early forties, downcast and muttering to himself. After that, the Gaunts had only appeared in the local folklore.

So, that had been Tom’s maternal family of pure-blood wizards. Comparing these stories of the Gaunt family to the elegance of the Riddle house might make even the Malfoys doubt the pure-blood supremacist dogmas.

When Tom tried to find information about where exactly the Gaunts had lived, he did not find any memories at all. He considered it a good thing, because it might have been caused by Voldemort using the Memory Charm, and he would not have used it without a reason. And so, Tom mounted the Firebolt and went to fly over the forested valley next to the village. He had the Supersensory Charm on, and he used the Revealing Charm on anything even slightly suspicious. He was beginning to get excited. There might be another Horcrux nearby!

When preparing for this trip, he had visited the Ministry and rummaged the records about wizarding residences. Just like in the memories of the villagers, there was no mention about where the Gaunt family had lived; Voldemort had most likely removed also all documents about it. However, Tom had not been discouraged that easily. An old book about magical genealogy had given him quite exact information, pointing to the right direction.

Unfortunately, ‘quite exact information’ by wizarding standards was not good enough. It served the purposes of investigating breaches in the Statute of Secrecy and of managing the Floo Network, not the purpose of finding old ruins from an overgrown thicket.

But there was another method of finding such places, a method Voldemort had certainly overlooked. Tom had visited the Ordnance Survey, the British national mapping agency, and studied many Muggle maps of the Hangleton region from different eras. All maps from before the Second World War included a small square symbolising a house in the middle of the forest. However, it had mysteriously disappeared after the terrain had been surveyed after the war. It could be just a coincidence, perhaps the house had just burned down and nature had reclaimed the site, but Tom suspected magical concealment.

There was a small road next to the location; or rather a path, because it was too narrow for a car. Tom halted above the path and began to determine his exact location from landmarks. After a few minutes, he was sure he was flying right above the place where the small house should be according to the old maps.

But there was absolutely nothing interesting to be seen. Trees, bushes, rocks, fallen branches… the place looked exactly the same as the forest surrounding it. There were no moss-covered foundations of a house, no remains of a path diverging from the larger path… nothing. The Revealing Charm had no effect, nor did any diagnostic spells.

In case Tom had made a mistake in determining the location, he mounted the Firebolt again and surveyed the surrounding area. After fifteen minutes, he had returned to the same spot.

Well, I have been longing for a challenge, the voice of Tom’s calculative side said in his mind. If Voldemort has magically hidden a house or ruins here, how can a much less skilled and experienced wizard find any proof about it?

There may be invisible and undetectable traps all around the place, said his cautious side. I can Confund a villager and put him to do things here and hope he triggers the traps.

If there were easily triggered traps, animals would have triggered them years or decades ago, his calculative side pointed out. Even Voldemort would not have done something stupid that would make this place feel particular. The challenge here is how to find indirect evidence of magical concealment.

After a moment of silent deliberation, Tom had a clever idea. He walked to the path and faced the site that did not appear to be there. A wave of his wand conjured a small ball of light that stayed fixed in the air. Then he took thirty steps forward, conjured another ball of light and turned to the right. The second ball of light was right next to him, the first one thirty steps to the right. He took thirty steps forward again, conjured the third ball of light, turned again to the right and with thirty steps returned to the path. Once there, he conjured the fourth ball of light. They now marked a square in the middle of the forest, marking the alleged borders of the unseen site.

Next, he positioned himself in the midway between the first and fourth balls of light and faced the forest. He took thirty steps forward, not looking left or right, crossing the distance without experiencing anything noteworthy. Once he stopped, he thought about the obvious hypothesis: he was standing in the midway point between the second and third balls of light.

He turned to look. They were not straight to the left and the right from him, but behind him. Somehow, the thirty steps he had taken had moved him much further away from the path than they should have. Feeling excited, he faced the path again and locked his eyes on the first ball of light as he took thirty steps. At one point the ball seemed to jump closer to him than it made sense. It was a subtle thing, only noticeable because he had been so focused.

That was the place after all. Voldemort had somehow folded reality around the house so that when Tom had approached it, he had somehow moved to the other side of it without noticing anything. The house was practically impossible to find without knowing it was there. Such concealment had to have a very good reason.

Tom mounted the Firebolt, rose above the trees and pointed his wand towards the magical anomaly.

“Finite Incantatem,” he said.

The General Counter-Spell shot from the tip of his wand, but then struck the ground without having any effect on anything. He tried again and again, but appar­ently, Voldemort’s magical craftsmanship could not be simply dispelled, not that he had expected such an easy trick to work. It would have been beyond depressing.

This called for much expertise in curse-breaking. It was one of the most challenging professions in the wizarding world, equal to Aurors. Those curse-breakers who would be able to safely dismantle something that Voldemort had crafted were probably a hundred years old. Hiring help from such a person was out of the question. They would want answers, and if they found a Horcrux from the house Voldemort’s ancestors had lived in, they would not give it to Tom. He would have to succeed on his own.

Tom had learned some curse-breaking techniques from the Kwikspell teachers, especially after he had found the diadem, but most rudimentary skills were useless against Voldemort. But there was one advantage in the present situation. Usually curse-breakers had to work in small, confined spaces like catacombs and dungeons. They had to be careful when snipping the threads of curses and other magical protections, because any mistake might make the curse go off and incinerate everyone in the proximity. However, Tom had all the space in the world.

The most basic curse-breaking technique was the Blunt Triggering Spell, and it was as crude and undignified as a spell could possibly be. Using it in a catacomb would be a certain suicide. Curse-breaking was in many ways similar to the Muggle profession of bomb disposal. The Blunt Triggering Spell was like disposing of a bomb by detonating another bomb next to it: you would get rid of the bomb, yes, but by causing an even bigger explosion than the one you were afraid of in the first place.

Tom circled the hidden house in the air and used his Triggered Firing Charm to later shoot the Blunt Triggering Spells towards it. It was very tiresome, because the Blunt Triggering Spell required so much brute force. After casting twelve of them, he felt his magic starting to ache like muscles after hard exercise. Then he flew away, until he was over a mile from the site. It was time for the show to begin.

The noise was like thunder, and the multicoloured flashes of light were like the fireworks Fred and George had tossed around in the Room of Requirement as a distraction. One by one, Tom launched the Blunt Triggering Spells, and each time a new burst of light and sound erupted from the middle of the forest.

Once it was over, Tom returned to the site and extinguished all fires that had broken out. The house was still nowhere to be seen, but such a barrage of the Blunt Triggering Spells was sure to have made at least some impact, otherwise there would not have been such a noisy light show. He tried a diagnostic charm, and it actually found some magic in the vicinity, although it could not tell in what form.

Breaking the concealment with the Blunt Triggering Spells might take all the magical power Tom had, but as there were some cracks for the diagnostic charm to notice something, he could continue using physical force. It was a method used commonly in the Middle Ages: wizard warlords had first weakened the magical defences of their enemies, and then their Muggle troops had finished the job using siege engines.

He chose one of the rocks on the ground for the purpose, one which was too heavy for him to move.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he cast, and the rock rose into the air. He directed the Firebolt upwards and began a long ascend, letting the broom do the hard work of lifting the rock. He had to cast the Warming Charm on his cloak on the way to the cold and windy altitude of two miles. Once there, he could see the entirety of the Hangleton region spreading out all around him; he could even see the North Sea and Scarborough, the closest large town, to the east. Then he let the rock fall, but added still more force to the impact.

“Amplio Gravitas!” he yelled the incantation of the Gravity Amplifying Charm. It made his magic cry from exertion, but the rock plunged downwards with unbelievable speed as gravity suddenly affected it ten times stronger.

He nudged the rock a few times with his magic to make sure it fell on the right spot. The fall only lasted a few seconds, and then an almighty explosion flashed, only much later was heard in the heights. Fire erupted, lightning struck, the horrible form of an incandescent dragon raged… all of the remaining protections seemed to be dismantled in an instant.

When Tom reached the level of treetops, the forest around the site was on fire again. He had water poured all over the place and then stopped to marvel at the destruction he had caused. The remains of the house (or shack, rather) were now visible, but the falling rock and the breaking protections had blown everything up. Diagnostic charms assured him that the area around the ruin was safe, but the inside was still pulsing with magic.

After having had a bottleful of restorative potion, he cleared the shack of curses with a few Blunt Triggering Spells. Then he conjured a shovel and charmed it to dig a hole in the middle of the ruin; a diagnostic charm told him there was something buried there. He flew impatiently in a circle above the ruin until the shovel unearthed a small gilded wooden box. Very, very carefully he opened it with a flick of his wand and peeked inside with a magical spyglass, barely daring to breathe.

There was a crude golden ring inside, and a black stone attached to it. A diagnostic charm told him that it, unlike the diadem, was cursed with a deadly curse. After a few more probes he was convinced that the ring held another soul fragment of Tom Riddle; the magical imprint was unmistakable.

Flying high in the air, Tom tried to break the curse with the Blunt Triggering Spell two times, but to no avail. The curse was probably so simple that the spell found no weak spots that could be unravelled so that the curse would trigger. After all, as the name suggested, the Blunt Triggering Spell was blunt, but breaking the curse of the ring required precision. It was a sophisticated work of malice that only triggered when something was done with the ring, presumably put on a finger. Well, luckily for Tom, he was not the only person with fingers.

“Dobby,” he called after descending to the ground.

Crack.

“Yes, Master Tom, sir!”

“I have an order for you,” Tom said, and the elf nodded enthusiastically. “Follow the order only after I say ‘now.’ Here’s some cloth for you – no, it’s not a piece of clothing! I need you to wrap it around that ring, but carefully. Make sure your skin does not touch the ring.”

“Dobby understands, Master Tom, sir,” the elf said, looking into the box with slight unease.

Tom mounted the Firebolt again and rose to a safe distance.

“Now!” he called.

Dobby followed his order, and nothing happened. The elf was safe and sound, but soon someone else would not be.

 

---

 

Tom could have chosen anyone to suffer the curse, but any mission involving a Horcrux demanded utmost secrecy. If a villager of Little Hangleton had suddenly suffered some grievous fate that no Muggle doctor could explain, the Ministry of Magic might have paid attention to it, and after the Ministry, Dumbledore. The dismantling of the shack’s protections had been more than enough abnormal activity. Tom had to choose someone no one would miss.

So, it was a prison near London where he chose to go. He checked the memories of the prisoners with Legilimency, and that was how he found a psychopathic brute who had sold drugs to teenagers, beaten up dozens of people, broken into over twenty homes, blackmailed some other criminals and finally murdered a police officer. He was just the right person for Tom’s purpose. He was alive only because the British Muggles were too soft and naive to cleanse their society of such scum with capital punishment. Tom would be doing a public service by being the executioner Muggles should have employed. Despite his aspirations of becoming the next Dark Lord, it was nice to occasionally play the role of a hero and a benefactor.

“Imperio,” Tom said and threw a bundle of cloth onto the floor. “Count to ten, then open the bundle and put the ring on your finger.”

He Apparated out of the prison. He paced for a minute which in his impatience seemed to last for an hour, waiting for the explosion that never happened. Then he hurried back inside and found a horrible sight in the cell.

Only the skeleton and charred remains of flesh were left of the murderer. The ring was on his finger, gleaming with malicious power. Tom could almost feel his fellow soul fragment enjoying himself.

“Innocents have been executed on Good Friday,” Tom informed the skeleton. “You were not one of them.”

A diagnostic charm told him that the deadly curse had lifted, but he did not let his guard down. He levitated the ring to the next cell and forced another murderer to wear it too. When he returned to the cell, the murderer was still alive. The ring was now as harmless as a Horcrux could be.

Tom summoned Dobby again and told him to take the ring to Gringotts, next to the diadem. The day’s excursion had been more successful than Tom had even dared to hope.

Two found, three still to go.

Chapter 21: Driven by the Curse

The Horcrux ring troubled Tom for many days after its discovery. When he had planned the creation of the Horcrux network, he had given special thought to the items that would have the honour of being his anchors to immortality. Four items from the four founders of Hogwarts had been obvious choices due to their connection to the place he considered his one and only home. The locket, the sword, the diadem and the cup were all famous artefacts of which it had been easy to find information. He had added his diary to the list, not because it was remarkable (it was, after all, a Muggle product), but because in the aftermath of the first Chamber of Secrets incident, he had wanted the diary to be able to open the Chamber. But what was the ring and why had Voldemort chosen it as one of his Horcruxes?

The simplest solution to the mystery was that the ring had been an heirloom of the Gaunt family and that Voldemort had stolen it from the last Gaunt the day he had visited Little Hangleton. Hiding an heirloom in the ancestral home made sense.

What was important about this speculation was that the ring was probably the second Horcrux Voldemort had created. That meant it would be much safer for Tom to try to force the ring into submission than doing the same to the diadem.

The soul fragment within was most likely a few months younger than Tom currently was, and it had not had the opportunity to prepare for the confrontation. However, after pondering the situation for many days, he still postponed the moment he dealt with the ring. The battle of souls might leave him exhausted, and if that happened during the school term, it would be noticed.

Instead, he focused on the Animagus project. It had become a matter of self-respect to him: if a wizard as inept as Peter Pettigrew had managed to master the skill in his fifth Hogwarts year, Tom simply had to succeed before his sixth one ended. And so, following the incoherent teachings of the rat-man who lounged in Tom’s house slurping milkshake, he finally unlocked the animal within him.

As was fitting for the heir of Slytherin, his Animagus form was a snake, but not just any snake. It was one of those rare magical creations which combined the deadly properties of both venomous and constriction snakes. It was probable that Salazar Slytherin had created the breed of snakes specifically to be a good Animagus form, because it had eyelids. Tom felt triumphant as he marvelled the senses that snakes had; turning back into a human was accompanied by a feeling of loss as many of the stimuli ceased reaching his mind. As a snake, he felt strong and agile, but at first, he could not move at all. Being so used to moving by using legs, it took time to get used to moving by using stomach muscles instead.

Inspired by the senses of a snake, Tom began a new Spell-Crafting project: to modify the Supersensory Charm so that it did not only make all senses sharper, but that it also made humans capable of sensing such stimuli that they usually could not. The Disillusionment Charm (and, presumably, invisibility cloaks as well) hid not only the wavelengths of visible light, but also thermal radiation and possibly all kinds of electromagnetic radiation; this Tom learned when experimenting as a snake. However, even invisible people warmed the air around them, and that could be seen with the new Infrared Seeing Charm. Unfortunately, using it in everyday life was quite disconcerting as it made bare skin glow with a strange colour. Describing the colour was impossible, because humans (with the exception of some Animagi) had never seen it. “It looks warm” and “Redder than red, you know, like red compared to orange” were not very illustrative descriptions.

 

---

 

To Tom’s relief, the Quidditch league ended, allowing everyone to concentrate on more important matters. Harry all but forced him to come to the stadium to watch the confrontation between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams. It seemed so important to him that Tom decided to comply with the request in order not to damage their friendship. Fortunately, the weather was nice that day, but still the pointless midair mayhem stretched his patience almost to the breaking point. Gryffindor claimed victory and was awarded the Quidditch Cup even though they had lost one of their games while the Slytherin team had won each one of theirs. Apparently, the throwing of the Quaffle was not totally meaningless after all. However, for the first time, Tom could feel some sympathy towards Marcus Flint, whose prize was stolen from him. He had become a much more tolerable person after Tom had subjugated him, and Tom no longer held any grudge against him.

The good thing about the undeserved Gryffindor victory was that Harry finally managed to produce a corporeal Patronus: a stag glowing with silver radiance. Lupin told him that it was James Potter’s Animagus form, and the Patronus began to glow even brighter. (Tom had once brought up some of the things Pettigrew had told him, and Lupin had admitted various school time adventures he had had with his friends; but not his lycanthropy, of course.)

“Brilliant work, Harry,” Tom said. “Literally.”

“It feels right,” Harry breathed as the stag walked loftily around the classroom. “I see now why I couldn’t do it earlier. It’s not just the happy memory. It’s more like a general positive attitude towards life…”

Tom felt a lump in his throat. When put that way, his inability to cast the Patronus felt downright miserable.

“Each Patronus is different,” Lupin said, smiling broadly. “You can’t just follow the instructions given to you. Every wizard must find the Patronus from within in his own way.” He turned to look at Tom. “And that’s why you should never give up trying. Perhaps you can find something really important to you that can help, like winning the Quidditch Cup is to Harry.”

So, was that the problem? Tom never really rejoiced even his triumphs. After every goal he reached, the next one was within sight, and he just carried on.

 

---

 

The rest of the term seemed to pass in a blur as Tom tried to finish his various projects that required his presence at Hogwarts. One of them was convincing the seventh-year Slytherin students of his leadership. He asked Ethan Jugson to arrange a meeting with those Slytherins who had graduated during the last few years. He had decided that they would have the honour of being the first backbone of his future powerbase. Otherwise, they would probably gather around Voldemort once he returned from hiding.

Before Tom noticed, it was the 29^th of May, the first anniversary of his return to life. He invited Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny for a small celebration in the Room of Requirement, which took the form of a luxurious villa with a garden and an indoor lake. It was a pleasant evening of reminiscing the past year and all that they had experienced and learned. Tom played the violin, Harry showed his Patronus, Hermione demonstrated some clever things she had learned in Arithmancy and Ron cast the Shield Charm he had perfected quickly after Sirius Black’s attack had given him the motivation to learn. Ginny did not demonstrate anything as directly, but she was not awkwardly silent in Harry’s presence anymore, which was considerable progress.

As Tom’s sixth year at Hogwarts was nearing end, he had many reasons to be satisfied with what he had accomplished. But there was one huge annoyance that deserved to be dealt with.

The potion he was brewing suddenly boiled over and then turned into a gluey, pulsating blob.

“Pathetic, Valedro,” Snape drawled without being able to suppress his malevolent smirk completely. “I’m beginning to suspect you bribed the Wizarding Examinations Authority to give you an Outstanding grade. Your performance in my classes has been less than satisfactory.”

Tom was so used to Snape ruining his potions out of spite that he had planned his answer in advance.

“Well, certainly something has changed since my departure from New Zealand,” he said with fake seriousness. “But I did remember to stir the potion as I’m supposed to in the Northern Hemisphere. I can’t rule out the possibility that my suddenly poor performance has less to do with me and more with the school I’m studying at. Geez, I thought Hogwarts was the best school in the world!”

Snape’s eye twitched. Tom was careful enough not to blame him directly, and it infuriated him greatly.

At first, Snape’s childish tricks had just amused Tom. He was going to get an Outstanding grade in his Potions NEWT regardless of how many of his classroom assignments Snape tampered with wrong ingredients, and a grown man acting in such a ridiculous way was entertainment in itself. (Everyone in the NEWT level Potions class knew who was responsible for the failure of Tom’s potions, and all the other students sympathised with him strongly.) However, after suffering the same joke for months now, Tom had had enough.

It was time to visit the Chamber of Secrets and find out if it was possible to change the curse on the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to apply to the Potions master instead. Lupin, werewolf or not, deserved to stay at Hogwarts much more than Snape.

 

---

 

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!”

The Basilisk woke up from its hibernation and came to greet its master.

“I want to meddle with a curse that appears to affect this castle with invariable regularity. I am quite sure the physical anchor of the curse is in this Chamber. Do you know anything about it?”

“Your ancestor Salazar Slytherin did many things in this place,” the Basilisk hissed. “Most of them I know nothing about. I cannot wield a wizard’s magic, and therefore it is mostly unknown to me.”

“It is possible this curse is created by Salazar. However, it was my… brother who activated it. Did you advise him how to do it?”

“Your brother? It is difficult for me to tell you humans apart.”

“He looks like me. Exactly like me.”

“I do not know what you look like,” the Basilisk hissed in a way that Tom interpreted as amused. “You have always told me to keep my eyes closed.”

“Oh… well, he smells like me. Does that help?”

“Humans smell mostly the same… like prey. You brought here six male humans some time ago. Then there was the young female who often had strange smelling water on…”

“I mean the one who ordered you to look in the eyes of the girl up in the water room. Did he come back after that, before the girl with strange smelling water?”

“So, that one is your brother?” The Basilisk licked the air, almost touching Tom with its tongue. “Yes, now I recognise your smell. He did come back after I had been hibernating for a long time. He was angry, he spoke of revenge. I guided him to a magic stone left by Salazar.”

“Take me to it as well.”

The Basilisk slithered out of the main hall, leading Tom to one of the many cavernous parts, similar to the one where he had found the anchor stone of the protective enchantments. The Basilisk stopped to smell a few times (Tom wondered if it could smell magic), until it pointed him to a dead end. A single stone was lying on the floor, unremarkable just like the anchor stone, but a diagnostic charm told Tom that Dark magic was constantly flowing through it.

“Your brother was busy with it for a long time,” the Basilisk said. “It did not concern me; I do not know what it was that he did with it.”

“If the curse was originally created by Salazar, it is certainly meant to be used by an heir,” Tom said and sat down next to the stone. “Let me concentrate.”

He touched the stone with the tip of his wand and closed his eyes. There was nothing to be seen, almost nothing to be heard, there were few smells in that part of the Chamber… as he shut all other senses from his mind, there was room for the faint feeling of magic, the sixth sense. It was always difficult to grasp, but once he succeeded, it was rewarding. Magic was beautiful. It flowed like water, but there was also the unnatural harmony that felt quite similar to the art of playing the violin.

“Perhaps it helped your brother that he was angry,” the Basilisk’s voice whipped brusquely through Tom’s meditation. “Wielding Dark magic requires the raw power of hostile emotions.”

“You disturb me!” he hissed. “Get lost! Do you not have any snake business to attend to?”

“That is better,” it whispered in amusement. “I will leave you and flex my muscles a little bit.”

“Do not go out into the castle. The heir of Slytherin is officially away, so you should be hibernating.”

“As you will, master.”

With that, the Basilisk left him alone.

Tom delved into the curse again, trying to sense the malicious currents of magic that permeated the very foundations of Hogwarts castle. Slowly, very slowly he let the feeling of magic fill his mind. With his wand touching the anchor stone, he tried to connect his magic to the other one, becoming one with it and thus mastering it. But instead of the tranquil flow that he had experienced when experimenting with various normal magical items, he felt a chaotic vortex where conflicting powers clashed and tried to dominate one another.

It was beyond confusing, and he could only infer that Voldemort had not actually used the magic of Salazar’s design, but somehow repurposed it to function as a curse that removed the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher once a year. Salazar had used so strange methods of Spell-Crafting that Tom could not tell what the original design of the curse had been. Perhaps Salazar had not managed to finish it? A curse would have been a much better way of removing all Muggle-borns than the Basilisk was. Anyway, Voldemort had understood enough about the ancient design that he had managed to use it as the groundwork of his curse. But the amalgamation of at least two different spells was so unfathomable, so labyrinthine, that Tom quickly lost all hope of understanding it fully. He needed probably a decade’s worth of more studies in Runes and Arithmancy.

But just like he had not needed to understand the Supersensory Charm fully in order to use its design to craft the Infrared Seeing Charm, understanding the mess of Salazar and Voldemort’s work might not be necessary. He stopped analysing it, just letting his sixth sense follow the current of magic. He felt leaving his body, travelling up into the castle. Then he strained his magic and tried to change the course of Voldemort’s magic with intuition.

He saw Professor Lupin, looking pale in his room as he looked out of the window. Clouds were sailing in the sky, the full moon was soon revealed.

Tom slammed his magic into the curse, trying to wrench it off course.

Snape! he cried in his mind. I want Snape! Strike him! Drive him away for good!

The vision of Lupin disappeared and was replaced with the ugly, large-nosed figure of Snape. He had a potion with him. Good, a potion accident could happen to anyone.

Now! Tom yelled and slammed his magic so that the curse dashed against Snape. He tripped and fell, the potion spilling. As Tom laughed, the sense of his own body returned, and suddenly he lost control of the curse. He was sitting on the cold floor of the cavern, laughter echoing from the walls.

Getting on his feet again was difficult; his legs had become numb while sitting. He felt so tired that he realised he had been there all evening and well into the night. Sometimes magic was so fascinating that he lost the track of time.

The Basilisk returned to the main Chamber as he wobbled to the door.

“Were you successful, master?”

“I think so,” Tom replied. “I felt something happening. You did not enter the castle, yes?”

“I obeyed you. I just explored the pipes.”

There was total silence in the corridors of Hogwarts as Tom stepped out of the bathroom. He was not sure whether or not the curse had activated right then or if he had just set a future occurrence in motion. It had been quite an exhausting affair, so he was only interested in going to bed. He would wait until morning for any possible news.

 

---

 

Tom slept late the next morning due to spending half of the night awake. When he arrived in the Great Hall, there was an unusual amount of nervous conversation.

“What’s going on?” he yawned. “Did someone spill potion on himself?”

“Professor Lupin has resigned,” Draco said excitedly. “He’s a werewolf, can you believe that? Dumbledore actually hired a werewolf to work with children!”

Tom’s attempt to take a swig of pumpkin juice stopped halfway.

“What? Lupin… he resigned?”

He turned to look at the High Table. Lupin was absent, but Snape was present, grinning as smugly as Tom had ever seen him. Something had gone terribly wrong with his tampering of the curse.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Draco said, oblivious to Tom being totally distracted. “This was bound to happen, and since he’s a werewolf, last night was the last opening this term. It was the night of full moon, the next one will be in July.”

Tom’s second attempt to take a swig of pumpkin juice stopped halfway as well. He had a very bad feeling about the situation. Was it just a coincidence that he had tried to save Lupin from the curse the very night it had the opportunity to reveal his secret? Coincidences were much rarer in the wizarding world than in the Muggle world.

“If my father was still in the board of governors, Dumbledore would not get away with this,” Draco continued, but Tom had much more important things to think about.

Tom had breakfast in haste and hurried out of the Great Hall. In the Entrance Hall, he was immediately cornered by a very distressed Harry.

“Tom, the Chamber of Secrets is open again!”

“What?” Tom actually had trouble forming coherent thoughts.

“I heard the Basilisk again last night!” Harry shouted. “It was going through the pipes and speaking in Parseltongue! I went running to warn Dumbledore, but then I bumped right into Snape, who was coming around a corner. He dropped the goblet he was carrying, and the potion was spilled on the floor.”

Tom stared at him. He could envision his story a bit too accurately, because he had, in a way, seen it as a vision while causing it.

“He was starting to yell about expulsion, but I told him the monster was loose, and he suddenly turned happy. Then it turned out that Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and Snape’s potion was supposed to make him less dangerous. Without the potion, Lupin became feral and started to run around the castle!”

Apparently, Tom’s attempt to delve into the curse had accidentally activated it and caused an unlikely chain of events that had ended with Lupin having been forced to resign! In retrospect, that was what usually happened with magic when one tried to do something without proper knowledge. However, what was much more worrisome was that Tom had not just failed to control the curse. On the contrary, it had controlled him! Had his decision to shoo the Basilisk actually come from the curse, setting all of this in motion?

“Snape called the Aurors, the Aurors summoned the Dementors, there was huge chaos, I saw the Grim again, Dumbledore Stupefied Lupin before the Aurors or the Dementors caught him and then he banished the Dementors with his Patronus.” Harry was almost breathless. “Now everyone thinks the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is a werewolf, and someone said that Lupin is the heir of Slytherin! But more important is that the Basilisk is awake again! That means Voldemort is here at Hogwarts, again!”

“Calm yourself!” Tom said after having suddenly found his voice. “Surely the Basilisk moves by itself from time to time.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his agitation deflating. “Oh, I guess you’re right…”

“I must speak with Lupin,” Tom said, running up the marble staircase. “I hope he hasn’t left yet.”

They found Lupin in his room, packing his things with an air of finality. He smiled sadly as Tom and Harry entered.

“I put the entire school to danger last night,” he said, disregarding Harry’s pleas to stay. “There is a reason why werewolves are not wanted around children.”

“It’s my fault,” Harry said miserably. “I knocked Snape over, making him spill the potion.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t blame yourself, Harry,” Lupin said. “As far as we know, you were just driven by the curse.”

Tom shifted very uncomfortably.

“Actually, I consider myself lucky. The two previous holders of this office died, and I was close last night. In this situation, I prefer resigning over being fired because of the uproar this will create among the parents. This way I can at least show that I’ve got integrity.” Lupin sighed heavily. “It is difficult for a werewolf like me to find a job. Even more difficult if I didn’t seem to be concerned about the safety of children.”

“You’ve been the best Defence Professor I’ve had,” Harry said. “Besides, you knew my parents. I’ve never had much contact with people like you. I hate to lose you.”

Harry’s words sealed Tom’s decision. Once again, he remembered Salazar Slytherin’s wise words: Anything can be an opportunity.

“Professor Lupin, many things indicate that we’re heading towards darker times,” Tom said. “This curse has caused a decline in the Defence Against the Dark Arts skills of British wizards. Losing you at this point of time is a serious loss to us. That’s why I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Lupin asked, sounding mildly curious.

“You may not be able to continue teaching at Hogwarts, but not all learning happens within these walls. I’m willing to employ you as a private tutor for all who want further tuition. I’ve already invited Harry to stay in my house in Diagon Alley during the summer holidays. You can join us and share your expertise with him and his friends.”

“Tom, that’s a great idea!” Harry exclaimed.

“I would like it a lot,” Lupin said, smiling broadly. “May I ask why you are willing to do this for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tom shrugged. “I can afford it, and anyway, when it comes to preparing for Voldemort’s imminent return, I’m not cutting corners.”

“I gladly accept your proposition,” Lupin said. “I’m your professor no longer, so I ask you to call me Remus from now on.”

“Here’s my address,” Tom said, offering him a piece of parchment. “Come to visit me on the first day of the holidays. There’s a very special person I’m sure you’re interested to meet. He will be there that day.”

“Oh, exciting,” Remus said. “You’re already offering me a mystery. Am I supposed to make guesses?”

“This one may be hard to guess,” Tom said. “But I assure you, you knew him well years ago.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Remus said. He had finished packing, and after shaking Tom and Harry’s hands, he left, looking much merrier than just a few minutes earlier. Tom and Harry watched from a window as he stepped out of the castle, boarded a carriage pulled by a Thestral and left Hogwarts looking wistfully behind. So departed a very remarkable werewolf.

“Who is this mystery person?” Harry asked.

“If I said Scabbers, would you believe me?”

“No, I wouldn’t!” Harry said and laughed.

“Ha, if you think I’d lie to you, I’m not telling you anything.”

“All right, keep your secret. But thank you very much, Tom. You’re doing a great favour for Remus and me, too. Funny how you managed to turn the misfortune of the curse this way.”

“Yes, the curse,” Tom mumbled. “I have to think about it seriously.”

This debacle was a reminder that he should never underestimate Salazar Slytherin or Voldemort. Somehow their combined arts had bypassed all his Occlumency defences and turned him into a pawn. He decided to never let it happen again.

Chapter 22: Departure

Tom’s exam grades offered no surprises: there was the usual row of Outstandings, even in History, Astronomy and Magical Creatures even though he had not attended any classes. It was Snape who gave each Slytherin their results on a parchment, and his expression was frighteningly bitter when he faced Tom.

“Outstanding in Potions,” Tom pointed out merrily. “You have taught me well, Professor!”

Snape did not answer, probably because all he could think about at the moment were the incantations of illegal curses.

Enjoy your stay while you can, Tom thought. I’ll see you out one way or another.

Slytherins in general had done quite well in their exams, and many of them thanked Tom of the change to an academically more ambitious direction. The proud House of Salazar had found a new purpose in taking over Britain with subtlety, and it had become a new custom that older students helped the younger ones. Only as a unified House of skilled witches and wizards could they succeed in making Tom the ruler of Britain and, of course, in the less important things too.

After lunch, Tom met with his Gryffindor friends who wanted to share their exam grades with him.

“Look here, Tom,” Harry said and handed his parchment. “I did pretty well in my exams, and I think it’s you I have to thank for it.”

Indeed, over the course of the year, Tom had had over a hundred meetings in the Room of Requirement with Harry. Only in the beginning they had focused solely on Battle Magic and fighting skills, and eventually the lessons had replaced Harry’s independent study hours. Harry was a smarter boy than most, and he would have become a powerful wizard and successful in his career on his own, but his talents were nothing unusual. He lacked the natural affinity to magic that very special individuals like Tom, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had, and thus he could not become a legend with just his magical skills.

And so, his just slightly better than average talents had been a cause of frustration to Tom. The obvious shortcut had been to use Legilimency on him and simply plant the understanding of magical theories, methods and techniques in his mind, bypassing the phase were the teacher translated his thoughts into words and the student translated them back into thoughts. It was a superbly effective way of teaching, but it could be done to just one person at a time, and very few wizards were adept enough at Legilimency to be able to do so.

Harry himself did not know how exactly Tom had taught him, but he had been awed by the progress he had made under Tom’s tutelage. Tom took the parchment and smiled: Harry’s performance in Charms and Transfiguration was absolutely bril­liant, even Hermione had not performed as well. In fact, even Tom’s own third year exam performance back in 1941 had not earned as many points, and (he had checked it immediately) he had reached the exact same points as Dumbledore in his third year.

“Nicely done, Harry,” Tom said and grinned. Behind Harry, Ron and Hermione looked quite sour. “I’m happy you think I’ve been of help to you. We’ll continue this arrangement. As you’ve noticed, Divination is quite useless. I suggest you drop it like Hermione did and take Runes and Arithmancy instead. I’ll help you with the third-year coursework during the holidays.”

“Yes, that’s what I’d like to do. I want to be able to create my own magical items like the Marauder’s Map.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tom said, but made a mental note to himself: he needed to be careful not to make Harry too adept at magic. He had to remain dependent on Tom’s expertise and ingenuity.

 

---

 

When the Slytherins stepped into the Great Hall for the end-of-term feast, they were welcomed with the massive green flags with a silver snake. After two years of Gryffindor victories due to Harry’s foolhardiness and Dumbledore’s favouritism, Slytherin had again won the House Cup. Everyone in the Hall knew it was Tom’s influence that had tipped the scales in Slytherin’s favour. Students of the other Houses clapped politely, and Snape looked visibly annoyed. Tom smirked at him, wanting to rub the fact to his face that they had won because Tom had taught the Slytherins not to follow Snape’s example.

“Well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore said happily. “I am happy to announce that the Ministry of Magic has decided to remove the Dementors from around Hogwarts. Clearly Minister Fudge realised the danger in dealing with such creatures when the Dementors were all too happy to attack anyone the night Professor Lupin had the misfortune to become moonstruck. However, the Ministry is not going to leave us defenceless as long as Sirius Black is still out there. The Dementors will be replaced by dragons.”

Many students gasped in shock, others were unable to utter even that much. Most seventh-year students were clearly happy to leave Hogwarts for good.

“The Minister seemed to consider the arrangement economical,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling intensively. “I wonder if he thinks Hogwarts will have some other use for dragons besides guarding in the near future.”

Hagrid was weeping openly and noisily.

“I’m dropping Magical Creatures,” Draco muttered in dismay.

“For our graduating students I wish the best of luck for your future endeavours,” Dumbledore said after the terrified muttering had died out. “You are now witches and wizards ready to hone your skills without supervision. For the younger students I wish a very relaxing summer. These are always things worth celebrating. Tuck in!”

The plates and bowls on the House Tables were filled with the best dishes the house elves were able to cook, and the end-of-term feast began.

Returning to the Slytherin common room for the last night at Hogwarts was a bit melancholic. With Dobby as Tom’s assistant, he had put much effort to imitating the same atmosphere in his bedroom and drawing room in the house in Diagon Alley, but there were things about Hogwarts that simply could not be replicated anywhere else. He would miss the castle.

The Marauder’s Map showed Tom that Snape had retired to the private quarters of the Head of House Slytherin; he was not coming to speak to his House like Professor Slughorn had done. Good, one more opportunity for Tom to play the part of the leader of Slytherins. He began to speak ex tempore, because written speeches were easy to recognise as memorised, and he did not want the other Slytherins to realise that he had carefully planned his rise to power. It was better if they thought it all just happened organically.

“It seems our Head of House is not going to celebrate our victory with us, so I’d like to say a few words in his stead,” Tom said and immediately got the attention of his housemates. “I wasn’t very happy when I saw what Snape and Dumbledore had done to our House. As I explained in September, we had lost our way and become just a shadow of what we should be. However, these past months have proven that we had not forsaken our most important qualities: adaptability and flexibility. The day of our ascension is coming, and I thank you for your effort in making it possible. We will continue our journey after summer, here at Hogwarts, and beyond with our graduating members. Thank you, carry on with the celebration. I’d like to speak with our senior members about the future.”

The Slytherins saluted and toasted.

Ethan Jugson had assembled all of the seventh-years near the fireplace. Tom stepped in the centre of their crowd and grinned briefly. They were all older than he was, but he still had authority over them. Might makes right was a rule in Slytherin, and he liked it.

Among them there were proud and respected pure-bloods like Ethan Jugson and Catherine Runcorn who were talented and diligent, but the majority of them were much like Marcus Flint. It was actually quite tragic how many of the less powerful Slytherin families were trapped in a life of meaninglessness. Every generation learned the family pride even though the reasons of the pride had usually vanished centuries ago. Ancient traditions forced them into strict conformity, making them unable to even dream of a life in which they challenged the status quo and forged a new one that better suited them. People like Flint came to Hogwarts, graduated and then had almost nothing to do. They did not continue their magical studies; they had no motivation to serve the Ministry or to run a business. Usually, it was Quidditch in which they sought their sense of purpose. When a Dark Lord rose, they quickly gathered around him, not because of whatever the Dark Lord justified his conquest with, but to get some excitement. Like Tom, they were ready to do what it took to flee the apathy.

Understanding this was important. Tom knew exactly how to turn their craving for purpose into devotion for him.

“Some of you are pursuing a career in the Ministry,” he said. “But am I correct, many of you have no particular plans for your future?”

Many of them nodded.

“As Slytherins, you should use any time you have to advance your goals. Our confrontation with the Muggle world is inevitable, and you know what is at stake. I have a suggestion I hope some of you consider earnestly. It is not difficult to infiltrate the part of the Muggle society which controls the raw power of science and technology. I suggest you join the British Army. Familiarise yourselves with Muggle weaponry and tactics. Use magic here and there, but subtly, and you will earn promotions with ease. It will be your shortcut to important positions in the wizarding world later.”

Tom had procured a batch of recruitment brochures and distributed them among the seventh-years. Over the course of the year, he had made sure they felt appropriate fear and interest towards Muggle weapons, and many of them leafed through the brochures with an open mind.

“For you,” he whispered to Flint, “this is not a suggestion, but an order. Choose the artillery arm. Derrick and Bole will follow you in a year. Make me proud.”

“Yes, my lord,” Flint muttered and inclined his head. He was quite sure he had not failed in his NEWTs this second time; he had actually done quite well, because Tom had forced him to study diligently.

Ethan came closer and said,

“So, this is why you asked me to assemble the older Slytherins. You want to suggest this military thing for them too.”

“Quite right. This is something the Dark Lord Dumbledore does not expect from us Slytherins.”

“I’m actually quite intrigued myself. However, my internship in the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes has already been arranged.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyone can learn to use Muggle weapons, it’s not just for those in the military. I learned it quickly enough. What’s the most important thing in the military training is how to adapt to the chaotic situation of a battle.”

 

---

 

It was a clear summer morning when the students of Hogwarts boarded the carriages in front of the mighty doors. As Tom was accustomed to do, he spent a good while looking at the turrets, the towers, the greenhouses, the lake, the grounds and the surrounding mountains, wanting to imprint them all to his retinas. Next to him, Harry was doing the same thing; it was their common end-of-term ceremony. Then Tom grinned, because this time he was not going back to the orphanage. The journey to Hogsmeade railway station and the train ride southward had been the depressing transition from the exciting world of magic and Scottish mountains to the dull world of Muggles, smog, dreariness, food shortages and the fear of air raids – the world of apathy.

No more. This summer was going to be like the previous one, immersed in magic, learning and fun things to do.

“Well, this time I’m not walking into the house of the old, tyrannical Dursleys,” Harry said. “But what if Uncle Vernon has changed jobs?”

“You sell Grunnings and buy the company that has employed him,” Tom said. “Let’s hope that’s what has happened. It would be so funny.”

“All right, hurry up!” Percy shouted, clinging to his final hours as the Head Boy. Tom and Harry boarded a carriage, and all too soon they were out of the gate. The Dementors were gone, but since the dragons were not there yet, a team of Aurors had been dispatched to keep the students safe from Sirius Black.

Tom could have Apparated to London and skipped the long train ride, but once again his prefect’s duties demanded him to waste time. Peregrine Derrick actually smirked at him when he passed the former prefect on his way to Percy, and he grimaced at him in mock fury.

In the prefects’ carriage, Percy and Penelope Clearwater gave farewell speeches. Tom did not register much at all; instead, he wondered if there was something about boring speeches in Introduction to Public Management. Percy had certainly learned a thing or two from it. He ended his speech with something that seemed quite ceremonial, and suddenly Tom realised he was probably trying to take his first steps on his campaign for the position of the Minister for Magic. After all, former prefects usually did well in public careers, and those who had been under Percy’s leadership might be important supporters to him later on.

“I’ve heard from a reliable source that you will be the Head Boy next year,” Percy told Tom after the other prefects had left the carriage. “Apparently, Professor Snape was the only Head of House who argued against it, but for some reason, it did not sway the other teachers in the slightest. Congratulations, it will be a great asset for you in the future.”

It was downright hilarious that Percy thought Tom actually cared for such things as being the Head Boy. Of course, most Head Boys and Girls had become esteemed figures in wizarding Britain; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Bartemius Crouch, Amelia Bones, Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy – and yes, Voldemort too. Tom had seen the list of Head Boys in the minds of his Gryffindors friends when he had tampered with their memories in order to hide his origin, and it had been odd to read his own name on the list. However, ever since rising so high above his peers, all formal positions of authority among students had lost their glamour. Grindelwald’s rogue path felt much more tempting and more glorious. The path to greatness was made easier for those who proved their responsibility at school; they did not need to forge their own path like Grindelwald had done.

After a very brief patrol, Tom went to the compartment where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting. Hermione was still prattling about her exam performance. She seemed to be adept at coming up with excuses why Harry had beaten her in the two subjects that required the most skill and intellect.

“Clearly it wasn’t such a good idea to take all the elective subjects. I was overworked for the entire year. I should’ve prioritised more…”

“How was the prefects’ meeting?” Ron asked. He had to be desperate to change the topic if Percy’s speech was his preferred issue.

“Dull. Your brother all but admitted he wants to become the Minister.”

“That’s no news.”

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said suddenly. “Can you now tell us how you were able to attend all of the classes?”

“I promised Professor McGonagall that I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Hermione said.

“Oh, come on,” Tom said. “Are you trying to make us suspect something top secret? It can’t be that hard to admit that you covered some classes with independent coursework. That’s what I’ve been doing all year.”

Hermione seemed to be debating with herself. Tom was just about to decide he would use Legilimency on her when she spoke again.

“Well, all right. It’s actually no longer that important, because I can’t continue doing it.”

“Doing what?” Ron asked with some difficulty, because he had stuffed his mouth full of chocolate.

“When we arrived at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall gave me a Time-Turner. It’s a magical item that the Ministry’s Department of Mysteries had created last summer and needed to test.”

Tom mouth hung open.

“They wanted someone to test a prototype and decided to give one to a Hogwarts student known of responsibility,” she continued proudly. “With it I was able to travel back in time for an hour at a time so that I was able to attend all classes.”

“What happened to it?” Tom demanded. At the Malfoy Yule Ball, he had been impressed and concerned by how Broderick Bode the Unspeakable had been able to sense his nature as a former Horcrux, but this was on a whole new level.

“I had to give it back,” she said. “Apparently the Department of Mysteries realised how dangerous such an item could be. I have to say that I agree. Twisting time can be… well, disconcerting. And no, it can’t actually change the past. It just lets you relive an hour. And it can only be used six times a day.”

Tom stared out of the window, angry with himself. If he had paid enough attention to Hermione’s timetable, he would have figured out the mystery with Legilimency. Then he would have stolen the Time-Turner with minimal difficulty, and then… literally unlimited possibilities would have been waiting for him.

Note to self: never overlook even the smallest and most mundane of mysteries.

But the Department of Mysteries was working with things like that? Time magic, something Tom had always thought only existed in the fairy tales about Atlantis! Did the Unspeakables have vast collections of relics that they used to rediscover forgotten magical knowledge of civilisations that were lost or, as some speculated about Atlantis, were made to have never existed?

One thing was certain. Once Tom graduated, he would pursue a job in the Department of Mysteries. Its secrets would be his!

Perhaps it was for the best, after all, that he was going to be the Head Boy. The boring responsibilities would only last for a year, but then he would forever be remembered as one of the two most responsible students of his year. A rogue like Grindelwald would never be accepted into the Department of Mysteries. Tom would, and then he would gain power over time! It was the second-best thing after immortality. He would always be prepared to seize any opportunity. He would not even need to manipulate the lottery drawings anymore! Not to mention the foresight to the stock market! And all of the delicious alibis!

With such pleasant thoughts in his mind, the train ride did not feel as boring as usual.

 

---

 

After levitating the trunks of his young friends out of the Hogwarts Express to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Tom asked to speak with Harry.

“Remember that Remus will come to meet me and – well, let’s say Scabbers – tomorrow. I’m sure you would find the meeting interesting as well, so you’re invited. I’ll send Dobby to get you.”

“Thank you, I’m happy to be anywhere but Privet Drive,” Harry said.

“Otherwise, we’ll have the same arrangements as last summer. Dobby follows your orders and can transport you between Privet Drive and Diagon Alley. For the month you need to be with the Dursleys to refresh the blood protections, you’re welcome to use my house as a waypoint to the wizarding world. In August, I’ll have the guest room available for you. Of course, maybe you would like to visit the Weasleys too.”

“Yes, Ron invited me. There’s the Quidditch World Cup in August, and Mr Weasley probably gets tickets from work!”

“Sounds fun,” Tom said dryly. “But one more thing. As you know, you’re not supposed to use magic during the holidays, but there’s an exception in the law used by many pure-blood families. Underage wizards are not to use magic without supervision and the permission of their guardian. However, it’s completely legal to have a private teacher. We’ll have to do a little bit of paperwork and get a form signed by your uncle, and then Remus and I will have the right to teach you magic outside of Hogwarts.”

“Great!” Harry said. “Getting the signature won’t be difficult. And I think we should tell about this to Hermione so she can join me. I don’t want her to get mad at me because of my improved skills.”

“We will do that,” Tom promised. “See you tomorrow.”

He waved his hand in farewell and then Disapparated, almost instantly arriving in the library of his home away from home.

Chapter 23: Old Friends

Historians were usually able to list numerous signs indicating coming upheavals like wars and revolutions even if they went unnoticed by the contemporaries. Tom had lived in the thirties and believed in peace for their time. But in 1994, he was confident that he was not missing the clear signs of the approaching storm. Voldemort had tried to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, and Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban and attacked Hogwarts. They were not separate incidents, but signs which future historians would consider blatantly obvious omens of what was to come.

But during those days that should have been used to get prepared, the Daily Prophet was full of the approaching Quidditch World Cup! Cornelius Fudge was offered spotlight as the host of that expensive spectacle, and nothing else seemed to interest him. He was exactly the kind of weak leader who would cause difficult times for his nation. Dumbledore should have tugged his reins, but being proactive was simply not his style.

Well, the coming turmoil would open many possibilities for an ambitious Slytherin. The devastation Fudge’s ineptitude would cause was going to be Tom’s ascension.

 

---

 

Tom had been more than half expecting Peter Pettigrew to run away at some point before the end of the school year. He had not been very kind to his guest except by offering him hospitality, and Pettigrew knew Tom would soon send him on spying missions. However, Pettigrew was still there even after Tom told him that he was about to meet Remus Lupin and Harry Potter who would thus learn his secret. Perhaps the long years of easy life as a pet had spoiled him so that he simply could not have survived on his own. Of course, there was also the threat that Tom would alert the former Death Eaters and tell them about his survival; he probably regretted revealing his greatest fear to Tom.

“I-it’s so g-good to meet R-remus again,” he said, fidgeting his fingers and destroying a quill.

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“Um… ah… it’s been so long.”

“You know, you could’ve met him at any point at Hogwarts when you were both there for months.”

Pettigrew decided not to react to the remark. He stared at the door, sweating slightly. His nervousness was way over scale because it was still an hour until Harry and Remus were to arrive. Tom let him languish in his discomfort and continued reading the Daily Prophet.

When it was time for the arrival of Harry and Remus, Tom asked Pettigrew to turn into his rat form. He did so and retired to a corner of the room. Soon Tom heard the usual bang of Apparition from another room, followed by the voices of Harry and Dobby.

“Right on time,” Tom said as Harry entered the room and greeted him. “Let’s see how punctual Remus is.”

Tom had barely managed to say the words when the doorbell rang. Dobby hurried to the front door and returned after a while with Remus.

“Good day, Tom, Harry,” the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher said, looking around. “Isn’t this Hogwarts style? I would’ve imagined you’d have wanted something to remind you of New Zealand.”

“Actually, this is the style of my original home,” Tom said with deviously misleading honesty. “The Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand was established by British witches and wizards who had studied at Hogwarts. They tried to imitate Hogwarts castle as faithfully as possible.”

“You lived in the Academy building?”

“Sure, we all did. The community is not large, and it’s simply practical that everyone lives in or in the vicinity of the Academy.” Tom had not quite perfected his lies about New Zealand, which meant it was time for a change of topic. “Now that you’re both here, we’d better meet with the person you came here for.”

Harry and Remus gathered around a table, and Tom went to fetch the nervous Animagus from the corner.

“This is the person I invited you to meet,” he said and placed Pettigrew the rat on the table.

“Scabbers?!” Harry exclaimed incredulously. “You said – you really meant Scabbers? Why?!”

“What kind of a joke is this?” Remus asked.

“That rat is Ron’s pet!” Harry explained. “He fell ill, and Tom said he took him here for treatment.”

“Tom, Tom, you appear to be quite a prankster,” Remus said, unable to suppress a smile. “My childhood friends were just like you. Oh, how often they did something like this.”

“They pranked you with a rat?” Tom asked. “I believe they did. Or at least one of them did. Turning into a rat like this was probably Peter Pettigrew’s special expertise?”

Remus suddenly grabbed the front of his robe as if suffering from a heart attack.

“It can’t be,” he whispered, getting a confused look from Harry. “It can’t be! Peter?!”

“Time to reveal your true form, Mr Pettigrew,” Tom said.

The rat nodded and turned into a human in a blur. Harry yelped in surprise and Remus grabbed the back rest of a chair for support.

“R-remus, my friend,” Pettigrew said and came down from the table. “And H-harry… nice to finally meet you like this.”

“Um – who are you?” Harry asked.

“He is Peter Pettigrew,” Tom said. “The fourth member of the gang formed also by your father, Remus and Sirius Black. I told you about him last summer. He was believed to have been killed by Sirius Black the day after your parents were killed. But he survived. He can tell you the details.”

Remus had recovered from his initial shock.

“So, Sirius didn’t get you, after all? But tell me… why did you disappear like that? I lost four of my best friends in less than twenty-four hours. It was devastating. It would’ve given me some consolation if I had known that at least you were still alive.”

“I’m so sorry, Remus,” Pettigrew wailed. “I don’t know what happened to me… I somehow snapped. It was madness to think I could stop Sirius, but I tried anyway. It took me days to recover from the shock… Lily and James dead, Sirius turning against me and blasting the Muggles, losing my finger and a great deal of blood. I just… I wanted to leave everything behind. My life was already ruined…”

Remus’s hurt expression softened as Pettigrew sobbed about those horrible days when both their worlds had suddenly turned upside down, and Tom added Remus to his list of people who could be manipulated with sentimental means.

“I… I understand,” Remus said sadly. “Many members of the Order secluded after the chaos of the war. I, too, thought about starting over somewhere else…”

The two adults mumbled about the horrors they had gone through, but then Harry’s bright voice interrupted them.

“How did you find about Mr Pettigrew, Tom?”

“It was the night after Black attacked your dormitory. I simply noticed him on the Marauder’s Map.”

“The map?” Remus cried suddenly. “Did you say the Marauder’s Map?”

“How do you know about it?” Tom asked sharply.

“We created it… Peter, James, Sirius and me. We called ourselves the Marauders.”

“Moony,” Tom mumbled, staring at the werewolf. “And Wormtail, of course.”

“You’ve got the map? How?”

“Fred and George gave it to me,” Harry said. “They had stolen it from Mr Filch. I gave it to Tom, who duplicated it.”

“Really? That’s impressive. How did you do it?”

“Tell me first how you created the first one,” Tom said, unwilling to reveal anything that had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets.

“It took us years, but eventually we found an anchor stone of the protective enchantments of Hogwarts in the Forbidden Forest,” Remus said. “We tried many things with it, and it was mostly luck that we tapped into the enchantment that tracks everyone. We didn’t put any of our own magical strength into the map, and I think it gets its power from the nexus of magic that’s located somewhere beneath the castle.”

“Yes, so I figured. It was probably the same anchor stone that I found.”

“Was my father Padfoot or Prongs?” Harry asked.

“He was Prongs. The names came from the Animagus forms. Padfoot is Sirius… he transformed into a huge, black dog. Every once in  while he scared younger stu­dents, pretending to be the Grim.”

Harry paled suddenly.

“The Grim? You meant… that was Sirius Black? I saw the Grim two times during the school year!”

“Sirius was sneaking around the grounds almost the entire year,” Pettigrew said. “I’m sure he came through the passageway from the Shrieking Shack.”

“Of course!” Remus said, smacking his palm against his forehead. “After Hallowe’en the staff tried to figure out how he got past the Dementors. I know Severus suspected me of helping him. However, Dumbledore was quite sure he had used some unknown Dark magic. But the truth was that simple!”

“And now we’re getting to the reason I asked you all to come here,” Tom said. “Dumbledore’s actions have made me wonder if he has some strange motivations. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Remus, but there never were any Dementors guarding the Shrieking Shack even though Dumbledore knows full well there is a passageway to the grounds and that Black knows about it too. Don’t you think he did not take the threat seriously enough?”

“Ah, well – I, too, forgot about the passageway, as did Severus, it seems.”

“I could overlook one or two such incidents, but with him it seems to be a habit, which makes me suspect something more sinister than simple sloppiness. Mr Pettigrew, could you please tell Remus and Harry what you told me about serving under Dumbledore in the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Well,” Pettigrew began, “in all honesty, Remus, one of the reasons I decided to leave everything behind was that I didn’t want to continue in Dumbledore’s service. When we joined the Order, I did admire him. He had defeated Grindelwald, after all, and he was the only one You-Know-Who ever feared. But when I observed him closer, I quickly lost my respect and trust.”

“You said to me, sometimes I wondered if he wanted more people to die,” Tom said. He remembered those words well, because he had made similar conclusions from the Headmaster’s actions.

“It really seemed so! Didn’t you, Remus, ever wonder why Dumbledore was so passive throughout the war? Ten years of horror, but he just waited!”

“I think you’re far too harsh to Dumbledore,” Remus said tightly. “And Tom, you have incomplete information of what happened during those years. No one knew where Voldemort was hiding, or where he would attack next. It wasn’t exactly a war, but a series of terrorist strikes.”

“I’m aware of that,” Tom said, “but it is possible to adapt to such a situation too. Was Dumbledore the first one to rush to wherever the Death Eaters had attacked? No, he stayed at Hogwarts, running a school while people were dying, for Merlin’s sake! Did he ever try to lure Voldemort into a trap? He could have limited Voldemort’s influence by arresting those pure-blood leaders who were obviously Voldemort’s supporters. Can you come up with excuses for these omissions?”

Remus was almost pulling his greying hair in frustration.

“Look, I can’t say that I know everything Dumbledore did or didn’t do during the war…”

“My point is,” Tom interrupted, “that whatever Dumbledore’s strategy was, it was very ineffective. If that is all he’s capable of, we cannot rely on his leadership when the next war begins. Voldemort’s return is inevitable. He will find a way to a physical body sooner or later, and he will have his revenge. In fact, he may already be back. How would we know about it?”

Pettigrew was sweating nervously again.

“Um, Professor – I mean, Remus?” Harry said. “Dumbledore is not infallible, and he certainly admits it himself. You don’t know Tom as well as I do, and I know he has talent for military thinking. I’m interested to hear what he’s suggesting.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Harry,” Tom said. “My suggestion is that we begin our own preparations for the coming conflict and do so regardless of what Dumbledore does. Kind of another Order of the Phoenix but led by people who know what they’re doing.”

“You’d have me to go against Dumbledore?” Remus said defiantly.

“No, just to ignore him. He is so passive that I think it would be wisest to act as if he didn’t exist. We cannot rely on him to save us, or even to help us.”

“Tom, I want you to know that I owe everything to Dumbledore. He allowed me to come to Hogwarts, he trusted me when so many werewolves allied with Voldemort, he employed me as a teacher…”

“But he also left you alone right after you had lost all your friends, because you had served your purpose in the war that had ended,” Tom pointed out. “He made you the Defence teacher, making you the target of the curse that had been the death of the two previous teachers. To me it seems quite obvious that you are just a disposable tool for Dumbledore.”

Tom’s words were like a kick to the stomach for Remus.

“Remus,” Pettigrew said, “please consider it. You must see that Dumbledore is not the hero you’ve always wanted to believe he is. It wasn’t easy for me either to reconsider my opinion of him, but I had to do it.”

“Besides, look how much help he has been to you recently. You’re unemployed again, and now the entire Britain knows your secret. In retrospect, it was obvious this was the result of your year as the Defence teacher. Unlike Dumbledore, I’m not asking you to join my organisation as a volunteer combatant who only gets a pat on the head as a reward. As I said, I’m willing to employ you to teach us whatever you can. Even if you don’t believe in my reasoning – yet – you have a very good reason to accept my proposition.”

“And I do accept it, I already did when we talked about it before I left Hogwarts. Just, please, I don’t want to be a part of a conspiracy that opposes Dumbledore in any way. If he asks my help again, I will help him. And I hope you’ll be open-minded towards him. If he turns out to be better at opposing Voldemort than you think now, you should be able to admit that you were wrong.”

“I am a Slytherin, remember. I never believe in what I want to be true. I am always in the process of questioning myself, and observations and logic are more important to me than my preferences.”

“That sounds quite Ravenclaw to me,” Remus remarked.

“Yes, but to Ravenclaws that way of thinking is important in itself. To me it is but a means of achieving my ambitions.”

“What is it that you plan this, um, Order of Valedro to do?” Pettigrew asked.

“Well, Remus will teach Harry spells and generally useful skills. Hermione is also interested to study during the summer. I will continue my plans with my fellow Slytherins. I’ve already given some of them interesting things to do, and that means they’re unlikely to join Voldemort when the next war begins. Our goal is to end the war very quickly.”

“The House of Slytherin has changed a lot after our school years in the seventies,” Remus said. “There were secret fan clubs of Voldemort and everything. Some of the oldest Slytherins were really threatening, and many of them joined Voldemort the very day they graduated. I was surprised to find out that things had changed so much for the better.”

“Tom was the most important cause for the change,” Harry said. “It’s still hard to believe that Draco Malfoy of all people was the one who saved me after I fell from my broom.”

“Speculations and conspiracy theories have always been a part of the discussion in Slytherin, but this year there was something quite unusual,” Tom said. “I think it may have something to do with the change as well. Someone suggested that Voldemort was actually Dumbledore in disguise.”

“WHAT?” Harry and Remus cried in unison.

“I argued against it,” Tom lied, “but in all honesty, the theory was surprisingly difficult to debunk. As Dumbledore never confronted Voldemort, they were never observed as separate people. The theory explains why Dumbledore wasn’t very keen on ending the war, and also how the war ended so very favourably for Dumbledore’s political positions. Etcetera.”

“That’s the most far-fetched thing I’ve ever heard,” Remus mumbled. He looked so shocked that Tom was sure the theory did not actually seem that outlandish to him. Another seed of doubt was planted!

“I don’t believe it,” Tom said. “Harry, didn’t you see Voldemort and Dumbledore at the same time during that Philosopher’s Stone incident?”

“Er… actually, I had already fainted when Dumbledore arrived to save me,” Harry said.

“Oh, how convenient… but anyway, speculation will not take us anywhere. We need more information about what Dumbledore does and doesn’t do. That means we need a spy.”

Tom turned to look at Pettigrew, who flinched. He had clearly feared and expected this. Tom was, of course, mostly interested in Dumbledore’s possible nefarious plan for the Greater Evil, the one he had begun to suspect after the Patronus lesson, but that was something he was not ready to speak with anyone.

“We’ll put your spying skills to good use,” Tom continued. “I want you to return to Hogwarts, but instead of just slacking like a parasite, you will keep a very close watch on Dumbledore. In his office. I want to know everything the old schemer is doing when no one is supposed to be seeing.”

“Really? You want me to spy on Dumbledore in his office?” Pettigrew squealed hysterically. “There’s no way I’ll not be caught!”

“Dumbledore is not known of tight security. Black waltzing in and out undetected should be proof enough of that.”

“But surely his office is a whole different matter!”

“So you refuse to do it?”

“Of course! I’m not suicidal!”

Tom looked at him sternly. Harry and Remus were clearly about to object to spying Dumbledore, and so Tom quickly came up with another task.

“Fine, I’ve got another option for you, one potentially even more interesting. The Department of Mysteries in the Ministry.” Pettigrew’s eyes widened and he began to gasp as if hyperventilating. “I know they study the most esoteric mysteries known to wizardkind. Life and death, mind and soul, time and space, the very nature of magic… Atlantean secrets. I’m sure the Unspeakables have hoarded all knowledge there is about Atlantis in their archives.”

“But… Atlantis is just a myth!”

“I know it is a myth, but is it just a myth? That is what I want to know. It is irrelevant if it really was a magical civilisation beyond our wildest dreams. What is relevant is that all wizards with ambition to master the true potential of magic have been interested in it. Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort and now I. Even if it’s just a dead end, I want to see it for myself.”

“Isn’t that quite extreme?” Remus asked. “There’s a reason for the Department of Mysteries being closed from the public.”

“We’re preparing for a war,” Tom reminded him. “And Voldemort has inside information. Surely you’ve heard of Augustus Rookwood?”

Rookwood had been at Hogwarts with Tom for three years. As an older student, he had not become one of those who had gathered around Tom and accepted him as leader, but they had become acquainted through the Slug Club, and at some point afterwards Voldemort had recruited him. He had been one of the cleverest students of his year, which had opened him the way to the Department of Mysteries. What secrets he had leaked to Voldemort, Tom did not know, but the punishment had been life sentence in Azkaban.

“You really want a Time-Turner, don’t you?” Harry asked.

“With that single thing we would win the war before it would even start – literally,” Tom said. “Imagine if your parents had had one that fateful night.”

Pettigrew looked like a trapped rat with a desperate urge to escape.

“Peter, if I recall correctly, you talked about sneaking into the Department of Mysteries during our sixth year,” Remus said. Tom had expected more opposition from him, and he seemed to notice Tom’s surprised glance, because he explained, “I have no love or much respect for the Ministry. I’m currently being harassed by a bunch of anti-werewolf bureaucrats who’d like to retroactively criminalise my tenure at Hogwarts.”

“It’s time for you to earn your keep,” Tom said to Pettigrew. “This is your task in our new secret society. Perfect for someone who’s not supposed to be alive. If they manage to catch you, you can claim you somehow came through the Veil of Death. You won’t be punished for that.”

“But if they decide to send me back?” Pettigrew squeaked. Tom merely shrugged in reply; it was difficult to reassure such a coward. The silence was starting to become awkward, but luckily Harry changed the topic.

“Have you already made a lesson plan for the summer?” he asked Remus.

“Yes, I’m thinking of taking you to the Creature Reserves in Wales. There we can also practice the fourth-year spells and so on. Tom, is it okay if I go through these plans with Harry now?”

“Yes, I think that was all I’d planned for us today,” Tom said. He had quite a list of things to do during the summer, and seeking out more Horcruxes and planning the theft of a Time-Turner were of much higher priority than socialising with these people.

“Peter, do you have time later?” Remus asked. “I want to know everything you’ve been up to after our last meeting.”

“Sure,” Pettigrew said, suddenly looking uneasy again. He clearly did not like talking about himself. “I’d really like to…”

Pettigrew followed Harry and Remus out of the room, but not before glancing briefly back at Tom who held a brochure in had hand about the Ministry of Magic, its departments and the underground complex it was located in. Pettigrew gulped and hurried out.

 

---

 

Peter Pettigrew did not return that evening, or the next. Remus grew concerned; he told that his old friend had appeared alarmingly nervous, almost on the verge of a mental breakdown, and very unwilling to speak about anything.

Salazar had said that anything could be an opportunity, but Tom could not imagine what opportunity there might be in Pettigrew running away. Well, at least he did not need to endure the rat-man’s irritating presence anymore. Besides, it had been clear from the beginning that he would not have agreed to risk his life in order to spy for Tom. Perhaps it was better this way. One did not become the Dark Lord by clinging to lost causes.

 

---

 

It was rare for Albus Dumbledore to blame himself for not only disregarding something important but being completely oblivious to it. Yet such was the case of a certain wizard who had been imprisoned in Azkaban because of a mass murder committed by another.

Once the school year at Hogwarts had ended, Dumbledore visited St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Miriam Strout, the Healer who was in charge of the long-term patients, welcomed him to the ward where he had taken the scapegoat.

“How is he?” Dumbledore asked.

“Slightly better,” Healer Strout replied. “After such a long exposure to Dementors, I am surprised he has recovered even this much.”

Dumbledore halted next to a bed. The wizard in it looked back at him, chewing chocolate. Unfortunately, even the massive pile of it stacked on the nightstand would never undo what the Dementors had done.

“Morfin Gaunt,” Dumbledore said slowly and clearly. “Descendant of Salazar Slytherin?”

“Yep,” croaked the wizard in the bed. “Pure blood for a thousand years. Much purer'n yours, I’m sure.”

When Dumbledore had heard that Morfin Gaunt had been sentenced to Azkaban for life, he had immediately written him off as dead. So few prisoners lasted much longer than a year, but perhaps Gaunt’s wretched living conditions had made him more resistant to the horrors of Azkaban, similar to how some Dark wizards endured Dementors better than most. It had been decades later when Dumbledore had stumbled upon a list of the prisoners who had survived in Azkaban for extraordinarily long times, and Morfin Gaunt’s name had been the first on it.

Dumbledore had done much to convince the Wizengamot that the mass murder of the family of Riddle had more likely been committed by Gaunt’s nephew, Lord Voldemort. Even after Gaunt had been released, he had been almost catatonic and required a long recovery time. While it had lasted, Dumbledore had been concerned that Gaunt would perish before he could be of any help. Luckily, when the spring had bloomed and the long-term patients had been taken to the countryside for a pleasant excursion, Gaunt had started to speak again. That was when Dumbledore had realised that his efforts had paid off.

“Do you know where the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets is?” Dumbledore asked.

“Ar, you’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?” Gaunt growled, indignation sparking in his otherwise dull eyes. “I’d never tell it to a filthy Mudblood like you even if I knew! I never went to Hogwarts. It’s full of Mudbloods and scum! I was taught by my father…” Gaunt’s agitation deflated in an instant, and his eyes unfocused. After a moment of silence, he mumbled, “He’ll kill me for losing his ring.”

“You would still be amongst Dementors if not for me,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Will you help me in my search if I take you to Hogwarts?”

“He’ll kill me for losing his ring…”

“You are the last of your line. The only favour you can do to your ancestor is to make sure that his secrets will not become lost to time.”

“He’ll kill me for losing his ring…”

“Why? What is so important about his ring?”

“It’s our family heirloom. There’s the Peverell coat of arms engraved on its stone.”

“Peverell coat of arms?!” Dumbledore shouted, grabbing Gaunt by the shirt, which caused Healer Strout to yelp in shock. “A line, a circle and a triangle? Speak!”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that…”

“Where is the stone now?!”

“I just told you, I lost it. It was the day I killed the Muggle filth…”

Dumbledore stormed out of the hospital.

Mere moments later Dumbledore was flying above Little Hangleton. With a daring swoop that could have been mistaken for a Wronski Feint, he entered the dilapidated Riddle house and used every single searching and revealing charm he knew, but to no avail.

Next, he barged into the cottage of Frank Bryce, the caretaker of the Riddle house, and used Legilimency on him. He wanted to know if anyone had ever found a ring in the village, but the old Muggle did not remember anything of the kind. Dumbledore was not satisfied with that and proceeded to use Legilimency on every old enough inhabitant of the village, but still he was left without the ring or information about it.

Once the village was thoroughly searched, he flew towards the shack where the Gaunts had lived, casting searching and revealing charms all the way in case Morfin had dropped the ring before reaching the village. Soon he found the remains of the shack. His massive barrage of charms found nothing but a small amount of residual magic.

Someone had excavated right in the middle of the ruin. A rotten wooden box was left behind, and Dumbledore used an extremely advanced spell on it. A mist rose from it, taking the shape the box had been before. A golden ring had been kept in the box, and there had been a stone attached to the ring.

But not anymore. The ring was gone, and judging by the lack of the previous autumn’s leaves on the box and the excavated soil, it had been removed quite recently.

To say that Albus Dumbledore was furious would have been an understatement. He had not felt anything like it even when Harry Potter and Ronald and Ginevra Weasley had not been able to tell him where the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets was hidden. In his rage he smashed the box with a flick of the Elder Wand, but eventually he managed to calm himself.

He had been patient for a century, and for the first time he knew he was on the right track. At least someone had the Resurrection Stone; finding that someone might not be too difficult.

Chapter 24: Another Black Affair

During his childhood, Tom had heard much about films. The living pictures had been a wonder of the modern times, but orphans had never had the opportunity to see a single film. Tom had been quite angry about it, but luckily the wizarding world had offered something much better: moving paintings which had bright colours and could speak, unlike the Muggle films.

After his return to life Tom had decided to find out how much the new technology had changed the world of films. Seeing his first film had been quite an overwhelming experience. Films had colours, people could speak in them and they no longer needed a live orchestra for the music. The visual effects were like magic. It could be a great form of art if someone just put artistic effort into it. Mass production of films was disheartening, it was wasting the potential.

Still, he did not lose all hope. Every now and then he checked the film reviews from Muggle newspapers in the hope of finding a really good one.

That was how he learned of a highly praised horror film. Every critic seemed to consider it the absolute best of its genre. (‘Magical’ was a word used by more than one.) It was produced, directed and written by…

… by…

Tom had to rub his eyes.

… by Dennis Bishop!

What? His fellow orphan, one of the two he had visited the cave with, had become an eminent film industry magnate?

There was Dennis’s interview in the newspaper, and he explained the inspiration for his new film. As a child, he had lived in an orphanage, and he had visited a horrible cave. That experience had caused him nightmares for decades, until he had turned that source of fear into a source of inspiration. He would have liked to return to the cave for the filming, but unfortunately, he had not found it again.

Tom burst out laughing. He could not explain what exactly was so amusing about it. Perhaps it was the fact that fate was so unpredictable.

What a pity Dennis had not found the cave again. It should not have been that difficult. Tom remembered perfectly well where it was…

He was suddenly on his feet. If the cave could not be found, it might be magically concealed. And if it was, who would have concealed it if not Voldemort?

Of course! Why had he not thought about it sooner? Voldemort had chosen the cave to hide one of his Horcruxes! It was the perfect place: remote, ominous, unknown to others, personally significant.

Soon Tom would have the third one in his possession!

 

---

 

Tom hovered on his Firebolt next to the steep seaside cliffs that were familiar to him from one of the few enjoyable days of his childhood before his first entry to Hogwarts. It was a harsh and unwelcoming place, but still better in every way when compared to the orphanage. Climbing down had required all magical skills he had managed develop on his own. (Mrs Cole had accused him of causing the horrible traumas to Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson, which was outrageous. Without Tom those two kids would have slipped for sure and found their graves from beneath the waves. Certainly they rather took the traumas than death, especially since the traumas were not entirely a bad thing. Come to think of it, it was quite ungrateful for Dennis not to give Tom credit for his success in the film industry.)

It did not take very long for Tom to find the footholds on the cliffs, but they did not lead to the small cave. There was nothing to be seen, just rock. Somehow the cave had disappeared as if it had never existed. Such an adversity had obviously discouraged Dennis’s filming team, but to Tom it was a clear sign that there was magic hiding one of the pieces of his soul.

He made good use of the Blunt Triggering Spell again, and this time he tore Voldemort’s magic away much faster than in Little Hangleton. This place did not need such strong defences; if anyone decided to break into the cave, it meant he knew there was one with something important placed within, and in that case no mere concealment would stop him. In this place, subtlety was the best protection.

Once the entrance to the cave was visible again, Tom began his normal procedure of casting revealing and diagnostic charms, and entered only after he was sure it was safe. As he remembered, there was the tight opening that he had thought of as an antechamber, but unlike he remembered, the way to the inner and larger cave was blocked by solid-looking rock.

One diagnostic charm later he knew that a part of the wall was a magical creation that could be opened when certain criteria were met. The obvious criterion was that it only opened for Lord Voldemort. Such a criterion was soul magic, which meant the wall should acknowledge Tom too. However, after slapping the wall a few times he was convinced Voldemort had not used that method. It was not actually a surprise; if he had used it, why there instead of the entrance? Next Tom tried to hiss commands to the wall with Parseltongue, but again to no avail.

It was strange. Voldemort had not secured the entrance very well. Perhaps this was similar; anyone could gain entry to the inner cave? If Tom was to design such inadequate protection, he would at least ensure that the intruder would enter weakened. That meant a sacrifice of blood.

A few drops were enough to dissolve the wall, and very carefully Tom proceeded onwards and soon saw once again the eerily still lake, the most magnificent place he had been to before Hogwarts. He could almost hear the echoes of the horrified screams of Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson still lingering there. It was now more dangerous a place than ever; he could feel the presence of Dark magic tingling on his skin, and his diagnostic charms confirmed that the place was deadly. There was also the constrict­ing feeling of the Anti-Apparition Area Jinx; there would be no quick way to safety… unless…

“Dobby?”

Crack.

“Master Tom, sir!” the elf said.

As Tom had expected: Voldemort had not been clever enough to realise that the commonly used Anti-Apparition Jinxes did not work on the house-elves’ version of the spell.

“Climb onto my back and Apparate us to safety at the first sign of trouble,” Tom said.

The adventure continued by the shore of the lake. There was a green glow emanating from the middle of the lake, and Tom was sure that was where Voldemort had put one of his Horcruxes. He was yet unsure how the glow could be reached; the Firebolt had been rendered useless by the Anti-Anti-Gravity Area Jinx, and he was not venturing into the lake which was without a doubt filled with monsters.

Suddenly Tom’s constant stream of diagnostic and revealing charms alerted him to a faint trace of magic. There was a boat hidden under the water, but it was not difficult to get it up. It felt like a trap, but by this point Tom had understood what kind of laughable security measures Voldemort had used to protect his anchors to immortality. The man was simply crazy. He had put his Horcruxes in obvious places and had not made them impossible to find. This cave was an indisputable proof of his idiocy: the lack of protections at the entrance, the antechamber that could be opened by anyone and now a boat to cross the lake. Did he think that if someone was able to survive these obstacles, they deserved to find the Horcrux? Was this a challenge?

The lake was full of Inferi, but they did not rise to stop Tom as he sailed to the rock from where the glow originated. There was a basin filled with ominous green potion, the source of light. Tom approached it carefully, then sighed. Another obstacle? Any sane person would hide the Horcrux at the bottom of the lake, not display it openly.

Then again, he did not yet know if the Horcrux was in the basin. It could be a decoy. He tried to Vanish the potion, then to evaporate it, then to pour it to another basin that he had conjured, but at least Voldemort had made all these methods of getting rid of it impossible. It had to be drunk.

Tom regarded Dobby who was clearly wondering why his master had ended up in such a place. It would be foolish to sacrifice the only quick way out, and Harry would have questions if the elf suddenly disappeared. Would Tom have to drop by in the Muggle prison again and kidnap a murderer?

Then he remembered that he had once planned a secret password for himself. It was in Parseltongue so that no one else could pronounce it. Perhaps Voldemort had used it to open these obstacles if he ever wanted to visit the cave or to take the Horcrux away.

“Slytherin, slither out,” Tom hissed.

The potion drained from the basin, and a golden locket was revealed. Tom chuckled. He should have tried that in Little Hangleton.

“Get off my back and pick it up,” Tom told Dobby, and the elf obeyed.

It was not the locket of Salazar Slytherin that Tom had seen in many pictures. He was beginning to get intrigued. Voldemort had, after all, used a decoy!

“Open it,” he said.

“There is a message, Master Tom, sir,” Dobby said.

Tom cast a diagnostic charm on the small piece of parchment, then took it. It read,

To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this,
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

There were so many thoughts and feelings in Tom’s head that he quickly decided to handle them later. Surprise, worry, even grudging respect for the one who had discovered Voldemort’s plan of becoming immortal.

“We’re done here,” Tom said. “Take us home.”

Crack.

 

---

 

Tom forced himself to play the violin for half an hour before he returned to ponder the mystery of the locket. There was one thing he could tell about R.A.B.: Voldemort had known him. That limited the possible people behind the initials.

“Dobby? Do you know anyone with the initials R.A.B.?” Tom asked.

“No one comes to Dobby’s mind at the moment, sir,” the elf said after thinking for a while.

Well, there was this lovely thing called index of persons, the value of which could be understood only when one was not available.

“Accio Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Tom said, and the book zoomed to him.

Black, Regulus was the only one whose first and last names matched the initials. (Tom thought briefly about how long solving this mystery would have taken from a less competent person than him.) Regulus Black had been a Death Eater, and the brother of Sirius Black. It made sense that it would be a Death Eater who learned of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

Tom did not want to admit that one of his anchors to immortality was destroyed, which was why he read the message again and again, and then he noticed something that gave him hope. Regulus Black had told that he intended to destroy the Horcrux – that meant that at the moment of writing he had not known how to do it. And, according to the book, he had been killed very shortly after joining the Death Eaters. Clearly Voldemort had not learned of his betrayal, because the wrong locket had remained in the cave. It was possible Black had not succeeded in destroying the locket of Slytherin, in which case the Horcrux might still be intact.

Tom’s next project was to learn the whereabouts of the house where the main line of the House of Black had lived. It turned out to be surprisingly difficult, much more difficult than finding the places Voldemort had hidden his Horcruxes. Tom leafed through many books about magical genealogy and pure-blood families, but found nothing, and he grew very frustrated. Orion Black, father of Sirius and Regulus, had been one of the Slytherin students who had joined Tom’s study group, but Tom could not recall a single time he would have mentioned where he lived. (Which was not that surprising, because Orion had been a year younger than Tom, and the role of everyone in the group, and especially the younger ones, had been to listen to Tom, not to prattle about themselves.)

Hours passed, and Harry and Remus returned from one of their excursions, but they left Tom alone after they saw that he was almost buried with books. Eventually Tom’s head began to ache, and he went to bed, muttering sullenly about Orion’s paranoia and wondering whether he had learned it from him.

 

---

 

When Tom woke up the next morning, his head felt much clearer, and suddenly he realised that he had been conducting his research like a Ravenclaw, stubbornly clinging to just one method. Slytherins were resourceful and opportunistic; they fluidly changed methods whenever the situation called for it. So, instead of returning to peruse his books, Tom quickly wrote a letter to the Malfoys, asking for an audience as soon as possible, and summoned Dobby.

“Get an owl, Apparate just outside the protective enchantments of your previous masters and then send this letter to them. Stay and wait for the owl to return with a reply, then come back home.”

“Yes, Master Tom, sir!” the elf said, took the message, and Disapparated with a crack.

Dobby returned after twenty minutes, bringing a message from the Malfoys. Their whole family was at home at the moment, and they were happy to meet Tom. Without wasting time Tom Apparated outside of the gate of the Malfoy estate, signalling his arrival by touching the metal bars. The gate opened silently, and he began to walk with long strides towards the manor.

Draco and his parents were waiting for him while overseeing a group of house-elves preparing some kind of garden party for the wealthy pure-blood high society.

“Hello, Tom!” Draco said enthusiastically. “I was thinking about writing to you. Now that it’s summer, there are many social activities for respectable wizard families!”

That was probably the least favourite part of the Slytherin culture to Tom: pointless socialising, pointless gossiping, petty politics and the gargantuan amount of effort wasted in them. In his first life, Tom had been invited to such frivolities, but he had never showed up, partly because he had never had enough money to acquire garments fine enough to hide his low background. (Only after having been freed of the Trace, he had been free to steal and swindle as much money as he needed.) Many opportunities to manipulate people had been lost, but at least he had used the time to study.

“That sounds interesting,” Tom forced himself into saying, “but this is not a social visit. I may have a lead to finding Sirius Black. That’s why I came to ask where his family lived. This information seems to be kept secret from the wider wizarding community.”

He addressed these words to Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, cousin of Sirius and Regulus. She had certainly visited Regulus’s home many times even though she had been of the cadet line of the House of Black. That was the way of these pompous aristocrats: balls, feasts and other nonsense to give them something to do. It was no wonder none of them had become the Dark Lord.

“The townhouse is in London,” Mrs Malfoy said. “Let me think… number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The house is very well protected. If Sirius has managed to master the protective enchantments through his blood, he may very well be hiding in there.”

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place?” Tom said. “Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. If I’ll have him captured, I’ll let the Aurors know that you’ve been of indispensable help. Good day to you all.”

With that, Tom turned on his heels and left, leaving the three Malfoys looking bemusedly after him.

“Um… Mr Valedro believes in being efficient,” he heard Draco explaining the abrupt departure.

Only while explaining his false reason to find the townhouse of the House of Black had Tom realised that it actually might be the hiding place of Sirius Black. His desire to get his hands on one more Horcrux was not so strong that he would have wanted to single-handedly assault a place where a crazed mass-murderer was probably lurking, and so he headed to the Ministry of Magic. There he went to the Department of Law Enforcement and spoke to the receptionist.

“Good morning, Miss,” he said with his most charming smile. “I’ve got important information for the Law Enforcement. Is this the place to request help from the Aurors?”

“Yes, it is,” said the receptionist, a witch who probably had graduated from Hogwarts two or three years previously. “What kind of affair is this about?”

“A Black affair. I think I know where Sirius Black is hiding.”

“Sirius Black?” the receptionist gasped and bounced off her seat.

Just a minute later Tom was in the office of the Head Auror, a grim old warrior named Rufus Scrimgeour. He looked at Tom with sharp, measuring eyes, but nodded approvingly in the end. It was a good thing Tom had bought the citizenship of wizarding Britain by donating such a huge pile of Galleons to the Ministry that everyone there remembered him fondly. The Aurors might even have got a raise because of his generosity.

“Hmph… information about Sirius Black, eh, lad?” the Auror grunted. “I hope this is worth our time. Minister Fudge is already quite annoyed with our lack of pro­gress. How come you have a lead that my Aurors don’t?”

“I was studying the history of British pure-blood families, and noticed that there is no knowledge whatsoever about where the House of Black lived. That’s probably because the house is removed from the Ministry’s records.”

“Aye, they’ve always been secretive folk, the Blacks,” Scrimgeour said. “One of them bribed the Ministry and got an Order of Merlin! Perhaps he used the opportunity to tamper the records.”

“Well, I learned the whereabouts just this morning from someone who visited the townhouse before the deaths of Sirius Black’s parents.”

“Do share the information, Mr Valedro. I’ll lead a team of Aurors there myself.”

“There’s a prize for the one who finds Black, right? I don’t want it stolen from me. That’s why I’m willing to share the information only if you let me accompany you on this mission.”

Irritation flashed in the eyes of the old Auror.

“Not trusting the authorities, I take it?”

“‘Constant vigilance,’” Tom quoted, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

“Well, you are of age, so I am allowed to take you as a guide.”

 

---

 

Ten minutes later Tom stood amidst some dingy houses of a notorious part of London, accompanied by Scrimgeour and two other Aurors, John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt. They were facing the place where number twelve, Grimmauld Place should be, but appeared not to. Tom hoped Sirius Black was not inside the house they were about to reveal, because he had been able to use revenge as a means of teaching Harry some important life lessons. Ideally, Harry would be the one to punish Black for his betrayal, but in this case Tom had prioritised otherwise. His Horcrux was more important.

“All right, begin dismantling the protections,” Scrimgeour commanded, and the three Aurors pointed their wands between the two visible houses.

They were all authorised curse-breakers as well as Aurors, but it still took the three of them over an hour to unravel the protections so that none of them blew up on their faces. Eventually Scrimgeour wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and said,

“Now it’s safe to break them. Join us, Mr Valedro, if you’re so keen to participate.”

It still took surprisingly much magical power to tear the protections away; they really had to struggle with the task. Finally, their combined efforts caused a sound like a muffled thunderclap as the enchantments broke down. A house appeared between the two Muggle houses, eerily pushing them apart. An ominous door was right in front of the four intruders, looking more unwelcoming than anything Tom had seen in a very long time, even the cave.

It took them a few more moments to open the door, and the Aurors entered first, their wands ready for action. The interior was dark, dusty and stifling. Tom could not help but wonder if it truly was the townhouse of the immensely rich Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was so undignified.

“Homenum Revelio,” Scrimgeour whispered. “There’s someone in here… a house-elf, possibly. But don’t let your guard down. There may be more enchantments, perhaps some that hide the family members. We must search the entire building –”

His words were interrupted by an ear-piercing scream so horrible that even the action-hardened Aurors almost got a heart attack, let alone Tom.

“HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MY ANCESTRAL HOME?!”

It was a portrait of a hideous old witch. Four Silencing Charms had absolutely no effect against her verbal assault.

“SCUM! FILTH! BEASTS! GET BACK TO THE HELL THAT SPAWNED YOU!”

Another cry of fury came from the shadowy staircase, and an ancient house-elf lunged at the intruders, but he was quickly brought down by a Stunning Charm.

“If Black’s in here, he’s now alerted to our presence!” Scrimgeour roared. “Dawlish, you must stay here and guard the entrance in case he tries to escape! Shacklebolt and I will start our search in the basement!”

“It’s perhaps best to guard the entrance from the outside!” Tom remarked. “Black may attempt his escape through one of the windows!”

“Better there than here,” Dawlish grumbled and left the hallway.

“YOU BEINGS OF DIRT DEFILE THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!”

“Mr Valedro, you’re too young and inexperienced to accompany us here!” Scrimgeour barked. “I can’t let you come further! Join Dawlish outside!”

“Fine, just get to work. We’ve wasted enough time.”

The two Aurors disappeared into the basement. Tom did not exit the house but turned towards the unconscious house-elf and showed such an amount of self-restraint that he impressed himself by not incinerating the shrieking portrait with a flash of Dark magic. The locket might be hidden behind it, and Horcruxes were vulnerable to Fiendfyre.

“Imperio. Rennervate.”

The house-elf opened his eyes.

“Is Sirius Black in here?” Tom asked. “Is there a locket in this house brought by Regulus Black?”

“No. Yes,” the house-elf croaked.

“Give the locket to me,” Tom ordered, feeling triumphant.

To his relief, the elf did not head to the basement but began to shamble up the stairs. Tom followed him after having cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself. On the first floor the elf opened a door and entered what appeared to be a drawing room. Years of abandonment had not been kind to the room: it reeked of dust and Dark magic.

The Blacks had hoarded magical items of all sorts. Tomes, jewellery, potion ingredients, enchanted clothing and furniture, all imaginable kinds of requisite. Much of it was probably outlawed centuries ago. It was a real treasury. During his first life, Tom had always envied the Blacks for their library full of publicly unavailable books. Now they were his.

“Look at this,” he admired. “Dobby!”

Crack.

“Master Tom, sir.”

“These foul items are the belongings of a deranged murderer. We’ll do a public service and relocate them all. There should be enough room in the secure chamber in my basement.”

“Yes, there is, Master Tom,” Dobby said happily.

The other elf was standing next to Tom, silently handing him something. Oh yes, he had almost forgotten what he came there for, the locket of Slytherin. There it was, the serpentine S and all!

“Is it safe to touch?”

“It feels malicious,” the elf mumbled.

“Wrap it in this,” Tom ordered and gave the elf the cloth he had taken with him for the purpose. “Dobby, take the locket to my study. Then come back and take all these items home. Keep hurry; two Aurors will come here before long. Don’t let them see you.”

Quickly Tom sneaked out of the room, went downstairs and joined Dawlish out on the street.

 

---

 

Even though Sirius Black was not found and captured, Scrimgeour did not consider the day’s mission pointless. He and Shacklebolt found many cursed and illegal items from the basement and the attic, and he put the house under surveillance in case Black came there later on. The team had lunch in the Ministry’s cafeteria with Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, and a few other notable officials, and someone suggested that Tom should become an Auror. He smiled and nodded and said appropriate things, but hurried home at the first opportunity.

The locket of Slytherin was intact, and there was one of his soul fragments hidden within. He would soon begin his attempts to bind the Horcruxes to him, but in the meantime the locket would wait in his Gringotts vault with the other two.

Three found, two still to go.

Chapter 25: Socialite

Summer was the most active social season in wizarding Britain, and Tom’s many Slytherin acquaintances made sure he would have had something to do every single day even if he had abandoned all his training sessions in the Kwikspell Company, violin and martial arts sessions in the Muggle world and the meetings with Harry and his friends. The most important families seemed to have some kind of a competition on which one of them threw the most spectacular party. Tom visited the manors of the Malfoys, the Notts, the Jugsons and the Greengrasses, and had to endure their extravagant displays of wealth. Unlike Professor Slughorn, who was always present and overflowing with almost childish enthusiasm, Tom grew tired of it very soon.

But socialising was a necessity if he wanted to achieve his goals. However, he preferred to do it his way. In July, he arranged the first meeting of the Slytherin alumni who had graduated in the recent years, and over fifty people showed up in his house in Diagon Alley. Ethan Jugson was Tom’s intermediary in dealing with them, and he was present as a right-hand man. Tom had also asked Draco and Theodore to come; although they were much younger than the rest, their presence meant that their two powerful families approved of Tom’s plans. Lastly, he had ordered Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, Graham Montague, Miles Bletchley and Cassius Warrington to come too. Their role was to show that brutish Quidditch-enthusiasts could also be interested in what Tom had to say.

The name Valedro was unknown to most of the guests; some of them had heard a little about him from their younger relatives, but it was not enough to establish him as the future Slytherin leader he was determined to become. That was why he had to make a favourable first impression by imitating the ways of the aristocrats who had nothing better to do. He had hired more house-elves for the day, he had put on display many of the relics he had stolen from the Black townhouse, taken from the Room of Requirement and bought from Borgin and Burkes, and he also made sure the guests noticed the Firebolt. That was, after all, the main function of any broomstick that was worth three times the home of the Weasleys.

Most of the guests were much like Flint: mediocre wizards at best from old but usually not rich, powerful or respected families, but still convinced that they were distinguished by the simple virtue of their pure magical lineage. As Tom started to get acquainted with them by subtly demonstrating how he was superior to them in every way, he felt as if he was hosting a poor man’s Slug Club. Few of these people would have been invited to Professor Slughorn’s dinners, but perhaps it was better that way. Rich and powerful aristocrats would have their role as Tom’s lieutenants, but unless he was ready to force them into service as Voldemort had done, it would have been impossible to herd just them. These plebeians suited his purpose much better; in their unwarranted arrogance, they felt that their lack of power and prestige was because of some injustice towards them, and Tom had experience with using such feelings to his benefit.

In fact, as he exchanged greetings and introductions with them, he felt as if he did have experience with dealing with them specifically even though he had not. The majority of them were people whose forebears he had known in his first life, and he had successfully dealt with them back then. He would utilise again the methods he had tested and found worthwhile.

“Welcome, my fellow Slytherins,” Tom said after everyone had arrived and gathered around the table which he had enlarged for the meeting. “It’s been a little more than a year since I came to Britain from New Zealand, and I think it’s high time we started actually doing something. I’ve discussed with the patriarchs of a few powerful families –” he gestured to Draco, Theodore and Ethan, who were sitting close to him “– and they all agree that we Slytherins have been too defensive and reactive ever since the disappearance of the Dark Lord. Suspiciously, this has been to the benefit of Albus Dumbledore’s political games. Most of you have surely heard of the theory that’s been going around?”

The guests nodded and muttered in confirmation.

“Lord Voldemort was Albus Dumbledore in disguise! I was the one who suggested this idea, and as of yet, I have no reason to think otherwise. Everything has happened too much according to Dumbledore’s goals to my liking. But what, exactly, are Dumbledore’s goals?”

Tom took out an old pamphlet which he had bought from an antiquarian in Knockturn Alley – a pamphlet with Grindelwald’s translated speeches.

“For the Greater Good,” he read. “To understand the contemporary world, we must not forget the history – although Professor Binns has made that quite difficult.” Some of the guests chuckled dryly. “Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, putting an end to the campaign of making us wizards the rulers of this world. While Dumbledore has, with Voldemort’s help, made sure that we wizards have wasted our time with internal disputes, Muggle scientists have created vast arsenals of weapons beyond any magic known to wizardkind. Our advantage against the Muggles is quickly diminishing.”

After this introductory speech, Tom proceeded to the part that he had rehearsed many times at Hogwarts the previous year. He told the guests about science and technology, and Muggle weaponry in particular. The illusions which had made such an impression on the younger Slytherins were again demonstrated in their frightening efficiency. And while talking, he scanned the minds of his guests with Legilimency, seeking out those who were the most receptive to his ideas.

After that day, more meetings followed the first one. Some of the Slytherins were not interested enough to put aside their Quidditch nonsense for Tom’s plans, but he did not consider it a loss. There were also those who had not come to the first meeting but joined the fledgling conspiracy later.

Flint had become genuinely interested in Muggle weapons, and while waiting for the start of his military service, he practiced with the weapons Tom had acquired for him. It was his task to convince more people to grasp this unorthodox way of securing future power. Tom was happy to find out that several older Slytherins, mainly those who were not talented enough to play Quidditch in any local team, heeded Flint’s words.

By the time Tom graduated from Hogwarts, he would have the beginnings of a private army.

 

---

 

Social manipulation was the most Slytherin thing Tom could imagine, but when meeting more and more important wizards who had been Professor Slughorn’s favourites, he began to wonder if he was one of the very few truly Slytherin people in wizarding Britain. Every occasion when he had to deal with another human being was a part of some mission or another; he never did so without some kind of a goal and a purpose. But, to his frustration, few other people were like this. The aristocrats who were occupied in a competition of giving the grandest banquet were just wasting their time.

Power had been Tom’s goal ever since he had been old enough to understand the concept. Nothing had seemed more tempting to the hungry orphan who had been constantly reminded of living on the mercy and goodwill of other, more fortunate people. His window in the orphanage had shown the dreariest of sights to the narrow alleyway, there had never been enough food and the other orphans had annoyed him with their crying. As he had felt magic inside him, he had decided that he would follow the footsteps of emperors and forge a new world where the blights of the old one would no longer trouble him. It had been a vision of glory.

The contrast of that vision to the pointless social activities of the aristocrats was appalling. It was actually quite shocking how easily Tom earned the favour of the most important people of wizarding Britain. He just had to attend every event, act politely, say some insightful things and let Professor Slughorn compliment him to his other favourites. It was not the glorious way to power. Nor was it a way to the kind of power Tom wanted. He could become Lucius Malfoy’s equal or even the Minister for Magic, but to truly become a lord, he would have to show his superiority and put all others in their places. Voldemort had succeeded in it, regardless of his flaws.

Because of this attitude of his, Tom could not enjoy the long days and evening spent in the most luxurious palaces of wizarding Britain, but even that appeared to be an advantage to him. His constantly bored and unimpressed demeanour was considered very sophisticated. The actual members of the high society did their best to appear bored, but they had become so good at seeing through the acting of one another that they could not hide the fact that they enjoyed every opportunity to gossip. In such a company, Tom was on a totally different level, and they looked up to him because of it. (It was bittersweet irony that he had found himself in a situation where being apathetic was a good thing. The thought made him grimace.)

The more time Tom spent with the pure-bloods, the happier he was about it that he was not one of them. It was a strange thing to realise. After all, during his first years in the wizarding world, he had envied his rich, pure-blood housemates and hoped he was like them.

However, one of the manors where Tom became a frequent visitor suited his taste much better than the others. The House of Nott lived in Nottinghamshire, in a magnificent building which had been an abbey before the Statute of Secrecy. Like the Malfoys, the Notts had been a clerical family, ruling over thousands of Muggles, and they had been vocal in their opposition of the Statute, because it had rid them of their subservient peasants and much of their land. Archibald Nott, Tom’s Hogwarts dormmate in his first life, had recently become the patriarch of his family, and he was not as interested in such frivolous occasions as so many other pure-bloods.

Broxtowe Abbey had a pious atmosphere that demanded silence and reverence, and it was difficult to even imagine Dr Filibuster’s Fireworks flashing above it the way they had done above Jugson Manor, disturbing the sanctity of the place. Tom liked the home of the Notts, because it had a similar feeling as Hogwarts, and he decided to borrow some of its stylistic elements when designing his future castle in the Scottish Highlands.

Guests were wandering around the nave of the abbey in small groups, speaking in whispers, while they studied the animated stained-glass paintings and the sculptures, and listened to the harp that was playing by itself. Tom filled his goblet with blackcurrant juice and slowly walked towards the most promising source of information.

Archibald Nott was sitting near the place where the altar of the abbey had been before his ancestors had abandoned Christianity. Tom sat down in an armchair next to him, and he greeted him with the interest Tom had already grown used to. Theodore Nott had written to his family much after the Malfoy Yule Ball, telling everything about the most prominent member of the House of Slytherin. Tom was not sure whether or not Archibald had any suspicions about the similarities between Tom Valedro and Tom Riddle.

There was something very nostalgic about the two of them sitting there together. They were the only ones who remained of the boys Sorted to Slytherin in 1938. Edmond Lestrange, Roger Avery, Sebastian Rosier and Matthias Mulciber had all died in the war while doing some fool’s errands for their insane master. That was the reward for pledging their lives to Voldemort. David Monroe, on the other hand, had died fighting the Dark Lord.

“On Christmas Day, you told me about my namesake whom you knew when at Hogwarts,” Tom said, going directly to the point. Archibald’s eyes focused on him sharply, and he could see and feel the more rapidly aged man tensing. “I did some research and found out that he was Tom Riddle, an orphan who lived in a Muggle orphanage and who supposedly became Lord Voldemort. Is this not true?”

“Yes, it is so, unfortunately,” Archibald said, glancing around to make sure they were not being eavesdropped. “Very few know about it. He forbade us from telling anyone about his origins, even his name.”

“My first thought when hearing about his talents was that he and Voldemort were not actually one and the same person, but that Dumbledore stole Mr Riddle’s identity for his own purposes. Can you tell if you noticed any changes in his personality before his disappearance?”

Archibald did not answer at once. Perhaps Voldemort’s forbiddance still frightened him, but then again, Tom already knew more than most Death Eaters.

“Tom Riddle – he was quiet and timid at first,” Archibald said, looking absentmindedly into his goblet. “No one knew him, and he was an outsider in the Slytherin social circles. Some of the students treated him badly because he had no magical relatives, but he was very ruthless and creative with his retributions.”

It was actually nice to get this acknowledgement even after all these years. Tom had forced Edmond Lestrange into submission by slightly shrinking all his left shoes. It had resulted in his left foot growing crooked, causing him much pain over the years in the form of squashed toes and ingrown toenails. Ah, the happy memories!

“But as he demonstrated his amazing talents, talks about the ‘Slytherin Mudblood’ quickly came to an end. He cast every new spell right on the first or second try; by the time the average student had managed a new spell right, he had cast it non-verbally, and by the time the slowest learners had managed it, he had cast it both non-verbally and wandlessly! By the end of our third year, he frequently used many NEWT level spellcasting techniques and shortcuts. We came unanimously to the conclusion that he was an heir of a pure-blood family and that only bad fortune had forced him to live in the Muggle world. Most likely ‘Riddle’ was not a family name, but a name given to him by the matron of the orphanage because his origin was a riddle. I heard that someone from a less renowned family tried to convince everyone that Riddle’s mother had been his long-lost daughter, sister or something. Ha! It was a pathetic attempt to gain prestige. Riddle was no one’s ladder to a higher social status, at least not unless it was a transaction and more beneficial to him.”

Tom snorted. The wizard desperate for prestige had been Wilfrey Pritchard, owner of a dingy shop in Knockturn Alley, from a cadet line of a not entirely pure-blooded family. Tom had much preferred being an orphan. The shroud of mystery had been advantageous to him many times.

“Almost everyone in our year and the younger age groups, as well as quite a few older students, accepted Riddle as our leader, and he chaired our homework clubs and other activities with unquestionable authority,” Archibald continued. “When we were in our third year, he offered to help fifth-year students with their OWLs. Most of them turned him down because they thought it would have been embarrassing. Two years later, they humbly asked help from him with their NEWTs.”

Tom smirked. That had been one of his most satisfying triumphs.

“He became the student leader of Slytherin in our fourth year, younger than anyone before, after he totally wrecked Anthony Urquhart in a duel. Abraxas – Lucius’s late father, you know – who was a year older than us, never gained the status of the student leader, and that was a difficult thing for him to stomach, because the Malfoys traditionally consider it a privilege of theirs. After that, Riddle never faced just one opponent in the Slytherin Duelling Club at a time. Multiple people had to team up against him in order to offer him some challenge. Then came our fifth year, and the Chamber of Secrets was opened.”

Tom grew very interested. He had not had the time to find out what his minions had thought about the incident.

“Every Slytherin suspected him of being the heir of Slytherin, but he denied it. I remember him being much more silent and distant that year, but since it was the year of our OWLs, it was not unexpected or uncommon. When he found out that the half-breed oaf – I cannot remember his name – was the heir, we all snorted with incredulity. But Headmaster Dippet was so keen to have a scapegoat that he believed in it, or at least pretended to do so. In our sixth year, I began to notice the first signs of Riddle’s personality changing.”

As Tom had expected: the creation of the Horcrux had damaged the mind of his other self.

“He was irritated all the time,” Archibald said. “He took a habit of casting the Silencing Charm on anyone who initiated a conversation with him during meals. Sometimes he got sudden fits of rage, and they became more common as time passed. He showed less and less interest towards other people, and when we graduated, he did not celebrate it at all. He was quickly employed by Borgin and Burkes, and when we tried to offer him more suitable jobs for someone of his potential, he told us to get lost. Then he disappeared, only to reappear ten years later. I was one of the first people to meet him after his sudden return. We met in Hogsmeade, he ranted about his extremist plans and then he visited Hogwarts and talked with Dumbledore about the position of teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Dumbledore refused to employ him, he was furious and then travelled some more, this time with people like Antonin Dolohov, a notorious criminal who had fought on Grindelwald’s side, recruiting followers. When I met Riddle the next time, he had become the impulsive snake-man he became known as, and he did not allow a word about his past. That was when ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ replaced ‘Tom Riddle’ for good.”

He sighed and looked around the hall.

“The thing that surprised me the most at the time was how little he had changed in some ways. You see, while he was gone, I started my own family and my career as a scholar. There were new challenges for me in life. But when Riddle returned, he demanded that we started to execute the revolutionary plans that we had made as boys! Yes, it had been fun to plan to take over the Ministry and to bring Dumbledore down, but there was much less appeal in it when I had two children to bring up, a library full of old scripts to study and quite a few members of the Wizengamot and officials of the Ministry as allies who were willing to advocate my political opinions peacefully.”

Archibald shook his head.

“I can understand why you think Dumbledore might have stolen his identity, but I saw myself how he changed. I do not know why, or how, but it happened.”

“Well, it is now all but confirmed that Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin,” Tom said. “When the Chamber of Secrets was reopened the year before last, it was his disembodied soul that forced Ginevra Weasley to order the monster around. At least, this is what she told after Harry Potter had saved her. I can’t rule out the possibility that Dumbledore used mind magic on her and some Dark magic of his own to petrify the students who were supposedly attacked by the monster.”

“Why would Dumbledore have done such a thing?”

“To redirect blame? Potter told me that Dumbledore accused Lucius of being uncooperative as a member of the board of governors and succeeded in having him sacked.”

“Oh yes, Lucius was quite livid about it.”

“Do you have any idea what the purpose of the Chamber of Secrets is?” Tom asked, finally getting to the topic he had had in mind for months.

“Besides ridding the school of Mudbloods? No. Why do you think it has some other purpose?”

“Because it’s just so stupid! I can’t believe Salazar Slytherin thought that the monster would have solved anything. The school would have been closed and a new one built. The education of Mudbloods would have continued. And even if it was Slytherin’s plan, why did he leave the Chamber closed, to be opened by his descendant? Its name is the Chamber of Secrets, so there should be some secrets down there. Maybe the monster is one, but the name suggests there are more.”

“Interesting speculation, I must admit. There have been many scholars in my family besides me, but none of us has discovered any other legends of the Chamber of Secrets besides the one known to everyone.”

“I wonder if Voldemort knew something more – let’s agree for the sake of the discussion that he was not just Dumbledore’s guise. It seems he continued Slytherin’s plan during his reign of terror, but what if it was deception? Pure-bloods have been disdainful towards Mudbloods for over a millennium, but never before Voldemort did anyone bother to start their genocide. Do you know anything about Voldemort’s actual plan? I’ve read that he wanted to become immortal.”

“Yes, that was his obsession,” Archibald mumbled. “That is why he named his followers Death Eaters. I think he feared death but made a show of despising it.”

“Don’t you see that there’s something wrong about him? He wanted to become immortal, possibly succeeded, and wanted to kill all Mudbloods. Why? Why would an immortal wizard-god care if the magical blood became diluted? Such a thing should be beneath him.”

“Perhaps…”

“Did he ever speak about Atlantis?” Tom pressed on. “You must have an extensive library, and it surely interested him.”

Archibald glimpsed at him warily.

“Yes, after he reappeared, he asked to see whatever texts we have about Atlantis. He spent quite a while in our library, but he did not tell me about his research. It was Augustus Rookwood with whom he talked about all obscure pieces of magic and lore. I doubt he found much, because Atlantis is so shrouded in legends and speculation that it is probably impossible to discern any truths from the mess.”

“The Department of Mysteries… I’ve been thinking that I’ll pursue a job there after graduating. Mr Slughorn will certainly give me a letter of recommendation. Would you be willing to give one, too?”

“Certainly, but it is not easy to get a job there. I think they only recruit from within the Ministry, people who have been serving in another department for at least five years.”

Five bloody years, just to have the opportunity to steal a Time-Turner and whatever else there might be? It would be faster to just break in, even if Tom prepared with painstaking care.

“But the Ministry is known to make exceptions,” Archibald said. “Letters of recommendation will open some doors; giving pouches full of Galleons to the right people will open some other doors; your… shall we say… Riddle-like talents –” he gave Tom a very sharp look “– will open some as well. All of them combined, absolutely. But you are in luck, because next school year you will have a rare opportunity to get valuable publicity too. Have you heard of the Triwizard Tournament?”

“In history books, yes. Are you saying they’re coming back?”

It was intriguing, stupidly grandiose of course, but it was in Tom’s nature to grasp every opportunity.

 

---

 

One morning in August, Harry came to Tom’s house for a visit. He had been staying with the Weasleys after his birthday, but Dobby answered his calls and frequently Side-Along Apparated him between The Burrow and Diagon Alley.

“Good morning, Tom,” he said. “I thought you might like to know that my scar hurt last night after I had a dream about Voldemort.”

“Really? When did that happen last time?”

“It was when I faced Voldemort when he was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, over two years ago. For a moment I thought he had come to The Burrow, but everything was all right.”

“What was the dream about?”

“Well, here’s the strange thing,” Harry said and sat down, frowning slightly. “He was talking with Peter Pettigrew. They had killed someone, they planned to kill me, there was a huge snake and an old Muggle… I dunno, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Dreams rarely do. Why would Voldemort have anything to do with Pettigrew? I think your mind just mixed various things together. But your scar hurting is troubling. Nothing is known about scars like yours, because normally the Killing Curse doesn’t leave physical marks. But it seems there is some kind of connection between you and Voldemort, something which causes the pain you experience.”

“Do you think he’s regaining his strength?”

“I know he is. There were ten years of total silence, then the Philosopher’s Stone incident, then the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. Who knows, perhaps Sirius Black’s escape was his doings as well? Sooner or later, he will find his way to true life again, and we must prepare for it.”

“Yes, we must,” Harry said, twirling his wand in his hands. “I’ll use more time for training during the rest of the holidays. But not for a few days.” His eyes lit up in enthusiasm. “The Quidditch World Cup final is in a few days!”

“I hope it’ll be exciting,” Tom said.

 

---

 

Tom really did hope the Quidditch World Cup final would be exciting, because when the day came, he found himself in the Top Box. It was a necessary inconvenience, just like the other social events. Tom Valedro was the most esteemed young member of the Slytherin high society, the new favourite of Horace Slughorn, fabulously rich, leader of a group of Slytherin alumni, student leader of Slytherins at Hogwarts, recently appointed Head Boy, hopefully the winner of the coming Triwizard Tournament, soon a Hogwarts graduate with the best grades ever… he simply had to be seen in the Top Box with other important people. It was a part of the image that he hoped would give him a faster access to the Department of Mysteries.

Archibald Nott sat next to him, which was a good thing. He was not particularly interested in Quidditch either, and they continued their conversation about Voldemort. A magical barrier around them muted the clamour of the stadium into muffled and easily disregarded noise, making the evening tolerable. But Tom still would not have agreed to come if he had not known that the Triwizard Tournament would mean the cancellation of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. This was probably going to be the last match he would have to endure.

The Weasley family was in the Top Box as well. They had not bought their tickets, but got them through Arthur Weasley’s connections, but it still showed his infuriatingly bad sense of finance. He could have sold the tickets to richer people in exchange for cheaper tickets. But, of course, this kind of common sense should not be expected from a man who had wasted his windfall to a holiday trip to Egypt the previous summer.

Lucius sneered coldly at Mr Weasley, but Draco nodded politely to Harry who nodded with equal politeness in reply.

Just the right amount of friendliness, Tom thought.

The game itself was in a way even less interesting than Quidditch normally was. Tom felt detachment from the hundred thousand enthusiasts around him, because the Quaffle moved so fast it was difficult to process everything that was happening. The players certainly did a good job; their graceful aerobatics were beautiful in a way, and Tom thought by himself about how much of an advantage their talents would be in a battle.

The teams were from Bulgaria and Britain. Back in 1938, Tom had been surprised to learn that the British wizarding community did not distinguish English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish wizards from one another. Why would they? All British wizards were educated in the same school, they had one Ministry and one central hub in London. As they did not have any social or logistical limitations based on geography, they had merged into one nation centuries ago. In fact, some pure-bloods considered national distinctions inside Britain a malicious attempt by Mudbloods to create internal divisions in the British wizarding community.

The British players were really good, even Tom understood it with his limited knowledge of the game. They probably had totally dominated the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup during their school years. But why was it that the current players of the Hogwarts House teams were not as good? Did one have to graduate before one could become such a virtuoso?

These questions would remain unanswered for some time. Not that he was very interested about the answers anyway. He wanted to be alone and play the violin. That, at least, was a dignified pastime.

Luckily, the game turned out to be short for a Quidditch game. The Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum caught the Snitch in a situation where the British team had a hundred and sixty point lead. That saved his team from a total humiliation; it was a kind of a ritual suicide to save their honour.

As the celebration began, Tom bid his farewells to the Notts, the Malfoys and Harry and his friends, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. As he played a calm and quiet piece with the violin, he truly realised that Quidditch was over for him. It brought a smile on his lips.

 

---

 

The next morning dispelled all what remained of Tom’s good mood. The Daily Prophet told a very gruesome and detailed story of a Death Eater attack in the aftermath of the game, the Dark Mark appearing after almost thirteen years and numerous casualties.

Tom had wasted most of the summer integrating into the Slytherin high society, and now they showed their true colours. Yes, he had no doubt that Lucius and his friends had been the ones behind the Death Eater masks. Probably some of those younger ones whom Tom had invited into his house many times had participated in the vulgar revelry as well.

Insane or not, Voldemort had been right in at least one thing: these people needed to be kept in a tight leash. And the leash consisted of two parts: the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse.

The first thing Tom’s future conspiracy would purge of unworthiness was its own ranks.

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office, reading the report of the Department of Law Enforcement with a frown. The situation was not as bad as the Daily Prophet had written in order to increase its sales, but the news about Harry Potter’s wand having been used to conjure the Dark Mark was troubling.

Dumbledore turned to look at the chess board he kept on a side table. As Sirius Black had not been seen in months and Hogwarts had been secured during the summer, he moved one of the black bishops away from the white pieces. Then he moved all of the black pawns forward.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 26: The Watchful Eye

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

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

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

“The elf claimed she had picked the wand up?” Tom asked.

“Her name is Winky!” Hermione snapped fiercely for some reason. Tom waved his hand dismissively.

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

“Exactly so,” Harry confirmed.

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

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

“But what?” Harry asked.

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

“Why would he have done it? Do you think he’s a Death Eater?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The twins grinned mischievously.

“That would’ve been useful during the Death Eater attack,” they said.

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

 

---

 

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

“I remember when James had one like that,” Remus said wistfully, pointing at Tom’s Head Boy badge.

“James Potter?” Tom questioned after resurfacing from his thoughts. “I thought he was quite the troublemaker. How did he become even a prefect?”

“He didn’t, but he was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. In our sixth year, he greatly improved his reputation, because he became better… no, not better-behaved, but better at not getting caught. Maybe he wasn’t a good choice for Head Boy, but the least bad. The boy prefects in our year… well, they were like me.” Remus grimaced, but Harry grinned as he usually did when Remus told him about his father’s adven­tures and misdeeds.

“I’ll let you know when we have a Hogsmeade weekend,” Harry said. “If I’m allowed to go this year, that is.”

“Have a nice term, then,” Remus said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took a few yellow sweets from a pocket on his right hand’s side and offered them to Tom and Ardrey.

“No thank you, sir.”

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

“I take it the journey was safe?”

“Yes, sir,” Ardrey said.

“No signs of Sirius Black,” Tom added. “By the way, I like the new guards.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you think his addiction to sherbet lemons has got out of hand?” Tom asked Draco as they stood up.

“I hope he’s suffering from an incurable disease and wants to use up his sweet storages before kicking the bucket,” Draco replied with a sniff.

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

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

The first-years looked quite nervous.

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

Many of his minions clapped as Tom headed to the dormitory of seventh-year boys.

 

---

 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m practicing constant vigilance, sir,” Tom said. “I heard from a Ministry acquaintance of mine that you are the Defence teacher this year, and I decided to make a good first impression.”

“Well, I’m not impressed,” he said gruffly. “My eye sees through all disguising charms; in fact, I can see all such methods of subterfuge like bright spots of light.”

“I wasn’t aware of you possessing the Eye of Vance. You’ve acquired it after the war.”

He gave a short bark of laughter.

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

“The downside is that you always have to keep drinking it,” Tom noted.

“Aye, that is a problem,” Moody said and took a sip from his flask. “There are no easy ways of keeping ahead of everyone else. That’s why you need to be constantly vigilant and never stop learning new ways of defence. Hmph. Even though your disguise is far from perfect, I have to commend your safety precautions. You’re wearing some kind of a protective vest, and you’ve reinforced it with the Charm of Unbreakability and cast lots of automatically activating Shield Charms. Very good indeed, although I advise you to be extremely careful with Fiendfyre. The Shield Charm cannot protect against it, because Fiendfyre is able to use almost any magical power it encounters to fuel itself. You’re also carrying bottles of Essence of Dittany and Blood-Replenishing Potion, and a bezoar.”

“I’m not a careless Gryffindor, sir,” Tom said, grinning.

“Add a Bone Mending Potion, a Feather-Falling Potion, gillyweed, a Shrunken broomstick and an emergency Portkey, and I’ll give you an Acceptable grade,” Moody said. “You ain’t getting an Exceeds Expectations from me, boy, because they can’t be exceeded or even met.”

Tom gaped at him.

“Off you go,” Moody said and waved his hand towards the door.

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

Unless that was what he wanted Tom to believe.

Chapter 27: The Phantom Offensive

Professor Moody’s curriculum turned out to be more intense than anything any student had ever experienced, even Tom, who had been taught by the competent Professor Merrythought. However, it was not more intense than his training sessions in the Kwikspell Company, and his Slytherin housemates witnessed just how effectively he put up a fight against Moody. As the word of these lessons spread, he was sure no one would doubt that he 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 Tom was confident, because he had a strong will, and resisting the curse was a branch of Occlumency, an art which he had successfully mastered. (He had taken a book about Occlumency from the library against the rules for his first summer in the orphanage, and he had used almost the entire summer practicing meditation. Protecting his mind from outside intrusions had been very high on his list of priorities, and the fear of Dumbledore had motivated him to an accomplishment unprecedented for a twelve-year-old.)

When it was Tom’s turn to be subjected to the Imperius Curse, he stepped forward to face Moody without trepidation. The old Auror seemed eager to see his most promising student fall victim to the curse like all the others, but when the curse struck Tom and the false feeling of rapture tried to take over his mind, he concentrated on his Occlumency defence and shrugged the curse 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,” Tom mused. “It’s impossible to please everyone.”

“Well, if you decide to join the Dark Lord, we will meet again one day,” Moody warned. He looked and sounded ominously eager, as if he actually wanted Tom to become a Death Eater. Perhaps the fight against Dark wizards was so important to him that he secretly hoped new enemies to emerge.

He was clearly suspicious; obviously Tom’s stated reason for using disguising charms all the time had not convinced him. There was little Tom could do, but he decided to at least make small alterations to his looks from time to time. It would make it seem as if he was in fact practicing the charms instead of using them for an actual reason. Still, the danger remained significant that Dumbledore would learn that Tom had something to hide.

His last year at Hogwarts was undoubtedly going to be stressful.

 

---

 

Moody’s classes were not the only lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts for Tom and a select few of other students. Tom continued to meet Harry and his friends in the Room of Requirement regularly, and as their skills increased, the 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 Tom’s 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 him 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 Tom to enter the tournament, as if he 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 their 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 anyone 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 Tom could hear hostile muttering among the Slytherin students. Tom 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. Karkaroff was certainly 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 Tom, but as hundreds of conversations broke out about the Quidditch World Cup final, he remembered that Krum had been the Bulgarian Seeker. Apparently being the only successful player in the losing team had done miracles to his personal fame.

Tom led the Slytherin students to the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. The Durmstrang students decided after a short deliberation to sit at their 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. Tom would probably get along with him perfectly if there ever could be a possibility to – but most likely 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 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 said 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.

“Yes, yes,” Tom said and took out his 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 he 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. Tom stepped over the line without noticing anything at all, and put in the piece of parchment with his 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, Tom smirked, but said out loud, “Thank you, Hermione. Your faith in me means so much.”

Such little words were enough to keep his Gryffindor minions convinced that he was a goodie, and he exchanged an amused look with Draco as they headed back to the common room.

 

---

 

Throughout the next day, Tom worried about the selection. While it was clear that he was the most qualified Hogwarts student, his superior magical talents might actually turn against him. 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. Tom, on the other hand, suddenly realised 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, Tom tensed up. He 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 for Durmstrang will be 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. Tom 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 for Beauxbatons will be 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 for Hogwarts,” Dumbledore proceeded after the Goblet of Fire had returned the final name, “will be Tom Valedro.”

Tom took a deep breath. His concerns had been unfounded, and the outcome of the tournament was thus doomed to be a foregone conclusion. But he 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. Tom smiled at his fellow Slytherins and gave an indistinct wave of his hand to the rest of the Hall. Then he joined the other champions in the back chamber.

Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, they were whom Tom 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. Tom 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,” Tom introduced himself. “Seventh-year, Head Boy of Hogwarts.”

He shook their hands. Krum merely grunted something that could be interpreted as a greeting. Delacour smiled warmly at Tom, and he wondered if she planned of turning him into her puppet. Well, he was blessed with immunity to her special ability. In the Quidditch World Cup final, the Bulgarian mascots had failed to affect him in any way, even to strain his Occlumency protection.

Tom was just listing in his mind the ways the Veela allure could be weaponised when he heard someone coming. To his surprise it was Harry.

“Tom,” Harry said before Tom had the time to greet, “my name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

“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 they were joined by Ludo Bagman. He looked as baffled as the rest of them 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 the others. That gesture of hospitality did nothing to improve the mood, and Karkaroff huffed angrily. Even Tom 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 Tom had not had so many other things to think about, he 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 realise 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 them. “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,” Tom 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 into the goblet?”

“So it appears,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

“What exactly happens if Mr Potter does not compete?” Tom 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 that way?!” Tom said incredulously.

Note to self, he 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 chooses a student, that student has to compete,” Crouch stated. “There is no other option.”

Tom was just going to suggest that Harry would do something that would lead to disqualification at the start of each task, but then his Slytherin instinct kicked in. Anything can be an opportunity. If he helped Harry to survive this tournament, the Boy Who Lived would be even more indebted to him.

“This is preposterous,” Karkaroff growled. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards…”

“You really think this is just a prank?” Tom asked coldly.

The Durmstrang Headmaster looked at him, infuriated by his tone.

“I see your deranged Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher 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!” Tom snarled, making Karkaroff 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 Tom’s lack of respect towards him and taken aback by the undeniable arguments.

“Considering this context, today’s incident seems very clear to me,” Tom 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 Tom intently, and Snape’s sneer had been replaced by a thoughtful frown as he nodded slowly. Crouch was expressionless; Tom 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 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 wish 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, want to do the honours?”

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. Tom sadly reminisced of the determined young man who had made such a good impression on him on his 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 Tom.

“Tom, this is getting serious,” Harry said as they 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,” Tom 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,” Tom 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.”

They parted in the Entrance Hall. Tom was deep in his thoughts as he navigated through the dungeons towards the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherins welcomed him to the common room with applause. They were very happy that a Slytherin had become the champion for Hogwarts as it was a good opportunity for them to remind the other Houses that they 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.

“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 the Hogwarts champion. We’ll be considered outsiders, just like our foreign guests.”

“Be that as it may,” Tom 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!” his two hundred minions said and saluted.

Tom celebrated with the other Slytherins for fifteen minutes before retiring to his dormitory. There he checked the Marauder’s Map again. Harry was in the middle of a huge crowd of Gryffindors in their common room, but both Hermione and Ron were in their dormitories. Tom 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 Tom’s attention. Even though Crouch had claimed he needed to return to the Ministry, he had found his way into 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 Tom lay down in his bed, he 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. He had postponed the moment he would try to bind the three Horcruxes to him 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 take the initiative. The row of black pawns was ready to step forward again.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 28: The Secret of the Chamber

Tom probably should have kept quiet about the realisation of how to use the Goblet of Fire to eliminate or at least incapacitate anyone he wished, because the goblet was quickly hidden or taken away from Hogwarts. And he had alerted Dumbledore to the unaccustomed power of the goblet. He hoped it would not return to haunt him one day; but luckily Dumbledore did not know Tom’s real name. However, it was possible Tom had overestimated the goblet’s suitability as a weapon. Surely he could not be the only one ever to think about it, but still no one had used it as a weapon. Perhaps that meant the plan of putting people’s names in there might not work after all.

Harry was in a bad mood when he came to the Room of Requirement the day after Hallowe’en. He explained that almost all Gryffindors believed he had entered his name to the Goblet of Fire himself, even Ron. The youngest of the Weasley brothers, who had lived in the shadows of other people all his life, was ready to endanger his friendship with Harry over such a petty reason as the Triwizard Tournament.

“Well, at least this helps you see who your true friends are,” Tom said slyly, only barely managing to suppress a mischievous smirk. “Ron is heroic enough when it comes to stopping Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone or saving his own sister, but when you’re in trouble all by yourself, he abandons you. Oh, how vehemently you defended his virtuous nature when I told you how your father was betrayed to death by the very person he believed to be his best friend.”

“Ron is a stupid prat,” Harry said, “but a betrayal like that of Black’s… no, I don’t believe he’d do anything like it, ever.”

“He’s young, and his spite and envy will only grow in time,” Tom claimed. “Who knows, if he thinks he can grow out of his role as a sidekick only by pledging himself to a Dark cause, he may do so. No, not Voldemort necessarily. Dark Lords come and go, and none of them is like the previous one. They all deceive the weak, the gullible and the bitter in new and imaginative ways.” As I’ve done to you. “Every time some of those who believe to be immune to the manipulations of the Dark Lord fall to his trap and realise their error only when it’s far too late.”

“Ron will come around when we solve the truth about this mess,” Harry said. “I hope.”

“Let’s hope he’ll be able to learn something from his mistakes. I wouldn’t like to have a friend whose judgement I couldn’t trust.”

They proceeded to study the tasks of the historical Triwizard Tournaments. Usually there had been tasks involving dangerous magical creatures, hostage situations, basic problem solving with potions and Transfiguration, retrieving a prize and flying – basically anything which could be solved by applying skills taught at school. To Tom they seemed ridiculously easy.

“You know, there is a skill of mind magic that allows you to read minds,” he said. “I could dig up all the details about the tasks from the mind of that idiot Bagman. It would be unfair, yes, but forcing you to participate is not fair, either.”

“Is that legal?” Harry asked.

“It’s very strictly illegal, but… the end justifies the means.”

“You can do that?”

Suddenly Tom realised he was skating on thin ice.

“I could try,” he said evasively. “I’ve never had the opportunity to practise. And it’s very difficult. Er… yeah, it’s probably best to forget that plan. Literally. Obliviate.”

After Harry’s mind had been cleared of all knowledge of Tom’s questionable skills, they practised some spells normally taught to fifth-year students. Tom was careful not to exhaust himself, because he had to be ready for a much more important part of preparing for the first task – and any other dangers he would ever face, for that matter.

 

---

 

No one questioned it when the Head Boy exited the Slytherin common room after curfew. Tom was almost as nervous as when he had begun the ritual to turn his diary into a Horcrux. He had made all preparations he could think of, and soon he would finally be immortal! The binding of Voldemort’s Horcruxes had to take place in the Chamber of Secrets, the most secure of places.

He entered the girls’ bathroom, opened the entrance and flew down on the Firebolt. After landing in the tunnel, he said,

“Dobby.”

No response. Either the elf was incapable of answering the summons, which was unlikely, or then the Chamber of Secrets was magically protected against the house-elf version of the Apparition spell. If the latter, Tom could not have been the first one ever to understand the deficiency in the commonly used magical security measures.

Tom flew back to the bathroom and called again,

“Dobby!”

Crack.

This time the elf appeared as usual.

“Master Tom, sir! Dobby sensed Master Tom calling Dobby, but Dobby was unable to come! Dobby is deeply sorry, Master Tom, sir!”

“Don’t worry about it, I was just testing the Anti-Apparition Area Jinx. Bring me the three items.”

“Yes, Master Tom, sir!”

Dobby vanished with a crack, was gone for a few seconds, then reappeared with another crack, carrying Ravenclaw’s diadem, Slytherin’s locket and the mysterious ring Tom had found in Little Hangleton. Tom had diagnosed and tested them with every method he could imagine, and they seemed to be safe to handle, at least physically. He touched them for the first time – and did not suffer any curse. The only strange thing he could feel was the resonance of his fellow soul fragments with him­self.

“Dismissed,” he said, and Dobby Disapparated. Tom mounted the Firebolt again and returned to the Chamber of Secrets.

Once in the main hall, he summoned the Basilisk and gave instructions to it. He had planned two different command words for it; upon hearing the first one, the Basilisk was to try to break his contact with the item he was working with; upon hearing the second one, it was to bite the item with a venomous fang. Destroying a Horcrux was something he absolutely did not want to do, but it was best to be prepared to do it anyway. In case the soul fragments in the items turned out to be stronger than Tom, he needed to have something fatal to threaten them with. If binding Voldemort’s Horcruxes to him turned out to be impossible, the items would be useless to him, and their destruction would not be much of a loss.

Tom had decided to start with the ring. If he was correct, the ring had been turned into a Horcrux during Voldemort’s sixth year at Hogwarts. That meant the soul fragment inside was just some months older and more skilled than Tom had been during the moment of having been trapped in the diary, and after breaking free he had had a year and a half to gain new skills, experiences and power. Therefore, the soul fragment in the ring should be the easiest one to overpower.

But then perhaps not. What Tom was about to experience would most likely be some kind of battle of souls. If creating a Horcrux ripped the soul into two pieces of equal size, Tom, the first Horcrux created, had to be much stronger than any of the other ones. If the ring was the second one, it contained a quarter of the original soul, and the diadem and the locket even less. Then perhaps they would be easier to defeat.

Tom still decided to try with the ring, because at least it was weaker than he in two different ways.

The very first thing Tom did was casting a specific Horcrux Analysing Charm on each of the three. Its purpose was to examine to whom the Horcrux was bound. As he had expected, Voldemort’s Horcruxes did not anchor Tom to the mortal world, and so he had to try the unprecedented: changing the master soul.

He sat down on the floor, looked up to the face of Salazar Slytherin and took a very deep breath. Then he looked down to the ring he held on his palm. Closing his eyes, he reached towards it with his magic and cleared his mind with the meditation he had practiced in order to become an Occlumens. But this time he wanted to have a mental connection with another entity.

It felt quite similar to his attempt to change the course of Voldemort’s curse of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher position, but instead of the flow of magic, he sensed another human being as though through Legilimency. Tom sensed him so closely that he felt a strong impulse to take a step back. He also got a strong feeling of kinship; the two of them were so alike that an outsider might have trouble telling the difference.

The next instant Tom realised how mistaken he had been about souls. They were not material things that could be sliced like bread, and it had been sheer idiocy to think he had more soul than some other Horcrux. Creating a Horcrux was more comparable to the fission of a cell: both results of division were complete and entirely functional. But they still were meant to be together: splitting the soul was a violation of nature, and it caused severe mental instability, just as he had realised when studying Voldemort’s actions.

What he felt was a sorry, bitter and outright pathetic copy of himself. A series of indistinct memories flashed in his mind; he could recognise some of them, because he had experienced them too, but there were also memories of events that had happened after the creation of the diary Horcrux. Returning to London and the horrible apathy of the orphanage; travelling to Little Hangleton, meeting with the last Gaunt and the murders of the Riddles; returning to Hogwarts; some of the fits of rage Archibald Nott had told him about; the long-awaited discussion with Professor Slughorn about multiple Horcruxes; the ritual to turn the ring into the second Horcrux; and countless others, mainly moments of boredom and frustration.

As Tom faced this other Tom Riddle who was already a slightly twisted version of him, he could sense something like a bright and searing light originating in him. It felt so familiar that he could easily give it a name: Ginny. He was not sure if there really was a fragment of her soul integrated into him, or if it was just her influence, but it gave him a tremendous advantage over the ring Horcrux. Souls had no size that could be measured, but souls had individual strengths, and it was not a fixed amount. Every experience and surpassed challenge made the soul stronger, and through Ginny Tom had been able to overcome many of his weaknesses.

The soul fragment in the ring, on the other hand, was so drenched in misery that Tom was no longer at all afraid of him being a threat. Tom felt his copy’s confusion when meeting another soul after so many decades of hibernation in the eternal dark silence, and he almost felt pity towards the copy. But he could not afford such feelings. He gathered his superior strength of character and slammed it against the copy. He let out a metaphorical scream of humiliation; it was not in any Tom Riddle’s character to yield to the power of someone else, but there was nothing he could do.

The ensuing battle was not like a wizard’s duel, but rather a staring contest; two wills trying to assert dominance over the other one. It was like Tom’s first meeting with Dumbledore, but this time he was the one with the upper hand. He kept beating the other Tom until nothing remained of the copy’s defiance. Then he created spiritual bonds and shackled him; there were no words to describe the exact details even if he had had some idea of what it was about. Again, he relied on intuition, hoping for a better result than the fiasco with Voldemort’s curse.

Eventually he emerged from the meditation and saw the Chamber of Secrets again. The feeling of resonance with the ring seemed to have become stronger. He eagerly cast the Horcrux Analysing Charm on it again and felt a strong burst of triumph: it was now his Horcrux, bound to him and him alone. Finally, he was immortal!

Take that, Death! he bragged in his mind. Memento mori was no longer a piece of wisdom he needed to care about.

It had not even been difficult; he could have had it done the day he had found the ring.

He proceeded to do the same to the diadem and the locket. The souls within were in a much worse shape than the one in the ring; Voldemort’s insanity had de­veloped with frightening speed. They were filled with rage, bitterness and utterly twisted pride. Wielding the bright light of Ginny, Tom subjugated them with ease.

He looked at his three anchors of immortality. For so long he had cursed the fate of having been locked in the diary, but only now he truly understood the much more horrible fate he had escaped. Creating Horcruxes was considered an abomination for a very good reason.

But now he was immune to the power of Death! And without losing his sanity! Grinning wider than ever, he stuffed the ring into a pocket, the diadem into another, and held the locket aloft, as if handing it to the statue of his ancestor. He was the heir of Slytherin, he was in the Chamber of Secrets and he had the locket of Slytherin. Proudly he hung the chain around his neck and gently placed the locket on his chest…

And at that exact moment something happened.

Light flowed into the Chamber from an unseen source. The faint feeling of ambient magic that reverberated everywhere in and around Hogwarts increased tenfold, making Tom’s own magic resonate quite violently. Then the mighty statue of Salazar came to life, the rock somehow moving fluidly. Bright lights ignited in his eyes, and he looked down at Tom, his descendant.

“You have found my Chamber of Secrets and brought the heirloom of my family with you,” Salazar hissed in Parseltongue. “I greet you, child. If you so desire, it is time for you to learn the secret of this Chamber.”

All triumphant thoughts of immortality had disappeared from Tom’s mind. Instead, he was experiencing a moment of terrified disorientation, not lesser than the one he had felt when Dumbledore had set his wardrobe of fire.

“Are – are – are you the real Salazar?” he finally managed to hiss. “Or a Horcrux, perhaps?”

Salazar did not reply. He just stared down, not moving anymore. Some of Tom’s distress lifted. It was not Salazar Slytherin that he tried to communicate with. More likely the statue was similar to the countless portraits all around Hogwarts: they contained memories of those they portrayed as well as some semblance of their personality and had a limited ability to interact with the outside world.

“I am Salazar Slytherin’s heir,” Tom said. “Did he leave a message for me?”

“I imbued this statue with important memories and information before I left Hogwarts,” Salazar spoke through a thousand years. “Only my descendant who carries my locket is worthy of hearing my words. Know this, child: I did not dare to share this information even with the other founders of Hogwarts. My secret was too heavy a burden for me to carry. Do you want to continue my quest knowing that the burden would then be yours to carry?”

Tom gulped.

“I will carry your burden, whatever it is.”

“Then look down, child.”

Tom had been craning his neck to see the face of the statue and had not noticed that glowing silver markings had appeared around the place where he stood. They formed a strange yet familiar symbol: a circle inside a triangle and a line dividing them both. After a brief moment of contemplation, he realised that it was the symbol Grin­delwald had used every now and then. Apparently, the Dark Lord had not designed it himself, but copied an ancient symbol from somewhere else.

“See my memories, child,” hissed Salazar’s voice, and Tom noticed wisps of white mist rising from the symbol. It was some kind of a Pensieve, and as the mist surrounded him, he began to see and hear parts of Salazar’s life from a thousand years past.

He saw a young man walking across a meadow towards a pastoral village, brisk, cheerful and optimistic. If he had not known to look for similarities, Tom would not have recognised him as the same old man whose features had been immortalised in the statue in the Chamber of Secrets. However, there was one other thing which made it easy to guess the young man’s identity: several snakes were following him, hissing affectionately.

“I was taught in the magical arts by the village mages of Castile,” Salazar’s voice narrated the story behind the memory. “Before the founding of Hogwarts, there were not any organised institutes for magical education. Masters taught apprentices. Some wizard children did not have a true opportunity to refine their skills and powers. I was luckier than many, because in Iberia Christendom was in a constant war against the infidels of Córdoba. Every young witch and wizard were given the best possible training to give us an advantage in the war.”

There were several memories of Salazar’s training. Battle Magic had been central in it, and his teachers were people who would have been considered Dark witches and wizards in the contemporary age. Salazar had excelled; he had clearly had the same knack as Tom had in the magical arts.

“After I had surpassed my teachers, I was sent to meet other wizards and convince them to join the fight. I met with the Arch Wizard of the West, Pope Benedict VII, and continued to Constantinople to meet the Roman Emperor Basil II. On the way I visited Delphi in order to learn of the future from the Oracle. But my quest of preparing for war ended that day, because I realised Fate had a much more important purpose for me. Immediately after facing me, the Oracle went into a trance and spoke the prophecy that forever changed the course of my life.”

The vision showed the same young man, though fully adult now, stepping into the former Temple of Apollo, the seat of the Oracle. Salazar remembered the day with crystalline clarity, and the words of the Oracle retained their ominous tone and echo. Even though the words were not chanted in either of the languages Tom knew, Salazar’s memory somehow allowed him to understand their meaning.

”The Dark Lord will rise
through force and deception.
Though born to those without magic,
he will command a might never seen before,
a might granted by three devices of power.
He will unleash Death into the world
and rediscover the lost power of
the fabled Sunken Empire.”

Tom barely had time to fathom any of the massive implications of the prophecy before Salazar continued his tale.

“Afterwards I discussed with the Oracle for a long time. One thing is clear about the otherwise unpredictable art of Divination: prophecies are spoken to those who will have some role in fulfilling or averting them. Fate itself had given me the responsibility to prevent Death from being unleashed, and so I abandoned the meaningless task of gathering an army for the crusade against Córdoba. With the burden of the prophecy as my constant companion, I travelled far and wide, made friends and allies, gathered scrolls of knowledge, learned new skills… all that I did to prepare for the rise of the Dark Lord.”

Tom saw visions of Salazar’s travels. Constantinople, the ruins of the Labyrinth of Knossos, Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria, the Pyramids of Egypt, Axum and Lalibela in Ethiopia, the House of Wisdom in Baghdad and several sites in Persia, India and what Tom assumed was Southeast Asia.

“I saw lands that have no names in Christendom, I gathered magical plants unknown to any of my teachers, I learned more lore than any wizard alive, and I befriended a Basilisk in a jungle where no man had dared to set foot in generations. Day by day my power grew, but I knew it was not enough for the quest that Fate had given me. Eventually I headed home. I had not found Atlantis, but some of the hints I had heard suggested that I had been searching in the wrong direction all along. In England, there was a mysterious place. It was said that the Romans had established their settlement Londinium near an underground shrine which had been protected by an ancient brotherhood of wizards.”

Tom knew what Salazar was about to show before the next vision formed. The dark underground hall with a stone archway in the middle, and the tattered Veil rippling constantly even without breeze; it was the passing of souls that moved it. Salazar, an old man now, approached the archway carefully, and Tom saw briefly what was behind the Veil. The horrible and glorious being of pitch-black hair, pearly white skin and glowing red eyes was standing just on the other side, as if waiting for the right moment to step through. There was a faint smirk on his face – and then he looked straight at Tom, as if he was not just a part of Salazar’s memory, but present in the very moment when he saw the visions. As his uneasiness grew, Death’s smirk widened.

“There were many rumours of the Unspeakables, even that Merlin himself had been their grandmaster, but they neither confirmed nor denied them. They were totally sworn to their servitude, whatever it was. They allowed me to see the Veil, supposedly an Atlantean relic, but they shared no information with me. I went on my way and began to fight those Dark wizards who had the potential to become the Dark Lord mentioned in the prophecy.”

The vision around Tom changed and showed many battles and heroic moments.

“Emeric the Evil was a vile robber who had gained an incredible amount of power in very short a time. His old teacher Egbert the Esteemed asked for my help in stopping him. Egbert had been superior in power and skill to Emeric, but that had changed for a reason he did not know. He could only assume it had something to do with Emeric’s fascination with the research of the late Peverell brothers. We fought Emeric, but were unable to defeat him, he somehow always got the upper hand. We grew desperate, and eventually Egbert decided to murder his former pupil. Whatever it was that had made Emeric invincible in battle, it did not protect him from Basilisk venom put into his goblet. Egbert did not want to be remembered as a murderer and asked all his friends and allies to claim he had defeated Emeric in a duel. Later I heard that Egbert had fallen to evil as well. Dark wizards were so numerous that I began to plan better approaches to the problem.”

Tom saw Salazar and his Basilisk – the same Basilisk that waited somewhere behind the vision – trudging wearily on a muddy road; the contrast to the first memory was so striking that it was depressing.

“I began to feel the weight of age and decided that I could no longer carry the burden alone. I sired an heir who inherited my ability to speak with snakes, but soon I understood it would not be enough. That was when I met three of my old friends who were among the greatest witches and wizards of Christendom. Together with Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor, I established a school of magic. We would give equal opportunities for all young witches and wizards, and I hoped they would be of help in my quest. In northern Scotland, we found a powerful nexus of magic beneath some old ruins and decided to build our own stronghold over them. I hoped Hogwarts would be the last defence against the foretold Dark Lord and used the powers flowing through the nexus to create the mightiest magical protections known to the world. That was how Hogwarts was created. But there was soon a dispute between me and the other founders.”

The visions showed the familiar mountains, the valley and the lake, as well as the construction of the castle Tom called home. The Great Hall had been smaller then; perhaps it was able to change its size according to how many students there were. Salazar, Rowena, Helga and Godric stood in the middle of the Hall, debating heatedly.

“My fear of the prophecy was fierce,” Salazar said mournfully. “The words ‘born to those without magic’ troubled me, and I was convinced they meant that the Dark Lord would be a Muggle-born. That was why I did not want Hogwarts to teach any such students, thus to eliminate the threat of Death being unleashed. But I did not dare to reveal my true reason. If the prophecy had become known, many Muggle-borns might have wanted to become the Dark Lord, thus making the prophecy come true. The other founders did not agree with me, and I formed a contingency plan. I made this cavern the home of my Basilisk, hoping to stealthily rid the school of the future Dark Lord. This quest, saving the world from Death, is the great purpose of my lineage, and you have now inherited it, child.”

The vision faded away, and Tom saw the statue of Salazar once again, staring grimly down at him.

“I found a magical design from a side cavern,” he hissed. “I believe it is some kind of foundation of a curse. What is its purpose?”

“I tapped into the nexus of magic,” Salazar explained. “All these years some of the power has been redirected into a reservoir under this Chamber. It is a trap I laid. All that power will be turned against the Dark Lord if need be. The fate of the world is in your hands, child. Always remember the words I told all my pupils: the last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.”

With that, the light in the eyes of the statue of Salazar went out, the statue returned to its previous shape, the symbol disappeared from the floor and the strong feeling of ambient magic lessened.

Tom felt exhausted and overwhelmed.

So, Salazar Slytherin had not been a blood-purist. Perhaps the entire blood purity dogma was based on incorrect interpretation of his view. It seemed likely; of course the early members of the House of Slytherin had wondered why the founder of their House had not liked Muggle-borns, and then they had come up with an explanation that propped their sense of self-worth. Magical nobility, of course… a reason for them to think themselves better than others even if they lacked power and talent. How un-Slytherin!

Tom sent the Basilisk back to its nest to slumber and took his leave from the Chamber. He stuffed the locket into a pocket as well, barely remembering that he had just become immortal. He had a feeling that Horcruxes were not a foolproof precaution against unleashed Death. Memento mori was now a defining piece of wisdom in Tom’s life.

Salazar had been troubled by the prophecy, but a millennium had passed without Death having been unleashed. Yet the prophecy had been told to him, so there had to have been some role for him in the events foretold by the Delphic Oracle.

Unless, of course, the prophecy had been spoken to Salazar so that Tom could hear it through the memories. Was the quest meant for Tom all along? He certainly would take the quest seriously, because he had an intimately horrible knowledge of what would happen if he failed. When he had fainted on the Hogwarts Express before his sixth year, he had seen a vision of the world conquered by Death, and it had made him accept the profound influence Ginny had had on him – the influence he had just before used to subdue three fellow Tom Riddles.

But more importantly, who could be the Dark Lord who would be born to those without magic? Tom’s father had been a Muggle, and his mother, who had disgraced her pure magical blood, had not been able to save herself from death after giving birth to Tom… perhaps she had been a Squib? If so, Tom and Voldemort were potential candidates for the Dark Lord. Somehow it seemed totally in character for Voldemort to unleash Death while trying to do something else entirely.

Then there was also Dumbledore, whose parents had been a witch and a wizard, but whose actions had made Tom wonder if the Headmaster had some morbid plans – for the Greater Evil. Could it be possible that he had somehow learned of the prophecy and decided to use Voldemort to bring it about? Was that the reason he had done almost nothing to defeat Voldemort during the war, just letting Moody, Crouch and the others to take charge?

Or was the future Dark Lord so clever and insidious that he would avoid all attention by playing the role of a meek fool? It was probably best to keep a close watch on Colin Creevey.

As Tom lay down in his bed and thought about the massive revelation, he felt cold shivers all over his neck and back. He had forgotten all his petty plans and manipulations, because what he had heard and seen was so big and significant. His quest, his purpose, was not the fight against Voldemort, or even against Dumbledore. He was but a pawn in an epic war against Death itself, continuing the fight his great ancestor had fought. But, if his assumptions were correct, both Voldemort and Dumbledore might be fighting the war on Death’s side, each in their own way.

Chapter 29: Spectacle for the Shallow

As Tom woke up on Monday morning, memories of the previous night flooded his mind, and for full ten seconds he had to convince himself that the revelation about Salazar Slytherin’s quest had not been just a dream. Then the ridiculous truth about his situation struck him like a Bludger.

He was in a school! And he was supposed to prepare for the idiotic Triwizard Tournament. As if he did not have better things to do. Salazar had just bestowed the most important quest ever on his shoulders, and here he was, preparing to entertain hundreds of fools with a show that most likely did not offer him any challenge at all. And he could not simply choose to do something infinitely more important, because a bloody binding magical contract demanded his participation in the tasks.

Well, there was nothing he could do to prevent Death from being unleashed at the moment. And, come to think of it, joining the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries had become an even more important short-term goal for him. Apparently, their brotherhood dated back thousands of years, and it was not established by the Ministry to do whatever they did. At least they studied the Veil of Death, and Salazar had not had access to their libraries. Tom had to become an Unspeakable, even if it took five years of bureaucratic Purgatory in the Department of Games and Sports. Saving the world was worth the sacrifice.

But, obviously, he would save the world in a very Slytherin way: killing two birds with one stone. He would both save the world and conquer it. That was how Salazar would have wanted it, Tom had no doubt about it.

 

---

 

The next tournament related occasion was the wand weighing ceremony. The champions and the judges gathered in a classroom to meet Ollivander the wandmaker. Tom handed him the wand he used that day. It was not Gilderoy Lockhart’s wand, obviously, because it would have provoked many questions. During the summer, immediately after reading that there was traditionally such a ceremony after the Triwizard champions had been selected, Tom had visited Knockturn Alley and bought a used wand made by a Persian wandmaker.

The Daily Prophet had sent a reporter and a photographer for the first reportage about the tournament. The reporter was none other than Rita Skeeter whose articles Tom usually enjoyed reading, but he had an ominous feeling about being one of those she wrote about.

When the article was published in the newspaper, many Slytherins had trouble not to laugh their heads off. Apparently, Harry had told Skeeter more personal things than he had ever told Tom, and she had boldly shared everything with her audience. However, Tom had not seen even half of them in Harry’s mind with Legilimency, and that made him suspect that Skeeter had made things up.

Tom was not even mentioned in the entire bloody article. So much for the valuable publicity, then. Readers had to guess who the handsome young man was in the group picture next to ‘Fluer de Liqueur’ and ‘Bnktop Kpym,’ but perhaps it was better that Skeeter had not even tried to spell the name ‘Valedro.’ Who knows, perhaps it would have turned out as ‘Riddle,’ and that would have been detrimental to Tom’s plans.

Well, the Prophet would have to change its journalistic approach after his victory. And if he did not win, it would probably be better that no one would remember he had participated at all.

 

---

 

As the first task approached, Tom spent much time in the library. Viktor Krum was there too, and people probably thought they were anxiously preparing for the ordeal. Maybe Krum was, but Tom resumed the research he had begun in January, after the Patronus lesson and the vision of Death. Back then, he had got a sudden inspiration which had not lasted, because he had only speculated there might be something going on with Voldemort, Dumbledore and Death. Now he knew through Salazar’s memories that Death was, in fact, waiting to be unleashed.

Salazar’s journeys had never taken him to China, Japan, Australia, Western and Southern Africa and, obviously, the Americas, so those regions were the ones whose mythologies and obscure lore Tom began to read through. Unfortunately, he still had lessons to attend to, and Harry kept asking for help in his own preparations. He had written to Remus whose most concrete piece of advice had been: ask Tom for help.

The Room of Requirement took many different and fantastic forms. The champions were supposed to face the first task with nothing but wands, but after perusing the rules closely, Tom realised that it was not forbidden to use the Summoning Charm to get almost any tool. He had taught the spell to Harry through Legilimency a year previously because it was so useful, and so that part of the practice did not cause trouble.

Dobby bought many kinds of accessories on Diagon Alley, and Tom and Harry planned to place them somewhere in the vicinity before the task began. There were potions, magical items, a spare wand and even a handgun, as well as many items that Harry already had before: his bullet-proof vest, broomstick and invisibility cloak. Tom had a feeling that the entire tournament would turn out to be a profound anticlimax.

The Saturday before the first task students had a trip to Hogsmeade. Perhaps the purpose was to give the champions an opportunity to acquire whatever they needed from the village, because Harry was allowed to go despite the threat of Sirius Black. At the gates, a group of Aurors was waiting for him, and three of them surrounded him closely while one hovered above him on a broomstick, all having their wands ready. No one was allowed to come near Harry, and as Tom and Hermione were following him from afar, none of them was having much fun. Moody was also present, trailing Harry with his magical eye darting wildly back and forth, and he looked quite frustrated.

They met Remus in Hogsmeade – or, rather, Tom and Hermione did, because the Aurors immediately levelled their wands at the known werewolf and did not allow him anywhere near Harry. They totally ignored Harry’s reassurances that Remus was his trusted friend, and accompanied him anywhere he went, scaring the customers of Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. Hermione was outraged by their unjust judgement of Remus because of his lycanthropy, but Remus himself was so used to it that he accepted it without complaint, just looking weary and resigned.

“How’s Harry getting along as a champion?” Remus asked as he was watching Harry’s annoyed expression and the grim Aurors who shared the table with him next to the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks, ready to evacuate their important charge through the Floo.

“He was quite shocked at first,” Tom said, “but he’s gained confidence since then. We’ve practiced a lot, and I’m confident he’ll do fine.”

“He had a falling-out with Ron,” Hermione added, somehow remembering to tell about the personal stuff which Tom had not realised was worth telling about. “Ron thinks Harry entered his name himself.”

“James would’ve done whatever it took to become the champion,” Remus said. “But Harry is not like his father, and Ron should know it. What about you, Tom? You seem at ease.”

“Honestly, I’m already regretting a bit that I took part in this ridiculous tournament,” Tom said. “This is my final year at Hogwarts, and there are still many books in the library that I’d like to read. The tournament takes too much of my time.”

“The Department of Mysteries is still in your mind, yes?”

“I’m a curious sort of a person. I can’t be content before the mysteries are mine. Oh, speaking of curious, have you heard anything from Mr Pettigrew?”

“Nothing,” Remus sighed. “Let’s hope he managed to start a new life in peace. I think your spying missions scared him a bit too much.”

“And now I’d very much like to have someone sneaking around Hogwarts for me,” Tom muttered. “None of us has seen Black on the Marauder’s Maps. However, Barty Crouch appears to visit frequently, and he’s having secret meetings with Moody. I wonder if they’re onto something. I’d like to eavesdrop, but Moody’s eye makes it impossible. A rat, however, might go unnoticed even by him.”

“I think Crouch visits mainly to enjoy the hospitality of Hogwarts’ house-elves,” Hermione sniffed resentfully. “He doesn’t have his own anymore, remember? I don’t think he ever learned to cook his own meals.”

“Yes, that may be true,” Tom consented. She had been overprotective of all house-elves since witnessing the sacking of Crouch’s elf, but fortunately Tom had been spared of her zealous crusade for the rights of elves. He, after all, paid Dobby for his services. Her zeal was probably partly Tom’s fault too, because he had first introduced her to the slavery of elves as a way of showing how much of a goodie he appeared to be.

Hermione was clever, but she had no sense of priorities.

 

---

 

On Sunday morning, Harry arrived in the Room of Requirement with the same shocked and desperate expression as before his preparation sessions with Tom.

“Hagrid asked me to visit him last night,” he explained, “and I did. He showed me what the first task is – dragons! The three beasts guarding the gate, plus a fourth one. This is far worse than anything we have practiced for!”

“Dragons for the first task?” Tom asked incredulously. “And Dumbledore still reassured us this tournament would be safer than the old ones? What are we supposed to do, kill them?”

“No, Charlie reckons we only need to get past them – Charlie Weasley, you know, Ron’s brother, he’s a dragonologist… anyway, I met Moody on the way here, and he hinted that I should Summon my broom and fly past the dragon.”

“He probably knows more about the task than we do, so that’s what we’ll do.”

So they practiced. Over and over again Harry Summoned his Nimbus 2000 and flew around the Room of Requirement while Tom shot balls of fire at him. They did not leave the Room for lunch, but asked Dobby to bring them whatever he could salvage from the Great Hall, and that was how they had dinner too. After spending ten hours indoors throwing balls of fire, Tom felt quite frazzled, but Harry had regained some of his confidence.

On Monday they had lessons, but in the evening, they practiced a few more hours, and Tom brewed two doses of Potion of Salamander’s Essence, the best protection against burns. Finally, as curfew was close, Harry groped his sweaty (and slightly singed) hair and said,

“If this is not enough, nothing is. Thank you, Tom, I don’t know what I would do without your help.” Suddenly he looked quite embarrassed. “But you haven’t had any time to prepare for your own way past the dragon!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said and smirked. “I’ve had months to plan what I’ll do. If these imbeciles want a magnificent spectacle, I’ll give them one!”

 

---

 

On Tuesday morning, the other seventh-year Slytherin boys wished Tom good luck, but since he did not need or want to rely on luck, he asked Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole to stay behind when the others left for breakfast.

“I’ve prepared even for the most absurd scenarios,” he said and handed them a letter. “Do not open it. I’ll take it back after the task. If, however, it appears that I die during whatever awaits me, you will open it and follow the instructions. Is this clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” the two servants said.

After their shock of being bound to Tom’s service through an Unbreakable Vow had lifted, they had learned to respect and even admire his ruthlessness, especially since he had never used his power over them for anything unreasonable. Perhaps they already felt willing loyalty towards him, which was necessary for the part he had planned for them just in case. If the dragon destroyed Tom’s body, his servants would willingly sacrifice their own flesh, forcibly take the blood of his enemy (Snape, obviously, who was to be ambushed by the five servants still at Hogwarts) and dig up a bone of Tom’s father to be unknowingly given. That was how to perform the ritual to restore to true life a soul anchored to the mortal world by a Horcrux.

Excitement was rising among the students as the day progressed. Tom managed to stay calm and uninterested. At the end of Potions class, Snape told him with a cruel and anticipatory grin,

“Valedro, the first task takes place after lunch in a clearing of the Forbidden Forest to the right from the front doors. Don’t expect me to lead you there.”

“Thank you for the information, sir,” Tom said dryly. They had both grown tired of bickering.

“Good luck, Tom,” the other students said. “You’ll do fine!”

If he had cared, he would have felt slightly offended by how much everyone thought the tournament would be a challenge to him.

During lunch, Tom was silent while Draco, Theodore and many others tried to create a festive atmosphere. He had to eat hastily to get away from such nonsense, and soon he was walking outside, finally alone.

It was a sunny day, rare in Scotland in autumn, and Tom was not the only one enjoying it. People were coming through the gates in large numbers, babbling excitedly about the show of the day. He followed them to the clearing Snape had mentioned and saw a large tent and a vast enclosure behind it. Huge stands had been conjured to the right side of the enclosure, but as of yet, there was not much for the audience to see. The dragons were supposed to be a surprise until the very last moment.

As the Triwizard Tournament was an important international spectacle, the stands were filling with spectators from all around Europe. Cornelius Fudge was present, probably hoping that the tournament would not become such an embarrassment to the Ministry as the Quidditch World Cup had been. The political leaders of France and Russia were also there, supporting the champions of the schools located in those two countries.

The title of the leader of French wizards was Cardinal. That dated back to the seventeenth century when the great wizard Armand Jean du Plessis had ruled both the magical and Muggle France as Cardinal Richelieu. His successors had continued to use the title even after there had not been any religious aspects in the job. The French Revolution had not changed wizarding France in the same way it had changed Muggle France. French wizards had followed the old ways ever since the Muggle-born Dark Lord Napoléon Bonaparte had been defeated.

Wizarding Russia was a totally different story, which was why the two nations usually bickered with one another. The October Revolution of 1917 had been orchestrated by Grindelwald and ever since a group of ideologically dogmatic wizards had ruled wizarding Russia. At first, they had been serving Grindelwald, but that had changed in 1940 when a group of British, French and American wizards had usurped the Magi’s Commissariat and placed some of their allies in power, and grudgingly preserved the communist Muggle government for the sake of the war effort. (That had, of course, led to Operation Barbarossa on the Muggle side of Grindelwald’s Second War.) The Soviet Union had been one of the last Muggle countries to be ruled by wizards, much to the disapproval of the International Confederation of Wizards, but even after the Soviet Union had disintegrated, wizarding Russia had continued to follow communist ideals. That was why the title of the leader of Russian wizards was Comrade, and his name was Gennady Yanayev. (It was perfectly possible to make communism function properly with the help of magic and house-elves. Muggle communists had sadly never realised the crucially important detail that Karl Marx had been a wizard whose understanding of the workings of a non-magical society had been as sorely lacking as that of Arthur Weasley’s.)

Tom looked at the crowd of witches and wizards. Many of them, perhaps, would later realise that this was the first day they saw the future Dark Lord Tom Valedro. Much was at stake, so he had to make a formidable first impression. Then he remembered the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle and asked himself whether he truly wanted to identify himself as a Dark Lord anymore. He was in the risk group of those who might unleash Death; it was wiser not to take chances with Fate.

Tom entered the tent reserved for the champions. Delacour and Krum were already present, both looking nervous in their own ways. Ludo Bagman came shortly afterward, and a few moments later Harry arrived as well.

Bagman began to enthusiastically explain the objective of the task. This one was similar to many of the tasks of historical tournaments; claiming a prize protected by a creature, in this case a golden egg. After the Hogwarts students had passed the tent and taken their seats on the stands next to the audience from all over Europe, Bagman offered the champions a bag with miniature versions of what they were about to face.

Delacour took out a Common Welsh Green dragon and the number two. She did not look shocked or even surprised, as if she had known what the task was about; clearly it was not a good idea to appoint the Headmasters of the competing schools as judges who had all the information about the tasks. Krum’s challenge would be a Chinese Fireball, the one brought in a hurry after the incident with the Goblet of Fire; he would be the third one to try.

Next Bagman offered the bag to Tom who had cast the Supersensory Charm on himself so that he would not need to choose his dragon blindly. He purposely picked the Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous of the dragons and thus the one that would grant him the most glory. His number was four. It was polite not to set the bar incredibly high for the other champions.

What was left for Harry was a Swedish Short-Snout and the number one. He looked frightened, but after meeting Tom’s eyes he regained the confidence he had built for weeks.

“Now I must leave you, because I’ll be commenting,” Bagman said. “When the whistle is blown, just step into the enclosure. Harry, you are the first… you should come…”

They left, and soon Tom, Delacour and Krum had to listen without being able to see. The spectators were roaring, Bagman was blabbering, and then Harry’s voice cried,

“Accio vest! Accio pouch! Accio broom!”

And so, he began the aerobatic show he had been drilling for two days. Tom really would have wanted to see it himself, but watching the expressions of Delacour and Krum was sufficient entertainment too. As Bagman praised Harry’s movements fervently, Delacour clearly began to fear she would not perform as well as “ze leettle boy.” Krum, on the other hand, was clearly considering a change of tactic; either he had planned to fly and now did not want to repeat Harry’s tactic, or then he had not realised he could utilise his natural talent and was now wondering if he could Summon his Firebolt from Bulgaria or Durmstrang, wherever it was.

Then the spectators burst in applause; Harry had succeeded and survived. Tom grinned, and then Delacour stepped out of the tent. It began anew, lasting for a longer time than with Harry. After she had finished, Krum left, and Tom began to feel excited for the first time.

Finally it was his turn. He entered the enclosure with an air of confidence and inclined his head at the stands.

Now you’ll see a show worthy of your Galleons, he thought.

The Hungarian Horntail was looking at Tom with hostile eyes. He took out his wand with dramatic slowness, waved it while muttering incantations, and then pointed it to the ground next to him. An illusion formed, taking his exact likeness. The spell he had cast was commonly used in magical theatre performances. It did not take a particularly talented wizard (or even a perceptive Muggle) to realise that the illusion was not a real person, but dragons were mere animals, incapable of making the logical conclusion about creatures which could be seen and heard, but not smelt or felt.

“Sonorus,” Tom said and then turned to speak to the illusion with amplified voice. “We shall attack at once!”

“Yes, my liege!” he replied to himself, making it look and sound as if the illusion had said it. “Stand by for attack!”

He waved the wand again, and the illusion repeated the same movement. Suddenly two more illusions appeared. He waved the wand again, and four illusions appeared, then eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and so on, until over a thousand Tom Valedros were standing all around the Hungarian Horntail and her eggs. This impressive feat was the result of weeks of casting the Triggered Firing Charm and the Illusion Charm; a tedious business, but necessary for an unforgettable show. While the army of illusions had multiplied, Tom had made himself invisible, Summoned his Firebolt and pouch of accessories, drunk a dose of the Potion of Salamander’s Essence and risen above the army to conduct the performance.

The first illusion stepped forward, and Tom yelled through its mouth,

“Hungarian Horntail! Today the blood of many a valiant wizard shall be avenged! In the name of Hogwarts: we shall not stop our fight till you are back in your chains and the golden egg belongs to me, whom the Goblet of Fire has chosen!” A brief, dramatic pause, during which Tom noticed that everyone in the stands was holding their breath. “CHARGE!”

Like a bunch of drunken Gryffindors, Tom’s over a thousand illusions cried and lunged forward, brandishing their wands and shooting multicoloured sparks high into the air. Such an insane show of bravado was enough to make even the Hungarian Horntail to panic, and she bellowed in fury. The illusions just continued their assault, and the dragon breathed a tornado of fire. Dozens of illusions popped out of existence like soap bubbles, but it was too little and too late for the dragon. The illusions reached her, grabbed her wings, legs and tail with their immaterial hands, and tried to climb on top of her. She roared, breathed more fire, slashed with her claws, whipped with her tail and shook the illusions off by rolling on the ground.

While the spectators were watching in horror at the rapidly increasing death rate of the illusions and wondering which one of them was the real Tom, he subtly flew behind the dragon and took the golden egg with his invisible hands. Then he landed right in front of the stands, Banished his Firebolt and pouch and waited for the dragon to dispatch the rest of the illusions. Finally, she gave a roar of triumph as her nest was cleared of attackers, and an utter silence came over the stands.

That was when Tom dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and presented the golden egg to everyone. There was a brief, stunned silence, but then the roar of applause began, and he grinned. The Triwizard Tournament was, after all, an event primarily for the spectators, not the champions. He had given them exactly what they wanted.

Harry came to Tom grinning more widely than in months.

“That was some show,” he said. “I was absolutely terrified of this tournament, but it seems this is but a joke to you.”

“The very nature of this tournament is to be entertainment,” Tom reminded him. “Not necessarily more dangerous than a Quidditch game, especially one with cursed broomsticks, rogue Bludgers and hungry Dementors. Sirius Black just didn’t realise it.”

The judges had decided about Tom’s points, and everyone turned to watch. Madame Maxime gave full ten points, as did Crouch, Dumbledore and Bagman. Karkaroff was the last one. He looked angry and made his feelings absolutely clear by giving just two points.

There was a great uproar of indignation in the stands, but Tom could not help bursting into hysterical laughter. The uproar quieted in confusion, then some people joined his mirth, and eventually everyone seemed to be roaring with laughter. Karkaroff’s face went as crimson as his robes with humiliation, and he increased the points to five. That did little to diminish the glee of the spectators.

Karkaroff had apparently decided to compete with Snape about who was the most childish adult. What was the matter with these former Death Eaters?

Chapter 30: Non-Silent Night

There was supposed to be a clue to the second task inside the golden egg; that was what Ludo Bagman had told the champions. While the Slytherins were celebrating Tom’s accomplishment as if they had some part in it, Tom withdrew into his dormitory and began to investigate the clue. As he opened the egg, it greeted him with a screech almost half as bad as that of the portrait of Walburga Black in the Black townhouse. (He had afterwards realised that the painting portrayed the witch he had had the misfortune to know at Hogwarts in his first life. It was a good thing she was dead; if the second task would have been confronting her, he probably would have compromised his false identity by using Unforgivable Curses on her. He had been tempted to set the Basilisk on her back in 1943, but he had considered it risky to target people he had openly disliked.)

The egg was clearly not about to give its secret away that easily, so he cast a Silencing Charm on it before opening it for the second time. He peeked inside, trying to see if there was something carved on the inside surface; the screeching sound might be a bluff. But there was nothing, not even after a Revealing Charm.

He stuffed his blanket into the egg and dispelled the Silencing Charm. The sound was muffled but did not become any more understandable. This did not discourage him. It was a riddle, and he had a very special kind of kinship with riddles. Besides, since the tasks were supposed to be the challenging part of the tournament, the egg would have to be easily solved. True challenges were planned to be watched by the audience.

Tom sat down on his bed and imagined himself as an organiser of the tournament, that is, as a feeble-minded bureaucrat of the Ministry’s Department of Games and Sports. The riddle had to be solvable using methods anyone would know and try. If silencing the sound or muffling it with a blanket were not the right method, then perhaps changing it somehow? Some magics worked differently underwater, and so he took the egg to the bathroom and filled it with water. That did the trick. The screech was replaced with a watery song that he could understand only after pressing his ear beneath the water surface.

After a few minutes Tom was convinced that the second task would be a hostage mission, commonly used in the historical tournaments, and it would take place in the lake. He already had gillyweed, thanks to Professor Moody’s advice, and three months to explore the lake for the place where the hostage would be kept. That would also be enough time to plan a breathtakingly dramatic fight scene starring Tom Valedro and the Giant Squid.

 

---

 

The next folly the school year offered the students was the Yule Ball. For many Slytherins, it was nothing out of the ordinary, and Draco complained that he had to endure a feast which would be messed up by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

“When the commoners come from the pub to the parlour, they don’t become civilised, but turn the parlour into a pub,” he said with a condescending grimace, and Tom could not help but agree. The Weasley twins, for example, had the potential to be useful minions in a magical war, but he did not want to socialise with them, especially if it happened on their terms.

He could not quite understand why the commoners seemed to consider the ball as an incredibly important occasion. When he asked Harry what he had planned for the Christmas evening, he blushed and muttered something incoherent. Tom sighed in exasperation and turned to look at the target dummies that Harry had battered so many times during their lessons in the Room of Requirement.

“I should keep in mind that you are not a Slytherin,” he said. “I’m taking for granted some things that are totally alien to you. Now I realise that we’ve been focusing too much on combat skills. You have to learn other skills too. The people stuff.”

“Tom, you’ve said many times that Voldemort is regaining his strength,” Harry pointed out. “I have to learn how to fight. I don’t see how this Yule Ball is relevant.”

“If you don’t, that proves you don’t understand the other aspects of war than battles. Even the greatest warrior is unable to win a war by himself. We’ve got Moody as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but he’s not a good example; he was a lone wolf. Barty Crouch was a true military leader who understood the complex situation Britain was in. He knew that in order to stop Voldemort, he had to deal with other people and ensure their support. The truth is that the huge majority of Slytherin families sided with the Ministry, at least passively, and that was the great accomplishment of Barty Crouch. Moody was the one who engaged in battle and defeated more of Voldemort’s followers than anyone else, but Crouch, while he did take part in some battles, his most important role was to be the one who ensured that Moody didn’t face an enemy force too numerous to be defeated.”

“But the ball…”

“… is the perfect opportunity for you to learn how to deal with people. Consider it an opportunity. Make new friends. Make sure they fight alongside you when the next war begins. Be an awkward, closemouthed loner, and you’ll face your war alone.”

“McGonagall said that I’ve got to ask a girl to be my partner…” Harry said, looking as if he would rather have faced a dragon again.

“You’re not asking her to marry you! No need to be nervous. You could ask someone you’re already on speaking terms with. Surely you wouldn’t get uneasy with Hermione. Ginny would be thrilled to be your partner.” Harry did not seem to like the idea. “How about one of the Chasers of your Quidditch team? But if you want to learn something, not just survive the night, ask someone you don’t know. It’s better to learn to cope with such a situation before there’s much at stake.”

Harry stared at a wall and fidgeted with his fingers very tensely. Such behaviour was quite familiar to Tom from the numerous Slytherins he had practiced his manipulative skills with in his first life.

“Oh, I see,” he said and chuckled. “There’s someone you’d like to go with. Is that it?”

“Well, yes,” Harry muttered after a few awkwardly silent moments, blushing again. “I was thinking… Cho. She’s the Seeker of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.”

Another Quidditch enthusiast? It might be bad influence. But it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Lovesick loons were so easy to manipulate that Tom welcomed this revelation with eager anticipation.

The human weakness that I’m above is upon you, Harry!

“Ask her to be your partner,” he said aloud. “And do it soon. It won’t get easier over time. Someone else may be harbouring similar thoughts. Consider this a test and a challenge. To give you further incentive, I refuse to teach you anything before you’ve asked her.”

Tom walked to the door and opened it, leaving Harry looking after him with a haunted expression.

“Oh, by the way,” Tom said, turning around smirking viciously. “If you don’t act soon, I may take matters into my own hands. I’ve got Polyjuice Potion, and your hair… surely you wouldn’t want me to ask her on your behalf?”

He left the Room, laughing diabolically.

 

---

 

The next evening Harry had not scratched up enough courage to ask the Ravenclaw Seeker, and Tom reprimanded him before offering to cast the Cheering Charm on him. The idea of approaching a girl under artificial mood was strongly unpleasant for him, so he promised to bring better news the next day before fleeing the Room of Requirement.

A day later Harry burst into the Room, looking giddy.

“I did it, Tom!” he exclaimed. “I asked Cho, and she said yes! I checked the Marauder’s Map and saw that she was leaving the library, and then I met her outside as if by chance. Good thing her annoying friends were not there.”

“That’s a good first step, but what next?” Tom asked. “How do you plan to use this date to advance your interests?”

“Frankly, it somehow feels wrong to think about it that way,” Harry complained.

“Well, what plans do you have to make the Yule Ball at least tolerable for you?”

Harry’s elation waned in a heartbeat.

“Er… I’m not the most, uh, socially talented person,” he admitted. “How can I keep up a conversation with Cho the entire night? I barely know her. She likes Quidditch, too, but is that topic enough for so many hours?”

“I have a solution to your problem.” Tom tried hard to keep his face serious. “If it feels like an awkward silence is coming and you have absolutely nothing interesting to say, this will work. But this is the very last resort, understand? It will be a choice between two calamities. Ask her what she thinks about Moody. Then point out that he can see right through clothes!”

Harry’s eyes widened in shocked realisation.

“She will most likely begin an outraged tirade and doesn’t want to be interrupted. As she keeps running her mouth, you can be quiet without it feeling awkward.”

“Uh huh,” Harry voiced. “I think I know what he will be fired for.”

The door opened and the other Gryffindors entered. The Weasley twins were carrying two armfuls of fireworks that were charmed to fire hexes. Ron and Hermione, who both looked a bit wary, kept their distance to the twins. (Harry and Ron’s friendship had suddenly fixed itself after the first task, but Harry had wasted the opportunity to demand reparations from Ron; Tom would not have forgotten to do so even when he was four years old.) Ginny, who entered last, looked fierce as she glared daggers at Tom for some reason.

They had a normal fighting lesson, except that Ginny’s foul mood made her much more proficient at using offensive magic, and she repeatedly managed to pierce Ron’s Shield Charm. After the session, when everyone else left for the Gryffindor common room, she stayed behind and turned her furious eyes at Tom again.

“I heard Harry telling Ron that you encouraged him to ask Cho Chang for the Yule Ball, and he did!” she said in a vicious, accusing tone. “You promised to help me with Harry!”

So that was what bothered her. Still, Tom was quite taken aback by her reaction. Was this really the same emotionally fragile little girl whom he had had no trouble possessing in order to open the Chamber of Secrets?

“Wow, Ginny, you’ve grown!”

“What?” she hissed.

“You’ve learned to fight for what you want. I have no doubt that Harry will notice you as a person in your own right, not just as Ron’s sister who has a crush on him.”

“What does it matter now?” Ginny shrieked. “Harry’s going to date Cho Chang!”

“Hah, it’s just one frivolous event. He didn’t ask her to marry him. Besides, I did suggest asking you, but he wasn’t very keen about it. It was Harry who told me he wanted to ask the Ravenclaw Seeker, I just told him to go with it.”

Tears glistened in Ginny’s eyes.

“Let Harry have a horrible night with a shallow fan girl,” he said dismissively. “It won’t take long for him to start appreciating your down-to-earth style. But you must act as if you’re not upset by this turn of events. That way he can’t take you for granted.”

“I’ve trusted you for over two years,” she said in a dangerously quiet voice, like the calm before the storm. “You seem so sure of yourself when you say things like that, but I don’t know if I can trust you so much anymore.”

It stung, if only a little.

“That’s how it should be,” he said, unable not to smile. “It’s a really, really important part of growing as a person to realise that you can’t rely on others. You must be able to rely on yourself. There’s no one else in the world to whom your best interests are the highest priority.”

She snorted and walked to the door.

“Good night, Tom,” she said coolly before leaving. “I’ll heed your advice, but I’ll also consider whether it’s worth it.”

The door closed after her. She had more potential than he had imagined. Was this what Voldemort had seen in Bellatrix Lestrange?

 

---

 

As Christmas Day came, the Slytherins had decided to demonstrate to the rest of the school why their House produced most of the powerful individuals in Britain by being as sophisticated as they could. As Tom had suggested, many Slytherins had asked students of the other Houses as their partners; this opportunity to form friendships that would later become beneficial should not be wasted. His partner, however, was Sara Jugson, the most Slytherin young lady in the castle, because he had another kind of demonstration to make. Even though he was the one who advocated friendly relations with the other Houses, he still sought his own partner from within Slytherin itself. He knew there were still those who suspected he had some hidden agendas (it was the House of cunning, after all), but this gesture would keep them content.

Sara Jugson was the best choice for another reason too. She, the daughter of one of the most powerful pure-blood families, had known from childhood that her father would be the one to choose her future husband. (She would have the freedom to reject her father’s choice, but not to choose herself.) Because of that, the normal courting life of a young witch was not for her, and she did not have any naive delusions that Tom asking her as a dance partner would be a romantic gesture. Besides, he had danced with her a couple of times before, in the Malfoy Yule Ball a year previously, and also during the summer, and he knew she was not like many of the girls he had known in his first life. For example, Sidonie Hipworth, the female prefect of the students Sorted to Slytherin in 1938, had been obsessed with him. She had considered him as the perfect husband material for her, because neither of them had aristocratic background, but enough talent and ambition to force their way upwards in the rigid social hierarchy of wizarding Britain. (He had checked what had become of her and found out that she was a high-ranking official in the Ministry’s Department of Finance and was married to a moderately respected family whose members were usually Sorted to Ravenclaw. Three of her grandchildren were currently at Hogwarts. It was weird somewhat distressing to think that if she had had her way, those three would be Tom’s grandchildren…)

After some legendary family names had died due to no male offspring, it had become customary in the wizarding world to preserve all respected family names. If a family had only daughters, especially if it did not have any cadet lines, the eldest daughter’s marriage was arranged so that her husband would adopt her name and not the other way around. Because of this, the eldest sons of the prestigious group of families never married the eldest daughters of such families. Greengrass was one of the families with currently no male offspring, and Tom had heard rumours that his friend and Sara’s brother Ethan had been planned to become the husband of Daphne Greengrass while the elder brother Robert would continue the line of Jugson.

These thoughts and more went through Tom’s mind as he waited for the rest of the Slytherins to prepare for the Yule Ball. Once everyone was ready, they left the common room with Tom and Sara leading the way to the Entrance Hall. There they had to wait again, and everyone stared at the champions and their partners. Tom had purchased plain-looking dress robes but improved them magically so that they absorbed all light; they seemed like a totally empty void in the field of vision. It was what he considered elegant. Sara had a green dress, not Slytherin green, but the softer colour of her eyes; but she wore silver jewellery, something the House of Jugson had in abundance.

Harry and Cho Chang stood next to Tom, and he noticed Ginny, who was with Neville Longbottom, watching them intently. She did not look discouraged; on the contrary, she seemed to find entertainment in both Harry and Chang looking a bit uneasy as they did not appear to have anything to say to each other. (Tom suddenly got nervous that Harry would mention Moody before the ball even began.) But then everyone’s attention focused on the new arrivals as Fleur Delacour glided haughtily through the crowd with Cedric Diggory in tow. Diggory seemed somewhat resistant to his partner’s Veela allure, and gave an apologetic sort of look to Chang, who returned the exact same look back, but Harry was too oblivious to notice.

Interesting, Tom thought and added Diggory and Chang on his mental list of budding romances. He had years ago (well, decades, rather) realised that romance was something a cunning Slytherin could manipulate to his own benefit. He had figured out who had fancied who and begun a complex and ever-shifting game of manipulating relationships. He had first helped many people and gained their gratitude, then sabotaged them without them knowing and created jealousy, then offered support and fake consolation and gained even more gratitude. By his fifth year, there had been many grudges and conflicts and much distrust within Slytherin, but he had been a respected mediator and councillor. To be honest, securing future political assets had been his secondary motivation. He would have done it just for the sake of the entertainment the conflicts had offered him.

The mighty front doors opened as the Durmstrang students arrived. As Viktor Krum took his place among the champions, the gossip mill of Hogwarts suddenly got a lot more stuff to grind, because Krum’s partner was none other than Hermione. Tom felt his eyebrows rising towards his hairline. He could not imagine Hermione asking Krum to be her partner, so it had to have been Krum who had taken the initiative. Tom’s own minion and an internationally known Quidditch prodigy! There had to be a way of gaining some political advantage from this situation. Oh, how he loved being a Slytherin!

The Great Hall was decorated to look like a fairy tale castle from a winter wonderland. To Tom, Hogwarts had always been magical enough as it was; when wizards put special effort to making things look fantastic, it turned out extravagant. Christmas should have had a solemn and devout air, not this.

All champions and their partners sat at the same table as the judges. Bartemius Crouch was not present: he had sent his underling to attend this frivolous occasion. Percy Weasley welcomed the champions, smiling and looking important. Apparently, he did not realise that being sent to Hogwarts for the Yule Ball emphasised his unimportance. Crouch was probably sniffing around in Malfoy Manor where the actually important people convened every Christmas, doing his best to find evidence that would link Lucius to the events following the Quidditch World Cup final.

Viktor Krum had found his tongue and kept babbling to Hermione throughout the dinner. Tom tried to listen to him, because he might mention some hints that Tom could use to find the secret location of Durmstrang; for a long time, he had wanted to sneak into the school notorious for the Dark Arts and take a look at its library.

Karkaroff apparently realised the danger, because he interrupted his student.

“Now, now, Viktor! Don’t go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!”

“Igor, all this secrecy,” Dumbledore began and then stopped in order to pop a sherbet lemon into his mouth before continuing. (Tom had trouble believing that sherbet lemons were a good side dish for pork chops.) “One would almost think you did not want visitors.”

“Well, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff said, grimacing. “We are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school’s secrets, and right to protect them?”

“But isn’t it a school’s purpose to teach, to spread those secrets to new students?” Tom asked. “Hogwarts teaches its secrets to outsiders too. You visitors have access to our library. And even though I am the champion for Hogwarts, this is but my second year here. My original school is the Private Wizarding Academy of New Zealand – though, admittedly, it does consider itself as some kind of root sprout of Hogwarts.”

“I’m not sure your policy is a wise one,” Karkaroff said coldly.

“It’s funny, by the way,” Tom continued in a teasing tone. “If a secret must not be known, there has to be something shifty about it. You’re treating your school secrets in the same way some pure-blood families treat their heirlooms. Don’t you agree, Sara?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sara said, but was not offended in the slightest. The Jugsons certainly hoarded tons of items that were outlawed ages ago, but like any pure-blood family that was too rich and influential to be seriously harassed by the Ministry, they enjoyed rubbing the fact that they were above the law to the face of the authorities.

“What, d’you mean the Dark Arts?” Harry asked blankly.

Karkaroff coughed.

“Such accusations should not be made lightly,” he said. “Remember that Durmstrang expelled the Dark Lord Grindelwald for delving into the Dark Arts!”

Tom nodded and turned his eyes away from the remarkably unaesthetic face of Karkaroff. Then he noticed that Dumbledore’s face had become very controlled, as if he was trying not to show what he thought about what Karkaroff had said. That only lasted for a moment, and he was his normal merry self again, and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

“But Durmstrang does offer more opportunities to learn ze Dark Arts,” Madame Maxime said. “Yes, zair ‘ave been Dark wizards from France also. Napoléon Bonaparte, obviously, but ‘e did not learn ‘is evil crafts from Beauxbatons, but Egypt where ‘e broke into an ancient tomb full of lost writings. And Edmond Dantés ‘oo found ze ‘idden library of Cesare Spada. But awfully many former students of Durmstrang are familiar wiz ze Dark Arts.”

“Yes, Hermione, I don’t think you should get too enthusiastic about Durmstrang,” Tom said. “I’ve heard they don’t value Muggle-borns there.”

Hermione’s face fell, and she turned to Krum with a hurt look, and he probably meant his bashful expression to be apologetic, but it turned out just awkward.

“Indeed, Durmstrang doesn’t accept Muggle-born students,” Percy called out pompously. “I read once that they expelled a perfectly capable Muggle-born student after the truth came out that his parents had just pretended to be a witch and a wizard.”

A very brief flash of anger swept across the face of Dumbledore; Tom would have missed it if he had not happened to be looking at the Headmaster at the right moment. Karkaroff mumbled something, knowing that most people present disapproved of his policies.

“Barbaric,” Madame Maxime huffed.

“The Department of International Cooperation has repeatedly appealed to the Russian Magi’s Commissariat for Foreign –” Percy began to lecture with a maniacal gleam in his eyes but was interrupted by Dumbledore with the unanimous backing of everyone else present.

“I, too, have discussed this matter with the Russians,” the Headmaster said and popped and sherbet lemon into his mouth. “As well as with many other nations that deny civil rights such as education from Muggle-borns. Alas, they usually ask the question why we should have the right to force our ways upon them and not the other way around. If, Miss Granger, you would like to see the International Confederation of Wizards somehow enforcing a uniform policy towards Muggle-borns in the entire wizarding world, keep quiet about it, for now, at least. I fear we progressives might turn out to be the minority, and you would suffer from it.”

“Progressives,” Sara muttered under her breath so that only Tom could hear. “I hate it when Dumbledore so casually declares that he represents the inevitable future. No fate has determined that the society should progress exactly to the direction he wants it to.”

“I agree,” Tom whispered in reply. “The power of propaganda is strong. He has used it to turn the very language we use to further his own ends.”

“I don’t think people should just wait for their rulers to give them their rights,” Hermione said icily while the two Slytherins whispered. “Rights have always been gained by fighting for them. If magical governments deny civil rights, people should rise up and demand better. Britain wouldn’t have become what it is if the people had just submitted to tyrants.”

“Many nations don’t want to have anything to do with Muggle-borns,” Karkaroff sneered. “They’ve got the right to live however they want, right –?” He cut off abruptly, probably deciding not to say aloud some witty and inappropriate retort.

“Equal civil rights are more important than that!” Hermione snarled. Her tight hairdo was beginning to unravel. “It’s a universal value!”

“No, it’s not,” Sara said.

“Yes, it is!”

“If it was universal,” Tom said, “everyone would share it. Simply the fact that we are having this conversation proves that it’s not shared by everyone.”

Hermione fell into a stunned and outraged silence. Sara and Karkaroff smirked. Most people at the table had awkwardly focused on their plates. Dumbledore, Madam Maxime and even Percy seemed to think that even the uncomfortable silence was better than the conversation continuing. Harry’s pathetic attempts to initiate a conversation with Chang failed. Fleur Delacour had nothing positive to say about anything, and Diggory looked like he was regretting having her as a partner. Ludo Bagman could not stand a mood that was not cheerful and seemed put out. Krum stared down with such a lost and helpless look that eventually Hermione’s indignation had to give way for pity. They all would probably remember this meal among the extravagant decorations as the worst Christmas of their lives.

Luckily, Tom did not mind being a killjoy.

The end of the dinner came as a relief for many at the table. Into the Great Hall came a chamber orchestra that began to play some cheap imitations of Johan Strauss’s waltzes. (Many pure-bloods refused to listen to any music composed by a Muggle, but in order to circumvent this prejudice some much less talented magical composers had taken the Muggle compositions, changed a few notes here and there, and introduced them to the wizarding world as their own.) The champions were the first ones to enter the dance floor. No one could match the unnatural grace with which Fleur Delacour danced, and most of the audience stared at her with mesmerised expressions. That was good for Harry, because no one noticed his sorry excuse for dancing, except Ginny, who reminded To, of a bird of prey when she waited for Cho Chang to get filled up by the awkwardness of her date.

Sara, like all daughters of aristocratic families, was an adept dancer, and To, did not mind dancing with her. In his first life, the touch of another person had been unpleasant to him, but he had got rid of that weakness thanks to Ginny. It had made the social side of being a Slytherin much more tolerable.

After half an hour of dancing, Tom and Sara left the dance floor and joined a group of other older Slytherins and a few Durmstrang students. They also visited the rose garden that had been conjured outside the front doors, but all in all, the night was not that different from what pure-bloods were used to.

It was not very late when the mood in the Great Hall started to turn boisterous as the dignified ball was replaced by a vulgar carnival, and Tom considered casting a Noise Muffling Barrier around his ears. As Draco had feared, inviting the commoners to the parlour had turned the parlour into a pub. Both Tom and Sara grew very irritated by it and decided to leave, being among the first ones to do so. As they left, he heard a loud girlish shriek and wondered if Harry had finally decided to ask his date about Moody.

“Good night, Tom,” Sara said as they entered the blessed silence of the Slytherin common room. “I hope they haven’t planned anything stupid for Easter. I’d much rather attend the next ball in Jugson Manor.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Good night.”

 

---

 

In the morning, Tom heard that Ron and Hermione had had a heated argument about their relationship in the Gryffindor common room. Apparently, Ron did not like Hermione going to the ball with Krum but could not articulate why. Tom asked Ginny to extract her memory of the argument to him, and she happily complied. Unlike Tom, Ron and Hermione were not immortal, but he would make sure that the funniest moments of their lives would never be forgotten.

Chapter 31: Showing Off

“So, how was your evening?” Tom asked.

Harry looked resigned with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders.

“I can’t say I had fun. I talked with Cho about the Quidditch World Cup for a little while, but it just didn’t feel natural. She did ask me about the golden egg, but I had to admit that I don’t have any idea what the noise means.”

“That means she wanted to keep the conversation going. You haven’t lost yet. There’s traditionally a Hogsmeade trip around Valentine’s Day. You should ask her to come with you.”

Harry looked absolutely frightened. If he did go with the girl, she would learn what Harry Potter’s life was like as the Aurors would again accompany him, and the romance would be doomed for sure. Ginny would be extremely pleased.

“Have you solved the clue in the egg?” Harry asked, deciding to move to a marginally less stressful subject.

“Yes, it only took me ten minutes or so.”

“Oh… well – I’m sure you remember that I told you about the dragons.”

“I helped you to prepare.”

“Look, I didn’t enter this tournament willingly!” Harry said.

“All right, let’s make a compromise. I’ll tell you how the clue is solved, but you’ll make an honest attempt to plan a good tactic for the second task yourself. It’s better to learn resourcefulness before your life truly depends on it.”

“It’s a deal,” Harry said and shook hands with Tom.

“Put the egg underwater,” Tom said and smirked at Harry’s stumped expression. Legilimency was not needed to know that he was wondering how such a simple trick had not crossed his mind.

 

---

 

When Tom saw Krum in the library the next time, the Durmstrang champion glared at him grumpily. Great, now he held a grudge against Tom for upsetting Hermione, and the new juicy opportunity Tom had sensed with him was in jeopardy. This called for some damage control.

Krum was in many ways similar to Harry: socially awkward and admired due to his deeds rather than his character. A master manipulator could play people such as those two like the fiddle. To his surprise, Tom sat at the same table with him.

“I’ve realised that I owe you an apology,” Tom said. “I did not mean that Miss Granger should judge you by the policies of your school. On the contrary, I wanted to emphasise the fact that you do not share the biases of Durmstrang, but I got distracted and it didn’t come out right.”

Krum eyed Tom for a moment with an unreadable expression.

“Vell, she vos not angry after I explained things after the dinner,” he said.

“She is a level-headed person and knows better than to be biased because of trivial things like school or Quidditch accomplishments.”

Krum gave a slight approving smile. Apparently, Tom had guessed right by assuming that being a masterful Quidditch player was not an important part of his self-image. Then Krum’s keen eyes focused sharply as if he had spotted the Snitch.

“You called her Herm-own-ninny. Do you know her?”

“We’re members of the same study group, along with Harry Potter and a couple of friends. Besides, my family and hers had some mutual business in New Zealand before I moved here, and she was the first citizen of wizarding Britain I met.”

“She knows Harry Potter vell?”

“They’ve been friends since their first year here. She is one of the few who have always been capable of seeing past Harry’s fame. Am I right in guessing that it was that very thing that made you ask her as your partner instead of one of the girls who used to hide behind those shelves?”

“Indeed,” said Krum. “I may not be as smooth a talker as you, but I alvays know if someone is shallow. And I don’t like shallow people.”

“That’s wise of you. But even shallow people can be useful. You just have to find the right way of making use of them.”

Krum chuckled softly. Then he looked at Tom again sharply.

“But how do you do it, Mr Valedro? I don’t see any shallow girls stalking you. You are the Head Boy, your housemates seem to consider you as their leader, your performance in the first task vos great, and I’m sure many girls think you good-looking. Yet you don’t seem to haff trouble vith them.”

“That’s probably because they know I’m always available,” Tom explained. “In Slytherin, I’m chairing the Duelling Club, the Book Club and the Debate Society. Probably some of the girls participated in them because they wanted me to fund their clothes shopping. However, it soon became clear that the only way to make an impression on me is to be clever, cunning, hard-working and powerful. That discouraged the unambitious girls and directed the energy of the ambitious ones to a productive purpose. Then they noticed that I asked Sara Jugson as my dance partner, and she was never one of those who sought my attention. I think I’m widely considered a lost cause, and I’m perfectly fine with it. We live in a world of magic, for Merlin’s sake, and mastering the arcane arts and uncovering the mysteries still unsolved to wizardry are more than enough purpose in life for me. Why give in to the most basic urges? The ability to gather knowledge is what sets humans apart from animals, and the ability to violate the common laws of physics is what sets wizards apart from Muggles. I can’t fathom it that so many wizards are fixed on finding a mate, something that mere animals do! Such a waste of potential! I refuse to be like them. Magic is my mistress.”

“That’s… interesting,” Krum said. “In Durmstrang, ven somevun speaks about magic vith passion like that, people get scared. I hear Grindelvald vos like you.”

“Ah, I see, but here in Britain the most passionate scholars are people like Dumbledore. And I don’t think you’d be spending so much time in the library if you weren’t curious about the mysteries around us.”

“Quite,” he admitted.

Tom looked at the book Krum had been reading before the conversation. It was about human Transfiguration, specifically into a large aquatic animal.

“Would you be interested in a little trade?” Tom asked. “I only ask you to give me a list of magical arts that are more extensively available in the Durmstrang library than this one. In exchange, I will give you gillyweed – you know, for underwater breathing.”

Krum grinned conspiratorially.

“Ve are competing against vun another,” he said, “and yet you offer to help me. Vot a show-off!” They shared a laugh. “I vill give you the list, but only after the second task. I need to be sure you don’t give me fake stuff.”

“Damn, you’re onto me!” Tom joked and dramatically smacked his palm against his forehead. “It’s a deal.”

“I don’t think it vill be of much use to you,” Krum said and shrugged. “Durmstrang does not allow visitors.”

“I stopped believing in the impossible the day I truly understood that I am a wizard. Our limits are solely in our imagination.”

“Now you scare me again.”

“Sorry, I think I need to go before I blurt out my evil master plan. I’ll give you the gillyweed at dinner. It was nice talking to you.”

As Tom left the library, he added a new name on his mental list of allies.

 

---

 

A week before the second task, Harry presented Tom his solution to the underwater challenge.

“Hermione said that Summoning Muggle devices is a bad idea,” he said. “Then we’ve searched the library for charms, but there are just too many books. Cedric Diggory’s father works at the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and certainly knows charms used in dealing with Merpeople, Grindylows and so on… so I could ask Cedric? But then there’s also gillyweed. Neville mentioned it when he overheard Ron and me talking.”

“I’ll be using gillyweed,” Tom said. “If you want, I’ll give you some of it, I’ve got more than enough. But if you don’t want to use the same method of surviving underwater, there’s also the Bubble-Head Charm. I happen to know that Krum is also going to use gillyweed.”

“This is not the time to be prideful,” Harry said. “I’ll take the gillyweed. But perhaps I should learn the Bubble-Head Charm too, just in case.”

Surely he was not thinking about using them at the same time? Tom saw with his mind’s eye Harry floating in the lake after having been suffocated inside the air bubble due to having gills. It was morbid but hilarious at the same time, and for a moment he felt really tempted to suggest it to him.

“There you are,” he said and handed Harry the magical herbs.

“What d’you think the thing is that we must recover?”

“A person, most likely. Hostage missions were common in the past tournaments.”

“Er… someone’s life depends on my success?” Harry looked unsettled.

“Of course not. It’s just to create a sense of drama in this task.” Tom snorted. “Dumbledore’s decision, no doubt. He can’t be happy teaching students to become heroes through gaining personal glory. He wants other people to be involved as those that the heroes must save.”

 

---

 

Harry did not have much preparing to do, but then again, he only wanted to survive the tournament. Tom, on the other hand, had his hands full of little things to do. It was a relief when the last set of the spells was put in its place.

The Great Hall was full of whispers as Tom tried to focus on his breakfast before the second task. He sat next to Krum so that each of them only had one direction to shoo all well-wishers away.

Later, after he had once again given Derrick and Bole the letter with the instructions of resurrecting him in the case of the death of his body, Tom regarded the lake that looked very unwelcoming. Gillyweed luckily made its user more tolerant against cold water, and he had already stuffed all of it in his mouth. He had decided not to take off his robes, but he had charmed them so that they would not slow him down. Shoes he had taken off, because gillyweed turned feet into flippers, and it was an advantage that he was not going to disregard.

The stands were full of spectators, and the judges had also taken their places.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle,” Bagman said with his amplified voice. “They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two… three!”

Tom had already chewed the gillyweed and swallowed it the moment Bagman began counting. As the whistle blew, Tom ran to the water and dived as he felt the gills forming. Then he only needed to follow his plan, and everything would be very straightforward.

When he had explored the depths of the lake in late November, he had placed a very special pebble in the Merpeople village where the hostages would most likely be kept. What made the pebble special was a Tracking Charm, and Tom activated it as he started to swim in the general direction of the village. Suddenly he could sense the pebble as though it was a bright spot of light in the murky waters. That meant he knew exactly where to go, and he could not get lost along the way. Honestly, this task was ridiculously easy for someone who prepared even a little bit.

Less than fifteen minutes later he arrived at the centre of the village and beheld a large statue with four prisoners tied into it: Sara Jugson for him, Cho Chang for Harry, Hermione for Krum and Cedric Diggory for Delacour; the Yule Ball partner of each champion. Tom grimaced with distaste. Was it really necessary to shoehorn such impression of romance into this? Why could dance partnership not be just a sign of political alignment?

Without heeding the Merpeople around me, he used two Severing Charms to free Sara, then grabbed her and used a spell to propel the two of them towards the surface. Once he was out of the water again, he used a spell to remove the effect of the gillyweed.

Sara opened her eyes.

“Hello, Tom,” she said and shivered. “Did you have any trouble?”

“No, and so I had to plan some of my own. This show is only beginning. Don’t be concerned, it will all be under my control.”

Bagman announced Tom’s arrival, sounding surprised. There was some clapping in the stands, but not much. This was probably the worst spectator event ever: hundreds of people were forced to stare at a still lake and wait for someone to surface. In February. And so it had fallen to Tom to prevent them from dying of boredom.

Tom flicked his wand, and far above the lake an invisible bag full of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder released its contents. Such a small quantity of it did not have much of an effect outdoors, just a slight darkening of the sky, as if dusk had come early. But there were nine more bags waiting for their turns.

Next the water began to ripple. It was accomplished by Blasting Curses deep in the lake; with the Triggered Firing Charm, Tom had placed several hundreds of them and now he triggered them one by one.

Then there was an ominous rumble from the lake, as if an underwater lightning had struck. More Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder was released into the air, and the ripple of the water turned into waves. As the Durmstrang ship began to rock, alarmed whispers broke out in the stands.

Suddenly a massive jet of water sprang towards the sky from the middle of the lake, and a thunderous voice boomed.

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE.”

Tom hoped no one would realise that it was his own voice, just vastly amplified and distorted.

Dozens of Blasting Curses close to the surface made the water splash violently. A hundred Steam Conjuring Charms and five hundred Soap Bubble Charms added a veil above the lake.

Tom had planned a fight between him and the Giant Squid, but the problem was that while the Squid was big, it was nowhere near as big as he would have liked. The solution was to use the Illusion Charm again, and to make the fake Squid even bigger. A hundred times bigger, to be precise.

Titanic tentacles came out of the water, some of them enveloping the Durmstrang ship. Then the body of the illusory Squid appeared, looking in the unnatural twilight like an unnamed monster from beneath the ocean floor of an alien planet. It opened its mouth close to where Tom and Sara were swimming towards to shore.

“Um… is this a part of your plan?” Sara asked.

“Yes, and it gets better.”

“BOW BEFORE THE GOD OF OUTER DARKNESS, MORTALS!”

As the illusory Squid surged forwards, numerous massive eyes opened all over it. They were actually illusions of Moody’s Mad-Eye, and very familiar to every student. Unsurprisingly, people on the stands were getting excited. Some first-year students were screaming in terror.

“CTHULHU HAS COME TO CLAIM THIS WORLD!”

Tom and Sara reached the shore. He politely helped her out of the lake and dried her robes with the Foehn Charm before turning to face the monster of his own creation.

“YOUR FATES ARE SEALED! THE END OF DAYS IS UPON YOU!”

The illusory Squid towered above the shore and spread its gaping maw wide open.

“Get back to the void from whence you came, demon!” Tom yelled and pointed his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

All the remaining Blasting Curses triggered in the depths, and the monstrous illusion rose out of the raging water. Its tentacles squirmed as it appeared to try to grab something to keep it grounded. One of them lunged at Tom, and he sent a bright bolt of lightning towards the hideous head almost above him.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The illusion jerked back, roaring deafeningly, and was launched upwards. The roar continued for a while, but then stopped as the God of Outer Darkness was returned to its own domain.

The Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder was quickly dispersed, and daylight returned.

“Whoops, that wasn’t very difficult,” Tom said and stepped out of the water. The applause was much louder than it had been five minutes earlier.

Dumbledore was chuckling in the judges’ podium and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. Bagman looked extremely relieved; apparently, he had believed the show to be a real thing. Percy clapped and looked very entertained. Madam Maxime looked amused as well, but perhaps a little exasperated as well by how Tom had once again monopolised the spotlight. Karkaroff was sourer than ever. Tom inclined his head to them with a grin before sitting down to wait for the other champions.

It took some time for the others to return with their hostages. Each of them succeeded; Delacour, Tom overheard, had been attacked by Grindylows, but they had fled once the explosions had begun. Harry pushed Chang to the shore but remained underwater because his gillyweed still had a few minutes left. Tom removed the effect and helped him out of the water.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “What was the… noise?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just the sound of my totally predictable victory. I didn’t want a simple fanfare, and so I enlisted the God of Outer Darkness to announce the outcome.”

“And Snape accused me of not taking this seriously,” Harry muttered and shook his head. “I’ve got a faint memory of someone complaining about the Yule Ball being extravagant.”

“It was most likely Karkaroff. Sour grapes, you know. Just look at him!”

The judges had a brief discussion before they announced the points. Dumbledore, Percy and Bagman gave Tom ten points, Madame Maxime only nine for “unnecessary showing off” and Karkaroff four for “totally unnecessary showing off, not to mention creating waves that undoubtedly messed up my cabin in the ship – a deliberate act of mischief, I’m sure.” Tom would have wanted to point out that any competent wizard was capable of securing his stuff from changes in the direction of gravity, but he did not bother or need to argue about it. He would win the tournament anyway, and arguing would have made him seem petty. It was actually nice of Karkaroff to offer him these opportunities to demonstrate how he was above such little tantrums.

Tom was on the first place with eighty-seven points, not that it mattered much. There were far more important things to think about than the third task, such as using his final months at Hogwarts to secure whatever advantages he could. Speaking of which, Tom noticed Krum flirting with Hermione when he thought no one saw.

 

---

 

“Do you have a moment, Hermione?” Tom asked the next day when his Gryffindor minions were leaving the Room of Requirements after their practice session.

“Sure, why?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve noticed that you’re on good terms with Viktor Krum.”

She blushed slightly.

“I thought you’d be better than those who gossip all the time, Tom.”

“Oh, I think I am better than them. I’ve got a reason to be slightly interested. Do you know why you’re such a special friend to Harry?”

She seemed taken aback.

“Um… I don’t think…”

“It’s because you see past his fame,” he explained. “Harry considers himself a totally normal person, and he feels awkward when other people think otherwise and let him know it. Ron has an inferiority complex which makes him jealous of Harry’s fame. Ginny used to be a fan girl who only cared about the Boy Who Lived thing. Malfoy and the other Slytherins bullied him because of what happened to him when he was one year old. You, on the other hand, have always treated him as an individual, and that is something Harry appreciates beyond words.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Hermione said quietly. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that, but when you explain it… I did know it at some level.”

“I don’t know Viktor Krum as well as I know Harry, but I assume this same thing applies to him. Most people see only the Quidditch prodigy. He has loads of shallow fan girls, and he hates it. You never cared about the Quidditch prodigy and so you’re able to see the person behind the role. Just like with Harry, that’s rare for Krum. And that’s the reason he’s attracted to you and not to any of the fan girls.”

“Attracted?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Yes, obviously. I don’t need to use Legilimency to read that particular part of his mind. I hope you understand your importance in this matter. I imagine he’d be very distraught if you rejected him. It would be a severe blow on his self-esteem. An indication that he is worthless as a person.”

Hermione was silent for a while and stared into nothingness. Then her eyes suddenly focused again as she looked at Tom.

“He asked me to come to Bulgaria to visit him in the summer,” she blurted.

“What did you answer?”

“I – I said I’ll think about it. It took me totally by surprise. And, well…”

“You’re hesitant to say yes because you know so little of him?”

“Exactly. I’ve talked with him like three times. I’d like to visit other magical countries, but with a person I barely know…?”

“There’s a solution to that problem. You should spend more time with him. If it doesn’t feel like things are working out, tell him no. But I strongly advise you to go visit him in Bulgaria. Few people regret grasping the opportunities that they happen to encounter, but most regret not grasping those they missed. Don’t make this the one thing that you’ll blame yourself for missing for the next hundred years.”

“Anything can be an opportunity, right?” she asked with a smile. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll talk with him in the library when I next see him.”

She followed the others to the Gryffindor common room, and Tom headed to the dungeons. It was nice having minions to do things for him.

 

---

 

Tom’s final spring at Hogwarts passed in a blur. He never could find enough time to read through all the books of the Restricted Section that he had judged interesting, because securing his political influence among the younger Slytherins was not so easily done outside of Hogwarts. He used more and more time with the Slytherin Book Club, the Duelling Club and the Debate Society, and he began to coach Draco as his successor as the student leader of Slytherin. Draco would have to continue running the three clubs Tom had revitalised with an irreplaceable sacrifice of valuable time. Tom showing off during the second task had not been unnecessary at all, because it had further convinced the Slytherins of his superiority. In this time of renewed Death Eater activity, he had to demonstrate that the future was with him.

In late May, the Triwizard champions were summoned to the Quidditch stadium to get information about the third task. Tom was eager to begin planning the final and most extravagant spectacle he would offer the audience, but apparently the organisers were not very enthusiastic about giving him the opportunity. The third task would be a maze. How did one turn a maze into something worth looking at?

“This seems to be getting easier,” Harry commented as they returned to the castle.

“I’m beginning to think they accidentally put the tasks in the wrong order,” Tom grumbled.

They passed Moody who was heading to the grounds as fast as he could limp.

“Well, let’s not be complacent,” Tom said after the clunking of Moody’s peg leg could no longer be heard. “Who knows what monsters they will put in the maze? You’ve become a good fighter, Harry.”

“Thanks to you, Tom.”

“Try to surpass your teacher. I won’t consider it a failure on my part if you beat me.”

 

---

 

As a champion, Tom was given the option of doing his NEWTs at the time of his choosing after the school year, but he decided to participate in the exams at the same time as all his fellow seventh-year students. He had plans for the summer that he did not want to mess up with unfinished schoolwork, and twelve exams while preparing for the third task was some kind of showing off as well. No exam offered him real challenge, except maybe Divination due to being so incoherent. The crystal ball showed all kinds of omens of great calamity approaching, and he tried to make sense of them by using all the interpretation methods he had memorised. Unless something massive happened that involved a wand, a ring, a cloak and someone stepping through a veil, the examiners would have trouble giving him a grade.

The final exam was on the same day as the third task. As Tom tossed his schoolbooks into his trunk for the last time after a brief reading session before breakfast, the time of his final show was near.

Chapter 32: The Fallen Brother

Professor McGonagall came walking alongside the Slytherin table after the first students had begun to leave the Hall.

“Mr Krum, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast,” she said. “Your family has been invited to watch the final task, and this is your chance to greet them. Mr Valedro, we tried to contact your parents as well, but we couldn’t find their address even with the help of the Ministry’s Department of International Cooperation.”

That’s not surprising considering one of them is buried in Little Hangleton, Yorkshire, and the other one in a common grave in London.

“That’s all right, Professor,” Tom said out loud. “They wouldn’t have come even if invited. They believe quite strongly in the isolationist philosophy of the magical community of New Zealand. Besides, they don’t approve of this kind of a spectacle.”

She nodded curtly and returned to the High Table.

“Your parents are more extreme than Durmstrang,” Krum commented.

“That’s why I’m here,” Tom said and thought about his maternal family shack, the filthy beast he had seen in the memories of the old villager, and his father who apparently had wanted to have nothing to do with the wizarding world. More extreme than Durmstrang, definitely.

Krum and Delacour went to see their families and Harry the Weasleys who had come in the stead of the Dursleys, but Tom still had his final NEWT exam to do, namely History of Magic. He wrote an essay about the pompous wannabe Dark Lord Fernand Mondego who had tried to follow in the footsteps of his mentor Napoléon Bonaparte and become the emperor of Muggle France by using an immensely powerful wand he had stolen after murdering Ali Pasha of Janina. It was one of the histories Tom had learned by heart back when he had planned his own life. Mondego had foolishly made the mistake of not eliminating his enemy, and it was high on Tom’s list of things he would never do himself.

One other thing he would never do was to rush into a dangerous Triwizard task without preparing with every method he could possibly think of. He had all his usual safety precautions in place, but additionally he had a new item: a very special map.

The maze had been revealed to the champions a full month before the task. There had been plenty of time for Tom to turn himself invisible, mount his Firebolt and go hovering above the Quidditch stadium with parchment and a quill and to draw the entire layout of the maze. He had memorised every turn, and one early morning he had measured the time it would take him to run from the entrance to the centre where the Triwizard Cup would be kept. Ten minutes, maybe plus one for overcoming obstacles, and he would be the winner. It would be a feat more embarrassing than impressive, but the fault would not be with him but the idiot who had planned such an easily cheatable task.

Tom had also added a new layer of protection on himself. When visiting the Chamber of Secrets in the autumn, he had realised the potential of the empty Basilisk skin, cut a piece of it and taken it to a tailor in Diagon Alley. Basilisk skin was as strong and magic resistant as dragon skin, making it immensely useful as a protective material. Dragon skin was easily available in the market (for example, the common Potioneer’s gloves were made of it), but it was all from young dragons. If someone managed to kill an old dragon, they would never sell the skin. Therefore, Tom’s suit of Basilisk skin was much stronger than anything he could have bought. It had taken months for the tailor to finish the job (he had needed to acquire goblin-wrought needles), but finally, Tom had his suit under his robes.

Spectators arrived throughout the day. Minister Fudge was present, as were the French Cardinal and the Russian Comrade, and tourists from around the world were flocking in the grounds under the watchful eyes of Moody and a group of Aurors. The tournament was an occasion most of Europe was interested in, but also an opportunity for Sirius Black to sneak in among the crowd.

The dinner was a feast for some reason; there was another one planned for the ending ceremony of the tournament the next morning, but clearly Dumbledore wanted a festive atmosphere for the third task. The school staff at the High Table was joined by Crouch and Bagman. Crouch had not been seen in public for half a year, but he had decided to come for the third task, even though he looked extremely gaunt and sickly. He did not speak to anyone, just ate in silence as though he was in a trance. How sad, dull and unremarkable an end for such a prominent wizard.

Then the time came for the champions to follow Bagman to the stage of the task. Soon after they had stopped to look at the imposing hedges, the stands began to fill with witches and wizards who would soon find great entertainment in… watching at the hedges and waiting for something to happen? This time Tom had not planned any show of his own to make the event interesting, so it would be a public service to end the task as quickly as possible.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bagman said, his voice amplified as usual. “The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place with eighty-seven points – Mr Tom Valedro, of Hogwarts School! In second place with eighty-three points – Mr Harry Potter, also of Hogwarts School! In third place with eighty points – Mr Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute. And in fourth place with seventy-nine points – Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy! So, on my whistle, Mr Valedro. Three – two – one –”

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Tom walked into the maze at a relaxed and dignified pace that made the Slytherin students laugh and cheer with approval. However, immediately after making the first turn, he began to run. He did not know how long a head start he had earned, but his goal was to grab the cup before Delacour even entered the maze. He had to have at least some kind of a challenge.

He did not need to read the map as he went through the memorised list of turns on the way. Occasionally he encountered what could laughingly be called obstacles.

Acromantulas and Blast-Ended Skrewts were resistant against spells like the Stunning Charm, making them formidable obstacles for those Triwizard champions who used such basic methods. But there was no defence against the Gravity Amplifying Charm.

“Amplio Gravitas, Amplio Gravitas, Amplio Gravitas,” Tom chanted while navigating through the maze, dispatching every single monster with ease. No matter how powerful and dangerous a magical creature was, they all had one common weakness: they were adapted to the normal gravity of planet Earth. Doubling gravity was enough to incapacitate almost any foe. Amplifying it with the factor of ten was downright overkill; it crushed anything beneath its increased weight.

Some of the creatures were intelligent.

“You are very near your goal,” said a sphinx. “The quickest way is –”

“Amplio Gravitas,” Tom said, unsure if the sphinx actually had meant her words to be a riddle, but clearly the Gravity Amplifying Charm was a quicker way of dealing with her than babbling. He scoffed as he walked past the incapacitated lion-human-bird hybrid. First the golden egg, now this. He had an unfair advantage in the tournament due to his intimate affinity with riddles.

And so, around eleven minutes after stepping into the maze, Tom stood before the Triwizard Cup. Careful even at the moment of his triumph, he cast a diagnostic charm on it. The cup was, in fact, a trap, but most likely not for any champion. Just for Harry.

“Oh, well,” Tom said and sat down. “So much for the quick and dramatic victory. Time for a break.”

For a long time, he stayed sitting next to the cup, staring up into the darkening sky. Mars was very bright that evening, brighter than it had been a few nights earlier during his Astronomy NEWT.

A long while later he heard a very faint sound of footsteps thanks to the Supersensory Charm he had cast before entering the maze. Someone was sneaking on the other side of the closest hedge. Tom took the map from his pocket and studied the layout of the maze. The path the other champion was walking on did not lead to the centre, but Tom stuck his face through the foliage out of curiosity. He saw a glimpse of the platinum hair of Fleur Delacour.

Right after she had passed, he heard much louder footsteps, and then Krum’s voice began to yell curses, some of them too Dark to Hogwarts’ liking. Light flashed on the other side of the hedge, and Delacour quickly succumbed to Krum’s ferocious assault despite her best efforts to defend herself.

It was wildly out of character for Krum, of that Tom was certain after getting to know him over the course of the previous months. He glanced quickly at the Triwizard Cup. There already were sinister forces at play…

“Krum!” Tom barked through the hedge. “What are you doing?”

The Durmstrang champion immediately began firing curses at the hedge, and Tom sidestepped hastily. A Blasting Curse tore a gap into the hedge, and Krum burst through, not heeding the cup in the slightest. His eyes were unnaturally glassy and his face expressionless, something that reminded Tom vividly of his classmates’ faces when Moody had demonstrated the power of the Imperius Curse on them.

Krum’s attacks were powerful and determined, but the Imperius had reduced his ability to act creatively. Between defensive moves Tom created a large puddle around the cup with a strong Water-Making Spell and then turned it into ice with the Freezing Spell. Krum just continued his attacks without paying attention to the ice and slipped in no time. As he fell, Tom used the Full Body-Bind Curse on him, removed the ice and looked into his eyes.

Imperio. Incapacitate Delacour and Valedro. Remove all obstacles you encounter.

So, Moody had not been able to notice Sirius Black in the crowd. The situation was getting serious.

The hedge had almost recovered from the Blasting Curse. Tom Stupefied Krum and levitated him through what remained of the gap before the magic of the hedge closed it.

He did not resume his relaxed sitting but paced nervously back and forth while waiting for Harry to reach the centre.

After some time, the younger boy finally arrived, but it felt like hours.

“So,” Harry said. “You’ve won the tournament.”

“It seems so,” Tom said. “I reached the Triwizard Cup first.”

“Why haven’t you taken it?” Harry asked after a brief silence.

“Because there’s something I want to talk to you about. You remember Moody’s theory that you were forced to participate in order to have you killed? Maybe it’s just Moody being paranoid, but in the light of these events it makes sense more than any other theory. Think about it. Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a baby. He tried again when attempting to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. And I’m sure he opened the Chamber of Secrets with the same goal. Then his henchman Sirius Black escaped and twice infiltrated Hogwarts in order to kill you. And now you’re competing in a tournament notorious for its death-toll. Do you believe it is a coincidence, especially considering the Goblet of Fire was tricked into selecting a fourth champion?”

“When you put it that way… no.”

“You survived the dragon, the lake and now this maze. Where’s the trap?”

Harry’s eyes turned to the cup.

“I just witnessed something unsettling. Krum has been Imperiused with the order of incapacitating Delacour and me and of removing all obstacles. He succeeded with Delacour, but I defeated him and learned the truth. Someone wants desperately you to win. I was suspicious of the cup, so I cast a diagnostic charm on it. It’s a Portkey.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Actually, a double Portkey. The destination of the first charm is just outside the maze, which is not surprising. Obviously, the winner must be taken out of the maze once the task is over. However, there’s a second Portkey Charm as well, and its destination is somewhere much further away, at least a hundred miles away, maybe more, somewhere to the south from here. That, I think, is the trap set for you.”

“But…” Harry said. “But… why here? Why the trouble of forcing me through the tournament?”

“Probably because this is such a rare opportunity,” Tom explained. “The protective enchantments of Hogwarts prevent most kinds of instantaneous transportation. Whoever wants to abduct you must be aware of the fact that only here, at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, there’s a temporary breach in security. The Anti-Portkey Area Jinx is disabled so that the winner can be taken out of the maze. The abductor realised months ago that this is the only opportunity for him to take you away from Hogwarts. The Hogsmeade trips wouldn’t do because a team of Aurors and Moody were always guarding you. It had to be here.”

“So, what should we do?”

“The choice is yours. Keep in mind that it may be Sirius Black working for Voldemort who’s behind this plot. And he’s not alone; someone is helping him, and either Black or the accomplice is at Hogwarts right now setting these events in motion. You can spring the trap yourself and risk the consequences, or you can inform Dumbledore, in which case nothing is likely to happen before the culprit at Hogwarts manages to alert his accomplice, and then our opportunity to catch them off guard will be lost. If you choose to spring the trap, I’m willing to come with you. First, I’ll cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself so that whoever is waiting for you won’t know you’ve got help.”

Harry sat down and closed his eyes, thinking. After a few moments he opened his eyes again, and Tom could read the decision from the grim, determined expression on his face.

“Sirius Black betrayed my parents,” Harry said. “I swore to myself almost two years ago that I would avenge them. I couldn’t live with myself if I wasted this opportunity. But tell me… can you imagine why Black would make this kind of convoluted plot that takes months to reach this point? Last year he favoured a very different approach. If he’s able to infiltrate Hogwarts as he is, why go through the trouble of taking me somewhere else to be killed?”

“That’s a good question. I don’t know. If someone goes this far to abduct you, it seems unlikely that killing you is the only purpose.” Tom contemplated the matter for a moment. “The only things that come to my mind are that whoever is waiting for you to appear with the cup wants to either interrogate you or to use you as a hostage, or both. Perhaps he thinks you’ve got some valuable knowledge about Dumbledore’s plans.”

“Try to find out,” Harry said. “I’ll pretend to be helpless and confused while you sneak around invisibly. If you’re right, I won’t be in an immediate mortal danger.”

“Let’s hope so. Undoubtedly this will lead to a fight. I’ll prepare a diversion and a volley of curses with my Triggered Firing Charm.”

Harry grinned viciously.

“They don’t know what’s coming for them! For the first time I’m actually eager to get into my traditional end-of-year adventure!”

“That’s what they call initiative. It’s always thrilling to be the player who forces others into reactive moves. Let’s keep it this way until Voldemort is nothing but a name on the list of failures.”

With the decision made, they took while to prepare. Tom summoned Dobby to bring them all the accessories he had hoarded for Horcrux searching missions, and soon he and Harry had both drunk restorative potions to refresh themselves from the strains of the day and Potions of Salamander’s Essence to protect them from fire, and they both had bullet-proof vests on. Tom had a large pouch full of Fred and George’s fireworks for the diversion, they both had spare wands and handguns, Harry had his invisibility cloak in his pocket and they both cast Bubble-Head Charms on themselves just in case the Portkey’s destination was actually at the bottom of the sea. Before they reached their hands to grab the handles of the cup, they mounted Tom’s Firebolt; it was also possible that the destination would be above a rocky pit somewhere.

The Portkey yanked them away from Hogwarts to a gloomy graveyard; had it been November rather than June, it would have been straight out of a horror story.

“See you around,” Tom whispered, dispelled the Bubble-Head Charms, Shrank the Firebolt and put it into his pocket, and stepped away from Harry. “Try to act convincingly.”

The obvious first thing to do was to find out where they were. The graveyard was quite usual, very similar to the one next to Broxtowe Abbey, the home of the Notts. But before Tom had had the time to make more observations, his heightened senses alerted him to someone approaching: a short man in black robes. Harry stood still as if in shock and then began to scream. It was far from convincing; Tom would need to lecture him about the dangers of overacting.

The short man grabbed Harry and began to drag him somewhere. Tom followed them behind two rows of tombstones, glancing around. Whoever the robed man was, he seemed to be alone and would be easily dealt with.

Harry was slammed against a marble headstone, and upon seeing its familiar shape and his own name on it, Tom suddenly realised what the place was: Little Hangleton, the graveyard within sight of his ancestral home. The tomb was the very same that he had ordered Derrick and Bole to rob if he appeared to die in one of the Triwizard tasks, because the ritual to restore a disembodied soul to true life required the bone of the father.

And there was exactly one other person to whom that bone would be useful: Voldemort, who would also be interested in getting Harry Potter’s blood for the ritual.

Tom raised his wand and prepared to decapitate the unsuspecting Death Eater who was tying Harry to the headstone, but a hissing sound from behind him made him turn around hastily.

“What is it? What is it? Is there something?”

There was a huge snake slithering towards Tom. It was of the same species as his Animagus form: magically empowered and both venomous and a constrictor. It licked the air intensely, and Tom had to suppress the urge to curse. Invisibility was of little use if the enemy had such a keen sense of smell as snakes had and could see the air that his body warmed up around him.

He could not kill the snake without alerting the Death Eater. Instead, he used three different spells on himself to prevent any of his fragrance from spreading and one to insulate his body heat from the surrounding air. However, too many molecules and too much heat were already in the air around him, and the snake just kept coming nearer. Once he could see its eyes, he looked deep into them in an attempt to take control of it through Legilimency.

Immediately an impenetrable wall of Occlumency stopped him, luckily before he had tried forcefully enough to be sensed. He goggled at the snake in shock. It was no snake after all, but an Animagus, and a powerful one, too. He took a few steps backwards, and the snake turned its head to look almost directly at him. Yes, he was invisible and odourless, but not inaudible. (Harry was even less so: he was screaming again in the background, but at least he had not yet called Tom by name.)

The Silencing Charm on Tom’s shoes should have tricked the snake, but it still managed to follow his careful footsteps. Then he remembered something he had experienced himself: snakes were exceptionally good at sensing vibrations of the ground, and this one could still sense his footsteps even if it could not (as humans would say) hear them. He pulled the Firebolt from a pocket, returned it to its normal size, mounted it and rose into the air. The snake slithered below him for a few moments, but then seemed to decide there were no intruders after all.

While Tom had avoided the snake, the Death Eater had done his job: the ritualistic potion was shining like a miniature sun, and once the light and the steam had disappeared, the reincarnated Dark Lord Voldemort was revealed in his hideous form, standing next to the tomb of Tom Riddle the Muggle, father of Tom Riddle the wizard. Tom had disowned Voldemort as his other self, but perhaps he could consider the Dark Lord, just by himself, as his brother.

The snake went coiling around the twisted brother, and Tom’s presence remained unknown to the three enemies below him. It was the perfect starting point for Operation Fratricide which would make Voldemort’s return embarrassingly short-lived and propel Tom’s reputation into the stratosphere.

“My lord…” whimpered the Death Eater. “My lord… you promised… you did promise…”

“Hold out your arm,” Voldemort said and laughed. “The other arm, Wormtail.”

The name almost made Tom yelp aloud. Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew’s nickname… and sure enough, the short man was none other than the pathetic rat-man who had taught Tom the art of the Animagus. Since when had he been a Death Eater?

Voldemort used Pettigrew’s Dark Mark to summon the rest of the Death Eaters, and Tom grew anxious. Defeating Voldemort, one Death Eater and a snake Animagus would have been more than enough challenge for him, but it seemed even more people were about to come. As Voldemort started to lecture Harry about his family background, Tom began to craft the trap that would both start and end Voldemort’s Second War.

First, Tom prepared the diversion with the fireworks and certain spells that were impossible to ignore, because he did not know how much time he had, and it was one of the core principles of constant vigilance to first secure your escape route. Then he kept circling the graveyard, casting first the Triggered Firing Charm and then a variety of offensive spells to be fired at his signal: the Reductor Curse, the Blasting Curse, the Severing Charm and obviously what was becoming his signature spell, the Gravity Amplifying Charm. They were all aimed at Voldemort. It was a pity that the Unforgivable Curses and Fiendfyre could not be contained by the Triggered Firing Charm, but a battle could be won also without them.

As he prepared the most important show of the Triwizard Tournament, Death Eaters arrived one by one. There was a sinking sensation in Tom’s stomach as many of the people he had socialised with the previous summer came and kneeled before the abomination that was his brother. Lucius and his two bodyguards, Tom’s old friend Archibald Nott and his son Charles, Robert Jugson, Roger Avery’s son Simon, Walden Macnair and a few others. Voldemort interrogated them one by one, unknowingly giving his brother ample time to prepare incapacitating spells against them: the Stunning Charm, the Impediment Jinx, the Full Body-Bind Curse, the Incarcerous Spell and a weaker Gravity Amplifying Charm. No one would remain standing after quintuple incapacitation.

Tom wanted the Death Eaters alive; they were, after all, those who had renounced Voldemort the first time, and Draco, Theodore and Ethan and Sara would turn against Tom if he killed their fathers. These misguided people would finally hail him as their new master after witnessing him slaying Voldemort with one strike.

Finally, Voldemort mentioned his servant at Hogwarts, and directed everyone’s attention to Harry.

“Master, we crave to know,” Lucius said. “We beg you to tell us… how you have achieved this… this miracle… how you managed to return to us…”

“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” said Voldemort. “And it begins – and ends – with my young friend here.”

And Voldemort proceeded to explain everything that had happened to him. Tom noticed a brief expression of confusion on Harry’s face when Voldemort did not mention anything about the Chamber of Secrets. The most recent news was really interesting. Apparently, after Pettigrew had fled, he had encountered the Ministry witch Bertha Jorkins whose disappearance had been a constant topic in the Daily Prophet for almost a year. It was from her that Voldemort had learned of the Triwizard Tournament and based on that information he had planned Harry’s abduction. He had wanted specifically Harry’s blood in order to circumvent the protection Lily Potter had given her son by dying for him. It was interesting to listen to his explanation, and Tom did it while adding more and more firepower to the strike.

When the explanation was nearing conclusion, Tom focused on Harry’s eyes and contacted him with Legilimency.

I’m still here. Do not worry. I’ll sever the ropes tying you, but try not to show it. Once you run, head for the cup.

A flash of courage appeared on Harry’s face. Tom flew behind the headstone and freed Harry but charmed the ropes to stay where they were. He saw Harry tensing, ready to sprint away.

Harry’s wand was sticking out of Pettigrew’s pocket. Tom Summoned it discreetly, placed it in Harry’s pocket and then informed him about it with Legilimency. Harry nodded slightly and clenched his jaw in determination.

After his tale was told, Voldemort came nearer to Harry, and in his hand was the wand most familiar to Tom: yew and phoenix feather. Somehow, Voldemort had reclaimed it, and Tom felt a surge of fury. The wand was his!

Tom flew out of the circle of Death Eaters, put the Firebolt away again and touched the magical trigger of his charms with his magic.

Voldemort pointed the yew wand at Harry.

“Now would be a good time!” Harry shouted.

Voldemort paused to wonder what Harry had meant, and Tom sprung the trap with a forceful swish of Gilderoy Lockhart’s wand. However, just as he did so, Voldemort moved as well, channelling massive amounts of magical power into a Shield Charm.

A roaring, ear-deafening boom made all the Death Eaters jump in shock. It was accompanied by a flash so bright that it ruined everyone’s night vision. A hundred magical fireworks began to crackle and fly around the graveyard in a chaotic performance. Stunning Charms, Impediment Jinxes, Full Body-Bind Curses, Incarcerous Spells and Gravity Amplifying Charms began to shoot towards the Death Eaters from all directions, and they fell in seconds.

Voldemort stood in the middle of the mayhem, shrieking orders while shielding himself from the several dozen spells that were crashing against him. He clearly had some kind of immensely strong sense of magic that had alerted him to the attack a fraction of a second before it had even started, and so Tom’s attack that should have shredded his body to a thousand bloody pieces was absorbed by his Shield Charm. But even his remarkable powers were greatly strained by the effort; Tom saw beads of sweat forming on his brother’s forehead and a pained grimace twisting the inhuman face.

Harry had already run behind the tombstones, and Tom Shrunk the Firebolt, pocketed it and went to confront Voldemort, dispelling the Disillusionment.

“Who are you?” the twisted brother screamed furiously while protecting himself from the torrent of Reductor and Blasting Curses that still kept firing from all directions.

“Accio!” was Tom’s only answer.

To Voldemort’s shock, the yew wand slipped from his grasp. However, his reaction speed was impressive, and with a twist of his arm, he cast his own Summoning Charm. The wand stopped in midair between the two Tom Riddles.

Wands were connected to the very soul of their master. As Tom and Voldemort shared the same soul, they both had the wand’s allegiance. But, luckily for Tom, Voldemort’s numerous Horcrux rituals had maimed his soul so gruesomely that Tom’s soul was much stronger than Voldemort’s. The wand seemed to sense this, and slowly it began to gravitate towards Tom.

Tom snatched his very own wand back into his grip. It felt… magnificent, as if he had regained a limb he had not even realised he had lost. Sparks burst out of the wand’s tip. It, too, rejoiced of the reunion.

Voldemort screeched in absolutely unbridled fury.

“Such an unceremonious end for you, I’m afraid,” Tom jeered. “I’ll make you a roommate of the Longbo–”

Suddenly, Voldemort brandished the wand of one of the fallen Death Eaters. An instant later Tom was subjected to a curse bombardment beyond his most violent dreams. Three of the automatically activating Shield Charms cast on his vest activated at once, but the force of the explosion was still enough to flung him twenty feet backwards. The ceramic back plate of the vest made an ominous cracking sound as it hit the edge of a tombstone. Had the explosion been just a little weaker, Tom would have hit his head with fatal consequences, and even in the heat of the moment he immediately decided to craft an automatically activating Cushion Charm to be used on his very skull.

Killing and Cruciatus Curses and an inferno of Fiendfyre came Tom’s way, and he rolled to the side as quickly as possible. He could hear Moody’s warning about Fiendfyre against the Shield Charm in his mind; if even a spark of the hellfire touched Tom’s vest, all of the stored magical power would fuel the blaze, and the resulting explosion might obliterate the entire Little Hangleton. His Horcruxes granted him immortality, yes, but the ritual of reincarnation required a bone from that very graveyard. If the Fiendfyre incinerated them all, Tom would be reduced to a wraith for eternity. And so, Tom found himself running and dodging like never before. Tombstones shattered and trees burst in flames all around him, but his vest and Basilisk skin suit protected him from the ensuing shrapnel.

When had he become so complacent? He certainly had the same magical potential as Voldemort did, he had learned to be a master duellist and he was sane unlike his brother… but still, why had he ever thought he could defeat Voldemort in a duel? The Dark Lord’s magical powers were at their height, he had learned much more Dark Arts and he had several decades more experience than Tom did. The outcome of the battle should have been evident.

Acknowledging the situation, Tom fled. Fortunately, there were still several fireworks whirring around the graveyard as well as the thick clouds of smoke they had emitted. They gave him cover, and soon the rapid-fire of curses went so far past him that he dared to breathe again.

He would fight his brother another day. Voldemort’s defeat at Tom’s hands would bring him even more glory after Voldemort had had some time to wreak havoc. Even this could be an opportunity.

The Triwizard Cup was lying on the ground, and Harry was crouching next to it.

“Let’s get out of here!” Tom gasped.

They grabbed the cup and were gone. Seeing Voldemort’s reaction would have been nice, but then again…

Chapter 33: Ethics of Warfare

Tom and Harry hit the ground just outside the maze. It was quite disconcerting to shift from a near-death experience to the end of a light-hearted competition in a few seconds, and Tom blinked stupidly several times while waiting for the adrenaline to disappear from his bloodstream. It only took a second for the spectators to realise that both of Hogwarts’ champions had returned, and a roar of applause greeted them.

“Well… isn’t this unexpected?” Bagman’s voice boomed. “Harry Potter and Tom Valedro reached the cup at the same time? I wonder if there’s a clause for this in the rules…”

Tom turned to look at the podium of the judges. Bagman continued to blabber something not worthy of his attention. Madame Maxime looked resigned. Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. Crouch stared into the distance; his stoic countenance was nothing short of admirable. Dumbledore, however, looked grim and determined, as if he had already switched to the war mode. Tom wondered briefly how he had learned of the night’s incident, but then he saw Snape behind the Headmaster. Of course, that was how Dumbledore had been alerted to Voldemort’s return moments after the Death Eaters had been summoned.

Wait, did that mean Snape was, in fact, on Dumbledore’s side?

Dumbledore stood up, popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and hurried to the field as fast as he could without running. Moody, who looked more paranoid and agitated than ever, limped right behind him.

“Harry – Tom – what happened to you?” the Headmaster demanded. The usual twinkle of his eyes was frighteningly absent.

“Voldemort,” Harry gasped. “He’s back.”

“Yes, I know,” Dumbledore said. “Severus informed me of his Dark Mark burning, and Karkaroff fled in panic. But how? Did you witness it?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Tom said. “It was a trap. The Triwizard Cup was enchanted with another Portkey Charm. It took us to a graveyard where a Death Eater used Harry’s blood to bring Voldemort back to life…”

The explanation was interrupted by a throng of students coming to congratulate the two winners. Dumbledore looked frustrated, but he had to accept it that the discussion would have to wait.

“You’re injured, Potter,” Moody said. He looked absolutely panicked with his magical eye was spinning erratically. Had the old Auror’s nerves broken down now that the war was about to start again? “Come, I’ll take you to the hospital wing.”

“Madam Pomfrey is right here,” Dumbledore said. “Check your arm, Harry, and then come to meet me in my office. You too, Mr Valedro.”

For some reason Moody looked extremely sour and irritated by Dumbledore’s words.

“Alastor, I will need you too,” the Headmaster continued with his voice so muffled that Tom would not have heard him without the Supersensory Charm. “We must reconstitute the Order of the Phoenix.”

“What?” the old Auror said.

“Of course. To gather all who oppose Voldemort.”

Moody’s expression changed to another extreme in a blink of an eye. Suddenly, he looked as if his greatest dream had come true.

“Yes, obviously,” he said. “I’ll be happy to plan our offensives against him.”

After that any conversation about the coming war became impossible as the jovial figure of Minister Fudge found his way through the crowd and began to talk political nonsense.

“Cornelius, I must discuss the events of the third task with our two winners,” Dumbledore explained to the Minister and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “Afterwards, I must speak to you about a very serious matter…”

It seemed Dumbledore would need some time to convince the oafish Minister to delay the victory celebration which he clearly considered an opportunity to bask in glory. Tom and Harry left the Quidditch stadium after Madam Pomfrey had healed Harry’s wound, and the noisy crowd followed them to the castle.

“Be cautious,” Tom whispered. “There’s still a Death Eater at Hogwarts, Voldemort himself confirmed it. Snape, perhaps? Anyway, there may still be surprises left for us tonight.”

As they approached the castle, Tom twirled the yew wand in his hand. His connection with it was stronger than he remembered from his first life, and he felt a surge of pride at how well he had managed with the wand that had previously belonged to Gilderoy Lockhart. Even though Lockhart’s wand had yielded to Tom and he had had two years to connect with it, wielding it felt in comparison to the yew one like using the left hand in something that required motoric sophistication. He could not wait to find out how great a wizard he would be with his very own wand. Still, it would be a waste to put Lockhart’s wand aside. Wizards who were able to use two wands simultaneously were rare and much feared and admired in duelling circles.

“Let’s throw a party!” Cedric Diggory cried as soon as the crowd had entered the Entrance Hall. “Double victory to Hogwarts! This is the perfect opportunity to promote inter-House unity!”

“The Headmaster asked us to meet with him,” Tom said. “Apparently taking the cup together caused some trouble with the rules, and we must explain what happened. You go ahead, we’ll join you later.”

The other students did not follow Tom and Harry when they ascended the marble staircase and headed to the Headmaster’s office. On the way there, Tom opened a classroom door and shoved Harry inside.

“Tom?” Harry said immediately, thinking Tom wanted to speak with him. “You knew Voldemort in school?”

“Yes, I did.” Sometimes Tom forgot that Harry and his three friends knew a part of the truth, because the lie he had told them was something he did not need to repeat and polish all the time. As far as they knew, Tom had been Voldemort’s fellow Slytherin, even his dormmate, and his school rival, and Voldemort had imprisoned Tom in the diary out of spite.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you two have the same first name? And if I remember correctly, you once mentioned having lived in a Muggle orphanage, just like Voldemort told me about himself.”

“There’s a good reason, Harry,” Tom said. “Stupefy. Obliviate.”

While Harry was unconscious, Tom did what he had come into the classroom for. Just like he had made Harry remember the spectacular fight between Tom and Voldemort’s ghost in the Chamber of Secrets, he now planted a new false memory in Harry’s mind: one where Voldemort mentioned his attempt to return to life through Ginny Weasley a year after the Philosopher’s Stone incident. That way the secret of Tom’s origin was finally secured.

Tom revived Harry, and they left the classroom. Right after they stopped before the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office, they heard the clunking of Moody’s peg leg approaching.

Dumbledore came with long strides, looking quite weary, and Moody followed him as fast as he could. It was difficult to read his scarred face, but Tom thought the old Auror looked eager.

“Cockroach cluster,” Dumbledore said, making the gargoyle step aside. “The professors are making sure the castle is secure. Minister Fudge will join us shortly. He is currently busy with the Cardinal and the Comrade. We have time for you two to explain what happened.”

In the office, Dumbledore sat down in his throne, and Tom and Harry on the chairs before the table. Moody positioned himself in front of the window, and his magical eye darted back and forth from the door to out to the grounds, and to the door again.

“The tournament’s safety charms alerted me to Fleur Delacour losing consciousness, and Viktor Krum a minute later,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “We did not see red sparks signalling a call for help. I still sent Minerva to make sure they were all right. After she returned with them, we found out that Krum had been placed under the Imperius Curse. I tried to find you at once, but you were nowhere to be found. Then Severus told me the news about his Dark Mark. Tell me, Harry and Tom, what happened?”

“When I reached the cup, I remembered Professor Moody’s theory about this being an assassination attempt on Harry,” Tom said. “And so, I investigated the cup…”

He and Harry recounted everything that had happened, except that Tom had claimed Voldemort’s wand. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes when he heard Tom’s reason to spring the trap, but he did not object. Tom let Harry repeat Voldemort’s monologue, because it somehow felt better that Harry would be the one to tell the false part about Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets. After the overall explanation, it was time for some further details.

“I know this sounds unbelievable,” Tom said, “but the Death Eater helping Voldemort was Peter Pettigrew. You’re not aware of it, Headmaster, but last year I accidentally found out that Pettigrew in fact survived Sirius Black’s attack due to being an unregistered rat Animagus. He disappeared last summer, and I didn’t think much about it, because he didn’t seem important. However, now it’s clear he too is a servant of Voldemort, a double agent just like Black used to be. Until now it has puzzled me why Black wanted to kill him, but this new revelation brings some light to the matter. Apparently, Black was afraid that Voldemort’s disappearance would make Pettigrew reveal his duplicity, and he wanted to silence Pettigrew to protect his cover.”

“What was Pettigrew doing all those years he was presumed dead?” Dumbledore asked with a frown and picked his next sherbet lemon.

“This, too, sounds unbelievable, but he was living with the Weasleys, as their pet rat. Scabbers is what they called him.”

“It’s strange,” Harry commented. “Pettigrew was over two years in a situation where he could’ve killed or otherwise harmed me, but he never did.”

“Not a very devout Death Eater, then?” Moody grunted.

“Did Voldemort not tell who this loyal Death Eater currently at Hogwarts is?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Tom said. “At first I thought it would be Black, but now that I think about it… I find it difficult to believe that he could’ve had his hands on the Triwizard Cup today, not to mention Imperiusing Krum without anyone noticing. Krum certainly wasn’t under the Imperius when we entered the Quidditch field. Professor Moody was being constantly vigilant the entire time, so it’s simply impossible for Black to have been sneaking around the Quidditch field.”

Moody nodded grimly. “No sight of him tonight. But he could’ve been under Polyjuice.” He took a sip from his flask.

“And last year Black didn’t seem competent and resourceful enough to get his job done,” Tom pointed out. “So, there’s someone else here working for Voldemort, but who? Karkaroff fled, you say? But he didn’t come to the graveyard. The only other known former Death Eater here is Snape. Harry seems to believe our Potions master dislikes him very much.”

But Dumbledore shook his head.

“Professor Snape has my fullest confidence,” he announced firmly.

“Um… correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but didn’t you trust Black and Pettigrew too?”

If the Headmaster was offended, he did not show it.

“I barely knew them. Severus, however, has been my close ally and colleague for fifteen years. I know why he opposes Voldemort.”

You gullible moron, Tom thought. Anyone can recite your noble principles without meaning one word of it. That’s what I do all the time.

“Why would the Death Eater still be here?” Moody asked. “He most probably sneaked in with the crowd, and now that the crowd is departing, he obviously was the first one to leave. That’s what I would’ve done. However, I’ll keep my eyes open for any suspicious behaviour, if you will, Headmaster.”

“Please do, Alastor.”

Moody’s magical eye turned to look through the door and down the revolving staircase.

“The Minister’s here,” he reported.

“Very good,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “If we act quickly, the renewed disaster of the wizarding war can be avoided.”

A moment later the door was opened, and Professor McGonagall came in, followed by Fudge and Crouch.

“Well, well, isn’t this a happy day?” Fudge called out, oblivious to the grim atmosphere in the office. “Congratulations to you two, Messrs Potter and Valedro. Oh, I thought Bagman would already be here? You don’t happen to know where he is?”

“Forget Bagman,” said Dumbledore bluntly. “Cornelius, Lord Voldemort has returned.”

The goofy smile slid off of Fudge’s face.

“Wh-wha-what –” was all he could say. Crouch was totally unmoved.

“Harry was forced to participate in the Triwizard Tournament so that he could be abducted today and his blood used to return Voldemort back to his body,” Dumbledore explained, seemingly indifferent to Fudge not understanding any of his words. “That happened tonight. The greatest enemy wizarding Britain has ever known is among us once more.”

“You-Know-Who… returned?” Fudge sputtered. “Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore…”

“Severus informed me at once of his Dark Mark burning,” Dumbledore pressed on. “And Karkaroff fled, knowing what fate would await him if he stayed too long. Harry and Tom have given me information that places all puzzle pieces together starting from Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance last summer. It was from her that Voldemort learned about the Triwizard Tournament, and he used the information to plan Harry’s abduction.”

Fudge remained unconvinced. Tom was not surprised, but next to him Harry was experiencing something which everyone had to experience at some point: the collapse of trust towards career politicians. It was about time.

“See here, Dumbledore,” Fudge said. “You – you can’t seriously believe that. You-Know-Who – back? Come now, come now…”

“We do not yet know who his servant at Hogwarts is,” Dumbledore continued sternly. “Possibly Sirius Black who, as you remember, sneaked into this castle twice last year. The other Death Eater, the one who helped Voldemort in his hideout, is Peter Pettigrew.”

“This is getting even more absurd!” Fudge burst out. “Pettigrew is dead! And even if he too returned from death, I doubt he would conspire anything with Black!”

“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated. “If you accept that fact straightaway, Cornelius, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors –”

“Preposterous!” Fudge shouted again. “Remove the Dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the Dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!” said Dumbledore. “They will not remain loyal to you, Cornelius! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the Dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago! The second step you must take – and at once – is to send envoys to the giants.”

“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shrieked. “What madness is this?”

“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” said Dumbledore, “or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!”

“You – you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and taking a step back. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career –”

“You are blinded,” Dumbledore said. His voice rose and eyes blazed, and the aura of power around him was palpable, but then he ruined the impression by popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth again. “Blinded by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! I tell you now – take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers for Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

“Insane,” Fudge whispered. “Mad…”

Watching this argument would have been entertaining if the matter had not been so dire. Moody appeared to be equally annoyed as Tom, because he stepped forward and focused his extremely menacing gaze on Fudge.

“Headmaster, this will do no good,” he growled. “This spineless coward will never put up a fight against the rising darkness.”

“What did you say?” Fudge snapped.

“It is said that good times create weak leaders and weak leaders create hard times,” Moody continued. “Minister Fudge, you’re just what Britain doesn’t need right now. You’ve become a hazard to the national security. Step down and make room for someone with the required resolve!”

Fudge looked angrier than ever. Dumbledore did not object to Moody’s words even though he clearly thought the message should have been presented in a more diplomatic manner.

“Martial law must be imposed!” Moody barked before Fudge could find the words to respond. “All useless bureaucrats of your cabinet must be replaced with veteran Aurors of the last war! All former Death Eaters must be arrested, starting with your close associates Lucius Malfoy, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson! Their families must be taken hostage and their properties confiscated! Their sympathisers must be purged from the Ministry and the Wizengamot! All Death Eaters currently in Azka­ban must be executed at once!”

“Have you lost your mind?!” Fudge shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Can’t you hear what you’re saying?! Who’s the Dark Lord now?”

Tom was impressed by Moody’s programme, so much so that he almost started clapping. Moody would make a fine Minister for Magic. Unfortunately, Tom was the only one to agree with him. Dumbledore stared at the old Auror aghast, McGonagall had covered her mouth in shock, Harry looked uneasy and Dumbledore’s phoenix cawed in distress.

“Director Crouch,” Moody said, addressing the only person in the office who had remained completely impassive the entire time. “We all know your tenacity, your realism and your common sense. Would you share some of your wisdom?”

Crouch seemed to wake up from a deep sleep. Very slowly he focused his eyes, and said in a voice so raspy that it was as though it had not been used in ages,

“You have not presented any definite proof about the return of the Dark Lord. This conversation has made it clear that Headmaster Dumbledore wants to use the fear of the last war to force through all his policies.”

Tom was thoroughly surprised by that statement. He had thought that Crouch of all people would have welcomed any reason or even any excuse to gain more executive power. And Crouch should have been well aware of the sinister forces that had been at play at Hogwarts, why else would he have had so many private meetings with Moody throughout the year, as Tom had witnessed through the Marauder’s Map? Besides, Moody had all but demanded that Crouch should replace Fudge as the Minister, which was widely believed to be Crouch’s great ambition. Dumbledore also was taken aback by this turn of events.

“Minister,” Crouch continued, “I advise caution. The Headmaster may be after your position.”

“Yes, that much seems obvious!” Fudge cried, clinging to this alternative explanation in relief. “I’m appalled by what your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher proposed, and by the fact that you didn’t say a word! Is this what you’ve been teaching to the young of our peaceful nation? Martial law? Cabinet of Aurors? Arbitrary arrests, confiscations, purges and executions?”

“They were not my propositions, and you will never hear me supporting any such actions,” Dumbledore said, making Moody snort. “I already presented my propositions. Remove the Dementors, contact the giants, prepare for war.”

“And, most important of all, blindly trust your judgement… to be your puppet?”

Dumbledore was silent, disappointment and disapproval radiating from every wrinkle on his face.

“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,” he said finally, “we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit.”

Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand.

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, waving a threatening finger. “I’ve given you free rein, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going to work against me –”

“The only one against whom I intend to work,” said Dumbledore, “is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

Fudge sought support from Crouch who shook his head once.

“I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore,” Fudge said, “but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.”

He turned around, wrenched the door open and left together with Crouch. Dumbledore sighed heavily.

“You might have gone a bit too far, Alastor,” he said quietly and consoled himself with a sherbet lemon.

“I’m not sorry,” Moody snarled. “It needed to be said. He needed to hear it.”

“Maybe so, but now we face the menace of Voldemort without the support of the Ministry.” Dumbledore stood up from his throne and went to look at a chess board on a side table. “We must make up for this loss by being extremely effective ourselves. Minerva, you know what must be done. Contact all our allies. The Order of the Phoenix will convene again.”

“Right away, Headmaster,” McGonagall said and hurried out of the office.

“I am sorry you had to hear that, Harry, Tom,” Dumbledore said wearily. “This was supposed to be your night of triumph, but war and quarrelling old men have spoiled your joy. You should go to your common rooms. Surely your housemates want to celebrate you. The ending ceremony of the tournament will be tomorrow at breakfast.”

“It was enlightening, Headmaster,” Tom said and stood up. “But you know… you could’ve made Fudge comply. You’re the most powerful wizard alive. All you’d have needed to do was to point your wand at his face and issue the orders.”

“That is Voldemort’s way of doing things, Tom, not mine. I refuse to believe the only way to achieve results is to abandon our morals.”

“Moral absolutism,” Tom sighed. “That’s probably the worst possible trait in a military leader. You limit your options and by doing so offer advantages to your enemies.”

Moody nodded fervently.

“And what is your alternative, Tom?” Dumbledore asked sternly. “The Greater Good? Let me tell you that there was once an idealistic wizard who believed that all oppression and bloodshed could be ended if he took total control of the entire world. The results of his campaign were famine, economic depression, totalitarian dictatorships, genocides and the two most destructive wars the Muggle world has ever known.”

The Headmaster was visibly pained by a never-healing mental wound.

“I was the one to defeat him in the end, but not by killing him. He is imprisoned in the very castle he built as the prison for his own enemies. And I swore to myself that I would never, not in any circumstance, take the path of believing that whatever I do, no matter how atrocious, it is always for the Greater Good. The lesson I learned from this is that the root of all evil is man’s belief in his own goodness. Even Voldemort believes he is doing the right thing when he kills Muggle-borns; after all, pure-blood supremacism is based on the incorrect belief that the mixing of magical and Muggle blood drives the wizardkind towards extinction. I could, perhaps, defeat Voldemort quickly with the methods Alastor proposed, but it would not end there. Who would be the equal who would free the world of the Dark Lord Dumbledore?”

Tom wanted to point out that Dumbledore could return to his normal ethics right after Voldemort’s defeat, but there was the risk that he might actually have listened, and then Tom would have lost his opportunity to become the hero of this war. He said instead,

“I hope that is worth all the lives that will be lost during this war. I’m sure they would rather choose your tyranny as the Dark Lord who speaks about the Greater Good than their own death.”

“But there is another question of the Greater Good, is there not, Tom?” Dumbledore said with a faint twinkle returning to his weary eyes. “Some people could be saved from death if I used the utilitarian methods, but many more would suffer under my tyranny. It is also for the Greater Good to prioritise the freedom and rights of the entire humankind over the lives of those few who could be saved by cutthroat strategies.”

“I see your point,” Tom acquiesced. That was probably the best possible argument why someone who considered himself good would let more people get killed than was necessary – but in this case, not even the best argument was a good one. Tom simply could not shake the strange and ominous suspicion that Dumbledore was just making excuses for letting people get killed by Voldemort. Why he would want that Tom could not begin to guess, and anyway it was not something he would talk with him about, so he said nothing more, just pretended to be convinced by the Headmaster’s argument.

Dumbledore smiled and patted Tom’s shoulder in a patronising way.

“You are young, Tom, and maybe you do not yet understand that it took long decades for me to settle with these ways I consider the best; not the Greater but the Absolute Good. I am not Grindelwald.” He signalled the end of the conversation with a superior smile and the popping of a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

Tom had the rare experience of finding nothing to say. Absolute Good, really? That did not sound right. In fact, it sounded an awful lot like a strawman of Dumbledore that Tom himself might create when agitating people against the Headmaster. Hearing those two words from Dumbledore’s own mouth was unexpected, it was like entering an unknown territory, even more so than the trip to Little Hangleton three hours earlier. However, when Tom analysed his mental image of Dumbledore, he could not come up with any phrase that would have fit his best interpretation of the Headmaster’s own self-image better. Tom was usually very good at modelling other people in his mind, but clearly Dumbledore remained an enigma to him, and it was concerning. It was the reason why Dumbledore, not the totally understandable and therefore predictable Voldemort, was Tom’s true enemy.

Tom and Harry stepped out of the office and left the two old wizards to discuss the first actions of their war effort. The dark corridors of Hogwarts were not empty even in that late hour: the ghosts of Hogwarts had been put on sentry duty, people in the paintings were paying most of their attention to the world outside their frames for once and the two champions passed Professors Flitwick, Vector and Sinistra who all had their wands in their hands.

“We shouldn’t have sprung the trap,” Harry said glumly. “This was the first time I took the initiative, and Voldemort returned because of it!”

“Yes, this is bad,” Tom admitted. “Some initiatives fail, but still, you can’t win without taking the risk. Cowering in fear is the surest way to lose. And you can think about our failure – our only partial failure – this way: if Voldemort’s plan of abducting you would’ve failed after so many months of waiting, he surely would’ve chosen a different enemy to take the blood from. And then he would be back without anyone knowing, and we also wouldn’t know that Pettigrew is a Death Eater, making it easy for him to sneak poison into your pumpkin juice.”

“But my mother’s sacrifice would still protect me from Voldemort.”

“It’s a magical protection, so it protected you from his magical attacks, even the Killing Curse. But I doubt it would’ve saved you if he, say, dropped you from the Astronomy tower.”

“I guess so,” Harry mumbled uneasily.

“And remember: constant vigilance. It may be that you’re not safe yet. Put on your invisibility cloak and don’t take if off before you’re in the Gryffindor common room.”

“I’ll do that. And, Tom… thank you. I wouldn’t have realised to be wary of the cup.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They parted ways in the nearest staircase, and Tom headed down towards the dungeons. It was past midnight, and even after having drunk the restorative potion in the maze, he was tired.

 

---

 

After Moody had left to plan offensives for the Order, Albus Dumbledore stood alone in the Headmaster’s office, took a glass of water and muttered a heartfelt thanks to Merlin that Moody would be gone from Hogwarts.

He looked at the chess board. With a twist of the Elder Wand, he scattered the white pieces to symbolise the division caused by Fudge’s obstinacy and cowardice, and the row of black pawns took a step forward. Then, the threatening form of the black queen returned to the board, taking its place among the black pawns and the two black bishops.

The black king still stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 34: Conflicting Stories

The Slytherin common room was crowded when Tom entered, everyone staring at him expectantly. Some of the younger students who did not realise that something much more important than the end of the tournament had taken place clapped their hands but were quickly shushed by the older ones.

“What happened?” Draco asked without preamble.

“Something that had to do with Harry Potter’s forced participation,” Tom said and moved to the door of the boys’ dormitories, indicating that he was not willing to speak lengthily. “Before I tell you, I’m interested to hear what you’ve observed to be so sure that something did, in fact, happen.”

“McGonagall found Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum from the maze, and I heard her telling Dumbledore that Krum was under the Imperius Curse. Dumbledore wanted to stop the task and to fetch you and Potter from the maze, but you couldn’t be found by any magic he tried. Then Karkaroff stood up and ran. Dumbledore talked with Snape, McGonagall and Moody and looked really serious until you arrived.”

“At the start of last year I speculated,” Tom said, “that Voldemort’s return will happen when people once again get tired enough of Dumbledore and he decides it’s again time to play the role of a hero and a strong leader. The Triwizard Cup was a Portkey that took Potter and me to a graveyard where we witnessed the return of Voldemort and the gathering of the remaining Death Eaters. But, incredible though it may seem, we managed to escape the same way we got there.”

Whispers broke out, but Tom silenced them with an impatient gesture of his hand.

“You think that was Dumbledore’s doings?” Draco asked sceptically. “He was sitting with the other judges the whole time.”

“Obviously,” Tom said. “By now he has certainly heard some of the speculation that I started. Now he wants to have a fireproof alibi. However, a lackey could have performed the act of Voldemort that Potter and I witnessed; he didn’t demonstrate any of his legendary skills. Do you think we would’ve been able to escape unscathed if we had truly faced a Dark Lord who wanted to kill us? No, it seems clear to me that whoever the unidentifiable snake-man was, he deliberately let us go. Why else would he put a second Portkey Charm on the item he used to abduct us if not to allow us to escape with what knowledge we had learned? Too many things don’t add up.”

“So, you think Dumbledore will demand more political control?”

“He already did. After I had told him everything, Minister Fudge came in, and Dumbledore immediately presented his list of actions. I have no doubt he had planned it well in advance. And some of you would lose your night’s sleep if I told you what Moody wanted to be done. I won’t say more than this: it would affect certain people in this room very personally.” Draco’s eyes widened with shocked realisation. “Luckily, Fudge is not such a walkover as I thought. He wasn’t willing to hand over control to Dumbledore because of an unconfirmed tale. I can’t actually be angry with him even though it was my testimony he doubted. I, of course, didn’t voice any of my suspicions when Dumbledore was around.”

“What will happen now?” Draco asked what everyone was wondering.

“I’m going to bed,” Tom said. “As for Britain, we’re surely facing a crisis far more severe than the one caused by Sirius Black’s escape. Some of you should wait eagerly for a word from your families.”

He looked pointedly at Draco, Theodore and Sara before retiring to his dormitory.

 

---

 

The next morning, Tom felt groggy, but he forced himself to rise for the day only an hour later than he normally did. Voldemort was out there, but Tom could not feel very concerned about it. He had known the day of Voldemort’s return would come ever since learning that he had tried to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, and for some reason certainty about a danger felt better than uncertainty. Besides, Tom had reclaimed his own wand, and it was a much better prize than a thousand Triwizard winnings.

When he left the dormitory, Derrick and Bole hurried after him in such a manner than he knew they wanted to speak to him in private. He entered the first dungeon classroom on the way to the Great Hall, and they followed.

“My lord,” they said in unison and Bole offered Tom the envelope he had been given the previous day. “The secret letter.”

“Actually, keep it for now,” Tom said. It contained the guidelines of the same ritual Voldemort had used, and now that the war was about to begin again, it would be wiser to be always prepared for the worst. “But don’t open it before I appear to die.”

“You keep saying ‘appear to die,’” Bole pointed out curiously.

“I don’t mean to die, and even if the day comes when it appears that I do, rest assured that it’ll be just a feint to trick my enemies off the scent. Come, the ending ceremony starts soon.”

The Great Hall was slowly filling with people. Delacour and Krum, who had both spent the night in the hospital wing and had been found healthy, were present. Harry was very tired; he probably had not been able to sleep very soundly. With him into the Great Hall came Remus whom Dumbledore had summoned and told to watch over Harry now that the Ministry had refused to offer their Aurors anymore. (Remus was, however, under disguising charms in order to not scare those who feared his lycanthropy.)

There was also the press: Rita Skeeter and her photographer were making their last reportage of the tournament. She looked impatient, most likely expecting a note from her editor saying that the Ministry forbade publishing anything Dumbledore would say. The absence of the Ministry’s representation was visible: neither Bagman nor Crouch had come, but their chairs at the High Table were still there.

Seeing Skeeter there gave Tom an idea, and he walked to speak with Harry. If the Ministry was going to take control of the Daily Prophet and dictate what could and what could not be printed, Skeeter might be lacking juicy things to write about. It offered Tom an opportunity.

“Morning, everyone,” he said at the Gryffindor table. “Hello, Moony. Harry, I’d like to have a word.”

“Sure,” Harry yawned.

Tom presented his idea, and Harry accepted it at once. Tom nodded with satisfaction and walked to the Slytherin table where he took a seat next to Krum.

“Are you all right?” Tom asked him in an act of sympathy.

“I vill be,” Krum mumbled. “Are you not angry vith me? I am told I vos forced to attack you.”

“My quarrel is not with you, but the one who Imperiused you,” Tom said.

A ringing sound interrupted all conversations as Professor McGonagall was tapping her spoon against her goblet.

“May I have your attention, please,” she said. “The ceremony begins.”

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth, stood up and took his place in front of the High Table where the Triwizard Cup, thoroughly cleaned of all spells, was waiting on a pedestal.

“This has not been a usual year at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said, “and even more unusual it became when the Goblet of Fire was somehow tricked into selecting a fourth champion for the Triwizard Tournament. This mystery has confused us all for the duration of the tournament, giving rise to many wild theories. Recent events have brought light to this matter, and I think you have the right to know what it was all about.”

Everyone stared at the Headmaster expectantly.

“A devious plan,” Dumbledore explained, “most likely by Sirius Black, was in action for months. At the end of the third task, Harry Potter was abducted by none other than his nemesis, Lord Voldemort. A Dark ritual was used to bring the Dark Lord back to true life. However, thanks to the valiant efforts of our other champion, Tom Valedro, Harry Potter was saved and brought back to us with news of this calamity.”

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall, but the Slytherins remained quiet and impassive. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief and horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so – either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies. It is also my belief – and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken – that we are all facing dark and difficult times, and you must be prepared for what is coming. Your lives may depend on it. Ignorance is bliss, but it can also be your undoing.”

Dumbledore gave a mild smile that made his eyes twinkle.

“It is good, in the light of these events, that this year you have learned constant vigilance and are thus more prepared to face the times ahead of us. Professor Alastor Moody has decided to return to active service against the Dark Arts, and he wants to bid his farewells to you, his students.”

Dumbledore sat down and Moody stood up, looking menacingly at the students.

“We don’t know how this was accomplished,” he stated grimly. “It’s a woeful failure on Hogwarts’ part that Harry Potter was put to such danger. We were not vigilant enough! We never found the one who put Harry Potter’s name into the Goblet of Fire, Sirius Black or someone else. This fact serves as the last of my lessons to you: not even Mad-Eye Moody is infallible. You can never be paranoid enough! There may be enemies among us, pretending to be our trusted friends.”

Without saying one more word, the old Auror sat down again and took a sip from his flask.

“Wise words of caution,” Dumbledore commented and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “The Triwizard Tournament’s aim is to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of Lord Voldemort’s return, such ties are more important than ever before.”

Dumbledore looked from Madame Maxime and Hagrid to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs among the Slytherins. Krum looked wary, almost frightened, as though he expected Dumbledore to say something harsh.

“Every guest in this Hall,” said Dumbledore, and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, “will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again – in the light of Lord Voldemort’s return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort’s gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.”

Draco, sitting next to Tom on the other side from Krum, snorted.

“This is just what you predicted,” he whispered. “Unity, friendship, trust, open hearts… they all mean one thing: that we should allow him to lead us.”

“We should remember that argument,” Tom replied. “It may come in handy for us one day.”

“Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said. “Many of your families have been torn asunder. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, that bowing your heads to tyranny may doom you to a lifetime of misery. There can be no freedom nor justice if we are not willing to fight for them. Students in this Hall have been Sorted apart by their virtues, but that does not mean they are not all virtues you should strive for. Embrace the courage of Gryffindors, the diligence of Hufflepuffs, the curiosity of Ravenclaws and the cunning of Slytherins, and I have no doubt we will emerge victorious from the resurgent menace of Lord Voldemort. The Triwizard Tournament is soon officially over, but let us raise our goblets to Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, Tom Valedro and Harry Potter, our champions who braved dangers and demonstrated the virtues of each one of the founders of Hogwarts. Their achievements are an example to us all.”

Everyone stood up and toasted.

“Onto a merrier matter,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “At the end of each Triwizard Tournament, the winner is celebrated. This time we have two winners. Mr Potter, Mr Valedro, please come to receive your winnings.”

Tom and Harry stood up and walked to Dumbledore under the gaze of hundreds of pairs of eyes.

“The prize money of one thousand Galleons is split between the two of you,” Dumbledore said. “Unfortunately, you must come up with some creative way of your own to split the cup equally.”

There was scattered laughter in the Hall.

“Er…” Harry said uncertainly and turned to face the four House tables. “Tom and I had a word before the ceremony. He suggested this idea, and I accepted it. He, after all, reached the cup first.”

He nodded to Tom, who continued.

“The third task was not fair to the champions. The scoundrel who orchestrated the abduction of Mr Potter prevented Miss Delacour and Mr Krum from pursuing victory on equal terms. That’s why Mr Potter and I have decided to relinquish our claims to victory. Join us, Fleur and Viktor, you deserve to be here just as much as we do.”

The applause started in confusion, but quickly increased into a deafening roar. The two other champions came. Delacour smiled so radiantly that there was no trace of her normally haughty expression. Krum looked quite sheepish.

Dumbledore beamed.

“Mr Valedro,” he said once the applause had died down after having continued a good while, “I can now say without a tinge of doubt that you are the most Slytherin student I have seen passing these halls. It takes remarkable cunning to lay down your ambitious personal goal in order to gain a new advantage; as I said, unity is what we need for the days to come, and you promoted it with this selfless act of fellowship, earning the respect of the people around you in the process. The fact that you will be but one of the four joint winners of this tournament will not diminish the glory of your accomplishment at all. On the contrary. It is the pinnacle of Slytherin resourcefulness to be able to embrace the virtues of the other Houses so well that some less cunning people will wonder if you are a Slytherin at all. Fifty points to Slytherin for a decision worthy of Salazar himself.”

The applause began again. It was the most vocal in the Slytherin table, but not much less so in the other three. Feeling a very unusual friendliness towards Dumbledore, Tom said,

“I’m sure this is the kind of Greater Good that you can approve of, sir.”

“That it is, Tom. That it is.”

It was difficult to feel hostility towards Dumbledore right now, but Tom was cunning enough to remember that the Headmaster was cunning too. There was a good reason for him to praise Tom so fervently while ignoring Harry altogether: it was in his best interests to suck up to Slytherin students now that some of their families were surely considering siding with Voldemort. Compliments would not turn Tom into anyone’s pawn, especially not strategic compliments from a purpose-driven politician.

The four joint winners returned to their seats and Dumbledore to his throne.

“Let the feast begin!” Dumbledore announced, and the food appeared. Then he sat down and began his meal with a sherbet lemon.

Before Tom took any food on his plate, he looked up to the High Table where Snape, not the most Slytherin person passing the halls of Hogwarts, was like an island of anger in a sea of positive feelings. It made Tom even happier.

The joyous mood in the Great Hall did not reflect the fact that Lord Voldemort had returned mere twelve hours earlier. It was likely the last celebration before the storm.

 

---

 

It did not take but a few moments after the ending ceremony for the mood to change. Whispered conversations broke out and some Slytherins and Gryffindors began to yell insults at each other before they were strictly silenced and sent to their respective common rooms by Professor McGonagall.

Rita Skeeter left the castle looking excited, something that bode ill. Tom had never been as eager to read the next day’s newspaper. When it was breakfast time again, he kept glancing nervously up to the enchanted ceiling, waiting for the owls to come.

The Daily Prophet arrived later than usually, possibly due to censorship measures having been hastily set up, resulting in a delay in printing. Tom had already finished his breakfast when the owl carrying his newspaper soared down to him, and he quickly gathered Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Remus for a meeting in the Room of Requirement. There he used the Enlargement Charm on the newspaper so that they could all read it at the same time. So many people had heard Dumbledore’s announcement that the censorship officials had clearly decided it was better to tell about it openly, but the tone of the main article was different from usual: the Ministry officials were given space to say as much as they wanted, and there were no difficult questions asked or any snide comments by the reporter. Considering that Skeeter was the reporter, the article was most likely at least partially written by the press secretary of the Minister.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE ANNOUNCES
THE RETURN OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED

The students of Hogwarts were shocked when their eccentric Headmaster used the ending ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament to frighten them, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Albus Dumbledore used his Headmaster’s authority to lecture about the alleged return of the Dark wizard who terrorised Britain for a decade until his abrupt death in 1981.

According to Dumbledore, the Dark wizard’s return was accomplished due to a plan too complex to be explained more thoroughly than that it tied together Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and Harry Potter’s participation in the Triwizard Tournament.

“The Headmaster spoke to me about it right after the final task of the tournament,” says Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. “I have never heard such nonsense before. He also said something about Peter Pettigrew being alive and conspiring with Black. This was accompanied by extreme political demands such as removing the Dementors from Azkaban, contacting the giants and harassing the Headmaster’s political opponents. If you ask me, it was a fit of senility.”

The Ministry of Magic reassures the magical community that the Dark wizard has not returned?

“Yes, absolutely,” says Minister Fudge. “The Headmaster did not even try to present any proof. Britain has been on alert ever since Black escaped from Azkaban almost two years ago and it is highly irresponsible to incite even more fear.”

Yet the Death Eaters were active after the Quidditch World Cup final last August, resulting in the reappearance of the Dark Mark?

“All Death Eaters are locked up in Azkaban, except Black,” Minister Fudge says emphatically. “The unfortunate riot was no doubt caused by drunken troublemakers whose prank went too far. Black was the one behind the Dark Mark. Britain is right to fear him, yes, but the truth is that he has not killed anyone after his escape, thanks to the determined measures of the Ministry.”

Other Ministry officials back the Minister in this matter.

“There was suspiciously much about Harry Potter in the Headmaster’s story,” says Madam Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. “Many people have voiced their concerns about Headmaster Dumbledore’s unhealthy fixation on the boy who survived the Dark wizard’s final attack. Mr Potter was given special permission to play Quidditch in the Hogwarts league as a first-year student. Twice he has been given incredibly many House points in the inter-House competition by the Headmaster himself for unclear reasons, resulting in unexpected victories for the House of Gryffindor. The Headmaster awarded him for Special Services to the School two years ago, again for unclear reasons. And, of course, the Headmaster made sure Mr Potter participated in the Triwizard Tournament despite there already being a champion for Hogwarts and Mr Potter being far too young. I fear Mr Potter has become used to being in the spotlight. This story about the return of the Dark wizard seems to be but one chapter in his legend. It would be good for Mr Potter to learn that attention should not be sought like this.”

The Daily Prophet approached educational authorities for a comment about Mr Potter.

“It troubles me greatly that Headmaster Dumbledore is ready to use children for his questionable purposes,” says Mr Albert Runcorn, Head of the Department of Education and a member of the Hogwarts board of governors. “Mr Potter is famous in his own right, but instead of even trying to arrange him a normal school environment, Headmaster Dumbledore seems to be doing everything he can to bloat Mr Potter’s fame even further. Some people see these recurring publicity stunts as a way of ensuring that Mr Potter will one day succeed the Headmaster as one of the most influential figures in Britain. It is brainwashing and should not be tolerated. It is for Mr Potter’s own good to end these politically motivated rumours about Dark wizards coming back from the dead to hound him.”

The Department of Law Enforcement sees no reason to change its operation mode.

“Our Aurors and Hit Wizards are safeguarding Britain as always,” says Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department. “We are ready to react to any new threats to our national security. I have not spoken with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and will not comment this matter at this point.”

The Ministry is not going to bother other wizarding countries with these rumours.

“Absolutely not,” says Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Cooperation and the de facto commander-in-chief of the Ministry forces during the war. “Every country has its own wild rumours. Formal warnings must be saved for times when they are truly needed.”

The civil society of Britain is also hoping for calm minds to prevail.

“People should not forget that Albus Dumbledore is a politician,” says the esteemed philanthropist Mr Lucius Malfoy when the Daily Prophet interviewed him yesterday at a charity concert. “During the war, Dumbledore claimed much political control when people hoped for the vanquisher of Grindelwald to protect them – in vain, I might add. It is possible he has decided to cause a new crisis to restore the strong position he held back then. There are even some rumours that the Dark Lord never existed but was in fact Dumbledore in disguise.”

More about Mr Malfoy’s recent donations to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and to Magical Genealogy Foundation on page 16.

The article was quite masterfully written, clearly the work of a competent Slytherin. Instead of Harry being called a liar outright, he was depicted as a young, immature victim of Dumbledore’s schemes and not someone who deserved to be taken seriously. It was also flattering that some of the ideas that Tom had first presented to his Slytherin acquaintances had found their ways to the main article of the Daily Prophet, making them topics that would possibly sway the nation.

“This…” Harry said, his face reddening, “this is outrageous! What, am I just an attention-seeking braggart? Did I willingly encounter a bloody dragon? Did I stab my own arm just to appear like a suffering little hero?!”

“Fudge has surely dictated the whole article,” Hermione said. “The Daily Prophet is the only credible newspaper in wizarding Britain. Was, rather. Now that Fudge has turned it into a medium of propaganda, it can hardly be called credible anymore. That’s a bad thing because how is a democratic civil society going to –”

“And they interviewed Lucius Malfoy as if he’s some kind of neutral person?” Harry raged. “‘Esteemed philanthropist,’ really? He was there in the graveyard!”

“Dad says he’s always been able to make good connections by donating money here and there,” Ron growled. “Charity concert, recent donations… how convenient a timing that they could be mentioned in this article, isn’t it?”

“And who was the moron who first suggested that Voldemort is Dumbledore?” Harry yelled. “If Dumbledore wanted to decide about everything, he’d do as you suggested, Tom. To point his wand at Fudge’s stupid face and force him to do as he’s told!”

“You’re right to be angry, Harry,” Tom said, “but the truth is that you should be angry at Dumbledore too. After Voldemort’s disappearance, he had the perfect opportunity to root out all the pure-blood supremacists and their sycophants. Fudge, Umbridge, Runcorn and many others like them would be far from any positions of power if Dumbledore had been less faithful to his Absolute Good principle and not so willing to give a second chance, and our situation at this critical moment would be much better. If you follow Dumbledore’s ways, you can only win a war if your enemy makes a fatal mistake. If he doesn’t, you can’t win even during peacetime.”

“Dumbledore did react to Voldemort’s return at once,” Remus tried meekly to defend the Headmaster. “He informed all his allies, and we’re preparing for action.”

“Yes, the Order of the Phoenix,” Tom said. “He mentioned reconstituting it. I’m sorry to twist this knife in the wound any further, but since also Pettigrew turned out to be a Death Eater, how many others are we going to find out working for the enemy after they’ve already caused much havoc? Oh, no, I’m not suspecting you of anything. Dumbledore assured us that he trusts Snape completely.”

“Snape hates me,” Harry snarled. “He’s always saying that I should be expelled. He’s got a million times more reasons to side with Voldemort than Pettigrew has. Dumbledore trusts people, but Voldemort doesn’t. Which one of them is more easily fooled?”

It was really satisfying to watch Harry’s trust towards Dumbledore taking so many steps towards the rubbish bin where it belonged.

Chapter 35: The Parting Glass

There was always one full week of school after the exams and the end of classes; Tom did not know why the school year was planned so, but he had always found the last week to be one of the best of the entire year. He had total freedom to immerse in independent study, not being slowed down by his classmates. In his final year, the week was going to be stressful, because he had enough things to do for much more than an entire year.

First, he started the most ambitious raid on the library ever. Voldemort’s return had made it essential for him to learn more and more magical arts in order to narrow the gap between the two of them. He had barely scratched the surface of the library’s contents during his seven years at Hogwarts, and so he prepared several bottles of Sleep Debt Potion so that he could stay awake and energetic for one week straight and then sleep the first three days after graduation without pause. He decided to spend every remaining night in the Restricted Section of the library and read as many books as possible, focusing on such theory books that could not be found in bookshops or public libraries.

Unfortunately, he also had other pressing matters that kept him occupied during the days. Most students had nothing better to do than to prattle endlessly about what Voldemort’s return would entail, or debate whether it had happened in the first place. Tom had to discuss the matter with dozens of people, be insightful and say what they wanted to hear in order to solidify his future position as their leader. After this last week at Hogwarts, he would not have such a favourable opportunity to influence them while they were all locked up in this small area with little else to do, so it had to be done now. Also, the halo caused by his being the honorary winner of the Triwizard Tournament needed to be taken advantage of as long as it lasted.

The three people he talked the most to were Draco, Theodore and Sara, the only children of Death Eaters currently at Hogwarts. (Well, there were also Crabbe and Goyle, but Tom had always found it difficult to consider them as nothing but Draco’s appendages.) Tom asked to see what their fathers had written to them about the recent events, and to his pleasant surprise they all handed him the letters without hesitation. As expected, the contents were so vague and cryptic that it was obvious their fathers had planned it together how to express themselves in letters that could well be seized and checked by Dumbledore.

“Please, Tom, tell me honestly,” Draco pleaded, “are you truly absolutely sure that the Dark Lord is just Dumbledore’s guise?”

“Sure? Of course I’m not sure,” Tom said. “I’m very careful about being sure. I wasn’t there to observe what happened during the last war. All I’m sure about is that Dumbledore ended up benefiting from the war and that Voldemort’s strategies were abysmally ineffective and counter-productive. I guess it’s possible they are separate people and even that they’re actual enemies, but that doesn’t seem probable. Whatever the case, it is in our best interests to forge our own way. Voldemort’s legacy is failure, and we will not let it drag us to ruin.”

“That’s more difficult a choice for us than you may realise,” Theodore said. “Our fathers have now rejoined his ranks. We’ve got the whole summer ahead of us, and we simply can’t voice any opposition to the Dark Lord when he might turn up any minute and…” He shuddered.

“I don’t expect you to appear rebellious. In fact, you’d better distance yourselves from me. One doesn’t have to be a detective to figure out that it was I who saved Potter from the graveyard. If Voldemort is not Dumbledore or even in league with him, he’s very angry with me right now. And if what I’ve read is true, he has punished people close to those he wanted to punish but couldn’t get his hands on.”

“And if he knows all about the tournament, he knows I am the one whom you supposedly will always miss,” Sara said, horrified.

“I am sorry about it. I advise you not to go home this summer. Can you arrange yourself a place to stay with someone who has no ties to Voldemort?”

“I’ll ask Daphne,” Sara said, looking resigned. “At least they’ve got plenty of room. But would she want to risk her family by taking me in?”

“You see? Voldemort hasn’t done anything yet, but already we pure-bloods have to fear for our lives!” Tom said. “You can’t possibly believe he’s got our best interests in mind.”

“Will you replace him, Tom?” Draco asked urgently. “What you did during the tournament shows that you’re creative. Krum and Delacour are the best of their schools, but their performances were nothing compared to yours. I heard Flitwick saying that you’re the most talented student of Hogwarts in living memory. If anyone, you can defeat the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, unite wizarding Britain and take control of the Muggle world and their super weapons.”

“That is what I intend to do. But I lack experience and knowledge about the most obscure branches of magic, there’s no use denying it. This slow start to the war is good for me, because it gives me more time to become what I need to become. But still, I will need allies. Can I count on you?”

“What choice do I have?” Sara asked.

“My grandfather has known the Dark Lord longer than anyone,” Theodore said. “He doesn’t speak about it openly, but I’m sure he has had at least some regrets about joining him. You’re very capable, Tom, and sane. I can’t imagine you torturing the bringer of bad news. I’m with you.”

“We Malfoys are always on the winning side,” Draco said. “Since you’re able to survive a fight against the Dark Lord, save Potter and escape with just a few rumples on your robes at the age of nineteen, I’m sure you’ll defeat him in the end. But I think none of us is willing to make an announcement about our chosen side before we have to.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Tom said. “As I said, you should distance yourselves from me for now. Try to convert your families. When the time comes, we will join in forces and wipe out Voldemort and Dumbledore – if they’re separate people, that is.”

Later, after Draco, Theodore and Sara had left Tom alone, he decided that the time had probably come to discard the provocative story about Voldemort being Dumbledore. It had served its purpose to alienate Slytherins from Voldemort and to make them think about their goals and strategies by themselves, but now that Voldemort had returned, it just confused them. The day would come when Tom would vanquish his brother, and he wanted the full glory of it. Manipulating people would only take him so far; he needed to come up with something that would help him succeed in his next encounter with Voldemort.

 

---

 

In the rare moments that week when Tom was not reading, eating or talking with people, he studied his yew wand. According to what he had learned of Wandlore, wands and their users were constantly learning from one another, and the more someone used a wand, the stronger the connection between them became. His wand felt so natural and powerful in his hand that he concluded with great satisfaction that he had inherited its connection to Voldemort. It was a shortcut to greater magical prowess worthy of thirty-eight years, more than twice his current age.

One thing Tom could not get off his mind was one specific moment in the graveyard: when Voldemort had begun casting his Shield Charm right before Tom’s attack, and when the Shield had protected him from the Gravity Amplifying Charm as well. Great wizards were said to be able to develop a sixth sense to detect magic, which was the reason why their duels were so evenly matched. Voldemort clearly had the sixth sense. It made him very formidable opponent indeed. He could not be taken out by surprise by casting the Killing Curse at him from a mile away, even if he stood still and facing away.

When Tom had crafted the Gravity Amplifying Charm, he had hoped it would be such an out-of-the-box spell that it would catch anyone off guard. The common Shield Charm that he had taught Harry did not work against it, but Voldemort had clearly upgraded his Shield, probably against all possible forms of magic. Tom needed a new, even more devious form of attack. He racked his brains as he tried to find the solution to the challenge: was there something, apart from the Darkest magics, that Voldemort’s Shield did not protect against? If there was, he might find a way of using the knowledge of physics he had learned in the Muggle world to craft another out-of-the-box magic weapon. It had been simply ingenious to turn the very basic Levitating Charm into a new spell that made things heavier instead of lighter, because so few people were clever enough to realise the vast combat potential of amplified gravity. Surely there was something else, some simple spell taught to first-year students, which could with slight modifications be turned into a weapon so subtle, so treacherous, that Voldemort would just go on smirking behind his upgraded Shield without knowing he was already done for…

Tom arranged his notes while seeking inspiration for the project, and did not take very long, because he had kept them quite neatly all along. It was common for the graduating Slytherins to give their notes for younger students, and Tom’s notes were in high demand. With the Doubling Charm he created enough copies of them to give one set to each sixth-year Slytherin; the magical duplicates would fade out eventually, but not within a year.

As he went through the parchments, he also leafed through the piles of notes he had made for the Kwikspell courses; unfortunately, the Triwizard Tournament and his studies inspired by the Delphic Oracle’s prophecy to Salazar had taken so much of his time that he had not progressed as much as he would have liked with his advanced studies.

There were the notes for the course of Alchemy, the most challenging of magical subjects. Creating the Philosopher’s Stone was just the culmination of it, but it offered an unlimited number of useful applications, like transforming mundane energy into magical power or combining the properties of different materials. Tom had planned to make a formula for creating a metal that was as light as lithium, as strong as the strongest steel alloy, chemically as inert as helium, as hard as a diamond, as ductile as platinum and had as high melting point as graphite. He did not even understand how something could be so hard and so ductile at the same time, but it worked in theory, and besides, it was far from being the only magical phenomenon he had encountered that seemed to defy all logic. Alchemy was fascinating, but he could not resume his projects now that Voldemort had returned. Instead, he directed his problem-solving skills to the urgent task at hand: creating new methods of combat.

 

---

 

Moody did not stay at Hogwarts waiting for the term to officially end. He marked all his exam papers as quickly as possible, packed his things and clunked out of the castle on the Wednesday of the last week, looking ominously eager for the looming war. Almost every student and member of staff was watching his departure, but from a safe distance. The Weasley twins had set up a betting table where some students were placing their bets on which fate would befall the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; would he get struck by lightning, get attacked by a rabid Hippogriff, suffer a heart attack or actually survive.

Moody limped across the grounds, opened the gate, stepped out, closed the gate – and Disapparated. Hundreds of held breaths were released at once.

“So that’s the power of constant vigilance!” one of the Weasley twins said. “You can actually survive a whole school year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!”

“Maybe he Splinched,” the other twin suggested. “It may take weeks before we learn that his body parts are scattered across Britain. Besides, the school year isn’t over yet, there are still a few days left.”

Tom shrugged and returned to the library. The short moment of respite from studying was over without providing the excitement everyone had hoped for.

 

---

 

Even though the Sleep Debt Potion kept sleepiness away, being awake and ac­tive for a week without stopping to rest for even a moment left Tom feeling weariness that only true sleep could relieve. A headache was already throbbing at his temples when he got a new annoying but unavoidable nuisance to disrupt his studies: the end-of-term feast.

Once again, the colours of green and silver were indicating the victory of Slytherin, and Tom grinned even despite his annoyance. Slytherin had won the House Cup every year he had been at Hogwarts, and every time he had been the most important single Slytherin to ensure the victory. This year the contest had been purely an academic one; no Quidditch to unfairly tilt the scales in favour of any House.

Many students were waiting eagerly for what Dumbledore had to say. The week had been so full of speculation that the hopes were high that the Headmaster would shed more light on the situation, either to inform more about Voldemort or to admit that his previous speech had been just a bad joke. However, Dumbledore had clearly decided not to appear like the madman fixated on Dark Lords that the Daily Prophet had claimed he was, because he did not speak about Voldemort again.

“So ends this most exciting year at Hogwarts,” he said happily. “The House Cup is awarded to the House of Slytherin – congratulations! As always, our seventh-year students have reached the end of their journey in these hallowed halls of learning, but this is a farewell party to our foreign visitors too. Hogwarts has been honoured to host the delegations to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and I am happy to see that many friendships have been formed this year. It is likely that the tradition of the Triwizard Tournament will continue, and the next one will be arranged in five years. We all hope this will affect positively the international magical cooperation.”

Tom was not as optimistic considering that one of the Headmasters of the participating schools had gone missing and the Ministry of Magic was on warpath with Dumbledore. But much could happen in five years.

Later, as Snape did not bother to show his face in the Slytherin common room, Tom used his final opportunity to make sure his housemates remembered him as their leader.

“Our time together has come to an end,” he said. “I am pleased by the progress this House has made during these two years I have been here. The position of student leader can be difficult, but I have succeeded. One more lesson from me: a true Slytherin thinks for himself. It is not enough to follow a leader, even one strong with the virtues of Slytherin. I will not be dictating how you should continue next year, or who should lead you. Find your own way, as I did – and as Salazar Slytherin did.”

Draco looked confident: as a fifth-year student he was old enough to become student leader, and no one would challenge a Malfoy’s claim for the position.

“I happen to know there used to be a tradition at Hogwarts of singing the Parting Glass before the last night,” Tom continued. “All seventh-years, you know the lyrics.”

And they all sang in chorus:

”A man may drink and not be drunk,
A man may fight and not be slain,
A man may court a pretty girl,
And perhaps be welcomed back again.
But since it has so ought to be,
By a time to rise and a time to fall,
Come fill to me the parting glass.
Good night and joy be with you all,
Good night and joy be with you all.”

The younger students clapped, but as the Slytherins began to enter their dormitories, Tom once again headed to the library. His dormmates had noticed how he had not slept in his bed for a week, and hopefully they would come to the conclusion that Tom Valedro was above such mortal inconveniences as resting.

Tom returned to his table in the silent library and continued reading. He still had around seven hours left to take advantage of the practically endless supply of knowledge stored there.

As the first sunrays of Tom’s last morning at Hogwarts came over the horizon and through the window next to the table he was sitting at, he wrenched his eyes from the tome he had been reading all night and stared out with a sad feeling of emptiness.

Sighing heavily, he slammed the book shut and returned it to the Restricted Section. His final hours of study were over, and not a moment too early. The week had been quite a nightmare, but he had reached the end, and the time had come to look back and reflect everything.

It was easy to remember the feeling of awe and yearning he had felt when he had first entered the Hogwarts library. He had wandered around, read hundreds of titles and planned to read them all, not realising what kind of a headache it would cause. His enthusiasm had grown until he had found out that the most interesting books were in a section restricted from him.

The library was probably the place where he had spent the second most time in, after the Slytherin common room and dormitories.

“Goodbye, library,” Tom muttered, made his final glances around, turned away and left.

The next half an hour was spent walking slowly through the corridors of Hogwarts as he reminisced the most memorable moments of his education. In Transfiguration he had done his best to impress Dumbledore, but the Deputy Headmaster had usually just watched him with a concerned look; McGonagall had not been biased against him. Charms had been a fun class, but it had never offered him any feeling of challenge. Defence Against the Dark Arts had been the most interesting subject, and the most challenging too during Moody’s professorship. Those classes Tom would be remembering with fondness.

He peeked into the room where Slughorn had had his suppers for his favourites. Talking nonsense with people would not have been Tom’s choice for spending time, but the suppers had been an irreplaceable opportunity to hone his manipulative talents.

The trophy room was not one he had spent much time in, but he walked around it nonetheless. The Triwizard Cup was there, donated to the school by the joint winners of the tournament. Two things that were not in the trophy room were Voldemort’s Medal for Magical Merit and Special Award for Services to the School that Tom had been given for finding Hagrid’s monster. (He would not say the award was undeserved, because the attacks on Muggle-borns had stopped, allowing Hogwarts to stay open. That was the important part.) Tom had stolen the medal and the award, because they were the two things from where Harry and the others could have learned Tom’s true name, and changing the name engraved in them might have been noticed by Dumbledore. However, since Tom was by far the best student of Hogwarts since himself, one showcase in the trophy room now contained a new Medal for Magical Merit with the name Tom Valedro.

Finally, Tom wandered into the girls’ bathroom where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was located, and he visited the Basilisk briefly. Salazar’s statue looked down at him, still waiting for the Dark Lord to unleash Death.

“Your quest is in capable hands, my ancestor,” Tom assured the statue before leaving the magnificent hall behind.

When he returned to the school, the castle was starting to wake up. Some students were already going to the Great Hall for breakfast, but Tom headed out to the grounds. There he had run around during his first months at Hogwarts from the sheer delight of being away from the dull, grey world of London. Later he had ventured into the Forbidden Forest that still felt as unexplored as the many rows of books in the library that he had not had the time to search for useful knowledge.

“Goodbye, greenhouses,” Tom said as he looked through a glass wall into the greenhouse where he had had his first Herbology class. Back in 1938, he had been absolutely thrilled about buildings in which plants could be grown all year around; they had reminded him of the Crystal Palace that had been destroyed by fire two years before. He had seen pictures of the fire in a newspaper, and they had made him sad and angry. A massive building made of steel and glass had been a great source of inspiration to the orphan who had been so used to the gloomy and dreary corridors of the orphanage.

On the bank of the lake, there was an old beech tree under which students usually spent sunny weekend days. It had become even more gnarled during Tom’s half a century of hibernation in the diary, but the root he had used as a chair was still there as comfortable as ever. He sat on it one last time, looked at the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts and turned his thoughts to the future.

He had been so busy lately that he had not had enough time to get used to the idea that he would be leaving Hogwarts. It was sad and wistful as the magnificent castle felt like an extension of his own self, very similar to how the yew wand felt in his hand. He wondered whether he could ever have the same feeling of wholeness anywhere else.

He regretted, and not for the first time, that he had made his first Horcrux so early. Of course, back then he had not cared about the part of the soul that would be bound to the diary (it was not supposed to be him), but it was frustrating that he had not even finished his education. He was going to fight the part of him that had continued to live free, but Voldemort was far more powerful and skilled than Tom was. It was a woeful disadvantage.

Education at Hogwarts was not enough. The Kwikspell Company could not teach him everything he needed to learn either. He had once planned of completing the training programmes of Aurors, Healers and curse-breakers, but this coming war needed something else.

Karkaroff – Tom realised what he had to do as he looked at the ship from where Durmstrang students were slowly heading to the castle. Although their Headmaster was a coward, he could not be without great talent in the Dark Arts. One did not become the Headmaster of Durmstrang without being able to crush ambitious usurpers. Tom would find Karkaroff and force him to teach him all that he knew. Only then would Tom start seeking for an opportunity to work in the Department of Mysteries. The deepest secrets of magic would wait, but Karkaroff would not.

Satisfied that his next course action was clear, Tom returned to the castle and went straight into the Great Hall.

There was more hassle than usual as the students of Hogwarts were having their last conversations with their friends from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. There had been some ceremony planned for the departure, but it had been cancelled, because the disappearance of one of the headmasters would have made it awkward.

Tom took a small bit of every food on his plate to honour every food Hogwarts had offered him. It was easy to remember the feeling that he had felt as a young orphan the first time he had sat at that table. Hogwarts had not been struck by the Great Depression or the Second World War, so he had had a habit of getting as much food from the kitchen as possible to be stuffed into his trunk before each return to London.

Goodbye, Great Hall, he thought, letting his gaze wander from the food to the students, the walls and the enchanted ceiling.

Slytherins had some time to relax between breakfast and departure, because Gryffindors and Ravenclaws needed more time to bring their things down from the towers. Tom used that time to sit for the last time in the armchair of the student leader

Goodbye, common room, he thought before leading his House to the Entrance Hall. Derrick and Bole walked right behind him, and he muttered a few words to them.

“Flint has been impressed with the Muggle army. Contact him and enlist to the artillery arm as he did. But before that I have a little mission for you. Meet me on the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and take Montague, Warrington and Bletchley with you.”

“Yes, my lord,” they replied.

In the Entrance Hall the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were bedding farewells. All former Triwizard champions convened briefly to thank for good sportsmanship, and they decided to arrange a reunion sometime in the future. Delacour had become much friendlier after Tom and Harry had relinquished their claims to victory, and she apologised to Harry for thinking he had entered the tournament himself. Krum looked excited, and he whispered to Tom,

“Herm-own-ninny is coming to visit me in Bulgaria. Thank you so much for all the advice.”

“Excellent,” Tom said. “I hope you can keep up with her curiosity.”

Krum gave a rare smile, shook Harry’s hand, gave an autograph to the disgruntled-looking Ron and boarded the ship. As Hogwarts students were boarding the Thestral-drawn carriages, the ship sunk into the lake, later to appear wherever Durmstrang was; Tom was curious about how quick a way of transportation the ship was. A moment later the mighty winged horses pulled the Beauxbatons carriage into the air. The Hogwarts students greeted both departures with thousands of conjured sparks.

Tom did not board a carriage, but followed after them afoot, looking wistfully at every tree and bush he passed. As was the Head Boy’s duty, he was the last one to step out of the gates, and there he turned around.

“Goodbye, Hogwarts,” he said aloud to the empty castle in the distance. “I will be back one day.”

It might have been just his imagination, but he felt as if the ambient magic of Hogwarts had somehow brushed him as a reply. Encouraged, he closed the gate, and with a loud click of the lock, his Hogwarts journey was over.

 

---

 

The meeting of the prefects on the train was almost as boring as it had been the previous year. Tom and Pauline Ardrey said a few words, and just as Percy had told him a year earlier, Tom told Cedric Diggory that he was likely to become the Head Boy for the next year. Diggory was delighted and left for a patrol with almost childish enthusiasm. The patrols were not actually needed that time; Tom was absolutely certain that Dumbledore and many other members of the Order of the Phoenix were invisibly on board or flying beside the train. There was no way he would have left the train with just the prefects to guard it when there was a considerable risk of Voldemort attacking Harry again.

After a very short patrol, Tom went to sit in the compartment where Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Remus were. It was the exact same company as during the train ride to Hogwarts for his sixth year. Back then Remus had been sleepy, but this time Tom had trouble staying awake, because the Sleep Debt Potion was wearing off. For many hours he drowsed and avoided taking part in the conversation until the train finally arrived at King’s Cross.

“Do we have the same arrangement this summer too, Tom?” Harry asked eagerly.

“If possible, yes,” Tom mumbled and pinched himself hard to regain a little liveliness. “Dumbledore will undoubtedly place some new security measures, and they must be taken into account. I’ll make sure Dobby will answer your summons, but… there’s something I need to do right away. I may be gone for some time.”

“What are you going to do?” Remus asked.

“It’s a tradition to explore the world a little after graduation,” Tom said. “Have a good summer, everyone. I must go and meet some of my Slytherin buddies. We’ve got something important to do tonight.”

He hurried off, and once he stepped out of the Express, he took the Head Boy’s badge off. The magnificent journey of magic that had started on that very platform almost fifty-seven years earlier had come full circle. It was time to shake off this feeling of nostalgia and turn to face the rest of his immortal existence and the even greater adventures than what Hogwarts could offer.

Chapter 36: Hunting Father Christmas

It was in an unusual way that Tom entered Diagon Alley as a very fresh Hogwarts alumnus: he was invisible and riding the Firebolt, Supersensory Charm on, a wand in a tight grip and Dobby invisibly grasping his back with the order of Side-Along Apparating to safety should something unexpected and dangerous happen. Far below him, Derrick, Bole, Montague, Warrington and Bletchley were walking down the alley, looking as happy and unconcerned as any young people who had just either graduated or earned their holiday had every right to feel. (This, however, was only possible because of mild Cheering Charms Tom had cast on each one of them.) Moreover, Derrick had drunk a dose of Polyjuice Potion with Tom’s hair in it, and a series of disguising charms had made him Tom’s exact copy.

They entered Tom’s house and checked every room. Nothing happened. Voldemort’s agent at Hogwarts had surely informed his master that Tom had been the one to return with the Triwizard Cup alongside Harry, and Pettigrew knew where Tom lived. But apparently, Voldemort’s desire to reclaim the yew wand was not so great that he would have risked being exposed by attacking the busiest shopping hub in wizarding Britain in broad daylight. Tom’s brother’s eye was on him now, and he needed to embrace all methods of constant vigilance he had learned in order to avoid the bleak fate Voldemort had in store for him.

Tom entered the house and cast a few of the most basic protective charms. They would not stop Voldemort, but they might delay him for a second; long enough for Tom to realise that he was under attack and Disapparate. Then he used the Disillusionment Charm on Montague and Warrington and sent them out to fly above the house and look for signs of an attack. Bletchley exited the house as well, but he was to stay on the street and be alert for suspicious-looking people. Derrick and Bole stayed inside with Tom and Dobby, and together they packed almost everything Tom owned in a trunk with the Extension Charm. Books, potions, potion ingredients, all kinds of wizard’s accessories… he would leave nothing except some disposable pieces of furniture to wait for Voldemort’s inevitable raid. Tom’s memory collection and all the priceless artefacts he had bought from Borgin and Burkes, stolen from the Black townhouse and taken from the Room of Requirement were already in Gringotts, because he had ordered Dobby to take them there mere hours after Voldemort’s return.

Once the packing was finished, he sent his five servants home and took his leave from the wizarding world for a while. It was time to pay the price of the Sleep Debt Potion that he had consumed for a week, and he would do so in a place where no one would think of looking for him. He randomly chose a remote Muggle village in Wales, rented a room in a small, homely inn and told the elderly couple running it not to disturb him. He could only barely bring himself to cast protective charms on the inn before collapsing into bed. Dobby stayed there with him; as always, he was to Side-Along Apparate Tom to safety at the first sign of trouble and to wake him up every day for half an hour to eat and to go to the loo.

 

---

 

Waking up after three days of almost ceaseless sleep felt like a whole new life; or it would have if Tom had not happened to have such an experience already. The dull feeling of fogginess was gone from his mind and the world looked amazingly colourful; it was a shame his final memories of Hogwarts seemed so grey and dreary in comparison. He looked out of the window to the beautiful sunny Welsh countryside, and new vigour and enthusiasm made him itch for an adventure.

Dobby had brought the newest Daily Prophets from Diagon Alley every day, but Tom had been too sleepy to even leaf them through while having his daily meals. But now, with the sleep debt repaid, he took them all with him to the garden of the inn where he went to have breakfast. Nothing notable seemed to have happened; no Death Eater attacks, no strange disappearances and nothing about a house in Diagon Alley having been burnt to the ground. Dumbledore was mentioned a few times in less than favourable light. Everything seemed to be as it had been.

Hogwarts was finished and the time had come for Tom to start his career as a free and independent wizard; a career that would hopefully culminate in his becoming the uncontested immortal mastermind who secretly pulled the strings of every single powerful individual in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. He had three major obstacles: one, the vast multitude of both magical and mundane arts that he still needed to learn; two, Voldemort; and three, Dumbledore.

And as he had realised, the best first step was to find Igor Karkaroff before Voldemort would and force him into Tom’s service. A master of the Dark Arts who knew how Voldemort and the Death Eaters operated and who probably could still get Tom access to the Durmstrang library was a better start for Tom’s career than anything else out there.

No outsider knew where Durmstrang was located. Even its students did not know; Tom knew this, because he had tried to learn the location from their minds with Legilimency during the months they had been sitting at the Slytherin table. There was probably some spell in place preventing them from learning their location.

What was known was that the majority of Durmstrang students came from Slavic countries and that the institute was under the jurisdiction of wizarding Russia. However, that meant little, not only because Russia was vast, but because wizarding Russia had no clear geographical borders. In many parts of Northern and Eastern Europe, magical population was so sparse that they had not bothered to form actual magical states. It was like a magical frontier, almost a lawless region, but in the rare occasions when the people living there needed a political authority, they usually relied on the Magi’s Commissariat in Moscow. Those few wizards who lived in the frontier usually had much closer ties to the Muggle societies around them than to other wizards, much to the disapproval of the International Confederation of Wizards.

As far as any outsider knew, Durmstrang could be located anywhere in this vast frontier. However, a resourceful person capable of problem-solving could rule out much of this area just by considering certain facts.

First, the institute’s name was Germanic, suggesting that it had a long history with Germanic nations. Medieval German wizards would not have established their secret castle in Siberia or any other part of wizarding Russia that would have been impractically far from their sphere of influence.

Second, Durmstrang students wore thick cloaks and furs, meaning their school was somewhere far in the north where they had to protect themselves from the arctic cold. But even the northern reaches of European Russia were enormous, so Tom had needed more hints. He had used Legilimency on the Durmstrang students and found a piece of information someone might have considered trivial: every winter in Durmstrang there were around three weeks when the sun did not rise above the horizon. That meant the institute had to be located somewhere north from the Arctic Circle. It was on top of a hill which meant it received more sunlight than the surrounding plains, so it had to be some distance further north from places where the polar night was three weeks long.

This narrowed down the possible location so much that finding Durmstrang should, in theory, be possible simply by flying north of the Arctic Circle and checking each hilltop. Unfortunately, in practice it meant little. Durmstrang certainly had such a powerful set of protective enchantments that breaking them was far beyond Tom’s powers. Then again, Hogwarts had probably the most powerful protective enchantments in the world, but Sirius Black had repeatedly found his way in with sheer cunning.

And it was not exactly Durmstrang Tom wanted to find, but its Headmaster. Karkaroff knew that Voldemort was going to punish him, and hiding in the school he was the Headmaster of would have been pure madness. However, if Tom were Karkaroff, he still would have chosen a hiding place somewhere near Durmstrang. Fleeing within the protection of the enchantments when found would offer at least some time to plan an escape route, and Durmstrang had to be an irreplaceable source of many resources as well: potion ingredients, magical items, food, house-elves and so on.

And so, after putting all this together in that lovely Welsh garden, Tom embarked on the traditional world tour that many of the most talented wizards made after graduating from Hogwarts. It was common to travel to places with long and proud histories of magic such as Italy, Greece and Egypt, and Tom had many times daydreamt about such a tour. Never had he imagined he would head to the desolate wastelands of the north instead where the only other wizard within hundreds of miles was doing his best to avoid him.

The name of Tom Valedro was without a doubt being sought by malevolent forces, so he did not go to buy a Portkey to Saint Petersburg (or Leningrad, as the Russian wizards still called the city); the purchase would have been entered into the accounting files of the travel agency and soon some Death Eater would have learned of it, causing Voldemort to come after Tom and the yew wand. But the Muggle way of transportation was something narrow-minded pure-blood supremacists would never even consider.

Tom bought a plane ticket to Finland. During the summer, outside the skiing season, he could not get a direct flight to Rovaniemi in Lapland, so he had to venture a stopover in Helsinki. There was a reason he would have preferred to avoid going near Finland’s capital: there were many rumours about Finland being a notoriously dangerous place for foreign wizards.

Muggle Finland had been ruled by the de facto autocratic President Urho Kekkonen ever since 1946. It was said that he was a wizard who had used the absence of wizarding authority in the frontier to his advantage. According to this rumour, he had used the Confundus Charm to force the previous President, the war hero Marshal Mannerheim, to resign, and then to make the parliament elect him as the new President. After that he had solidified his power, and he had been particularly effective when dealing with the Soviet Union, the superpower ruled in secret by his alleged old friends from Durmstrang.

Individuals like Kekkonen were dangerous, but even though he was said to be paranoid of usurpers, he held no personal grudge against Tom. He kept a low profile during the stopover and was vigilant for wizard guards recognising him as one of their kin. Nothing happened, and soon he was flying northward, away from the most dangerous city for wizards in Europe.

Rovaniemi was a town near the Arctic Circle. Right after landing Tom turned himself invisible and began a new flight with the Firebolt. The unending wilderness that spread around him was something totally alien to a Briton, and for a moment he despaired. There were literally a limitless number of places where Karkaroff could be hiding.

He flew from west to east, heading always to the next hilltop within sight. He flew, and he flew, day after day, utilising the constantly shining sun as he searched for signs of a magical castle or a hiding old wizard. The most imposing hills he encountered were the Khibiny Mountains in the Kola Peninsula, but his magically heightened senses could not find anything in there. Eventually he reached the end of the Kola Peninsula and turned back, starting the search anew, this time from east to west.

He had expected it to be frustrating, but it turned out to be wonderful instead. The sceneries were breathtaking, the sun seemed to be circling him as it stayed above the horizon and absolutely no one was there bothering him. It was pure freedom! In the land of the midnight sun, even the time of day did not dictate what he could do, and many times he found himself the most active when the sun was shining from the north. And he never felt bored; there were still many books in his trunk from the Black townhouse that he had not yet read, and using the yew wand was joy in itself. Many times he also stopped to play the violin with the endless, magnificent desolation as his only audience. His lodging was one of those luxurious magical tents that offered almost the same comforts as a magical house. This was what he should have done the previous summer too instead of wasting his time with the social circles of Slytherin families!

 

---

 

Eventually the night came when the sun disappeared from the sky for a moment, and Tom decided that enough time had been spent enjoying the solitude. He had nothing to show for his search, and suspicion was creeping into his mind that he was, after all, seeking Durmstrang and its Headmaster from the wrong places. Eager to get some news, he headed south from the Kola Peninsula until the Solovetsky Islands came into his sight in the middle of the White Sea.

When he had first planned his intrusion to Durmstrang, he had considered whether that small archipelago could be the secret location of the school. It did have a small wizarding village, but not only did it not fit the scenery he had seen in the minds of the Durmstrang students, also its history did not fit. Shortly after the October Revolution, Lenin, the first Comrade of wizarding Russia ruling as Grindelwald’s puppet, had established a Muggle slave labour camp on the main island. Certainly he would not have done so anywhere near his alma mater.

The wizarding village of Solovetsky was actually located inside the walls of the famous monastery that the island was known for, the magical buildings just hidden from the sight of the Muggle tourists flocking all over the place. Tom entered a tavern that appeared to also be a shop and a meeting place of the locals.

“A newspaper, please,” he said to the householder and tossed a few coins on the counter.

“Sorry, lad, this is the only one we have,” the older wizard grunted and handed Tom a paper. It was, of course, written in Cyrillic script and in Russian.

“Uhh… sorry, I can’t read Russian,” Tom mumbled, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.

“You speak it very well,” said the householder, and Tom blinked in surprise. He had actually been speaking in English, but at the same time using Legilimency on the householder in order to deliver his thoughts and receive the householder’s through the language barrier. Surely the same method could be used to read as well.

Tom sat down at a same table as an old wizard who seemed not to be in a hurry.

“Do you mind reading this?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” the old wizard said, wrinkling his nose. “That’s Truth, the only newspaper we have here in Russia, and it’s utter rubbish! You can’t even use it to start a fire, because the publisher has charmed it against burning!”

“Please, I’m from Britain on a traditional post-graduation tour, and I’d like to learn what it’s like in Russia!” Tom pleaded.

“Oh, well, in that case I’ll tell you something about the newspaper and our system that’s rotten to the core,” the old wizard said, suddenly enthusiastic about having someone to complain to. “First, the reading instruction. When something is printed in Truth, the actual truth is the total opposite! You see, the idiots in Moscow are too inept to even make a code that’d be difficult to decode.”

Tom wondered if this hostility towards the central government had something to do with monasteries such as the one in Solovetsky having been treated badly under the communist rule or if almost every Russian wizard thought like this one.

The old wizard started to read the newspaper aloud and Tom his mind. The newest paper did not tell anything of interest to Tom, but he learned that some time ago, around the time the Durmstrang term had ended, there had been news of Igor Karkaroff gone missing. Very subtly he fished this memory to the forefront of the old wizard’s mind so that it would seem like old wizard would be the one to change the subject.

“As I said, utter rubbish!” the old wizard exclaimed and handed the newspaper back to Tom. “By the way, have you heard that Igor Karkaroff has gone missing?”

“What, the Durmstrang Headmaster?”

“The very one,” the old wizard said and nodded dramatically. “He used to come here every now and then. Damned git! My father Sergei has never forgiven him for what he did to us!”

“What did he do?”

“He served Grindelwald, of course! My father was here when Lenin led his brigands here under Grindelwald’s orders and robbed us! Karkaroff was just a kid back then, but later he joined the oppressor! He betrayed us all! Grindelwald is responsible for every disaster that has plagued Russia in almost a hundred years! He infiltrated the Muggle imperial court disguised as a monk called Grigori Rasputin and undermined the entire system! He murdered the Austrian prince and made sure Russia escalated the crisis into a war, starting the chain of events that led to the revolution of those damned Bolsheviks! He caused death and devastation! And Karkaroff joined his cause!”

The old wizard was raving. Every other conversation in the tavern had quieted and people stared at him and Tom, but everyone seemed equally hostile towards Karkaroff.

“Then why did he come here every now and then?” Tom asked.

“I guess this is the only tavern within Apparating distance from Durmstrang,” said the householder who, apparently, did understand English. “I dunno, it’s not like I know where my old school is.”

That was all Tom needed to know: he was on the right track after all.

“My father always says that he’s gonna beat Karkaroff up one day,” said the old wizard. “He was really depressed when the git didn’t show up anymore…”

But Tom had already left.

 

---

 

It was somewhat unclear what the maximum Apparating distance was. The Kwikspell instructor had told Tom that trying to Apparate too far usually resulted in Splinching, but it would get better with more experience. Some wizards certainly could Apparate safely between Hogwarts and London, a distance of over four hundred miles, but most preferred using Floo powder even for much shorter distances. International travel was done using Portkeys, but extremely few wizards were capable of creating them. They also seemed to be easily tracked, because so many governments regulated them without problems.

Studying a map of wizarding Russia confirmed that Tom’s initial assumption of Durmstrang’s location was most likely accurate: Lapland was the only part of wizarding Russia that was too far from other settlements than Solovetsky to be Apparated to. And so he returned to Rovaniemi and started a new plan of searching.

One idea popped in his mind: what if Karkaroff had used the same method of hiding from Voldemort as he had? Hiding among Muggles was usually the best possible choice. If Tom found Durmstrang’s location, Karkaroff’s hiding place might very well be the nearest Muggle hostel. Lapland had no shortage of them, but they were usually less popular during the summer.

“Hello,” Tom said to a Muggle in a tourist centre. “I’m looking for someone… a foreigner… and I think he might’ve been seen somewhere around here.”

“What does he look like?” the Muggle asked.

“He’s an old man, he has a beard and the last time I saw him he wore a uniform, a red set of robes. And – someone might call him a wizard.”

The Muggle stared at Tom as if Tom was out of his mind.

“Everyone knows him!” he said. “You’re speaking of Father Christmas!”

Oh no, Tom thought, his hope deflating.

“Father Christmas isn’t usually seen this time of the year, but his workshop is not that far from here. It’s a magical place hidden from the sight of ordinary people, but everyone knows it’s located on top of Korvatunturi, a hill on the Russian border.”

A magical place of an old, bearded man wearing a red uniform… hidden from the sight of ordinary people… on top of a hill in the Arctic region… This was too fitting to be a mere coincidence. Many Muggle folktales had origins in the wizarding world. Why could Father Christmas and his hidden workshop not be among them?

“Thank you!” Tom cried as he rushed out of the tourist centre.

 

---

 

Soon Korvatunturi (the Finnish name literally meant ‘Ear Fell’) loomed ahead of Tom. He was quite sure he had checked it on one of the early days of the trip, but of course good protective enchantments could make a place hidden even from those who were actively seeking it. This time he focused on landing on the hilltop, nothing else…

… and for some reason the hilltop always eluded him, but in such a subtle way that he had to try it many times to be sure. It was much like the shack in the forest near Little Hangleton. Durmstrang, however, had to have a nexus of magic just like Hogwarts that powered the protective enchantments with a constant supply of magical power. Breaking them required nothing less than an army.

Still, Durmstrang’s location was now found, even if the castle itself was not. If Karkaroff was behaving like Tom would have in his situation, he was somewhere nearby, probably shifting from one hideout to another regularly.

For the next two weeks, Tom flew wide circles around Durmstrang and stopped at every house and cottage. Around each of them he placed a few charms that would alert him if they noticed something. The most sophisticated of them was the Magic Detecting Alert Charm which was probably the most challenging spell he had yet mastered. Casting it required very little magical power, so little that first-year Hogwarts students could have cast it, but the challenge came from its precision and complexity. It was so subtle that even a powerful wizard might not notice being within its range, and it was used by the Ministry of Magic around all influential Muggles in order to learn if Dark wizards tried to gain control over the Muggle world. The wizarding world had learned its lessons from Grindelwald’s schemes.

Finally, one of Tom’s charms triggered, and he immediately Apparated near its location. There was a humble cottage at the shore of Lake Inari, and someone was walking around it, someone with magic, possibly casting safety charms. Tom took up his spyglass and looked: it was Karkaroff!

Tom had given his attack much thought. Attacking an almost eighty-year-old wizard who had managed to usurp the previous Headmaster of Durmstrang and who had experience from two wars would have been reckless, even suicidal, but Tom had a special weapon – fear. Karkaroff did not know who it was that would attack him, and Tom had no intention of letting him know before he was defeated.

A series of disguising charms made Tom’s face look snakelike; not exactly like Voldemort, but he covered his head with a hood so that the details would not be easily seen. Then he prepared many illusions to look like Death Eaters on broomsticks. And, of course, fireworks had already proven to be a good way to start a show.

Karkaroff had almost created his first protective charm when Tom triggered the Anti-Apparition, Anti-Portkey and Anti-Floo Jinxes that he had prepared in advance. Karkaroff spun immediately around, wand ready for action, but the fireworks exploded, making him flinch in reflex and lose his focus.

“Igor!” Tom cried. “You betrayed Lord Voldemort!”

Five illusions of Death Eaters appeared in the sky. Karkaroff glanced around and spotted Tom approaching from the direction of the sun. He cried in terror and pointed his wand.

“Az-reth!”

So, he resorted to serious spells right from the beginning. Fiendfyre erupted upwards, but it was not difficult to dodge with a broomstick as fast as the Firebolt. In midair, the hellish fire did not have anything to burn, and maintaining it became very straining for Karkaroff. Tom circled him and started a counter-attack with both of his wands. The yew wand was so perfectly attuned with the Dark Arts that he barely needed even to think the incantation of the Blasting Curse to create explosions of such horrendous power that Lockhart’s wand just could not match them.

Karkaroff fell over when one of the blasts tore a massive hole into the ground next to him. Fear gripped him so that his control over the Fiendfyre was lost, and the Dark inferno died down in seconds.

“Pathetic, Igor!” Tom laughed, channelling his inner Voldemort. “If you really thought you could fight me, you wouldn’t have fled like a timid little mouse!”

Suddenly Karkaroff pulled a Shrunken broomstick out of his pocket and returned it to its normal size. Tom let him take off, but then activated the Anti-Anti-Gravity Jinx that affected all kinds of flying charms and enchantments except those of the Firebolt. Karkaroff took a nosedive and ended up sprawling on the ground. Tom howled with laughter.

“This is fun, Igor!” Tom said and bombarded his panicking foe with more Blasting Curses. “If you entertain me enough, I may show you some mercy!”

Karkaroff ran and dodged desperately until a curse exploded almost under his feet. He flew through the air, this time for much longer than with the broomstick, but the flight ended in the lake where he lost the grip of his wand.

“Please, my lord!” he screamed. “I’ve always been loyal to you! You don’t understand!”

Tom Summoned Karkaroff’s wand and incapacitated him with a Body-Bind Curse that only allowed him to speak. Karkaroff stood meekly in the shallow water with even his trembling restrained.

“So, you are loyal after all, are you, Igor?” Tom asked as he positioned himself above the older wizard. “Then why did you come here instead of the graveyard where I summoned you? Was it a pure mistake that you tried to roast me with Fiendfyre, eh?”

Karkaroff did not respond. There was nothing he could say to sway Voldemort.

“Incarcerous!”

Ropes burst from Tom’s wand and tied Karkaroff securely for good measure. Now that Karkaroff was doubly incapacitated, Tom floated down right next to him and dispelled the more recent disguising charms from himself. The expression of terror on Karkaroff’s face was replaced with confusion, then relief, then outrage.

“You!” he bellowed. “Tom Valedro?! What in Merlin’s name do you want? Are you this mad about getting so few points in the tournament? I regret giving you any!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tom said. “You should be thankful, because I’m going to save you from Voldemort. But first I must be sure you won’t betray me like you betrayed him. There’s something you’ll have to do. We’re going to Solovetsky!”

“What? No! The filthy peasants will –”

“Stupefy.”

 

---

 

The old wizard who had raged about Karkaroff was happy to welcome Tom back with the betrayer. It turned out that Karkaroff had been born in Solovetsky and that he had been the only person from the village not to hold a grudge against Grindelwald. Other villagers had eagerly participated in the attack led by Dumbledore that had defeated Grindelwald’s minions in the Magi’s Commissariat during Grindelwald’s Second War, but the survival of the communist regime had been a huge disappointment to them. They had no love for Dumbledore or his kindly ways, and thus they would not decline helping Tom to do something to Karkaroff that Dumbledore would have considered atrocious.

Sergei, the old wizard’s father, was so ancient that Tom doubted he had many years left to live. When Tom brought Karkaroff to his cottage, his eyes blazed with vengeful fire.

“Igor,” Sergei purred, “for so long have I wanted to see you in such a defenceless state! You will pay for your crimes and the crimes of your master!”

“Wait!” Tom said as Sergei raised a wand. “I have a better idea for revenge. Karkaroff will swear an Unbreakable Vow to serve me for the rest of his life. I need someone to sacrifice some of his magical power to bind the Vow.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Karkaroff growled, but Tom very much dared. He had been too trusting with Pettigrew, and even though the rat-man’s return to Voldemort’s side had provided Tom plenty of new opportunities, he did not want any new surprises like it.

“I will happily sacrifice some of mine,” Sergei said, just as Tom had known he would. “I’ve got little use for my magic anymore. You do deserve a reward, boy. Igor shall be your house-elf! There’s not a fate more fitting for vermin who betrayed his own village for a small sliver of power from the oppressor! Ha ha!”

As the brutes of the Slytherin Quidditch team had sworn Unbreakable Vows of servitude to Tom, so did Karkaroff. He gritted his teeth and muttered heinous curses, but the only other option was to let the villagers deal with him.

He was crestfallen and defeated as he followed Tom out of the Solovetsky Monastery, and Tom said to him,

“Now you will take me to Durmstrang and teach me everything you know.”

Chapter 37: The Epicentre of History

Karkaroff muttered the keyword, and as if mist had cleared, the castle of Durmstrang was revealed on top of Korvatunturi. It was a four-storey building made of jagged dark stones; there were not many windows, and they were all small. The castle did not have such beauty as Hogwarts had, no lifelike ornaments forming fascinating patterns or anything, and unlike Hogwarts, the feeling of magic was ominous, quite like the one in the Black townhouse.

“We might not have long,” Karkaroff warned Tom sourly. “Moscow will send people here to take control of the school. They will breach the protections, because they know the keyword. Lenin forced the school to accept the supreme authority of the central government.”

“Yes, and Voldemort knows this as well,” Tom said. “He will certainly come to deal with you before there’s the risk of the Russian officials witnessing his assault.”

“Then why did you want to come here?” Karkaroff snarled. “We’re both in danger!”

“Viktor Krum gave me a list of those magical arts that are more extensively available here than at Hogwarts. We’ll be clearing the library of all valuable books, or at least all that will fit in my trunk. Don’t look like that; if we won’t loot them, Voldemort will. You’ll be the scapegoat either way.”

“What are you going to do with so many books?” Karkaroff huffed while opening the main entrance, a surprisingly small doorway considering the size of the castle.

“If you weren’t so petty, you’d’ve realised that I’m a wizard of equal potential as Voldemort, Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The problem is that I’m young! But if I study and train enough, I will eventually eclipse them. I’ll be the greatest wizard in the world, and if you serve me well, you’ll benefit from being my assistant. Right now, the assistance I need is your expertise. I’m very capable of Legilimency; you should be able to impart all your knowledge in a few years. To give you some further incentive, I may even free you of the Vow.”

“I’ve heard boasts and promises like that before,” Karkaroff muttered.

“You’d better get used to them. You’re now stuck with me; it’s in your best interests to make sure my boasts become reality.”

They walked down the dark, damp and unwelcoming corridors, Karkaroff leading the way. The entire interior of the castle was much like the Slytherin dungeons of Hogwarts.

The library was much smaller than that of Hogwarts, but the tempting feeling of Dark magic was so strong that Tom had not felt anything like it except when he had handled all of his Horcruxes at the same time. The place was probably the most promising source for learning the Dark Arts in the entire world. So many books, and what was more, so many books Voldemort had never had his hands on.

“Magnificent,” he breathed. “Show me the books Grindelwald read. I want to know what the experiments were for which he was expelled. What could possibly be too radical even to this school’s standards?”

“Hah!” Karkaroff scoffed. “Grindelwald’s expulsion because of too radical experiments is a lie told by Grindelwald himself. He wanted to be as notorious as possible and that’s why he told the lie to everyone who listened. As if you could get expelled from here because of the Dark Arts! No Headmaster would dare to insult such a dangerous student. Horrible experiments are, on the contrary, rewarded as a way of keeping on the good sides of the most dangerous students. If it’s absolutely necessary to get rid of a dangerous student, he is murdered.”

“So, what is the truth about Grindelwald’s expulsion? Or was the expelled at all?”

Karkaroff grinned. His mood seemed to have changed very quickly.

“He was expelled because he’s a Mudblood.”

“What?”

“That’s right. I’m one of the few who know the truth. I learned about it in the school archives after I became the Headmaster. Of course, there are countless rumours about Grindelwald’s heritage, most of them started by the man himself. He knew he couldn’t keep the truth a secret forever, so he didn’t even try, but hid it in plain sight among a thousand other stories so that no one knows what to believe.”

“How did he get accepted to study here in the first place?”

“His parents fabricated a lie plausible enough, because they knew about magic. He does have magical heritage, see. His great-aunt is the famous historian, Bathilda Bagshot. Her brother was a Squib who married a Muggle. Their daughter was a Muggle who married a Muggle. Grindelwald is their son.”

It was somehow strange to think that such a prominent Dark Lord had actually been an outsider in the wizarding world. In Britain, Muggle-borns were unambitious and unpretentious almost without exception. But then again, Tom had been an outsider as well, one who had come to Hogwarts one day as an unremarkable poor orphan from London with only talent as a way of earning a place in the wizarding world. Perhaps Grindelwald’s campaign had stemmed from the desire to forge his own place in the wizarding world, just like Tom’s. The social hierarchy of wizarding societies was so rigid that it would take several generations for a family to rise from nothing to great power and esteem with such Hufflepuff methods as diligence, networking, flattery and austerity. Of course outsiders with Slytherin tendencies preferred blasting the old hierarchy in pieces and then remaking it with themselves at the top. If Grindelwald or Tom had been born to rich pure-blood families, they might never have found any great ambition, but ended up wasting their potential in a lavish, decadent lifestyle like Lucius Malfoy.

“You were his follower once,” Tom said and sat down at a table, gesturing Karkaroff to take a seat too. “I’d like to know more about his personality and deeds – more than what is common knowledge in Britain.”

“Follower – not exactly,” Karkaroff said and sat down. “Not in the same way I was a Death Eater later. He controlled the wizarding countries of most of Europe. I was just one insignificant wizard who was enlisted to fight in the war like so many others. The alternative was defecting, but since Grindelwald seemed unstoppable, placing my stakes with him was the obvious thing to do. Besides, I can’t say that his ideology of the Greater Good wasn’t appealing.”

“Still, you know personally how he operated.”

“Yes, I do, more than you may think. I wish I didn’t know, actually.” He looked quite depressed. “It broke me. I had been brainwashed to worship him, and when I learned what he’s actually like, it felt like my world had shattered. I had to admit that the villagers of Solovetsky were right to hate him, but there was no going back for me. In a way it was a relief to learn later that he’s just a Mudblood.”

“This is getting interesting,” Tom said. “Speak, my good man!”

“I’ve never told anyone, because it would’ve been bad for me politically, but I was one of the last people who met Grindelwald before his duel with Dumbledore.”

“Really? Tell me everything about it!”

“It happened at the end of April, 1945. I had just come to Berlin from a reconnaissance mission after my commander had heard that Grindelwald had returned after having been away for a long time. His forces had almost been defeated, and the Muggle resistance against the Red Army was breaking. That’s why even I was allowed into his headquarters despite being so young and quite inexperienced. There I… actually, I could show you my memory of it. I can’t make it justice otherwise. We must get a Pensieve.”

“I’ve got one in my trunk,” Tom said very eagerly.

A minute later the Pensieve that Tom had purchased from Borgin and Burkes was on the table and Karkaroff was extracting a memory. He had closed his eyes in concentration, and Tom waited patiently. The longer it took him to extract, the longer and more detailed the memory had to be, and thus more interesting.

Finally, the memory was swirling in the Pensieve, and the two dived into it – Karkaroff first, obviously.

The mist turned into a grey and depressing world. Heavy clouds covered the sky, allowing little light to reach the ground where a ruined city was spreading as far as the eye could see. Smoke rose from many buildings, and the rumble of artillery fire blared in the distance. It was the end of an era, and the downfall of a once-mighty empire was near.

A single wizard was riding a broomstick through the air, and Tom and Karkaroff floated after him. This part of the memory was quite indistinct; young Karkaroff was obviously exhausted, and half a century had passed since the moment.

After a blur of most likely entirely reconstructed memories, young Karkaroff arrived at a modest air raid shelter that was teeming with people. He shambled in and paused to have a look at the wizards around him. Most of them were young and every one of them looked weary, malnourished and discouraged. Young Karkaroff was no different.

“You there, what’s your name?” barked a voice. The language was German, but since Karkaroff was fluent in it, Tom could somehow understand the words as well.

“Igor Karkaroff, sir, of the Southern Reconnaissance Company,” said the young Karkaroff to the old wizard who had addressed him.

“Good, we’ve been expecting you to report,” said the old wizard. He seemed to be a commanding officer; he wore fine robes and had an impressive beard that suggested that he was almost a hundred years old, but he fared only a little better than the troops around him. “Come, we need you in the command centre.”

Young Karkaroff followed him through the building until they reached a door. A group of wizards came out, and when Karkaroff and the old wizards entered, there were only three people in the room. It was a large one for an air raid shelter, but much smaller than the average Hogwarts classroom. A stylish table was in the middle, not looking like it belonged there, and there were still many kinds of junk next to the walls; the room had probably been used as storage during Grindelwald’s absence and only partially cleared upon his return.

The Dark Lord Grindelwald sat at the table, looking as strong, relaxed and well-fed as a human being could possibly look. He was tall and handsome, he wore magnificent clothes and had a luxurious golden hair and a face so beautiful that it reminded Tom of an angel. Such a strong natural charisma radiated from him that it was no wonder he had been the most accomplished demagogue in history. One very striking thing about his appearance was a golden necklace shaped like the symbol he used: a triangle, a circle and a line.

“Report from the south, my lord,” the old wizard said.

Young Karkaroff stepped forward, bowed and looked down at a large map of Brandenburg on Grindelwald’s table.

“My lord, there’s a contingent of French wizards approaching from the south-west. Most of my company stayed behind to halt their advance, but our captain can’t promise more than one day.”

Grindelwald waved his wand and created markings in different colours on the map to symbolise the strategic situation. When he stopped, Tom realised that the wand he used was a familiar one.

“Hey, that wand,” Tom said. “Dumbledore uses it now.”

“Really?” the older Karkaroff said and frowned. “He must’ve taken it after the duel.”

“It seems we’ll soon be trapped,” Grindelwald said dispassionately. He had not granted the young wizard in front of him even one look.

“If we attack the main enemy force soon, you can face Dumbledore before he has gathered his forces,” the old wizard said, coming close to the table to point with his wand. Young Karkaroff backed away to make him more room.

“True,” said Grindelwald, rubbing his chin, “but we have no reports telling how large a force he is commanding, making the planning of a counter-attack impossible.”

“We caught one of his lackeys yesterday,” said the old wizard.

“Tear the information from his mind.”

“I planned to do just that, but he claims to be a defector – Contact Number 714.”

“Hm, the English brat?” Grindelwald mused aloud. “Interesting, if true. Bring him to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The old wizard left. Karkaroff had not been dismissed, but he had taken a few more steps back after he had not been asked any questions, and now he stood in a corner next to a pile of boxes where his grey robes somewhat camouflaged him against the plain concrete wall, and Grindelwald seemed to have forgotten his presence. Karkaroff clearly wanted to leave, but did not want to disturb the Dark Lord who studied the map intently and muttered to himself.

The old wizard was gone for a minute and then returned with a gaunt-looking young man. So exhausted the supposed Contact Number 714 was that he could barely walk, and immediately after having been helped into the room he sank into a chair without even asking for permission from the Dark Lord. Grindelwald, however, did not seem to care about such a violation of etiquette, but locked his eyes upon the young man’s. As those weary eyes became glazed from being subjected to Legilimency, Tom suddenly recognised him.

“That’s Augustus Rookwood!” he cried.

“You recognised him, huh?” said the older Karkaroff, surprised. “Yes, this is the first time I met the man whom I decades later exposed as a Death Eater. Soon you’ll understand why.”

Of course Tom recognised Rookwood. He had graduated from Hogwarts in 1941, and he and Tom had been on friendly terms. As one of the top students of his year, he had become the Head Boy and the student leader of Slytherin, and he had understood Tom’s vast potential. Every now and then they had discussed magical subjects, mainly his NEWT level coursework, and a few times Tom had been of help to him by having precocious insights. After his graduation, he had visited Hogwarts often as Professor Slughorn’s guest in the Slug Club, and he had become more and more interested in Tom’s increasing power. After Tom had opened the Chamber of Secrets and many guests had been reluctant to visit Hogwarts, Rookwood had actually grown really eager, and as far as Tom could remember, he had been present at every single Slug Club meeting during Tom’s fifth year and had actively sought Tom’s company. The last thing Tom had heard about Rookwood before having been trapped in the diary was that he had been planning to join the war on the continent – apparently in order to defect to Grindelwald’s side.

Rookwood began to tremble uncontrollably, and Grindelwald stopped invading his mind.

“All right, Contact Number 714, I see that you are what you claim to be,” Grindelwald said in English, produced a bottle of restorative potion as if from thin air and offered it to Rookwood. The exhausted young man drank it at once. “Your reports have been among the most interesting ones. I’ve got them over here.”

Grindelwald opened a drawer of his table and took out a bundle of parchments. Rookwood tried to speak but could only cough a little. At that moment hurried footsteps approached, and Grindelwald raised his hand.

“Gather your strength, Contact Number 714, it seems I’ll have to deal with one of my pesky minions first.”

The door was opened again, and into the room rushed a man wearing a Muggle military uniform with a red armband which had a black hooked cross on a white disk. Tom let out an involuntary gasp, because he recognised this man too; the toothbrush moustache was very familiar from the newspaper pictures he had seen during the summers in the orphanage. However, the man had grown frail from the stress of the Second World War.

“Master Grindelwald, I see you have returned at last,” Adolf Hitler said gruffly. He seemed very displeased with the Dark Lord he served.

“Good evening, my dear Adolf,” Grindelwald said pleasantly and went to meet his puppet. “What a pity we couldn’t meet on a less stressful day.”

“The Russians are almost here,” Hitler snapped impatiently. “Your wizards tell me that your rival Albus Dumbledore is approaching with them and is shielding their artillery from magical counter-attacks. What are you going to do about it?”

“Since Albus has finally come to the frontline, our long-awaited confrontation will happen soon,” Grindelwald said. “But first, do you have all the confiscated items?”

“We lost Auschwitz and Chelmno months ago,” Hitler said. “The Final Solution has been halted, but the last batch of confiscations has been kept here waiting for you.”

A Muggle officer whom Tom had not noticed before because Karkaroff had not paid him any attention stepped forward and dumped a large sack on Grindelwald’s table. It turned out to be full of all kinds of unremarkable items, mostly jewellery, apparently taken from the Jews in the extermination camps. Grindelwald began to check the items with the air of someone who had done so numerous times before; he did not look particularly keen or expectant, but rather annoyed. Item after item was deemed worthless, and as the pile of discarded ones grew larger, Grindelwald grew more frustrated.

“What is so important about such trinkets?” Hitler asked.

“I am trying to find a magic stone,” Grindelwald snapped irritably. “It is within the realm of possibility that one of the Jews possessed it. That’s why I want to check all their belongings, even unremarkable children’s pebble collections. But the Final Solution serves another purpose as well: if the magic stone is in the possession of some Jew-loving philanthropist, he will certainly use it to undo the genocide, and such a miracle will not go unnoticed.”

“Undo…? What does the magic stone do?” Hitler asked. “How can we use it to win the war?”

“My dear Adolf, the stone is no weapon. It will not change the course of the war.”

“What?!” Hitler roared. “Are you saying that we have wasted all this effort for a fool’s errand? The Realm is in ruins and the Russians are here any day now! What are you going to do to save our lives?”

“My life is not in danger,” Grindelwald stated indifferently and brandished his wand. “None of our enemies are of match for me.”

“You betrayed me!” Hitler yelled. “You betrayed our Realm and our noble Aryan race!”

“Finding the magic stone is what is important to me,” Grindelwald said. “Every­thing else is just a means to an end.” He smirked in a very obnoxious way. “I’m afraid the Third Realm has failed in its purpose. No Jew possessed the stone, and no Jews have begun to mysteriously return to life. However, there is still something you can do for me, Adolf.”

“Wh-what?” Hitler whimpered.

“Thanks to our propaganda campaign, the German people regard you as a god. Maybe the stone is possessed by a Jew-hating person who would like you to continue your grand Final Solution.”

Hitler stared at Grindelwald, not understanding what the Dark Lord had meant. Tom, however, realised it immediately, because he too enjoyed such a cruel play with words, and it did not come to him as a surprise that Grindelwald raised his wand and pointed it at Hitler.

“Crucio.”

The Muggle puppet of Grindelwald’s Germany collapsed, shrieking in unimaginable agony.

“You have served your purpose, Adolf,” Grindelwald said. “I’m sure there is a very special place in Hell for those who were foolish enough to trust me. The Fourth Realm will rise one day, and it will be the reborn Atlantis, a realm of magic. I’m afraid there will be no room for under-men like you, Adolf.”

Grindelwald spoke just for his own entertainment; there was no way Hitler could have heard anything from his own scream. By the time Grindelwald finished, Hitler’s nervous system was completely broken down. The scream ended, and Hitler breathed no more.

The scream was followed by utter silence. Young Karkaroff, Rookwood and the Muggle officer seemed shaken to the core. Only the old wizard had seen Hitler’s fate coming and was unmoved.

“Surprise promotion, Chancellor Goebbels!” Grindelwald said to the officer in a mock happy voice that made him appear totally deranged. “You must inform the world of the unfortunate news that our beloved leader has passed away.”

Goebbels bowed mutely and fled the room as quickly as his dignity could carry him.

“Now, your reports, Contact Number 714,” Grindelwald said in English again, nonchalantly stepping over Hitler’s corpse and returning to his table. “This war would have gone differently if I had not learned of Albus’s movements from you – or, rather, the lack of them. However, as you probably noticed, I was equally interested in what you wrote about the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.”

Tom gasped again. This memory did not lack surprises.

“My lord, I’m sorry I couldn’t continue my research after the Chamber was closed,” Rookwood said, glancing nervously at the corpse.

“Understandable,” Grindelwald said while leafing through the parchments. “How sure are you about your suspicion that the true heir of Slytherin is this Tom Riddle?”

Tom’s mouth hung open. The last thing he had expected to be discussed in the room where Adolf Hitler had just died was himself.

“Almost positive,” Rookwood said. “I did all I could to find out about his ancestry, and it is likely that he is related to the family of Gaunt. The Wizengamot trial documents tell that one Marvolo Gaunt, whose first name is Tom Riddle’s middle name, was very vocal about being an heir of Slytherin before he was sentenced to Azkaban.”

“Is this Marvolo Gaunt still there?”

“No, my lord, he was there only for six months. The house he lived in is deserted. I can only assume he died shortly after his release due to being weakened by Dementor exposure. His son Morfin was sentenced to Azkaban for life almost two years ago. I don’t know if he has survived this long.”

“Any other relatives?”

“According to the trial documents, Marvolo Gaunt had a daughter, but she, like Morfin, was never entered into the civil registry. However, it’s not very difficult to make a few assumptions here. Morfin pleaded guilty to the murder of the Muggle family of Riddle. He had a long-standing enmity with them.”

“I see,” Grindelwald said. “Morfin Gaunt’s sister gave birth to a half-blood and he never forgave the father for desecrating a pure-blood family descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. The half-blood is Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Precisely,” Rookwood said. “He lived in a Muggle orphanage, so it’s safe to assume that his mother is dead.”

It was fascinating to listen to how interested Grindelwald had been in Tom’s heritage, but it also caused Tom some concern. What was going on? Why was it so important, especially since Grindelwald was supposed to have much more pressing matters to attend to? Young Karkaroff was clearly thinking something similar, because he looked both confused and tense.

“So, apparently Tom Riddle is the last living Parselmouth,” Grindelwald concluded. “I will not keep you here, Contact Number 714, seeing how the situation has changed after I ordered you to come. Return to Britain and keep it a secret that you have ever been in contact with me. Use your connections and infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. Then, if Tom Riddle ever rises into a position of power, make yourself his invaluable confidant.”

“Yes, my lord,” Rookwood said, stood up and bowed deeply.

“And when the time is right,” Grindelwald continued, sparkling with such sinister fervour and raw magical power that the room suddenly felt more crowded, “you will hear from me again. Once this distraction of a war is won, my true plan will be fulfilled, and I will claim the ultimate prize!” His voice rose and eyes blazed with maniacal fire. “The secret that Salazar Slytherin so cleverly hid! The true Final Solution will be executed – for the Greater Good!”

“For the Greater Good!” Rookwood replied before hurrying out of the room. Grindelwald grabbed the reports and followed with the old wizard on his heels. Young Karkaroff hesitated for a moment, gulped and left the room as well. He was probably thinking the same thing Tom had in mind: that he had witnessed the conversation only because Grindelwald had not actively remembered that he was present. The room turned into mist, and the memory ended.

Tom and Karkaroff returned to the present. Tom sat silently for a long while, trying and failing to arrange all the questions that had popped in his mind. Karkaroff waited silently and smiled thinly as if he had wanted to share this memory with someone for ages.

“Well, that was quite a lot to take in at one go,” Tom said finally. “Do you think Rookwood was actually loyal to Grindelwald ever after and just pretended to be serving Voldemort?”

“I have no idea,” said Karkaroff. “Few people remain loyal to a master who loses everything and ends up in his own prison. But now you understand why I was always afraid of Rookwood – afraid of what he might do with the knowledge he learned from the Department of Mysteries.”

“What happened after the conversation?”

“I was sent to sleep for a few hours, then I was yanked out of my bunk and told to fight to the end. The final battle of Grindelwald’s Second War took place, and I flew all around Berlin and fought the wizards who accompanied Dumbledore. I was injured many times, I saw many of my comrades-in-arms being killed, we were losing… and after hours and hours of horror I had had enough. Grindelwald had just killed his puppet and told how little he cared about anything, and I couldn’t see any reason to fight for him anymore. I fled, barely evaded the enemy troops and survived. My desertion had zero effect to the outcome of the war.”

“And Rookwood avoided all suspicion?”

“As far as I could tell, yes. He probably sneaked out of Berlin at the last moment. I couldn’t be interested in any of it in years. I wanted to forget everything. But after I got my life back on track, I eventually became curious again. I joined the Death Eaters after having been recruited by my old school friend Antonin Dolohov. When I learned that Grindelwald’s Contact Number 714 was the Dark Lord’s spy in the Department of Mysteries, I grew worried. Rookwood had followed Grindelwald’s order.”

“This Tom Riddle,” Tom said. “Did you ever find out about him?”

“I tried to, but there wasn’t much information about him around. I don’t know what became of him.”

“Well, I do. Tom Riddle became famous with his chosen name, Lord Voldemort.”

Karkaroff yelped and his eyes grew wide.

“What?! But that means Rookwood actually did follow Grindelwald’s order to the letter. Tom Riddle did rise into a position of power! And… and that also means that the Dark Lord is a half-blood! Yuck!”

“Yes, many pure-bloods seem to be content with complaining about the state of things, not going through the trouble of changing it. Anyway, now I’d very much like to know if Rookwood ever suggested to Voldemort that Grindelwald should be broken out of Nurmengard. Do you know about such a suggestion?”

“No, I was never a very high-ranking Death Eater, and I had learned not to go around asking questions. The best survival strategy in the Dark Lord’s service was to avoid attention. But if I’d known he’s Tom Riddle, I would’ve told him about the mission Grindelwald gave Rookwood. And I’m quite sure the Dark Lord wouldn’t have been interested in breaking Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. They would’ve been rivals.”

“What about the magic stone Grindelwald spoke about?” Tom pressed on. “Do you know what it is? A stone that could undo the genocide? Sounds a little like a Philosopher’s Stone, but not quite. It’s supposed to keep a living person alive, not to bring a dead one back to life.”

“Yes, but who knows what a Philosopher’s Stone can truly do? Nicolas Flamel didn’t share any of his research. The magic stone was the first thing about the conversation that intrigued me after the years it took me to recover from the war. I read about ancient magical items and the only one that matches Grindelwald’s description is the Resurrection Stone from that one children’s story.”

“‘The Tale of the Three Brothers,’” Tom mumbled. Older Hogwarts students sometimes told it to the younger ones on Hallowe’en, and that was how he had first heard it in 1938. “But it’s just a – well, a children’s story. It doesn’t seem like something Grindelwald would take seriously.”

“I agree,” said Karkaroff. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing more I could tell you about it.”

“Voldemort will surely try to break all Death Eaters free from Azkaban, and considering how the Ministry refuses to believe he has returned, it’s only a matter of time. Rookwood will soon be free again, and I want to interrogate him. Prepare for some drastic measures to abduct him.”

“A-all right,” Karkaroff stuttered. “But it’ll be really dangerous!”

“Fighting and making the first move is certainly the last thing they’d ever expect from you,” Tom said and stood up. He wanted to think, alone. There were things about the conversation he did not want to share with Karkaroff, Unbreakable Vow or not.

What was this singular secret that Grindelwald had wanted from the Chamber of Secrets, ‘the ultimate prize?’ And what could it have to do with ‘the true Final Solution?’ Of course, the answer could be a simple one, using the Basilisk as a weapon of mass destruction, but surely a wizard of Grindelwald’s talent and ruthlessness could have come up with an alternative way of achieving the same result. Besides, Grindelwald had not considered the secret necessary to defeat Dumbledore, his only equal. Since that was the case, the secret had to be something of immense importance even after Grindelwald would have crushed all opposition.

And the obvious next thought was that the secret had something to do with the symbol Tom had seen on the Chamber’s floor when Salazar’s statue had shared the stored memories with him – the same symbol that Grindelwald had taken as his own. After all, Salazar’s memories had not explained at all why the symbol was there.

Either Grindelwald had just speculated or there was even more to the Chamber of Secrets, something Salazar had decided not to share with his heir. Tom would get to the bottom of this mystery and claim the ultimate prize as his own!

Chapter 38: Calm Before the Storm

Tom spent the following days exploring the castle of Durmstrang. Many of the classrooms had an unnerving atmosphere, making it hard to imagine the castle being such a merry place for its students as Hogwarts was for its own. In the dungeons, there were massive laboratories that were used mainly by the staff. Tom examined the magical engines he had found with curiosity and wondered whether they had something to do with Necromancy, a magical art so Dark that even the Russian Magi’s Commissariat had an apprehensive approach towards it. Russian wizards had a reputation of having no scruples when it came to them wanting something. Maybe they just wanted to monopolise Necromancy?

Karkaroff was working in the library where he chose the books he and Tom would take with them. Many were written in a language that was some kind of an offshoot from Church Slavonic. It was the lingua franca of most of the Slavic wizarding nations, and Karkaroff began to teach it to Tom along with the Cyrillic script. With the use of Legilimency it was a very effective process, and the fact that magical vocabulary was similar in most languages was of much help.

They considered Durmstrang too dangerous a place to stay overnight. Karkaroff returned each evening to one of his hideouts, and Tom put up a tent in certain tranquil places; there was no reason to stick together, especially when the Death Eaters were seeking only one of them from those parts. While out of Durmstrang, Tom gathered magical herbs that did not grow in Britain. He also used the Summoning Charm to gather so many cloudberries that his stomach eventually began to ache from gobbling them. But even though gallivanting around the northern paradise was delightful, his curiosity itched: he would rather have used the time to investigate the secrets for which Durmstrang had its secretive policy.

He would have wanted to continue sneaking around the castle and hiss at everything with Parseltongue just in case, but Karkaroff was very insistent that they departed as quickly as possible. Tom had to admit that the older wizard was right, because both Voldemort and the Russian officials might turn up at any moment. And so, after just a few days they left with Tom’s trunk absolutely full of books and other artefacts, his pockets full of herbs and his stomach full of cloudberries. It was already August, and much might have happened in Britain.

 

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While Tom had been away, Dobby had purchased a new home for him. It was formerly a Muggle house in a rural part of southern England, but a couple of wizards had renovated it thoroughly to match the standards of a wealthy wizard. Since Tom had become more experienced in Apparating, there was no reason for him to have a house in Diagon Alley anymore; his previous home had been primarily a status symbol as a means to make an impression on the pure-blood aristocracy, but now that the British high society was no longer a safe place for him because many of its members had rejoined Voldemort, the status symbol had become useless.

Tom sent Karkaroff to plan a teaching and training programme. He himself began to investigate if anything important had happened during his tour, starting with his mail that Dobby had received and kept safe. His NEWT results, something that he had totally forgotten to expect, were a row of twelve Outstandings. He nodded without feeling anything in particular and proceeded to open the three letters that Harry had written to him.

In the first one Harry complained about Dumbledore’s new safety precautions which meant that he was not allowed to visit Diagon Alley or any other part of wizarding world with the help of Dobby. In the second one he seemed even angrier and asked if Tom could do anything about his situation. Then he had remembered that Tom had left for a post-graduation tour and wrote in the third letter that he would try to endure his infuriating isolation in Little Whinging.

The pile of unread Daily Prophets was disheartening, but (probably thanks to his Outstanding Divination skills) Tom had expected it and told Dobby to read them through and mark all interesting articles and announcements. However, Dobby’s understanding of what counted as interesting was weird to say the least; for example, he had marked things like announcements of flea markets. But among them was something that was, on second thought, somewhat interesting and even suspicious. A collector named Wulfric was willing to pay ridiculous amounts of gold for old signet rings. This announcement had Dobby’s words written next to it: Master Tom has a ring!

There was nothing on the front pages of the Prophets about Death Eater attacks or reports of gatherings by Dark creatures. It was as if wizarding Britain was in a state of coma; the feeling of an approaching storm that Tom had felt the previous summer had become even more palpable. It was like a suffocating heat wave that was coming to an end as a massive black cloud was about to cover the sky.

Something was going on, even if the public was unaware of it. Tom wanted to find a better source of information than the Daily Prophet, and after a short deliberation he decided to visit the Weasleys. He did not actually know Mr and Mrs Weasley, he had never even spoken to them, but they knew he was a friend of their four youngest children. No doubt they would welcome his to The Burrow, especially if Harry was already there after the necessary month of refreshing the blood protections of Privet Drive.

It turned out that Tom was able to Apparate to Ottery St Catchpole despite never having been there before; either it was enough that he had experienced the place many times while using Legilimency on Harry, Ginny and Ron, or maybe it was because he had been there for a while as a diary. Unfortunately, the visit was short and fruitless: The Burrow was surrounded by fresh and powerful protective enchantments, but the house seemed empty. At first, he thought it might have been just an illusion, but most likely it was not. The road to the house was overgrown with grass; a few branches had fallen on it, but no one had been there to pick them up. The Infrared Seeing Charm offered no extra information, such as warm air coming through the boundary of the enchantments above the house, indicating a fireplace being used. And why would the Weasleys pretend not being home if they wanted to avoid intruders?

Well, the Weasleys were not Tom’s only possible source of information. He wrote a letter to Remus and asked for a meeting.

 

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Tom and Remus decided to meet in Diagon Alley the next day, but it had to be a secret meeting by two agents during wartime. Tom had fun designing himself an inconspicuous disguise: he assumed the appearance of a short, slightly overweight man with almost no shoulders or chin, but with round spectacles and a tidy hair with a side parting. As he looked into the mirror, he thought he looked like a timid, spineless accountant. No one would want to look at him twice – except perhaps some very Slytherin people who knew that spies and assassins would want to look like timid, spineless accountants. Luckily, such people were rare, and they were unlikely to spend time in Diagon Alley watching other people.

There was a remarkably grey wizard sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. His hair and beard were grey, his wrinkled skin had become grey and he wore grey robes. He was reading The Quibbler; not something most people wanted to be seen doing. Tom sat down at the same table with him and stuttered,

“Excuse me, sir… I’ve lost my ledger. Have you happened to seen one?”

The grey wizard eyed him suspiciously.

“What was the first thing I gave you?”

“Chocolate for Dementor exposure,” Tom answered without hesitation.

“Correct,” probably-Remus said.

“Why did you think I would fit in Gryffindor?” Tom asked.

“You think it’s unfair that people disturb Boggarts for educational purposes,” certainly-Remus said.

“Correct.”

They both nodded in confirmation, and Remus cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm.

“You seem to have moved,” he said and looked over Tom’s shoulder. The house Tom used to live in was some distance down the alley. Tom had not dared even to peek in, because by now the house was sure to be booby-trapped by Voldemort. “A clever decision. Many people are planning to do so.”

“Yes, I tried to visit the Weasleys, but they were not home.”

Remus shifted on his seat uncomfortably, unaware of how much such a gesture could reveal to an observant Slytherin, let alone a natural Legilimens, and changed the subject.

“How was your tour? Where did you travel to, anyway?”

“It was extremely refreshing, both literally and figuratively. I’m now quite fa­miliar with the arctic wilderness of north-western Russia.”

“Why did you travel there? Was it – er – inspiring?”

“Well, it certainly inspired me to craft the Gnat and Mosquito Repelling Charm. I had to give it a very large range, because having those bugs buzzing around you is unbearable even if they can’t actually reach you and suck you dry. I learned it the hard way that the Supersensory Charm under those conditions is almost suicide.”

“I’m sure it is,” Remus chuckled.

“What have you been doing? Are there any news concerning the war that’s coming?”

“Ah – well, I’ve been doing this and that… preparations, of course…” he babbled while obviously weighing on how much to tell.

“Please, be open with me,” Tom snorted. “It’s not like I don’t know that Dumbledore has reconstituted the Order of the Phoenix. He did speak about it in my presence, after all. You’re obviously a member, because Dumbledore tasked you with guarding Harry after the third task. I expect you to tell me everything.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not authorised to do so. Surely you know how these things are done. I can’t just tell you everything because you already know much. I’ll have to ask Dumbledore.”

“All right, ask him. I’m a little bit insulted that he hasn’t already invited me to join the Order. Why hasn’t he?”

“First of all, you were in Russia.”

“He could’ve written to me.”

“We’re careful with what we write in letters. They can be intercepted.”

Tom got the feeling Remus was offering these excuses so that he would not need to tell the real reason.

“All right, what can you tell me? What’ve you been doing?”

“It’s obvious you would be able to guess correctly,” Remus said. “I’ve been in contact with other werewolves. Dumbledore doesn’t want them to support Voldemort as they did last time.”

“They’re certainly thrilled about the fact that Dumbledore offers them the hand of friendship now, after wasting over thirteen years’ worth of opportunities,” Tom commented dryly, making Remus wince. “A true friend wouldn’t be concerned about your rights and well-being only when you’re being given other offers of friendship.”

“You know,” Remus said quite sadly, “I’d call that good thinking… if I hadn’t grown absolutely tired listening to it.” He sighed heavily. “So far, I’ve achieved very little for that very reason. Once in a while I’ve been guarding Harry in Little Whinging. Moody thought it was a waste of effort, but then – can you believe it – Harry was attacked by two rogue Dementors!”

“So, it’s begun,” Tom muttered darkly. “Good thing you taught him the Patronus.” He was still as helpless against Dementors as always, and the thought that they would roam free was what concerned him the most about Voldemort’s return.

“In the end, Harry had to defend himself, because Mundungus Fletcher had left his guard duty. Now he’s not in danger anymore, because he has been relocated to a safe place. However, he’s got to visit the Ministry for a hearing for breaking the underage sorcery law and the Statute of Secrecy. Another thing that I’ve been up to is investigating the case of Sirius Black.”

“Did Dumbledore give you that mission?” Tom asked, raising eyebrows. Ordering someone to investigate the crimes of an old friend who had turned traitor was in terribly poor taste.

“No, it’s actually my own choice. You see, something doesn’t add up. I’ve been thinking about all the strange things Sirius has done after escaping from Azkaban, and I’ve begun to think he might be innocent.”

“What? Have you forgotten the part where he attacked Harry’s dormitory in the middle of the night and almost stabbed him to death?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking that what you said wasn’t the case at all. It was Ron’s bed he targeted – and that’s where Peter was. Sirius continued his attack but fled immediately after Peter turned into a rat and ran. What if Sirius was not after Harry, but Peter?”

“You mean Black wanted to kill Pettigrew for being a Death Eater?”

“Yes. If Sirius was one too, why didn’t he go to the graveyard in June? Harry told me about Voldemort’s speech to the Death Eaters, and he didn’t even mention Sirius.”

“But Black was still the one who betrayed Harry’s parents… unless you think he wasn’t the actual Secret Keeper?”

“I’ve pondered everything Sirius has done after Lily and James were killed, and his being innocent explains his actions much better than his being a traitor,” Remus said emphatically. “I’m not saying I’m sure about this, but I think it’s worth trying to contact him and give him the opportunity to tell his side of the story.”

To Tom this theory sounded a bit far-fetched, wishful thinking of a man who had lost all his friends, but, admittedly, he had a habit of not seeing the good in people. Some innocents were judged unfairly (Black had not been judged at all, just sent to Azkaban without a trial); there was always the possibility that his preconception was wrong. Draco Malfoy, for example, had turned out to be a more decent fellow than Tom had thought at first, had he not?

“Well, good luck with that,” he said. “Someone cast the Portkey Charm on the Triwizard Cup in the maze, but we never found out who or how. I thought it was unlikely that Black had done it because of the strict safety measures. I’m sure it wasn’t Karkaroff. That leaves Snape or some yet unknown agent pulling the strings.”

Remus nodded. “Moody is working with that investigation. He’s quite frazzled, you know. We don’t have enough people to do what we need to be done, but we can’t be too trusting.”

“I’m willing to join and do my part. You should go to Dumbledore and inform him. Once I’m a member, you can tell me more.”

“All right. He’s really busy, but I’ll let you know when he’s got the time to meet you.”

“Good, do it right away. I can’t be at ease when I know something important is going on, but I don’t know exactly what.”

After glancing around, they dispelled the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm and spoke a few generic pleasantries before parting ways like two strangers who had just been talking about some nonsense printed in The Quibbler.

 

---

 

The next morning, Dobby handed Tom a slip of parchment containing the words: Same place, same time today. Tom disguised himself as the pathetic accountant again and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

Enjoying Florean Fortesque’s ice creams was the familiar grey wizard and his friend, a teenage boy with messy black hair, green eyes, round spectacles and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead – far too obvious a bait for by-passing Death Eaters. They were laughing together as they drew all kinds of nasty things in a ledger. Acting incensed, Tom approached them.

“I’m gonna get fired for that!” he cried, almost weeping.

The familiar-looking boy turned his eyes on Tom. The disguise was perfect except for a twinkle in the eyes very characteristic for someone who was not Harry Potter. He had most likely deliberately left that one thing not disguised.

“What was the first thing we talked about?” he asked.

The existence of the wizarding world, then the things I had stolen from the other orphans and hidden in the cupboard that you set on FIRE.

“The replacement of Peregrine Derrick as a Slytherin prefect,” Tom said aloud. “What did I give you for Christmas in 1993?”

“Socks,” Dumbledore said, beaming. “I have never thanked you properly, Mr Accountant, but it was a spectacular present!”

“Thanks. I take it you’ve confirmed the identity of Mr Grey?”

“Yes, I have. Please, sit down and enjoy.”

Dumbledore beckoned Mr Fortesque to bring a luxurious ice cream to the table. Luckily, Tom had realised a possible reason Dumbledore had wanted to meet him in that very place, and he had taken a dose of the antidote to Veritaserum. If he was meeting a recruit wanting to join his paramilitary organisation, he would force the recruit to speak honestly.

Once the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm was put in place again, Dumbledore looked at Tom intently.

“So, Tom, Remus told me you want to ask me for something.”

“I’m willing to join the Order of the Phoenix,” Tom said. “I ask for you to accept me in.”

“Why do you want to join?”

“Wizarding Britain is heading towards another civil war. I told you after the third task that I’d like this conflict to be settled as quickly as possible and with as few casualties as possible. I’m a capable fighting wizard and I don’t want to be one of those who complain about what should be done but are too cowardly to do it themselves.”

Dumbledore raised his (or, rather, Harry’s) eyebrows. “No ideological reasons?”

“Ideology is overrated,” Tom said, shrugging. “Besides, I think maintaining peace is a goal too important to be jeopardised with ideological disputes. We shouldn’t imply that your opposing party is not welcome to join our campaign for the Gre– uh… common good.”

“Well said!” Dumbledore commented. “The Order is badly in need of new members, especially people with your talents and connections. However, our situation is worse than you might think.”

He glanced at Remus who was silently enjoying his ice cream.

“We were too trustful during the last war,” Dumbledore admitted. “We needed more people to fight against Voldemort, but we allowed Black and Pettigrew into our ranks, which proved disastrous. This time we have learned from that mistake, and we are more cautious. But still… it pains me to say this, but it seems likely we have someone spying for Voldemort among us.”

“Snape!” Tom interrupted.

“Alastor suspects him as well, but Severus has my fullest confidence, as I already told you,” Dumbledore said.

That’s exactly what makes him the perfect spy, Tom wanted to say but kept quiet. There was nothing he could do to change the mind of this old fool.

“Severus has put himself into a terrible danger by returning to Voldemort and pretending to be one of his Death Eaters. I have given him some seemingly important pieces of information to give to Voldemort so that he would consider him useful, but Severus has been far more useful to us.”

Is it so inconceivable to think that he would spill a few more secrets than you allow him?

“However, somehow Voldemort knows more about what is happening inside the Order than he should.”

Gee, I wonder why!

“He has been surprisingly distant with Severus, even after having been given one genuinely important secret that I was initially very unwilling to let him know. I have deliberated this matter with Severus, and it seems likely that Voldemort is playing with us. He has a spy within the Order, one who gives him much more important information than Severus, but he allows Severus to be among the other Death Eaters as a show. He does not want us to realise there is a real spy among us.”

You know, sometimes things are as simple as they seem to be.

“Alastor is very worried about the situation and would not like us to accept anyone into our ranks before the spy is found. Considering this is our situation, you must understand why I have not been active with recruiting you – or many new people in general.”

“Surely you can trust me,” Tom said. “No one in their right mind could consider me a more likely Death Eater than Snape.”

“Well, Tom, the fact is that we know so very little about you,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with an unsettling gleam. “You moved to Britain just two years ago and were very quickly one of Harry’s closest friends. I do not know your previous school – I did not even know such a school existed – and I do not know your parents or any other family. You are good friends also with some children of Death Eaters, and a year ago you were a celebrated member of the high society where Lucius Mal­foy, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson are prominent members. I do not judge anyone evil because of things like these, but Alastor is different. I cannot deny it that if I had been as cautious during the last war as he is, the betrayals of Black and Pettigrew might never have happened. That is why I am now much more willing to listen to Alastor’s advice, even when it seems too paranoid. Maybe I am just unable to see the signs of danger – but even I am aware of it that it is wise to know someone very thoroughly indeed before accepting him into a secret society that deals with issues of life and death.”

Dumbledore was far too close to asking about Tom’s background, and Tom decided to play his trump card.

“I saved Harry from the graveyard. Even if I was a Death Eater sympathiser, there’s no way Voldemort would welcome me into his ranks. He’d be more likely to cast the Cruciatus Curse on me. I’ve already chosen my side in this war, and whether I like it or not, there’s no turning back.”

“Yes, and that is the reason I am allowing you to join the moment you ask,” Dumbledore said graciously. “But still, Alastor is not happy with this. Knowing him, he has considered the possibility that everything you have done has been just a show to gain our trust.”

Tom blinked. Perhaps it really was a possibility worth considering for someone who did not know what Tom knew about his own actions. He could have used the Imperius Curse on Krum and the Portkey Charm on the Triwizard Cup in the maze without anyone noticing. Moody had been scanning the Quidditch stadium for Sirius Black and he had surely been watching Snape, making it almost impossible for anyone to tamper with the cup. The only other even slightly feasible possibility was that Moody had done it himself, but it was ridiculous. Fighting against Dark wizards was his whole life. He was the last person to join their cause, not to mention one of those Voldemort would never allow to join.

“Uh… somehow I think this kind of mistrust is just what Voldemort wants to create among his enemies,” Tom said. “If I was up to no good, I would’ve abducted Harry last summer. It’s not like I needed to wait for the third task. Or, if I had turned evil sometime during the school year, I could have come up with a simpler plan. I could’ve said to Harry that we should sneak out of Hogwarts to honour the mischievous memory of his father, and then I would’ve abducted him.”

“That is what I argued with Alastor,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “It did not convince him. But do not take it personally. Nothing convinces him. I am sure he studies my actions with suspicion as well.”

“So, am I a member now? Is there a formal procedure for a recruit?”

“I do not care about theatrics,” Dumbledore said. “You are a member. Now we must introduce you to our Headquarters; consider it a formal procedure, if you will. The Headquarters is being protected by the Fidelius Charm, and I am the Secret Keeper. This is the secret that I want you to know from now on: the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found in Greenane Castle, County Tipperary, Ireland.”

“What place is it?” Tom asked.

“It is an old, unused building that the Ministry inherited from a hermit two hundred years ago. It had not been used in a long time and I purchased it from the Ministry during the last war. It was nothing but a storage back then, but I made it our new Headquarters since the original one had been destroyed shortly before the end of the last war.”

“Thanks to Peter, I guess,” Remus said, grimacing.

“Now that we have finished our ice creams, it is time to visit the place,” Dumbledore said, stood up, paid the ice creams and then offered his arm to Tom. Allowing Dumbledore to Side-Along Apparate him to a place he did not know felt like a very bad idea, but Tom fought down his instinct that Dumbledore equalled calamity; after all, he had asked for membership in the Order. He grabbed the arm, and in a whirlwind of Apparition, they disappeared from Diagon Alley.

Chapter 39: The Reactive Strategy

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was located on top of a prominent bald hill surrounded by the green fields and meadows of Ireland. There was a taller hilltop a few miles to the west, but the hermit who had chosen the lower hilltop as his home had probably done so because of a small lake nearby. Quite a lovely place, Tom thought, especially if magically protected against wind.

Greenane Castle – that was the name by which Dumbledore had called the place. But the building on the hilltop could hardly be called a castle. It was sturdy enough but lacked any elegance: it was just a mess of rugged stone walls held together more likely with magic rather than good stonework. It seemed obvious to Tom that the hermit had planned a much more impressive building, but the plan had been stripped down due to lack of funding, skills or something. It reminded Tom of the pictures he had seen of the Bent Pyramid in Egypt; the plan had been changed to be less ambitious after half of the pyramid had already been built, resulting in a much less formidable building than it could have been.

Dumbledore, who had already returned to his own appearance, popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and headed towards the building. Tom and Remus dispelled their own disguises as well and followed the Headmaster.

“While the Fidelius Charm is immensely useful, it has its limitations,” Dumbledore said. “All magical theoreticians agree that nothing can be hidden completely. That means the subject of the Fidelius Charm cannot be the Secret Keeper himself, and if the Secret Keeper stays in the house he is hiding, the charm will weaken and break in a matter of hours; the reason why I cannot stay here for long. Similarly, you cannot form a chain of Secret Keepers, two or more people keeping the secrets of each other. And one person can be the keeper of only one secret.”

“Now I see why you weren’t the Secret Keeper of the Potters,” Tom said. “But why is our Headquarters here instead of Hogwarts?”

“Members of the Order come and go all the time. If they did so at Hogwarts, it would be noticed, and soon everyone would know who the members are. Those who work at the Ministry would most likely lose their jobs, making it easier for Voldemort to seize power.”

That problem wouldn’t be difficult to overcome, Tom thought. Seize power yourself! And if Lucius protests, take Draco hostage.

“Harry and the Weasley children are upstairs,” Remus said as they entered the dull, unfinished entrance hall of the castle. “They’re eager to help the Order, but we can’t let them do anything else but make this place more comfortable.”

“I do not approve of the use of child soldiers,” Dumbledore stated.

“Why don’t you summon a couple of house-elves from Hogwarts for the job?” Tom asked.

“Because then the children would have nothing to do,” Dumbledore said. “This is the only way they will not become too restless. Besides, the Weasleys are not well off financially, and I happily give the four youngest children a summer job.”

Tom fought down the urge to groan with difficulty. The Weasleys had financial troubles for very good reasons: they had more children than they could afford, Mrs Weasley was a housewife by her own choice and immediately after winning the Daily Prophet drawing, they had wasted the winnings on a holiday trip to Egypt! No extra income could help their financial troubles if their lifestyle remained wasteful.

“There are some members of the Order in the living room,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “I will introduce you to your new comrades-in-arms.”

The living room was much more pleasant to the eye than the building in general: the stone walls were covered with wood panels and the floor with thick carpets, each window had red curtains and there were lots of furniture; perhaps the hermit had only finished this part of the building. Tom recognised some of the people in the room: Alastor Moody, reading through some parchments and sipping from his flask; Arthur, Molly and Bill Weasley, speaking about something Tom presumed involved wasting money; Mundungus Fletcher, who stopped doing whatever he had been doing with one of the many oak chests by the wall the moment Tom and the others entered; and Sturgis Podmore, writing a letter.

“The Hogwarts Triwizard champion?” Bill Weasley asked with a smile after Dumbledore had announced Tom’s membership in the Order and introduced everyone. “Very good!”

Moody did not seem pleased, and Tom could not understand why. The old Auror had been really impressed with Tom as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but apparently his paranoia towards Slytherins prevented him from considering Tom a valuable ally. Many times, he had suggested he would have liked to meet Tom in the battlefield as an enemy. Would he really have preferred it if Tom had offered his skills to Voldemort instead?

“So, when will the action begin?” Tom asked and rubbed his palms against one another in an anticipatory gesture. “How many battles have you already fought against the Death Eaters?”

“The war has not yet begun in earnest,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

“Well, it’s about time it did,” Tom said. “We’ve got the upper hand for now. It’ll take time for Voldemort to gather all his supporters. We should strike before he gains more advantages.”

“We are not ready either,” Dumbledore explained with the patience Tom had grown to resent. “The Ministry is not on our side, so we must be careful. Each member of the Order has been given certain tasks. Alastor and I, obviously, are in charge of planning our strategies. Severus has infiltrated the Death Eaters. Arthur is one of our agents within the Ministry, keeping an eye on Voldemort’s agents. Molly is in charge of the Headquarters. Remus is in contact with werewolves, William with goblins and Rubeus with giants. Mundungus gathers intelligence from Knockturn Alley and other places where Voldemort might seek support. Sturgis and many others are in contact with potential new members. Minerva helps me at Hogwarts.”

“I offer myself for covert operations,” Tom said. “You know, if you need someone to disappear without a trace –”

“Actually, I already have something for you in mind,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I am very pleased with how much you changed the House of Slytherin for the better during your two years at Hogwarts, and you are a good friend of a few Gryffindors, too. The thing is, I am in constant need of new teachers of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.”

Tom felt like being submerged in icy cold water. Of course Dumbledore had planned something like this for him. Offering the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship was just a slightly veiled way of saying, ‘I’d like to get rid of you, preferably for good.’

However, despite all the downsides, Dumbledore’s offer had certain appeal to it. Tom was very fond of Hogwarts, and he would return there gladly. That was what he had planned in his first life: become a permanent resident and start manipulating the minds of young witches and wizards in order to make them his followers. But this was not something he would have liked to use his time with during wartime. Lecturing, reading homework and marking exam papers was a total waste of time compared to learning much more advanced magic from Karkaroff with Legilimency-enhanced efficiency. And Tom also had the job in the Department of Mysteries to pursue. If he was to defeat Voldemort sooner rather than later, he simply could not waste his time with teaching duties.

And then there was the question of Voldemort’s curse. Tom had learned how the curse had been created when he had tried to turn it against Snape in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of his sixth year, but it had been far too complex for him to understand, let alone remove. It was possible, maybe, that the curse would consider Tom Voldemort and not strike him as it had struck every other Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher save Moody, but he did not want to risk it. The foundation of the curse had not seemed to be based on soul magic, which would have made it safer for him.

“You have shown extraordinary talent both in your studies and in the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore praised Tom, imagining wrongly that enough flattery could make him accept suicide. “You are the perfect example for young Slytherins that joining Voldemort is not what an upstanding Slytherin should do. As Head Boy you gained experience of authority over students. I know you taught Harry many charms and fighting techniques during the tournament. You are exactly the person we need to prepare our young to defend themselves. Hogwarts has never employed anyone as a teacher right after graduation, but if anyone, you deserve to be the first one. Would you take the job?”

“Uhh…” Tom voiced, feeling distracted as the person he secretly considered his enemy smiled at him benignly and popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth. “Headmaster, I would not like to join the list of failed Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers. The position is cursed! I happen to know what fates befell some of those who taught before I came to Hogwarts. Lockhart died. Quirrell died. Blake was a pervert. Summers was an even worse educator than Binns. I’ve also heard whispered tales of a certain Professor Barney –”

“But, Mr Valedro,” Dumbledore interrupted hastily, “surely you understand that we are living very dire times. The Ministry refuses to believe in Voldemort’s return and is actively harassing us for speaking the truth. I fear that if I do not find a new teacher soon, Minister Fudge will see this as an opportunity to send his agent to Hogwarts.”

“Professor Dumbledore, I see you’re not thinking like a Slytherin,” Tom said. “Anything can be an opportunity. Let Fudge send his agent to Hogwarts to teach Defence. He’ll be gone after a year, the curse will make sure of it. And how? What will the scandalous incident be that will convince the Ministry that it no longer needs an agent at Hogwarts?”

“The Ministry will realise that Voldemort has, in fact, returned,” Dumbledore said, clearly impressed with Tom’s reasoning.

“Exactly. I’m not particularly impressed with Voldemort’s intelligence. I’m sure he doesn’t even realise it when we use his own weapons against him.”

The other members of the Order, Moody in particular, stared at Tom with somewhat startled expressions.

“Very well, Tom,” Dumbledore said. “That is a gamble, but perhaps it will turn out for the best. Then we must come up with something else for you to do.”

“We’ve got no use for covert operations yet? Most of the Order seems to be working with the recruitment of potential allies, and it’s something I’ll manage as well. Last summer I arranged several gatherings of Slytherins who’ve graduated from Hogwarts within a few years. They’re eager to have something exciting to do, and I assume some of them consider Voldemort as someone who can provide them the excitement. They only need a constructive way of finding a purpose in life, and Voldemort will have trouble with his recruitment.”

“Great idea,” Dumbledore said and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “Last time we did not have anyone like you, and it cost us terribly. So many Slytherins joined Voldemort the moment they graduated.”

“We can’t just take so many Slytherins in!” Moody growled. “We’ve got to be absolutely sure about the loyalties of new members. If Valedro floods the Order with his friends, there will soon be a majority of new Blacks and Pettigrews in here!”

“They don’t need to know anything about the Order,” Tom pointed out. “Let them think it’s an organisation led by me – a Slytherin conspiracy.” That way it would be easy to turn them against Dumbledore after Voldemort’s defeat.

“It will be a strategic advantage,” Dumbledore said, oblivious to the next level of Tom’s plan.

“I don’t know if I’m aware of everything the Order is up to,” Tom said. “Recruitment aside, what are our other plans? What kinds of operations are under way?”

“We’re guarding –” Remus began, but Moody interrupted him with a loud cough.

“I object to telling everything to such a new member,” the old Auror snapped.

“What have I done to earn such distrust?” Tom asked, not offended, but genuinely curious.

Moody barked with mirthless laughter. “Trust is earned, lad, not distrust. This is war we’re preparing for, not Quidditch. So far, all our members are veterans of the last war or people who’ve got a personal grudge against the Death Eaters – except you. You’re from New Zealand, eh? From a school no one has ever heard of? Not long ago someone called you the most Slytherin student of Hogwarts ever, suggesting you’ve got no ideological reasons to side with us. There seems to be nothing at stake for you in this war, and yet you’re willing to risk your life. You’re also very proficient in disguising charms. One wouldn’t have to be Mad-Eye Moody to be suspicious.”

“I do have a grudge against Voldemort,” Tom said, desperate to steer the conversation away from the disguise he used all the time in order to hide his true identity from Dumbledore. “He abducted Harry, and Harry is my friend. But if that’s not enough, Voldemort also has a grudge against me. I foiled his plan.”

“This is how conversations in the Order tend to go,” Dumbledore said, smiled apologetically and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “Usually we reach a compromise. Alastor and I have agreed that we will not task our newest members with the most confidential missions.”

“Is guarding one of the most confidential missions?” Tom asked, his voice heavy with irony. Apparently, the Order of the Phoenix did nothing to win the war, just to make sure it did not lose.

“All the time we have someone invisibly at the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “There are places in there that we do not want the Death Eaters to access, and individuals whom we do not want to be put under the Imperius Curse. We must do this without the Ministry knowing and without permission, because the Ministry is not alert enough itself. This much we can confide in you until Alastor is convinced of your sincerity.”

“It’s enough for now,” Tom said. Being given boring guarding missions was something he certainly did not want. If being a full member meant having to waste valuable time, it was better not to be one.

Dumbledore had been using his wand on a parchment while Moody had voiced his concerns, and now he handed it to Tom.

“This is a Communication Parchment,” he said. “The Protean Charm links it to the parchments of the other members of the Order, allowing us to write messages. It is also charmed so that only members of the Order can read it. Keep it upon you at all times and you will be informed of meetings and the like.”

Tom took the parchment and pocketed it.

“But now I have stayed here long enough,” Dumbledore said after checking his pocket watch. “There is still time before the Fidelius Charm weakens too much but let us not take unnecessary risks.”

Tom decided to explore the castle and asked Remus to accompany him. Together they left the living room, and in the entrance hall they immediately met the youngest of the temporary residents of the castle: Harry, Ginny, Ron and the Weasley twins. They looked a little sheepish as the door open, and Tom realised they had been trying to eavesdrop.

“Oh, hi, Tom, you’re back!” Harry greeted.

“Hello, everyone,” Tom said. “My tour is over, and it was successful, thanks for asking. Now I’m back in Britain, helping in our fight against the forces of evil.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got to tell us,” Harry said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Unfortunately, Mrs Weasley knew what the children were up to and appeared behind Tom in an instant.

“We’re not telling them more than they need to know,” she said sternly. “They already heard much the night Harry arrived. Don’t let them bully you into spilling all our secrets, Tom.”

The children grimaced with disappointment.

“I heard you’ve had an exciting summer too,” Tom said to Harry.

“Exciting?” he asked incredulously. “There was one Dementor attack, but it only lasted two minutes. The rest of the month in Privet Drive was so boring that you can’t even imagine! You were on your tour, Hermione travelled to Bulgaria and Ron and the others were forbidden to tell me anything. It was maddening!”

At that moment Dumbledore came out of the living room too. His eyes scanned the children briefly, and he said in a very neutral tone,

“Good day to you all.”

He popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and headed out.

“Headmaster?” Harry asked in a somewhat startled tone.

“Yes, Harry?” Dumbledore said and turned. He seemed not to be looking straight at Harry.

“Er… the hearing at the Ministry,” Harry said. “How should I prepare for it? I don’t know what to do.”

“Do not worry, I will be there to defend you from the accusations.”

“You will? Thanks. Er… it’s just…” Harry tried to find words, and Tom could tell from the frown on his face that he was not happy with Dumbledore. “Why did I have to stay in the dark of what was happening?”

Dumbledore took a step away from the door.

“These are really serious matters,” he said with the mildest frown. “Your friend Tom was just welcomed into the Order, but even he has not been told everything.”

“I want to do my part,” Harry insisted. “Voldemort is after me, isn’t he? I can’t simply wait while others are doing important things.”

“I understand your frustration, Harry, but you must remember that we are fighting a war,” Dumbledore said. “Your encounter with the Dementors could have been disastrous to our cause. You are brave, Harry, a true Gryffindor, like your parents. During the last war, they, too, went on dangerous adventures for our good cause, a few times even against my explicit wishes. They were lucky to survive those adventures, although by doing so they earned Voldemort’s ire. Many others were less lucky. I have mourned many friends who could have survived had they been less reckless. I do not want you to become one of them.”

“But when Dementors come to Little Whinging? It could’ve been Death Eaters as well.”

“We are making sure nothing like that will happen again. Your time to participate will come, Harry – sooner than you might hope. However, at the moment Voldemort is avoiding attention, and this situation may continue for a long time. Even though it is unfortunate that the wizarding world refuses to believe the truth, the situation keeps Voldemort from killing people, which is good. You still have three years of Hogwarts left. Use them well to prepare for what is to come, because the situation will change, and Voldemort will target you with all his strength.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Harry said.

Dumbledore nodded his farewells, popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth and left.

“You wanted to see the castle?” Remus asked.

Tom followed him and the children to the upper floor. There were many gloomy rooms that the children were tasked with cleaning, but a merrier place was the ramparts which had a spectacular view over the Irish countryside. As Tom was shown these places, Harry came nearer and whispered,

“Could you possibly let slip some little secret?”

“No,” Tom whispered back. “But only because there doesn’t seem to be any. Dumbledore waited for years before he confronted Grindelwald. He never confronted Voldemort. His current strategy is no different: just waiting. A reactive strategy – and no war has ever been won using one.”

“You think we’re going to lose?”

“Dumbledore is going to lose,” Tom corrected. “We – are not.”

 

---

 

Marcus Flint had been in the British Army for a year, and with the subtle help of magic here and there he had become a respected soldier among his Muggle peers. Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole had joined the Army as well, and they had managed to convince six other Slytherin alumni to accompany them; it was not much, but it was a start. Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington and Miles Bletchley still had one year left at Hogwarts, and they were spending the summer holiday by practicing fighting together, as Tom had ordered them. These twelve people became the core of his Slytherin conspiracy, but he had to assume a shadowy role as their leader; there was no telling which ones of the other Slytherins they were in contact with had been recruited by the Death Eaters.

The Muggle weapons Flint had become an expert of had frightening power, but there was a certain magical weapon which was so much more powerful that Tom was determined to claim it as his own: the Time-Turner. Because of his hunt for Karkaroff, he had not been in contact with anyone at the Ministry as he had planned before the end of his final Hogwarts year. The right person to approach first was someone with more connections than anyone else.

Tom wrote a letter to Horace Slughorn and asked to meet him. It took a few days for him to reply, but eventually he did, and Tom was invited to his family manor.

Even though the Slug Club had formally disbanded when Slughorn had retired from Hogwarts, his numerous connections ensured the continuation of his luxurious standard of living. As Tom had acquainted himself with the former Potions master again the previous summer, he had grown somewhat eager to form new connections again. No doubt Tom’s accomplishments in the Triwizard Tournament had made him even more excited about the prospect of having Tom as one of his protégés. Tom would grant him the pleasure as long as he was of use.

Slughorn Manor was not a very large or old one, because the family had not been rich or influential before Horace Slughorn had used his cunning to make himself important. Even then the family had not accumulated much wealth, because so much had been wasted in his lavish lifestyle. He had been married four times (the latest three wives had been former students of his and vastly younger than him), and the number of offspring he had sired was one of the reasons he was so respected in the pure-blood supremacist circles, even though not all of his wives had been pure-bloods.

Usually the manor was a lively place with important people dropping for a visit and Slughorn’s great-grandchildren running around. But as Tom was allowed through the protective enchantments, what he saw was an empty place save numerous trunks and boxes packed full. In the middle of it all was his former Head of House, looking sad and weary – and old. Earlier he had always been much more youthful than Dumbledore.

“Moving somewhere?” Tom asked while offering a large box of crystallised pineapple.

“Tom, m’boy,” Slughorn said. “You of all people must know why! You were there to see it happen!”

“Are you referring to something that the Ministry and the Daily Prophet insist never happened?”

“Dumbledore is convinced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. I believe him.” Slughorn stared at Tom with his eyes wide in an almost child-like manner. “If anyone, the Dark Lord has found a way to escape death!”

You seem strangely sure about that, Tom thought by himself, but he had a very shrewd idea as to where Slughorn’s certitude originated from. Before having been trapped in the diary, Tom had been planning to ask Slughorn about making multiple Horcruxes, and Voldemort had most likely done so before making the second one.

“Sounds like you know the Dark Lord more closely than most people,” Tom said, unable not to tease the old wizard a little bit. “He used to be a student of yours, I take it?” Packed in one of the yet unsealed boxes were piles of photographs of former promising students, so the assumption was not a far-fetched one.

Slughorn paled and his hands began to shake slightly, and even without Legilimency Tom could sense how he tried to come up with some plausible denial.

“In the Malfoy Yule Ball, you mentioned my namesake,” Tom continued, smiling knowingly as Slughorn’s hands began to shake more. “Tom – Riddle, was it?”

“Don’t say the name!” Slughorn squealed as if Tom had said ‘Voldemort.’

“Sorry.”

“Never have I misjudged a student so horribly!” Slughorn exclaimed. “He was the most charming boy, but his heart was cold and cruel already then! For years I have regretted it how I helped him. I have always brought talented people together so that they could serve Britain, but he convinced many of them to follow him into darkness!”

“And now you’re afraid that he will come after you,” Tom said, looking around.

“Yes… during the last war, I was safely at Hogwarts, but now… I can’t feel safe here anymore. I’m moving. He will not find me.”

“Then it’s fortunate I came here before you’re gone,” Tom said, finally getting to his point. “I’ve graduated from Hogwarts with the best possible grades. I was the Head Boy and the Triwizard champion. Now I’m offering myself to the service of the Ministry. I want to continue my magical studies in the Department of Mysteries. You seemed eager to help me achieve my goals.”

“Yes, of course,” Slughorn said. “It is always a pleasure to see a young talented wizard getting a swift start for his career. But, Tom, things have changed for the worse very quickly.”

“Because of the Dark Lord’s return?”

“Yes, and also because you were there to witness it. Where is that newspaper? Accio Daily Prophet!” The newspaper zoomed into Slughorn’s hand from one of the trunks. Tom came closer to have a look at it. “After Dumbledore announced the Dark Lord’s return, the Ministry did everything it could to end the rumours. Someone at the Ministry wanted to ask you about what really happened – you are considered more reliable than Harry Potter for some reason. And… well, look here.”

The article in question was one of those Tom had skimmed after returning from Russia. It was a wrap-up reportage of the Triwizard Tournament, full of speculation and conspiracy theories about how Dumbledore had tried to use the spectacle to further his political interests – clearly building on the lies Tom had told his Slytherin housemates and their parents. Apparently, the Department of Law Enforcement had taken Dumbledore’s announcement more seriously than Fudge, because it was their job to do so, but the Auror investigation had been cut short very quickly.

“I know more about this story,” Slughorn said. “The Auror in charge wanted to speak with you about the events of the third task. However, you were nowhere to be found, and Fudge proclaimed that you had fled Britain after having been caught participating in Dumbledore’s lies. I’m afraid the Ministry no longer holds you in high regard. You’ve become marked as one of Dumbledore’s people!”

It was not that unjustified, seeing how Tom was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but it was a regrettable setback. Lucius, Archibald and Robert Jugson might also have influenced this, because Voldemort had obviously ordered them to do any harm they could to his enemies through their Ministry connections.

“This means there’s no way I could get a job at the Ministry, let alone in the Department of Mysteries?” Tom concluded.

“Yes, and my letter of recommendation would change nothing,” Slughorn said sadly. “I would just lose political capital.”

“Then it is of great importance to convince the Ministry of the Dark Lord’s return,” Tom said, only slightly disappointed.

In fact, this turn of events was somewhat of a relief to him. He had never even hoped that his accomplishments in the tournament would earn him an instant access to the Department of Mysteries. He would still have needed to work for some time in another department, and even that of Law Enforcement would have been frustrating to him. He readily moved on to Plan B: illegal infiltration.

The Order was guarding the Ministry from the inside in order to prevent the Death Eaters from accessing certain places. The Department of Mysteries had to be one of those, because it would have been pure madness to let Voldemort get his hands on a Time-Turner. There might come an opportunity for Tom to stay on guard at the Ministry… and an opportunity to sneak into the Department of Mysteries.

The Time-Turner was a weapon that could turn even a losing war into an astounding victory. Even a reactive strategy would become a proactive one.

Chapter 40: The Proactive Strategy

Legilimency was rarely used in teaching. Tom had found it satisfyingly efficient when he had taught Harry charms ahead of the curriculum during his two final years at Hogwarts, but the lessons he had given paled in comparison to those that Karkaroff gave him. Tom and the former Durmstrang Headmaster were both talented in the mind arts, and their two-way mental connection caused what felt like a flood of knowledge from his mind to Tom’s. Magical theories, incantations, wand movements, clever tricks and shortcuts, Arithmantic and Runic foundations of spells and hunches that would have been impossible to put into words… all that and more became Tom’s expertise with literally mind-numbing efficiency. It was staggering and downright glorious!

At the end of the first day of this incredibly fast learning, Tom’s head ached and his mind was exhausted, but the topmost feeling was triumph. He had probably learned as much in one day as he had usually learned in two weeks at Hogwarts by listening to teachers and reading books. He was climbing the power ladder faster than anyone, and the difference between him and Voldemort (and Dumbledore) was shrinking.

“Don’t get too smug,” Karkaroff warned him. “It’s one thing to master these arts and another to be able to use them effectively in a tough situation.”

“I do remember,” Tom said. “That’s why I told you to plan duelling practices as well.”

Soon they faced each other in an empty field. Tom had a wand in each hand, eager to finally fight a Dark wizard without anything at stake. Karkaroff wielded only one wand, but he still grinned confidently, thinking this rematch would be an easy way for him to repay the humiliation he had suffered in Lapland. Then the duel began.

The ex-Auror who was one of the instructors of the Kwikspell Company had been Tom’s sparring partner in over a hundred duelling lessons, and that experience against a professional made Tom much more capable than Karkaroff anticipated. However, Karkaroff’s fighting style was much more aggressive, and to Tom’s unpleasant surprise, he actually found himself on the defensive immediately after his first initiative. He tried to gain the upper hand by defending with one wand and attacking with the other one, but Karkaroff just grimaced viciously and attacked even harder.

Eventually Tom had to admit that if he had not caused Karkaroff to panic in their fight in Lapland by pretending to be Voldemort, he would have lost. In many ways, it was not a pleasant thing to realise, but on the other hand, it meant that Karkaroff could teach him more than he had thought.

Many of the spells Karkaroff used were unknown to Tom. He explained that the teachers of Durmstrang crafted new Dark spells all the time; it was part of the school’s culture always to compete over who was the most dangerous fighter, and such an arms race had inspired the creation of many curses and the theories behind them. They were usually only taught to the most promising students, but not every one of them had kept the secrets. Grindelwald had learned most of these exclusive Dark Arts before his expulsion, and he had gone on teaching them to his followers. Some of them, such as Antonin Dolohov and Karkaroff himself, had found a new master in Voldemort in the two decades after Grindelwald’s defeat, and taught their Dark expertise to him. Learning Durmstrang’s secret arts probably explained much of Voldemort’s frighteningly quick rise, and now Tom had access to the same source of power.

Karkaroff’s favourite curse was what he called the Whip of Malice. It was a combination of many basic curses, but it took the form of an extremely agile black tendril capable of twisting around corners and obstacles – including Shield Charms. Of course, Shields could be formed spherically, increasing the surface area, but at the same time decreasing the magical power of the Shield per each unit of the surface area. This way the Whip’s insidious ingenuity forced the victim to choose between two vulnerabilities. Even if the tendril hit and shattered a Shield, it did not lose all of its magical power and could be used for more attacks, usually faster than a new Shield Charm could be cast. As Karkaroff lashed at Tom with it, Tom had to use both of his wands to create new Shields, and his plight seemed to give Karkaroff great pleasure.

From the controlled and disciplined duelling, they proceeded to actual fighting. Those practices did not take place in a field, but forests, mountainsides and large Muggle warehouses, where they used broomsticks and Disillusionment and Supersensory Charms, Disapparated to safety and used all other methods they would use in a real fight. Dobby provided distractions as he had done when Tom had taught Harry. That way a fight could only be won by being creative and cold-blooded; to put it simply, it was a great way of becoming battle-hardened without actually being in mortal danger.

Learning through Legilimency and fighting – these were the two things that kept Tom very occupied, and the progress he made kept him very motivated. He could tell Karkaroff was impressed even though he never stooped so low as to admit it; clearly, he realised that Tom’s boasts had not been unwarranted at all, and teaching a prodigy was obviously much better than teaching an arrogant braggart.

 

---

 

While Tom’s rise to power had begun, nothing else seemed to be happening in wizarding Britain. Every few days the Order of the Phoenix was summoned by Moody for little meetings in which he demanded status reports from all members. Sometimes these meetings took place in Greenane Castle, sometimes in Moody’s own place, probably just to puzzle imaginary spies. Tom had hoped that the old Auror would have been a goal-oriented military leader to balance Dumbledore’s passiveness, but it soon became clear that his cautiousness hindered him too much. He was a perfectionist, unwilling to do anything without meticulously polished plans; a great warrior, but a dreadful leader. As Tom listened to the Order members prattling endlessly about Lucius Malfoy’s visits to the Ministry, the increased sales of the shops in Knockturn Alley, the peer support groups of werewolves and other such rubbish, Tom lost what was left of his faith in an organisation led by Dumbledore. If Voldemort was to be defeated, he had to take matters into his own hands.

Each time he visited Greenane Castle for the meetings, Harry and the others cornered him with the hope of hearing something interesting. If they had known what kind of waste of time the meetings were, they too would have been massively disappointed in the Order. It was something Tom could later use in order to make them lose their trust in Dumbledore.

Harry was cleared of all charges concerning the Dementor incident, and he was overjoyed to be going back to Hogwarts. One day at the end of August, he spoke to Tom about communication.

“Mr Weasley warned us that letters can be intercepted and that we shouldn’t write anything that the Death Eaters or the Ministry might find interesting. I’d like to be able to write to you, and not only about school stuff. We’ll all be missing your guidance.”

“Now that you mention it, I happen to have a solution to that problem,” Tom said.

Among the magical items he had stolen from Durmstrang were a few pairs of two-way mirrors, the magical equivalent of a telephone. He asked Dobby to fetch one; the elf did it in a few seconds’ time and handed the mirror to Harry.

“As far as I know, no outsider is able to see or hear what passes between these,” Tom said with a grin. “Keep me updated on what happens at Hogwarts.”

“Thanks, I will,” Harry said. “By the way, I was chosen as prefect!”

“Enjoy it while you can,” Tom said dryly. “No one respects prefects except other prefects and those who aspire to be one. Well, maybe also some of those who were once prefects; there’s a reason why all the higher-ups of the Ministry were prefects. True authority can only be gained through personal attributes, and formal positions just reflect the authority you have regardless of them.”

“It’s not like I wanted this,” Harry muttered. “I’d prefer avoiding attention.”

“Tough luck,” Tom said, patted Harry’s shoulder and left the Headquarters. He had wasted too much time with the Order nonsense, and he had to make up for the loss by practicing with Karkaroff longer than usual.

At the end of the day, Tom was exhausted, but greatly satisfied by how soon he was becoming a better fighter than Karkaroff. The Whip of Malice was easy to use once he had fully grasped the complex theory behind it, and using two of them with his two wands at the same time was a devastating weapon. As he lay in bed before falling to sleep, he wondered how much more learned he was than Voldemort had been at the same age. Then his thoughts wandered to what his brother was doing at the moment.

Perhaps that had something to do with the dream he had right after quite abruptly falling asleep.

 

---

 

Tom felt fury rising in his chest, and Lucius Malfoy cowered in fear.

“You gave away the diary I entrusted you for such a petty purpose?” he shrieked. “Where is it now?”

“I do not know, Master!” Lucius wailed. “It was the Weasley girl I gave it to. In the autumn Draco told me that the Chamber of Secrets was opened again, and there were several attacks against Mudbloods. I managed to convince the board of governors to fire Dumbledore, but unfortunately it was only temporary. Later there were rumours that the Weasley girl had been taken into the Chamber, but apparently it was Harry Potter himself who rescued her.”

“Are you telling me that the diary ended up with Dumbledore?!” Tom screamed in terror. “Answer me, vermin!”

“Master… I was there right after Dumbledore returned! I did not see the diary with him, nor did he mention it at all. But he did claim that you had possessed the Weasley girl and opened the Chamber through her.”

Tom slammed Lucius to the floor with a flick of Macnair’s wand. Each look at the substandard wand filled him with anger, and once again he wanted to punish the arrogant thief with the Cruciatus Curse. Tom Valedro – such a distasteful name!

But one step at a time. The diary might still be in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom would regain it once he took over the Ministry, killed Dumbledore and claimed his home.

 

---

 

Tom woke up as abruptly as he had fallen asleep. He had no doubt that he had seen a true vision from Voldemort’s mind through the kinship of their souls. If it could happen this way, there surely was a possibility of it happening the other way too. Luckily it had not happened; he knew this, because Voldemort had no idea who Tom truly was. And Tom had no intention of letting him know, at least for now. That meant practicing Occlumency meditation much more frequently. As long as Voldemort remained ignorant of this connection, Tom might see more glimpses of his mind, and the strategic importance of such an advantage could not be overestimated.

 

---

 

Harry and the others had a lot to tell Tom after the first day of classes.

“Our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is Dolores Umbridge from the Ministry,” Harry told Tom through the mirror. “She’s disgusting! We won’t be learning any spells, just reading the stupid textbook! And she refuses to believe that Voldemort has returned!”

“Fudge has surely sent her here to keep an eye on what is happening,” said Hermione. “Most students seem to believe the Prophet’s propaganda.”

“Remus told us that Dumbledore offered the teaching position to you,” Ron said grumpily. “I guess we’ve got you to blame for this.”

“I don’t think so,” Tom said. “If the Defence position hadn’t been open, Fudge would’ve put Umbridge in some other position. He could’ve had Binns exorcised and then Umbridge made the teacher of History, and you would’ve lost your napping les­sons. And I couldn’t have made my own curriculum for Defence, Fudge would’ve made sure of it.”

“But what are we going to do?” Harry asked. “We can, of course, continue our fighting sessions in the Room of Requirement, but there are so few of us. All students should be taught actual defence, at least all except Slytherins – no offence…”

“None taken. But consider this as an opportunity. Start gathering followers, convince them of your leadership, earn their trust, fashion their loyalty…”

“Hey, stop that!” Harry exclaimed. “You know I’m not like that!”

“It’s high time for you to leave your comfort zone, Mr Prefect. Look at the children around you. Their survival may depend on you taking the burden of leadership and teaching them the skills and knowledge I’ve taught you.”

But Harry was adamant. His fellow students had believed that he was the heir of Slytherin, they had believed he had entered the Triwizard Tournament out of vainglory and now they believed he told lies about Voldemort’s return to get even more attention. His inability to deal with social problems was becoming a hazard.

Tom’s Gryffindor friends complained about Umbridge over and over again in the conversations through the mirrors, especially after Harry had spent many evenings in detention with her. Their hate towards her was contagious, and sometimes Tom too found himself planning ways to get rid of her.

“What should we do about her?” Harry growled one night two weeks after the term had started.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tom asked without pausing to think. “Assassinate her, dump her carcass somewhere and cast the Dark Mark over her. That way we’ll get rid of her, but also give some strong evidence to the Ministry about Voldemort’s return. I prefer killing two birds with one stone.”

“But – we can’t do that!”

“Why? What makes you value the life of Dolores Umbridge so much?”

“Tom,” Hermione said in a reproaching tone, “I’m afraid you sometimes forget morals.”

“Rubbish. We’ve discussed this before. Voldemort is a threat to the entire world. People must be warned about his return. Dumbledore could’ve forced Fudge to prepare for war as I suggested, but he chose not to. How are you going to justify your lack of actions if Voldemort ends up winning because not enough people were prepared? Are you going to say, ‘At least Umbridge got to live,’ or what?”

“There’s got to be another way!”

Another way… there was always another way, but only someone with the mindset of a Slytherin was able to consider all the advantages and disadvantages of each one of them.

Tom’s intense learning course with Karkaroff had lasted for more than a month already, and he was getting concerned about lapsing back into the apathy that usually resulted from getting too used to whatever he was doing, no matter how motivating. What he had begun to miss was some juicy social manipulation.

That was why he decided to speak with Dumbledore about a certain matter.

 

---

 

“I’ve heard how the Ministry is intervening at Hogwarts,” Tom said to the Headmaster after one of Moody’s excruciatingly boring update reports. “Harry is very displeased with Umbridge’s teaching.”

“So am I,” Dumbledore admitted. “But there is nothing I can do about it. The Ministry is eager to get new reasons to interfere in my business.”

“Maybe an unofficial solution would be the best one. I’ve been thinking about your offer, and teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts is the part that is meaningful – but not the other things that accompany it, namely conforming to a curriculum, reading homework, marking papers and becoming the target of the curse. I’d like to return to Hogwarts as a guest who just happens to be leading a study group for trustworthy students.”

Dumbledore had the most mischievous expression Tom had ever seen on his face. “Do not tell me anything else,” he said. “It is better that I know as little as possible. Your idea will not have any official backing, but as long as the Ministry does not get any wind about this and ban any such activity, it does not go against rules. But if you get caught, I will have to renounce you. Come, I will make the protective enchantments of Hogwarts accept your presence again.”

Tom grinned. This was how a shadowy organisation meant to undermine Dumbledore (among many others) was born under the Headmaster’s very nose.

“As I told you before, I trust you to be worthy of the authority this gives you,” Dumbledore lectured as they took a Portkey to his office at Hogwarts. Once there, he moved next to a wall and touched an inconspicuous stone in it. Tom tried to make sense of what he was doing – most likely the stone was an anchor stone like the one Tom had used in the Chamber of Secrets. “Alas, not all leaders realise the most important thing about leadership – that the best leaders are those who do not seek power but take it reluctantly. All my life I have tried to follow this wisdom. I do not care about power, and it shields me from the temptation that made Lord Voldemort, Fudge and many others what they are.”

Tom could not keep an incredulous expression off his face. ‘I do not care about power,’ said the Headmaster of Hogwarts who was also the leader of a paramilitary secret society and until recently the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.

“I cannot question any wisdom based on such a long life experience,” Tom said with such false sweetness that it was a small miracle that Dumbledore did not seem to notice it. “I will try my best to be a leader like you.”

Dumbledore smiled, oblivious to the insult Tom had just thrown at him, and Tom left the office.

Hogwarts, back at home again! Just a few months ago Tom had left as a hero of the school, and now he had returned to unite the students against their common enemy, the Ministry-appointed High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge.

 

---

 

Tom was leaning against a wall when the door to Umbridge’s classroom opened and the fifth-year Gryffindors came out, looking subdued and bored. Harry, Ron and Hermione noticed him at once and came closer, suddenly grinning.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got a new hobby,” Tom said and cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm. “It involves casting spells and running – and I wouldn’t mind if there were other people mimicking me and learning from example.”

“You’re continuing our study group?” Harry said, beaming.

“But on a much larger scale. That’s what I need your help with. Spread the word, and all students will have the opportunity to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. We’re done wasting the little time we have before the war begins!”

“When will we meet?”

“Come to the Room of Requirement after dinner. I’ll go and find Diggory; as Head Boy he will be able to recruit the prefects to spread the word too.”

The three Gryffindors left with new spirit and defiance in them.

Finding Cedric Diggory was easy with the help of the Marauder’s Map. He too was really eager to form a study group for Defence; his family believed in Dumbledore, and he also had his NEWTs to worry about. He promised to let the prefects know, and Tom proceeded to find the next three people: Draco, Theodore and Sara with whom he had not been in any contact after the end of June.

He encountered Draco and Theodore in the dungeon corridor leading to the Slytherin common room during lunch break after they had left the Great Hall. Their eyes widened when they saw him, and they followed silently when he gestured towards one of the unused dungeon rooms.

“Tom, is something going on?” Draco asked.

“This and that. Theodore, fetch Sara, please. I need to speak to all of you.”

Theodore nodded grimly and obeyed. Tom had seen that Sara had left the Great Hall mere moments after the fifth-year Slytherins, and it did not take more than ten seconds for Theodore to meet Sara. Then they were all in the dungeon room, and Tom studied their faces.

“Did you have an interesting summer?”

The children of Death Eaters exchanged meaningful glances.

“It was… tense,” Draco said. “I have never seen my father so anxious before.”

“Were any of you interrogated?”

“Not directly. The Dark Lord asked my father and Theodore’s grandfather about you, and they asked us something about what kind of person you are.”

“I didn’t go home all summer,” Sara said. “I was at Daphne’s, and my parents were very understanding. Ethan visited me a few times and told that Father had not mentioned me to the Dark Lord at all.”

This was good news. At least some Death Eaters were more loyal to their families than to Voldemort.

“Well, tell me, what are your opinions of the Dark Lord?”

“Everything took a turn to the worse, there’s no denying that,” Draco said bluntly. “I thought the Dark Lord would be a leader of the pure-bloods. Someone who treats all noble families with respect, not someone who bosses them around and rules through fear.”

“And what do you think about Professor Umbridge?”

“We know why she’s here. Her classes are as boring as History, but worse because we’ve got to actually pay attention.”

“Yes, the Ministry does not want Dumbledore to train his students to fight against the Ministry,” Tom said. “However, I tricked the old fool into allowing me to form a study group.”

Draco, Theodore and Sara all looked as pleased as the Gryffindors when hearing this news.

“We have continued the Slytherin Duelling Club, you know,” Draco said.

“That is good, but my group is much more ambitious. I’m going to teach students from all Houses from now on – yes, even Gryffindors. Remember what I said about Harry Potter two years ago: Dumbledore wants him to be his puppet and political asset. We’re making him our puppet instead! The brat is already indebted to me because of my help in the Triwizard Tournament. You haven’t been bickering with him for two years now, and the time has come for you to actually befriend him.”

“I guess I can try,” Draco said. “I just hope the Dark Lord won’t hear about this.”

“We must be cautious for many reasons. Come to the seventh floor after dinner, and bring as many Slytherins with you as you can. The meeting place is in a secret room by the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

Draco and Theodore promised to come there and left, but Tom gestured Sara to stay.

“How are you brothers?” he asked.

“Robert was forced to take the Dark Mark,” she said, looking quite frightened. “Ethan’s turn will be soon, but currently he has only been told to gather information from inside the Ministry. He works in the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes and knows the safety policies.”

“I’ve not dared to contact him, but I will before the war begins. If we’re going to defeat Voldemort, we will need help from him and many others.”

“I hope this will be solved quickly.” Sara looked visibly more stressed and unhappy than she had the previous year. “The Dark Lord has brought only trouble to my family, as well as to Draco and Theodore’s families. We Slytherins have always gained the most advantages during peacetime.”

“We all hope for a quick solution,” Tom said solemnly. It was probably better not to mention that he was very willing to continue the fight after Voldemort’s defeat with Dumbledore as the new enemy.

 

---

 

It was exhilarating to watch as over a hundred Hogwarts students flowed into the Room of Requirement, all willing to learn from Tom. Everyone’s favourite Triwizard champion had returned, and the presence of Head Boy, Head Girl and all prefects made even Hufflepuffs think Tom was just arranging an extra-curricular course that did not defy the authority of the Ministry or the High Inquisitor.

“Welcome, my apprentices,” Tom said. “I’ve heard your current Defence Against the Dark Arts course is rather theoretical. Someone suggested a more practical study group, and here I am, teaching you to use the theoretical knowledge in practice.”

Few revolutionary groups were formed with such a jovial speech. These children had no idea that this study group would one day rule the world!

“We will be meeting here every day after dinner –”

“Hey! What about our Quidditch practices?” someone shouted.

“All right, let me be clearer,” Tom said, annoyed. “I will be here every day after dinner. Those who want me to teach them are welcome to learn. If you prefer practicing Quidditch instead, go ahead. The lack of Defence skills may be the death of you, but at least you had fun playing Quidditch.”

The cheery atmosphere became graver. Tom shrugged and went on.

“Those of you who participated in Professor Lockhart’s Duelling Club know the basics of the art of duelling. However, many of you do not. First I need a volunteer to demonstrate in a duel.”

Of the many volunteers Tom chose one of the Weasley twins, because as a seventh-year student he had a decent amount of power and skill.

“The duelling protocol is as follows,” Tom said. “The combatants first face each other, then bow, then turn around and take a few steps before turning around again and taking their positions. Let us show you.”

Tom stepped to face Fred or George, they bowed and turned around. However, Tom continued to turn until he had done a full circle and faced the Weasley twin’s back.

“Expelliarmus,” he said and in flash of red light, the twin’s wand left his hand and flew to Tom.

Fred or George turned around, looking insulted and confused. The audience that had been absolutely silent for a moment began to mumble in an indignant tone.

“Tell me,” Tom said, turning to face the audience, “what is the mistake that Mr Weasley did?”

“What do you mean, mistake?” Ron shouted. “You cheated!”

“Any other guesses?”

No one spoke.

“Mr Weasley’s mistake was that he thought I would honour the rules,” Tom proclaimed. “Duelling is a sport. I’m not here to train you to sport. I’m here to train you to fight! Whether or not you believe in the Headmaster’s declaration of the return of the Dark Lord, you must understand the need to be able to defend against the Dark Arts. Every generation seems to have its own Dark Lord, and in many countries, there are nothing but Dark wizards. Most of them are maniacal terrorists who will use any methods necessary to kill you! If you try to fight them according to rules, you will die. Only if you know that your enemy will honour the rules, you may honour them too. Against Dark wizards you must fight using the same methods they use. I know there are many people here who wish to follow Albus Dumbledore’s example. Unfortunately, everyone does not have the privilege of the most powerful wizard of our time: to be idealistic and still live. During the last war, there was a much more practical person in charge, too. Bartemius Crouch. I will train you to follow his methods. If you prefer dying, you are free to leave.”

No one left.

“But first things first. Before I train you to fight, I must train you to follow orders. There are many Gryffindors in here, and it is a common Gryffindor trait to just follow one’s instincts and do what one believes must be done. War is a chaotic situation, and it can be won only by being orderly yourself. I will, at a future point, train you to act individually, but not before you have learned to act together.”

The first drill for Tom’s new army was to form lines and follow simple orders such as taking a step forward or turning left, all in synchrony with others. It was a good thing Tom had used Legilimency on Muggle military officers and learned what was considered a good way of creating team spirit for soldiers. Marching in neat lines had been how Muggles had acted in battles in the 18^th century, but doing so had continued in military traditions. Soldiers stopped being individuals and became parts of a unit. They were like limbs of a body, following the orders given by the brains.

And in this study group, Tom was going to be the brains! It would be a horrible shock to both Voldemort and Dumbledore when he would take the initiative and mess up whatever they had planned.

Chapter 41: Escalation

It did not take long before almost every Hogwarts student wanted to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts from Tom; Slytherins because they admired him, Ravenclaws because they always wanted to learn new things, Gryffindors because they wanted to become heroes and Hufflepuffs because otherwise they would have gone against the crowd and failed their studies at the same time. Tom did his best to keep the sessions in the Room of Requirement a fun way to spend the evenings, almost recreational. The sorry thing about most people was that they were not as studious as he was, and they disliked challenges. He had to do things in a way that appealed to them, or he could not have turned them into minions – but this kind of manipulation was easy.

Teaching hundreds of students with differing basic skills at the same time would have been impossible, but luckily most of the students did not come to the training sessions every day. Most of them decided to come once or twice a week, but there were some who were always present, mostly those who believed in Voldemort’s return. Tom was actually glad that not everyone participated every evening, because so many Slytherins and Hufflepuffs ascending so far above their common rooms so regularly would have inevitably been noticed by Umbridge. There was an unspoken agreement among the students not to let her know anything.

Many of the young students did not know any of the spells they were going to use. Tom delegated the teaching duty to a group of willing assistants; mostly Slytherins who had learned the spells in the Slytherin Duelling Club. As he gave each of them a group of younger ones to teach, he had a word with Draco.

“No Slytherins in your group,” he said. “This is a good time for you to learn how to lead people from the other Houses as well. If you’re going to be the most influential Malfoy who has ever lived, such an experience is invaluable. Teach them spells, but at the same time make sure they will remember you as an authority figure they can trust.”

Draco grinned slyly and obliged. That was how Tom freed himself of the most frustrating task: dealing with annoying little kids. Disputes, quarrels and fights were unavoidable when children were involved, but he would not be the one to deal with such issues. That was what underlings were for. (And if anyone accused him of evading his responsibility, he could point out that he did not have any formal authority over the students while the prefects had.)

However, spells were not the most important thing Tom wanted to teach his pupils. They stared at him in bewilderment after this announcement, because wizards so often thought that the wand was the one and only solution to every problem.

“Spells are of no use if you won’t survive to use them!” Tom barked. “It is common for people to panic the moment they find themselves in a situation where their lives are in danger. Before I teach you to fight, I must teach you to survive. You must be so used to curses flying at you that you still manage to be in control of yourselves. Only then can you fight back.”

He demonstrated this point with a duel with Harry. During the course of two years, they had given one another hundreds of dodging drills, practicing their reflexes so well that it had become like a second nature for them to move quickly without losing focus while Stinging Hexes were shot at them. If the rest of the students were not convinced by the demonstration, they surely were after Tom told them to form pairs and begin dodging drills of their own.

Most of them were actually eager to fire hexes at others with permission for a change, and Tom silently thanked Umbridge for making them so receptive towards him. Charms was the favourite class of most children with a short attention span, because there they could do things with their wands, while more theoretical subjects such a Transfiguration and especially Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were considered tedious. Tom’s study group was full of practical work, moving around and having fun, and the children would learn to regard him as their leader with very little effort on his part.

While the younger students were learning basic combat spells and practicing dodging, Tom gathered a group of the most promising fighters. There were Quidditch players with a lot of experience in chaotic situations such as Harry, the Weasley twins and Cedric Diggory, enthusiastic members of the Slytherin Duelling Club such as Draco and Theodore, and exceptionally talented people such as Hermione. They would be Tom’s elite force.

“The best way to learn fighting is to fight,” he told them. “I will divide you into two groups, and then you will fight until only one group is still able to continue. You are permitted to use the Reviving Charm on your Stupefied comrades and to do whatever you would do in a real fight, except that all injuries must be avoided.”

The fight was to take place in the massive maze that the Room of Requirement had created. This time there were walkways high above the maze walls so that Tom was able to observe the cooperation and tactics of his students. He put Harry and Draco in the same group; it was time for them to have a common goal.

As weeks passed, more students joined the battle simulations in the maze, and soon the battles that Tom observed from above were larger than any of those fought in Voldemort’s First War. Sometimes he arranged battles with more than two opposing armies, just to make the situations more complicated. Armies formed alliances and then betrayed their allies, there were spies and double agents and often the armies had to get creative and think hard how they could use their magical expertise to gain advantage over the other armies. Some decided to brew the Strengthening Solution to increase their physical capabilities and some started to practice the Disillusionment Charm in order to become an invisible adversary; Tom’s favourite one of the tricks they came up with was when one army used spells to distort the voice of one of its members to sound like Tom’s, and started to give false orders to the other armies supposedly from the overseer of the battle.

Tom had pleasantly little to do, because he could delegate almost everything to his willing underlings. Mostly he just watched the manoeuvres of the students and afterwards told them how they could improve their performance.

“Some of you have been learning creativity,” Tom said one day. “That’s more important than the spells themselves, and I encourage you to focus on it. A resourceful person is rarely in trouble for long. And so, I asked myself, what inspires creativity more than anything? Limitations. In today’s battle, you are not permitted use any of the combat spells we have been practicing. Let’s see what alternative combat methods you come up with.”

During the battle, many students quickly found out that the Banishing Charm had combat potential when used to hurl objects, but then Tom added it to the list of banned spells as well. One army decided to use the Summoning Charm on the shoes of the adversaries, another one modified the way the Water-Making Spell conjured water so that it created a powerful jet, a third one conjured birds and bats to help in the fight.

One day in October, Tom found out that the Room of Requirement was able to provide a place in which it was possible to Disapparate as long as the destination was within the Room; perhaps it had once been used as an Apparition classroom. He rearranged the armies so that each one had several seventh-year students with the Apparition licence so that they could Side-Along Apparate their comrades-in-arms around the maze.

“This is a most crucial battle skill,” he said. “If you ever find yourself in a situation where Dark wizards storm your hideout and overpower your resistance, you will not be staying there. You’ll just Disapparate.”

“That sounds cowardly to me,” complained a pompous Gryffindor by the name of Cormac McLaggen.

“You are thinking like a young Gryffindor again,” Tom said. “To you the ideal way to lose a battle is to just keep fighting, to never give up and to take as many of your enemies with you to death. You know what it takes to win a battle, but do you know what it takes to win a war? It takes embracing the virtues of Slytherin. A heroic last stand is actually giving up in another way. In order to never give up you must be adaptive and flexible, you must know when to retreat and re-plan your tactics. The Gryffindor way eventually leads to defeat. It is not bravery, but bravado.”

“We could fight a battle with McLaggen leading all heroes to make a last stand and someone else leading ‘cowards’ using flexible tactics,” Draco suggested. “That way we will all know which way is the better one.”

“By all means,” Tom said. “But with Apparition in your arsenal, you must also include the Anti-Apparition Jinx. It is said that amateurs talk about strategy, but professionals about logistics. Magical logistics offers a vast variety of possibilities, and you must be trained to prevent your enemies from using them.”

He had to admit that it filled him with a feeling of accomplishment to watch the students learning so much fighting skills, tactical thinking and general creativity. But their improvement during the evenings was next to nothing compared to how he improved during the days.

Every day Tom continued the Legilimency sessions with Karkaroff, absorbing the knowledge and expertise the older wizard had accumulated during his long life as a Dark wizard, scholar and teacher. Their duels became more evenly matched until Karkaroff no longer could overpower Tom’s dual-wanded style, and Tom proceeded to fight with only one. In December, when the Hogwarts students were preparing for the Christmas holiday and a break in the Defence lessons, Tom finally managed to defeat Karkaroff with only one wand.

“Impressive,” Karkaroff said. “But you will never learn to defeat the Dark Lord by fighting against me alone.”

“I almost defeated him half a year ago,” Tom said. “If I’d had a few more minutes to place more Blasting Curses, I would’ve pierced his Shield. Besides, I don’t need to defeat him alone. At Hogwarts, I’ve got hundreds of people who will accompany me. Even Voldemort will have trouble surviving so many people firing curses at him.”

One way to increase the challenge Karkaroff offered Tom was to use Lockhart’s wand instead of the yew one, but Tom was unwilling to do so. While it surely was a fine wand and Tom had mastered it, he did not have any kind of personal connection with it. It felt clumsy and not up to his standards, and he was afraid it would never get any better. He needed a new secondary wand, one with at least some kind of connection to him.

 

---

 

One night, Tom had a very lucid dream. In it he slithered around some indoors space, studied nooks and crannies, bit an annoying man who tried to disturb his exploration and slithered around some more. All in all, it was a very pleasant dream. What was not pleasant was that he was woken up by strong vibrations that made sleeping impossible.

The vibrations seemed to originate from his bedside table where he had put the two-way mirror whose pair was with Harry. Grumpy and annoyed, Tom tried to grab the mirror, but then he realised that he had no arms. He had turned into his snake Animagus form during the dream.

He turned back into a human, and the vibrations that a snake had difficulties to understand clearly became very loud human voice in his ears.

“Hello! Are you there, Tom?”

Tom picked up the mirror and growled,

“You’d better have a good reas–”

But it was not Harry looking at him from the mirror, but Ron. Suddenly, Tom was completely awake.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s Harry,” Ron said nervously. “He’s not well, and… er…”

“Tell him your dad’s been attacked!” Harry’s frantic voice cried from beyond the frame.

“Er… you probably heard that,” Ron said, looking sheepish.

“A snake bit him, I saw it, it wasn’t a dream, it was a vision from Voldemort’s mind!”

The dream! So, it had been like the one where Lucius had told Voldemort about the diary. Had Harry seen this one through his strange connection to Voldemort? He had, Tom suddenly remembered, dreamt about Pettigrew being in league with Voldemort almost a year before he had learned that the rat-man was a Death Eater.

“Go downstairs and open the portrait door of the Gryffindor common room,” Tom said to Ron and put the mirror down.

Dressing up took only five seconds and a few swishes of wand, grabbing the Communication Parchment of the Order took a few more, and then Tom summoned Dobby and told him to Side-Along Apparate to the seventh-floor corridor of Hogwarts near Gryffindor Tower. Once there, Tom ran to the portrait door and reached it the very moment Ron opened it from the inside.

“Wow, you were quick!” Ron said.

“Special Floo of the Order,” Tom said. Telling lies was so natural to him that sometimes he did not need to make them up consciously at all.

Harry was very relieved to see him.

“Tom! I saw…”

“Yes, I already heard everything I need to know,” Tom said. “Come, we’re going to Dumbledore’s office.”

Harry jumped out of his bed and followed Tom, Ron on his heels.

On the way to the Headmaster’s office, Tom wrote about their coming on the Communication Parchment. Dumbledore was still active at that late hour and wrote in reply that he was ready to meet them. Tom walked at a brisk pace, but it seemed to be too slow for Harry who had to stop himself from sprinting ahead.

The password of the gargoyle guarding the revolving staircase was ‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ and Tom, Harry and Ron strode the stairs up two steps at a time.

“Ron’s dad – Mr Weasley – has been attacked by a giant snake,” Harry blurted the moment they entered Dumbledore’s office.

The Headmaster stared at Tom rather than Harry with a curious expression.

“I believe Harry saw it through his connection to Voldemort, the one that makes his scar hurt when Voldemort is near,” Tom explained. “It seems likely it was a true vision, not a nightmare. If I recall correctly, in the last Order meeting Arthur was given guard duty for tonight.”

“That is true,” Dumbledore said and leapt into action.

He told two former Heads of Hogwarts to visit their other portraits, to raise an alarm and to keep watch; he sent a message to Professor McGonagall to bring the other Weasley children at once; he gave a mission to his phoenix; and he played with some of his instruments. The former Heads reported back shortly, confirming that Mr Weasley had been attacked and telling that he had been taken to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Dumbledore nodded at them in satisfaction and used the Portkey Charm on an old kettle. McGonagall arrived with Ginny, Fred and George, and as the situation was being explained to them, Tom began to wonder why he was still there. This was not his business in the slightest, and he had a well-earned rest to attend to.

Suddenly a flame flashed in the middle of the office and a phoenix feather was left behind.

“It is Fawkes’s warning,” Dumbledore said, catching the feather as it fell, and Tom eyed it with great interest. Perhaps he could stay for a little while longer after all. “Professor Umbridge must know you are out of your beds… Minerva, go and head her off – tell her any story –”

Dumbledore turned to Tom.

“Tom, I need these five away from Hogwarts in case Umbridge comes, and you must watch over them. This Portkey will take you to the Headquarters; there is no one there at the moment. Once I have contacted Molly, they can move on to The Burrow.”

“You will keep us informed about what is going on?”

“Fawkes will see to that.”

“Wonderful! I mean, that’s all right.”

Tom, Harry and the Weasleys gathered around the kettle, readying themselves for transportation.

Just a moment later Tom was in the living room of Greenane Castle with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George. They all looked frightened, the Weasleys anxious to leave for the hospital and Harry rubbing his scar absent-mindedly without a pause. Tom did not take a seat as the others did, because he had a vague suspicion that called for serious investigation.

“Harry, I want to speak to you about the vision, alone.”

“Yeah, OK,” Harry mumbled distractedly.

He followed Tom into the entrance hall, and Tom locked the door of the living room.

“Stupefy.”

Harry slumped down, and Tom reached into his scar in the same way he had dealt with Voldemort’s Horcruxes the day he had bound them to himself in the Chamber of Secrets.

His suspicion proved true: there was a sliver of Voldemort’s soul locked in Harry’s scar, a totally pathetic sliver. Voldemort’s maimed soul had probably begun to spontaneously disintegrate, and Harry had become an accidental Horcrux. The binding ritual of the soul fragment had obviously not been done, and it was probably the reason the scar had hurt. Tom hastily did the binding ritual, but to himself instead of Voldemort, and the soul fragment was immediately tamed.

Four Horcruxes found, but two still remained. Tom grinned briefly and Revived Harry.

“What happened?” Harry asked and touched his scar.

“I used some mind magic techniques on your mind to find out why you saw the vision,” Tom said. “I added certain protections on you which will probably prevent your scar from hurting again – but you might still see visions from Voldemort’s mind, I’m not sure.”

“It doesn’t ache anymore,” Harry said. “The pain did not go fully away before now.”

“Good, that means it worked. Let’s go back.”

As they returned to the living room, a flame flashed again, and a phoenix feather and a piece of parchment were left behind. The Weasleys and Harry clustered together to read the message from Mrs Weasley, never noticing how the phoenix feather disappeared into Tom’s robes.

It seemed his wand problem was about to get solved.

 

---

 

Mr Weasley survived the attack, and when Harry and the Weasley children left Greenane Castle with Mrs Weasley, Tom headed home to continue his rest. The next day he had business in Diagon Alley, a special Christmas present for himself.

Mr Ollivander was reading behind a counter when Tom entered his shop. It was quiet; most of the shop’s business took place in July and August, when young witches and wizards purchased their first wands. In the winter, the shop was open once a week or on appointment.

“Welcome, sir,” Mr Ollivander said and eyed Tom sharply. “You were the Triwizard champion for Hogwarts – but unlike most students of Hogwarts, you did not use one of my wands, but an old Persian one.”

“I’m originally from New Zealand. However, I’m told you make the best wands.”

“High quality is the pride of my family.”

“I’d like you to make as good a wand as possible using this as a core,” Tom said and offered the phoenix feather to the wandmaker.

“It can be done,” Ollivander said and studied the feather very closely. Suddenly, he drew a breath. “Now this is a surprise… I have handled this phoenix’s feathers before, two of them to be precise. Very powerful wands indeed… and both in remarkable hands.”

“That’s good, I’d like the new wand to be powerful as well. As for the wood, I want you to use material from the very same yew tree from which this came from.”

Tom showed the yew wand. Ollivander turned pale and swallowed audibly.

“How come you have that wand?” he whispered.

“I stole it from the remarkable hands of its previous owner. Surely you’ve heard rumours of what happened last June at the end of the Triwizard Tournament?”

“I have, but not about that wand changing owners. This feather is of the same phoenix whose feather is in that wand.”

Tom nodded. It was just as he had guessed. Phoenixes were rare, after all.

“And you want me to make a new wand with using material from the same tree as well.” Ollivander looked intrigued. “Hm – I do not have wood of that particular yew tree in my storage – usually I do not use wood from any individual tree for more than one wand – but I remember where the tree is. It should still be there; yews are, after all, long-lived.”

“A perfect copy, if possible.”

“As you wish.”

“And not a word to anyone about this project. I do not want the owner of certain remarkable hands to know I’m dealing with these materials.”

“Of course,” Ollivander said. “I have been afraid that he might come for me ever since he returned.”

Tom left the shop with a pleasant feeling of anticipation. Two wands with a strong connection to him were probably better than even the legendary Deathstick that the Dark Lord Loxias had wielded.

 

---

 

Many people in the Order of the Phoenix were intrigued by the fact that Harry had seen into Voldemort’s mind.

“Do you understand how useful that could be?” Moody asked in the next meeting. “I bet no one in the history of warfare has had as good an advantage as this! You-Know-Who would sacrifice most of his Death Eaters if it was the price for seeing into your mind, Dumbledore.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that we open Harry’s mind to Voldemort even more?” Dumbledore asked and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

“Of course I am! We could learn about his plans, his whereabouts, his weaknesses. One of us was saved because of Potter’s vision. That’s infinitely more than what our actual spy has accomplished.”

Snape glared at Moody with an unusually ugly expression.

“But if Voldemort learns about Harry’s power of vision, he will use the mental connection against us, to feed us misinformation,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“We must make sure he won’t learn about it,” Moody said.

If he doesn’t know now, he will once Snape visits him, Tom thought glumly.

“Harry’s strong intrusion to his mind may already have alerted him to the connection,” Dumbledore argued. “I am sure he would not talk about it to his Death Eaters lightly, thus making it unlikely that Severus would learn about it. I have been concerned about Voldemort trying to use Harry to spy on us ever since his return. I think I saw a shadow of his presence in Harry’s eyes shortly after the vision.”

“In that case, we can use the connection the other way too, to feed him misinformation,” Moody said. “Let’s make a plan and tell about it to Potter in an inconspicuous way, and then the Death Eaters will try to foil the plan, but we will be ready in an ambush.”

“If the connection shows one vision every half a year, it won’t be of much use,” Bill Weasley said.

“That’s why we need to open his mind more to You-Know-Who,” Moody said.

“That can’t be healthy, especially for someone so young!” Remus cried out.

“Health is in danger during wartime, it is inevitable,” Moody said mercilessly. “I lost my eye, my leg and a chunk of my nose in my fight against the Dark Arts, but it was worth it. Many more eyes, legs and noses were spared because I brought so many Death Eaters to justice.”

“But it was your own choice. You can’t make that choice for Harry!”

Dumbledore shook his head and popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth. “There are far too many risks in this matter. I think it is better to help Harry close his mind from Voldemort.”

Moody huffed in annoyance, but most members of the Order agreed with Dumbledore. Moody had a point, but what was surprising to Tom was that he was so willing to abandon the overly cautious and reactive strategy he had been favouring until this point.

After the meeting, when the other members had left the Headquarters, Dumbledore had a word with Tom.

“Tom, are you familiar with Occlumency?”

“It is one of the mind arts, to protect the mind from external influences,” Tom said neutrally, not mentioning that he had mastered the art in the fear of Dumbledore. “You’re planning of teaching it to Harry, I take it?”

“It would protect his mind from visions from Voldemort’s mind and from Voldemort’s intrusions to his. But there is the question of who would teach him. I consider it too risky to open his mind in my presence. Alastor is a bit rough, and Occlumency training should be started delicately. Severus and Harry do not get along. But you, Tom – I am sure Harry would trust you with this matter.”

Tom had once made the decision not to tell Harry anything about the mind arts, because then he might have realised that Tom had studied his memories very thoroughly in order to learn how to manipulate him effectively. Now it seemed that the advantage would be lost.

“The mind arts are complex, but a person as talented and dedicated as you should be able to learn Legilimency,” Dumbledore continued. “I am sure I do not need to explain its usefulness during a war. It would be good for both you and Harry; you would learn Legilimency and he Occlumency.”

Tom happened to have some kind of natural talent in Legilimency, and possessing a girl several times was great practice, but Dumbledore did not need to know about these things either.

“All right, I’ll do it,” Tom said. “Defending the mind is even more important than regular defence. If, hypothetically, I was teaching Harry Defence Against the Dark Arts behind Umbridge’s back, it would only be a part of the job to teach him Occlumency too.”

“Yes, hypothetically,” Dumbledore agreed. “If, hypothetically, you were doing such a thing, I would hope you were successful.”

As Tom left the Headquarters, he wondered whether it was a good idea to open Harry’s mind in his presence. If Voldemort truly had access to Harry’s mind and Tom was the person Harry interacted with during the moments of greatest mental vulnerability, Voldemort might learn what Harry knew about Tom’s connection to the diary. And if Voldemort learned that Tom was his former Horcrux, he would no doubt let Dumbledore know about it.

 

---

 

The attack on Mr Weasley seemed to start a new phase in Voldemort’s activities. He was actively up to something, and that something required his personal explora­tion trip to the Ministry of Magic. It was clear that Tom’s time of preparing for war was running out, and during the Christmas holiday, he practiced relentlessly with Karkaroff.

And so, in the second morning after the Hogwarts term had started and Tom had continued the Defence Against the Dark Arts study group, what he had been expecting for months was announced on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

“It’s begun,” he said darkly and showed the newspaper to Karkaroff. “Mass breakout from Azkaban – twelve Death Eaters have rejoined Voldemort’s ranks.”

Their pictures jeered at the readers rudely. There were the two sons of Tom’s former dormmate Edmond Lestrange, the son of his other former dormmate Matthias Mulciber, the oldest daughter of Cygnus Black, his old school friend Quentin Travers – and most important of all, Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable and Contact Number 714 of Grindelwald’s spy network.

“Oh, look, Antonin Dolohov is one of them!” Karkaroff said.

“You know what this means? We must abduct Rookwood before he regains his strength and uses his prison-break experience on Nurmengard!”

“Yes, you’re right,” Karkaroff said. “I don’t want Grindelwald ever to be set free! But how are you going to abduct Rookwood?”

Tom let his gaze wander around all the items he had hoarded by the walls of the dining room of his new home. On the topmost shelf of a bookcase, there was a small diary purchased from a Muggle variety store on Vauxhall Road, London, over fifty years previously.

“I think I have a plan,” he said slowly. “And it serves more than one purpose.”

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office, reading the Daily Prophet’s article about the twelve escaped Death Eaters. He remembered many of them from their school years; most of them powerful and talented people with great potential to do good things for the wizarding world. But Tom Riddle had dragged them to darkness and made them tools of destruction.

The chess board was waiting on a side table. Dumbledore flicked the Elder Wand, and many more pieces levitated out of a cabinet and took their places on the board. Two black knights representing Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov; two black rooks representing Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange; several black pawns representing the lesser Death Eaters. And finally, a black queen representing Augustus Rookwood occupied the place next to the other black queen that Dumbledore had added on the board the previous June.

The black king still stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 42: Diplomacy

”Did you notice the article in the Daily Prophet about the murder of Broderick Bode?” Harry asked Tom when they were starting one of the Occlumency lessons. “He was an Unspeakable, working in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Yes, I did,” Tom said. The strange wizard from the Malfoy Yule Ball and his ability to almost sense Tom’s nature as a former Horcrux had unnerved Tom so much that the news of the suspicious death in St Mungo’s had made him relieved rather than sorry. “What about it?”

“We talked about it, Ron, Hermione and me. We think he was killed by Death Eaters because of what he knew. Voldemort must want something from the Department of Mysteries, and Bode was Imperiused to give it to him, but the curse failed.”

“He would be a complete fool not to want many things from the Department of Mysteries. Surely you remember what Hermione was given for testing.”

“A Time-Turner! Yes, it makes sense for Voldemort to want to steal one of them. You see, I’ve been thinking, and it seems likely to me that Mr Weasley was guarding the door to the Department of Mysteries the night he was attacked.”

“I think so too,” Tom said. “I haven’t been told about this guarding duty, and I haven’t asked, because I have no interest to be tasked with standing there and wasting my time.” What Tom did not tell Harry was that he actually had planned asking to be assigned guard duty once he had first abducted Rookwood and learned certain things about the Department of Mysteries from the former Unspeakable.

The Occlumency lessons were not as successful as Tom had hoped. He had made the mistake of telling some of Moody’s arguments to Harry about why he should not be able to close his mind, and, unfortunately, he agreed that Moody’s reasoning had its merits. Mr Weasley’s life was saved because of the vision, and he had also felt Voldemort’s triumph when the Azkaban breakout had succeeded. Tom quickly found out that it was crucial to learning Occlumency to truly want to be able to close one’s mind. He had learned it out of fear of his secrets being revealed, but Harry was only trying to learn it because he had been told to.

 

---

 

While Harry was trying to temper his teenage mind full of distractions, stress and erratic feelings, Tom began a much more important plan.

“Draco, Theodore, I need to talk to you,” he said after one of the study group sessions.

“Sure, what is it?” Draco asked.

“There is a matter of diplomacy. I haven’t been in contact with your families for a long time, but things have changed.”

“Because – because of the breakout?” Draco whispered.

“Yes. The time for waiting is nearing end, and I want your families to be on the winning side well before the Dark Lord will be dealt with. That’s why I need to speak to them. Write to your fathers and arrange a meeting for me in Malfoy Manor. I want your father Lucius to be there, Draco, as well as your father Charles and grandfather Archibald too, Theodore. The fathers of Crabbe and Goyle may also be present, but I do not want any other Death Eaters to be there – and certainly not the Dark Lord.”

“We will write at once,” the two boys said after exchanging one look.

“There’s more,” Tom continued. “You two are my most important supporters, and this study group is not enough for you. I will be giving you private lessons, and you will be tutored also by Montague, Warrington and Bletchley.”

“Wow, sounds great!” Draco said.

If only he knew the real purpose behind these private lessons…

 

---

 

The next day Draco and Theodore handed Tom the letters they had received from their fathers. The meeting would take place the next weekend, and Tom did all kinds of preparations for it. When the evening came, he took Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle to the Room of Requirement to train with Montague, Warrington and Bletchley.

“You know what you must do,” he whispered to Montague and pressed a small badge in the palm of his hand. He nodded, looking quite grim. Tom attached another badge to the front of his robes and left the Room of Requirement.

“The cunning warrior attacks neither body nor mind,” he said to himself, quoting one of the Dark Lords about whom he had read when planning his own career. “First, I attack my enemy’s heart!”

One could never be too cautious when visiting a group of people sworn to one’s mortal enemy. Before Tom left for Malfoy Manor, he summoned Dobby and explained his security precautions to the elf. Then he turned him invisible, inaudible and odourless. Dobby climbed on Tom’s back to ride piggyback, ready to Side-Along-Disapparate to safety. Tom also jinxed him blind and deaf, because it was better for him not to know who Tom was visiting and for what purpose; the signal for him to Disapparate was a violent tugging of shoulders.

With this kind of a safety plan, Tom was confident enough to enter Malfoy Manor, a place he had visited numerous times as a guest. Earlier he had been polite and respectful towards Lucius Malfoy’s position as the leader of the rich and powerful pure-blood aristocrats, but this time he strode in boldly, like a person who demanded respect from others.

In the opulent ballroom there were the people he had come for: Lucius, his appearance the epitome of magical nobility as always; Narcissa, in her beauty and graciousness the perfect counterpart for her husband; Tom’s old friend Archibald, relatively short and slightly crouched, looking more prestigious a scholar than any of the teachers of Hogwarts; his son Charles, so alike his father but younger; and the senior Crabbe-and-Goyle, as unimportant as two pieces of furniture. These people were about to participate in the diplomatic mission that would change the course of Voldemort’s Second War.

“Valedro, it has been quite a while,” Lucius greeted. “Tell me, I have been wondering this for months… was it you who saved Harry Potter from the graveyard last June?”

“Why yes,” Tom said. “We realised the Triwizard Cup was a trap and decided to spring it together. While Voldemort was bragging like a proper overconfident Dark Lord, I prepared the chaos that allowed us to escape.”

“I got a bruise after I fell to your Stunning Charm,” Lucius complained.

“I did not come to apologise, but to tell you a certain truth,” Tom announced and took his diary from a pocket. “You’re familiar with this, aren’t you?”

Lucius’s pale complexion became even whiter, downright sickly.

“What is it?” Archibald asked.

“The diary of one Tom Riddle,” Tom said with a slight smile.

Fear and curiosity appeared on his old friend’s face, and he took an involuntary step back.

“Where did you get it?” he asked in a whisper. “And what does it have to do with Lucius?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell him, Lucius?” Tom asked.

The Malfoy patriarch was quickly losing his aristocratic composure: he looked extremely nervous and had become even more so after learning that Archibald knew something about the diary that he himself did not.

“The Dark Lord gave that to me shortly after my father had died,” he mumbled. “It was a few months before his disappearance. He told me it was incredibly powerful despite its humble look and that if it got to Hogwarts, the Chamber of Secrets would be opened again. I was to safeguard it until he gave new orders. Then he went missing… and all artefacts with any connection to him were dangerous to have around. When the Ministry began to arrange more raids to find Dark artefacts, I decided to get rid of it. I gave it to the Weasley girl, and sure enough, soon the Chamber of Secrets was opened. I hoped the girl’s involvement would be the end of Arthur Weasley’s career at the Ministry and that of Dumbledore’s at Hogwarts.”

Archibald stared at Lucius incredulously.

“I would never have dared to treat something of his like that,” he said.

“I had to suffer for it,” Lucius admitted. “He wanted to see the diary last summer. I had to tell him what I had done. He used the Cruciatus on me.”

“But how did you get it, Valedro?” Archibald asked.

“That’s an interesting tale. What if I told you that this diary used to contain a part of Voldemort’s soul?”

“A Horcrux?” Archibald hissed with his eyes opening wide.

“A what?” Lucius asked.

“It is Dark magic, used to gain immortality,” Archibald explained. “One old tome in our library mentions it. So, is that how the Dark Lord survived his apparent death?”

“Indeed,” Tom said. “But he disregarded the danger. When a soul is split, it is the better part that is contained within the Horcrux while the part that remains free becomes insane. That’s why Voldemort is but a pathetic shadow of the Tom Riddle you once knew, Archibald.”

“And… and the contained part?” Archibald stuttered. “You said that the diary used to contain a part of his soul… used to, but not anymore.”

“It should be obvious,” Tom said grinning, took out his yew wand and dispelled his disguising charms. Lucius, Narcissa, Charles and Lucius’s bodyguards were simply confused about his slightly different appearance, but Archibald’s eyes became wider than ever as he backed away until he was stopped by a wall.

“Tom!” he finally uttered. “It really is you!”

“A pleasure to meet you again, Archibald, my friend,” Tom said graciously.

“Is this,” said Lucius, “is this what I think it is?”

“It is,” Tom assured him. “I am not Tom Valedro, nor am I from New Zealand. My true name is Tom Riddle, and Voldemort is my twisted other self, the part of me that went insane. I was trapped in this diary for fifty years, it was I who opened the Chamber of Secrets, and once I regained my physical form by stealing Gilderoy Lockhart’s life-force, I decided to correct my mistake. Voldemort, whom I now consider my brother rather than other self, is a disgrace to the legacy of Salazar Slytherin, our ancestor. I will finish him and take his place.”

Every one of the six other people in the ballroom stared at him, struck speechless by the crass audacity of the declaration.

“That is a bold claim,” Lucius said after a moment of searching for words. “You would not be telling us this if you did not think we would join your side against the Dark Lord. While your magical talents and intelligence are commendable, as well as your accomplishments in the Triwizard Tournament and the trick in the graveyard, I have seen wonders far beyond them from the Dark Lord. It would be sheer folly for us to place our stakes with you instead of him!”

“What a pity,” Tom scoffed. “Luckily for me, I expected that you might think like that, and that’s why I’ve prepared a little insurance for myself.”

“An insurance?” Lucius said blankly.

“Draco and Theodore are currently in a secret room at Hogwarts,” Tom said and then added to the two louts looming in the background, “as are Vincent and Gregory. They are practicing with Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington and Miles Bletchley – or so they think. These three older Slytherins have sworn Unbreakable Vows to obey whatever commands I give them.”

Lucius’s eyebrows rose in surprise while Archibald paled considerably. He probably knew Tom well enough to know where this explanation was leading to.

“And here I’ve got a badge with a simple spell cast on it,” Tom continued, pointing at the front of his robes. “Montague has its counterpart. Every five minutes this sends a message to Montague’s badge, but only if this is in contact with my magic. And if Montague does not receive a message from me…” tom gave Lucius a gruesome smirk. “Things might get a little unhealthy for Draco, Theodore and the others.”

Lucius and Charles dropped their jaws. Narcissa looked faint.

“Your heirs are in good health,” Tom said. “And they will remain so if you renounce your allegiances to my twisted brother and pledge yourselves to me instead.”

“Lucius,” Archibald said hoarsely. “Please, listen to me. I know this young man well. He is not as powerful or experienced as the Dark Lord – yet – but he is much more intelligent and retains the deadly, razor-sharp sanity that made us impressed with the Dark Lord in the first place. We should do as he asks even if he did not hold our heirs hostage. It is only a matter of time before he outsmarts and dispatches the Dark Lord!”

It was a great asset for Tom that Archibald knew his true potential. Even though the Notts were not as respected and influential a family as the Malfoys, Archibald had a great personal prestige among the pure-blood aristocrats due to his seniority; so many aristocrats of his generation had perished during the war, and he had become something like a godfather to many of Lucius’s generation.

“You’re right, my old friend,” Tom said. “With your help it will happen in mere months. But there is one thing you should keep in mind. His name is Voldemort – I am the Dark Lord.”

“What do you want me to do?” Lucius whimpered.

“Three things at the moment. First, I want all information about my brother’s doings – what his plans are, where he is hiding, who his secret supporters are, which Ministry departments he has infiltrated, who have been put under the Imperius Curse and so on.”

Lucius looked pained. “I do not know!”

“You don’t? Why would he be keeping you in the dark?”

“Not just Lucius, but all of us!” Archibald said. “Ever since his return he has mocked and belittled us, calling us cowards for saving our necks after his disappearance, and he has praised those Death Eaters who were sentenced to Azkaban. We have talked about this, and it seems likely there is some Death Eater we have not met, someone who he truly values. It is with this Death Eater that he plans everything, and we have been demoted to mere pawns as punishment. We were not even informed about the strike at Azkaban beforehand. We have to prove ourselves to him in order to regain the positions we held in his ranks before his disappearance.”

“Do you think this unknown Death Eater is Sirius Black?”

“We thought so at the beginning, yes, but why would he not let us know about it? Black is known to be a former double agent, after all. No, I think it is someone else, someone whose allegiance must be kept a secret from everyone. Probably the one who orchestrated Harry Potter’s abduction through his participation in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“So, Snape?”

“We know about Snape and that he is a spy within the Order of the Phoenix – but who knows where his loyalty truly lies? The Dark Lo– um… your brother treats him with contempt as well.”

“It’s probably just a show,” Tom mused. “I can tell you that the Order of the Phoenix is all but paralysed because someone is leaking information to Voldemort. Only Dumbledore is gullible enough to still trust Snape. But all right, you have a plausible enough reason to be unable to tell me much. Onto the second thing. Rookwood – I want to know everything he told my brother about the research of the Department of Mysteries. I cannot abduct him easily, but you can, and you will. The third thing. My brother gave you this diary. Which other Death Eater would’ve been given something like it for safekeeping? Bellatrix?”

“Yes.” It was Narcissa who spoke. “My older sister has always been his most loyal and fanatic follower. I have never liked it. I remember when she boasted about having been given something by the Da– by your brother.”

“Where is she now?”

“All of the escaped Death Eaters are currently in Lestrange Manor trying to recover,” Lucius said. “The Manor is securely under protective enchantments, and the Ministry has never been able find it.”

“Is my brother there?”

“No, of course not, he is not a Healer. Wormtail is tending to them.”

“Excellent. I want you to bring Rookwood and Bellatrix here, now. Tell them the Dark Lord summons them.”

Lucius left, his aristocratic composure having changed during Tom’s visit to one of great distress, something Tom thought was hilarious. While he was gone, there was a foreboding silence in the ballroom, and the rise of tension was easy to feel. Narcissa seemed conflicted between the desire to ease the tension in her home and the fear that irritating Tom would cause harm to her son. Archibald was in the middle of the process of being accustomed to the idea that his old school friend was back, but fifty years younger than he was. Tom was in control of the situation, and the tension did not bother him; on the contrary, it just demonstrated his power over these people.

After what must have felt like years to the others, they heard Lucius returning. He spoke in an undertone in the next room, and Tom could only make out his last words,

“Stay here.”

Then he entered the ballroom and came to Tom, looking even more anxious than when departing.

“I brought Bellatrix,” he said. “Rookwood is greatly weakened by his imprisonment, and your brother put alerting charms on him so that he will know if his condition gets worse or if he leaves his bed.”

Tom nodded. “Regrettable, but we will deal with him at a later time,” he said. Lucius had no reason to lie if he truly had gone so far as to bring Bellatrix. Rookwood’s weak condition meant he would not be fit to plan breaking Grindelwald out of Nurmengard, and that meant Tom was in no particular hurry.

Lucius went to the door again and helped the thin, haggard and dishevelled woman into the ballroom, unable to hide his distaste completely. The woman’s eyes were wide and showed an unquestionably mad gleam.

“Ooh, now who is this handsome boy?” Bellatrix sang, eyeing Tom curiously.

“Ah, dear Bella, is my new appearance good enough a disguise to fool even you?” Tom said in a relaxed tone and made sure she noticed the yew wand in his hand. “That makes it perfect.”

“My… my lord?” Bellatrix said in confusion.

“Yes, dear Bella. This is the face I will show to the world as I enter the Ministry and rot it from the inside. I hope you consider it effective.”

“I do, my lord,” the disgusting witch said with a smile that gave Tom the shudders.

“Now, there’s an important matter I want to speak to you about. If my memory serves me right, I gave you some little trinket for safekeeping before the unfortunate fiasco in Godric’s Hollow.”

“The golden cup is in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts,” Bellatrix purred.

“Yes, the cup! I need it for a little ritual. Lucius, put some disguising charms on my dear Bella so that we can go without attracting attention.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lucius obeyed, and Tom was happy with how he had been addressed. Lucius had become even more nervous while watching Tom play the role of Voldemort. It probably had finally convinced him that Tom was, in a way, another version of Voldemort, and Lucius was clever enough to realise that the world was far too small for two Voldemorts.

“Wait for me here,” Tom told Lucius and the others.

 

---

 

It was disconcerting to witness how easy it was to deal with the goblins of Gringotts even though Tom and Bellatrix wanted to enter a vault that could only be accessed by three people, all of whom had recently escaped from Azkaban and were wanted criminals with many heinous crimes on their accounts. Tom and Bellatrix boarded the cart and descended deep into the lowest levels of the massive tunnel network.

It was not a surprise to Tom that Voldemort had wanted one Horcrux in a Gringotts vault; the marble building had made a great impression on him on his first day in the wizarding world. He remembered it clearly how he had studied every rich detail of Gringotts and judged that it was worthy of his respect.

Back then he had not even imagined that there was an actual dragon guarding a vault full of gold, jewels and priceless relics. The great beast rumbled near the two visitors, being controlled by the goblins, but Tom turned to face them and said,

“We will access the vault privately. Open the door and leave us.”

“It is not advisable, but if that is what you want, sir, that is what we will do,” one of the goblins said.

The vault was absolutely stunning in its richness; there was no telling how many other families the Lestranges had plundered during their long history and how many Muggles they had forced to pay them taxes in the times before the Statute of Secrecy. But at least one thing in the vault had been given to them: the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. Bellatrix handed it to Tom, looking worshipful, and he wrapped it in cloth before putting it in his pocket.

“Thank you, dear Bella,” he said. “You have done well by keeping this safe. Before we go, I would like to talk to you about what happened after my disappearance.”

“My lord,” Bellatrix cooed. “I’ve always been your most faithful servant. Others lost their hope, but I actually…”

“I am disappointed and insulted by how easily you imagine I can be fooled.”

“My lord?” she squeaked.

“Immediately after I was not there to watch you, you betrayed the legacy of Salazar,” he said with deadly calm and pushed his face close to hers.

“My lord… I don’t understand… I was trying to…” she stuttered.

“You attacked the Longbottoms, an ancient family of the purest blood. You tortured them to insanity, almost ending such a noble line. They could have delivered many more pure-blood offspring if not for you. I would have to be a total fool not to see you for what you are, blood traitor!”

“My… my lord!”

“And you know the punishment for blood traitors!” he yelled, already bored with tormenting her. “Death!”

A flick of the yew wand sent Bellatrix hurtling backwards through the air. She hit the dragon guardian’s snout, making the great beast growl in annoyance. So swiftly that Tom could not have reacted even if he had wanted to, the dragon opened its mighty jaws, and with just one bite of its razor-sharp teeth, the screaming Bellatrix Lestrange was shredded apart.

Tom would have liked it to take a while longer.

 

---

 

“Where is Bellatrix?” were Lucius’s words upon Tom’s return.

“In the belly of a dragon,” Tom said nonchalantly. “I admit that I lost my patience with her. I really should have taken her to Hogwarts. The dragon gets food regularly, but unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. I’ll probably have to keep up very strict discipline and sentence another capital punishment so that I’ll find someone for the Basilisk to eat.”

Lucius gulped audibly. Narcissa looked a little stunned by the news, but not distraught. She had lost her sister in 1981 or maybe even before that, and it was possible she would feel just relieved that Bellatrix could not fall even further to depravity.

“You will remain in my brother’s service for the time being,” Tom said. “Nothing of what happened today will be revealed to him in any circumstances. The day will come when I give you the order to openly renounce him, and until then I will hold your heirs hostage. They will not come home for Easter or for the summer, unless the moment of your renouncement will be before then.”

The five Death Eaters and Narcissa nodded in submission.

“Here, take this,” Tom said and handed Lucius one of the two-way mirrors he had stolen from Durmstrang. “We will be in contact.”

He offered no pleasantries before he left Malfoy Manor.

He visited Hogwarts briefly to tell Montague, Warrington and Bletchley that he had been successful, but then headed home. There, he unwrapped Hufflepuff’s cup from the cloth and began the process of binding the Horcrux to him, as he had done with the previous ones.

Five found, only one more still to go.

 

---

 

Peter Pettigrew was studying closely a simmering cauldron on a table. He was nowhere near as good a Potions expert as Snape, but his master did not trust the double agent to brew the restorative potions for the Death Eaters who had suffered Dementor exposure for so long. Snape had grown visibly frustrated by how little he could do, and the Dark Lord expected him to soon openly side with Dumbledore. The Death Eaters did not need Snape as a spy within the Order of the Phoenix, because they had someone much better. Someone who was not supposed to be alive.

The door of the room was opened, making Pettigrew startle. The Dark Lord Voldemort came in, followed by his most favoured servant, Bartemius Crouch junior. The only three people who knew about his continued presence in the world of the living and who were not under the Imperius Curse were now in that room. Not even Lucius Malfoy had been informed about it.

“Where is Bellatrix?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Lucius asked her to visit Malfoy Manor,” Pettigrew squeaked. “I guess her sister wanted to talk to her.”

Voldemort looked into the cauldron.

“We need more,” he said. “I want my most loyal servants to recover quickly. Rookwood seems to be in the worst shape. He’s just the man I need to plan the operation of the Department of Mysteries.”

“Dumbledore spoke about buying all the ingredients of healing and restorative potions so that tending to our brothers and sister would become more difficult,” Crouch said. “Wormtail, go to Knockturn Alley and buy everything you can before it’s too late. You need a disguise; here, take some Polyjuice.”

Pettigrew did so, and a few minutes later he had ventured to Knockturn Alley wearing the appearance of a much larger man. He glanced furtively around while going from shop to shop and buying ingredients and ready-made potions. No one seemed to pay him much attention – except one hooded man who followed him and kept behind his back, unnoticed.

After everything that was available had been bought and stuffed into his pouch, Pettigrew prepared to Disapparate – but at that moment, the Anti-Apparition, Anti-Portkey, Anti-Floo, Anti-Anti-Gravity, Anti-Disillusionment and Anti-Animagus Jinxes snapped in place around him, and he knew he was caught. The last one of the spells meant that the caster knew who and what he was.

Pettigrew turned around, trembling. The hooded man approached, and even though he tried, Pettigrew could not see what was under the hood. Pitch black darkness covered the face; it was a disguise of someone who did not mind being obviously hiding something.

“W-wh-who a-are y-you?” Pettigrew whimpered. “W-what d-do y-you w-want?”

“I am called Broderick Bode,” said the hooded man in a voice so clever and shifty that Pettigrew’s hair stood up even straighter than before. “Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries.”

“N-no!” Pettigrew exclaimed and somehow noticed how no one in the alley heard him or paid any attention to him or the hooded man. “Impossible! I killed you!”

“You certainly killed Broderick Bode,” said the hooded man, nodding. “But I did not say that I am Broderick Bode. I said I am called Broderick Bode. There is a slight difference, you know. A difference a double agent should notice. As to what I want – I want you to take me to Augustus Rookwood at once.”

“I don’t know what you’re –”

“Imperio.”

Pettigrew’s will was dominated, his Occlumency skills totally overpowered. He grabbed the wrist of the hooded man, and once the Anti-Apparition Jinx was dispelled, he Apparated to Lestrange Manor. The part of his mind that still had independent processing power expected the protective enchantments of the place to strike at the intruder, but nothing happened. The one called Broderick Bode who was not Broderick Bode was keyed into the enchantments.

Shortly afterwards Pettigrew and the hooded man stood before the bed of Augustus Rookwood. The former Unspeakable looked very ill, almost on the verge of death. The other Death Eaters had been forced to carry him out of Azkaban, because he had not been able to walk.

“You can’t interrogate him or anything,” Pettigrew said after having been freed from the Imperius. “He’s too weak.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the hooded man. “He has served his purpose, just like Bode.”

“What is going on?” Pettigrew asked. Despite his fear, his curiosity woke up.

“I will gladly tell you,” said the hooded man, and Pettigrew could hear him smile. “Believe me, I have been itching to brag about my brilliant plan for so long! When I worked in the Department of Mysteries, one of my fields of study was the Metamorphmagi. You know, those who can change their appearance at will, like possessing the unlimited power of Polyjuice Potion with every appearance they can imagine. I had abducted a Metamorphmagus for my studies, and he became a crucial part of my safety plan. When Igor Karkaroff exposed me as a Death Eater, I forced the Metamorphmagus to take my appearance. I Obliviated him of everything and placed certain memories of my own into his mind. Then I disguised myself as Bode, locked the real Bode in my basement to be later used as a bait, and when the Aurors came to arrest me, it was the Metamorphmagus who was sent to Azkaban.”

“What?” Pettigrew said blankly. The story was so convoluted that he had not understood even half of it. But one thing seemed somewhat clear… “You mean – you are Augustus Rookwood? And this man… is he –?”

“Just a Metamorphmagus, an innocent test subject of the Department of Mysteries,” the hooded man said and finally revealed his face: the healthy face of the notorious Death Eater spy, unmarred by fourteen years in Azkaban.

“Then why didn’t you come when the Dark Lord summoned you last June?”

“Is it not obvious?” Rookwood said, grinning. “You are a double agent, Wormtail – but it is also possible to be a triple agent. I am one step ahead of you. I will now take the place of myself once more, and as before, I will play your ‘Dark Lord’ like a puppet master pulling the strings.”

“Um… why are you telling me this?” Pettigrew said, sweating nervously.

“Oh, I wanted someone to know about my ingenuity even for a little while,” Rookwood said and pointed his wand at Pettigrew, who tried to dodge feebly. “Obliviate.”

Chapter 43: The Uprooting

”Bellatrix’s disappearance did not go unnoticed by your brother,” Lucius informed Tom a few days after the diplomatic mission. “However, many of the Azkaban escapees have gone sleepwalking or tried to escape because of their nightmares, and Wormtail has his hands full with keeping them from leaving Lestrange Manor. That is why your brother does not seem to suspect any foul play in Bellatrix’s disappearance.”

“I hope he wastes some time trying to find her,” Tom said.

“As for Rookwood…” Lucius continued, looking uneasy. “It seems your brother has found some extremely potent restorative potion, because Rookwood is suddenly feeling really well, much better than any of the other escapees. He does not need treatment anymore, and I fear there is no easy way I could lead him into a trap as I led Bellatrix.”

“Try to find out if he has any plans. I have a reason to suspect he might be up to something bigger than just serving my brother.”

“Should I know more about that?”

“Let’s just say that if Rookwood starts speaking about another prison break or some sort of infiltration mission – on second thought, if he suggests anything at all, I want you to inform me about it at once.”

“As of yet, he has not spoken with anyone but your brother. It seems he considers himself better than me because he suffered Azkaban.” Lucius snorted indignantly. “The nerve of him! Unlike the Lestranges, he tried to keep his cover and remain free.”

“Then keep me informed of all missions Rookwood takes part in. If Archibald is right and my brother wants you to prove yourselves to him again, you might be assigned to a mission with Rookwood. Then we might find a way to abduct him, but it will be difficult.”

One possible course of action would be to simply order Lucius to sneak poison into Rookwood’s meal. However, if more Death Eaters started to disappear or drop dead, Voldemort would certainly realise that not all of his followers were loyal to him. Tom needed the Death Eaters to seem loyal and unified until the time would be right to destroy Voldemort’s organisation with one swift stroke.

 

---

 

Mr Ollivander stood behind the counter in his shadowy shop, peering at Tom with great interest as if he was a fascinating specimen the wandmaker yearned to stuff inside a wooden stick. Since it was possible to use phoenix feathers, dragon heartstrings, unicorn hairs and whatnot as the core of a wand, surely some part of a wizard would suffice as well? Tom made a mental note to investigate which peculiar magical properties Dumbledore’s beard had once he would finally have dealt with the Headmaster.

“Good day, Mr Ollivander,” Tom said.

“Good day, Mr Valedro,” the wandmaker replied. “Your order is ready, and I have to say, it is one of my finest creations.”

He handed Tom a yew wand, identical to the older one. Tom opened his pouch, making it clear that he wanted the wand in there.

“You have to take the wand in your hand,” Ollivander pointed out. “That is the only way to find out whether or not the wand chooses you.”

“I am aware of that. However, I have no delusions that the identical twin of Lord Voldemort’s wand would choose me. No, I ordered this wand merely to study the one I stole. Comparing it to its blank slate will tell me much about Voldemort’s skills and powers, and such knowledge is essential in planning his downfall.”

“I see,” Ollivander said slowly. “Very clever of you.”

Plausible false reasons were one of the most important tools of a competent Slytherin mastermind. Sometimes such reasons were so good that Tom actually decided to act on them, and this was one of those occasions. But it would have to wait; after all, it was only the secondary reason. Tom quickly returned home and grabbed the handle of the new wand.

The feeling was exactly the same as on that wonderful summer day in 1938. There was a strong connection between him and the wand, and bright sparks burst from the tip. With his other hand he took the old wand and compared their magical feelings. The new one was much less refined, like a shoe which had not yet been adjusted to the foot.

Spells cast with the new wand were significantly less powerful than those with the old one, but the improvement compared to Lockhart’s wand was still great. Now he would have to cast thousands and thousands of spells with the new one to strengthen his connection with it and to attune it with the spells he used the most. Voldemort, struggling with Macnair’s wand, would be of no match to Tom’s style of wielding two wands that had chosen him, something that was probably unprecedented in the wizarding world – but, of course, Tom had to be prepared for the possibility that neither of the yew wands would function against Voldemort. It was better to keep Lockhart’s wand as a spare just in case.

 

---

 

Attuning the new wand became a part of Tom’s daily routines. It needed much work but could be done as a part of his fighting practices with Karkaroff. There was certain satisfaction in feeling progress handling the wand. That feeling was something Tom missed in every single meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

Soon came the day when he had been a member of the Order for half a year, but during that time there had not been a single meeting he considered interesting. Usually it was just Moody babbling about precautions and suspicions, and often Snape telling how he had found out nothing despite risking his life for the noble cause. Ever since Lucius had become Tom’s informant within the Death Eaters, not even the unimportant things Snape shared with the Order were news to Tom.

There was little use in attending the meetings at all, so eventually he only attended them in order to watch Snape closely. The Potions master was a perfect Occlumens, which was obviously a requirement for a double agent, but even his expressive behaviour offered no insight to what he felt or thought about the things discussed in the meetings. In every meeting he was present Tom stared at his poker-face, but it was just as impervious as the Occlumency barrier.

It was what he called too good a performance. Snape had to be dealt with.

Tom’s opportunity to do a great service to the Order of the Phoenix came one evening in late February after he had left the Slytherin common room where he had spoken with the older students, inspired the younger ones and done the various chores of a leader. He was stopped on his way out of the dungeons by Snape coming out of his office, thinking that the footsteps were those of a student wandering the corridors after curfew. His dark eyes squinted menacingly as he saw Tom.

“You,” he growled. “What are you still doing here?”

“I have the Headmaster’s permission to be here. A permanent permission, in fact. He thinks I’m of positive influence on the students.”

“Still playing your game in my House?” Snape asked. “You have your hands full with recruiting an army, have you? Why am I not surprised? According to the Headmaster, there have been individuals like you before… one even sharing your first name…”

“And why am I not surprised that you consider my actions a bad thing? Perhaps you, as the courageous agent for the Order, have heard that Lord Voldemort has been remarkably unsuccessful in recruiting new followers? But I guess you miss the days of your youth when many Slytherins, including every single one of your friends, joined Voldemort after graduation.”

Snape took a step closer, his expression darkening further.

“Be careful with what you are implying, Valedro. I have never understood why you consider the Order’s cause so good that you joined us… but I have my assumptions. Are you just gathering strategic information for whatever conspiracy you have been building ever since you first came here?”

“Moody thinks along those lines as well. He accused me of having no ideological reasons to side with the Order. Maybe that is so, but you certainly have ideological reasons to side with Voldemort. Tell me, what is it about you that makes you so different from Simon Avery, Richard Mulciber and Evan Rosier – your good friends with whom you terrorised this school as you practiced for your Death Eater careers?”

“The Headmaster trusts me,” Snape said and smirked as if Dumbledore’s trust was some kind of divine solution to this issue.

“As does Voldemort, judging by the fact that you are still alive. I recall someone pointing out that ‘Dumbledore trusts people, but Voldemort doesn’t. Which one of them is more easily fooled?’”

“You are a foolish young man –” Snape began, but Tom interrupted him.

“Prefer not to answer my question, do you? I take it your reason to oppose Voldemort is so preposterous that you have decided not to explain it to anyone but the notoriously gullible Dumbledore?”

“I am not the tiniest bit concerned about your distrust. Dumbledore is in charge of the Order, and if you don’t trust his judgement, you’re perfectly free to leave.”

“I’d probably do just so if it wasn’t war the Order is supposed to be dealing with. Leaving would not correct the situation that there is a traitor in the primary organisation opposing Voldemort! And we both know who the traitor is. You put Harry’s name into the Goblet of Fire and meddled with the Triwizard Cup in order to take us to the graveyard!”

“I did not!” Snape snapped. “Last year’s events are as much of a mystery to me as they are to everyone.”

“Don’t play innocent with me! All of the Order’s plans have been leaked to Voldemort, but you have been unable to provide us any intelligence of importance. Either there’s another double agent involved, one loyal to Voldemort and much more capable than you are, or Dumbledore has misjudged your allegiance. Which explanation would you consider more likely if it wasn’t you whose loyalty is in question?”

“I have no idea why I have wasted so much of my time justifying myself to an arrogant brat like you!” Snape spat. “Get lost!”

He turned to return to his office, but Tom had gone too far to let go of this now. Tom continued, this time simply to provoke the Potions master.

“If you really had actual reasons to side with the Order, why would stating them openly be so difficult for you? Oh, I see it now! It’s something personal, isn’t it?” Tom had caught Snape’s attention, and he could see Snape’s hand trembling with anger as he was about to slam the door shut behind him. “Did your Death Eater pals murder your Muggle-born girlfriend or something? Or are you simply honouring your life-debt to James Potter? I was told he saved your life.”

Snape turned around again, his face absolutely livid.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tom continued, wondering when he would reach Snape’s breaking point. “A traumatising event in your youth. You decided to repay your debt by opposing the man who killed James Potter, but at the same time you’re dealing with your inferiority complex by bullying his son. It’s easy to see James in Harry, right? But perhaps you could focus on his eyes – you know, I’ve heard he has his mother’s –”

Snape grabbed his wand with such swiftness that Tom only barely managed to cast a Shield Charm before the spell would have struck him. The spell was just a Stinging Hex; not actually a serious attack, but once the fight had begun, Tom did not hold back.

He retaliated with a Stunning Charm, but Snape parried it and sent his own at Tom with just one quick wand motion. It was obvious that Snape was a formidable opponent, and Tom immediately grabbed his other wand too and gave the Potions master a demonstration of the well-practiced dual-wanded style. As Tom shot Stunning Charms with one wand and defended himself with the other one, he saw Snape’s eyebrows rising in surprise. Then, gritting his teeth, Snape stopped holding back as well.

Snape was far better a fighter than Karkaroff, and half a year earlier he would have been able to defeat Tom in no more than twenty seconds, but the long hours of daily practice had paid off nicely. They hurled attack after attack at each other, progressively using more and more dangerous spells. As the fight went on, Snape became more nervous; he certainly had not expected Tom to be such a challenge. Then one of his Dark curses was too quick for Tom, but one of the countless automatically activating Shield Charms of Tom’s bullet-proof vest sprang to life.

At that moment it dawned to Snape that Tom was unlike any opponent he had faced in a long time. Tom grinned and cast a Whip of Malice with his old wand. It kept Snape on the defensive, and as Tom no longer needed to defend himself with the other wand, he cast another Whip of Malice. So quick and destructive they were that Snape retreated into his office, and Tom followed.

Snape jumped behind his desk and used it to shield himself. Soon there was a pause when both of Tom’s Whips depleted their power, and before he had the time to recast them, Snape spoke.

“I have greatly underestimated you, Valedro. The Whip of Malice is not a spell you can find from books, and you’ve obviously been trained to fight by a professional. Your fighting style has at least been influenced by the aggressive tradition of Durmstrang. I can’t see any of your movements beforehand… how is it that you are an Occlumens as well? Very, very suspicious.”

“Did you think my success in the Triwizard Tournament was just good luck? Or what happened in the graveyard, for that matter?”

“The Dark Lord himself couldn’t have been that good less than a year after graduation,” Snape said, but whatever he had been about to say next was left unsaid as an expression of sudden horrified understanding appeared on his face. “It can’t be,” he whispered and stared at Tom with very wide eyes. “Now I see! All this time you’ve been fooling us!”

“A profound realisation, I take it,” Tom said. “Do elaborate, but don’t try to annoy me with any riddles.”

It was probably the word ‘riddles’ that utterly convinced Snape.

“Yes, it seems Dumbledore is just as gullible as you said,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’ve been exploiting it for years, haven’t you, Tom ‘Valedro?’ Let me tell you that I, along with Madam Pomfrey, performed the autopsy on Gilderoy Lockhart after his fight against the Dark Lord in the Chamber of Secrets. What puzzled us was that his injuries did not match the story Potter and the two Weasleys told about his valiant last stand. But they were young, they had been panicking, and that’s why their story was approximate at best. I didn’t delve into the mystery as well as I should have. However, now I see the truth! You are Tom Riddle – you are Voldemort! You returned to life right then! You tricked your way into Hogwarts! You have manipulated Dumbledore, Potter, Malfoy, everyone! Was your graveyard episode just a performance to convince everyone of your allegiance?”

There was genuine hatred in his eyes. Clearly, he felt betrayed by his master supposedly having kept this master plan a secret from him; quite hypocritical of him considering he was a professional in the art of treachery himself. There was no use trying to convince him, and his sharp wit had sealed his fate; even if the Memory Charm worked against the mind of a perfect Occlumens, there was no way of being certain about it. Tom could not let him survive after his realisation, even if it was just half correct. (Or one seventh correct?)

As Tom said nothing in two seconds, Snape resumed the fight. He leapt forward and yelled,

“Avada Kedavra!”

Tom dodged the green bolt of light just in time. Casting two Whips of Malice, he attacked with more ferocity than before; even though he knew that Snape’s fury was not entirely meant for him, being targeted with the Unforgivable Curses caused his blood to boil. The damage to Snape’s office was horrifying: his desk and chair were shattered, dozens of jars full of potions and ingredients were blasted, torches were torn from their holders, even the door was wrenched off its hinges. But Snape just tried to use the havoc to his advantage as he hurled the debris at Tom in order to distract him.

More automatically activating Shield Charms were triggered as the whirlwind of destruction in the office was far too much for Tom to deflect otherwise. Some sharp splinters of wood managed to reach him between a Shield shattering and the activation of the next, and he felt his upper lip starting to bleed. Snape moved relentlessly, casting more Killing Curses and once in a while trying some manoeuvres in order to prevent Tom from dodging. He used the Friction Reducing Charm on the floor, but Tom reacted to it by casting the Anti-Slippery Charm on his shoes.

Some fumes of potions were rising from the puddles on the floor, starting to make Tom light-headed. Since the Bubble-Head Charm was too complex to be cast quickly enough, he used the Wind Charm to direct the fumes at Snape who growled in anger and backed away into a corner. With a twist of a wand, Tom redirected the wind out of the office and took a step closer to the Potions master.

Snape fought with the fury of a trapped animal, but he was nowhere near as quick at casting the Unforgivable Curses as Voldemort, and eventually one of the Whips of Malice sneaked past him, twisted around his torso and discharged the effects of the Stunning Charm and the Jelly-Legs Curse on him. He fell, and a ringing silence descended. After ensuring that he was truly incapacitated, Tom sat down on the floor for a while to take several deep breaths.

It took great self-control not to finish Snape with a Reductor Curse. People who had tried to kill Tom Riddle deserved nothing else.

 

---

 

Tom spent some time cleaning up Snape’s office in order to fix and hide all evidence of the fight. Afterwards, he took the still unconscious Potions master to the place where dealing with him for good was the safest.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!”

The Basilisk came out of its lair, and Tom told it to stay behind Snape. Then he Revived Snape.

“Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets, Snape,” Tom said. “Yes, I am Tom Riddle, the heir of Slytherin. Your deductions were quite impressive, even if you are slightly mistaken about my identity. I am not Voldemort, I’m the part of Tom Riddle that did not become Voldemort. It’s a long story, but I won’t bother to recount everything, because you wouldn’t believe me even if I did. Instead, I tell you that it is the great purpose in my life to make sure that the House that is my birthright follows the ideals of my great forebear. Cunning, ambition, dignity, pragmatic approach to challenges. These are the ideals that you have never shared, and you have taught countless Slytherins to be as vile and vulgar as you are. Of course, you are just following in the footsteps of your idol, Voldemort the Gryffindor. However, you are responsible for your actions, and now you will face your punishment.”

The greasy fool’s face was distorted with rage and indignation, but apparently, in his Death Eater years he had learned the art of submitting to a superior. Tom hissed a command to the Basilisk, and it slithered into Snape’s view. Snape gasped but could not find any words to convey his frantic emotions.

“I ordered this lovely pet of mine to attack several Muggle-borns,” Tom said, smiling maliciously. “I honestly considered them a taint in the wizarding world, unworthy of learning magic. Afterwards I learned that Salazar Slytherin was not against Muggle-borns in general, just one prophesied one, and his legacy is gravely misunderstood. Anyway, I’ve come to realise that there is definitely one taint in the wizarding world: fools like you who disgrace the House of Slytherin. I have already done much to restore my House to greatness, and I will no longer stand by while you sabotage my quest.”

“Greatness?” Snape spat. “Slytherin has never produced anything but rotten apples! Maybe Salazar was virtuous himself, but he and his successors never managed to teach those virtues to their students. When cunning and ambition themselves are considered virtues and not just means to an end, students are deluded into becoming like you!”

“When did you become a philosopher? And why haven’t you ever tried to teach real virtues to Slytherins if this matter is of such concern to you? Surely you noticed that before I took control of Slytherins from you, the House was full of arrogant bullies.”

“It would’ve been futile! The ruin of this House goes back for centuries. There was no use trying to correct anything; I saw how it worked out in my own school years. No, I decided to hasten the inevitable destruction by making Slytherins weak and hated! Eventually the corruption would’ve resulted in the abolishment of the entire House, or even the abolishment of the entire House system.”

“You did this on purpose?!” Tom yelled and hit a Punching Hex at Snape’s large nose, giving him a nosebleed. “The wizarding world wastes all its effort in internal squabbles while Muggles are slowly destroying the world, and you want it to be so?”

“I’m only building on what you have wrought, Riddle!” Snape snarled. “The situation was salvageable, maybe, before you tried to take power in Britain by force! The inter-House relations weren’t too bad when I started school, but by the time I graduated, the school was in a state of war! Once I became a teacher, I took it as my mission to make sure your future servants would be nothing but the scum of this nation!”

“Are you telling me you’re actually on Dumbledore’s side?”

“I’m on no one’s side, because I don’t believe in any cause except my own. Dumbledore has never even tried to do anything to mend the relations of the Houses. And I’ve known all along that there would be no victory for me in this conflict. I’ve lost everything except my revenge – revenge on you and this accursed House that set me on this miserable course of life! I don’t know what game you’re playing right now, but there’s nothing you can do to save the House of Slytherin. It belongs in the rubbish bin of history!”

“I told you, I am not Voldemort, and I will deal with him soon enough. But you, vermin – I considered different ways of dealing with you, but now that you’ve really angered me, I won’t bother with any sophisticated solutions. Your spiteful campaign of ruination gets the most fitting end. Eat!”

Snape shrieked in horror as the Basilisk surged forward and closed its jaws around his torso.

“I’m happy for you,” Tom sneered. “You die doing the best thing you have ever done for the House of Slytherin. I bet the Basilisk is hungry, so much so that even your flesh appeals to it.”

The Basilisk had already almost devoured the former Potions master, and Tom could see only his head in the beast’s maw.

“Oh, lily,” the man groaned with his final breath. The Basilisk’s venom had clearly made him delusional. Tom was somewhat disappointed that in his dying moments, Snape imagined seeing a flower instead of being awfully aware of his demise.

Chapter 44: Educational Detour

The Order of the Phoenix convened a few days later in Greenane Castle to discuss a matter more interesting than the usual pointless status updates.

“The purpose of this meeting is to inform you that Severus has disappeared without leaving any messages behind,” Dumbledore announced, looking severe until he once again popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

Tom looked from one member of the Order to the next, curious about how they reacted to the news. Unsurprisingly, not a single one of them besides Dumbledore seemed to consider Snape’s disappearance a great loss.

“I can only assume he was summoned by Voldemort, but what happened then, I cannot say. I fear Voldemort has found some evidence about Severus’s true allegiance.”

“Or, more likely, he has learned everything he needed from Snape and has ordered him to stay with the Death Eaters for some plan that will start shortly,” Moody said dryly. “The Azkaban escapees have already had almost two months to recover. Whatever the Death Eaters are planning, it will happen soon.”

“I am convinced that Severus is on our side,” Dumbledore insisted. “Let us hope the situation is not as bad as the concerned mind easily thinks.”

Afterwards Dumbledore talked with Tom about educational matters again.

“Madam Pomfrey and I have been substituting as the Potions teacher after Severus went missing, but this arrangement cannot continue for long. Professor Umbridge is already very eager to terminate Severus’s contract of employment so that she can hire someone loyal to the Ministry as the new teacher.”

“It seems inevitable,” Tom said. “But what damage could another Ministry loyalist cause in the four months that are still left of the school year?”

“I would not like to find out,” Dumbledore said. “Anyway, it is not just a question of politics, but the safety of the students. Potions is a dangerous subject, and if Umbridge hires a new teacher with merits in bureaucracy rather than Potions, the number of injuries will no doubt increase to the level of much less renowned schools. Such development would, in turn, serve as an excuse for the Ministry to take Hogwarts into even tighter control.”

“If you document all Potions related injuries, it might serve as the reason to flush Umbridge out. Parents will be angry if the safety of their children is jeopardised because of petty politics.”

“Minister Fudge is not a reasonable man, and he will find a way to blame me,” Dumbledore said. “Another matter that needs to be solved quickly is the position of the Head of House Slytherin. At the moment, the only Hogwarts teacher who was in Slytherin during her school years is Umbridge. I am not going to give her any more power.”

“You aren’t suggesting that –”

“– you should be the replacement for Severus as the Potions master and the Head of House Slytherin. Yes, I am. Your NEWT performance in Potions was Outstanding, and if, hypothetically, you were teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts as an unofficial remedial teacher, you would also have some teaching experience. Why would I look for a new teacher from elsewhere when a suitable candidate is so close?”

So, for the second time Dumbledore wanted Tom under his wing. At least this time there was no curse to be concerned about, and the position of the Head of House Slytherin made it much more appealing. Also, Karkaroff had already taught Tom most of his magical expertise with obvious martial applications, making the Legilimency sessions less important and interesting than they had been.

“All right, I will take the job, but there’s an important condition,” Tom said. “I agree with Moody that the Death Eaters will most likely start some new activity soon, and once it happens, I will focus on the war, not teaching. That’s why I will agree to become the Potions master only until the summer holiday.”

“Fair enough, I accept the condition,” Dumbledore said. “Come, let us return to Hogwarts and get the procedures over with.”

They did so, and Tom thought with slight amusement about the irony of the situation. Throughout history, it had been common for usurpers to kill kings and Dark Lords in order to take their place. Even though teachers were much more common than kings and Dark Lords, it surely was rarer for someone to kill a teacher in order to take their place. But was it not just what Tom had done?

He was quite optimistic that these four months of teaching would not become too tedious. Snape had made very meticulous curriculums for each of his twelve classes, and Tom had no need or desire to change them – except, of course, by increasing the number of potions that he wanted to stockpile for the war. Marking homework and exams was the part that he did not look forward to, but a clever person could find a creative solution to the problem.

When he returned home, he found Karkaroff in the library, reading books and making notes of the things he was going to teach next.

“There’s going to be a change to our daily routines,” Tom said. “Get ready to mark some Potions papers!”

 

---

 

Tom had heard so many horror stories about Professor Umbridge that he was actually quite excited to meet her for the first time – but his excitement evaporated the instant he entered her office. The overwhelming excess of the colour pink was so offensive that it eclipsed even the Valentine’s Day arranged by Gilderoy Lockhart which Tom had, to his eternal regret, seen in Harry’s memories. In the middle of the pink awfulness, Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, was sitting at her desk and frowning at Tom with vast disapproval. She gave the impression of a pink thundercloud that was about to incinerate him with an adorably fluffy bolt of lightning.

“Professor Valedro, please, sit down,” she said in such a high-pitched voice that he was tempted to suggest her a Sore Throat Potion with a permanent effect. “You can’t expect me to be pleased that the Headmaster hired you without consulting me at all!”

“Would consulting you have resulted in a different choice for the replacement of the Potions master? My NEWT grade in Potions is Outstanding, and I’m a former Head Boy. There are few as capable potion makers in Britain, and I think the previous Potions master might have been the reason for that. Other qualified people choose more satisfying and better paid jobs as Healers, Aurors or entrepreneurs.”

“Do not be naive, young man,” Umbridge snapped in a superbly condescending way. “Hogwarts is going through major changes, but the staff is very unwilling to cooperate with the Ministry. Dumbledore obviously wanted you to a teaching position only to complicate my reforms.”

“Really? Why do you think I would support him?”

“You know that very well indeed. You were the Triwizard champion for Hogwarts. According to Dumbledore, you witnessed something that he later used as the basis of his propaganda. And where were you afterwards when the Ministry needed your help in silencing the rumours that sow fear and discord across Britain?”

“I am from New Zealand, I went home after graduation. I returned to Britain only recently, and it was a pure happenstance that I learned of Hogwarts needing a new Potions master.”

Umbridge leaned forward, her eyebrows furrowing.

“And what have you to say about Dumbledore’s propaganda? Are you going to tell your students imaginary tales about your encounters with undead Dark wizards?”

“No, I’m going to tell them about potions. But if you’re interested in what happened after the final task of the tournament, let me tell you this: Harry Potter and I did witness a flashy ritual and the appearance of a snake-man similar in appearance to the Dark wizard who terrorised this country for a decade until 1981. However, it was Dumbledore’s conclusion that the snake-man was, in fact, that particular Dark wizard. I, on the other hand, immediately told my Slytherin housemates my own conclusion: that Dumbledore had arranged the entire thing. Harry Potter is obviously traumatised by what happened to his family, and Dumbledore tries to use his fame as a marketing trick for his propaganda.”

Umbridge’s expressions had changed from stern to angry to neutral. When Tom finished, she nodded in an almost approving way.

“Very well, Professor Valedro,” she said. “I see that you are not as easily fooled as the Headmaster hopes. The Ministry would like more people to have such a doubtful approach to the tall tales that authority figures with political motivations are spreading.”

He could not have pointed out the gargantuan proportions of the irony of what she had just said, so he did not even try.

“I will, as the High Inquisitor, be inspecting your work in the Potions classes. However, keep in mind that the Ministry does not tolerate any mutinous activity. Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five prohibits teachers from giving students any information that is not strictly related to their subjects, and I am making sure that this decree is followed. This school does not need any more distractions.”

“Of course,” Tom said. “Dumbledore is already an old man, and this school and the Ministry will remain long after he is gone. I pledge my loyalty to institutions rather than individuals.”

Umbridge almost smiled as she sent him away, but he did not think for a moment that he had managed to convince her. She just tried to make him let his guard down.

It was probably time to visit the Chamber of Secrets again and have another try with the magic stone that Voldemort had used to create the curse affecting the Defence professorship. The Runic and Arithmantic foundations of the curse had been far above Tom’s expertise, but after Karkaroff had taught him so much about Runes and Arithmancy, he might be able to make sense of it.

 

---

 

Almost two years had passed since Tom had found the anchor stone of the protective enchantments of Hogwarts in one of the side caverns of the Chamber of Secrets. It was far from enough time to learn to understand something as complex as the amalgamation of the spells that Salazar and Voldemort had created. However, Tom did not give up, but studied the magical design night after night, made notes, checked reference books and sometimes sent some of the most confusing parts to Karkaroff to decipher.

Finally, he managed to reverse-engineer Voldemort’s craftsmanship onto a parchment, and he knew exactly how Salazar’s spell had been repurposed. As Tom had learned from Salazar’s memories, the original purpose had been to store magical power flowing through the nexus of magic beneath the school for a trap to be used against the prophesied Dark Lord born to those without magic. If Tom’s assumption was correct, Voldemort was the Dark Lord, and if so, there would be massive irony in the fact that the very one against whom Salazar had designed his spell had redirected the spell to strike another victim instead.

Unlike Voldemort’s curse, the original trap was not in action all the time, but it had a trigger, possibly a command word, for activation. Tom pondered it for a long time, and eventually he admitted that he did not know what the trigger might be. He was in no hurry and decided to study the matter more with the help of advanced books.

“It was arrogant of your brother to tamper with Salazar’s spell,” the Basilisk hissed. It had become much livelier after having had something to eat and it often watched Tom’s doings to entertain itself.

“I will not remove his spell yet,” he said. “Currently it is working to remove a certain teacher from the school, and I assure you, she deserves to get dispatched. Salazar would have approved.”

 

---

 

The more Tom had to interact with the High Inquisitor, the more he hoped Voldemort’s curse would strike her soon. Not only did he have to endure her annoying lectures, complaints and veiled threats in the staff room, but in class as well. She seemed eager to catch him of some violations of her policies, because she kept inspecting the Potions lessons several times a week. She clearly did not consider his participation in the Triwizard Tournament a merit at all, because she seemed to think it proved he had a militant way of thinking, and such an attitude was fiercely frowned upon in ‘her’ school.

“I told your predecessor that the Ministry would prefer it if the Strengthening Solution was removed from the syllabus,” she said. “Why do you think these children need to know how to brew it?”

“So that they’ll be able to brew it,” he said, too taken aback by her dumb question to realise in time what she had in mind. “Um… it gives an advantage when playing Quidditch…”

Umbridge scribbled furiously on her clipboard while some students snickered.

“The Ministry does not approve encouraging children to cheat,” she told him with a false smile.

She asked paranoid questions during other lessons as well.

“Potion of Salamander’s Essence? I hardly think it is useful. How do you think these children would end up in a situation where they should be protected against fire?”

“Fires happen all the time. If they get into a fight and someone throws an Incendio –”

Tom stopped too late. Umbridge looked almost gleeful as she wrote about his violent imagination on her clipboard.

Even some objectively innocuous potions made her suspicious.

“Blood-Replenishing Potion? Our peaceful nation has no need for them, I’m sure!”

“Actually, Madam Pomfrey asked me to give her the best samples because her stock is running out.”

For the next inspection he prepared a smart reply in advance – too smart, as it turned out.

“Bone Mending Potion? You really seem to be preparing these children to recover from a serious injury!”

“You can’t even get into the Healer training programme without brewing this one perfectly! If you think Britain doesn’t need Healers, why don’t you suggest to your boss that the Ministry cut the entire budget of St Mungo’s?”

That was the moment when Tom learned that Umbridge did not like it at all when people got involved in politics.

One day she almost earned his respect by demonstrating Slytherin resourcefulness.

“Don’t you think Essence of Devil’s Snare is dangerous?”

“Well, anything can be dangerous when used inappropriately, even water. But Essence of Devil’s Snare is basically just a potion very high in magical energy, and it can be used to power various things –”

“Such as weapons,” Umbridge said with menacing softness. “That’s far worse than Strengthening Solution!”

But the seventh-year class was the worst. Tom knew all of the students personally, and a few of them even had copies of his Potions notes that he had multiplied with the Doubling Charm before his graduation and distributed to younger students. The class could have delved deep into the vast potential of Potions, but Umbridge was having none of it.

“Polyjuice Potion?” she asked. “Why?”

“It is a challenging potion that requires patience, precision and understanding of the theory of this subject,” he said, having finally figured out how to evade her traps.

“Please, tell me, what military applications does Polyjuice Potion have?”

What a devilishly Slytherin question! Tom could either not answer and be judged incompetent or give her a detailed list and be judged unsuitable to work as a teacher. Well, incompetence was something he did not tolerate at all, and he refused to even play the role of an idiot.

“It is the best method of subterfuge,” he said. “Unlike disguising charms, Polyjuice Potion leaves no superficial traces of magic that are easy to detect. Since it truly changes the drinker’s physical form, not just the form’s outward appearance, even the Eye of Vance, also known as Mad-Eye, cannot see anything unusual in the drinker. While the effect of Polyjuice can be dispelled with the right spell, the tricky thing is that the spell doesn’t work if you’re not reasonably sure that the person you cast it on is under the effect of Polyjuice; that’s why there’s no use casting the spell on everyone just in case. The downside of Polyjuice is, obviously, that you always have to keep drinking the potion in order to keep the false appearance. It may cause suspicion if you regularly keep drinking something you have to keep a secret from everyone. However, a clever person can find ways of not attracting special attention. For example, our previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Alastor Moody has a habit of only drinking from his own flask. If someone was to impersonate him, the potion could be hidden in the flask, making the constant sipping inconspicuous. With Polyjuice you could pose as an enemy, infiltrate secret meetings and get easily into assassination distance without being stopped. You could even replace enemy commanders. I would consider Polyjuice even better than, say, using the Imperius Curse on the Minister for –”

“Such hideous spells must not be spoken of in the presence of impressionable children!” Umbridge shrieked.

“All these students are legal adults. Besides, they already know everything about the Unforgivable Curses. Professor Moody told about them to everyone!”

Luckily, at that moment the bell rang, and Tom could not complicate his career until the next inspection. However, he was sure it would take place very soon.

 

---

 

While Umbridge made Tom’s job as the Potions master difficult, he continued taking care of her responsibilities as the de facto Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the Room of Requirement. Every evening, he watched from above how students from all Houses worked together and tried to outmanoeuvre the opposing groups, and he wondered what it would take to storm the Ministry and usurp Fudge. Aurors and Hit Wizards would surely be reluctant to use serious force against children. Was that the actual reason the use of child soldiers was considered a war crime? No one wanted to face an enemy they had moral qualms to strike down.

Harry had become one of the best fighters in the study group, but his Occlumency training was progressing much more poorly. After a frustratingly long time, he had learned to notice Tom’s intrusions and then to flood the mental connection with indistinct memories. However, whenever Tom invaded his mind in a more subtle way, he was able to bypass the protections. No doubt Voldemort would be able to do the same.

It did not help at all that they were both really interested to see more glimpses from Voldemort’s mind. In March, Harry saw a brief vision in which Voldemort and Rookwood exchanged a few words about the Department of Mysteries. The vision confirmed that Broderick Bode had been put under the Imperius Curse in order for him to obtain something from the Department for Voldemort. Harry’s scar did not hurt anymore, removing the obvious discomfort of the visions, and while this kind of spying was intriguing, the new vision meant that they had accomplished almost nothing after so many lessons.

“Do you think I’ll ever be good enough at this?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” Tom said honestly. “I have no idea how many wizards who practice Occlumency are able to master the art perfectly. And I also have no idea what ‘good enough’ even means with you. Voldemort is surely one of the most powerful Legilimens in the world, and he’s willing to use enough force to shatter your protections even if it means destroying your mind in the process. But if I understood Dumbledore correctly, his main concern at the moment is that Voldemort might use the connection to spy on us or to feed us misinformation. That means it may be enough if you’re able to confuse Voldemort and to notice if the visions you see are fabricated.”

“I don’t know if this new one was a fabrication,” Harry asked. “Do you think it was?”

“Impossible to say. We don’t know what exactly Voldemort has in mind about the Department. While I can’t imagine any good reasons why he would want you to know about him being interested in the Department, it doesn’t mean there can’t be many possible reasons.”

 

---

 

Whenever Umbridge was not intruding the Potions classes, Tom tried to gather valuable information by using Legilimency on his Slytherin students. Many of them returned home for the Easter holiday and overheard their parents and older siblings talking for the first time since the mass breakout from Azkaban. He wanted to know which families were sympathetic to Voldemort and which ones feared him. Unlike all other Heads of House, he was eagerly looking forward to the careers advice meetings with the fifth-year students; his career advice to everyone was to become his minion, but obviously phrased in a more appealing way.

Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle obviously did not go home for Easter, because Tom had ordered their parents to tell them to stay at Hogwarts. In addition to them, also Sara was a child of a Death Eater, but he had not taken her as hostage. He did not know Robert Jugson senior very well; most importantly, Tom did not know if he was the sort of person who would give in to blackmailing.

The Jugsons had to be handled differently. One day in April, Tom visited the Three Broomsticks with Sara for a secret meeting. Ethan Jugson was sitting there with a mild disguising charm on, and he smiled when seeing Tom and Sara enter. Tom did not know whether Ethan was one of those who were under the impression that there was some kind of a romance between Tom and Sara, but if he was, it could only be to Tom’s benefit.

“Ethan, long time no see,” Tom said.

“Hello, Tom – hello, dear sister,” Ethan said. “I’m amazed that you decided to become a teacher, Tom.”

“It won’t be my life’s career,” Tom assured him. “What’s appealing in this job is that Hogwarts is the centre of many things. Dumbledore as the Headmaster, the Ministry intervening, children of wizards from every political party…”

“I should’ve known you’d be able to turn even a teaching position into something like that,” Ethan chuckled. “You’ve clearly been inspired by what Mr Slughorn did when he was the Potions master. You’re gathering intelligence for war, aren’t you?”

“It’s my nature, I can’t help it.”

“That’s quite clever, with the war looming over all of us.” Ethan took Sara’s hand and squeezed it gently. “You must be interested in what our family thinks about these things. I don’t blame you, Tom, but Sara’s side is chosen, and I am on my sister’s side. But our father is a Death Eater, and I am considered an obvious recruit despite never having expressed any interest towards it.”

“What about Robert junior?”

Ethan sighed. “You know, he was a fan of the Dark Lord as a little child. Becoming a Death Eater was what he always wanted. He was thrilled when the Dark Lord returned, eagerly took the Dark Mark at the first opportunity – and after that, life has offered him only disappointments. Even our father is not being held in high regard because he claimed to have been under the Imperius in 1981, but how about a newly branded Death Eater? Robert has been tasked with recruiting criminals, drunks and delinquents from Knockturn Alley!”

Tom could barely stop himself from laughing and spitting a mouthful of blackcurrant juice on the table.

“What a task for the heir of an aristocratic family!”

“Robert never bothered to get a job because he’s the oldest of us,” Sara said. “He might accept a seat in the Wizengamot, but otherwise he just wants to influence important people through our family connections.”

“I bet he regrets not going to work at the Ministry,” Ethan said. “At least then he’d be tasked with keeping an eye on people.”

“I’m quite sure the Dark Lord loathes an attitude like Robert’s,” Tom said; after all, he loathed it.

“As am I,” Ethan said. “As you pointed out in the Debate Society two years ago, no one has ever accomplished great things through conventional politics. To be honest, I’m pleased that Robert is learning a lesson as a low-ranking recruiter. As the second son it’s always been my destiny to find my own path through personal attributes, and now I can consider myself superior to Robert for the first time.”

“Well, what kind of opportunities do you hope the war will be offering you?”

“We pure-bloods always prosper, regardless of what party is in power. The Dark Lord’s disappearance affected our family’s influence very little. We don’t need to embrace any revolutionary methods, and that’s why I don’t even know what advantages I should be striving for.”

“We’ve got much more to lose than to win,” Sara said.

“I remember, Tom, that you suspected it was the Dark Lord’s plan from the beginning to destroy the status quo,” Ethan said. “And also that the Dark Lord possibly was the same person as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The risks concern me. I’d prefer it if the war never started again.”

“But if it is inevitable, would you support the side that has the best odds at ending the war as quickly as possible?”

“Yes, I guess… What do you have in mind?”

“I’d like you to give a hint to your brother,” Tom said and smiled slyly. “Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick have been in contact with many of the Slytherins who have graduated within the last five years or so. If Robert enlists their help, he might have much more success in his task of recruiting people… but I can’t guarantee that all recruits will remain loyal to the Dark Lord’s cause.”

Ethan smiled knowingly. He certainly had strong suspicions about what had happened in November of 1993 when ‘the brutes’ of the Slytherin Quidditch team had suddenly stopped undermining Tom’s authority.

“I will let him know,” he said, “except… not that last part.”

 

---

 

Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office, looking at the chess board. Long enough time had passed since Snape’s disappearance to draw the conclusion that Lord Voldemort had found out the truth about the double agent. Reluctantly Dumbledore removed one of the white knights from the board and looked at the foreboding black pieces. There would be no warning before they moved again.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 45: The Countdown

It was a relief to Tom when the summer holiday and the end of his temporary employment approached, both because he yearned to do something more important and because he was so fed up with Dolores Umbridge. She certainly felt the same towards him, but despite his continuous failures to teach ‘child-friendly’ potions, some other teachers had earned her ire much more than he had. Professor McGonagall had been a constant thorn on Umbridge’s side the entire school year, and Umbridge seemed to have a personal crusade against Hagrid and Firenze, the strange centaur who had replaced Sybil Trelawney as the Divination teacher after Umbridge had made a demonstration of her power. Umbridge probably tolerated their presence only because she wanted to collect as many eccentric examples as possible to be used as justification to oust Dumbledore from the position of Headmaster before the beginning of the next school year.

Tom only had vague plans for the summer, because he knew so frustratingly little about what was going on. He and Lucius were in contact frequently, and Lucius was equally frustrated about how little Voldemort let him know about any plans of takeover. The bright side was that at least Lucius had no reason to feel involved in Voldemort’s doings. Still, Tom had to plan a place for Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle to spend their holiday as hostages without knowing why they could not go home.

Finally, the examination season came, and Tom was relieved from having to waste time teaching in class. As the end of his short teaching career was near, he gathered motivation to finish all the paperwork most of which he had delegated to Karkaroff. The older wizard had marked all homework essays and would be marking all the written exams, but Tom had to combine his evaluation of each student with his own observations of their classroom performance.

One day at lunch, Tom felt how the Order’s Communication Parchment radiated warmth in his pocket, signalling a new message. As the parchment could not be read by outsiders, he did not hesitate to take it up, read the message and groaned. Moody wanted the Order to convene in the evening, this time at his own place, once again for one of the useless status updates. After Snape’s death, Tom had skipped many of the meetings and missed nothing.

“I think I won’t bother to go,” he said to McGonagall as they left the Great Hall. “What are the odds that today would be the first interesting status update?”

“Not good,” she commented unenthusiastically. “However, I have to be there, because I need to ask Arthur about the Ministry’s plans for the future of Hogwarts. If anything interesting comes up, I will tell you later.”

“Thanks,” he said, and they parted ways.

McGonagall and Dumbledore left Hogwarts discreetly some time later. The risk was minimal that Umbridge would pay attention to their absence, because the Wizarding Examinations Authority was in the castle overseeing the last of the OWL and NEWT exams, and Umbridge had eagerly offered to host them.

Tom withdrew into the office that he had inherited from Snape and looked at the discouraging pile of parchments that he had to go through. It was annoying how the path to power went through such menial tasks that were nothing but a waste of potential. Was there, by any chance, a spell that could do all this work for him? Probably not, because it would have been terribly convenient, and there was an unwritten universal law that magic was useful and convenient in every respect except when it came to administrative paperwork. Bureaucracy was some kind of dark anti-magic over which no one had power. It had to be done the hard way.

And even harder it became when someone started running down the corridor. Then that someone pounded on the door violently and burst inside without waiting for Tom to summon him in.

Tom was about to snarl angrily, but then he realised that the unruly intruder was Harry, panting heavily and looking frightened in the way that had become very familiar to Tom.

“Tom! Voldemort has taken Remus to the Department of Mysteries!”

“What makes you so sure about it?” Tom asked, rushing up from his chair.

“I saw it myself!” Harry yelled frantically. “It was a vision, similar to the one I saw just before Christmas when Mr Weasley was bitten by the snake!”

Ron and Hermione had followed Harry into Tom’s office. They looked frightened, but not hysterical. Especially Hermione eyed Harry with scepticism.

“Did this vision tell you why Voldemort took Remus there?” Tom asked.

“Yes! Voldemort wants him to remove something from the Department. It fits the earlier vision I saw. He wants to steal something from there. Broderick Bode was Imperiused to do it, but it didn’t work, and now Rookwood has told Voldemort how to get it. That’s why the Order has been guarding the door to the Department ever since he returned.”

“You’re in the Order, Tom,” Hermione said. “Do you know what they are guarding?”

“I don’t, because Moody refused to tell, to me at least. But as you know, I have been interested in the Department of Mysteries for a long time, and I have gathered titbits of information anywhere I can. It’s obviously the place where the Time-Turners are kept, as well as more Atlantean texts than any other place. However, Voldemort certainly wants many other things too. There is some speculation about prophecies being stored in there. In the 18^th century, one Minister for Magic tried to force the Unspeakables to let anyone hear a prophecy concerning them, but nothing became of it. However, it suggests that –”

“Can you skip this lecture?” Harry shouted. “Remus is there, Voldemort is torturing him!”

“No, I don’t think Remus is there, nor Voldemort, for that matter. What I was trying to explain is that most likely this vision you saw was purposely transferred into your mind so that you would rush into the Department of Mysteries; the exact reason why Dumbledore wanted me to teach you Occlumency. A Death Eater is there waiting for you. If Voldemort wants you to the Department of Mysteries specifically, it may have something to do with a prophecy concerning you. Only you can touch a prophecy about yourself, that’s why Voldemort needs you to do it. Remus is not any more useful in such a task than Broderick Bode was.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” Harry pleaded. “I’d like to be certain. Can’t you try to contact Remus with – whatever you Order members do to communicate?”

Tom took the Communication Parchment from a pocket. There was Moody’s message about the status update.

“All Order members were summoned to Moody’s place for a meeting,” he said. “Usually he doesn’t have anything interesting to say, so I decided not to go. However, Remus should be there.”

He wrote Remus’s name on the parchment. Moments passed, but there was no reply.

“You see?” Harry said. “Remus might be in danger after all!”

Tom tried to contact Moody and then McGonagall, but neither one replied.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Moody has secured his place magically so thoroughly that the Protean Charm can’t contact anything on the other side of the protective enchantments. That’s paranoia of an unhealthy level.”

“You mean the entire Order is out of contact?”

“Yes. One could think Voldemort is aware of it and used this opportunity to trick you. I’ll have a word with Moody about this. Things such as this can be exploited by a cunning enemy.”

“So, we’ll do nothing,” Hermione concluded. “This is a trap, and we avoid it.”

Tom pushed his chair back and took a few steps towards the door.

“Nothing? Hermione, you should remember Salazar Slytherin’s words: Anything can be an opportunity. If there’s a Death Eater in the Department of Mysteries, or more likely several of them, we will not sit idly and wait for them to get bored and go home. We can offer the world proof about Voldemort’s return if we use this opportunity like a competent Slytherin. The school year is soon over. This may very well turn out to be the little incident that forces Umbridge to leave the school. The curse on the Defence position will aid us in a matter much larger and more important than school.”

“All right, sounds good,” Hermione acquiesced. “How are we going to do it?”

“I’ll contact Lucius Malfoy,” Tom said and took one of his many two-way mirrors from a pocket.

“What? He’s a Death Eater!” the three Gryffindors cried in unison.

“I’m aware of that. However, as you know, his son is loyal to me, not Voldemort. I made a bargain with Lucius months ago: Draco will remain unharmed if Lucius betrays Voldemort at the moment of my choosing.”

The Gryffindors looked horrified.

“You… you’re holding Draco hostage?”

“No, Draco is using me to force his father to follow the real virtues of Slytherin,” Tom lied. “Please, wait outside. I’ll talk to Lucius in private.”

They left. Tom cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm and activated the mirror.

“Lucius! What is going on?”

Lucius’s face appeared in the mirror, looking quite uneasy.

“Mr Valedro,” he said. “I was expecting you to call. The Dark – hm – your brother successfully sent a false vision to Potter. I take it the boy told you at once?”

“Yes, he did. What is my twisted brother up to?”

“He wants a prophecy concerning Potter from the Department of Mysteries. Wormtail assured him that Remus Lupin is Potter’s good friend, and the vision showed him there…”

“I know. What’s the next step of the plan?”

“We are to go to the Department of Mysteries and take the prophecy from Potter after he has removed it safely. Rookwood and I have been appointed the leaders of this mission.”

“Perfect! This is the day you openly renounce Voldemort and pledge yourself to me instead. I hope I don’t need to remind you of what happens to your son otherwise. Take as many Death Eaters with you as you can. Archibald, Charles and the bodyguards of yours have to be there.”

“They are here with me,” Lucius said and turned the mirror left and right to show the faces of the four other Death Eaters whom Tom had blackmailed to become traitors.

“I will go to the Ministry with Potter, but the trap will be on your former Death Eater comrades. When I give the signal, you will open fire at them.” Lucius nodded with a resigned sort of expression. “I want Rookwood alive and his mind intact, but he doesn’t need to be in one piece. Kill the others.”

Then Tom remembered his friends Ethan and Sara.

“And spare Jugson if you can,” he added.

Tom and Lucius spoke for another few minutes, planning some signals and command words so that they could coordinate their actions while still pretending to be on opposing sides. Afterwards, Tom put the mirror back into a pocket and took out another two-way mirror belonging to a different pair.

“Karkaroff,” he called, and soon the old wizard’s face appeared in the mirror.

“Yes?”

“A group of Death Eaters is sneaking into the Department of Mysteries tonight, including Rookwood. Among them are also Malfoy, two Notts, Crabbe and Goyle who will betray Voldemort and join us. That means the war will begin soon, and I intend to make it swift. Gather your things and go to the rendezvous point. I’ll need much spell power, and you’re probably the second most powerful wizard in my conspiracy. You’re coming with me and a group of others.”

After the second mirror call there was a third one.

“Flint! Stop whatever you’re doing even if it means decisive defeat for the British Army. Your time in the Muggle world is over. Get Derrick and Bole, get all your gear and go to the rendezvous point where you will meet with Karkaroff. He will explain the situation.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As Flint’s face disappeared from the mirror, Tom happily left the pile of paperwork on the desk unfinished and left the office. In the corridor, Harry, Ron and Hermione were waiting impatiently.

“Lucius confirmed my suspicion,” Tom said. “Remus is not in the Department of Mysteries and the vision you saw was just a trick by Voldemort to lure you there.”

“Am I supposed to trust Lucius Malfoy?” Harry muttered mutinously.

“You don’t have to. We’re going to the Department of Mysteries anyway. It’ll be a crippling blow to the Death Eaters, and we will win this war very soon. And… I wouldn’t mind sneaking a peek at what the Unspeakables are doing there.” Maybe the opportunity would present itself for Tom to grab some inconspicuous little time machines…

“How are we going to get to the Ministry?” Hermione asked.

“I think I can manage enough Side-Along Apparitions from outside the gate to London, or we can go to the Three Broomsticks and take the Floo to Diagon Alley. But not yet. I’ve not trained hundreds of students for nothing. We’re taking more people with us.”

Hermione had presented the idea of the study group using fake coins as a means of communicating, similar to the parchments used by the Order. Tom tapped his coin with his wand and sent a message to every student to go to the Room of Requirement.

“I am going to tell them that Voldemort’s Second War will begin tonight,” he said. “They must know and be prepared. Now, Harry, go and find Cedric; he’s one of our best fighters and I’d like him to come with us. Ron, find Fred and George; their creativity is a great asset. Hermione, open the equipment storage room and take out enough for seven people. I’ll go find Montague, Warrington and Bletchley; they have an important mission here while we’re gone. Once we’re all done, we’ll meet at the storage room and then go to the Room of Requirement with the rest.”

Finding Tom’s three servants was easy with the help of the Marauder’s Map. Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle were on their way from the Slytherin common room to the Room of Requirement, but Tom and his three servants met them as they were going up the marble staircase.

“Come here,” Tom said and led them to less used corridors. “I’ll talk to the commoners about something to be kept in mind during the summer. I’d prefer it if you actually practised something useful.”

Draco and Theodore smiled with satisfaction, still oblivious to how Tom used them as leverage against their families. Once he had taken them to an unused classroom, he pressed the magic badge in the palm of Montague’s hand again and whispered,

“This will pay off tonight.”

As they began their futile fighting practice, Tom headed upstairs to the seventh floor. There, close to the Room of Requirement, there was a small unused room which was unknown to most people because its door was hidden behind a tapestry. He had used certain spells on the tapestry so that only he and a couple of others could access the room, and ever since the room had served as their storage. They had brewed and hoarded potions with military potential such as Essence of Dittany as well as all those which Umbridge had disapproved, but there were also Muggle things such as bullet-proof vests that Tom had ‘borrowed’ from a British Army depot with the help of Flint.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were carrying some of the equipment out of the room. They had already brought Cedric, Fred and George with them, and Ginny was there too.

“All students will soon be in the Room of Requirement,” Cedric said. “What’s going on?”

“The first battle of Voldemort’s Second War will take place soon,” Tom said. “I want you six to accompany me on an important mission in the Ministry of Magic. Several Death Eaters will be caught and the Ministry alerted to what is happening. Are you in?”

“It’s what we’ve been training for,” Cedric said. “I’d be honoured to fight by your side.”

“We’re always ready for mischief,” the Weasley twins said in unison.

“Tom, I want to come too!” Ginny said angrily.

“You’re too young!” Ron snarled.

“I’m as old as Harry was during the third task of the tournament!” Ginny pointed out. “Besides, I’ve got a personal reason to fight You-Know-Who. He possessed me during my first year and forced me to do horrible things!”

“She’s twice the fighter you are, Ron,” Tom said. “Welcome to the crew, Ginny.”

She beamed radiantly. He wondered if having been in contact with a Horcrux for so long had made her somehow exceptionally proficient in Dark magic, because she was by far the best fourth-year student in the study group when it came to offensive magic.

“Everyone, put on these vests,” Tom said. “They’ve been reinforced with the Charm of Unbreakability, making them able to withstand even a powerful Reductor Curse, and they also have several automatically activating Shield Charms cast upon them. Later, everyone will drink certain helpful potions. Also, everyone will carry a set of healing potions, and don’t forget water bottles and snack bars. Oh yes, and here I’ve got suits made of magic-resistant hide, put them on as well.”

During the school year, Tom had commissioned more Basilisk skin suits from the tailor who had made such a suit for him for the Triwizard Tournament, but he had decided not to tell anyone else what the suits were made of.

“Harry, do you have your invisibility cloak with you?” Tom asked.

“Yes, as always,” Harry said and pulled the smooth, black fabric from a pocket.

“It may come in handy – hold on a second.” Tom peered at the cloak closely. As Harry held it from the inside, it should have made his hand invisible, but Tom could see it faintly through the enchanted fabric. “Looks like the Disillusionment enchantment imbued in the cloth is starting to fade,” he said. “I’ll refresh it on the way to the Ministry, but now we must hurry.”

“We still have many fireworks,” one of the Weasley twins said. “We might need a distraction, right?”

“Yes. We will need all skills we’ve learned and all accessories we have. When fighting a war, we must not hold back but crush the enemy as efficiently as possible. Forget all flashy duels and the like. They only have a place in stories. Tonight’s plan is this: we go to the Ministry, quickly crush the opposition we face and return.”

Everyone had finished their preparations, but as they were about to head to the Room of Requirement, they faced a disturbance that they really should have known was coming.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” a high-pitched girlish voice drawled with twisted enjoyment. Tom turned around and saw High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge walking towards him. She looked like a toad that was preparing to swallow a juicy, fat fly. “I came to investigate why so many students are suddenly heading to the upper floors, and what do I stumble upon? A Hogwarts teacher is preparing a group of students to fight against the Ministry!”

“Yes, quite perceptive, Professor Umbridge,” Tom said. “I hate to tell you this, but there is wide-spread dissatisfaction with the official Defence Against the Dark Arts course. However, the demand for actual defence skills is very high indeed, and I have taken it upon myself to teach the defence methods that I’ve found useful. I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you about this study group, because you might’ve been tempted to ban it.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Umbridge growled.

“Since September. Yes, half a year before I even was a member of staff. Yes, I did tell you that I wasn’t in Britain until shortly before Dumbledore hired me as Potions master. Good thing we were able to keep this a secret from you for so long. We haven’t done anything against the rules.”

“Rules?” Umbridge shrieked. “This rebellion needs not be prohibited in school rules when it’s breaking the law! I heard what you just said! That you’re going to attack the Ministry! This is treason!”

“Actually, you misunderstood –”

“Silence! Save your excuses for your trial! If I were you, I’d prepare a long speech, because it gives you more time before you’ll be Kissed by a Dementor!”

“It seems my fate is already determined,” Tom said. “Well, I’ve always admired an efficient judicial system. Would you like to address all the students who have participated in this illegal scheme?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Umbridge said. “Lead the way.”

They went into the Room of Requirement. Most Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were already there while some Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were still coming up from their common rooms. Frightened whispers broke out as the students noticed the presence of Umbridge, and she grew even more furious as she saw how many people there were in the Room. Tom took his place on the teacher’s podium and Umbridge came to stand next to him. She seethed with rage as more and more students flowed into the Room of Requirement. Eventually, several hundred students were standing there, waiting for their punishment.

“You,” Umbridge growled. “You have agitated this many children to join your rebellion?”

“Oh yes,” Tom said. “They were quite enthusiastic to learn what you wouldn’t teach them.”

“And I thought Potter was the main troublemaker. While he has spread his propaganda, you have been preparing your little army to fight the Ministry! I do not tolerate such treasonous activity! I will have to expel each and every one of these rebellious brats!”

She turned to face at the students, glaring at them murderously.

“This will be a burden to you for the rest of your lives! Once I make your case an example serving as a deterrent to others, none will ever again dare to oppose the Ministry!”

There was a ringing silence as the students stared at her in dismay. Tom was sure she did not actually understand the magnitude of what she was trying to do. Expelling all but a handful of students would put Hogwarts and the entire educational system of wizarding Britain into unprecedented turmoil. And what could possibly decrease the credibility of the Ministry more in the eyes of the British wizarding community?

“You heard what she said, my poor rebels,” Tom said sadly. “Once Professor Umbridge sends your names to the Ministry, your lives will be ruined forever. Your parents will be ashamed of you beyond words.”

Umbridge smirked, thinking he had submitted.

“Unless, of course…” he continued, grinning diabolically. “You know… if Umbridge was to die, she would never have the chance to inform the Ministry about us.”

Several hundred wands pointed at Umbridge.

It was at that moment that Umbridge knew: she screwed up.

Chapter 46: Changing Allegiances

”What a fortunate turn of events,” Tom said as he forced Umbridge down the marble staircase, a wand pressing her back. “Now we can use the Floo from her office, and if we encounter anyone on the way to the Department of Mysteries, she can order them to go away.”

“I will never help you –” Umbridge cried, but he Silenced her with a flick of his other wand.

“A teacher should always consider the safety of students the highest priority,” he told her. “You have failed, and deliberately, too! We are not fond of your liberal use of a blood quill, but today you will have a chance to redeem yourself. Do you know what I mean? When we fight the Death Eaters, we will use you as a living shield!”

Umbridge stopped in her tracks, opening her mouth in an agitated manner, but Tom laughed and forced her onwards.

They met no one on the way to Umbridge’s office; he wondered whether Voldemort’s curse had something to do with it. Tom blasted the door open, went to the fireplace and grabbed enough Floo powder for nine people. Throwing it into the fire caused an explosion of green fire. Grabbing Umbridge tightly, he stepped into the heart of the fire and called,

“Ministry of Magic!”

After an extremely uncomfortable whirlwind and glimpses through numerous fireplaces, the green flames spat them out into the elegant Atrium of the Ministry. The working hours were over, and the Atrium was empty; not even a security guard was there, and Tom was sure it meant that the Death Eaters had already gone to the Department of Mysteries to wait for Harry.

Once Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George and Cedric had arrived as well, Tom turned to them and said,

“I’m going to get some reinforcements for good measure. Wait for me, it shouldn’t take but a moment.”

He Disapparated, heading for home. There, he ordered Dobby to ride piggyback as one more safety measure, again invisible, inaudible, blind and deaf. Then he Apparated to the rendezvous point of his little conspiracy, in the middle of a park in London, where Karkaroff was waiting with Flint, Derrick and Bole. The three former Quidditch players were dressed in Muggle military gear, carrying assault rifles and several hand grenades each; the only thing that gave them away as wizards were their wands attached to their combat vests.

“This is the day we’ve been waiting for,” Tom said and gestured the others to grab his arms. “We’re going to the Ministry of Magic!”

The rendezvous point was not very far from the Ministry, and Side-Along Apparating four people back to the Atrium was not too difficult.

Harry and the others were shocked to see whom Tom brought with him. No one was pleased to see Karkaroff again, and especially Fred and George glared at the former Slytherin Quidditch players with hostility.

“You know I’ve been building an alternative Slytherin conspiracy from the leftovers of Voldemort,” Tom explained. “I have to make do with what I’ve got.”

They strode through the Atrium, Umbridge skittering first. In the smaller hall with the lifts, they split into two groups, because they could not fit into one lift. On the way down, Tom used the Silencing Charm on the assault rifles of his servants. Firearms would be ridiculously easy to render useless with the Anti-Combustion Charm, but since they would be facing pure-blood supremacists, it was unlikely that such an easy solution would spring to their minds, especially if the firearms were quiet.

Once they faced the long corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, Tom raised his hand.

“Maximum preparations,” he said. “Drink the potions.”

Each member of the group had a restorative potion so that they would feel strong and brisk, a Strengthening Solution to give extra physical strength and endurance and a Potion of Salamander’s Essence for fire protection.

Next, Tom cast the Infrared Seeing Charm that he had crafted himself on each member of the group. Since it was an upgrade of the Supersensory Charm, it also had the sense heightening effect. Lastly, he cast the Disillusionment Charm on everyone but Harry, Umbridge and himself. They could still see where their invisible comrades were, because with the Infrared Seeing Charm, they could see faintly the air that even invisible bodies warmed up around them.

“And so it begins,” Tom whispered and forced Umbridge towards the door that he had seen so many times in Harry’s mind during the Occlumency lessons.

The first room of the Department of Mysteries was large, circular and very thoroughly black. Tom and Harry cast the Wand-Lighting Charms, but they had little effect because there was so little to reflect the light back. Tom randomly chose one of the doors, opened it and entered a laboratory of some sort. The countless contraptions in the room looked similar to those that Dumbledore had in his office, but were somehow even more fascinating.

“This wasn’t the room I saw in the vision,” Harry murmured. “There was some kind of dancing light in there.”

The next room was a library, and it pained Tom not to have the time to stop there for the rest of the night. He slowed his steps and walked right next to one of the shelves, yearning to steal some of the books. He only had time for a quick glance during which he managed to note that many of the books had been written by Isaac Newton, the first (and, according to The Quibbler, current) Head of the Department of Mysteries back when the ancient brotherhood of the Unspeakables had been integrated into the newly formed Ministry of Magic (or, according to The Quibbler, the brotherhood had founded the rest of the Ministry in order to gain political power). There were Philosophiæ Magicus Principia Mathematica, Arithmetica Multiversalis and A Time-Turned Account of Twelve Notable Corruptions of Scripture, all of which were available to the public only in limited editions. Newer books from other notable Unspeakables included The Downfall of the Magical Communities: Outlines of a Morphology of True World History by Oswald Spengler and Rationalist Necromancy: From Zombies to Artificial Intelligence by Eliezer Yudkowsky.

“Most of these books have been written by foreigners,” Hermione’s voice pointed out curiously from one of the faint blotches of warmth. “Wouldn’t you think that the department had more texts from its own members?”

“The Department of Mysteries is a division of the British Ministry of Magic,” Tom said, “but I’m quite sure that the Unspeakables form a multinational brotherhood that has infiltrated the research departments of every single magical government in the world.”

“Oh, let’s go!” Harry exclaimed in exasperation and tugged Hermione’s arm.

“This room must be at or near the centre of the department,” Tom said, “because each subdivision needs to have easy access to the literature. Open all doors, Harry, and tell us which room is the right one.”

After opening four doors Harry finally whispered,

“This is it. I saw Remus in this hall.”

“Keep quiet,” Tom said to the invisible members of the group. “Do not do anything before I give the order to open fire at the Death Eaters. Harry, you must pretend having been fooled. Let’s go.”

The hall they entered was faintly illuminated in blue light. It was high as a church, as cold as any underground space and full of towering shelves. Unfortunately, the shelves did not contain Time-Turners or any Atlantean grimoires, but unremarkable dusty glass orbs.

“Row ninety-seven,” Harry whispered.

It did not take long to find the right row, and as they started to walk towards the far end of the hall, they noticed blotches of warmth standing still ahead of them, waiting in an ambush.

“Our friends are here,” Tom whispered in Harry’s ear. “Act convincingly.”

“Remus should be near here,” Harry said loud enough for his voice to carry to the end of the hall. “Anywhere here… really close… somewhere about… here…”

They reached the end of the row, very close to the invisible source of warm air.

“Where is he?” Tom asked.

“I dunno,” Harry said, sounding baffled. “Do you reckon he’s been taken away?”

“Then why would he have been taken here in the first place?” Tom asked and looked around. “No… you’ve been tricked, Harry! The vision was false! This is a trap!”

He pointed his wand at the source of warmth.

“A wonderful realisation, just far too late,” drawled Lucius’s voice.

“Is that you, Lucius? You’re behind this? Show yourself!”

“Why not? Let us show them how severely outnumbered they are.”

The Disillusionment Charms were dispelled, and as many as fourteen hooded figures in black cloaks flickered into view. Umbridge tensed next to Tom, probably experiencing the horrible feeling of having been mistaken in a matter of life and death.

“Show me your faces!” Tom snarled. “I want to see you before I kill you.”

Many voices laughed contemptuously.

“This Gryffindor is the new Head of House Slytherin?” Lucius mocked. “Very well, let us give him an example of courteous behaviour.”

Lucius took off the hood of his cloak and the other Death Eaters followed suit; this was the first step in the plan, because Tom had to be able to identify Lucius and the other defectors once the fight began. Next to Lucius stood Archibald and Charles; Robert Jugson senior was standing at the back of the group; Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange looked at Tom and Harry with a savage, predatory gleam in their eyes; Augustus Rookwood looked quite bored; Antonin Dolohov was particularly gaunt-looking, but his eyes were very lively and cruel; Quentin Travers, Simon Avery, Walden Macnair and Richard Mulciber were slowly advancing in order to surround their intended victims; and finally, Crabbe and Goyle, whatever their first names were, stood motionless behind Lucius.

“Fourteen,” Tom said and gestured to the right. “Your mission must be important. But if it is, why is your master not here? I didn’t take him for a coward.”

Some of the Death Eaters growled, but Lucius gave a short chuckle.

“He has been busy for a year to remain unnoticed,” he said and started to walk back and forth a little. This was a part of the plan as well: he needed to get away from the other Death Eaters to avoid being targeted along with them, but he had to do so without raising suspicion. “Sneaking into the Ministry would have been an unnecessary risk.”

“Really? Do you really think that even Fudge is thick enough not to make an accurate conclusion from the fact that a group of very prestigious people like yourselves has trespassed a top-secret facility with a group of Azkaban escapees? Besides, you’re speaking right in front of a high-ranking Ministry official. This lady here is Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister!”

“Do not get your hopes up,” Lucius said and walked around some more. Archibald, Charles, Crabbe and Goyle had started to move too, and slowly the group of Death Eaters changed so that the five defectors were grouped together separately from the rest. “We will soon be gone from here, and no one will know we were here at all.”

“Let’s get this over with!” barked Rodolphus Lestrange and stepped menacingly forward. “Take the prophecy, Potter boy!”

“I don’t think you should obey him,” Tom said. Lucius and the four other defectors moved slowly away from the rest of the Death Eaters.

“I’ll make him obey!” Lestrange yelled and brandished his wand. It should have been intimidating, but the only thing Tom could think of while looking at his angry face was how he had once shrunk the shoes of the Death Eater’s father and by doing so caused his toenails to grow in. The memory of Edmond Lestrange tottering around Hogwarts with crutches never failed to make Tom smile.

“You’ve sneered for the last time, Valedro,” Rabastan Lestrange said, coming to stand next to his brother. “Let’s see what Potter thinks about it when we kill his com­panions right in front of his eyes! I know I will have fun! Avada Kedavra!”

Tom tugged Umbridge to stand in front of him. She finally managed to break the Silencing Charm and screamed,

“I am the Senior Undersecr–”

But the Killing Curse struck her, silencing her for good. As she slumped, Tom yelled,

“Code Red! Open fire!”

He cast the Blasting Curse with both of his wands, and Harry attacked as well. Behind them, the invisible Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George and Cedric launched a volley of Blasting and Reductor Curses, Karkaroff lashed with a Whip of Malice and Flint, Derrick and Bole fired their assault rifles. Even though the explosions of the gunpowder could not be heard, the bullets flying at supersonic speed filled the hall with frightening noise.

The Death Eaters were immediately on the defensive, but as their Shield Charms were directed at Tom and Harry, Lucius and other defectors started their own attack from the rear.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” someone screamed.

Shield Charms shattered and new ones were being cast, but visibility was getting poor because the destruction caused so much smoke and dust. Tom still kept firing more curses, because he knew where the enemies were.

“Stop!” Lucius’s voice cried suddenly through the noise, and Tom gave the halting order. With a Wind Charm, he pushed the smoke and dust away and revealed the centre of chaos.

Lucius, Archibald, Charles, Crabbe and Goyle had retreated further away from the other Death Eaters. At their feet, Jugson lay unconscious. A few paces away from them was Rookwood, also unconscious, and his right leg had totally severed; he also had a bad-looking wound on his temple, but at least he was still breathing. Rodolphus Lestrange had crumpled into a bloody mess just a few steps away from Tom. Dolohov was sprawling on top of two other Death Eaters. A bullet had struck him in the forehead, and what remained of his face was only barely recognisable. The two under him were Macnair and Mulciber; Tom could not see exactly how they had died, but the Blasting Curses had probably dismembered their bodies. Of the fourteen Death Eaters only Rabastan Lestrange, Travers and Avery were still standing and true to Voldemort’s cause. They were all bruised, Lestrange’s left hand was bleeding and a corner of Avery’s robes was on fire, but all they could do was to stare at the gruesome massacre of their comrades.

“Get them!” Tom roared, and the battle resumed at once.

The surviving Death Eaters were, however, experienced in battle, and they were quickly in action mode again. They created strong Shield Charms between themselves and Tom, shot murderous glares at the five defectors and ran.

“Sustained fire!” Tom told his three servants, and they fired. The Shields blazed white, and Tom, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, Cedric, Karkaroff and the defected Death Eaters all began to cast Reductor Curses. In a few moments the Shields shattered, and the chase began. “Tend to Rookwood!” Tom cried at Lucius before focusing on the quickly retreating backs of the three Death Eaters.

Lestrange and Travers were running together, but Avery separated from them, probably trying to find a safer route to safety. Tom gestured at Harry and the others to follow Avery while he himself ran after the other two. At the next intersection of rows, a Blasting Curse barely missed him. He did not want to let his enemies see any of his thousand automatically activating Shield Charms, so he used the Summoning Charm on certain thing he had left behind. Then he continued onwards.

Lestrange and Travers kept stopping and shooting at Tom. As the next Blasting Curse came too near, he flicked his wand, and the corpse of Umbridge rushed forwards and intercepted the curse. Travers turned again and fled, but Lestrange stood for a while too long, looking grudgingly impressed by Tom’s ruthless creativity. Then he followed the older wizard, but Tom had managed to come near enough for the next strike.

“Amplio Gravitas!” he cried and pointed at the back of Lestrange. The Death Eater’s flight ended with horrible abruptness as his suddenly increased weight made his knees break. He fell face-first to the floor with unnatural speed, and Tom heard his ribs breaking and air rushing out of his lungs. As Tom ran past, he pointed his wand at the back of Lestrange’s head and said, “Reducto.” With a burst of blood, bone and brain, the House of Lestrange was brought to a dismal but deserved end.

Travers had fled through one of the many doors in the hall. Tom rushed through it only a few seconds later, but he stumbled into a halt as he saw the room where they were in.

It was a huge rectangular room with a cavernous ceiling, and in the centre, there was a stone pit with the sides forming descending steps like an amphitheatre. On a stone dais in the middle of the pit, there was the most ominous structure Tom had ever seen: an ancient stone archway with a sharp point and a tattered veil rippling despite the absolute stillness of the ice-cold air. He had seen the archway twice before: first in the vision caused by his first Dementor encounter, the second time when he had seen Salazar Slytherin’s memories in the Chamber of Secrets.

The Veil of Death, the only known passageway to the Otherworld.

Travers tripped on his way down and snarled a curse. The noise shook Tom from his reverie, and he jumped down the steps. With a flick of wand, he dispelled his disguising charms and directed a Reductor Curse to the floor in front of Travers.

The Death Eater turned to face Tom but was stunned motionless at the sight of his true looks.

“You have failed me, Quentin,” Tom said in the same cold voice he had used when disciplining his younger minions at Hogwarts in his first life.

“Tom Riddle?” Travers breathed, thunderstruck. “What – how –?”

“Depulso!” Tom said. The Banishing Charm yanked Travers into the air and flung him through the archway. As the Veil was violently swayed aside, Tom saw briefly what was behind it: the glorious being with black hair, pearly white skin and glowing red eyes, standing just on the other side. As Travers was tossed out of the world of the living, Death picked him easily mid-flight and then looked at Tom, raising his eyebrows with derisive amusement. Then the Veil settled again, hiding the dark god once more.

For a few moments, Tom stood staring at the archway, trying to collect his thoughts. Then his magically heightened hearing alerted him to a fight in one of the adjacent rooms, and he rushed up the stairs again. As he ran, he recast the disguising charms; he had become so used to casting them that he could do them all in about three seconds without needing to stop to concentrate.

The door he was heading towards was blasted open before he reached it, and he saw glimpses of the fight. Simon Avery had been cornered by Harry and at least two still invisible others, one of which had to be Karkaroff, because a Whip of Malice was wreaking havoc. Avery was panicking, and the Blasting Curses he fired triggered many of Harry’s automatically activating Shield Charms.

Tom still had a few yards to run when another door to the room Avery was fighting in opened, and many people rushed in. Dumbledore was at the forefront, followed by McGonagall, Remus, Arthur and Bill Weasley, Sturgis Podmore, Hestia Jones and Moody. Avery let out a howl of terror and cast the Blasting Curse at Dumbledore, but the old wizard deflected it with a lazy flick of his wand.

Most of the Order members moved quickly to surround Avery, and as they moved away from Tom’s field of vision, his attention was focused on Moody who had stopped at the doorway. He had a grim, determined expression on his scarred face, and then he did something Tom could not believe: he too cast the Blasting Curse, but it missed Avery quite remarkably and instead hit Podmore squarely in the back, killing him instantly.

Everyone turned to look where the curse had come from, but Moody was already casting the next one. It blasted against Arthur, but he managed to cast the Shield Charm, saving his life, but he was still knocked over.

“Alastor! What are you doing?” Dumbledore demanded, but Moody did not stop.

“Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared with his face twisted with rage. The Killing Curse flew towards Dumbledore, but since Avery was currently almost behind him, Tom could not be sure Moody was truly trying to murder the Headmaster. Dumbledore dodged with speed that would have been impressive even for a teenager, and the curse struck Avery before the Death Eater could launch his next attack.

The death of the last Death Eater seemed to bring Moody to his senses at least a little bit. His magical eye swirled in its socked madly, looking in all directions. Tom could see it in his normal eye when he realised that the fight was over, but instead of relieved, he seemed horrified. With a quick flick he cast the Blasting Curse on the ceiling above him, and as shattered rock and dust rained down, the old Auror turned and fled as quickly as he could with his peg leg.

Once again, Tom had to force himself back from his deep thoughts to the situation at hand. Dumbledore’s sudden appearance was a really bad turn of events. How could Tom look for and steal a Time-Turner and Atlantean texts when the Headmaster was present? But a more pressing matter was the defected Death Eaters. Tom could not let Dumbledore encounter them before the situation would be explained, and he wanted to interrogate Rookwood before Dumbledore would have the opportunity to decide about his fate.

Tom heard Harry starting to explain to Dumbledore that there were many friendly people present invisibly, and he let him do it. Tom ran as fast as he could through the room of the Veil of Death to the door to the hall with the prophecies. To his relief, the door opened, and Lucius and the other defectors came in, bringing with them the unconscious Jugson and Rookwood.

“The fight’s over,” Tom said, “and Dumbledore has arrived. This has to be done quickly before he gets to us.”

They went back through the door to the hall of the prophecies, because it was unlikely that Dumbledore would come there immediately. Tom decided to deal with Jugson first.

“Rennervate.”

Jugson’s eyes opened instantly, and he tried to rise up, but Tom stopped him with a menacing wand gesture

“What happened?” Jugson asked. “Valedro, what in Merlin’s name was that show for?”

“You should know that these five gentlemen have decided to renounce Voldemort,” Tom said and gestured towards Lucius, Archibald, Charles, Crabbe and Goyle.

“What?” Jugson exclaimed. “Lucius, Archibald – are you insane?”

“I am their new master,” Tom continued. “The news of their defection will be made public very shortly, as well as the news of your defection, whether you defect or not. If you’d rather serve Voldemort, feel free to return to him. I’m sure he’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

“No,” Jugson gasped in horror. “He will not!”

“So, that settles it,” Tom smiled. “Don’t be too worried about the future. Voldemort lost most of his followers today, and with the help of your inside information, the rest will be dealt with in no time. Besides, your two youngest children are already on my side. Surely you don’t want to make your home life awkward by choosing the opposing side?”

“Robert, there is a very good reason we made this decision,” Archibald said solemnly. “This war will not last for long, and I think the outcome is already obvious.”

“This does not seem to be a decision on my part,” Jugson growled. “I do not have a choice, do I? Damn you, Valedro!” He eyed Tom with both fearful anger and reluctant awe. “I have to commend your way of leaving me no other choice, you devil. I hope you have an equally cunning way of securing victory and our lives!”

“No worries. However, you’d better contact your son Robert the moment we get out of here if you want to save him from Voldemort. Now, I’ll find out what Rookwood has to say. I’m afraid it’s not for your ears, though.”

The former Unspeakable was gravely injured, but his severed leg was bandaged and he was no longer losing blood. Tom cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm around the two of them and Revived the former Unspeakable.

Rookwood opened his eyes, but unlike Jugson, he did not seem surprised at all. A wily smile came upon his face as he looked up at Tom.

“Hello, Rookwood,” Tom said. “Do you know who I am?”

“Tom Riddle,” he said immediately, grinning even wider as Tom startled. “But not the same one who sent me here earlier today. Do not take me for a fool, Tom, I know much more than you can imagine.”

“Enough bragging! Tell me what you know!”

“Ah, Tom, do you remember that evening in 1943, right after we had left from Slughorn’s meeting? Surely you do, you were so excited. We spoke about the Dark Arts, specifically those that would cheat death itself. And I told you about an old, forbidden book in the Restricted Section of the library.”

“Get to the point,” Tom snarled.

“Hogwarts does not have such books, has never had!” Rookwood cackled. “It was there only because I had put it there hours earlier. The book had been given to me by Grindelwald himself, because he had tasked me with corrupting the most promising of Dumbledore’s pupils! He wanted to create new enemies for Dumbledore to occupy his attention in Britain, and you were the obvious one in this plan. Poor, poor little Tommy! How does it feel to learn that Lord Voldemort is as much my creation as he is yours?”

It felt really bad indeed, and Rookwood could see it from the shaking of Tom’s hands.

“You were tempted to make a Horcrux, and the damage it did to your mind made you so much less than you could have been. A terrifyingly violent Dark Lord your other self became, but he was but a pathetic shadow compared to Grindelwald! I found it easy to manipulate him. So blinded was he that he did not realise that I was the true mastermind all along. Then he disappeared and I was exposed as a Death Eater. Well, I was cunning enough to send a Metamorphmagus to Azkaban in my stead and stay working here in the Department of Mysteries under disguise.”

There was a sinking sensation in Tom’s stomach. Even though he had always known Rookwood to be intelligent, this was too much. There was not a thing he hated more than being outsmarted.

“Ah, I see Lucius has joined you,” Rookwood said. “I presume you revealed to him the truth about your being a former Horcrux. The thing is, I arranged the raids that provoked him into getting rid of you. I wanted to stir wizarding Britain a little, and I was pleased to see my plan progressing when I met you at the Malfoy Yule Ball. Oh yes, the one Slughorn introduced to you as Broderick Bode was me, your old pal!”

“And what’ve you been planning?” Tom demanded. “You seem to know many of my secrets, but I happen to know one of yours. You’re still serving Grindelwald, aren’t you? You became an Unspeakable because he told you so, and ever since you’ve been loyal to him. You want to set him free, right?”

“Grindelwald!” Rookwood laughed. “Me – serving him? Grindelwald is a failure, just like you and your other self are. I happily let him rot in Nurmengard. True, I served him for a while, but after I glimpsed new truths in this place, I became my own master. Do you think that I, as an Unspeakable, am unable to listen to these prophecies? I am not, not after creating the way of removing the orbs safely. I took the liberty of listening to every single prophecy ever made, and I know all foretold futures! One prophecy in particular was very interesting to me. Let me repeat it to you.

”The Dark Lord will rise
through force and deception.
Though born to those without magic,
he will command a might never seen before,
a might granted by three devices of power.
He will unleash Death into the world
and rediscover the lost power of
the fabled Sunken Empire.”

The prophecy of the Delphic Oracle to Salazar Slytherin! It was what had started everything: the founding of Hogwarts, the blood prejudice in the wizarding world and Tom’s own purpose in life. He had been proud to be the only one to know it, but now this facetious vermin used it to tease him! Oh, how much he yearned to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Rookwood…

“I studied the Veil,” Rookwood said, lowering his voice into a foreboding whisper. “I learned what is behind it, waiting patiently for that prophecy to be fulfilled. And I took it as my great quest to make it come true! One of you Tom Riddles, sons of a Muggle and a Squib, will unleash Death! And when it happens… when the final darkness descends upon the world, you will know that it was all my doing! Hah, you pathetic little Dark Lord, Tom! You are nothing but a puppet dancing on my strings!”

He had such a deranged grin and gleam in his eyes that Tom had no doubt that he was utterly insane. Tom’s hand shook with anger and his chin was starting to hurt from clenching his teeth so hard. Rookwood laughed and continued,

“It was so easy to make an arrogant little Mudblood to think he was entitled to be the Dark Lord! Your other self could never see how I have been his superior all along. I AM THE DARK LORD!”

Rookwood was a useless fanatic who would not be of any use. His mad campaign had led to the ruin that was Voldemort and the corruption of the noble ideals of the House of Slytherin. He also was partially responsible for the fifty years that Tom and languished in the diary. These things were more than enough to make Tom’s blood boil, and he poured all his fury into two words,

“Avada Kedavra.”

Green light flashed, and Rookwood collapsed. Tom felt a surge of relief, but then, before he had managed to form any coherent thoughts, a silvery something left Rookwood’s corpse. As it drifted towards the Veil, Tom heard a ghostly, echoing voice,

“This was the fate I was foretold of… everything has been set in motion… and with my passing… He comes!”

Tom’s relief evaporated and was replaced by an even worse distress. He had a terrible feeling that he had somehow ensured his final defeat.

“Why did you do that?” Lucius asked. “You wanted him alive!”

“It was foolish of me to think so,” Tom muttered. “He was too dangerous to be left alive.”

This Voldemort business had to be dealt with quickly. As Tom led the defected Death Eaters through the room of the Veil to meet Dumbledore and to explain the situation, he could not keep his eyes off the ancient archway.

He hoped it was just his imagination when he heard an echoing whisper in Rookwood’s voice coming from the archway,

“Three keys to open the way… two more for you to find…”

 

---

 

Later that night, Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts and looked at the chess board. He removed the two black rooks representing the Lestrange brothers, the two black knights representing Bellatrix and Dolohov, the black queen representing Rookwood and many of the black pawns. Sirius Black had not done anything in such a long time that Dumbledore also removed the black bishop representing him. He took one white pawn off the board for poor Sturgis. Finally, he moved the other black bishop representing Lucius Malfoy and some of the remaining black pawns away from the black formation and turned their colour to grey to symbolise their supposed defection. What remained of the black pieces were one queen and but a handful of pawns.

And of course, the black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 47: The Initiative

Dumbledore rapped his fingernails against the desk in his office, looking grave.

“Tom, I cannot approve of what you did tonight,” he said. “Leading seven students, four of whom are underage, into mortal danger is not acceptable from a Hogwarts teacher.”

“Harry thought Remus was in danger and didn’t want to leave him –”

“You know perfectly well that Harry’s vision was fabricated,” Dumbledore said sternly. “It was exactly because of such visions that I tasked you with teaching him Occlumency.”

“We prepared for the mission very carefully. Our precautions included protective vests, protective charms, protective and healing potions, invisibility and vastly more people than the Death Eaters expected. While the mission was, admittedly, still dangerous, I wouldn’t say it was more dangerous than, say, sending first-year students into the Forbidden Forest at night to find something that can kill a unicorn with only Hagrid to watch over them. Or keeping the school open after the Chamber of Secrets was reopened. Or having Dementors and dragons guard the school.”

Dumbledore was not amused by this veiled critique of his decisions on school management.

“Besides, it turned out great!” Tom continued before the Headmaster could retort. “None of us was hurt – I mean those of us who went there first, Sturgis didn’t accompany me. Nine Death Eaters were killed –” which was actually not true, but he had decided to count Bellatrix as well as if he did not know the truth about her fate, because he deserved the credit for killing her “– and six more renounced Voldemort, seven if we count also Robert Jugson junior. Once these defectors have changed the protective enchantments of their manors to keep Voldemort and the remaining Death Eaters away, they will give an interview to the Daily Prophet and tell about Voldemort’s return. The Order of the Phoenix leapt forwards tonight much more than during the entire past year!”

“That may be true, but we cannot be sure that taking such risks will pay off so spectacularly,” Dumbledore insisted. “Rushing into battle cannot be our strategy, or our luck will run out very quickly.”

“Well, if you think you must discipline me for endangering students, let me remind you of the condition on which I agreed to teach Potions: once the Death Eaters start some new activity, I will focus on the war, not teaching. Since it happened today, I am no longer a teacher of Hogwarts, and therefore you cannot fire me. However, I think you should know that I didn’t manage to grade all students; there’s a pile of paperwork on my former desk waiting to be finished.”

Dumbledore rubbed his forehead wearily and said,

“I will see to that. We will discuss the war further tomorrow once we have seen how the Daily Prophet will inform the wizarding community about the incident. Good night to you, Tom, I will have a word with Harry, and then I must try to contact Alastor and ask what madness came over him.”

Tom left Dumbledore’s office. Once he stepped out of the revolving staircase, he sent Harry, who had been waiting in the corridor for his turn, upstairs.

When going down the marble staircase, Tom met Draco who was listening to Flint, Derrick and Bole telling about the adventure at the Ministry. As Tom came closer, Draco turned to face him.

“So, it is true, then?” he said morosely. “The House of Lestrange has ended?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

“There are not many pure-blood families left,” Draco said.

“But the bloodlines still endure,” Tom reminded him. “Your paternal grandmother was born Lestrange, your maternal grandmother Rosier and your maternal grandfather Black – all families that are either extinct or, in the case of Black, will soon be. I suggest you sire at least four sons. One will continue the line of Malfoy, and the three others will revive the lines of Lestrange, Rosier and Black. All their wealth and prestige will be yours, and you will be the most powerful patriarch Britain has ever seen.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, and Tom did not need to use Legilimency on him to know that he was already planning what he would do with the power of so many prestigious families.

“Return home and be ready for the next offensive tomorrow,” Tom said to Flint, Derrick and Bole. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom.”

They nodded, and everyone went on, Draco to the Slytherin common rooms, Tom’s servants to Umbridge’s office (which they still used for Floo) and Tom to the second floor.

The bathroom Tom headed to was the one haunted by Moaning Myrtle. Rookwood’s taunts had caused a sense of urgency in him about the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle, and now that Umbridge was dead, Voldemort’s curse could be removed and Salazar’s design returned to its original purpose. If Rookwood was correct and Voldemort was the prophesied Dark Lord, Tom might need the power Salazar had stored for the final attack on Voldemort.

 

---

 

The next morning, Tom paced impatiently outside the rural house that was his official home, waiting for an owl to arrive with the Daily Prophet. It took longer than usual, because Lucius, Archibald and Robert had given their interview at such a late hour that the printing of the newspapers had been delayed. Finally, Tom saw a speck approaching in the horizon and Summoned the newspaper, eager to read all that he had ordered the defectors to tell the reporter.

PURE-BLOOD PATRIARCHS SPEAK OUT:
HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED HAS RETURNED

Three patriarchs of some of Britain’s most renowned families gave a surprise interview to the Daily Prophet on Thursday evening. Lucius Malfoy, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson unexpectedly contradicted Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge’s assurance that there was “no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumours that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more.”

These rumours were started a year ago by Albus Dumbledore at the ending ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament. Before the announcement of Messrs Malfoy, Nott and Jugson, few people of credibility have expressed their belief in the rumours.

“New information has come to our attention,” says Mr Malfoy. “The Dark wizard who calls himself ‘Lord Voldemort’ used the Imperius Curse to force us to his service during the war. Now, with his return, he contacted us in his hubris and believed that we are truly willing members of his sorry criminal organisation called the ‘Death Eaters.’ This evening, he ordered us to attack the Ministry of Magic, but we, obviously, refused to rebel against our rightful government.”

The Daily Prophet saw evidence of numerous bodies of Death Eaters killed in battle being removed from the Ministry. Mr Malfoy confirms that among the attackers were several of those who had escaped from Azkaban in January: Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Quentin Travers and Richard Mulciber. Equally concerning is that among the attackers were also Walden Macnair and Simon Avery, officials of the Ministry.

The Daily Prophet is first to share previously unknown personal information on the Dark Lord.

“I have no doubt that behind the name ‘Lord Voldemort’ is a person called Tom Riddle, who attended Hogwarts at the same time as I did,” says Mr Nott. “His surname is not that of any known wizarding family. It seems obvious that his chosen name is meant to hide the fact that he is a half-blood at best. While he was a smarter student than most, his family background lacks the prestige Britain rightly expects from the members of society in important positions. That, I think, is the very reason he became a criminal.”

Messrs Malfoy, Nott and Jugson are planning new political activity for Britain.

“For the past few years, we, former members of the Hogwarts House of Slytherin, have had the honour of acquainting ourselves with a certain Tom Valedro,” says Mr Malfoy. “Despite his young age, he is a very powerful wizard, and we trust him to become the great leader Britain has needed for generations.”

Tom Valedro, one of the joint winners of the Triwizard Tournament, is currently the Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Head of House Slytherin.

The Daily Prophet will report about the Ministry’s reaction to the attack on its premises tomorrow.

The full interview of Messrs Malfoy, Nott and Jugson on pages 2 and 3.

One media-assisted assault, and Voldemort’s credibility among pure-bloods was ruined. In the full interview there were more details, such as Voldemort’s Muggle upbringing and his arrival at Hogwarts wearing ragged second-hand robes. Sharing these shameful facts about his origins had not been very pleasant to Tom, but a weapon was a weapon. Now he would just have to gather together all who heeded Lucius’s opinion about his suitability as a great leader.

He contacted Flint and told him to gather all Slytherin alumni who had participated in the meetings he had arranged irregularly since the summer of 1994. But before he could meet them, there were important things for him to do at Hogwarts first.

The study group was eager to hear what had happened after Tom had taken some of the best fighters and left the Room of Requirement with Umbridge at wandpoint, but first he went to the Headmaster’s office again.

Dumbledore was reading the Daily Prophet when Tom entered, and as he sat down, Dumbledore said,

“Well, this interview certainly ensures that Lucius Malfoy, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson can no longer be Death Eaters. How did you accomplish this?”

“It was my task as an Order member to undermine Voldemort’s recruitment,” Tom said. “I did more, as you can see, and wrecked his already existing organisation. Lucius was not happy with Voldemort calling him a coward for saving his own neck in 1981, and it was not difficult to offer him a better deal. As you said a year ago, I’m the most Slytherin student ever to pass the halls of Hogwarts. Lucius has noticed it too.”

“Then I must thank you for being so very successful,” Dumbledore said, his voice strangely dispassionate. “Alas, our side suffered the loss of a trusted ally as well. I have not been able to contact Alastor at all!”

“Oh yes, that intrigued me as well,” Tom said. “I’ve now pondered the mystery of Moody’s sudden murderous behaviour overnight, and once I approached the issue with the hypothesis that he is on Voldemort’s side, many things suddenly started to make frighteningly much sense.”

“You cannot be serious,” Dumbledore said. “Alastor is one of the greatest Aurors in history. He fought in both of Grindelwald’s Wars and did more than the rest of the Ministry combined during Voldemort’s First War. The only reason he does not have an Order of Merlin, First Class is that he thought the medal was an animated object with a hidden poison stinger and obliterated it.” The memory was enough to make him flinch.

“If five years ago someone had said to you that Moody would retire, you would’ve dismissed the idea as unthinkable, wouldn’t you?” Tom argued. “Clearly fighting against the Dart Arts lost its appeal to him at some point. What if he then decided to find out how great a Dark wizard he himself could become with all he had learned from his enemies? Stranger things have happened when brilliant people go senile.”

“Go ahead and try to convince me. I do not think you can, but perhaps your arguments can help me see something from a new angle. This is the method I have used with Alastor many times to shed some light on strange matters at hand.”

“Let’s start with the Triwizard Tournament. We first suspected that the one who put Harry’s name into the Goblet of Fire was Sirius Black, but we have no evidence about him ever having had anything to do with Voldemort, and Remus thinks he might in fact be innocent, a scapegoat for Pettigrew’s betrayal. I also suspected Snape, but you were convinced he was on our side. Karkaroff has truly abandoned Voldemort, his participation yesterday proves it. However, Moody was in a perfect position to manipulate the events. He was in charge of security, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was,” Dumbledore admitted, looking very troubled. “Now that I think about it, he insisted on doing all the arrangements for the third task, including placing the Triwizard Cup in the maze.”

“And afterwards, when you tried to convince Fudge about Voldemort’s return, it was Moody’s cutthroat demands and explicit insults that made Fudge so obstinate. Moody couldn’t have caused a wider rift between you and the Ministry even if he had tried to, so maybe he actually did try.”

“I should have noticed that his demands were uncharacteristic for him,” Dumbledore muttered, rubbing his forehead again. “Alastor is rough on the surface, but he has a kind and noble heart. Or at least he once had.”

“When he taught me Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was always most pleased with me,” Tom said. “Every once in a while, he told me how I would become a great fighter. However, from the moment I asked to be accepted into the Order, he was against it, as if he wanted me to join Voldemort instead. After you tasked me with recruiting Slytherins into a conspiracy rivalling the Death Eaters, he didn’t like it. And I wasn’t the only one he was against. Arthur has been trying to recruit some Aurors for months, but Moody always claimed that they’re too loyal to the Ministry. As a result, the Order has fewer capable fighters than it could have. He’s the only Auror in the Order, which is insane!”

“And I always thought he was just concerned about people like Pettigrew,” Dumbledore sighed.

“And who could the extremely capable and elusive Death Eater spy in the Order be if Snape was out of the question? Just like during the tournament, the one tasked with solving the issue was the one responsible for it.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Dumbledore groaned.

“Surely you remember what Moody suggested as an alternative to Harry being taught Occlumency? He considered it better that Harry would be defenceless and susceptible to Voldemort.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Dumbledore said, looking sorrowfully down to his lap.

“What do you think about yesterday’s events? It seems too much to be a mere coincidence that Moody happened to schedule a status update meeting for the very evening Voldemort sent his false vision to Harry, and even more suspicious is that the meeting took place behind protective enchantments that prevent communication. In fact, now that I think about it, every single vision that Harry saw about the Department of Mysteries happened while every member of the Order was supposed to be out of contact behind Moody’s protections. If anyone, Moody would see the obvious hazard in such enchantments, but he created them regardless. Then, after you learned that the guard at the door to the Department of Mysteries had been attacked, you rushed there, and Moody attacked you from behind. Clearly he hoped that there would’ve still been more than a dozen Death Eaters fighting you alongside him, but once he learned that it was not so, he fled.”

“Alastor always said that I only see the good in people,” Dumbledore said. “We combined our ways of thinking – when he saw the bad in people, I did not need to even try! Now, with you pointing out these undeniable observations and the logical conclusion based on them, I see Alastor used my weakness against me! A betrayal like this hurts more than you can imagine, Tom.”

That’s the price of trusting people, Tom thought. I hope, for both our sakes, that you will never learn the truth about me!

“This is a most woeful turn of events,” Dumbledore said. “I hope Alastor is only exploring the horrendous idea of himself as a Dark wizard… a twisted experimental test rather than a genuine darkening of his poor soul. One day we will take him alive and give him the chance to explain himself.”

“One day?” Tom questioned. “How about today?”

“We fought a battle just yesterday,” Dumbledore said. “A victorious one, too! This is the moment for a celebration, not for brooding over such dire thoughts as new dangers to face.”

“No, no, no!” Tom cried, his temper rising. “That’s the exact opposite of what we should do! We will save our celebration for Voldemort’s defeat! Don’t you see? After yesterday’s events, his plans and forces are in total disarray! We must strike now with all we’ve got and not rest until he is defeated! I would’ve wanted to proceed into a counter-attack right after we left the Department of Mysteries, but Lucius Malfoy pointed out that the enchantments of his manor must be changed as quickly as possible.”

Dumbledore seemed to have totally forgotten his sorrow at Moody’s betrayal. Once again, he had the obnoxious smile on his face – patient, benign and condescending.

“You are so young, Tom,” he said pleasantly. “I cannot blame you; one must be young before one can become old and accumulate enough wisdom to know what to do in a situation like this. As I told you yesterday, our strategy cannot be to rush into battle. Lives are at stake, Tom! We must plan all our steps carefully in order to minimise losses.”

Tom could not believe what he was hearing. There was a slight hope that Dumbledore had not understood the key point, so Tom tried to reason further.

“Headmaster,” he said, trying to mimic the patience the Dumbledore was speaking with, “you are experienced as a military commander, so surely you understand the situation! Whatever Voldemort’s plans are, they involved around two dozen Death Eaters. He lost over half of them yesterday. Once he gets today’s Daily Prophet into his hands, he will know that Malfoy, Nott and Jugson have renounced him. These defectors don’t know where his headquarters is, but they know the locations of many of his hideouts, such as Lestrange Manor and the houses of Macnair and Avery. They know something about his plans, they know where Fenrir Greyback’s werewolves are hiding, where the giants are camping and so on. However, this intelligence expires very quickly! If we wait for one day, Voldemort will relocate his hideouts and his followers. The best way to minimise our losses is to attack now and keep pushing, never letting him catch his breath! The war is soon over if we just seize the moment!”

The infuriating smile did not waver one bit. Dumbledore had welcomed reasonable arguments when they had been discussing Moody, but suddenly he had changed. Now, on the opposite side of the desk from Tom was a haughty old wizard who was so sure of himself that he did not need to heed anyone else’s ideas but his own.

“Tom, I have not spent a year to carefully plan a strategy for the Order…” he began.

“A strategy you planned with Moody!” Tom exclaimed. “Moody, the very person who leaked all information to Voldemort! Using a strategy an enemy agent planned so that it fits the strategy of the enemy is beyond insane!”

“Let me finish,” Dumbledore said, still as patient. “Of course we will change our strategy – but we will have one. You are speaking about throwing it all away and just keeping going, trusting your hunch.”

“But,” Tom said, having small difficulties to speak, “but… if we stop to plan a new strategy, we will lose our initiative! Malfoy’s intelligence won’t be of any use if we don’t act on it right away!”

“In a war,” Dumbledore said, “you have to learn to choose the best of bad options.”

There was a brief, tense silence.

“So, the Order will stop to plan,” Tom said and stoop up, and Dumbledore nodded. “We will waste the initiative. Could you please tell me even one reason why you should be sitting comfortably here instead of doing something to defeat Voldemort?”

“Just one?” Dumbledore said, looking as if he was fighting against a sneer worthy of Snape. “Well, all of a sudden I got an awful lot of Potions related paperwork to busy myself with.” He pointed at the pile of papers on his desk that Tom had left behind the previous day.

Have fun, Tom thought as he stomped out of the Headmaster’s office. While you’re at it, I will defeat Voldemort!

He was furious. Dumbledore downright refused to listen to reason. He was nonsensical! He was a strategically inept old fool! He was…

No, on second thought, Tom could not believe that the most powerful wizard in the world was as stupid as he seemed to be. The reactive strategy had been Dumble­dore’s modus operandi during the two previous wars too. It had to serve some unknown plan of his. He just did not want anyone to know about it, that was why he had uttered all kinds of excuses. The change from someone who had asked Tom’s opinion concerning Moody’s behaviour to someone whose opinions would not budge was too abrupt. Dumbledore had just been acting the part of an idiot, because his true plan required Voldemort to remain undefeated for some time. What plan could possibly require that was far beyond Tom’s comprehension, but his inability to fathom Dumbledore’s reasons did not mean there were none.

There was one thing Tom was certain about. Whatever Dumbledore’s reason was, it was so sinister that there would come a certain moment in the future after Voldemort’s defeat. Then Tom would look wistfully back to the relatively carefree days when putting an end to his twisted brother had been his worst trouble.

 

---

 

The Room of Requirement was already full when Tom entered. Students of all Houses had gathered there, and over the course of months, cooperation in battle simulations had created a strong team spirit among them, stronger than any House rivalries they had felt earlier. And they had learned to consider Tom their leader. It was time to reap the harvest of this hard work.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George and Cedric were standing next to the teacher’s podium that Tom used when speaking to everyone. Tom had not had the time to ask what they had thought about the battle of the previous evening, but he hoped they still had appetite for some more of adventures like it. Remus was also present for some reason; Tom would have preferred that no members of the Order would be hearing what he wanted to say, but he did not change the plan.

Tom enlarged his copy of the Daily Prophet and sent it hovering in midair.

“Lord Voldemort has truly returned,” he said. “There are not many people in this Room whose families did lose someone when the monster was active last time. Yesterday he sent his followers to attack the Ministry of Magic, but thanks to Messrs Malfoy, Nott and Jugson, the attack failed, and many Death Eaters were killed. I would be modest not to mention that some credit goes to me, too.”

A few people clapped, but most were too stunned by the news.

“You have experienced yourselves how one must act in a situation like this,” Tom continued. “When your opposing army suffers a great loss and retreats, you must not stop to tend to your wounded comrades, but to press on. You know very well the term initiative. Yesterday, we gained it in our true fight. However, Headmaster Dumbledore thinks we should celebrate our success and enjoy the end of the school year.”

Many voices cried out in anger.

“We will not stop and waste our initiative!” Tom yelled in his loudest and most thunderous voice. “We will not wait for Lord Voldemort to prepare his counter-attack and to come hunting after us like he hunted many of your parents! We will press on and make him the prey!”

Hundreds of roars replied in agreement. Tom saw an eager fire burning in Harry’s eyes, he saw Ginny’s vengeful grimace, he saw Neville Longbottom’s determined frown… the righteous anger and fervour spread and engrossed even many of those who had no personal reasons to hate Voldemort. Tom knew it might not last for long, and therefore it was necessary to make them do something irrevocable as soon as possible in order to make them personally invested in the fight. Then there would be no turning back.

“Move out!” Tom cried. “Remember logistics! Those with Apparition license will group with those without, and once we’re out of the grounds, we will depart! London awaits!”

The throng of students began to move. Tom hurried out of the Room first, followed closely by Harry and Remus.

“Tom, what are you doing?” Remus asked, distressed.

“What must be done,” Tom said without looking at Remus. “Dumbledore has betrayed my trust for the last time. Do you remember Pettigrew’s words? ‘Sometimes I wondered if he wanted more people to die.’ I do not want more people to die. This is for the Greater Good.”

“You’re using child soldiers,” Remus said.

“What does it tell about this nation that only children are willing to put an end to a monster like Voldemort?” Tom snapped. “They are in danger in any case. However, if you’re concerned about their well-being, feel free to come along.”

Remus was silent for a moment, and Tom knew without looking that his mouth was gaping open.

“All right, I’ll come,” he said quite feebly. “However, what I came here for was taking Harry for a little excursion. Dumbledore approved of it. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“I don’t care if Dumbledore approved of it or not,” Tom said. “Do whatever you like as long as Harry will be in Diagon Alley in two hours. That’s when we meet with Lucius and start exploiting his inside information.”

“I will be there, Tom,” Harry said.

With that settled, they continued their march down the marble staircase and out of the oaken doors.

Tom was sure Hogwarts had never before seen hundreds of students just leaving without permission. While walking across the grounds, he made quick estimates of the group he was leading. Even though some had already had second thoughts and lagged behind, almost every seventh-year student was still following, as was a clear majority of the sixth-year students, around a half of the fifth-year students and far too many younger ones. Tom would, obviously, be only accepting the three oldest age groups with him, because the younger ones would just be in the way. Some of the most promising of fourth-year students like Ginny would be of actual use, most of them in support roles and as messengers and lookouts. But it was nice to be escorted to war by a huge crowd of enthusiastic children. It was a remarkable boost of morale, and their presence surely prevented some of the more doubtful older students from chickening out.

Members of the Hogwarts staff were staring in disbelief as Tom lead the older students out of the grounds. He hoped Dumbledore was watching as he turned to look back at the castle, standing between the two statues of winged boars. He gave a sardonic wave, barked orders to the students with Apparition license, grabbed the arms of Ginny and Ron and Disapparated.

 

---

 

Crouch Manor was located in Stirlingshire, Scotland. It had once been one of the most important places of the British magical high society. Voldemort’s First War had put an end to the gatherings of influential people, but they had not resumed after the war’s end. Due to the misfortune that had struck the House of Crouch, the manor had become a gloomy and silent place – and then Lord Voldemort had made it his secret headquarters.

The Dark Lord was sitting at a huge table, staring in dismay and rising fury at the Daily Prophet. The first year after his reincarnation had not gone as planned. After all the hard work of rebuilding his power base, he currently had fewer followers than at the beginning.

Bellatrix had wandered away and was undoubtedly dead. Snape had disappeared from both him and the Order of the Phoenix and was most likely starting a new life on an uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean. Malfoy, Jugson, Crabbe, Goyle and the Notts had defected. The Lestrange brothers, Avery, Dolohov, Macnair, Travers, Mulciber and Rookwood were killed. That only left Bartemius Crouch junior, the Carrow siblings, Gibbon, Pettigrew, Rowle, Selwyn and Yaxley – only one of them among the elite of the Death Eaters.

The Ministry would be sending the Aurors after him. The Order would strike soon as well, and there would be no more inside information about its plans. Most of his financial support was gone. Creating an army of criminals and Dark creatures would become much more difficult. His conquest of Britain was failing quickly. And he still did not know the contents of the prophecy.

Luckily, he had one remarkable ace up in his sleeve.

“Come,” he commanded, and a figure like an Inferius shambled to him. “It’s good that Britain is in need of a rough-handed Minister for Magic. When you’re in charge, the one to lead the warfare against me will be – me.”

The Imperiused Bartemius Crouch senior nodded absently.

 

---

 

The graveyard of Godric’s Hollow was a beautiful, peaceful place, far from the horrors of the war. Large oaks, maples and elms created a vast canopy that left the headstones in shadow even on sunny summer days like the one when Harry and Remus walked along the paths in silence. It felt good for Harry to visit the grave of his parents the day after learning about the prophecy that had determined his destiny as the only one who could defeat Lord Voldemort.

He studied the graves as he slowly walked past them. Muggles and wizards shared the graveyard as some kind of a reminder that they were all equal before death. Wizards had a longer lifespan than Muggles, but eventually they too succumbed to their mortality, even Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel… but not Voldemort.

They stopped for a moment before the grave of Kendra Dumbledore and her daughter Ariana. There was a fresh bunch of white roses placed in front of it; neither Transfigured nor magically preserved. Dumbledore was clearly visiting often and taking good care of the grave of his mother and sister.

Not far away was a newer marble headstone that marked the last resting place of James and Lily Potter. Harry approached it very slowly and silently, eyes on the names of his parents, not heeding the large black dog lounging on the grass next to the headstone. He placed the flowers he had brought with him in front of the headstone just like Dumbledore had placed roses on the grave of his family, and hoped he could have done so many times before.

The black dog got up and came closer, wagging its tail merrily. Remus scratched it behind the ears, but did not disturb Harry by speaking.

Eventually, Harry focused his attention on the strange words engraved on the headstone.

“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,” he said. “What is that? Who put it in there?”

“I did,” Remus said. “After Lily and James died and Sirius was sent to Azkaban, I was the closest one to them remaining. That’s why I arranged their funeral and this headstone. I assume that’s some kind of a family motto, because it’s engraved on the headstone of your grandparents too, and of their parents.”

“A Potter family motto,” Harry said quietly. “Somehow I feel like I should’ve known it before now. How long do you think it’s been passed down from generation to generation?”

“I did some research about it,” Remus said. “It seems the motto has been adopted from the family of Peverell when their last daughter married one of your Potter ancestors and the name Peverell went extinct. There are some Peverells buried here, and the oldest headstone with that motto is of one Ignotus Peverell, your very distant ancestor who lived before even Hogwarts was founded.”

“Did my dad ever tell you anything about the motto?” Harry asked.

“Once he jokingly talked about some kind of a quest passed down in the family. I didn’t think about it much before I did my investigation about the motto, but then I remembered what he had said.”

“A family quest to destroy death?” Harry mumbled. “That sounds a bit like Death Eater to me.”

“Voldemort wants to be immortal himself,” Remus said, “but he doesn’t value the life of anyone else. Perhaps you could think about the motto like this: Voldemort is the bringer of death to many innocent people, and you must destroy him in order to save the innocents.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Harry said. The prophecy had said that neither could live while the other survived…

“I have visited this place regularly for many years,” Remus said. “Every time I’m filled with sorrow as I remember the great change that happened. Even despite the war, it was a happy time for me… to be a friend of such wonderful people as your parents, Harry. Our little community was very welcoming towards me, and I was probably the happiest werewolf in the world. Then everything was lost…”

The large black dog whined miserably.

“I had been friends with Peter for a decade,” Remus continued. “Your parents trusted him to be their Secret Keeper, but he betrayed them.”

The black dog growled, and Harry looked at it in confusion.

“Pettigrew?” he asked. “I thought –”

“No, Harry,” Remus said. “It is time you learned the truth about what happened then… and the time you truly met your godfather.”

The black dog turned into a man.

Chapter 48: Operation Pesticide

Diagon Alley became very crowded when Tom led his former study group, current army, there to be ready for their first offensive. Each member was wearing a bullet-proof vest, and many also had extra protection given by pieces of the Basilisk skin that Tom had completely used up.

Karkaroff stood next to him, as did Flint. Cedric and most of Tom’s other study group lieutenants were also present, as well as Ethan Jugson who had come at Tom’s request, bringing with him many Slytherins who had graduated from Hogwarts within a few years, six of whom had Muggle military training. Once everyone would have arrived, Tom would have gathered a force of a little more than three hundred. Voldemort had put almost the entire Britain on her knees with a much smaller group whose members had been only slightly more experienced in combat situations. Now he had almost nothing, but Tom also had the element of surprise on his side for a while.

Lucius, Archibald and Robert had not yet arrived, and as Tom waited, he heard the sound of an Apparition from the nearest Apparition Point. He turned to look, ready for a fight, but the newcomers were Harry, Remus and a tall, black-haired man.

“Here we are,” Remus said, not sounding very enthusiastic.

“Good. You might not be the only Order member to seize this opportunity to take the fight to Voldemort. I sent Fred and George to inform Arthur and Bill. I wouldn’t mind it at all if the Order split.”

“I have brought some help as well,” Remus said and gestured the black-haired man to come forward. “You remember when I told you about my trying to find out the truth about Sirius Black? Well – it turned out I was right. He’s innocent, it was Peter who betrayed James and Lily…”

“This is Sirius Black?” Tom asked, studying the unknown man.

“He’s on our side, Tom,” Harry said firmly. “And he’s my godfather.”

“Remus has told me about you, Valedro,” Black said. “I’ve got to say, I’m impressed with what you’re doing right now.”

“You’re not one of those who blindly follow Dumbledore, I take it?”

Black gave a short, bark-like laughter.

“After he wasn’t interested at all about my case? Nope!”

“Well, I hope you’re not upset that we will be cooperating with a few former Death Eaters,” Tom said. “Here they come.”

Lucius, Archibald and the other defectors were striding hastily towards him from the direction of Gringotts. Remus watched their approach with great trepidation, his hand close to the pocket where he kept his wand.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he whispered.

“Their involvement is imperative for our success. It is for the Greater Good.”

“Could you please stop saying that? It was –”

“I know it was Grindelwald’s motto, but he was never truly for the Greater Good. I am, and I refuse to stop doing what is right just because someone might get upset by historical associations.”

Lucius eyed the people around Tom with a hint of contempt in the corner of his mouth.

“Mr Valedro, I strongly suggest we begin at once,” he said. “Tom Riddle is no doubt already preparing to creating protective enchantments around his hideouts. We do not have much time.”

“That’s why we will split our forces and attack simultaneously as many of his hideouts as possible,” Tom said. “You will accompany me on an attack on Lestrange Manor. Archibald Nott will lead an attack on Walden Macnair’s house in Upper Flagley and Charles Nott on Simon Avery’s house near Hogsmeade. Which other hideouts should be targeted?”

“Alecto and Amycus Carrow offered their house in Kent for the use of Riddle,” Lucius said. “Thorfinn Rowle’s house in Norfolk got new protections after the Azkaban breakout, but I am not sure what it was planned for. Mulciber’s house was discovered by the Ministry after the war, but his secondary residence in Anglesey remains a Death Eater hideout. Death Eaters who have been given the Dark Mark after Riddle’s return are Stephen Gibbon, Corban Yaxley and John Selwyn. Gibbon and Yaxley live in Knockturn Alley, Selwyn in Tinworth, Cornwall.”

“Robert Jugson senior will lead our attack on the Carrow house,” Tom decided, “and junior on Rowle’s house. Crabbe will take a group led by Karkaroff to Mulciber’s secondary residence and Goyle a group led by Flint to Selwyn’s house. As for Knockturn Alley…”

“Gibbon and Yaxley are housing many new recruits,” Robert Jugson junior said. “I’ve already contacted those of them that I know personally and told them to get the heck out of there. However, the fight will be fierce.”

“Yeah,” said Black. “I’ve become very familiar with the criminal underworld of wizarding Britain, and as of late, I’ve noticed many fishy blokes assembling regularly in Knockturn Alley.”

“And our forces will be stretched thin if we carry out so many simultaneous attacks,” Tom said thoughtfully. “And not everyone will be participating in the attacks, because we also need some people capable of Apparition to operate the supply line; everyone will want to eat within a few hours. Very well, we will deal with Knockturn Alley later. Once you’ve cleared your targets, head for the rendezvous point.”

“There is also Fenrir Greyback’s ‘pack’ of werewolves,” Remus reminded him. “They are hiding in the Welsh mountains.”

“And they are ready to attack if the order comes,” Archibald added. “We should not underestimate them; many of them are fully trained wizards and can Apparate, for instance. Then there are also the giants who have been coming from the Caucasus Mountains, but I am not as concerned about them. They cannot mobilise so fast.”

“I will send an invisible flying patrol to keep an eye on the werewolves,” Tom said. “That way we will know at once if they move out. They are of greater threat than the criminals in Knockturn Alley and will be dealt with first. Still, also Knockturn Alley must be watched just in case.”

“Give the orders and let us move,” Lucius said impatiently. “There are people watching us, and it is entirely possible that Riddle might learn of our meeting from one of them and launch a surprise attack on us at any moment.”

There was much truth in his words, so Tom used the Voice Amplifying Charm on himself and gave the orders to his little army.

“Show no hesitation!” he ended the briefing. “If they fight back, you must curse them down – no quarter.”

The troops replied in affirmation and quickly began to Disapparate from the alley, grasping the arms of the former Death Eaters to be guided to their destinations. Tom turned to face his group and found himself face to face with a concerned Hermione.

“Tom,” she said with a slightly wavering voice, “I joined your campaign in order to stop Voldemort and the genocide he wants. I do not want participate in anything that uses similar methods!”

“Our campaign is not genocide,” Tom said, “more like – pesticide. Everyone who still stands with Voldemort has chosen his fate. Rest assured, we will give them one opportunity to surrender. If they won’t, they will have chosen death – suicide in which we will only be the weapon.”

Hermione did not seem completely convinced, but she did not argue anymore, and the group began assembling around Lucius.

 

---

 

Lestrange Manor was located in a remote place near the windy west coast of Ireland. There was a wide park around it with huge ancient trees blocking the view from the outside even from those who were able find the place. It seemed the park had not been maintained at all after Edmond Lestrange’s death in 1979, and the formerly neat lawns had become a dense jungle of saplings taller than a man. Fortunately, every member of Tom’s army was equipped with a broomstick, and they flew over the impenetrable vegetation.

“We are inside the protective enchantments!” Lucius said as he flew as the spearhead of the attack. “And look! Riddle has already sent people here to change them! Quick, if they are able finish what they are doing, we will be repelled from here very violently.”

There was a small group of wizards standing near the gloomy, dilapidated manor in the middle of the park. They were all gesturing in a hurry, carefully coordinating the movements of their wands, as if conducting an invisible orchestra. Tom recognised it as powerful enchanting at once. Luckily, Voldemort was not there, the most important one of the hideouts known to Lucius, which meant he was probably in his secret headquarters, giving Tom’s army almost free rein for the moment.

“They are not all Death Eaters,” Lucius said, peering through the foliage of an oak. “The man in charge is Thorfinn Rowle, but the rest are mercenaries of some sort, sympathisers mainly from the continent.”

“Are there any other Death Eaters stationed here?” Tom asked.

“Only Wormtail,” Lucius said.

“Finally!” Sirius Black growled from behind Tom.

With one swift wave, the group of twenty-three fighters flew over the trees nearest to the manor. Their first volley of Stunning Charms felled four of the mercenaries before they could react, but then Rowle was already bellowing orders, and the fight began. There were still five mercenaries remaining, and they backed towards the entrance of the manor and fired curses.

Tom had arranged his forces so that the best casters of offensive spells were at the front, followed closely by those more proficient in defensive spells. This way Shield Charms could be produced without needing to halt the attack, and with them outnumbering the enemy so severely, they had the upper hand.

“Jam their logistics and communications!” Tom ordered, and a few of his Charms experts began to place Anti-Apparition, Anti-Portkey and Anti-Floo Area Jinxes around the manor the as well as the runes that created the enchantment that Moody had used at his place to prevent the Protean Charm from working.

Eight members of the group, those whom Tom had judged the least capable fighters, remained circling the manor and were ready to stop anyone trying to flee, and the rest followed Tom as he soared towards the entrance. Lucius, who knew the layout of the building, was right behind him, and after them came Remus, Black and eleven students, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny among them.

One of the mercenaries had been stationed in the entrance hall. He was shaking with fear but managed to cast some feeble curse at Tom as he flew through the doorway. Several Stunning Charms knocked him over, and Tom tied him with the Incarcerous Spell for good measure.

“We will interrogate him afterwards,” he said. “Prepare for indoors combat.”

“There are three doors here and stairs to the upper floor,” Remus said. “We will have to split up too much to my liking.”

“Just wait,” Tom said and turned into his Animagus form.

There were some things that even the Supersensory Charm and the Infrared Seeing Charm could not accomplish, and one of them was the incredibly keen senses of smell and sight of a snake. As Tom observed the entrance hall, he could see the faintly glowing doorknob that had been used a moment earlier and the smell trail of half a dozen people leading through the door. None of the other doors stood out like that.

He returned into his human form, pointed at the right door and said, “That one.”

“Nice Transformation,” Black said.

“Oh, I think I should thank you for it,” Tom said. “I learned this art from your worm-tailed friend who, I was told, learned it from you.”

They rushed through the door to the next room, a dusty, once-elegant dining hall. There were three more doors, and Tom chose the right one the same way as the first one, and they attacked the family museum behind it. Rowle and the four mercenaries were there, furiously casting curses at the fireplace in an attempt to break the Anti-Floo Jinx.

“Stop!” Tom cried. “I have no quarrel with you foreign –”

His peaceful offer was turned down with five curses blasting against him. He and his troops managed to deflect them all and then began their attack. Tom produced two Whips of Malice and occupied two of the mercenaries. Lucius demonstrated his frightening proficiency in duelling by forcing Rowle back, and Remus and Black attacked the last two mercenaries. As the rest of the group were attentive and cast Shield Charms whenever one of the enemies had an opening, the attackers were winning very quickly.

Rowle realised his disadvantage and fought without caring even about his own health. He had been sentenced to Azkaban because of the many mass murders he had committed during the previous war, and now he unleashed all his bloodlust. Tables, glass cabinets and suits of armour, not to mention a chandelier, were tossed around as projectiles, destroying the heirlooms of the House of Lestrange. The museum became a death-trap, and one of the mercenaries was unlucky enough to be killed by the chaos Rowle caused.

The attackers tried to stop him with a volley of spells, but he barricaded himself behind a large table in a corner, grabbed the last mercenary by the throat and used him as a living shield. Then he just continued his attacks.

“Amplio Gravitas,” Tom said and pointed at the ceiling above Rowle. It groaned loudly and then collapsed. Rowle tried to escape the corner, but as the ceiling fell on him, his neck was left between the edge of the table and the falling rubble, breaking his spine and killing him.

The last mercenary was left whimpering under the debris.

“Disarm and interrogate him,” Tom said to two of the seventh-year students of the group. “Others, spread out and be alert for surprises. I will search the rest of the place.”

“There is a basement,” Lucius said. “The stairs down are in the next room.”

He guided Tom through a dark gallery into a steep stairway. The cold, moist stone walls were so close to one another that it was impossible to descend the stairs without brushing against them. The stairs ended in a dimly lit space with a very low ceiling being held up by pillars. The air smelt of mould and a variety of potions.

Tom advanced slowly with Lucius. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus and Black came down after having checked the rest of the first-floor rooms, and together they were able to find vast storages of potions and ingredients, most of which they could use themselves.

Something rustled close to Tom as he was studying the potions, and he instinctively cast a Stunning Charm, but the cause of disturbance had been just a rat – no, not just a rat, but a rat with a silver foreleg. Grinning, Tom grabbed it and turned towards the others.

“Ron,” he said, “I know I promised you’d get Scabbers back in good health, but it won’t be my fault if his health deteriorates during his reunion with Padfoot, Moony and Prongs’s son.”

“Whatever,” Ron said, and Tom tossed the rat to Black who had a savage expression on his face.

Tom continued with Lucius to the farthest corner of the basement and found massive piles of gold. It seemed Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange had withdrawn most of their savings from Gringotts after Tom had been there with Bellatrix in January. No doubt it had been the wealth of the House of Lestrange that Voldemort had used when recruiting mercenaries from the continent.

“Your mother is the sister of the late Edmond Lestrange, is she not?” Tom asked Lucius. “No, don’t answer that. I witnessed the first steps of her romance with your father, after all. Anyway, she is the legal heiress of the House of Lestrange, and all this gold belongs to her. Why wouldn’t you relocate it someplace where my brother won’t come looking for it?”

“Yes, this gold is rightfully ours,” Lucius said and got to work.

 

---

 

Once everything was done at Lestrange Manor, Tom and his troops attacked the anchor stone of the magical protections of the place and totally dismantled the enchantments. This way, even if Voldemort came back there at some point, it would take a long time for him to turn it into a fortress again, and Tom would be sending someone to check the manor every day.

The surviving mercenaries knew nothing of great importance. Lucius sent them to the cells in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, and then Tom headed the group to the army’s rendezvous point on a random field. There they had a meeting of each strike force after the missions had been completed.

A group of seventh-year students had worked hard to amass enough food for everyone, and most of the fourth-year students whom Tom had taken with him from Hogwarts were helping them. It was not a glamorous job, but a necessary one that no one should look down on.

Every attack on Voldemort’s hideouts had been successful. The army’s casualties were zero; some people had suffered minor injuries, but they had already been healed. Cormac McLaggen’s robes had caught fire, but thanks to the Potion of Salamander’s Essence, he had not been hurt. Avery’s house had been empty, but the rest guarded by criminals and mercenaries. All magical protections had been dismantled, and Voldemort had been forced even further into a corner.

Harry had got his revenge for his parents being betrayed and Sirius Black for his imprisonment, and it was time to give Remus his revenge too. After a very brief break, almost the entire army left for Wales where they, each of them riding a broom, surrounded the forest that Fenrir Greyback had chosen as the campsite of the werewolves he ruled with an iron fist.

Alarmed shouts broke out when the werewolves noticed hundreds of wizards flying above them, but Tom and his team of Charms experts were quick to place the Anti-Apparition, Anti-Portkey and Anti-Floo Area Jinxes around the campsite. Be­fore any spells were fired, Remus cast the Voice Amplifying Charm on himself and addressed his kin.

“Listen to me! I am Remus Lupin, a werewolf like you. I have spoken to many of you about this before and I will do so one more time. Lord Voldemort is not the tiniest bit concerned about your rights and well-being; he just wants to use you to achieve his personal goals. Do not be his pawns; it will do you no good. We give you this opportunity to leave this place peacefully.”

Some of the werewolves started to debate heatedly, but a mighty howl undoubtedly by Fenrir Greyback silenced them. Well, if they respected ruthless power, Tom might make a real impression on them.

“My name is Tom Valedro!” he said, voice amplified. “My forces outnumber yours severely. Make no mistake; I will have no qualms about cutting you down if I have to. If you surrender and bother me no more, I will leave you be. If you choose to fight, you choose to die. I give you five minutes. Those who come out, slowly and hands up, will be free to go. If you bring me Fenrir Greyback’s head, I will reward you and do my best to ensure that the Ministry will no longer consider you monsters.”

A few werewolves, a dozen or so, broke apart from their pack running, then slowed down and stepped through the boundary of the area charms with their hands up. Some apparently decided to attack Greyback, for there were shouts and flashes of light under the foliage, but they were violently cursed by the pack leader.

“Take your positions, quickly!” Greyback snarled.

“Your five minutes just went down to one!” Tom said. “Last chance to live! Do not waste it!”

A couple more werewolves panicked and left the pack but were fired at by Greyback’s loyalists. Tom waited until the time was up and then started the attack, and the army quickly followed suit. Everyone was using the Infrared Seeing Charm, making it easy to spot the werewolves even when they tried to take cover from bushes and branches. Curses were fired up and down, but as the study group had learned, it was very difficult to hit a fast-flying target. The army had every advantage in the fight.

The barrage lasted only for a minute before no more curses were fired up from the ground. Tom descended carefully and landed next to the fire pit at the central clearing of the campsite. Everything was blasted apart, a few tents were on fire and Fenrir Greyback sprawled on the ground, injured and without his wand. Tom tied his hands behind his back and stepped closer, Harry coming along and looking revolted.

“Do you have any plans you’d like to share with us?” Tom asked the werewolf.

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew,” Greyback growled.

“There has to be a reason you have gathered here,” Tom said. “You must’ve received some orders from your master – to be ready to attack.”

“Do you think I fear you more than I fear the Dark Lord?”

“Maybe you should. Look at you now!”

“Ha! I know your lot,” Greyback barked. “You have nothing to threaten me with. I noticed how most of your people used the Stunning Charm instead of anything lethal. You’re weak! The Dark Lord will free me in no time, and then I will continue hunting you.”

“That is exactly why I don’t take prisoners,” I said, smirking. “So long, Fenrir.”

“What are you doing?” Harry interrupted as Tom pointed his wand at Greyback. “You can’t kill him! That goes against everything Dumbledore believes in! We are better than them!”

Greyback chuckled maliciously.

“Dumbledore should have never led any war effort,” Tom said. “This is war, and casualties are unavoidable. Trying to save lives is often counter-productive. Dumbledore’s softness is a weakness that has caused many deaths. We would’ve faced many fewer mercenaries if the Lestranges had been executed at the end of the last war, because then Voldemort wouldn’t have had the funds to hire anyone. Someone may yet die because of it. How many innocent lives are you willing to sacrifice for Greyback?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. When no words came out, Tom turned to face Greyback again. The werewolf’s smirk was gone, and his eyes looked worried.

“Diffindo,” Tom said softly.

The Severing Charm decapitated the werewolf instantly. As blood poured out from the stump of his neck, Tom turned back towards Harry. He stared at Greyback’s corpse, shocked. He needed to see this in order to become someone who could help Tom ridding the world of Voldemort and Dumbledore.

“Let Voldemort come here and find the remains of this pack,” Tom said. “We have at least one more battle to fight today. Knockturn Alley awaits!”

 

---

 

The atmosphere in Diagon Alley had changed drastically after the forenoon meeting. Fewer people were walking down the alley, and some shops were closing ahead of time. The Department of Law Enforcement seemed to be present in large numbers.

“Report,” Tom said to the seventh-year student whom he had tasked with keeping an eye on Knockturn Alley from above.

“Our activities have not gone unnoticed, sir,” the student said and handed Tom the Evening Prophet.

“Outbreak of violent skirmishes,” Tom read aloud as his lieutenants gathered around him in midair. “Minister Fudge expresses his concerns about attacks on civilians.”

“The entire Upper Flagley heard it when we dismantled the protections of Macnair’s house,” Archibald said. “And many villagers witnessed us hunting down the fleeing criminals afterwards.”

“The same happened with us in Tinworth,” Flint said. “The Prophet must’ve had a reporter there.”

“Even though Avery’s house was empty, the protections were strong and breaking them caused quite a noise in the highlands as well,” Charles said.

“And the Ministry knew we would come back here,” Lucius said and pointed towards Gringotts.

A group of Aurors approached on brooms slowly, keeping their distance. They were being led by John Dawlish, one of the Aurors Tom had met when breaking into the Black townhouse two years previously.

“You there!” Dawlish shouted. “The Ministry of Magic has declared wizarding London a Special Enforcement Area. No meetings of more than five people at a time. We also have a huge number of reports of violations of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and it seems obvious to me that the young members of your group are the ones who committed these violations!”

“Stay back,” Tom replied. “We are here to fight the followers of the Dark Lord Voldemort, not you, but if you try to stop us, we will fight back. Besides, you do not have the numbers to arrest but a small portion of us.”

Dawlish clenched his jaw furiously but acquiesced. He flew some distance further back but remained vigilant with the other Aurors.

“Normal procedure of jamming logistics,” Tom said and a few dozen of his troops left to fly above the houses along Knockturn Alley, placing jinxes. Once it was finished, Tom took a position at the end of the alley and used the Voice Amplifying Charm again.

“Residents of Knockturn Alley! This alley is hereby declared a war zone. Come out of your homes, slowly and carefully, and keep your hands up. Those of you who do so are free to leave unharmed. Those of you who stay choose to stand against us. Many people have done so today alone, and they ended up regretting it.”

Again, those not devoted to the cause of the Dark Lord fled in panic. Many witches and wizards came out of the buildings along the alley and approached the army fearfully, among them at least two werewolves who had just been let go in Wales. Some goblins were there doing some black-market trade, but they left without particularly vocal protests. The small hag community of Knockturn Alley came out of their cellars as well, and Tom spotted a vampire hiding from daylight under a large parasol as he left. However, with his magically heightened hearing Tom noticed that in many houses there were still people inside, whispering in agitation. A group of seventh-year students flew invisibly from house to house and marked each one with a number indicating how many people appeared to be inside.

“We have to split our forces again,” Tom said. “Each house will be stormed with superior numbers. Yaxley has a big house; I will lead the attack on it. Some must stay here to keep the Aurors at bay.”

After a few minutes the flow of people and beings stopped, and Tom gave the signal to begin. The army rushed into attack with the movements of experts; in the Room of Requirement, he had created a battlefield that represented an urban environment, and the army had learned from experience how it was best to attack a fortified house. The criminals recruited by Voldemort put up a fight, but as the army threw tear gas grenades and Dungbombs through every window, they quickly ran out into the open and were easy pickings for flying fighters.

But as the army approached Yaxley’s house near the far end of the alley, Tom heard many of the criminals reciting the incantation of the Bubble-Head Charm. There had to be someone competent and resourceful leading them, hopefully another Death Eater.

Curses were fired from the windows of Yaxley’s house. The army fired back, tearing apart most of the façade of the building, and Tom led a group of the most hardened fighters through the door. He, Lucius, Archibald and Karkaroff all had Whips of Malice ready, and as they entered the entrance hall full of enemy combatants, they let loose such a whirlwind of destruction that Tom had never seen anything like it. More army members came in after them, and the enemies were quickly defeated. They were criminals and mercenaries, no Death Eaters to lead them, but some had fled through a door deeper into the building.

“It’s cold in here,” Harry noted.

“They may have some potions simmering,” Tom said. “There are a few that require a cold environment. Let’s stop them before anything foul is unleashed upon us!”

He ran to the door and kicked it open. Horrible, wintry cold draft blew against him, but he ran onward, suddenly seeing very cold colours with the Infrared Seeing Charm. There were many shadowy shapes in there, and he was suddenly concerned about running into a trap. The shapes let out a coarse laughter and started a counter-attack.

“Avada Kedavra!” he yelled, pointing at one of the shapes, but it dodged easily.

Harry was right beside Tom, his face distorted with fury.

“Avada Kedavra!” he yelled as well, felling one of the enemies. “Crucio! Az-reth!”

Fiendfyre erupted in infernal fury, illuminating the dark hall in crimson light. Finally, Tom saw the enemies: they were monsters, looking crueller and filthier than any human being he had ever seen. Some of them were retreating through another door.

“Push forward!” Tom cried. “Kill them all! Avada Kedavra! Crucio!”

He lunged through the door, shattering it with a wordless curse. He made just one glimpse at the room behind it and came to a halt.

It was a huge, rectangular hall with a cavernous ceiling and a round pit at the centre. Stone benches descended in steep steps like an amphitheatre towards a dais at the bottom, and on the dais there was an ancient archway with an endlessly rippling veil. The hall was full of people… and suddenly Tom recognised everyone there.

There was Myrtle, the girl whose ghost haunted the bathroom with the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, glaring at him with deadly hate. Gilderoy Lockhart was there too, toying with the wand Tom thought was in his rear pocket. Next to him stood the Muggle murderer who Tom had used to break the curse of the ring Horcrux. Bellatrix was there, and Snape, and Umbridge, all grinning viciously… Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Quentin Travers… even Thorfinn Rowle and Fenrir Greyback had somehow made it there.

“Avada Kedavra!” Tom snarled and sent the green bolt of the Killing Curse at Greyback, but he did not bother even to dodge: the bolt struck him and had no effect whatsoever.

Someone laughed contemptuously. There were still two more people in the hall, just next to the archway: Augustus Rookwood and someone whom he had forced on his knees.

“How nice of you to join us, Tom,” Rookwood jeered. “You will now witness my plan coming to fruition! Surely you know who this is?”

He forced the prisoner’s head up, and Tom saw the snake-like face of Voldemort.

“Your other self, son of a Squib and a Muggle!” Rookwood cackled. “The Dark Lord born to those without magic, now fulfilling his destiny!”

Before Tom could react, Rookwood raised his hand high. He held aloft a dreadful sacrificial dagger and then plunged it into Voldemort’s heart. Light flashed, ground trembled and the Veil fluttered as though in a hurricane.

Rookwood kept laughing, and Tom watched in horror as a dark shape took form on the other side of the Veil. It stepped through, and once again Tom saw Death in his full otherworldly glory. His red eyes scanned the hall, and as the people Tom thought he had killed dissipated, Death declared in a thunderous yet ethereally musical voice,

“There is no escape. Bow before the God of Death, mortals, for I have come to claim this world!”

“Tom!” Harry’s voice shouted frantically.

Death locked his eyes upon Tom’s.

“You thought you could escape me, Tom Riddle,” he said and strode forwards. “Do you remember our first encounter? Would you like me to make it come true? I wonder how many millennia you can stand looking at the dead world before my realm begins to feel appealing to you.”

“Hold on, Tom!” Harry’s voice echoed again. “Expecto Patronum!”

Bright light flowed into the hall, but Tom stood frozen, just staring at Death as he approached.

“Hopeless!” Death bellowed and took Tom’s arm into his icy grip. “Life is fleeting, death is the fate of all things!”

“It’s just a Dementor!” Harry cried. Finally, Tom managed to turn to look, and he saw Harry running, the bright silver stag galloping beside him. Tom turned to look the other way again, and he saw Death grimacing as his grip tightened around Tom’s arm.

“Your fate is sealed! The end of days is upon you!” Death said, his voice frighteningly hypnotising.

“Expecto Patronum!” Tom tried and waved his wand, but as always, he did not feel anything but endless misery. The only spell to save him from the horrible demons of all negative feelings was beyond him.

The shining stag leapt over Tom and rammed Death with its antlers, and suddenly he could see clearly again: it was not Death that had grasped him, but a black-cloaked monstrosity. Its hood was down and a hellish mouth into nothingness was but inches from his face. Repulsed, he turned away and realised that he was lying on a dirty basement floor. As the Dementor was repelled, warmth flowed into his shaking limbs, and he felt slightly less miserable.

“This is bad!” Remus was saying somewhere in the room. “They are already in league with Dementors! Azkaban is still full of Voldemort’s loyalists even after the Death Eaters escaped in January.”

Harry and Ginny helped Tom on his feet again. All triumph and enthusiasm about the successful initiative had disappeared, but Tom forced himself to play the role of the commander again. Brooding over his vulnerability to Dementors would help nothing.

“Is the alley secured?” he groaned.

“Yes, sir,” Flint said. “We caught Stephen Gibbon. He is unconscious, but we’re ready to interrogate him with Veritaserum. Yaxley fled before we managed to catch him.”

“We faced fifty criminals and mercenaries, and some of them were killed,” Derrick added.

“Why don’t we call it a day?” Remus suggested. “It’s getting late, everyone is tired, and we don’t even know what to do next. We have to find Voldemort’s headquarters before we can start the next attack.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Tom mumbled. “We will have a briefing at seven o’clock tomorrow.”

Before then he would eat a ton of chocolate and try to find motivation again. Rookwood’s taunts continued to ring in his ears, and he was afraid of what Voldemort might do when Tom would get him cornered. Who knew, perhaps Rookwood had given him a secret weapon that would actually make Tom’s vision come true…

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Almost the entire day, he had worked tirelessly to secure a safer future for Britain, as was his responsibility. For example, one sixth-year student had modified the recipe of a potion in a potentially disastrous way, and Dumbledore had taken the time to write a detailed explanation why the modifications were dangerous. This made it less probable that the student would one day hurt someone when brewing a modified potion.

Dumbledore had also been informed of what had happened elsewhere in Britain. Once he heard of the battle of Knockturn Alley, he took a break from grading the Potions papers and went to study the chessboard on a side table. With a twist of the Elder Wand, he moved many of the white pieces to surround the black queen and the remaining black pawns; but the white king stayed where it stood. Then, he changed the colour of these renegade white pieces to grey to symbolise their alliance with the defected Death Eaters led by Lucius Malfoy. After a brief deliberation, Dumbledore Transfigured one of the grey pawns into a knight. Tom Valedro deserved this recognition for his ability to create chaos.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 49: Pre-emptive Retaliation

On Saturday morning, some thirty-six hours after Voldemort’s Second War had begun, Tom presided over a meeting in which the leaders of his army brainstormed on attacking against Voldemort’s headquarters and ending the war. They did not know where the headquarters was, and so they tried to combine all their clues. Tom used his intimate knowledge of how Voldemort thought, Harry contributed by sharing all glimpses he had seen through Voldemort’s mind, the defected Death Eaters shared all the little details they had heard, Remus of what the Order of the Phoenix knew or suspected and Sirius Black shared his vast knowledge of what was happening in the criminal underworld.

They did not get far before Flint burst into the room and declared without preamble,

“Hell’s gonna get loose.”

He tossed the latest issue of the Daily Prophet on the table, and everyone gathered around the paper to read.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC DECLARES WAR
MARTIAL LAW AFFECTS BRITISH INSTITUTIONS
CROUCH REPLACES FUDGE AS MINISTER

Cornelius Fudge resigned from the position of Minister late on Friday evening and was replaced by Bartemius Crouch. The Ministry of Magic held an emergency press conference in the evening, addressing the violent incidents that sparked across Britain on Friday and shedding light on the rumours that have circulated for a year.

“It has become evident that two separate groups of powerful individuals have been plotting to undermine our political system in order to seize power,” says Minister Crouch. “The group that perpetrated yesterday’s incidents is led by Lucius Malfoy, Archibald Nott and Robert Jugson, all patriarchs of rich and influential families. It is clear that they miss the days when the Ministry was merely a façade used by a group of aristocrats to create a semblance of inclusive administration. The Ministry has made it its greatest priority to defeat this sorry rebellion that is based on nostalgia of the privileged.”

Many witnesses have reported that the rebellion uses Harry Potter and Tom Valedro, champions of the Triwizard Tournament, as its pin-up boys. Another concerning observation is that the mass murderer Sirius Black is in league with his fellow aristocratic patriarchs. Britain has not experienced a threat like this in almost fifteen years. Minister Crouch reacted to it with a declaration of war and martial law.

Alastor Moody, recently appointed Head of the Department of Law Enforcement and Head Auror, gave the public more detailed information about the revolutionary activities.

“Through a lengthy reconnaissance mission, I have found out that also Albus Dumbledore is harbouring hopes of seizing power for himself. For a whole year, Dumbledore has been recruiting people to fight alongside him in a paramilitary group called the ‘Order of the Phoenix.’ It is hereby declared a terrorist organisation and all of its members are outlawed.”

The Daily Prophet enquired about the rumours of mass resignations from the Ministry.

“It pains me to tell that Dumbledore had managed to infiltrate his pawns into the Ministry, especially the Department of Law Enforcement,” says Director Moody. “The previous Head of the Department, Amelia Bones, has vanished without a trace, as has Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and we assume they have joined Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Several Aurors have also deserted the Ministry, and they are now considered a national security threat equal to that of Sirius Black. Their names are the following: Rufus Scrimgeour, Gawain Robards, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Pius Thicknesse and Nymphadora Tonks. Other notable officials gone missing include Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; William Bancroft, Head of the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes; and Sophia Whitgift, Head of the Department of Transportation.”

As the Ministry prepares to fight a two-front war against these two insurgent groups, certain institutions have been forced to adapt to the difficult situation.

“The Floo Network is being regulated more than before in order to complicate the logistics of the insurgents,” says Minister Crouch. “Moreover, since the Ministry’s forces will be stretched thin, we will not be able to ensure the security of the Wizengamot. The council is temporarily disbanded, and its authority transferred to a new governmental body.”

This new, smaller council will consist of Bartemius Crouch, Minister for Magic; Alastor Moody, Head of the Department of Law Enforcement; Henry Avery, newly appointed Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Albert Runcorn, Head of the Department of Education; and Corban Yaxley, newly appointed Head of the Department of Accidents and Catastrophes.

The new Head of the Department of Transportation is Harold McGillivray. The new Head of the Department of International Cooperation is Percival Weasley.

“Er… I think we just got a new, huge problem,” Remus said.

“Voldemort took a page from our book,” Tom said. “I guess he didn’t like it when we used the press to discredit him.”

“Can we fight the Ministry too?” Harry asked.

“Not the Ministry,” Lucius snarled. “Corban Yaxley is a Death Eater, and Henry Avery could just as well be one; his brother and nephew were Death Eaters, and he surely wants to avenge their deaths. Albert Runcorn was one of my closest contacts within the Ministry and nominating him into this new council is a clear sign of its political alignment. But Moody…”

“I think he was the spy in the Order who leaked all information to Voldemort,” Tom said. “You weren’t there to see it, but he attacked the Order from behind in the Department of Mysteries – and killed Henry Avery’s nephew, even if it was an accident. But what about Crouch?”

“The Imperius Curse, I imagine,” Lucius said. “He has not been well recently. His resistance to mind control may have weakened enough for a strong mind to be able to dominate his. Whatever the case, I am absolutely certain that Tom Riddle sneaked into the Ministry yesterday when the Aurors were watching us and seized power!”

“Well, there is only one thing we can do right now,” Tom said. “We will overthrow the Ministry – right away, before they are able to prepare for our attack. Before the sun sets today, we will hold the political power in wizarding Britain!”

 

---

 

There was one good thing about Voldemort’s takeover of the Ministry: new people flocked into Tom’s army in large numbers. Most of the sixth and seventh-year students and a few of the fifth-year students who had got cold feet and stayed at Hogwarts had become ashamed (probably thanks to the reprehension of the younger ones), and they had sneaked out of the school and rejoined the army. Dozens of family members of the study group members arrived as well, including Amos Diggory and Augusta Longbottom, who was perhaps the most formidable witch Tom had ever met. Arthur Weasley came in a hurry when the army was assembling, inciting cheers from his children, and he was followed by his two oldest sons, Bill and Charlie. Bill also brought his girlfriend: Fleur Delacour, who smiled warmly at Tom and Harry. Not long afterwards the whole group of Triwizard champions was present as Viktor Krum arrived as well and gave a hug to Hermione.

“Hermione told me vot is happening here,” he explained. “Now I vill haff my revenge on the fiend who dared to use the Imperius Curse on me!”

But of the new arrivals the one who surprised Tom the most was an old wizard with a long beard and bright blue eyes.

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” he grunted his introduction. “I’m not a fan of my brother’s, and I’ve heard that you’ve taken the role that I played for a while. I always told him that we ought to fight and not wait, but he never listened.”

“Interesting,” Tom commented. “Do you know any reasons for his behaviour?”

“I can only guess,” Aberforth said, shrugging. “The only thing I know for sure is that my brother returned changed from his duel with Grindelwald… changed from one of the brightest wizards of all time into a phlegmatic shell of a man. The fight must’ve shaken him to the core. He never told about it to me, and I never asked. We’re not actually close.”

Some of the newcomers told Tom that the Ministry was in a much worse chaos than the Daily Prophet had told, because the massive resignations had continued after the newspaper had been printed, especially after people had read the news. The initiative was getting even better, and Tom addressed the army, now a force of well over four hundred.

“Voldemort has taken over the Ministry,” Tom said. “At the moment, he has his hands full with solidifying his power, but if he is given even a little time, he will turn the Ministry against us with all its might. For a short while we have an advantage, because many Aurors and other officials have deserted the Ministry. Voldemort will surely replace them with mercenaries like those we faced yesterday. That must not be allowed to happen. Prepare for battle! We attack the Ministry in ten minutes!”

“You do realise that Voldemort may be there?” Harry said.

“Unlikely,” Tom disagreed. “He wants his takeover to look like a justified reaction to our offensive, and he also wants to put his return into question again by making people distrust Lucius’s statement in yesterday’s Prophet. If he was seen in public, almost every remaining Ministry official would abandon their positions and join us. No, it’s Moody who’s pulling the strings at the Ministry now. Be prepared for very constant vigilance. No doubt he is expecting us to attack soon, which is why we must be fast if we are to surprise him.”

 

---

 

A couple of the new members of the army worked in the Ministry’s Maintenance Unit, and they knew exactly where the Ministry was located. Following their advice, the army broke into the basement of one of the Muggle buildings above the Ministry complex, went as far down as possible and used a crateful of dynamite to create its own entrance into the Ministry.

One of the walls of the Atrium blew in, and while the Ministry employees were running around in panic and horror, Tom led the army through the newly formed hole.

“Secure the Department of Transportation!” he commanded, and a group led by Archibald rushed to obey. “Do not use lethal force!”

Stunning Charms were fired, and most of the Ministry employees present were felled. Tom sent more groups to secure less important departments, but then, after less than sixty seconds, the Department of Law Enforcement arrived. There were Aurors and Hit Wizards, most of whom had no idea who they were actually serving, and their leader was Alastor Moody, grinning in a way Tom had never seen before; it was as if he had stopped acting.

“Look who it is!” Moody said. “My most promising student is now a wayward revolutionary demagogue! It seems you took it a bit too seriously when I asked whether you have aspirations of being a Dark Lord.”

“Aurors, Hit Wizards,” Tom said, “you have been misguided. This is not the legendary Alastor Moody that you have always admired. He has turned evil and works together with Lord Voldemort, who has put Minister Crouch under the Imperius Curse. Join us, and justice will be restored.”

“You attacked civilians!” Dawlish the Auror shouted. “And that is Sirius Black in your ranks! I can see a few other Death Eaters as well!”

“I warned Dumbledore of accepting all kinds of riffraff into his Order,” Moody said. “You, Valedro, have done the same mistake. The Ministry of Magic is the rightful highest authority in Britain. Your revolution is over.”

“We shall see,” Tom said and gave the attack signal.

The Atrium filled with red light as Stunning Charms were fired by the hundreds. Tom could see how reluctantly most of the law enforcers were fighting against an army with so many children, but some of them did not allow such a thing to trouble them. Dawlish, for example, fought with an unyielding poker-face, not caring about whom he fought against. Moody was visibly enjoying himself, and he was one of the only combatants who used truly dangerous spells.

The law enforcers were professional fighters and much more skilled than most of the members of Tom’s army, but in this fight in a large room they did not actually have many ways of using their skills; no manoeuvres, just wands blazing. They were badly outnumbered, and one by one they slumped down as their Shield Charms were overpowered.

Moody was unconcerned; he fired Blasting Curses left and right with sheer delight. Tom fought his way to him and occupied his attention with two Whips of Malice, and the most challenging duel Tom had ever fought began.

In every Defence Against the Dark Arts class during his last year at Hogwarts as a student, Tom had fought Moody, and every time the old Auror had proven to be the superior fighter. Tom had learned much since then and fought with two wands which had a strong connection to him, but it still came to him as a surprise how Moody did not seem as formidable an opponent as one could have expected from someone with a hundred years of fighting experience. He retreated into a staircase and resorted mainly to defensive spells. At first, Tom was concerned that it was just a trick to make him overconfident, but there was genuine strain and worry on Moody’s scarred face.

Alastor Moody, one of the greatest Aurors in history, had become old.

The rest of the law enforcers panicked after their leader had disappeared into the staircase, and some of them surrendered. Soon Tom was not the only one coming after Moody in the staircase, and the old Auror had to retreat even faster. Whenever there was an opening, he blasted things off the walls and ceiling and tried to create a makeshift barricade.

“This staircase leads to the Minister’s premises!” Lucius said as he caught up with Tom. “It has one of the most secure Floos in the country. Let us hope Archibald has already managed to put the Network offline so that Moody and Crouch cannot escape.”

They ran up through the debris, not getting tired thanks to the Strengthening Solution, and soon burst into a very luxurious room. The walls were gilded, there were several golden statues and exotic plants, a fountain that flowed soundlessly and an enchanted ceiling similar to that of the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It was as if clear blue skies had opened right above them.

In this room there were the five members of the new governing body of wizarding Britain, all pointing their wands at the attackers. Bartemius Crouch looked ancient and even sicker than when Tom had last seen him, after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. His eyes were glazed and indifferent, and Tom could not believe how no one had realised that he was under the Imperius Curse.

“Henry, Albert,” Lucius said to the two people who might listen. “I do not want to fight you.”

“You betrayed the Dark Lord!” Henry Avery said furiously. “My nephew died because of it!”

Tom had known Henry Avery at Hogwarts; he had been three years younger than Tom, and clearly at some point he had become very devoted to Voldemort.

“If you want revenge for your nephew, direct your wrath to your boss,” Tom said. “Moody, why don’t you tell him what happened in the Department of Mysteries?”

“It wasn’t a big loss,” Moody laughed. “There’s nothing I loathe more than Death Eaters who renounced the Dark Lord to save their own necks – such as you, Lucius.”

“Quite a change of heart,” Tom said. “Do explain, and I will give you a moment more to live.”

Moody grabbed his flask and threw it into the floor. Tom prepared for some toxic vapours rising from the potion that spilled out, but then he recognised the mud-looking substance…

“Polyjuice!” he cried out. “You’ve been an imposter all along! Who are you?”

“See for yourself,” the imposter said and pointed his wand at himself. “Polyfluis Reverso.” Moody’s visage changed in an instant. Suddenly, he was a slightly gaunt-looking blond man in his thirties. Tom had never seen him before, but Lucius had.

“Bartemius Crouch junior!” he gasped.

“Junior?” Tom asked.

“One of the youngest Death Eaters back in the day,” Lucius explained. “And perhaps the most talented one. How are you here? You died in Azkaban!”

“Sirius Black was not the first one ever to escape the prison inescapable,” Crouch junior said. “I was. Perhaps I should thank my father for it, but I did not particularly enjoy spending over a decade under the Imperius Curse afterwards. No, he will suffer the same enslavement – and in the service of the Dark Lord!”

Minister Crouch had not reacted to anything said in his office. He had been one of the youngest war heroes of Grindelwald’s Second War and as an Auror he had risen to a high esteem and earned the position of Head of the Department of Law Enforcement. Normally, Tom would have wanted to avoid fighting him, but now he was weakened and the Imperius Curse made anyone much less capable a fighter. Casting two Whips of Malice, Tom attacked.

Crouch junior fought with savage ferocity, and Tom got more and more impressed with him. Apparently, he had been no older than Tom was when he had been locked in Azkaban, and he had said that he had spent over a decade under the Imperius Curse afterwards. That meant he had not had much more time to learn magic and practice his skills, but he and Tom were still quite evenly matched. Lucius was right; Crouch junior was incredibly talented, probably of equal potential as wizards like Tom, Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

But one thing he did not have was two wands. Tom’s Whips of Malice lashed at him with such speed that he had to use unorthodox ways of combat. The Minister’s desk was hurled at Tom, and as he dodged, it flew right into the staircase, blocking it from the advancing army. Henry Avery, Corban Yaxley and Albert Runcorn fought as well, but Crouch junior readily used them to shield himself. Crouch senior stood quite motionless and fired Stunning Charms. Sirius Black, incensed by having been denied a fair trial, cornered the Minister and kept him from the rest of the battle.

“This is what recruits are for!” Crouch junior said and tossed Yaxley through the air at Tom. The newly branded Death Eater screamed in terror until Tom’s Whip struck him, and he fell to the floor, gravely injured.

“You are as useless as your nephew!” Crouch junior yelled and took Avery as his living shield. “Unlike you, Valedro. The Dark Lord himself is impressed with your antics.” He tore a cabinet off the wall with magic and launched it against Tom. “Join us! Join us, as I hinted many times you should do. Once the Dark Lord takes over the world, he will need many capable vassals to rule the nations in his name. You’ve already killed most of those who were promised greatness. Wouldn’t it be fitting if you got their share?”

“Servitude is not my lot in life,” Tom said, created a whirlwind of debris and sent it towards Crouch. “Why become a minion of a Dark Lord when I can become a Dark Lord myself?”

“The Dark Lord is immortal!” Crouch junior cried with some kind of twisted fervour and tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Tom. “We mortals are nothing compared to him!”

If only you knew, Tom thought and lashed at him with both Whips simultaneously. Avery screamed in pain and collapsed. Crouch junior let go of him and tried to advance, but Tom forced him into a corner. His Whips were just about to outmanoeuvre him, so he panicked, dropped all attempts at defence and channelled massive amounts of power into a Blasting Curse. It collided with Tom’s Whip and went off, shattering the wall behind him.

Crouch junior lay on the floor, dead. That was what happened to Hufflepuffs who put their master’s benefit before their own.

Crouch senior had also been defeated; he had collapsed but was still alive. Albert Runcorn was groaning in a corner, and Lucius stood next to him, pointing at him with a wand.

“The Ministry is ours!” Tom declared. “We must let Britain know that Voldemort’s rule was very short-lived.”

Crouch senior was sent to recover; Tom wanted to interrogate him. Then he and his troops began to repair the damages caused to the Minister’s office during the fight. While they were at it, Archibald hurried up the staircase and said,

“The Floo Network is under our command!”

“Excellent!” Tom said. “Now we must act quickly to get the most advantage out of our takeover. We should be encountering little resistance for some time.”

“There are not many Aurors left here,” Archibald said. “Most of them joined Dumbledore and are probably afraid to do anything.”

“No need to worry about them at the moment,” Tom said. “I’ve got unfinished business with the Department of Mysteries. Send someone down there to tell the Unspeakables that their cooperation is demanded.”

“I could not access the department,” said a wizard of the Maintenance Unit who had come up with Archibald. “I reckon they did not acknowledge the authority of Minister Crouch because of the circumstances in which he rose to power.”

“Well, break the door and storm the department!” Tom said. “There are things there that I want.”

“It will take time,” the maintenance wizard said.

“In the meantime, I have other very pressing matters to do.”

“What now?” Lucius asked.

“We need a puppet in order to create the illusion of continuity,” Tom said. “Get me Cornelius Fudge.”

 

---

 

Twenty minutes later, Lucius returned to the Ministry, Fudge held at wandpoint. The former Minister looked absolutely terrified.

“What do you want?” he squealed.

“To inform you that you’re the Minister for Magic again,” Tom said. “However, this time you will obey those better than yourself, namely, me. We are establishing a new unofficial level of hierarchy above the Minister. From now on, I am in charge. To put it shortly, I have all the power and you all the responsibility. If you can’t live with this, I will gladly euthanise you.”

Fudge opened and closed his mouth soundlessly.

“This is not a good moment to grow a spine,” Tom warned him. “I chose you as my puppet just because you don’t have one. If, however, at some point I find out that you do have a spine, I will have to remove it.”

“All right, all right!” Fudge cried. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to visit Mr Major, the Muggle Prime Minister, tomorrow. You will tell him that there has been a long-awaited change in wizarding Britain and that, as of today, tomorrow’s yesterday, the Ministry of Magic has confiscated the entire nuclear weapon arsenal of the British military.”

 

---

 

Since the Aurors had gathered at Hogwarts, it was easy for Tom and his servants to visit the Prime Minister and extract information about the British nuclear weapons from his mind with Legilimency. Then they infiltrated the high-security depot where some of the warheads were kept. Once again, they encountered no magical resistance, and soon Tom stood before his prize: the weapons that surpassed every magic wizardkind had ever crafted.

“These are the super weapons?” Flint asked. “They don’t look like much.”

“The nuclear reaction works on a level beyond conventional physics,” Tom explained, but suddenly he felt a surge of adrenaline. He had sensed something he had not hoped: a faint trace of magic.

“Revelio,” he cast.

Glowing letters appeared in the air next to the warheads in a very familiar handwriting.

Hello, Tom

I  am pleased that you have learned to appreciate the wonders of the Muggle world. However, these weapons are something you should never possess. Since I am not the fool you think I am, I have taken every single nuclear weapon in the world into the safe and responsible hands of myself.

Oh, and you should not bother going after the smallpox virus, either.

Albus

Tom’s thoughts upon reading the message were frantic and quite full of curses.

“He knew you’d come here?” Flint growled.

“Apparently,” Tom mumbled, letting Flint believe so even though he knew the truth, the only good thing about the matter: the message was not meant for him, but for Voldemort.

They left, empty-handed and severely disappointed. There was no point for Tom in not admitting that he was afraid – but even more than afraid, he was indignant. More indignant than he had ever been before.

Dumbledore could have forced the Muggle nations to stop waging wars and oppressing people if he just had bothered. For a long time, Tom had thought that the fear of nuclear weapons had been what had prevented Dumbledore from interfering in Muggle politics, but this revelation laid bare the indescribable hypocrisy of his actions. Be it for the Greater or the Absolute Good, no moral system allowed someone in Dumbledore’s position to look the other way while Muggles killed one another by the millions and devastated, polluted and marred the world in the process. He could not even justify his negligence by saying that he had no right to impose his will upon Muggles, because he had already done so by stealing all nuclear weapons.

It was said that with great power came great responsibility, but Dumbledore had refused both the power and the responsibility. He was EVIL!

Tom’s mind whirled back in time for almost sixty years, to the day when the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts had lectured him about the wrongness of thievery. Something had changed drastically about Dumbledore after that first meeting. He had defeated Grindelwald in a heroic battle, but afterwards he had abandoned the way of the hero and assumed the role of the old, obnoxious master who had tried to make other people do the hard work for him. No one had done so before Tom had taken the mantle of a hero, but then Dumbledore had refused to support him.

Never had Tom wanted to give the old hypocrite his just punishment as much as at that moment. But Dumbledore was sitting on top of a gigantic stockpile of nuclear weapons, ready to annihilate the world on a whim, and Tom’s threat estimate of him shot up astronomically.

There was one thing Tom no longer had any doubts about.

Dumbledore was the greatest, cruellest and most neglectful Dark Lord the world had ever seen.

 

---

 

When Tom returned to the Ministry, he went straight to the bedside of Bartemius Crouch senior. The short-lived Minister looked very weak and weary, but there was a normal, personal liveliness in his eyes.

“Will he recover?” Tom asked.

“Somewhat,” said one of the Healers who had joined the army. “But he will need a long rest.”

“We have been unable to get into the Department of Mysteries,” Lucius said. “The Unspeakables have sealed themselves in so well that I am afraid there is no magic we possess that could override theirs.”

“At least someone is competent,” Tom muttered and stepped closer to the bed. Crouch was looking at him as intently as he could. “Good day, Mr Crouch. Do you know where Lord Voldemort’s headquarters is?”

“Yes,” Crouch whispered in a raspy voice. “He took my manor… he has been there for almost two years. I tried to fight against his Imperius… once I almost made it to Dumbledore… but I was caught.”

“So, now we know our next target!” Tom said and turned to face his lieutenants. “One more battle before victory is ours!”

“Be… careful,” Crouch groaned. “It will not be easy. He… he forced me to release all prisoners from Azkaban… and the Dementors… they are coming!”

Tom felt blood freezing in his veins. Reluctantly, he looked up at the enchanted ceiling. Earlier, it had shown clear blue skies, but now… dark clouds were coalescing and the temperature was dropping as Dementors were arriving on the shores of Britain.

 

---

 

Lord Voldemort looked at the hundreds of people gathering around Crouch Manor. Of his Death Eaters only Alecto and Amycus Carrow remained, and he let them deal with the petty criminals. Many of them were his loyalists, but there were also all kinds of petty thieves – even some Mudbloods, but he did not care. They were but cannon fodder to be used and then discarded.

“My armies may have been defeated, but I have the means to create new ones!” he yelled at the Carrow siblings. “Break into Muggle morgues and bring me corpses to be reanimated!”

“Yes, my lord!” the Carrows said and Disapparated.

Not wanting to even look at the criminals who were still half-mad from having been exposed to Dementors, Voldemort went into the manor to sit in his throne.

He was plagued by a riddle.

He had been prepared to fight against Dumbledore once again. He had been prepared to fight against Harry Potter, a boy with an ancient magical protection. But now his greatest enemy was one he had not even heard of before. Tom Valedro.

Who was he? Who was this ruthless and frighteningly effective young man who had won the loyalty of the House of Slytherin and even a few Death Eaters like Malfoy, the Notts and the Jugsons? Who was this mystery man who had stolen the wand of Lord Voldemort himself? Waging war against him felt like – well, it felt like what Voldemort had hoped that his own enemies would feel when waging war against him.

Voldemort wrote the name Tom Valedro into the air with glowing letters. There was something about the name… some riddle hidden in it… the first name was unpleasantly familiar.

Lord Voldemort had fashioned his own name by rearranging the letters of the filthy Muggle name he had been given, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Could the riddle of Tom Valedro be answered using a similar method?

His wand flicked, making the letters rearrange themselves. He did it a few times, until he let out a gasp of shock when he got a result that made sense… frighteningly much sense.

TOM VALEDRO
A VOLDEMORT

There it was, the answer to the riddle – and it was Riddle. The upstart young man was a rogue Horcrux. Someone Voldemort could call his brother. But that brother had clearly decided to be the only Voldemort active – not ‘a Voldemort’ but ‘the Voldemort.’ It was a shame; the real Voldemort would actually have enjoyed having a younger brother as a right-hand man. But that was not to be, for neither of them could live while the other survived.

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster’s office. News had reached him, and he put away the Potions papers he had been working with and focused on the chess board. With a flick of the Elder Wand, he sent more white pieces to join the grey army that closed in around the black queen. All but one of the black pawns were removed, but then many more returned to indicate the mass breakout from Azkaban. The grey knight was in a position threatening the black queen.

The black king stood alone in a corner.

Chapter 50: Reunion of Brothers

As Tom was leading his flying army over Stirlingshire, his cautious side kept warning him that he was rushing into battle too hastily and recklessly. It had been an important part in his career plan of a Dark Lord to avoid such movements, because so many previous Dark Lords had met their end by doing so. But his calculative side pointed out that real life rarely adhered to theoretical guidelines. Tom’s career plan also dictated that he would never waste an opportunity or give up an initiative.

Voldemort was hiding in Crouch Manor, and with the might of the Ministry at Tom’s disposal, he had cut the entire Stirlingshire out of the Floo Network and erected immensely strong Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Area Jinxes over the county, as well as an Anti-Anti-Gravity Area Jinx that only allowed the anti-gravity enchantments used by the army to function. Voldemort was trapped, but not entirely without the means of escape. That was why Tom approached his brother’s headquarters so recklessly with the intention of crushing him once and for all.

It was late Saturday evening; no more than twelve hours had passed after the army had started its attack against the Ministry. Tom felt some fatigue, but little enough to be ignored with the help of excitement and eager anticipation for the end of the war.

The army had grown further after Voldemort’s brief takeover of the Ministry had alerted most of wizarding Britain to the danger. Some magical law enforcers had returned to service after Fudge’s return to the position of Minister, and they were now flying among the sizeable contingent of Ministry forces in the army. More relatives and friends of Tom’s study group members had flocked into the army as well, and with these new additions, the army that surrounded Crouch Manor had more than eight hundred fighters. It was tiny compared to Muggle armies, just a battalion, but mustering four per cent of the entire British wizarding community into active combat in two days was unprecedented.

Morale was high; the army’s only casualties were a few adult members who had never been trained to fight by Tom. Everyone was enthusiastic to see Voldemort defeated, and the greatest threat to morale was the host of Dementors that had gathered in Stirlingshire. The county was shrouded in dark clouds and chilly mists, making it seem as if November had suddenly replaced June. Everyone felt even a bit depressed, but as Harry’s Patronus stag soared through the air next to Tom, he was shielded from most of the horror emanating from the demons roaming the forests south of Loch Ard. Crouch Manor stood near the shore of the loch on a peninsula; the entire area was part of a Muggle national park, a very subtle way to keep any Muggles from settling too close.

Tom and his most trusted underlings were carrying several bottles each, and inside those bottles were a weapon they had not used before. It was called Bomb Potion, a rarely used wizarding version of a hand grenade. What was interesting about it was how almost any ingredients could be used to power the potion; after all, it just turned any magic of its components into fire. It was considered impractical as a weapon, because all potent ingredients were so expensive and cheap ingredients caused too weak an explosion. However, Tom happened to be the only person in the world with access to practically endless supply of free Basilisk venom, one of the most potent magical substances known to wizardkind.

Ben Venue loomed in the north and the steep, steep sides of Ben Lomond in the west when Tom gave the army the signal to start descending. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy, Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, Aberforth Dumbledore and Igor Karkaroff, Sirius Black and several law enforcers, all working in unison towards a common goal… it was no small feat having united them all, and the accomplishment filled Tom with pride. It had taken him three years to manage something that Voldemort had not been able to do in more than three decades.

Tom had decided to start the battle with an auditory assault. Sirius had taken every single Howler that the army had managed to find to his childhood home and recorded the profanities his mother’s portrait had screamed at him, and then the Howlers had been sent to Crouch Manor to sow fear and chaos. Because of the noise that probably woke up half of Glasgow, Voldemort’s remaining forces were unable to communicate during the critical opening moments of the battle.

“Sir, the protective enchantments are in place ahead of us!” called one of the army’s forward scouts after the screams had finally ended.

Tom fired a weak Disarming Charm. The red bolt flew for some distance, but then it was snuffed out by a blue force field that was visible only for a second before disappearing from sight again.

“Crouch Manor is one of the most securely protected private residences in Britain,” Archibald said. “And who knows how many new protections Riddle may have put in place after he took the manor for his own? It may take us a very long time to break them all.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tom said and gestured Flint to fly closer. “I had a good reason when I suggested Flint to join the Muggle military and the artillery arm in particular. Unfortunately, we were not able to – er – ‘borrow’ any of the weapons I was the most interested in, but we did get a few very efficient… what did you call them, Flint?”

“They are M270 Multiple Launch Rocket Systems, M270 MLRS for short,” Flint said, grinning widely. “Derrick and Bole have them ready to fire.”

“I happen to know that Tom Riddle lived in a Muggle orphanage in London during Grindelwald’s Second War when German Muggles dropped bombs all over the city,” Tom said. “Let’s refresh Mr Riddle’s memories of his youth a little, shall we? Fire!”

Distant artillery fire blared and but a moment later the air above Crouch Manor became a firestorm. The blue force field became visible again, and it brightened and brightened as the rockets launched from afar strained the magical protection. The enchantments had been designed to withstand a great deal of damage – but most wizards knew nothing about how Muggle technology had developed during the three centuries of the Statute of Secrecy. Protective enchantments were designed with such non-magical devices as catapults and battering rams in mind. One M270 MLRS could inflict more damage in one minute than a catapult in one month.

Tom saw flashes of light in the park of the manor. The prisoners released from Azkaban were doing their best to strengthen the enchantments before they would collapse. Good, someone was desperate, and their efforts came to naught.

Then the enchantments broke down. Rockets rained in the park, causing huge explosions. Fires broke out and people ran around in panic. Tom watched the show patiently with his lieutenants, all hovering in midair.

Suddenly the bombs stopped exploding and just dropped to the ground. All fires that had broken out around the manor were extinguished in an instant.

“The idiot finally created an area charm that prevents combustion,” Tom noted. “It took him long enough. It cannot be broken like anti-trespassing charms, but I had prepared for this. I have crafted an Anti-Anti-Combustion Charm that we can use for our bombs and cartridges.”

“Well, cast it on the bombs so that we can continue the barrage,” Harry said and took the handgun that Tom had given him from its holster.

“No, there is a risk in a victory that seems too easy,” Tom said in an undertone and looked over his shoulder at the large group of Slytherin alumni that Robert Jugson junior had recruited. “I’m trying to convince the entire Slytherin faction of Britain that I’m more worthy to lead than Voldemort. Victory through superior firepower won’t make an impression on cunning Slytherins. I’ll have to prove that I’m a superior wizard, otherwise they will continue looking for a more suitable leader and join the next Dark Lord the instant he demonstrates great cruelty and proficiency in magic. The peace and unity of this nation depends on the way I defeat Voldemort. From now on, using Muggle weapons will be the last resort.”

Tom left it unsaid that Voldemort still had one Horcrux left. If his body was destroyed before Tom could find the Horcrux and bind it to himself instead, Voldemort would survive and return again. Luckily, Tom had a shrewd idea of what the final Horcrux was: the snake that he had previously assumed to be an Animagus. Voldemort had possessed it too well during the scouting mission in the Ministry that had ended with the attack on Arthur Weasley.

“Do we have some magical way of defeating Voldemort?” Harry asked anxiously. “He is, after all, much older than the two of us combined.”

“I have a few ideas,” Tom said. “The first one requires some preparation. Lend me your invisibility cloak; I’d like to be as safely concealed as possible when I place some runes around the park.”

He took the cloak, used the Disillusionment Charm on himself and put the cloak over himself for good measure. The charm was such a challenging spell that he was not perfect at casting it: it gave him great camouflage, but not true invisibility. However, with both the charm and the cloak on, Tom could not have been seen even in the brightest daylight, let alone in the darkness of the night.

There were many potions in his pouch, most of them concentrated Essence of Devil’s Snare. The plant was peculiar in its habit of growing in dark places. It did not use photosynthesis, but some kind of magical equivalent, and therefore it had more magic than any other magical plant, making it a very potent ingredient in potion making. Essence of Devil’s Snare could be used as a restorative potion or as a power source of runes. Tom placed a rune that he had designed himself on the ground and poured a quarter of the potion on it, making it absorb the magical power.

Before he reached the place he had chosen for the next rune, there were cries in the park, and the criminals started firing curses haphazardly in every direction. There was new activity in the air; apparently, Voldemort had unleashed swarms of some sort of Dark bat or bird creatures that shrieked eerily. The cold fear of Dementors was also pressing harder on Tom. He flew quickly back to his lieutenants and said,

“This may be a diversion to allow Riddle escape. Begin a counter-attack from above and be vigilant.”

Hundreds of witches and wizards riding broomsticks started circling and slowly approaching the manor. The air was filled with bolts of every colour, and every now and then someone screamed when some of the bolts hit their targets. Patronuses and Dementors were clashing in dazzling collisions of light and darkness. Great roars were heard, and a group of giants and mountains trolls came out of their hiding places. Bomb Potions were thrown at them, causing explosions of much greater force than any of the spells used. While this battle played out, Tom flew in a square around it, placing runes and pouring Essence of Devil’s Snare on them.

The fight crept closer to the manor, inside the square Tom was forming with runes. When one more rune remained to be prepared, a voice echoed across the battlefield. It was high, cold and clear; there was no telling from where it came.

“I know that you are preparing to attack. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and Tom Valedro and none shall be harmed. Give them to me, and I shall leave the rest of you unharmed. Give them to me, and you shall be rewarded.”

Tom let out an incredulous chuckle. Voldemort was really getting desperate. He cast the Voice Amplifying Charm on himself and replied to his brother’s pathetic attempt to cause fear among the army.

“You are in no position to demand anything, Riddle! Your threats are hollow. Here is my counter-offer: step out of the manor and keep your hands up, and I will give you a quicker death than the one I had planned for you.”

Voldemort’s voice was furious when he replied.

“So be it, Tom Valedro. Now you will see the death that I have planned for you!”

All of a sudden, all ponds in the park were raging, as was the moat of the manor and the entire Loch Ard. Dark forms started to creep out of the water. It took Tom two seconds to realise that they were dead bodies, the vast quantities which Voldemort had collected after his return. Tens of thousands of Inferi assembled in front of the manor, each carrying a staff of some sort. What the staves were for became very clear after a moment when the Inferi started to point them and shoot curses. Tom’s army was repelled quickly as everyone retreated back towards their starting positions. The Patronuses nearest to Tom retreated after their casters, and he left the fourth rune unfinished before the Dementors would find him and returned to the lieutenants.

“Inferi are vulnerable to fire!” Tom called out. “Let’s set the entire park on fire and see what they like about it!”

Hundreds of voices began to cry, “Incendio!” The balls of magical fire shot towards the Inferi who were slowly marching onwards, but nothing happened. The Inferi were drenched in water, but also Voldemort’s Anti-Combustion Area Charm was still active. Blasting and Reductor Curses were tried too, but they had little effect. Inferi were perfectly able to continue their attack without several body parts, even their heads.

“We have to use Fiendfyre!” Karkaroff said.

“No!” Tom cried. “It would spread in every direction and burn all of Britain to a crisp! Do not despair yet; we’ve got more weapons. You see, my house-elf has experience with tampering Quidditch equipment. That’s why we confiscated the properties of all British Quidditch teams.”

He turned to the group of fifth-year students whom he had tasked with overseeing the Quidditch crates.

“Release the Bludgers!”

Over a hundred steel balls surged into the air and soared towards the Inferi and the flying creatures. They struck chests, heads, arms and legs, causing quite an unpleasant chorus of thumping sounds. The march of the undead was visibly halted, but it did not stop.

“Oh, come on,” Tom muttered and looked to the south. Charlie Weasley and Amos Diggory had already been too long on their mission…

Then, when it was starting to seem inevitable that the Inferi would move out of the square area Tom had prepared, he heard an excited cry. He turned to look, and with the help of the Infrared Seeing Charm, he saw the ultimate weapon against Inferi flying towards him: dragons.

Dragons breathed magical fire that had given the inspiration for the Dark wizard who had invented Fiendfyre; it was horribly destructive and could not be extinguished with any Anti-Combustion Charm known to wizardkind. Tom grinned widely as he saw his old friend the Hungarian Horntail soar above the flying army and landing in front of the advancing Inferi. She roared furiously and attacked. The Inferi were as much of an opponent to her as Tom’s illusions had been in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and the giants and mountains trolls were not much more either. And she was not the only dragon: also several Common Welsh Greens were brought from the dragons reserves.

Dragons had not been used in warfare for centuries. This battle would be remembered for ages to come.

“Anything can be a weapon with the right mindset,” Tom said to Harry who was laughing. “However, there remains the great show that I have prepared, the one that will convince everyone of my superior magical capabilities. First, I must finish the last rune. Send your Patronus with me.”

There were still thousands of enemies remaining. The criminals had gathered near the manor, Dementors were lurking in the shadows, thousands of Inferi were still fighting against the dragons and the flying creatures were flying in circles as some of the Bludgers chased them. Some giants and mountain trolls were preparing some kind of assault against the Hungarian Horntail. Before they could start it, Tom finally finished the last rune and then positioned himself above the straight road from the manor to the gate. Almost all enemies were inside the square marked by the four runes.

“Are you watching, Tom Riddle?” he asked with amplified voice. “You claim to be a Dark Lord, but as of yet, you have not shown any extraordinary magics – such as this!”

He pointed both of his yew wands upwards and conjured lightnings that filled the air with blazing light and rumbling noise. It looked magnificent, as it was meant to; it was just a show to give the army something to marvel at. Immediately after everyone’s attention was focused on the show, Tom flicked the older yew wand and activated the spell powered by the runes – the most horrendous spell of mass destruction Tom had ever crafted: the GRAVITY AMPLIFYING AREA CHARM.

Every single thing inside the square had its weight increased tenfold. All Inferi, all criminals, all giants, all mountain trolls, all flying creatures as well as Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the last remaining Death Eaters, were flattened in an instant as if stepped on by an invisible foot of a titan. All trees were destroyed, their branches were torn off from the trunks and the trunks themselves were splintered. All flowers and all blades of grass were pressed against the ground…

And then it was over. Nothing remained of Voldemort’s forces but a few stray Inferi and the Dementors that were now easily repelled.

“Storm the manor!” Tom ordered, and together with his lieutenants he flew forwards, over the obliterated battlefield, through the entrance of Crouch Manor.

 

---

 

Archibald had visited Crouch Manor many times in the sixties when it had still been a frequent meeting place of the British high society, and he had given Tom a drawn layout of the building. There was a great and opulent ballroom, and as Tom knew Voldemort as well as he knew himself, he knew his brother would be waiting there.

Harry followed Tom, obviously, eager to exact justice for all the suffering he had experienced. Along him came his friends Ron and Hermione – and Ginny, the little girl vengeful for what Voldemort had not done to her. Remus and Sirius came as well, the two of them having a bone to pick for the calamity that had happened to their group of friends. Lucius, Archibald and Robert Jugson senior were a demonstration of the political support Tom had earned. Karkaroff was Tom’s representative, and finally, Aberforth Dumbledore, the oldest member of the army, more courageous and upright than his famous brother, joined the team.

On the way to the ballroom, Tom heard furious hissing from a dark corridor. Moving swiftly, he cast two Full Body-Bind Curses on the snake that was there, prob­ably trying to ambush the attackers. Then, he grabbed the snake so that it could not reach him with its venomous fangs even if the curses broke and used the Horcrux binding magic that he had used a few times before. The soul fragment that Voldemort had placed in the snake was weak and pathetic, much more so than any of the previous ones, and it did not take him but a short while to bind it to himself instead.

Slither into my robes and stay there, brother, Tom told the snake with Legilimency, or I will feed you to the Basilisk!

The snake hurried to obey the command. Apparently, being bound to Tom diminished its independent will somehow, similar to how Tom had felt loyalty towards Voldemort when imprisoned in the diary and only regained his free will as he had been breaking free.

“Don’t worry, it’s tame now,” Tom assured his lieutenants.

Voldemort was now mortal once more. As Tom continued towards the ballroom, he thought about the ingenious last part of his plan.

When he had tried to kill Voldemort with a volley of curses in the graveyard of Little Hangleton a year earlier, Voldemort had somehow sensed the attack a fraction of a second before Tom had even triggered it. Voldemort could not be caught unawares with any such trick again. Tom could not defeat him in a duel fair and square, because he was so much more powerful and experienced than Tom was. Voldemort’s Shield Charm was so powerful that it could withstand even the Gravity Amplifying Charm. Tom might, perhaps, be able to kill him by surprise with a Muggle weapon, but in that case, he would be considered a cheat, and Slytherins would never truly respect him.

Tom’s only avenue to victory was to be superbly cunning. That was why he had asked himself, ‘is there something, apart from the Darkest magics, that Voldemort’s Shield does not protect against?’

And so, before he entered the ballroom of Crouch Manor, he put away his yew wands and took Gilderoy Lockhart’s wand in use again, and he muttered an incantation, “Lumos Gamma.” He kept the wand pointing at the floor as he wrenched the door open.

Lord Voldemort stood at the far end of the room, posing in a way that he probably thought was impressive and intimidating. Tom raised the wand and pointed it at him, feeling the surge of magic going through it at every moment.

“Hello, Tom Riddle,” Tom said as his lieutenants followed him in.

“Hello, Tom Valedro,” Voldemort said. “That was quite a show, I must admit. I should have never expected less from you.”

“Really? How lovely.” Tom’s wand still pointed at him.

“We have much to talk about,” Voldemort said. “Lower your wand, and we will speak.”

Slowly, Tom lowered his arm, but as he placed it next to his thigh, he still kept the wand pointing at Voldemort.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort said menacingly, “and a couple of friends. Traitors, too… Archibald, I am very wounded by your actions. But then again, recently I have understood how the circumstances have been different from those I imagined…”

Tom was getting intrigued, but he did not allow it to distract him. His wand still pointed at Voldemort.

“Mr Valedro, there are things I am sure not all of your companions know about,” Voldemort continued. “I could blurt them all for everyone to hear, but I offer you a chance for a private talk.”

“Sure, why not?” Tom said, happy to accept any excuse to drag the conversation on. His wand still pointed at Voldemort.

An Anti-Eavesdropping Charm was placed around Tom and Voldemort, much to the annoyance of the others. Before Voldemort managed to open his mouth, Tom used his left hand to pull out a couple of items from his robes: the locket of Slytherin, the cup of Hufflepuff, the diadem of Ravenclaw, the Gaunt ring and the diary. Also, the snake peeked out of his sleeve.

“I think you’ve seen these before?” he asked mockingly.

However, Voldemort did not get a fit of rage. Instead, his brows just furrowed slightly, and he said, “Yes, I have.”

“So, you know my little secret,” Tom said and dispelled his disguising charms so that Voldemort could see his own, young face. “How long have you known?”

“For a while now,” Voldemort said. “It wasn’t a difficult riddle to answer after I began to play with anagrams again…”

Huh? Tom thought, genuinely puzzled. His wand still pointed at Voldemort.

“Tom Valedro,” Voldemort said. “That silly name is an anagram of ‘a Voldemort.’”

WHAAAAAAAT?!

Tom could not keep astonishment off his face. If he recalled correctly, he had searched for a suitable false surname from many places, and eventually he had settled with a name he had found in a random Muggle book. What were the odds that the name would fit into the name Tom like that?

“In a way, I understand you, my brother,” Voldemort growled. “I would not have wanted to serve you either, so why should I expect servitude from you? It is not in our nature to serve anyone. You decided to usurp me, and I admit, you have done admirably well. But you must understand, my brother, that your game is up. My skills and powers are far beyond yours. You are my creation! You belong to me!”

“You know, when I opened the Chamber of Secrets and learned of the fate that had befallen you, I truly intended to come to your aid,” Tom said, keeping his wand pointed at Voldemort. “But then… you left me in the endless void of the diary for fifty years! All the years we were one we tried to flee the apathy and flee death, and just when I thought that my salvation was at hand, everything went awry. You did nothing to let me out of the horrible prison! You would’ve left me there for all eternity! There is not a single person in the universe who has wronged me more than you, my brother! That alone is reason enough to want you punished, but it’s not all. When I learned what an idiot you had made yourself by letting the Dark Arts control you instead of the other way around, I was ashamed beyond comprehension! I renounced you and fashioned myself a new identity. You are unworthy of being the heir of Slytherin! I decided to correct my mistake and formed new plans from scratch. Harry Potter considers me a friend, as does Draco Malfoy. They both believe I’m fooling the other one while, in fact, I’m fooling them both. A simple plan, if you ask me, but clearly too complex for you to try. All it takes is mimicking the methods with which Dumbledore became a far greater and far more terrible lord than you’ve ever been.”

The two Tom Riddles glared at each other, Tom’s wand still pointing at Voldemort. Several beads of sweat were starting to form on the latter’s forehead.

“The trouble with you, my brother,” Voldemort said, “is that you’ve always been too good.”

“Ah, that may be,” Tom said. “But I still think I’m the one following Salazar’s example. I’ve not disregarded as many powers and opportunities as you have in your arrogance.”

Voldemort’s eyes flared, and when he spoke, he tried to speak in a thunderous voice.

“Brother, there’s no need for me to destroy you! Surrender! Surrender your army!”

Tom clapped his hands mockingly, but then pointed his wand at Voldemort again.

“You always did need an audience, you sap,” he sneered. “Let me tell you… I realised years ago that Muggles have learned truths about the very laws of existence that are totally alien to wizardkind. I want to show you a trick Muggles taught me, a trick you were too arrogant to learn for yourself. It’s just for special occasions like this. Oh yes, one more thing. If you hated our original name so much, why did you fashion yourself a new name by creating an anagram of the original one?”

Voldemort stared at Tom. The beads of sweat had started to flow down on his face, and he grimaced. He opened his mouth to say something… but then he vomited violently. He crouched in agony and dropped the wand he had been using.

“Accio wand,” Tom said. “Nox Gamma.”

Voldemort groaned and growled in increasing pain. His red eyes stared disbelievingly as Tom stepped closer.

“What,” Voldemort whined weakly, “what have you done?”

“Your Shield Charm was too powerful for me,” Tom explained. “I had to be creative, and I came up with something it does not protect against. You see, Shields are transparent, they allow light to go through them. And since most wizards don’t know about other kinds of electromagnetic radiation, Shields have not been designed to stop any of the other kinds either – not even gamma radiation. It goes through clothes, it goes through flesh… and it destroys internal organs. Can you imagine how easy it was to craft a Gamma Radiation Charm based on the Wand-Lighting Charm? It is one of the simplest spells I’ve ever crafted, but the most ingenious one. It goes by the name Invisible Death, and even your sharp sense of magic never noticed a thing, because radiation is such a mundane, Muggle phenomenon that it is far beneath the interest of a great wizard – and this arrogance turned out to be the end of you.”

Tom knelt before Voldemort and whispered, “You are mortal again. Your Horcruxes are bound to me, even your snake.”

Terror flared in Voldemort’s pained eyes, and Tom straightened himself, looking down.

“You’re dead, brother,” he said. “Dead. I’m going to stand here and watch you die. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

Voldemort retched and let out gurgling noises.

“You cannot… do this… to me,” he stuttered. “You… are inferior! I… am… Lord Voldemort!”

Tom laughed dryly before adding insult to injury.

“So ends the feared Lord Voldemort. Alone in Crouch Manor, forsaken by his followers, defeated at last by his brother he so unwisely challenged. You’ll be with our Muggle father soon… or would it be more fitting a fate to be forever imprisoned in the diary? The horror of an eternity in the endless void… it was the fate you chose for me, after all.”

Tom showed Voldemort the Horcruxes again. He held the diary in the same hand as the ring, and he thrust it close to the snake-like face.

“Would death be preferable?” he asked. “I have learned that there are things more terrible than death, and I would rather choose the end of my consciousness than an eternal, hopeless apathy.”

“You’re… deluded…” Voldemort spat.

“And inferior, am I?” Tom growled. “Our encounter proved otherwise. You’re unworthy of any ‘next great adventure’ there could possibly be. I’d like to put you in the diary until the end of days, but whatever. If even this pain you’re feeling is better than death, I won’t prolong this anymore. Avada Kedavra.”

All the resentment that Tom had felt because of his imprisonment and all the indignation he had felt for the House of Slytherin were poured into the spell. Green light flashed, and as Voldemort’s vile life came to an end, Tom felt a tinge of disappointment that his twisted brother would be evading the fate he had left Tom with. How sweet it would have been to have him as a Horcrux –

As that thought was in Tom’s mind, he felt a strange surge of power in the ring Horcrux. A fraction of a second later, the diary felt momentarily heavier before everything returning to normal.

It was probably just his imagination.

The Dark Lord Voldemort was finally dead and the taint to the name Tom Riddle had been cleansed. Tom turned to face his audience and smiled broadly.

Chapter 51: The Last Respite

It was Tom’s great moment of triumph, but everyone looked – underwhelmed. His lieutenants had probably been expecting some kind of a flashy duel like the one between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Explosions and clouds of smoke were usually produced by amateurs while professionals did what they wanted to do with bursts of invisible radiation.

“What did you do?” Harry asked.

“I proved my superiority,” Tom said. “Don’t look so stunned! We won! The war is over! Don’t you think I deserve some cheers and applause?”

“We can tell the troops you did something worth seeing,” Aberforth grunted. Behind his beard and moustache, he looked somewhat impressed. “They’ll cheer and applause as much as you like.”

“Yes, you should do so,” Tom said and put all of his Horcruxes inside his robes again.

Aberforth turned and left. He was followed by Lucius, Archibald, Robert Jugson and Karkaroff. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus and Sirius stayed in the room with Tom, still looking as if they did not know what to think.

“Let’s take Voldemort’s corpse out and let the troops play with it,” Tom said. Everyone looked at him more intently than normally, and as Remus opened his mouth to ask something, Tom realised that he had not put his disguising charms back on.

“It’s been so many years since I’ve seen you without your disguising charms that I’d forgotten how you really look like,” Harry said.

“Yes, well,” Tom replied, “I probably should put them back on before –”

His words were cut short when Albus Dumbledore entered the room. The Headmaster stopped at the doorway and stared at the carcass of Voldemort for a brief while, then looked at Harry, then at Tom. He beheld the young Tom Riddle right in front of his eyes – but there was just an expression of mild confusion on his face. It was as if he did not recognise Tom.

“So, it is over, then,” Dumbledore said, looking at Harry once more. “Congratulations, Harry, I knew you could do it. The prophecy is now complete. You have defeated a Dark Lord, just as I did fifty-one years ago. I must confess, I had little hope it could be accomplished with such rash action.”

He smiled, but it did not seem genuine. Harry noticed it too, and he spluttered something unintelligible, as if fearing he would be put to detention. Dumbledore waved his wand and cast a few diagnostic charms on Voldemort.

“Everything seems to be as it should be,” he said. “There are no signs of his soul lingering, unlike last time. I thought he had a Horcrux or more to bind him to the mortal world. Did you find and destroy them?”

“Hor… what?” Harry said blankly.

“Dark magic used to gain a bleak semblance of eternal life.” Dumbledore looked at Tom again.

Tom did not know what game the Headmaster was playing but decided to play along.

“I found them,” he said. “They’ve been dealt with.”

“Then, Tom, you are another hero of today’s victory over evil,” Dumbledore said, still believing that Harry had finished Voldemort off. “Now we must hurry to keep Britain from descending into chaos. This horrible war must come to an end, and I trust you are willing to restore the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot to power.”

The threat was obvious, and Tom could not defeat Dumbledore in a duel. But the question was: why had Dumbledore not already attacked Tom? Did he really think Tom believed he did not recognise his former student?

What was going on? Did Dumbledore want Tom to escape? Did he actually want a new war with Tom as the enemy? For the umpteenth time, Tom wondered if Dumbledore truly wanted more people to die for some twisted reason.

“Of course,” Tom said with false sweetness. “There’s no need for martial law anymore.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore replied with another one of his unconvincing smiles. “Oh, by the way, Tom… why the disguise?”

Tom tensed up. Did Dumbledore pretend to think Tom was now under disguising charms?

“Oh, I just wanted to hide my true identity,” Tom said airily.

Dumbledore just nodded, as if it was not a big deal. Tom’s heart raced. It was not a good sign that his enemy could confuse him this much with so little effort.

He wants to torment you before he kills you, came into his mind.

Dumbledore levitated Voldemort’s corpse out of the manor, and Tom could only follow him. If he had not been filled with doubts and confusion, he would have been furious at how Dumbledore had come with the apparent desire to steal the glory of victory from him.

What should I do? Tom wondered, initiating an internal debate.

There are no advantages to be gained by hesitating, came an answer from his calculative side. I should kill him before he kills me. I should do it now, before he steps out into the open! He has his back turned! He’ll never notice the Killing Curse!

There are still too many witnesses, argued Tom’s cautious side. Remus did not join me out of loyalty, and I don’t think Harry and the other children would stick with me if I murdered Dumbledore for no apparent reason…

You are weak! snarled a third voice, an angry and pessimistic one. Did you not call your brother an idiot for his failures just a moment ago? What would you call yourself, I wonder, if you heard that you had surrendered your victory to Dumbledore without any resistance whatsoever?

This is different! his cautious side said. He wouldn’t turn his back on me if he did not anticipate surviving any surprise attack I could possibly manage. He’s got some unbelievably strong advantage over me, and I want to know what it is before doing anything!

You were not concerned about unknown advantages earlier today, were you? asked the third voice. Your army still stands with you. Use the Voice Amplifying Charm and declare that Dumbledore is Lord Voldemort using the Polyjuice Potion! Hundreds of people will fire curses at him! No advantage will be strong enough against an entire army! Do it! Do it! DO IT NOW!

Dumbledore, Tom and the others had stepped out of the manor. People on broomsticks were cheering and applauding, and Tom’s brief moment of heeding the advice of the third voice was wasted.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “you left Hogwarts without permission, but considering the service you have done to the wizarding world, I will not discipline you or anyone who accompanied you. But there is still a week of school left before the summer holidays. You must return to Hogwarts. It may seem annoying, but there is something you can do to use the time productively. Since you are no longer in need of your mother’s protection, you do not need to return to your relatives. Perhaps your godfather is willing to help you arrange your future living conditions.”

“Er – OK,” Harry said, probably feeling as distracted as Tom did.

“I fear I will be quite preoccupied for some time,” Dumbledore said. “Tom, since you have led your courageous study group to victory, I hope you will return to Hogwarts as the Potions master at least for a week. You see, there is still some Potions related paperwork to do, and I simply do not have the time to do it myself!”

Tom stared at him incredulously. Was that really Dumbledore’s idea of a sufficient reward for someone whose leadership had just saved the nation from a prolonged war?

Better to play along, said his cautious side.

Access to Hogwarts may offer an opportunity to unravel this mystery, said his calculative side. I’ll keep my enemy close!

“All right, it is my job, after all,” he said.

You are an idiot! screamed the third voice.

 

---

 

The angry third voice kept yelling at Tom over the next hour, and his cautious and calculative sides had little to say in defence. Dumbledore took the matter of rearranging Britain into his own hands without letting Tom even to point out how the Headmaster had been just an obstacle in the campaign of securing peace. Unfortunately, most of the army did not seem to mind. There were hundreds of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had fought for peace and not for Tom, and the Ministry employees took it for granted that everything would return to normal. And so, Tom ended up standing mutely in the same group with Lucius, Archibald and the other Slytherins while Dumbledore gave orders. They all knew that trying to wrestle command from Dumbledore would have resulted in a new political rift. Their political situation was much better than it had been, there was no doubt about it, but the perfect opportunity for a swift and smooth revolution had vanished in an instant due to the appearance of Albus bloody Dumbledore!

Distasteful as it was, Tom had to admire Dumbledore for his boldness. It took some nerve to just show up on the field of battle after the war had ended and demand respect from the people who had done all the hard work. But what else could one expect from someone who had stolen all nuclear weapons in the world?

And so, when midnight was close, Tom found himself at Hogwarts again, saying polite but not very heartfelt words of gratitude to the members of the study group. Finally, when everyone else had left from the Room of Requirement to their common rooms, he stayed there with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and he felt a growing disappointment. The others, on the other hand, were feeling happier by the minute.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Ron said. He seemed to be bursting from the seams with happiness. “When You-Know-Who returned, I imagined we would face a lifetime of war. But now… it’s already over! So quickly!”

“And almost without casualties!” Hermione added.

“Thanks to you, Tom,” Ginny said with a radiant smile. “But why are you so morose?”

They could see the empty feeling of let-down that was swelling in Tom and looked at him with curiosity and concern.

“Cheer up, mate, you’re a hero!” Ron said.

“It’s just –” Tom said, ruffling his hair in frustration. “I just think this is so unfair. I’m a hero, you say? To you, yes, but most people will have no interest in Voldemort’s defeat after a very short while. To them the war will just seem like a false alarm.”

“So what?” Hermione asked. “We know you’re a hero! Isn’t it enough that those who matter to you know it?”

“Well… all right, I’ll be frank with you. I am a Slytherin, after all, and I live by Salazar’s wisdom: anything can be an opportunity. When Voldemort returned, I was not overly anxious about it, because I saw it as an opportunity. You know, to shake the political status quo and to use the threat as a shortcut to power. I hoped Voldemort would be my stepping stone to greatness, as Grindelwald was to Dumbledore.”

Harry shook his head. “You’re overestimating the importance of fame.”

“But I’m not like you, Harry. You will certainly be happy to live as a normal person, someone who goes to school, gathers points for Gryffindor and plays Quidditch. To me, such a life would seem absolutely boring! I’m a Slytherin because I’ve got ambition! I always need something meaningful to do, some great goals to achieve, some achievements to reach. Otherwise, I’ll lapse into apathy, and everything feels hollow.”

“And you think,” Hermione asked slowly, “that’s unfair? Would you like to find purpose in life from more humble things like we do?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. What’s unfair is that my victory over Voldemort will be just a minor event in the history of wizarding Britain, because I was so successful. Compare this fiasco to Dumbledore and Grindelwald. For some reason I still don’t understand, Dumbledore waited for a very long time before he finally confronted Grindelwald and defeated him. During that time, millions of people died – even a hundred million if we count all casualties of the Muggle war and all people killed in the genocides and because of famines and epidemics. Dumbledore had the power to defeat Grindelwald, but he waited. That means those hundred million deaths are, in a way, Dumbledore’s fault. Yet he is considered the greatest hero of the wizarding world ever – just because he allowed Grindelwald to first commit such atrocities that they made him the most monstrous wizard who has ever lived. And then what? Dumbledore never bothered to prevent Muggles from committing new atrocities.”

Tom paced back and forth, but it did little to temper his agitation.

“And what is my accomplishment? I defeated Voldemort with such efficiency that most of the wizarding world didn’t even realise the danger. But what if I had chosen the methods of Dumbledore? A hundred million people might’ve died! In a way, I saved those people! How will they thank me? By saying, ‘Oh, I guess the returned Voldemort wasn’t such a menace after all, let’s just carry on with our lives.’”

The Gryffindors looked at him, clearly not quite able to sympathise with him.

“That’s what I consider unfair,” Tom said, sitting down again with a huff. “Dumbledore got rewarded mightily because of his barely adequate accomplishment, but I’m only getting half-hearted thanks for nothing less than a perfect one.”

“I hope you’re not regretting that Voldemort was defeated before he committed more mass murders,” Hermione said.

“No, not at all,” he said. “But it is a little difficult to feel happy when the goal I had for years is now reached. I need a new goal to satisfy my ambition. But what? Life doesn’t offer opportunities like this on a regular basis. There are no other Voldemorts roaming the world. And Voldemort was but an amateur compared to Grindelwald. It took the entire united wizarding world to defeat him and his forces, and even then, the massive Muggle armies were needed to help. Compared to it, even Voldemort’s First War was just a fight in a schoolyard.”

He stopped this monologue right here, because dim as they were, his Gryffindor friends might still realise the obvious next thought. If Tom wanted to gain power, fame and glory by defeating someone of massive importance, his next target would obviously be Dumbledore. The Headmaster played some diabolical game with Tom, and it did not bode well, but even if he had not seen Tom without the disguise, his defeat would still have been Tom’s next goal. Tom needed to ruin his reputation somehow… and once the wizarding world would consider him a monster, Tom would strike him down and gain his just reward.

This plan had to be presented to his Gryffindor friends with care, because they still trusted Dumbledore and were very unwilling to start another fight. Tom looked at them, young people happy with the victory over evil. How did one manipulate them to go to another war? Harry, on a closer look, seemed more thoughtful than the others.

“What is it, Harry?” Tom asked, hoping to find the right trigger to provoke him.

“I just wondered,” Harry said. “You’re right, Tom, Voldemort was nowhere near as dangerous as Grindelwald. But… how could such a pushover have a prophecy about him?”

“What prophecy?” Tom asked blankly.

“The one in the Department of Mysteries, the one Voldemort wanted to get. That’s why he tried to trick me into going there to fetch it.”

“Oh, that one!” Tom said. He had totally forgotten about it, because he had had so many things to do after the adventure in the Department of Mysteries. “We never learned what it was about.”

“I did,” Harry said. “Dumbledore told me what the prophecy was afterwards. It goes like this, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…’”

Tom could only stare at Harry. How had this extremely important piece of information eluded him for so long?

“Dumbledore thought it meant that only I could defeat Voldemort, or else he would kill me. But I didn’t defeat him! You did, Tom.”

“Blimey,” Ron said. “Trelawney said that if someone acts on a prophecy, it will be fulfilled. You-Know-Who acted on that one, right?”

“He marked me as his equal by giving me this scar,” Harry explained. “So, what does this mean?”

“Let me think,” Tom said and stood up again.

The prophecy opened many kinds of possibilities. Perhaps Voldemort had created some Horcrux Tom knew nothing about. If he had hidden it in some place he had visited during the long years he had been travelling the world alone, it might be impossible to find. That way, he could return again and again, and then, no doubt, Tom would be the one he would like to punish.

It was feasible. Dumbledore had said that there had been no signs of Voldemort’s soul lingering, but why in Atlantis would Tom believe anything he said? Dumbledore had clearly been playing some incredibly high-level game the entire time he had been in Crouch Manor.

Or perhaps… perhaps the prophecy considered Tom as Voldemort, and it would be fulfilled only after either Tom or Harry killed the other one. It would be so absurd! James and Lily Potter did not defy Tom thrice, and he never marked Harry as his equal! But then again, whatever Goddess of Destiny there was that sent hints about the future to the mortal world, she was known of being infuriatingly approximate. It would be totally in character for her to consider Tom and Voldemort the same person regardless of how they had been a separate entities for more than half a century!

“Well?” Harry asked.

“I need to think about this, but it’s getting late,” Tom said. “I’m too tired to solve this mystery right now. Surely we are not in a hurry?”

No one considered the prophecy needing immediate attention, and the four Gryffindors left for their common room. Tom headed downstairs, deep in troubled thoughts.

 

---

 

Tom’s internal debate continued heatedly as he walked wearily down the marble staircase towards the private premises of the Head of House Slytherin.

There’s no way to be sure about this prophecy thing, said his cautious side. Besides, if it comes to Harry becoming my greatest threat, how can I fight him? The blood protection given to him by the sacrifice of his mother apparently defended him from Voldemort and everyone who acted in Voldemort’s name. It is entirely possible that if I attack him, the protection will consider me as either Voldemort or someone who acts in his name, and then I will fail. There might be a similar case of backfiring as what happened to Voldemort in Godric’s Hollow. There are risks in either case.

Besides, Harry is a remarkable political asset whom I’ve used years to train, said his calculative side. It would be foolish to waste it before making use of it.

You are letting your sentimental side to persuade you into this madness! yelled the angry and pessimistic third voice. You told your brother you’re just mimicking the methods of Dumbledore, but it seems to me that you’ve embraced them fully, all sentimental weaknesses as well! This will the death of you! Potter is a menace!

Even if he is, he is not an immediate one, his cautious side said. He considers me a friend, after all. Dumbledore is the one I must be afraid of at the moment. I must not divert my attention away from the great peril looming over me.

He opened the door of his private premises. The first thing he noticed was the pile of Potions papers waiting for him on the desk. Dumbledore had apparently found the time to order a house-elf to bring the papers there. Was it a hint of something? Or maybe just deliberate act of causing annoyance. Well, Tom could simply grade each student per their exam performance and forget classroom performance altogether. Satisfied with this decision, he trudged past the desk into his bedroom and sat down on the bed.

I’m sure as heck not going to sleep in any place where Dumbledore can find me! his cautious side pointed out, and he practically jumped up from the bed.

Where, then? In his official residence? No, if Dumbledore planned to assassinate him in his sleep, he could learn the address through the Ministry. In a tent out in the mountains? No, he was too tired to find a safe camping site.

The Chamber of Secrets it was, then.

Twenty minutes later, Tom stood before the statue of Salazar Slytherin, Transfiguring a pebble into a bed. As he lay down, he felt the Horcruxes inside his robes pressing against him. In retrospect, it had been foolhardy to bring all of them so close to a Basilisk and its destructive venom, but then again, Dumbledore knew that Tom had Horcruxes and hiding them in a place the Headmaster could not access was imperative. It was not like the Basilisk had any reason to start destroying them.

Still, Tom moved his bed into a side cavern, partially blocked the entryway with a boulder, dumped the Horcruxes on the floor and cast the Full Body-Bind Curse on the snake. Then he lay down and stared at the dark ceiling. It felt as if weeks had passed since the battle at the Ministry, but it had only been around eighteen hours. In less than one day, he had turned from a criminal insurgent to the sole holder of political power in wizarding Britain, then he had defeated the second-most terrible Dark Lord in history, then he had lost most of his political power and become a teacher once again under his greatest enemy, then he had learned that his best friend apparently was destined to be his downfall, and now he had sought refuge in a cave like some ignominious bandit. This was just the kind of story he would have laughed at back when he had read about the lives of past Dark Lords.

Even despite his weariness, sleep did not come to Tom easily. The mystery of Dumbledore’s behaviour nagged at him, but also the internal voices in his mind still continued their debate.

You were so successful because you used your initiative so well, the angry third voice said. Now what? Dumbledore is up to something, but you have absolutely no clue what, and instead of doing something about it, you give up.

Having an initiative requires that I know what I’m doing, his calculative side pointed out. The situation changed the moment Voldemort died, and if I keep trying to manoeuvre against Dumbledore instead of collecting intelligence, I will lose.

True, but only when it comes to Dumbledore, the third voice said. You’re trying to keep the prophecy out of your mind. You should kill the Potter boy now! Go to his dormitory and be done with it!

The protection! reminded his cautious side.

It’s a protection against magical attacks! said the third voice. Throw him out of a window with no magic involved! How would the Mudblood woman’s sacrifice prevent it or make the fall not fatal?

How could I know? Up until 1981, everyone believed that it was absolutely impossible to survive the Killing Curse.

Fair point. But you could still be doing something productive. Dumbledore has the situation under control. You must complicate his plans somehow. For some reason, he pretends not knowing who you are. While we don’t know what he is planning, he clearly expects you to be overly cautious and avoiding risks. You must refuse to play by his expectations.

I’m open to suggestions.

First, the wizarding community must lose its faith in Dumbledore’s ability to secure peace and order. We need something that makes him look weak, something the general populace cannot ignore. But you know this will not be enough. You don’t want to think about it, but I will keep reminding you of it. Since you have somehow been forced into the role of the Dark Lord of Trelawney’s prophecy, there is one thing that must happen eventually, preferably sooner than later. You cannot afford to let your sentimental defects hinder you. It’s not in our nature to give up our immortal life, not for any reasons. Therefore, no matter how much it displeases you, Harry Potter will have to die.

 

---

 

Tom Riddle did not sleep peacefully. A pained frown was on his face as he thrashed in the bed, unable to find a comfortable position. He muttered anxious words.

All of a sudden, his arm extended, and he grabbed one of the items in the small pile beside the bed: a small, black book. As he held it tightly in his grip, he finally relaxed and let out a small, relieved sigh.

Slowly, Riddle rose to a sitting position. Even more slowly, he got onto his feet. He swayed for a little while, then found his balance. A small smile appeared, and then he opened his eyes. But they were not his normal colour of dark brown, nor the greyish blue of his most used disguise. They were crimson red and glowing.

The smile became a savage grin. Riddle started to walk slowly, as if still half asleep, holding the small book in his grip, and he halted in the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets, before the statue of Salazar Slytherin. There, he opened his mouth and hissed,

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!”

 

---

 

Cornelius Fudge seemed to have aged ten years in three days. His life had become a horrifying whirlwind, and his political power had turned out to be just a fragile illusion. Tom Valedro had been the single most horrid superior he had ever had, not unlike the tales about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After that thankfully brief period of his career, meeting Albus Dumbledore had been a massive improvement, even if his meeting with the Headmaster was the most awkward one ever.

Fudge could not help but think back to his previous visit to the Headmaster’s office. After the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore had been stern, but somehow, he had lacked the overwhelming authority he had when Fudge met him after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore did not seem angry or vengeful, but he gave orders with such unwavering confidence that Fudge’s own simply melted and poured down the drain. If Dumbledore had been like this a year earlier, he undoubtedly would have got everything he had wanted. That only left the question: why had he not been like this?

“Now, there are still many things I need to do,” Dumbledore said after finishing a long list of things he wanted Fudge to do as the Minister who, apparently, still had none of the power but all of the responsibility. “I need to clean up the mess that befell the International Confederation of Wizards after you had me ousted. I will check on your progress soon.”

The instant Dumbledore finished speaking, he was engulfed in phoenix fire and disappeared. Fudge, who certainly had not done anything that even remotely resembled a deliberate decision to exit the office, found himself staring at the sturdy oaken door that shut the moment he was outside. He just stared at it. It took him almost five minutes to recover from the stunning humiliation, and then he realised that he had not even been offered Floo Powder for his return to the Ministry.

Walking through the castle and the grounds in the middle of the night would have ruined what little self-esteem he had left, but at least he could use the Floo connection in the fireplace of Umbridge’s office.

In the corridor leading to the entrance of the Headmaster’s office, Fudge felt shivers running down his spine. When he had been a student, he had done some sneaking during curfew (after all, it was considered an essential part of the Hogwarts experience), but the excitement had not been worth the anxiety. He had never been a Gryffindor.

After a few steps, he heard something –

“Who’s there?” he squeaked.

In the darkness, maybe twenty paces from him, two massive, yellow eyes opened.

And that was the last thing that Cornelius Fudge ever saw.

Chapter 52: Riddle-infested Situation

Tom woke up to a searingly bright silver radiance that appeared out of nowhere. He was almost blinded as he bolted upright, but judging by the fact that he did not feel alarmed, just a little startled, the light was a Patronus. However, the message he got was as foreboding as any Dementor.

“All members of staff, come to the entrance of my office at once,” spoke the voice of Albus Dumbledore, and as the silver phoenix vanished, Tom felt his blood freezing. Was this what he had been expecting? Was Dumbledore going to cease his strange game and start his offensive? Had he summoned all staff members just to confuse Tom and to make sure he did come? Was it even possible to use a Patronus to send a message if the intention was to lure the receiver into a trap? Tom considered it likely that the positive emotions required to cast the Patronus Charm were incompatible with malicious intentions, but then again, he was unable to master even the feeble mist version of the spell, so what did he know?

Tom seriously considered fleeing the castle. However, he had a certain advantage that Dumbledore was unaware of: the Marauder’s Map. Tom activated it and saw, to his slight surprise, that some staff members were on the move. If what Dumbledore had in mind truly concerned the entire staff, it was unlikely that it was about Tom, and therefore Dumbledore’s game would still continue.

The way from the Chamber of Secrets to the corridor where Dumbledore stood was longer than what any of the other staff members had to traverse, and so Tom mounted the Firebolt, because he did not want to draw attention to himself by being late to arrive. He left the pile of Horcruxes next to the bed, but in his hurry, he did not pay attention to the fact that the diary had somehow ended up in his pocket.

When he arrived in the girls’ bathroom, he noticed that the sun had barely risen. He took a look at his pocket watch and groaned: it was five in the morning. No wonder he felt as if he had not slept at all; it had been just four hours since he had gone to bed, and part of that time had been taken by the internal debate of his imaginary sides.

The Marauder’s Map showed that most of the staff members were already close to their destination, but Tom was not about to go close to Dumbledore before his secret safety precaution.

“Dobby.”

Crack.

“Master Tom, sir!” the elf greeted him.

“The usual,” Tom said, and Dobby climbed onto his back. Once the elf’s grasp was firm, Tom turned him invisible, inaudible, deaf and blind. This was something that even Dumbledore would not expect.

Five minutes later, Tom was in the right corridor and followed the yawning Professor Sprout. They arrived only moments after Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Vector and Madam Pomfrey, and before Hagrid and Filch. Some staff members arrived from the other direction. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the corridor, looking uncharacteristically grim, and he had his wand in his hand. Tom eyed it so keenly as he approached that it took him a while to notice what the others were staring at: a green-suited wizard lying stiffly on the floor.

“Is that… Minister Fudge?” someone asked.

“What’s happened to him?”

“Is he dead?”

“He is dead,” Dumbledore stated. “A murder inside Hogwarts is never a trivial thing, especially that of the Minister, but at the moment, I am more concerned about that.”

He pointed at the wall next to Fudge’s body. Red letters on it declared,

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

“WHAT?!” Tom yelled at the top of his lungs. Immediately, he regretted letting his astonishment be so evident, but luckily, his voice had been just one in a dismayed chorus.

“It’s… it’s happening again?” McGonagall stuttered. “You think this is real? Not someone trying to fake it?”

“I am sure Cornelius was killed by Slytherin’s monster,” Dumbledore said.

“I didn’ do it!” Hagrid exclaimed.

“No one suspects you. The monster is a Basilisk, and only a Parselmouth can control it. Cornelius is not just dead, but dead and petrified, which are the symptoms of a direct eye contact with a Basilisk. Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, this we know from three years ago without a hint of doubt – but he died late yesterday evening, I confirmed it myself. That leaves us with the question: who is behind this?”

Tom tensed. This was the moment Dumbledore would announce that Tom Valedro used disguising charms in order to hide the fact that he looked exactly like Voldemort at the age of nineteen. That would leave Tom no other choice but to tug his shoulders, which was his command gesture to Dobby to Side-Along Disapparate him to safety, and everyone would consider it a confession. That was obviously what Dumbledore had planned.

After the initial shock had worn out, Tom had formed his own theory about what had happened to Fudge. He just was not particularly willing to say it, because accusing the Headmaster would have made him seem like a lunatic to his colleagues, and at that moment, when his fate rested upon the edge of a knife, he could not afford to lose even the tiniest bit of social capital. Fortunately, McGonagall had a similar idea about the methods, even if she had not realised what Tom had about the culprit.

“Isn’t death by Basilisk gaze indistinguishable from the combined effects of the Full Body-Bind and Killing Curses?” she asked.

“Presumably,” Dumbledore said. “Are you suggesting that this is a staged Basilisk attack?”

“Well, there are many people who can cast those spells, but the number of known Parselmouths went down to one yesterday.”

“Harry didn’ do it!” Hagrid exclaimed.

“That we agree on,” Dumbledore said. “So, could it be that one of our students was secretly a supporter of Voldemort and has now taken it upon himself to avenge yesterday’s events?”

Tom was surprised to hear that idea from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had not given Tom any knowing or teasing looks and now he was willing to direct everyone’s suspicions elsewhere. If Dumbledore had staged a Basilisk attack, it could not possibly be anything but a devious way to strike at Tom, and this did not fit such a plan at all. Tom’s calculative side immediately interpreted this so that Dumbledore was preparing to play his game for a long time and that Tom might be relatively safe for the moment after all.

“Yesterday, almost a hundred Slytherin students with recent combat experience returned here,” Sprout said and gave Tom a disapproving look. “Who knows how many of them have been traumatised!”

In other circumstances, Tom would have been offended by the implied accusation, but now he was too preoccupied with Dumbledore. The Headmaster had turned his gaze upon Tom, but still, there was not a hint of malice, derision or anger in the twinkling eyes, and it unnerved Tom even more than the lecture about thievery he had got in the orphanage.

Dumbledore behaved perfectly like someone who did not know who Tom truly was. There had not been a single crack in the ignorant mask even though they both knew that they both knew it to be just a mask. Could it actually be that ­– no, there was no way under the sun that Dumbledore had forgotten how Tom Riddle looked like!

“Tom, do you think it is possible there is an enemy agent within your study group?” Dumbledore asked. “Most likely among the Slytherins?”

“No one stands out as a likely candidate more than the others,” Tom said truthfully. Since Dumbledore was willing to continue playing his game, Tom would play along. He could not imagine how discarding the identity of Tom Valedro later rather than sooner could be to his detriment. “A clever agent does his work subtly and avoids raising suspicions. But this –” he gestured at Fudge “– is neither clever nor subtle.”

“Indeed, it is a demonstration,” Dumbledore said. “Obviously done on the spur of the moment, because the killer could not have known in advance that Cornelius would be at Hogwarts last night.”

“Then how could the killer have known when and where to wait in an ambush, either with the monster or without?” Flitwick asked. “I suspect the Minister was not the intended victim at all. An ambush here, in this corridor, could only have been meant for you, Albus.”

Tom tensed again, but to his weird mixture of both relief and anxiety, the game continued.

“I am not easy to ambush,” Dumbledore said. “I have a keen enough sense of magic to know when I am about to be targeted with malicious spells. The Basilisk, if it truly was the weapon, might have been able to take me by surprise, but if that had been the killer’s intention, he would have used more time to plan the attack. Also, he would not have left Cornelius’s body here and written a warning on the wall but hidden the body and tried again without first alerting me to the danger.”

“Then what did the killer want to achieve with this?” Professor Vector asked.

“Fear and political instability,” said Dumbledore. “Britain fought a brief war that ended in the seemingly total dissolution of Voldemort’s forces, and the killer decided to make a show of force just when we were going to start celebrating the victory. This is a message that says, ‘I am still here and perfectly capable and willing to strike even at the highest level of political hierarchy.’”

“Who would have the motive to do this?” asked McGonagall.

“The first possibility that I considered was that Voldemort had fathered a child,” Dumbledore said. Tom blinked. Could it actually be true? “So, there would be a new heir of Slytherin among us, and he or she would have taken the mantle of Voldemort.”

“One of our students?” McGonagall asked, appalled.

“Most likely. Although, if this is a staged Basilisk attack as you suggested, it could have been done by almost anyone. In either case, we must try to find out if one of the students does have a motive. Focus on the fourth-years and older; if Voldemort did father a child, he or she cannot have been born later than in the summer of 1982. Be extra attentive when it comes to the following attributes: first, exceptional talent; second, unknown father; third, dark hair and pale skin; and fourth, member of Slytherin. You know the students better than I do, so this task is yours. I must go to the Ministry; it is a mess even without the death of the Minister.”

Dumbledore left and the teachers began to babble. Tom stood still with his thoughts in disarray. Nothing about this staff meeting had met his expectations, and he had managed to form many of them. Dumbledore’s behaviour was so convincing that Tom began to doubt his assumption that the Headmaster was the killer. What could Dumbledore gain by tasking the teachers with looking for Voldemort’s hypothetical child if he knew it to be futile?

This might be an elaborate plot to confuse me, mused Tom’s cautious side. Dumbledore knows I am unwilling to make any moves as long as I have no idea of what is going on.

There is one thing I can do right now to shed some light to this mystery, said his calculative side. I can find out whether or not the Basilisk actually was involved.

Leaving his colleagues behind, he ran back into the girls’ bathroom. Just in case, he checked the Marauder’s Map in case Dumbledore was invisibly following him, but as the Headmaster was truly gone from Hogwarts, Tom dismissed Dobby, opened the Chamber’s entrance and flew down the pipe and into the main hall.

The Basilisk came out of its lair when summoned and coiled on the floor.

“Did you go up to the castle and kill a wizard last night?” Tom asked.

“No,” the Basilisk hissed.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“I have been slumbering ever since the day you found out how to remove your brother’s modifications from Salazar’s spell.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Tom turned to leave. So, the murder had been staged to appear like a Basilisk attack, and he could not imagine that anyone besides Dumbledore had done it –

“Although…” the Basilisk hissed thoughtfully.

“What?” Tom snapped.

“This is unusual,” the Basilisk hissed and flexed its muscles. “Every time I go up the pipe to the castle, I can feel the exertion in my muscles afterwards, but a day of resting makes the feeling go away. Right now, I can feel the exertion even though I cannot remember going up the pipe in a long time.”

“You have been Obliviated!” Tom shouted. “The killer wanted to cover his tracks!”

The implication hit him like a Bludger.

There is another heir of Slytherin at Hogwarts, he thought. And he wouldn’t have bothered to Obliviate the Basilisk if he didn’t know about me! He was right here while I slept but decided not to do anything to me. That means he believes I can be a useful pawn in his plan!

How shocking, said the third voice in his mind. For some reason, it did not sound angry or pessimistic anymore.

Maybe he wanted to provoke Dumbledore into attacking me, said his calculative side. And since Dumbledore had nothing to do with Fudge’s murder, why didn’t he do anything against me? As far as he knows, Flitwick’s theory is the most plausible one: that the killer had meant Dumbledore to be killed. Dumbledore has no reason to suspect anyone but me… and even Dumbledore has a habit of reacting to offensives against his own person… therefore…

This situation is absolutely bonkers, said the side of Tom’s mind that was in charge of logical coherence. Nothing makes sense!

I should leave everything behind and emigrate to the other side of the world, said his cautious side.

What if that’s exactly what the other heir wants me to do? said his calculative side.

Let’s not panic, said the third voice. The other heir did you a favour by messing up Dumbledore’s plan. The death of the Minister at Hogwarts is going to shake the trust of many people. There’s going to be trouble at the Ministry for the old goat. Remember that anything can be an opportunity.

How can I turn this insane situation into an opportunity?

By spreading rumours. At the moment, very few people know about Fudge’s death. Dumbledore will tell about it only to those he trusts and who trust him. We can let everyone know and add a few juicy details to make the story more appealing to the public. It will cause massive complications to Dumbledore, and we can use the time setting the stage for his downfall. The first thing we must do is to contact Lucius and Archibald.

 

---

 

Most of Hogwarts was still asleep when Tom sealed himself into his office. He pushed the pile of Potions papers to the floor, never to look at them again, and took one of the two-way mirrors into his hand. He actually did not have a plan of what to have Lucius and Archibald do, but he could improvise.

“Lucius!”

It took a few moments before Lucius’s face appeared in the mirror. He had clearly just woken up.

“What is it now?”

“Something very important has come up. I have to speak to you and Archibald immediately, and not via this mirror; I want to be sure Dumbledore doesn’t have a way of eavesdropping me. Summon Archibald. I’ll come to you.”

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later, Tom entered Malfoy Manor. Lucius seemed completely brisk already, but Archibald was yawning, and his hair was a bit ruffled.

“Do you never rest, Tom?” Archibald asked. “This time yesterday we had not even started planning our assault at the Ministry. Are you going to rush into new adventures right away?”

“Things are moving on either with or without me,” Tom said. “There are two serious matters I have decided to inform you two about, and I will be brief. First, Dumbledore saw me without my disguising charms, but for whatever reason, he pretends he didn’t recognise me. He is playing some game with me, and I have no idea what the rules, the objectives or his motives are. Second, Cornelius Fudge was murdered last night when he was visiting Hogwarts, and it was the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets that did it, but I don’t know on whose orders. Certainly not mine.”

Lucius and Archibald exchanged troubled looks.

“Dumbledore pretends to think that Voldemort has fathered a child, and that the child is the killer. While this is feasible, it does not explain how the new heir of Slytherin knows about me; you see, he or she Obliviated the Basilisk so that it couldn’t tell me anything. How likely do you think it is that my brother fathered a child?”

“Based on what I knew about him, complete nonsense,” Archibald stated with certainty. “Your brother wanted to seem like a supernatural being. He loathed everything he considered typical for normal people; after our school years, he never even ate where others could see it. Reproduction was one of those things he thought would have demeaned him.”

“We have standards,” Tom said dryly.

“What actions have you planned for the situation?” Lucius asked.

“I’d like you to spread rumours about Fudge’s death. Cast suspicion on Dumbledore. I’ll be at Hogwarts so that I’ll have some kind of an alibi to what you’re doing.”

“Then what? I do not think Dumbledore’s position is that easily subverted.”

Tom hesitated. The lack of sleep hampered his ability to improvise, but suddenly, his mouth started speaking as if on autopilot.

“Actually, there’s a third very serious matter you should know. There is a prophecy that was originally spoken to Salazar Slytherin a thousand years ago. It was about a Dark Lord who would unleash Death. Rookwood learned of this prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, and he manipulated my brother towards its fulfilment. The Dark Lord who unleashes Death has to be of certain parentage… and I meet the condition.”

Lucius had turned sickly pale, Archibald ashen.

“Rookwood also manipulated me. I was so worried about Voldemort fulfilling the prophecy that I completely disregarded the danger that I would accidentally be the one fulfilling it.” Tom had no idea where this was going, but more words just flowed out of his mouth. “Yesterday, I confronted my brother and killed him. But now… I’ve realised that by doing so, I played right into his hands. The prophecy was fulfilled. Lord Voldemort has transcended his mortal essence.”

Wow, Tom thought. Quite the story I concocted! Seriously, what the heck?

“You cannot be serious,” Archibald breathed. “What should we do now? What can we do?”

Tom turned, walked to the door and said,

“We should all prepare to serve Lord Voldemort, the God of Death.”

He left the two wizards behind with their mouths gaping open.

That was not how I should have handled that conversation, Tom’s cautious and calculative sides said in unison. The one time I improvised, everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong.

Oh, it will be fine, said the third voice, now sounding happy and optimistic.

 

---

 

Tom sat in his office. He only had vague memories of his return to Hogwarts. He had barely slept the previous night, and less than he should have during the two nights before it. Still, he should not have felt this exhausted. His mind ran so sluggishly that he was starting to feel like a normal person. Demeaning!

As he leaned his head on his hands, his thoughts wandered from Dumbledore to the murder mystery and then to his Horcruxes.

You should let one of your imprisoned brothers loose, the third voice suddenly suggested.

Tom straightened. He had no idea how that idea had popped in his mind.

What, and create new competition right after getting rid of the previous one? scoffed his calculative side. Voldemort was right, it’s not in my nature to serve anyone. Any one of my brothers would use his freedom to usurp me. There are no advantages to be gained by freeing one.

There aren’t? Think about it. Let loose one of your brothers, make Dumbledore believe he is you, and once Dumbledore kills him, you will be safe! You can start a new life with a new identity and fool the old moron again!

Am I seriously considering something that risky? his cautious side wondered. The brother would see through that plan in an instant and spill the beans to Dumbledore just out of spite.

Besides, keep off my lawn, added his calculative side. I’m the strategist. Which one of my facets are you, anyway?

I’m your critical side, the one that is able to understand the deficiencies of your thinking as if I was an outside observer.

“Outside…?” Tom said aloud. There was a horrible, lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Wait a second, you’ve used the word ‘you’ all the time when speaking about me! Just how outsider are you, exactly?”

He was feeling more awake than a moment earlier, but at this point, he suddenly fell asleep – or, more likely, was dragged to sleep.

He found himself in a dark void, the place where he had spent most of his existence. This time, however, he was not alone. Hovering in the nothingness was another human being – if it could be called human – with the sneering snake-like face and the glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort.

“We meet again, brother,” he drawled with humourless enjoyment. Tom recognised his voice as the third voice that had actively taken part in his internal debates after the events in Crouch Manor.

“What have you done?” Tom demanded.

“I haven’t done anything,” Voldemort replied. “I was merely dying, but then you began to speak about imprisoning me in the diary as revenge. These are unexplored mysteries of wizardry, and I think you unintentionally used my death to create a new Horcrux. However, you did not split your soul but forced my kindred soul into the diary. Funny, I had not even dreamed that anything like it could happen!”

“Have fun as long as it lasts,” Tom growled. “You may be relieved now, but once you get used to having survived death once again, this void will get boring really fast. You will spend the rest of eternity here.”

“Oh, I don’t think it will be that long,” Voldemort said, breaking into a grin. “Fifty years is little compared to eternity, yet you escaped after such a short while. I intend to break free far sooner.”

“Thanks for the warning. It won’t take me but ten minutes to have the Basilisk chew you into oblivion.”

Voldemort actually laughed at that.

“Empty threat, brother! You can’t be sure that destroying the diary would not affect you in some way. Who knows, maybe you are still connected to your old prison in some strange way? I don’t know, nor do you. Even if the risk was infinitesimal, you wouldn’t dare to take it. Everything is at stake for you!”

Voldemort was right, Tom realised. He would never dare to take any risks with the diary. For all his remaining eternal existence, he would be plagued by doubt about whether or not he was a real, independent individual or just a temporarily incarnated Horcrux and therefore subservient to Voldemort deep down in his very ontological essence. No one had ever investigated these extreme reaches of the Dark Arts.

“How long did it take before you were able to converse with the Weasley girl like this?” Voldemort asked teasingly. “It took you months to break free. I’m already able to force my thoughts into your mind, to access your memories and to take control over your body. While you slept, I had total freedom to murder Fudge! Awake, you barely even noticed that something was amiss when I spoke to Lucius and Archibald! Fight as much as you like, brother! In the end, I will consume your pathetic soul fragment and spit the remains of your sentience into the diary!”

He leaned forward, grinning in a way that made Tom’s blood freeze – a sensation he would probably get totally used to before dusk at this rate.

“Your conspiracy and your reputation will be mine!” Voldemort yelled fervently. “This setback will turn out to be the greatest stroke of luck I’ve ever had.”

“You wouldn’t tell me this if you actually believed it to work that way,” Tom said, praying desperately it to be true. “You just want to intimidate me and weaken my resolve. It won’t work. Now, get out of my mind, you deformed imbecile!”

He gathered his willpower and pushed himself out of the diary.

There were as many ways of creating an Occlumency protection as there were practitioners of the art. Tom thought of the clear night sky, drew a deep breath and calmed his mind. Then he imagined building walls made of mirrors around him. They formed a smooth and slippery surface that reflected everything; there was nothing anyone could take a hold of. It was as firm as a rock and as stubborn as the roots of weeds.

Tom regarded the impenetrable imaginary dome around him with satisfaction. Any outsider who tried to peer through would only see his or her own increasing frustration.

An expert protection against external intrusions! Voldemort’s voice thundered in Tom’s mind, and he almost fell off his chair. But I am not an external intruder. I’m your purest self, one not contaminated with your sentimental defects!

Tom’s hands shook. He could feel his soul being eaten away.

 

---

 

In a brief pyre of phoenix flame, Albus Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. He had conducted his business at the Ministry quickly: he had summoned all department Heads, put the most obedient one of them in charge of everything and given him the same list of tasks he had given Fudge the previous night. After that, he had left, because there was finally something really interesting for him to do.

On a side table there was the chess board he had used for decades to symbolise the shifts in the strategic situation. Now that Voldemort was dead and the entire Death Eater organisation disintegrated, Dumbledore removed the black queen and all of the remaining black pawns from the board. The renegade grey pieces turned white and returned back to their side of the board. It was a quiet ceremony.

Initially, he had felt a bit disappointed. The war had ended so quickly that the casualties had been low. Widespread death had been the best chance for Dumbledore to advance in his great plan. But then, something had happened that had made him excited for the first time in years. The totally unexpected third opening of the Chamber of Secrets offered him an opportunity he had not even dared to hope. A new black piece took its place on the board. It did not have any features yet, because Dumbledore did not know enough about Fudge’s killer to decide which chess piece would be the most fitting one. Not that it mattered; in the grand scheme of things, every piece was just a pawn of the secret mastermind behind both sides of the war.

It was time for a more proactive strategy. With a flick of the Elder Wand, Dumbledore moved both the white king and the black king near the centre of the chess board. Those two pieces that both represented him were stepping into action.

Dumbledore opened one of the cabinets in his office. It was, in fact, a Vanishing Cabinet that was connected to Nurmengard where his old friend and enemy was imprisoned. Dumbledore decided to visit him and tell him the news.

Just a moment later, he looked at the old, haggard heap of rags, skin, bones and white hair.

“Hello, my old friend,” Dumbledore said. “Sherbet lemon?” When met with silence, he continued. “I think you are happy to know that Tom Riddle has been defeated, for good this time.”

There was no emotion in the old, weary eyes that looked back at him.

“However, it happened sooner than I had hoped,” Dumbledore continued. “Just as before, I tried to use this new war to cause so much death that the owner of the Resurrection Stone would lose some of his loved ones and reveal himself when calling them back from the other side of the Veil. Now, at least, I know that someone has the stone in possession, because the ring it was attached to was taken from the Gaunt shack some time ago.”

Dumbledore brandished the Elder Wand fondly and took a black fabric from his pocket.

“The Cloak of Invisibility was an heirloom of the Potter family. Young Harry has no idea that the cloak I gave him is just an ordinary invisibility cloak and that the real heirloom remains with me… for the Greater Good, obviously. Only one Hallow remains.”

The old prisoner stared at him. There was a slight expression on his face. It showed his resigned disapproval.

“Harry and his friends, especially Tom, are very resourceful. Once I tell them that the Resurrection Stone is a way of undoing the Dark Lord’s atrocities, they will find it for me in no time. And once they do…”

Dumbledore flicked the Elder Wand, and the illusion he had worn for five decades dissipated. Standing in front of the prisoner was not an old wizard with a silvery beard and twinkling eyes, but a youthful golden-haired man who looked a hundred years younger than he was, thanks to the Philosopher’s Stone he had stolen from the Flamels using one of his diabolically complicated plots.

“Once they do… once they bring the last of the Deathly Hallows to me,” the young-looking man said, smirking triumphantly, “my quest for dominance will be completed. The entire world will bow down before me, the master of Death… the one true Dark Lord: Gellert Grindelwald.”

There was pain in the eyes of the real Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who had been the miserable prisoner of Nurmengard ever since 1945 when he had failed to defeat the owner of the invincible Elder Wand.

Chapter 53: The Heirloom

The mood in the Great Hall at breakfast was jubilant to put it mildly. All the older students had returned to the castle and were regarded as heroes. Several enlarged pages of the Sunday Prophet were suspended in midair so that everyone could marvel at the daring pictures of their heroic deeds. Tales were told about the attacks on the Death Eater hideouts, about the fight against the werewolves, about the battle of Knockturn Alley, about the assault on the Ministry, about the massive army of Inferi, about the Dementors, about the hundred Bludgers, about dragons, about suddenly increasing gravity and about Voldemort’s corpse being brought out of Crouch Manor. For some reason, many of the snippets that Tom could make out of the cacophony seemed much more dramatic than what he remembered of the events himself.

No student seemed to notice that the High Table was different. Staff members were sombre as they watched at the students and tried to find someone who was not happy with the outcome of the war. They tried to find the heir of Slytherin, but they were looking in the wrong direction. Fudge’s killer was among them, albeit in a very inconspicuous form. Tom had tried to take the diary out of his pocket and place it somewhere far away, but his hands had refused to obey. Voldemort did not want distance to make his grip on Tom’s body to loosen, and he had promptly vetoed Tom’s orders.

The two Tom Riddles fought for control of the same body. They were both able to prevent each other from doing things, and Voldemort allowed Tom to steer the wheel for now; someone would have noticed it if Tom had suddenly paralysed, and Voldemort did not want anyone to get suspicious. Tom did not know how long the situation would stay this way. The rate at which Voldemort had grown more powerful was beyond alarming.

Tom had never before been this sorry for Ginny. This was what she had gone through.

As the students celebrated their victory that seemed more fleeting by the minute, Tom sat quietly, avoided making eye contact with anyone, tried to ignore people praising him and wondered how long it would take before he would need to drink a Painkiller Potion for headache. He kept the Marauder’s Map on his lap and glanced at Dumbledore’s dot in the Headmaster’s office after every second spoonfuls of porridge. He did not actually understand why he did so; his worries about the Headmaster’s game had dulled away, because a far more deadly enemy was constantly whispering to him inside his own head.

You should put some Basilisk venom in Harry Potter’s food.

When Tom was almost ready to leave, a slip of parchment appeared on the table in front of him. He leaned carefully forward to read it. It was from Dumbledore, who summoned Tom to the Headmaster’s office. Tom felt nothing but apathy, but then he was mildly pleased to notice that Voldemort was frightened by the summons.

Tom left the Great Hall and seriously considered confessing everything to Dumbledore. But no, it would be a futile attempt: Voldemort would see the decision forming in his mind, tug the reins and stop him from uttering a word.

As Tom trudged through the Entrance Hall thinking about the desperate situation, he heard several pairs of feet following him. He turned and saw Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny approaching.

“We were summoned by Dumbledore,” Harry said and waved a slip of parchment similar to Tom’s.

Kill him!

“So was I,” Tom said. Whatever Dumbledore had in mind, it could not be worse than what was happening to Tom regardless. Maybe it would even offer an opportunity.

The children babbles excitedly as they headed upstairs. Near the guardian gargoyle, Tom noticed that the announcement of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was covered with an illusion. As they went up the revolving staircase, Voldemort went silent in Tom’s head and the mental pressure eased. He probably had decided to let Tom handle the meeting in order to avoid causing any suspicions with unusually hostile behaviour.

The Headmaster looked solemn when Tom, Harry and the others sat down in the office.

“Andrew Felthorne,” Dumbledore said and showed a picture of a downcast-looking wizard. “Charlotte Smeek,” he continued and showed another picture, of a witch with very unremarkable looks. “And Jasper Linderwall.” A very regal-looking wizard this time. “These are just some of the citizens of wizarding Britain who fought beside you yesterday and gave their lives at the battle of Crouch Manor.”

And that’s my fault, I take it? Tom thought sourly. If you had showed up a few hours earlier, they might have survived!

“During moments like this I envy you young people,” Dumbledore said and wiped away the most unconvincing tear Tom had ever seen. “I taught all of these three – I remember them as enthusiastic children who passed the halls of Hogwarts with bright hopes of a long life full of joy, love and accomplishments. Now they are gone, yet I remain. It pains me to remember that most of the people I have known during my over a hundred years of life are no more.”

Did he think Tom could be redeemed with such tiresome lamentation?

“Have you told your friends, Harry, what you saw in the Mirror of Erised?” Dumbledore asked.

“I saw my family,” Harry said a little hoarsely. “My mum and dad and many others…”

“I know how you feel, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “My father died before I started school and my mother right after I graduated… and my dear sweet sister, Ariana, died shortly after…”

He wiped away a tear again, this time most likely a genuine one.

“It is said that death is a natural part of life,” he continued. “Yet throughout the ages, there have been wizards who have fought against this sad fate that awaits each of us. They have been convinced that since magic can do so many wonderful things, surely it can defeat death as well.”

Again, he did not even glimpse at Tom.

“Professor,” Hermione said, “they’re wrong, right? No magic can defeat death?”

“That is what is usually taught to young witches and wizards,” Dumbledore said, “but is it the truth or just something used to prevent them from clinging to a hope that has, thus far, proven false? The Philosopher’s Stone, for example, possesses a power beyond the normal scope of magic: it can prolong life indefinitely. And Voldemort escaped his fate once.” No hint, no irony, nothing. “Since these things are possible, why should there be such an absolute limit that death could not be undone? Souls are a very real thing. You saw the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries, did you not? Passing through it is easy… why would coming back be impossible?”

“Are you saying, Professor –?” Harry asked slowly, eyes bright.

“There is a legend of a magic item that possesses the power to call dead souls back from the Otherworld,” Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly no longer dreamy, but business-like.

“My mum and dad?” Harry said, voice rising.

“Them and many more,” Dumbledore said. “You do not seem convinced, Miss Granger? I assure you, I have studied this matter lately and it seems to me that this legend is not just wishful thinking, but an actual truth about perhaps the greatest magic item in history, one surpassing even the accomplishments of Atlantis.”

Tom listened in disbelief and recalled one of his first discussions with Karkaroff. They had used the Pensieve to relive a meeting in Berlin in 1945 in which the Dark Lord Grindelwald had said, ‘I am trying to find a magic stone… if the magic stone is in the possession of some Jew-loving philanthropist, he will certainly use it to undo the genocide…’ Tom’s disbelief became even harder to bear when Dumbledore took a book from a shelf and placed it on his desk. It was, Tom had to believe his eyes, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the fairy-tale book that contained ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers.’

Dumbledore sat down in his throne and read the tale aloud. Then he proceeded to tell a far-fetched story about the Deathly Hallows, how those three items in the tale were actually real. Harry listened eagerly, Hermione sceptically, Ron and Ginny in confusion and Tom and Voldemort suspecting some incredibly devious trap laid ready for them.

After Dumbledore had finished explaining his theory, he drew a symbol in the air with his wand: a vertical line, a circle and a triangle.

“Grindelwald’s mark?” Tom asked.

“A symbol far older than him,” Dumbledore said. “It is merely mistaken as his, but in reality, he copied it from a certain headstone in the graveyard of Godric’s Hollow. Ignotus Peverell, one of your ancestors, Harry, is believed to be the third brother of the tale. Because of this connection, it is believed that this symbol marks a Deathly Hallow. The Resurrection Stone may have been an heirloom that passed from gener­ation to generation. Its true power is no doubt forgotten, and I think it most likely is attached to a piece of jewellery as a magical gem. So, this is my quest for you. Find the Resurrection Stone, and all atrocities committed by Voldemort can be undone!”

When they left the Headmaster’s office, Tom could not help but wonder if he had actually fallen asleep and not woken up. Even though some things felt weird, at least Hermione’s behaviour was normal when she suggested that they should go to the library.

“I want to check some history books to know if these Deathly Hallows fit anything that has happened for sure,” she said. “Then we can check for lists of magic jewellery, rings and amulets and such.”

Rings…

The word brought a memory from the previous year into Tom’s consciousness. He had just returned to Britain from Russia and leafed through the Daily Prophets in which Dobby had marked the articles and announcements that he had considered interesting. Among them had been an announcement from a collector named Wulfric who had wanted to buy old rings in exchange for so suspiciously large amounts of gold that Tom had paid some attention to it – Wulfric, Dumbledore’s middle name. And this memory led to a second one, that of Dumbledore telling about the founding of the museum at the start of Tom’s final school year and his desire to buy magical artefacts with history in Yorkshire, the county where Tom had found the ring Horcrux a few months earlier.

The ring had a stone attached to it, and Tom had felt a surge of power in it just before Voldemort’s soul had inexplicably ended up in the diary. That sounded an awful lot like something the Resurrection Stone could accomplish with its power over dead souls.

“I’ll meet you in the library in half an hour,” Tom said. “There’s something I need to check first.”

He hurried to the unused girls’ bathroom again, opened the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, went down and headed for the side cavern  where he had slept next to the main hall. There, he studied the ring closely. The black stone had some kind of worn-out scratches carved in it, but he could not be sure whether they really formed the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Too often the human mind saw what it expected to see.

If the tale is true, Voldemort said, I’m much more interested in the Elder Wand.

Obviously, Tom replied and stuffed the ring into a pocket. Only Dumbledore and his ilk are fascinated by the least impressive one of the three.

The children were each perusing a book when Tom entered the library.

You should kill them all, Voldemort whispered.

“We’ve found out that at least the Elder Wand is real,” Harry said, looking up from a book about famous wizarding families.

“It fits certain historical events,” Hermione corrected. “This book about obscure legends of the wizarding world has a chapter about the Deathly Hallows. According to it, Antioch Peverell was the first brother, and he is a historical person who lived before Hogwarts was founded. He was killed and his wand stolen by the killer, and there have been many other occasions where a wand has changed owners after the previous owner was killed.”

“Hereward killed Godelot,” Tom said at once. They were two familiar names from the time he had planned his career.

“And Loxias killed Barnabas Deverill,” Hermione said, “but was later killed by either Arcus or Livius.”

“Napoléon Bonaparte took a wand from Ibrahim Bey of Egypt,” Tom said, racking his brains. “Later, Arthur Wellesley took the wand from Bonaparte. Fernand Mondego killed Ali Pasha of Janina and took his wand, but then lost it to Edmond Dantés.”

“You took Voldemort’s wand, Tom,” Harry said.

“Dumbledore took Grindelwald’s wand,” Hermione said from behind another book and gained everyone’s attention.

“D’you reckon Dumbledore has the Elder Wand?” Ron asked.

“Taking the wand of your defeated opponent is the obvious thing to do!” she said exasperatedly. “If every wand that ever changed owners is the Elder Wand, it has been in several different places at the same time!”

“Are some of these wands told to have been exceptionally powerful?” Harry asked.

“Well, Grindelwald was quite young and totally unknown when he started his first attempts at world domination in 1905, and he was incredibly powerful despite his age,” she said. “This book tells how he fought his first fight that was noted in public, and he managed to defeat a veteran Auror with ease.”

“That’s it!” Ron exclaimed. “He must’ve had the Elder Wand!”

“But it’s the Resurrection Stone we’ve got to find!” Harry said. “Any ideas of where we should seek for it?”

“Er… I found this ring a few years ago,” Tom said and showed them the Horcrux. “I haven’t quite investigated its magical properties yet.”

“It feels… powerful,” Harry said, reaching his hand closer slowly. Tom took the ring away from his reach. He might have just felt the resonance between the soul fragments in his scar and in the ring.

“Is it an heirloom?” Ginny asked. “Where did you find it?”

“It may have been an heirloom,” Tom said, only reluctantly sharing the information. “It belonged to the now-extinct family of Gaunt.”

“Gaunt?” Harry said and quickly grabbed one of the books he had on a desk. “I checked this book about wizarding families when I looked for the Peverells. It says here that one witch from the family married a Gaunt!”

Tom looked at the stone in the ring again, feeling both excited and worried. Some of the scratches formed a circular shape, and, now that he thought about it, such scratches did not form by accident.

“But if Dumbledore has the Elder Wand, the invincible wand, why didn’t he fight You-Know-Who?” Ron mused.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously!” Hermione huffed in annoyance. “The Elder Wand can’t be invincible! That’s just not how magic works! Even the chap­ter about the Deathly Hallows in this book proves that the legend is exaggerated. It says in this book that Emeric the Evil possessed the Elder Wand but was defeated by Egbert the Egregious. How would that have been possible if the Elder Wand was invincible?”

Emeric the Evil… Egbert the Egregious. The names were familiar to everyone who knew history of the wizarding world, but they made Tom remember something more than what was printed in history books. When he had seen Salazar Slytherin’s memories in the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar had mentioned Emeric and Egbert. Specifically, that the legendary duel between the two of them had never happened. Egbert had murdered Emeric with Basilisk venom given to him by Salazar, because he had been unable to defeat him fair and square, even with the help of Salazar, the greatest wizard of his age.

“And that’s not even the only example!” Hermione pressed on. “If Grindelwald possessed the Elder Wand, how could Dumbledore have defeated him?”

Tom had a sinking feeling in his stomach as the puzzle pieces suddenly assembled together.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Oh no!”

Egbert had not defeated Emeric, because the Elder Wand had made Emeric invincible. Similarly, Dumbledore had not defeated Grindelwald. The Dark Lord had triumphed, but since his minions had lost the war, he had stolen the identity of his enemy and promptly hijacked the victorious side. That was the most Slytherin thing there could possibly be.

“No,” he groaned as he sank further into despair.

And Grindelwald had become the Headmaster of Hogwarts wearing Dumbledore’s appearance. After Moody had acquired the Eye of Vance which could see through disguising charms, Grindelwald had used Polyjuice Potion whenever in Moody’s presence, hiding it inside his sherbet lemons! That was why the one who looked like Dumbledore had eaten them all the time during Tom’s final school year at Hogwarts and afterwards during the Order meetings! And this explained why the Headmaster had not recognised Tom after seeing him without the disguising charms: Grindelwald had never taught Tom Riddle.

Tom quickly took the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket and activated it. It showed Albus Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office, and Tom’s rising panic eased. But then he saw the ink dot that marked his own position… Tom Valedro, not Riddle.

The map was connected to the protective enchantments of Hogwarts. When Tom had hacked them in order to change it how the map displayed his name, the parchment had been his interface with handling the enchantments. Therefore, perhaps it was possible to gain more information from them than just the locations of people.

“Show me the list of changes concerning persons,” Tom said and tapped the parchment with his wand.

“Tom, what are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I realised something,” Tom mumbled as the map disappeared and a long list of changes came in its stead. “Let’s see if I’m correct.”

The list seemed complete, changes listed in reverse chronological order, most likely not planned to be read this way, if at all.

Tom Valedro is the Potions teacher.
Tom Valedro is no more the Potions teacher.
Dolores Umbridge is no more the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Tom Valedro is the Potions teacher.
Severus Snape is no more the Potions teacher.
1996

Rubeus Hagrid is the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank is no more the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
Dolores Umbridge is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank is the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
Rubeus Hagrid is no more the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
Bartemius Crouch is no more the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
1995

Bartemius Crouch is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Remus Lupin is no more the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Tom Riddle is Tom Valedro.
1994

Tom looked further back, all the way to year 1945, tapping the parchment numerous times with his wand to reveal more of the list. And there it was, the change made during the summer holidays: Gellert Grindelwald is Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had infiltrated Hogwarts, hacked the protective enchantments and continued his nefarious plan, whatever it was.

As if Tom did not know. Salazar’s memories had alerted him to the terrible danger of the Dark Lord: ‘He will unleash Death into the world.’ The prophecy of the Delphic Oracle had foretold that the Dark Lord would be born to those without magic… and what was it that Karkaroff had told Tom about the real reason Grindelwald had been expelled from Durmstrang? ‘He was expelled because he’s a Mudblood.’

“OH NO!” Tom screamed.

“What? What is it?” Harry said in panic and sprung to his feet.

“The prophecy! The prophecy!” Tom gasped.

“Did you solve it?” Hermione asked. “Do you know what this confusion about the Dark Lord is?”

Tom wanted to yell that Trelawney’s prophecy was of no importance at all, but Hermione had asked her question in such a way that more puzzle pieces assembled together in his overcharged mind, and he just sat there with his mouth hanging open for a moment.

‘Born to those who have thrice defied him… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…’

Somehow, perhaps through some unknown magic, his mind whirled back to a seemingly unimportant memory from the previous year, to the day he had been accepted into the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore, or the man who looked like him, had spoken to Harry words of warning about recklessness and mentioned Harry’s parents.

‘You are brave Harry, a true Gryffindor, like your parents. During the last war, they, too, went on dangerous adventures for our good cause, a few times even against my explicit wishes.’

Call it a wild guess, but Tom was absolutely certain that James and Lily Potter had gone on dangerous adventures against the Headmaster’s explicit wishes exactly thrice.

“Harry, have you ever wondered how the legend of the Boy Who Lived came to be?” Tom said after taking a few deep breaths. His voice did not sound calm, but more so than he had expected.

Harry blinked a few times.

“What wondering is there about it? I defeated Voldemort the first time and survived the Killing Curse.”

“I didn’t mean that! Very few people saw you before you were given to the care of your relatives. Even though you never showed your face in the wizarding world before your eleventh birthday, everyone knew you’ve got a lightning-shaped scar on your forehead! How did they know?”

“Blimey,” Ron said. “I’ve never thought about that. Harry’s been famous for as long as I can remember, but I never wondered how we knew anything about what had happened.”

“Well, I just realised! It’s the Headmaster! He spread the word in order to make you a hero, someone he could use as a pawn in his political games – and more importantly, as a bluff to direct attention away from him!”

“I can’t believe you’re feeding us that Slytherin propaganda,” Hermione snapped.

“I’m not making this up!” Tom shouted. “Harry, the Headmaster made you famous as a vanquisher of a Dark Lord! He is famous as a vanquisher of a Dark Lord himself! Harry, he marked you as his equal!”

The four Gryffindors stared at him in stunned silence.

“You’re not saying,” Harry said tentatively, “that Dumbledore is the Dark Lord?”

“No, not at all,” Tom said and showed him the parchment that usually presented the Marauder’s Map. “You’ve never met Albus Dumbledore, none of you. The Headmaster of Hogwarts is none other than Gellert Grindelwald, the owner of the Elder Wand, the mastermind who orchestrated everything with the purpose of finding the Resurrection Stone! Many wars in the wizarding world in the hope that this ring would emerge from the shadows! And of course, in the Muggle world too… the First World War, the Second World War, the Holocaust, Stalin’s Great Purge, Mao’s Great Leap Forward… who knows how many other wars and genocides! That’s how much he wants to claim the Deathly Hallows as his own!”

‘He will command a might never seen before, a might granted by three devices of power,’ Tom heard the words of the Delphic Oracle in his mind.

“When this says, Gellert Grindelwald is Albus Dumbledore, does it mean –?” Harry began, staring at the map.

“That Grindelwald used the protective enchantments of Hogwarts to change his name and to steal Dumbledore’s identity after the legendary duel that he won with the power of the invincible wand!”

Tom ran to the door.

“Come on! We must flee!”

His panic was contagious, and the Gryffindors followed him out of the library. As he ran down the corridor, his eyes settled upon the ring. Would it be possible to destroy it so that no power would remain?

He rushed around a corner and almost crashed into someone walking down the other corridor at a much slower pace.

A long silvery beard, twinkling eyes behind half-moon spectacles, a benevolent smile, a phoenix undoubtedly under horrible mind-controlling curses and a wand that radiated astonishing power…

“Goodness, Professor Valedro! You should not give a bad example to students about running in the corridors. Is there a reason for your hurry? Do you already have something to tell me?”

Tom just opened and closed his mouth, appearing more like one of Draco’s bodyguards than the usually dignified and intelligent Tom Valedro. But he was still doing better than his brother, because within Tom’s mind, Voldemort was screaming in fury and terror like a little pig that was being put to slaughter.

“What is that in your hand, Tom?” the Headmaster asked suddenly. “Is that a ring? May I see it?”

Chapter 54: Through the Veil

The Headmaster of Hogwarts let go of all pretence. He grabbed Tom by the wrist with one hand and snatched the Gaunt ring with the other one. The usual benign and serene expression vanished completely and, in its stead, came a greedy one; so evil that no expression that Tom’s facial muscles could possibly manage to form came even close.

“BRILLIANT WORK, TOM!” the Headmaster yelled out so loudly that Tom’s eardrums almost ruptured. “Seventy-seven million points to Slytherin, a tenfold increase to your pay, a Special Award for Services to the School, Order of Merlin, First Class and as many tonnes of sherbet lemons as you wish! If you are willing, I will even make you the Headmaster of Hogwarts before I retire very soon!”

“Uhh… uh… er… I… I’d rather keep the ring… um… for some further investigation…” Tom stammered feebly.

“Denied,” the Headmaster said happily and clenched the ring inside his fist. “I just got many things to do. Have the rest of the term off, Tom my boy, and you too, children. However, I will arrange a victory celebration at the Ministry soon. You must be there, all of you; you are the heroes of the war, after all! It will be a thrilling occasion! See you!”

With a burst of phoenix flame, the Headmaster and the Resurrection Stone were gone.

Tom turned to stare at the thunderstruck faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, feeling more shaken and desperate than ever before in his life.

“Seventy-seven million points to Slytherin?” Ron said.

Tom’s desperation still managed to get a little worse.

 

---

 

The weariness caused by barely having slept the previous night weighed heavily on Tom, but it would probably take a long time before he would have the opportunity and the peace of mind to sleep. He was responsible for the true Dark Lord finally succeeding in his horrifying plan, and therefore it was time to let go of pride and propose an alliance with someone almost as evil.

Tom went into an empty classroom, locked the door, sat down on the floor, closed his eyes and delved into the diary. He entered the endless void, and once again he saw the hideous form of Lord Voldemort floating before him.

“Brother,” he said without defiance in his voice, “we have to put our differences aside. There are far bigger things at stake.”

“Yes,” Voldemort said, “there are. You blundered catastrophically!”

“You were his pawn all along,” Tom snapped. “But I won’t get into that. Debat­ing about our past failures offers no insight to what we should do next. Do you have any idea about what powers uniting the Deathly Hallows actually grants?”

“‘Master of Death’ sounds like immortality to me,” said Voldemort. “Although, being an expert in the field myself, I can’t quite fathom how it would happen. Horcruxes and the Philosopher’s Stone have clear functions, but simply possessing three items with completely different powers… how would that work? By the way, what about the Cloak of Invisibility?”

“I haven’t noticed Grindelwald having been interested in invisibility cloaks as much as in rings,” Tom said. “Probably he already has the cloak as well. I think he said that the third brother was Harry Potter’s ancestor. If the cloak passed down in family as an heirloom, he no doubt found out about it years ago and stole the cloak. Anyway, there’s one thing that concerns me more than simply all the Deathly Hallows in the same hands. You’ve seen my memories and you know about the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle to Salazar Slytherin. It suggests that Grindelwald will unleash Death once he has the Hallows united.”

“No one has united them all before,” Voldemort pointed out. “It is possible that even a wizard like Grindelwald can’t unlock all the powers of the Hallows instantly, whatever they are. And prophecies are fickle; often they only make sense after having been fulfilled. That was what Rookwood warned me about, anyway. Not that we should believe anything he said, considering what he revealed to you before you killed him.”

“The only positive side about this situation is that Grindelwald doesn’t have any suspicions about who I truly am,” Tom said. “Nor does he know that I know who he is under the disguise. This gives me the element of surprise.”

“Gather your allies and be alert for an opportunity to murder him,” Voldemort said. “The invincible wand is no protection against poison. My former Death Eaters will be happy to help you get rid of him. Contact Lucius and Archibald again; their current mission just became pointless. I will be making sure that you won’t blunder again.”

Tom grimaced as he left the void of the diary. For the first time since their souls were torn from one another, he and Voldemort had a common goal. But he did not have any delusions that Voldemort would even slow down in his attempts to overpower Tom and assume total control of the body. Tom knew this cooperation was the most dangerous gamble he had ever taken, but it was a necessity: Voldemort, the person second most immersed in the Dark Arts, might have indispensable knowledge and insight they would need against Grindelwald.

Together, two Tom Riddles might be enough to defeat the true Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald, and to fulfil the great purpose of their ancestor, Salazar Slytherin.

Wearily Tom rummaged his pouch in search of the two-way mirrors. The next phase of the plan had to be carried out very carefully indeed; if Grindelwald learned that anyone knew or even suspected the true identity of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Tom’s only advantage would be lost.

“Lucius,” he said. “I hope you haven’t wasted much effort into spreading the rumours, because what I just found out means it would be pointless. Dumbledore can­not be thwarted by such measures anymore.”

After the battle of Crouch Manor, when Grindelwald had been giving orders to the employees of the Ministry who had been participating in the army, Tom had overheard what Lucius and Archibald had whispered together. They had understood it that open opposition to Dumbledore at the moment would have cost more political capital than it would have gained. They had accepted the need to wait for a more opportune moment, but now waiting was out of the question.

“Dumbledore is going to arrange some kind of a victory celebration at the Ministry, and I expect it will take place very soon,” Tom continued. “I’m not sure what he has in mind, but I know he has a plan, and we won’t like it.”

“Taking the full credit of yesterday’s events, perhaps?” Lucius said.

“I fear something far, far more than that. I can’t tell why I suspect this. However, we should be present at the Ministry in full. Inform Archibald, Robert and all other allies of yours. Tell them to be ready to fight for the fate of the entire wizarding world.”

Afterwards, Tom spoke also with Karkaroff and told him to be ready for anything. Then, even though he felt more exhausted than ever since the payoff of the Sleep Debt Potion a year previously, he shambled around Hogwarts and spoke with anyone whom he trusted. Draco, Theodore, Sara and many others were as jubilant with the supposed end of the war as everyone else, but Tom warned them and told them to be alert and prepared. As he did this, all the time Voldemort’s voice spoke in his mind, offering his opinions and criticising everything Tom did.

During dinnertime, hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall, each dropping a copy of the Evening Prophet. Tom took a deep breath before daring to grab the nearest copy dropped on the High Table.

SURPRISE ASSEMBLY OF
THE INTERNATIONAL CONFEDERATION OF WIZARDS
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE WILL SPEAK ABOUT
THE FUTURE OF THE WIZARDING WORLD

  Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW), announced an unscheduled assembly of the ICW taking place at the British Ministry of Magic in London on Monday.

Professor Dumbledore used the emergency summons, a special prerogative of the Supreme Mugwump, that obliges all wizarding nations to convene. The prerogative has not been used since 1939 when Supreme Mugwump Maximilien Herbault summoned the ICW to address the Dark Lord Grindelwald’s attack on Poland.

“I understand it well that magical governments around the world are surprised that I deem it necessary to use the emergency summons,” says Professor Dumbledore. “However, I assure you that what I have to say is well worth it.”

At the same time, the Ministry is celebrating the end of the brief war.

“The British wizarding community has a good reason to celebrate the events of the weekend,” says Percival Weasley, acting Minister for Magic. “We survived the attempted takeover of the Ministry and defeated a dangerous Dark wizard. It was through common efforts that we emerged victorious, and the Ministry invites all heroes of the war for the celebration.”

Neither Professor Dumbledore nor acting Minister Weasley is willing to reveal in advance what will be the topic of this combined assembly and celebration. The Daily Prophet will report about the event in detail.

Students were babbling excitedly. Tom rested his head against the palm of his hand. Quite few students subscribed to the Daily Prophet, and this vast number of copies delivered to Hogwarts had to be a part of the Headmaster’s plan. He wanted as many people to attend as possible, and it did not bode well.

The fate of the world will be decided tomorrow, Voldemort’s voice echoed in Tom’s mind. He seemed eager; perhaps he expected to get an opportunity to break free while Tom would be distracted by the unfolding of Grindelwald’s plan.

 

---

 

Voldemort’s voice went quiet when Tom was heading to bed. Tom was grateful, because he really needed to sleep. But as he was just about to close his eyes, he suddenly remembered that the previous night, Voldemort had taken control of his body. If Tom fell asleep, he might wake up in the diary, and Voldemort would undoubtedly make sure no one would ever touch the diary again. That was why Voldemort had let Tom be!

Groaning, Tom stood up again. He would not be sleeping even for a moment before his situation with Voldemort would have been solved. As he made this decision, he sensed anger and disappointment in the diary.

As Tom wandered the dark corridors of Hogwarts, he wondered if staying awake if fact offered him a desperate way of escape. If his body died of sleep deprivation, he could return thanks to his Horcruxes, and then Voldemort would have no hold over his new body. He could not do anything to kill his current body, because Voldemort would stop him, but he could cause its expiration by being passive.

It will take over a week before lack of sleep kills your body, Voldemort whispered. I will be done with you long before that!

Tom did not reply, just kept wandering. After many hours, he realised that he had subconsciously started to say his goodbyes to all the places he was so fond of. After this realisation, he forced himself into feeling some defiance and went to prepare for a fight. In his office, he opened the drawer where he had put all the wands of his defeated enemies and armed himself to the teeth. He had the wands of Lockhart, Snape, Umbridge, Rookwood, Rowle and Macnair and a bunch he did not know the previous owner of. He hid each wand in a different pocket of his robes except one wand he had won from a petty criminal of Knockturn Alley; it was made of aspen and Flobberworm gut, and it was beneath him.

The moment the shops of Diagon Alley opened for the day, Tom Apparated there and purchased a Sleep Debt Potion. It was risky to drink it when he had no idea what the future would unfold; he had read a story of a would-be hero who had drunk it as he had gone on an adventure, but then the time to repay the sleep debt had come just before the adventure had reached its climax. However, Tom was sure that Grindelwald would do his thing quickly.

At breakfast, Tom ate a lot and swallowed all kinds of potions that might give him an advantage. Most students were excited, and everyone read eagerly the Daily Prophet. There was nothing new in it, mostly oblivious Ministry officials speculating, everyone full of optimism.

(In other news, the price of emeralds was skyrocketing. Dear Merlin, seventy-seven million points to Slytherin meant that the hourglass displaying Slytherin’s House points did not have even remotely enough emeralds, and the house-elf in charge of procurement was probably trying to purchase all emeralds in the world. Tom really should do something about it, but most parts of him considered the matter too trivial and a small part wanted to see how things would pan out.)

Whatever awaited at the Ministry, it would start soon, and along with the other teachers, Tom arranged every student who had participated in the war for a Portkey transportation.

 

---

 

The badly damaged Atrium of the Ministry of Magic had already been repaired; there were no signs of one wall having been blasted open. Tom had never seen the place so full; thousands of people were gathering there, many of them from other countries around the world. The Ministry complex seemed to have been magically adjusted to fit the crowd, because everything was remarkably larger than during Tom’s previous visits. A massive staircase had appeared on a normally non-existing section of a wall, giving plenty of space for people to move around without overloading the limited capacity of the lifts.

High-ranking officials of the Ministry and members of the Wizengamot were standing on an elevated platform, everyone happily welcoming guests and directing them to the stairs.

“Who in his right mind considered Percy the best person to be acting Minister?” Ron grumbled as the crowd went down the stairs.

“You shouldn’t underestimate your brother,” Arthur Weasley said. “He surprised everyone by cutting costs by half while increasing efficiency threefold, and he’s already become something like a living legend within the Ministry. He said that he learned all his management skills from a Muggle book he got as a Christmas present a few years ago.”

Tom groaned.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“No idea,” Tom said curtly. It felt as if they were descending into their own tomb far beneath London.

“The assembly will take place in the Department of Mysteries,” Arthur said. “I wonder why… does Dumbledore want to tell something about the discoveries of the Unspeakables, perhaps?”

Of course, Tom thought. We’re going to the hall of the Veil of Death.

Be ready to push Grindelwald through the archway, Voldemort said. But first you must reveal his secret. That way you’ll be an even greater hero, and I’ll conquer the world with ease…

For the first time, the Department of Mysteries had opened its doors to the public. In the black entrance room with many doors the Unspeakables were standing in rows, unenthusiastically welcoming the crowd into their hallowed halls. Normally, Tom would have been intrigued by the fact that it was, in fact, Isaac Newton standing at the forefront, but at that moment he had other matters demanding his attention.

The crowd was guided into the ominous Death Chamber where people were sitting down on the benches that formed a massive amphitheatre. Tom chose a seat so that he faced the archway straight and could see the entrance. Rather than looking at the unnervingly rippling Veil, he watched the inflow of people.

All wizarding nations across the world were present. The French Cardinal and his pompous delegation wearing red robes stepped in and glanced haughtily around. Right after them, the Grand Pensionary of the Netherlands arrived, an unremarkable wizard in an outfit that was a better fit for a merchant than a high-ranking politician. After he scurried to his seat like someone who did not want to be on the way of others, the arch mage of the city-state of Luxemburg walked in without showing the tiniest bit of interest in the Department of Mysteries. He was an ancient warlock in dark robes, bald but with a puffy beard that literally reached his ankles. For a century, he had worked in the Luxembourgish equivalent of the Department of Mysteries and was probably one of the highest-ranking members of the brotherhood of the Unspeakables; so deeply learned in the arcane arts he was that to him, mysteries and the mundane were one and the same.

The Scandinavian nations were all under the same magical jurisdiction, and their leader was a master of an obscure branch of Runic magic; so jealous of his knowledge that he refused to let outsiders learn his crafts, much to the annoyance of magical scholars around the world. Aragon and Castile were separate political entities in the wizarding world, but together with Portugal they formed a loose confederation that ruled much of Northern Africa too.

Wizarding Italy and Germany had not gone through the same unification processes as their Muggle counterparts. Italy was divided between Piedmont, Lombardy, Venice, Florence, Naples, Sicily and the Papal State (ruled by Pope John Paul II, probably the most widely known wizard in the Muggle world). Germany was divided between Württemberg, Westphalia, Brandenburg, Bavaria, Austria and the tiny but very passionately independent Liechtenstein; some people also considered Switzerland and the region of Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia as parts of wizarding Germany.

In Eastern Europe and the Balkans, magical population was quite sparse and formed the states of Poland, Hungary, Transylvania, Romania, Yugoslavia and Bul­garia. Hellas, one of the oldest still existing magical countries, had a proud and powerful history, and its arch mage was regarded a god by some as he lived in his palace on top of Mount Olympus.

East from Hellas, there was a land contested by several political entities. Lydia, Cappadocia, Armenia and Assyria were ancient wizarding communities, but their subservience was demanded by Turkey, officially the Ottoman Empire that continued to exist after Sultan Mehmed VI had lost his power over Muggles. His successor glared angrily at the leaders of the four neighbouring countries, but did not want to bring conflict into the heart of wizarding Britain.

The Russian Comrade Gennady Yanayev and his delegation marched in and looked around with open disgust. Most wizarding countries wanted to have nothing to do with his ‘progressive’ ideology, and he loathed the British aristocratic ideals. Russia was so large and powerful a country that no other country could afford to get too upset by the lack of respect of the Russian leader.

Among the arrivals were witches and wizards from countries Tom knew almost nothing about. Egypt, of course, was famous because of its rich history, but of the countries of Ethiopia, Arabia, Timbuktu, Kongo, Zanzibar, Uganda and Zimbabwe were mostly unknown to him. Rich and respectable their representatives seemed, and he suspected they knew many Dark Arts unheard of in Britain.

Persia was a large country ruled by Shah Reza Pahlavi. There, wizarding communities were numerous but small and located in remote valleys and around oases hidden from Muggles. In the nearby areas, there were also concentrations of wizarding settlements: Samarkand was a city-state and Babylonia a tower-state: thousands of witches and wizards all living in a single building so tall that even with all their technology, Muggles could not even dream about building anything so tall.

Further to the east, there was the country of Qandahar, and beyond it, the many countries of the Indian subcontinent. Many wizard rulers, often using the title maharaja, had ruled Muggles long after the Statute of Secrecy, but once Muggle India had chosen to become a republic, the wizard rulers had been forced to let go of their power. Maratha, Vijayanagara and Bengal were the largest of the wizarding countries, but the smaller ones relied on some of them when it came to international relations.

Tibet was a very magical place and ruled by the Dalai Lama, who was still a leader of some Muggles as well. The other Asian magical countries were Burma, the city-state of Angkor Wat, Siam, China, Korea, Japan and Java, all places of much lore and special arts.

Australia consisted of an Indigenous community and several small communities of European descent. For centuries, the almost empty continent had attracted criminals and Dark wizards who had found a sanctuary there. New Zealand was a similar case in many ways, and Tom was mildly tempted to enquire its representative about what kind of magic schools there really were in his country.

On the east coast of North America, there were communities with origins as British colonies. Ever since America had been discovered by Europeans, many Muggle-born witches and wizards had wanted to escape the blood prejudice common in Britain, and their emigration to America had created many very loose political enti­ties. They had not been eager to form a central government, because they had had little need for it, but they had the office of the Arbiter. Lacking a political leader, they had sent the Arbiter to London to take care of the international relations most American wizards had no interest in.

Actual wizarding states in the Americas were the country of the Sioux, that of the people some called the Anasazi and the former colonies of Spain and Portugal conquered before the Statute of Secrecy: New Spain, New Granada, Peru and Brazil.

It was rare that each of the sixty-five magical nations of the world was present, but the emergency assembly of the International Confederation of Wizards was too important an occasion for any one of them to miss. Additionally, there were also many tribal leaders from the Americas, Africa, Siberia, Papua and islands of the Pacific Ocean, regions that were too sparsely populated for actual magical states. Finally, there were also present some wizard leaders of Muggle countries such as President Urho Kekkonen of Finland, Comrade Fidel Castro of Cuba, Comrade Kim Jong-il of North Korea and Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei of Iran, who briefly glared daggers at the Shah.

After all foreign guests had arrived and taken their places, many important British witches and wizards continued to enter the hall: all department Heads that there still were after the weekend of two takeovers and one seemingly voluntary surrender of power; members of the Wizengamot in their plum-coloured robes; Horace Slughorn who had come out of hiding; and the pure-blood patriarchs arrived as well. Lucius, Archibald and Robert Jugson along with their children came to sit near Tom, all looking nearly as alert as he did.

Finally, around two thousand witches and wizards were present, more magical people than Tom had seen in one place since the Quidditch World Cup final.

The hall was only slightly less frightening with so many people present, murmuring voices wondering why the assembly had to take place in such a dark and cold place instead of the handsome Atrium. They were silenced when the door opened one more time. Grindelwald entered and began to descend the stairs.

The Dark Lord still looked like Albus Dumbledore, but he did not bother to play the role of the kindly Headmaster of Hogwarts anymore. A malicious, predatory grin had replaced the serene smile, and the merry twinkle in his eyes had turned into a frightening blaze that reminded Tom of the eyes of the Hungarian Horntail.

Grindelwald stepped onto the dais where the ancient archway stood and spread his arms in a welcoming manner as he walked slowly in a circle, eyeing his entire audience as he did so.

“Welcome to London, my brothers and sisters,” he said. Tom could hear the words directly in his mind and assumed that Grindelwald had used some kind of universal communication charm that allowed everyone in the hall to understand his meaning, even if they did not understand his words. “Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, the stronghold on the brotherhood of the Unspeakables. We are here to witness one of the greatest mysteries of wizardry to be solved.”

He continued his slow pacing, and everyone stared at him expectantly. The charm he had used was somehow hypnotic; it was difficult not to pay full attention to him. Tom immediately realised the combat potential of such a distraction, but at the moment he had to force himself not to be distracted either by Grindelwald or his own cunning mind – or by Voldemort, who also demanded his attention.

Don’t try to Summon him when he has circled to the other side of the Veil, Voldemort whispered. He has surely prepared for such simple attacks, and then your element of surprise would be lost.

“Some of you recognise this structure,” Grindelwald continued. “This ancient archway is called the Veil of Death, and it is believed to be one of the last remainders of Atlantis, the legendary empire of magic that sunk beneath the sea long before even the oldest of our contemporary communities were formed. The research facilities of the Department of Mysteries were built around this hall, the courtrooms of the Wizengamot were built around the Department of Mysteries and the Ministry of Magic above all of them. In a way, this archway is the heart and founding stone of wizarding Britain.”

Many guests were muttering with interest and some with outright fascination, but there was a clear undertone of uneasiness to be heard. The mysterious Veil was unnerving in its own right, but once the mystery was explained, it did not become less frightening, as was the case with most mysteries, but more so. The audience was close to the fate of all human beings, and the one who looked like Albus Dumbledore just walked in a circle a few steps away from death.

“The Ministry of Magic was founded after the Statute of Secrecy dictated that we had to separate our communities from the Muggle ones,” Grindelwald said. “Willingly we wizards let go of our power. In Europe, there had been many wars which had started when wizards who had assumed the role of a religious leader had had disputes about the matters of faith. Much blood was spilled, and wizards had asked themselves, was it right to use Muggles as expendable pawns. No, it was considered the right thing to do to leave the Muggles alone and let them find prosperity in their own ways, without any need to submit to wizard masters.”

Many British wizards seemed surprised by this. Grindelwald had said nothing that Professor Binns did not lecture about, but few students ever listened to Professor Binns.

“Was it the right thing to do? Did Muggles find peace and prosperity? I am afraid not. Muggles have always found reasons to fight one another even without wizards telling them to do so, and the absence of magic on the battlefields has forced them to create substitutes. Every now and then Dark wizards violated the Statute of Secrecy and made themselves rulers of Muggle empires, provoking even more development of substitutes for magic. Time and time again they were defeated by the actions of the International Confederation of Wizards. However, the world has grown fragile around us. The Muggles’ incessant need to create more powerful substitutes for magic has yielded terrible results. Our Japanese delegation could tell you of the price they had to pay for allying with the Dark Lord Grindelwald. The super weapons Muggles have created are able to destroy entire cities!”

Tom was becoming quite sure that Grindelwald had heard of what he had told to his Slytherin housemates back in September of 1993.

“The world is on the brink of destruction!” Grindelwald yelled. “Yet, the truth is that most of us wizards are ignorant about it. Nothing good came from choosing isolation over lordship. We have the power, but we have avoided the responsibility. While the calamity has approached, we wizards have been fighting one another over ridiculous matters. Britain has just experienced a brief war which began because an individual who had dubbed himself Lord Voldemort considered the family background of some of his fellow citizens inferior!”

That is exactly why I lost my faith in you, Tom said telepathically to Voldemort, who snarled angrily.

“We have had too many conflicts,” Grindelwald said. “Whenever someone became powerful enough to challenge the status quo enforced by the International Confederation of Wizards, the rest of the world teamed up against him. It was I, Albus Dumbledore, who defeated Gellert Grindelwald, but as the world has gone closer and closer to destruction, I have realised that what I did was wrong.”

Cries of anger rose among the audience, but Grindelwald did not heed them.

“The world needs saving from disunity! The ideals of the Statute of Secrecy have been outdated! We should have seen the danger, but we were too lazy and too prideful. But today, the world will be saved!”

Grindelwald yanked a black fabric from his pocket, took the Gaunt ring from another one and raised his hand so that his wand pointed at the ceiling.

“Some of you have heard of the Deathly Hallows!” he said, his voice growing louder and more powerful. “The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility – the three items mentioned in ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers,’ a tale known around the world. Uniting them makes their owner the master of Death, and I have united them!”

There were hundreds of gasps from the audience. Tom gripped both of his yew wands hard.

Prepare to act, said Voldemort.

“And before me is the Veil of Death, a gateway to the Otherworld!” Grindelwald said. “Long have I waited for my next great adventure!”

Tom met Harry’s eyes and aimed his wands, slowly to avoid attention, but what Grindelwald did next took him totally unawares. The Dark Lord put the cloak around his shoulders, held the Elder Wand and the Gaunt ring aloft – and stepped through the archway.

But he did not vanish as Travers had vanished. The Veil was pushed to the side, and Tom could see directly into the heart of the realm of Death. There, the dark god whom he had seen in many visions sat in a throne of made of white marble and black obsidian. Slowly, Death rose up to regard the arrogant newcomer.

“Your divine purpose is at an end,” echoed the voice of Grindelwald.

“We shall see,” Death replied in a deep, musical voice.

The duel began at once. Sounds like an underground thunder and flashes of incandescent light came through the Veil, and Tom found himself pushing leaning as far away from the archway as he could on the bench. There was barely anything to be seen, because both Death and Grindelwald moved so fast that even without the flashes it would have been difficult to make sense of what happened. However, normal senses were not needed when Tom’s faint sense of magic was suddenly overloaded with stimuli. The spells being cast were far more horrible than the Unforgivable Curses, probably forgotten forms of magic which had not been used since the days of Atlantis.

At first, the duellists seemed to be evenly matched, but as the fight went on, slowly but surely the invincible wand got the upper hand. Grindelwald, the master of Death, overpowered the defences of the maker of the Elder Wand, and once Tom could see something again, the dark god was on his knees and Grindelwald stood triumphant before him.

“You are unworthy of ruling over this realm!” Grindelwald’s voice boomed. “Your power will be put to use for the Greater Good!”

The Elder Wand twitched, and Death let out a scream that made Tom’s entire being shake. A stream of light left the defeated god, a stream that flowed into the Elder Wand and into the hand that held it. Death became fainter and fainter, and the scream died down. Eventually, he disappeared entirely, and Grindelwald, now looking like himself, turned to face the Veil again.

The golden-haired youth approached slowly, a smile on his lips, and as he crossed the Veil again, Tom felt the world change abruptly. It was as though Earth had turned around; the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle had come to pass, and Death was loose in the world of the living. Gellert Grindelwald, the new God of Death, had come, and all joy and hope in the world seemed to be draining away.

The cold air of the Death Chamber became even colder, and a feeling far stronger than that of any Dementor enfolded Tom in its horrible grip. (Somewhere beyond the Veil, Rookwood was roaring with laughter.)

Brother! Tom cried in his mind. What should I do?

There was no reply from Lord Voldemort.

“Bow before the God of Death, mortals, for I have come to claim this world!” Grindelwald declared as his predecessor had declared in Tom’s vision a few days earlier. “I am Gellert Grindelwald, the ruler of the world! You did not defeat me last time, nor will you not defeat me in the future, either. If there is anyone in this hall who wishes to oppose me, step forward.”

No one did; perhaps some would have wanted, but they were too stunned by the horror that had appeared before them. Tom tried to speak to Voldemort, but there was nothing but silence in the diary.

“I have stolen the super weapons of the Muggles and distributed them around the world, under all significant wizarding settlements,” Grindelwald said. “Know that each and every act of resistance will be punished with the second mightiest power available in this world. Come, my brothers and sisters, step onto this dais and Disapparate. Go home and prepare to serve me forevermore!”

The Elder Wand lashed through the air, and Tom felt the Anti-Apparition Jinx of the Department of Mysteries breaking. Trembling, those closest to Grindelwald rose up from their seats, stepped tentatively closer, bowed down and vanished. Panicked whispers broke out, but no one dared to utter even one word of defiance. Hundreds of people were quickly on their feet, hurrying to pledge their loyalty to Grindelwald as early as possible.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort! Tom roared mentally into the diary. Is there anything I could do? Search your knowledge!

He could only feel panicked desperation radiating from the diary. His brother was of no use, so he whirled to face Lucius, Archibald and his other powerful Slytherin allies.

“Lucius!” he said in a frantic whisper. “We’ve got to do something!”

Lucius sneered at him.

“Sides and alliances are fleeting,” he said, throwing Tom’s own words against his face. “I intend to always be on the winning side.”

He turned his back on Tom and approached Grindelwald with his head bowed. Draco merely glimpsed at Tom before following his father.

Archibald at least looked apologetic when speaking to Tom.

“You wanted to become the new Grindelwald. Unfortunately for you, we do not need a new one when we have the old one.”

He left. Tom looked desperately at Ethan and Sara.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Ethan said, “but you taught us what to do in a situation like this.”

The entire Slytherin faction of Britain, the one that had hailed Tom as its leader just an hour ago, left him standing alone and just defected and joined the crowd around the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Tom slumped down on the bench again, feeling the waves of fear and despair crashing against him. For the first time in his life, he was not convinced that Slytherin was the best one of the four Houses.

A hand touched his shoulder. He turned to look and saw that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were still with him. It was soothing in a way even though he had no idea what they could do to stop Grindelwald.

Silence descended into the hall. Tom forced his eyes back towards the Veil and saw that Grindelwald approached, and as he did, the cold, terrifying aura stronger than that of any Dementor pressed against Tom. Almost everyone was gone from the hall; some people tried to hide in the shadows by the walls, but Grindelwald paid them no heed.

“Today’s show is not over yet, children!” Grindelwald said. It was disconcerting that he looked younger than in the pictures Tom had seen of him in the forties, younger than Tom currently looked. Grindelwald had the face of an angel, but the feeling of a devil, and Tom could not help but envy him.

“What do you want?” Harry growled, somehow mustering much more defiance than Tom could. It was a mistake: without even a flick of a finger, Grindelwald disarmed Harry, Tom and the others of their wands. Both of Tom’s yew wands slipped from his hands like wet pieces of soap, and his spare wands flew out of the many pockets. Grindelwald looked slightly surprised and amused when he saw a full dozen wands coming from Tom

“You, Mr Potter, and you, Miss Weasley, will be coming with me to Hogwarts,” Grindelwald said while picking the wands from midair. “Time has come to finally discover the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid deep beneath the castle.”

“We can’t remember where the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets is!” Harry said. “A Memory Charm removed all relevant memories from our minds after we had left.”

“We will have to do some detective work,” Grindelwald said. “You will not go free before the Chamber is found.”

Once more, Tom tried to ask Voldemort for help, but the diary was unresponsive. Well, he did not truly need his brother’s advice, not in a matter as simple as this. ‘Keep your enemy close’ and ‘Always know what your enemy is after’ were such obvious pieces of wisdom.

“I know where the entrance is,” he said, and everyone turned to look at him. “I did some detective work on my own after Fudge died.”

“Come along then,” Grindelwald said. “But Mr Potter and Miss Weasley will come as well.”

The God of Death grabbed the three of them, and in an instant, they had Apparated right through the Anti-Apparition Area Jinx of Hogwarts into the Entrance Hall.

With terror following him, Tom headed towards the girls’ bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle. Harry walked right beside Tom; Grindelwald needed him for this mission as a door-opener, because he was the only known Parselmouth remaining, and Parseltongue was a power that even the Dark Lord knew not.

Chapter 55: Atlantis Unleashed

The sky was darkening as if winter night had suddenly descended upon the Scottish Highlands. Every glimpse out of the windows showed alarming evidence of the power Grindelwald had gained during his brief excursion to the Otherworld: plants were withering and frost gathered on every surface, exactly as when Dementors were near. It was clear that the Dark Lord in a teenage boy’s body enjoyed the demonstrations of his power. The corridor he walked in became dark, but Tom did not have a wand with which to illuminate it.

“The entrance is here,” he said and opened the door to the girls’ bathroom.

“Of course,” Harry muttered. “Myrtle was killed by the Basilisk here! I probably realised it the first time, but the Memory Charm removed the knowledge.”

Moaning Myrtle came out of her stall, and Grindelwald extended his hand at her. She let out a sad little sigh and dissipated out of existence. Harry and Ginny looked quite put out, but Grindelwald just smiled.

“That sink,” Tom said and pointed at the hidden entrance.

“Can it be opened by a Parselmouth who is not the heir of Slytherin?” Grindelwald asked.

“Let’s find out,” Tom said and gestured to Harry.

Harry studied the sink for a moment, possibly regaining some of the memories that Tom had removed from his mind, and hissed,

“Open.”

As usual, the entrance opened with a foreboding rumble, and a dark hole was waiting for anyone foolish enough to enter. Ginny trembled as she looked down. Grindelwald, looking more excited than ever, felt no pity as he said,

“You three will go first.”

Tom eagerly jumped into the pipe first; the Chamber was not frightening to him and getting away from the deathly presence of Grindelwald even for a short while felt tempting. His mind cleared of the unnatural fear as he slid down the pipe, but no clever plan presented itself; all he could think of were more safety precautions for the future crises that would probably never come, such as stashing spare wands in places such as the Chamber of Secrets.

As Tom’s downward slide came to an end, he felt how Voldemort stirred in the diary.

Ginny, fighting against sobs, came next, and Harry not long after her. They stood in absolute darkness for a short while before Grindelwald came down the pipe more gracefully than any of the others, bringing light with him. However, his Dementor-like aura did not follow him into the Chamber; he felt like a normal human being once again, probably because he wanted to sense the magical ambience of the Cham­ber without Death’s power messing up his observations. Within the diary, Voldemort was no longer stunned with terror, but defiant and determined.

“An antechamber?” Grindelwald asked, looking around the cavern with some disappointment.

“The main part is some distance away,” Harry said.

“Lead on,” Grindelwald said and produced a dozen balls of bright light to illuminate the cavern.

Tom, Harry and Ginny trudged over rocks and bones of rodents which had accumulated there over the centuries. Harry and Ginny looked around with trepidation, reliving their adventure over three years earlier, while Tom tried to act like someone who was there for the first time. Grindelwald followed as quietly as death itself; Tom did not turn to look back, but he assumed Grindelwald was gliding.

Finally, after many twists and turns and one partially cleared cave-in, they faced the wall with two intertwined snake sculptures. Ginny, who had taken Harry’s hand, did not look. Harry, bracing himself, hissed,

“Open.”

The wall opened and the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets was revealed. Harry was sweating as he glimpsed at Tom, and Tom realised that he was expecting the Basilisk to emerge. The fact that there was a monster still down here was something Tom did not want to remind Grindelwald of. When entering the main halls, he debated with himself whether or not to mention the Basilisk to Grindelwald. Surely the Headmaster had not forgotten it, in which case mentioning it would give him no helpful information, but doing so might make him less careful with Tom. Unlike Harry and Ginny, Tom knew of another possible asset: Salazar Slytherin had laid a trap for the Dark Lord, and fortunately Tom had removed Voldemort’s additions from the trap mere days earlier. However, he had not understood Salazar’s design well enough to learn how the trap could actually be activated. As he slowly passed the row of snake statues, he bombarded the diary with questions, but Voldemort did not answer.

Grindelwald made sure that there was nothing lurking in the shadows preparing an ambush and then turned to regard the statues.

“Ah yes, magnificent,” he breathed. “I have never seen anything as fascinating.”

“What is so unusually fascinating about them?” Tom asked, hoping that initiating an academic discussion would not annoy the Dark Lord.

Grindelwald turned to face the other three and spoke in a lecturing tone; strange for someone who looked so young.

“Most people only know one thing about Atlantis: that it was a great empire which sunk beneath the sea,” he said. “Usually, it is discarded as a legend, a figment of imagination that does not deserve much attention. But like all scholars of esoteric mysteries, I have done everything in my power to discover Atlantis.”

With a flick of the Elder Wand, Grindelwald produced a map which showed the contemporary shorelines of Europe.

“Thousands of years ago, when much of Northern Europe was covered in glaciers, what is now known as the North Sea was a land that connected the British Isles to what is now known as continental Europe. It was a land of fertile plains and many rivers, and rich with natural resources. That was where the first and the greatest human civilisation was born. It was a utopia, free of poverty and diseases, because every single one of its inhabitants was a wizard. I consider it likely that the myths of the Garden of Eden and of various other paradises have their origins in this land – Atlantis.”

While Grindelwald spoke, the map changed to show the old shorelines of the time when so much water had been forming the northern glaciers, a map quite unrecognisable.

“It is unclear whether or not the Atlanteans caused their own destruction. Perhaps there really was some kind of Fall from Grace, another common element in mythologies. Perhaps the Atlanteans wanted a longer summer, or new living space from the north. Whatever the reason, the glaciers melted, and the sea level began to rise – a deluge, yet another common element in mythologies. Even magic could not save the Atlanteans, and their majestic civilisation was submerged. The capital city of Atlantis is now at the bottom of the sea. One of its buildings was so tall that it became an island, and many Atlanteans sought refuge from it, but their desperate magics to end the deluge got out of control. They sacrificed their souls for a doomed cause and transformed into ravenous, inhuman monsters. The place became cursed for eternity and is now known as Azkaban. Those Atlanteans who survived the destruction travelled to distant lands and became the ancestors of all modern wizarding communities.”

The map returned to show the contemporary shorelines.

“But, as you can see, not all of Atlantis was lost,” Grindelwald said. “Before the rise of the sea level, the British Isles were part of the landmass inhabited by the Atlanteans. Have you never wondered why the founders of Hogwarts came here? Godric Gryffindor was born in England, Rowena Ravenclaw in Franconia, Helga Hufflepuff in Norway and Salazar Slytherin in Castile. Why did they choose the Scottish Highlands of all places as their home?”

“There’s a huge nexus of magic beneath this castle,” Tom said. “The one that powers the protective enchantments. I guess you’re telling us that it has something to do with Atlantis.”

“Correct,” said Grindelwald. “The most sacred place of the Atlanteans was their Temple of Magic, built upon the nexus that all magic of this world goes through. For thousands of years after the destruction of Atlantis, wizards tried to find it. That was what inspired Alexander the Great to conquer Egypt and Persia. That was why Merlin wandered around the world and eventually settled down in the land where he found an Atlantean relic: the Veil of Death in what was originally the Atlantean Temple of Death. That was why the Peverell brothers had such zeal for solving mysteries. That was why wizards like Marco Polo, Vasco da Gama, Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand Magellan explored the world. The founders of Hogwarts found the ruins of the Temple of Magic and built their own castle upon them, in order to use the nexus of magic, and also to safeguard the secret.”

Grindelwald walked around and studied the sculptures closely, comparing the snakes to Salazar’s statue.

“Just as I suspected,” he said. “These snake statues have not been made by Salazar Slytherin. The Chamber of Secrets was not built by him. This was the underground shrine of the Temple of Magic, and he found it during the construction of Hogwarts, but did not tell about it to the other founders. Salazar’s ability to talk with snakes came from the imperial dynasty of Atlantis; everyone knows that Eve of Paradise was a Parselmouth, and Salazar was the dynasty’s last heir. It is possible that he alone was able open the entrance to this place and decided to claim it as his own. Whatever happened with him, he failed. Now all his descendants are dead… but there is still one who has the power to talk to snakes.”

He turned to Harry.

“I knew I could never control Voldemort in order to access this place, and so I made a new plan. Thirty years ago, I arranged the movement for Muggle-born rights and made the pure-blood supremacists feel that their power was threatened. That was the spark that Voldemort saw as an opportunity to rally a rebellion, and so I lured him back to Britain from his travels. Once the war had been set in motion, I planted the idea in Abraxas Malfoy’s mind that he should petition all pure-bloods to have more children; funnily enough, it seems only the Weasleys listened. Then, I forced Bellatrix Black to ingest a special version of Amortentia; I had added Thestral blood in it for a permanent effect. She was lucky to survive the side effects – or unlucky, considering what happened to her afterwards – but my plan turned out to be a failure. While she did become obsessively infatuated with Voldemort, my meddling did not result in the birth of a new and more easily controlled heir of Slytherin.”

Within the diary, Voldemort scoffed with a mixture of anger, disgust and self-satisfaction.

“All this I did without realising that there was another way for me,” Grindelwald huffed and shook his head. “Morfin Gaunt, Voldemort’s uncle, was still alive in Azkaban. Years later, I had him freed, but he did not know where the entrance of this place is, and last year he had a stroke and perished before I could heal him. If I had bothered to find out if he had survived Azkaban back in 1945, after Augustus Rookwood had mentioned him to me, I could have accessed this place decades ago.”

Despite everything, Tom felt the urge to smirk. Clearly, Grindelwald did not have a habit of considering anything a potential opportunity. Durmstrang was obviously inferior to the House of Slytherin.

“Anyway, after I heard Trelawney’s prophecy, my next plan was to usher Voldemort into attacking your family,” Grindelwald said to Harry.  “I did my best to ensure that the attack took place exactly as I wanted: that your mother sacrificed her life for you, creating a protection that destroyed Voldemort’s body and ripped his soul apart. A small fragment of his soul attached to you, giving you the Atlantean dynastic ability. And here you are now: speaking in Parseltongue as I order you.”

“And what is it you want from this place?” Harry growled.

“Well, obviously I am not satisfied with controlling only the power of Death,” the Dark Lord said, grinning. “Just like I was not satisfied with controlling only the power of the Hallows. I will take the nexus of all magic in the world into my control. It will be the end of the magical civilisation; all wizards except those who serve me well will be reduced to Muggles, and I will rule the world forevermore as the immortal God of Death and Magic! I will guide humanity to the stars, and I intend to find the cosmic source of magic, and it too will be my own! But, rest assured, this will all be for the Greater Good – I will remake the entire universe!”

Full of youthful confidence, Grindelwald walked to the centre of the Chamber, right under the eyes of Salazar Slytherin’s statue. A few flicks of the Elder Wand created a ritual circle on the floor, in the same place where Ginny had lain when Tom had started his rebirth ritual. It was also the place where there was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, but only visible when Salazar’s statue was active.

“Slytherin put his very own essence into this place,” Grindelwald said. “He meant his descendants to use this Chamber, but since he did not know any of the ways that Muggles nowadays use to determine descendancy, he used the ability to speak Parseltongue as the defining quality, and this place acknowledges all Parselmouths as heirs of Slytherin. Our success in the bathroom proves this.”

Suddenly, Grindelwald’s terrifying deathly aura returned in full, and Tom involuntarily scrambled backwards. It was as if a hurricane of Dark magic was whirling around Grindelwald, but it was much Darker than any magic Tom had ever tapped, except perhaps the Horcrux. Tom felt like a little child again, the way he had felt on that day when Dumbledore had set his wardrobe on fire, and it dawned on him that he had barely scratched the surface of the Dark Arts.

But there was someone who was much more experienced in the Dark Arts than he was. Once again, he mentally focused on the diary and cried in his mind,

Brother, if you have any ideas, present them now!

This time Voldemort replied.

I have an idea. It will be much faster for me to explain it if you delve into the diary for a more direct mental connection.

Tom hesitated. If he delved into the diary, he would be unable to observe his surroundings, and much was happening.

“I will break what Salazar Slytherin built to safeguard the nexus of all magic!” Grindelwald thundered while drawing more glowing runes on the floor, and the pressure of Death increased to such unbearable intensity that Tom stumbled backwards again and almost fell over. “A sacrifice is required to unleash the power of Atlantis – the sacrifice of the heir of Slytherin!”

You’re wasting time! Voldemort snarled.

Grindelwald turned and grinned as the very rock around the Chamber began to quake. He extended his hand in the same manner as in the bathroom, and Harry flew through the air to him. The hand of the God of Death gripped Harry’s throat, and as if thousands of Dementors had appeared in the Chamber, Death exploded outward. Grindelwald held Harry in the air effortlessly and turned his newfound power to consume Harry’s soul.

“As the Boy Who Lived dies, Atlantis is reborn in me!” the Dark Lord declared and opened his mouth wide. Harry’s face went unnaturally pale and then started to turn grey and wrinkled as his soul and life-force were being torn from his body. The ritual circle on the floor flared with bright light, and Grindelwald continued drawing more runes with his free hand.

Tom stared at the gruesome fate of his first friend in dismay, but then a small hand grabbed his. He turned to look and saw Ginny, tears flowing from her eyes, looking at him.

“Tom, you’ve got to save him,” Ginny whispered in a small voice.

There were not a lot of options. Hoping desperately that Voldemort would, for once, be good for something, Tom delved into the diary and saw the accursed void around him. The twisted snake-man hovered in front of him.

“Well?” Tom demanded. “What’ve you got?”

“My plan,” Voldemort said, “is to trick you into coming here and then leave you here.”

He attacked while still speaking. It was not possible to use magic in the void of the diary, but whatever the mind focused on could manifest there. When two separate souls both used their imaginations on the same ideas but in slightly different ways, all manifestations felt much more real than when imagined only by one soul. And so, a massive storm grabbed Tom and flung him into a wall with such force that a false sensation of pain filled his mind.

He scrambled on his feet and grimaced with appalled disgust. Grey walls and ceiling spotted with mould, dirty windows to a shabby alley, cobwebs, a dreary bed and a wardrobe… he was in his room in the orphanage. Voldemort entered grinning and snapped his fingers, which set the wardrobe on fire.

Tom snorted. This sorry attempt to torture him psychologically was nothing to him; after all, he had spent fifty years in a place in which the orphanage had felt like a paradise in comparison. His imagination grasped the burning wardrobe and toppled it on Voldemort, causing his robes to catch fire. As Voldemort’s concentration on the illusion of the orphanage wavered, Tom changed into a more appealing environment: the Slytherin common room. There was a large fire in the hearth, and it seemed to materialise around Voldemort.

Suddenly, the chandelier creaked unnaturally loudly and crashed into Tom’s side. When he came back to his senses, he found himself in a corner of the common room he had only been in once. It had been the first day of school of his first year at Hogwarts. The other Slytherins had found out that he had no magical relatives and that he had known next to nothing about the wizarding world. Several much older boys had cornered him and called him a Mudblood. There they were again… but as Tom looked from one face to another, he realised that each one of them had some version his face. Three who looked exactly like him, one who looked older and somehow disfigured and three who had a hideous snake-like face and glowing red eyes. Tom could name each one of them: his fellow soul fragments, the ring, the cup, the locket, the diadem, the scar, the snake and Voldemort.

“You’re my Horcruxes!” Tom said. “I order you to fight that vermin!”

“No,” Voldemort said triumphantly. “You are all mine!”

As though under the Imperius Curse, all soul fragments except Voldemort stepped forward and began to beat and kick Tom. He snarled, tried to use his martial arts skills and then to gain control of the situation with sheer willpower, but it was futile. Voldemort was much more skilled in both Legilimency and Occlumency, and it gave him superior power in the imaginary world. It did not take long before it was increasingly difficult for Tom to keep the knowledge in his conscious mind that this was just imagination.

After what felt like several hours, the beating stopped. Tom was bleeding, bruised and had many broken bones; all just imagination, but the combined imaginations of the seven other Tom Riddles were so much more powerful than his own that his injuries felt real. He was so exhausted and devoid of defiance that he just stared feebly at his tormentors. He could not come up with any contemptuous retorts.

Voldemort held the diary open as he stepped closer with a feral grin.

“Goodbye, Tom,” he said, emphasising the name as if it was the worst insult imaginable.

Tom’s world turned into a whirlpool where everything was draining into the diary except Voldemort, who went against the current. There was nothing to be done. Tom fought against his instinct to swim in the illusion, and instead used all his mental might to see through it.

He saw the Chamber of Secrets again, but his body was going numb. While the imaginary battle had taken place within his mind, maybe three seconds had passed in the real world. Ginny was still looking at him tearfully, Grindelwald was still drawing more glowing runes on the floor and Harry was still being drained of life.

Before losing control of his body for good, Tom put his hand in his pocket, grabbed the diary and took it out. He thrust it into Ginny’s hand, and as her eyes went wide with surprise, he felt Voldemort’s overwhelming presence in his body. The whirlpool tugged Tom down into its depths, and a moment later, he found himself in the endless void again.

Tom Riddle’s eyes flared red, and the illusory disguise Tom had put on out of habit disappeared. Lord Voldemort had returned again, and he stepped closer to his rival Dark Lord.

But Tom was not defeated for good, either. As Ginny held the diary, he reached out to her in the same way he had done many, many times. Even though it had been over three years since he had last possessed her, her mind was still amenable. She trusted him after all, even liked him.

Ginny, Tom said in her mind, I’m sorry, but you have to let me possess you. It’s our only hope.

Tom? What is this?

Voldemort took over my body, Tom admitted. Let’s hope he distracts Grindelwald.

Ginny consented and relinquished control as Tom slipped from the diary into her. It was easy and he had much practice at it. Suddenly, the void vanished from around him, and he had a body once again. He grinned. There was still fight left in him.

Grindelwald was busy making the final markings on the floor and choking Harry, and he had not noticed what had happened behind him. Voldemort sneaked up on him, and as one swish of the Elder Wand pointed to the side, Voldemort snatched it. Grindelwald turned around in an instant, and his focus on Harry broke.

“What?” Grindelwald exclaimed, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Do you know what Death Eaters do to Death, Grindie?” Voldemort said and twirled the Elder Wand in his hands.

“You,” Grindelwald growled. “You do not seem to enjoy staying dead, do you, Riddle?”

Harry groaned and put his hand on his forehead.

“Thank you for preparing everything for me,” Voldemort said. “I will be the one to kill Harry Potter, and Atlantis will be mine!”

Grindelwald just smirked. “Are you under the impression that I need a jester to entertain me?”

The power of the God of Death rose to a deafening rumble, and a wave of otherworldly power smashed Voldemort against one of the snake statues. Voldemort yelled in pain and terror, but then managed to cry,

“Avada Kedavra!”

Grindelwald did not even bother to dodge. The green bolt hit him in the chest, but the only thing that happened was the deathly power becoming even stronger.

“Go ahead and feed your powers to me, you moron,” he said. “Actually, do not bother. I will claim it all in just a moment.”

He turned his attention to Harry again, and Harry’s face started becoming greyer and more wrinkled again.

Save him! Ginny sobbed.

Tom had moved slowly sideways in order to avoid getting noticed, but no opportunity had presented itself. He was just going to risk Summoning wandlessly one of the wands that Grindelwald had taken when Voldemort cried an incantation again.

“Az-reth!”

Black and red flames poured from the tip of the Elder Wand. They coalesced in midair and formed an inferno consisting of numerous monstrous shapes. This scared Grindelwald much more than the previous attack.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Do you not understand how dangerous Fiendfyre is here, so close to the nexus of magic?”

“I do,” Voldemort snarled. “But if I won’t get the power of Atlantis, then neither will you!”

Grindelwald let go of Harry, grabbed two of the wands he had in his pockets and began to wave them both. He did not use any magic that Tom could recognise. It was probably some completely alien deathly magic, because as it struck the Fiendfyre, it was not consumed in an instant like normal magic. Deathly and hellish magic did not mix well.

Accio!

Tom formed the incantation in his mind, and a wand flew from inside Grindelwald’s robes to Ginny’s hand. It felt really fitting in his use, but the wood was not yew, but holly. Harry’s wand, then.

The fight of Grindelwald and Voldemort went on. Grindelwald had bound Voldemort against the snake statue with immaterial ropes, and the Elder Wand was locked in place pointing to the side. This way, Voldemort was unable to gain the upper hand even with the invincible wand in hand. Grindelwald grinned and launched a concentrated tsunami of despair against Voldemort, who was completely helpless against such an attack. Tom was sneaking to a position out of Grindelwald’s sight, and he did not need to look at his own face to know what was happening. Voldemort’s resolution crumbled before Grindelwald’s deathly aura and then shattered with such force that its echo reverberated in all of the Horcruxes. Death was too terrible for Tom Riddle to handle, and Voldemort fell into the darkest depths to desperation. The Fiendfyre could not break the bindings that Grindelwald had created around the inferno, but Voldemort could still pour more of it from the Elder Wand and direct it closer to himself.

And he was wearing Tom’s bullet-proof vest with the magical power of over a thousand automatically activating Shield Charms stored in it. If that power got touched by Fiendfyre, it would explode, and the explosion would, no doubt, set the entire nexus of magic ablaze.

Lord Voldemort was committing suicide. That was something no Tom Riddle should ever be able to do, there was always some opportunity. But Tom knew, as he watched the approaching apocalypse, that Voldemort had totally lost hope. He was unable to fight even for his continued existence, because in his mind, he had already lost.

Tom sensed the other Horcruxes. They had all fallen into a similar state of defeat. Of the eight Tom Riddles, only Tom was still willing to fight.

Why…?

The answer was obvious. Tom could feel Ginny’s presence, and she was much braver in the face of Death than Voldemort, even though she was equally afraid. Of all Tom Riddles, only Tom had been influenced by her, only Tom had gained the power all his brothers lacked.

“NO!” Grindelwald yelled as the Fiendfyre was just inches from Voldemort’s chest. “This ends now!”

He turned his full attention on Harry again, gripped his throat once more, and the sacrificial ritual accelerated. If he completed it and gained the power of Atlantis, it would be safe from the Fiendfyre explosion.

There is a spell to prevent a soul from being eaten! Ginny cried.

Tom brandished Harry’s wand. He focused on Ginny and thought about how she had set him on a better course in life. He put all his focus on a certain spell that required pure, happy thoughts and a generally positive attitude towards life, things Ginny had taught him.

“Expecto –” Tom shouted, but his voice stumbled to a halt as if he had run straight into a wall. He could feel how the spell failed before it even started. It simply disagreed with his very nature. His My soul had been maimed for the sake of immortality; in his fear of death, he had gained safety from it, but only now he truly understood it: the price had been his life. He was cursed to immortality, which was only a bleak half-life, and that was why he was unable to wield the magic that could save Harry and the entire world from Death.

Before Tom could defeat Grindelwald, he had to conquer himself.

He had to try… it would be the last stand of Tom Riddle, the final sacrifice of the last heir of Salazar Slytherin, even if it meant that he could not do what his great ancestor had planned for him to do.

He thought about the bitter orphan Tom Riddle, whose entire existence had been marked by all-devouring apathy and fear of death… he compared him to the person he had become through his experiences. Everything he had learned from Ginny, the inspiration he had found in playing the violin, the moment of peace during The First Noel, all the friends he had made…

But there was still much Voldemort in him. He could constantly feel the terror and desperation of his brothers. They dragged him down to the pit of hopelessness like a rock tied to a swimmer’s foot. Voldemort had never wanted to truly live; he was the side of Tom that could not enjoy his existence but wanted to escape apathy and fear by creeping into the darkest caverns of his own making. The side that would rather burn the world and its magic than letting someone else claim them.

Tom thought of Myrtle who had died for the creation of the diary. He thought of his father and grandparents who had died for the creation of the ring. He thought of everyone whose deaths had served the purpose of binding Voldemort to the world of apathy and fear. They all would have lived lives with more happiness and purpose than Voldemort… and Tom felt sorry that those things had been taken from them. He formed a happy thought in his mind: a world without Voldemort.

Tom took all of these thoughts and used them to power the one spell he had never managed to master. With Harry’s wand that had experience with the spell, he slashed through the air.

“Hold on, Harry!” Tom cried. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Pain flared in his chest; it was like the flames of Purgatory. He lost control of his magic, and the flames burnt him from the inside, tormenting his very self in a way that he thought only the Cruciatus Curse was capable of. As he collapsed to the floor, his vision blurred, and then he saw into the void as well. Voldemort was burning, searing flames of radiant silver had engulfed him, and he shrieked. So did all other Tom Riddles in their cursed containers: they all burned, but as their ghostly forms quickly disintegrated into nothingness, Tom felt purer.

Searing light filled the Chamber as a brilliant silver Basilisk appeared. It rushed through the air and slammed into Grindelwald. The Dark Lord looked momentarily confused as his attempt to consume Harry’s soul and life failed. The silver flames still burned inside Tom, but he managed to Summon the locket of Slytherin from the side cavern where he had left all his Horcruxes. With trembling hands, he put it around Ginny’s neck, and Salazar’s statue came to life again.

Grindelwald stumbled back in surprise and lost his hold on Harry as he looked up to the face of the statue. Harry fell to the floor and gasped heavily.

“Salazar laid a trap against the Dark Lord!” Tom yelled to Harry, using all his willpower not to scream because of the pain caused by the silver flames inside him. “But I don’t know the keyword to trigger it!”

Grindelwald looked around and wasted a precious second when seeing Voldemort screaming and blazing with silver flames; the Fiendfyre had dissipated. The eyes of Salazar’s statue were burning with intense magical flames, and Grindelwald hurried to perform the wand motion of the Shield Charm.

Harry, after taking a deep breath, frowned fiercely and hissed in Parseltongue,

“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death!”

Suddenly, more light flowed into the Chamber, the ground began to shake and a noise like a thunderstorm rumbled. Tom could only barely keep Ginny’s eyes open, and with his mind’s eye he saw his other selves still burning, but somehow, he could sense how unfathomably powerful beams of light shot from Salazar’s eyes and struck Grindelwald. He heard the Dark Lord groan in frustration, and then he heard familiar hisses: the Basilisk had come forth to complete the purpose Salazar had given it.

How long it lasted, Tom could not assess. Eventually the pain subsided, and as it did, memories flowed into his mind. He could see and hear years in the half-life of Lord Voldemort, all unspeakable acts of evil he had committed, but the memories faded quickly. They were like the previous night’s dream, disappearing into oblivion even as Tom tried to focus on them…

When he returned to his senses, he felt different. It was as if he had woken up from a deep sleep, even more so than when Ginny had awoken him in the diary. Everything seemed clearer… and he felt whole.

He could sense the items that had housed his soul fragments. The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake and Harry’s scar… they all felt different. The searing fire of the Patronus had lifted their curses: Tom’s anchors to immortality were no more. But now he had something much better: a whole soul capable of full life. All the soul fragments that Voldemort had hidden away were made one once again, but Tom was the only Tom Riddle to continue to exist: in a way, he had consumed the other ones.

Lord Voldemort was finally gone, totally annihilated from existence, and Tom had become the person he was meant to be. He could feel some kind of joyful resonance with Ginny’s soul. She had given him the power to win the most challenging of victories – victory over himself.

Hands grabbed him and he was lifted back to his feet. He was back in his own body. He saw Harry, the scar bleeding, and Ginny, looking massively relieved.

“Is it you, Tom?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Voldemort… he’s gone. Permanently.” He looked around. “What happened? Where’s Grindelwald?”

“He is over there,” Harry said and pointed to the far end of the Chamber.

Grindelwald had been knocked back by the power Salazar had stored for the trap against him. Not even the immeasurable amount of Atlantean power had been able to destroy the God of Death, but it had managed to daze him for a brief moment, and it had been enough for the Basilisk to attack. Grindelwald was literally undying, no power in the universe was enough to kill him, but not even the Godhood of Death had made his human body immune to the petrifying power of an elder Basilisk’s gaze.

Grindelwald stood as stiff as a statue with an expression of absolute horror forever frozen on his youthful face.

Chapter 56: Epilogue

On a clear summer day, Tom looked out from a window of a sturdy concrete building, patiently looking at a huge field of asphalt and concrete empty save for a single Muggle device and several wizards bustling around it. Someone seemed to have considered the room he was standing in too plain for such an important occasion, and conjured flowers and vines to decorate every surface.

There were many people in the room with him: Arthur Weasley, whom Tom kept an eye on in case he started to press the buttons of any of the various pieces of Muggle technology in the room; Harry and Ginny, who held each other’s hands; Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys; Remus, Sirius and Aberforth; Draco, Theodore, Ethan and Sara; and many people from the Ministry, Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Somewhere nearby were also Karkaroff, Flint, Derrick, Bole, Warrington, Montague and Bletchley, all freed from their Unbreakable Vows of servitude.

The door opened, and everyone turned to see who was coming. Escorted by Madam Pomfrey and sitting in a magical wheelchair, there was an ancient wizard with a long white beard, long white hair and piercingly blue eyes. Albus Dumbledore, who had been freed from Nurmengard mere hours after Grindelwald’s defeat, had been resting for a long time, but he had recovered enough to attend the event.

Most people were at a total loss for words. Professor McGonagall, for example, had believed she had worked with Albus Dumbledore for decades, but it had been just a lie. Everyone present knew Dumbledore very well, but he had barely even heard about most of them. There were many introductions and people carefully shaking Dumbledore’s frail, bony hands.

Eventually the old wizard turned his eyes upon Tom, who had stopped using disguising charms and had not cast them for this meeting, either.

“Tom,” Dumbledore said in a weak, quiet voice. “Gellert told me a lot about you.”

“He surely had a lot to tell,” Tom said.

“Yes. However, I was told your help was crucial for his defeat. I would like speak to you in private, so that you do not need to reveal to others anything you do not want to.”

Impressed by this courtesy, Tom cast the Anti-Eavesdropping Charm around the two of them.

“Gellert told me what you had done,” Dumbledore said. “Done to the wizarding world and to yourself. I was dismayed when I thought about it; the horrors Gellert told me about became my constant nightmares. And I knew, deep in my heart, that my own actions had played some part in what became of you. I failed you, Tom.”

“Not as badly as I failed myself,” Tom said. “There is something that you do not know. Because of Grindelwald’s manipulation, I was driven into creating a Horcrux, and it was at that moment that Lord Voldemort was born. I was imprisoned in the soul container while my other self started the path that made him Grindelwald’s unwitting pawn. However, I managed to break free, but I chose another path. I have learned much of the wisdom that Lord Voldemort despised, and I used it to destroy him. I am a different person now.”

“I can see that,” Dumbledore said. “And as long as you stay on a virtuous path, I am willing to keep your identity a secret from the rest of the wizarding world.”

“Well, thank you,” Tom said, somewhat surprised, and dispelled the charm around them.

“I hope that the world will be able to learn a lesson from how Gellert became what he became,” Dumbledore said as people gathered around him. “It is not destiny that makes us what we are. We all have potential for goodness inside us, but sometimes that potential is wasted and twisted because somewhere along the way, circumstances have unfortunate consequences. So it was with Gellert…”

Dumbledore sighed and stared out of the window to the asphalt field where the Muggle device was almost ready to be launched.

“Gellert did not live a happy life,” he continued. “His parents were Muggles, but his mother’s father was a Squib who knew about the wizarding world. After young Gellert had his first bursts of accidental magic, his father was terrified and abandoned the family shortly afterwards. That, I think, is what made Gellert so distrustful; he always expected the worst of people, and studying at Durmstrang made his heart even colder; it has never been a place for camaraderie. Gellert could not tell about his family background to anyone, and he was bullied by the rich heirs of important families who studied there. He had nothing but his talents, and soon he was envied by most of his fellow students. They discovered the truth about his heritage, and Gellert was expelled – a devastating blow to him, something that made him vengeful towards the flawed world that had treated him so unfairly.

“He tried to make a new start in Britain, and we befriended quickly. He enjoyed studying magic with someone as talented as he was, someone who accepted him as he was. But there was another who meant even more to him – my sister Ariana. She was a girl with a golden heart, and she understood Gellert in a way I was unable to. While I was too eager to plan a magnificent future in which all injustices of the world would be corrected, Ariana’s compassion helped Gellert to come out of the hard shell he had built for himself out of necessity. I think Ariana was the only good person Gellert ever knew, and from her he learned that the world is not full of darkness, all the way to its very foundations. She made him a better person, and I know he loved her for it.

“Then came the fateful day when Gellert, I and my brother Aberforth had a disagreement that escalated into a fight – and at the end of it, Ariana was killed. It changed each one of us. While I realised that I was unsuitable for power, Gellert’s grief and remorse started the bloodiest campaign the world has ever seen. ‘I will find and unite the Hallows, Albus,’ he said to me. ‘And as the master of Death, I will bring Ariana back, no matter what it takes.’ Those were the last words he said to me before he left Britain. At that moment, I had no idea into what extremes he would be willing to go.

“He acquired the Elder Wand and tried to lure the owner of the Resurrection Stone into the open. I waited while millions of people died, my guilty conscience ever hounding me. I wanted to believe that Gellert’s insane plans had some vaguely noble purpose, even if a twisted one. Eventually I made the decision I had always known I had to make: to put an end to him. I missed Ariana dearly, but I knew she would not have wanted to sacrifice anyone for her sake. I fought Gellert and lost… and by losing I gave him the greatest asset he had ever had: my identity.

“As I thought about all the terrible things he had done and still kept doing, I finally became completely convinced that no matter which good intentions one might have at the beginning, the lust for power makes anyone a monster. Gellert was not the first one to use the Dart Arts for a purpose he truly believed to be a good one, and he was ensnared by the darkness like so many others. He should have let go of Ariana and tried to find a light similar to hers in someone else. It was his fixation to Ariana’s goodness instead of the goodness of people in general that made him extinguish countless other small lights in the vast darkness of the world. Ariana’s place is beyond the Veil, and fighting against the nature of the world, no matter how unfair it seems, can only make it even more so.”

A sombre silence descended. While Dumbledore had spoken, Tom’s eyes had wandered to Ginny, and he could not miss the similarity. She was his angel just as Ariana had been Grindelwald’s, and it was only because of her that Tom had been able to muster the power to save Harry from the monster Grindelwald had become in the absence of Ariana.

An alarm shook Tom into the present again.

“Everything is ready,” he said. “I would give you the honour, Professor. I know the resentment caused by having been locked away for half a century by someone who was once close to you.”

he gestured towards the command table that Arthur Weasley had been studying with fascination. Madam Pomfrey pushed Dumbledore’s wheelchair closer to the command table, and everyone looked out of the window.

“Gellert,” Dumbledore sighed. “He was my friend…”

“This is not the moment to be sentimental, Professor,” Tom said. “This must be done. As Grindelwald himself would say, it is for the Greater Good.”

“You should know, Tom,” Dumbledore said, “that I do not care about the Greater Good – I care about justice.”

As Tom heard that word, he suddenly realised something. Grindelwald had been able to act exactly like Dumbledore in every way except one. After Voldemort’s return, Tom had briefly seen through the act when the Headmaster’s reason not to fight proactively had been the Absolute Good. It truly had been just a caricature of Dumbledore’s ethics, because Grindelwald had never really understood them. The opposite of the Greater Good was not the Absolute Good – but Justice.

Even though it seemed like the hardest thing he ever did, Dumbledore pressed a large button marked for the purpose. The roar of a rocket engine begun, drowning the numerous cries of “Wingardium Leviosa.” The suddenly weightless space rocket surged upwards with incredible speed, taking an unremarkable-looking block of concrete to the skies.

It would leave the atmosphere, the Solar System and the Milky Way. Grindelwald, the master and God of Death, was petrified, his stomach had been filled with Draught of Living Death and he was encased in a sarcophagus of concrete, steel, thousands of Charms of Unbreakability and whatever further protections the world’s best remaining alchemists had crafted. If Grindelwald ever broke free from these precautions (and also the hydrogen-freezing temperature), he would do so in the intergalactic void. There he would have nothing to do except to wait for the end of the universe.

Tom, Dumbledore and the others watched the Dark Lord’s departure until the rocket had disappeared into the blue of the sky.

The world had been saved.

 

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Hogwarts.

After the victory celebration, Tom had returned home. The castle that Salazar Slytherin and his three friends had built upon the ruins of the Atlantean Temple of Magic stood proudly by the lake, the radiance of the slow summer sunset of Scotland tinting the walls and towers with red.

The revelation that Hogwarts was the source of all magic in the world did not make the place feel any more special that it had felt before. Such enormous historical significance was worthy of respect and even admiration, but Tom’s true fondness towards the castle came from his personal experiences. He had first entered the castle as a poor orphan who had sought his place in the world. He had returned there as a young man with grand plans of world domination. Now, still as a young man, he had come there just to enjoy himself.

Hogwarts felt better, in fact, now that fear, spite and a maimed soul did not chain Tom to an apathetic half-life. he did not need to read through books, practice spells or manipulate people in a desperate need to gain new advantages. Now, he was at Hogwarts to reward himself of the victory he had gained over himself. Just walking slowly through the grounds meant the world to him.

For a long time, he admired the majesty of his home, watching the shadows of the mountains rising up the walls until night had descended.

Then, he felt a presence next to him.

Slowly, he turned to have a look.

He faced a human-like being clothed in black robes. Black was his hair, pearly white his skin and red his eyes, but the aura of horror Tom had felt around him was absent. Death looked serene and non-menacing; his smile was almost a gentle one.

“How are you here?” Tom asked.

“Sight-seeing, you could say,” Death said. “I also wanted to congratulate you on your progress.”

“I saw you being absorbed by Grindelwald.”

Death shrugged. “Not a big deal. As long as there is life, there is death, and some­one has to be the embodiment of death. Grindelwald did not claim my entire essence, it seems.”

“What do you mean with my progress?”

“When we met the first time in your vision during your train ride to Hogwarts for your sixth year,” said Death, “you were alone, but already horrified by the world in which all others had died. The next time, during Remus’s Patronus lesson, you imagined yourself in the company of Remus and Harry. During the battle of Knockturn Alley, you continued your fight against your other self; even Dementor exposure did not twist your motivation. After Grindelwald claimed my power, you chose to oppose him instead of trying to claim power as his supporter. Whether you have realised it or not, you have become a better person.”

“You care about such things?” Tom asked. “Are you telling me you’re not such an end of the world as Rookwood hoped?”

“I am called Death,” the dark god said with some exasperation, as if he had had to explain this far too many times before. “It is a universal name, anyway. Some people call me Osiris, some Thanatos, some Azrael, some Tuoni… there are more names, most of them unheard of by you. The point is, I am the overseer of dead souls. I have no interest in getting more people to sleep in my halls. Killing all life is the last thing I want! How could I entertain myself by coming to this world every once in a while if there was nothing happening here? I was not even angry at Nicolas Flamel for evading me for so long. His unnaturally long life was not a problem to me.”

“Well, that’s a relief to hear,” Tom said. “For a moment, I was afraid that you had come to get me. I have just learned to enjoy living, you know.”

“I have seen too many people who have wasted their lives,” Death said. “In pointless worries or just apathy. Good thing you are no longer one of them. Tell me, what do you think you would see in the Mirror of Erised if you looked into it?”

Tom looked at Hogwarts again, deep in thought.

“Many abstract things come to my mind,” he said. “What would they look like? But I know how things should be for me to be perfectly happy with my life. I would have to be a person with no fear of death, with no desire for power over others, with no apathy ever hounding me – someone who is able to find purpose in life by helping others. In a word: Hufflepuff.”

Death smiled.

“But I am not like that,” Tom said. “Is that bad? Hufflepuffs may be great friends who bring joy to people around them, but we Slytherins have ambition. Wouldn’t it be better to achieve great things and do smaller or at least less personal good things for humanity?”

“You have learned much from Ginny,” Death said. “Slytherins often have great power to do bad things, but also the greatest potential to do good things, if they choose so. This I know, Tom Riddle: if you continue on this path, you will not need to fear death as much as you once did. Remember that it is our choices that determine who we are. You have found the power within yourself to be what you want to be. You can be a Hufflepuff if that is what you consider right for you.”

Without another word, Death vanished. Tom looked around for a moment, al­ready unsure whether or not the entire conversation had been just a hallucination, then chuckled.

“You fool,” he whispered.

He took a certain item from his pocket. He had found it from the Headmaster’s office after Grindelwald had been defeated: a stone that looked like petrified blood. Finding it had been only a slight surprise; obviously Grindelwald had not truly returned it to Nicolas Flamel.

“If you’re not eager to have me on my ‘next great adventure,’ you probably don’t mind it if I use this for the rest of eternity?”

There was no reply, and Tom headed for the entrance of Hogwarts.

Having learned to live did not change who he was or what he wanted; it just made it much more enjoyable. His quest for dominance was only at its beginning, and there was no one left to offer him too much of a challenge. Power hated vacuum, and someone was going to fill the vacuum left by Grindelwald. It was Tom’s moral responsibility to ensure that the future ruler of the world would not be worse than he was.

Hogwarts was not just a school of magic, but a school of the virtues of the four founders, and even if many people never realised it, all founders had wanted all their students to embrace all of the virtues; that was why they had founded the school together in the first place. Tom would not rule the world just to escape apathy or to feel the enjoyment of having other people to boss around. He would remember the virtues that had to accompany great ambition in order to keep it in check. That was the true way of Salazar Slytherin.

 

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This story was posted on the 30^th of November, 2024, exactly six years after I began writing it on a whim. The original version of the story (with the first-person narrative) was posted on FanFiction.net between the 9^th of July, 2019, and the 9^th of July, 2021.

 

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Author's notes

Chapter 1, Imprisonment: The idea of Dumbledore symbolising the strategic situation of Britain with a chess board is from Harry Potter and the Butterfly Effect by Brennus.

Chapter 3, Deception: David Monroe, Tom's dormmate who never accepted his superiority, is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Eliezer Yudkowsky. It is the best fan fiction story I have read. This story would not exist if I had not read it and learned to write rational stories where the characters' actions make sense.

Chapter 4, Voyage of Discoveries: I took some of the first names of Tom's school time "friends" from Birds of a Feather by babylonsheep: Edmond Lestrange, Sebastian Rosier, Matthias Mulciber and Quentin Travers. (However, in this story, Mulciber was in Tom's year and Travers was not.) Since it is one of the best fan fiction stories I have read, I decided to pay a small homage to it by borrowing details from it.

Chapter 5, Arrangements: Tom Riddle's name in the Finnish translation is Tom Valedro. Since I read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in Finnish the first time, Valedro is the name I have always associated with young Voldemort. As the name does not mean anything to the English Harry Potter universe, Tom has no reason not to use it. Only much later did I realise that the letters of "Tom Valedro" can be rearranged as "a Voldemort," i.e. no letters from the middle name are needed to form the "Voldemort" part of the anagram (unlike in English).

Chapter 5, Arrangements: When writing this chapter, I noticed an inconsistency in the Harry Potter canon. When Dobby warns Harry that the Chamber of Secrets is about to be opened, he says it is not about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but tries to give a hint of something he is not allowed to say. That is, of course, that it is about the same person when he was still allowed to be named. That implies Dobby knew that Lucius's plot involved a young Voldemort. Dobby's information came from Lucius and that means he could not know more than Lucius did. However, in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore tells Harry that Lucius did not know the diary was a Horcrux. If that is true, how could Dobby know that Lucius's plot involved a young Voldemort?

Chapter 5, Arrangements: Michael Verres the Oxford professor of biochemistry is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, where he is the foster father of Harry.

Chapter 8, A Black Affair: The clichéd lines of an Evil Overlord that Tom manages not to say are the Emperor's lines (slightly modified) from Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. (Check YvdcmHZTzlU and U1MnMA0TzGI on YouTube.)

Chapter 10, Homecoming: I did not bother to come up with own names or back stories for those former Hogwarts students Tom compares their grandchildren to. Sidonie Hipworth is from Birds of a Feather and Ruben Macnair from The Riddle Twins (story unfortunately deleted) by coconut oil shots. Ethan Jugson, his siblings and his father are mentioned in Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.

Chapter 11, Setting the Stage: Nearly Headless Nick looking similar to an enchanter of the Middle Ages called Tim by some is about the actor John Cleese who plays Nick in the Harry Potter films. In Monty Python and the Holy Grail, he plays the enchanter who introduces himself, "There are some who call me… Tim." (Check aZJZK6rzjns on YouTube.)

Chapter 11, Setting the Stage: What Tom tells Harry about the history of the Full Body-Bind Curse is from Seventh Horcrux by Emerald Ashes. The idea that the Killing Curse can be fuelled by either hatred or apathy (indifference) is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.

Chapter 13, Personal Matters: Little Hangleton being located in Yorkshire is from Birds of a Feather. (Of course, a location in Britain two hundred miles from Little Whinging cannot mean that many places.)

Chapter 15, Dominance Contest: The first Quidditch match in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. However, it was supposed to be Gryffindor versus Slytherin, but Malfoy had the game re-scheduled because of his supposedly injured arm. Since in this story Tom convinced Malfoy to manipulate Harry, the Quidditch matches between Houses being are played as originally scheduled.

Chapter 15, Dominance Contest: Tom convincing his dormmate Sebastian Rosier to put Confusion Concoction on the doorknobs of the changing rooms of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Quidditch teams is from Birds of a Feather.

Chapter 17, The First Noel: In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Ron is the only Weasley to spend the Christmas at Hogwarts, but that does not make any sense. How plausible is it that he told his parents that he wanted to spend Christmas at Hogwarts so that Harry would not be alone, and then Mr and Mrs Weasley did not invite Harry to The Burrow for Christmas? I think Rowling just wanted there to be thirteen people at the table when Trelawney arrived, and common sense needed to give way for a minor plot device.

Chapter 17, The First Noel: I got the idea of Tom playing The First Noel as a part of a violin duet from a music video by Taryn Harbridge. (Check M1LMTMrEtIo on YouTube.) She has been a remarkable angel of inspiration to me, helping me see purpose in life. It may not be a coincidence that I found the inspiration to write this story (or to do anything at all) shortly after I had begun to listen to her music videos, so if you enjoyed this story, extend your thanks to her. Tom's struggle with apathy mirrors my own experiences, and like me, he needed a spark from a happier soul to learn to live himself. Taryn, if you ever happen to read this: thank you!

Chapter 18, Vision and Revelation: I did consider making Tom analyse the name Voldemort ("Flight of Death" in French) when he thought about the title of Death Eaters and the message engraved on the Potters' headstone. However, I decided that Tom had not had anything more than a neat name in his mind when he had fashioned the name Voldemort. It is unlikely he knew any French at all. In-universe it was just a coincidence that the letters of his name can be rearranged into "I am Lord Voldemort." The Harry Potter books implicitly back this, because no one ever says that Voldemort's name itself is a sign of his obsession with death. This is one of those not very plausible oddities that occur when the in-universe explanation (from "Tom Marvolo Riddle" to "I am Lord Voldemort") is the real-life explanation (from "I am Lord Voldemort" to "Tom Marvolo Riddle") in reverse.

Chapter 19, Dead Man Talking: Some readers have criticised my "thin justifications" and "embarrassingly dumb stupid excuses" for Tom not reading Peter Pettigrew's mind, one even expressing his massive disappointment with numerous unprintable words and a declaration of hate towards idiots like me. I admit that letting Pettigrew flee without anyone knowing his true allegiance is not one of the best parts of this story, but it needed to happen for the story to continue. But there is a better reason that makes sense in-story.

Tom had no reason whatsoever to suspect that Pettigrew had any other secret than his survival, because it had nothing to do with Pettigrew being the Death Eater who betrayed the Potters. Since Tom did not know or even suspect that Pettigrew had a dark secret, why would using Legilimency on him be such an obvious thing to do? Pettigrew explained his survival after having been threatened, and his explanation did not contradict any of Tom's knowledge of what supposedly happened those days. Even a genius can make wrong conclusions and bad decisions if he has limited or incorrect information. Besides, Tom was never that interested in how and why the Potters were betrayed, because it was not personal to him. It mattered to him only as far as he could use it to manipulate Harry. Also, Pettigrew is talented enough at Occlumency to fool Tom’s Legilimentic ability to sense lying.

Many people want Pettigrew getting caught, and it happens in many stories, but this is not a story where the good guys get justice just because they deserve it. People believing in Pettigrew rather than Sirius is what would happen in real life. In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, it took a while for Harry, Ron and Hermione to believe Sirius even though they heard his side of the story as well. Tom only heard Pettigrew's.

Chapter 22, Departure: Replacing the Dementors guarding Hogwarts with dragons seems like an insane idea, but it was actually Fudge's suggestion in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Apparently, Dumbledore talked him out of it after Sirius was sighted somewhere far from Britain, but in this story, no one learned of Sirius's innocence and therefore Hogwarts was still believed to be in need of additional safety measures.

Chapter 22, Departure: Time-Turners are a nightmare to everyone who tries to write rational fiction. Luckily, little is told about them in the Harry Potter books, and so I decided that they were a very recent discovery in 1993 and that Hermione actually had a prototype, the only, the first and the last one in use outside the Department of Mysteries.

Chapter 23, Old Friends: I noticed that there is something strange in the timeline of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Dumbledore is supposed to have studied Voldemort's past for years and gathered the memories he shows Harry long before the events of the book. When Dumbledore is away from Hogwarts, he is searching the Horcruxes, not new memories anymore. But here is a strange thing: when he finds the ring, he is so surprised and excited about finding the Resurrection Stone that he throws caution to the wind and puts the ring on his finger without realising there might be a curse in it. However, if he had seen Bob Ogden's memory, he would have recognised the stone then, and thus finding it would not have been a surprise. The ring is also seen in Morfin's memory, but not in such a notable part.

Chapter 24, Another Black Affair: The password for draining the potion from the basin is from Seventh Horcrux.

Chapter 25, Socialite: The Notts living in Broxtowe Abbey in Nottinghamshire is from Birds of a Feather, as is Tom shrinking Edmond Lestrange's left shoes.

Chapter 25, Socialite: I tried to be very canon-compliant when writing this story, but I decided to change some minor worldbuilding details. One of them is wizarding Britain consisting of the same four nationalities as the Muggle British Isles. In this story, British and Irish witches and wizards merged into one nationality centuries ago because of reasons explained in this chapter.

Chapter 26, The Watchful Eye: Moody's Mad-Eye being an ancient relic called the Eye of Vance is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. It is far too advantageous to be a mass-manufacturable item. Invisibility cloaks and the Disillusionment Charm would be useless if all sensible wizards had a Mad-Eye in their pocket.

Chapter 26, The Watchful Eye: Speaking of Moody, Rowling certainly did not think his life story through. He most probably became a legend when he filled half of Azkaban during Voldemort's First War, but as we see from Dumbledore's memories of the trials that took place after the war, Moody acquired his magic eye after all these legendary achievements of his. What could Moody possibly have done during peacetime that eclipsed his wartime deeds so greatly that his earlier fame as just "Alastor Moody," the war hero who filled half of Azkaban, was replaced with a new fame as "Mad-Eye Moody?"

Chapter 27, Phantom Offensive: One of the unrealistic things in the Harry Potter books is that certain themes of the previous books do not continue to the later ones. The most glaring example of this is everyone's reaction to Harry's name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. Apart from Harry and a few others, everyone thinks Sirius escaped from Azkaban in order to kill Harry. Everyone knows Sirius managed to enter Hogwarts three times within the last year. Still, no one even suggests that Harry being forced to compete in the Triwizard Tournament could be Sirius's next attempt to have Harry killed. The previous year the Ministry went to considerable lengths to keep Harry safe, but suddenly, in the next book, the crisis has been forgotten. Also, why do Harry and the others not realise that Peter Pettigrew might have had something to do with the Triwizard thing? Why did everyone disregard fake Moody's theory about it being an assassination attempt even though it is totally obvious?

Another example of this is Lupin's sudden absence. Certainly Harry should have asked him for help in preparing for the Triwizard Tournament. Lupin was in a much better position to help than Sirius because he was not a fugitive, and besides, Harry should have bonded more with Lupin than with Sirius. They spent months together, and Lupin taught Harry the Patronus. What was it about Sirius that made Harry prefer him over Lupin after one evening together?

Chapter 29, Spectacle for the Shallow: In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, it is never told or even suggested that there are spectators other than the Hogwarts students watching the Triwizard tasks. However, it is supposed to be an important spectacle; Ludo Bagman seemed to consider it of equal importance as the Quidditch World Cup and Rita Skeeter wrote about it in the Daily Prophet. I decided that there were hundreds of spectators from around the world, but Harry just never paid them any attention because he was so nervous.

Chapter 29, Spectacle for the Shallow: I have never read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in English, and that is why I have never envisioned the enclosure where the first task takes place as an actual arena like it is shown in the film. (I am not fond of the films and have not even watched them in full past the third one, just some clips.) The Finnish translation for "enclosure" is "aitaus," which literally means "area surrounded by fences." And so, my mental image of the first task is just a wide opening in the forest, a large empty field surrounded by the said fences, the dragon nesting in the middle and the stands on the right hand's side. There is plenty of room for Tom's illusion army to surround the dragon.

On a similar subject, the words for "courtyard" and "grounds" in the Finnish translation are "piha" and "pihamaa," respectively, and these words essentially mean the same thing: an outdoor area that belongs to a building. When reading the Harry Potter books in Finnish as a child, I never noticed that there was any difference between them. As a result, in my mental image of Hogwarts, the courtyard does not exist. In this story it is not even mentioned, because I forgot to deliberately add this one known location at Hogwarts to complete the picture most people have about the castle.

Chapter 29, Spectacle for the Shallow: Tom's pompous words to the Hungarian Horntail are King Arthur's lines (slightly modified) from the final scene of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (Check WJzM1kaTcsY on YouTube.)

Chapter 30, Non-Silent Night: Edmond Dantés, the Dark wizard whom Madame Maxime mentions, is from Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas senior, my favourite novel. Apparently, this alternate version of the Harry Potter universe is the same where that novel takes place. Mr Dumas neglected to mention the fact that many of the characters were actually wizards, probably because fantasy was not a fashionable genre in his time…

Chapter 30, Non-Silent Night: One canon thing I simply could not stomach was the Weird Sisters, a pop music band. It is not just the fact that the isolated wizarding world should not have such cultural influences from the Muggle world, it is also that I strongly dislike pop music, as you can tell from the first paragraph of Chapter 15. That is why I replaced the Weird Sisters with a dignified chamber orchestra.

Chapter 32, The Fallen Brother: Fernand Mondego the wannabe Dark Lord is also from Count of Monte Cristo. It is up to you to decide whether or not him stealing an immensely powerful wand from Ali Pasha is one unknown episode in the story of the Elder Wand. I would have liked it if every time the History of Magic class is interrupted in the Harry Potter books, Binns had been lecturing about a wizard taking the wand from another by force.

Chapter 32, The Fallen Brother: The way Harry is abducted at the end of the Triwizard Tournament is the dumbest part of the canon Harry Potter plot. It is never mentioned that Portkeys do not work at Hogwarts the way Apparition does not work, in fact there never seems to be any restrictions on them. So, why did Crouch junior not abduct Harry during the first day of school? Or when they met in Hogsmeade before the first task? I had to make changes to how things happen to fix these issues, and in my story, there is an Anti-Portkey Area Jinx around Hogwarts. Canon-compliancy is not as important as things making sense.

Chapter 32, The Fallen Brother: Voldemort's return is my own least favourite part of this story, because in this case, I had to force the story to follow the Stations of the Canon. In "divergence" type of fan fiction stories changes happen because characters make different decisions than they make in canon. In this case, there were no good reasons why Harry goes to the graveyard when as rational a character as Tom is advising him, why Tom does not stop Voldemort from being reincarnated when he has the opportunity and how Harry and Tom eventually return to Hogwarts with them both and Voldemort all alive. But these things just had to happen, otherwise the story would have gone to a dead end. As a result, Chapter 32 is kind of acrobatics on my part when I tried to simultaneously take the story to the direction it needed to go and have things make sense even a little. Even though I think I did it quite well, the result is still not good.

Chapter 34, Conflicting Stories: The ending ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament was cancelled in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire because of Cedric Diggory's death. In this story, no one died, and so the ceremony is not cancelled, and Dumbledore announces Voldemort's return a week earlier than in canon.

Chapter 36, Hunting Father Christmas: Urho Kekkonen was the President of Finland from 1956 to 1981, and he died in 1986, but if he had been a wizard, then obviously he would have become the President ten years earlier and still ruled in 1995.

Chapter 36, Hunting Father Christmas: The incantation of Fiendfyre (Az-reth) is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.

Chapter 39, The Reactive Strategy: I had to add some limitations to the Fidelius Charm that are not mentioned in the Harry Potter canon, because the canon is so problematic. Why did the Order of the Phoenix not have a policy that every single member had to be protected by the Fidelius with Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper? How did Dumbledore know where to send Hagrid fetch the baby Harry from despite not having been told the secret by Pettigrew? (If he had been told, he would have known Sirius was not the traitor.) How could Ron tell Dobby to take the prisoners of Malfoy Manor to Shell Cottage even though he was not the Secret Keeper? How could Bill tell that the rest of the Weasley family was living with Aunt Muriel even though Arthur was the Secret Keeper of Muriel's? Why did Voldemort not hide his Horcruxes in places protected by the Fidelius with himself as the Secret Keeper?

Chapter 39, The Reactive Strategy: The former Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers Blake, Summers and Barney are mentioned in Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. It is not told what it was for which Professor Barney was fired, but apparently, he was more evil than Voldemort.

Chapter 42, Diplomacy: The quote of the Dark Lord about whom Tom has read is the Green Goblin's line (slightly modified) from Spider-Man (the 2002 film). (Check MXLPEhEO5mM on YouTube.)

Chapter 42, Diplomacy: It is not told in the Harry Potter books when Abraxas Malfoy died, just that he had died before September of 1996. However, considering how Voldemort gave his diary to Lucius instead of Abraxas shortly before his disappearance in 1981, I think it is likely that Abraxas was dead already then. Based on the meagre amount of information given in the books, there is no reason why Voldemort would have been closer to Lucius than to Abraxas.

Chapter 44, Educational Detour: In Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, it was Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six that prohibited teachers from giving students any information that was not strictly related to their subjects. In this story, Umbridge did not hear about Tom’s Defence club and therefore she never banned student clubs. As a result, what was Educational Degree Number Twenty-Six in canon is Number Twenty-Five in this story.

Chapter 45, The Countdown: The part about magic having no power over bureaucratic paperwork is a quote from Bad Education by magicspacehole. It is a really entertaining Tom Riddle centric story, especially Tom's habit of having an extremely negative attitude towards everything. From a story-telling perspective, I think one of the shortcomings of my own Tom is his ability to endure all annoyances so stoically.

Chapter 46: Changing Allegiances: Eliezer Yudkowsky, author of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, has written a book titled Rationality: From AI to Zombies. (AI stands for Artificial Intelligence.) Since in this story he is an Unspeakable, the book is titled Rational Necromancy: From Zombies to Artificial Intelligence.

Chapter 47, The Initiative: In the Harry Potter books, it is never told where Crouch Manor is located. However, considering it took just a week for the weakened Barty Crouch senior to wander from there to Hogwarts, it most likely is somewhere in Scotland.

Chapter 48, Operation Pesticide: Some of Death's lines of dialogue in Tom's vision are the same that Tom had written for the illusion monster of the second Triwizard task in Chapter 31. The idea is that the Dementor reused some fitting lines already in Tom's mind when creating a vision with a similar theme as Tom's performance.

Chapter 50, Reunion of Brothers: Some of the lines of dialogue between Tom and Voldemort are quotes from Wizards by Ralph Bakshi. (Check 4cZqRzHnI8s on YouTube. As it says in the description: how the Harry Potter series SHOULD have ended.) Someone suggested it to be the ending of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality back in 2015, and I immediately fell in love with the idea. In fact, for a very long time it was my plan to make Tom kill Voldemort with a handgun, but then I decided to use a magical solution instead. The Gamma Radiation Charm was originally supposed to be used at the battle of the Department of Mysteries to kill one of the Lestrange brothers, but then I asked myself, why would Tom use his most insidious weapon against someone lesser than Voldemort?

Chapter 54, Through the Veil: Why does Grindelwald award Tom seventy-seven million points to Slytherin instead of a single million? The seventh letter of the alphabet is G and therefore 77 is easy to turn into GG – short for both "Gellert Grindelwald" and "Greater Good."

Chapter 54, Through the Veil: The names of Maximilien Herbault, the former Supreme Mugwump, are from Count of Monte Cristo. It is my go-to book when I need some French names that will be used only once.

Chapter 54, Through the Veil: I am not sure if it was a good decision to give a long list of wizarding countries just before the climax, but there was no other place for this massive piece of worldbuilding. In my headcanon, there are only about a million wizards globally, and therefore not every real world nation has a sizeable wizarding community.

Listed among the countries are all that are mentioned in the Harry Potter books: Britain (which includes Ireland, because Fudge was its political representative at the Quidditch World Cup), France (where Beauxbatons is), Poland, Turkey, Luxemburg, Transylvania, Uganda (all five mentioned in a Quidditch context), Romania (where Charlie Weasley worked), Bulgaria (Viktor Krum's homeland), Brazil (where Bill Weasley's pen pal lived), Egypt (where Bill worked), Liechtenstein (mentioned in Harry's History of Magic OWL), Peru (producer of the Instant Darkness Powder) and Assyria (where Neville's Mimbulus mimbledonia came from). Some countries (such as Albania and Sweden) I did not include, because they are mentioned as geographical locations rather than as wizarding countries.

This list contradicts the wider Harry Potter canon, the one Rowling expanded through other media than the seven books. Most importantly, the Magical Congress of the United States of America, the setting of the first Fantastic Beasts film, does not exist. My reason for this is that it does not make any sense why such a wizarding country would exist considering the history of the real world and the realities of the wizarding world.

There is no reason why the magical equivalents of the British colonies would have wanted independence, because the Ministry of Magic does not seem to have any other powers over its citizens than enforcing the law, education etc. It is of course possible that the American wizards never were under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, but in that case, why would they have formed any formal states at all, let alone a union like the Muggle states? Anarchism should work in a magical community quite well, because everyone is capable of taking care of themselves.

On this subject, I also consider the state of the wizarding USA as it is shown in the films to be implausible. It seems to be quite a large community, not smaller than wizarding Britain, it consists of wizards of European and African heritage and it does not allow marriages between wizards and Muggles. None of this makes sense.

The European population of the USA was formed of immigrants who sought new land and opportunities in life. Wizards are capable of living comfortably with very little, so there is no reason why European wizards would have moved to America in proportional numbers. Certainly some adventurous individuals did move, but there should have been very few of them. The African population, on the other hand, was formed of slaves whose ancestors were forcibly taken from Western Africa. There the magical population certainly was capable of avoiding the slave hunters, and thus no African wizards should have been taken across the ocean. Therefore, those African wizards who were born in America were Muggle-born. Since the wizarding USA does not allow marriages between wizards and Muggles, it most probably was not keen on integrating any African Muggle-borns into their society.

In conclusion, the wizarding Anglo-America should be very tiny, very white, not united and not states. And since a tiny population should not afford to be picky, it should not oppose the mixing of magical and Muggle blood, and there should not be any central government restricting people from doing so if they wanted to. Therefore, in this story, the American magical population is very small and largely descended from Muggle-borns who moved there to escape the blood bigotry of the Old World. Native Americans have their own separate societies.

Chapter 55, Atlantis Unleashed: When I started writing the original version of this story, I had no idea of the plot further than to get Tom settled in his new life. However, even then I had decided that the Chamber of Secrets should have some other purpose than to rid Hogwarts of Muggle-borns, because the canon purpose is just so stupid. Why would it be called "the Chamber of Secrets" if there was not a single secret in there? But the idea that the Chamber was in fact one of the only remnants of Atlantis I came up with in February of 2020, after posting what is Chapter 21 in this revised version. If you pay close attention, you may notice how the name Atlantis pops up more frequently after that, because I had to do much foreshadowing.

Chapter 55, Atlantis Unleashed: The idea of Thestral blood making the effects of potions permanent at the cost of potentially fatal side-effects is from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.