Chapter 30

SPECTACLE FOR THE SHALLOW

As I woke up on Monday morning, memories of the previous night flooded my mind, and for full ten seconds I had to convince myself that the revelation about Salazar Slytherin's quest had not been just a dream. Then the ridiculous truth about my situation struck me like a Bludger.

I was in a school! And I was supposed to prepare for the idiotic Triwizard Tournament. As if I did not have better things to do. Salazar had just bestowed the most important quest ever on my shoulders, and here I was, preparing to entertain hundreds of fools with a show that most likely did not offer me any challenge at all. And I could not simply choose to do something infinitely more important, because a bloody binding magical contract demanded that I participate in the Tasks.

Well, there was nothing I 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 me. 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. I had to become an Unspeakable, even if it took five years of bureaucratic Purgatory in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Saving the world was worth the sacrifice.

But, obviously, I would save the world in a very Slytherin way: killing two birds with one stone. I would both save the world and conquer it. That was how Salazar would have wanted it, I 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. I handed him the wand I had brought with me. It was not Gilderoy Lockhart's wand, obviously, because it would have caused many questions. During the summer, immediately after reading that there was traditionally such a ceremony after the Triwizard Champions had been selected, I 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 I usually enjoyed reading, but I 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 me, and she had boldly shared everything with her audience. However, I had not seen even half of them in Harry's mind with Legilimency, and that made me suspect that Skeeter had made things up.

I was not even mentioned in the entire bloody article. So much for the valuable publicity. 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 my plans.

Well, the Prophet would have to change its journalistic approach after my victory. And if I did not win, it would probably be better that no one would remember I had participated at all.

As the First Task approached, I spent much time in the library. Viktor Krum was there too, and people probably thought we were anxiously preparing for the ordeal. Maybe Krum was, but I resumed the research I had begun in January, after the Patronus lesson and the vision of Death. Back then I had got a sudden inspiration which had not lasted, because I had only speculated there might be something going on with Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Death. Now I 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 I began to read through. Unfortunately, I still had lessons to attend to, and Harry kept asking for my help in his 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. We Champions were supposed to face the First Task with nothing but our wands, but after perusing the rules closely I realized that it was not forbidden to use the Summoning Charm to get almost any tool. I 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 us many kinds of accessories on Diagon Alley, and we 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. I 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 Hermione and I were following him from afar, none of us were having much fun. Moody was also present, trailing Harry with his magical eye darting wildly back and forth, and he looked quite frustrated.

We met Remus in Hogsmeade – or, rather, Hermione and I 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 judgment 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," I 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 I had not realized 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," I 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," I muttered. "None of us has seen Black on the Marauder's Maps. However, Barty Crouch appears to visit frequently, and he has secret meetings with Moody. I wonder if they're onto something."

"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," I consented. She had been overprotective of all house-elves since witnessing the sacking of Crouch's elf, but fortunately I had been spared of her zealous crusade for the rights of elves. I, after all, paid Dobby for his services. Her zeal was probably partly my fault too, because I had first introduced her to the slavery of elves as a way of showing how much of a goodie I appeared to be.

Hermione was clever, but she had no sense of priorities.

On Sunday morning Harry arrived to the Room of Requirement with the same shocked and desperate expression as before our preparation sessions.

"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?" I 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 we practiced. Over and over again Harry Summoned his Nimbus Two Thousand and flew around the Room of Requirement while I shot balls of fire at him. We did not leave the Room for lunch, but asked Dobby to bring us whatever he could salvage from the Great Hall, and that was how we had our dinner too. After spending ten hours indoors throwing balls of fire I felt quite frazzled, but Harry had regained some of his confidence.

On Monday we had lessons, but in the evening we practiced a few more hours. Finally, as curfew was close, Harry groped his 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," I 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 seventh-year Slytherin boys wished me good luck, but since I did not need or want to rely on luck, I asked Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole to stay behind when the others left for breakfast.

"I've prepared for even the most absurd scenarios," I 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," my two servants said.

After their shock of being bound to my service through an Unbreakable Vow had lifted, they had learned to respect and even admire my ruthlessness, especially since I had never used my power over them for anything unreasonable. Perhaps they already felt willing loyalty towards me, which was necessary for the part I had planned for them just in case. If the dragon destroyed my body, my servants would willingly sacrifice their own flesh, forcibly take the blood of my enemy (Snape, obviously, who was to be ambushed by my five servants still at Hogwarts), and dig up a bone of my 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. I managed to stay calm and uninterested. At the end of Potions class Snape told me 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," I said dryly. We had both grown tired of bickering.

"Good luck, Tom," the other students said. "You'll do fine!"

If I had cared, I would have felt slightly offended by how much everyone thought the Tournament would be a challenge to me.

During lunch I was silent while Draco, Theodore, and many others tried to create a festive atmosphere. I had to eat hastily to get away from such nonsense, and soon I was walking outside, finally alone.

It was a sunny day, rare in Scotland in autumn, and I was not the only one enjoying it. People were coming through the gates in large numbers, babbling excitedly about the show of the day. I followed them to the clearing Snape had mentioned, and saw a large tent and a vast arena behind it. Huge stands had been conjured to the right side of the arena, 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 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 People's Commissariat for Magic 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 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. (It was perfectly possible to make communism function properly with the help of magic and house-elves. Muggle communists had sadly never realized 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.)

I looked at the crowd of witches and wizards. Many of them, perhaps, would later realize that this was the first day they saw the future Dark Lord Tom Valedro. Much was at stake, so I had to make a formidable first impression. Then I remembered the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle, and asked myself whether I truly wanted to identify myself as a Dark Lord anymore. I was in the risk group of those who might unleash Death; it was wiser not to take chances with Fate.

I entered the tent reserved for the Champions. Delacour and Krum were already present, both looking nervous in their own ways. Ludo Bagman came shortly after me, 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 us a bag with miniature versions of what we 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 me. I had cast the Supersensory Charm on myself so that I would not need to choose my dragon blindly. I purposely picked the Hungarian Horntail, the most dangerous of the dragons and thus the one that would grant me the most glory. My 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 my eyes 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 arena. Harry, you are the first… you should come…"

They left, and soon Delacour, Krum, and I 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. I really would have wanted to see it myself, 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 realized he could utilize 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. I 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 I began to feel excited for the first time.

Finally it was my turn. I entered the arena with an air of confidence, and inclined my head at the stands.

Now you'll see a show worthy of your Galleons, I thought.

The Hungarian Horntail was looking at me with hostile eyes. I took out my wand with dramatic slowness, waved it while muttering incantations, and then pointed it to the ground next to me. An illusion formed, taking my exact likeness. The spell I had cast was commonly used in magical theatre performances. It did not take a particularly talented wizard (or even a perceptive Muggle) to realize 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," I said and then turned to speak to the illusion with my amplified voice. "We shall attack at once!"

"Yes, my liege!" I replied to myself, making it look and sound as if the illusion had said it. "Stand by for attack!"

I waved my wand again, and the illusion repeated the same movement. Suddenly two more illusions appeared. I waved my 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. While the army of my illusions had multiplied, I had made myself invisible, Summoned my Firebolt, and risen above the army to conduct the performance.

My first illusion stepped forward, and I 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 I noticed that everyone in the stands was holding their breath. "CHARGE!"

Like a bunch of drunken Gryffindors, my 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 my 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 my illusions and wondering which one of them was the real me, I subtly flew behind the dragon and took the golden egg with my invisible hands. Then I landed right in front of the stands, Banished my Firebolt, 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 I 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 I grinned. The Triwizard Tournament was, after all, an event primarily for the spectators, not the Champions. I had given them exactly what they wanted.

Harry came to me grinning more widely than I had seen 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," I told him. "Not necessarily more dangerous than a Quidditch game, especially one with cursed broomsticks, rogue Bludgers, and hungry Dementors. Sirius Black just didn't realize it."

The judges had decided about my points, and everyone turned to watch. Madame Maxime gave me 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 me two points.

There was uproar of indignation in the stands, but I could not help bursting into hysterical laughter. The uproar quieted in confusion, then some people joined my 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?

Published on the 1st of June, 2020.