Episode 10. Part 10

This is the last chapter, I'm taking a break for 3 days, and then I'll start posting chapters again.

Episode 10. Part 10

***

- Voldemort, are you sure I consider you an enemy? - Harold asked hurriedly, tied to the tombstone, watching as the false Grûm, who two minutes earlier had regained his true form as Barty Crouch Junior, carried the talking bundle to the giant cauldron. The scar stung with pain, and it was a good thing the Philosopher's Stone in the wand's handle was already taking effect: the poison of the giant acromantula was making him dizzy and cramping his muscles. But at least he was already able to think coherently. - An oracle foretold my meeting and described the ritual. I found it in the family library. Bone, blood and flesh, right? The bone of a close relative, in this case, you were going to use your father's bone. The blood of a personal enemy. And the flesh of a loyal servant. And you know, I don't think of you as an enemy. I can confirm that under serum of truth. Are you sure you want to kill yourself in this elaborate way? There's no telling whether the ritual will work if the blood used is not the enemy's," Harold pressed on, struggling with what looked like a migraine. And how problematic that was... problematic!

They entered the maze together with Victor, scoring the same number of points. Potter lost them in the first round, because the judges lacked spectacle, because the "fight" with the dragon he held not in front of the audience. But for the second round he received a bonus for speed, spectacle and an invaluable virtue, i.e. saving someone else's treasure. Crum went through the trials with roughly the same number of points, but their sum was equal to Harold's score.

Together they made it to the first fork in the road, where they split up. And the trials began! The bushes where the Devil's Snares lurked, trying to grab, suck in the hedge, strangle. Boggarts, thanks to which Harold saw his brother and all his friends burn in the fire of his magic, as the Dursleys had once burned. The poisonous Manticores who tried to sting him with their stings. One succeeded because Harold failed to notice the snares in the hedge of the maze that grabbed him. But just in case, Nicholas had built small crystals of the Philosopher's Stone into his and Dudley's wands and, after poisoning Dursle, taught how to use them. I had to work hard to find the bogs and dangerous creatures along the way. He had to work hard to remember the spells that worked on them, because he was saving the power of desire for the Dark Lord, who was waiting at the end instead of a reward. There were spells that swapped heaven and earth. It was a strange sensation to be walking across the sky as if it were a void, and upside down, I mean looking at the ground above his head. And it was a good thing Dudley had drawn a map of the labyrinth, and he remembered it! Of course, the maze was alive and changing. Some paths would overgrow and others would open. But this was not the case with all the passages. And with some it was worth waiting for, and they opened again.

Sometimes Harold heard someone screaming. Once he thought he heard Fleur screaming. And oh how much willpower he had to exert on himself to make himself move on, ignoring the screams. Occasionally he saw flashes of spells and increased his caution. He crossed paths a couple of times with Krum, who didn't seem quite sane to him. They parted peacefully, though, and Harold decided to save the showdown for later.

The last test before the cup was four acromantulas. He wasn't afraid of spiders, and he killed a few on the spot, one with a family heirloom, a dagger the goblins had given him after his sophomore year. The other two were a struggle, having run and jumped and skinned his hands as he wriggled out of the webs. The horse-sized spiders were impervious to magic, and made the Boy Who Didn't Listen to His Elders wish he'd used his powers on these creatures sooner rather than later. One of them had managed to bite him...

His head felt momentarily dizzy and his eyes went black, but he managed to formulate a desire to put the spiders to sleep, use the Philosopher's Stone as an antidote, and waddle to the Triwizard Tournament cup, which was already in sight. Of course, before grabbing the portal, he tuned in, and then... He found himself in an old cemetery, where he, barely sane, was picked up by a false Grum, tied to a tombstone in the shape of an angel...

- Barty, bring me to the boy," came an icy hissing voice, and Crouch Jr. didn't hesitate for a second to change direction. So soon Harold had the dubious honor of seeing an ugly baby with gray skin, red eyes, and a snake nose, and the wrong body structure: too short legs, too crooked arms. A homunculus, most likely, or maybe a real baby, injected with some creepy potion to keep the Dark Lord's spirit alive. - Why don't you think of me as an enemy? - the creature asked, in the same icy, snake-like hissing voice. - I killed your parents, boy. Don't you want revenge? Don't you want to reassert your status as a hero of the magical world by killing me?

- First of all, I already had my revenge, once I disembodied you. And second of all, their own faults," Harold snorted, turning his own thoughts of his parents into harsher language so that Voldemort would think he despised them. - He should not have listened to Dumbledore, but had to get out of the country and stay neutral. There were possibilities. But since they died for me, I don't think they would have wanted me to avenge them. And I don't feel like defending idiots who, out of fear, put the responsibility for their lives on a year-old infant. - Barty clearly didn't believe a word of it, but there was a slight interest in Voldemort's face. Potter, according to his and his cousin's plan based on Harold's conclusions and ideas and knowledge of Dudley's future, continued to press on the brain: "I'm sure you were deceived by a blue-eyed and long-bearded old man we know with a prophecy. - Now the Dark Lord was surprised, and there was no hiding it. You'd think it was going well, but Survivor Boy didn't know if it was wise to relax. - Neville, by the way, isn't exactly dying to kill you, either.

And I agree with some of your views," he added after a pause, as if thoughtful. - If we'd met before I came to Hogwarts, like I said, I'd probably have joined you. Yes, I'm interested, but not so much anymore. I have my own ideas... Of course, I have nothing against Muggles and Muggleborns. But I think it's time to change the system. But I'm no patriot, and I have no intention of doing it with my time, nerves, and life.

- So you suggest that I leave you alone? - After some time to think about it, the Dark Lord asked ironically, glancing at Barty a couple of times with a peculiar look to make sure he didn't interfere.

- I propose a deal. We'll both swear mutual non-aggression. I will remain neutral in your war, as will my brother, my family, and my friends. And we will not touch you or your allies and subordinates as long as they do not threaten the lives and well-being of me and those close to me. You will not demand of your vassals that their heirs submit to you. Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott are my friends. I want to maintain neutrality for them as well. Also, you will let Bellatrix go. She is my godmother and magical mother, and I will not give her up. - Voldemort and Barty's faces widened with every sentence they heard. It was clear why: Harold was in no position to demand anything. And yet, his voice was gaining strength, and... magic that no one had felt yet. - Next, you will leave the Muggleborns alone. I agree, they pry into someone else's abbey with their own laws. But you don't have to kill them.

We could simply make it compulsory to teach magical traditions. We could just make it compulsory to teach them magical traditions, and condition them that they can celebrate their Christmases outside their homes, but not impose them on those who prefer to celebrate magical ones. Given that the Wizengamot is mostly pureblood or half-blood, appropriate laws would be easy to push through. If you try to do that, you'll get both my vote and the votes of my allies. However, these are matters to be thought through separately. But, no extra privileges for the purebloods: we have status, money, and power as it is. It is enough to have power and to stand out.

And, Voldemort, you're a scientist. A real scientist, a very insightful man, an interesting charming personality, so why would you go to extremes? - Harold finally summoned magic, unconsciously articulating a desire to rid Voldemort (who was nothing more than pathetic) of madness, of fears, of a desire for revenge, to torture, to kill, of a desire to assert himself by oppressing those around him. Magic chuckled, responding to her child's pure and innocent desire. Neither of the two suspected that in that moment, a soul shattered by black rituals into shards, was becoming whole and purified. - A bloody regime and the forcible imposition of your vision of the problems of Britain's magical society will not change the situation. There will be those who will always get in the way. But you are not so arrogant as to be invincible, are you? - Harold asked Voldemort, sounding even naïve. He was thoughtful, sensing that something in him had changed, as if some... black veil had fallen from his eyes.

- You've prepared yourself," he said slowly. His voice no longer sounded cold. Barty looked at his host in surprise..." "Yes," Harold smiled thinly. - And I have found a suitable ritual for your rebirth. It will restore your human form and serve as a guarantee of agreement... In exchange for all I will do for you. If you agree, of course. Interested? - He asked slyly. The Dark Lord silently ordered his servant to set the boy free...

***

- Principal Dumbledore, I hope this is a joke," Potter interjected in a very, very slow and feigned daze. It was after he'd returned and Dudley had nearly strangled him in his arms. Crum and Fleur had long ago thrown sparks into the sky, calling for help, while he was still sorting out petty arrangements with an extremely distrustful and suspicious man, so he couldn't turn around quickly. Now, as Dumbledore examined the cut on his arm and gave an impassioned speech urging him to unite in the face of the resurgent threat of Lord Voldemort, the Boy-Who-Heard-To-Brother realized that his hour had come: "You say that Voldemort has been reborn? What makes you say that? Finding a cut on my arm? So it was your labyrinth bushes that had the nerve to spill my blood. I can even show you where, and you'll find blood there. The goblet is a portal? That's right. I grabbed the goblet and was immediately transported here. I didn't see Voldemort. - Harold saw the relief in the eyes of his beloved public, and especially, Minister Cornelius Fudge, and realized that his side was taken by most. Whoever the principal was in people's eyes, it was easier for them to close their eyes, pretending there was no danger. And since their hero claimed that the return of He-Who-Not-Name was nonsense, there was no need to waste their nerves on doubts and misgivings at all.

- No, there is, of course, a vague recollection..." Lord Potter decided to tickle those very nerves, pausing theatrically with a chuckle. - I'm hardly likely to forget my mother's scream and the green flash of Avada Kedavra before my eyes. But this is different. Voldemort is dead!

- What about this? - Dumbledore, sensing that the truth was on his side, abruptly grabbed his servant, Severus Snape, by the robe and yanked, pulling his sleeve away, pointing at the skin on his forearm where the mark was supposed to be. The skin, however, was perfectly clean. There were no marks, tattoos, or at least no birthmarks on it. Severus Snape arched a crowning eyebrow. Potter understood that his bewilderment was meant for him, not Dumbledore's action. Harold winked at the professor furtively.

- But the prophecy..." Albus said at a loss, seemingly confused by what was going on. Harold rolled his eyes feignedly as he was being photographed by a reporter: "You know, I've been doing some research on that prophecy you've been harping on about, because of your insistence. Well, it was pronounced by Sybil Trelloni, our divination teacher. Considering that she hasn't uttered a single prophecy before or since - I doubt she uttered this or that she has a gift at all. - Hogwarts students and some recent graduates murmured in agreement. Few admired this teacher. - That her great-grandmother was the famous seer Cassandra Trelloni said nothing. The professor could be a carrier of genes or a gift. But she hasn't developed it. The inner eye is closed. - There were so many chuckles that everyone heard them. - That was the first thing. The second is that none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore heard this prophecy. It is also written in your own words. You know, I don't trust you, Headmaster. And therefore I have doubts: was there a prophecy? - Dudley successfully suppressed a smile: they never heard the prophecies, but they knew something about them and had the right to speak. - And a third thing - prophecies, even true ones, are often misinterpreted. And even after they are fulfilled, people don't always understand them. Maybe your prophecy has already been fulfilled. After all, I defeated the Dark Lord once already.

So stop bullshitting me and people," said Harold with a picture-like gesture. Dumbledore gritted his teeth loudly, not changing his mask of confusion on his face.

The incident, however, was over. There was an awards ceremony in which prizes, honors and some privileges in all three countries participating in the tournament were given to all three champions. Then there were speeches from Fleur, the runner-up, and Victor, the silver medalist, followed by the awarding of the winner by Fudge, and the presentation of the tournament trophy, in which there was a pouch containing a thousand golden galleons. Finally, the winner had to make a speech. Harold exhaled and spoke:

- I want to say thank you to everyone who supported me and cared about me. It was only for your sake that I strived for the best," he put his hand to his heart sincerely, bowing slightly. - Thank you also to those who wished me to lose-you pushed me to win. - Waiting for a puzzled look, he grinned and explained, "I couldn't let your aspirations come true, could I? What I think about the tournament, about the tests and the organization - you know, I have said it more than once. Was it difficult? Relatively. I didn't have to learn any new spells, but I had to strain my memory trying to remember the ones I'd already learned - more than once. Was it scary? Ask yourself this question, standing in front of the furious dragoness sitting on the clutch. Am I glad I won? No. Definitely not. What did she give me? Glory I already have, and I'm sick of it. A thousand galleons? Well, I'll donate it to someone. I don't feel bad about it. And I've made friends from other schools before. Experience? No experience either.

So..." Potter waved, as if to say I've been wasting my time in your tournament, but then he froze, as if remembering something, and then grinned widely. - Fleur glided toward him in an instant, just hearing those words was a code phrase. Harold put his arm around her. - The thing is, my girlfriend and I had a bet about whether or not I was capable of beating our friend Victor. Fleur was so unsure of me that she promised to marry me if I won. Apparently, she was counting on losing.

- Delacour nodded, but silently. - My girlfriend was cool, of course, but I thought I was too young for such a serious relationship, and for life. I intended to break the hearts of many more pretty girls in the future, using my own looks and fame for their true purpose. - And he got a slap on the wrist from the same French girl. - But my banal male pride did not allow me to lose to the girl on purpose. And since the argument took place and turned so that I, to spite her, promised to get married if I won, as a man, Lord and head of my family, I just have to fulfill my promise.

Therefore, all those present I invite to the wedding," he finished. The public was so shocked that they did not immediately notice how personalized invitations appeared and hovered in front of everyone present, regardless of age, gender, social status, and citizenship. Nicholas Flamel was a master of such messages, and Appolyn Delacourt, Fleur's mother, was at her leisure to design such invitations. - These are one-time portals to Potter Manor, where the wedding will take place. In order for the portal to work, you have to write your consent in the appropriate box; the other conditions for the portal to work are written in the invitation," Harold explained. - Oh, if you only knew how much I've made my life a misery of arguing about it! - He took the liberty of complaining and got another smack in the face. - All because some cunning weyrwoman had seduced the poor hero. He had no choice but to ruin her life. - Lord Harold James Potter, the Boy Who Survived and Conquered and Tamed the Dark Lord, grinned bloodily at his chosen one. But the divinely beautiful girl mirrored that expression, and Harold had to finish his speech. Thank you for your attention!

End of Fourth