Chapter 2.1- Doom

“Ladies, Gentlemen, If you would, the legendary Wandmaker Garrick Ollivander will be here with us soon so if you would all please settle down” I gave Mcgonagall a smile that she did not return as she tried her best to impose some order on the electic group of persons that had shown up for the weighing of the wands. It was a difference that I had not accounted for, but one that made a lot of sense. This was probably the biggest event to take place involving the biggest wizarding schools in Centuries. Krum was an internationally recognised athlete, and I was in possession of some celebrity of my own. So was Delacour, to an extent. My research into her had not borne as much fruit as it should have, but several French publications had referred to her as a Champion Duellist on more than one occasion even if they never seemed keen to mention what competitions she’d won or even who else had participated. Of all four of us, Cedric was the far lesser, and his family were still respected all across Britain so why would there not be interest in the tournament.

“Monsieur Potter, Monsieur Potter” One woman called out to me as I passed her, and I turned to regard her with a smile. She took the opportunity to spew rapid fire French at me in that moment. Neither Harry Potter nor Tom Riddle had bothered to learn French. The former because he did not care. The latter, because he could not find any texts of French magic sufficiently useful to force him to learn the language. Luckily enough, Doom did speak the language fluently and could follow the barrage of questions as she asked them. One about how he felt having cheated his way into the tournament, another about Dumbledore’s help in the matter, and then another about how he hoped to compete against such superior foes. Of course, their loud ‘conversation’ had drawn the interest of the majority of the room- both French speaking, and otherwise.

He chose to reply in French, speaking just as quickly as she had, but making sure that he was clear in his phrasing so he did not get misquoted. “I find the assertion that I would need Professeur Dumbledore’s help in crossing something as simple as an age line to be highly insulting. And as for superior foes, I see none superior to me here” He said and then turned away from the woman even as she began babbling a follow-up. That should be enough. Doom had dealt with the press in his own universe more than once. There was a simple trick to them. Give them enough to make sure they did not starve, but never feed them till their bellies are full. Once you fed them with enough, they began to get interesting ideas. The threat of losing access to you was no longer as pervasive. They’d slander and opine to their heart’s content once they had an abundance of information. Feeding them nothing at all was also dangerous. If they never had access to you in the first place, there was nothing to fear losing. And then it became a competition for who could invent the most outlandish yet plausible claim for the most clicks and views.

He took a seat next to the other champions, giving them a nod of recognition before doing so.

“Wotcher, Harry. Haven’t seen you in a while” Diggory began but he was ignored in favour of the other person that had begun speaking at the same time as him.

“Monsieur Potter, those were some bold words. Fighting words. I hope you have the thrust to back them up” She spoke in an elegant French that tickled his ears as it passed in and to his brain. He leaned on his occlumency to shut off the magic that had begun to tempt him to speak more than he should have. ‘Talk to me. Open up.’ The magic had whispered to him. Doom internally laughed at the attempt at manipulation. Doom was no one’s to fool.

“Madame Delacour, you will find that I never use words I do not mean. And I also never forget those used by others. It is the least that a ‘leetle boy’ like me could do” He made sure to exaggerate him impression of her accented English and enjoyed the way her eyes narrowed at him. She was about to reply when there was a banging sound as Dumbledore opened the doors and swept in with the Wandmaker as well as the other Tournament officials with him.

As always, Maxime dwarfed all that stood by her side. Doom found the assertion that none knew her for what she was to be highly ridiculous. Perhaps Hagrid could have been ignored as a freak of nature with his size, but there was no mistaking Maxime’s giant blood for anything else. Riddle had studied the beasts, and he could see the signs all over her. If he stepped close enough, he was sure he would be able to smell the giant on her. Her nose, long and flat matched every diagram he’d seen of her parent species in the dark arts books Riddle had studied. Trailing behind her was Karkaroff, and it was almost like the man was trying extra hard to sell the impression that he was a user of the dark arts. Stringy black hair worn to his shoulders and a deep black beard that cloaked most of his face just screamed nefarious character in proverbial capital letters. In contrast, Bartemius Crouch Senior was well put together. His robes fit his frame well, and he wore them even better. Ludovic Bagman was the stereotypical retired athlete; loud, boisterous and pot bellied.

In this ensemble of chaos, there was Dumbledore with Ollivander by his side. Both men whispered to themselves with smiles on their faces. A friendship, perhaps. An old one. Everyone made their way to their seats at the platform, and Dumbledlore conjured a special seat for the wandmaker with a flick of his wand of elder. A wand of elder that Doom watched with greedy eyes for every second they were exposed for viewing until they disappeared into his sleeves.

“If I could have Diggory, Cedric first” The wandmaker called out.

A/N; Progress