Opposites Attract
HP novel fanfiction. Time travel. Canon until sometime during the final battle.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything associated with it is the sole property of the wonderful J.K. Rowling and everything recognizable here to be part of the HP canon is by no means mine.
I have read all of the books, but haven't seen all of the movies. You have been warned.
Original idea: You always read those stories about how Harry travels back in time and catches the attention of a young Tom Riddle. But how will the golden rule of opposites attracting work in the case of the war-hardened Neville Longbottom?
Summary (currently): Neville is rescued during the Final Battle by the one person he never expected. The next thing he knows he's back over fifty years in the past and completely lost. Why did the person send him here? And just why does the timeline unravel the more time he spends near Tom Riddle?
Warnings: Graphic violence, torture, some crude humour.
No pairings.
o
It was during the final battle, and his friend's blood was still felt wet on his tattered Hogwarts robes. The sound of incantations and explosions were a never-ending din that even the thud of the heaviest body falling could not pervade. He paid his surroundings no attention, eyes focused on one goal.
Voldemort.
The pale snake-face gleamed under the moonlight of this austere battle, a mask of cruelty, with dancing red eyes that revelled in the permeable death. Only the Dark Lord's death would end this. He walked towards the man, and people moved out of his way. It was like a bubble had appeared around him the moment he had decided on his target, granting him safe passage. And then he was in front of him.
o
Voldemort graced his lips with a smirk as he watched the young brunet approach. Such a pity that one so young, with so much power, was determined to stand against him. He watched as the wand rose, pointed at him, steady and determined.
A mere curiosity made him offer. "Join me, and I shall spare your life."
The head tilted, looking unflinchingly into his eyes. There was a bitterness there, a look beyond the boy's years. Whatever resolution there was in those eyes, it had already been decided. "And my friends?"
"Die more and more while I await a decision."
"Go rot in hell." And the first curse was fired.
o
The boy had put up more of a fight than he had thought, but it was no matter. Here the boy was, bound and hidden in his ranks, waiting until after he gave his final warning speech. It was long, but necessary, to show them how truly pathetic the Light had fallen.
"Harry Potter is dead! He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
o
He struggled harder at the words, silently collapsing in anguish. A sudden burst of accidental magic tried to explode the rope around his wrists and ankles, but dislocated them instead. Sheer unaltered pain crashed through his brain. He bit back his cry of pain with sheer will alone. This was not how the Light would fall. Harry's sacrifice would not be in vain.
o
"Pretty, pretty baby. What do we have here?" A voice crooned. "An itty-bity Hogwarts student with a pretty, pretty body." A hand dug into his hair and pulled him up by its roots, and he couldn't help it, the movement in his cleaved limbs sent a flash of jarring white pain into his brain, so intense that he screamed.
"Now, now, Bella." A smooth voice said.
"My Lord?" She simpered.
Steps sounded around him, as he was slowly circled by the dark shape with slited red eyes. "Hold him upright." He bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, but the feeling of it pooling in his mouth was preferable to giving his captors any satisfaction.
He watched red pupils dance in his flickering vision, black spots appearing here and there. Voldemort seemed to notice that the contemplation of how to torture him was going to be interrupted with his unconsciousness. "We can't have that, can we? Enervate."
Having his sense become fully functional was worse than a thousand crucios—all the pain magnified. He clenched his teeth so fast that he made blood splurt out and dribble down his chin. He could now see, and he glared at the pale-reptilian still studying him like a specimen, hating that he couldn't stop the shaking in every part of his body.
As the eyes witnessed his weakness, they lit up. It seemed Voldemort had finally decided on his torture.
The wand rose and dug into his heart as red eyes surveyed his every expression. He braced himself.
"Morsmordre Macula."
A searing fire burned on his chest, and he really did scream this time, as he was dropped to the forest floor the moment the spell had hit. He felt something tug at his magical core, a foreign entity invasion, and he summoned all his courage and stubbornness and held it at bay, even while the burning increased, and his screams grew louder. He'd almost stopped its progression, then a boot snapped his arm in half.
He didn't even have time to widen his eyes in horror. In that one second of distraction, the spell stuck. Bile rose in his throat as the burning faded. With a turbid feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with his torture, he looked up.
"Don't you like your new mark, itty-bitty boy?" Bellatrix said snidely.
He looked down at the black snake that twisted on his chest.
A pale hand gripped his lapels and pulled him upright. "Your will is mine now, boy."
He gritted out, "I'll join you when hell freezes over."
"You hardly have a choice, pretty boy." Bellatrix sneered. "My Lord could order you to kill all your pathetic friends and you would have to obey."
"I would rather die." There was such a chill to his tone that he didn't even recognize it as his.
Voldemort considered him, gaze piercing.
Then invisible hands gripped him, flying straight up in the air. The lurch nearly made him black out and he was sure that the speed was not giving him much oxygen. High above Voldemort's enraged yell did they fly. Their vertical ascent made small targets as spells whizzed by dangerously. The moment they were vertically above Hogwart's anti-apparition wards, he felt himself apparate. It was another abandoned forest. He hacked and coughed for breath.
He and the broom was thrown on the ground unceremoniously as his invisible savior walked around and set up no less than twenty-three wards.
"I don't have much time." Hands put a fine-golden chained necklace around his head and he watched the dials on the amulet spin as if of its own accord to a certain place, only the faint pressure of hands on his chest let him know that his invisible savior was the one turning the dials. "You'll understand everything later. Or before, depending on the way you look at it." The voice sounded vaguely familiar but he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. "And don't you dare freak out, okay? When times get rough, remember that it will be worth it. Riddle's an ass, but he's not Voldemort." He finally recognized the voice. "Above all, remember that you are a true lion at heart. Doesn't matter what house you're sorted in, okay?" It was his voice. He couldn't even summon more than a little surprise at the thought. It was a little older, more refined, but definitely his voice. He was struggling to stay awake so much that he couldn't even form a sound.
"I think that's it." He felt hands slowly release him as they laid him gently on the grass, the necklace resting safely on his neck. "Oh Salazar." He heard, as a hook in his navel jerked him towards a tornado of sound. "Remember the Belladonna seeds? They…" But he never heard whatever advice he had to give himself, as he was dragged into what felt like a cheese grater that squeezed him in total darkness.
o
With a thud, he landed on a hard stone floor. He opened his eyes past the pain and blackness that tried to swallow him and saw the familiar, unmistakable ceiling of Hogwart's great hall.
Then the screaming started. Black masses of student ran, trying to get out of his vicinity.
The blast of a wand called for silence, and he vaguely heard an argument.
Then he saw an auburn-haired Dumbledore make his way to him. There was no flash of recognition or twinkle in the farmiliar blue eyes.
How was? What? How? Questions whirled in his head.
"What is your name, boy?" The young Dumbledore asked as his wounds were bound in summoned bandages and his body levitated for easy mobility. He could only hear curious whispers now which was much better for his throbbing head.
In his state, it didn't even occur to him to lie. Blue eyes met blue as he whispered, "Neville, sir. Neville Longbottom."
And then he finally blacked out.
Tom Riddle was bored. Dumbledore was watching him and so the Chamber had remained elusive for the fourth week in a row. It reduced him to amusing himself with the power games in Slytherin, and this being the fourth week, he'd begun to tire of those too. He'd already broke four engagements, caused two lover spats, three fights, all with those involved being none the wiser. They suspected, of course, merely because it was the simple truth that nothing happened in Slytherin without his approval, but there wasn't a shred of evidence.
He took his usual seat at the center of Slytherin table, facing the great hall, with Lestrange to his right, Black to his left, and Malfoy across from him, a symbolic seat was left empty beside Malfoy for the absent Prince.
"Anyone know where Harv has run off to tonight?" Lestrange asked once it was deemed polite to make conversation. He glanced at the empty seat, slightly worried.
All eyes turned to Tom. He usually wouldn't let them question him like this, but the information was harmless, and they needed to know anyways. "He went to get something from the library."
"What book needs all of supper to get?" Lestrange asked curiously.
"It would seem that he is having some trouble with the book." Black's eyebrows shot up and Malfoy looked completely expressionless which was kind of like a tell in itself. "You're all so suspicious, my snakes." He let a smile on his face and he relished the flustered and bit sheepish looks he got back. "It's that I know for a fact that Professor Slughorn had borrowed that very book not a week ago. Therefore Harvard could hardly find that book in under the usual time, could he?"
"Ah." Said Lestrange articulately.
He turned to look at Black as the petite boy gave him a teasing look and said, "And you never told Harvard because…"
He felt Lestrange stiffen beside him as he continued to allow the teasing. Didn't Lestrange know that his reactions only made it more fun to provoke Black to tease him? "Why do you ask, Alphard? Are you trying-" but before he could use the double edged innuendo to twist Lestrange's heart more, a thud echoed through the great hall. He saw a mass of torn Hogwarts robes streaked with blood lying on the dais in front of the teachers' table. He realized it was a boy, probably his age, looking more shell-shocked than anything. The entire body was covered in cuts and bruises, with a particularly nasty one on his right temple. His eyes, even from this far away, seemed to shine with defiance.
And suddenly his week looked that much more interesting.
He'd already had his wand out and in his hand, ready for anything. A beat of terrible silence rang through the hall and then the screaming of hysterical students started.
A commanding Dumbledore raised his wand and called for silence before Tom could truly single out whoever was the most annoying and plan a little surprise. His eyes narrowed on his new target, the boy that was fighting to stay awake; secretly thinking: well then, you'll just have to make up for it.
o
Sixty-three miles away, Cassandra Trelawney dropped the bag of groceries she was carrying with a crash. Her friend, reacting quickly upon seeing her glazed look, quickly set up privacy and notice-me-not charms.
"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 ..."
*Morsmordre is the incantation to cast the dark mark. Macula is latin for mark.
A/N What do you think? Should I continue?