That night, when compared to other nights, would definitely be regarded as one of the most eerie ones yet. A faint gust of wind blew through the dark forest, gently rustling the leaves. The sound produced was faint, yet effective in masking the slightest of sounds, like muffled footsteps, or the swishing of a cloak.
The Ministry of Magic wreaked havoc, to say in the least. Wizards and witches tripped over their robes, in a hurry to get from one department to another. Their wands were brandished in their hands. Perhaps a part of them felt that they ought to be poised for battle, but each individual knew in their hearts that the battle was already over. There was not anything else that they could do about their current situation.
The centre of attention mainly revolved around the lowest level of the Ministry if Magic. It was more commonly known to everybody as the Department of Mysteries, the most secretive of all the departments. At that point, a group of highly elite wizards were gathered there, bodies pressed against each other, all of them craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the cold, lifeless body of Augustus Rookwood.
All evidences the wizards had gathered from the investigation pointed to the fact that Rookwood had been murdered by a fellow wizard. Physically, he appeared to be unscathed, and his eyes were bulging with sheer terror as he was overwhelmed by his opponent. He was disarmed before he was killed, probably so that the murderer would sustain minimal injuries. It was highly suspected that the culprit had been Lord Voldemort himself, or as he was more widely known as, You-Know-Who. After all, murder was right up his alley.
Inside the department, it became apparent that the culprit had enjoyed leaving destruction in his wake. The immaculate department now looked as pretty as Umbridge, and that was an understatement, or so Cornelius Fudge thought. The floor was littered with glass shards, probably from the orbs that were once prophecies. Now that they were destroyed, they would never be fulfilled. The most disastrous thing was that the invader had specifically targeted the time room, where the time turners lay. The culprit had destroyed every single one of the time turners. For him to be targeting something specifically like that, he had probably taken one with him…
Deep inside the forbidden forest, hidden away from the prying eyes of the Hogwarts headmaster, Dumbledore, Harry grinned broadly. It was evident that it was far from his typical benevolent grin as it bore more resemblance to a more malevolent one. Lurking in the shadows of the dark forest, Harry's face appeared to be glowing with an eerie light, giving him a menacing sort of expression. He held out his palms containing the object, into the air, his face tilted towards the silver moon. At long last, the moment had arrived. He have been waiting for this since the day he realised that he was a wizard, the day that he discovered that it was indeed Voldemort who had caused him all his misery. Currently, at the age of sixteen, he had already waited a total of five years in Hogwarts to harbour his hatred and resentment, and eventually exact his revenge on Tom Marvolo Riddle.
At precisely nine o'clock, Tom Riddle stepped into the office of Horace Slughorn with a couple other Slytherin friends. Professor Slughorn beamed at them widely, but it seemed to Tom that Slughorn's gaze lingered on him a moment more than everyone else, before drifting away again. Naturally, Slughorn greeted them as warmly as always, praising them for their various achievements, and attempting to find out if their parents were still successful. If they were not, Slughorn would probably cease to send them invitations to his gatherings. Tom knew that he would never be put in that particular situation. Firstly, he was obviously the apple of Slughorn's eyes. He also no longer had any parents to let him down, like they used to, on multiple occasions. He did not have to rely on his parents to be his ticket into the Slug Cub, unlike most of the other young wizards in this room. More importantly, he himself knew that he was a natural-born genius, undeniably brilliant and devilishly handsome, in fact, everyone saw it and there was no doubting it. Even now, he thought, as he posed a question to Slughorn, "Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Slughorn cast a reproving look at him, and replied, "Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you. I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are" The other boys, upon hearing this, cast Tom admiring looks, and Tom for his part, did not bother to conceal the smug expression on his face, as he accepted the glances.
Today was a particularly important day for Tom. He had been preparing for it for weeks and had even sent a box of crystallised pineapples in advance in hope that Slughorn could be swayed slightly at the sight of one of his favourite foods. The chances of that happening were slim, but it was worth a shot; anything to get Slughorn to tell him the information he needed.
It was already eleven when Slughorn next looked at his small golden clock. He sat up from his winged armchair with a jolt, his feet sliding off the velvet pouffe. "Goodness gracious! We had better get going eh? Don't want to get into trouble of any sort, now do we? By the way Lestrange, be sure to hand in your potions essay tomorrow, or you'll be spending every Friday this month in detention. The same goes for you, Avery." On that happy note, he hustled the boys out of his office. Tom fingered his gold ring with the Deathly Hallows engraved on it. He had deliberately dawdled behind the others, such that he would be the last one to leave the office.
"Professor, I need to ask you a question. What do you know about…Horcruxes?" Slughorn tensed visibly. He hesitated, unwilling to answer the question. Upon seeing this, Tom continued, trying to keep his voice neutral, so that it would not arouse any suspicions. "Sir, I came across this term when I was reading a book, and I did not fully understand it, it would be great if you could explain it to me. I would have thought a wizard like you… would well, be very knowledgeable about them. If you can't Sir, I would be happy to well, find another teacher, of course…" By combining the right amount of hesitation, and an element of careful flattery, Tom had managed to convince Slughorn into giving him the information he needed about Horcruxes. Well, he did posses devilish charm, and was exceptionally good at convincing others to give him what he wished for, hence, it was only natural that he was able to persuade Slughorn.
Though hesitant at the beginning, Slughorn's information proved to be invaluable. With this information, nothing could stop him from becoming practically immune to death. All that remained for him to do was to murder 7 people. He briefly wondered if that counted people who he had already murdered…
Harry's spectacles reflected the silvery beams of light, and it glistened with certain malevolence. His eyes sparkled with ominous intentions as he gazed at the object in the palm of his hand – the last-existing time turner. He would be, without a doubt, putting it to good use. Surely by ridding the world of a huge evil, he would be doing everyone a favour – even if that meant he had to kill an innocent Unspeakable. After all, everyone, excluding his faithful followers, wished for Voldemort to be dead. The world would be infinitely safer than if he were to remain alive, even with a great number of Aurors from the Ministry trying to pinpoint his position and annihilate him. Truth to be told, Harry strongly doubted that any of the highly-efficient and elite Ministry officials would be able to accomplish much if they were indeed pitched against The Dark Lord. That was precisely the reason why Harry knew that he had to travel back in time; to the time when Voldemort had not learnt of his powers and the Wizarding World, to the time when he was at his most vulnerable.
He had to travel back approximately fifty-four years, in order to find Tom Riddle at the age of sixteen – his age. That was in the vain hope that it would be easier to gain Tom's trust, though Harry doubted that Tom would ever trust anyone. If he managed to appear at the correct time, it would be before Tom even learned about Horcruxes from Slughorn, as he had seen in the pensieve. If possible, he would even work extra hard to get into the Slug Club, even if Slughorn could get rather annoying sometimes; anything to get closer to Tom Riddle. With this in mind, he figured that it was now or never. He leaned against the rough bark of a tree, and held the time turner in the moonlight. "One, two, three..." Harry rapidly turned the clock back in time…
He had never used the time turner before, and its after-effects were a completely new sensation to him. His stumbled forward slightly before his knees buckled and he fell headfirst onto the grass. His vision blurred as he collapsed, his hands still gripping the time turner as he blacked out.
Harry fell onto grass of the shadowy Forbidden forest with a thud. He winced in pain as he positioned himself to get up, checking the time turner as he did so. It was none the worse for wear, fortunately; had it been destroyed, he would curse himself to the fiery pits of doom. He certainly did not want to stay in the 1950s for the rest of his days in Hogwarts. He concealed the time turner inside his robes and sprinted out of the dark forest, heading straight for Hogwarts.
Upon reaching the massive school gates, Harry involuntarily ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, in a vain attempt to neaten it. He hesitated for a second, before rapping on the door with his knuckles. He door opened a fraction, just enough for Harry to sidle through. A brightly lit entrance hall greeted him, and he gingerly walked forward, having the urge to make as little sound as possible. Upon reaching the entrance of the great hall, he stopped, wondering if he should knock. Before he could though, the door opened to admit a rather distraught-looking Professor Dippet. The headmaster brushed Harry aside distractedly and walked past him briskly. Then he paused, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Harry. He glanced at him, without a sign of any recognition, and promptly he stepped towards him.
"Who are you?" he asked, a bit brusquely. Harry inclined his head in deference, and replied smoothly, "I'm Harry Evans, sixteen years of age. I'm a new student" Dippet frowned for a millisecond, and then hurried to hide his expression. He gestured to Harry to accompany him to his office, as he felt that it was required of him to "interview" or "interrogate" the boy – depending on how what the situation became of. After all, the chances that Harry was a spy for the legendary Dark Wizard, Gellet Grindelwald were relatively high. He could not risk the safety of his students in Hogwarts, just because he was feeling compassionate to a sixteen year old boy who had appeared out of nowhere. Harry let a small smile grace his lips as he serenely followed the footsteps of the current headmaster of Hogwarts.
"So Evans, what made you enter Hogwarts at such late notice?" Dippet questioned a bit warily. Harry allowed an anguished expression to take over his features as he replied, "My parents were once wizards of high calibre… However they did not want me to become a wizard myself, fearing that it would be a dangerous thing to do." Harry paused in mid-sentence, willing Dippet to ask the question that Harry hoped he would. Dippet stared at Harry, with a mask of indifference, after a few moments, he gave an inaudible sigh, asking, "Your parents were wizards once, does that mean they are no longer?" Harry nodded, a frown touching his lips, "They are no longer wizards… The Dark Wizard – Grindelwald, murdered them."
Armando Dippet frowned to himself. He was not entirely sure that this was the truth. To him, it sounded considerably realistic, yet rather well-rehearsed. Too well-rehearsed in fact. It made it very likely that it was indeed the Grindelwald who sent Harry. After all, it would not be unlikely for him to make up a story that involved him being the culprit. However, if that was not the case, then he, the headmaster, would be denying an innocent boy of the safe haven. He groaned inwardly, either way, someone would suffer. But if he denied the boy's entry into Hogwarts, then Harry would be the only one who would not benefit. On the other hand, if he allowed Harry to enter, he would be risking the other students' safety…
This was the problem about being a headmaster; he thought ruefully, you had to make hard decisions. He grinned, but it held no mirth. It was not like there was very much of a decision to make. The answer was relatively simple…
A/N: Evidently, this is my first fan-fiction :3 So I apologise if it's terrible or anything ;-; (though I obviously hope not) I'll appreciate constructive critisism or if you love it, then let me feel the love! This is co-written with my friend :3
Please tell me if there are any major mistakes/errors (:
-Acidic