Author's Notes:
Rating: T (due to violence and some nudity.)
Pairing: TR/HP - Alternate Universe
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing this fic. All this is purely for entertainment (and a distraction from homework).
Summary: Tom Riddle is on his way to immortality, slowly but surely achieving his goal of 6 Horcruxes. In Albania however, he encounters an old wizard who is prepared to duel him to the death. Tom barely escapes with his life intact when a boy snatches him from the grip of death.
Hiya! This is just my second piece of work for this fandom, and I have absolutely no idea where I want this to go. I've already started the second chapter, but I wanted a bit of feedback to give me ideas on what should happen next. Please note that this is set in an Alternate Universe where Tom has just graduated from Hogwarts (maybe 2 or 3 years ago) and is now in Albania, about to go look for the diadem in order to make it into a Horcrux. Thanks for taking an interest in this story, and it would be awesome if you would review. :D
- - - - Resurface - - - -
Chapter 1: Midnight Oil
The night was cold. Inhaling in it would assault your taste buds with a strange tingling sweetness. This was what calmed his nerves when he apparated into the border of the forest. In his panic, he was not even sure of where he had gone. Hopefully it was still in Albania. What he was certain of though, was that his attacker had the means to follow him, so he quickly made his way into the maze of trees, ignoring his injuries. He no longer had the magic to apparate once more.
Abruptly, this man – deathly pale with dark brown hair that almost looked black from the damp of sweat – stumbled into a clearing in the middle of the woods. Am I safe? Is this far enough? He was panting desperately, the adrenaline that was once surging through his veins now dissipated. Sunken black eyes and defined cheekbones made themselves even gaunter by the shadows. He took hold of a nearby tree and tried to gather himself. He had been running for perhaps an hour now, surely his enemy would have relented?
Cursing breathlessly in Parseltongue, Tom Riddle pressed his fingers to his temple and retracted them to frown blearily at his fingers, now covered with his blood. He could not see it clearly in the dim moonlight, but the rust pervading his sense of smell was proof enough.
"Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera Sanentur," he cast twice only, since this small gash did not require a third incantation. He was also doubtful if he could successfully cast it again. The other wounds however…
To say that the impromptu duel with the old wizard drained his core was a severe understatement. Tom, who had never actually experienced magical depletion due to his exceptional reserves, could barely heal his wounds or cast a simple Lumos. He could only grit his teeth in anger and frustration. He was about to pass out, and he knew it. He hadn't even been able to create his third Horcrux! He would've banged the tree trunk with his fist if he had had the energy.
Tom's knees buckled, and he sank to the forest floor like dead weight, drowning in an ocean of thick black midnight oil.
He looked up; his blurry vision resembling a glass separating him from the world he knew was there. Before he sank, he could've sworn a face like an apparition swam into view; green eyes piercing through the water and through his soul.