DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks for your feedback. ;) Enjoy the next installment. This story won't be as regularly updated as ABV, but I'll try my best :) *exams stress me out* Let me know what you think.
Chapter 2: The Real One
"The Glory of Ten Powers, starting at 640.000 Galleons. 640.000, gentlemen," the auctioneer repeated, pointing at a legendary, enchanted object of Chinese origin.
Her assistant noted down the bidding numbers people conjured with their wands, one after another.
Staring at these people, Harry felt completely out of place, well aware that he looked like he didn't belong in this time. Maybe it was the assortment of wide, ill-fitting suits that most male guests in this establishment wore. Or the funny-looking, grey hats. Or maybe the Wehrmacht uniforms that could be occasionally spotted in the crowd. Why wizards would want to wear Muggle military fashion of a defeated country was another mystery.
In any case, it was like reliving a chapter from a history book, he thought with dismay.
And this particular chapter held many revelations, from what Blaise managed to find out. After World War II, wealthy Albanian pure-bloods had subtly backed the Muggle Communist movement to drive political enemies into exile, which essentially led to a redistribution of wealth and land for both dark and light wizards and witches; without Muggles being aware of it, of course.
It was something that could've never happened in Britain, where the sharp divide between light and dark reigned on.
The exodus of soldiers and forced displacement of millions of people also increased black market dealings for those on the wrong side of history. People were hostile, even resentful of their new government. On top of that, Grindelwald's defeat set new boundaries between Muggles and wizards across Europe; unprecedented barriers that led to more secrecy and espionage even amongst allies.
According to Blaise, the wizarding community in Albania seemed to live in a world of its own. And now they were both witnessing the aftermath of the Muggle and wizarding war.
Harry looked around curiously.
No wonder Riddle managed to become a Dark Lord, if this was the normal state of affairs.
"He's staring at you," Blaise murmured, watching the group of baby Death Eaters and their Lord carefully. Around them, people were taking bids, eagerly participating in this mess and flaunting their illegally acquired wealth. "820.000, everyone," the presenter shouted, encouraging people.
"Let him stare," Harry said, focusing on the auction. "He doesn't know anything."
"But he's curious. He probably thinks we're Death Eater material." Blaise smirked, his sharp gaze never straying too far from Riddle's group.
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's nothing to be proud of. You wouldn't want to get caught up in Riddle's spell."
The Slytherin chuckled at that, briefly glancing sideways. "Me?" An innocent look was all Harry got, which made him smile.
"Never. Besides, I'm just explaining the way this works, Potter. We both scream 'look at me, I'm mysterious'. Every leader of his standing would notice that. And exploit it for his own purposes."
Right.
Unfortunately, it was too late for elaborate disguises or fake identities.
Blaise sighed. "That's why it's better to finish him off now. Before he starts to get funny ideas."
"We'll see," Harry replied. Pushing up his glasses, he briefly took in the sight of Riddle's cronies, who were looking in their direction. Too perceptive, the lot of them.
Blaise was right. Soon, they would approach them, forcing a confrontation for one reason or another.
From the corner of his eye, he also noticed Drezner, who made his way over to one of the assistants, swiftly handing over a glass case that would be up for the auction. The diadem. Still untainted by Riddle's soul, but valuable.
"It's time," Harry murmured. The auctioneer announced the final sum of the previous item, before moving on.
At that, Blaise straightened his back. "This is going to get messy," he mumbled, but he still gripped his wand tightly, ready to participate.
Across the hall, Drezner stood in the back, watching the proceedings with a certain amount of arrogance. He was a notorious smuggler and he even looked the part. Besides, the fact that it was him who got his hands on Ravenclaw's diadem proved that whatever they were dealing with wouldn't go according to script. Riddle might have discovered the location of the diadem, but someone evidently managed to find it first.
It was inconvenient.
History was already rewriting itself even before their arrival. And while many developments were similar to what he'd heard of, there were striking differences that had nothing to do with Harry's and Blaise's presence in this time. They couldn't go by the book here, no matter how similar each chapter was to their knowledge of this world.
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. Ravenclaw's diadem, gentlemen" the presenter began, announcing the next item.
The price went up fast, climbing to its first million. People began to shout obscenities, obviously caught off guard; not quite believing that someone managed to acquire the lost diadem. Hogwarts was infamous these days, even more so with Albus Dumbledore's recent, 'glorious victory'. And with such a reputation, people were eager to get something that belonged to it. Just to stroke their fragile egos.
Harry nodded and Blaise took that as his sign to begin.
"5.4 Million," he called, raising his wand. The number 77 appeared in glittering, blue lights above his head.
It was a spectacle. And Harry smiled, watching as the entire crowd suddenly grew silent, gaping at Blaise. The auctioneer watched him in disbelief. And from the back, Harry could see Drezner blinking rapidly, not believing his luck. His reserve price for the diadem must've been much less than that.
"Sir...?" she began, but eventually caught herself. "5.4 Million, number 77".
No one would dare to go beyond that. And from the looks Blaise received, they would probably get in trouble after the auction. The diadem was as good as theirs, though. It was worth the unwelcome attention.
Harry risked a glance at Riddle.
And regretted it immediately.
It wasn't worth Riddle's attention. Bloody hell, this was intense. This entire business wasn't worth getting dragged into Voldemort's sphere of influence. Again. Dark eyes remained fixed on him and even from the distance he could see that his followers were ready to act on his command.
Harry bristled at that, trying to ignore the man's probing magic.
It was difficult.
How was it possible that he still got so affected by him? How could a single look from his nemesis make him feel as if he were back in the graveyard, facing his worst nightmare? Even here, in this strange past, which was familiar, but not his own, not even a part of his own world.
It shouldn't matter at all. Riddle's attention, while predictable, couldn't prevent the outcome Harry had in mind. The young Dark Lord wouldn't be able to stop them.
He clenched his hands, feeling nothing but cold sweat and dread on him.
"Sold to number 77," the auctioneer announced and both Harry and Blaise stepped away from their position. Thankfully, the crowd parted and let them through. The sneering looks they received however were unpleasant.
The cacophony of voices buzzed through the air and he heard slurs being directed at them, as people kept jostling each other to take a closer look at the duo. Blaise remained unfazed, donning his pure-blood mask to protect himself. Harry on the other hand just scowled, mindful of the Death Eaters and their Lord staring at them. He couldn't hide his irritation, his anxiety...
He reached the door first, pushing it open to step inside the stuffy room right next to the hall, where people exchanged their goods. But tonight, things would be different.
In the end, all they had to do was getting the smuggler out of his hiding place. He was a difficult man, hardly ever leaving his fortress to conduct more business. But it was their only chance to get the diadem without attacking the man inside his home, potentially risking too much. That's why they had to endure this farce of an auction.
Time travel wasn't exactly lucrative. So neither Blaise nor Harry would ever be able to pay that sum.
Luck was on their side, though. Drezner had listened to the rumors about Riddle in the end, rumors planted by them on purpose. But now he looked suspicious as he assessed the new owners of the diadem. He wasn't stupid. And they expected his resistance.
"Gentlemen, shall we start?" a tall assistant asked with a surprisingly meek voice, gesturing for them to take a seat. Drezner's guards however weren't as welcoming or patient. They eyed both of them as if they were a contagious disease, ready to infect their master.
"Sure," Blaise said, grinning as he flipped the chair backward, taking a seat and resting his elbows on the back. Cocky bastard.
Harry remained standing by the door.
His actions must've alarmed everyone present, but before they could so much as draw their wands, he used his own to spell the door shut.
"Protego," the Slytherin called, lazily waving his wand to protect them from Drezner's people.
"What is the meaning of this-" the auctioneer assistant began, but Harry stunned him, not wanting to drag an outsider into this.
"Accio Ravenclaw's diadem," Blaise said, but the box didn't budge. Drezner gripped it tightly, his meaty hands covering the lid entirely. His smirk told them everything.
"A temporary ward. How clever." Harry tisked, pointing his holly wand at the smuggler. Tension was racking up and the burly men were inching closer, ready to smash Blaise's head in.
"You know, I never wanted to sell this thing in the first place," Drezner began. His gaze was cold and he scratched his beard absently. "It must be valuable for more reasons, if so many people are after my head."
His bodyguards remained silent, obviously waiting for a signal to attack.
"You actually met Riddle?" asked Blaise, frowning.
Drezner simply narrowed his eyes. "The half-blood? No, I'm afraid I don't make deals with subhuman filth. But I wanted to meet my pitiful opponents and here you are."
People around him chuckled and Harry had the sudden urge to wring the man's neck. It was one thing to be a pure-blood fanatic. Even Blaise used to sneer at everything and everyone who wasn't pure-blood. But people like Drezner were beyond saving. In fact, he would've made a great Death Eater.
"Let me guess, it was you who tipped me off about the boy?" It wasn't a question. Drezner's knowing look told them everything.
"Two plus two. You're not nearly as dumb as you look," Blaise mocked, making himself more comfortable on the rickety chair.
"And you'd make a good slave," the smuggler jeered.
Both Harry and Blaise saw red.
"Impedimenta." The jinx aimed for the bastard, but one of his cronies threw himself in front of it, crashing into his master as a result.
The fight began, as seven or so bodyguards began to hurl lethal spells at them. Blaise used his chair, skillfully transfiguring it into solid metal that knocked the closest attacker to the ground.
"The diadem," Harry shouted, using a time-delaying curse to slow down the spells coming at him.
Blaise threw himself forward, ducking as another curse shot past him. Drezner however was already moving the unconscious body away from him, frantically searching for something in the man's pockets.
"He's got a portkey," Blaise called. "We need a ward! Now!" He dodged another curse and aimed for Drezner's head. One touch and they wouldn't find the man again so easily. That's all it took to activate it.
"Right." Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the Latin words. His shield held, but one attacker attempted to slam him against the door. He barely evaded getting a fist in his face. Fuck, they wouldn't give him the time. Another one aimed for his legs.
Green eyes narrowed slightly.
Odd, the magic surrounding these people felt different now. Stronger.
Blaise caught Harry's look and instantly threw his hand back, using everything he had to knock Drezner unconscious. It worked and before the man could activate the portkey, Blaise grabbed the box, swiftly stepping away from the two bodies.
Meanwhile, Harry was getting fed up with those bastards. "Check the box," he said, frantic. His curse blasted the closest three men away from him and Blaise ducked again, trying to avoid the worst.
Having practiced the spell, the Slytherin knew what to do as he murmured the words, briefly touching the tip of his wand against the lid and then using another ancient spell on the shining diadem. Harry did his best to distract the others.
Despite the unconscious state of their master, none of them stopped fighting, which was strange. Harry avoided a Crucio and managed to take a closer look at the wizard who stared at him from vacant eyes.
No way...
"Bloody hell, they were imperioed," he called and Blaise looked up, realization dawning upon him.
The door behind them was blasted open and splinters caught Harry's hand, which didn't help the situation. He hissed, realizing that the culprit behind that door must've destroyed his locking spell without much trouble.
Few people could do that. And not many could use the Imperius curse on a bunch of bodyguards without detection.
Riddle could and the boy's... no... the young man's magic invaded the room without warning. Its force was crushing, omnipotent even. No surprise there.
The man stepped inside, vanishing the remaining pieces of the explosion with an elegant move of his hand. Behind him, his faithful lackeys blocked the only exit available and from what he could see, they must've caused quite the commotion. Apparently, the auction was over, if the screams and fire inside the hall were an indication. Harry hoped the guests -criminal as they were- would still manage to escape. He'd seen too many people die already, now getting used to the idea that this world was just as bloody as his own.
"What do we have here, two little birdies caught in a trap?" Nott began, but Riddle's warning gaze made him fall silent.
Harry stepped back, his back turned toward Blaise, who already knew what he had to do. Situations like these could've been avoided, but they had planned for that eventuality as well. He trusted him enough to pull it off.
Raising his head, he met Riddle's unfathomable gaze.
The Dark Lord in the making was a replica of the diary Horcrux, though he radiated even more experience in the Dark Arts; going beyond school limitations. Soon, he would probably attempt to make himself more inhuman-like, reaching the point of no return.
The Elder Wand inside Harry's pocket hummed, ready to be used, but he suppressed his instincts, not breaking eye contact. He was its Master in this strange, new past. He wouldn't be ruled by the wand's power. Time travel be damned. He couldn't lose himself. Not in front of this person.
Riddle's eyes swept over his form and it was such a daring and annoyingly intimate thing to do. It reminded Harry so much of Voldemort, who'd used this tactic for his own dubious reasons. He always succeeded in making Harry feel small, inferior. And strangely self-conscious.
But he wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't the Harry Potter of the graveyard. Or even the one facing the red-eyed menace in the final battle.
No. He was an Unspeakable who'd seen enough and done enough in the Time chamber to make him a different man. He wasn't Dumbledore's man, or the Ministry's poster boy.
"Go," he said calmly and his friend disappeared, using the only portkey available to bypass the wards that had been set up by Riddle.
At once, all Death Eaters or whatever Riddle called them these days raised their wands and pointed them at Harry. A few betrayed their insecurities, probably feeling surprised that their enemies could even use portkeys with Riddle's magic still in place.
Their master didn't so much as blink.
Harry decided to play for time.
"You should do something about that fire," he said, pointing at the hall. The raging inferno would consume the entire building soon. Only the magic inside this room kept the smoke and heat at bay.
Riddle stepped closer to him, his footsteps light and nearly soundless. They were both tall, but somehow the other boy made it seem as if he was in control of this situation. Harry almost expected his scar to start burning again.
The bodyguards who were still imperioed suddenly fell to the ground like puppets whose strings have been cut off. He watched dispassionately as the Death Eaters encircled him.
Harry knew he was surrounded with no way out, since Blaise had used their only emergency portkey. No, the only option left was to fight. And his enemy was probably aware of that.
"I'm surprised you didn't follow your comrade," Riddle said. "Assuming you're actually strong enough to do so."
Harry chuckled lowly, not at all impressed with the assumption. "Give me one minute and your wards will be down."
Dark eyes roved over his features. "One? That's quite disappointing." Without warning, Riddle invaded his personal space, long fingers reaching out to grasp Harry's chin. It was only thanks to his quick reflexes that he managed to avoid Riddle's show of intimidation.
His own hand curled around a thin wrist and Harry watched in dark satisfaction as Riddle's lips thinned, annoyance briefly flashing in his cool gaze. This young Voldemort was still capable of feeling more than pure hatred and it was fascinating to see it up close. Riddle was not distorted by a memory or merely an imprint of a Horcrux this time. He was real, alive and currently breathing in his face.
Around them, the others stood motionless, awaiting more orders, though Riddle didn't care to tell them what to do. His wrist was still entrapped in Harry's strong grip, but that also didn't seem to bother him much. A sharp smile was all the warning Harry got before he was pulled into a Side-Along Apparition.
So much for fighting that bastard.
The mahogany desk was in a state of abnormal perfection and Harry noticed the stacks of paperwork, carefully placed to the side. The office was definitely filled with plans for world domination and the bookshelf probably contained tomes on the most disgusting dark magic to achieve such a thing. No portraits, no flowers. No decoration. Just practicality. It mirrored Riddle's persona well, Harry thought wryly.
He'd never seen this place before, which meant they must've Apparated to one of Riddle's numerous hideouts.
Riddle stepped away from, wrenching his hand away from Harry in the process. The imprint of their touch however lingered on Harry's skin. And he still needed to take care of his wound, which was now throbbing in time with his erratic heartbeat.
"Left your comrades to clean up your mess?" Harry began, wanting to break the silence. He really didn't want to fight Riddle using the Elder Wand. And his own wouldn't attack its brother.
Damn, the air inside this office was stifling.
Riddle took a seat, steepling his fingers, before taking another long look at Harry.
"It was your mess. I merely saw fit to intervene," Riddle humored him, but the taunting edge to his voice betrayed him, possibly on purpose. "You were so eager to make a spectacle out of yourself."
Anger bubbled inside him, rising to his throat. Riddle's arrogance really knew no boundaries and Harry was really tempted to knock him off his pedestal.
So be it. Harry smiled.
"Funny you say that, Lord Voldemort," he said pointedly and watched in delight as Riddle's mask crumbled to dust, revealing the true danger beneath this fake, public persona. Harry reveled in it, basked in having total control. Knowledge was power, after all.
Riddle straightened and his eyes were bright, crimson flickering and rising to the challenge.
"You told the smuggler. You told him about me."
Harry shrugged, affecting innocence. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. You wouldn't know."
"Oh, I think I already do."
Harry didn't believe Riddle would try to use Legilimency on him. Not yet. But it wouldn't take long before this situation escalated. The magic inside the office grew exponentially heavier, a warning not to push too far.
When did he ever listen?
A darker part of him wanted to pounce ruthlessly on every weakness, to return 17 years of misery with equal measure. Killing Voldemort might have satisfied that urge temporarily, but the emptiness that followed Harry into his new life never left. And to be honest, the final battle was all about protecting his loved ones. There wasn't time for revenge, no time for strange thoughts. No time for selfishness.
Not anymore.
Having Tom Riddle at his mercy was an opportunity that made Harry feel more alive, more invigorated. And that realization made him feel incredibly powerful, similar to the rush when he held the Elder Wand in his hand.
He couldn't suppress that feeling. Didn't even want to.
Riddle must've seen something, though. He eyed him strangely for a moment and for the first time Harry averted his gaze. He didn't want Riddle of all people to see...
But it was undeniable. Harry's accidental trip to this unknown past offered an opportunity to be Harry Potter. Possibly for the first time ever.
He didn't notice how Riddle's lips curled up, too caught up in his own bloodlust.
