Chapter 1
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My name is Cain Reaver Riddle. It was almost Cain Reaver Malfoy, but at the last moment Dad finally gave in to Mum's assertions that Riddle was a pretty surname and married in it. I'm glad it turned out that way: I like my name. It doesn't form any nifty anagrams like my father's — the best I can get is the grammatically incorrect 'I R Daniel Vercerda' which, suffice to say, I will not be using as an alias anytime soon — but it has a nice ring to it. I can thank my father for the first two parts, since Mum left naming me entirely up to him. Although he never said so explicitly, I suspect I may have been named after the biblical Cain who killed his brother out of jealousy.
It's ironic, because my brother is dead too, only I had nothing to do with it.
I'm a warlock. In my society we're usually called wizards, but I prefer 'warlock' because it has a slightly more negative connotation and I like to think of myself as a darker entity.
I was born the night of December 27, 2035, in my parents' manor in Scotland. During the middle of a snowstorm, apparently. Right from the start I had a crazily unfair advantage over, well, just about everyone since my father is the most powerful warlock on Earth. He is also the leader of a fearsome mage cult known as 'The Death Eaters', and on the morning following my birth he summoned them all to our manor, where he proudly presented me. In addition to making them promise to put my life above theirs and protect me at all times, my father made it clear that any Death Eater who harmed me, even by accident, would be tortured and killed.
My mother is no slouch in the power department either, though she pales in comparison to my dad and even her parents, who form a three-way tie with Severus Snape for the position of second most powerful mage in the world.
Funny how being related to the individuals I am colors people's opinions of me. I've been labeled everything from a sociopath who would kill his own mother in her sleep to a charming young man with a good soul. While it's true that I like to fool people into thinking that I'm kinder, more honest, and less violent than I really am, I can't possibly be a sociopath because there are people I love and care about with all my heart. My parents definitely make the list. So does Rodolphus, whom I have come to think of as an uncle even though we're not really related in any way.
I'm fourteen years old, almost fifteen. People say I look mostly like my father with a touch of my maternal grandfather thrown in. This is a fairly accurate description, though my eyes aren't always red like Dad's.
I go to 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' and was thrilled — though not surprised — to be sorted into the House bearing my ancestor Slytherin's name.
I like Quidditch. A lot. Nothing beats racing through the air on a broom at speeds fast enough to kill me if I make one wrong move in pursuit of a tiny golden ball with hilarious little buzzing wings. It's completely ace. If I wasn't going to be a Death Eater, I'd probably consider a career in professional Quidditch when I grow up.
I get good grades and I like to keep myself and my personal spaces clean, but my notes are so messy that my friend Sven, who has been living off them for four years now, sometimes has to interpret them for me.
A shame I didn't inherit my father's beautiful penmanship, or even my mother's passable penmanship. Mine looks like it was Cruciated three ways and hit with a disfiguring hex. Maybe it's because I write really fast — I don't know.
I have a ton of friends I can't count on, and maybe one or two I would honestly trust with my life. I even have a worst enemy: Tobias Potter.
Oh yes.
I knew we were going to be having problems from the moment we first met in the Great Hall of Hogwarts on my first day of school. All the other kids were shy of me, but not him. His very first words to me were: "So, you're the infamous Riddle everyone's been talking about. You don't look like much to me. I hope you don't cry too much when my father feeds yours his sorry arse."
Of course, I couldn't help my little outburst that followed, and things just went downhill from there. We made life as miserable as we could for each other every chance we got. I always had the upper hand because I'm better at controlling my temper and planning things out whereas Tobias is impulsive with a short fuse.
Things got really interesting for a while there last year when I first learned how to use telepathy, an ability few mages possess. It was fun taunting and nagging him inside his head, sometimes causing him to shout out loud during tests, lectures — basically any time I wanted him to look stupid.
And best of all, thanks to my father showing me how to secretly counter the effects of veritaserum, I never had to worry about being caught!
However, after the first few incidences I made it a point limit myself, as even a favorable veritaserum test couldn't cover me that many times, especially since everyone in my immediate family is a known telepath.
Anyway, that's my life in a nutshell: rich and powerful family, extraordinary magical ability myself, little to fear, and a brilliant outlook for the future.
At least, that was my life.
Maybe someday it will be again.
Unfortunately, someone decided I wasn't doing enough traveling and pushed me into a magical portal that sent me at least fifty years back in time.
That was the beginning of this mess.
I knew something was wrong the moment the portal ejected me into the streets of Hogsmeade and I happened to look up and notice my father's Dark Mark hovering above Hogwarts.
This struck me as strange. For one thing, Dad promised me he wouldn't attack Hogwarts until after I'd graduated. Dad has a bad rep, but so far his promises to me have been good as gold.
Next, and most importantly, I happened to know Dad was busy in Central America at that moment. With the other Death Eaters. That meant that whoever was attacking was doing so without both his help and his permission. Considering that my grandmother and Snape both stay at Hogwarts during the school year, and either one of them could single-handedly destroy any number of Death Eaters with the ease of a cat shut in a room full of mice, that would be taking 'stupid' to the extreme.
No — something else was happening.
So I grabbed the nearest broom and made haste for the spot directly under the Mark, which turned out to be the Astronomy Tower.
At first I didn't realize I was in the past. I should have — I mean, I'd heard my father was looking for the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl, and that he was somehow going to use them to travel back in time — but at that moment that nice little piece of information slipped my mind.
So when I got there and saw five Death Eaters closing in on a defenseless old man out on the ramparts, I just assumed they were insane and/or suicidal.
That was my first mistake.
My second was assuming the Death Eaters knew better than to attack me. They didn't, and not long after I landed on the tower I nearly got my throat torn out by the werewolf amongst them.
I really hate werewolves: even the fat, untransformed ones can move ridiculously fast, and that, combined with their wickedly sharp teeth and claws, make them downright lethal.
By sheer dumb luck I was able to react in enough time to save myself by slamming my hand into the idiot's chest and sending a massive charge of lightning through it. That took care of that.
Around the same time I started noticing that one of the Death Eaters looked a little too much like a younger version of Draco for coincidence, Snape walked out and addressed him as such.
That, I'm embarrassed to admit, was when it dawned on me.
Another confirmation came almost immediately after when Snape and I both cast Petrificus Totalus at the same time. Mine powered through his like it wasn't even there. Normally I wouldn't have been able to do that.
Anyway, I was able to convince the other Death Eaters to leave pretty easily after that, which left me with the old man, Draco, and Harry, who'd been frozen under his invisibility cloak the whole time.
The old man, Dumbledore, had been forced to drink one of my father's poisons, rendering him seriously ill.
Now, I don't normally consider myself a 'nice' person. I can be a good actor when it suits me, but unless I'm trying to impress someone I don't normally go out of my way to help people. My father taught me to avoid such weaknesses.
"It's advantageous to gain people's trust and friendship." He told me, "Put on any acts you want to achieve these ends. Be the model student. Compliment classmates. Use your power and status to protect the weak, sniveling nobodies that are better off dead. You never know who you will need later on, so try to leave a good impression on everyone you meet. Think of yourself as an actor filling a role. Just watch that you don't turn into the character you're playing. Only pretend to care. Getting too close to people will only open you up for trouble later on. Your friends may abandon you, or use your love for them to take advantage of you, or die. Your enemies could capture them and use them to blackmail you, because people will do anything to protect the ones they love. A powerful, truly successful leader is free of such vulnerabilities. He does what he wants when he wants without letting others get in the way or cloud his judgment. Always remember that, Cain. Help others only to help yourself."
I've heard the same lecture dozens of times in dozens of ways. I agree with it wholeheartedly.
So far I've saved Dumbledore's life twice.
The first time was unintentional; I was defending myself, and that worked in Dumbledore's favor since I was between him and his enemies.
The second time, however, I not only told Harry about Snape's secret stash of healing potions and where to find them, I helped him A) get there, and B) select a promising mixture once we did.
Why'd I do that?
Saving Dumbledore didn't benefit me. I could've easily gotten away with pretending to know nothing, and no-one would've been any the wiser.
Yet there was something about him that made me want to help him. Maybe it was the way he was so forgiving and unassuming, even towards those who were trying to kill him. Devastating character flaws, I know, but strangely enough they seemed to give him…strength? Vigor? I don't know. I can't explain it.
And, okay, I felt I small urge to help Harry.
Why?
Because Future Harry tried to warn me that someone was about to grab me.
Silly of me to let that matter, but I did.
And after the potion I helped Harry pick out seemed to give Dumbledore back some of his strength, practically everyone who wasn't a Death Eater cheered. Dumbledore is a pretty popular man, I take it.
I've heard that name before, and it's driving me nuts to the tenth power because I can't remember where.
After the Death Eaters left, it was too late to do anything but get some rest. The students were immediately ushered off to their dorms while the Aurors and this group called 'The Order of the Phoenix' got to work cleaning things up. Harry, Hermione, and Ron all stayed close to the teachers and other authority figures, and I doubt any of them got much sleep. Snape kept hovering around giving me dirty looks when nobody was looking, but apparently his cover of being a 'good' guy wasn't blown, as nobody suspects him of anything.
Ironic.
Future Snape really is good.
At least, I think he is. It's a little hard to tell sometimes with the way he's still good friends with my grandfather, an open shade, and enjoys darkening the majority of the student body's day, but he's married to a muggle and has been known to help the Ministry.
Anyway, the teachers and head officials all got together, and after a few minutes' discussion decided that I would be allowed to stay the night and report my situation in the morning. So I followed Draco into the Slytherin boys' dormitory. There I was instantly thankful for my telepathy, which allowed me to communicate with him very quietly.
I was also thankful for my tailor-made 'intruder alarm' spell which I cast to automatically wake me up if Snape set so much as a foot in the room. Future Snape's swell, but I wouldn't trust this one as far as a penguin can fly.
Getting to sleep was difficult, but I managed somehow.
So far this morning has gotten off to a shaky start. When I woke it was to see a crowd of Slytherins standing around my bed staring at me. They'd heard.
I knew it wouldn't be much use explaining my situation right then there, because then I would be asked to repeat myself at least a hundred times, so I got up and bolted for the nearest exit.
A persistent lot, they followed me around asking questions.
I was vague.
Several prying eyes fixed on my Slytherin locket, and, after explaining that it wasn't the original and didn't contain any great evil, I managed to worm my way through my 'fan club' and out into the Great Hall.
Which is where I am now.
The feeling I experience here is strange: both familiar and unfamiliar at once. By all means, the place looks exactly the same. Same stone walls, same long, wooden benches running the length of the floor. It is breakfast time, and the inviting scent of warm, delicious food hangs heavy in the air. The image of gently-falling rain hides the ceiling, giving the illusion of being outside on an overcast day. A typical scene on any typical Hogwarts morning.
Yet I don't recognize a single person here, with the sole exception of Snape standing up front near the podium. Each of the hundreds of students milling around their respective tables and happily munching away are as alien to me as their teachers.
Okay, so maybe 'happily' isn't the right word — several of them look restless, sad, or downright nervous. A girl sitting at the Hufflepuff table drops no fewer than six sugarcubes into her cereal, her jittery eyes never lingering on any one thing for more than half a second. A boy at the end of Gryffindor is going on about Death Eaters so loudly and feverantly half the table is staring at him.
I scan the area for any sign of Harry, Ron, or Hermione, but to no avail. Maybe they're off visiting Dumbledore in the sick room. The potion we gave him made him feel a little better, but it didn't cure him.
Yes, that's probably what they're doing —
— I've been noticed. Snape approaches an old woman with sharp features and an extra large, pointy hat and says something which causes her lively yellow eyes to focus directly on me.
I smile pleasantly. At least, I hope it comes across as pleasant; the old woman's hand flies to her mouth, and I have to wonder. She hurries over to the podium and positions her wand to the side of her mouth.
"Attention everyone!" she announces, her voice magically amplified. The room falls silent. All eyes are on her. "As some of you may already know, Dumbledore has fallen ill. Fortunately he is recovering quickly, and may be feeling well enough to make an appearance by the end of the day. In the meantime he has asked you all to stay calm and indoors. We will be sending everyone home, but until all the necessary arrangements have been made this is the safest place for you to be. As a precaution we have Aurors posted all over the grounds watching closely for any suspicious behavior. Also, it seems we have a guest in our midst. Cain Riddle, will you come here please? The rest of you can continue eating."
Gulp. Here goes nothing.
I start towards the front of the room, and people are all too happy to clear me a path. Despite the fact that the old woman said everyone could get back to eating, hardly anyone is. Hushed whispers race through the air as curious onlookers try to figure out who I am and how I got here.
I don't blame them for being surprised — it isn't every day a random boy shows up out of the blue, especially after a sneak attack. I doubt many of them know who I'm related to, however, since my father never goes by 'Riddle' and I told only a handful of people.
Was that a mistake?
Maybe.
Probably.
But it's too late to change my story now without looking extremely suspicious, since I won't be able to explain why I said the things I did earlier and why I have no family to go to. All I can do is tell them my story and hope they know a way to get me back to my own time.
I reach the old woman and notice more teachers approaching from all sides, forming a loose circle around me. A few older students join this gathering — mostly Slytherins. Draco shoves two of these aside in true Malfoy fashion, rudely pushing his way to the front. I am both surprised and relieved at the arrival of Harry, Ron, and Hermione — they may not be my best friends, but their presence is oddly soothing. The three of them make their way to the innermost part of the circle with little hassle.
Harry and Draco are now opposite each other, exchanging glares that could make the Devil cringe in Hell.
I stifle the urge to laugh — so typical! Future Harry and Draco weren't kidding when they said the roots of their hatred ran deep.
Snape sides up alongside Draco, hiding whatever emotions he's feeling under a mask of mild curiosity. In truth he's probably very curious as to why my magic's stronger than his and how I knew about his secret stash. He just happens to be the king of poker faces.
"Cain?" There is a small undercurrent of amazement in the old woman's voice, but nothing to indicate distrust.
I nod. "Yes?"
"I'm Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Dumbledore tells me you and Harry saved him last night, of which we are all very thankful, but we don't know anything about you. Would you mind telling everyone who you are and where you come from?"
"Not at all." I give a curt bow — a little politeness goes a long way. "But first I want to say that it's a pleasure meeting you, Professor McGonagall." She smiles, and I turn to address the others. "My name is Cain Riddle. I'm from the future, the year 2050. My arrival here was an accident. Someone grabbed me and threw me into a time portal. I don't know who or why."
There is a moment of silence as everyone takes this in. Then an incredibly short little old man says, in a rather friendly tone, "Time portal, you say? Are these common in 2050?"
"No. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Are you really the son of…of…You-Know-Who?" a Slytherin girl asks.
I catch her eye and flash her a sly smile that causes her to pale. "Depends on who you're talking about. If it's Voldemort, yes, I am his son."
It is as if a switch has been flicked.
Everyone starts talking at once, making it impossible to focus in on any one conversation. I do, however, catch snippets:
"Sure he is."
" — would explain the — "
" — can we trust — "
" — is incredible — "
" — in the future?"
One voice, Hermione's, rings out above the rest. "But how is that possible? Voldemort would be really old by then, and even if he weren't he's…"
"Not quite human." Harry finishes.
Hermione nods her agreement. "Right."
That did a nice job of getting everyone's attention. The quiet has returned: I have the floor.
"Normally you'd be right, Hermione." I answer calmly, noting the way she, Harry, and Ron perk up considerably at the use of her name, "But things are kind of insane in the future. You all know what ambrosia is, right?"
"The food, or, by some accounts, the drink of the gods." Hermione replies without missing a beat. Ron and Harry stare at her, impressed. "Legend holds that whoever consumes ambrosia will become immortal."
Leave it to Hermione to know something. She's sharp in the future as well.
"True enough, but as it turns out ambrosia is a flower. A very pretty, very magical flower that I'm told tastes something like…" I barely stop myself from saying 'unicorn blood' in time, "…nectar. The sweetest, best-tasting nectar you can imagine, with just a hint of vanilla. It comes in two varieties: light pink and dark pink. The light pink kind makes you immortal. However old you are when you eat it, your body will freeze at that age and never age a second more. Unless someone or something kills you, you'll live forever. That's why I recognized Snape — he looks the same in the future as he does now. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and my parents all look like they're in their early-to-mid twenties. Sometime around the turn of the millennium a trio of young gods showed up in Britain with both kinds of ambrosia. A pair of witches managed to steal almost all of the light pink and a tiny bit of the dark, and to make a long story short others found out and there was a big fight over it. In the end the strongest, luckiest, and most resourceful mages got it and shared it with their families." I pause for breath before continuing. "That was the first wave. The gods left and returned years later with a small army of muggles, demigods, and mythical creatures to try and conquer Hogsmeade, which for some reason they thought was the capitol of the wizarding world. Their timing was horrible. My father had just been resurrected, and he killed most of the army himself hunting for ambrosia. When he got some he shared it with my mother. It was light pink."
"What's the dark pink do?" Ron wonders.
"Makes you a god. One of the witches who stole the original batch ate some and we haven't seen her since."
"Waitaminute," Harry interjects, puzzled, "You said Voldemort was resurrected. What year?"
I pause, trying to remember. My brother Rich was born in…2018?
Yes, that feels right.
Which would mean Dad was resurrected the year prior.
"2017." I say.
"So he was dead before then?"
"Yes. I think you killed him."
A brief jolt of excitement crosses Harry's face; he is thrilled with the news that he will defeat his nemesis. The joy fades with the realization that the defeat isn't permanent.
I wait for him to ask the inevitable question.
"So, how does he come back after that?"
"I honestly don't know. He won't even tell Mum. All I know is whatever resurrected him gave him the body of his young adult self. He looks a lot like me, actually, only about six or seven years older."
Actually, that isn't all I know — the mysterious entity that resurrected Dad also gave him double the power of the other Fen, making him the most powerful mage that ever existed. But I don't see a point in telling the others that. It's likely to have a negative outcome, and anyway I don't feel like explaining the origins of the Phenomenals just now. That will only lead to more questions, and a longer wait for breakfast.
The crowd absorbs this latest bit of information like a sponge. I have them hooked: they want to know more. The faces staring back at me reflect excitement and fascination. Even Snape looks markedly more impressed than usual.
Which stands to reason. Hearing he will become immortal probably made his day.
I wonder how much more of an expression I could get if I told him about his wife, daughter, and son? That'd be one for the picture books!
In addition to being excited and fascinated, Harry, Ron, and Hermione also seem happy. It's not hard to guess why — they've learned that they'll still be alive and together several years in the future as immortals.
I decide I won't tell Harry and Hermione about their marriage, or their first son, Albus, being killed by my father regardless of how long I end up staying here. Some things have to be a surprise in order to work.
Though he is much more relaxed now than he was last night, Draco still appears uncomfortable. Some of this I told him earlier, but he still doesn't know that we're related, or how he and his mother are going to get out of the hot water they're in with my father and the Death Eaters. He told me right before we went to sleep that he was worried Death Eaters were already at his house looking for her.
There's also the issue of he himself being a Death Eater: so far only Snape, Harry, Dumbledore, and myself know about that. There was never any danger of anyone but Harry exposing him, and after the whole Dumbledore incidence last night I managed to persuade Harry to promise him he wouldn't tell.
That was actually much easier than I thought it would be — either Harry was trying to keep peace with me or else he doesn't hate Draco as much as he lets on. Maybe he was just trying to honor Dumbledore's wishes.
In any case I can't blame Draco for being nervous wearing a Dark Mark in school. There's a high penalty for being a Death Eater in any year, and he doesn't yet have the benefit of being immune to the Ministry and its law enforcement. Future Draco laughs at the idea that anyone could put him in Azkaban — in fact he regularly challenges the Aurors to do so — but it's a very real threat to this version. He knows that if he were to be exposed now he wouldn't have many places to hide between general society and the Death Eaters.
McGonagall's face is wrought with amazement. "That's quite the story, Cain. And you seem to know your way around Hogwarts pretty well…are you a student here in the future?"
"Yes."
"Tell me," an older man I haven't heard from before pipes up, "how does that work with you being the son of two Death Eaters, one of them Voldemort himself? Do you live with someone else, or does your father rule the wizarding world?" His stuffy voice carries a sarcastic bite. At least three pinkish scars mar his harsh, deeply-lined face.
Ten Galleons says he's an Auror.
He's lucky we're not alone or I think I might give him a few more scars.
"He wishes." I say, careful to keep my tone unreadable, "And no — I live with my parents." I hold up my left wrist for all to see. So they can be extra certain, I pull my sleeve as far down as it will go. "As you can see, I'm not a Death Eater. Mum is only because of her association with Dad — she doesn't go out and hurt anyone, or help the others hurt anyone. The Ministry actually likes her because my father would be a lot worse if he didn't have her around to distract him."
"He lets her get away with not doing anything?" King Stuffy asks, surprised.
There is a shrug in my voice. "He lets her get away with calling him 'Tom'."
The truth, but not the whole truth. I've also heard Mum call Dad 'Puppy' and him call her 'Kitten', but only in the privacy of home around other Death Eaters.
I decide to leave that, along with the part about them being sadomasochists with hellishly high pain tolerances, completely out of my story. At Riddle Manor we have a motto: don't ask don't tell.
Happily shoving that thought and the accompanying memories aside, I continue. "My father promised not to attack Hogwarts as long as I was going there. That's why I flew up to the Astronomy Tower last night: the Dark Mark was over it and I was confused. I…I didn't realize I was in the wrong time at first."
"Oh, I remember that." Harry muses, a thin smile decorating his face, "I did think it odd you just showing up like that and demanding they stop that nonsense. I couldn't decide if you were brave or stupid."
I have to laugh. "Well, if this were the future, I could have cleared them out a lot faster. They wouldn't have dared attack me, and they'd know their lives could depend on what I told my father. Not that you weren't Hell with a wand yourself, Harry, once you got out from under that cloak. Remember those Death Eaters at the end of the stairs?"
Harry nods fondly. "Yeah. Voldemort must have been desperate when he let them join — I barely even had to try to petrify them."
King Stuffy is quick to add "We found Greyback's body on the grounds. Your work, Cain?"
My smile slips. This joker will find any way to paint me with suspicion.
"He was trying to rip out my throat. I had to defend myself." I state matter-of-factly.
King Stuffy's eyes narrow, giving him the appearance of distrusting weasel. "Which spell did you use?"
"Does it matter?" I ask, keeping my tone tactful in spite of my word choice.
"It really does. An eyewitness says you blasted him with lightning. Lightning strong enough to knock him through the ramparts. The body we found was completely singed. This same eyewitness also says your Expelliarmus can knock a wand legendary lengths, and you can cast it nonverbally."
Eep. Not good. I reach out with telepathy, limiting my recipients to Draco and Snape. (( Cover me and I'll cover you. I've got something to tell you later on in private. ))
They don't reply, naturally, but Snape's face lights up with surprise, and I realize I haven't communicated with him this way before. Probably startled the socks off him.
"I can throw a tiny bit of lightning," I confess, "but I think it more likely the fall killed him."
A lie — there's no way a charge that strong couldn't have killed him. He was dead before he hit the ground. But if the people around here knew just how powerful I really am I would have a hard time interacting with them in a productive way. Bad enough I'm Voldemort's son — they don't need to know I'm capable of lightning that can kill. Thankfully the Death Eater King Stuffy is talking about didn't see that the lightning came from my hand.
But Harry and Draco might have.
I hope they are good at keeping secrets, because if I stay in this time period much longer they're bound to learn a few.
"As for the Expelliarmus…I'll admit I'm a bit gifted magically. The power of some of my spells is well above average, and yes, I can cast a few silently." I might as well admit to at least some of my power, because unless I learn how to control the strength of my spells miraculously fast there's no way I'm going to be able to hide the fact that I'm a wee bit special. My Lumos is so blindingly bright it hurts my eyes, and the eyes of anyone else in the room with me, and my Stupefies kill small animals. That's two of the most common spells right there.
As stupid and inconvenient as it is, certain spells of mine are almost always overpowered while the majority almost always work at regular strength, or the strength I choose.
Almost always is an important distinction here. I flooded a classroom once when an Aqua Eructo of mine that had always done what it was supposed to in the past suddenly acted like Niagara Falls and shot out a lake's worth of water in a very short space of time.
Dad says it's because my powers haven't matured yet. My brother went through the same thing when he was growing up; by the time he died at seventeen years of age he had pretty much conquered the problem.
Before long, I know, I will be able to control my magic as well as Dad, but until that day comes it's always a moment of truth when I cast a spell.
King Stuffy's frown doesn't lessen. A seasoned Auror, he is suspicious of anything that doesn't quite fit right. "How well above average?"
"Enough to do the things you heard about." I look him directly in the eye. Rodolphus says I have a steely gaze that makes me seem much older than I am. I think he's right.
King Stuffy averts his eyes to the side, still frowning but looking a little less cocky than before.
"Oh, do be patient, Solomon." a plump woman with a kindly face framed by frayed gray hair says, "It must be quite a shock for him getting ripped out of his own time like that."
"Indeed." McGonagall says, still looking at me in a light of wonder, "Tell me, Cain, how are you going to get back?"
Everyone leans in closer, anxious to hear. One of the House ghosts — Nearly Headless Nick — floats to the edge of the circle, curious. Save the blaze of activity in the background, silence reigns.
"I don't know." I admit, frowning a little, "The portal that got me here was created using the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl. Dad was looking for them right before I got grabbed and thrown into this year, whatever year this is — "
"1996." Harry supplies.
I do the math. "Wow. Fifty-four years." I sigh. "Even if I found those fangs, I wouldn't know how to use them. Gods' magic works differently than ours." Though my next words are meant for everyone, I focus on McGonagall. "I was hoping someone here might know a way to send me back."
McGonagall's face falls. She glances to her company. "Anyone here know a way to help young Riddle?"
Silence. A few people shake their heads or make other gestures to the effect of 'no'.
"I would say Time-Turner," the tiny guy who spoke earlier suggests, "but none of them go that far."
A large, thickly-built man who most certainly has giant blood in him scratches the beard on his chin. "Er, I dunno wot yehd do. I surpose yahs could ask Dumbledore once 'es up fer visitors."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione begin to whisper amongst themselves, but before I can catch any of it McGonagall is talking again. "Severus? Any suggestions?"
"Not unless he can find the fangs and figure out how to use them." Snape says in that perpetually cold voice of his, "What was your father going to do with those fangs, I wonder?" He stares straight at me, silently cueing me to answer.
I see no harm in telling them. "He wanted to go back to ancient Egypt and steal The Book of Curse."
Snape's eyes glitter with interest. "I've never heard of such a book."
"You wouldn't have. It's pretty much a god thing. My father somehow found out about it and decided to add it to his private collection."
"Then he would have had to have known how to use the fangs," Hermione reasons, "they'd be useless to him otherwise."
"I don't think he did." I say, but my tone is stained with uncertainty.
"Well if he didn't, then who did?"
Good question. "I don't know."
Hermione isn't ready to let me off the hook. "It had to have been someone." she stipulates, "Probably an enemy of your family if he or she just tossed you in blindly without a way back. Think — who else knows about the fangs?"
The scent of gooey warm cinnamon rolls reaches my nose.
Tempting, but it'll have to wait.
"Harry and Draco for sure. Also Ron."
"Maybe one of them?" Hermione ventures, biting her lip gently and casting a sidelong glance to Harry, who appears deep in thought.
I shake my head. "Even if all of them knew how to use the fangs perfectly, none of them would intentionally strand me in the past."
"Are you sure about Draco?" Ron asks, eying him suspiciously.
"Hey!" Draco bristles, "I — "
"Quite sure." I interrupt, killing the feud in its infancy, "We're related."
Draco's eyebrows raise. "Really? How?"
I have to be careful here. In case my presence is impacting the future, I don't want to screw things up even more by revealing too much too soon. It is advantageous for Draco to know we're related, as it will make him easier to deal with, but I can't tell him I'm his grandson. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "Close enough that you would care."
I am pleasantly surprised when, instead of prodding, Draco's whole face lights up as though he just scored a perfect 'O' on an exam.
"Bellatrix!" he declares suddenly, eyes brimming with excitement, "You're Bellatrix's son!"
"Wha — oh false! False!" I say with vigor, wrinkling my nose at the very idea. "As much as Bellatrix would have loved to have been my mother, Dad never really cared that much for her. She died months before I was born anyway."
"She did? How?" Draco's inquiry is innocent. Ironic, since he's the murderer.
"Killing curse."
My vague answer irritates him. "Yes, but who threw it?"
"I wasn't there."
"Then how do you know it was a killing curse?"
"A friend told me."
"But he didn't tell you who did it?"
"It happened in the middle of a fight with Aurors. It could have been anyone." Another lie — in truth it was a battle between Death Eaters and Deathbusters; I don't think any Aurors were even there. But it isn't a good idea to tell people who they'll kill.
The owls are flying in with the post now — I search for Sharpbeak.
Remember I'm in the past.
Feel like an idiot.
Promptly return my attention back to the crowd, hopefully before anyone notices my mistake.
Draco doesn't say anything more, but I can tell he is unnerved by this latest revelation. A worried, curious frown mars his face.
McGonagall clears her throat. "Well then, that being the case, Cain, you are welcome to stay at Hogwarts for the time being. I'm sure Dumbledore can help you once he's well enough, but all the same I'll send word to friends of mine who may be able to help. If it was possible for you to get here, it should be possible for you to get back."
Not quite as good a prospect as I would have liked, but a sliver of hope is better than nothing. I smile courteously. "Thank you. Your kindness is much appreciated."
The friendly plump woman who rebuked Solomon earlier offers me a toothy grin. "Oh, you rascal, what did you expect? Hogwarts never abandons a student in need — even if that student is from the future!"
"And the son of Voldemort." Solomon coughs quietly, making his feelings on the matter perfectly clear.
McGonagall ignores him. "You may help yourself to breakfast," she nods in the direction of the food-laden tables, "I'll be along with some papers for you to fill out in a minute."
Breakfast! Now she's talking! I haven't had anything to eat since noon yesterday.
"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." I turn and head straight for the Slytherin table.
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A/N: The gods introduced two new terms to the wizarding world. These terms have come into common usage in Cain's time, which is why he incorporates them into his thoughts and speech. They are:
mage — A witch or wizard. Gender-neutral term for magical people.
shade — A dark witch or wizard. Gender-neutral term for magical people who like the Dark Arts a little too much. If they are not out-and-out murderous, dangerous, malicious people they are at least of extremely shady or questionable moral fiber.
