Chapter Eight

Harry's footsteps ghosted across the hallways as he walked. He stared blankly ahead, avoiding treacherous strands of moonlight. He hadn't wanted to expose his Invisibility Cloak just yet, but with the trance he seemed to be in, he wished he had brought it.

The boy shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories he's accumulated just moments ago. "The old pureblood families always spawn the next tyrant," Jasmine had shouted in the JAERA meeting. "Give me one example where I'm wrong!" It had gotten worse from there. Harry had expected that the members wouldn't like a lot of the older families. After all, Slytherins fit almost entirely in that category, and they weren't exactly popular. But what they had said sounded almost anti-pureblood. No, in fact, it was anti-pureblood.

Purebloods controlled the Ministry; purebloods went out of their way to make others miserable; purebloods used their money to make sure that they stayed on top. Some of the more vocal members were rambling on with conspiracy stories that no one seemed to want to stop. In fact, they seemed to encourage it.

Harry believed that the Wizarding world needed changes. There were a lot of laws that put muggleborns at a disadvantage, and he remembered in his world that the weight of someone's pocket could do to wonders in swaying the higher ups. He didn't doubt that it was the same in this one.

But this was all just twisted. It sounded like revenge, not a quest for betterment. Who the Hell was the Dark Lord in this dimension? Whoever he was, the way he marketed his campaign sounded a lot like the Muggle fascist leader, Benito Mussolini did. Harry didn't know all that much about non-magical history, but Dudley had been forced to do a research paper on the man, and Harry had been treated to his cousin's whining and tantrums the entire summer it had happened. Naturally, he'd learnt a few things, one of them being that Mussolini specifically targeted the middle and lower classes. To motivate his followers to follow him, he encouraged the desire for revenge on the upper class. This Dark Lord, whoever he was, seemed to be doing the same.

Dodging another strain of silver, he veered away from the hallway to his right, where he could hear someone prowling. Harry strained his ears and immediately heard the dragging, and hobbling of feet and the padding of paws. Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Keeping their location in mind, he avoided them and traveled to the portrait guarding the Head commons. "Liger," Harry deadpanned. A week and a half had passed since his arrival, so it was Jasmine's turn to decide the password. Shaking his head, he stepped inside.


The teen tucked inside the bed sheets gave a violent jerk. Offended by the slight, the sheets decided to play strait-jacket as Tom tossed, mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

My, my, Borgin, this is a pleasant surprise, is it not?

Rivulets of sweat trickled down his face.

Oh? So unhappy to see me? You certainly have an unpleasant manner of greeting your guests...

His scar prickled and Tom frowned as the pain began to seethe.

You disgusting worm! You know why I'm here, filthy Slytherin snake!

At the ferocious roar, Tom bolted up, gasping. The parting gift he had received the night his mother was murdered shrieked and burned. "Not now," he panted as he clapped a hand on top of it. He stumbled out of his bed, struggling to throw on a robe. Vaguely, he registered the fact that Potter wasn't even in his bed and had barely a second to scowl before a whack of rage from the Dark Lord's mind sent him falling on his knees.

I'm not a patient man, Borgin, but I am an 'impulsive' Gryffindor. You wouldn't want me to do something rash now, would you?

Tom grasped the bedpost and dragged himself to his feet, focring up his buckling Occlumency shields. He had to get to the hospital wing and tell them what the Dark Lord was doing. Right now, before it got too bad for him to -

Answer me! Crucio!

A scream tore through Tom's throat. Then pain exploded in his jaw. He must have hit the ground. His failing shields weren't enough; the vision unusually powerful. He could hear Borgin's inhuman howls as the Dark Lord laughed, pure, vindictive pleasure soaring through his veins.

Mercifully, the spell ended. But fury replaced delight before Tom could even catch his breath. Shields, shields, he repeated to himself. Don't let him distract you. Keep them up…Blindly, he moved forward, not knowing if he was even going the correct way.


Harry's eyes shot up to the dorm room as he heard the scream. Without thinking, he bolted up the stairs, only to skid to a halt as Riddle crawled out of the door. He stepped back in shock. Riddle glared up at him. Somehow, Harry doubted this was about him being out of bed at such a late hour.

Riddle's face was contorted into an expression of anguish. He doubted the Slytherin even knew he was there. Completely forgetting the fact that this was the junior Dark Lord of all people, Harry hauled him up. "Riddle," Harry searched his face for any sign of recognition, "Riddle!"

"Headmaster," the other boy rasped. "Get…Dumbledore!"

"What? No way, you need to see a healer!"

Another cry; Riddle's legs collapsed beneath him. "Why," he snarled up at him, "do you have to be so. Bloody. Emotional!"

"What?" Harry started, offended. "You're making no sense at all!" Ignoring the accusation, he hooked one of Riddle's arms around his shoulder, forcing him to lean on him, and started down the stairs. But Riddle didn't even seem to be aware of his own body. His hands clawed at his forehead. Harry felt an actual rush of fear kick at him at the gesture, the gesture that he had always associated with himself, and seemed insane to associate with anyone else. But he couldn't stop the illogical recognition, especially when it started to get worse.

"Damn it Riddle!" he shouted in desperation, "I'm not going to carry you!" He was just about to get them down the last stair when Tom lashed out.

"Stop it! You're hurting him!"

"Riddle!" Harry snatched his wrist before he could fall. "You're delirious! We need to get to the-" he froze. Riddle was facing him again and now that his auburn curls were pasted out of the way, Harry was paralyzed by a frighteningly familiar slight emblazoned on his forehead. "How?" Harry gasped.

Riddle had the scar!

But how? Why?

How did Riddle have the scar?

Another pain-filled groan from the other boy jerked Harry out of his bewilderment. Alright, so Riddle had the scar. It wasn't the pressing matter right now. Harry knew how bad these visions could be and he didn't want to just stand around gaping while someone else suffered through them. Stupefy. The spell snatched Riddle away into unconsciousness. "Mobilicorpus."Of course, now he had just doomed Riddle to experiencing the scar-induced nightmare in all its excruciating glory, but he had little choice.

"Who is the Dark Lord?" Harry demanded of no one in particular. A horrible thought of what the identity could be occurred to him, but it was so awful and completely unbelievable that he shoved it as far as he possibly could from himself the moment he thought it. But Harry felt the blood draining from his face. The lingering doubt was still there. Concentrate, idiot. Get to the Hospital Wing! Taking his own advice, he and the floating Riddle exited the Common room.

Searching around for the passageway he knew was there, Harry checked to see if the coast was clear. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

"What do we have 'ere, Mrs. Norris?" Filch cackled gleefully. "A student, out of bed?" Then the beady eyes swooped over Harry's unofficial cargo. "What the – what have you done, James? Killed a student?" Filch didn't sound the least bit bothered.

Harry groaned. "I don't have time for this!"

"Ha! I'll decide what you have time for, you lil' whelp! Wait till Dumbledore hears about this-!"

Before the unpleasant caretaker could close in on him, Harry tapped the wall with his wand. Filch had a second to be outraged before Harry leapt inside as it swung open. The caretaker's enraged howls chased after him as he skirted through the passageway to the Hospital Wing. Bodiless globs of flames ignited above him, casting light on the congested hall. Ducking a cobweb, he told the unconscious Riddle, "You know, I've always wanted to do that." Naturally, Riddle didn't answer. Instead, he was starting to twitch. Harry winced in sympathy, practically flying down the remaining steps to the end of the passage.

He pushed what appeared to be a dead end and it lurched opened. Harry poked his head out and, after noticing that there were no professors patrolling the premises, brought Riddle out behind him. His memory told him that he only had a few corridors to go before he reached the Hospital Wing. Swiftly, he continued forward, relieved when he saw the entrance.

Unfortunately, it was closed. He rapped on it. Nothing. He banged the handles. "Hello! We need help!" Finally a scuffle came from inside. Harry fidgeted, wondering if this was how Ron and Hermione felt when he was going through the same thing…only less so, since he wasn't exactly best mates with Riddle. "Come on," he muttered. "Hurry up…"

The door was wrenched open, revealing a scowling Madam Pomfery. "Do you have any idea," she started, "what time-?" Harry pointed over his shoulder where Riddle was still suspended on an invisible stretcher. "Good Heavens!" she exclaimed. "Come in, come in!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed, putting Riddle's prone form on the nearest bed in sight. "It's his scar," Harry explained after Pomfery shot him a suspicious look, obviously suspecting that he had something to do with this. "I didn't know if I could get him here if he was conscious."

"I see. I'm surprised Tom told you about the connection in the scar." Harry voted not to tell her that he didn't. "But no matter, this is a private matter now, Mr. James. So if you please-"

"You want me to leave?" No, he couldn't leave now – he'd just found out that the world was turned upside down!

"Yes, Mr. James. As I said-"

"But I have to ask him some questions!"

"You will do no such thing!"

"But-"

"No, Mr. James. You will not harass my patient! Now, I'm grateful for you bringing him here, but now I need you to leave if you want him to recover properly." Before Harry could object, she waved her wand and the Stunner on Riddle died. Immediately, the formerly unconscious teen opened his eyes, gasping. Pomfery came closer, her eyes softening.

"He – he has them," he gripped Pomfery's arm as soon as she came in range. "Tell – tell the Headmaster – he has them all…" He sank back into the pillow, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

Harry frowned. "What-?"

"Out!"

Scowling, Harry let her eject him from the Hospital Wing, knowing a losing battle when he saw one.


The hotel room watched its occupants silently, its burnt and spell-scarred walls swathed in shadow. Unspeakables' lifeless bodies were strewn across the carpet. Daylight poured through the windows, their glass faces assisting the redhead in peering down at the streets below. His fingers skimming across the chessboard that had been shattered in the recent fray between the three living inhabitants, he picked up a white knight. "White knight," he smirked at it, "forward three."

"The Aurors are moving down Main Street, are they? Fools." His companion eyed the pitiful dump of a man cowering on the floor in front of him. He somersaulted his wand, caught it, and pointed it at the whimpering mess. "Ron, use our precious pawns to jump their flank. Have our other pieces retreat underground."

"Already done, my lord." A malicious gleam ignited in Ron's eyes.

"Y-you, you can't!" the hysterical man stuttered. "L-leave me a-alone!"

"Now, now, Borgin," Hadrian drawled, "you have displeased me. Surely you knew the price of displeasing me, didn't you?"

"I-I d-don't know where it is!"

"Liar." Hadrian's feral golden eyes narrowed. "Crucio!" Borgin screamed, his muscles slamming and bones bruising as his body thrashed against the floor. The sound irritated Hadrian's acute hearing. He cut off the spell. "Feeling more cooperative?"

Borgin panted, his fingers twitching involuntarily, a sure indicator that his frayed nerves were crying in agony. "D-don't know…"

Hadrian let out an impatient sigh. How inconvenient. "Do you and the Cruciatus want another play date together Borgin, or are you ready to tell me where it is?"

"I don't," the Knockturn alley vendor was hysterical, "know! Please! Believe me!"

"Don't lie to me!" the Dark Lord roared. He lashed him with another round of the Unforgivable curse. "You dare keep me from my birth right? Tell me where it is, you filthy Slytherin spawn! Tell me where my father's invisibility cloak is!"

"I don't know! Argh!"

"You worthless-!"

"No! Aahh! Wait – I know where it is!"

Pause. "You do, do you?" The curse ended.

"Y-yes," Borgin blabbed, "I know…I know not where your father's cloak is-" Hadrian lifted his wand, "-no! Don't your lordship! I know not where that particular cloak is, but I know where what you seek is!"

"I highly doubt that."

"I know! I – I know where Peverell's Cloak is!"

Hadrian froze. "I should kill you for your presumptions, Borgin." He lazily aimed his wand back at the man. "But I won't. The level of outrageousness in your lies intrigues me. Do continue."

"N-not lies, your lordship!" Borgin attempted and failed to gesture at the various racks of cloaks and robes behind him. "M-my best cloak, it is perfect! I know…I know it is the one! It is the final Hallow!"

"Crucio." Raw shrieks pierced the air. "You have the audacity to insult my lineage? Ignotus Peverell's line ends in me! You shall suffer…"

"Hadrian," Ron called as he shut off his cell phone.

"Hm?" the Dark Lord answered distractedly. He was rather busy being amused by the fact that even in his state of continual torture, Borgin still managed to flinch at the sound of his name.
"I've ordered our pawns to portkey away – dead initiates clog up the place. Anti-apparation wards are up. As predicted, they're making an encirclement. Hermione estimates them to surround this hotel," he waved a hand to encompass the room they were in, "in about three minutes."

"How quaint. I take it her division and Neville's are in position?"

"That's right mate. Standing by for your order."

"Excellent. We shall be done here soon." Hadrian turned his attention back to Borgin, who was prattling incoherently. "Useless." He strongly suspected these were the cowardly falsifications of desperate prey, but the notion had merit. Weeks ago, he had assembled all the Hallows. Or thought he had. The Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone were easy to distinguish. But the Cloak…that was more difficult.

He strode across the fallen man, growling at the bodies in his way. "These Unspeakable corpses' make such a mess on the floor. I don't know why our Knockturn snake here thought they would protect him from me. As if the Ministry could keep me from my own inheritance…" A chuckle from the redhead told him that he agreed. The Ministry officials were imbeciles.

A metal safe was knocked on its side on the table. Hadrian glanced at his victim and then at the combination dial. "Don't worry, Borgin," he smiled broadly, "I won't sully my mind with your own. You don't deserve Legilimency." He grabbed the handle and yanked. Metal screeched as it was torn from its place. Hadrian ripped the remaining pieces of the door off its hinges and discarded them on the ground.

A silvery cloak was lying in the safe's mouth. The Dark Lord snatched the fabric. It was an invisibility cloak for sure. But was it the correct one? He was certain that the one he had used weeks ago to unlock the Hallows, the one he thought was his cloak, was the correct one.

He refused to believe that his cloak wasn't once Ignotus Peverell's as well. The stories his father had told him in the little time he lived seemed to confirm that his cloak was special. Hermione had also, though grudgingly, come around to believe that if any cloak was to be the legendary Hallow they were searching for, it would be his.

But there were no initials on the cloak he had used in the ceremony to unlock the Hallows, nothing to mark it as truly his father's, though he thought it was. And of course, his cloak wasn't given to him immediately after his parents were murdered by Grindelwald's forces. He had recovered it after his Hogwarts days. It was possible that he currently had the wrong cloak, wasn't it? A small chance, but it was still there. Perhaps this was the Potter cloak instead.

He supposed he would just have to have Luna had test this one's properties as a Will member herself.

"Well Borgin," he said slowly, "you haven't been very helpful, have you? Running from the Wizarding world, having the audacity to hide from me, avoiding my followers, irritating them with your inevitably ineffectual bodyguards…what would you say your punishment should be?" Hadrian crouched down with a liquid grace until he was all but whispering in Borgin's ear. "I dislike torture, really, I do. So cruel. So very cruel. But what else can I do, if you refuse to oblige me? When you attempt to steal my birthright? Ah…I know." Hadrian stood, towering above him. His eleven inch wand snapped in position over Borgin's heart. "I shall just kill you." Borgin's eyes didn't even have time to widen before the swoop of unseen wings soared out of Hadrian's wand and blinding green light punched through his chest. He fell with a dull thump.

The Dark Lord examined his new prize. "Is this it?" he wondered quietly. "Will this little trinket give me the power I seek? The ability to snatch the dead out of Death's own home - the ability to travel there and back? A careless smile curved his lips.

"Attention!" an amplified voice shouted from outside on the street. Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "This is the DMLE – we have the building surrounded! Come out and place your weapons on the ground. I repeat, come out and place your weapons on the ground."

"Posturing for the Muggles, are they?"

"I'd say so," Ron leered at them. The Aurors were dressed in uniforms similar to those of policemen in an attempt to blend in with the surrounding area. Any Muggle bystanders would assume that the DMLE was some special police force that they hadn't heard about.

Several squads of battle-hardened law enforcers were stationed around the building, their wands raised and muscles taut. They'd heard the stories. They'd seen proof of them. The fact that there were only two Dark wizards in that Muggle hotel was irrelevant. It may as well have been an army.

"I think they've just about sealed off every exit point," Ron remarked.

"Do they plan to storm the place, I wonder?"

"I'd bet. Won't take them long to get impatient. They think they've got us."

Hadrian murmured, "Simple-minded purebloods…they know nothing of Muggle cities." His inky robes swished as he turned and exited the room, his smirking subordinate in tow. Hadrian flicked his wand and the elevator opened. The two stepped inside, ignoring the saxophone music crooning above them, entirely inappropriate for the occasion.

"So," Ron glanced at his lord, "what do you plan to do?" It was the infamous question that resulted in the deaths of hundreds. Ron was a strategist; years of playing his favorite game had made it easy for him to predict the enemy's moves and create his own. But chess wasn't the same as real life - Hadrian's outside of the box creativity more than made up for that.

"Simple Ron, simple. I plan to call checkmate." He flicked his own cell phone open and dialed. Hermione's voice crackled to life. Technomagic wasn't perfect yet, after all. Then came Neville's. "I trust everything has gone as predicted?"

"Yes, my lord," Neville answered humbly. "My division has circled underground, as per your request."

Hermione answered, "Mine as well." Hadrian could hear the eerie dribble of underground sewage water in the background. "But this place is unseemly, my lord!"

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Almost there, Hermione. Wait just a moment." The elevator stopped at the lobby. Both he and Ron stepped out, their eyes drawn to the mass of Aurors piling behind the windows. "And now we begin. Have everyone blast the ceilings and supports, directing towards the center." At the affirmative, he shut off the phone and looked at Ron. "I think it's only polite to wave goodbye, don't you?"

Carelessly brushing a hand through his untamable hair, the Dark Lord watched as the ground beneath the Aurors began to tremble. Distant explosions burst around the building; cracks streaked forward, tearing beneath the Ministry's law enforcers. The cascade effect was devastating.

Muggles screamed. Wizards panicked.

Ron laughed. The Aurors yelled and scrambled out of their formerly impenetrable ranks, but it was too late. The ground collapsed beneath them, sending them plummeting below and smashing into the sewage, wires, and floor.

Dust hacked into the air. Hadrian somersaulted his wand again. Every Auror surrounding the building – every Auror that had been sent – was buried in the rubble, any visible limbs and bones snapped at sharp, unnatural angles.

"Another victory to the Black King," Ron smirked, indulging in the chess terminology the Inner Circle had adopted as code names. The anti-apparation wards died. Whoever had cast them must have just met a similar fate. "How'd you know that the floor beneath us wouldn't collapse either?"

"Muggle buildings have floors independent from their streets." Hadrian was slightly amused at how little concern was in the question. "Let us leave. These unwise Aurors were not even worth the energy it took to kill them. They are outdated. Insipid. Chained in old ways. If they had any sense of the future, they wouldn't have expected us to use such trite battle tactics as charging out. In short, a boring game to play." A lopsided smile tugged on his lips.

"Tell Hermione and Neville to meet me back at headquarters, Black Rook." Throwing the invisibility cloak over one arm, Hadrian apparated away without even a glance back at the carnage.


A/N: Almost three weeks since the last update...I want to say sorry, but the truth is that now that I've started school and those "amazing" college applications, updates are going to be slow. I'm aiming for once every two weeks, but they might come out later :( Well, for anyone who's interested in commenting for this chapter, I was wondering, first off, if you thought I described the pain from the scar well - or if it was just too over the top, etc. What do you think about Hadrian's personality? I know it's only been a chapter, but could you see some of our Harry in him? Does Hadrian seem "dark lordy" or does he need to be darker? Ron calls Hadrian, well, Hadrian - did you expect him to be more like Voldemort's characters, who can't call him by name? Any other comments?

Thanks for reading!