July 1945; one year and five months until December 31, 1946, or three days
Luck seemed to work in Tom Riddle's favor this month; everything went as smoothly as he expected - Harry stayed. Although he was becoming increasingly more taciturn, only concentratedly focused on researching and studying as if deliberately ignoring him… He still stayed, right?
Tom tucked his shirt into his pants, and skillfully knotted his bow tie.
The young man in the mirror wearing a shirt with trousers and vest with tie looked handsome and valiant, who possessed a unique youthful spirit.
Tom Riddle looked to be at his peak in appearance and age, but the only genuine thing about him was the darkness his soul carried.
Tom buttoned his cuffs, grinning at his reflection.
It's another new day.
"Good morning, Harry." Tom could see Harry sitting on the table the moment he went down the stairs, already eating his breakfast, and greeted him as usual. As if nothing happened between the two.
"Hm." Harry merely nodded indifferently, not even looking up, denying Tom the sight of those pair of eyes that once thrilled him to the core.
The young Devil chuckled slightly to hide his momentarily unpleasant expression.
He liked to look into Harry's eyes whilst speaking. Not only because it was the quickest way of capturing the other's mood changes, but because he liked seeing himself reflected in those eyes.
A pair of eyes, a pair of pupils; unable to accomodate too much light passing through, yet just so happened to be able to hold his reflection - this extremely satisfied the Slytherin's possessiveness.
But Harry didn't even look up.
No matter.
The Slytherin sat down across from Harry, who's head hung down, and smiled at him.
If he was the only one left in Harry's world, who else would he be able to see?
"I've finished eating." Tom put down his knife and fork. "Then… I'm off to work."
Harry felt that hearing such an everyday phrase from the Dark Lord was strangely funny, but when he remembered where the young man worked, he couldn't even lift the corners of his mouth into a farce of a smile.
Borgin and Burkes.
Whether he tried to prevent it or not history would still develop like so, without a single change. In that case, why should he bother wasting his efforts?
Harry's learnt how to treat things pessimistically.
One shouldn't blindly blame this Saviour for his blasé behavior any longer. Right now, if one discounted the sixteen years of suspended aging, he'd only be twenty years old. At this age, one's mind has yet to even be fully developed, currently at a tentative stage of development, and even their bones had still yet to settle; if you count the sixteen years, the repetitive pendulous events of 'hope' to 'disappointment' during this time was enough to make even a 36-year-old middle-aged man passive.
More importantly, there was no time left.
If this plan only affected Harry Potter himself, then he'd push forward with determination and bravery until he laid his head to be butchered, but alas, behind him stood not just his shadow. He had no time to tangle in the overlapping trajectory of reality and history, he had no energy to suppress his own traitorous and instinctive reactions any longer, and he was in no mood to consider the possibility of Tom Riddle's salvation.
Besides, nobody bore witness to how he'd already stood his ground, only to be bled out slowly, bit by bit, through a thousand cuts.
Harry was tired.
But he had a mission; a battle to be won. In the future year of 2001, what he'd face would no longer be the issue of redemption or corruption; it'd be the decision between survival or death.
Perhaps during these unfortunate 47 days, the only thing he learnt was how to give up - in the end, he was forced to helplessly give up.
"I'm leaving." Tom put on his shoes, announcing his departure into the house like a husband reporting to his wife before going out.
Tom thought this kind of behaviour was very interesting, and was maybe even obsessed with the atmosphere and fantasy it conjured.
The hand Harry held the spoon with paused.
"Don't cause trouble," Harry couldn't help but shout back in warning, only breathing out a sigh of relief after he received an affirmative answer.
Tom couldn't help but smile softly at Harry's words, his eyes narrowed and flickered with a darker hue.
And Harry didn't even spare a glance at the leaving child's back before hurrying back to study, flipping through Tom's books trying to find clues to his so-called weakness.
He kept comforting himself in his heart, there is still time, there's still seventeen months, don't be nervous.
Eventually, Harry returned. As his friend, Joan was very happy.
"Good morning, Harry." Joan took initiative to change into slippers before following Harry into the study. Looking at the books Harry piled on his desk, she shrugged. "You seem to be very busy."
"Yeah, I'm preparing… For a long trip," Harry lied. He didn't need to tell Joan he was leaving for good. Unlike before, after he leaves this time period, Fate would completely tie all loose ends in his absence; cover up all traces of his visit.
"Shouldn't you be assigning missions?" Harry turned a page, asking.
Joan straightened up. "I'm assigning a mission right now."
"Huh?" Harry raised his eyebrows.
"There's something I believe is necessary for you to know." Joan tapped on the table, a sharp gaze directed at Harry, a deeper meaning seemingly behind it, "Harry, a few months ago, hundreds of Dementors in Azkaban perished; it's also worth noting that in the recent months, the giants in the Eastern forests have become increasingly restless, and the Pureblood families began hosting more frequent gatherings."
"Why is this happening?"
"D7234." Joan's vision fixed on Harry's expression, which had become instantly shocked. "Since traces of their efforts were discovered in the UK, the Wizarding World hasn't been anything but unstable. Harry, do you know something about this?"
Joan was certain Harry knew something, otherwise he wouldn't have had such a visceral reaction in Germany.
Harry looked at Joan, her sharp knowing gaze making him feel as if he was facing down Hermione.
At this moment, it was obvious that telling Joan everything would be a good choice. As long as the dangers were correctly understood, the Aurors could suppress their existence and hinder their growth. Even the entire Wizarding World could start preparing to face the Death Eaters as their enemy…
Harry's lips twitched. "I… Do know some things. They're Death Eaters. They swallowed a good portion of the previous Dark Lord's old forces and, by doing all these things, they want to repeat England's reign of darkness under a new Dark Rule."
Joan smiled, yet she looked even more serious. "If it were three months ago, I would've found this about as funny as a kid holding a sword and saying he wants to be Merlin." Joan hesitated before proceeding.
"Then Harry, who is the Dark Lord?"
The wise Slytherin woman seemed keenly aware of Harry's shifty discomfort.
"...I'm sorry, I'm not too clear on that either."
Borgin Burkes didn't favor the new hire. Or it could be said that he didn't like anyone or anything in particular, except for, of course, money.
This was made worse by the fact that he had to pay this young man more!
"Lad, don't even think about trying to steal a single shred of wood shaving from me!" The expression on the old man with hay-like hair was stingey and hideous.
The handsome young man in question shrugged. "Why would I…?"
Considering ever since he stepped into the store, everything in it became his.
Although Borgin and Burkes' Antique Shop was filthy to the point that Tom could barely tolerate it, it was here that the darkest deals took place; people who frequented the establishment were obsessed heretics, fallen from their adoration of the Dark Arts. Wizards who sold their souls for power were the most suitable to become Death Eaters - his minions.
This place was indeed a place to shop, but the trinkets were not the items for sale, but the creatures that paraded as buyers.
Tom was both merchant and customer, Death Eaters, his object of trade.
"Hello, what are you looking for?" The Slytherin smiled, responding to the greedy gaze of the new visitor.
Ah! The young Devil's fingers tapped a little against his wand. He liked this look the most; it left him with a taste of purpose.
And where should the Dark Mark be placed, this time?
Tom only managed to come back home at half past 7 in the evening.
"It's not the end of your working hours yet! If I say it isn't, it isn't!" Borgin Burkes roared, distressed about the salary he was about to pay and determined to squeeze dry the young man's energy.
Tom just barely glanced at him, his dark eyes giving Borgin Burkes the illusion of suffocation.
"Y-you cannot leave…" Borgin Burkes snorted coldly before immediately turning around and slipping back to his small room.
Tom sat at the counter, his knuckles resting against the wooden surface, and tsked impatiently.
He suddenly wanted to go home.
So he couldn't wait to bid farewell to Borgin and Burkes and stride back home.
The lights of Godric Valley had been twinkling for a while now; from afar, the soft and warm yellow lights with the enthusiastic, bright incandescent lights gave off a feeling of fulfillment.
But Tom Riddle sneered at these sentiments; satisfaction and happiness - they were merely illusions conjured by visual stimulations.
The Slytherin went around the sculpture placed in front of Godric's Valley, and walked towards the house that belonged to him.
From a distance, he saw Harry standing in the doorway, light pouring out from the door and flowing around his ankle, the halo around him extremely soft.
And the other figure was… Joan.
Tom did not like Joan.
Maybe it was the rejection of a mutual Slytherin's aura, like the reciprocated fears between two equally powerful cheetahs. Or was there another reason?
Harry seemed to be discussing something with Joan; their piercing eyes were staring intently into the other's, leaving Tom feeling irritable, and he couldn't help but quicken his footsteps.
"...Harry, your reluctance to tell me doesn't mean we can't find out. We've already…"
"Can't find out what?" The corners of his mouth were raised up and his muscles contracted; a standard smile. Tom leaned down slightly in a bow towards Joan, his graceful manner making her choke all the words down her throat. "Good evening, Miss Joan."
Joan took a deep breath, her eyes calm. "Good evening, Tom."
Tom turned to look at Harry, leaning back up naturally. "I'm hungry."
"Hm." Harry nodded, his eyes flickering as he turned away from the original topic. "Dinner's already prepared. Joan, are you sure you don't want to join us? I made your share."
"It's alright." Tom smiled, looking at the woman with eyes almost blending into the night. "I think I'm hungry enough to eat two servings."
Joan calmly looked at the young man who was already a head taller than her friend, glancing over the arm he put around Harry's waist; ignoring Tom's substantially cold eyes, she nodded. "I'm fine. There's still things to do with the Aurors."
Joan left; if she turned around, she'd still be able to see the light streaming out from the house.
Harry's reluctance to tell me doesn't mean we can't find out.
Harry's attitude was strange, maybe… We could start investigations here…
