Wow. Never had such a fantastic response on a first chapter before! Love you guys:
NS, Dr. Shanty, Chamilia Lutien Tinuviel, murtagh799, Kissable-Luxury, Kirtash R, moor, Remi, Annevader, AdrianeDreamer101, iruka92, Weird-Chik2, McMuffin, Cellar, Zombie Reine, gleeislove, akatsuki's hikari (hehehe i added 'and beyond' to the description), anon, TK Grimm, summerful21, Bandle, Last Laugh, Lost O'Fallon Girl, Valkyrie Evans, EmeraldGoddess52, Lania26.
By the way, ChildoftheLight, OH MY GOD I TOTALLY DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE HOW MUCH LIKE GURGI GURDY'S SELF-NARRATION WAS. :D only, you know, he's not a weird dog-thing. Kudos for having watched that movie! I love it so much!
A note for all: I'd like to forewarn that this is not going where you probably think it's going. And that the chapters might be short for a while. Not sure about that, but it's possible. So yep.
Onward!
1997.
Bloody hell. 1997.
Riddle kept still, as if by not moving he could freeze the world into submission. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not now. He had things to do, things of a sensitive and delicate nature.
After a good five minutes, something clicked into place in his mind, and his heart gave a tremendous leap. If he truly had arrived in 1997, he could find out how all his plans were unfolding. The fact that Muggles still walked freely around London disheartened him; it meant he'd fallen behind schedule. But his immortality, as planned, would extend the scope of said schedule quite a bit.
Riddle glanced up at the grey sky. It appeared to be late morning.
September first, according to that newspaper.
Maybe ...
Riddle snuck into an alley, turned on his heel, and Apparated to a small street near King's Cross. He modified a few memories and hurried inside the station.
Riddle stared for a moment, alarmed by the whining steel trains, so different from the clunky steamers of his time. He recovered quickly, though - Muggle machinery bore no concern for him - and made for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
He slipped through the barrier without event, one minute to spare before departure.
The sight of the Hogwarts Express sent a wave of relief barreling through him. Hogwarts would not have changed - could not have changed. And if it had, it could only be through his machinations. Change for the better.
Tom sifted through the milling parents as quickly as possible and flung himself aboard the train just before the doors hissed shut. He traversed a clot of students trying to sort out whose trunk was whose and found an empty compartment at the end of the car.
As he slid the door shut behind him and took in his surroundings, he mused that the paneling inside the Express had definitely been replaced. Shortly thereafter, he realized how much he was fixating on the trivial in the vain effort to counteract this sense of imbalance. Wrongness.
Tom Riddle did not panic. That would have been embarrassing.
Instead, he locked the door, drew the curtains, and settled into deep thought, levitating the Timeglass out of his pocket.
It revolved before him. The speck of fire within entranced him, casting a red glint to his dark eyes.
The train started to move.
"What are you?" he whispered to the Timeglass, caressing the surface of the crystal with his wandtip. His entire body shivered with the thrum of power that rocketed through the wand.
Did this mean this world was the only possibility for the future? Nothing could be changed?
Riddle wondered how the world had transformed in the fifty years he'd lost. Had the magical world made any new discoveries he could bring back to his time? He could have an advantage over everyone.
Maybe there were Time-Turners here that could transport him back to 1945.
Maybe he could -
A rattling at the door, and Riddle shifted the Timeglass back to his pocket, careful not to touch it. "Who's there?"
"Let us in!" squeaked a voice. "Hurry, please let us in. Snape's coming this way, and all the other compartments are taken."
Who or what is Snape?
Riddle pursed his lips, but flicked his wand after a second's debate. The door slid open.
Three people toppled in: a blonde with round grey eyes, a plump boy with dark hair, and a redheaded girl. They pulled trunks after them.
"Shut the door, shut the door," hissed the redhead, but the dark-haired boy managed to trip over his own feet and fall. The girl grappled with the compartment door herself, wrangling it shut. "Colloportus."
The three let out a collective sigh of relief. The boy hoisted himself back to his feet, pulling his robes back into place.
"Hello there," said the blonde, nodding to Tom. Her voice was airy, vague, like she wasn't quite sure what she was saying.
Tom nodded back.
The redhead finished loading their trunks into the overhead racks and turned around. Her clear brown eyes caught Tom's, and her mouth opened. "Ahh," she said, stumbling back, pressing herself against the wall. "Aaahhhfuck. Oh, bloody hell, I've gone mad."
Tom's eyes narrowed a bit. Maybe the girl was socially defunct, or something. "Are ... are you alright?"
"What in hell?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper this time. The plump boy put a hand on the redhead's shoulder.
The blonde cocked her head. "Something wrong, Ginny?"
"Him. That. Him."
Tom said, "I'm sorry, do we know each other? I don't recall having met you."
"Ginny Weasley," she spat, with what seemed like unnecessary vehemence. "Lovely to make your acquaintance."
Tom recoiled slightly. Why could people not keep their saliva in their mouths when they spoke? For God's sake.
He had to conceal his identity. After all, he assumed his future self was alive, and two Tom Marvolo Riddles in the same world could not be a good idea.
"Erm," he said, putting on his best bashful-teenager face. "I'm not sure who you think I am, but -"
The Ginny girl let out a disturbing sort of snarling noise, still wild-eyed. Her blonde friend settled into a seat, a serene look on her face.
Tom's eyes brushed over the blonde. Were those radishes on her earrings? Was that necklace made out of butterbeer caps?
Oh, no. Not more people of questionable sanity. He'd had quite enough of that from Gurdy fucking Bansherwold.
"Who are you, then?" asked the boy.
Riddle cast around for a random name. A commonplace, unsuspicious name.
"I'm Harry," he said.
There was a long pause.
Ginny burst into hysterical laughter.
Tom caught the blonde's eye and made a subtle gesture toward Ginny, who was smacking the seat and cackling. "Is she..." Riddle motioned toward his head. "Normal?"
"You're asking Luna if Ginny is normal?" said the dark-haired boy, in obvious bafflement. "I mean, er, no offense, Luna."
"Oh, don't worry," Luna said, with half a smile. "I've often wondered about Ginny's mental health, too."
Riddle barely kept himself from turning his eyes to the heavens and bemoaning the unnecessary nature of this situation. "Listen. I've just transferred here this year -"
"OH, SURE," said Ginny. Everyone winced. "YOU JUST TRANSFERRED THIS YEAR. RIGHT." Her voice cracked.
"R-really, Ginny, are you feeling alright?" The plump boy fidgeted. "I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way ... Harry."
Riddle sat up a bit straighter. That was unexpected. Longbottom was a well-respected name, and the Longbottom he knew - Charles Longbottom, a Ravenclaw - was a formidable spellcaster. He was also slim, tan, and confident, nothing like this pale, stuttering lump. What had happened to the man's gene pool?
Probably married in with Muggles. Riddle kept his lip from curling, but only barely. Yes; this feeble-looking person looked the likely result of Muggle-loving filth.
"Good to meet you, Neville," Tom said.
"Nice to meet you," Ginny muttered. "Heh, heh."
Tom fixed her with a piercing stare. "Look, I don't know what the matter is, but repeating everything I say is hardly going to remedy whatever sort of delusion you're -"
"Sorry, sorry," she said. "It's just, you know, the fact that you're Voldemort sort of makes it difficult to take anything you say seriously."
Neville flinched. "W-wait, what?"
Tom blanched and rallied immediately. "I - what? I've no clue why you -"
"You really oughtn't say the name," Luna said, mild concern passing over her face for the first time. "If Snape's walking by -"
People fear my name. Riddle felt a triumphant leap in his chest, and he picked up on Luna's cue. "Honestly," he said, staring. "How can you just toss that name around like that?"
For the first time, light confusion flickered across Ginny's face. She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth, and closed it again.
"So your name's Harry," she said slowly, great irony layering her voice. "Last name?"
"Westfield."
She eyed his Slytherin robes. "And how have you been Sorted already?"
"Met with the Headmaster over summer."
"Snape. Slimy git," Ginny muttered. "All right, and you've been where for the last how many years that's prevented you from going to Hogwarts?"
"Homeschooled," Tom said. "What was so amusing about my name, by the way?"
Luna smiled brightly. "We have a good friend called Harry."
"Yeah, and he ..." Ginny said. "Never mind. What do your parents do, then?"
This girl's inquiries grew more irritating by the second, but Riddle brewed something up with ease. "My father travels around fixing people's broomsticks; my mother's a doctor."
Ginny's eyes narrowed further. "A Muggle doctor?"
"Is that a problem?" Riddle said testily, applauding himself inwardly. If the girl suspected him of being himself, pretending to be something he reviled would surely help his case.
"Of course not." She glanced down at his robes again. "But you are a Slytherin. Those robes look awfully outdated, by the way."
"My sincerest apologies for my lack of fashion sense. They're hand-me-downs."
"I ... no, no, this is stupid!" Ginny stood, her voice rising again. "You're him."
Neville cleared his throat. "Gin, maybe your memory might be a little fuzzy. It's been a long -"
She rounded on him. "I don't care if it's been five years or fifty. You don't forget something like that. He's an exact double."
The door to the compartment slid open.
Riddle eyed the man in the door with mild interest. His lank, greasy hair hung about a sallow face, and some deep hatred burned in those oil-black eyes.
"Weasley," the man said slowly, as if tasting something sour in the word. "Interesting that this door would be locked. And I thought I heard..."
The man's eyes fell on Riddle. His expression of distaste stiffened for a split second.
Riddle saw the hard hatred blazing in Longbottom's and Weasley's eyes, and he drew an inference. "Good morning, Professor Snape," he said, with a respectful nod.
One more perusal by Snape. Riddle felt the probe of a competent Legilimens, and he let his mind slide into blankness.
Snape shifted his gaze. Riddle relaxed.
"Will someone kindly explain why I hear such loud conversation from behind this door?" Snape said. "Must I require Amycus to accompany you for the remainder of the journey?"
"No, sir," Riddle said, as a short, piggy man with an uneven leer stepped into place beside Snape.
"No," repeated Ginny. "Sir."
Snape's lip lifted, making his hooked nose quirk to the left. "Your tone leaves something to be desired, Ms. Weasley."
"I beg forgiveness on my knees."
Riddle let out a sigh. Such an obvious Gryffindor move. No appreciation for subtlety.
Remarkably, Snape let them escape without being chaperoned by this Amycus fellow. But Riddle felt stifled nonetheless, by the mere presence of the other students. Once at Hogwarts, he needed to find some answers in the library. Hopefully they wouldn't try to follow him.
He just needed to wait this out.
Riddle bluffed his way through the rest of the train ride. The girl's initial recognition of him had been rather shocking, but she gave no explanation, so he let it go. In sitting back and observing the conversation, he even learned a few things: Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore. Snape worked for Lord Voldemort. Amycus Carrow and his sister Alecto also worked for Voldemort.
In short, Lord Voldemort had control of Hogwarts. And the Ministry. And pretty much everything else.
Riddle felt triumphant.
Still, Ginny Weasley wouldn't take her suspicious gaze off him. And that was not convenient.
Not convenient at all.
"Where's this other Harry, by the way?" he asked, at one point.
"Away," she said stiffly.
"Oh. So he doesn't go to Hogwarts anymore."
"As you may have gathered from his absence... no."
He kept himself from hitting the girl with some painful, illegal spell - but only barely. Smart remarks were not acceptable in his regime.
Well, this was his regime, wasn't it?
Then couldn't he curse them?
He sighed, glancing out the window. It would be simpler not to curse anyone, probably. He simply had to find a way back to his appropriate time so he could live out the entirety of his glorious reign; side endeavors were neither appropriate nor advisable.
Even if they were fun.
To Riddle's relief, Ginny, Neville, and Luna seemed all too happy to abandon him immediately upon exiting the Hogwarts Express. The student body exuded nervousness; Riddle heard murmurs and saw furrowed brows. The name Snape hung in the air like a pestilence, and beneath it, a forlorn undercurrent of Albus Dumbledore. Yes - the winds of change had certainly reached Hogwarts. Riddle couldn't help but allow himself a smirk.
As soon as the Thestral-drawn carriages reached the castle, Tom cast a Disillusionment charm and snuck up to the Library. The rows of books felt like sweet sanctuary, cushioning him from the disaster he'd fallen into.
The shelves were dark. "Lumos," Tom murmured, snapping his fingers. A warm glow appeared in his palm. Wandless magic somehow felt far more satisfying than its wanded counterpart, if only because he doubted anyone his age had ever had such a grip on the art.
Riddle peered down the shelves. A Brief History of 20th Century Wizarding Britain popped out at him. That sounded a likely place to start catching up on his future.
He slid the tome from the shelf, sat at a table to peruse it, and flipped to the Table of Contents.
Chapter 26. The Rise of the Dark Lord.
Chapter 27. The Reign of Voldemort.
Chapter 28. The Great Wizarding War.
Tom's heart beat hard, and his lips creased into a smile. He turned pages until he reached the Rise of the Dark Lord - this had happened, apparently, in the 1970s. By that math, he'd had full control of Britain for twenty-five years.
If that was the case, he sort of found it odd that his future self hadn't dispatched Albus Dumbledore long before 1997.
But when Riddle's eyes reached the end of the Wizarding War chapter - the subheading The Boy Who Lived - his expression grew thunderous.
An infant.
An infant had been his downfall?
Harry Potter.
The girl's friend... Harry.
She would pay. They would all pay.
Riddle slammed the book shut so hard that dust danced off its cover. He stuck his hand in his pocket for his wand -
His finger brushed the cool surface of the Timeglass -
The whine. The colossal bang. Riddle had just time to say, "Shit," before the world flipped and swirled and dumped him on his knees, raw pain rocketing over his every nerve ending once more.
He stood, panting, and checked that he was still in the library. The change in time had been miniscule compared to the previous jump - he could feel it somehow - and the place remained empty, if the furniture seemed a little rearranged. Perhaps not much had been altered.
That was a mistake he couldn't afford to make again. Riddle smoothed his hair back into place and shook his head. How could he find how much time he'd lost?
An outside observer might not have seen any change in his expression, but inwardly, Tom Marvolo Riddle scrolled through his vast libraries of knowledge. Papers. Books. Testimonies. Catalogs of charms, hexes, potions... and curses. Especially curses.
Gurdy Bansherwold - according to the now-dead Unspeakable source - had created the Timeglass to save the one he'd loved.
Instead, he'd driven himself insane.
Riddle wondered if the man had encountered this. If he'd leapt ahead instead of turning the clock back. If he'd seen something so terrible he could not even relieve his mind by virtue of a Pensieve.
Terrible curiosity seized Tom's heart. What lay at the end of time?
And if he saw it, would he be able to return, knowing the futility of all that came before?
Hope you liked it! Please do drop me a note if you did.
Best,
Speechwriter