"I deduce you are in some form of homunculus," Morgan said. "You have never moved from that seat in the two times I have been here. You have not consumed anything. This is some form of illusion."

Riddle's mouth quirked again. "Yes. I find my present form to be … shameful."

"Well, we shall simply correct that. As I imagine you would want your house-elf to transport you, I can have mine show yours the location."

Riddle nodded and summoned his elf, so Morgan summoned his elf. Shortly thereafter Riddle's elf, Pippet, was duly informed and asked to pack up her master's belongings. Shortly after that, and with the pensieve and crate of memory vials in his pocket, they all moved to Cloke Mansion.

Riddle was given a suite for his own and his elf told to find herself a nice place to settle in, and Nagini left to explore the house and grounds. Then the two of them were settled in a sitting room. Morgan had a light meal to assuage his hunger. It was an unfortunate rudeness, if only because Riddle had no requirement for proper food.

"So what were you planning by way of a ritual?" he asked as he forked up some salad.

"I have two options," Riddle said. "I was able to secure what was alleged to be the Philosopher's Stone, but have been unable to verify it. If it is real—for I have difficulty believing that Flamel would simply have handed it over to Dumbledore to protect—its Elixir of Life can be used. If not, there is one requiring bone, flesh, and blood. Unfortunately, that would be a bone from one of my ancestors, flesh of a servant, and the blood of an enemy as part of a ritualistic potion."

"I saw the graves of your muggle family, but I imagine those would not be well suited. And it's possible your mother was laid to rest in a paupers' grave depending on when and where she died."

"The orphanage told me she gave birth to me there, named me, then died," Riddle said.

"Same in my world. Still, we might be able to find a Gaunt grave rather than take from the Riddle ones. Or is the ritual better with a bone from someone actually named Riddle?"

"Unspecified."

Morgan sighed. "All right. The servant?"

"The plan was to use flesh from a follower, a hand, as that is where magic is usually expressed from."

He nodded. "And you have a follower willing to do so?"

"There is the spineless coward, but he is not the best choice."

Morgan eyed Riddle carefully. "You clearly have a follower either at Hogwarts or clever and skilled enough to slip in to add the name. The most likely candidate is Moody, somehow, as he was quick to offer up a believable scenario for how it was done. I understand Moody to be a staunch supporter of the Light if what I've read is correct, which leaves… A substitution? Polyjuice or some kind of unbreakable glamour?"

Riddle sighed. "It is just as well you're so intelligent. I knew from those memories you must be, as well as an incredibly hard worker. Seeing it in action, however, makes that even more clear. Yes, the Moody seen at the school is a follower under polyjuice. He would be a better choice as he is a genuine follower. His purpose there is technically fulfilled. Had no Harry Potter arrived there would be no reason for him to remain. One did, and yet did not, and I have no reason or desire to make you my enemy."

"Perhaps…" He thought for a minute, running scenarios through his head. "Perhaps bring out the real Moody, subjected to some head injury and memory loss, to cover your man's removal? I do not know how much the wards of the castle impart to Dumbledore. I do not know how good your man is at imitating the real Moody and if Dumbledore is suspicious. He is something of a narcissist. He might not be able to objectively recognize any differences. I would offer to help, but I do not think my presence there would go unremarked. As it is, I had not planned to arrive at the castle until approximately five to ten minutes before the event is to start."

"Thereby giving Dumbledore little time to meddle," Riddle stated. "And you may call me Tom."

Morgan smiled. "And you may call me Morgan, of course."

"With the first task going on, I see no reason why the real Moody couldn't have an accident to cover the removal of my follower. It will be dragons, by the way. You will need to retrieve a golden egg from a nest of eggs the one you face is guarding."

He pursed his lips. Care of Magical Creatures had not been his thing, but he could certainly read up on them starting shortly. He could already think of several ways to distract a dragon while he retrieved the golden egg. "Does your man have the full schedule of events?"

Tom nodded.

"It would be preferable to know ahead of time, so I know exactly how much I can avoid."

Tom called for Pippet and asked for the schedule, which was shortly delivered and handed over to Morgan.

"So, all right. Weighing of the Wands, on the thirteenth. I see no reason to go to that. It wasn't listed as required in the rules, only traditional. First Task on the twenty-fourth, starting at 1.30. Yule Ball on the twenty-fifth of December, which I will again be skipping. Another tradition I see no reason to bow to. Second Task on the twenty-fourth of February, at—is this real? We are to retrieve a hostage from the Black Lake, in February?

"What exactly is the audience supposed to do, divine the outcome by the pattern of ripples on the water's surface? Twenty-seventh of May, a hint regarding the third task, which I will skip, and the Third Task on the twenty-fourth of June, which is a maze full of various creatures and traps, all to see who gets to the trophy at the center first."

"Which would have been a trap in and of itself," Tom said, "a portkey to bring the 'enemy' to the re-embodiment ritual. No reason for that now, not if we can find an enemy much earlier, or use Moody himself, as I most certainly consider the man my enemy."

"Enamored of Dumbledore, is he?"

Tom nodded. "And quite rabid in attempting to kill my followers, or imprison them, which is almost as bad and might be worse."

"What were you fighting for?"

"Freedom. Better education. Less bigotry. The usual things any newcomer to magical Britain might want. Though I also wanted less pandering and lip service to muggle ways. The difference was, I was intelligent enough, charismatic enough, and magically powerful enough to gain followers who agreed with my cause. I was not like the others who ranted and raved and caved to how it is or walked away. I suppose that made me quite a threat."

"And Dumbledore, with his already suspect past and personality disorder, created his own organization to oppose you and maintain the status quo, all while appearing to be goodness and light and oh so welcoming of those poor children stuck with the muggles?"

"Something like that, yes. I did not always go about things the right way, I realize that, but the odds seemed almost insurmountable. Rather than make me despair that nothing would ever change, it made me more intent to force one. And I suspect the creation of a Horcrux did something to my head."

"I shall have to read more on them, assuming I can find anything worth reading. I do wonder, though, if the bone chosen is not optimal…"

Tom grimaced. "Then I would need to do the ritual again, after killing the resulting body. I think we should err on the side of caution, of a form of sympathetic magic, and use a bone from my father's grave. My follower at Hogwarts can provide the flesh—for I could, once re-embodied, provide him with a new hand—and the enemy can be Moody. Dumbledore himself would make the most sense, but I'll not have anything of that man."

"If you want to use Moody, perhaps we should talk about how and when," he said. "Your agent could easily enough be removed during the distraction of the first task, but then plans would need to be made for getting Moody later. When the ritual is done is another matter. Is any day good? Is some symbolism involved?"

"Originally the plan was to hold it the same night as the Third Task, so no, there was no symbolism. The Winter Solstice could be used, but that is on the twenty-second, which means Moody would have to disappear early…"

Morgan shook his head. "At first glance, yes, but really no. If your man were to bring the real Moody here long enough, blood could be taken and him returned with no one the wiser."

"He would have to be awake so that the, ah, donation was unwilling," Tom said.

"So we thoroughly bind him, take some blood, and after the ritual is complete, we obliviate the event and have your man return him. The only reason to maintain the disguise beyond that point is so that I would have someone there when I am, keeping an eye out for problems. It would mean your poor agent is stuck there dealing with Dumbledore and the incompetent staff, not to mention teaching Defense."

"I am agreeable. I shall have to have him slip away long enough to be updated. I am unable to properly feel out the details of the wards here, though I can tell they are strong. I must assume he will not be able to just walk in," Tom said with an inquiring look.

"He won't," he confirmed. "I will have to alter the wards after you are re-embodied, for that would need a drop of blood from you each. Right now he would need permission, and to not be under the effects of polyjuice. Nagini could lead him to a safe spot for me to give that permission. Perhaps the eighteenth? That's the last weekend prior to the First Task and we're almost to that point."

"I will send Pippet with a missive. The later the better, I imagine, as it would be easier for my follower to slip away and not be seen as himself."

"Were you going to tell me his name?" Morgan asked.

"Barty Crouch Jr."

"Son of that officious man at the name drawing?"

Tom nodded. "Not a nice man, very inflexible, very old school, and very interested in maintaining or elevating his own power. Barty loathed him for how little the man even bothered to realized he had a son. He did love his mother, but she is now dead. I am the closest thing to family he has at this point."

Morgan smiled softly. Perhaps he was being an absolute idiot taking all this on faith, but something just insistently told him it would be all right. He did not for a moment think he was a Seer or anything like that, but that did not mean people were unable to get "feelings" about things.

"Then we can bring him in late that night, so he can return at any time, and be updated as to who I am."

"It's a plan."

Nagini brought Barty to the agreed upon meeting spot and Morgan could see some similarities in the man's face with the Crouch he had seen at the drawing. Barty clearly took after his mother in some respects, however, as he was less sharp angles and a bit more rounded in his facial features.

"Mr Chiswell."

"Yes, but you can call me Morgan. I am giving you permission to pass through these wards, so let us head on in where Riddle will update you." «Thank you for your help, Nagini,» he added.

«Of course, speaker.»

Barty seemed to be both pleased and shocked by him speaking Parseltongue, but dutifully enough followed. Inside the house he said, "Nagini will lead you to him. If I am needed for something I'm sure he'll send his elf or Nagini." He then wandered off to the kitchen to progress in his quest to learn how to cook.

Morgan arrived at Hogwarts approximately ten minutes prior to the start of the event and made his way to where the event was being held. He could see already that Dumbledore was most put out with not having been able to get into contact with him, that Morgan had not sent an owl, or both.

"Ah, there you are, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, having spotted him. "The tent is just this way."

"Thank you," he murmured.

Inside were the three champions, each of them looking a bit sick. Clearly they had learned through various means about the dragons they would be facing. Silvery was sitting on a low wooden stool in the corner and was rather more pale than the last time he had seen her. Broody looked surly. Cedric was pacing back and forth.

Bagman came in and was obnoxiously cheerful, wearing a set of quidditch robes, which did nothing to disguise just how portly he was. "Well, now we're all here—time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag—" He held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them. "—from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different—er—varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else, too … ah, yes … your task is to collect the golden egg!"

They all sat or stood or paced as they waited for the audience to assemble and be seated, for surely there were stands for them. Cedric paced a bit more violently and his complexion had gone green. Silvery and Broody didn't so much as twitch at the news.

For someone not the least bit concerned about participating it seemed to take an age before all the spectators were in place, with hundreds of pairs of feet passing by, talking excitedly, laughing, and joking.

Bagman finally acted, opening the purple silk sack, and said, "Ladies first," before offering it to Silvery. She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon—a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. She seemed to be struck with determined resignation, which only showed that someone had clued her in.

The same held true for Broody, who pulled out a scarlet Chinese Fireball with the number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground. Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came a blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck.

Finally it was Morgan's turn, the unexpected and unwilling participant. He reached into the bag and removed a Hungarian Horntail, with the number four. It stretched its wings and bared its minuscule fangs as he eyed it. It would figure he would get the worst of the lot.

"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now … Harry … could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Once again, you do not have permission to speak with such familiarity," he said. "And no, you may not have a quick word."

Bagman looked quite put out by that, almost pouting, then left the tent.

As he was going over his notes on how to handle the task he heard a whistle blow, then a call for Mr Diggory to face his dragon. Cedric turned even greener, then quit the tent. It was hard to hear Bagman's commentary over the screaming, yelling, and gasping coming from the audience. Approximately fifteen minutes passed before he heard Bagman shout, "Very good indeed! And now the marks from the judges! …One down, three to go! Miss Delacour, if you please!"

Delacour, now trembling, clutched her wand firmly and exited the tent. Morgan had to assume that Cedric would have been transferred to a makeshift medical facility so that any injuries could be healed. Ten minutes later applause signaled her (presumed) success, then a call for marks. Shortly thereafter Bagman was calling for Mr Krum, and Broody headed out.

'At least now I know their names,' he thought, then put his notes away. Krum did not take all that long to get his egg, and it wasn't long before he heard another whistle and a call for Mr Potter. Morgan set out to the arena and entered, eyeing up the simply massive Hungarian Horntail awaiting him. She was crouched low over her clutch of eggs and her spiked tail was lashing about in agitation, leaving long gouge marks in the ground.

He shrugged and pulled a few rocks to him, then quickly inscribed runes on and charged them. They were sent out to surround the dragon, small enough and non-food-like enough to escape her attention. A few sharp words later and a ward sprang up, followed by a spell to cause a sleeping gas to permeate the space within.

He could have just summoned a potion to do the same, but the spell was fine, just a type of conjuration. Once the dragon started drooping he sent another spell, that one to shield the eggs in case the Horntail collapsed on top of them, but she shifted to the side and instead curled up next to them, tongues of flame shooting from her nostrils.

Morgan used a Bubble Head charm on himself, then calmly walked in to retrieve the egg, retreated back outside the ward, and removed the charm. Another spell cleared the interior, and the makeshift rune stones were summoned to him, breaking the ward.

He of course refused to be shuffled off to the medical tent, nor did he pay attention to the scores he received. Morgan instead left the arena and returned to the original tent, where the other champions had already returned to.

"Well done, all of you!" said Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking quite pleased. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of the twenty-fourth of February—but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open—see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg, because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!"

Morgan was the first out of the tent and quickly disillusioned himself, then hastened off, out the main gate, and apparated to Diagon Alley. He headed to his flat, still invisible, then apparated from there to his house.

"How did it go?" Tom asked.

"Well enough," he said, showing off the egg. "I do wonder exactly who they'll choose as my hostage, though. It is not as if I plan to go to that ball and show some sort of partiality to anyone. It is not as if I know anyone, and taking a student is just asking to be called a pedophile, never mind that I would never be near one long enough to ask."

Tom shrugged. "Another reason to keep Barty there for now, I suppose. He should be able to bring us news of their choice, so you know whom to rescue."

"Well, I don't see the point in even opening this thing," he said, setting it aside. "All I need to know is the general location of where the hostages will be. I can spend my time reading more, worrying about how my Sponsored is handling things, and deciding how to handle the Second Task."

"I'm afraid I have no idea how one would manage cross-world communications," Tom said. "I don't think anyone actually believes there is more than one world, though there has been talk every now and then about the possibility of them."

"I could try a Patronus, but somehow I don't think that would work. Hm. Perhaps my two-way mirror? I don't think that would work, either, but I suppose it's worth a try."

Tom looked intrigued by the idea.

Morgan fetched it from his secret stash and pushed magic into it while saying, "Hanashite." Nothing happened for some time, but he had to allow for distance, a barrier between worlds, and time for his Tom to realize his mirror was being contacted. And then it awoke, his Sponsored's startled and worried face framed within.

"Morgan! What happened!? Where are you!?"

"Something truly odd, Tom. I seem to be in a different world entirely, and I apologize for taking so long to remember we had the mirror set. I'm just glad it worked. I was dragged here due to the idiots in charge deciding to resume the Triwizard Tournament, and myself being someone mistaken for one of the champions."

"If it is anyone's fault it is mine," Tom—Riddle—said, which caused his Tom to look confused.

Morgan got up and sat next to the local Tom so his could see the both of them.

Tom's eyes went a bit wide. "What on Earth…?"

"I apologize for stealing your friend," Riddle said. "I am your counterpart, it seems, though our worlds are quite different."

"No Sponsorship system, for one," he said. "And I would be seventy-three here, as it is 1995. The Ministry is just as corrupt, however."

"I'm at a bit of a loss here," Tom said. "And I expect there is no way for you to return, is there."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "It is doubtful. I cannot imagine someone on your side managing to get the tournament started and for my name to come out in order to pull me back."

"Considering that I think they destroyed the thing, I expect not." Tom looked very unhappy. "I will manage, Morgan. I won't be happy about it, but I will manage. The people here are decent—you know that—especially after the help we were able to give. You gave me the most precious gifts that could be given, and I don't plan to waste them." Tom's gaze switched to Riddle. "You're the older one now. Make sure you take care of Morgan."

"I give you my word," Riddle said.

"Check in with me every so often, Morgan," Tom said.

"I will, now that I know it's possible. Live well, Tom. I love you."

"I love you, too, Morgan."

The mirror deactivated and Morgan sighed before putting it back in his stash. "At least I know he's all right."

"It is a bit … odd … seeing a version of myself, so young, so…"

"I'm going to bet that 'innocent' is not quite the right word," he said wryly.

Tom hummed. "After everything you two had to live through? No. What sort of love? If it was romantic, I would not have expected you to show any memories of that kind."

"Hm? No. Platonic. Beautiful as he is, I always felt I had to watch out for him, keep him safe. I wanted to do my best to make sure he could stand on his own. Which is good, considering what has happened. He has a mastery, he could get more, and I made sure he had his own stash, plus what he's earned. So long as he stays out of Britain it should be all right."

Barty showed up with the trunk containing the real Moody late on the twenty-second of December, ready to do the re-embodiment ritual. It involved multiple rune circles, a very large cauldron, and a specialized potion. Pippet had just come back with the required bone, so that was ready, too.

The homunculus form of Tom Riddle (no wonder he had not wanted Morgan to see it, as it was quite startling) was placed into the potion in the cauldron, the bone added (with Barty chanting), and then Barty cut off his right hand and let that enter (still chanting). The real Moody was thoroughly bound, awake, and doing his damnedest to escape, not that it served to prevent Barty from taking a vial of the man's blood to use as the final ingredient, and finished up the chant.

Perhaps he should start learning about ritual magic?

Shortly thereafter a stark naked Tom Riddle emerged from the cauldron, at which point Morgan provided a robe for the man to wear until they could get back to the house. While Tom was fixing Barty's missing hand (which he assumed would not be a problem with the polyjuice he needed to keep taking, else a different follower would have been used), Morgan was carefully removing all memory of the ritual from Moody's mind and replacing it with a weird dream involving an army of cabbages and potatoes fighting off attempts to make them into bubble and squeak.

Barty took his polyjuice potion, stuffed Moody back into the trunk, and hauled it away to resume his role as Defense Professor, and Morgan helped with cleaning up the ritual site before returning to the house with Tom.

Tom, for his part, immediately went to his suite to indulge in a common pleasure (a shower) and then joined Morgan for a meal. Tom looked right around Morgan's age, so at least it wasn't too weird. He would have felt very strange indeed if Tom Riddle had been in his seventies. The only real oddity was that Tom's eyes were wine red rather than dark.

"I haven't had food in over a decade," Tom said once he sat back replete. "That was marvelous."

"I am happy you enjoyed it," he said. "I have been trying to learn how to cook properly. It was usually a house-elf doing so in the past, but as I consider it a basic life skill, it was high time I started."

Tom nodded, though he did not look in any particular rush to learn as well.

"And really, I don't have much to do with my time right now. I suppose I could learn ritual magic, though I understand that's considered Dark Arts here and therefore illegal. Not like that ever stopped me in the past."

"I have a fair collection of books on the subject," Tom said. "I would have to retrieve them, but you're welcome to read and learn from them."

"That would be kind of you, thank you." Morgan was pleased by the idea of not having to go looking for any. "You'll have to see about a proper wardrobe, of course. Do you think anyone will recognize you after so many years?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "I have an item that will make it hard for people to see my face properly. They'll just dismiss my looks. I will be able to shop without anyone suddenly wondering how Tom Riddle is back and looking far younger than he has any right to be."

"Good to hear. I should look into enchanting, as well," he said. "I can't say I like this country much, but at least in this world I don't have to flee it looking for some form of sanity. Might as well do something useful with my time."

"You could always help me by removing the defective people from the Wizengamot and replacing them with sensible ones," Tom said innocently.

Morgan squinted at nothing for a moment, considering the idea. "I've never killed anyone before, you know. I doubt it would have done much good in the other Britain. Maybe kidnapping, using a ritual to bind their magic, wiping their memories, and dumping them on the muggles?"

"That works, too, I suppose. Though I would have to add in permanent human transfiguration so they would not be recognized. You have a mastery in Warding. Does that mean you know how to break them?"

Morgan nodded. "Part of the mastery, and it helps you to devise better warding schemes. I assume this is to do with actually acquiring the defective ones from their warded homes rather than kidnapping them out of public places?"

"Something like that."

"Though if we were creative with portkeys, we could fake them disapparating from Diagon Alley and straight into a ward of mine that would knock them out."

Tom looked intrigued again. "Or the Imperius Curse, used to get them to quietly show up at such a place where they'd be knocked out."

"I assume you know it, then, because I don't. I mean, I know the incantations for the Unforgivables, but I've never attempted to cast any of them. I'm not sure I could work up the level of emotion necessary to cast one successfully."

"We'll leave that as an Option C," Tom said. "A banishing charm showing up on one's wand is nothing to get fussed over, assuming one were silly enough to be caught in the first place."

Morgan idly folded a spare piece of paper into frog and said, "I would hope a Slytherin would be too cunning for that. And a Ravenclaw too intelligent. The combination thereof, well…"

"It is certainly something to think about."