Where Steel and Water Collide
Prologue
[Diana]
Sunday, 19 May 1946
It was midday, but the cold street was nearly deserted and dark as ever. The shadowy alcoves of Nocturn Alley hid my cloaked form from view as I trekked toward my destination. My hands shook with anticipation, but that was to be expected. I was on my first solo assignment for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement– the task was formidable at best. I was asked to stake out a popular curio shop in the neighborhood, known for its mysterious, often cursed, artifacts. The Head Auror, a man named Silas Hedge, had finally decided to put trust in my abilities. I faced quite a bit of pushback once I managed to secure a position within the department, but I was proud of the work I had accomplished since Hedge had taken a chance on me. So far, I had helped take down an embezzlement ring at Gringott's, and a smuggling operation that was selling stolen dragons to unfit collectors. Now, I had to unravel the reason why dark, unidentifiable figures had been frequenting Borgin & Burkes.
The residents of Nocturn Alley's few homes and apartments were generally fairly secretive, but, apparently, they were concerned for their own safety. That being said, I didn't have much information to go by, and I was only meant to watch the shop for suspicious activity. The trouble would be discerning the difference between normal and abnormal suspicious activity for the shop—like I mentioned, it already had a reputation for attracting a particular clientele.
I quickly identified a good spot from which I could spy. The shop faced an alleyway rather than another building, so I scaled a convenient fire escape as silently as I could. The rickety metal was attached to a building that seemed abandoned, as far as I could tell, which would hopefully work in my favor. Once settled, I prepared myself to wait for as long as necessary.
Luckily, I did not have to wait long. An hour after I secured my position, a man approached the shop. I'd only seen one figure in the shop so far, presumably one of the owners, and once this new man was inside, they seemed to greet each other with familiarity. I shouldn't have been surprised to recognize Tom Riddle when he turned to face the wide shop window. Infuriating, cruel, and ever-so-handsome Tom Riddle. Our strange relationship should have ended when we left Hogwarts, but somehow, we always ran into each other at the most inconvenient times. I could still feel the burn of his eyes trailing down the silhouette of my favorite evening gown the last time we saw each other—some Ministry party, about two weeks prior. Not twenty minutes later, his hands would make the same journey within the confines of a dark broom closet, but I shook the heady memory away and tried to focus on the task at hand. I felt a spike of fear when I realized that he could be involved in my new case. It seemed unlikely, though. Yes, Tom was unnaturally attuned to the Dark Arts and he carried a rather intimidating aura, but I couldn't imagine him wishing genuine harm on anyone.
Besides, the few details we had been given about this group included an overheard conversation about militant blood purism, and it would be strange for Tom to throw in his lot with a group that wanted to erase his kind. Only a handful of people, myself included, knew he was a half-blood, but that information wasn't incredibly difficult to figure out. He was abandoned at a muggle orphanage, after all, instead of being placed with a magical family.
Regardless, his interest in magical heirlooms and the mechanics of dark curses should not condemn him. I knew he was working with the Department of Mysteries, trying to make sense of the Muggle field of genetics and how it relates to the distribution of magical abilities. He had received a grant from the Ministry, and it was amazing considering their general distaste for Muggle methods, but if Tom could figure out connection between blood and magic then maybe the eugenicists who called for the execution of Muggleborn and half-blood magical folk would be silenced. That's to say, if Tom could prove that magical abilities were activated by a recessive gene found in every human's genetic code, then one could assume that all human beings were capable of being born with magic regardless of family history. All his words, not mine, but interesting all the same.
An hour or so later, patrons started to approach the shop. Mostly harmless, from what I could tell, until a rather large, cloaked figure started a scene over what looked like a very old, expensive necklace. Three large sapphires were held together by delicate silver lattice work, and it was the kind of necklace that would require a subdued dress and good posture for it to shine. He and Tom were the only ones in the shop, and Tom appeared calm and controlled. He was almost always calm and controlled. If I had blinked, I would have missed the sparks that flew from the tip of the man's wand and hit Tom squarely in the jaw, leaving behind a deep gash that was clearly meant to kill if it had met its intended mark. All of my school-sanctioned duels with Tom led me to believe that this was a fight he could win, but seconds later he had disappeared from sight and his adversary had apparated elsewhere.
At risk of breaking my cover, I scurried down the metal ladder and sprinted across the street. Bursting through the old door, I scrambled through the dim shop to where I'd seen Tom last. He was prone on the floor, blood pouring from a long, jagged cut down the length of his arm. I sunk to my knees next to him and started to mend the injury. His head lolled so that he could identify whoever was trying to save his life; I doubt he expected to find me, but his typical smirk somehow made its way onto his smug face.
"Hello, Diana," his voice was just as rich and inviting as usual, and I couldn't fathom how he managed to speak through the trauma, but Tom Riddle was capable of many mysteries. "A pleasure, as always."
"Tom Riddle, if you don't shut up and focus on staying alive, I will hex you."
"My dear, you know very well that even in this state you'd be hard-pressed to hit me with a harmless jinx, let alone a hex." His uninjured arm reached forward and landed a playful pinch on my fleshy hip. I scowled.
"Tom, this is serious," I had made a hasty tourniquet out of cloth torn from my cloak, and I was working on stabilizing the cut before I could apparate him to St. Mungo's.
"I know, Diana," His tone was suddenly solemn, and I glanced towards his face to see his eyelids drooping. Damn.
"Fuck, Tom, I need you to stay awake." My words fell on deaf ears as he had passed out. He was normally pale, but not this pale, and when I used two fingers to find his weak pulse where his neck met his shoulder, the skin was cold and clammy.
"Merlin damn it all, Tom, you couldn't listen to me just this once…" I trailed off and finished my shoddy, magically applied stitches before repositioning myself near his head. I struggled to pull his torso onto my lap, but managed, and felt the familiar tug of apparition as I thought of the safe, clean halls of St. Mungo's and my brother, Malcolm, a healer who I knew could fix my… my… Tom.
a/n: Hi! So, I've decided to try again with this story. I really liked the way it was before, and many things have stayed the same, but I'm older now and I want the story to reflect how I've matured as a writer. For instance, I rarely used to include prologues, but, as you can see, that's changed. Anyway, if you're new: Welcome. If you're returning: Welcome back! I hope you enjoy this story just as much as you did before.
-B