Thank you for reading! I don't own any of Harry Potter! Please let me know if you enjoy! Updates every Saturday!
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As the Second World War raged on, buildings burned while lives turned to ash.
The glassy-eyed dead stared blankly at an unforgiving, grey sky.
Amongst the whistle of bullets, the scourge of falling missiles, and the ever-growing flames that easily consumed entire towns during nights of destruction, a young, British private named Tom Riddle gradually gained recognition.
Tom Riddle exemplified every ideal deemed necessary by soldiers of his era.
Tom Riddle was handsome.
Tom Riddle was dedicated.
Tom Riddle had no qualms about killing.
Actually, he rather enjoyed it.
Roped into military service by a muggle's mistake three months after graduating from Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had begun his war career as a young, dark wizard looking to make a name for himself.
Tom had no interest in serving others.
He had planned his escape perfectly, yet during his first real moment in combat, instead of his troop members, enemy soldiers had become his actual victims after they had incited his rage.
The congratulatory cheers he had been met with once his enemies fell confused him.
……….Amused him.
……..Made him smile and laugh.
As his fellow soldiers lifted him up into the air like a newly crowned king, Tom Riddle abandoned his thoughts of leaving the war.
With his heart entrenched in darkness, he had discovered an outlet for his macabre talents.
On the blood-stained battlefield, Tom Riddle had finally found his home.
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In a surprisingly untouched part of Surrey, the Dursley family struggled to maintain their weekly ration book.
Every night, an argument ensued as Petunia and Vernon Dursley squabbled with their adult son, Dudley, over who needed the house's only candle most.
Petunia's orphaned niece, Harriet Potter, who had been raised by the Dursleys in the cruelest ways possible, was left in the dark each evening.
The electricity in the small house had been eliminated a month prior with no hope of repair anytime soon.
Days blended together at the Dursleys' damask townhouse.
"Harriet!"
"Harriet!"
"HARRIET!"
"Coming, Aunt Petunia!" A muffled voice came from upstairs.
Steps sounded from the staircase outside the kitchen door as a scowling, middle-aged woman with a thin face and thinner, curly hair impatiently crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
The kitchen door swung open as a beautiful, young girl stepped inside and fearfully faced her angry aunt with her green eyes wide behind her glasses.
"Where on earth have you been?!" Petunia, the middle-aged woman, snapped, "I've been waiting and waiting on you, Harriet! I knew when we took you in you'd be nothing but trouble! There's so little of my sister in you and so terribly much of your father! You lazy, lazy, stupid thing! Do you think you can just loaf around our house until you come of age to use your father's money?!"
Harriet swallowed thickly as she stared at her cruel aunt.
After eighteen long years of enduring emotional and verbal abuse, Harriet had learned how to keep her temper when her family berated her.
Regardless, her heart still pounded in her chest as she nodded and spoke politely, "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I was only gone for ten minutes to change the bed linens as you asked."
Petunia's thin face twisted into a horrible scowl of disgust before she hissed in response, "How DARE you speak to me in that tone! Go and wash the windows this instant! THIS INSTANT!"
Harriet said nothing, she only grit her teeth in repressed rage and trudged away to begin her next assigned task.
Petunia grumbled to herself in the kitchen as Harriet slammed the front door while she walked out into the driveway.
After Harriet collected a bucket, a brush, some clean water and soap, she stood with her supplies and scowled up at the wretched, stony house that had served as her prison for the entirety of her short lifetime.
She glanced around carefully to make certain no one would see.
Once she realized she stood alone on the desolate street, Harriet made her onerous task easier for herself.
She furrowed her brow and squinted her beautiful, emerald eyes to slits as she scowled at the bucket and brush.
Slowly, the brush lifted itself into the air, dipped its bristles in the soapy water, and floated to the nearest window where it began to scrub the glass.
Harriet worked as quickly as she could while she utilized the inexplicable gift her aunt and uncle had chastised her for since the early days of her childhood.
Trapped in a muggle household, Harriet Potter had no idea she was indeed a very talented magical person.
In fact, Harriet Potter had little knowledge of the world beyond the Dursleys' driveway.
All Harriet knew was that she yearned to escape her aunt and uncle more than-
The sound of exploding bombs in the distance forced her to turn her head in the direction of the noise.
Strands of her dark hair escaped her bun and rustled with the hem of her skirt in the ominous breeze which blew past.
Harriet frowned as she wondered how many lives had just been lost in that brief burst of sinister booms.
She sighed as she turned back to direct the brush once more.
Harriet absolutely despised the feeling of total powerlessness the war had brought.
Was it not enough to live under the Dursleys' brutal regime?
Harriet knew there would be no escape from her abusive family until the fighting ended at least.
The global conflict had spread to each country, ending lives, ruining joy, and stealing hope.
The war had crushed dreams.
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Tom Riddle was one of few people who benefitted from the bloodshed.
After several months of fighting, his reputation had begun to proceed him wherever he went.
Tom had survived against near impossible odds too many times not to have become a legend among his countrymen and their enemies.
By wiping out an entire Nazi base camp with only a single pistol and ten bullets, Tom Riddle had impressed his superiors.
One incredible feat after another saw him rising through the ranks at an alarming speed for a boy of eighteen.
Tom seemed immune to influenza and trench foot.
The screams of the dying failed to disrupt his sleep as he rested with a contented smile on his handsome face each night in spite of the carnage all around him.
Eventually, Tom was promoted to the rank of Second Lieutenant, years ahead of regular schedule due to the extraordinary victories he had managed to accomplish.
He was placed in charge of thirty men under his immediate direction.
Shortly afterwards, Tom and his troop were ordered to make their way into London from the devastated outskirts of Edinshire, a small village that had been nearly bombed out of existence.
The assault on the quaint town was merciless and long.
The fighting waged for hours as Tom and his men fired bullet after bullet.
One Nazi fell, then too.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
Outnumbered four to one, by either some stroke of luck or their leader's sheer prowess, it baffled Tom's men, but they all managed to survive.
Together, in a limping phalanx, they hobbled behind their commander with sore feet and bodies trembling from exhaustion.
Tom stepped assuredly with his secret weapon, his wand, conveniently hidden inside his glove under his middle finger.
Cautiously, the group moved towards the eerie calm promised by the smoking field that led to the forest beyond.
Twilight drifted over the receding flames of surrounding fires left by the bombardment.
Tom glanced over his shoulder at his men.
A twig crunched under a boot behind him and he instinctively turned his head back in the direction of the sound, a natural predator largely at home in the wreckage that drove most mortal men mad.
Tom stopped abruptly as his men braced themselves and raised their rifles.
There in front of them, a single enemy soldier stood with the barrel of his gun expertly aimed at Tom's heart.
"Not another step!" The man shouted in German, "I cannot let you escape……I'll shoot! I'll shoot! Reinforcements are on the way!"
"What's he saying?" One of Tom's men whispered to another.
"I don't know." The answer came, "But he's threatening us…..You know he's threatening us."
Tom smirked as he took a confident step forward.
The enemy soldier's eyes widened as he gasped, "STOP!...STOP!"
With his gun pointed at Tom's chest, the Nazi watched his foe's blatant arrogance in stupefied awe.
His eyes widened as he pulled the trigger.
Tom's men gasped, fearing their leader's demise, but silently cast Legilimency allowed Tom to raise the hand that held his wand and snarl, "Protego!"
Tom's men gasped again as the bullet deflected off of his chest and clattered to the ground.
The Nazi had never seen anything quite like a wizard using a Protection Charm.
Fearing his enemy was some sort of supernatural being, the Nazi soldier discharged his weapon over and over.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
When his barrel inevitably emptied and Tom remained unharmed, the Nazi soldier reached an unsteady hand inside his coat pocket for another round of bullets.
His soul had already died.
The Nazi was certain his body would follow momentarily.
His blue eyes widened as Tom lifted his hand again.
Behind him, his men watched with their mouths agape as the Nazi shouted in German, "W-What are you?!"
Tom growled his curse in such a hateful hiss that his men mistook the incantation for a jumbling of insulting words, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
With his back to his soldiers, the burst of green magic that exploded from the tip of Tom's wand stayed concealed as he cast the Killing Curse and sent the Nazi soaring to meet the ground.
By the time he hit the wet, muddy earth, the life had already evaporated from his body.
Tom glanced over his shoulder and gave his men a curt nod.
Wordlessly, they exchanged glances of horrified wonder as they followed their leader past the dead man and continued along their path.
Tom Riddle was more than a simple hero, he was a symbol of hope.
In the carnage of World War II, Tom had become a king.
There were many alphas in Tom's troop, but none quite as dominant as their leader.
Every British soldier wanted to face the battlefield led by the young officer who could shield himself from bullets and strike enemies down with a single wave of his hand.
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During yet another lonely night with fighting planes soaring overhead in the sky above, Harriet frowned as she stared up at the small ceiling in the cupboard under the stairs.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes as she wished the war would end so she could leave her captivity.
Legally an adult by law after her eighteenth birthday had passed the previous summer, Harriet longed for a life beyond acting as her family's mistreated servant.
Harriet Potter wanted to make choices for herself.
She wanted a safe home and……..happiness, a chance at real happiness.
Harriet did not allow herself the silly luxury of daydreaming in the similar grandeur of most omegas.
She did not dare spoil herself by thinking she would one day find a loving mate, an alpha whom she could share her life with, wake beside of after nights spent sleeping in his strong arms………
No.
Harriet contented her heart with smaller aspirations.
As she slept, she imagined she may be able to keep a tidy, quaint house someday, a white cottage next to the sea with peaceful mornings and pleasant evenings.
Harriet imagined the ocean was beautiful, though she didn't know if that was true or not since she had never seen the coast before.
Harriet Potter hadn't seen much at all except the Dursleys' gloomy house nestled in Little Whinging, the town which Tom Riddle and his men would have to pass through to make their way into London……..