x
When Harry awoke, he was in a lot of pain – not Cruciatus level of pain, not even debilitating level, but enough that he barely felt it when his nails cut into his palms. He woke up in the same place, geographically, as he went to sleep, but the grass covered rubble was a far cry from the comfortable home he and Tom had had here. It brought tears into his eyes.
Lost. Gone. Destroyed.
He cursed himself for being emotional like a girl and lifted himself off the ground. Freshly twenty, with a valid (if a bit outdated) Apparition Licence in his pocket, he left the site and reappeared in the smallest bedroom at Nr 4 Private Drive.
The occasional bird outside chirped a lonely song, but it wasn't yet too long since the dawn. Harry took one look around himself and knew exactly what the date was – 1st of August 1996. None of his things were moved an inch, and the milk in the glass on the table he had poured himself four years ago was still good.
He gathered what of his possessions he wished to keep, and Apparated to the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron. He tapped the correct sequence and waited for the portal to open. His first stop was a news-stand, where he checked out the covers of the periodicals.
Since he didn't want anyone to notice how much he had changed until he was ready for the fallout, he leafed through a Witch Weekly magazine, found his most recent photo and based his glamour on that. Then he concluded that he should probably make himself look a bit thinner, after all that time with the Dursleys, and that he might as well add darker circles under his eyes and make his skin a little grey. The weeks leading up to his second trip through time-stream had been fairly shitty, and he wasn't feeling too hot right now, but even that hadn't messed him up as much as a month at the Dursleys would.
There. He looked a fright.
Sirius had become but a cherished memory some fifty-five years ago, but here the people who knew him expected him to grieve in a Gryffindorly fashion, so that was what he would give them. Faking depression was a cake, and it would be easier on everyone if he just avoided suspicion until he found a way to go and collect his husband.
With his looks taken care of and emergency strategy of confrontation decided on, Harry could continue his expedition.
His second stop was Gringotts – the start of his problems.
"You are not Harry James Potter," the teller told him directly, but handed the key back. "This is your key, but not your name. State your real name or leave!"
It was nice of the goblin not to cause a huge scene, even if the security he had called looked very menacing with their battle axes sharp and gleaming. There was a brief debate, during which Harry requested that the matter be dealt with in private, since it was confidential. As he was one of the richer clients, the concession was made for him and the teller led him to a nearby conference room. The seats were very low, but Harry had been taught by his fellow Slytherins that he looked exactly as out of place as he felt, and therefore managed to make himself fit even into this goblin-sized room simply by leaning back and making himself comfortable.
"May we have your explanation, then? That key has not been stolen, but you are not listed as its owner, whoever you are."
"That is easy enough," Harry replied, not even trying to act like a sixteen-year-old Gryffindor, for it would help him achieve nothing. "I used to be Harry James Potter, but I am married. My name is now Harry James Riddle."
The goblin's colour changed – Harry guessed it was approximately the same reaction as when a human paled. Nevertheless, he wasn't bothered. There were strict magic-enforced confidentiality laws all over Gringotts. What he disclosed would not get out of the room.
"Is that… as in… Tom Riddle?"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle is my husband," Harry admitted. Soon, hopefully in less than a month, the whole world would know. If they all reacted like this creature in front of him, he might just laugh himself to death. "I do have a copy of the document on myself…"
The goblin reached out, and Harry passed the parchment to him. His eyes bugged out as he saw the date.
"Ah… that explains that… If I may ask, Mr Riddle, where do you stand in the current conflict?"
Harry was momentarily stunned by the address. No one except Tom called him Mr Riddle. It sounded foreign to him… but, nonetheless, true.
"I intend to defuse the Death Eaters as they exist now before the start of the next school-year. However, I will then oppose Dumbledore and eventually attempt to reform the Ministry, as we meant to do from the start."
The goblin gave him a toothy grin. "Ah, a music for my old ears – war! I do not have the authority to promise you anything, Mr Riddle, but I shall inform my superiors and propose an alliance. At the very least, your gold and your secrets are always safe here." He paused, pressed in a panel of the wall, and turned to the door. "I have called someone to take you to your vault. Before you go, however, I need you to sign these."
He pushed two rolls of parchment at Harry, who read through them at his leisure, disregarding that there were at least two busy goblins waiting on him. The first document was his statement about the name change, which he filled in and returned. The other was the receipt of his inheritance of the collective Black assets.
Harry signed.
An hour later, Harry James Riddle, one of the two richest people in Great Britain, went shopping. During the year he had lived with Tom, he had become accustomed to a certain level of comfort, which neither the Dursleys nor Dumbledore could provide. It was in the small things – the cut of his clothes, the type of his boots, access to potions, ingredients, weapons and books…
When the Potter, Black and Slytherin estates were merged together, with a not insignificant boost from the liquefied previously muggle Riddle estate, the two Mr Riddles as the joint owners of all that wealth became the most influential patrons of Gringotts. The world at large didn't know about it yet, but the goblins were likely to eat from Harry's palm.
Eventually satisfied with his purchases and having selected a suitable property, one that had previously belonged to the Blacks, Harry left Diagon and Knockturn Alleys behind.
x
The morning of August the 2nd, Harry was roused by insistent knocking on the window. He let Hedwig in, almost absently dispelling the knot of Tracing and Tracking spells on her, confident that the ancient Black blood wards had stopped the signal from transmitting. He would not be found by anybody he didn't want to find him.
"How have you been, girl?" he asked, chuckling when the owl rolled her eyes at him. Sure, it had been less than two days for her. He untied the letter from her leg, for once escaping her claws and beak unscathed, and opened it.
Dear Harry, read Hermione's neat script, I hope that you are alright, wherever you are. Please, come back! We understand that you wanted away from the Dursleys as soon as you were legally able to leave, but we are worried. Will you come and stay with us at You Know Where? Please!
Harry smiled, tracing the lines. Hermione was sixteen – almost seventeen – and the letter mirrored her personality perfectly. It would have been a pity if she got mixed up in the war and died, fighting some Gryffindor battle…
Harry resolved to do what he could to protect the people who had been kind to him – Hermione, the Weasleys, Lupin and Tonks… He needed to warn them.
We have all got our O.W.L. results, but the Headmaster is keeping yours with him and won't let us see! I suppose it's right of him but – you know me – I'm so curious! If you need anyone to pick you up, just let us know where you are. Use a code so we know it's really you ad not a trap.
Hermione
PS: Dumbledore said there was some unusual reading from the wards around Number 4. He asked me to ask you if you have any idea what it was, but I got the strange feeling that he knows something he's not telling us.
Gosh, just come back!
When asked so nicely, what could Harry do but obey?
He materialised in the Black Library, by chance behind the back of one Hermione Granger, who was currently absorbed in a book and looking not a day older than when he had last seen her.
She jumped and opened her mouth to scream, but Harry struck her with a well-timed 'Silencio'. When she recognised him and closed her mouth, he cancelled the spell, barely having time to catch her when she threw herself at him.
"Oh Harry! We've been so worried! Why did you disappear like that? Where did you go? Were you safe? You mustn't do magic, you'll be expel-"
She was struck mute when Harry hit her with another Silencer.
"I've done nothing against the law, Hermione," he said calmly.
She scowled at him, but took his word, he suspected mostly because she could not argue anyway.
"I've been relatively safe, but a lot of stuff-" he grimaced at the word, "-has happened. First and foremost: gather Ron and any of his siblings that are here, Tonks and Lupin. Don't tell anyone else about me, especially not Dumbledore. Don't ask me anything until we're all gathered here. Okay?"
She seemed to be angry at him, but she did acquiesce, and Harry hugged her briefly to placate her before he sent her out, dispelling the second Silencer and hoping that she wouldn't break his trust.
Hermione returned ten minutes later, dragging Ron, followed by Ginny, Bill and Tonks. Consulting the wards, Harry ascertained that Hermione hadn't spoken with anyone else. Nevertheless, to prevent unpleasant surprises, Harry ordered the house to hermetically seal the library.
"Hello," he spoke, cutting off Ron's muffled rant. He lifted his eyebrow at the wands Bill and Tonks reflexively aimed at him.
Ginny squealed and attempted to hug him to death (she must have inherited that urge from her mother). It reminded Harry harshly of just why he preferred the company of Slytherins. Still, he was supposed to care for these people. He guessed he did.
"About time you showed up," Bill commented. "You drove a few of us up the wall with that disappearing act you pulled."
"Told you he was just feeling rebellious – weren't you, Harry?" Tonks grinned.
"I would've gone with you, mate," Ron grumbled. "It's a loony bin here."
"I came to warn you," Harry said in his 'adult' voice, devoid of emotion but heavy with implications.
Bill and Tonks were the only ones who recognised the danger, and Harry with faint regret realised that the following conversation would be conducted over the kids' heads.
"Why us?" Bill asked with unnatural calm that one attained only after years of training and repeated near-death experiences.
Harry met the eldest Weasley brother's eyes. "I'm going out on a limb here and assuming I can trust you."
Hermione, Ron and Ginny began to protest loudly, but the three adults ignored them.
"Okay, Harry," Tonks said warily, "What's going on?"
Harry closed his eyes and mentally addressed a plea to Salazar. "Dumbledore's going down," he said forcefully, leaving no doubts about his support for the movement. "Distance yourself from him. If you're asked to go to battle, refuse."
Bill and Tonks looked at each other, both frowning, worried, uncertain. They both knew Harry, if only briefly, and he had given them reasons to believe his words, but they knew Dumbledore better and had been taught to trust him since their infancy.
"Is that a joke, mate?"
"I don't get what you mean-"
"Harry, Professor Dumbledore is your Headmaster-"
"Look," Harry cut off the protests, "you can't change it, no matter what you do. I'd rather not bury any of my friends."
Bill, Tonks and, surprisingly, Ginny were giving him the grimmest trio of looks he ever remembered facing. Hermione was staring at him, trying to work out just what kind of trick he was pulling. Ron's expression was, for once, inscrutable. He might have been out of it just as well as he might have been contemplating the consequences of the white queen playing for the black.
"Warn anyone you trust, but do not say it was I who told you to stay away." Harry slunk between the frozen wizards and witches. The door opened for him without his intervention, and he decided he liked it. Grimmauld Place apparently accepted him as its new owner.
"Harry! Wait!" Hermione called after him, but he continued downstairs, without looking back or pausing. He didn't feel like answering another barrage of questions. These people were a part of his past and he honoured their friendship, but he by no means was he under an obligation to go to great lengths to maintain it. He was a married man and his primary loyalty was to his husband.
Speaking of which, Dumbledore would recognise him immediately. The old man was one of the few with enough information, drive and cunning to piece the facts together. The Dark could not afford to have him disclosing crucial secrets to just anyone…
Harry came to a halt under the arch between the hall and the corridor leading to the kitchen. Since the staircase was connected to that corridor rather than to the hall itself, no matter which room in the house one wanted to reach, they would have to cross this spot.
Harry put the tip of his wand to the wall and concentrated. He didn't often resort to Dark spells, but they had their uses, and to set a trap for Dumbledore he needed something really high-level. This was what he and Tom had cast on the gateway to the ballroom Tom used as his throne chamber.
"Dark Arts! Dark Arts back in the House of Black!" the portrait of Sirius's deranged mother whom Harry knew much better than he had ever intended to, yelled gleefully from between the open mouldy curtains.
Harry finished the spell and tied it to Dumbledore specifically. Then he turned around, aimed his wand straight at the portrait and drawled: "Walburga, sweetcheeks, trust me, I have a way to keep your mouth shut for you. Permanently."
The group from the library had finally caught up to him and gathered at the foot of the stairs, right in front of Harry, blocking out his view of the picture.
"Kid," Bill muttered, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder to the silent painting, "you can't just drop a bombshell like that on us and disappear-"
"What the fuck is going on?" Tonks hissed. Her hair was a vivid mix of yellow and orange colours, and her eyes literally flashed red.
Harry glowered at Tonks and Bill in turns. "If I belong to a group that wants Dumbledore away, do you really think I'd tell you anything? What I've given you so far already constitutes a betrayal!"
"I get that you mean well, kid," Bill said, "but I won't stop fighting You Know Who on your say so."
"Don't get stupidly killed," Harry retorted.
"Right back at you."
Realising that they wouldn't get anything else from him, Tonks and Bill left – Harry suspected that Bill had gone to pass the warning onto the rest of his family, Tonks to find and inform Lupin.
Ron, Hermione and Ginny demanded his attention still, but it was easier to disregard them and continue the conversation with Walburga's imprint. He had yet to decide whether he would destroy it or somehow make it remain silent.
"You are… you're the Harry Potter…" Walburga gasped. Ironically enough, this time the emphasised 'the' didn't mean the Boy Who Lived, even though it sounded exactly the same.
"The very one," Harry replied tonelessly, meeting the woman's eyes.
She knelt in her canvas and spread her hands in submission. "Forgive me, my Lord. I have sworn loyalty."
"Loyalty? Lord?" Hermione looked from Walburga to Harry. "Lord Black? You're the new Lord Black?"
Harry glared at Walburga's portrait so hard it was a wonder the painting didn't ignite. She nodded, unnoticed by anyone but Harry, to show her understanding.
"I am," Harry admitted. "Sirius left me almost everything. Couple of things went to Remus, I suspect."
"Still, it's odd," Ginny remarked, worrying her lip. "I mean, she never listened to Sirius while he was Lord Black…"
Walburga couldn't keep the giggle in, earning herself another glare from Harry, which made her go pale.
"M-my son…" she said in a trembling voice, "n-never had the n-necessary qualities…"
"Whatever," Harry shrugged it off. "I'll have to get going. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."
"But, Harry!"
He was just considering how to best pass through the obstacle of Ron, Hermione and Ginny without harming either of them, when the wards warned him of an approaching undesirable presence. Harry quickly walked away from the trio, deeper into the house (finding himself on the receiving end of three very befuddled looks) and stopped in front of the kitchen. He could Apparate, since he was keyed into the wards as the owner of the house, but he first wanted to make sure that Dumbledore was bound by the specific confidentiality ward he had set up.
The old coot rang the bell.
Walburga opened her mouth to screech, but wisely shut it again and pressed herself as close to the frame as she possibly could.
Hermione went to open the door, while the rest of the current occupants of the house – Hestia Jones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge and a staggering Dung Fletcher – met at the bottom of the stairs in their haste to open the door and shut up the wailing that somehow wasn't starting. Walburga took them by surprise when she kept smirking at them and examining her nails instead of ranting and raving.
"Good morning! Good morning!" Dumbledore's jolly voice resounded, drowning out the mumbled conversations of the crowd. Hermione tried to speak (Harry sincerely hoped it wasn't about the rigged archway) but everybody ignored her, so she huffed, folded her arms, leant against the antique cabinet and watched the Pandemonium with a glacial expression that reminded Harry of Druella Rosier.
"Harry?"
Tearing himself from the quartet of the Order members, Dumbledore purposely strode towards Harry, who gazed at him expectantly. Just a moment now, just two more steps… don't let him notice… one step…
"Mr Potter…"
A flash of light signified the activation of the ward and Dumbledore froze, staring upwards at the arch. Slowly, Harry moved forth, aware of the weight of nine pairs of eyes on him.
"What have you done, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked in an empty voice, just barely clinging to the façade of a benevolent Grandfather.
"Outsmarted you," Harry replied unrepentantly, fortifying his Occlumentic shields against the Legilimentic attack Dumbledore had launched at his mind as soon as their eyes met. "Salazar! I can't believe I finally caught you!"
Harry laughed. Tom was going to be so proud… and jealous that he didn't get to see the old coot's expression.
Dumbledore reached for his wand.
Harry was faster on the draw. "You are forgetting, Mr Dumbledore; you are in my house and you are no longer my teacher, or my Headmaster."
"Harry?"
Not looking away from Dumbledore for a second, Harry answered: "No, Hermione, I'm not returning to Hogwarts."
The Headmaster took advantage of Harry's split attention and raised his wand. The house itself raised a shimmering light blue protective barrier between Harry and the guests.
"That's why you could do magic!" Hermione exclaimed. "You quit school… Harry, you can't!"
"I am not returning to Hogwarts," Harry repeated and quickly turned away from her and to Dumbledore, because he noticed the tell-tale twinkle in the old man's eyes.
"Ever?" the wizard asked. It was a feeble attempt on extracting an oath. A third-year Slytherin probably could have done better.
"Not as a student," Harry specified and resolved to ignore Dumbledore, because he honestly wasn't sure if he would not forget himself and agree to something he didn't want.
"So that was why you helped-"
Dumbledore's brows furrowed in frustration. The ward had stopped him from completing his query, but Harry understood what he wanted to say: that was why he had helped Hagrid.
"He's my friend," Harry responded simply and left it at that.
"And he is what?" Dumbledore demanded. This time the 'he' meant Tom, or Voldemort, as the case might have been.
Harry didn't feel the least bit inclined to share his feelings on the matter with anyone but Tom himself. "You'll see. Farewell, my friends."
With that final statement, Harry Disapparated.
x
In the evening of the next day Harry decided that he had procrastinated long enough and it was time for him to nab some Death Eater and get to Voldemort. Knowing Tom, the creature he had turned into had created more Horcruxes, and Harry would have to pull them together if he was to have a chance on making his husband passably human. For that, he would need a powerful Neutral focus.
Once again he Apparated into the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron. At a glance, he outdid Lucius Malfoy in the sartorial department – picture-perfectly traditional, like any proper pureblood wizard should strive to be. It was not even hypocritical of him; he knew nothing of fashion and deferred completely to Tom and several of their most trusted associates when it came to choice of clothing for himself, only stipulated that he required freedom of motion. Today he wore the outfit similar to what he used to dress in for meetings of the Dark Order in the past: black trousers and a doublet, with the collar and cuffs of a dark green tunic underneath visible, leather boots and a leather tie keeping about half of his hair mock-tamed at his nape. To avoid displaying his weapons to the nosy by-passers, he donned a simple black cape and a Cooling Charm.
Feeling like himself for once, despite his glamour making him look sixteen, Harry walked into Ollivander's.
"How may I help you-" Ollivander fell silent and examined Harry closely. "Oh my. I don't suppose you are here for a new wand, Mr Potter."
"The old one is satisfactory," Harry replied, wondering just how much the creepy man knew.
"I hope so… how may I help you, then?"
It was gratifying to see the same wizard who so enjoyed making his customers nervous virtually quivering with jitters. He apparently wanted Harry out of his shop as soon as possible, but either hoped to keep the business or was too scared to throw him out.
"I seek a Neutral focus for a non-harmful soul-magic ritual," Harry said. "I think either holly or yew twig ought to do the trick. Might you have some raw materials you would be willing to sell?"
"I have both holly and yew, but you would probably prefer ash, unless you are dealing with resurrection-"
"No!" Harry denied forcefully. "No resurrection. A perfectly legal, non-harmful bit of soul-magic. I can understand if you can't think of anything matching that description, but this hasn't actually been done before." He shut up before he said more than he wanted to, and let Ollivander think for a while.
"Yes, I think ash would be best. Give me a minute and I will bring you a branch."
Five minutes later Harry made his purchase, and Ollivander heaved a sigh of relief as the front door closed behind his customer.
Harry thought he must have looked like a loony druid, walking down Diagon Alley with four feet of raw ash stick in his hand. It still had small twigs on it and certainly didn't make for the most impressive sight. Despite the lack of awe it inspired, Harry intended to carry it with him through the Leaky Cauldron as it was; he didn't dare Shrink it for fear that any spells cast on it would alter its magical properties.
The bar was full but Tom the innkeeper noticed him immediately. His eyes widened almost comically, and he frenetically waved Harry toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Harry's attention was thus effectively captured, so he walked over there, sat on the third stair, enjoyed a bit of a shadow and waited.
The innkeeper joined him a while later, grinning from ear to ear and cheerfully jingling a circle of keys.
"Ah, Mr Potter!" he greeted, keeping his voice down. "Do come up."
"Hello, Tom," Harry replied, masking his surprise at the immediate recognition and, dare he say it, friendliness. Either Tom had Aurors waiting in some warded corner, or there were Death Eaters ready to pay a pretty sum for information directly leading to the capture of the Boy Who Lived.
The innkeeper offered a shallow bow, just pro forma, and gestured to the torch-lit upstairs. "There's a gentleman in Number Eleven who's been waiting for you for a few days. Would it be alright if I took you there?"
Harry was confident that he could stand his ground against anyone except Dumbledore and Voldemort personally, neither of whom was likely to rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron and wait for Harry to spontaneously turn up, so he consented. "Can I just grab a butterbeer first?"
"I'll get you one," Tom said resolutely.
Harry watched the toothless man vanish in the kitchen and shook his head. It was quite incredible how much that cheeky eleven-year-old so excited about getting his Hogwarts letter had aged.
He walked on alone, knowing the way to room Eleven quite well. He pulled out his wand and knocked on the door.
"Wait a moment!" a gruff voice insisted.
Said moment took half a minute, and it so happened that the door opened at the same time as Tom walked up to Harry.
As opposed to when Harry had stayed in the room, it was now boarded up and dark. Candles on the desk lit a sphere around the table, including the face of the man who was sitting in the chair and watching Harry with unabashed curiosity. Time had changed him too, but he was still recognisable.
Now, Harry's question was: did the innkeeper know more than would be expected, or was this an attempt to sell the Boy Who Lived out to the Death Eaters?
"Tom?" Harry questioned softly, compulsively fingering the handle of his wand.
"My memory serves me well, Mr Potter," the man replied with another sincere grin, "an' although neither my Lady Mother not myself ever pledged allegiance, you do have our support. May we see Mr Riddle again as he once was."
Harry was stumped. Tom had been just a little kid. How could he have remembered?
"I thought you were…"
"Dumbledore's?" the innkeeper attempted to lift one eyebrow, but ended up just scrunching his face.
Harry guessed it was a domain of the Slytherins and, although he wasn't sure, he thought Tom Dodderidge had been a Hufflepuff.
"Hardly," Tom said, waving his hand. "It's an easy misconception, sure. I am a Light wizard. I'm not the only one, either. Amos Diggory comes to have a shot o' rum every Friday after work. We talk of ol' times – of his father's friends, ee gee."
Indeed, Harry remembered Elijah Diggory well. He also remembered Cedric well, and cursed fate, himself and all the impossible circumstances that lead to that stupid, vain, wasteful death.
"Thank you," he said, returning to the present in his mind. "I hope your faith in me won't be disappointed."
Tom pressed the bottle of butterbeer into Harry's hand, asking no money, and walked away without a word.
Harry and the occupant of the room remained alone.
"You know who I am," Harry said, forgoing the name in case someone was listening behind the thin plank walls.
"As if I could ever forget," the Death Eater replied with a smile. His eyes glistened.
Harry found himself smiling as well. "Do you have a portkey?"
They were undoubtedly going to a safe place, and such could not be reached by Apparition, and if they used the Floo Network, their names and destination would have been marked on the log.
"Straight to the Nott Manor," the man replied. "Theodore is no longer alive, but his son and his son's son do his legacy proud."
Harry tried to recall Theodore Nott the Third. He was a quiet, intelligent boy with good marks, no friends and a tendency to avoid unnecessary conflicts. He did not seem to have inherited much from his grandfather, although, admittedly, he was a Slytherin, and Gryffindor Harry had not paid much attention to his classmates. He resolved to let young Theodore be a surprise.
A little of that hardheaded Gryffindor was still left in Harry, apparently, because he decided that it would be a good idea to trust the Death Eater that had once been one of his closest – his only – friends, and accept the Portkey. Not a week ago he had been on the verge of crying over all that he feared losing in his time-skip, and here was a chance to regain some of that. Harry had never been disinclined to taking risks, especially if the potential reward was so tempting.
"Very well," he lied. "Let us go, then, somewhere we may speak freely. I trust Mr Dodderidge, but these walls are not earless."