Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Thanks everyone for your reviews! I'm very glad that you enjoyed last chapter, and that it didn't confuse you so much, it was very hard and tricky to write, lol! ^^
To just clear up matters, we are still going to see much of Harry's life in the past as Tom Riddle's twin. That is Part I of the fic.
As you can see Part II refers to his future, to his life as Antares Malfoy. I wanted the first chapter of Part II to come after Ancleto's explanation of time-travelling so that we could see how it happened in practice and so that we understood what happened on the very first chapter of this fic.
We won't be seeing any other explanations regarding time-travelling after this. We have what Anacleto explained, the theory of it, and we have how it was conducted in practice, through Narcissa's experiences and what she figured out.
Regarding the first chapter of this fic, it was October 31, 1981, when the Potters were killed and when baby Harry was made to time-travel, with Dumbledore and Hagrid abruptly recognizing him as Harry Riddle in those few seconds. As Anacleto explained, on the day of origin, the secondary timeline merges with the original timeline, that's why Dumbledore and Hagrid recognized baby Harry as Harry Riddle because of the scar mostly, and then the time-travelling happened and people's minds were altered to only remember their lives in the secondary timeline.
A few hours after that, Antares was conceived and Narcissa started wearing the locket with Harry's soul, leaking bits of it into the life she carried, and thus the 'anchor' Anacleto spoke about was fixed and continued existing. Thus, the secondary timeline remained and the original one –canon– disappeared.
Narcissa figured out one of the things Anacleto spoke about, that the secondary timeline had to be made to be similar to the original timeline in the years and months before the point of origin, so that the intersection could happen.
That is why 'Lord Slytherin' conducted the same raids as Lord Voldemort, as if he was merely going through the motions, and that's why he had to kill Harry's parents. It is also why Abraxas and Grindelwald had been using portals to visit the original timeline. Grindelwald, the 'Grey Wizard', in order to visit Lord Voldemort and ensure the man would kill the Potters and would be killed by baby Harry in return, unwittingly making him a horcrux and so on. Abraxas so that he could visit Lucius and give him his pensieve with his memories of Harry Riddle and much more, with a grimoire with the ritual Lucius had to use on his family and those close to the Malfoys, to ensure that they would all survive the transition/merging on the day of origin, the transition from original timeline to secondary timeline.
Lord Slytherin might have also used a portal to visit the original timeline, though if he did, we won't know what he had been doing in those instances until much later.
We can also infer that Grindelwald used the ritual on himself as well, since he also existed in the original timeline, imprisoned in Nurmengard. Abraxas had no need of that since in the original timeline he had died long ago from dragon pox. Lord Slytherin must have used the ritual on himself as well, since even though his counterpart in the original timeline, Lord Voldemort, was killed by baby Harry, Voldemort's 'master' soul wasn't killed because Voldemort had horcruxes. Thus Tom had to use the ritual to solve the problem and ensure that he, Lord Slytherin, would be the one who survived the intersection of the timelines that day.
Obviously, Lord Slytherin – Marvolo Slytherin- is what Tom Riddle will become – the Tom Riddle we have been seeing in Part I of the fic.
Narcissa's Old Past was canon, the original timeline, and her New Past is the secondary timeline Harry produced with his mere presence in the past.
Since the transfer of his soul was done successfully and his soul will be further rooted after Santi told Narcissa how to do it, all that remains is the New Past. After the day of origin, Lord Slytherin already started making all the changes in the wizarding world he had been waiting so long to do.
The soul in the locket was that of Harry Riddle, since as we now know he was purposely killed in the past. We don't need to worry about this at present, what happened will be explained much further ahead in the fic, by the time that Part I ends.
Regarding Dumbledore, given the letter he wrote to Narcissa, including a portkey, and given what Snape did during Antares' birth, we can correctly assume that Dumbledore managed to keep his two sets of memories and knows exactly what's going on and what Lord Slytherin's and Grindelwald's plans are, to some extent.
Regarding Snape, Sirius, Regulus, and Remus and Pettigrew if they still exist, as well as those light families that fled with Dumbledore, the Weasleys and Longbottoms foremost, we'll find out about them much, much later in Part II.
I don't know if I will be putting other Part II chapters interspersed here and there as the fic continues with Part I. If I do, it will only be briefly since from now on we will continue with Harry Riddle's life in the past.
So on we go - Cheers!
Part I: Chapter 10
"Harry – Harry! Why are you gaping like a dim-witted idiot? What's the matter with you?"
Eleven-year-old Harry blinked, feeling a bit dazed, still hearing the end of Alice's lullaby ringing in his ears, intoned in a soft, cultured voice he had never heard before, and his eyes still prickling with the afterimage he had seen seconds ago; the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, with a halo of pretty blonde hair and clear blue eyes, looking like an ethereal angel.
Harry blinked again, wondering if the fumes from the Apothecary they had visited previously to get potion ingredients had made him have a hallucination of some sort.
Finally, he shook his head, clearing it from the strange residues, and stared at his brother. Tom was darkly scowling at him, looking vastly annoyed, with a hideous creature perched on his shoulder.
"What?" Harry croaked out, as he rubbed his forehead. Then he gazed at his surroundings, finally remembering that they were in the Magical Menagerie.
Even after having spent nearly three hours in Diagon Alley, he still felt he was in some bizarre version of fairytale-land.
That day, early in the morning as he had planned with Tom, Harry had faked a terrible stomachache. Moaning and making his eyes go all teary and with a heart-wrenchingly pathetic expression on his face, he had convinced Alice that he had been too indisposed to go to the seaside trip. After Tom had play-acted his part as the concerned brother, promising Alice to take care of him, a worried and hesitant Alice had finally agreed to leave them behind, under the care of Magda – one of the two young girls who had replaced Mr. Jenkins.
It had been unsurprisingly easy to sneak out of the orphanage. The moment Tom had spied that Magda had been entertaining herself in the kitchen, covertly reading a magazine about the lifestyle of the rich and their scandals, Harry had jumped out of his sickbed, already dressed under the covers.
In a few minutes both of them were already taking a double-decker bus into central London. With the leather pouches and the letters Mr. Dumbledore had given them, and after ascertaining that the address of the alley that led to the 'Leaky Cauldron' pub was in the meatpacking district, they had finally arrived at the site after taking a second bus trip.
That had been when things had started to turn strange, or 'magical', as was the case.
There had been butcher shops and warehouses, and workers unloading crates and mobilizing the carcasses of skewered cows and pigs. And yet, none of the people coming and going had seemed to even see the strange sign hanging from one of the shops; that of a figure in black, with a pointy hat, with a ladle in hand, stirring the contents of some huge pot – which was called a 'cauldron', Harry would later learn.
So Tom and Harry had stared at the sign in bemusement, and then Harry had excitedly grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him inside.
Their first encounter with the 'Magical World' hadn't been at all what they had expected.
Certainly, neither of them had expected that the place would be dusty, nearly outright dirty and gloomy, with half of the people looking dodgy and dangerous, as if they would just as soon kill you as look at you, and the other half looking posh and snobby, in their own bizarre way.
There were women, old and young, wearing the strangest hats with desiccated vultures and the likes, with fur coats which still had the animal's head, with the eyes moving and their tails wagging, or with wide-hipped dresses that looked from another century, or with a motley arrangement of clothes which didn't match in pattern, style or date.
The men were just as bad, with tunic-like dresses which Harry would later learn were called robes -and which he himself was expected to wear, according to the list in his letter- or wearing doublets and tights, with pointy hats, turbans, or felt top hats.
And all of them waving their sticks at the littlest things, making fantastical but also trivial things happen, like moving a chair, lift a cup, light a candle, and the sort.
It wasn't at all what Harry had expected –none of it was like the worlds depicted in Alice's fairytales– but he had loved it, all the more because it was indeed crude and coarse.
However, he had taken one look at his brother and had seen Tom gazing at his surroundings with his lips curled in disgust and contempt. Tom had expected perfection, Harry knew, and the gritty reality of it must have been a harsh disappointment.
Nevertheless, they had found Tom the bartender, as Mr. Dumbledore had told them, and soon they had been shown the way into Diagon Alley. Both Harry and Tom had stared with excited amazement when the man had tapped the wall with his stick and had made the bricks fold themselves to the sides, opening a passageway into a winding, cobblestoned street.
Diagon Alley had been bustling with activity, and Harry had gawked and gaped at the shops, attempting to not even blink so that he wouldn't miss anything.
The stores stood at impossible odd angles, some looking as if ready to teeter over, displaying their wonderful merchandise with colorful banners, floating and swirling advertisements and animated signs, showing things Harry had never seen before, like telescopes, whizzing silver instruments of unknown function, barrels of strange innards like bat spleens and eels' eyes, piles of spell books, crates of potion bottles, astronomical maps and charts and globes of planets, rolls of parchments, and the like.
He had even seen a shop called Terrortours, advertising that they offered 'action holidays for the wizard with a sense of adventure!', giving discounts for a Transylvanian castle for rent with 'a blood-thirsty vampire for a host!', a trip down the Zombie Trail where you came 'face to face with the living dead!', and a cruise to the Bermuda Triangle, with 'your safe return not guaranteed!'.
Harry's eyes had gone as wide as moons in giddy excitement, and he had quickly opened his leather pouch and counted the golden coins within, hoping that the so-called 'galleons' would amount to enough, to just see if he could perhaps embark on some of those adventures.
He had been crushed when he had seen he didn't have nearly enough, but his spirits had risen again after he had kept meandering along Diagon Alley, absorbing everything with his eyes.
Tom hadn't seemed too impressed by any of it and had soon cut short Harry's fun. Ever the practical one, Tom had analyzed the list of items they had to buy according to their letters and had pulled Harry along with him in a round of shopping for the only things that were basic and necessary.
First, they had gone to a junk shop, buying two second-hand trunks, and Tom had so effectively and thoroughly charmed the shopkeeper that the old woman had given them a fifty-percent discount, had waved her stick at the trunks making them look brand new and had even done something to make them weightless. Then they had gone to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, where they had bought parchments, quills, and ink bottles.
In Monsieur Ermenegilde Aurélien Jean-Baptiste Célestin's Haute Robes, they had bought one set of first-rate black robes and pants for each of them. Tom had insisted that they had to have at least one set of good-quality clothes.
"No one needs to know we're as poor as church mice. The impression you make with your appearance is everything," Tom had hissed out sharply when Harry had been complaining about the expenditure. Really, spending bunches of gold coins in posh clothes was not Harry's idea of 'buying the basics'.
Thankfully, Tom had agreed to buy the rest of their clothing, such as shirts and other items that wouldn't be seen under their robes, in the second-hand clothes shop.
In Flourish & Blotts they had nearly spent two hours perusing the bizarre books that sighed or screamed when opened, or wiggled and moved around, or even abruptly popped out eyes, sprung fangs or sprouted tentacles.
Harry had practically needed to drag Tom away from the bookstore in the end. Though moments before, when they had finally simply bought the required textbooks mentioned in their letters, Harry had wanted to make a concession after seeing Tom's resentful and embittered expression when counting the galleons they had left, his brother's dark blue eyes still lingering with want and longing on the rows of shelves.
"Perhaps," had whispered Harry, turning his gaze this way and that to make sure he wasn't being overheard, "we could do our little play-acting. You know, what we do when Alice takes us out to commercial London."
One of Tom's eyebrows had quirked upwards and he had piercingly stared at Harry, gauging the seriousness of his offer. Indeed, as the years passed and they got older, Harry had become more and more reluctant to keep nicking stuff from stores; not because he thought it was wrong since he no longer felt it was that bad, but rather because he thought that the older they got, the higher the chances it would stop working and someone would catch them red-handed.
Tom had seemed to gravely consider the matter, but at last had shaken his head. "It's too risky in this case. We don't know what kind of... magical-" he had said, hesitating in employing that word which still felt foreign and otherworldly to them "- security measures they have." He had then pulled himself to his full height, still a head taller than Harry, to Harry's misfortune, and had whispered with self-satisfaction, "After we know more about this world, we'll start doing it."
Harry had been a bit alarmed at that. He had intended his offer to be a one-time thing. But before he could protest, Tom had dragged him to their next stop.
They had gone to the cauldron shop and then to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, since apparently they required slimy innards, herbs, powders, fangs, eyeballs, feathers, and claws, for a class simply called 'Potions'.
And finally they were in a very crowded pet store, amidst cages with enormous purple toads, gigantic tortoises with jewel-encrusted shells, poisonous orange snails, rabbits that changed into top hats and back, cats of every size and color, noisy ravens and colorful and exotic birds – Harry had even seen a peacock strutting about– custard-colored furballs, and even sleek, black rats which were apparently highly intelligent and could be taught how to dance a jig and play fetch.
Tom was by now skewering him with narrowed eyes, his scowl having turned into a frown; not a worried one but rather irritated and impatient.
"I said that I'm taking him," snapped Tom shortly, gesturing at the thing on his shoulder. "I'll call him Lord Horkos. What do you think?"
Harry blinked, and then blurted out incredulously, "Lord what?"
"Horkos," repeated Tom with short-tempered annoyance. "He was a powerful wizard in the Middle Ages, apparently. I read that in a book in Flourish and-"
"Right," interrupted Harry as he shook his head. Then he warily peered at the creature. "But what is it?"
"An owl, obviously," gritted out Tom testily.
"That's not an owl," opined Harry with utter conviction, as he pointed a finger at the creature, though careful that his digit wasn't in biting range. Its red eyes were even now piercing him with a vicious glint in them, as if the thing was about to spring forward to take a chunk of him. "It looks more like a ruddy vulture to me. A very nasty one, at that."
"That's why I'm taking him," remarked Tom smugly, and with that, he spun around and strutted towards the counter.
Harry remained standing in place for a moment and then lurched forwards, trailing after Tom as he complained with a whine, "But then what pet do I buy?"
"You can only get a cat or a toad now, since I already got an owl," stated Tom over his shoulder, without bothering to look back at him. "Just choose a stupid kitten and be done with it."
"I don't want a bloody kitten," snapped Harry, irked beyond measure. Then he huffed and added in a sensible tone of voice, "Besides, snakes and kittens don't get along. Remember when Nagini ate the neighbor's cat? And she'll eat a toad as well-"
Tom swirled around to pierce him with his eyes, and interjected sharply, "What does Nagini have to do with it?" In the next second, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You are not taking Nagini to school."
Harry abruptly halted in his tracks and gaped at him. "What-? Of course I'm taking her!"
"It says we can only bring a cat, an owl, or a toad," hissed out Tom, plucking out his letter to wave it in front of Harry's nose. "It doesn't say 'please bring dangerous, mortally lethal snakes into our school filled with little children', does it?"
"Nagini isn't dangerous-" started Harry, feeling quite indignant in her behalf.
"You little idiot," snapped Tom as he stood to tower over Harry. "She's not dangerous to us, but she is to the rest of people-"
"Since when do you care about other people?" gritted out Harry through clenched teeth, as he glared up at his brother. "And since when are you a stickler for rules-"
"I care when it means that I could get expelled," retorted Tom, his tone of voice turning poignant as he looked down at Harry as if he was beholding a brainless slug writhing under the sole of his shoe. "And I'm not getting expelled from magic school before knowing if it's worth my while or not."
With his jaw tightening, Harry stared at him. Then he crossed his arms over his small chest and finally huffed out, "Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell her that we're leaving her behind. She'll bite me if I tell her, you know she will."
Tom let out a scoff of snide and contempt, and then said in a taunting and derisive tone of voice, "Is little, bitty Harry scawed of the tiny, bitty snakey?"
Harry's hot temper flared, but then he simply glared daggers at him and piped in a mocking tone of voice of his own, "If you are sooo brave, you tell her. You're her maaaster after all, aren't you?"
Tom hesitated for a moment; Harry was quick to catch that – Ha! He had always known that he couldn't be the only one who was wary of Nagini's temper.
"Fine. I will," bit out Tom at last, to then swirl around and finally reach the store's counter.
The shopkeeper of the Magical Menagerie, a doddering old man who seemed quite batty and partly deaf, looked mightily happy that Tom was taking the 'vulture' off his hands. The old man even threw in a few owl-biscuits for free after selling a cage to Tom, and then tried to unsuccessfully persuade him to buy a tonic for foul-tempered owls.
Furthermore, the man looked very cheerful at the galleons Tom handed over in payment for 'Lord Horkos' – the nasty thing was even overpriced, at that. Harry still didn't see the sense in spending so much just to have an intimidating and threatening-looking bird.
And while the old shopkeeper went on to explain how to take care of the owl – apparently not much had to be done since the creature hunted for food himself and only required a very neat cage, it seemed the owl was very supercilious about cleanness, Tom and he would get along famously – his brother took the opportunity to whisper demandingly.
"Are you getting a pet or not?"
"No," grumbled Harry peevishly, as he leaned against the counter and gazed around the shop with disinterest, indeed finding nothing that caught his attention.
With supreme indifference of his own at Harry's dissatisfied pouting and pigheaded stubbornness, Tom went back to continue listening to the deaf old man who yelled rather than spoke.
They finally left the shop, dragging their stuffed but weightless trunks, with Tom looking extremely smug with his purchase and carrying the cage as if the creature within was the most precious thing in the world. Meanwhile, Lord Horkos was simply perched inside, ignoring everything and everyone around, having simply stuck his ugly head under one oversized, black wing.
The creature had already savagely gobbled down all the biscuits, and that seemed to drowsily satisfy him for the moment. Though given the bird's size and thus food-intake requirements, Harry didn't think Lord Horkos would remain peaceful for long.
But that was Tom's problem, Harry thought happily, and he would enjoy seeing how his brother would attempt to explain Lord Horkos to Alice, and especially to Kathy. Oh yes, Mrs. Cole would do some yelling that night.
Vastly cheered up, Harry grinned to himself and then plucked out his letter, mentally ticking off all the things they had already bought, and then mused out loud, "We only need to get our sticks, and we're done."
"They're called wands," corrected Tom sharply, turning around to darkly glare down at him. "Start using the proper terms. I don't want you going around talking like a muggle." His eyes narrowed to dark blue slits, as he added threateningly, "It would reflect badly on me and I will not have it."
"Of course, brother dearest," intoned Harry in deceptively dulcet tones, suppressing a roll of his eyes. Then he took another peek at the letter. "It suggests here that we go to Ollivander's. Do you see it?"
"Let's try that way," said Tom as he jerked his chin to the right, his hands already occupied with trunk and cage.
They soon reached the end of the street, without having met the wandshop –clearly they had gone in the wrong direction- but before Tom could turn around, Harry grabbed him by the arm as he pointed to the building before them.
It had crooked stone columns that made it look as if it was about to collapse. Indeed, all its angles seemed simply wrong and impossible, and it had an enormous set of doors which seemed to be made of solid gold, with words running along its frame – a warning of some sort. But that hadn't caught his attention, nor the scary-looking creatures that seemed to be guarding the entrance nor the lavish marble floors rimmed with gold that he could see through the parted doorway. What had, was its name; the letters etched in stone above the doors.
"Look, it says it's a bank – Gringotts' Bank," muttered Harry, without peeling his gaze away from it.
Tom shot a glance at the building and then said indifferently, "So?"
Harry snapped his head around to stare up at him. "Banks have a lot of information, right? And we know our dad must be a wizard, so we could-"
Dropping his trunk on the ground, Tom held up a hand and said shortly, "What – ask them if our father has an account with them?" He let out a scathing scoff, looking down at him as if he was a brain-damaged simpleton. "Banks don't give away that sort of information and we don't even know his full name-"
"We know his first name, yours. And his last name, ours. Whether he has a middle name and what it is wouldn't make much difference," interrupted Harry stubbornly, his teeth then clenching together as he glared up at him. "I know you hate him and don't care. But I want to find him, and if they know…"
At Tom's hardening expression, Harry quickly changed tacks. He trailed off and then peered up at him with huge eyes, quickly blinking twice to make them watery and teary, even letting out a sniffle before he said very softly, "Tom… do it for me, please. I just want to try."
Harry saw his brother wavering and he had to bite his tongue to suppress a triumphant grin. He simply remained gazing up at Tom with an utterly heart-wrenching expression on his face.
"Alright," finally snapped Tom briskly, shooting him a vexed scowl as he grabbed the handle of his trunk and maneuvered Lord Horkos' cage to his other hand. "Let's go, then."
Harry smirked to himself and then towed his own trunk, though he nearly halted when the thought struck him that banks didn't allow children inside; at least not London's banks.
Though the next moment he saw a gaggle of teens planting themselves before the two guards, they had something in their hands, it must have been small since Harry couldn't see what it was. But the guards were clearly inspecting whatever it was, and only then allowed the teens to go through.
Nevertheless, arming himself with valor, he finally reached the two scary-looking creatures. They were just as short as he was, but they were very stout and seemed vicious, with nearly bald heads with a few scraggly hairs here and there, long, crooked and pointy noses, small beady eyes, jagged and sharp teeth, and with the longest and most knotted hands he had ever seen, the fingernails several inches long. They were even wearing chest-armors of some sort; the metalwork was quite intricate and beautiful.
"Er, Mr. -?" said Harry hesitantly, addressing the first guard.
However, the creature didn't offer any name. He simply stared down at him over his nose, and demanded sharply, "Key."
"Key?" repeated Harry dumbly, blinking in befuddlement. "Key of what?"
"Of the vault," said the creature in a bored tone of voice. At Harry's expression of incomprehension, he added briskly, "Of your vault or your family's vault. No key, no entrance."
"Vault?" muttered Harry, to then shoot a look of puzzlement at Tom. But then he shook his head and tried again, addressing the guard, "No, you see, we're here regarding our father's accou-"
"Our father's vault," interjected Tom quickly, swiftly taking a step forward as he covertly dug his elbow into Harry's ribs.
Finally, Harry quickly caught up with the situation and let out a chuckle as he slapped a hand on his forehead. "Yes, our father's vault! Heh, you see, I mean – our father, he's Mr. Riddle, you know, and he said that we didn't need the key to his vault. That if we gave you his name you could perhaps let us in-"
"No key, no entrance," interrupted the guard sharply.
Harry cleared his throat, and bravely made another attempt. He peered at the creature in the same way he had done with Tom moments ago. After all, if it worked on his brother who was the hardest nut to crack, then maybe it would work with the creatures too.
However, in the next moment it became evident that he was failing. The creature looked even more short-tempered than before, his small beady eyes narrowing with alert suspicion.
At last, with impatience, Harry dropped his trunk and took a step forward, his face inches away from the creature's, as he said candidly, "Mr. Guard, please, we only want to go inside to talk to one of the tellers. You see, our father has gone missing and we're very concerned. And perhaps our dad has been here. Perhaps one of the tellers has seen him – or even you! And perhaps the bank has his new address…" He trailed off and peered at him through his eyelashes as he said in a small, sad tone of voice, "I think he has abandoned us, or perhaps he hit his head and doesn't remember us, but maybe he told the bank where he lives, and we only want to write to him. He's called Riddle. We only want to ask-"
"No Riddle has or has ever had a vault in Gringotts," cut in the guard shortly, to then briskly gesture with one of his knotted hands as if to drive him away as if he were a noisome pest.
"Wait - what?" blurted out Harry. "What do you mean? How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure," replied the creature testily, "because we goblins know the name of every wizard and creature that is our client."
'Goblins?', Harry inwardly wondered for a brief second. Then he shook his head and pressed on vehemently, "Then maybe in some other bank-"
"Gringotts is the only wizarding bank in Europe," stated the guard gruffly, skewering him with narrowed eyes, critically trailing his gaze up and down Harry's figure.
Harry was certain the creature wasn't much impressed with him. Both he and Tom had dressed up with their best clothes, but even that wouldn't amount to much. He knew they must look like street urchins, with their cheap cotton shirts that were yellowish rather than white, their grey caps like those of newspaper boys, with their knee-length socks and short pants, and their frayed vests of brown wool, and even their leather shoes were worn; Harry's left shoe had several stitches missing and the sole flapped with every step he took.
"In Europe?" repeated Harry, frowning. "So if he-"
"If your father is living in some other continent," interrupted the guard with irritated vexation, "he could have a vault in some other bank."
"Or maybe he's dead," interjected Tom coolly as he took a step to stand besides Harry, piercing the creature with his eyes. "Maybe that's why he no longer has a vault here and why you don't remember-"
"If he had been our client in the past, we would still remember his name," snapped the guard dourly, "and if he's dead, the key to his vault would have returned to us and we would have sent it to his next of kin by blood. Apparently, we would have sent it to you, if this Mr. Riddle is truly your father."
"But – I don't understand," muttered Harry under his breath, a deep, alarmed frown on his face. "What does it mean, then-?"
"Thank you for your help," cut in Tom, his tone very polite as he then grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him away.
"But Tom, hang on, I-"
"Enough," hissed out Tom under his breath, as he managed to forcefully drag Harry along with him to where they had left their trunks and the cage. He dropped Harry's wrist and spun around to pierce him with his gaze, looking incensed and enraged. "I'm not wasting a single second more in finding out about the man who left our mother to give birth to us and die in an orphanage, and who never looked back-"
"But we already talked about that," interjected Harry stubbornly, "maybe he didn't know she had us, maybe he didn't know she was pregnant-"
"Then it means that she fled away from him!" snapped Tom irately. "And he didn't bother looking for her, did he? Or it would have possibly led him to St. Jerome's and no Mr. Riddle has come calling, has there?"
Harry adamantly shook his head. "But it could have been that-"
"There're no 'buts'," bit out Tom, clenching his jaw. "He's dead to me and that's the end of it." He skewered him with narrowed eyes and added in a low hiss, "I won't ever help you with this again. I won't discuss it again either. For all purposes, count me out."
And with that, in the next second, Tom's expression turned into an impassive one as he grabbed the cage and the handle of his trunk. "Now, let's go get our wands – it's the only thing of true value we're getting today, as far as I'm concerned." He shot a side-glance at his snoozing owl, and added with a smirk, "Besides Lord Horkos, of course."
"Of course," repeated Harry mockingly with a roll of his eyes, as he trailed after his brother with trunk in tow.
However, as they kept looking for the wandshop, they remained quiet. It was evident that their little quarrel had left neither of them too happy with the other.
"Perhaps it's that way," piped in Harry, at last breaking the tense silence which had reigned between them, as he gestured towards a sign – it said 'Knockturn Alley', with the depiction of a finger pointing towards the entrance to a very dark and narrow street.
Tom nodded and Harry started to follow him inside, though as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly saw words forming under the sign: 'Darklings, speak Dark Arts and see our true wares.'
"Did you see that?" murmured Harry, wondering what it could mean. But Tom didn't hear him, his brother was already several feet further ahead and Harry quickened his pace to reach him.
Instantly, he realized that going there hadn't been such a good idea. The alley kept narrowing and feeling more oppressive and dangerous with every step they took; he saw dodgy characters whispering among themselves and watching them with a mean glint in their eyes, he even saw a couple of hunched old women with humungous, ugly warts, and small beady eyes that observed them as if plotting what use they could make of their parts, one of them even crooned and crooked her withered finger, beckoning him.
"Um… perhaps we shouldn't be here," whispered Harry uncertainly, as he continued to uneasily glance at their surroundings – he even thought he saw a pair of orange eyes staring at them from the shadows.
However, Tom didn't pay attention to him. The boy appeared to feel quite comfortable and self-assured in the ambiance of the alley, as well as intrigued by the window displays. Though there wasn't much to look at; nearly all the shops lacked signs and seemed to be dirty and dark inside, with few items being shown in their displays.
Harry halted by Tom's side, who had stopped before a gloomy-looking store, albeit one that at least had a sign, which simply read 'Borgin & Burkes'.
Harry peered at the window display, only seeing what appeared to be the head of a mummy, given that it was a skull wrapped in bandages, and a frayed cushion on which laid a sharp dagger with dark red stains along the edges – what he surmised had to be dried blood.
"It doesn't have much," grumbled Tom with dissatisfaction. "None of these stores do."
Harry frowned, and then a thought struck him. "Perhaps that's what the words on the street sign meant."
Tom shot him a questioning glance and Harry started to elucidate, "A message appeared when…" Then he huffed and waved his hand briskly as he added, "Never mind, let me try and see…" He glanced back at the window display, and feeling a bit stupid, he simply mumbled without really knowing what it meant, "Dark Arts."
"Oh!" Harry gasped out in the next second, when the previously unoccupied space in the window display became cluttered with innumerable items. He then quickly glanced at the other nearby shops and saw that the same had happened there.
"What – what is it?" snapped Tom, looking irked and impatient.
"Say what I said," Harry intoned happily, as he started perusing the items with an interested gaze.
Tom shot him an irritated scowl. "What nonsense are you spouting-"
"Just do it," said Harry shortly as he threw at his brother a vexed glance.
"Fine," bit out Tom, looking as if the whole thing was a supreme waste of his time. "Dark Arts."
The next moment, Tom's eyebrows shot upwards as his gaze became riveted on the new items on the window display, and Harry chirped smugly, "See?"
Both then proceeded to gawk at all the weird stuff; many items had tags with short descriptions and their prices – many of which seemed astronomically high to Harry, after a whole day of shopping which had given him a sense of the value of galleons, knuts, and sickles.
One item in particular soon caught their attention, since it was the only one without a price, and its tag simply said: 'To place a bid, ask for Burke. If ye're not filthy rich, don't bother.'
"That must be the flashiest thing I've ever seen," Harry said with a chuckle, as he stared at the item in question: a heavy-looking and garish golden locket, with a serpentine S in glittering green gems inlaid on the front.
"I like the snaky S figure," remarked Tom loftily, gazing at it with an interested glint in his eyes. "And it looks expensive."
In the next second, Tom started to drag his trunk forward, with Lord Horkos' cage dangling from his other hand, as he said over his shoulder, "Let's take a look inside."
"Watch out!" was the only thing Harry had time to say, as a fat, short man lurched out from the shop, looking harassed and irritated, and collided with Tom, while a gruff and angry voice bellowed from inside the store.
"If ye want mor' galleons, bring me Bloodmoon Tentaculae next time, 'Orace!"
The stranger stumbled backwards as Tom bounced off the man's pudgy belly, Lord Horkos' cage flew up into the air, with the bird shrieking and flapping its enormous black wings in indignant anger. Harry managed to drop the handle of his own trunk swiftly, to grasp the cage with one hand while he used the other to grip Tom's arm to prevent his brother from tumbling heels over head over his trunk.
"Ufff!" let out the stranger after the collision, looking disheveled and caught unawares.
"What the bloody hell!" snapped Tom furiously, as he righted himself up, slapped Harry's helping hand away from him, and then shot a glower at the man. "Watch where you're going, you imbecile!"
The man started to mumble something, and then paused to blink down at them.
Harry stared back in bemusement at the man's protruding belly, the balding head, and the largest and bushiest moustache he had ever seen.
"What are you two boys doing here?" said the man with a frown. Then he became fidgety and nervous as he glanced around. "Where're your parents?"
"We don't have parents," bit out Tom, still angry as he continued to straighten out his clothes, "not that it's any of your damn business…"
Harry cleared his throat, and said, trying to assuage the situation, "We're looking for a wandshop. Ollivander's-"
"Oho!" exclaimed the man as he now gazed at them with interest. "You're about to start your first year at Hogwarts, then!" He let out a belly-laughter, and declared cheerfully, "Well, you're not going to find Ollivander's here." His expression then turned grave and reprimanding for a brief moment, as he added with a tut, "Knockturn Alley is no place for children. Come along now, I'll show you the way."
"We don't need an escort-" started to gripe Tom acerbically, but Harry cut him short with a "Thank you, sir!" and a beaming smile, since the old hags and dangerous-looking, dodgy wizards seemed to be lurking in the shadows waiting for them, and he thought that the presence of an adult was just the thing they needed.
Tom shot him a fulminating glare, but Harry simply ignored him as he pushed Lord Horkos' cage back to his brother and started to follow the portly, kind man through the twists and coils of the narrow, gloomy street.
The stranger didn't say much as they made their way; the man merely glanced to the sides, as if concerned that someone would jump out from the shadows and point an accusing finger at him, in recognition.
Finally, when they were about to reach the intersection with Diagon Alley, the man took a peek around the corner and declared happily, "The way is clear." Then he turned around and whispered conspiratorially as he winked at them, "Let's not tell anyone where we met, eh?"
At Tom and Harry's nonplussed expressions, the man then simply patted Harry on the shoulder and added congenially, "Ollivander's is the fifth shop to the right. I'll see you at the Sorting!"
"At the what?" said Harry in befuddlement, but the man had already left, surreptitiously slipping into Diagon Alley as if he had never set foot in Knockturn in the first place.
Tom merely let out a snide scoff. "Batty, old lardo."
And with that, he ploughed forward into Diagon Alley, with Harry at his heels.
Indeed, after weaving through the crowd, they found the wandshop precisely where the stranger had said. Before entering the store, Harry mouthed the words etched under the sign, in astonishment at the date: 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'.
The shop was narrow, shabby and dusty, with many shelves behind the counter, with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. But there was also a strange feeling to the place, something that made Harry's skin tingle pleasantly and the back of his neck prickle.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, as an old man appeared behind the counter, with glowing, pale eyes looking at them with interest. "I'm Ollivander. And who might you two be?"
"I'm Tom Riddle," said Tom coolly, inspecting the man with his own gaze and apparently finding him unimpressive. He then jabbed a thumb in Harry's direction. "He's my twin brother, Harry."
"Riddle… Riddle…" muttered the old man under his breath, as if trying to jolt his memory. In the next moment, he seemed to give up in his endeavor and gazed back at them in curiosity. "Twins, you say?"
Tom's eyes slightly narrowed, and he said tersely, "Yes."
"We're here to buy our wands," supplied Harry, quite unnecessarily but in order to help matters along, since the man seemed to be staring at them in some sort of analytical trance.
Mr. Ollivander blinked, seemingly pulled out from whatever musings, and then shot them a mild smile. "Of course you are. Finer wands than mine you will not find. Let's get to work, then."
And with that, the man snapped his fingers and soon, two measure-tapes sprung into existence, fluttering around Tom and Harry, spanning along their arms, hands, legs, and the full extent of their height, to then go around the length of their foreheads, while Ollivander took notes in a small piece of parchment.
In a couple of more minutes, several narrow boxes came flying from the shelves and Ollivander simply told them to "Give them a flick!"
The testing of wands seemed to go on for ages, though they were entertained as Ollivander went to explain the types of cores and woods, and the basics of wand-making, with Tom's mood vastly improving as he listened avidly, while Harry merely enjoyed the experience.
At last, with no winners in sight, Ollivander scratched his head, muttered something under his breath and then disappeared into the depths of shelves. Moments later, he came back with a couple of more boxes, presenting the first wand to Tom.
The moment Tom swished it, a fountain of silver specks exploded from the wand's tip, and Tom started down at it with wide, amazed eyes. In the next second, his expression turned giddy and possessive, while a wide, placid smirk spread on his face.
"Well, there you have it," said Ollivander, gazing at Tom with those creepy, moon-like eyes of his. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. With a core of phoenix feather. A very unique core." He paused to skewer Tom with an intense gaze, and then added quietly, "A powerful wand - very powerful."
Tom's head snapped up at that, his smirk widening with supremely smug self-satisfaction.
Ollivander cleared his throat, peeled his gaze away from Tom to then stare at Harry, with a musing expression on his face. Slowly, he presented a wand to Harry as he continued to fixedly gaze at him.
Harry gave it a casual flick, and then gasped as a stream of green and gold sparks shot out from the tip like a firework.
"Yes, how very interesting," whispered Ollivander, his creepy gaze flickering from Harry to Tom and back, briefly pausing on Harry's scarred forehead. "Eleven inches, made of holly. And it so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand's core gave only one other feather – for the wand that has chosen your companion. Both wands just as unique, just as powerful. You two boys have twin wands."
"Twin wands?" Harry shot him a beaming smile. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" He nudged Tom with an elbow as he chuckled. "Twins for twins!"
Ollivander quirked up an eyebrow as he flung a glance at Tom, which was met with a narrowed-eyed, suspicious and then menacing stare from Tom, while the interaction was completely missed by Harry, who was too busy with the sensations coursing through his body as he held his wand; enfolding warmth, and a flow of something within him rolling through his body and into the wand and back, like pleasant, tingling waves going back and forth like tides, as if the wand belonged to him as an extension of himself. He nearly felt drunk with the feeling.
They left the shop after Ollivander had turned strangely quiet as they paid, as Harry bubbled excitedly about their wands.
"I'm going back to Flourish and Blotts," abruptly informed him Tom the moment they stepped back into Diagon Alley. "We still have time and perhaps I can persuade the clerk to give me another discount."
Harry merely rolled his eyes and huffed. "Well, I'm not spending my last couple of galleons in a book. I'll meet you there in half an hour."
Tom shot him an annoyed glance. "What are you going to do, then?"
"I'm gonna explore," piped in Harry, knowing exactly where to go.
In their first round of shopping he had briefly seen two stores which had caught his attention but which Tom hadn't allowed him to go into: Gambol & Japes, that seemingly sold a wide variety of tricks and practical joke items, and Quality Quidditch Supplies, which he was clueless about what they sold but had seen a flock of boys and even girls excitedly talking among themselves as they pressed their noses against the display window of the shop.
In the next second, Harry let go of the handle of his trunk, chirped "Take my trunk with you!" and then quickly fled from the scene before Tom could bellow at him.
Toothily grinning to himself, he first arrived at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and had to precariously stand on his tiptoes in order to attempt to see above the sea of heads of the children planted before the store.
Aggravated at his lack of height and thus lack of success, he was about to plough forward into the crowd with the use of jabbing out his elbows, when someone careened into him, grabbed him by the arms, turning him to a side and pulling him into the crowd of children, to then squat in front of him, holding him in place by gripping his wrists, as it squeaked, "Cover me!"
"What?" blurted out Harry in bewilderment, gazing down to see that it was a boy. But the boy wasn't even looking at him, but rather fixedly gazing at some point across the street.
"Hide me – from them!" the boy said urgently, releasing one of Harry's wrists to point out with a finger.
Nonplussed, Harry followed the direction with his gaze to see a group of people strolling down the street: two women with a bunch of children. The women had supercilious and superior-looking expressions on their faces, and the children, both girls and boys of varying ages, looked remarkably alike, all with black hair and similarly hued eyes. Furthermore, from the little that Harry had seen of wizarding fashion, they all looked to be richly and poshly dressed in dark colors, with only a smattering of silver or bronze here and there.
The group soon started to pass them by, and their conversation reached Harry's ears.
"… where has that unruly boy of yours gone to, Irma?" was saying one of the women, with a harsh and disapproving expression on her face. "Really, you should have a firmer hand with him."
The other woman looked pinched as she replied with a suffering tone of voice, "I have tried everything, Melania. Not even Pollux has managed to instill in him a sense of propriety and good conduct. We have even punished him by suspending his pegasus-riding classes, but it didn't work-"
"Oh, mother," snapped sharply a plain, mean-looking girl, "just kill his crup pup and be done with it. Alphie will learn not to disobey then."
"Your idea might be worthy of consideration, Walburga dear," said the woman with a pensive expression on her face.
"Of course it is," said the girl impatiently, to then add cajolingly, "You promised I could get a new gown from Monsieur Ermenegilde for the Averys' ball of this weekend-"
The girl's mother waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, go and spend what you like. Your cousin Orion will escort you."
At that, a handsome boy, that looked a bit younger, paled significantly, while the girl gazed back at him with a victorious smirk and an infatuated glint in her eyes.
"You heard, Orion," said the other woman briskly, Melania, the boy's mother seemingly. "Take your sister Lucretia as well." She shot the pretty girl by her side a glance, as she added in a croon, "You could do with another gown yourself, dearest."
"Thank you, mother," piped in the beautiful girl in a sweet and polite tone of voice, and who was then rewarded by a pleased smile from her mother.
"Cygnus," then commanded Irma to the other boy left, who had a grave and serious expression on his face and looked quite disinterested with the proceedings. "You too, go with your sister and cousins. Melania and I will partake of tea in Leisure Alley. Don't bother us for a couple of hours. And if you find your brother, don't let him out of your sight again!"
And with that, the group scattered and their respective conversations faded away.
A loud, relieved exhalation of breath reached Harry's ears and he snapped his head around to see the boy rising to his feet. The boy had curly, black hair, grey eyes, and was just as short as him, Harry saw. Then the boy did a double-take as he looked at Harry, apparently truly seeing him for the first time since manhandling him.
In the next moment, the boy had jumped a step back, his grey eyes wide, as he stuttered, "You're a… a…"
"I'm a what?" Harry frowned at him, then dismissed the boy's stutters and huffed. "A 'thank you' would be nice, you know?"
The boy blinked at him. "Er…" He then trailed Harry's figure with his gaze, as he blurted out, "You don't have warts."
"Warts?" Harry stared back at him in bewilderment. "Why would I have-"
"Your kind has warts, does it not?" said the boy, now peering at him with much interest. "And you're all dirty and poor – well, you are that, by your looks." He gazed at him critically. "But you don't look diseased to me. But perhaps you do have lice and leprosy, eh?"
"What?" choked out Harry, feeling utterly gobsmacked and confused. Then he shook his head and bit out briskly, "I don't have any diseases, thank you very much. And what do you mean by 'my kind'? And you're very rude, you know that?"
The boy snapped his mouth shut, and blinked and stared at him, as if the notion that he had been rude hadn't even entered his mind. Then he shot Harry a sheepish grin, and simply said "Sorry", as if expecting a pat on the shoulder for that generous and altruistic gesture.
"Whatever," snapped Harry shortly, spinning around with every intention of elbowing his way into the shop.
"Wait!"
Harry grunted with irritation and shot a glance over his shoulder, seeing how the boy took a deep breath as if arming himself with courage.
The boy then stuck out his hand, and declared as if giving some kind of formal, uber-important speech, "I'm Alphard Black. Thank you for helping me escape from my family."
Harry blinked at the weird boy, then weighed his options, decided that perhaps the boy wasn't that bad -though he certainly was a bit bonkers- and fully turned to face him, shaking his hand. "I'm Harry Riddle."
The moment they released each others' grip, Alphard stared down at his hand, as if he had expected that it would rot and fall off, and was now discovering that nothing untoward had happened to it.
Alphard then shot him a lopsided grin. "Well, Riddle, I owe you one, and I always pay my debts." He jutted his chin towards the shop, and added, "You were going into the Quidditch store, were you not? I'll be your guide, if you want."
Harry frowned at him. "My guide? What for?"
"You don't know what it is, do you?" said Alphard, shooting him a knowing glance. "I can explain it to you." He beamed a smile at him, and added enthusiastically, "It's only the best wizarding sport ever! I can tell you plenty about it!"
In the bat of an eyelash, he snagged Harry by the arm, apparently no longer scared to touch him, and pulled him along, as he started to enthuse about all the rules and details of Quidditch and all types of racing brooms, snitches and quaffles.