Solve the Riddle

Summary: Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if Harry expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter because . . . I just don't, okay?

Chapter Two: You've Got A Stalker

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August 8, 1949

Mary Riddle snapped awake the moment she felt the loss of contact. It was something she'd trained her body to do, both to better observe people, and to make sure that no one took her off guard. She'd laid her own subtle, temporary detection wards on the way into this wizard's house the night before, though he hadn't noticed with how focused he'd been on her.

So the only threat would be from the man who had, a second ago, been sleeping next to her- not that he'd likely do anything, considering the fact that there was almost no chance he'd formed a vendetta against her, a former stranger and now sexual partner, and the fact that he hadn't seemed insane from her brief observation of him and later interactions. He'd seemed more disillusioned with life than anything, though he did an admirable job hiding it with practiced small talk and a forced smile, that, if she hadn't already deduced some things about him by then, might have actually fooled her for a short time.

She might even have been able to use that aspect of his nature, if not for the fact that he seemed to be a genuinely 'good' person; not the kind who would follow someone bent on beginning a violent revolution- pity, that. It had been fairly easy to realize when he'd excused himself from their 'conversation' to save a young girl, one who'd had a bit too much to drink, from being taken advantage of.

Mary had effectively given him up as a loss right there. She had only continued seducing him because she had already started and he was just intelligent enough that he would be suspicious if she just left after acting empty-headed and besotted for the entire night; he was also headstrong enough that he might actually attempt to find her. That would have caused problems that she didn't need or want, especially if he found her while she was displaying her 'real' personality.

She could simply have murdered him and left before anyone realized, she supposed, but that also would have caused problems. And it was an obviously bad habit to off someone causing her issues every time she had to go through with something that she didn't overly care for. Still, she could dream, couldn't she?

So she'd stuck to her original plan for the night and returned with him to his house- more specifically, his bed. It wasn't something she was unfamiliar with- not because she enjoyed sexual intercourse any more than the next person- quite the opposite, actually- but for the simple fact that it was an easy way to get information. People were generally more open with people that they had just had sex with, or even were going to have sex with, especially if they thought their partner wasn't dangerous and couldn't do anything with the information. Hence, the empty-headedness. She didn't necessarily enjoy doing the task herself, but none of her Knights were exactly suited for . . . seducing men.

However, her latest target seemed to be one of the exceptions to the rule. It wasn't that rare for someone to not be very chatty, but he was one of the people who could talk for hours without paying to the conversation at all, spewing half-truths and inconsequential information. And it had taken her nearly two hours to entice him to actually make the first move.

Which was a first for her. She may not be interested in relationships, but she knew well that she was beautiful, and that it was an extremely powerful tool. She'd considered for a while that the man wasn't interested in women, but discarded that idea fairly quickly. After all, the reason she'd chosen the approach she had was because of his habit of leaving with a different woman each time.

None of the ones vying for his attention at the club had been of the intelligent variety, which might explain his reticence towards acting on her, by the end, blatant signals. She had been playing the airhead, and he had most likely assumed that she would be like all the others, wanting a piece of him for his fame- they, most likely, were perfectly happy to stand next to him in a crowded club for anyone to notice for hours on end.

And then there had been the fact that he certainly hadn't been enjoying the party. There was no reason for him to go to each and every one of them unless he either enjoyed them or was obligated to. It was most likely the latter; as she recalled, he had spent almost exactly three hours at the party and had been somewhere else the entire time. Another reason he hadn't acted for the longest time- he knew he wouldn't be able to leave until the party was dying down.

But leave, they finally had. On their way to the bedroom, she had performed a simple medical spell, and had been surprised to find that he hadn't picked up any diseases from the many women he slept with. The sex itself was nothing amazing, though it never was for her.

He was skilled, she could easily tell that much, and any other woman would most likely have enjoyed it quite a bit. But she was . . . Mary Marvolo Riddle. She had long since accepted the fact that she didn't form emotional attachment as others did, perfectly willing to use someone no matter how 'close' she supposedly was with them.

But she didn't even have any such 'connection' with this man. He wasn't a viable pawn and they would most likely never again run across each other. He was interesting, but hardly more so than an eleven year old casting third year magic.

'Farewell, Harry Evans,' she thought. 'May we never meet again.'

Roughly eight hours later, she lamented her stupidity in tempting fate.

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August 15, 1949

"Thank you," Harry told the owl as he accepted the letter. Luckily, it had come while he was eating breakfast, so he was able to slip the owl a sausage. Ever since Hedwig had died, Harry had been more thoughtful about owls, as well as their feelings and desires. This, of course, included their desire for a treat whenever they delivered mail.

While most wizards didn't put much stock in the idea that animals could be even nearly as intelligent as them, Harry was inclined to think the best of owls. It was the least he could do to honor his true first friend, the smartest owl he'd ever met. The snowy owl, who, intentionally or not- he'd always wondered- had sacrificed herself to take a killing curse meant for either him or Hagrid.

The Barn Owl hooted its thanks, before spreading its wings and flying back out through the window. Harry sighed, lost in nostalgia for a second, before looking at the envelope in his hands. Sure enough, there was his name and address.

He opened it carefully before pulling out three sheets of parchment. He began with the shortest one.

Mr. Evans, it read.

Your exam results are enclosed. I think you will be very happy with them- congratulations. Now, to business. We will need to meet up in order to finalize your patent forms- there are a few steps that only you can complete. Would you be opposed to meeting at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on Wednesday, August 17 at around noon? I await your owl.

Yours truly, Ernest Macmillan

Harry got up, and once he found parchment, scribbled a short note in reply along the lines of, 'Sounds good.' Of course, his reply was a little more fleshed out than that- he didn't want to offend the man who was going to help provide him with a steady source of income. Dueling was nice on that front but it also involved a lot more traveling than he'd like, as well as being more time consuming than ideal while he was focused on stopping Voldemort.

And, luckily for him, his contract with the Daily Prophet ended Wednesday.

He'd have to go to the nearest wizarding post office- probably in either Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley- to send the letter. Sometimes, it was inconvenient not having his own owl, but he refused to replace Hedwig.

Setting his reply down, he picked up the second document. It was his NEWT results. A smirk formed on his lips as he beheld the straight line of Os and nothing else. Ah, if only Hermione could see him now. Of course, that wiped the smirk off his face, as he took a moment to mourn the effective loss of his friends- or, possibly, his loss, from their point of view.

The third piece of paper turned out to just be a standard letter explaining the different letter grades and telling him that he'd completed his NEWTs. The kind of thing he'd gotten with his OWLs back in his own time. Of course, that brought back the nostalgia and regret.

Though he might be throwing off his funk, he was far from alright.

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Marcus nursed his butterbeer, listening to the conversation in the booth behind him. Evans and Macmillan had actually gotten to business fairly quickly.

He hadn't been ordered to continue spying on Evans- he was doing this of his own volition. Certainly, he himself was somewhat interested in the mystery that was Harry Evans, but that wasn't his actual reasoning either.

He had seen the spark of interest in the Dark Lady's eyes. She was an expert at hiding practically all of her tells, but her eyes often gave away when she was interested or angry. Granted, the way they showed her anger was mostly by turning red, a rather blatant signal.

On that note, the Dark Lady's mood had been becoming more mercurial lately. He, or someone else, might have asked about it, except for the fact that she actually was, well . . . getting more mercurial. She didn't have the same patience for questions that she used to.

He shuddered in his seat as he recalled Lestrange's screams. His fellow long-time inner circle member had dared to ask, loudly, why their master was still sitting on her ass and refusing to take action against the stupid mudbloods littering their society. He hadn't stated it quite so bluntly, but everyone, especially the Dark Lady, had divined his meaning easily enough. Her eyes had narrowed and she had ordered everyone but Lestrange out of the room. In Lestrange's case . . . it obviously hadn't gone well for him.

The Dark Lady's frequent mood swings were worrying. He might have tried to leave- he hadn't signed up to be the lackey to a madwoman- but . . .

He grimaced, rubbing at his arm. Ever since they had taken her mark, she had owned them- they might as well be house elves. Certainly, there were those who still held onto the illusion of free will, but Marcus knew better.

The mark could be used to cause pain as great as the Cruciatus. That wasn't just speculation- it was testimony, straight from Lestrange, who insisted that the Dark Lady hadn't even taken out her wand or said any spells before he'd begun screaming and his world had melted away. Lestrange hadn't managed to get rid of the tremors for over a day. Marcus preferred not to pretend; they were slaves and Riddle was the master. Nothing they could do but cringe and bear it.

And that was why he was trailing Evans. He'd seen his master's interest, and he knew well that she kept favorites. While they could change as easily as her moods, she was more likely to hold back on punishing someone who she saw as more valuable; she wasn't that far gone yet, though she might be sometime soon if her madness continued to progress.

If he managed to provide her essential information on this new player, he could guarantee his own immunity for a time. And he wasn't exactly looking forward to experiencing a pain like the one Lestrange had described. It would most likely happen at some point- no one could retain their master's favor forever, especially considering her new mood swings- but the longer he could hold it off, the better.

Done with his musing, he focused on Evans and Macmillan's conversation again.

"-entirely up to me. Why, if it were, I would have your patents filed by tomorrow morning. However, it's up to the patent office, which is rather swamped." Macmillan was still going on about something to do with patents, so he apparently hadn't missed much.

"And why is that?" Evans asked. "There aren't hundreds of thousands of known spells, so I doubt even a patent a day generally goes through." Marcus agreed.

"You'd be correct in your doubt, Mr. Evans," Macmillan said. "You see, while there's generally nothing of value among them, the patent office gets tens, if not hundreds, of patent applications submitted each day. Young wizards who want to be the next Prince of Enchanters; you know how it is." That made sense.

"That makes sense," Evans said. "So how long do you estimate that it's going to take?"

"That's a tricky question," Macmillan said. "It could take as little as three days or as much as two weeks."

"And is there any way to shorten the time?" Evans asked. "I'm not necessarily antsy, but it would be convenient to have this done and over with."

"Only if you were willing to see the Minister about it, I'm afraid." Macmillan definitely sounded amused. "And that can take anywhere from ten minutes after scheduling an appointment to months later, depending on your status. Pardon me for saying this, but half-bloods such as yourself simply aren't prioritized much, especially over old pureblood families."

"No offense taken," Evans said, sounding far too cheerful for someone who had just been reminded of his lesser blood status. "It's what I expected, really. It's how all governments work, in my experience. Do you think the minister would see me immediately if she knew who I was?"

"Knew who you were?" Macmillan asked, sounding as confused as Marcus was- very much so. "And why would that matter, exactly?"

Evans sighed. "Harry Evans. You know? I won the European Dueling Championship. Would that title get me an audience?" That was enlightening- certainly information his master would be interested in. Marcus found himself smirking.

"Perhaps," Macmillan said, sounding impressed, "But perhaps not. With the last Minister, Moon, it would have changed everything. But that would mostly have been because for most of his term, the government had a distinct lack of skilled fighters, and he had a lot of respect for duelists.

"Our new Minister? There's been no conflict so far while she's been in office, so while you most likely wouldn't be sidelined for months, I do not believe it would be worth it to schedule an appointment simply for your patents. Especially because you claim that their success is not urgent."

"I appreciate the information and assistance, Mr. Macmillan," Evans said.

"Oh, call me Ernest," Macmillan said. Marcus felt his mouth drop open. Macmillan- that Macmillan?- stick fifty feet up his ass Macmillan, stuffiest pureblood scion around, had just given a half-blood permission to use his first name? What was the world coming to?

"I'll do that," Evans said, and there was silence for a moment, presumably while the two men shook hands. "And thank you for all of your assistance with the forms as well. I doubt I would have had the patience to go through the majority of them."

"Think nothing of it."

'Okay,' Marcus thought. 'Marcus, you've stumbled into another universe. This isn't all bad, though. Maybe Riddle's still mostly sane here?' Because Riddle had never been completely sane- no one willing to wage a war, or even plan to wage one, against the Ministry of Magic could be completely sane.

He shook his head to clear the delusional thoughts, leaving the cost of his drink, as well as a hefty tip, on the table. It was the least he could do, since the bar had provided him the means to gain access to such intriguing information, information that could possibly be his saving grace when it came to his master.

"You can expect a ministry owl sometime in the near future," Macmillan said. "Good day, Mr. Evans."

"Good day, Ernest," Evans said, with a hardly noticeable pause just before he said Macmillan's first name. "You can call me Harry in the future."

And Macmillan didn't say no- he was actually going to be completely on a first name basis with a half-blood. Marcus felt faint and seriously considered, for a second, going home, getting a good night's rest, and hoping that the world was right again when he woke up.

But, no. He still had his self-assigned task. He needed to follow Evans and procure all the information that he could. Anything that could interest his master, he would need to know.

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Harry sighed when his standard revealing spells showed that Avery was still tracking him. Had he really interested Voldemort by doing fairly well on his NEWTs? That was ridiculous, but he couldn't think of anything else that could have done it.

It couldn't be personal acquaintance. He still remembered Tom Riddle's face vividly, before, after, and during his appearance changing dark magic overdose. He would have recognized him in any crowd, instantly.

Could it have been one of the women he'd slept with? No, Harry was fairly sure that Riddle's first iteration Death Eaters had all been male. He couldn't be completely certain, however, and that was a nasty thought.

While there had been some attractive female Death Eaters in his own time- Narcissa Malfoy- who he normally would have been absolutely fine with bedding, all of them- Narcissa Malfoy- had slept with a slimy pureblood ponce, possibly even multiple times, and Harry wouldn't have wanted to infect himself with ponce-itis.

So he could only hope that if any female Death Eaters- if there were any at this point- had slept with him, they'd been unmarried. Which wasn't likely, actually, considering that as far as Harry knew, it was pureblood tradition to remain a virgin until their wedding night- for the women at least. The men were allowed to sleep around all they wanted and no one could call them out on it, least of all their wives.

He shuddered and decided to stop that train of thought before it got any further. There was no point thinking about what-ifs, especially if they were in the past and he really didn't wish for them to be true.

Well, he could at least test the competence of Voldemort's current followers, if only to pass the time. He removed both tracking spells that Avery had placed on him in the same moment. An instant later, he apparated to Diagon Alley. He sighed with a combination of relief and boredom when Avery didn't follow.

Of course Avery wouldn't know his homemade charm, a subtle one which would only be noticeable to the strongest and most specific revealing spells because it remained dormant until the exact instant someone began an apparition. To Harry's surprise, it hadn't been overly difficult to design, and he'd actually been able to basically modify the already fairly widely known- amongst Ministry employees- apparition ward, mostly because of the effect of the ward; it was able to essentially block off whatever pathway wizards and witches used for apparition.

Harry had been able to simply build on a basic tracking spell, making it completely dormant until a wizard tried to enter the specified apparition dimensional pathway- or whatever it was. Harry wouldn't have had the slightest idea how to go about it if he'd been forced to calculate the dimension from scratch. Or whatever he would have had to do- he still didn't know and was glad he hadn't needed to. Whoever had created the original ward, or even apparition itself, had been a bloody genius, no doubt about it.

The spell, while certainly a game changer for law enforcement, wasn't one he'd ever give away. He'd never had a good experience involving the ministry being able to track him. Though, given time, he could probably develop another method of transportation and be safe from his own method . . . he just didn't want to. It would be a hassle and his end product probably wouldn't be nearly as easy, quick, or convenient as actual apparition.

He'd created it mostly because of the limits of anti-apparition wards. Unless he put a good chunk of effort into setting up and maintaining the ward, anyone with a decent grasp of magic could just power through. It wasn't like he'd ever had the time to set up long term wards rivaling the strength of Hogwarts when he was chasing dark wizards and witches. So a simple solution was to slip one of his trackers in during the duel, and to then trace his opponent when they inevitably tried to flee. Easy-peasy. A completely unnoticeable expenditure of effort for wildly effective results- his favorite kind of spell.

So of course Avery wouldn't know it- no one knew it, or even of it, in his own time, including Ron and Hermione, so why would someone he was hardly acquainted with in this time know it? Still, he felt a bit disappointed that he had nothing to do on his way to Gringotts.

He'd long since accepted the fact that he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Not nearly to the extent where he'd be challenging anyone he thought was remotely powerful to a fight. But he would hardly ever say no to a bit of non-lethal excitement, or a fast paced duel.

Especially since there was nothing to occupy him in this time other than his dueling tournaments. Any books he'd acquired a taste for wouldn't be released for a number of decades, it wasn't possible to speak with any of his friends, and the brooms in 1949 were total crap. It was rather depressing, overall.

He did finally quit sulking when he reached Gringotts. It was hard to remain distracted when he was in the bank. He would always be on edge, his subconscious memories telling him that the bank wasn't safe, that the goblins would find him out and capture him and his friends.

When he got to the teller, he didn't bother to learn the goblin's name, or even their gender. For two reasons, really. Goblins weren't fans of wizards in general and addressing them by their name or attempting polite conversation would only earn a nasty glare. Also, because Harry just had bad memories associated with them. He wasn't bigoted against goblins, and he absolutely accepted the fact that they were at least around as intelligent as wizards and it was wrong to restrict them from equality.

At the same time, he acknowledged that they were vicious little blighters who would renege on an agreement at the first opportunity to acquire something they wanted. He also acknowledged that, if they were granted the right to use wands, there would be no more wizarding world at all shortly after. And he just plain didn't enjoy their company, influenced by far too many memories of goblins, torches, and dragons. As well as their predominantly prickly attitude towards humans in general.

And no, his opinion of them hadn't been affected in the slightest by Griphook! Okay, maybe a tiny bit. Actually, a lot. Fine, his judgement had been entirely affected by Griphook. Before he was seventeen, he'd been neutral towards goblins, possibly harboring a mix of frustration and pity towards them.

After Griphook, that pity had been wiped away, leaving him with just his frustration. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't the right thing to do, judging their race as a whole by the actions of one goblin. He knew, rationally, that Griphook could be an outlier and he had no way of knowing- though judging by what he'd heard from Bill on many occasions, Griphook was the norm.

Long story short, he had no desire and no reason to suck up to the goblins, and he no longer held the pity that many muggle-raised did towards them. He wouldn't discriminate against them, but he preferred remaining silent to talking with them. It was a simple stance, one that he'd never found a reason to change.

And it wasn't as if any goblin was ever going to insist he participate in idle chitchat with them. Wizards would actually reach the moon on brooms before that happened.

So, the end result of his stance and his evidently correct assumption that his guide wouldn't insist on small talk was an extraordinarily quick and smooth trip to and from his vault.

He spent over an hour just window shopping before deciding not to buy anything and heading to the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch.

From there, he headed to the Ministry via the visitor's entrance to file the patents. To his complete lack of surprise, Avery once again began following him. It made sense that Avery had been there of course, considering that he apparently worked at the ministry.

Harry decided that it was best not to dwell on his newly acquired hanger-on. He handed in the patent forms, which were then placed on a ridiculously high stack of paper. It was one thing to hear Macmillan say it, and it was another to see the number of failed patents that were turned in on an average day. A glance at the top of the pile- before his papers got stacked on top- showed a patent for the summoning charm- yes, that summoning charm. The commonly used and widely known one. The one taught in pretty much every charms curriculum.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. This wasn't the first time he'd lamented the stupidity of the average magic user, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

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"And what is your excuse this time?" Mary asked her 'friend.' "I recall informing you that I am rather busy at the moment."

"And I promise this won't be a waste of your time, My Lady." Avery seemed excited. That . . . wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Very well. Proceed, Marcus."

"It's about Evans, My Lady." Of course it was. It was all that he had been thinking about since he had entered Lestrange's manor, her current base of operations. "I trailed Macmillan today, to a meeting that he had with Evans at the three broomsticks."

"Did I ask you to trail Evans?" Mary asked, voice soft. "Did I ask you to risk your cover for an insignificant half-blood who I had already said that I would deal with?"

"No, My Lady, but-"

She cut him off. "Then you should not have done so. There is a reason that I am in charge of the strategic decisions here." And now he was thinking to the mark on his arm, cursing in his head about how that was the only reason she was still in charge. It was amusing, which was the only reason she hadn't granted him the pain that he was practically asking for.

"Yes, My Lady," he said with gritted teeth.

"As you have already done so, however," Mary said, "you may tell me what you uncovered. In the future, I will not take so kindly to your rogue operations."

"Yes, My Lady." He visibly took a moment to psych himself up before continuing. "They spent most of the time discussing patents. But a fact came up during the conversation- Evans claimed that he had won the most recent European Dueling Championship."

"Is that all?" she asked, not having to fake the look of boredom.

"Well . . ." Avery said. "Yes. But this is even further reason for you to recruit him or get rid of him, My Lady!"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" she hissed. "Did I ask you to trail someone who could defeat you with a wave of his wand, someone who, based on the skills of his which you waxed lyrical about, is intelligent enough to prove an issue if he notices you following him? Did I ask for you to risk everything for a tidbit that I was already aware of? Did you not believe that I was keeping up with current affairs and possible fighters for the cause? Do you think I'm stupid, Marcus?"

"No, My Lady," he said, head bowed and previous excitement gone. "I just thought-"

"You didn't think." She sighed. "Next time, think before you act, Marcus. You cannot ruin everything that we have worked for simply because of a whim, because of an illogical obsession. You are affianced, are you not? I doubt that Lyra would take so kindly to you stalking a man." Her tone had shifted from exasperated to teasing half-way through and resistance to her commands was now the last thing on Avery's mind.

"No, My Lady," he stammered. "That's not- I wasn't . . . Lyra's the only one for me!"

She gave him a skeptical look, mirroring what she was feeling on the inside. She wasn't quite inclined to believe him, considering his consistent inability to meet her eyes. He took it a bit differently, however.

"I'm not in to men!" Avery shouted. He paled a moment after and glanced around wildly, sighing in relief when he didn't hear anything from the next room over.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that she had removed the silencing charm a moment before his yell, putting it up an instant after he was quiet once again. Mary had been anticipating some sort of embarrassing and loud statement. She hadn't been disappointed. The Knights in the next room over wouldn't let this go for a while; if nothing else, her followers were at least valuable for entertainment purposes.

"Be that as it may," she said, still making sure to look skeptical. "Be glad that I am in a good mood, Marcus. I do not wish to punish you, but if you persist in your foolish decisions . . ."

She trailed off, letting the threat sit there.

"Yes, My Lady." Avery had such a profound look of relief. Sometimes she wondered how her 'followers' could be successful politicians, with how spineless they were in her presence. Then again, weren't all politicians spineless to a degree?

"You're dismissed," she said, waving a hand airily, as if she were ending a class.

He bowed, before exiting as quickly as he could. Akin to the students in said class, though rather more deferential.

Mary sighed. This wasn't the first time she had lamented the stupidity of her followers, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

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It was a particularly windy day in Hogsmeade. Harry was just glad he wasn't wearing a hat as he watched various light objects go sailing by. He didn't necessarily have any reason to be in Hogsmeade- he didn't have anything he needed to buy, he wasn't there on business, and he wasn't there for a long stretch of road to run on; he generally did his exercising inside or at least closer to home.

No, he was just in Hogsmeade for a walk. He hadn't expected it to be so windy and he probably should have just gone home and done something else, but his innate stubbornness pushed him forward. He'd wanted to go on a walk and he would go on a walk, even if he had to brave a sleet storm; which he luckily didn't . . . yet.

He growled as a newspaper section flew into his face. He peeled it off and saw that it was the front page to the Daily Prophet. Out of curiosity, he started reading. Twenty seconds later, he nearly dropped the newspaper.

He couldn't be that lucky, right?

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A/N: Next chapter, things get a lot more fun. For me, especially, but hopefully for you, the readers, as well.

No, Riddle's not going mad nearly as quickly as Avery believes. She just enjoys teasing her followers a bit too much; not usually in a nice, friendly way.

Little bit of a cliffhanger there, yes. It seemed the best place to end the chapter.

Anyone who thinks this relationship is going to be quick or that Riddle is going to be having . . . catfights . . . with a woman twenty six years younger- note the fact that Harry's just turned twenty four and Riddle is twenty two- is . . . not quite thinking things through. That is in direct response to one of the reviews- I didn't make it up.

Mary is the name of Riddle's paternal grandmother. I assume, that in canon, since Merope is mentioned to be not quite a squib and since she was so sure about Tom's gender . . . well, I assume she had some sort of spell to determine it. It can't have been a very difficult one. And Merope doesn't have any known female relatives, so it's likely she still would use Marvolo as the middle name. If she didn't have the aforementioned spell and just assumed Tom's gender, getting it right because she was lucky . . . well, she's a bigger idiot than I thought. For the purposes of the story, she actually did have such a spell and chose the name of Tom Riddle Sr's mother. A little research and logical thinking would have revealed the name, but everyone in the reviews seemed set on making the name exotic, complicated, and/or meaningless. Is Tom an exotic or lengthy name? If you think the answer's yes . . . I have nothing to say to you.

If you enjoyed the chapter, and consequently, the story overall, please favorite and follow. Also, don't hesitate to review with questions, concerns, thoughts, critiques, etc.