A/N: This was a pretty daunting write.
Chapter 15: A Tentative Alliance
'Fangs pierce the night mist,
A straight line to victory,
Drunk on the blood of the prize.'
The Scottish Highlands basked in the sweet summer air of a flawless Thursday morning. The sun, unmarred by a single cloud, seemed to spotlight Albus Dumbledore in all of his glory, pink robe with orange clementines non-withstanding.
Perhaps, he mused, as he stood by the archway overlooking the great hall as an emperor would peruse his subjects, a picnic by the lake was in order. He could even toss a chicken leg to the Giant Squid, truly.. it has been a delight teaching in these halls off late.
With a skip that betrayed his age more than he cared to admit, the Transfiguration Professor entered the Great Hall, a sherbet lemon already bobbing in his mouth. Ah, the perfect tang to start the day, he ignored the revulsion directed at his delightful attire and took a seat beside the purposefully averted gaze of the Headmaster.
"Good morning, Headmaster," Albus twittered, his forced cheer dripping with sadistic glee. The Headmaster, in turn, grimaced and clutched his coffee with an air of barely suppressed annoyance.
"Far too early for your theatrics, Albus," he muttered, his voice laced with weary disapproval.
Albus cackled silently, his smirk at odds with the meticulous way he cubed his sausage. His attention then shifted to the chattering students flooding the hall. A gaggle of very determined looking Hufflepuff making their way to the Slytherin table caught his attention.
Frank Longbottom and his cohorts were a surprisingly discerning bunch. They had caused quite an uproar upon learning of the death of Myrtle Warren and the disappearance of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. The student body, in a magnificent demonstration of unity, had come together under their banner to search for the lost Slytherin Heir.
They seemed to be under the peculiar assumption that Tom was a victim as well, Albus scoffed into his pumpkin juice earning himself a look of disapproval from the dear elderly Sinatra sitting to his left.
Brushing her off, he scanned the hall to search for- Ah! An unwilling frown marred his features as he spotted a glum Minerva, a reminder that his happiness was not supported by his subordinate- by his student.
That boy Tom Riddle, was a clear and present danger, it was something Albus, of course, had recognized from the very beginning.
Yet, a sliver of annoyance pricked at him. He hadn't foreseen Tom hurting his precious protégé. He grimaced.
Albus sucked on his lemon drop, whittling it away with renewed vengeance before forcibly turning away from the house of snakes. He carefully buttered his toast with a blunt knife, and stilled his thought process.
Bringing Tom back for justice was long overdue. It was a nagging truth Albus conveniently pushed aside.
After all… Gellert preoccupied his thoughts.
A shadow flickered across Albus's face as he gazed out of the window, the owls were due any moment now, promising yet another chaotic day. Murder, mayhem, manipulation – the relentless cycle churned on, roiling Albus's stomach in the process.
To think I love-d him. The ginger shuddered in disgust. And abruptly, the next thought: I must get young Tom back to face his crimes. He made his potion, now he must drink it.
Albus shook his head, trying to dislodge his melancholy.
Well.. It would not do to completely waste a good day. The sun is shining after all. The auburn haired professor resolved to himself.
A sudden commotion from the Slytherin table tore his gaze back towards the table. The seventh-years, their leader vanished, descended into squabbling like headless chickens.
What was the best way to look for Tom? They asked. He was obviously not on the school grounds. Who took him? Was it Grindlewald? (Albus almost snorted into his pumpkin juice all over again)
Although the Hufflepuff were stalwart supporters in this quest, their methods were vastly different. It did not help that Tom was not present to mediate the body. And his previous followers- his previous friends were notably downcast and miserable during the entire exchange.
'Aren't you his friends? Do you have nothing to say?' Frank's challenging demand rang through his fugue. Albus huffed an amused laugh to himself.
They have nothing to say. They know Tom wasn't taken.
Though Frank seemed to be putting up a valiant effort, Albus analysed and set apart that piece of information for a later date. Infighting amongst the Slytherins was nothing new, but this blatant disregard for decorum tarnished not just them but their esteemed families as well.
A cruel amusement, a flicker of manipulative thought, danced in Dumbledore's mind. Should he expose their disarray to the esteemed House of Lords? The Malfoys, the Notts, the Averys – the very thought sent a thrill through him. He could bring them to heel, reassert his dominance over the wizarding world's aristocracy with a single, well-timed whisper.
…But of course, he was above such... mischief. He assured himself with a practiced air of benign detachment.
The noisy squabbling was cutting deeper divot into poor Minerva's brow. That is, until she could not take it anymore.
"He is not here!", she shouted across the hall, much to everyone's alarm. "Enough o' yer wee squabbles already! Nae a single one of ye knows where he's gotten tae!" She descended desolately into a Scottish brogue.
And that really was the crux of the matter, was it not? It truly perplexed him, the boy's disappearance. Despite his vast network of spies and informants, Albus drew a blank. Very little digging had rewarded his sleuthing ventures. He had learned that the young Malfoy had aided Tom's escape, but the details – the whereabouts, the escape route – remained frustratingly elusive.
A passing thought of interrogated the Malfoy Heir was squashed immediately. It was not worth the risk.
The momentary silence was squashed by indiscernible murmurs, and Albus watched Minerva get up with a determined air. Oh dear..
The sound of fluttering wings spared him from intervening. Undoubtedly, the ever-stern Horace would have something to say about his meddling. The despot. He probably thought finding his delightful student was of vital importance.
As the newspaper landed with a soft thud, Albus fumbled with his glass of pumpkin juice, his carefully constructed facade cracking for a fleeting moment. Only a deft flick of his wand, silent and wordless, prevented spillage.
His face drained of colour as he reread the article, the stark headline seared into his mind. Time, it seemed, had finally run out.
"I must leave," he muttered, his voice devoid of its usual antics. A subdued departure, a stark contrast to his flamboyant entrance.
The Headmaster merely nodded, his face a mask of grim understanding. No words were needed. Dumbledore, for once, had no witty retort, no playful quip. The weight of his own negligence, the years of procrastination, settled upon him like a leaden cloak.
With a swish of his robes, Albus hurried down the hall to make haste to the floo, ignoring the perceptive stares from the Great Hall. The blaring headline echoed in his head, a constant reminder of his inattention, a waking nightmare come true: "Grindelwald Invades Britain."
It was like being sucked through a narrow tube, Was his first thought. Oh Kami, I am going to hurl. Was a fast second and Orochimaru folded in on himself dry heaving. The sounds of the marketplace and a dry chuckle permeated his awareness.
"I am glad you find my misery amusing, Voldemo-san" He said drily.
"Oh, that I do, Orochimaru-san" The source of his frustration chuckled. "Come, there is no time for dilly-dallying, I have been wanting to try out Yakiniku-Q for a while now."
Feeling somewhat petty, Orochimaru tutted. "Surely, after making me go through that vile experience, I must be compensated?"
Voldemo-san hummed. "The first is always a terrible experience, don't you know? We all go through it when we come of age. Very well, how shall I atone for my sin then?"
The snake-like Jonin pushed back a flush on his cheeks for unknown reasons. "At the very least, you must call me Orochimaru."
"That's it?"
"Do you want me to ask for more?" Came the rebuttal.
It seemed Voldemo-san's snort surprised himself. "No, I will satisfy myself with this recompense. I suppose, I must allow you call me.. Voldemo then, Orochimaru." He said thoughtfully.
The man in question could only supress a shiver by expressing a grin of vindictive satisfaction but- "Why do you hesitate?"
Voldemo looked at him questioningly, only to be ushered to a cozy dining area sequestered in the corner of the establishment. Settling down and ordering their meal, Orochimaru repeated his question.
The man was.. clearly uncomfortable by this line of questioning, Orochimaru opened his mouth to rescind his query but snapped his jaw shut when Voldemo pulled out his wand and muttered something under his breath. Yakiniku-Q was full at this time of the day, but all Orochimaru heard were muted warbles. His eyes widened.
"A sound muffling spell" Voldemo explained idly. "Now we will not be overheard."
Oh! "Voldemo-san, I hate to interrupt but I think there might be a correlation between your magic and our seals."
Voldemo's eyes quirked with interest, he leaned forward. "Seals?"
"Written seals, also known as sealing jutsu or fuinjutsu, are another way to manipulate and store chakra. Unlike hand signs, they are permanent markings typically applied with a brush and special ink. These seals can be placed on objects, people, or even oneself. I know of one that mimics your spell…"
"By Salazar, I have been looking for the commonality..." Voldemo's enthusiasm was palpable. "We too have something similar. A written version of runes and hieroglyphics. If we can break it down, calculate the frequency, and discharge of energy-"
"-We can find the pattern. And method to this... Of course, we will have to calculate-"
"Of course, we will need to calculate for variables..." Voldemo dismissed, his sibilants were pronounced in his excitement. He looked at Orochimaru with an intensity that rivalled Hanzo's for his apathy.
But before Orochimaru could suggest getting a pen and paper and getting down to business right there, they were interrupted by an Akimichi civilian serving their food. He bit his lip. He did not need to expound on the importance of this breakthrough.. And yet…
Voldemo looked equally, if not more disgruntled by the interruption.
"Enjoy your food", the waitress offered meekly, leaving as quickly as possible. Shinobi were gossiping individuals and if the side-eyes were any indication, Orochimaru had no doubt they were dying to hear their passionate conversation. He grimaced.
"Thank you for the food!" He intoned, picking up his chopsticks. "Perhaps, we should talk more in a private setting?" he suggested.
Voldemo-san hummed in agreement, equally annoyed at being caught in a fervour.
"So, what was it you were saying before?", he prompted.
Voldemo-san sighed. "Voldemo isn't my given name."
There was a pause, as the man visibly grit his teeth in an attempt to get his bearings.
"It is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am heir to the Slytherin, and Peverell line."
"Ah. I always knew you were of royalty." Orochimaru said non-plussed.
"Royalty?!" Tom said shaken.
"Am I wrong?"
"No, not exactly but-"
"You are a Lord, are you not?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then you are royalty."
"Would you stop interrupting!" Voldemo fumed at his smirk.
"You are infuriating!"
"Of course. So you want me to call you.. Tom?" His smirk was now pronounced.
Voldemo paused, looking troubled. He took a sip from his drink.
"You could.." He said almost wonderingly. "You could call me Tom."
Orochimaru's grin was all teeth and Tom looked away first.
Voldemo- Tom coughed taking a moment to continue eating his food. "There seems to be a gap in our knowledge."
"Indeed.. Tell me.. what do you know of the Elemental Nations? Why did you bother coming here..?"
Tom looked discomfited. Hesitation flickered in Tom's eyes before steel replaced it. "Power," he said simply. "The magic you wield, these 'jutsu' – they hold potential I haven't encountered before. As to what I know…"
"You do not know, do you?" Orochimaru's eyes widened. "You must have looked. But of course, the library can offer only so much.."
Tom pursed his lips. Orochimaru sighed internally. Oh, for the love of Kami. Why must I always suffer from stubborn fools. Although-
"Konohagakure no Sato," Orochimaru supplied, a little surprised at himself for being so accommodating, "The Village Hidden in the Leaves. We possess a healthy mix of elements, but our true strength lies in our leadership." He paused, his gaze drifting to a shadowed corner of the room. "The Hokage, the village leader, embodies the will of fire. Currently, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, maintains a fragile peace."
"Peace that will not last," Tom said with a certainty that surprised even him. The hunger for power, the thirst for dominance – it was a constant across realities, it seemed. "Ambition breeds conflict. These nations hunger for more, do they not?"
A slow, predatory smile spread across Orochimaru's face. "Indeed they do, Tom. And that hunger presents… opportunities. Imagine, Riddle, the chaos that could be unleashed if this balance were upset."
Tom narrowed his eyes, processing the thought. Here, in this land of elemental shinobi, his power felt limited. But political influence, the manipulation of these warring factions – that was something he understood.
"Perhaps," he conceded, his voice like silk over steel, "there is more to be gained from understanding this dance than simply brute force."
"The Land of Fire," Orochimaru drawled on now, his voice a silken rasp, "seems perpetually embroiled in conflict." Orochimaru chuckled, a low sound. "Ah, but therein lies the beauty, wouldn't you agree? A house built on sand is far more susceptible to manipulation than one built on stone."
Tom traced the intricate design of the wooden table, food long forgotten. "And the other nations? Wind, Water, Lightning, Earth?"
"Ah," Orochimaru said, a destructive glint in his eyes, "each with their own ambitions. Wind – the Hidden Sand, Sunagakure, a harsh land that breeds resilience. Water – the Hidden Mist, Kirigakure, shrouded in mystery, their history as bloody as their mist jutsu."
He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Lightning – the Hidden Cloud, Kumogakure, a nation of warriors, ruled by the iron fist of the Raikage. They crave power, a storm waiting to break. And there is stone, of course. The less that is said about those savages, the better."
Riddle's brow furrowed further. "A complex web indeed. He cleared his throat, his voice barely a whisper. "You possess a great deal of knowledge, Orochimaru."
They cooked their meat in silent contemplation. Orochimaru did love a healthy snack. I should pack some for the snakelings...
"This Fire Daimyo," Tom said suddenly, looking like he was recalling a memory. "He holds significant sway over nation, is that right?"
Orochimaru pulled himself out of his mind, his yellow eyes fixed on some unseen point in the distance and he let out a soft hiss. "Strongest military, richest resources. They practically bankroll the entire fragile peace this continent enjoys."
Riddle scoffed. "Fragile? It seems like a powder keg waiting to explode. What's keeping them in check?"
"A delicate balance," Orochimaru finally turned his gaze to Riddle, a predatory glint in his eyes. "The other nations, the Wind and the Water, are no slouches themselves. And then there's the ever-present threat of another war"
Orochimaru chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Patience, Tom. We have our own strengths. Subterfuge, manipulation… We can exploit the cracks in their precious balance. Sow discord, cultivate unrest. Let them tear each other apart while we… rise from the ashes." He stopped, startled. "Dear Kami, I sound like that old hawk- Oh, I suppose that is a discussion for another day." He mumbled under his breath. He shook himself for getting distracted and focused on what was important.
"And what of your world?" Orochimaru hissed with excitement. "Tell me, Tom, in your world, how do wizards wield influence-?"
"-I apologise for the interruption." Orochimaru hissed at the impertinence of the Akimichi, the poor chit seemed to cower under his glare.
"Ah." Tom almost seemed apologetic. "Thank you for meal Orochimaru, perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later date?"
Wait, What?! Did I say something to offend him? Tsk, where is that nosy Tsunade when you need her? She would know what went wrong. Orochimaru nodded mutely, dumbfounded by the abruptness.
"Yes, of course" He smiled. He hoped it did not look at false at it felt, when he bid the younger man a farewell. Orochimaru sighed melancholically. Just when we were getting somewhere too. At least there was the promise of a second meeting.
Orochimaru smiled. He may have not understood the other's world, but he did recognize a kindred spirit. The chessboard of the elemental nations had just gained a new, powerful player, and Orochimaru was not averse to having a fascinating new pawn at his disposal, even one as enigmatic as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
