Chapter Text
The hall was vast, but the atmosphere was icy. The silver glow of the chandeliers wasn’t enough to warm the air, and even the air itself seemed frozen, held back by an almost palpable tension.
Tom was seated at the round table, back straight, gaze piercing. For months, Dumbledore had been relentless in thwarting his plans, inexorably delaying the expansion of his empire across the world. Like an insidious shadow, the old man continued to interfere. Even before the fall of the Ministry, he had always been defiant, incapable of understanding that his time was over.
“My Lord, I found nothing on Dumbledore’s whereabouts,” murmured Abraxas, his eyes avoiding direct contact.
He dared not meet the Emperor’s gaze. Tom Riddle was not a man one could look at without shivering. He possessed a chilling beauty, almost unreal, like a marble statue animated by an unshakable will. His face was sharp, angular, perfectly sculpted but it was his eyes that held his true power. Two dark red abysses, burning with restrained fury, piercing the souls of those who dared to face him.
“Do I need to replace you, Abraxas ? You are useless to me while the rebels multiply!”
His voice cracked through the air like a whip. Abraxas barely suppressed a shiver. For months, the Emperor had been on edge. His decisions had become more unpredictable, more ruthless. He would never voice it aloud he valued his life too much—but the massacres were piling up, and yet the war remained at a standstill. Dumbledore was still out of reach.
“No, My Lord, but… the rebel camps are protected by the Fidelius Charm,” he breathed, hoping to calm the storm.
Abraxas’ gaze drifted toward the other knights, seated in silence. They had all known Tom since Hogwarts. They had always known he was destined for greatness, and they had followed him without hesitation. Yet, they also knew that despite their unwavering loyalty, none of them could ever fill the absence of Harry, the one Tom had called his other half.
He was the only person Tom considered his equal, the only one whose disappearance had shaken him. At Hogwarts, people used to joke that if Tom became a king, then Harry would be his queen. The Slytherin girls were jealous, but none of them had ever mattered. And now that Tom was Emperor, his Empress had been gone for a decade.
“I’m ending this meeting,” Tom sighed as he stood, the weight of exhaustion pressing on his shoulders.
“Continue your search.”
He left the hall without a backward glance, his black cloak billowing behind him like a shroud. The silence he left in his wake was glacial.
Sixteen years had passed since Tom seized power. After completing his studies at Hogwarts, he had spent three years at the Ministry, patiently climbing the ranks before executing his coup. That day, named the Renewal, marked the fall of the Ministry and the dawn of a new era in Britain. Blood had been spilled, many had died, but the Death Eaters and Tom’s knights had swiftly gained control over the chaos.
Tom had always wanted to change things. Ever since he understood that magic was at risk of disappearing, he had set a goal: to ensure the survival of their world, no matter the cost. But wizards refused to see the truth. Dumbledore, with his old idealist speeches, continued to poison minds, painting Tom as a tyrant bent on destruction, eager to kill all Muggle-borns and Muggles.
Not that he didn’t want to. Nor that he wasn’t capable of it. But Tom knew better.
At the end of his seventh year, he had set to work. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Yet, that same year, Harry had left. He spoke of travels, of research, without knowing exactly what he was looking for. His departure had been a heavy blow.
But Tom hadn’t faltered. He knew Harry would never have accepted him wallowing in grief. So he had continued his ascent.
Then the letters stopped.
The news ceased.
And in that silence, another anxiety crept in. The uncertainty of his immortality. He had believed himself invincible, and yet, a part of him doubted. He couldn’t afford to fail, so the Horcruxes multiplied.
He knew Harry wasn’t dead. He couldn’t explain how, but it was a certainty anchored deep within him. Yet, after ten years, he still hadn’t returned.
And Tom had to learn to rule alone. Without his other half.
He had just visited a newly constructed district in Magica who had said Tom was inspired when naming the magical world?
Tom slammed the door shut behind him and stepped into his chamber. It was a vast room, elegant yet impersonal, its walls devoid of any warmth. Everything here exuded order and coldness. At the center stood an imposing bed, large enough for several people, yet it remained dreadfully empty.
The air crackled, charged with an electric tension. Something was wrong.
With a swift motion, he drew his wand, senses on high alert.
“I know you’re there. Whoever you are, come out.”
His voice was low, threatening, sharp as a blade. A shadow slid out of the darkness, separating from the doorframe.
Without hesitation, Tom flicked his wrist, casting a silent Incendio. Flames erupted in a flash of light only to crash against an invisible shield.
He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the intruder. There was something strangely familiar about him.
His pupils contracted. Green eyes. A deep, vibrant green, avada Kedavra green.
His breath hitched for a fraction of a second.
The stranger’s face… hadn’t aged.
Impossible.
A searing hatred surged through him.
“Is this how you welcome your other half, Gaunt?” murmured the intruder in a soft voice.
Tom saw red. “Crucio ! Avada Kedavra !”
The spells whistled through the air, deadly and relentless.
This was a cruel joke. An illusion. A mockery of unbearable cruelty. How dare he come here wearing Harry’s face ?
“I’ll rip your eyes out!” Tom hissed, breath short.
The stranger floated above the ground, his cloak as dark as a void devouring all light. In his hand, a staff of dark wood, curved at the tip.
“How can you not recognize me, Tom?”
The voice was Harry’s. But his eyes… his eyes were filled with an unfathomable sorrow.
Spells rained down, wrecking the room. Furniture exploded under the impacts, walls cracked beneath the raw magic.
And yet, the stranger dodged effortlessly, never retaliating.
Then, in a voice weak yet distinct, he whispered : “Semper in te, pars animae mea.”
The words echoed through the room like a distant memory words he had spoken to only one person. Words he sometimes repeated in the dark, when he was alone.
Tom’s blood ran cold. These words… They were his. They were Harry’s.
His head snapped up, eyes wide in shock, meeting the intruder’s gaze : “Always in you, the half of my soul.”
Harry wasn’t dead. He had never left. He was standing before him.
Tom halted his spells abruptly, eyes locked onto Harry, who was slowly stepping toward him. There was a hesitation in his movements, almost imperceptible, as if even in this confrontation, he was still trying to understand what had changed. He seemed both a stranger and a memory, his presence unsettling the air like a specter one no longer dared to summon.
"How do you want me to prove it's me, Tom ?" hissed Harry his voice slithering through the air like a serpent, Parseltongue slipping between the words.
Tom shivered at the Parseltongue whisper, but remained still, watching as Harry approached. His hand lifted, slowly, with an odd tenderness. When it touched Tom’s cheek, a familiar warmth spread through him. Yet, he noticed almost painfully that Harry hadn’t changed. The boy who had left nineteen years ago was still here, in that gaze, in the shape of that face, untouched, as if time had never claimed him.
A flicker of disdain crossed Tom’s eyes. He stepped back, his thoughts clashing in his mind.
“Doloris !” he spat, a sneer escaping his lips as the curse lashed out. “You know me, Harry, you knew you'd be writhing in pain under my wand the moment you returned.”
Harry’s cry rang through the air, an automatic reaction to the spell’s intensity. Tom watched, a gleam of cruelty in his eyes, as the other twisted in pain a pain he inflicted once more, with a strange satisfaction mixed with rage. Yet, barely a second had passed before Tom quickly lifted the curse and, with a sharp gesture, cast a soothing spell.
Harry, panting, burst into laughter, as if this ordeal was nothing more than a game between them.
Tom had only cursed Harry with Doloris twice in their lives, and each time, the spell had never lasted more than a minute. Harry had never feared him. He never hesitated to fight back, even with Avada Kedavra, when he was angry at Tom back in the days when he used to track his every move. A flicker of painful pride passed through Tom’s gaze perhaps a part of him regretted those times when violence had been their common language.
“You’ve been gone for nineteen years, Harry. Nineteen years…” Tom’s voice was cold, almost indifferent, but his eyes burned with a fire he could no longer conceal. He stared at him that same figure who had disappeared into nothingness without a word and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling betrayed.
Harry answered with palpable disdain, like a bite he couldn’t hold back.
“You could’ve come looking for me, but you were too busy building your little empire.”
The words struck Tom like a dagger, a painful truth he couldn’t ignore. Yet he remained still, locked in an internal battle that consumed him, unsure whether to hate or long for the truth behind those words. He hadn’t searched for Harry when the letters stopped, too preoccupied with restoring Britain. And when he finally realized his other half was truly gone, it was far too late.
Tom sighed before lifting Harry from the ground, the latter still gripping his staff tightly. He headed toward the bed and cast a repair spell. He glanced around the room it would need fixing. Magic had permanently destroyed parts of it.
He gently laid Harry down on the bed, who never once took his eyes off him.
“Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been?” Harry said with his mischievous smile.
“I think you’ll tell me in due time,” Tom replied. “But I would like to know how you got into my room with all the protections I’ve put in place,” he added, raising an eyebrow.
Harry laughed, and Tom relaxed.
“I’m going to sleep, Tom, just for a moment,” Harry murmured, looking at him before closing his eyes. Tom watched the boy who looked far too young to be thirty-seven drift into sleep. He needed to call a meeting with his inner circle quickly. His other half had returned.
Abraxas didn’t know what to expect from the meeting Tom had called. There hadn’t been one scheduled for another two weeks, so the Emperor must have had an important announcement to make. After all, the Walpurgis Knights of the Round Table were always the first to be informed of the Emperor’s plans. They all stood in line, waiting for their Lord.
“Do you think he’s found Dumbledore’s location?” Corvus asked, frowning.
“With how much Tom’s been on edge because of him, I think he’d have gone searching for him before even making any plans,” Orion snickered, earning a dark glare from the other knights.
“Watch what you say, Orion. Harry isn’t here to save you anymore,” Anton mocked.
“But he’s right,” Sebastian added.
The grand doors suddenly burst open, and all eyes turned to Tom as he entered the room, his tall silhouette casting a shadow across the floor.
“My Lord,” they said, bowing.
Abraxas hoped Tom hadn’t heard their conversation. No one dared to mention Harry’s name in front of Tom anymore. After one unfortunate soul had the audacity to do so and ended up cursed to the point of wetting himself, no one who knew of the boy’s existence ever dared to speak his name again.
“My dear knights,” Tom exhaled, a rare note of joy in his voice that immediately caught everyone’s attention.
“Raise your heads.”
Tom usually let them bow for at least thirty-five seconds, so the order took them by surprise. Everyone lifted their heads, their expressions confused. The Emperor had been in a foul mood for months, making everyone walk on eggshells in his presence.
“I have come to announce the return of someone important to Britain,” Tom declared as a smaller silhouette stepped out from behind him.
And before he even knew how it happened, Abraxas found himself on his knees, staring at the figure before him. He didn’t know if his admiration showed in his eyes, but he quickly lowered his gaze.
Things were about to change. A quick glance at his comrades told him they had also knelt.
“Welcome, Princeps,” they said in unison.
“I see you haven’t lost that habit,” the voice replied, carrying a hint of reproach.
And Abraxas was sure. He was back. And everything was about to change.
“Get up, you bunch of idiots,” Harry sighed, and as one, the five knights stood.
Now, Abraxas could finally look at the man who seemed frozen in time. Not a single wrinkle. The same face as the night he had left. The only thing that had changed was his eyes they looked far more mature.
“Should I be offended? It feels like you respect Harry more than me,” Tom remarked, watching them.
“Don’t be jealous, Tom. They’ve always loved me more,” Harry teased the Emperor openly.
And in a way, Abraxas felt as if he had been thrown back nineteen years, to a time when he wasn’t sure if Tom was joking, when Harry would laugh at his so-called jokes jokes that sounded more like threats. Tom motioned for them to sit around the Round Table. Abraxas walked slowly, his feet heavy, his heart pounding in his chest.
“I suppose after nineteen years, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve all aged,” Harry commented as he sat down.
Wizards aged much slower than Muggles it was an undeniable fact. Yet Abraxas knew that Harry shouldn’t look like an adolescent. He shouldn’t look so young.
“Do you have children?” he asked with a smile.
“I have two sons, Lucius and Draco. Twins,” Abraxas replied, recalling how spoiled the two boys were.
“So do I. Sirius and Regulus. My offer for you to be my firstborn’s godfather still stands,” Orion said, observing the boy who had once been his best friend.
“One’s ridiculous, and the other’s a coward,” Anton began. “I have a son, Antonin,” he added, eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes.
“A brute with nothing in his head,” Sebastian scoffed. “I have a son too, smarter than the lot of their brats Evan Rosier,” he declared proudly.
Harry turned his gaze to the last knight, his expression softening.
“Two boys,” the knight said, looking at Harry.
Harry nodded. “No daughters?”
“Druella and Cygnus had three,” Orion replied with a small smile.
“Bellatrix is completely obsessed with our Lord,” Abraxas commented.
“A very promising young girl,” Tom mused.
“I suppose I should meet her, then,” Harry said with a smile, looking at Tom.