Chapter Text
Harry dabbed a touch of makeup on his forehead and let his bright red bangs fall back down. He nodded approvingly at the man in the mirror. Long, tied-back red hair, drawn-on freckles, and bright green eyes. He could have passed for a good-looking witch.
Today was the day Harry was going to 'die', after all.
He turned his body to get a look at his side profile and jumped in his skin at the sight of Tom through the mirror. He spun around. "How long have you been standing behind me?!"
Tom had his arms crossed, his fingers tapping his elbow impatiently. "That's the second time I've caught you admiring your reflection. And you dare to call me vain?"
"You are vain." Maybe Tom did not prize his looks as much as his power, but the fourteen-year-old still groomed himself religiously 'to better charm people'.
Tom was dressed to charm right now, in fact. His hair was curled, his best-but-still-casual robes were donned, and his complexion was as perfect as ever. Except for that scowl. "You should have started putting on your Roonil Wazlib disguise much earlier if you were going to take this long! Hurry up now, or we'll be late."
Harry pointedly did not hurry up. "You seem more excited to go to this Quidditch game than me."
Tom looked at him like he was an idiot. "It is not just any 'game'. It's the Quidditch World Cup. Everyone is going to see it. Only Underbeings would miss this!"
"Don't use that word," Harry admonished, only to be ignored.
"And you should be more excited for your friend who is playing."
Harry would have been very pleased to watch his old friend, Gwendolyn, play beater for the Irish National Quidditch Team in the World Cup match against Japan. He could have been very excited if Gwendolyn hadn't chosen to finally call in her favor from the time she helped Harry during Tom's kidnapping.
Gwendolyn's request was to fly in the same game with Harry's Quidditch Seeker Alias, Roonil, and what better time than the World Cup? He had only agreed to be the Reserve Seeker, but news of this development had reached the press, and the enigma Roonil Wazlib's unexpected return was stirring up a little more support for the Irish team.
"Aren't you done yet?" Tom stuck his head through the door while Harry was still fastening on his Quidditch gear. "My 'friends' are expecting us!" He made a hurry up gesture and left the door open.
Harry's mind screeched to a halt. "Your little minions?" He quickly fastened his last arm brace and rushed out. "You're going to be sitting with them? But what about Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood?!" He had coordinated the international Portkey with them to Helsinki and everything!
Tom stuck his chin up and gazed down his nose at Harry. "I will sit wherever I please."
Tom was so perfectly unapologetic that Harry knew he did not have enough time to start anything with him. "You should have at least told me so that Mrs. Lovegood wouldn't have bought you a ticket. It wasn't cheap, you know."
Tom was tapping his foot against the rug. "As much as I love to hear you complain, now is not an ideal time. Could you save it for later, or will you forget?"
"You've become quite snarky," Harry muttered, which was apparently all he had time for because Tom was now dragging him by the arm to Calcy, their magical fire. "Hey, let go! We can't both go in at the same time!"
Tom wasn't ten anymore. He had actually grown quite a lot now that Harry was starting to think. Just a little taller than Harry's shoulder, not that Tom seemed to care because he simply activated the floo flames and marched them both in. It was a tight squeeze and uncomfortably warm. "Lovegood house!"
∞
"Are you ready to see all your fans, Roonil Wazlib?"
'Roonil's' gaze rose from the red and gold scarf in his hands up to a pair of glittering eyes. "That is a name of the past long gone." He sighed melodramatically. "Flown too high only to be burnt in the sun."
"And today he rises from the ashes," Gwendolyn returned in equal measure, raising her broom with triumph. "Long will we sing praises of the mystical seeker, Roonil Wazlib–lib–lib," she echoed away.
"Merlin, please don't."
Gwendolyn cracked a dimpled grin. "Oh, lighten up! If you weren't so mysterious, those seats wouldn't be as filled out there! They're all hoping that our main seeker drops so that you'll swap in." She finished tying up her black braids. She swished her ponytail with a pitying head shake. "Poor Harriet!"
Harry gave her a flat stare. "Don't act like you're not just as excited for that…"
She pretended not to hear him. "Don't take too long!" She waved over her shoulder and disappeared through the tent flap.
Harry looked back down at the red and gold scarf in his hand. There probably wouldn't be enough time during this game for him to be called in as the reserve Seeker anyway. According to the future, the 1941 Quidditch World Cup was going to be shut down after just two hours due to a spontaneous clash between Grindelwald's Army and his many significant opposers who were in attendance today, such as the French and British Minister for Magic and the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.
It was like one of the Weasley twins' exploding trick boxes waiting to be triggered.
Harry had known that this would happen for a while, thanks to Ron's knowledge of all the World Cup matches in the last two centuries, but he hadn't told Gwendolyn anything more than an ominous suggestion to be extra careful today. He had also tried to leave Tom back at the cottage, which shouldn't have been a problem normally, but Tom just loved to be contrary.
Harry exhaled deeply. If Tom had sat with Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood as they had planned, then they would have been able to get him to safety with the return international Portkey. Always a wrench in the plans, that boy.
Hermione had strongly disapproved of his going to this match. Ron had pointed out that this was definitely the kind of 'trouble' that a time traveler should not be involving himself in. Neville had expressed that Harry's infamous luck would probably make this already historical event even more notable, and not in a good way. Luna had made him promise to fly away from the sun and to avoid music boxes.
All in all, Harry had no support from his most important friends in the world, but this timing was just too good. How could he pass up such a perfect opportunity to fake his death?
Harry checked his scar concealer in his warped reflection on a brass plate one last time.
He froze. The overwhelming cheering from outside had gone eerily quiet. His wide-eyed, warped reflection was no longer alone. Harry spun around, "Stupefy!"
The intruder dodged. Her wand hand performed a complicated motion that turned her wand into a pair of long, sharp scissors. The shiny blades parted with a shing and pressed firmly against Harry's wrist.
Just like last time, when the blades parted, dozens of glowing, multicolored tendrils appeared, sprouting from Harry's chest. One of Harry's biggest strings, a bright golden one, was currently clamped between the scissors blade and his skin. "Hello again, Atropos," he said conversationally. "Or do I have the pleasure of speaking with Ginny today?"
"Give me the watch," the gaunt woman said fiercely, "or I'll cut your lifeline right here!"
Atropos, it was then. "What will happen to me if I give it to you?" Harry had a strong guess already. When he had taken this wristwatch from Atropos's sister six years ago, she had lost all her memories.
The blade only pressed harder against the golden line on his skin. "Nothing worse than death," she promised.
It confirmed it. Well, that put Harry in a very tough position. He did not want to lose his memories, and he also did not particularly want to die. "You wouldn't do it," Harry said, dripping in bravado.
No… he really did believe it. There was still a small part of Ginny that was trapped inside of Atropos, and she would not let Harry be killed like this.
The blade pressed even harder on Harry's skin. If he moved even a little bit, it could sever his 'lifeline', as she called it.
Harry waited, never once looking away from Atropos's fierce, round eyes. Searching for something recognizable. Moments of nothing passed. He was right.
"I can make a lot of people in the audience die today," she said instead. "Don't you care about them, Saint Potter?"
"I know you can't," Harry said boldly, reaching out with his other hand to tap on the outline of the astrolabe underneath her shirt. "We aren't allowed to directly change the timeline. Your atrolabe would punish you if you tried." And it was a pain that was almost as unbearable as the Cruciatus Curse.
"I am not stupid enough to do that," she scoffed, lessening the pressure. "I weave the fates. I manipulate things already set in motion… such as Gellert Grindelwald's impending riot."
Harry feigned a gasp. "A riot? No way!"
She stared. "Ron told you?"
"No, the wind did."
Atropos inhaled deeply, muttering some half-formed insults about Ron's insufferable interference. "Surrender the Kairos Watch," she said back on the topic at hand. "Tom Riddle's life is in great danger."
Harry's heart skipped. He glanced at the now visible red thread tied around his pinky. "You're threatening me with the life of my parents' murderer?" He scoffed. "Where's your logic? Or are you trying to bribe me by doing me a favor?"
Her large eyes narrowed penetratingly. "I know you, Harry. You're someone who cares even if they don't deserve it."
Harry inhaled sharply. There it was, that deeply buried fondness. "Ginny." His free hand rose up. He was answered with a frightened look. "I know you're in there, so come back to me. Let's go home."
She shook her head. Afraid, but still there.
"I was going to fake my death today," Harry confessed. "Use Grindelwald's attack as cover to disappear. Tom's in more capable hands now. I was going to come get you myself, but you came for me first." His hand rested on the dull blonde curls. It felt wrong, this body that wasn't Ginny's, but he smiled anyway. "We always come back for each other, have you noticed?"
For a moment, Harry thought she was about to nod. The moment splintered. Her dilated pupils shrank back into needle points. "GINNY IS DEAD," she snarled.
Harry's instincts kicked in, and he was twisting out of the way of several foreign curses and explosions. The silent spell broke. Sound from the outside world was filtering back into the tent—thousands of people screaming.
Harry darted to the tent flap and was greeted by pure chaos outside. The light of hundreds of spells streaked from around the stadium. How?! It was almost two hours too early!
His eyes followed where the red string around his pinky threaded up into the stadium seats in the high distance. Then it as well as the other glowing tendrils extending from his chest faded. Harry whirled around.
Atropos slowly advanced, her wand twirling between her fingers. "I'll take the watch back by force then."
∞∞∞
Tom had one of the best views of the stadium, though he was having a difficult time deriving what little pleasures he could from the silly sport.
"You will let me know if you'll want for something?" Mrs. Avery fussed with her son's hair. "And you know where to find us if you get lost?"
"Yes, mother!" He batted away her hovering hands. His face was almost the shade of a Quaffle that Dolohov would be sure to tease him over.
Mrs. Avery narrowed her eyes. "I'll go back to sit with your father and the Minister, then… I love you, my darling."
The words crawled up Tom's spine like a spider. He stopped his shudder of disgust from becoming too visible.
"Alfred, dear?" she asked sweetly. "Say it back."
Dolohov and Mulciber were biting their tongues. Avery ducked his head.
"A proper wizard does not mumble," she said, no longer sweet. "Say. It. Back."
Tom fixated his gaze on Harry's Irish friend kicking off into the air. It was a good thing he never had to worry about Harry being so distastefully affectionate. Tom had trained him very well in that regard. Indeed, Harry has never once uttered those forbidden words to him.
Avery, however, was not so lucky. "I love you too," was pried through his teeth.
His mother beamed and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "Have fun with your friends!"
Tom's face went slack at her departing back.
Avery was scrubbing his cheek while Dolohov teased him relentlessly.
There was a sudden booming announcement, but Tom was still too stunned to pay attention. He had seen parents kissing their children from his years attending Muggle Charity Schools, and he had always turned his nose up at the sight.
It was a bit undignified in a way. Only weak little orphans cried about not getting their goodnight kisses anymore. Tom had always been different; he did not need such meaningless gestures of love.
He shuddered to think that Harry might ever try something like that with him. And yet, his brain refused to stop conjuring up those repulsive images.
That was why it took Tom a moment to register that the screams of excitement had morphed into screams of fright at some point, particularly when the high-pitched screams of one fat old witch pierced his thoughts.
"HELP ME! HELP ME! SAVE ME!"
Heart kicking alive, Tom brandished his wand, earning boggling reactions from the other boys except for Mulciber, who also had his wand.
"Your parents let you keep your wand?" Rosier exclaimed, outraged.
Harry did not usually let him go out in public with his wand anymore, not since the Ouroboros incident. That's why it was such a surprise when, just before Harry split off to join the other players, he handed Tom his yew wand.
"You're gonna need this," he had said cryptically. "Just try not to kill anyone, alright?"
Tom did not say anything, and so there was no promise that he needed to keep. He threw a wordless severing charm at someone in the distance and delighted a bit when it struck true, taking off their wig and a thin slice off the top layer of their bald scalp.
"Who was that?" asked Lestrange, who had been perceptive enough to see what Tom did.
"The enemy." Tom did not actually know, but it had felt nice.
"Let's go find my mother," Avery shouted. "She's with the Minister—it'll be safer." A glimpse at his panicked surface thoughts told Tom that he just wanted to run into his mummy's arms.
"The Minister is one of the targets," Tom returned plainly. "It's the most dangerous place to be."
Avery paled.
It was not hard to work that out. Such a bold, wide-scale, and organised attack must have had a larger political motive. Likely the work of the common enemy, Gellert Grindelwald, to weaken his enemy forces.
The Minister's side was not a safe place to be, and Tom was seated at one of the best views of the stadium. In other words, one of the nearer seats to the Minister.
More than half of the stadium had Disapparated by now. The old witch about two rows away was still screaming bloody murder. Rosier was hiding under the seats. Dolohov was fighting Mulciber for his wand. Tom was hurling spell after spell at any of the remaining wizards who took even a step in his direction.
"Alfred!" screamed a familiar voice.
"Mother!"
Alfred deserted them. Lestrange had also disappeared at some point. Mulciber and Dolohov were sprawled over the seats, wrestling for the wand. Tom shot off as many spells as he could; he had half a mind to throw a diffindo at the still-screaming fat old woman so that she could choke on her blood and die quietly. Instead, he kept his eye out for Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood. They had a return portkey.
"TOM!"
Tom spared one chaotic second to look up. It was Harry on his broom, scanning the many rows of seats.
Tom shot up Red Sparks and returned to his situation. Useless people everywhere. "Expelliarmus!"
Mulciber's wand flew out of his and Dolohov's tangle and into Tom's hand. He shoved the stick into Rosier's chest. "Erect a shield for us!"
For a moment, Tom thought that Rosier would take the wand and run away, so Tom fixed his most threatening glare on him. Rosier nodded, and an invisible shield was created all around them.
A crash!
Tom twisted around. It was just Harry hopping off his broom and launching right into battle. His hair was black and short again, a very choppy cut; he must have just hastily shed his Roonil Wazlib disguise.
Tom's fighting was limited to the bounds of Rosier's Shield Charm, but Harry was running around recklessly in the open, firing 'Stupefy' of all spells, weaving through the crossfires of Dark Spells—the kind that even Tom had never heard of!
It was here, within the relatively safer bubble, that Tom took a moment and just watched Harry. Properly watching him, perhaps for the first time. Tom almost could not look away. Harry was a spiffing good duellist.
It was as though time slowed; the sound of battle and the old lady's screaming was drowned out, and Harry was in hyper focus. He moved faster than any other witch or wizard. Not a single second was wasted with an unnecessary Shield Charm when he could dodge instead. He had even had enough time in between his Stupefies to identify the fallen victims and revive them!
Harry was good. When did that happen?
Tom recalled that Harry had done some Auror training in the past, but he had failed the program after the first year! Not to mention that he got thoroughly pummeled by the Ouroboros shortly afterward. Even during Professor Merrythought's Duelling Club meetings, Harry's only strong point was his speed, but this—
This was something else!
Tom stared, almost too enthralled to cast spells. Harry right now, vaulting over seats and wordlessly casting spells without pause, made Harry's play during their Harry Hunting games look like child's play! Maybe it had been child's play to him.
Eventually, Harry circled his way back to Tom and his gang of useless snakes. "Professor Dumbledore and his friends are evacuating people now," Harry said quickly. His eyes were still scanning for any of Grindelwald's Acolytes. "I'm sure your families are alright. I have a Portkey—"
A furious screeching interrupted Harry. Tom looked up at a vaguely familiar barn owl. His suspicions were confirmed when it landed on a nearby seat and transformed into the banshee-like witch who had ambushed him before. He gave her no time, "Bombarda!"
The seats exploded. A high-pitched note of pain told Tom that he must have hit her.
"Tom," Harry said sharply, though Tom failed to understand the disapproving lines on his face. "All of you, come on, Portkey!"
Rosier quickly released the Shield Charm to run to his side. Tom and the others followed suit. Harry pulled out a red and gold scarf, stopping short of activating it by a very loud, terrified scream.
It belonged to the pink-themed old lady who had not stopped exercising her vocals the entire time. She was clutching to her many valuable necklaces and pearls hanging around her fat neck, petrified in terror, it would seem.
"Harry…" Tom said warningly.
Harry nodded and shoved the Portkey between them. "It's time-activated, but you can override it with the word 'escape'." Everyone's hands were on the length of the scarf at once.
"Escape!" they all said together, except Harry.
At the last second, Harry pushed Tom to the ground. The other boys disappeared with the Gryffindor scarf. Tom panted, blinking, spiking rage bubbling to the surface of his skin, but Harry quickly jumped off him.
Tom realized what had happened not one second later. The owl Animagus witch had thrown a spell at them, as evidenced by the state of the stadium seats, and Harry pushed him out of the way at the cost of their escape. Now, she was nowhere in sight.
Tom joined Harry's side, flinging off his own less-than-innocent spells in any direction that an owl could be hiding. The stadium was almost entirely vacated now. Those who remained were locked in battle or unconscious.
"Harry," Tom said, "Unless you happen to have another portkey, you need to Disapparate us."
Harry nodded uncertainly. They both knew that Harry wasn't familiar with Finland; his disapparating would be dodgy, but it was better than here. They were both interrupted by another voice.
"Harry, Tom!"
It was Mrs. Lovegood running toward them and waving their return portkey in the air. Tom decided right in that moment that he did like her.
They ran to meet her, but something caught on Tom's nice robes. A someone, actually. It was the useless old witch still frozen on the seat. She had screamed herself hoarse and was now clinging to Tom's robes and latching a thick arm around his leg.
Tom kicked her.
"Tom!" Harry turned around and ran back to him.
Tom aimed his wand at her upper arms, making sure he wasn't going to hit his leg, "Diffindo!"
The spell missed. Because of Harry.
He had slapped Tom's hand away, and Tom wanted nothing more than to behead him.
"Madam," Harry shouted, shaking the red-faced woman by the shoulders. "We have to move!"
She screamed silently at him, batting off Harry's hands.
"I'm trying to save you!"
Tom raised his wand again to sever the woman's arms, but a blur of feathers made him redirect his spell. It destroyed five seats, but there was no dead owl in sight.
Harry had given up on persuading her. He tried to gather what he could of her useless body with his arms. "Come on," he strained.
She was worse than dead weight. Tom was tempted to kill her just so that carrying her body would become easier.
Luckily for the old cow, Anesidora Lovegood met with them before Tom could give in to his urge.
Harry struggled to secure the old woman's flailing arm on the Portkey, a handkerchief. "CALM DOWN," he bellowed, commanding like Tom had never heard him do before. "WE'RE SAVING YOU!"
She went still. Her eyes fixated on Harry, and her arm obediently rested on the Portkey.
Anesidora recited the activation word.
Like an invisible hook had snatched his waist, the Portkey was yanking them away. The last three things Tom saw were a furiously screeching witch, a light of a foreign spell, and Harry's arm coming up to shield them.
∞
The first thing Tom saw when the four of them collapsed at the Portkey destination was red. Liquid, glistening red.
The first thing he heard was the old witch's renewed screaming.
"HELP! HELP THIS YOUNG MAN! HE SAVED ME, HE SAVED ME!"
Tom's shaking fingers wiped the blood from his eyes. "Harry?" He knelt beside him. The Ministry room around them became background noise. Tom shook him. "Harry, wake up."
Harry blinked and squinted at him. "I'm not asleep."
"You're bleeding." He felt like his own blood was draining from his face.
Harry sighed, as though greatly hassled by the observation. "You've got blood on your face too."
"That came from you." Tom watched the puddle grow bigger on the floor. Harry had protected him. Again.
"I'm fine."
"Harry—" Tom swallowed. "Harry, your arm!"
Harry looked down. He blinked at where his arm was lying on the floor, completely detached from the rest of his body. He frowned. "It's just a scratch."
With that, he passed out cold.
∞
Tom crossed his arms and glowered down at Harry, who was lying in the hospital bed and listening to the Healer's report.
"Usually, we would just grow a new arm for full severed cases. It rarely comes back as good as it had been before, so we try to reattach whenever possible, which was why your case was so fascinating!"
Harry hummed.
"We found traces of a foreign magic holding your arm to your body, and it was just enough of a connection for us to successfully stick it back together! The nerve endings may take some time to fully re-establish, and there may be the occasional temporary paralysis. Otherwise, you're as fit as a hippogriff!"
Harry hummed again, and the Healer left to tend to the next of many patients.
Tom could sense that they both really wanted to leave. It had been hours of healing for Harry, and hours of waiting angrily for Tom. "Your duelling has improved," Tom said, though it was so devoid of warmth that it couldn't have been mistaken for praise.
Harry shrugged and poked at his left arm. It seemed to be having an episode of paralysis.
"Stupefy, Harry?" Tom marched up to the bedside. "You can't just keep using those baby spells!"
Harry looked up.
"How do you expect to survive if you aren't willing to use harmful spells?!"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Do you really want to do this? Because I can start with the fact that if you had just stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Lovegood as we had agreed, then that mess wouldn't have happened, and we wouldn't have made Anesidora come looking for you!"
Tom's lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "It's completely your fault for being targeted by that crazy owl animagus!"
"No, it's your fault for insisting on going to the Quidditch World Cup even though I warned you many times that something bad was going to happen!"
"No, it's your fault for not letting me cut off that useless old bag's arms!"
"Of course I'm not going to let you do that!"
"And look at yourself now," Tom gestured grandly. "See who ended up losing their arm instead."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm fine!" Of course. Harry was the sort of person who would die and try to walk it off. "You fuss as much as Hermi—" He frowned. "Herm…Hm."
Tom stared flatly at him. "Hermione?" he supplied. "Your imaginary friend?"
Harry blinked. His mouth opened at the same time as the door, which banged loudly against the wall.
"My hero!" cried an unwelcome voice. The large old witch bounced in and half-flopped on the bed. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you my life!"
Harry rubbed his neck. "Erm, don't mention it."
"I insist," the woman purred, batting her heavy eyelashes. "I, Hepzibah Smith, owe you a life debt." Her makeup-thick face inched closer. "I am willing to do anything," she added with a suggestive wink. "Just tell me what you desire…"
Tom desired to shove the clown off of Harry before he suffocated.
"Er…"
"I have a very impressive collection of antiques!" She pressed closer. "I have clocks, tea sets, music boxes—anything."
Harry shook his head. "I'll pass, thanks. I promised someone that I wouldn't touch any music boxes anyway."
She looked bemused, her fingers played with the curls of her bright red wig as though she could pretend to still be a young witch. "How strange. For what reason?"
"Well, because…" Harry's brows knitted. "Ah. Erm… She, someone, she must have had a good reason."
"Well then." Hepzibah Smith played with the hem of her obnoxiously pink dress. "You will have to come pay me a visit to find something else that you like. My doors are always open…"
Tom suspected that if Harry stepped even one foot in her house, he would simply be added to her collection. "Let's go home, Harry," Tom said loudly. It earned a flash of annoyance from Smith.
Harry nodded quickly, wiggled out from under the old woman, and fled.
∞
"I knew Quidditch was a waste of time," Tom lamented later, throwing his outer robes into the laundry basket. "The Quidditch World Cup was only just a bigger waste of time."
Harry hummed. He was struggling to remove his right arm brace without the use of his left arm. "Yeah, my first time at the Quidditch World Cup ended pretty badly, too."
Tom could not stand to watch him fumble with the braces much longer. He took Harry's forearm in hand. "What happened?" he asked, removing one brace and then the other.
Harry's brows furrowed. "I… can't remember actually. Hm..." He shrugged. "Must've been nothing."
Tom threw Harry's arm braces on the ground beside the laundry basket. "Your watch stopped," he commented.
"Has it?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. He picked up his limp left arm and studied the watch face. "Oh. Strange."
"It must have broken in the fight." Tom slid Harry's Quidditch robes off his shoulders. The task of undressing someone had always seemed too subservient for Tom, but he did not mind doing it for Harry. Just this one time. He cleared his throat. "You've been wearing that wristwatch for years. It's time you replaced it." Tom threw the uniform in the basket. "Where did you get that thing anyway?"
Harry flopped his wrist this way and that. "I can't remember," he admitted, absently rubbing his left shoulder.
Tom narrowed his eyes. "You won't need my help with washing, will you?" That was where he drew the line.
"Of course not!" Harry spluttered, pink in the cheeks.
Later, Tom would find that Harry had somehow managed to break the shower and flood their bathroom.