DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended

A/N: This is a HP/TR time travel story (Slash), which kicks off right after Tom's graduation from Hogwarts.

For ABV readers. I have almost finished writing the next chapter. Will be up in a couple of days.

As for this story: It will be a longer one and the usual applies. Harry and Tom will be treated as equals. Btw, I don't have a beta. Sorry.

Hope you enjoy the ride.

Chapter 1: Who are you?

The battlefield resembled a graveyard, a last resting place for both sides in this senseles war. Not many had survived the onslaught of Grindelwald's army and those that somehow did, were left surrounded by the bodies of their fallen comrades. The sun still shone brightly and if it weren't for the obvious signs of destruction, nothing would've been memorable about this day.

The body of a German Auror was the first thing Albus noticed upon arrival. Eyes stared up at him, devoid of life. It made him feel sick.

But he had to move on, had to find his old friend and lover amongst the dead. Albus strode across the field, trying not to let the stench and utter devastation get to him.

The field was coated in the scent of burnt flesh. Patches of grass were missing and smoke permeated the air where curses had met their targets. Gellert's 'Heer' had acted as efficient as rumors indicated, leaving nothing but lost souls behind.

It shouldn't have ended like this. In the end, nothing had worked out the way it was supposed to.

Once upon a time, he would've even stood by Gellert's side, would've watched and even participated in this kind of violent uprising, thinking he was on the right side of history.

Even today, the thoughts and secret dreams of a distant past ashamed him, but it also served as a reminder that someone like him couldn't be trusted with power.

And neither could a man like Gellert.

Small groups of Aurors were still patrolling the perimeter, watching over the captured German insurgents while others cried openly at the loss of their friends or stood completely still, too shocked and traumatized at the sight.

A young man, one of the English Aurors made his way over to him as soon as he saw Dumbledore. Albus recognized him instantly, well aware that a man in his position couldn't be allowed to break down like his fellow comrades.

"Thomas, my boy. Is everything alright?"

The Auror leader bowed and gave him a small smile, no doubt feeling relieved to see him.

"As well as it can be under these circumstances," he said, his face resembling a blank page, a mask.

"And Gellert Grindelwald? Did he-?" Albus asked again, feeling breathless for a moment. Gellert couldn't be dead.

Thomas eyed him strangely, almost as if he could sense his deepest thoughts, his worries. Of course, that wasn't possible. But still...

"We managed to capture him, but-" the Auror paused, collecting his thoughts. "We had help."

Dumbledore stilled, adjusting his half moon glasses. Something was wrong.

"Help? From the German Aurors?" he asked carefully. Obviously it would take more than just one group of people to subdue a Dark Lord.

Thomas shook his head, gazing at the ground as if lost in his own thoughts.

"No. It was quite unusual, Albus. There was a man who appeared out of nowhere," he began. "He didn't wear a standard combat robe or anything that made it possible for us to identify him. It's just - all we know was that he decided to fight against Grindelwald all by himself."

"But surely you tried to stop him or at least take over?" Dumbledore said, his anxiety increasing with the newest revelation. As far as he knew, there was no wizard in Europe that could've singlehandedly defeated Gellert. The chance was there, of course, if one looked beyond European borders. But rarely did outsiders get involved in the mess of another country.

The Auror's lips thinned in displeasure, but he continued nonetheless.

"We couldn't. He just told us to stay out of it and then proceeded to challenge the Dark Lord. It was...quite spectacular. And frightening, to be honest. But maybe you should talk to the Dark Lord. He might even be able to tell you more than I can at this point," Thomas said and pointed at the crowd guarding a man.

Dumbledore's heart stopped at the sight.

Without hesitation he moved forward, his eyes never leaving the form of one of the most powerful wizards in this world. Thomas followed him at a distance, but Dumbledore was too focused on what appeared to be his friend. And with every step he took, the resemblance to a man of his past was replaced with the image of a new person. A man who looked beyond defeated, almost tired of living.

This individual was no Gellert Grindelwald at the top of his established regime. No, his friend was gone. Never to appear again.

But a spark of their bond must've been left behind; meaningless as it was, it still mattered to both of them. Gellert straightened his back, despite being bound and surrounded by a magical barrier. His eyes however refused to even look in Dumbledore's direction.

He spoke, his voice raspy and low from the spells he must've been tortured with.

"You came."

Dumbledore remained silent, which seemed to bring some sort of reaction out of the wizard. "Funny, isn't it, Albus? I prepared myself to face you, and yet it still ended like this. It's worse than death," he said, his accent shining through. He huffed and then lowered his head again.

"Who was that man?" Dumbledore barely managed to get the words out and he had to force himself not to cross the barrier.

Thin lips formed a smile, but it was self-deprecating, so uncharacteristic of Gellert's typical arrogance. The Aurors surrounding them shifted uneasily.

"I don't know. He was young. Which makes this whole affair even more aggravating, my friend," Gellert said.

His statement raised more than a few eyebrows and Dumbledore was tempted to blush.

Thousand ideas and suspicions took form inside his mind, but he had no clue where to start. The war was over and this mysterious individual had done the unexpected. But it didn't mean they were safe. Not with such an unknown individual going around and deciding to do what he did.

"He has the wand, Albus."

Gellert locked eyes with him for the first time and the seriousness of the situation suddenly came crashing down upon him.

The Elder Wand.

It was gone.

The day he started to work for Caractacus Burke wasn't memorable, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, a nagging sense of doubt clung to him, a persistent, annoying itch that needed to be scratched.

Tom put the heavy tome on blood wards back where it belonged; the dusty, wooden shelf in the backroom nobody ever paid attention to.

As a general rule, he never let doubt overrule his actions. He evaluated, calculated all odds against him and then proceeded to take action, usually resulting in getting it right. Being a perfectionist wasn't easy, of course. But talent and self-confidence yielded perfect results. There was no room for doubt.

Today he felt different, though.

Or maybe he simply despised his new employer and regretted ever having taken this poor excuse of a job. Burke obviously possessed even less brain mass than Dippet, and that in itself was an achievement. Ruled by greed and obsessed with the Dark didn't make this man any smarter.

Abraxas' parting words reminded him that Tom was essentially playing purchasing agent for Borgin and Burkes, an errant boy, nothing more. The Blonde's disappointment had been evident.

Tom's lips twitched in amusement. What did this pretentious wizard know?

Malfoy wouldn't even recognize ambition if it hit him in the face. Just like Burke, these people lined up for the title of useful instruments in a grander scheme he had in mind. Therefore it was only natural that the pure-blood held no opinions of value.

After carefully rearranging the last orders and making sure his pristine, black robe was in perfect condition, Tom made his way back to the counter.

Burke was currently trying to sell earrings made of fake ivory to an unsuspecting customer, a witch who looked less than impressed with the sum and quality she would get for it.

"There's simply no way I can lower the price. You must understand that ivory these days is hard to acquire. We're dealing with rare, available retail, after all."

The witch snorted, eyeing Burke in disgust.

"Rare? I could buy a similar piece at Twilfitt and Tattings's jewelry section for ten galleons," she sneered, tilting her head a bit, her blonde curls framing her face in a somewhat childish manner.

Seeing Burke's temporary loss of confidence, Tom decided to intervene.

"Similar, but not quite the real one, madam," he said, stepping closer to inspect the item. Just as he thought. It was a piece of junk.

Burke seemed to be relieved after noticing him, despite pretending to be in control. The sweat on his aged visage told another story.

"And who might you be?" she asked, eyeing the newcomer in interest. Her beady, brown eyes took in Tom's immaculate appearance. He shifted on his feet a bit, leaning closer to her. In turn she offered her hand, catching on.

"Tom Riddle, at your service." He bowed, lips briefly touching her knuckles and squeezing her palm in what was decidedly more intimate than proper.

The blush appeared quickly; a predictable reaction.

"Mrs. Lorring, this is my assistant, Tom Riddle," Burke introduced, but she hardly paid him any attention. She was too focused on the incredibly handsome youth who was now invading her personal space.

"Lorring? Of the Love Potions business, I presume?" He smiled, watching as her eyes started to gleam in appreciation. People loved it when others recognized their measly business affairs right off the bat. Tom deliberately infused his voice with respect. Which he didn't feel.

It was funny, though. The Lorring family consisted of pure-bloods who made money off of human trafficking, simply using love potions trade as a cover. All members were as dumb as rocks, from what he'd heard.

"Mathilda Lorring, it's a pleasure," she drawled, batting her eyelashes.

Even better.

Her husband had been involved in a major cheating scandal with a member of the Nott family branch, resulting in a legal battle over money and an 'accidental' death. She was rich and in full control of all financial affairs.

Unusual for women in these times.

"Mrs. Lorring, I believe you'll find no substitute for the earrings, since they were procured by using mammoth ivory from Siberia," he explained, giving Burke a pointed look. "Mr. Burke and his partner had a hard time tracking down the creator."

It was a bunch of lies, but thankfully his employer was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

The witch looked skeptical. "How can I believe this item isn't simply a cheap copy?"

At that, Tom retrieved the earrings from the glass case. Burke handed him a magnifying glass, which the Slytherin heir used to spout off his next lie.

"See these markings on top?" A long, elegant finger pointed at the enamel crown. Tiny veins broke its surface, giving the ivory a rough appearance. "They usually indicate high, magical infusion, which means the animal in question came in contact with nature's magic during the prehistoric period. It's unusual precisely because we're dealing with material before the age of civilization."

It was somewhat true and any professional dealing with ivory would tell her the same. Except in this case, Burke's partner had faked the worn-out look to fool people into thinking this junk was old.

At her dubious expression, Tom went further. "You can check back with Twifitt and Tattings. Their inventory usually consists of smooth, vegetable ivory from South America. Made out of palm trees, not mammoths, I'm afraid."

And then he stepped closer, raising his hand to brush a strand of her hair aside. The earring was held up and Burke used the opportunity to conjure a mirror. Tom drew closer, disregarding her cloying perfume as he brushed past her to touch her shoulder, now standing behind the witch.

Her breathing became slightly irregular and Tom watched as she admired herself in the mirror while he held the earring up, deliberately looking her over. She must've noticed his heated gaze. Fake as it was. She would never see past her own delusions.

"Stunning," he whispered in her ear. Beady eyes dilated, lust hitting her instantaneously at the sight of the dark-haired, young man watching her reflection without shame.

Eventually, he let go of her, returning the objects back to the glass case.

It took another hour to settle the price and eventually Burke managed to sell the fake earrings for over 4000 galleons.

They were worth less than 10.

"Good job, Tom. Good job. Keep it up." His employer grinned, counting the money. Yellowed teeth rounded up the image.

Tom sneered at him mentally, would've loved to curse the inept moron, but he knew that the reputation of this tiny shop was on the line. They couldn't afford to lose wealthy customers, since Dark Arts shops like this one relied on word-of-mouth advertising. A happy rich wizard or witch brought in more high-end clientele.

The day went by, leaving him bored out of his mind, but he also managed to successfully settle a couple of more deals and secure another meeting with a wealthy witch in possession of goblin-made trinkets.

Leaving Borgin and Burkes at half past seven, he apparated straight to his manor in Wimbourne.

Only to see Avery standing in front of his door like an imbecile.

Avery was about to call out, but Tom shut him up with a look. Walking inside, he quickly shut the door after letting his follower in.

"Make it quick, Avery."

The other boy bowed lowly in greeting, following him to the living room in small steps. Ignoring the fool, Tom threw his robe on the expensive leather couch. Playing around with idiots all day could be tiring, no matter how easy it was to manipulate their desires in his favor.

"My Lord, Nott and Goyle managed to contact the smuggling ring in Albania. Unfortunately, their leader isn't willing to meet with you in person, from what they told me," he said, rubbing his neck in nervousness.

Tom stilled, dark eyes narrowed on the pathetic form in front of him.

"Really? And why's that?"

His magic rose in warning, making the boy's hand tremble as a result.

How weak.

"Someone interfered." Bright eyes danced around the room, looking everywhere but at him. Tom knew he wasn't lying, but the news were decidedly less welcome, spelling more danger for everyone who managed to screw this up.

"Go on," he said, pouring himself a glass of water. The swirling substance calmed him down temporarily.

Avery shifted a bit, wringing his hands.

He practically stank of fear.

"Goyle met Drezner's second-in-command, but he told him that someone else already made the deal with him. Drezner didn't-" Avery paused, taking a breath.

"He didn't like your reputation."

Dark eyebrows rose.

"My reputation?"

It was apparent that Avery was struggling to tell the story, probably fearing its consequences.

"The person who got the item let it slip that you're not willing to uphold your end of the deal. He also told him that you're not a - a pure-blood," Avery stuttered.

"Excuse me?"

Shock and fury clouded in his mind, leaving him cold and numb to the outside world. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't.

No one outside of Slytherin house knew of his less than prestigious family background and those that had been aware of it, but never swore their allegiance to him, have been silenced...

...permanently.

Tom regarded his faithful servant closely, holding up a hand to silence the boy.

No. It wasn't betrayal either.

People like Avery were too weak-minded to challenge him directly and most of them even desired a capable leader, putting their entire future and fortune in his capable hands.

So who was it?

Dumbledore?

Tom frowned, ignoring the nervous Death Eater who was still standing in front of him, most likely waiting for permission to explain himself further.

Dumbledore could've tried to thwart his plans for immortality, but as far as he knew, the old coot was still recovering from his apparently glorious battle against Gellert Grindelwald. If that was even the truth.

He doubted Dumbledore would suddenly make a trip to Albania, regardless of his own personal dealings.

He'd also been careful enough not to leave behind any loose ends after graduating from Hogwarts. So who could've known?

"Leave," he said, dismissing his follower.

The boy didn't dare to ask any more questions and with a bow he said his goodbyes, leaving the house at once.

He stared at his own reflection in the glass, contemplating the events.

There was something he must've missed, something that was vital. And because he loathed not knowing the truth, his decision was swift.

He'd need to plan another trip to Albania.

Months ago it could've served as an actual legal hideout, but the owner was part of the more dubious crowd, preferring to do his business in the safety of the dark. The roof barely kept the rain from flooding the entire building and what was left didn't inspire people to visit the place. All in all, it was perfect for the black market.

Harry leaned against one of the pillars in the main hall, carefully observing everyone without making it too obvious.

This shady part of the wizarding world was a phenomenon he usually preferred to avoid. It fascinated and disgusted him how wizards and witches could operate under the laws of all that was moral and righteous, pretending to be the good guys.

And yet here he was, surrounded by murderers, terrorists and psychopaths. People were gambling on seemingly everything and trading items that would mean instant death in case they got discovered. The hall was packed and men were getting drunk, leering at the scantily clad waitresses or searching out dark corners for a quick fuck.

The smell of sweat and alcohol almost made Harry gag and he had to pretend he was entirely unaffected, which wasn't easy. He really hated this place. His companion must've noticed, of course.

"You need to loosen up, Potter," Zabini whispered, standing beside him.

Harry snorted, crossing his arms.

"That's easy for you to say. You're practically in your element," he said and Blaise chuckled, eyeing a handsome bloke near the bar.

"Touché." Blaise winked. The scarce light highlighted his sharp features. It was only natural that people were drawn to Zabini. Charisma tended to have that effect. And Blaise had it in spades.

Soon, they were joined by another group of wizards who wanted to draw them into a card game. But Harry's dismissal and broody attitude quickly shattered their hopes. And Blaise wasn't in the mood for fun either, despite pretending to enjoy himself.

They were both tense. Waiting for that person to arrive.

"Do you think he'll come?"

Harry watched the entrance closely, always checking for familiar faces. He didn't know how the first generation of Death Eaters looked like, but he'd be able to recognize Tom Riddle everywhere. And it was disconcerting. Sometimes he wondered why the young image of a Dark Lord had left such a lasting impression on him. It stayed with him beyond the death of a twisted Voldemort at the height of his power. He didn't like to dwell on it.

"He won't be able to stay away from this place. The diadem is too important."

Zabini frowned in thought. "Maybe he's waiting for someone else to acquire it. And then he's going to kill him. He doesn't necessarily have to participate in the auction."

"True," said Harry. "It's just...I have a feeling he'd like to get noticed, make some lasting connections before killing the owner."

And then he felt it.

The crushing, overwhelming force of Riddle's magic appeared out of nowhere, enticing those in attendance to its source. People turned around on instinct and Harry was left wondering how on earth Riddle managed to get so strong in such a short amount of time. He was almost on Voldemort's level, even without decades of experience. It was frustrating.

It was...

"Impressive," Blaise admitted, his voice shaking a bit. "I didn't know he was that...perfect."

And there he was with his entourage of salivating followers, looking around imperviously. The hood of his robe was drawn up, but it didn't distract from the pale features that instantly attracted people to his side.

Harry gritted his teeth, suddenly wanting to smash his arrogant face in. Riddle was already watching the crowd as if inspecting animals that weren't worth his time.

Blaise however was drawing his wand, preparing himself for a fight, but Harry held his hand up.

"Let's wait," he said, following Riddle's movement with his eyes. The young Dark Lord headed for the bar. He must've seen someone important.

"We could take them on, Potter," the other boy replied.

"Not with so many people as witnesses."

Blaise grimaced in displeasure. "You already fought Grindelwald, for fucks sake. There were tons of witnesses, even if they didn't recognize us. Let's get rid of him."

"I also had the element of surprise with Grindelwald. Riddle is a different story entirely. That means we wait."

Blaise threw his hands up in defeat, but didn't comment. It was obvious the other would just throw an Avada at Riddle's back and be done with it.

What Blaise didn't know was the fact that throwing himself into a duel with Riddle so soon and risking the Elder Wand's switch would accidentally make the future Dark Lord even more powerful. And that was something Harry didn't want to do.

Not yet.

Abraxas stood to the side, watching as his Lord rounded up his latest act of manipulation, skillfully ending the conversation with a German politician.

It's been a while since the last gathering, which he thought was kind of strange. After leaving Hogwarts, the Dark Lord somehow managed to establish a life in reclusion, preferring to keep his followers out of his life. On the one hand it was understandable. Trust was a shaky thing, after all. But on the other hand Abraxas could readily admit that he felt...disappointed. And now this.

The trip to Albania wasn't necessarily something he wanted to do in the first place. But here he was, playing the ever faithful guard.

His Lord turned away from the bar, scanning the crowd for more influential people. It would take a while before they even managed to conclude their business and Nott was already impatiently tapping his foot against the barstool, probably detesting this place as much as he himself did.

Nott would have to curb his emotions, if he didn't want to get tortured before the night was out.

"My Lord, maybe we should ask for the-," Abraxas broke off as soon as he noticed his Lord's distraction. Something must've caught his eye.

He followed the man's gaze, curious to see what made the Dark Lord's attention waver. And then he saw it.

Two figures, both male, were engaged in a hushed conversation, looking as if they wanted to keep their distance from the rest of the crowd on purpose. Abraxas narrowed his eyes.

They were both tall and dressed in standard, black robes that looked a bit strange to the careful eye. It wasn't too obvious, but he could guess that they weren't from these parts. Americans maybe?

Yet he could see why they managed to command so much attention.

Power always worked wonders and the bespectacled man to the left practically reeked of it, once you decided to pay attention to him. It was a hidden force, but not suppressed. And it made Abraxas wonder. The other one possessed a strong aura of sophistication and authority. Both of them were not the type of men you wanted to mess with.

They were worth his Lord's time.

A sideways glance confirmed it.

Sharp eyes were taking in the details of the figure to the left and Abraxas knew this night was far from over.

The lights dimmed and a frail woman walked on stage, announcing the start of the auction.