Doom Days (Harry Potter/MCU Crossover)

Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to my latest project guys. Having a lot of fun with this, so please enjoy. The next two chapters are already up on pa-treon, so do look me up on there if you want to read them a bit early along with daily updates as I write. 

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"Ladies, Gentlemen, If you would, the legendary Wand maker Garrick Ollivander will be here with us soon so if you would all, please settle down" I gave Mcgonagall a smile that she did not return as she tried her best to impose some order on the eclectic group of persons that had shown up for the weighing of the wands. It was a difference that I had not accounted for, but one that made a lot of sense. This was probably the biggest event to take place involving the biggest wizarding schools in Centuries. Krum was an internationally recognised athlete, and I was in possession of some celebrity of my own. So was Delacour, to an extent. My research into her had not borne as much fruit as it should have, but several French publications had referred to her as a Champion Duellist on more than one occasion, even if they never seemed keen to mention what competitions she'd won or even who else had participated. Of all four of us, Cedric was the far lesser, and his family were still respected all across Britain, so why would there not be interest in the tournament. 

"Monsieur Potter, Monsieur Potter" One woman called out to me as I passed her, and I turned to regard her with a smile. She took the opportunity to spew rapid fire French at me at that moment. Neither Harry Potter nor Tom Riddle had bothered to learn French. The former because he did not care. The latter because he could not find any texts of French magic sufficiently useful to force him to learn the language. Luckily enough, Doom did speak the language fluently and could follow the barrage of questions as she asked them. One about how he felt having cheated his way into the tournament, another about Dumbledore's help in the matter, and then another about how he hoped to compete against such superior foes. Of course, their loud 'conversation' had drawn the interest of the majority of the room—both French speaking, and otherwise. 

He chose to reply in French, speaking just as quickly as she had, but making sure that he was clear in his phrasing so he did not get misquoted. "I find the assertion that I would need Professeur Dumbledore's help in crossing something as simple as an age line to be highly insulting. And as for superior foes, I see none superior to me here" He said and then turned away from the woman even as she began babbling a follow-up. That should be enough. Doom had dealt with the press in his own universe more than once. There was a simple trick to them. Give them enough to make sure they did not starve, but never feed them until their bellies are full. Once you fed them with enough, they began to get interesting ideas. The threat of losing access to you was no longer as pervasive. They'd slander and opine to their heart's content once they had an abundance of information. Feeding them nothing at all was also dangerous. If they never had access to you in the first place, there was nothing to fear losing. And then it became a competition for who could invent the most outlandish yet plausible claim for the most clicks and views. 

He took a seat next to the other champions, giving them a nod of recognition before doing so. 

"Wotcher, Harry. Haven't seen you in a while" Diggory began, but he was ignored in favour of the other person that had begun speaking at the same time as him. 

"Monsieur Potter, those were some bold words. Fighting words. I hope you have the thrust to back them up" She spoke in an elegant French that tickled his ears as it passed in and to his brain. He leaned on his occlumency to shut off the magic that had begun to tempt him to speak more than he should have. 'Talk to me. Open up.' The magic had whispered to him. Doom internally laughed at the attempt at manipulation. Doom was no one's to fool. 

"Madame Delacour, you will find that I never use words I do not mean. And I also never forget those used by others. It is the least that a 'leetle boy' like me could do" He made sure to exaggerate him impression of her accented English and enjoyed the way her eyes narrowed at him. She was about to reply when there was a banging sound as Dumbledore opened the doors and swept in with the Wand maker as well as the other Tournament officials with him. 

As always, Maxime dwarfed all that stood by her side. Doom found the assertion that none knew her for what she was to be highly ridiculous. Perhaps Hagrid could have been ignored as a freak of nature with his size, but there was no mistaking Maxime's giant blood for anything else. Riddle had studied the beasts, and he could see the signs all over her. If he stepped close enough, he was sure he would be able to smell the giant on her. Her nose, long and flat, matched every diagram he'd seen of her parent species in the dark arts books Riddle had studied. Trailing behind her was Karkaroff, and it was almost like the man was trying extra hard to sell the impression that he was a user of the dark arts. Stringy black hair worn to his shoulders and a deep black beard that cloaked most of his face just screamed nefarious character in proverbial capital letters. In contrast, Bartemius Crouch Senior was well put together. His robes fit his frame perfectly, and he wore them even better. Ludovic Bagman was the stereotypical retired athlete; loud, boisterous and pot-bellied. 

In this ensemble of chaos, there was Dumbledore with Ollivander by his side. Both men whispered to themselves with smiles on their faces. A friendship, perhaps. An old one. Everyone made their way to their seats on the platform, and Dumbledore conjured a special seat for the wand maker with a flick of his wand of elder. A wand of elder that Doom watched with greedy eyes for every second they were exposed for viewing until they disappeared into his sleeves. 

"If I could have Diggory, Cedric first" The wand maker called out. 

Diggory acquainted himself well, walking across the distance that separated it and the stage, moving through the weight of the eyes watching, even as it was crystal clear that he was not completely at home in the situation. Nervous, but doing a good job of fighting it. Of course, the mere fact that he was nervous in the first place was a display of weakness. Weakness that seemed just as likely to get him killed amongst this lot than anything else. 

"Well taken care of," Ollivander said on picking up the boy's wand. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers over it and then placing it next to his ear to listen to some tune that none of us could follow. He nodded, clearly appreciating what he heard. 

" 12 and a quarter inches Ash, and Unicorn Hair. Pleasantly springy. I remember crafting this wand just like it was yesterday. The Unicorn that donated this hair almost gored me through while I attempted collecting it. The Ash wood in this wand also has a unique history. My Grandfather Garrick Ollivander the Second himself was the one to plant the tree I got the wood from." He said as he moved the wand through expert fingers. And then he abruptly took hold of the wand with both hands and mimed snapping it. Cedric had almost jumped on the Wand maker in his panic. 

"A loyal wand, and it warms me to see that this loyalty is one returned. Cherish her, for she will never work for another," The Wand maker said, and then, almost as if he was contradicting his own words; he waved his wand and conjured a goblet of pure ice that he then animated to float and maintain a position by his head. All that, he did silently. 

"She is in good condition, and I pronounce her of fine working order" he said before handing the wand over to Diggory to the applause of the onlookers.

"Next Krum, Victor" Where Diggory had resisted the weight of the stares upon him, Krum did an admirable job of pretending he did not notice them. If not for the fact that the slouch that I'd noticed when he walked alone was missing, I might have even mistaken him for what he pretended to be- aloof and uncaring about the whole thing. His brown fur uniform moved with his frame to add extra bulk to his already burly personage. The man moved on the ground unlike the way he did in the air. It was as if he had been born for one, and forced to spend the most of his life on the other. 

When he reached Ollivander, he did not bother with the graceful bow that Diggory had attempted, and just handed his wand over with some measure of hesitation. 

"10 and a quarter inches. Quite short for a man of your stature" Ollivander said to some titters from the audience, and a slight narrowing of Krum's eyes. 

"Of course, we know not to place much stock in those particular theories. I have crafted wands for decades and seen no such correlation, but that is beside the point," who knew the old man had such a sense of humour in him. Krum's eyes had become mere slits with how far he had narrowed them. 

"Hornbeam. A good wood. Much more sophisticated than what I would expect from this wand's particular creator. Without the rigidity, I might have failed to place it as one of Mykew's. My own wand is made of Hornbeam, did you know?" He said, running the wand along his fingers, much in the same way as he had Diggory's. 

"Oh oh. Dragon heartstring. From a stubborn Ukrainian Ironbelly, it sounds like. What a wand. Stubborn and singleminded. Like it's owner? Maybe, maybe" He said, placing the wand to his ear and beginning to mutter words in rapid fire fashion. 

"A fine wand, if Mykew has ever crafted any." He said, before motioning the glass over and then pointing the wand at it harshly. Liquid sprayed from its tip, coating the icy glass and then filling it to the brim. The man reached out with his other hand to grab a hold of the glass and brought it to his lips. He hummed meaningfully around it and then took a long swallow. 

"I find this wand to be in good condition and I pronounce it of fine working order" He said and then gave the wand over to Krum. Once again, applause followed. 

"Delacour, Fleur" He called out next and while Krum and Diggory had done their level best to feign disinterest at the stares that followed them, the Beauxbatons witch did the opposite. She waved out to the crowd, causing flashes to appear as several of the cameramen worked to take a picture of her ascent to the stage. When she reached, she gave a graceful curtsy to Ollivander that I could just tell would be on the front page of many a paper tomorrow, and handed over her wand with a respectful gesture. 

"Oh oh. Unique. I do not recognise the make" He said first of all, turning the wand over his fingers and assessing every inch of it. 

"It was made by-" The silver haired witch began, but was cut off as the old Wand maker continued heedless of the fact she had begun to speak, making her flush. 

"Nine and a half inches. Shorter, even than Mr. Krum's but less a worry in this particular case" He moved the wand out of the way to give her a meaningful once-over. The crowd loved it, and a few of the photographers dissolved into open laughter at his words. 

"Rosewood, is it? How fascinating. Not one of those I work with. And inflexible. Oh so inflexible. Almost as rigid as Krum's. Singleminded stubbornness is to be the common trait amongst our champions this year, it seems," he said, drawing more tittering from the crowd. Who knew the old man could be personable? 

X

"And then the core. Oh Veela hair? How interesting". 

"From the 'air of mon grand-mere" She said, flipping her hair with her hand, in a sign that she was indeed extremely proud of that fact. 

"Temperamental, of course. But can not be helped. Should work fine for you with your nature, but I doubt it will be much use to another without your….gifts" He said. It was difficult to tell if the slight was intended or accidental as a result of a brash nature, but I doubted that Fleur would care much either way. An insult had been paid all the same, and the product lady did not seem the sort to accept slights. 

He spun the wand around and conjured a bouquet of flowers that he handed over to the only female champion. "I find this wand to be in good condition and pronounce it of fine working order," He said with gravitas, and then waited for Fleur to gather the massive bouquet int one hand before handing her wand over. 

"Potter, Harry" He called now, and instead of ignoring the weight of the crowd's stares, or preening under it, I turned and glared back for a second before walking up to the stage and handing the wand to Ollivander with my back as straight as could be. Doom would not bow to any man. 

"Another of mine. Oh so beautiful. I remember carving every inch of this wand. I made it on the same day I made its brother, you know? Normally, I try to confine myself to a single wand in a day—finishing of course, as wands can take several days to make. My rule is that I do not start carving the next until the ay after I finish a wand. This was not the case on this particular day. After I carved his brother, it felt like this one wanted to burst out of me. He was demanding to be born, and I had no choice but to begin. This is the first wand I ever carved on the same day as another. It is another respect in which they are the same. Born on the same day. Twins." He said, running the wand all across his fingers and placing it next to his ears before beginning to hum to himself. 

"11 inches. Oh he tells me such beautiful things. What a bond you share. History will be sure to tell us much about the both of you in time." At this point, it was like he was talking to more himself than he was speaking to the audience at a whole. 

"Nice and supple, holly with a single tail-feather from a phoenix so magnificent that he has only given two such feathers even after being sought after for centuries by several of my ancestors. A rare, but powerful combination suited for one with a powerful journey before them, but a solitary journey in the end. Almost fits you to a tee, Mr. Potter." 

"Thank you, Ollivander" I said with a nod. He still hadn't let go of the wand or performed any magic yet.

"Yes, yes. Not like I had anything to do with it. The wand chooses the wizard after all, Mr. Potter. And this one has chosen you indeed." He said before waving the wand once, and making my head ring with the sound of cannonballs. 

"Oh so temperamental. He will not perform any magic. Not even for me. Please do us the honours, Mr. Potter" Ollivander said, handing the wand over to me even as he pretended not to hear the way the room erupted into whispers at that. Potter would never have recognised the significance, but Riddle did. A wand and its maker shared a unique relationship. For a wand to refuse to perform for its maker out of loyalty to its wielder, then it meant they shared a relationship that went beyond the pale. 

I held the wand in my left hand, contemplating what I would cast, never even noticing the way Ollivander's eyes flashed at my grip. In the end, there was only one real choice. Doom would be satisfied with nothing short of knocking the socks off of every single person in the room. There was only piece of magic within the knowledge of both Riddle and Potter that would serve that purpose. While Potter called forth his patronus with memories of his friends and parents, Riddle did the same with thoughts of Hogwarts and the home he had found here. Doom would do neither. There was only one thing that would bring Doom joy beyond joy. True happiness comes from freedom. Not family, not friends, not home, those were all chains of a sort and Doom would never be chained. Doom brought up the memory of Potter's first flight, the first time Riddle realised that none around him could do what he could with a wand, the time he received his first yearly bonus as a Senior associate and knew he'd never need to work a day in his life again. Memories of freedom. 

With the wand between my thumb and index finger, I swept it around my head in one smooth motion before pointing it at the end of the room and intoning, "Expecto Patronum". The Phoenix forced stars into the eyes of all that looked upon it as it announced its arrival with a sharp shriek. Of course, patroni could not speak. The noise had come from another. Dumbledore's Phoenix had flamed into the room at the same time and began to fly with Doom's patronus, moving around the room in a dance that uplifted the hearts of all around them as one sang and the other echoed. 

"Beautiful, beautiful. Simply marvellous. Extraordinary," Ollivander was the only one who dared break the silence after the song ended. 

"Not that it is in any doubt, but I pronounce that this wand is of fine working order and is in excellent condition," He said to the applause of the room. Applause that put the half-hearted clapping that had echoed all previous announcements to shame. 

A/N; So many ideas on where to go from here. As for the wand thing, my theory is that Harry's wand hadn't just chosen Harry because of who he was but because of the Horcrux in the scar. Now, Doom is both himself and Potter, and Riddle, at the same time. The purest possible version of Riddle even since he has Riddle's essence up until the Second Horcrux. All these factors come together to mean the wand works better for him than any other. A true match. . Thank you for reading the singing of the wands. If you're really excited about this, then yoU can skip all the waiting and read the next two chapters of this up on my pa-treon right now. And if you come from any of my other stories please do me the favour of commenting which story that is.