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. 

For Pa Treon, you can remove the hyphen between Pa and Treon and Google it, then search for my username—Oghenevwogaga. Or you could copy the link in my bio and remove the spaces before pasting it in your address bar.

Occlumency Books from Room of Requirement (move to number 1 since I don't have any occlumency books) Check out the forest for dragons (move to number 1, move books to number 2 since I can do that tonight) Finances and shopping (?) (move to number 1 since its easiest to do, and I can do the forest and the books when I get back) Figure out a strategy for the rest of the year Expose Crouch (?) (Not sure how or whether I should yet-missing graveyard misses opportunity to get Pettigrew) Sirius' innocence (need Pettigrew for that) Get stronger

I stared at the rough to-do list of eight items. I knew it would get even rougher with time as I made edit after edit and revision after revision. It was a habit that I had retained from my first life. The need to squeeze as much utility from the day as possible. It was why I had practically fled the antechamber where the wands were weighed in favour of returning to the Chamber of Secrets instead. And now it was why I was preparing to leave the castle and get moving. 

I spun in space, using the skulls given to me by Riddle's memories to bend space-time around myself and appear elsewhere. By elsewhere, I meant the alleyway right next to the Leaky Cauldron. I took a look at the door, and cursed as I spotted my reflection in the mirror. I'd forgotten to change my appearance before apparating here. That was problematic. Very problematic. But there was little to be done. 

I waited a few seconds to make sure no one was looking towards the door before I opened I and walked towards the Diagon Alley entrance with a ducked head. The Leaky Cauldron was an extremely popular pub, but it was just my luck that Wizards weren't as prone to day drinking as their muggle counterparts, so the room was mostly empty. 

"Harry" I heard Tom the barman's voice sound out, but I made sure to ignore it and avoid reacting at all to make him think he'd been mistaken. I tapped the brick combination with visible haste in my body movements and even as I saw Tom's shadow round the corner as he came towards where I stood, I jumped through the half formed entryway and closed it up behind me almost immediately. Safely within the Alley's magical signature, I waved my wand and lengthened my hair until it fell down to my shoulders. It covered my scar easily at that length, and then I died the hair a dark blonde. 

My eyes became blue with another wave of my wand and my black school robes became completely featureless, losing the Hogwarts crest and shifting in style to match something I'd seen Mr. Weasley wear on the way to work. Not me, Potter. I reminded myself at the slip, and then began to walk in. I'd engaged in risky self transfiguration as opposed to glamours because I knew that there were quite a few wizards and witches who wore eyewear charmed to see through glamours and the like. Of course, those charms weren't readily publicly available but those in the know could get access, and 'those in the know' were just the kind of people I didn't want knowing about Harry Potter's trip to the Alley. 

Gringotts was the first stop. Harry had his key in his luggage, and wasn't that a relief. I remembered from fan fiction that it was almost a settled trope that Harry didn't have access to his vaults and instead relied on the Weasley matriarch for such things. Of course, that went against everything that Riddle knew about Gringotts and their security measures. 

I stared at the bank's poem with a smile on my face. Both men whose memories I had absorbed would go on to rob this bank at point or the other-Riddle when he searched for the Philosopher's stone, and Potter when he sought Hufflepuff's cup. Considering the cup was going to be necessary to putting Voldemort down for good, I would be robbing this bank in my own time as well. Three robbers walk in to a bank… I chuckled at the mental joke and practically skipped past the goblin guards on the outside even as they sneered at me. 

My eventual plans to rob the bank meant that I watched every single thing with a sharp eye. Even as I waited for my turn to come at the Teller, I assessed the bank's measures with the eye of one who intended to breach them. Doom had never robbed a bank in his life, even if he did remember a funny pro bono case from early on in his career when he had to defend a would-be bank robber. From defender to accused, how poetic. In his turn, he barely acknowledged the creature and handed it his key. 

The goblin waited a short eternity, assessing the key from every angle before asking, "I assume there is a reason why Mr. Potter is within Gringotts' hallowed halls wearing an appearance other than his own" with menace in its voice. 

"Discretion, you damned thing. Could you be any louder?" He hissed. It turned out that Tom Riddle harboured a deep hatred of goblins. With valid reason as well. When the young boy had found out about his status as the heir of Slytherin, he expected lands, castles, maybe even a few vaults choked full with gold but he at least understood inflation enough to know that particular expectation was more a pipe dream, and all he had received from the goblins when he tried to press his claim was mockery and laughter. Tom Riddle found out about the Gaunt family's financial situation through the lips of a particularly nasty bank teller named Jabspear, and it had not been pretty. Not pretty at all. 

In turn, the creature just sneered down at him before turning away. 

"Griphook. See the human to his vault" At least the goblin was wise enough not to mention his name again. 

The Potter finances were, to put in bluntly, a shitshow. After confirming that the vault he has was the main potter vault that contained all the inheritance he'd received from his parents and ancestors, he resisted the urge to facepalm and curse James Potter. In the fan fiction community, which Doom definitely had not been a member of when he was younger, it was thought that the Potter's were a wealthy family and even depicted in some continuities as having more gold than fucking Midas himself. He'd hoped for a similar reality here, but it turned out to be far from the truth. There was enough gold to easily cover his schooling and other expenses for as much as three decades but after that, he'd quickly find himself strapped for cash. 

This would have been acceptable as Doom had no shortage of ways to make something as ephemeral as money, but it became annoying when he remembered from Riddle's memories that the Potters had been one of the wealthier families in Wizarding Britain. Of course, the Goblin had taken no small amount of joy in educating him on how James Potter had essentially drained the family's finances in prosecuting the war effort. What a foolish endeavour, he thought with no small amount of scorn. With the knowledge that he was going to have to work for his own wealth, he sat to begin negotiations with a master goblin. For one, he knew he had something that would be of value to the miserable creatures. 

"Basilisk venom. How much would you pay per ounce?" He asked lightly, even as he matched his words with a firm stare into the creature's eyes. He knew that they interpreted such gestures as a challenge, but he did not care enough to abstain and was much too prideful to even fake being subservient to miserable bootlickers like this lot. 

"It depends on the potency of the substance" The goblin, Sharphorn said with a snarl on its face that did not leak into its tone at all. It was almost like they were discussing the weather while surely plotting how to most effectively kill the other. 

"Potency? Do you take me for a fool, Goblin? I would only offer the highest grade of the substance available, and anything less should not even be called basilisk venom in the first place. Now name your price Goblin." He said with a scoff. Basilisk venom tended to be classified in grades. There were only three grades of the substance. The first was from creatures that had yet to develop the fatal sight that would kick in at about three weeks old. The 'venom' was far from such, only capable of causing sickness in small amounts and death when a human was pumped with gallons of the stuff. The second grade came shortly after the deadly sight awakened, but before the creature learned to see for true. At any point after this, the creatures were much too dangerous to rear. Even blinding them was only a temporary fix as they could regenerate their eyes in a matter of hours. 

"If you had Grade Three Basilisk Venom, human then we would be willing to pay market value for it." He returned. 

"An actual number, Goblin?" 

"50 galleons per ounce" He said, and I broke down into mocking laughter. I had no idea how much the real thing would go for since Grade Three basilisk venom was basically unheard of in the market, but I, or rather Tom, did know that Grade Two Basilisk venom had sold for about 30 galleons per ounce according to boasts from a certain Macnair that he'd gone to school with. If it had been possible to milk the still living basilisk for its venom without running the risk of dying in a dozen painful and distinct ways, then maybe Riddle would have had a very different introduction to the wider wizarding world outside of Hogwarts instead of having to work at Borgin & Burkes. 

"You jest, Goblin. Or do you take me for a braindead fool like one of your species? I will be accepting nothing less than 500 galleons an ounce after that insult". 

"You must be the most foolish human of them all, Harry Potter. 500 galleons for a single ounce of venom? Surely, your father's decision to not marry his cousin has had to have some sort of advantage. At least one would have thought so, but here you stand as empty headed as the average pureblood. 100 galleons per ounce and no more." 

"100 galleons? I wipe my arse with 100 galleons" I said, standing up and sending a small bucket of golden coins on his wide desk spilling to the floor. 

"475 or nothing" 

"No one would pay that much. Especially since we don't even know if demand would exist or ho much demand we could get. I would not spend thousands on venom, no matter how rare, when there exists little hope of making a profit". 

"Oh you lying creature. The only reason I'm even selling it to you creatures and not down in Knockturne is because I know precisely what you will be using the venom for. You will not be selling a single drop and will instead be using all of it in your very profitable curse breaking business so let us not deceive ourselves." 

"I have no idea what you speak of, human. But 175 galleons per ounce is more than reasonable". 

"Look me in the eyes" I said, thrusting my face in his direction, and crinkling my nose like I had smelt something foul even if the goblin's perfume did actually smell quite pleasant. 

"Pay attention to these words and the truth in them- I will be accepting nothing less than 450 galleons per ounce of venom. Anything else, and I will walk outside and have Borgin host an auction where you know I will get a better price. Your tombs can remain closed for decades while you waste thousands of galleons on paying curse breakers." I said to him, and then stood up straight. 

"Do we have a deal, Goblin" 

"Aye wizard" He said, stretching out a clawed hand for me to take. 

Finances in order, the next thing to do was obvious. Shopping. Tom Riddle had not been wealthy. Neither had Harry Potter for much of his life- at least he had not lived like a wealthy man. But Doom was a man of class and splendour. A man who had billions to his name, and even more under his command. If there was one thing he absolutely loathed, it was the feeling of low quality fabric on his skin and while he'd gotten by with Hogwarts robes and conjured underwear for the time being, all that it would have taken was a poorly aimed or ill timed finite to put it all in the open. So he was going to rectify that by buying some actual clothes of his own. 

Walking down the alley told him that Tom's memories of the place were shockingly useful for how long ago they were from. Very few things had changed in the time that passed between Riddle's and Potter's Hogwarts days. It reminded Doom once again that these were a stagnant people. One who saw progress and scorned it in favour of the comfortable delusion that was the status quo. They never realised, just like so many others Doom had met, that that which never grew slowly died. Grow or die, he had learned from a young age, and that was his mantra for much of his activities and goals. 

It was why he had quickly adapted himself to this new life, even lacking as it was with the privileges of the old one, it came with a unique advantage his first could never have matched. Magic. Magic, was once more on his mind as he took a look across the alley. It practically shone with the stuff. Between the alley's two clothing shops of note were a nondescript parchment store, a store that sold trunks, and another that seemed to specialise in adventure equipment if its name were any hint. 

He walked right past Madam Malkins and into Twilfitt and Tattings. Malkins sold a variety of robes, even higher quality ones as he was sure he wanted, but she was a more popular store so he could not be certain of his privacy within there and there was every chance his self transfiguration would fail against someone who had semi-regular contact with Potter when fitting him for clothes on a yearly basis. Twilfitt and Tattings, on the other hand, exclusively catered to the rich and important. They only sold robes made of materials of the highest quality. Back in Riddle's time, it was customary for the purebloods in his house to buy most of their robes from Malkins, and then a pair of dress robes from Twilfitt and Tattings. The high class store sold robes for all occasions, but even pureblood did not have that kind of money to burn. Fresh off the sale of basilisk venom, however, Doom did. And Doom would not see himself clothed in anything but the best of what this world had to offer. 

He strolled into the shop with back held straight and head held high. In an instant, there was a man at his side offering to take his cloak. He waved him away as he was not wearing one, and then requested red wine instead of white, and denied the offer of a cake- regardless of the flavour. 

"Master Twilfitt will be with you in a second, Sir" The boy said, leaving the wine glass in Doom's hand while he retreated to a corner with the bottle, clearly signalling that he would be returning to refill the glass as needed. Doom used the opportunity to look around, letting out an internal impressed sigh at the sound. The chair he sat on felt like a pillow made of clouds with how soft it was. The room he was in was spotless, and tastefully lit with curtains blocking out every view of the outside world and bringing out the greener hues of the room. Doom was always partial to the colour, for truth.

"Ahh. Welcome, Welcome. Mr…." He said pleadingly as he walked in, the old man with grey hair that reached down to his shoulders and blue casual robes as well as a measuring tape that was draped over his shoulders. 

"Blackwood" I said instantly, giving a fake name. He looked at me, pulling down on his glasses' frames to stare at me even more deeply. 

"I clothe not just the body, but the very essence of a person, Sir. The magic I use is very precise, so we must be completely honest with each other to get the perfect fit. That means any disguises or lies will not be welcome here if you want true Twilfitt Robes." He said to me, placing emphasis on the last two words. I met his gaze for a second before I waved my wand over myself and cancelled all my self transfigurations and returned to my base for. 

"Mr Potter. I see the reason for the disguise now. But trust that I shall be at my most discreet for our transactions today" he said with a surprised look on his face that he worked quickly to wipe away in favour of a more neutral one. I nodded in appreciation. 

"So what have you come for today? A pair of dress robes for the Yule Ball to be held at the castle, perhaps?" He asked, snapping his fingers and beginning to usher me towards a stand at the centre of the room. 

"Well, a pair of dress robes for sure. But also everyday robes as well. Maybe even duelling robes if you can make them". 

"Mr. Potter, you will come to mind that there is nothing I can not make for the right price. But if you want robes for such a diverse set of occasions, then you will need to pick different materials for such. Acromantula Silk for the dress robes, of course. Maybe even the casual robes as well. Dragon hide for duelling robes will be fine or should be okay if you don't have any objections to that. But first of all, measurements" He said with flair and then took a step backwards. 

Measuring tapes of different sizes and lengths began to swarm around me as he disappeared around the corner. 

A/N; Just a little bitty thing. 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.