HP:The Phoenix Reborn

Chapter 2: The Gathering Storm

Hogwarts had always been a place of mystery, but for Harry, standing in the past with all the knowledge of the future, it was now something else entirely—a battlefield before the first war had even begun.

The night was quiet as he stood on the Astronomy Tower, staring at the darkened grounds. It was eerily peaceful, a stark contrast to what he had known in his own time.

The war was not here yet, but he could feel it.

Tom Riddle was here.

Not as Voldemort, not yet. But the darkness in him had already taken root. He had walked into the Great Hall today, a predator hidden beneath a mask of charm, and Harry had felt the sheer weight of his presence. It had taken all of his willpower not to act, not to strike first.

Not yet.

A shuffling sound behind him made him glance over his shoulder. Remus Lupin stood at the edge of the tower, leaning casually against the railing, watching him with quiet scrutiny.

"You don't sleep much," Remus noted.

"Old habits," Harry replied smoothly.

A pause. Then, "You're a soldier."

Harry stiffened, turning his gaze back to the sky. "What makes you say that?"

Remus stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "I know what war looks like, even if I've never fought in one myself. My father told me about the Grindelwald War, about how soldiers carried themselves afterward. You move like them. You think like them."

Harry exhaled, a small smirk forming. "Observant."

"Something else I inherited," Remus said dryly.

Harry debated, for a moment, how much to say. Remus was the most cautious of the Marauders, the one who calculated every step before taking it. Unlike James and Sirius, who were bound by loyalty and instinct, Remus was guided by logic.

That could be useful.

"I've seen war," Harry admitted at last. "I've seen what it does to people. What it makes them."

Remus studied him. "And what did it make you?"

Harry turned to him, his green eyes flashing with something old, something lethal.

"A survivor."

———

Harry knew he needed to get ahead of the curve.

History was moving, and whether he liked it or not, he was part of the game now.

He spent the next few days observing. He had integrated into the Marauder circle easily enough—Sirius and James treated him like an equal, Remus watched him carefully, and Peter… well, Harry had little interest in the traitor. But outside of Gryffindor, the world was shifting.

The Slytherins were gathering.

Lucius Malfoy, a seventh-year at this time, moved with the arrogance of a man who already knew he was destined for power. Bellatrix Black, wild and untamed, was already whispering about the Dark Lord.

And at the center of it all was Tom Riddle.

He was no longer a student, but he still haunted these halls. His presence could be felt in the dark corners of the castle, in the way certain students whispered about He Who Knows Power.

Harry watched them all.

And then, he made his move.

The Restricted Section

The Hogwarts library was vast, but Harry had learned long ago that the real secrets were always hidden.

He entered the Restricted Section under the cover of night, moving without sound. His cloak—not the Invisibility Cloak, but something woven with Disillusionment Charms—kept him unseen.

He ran his fingers along the spines of books, searching.

He needed to know.

If Tom Riddle was still moving in the background, still playing his game, then Harry needed information.

The flickering candlelight revealed old tomes of Dark Magic, ancient bindings that had not been touched in years. He reached for one—

"Looking for something, Mr. Peverell?"

Harry didn't flinch.

Slowly, he turned, meeting the gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

The old man stood in the doorway, his blue eyes twinkling, but there was something sharper beneath the surface. Something watching.

Harry tilted his head. "A bit late for a patrol, isn't it, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I find that knowledge has a way of calling to us at the oddest hours."

Harry glanced at the bookshelves. "And what knowledge do you think I am seeking?"

Dumbledore stepped closer, the warmth of his voice betraying nothing. "History. Power. Perhaps even the truth."

Harry's lips twitched. "I imagine you already know the truth, Professor."

Dumbledore hummed, considering him. Then, with an almost amused tone, he said, "You are not who you claim to be."

Harry's fingers curled slightly, magic thrumming beneath his skin. But his face remained neutral.

"Is that so?"

Dumbledore nodded. "You are not an ordinary student. You move like someone who has seen far too much. You speak like someone who has lived beyond his years. And your name—Peverell—is a name I have not heard spoken in a very long time."

Harry met his gaze head-on. "And what will you do with that, Professor?"

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment. Then, to Harry's surprise, he smiled.

"Nothing," he said simply.

Harry blinked.

Dumbledore turned, walking toward the exit. "For now," he added.

Then, he was gone.

Harry exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his frame.

Dumbledore knew.

Not everything. Not yet. But he was watching.

Which meant Harry needed to be very careful.

Because he wasn't the only one playing this game.

——-

The next time Harry saw Tom Riddle, it was not in the Great Hall.

It was in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry had been scouting the grounds under his Disillusionment Charm when he felt it—magic, dark and suffocating, pulsing through the trees like a heartbeat. He followed it, silent as death.

And then, he saw him.

Riddle stood in the clearing, speaking to a group of cloaked figures—young men and women, all devoted. The first generation of Death Eaters.

Harry stayed in the shadows, listening.

"…our time is coming," Riddle was saying, his voice smooth as silk. "The world is blind, but we see. The Ministry is weak, Hogwarts is complacent, and Dumbledore"—his lip curled—"is not the immortal guardian they believe him to be."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

Harry clenched his jaw.

Riddle continued, his voice laced with power. "You have been chosen for a reason. The old world must fall so that we may rebuild it in our image. Blood will shape the future. Magic will guide us."

Harry had heard enough.

He stepped forward, breaking the Disillusionment Charm, and every Death Eater-in-training turned toward him in shock.

Tom Riddle's gaze snapped to his, unreadable and dark.

Harry smirked. "Sorry to interrupt your little sermon. Thought I'd drop in."

The air crackled.

And as Harry stared into the eyes of the man who would become Voldemort, he knew one thing for certain—

The war had already begun.

Author's Note:

The game is set. Harry and Tom Riddle have crossed paths. Dumbledore is watching. The Marauders are beginning to suspect.

What should Harry's next move be? Should he eliminate Riddle now, or manipulate the future?

Let me know if you want more!