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.

In the end, the soul shard of Tom Riddle had presented no resistance to his absorption. To be honest, even the ignorant and unsuspecting Harry Potter had been harder to consume than the soul shard. It was a pitiful thing, the accidental horcrux. Definitely more pathetic than the books or even movies had been able to portray. It was pitiful enough, that Doom was certain that even without the soul being dead, it would have still proven insufficient to act as a proper anchor for the rest of Riddle's soul. It just didn't have the power for that. 

Done with dwelling on that, he turned his mind to his gains. The memories and essence of Harry Potter were useful, but Tom Riddle was the real treasure trove. If only the treasure wasn't cursed from the very beginning. Tearing through the soul shard's essence, he had found that Tom Riddle's sanity had snapped the second he made his second soul anchor. Taking any of that into himself would have been reckless, dangerous, and probably fatal. Doom was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He recognised the value of those memories and experiences yes, but they just weren't worth it. They were intrinsically tainted by the insanity that plagued Riddle after he tore his soul for the second time and had himself exist in three wholes. Three wholes. He used the word purposefully. The term soul shard was a bit of a misnomer. The soul was not a pie to be cut into bits and pieces and shared across to whoever wanted a slice. 

No, the soul was complete. Every bit of the soul was a whole soul. But in much the same way as there were greater and lesser infinities, each horcrux served as a lesser soul. The only problem with that was that the greater soul was supposed to remain in the body. The first horcrux could diminish the greater by a factor of a third, but the second was much worse, and could take away as much as a quarter. Once the greater soul stopped being within the body, things started to go downhill. He knew all this because Riddle had known all this. But still, he'd gone ahead with it. He'd thought some variations to the Horcrux ritual would have been enough to grant him immunity to the immutable laws of the universe. Arrogant beyond measure. In his defence, he had been 17 at the time, Doom added. 

Sorting through a combined 31 years of memories between them only ended up taking the first nine hours of the night. Most of the memories were useless and could be disregarded. Doom did not need ten years of ill-treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, and he also did not need eleven years of neglect at Wool's orphanage. As for the experiences of both boys from their first days in Hogwarts, he devoured those without hesitation. For Riddle, it was because each day was filled with so much learning and knowledge acquisition that he could not bear to skip even a single one. For Potter, on the other hand, the days were much less useful from a pure magical knowledge standpoint, but the knowledge would still be useful for selling the impression that he was truly the chosen one. The threat of Dumbledore discovering that he had taken the body of his favourite student was enough for Doom to be more than wary. In time, he would outgrow the old man and have no need to fear him, but he was still some ways from that itself. He had his personal theories of how magic worked that could pay dividends if they turned out to be valid, but that was still some time away. 

Done sorting the memories, he opened his eyes and stared at the banister of the bed. Or a blurry outline of the banisters, rather. Harry Potter's eyesight was indeed just as terrible as legend said. He fiddled for the glasses by his desk and placed them on his face, breathing a sigh of relief when the world swam into focus. Being blind was not a feeling he had accustomed himself to, and it was a form of weakness that he would see solved at the first opportunity. 

He picked up the wand and waved it at the bed, flawlessly fixing it up as he stood from it. He stared down at the warm piece of wood at that. Part of him had worried that the wand would stop woking for him, sensing that he was not Harry Potter anymore, but on the contrary, it seemed to be even better now than it had been for the Potter brat. With memories of both boys in his mind, he could tell that there had been a hesitance in the wand towards Potter's magic and spell-casting that had not exited with Riddle's and his wand. 

He silently recalled Riddle's study on Holly as a wand wood, 'Holly is one of the rarer kinds of wand woods; traditionally considered protective, it works most happily for those who may need help overcoming a tendency to anger and impetuosity. At the same time, holly wands often choose owners who are engaged in some dangerous and often spiritual quest. Holly is one of those woods that varies most dramatically in performance depending on the wand core, and it is a notoriously difficult wood to team with phoenix feather, as the wood's volatility conflicts strangely with the phoenix's detachment. In the unusual event of such a pairing finding its ideal match, however, nothing and nobody should stand in their way.'

 'May need help overcoming a tendency to anger and impetuosity.' That sentence almost made Doom collapse in laughter. Doom needed no help in overcoming his own emotions. 

And yet, the wand still worked for him. Worked better than it had for Potter. Perhaps it was because the wand could feel the parts of him that were both Riddle and Potter. Or perhaps it was just suited for Doom himself. He would never know.

He did not care much either. The point was the wand worked. And it worked well. That would have been something that could have tipped Dumbledore or any other person that would have been suspicious about the changes to his person off, so neatly avoiding it without having to do anything about it was one hell of an advantage. It also meant that there was the possibility of him flying on priori incantatem when faced with Tom Riddle, but the very thought of relying on such fickle chance to best his enemy brought him no small amount of rage. Doom would not rely on such. Doom would prove himself the better of the shade of a man, and he would do so with ease. He would break Tom Riddle and his death-eaters over his knee at once and force them all to submit. None would deny Doom. 

Waving his wand at himself, he felt his body instantly freshen up and clean itself. The robes that stood by his bed received the same treatment next and with another wave, he animated them to wrap themselves around him. Doom was enjoying the pleasure of no longer having to dress himself with his own hands anymore. This would be a useful universe, he decided, as he walked out of the empty dorm room and into the more crowded common room. Checking his mind, he found that it was a Sunday, so most of the students would be hanging around the commons for a while. The watch that had once belonged to Harry Potter told him that the time for breakfast had long passed, so he had to secure alternate feeding for himself when he felt the urge. 

As he walked across the common room, he noticed the way eyes followed his every move, but unlike the previous occupant of this body, he did not shy away from the stares. He was Doom, after all. It was normal for lesser beings to stare. It was the one indulgence he would grant them. But it seemed that the refusal to shrink before their gazes had ticked a few of them off. 

"Oi. Potter" Angelina Johnson, he recognised from Potter's memories. He turned to the older Gryffindor with a raised eyebrow. She clearly had not thought her approach through, as she visibly seemed to stumble over what to say next. He took a step closer to her and stared her down clearly. Doom would not tolerate having his time wasted. 

"How did your name come out yesterday? Did you cheat?" She asked. He looked at her, and then looked around the silent common room. A party had been held in Potter's honour yesterday, but the boy who lived had not been attentive enough to notice those who had been absent. The sixth and seventh year students, with few exceptions, had not shown themselves at the party at all. 

Now, those sixth and seventh years were the ones who constituted the bulk of those waiting in the room. This was an ambush, Doom realised with some amount of amusement. Assuming he only had Potter's memories to rely upon, he might have been worried, but even a 17-year-old Riddle would be more than enough to deal with this lot and secure a retreat in good order. 

"Cheat? I have no idea what you're talking about" He said, and turned around, declaring the conversation over with his movement. 

"No, we're not done with you, Potter. Did you put your name in the goblet of fire?" She asked. A stubborn one, she was. 

Turning to her again, Doom ran his eyes across her form. A fit body. Very fit. She was an athlete with some dedication, so that was no surprise, and her dark skin did catch his interest. The only issue was that he did not find her facial features to be very attractive. Not his taste, at all. 

"Does it matter if I did, or I did not? You did put your name there. And you weren't chosen. I was. What does it matter how it happened?" He asked her this time. He was not as naive as Harry Potter. No one would ever believe he didn't enter himself into the contest, so why not use that to his own advantage? Having a reputation for having been able to defeat Dumbledore's own spell-work would be useful, undoubtedly. 

"It matters because Gryffindor is the most honest of the four houses. We pride ourselves on bravery and courage, not cheating and trickery. Your actions do not reflect kindly on us, and so we have no other choice." She began to say while he stared at her with building amusement. 

"Hold on, Angelina. That wasn't what we agreed" Mark Hamill, the Seventh year prefect, spoke and stepped forward. 

"We agreed that we would do this if he didn't apologise" She hissed at him. 

"Yes, and you haven't given him much of an opportunity to do so," He replied, letting her anger wash against him like waves on the seashore. 

"Fine then. Potter, apologise for your actions" She conceded to him, before turning to him. 

"Apologise? To whom?" Doom said, drawing himself up to his full height. 

"All of Gryffindor"

"I owe you nothing" He said with a look of disdain. 

"And so you leave us no other choice" This time, even Hamill did not get in Johnson's way. 

"We, the Prefects of Gryffindor House, with the power vested in us, do hereby declare Harry James Potter as banished and excommunicated. Let all who see him know him for what he is: Houseless" She said, and Doom felt the magic of the castle move in a way he'd never felt it move before. His robes suddenly lost the Gryffindor colouring and crest that they used to sport, becoming black and unadorned. Just as they'd been when he bought them. 

And in a manner of seconds, his trunk was laid out before him, packed and ready to go. 

Johnson looked smug. The rest of the room looked similarly pleased. The fifth year prefects did not meet his gaze when he swept it passed them, but the others did so. 

Hamill shook his head at him when his gaze reached him. He probably thought Doom was searching for some help or pity. How foolish. Doom was merely committing all their faces to memory. Doom did not forgive. Doom would never forget.

He tapped the box with his wand, silently levitating it and commanding it to follow him as he whirled from the common room and began his trek. With luggage floating behind him, all those who were between his path and the exit had fled the space before he had been forced to move them himself. He had to make a choice, he thought as he left the portal. There were only two places he could reasonably stay in. The Chamber of Secrets, and the Room of Requirements. Between them, the Room was certain to provide more luxurious accommodations with its ability to shift to whatever the room's master decided they needed. But the chamber had a charm of its own. For one, he knew through Riddle's memories that the chamber did have some accommodations, even if they were not much to write home about. Certainly, nothing that was suitable for one such as Doom. 

It was why it was with irritation across his visage that Doom began to make his way to the chamber. So many people had run across the Room of Requirements without understanding what it was. That meant that there was every chance that there could be people aware of the room's existence, if not its nature. His knowledge from the books told him that both the Weasley Twins and Dumbledore had run across the room at different times. Even worse, the Fantastic Beast movies had made it clear that Dumbledore did not just know about the room but had been actively using it for some time. The room was a less secure choice, and Doom was far too early in his development to choose comfort over security at this stage, no matter how much it galled at him to make that admission. He had to go with the Chamber of Secrets because while less comfortable, it offered a few notable upgrades.

First of all, it was outside the castle's traditional ward scheme. The chamber was guarded by its own ward scheme that made it unplottable, dispelled tracking charms that entered into its field, and made it impossible to use any means of magical transportation within its field. It was basically inaccessible to anyone except a parselmouth heir of Slytherin thanks to a complex series of blood wards, and shielded any magic cast within from outside detection. He rounded a corner and then began the journey down a series of out of the way stairs to avoid as many eyes as possible. He did not need to have the Marauder's map in his possession to navigate the numerous secret passageways and back hallways that cut his journey to the third floor corridor short by some margin. Between Tom Riddle, and Harry Potter, he probably knew the castle better than anyone with less than five names and a beard longer than his wand. 

When he finally reached his target, he silently cast the human presence revealing spell to be certain he was not being watched, and then searched for the snake etching on the painting that depicted a flat green plain. "Open" He hissed in parseltongue once he found it and the painting ripped before his eyes before giving way to reveal the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It was one of nearly a dozen entrances within the school itself, but was one of the few ones that had the advantage of being out of the usual foot traffic and not being haunted by a perverted ghost at the same time. 

XXXXXXXXX

He leaned to the right to avoid a tennis ball moving too fast for his eyes to truly track, and returned fire by impaling the next two with arrows made of pure steel. Saggitta duo, he silently commanded again, pinning the next duo of projectiles to the wall on the far end of the chamber and had to bend down at the waist to dodge the next three that came from his opponent. Opponents, he thought with a smile. After what had been two weeks of effort, he'd finally managed to get the animation charm to cover more than one target even while he still managed to cast other magic. 

The next salvo was blown away with a silent wave of hi wand. Tom Riddle was a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy when it came to magic, and even a seventeen-year-old Riddle had managed to get all his spells to some level of mastery while casting silently. Harry Potter, on the other hand, came with his own set of advantages. First of all, he was moving much faster than Tom Riddle had ever managed without rituals to aid him, and his reflexes were even faster. It was like he had an extra set of senses aimed at dealing with things that his other senses could not perceive in time. It was an advantage Riddle had lacked. And not just that, there was the massive amount of magical energy that this body could command. Not6 just Harry Potter's but what meagre amounts of magic that the horcrux had for itself had been taken by him as well and integrated into this body. It was a neat boost in total magic capacity, but that was not the real advantage that came with that. 

With the next salvo of projectiles, he moved his wand in a 'Z' symbol and bathed them in a deadly acid that completely disintegrated the tennis balls before they got anywhere even close to him. Dark Magic. Tom Riddle's soul had an affinity for dark magic that went beyond the pale, and now that affinity was all his. If only Riddle hadn't cannibalised and stolen all that had been of worth in Slytherin's library, then maybe he would have had the time of his life learning the spells contained therein. Instead, he was forced to spend his time like this. Not learning new magic, but making sure that the magic he did already know worked like it should. Two weeks ago, it had been a struggle, but now every spell came quickly and almost by reflex. He was not at the level where he could abandon this training yet, but he was at the level where he could start learning new spells, especially since he knew what was coming. Or he was reasonably certain, however. Tonight was to turn that suspicion into iron clad certainty. Doom did not take stupid risks by relying on information that could turn out to be false. 

Even if everything from both Potter and Riddle's memories had matched the universe painted by Joanne in her writings, that was no reason to be complacent and put his very real life at risk. A ringing from the charmed clock he'd hung up jolted him back into attention. He turned to the clock and read the time with a sigh. He had only thirty minutes until the weighing of the wands. Waving his wand at himself generated a stiff breeze that quickly dried off the sweat that had been hanging on to his form. Tapping his forehead forcefully ejected the sweaty tracksuit he'd been wearing and scoured his body of germs and other impurities. Another wave brought his plain black robes over his nude form, and then his school robes on top of that. Underwear was not really something that male wizards pursued independently of the so-called under-robes, and while that was a tradition that Potter had turned his nose up at, Riddle had embraced it fully, and so had Doom. He would never be plagued by itchy underwear in his life again. So Doom had declared, and so it would be!

A/N; The first chapter. Here it is. Next chapter, the Weighing of the Wands. I think I'll start giving each chapter a distinct title. Thank you for reading Daybreak. If you're really excited for 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.