Occultation

After getting the locket from Umbridge, Harry apparates with Ron and Hermione, but something goes terribly wrong, and he finds himself in a dark alley with an injured, young Voldemort. Soon he realizes that he has travelled to a different universe where magic doesn't exist, and Tom Riddle is the head of an organized crime syndicate. Harry thankfully has his magic. Tom is incredibly fascinated by the cute, strange man who has saved him.

Occultation

After getting the locket from Umbridge, Harry apparates with Ron and Hermione, but something goes terribly wrong, and he finds himself in a dark alley with an injured, young Voldemort. Soon he realizes that he has travelled to a different universe where magic doesn't exist, and Tom Riddle is the head of an organized crime syndicate. Harry thankfully has his magic. Tom is incredibly fascinated by the cute, strange man who has saved him.

Rain slashed the alley like knives, mixing with the coppery stench of blood. Harry stumbled back, wand trembling in his hand, breath ragged. One moment, he’d been gripping Ron and Hermione in the Ministry’s vault—the next, a sickening lurch, a scream of tearing magic, and he was here: a narrow passage choked with dumpsters and graffiti, the skyline alien, jagged with glass towers instead of spires.

Then he saw the man.

Face pale, lips parted in shallow gasps, a tailored black coat soaked crimson near the ribs. A knife protruded from his side, glinting under a flickering neon sign. Instinct surged. Harry dropped to his knees, pressing his hands over the wound. "Episkey," he muttered, then louder, "Episkey!" Magic flared gold beneath his palms, stitching flesh, sealing veins.

The man’s eyes snapped open—dark, sharp, unnervingly aware. "What… are you?" he breathed, fingers twitching toward Harry’s wrist.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Footsteps echoed at the alley’s mouth. The man—Tom, his mind supplied, though he didn’t know how—smiled faintly. "You just saved me. That means you’re mine now."