Harry Potter and The Dark Emissary Book 1 (Male Reader)

Prologue

Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Pokemon is owned by Nintendo

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Hogwarts 1943

3rd POV

Night had settled over Hogwarts, and the full moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale, silver glow over the castle. The grounds were quiet, too quiet for a place usually bustling with life and youthful energy. But tonight, no student dared venture out after dark, not after the horrific events that had unfolded earlier. A murder. The Serpent King had claimed yet another victim.

If one were to glance up at the Astronomy Tower at this very moment, they might witness something few had ever seen. A shadow darker than the night sky itself stood atop the tower, blending seamlessly into the starry expanse. It was not a mere shadow, however, but a being—a figure shrouded in mystery and myth. Its form was like a living silhouette, as if the night itself had taken shape.

But no student would be able to boast about spotting this creature. Their minds were occupied with fear, whispers of death, and rumors of a creature lurking within the castle walls. The murder had shaken them, but for the dark figure atop the tower, it was not the act of violence that mattered. No, something far more significant had occurred. Something darker.

A soul had been split.

The figure's gaze pierced through the darkness with icy blue eyes—sharp and cold, like frozen lightning amidst the night. Those eyes, luminescent against its shadowy form, locked onto something far more profound than the bloodshed: the disturbance in the very magic of the castle. A pulse of unnatural, twisted power vibrated through the air, drawing the figure's attention with a sickening pull.

How the being knew this, how it had sensed the rupture of a soul, was of little consequence. What mattered was what must be done.

A low, ethereal hum escaped the figure, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the night. For this being, there was no need for vengeance or sorrow over the loss of life. Its purpose was tied to the unnatural defiance of death itself. The moment that soul had torn, it had set something into motion—something that could not be undone easily.

This was no ordinary death. No, this was the work of a soul twisted by ambition, severed by dark magic. And it would not be left unchecked.

From atop the Astronomy Tower, the being watched, silent and patient, waiting for its moment. For in the presence of such darkness, there could be no true peace. Nightmares awaited those who dared to tamper with forces beyond their control. And Darkrai would be there to ensure it.

Eternal life came at a price, and that price... would be paid.

"Hmmm," the being hummed softly, its voice a low, haunting vibration that seemed to ripple through the air before it disappeared, dissolving into the shadows. Like a whisper of the night itself, it sank into the darkness, reappearing in the dimly lit dormitory of Slytherin House.

There, a boy with dark hair lay in restless sleep, unaware of the presence that now loomed over him.

"Hello, Riddle," the being greeted, its voice quiet yet undeniably powerful.

Tom Riddle stirred at the sound, his brow furrowing before he slowly opened his eyes. As he turned, he was greeted not by the familiar surroundings of his dormitory but by a single, glowing sky-blue eye that hovered in the darkness. A sharp, cold realization struck him. He was no longer in his bed. The soft glow of moonlight no longer streamed through the narrow windows of the Slytherin dungeons. The air here was different—thick, oppressive, and filled with a creeping dread.