London, in the relentless grip of the Industrial Revolution, was a whirlwind of progress and pollution. Soot-stained buildings loomed, factories churned out smoke that mingled with the ever-present fog, the Thames a sluggish brown ribbon snaking through it all. The streets teemed with life both mundane and sinister, and amidst this, Hasel and Hermione moved like shadows, learning the rhythms of a world both foreign and chillingly familiar.
Training with the Rooks continued, a blend of brute strength and subtle cunning. Jacob's gruff lessons focused on agility and close-quarters combat, while Evie, with her quiet intensity, schooled them in the art of misdirection and infiltration. Every ache and bruise was a testament to their determination to not just survive, but to truly become a part of this unlikely brotherhood.
Their missions grew bolder. Raids on Templar warehouses to secure artifacts, intercepting coded messages, even the occasional daring rescue of captured Rooks. Magic remained their wildcard, used not in open displays, but in calculated bursts that gave them a critical edge. Henry, ever the researcher, became their unlikely confidante, pouring over ancient texts in search of connections between the Pieces of Eden and the magical principles Hasel and Hermione described.
"They're both about...manipulation," Hermione theorized one evening, huddled over a crumbling manuscript. "Changing reality on a fundamental level. But the Pieces seem...harsher, like imposing a will onto the world, while magic feels more...collaborative."
Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Like a weaver compared to a sculptor. One works with what's there, the other forces their shape upon it."
Clara, observing the exchange, wore her usual inscrutable expression. "Fancy words are all well and good, but out there," she gestured towards the grimy window, "it's about results. Can your magic stop a Templar's bullet?"
Hasel hesitated. They'd learned shielding charms, yes, but against the rapid-fire of early firearms...? "I...we don't know," she admitted.
This blunt reality underlined their precarious position. Yet, the Rooks had accepted them, grudging respect replacing initial skepticism. There was a camaraderie forged in shared danger, a sense of belonging they hadn't felt since leaving Hogwarts. Still, thoughts of home, of Ron and Ginny and the warm familiarity of the Burrow, lingered in their quieter moments, a bittersweet ache contrasting the gritty urgency of their present.
One rainy afternoon, a cryptic message from Clara sent them to a secluded corner of Hyde Park. There, amidst the pruned trees and damp leaves, awaited a figure both unsettling and undeniable: Tom Riddle.
He wore not Hogwarts robes, but the tailored clothes of a gentleman, his bearing one of practiced arrogance. Yet, the chill in his gaze was the same, the calculating assessment that sent shivers down Hasel's spine.
"Potter," he drawled, a sneer curling his lip. "Fitting, that you find yourself in the company of gutter rats."
Hermione bristled, but Hasel held up a hand, keeping her voice steady. "We fight for what we believe in, Riddle. Just like you."
He scoffed. "The Templars offer true power, order. Not this haphazard rebellion, destined to be crushed."
"Power corrupts," Hasel countered, an old anger flaring within her. "We've seen what it does, where it leads."
"Naive sentimentality," Riddle dismissed her, "The stuff of fairy tales. In the real world, power is all that matters. And I intend to have it, by any means necessary."
He turned to leave, then paused, his gaze lingering on them. "We'll meet again, Potter. And next time, it won't be a simple chat over tea."
His words echoed in the silence that followed. The rain dripped from bare branches as Hasel and Hermione stood frozen, the world suddenly feeling colder, the shadows a bit more menacing. Riddle was the darkness of their past thrown into stark contrast against the murky threats of this new world. And somewhere in those shadows, the Pieces of Eden whispered promises of power, a dangerous allure that tempted both Templars and those desperate enough to oppose them.