Archive of Our Own

“Stop drawing life from her, pretend to die!”

Tom Riddle hesitated, in confusion, watching as Harry Potter, the boy that had killed his older self, toppled back, jerking a fang from the fallen Basilisk out of his arm.

“You’re going to die,” Tom hissed back, venomously.

“We will both die if you don’t pretend to be dead and stop drawing life out of her!” Harry cried, seizing the black journal. “Trust me?”

He hesitated, not really wanting to trust him, but jerked his head, eyes flicking to the phoenix hovering around the room, and watched as Harry stabbed the fang down into the ground, right beside the diary, and Harry splashed water from the floor onto the diary, then gasped theatrically as it looked like ink spilled out from the diary, but Tom felt no actual pain, and realized it was coloured water.

“Oh!” He gasped, clutching at his stomach, staggering back. “What have you done?”

“I’ve defeated you!” Harry cried, as he slumped back to the floor, gritting his teeth. “I might die of Basilisk venom, but you will be gone forever!”

Tom arched a brow.

“I’m trying,” Harry muttered. “Disappear!”

“Oh nooo!” Tom cried, not even pretending to make this believable, and ‘vanished’ into the diary again, which he noticed that Harry was sliding into his robes, trying to hide it.

Several hours later, familiar terrible handwriting scrawled on the page. Are you okay?

I was denied the ability to become corporeal, my diary is allegedly destroyed, how are you alive?

Harry drew a silly looking doodle that looked like a smiling face. Phoenix tears.

Of course, he wrote back, grumpily. I suppose Ginny Weasley is fine?

Yes. Sorry.

You are not sorry.

I actually really am. Harry wrote back. Some of the stuff you talked about... they were... they were things I went through, too. Kind of. It was awful. And... you’re Voldemort, right? He tried to kill me when I was a baby, and it didn’t work, and he tried to kill me last year, and it didn’t work.

Great. I am delighted to hear that I’m a useless Dark Lord in the future.

That’s not what I meant. Harry stopped writing for a long moment, his pen just resting on the page, making a strange vaguely circular shape. I went to the library. After your diary was stolen back. And I read a lot of books. I read about... you.

Tom bristled. And what did you find?

That you... hated Muggles. Wanted them not to come into our world or find us. Wanted Muggleborn taught, so they didn’t come into our world stupid, like I did, and... there was a lot of things. I read them, and... I... agreed with a lot of it.

He laughed. Imagine. The boy that killed my future self, now believes he wants what I wanted.

Maybe. Harry wrote, quietly, his writing even more messy than usual, sort of anxious. Can you – can you tell me what you wanted? In exchange, cause... I talked to Theo Nott, he didn’t want to talk to me at first, but he did, after I said I wanted to understand Slytherins... he said Slytherins trade. Power for power. So. If you tell me everything you were trying to do, all of it, and how and why... I’ll let you take my energy. But slowly! Slow enough I won’t die. Can you do that?

Tom settled back, considering that. Could he take the energy slowly? Slowly enough to ensure that the other would live long afterwards? It would take a great deal of time, but... he could do that, he thought. Now, spill his every goal and desire...?

It would remain between only us?

Harry wrote back quickly. I won’t say anything to anyone.

He hummed. I want to speak in person about this.

Yeah, I’m in my bed, curtains closed. Okay. I can come in.

Good, Tom wrote, then slid a white image up to the top of the page, and shuddered as he felt the energy of the other – who felt like him, how did that even work – slide into the book. Harry landed with a thud, dressed in his pyjamas instead of his red Gryffindor uniform this time, barefoot, looking around the Slytherin common room, quietly.

“Wow,” he whispered. “I didn’t know the windows were like that... is that the Black Lake?”

“It is,” Tom said, sitting cross legged on his favourite chair, considering the scruffy twelve year old. His hair was poorly cut and a very poor texture, so that it went everywhere like bad straw. He wondered if it could be repaired, if maybe some of the hair pomades or potions he’d seen might at least salvage it. Maybe if he grew it out. The shirt he was wearing was massive, hanging completely off one shoulder, then down to his knees, and his faded plaid pants were so long only his toes poked out from under the hems. He looked like something someone had dragged off the streets.

Or something someone had thrust into Wool’s.

He shifted. “Let me see where you were stabbed.”

Harry turned towards him, then blinked, and padded over to Tom, offering his arm.

The phoenix tears might have healed him, but there was a massive scar on Harry’s arm, a puncture straight through his forearm, bigger on the inside, thinner on the outside. “I’m surprised she didn’t get your bone.”

“It felt like it did, but, not after the tears.” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about her.”

He lifted his head from looking at the scar, arching a brow.

“Dumbledore knew. He knew I was in the Chamber. Somehow. I don’t know how. But he also knew how to use the pipes to get there. If he didn’t, Fawkes wouldn’t have come out the pipes with the sorting hat. With the sword. Look, the hat was watching, and Fawkes was watching. I don’t know for sure, but I think they would tell Dumbledore if I didn’t do what he wanted.” He gnawed at his lower lip. “I tried to help Quirrell last year, because I felt bad then that he was carrying Voldemort, and I felt bad for Voldemort that I made him into that, and... Dumbledore got really judgey, even when I failed. He talked about me being a poor representation of the light. And I realized... he wants me to be something I’m not.”

“What do you want to be?”

“The best wizard I can be,” Harry hissed. “My family told me I was a freak, trash, useless. Hagrid told me I was a wizard, and... and I dunno why after what you told me a guy that never even finished school was sent to talk to me about being a wizard, but... things were odd. Like... like they tried to make me hate Slytherin, so when the hat said I should be there, I begged it not to. I feel like... they arranged who my friends were. I don’t... like it. Last year, Voldemort said to me, there is no good or evil. Just power, and those too weak to take it. I want to be strong enough to take it.”

“Oh, you remind me of my young self,” Tom purred. “I would be happy to tell you anything. Now, drawing small amounts of power from you means you will be tired, not terribly, but more tired than you usually are.”

Harry considered that. “Okay. How long do you think it will take?”

“I didn’t actually draw any strength from the Weasley all year, I was using her. I drew most of the power in a few hours. You did get your wand back, yes?”

The younger boy nodded, flushed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good.” He hummed. “I’d estimate about two months? The summer.”

“What will you do when you have a body?”

He considered that. “The wisest thing to do would go into hiding, possibly try to find where my older self went, so I can restore him - “

“I can help.” Harry interrupted.

Tom arched a brow. “Wait until I tell you everything I believed and wanted. Then decide.”

“I guess that’s smart,” he whispered, quietly, fiddling with the hem of the massive shirt.

“What are you wearing? This is hideous. There are holes everywhere in it.” Tom leaned forward, plucking at the stretched out neck of Harry’s shirt.

“They’re my cousin’s clothes. I have to wear his stuff.” Harry said quietly. “He’s... huge.”

“Clearly. You told me about these relatives, why do you live with them? You’re related to many other magical families, where you should have gone, and if nothing else, surely the Potters have holdings? Houses? Places where you could live in safety? The Potters always were very wealthy, in my time.”

“I... if I did that, though... Dumbledore would see it, right?”

“He would, but... I’d rather you not die at the hands of insane muggles.” Tom huffed. “All right. Shake on it.”

“You tell me everything, and I’ll give you life?”

“Exactly so,” he shook Harry’s hand. “Keep the diary inside your shirt, at all times, against your skin. That’s the easiest way for me to draw life from you, but still keep an eye on you as much as possible. Obviously, write to me whenever possible.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Will I see you, like this?”

“Maybe sometimes,” Tom considered that.

“Okay.” Harry said, then smirked. “Heir of Slytherin aside, you’re actually a pretty good friend.”

“I lied a lot,” he smirked back.

He giggled. “I know. You’re a good Slytherin.”

Tom tilted his head to the side. “You might be a better one. I do believe you’re a snake buried in the lion pit.”

“No idea what you mean,” Harry said, innocently. “I just like learning things!”

“Tell me things,” Tom smirked. “And sleep well, Slayer of Basilisks.”

Harry wrote at least once every day, eagerly, happily, sometimes about all of the work he’d been forced to do that day – what was wrong with that family – sometimes about a letter he got, or about ideas he thought of.

Every day, Tom drew a sip of life from Harry, and would sometimes ask how the fatigue was. Harry always said he could handle it.

Every night, once Harry was locked in his room – something else that made Tom rage – he would tell Harry the plans he had meant to enact, the political ideas, the ideas for rectifying wizarding society, for making the wall between them and the muggles so much stronger, so that they never had to deal with their weapons and their wars. He explained about how he’d lived through the Blitz, which he was pleased to discover that Harry had learned about the Blitz in his muggle schooling before Hogwarts, so he understood the pain that Tom had gone through.

Tom would explain that he wanted the muggleborn taken from their muggle parents, because he’d known classmates killed by their parents because they were ‘monsters’, convinced it was just parlour tricks at first until they realized the strength their children had, and during summers or breaks when they couldn’t use their wands, they’d been killed. Tom wanted the muggleborns to understand when they entered the magical world, instead of just being confused and awed and saying the wrong things all the time.

Harry wrote about all the things Hermione did, admitting that she was horrible at understanding the magical world, and seemed determined to beat it into muggle submission.

That, Tom said, was exactly the problem.

Then one evening, a rushed message was scrawled into his book.

I’m about to be expelled. So I’m running. I need to get out of here. Where do I go?

Tom blinked at the message. Expelled? What had Harry done?

Hold out your wand hand, the Knight Bus will come, it’s big and purple. Ask to go to Little Hangleton. Write when you get there.

Thank you was scrawled hastily, barely readable.

He waited, anxiously, until an hour or so later, Harry scrawled, I’m here. It’s dark, and I don’t want them to find me.

I know a house that’s warded. It’s awful, but it is warded. They can’t find you there. Tom gave directions, then added a spell Harry might use to make his trunk lighter. If he was expelled already, well, he might as well make his trunk lighter.

Thank you, Harry wrote back, and he felt himself shoved back up Harry’s shirt, then they started walking.

It is really awful, Harry admitted, a little while later. Falling down, there’s a dead snake nailed to the door.

Is there anyone there?

No. But there’s a... there’s a spot. On the floor. That feels really... I want to pull up the boards. But I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea.

Tom hummed, considering that.

Should I pull up the board?

Tom frowned. May I draw just a touch more life than usual, so that I can manifest outside the book?

Oh, okay. You taught me a spell that helped, and sent me to a safe place. Seems fair.

He smirked. Oh, he was teaching this little one well. He drew some of the life out of the skinny body, closing his eyes as he savoured the life like a deep, fine wine, then slid slowly out of the book, settling sitting on Harry’s trunk, beside him.

“You’re pretty see through.”

“I’ve not fully built my body,” he admitted. “Pull up the board, but then let me see what’s inside before you touch anything.”

Harry nodded, and carefully pried the board up, setting it aside, and Tom looked inside at a plain looking box. “Hm. Odd. Can I... ah. Just a little bit,” Tom smiled, opening the box. “Oh!”

“It’s a ring,” Harry said. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s a family ring. And it means a lot to me.” Tom considered it. “There is such a curse on it, I have to assume I did it.”

“What kind of curse?”

He laughed. “To put it on.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No,” Tom agreed. “That is, until the other curse starts, which basically makes you turn black like a bog mummy, and you shrivel up.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, wide eyed. “I’m not touching it.”

He smirked. “What if I show you how to break the curses? I want you to wear the ring.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, warily.

Tom nodded, and settled facing Harry, setting the box between them. “Here’s how to do it.”

It was maybe three days later, with Harry curled up on the filthy bed in the hut, the diary under his cheek, letting Tom draw small bits of strength with every breath Harry let out over the cover.

An owl rapped on the window, and he felt Harry rise away from the diary, and Tom sighed softly.

Got my Hogwarts letter. Guess they didn’t expel me? But I used magic outside of school.

Well, in this house, they wouldn’t have noticed it. I’m actually just concerned that if you got your letter, they can track you. Tom wrote back.

I didn’t think of that. H. Potter, Gaunt Hut, Little Hangleton...

Your handwriting has become atrocious again.

Harry’s terrible writing looked displeased. I’m dragging my trunk to the road. Think the Knight Bus can get me to Gringotts instead of just Leaky Cauldron? Wanna go straight there.

I’m not sure, Tom admitted. Try it.

Before long, Harry’s handwriting was neater. On the bus. Said they could do Gringotts.

Wonderful.

I need your help. Out here.

May I take, so that I can come out?

Course.

Tom drew in the sweet taste of Harry’s life, and opened his eyes, considering his surroundings, which was clearly a Goblin’s office at Gringotts. “Ah,” the goblin behind the desk hummed. “Tom Riddle. A pleasure. Do you wish to access the account you essentially abandoned in 1981?”

Tom arched a brow. “If I may.”

“It is yours,” he said, calmly.

“I needed your help,” Harry said, looking up at Tom. The ghostly Tom was wearing the same ring that was on Harry’s finger, and Tom oddly liked the connection. “You were right. The Potters have Holdings and Homes. These three are the ones with wards, where no one can sense us. But I don’t know what’s useful for a magical house! So I need you,” he fidgeted. “Please help me pick where we’re going to live.”

Tom considered the small boy, who certainly was showing no sign of hitting a growth spurt he should be hitting at this age, and nodded, then took the parchment, holding it as he read through the three homes. “Here. Death’s Rest. Ominous name, but the house is warded completely, unplottable, completely updated within the last hundred years, so at least should have indoor plumbing, and there are three house elves, to take care of making sure you actually eat. A portkey could be made, correct?”

“A one time portkey,” the goblin nodded. “After that, you will either need to connect to the floo network, or find another way to get places.”

“Reasonable,” Tom hummed. “Can Harry be emancipated?”

Harry blinked.

“He has a magical guardian,” the goblin frowned at other paperwork. “Albus Dumbledore.”

“He’s my guardian?” Harry sounded confused.

“In your time, living with the muggles,” Tom said, “How many times has he visited you?”

“...never?” Harry admitted.

“Mmhmm,” the goblin notated on his sheet. “That is an issue. He should have visited you every six months.”

“Did you get your magical vaccinations?”

“...there are magical vaccinations?”

The goblin marked another line.

“Have you ever been brought to a healer to check on your current health considering the damage that was done by the muggles?” Tom arched a brow.

He hesitated. “I went to Madame Pomfrey when I almost died in first year... and... again last year when Lockhart took all the bones out of my arm and I had to regrow them?”

The goblin hummed.

“Did anyone ensure you ate three healthy meals a day, had clothing that fit, went to school regularly, and were treated well?” Tom folded his hands on his stomach.

“Um.”

The goblin looked at Harry, at his terrible clothing, his thin face, his broken glasses. “No. Yes, Mister Riddle, he can be emancipated. We don’t even need to notify the current magical guardian due to the neglect.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “What does that mean?”

“You can use your wand all you want, you can own property, you can sign for yourself to go to Hogsmeade, you can live without adults, I believe you can even get your apparation license now...”

“That’s correct,” The goblin nodded.

“Oh. But I don’t know how to apparate.”

Tom smiled. “I’ll teach you.”

“Sign here,” the goblin slid a parchment to Harry.

He scribbled his name down.

“Perfect. You are now emancipated. Now. The portkey for Death’s Rest... do you wish to visit your vaults today, Mister Potter?”

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I don’t have my key.”

Both Tom and the goblin froze.

“Excuse me?” The goblin said. “Where is it?”

“Ah... I think Missus Weasley has it?”

The goblin looked like he was about to launch an attack on the whole of Hogwarts, and scribbled a note on a parchment. “We will do an accounting of the Potter vaults, and your trust vault, rekey and reissue new keys. None but you should ever have your key, Mister Potter.”

“While that’s all happening, we’ll just go to my Vault,” Tom suggested.

“Fine idea,” he nodded. “Do you have your key?”

“Unfortunately, I died in 1981, and do not know where the key was placed after my death.”

“Tricky. It will cost two galleons to have a new key issued.”

Tom nodded. “Of course.”

Harry had the diary tucked under his shirt still, and Tom murmured for him to keep it there, to ensure he retained enough energy to remain upright, and they headed down on the cart to Tom’s vault. It was huge, inside, full of old artifacts, and artworks, probably all gathered from followers, but Tom liked it, and he liked the massive pile of gold, too.

“You’ve got almost as much gold as me,” Harry said, lightly, picking up a galleon.

“Almost?” He arched a brow.

“Yeah. So I guess it won’t last very long. Hagrid said you have to be really careful, because the magical world is really expensive, he said I’d be lucky if my amount covered school.”

Tom blinked at him. “With this amount, I could live, in luxury, for the next hundred years.”

Harry blinked.

“And, the goblins would be quite happy to invest some of it for you, so that it becomes more.” Tom frowned. “Hagrid must not understand how money works. Or was told to pretend he didn’t know how money works,” he hummed softly.

He tucked his scruffy hair behind his ears, letting out a long breath. “Oh.”

“You should grow this out,” Tom brushed half substantial fingers over Harry’s head. “It might be more tamable. Use the bag on that desk, get some galleons, and we’ll portkey to our new home.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, putting as many galleons as Tom told him to into the bag, which never seemed to expand in size, then held it quietly. Together with the goblin, they headed back up the bank, walking side by side towards the part of the bank the goblin had said was set aside for portkeys.

“Tom?”

Both hesitated, and turned, looking at an absolutely stunned looking man, even though he was dressed nicely like Mister Malfoy, Harry thought, all style and looks, though there were silver streaks in the temples of his black hair, which was long and tied back.

“You should have hair like that,” Tom said, nodding to himself. “Hello, Orion.”

“How are you...” The man hesitated. “Can we step to the side?” He asked, lowly.

“Of course,” Tom nudged Harry to one of the small side sitting places, so that they could all sit, even though Tom was only partially solid.

“How are you here?” Orion asked, confused. “Are you... is this yourself in sixth year?”

He hummed. “This is. Sixth year. And I don’t know what happened after that, though Harry has informed me of much of it.”

Orion turned to look at Harry, then let out a long breath. “Harry Potter.”

“Mm.”

“He killed you!” Orion hissed. “Future you!”

“I am aware. I also know from the story that he was barely over a year old when it happened, so it’s not as though he did it maliciously, or on purpose. We’ve reached an understanding, Orion. He happens to agree with my plans. So yes. Tom Riddle is working with Harry Potter.”

Orion let out a long breath, and glanced at Harry. “I am shocked you’re not on lock-down. It was when the aurors basically burst my door down that I was even found, but... shouldn’t Dumbledore have you trapped somewhere safe? Hogwarts would be a good option.”

Harry blinked. “...why?”

Orion cleared his throat. “Because my son is trying to kill you.”

Harry blinked again, looking completely bewildered. “...who’s your son?”

“Only your godfather.”

Tom frowned. “I feel this conversation would be best held elsewhere. Harry, the portkey?”

He held out a small chain, with a small symbol Harry didn’t recognize on it, towards this Orion, and resting his other hand on his trunk. “Here.”

Orion took the chain, then glanced at Tom. “Don’t you need to take it?”

“I’m all right,” he hummed.

Harry smiled at Orion, sheepishly. “Three Brothers.”

They had reappeared outside a massive wall with a huge metal gate in the centre, and Harry looked up at it, warily.

“Press your hand to the centre of the gate, there.” Tom told him, and Harry did, then held his hand out, looking at the blood in his palm. “It cut me.”

“First time here?” Orion asked.

Harry nodded.

“It had to ensure you were who you said you were.” Orion hummed, calmly, as the gate swung open, and they were able to enter, revealing a large garden of only various colours of chrysanthemum, and a very large home, stone, with beautiful dark wood windows, and slate tiled roof.

“It’s so pretty,” Harry whispered.

“And it’s all yours,” Tom hummed, and led them towards the door. “What did you mean, Orion, that they bust down your door, and found you?”

Orion sighed, the black cane he carried with just a silver newel on the top clicked slightly on the cobblestone path they walked on. Tom was very pleased to see that Harry had cast the featherlight on his trunk again, pulling it along behind him. “It turns out, Walburga was just as dangerous as we thought she was, back in school. In 1979, so fourteen years ago, she apparently dosed me with the Draught of Living Death, and just... left me on a sofa in one of the sitting rooms.”

Both of the younger men looked at him in shock.

“Wow,” Harry whispered.

“Mmmh, yes. So I’ve had to catch up on, everything.” He sighed. “So one of my sons is presumed dead, missing at least, and the other has been in Azkaban for twelve years.”

“What’s Azkaban?” Harry asked.

“The wizarding prison,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It’s terrible, they use Dementors. They’re a strange creature that performs what’s called a ‘Dementor’s kiss’, wherein they eat your soul.”

“The older you made deals with them,” Orion said.

“Well, they are fascinating,” he admitted.

“What was he in prison for?” Harry asked. “You said he was my godfather.”

“Mm. He was. He was in Azkaban for suspected being one of Tom’s followers. He apparently killed a friend of his, who accused him of being the reason your parents are dead, Mister Potter, as well as twelve muggles. Once the aurors woke me up and started demanding what I knew, which was nothing, I turned it back on them, and started demanding answers. Apparently he was given a newspaper at some point, and was heard saying ‘he’s at Hogwarts he’s at Hogwarts he’s at Hogwarts’ before he broke out of Azkaban. Which is supposed to be impossible. But now he’s free, on the run, and everyone says he’s trying to kill you.”

“Why though?”

“Well, you killed the Dark Lord.” Orion hesitated, looking at Tom. “Or perhaps not.”

“No, he did. But he tried to help my older self, was not able to and Dumbledore knew what happened, so he was very clever this year, and saved this part of me that I had made to keep myself safe. I’ve been telling him my goals, and ideals, and he’s been quite clever. I’ve swayed the boy who lived to Voldemort’s side. Our next goal is bringing him back.”

Orion leaned back, considering them both. “I could help.”

Tom smirked. “Orion Black, you have always been very dependable.”

“Barely out of the grave, and helping Tom Riddle again.” He smirked. “I feel like a Knight again.”

“You are a Knight,” Tom said, firmly. “What is the chance that your son actually is trying to kill Harry?”

“Honestly, he would have had to have a brain transplant to do that,” Orion shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head. “He has always been so deeply in love with James Potter, there is no chance he was involved in death, or want his godson by James dead. Would he try to arrange James’ wife killed? Possibly. He was very bitter towards her, saw her as someone that stole James from him. But would he even do that? No. He was an auror. He wouldn’t do that to James.”

“An auror is a magical police officer,” Tom said, quietly to Harry, before he could ask.

Harry nodded.

“Could he have been compelled? Confunded? Imperio’d?”

Orion shook his head. “Possible, but I don’t know by who.”

Tom crossed his arms, and considered that. “So if he’s one of mine, and after Harry for some reason, I could sway him to my side by simply telling him Lord Voldemort doesn’t want the child dead. If, instead, he is innocent for whatever reason, and he is, perhaps, coming to Hogwarts to save Harry, well, we can work with that, too.”

“Would he listen to you, if you wrote a letter to him?” Harry asked, curious.

Tom considered that. “I don’t write letters. But either of you did... but I’m thinking the aurors would have tried that. He must think of himself as something other than ‘Sirius Black’.”

“Mm. James used to call him ‘Padfoot’?” Orion suggested.

“Paddy!” Harry gasped.

Both of them turned to look at Harry, who flushed.

“Is that what you called him, when you were very little?” Tom smiled at him.

He nodded, quietly.

“Send a letter to Paddy,” Tom said, “And see what happens. I’ll help you write the letter. Orion, we have not connected the floo yet...”

“Let me be helpful,” he sighed. “I drop by the Floo office and get it connected, reception fireplace, I assume?” He asked him. “Name of the house?”

“Death’s Rest.” Tom said, calmly.

Orion arched a brow. “All right. I’ll see if I can get it done right away. I’ll apparate for the moment.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I didn’t know how to do that.”

Orion’s expression softened slightly, and he reached forward to brush Harry’s hair back off the scar. “You look so much like James. But nothing like that woman.”

He blinked. “Everyone tells me I have Lily’s eyes.”

Orion shook his head. “No. Hers were this dishwater moss green. Almost brown. Yours are like the killing curse itself, and the shape...” His brows furrowed.

“Just a moment,” Tom stood, and tapped the sofa beside Orion. “Stand right beside Orion, dear.”

Harry stood, and did as ordered, standing beside the man Tom knew as his childhood friend. Tom considered him, seriously, looking back and forth between then two, then murmured, “Harry, I think we need to write that letter immediately. We will pass on the information, Orion.”

He nodded, and stood. “Thank you.”

Tom waved it off, like a monarch being magnanimous. “I hope we have information for you, soon.”

Orion bent in a bow, then slipped out of the house, apparatting in the yard.

“...what was that, Tom?”

“Anyone who says that you have Lily Evan’s eyes is lying to you. You have Orion Black’s eyes, but tinted in green instead of pure silver. We need to write that letter.”

Harry slept with his cheek on the diary, clutching at the book, and sometimes Tom sat on the massive bed that Harry insisted was far too big, that he couldn’t sleep in the master bedroom but Tom had informed him that he was literally king of the castle, it was his room, running his fingers gently over Harry’s hair, which was growing surprisingly fast.

All because he told him to. Tom felt smug, but oddly warm.

The hair was easier to handle, longer, growing into lazy waves instead of coarse mess, and Tom thought it felt actually a lot like Orion’s had, when they were students.

And then there came a clamouring of the wards, and Harry bolted up, gasping, and Tom whispered, “Take your wand, go. Check at the gates. I’ll be with you.”

Clutching the diary close, he padded barefoot out of the room, darting down the hall, down the stairs, and ran full tilt to the doors and out into the dark garden, slowing as he approached the gates. Harry was breathing hard, and called, quietly, “Who’s there?”

“Harry?” A rasping, ragged sounding voice called. “Harry, is that you?”

“Lumos,” Harry held up his wand, light spilling around him, Tom staying just in the light so that he seemed like a shadow, but the light also spilled over a man, clinging to the gate. He was skinny, scarily so, long black hair matted and greasy, a scruffy beard haphazardly shaved off. His eyes looked beat down and worn, but they shone silver, like Orion’s.

“Harry?” The man reached through the gate. “Let me see you... let me see you... look at you...”

Harry swallowed. “Are you Sirius Black?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Licking his lips, Harry took a step closer to him. “Are you my Paddy?”

Sirius slumped against the gate, and started sobbing. “Yes.”

“Let him in,” Tom whispered.

“He can come in!” Harry shouted to the gates, trying to tug the gate open.

It barely creaked open and the skinny man was through the gate, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry, sobbing into the boy’s hair. “Harry Harry Harry...”

“Let’s get you inside,” Tom said, calmly. “Get you some food, get you a place to rest. Do we have permission to contact your father? He’s looking for you.”

Sirius looked up, blinking at Tom, and shook his head. “My father is dead.”

“It turns out that’s no longer the case. Your mother had more control if was dead, so she made him appear to be dead. He’s rather angry. She, actually, is dead. May we contact Orion?”

He swallowed. “Is he gonna turn me in?”

“Which Black family are you remembering?” Tom arched a brow. “Come in.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the house elves showed up. “We need food for Sirius here, clothing, a bed made up for him, and a bathroom readied.”

Still clinging to Harry, practically carrying him, Sirius said, “You can contact him.”

“Good,” Tom nodded, leading them towards the dining room.

Harry was laying on Sirius’ bed, the diary tightly held under his shirt, considering the man sleeping like the dead. Once he was clean, it made exactly how skinny he was even clearer, but his hair looked soft and shiny, lazy waves like Harry had, now. Harry had helped him cut it shorter. Sirius had properly shaved, baring his jaw, and was dressed in an old fashioned night dress, the only thing the elves could find for him, and he’d eaten as much as he could, which wasn’t much.

Harry’s heart had clenched, remembering exactly what that was like the two years he’d gone to Hogwarts in September, taking weeks to get until he could eat as much as his classmates. This year, at least, he could eat like normal.

He squirmed a little closer to him, cataloguing his face, trying to imagine what Sirius would look like if he were thirteen.

“I can feel your eyes on me, little one.”

Harry flushed, looking down.

Sirius opened his eyes. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, sweetheart. You’re so tiny. Aren’t you thirteen this year?”

“Yeah. This summer. I’m thirteen now.”

He sighed, reaching out to tuck Harry’s hair behind his ear. “Got my hair, I win, James.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, anxiously, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Do you want the pretty story for the papers, or the truth?” Sirius asked.

“Truth.” Harry said, without hesitation.

He sighed. “Yer dad lied about being married to Lily, and I’m actually your father. Literally hid in your fidelus, sent in an ‘emergency leave from work’ request to the office, and Lily basically spent the entire time glaring holes in my head while I hid in the guest bedroom. I remember James begging Lily to lie to Dumbledore, so he’d think you were hers. I was upset, but... everything thinks I got them killed. I didn’t. I would have killed Lord Voldemort myself if that’s the only way to save James.”

“...you’re... you’re my...dad?”

Sirius sort of melted, and tugged him closer, kissing the top of his head. “Yes. Or your mum? It’s... I dunno what you’d call me. I carried you about in my tummy. I’m that parent.”

“So... my Paddy.” Harry whispered.

“Yeah. Your Paddy. And if I hadn’t been locked up for a murder I didn’t do, believe me, you would have been with me. I woulda kept you safe.”

He smiled at him, flushed. “You said if killing Lord Voldemort would save James, you would. But... what if... the only way to save James... or me... was joining Lord Voldemort?”

Sirius blinked. “If it saved you, in a heart beat.”

“Okay,” he murmured, and squirmed closer to Sirius, who curled his arms around him, resting his chin on Harry’s head.

Sirius frowned, still stroking Harry’s hair. “You do know, though, that Peter Pettigrew is with the Weasleys. Ron? I think the paper said Ron?”

“Who’s Peter Pettigrew?”

“The bastard that actually got James and Lily killed. He turns into a rat. Does Ron have a pet rat?”

Harry gasped. “Scabbers!”

“That is a terrible name for a pet rat. Is he missing a toe?”

Harry nodded.

“That is the guy I was jailed for murdering.”

“So. If I took Scabbers, and sent him to the Aurors... you’d be free?”

Sirius blinked. “Um. Technically. I guess so. But you’d have to find a way to prevent him from turning into a human or a rat, when you need him to be one or the other.”

“There are probably ways to do that.”

“It has been many, many years since I did this,” Orion hummed, walking through Diagon Alley with Tom, who was reading through Harry’s school list. “You truly think it’s safest to keep him away from the entire world until school?”

“Half the world thinks I want to kill him, the other half wants to swaddle him up in cotton wool so he can’t get hurt. It’s best he stays home.”

“What if someone other than me recognizes you?”

“Then I learn who was loyal, and who was not,” Tom said, lightly. “Madame Malkin’s, for school robes, then Twifitt and Taftings, he needs decent clothes, and I have his measurements.”

“They’re going to notice something has changed,” Harry whispered, dressed up in a neat suit. “It I show up in things like this.”

“You disappeared for most of the summer,” Tom suggested.

“They still won’t believe it. I’ll have to leave these at home. But I... appreciate it,” he admitted, tucking his hair behind his ears. The long hair, at least, Sirius had convinced him to leave, and Harry had curled into him, and relaxed.

Tom watched Harry, sighing. He could have drawn enough energy, life, from Harry to be solid by now, but... he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to him.

The boy was so eager to learn, and he felt like he had as back in the Slytherin dormitories – which for an extent, he had been – as the lights came on in his classmate’s eyes, realizing that he was, in fact, a genius. That his ideas were worth listening to, and Harry lay on his bed, on his stomach, hugging the diary to his chest, watching Tom speak excitedly. He asked a lot more questions than his Knights had, sometimes ones because he’d just never been told about wizarding society, but more were questions about morals, about why Tom had made some choice or another.

After a few days, Sirius had started creeping into the room, curling his arms around Harry, and watching Tom, listening to him talking, quietly.

“You’re not real, yet, Tom, and I leave for school tomorrow.”

“I know,” he nodded. “But you’ll write to me this year, right? While Orion looks for my older self?”

“Of course I’ll write to you,” he said, fiercely. “You taught me a lot of useful spells... I’m gonna be safe. But will you... come out of the book sometimes?”

“Regularly. I have enough of your life for that.”

He shifted forward, hugging Tom around the middle. “Good.”

“I want to go with you,” Sirius keened, hugging Harry tight to his chest. “I know you’re smart, but Pettiigrew is there, and I don’t trust you with him.”

“He hasn’t hurt me for two years.”

“Building up his strength,” Sirius muttered.

“And I love you, Paddy. But I do need to go to school,” Harry smiled crookedly at him.

“Education is over related.”

“You went.” He pointed out.

Sirius dragged the boy off the ground, though he couldn’t carry him, and spun him around, laughing happily, peppering kisses on the top of Harry’s head.

The next day, when Orion Black accompanied Harry to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, they had a massive black dog beside them, who wormed between different people on the track, then darted back to Harry, a terrified, frozen rat in his jaws.

Harry opened the small cage that Tom had taught him to make, then handed it over to Orion, who smirked, and tucked it away.

“I don’t want to pretend to be friends,” Harry whispered to his grandfather, clutching Orion’s hand, and pretending as far as anyone knew that he had probably stayed with Orion Black all summer. “I really think he picked them for me. And I don’t want to...”

“Be quiet today while all the rumours about Padfoot run about, then when the truth emerges, be quiet and avoidant because you have to think about your father. Then make some friends your Tom would approve of.”

Harry flushed, and nodded, casting a quiet featherlight on his trunk. “Thank you, gra – Orion.”

“After tomorrow, you can call me whatever you want,” he cupped Harry’s jaw in a gloved hand. “Good luck hiding on the way there.”

He sighed, and nodded.

Sirius whined, and licked Harry’s face.

“I have to go to school!” He laughed, flushed, hugging him around the neck, burying his face in the thick black fur. “Take care of your dad, Paddy.”

Sirius licked his face again.

Harry slipped onto the train, taking a route he didn’t normally go, avoiding the swarm of redheads, ducking quietly onto the train, and hiding in an empty compartment, casting a locking spell Tom had taught him on the doors, and tugged the blinds down. Lucky, he supposed, Orion insisting that they come this early.

He sighed, leaning over to rest his head on the window, tired.

Another spell Tom had taught him triggered, letting him know when there was anyone saying his name, and he lifted his head. “Have you seen Harry Potter?” Ron was asking someone. “You know, the Harry Potter. He’s my best mate.”

“They’ve never talked about me like that before,” he whispered, brows furrowed.

“That you know of,” Tom said, settling beside him, and brushing invisible and nonexistent dust off his Slytherin robes. “You haven’t been with them every moment, have you?”

“I knew... Ron was a little fame hungry, but...”

“Where is Harry Potter?” Hermione’s voice floated over the compartment. “You know who he is, have you seen him? I tried a locating spell, but he’s not showing up, but Lavender saw him. Where is he?”

“Mm, well, she’s always been pushy.” Tom hummed.

“I guess I go with grandfather’s advice. Avoid, avoid, avoid.” Harry muttered, slumping.

Until about ten minutes later, when the door opened, and two redheads tumbled in, flicking a similar locking spell at the door. “Mate,” they said. “That was some lock.”

Harry swallowed, clutching to the diary in his shirt, Tom instantly gone back into it, watching the twins.

Fred ran a hand through his head. “It’s funny. Ron and Hermione have been going ‘wild’ talking about how they need to protect you from Sirius Black, but their suggestions kind of sound like them cocooning you and not letting you talk to anyone else. I’d avoid them, if I were you?”

He sighed. “Why do you think I used a spell to lock the door I hoped Hermione didn’t know.”

George cooed, then tugged Harry away from the window, so that they could both plunk on either side of him, each with an arm looped around his waist. “How’s our little Slytherin hiding in Gryffindor really doing?”

Harry blinked. “...what?”

“Oh come on. You’re a Parselmouth, and you ask questions that a Gryffindor wouldn’t ask. And you’re sneaky. Did the hat even try to put you in Gryffindor?” Identical innocent faces looked at him.

“...I had to convince it not to put me in Slytherin. Gryffindor was it’s next option, I suppose.” he admitted.

“Why’d you do that?” Fred blinked at him. “I mean, way Ronnikins tells it, you knew nothing about Hogwarts, much less the houses.”

Harry bit his lip. “Hagrid was the one to take me to Diagon. He told me everyone in Slytherin goes bad. Then Ron told me Slytherin was bad, that Malfoy in Slytherin, and Malfoy wasn’t super nice, but I now know that was because Ron and I both didn’t do the proper cultural things.”

“And now you’re in Gryffindor, so you’re fekked,” George sighed.

“Yeah, me and Forge, we had to do it cause mum would have killed us. She likes to say all Weasleys were in Gryffindor, even though that’s a lie.” He shrugged.

“You would have been Slytherins?” He asked, looking up at the Weasley twins.

Fred shrugged. “Yep.”

“...are there others like us?”

“Naw, far as we can tell, everyone else actually is all rah rah red everything,” George grimaced. “Do you know how that looks for gingers? We would have looked better in any other house. Any other house.”

“Well,” Harry considered that. “Maybe not Hufflepuff.”

They burst into laughter, hugging Harry tightly, at the same time.

There was a light knock on the door, and all three froze, then jerked wands out.

“Who is it?” Fred called.

“Professor Lupin. I’m afraid the compartments are filling up. Is there room in your compartment?”

Harry licked his lips, quietly, and whispered, “...he was friends with my dads – dad.”

“You’re explaining that when we get to Hogwarts,” George hissed, then stood, to quietly opened the door.

The man on the other side was tall, but stood like he was trying to make himself shorter, lanky and thin, his robes old but painstakingly cared for. He had sandy blond hair swept across his forehead, scars on his face, and he held a leather briefcase with his name painted on it in white. He smiled, a little crookedly. “If you don’t mind?”

Harry motioned to the empty bench seat across from them, and Remus settled, then flicked his wand, the doors snapping shut, and an even stronger lock closing the door.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured.

“Trying to keep someone out?” Lupin asked, quietly.

He nodded, quietly.

“The friends that have been going up and down the line, asking for you?” He asked, arching a brow.

“Not sure they are friends,” Harry admitted.

“That’s sad,” he said, lightly. “Losing friends is hard.”

Harry looked at the twins, and took a very deep breath, and asked, “Peter, Sirius, or James?”

Remus stilled.

“Dead, prison, dead. Not a great track record,” Harry said, sitting up straighter, emboldened by the diary under his shirt. “Except that’s not right, is it? Dead, escaped from prison, dead. I mean. Assuming Sirius is after me, and not Peter. Convicted to Azkaban for a finger? And no blood? Odd.”

Fred and George, who had looked bewildered when he started, had turned to look at Lupin, eyes innocent and large.

“Who told you that?” Lupin said. “You shouldn’t haven’t known about Sirius, or any of that.”

“Oops.” Harry blinked, smiling sweetly. “Then I guess I shouldn’t have spent the summer living with Lord Orion Black.”

“Wait, the real one?” Fred gasped. “I thought he was dead.”

“Nope.” Harry shook his head. “And he’s right pissed about what happened to his son. And me. He’s very angry about a lot of things, but not me. He taught me lots of things.”

“That have anything to do with your bit more of a backbone?” George grinned.

“Might help.” Harry considered Lupin seriously, and drawled, “Just a question, professor. Would Sirius Black have really betrayed James Potter?”

He looked torn.

He smirked, and settled back in the bench, between the twins. “Mm, I’m tired, can you guys watch me while I sleep?”

“Of course,” the twins chimed together, and crossed their arms like bodyguards on either side of him, lifting their chins, seriously and firmly.

Lupin looked lost.

Harry snuggled between the twins, and closed his eyes, letting the train wheels lull him to sleep.

“I’m proud of you,” Tom whispered in his ear, ghostly and insubstantial.

Harry smiled.

“Harry, mate, where were you? We looked for you on the train!”

He closed his eyes, still standing with George and Fred, embarrassed, though the pair his glared at their brother. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, Ron. I need to think about things.”

“Is it the Dementors around the school? One came in our compartment, and almost sucked the soul out of Neville!” Ron squawked. “It was awful. This guy came in and cast this silvery thing at it, and it ran away, and he gave us chocolate.”

“Professor Lupin,” Harry said, his shoulders trying to sneak their ways up to his ears as Hermione rushed over, already spattering thoughts and words at the speed of a machine gun in one of Dudley’s video games.

“Where have you been young man?! Don’t you know that there is a mass-murderer on the loose, and it’s very dangerous to be out there, especially with the Dementors, and - “

“Sorry, coming through, very important person needs dinner, no distractions!” Fred crowed.

George added in, each of them looping their arms through Harry’s, tugging him right into the Great Hall. “Friend of Lord Black here!”

Harry smiled, and laughed as the other two settled on either side of him, effectively making it so Ron and Hermione couldn’t, though they sat in front of him, and Harry wondered, had Ron always ate like food was transient, and didn’t always need to be in his mouth, but was also perfectly fine all over his plate and the plates of everyone around him? Had Hermione actually always talked that much?

The sorting was over, everything was finished, that was important, though he supposed Dumbledore had to make his speech.

“...my head is killing me,” Harry whispered.

Hermione screeched, which did not help. “Is it Voldemort?”

Voldemort is tucked into my shirt, Hermione, and I am keeping him safe, no, he’s not hurting me. “It’s just a headache, a really, really, really bad headache,” he murmured, holding his head in his hands.

“Let’s get you to the hospital wing,” Fred said, helping Harry stand.

“Is that necessary?” Hermione said. “I’m sure the Headmaster has important things to say about what’s happening.”

“Do you want him to pass out?” George demanded, and helped Harry walk briskly towards the doors.

Percy suddenly caught up with them, face alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“Harry has a headache. A very bad one,” Fred said. “We’re helping him to the hospital wing.”

He hesitated. “I suppose that’s good.”

“I’ll get the updates from others later,” Harry said, eyes half lidded, wincing in actual pain.

“Okay,” Percy nodded. “Thanks, for helping him.”

“Was the headache real, mate?” George asked, as they walked him up the stairs towards the hospital wing. “This might be your quickest trip here, to be honest.”

“Might be,” Harry admitted. “And yeah, it’s real. My brain is pounding.”

The two helped him up into the hospital wing, and Fred knocked cheerfully on the Matron’s office.

“Mister Potter,” Madame Pomfrey sighed, stepping out of her office. “Already?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he admitted. “But my head is killing me.”

“Mm, a headache potion should help. Misters Weasley, thank you for bringing him, but you can go.”

“Actually, can they stay? I’d rather sleep in the Tower tonight, and they can help me get there.”

She sighed, heavily, as though put upon, but nodded, and fetched the potion. “Take this before you go to bed, and this is Dreamless Sleep, that may help.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled at her, crookedly, and let the twins guide him out into the still silent halls, their footsteps ringing in the hallways. “How are you gonna handle this year, if you’re so frustrated with the people that think they’re your friends?”

“I... don’t know,” he admitted. “I sent a letter to Professor McGonagall, asking her if I could switch my electives, she sent a letter back saying it was okay, so.... well, I can’t avoid Hermione, because she’s somehow taking all of them, but I’m not in classes with Ron anymore.”

George blinked. “Which one are you taking now, then?”

“Runes and Arithimancy.” He looked up at the twins, smirking slightly. “Hey, I had help this summer, and I thought they were interesting.”

Fred smirked. “We took them, too.”

He blinked. “You did?”

“They’re kind of necessary for some of the inventing we do,” George shrugged. “Especially runes, but arithomancy makes the runes more powerful. Lord Black is pretty smart.”

Harry laughed softly, not correcting them, then groaned, and rubbed his forehead.

“Can I recommend sticking and silencing charms, so that you can sleep the headache off without them bugging you?” Fred suggested. “Just set an alarm with your wand, and you’ll be okay.”

“You’re a genius,” he smiled softly, then frowned as they neared the dormitory. “We don’t know the password.”

“The lady could never resist our charms,” George wiggled his eyebrows.

Headache potion knocked back, Harry settled back in his bed. He’d once thought it was the comfiest bed in the world, but now that he’d slept in the massive bed at Death’s Rest, it just seemed all right. The thick blankets were nice, though. His curtains were stuck closed, his bed was silenced, and he relaxed back against his pillows, sighing softly.

“Any idea what caused the headache?” Tom asked, appearing, kneeling by Harry’s legs.

“No idea,” he admitted.

“What did you eat right before?”

He hesitated, considering that. “Potatoes.”

“With gravy?”

“With gravy,” Harry agreed, not sure where this was going.

“Liquid. A potion could have been put in it, you could be having a negative reaction.”

Harry blinked. “How do I know which one?”

“Your blood would have to be tested, Gringotts is best, but... by the time you have a Hogsmeade weekend and get there, it’ll be long gone from your blood,” Tom shrugged.

He frowned, then whispered, “What if I owled a blood sample to grandfather?”

Tom smirked. “Using your connections. Clever. Best do it quickly, before the others come back.”

“Is there a spell to draw blood?”

“Other than just an underpowered cutting curse? Usually there are extraction vials that do it for you, but... if you ask nicely, I’ll teach you one?” Tom smirked, holding his hand out for Harry’s wand.

Harry sat up as straight as he could, slipping the wand into the other’s hand, then breathed, “Please Tom, won’t you show mercy on me and teach me?”

He laughed outright at that, but took Harry’s hand, and began teaching him the simple incantation.

Like she knew he needed here, Hedwig was outside the window, waiting for him, and Harry sent her off with the vial and a letter to two Blacks, then slumped into his bed, and set up the spells again.

“Are you actually considering taking that Dreamless Sleep?” Tom hummed.

“Should I not?” Harry hesitated, potion bottle in hand.

“Frankly, I’d save it for worse nights. Your headache seems better now that you took the cure... it’s just my thoughts,” Tom said, lightly.

“I’ll save it,” he tucked the bottle under his pillows. “Are you going to stay?”

“We’ll see. I don’t want to scandalize your dorm-mates in the morning.”

Harry snorted, and crawled under the blankets.

“Harry!”

He closed his eyes, the headache pounding between his eyes, different, but definitely still there. He’d gotten up early, to take his shower in peace, and suddenly there was shouting when he was right there. Could he get a moment to think?

“Where were you?” Ron demanded.

“In the shower?” He opened one eye.

“I mean last night.”

“Hospital wing. I told where I was going. I had a crippling headache. Then I went to bed.”

Ron frowned. “I couldn’t open your curtains.”

“I needed silence, because of the headache, so I used a sticking charm on the curtains, and a silencing charm so I could sleep.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I felt awful. Why were trying to get in my bed?”

“But Dumbledore said that Sirius Black is trying to break into the school, and Hermione says that based on the papers from the time you survived, she thinks he’s coming here to try to finish off the whole Potter family!”

Harry slowly blinked at him, then rounded Ron to grab his bag. He’d brought his uniform into the bathroom, because he was concerned his dorm mates would notice that he wasn’t emaciated like usual, due to a month of actually eating like a preteen should, and that would weirdly be another backwards lecture, too. “But he’s not going to get past the Dementors, is he?”

Ron hesitated. “Well, I guess not. Hey, you were here early. Did you see Scabbers?”

“No,” he said, honestly, and headed for the door. “Still have a headache. I’m going to get some breakfast, see if that helps.”

“Oh, yeah, breakfast!” Ron shoved his feet in his shoes, and followed, clunking down the stairs.

Harry rubbed at the spot just above his left eye, partially rubbing the scar.

“Harry!” Hermione leapt up from a sofa in the common room, and he wondered exactly how long she had been waiting for him. “You missed so much information in Dumbledore’s speech last night!”

“Ron told me, a murderer is trying to kill me again, yay.”

“But you can’t go after him,” Hermione said, and Harry hesitated, half out of the portrait hole. “He’s dangerous.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would I go after him?” He cocked his head to the side. “That would be suicide, if the papers are correct.”

“But he led to your parents dying,” she said, following after him down the hall. “He betrayed them to Voldemort, so now he wants to kill you too. But he was your godfather, and betrayed you!”

“So the papers say,” he agreed. “All the more reason not to go after him.”

“But, don’t you want him to pay for that?” Ron asked. “I would.”

Harry frowned, hands tightly gripping the strap of his bag. Were they trying to convince him into a deadly situation? Well, Ron had done that last year, and they both had the year before... was Harry just a gullible rube led into every possible trap, like an idiot? He was starting to be concerned he was.

“Honestly, at the moment, I just want breakfast to deal with this headache, and my schedule,” Harry sighed, as they headed into the Great Hall. He slid into a familiar seat, serving himself toasted muffins with butter melting on them, and scrambled eggs, and a bit of the roasted potatoes, which the Hogwarts elves did like no one else.

“That’s a lot of food,” Hermione remarked, and he looked at his plate, then at hers.

“You have more,” he said, lightly.

She reddened, and he swore. Great, his attempts to make sure they didn’t notice had failed, day one.

Owls started flying into the hall with letters and papers, and Harry smiled at Hedwig as she came with both, offering her his muffin to nibble on.

The overall sound level in the hall increased, and Hermione, across from him, gasped loudly.

Through his mouthful of food, Ron asked, “What?”

“Sirius Black didn’t do it,” she gasped. “He’s been declared innocent, and they say they have the real person who did it in custody now!”

“Good,” he said, lightly. “I could use some more family.”

“Mister Potter.”

Harry looked up from his own newspaper, having already slipped the letters from Sirius and Orion in his bag, and smiled politely up at McGonagall. “Yes, Professor?”

“If you’d come with me, please?” She smiled.

Hermione and Ron both stood, and the Professor held up her hand. “Just Mister Potter.”

“See you in class,” he said, lightly, and walked after her, rolling his eyes slightly as he realized they were heading to the Headmaster’s office, and lightly touched the diary still under his shirt. The password was apparently ice mice this year, and Harry stood just behind his Head of House as they went up the stairs, letting them into Dumbledore’s office. The old man was sitting behind his desk, the newspaper sitting in front of him, his hands folded on top of it. Harry was guided to stand in front of the desk, and stood there, just clutching to his bag.

“My boy, I understand you’ve had a tumultuous summer, and a startling start to the year.”

He considered that. “I blew up my aunt, yes, the viscera was... unpleasant. But it was an accident, I didn’t have a wand in my hands at all. And no one said anything except expelling me for the accident. Once that was dealt with, my summer was fine.”

“No one could find you,” Dumbledore said, frowning.

Harry deliberately didn’t meet his eyes, but looked at the man’s eyebrows. “I was frightened, sir. So I ran, and I ended up somewhere safe.”

“And where was that, my boy?” He said, condescendingly.

“Well, I’m not sure I can say, sir. They didn’t give me permission to tell.” Harry shrugged one shoulder.

“As your magical guardian, it is necessary for me to know where you are, for your own safety,” Dumbledore smiled.

“Oh, didn’t Gringotts tell you?” Harry glanced at McGonagall, whose brows were furrowed, then dug in his bag, tugging out the correct parchment roll, and handing it over to Dumbledore. As he did, though, the old man snatched his wrist, looking sharply at the ring on Harry’s finger.

“Where did you get that.” Flatly, like it wasn’t a question.

“I found it. Hidden away, being kept safe.” Harry said, calmly. “I thought it would be nicer if it was worn.”

“That, as I understand, is the Gaunt family ring.”

“It makes sense, then, that I found it in the Gaunt home.” Harry smiled, and quietly shook his hand free, setting the parchment on the table. “Those are my emancipation papers. I control all my vaults, properties, holdings, have been able to get Sleekeezies back under Potter control, and have my Wizenmagot seats. I don’t think any of that will affect school, except that I now have the ability to sign my own Hogsmeade slip, which I did. And I understand I am not in danger anymore, so... I should have a nice quiet year.”

“Doing this,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Was a very poor idea.”

“According to the goblins, it was legally necessary.” Harry shrugged. “And they know best, especially when it comes to things like vaults and all that. Hagrid taught me that. So I just listened to them, and now I’m emancipated?”

The headmaster still looked displeased, but just held the parchment, looking at it. “I still need to know where you were for the summer, my boy.”

“As I said, I can’t tell you.” Harry glanced back at McGonagall. “Do you have my schedule? I think I might have to hurry go get to my first class.”

“I do,” she handed it over, clearly having being holding onto it because she knew he was headed to this office. “And might I commend you on your efforts to take school more seriously with your electives.”

“Hm?” Dumbledore looked up from the parchment, sharply.

“Ah, Mister Potter changed his electives from Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, which I still maintain is a pointless subject, Albus, to Runes and Arithomancy.”

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes as he looked at Harry, sharply. “I thought you chose your electives with Mister Weasley.”

“I did a lot of reading this summer, and decided they were more interesting?” Harry managed to paint confusion across his face. “How’d you know how I chose my electives with Ron?” He asked, lightly.

“It was mentioned,” he hummed, quietly.

“Well, looks like I have Potions to get to. Goodbye Professor, Headmaster,” Harry smiled, then darted down the stairs, and ran through the halls. “If I am late,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but partially to Tom, “He is going to kill me. I’m fine with losing points, but...”

He dashed down the hallways, and skidded up to the door just as Snape was about to close it.

The dour man considered him seriously, then said, “Too good to be on time, Mister Potter.”

“I apologize, sir,” he dipped his head. “The headmaster called me to his office. I shan’t happen again.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “...see that it doesn’t.”

Hermione waved frantically to show that there was room at the three person desk she shared with Ron, but frankly, he didn’t want to piss Snape off any more than he already had, so he ignored the wild windmilling arm, and bent politely by Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy, who didn’t have a third. “May I sit here?”

Draco puffed himself up, looking like he was going to refuse on principal, but Nott nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Nott. Well met.” Harry slipped into his seat, then dipped his head to Draco. “Malfoy. Well met.”

Draco sort of looked like someone had slapped him with a trout, but Nott smirked slightly, and the three tugged out their texts, jotting notes on everything Snape said, but checking it against the textbook. Harry caught twice Snape had given directions that weren’t in the book, and lowly asked Draco, who sat beside him, “How do know if it’s textbook, or his directions?”

“Always his directions,” Draco said, with a smirk.

“I’ll get our ingredients,” Theo said, rising, and heading to the supply closet.

“Falling out with the wonder duo?” Draco said, lazily.

“I learned a lot about myself, and what I didn’t know, this summer,” Harry hummed. “Including that you’re my cousin, and what I did when we were introduced was the height of absolute rudeness. I blame Weasley entirely for that.”

“Weasley?” He repeated.

“Would you prefer Weasel?” He asked.

Draco snorted, but then Theo was back with the ingredients, and they all started working.

Hermione and Ron both tried to catch Harry’s attention several times during the lesson, but there was a good reason he’d put two Slytherins between them, and he worked carefully, using the differences that had been verbal instead of in the text, and as class came to an end, Harry breathed softly, looking at his potion, then at Draco and Theo’s beside him. “It looks the same as yours.”

“Maybe you’re not useless at potions after all,” Draco smirked.

Harry flushed, but when Snape walked in front of their cauldrons, and paused in front of Harry’s, he swallowed.

“Stealing your classmate’s potion, Potter? That’s low, even for you.”

His heart sank.

“Professor, Potter worked just as hard as the rest of the room,” Theo spoke up. “I watched him when he took notes. I think you could test it, and it would work as well as any of the...” His eyes slid over from the mercury looking potion to the grey sludge in Ron’s cauldron. “Properly brewed potions in the class.”

Snape sneered. “Bottle up a sample, on my desk.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

He waited until everyone had left the class, pretending to take longer to clean up, then stepped up to Snape’s desk. “Sir?”

Black eyes flicked up. “What is it, Potter?”

“I just wanted to apologize for my behaviour in previous years. I was acting like a – a Gryffindor, and you were always correct about safety in your classroom. I apologize for not listening to your guidance as I ought to have.”

Snape leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers, pressing the tips of his indexes to his lips. “What pureblood coached you this summer?”

“My grandfather, sir.”

One of Snape’s brows rose. “One of your grandfathers lives?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.

He tapped his lips with his fingers. “Which one?”

“Orion Black, sir.” He said, holding onto his wrist behind his back. “Some truths were brought to light when he was rescued from the Draught of the Living Death earlier this year. Lily Evans is not my mother, but pretended to be, for a plan to draw out the Dark Lord. She needlessly risked her life, when my actual father would have served the purpose.”

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. “Sirius Black.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes snapped back open. “Is the Headmaster aware?”

“In all honestly, I would say absolutely. Has he ever mentioned it to me, or suggested that Lily was not my mother? Absolutely not.”

“Orion Black taught you much,” Snape stood. “You were meant for my house, weren’t you?”

“Everyone would believe it if I followed both of my fathers.” Harry said innocently, then smirked. “Shame I was told incorrect facts before sorting. I knew nothing about the magical world, after all! Honestly, muggleborns should be brought into our world at first accidental magic and taught all about our culture and world.”

Snape rounded his desk, crossing his arms. “I’d ask if you were marked, if I didn’t know he wasn’t corporeal at the moment.”

Harry smiled at him, flushed. “No mark, sir.”

“Get to your next class, running between them would go against what Lord Black told you,” He arched a brow.

“Yes, sir.” He smiled, slipping out of the classroom.

He couldn’t get away from Ron and Hermione during Charms, but fortunately he had to take a lot of notes, so he wasn’t able to let their hissed questions distract him. This was a useful charm! He wanted to learn it properly.

What is wrong with you? Slid onto his notes, a slip of parchment. He glanced at Hermione, who was giving him big watery eyes.

I actually care about my education. You should be happy. He wrote beneath it, and though his handwriting still made Tom cringe, it wasn’t the same old chicken scratch it used to be. Apparently grandfather thought that was unacceptable. He calmly slid it over to Hermione, then didn’t look at her as he listened to Flitwick explain the wand movement.

“You are actin’ a right tit, mate,” Ron said, angrily, as he sat at the dinner table.

Harry blinked at him. “Tell us how you really feel, Ron.”

“You have been acting very strange,” Hermione said, sitting across from him. “Not like yourself at all, you’ve been quiet, and sitting with Slytherins, and - “

“I’m sorry.” Harry interrupted her. “Where are we?”

She blinked, and Ron frowned. “Hogwarts.”

“And what is Hogwarts, other than a very large castle?” Harry asked, buttering a roll.

“A school,” Ron said, spitting some very nice scalloped potatoes – well, not anymore – as he spoke.

“Exactly.” Harry shrugged. “I’ve decided to focus more on my education. My potion this morning will likely get an EE or O. Because I worked hard on it. Yours,” he nodded at Ron. “On the other hand, might get a Troll. I’ve been working hard this summer. I want to do well.” He stood, a roll with bits of chicken on it wrapped in a napkin. “I’m going to get my homework done, and go to bed early. I have a headache again.”

“Is it you know who?” Hermione hissed.

He smiled faintly, oh so delighted that she aired his dirty laundry in front of the whole school. “No.”

Slipping away from his table, he started heading to the Gryffindor tower when he heard a quiet, “Potter!”

He glanced behind him, and saw Theo standing on the base of the stairs. “Do you have a moment?”

“Several, as long as no one minds me eating,” he headed back towards Theo, walking after him. “Is this about potions?”

“Partially. Partially it’s also about Snape calling all of the third years aside to... feel you out, so to speak.”

Harry laughed, softly. “I think if you’re feeling me out, you’re not supposed to tell me you are.”

“Sometimes, bluntness works for more than those of us wearing red ties,” Theo smirked, and opened the door to a classroom that Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen used, and arched a brow at the fact that every third year Slytherin was there.

“Well. You’re all feeling me out, then.” He smirked, and held up his napkin. “I’m going to eat my dinner, as you do your Slytherin thing, if no one minds. I couldn’t eat with all that... noise.”

Draco snorted.

Harry settled in one of the empty chairs, beginning to eat his dinner – or roll with chicken and butter. “So what do you want to know? Am I being grilled under veritassium?”

“Is Sirius Black actually your father?” Pansy demanded.

“All right, we’re going for the kidneys first,” Harry snorted. “And yes, he is. Isn’t the hair a giveaway? That’s what I was told all summer.”

“So the paper didn’t lie. He is free, and he never tried to turn your parents over to the Dark Lord?” Blaise drawled.

“Disappointed? The paper mostly got it right. He didn’t do that. Does he agree with some polities...? Perhaps.”

“You’ve seen him,” Daphne said up straighter.

“Most of August.”

Theo laughed, clapping his hands together once. “I knew it! You’ve got a pure blood mask now, there was no way you came up with that on your own.”

“Well, I did also spend most of the summer with my grandfather. Lord Orion Black? You may have heard of him.”

“We’re cousins. You said it.” Draco leaned forward. “But not distantly like before. My mother and your father were first cousin. Making us second cousins. Merlin, you should have been at family gatherings.”

“What to know the strangest part? Dumbledore has apparently been my magical guardian. And according to the goblins, he broke all the rules about taking care. I should have gone to my grandfather, or grandmother, though I would rather not, I’ve met her portrait, the moment something happened to me. Instead, and you may cringe if you wish, I was sent to live with muggles. Lily Evan’s relations. So no connection to me, at all. And they hated magic, and tried to beat it out of me.”

“How did you survive?” Millicent asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Sometimes I don’t think I did. When I was locked in my cupboard - “

“Pardon,” Blaise was leaning forward, now. “Cupboard?”

“Under the stairs. It was my bedroom. And there were locks on it. But sometimes when I was in there, I felt like... like the edges of me were blurring, and I was about to become a raging inferno that would burn them to the ground, then explode out to kill everything else that had ever hurt me.”

The Slytherins looked between themselves, clearly not sure what to say, then Theo said, “That is a thing, Potter. And it’s not good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay,” Draco ripped off a bit of parchment from his bag, scribbling down a note. “After this, look up this book in the library, and read about it. But we’ll tell you. It’s called an Obscurus.”

“And what is that?” He frowned.

“It’s if a child’s magic is suppressed,” Theo took over. “Badly. They eventually become a ball of smoke and fire, that kills everyone it touches, destroys everything... and then burns out. The child is gone, because all their suppressed magic burnt them out.”

Harry looked at the title of the book, Human Monsters by Hilliard Fauns. “That could have happened to me?”

Daphne’s soft hand rested on his. “Not now. But then, it could have.”

“Oh,” he whispered.

It was silent in the room for a long time, Harry just staring at the book title, hand trembling finely, one bite but otherwise uneaten dinner in his other hand. Even Crabbe and Goyle were silent, just watching him.

Theo lifted the napkin quietly, making Harry start and look up as the other folded it neatly, and Draco shifted forward, offering a green apple to Harry. “Here. Eat this now, eat that in your bed, so you can think. This is far more portable while you’re walking.”

“Thank you,” Harry curled his fingers around the apple, and leaned back again.

“I’ll walk with you,” Theo said, standing.

Harry stood, slowly. Feeling his head reeling, and Blaise stood. “I’ll come along. Make sure no lemon candy hits you on your way to your room.”

He laughed, despite himself, waved a hand in farewell to the group, and walked with the other two out of the room, heading back to Gryffindor.

“If they knew,” Theo murmured.

“Do you think they’d care?” Blaise frowned. “Some people demonize those who become them. Thinking they could... just resist.”

Harry snorted, before taking a big bite of the apple. He chewed for a few moments, thinking, then when he swallowed, he said, “They tried to kill me. Regularly. I was even left, locked in that cupboard, with no food or water, for a week, while they went on holiday. It was very hard to resist giving into the desire to just rip them apart.”

“Nothing of this reaches the world from us,” Blaise said. “Slytherins do stick together.”

Harry laughed, and tugged lightly at his red tie.

“A lie, if you ask me,” Theo smirked.

“Or the height of underhandedness.” Blaise hummed. “So Slytherin that you convinced the sorting hat to put you in Gryffindor, like a sleeper agent.”

“What’s a sleeper agent?” Theo asked.

“An incredibly dangerous version of a spy, if my cousin’s games and programs are anything to go on.” Harry took another bite of his apple.

“True,” Blaise nodded.

“Are you going to be safe up there?” Theo flicked his eyes towards the tower’s stairs.

“Probably not, but I’ve gotten good at warding my trunk and bed.” He sighed. “Sadly, they’ll all be up there. Hopefully I can just get in my bed and gone, quickly.”

“Good luck,” Blaise said, then hesitated. “Do you have a place to go, if your own dorm room becomes dangerous?”

Harry hesitated. “Outside the dorm, a couple places. Inside... the fifth year dorm.”

Theo whistled. “I would not want to cross the Weasley twins.”

“They’d protected me a couple times this year already,” he admitted.

“Good. I’d trust them,” Theo nodded.

“And here’s where I get off,” Harry laughed softly, turning to face them. “Thank you.”

“We look after our own,” Blaise winked, and they headed down the stairs. Harry gave the password he’d finally gotten, and was immediately accosted in the common room by Hermione and Ron, who bolted up when he came through the portrait.

“Where were you?” Hermione screeched.

He winced. “I bumped into Malfoy. We were talking about our potions class this morning.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t leave the table with an apple.” She was literally cataloguing what he was eating? Really?

“Did Malfoy give you that?!” Ron yelled.

“Yes, but - “

Ron smacked it out of Harry’s hand, leaving him standing there with his hand up, and the apple splattered on the floor.

“What.” Harry said. “The bleeding fuck was that?”

“He could have poisoned it!” Hermione cried.

“He didn’t. I am going to bed,” Harry started to the stairs, and when Ron grabbed his arm, he all but threw him off, and marched up to his bed, locking, sticking, silencing, warding, before he slumped back on the pillows.

“Well, that went well. You’re being a fantastic spy, Harry,” Tom hummed.

“I can’t do it,” Harry pressed his hands to his face. “I want to crucio them until they can’t think! Why do I hate them so much?!”

“Well, you did get two letters today, you should read them, it’ll calm you down.” Tom suggested.

“Yeah, that’s smart,” he dug in his bag, reading Sirius’ first. It was full of silly anecdotes and jokes and so much deep love from a father to a son, something he’d never experienced before, that Harry relaxed, smiling. It didn’t hurt that Tom had settled on the pillow, gently stroking Harry’s long wavy hair.

But then Harry read Orion’s letter.

He actually ripped it slightly, from holding it so tight.

Tom, who had read over his shoulder, whispered, “Oh dear. That many compulsion potions are probably why you’ve developed an allergy to them now. First one administered by Rubeus Hagrid. The half-giant that was expelled at your age, and they’re letting him teach Care of Magical Creatures now, did you know that?”

“I’m glad I dropped it. Nothing in this list that would have made me become friends with those two, though.”

“You grew up a lot this summer. Sometimes, as we grow up, our wants and needs change,” Tom hummed, brushing his fingertips over Harry’s forehead. “Friends we liked before might be someone we want nothing with, anymore.”

“You’re my best mate, now,” he grinned up at Tom.

“Brat,” he smirked. “Eat your sandwich, before it goes bad.”

Harry was out of the dormitory before the sun was even fully up, grinned when he realized that the library was open and signed out the book he’d been told to, then dipped into the kitchens to get some breakfast, which they were happy to feed him. Finally, he settled in a quiet courtyard, eating a crumpet buttered and spread with a thick layer of raspberry jam, reading the chapter on Obscurials.

It was fucking horrifying.

“You’re right.”

Harry looked up, startled, snapping his book shut. “Sir!”

Snape waved him off, and Harry slowly sank back into his seat. “I did some digging through my memories. Potter and Lily were never married, never had a child. It was a ruse, a ruse that has been expertly removed from my mind, presumably so that the lie could be pushed with none of us remembering how it truly happened. Diabolical, and as far as I can tell, pointless. You are correct, your father would have been perfectly fine bait. Instead, he was painted as the one to betray them, even though he couldn’t have. I have many questions, but do not think you can answer them.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

He shook his head. “You’re a child, that I was angry at. Which is foolish. I cannot guarantee that I will not be frustrated by your stupidity in the future... the presence of Remus Lupin in this school pushes me towards that... I will try.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Snape sighed. “Keep up the attitude, and it might become easier.”

He smirked. “Thank you, sir.”

Snape jerked his head into something like a nod, and swept away, cloak swirling dramatically around him.

“Mate,” Dean said, quietly, as Harry sat down on his bed. “What’s going on?”

Harry glanced up. “Hey Dean. Nothing’s going on?”

“Well, aside from you completely avoiding Ron and Hermione,” Dean arched a brow.

He sighed. “...yeah.”

Dean gestured at Harry’s bed, and when he nodded, he settled beside him. “So I never really get a lot of chances to spend time with you without them, cause Ron is glued to your side, at least half the time. But did you know... when you aren’t together, Ron tells everyone he’s better than them, because he’s the best mate of the boy who lived.”

“What?” Harry gaped at him. “He knows I hate that title, that name, that whole... everything around that!”

He nodded. “Yeah. And there was a reason you weren’t friends with Hermione, right?”

Harry flopped back on the bed. “I got... lessons, this summer. On how to study properly. Now her bizarre systems make even less sense. It’s great if it works for her, but she shoves it down my throat, and I hate it.”

“So you are avoiding them.” He said, smiling crookedly.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered.

“And I keep seeing you with Slytherins.”

He snorted. “They think I’m in danger, so they’ve taken to... walking everywhere with me. Apparently that’s what they do in their house.”

“Well, you are the Heir of Slytherin,” Dean teased.

“Git,” he snorted.

“You, ah... you know Hermione talks about you, too, right?”

He closed his eyes, sighed, then looked up at Dean. “Of course she does.”

“Yeah. Says she’s gonna teach you, make you worthy of your... title. But she doesn’t want you to do too well at school, she says, because then you’ll stop focusing on you know who.”

Harry blinked at Dean, slowly. “What.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, mate.”

“Well, I guess I’m glad I’m learningthat now, and not while trying to study for my OWLs,” he sighed.

“True enough,” Dean sighed. “You planning on avoiding them the rest of the year?”

“Yes.” Harry hummed. “Wondering if they’ll ever get tired of chasing me.”

“Doubt it. But you got friends, mate. Me and Seamus, the twins and Lee... Colin Creevy?”

“Oh, shut it,” he laughed, whacking his friend’s leg.

“Gonna lock yourself in to do your homework?” Dean asked, standing.

“Yep.”

“Good talk, Harry,” he smirked, and headed to his own bed.

He winked, and tugged his curtains shut, following his usual routine, and flopping down on the bed.

“Do you fancy this Dean fellow?” Tom lay himself beside him, expressionless.

“Oh, no.” Harry flushed.

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Harry lay on his side, facing Tom. “Trust me.”

“I do,” he hummed, leaning forward to kiss Harry’s forehead, over his scar. “Let’s get started on your homework.”

Saturday lunch, Harry was there as early as he could be, intending to spend the afternoon in the library, perfecting his arithomancy assignment, and was just putting together another makeshift sandwich, before hesitating, and snagging an apple off the bowl on the table. He glanced over at the Slytherin table, and tossed his apple in the air and caught it.

Draco looked smug.

Smirking, he ducked out of the Great Hall, nodding at Theo as he fell into step beside him, his own lunch in a napkin, too, then looked sharply up as the massive front doors of the school tugged open. Standing in the doorway, eyes bright and grin big, Sirius called, “Honey, I’m home!”

Harry sighed softly. “Idiot.”

“Harry! My Harry! My baby boy!” Sirius darted forward, wrapping his arms around Harry, and spinning him around. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“It’s been a week, Paddy.” He smirked.

“I still missed you,” he beamed.

Orion stood in the open doorway behind them, and said, “Sirius, you are humiliating the most ancient and most noble house of Black.”

“If it can be humiliated by a father greeting his son, then it’s a shite house.” He said, laughing softly as he spun Harry again. “What’s this? You’re hiding from the Great Hall? With... Slytherins?”

“We’re going to work on our Arithomancy assignment.” Theo said, lightly.

“And you’re not letting him walk alone,” Orion smirked, and nodded. “Minerva was meant to be here when we arrived...”

“Lord Black,” a slightly breathless McGonagall said, hurrying up to them. “And... Sirius.”

“I missed you, Minnie,” he said brightly, still holding Harry up so his feet weren’t on the floor.

“Could you put down Mister Potter?” She asked.

“Mister Potter-Black. Mister Black? What are we going with, Harry?”

He narrowed his eyes, considering that, then swore he heard Tom whisper in his ear, “Of the two families, the Black’s have more prestige, more power. It’s also not the name of the boy who lived.”

“Black,” Harry said, immediately. “Do I need to get a celestial name?”

“No,” Sirius snorted.

“Yes,” Orion said, calmly. “Minerva, I think we can have this conversation without the children. Shall we?”

She smirked slightly. “Do not hurt the boy, Sirius.”

“Would I hurt my baby boy?” He gasped, clutching Harry close.

“...it is kind of hard to breathe.”

“Shite, sorry.” Sirius quickly set Harry on his feet, fixing Harry’s hair, carefully.

“Harry, watch out!” A loud voice shouted. “That’s Sirius Black!”

Harry slowly turned to face an angry Ron and Hermione, who both had their wands out, as though they were going to strike down an adult wizard. “I know.”

“Run!” Hermione gasped.

“From... my... father? That seems pointless. I’m still going to see him when I go home for holidays.” Harry shrugged, and though he kept his face calm, he wanted to burst into laughter at their expressions. “Should we go with grandfather after all, Paddy?”

“Naw, dad and Minnie will be boring. You were gonna do homework, right? Lemme see if I can make it more complicated,” he laughed, grinned at Theo, and the three of them headed off towards the dungeons, despite both Ron and Hermione calling Harry’s name after him.

“...is grandfather serious about needing a celestial name?” He asked, after a while, walking until Theo opened a door to a quiet old classroom that a lot of the Slytherins used. There were even a few seventh years in the corner, who looked up, then nodded when they spotted them, and went to work.

“Oh yeah, he told me to go looking, I have lists.” Sirius flopped in one of the desks, then hummed in happiness as he sat up and Harry offered him his sandwich. He dug in, and Harry ate his apple, quietly.

“You wanna see the list?” He asked, after a few minutes.

Harry looked up from his homework, blinking. “What list?”

“The list you get to pick your name from?” Sirius smirked, then took another bite of Harry’s sandwich.

He blinked. “Um. Please?”

“There is... like, two names on it.” He dug it out of an inside pocket of his suit jacket, and offered it to Harry. “Hydrus, Hercules, and Triangulum. Those are the only ones you could get ‘Harry’ out of.”

“...Triangulum?” Harry repeated, slowly.

Theo snorted.

“Not that,” he muttered, crossing it off the list. “And I will not be Hercules. Hydrus...”

“Good star name,” Theo said, considering that. “Short enough to be a realistic name we just speak to each other... sounds solid.”

“Yeah, sounds decent.” He hesitated. “Do you hate it, Sirius?”

He snorted. “Yep. So it’s perfect.”

“How do I get it changed?”

“Uh... you don’t. Technically, once we tell the Ministry that I’m your father, and you’re a Black, they’ll ask what your name is, and... Hydrus James Black. Bing bang bong.”

“You’re weird,” he laughed softly, resting his head on Sirius’ arm, relaxing as Sirius stroked his hair.

Oddly, Theo, and all the seventh year Slytherins in the corner glanced up from their work, and smiled.

“So a different name?” Tom smirked. “Wish I’d had a magic father appear out of nowhere and grant me such boons.”

“You could share my father with me?” Harry suggested.

“Not quite what I want.”

“How is she still intact?” Harry asked, gently running his fingers over the scales of the dead Basilisk.

“There used to be preservation spells on this chamber, most of them have decayed. But whatever was left of one curled around her, I think.” Tom sighed, stroking her regal nose. “We could probably get this cleaned up a little.”

“Like the mould, and the mildew, and the fact that the water has sort of made Salazar look a monkey?”

Tom blinked at him, then huffed, and rested his elbow on Harry’s head. “Sorry, you’re too short, I couldn’t hear you.”

Harry cackled, and set to work, occasionally asking Tom for better spells, cleaning walls, floors, cleaning out drains so that water ran through clearly, not sitting stagnant anymore. The green lights gleamed over the shining walls, Salazar looked much less like a monkey with a bit of repair charms and the redirected water.

“We should gather as many ingredients from her as we can,” Tom hummed, quietly stretching out her fanlike ruff. “We’d be. Well, even more rich. And we could use some of the ingredients ourselves. And, if you truly want to make peace with Professor Snape... a well marked, well sealed jar of basilisk venom. And the larger scales can be sold for many purposes, but these fine scales, on her stomach? You could make chain mail, you could make robes that act as armour, the scales are small enough...”

“How would I get that done?” He asked, watching Tom.

“Goblins,” he laughed.

Harry looked up at the now gleaming ceiling. “Not sure I have the energy to do that, after cleaning this whole place up.”

“Tomorrow night, after class. I’ll help with homework, so you don’t fall behind,” Tom tucked a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “In time, maybe you’ll bring some of your friends here.”

“Slytherins only,” he hummed. “And only once the Basilisk has been dealt with.”

He grinned, and took Harry’s hand, setting his other hand on his hip, and smirked. “What’s the first step?”

Harry grinned, and stepped backwards with one foot as Tom stepped forward, and the foxtrot lessons Tom had been teaching him over the summer were clearly still set in his mind, as they stepped and twirled, Harry humming imaginary music that Tom didn’t know, but that sounded beautiful.

“Mister Black, please remain after class.”

Hermione and Ron glowered at Harry as he sat in his usual seat at the table with Draco and Theo, hands resting on his legs, completely ignoring them, passing it off as looking straight at the Professor.

“We’ll be outside,” Draco breathed, quietly, and Harry nodded once.

“We’ll wait for you, mate!” Ron shouted after him, and Harry sighed softly, wondering if maybe Ron would get himself into another duel.

As the door finally closed, Snape leaned back, pressing his fingertips together, considering Harry. “I assume the jar left on my desk was from you.”

He hesitated, tilting his head to the side. “Jar, sir?”

“Don’t play the idiot with me, Black, I know you’re not. Do not think I haven’t noticed you avoiding all the Gryffindors as much as you can, sticking with the Slytherins, as I might suggest is prudent, and that you’ve changed your name.”

“I still go by Harry, sir, but Hydrus Black is not the boy who lived, and I hated being him.”

He smirked slightly. “And you’re the only one I know of with access to Basilisk venom.”

“Well, I know what it can do,” he said, lightly, unbuttoning his shirt sleeve, and pulling up the shirt to show the scar on his arm. “This is what Dumbledore let happen to me before his phoenix decided to cry on me. At his instruction, I’m sure.”

Snape almost touched the scar, looking horrified. “You know he can read your thoughts.”

“Grandfather said to look at his eyebrows.”

“Not reliable for a long term situation,” he frowned, considering that seriously. “You need to learn Occulemency.”

“So I have been told, but grandfather didn’t have the chance, and my father, ah, has no idea how.”

“Tuesdays, and Thursdays,” he wrote out a note, “At seven in the evening, we are going to be doing remedial potions. I will teach you occulemency during that time.”

“Thank you, sir. Are there any books I should be reading to prepare?”

Snape’s lip quirked up, and he wrote several titles on another slip of paper. “These will help. In this order, basics to far more complicated.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, tucking the note in his bag. “I appreciate it, sir.”

“And I appreciate rare and difficult to obtain potions ingredients,” he said, lightly. “You’d been told how Slytherins do things?”

“Trades,” he said, lightly.

“Well, this one would have me trading with you for the next twenty years. Occulemancy will need to be enough.”

“It is, sir.” Harry smirked, trying to stop himself from just outright grinning.

“I will see you tomorrow, for remedial potions,” Snape nodded, a clear dismissal, and Harry headed to the door, hesitating for a moment, then took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

Ron and Hermione were snapping – occasionally yelling – at Theo and Draco who were just standing there, arms crossed over their chest, silent. Frankly, he was shocked that Draco had managed to contain himself this long. Harry stood between the two warring factions, rubbing his forehead, and breathed, “I’m going to the library.”

Theo and Draco immediately fell on either side of him as they walked, and Hermione said, “You go to the library with us!”

“Yeah, mate! Are you trying to become a slimy Slytherin?”

He drew a deep breath. “I’ll show him a slimy Slytherin,” he muttered, gripping at the strap of his bag tightly, feeling Tom’s family ring warming on his finger. “Can’t a person just be who they are?”

“Not when you’re talking about Gryffindors,” Draco drawled.

“Harry James Potter, get back here right now!” Hermione cried, and Harry’s jaw clenched as he kept walking up the stairs. “Don’t you ignore me!”

A hand caught Harry’s arm, jerking him backwards, and he gasped, crashing backwards down the stairs, sliding down them even as Theo cried for a halting charm, and Draco cried to levitate him, but his body was still crashing down the stairs, and he thudded rapidly down past Ron, then Hermione, then cracked his head on the stone floor, fighting to keep his eyes open, pain rippling through his whole body.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked.

“You pushed him!” Ron howled, but Harry just keened, looking at his arm, which didn’t look like it bent in the right place.

The door behind them slammed open, and Professor Snape swept out like a bat, almost flying, and crouched beside Harry, quickly, snapping his eyes rapidly in front of Harry’s face. “Look at me. Look at me, Mister Black.”

He tried to focus, but was fairly sure there were three of his potions professor.

He huffed. “Come in. I have the potions you need.” He rose, and cast a levitation spell on Harry, letting him drift behind him into the classroom.

“Professor, he should go to the Hospital Wing!” Hermione cried.

“I brew the potions for the hospital wing,” he said, calmly, “Mister Black will be fine.”

“His name is Harry Potter!” Ron snapped.

Theo and Draco slipped quietly into the classroom, and Snape snapped the door shut in the Gryffindor’s faces.

“I assume this was their fault?” He said, flicking his wand to transfigure a desk into a cot, lowering Harry onto it.

“Weasley grabbed his arm and pulled, and Harry fell. We tried to catch him, but they kept getting in the way, and - “

Draco stopped talking as Snape held up his hand, calmly. “Please get me a pain potion, a headache potion, the skelegrow, and the concussion cause.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco darted to the potions cabinet.

“Do you have any pain other than your arm, head... general down the back of yourself?” Snape asked.

“I can’t see straight,” he admitted, blinking. “Seeing... triple.”

“That should have been fixed a lot time ago,” he muttered, then looked to Theo. “The vision repair potion?”

He nodded, and darted to follow Draco.

Snape carefully tugged Harry’s glasses off, folding them closed, and setting them aside on another desk, then hesitated, and tapped Harry’s bag, making it settle beside the little cot Harry was laying on. “They did a number on you, young man.”

“Worst part, I think it was just stupidity,” he hummed quietly, and accepted the first potion, then held out his arm, waiting.

“I’m not going to snap it together like a muggle, Black.” Snape hummed, tapping his arm. “Brackium Emendo.”

Harry groaned, sinking into the pillow.

“The skelegrow is to strengthen all your other dangerously fragile bones,” Snape offered him a small cup that he drank, almost gagging on. “Now the concussion cause...” At least it tasted slightly better, very cinnamony, then another larger glass that tasted like grass. He well knew that taste, because Dudley used to sit on his chest and shove grass down Harry’s throat, until he would throw up on it. “That will fix your eyes. You will not be able to see tomorrow, or shortly, in fact. I will pass a message to Madam Pomfrey, and to Minerva, to let them know that there was a potions accident, and I had to keep you here to monitor your progress, due to the potion being unusual.” He sighed. “I am doing this for your Uncle, I hope you know that.”

“...Regulus?” He blinked. “Never met him.”

“No one has in years, he’s missing. Maybe you can ask the friend that is teaching you such interesting things where he is.” He stood, looking at Theo and Draco. “Can you get him to your dormitory?”

“Of course, sir,” Draco nodded, as Theo helped Harry stand, and then Draco scooped up Harry’s bag. “He’ll be safe there, sir.”

“Good,” he nodded, and waved them off, turning the cot back into a desk.

“Won’t I get in trouble, being in your dorm?” Harry asked, blinking, vision more blurry that it usually was without his glasses.

“Not if they think you’re with Snape because of bizarre potion reactions. Are there any potions you’re allergic to?” Theo suggested.

“Compulsion potions. Migraines, make me nauseous.”

Draco glanced at him sharply. “That only happens if you’re exposed to a lot of them.”

Harry blinked, slowly. “Mmhmm.”

“That explains a lot,” Theo murmured, then suddenly everything was warmer, green and black and silver, fires burning green nearly everywhere, and he relaxed, smiling softly.

“I love this dorm.”

Theo blinked. “You’ve been here before?”

“Last year. We brewed Polyjuice, well, me and Hermione brewed Polyjuice, and we came in here as Crabbe and Goyle because we really thought Draco was the Heir of Slytherin.”

Draco blinked. “I’m flattered.”

Harry laughed, lightly, his knees sort of buckling under him, and the others hurried to catch him.

“Forgot Concession Cause can make him loose control of his body.” Theo admitted.

“Well, you’re familiar with Crabbe and Goyle... who do you want to carry you?” Draco burst into laughter, trying to look suave and calm, but failing.

“...I think Goyle is... bigger.” Harry said.

Theo burst into laughter, amused.

“Gregory!” Draco called. “We need a hand, Black here has almost passed out from the potions Snape gave him, honestly, we could use a hand getting him up to our dorm.”

Goyle stood, and stepped forward, sliding his arms under Harry’s shoulders and knees, and lifted him bridal carry.

He blinked. “...wow.”

“Which bed?” Goyle asked, lightly.

“Mine,” Draco said. “I’ll just climb in with Blaise, and if he complains, I’ll offer him with some naughty gossip.”

“All right,” he said, and Harry was lifted up several sets of stairs, then laid out in a bed that felt so much better than the Gryffindor ones. More like the massive bed he slept in at Death’s Rest, and he sighed softly, slumping into velvet blankets and many pillows, his vision getting so narrow it was narrowing black around his vision.

“Thank you,” he hummed.

“You’re welcome, Black.” Goyle said, slipping out of the room, presumably.

“Can someone get some books for me from the library? Ask for whatever you want in trade.” Harry asked. “The list is in my bag, Professor Snape wrote it.”

He heard rummaging through his now neat notebooks and parchment. “I can get these. Learning occulemancy?”

“Dumbledore can read thoughts,” he sighed.

“Okay, here’s my trade,” Draco settled on the edge of the bed. “Are you the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Nope.” He hummed.

“But you can get in the Chamber of Secrets,” Theo frowned.

“Yep.”

“Have you entered it at all, since the whole thing last year?”

Harry smiled slowly, content, blackness sliding over his vision. “I might have.”

“You damn Slytherin,” Theo laughed. “How’s the vision potion going?”

“Can’t see a thing.” Harry admitted.

“Don’t worry, tomorrow, they’re going to be screaming in pain. And somebody is gonna have to feed you pain potions.”

“...great.” He sighed.

Theo laughed. “You want pyjamas?”

“Naw, I’ll...” He tugged off his robes, awkwardly, then toed off his shoes. “All set. Anyone willing to do sticking and silence just in case I start screaming in pain from this vision potion?”

“Sure,” Theo said, patting Harry’s ankle, setting the shoes on the floor. “Sleep well.”

The moment the almost unnatural stifling silence fell over them, Tom settled beside him, fixing Harry’s hair, gently. “Oh no, Harry, you’re all broken. And things were going so well, you’re going to be taught occulemency, you were showing those two how much patience you had left... and he wrecked you.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “But Snape gave me a potion to fix my vision. No more glasses.”

“You are prettier without the glasses,” Tom ran his thumb gently along Harry’s eye. “You do look good in this bed, you know. Not this tie, though...” He frowned, and untied the red tie, tossing it aside. “Are you comfortable?”

“This bed is... so much bigger and better than my bed in Gryffindor,” he hummed, stretching.

“No more pain?” He teased.

“No, I feel great,” Harry hummed, rolling to face Tom, though his eyes were unfocused. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re keeping my diary close,” he hummed, tucking his hair back, again, gently. “I’ll always be with you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

“Never,” Tom said quietly, watching him until Harry’s eyes slid fully shut, his body relaxing, then kissed him softly, melting into him.

“Breakfast, and pain potion,” Draco said, brightly.

“Ugh... my eyes feel like someone’s taken a rusty spoon to them,” Harry moaned, rolling onto his back.

“Hence pain potion. And a simple breakfast you can eat without seeing it.”

“You’re a good friend,” he said, pushing himself to sit up, accepting the glass of water first, then the little cup of pain potion that started soothing the pain almost immediately.

“I am,” Draco said. “We could have been friends since the train, first year.”

He sighed. “I know, I’m an ass.” He accepted the plate, and fumbled for a moment, then picked up the warm muffin with a fried egg and bacon on it, and he happily started eating.

“Were you out of bed last night?” Draco asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How? I can’t see anything at all.”

“Well, your feet are dirty.”

Harry blinked. “That’s weird... I went from shoes and socks to bare feet, but... I never left the bed. Not even for the bathroom. I can’t see.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“Kinda, but let me finish this first, yeah?” He laughed softly. “I’m starving.”

Draco laughed. “You’re, ah... still short.”

He snorted. “Mmhmm.”

“Is that cause of those relatives, that stuck you in a broom cupboard?”

Harry nodded. “They starved me.”

“I’m surprised you’d just admit that,” Draco admitted.

“Well... you’re family,” he hummed.

There was a soft bump of a shoulder against his. “So are you. You’re a good family member, even, I think.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty new at this,” he laughed, letting out a long breath.

“You okay spending another night here, just in case?”

Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I’d rather be here. You guys are... not screaming at each other. I like the colour scheme better.”

Draco laughed, amused.

Finishing up his breakfast, he tried to set the plate aside, awkwardly, until a laughing Draco caught it, and set it on the bedside table. “I’ll help you get to the bathroom, but that’s all I’ll do. In fact, I will stand outside of the bathroom, just call for me.”

Harry laughed. “Thanks.”

Mostly he just needed to be led there, but once he’d pushed the door to the bathroom stall shut, Tom appeared with him, brushing his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”

“Follow the lumos,” Snape said, early Wednesday morning, and he did, carefully. “Good. Your eyes are reacting properly. How is your vision.”

“A million times better than my glasses,” he admitted.

“Yes, well, I did check them... where did they come from?” Snape arched a brow.

“My au – Petunia... got them from a charity bin. She grabbed three, made me check which was best, and threw the other two back.”

“You didn’t think to mention this to your grandfather or father?” Snape asked, picking up the battered glasses.

“...no.” Harry admitted.

“You need to learn to demand respect,” He sighed, heading to his desk. “I hear you had Draco take out the books you need for our lessons.”

He nodded. “Yes sir. And I used a charm to read them aloud to me yesterday. I’ve only finished the basic book, but it will probably take some time to finish the others, what with school work.”

“And Chamber work?” Snape arched a brow.

“At times.” He smiled a little.

“And what did you learn from the book?” He asked, folding his hands on his table.

“Well, I was wondering about clearing my mind, because that seemed... tricky? But the book had some good ideas, so I did spend some time trying a couple. I best liked the one where you take long, deep breaths, then focus on your breath being like a wind blowing through a grass field in your mind. I don’t think about anything other than that field. It actually felt... peaceful.”

“That’s a start to creating the shape that you will hide and protect your memories and thoughts in. You may want to keep the field, you may want to change it to something else, something only you really know. If you like natural, consider under the Black Lake. If you want more manmade, the Chamber is probably not ideal, but it could be a common room, the kitchens, anything like that.”

“I like that idea,” Harry considered that, nodded. “I’ll think on it.”

“Our session yesterday didn’t play out, so I will see you tomorrow,” Snape nodded.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“We’ll wait here,” Theo said, standing by the massive griffon statue, Draco standing on the other side.

“Thank you,” he took a deep breath, and rose up the staircase to the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, hands crossed on the surface, looking tragic, like a grandfather weighed down by the weight of the world. His eyes looked like he was about to burst into tears behind his glasses, and he was wearing the most painful looking robe and hat combination that Harry had ever seen, a mostly purple set but with orange feathers drawn on it, oddly. It looked horrific.

“My boy,” Dumbledore said, voice wavering. “I received a letter saying that you had changed your name.”

“Quite awhile ago, yes. I am Hydrus James Black.”

“But my boy, you are Harry James Potter, people look to you for inspiration - “

“I’d rather they didn’t.”

Dumbledore blinked.

“I’m not a symbol, sir, I am myself. I am Hydrus Black. I don’t want people to look to me for inspiration. I just want people to leave me alone, and stop trying to kill me, so that I can study, and learn. In peace.”

“But, we need - “

“No one needs me, sir.” Harry smiled faintly. “They need adults that can actually do something. I’m just a kid.”

Harry roared into the echoing space of the Chamber of Secrets, howling into the unknowing uncaring void, his shoulders slumping as he just stood there, helpless and frustrated.

“I thought you handled him very well.”

He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “At least with Snape’s training, I went into there with confidence he couldn’t get anything out of my head without being forced to just rip it apart, but...”

Tom laughed softly. “Using the Astronomy tower, and each memory a different star? Inspired.” He curled his arms around Harry’s middle, resting his hands on where the book was resting in his shirt. “I always knew you were creative.”

Harry sighed, letting his head fall back on Tom’s shoulder. “I just hate what I was so much.”

“How much?” Tom purred.

“It’s spilling out of me,” he muttered.

“Let’s play, then.” He straightened, drawing Harry’s wand out of his sleeve, and held it out, waiting for Harry to curl his fingers around the wand as well. Tom lazily summoned a rat, and breathed, “Think of that as Peter Pettigrew. Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley. Dumbledore. Focus on that hate, that desire to cause them suffering, and jab your wand towards it, and curse. You know the word, Harry.”

He drew a deep breath, then did as Tom told him, screaming, “Crucio!”

Harry woke as he was climbing into his bed, blinking in confusion. He had been sleeping, he thought, curled up with Tom, they’d been talking about an interesting idea about a way to pile several arithomancy circles on top of each other, but Harry had fallen asleep in the middle of the conversation.

“...Tom?” He whispered.

The other looked up from the book he was reading, still laying on Harry’s bed. Right, because he didn’t need to sleep, being a construct inside the book. “Yes?”

“Why am I out of bed?”

“I don’t know, I thought you were going to the washroom.” Tom sat up, cupping his jaw, and smiled at him. “Did you sleepwalk to the bathroom?”

He groaned, and slumped to the bed, flicking the spells up. “...I was afraid I was pulling a Ginny.”

Tom hesitated.

“I was, wasn’t I?” He demanded.

“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” Tom said, quietly, flushed.

“What are you doing, Tom?”

He licked his lips. “You can apparate from the chamber. It’s outside of the wards. I’ve been trying to figure out where I left items. I mean, this ring?” He held up his hand. “I don’t remember leaving it in the hut. I considered possibly this cave I went to, as a child, but apparently I filled the water with undead and I’m not sure what spell I used, and I think one is hidden in Gringotts, but I don’t know which was my favourite follower that I might have trusted. Honestly, though, I’ve been trying to find one here, it makes sense I’d have hidden something in Hogwarts.”

“Have you had me wandering Hogwarts looking for it?” Harry asked.

Tom flushed. “Perhaps.”

“Have you been using my invisibility cloak?”

“Your what?”

“Did you read Hogwarts, a History?”

“Of course. I saw you reading it this summer, too.” Tom hummed.

“The Come and Go room.”

He sighed. “Looked for years, barely found the Chamber. I certainly never found the Come and Go room.”

Harry twisted a little, looking at Tom, who was standing over his shoulder, but also had his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck. “Did you stop at the chamber, or did you keep going up?”

Tom snorted. “I got as high as the sixth floor. It was hard to do seventh, because Astronomy was always there.”

“Well, let’s go to seventh now.”

On the seventh floor, Harry frowned, looking up at a hideous tapestry of a man trying to teach ballet to ogres in tutus. “Odd.”

“Very,” Tom sighed, pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair as Harry just stood there, holding his invisibility cloak. “I just need to find whatever I hid here, otherwise - “

“Otherwise?” He glanced at him.

“There is a door, on the wall. Which I am certain was not there before.”

Harry peeked around Tom. “So there is. Let’s see what’s inside.”

“If we found it that simply, and that idiotically, then I am very upset,” Tom sighed, stopping speaking as they walked into a massive room, filled with... everything. Anything. Wild assortments of anything.

“Oh, what are these?” Harry walked over to a bookshelf, running his fingertips across the spines of the dozens of books. “Someone that loved Dark Magic hid these here.”

Tom stepped over, considering the titles. “We should take them.”

“We could hide them in the Chamber, and learn all about...” Harry held up one, flicking it open, then whistled lowly. “Infertility Curses?”

“Oh, those could be fun,” Tom smirked. “I’m going to try and see where whatever I hid is.”

“Oh, no, I want to join you for that, we can come back for the books before we leave,” Harry hummed, tugging his too-large pyjama pants up, walking through the drunken paths with half broken items, a random bathtub for some reason, a bust of a horrifically ugly man... “That’s a really pretty... is that a crown? Tiara?”

“Diadem,” Tom breathed, reaching up to pull it down. “Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem. I thought it was lost forever.”

“I guess older you found it,” Harry considered it. “Can I put it on? I really want to put it on.”

“Remember the curse from the ring?”

He winced. “Right, okay... let me break it.”

Harry barely slept that night, but there was a diadem and a fascinating pile of Dark Arts books in the Chamber, and Tom and promised he wouldn’t steal Harry’s body again unless he had permission.

He tucked the diary under his shirt, and smiled as a whisper of lips kissed his scar.

Harry let out a yelp as he shoved into a classroom, nearly tripping on one of the desks.

Confused, he sighed heavily when he realized who his attacker was, and glowered at Ron as he marched forward, and Hermione, hair extra frizzled today, cast locking charms on the door. He just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for whatever it was this time.

“Mate, you’ve gone fekkin’ crazy!” Ron yelped.

Harry just arched a brow.

“You’re not you,” Hermione said, wringing her hands. “You’re like a whole different person. You hang out with the Slytherins, you avoid us, you don’t even really eat meals in the Great Hall unless you have to, you’re always in the library...”

“Considering you’ve been strong-arming us into doing that every two years, why are you alarmed that I’m doing so?” Harry asked.

“I – I didn’t strong-arm!” She shrieked.

“Yeah, mate, don’t be an ass about it!” Ron cried.

“About what?” Harry demanded.

“You’re not yourself. Whatever happened this summer - “

“Family found me, and took me away from the monsters that wanted to kill me. You like to read, Hermione, look up an Obscurus. I was taught things I should have known before I entered Hogwarts. Like how Ron led me to seriously insulting my own cousin, thus causing a rift between us that took us until this year to repair. I didn’t know that, but I certainly do now.”

“You mean – Malfoy?!” Ron scoffed. “You hate him.”

“I don’t, actually. He’s an excellent cousin, good family.” Harry said calmly.

“See! That’s what we mean! You’re not acting like yourself! It’s like you’re someone else entirely!” Hermione pointed at him, as though she’d found the key to a puzzle that had been bothering her. “You’re calling yourself Black - “

“That is my last name,” he agreed, calmly.

“It isn’t!” She stamped her foot. “Your name is Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived!”

Harry drew a deep breath through his nose. “Hydrus Black, actually.”

“No way, mate, you’d never have some plonker name like that, you’re the Boy who Lived - “

“You have known the entire time you’ve known me, that I hate that name.” Harry interrupted him again. “I hate the idea that I’m supposed to be a legend. I am thirteen. I want to study, I want to do well at school. I want my father to be proud of me. I don’t want to be the Boy Who Fekkin’ Lived.”

“Harry...” Hermione looked teary.

“As an intervention goes, this was terrible,” he flicked his wand at the door, unlocking it, and slamming a colloportus on it after he left. Let them take hours to get out of there. It would make the burning feeling in his chest feel better.

“I should have known you’d show up at Hogsmeade,” Harry laughed, wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck.

“And miss out on this? Never.” Sirius peppered kisses on the top of his head. “I missed you.”

“It’s been two months,” he teased. “Not even quite, cause you came a week in.”

“Still too long,” he took Harry’s hand, and started dancing on the leaf strewn streets, making Harry laugh as they danced a quick foxtrot. “You’re getting good at that. You and the Slytherins meeting up in the common room for dance practise?”

Harry laughed, twirling out from his father’s hands, and back, grinning up at him. “Want to show me what’s best in Hogsmeade?”

“Absolutely, and if you’re a really good boy, I’ll take you to the bookstore.”

He laughed, hanging off Sirius’ arm. “You’ll let me cause you love me.”

“I do,” he hummed, sliding his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer against his side. “And I lost you once. I’m not going to lose you twice.”

“What if I grow up and get married?” Harry pointed out.

“I will steal you back.”

“Paddy!”

“Okay, I won’t steal you back, but you must provide me with grandchildren... six, at minimum.”

Harry laughed. “Sure, Paddy.”

The joke shop was, to no one’s surprise, Sirius’ favourite, and he tried to spring all of them on Harry, who got him back with a surprise nose biting teacup, and Sirius laughed, buying a whole set of them to bring to Death’s Rest. Wanted to get his father, he said.

At Honeydukes, Harry really wasn’t sure what to look for. He knew that he liked chocolate frogs, but the whole experience around them was soured by having learned of them from Ron, and besides, aside from a few of the cards somehow ending up at the bottom of his trunk, he wasn’t collecting them. Sirius seemed to understand that this was something his son knew nothing about, another leftover from the Dursleys, and made a few suggestions, letting him try the samples, until Harry agreed that he liked the one with salted caramel inside the chocolate, and the mint chocolate, and Sirius bought an outrageous amount for him.

They dipped into the small Quidditch shop just to look if there were new gloves or anything they needed, and when Sirius spotted Harry looking sort of wistfully at a sharp suit with an emerald green vest in the window of Gladrags, he hauled a protesting Harry inside, and soon had the suit, another similar but with an emerald jacket and a silver vest, and a green scarf with one single subtle silver tassel.

“You’re terrible,” Harry huffed. “I thought you didn’t want me to become a Slytherin?”

“Become, no. Embrace what you actually are? Yes.” Sirius smirked, swinging the bags. “Bookstore, then Three Broomsticks?”

“Sounds good,” Harry nodded.

Tomes and Scrolls was even more amazing than Harry had thought, and the shopkeep winked at him when he got a few books that danced along the line of legal and not.

“Merlin, you’re turning into Reggie,” Sirius shook his head, arm thrown around Harry’s shoulder as he walked them towards the Three Broomsticks.

“Uncle Regulus. Is that bad?”

He sighed. “Depends on whether or not you believe following the ‘Dark Lord’ is bad or not.”

Harry just looked up at him, and Sirius smirked crookedly. “Would I join to save you, I know. Yes. Of course I would.”

They found a table that could probably fit several more, but only they settled there, Harry across from his father, and when the barmaid, a woman named Rosmerta came up, she gushed at seeing Sirius, and then gushed over Harry, about how much he looked like his father. Harry beamed up at her, pleased to hear it. Sirius almost ordered something other than Butterbeer for himself, then smiled softly, and asked Rosmerta for just two butterbeers, please.

They were sweet, and caramelly, and Harry could probably drink one everyday and be quite content with that, as Sirius laughed at the pleased expressions Harry made.

“Mate! You got here before us!” Ron suddenly dropped into the seat beside Harry, and he froze.

“He’s not your mate.” Sirius said, firmly. He’d certainly gotten enough letters from Harry explaining everything.

“Of course he is,” Hermione came up on the other side. “He saved us seats!”

“I did not,” Harry growled.

“Say,” Sirius leaned forward, silver eyes sliding from Ron to Hermione, face flat and expressionless. “You know how I was exonerated of mass murder?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, holding her school bag, which she’d apparently brought with her, to her chest.

“Just because I was exonerated doesn’t actually mean I was innocent,” Sirius suddenly grinned, baring his teeth. “I’m a Black. We have the madness. We’re unpredictable, and murder? Ha! Child’s play, for us.”

Ron scrambled up, and scarpered, and Hermione hesitated, looking at Harry, then Sirius, but both had blank, calm expressions again, looking at her with a strange look of ‘who are you and why are you here’?

She huffed, and presumably, headed off to wherever Ron was.

Draco and Theo dropped into the seats on either side of Harry. “Are you all right?” Draco asked, clearly concerned.

“Paddy got rid of them pretty quick,” Harry sighed, relieved.

“Yeah, well, anyone they tell won’t believe them. Why would I claim to be a mass murderer when I just got out of prison for doing exactly that. Allegedly,” he grinned, and laughed when all three boys laughed with him.

Rosmerta reached their table again, smiling. “Butterbeer, boys?”

“Thank you,” Theo nodded, Draco nodding as well, and she slipped off to get them. Draco was reaching into his pocket for the sickles for the drink when Sirius waved him off.

“Hey, I got it. I spent twelve years in prison, for allegedly killing the father of my child. I’m out. I’m free. I will pay for as many butterbeers as I want.”

Draco laughed softly. “Sure, Uncle Sirius.”

He considered that name, grinning at Rosmerta as she brought the drinks. “Not bad... does that mean Harry gets to have Uncle Lucy and Aunt Cissy?”

Draco almost choked on his butterbeer. “I don’t think either would appreciate those nicknames.”

Sirius waved it off. “I always called him Lucy in school, and she’s been Cissy since I was... breathing? I betcha if my little prince asked, they would argue.”

“You should write a letter,” Theo smirked. “See what your parents say.”

“Not a bad idea,” Draco laughed, and nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own.

“Mum says yes, you can call her Aunt Cissy.”

“And your father?” Harry asked, innocently.

“Under no circumstances are you allowed to call him Uncle Lucy.”

“But what if I did it anyway?” Harry buttered a piece of toast, haphazardly piling scrambled eggs on top. “Just because I’m not allowed - “

“Stop. Bad Harry.” Draco smacked his head with the letter.

Theo snorted into his porridge.

“Is this true?”

Harry paused on the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Hermione stepped closer to him, and offered the cover of her book. Human Monsters. “You said to read about the Obscurus.”

“Good book for it,” he said, gripping the strap of his bag, tightly.

“You’re alive, so...”

“It didn’t take me fully.” He said, quietly. “Only mostly.”

“Oh.”

Her voice sounded so soft, and wavering.

“Now you know why I need to change things. Because I didn’t end up that way by accident,” Harry said, and continued up to the boy’s dorm, slipping into his bed and slipping all his spells up to make it silent as usual, and slumped to his pillows, which he buried his face in, and screamed until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Will she change?” Tom asked, softly.

Harry sighed, glowering at his pillow. “Maybe for a day or two.”

Tom huffed, flopping beside him.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Harry scribbled his notes down, glancing up as Binns gestured to information on the board, which it turns he could actually see now that his vision was fixed, and tugged out a second piece of parchment, starting to copied down what was written on the board, switching between notes of what Binns was teaching, and whatever was on the board.

It wasn’t the same as last class.

He didn’t know exactly how Binns got the board’s changed, but they were changed, and he wanted to make sure he got all the notes.

“What are you doing, mate?” Ron asked, from the row behind, not even bothering to try to whisper. “You know he doesn’t say anything useful.”

Harry sighed, glancing up.

“Mister Weatherby, if you could stop disrupting your classmates who are trying to learn, that would be appreciated,” Binns said, voice still drifting and lazy.

Ron sort of choked behind him, and Harry smirked crookedly, going back to his notes.

“I’m standing back,” Tom purred, backing up. “You have the strength. I want to see you do it by myself.”

“What’s my reward?” Harry asked, glancing up at him.

“Reward?” Tom repeated.

“Slytherins trade favour for favour. If I do this... what do I get as a reward?”

“I’ll tell you if it’s successful,” Tom crossed his arms. “The excitement will give you better motivation.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

“I’m waiting, Harry.”

He rolled his eyes, then stood straight, holding his wand arm slightly bent, taking a deep breath, then slashed his wand sharply through the air, and called, “Avada Kedavra!”

The hippogriff fawn tumbled to the stone floor, unmoving.

Harry breathed harder for a moment, then burst into laughter, and spun around, eagerly. “Ah! That felt so good!”

Tom laughed, darting forward, catching Harry’s hand, and his hip. “You feel like you could fly, don’t you?”

He laughed, leaning his head back. “I could fly to the moon.”

“It just gets better and better,” he said, sweetly, lightly swinging into an almost automatic foxtrot with Harry. “It’s addictive.”

“We’ll have to get more animals,” Harry hummed lightly as they stepped quickly, slightly breathless. “Can we bring muggles into the Chamber of Secrets?”

Tom laughed softly.

“So what’s my reward?” Harry asked. “I did it. Well, I think.”

Tom laughed, then released Harry’s hand to slide his fingers into his long hair, and kissed him firmly, Harry melting into his chest. He nipped at Harry’s lower lip, and he slumped even further into Tom, and he grinned against his mouth, leaning back, finally. “Does the reward match the action?”

Harry licked his lower lip, then said, “Well, I’m not sure. I don’t know if you did that well or not. I’m not practised. I think you need to kiss me at least three more times so I can decide if it was worth it.”

He slid his hand from hip to around Harry’s lower back. “Now you’re thinking like a Slytherin.”

“What are you doing?”

Harry looked up from his trunk, which he’d organized the way Tom told him to do it, and it really did make his life easier, and snapped it shut, idly casting several wards on it. “I’m packing.”

“What, you’re going to the muggles?” Ron said, scoffing. “Yeah right, mate, we’re staying over for Christmas, remember?”

Harry flicked his wand at his trunk, casting a featherlight, and stubbornly slipped past Ron. “I’m going home for Yule. We’re having a celebration with the whole family, I’m eagerly anticipating it.”

Ron looked bright red, his orange hair clashing against it. “You always stay!”

“For two years, I stayed. Hogwarts is seven years, if you didn’t know that. I’m going home this year,” Harry just went out the door, walking down the stairs, lightly, and when he felt a shove at his trunk, he spun, and cast a full body bind on Ron, making him fall over and land on the stairs with a thud.

Harry rolled his eyes, and continued down the stairs, with other students that were headed out to catch the train.

“Where are you going?!” Hermione cried out. “We can help!”

“Home,” he said, and flicked a full body bind at her, too, he should not have told her anything about his past or things that happened to him. He pushed the portrait open, and slipping out, heading down the hall. Draco and Theo were waiting at the top of the stairs, smirking.

“Did they fight?” Theo asked.

“Not after I cast full body binds on them,” he hummed, heading down. “Your trunks on the train already?”

“Actually Professor Snape is watching them. Honestly.” Draco laughed. “He said he wanted to give you the title of a book that should be in the Black libraries, he said your uncle had it when they were in school? He said you should read it.”

“Interesting,” Harry hummed, hurrying down the stairs, and smiling slightly at the ominous black dressed man standing near the front doors, two trunks sitting behind him.

“Mister Black. I have some reading recommendations for over the break for you,” Snape said, offering him an envelope.

“Thank you, Professor, I hope this helps with my potions, I dearly want to it through NEWTs.”

“Keep the work up, and you will.” He hummed, nodding. “Mister Nott, Mister Malfoy.”

“Professor,” they nodded, and they headed out to the carriages.

“Do it again,” Tom breathed, grinning as Harry slashed his wand, and the muggle they’d brought to the back corner of Death’s Rest and silenced him, and the muggle fell over, just dropped.

Harry let his head roll back onto his shoulders, and hummed, “It feels even better here. Like the Death’s Rest doesn’t want any Rest, just Death.”

Tom stepped up behind Harry, hugging him from behind, and pressed light kisses to Harry’s neck. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“I wonder what other spells feel better.”

Tom smirked. “Let’s find out.”

The Yule tree was beautiful with hundreds of small white candles burning on it, wassail punch was served to everyone, and everyone bled on the Yule log with whispers of hope for the new year, even Sirius, which had kind of surprised Harry.

Presents were exchanged, little tokens that meant something but weren’t big, glorious presents, and Harry ran his thumb quietly over the cracked face of the watch James Potter had worn every day, and had been wearing the day he died. He carefully fastened it on his left wrist, and hummed softly, the way he hummed for Tom when they danced, and when Sirius tugged him against his side, he curled against him, quietly.

The book was in the Black library, and Orion rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder, apparently delighted that his grandson wanted to use the library.

It was about legimancy, and Harry read it excitedly, fascinated.

“We’re going to the cave.”

It was dark, until they walked inside, and green lights grew in the room, making the ceiling gleam like the inside of a green geode, and the water glowed green.

“There’s people in the water,” Harry breathed.

“Those are the undead I mentioned. They’re called inferi. Half undead, half alive, all underwater.”

Harry licked his lips. “How do you make one?”

“I’ll show you,” Tom smirked, and flicked Harry’s wand at the little wooden boat, which drifted over to them. “It won’t work for everyone, but it works for me, because I’m just a younger version of the man who made it. And for you, which is probably because I’m drawing from you.”

Harry laughed softly, and stepped into the boat with Tom, crouching as the boat glided over the water, considering the undead. “That one looks like the photos of Uncle Regulus.”

“What?” Tom spun, looking down. “Damnation!”

“Tom?”

He flicked his wand at the water, then pulling it back like he was almost fishing, until a young man flopped into the boat, gnashing his teeth at them.

“Wand,” Harry held it out.

Tom slipped it into his fingers, and Harry cast a stasis spell on the inferi, which now that he could see it, was definitelyhis Uncle Regulus. He stilled, sort of curled on the bottom of the boat.

“What happened to him?” Harry asked, quietly.

“The Inferi, if they bit him, probably dragged him into the water with them, he would have become one. Why he was here, I don’t know.” Tom frowned, considering the quiet young man, deathly pale, eyes too wide. “Your grandfather can fix him.”

He blinked, looking up. “Grandfather does necromancy?”

“Well, he did when we were teenagers, I imagine he continued it.” Tom stepped up onto the little island, and when he reached towards the water, it rose out of the bowl for him, letting him curl his fingers on the locket within, lifting it up, chain dangling, and drew in a deep breath of it, eyes sliding shut. Looking over at Harry, he held out his hand. “Come here.”

Harry stood, climbing out of the boat, stepping up to Tom.

Tom smiled at him, softly, and reached around Harry’s neck, fastening the chain around him, then hummed, “Ask the locket what you would ask the sink.”

He flushed, grinning, and whispered, in Parseltongue, “Open.”

The locket cracked open, quietly, and Harry’s eyes slid shut. “It feels... warm.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiled, and closed it carefully, letting it fall on Harry’s collarbone. “It’s Salazar Slytherin’s.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Technically, it ought to belong to the Heir of Slytherin, but... the Heir of Slytherin gave it to you,” he kissed him, firmly, dipping a rather eager Harry so low that his hair drifted in the water, and inferi hands awkwardly tried to grab at Harry.

Harry clutched at him, arms around Tom’s neck and shoulders, until Tom breathed, “Let’s get your Uncle home.”

“Killing the mood,” he pouted.

Tom smirked. “I’ll show you mood.”

“Grandfather... do you think I could access the Black library? I’ve finished this book, but it was fascinating, and I’d like to learn more...?”

Orion smiled faintly, and slid his arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him against his side. “I prayed to Lady Magic for a grandchild like you. That would make our family proud.”

“Well, I’d like to,” Harry flushed.

Orion drew a silver necklace out of his vest pocket, and nodded at Harry, who held out his hand, and he coiled the chain into his palm. It was simple, but with a rather large jet black stone as its bauble, deep deep deep black. “It’s a portkey, right inside, so you don’t have to worry about the muggles outside. The trigger word is ‘cobalt’, which is both out and back. And you, my grandson, may access any book that the magic on the library lets you pull off the shelves.”

“Thank you,” Harry beamed at him, clutching it close.

“I’m proud of you,” Orion said, quietly.

Harry closed the door behind him, and cast his usual spells around the whole room instead of just his bed, then stretched, and tossed his wand on his bed, toeing off his shoes.

Tom followed him, lazily, hands in the pockets of his robes, considering Harry seriously, then darting forward to grip Harry’s shoulders, tightly.

Harry looked up at him, startled. “Tom?”

“You’ve done so much for me,” he breathed, sliding his hands up to rest on the side of his neck. “And you’re getting so very good at it, killing for me, torturing for me...”

“A little bit for me, too,” Harry hummed, softly.

“Which makes it ever better,” he purred. “I want what I what, Harry. I want you.”

He flushed, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’ve never...”

“I know you haven’t. Which makes me want you more,” Tom smirked, licking his own lower lip, smirking when Harry’s eyes shot to it. “Don’t you want to learn?”

“Of course I do,” he breathed.

“I’ll teach you,” he breathed, gently. “But I won’t go gentle on you, Harry.”

“Have I ever asked you to?” He said, drawing himself up as tough as he could, licking his own lips.

“No,” he smirked, and pushed the light robes Harry was wearing off, then unbuttoned his shirt firmly and carefully, almost mockingly slowly, and tossed the shirt aside. Knocking Harry onto the bed, he unbuckled his trousers, and jerked them and the pants beneath off, tossing them towards the door. Harry just lay there, awkwardly bending one of his legs to sort of cover himself, pale and scarred, silver lines scattered on his skin, a gold and black ring around one finger, a gold locket around his neck.

Tom crouched, fully dressed, over him, and gathered up his hand, kissing the ring, then kissed up Harry’s chest, kissing the locket where it rested on Harry’s chest.

“Tom,” Harry whispered, flushed even more red, the blushing going down his chest, now, and Tom grinned at the blood rushing to the skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, nipping at Harry’s jaw, then sliding over to kissing him deeply, making Harry arch up against him, curling his arms around Tom’s neck, kissing back desperately even as Tom suddenly took Harry’s hips, and pushed him properly up onto the bed, breaking the kiss as he grinned, crawling over him, the Slytherin robes hanging around them both. “You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, desperately.

“Are you willing to try anything?” He drawled, arching a brow.

“Anything,” he panted.

“Well, let’s see what you know,” Tom shifted forward, unbuckling his belt, and shoving his clothes apart just enough to bare his penis, which he slapped upside Harry’s cheek. “Whatever do you do with this?”

Harry licked his lips, then shifted awkwardly, knowledge gleaned from things he’d shamefacedly read, and things joked about in the Quidditch locker room. He licked up the length of Tom’s prick, carefully, trying to lick it all over, then carefully slipping his mouth over the tips, sucking awkwardly.

“Mmm, well this is new, isn’t it?” Tom hummed, and Harry keened. “How have I taught you everything else, Harry?”

He flushed, leaning back a little. “Repetition?”

He snorted. “Yes, much repetition. But first... a touch of what you needed to learn how to do it.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded.

Tom shifted forward, his thighs straddling Harry’s face. “Do you trust me?”

“I would let you mark me,” he breathed. “As one of yours.”

“Ooh, Harry. You know exactly what to say,” he laughed, shifting his hips. “No teeth.”

He immediately opened his mouth, and Tom grinned, thrusting into Harry’s mouth, hard and fast – probably too hard and fast for the inexperienced boy that didn’t know what he was doing, because Harry sort of choked, coughing as Tom drew back slightly. “I’m bigger than you, Harry. And I said I wouldn’t be gentle.”

“I’m okay,” Harry gasped. “Just... new.”

He chuckled lowly, fisting his fingers in Harry’s hair, pushing his head back, and thrust back in again. Harry fumbled, trying to use his tongue, but Tom was fairly just fucking his throat, and he just clutched on to Tom’s thighs, knuckles white as he clutched on tight, and Tom groaned, pleased at the look of desperation and eagerness, and pulled back, letting the head of his dick rest on the tip of Harry’s tongue, and he sucked in air, desperately, chest rising and falling, heavily.

The image of Harry, spit slicked chin, eyes shiny and bright, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and reddened as he fought to breathe, well.

He gripped Harry’s hair harder, and thrust back in only four or five more times before he came directly down the boy’s throat, moaning as his head fell back.

Tom rocked back onto his thighs, considering Harry, who was gasping for air again, mouth open as he licked his lips, swiping at his chin, awkwardly.

“Well?” He drawled, brushing sweaty hair off Harry’s forehead, and stroking the lightning bolt scar.

He cleared his throat. “Never done that before.”

“What did you think? My little apprentice?” He purred, dragging his thumb along Harry’s lower lip. “You look wrecked.”

“I think you did wreck me,” Harry shifted under him, arching his spine. “At least a little. I only know from... talk, but...” He licked his lips again.

“Oh, you’re ready for that?”

“Don’t you want me?”

“Sneaky little shit,” Tom laughed, running his fingers down Harry’s nude body, taking his flaccid dick, and stroking him firmly several times, making Harry whine and keen softly. “Hands and knees.”

Harry shifted within the still straddling thighs, and climbed up onto his hands and knees, letting out a long breath.

“You’re trembling like a skittish colt,” Tom teased, kissing the back of Harry’s neck. “Are you scared of me?”

“No,” Harry shook his head.

“Are you sure?” he teased, catching Harry’s wand off the bed.

“I’m not scared of you,” Harry whispered, shivering. “I’m scared of... this.”

“Shouldn’t be,” Tom hummed, casting a spell on Harry, that made him yelp in surprise. “I already told you I won’t be gentle.”

“I know,” Harry whispered. “What was that?”

“You’ll find out in a moment,” He hummed, and started pressing into Harry, the at least somewhat stretching and copious lube of that spell allowed him to bump in past the muscle ring, making Harry cry out in shock, then clutched Harry’s hips, and jerked him back onto Tom’s dick, almost violently.

Harry cried out, almost a scream, sucking in sharp, harsh breaths, trembling as Tom slid his fingers off the hips to rest on Harry’s lower belly, and breathed, “Do you like it, Harry? Do you like it, darling? Feeling full of me, desperate, your insides changing to shape around me. No one else gets this, not now. You’re mine forever.”

Harry nodded, but his shoulders were hunched. “I am. I do.”

“Are you sure?” he purred, nipping at Harry’s earlobe. “You’re trembling, baby.”

“Just – just getting used to it,” he whispered, then let out another breathless cry when Tom pulled out, then slammed back in, and Harry’s arms trembled.

“Still?”

“T-takes a second!” He gasped, letting out desperate keening sounds when Tom rolled his hips.

Tom flicked his wand at the trunk sitting against the wall, and smirked as a red Gryffindor tie flew to him. He wrapped it around Harry’s mouth, and grinned when the boy didn’t even hesitate to open his mouth for the gag, and once Tom had it tied, Harry bit down on his tie, shivering a little.

“Good boy,” he praised, stroking Harry’s cheek. “You’re such a good boy for me.”

Harry shivered again, clenching harder on the tie.

Tom slammed back into him several times, watching Harry’s face closely, seeing him drooling on his tie, breathing hard through his nose, arms shaking, until Tom reached out, knocking Harry’s arms out from under him. He let out a muffled shout through the gag, and Tom leaned over his back. “Trust me. I just thought of something.”

He drew back again, and slammed back in, but this time Harry screamed through the gag, spine arching, eyes rolling back in his head.

Tom stroked Harry’s lower stomach, sweetly, and breathed, “I may not be gentle, but I want you to love me not being gentle. Did that feel good, little one?”

He keened softly, and nodded rapidly, head turned to half look up at Tom, his other cheek resting on the blankets.

“Well, let’s see if we can’t get you to come on my cock, little one.”

Tom set up a solid rhythm, enjoying watching Harry gasp and plead and clench his fingers in the blankets, head thrown back, some of his black curls sticking to his face. His eyelids were flicking, struggling to keep them open, so he slid his hands forward, taking Harry’s hands, and bending him forward even more so that he could curl his hands on the back of Tom’s clothed thighs, which not only made Harry curl in a way that made his attempted cries get louder against the time, but it also meant that Harry’s nails dug into Tom’s thighs, and he grinned. Back in the day, no one he’d slept with had ever been brave enough to even touch Tom back, much less struggle to keep his fingers in place that he actually dragged his nails so hard Tom was certain they were marked on his skin.

He kept stroking Harry’s soft stomach, though still too thin, not to the point he should be at this age, but didn’t touch his prick again, just slammed deep as he could, trying to drive into Harry’s prostate with every thrust, until Harry almost screamed, or at least tried, and painted the blankets with cum.

“Good boy,” he whispered against his ear as Harry trembled and came, knocking his knees as he staggered through his orgasm. “That’s my good boy.”

Tom only managed three more furious, almost violent thrusts before Harry’s clenching muscles did their job, and he groaned, coming inside, claiming, spilling in a way that no one could ever deny, at least magically, that he was his.

Harry was fighting to keep himself up, struggling, and Tom drew out of him, then whispered, “Let go.”

He slumped do the blankets on his side, just toppling straight over akimbo onto his side, half on his back, cum trailing down his thighs, eyelids flickering, mouth still forced violently open by the tie.

Tom untied the triple knot, and tossed the tie onto the floor, gently massaging the violent redness and little tears at the corner of Harry’s lips, not healing them, but making them feel better. “Is your jaw sore, darling?”

He nodded, eyes half lidded.

Tom massaged and stroked at the sore muscles, shifting so that he lay on the bed, Harry curled up against him, as Tom kept massaging the swore muscles in his jaw, which were probably sore not only from the gag, but also from the rather violent throat fucking he’d gotten earlier. “Well?” he hummed, testing the waters. Harry could run from this, but what was the point if he wasn’t beinghonest about himself?

To his surprise, when Harry shifted, it was to tuck Tom back into his drawers, then do up his trousers and fasten his belt. “I feel like I’m floating.”

“Ah,” he hummed, and tugged Harry into his arms, flicking his wand to clean the blanket, then let it drape over themselves, and then stroking his lower stomach again, lovingly, curling his arm around him him. “You did so good for me, Harry, so good. You were so sweet, so welcoming... you good boy. You’re my good boy.”

Harry sighed, eyes slipping shut, and let out a long breath, relaxing as Tom kept massaging gently.

“I should have known you’d be made for me,” Tom hummed, kissing his temple.

Three days later, Orion emerged from the basement of Death’s Rest, followed by a tired looking Regulus, pale from years out of the sun, hair unwashed so lanky and kind of like Sirius’ had been when he came to Death’s Rest, desperate to find his son. Harry walked up to Regulus, quietly, looking up at him.

“You look like my brother. But little,” he whispered.

“Because I’m your brother’s son,” Harry said. “But I’m thirteen, so I’m kind of little.”

Regulus smiled softly. “James?”

“James,” he nodded.

Sirius didn’t seem to want to leave his brother alone, and kept curled into him, even at the dining room table. Orion just kept rolling his eyes, and Harry would snicker in amusement, though he supposed he should have expected that, considering how Sirius had clung to him. Still, Harry curled up on the couch in front of the warm fireplace, reading through the newest legimancy book.

He curled against the arm of the couch, Sirius and Regulus sitting on a loveseat, and Orion with his own book, relaxed into an armchair, leaving Tom forced to remain in the diary in Harry’s shirt.

That night, irritated at not being allowed out to – it occurred to him that he wanted to be curled around Harry – so out of not being allowed, he used three Gryffindor ties that night, Harry’s arms pinned behind his lower back, hands tightly bound, one wrapped around his eyes to blind him, and another in his mouth, gagging him as Tom knelt on the floor between the bed, Harry’s legs resting on Tom’s back as he sucked Harry off, making him writhe and squirm.

Afterwards, ties gone, Tom shed his own clothes, and settled into the tub, warm, Harry curled against his chest, head resting against his shoulder.

“Mine,” he hummed, stroking gently. “My good boy.”

“Yours,” Harry whispered, humming as he curled closer to Tom.

The next day, Tom was laughing in delight as Harry proved he could cast all three unforgivables on three muggles that Tom had got him, pleased.

He was so fucking lucky that this boy, this snake speaking genuine boy, had been the one to refuse to kill the diary.

He kissed him in front of the bodies, barely noticing that the vines on the walls of the Death’s Rest manor curled around the dead bodies, and pulled them into the deepness of the vines.

Sirius clutched at Harry at Nine and Three Quarters again, though as a human this time, instead of a dog, snuggling Harry close in against his chest. “You don’t need school, little one...”

“I do,” he laughed, amused. “I need school. I need exams. I need four more years of school after this.”

“Nooooo...” Sirius groaned. “...I could become a teacher.”

“No one would hire you,” Orion said, dully.

“They hired Remus!”

“His classes are all right, but he refused to let me face the Boggart. Possibly a good thing...” Harry hummed.

“He didn’t want to see the Dark Lord, I presume?” Regulus asked, lightly.

“That’s not who he would have seen. I wonder how Dumbledore could have been any more terrifying,” Harry said innocently, humming softly. “Anyways, Sirius, let me go, please.”

“I get to snuggle you all summer.”

“You do not!” He laughed.

“I do so!”

“Baby Dark Lord rescue team on the scene,” Fred said brightly, looping his arm through one of Harry’s.

“Always here to rescue our Lord!” George added, bouncing as he slid his arm through the other.

“Bye Paddy, grandfather, uncle Regulus,” he smirked, and the twins tugged him away, lifting him right out of the way of ‘common rabble’, the twins said, and tucked them into a compartment with Draco and Theo in it, grinning.

“Draco, Theo... meet my Terror Twins,” He laughed, brightly.

They all grinned, amused.

“...Harry?”

He hesitated, sighing heavily, and looked up from his Charms homework. “Yes?”

She fidgeted, gnawing on her lower lip. “Ron says you’re... different. And you kind of are.” Her eyes flicked to Theo, Blaise, and Draco, who were doing homework with him. “And at first I thought maybe it was because of what happened in first year. Or last year. But, um. You said you spent your summer with your grandfather.”

“Lord Orion Black,” he agreed, nodding.

“And then I thought... maybe he just taught you a lot of things. You’re acting like a Slytherin, Harry, but... there aren’t muggleborns in Slytherin, are there?” Hermione asked, swallowing.

“Not typically,” Blaise said, lazily, resting his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, considering her.

“You... got access to lessons that were never something I could ever get, didn’t you?” She asked, voice wavering.

“Was I taught how to act like a pureblood? Which, I am, as it happens. Yes. Was I more accurately taught all of the things that I should have known before I ever went out into Magical Society, much less Hogwarts?” Harry considered her seriously. “Yes. There are so many things that we were never taught, and they were important.”

She took a deep breath, still hugging her bag. “Is there a way for someone like me to learn them?”

He considered her, not sure how to address that.

“Ironically, muggleborn education before Hogwarts was one of the Dark Lords goals,” Theo said. “It’s in the book, the Rise and Fall of the Dark Lords of the Twenty First Century.”

“I’ve read that one,” she said, licking her lips. “I guess I didn’t realize that’s... what it meant.”

Draco abruptly looked up. “Are you comfortable writing letters to ask questions.”

“Of course,” she said, standing straighter.

Draco jotted a note on a piece of parchment, and held it out towards her. “This is my mother. Tell her I told you to contact her, and that you’re a muggleborn that wants to understand magical culture. At the very least, she’ll direct you to what books you need.”

Hermione smiled, hopefully, squeezing her bag. “...thank you.”

He dipped his head, and watched as she darted off into one of the aisles of books.

“I’m surprised you did that,” Harry admitted.

“Well, she used to be your friend, there must have been a reason for that, and she’s known to be intelligent.” Draco shrugged. “If she’s properly polite and eager to learn in her letter, mother will start a correspondence with her, teaching her. If she’s just... cordial, she’ll get a list of books.”

“Aunt Cissy is pretty fantastic,” Harry admitted.

Blaise snorted. “If she can be fixed, and we can do something with that hair... I see a bit of a diamond in the rough.”

“As if your mother would let you be with a muggleborn,” Theo snorted.

“My father was a muggleborn, and none of the pureblood assholes she’s ended up with since have held a candle to him.”

“Hasn’t she been married nine times?” Harry smirked.

Blaise shrugged. “Searching for the perfection of my father, and simply not finding it.”

“Finding their vaults, though,” Draco smirked, and they all stifled laughter.

“Barty Crouch Junior. Does that sound familiar?”

Tom leaned over the back of the sofa they’d shrunk them moved into the Chamber of Secrets, looking at the newspaper Harry was reading. “I don’t know the name. Should I?”

“Well, he apparently was your follower, was put in Azkaban round the time of Sirius. But... he was just pronounced innocent due to his father.”

“Barty Crouch Senior, I assume?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Used to be the Head Auror, once. Arrested a lot of yours. But somehow, got his son out of Azkaban, and into his home, and then kept him under the Imperius for over a decade.”

“That would make sense, getting him out of his punishment, since his father did something far worse.” He sighed. “I mean, obviously, I have no problem with it, but using it to control someone for twelve years? Disgusting. We should have your grandfather reach out to him.”

Harry grabbed his bag, digging in it for parchment. “I’ll write the letter now.”

“I like when you follow my orders.” Tom smirked, kissing the side of Harry’s neck, nipping at the soft skin.

Harry had played against Ravenclaw with his usual fervour last semester, catching the snitch in his fastest time yet.

Against Slytherin in the winter, he just sat up high above the field, and didn’t move.

Actually, that’s a slight lie, at one point, he called out to Draco, Slytherin’s seeker, as to where he’d just spotted the Snitch, and just watched his cousin grab it out of the sky, and laughed as the Slytherin team swung around him, to Gryffindor’s genuine horror.

Except for Fred and George, who laughed and said they were going to hit him with the bludger next time.

Harry stepped up the stairs, and hesitated as he gaped at his trunk.

Its lid hung open, and his clothes and books were scattered everywhere, some of them ripped apart, homework everywhere, and when he dove to dig in it, the Black portkey, the Death’s Rest portkey, James’ watch, and his invisibility cloak were all gone. He just knew that the locket, the ring, and the diadem would have been gone if he hadn’t been wearing the first two, and the third hidden in the Chamber.

He rocked back onto his ankles, gaping at the chaotic destruction of his trunk, feeling very lightheaded, dizzy, almost swaying forward...

Tom suddenly tugged Harry up out of his kneeling position, and tugged the robes Harry was wearing off, quickly, then pushed him into his bed, lifting Harry’s feet and setting them on the bed. Stroking Harry’s hair, messed from his horrified curling of his fists into his hair, flat, he then quietly undid and removed Harry’s tie.

Tugging off his own tie, he tied Harry’s around his neck, neatly.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispered.

“Fixing this.” He shed the Slytherin robes, tucking them half under Harry. “I had to take a bit more, you might be a little dizzy. I apologize.” He tugged Harry’s robes on, flicking their wand at them so that they fit him like they were made for him, and he took a deep breath. “The spells we put on the trunk should only be breakable by a seventh year, at minimum. But I have a feeling a certain third year bribed them to do it. I will confirm, I will punish, and I will return your belongings.”

He swallowed. “I can - “

“You will not,” Tom said, firmly. “You will stay here, like a good boy, and I will fix it. Don’t touch the trunk, I will fix it. You’re my good boy, yes?”

Harry flushed, and nodded.

“Good.” He kissed him lightly, then stood. “I’ll be back. Regain your strength.”

Harry reached up to rub his brow, pressing his eyes shut, and wondered exactly how much life Tom had taken from him, this time. He supposed it made sense, he had to look solid to exact revenge for Harry, but...

“Harry!”

He blinked slowly, confused, as Percy Weasley crouched beside his bed, reaching out to press the back of his hand against Harry’s forehead. “Are you all right?”

“...migraine,” he lied, but considering he had them often, that made sense.

“Triggered by the vandalism?” He huffed, and glanced behind him, and Harry saw Tom walking down behind him, standing beside Percy. “Do you know who did this? Either of you?”

“Not for sure,” Tom said, sounding uncertain.

“But only one person in my dorm hates me,” Harry said, quietly.

“My idiot brother, you mean,” Percy stood, and frowned as he cast quietly towards the trunk, eyes narrowing. “I know which seventh year broke this open, and I think it’s likely you’re correct about Ronald. I will be writing a sternly written letter to my mother. And – and getting your things for you. I will rip his ears off if I need to.”

Harry flushed.

“Thank you,” Tom said, gently. “I came up the stairs to see this disaster, and Harry curled over his trunk... he told me they stole heirlooms from both of his fathers.”

Percy sort of puffed up. “I will get them back.”

And he stormed out of the room, all righteous fury.

Tom settled beside Harry, stroking his hair. “Sorry. I had to take a lot to seem... real enough.”

He smiled up at him, world whorling. “I trust you.”

Tom properly shifted so that Harry’s head was in his lap, and gently stroked his jaw, softly, repaying him for the borrowed life. He even bent, pressing his forehead to Harry’s, and smiled when Harry groaned softly, reaching up for Tom’s hands to catch his, lacing their fingers together.

Percy’s voice was echoing in the common room, then they heard him storm past them, and knock fiercely on the firth year dorm, then oddly quiet conversation between three recognizable voices, which Harry knew were three redheads.

There were sighs, then frustrated mutters of something that sounded vaguely like ‘you can’t get us in trouble for this’, then an oddly charged dark silence – then a high pitched shriek only steps away from where the trio had been standing.

Percy stormed into their dorm, holding Ron by the back of his shirt. “An invisibility cloak, Harry?”

“Belonged to James Potter, my dad,” he nodded, looking at the silvery cloak in Percy’s hand.

“What else did he steal?”

“I didn’t steal, I’m due just as much of – ack!”

Percy jerked Ron’s shirt back, hard. “What else did he take.”

“That I know of... a necklace from the Black family, it’s silver, with a black stone, and a family heirloom that’s been passed down so many generations. Also a silver chain, little symbol of a triangle, with a circle and a line. There might be other things, but that’s what I know of.”

Percy tapped his wand on the back of Ron’s neck, making him kick at his brother, but he literally shook the long limbed gangly Ron. “Do these look like them?”

Harry sort of slumped in relief. “Yes.”

“Good.” Percy held them out, and Tom took them, and the cloak, resting them on the bed. “Once the trunk is back in order, let me know if there’s anything else missing. I’m going to go bring him to McGonagall, and talk to her about how it’s clearly not safe for you, here.”

“Thank you, Percy,” Tom said, gently.

He nodded, and marched his brother, who was screaming loudly at him, down the stairs.

“...how did you convince him that he’d seen you for six years already?”

“Minor confundus, not enough to stop him.” Tom gently rose out of the bed, laying Harry back against the pillows, and began reorganizing the trunk, putting everything back in place. “All those frog cards are gone, as is your potions essay, charms essay, and all your history notes.”

Harry groaned, softly.

“We’ll get the notes back, but I’m sure you could write better essays for charms and potions. And if he tries to hand in your essays, Flitwick and Snape will know.”

“Guess that’s true,” he hummed, closing his eyes.

“Everything’s in its place, and warded, but Percy was right. You’re not going to be safe here.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “...can I move into Slytherin?”

Tom hesitated.

“I mean, is there a precedent for that kind of thing?”

“Only way that could happen, I would think, is if you were sorted again, and... honestly, aside from some teenaged girls giggling about the idea in Binn’s class, no. I don’t think that happens.”

Harry sighed. “Can I do home study?”

“Technically, but wouldn’t you miss Hogwarts?”

“Constantly,” he admitted.

“So we need somewhere else safe for you,” Tom hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed, laying his cool hand on Harry’s forehead, making him sigh in relief, eyes firmly shut.

“Gentlemen, wait, are you - “

Tom flicked Harry’s wand, quietly, and McGonagall blinked, then shook her head. “Mister Weasley told me what happened. Is there anything still missing?”

“All his chocolate frog cards - “

“Which I don’t want back,” Harry said, not sitting up to greet the professor properly, head still reeling. “He can keep those.”

Tom hummed. “Potions and charms essays, and all of his notes for history. Harry says he’s fine rewriting the essays, but he has kept very careful history of magic notes.”

McGongall stepped closer to the bed. “And he stole your heirlooms. Are you in pain, Mister Black?”

“Migraine,” he hummed, quietly.

She sighed. “We’re going to have to be drastic. Do not tell the headmaster, I will.”

“Of course, Professor,” Tom said, smiling.

“I didn’t know Hogwarts had rooms like this,” Harry said, turning slowly around the sitting room, which had bookshelves, a very large and impressive desk, seats and a sofa, a bathroom with both a shower and a lovely large claw-foot bathtub, and a bedroom off the room with a bigger four poster than Gryffindor, though not as large as Slytherin’s, and he crawled into it, now, sighing at the comfort. There were regular windows in the sitting room, overlooking the Black Lake, but the windows in the bathroom and bedroom were the same, gorgeous, detailed stained glassed windows, very Slytherin in theme with various legendary snakes in detailed backgrounds of various green shades, casting soft green light into the rooms.

“I think they’re meant for professors with families?” Tom settled beside Harry, banishing the red robe and tie to the laundry. “I’m shocked you got one.”

“I’m a Black, Tom,” he breathed, smirking a little at him. “And I’m in danger. Dumbledore might not care, but Professor McGonagall doesn’t want to fuck up with my family. You taught me that, and grandfather taught me that.”

“And you’ve learned your lesson well. How’s the headache? The dizziness?”

“Fine, actually. You must have taken quite a bit, but I think I’ve hit... equilibrium?”

“Good.” Tom smirked. “Shall we see how long we can hold your breath?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Tom’s crotch, the slid off of the bed, tugging his jumper vest off, then unbuttoning his shirt.

“Turn around.”

He turned, licking his lips, and started unbuttoning his shirt slower, before slowly shedding out of it, letting it fall on the floor.

Tom smirked, leaning on one of the posts, humming softly. “Good boy.”

Harry flushed, and unbuckled his trousers, pushing them and his pants down, then yelped as he apparently had forgotten that he still had his shoes on, and he tumbled awkwardly half onto the bed, then started laughing, smushing his face into the blanket.

“Idiot,” Tom said, fondly, walking over to kneel on one knee, unlacing and sliding off Harry’s shoes, tugging his socks off, then manually tugged Harry’s trousers and pants off, himself. “Go get the tub ready, nice and warm, no bubbles, I want to see you. But some oil might be nice, if you find one you like.”

He nodded, awkwardly standing. “I’ll be there.”

“If you’re not, I’ll kill you,” Tom smirked, and grinned as that made Harry flush right to the tips of his ears.

When he sauntered, naked, into the bathroom, barefoot on the tiles, Harry was standing next to the tub, hands behind his back, gnawing on his lower lip. Tom slid his fingers through the water, which was nice and warm, just this edge of hot, and it smelled citrusy and tantalizing. “Nice choice.”

Tom stepped into the water, relaxing back against the end of the tub without the spigot, and gestured to the space between his legs.

Harry climbed in, trying not to splash the water out of the tub, and knelt between his knees.

“You look like you’re excited for this,” Tom drawled.

“Maybe I am,” Harry said, shifting so that he could rest his hands on the side of the tub outside Tom’s thighs, so that the side of his wrists pressed against Tom’s thighs, and started sort of sliding under the water, looking up at Tom. He drew a deep breath, before sliding his head under the water, and slid his mouth over Tom’s prick, sucking with far more skill than he used to have.

Tom idly stroked the back of Harry’s neck, his shoulder blades, then when Harry jerked his head up, drawing in a sharp breath, he slid his fingers in Harry’s hair, and shoved him down, firmly. He did the same as he had before. He held him still until he felt that his lazy thrusts up, his fierce holding Harry down by hair, and sometimes thrusting up harder, all underwater, had hit a bit of struggling. Ah, apparently they’d hit Harry’s breath limit, for at least the moment, as he could feel the boy fighting his body to keep sucking, taking the cock hitting the back of his throat, until he felt the fingers curling on his thighs, and suddenly bubbles from the held breath rushing to the circles, and Harry’s body jerking in little spasms, trying to draw in breath -

He groaned, and came, hard, right down that spasming throat, then finally released Harry’s hair, and the boy burst out of the water, coughing, gasping, chest heaving.

His eyes glanced down to Harry’s prick, and smirked. “I didn’t know that was your thing.”

Harry just hummed, struggling to keep his eyes open, almost sliding right back under the water.

Tom scooped him up, flicking a quick wandless, drying charm, and carried Harry, in a bridal carry, to the bedroom. There, he brushed Harry’s messy hair out, carefully, then curled as the big spoon to his Harry’s little spoon, resting his hand on Harry’s soft lower belly as he breathed in his ears, “My good boy, such a good boy for me, you did so good, you’re so beautiful...”

Harry hummed softly, resting his hands over Tom’s hands, leaning his head back.

Tom rested his chin on the top of Harry’s head, then shifted to just press little soft kisses to his temples, until Harry slipped to sleep, then even after, softly.

Harry only snagged a quick breakfast, and was about to flee, when McGonagall suddenly approached, and offered Harry a mess of parchment. “I’m sure you’ll repair if further, but after your items were retrieved, he saw it fitting to destroy the notes.”

Taking them back, he frowned. “Is he to be punished?”

“Quite a bit. Detention every day for the rest of the semester... I actually suggested suspension or expulsion, considering the nature of him taking family heirlooms, including more than one for a father that is dead, but the headmaster wouldn’t hear of it. Do be careful, in case he escalates this.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Harry nodded, and headed towards the Great Hall doors.

“Harry?” There were footsteps clicking behind him, running, and he turned to see Hermione rushing up to him. Her hair was braided, which he didn’t think he’d ever seen before, and her bag was hanging neatly, her uniform in perfect place. “Can I talk to you?”

He hesitated, then nodded, and walked into the hallway, where Crabbe and Goyle waited.

She hesitated, alarmed.

“Vincent, Gregory, we’re going to the study classroom. We need to have a conversation.”

“About time,” Crabbe said, calmly, and walked on either side of them as they walked to their classroom.

“Are they – are you friends with them?” Hermione asked, not raising her voice, not yelling, just curious.

“I’ve become friends with all of the Slytherins in our year, for various reasons. Partially because they accept me as I am.” They stepped into their classroom, and he sank into one of the benches, unwrapping his napkins as he started eating his toast and fried egg sandwich. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

She drew a deep breath, sitting primly in another seat. “Lady Malfoy has taught me a lot. Not only through books, but letter, she’s sent memories I believe, so that I can see how one would conduct themselves in a certain situation. She’s taught me about history that’s not in the books, about society, about - about why I’ve been a complete idiot.”

“Not complete.” He smirked. “You do well at class work.”

“Not as well as I could, she taught me a lot. Heir Black, I wish to offer my apologies. Your family and station deserved more respect, and I attempted to force the magical world to fit my muggle worldview, which was... I just want to be your friend again.”

He folded the napkin around his mostly uneaten breakfast, setting it on the desk, then turned better to face her, offering his hand. “Hydrus Black, heir Black.”

Hermione flushed, ducked her head, and offered her hand, not taking his. “Hermione Granger, first of my name.”

Harry smirked, taking her hand, and kissing her knuckles. “Well met.”

“I was so afraid I was going to do that wrong,” she admitted, biting her lip.

Harry laughed, softly. “You did just fine. You serious, though? You want to learn about the magical world?”

“I imagine I have years of learning left,” she admitted.

“Maybe,” he grinned.

“Well, I’m learning. And really, that idea of teaching muggleborns as early as possible.” She shook her head. “I really wish I’d learned so much earlier.”

He stifled a grin. “I think maybe we could be friends again.”

“Not Ron!” She said, looking horrified. “I couldn’t believe what he did. I knew he was bitter and jealous, but... that was beyond the pale.”

“Mm,” he dug into his breakfast again. “I agree.”

“He... scares me.”

Harry looked Hermione in the eye, and nodded. “I don’t understand how someone can go from my friend to a nightmare without even us seeing a transition between. You pushed too far, at first, but you also stepped back and learned that’s why it was wrong. He’s clearly not willing to do that.”

“Clearly not,” she agreed, running her hand over her braid, trying to make sure it was still smooth-ish.

Harry considered her for a moment, then smirked. “Have you heard of Sleekeezy’s line of products? There’s one you can put in every morning, a shampoo, a conditioner, a deep conditioner, a range of other potions for managing different kinds of hair...”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “...how do you know that? Are you using it?”

He laughed. “My great-grandfather invented it, and I own it. So I learned a bit about it, and I have ideas. Blaise and Daphne would be better, though, how they make their hair look like that, I don’t know.”

“What about Malfoy?” She asked, smirking.

“No, his is genetic. Have you seen his father? Or grandfather? Perfect hair travels in their family.”

She laughed, brightly, and he grinned at her, eating the last of his sandwich.

“Can you ask them for me, for advice?”

“Gladly.”

“Look out!” Tom hissed in his ear, and Harry spun, but that meant that the cutting curse slammed into where his neck met shoulder, instead of across his back.

He staggered back, not seeing an attacker in the unnatural darkness of the hallway, and flung his wand out, snapping, “Confringo Maxima! Reducto Maxima! Bombarda Maxima!”

The darkness disappeared as though sucked into someone, and a staggering, bleeding Ronald Weasley braced himself on a wall, blood dribbling from his mouth. “Why would you...?”

“Why would you?!” Harry snapped, then sank down the wall he was leaning on, head falling back against the stones.

“Fekkin’ ‘ell,” Tom said, in some accent he didn’t recognize, crouched beside him, in the Gryffindor robes again – apparently once he picked a disguise, it could be incorporated into his being. That’s why he was invisible so often, because he’d done it before with Harry. “Yer losin a lo’ ov claret, real fas’.”

Harry blinked up at him, confused.

“Damnation,” he hissed, and conjured a piece of parchment, scribbing a note, then flinging it into the air, where it folded itself into a paper plane, and skidded through the air.

Harry smiled at the quick bit of spell work, at Tom’s hissed out healing spells, and slid into the warm bathwater of oblivion that was waiting for him.

“Dumbledore still won’t expel the Weasel. Even though he almost killed you.”

Harry blinked, eyes half lidded, at one of the intricate snake stained glass panels around his bedroom. He sighed, heavily, and murmured, “I’m not in the hospital wing?”

“Were, the first night, then Severus demanded to take over your potions. I - “ Tom hesitated. “I had to reveal myself to him. He was confused, but he’s marked, I could feel his loyalty through it. Apparently he was something of a double... or triple agent, last war, but I made him swear an Unbreakable vow to serve only our side. Specifically, you. He seemed relieved that I was with you, all things considered.”

“How long have I been asleep for?” Harry asked, running his hand through his hair, and grimacing at the feel of it.

“Four days. Three nights.” Tom crawled onto the bed, holding Harry close. “The Slytherins, and your Hermione, have been stopping by regularly to check on you. I believe there are currently two outside your doors, guarding you. The spell Ron used was dark, one I would have normally approved, but you see, during that time he had your cloak, he found a curse book in the Restricted Section, and it truly is a vicious curse. He must not have read the whole thing, or perhaps he did it on purpose, because that spell’s purpose is to behead.”

Harry shuddered. “Good thing I turned around then.”

“Only if you enjoy this scar.” Tom brushed his fingers over Harry’s bare skin, from below his collarbone, up and over his shoulder, curling so that it ended somewhere under his arm, on his side, at the base of his ribs.

“Can that be treated?” He asked, carefully pushing himself up, moving to a mirror so he could see for himself.

“Severus has tried. With no luck. It’s a dark curse. It leaves wounds. If it helps any, you didn’t use any illegal spells, and you very nearly blew Weasley back into the stone age.”

He snorted. “He still in the hospital wing?”

“Oh no.” Tom smiled, like a shark. “He’d barely gotten himself patched up when his father stormed in.”

Harry blinked, glancing back at Tom. “...his father?”

“Apparently it his mother thought it was ‘boys being boys’.” He said, sarcastically. “His father disagreed, and dragged Ron out of there. He told McGonagall he would not allow his son to come back until he could be taught what he’d done wrong. So he’s not expelled, but his father has pulled him out.”

Harry rubbed his head. “Missus Weasley won’t take that well.”

“According to Percy, who has become a valuable well of information, once we have my older self back, we should think of recruiting him, his mother did not like what her husband did, and threatened to divorce him.”

Harry whistled. “A scandal and a half in the wizarding world...”

“Not if one of the members of the family have been unfaithful,” Tom hummed, standing behind Harry, curling his fingers on the soft stomach. “Which, apparently, she has been. Little Ginevra, that you fought to protect, Harry? Weasleys don’t have girls.”

His eyes widened. “They’ve checked with the goblins, proven this?!”

“Arthur Weasley did. He currently has custody of the children – all seven, he’s taking on Ginny, even though she’s not his, because he says he doesn’t trust Molly Weasley to not harm her out of retaliation. They divorce is slated for later this month, in front of the Wizenmagot.”

Harry slumped back against Tom. “...bloody hell.”

“Something like that,” he agreed. “No one knows who her true father is. And don’t tell a soul,” he breathed in Harry’s ear, “But while he hasn’t been told, Percy is convinced Ron is not his blood, either.”

“...I think I need to sit down,” Harry murmured.

Tom lead him over to the bed, and helped him do just that. “You’re so fragile, my darling. So breakable. I could break you, and you’d beg me for more, but these enemies keep trying to break you, which infuriates me.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to get better at learning how to respond,” Harry smirked.

“And that’s why I adore you, my good boy,” Tom grinned.

“So what Molly No-Name has done is especially terrible in wizarding society because she betrayed not only the Weasley line but the Prewett line.”

Harry hesitated at the door of his rooms, listening in.

“Exactly,” Daphne said, nodding. “She betrayed her husband, which is unforgivable under the terms of the contract she signed, especially to create two children via whatever union it was, but she also betrayed her own family, the ancient and noble house of Prewett that entrusted her with their name, and to represent it with honour.”

“Which is why she’s ‘no-name’ now, and so are Ron and Ginny.”

“Yes, though Arthur Weasley has accepted Ginny as, while not his, a term called peerage has been applied to her. This means that though she cannot inherit anything of the Weasley name, she has been adopted, so to speak, into the Weasley family, and will be taken care of and loved as any of the other legitimate children.”

“This is the thing I don’t understand, though,” Hermione said, primly. “If they’re divorced, then wouldn’t Molly no-name go back to Molly Prewett?”

“Well, she could have, but it depends entirely on the marriage contract. They’re all public record, so if you go to the ministry, you could read anyone’s. Now, I see the horror in your eyes,” she laughed softly. “Not all purebloods are roped into marriage contracts set by their parents. Some families are, the Blacks are notorious for it. But more often, a marriage contract is drawn up by the partners, usually with the aid of their parents, things that they want, things that are deal breakers – infidelity is in nearly every contract, as is children of infidelity – and sometimes, consequences. Now, I am not a law wizard yet, mores the pity, but I was able to read their contract. It is harsh, almost completely against Arthur. Suggests that it is likely he will stray, and he is not allowed to do that. However, it oddly states that his contract remains intact if the only people he strays with are Gideon and Fabian, Molly’s twin older brothers that were killed in the war. Very odd clause. Or I would have thought so, but there’s rumours – I do not know how true – that suggest the five oldest... were Gideon and or Fabians.”

“No!” Hermione gasped.

“Mmhmm. A dead line might not be dead.” Daphne looked smug, leaning against the wall. “But the reason why she, and Ronald, are no-names, is because there is a clause that if there is an infidelity with anyone other than Gideon or Fabian, and let’s be honest, she probably did not have her son’s children, then all titles, names, and holdings are stripped from them. I suppose, based on the wording, she expected Arthur to stray, and be stripped of Weasley and their meagre holdings. Instead, it went the other way.”

Hermione considered that, seriously. “But why allow dalliances with her older brothers, or all people?”

“I asked my mother,” Daphne said, pleased. “She said everyone knew that Arthur was in a relationship with the twins.”

She gasped. “They why marry their sister?!”

“The real question! No one has any idea! He was always with the twins, then suddenly he was always with her, like a lost puppy.”

“Love potion?” Harry suggested, making Hermione start, but Daphne just smirked lazily at him, clearly having known he was there the entire time.

“Only one powerful enough to get this result is Amortentia, and it would need to be dosed every day.” Hermione frowned, brows furrowed.

“Lines, dear,” Daphne smoothed the furrowing between Hermione’s brows, which looked, different, now that Harry thought about it. So did her skin, smoother, and her hair smoother too, half up in a small braid, the rest falling smoothly down her back, longer than he ever would have expected.

“And if she’s his wife, and does all the cooking, exactly how easy do you think it would be to slip him a small amount of the potion, daily?” Harry pointed out. “If I’d known, back in the day, my relatives would have gotten small amounts of poison daily until it built up, and no one would ever expect the scared child that was never poisoned because he was never allowed to eat the same food as the family.”

“You have certainly changed,” Hermione hummed.

“For the better?”

“For the better, I hope,” she laughed softly, then looped her arm through Harry’s. “We’re to walk you to Potions.”

“I am certain, Hermione, that I am meant to offer my arm first,” he demonstrated by offering his arm to Daphne, who delicately took it with a smile, resting her hands on the inside of his elbow.

“Sorry,” Hermione flushed.

“You’re learning, Hermione. No one expects perfection the moment you start.”

“Heir Black?”

He turned, surprised, and arched his brows at Ginny, who was twisting her fingers against each other, looking anxious and terrified. “Yes?”

“Can we talk? Privately?”

“Can’t get too far from my babysitters, too many bad things have happened recently,” Harry stood, but gestured at the row of books in front of them. “How about down here, with a mild silencing spell, so if one of us starts shouting, they’ll hear?”

“That sounds good,” she nodded, quickly, and darted ahead of him, waiting until he cast the spell before she whispered, “I am so, so sorry.”

“For what?” Harry arched a brow.

“For my brother. Not brother. Still brother, but not actually, because I’m still a Weasley even though I shouldn’t be, because dad is wonderful, but...” She let out a long breath. “For getting you tangled up in everything that happened last year. I should have known better.”

“Ginny, you were eleven,” he pointed. “When I was eleven, Dumbledore pitted me against the real Voldemort, instead just his sixteen year self.”

She flushed. “But... Merlin, this is embarrassing. I had such a crush on you, because when I was growing up, mom, um, Molly, she used to tell me all these romantic stories about how you were going to be my knight, and I’d be your princess, and you’d just sweep me up and we’d ride a dragon or something off into the sunset, so I told Tom, the diary, everything I knew about you.”

“Just the stories about killing, or... actually everything.”

“I told him about how you were shorter, and too skinny, and wondered if I could convince you to eat more, about the colour of your eyes, how your magic felt to me when you cast, which was like woodfire smoke, sharp and bitter but sweet, curling around me like a promise, but I could never tell if that promise was safety or to burn down everything I loved.” She looked at her hand. “I told him all about things you said in the common room, that you flinched away from Ron’s yelling, that you were so frustrated with how Hermione tried to make you do your homework her way, about how you spoke Parseltongue, about how you’d stopped a snake during a duel. How a lot of us were afraid you were the Heir of Slytherin, and those who weren’t sure thought maybe you were... you were the Heir’s child.”

Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “Did you tell him about princess and knights and dragons?”

She flushed even brighter red, clashing with her hair. “...yes.”

“He wanted to know everything about you, Harry,” Ginny tucked her hair behind her ears. “...and I told him everything I knew.”

“It’s okay, Ginny,” he smiled softly. “And I’m glad your father kept you in the family.”

She darted forward, grasping Harry’s arms. “Tell me the truth. Please. Did you really destroy the diary?”

His eyes narrowed, green ice chips. “Who’s asking? Dumbledore? Molly no-name?”

“Just Ginny,” she whispered. “He told me things, in exchange to what I told him. Said Slytherins always worked on a trade system. You give me something, he gave me something.” She hesitated. “He told me a lot of ideas he had for the wizarding world, and... I pretended to be horrified, most of the time, but... I... a lot of it made sense, does that make sense?”

“I seem to be recruiting a lot of prepubescent witches,” Tom smirked, one hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Tom!” She gasped, eyes big.

“As you can see, rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. No, little Ginny, Harry didn’t kill the journal, so to speak. He did not murder me.”

She licked her lips. “But you’re not draining me anymore.”

“Of course, I have a new source,” he patted Harry’s head. “And I’m drawing slowly, so that he doesn’t die. Turns out, that would have worked perfectly fine, but I wasn’t aware of it.”

Ginny smiled crookedly. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“As am I,” He hummed, then looked at Harry, holding out his hand, and Harry silently handed over his wand. Tom beamed at Ginny. “Unbreakable.”

“Right, that makes sense,” she offered her hand.

“Mister Black, if you would stay behind, please?”

Harry waved off Draco and Theo, and stood, leaning against a desk, arms crossed. Frankly, he’d thought this conversation would take place ages ago.

“Harry, I imagine your father has... mentioned that we were friends. You seemed to know that on the train...” Remus said, haltingly.

“Mm. Wormtail the betrayer, Prongs the idiot that tormented his classmates but Paddy can see no fault in because he’s still in love, Padfoot the massive dog that literally tried to kill a classmate by sending him to you as an entree, and Moony, the werewolf. Did I miss anything?”

Remus looked down. “No.”

“But I love Sirius anyway, because he’s my Paddy, I love James anyway because he’s my dad, and as it happens, I love the classmate that Paddy tried to kill because he has infinitely improved my life, and stands up as my protector, something I never thought I’d say. You I know least well, Moony. I heard you were funny, but didn’t usually participate in pranks, though you were happy to watch. I heard of the four, you were the most sensitive, probably because you understood struggles the way no one else did, but there’s... something... that is bothering me.”

He hesitated. “What bothers you?”

“The missions. From Dumbledore.” Harry rested his hands on the edge of the desk, considering the werewolf professor. “You were always so vague about them, Paddy says, and when he’d demand from Dumbledore what you were doing, he would say simply that you weren’t doing any such thing. Which could have been him lying as he always does, to hide things... or you really could have gone rogue. Which is it, Moony?”

Remus swallowed, then laughed softly. “You’re thirteen, Harry, this should hardly be - “

“I’m sixteen.” Tom was suddenly leaning on the desk beside Harry. “At the moment. Once we can manage to get my older self back, I will be... sixty seven, if we do it by the end of the year. Can I ask the questions?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re - ?”

“Tom Riddle,” he said lightly, using Harry’s wand to write out his whole name, then rearranging the letters. “I do so enjoy doing that. People get so very pale.”

“You’re serious,” he whispered. “You’re a young version of him.”

“I am,” Tom nodded.

Remus’ eyes were downcast, quietly.

“I asked Paddy,” Harry said, lightly, “What would he have done to protect James back then? And he said kill Voldemort with his bare hands to save him, in a heartbeat. I said, then what if you had to protect me now, and the only way to do it was joining the Dark Lord, and becoming a Death Eater? Do you know what he said?”

Remus lifted his eyes to look at Harry and Tom properly. “In a heartbeat.”

“Then the question becomes,” Tom said, calmly. “Do we need to recruit you, Remus, or are you already mine?”

“Dumbledore treated me like a mindless animal that had brief periods of lucidity.” Remus whispered. “You – your older self – treated me like a man that just needed one night a month to run wild and be free, sleep that day, then be back to work the next day. I am already yours, but not marked. I was to be recruiting werewolf packs, and they got twitchy if they saw a Dark Mark when you shifted.”

Harry approached him, and held up his hand, holding it against Remus’ cheek, feeling the soft but scarred skin resting against his palm.

“Very soon, Moony, we’re going to call on you again.”

Remus smiled. “Dumbledore is so secure in his plan, his arrogance. He is not going to understand what will decimate him.

“I have a plan, to make this dull Tuesday more interesting.”

“Well, you always have interesting plans,” Harry laughed softly, where they were settled in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry scrawling out a revision on his Transfiguration paper.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one quite a bit,” Tom smirked. “But I will need to draw a good deal of life from you.”

He hesitated. “How much life?”

“I imagine that it will knock you unconscious,” Tom admitted. “For maybe half an hour. Plenty of time to get to breakfast and class and all that.”

Harry bit his lip, then set his quill in its holder, and turned to face Tom. “All right.”

“I want to take it when I am deep within you,” Tom said, lightly.

“You want to fuck my unconscious body?”

“You might find it interesting. Or I might. Experimentation is valuable.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he hummed, and started unbuttoning his shirt, then yelped when his clothes abruptly vanished.

“I’m impatient,” Tom hummed, casting the usual preparation spell they used, guiding Harry up onto his knees, arms crossed on the cushions, face resting on his arms, and shoved himself inside. Harry used to whimper and cry out, but now he groaned, pressing his forehead to his forearms. He smirked, pleased with the progression, continuing on for a few moments of Harry’s breathless cries before he slid his fingers up Harry’s spine, and drew life out of him, more at once than he normally did, letting it linger on his tongue like the finest vintage, as Harry went limp, unconscious as he’d predicted.

Pressing into his limp body was a little fun at first, no resistance for anything he did, but Harry’s lack of writhing and soft cries of pleasure told him that it wasn’t quite as fun as he’d suspected.

Well, as he’d told Harry, this was about experimentation, and this experiment was rather a bust.

But, he thought, as he filled the other, the rest of it wouldn’t be.

Leaving Harry still positioned awkwardly on the sofa, he snagged the quill, dipped it in the ink, then returned, and got to work.

When Harry work, he whined softly, sort of flopping bonelessly to the cushions.

“What do you think?” Tom asked, lightly.

“I feel fucked out, but I don’t feel like I got any of the fun of that.” He admitted, rubbing at his eyes.

“I felt the same. Not a successful experiment. Well, it was on the list to try. The second part of the situation is happening now, though.”

“Second part?” Harry blinked at him.

“You’re my personal canvas,” he teased him, grinning. “Would you like to see?”

Harry shifted, and nodded.

Tom tapped his back, and glowing letters floated in the air. Across Harry’s shoulders, PROPERTY OF TOM RIDDLE, the Dark Mark drawn down his spine, then above his ass, FUCK ME, left cheek, I LIKE IT HARD, then on the right cheek, a single tally mark.

“Oh Merlin, you can’t - “

“No one else will see it,” he laughed softly, teasingly. “Only you and me. I told you, no one else is allowed to have you but me. But Harry, darling, my good boy, you are a slave to me. I am all, I am your master, your controller, your king. Yes?”

Voice slightly wavering, Harry breathed, “Yes.”

“I will see you throughout the day. I got enough life from you that this will not be a problem for me. You may get sensitive, but you live to serve me, don’t you?”

He sounded more confident this time. “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s see how many tallies we can manage.”

Sometimes, Tom tugged him into a cupboard and slammed Harry against the wall, sometimes he waited by the door to a classroom and made Harry come to him, fucked over a library study table with a subtle redirect and silence spell, tugged him under the Gryffindor table and held his hand over Harry’s mouth as he fucked him around his classmate’s feet, a quick shot in the potions cabinet during class, even made Harry sit in his lap as he made himself invisible during Runes, his cloak hiding what was happening, until he snagged Harry the second he made it in his room, and shower, bookshelf, rug in front of the fireplace and finally bed were added, and Tom smacked Harry’s sore ass, making him groan, piteously.

“An even dozen. I’m pleased. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Harry admitted. “Stuffed. Did you do something so it wouldn’t come out?”

“I was being kind. Did you want to explain soaked trousers to your classmates?” He tapped the wand to Harry’s ass, and they both moaned, Tom from watching his seed spilling like a slow torrent from the other’s clearly well used ass, and Harry from something that sounded suspiciously like he was enjoying this a little too much.

“We could go for lucky thirteen,” he hummed, rather enjoying the idea of fucking into that mess, the squelch, the way Harry would writhe under him again.

Harry shifted, sort of pushing back towards Tom. “Magical numbers, Tom.”

He laughed, grabbing his hips, and jerking him back towards Tom, driving hard into him. “Magical numbers.”

Harry staggered into the potions classroom, ignoring the classmates – Hermione now sat with Daphne and Blaise, flushing prettily when Blaise smoothly flirted with her, but flirting just the same as Daphne did the same – as he stepped to the front of the classroom, one of his arms hung at his side.

“Sir?”

Snape looked up, lazily, then his eyes honed on the arm. “Mister Black?”

“There was an incident. I think one of the bones in my shoulder might be broken, as I cannot push my shoulder back into its socket. If you could take a look, I would appreciate it.”

He rose, casting several quiet spells on Harry, knowing full well that everyone in the classroom was watching, and that Neville Longbottom’s jaw had almost hit the floor.

Finding the affected bone, he breathed a brackium emendo, and Harry hissed, then gasped when the arm popped back into its socket, knees almost buckling. Severus reached out, catching the young Gryffindor, holding him steady.

“And where is the other half of the incident?”

“I used a spell I was reading about, sir. I had no idea that the spider-web would stick them to the wall that way.”

He quirked the corner of his mouth up, just slightly. “Settle yourself at your seat. If this other half does not arrive in time for lessons, they will receive a zero.”

Harry headed over to his seat, and Theo hissed, “You need to teach us all that spell.”

Over the coming weeks, Ronald no-name was pinned against a variety of walls and doors, and slightly vindictive professors that were sick of this boy not being properly punished because of a too permissive headmaster, calmly gave him zeros for not showing up to class.

Hedwig winged down to Harry at dinner, oddly one night, and Harry reached out a hand to let her settle on his arm, and she did, butting her head against his, affectionate and loving, and finally let him take the letter in return for a large chunk of beef from his stew, which she eagerly swallowed down.

“It’s an odd time to get mail,” Hermione said lightly, and Harry smirked, because that was very Slytherin for ‘who sent you a letter, and why’?

Opening it, he arched a brow as he realized it was from Regulus, a little unexpected, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when he’d been asked to code Barty Junior into Death’s Rest wards, as the letter told, shortly, that the older self had been found, and a resurrection ritual was underway.

He didn’t need the postscript to know to burn the letter, which he did, in a whirling display of sparks, burnt and unreadable parchment ashes landing around his plate.

“It’s good news,” he told her, simply.

About ten minutes later, a tired, exasperated looking McGonagall came up to Harry. “Mister Black, the Headmaster wishes to see you in his office.”

He frowned. “Am I allowed to refuse?”

“According to Hogwarts, a history, no.” Hermione said, offering it quietly instead of just blurting out knowledge and trying to beat them over the head with it. “But you may request your parents, or even the head of your line, if you wish.”

Harry grinned, and smirked at McGonagall. “Both?”

She hesitated, then conjured a silvery tabby cat made of light, spoke quietly to it, then flicked it away, and they ran together. “I will take you to the office, but you do not need to say anything until they arrive.”

“Like a muggle lawyer.” Harry said, arching a brow.

“Or a magical law wizard,” she smirked.

Harry felt more buoyant, this time, as they approached the office, and walked calmly behind his head of house, until they reached the office, the man this time standing at the phoenix stand, petting Fawkes, as though he could somehow remind Harry that he owed him, because his phoenix had saved his life.

“My boy, my boy,” Dumbledore smiled. “Have a seat.”

Harry simply rested his hands in front of himself one hand holding the other wrist.

Dumbledore looked confused. “Have a seat.”

Harry didn’t move.

Dumbledore huffed. “We have to discuss something very seriously, my boy. That letter that you saw fit to burn, I need to know what the contents of that letter were.”

McGonagall looked delighted.

Harry didn’t respond, barely even blinked at him.

“Mister Potter - “

“Mister Black,” a commanding voice said, as he stepped from the fireplace, flicking his wand at his clothing to get rid of the soot. “Have you said anything, Hyrdus?”

“No, grandfather.”

“Good.” Orion said, moving to stand behind Harry, resting his hands on his shoulders.

“You cannot be in this school.” Dumbledore snapped.

“Actually, as his father and his head of family, we can be,” Sirius said, as he stepped out of the fire. He was wearing nice black and silver robes, and Harry wondered if he’d had to toss them on desperately, or if he’d actually been wearing them when he got the massive. “In fact, as per the Hogwarts’ charter, it’s recommended every time a student of a certain status is called into their headmaster’s office. And my little one is certainly of a certain status.” He moved to stand beside Harry, then winked at Minerva, who just just rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly.

Dumbledore settled at his desk, looking weary.

“So?” Orion said, voice cold. “What reason, exactly, are you calling my grandson here, for?”

Dumbledore glared at him, but Orion looked calm. “Your grandson received a letter at dinner.”

“Is that illegal now?” Sirius arched a brow.

“I am concerned about the contents. He burned it the moment he’d finished reading, instead of sharing.” Dumbledore said, looking displeased.

“Has it occurred to you that it might have been embarrassing? A love letter, or some such?” Orion arched his own brow.

“He has been acting erratically this year,” Dumbledore drew himself to his full height. “Spending time with students of another house, allegedly being attacked so badly that he had to move into a family room, acting differently, like - “

“Like?” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest.

“I am concerned that Voldemort is unduly controlling him!” Dumbledore said, leaning forward. “He has abandoned all of his friends - “

“I have abandoned the boy that once was my friend but now tries to harm me at every moment,” Harry said, then looked down when Orion squeezed his shoulders. “Sorry, grandfather.”

“As I understand it, from Wizenmagot sessions that you close to not be at despite being its head,” Orion said. “Arthur Weasley’s investigation into his wife’s actions began because of this ‘friend’ of which you speak. We have already filed charges with the Aurors for his having stole a priceless heirloom. Now he is Ronald no-middle-name, no-last-name, as I understand, as Bilius is an old Weasley name, and Arthur Weasley refused to have an affair child have his last name. Not to speak of the amount of times this boy attacked my grandson, I am very pleased he has left him behind.”

“Ron Weasley is misguided, perhaps, but - “

“Are you deliberately obtuse?” Orion said, sharply. “He is the product of an affair, one for which his mother refuses to admit the father. By contract with both the Prewett and Weasley’s contract, she has been ousted from her family, both of them, and no longer has a name. Magically. Her son, the product of that arrangement, also, magically, has no name.”

Dumbledore hesitated, and Harry suddenly reached up, squeezing Orion’s wrist tightly.

Orion drew himself up straighter. “Do not attempt to legimize my grandson, Dumbledore. I will not only draw my grandson out of this school, and send him to Durmstrang, who have sent requests for him to attend, but I will turn to the Wizenmagot and the School Board, both of which I am on, and we will have you ousted. The Board is sick of your meddling. You brought the Philosopher’s Stone into the school two years ago, and lied to Nicholas Flamel why you wanted it, destroying it, and effectively murdering him and his wife! You have gotten away with too much for far too long, Dumbledore. This is going to change.”

“Orion,” Dumbledore said, cajoling sweetly.

“That is Lord Black to you,” he said, then turned to look at Harry. “Do you wish to leave?”

“There’s only a week to exams, grandfather,” Harry looked up at him. “So long as I’m not called up here during that time and exams, I do want to finish my exams.”

“My smart boy,” Sirius grinned, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Best son I got.”

“Only son you have,” he giggled.

“And the best!”

“Professor McGonagall?” Orion turned to face her. “I trust you can ensure this arrangement is kept to?”

“Of course,” she dipped her head at a man she used to see across the classroom.

“My son and I shall be on our way, then,” Orion nodded, completely dismissing Dumbledore. “It’s been a pleasure, Minerva.”

“And you, Orion, Sirius.” She dipped her head, and as they headed towards the fireplace, Harry snagged Orion’s sleeve, making him glance at him.

Quietly, he held out the portkey to Death’s Rest, which had been recharged and would work as many times as needed, and Orion smirked slightly, holding the chain towards Sirius.

He grinned, and winked at Harry, then Orion said, loftily, “Three brothers,” and the two of them disappeared. Dumbledore gaped at them, like that had been last thing he had expected, but McGonagall just guided Harry to the stairs, and headed down with him, smiling. “That was very clever,” she said. “Not letting them go through the Floo and him possibly learning where you were. A triggered portkey is much wiser.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, flushed.

“I was about to ask if you could make it to your rooms alone,” she laughed softly, and smirked slightly as Crabbe and Goyle pushed off the wall. “But it looks like you have everything under control.”

“Thank you, professor,” he said, honestly, then joined the others in walking to his room.

The Basilisk had been sold as ingredients, except for some of the delicate underscales, which had been made by the Goblins into two stunning scale mail sets of armour, and two equally protected, but sharply cut dress robes that were a delicious colour of poisonous green that perfectly matched Harry’s eyes, and even the skeleton had been sold off in small portions to potions makers around the world to not draw any attention to them, and their vaults were all but overflowing. The sofa stayed in the Chamber, but the books had been packed away, and Tom smiled as one last quick foxtrot, Harry humming as they danced, said a farewell to the room for the year.

Hermione sat between Daphne and Blaise on the train, as Theo and Draco sat on either side of Harry.

The Weasley terror twins sat on the floor, playing chess as the others called out moves they should make, and Merlin, were the results far too amusing as the pieces screamed “Who is playing this damn game anyway?!”

“This way,” Orion caught Harry’s arm the moment they stepped into Death Rest, and walked to one of the rooms of the library, study rooms Harry called them. There was a large chair, and in it lay something that looked sort of like a baby, but chalky white, bald, eyes bright red, and wheezing like it was struggling to breathe.

Harry didn’t hesitate, but dropped to his knees at the creatures feet, kneeling in front of the chair.

The little future Dark Lord laughed breathily. “My enemy at my feet.”

He lifted his head, slowly. “I have been taught, my Lord. By the best teacher I could have.”

“And who would be the best?” He sneered.

“Yourself,” Tom said, leaning against the desk in the nook. “I am a young version of yourself, perhaps, but I am you.”

The chalky baby looked stunned. “Who – how - ?”

“I am your diary.” He said, calmly. “I also have the ring, the locket, the diadem, and...” He reached out, resting his hand on Harry’s head. “I have him. We are missing only what I assume is the cup, because I am sixteen, I don’t know who you would have trusted to hold it.”

“Bellatrix LeStrange.” He rasped.

“A Black,” Harry glanced at Tom. “Could grandfather override her since she’s in Azkaban and take it?”

“We’d have to confirm with the goblins, but I think it’s likely.”

“Yessssss,” Voldemort hissed. “I understand you are a Black now.”

“I always was, but yes,” he nodded. “Do – do you remember what happened two years ago?”

The avatar of the Dark Lord hesitated. “...you attempted to help me.”

“Dumbledore was pissed, so I just pretended to kill Tom last year, but didn’t, I kept him.”

“I have been slowly drawing life from him so that I can become truly solid and alive for nearly a year.” Tom hummed. “In an effort to keep him alive.”

“You have... feelings for this boy,” Voldemort spat, like it was vile in his mouth.

Tom smirked. “Would you die for me, Harry?”

“In a breath,” he said.

“Would you rule at my side?”

“In a breath.”

“Are you my slave, or my equal?” Tom hummed, looking lazily at Voldemort.

“Yes.”

“Stand.”

Harry immediately stood from his knees, perhaps a little too practised at that, and Tom tugged Harry against his chest, resting his arms on his shoulders, wrists crossed over his collarbone. “Do I have feelings for Hydrus Black? Yes. Like I never had. He was raised like us, nearly died a thousand times, fought to help the man that tried to kill him but was thwarted, helped the being that almost killed him, and has done... everything I have ever asked of him.”

“Sentiment is weakness.”

“I have heard you say such things,” Tom mused. “But I believe you are wrong. Will I assault the muggle world and destroy it? Without hesitation. But were I to do it because I wanted a better world for my Harry? I would raze it to the ground in moments. Were I to hunt down and destroy one of Dumbledore’s strongholds? With glee. But if they held Harry there? With glee, with rage, with the fire of a thousand suns, and I would crash upon them like a disaster because I would know that he would be within, the Protega Diabolca around him, waiting for them to try.”

Older Voldemort’s brows furrowed. “Have you killed?”

“Killed,” Harry said, without hesitation. “Tortured. Imperio’d. All three unforgiveables.”

“All three at once?” He drawled, even though he’d never before demanded his followers do such a thing.

“I’ve seen it,” Tom said, calmly, tugging Harry closer to himself. “It was glorious.”

“Wizards, or muggles?”

Harry drooped slightly. “Only muggles.”

“You must kill at least one wizard, they can fight back,” Voldemort scoffed.

“May he prove his loyalty to you in three days?” Tom asked, pulling Harry tight against his chest.

“Three days?”

“He will be unconscious for the next three days, because that is as long as I need, drawing life at an accelerated rate, and still be sure he’s alive.”

Voldemort snorted, and waved him away.

Tom stepped out of the room, crinkling his nose. “I’m not terribly impressed.”

“Can he hear - “ Harry whispered.

“No. He has a silencing spell over that room. Likely needs to sleep a lot, in that state.” Tom looked over his shoulder at the little study nook, then slowly grinned, teeth almost looking like fangs. “You don’t need to sleep for three days.”

“Tom...?”

“He has a silencing spell, and no wand.” Tom grinned even wider. “Just sit in the library, and tell anyone that comes he’s consulting with me.”

“For how long?” Harry asked, warily.

“A few hours, perhaps. I’ll relieve you when I’m done. Sit here,” he guided Harry to a seat. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he bent, and as if just to remind himself exactly why that version of himself was wrong, he kissed Harry hard, possessively, but with emotion and love and concern and care and devotion pushed into the kiss.

With his lover dazed, he slipped back into the study room.

“What are you doing here?” Voldemort snapped. “Come to see if you can learn what you did?”

“I intend to learn that in any case,” he said, and curled his fingers on the head of the small wax baby version of Voldemort, and began to suck the life out of him, rapidly.

“No!” Voldemort shrieked.

“Ssh, ssh,” he said, teasingly, grinning. “Harry takes it so much better than you.”

Harry watched the door of the little study nook anxiously, and when he saw movement, he sat up straighter, looking with trepidation.

Tom walked out, still his sixteen year old Tom, but somehow his presence was larger, his power even darker and more intoxicating, and he leaned down lightly, curling his two fingertips under Harry’s chin, but drew him up by just that, until Harry stood, looking up at him, licking his lips.

“We don’t need that pretender to the throne anymore,” he purred, making Harry shiver. “The king is right here.”

He shivered.

“And so too stands the Boy Who Lived, mine to own and control and love for the rest of time.” He hummed. “I need you to kill a wizard, but I’ll pick, and I’ll tell you what to do afterwards. Now. Let’s talk to your family.”

Orion shivered as Tom walked into his office, Harry’s hand in one of his. “You are back, my Lord.”

“I am,” he breathed, sliding his eyes closed. “And it feels... better than I could have imagined.”

“I shall serve, my Lord,” Orion said, firmly.

“I would expect nothing less.” He opened his eyes, and Harry realized for the first time that instead of the warm wine brown, his irises were now red, but they gleamed the way Harry’s did, like the Black eyes that decided to be a different colour but kept the cat like gleam at the back. “I am, however, indebted to you, Orion. You had a son, who had a son.”

Tom twirled Harry like they were dancing, then jerked him tight against his side. “I have realized, drawing in the memories of the Voldemort that was, that I went wrong in many places. Wholesale slaughter. Destruction with no point but to destroy. I lost my sanity.”

Orion winced.

“But did you know that I have it back? Mostly. Because I am number one, number two,” he lifted Harry’s hand, “Three,” he drew Salazar’s locket from under Harry’s shirt, “Five,” he flicked his hand, and the diadem Harry had carefully packed in his trunk was being gently set on Harry’s forehead, “And six,” he lovingly dragged his fingers over Harry’s scar, which made Harry shiver. “This boy may never, under any circumstances, leave my side, or I cannot be responsible for what I might do.”

Orion nodded. “Will he be...?”

“Oh yes.” He hummed, kissing Harry’s temple. “I shan’t lose him.”

“I found a ritual you might find interesting, then...” Orion stood, pulling a heavy, ancient looking tome off the shelf, opening it to the right page, and offering it to Tom.”

He arched a brow. “Has it been known to work?”

“There are anecdotal stories, but. Do you remember Augustus Rookwood?”

He considered that. “Unspeakable. Spy.”

“Currently in Azkaban, which is a waste of his many abilities,” Orion sighed. “But before he was ‘caught’ by Igor Karkaroff’s testimony - “

“I will rip that man’s entrails out through his ass and then force him to eat them, I hated him, greasy worm,” Tom snarled.

“Well, you may get your chance, he’s headmaster at Durmstrang, and the Board has been informed that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are going to be in Scotland at Hogwarts this year...”

He groaned, softly.

“In any case, before he was captured, Augustus was working with this ritual, then using items like Time Turns to determine if it had worked. Of course, Time Travels can only go so far forward or back, but he used short lived species, and as those around them died and decayed...”

“They did not,” Tom hummed.

“Correct.”

“Harry has a ritual to complete first. But after, we will prepare this one.” Tom hummed.

Harry stood in the centre of a ritual circle Tom had carefully drawn in the back garden of Death’s Rest, turning his wand over and over in his hand, nervously. Tom promised that this was Dark Magic, and that he just needed to do exactly what Tom told him, and he trusted him with everything in his body, but he was still nervous.

There was a crack of apparation, and Harry drew in a deep breath.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ron roared at him. “Are you doing dark magic?! I knew you were turning into some slimy Slytherin, talking to snakes, you evil little piece of shit, maybe your muggle relatives were right, and we should have left you in that bloody caged room - “

“Avada Kedavra,” Harry hissed, and the redhead that he’d once considered his closest friend tumbled to the cobbles.

“I’m so proud of you, my good boy,” Tom purred. “Now, recite the Latin,”

Harry, breathing hard, whispering the Latin words, pointing his wand at different runes as he did, and they began to light up, glowing red.

“That’s good, my good boy, so good for me,” He said, sweetly. “Wand to chest, bring it out, that’s right, I know it hurts, sweetheart, but it will be all right in a moment, that’s right... yes, into – yes, you’re doing so good.”

Harry slumped finally, forehead resting on James’ watch, which felt like his own magic, his one life, and hurt, but Tom was right, the pain was fading into the dizzying, uncontrollable floating into the sky elation that always came with Dark Magic.

Tom cupped Harry’s jaw, lifting his face, and smiled softly. “You were such a good boy, Harry. I love you. Come upstairs, I think you need a nice bath, we’ll wash your hair, then curl up in bed. Does that sound nice, good boy?”

He made a sound that wasn’t actually a word, letting Tom draw him up, then realized, and reached for the ground.

“I have it,” Tom held up his left wrist, Jame’s watch, with the broken glass face but perfectly working movements, was fastened around Tom’s thin wrist. Harry slumped in relief, so pleased to see it there, and didn’t argue when Tom swung him into his arms, but looking over Tom’s shoulder, he swore he could see the vine curling around Ron’s ankles, and dragging slowly into the darkness at the corner of the garden.

“I like exactly nothing about this,” Sirius said grumpily, at dinner a couple nights later. Regulus and Barty sat across the table, Orion sat at one head and Tom at the other, and Harry sat beside Sirius and kitty-corner to Tom. “A horcrux I’m not thrilled with, but I understand. We all want Harry to stay alive, no matter what any idiot comes up. But this? I don’t want my son staying the same age while I get fekkin’ old!”

“If you’re very, very nice, and do your job well,” Tom’s eyes flicked to the inside of Sirius’ arm, where he self-consciously rubbed the still new mark. “We might let you do it.”

This time, both Harry and Tom were standing on the edges of this ritual circle, much larger, both nude, and Harry drew deep breaths, swearing he could smell a bitter cold, cinnamon, and an achingly sharp taste of Dark Magic. This time, though, it wasn’t coming from him or Tom, it was coming from the dark shadows around them, and he shivered, not sure if he was cold, or if it was whatever was hiding in the vines.

“Sacrifice,” Tom purred. “Is the only way to complete this. Life for a life.”

A ratty looking man appeared in front of them, in the centre of the circle, and he panicked, trying to get out some kind of invisible tube, shrieking at them that he was loyal, he would never betray them, please, Harry, Harry, Harry, your father would never want you to do this...

Tom stepped forward, and slashed a silver dagger across his throat, and the man tumbled to the right quarter of the circle, blood spreading across the stones.

“That was who I most wanted to kill,” Tom said. “Let’s see yours.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Sacrifice. Is the only way to complete this. Life for a life.”

A red headed woman appeared in the circle, chubby – though not as chubby as he remembered – with an apron, looking startled and horrified. “Young man!” She bared at Harry. “What are you doing?! Dumbledore will be furious to hear about this!”

He looked up at this woman that he’d once thought of like a mum, but now was thinking that maybe she was the reason her son had tried to all but kill him.

“How would Dumbledore know?”

“Well, he has to know when you’re slipping! You’re the Boy Who Lived, you have to be the hero that the whole world is - “

Harry stepped forward, and slashed his silver knife across her throat, and watched as she fell into the opposite quadrant as Peter Pettigrew, watching as her blood slid across the stones, almost touching his toes.

“Accept our offerings, a life for a - “

Harry felt cold hands – he thought they were hands – sliding up his bare sides, then he was pulled back into a dark cloak, covered completely in what felt like liquid shadows, save his head.

“In my home, with my avatar,” a grumbly, gravel being dragged across glass voice said, deeply. “You dare. I choose when he stops aging!”

The scream was inhuman, and Harry didn’t even think it was in English as he saw Tom take a half step backwards, but careful not to leave the ritual space.

Shivering, and wondering why in the world they were talking about him, Harry caught his fingers in the black cloak around him, which wasn’t made of fabric, but shadows, spidersilk, the darkness under the bed when there could be monster there, closets ajar in the middle of the night, unlit roads with the faint sound of a motor in the distance, and tugged.

A hooded head bent next to him, and Harry whispered. “If I’m the avatar, can I choose now? And can I choose that I cannot live...” He hesitated, considering the house was called Death’s Rest. “Or die without Tom.”

“Two of the three, and already demanding,” the voice growled, but fingers – bones – trailed over Harry’s hair. “Get his wand,” Then the figure stepped back, and there was an odd sound, and Dumbledore tumbled out of nothing, looking around sharply, sucking in a sharp breath when he saw them nude, and Peter and Molly dead in the circle, and hissed, “What have you done?”

Tom whipped a cutting charm at Dumbledore, but Harry just crouched, and shouted, “Expellimarus!”

The man’s wand slapped into his palm, and Dumbledore howled, until quite suddenly the shadows weren’t lurking at the edge of the courtyard anymore, but were darting forward at Dumbledore like pack animals, nipping at him, making him stumble, then stumble forward when shadows behind him attacked his ankles, then larger shadows curled around him, hugging him tightly, stifled his screaming, shouting, slurring mouth, and drawing him back into the deepest shadows, where he utterly vanished.

Harry stood there in shock, clutching the wand, then yelped as his invisibility cloak settled heavily around his shoulders, heavier than it usually felt.

The shadow curled around him again, pressing something like a kiss but felt cold as fire and hard as stone on the top of his head, then ground out, “Fine. I’ll allow it. But when you both decide that sixteen and thirteen was idiocy, come into the shadows, and I’ll put you both to work.”

The lines of the ritual circle suddenly flared a bright silver light, then all of the light – even the full moon overhead, vanished.

In the darkness, the voice growled, “The pact is complete.”

That summer, Tom called every Death Eater to himself, though he wore black robes with a hood at the moment, so that no one could tell he was sixteen. He said he wanted to feel them out first before he just told them who he was.

Harry always sat beside, in a similar black cloak, though Tom had shifted the Gaunt ring to Harry’s left right finger, and that made him smile, flushed.

If Tom wanted someone crucio’d, he squeeze Harry’s hand, and he fling it at them, practising and getting better and better with that vicious wand he’d ‘inherited’ from Dumbledore, learning even how to - while still keeping the spell on them - make it seem to be abating, then slam down on them even harder.

Many, many nights, Tom had to talk Harry out of the gentle space he went to under pain or when causing pain.

It didn’t matter if Tom had worked Harry up his back and down to his thighs with a riding crop, or if Harry cast the entrails expelling curse, he would need to be brought back to earth with gentle words and hands, and Tom, for his part, embraced the role with gusto, curling Harry close to his chest, feeling no growth in bones that should be shooting up, leaving him small and perfect in Tom’s arms forever.

Tom went with Harry to get his school supplies this year, and when they met Hermione there, she curtsied neatly, then asked if they’d heard the rumours about the three missing people, an innocent expression on her face.

Harry was so glad he’d got her back.

Professor McGonagall was acting Headmistress, though Harry knew she’d be the whole real thing, soon, and told them about the Triwizard cup that first dinner, as Harry sat side by side with Hermione, Fred and George across from them.

Draco teased Harry that he’d probably join just for the glory, Theo had smirked at mentions of the disappearances of the no-name former Weasleys and Dumbledore, and Blaise had demanded to know why Harry was still so tiny.

He just grinned at all of them, laughing, and honestly wondered if someone might try to slip his name into the cup, After all, Moody had apparently been one of Dumbledore’s men, and Barty Junior had warned them about him, about the man literally was insane, he genuinely might try to do something evil.

Durmstrang came, lead by a smug looking Igor Karkaroff, and Harry’s fingers curled around the vial of poison he was to get the man, knowing exactly how violent and horrific it would be when used. Beauxbatons all seemed to glide in, and knowing only the foxtrot, Harry wished he could dance like them.

On Hallowe’en Samhain October thirty first, in a sick copy of what had happened to Harry when Tom had come for him for the first time, the Hogwarts champion was called as “Hydrus Black!”

He stood, grinning like a shark.

Exactly as planned.