Sirius went to bed one Friday night as he often did: slightly unclean, because Saturdays were made for long morning showers, and he hadn't washed his favourite Gryffindor-red-plaid pyjama trousers and matching red vest in nearly a week. He was also, as usual, quite content, having successfully (as always!) snagged a piece from Remus' chocolate stash and pinned the blame on James. His homework was reasonably well worked through, he was fit and ready for quidditch practise, and he had a bar of Honeyduke's Toffee-and-Almond Dark Chocolate to nibble on as he snuggled into his bedclothes and fell peacefully asleep amid James' and Remus' grumbling.

Come Saturday morning, Sirius usually awoke late, dragged himself into the shower, and stayed there for a long time. His first glimpse of the world was one of bright sunlight, birdsong, and James' mad hair in the next bed.

Not so, this time.

It was too dark, for starters. There was a filthy, foggy window over the shoulder of the man in front of him allowing a view of the same dark night he'd gone to sleep in. He was seated in a comfortable-enough chair at a small round table before a roaring fire- the only light in the room, really, as the few pathetically dripping candles affixed to the grungy black walls (black with paint or with layers of dirt and other stains, Sirius couldn't say) gave off hardly more than a weak sputtering. The wood trim around the ceiling looked like it had mould. The ragged once-something-now-grey curtains definitely did. There was a polite cough, and Sirius turned his attention to the man.

He looked to be in his early fifties, or perhaps mid forties; being a Dark Lord was probably a highly stressful job, and stress takes its toll on your skin- and what the hell was he thinking about the Dark Lord's wrinkles for?

'I hope you don't mind the rather rude method of your arrival,' Voldemort said in a smooth, low voice. 'I didn't have many options, I'm afraid, and this was the only one unlikely to leave you with a headache or a wanted poster.'

Sirius nodded slowly. 'Thank you.'

Voldemort waved a hand. 'No need. Rather, I thank you for joining me. We have much to discuss, Sirius.'

The fire popped in the green-stained brass grate. Clearly, this wasn't some bizarre dream, so Sirius leaned gingerly back in his chair and tried to keep his face neutral. He was oddly calm, just like on the quidditch pitch when he was in the middle of a dangerous manoeuvre and the adrenaline hadn't quite caught up with him yet. He raised an eyebrow. 'Do we?'

'Oh, yes.' Voldemort smiled. It wasn't as evil-looking as Sirius expected. Not evil at all, really, just pleasant. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared, dressed in a swathe of dark green fabric and bowing low. 'But first, allow me to host you properly. I'm afraid I nearly fall out of practise, surrounded only by my friends. What will you drink?'

Sirius scoffed before he could help himself, crossing his arms. 'Riiight. Because taking drinks from the Dark Lord is such a good idea. It's in first year Defence Against the Dark Arts, didn't you know? 'Always take tea with the enemy; this may confuse them and lead them to make a mistake. Alternately, a fireside cup of cocoa is an excellent method of suppressing Dark powers.' Sirius sang the last lines as if quoting from a book. Then his eyes went wide as he realised what he'd done. Mocking the Dark Lord! Oh, gods, he was never going to get out of here alive!

Voldemort smirked, as though amused. 'Quite. Umpty, two hot chocolates.' The house elf bowed even lower and disappeared with a soft pop, then popped back an instant later with two steaming cups. Sirius didn't touch his. 'Now, Sirius.' Those uncanny red eyes were on him again. 'You are an intelligent young man and the heir to a family with a long history of Dark sympathies. You cannot be at a complete loss as to why I might have brought you here.'

Sirius swallowed. This was a recruitment session. Well, he'd just have to tell You-Know-Who where he could stick his damned Dark sympathies! And get immediately killed, probably. Or at least brutally tortured. No. There had to be something else! He didn't think Voldemort would be the type to accept a 'hmmm...can I think about it? I'll get back to you tomorrow.' But...well...just maybe... There wasn't really anything else for it, was there? And the information he might be able to get!

Sirius adopted what he hoped was a nonchalant look. 'I'm not my family,' he said, trying to sound bored. 'You can tell from looking, see? It's all in the plaid.' He gestured to his red trousers. 'Reg wears Slytherin green. Well, probably not. I don't think he'd touch trousers like these, he only sleeps in silk bed robes. Ponce.'

Voldemort seemed to stifle a chuckle raised an eyebrow as though surprised, but something told Sirius the man already knew all about his political preferences. 'You fight for the light side, then?'

Sirius shrugged. 'I think both sides have their good points...and their bad. I guess I'm open to being...persuaded.' Well, if nothing else, he could now claim he'd negotiated terms with Lord Voldemort himself. In Lord Voldemort's house. While wearing muggle-style Gryffindor pyjamas. If that didn't earn Marauder points, he didn't know what did.

That surprisingly simple, non-evil smile. 'Of course. I would expect nothing else from you- and that's why you're here. To be persuaded.'

'Oh? How do you plan to manage that? Please don't say you're intending to kill off my friends 'til I say yes; it's so overused. The plotline of every bad muggle romantic thriller.'

Voldemort looked briefly confused, but shook it off, and took a deep drink from his cocoa. 'I had hoped we might talk. I can tell you nothing now of my plans for the future that you don't already know. However, were you to pledge a modicum of faith- without taking the mark, of course- we might be able to discuss more.'

Sirius pretended to think for a minute. 'I suppose,' he said slowly. 'No-one's done anything to try to get me on the light side- they all seem to think we students are too young and well out of it, despite the fact that we'll be the ones on the front lines when everything properly heats up. Sure, why not? Until they make me a better offer, I'm all yours, Mr Dark Lord.'

The smile was a little more smirkish this time, but in amusement rather than triumph. 'Naturally, I would expect some little show of devotion to prove your seriousness. Perhaps...an invitation for one of my friends through Albus' floo?'

Sirius rolled his eyes, sticking his bare feet out towards the warm fire. The oriental rug under their chairs was thin and motheaten and had some rather suspicious looking stains. 'Fuck no. Do you know how many detentions I'd have to get to be summoned to the Headmaster's office in the first place? I'm not that fond of gutting frogs. Or cleaning lavatories. How about I send you a nice pot plant instead? I won't even make it a biting one, I swear.' Merlin. He was joking with You-Know-Who!

Voldemort raised a strong eyebrow as he took another sip of chocolate. 'I think an artful posy might rather spoil the doom-and-gloom feel of the place, don't you? And it's such a useful effect,' he said mildly, and Sirius felt his jaw drop. 'I'd rather have information, or perhaps a lovely trinket from my dear old school. I've heard fascinating things about a certain changeable room.'

Sirius shrugged. 'I assume you mean the kinds of trinkets that can scramble someone's brains or blow up a castle? When it comes to dark artefacts you'll not find anything there that beats what's at home,' he said honestly, leaning back in his chair and unconsciously rubbing an old scar on his right arm. 'I even know how most of them work. Mother likes to demonstrate on me when the ladies come round for tea.'

The red eyes...softened, that was the only word for it, and the smile had no hint of a smirk but something that might have been assumed on anyone else to show pity. 'They have truly used you cruelly, the Blacks,' he murmured, and his gaze went grave. 'Sirius, you are a strong, intelligent young man- vibrant, charismatic, daring, all the things that make up the kind of man who can make the world take notice, and change it for the better and brighter. You should have been cherished and nurtured from the day you were born. I have sat with you not twenty minutes and you have made me feel more alive than I believe I ever have. Let me recognise your brightness, Sirius,' he said urgently, and grasped his hand over the table. 'Let me offer you the world, as it should have been offered to you. Let me shower you with the praise and respect which should have always been yours. Be mine, Sirius,' he said, nearly begging now, and the situation had turned into something Sirius could never have imagined in his dreams. 'Be mine for me and I will be everything you always wished they were for you.'

/

In hindsight, running away from the dark lord was probably not the most intelligent plan. He had an army, a magic house, and probably a legion of house elves on his side- Sirius didn't have his wand, let alone directions out. He sprinted down dark hallways with impossible shadows and up slimy marble stairs, getting nothing but lost. Finally, in a cold wing of the manor with bare stone floors and silent, sneering portraits, he came to a dead end, panting and gasping with a stitch in his side and rug burns on his bare feet. The hall end was unlit except by moonlight and the dust lay deep on the empty sconces; no one walked this way anymore. He'd be safe for a short rest, just until his aches and racing heart eased... Sirius curled up as small as he could, which wasn't much, in a shallow alcove behind a statue of a rather ugly wizard he felt he should know had he ever actually paid attention in Binns' class, and fell asleep.

/

Sirius' first thought upon waking was, 'I wonder how I could make shoelaces that knot together every time you sit?'

His second was, 'this bedroom is rather pleasant...if a little too light. James, turn out the sun!'

Then he sat up abruptly, looking around. Someone had taken him from that dank and dusty hallway, removed him to a large sunlit bedchamber done in creams and blues, like a summer sky or a joyfully tossing sea. The bed he lay pillowed in was soft and wide and recessed a little into the ashy wood four poster, so that Sirius felt cradled in a nest. The bedclothes were blue and simple cotton- in fact, despite the size and obvious expense of the room (there were protective charms woven into the damask wallpaper, and goblin-gold ceiling tiles didn't come cheap) there was no overt opulence in the place. Simple, open, airy, and bright. The way he'd do up his own place, really. Four slouchy mismatched armchairs before a large, light wood fireplace. Two sets of french doors on two walls leading to a balcony facing a lake and open meadow on one side with a thick wood not far behind, and the edge of a cliff above the sea on the other. Well, at least he could tell Dumbledore that You-Know-Who lived on the coast...in a rather lovely house, once you got past the public rooms. Even the dog bed on the floor was just the right mix of comfortably worn fabric- Gryffindor stripes, of all things- and luxuriously thick foam pad. Hang on- dog bed?

Sirius looked left, then right, decided that the bedchamber was indeed empty, then threw himself out of the bed and knelt beside the dog bed on the floor, just inside one of the open french doors. Sure enough, his nose hadn't deceived him- there were- but how-

Dog biscuits. Tucked into one corner of the bed, a brand new box of Padfoot's favourite brand. James sometimes bought them for him as a special treat. Lamb lung, peanut butter, cheese, and the tenderest filling of liver and minced calf... Sirius felt Padfoot salivating inside him. But how had the Dark Lord known?

'Ah, I see you do enjoy that particular flavour. I was rather sceptical myself upon reading the ingredients list, but apparently my spies are still good for something.'

Sirius cringed. He knew. How could he know? No-one knew. Was this just more blackmail? If Sirius didn't join, Voldemort would send a letter to the prophet, get James and Peter arrested, get Remus expelled... He swallowed and stood up slowly, turning to face the Dark Lord leaning against the doorframe to the room. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said hollowly, already knowing it was a futile attempt. Indeed, Voldemort smiled in amusement.

'Don't you, Sirius? Or should I call you Padfoot?'

Sirius flushed angrily and clenched his hands into fists. He couldn't betray his friends by joining the Death Eaters...but he couldn't betray his friends by allowing their secret to be leaked. Maybe, despite what was said last night, death was still an option on the table... Sirius shivered. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Oh, yeah. He's a Legilimens.

'I have no wish to harm you, Sirius,' Voldemort said gravely, crossing his arms. 'That would include harming you through harming your friends.'

If he weren't the man trying to destroy wizardkind, Sirius might've said he looked hurt.

'I merely wished to provide all comforts you might require to feel at home here, in whatever form you take.'

Sirius eyed him warily. 'Am I captive here, then?'

Voldemort tsked and swept forward to sit in one of the armchairs, waving a hand for Sirius to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, he did. They were quite comfy-looking, after all. 'I sprang rather a lot of new information and ideas upon you last night,' Voldemort said. Kindly! 'It was my own fault for letting my excitement get the better of me. In future, I shall coax and explain and gently instruct as I ought to have done before. However, in future,' and now he looked serious again, leaning forward in his chair with his fingers drumming together, 'I would ask you not to run about the manor alone. Parts of it are unknown even to me, and more than a little contains items or inhabitants of an unfriendly nature. Please inform me first if you wish to explore on your own, or call one of the house elves to accompany you. I would not have found you last night without their help.'

'That was kinda the idea,' Sirius muttered sullenly, and hoisted himself up in the chair to tuck his cold toes under his legs. He did not want to think about the fact that You-Know-Who had rescued him from the cold and carried him to bed.

That end of the wing is unused for a reason,' the Dark Lord said severely. But he couldn't have been too cross because he snapped his fingers, lighting a roaring fire before them, and waved his other hand at the bed, bringing a soft blue and green striped throw floating over to settle round Sirius' shoulders. 'You might have ended up as an early breakfast had I taken any longer.'

Sirius' curiosity piqued despite himself. 'An early breakfast for what?' he asked.

Voldemort frowned and leaned back, crossing his knees. 'I have never been in a position to ask,' he said delicately. 'The mutilated corpses that tend to pile up outside that particular hallway tend to speak for themselves. Figuratively, of course.'

Sirius couldn't help laughing at the moue of distaste crossing the older man's features.

'To the point,' Voldemort said, rather sourly. 'You are no captive, but a guest whenever and for as long as you wish to be. This fireplace is connected to the floo network, but only for you; you may go anywhere, and return through any fire, but anyone else trying to come through it will find themselves locked in a detention cell in the Ministry of Magic. I prefer to let those incompetents deal with time wasters,' he said airily, and Sirius had to suppress another chuckle. 'The name to get in is 'Padfoot's den,' though you may change it if you wish. If you desire to bring someone through, perhaps the wolf or the Potter boy- '

Sirius looked up in shock, clutching his blanket. Voldemort would actually let him bring his friends to play at the Dark Lord's own manor? What the hell was going on here?

'-you may discuss it with me. I can temporarily and selectively open your floo, and block off certain parts of the manor during their stay. Of course, they would have to submit to a mild confundus charm before departing.'

Sirius bristled, and Voldemort nodded as though in understanding.

'As I said before, Sirius, I have no desire to harm your friends. However, we are still at war, and your wolf in particular may be able to scent out clues to our present location. I cannot so freely offer up my secrets, even for you.'

With a sigh, Sirius nodded. He could understand that. And it's not like a little Confunding would hurt them- hang on, was he actually considering coming back? To Voldemort's house? Sirius was so shocked with himself that he didn't even notice Voldemort had moved until something touched his arm and he saw that the Dark Lord was knelt at his side.

'Many things have changed, Sirius,' he said softly. 'I am not as you thought I was, and this war is not all as you think. I stand by all I said last night, and I know that you will need time to accept it.' He smiled and lightly squeezed Sirius' arm, rising gracefully to his feet. 'Breakfast will be served shortly; I'll send a house elf to assist you to the kitchen. And Sirius, while you're here-' he stopped and turned at the doorway to favour Sirius with one last, startling smile- 'please call me Tom.'