Harry scrunched the letter into a ball and wandlessly set it alight. He was quickly becoming very good at that.

"I smell burning," Sasha poked her head out of his school bag. "Dumbledore again?"

"Yes, he's all very concerned for my welfare. He tried a new track, this time it was gravely disappointed with a hint of overbearing "it is your destiny". It contained much of the same old stuff, though. Do I know that my parents trusted him to be my magical guardian? Am I aware that my friend Tom happens to be an evil Dark Lord? Would I like an unlimited supply of sherbet lemons? Etcetera."

Sirius Black was finally deemed healthy enough to be a fit guardian not long after Harry's thirteenth birthday.

They moved into a flat in London but Harry still spent most of his day at either Malfoy or Riddle Manor. Sirius was a little hesitant over Harry's choice of friends, but made an effort to be a little more diplomatic in his dealings with his cousin for his godson's sake.

Mr Malfoy did not like having Sirius around – anyone could discern the furious tension between those two. Something about a wedding, expensive elvish wine, an octopus and somebody's wand? Harry was a little unclear on the details.

He made the (in hindsight) dubious decision to ask Tom to see if he had any idea. He did. Tom knew the whole story and told it with particular glee to the fiercely blushing teenager. Harry could only blame himself. He should've known when Tom started with "Do I need to give you The Talk?" that it could only go downhill from there.

As it was, he couldn't look at either Lucius or Sirius for weeks after, and he would never look at calamari the same way again.

Harry wandlessly summoned books at random from across the room while Tom studied at his desk. Tom seemed to sense the books and ducked automatically. Just as well – it was a new rug and bloodstains were cumbersome to extract, even with magic.

Abruptly, Tom's face turned ashen and the air grew heavy as his eyes scanned a passage. If it had been anyone else, Harry would have thought they were beginning to panic, but Tom was a Dark Lord, and aspiring Overlords did not do anything as asinine as panic.

"Harry, I need you to do me a favour."

Harry recognised that tone- the one affectionately referred to in Death Eater circles as the last thing you might ever hear. He straightened, Sasha retreated deep into his robes and the books returned to their shelves immediately.

"Yes, my Lord?" Harry hadn't called Tom that in over a year, yet the words felt very moment appropriate.

"Return to Malfoy Manor, tell Lucius he needs to immediately bring me the diary I left in his care."

Tom watched the boy floo away impatiently. He hadn't realised he'd been halving his soul eat time he split it. Considering he'd probably been fracturing his mind also, it was remarkable he wasn't yet insane. The philosopher stone's doing, no doubt. But that wasn't a permanent solution, no, he needed to absorb some of his larger Horcruxes, and soon.

Over the school year, Harry made a number of small discoveries. Sasha had a thing for olive green scales, and hippogriffs are definitely not part chicken. Sirius' werewolf friend was teaching Defence and it was ever so interesting to watch him face up to awkward questions from a girl called Luna Lovegood. Also, although Tom was a closet pyromaniac, he did not appreciate having everything flambéed, especially his furniture. On a more positive note, to bribe your godfather to teach you to become an Animagus, all you had to do was solemnly swear to cause trouble with it. Harry anticipated it greatly. Tom considered framing Sirius for some other murder.

It was a slow year.

Tom Marvolo Riddle rose quickly through the ranks of the smiling cutthroats and backstabbers that are referred to as politicians in polite company. He had a solid, respectable back story; lesser pureblood from Greece, graduated with honours in every subject, a spotless record. (All this and more can be yours for less than 1000 galleons, organised by Gringotts finest in three easy payments for your convenience.)

They saw for themselves how charismatic, intelligent and considerate he was in his every action, and they hung off his every word. He was a model citizen and, as rumour had it, toe-in for replacing that amphibious undersecretary to the Minister in no time at all.

And when Dumbledore said he was an evil Dark Lord, well, he was mad, wasn't he? The Daily Prophet said so. St Mungo's just hadn't determined whether the former headmaster was certifiable as of yet. They would get around to it eventually, but the hospital was a busy with an influx of inexplicable mutilating injuries.