Living with Sirius was easy. The man was as good as useless, moving only from bed to divan and back again. If Tom didn't feed him, Sirius didn't eat. If Tom didn't tell him to shower, Sirius stank. If Tom whiled away the day reading dark tomes in the Black library, Sirius didn't notice.

The man had fallen into an apathy that Tom would have found highly irritating in anyone but a guardian.

It gave Tom a freedom that was glorious. His evenings were spent making connections amongst the old crowd and scouting out information regarding who had stayed loyal—and who'd gone full Slytherin to save their skin. Drawing the line between approval and disdain was tricky; every follower caught in Azkaban was no good to him now, and would be like Black when he broke them out.

Then, during a back-alley deal to sell off Kritchy for potions ingredients, the elf woke up. Tom had it stunned and was back in Grimmauld before Travis Macnair could so much as blink at the Obliviate that had hit him.

"How are you alive?" He'd bound the elf using a lovely set of magic-inhibitor cuffs engraved with the Black family crest.

Kritchy hissed wordlessly. Tom wanted to cut out its tongue, but it wouldn't do to lose control. How had he missed this?

"I command you to speak the truth."

And when Harry Potter asked, as heir of the Black family, the thing obeyed.

"Kreacher doesn't know how Kreacher is alive, filthy not-Black."

How utterly delightful.

Lord Voldemort cocked the grin that always made Bella cackle. "I command you to obey me above all others. You will remain silent, and you will keep my secrets." He fingered his wand, enjoying the way Kreachy's eyes were bulbous with understanding. "Do you want to displease me, elf?"

It shook its head.

"Do not let yourself be seen or heard by anyone other than me. And for Salazar's sake, start cleaning, this place is filthy." He stared at those watery eyes, adding a bit of compulsion for good measure. "Dismissed."

It cracked away. Having to renew his relationship with Macnair was worth an elf of his own. They were finicky beasts bound to notable bloodlines, and even at the height of his reign Lord Voldemort had never managed to seize one.

Tom's laugh was loud enough to startle a doxy down from the curtains. A shrivelling spell had it screaming pitifully until he put it out of its misery with a kick.

xoxox

Dear Harry,

my summer's been great so far. Fred and George set fire to…

Tom skimmed the letter. The very idea of an epistolary exchange with Weasley bored him, but he couldn't burn the bridges to Harry Potter's identity just yet.

...Dad'll be picking you up on Thursday, and you can spend the rest of the summer with us. It'll be wicked.

Yours,

Ron

Was there a greater torture than two weeks penned up with Weasleys? "Sirius!" Tom called. The time had come for the man to start pulling his own weight.

A black dog lumbered in from the garden, panting from the sun.

"You've gotten fat," Tom said, eyeing the way the man finally fit into his robes. Kreacher provided three meals a day, and Sirius ate without thought for time or hunger.

"You've gotten rude." Yawning, Sirius plopped down beside him.

Tom scowled and shoved his letter across the kitchen table, reheating his tea as he waited.

"I hadn't realised it was the Quidditch World Cup." Sirius stared out at the blue sky.

It would be a wonderful opportunity, Tom had chosen the event as the perfect moment to reveal himself to chosen Death Eaters. Magic smite him, he had a thing for proper showmanship. " The Prophet has been reporting little else all summer. Don't you read?"

"Only the cartoons." Sirius flashed a grin, easy and mad like a thin bear coming out after winter. "D'you think I can go with you to the match?"

"You're dead." Sirius was pathetic, asking a teenage boy for permission, but Tom wouldn't have it any other way. "I'm sure you can afford a disguise and the overpriced ticket, though we'll have to attend separately."

While Sirius scampered up the groaning staircase, Tom composed a swift reply.

I'll floo to the Burrow the night before, but I already have plans to visit my godfather for the last of summer. Give my regards to your family.

The ancient Weasley family owl got a thimbleful of Wiggenweld's before Tom tossed it outside, just to ensure it survived the trip.

Whether or not he would be returning to school come September, Tom didn't want to put off his school shopping until the last minute. When he left for Diagon the next day, Sirius insisted on accompanying him. The man bought them ice cream while laughing at his grey hair from the ageing potion.

It was the first sign of emotion Tom had seen in him all summer, but his indulgence ended when he had to steer Sirius away from Ollivander's and towards the specialist down Knockturn.

Vanja fitted Sirius in absolute silence, mad grin glinting off every sword racked on the shop's walls. The premium they payed for a hawthorn and dragon heartstring also bought the wandmaker's confidentiality, and Sirius didn't protest.

Only later did Tom realise it was Harry Potter's birthday, by virtue of the silver-wrapped package he found on his pillow. The pocket knife it contained was marginally useful, and Tom appreciated the lack of sentimentality. A simple thank you was communicated via a package of dog treats.

Tom appreciated the way Sirius didn't press him into talking.

xoxox

"I know I haven't been much of a Godfather to you," Sirius said quietly, finding Tom in the library the night before he left for the Burrow. "I want you to know you can trust me, Harry. No matter what."

Tom stared at the man and set his book aside. "I do trust you," he lied, relaxing his face into an easy smile.

Sirius snorted, tossing his head like a horse. "I'm not stupid. You haven't told me anything about yourself, not really. If you weren't in Gryffindor, I'd think there was something else going on."

That was the entire point of being in Gryffindor, wasn't it? Tom would enjoy being able to soar beneath suspicion.

"But," Sirius said quietly, "the hat's been known to make mistakes."

The nerve of the man! Tom scowled at him and reopened his book. "I resent that."

Sirius' answering chuckle was hollow, but thankfully the man understood when to leave. "We can talk when you get back. About your time at Hogwarts, about the things you remember and the things you think you forgot. I know I haven't been much of a godfather to you—it hasn't been easy for either of us—but I'm damn well going to try."

For the next hour, Tom couldn't read a word. His mind kept combing through eventualities and contingencies, snagging on the holes in his memories like a wriggling mess of snakes. He missed the clarity of his youth, his every thought being pinned neatly like a lepidopterist's collection in a velvet-lined case.

He left the next day without saying goodbye to Sirius, walking off his temper all the way to the Leaky. When he stepped out of the Weasleys' floo, he was ready to play at being Harry Potter for the day.

xoxox

The Weasley family struck like a firework in a barrel.

The youngest and oldest child stayed out of the way. Ronald wanted to go flying, while Fred and George acted worse than orphans. Molly's attempt to make up for missed mothering by pushing food onto everyone was a poor show. Meanwhile Arthur buried himself in work and his garage, too busy providing to parent beyond a headcount at the breakfast table.

All of this, Tom discerned within the first raucous meal. He put up with Molly, keeping his responses infallibly polite. The twins had cast an inflating spell on a hen after lunch, and the explosion had been a mess not even Macnair would enjoy. He smiled at the girl with her elbow in the gravy, and once they were all in bed he coaxed Ron Weasley into telling a wealth of stories.

A maze, Albus Dumbledore had concocted an elaborate obstacle course that led to the Philosopher's Stone, and Lord Voldemort had turned to ash when Harry Potter had touched him.

Tom measured his breath in time with the rain pattering on the tin roof above his head.

A diary, Lucius Malfoy had given Ginny Weasley his diary that had led to the Chamber of Secrets opening, and Lord Voldemort had bled ink when Harry Potter had stabbed him with the basilisk's fang.

In the attic the ghoul groaned, and Tom pictured in excruciating detail exactly how the thing had been tortured so it could only moan. He fell asleep in the beats between disembowelling and flailing curses, and woke far too soon when Molly Weasley rapped on the door saying, "Up now, boys, are you up yet?"

xoxox

With the entire campsite in a frenzy, it was easy to slip away to the only tent that had peacocks picketed out front.

"Hello Lucius," Tom greeted him. "Is it true a little black book fell, shall I say accidentally, out of your hands?"

The man was blond as his father before him, but he wasn't stupid. He backed into a study—only a Malfoy tent would have a study—with his throat bobbing. "I believe, Mister Potter," he said, voice like a stone, "that your accusation was as groundless then as it is now."

Tom smiled, like a boy holding a dead rabbit by the ears, and manipulated the Dark Mark to burn. Abraxas had been complicated , but Lucius had joined the Dark Lord's service as a child. The man dropped to one knee, breath rattling loudly between them.

"Do I look like I need proof, Lucius?"

The curse that left Tom's wand was delicious, a welcome relief after the past month's abstinence. He felt alive as a tiger extending his claws. Finally, a bit of the respect he deserved.

Lucius' fear was ambrosia. "Potter? Stop this at once," he hissed, but his eyes said something else entirely.

"Potter is otherwise engaged," Tom said, still smiling. "Now, tell me about my diary."

The man had the decency not to tremble as he talked, and Tom made sure to clamp down on his anger to listen. Several nations' auror forces were present; they'd find any dark magic in a heartbeat.

Instead, Tom began levitating Lucius' oversized desk above the man's head, crushing him into an ever lower bow with the thick oak. "Thank you, Lucius," he said finally, once the man had stopped talking. Tom took deep breaths until his heartbeat was calm like waves lapping against a cave's shore.

He set the desk back into place and stepped up beside Lucius. "Sit down in your chair Lucius. You want to look presentable when your son finds you later, hmm?"

Tom cupped the man's shaking face in one hand and raised his wand in the other, laughing at the thoughts of green he could see racing through those terrified eyes.

"Obliviate, " he whispered, leaving only the sensation of a Dark Lord walking over his grave. He had a lot more information to gather about his Death Eaters before taking up Lord Voldemort's mantle again. "Somnium."

Then he slipped back out to rejoin the Weasley children returning from the water tap, and if he was smiling a little brighter, nobody understood.

xoxox

The Quidditch game was good, but the discussion between the polyglottal Crouch and the Bulgarian president was much better. Tom eavesdropped with impunity, learning about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament by glorious virtue of being in the right place at the right time.

Not to mention the minor translation ritual he'd performed in his youth, a soul-bound spell that had followed him into Harry Potter's body. Magic truly was smiling on him.

A tournament sounded more interesting than the school year for which Tom had been expecting to be truant. There would be politics to be had, even from the lacklustre gallery that was Gryffindor tower.

Once Ireland won the game and the evening's revelries had been truncated for the children, Tom allowed himself to be bustled off to bed.

He set an alarm spell for half eleven, when he meant to slip away. Tired and listening to the twins' hushed whispers, Tom promised himself to just close his eyes for one second.

The next moment, he was waking to light streaming through the windows and frustration screaming through his veins. So much for his delightful reveal. Instead, his people had indulged in a bit of muggle-baiting nestled between a Dark Mark and an international scandal.

But perhaps this was prudent, Tom decided while looking into Lily Potter's eyes as he brushed his teeth. Magic had chosen to put him here in this child's body, not an adult's, and he trusted her wisdom.

He could go back to Hogwarts, entertain himself winning a competition meant for schoolchildren, and gad about gaining international allies beneath Dumbledore's crooked nose.

Some wars were better won before they even started, by snakes lying in the grass.

Or sleeping between the lions.

xoxox

When they returned from the World Cup, Grimmauld Place seemed darker somehow, as though the shadows had multiplied in their absence.

"I hate this place," Sirius said, kicking his feet onto the same table his mother had served Tom tea from so many years ago.

"I like it. It feels…" Safe was the wrong word, it was as safe as a nesting hawk, "protective. Like a bear."

Sirius snorted. "A bear trap, sure. But you promised me we'd talk about you, not my mum's sense for ambience."

It was difficult to meet the man's eyes, and even more difficult to find the right words. Tom spoke to the curtains, hoping he hadn't accidentally rid the house of doxies with his bouts anger; he'd miss having them on hand.

He told Sirius an abbreviated version of the tale Ron had told him, a proper Gryffindor story of adventure and idiocy. Sirius laughed in all the right places, and he didn't notice when Tom had to swallow his sneers. But the details Tom had gotten from Weasley were sparse, and three years at Hogwarts barely stretched to fill two hours.

Then they were back where their conversation had started over a month ago. "Something happened that night, when the Dementor almost kissed me," Tom said, with faith in the secrecy that Black was sworn to and the fact the man barely left the house. "It changed me, and I've been trying to figure all this out. I trust you, Sirius, I just don't know what to say."

"What about your relatives? You haven't told me anything real about them. Dumbledore said he put you with them to keep you safe." Sirius' gaze was hungry when Tom looked, but the man's occlumency remained unfortunately airtight.

"I'd rather not talk about them." Tom didn't have to fake his discomfort, and he didn't want to fake the fury in his heart. "I despise them, and I will never forgive Dumbledore for leaving me stranded in the muggle world."

"Never say never, kiddo."

Tom glared back at him. "And you're happy to forgive our Chief Warlock, who couldn't get you a trial in twelve years? Had to rely on a schoolchild to save your life? Even the Dark Lord takes better care of his own than Dumbledore does for his little Order."

"Who told you about that?" The words were sharp, if also tired. There were things Sirius Black was good at, and then there was the act of sitting still and listening.

"People say all kinds of things." It was an old excuse, familiar as the prefect badge he'd pinned to his robes every day for two years. "It's hardly my fault they didn't check if I was listening."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin." Sirius sighed, deflating into the armchair to leave half the heir he was supposed to have been. "Honestly, Harry, how did you fool old Alastor at all?"

"I'm a Gryffindor." Tom sneered reflexively, but when the next lie refused to roll from his tongue he chose a different avenue: attack. "And you, Sirius? A Black through and through, I've seen how you look at me. You can't deny where you come from." He gestured the room, with its neat array of dark artefacts on the mantle, and a well-thumbed Machiavelli on the end table. It felt as if Arcturus were about to walk in, polishing his reading glasses.

"No—" Sirius said, but then he drew a slow, deep breath. If he hadn't already been a disgrace Walburga would have disowned him for how expressively he sighed. "You can't just keep changing the subject, Harry. If you'd rather not talk, we don't have to. I've seen enough to know you're not like a normal child, but I'm glad. You'll have your work cut out for you—I'm bloody well useless cooped up in here."

Tom blinked. Then he stifled the yawn building in him, and let himself fall back within his armchair. "You have been a more suitable guardian than I'd suspected. I hope you know better than to let it get to your head, but I've enjoyed this summer with you."

The smile that unfolded across Sirius' face was easy, like stealing Avery's Chocolate Frog collection from right under the boy's nose. "You'll be alright, kid. I don't mind if you're sharp, and you're better off being sneaky. Don't let them tell you Slytherin's a bad thing to be , even if it's a rotten house to be in ."

Had the man done that much growing up in his decade between the Dementors? Tom stretched, then rose to head off to bed. "Thank you," he said, "good night."

And, by the Sisters Three, he actually meant it.

xoxox

Day 9 of an update every day this December. Check my other fics for more. Thanks for reading.