Sirius Black (heir of the Black family everything, Gryffindor rogue with the good hair, and perpetual family disappointment) was locked up tighter than if he had been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban.
He wasn't uncomfortable. Far from it, as being trapped in his messy room and staring at the peeling muggle posters plastered haphazardly over his walls was a far better fate than what awaited him in the depths of the Black ancestral home.
Merlin knows why his mother had decided to host a gathering of the dregs of wizarding society, in other words, the Sacred 28 that populated Sirius' entire social circle prior to Hogwarts, in their shabby little house. Maybe she had finally tired of taking teas in the Parkinson Estate and gazing lustfully at the Malfoy Manor's foyer during galas.
Sirius didn't really care about her reasoning. What he cared about was being trussed up like a chicken in his most formal robes, having his hair forcefully tamed and slicked back, and being paraded among the elite.
James would have had a fit if he could see Sirius now. Sirius hadn't looked in the mirror because he would also have a fit if he could see himself too.
Sirius groaned before taking another healthy swig of the Fire-whiskey bottle he'd swiped from the kitchens.
The noise-cancelling charms in his room did a great job of muting the tinkling, polite laughter of the aristocrats that darkened his doorstep earlier that evening. He'd escaped as soon as he could, leaving in a borderline impolite window of time.
He took an extra champagne flute with him as he fled, because he deserved it after having to deal with his horse-faced cousin Bellatrix looking at him, with cruelty in her eyes and spiked barbs on her lips.
Sirius had now undone all of his mother's hard work, having sprawled out over the bed with robes askew. Now, he could finally relax and enjoy the rest of his evening. Maybe the time in isolation would mean his tension headache would go away soon.
Actually, Sirius hmmed, I should floo over to Prongsy's, maybe get away early for the hols. Walburga and Orion won't care, they'll be hungover tomorrow.
Wobbling, Sirius got up from the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He ignored the pursed lips and unhappy expressions of the portraits in the hallway as he unsteadily lurched to Orion's office.
The door opened silently and Sirius, expecting an empty office, paused as he realized his plans were now thwarted. Stood across from Orion's inherited mahogany desk was a man half in shadow.
He wore an expensive-looking robe in a classic cut. His dark hair was parted neatly and his aristocratic-looking face was paused in an expression of slight surprise.
Sirius had never before seen this man in his life, though this analysis was unhelped by the fact that he was very clearly drunk and very nearly seeing double.
"If you wanna sabotage my father, all the incriminating documents are gonna be in Gringotts," Sirius slurred, falling against the door frame into what he hoped resembled a casual lean.
The stranger huffed a surprised laugh and his handsome faced quirked up into what could very nearly be called a smile.
"I think you're doing a better job of sabotaging Orion than I ever could,"
Sirius snorted.
"I'm taking that as a compliment, you know. Nothing better than sticking it to that old man."
"Your ambitions are admirable, if shortsighted. You are choosing to present yourself as weak by getting inebriated in front of your father's allies."
The man's sharp features swim in front of Sirius's eyes and his words jab at Sirius's soft center like a tattoo needle. Sirius wants to get a better grasp of this man, to figure out who the hell he's talking to and why he's ripping him apart like this with so few words, but focusing on him is like looking through a puddle of molasses.
"Fuck you, I know what I'm doing. He wants me to ask how high after telling me to jump, but I'm not fucking like that! That's all Reggie!"
The stranger sighs into his flute, as if unsurprised by Sirius's brash front. Scowling, Sirius notices that he's been inching closer to the man and further from the floo during the conversation. They're standing on opposite sides of the desk and even with his recent growth spurt, this man dwarfs Sirius.
"I've had enough of this place," Sirius turns toward the floo. He grabs a pinch of powder before the stranger interrupts him mid-throw.
"If you decide you want to get ahead of your father, instead of engaging in these juvenile antics, you may contact me."
Sirius snorted, glancing back at the figure. His molten eyes peered out from the half-light of the green flames as they burst forth from the fireplace.
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"Send your owl to Riddle House in Little Hangleton. I will take care of the rest."
Sirius laughed derisively once more, turning his back on the concerning stranger hanging about in his father's private, heavily warded, office. He dissapeared among the flames, retreating to Potter Manor.
Meanwhile, Tom Riddle meandered back out to join the festivities, champagne flute in hand.