Harry steps in front of James first as soon as the portkey drops them off, prepared to be the distraction so James can run if things go south.

Tom is standing by the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the wooden frame, decked out in fancy robes of soft charcoal and sharp garnet embroidery. "If you're wondering, yes, I'm aware you're from the future." He raises an eyebrow. "But the piece was too small to give more than impressions, especially since it left...residue."

"Residue?" Harry blurts out, hand coming up to his scar.

"You grew around it, I couldn't get everything out," Tom says simply, unconcerned because he has the important part.

"So what do I have?" Harry asks.

"Residue," Tom repeats in a harsh sibilant whisper.

"I know," Harry hisses back on auto, not realising it's not English. "But how much, like are we still connected?"

"Is that Parseltongue?" James asks in interest. "Wait, so Voldemort is...Slytherin, bridge to Black?" James holds up a finger like he's tracing down a family tree. "No, I saw his fancy ring, that's bridge to Peverell, over to...Gaunt? Does Voldemort have heritage legilimency as well? Probably strong accidental magic too considering the Sayre blood in you."

Tom, who spent years trying to figure out where he came from, sneers over Harry's shoulder at James for figuring it out in half a minute. "James."

"Tom," James chirps because he's already completely forgotten why he got upset in the first place. He's not very good at holding grudges unless he really works to keep it going.

Harry puts a hand on James shoulder to quiet him. "So where do we stand right now?"

Tom shrugs carelessly. "I don't mean to completely shatter your sense of self-worth or anything but you're really not a threat and honestly, both Voldemort and I have better things to be doing. Keep your head down like you have been, there won't be a problem."

"And the residue issue...?" Harry insists.

"That's a you problem," Tom intones and straightens up from the doorway. "Come, we'll be writing letters to each other as evidence of our friendly correspondence over the years." He turns on a heel and leads the way through the manor.

Harry grimaces because if they're setting up 'years' then James may no longer have the reason to deny being an ally of Voldemort since the kidnapping will be explained away by the false letters.

"What a tosser," James whispers. "Voldemort really calmed down with age, didn't he?"

"I heard that," Tom snaps.

James skips off with exaggerated cheer. "Coming, Tom, my dearest friend!"

James is sitting cross-legged on the thick rug across the short coffee table from Harry, with Tom to the side and Voldemort sitting on an armchair behind James and reading a book, while all three children scribble out fake letters.

They've kind of lost the plot on this pen pal thing and are now currently outlining a shared plan to sell Hogwarts feast leftovers to nostalgia-driven alumni who are only just sending their children to Hogwarts as well and thus also have empty nest syndrome (so they'll be more vulnerable).

It's only been a hypothetical week since their plan started and Tom already wants to drive up the cost of their dishes (because they've cornered a niche market and have the monopoly so who's going to stop them).

Harry is slowly trying to talk Tom down because they hypothetically don't need that much money even with the (unethical) shares they're going halfsies in buying-

(Unethical only according to first world standards, Harry, Tom writes, completely serious.)

-and wow, you're really (cunning) rather (shrewd) entrepreneurial but maybe focus on your hypothetical home tutors because you're Voldemort's son (surely you'll have time to fuck enough people over later in life that you don't need to get a head start now).

James takes a whole other turn and cites the manpower for the leftover food collection, stasis charms and owling is hypothetically detracting from James' (pranks) extracurriculars so perhaps they should instead focus on high-tier and more expensive products by (volunteering to clean up the potions lab so Slughorn can run off to networking events and leave them to bottle the demonstration cauldron before) selling the professional potions.

Voldemort, reading these letters because they'll be used as evidence later, needs to step in and reiterate to the boys that they should write innocent childhood things such as – and then he gestures vaguely because fuck if Voldemort has ever understood how children work even when he was a child himself.

"-turns out it's considered Dark magic," James is saying because he's now trying to describe an innocent childhood experience that they can use in the letters and has instead gotten side-tracked by another Chaotic Day In The Life Of The Marauders story.

"Making bubbles is Dark?" Harry asks in confusion. "How?"

"It's bullshit, right!" James cries. "Because it was invented by a Dark Lady who was trying to keep her toddler entertained while she tortured people so it's Dark because of the connotations and not the spell. Fucking ridiculous, but someone -a Longbottom because of course- goes and tattles to his mum who then rants to the Minister about it."

Voldemort looks up from his book, sitting on an armchair behind James and smirks. "Oh, I did hear about this one."

James gestures behind him. "There you go – true story! So the Minister -thinking he's got to stamp out a young 'Dark wizard' before I grow up and terrorise the population- arrives at dinner time in the Great Hall with eight aurors!"

James throws his quill down. "They come up to me, tell me my crime like I should be ashamed and demand I come with them – I'm thirteen and I'm bloody incredulous, I'm like; what part of making bubbles to annoy firsties is Dark magic?" James scoffs. "You know what I did?"

"Talked it out calmly?" Harry sighs because James' stories always get worse.

"I tell the Minister to suck my dick, then climb up on the table and announce that if I'm going to Azkaban, I'm going to bloody well deserve it," James snaps. "I cast the bubbles again and I'm like; look, Dark magic, fucking arrest me bitch."

Tom puts an elbow on the table and his head in a hand.

"Everyone is shouting," James continues. "The other students are clearing the way, Dumbledore is trying to push through the crowd and an auror tries to grab me so Sirius -I love that boy- kicks her off, climbs up on the table next to me and goes; you want to see Dark magic? I'll show you Dark magic!"

James puts a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "He slits his wrist and starts a blood ritual to summon a Black House deity."

"What?!" Harry and Tom shout at the same time.

"He can't," Voldemort retorts, just as invested in this story now that interesting magic has come into play. "That would take months of preparation and far more than blood."

James twists to see Voldemort. "Yeah, he was bluffing! But the thing is, Regulus -Siri's little brother- was having a fucking heart attack watching all this and so he crawled under the Slytherin table and was frantically going through weather spells – and he's a first year, right, which makes it all the more impressive when he summons a storm to psych out the aurors."

James pulls his legs out from under the table and rocks up onto his knees, turning sideways so he can see all three of them. "So Sirius is doing a blood ritual and a storm starts gathering above and everyone can see it through the enchanted ceiling and it's just chaos – people are screaming, they're freaking out thinking Hogwarts is about to be wiped off the map."

"What was Dumbledore doing?" Tom demands.

"He's still stuck in the crowd, I'll get to that in a second," James laughs with a wave. "Okay so, an auror tries to stun Sirius and I'm thinking; I will die for this boy right now. I'm losing my shit in rage, I'm ready to start a revolution, I kid you not, what's going through my head is; when I take over the Ministry, I'll make chocolate a free commodity for Remus. So I start duelling the auror that tried to attack Sirius."

James wheezes. "Me, a third year, deadass throwing plates and food at the aurors. I am losing so badly but Potter Family Magic protects me until magical age of majority so I'm still winning! Spells are bouncing off me, I lose my wand to a disarming charm so I just start casting wandlessly with my Family Magic. More aurors join in."

Harry laughs but he's hysterical with horror and Tom is just staring incredulously. Voldemort tilts his head back against the backrest of the chair and looks up at the ceiling like that is going to help anything at this point.

James is gesturing wildly. "I'm like duelling three at once, Peter trips another, Remus is choking out a bitch, Sirius is still pretending to chant even though he clearly doesn't remember the words and the other students are getting hit by deflected spells because it's dinner time and everyone is in the Great Hall with the Minister blocking the only way out."

"Dumbledore comes like fucking Merlin himself!" James slams a hand down on the table, jolting the inkwells. "I am suffocating! Magic just stops working, he's using his own magic to suppress everyone and-" James cackles "-and let me remind you, they still think Sirius is summoning a pagan god. And then Dumbledore stops it."

"James!" Harry begs like he can hold back the third year James. "Just stop, no."

"The Minister is shitting himself!" James crows. "He just bloody runs – and then the aurors make a break for it. I'm laughing like I'm insane, I think I'm a fucking Dark Lord at this point, and try to chase them, but then Remus drags me back and -oh Merlin- the crowd just parts around me in utter fear and I'm like; this is it, can't back out now, I'm just going to have to take over wizarding Britain."

A chuckle is startled out of Voldemort.

James sits back on his heels, panting slightly as he comes down from the high. "Our parents are called in after, me and Siri's. And I have never seen Walburga laugh that hard, she was so proud of Sirius and Regulus. My mum, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to kill me because we're a month into third year and I almost started a coup."

James falls off his knees to the side and slings an arm over Voldemort's thigh to rest on him, letting out a heavy sigh. "So, yeah, that's how I got the last Minister kicked out of office for attacking children."

"What the fuck," Tom deadpans. "How – how is that fair, you got no punishment for that-"

"I had detention for three months!"

"Which is nothing!" Tom cries. "I spent my whole Hogwarts life playing human and you fought the Minister. I was tip-toeing around trying to release a basilisk and you could have thrown an avada kedavra into someone's face and they still would have found some reason to praise you for it."

Harry turns on Tom, outraged. "You killed people before you even graduated!"

"I only got one, and that was with a basilisk!" Tom snaps. "And at least I knew it was illegal – James just laughs it off! Imagine casing Dark magic -no matter how stupid the law- and still thinking you have the moral high ground!"

"One is already too many!" Harry cries. "And you bloody well killed more when you got older, you pat-patricid...er."

"That is not a word," Voldemort corrects because he's an absolute nerd of a Dark Lord. "It is the act of 'committing patricide'."

"Let's not forget when you murdered your teacher when you were a first year!" Tom yells.

"That was because of you and you fucking know it!" Harry screams back.

James looks between Tom and Harry. "Wait, like actually killing people?"

.

A/N: People write Tom Riddle as if he was a poor orphan struggling with money – like no, he was rolling in cash. Give him three days to set up and his net income would be more than a professor's.