Monday, 6th September

"You are never going to guess what happened!"

Harry jumped as the door to his room was suddenly slammed open and Rowle burst in, a pile of books tucked underneath one arm while the other frantically waved a newspaper in his face.

"Hello to you too, Andrew" he replied, a bit miffed, "How was your summer? Oh really? My, how fascinating! And your family is doing well? Yes? That's wonderful!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Evans, here, just- read this!"

The newspaper was promptly shoved into his chest where he had only half done up the buttons on his shirt, given that it was still early morning and he'd only just woken up ten minutes beforehand.

So just why on earth was Rowle acting like the school was on fire?

Frowning, he scanned the front page of the newspaper. It was an old copy, from just over a month ago, and had large block letters across the front reading BLACK STILL AT LARGE, with a photo of a once-handsome man, now terribly gaunt and pale, beneath it.

Harry quickly scanned the article.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

By Eduardus Lima

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."

Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?"

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

"Hang on" he said, "This is- This is that Sirius Black?! The heir to the Black dukedom?"

"The one and only" Rowle replied, grinning, "Apparently he escaped sometime around the end of July and the entire fucking country is up in arms because of it".

"And he murdered thirteen people? With one curse?"

"Yep. In front of witnesses and all, in broad daylight. Caused a lot of trouble for the Ministry, let me tell you".

Harry's mind was racing. Thirteen people with one curse? Muggles or not, that took some serious Dark Magic - although, being a Black would certainly account for some of that power...

"And now he's escaped!" Rowle looked as excited as Dudley did on Christmas morning. "The first person to ever break out of Azkaban, can you believe it?! Of course, everyone's freaking the fuck out - there's rumors going around that Black was the Dark Lord's left-hand man, but my mother says that's complete bullshit and it was actually Severus Snape but- oh, shit, yeah, I'm not actually supposed to tell anyone that…"

He ran a hand through his pale hair somewhat sheepishly and Harry couldn't help but give him a wry look as he gestured at their surroundings.

"And just who the hell am I going to tell?"

"... Oh. Right. Duh". He shrugged and then his grin was back in full force. "Anyway, so, my mother said that she never heard of Black being a Death Eater or anything, but if he really was a spy for the Dark Lord then she wouldn't have, would she? But everyone's lost their fucking minds over the fact he's free again, and some people are even saying that he broke out to plan another mass murder or to kill that Potter kid for revenge! Then again, he could just be wanting to finish the job too, of course".

Harry felt… strange.

"Finish the job?" he echoed, forcing himself to take slow, shallow breaths, "How do you mean?"

Rowle dropped the books under his arm on the bed and then sat down next to them, his dark eyes alight with giddiness.

"It isn't widely known, and the Prophet sure as hell has no idea or they'd have splashed it all over the front page by now, but-" He paused, glanced around as if someone could be listening, and then lowered his voice. "My mother says that Sirius Black was the best friend of James Potter, and when the Potters went into hiding, it was Black who acted as their Secret-Keeper for the Fidelius charm".

There was a loud buzzing in his ears. He knew what the Fidelius charm was, of course - he'd read all about it in The Book of Charms & Spells. It was an incredibly complex spell that would hide information inside a chosen person, making it impossible to find unless the Secret-Keeper voluntarily divulged the information to others. The key word here being voluntarily.

"Dumbledore apparently suspected that Black was spying on them for the other side, or, at least, he suspected someone" Rowle continued, sitting back, "Turns out, he was right. Barely a week after the Fidelius was cast, Black told the Dark Lord where he could find the Potters. A few hours later, they were dead, the Dark Lord had vanished, and all that remained was the Boy Who Lived".

He couldn't breathe. Could he? He didn't think so. It didn't feel like it. But he had to breathe. Breathing was necessary, right? He remembered that much, at least. He needed to breathe. He needed to breathe. He needed to curse something.

"-realised what had happened he ran, of course. Took an entire team of Hit Wizards to drag him away, but not before he got one last spell in and blew up half a fucking street! I mean, can you imagine-"

His parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them.

"-carted off to Azkaban, which is where he's been ever since. Until now. The Minister even told the muggle Prime Minister about it! I don't think they'll catch him, though. For one, he's a Black, which means he's as crazy as they make 'em - and that was before he spent twelve fucking years in Azkaban - but he's wickedly powerful too, isn't he? I mean, he'd have to be, to have done all the things they say he did, plus he's got a fortune locked away in Gringotts and the goblins aren't exactly too choosy when it comes to deciding which customers to serve, if you get my drift".

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison, but he firmly clamped down on the emotion with a vice-like grip and shoved it deep down inside of himself to be released later. He couldn't risk Rowle figuring out who he was, after all, and he would figure it out if he got too upset about this.

Sirius Black, the man who had betrayed his parents, had broken out of Azkaban - so what?

He didn't know where Harry was; nobody in the wizarding world knew where he was, so for the moment, at least, he was safe. Black couldn't hurt him, not again, and if he tried then Harry planned to go down swinging. The man was clearly malnourished based on his photo and he wouldn't have a wand either, both of which would severely weaken him. Harry was younger, fitter, and capable of wandless Dark Magic. He could take him, if he had to.

But for now, he had to look and act normal or else Rowle would get suspicious.

"Hopefully the Aurors will find him soon enough" he said, his voice sounding distant but thankfully steady to his own ears. Carefully folding the paper in half, blocking out those remarkably striking grey eyes, he turned to the teenager. "So, come on, what else did you bring me?"

Rowle rolled his eyes good-naturedly, muttering under his breath about bloody impatient Ravenclaws, but obediently picked up the stack of books next to him once more.

"I didn't know how far you got on those other herbology books over the summer, but I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and brought you another one anyway" he started, holding up a massive tome, "It should keep you busy for a few fucking weeks".

"I'll say" Harry agreed, eyeing the thickness of the book appreciatively, "And the others?"

"Potion Opuscule and Practical Defensive Magic" he replied, tapping them each in turn, "I've also got a few more newspapers for you back in my room that I can bring by tonight, but once you see what else I've got, I don't think you'll care about them that much".

Frowning, Harry finished buttoning up his shirt before stepping closer, brushing the textbooks aside to reveal a small brown, scuffed notebook. Slowly picking it up, he flipped open the front page to reveal messy, lop-sided handwriting inside.

"This is… This is your handwriting".

"So it is". Rowle was grinning again, and looking very pleased with himself. "And you better fucking appreciate it, Evans, because it took me half the bloody summer to finish!"

Quickly flicking through it, Harry's gaze caught on familiar words - blood purity, Salazar Slytherin, the Dark Mark.

"What is this?"

"This, my young friend, is a word-for-word transcript of every single letter my uncle sent my mother trying to convince her to become a Death Eater… Minus the mushy stuff, of course. You don't need to read about how much he misses her and how he wishes she'd reply and how he's the Baron of Bolton now and all that rot". Rowle tried to shrug it off, but it was plain as day that he'd been at least some bit affected by the letters. "I found a stack of them in a drawer in the library while searching for some fucking thing to give you about the Dark Lord's goals, and I thought what better source for that than the original source himself?"

Harry's grip tightened around the notebook, gratitude and disbelief and awe coursing through him. This writing had been copied from an actual Death Eater, from someone who had followed Voldemort before he'd lost his mind, from someone far better placed to tell him the true aims of the Dark Lord than any neutral author or Dumbledore supporter ever could.

"Rowle… this is… I mean, I can't- You just-"

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't worry about it, kid. There's not much out there about You-Know-Who's original goals; Dumbledore and the Ministry made sure of that… and, if I'm being perfectly honest, then the Dark Lord himself also made sure of that near the end. He lost his fucking mind completely during those last few years, or so my mother says, and lost sight of what he was fighting for too. But Thorfinn explains it pretty well in those letters, so at least you'll be able to learn something from them". He shrugged again and then gave Harry a somewhat miffed look. "It's also my GCSE year and my mother says I have to pass or else she'll confiscate my wand, but that means I have to actually try this year so I won't be around as much to answer your questions either".

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest as he looked up from the notebook, trying to process everything Rowle had just told him. It was a lot to take in - the betrayal of his parents by their best friend, the escape of a dangerous criminal who might still be looking for him, and now this unexpected gift that was worth a lifeline to him.

"Thank you, Rowle" he said seriously, "I can't tell you how much this means to me".

The blond waved his hand again, clearly uncomfortable with his sincerity. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all mushy on me, Evans. Just make sure you actually read it, alright? I put a lot of work into that".

"I will" Harry promised, clutching the notebook tightly, "I'll read every single word".

Friday, 10th September

It had taken almost an entire year, but Riddle House - newly christened Slytherin Manor - was officially habitable and back to its prime once more.

The restoration work had been extensive, but Tom found satisfaction in seeing the ancestral home transformed into a symbol of his rebirth. The grand halls and ornate rooms reflected his refined tastes and new ambitions. As he walked through the corridors, he felt a renewed sense of purpose and with the muggle construction workers now gone, he could let his magic roam freely through what was now his… home.

He had spent months carefully laying the groundwork for his new identity and plans. Finding out that his locket had been stolen from him was undoubtedly a blow, but it was one that he could overcome, given enough time and resources. He had reforged his connections with the goblins in Gringotts and now not even the most stringent of Ministery officials could prove that he wasn't Thomas Slytherin, a recent immigrant from Albania. He had also decided on his next move as well as his end goal, and he'd adopted a measured, calculated approach to achieve them, shedding the impulsive and arrogant tendencies that had once been his downfall.

Now it was time to begin the next phase of his plan: revealing his true identity to those he deemed most trustworthy.

Tom sat in the elegantly furnished study, the flickering fire casting shadows on the walls and staining the parchment in front of him with a warm orange glow. His quill hovered above the page, charmed so that it wouldn't drip ink - which was just as well, given how long he'd been staring at the empty letter for, contemplating what to write.

He had learned from Quirrell that many of his followers had renounced him the second they realised he'd been vanquished, like the spineless cowards that they were. Only a handful had been brave enough, committed enough to stick to their beliefs and be sentenced to life in Azkaban for them. He had to be careful who he told, lest they betray him again.

Part of him, of course, understood why some of his Inner Circle had turned their backs on him. Most of his followers were Slytherins, after all, and self-preservation was second nature. He didn't begrudge them for trying to save their own necks, although he did resent the fact that none of them had tried to find him since.

But if he wanted to move forward, then he had to put the past behind him. Loyalty born of fear was fleeting. This time, Tom would earn their loyalty through respect and a shared vision. He would build trust by showing his power and intelligence, not through terror. He would regain his followers, and find many more besides, by fortifying his identity and reputation at the Ministry and publicly announcing his plans to strengthen the wizarding world.

He will succeed this time.

Ten years as a wraith had given him a lot of time to think, after all, and an additional year in his old body had presented new opportunities and means for getting what he wanted. There weren't many wizards or witches still left who'd recognise the face of Tom Riddle. Slughorn was still around, but his guilt would keep him quiet. Hagrid would, perhaps, but who would listen to an expelled half-giant gamekeeper? Old Armando Dippet was dead, as were most of his peers. Dumbledore, of course, would have more than a few doubts, but he wouldn't be able to prove anything either - and no matter what the old man would tell people, there was absolutely nothing that could link Thomas Slytherin to Lord Voldemort.

His new plans would require patience, strategy, and, yes, more than a few sacrifices, but in the end, it would all be worth it.

Finally placing his quill on the parchment, he began to write.

Saturday, 18th September

Harry slowly closed the cover of the brown notebook, sat back in his chair, and thought.

It had only taken him two weeks to finish reading everything. Rowle, to be fair, hadn't written a lot but what information he had transcribed was succinct and important - or maybe that was just how Thorfinn Rowle wrote instead.

Either way, he'd learned a lot more about the war and Voldemort's ideologies in the past two weeks than he had in the past two years with all of those other books, which proved that history was only told by the winning side. He knew, of course, that both Rowle and his uncle were undoubtedly biased to Voldemort's opinions and goals, but Harry still couldn't help but think that the Dark Lord had a few good ideas… before he'd lost his mind, that was.

Everything he'd read that had been written by Dumbledore's fans or Ministry supporters had ranted and raved about how he wanted to eradicate all muggles and muggle-borns and have pure-bloods become the ruling class, but that wasn't… entirely correct.

Based on what Thorfinn Rowle had told his sister many years ago, Voldemort didn't want to kill muggles, he just wanted to create a clear division between muggles and magical beings and creatures, a total separation of magic and non-magic. Harry knew first-hand how dangerous muggles could be - the scars on his back from his uncle's belt and the bruises around far too-skinny arms from classmates proved that. It wouldn't be a bad thing to keep the wizarding world separate from them, because they'd hunt down every last wizard if they knew magic was real; if not to try and claim it for themselves, then to destroy it so that no one else could have it either.

Improved rights for magical creatures as well as a reclassification of what a magical creature actually was made sense to him too. Why should werewolves be considered less, inferior beings just because they got all furry for one night a month? That was only twelve times a year, give or take, which meant they were perfectly normal for the other three-hundred-and-fifty-three days and yet they were still treated as dangerous pariahs?! It was absolutely ridiculous!

Unfortunately, however, Voldemort went down the wrong path in achieving these goals. Like Rowle said, maybe if he'd gone the political route instead of starting a war, he would have succeeded. They weren't bad ideas, after all - sure, there were one or two that Harry disagreed with completely and a handful of others that he was still on the fence about, but overall it looked like the Dark Lord just wanted to secure the wizarding world's future in a muggle world that would do it harm.

Was that really such a bad thing?

Thorfinn Rowle had also written about Salazar Slytherin, claiming that Voldemort was simply continuing on the Hogwarts founder's goals. Harry hadn't been able to find out much about Salazar aside from the vague belief that he'd had a massive row with the other founders and had left Hogwarts because of it. According to Thorfinn, it wasn't that simple.

He wrote that the reputation and image of Salazar had been twisted over time. Most people today believed that he'd been a blood supremacist who chose to only teach those he considered worthy, which apparently just meant pure-bloods. There was some evidence to support this - ancient documents belonging to Slytherin where he plainly stated that they needed to be more selective about the students they admitted to Hogwarts and that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He clearly disliked taking in muggle-borns, but this was where current opinions differed.

The general consensus was that Salazar didn't want to teach muggle-borns because they were unworthy, but Thorfinn argued that he didn't consider them unworthy, he considered them untrustworthy - a distinction that every Ministry-approved book failed to make. He was one of the greatest wizards of all time, after all, and he'd happily helped build a castle far away from prying muggle eyes to have a safe, secure place to teach children magic.

Christianity had reached England at that point and Paganism, as the Christians called it, was already after partially dying out. Those with magic were no longer seen as gods or witches or healers but as devil worshippers. It would be many years before the Witchcraft Act would be introduced, which implemented the death penalty for all those who "made a Pact with Satan" - but the four founders could see it coming.

Salazar Slytherin could see it coming.

Hogwarts was built to defend magical beings from persecution and execution by fear-mongered muggles. Was Salazar really so wrong to want to ensure this? Thorfinn claimed that he didn't hate muggle-borns; he feared them. He feared what they should do after being shown a magical world having been raised with the knowledge that magic equaled evil. Wouldn't it be painfully easy for them to reveal the existence of Hogwarts to their muggle relatives? To lead them straight to magic's door?

Of course, Salazar found muggle-borns untrustworthy. Had Harry been in his position at the time, he'd have felt the exact same way. He was used to being hated for his very existence, after all.

But Godric Gryffindor was brash and chivalrous, so of course he wanted to take on the challenge. Rowena Ravenclaw favoured intelligence and creativity, so of course she'd have relished in the new ideas that muggle-borns would bring. And Helga Hufflepuff was kind-hearted and just, so of course she'd want to embrace everyone and give them an equal chance to attend their new school.

Salazar Slytherin was shrewd and self-preserving, so of course he was the only one who saw the danger in it.

But he was fighting a losing battle, and so, outnumbered, he left.

Lord Voldemort agreed with his views and wanted to take it one step further by not only removing the threat of muggle-borns from Hogwarts but from the entire wizarding world itself.

Harry could admit that achieving a clear divide between magic and non-magic people was a tricky situation, but he didn't believe that muggle-borns shouldn't be made aware of what they could do. If it hadn't been for Rowle, after all, then he'd have spent the rest of his life thinking he was a freak, just like the Dursleys said he was. But he wasn't a freak; he was a wizard! An actual real-life magic-capable wizard! He couldn't even imagine going the rest of his life without knowing that.

What they needed was a balance - but Harry was far too exhausted and still far too young to come up with that solution right now.

Instead, he put down the notebook still held tightly in his hands and glanced over at last week's newspaper that Rowle had brought him.

SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED

By Eduardus Lima

Sirius Black, the most infamous prisoner — from Azkaban, — has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle. The Muggles think that he is just an ordinary criminal, they don't have a clue how dangerous, powerful and vindictive Black can be.

The female Muggle communicated, via a machine called Telephone, the Muggle Crime Watchers Hotline, and immediately the Ministry of Magic Witch Watchers was informed. Minister Cornelius Fudge was taken by surprise and sent hundreds of Witch Watcher Special Forces to the Village, but when they arrived there he was gone. The situation got worse when hundreds of Dementors turned up making the small Dufftown population quiver in panic. It took more than 4 hours for the Special Force to tranquillise what was a great shock for those in the area.

Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban Prison on the 30th of July earlier this year. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has already asked all wizards to be really careful and act with caution and to not attempt to use magic against him. The Minister only asks to notify immediately by owl the Ministry of Magic or the Witch Watchers Sirius Black Hotline.

It had been a month since Black had last been reported on, and this was the first time that he'd officially been seen. Rowle had told him that there were dozens of apparent sightings that had never turned into anything, but this one seemed legit, and it meant that Black had made his way to Scotland.

Harry wondered why. Was it so that he could go to Hogwarts? Was he still looking for the Boy Who Lived? Did he have any idea that Harry was supposedly missing?

He highly doubted that the man received The Daily Prophet while in solitary confinement, after all, and if had any semblance of intelligence, then he wouldn't have strayed too close to wizarding communities to find out that way either.

He wondered why Black had followed the Dark Lord. If he'd truly been best friends with Harry's dad and they'd graduated together, then that meant he'd only been twenty-one or twenty-two years old when he'd been arrested. Did Voldemort recruit followers that young? Did he recruit them even younger? But even if Black had been seventeen when he'd turned traitor, Voldemort would have already gone insane.

Was he attracted to the violence of it all? Or did he support the Dark Lord's original goals and believe that he could still achieve them?

Shaking his head, Harry let out a heavy sigh and then shoved the newspapers and books to the side to work on his muggle school homework instead.

He had the next four years to think about it, after all.

Sunday, 26th September

Tom stood in front of Lestrange Manor feeling oddly… nervous.

It had been just over two weeks since he'd sent his letter, using a non-descript bird from the owl post office and it had taken several days to get a response. That was understandable, of course - his most devoted would have wanted to double-check everything he'd told him, confirming that he was, in fact, his once revered Lord. They'd established a day and time in which to meet, and Tom had deferred to him for choosing their meeting place.

The thick wrought-iron gates rose up menacingly in front of him, a black raven emblem mid-flight perched on the top and the family motto - corvus oculum corvi non eruit - written across the arch of the gate just below it. A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow… Once upon a time, that same loyalty had applied to him. He could only hope that he hadn't lost it entirely.

Placing his hand firmly on the gate, he felt the wards admit him entrance, and he slowly made his way up the drive towards the imposing manor. A house-elf greeted him, dressed in a simple white uniform with the Lestrange crest on the front, and led him towards the drawing room.

There was a man standing in front of the roaring fireplace who turned as he stepped in. He was stooped over and thin, leaning heavily on an ornate walking stick, with dull blue eyes and greying hair. Randolf looked… old, Tom realised. He had to be in his late sixties now, and, unlike himself, he actually looked like it.

In the end, it hadn't been difficult choosing who to write to. Randolph Lestrange was the only available survivor of his original Inner Circle. Avery had died of Dragon Pox not long after his defeat, Rosier had committed suicide after the death of his wife and son at the end of the last war, and Mulciber had been given the Dementor's Kiss. Nott was still alive, but a single father now with many more responsibilities besides, and Dolohov was still alive too, but imprisoned in Azkaban along with the most loyal of the second generation of his followers - including Lestrange's two sons.

Which just left Randolph, who was currently staring at him with a strange mix of relieved horror, as if unsure whether to hug him or bow to him… as if unsure whether Tom would hug or murder him.

Something buried deep in his chest twinged at the sight - Had he really fallen so low, so far into the depths of insanity and ruination that someone he had once considered one of his closest friends would fear him so?

It was rare for him to feel regret, but looking at Lestrange's frail and hesitant form, aged far beyond his years no doubt by the stress of both his children being imprisoned, he felt… something. He could remember Randolph at his prime - ambitious, clever, unyielding in his loyalty and unmatched in his cunning. They had fought together side by side for a common goal and now… now he saw a man burdened by the weight of past betrayals and the ravages of time.

How had it come to this?

Tom had always prided himself on his ability to inspire unwavering devotion, to command respect through sheer force of will. But standing here now, in the presence of a man who had once been his closest confidant, he could see the toll his quest for immortality had taken - not just on those who opposed him, but on those who had followed him without question too.

It would be different, this time. If not for his own sake, then for those he owed it to most.

"Hello, old friend" he said quietly, "It would seem that we have much to discuss".