Birds of a Feather (Stick Together)

Dinner had ended, and Sirius was still bouncing with energy. He leaned forward on the edge of the couch in the sitting room, his gray eyes sparkling as he looked at Harry.

"The shield," Sirius said eagerly. "The golden one you made. That was magic, wasn't it? Like Hermione's."

Harry hesitated, glancing at Tom. The viscount was seated in an armchair nearby, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers steepled as he observed the interaction with quiet intensity.

"It's… something like that," Harry said cautiously, shifting under Tom's piercing gaze.

Sirius grinned. "Can I see more? Please? Just something small! I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

Harry's instinct was to decline. The less attention he drew to himself, the better. This wasn't about a story that can be shrugged off as something imaginary, but something solid. However, Sirius's excitement was infectious, and the boy's unwavering trust reminded him so much of his godfather that Harry found himself nodding before he could stop himself.

"Just something small," Harry said firmly.

Sirius's grin widened, and he sat back, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Harry raised his hand, letting his fingers move subtly as he focused on conjuring something harmless and simple. A faint shimmer of light appeared above his palm, coalescing into a fluttering cluster of golden butterflies.

Sirius gasped, his eyes wide as the delicate creatures flitted around the room, their translucent wings catching the light.

"They're beautiful!" Sirius whispered, reaching out tentatively. One of the butterflies landed on his finger, its glowing wings pulsing faintly before it dissolved into a soft burst of light.

Harry smiled faintly, lowering his hand as the remaining butterflies vanished one by one. "There. That's all for tonight."

Sirius looked up at him, his expression awed. "You're amazing."

Harry chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "It's not that amazing. But thank you."

Tom's voice cut through the moment, smooth and calm. "Sirius, it's getting late. Time for bed."

Sirius pouted, clearly wanting to stay up longer, but a single raised eyebrow from his father was enough to make him stand.

"Goodnight, Harry," Sirius said, giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs.

The room felt heavier after Sirius's departure. Harry could feel Tom's gaze on him, sharp and probing, as though he were dissecting every movement, every word. He was alone with Tom Riddle, the air heavy with the faint scent of wood polish and cigars. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Tom poured himself a glass of brandy, his movements unhurried, before turning to Harry.

"Drink?" Tom asked, his voice smooth and polite.

Harry shook his head, keeping his stance neutral. "I'm fine, thank you."

Tom gave a faint smile, setting the decanter down and taking a slow sip. He gestured for Harry to sit in one of the leather armchairs. Harry hesitated but eventually sat, his posture tense. Tom, on the other hand, reclined with ease, the picture of confidence.

"You've impressed me," Tom began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Harry didn't respond, his green eyes wary as they met Tom's piercing grey gaze.

"Saving Sirius as you did," Tom continued, his tone conversational, "that kind of bravery isn't something one sees often. You didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. That's rare."

"It wasn't bravery," Harry said flatly. "It was instinct."

"Instinct," Tom mused, setting his glass down. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Instinct like that can be valuable. It's the kind of quality I look for in the people I trust. But it's not the magic I'm most curious about."

Harry stiffened, his pulse quickening. "I don't know what you mean."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Come now, Harry. You know exactly what I mean. The bullets. The blood. I saw them. Barty and Severus saw them. We checked your body. You were dead."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. "I think you're mistaken."

Tom leaned forward slightly, his gray eyes piercing. "I don't make mistakes. Neither do the men I trust."

"I was never dead," Harry said firmly, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Tom's smile sharpened, his gaze unrelenting. "You're a terrible liar."

Harry's fingers curled into fists in his lap, his mind racing for a way out of this conversation. But Tom wasn't done.

"You didn't just survive," Tom said, his voice soft but laced with steel. "You came back. And I want to know how."

Harry met his gaze, his jaw tightening. "Even if I could explain it, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me," Tom said, his tone daring.

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension crackling between them. Finally, Harry exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Let's just say I've been given a second chance," he said carefully. "And I intend to use it wisely."

Tom's eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "A second chance," he repeated slowly. "At what, exactly?"

Harry stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "That's none of your concern."

Tom remained seated, his gaze never leaving Harry. "It became my concern the moment you involved my son."

"I didn't involve him," Harry snapped. "I saved him."

Tom rose smoothly to his feet, his presence commanding as he took a step closer. "And for that, I'm grateful. But gratitude doesn't erase my questions. Who are you, Harry? And what do you really want?"

Harry's heart raced as he searched for a response, but nothing came. The truth was too dangerous, too complicated.

"I just want to help," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Tom studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Harry's surprise, he stepped back.

"Very well," Tom said, his tone as calm as ever. "I don't need the truth right now. But I will find it, in time."

"Is this why I'm here?" Harry asked, his voice hard. "So you can interrogate me?"

Tom chuckled, the sound low and rich. "No, not at all. I wanted to offer you something."

Harry's brow furrowed. "An offer?"

Tom nodded, his expression calm and measured. "Join us. Sirius has taken a liking to you, and I must admit, I see why. You'd be an invaluable asset—a protector, a guide. Someone he could trust."

Harry shook his head immediately. "I can't. I have responsibilities."

"Ah, yes," Tom said, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "The children at St. Ignatius, was it?"

Harry froze, his blood running cold. "What are you talking about?"

Tom smiled faintly, as if he were savoring a private joke. "One of my men saw you leaving the library the other day. He mentioned you seemed… invested in the well-being of the children there. It wasn't difficult to piece together the rest."

Harry's stomach churned. He had been careful, but clearly not careful enough.

"I don't know what you're getting at," Harry said, his voice low and controlled.

"Relax," Tom said smoothly, spreading his hands in a gesture of mock reassurance. "I'm not here to threaten you, Harry. Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to help."

Harry snorted, his disbelief clear. "Help?"

"Yes," Tom said, his tone almost pitying. "Running an orphanage can't be easy. The funds, the resources—it must be a constant struggle. But it doesn't have to be."

Harry's hands curled into fists in his lap. "What are you saying?"

Tom leaned forward, his grey eyes locking onto Harry's. "I'm saying I could make things easier for you. Donations, grants, support from people with influence—it could make all the difference, don't you think?"

Harry stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I don't need your help, and neither do they."

Tom remained seated, his expression calm but his gaze unwavering. "Think about it," he said quietly. "This isn't a threat, Mr. Potter. It's an opportunity. You've already proven yourself invaluable to Sirius. Why not take a position where you can continue to make a difference?"

Harry didn't respond. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, his mind racing with questions he couldn't yet answer.