Tom glanced down his nose at Harry, who was sniffling and tear-streaked. "Enough. Control yourself. Do not embarrass me later."
Harry scrubbed his face with both hands and accepted the tissue Tom conjured with a wave of his wand. He blew his nose loudly.
Once Harry composed himself, Tom picked up the Daily Prophet from the table. "Have you seen the latest news?" He gestured with the paper.
"...Yeah." Harry nodded glumly, eyeing the newsprint. He had assumed Tom was there to brace him, worried he might throw a fit and cause problems with Sirius, upsetting the Death Eaters' ranks. "Don't worry, sir... I'll... get along with him." Harry set his jaw, looking earnestly at Tom.
"Get along with him? Why on earth would you do that?" Tom stared at Harry as if he had sprouted a second head. "The man is not one of my Death Eaters."
"Oh... ah?" Harry blinked, his earlier dejection replaced by surprise. Seeing that Tom was serious, his confusion deepened. "But the Daily Prophet said…"
Tom tossed the paper onto the table. "Come now, nine out of ten sentences in that rag are pure opinion." He made a dismissive noise. "Rita Skeeter writes whatever fantastical nonsense pops into her head."
"Then why, sir…" Harry started to ask why Tom would tolerate someone impersonating a Death Eater.
"Because it is rather amusing, wouldn't you agree?" Tom's lips quirked up in a wicked smile, and Harry simply shrugged, nonplussed. A spark of delight flickered in his chest. If Sirius Black wasn't a Death Eater, then he was free to cause him trouble, right?
But something felt off. If Black hadn't been a Death Eater, then he couldn't have been the one to betray his parents to Voldemort all those years ago. So that means…
Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully, sensing a revelation.
Tom, watching Harry's wheels turn, merely smiled. He would not offer any further clues; where would the fun be in that?
Harry knew better than to press. When Tom chose to remain silent, nothing could pry information from him. He would have to find the answers himself, and those answers, it seemed, lay with Sirius Black.
I'll have to seek out this escaped convict. Harry scratched his head, frustrated. He was clearly not cut out for deduction. After all that mental effort, he was back where he started, with no option but to hunt down the man himself.
Tom, oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil, stood and headed for the door. "It is getting late. Rest tonight. I shall take you to purchase new textbooks tomorrow."
With that, Tom left Room 306. The door clicked shut behind him. Harry collapsed onto the bed. The emotional swings of the evening had left him utterly drained. Exhaustion swept over him as soon as he relaxed.
Harry lay on the comfortable mattress, eyes squeezed shut, completely spent.
But he snapped his eyes open again. "Wait… 'you guys'?"
...
The next morning, the Leaky Cauldron's ground floor buzzed with activity, even with Tom in attendance. Two years had passed. If Tom Riddle had intended to kill them, he would have done so already. Since nothing had happened, they saw no harm in drinking and celebrating. These old drunks desperately tried to swallow down their anxieties in wine.
In truth, they could not be entirely carefree, but wishful thinking and ample alcohol made the worries manageable.
Of course, not everyone at the Leaky Cauldron was there to drink. Some were there to eat, such as… the Weasley family.
The gaggle of red-haired wizards sitting together in the common room was quite conspicuous, but the British wizarding world wasn't large. Most people knew each other, so no one paid them much attention.
Harry woke up late, still heavy with the previous night's fatigue. Realizing the time, he scrambled downstairs and spotted Tom and the others sitting in a corner.
"Hey, Scarface, sleeping in again?" Malfoy, who hadn't seen Harry in over two months, immediately waved as Harry descended the stairs.
Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Cassandra Volle… Seeing his familiar friends, Harry's face broke into a smile.
Just as he was about to join them, he noticed a group of red-haired wizards at the next table.
Fred and George Weasley brushed past him. Ron Weasley, who had also noticed Harry, gave him a quiet nod of greeting. Harry smiled and waved back.
"Ron, what are you doing…" Molly Weasley, noticing her youngest son's odd behavior, started to question him, but then followed his gaze and spotted Harry.
"Harry?!" Recognition dawned on her face, and she beamed. She promptly invited him to join them for breakfast.
Harry seemed flustered by Mrs. Weasley's enthusiasm and quickly excused himself to "escape" the scene, hurrying towards Tom.
Molly watched him go, noting Tom's presence. She did not try to stop Harry but simply said that he was always welcome to visit their family.
For the past two years, the Weasley family had maintained a respectful but distant attitude towards Tom Riddle. Albus Dumbledore chose to believe Tom, and they trusted Dumbledore's judgment, but cozying up to the Dark Lord remained a fraught decision.
"What is it?" Arthur Weasley, returning to the table, looked at his wife quizzically. Following her line of sight, he spotted Tom, Harry, and the others. He immediately understood why Molly was behaving so strangely.
They had been close friends with James and Lily [Potter]; they felt deeply for Harry because of his past. But because of Tom's presence, they felt as though they were drifting farther and farther away from him, even though Tom never explicitly forbade them.
"That guy's a Slytherin, Mum." George Weasley attempted to console his mother, telling her there was no need to be so worried about Harry.
But he was not prepared for…
"I told you that tattered Sorting Hat was faulty." Molly latched onto the idea that the Sorting Hat was to blame, rather than accepting that Harry was a "bad kid."
In the Weasley family, being sorted into Slytherin was tantamount to being a "bad kid"—a near-unanimous sentiment.
Then what did joining the Death Eaters mean?
Ron Weasley, eating with his head down, suppressed a shiver. He didn't dare dwell on it, hiding his unease.
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