London, Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron.
Bang!
A large, empty glass, still clinging to the remnants of foamy Butterbeer, slammed onto the wooden table. The table wobbled precariously, shaking loose a fine layer of dust.
"Oi! Old Tom! Another one, pronto!"
"I want… I want more Butterbeer!"
Sirius Black, thoroughly sloshed, slumped against the table, one hand drumming a frantic rhythm on its surface, as if to summon the tavern owner with the urgency of a drowning man. His tearful bellows carried easily to Tom Abbott, the Leaky Cauldron's proprietor, who was in the kitchen.
Old Tom was, of course, Hannah Abbott's grandfather and therefore privy to the whirlwind of gossip emanating from Hogwarts. He also knew perfectly well that the godson of Sirius Black – the wrongly imprisoned Order of Merlin recipient – was none other than the once-Golden Boy, now seemingly Tom Riddle's favored protégé!
It wasn't difficult to fathom why Sirius had become such a fixture in his pub over the past two years – drowning his sorrows one pint at a time. The old wizard likely imagined his beloved godson corrupted, seduced by the Dark Lord's influence.
What puzzled Old Tom this time was the sheer magnitude of Sirius's despair. Even with the… unconventional new trends emerging from Hogwarts, he couldn't understand why the man was weeping with such unrestrained anguish.
Still, he wasn't complaining. It was all good for business, wasn't it? Sirius was never short on Galleons; each visit meant a hefty profit.
Shrugging off further contemplation, Old Tom retrieved Sirius's empty glass and headed back to the bar.
As Old Tom disappeared into the kitchen, Frederick Volle patted Sirius consolingly on the back of the head. "There, there, Black. It's alright to let it all out."
"Alright, my arse… Waaah…"
Sirius buried his face in one hand, the other pounding on the table. "Don't you dare stop me. I need to drink more! More, I say!"
He couldn't get revenge on that Tom, but wasn't there another one right here in the Leaky Cauldron? He'd drain this Tom's entire stock dry!
Anyway, it was always Tom who struck first, leaving him drowning in despair.
Fortunately, Old Tom was blissfully unaware of the dark whirlpool of thoughts swirling in Sirius's drunken mind. But even if he did know, it likely wouldn't matter. A sale was a sale, and Sirius always paid his tab.
"Volle!"
Sirius suddenly looked up at the elegant, middle-aged man beside him. "Harry… Harry… Waaah…"
He wanted to confide in his old friend, but before he could even form a coherent sentence, another wave of crushing sadness washed over him, and he collapsed onto the table, dissolving into fresh sobs.
Sirius felt like the sky was collapsing around him. Harry had actually proclaimed himself "the Dark Lord" at school?!
What does that make me? Some kind of tragic clown?
(Harry: Godfather and foster father are two different things, right? There's no rule against having both… is there?)
"Sigh…"
Frederick Volle was at a loss for words. He understood the sentiment, of course. He'd probably be feeling the same way if it weren't for Cassandra's own… "ambitions," her disinterest in becoming Tom's daughter.
He had met Harry, though, and sensed that the boy wasn't inherently ungrateful. He likely just… really, really wanted to be Tom's son. He wouldn't forget Sirius, surely.
Sirius's underwear, though thoroughly shredded, was still technically wearable.
"Volle, you don't understand. You just don't understand…"
Sirius shook his head listlessly. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he asked, "Where's your little darling? She's not… like Harry, is she?"
Despite his words, he couldn't help but hope Cassandra was exactly like Harry. It would ease the sting of knowing his friend Volle was winning at life.
"No. Cassandra would never do such a thing."
"Then what does she call herself at school?"
"…"
Was he really supposed to answer that question?
He was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! Uttering something so… rebellious would be the end of him.
Well, not the end, per se. Tom Riddle practically worshipped the ground his daughter walked on.
But he'd certainly be on the receiving end of some creative punishments.
Then again, Tom Riddle hadn't even batted an eye at some of the things his little darling had said… No wonder she's my daughter. Her willpower is truly something to behold!
Although Frederick Volle only had one daughter, and no alternate heir in sight, her marriage would undoubtedly elevate their family. Or perhaps… she'd simply be taken away as a "dowry."
Either way, it was still a net positive for the Volle family. After all, his little darling was definitely marrying up.
With Tom Riddle in the picture, he wouldn't have to worry about her future, even if it meant the Volle family vanished completely.
Unlike those old, entrenched pure-blood families, the Volle family's fortune was built on commerce. Frederick Volle considered himself a shrewd businessman.
Even if he weren't, he could see the writing on the wall. Sirius's Black family estate would undoubtedly fall into Harry's hands, and Harry would, in turn, funnel the Black family's wealth into the Death Eaters.
In other words, the Black family, like the Volle family, was essentially doomed.
But Sirius was in far worse shape than he was, so at least he had that going for him.
Sometimes, a threadbare pair of underpants was nothing compared to a thick, warm coat. Even if both left you exposed to the elements, his situation was decidedly more comfortable than Sirius's.
Compared to his good brother's predicament, Frederick Volle suddenly felt a surge of unexpected contentment.
"…"
Sirius watched Frederick Volle drift into silent contemplation, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He didn't know what Volle was thinking, but he suddenly felt intensely irritated.
…
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Hogwarts, the Room of Requirement.
Tom Riddle, carrying Sirius's threadbare underwear – Harry – entered the Room of Requirement, which had been transformed into a sterile, Muggle-esque operating theater.
"Harry, I imagine you have some idea why I've summoned you here?"
Tom Riddle stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his tone deliberately grave.
Harry Potter, seeing an operating room for the first time in his life, swallowed nervously. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm not entirely sure I understand."
"You will, Harry. You will."
With a flick of his wand, Tom Riddle's black robes morphed into a crisp, white lab coat. In reality, it should have been a sterile surgical gown, but he appreciated the aesthetic nonetheless.
"Lie down."
With a surprisingly sharp command, Tom Riddle gestured towards the operating table in the center of the room.
A tremor ran through Harry Potter's legs, but trusting Tom Riddle implicitly, he stumbled towards the table and lay down.
Click.
As soon as Harry Potter was prone, restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles. Instinctively, he struggled, but the bonds held firm.
Then, all the lights in the room dimmed, except for the spotlight glaring down on him.
"Ready?"
Tom Riddle, now resembling a caricature of a wicked scientist, approached Harry Potter's side.
Terrified, Harry Potter stammered, "Sir… what happens if I say I'm not ready?"
"Nothing at all."
Tom Riddle reached out, his fingers twitching in anticipation. "Let's begin the procedure, shall we? Don't worry, Harry. After this, your head won't ache anymore… and it won't hurt… much!"
"This… this is brain surgery?"
Tears welled in Harry Potter's eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. "Wait! Sir! I suddenly feel… better! No! Aaaaah!!!"
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