The sound of distant sirens reached Harry's ears as he stood by the car, watching Tom retreat into his usual stoic mask. The faint wail of emergency vehicles seemed both too far and too close, a grim reminder of how quickly chaos had erupted—and how lucky they were to have survived.
Sirius, tucked into the backseat, was pale and trembling, his small hand gripping the pendant at his chest. Harry lingered beside him, a reassuring presence even as his own heart raced with lingering adrenaline. He caught sight of a raven perched on a distant lamppost, its dark eyes fixed unerringly on them. The same raven, he realized with a flicker of unease, that he'd seen days ago.
He ignored it for the moment, his gaze turning to Tom, who stood near the wreckage, his sharp grey eyes fixed on the downed assailant. When he spoke, his voice was calm but edged with steel. "Mr. Potter, is there a way to find out who sent them? To trace this back to the mastermind?"
Harry hesitated, his gaze flickering to the assailant writhing on the ground, pinned by a disarming hex. The idea of Legilimency—reading another's mind—flickered in his thoughts, but he had only ever used it in desperation. His technique wasn't polished, and the idea of using it on a stranger, someone hostile, filled him with unease.
"I could try," he said cautiously, "but it's… not exactly gentle."
Tom's gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable. "If it gets us answers, I trust you'll do what's necessary."
Harry nodded, his resolve hardening. He crouched down beside the assailant, ignoring the muffled protests as he roughly removed the man's helmet. The attacker's eyes darted around wildly, fear and defiance mingling in his expression.
"Stay still," Harry said, his voice low and commanding. Without waiting for a response, he placed his wand on the man's forehead, muttered the spell, and concentrated.
The sensation of diving into someone else's mind was disorienting, even for Harry. He pushed past the surface thoughts—panic, pain, and confusion—digging deeper into the layers of memory. The assailant's resistance was immediate, like a wall of jagged glass trying to keep him out. But Harry wasn't deterred.
The mercenary screamed, his body jerking against the invisible force. Harry grimaced but pressed on, ignoring the strain it took to push through the barriers. Images began to flicker—disjointed and chaotic, but telling. A meeting in a dimly lit warehouse. A voice, distorted but authoritative, giving orders. Payments exchanged, instructions given.
"They're mercenaries," Harry murmured, his voice tight with concentration. "They don't know much about their employer. But their leader…"
The memory shifted, revealing a face—grizzled and scarred, with cold, calculating eyes. Harry focused on it, searching for details. An address surfaced, scrawled on a piece of paper: 347 Harker Street. Another flash showed a blueprint, a map of operations—but before Harry could grasp it fully, a sharp voice yanked him out of the man's mind.
"Potter!" Snape snapped, his voice cutting through the fog of Harry's concentration.
Harry blinked, disoriented, as the connection severed. He stumbled slightly, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The mercenary slumped against the ground, unconscious from the strain.
"The police are too close," Snape said tersely, his dark eyes flicking toward the approaching sirens. "We'll discuss your findings later."
Harry nodded, still catching his breath, and stood. He glanced at Tom, whose expression remained inscrutable, though his sharp gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than necessary.
As the first police car pulled up, Harry stepped back, falling in line with Tom and Snape. His thoughts churned with the fragments of information he'd uncovered—pieces of a puzzle he wasn't sure how to assemble. But one thing was clear: this attack wasn't random, and the mercenaries weren't working alone.
Tom's voice was quiet, almost too calm. "We'll deal with this. Later."
Harry nodded again, his green eyes flickering to the police officers now swarming the scene. For now, he would play his part, but the weight of what he'd discovered settled heavily in his chest.
Soon, the police were there, alongside paramedics and reporters. Harry didn't want to deal with them, so he stepped closer to the car to shield Sirius from the growing crowd of camera flashes. The boy's eyes were still wide, his breaths shallow. Harry crouched down, his voice low and soothing. "Hey, it's okay, Sirius. You're safe now."
Sirius looked up at him, his lower lip trembling. "I was so scared, Harry."
"I know," Harry said softly, his hand resting lightly on Sirius's knee. "But you were so brave. And the pendant worked just like it was supposed to."
The boy's small fingers clutched the charm tighter, his grip a lifeline. "You came," he whispered.
"Whenever you need me, I'll be there," Harry promised.
A flashbulb went off nearby, and Harry instinctively turned to shield Sirius further, his back to the cameras. The raven cawed sharply from its perch, its wings ruffling as if in disapproval.
Tom returned a moment later, his grey eyes locking with Harry's. "The police are here. Let them do their work."
"Of course," Harry said, his tone measured, though he cast a wary glance at the press. "Are we staying for questions?"
"No," Tom said firmly. His gaze flickered toward Sirius, who was beginning to relax under Harry's calming presence. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression—something raw and unguarded—but it was gone in an instant.
Tom's voice lowered, barely above a murmur. "Three uses."
Harry blinked, confused for a second before realizing what he meant. He stood, meeting Tom's piercing gaze. "Yes. The pendant had three layers of protection. One for each immediate threat."
Tom's jaw tightened. "And if there had been a fourth?"
Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I would have made it in time."
"You can't guarantee that," Tom said, his tone harsh but not angry. It was the voice of a man wrestling with the unbearable.
"But I was here," Harry countered gently, his voice steady.
For a moment, Tom said nothing. His gaze lingered on Sirius, who had finally started to drift into an uneasy sleep. When Tom spoke again, his words were quieter, tinged with something Harry couldn't quite name. "You shouldn't have had to be here at all."
Harry tilted his head, studying him. "You did everything you could, Tom. This isn't on you."
The use of his first name caught Tom off guard, and for a moment, he could only stare at Harry, the rawness of the moment settling between them. Tom's eyes flickered, a storm of emotion briefly flashing in their depths before he straightened. His voice, when he spoke again, was cold and controlled. "Get him home. I'll handle the rest."
Harry hesitated, then nodded. As he slid into the car beside Sirius, he couldn't shake the memory of the look on Tom's face—the rare vulnerability that had slipped past his mask.
The raven cawed again as the car pulled away, its dark eyes following them until they disappeared from view.
.
The ride back to the mansion was quiet. Sirius leaned heavily against Harry's side, his small hands clutching the pendant still resting against his chest. Snape sat across from them, his expression impassive, though his sharp eyes betrayed his ever-watchful nature.
Harry adjusted the blanket draped over Sirius, his thoughts wandering as the child's breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep.
"Are you hurt?" Snape's low voice broke the silence.
Harry looked up, startled for a moment before shaking his head. "Just a graze. Nothing to worry about."
Snape's gaze flicked briefly to Harry's arm before settling on his face. "You're remarkably calm, considering the circumstances."
Harry shrugged. "It's not my first brush with danger. Won't be my last."
The conversation fell back into silence after that, Snape retreating into his usual reserved demeanor. Harry didn't press further; he was too focused on the small, fragile weight leaning against him.
When they reached the mansion, Harry carried Sirius inside, the boy barely stirring as he moved. The familiar halls were dimly lit, the quiet hum of the house a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind.
Upstairs in Sirius's room, Harry gently laid the boy down, tucking him under the covers. Sirius blinked sleepily up at him, his grey eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with trust.
"Can you tell me a story, Harry?" he murmured, his voice soft.
Harry smiled, pulling a chair closer to the bed. "Of course. How about… the time a couple of twins I knew decided to turn our school into a swamp?"
Sirius's tired giggle warmed Harry's heart as he launched into the tale. He kept it light and harmless, focusing on the ridiculous pranks the twins had pulled, their cleverness, and the hilarity of their escapes.
By the time he finished, Sirius's soft laughter had faded into the quiet of sleep. Harry stayed for a moment longer, smoothing the boy's hair before standing.
As he left the room, a faint unease settled over him. It was strange not to find Tom lingering outside the door or seated in the corner, as he often was during bedtime stories. The absence was noticeable, though not entirely unexpected after the events of the day.
Harry had barely stepped into the hallway when Colin appeared, his hurried footsteps breaking the silence.
"Mr. Potter," Colin said breathlessly, his face flushed from running. "Mr. Riddle has just returned. He's waiting for you in his study."
Harry nodded, his weariness momentarily eclipsed by determination. "Thanks, Colin."
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