Birds of a Feather (Stick Together)

The boy darted between finely dressed guests with surprising agility, his dark curls bouncing as he ran. His grey eyes, wide and unguarded, locked onto Harry with recognition.

For a fleeting moment, Harry considered bolting. Apparating right there, consequences be damned. But Sirius's eyes—those grey eyes so much like his godfather's—rooted him in place. He couldn't run. Not from that.

"I found you!" Sirius called again, his voice carrying over the hum of the room. Heads turned toward the boy, curious and amused.

Harry clenched his jaw as Sirius reached him, skidding to a halt and clutching at his coat with small hands. "I knew it was you!" Sirius said breathlessly, looking up at Harry with a mixture of relief and excitement. "I told Father you'd be here!"

"Did you now?" Harry murmured, his voice low as he knelt slightly to meet Sirius's gaze. His heart pounded in his chest. "You shouldn't run off like that, Sirius."

Sirius frowned, his small brows drawing together. "But I wanted to see you! You saved me. You're the only reason I'm here." He lowered his voice, glancing around nervously. "Are you leaving?"

Harry hesitated. He glanced around, his sharp green eyes catching the flicker of interest in the crowd. People were watching now, whispers spreading as they took in the boy clinging to a stranger.

"I—" Harry started, but the words caught in his throat as Sirius's grip on his coat tightened.

"Don't go," Sirius said softly. His voice trembled, and Harry could see the vulnerability in his expression—the fear of being abandoned again. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Harry," he said, if only to not see the saddened expression on his face. It worked, Sirius smiled.

A flash of movement caught Harry's attention, and his heart sank. Tom was cutting through the crowd, his sharp eyes locked onto them. His polished stride never faltered, but Harry could feel the force of his presence bearing down on them. Behind him, Barty and Snape followed, their expressions unreadable but no less intense.

"Harry," Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please stay."

Harry exhaled slowly. There was no escaping now. Not without drawing even more attention. He straightened, placing a steady hand on Sirius's shoulder, his gaze flickering to the approaching figure of Tom Riddle.

"I'm here," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere yet."

The boy's face brightened, his earlier fear giving way to a shy smile.

"Interesting," came a smooth, low voice from behind Sirius.

Harry looked up, his breath hitching as Tom Riddle stepped into view. Up close, the man's presence was even more overwhelming—a quiet, dangerous authority that filled the space around him. His grey eyes swept over Harry, sharp and calculating, before settling on Sirius.

"Father!" Sirius said, his voice tinged with excitement. He turned to Tom, his hand still gripping Harry's coat. "It's him! Harry's the one who saved me!"

Tom's gaze flicked to Harry, his expression unreadable. "So I've heard," he said slowly. His voice was calm, but there was a faint edge to it, like the coiled tension of a predator circling its prey. "Mr. Harry, was it?"

Harry nodded stiffly, his mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't land him in deeper trouble. "Harry Potter."

"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems you've made quite the impression on my son."

Sirius beamed up at Harry, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two men. "He's amazing, Father! He's like a hero!"

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly, and Harry felt the weight of that gaze settle on him like a physical force. "A hero," Tom repeated, his tone unreadable. "How… intriguing."

Behind him, Barty leaned in slightly, his voice low. "Shall I investigate, my lord?"

Tom raised a hand, silencing him without breaking eye contact with Harry. "That won't be necessary. Yet."

The tension in the air was palpable, the ballroom growing quieter as more people turned to watch the scene unfold. Harry's grip on his wand tightened beneath his coat.

"I'd like to thank you properly," Tom said smoothly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "Perhaps over dinner."

Harry's stomach twisted. He forced himself to nod, his expression carefully neutral. "Of course."

"Wonderful," Tom said, his smile not faltering as he extended an arm, gesturing toward the nearby buffet where the remains of the earlier press conference lingered—glasses half-filled with champagne, plates carrying crumbs of delicate hors d'oeuvres.

"Shall we eat something, Harry?" Tom asked, his voice smooth and inviting, though his eyes held the glint of a challenge.

Sirius's grip on Harry's sleeve tightened, the boy practically bouncing in place. "Please? You'll stay, won't you?"

Harry hesitated, caught between the expectant gaze of the boy and the steely patience of the man. His instincts screamed at him to walk away, but Sirius's wide grey eyes—so much like his godfather's—held him fast.

"For a little while," Harry murmured, and Sirius's grin widened with delight.

Tom's smile deepened. "Excellent."

The three of them moved toward a small table set near the edge of the ballroom, away from the main crowd. Tom pulled out a chair for Sirius that was conveniently near, who climbed into it eagerly.

Tom just stood next to him with the ease of a man entirely in control, his sharp gaze never leaving Harry. Behind him, Barty and Snape lingered at a distance, their eyes watchful.

Sirius fidgeted as he ate a couple of pastries Tom handed him, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two adults. "See, Father? I told you he'd come!"

"I did see, Sirius," Tom said, his tone warm but measured. "And I'm just as curious as you are to learn more about our mysterious guest."

Harry stiffened slightly, catching the edge in Tom's words. "There's not much to tell," he said simply.

"Oh, I find that hard to believe," Tom replied smoothly. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he steepled his fingers. "A man who appears out of nowhere, performs feats that defy logic, and saves my son from a sniper's bullet… Surely, there's more to the story than that."

Harry met Tom's gaze, his green eyes steady. "I was in the right place at the right time."

"Perhaps," Tom said, his tone skeptical but laced with amusement. "And yet, you've drawn Sirius's admiration, something not easily earned."

Sirius beamed at Harry. "I told you, he's a hero, Father! You should've seen the shield he made—it was like magic!"

Tom's eyes sharpened at the word, and Harry felt a flicker of unease.

"Magic," Tom repeated softly, his gaze never wavering from Harry. "A curious term. Do you believe in magic, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I believe in what I can see and what I can do."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smirk. "A practical man. Admirable."

Sirius clapped his hands, his excitement contagious. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Tom's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "Perhaps another time, Sirius. For now, let's let Harry explain how such a… unique talent came to be."

Harry's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to meet Tom's gaze. "There's nothing to explain," he said evenly. "It's just something I've always been able to do."

"Fascinating," Tom murmured, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. "And yet, it's not the sort of thing one typically sees. Certainly not something that goes unnoticed."

Harry felt the weight of Tom's words, the implicit warning woven into them. He shifted in his seat, his fingers brushing against the wand hidden in his coat pocket.

Sirius, oblivious to the tension, turned to his father with a grin, some crumbs near his lips. "Isn't it amazing, Father? Harry's the best!"

Tom's gaze softened as he looked at his son and cleaned his face, though the sharpness in his eyes didn't fade entirely. "Yes, Sirius. He is… intriguing."

The boy beamed, oblivious to the layered meaning in his father's tone. "So, does this mean we will be having dinner with Harry?"

Tom tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. "I certainly hope so."

Harry exhaled slowly, resigned to the direction the evening was heading. "If that's what Sirius wants," he said quietly.

"Excellent," Tom said smoothly. He leaned back in his chair, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Sure."

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—Sirius's lessons, his favorite books, and his thoughts on the ball—Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope. Tom's questions had been deliberate, calculated, each one designed to pry open the armor Harry had carefully constructed.

And yet, Harry couldn't ignore the small, unguarded smile on Sirius's face or the way the boy's laughter softened the edges of the world around him.

Whatever Tom's intentions, Harry knew one thing for certain: Sirius was worth protecting.