AN: Hi, I'm so sorry this is late! If you've been following my twitter or pillowfort, I literally got the flu after I posted the last chapter. Then after I recovered, I got the flu AGAIN (as a teacher, I must say that children are filled with filthy, filthy GERMS, your first year will be just bedridden angst). Once I thought I was free, I took a month long assignment at a school and actually had to mark and prepare lessons so I didn't get any writing done. Then, just as the world is worrying about a pandemic, I got the flu again. Fun fun times.
Thank you so much for all your lovely comments (and bookmark comments), they make me smile so much and got me through some stressful teaching situations!
This chapter is... different. Not sure what I feel about it.
Teaching History (is Old News)
30 - School Days: Godfather
The night Tom returns to Saint Wool's from the Dursleys, he has a dream.
In the dream, the orphanage is empty, hollow, and dark. He steps through the narrow hallway, passing by empty rooms one by one. Each of his steps echo through the walls, reverberating into the ceiling and raining dust.
Tom walks and walks but there's no end in sight. He just knows that he has to keep going, or it will be too late.
He hears laughter then. There are flashes of green, as bright as Harry's eyes, yet somehow colder.
Tom starts to run. His steps are like thunder, the echoes chasing him from behind. He reaches a dark edge, tumbles down the stairs until he reaches a dark little door, tucked under the staircase.
It's a cupboard.
It seems to breathe.
He rips open the door, the green flashes of light grow brighter, and faster—
And there, lying in this tiny cold cupboard, is Harry, so still and cold, curled up alone.
"No!" Tom roars, grabbing Harry with all his might, wrapping his arms around him. "No, no, no, you can't be dead, don't leave me—"
But Harry is so cold.
And Harry never answers back.
:
It's just a dream, Tom tells himself that night. Dreams mean nothing. He will never believe what he can't see or fashion himself.
And yet, he finds himself rushing towards the mailbox, reaching for the nearest letter.
It's just a dream, Tom tells himself, at the sight of the empty mailbox.
Harry isn't allowed to die or be cold or still. Tom won't let him. Tom will become the most powerful of all wizards and witches. He can defeat death itself if necessary.
Nightmares are a matter of context.
:
But he has that dream again.
And again.
And again.
And aGaIN—
:
Tom, Harry's first and only letter for that summer reads, for some reason, the Ministry is at my house. Oh, and they found something rather interesting under my Aunt and Uncle's and Cousin's beds. They're also confiscating my letters, so it's best that you don't write back this summer. When I see you again, we have a lot to talk about.
Don't worry, they don't suspect you.
Apparently, there's a murderer after me. So, he gets all the blame. Fun.
:
Tom nearly tears the letter into pieces when he reads this, but instead all the windows in the orphanage crack, terrifying the orphans.
"A murderer?!" he hisses, making the orphans wonder if this has become Tom's new lifelong ambition. "Is this a joke?!"
The echoes of Harry's cold hands from the dream tug at his skin.
He opens his hand, summoning a pen from across the room into it, and begins writing back demands for Abraxas Malfoy to investigate any possible murderers who might have a grudge on the Potter family, then he steals the matron's money for a taxi out to the Leaky Cauldron. He'll camp out in Diagon Alley all summer to get his answers if he has to, screw Wizarding child protection laws.
:
Sirius Black, Tom learns from the gossiping patrons of the Leaky Cauldron (because Abraxas Malfoy is slow and incompetent at answering his letters right away), is not just a murderer but the Dark Lord Grindelwald's righthand man. Not only that, but he sold out his former friends, the Potters, to Grindelwald because he learned they were still with the British Ministry.
Upon learning this information, many patrons of the Leaky Cauldron are evacuated from a freak magical fire that seems to start because of 'an overenthusiastic cooking spell' rather than an angry twelve-nearly-thirteen-year old with raging magic.
Tom is going to burn the Ministry of Magic from the inside-out for its incompetence and for choosing bloody traitors to be their spies!
There's not much a not-quite-thirteen-year-old can do against an established Dark Wizard but Tom is no ordinary child. He can think of a few illegal means to protect his Harry.
:
Harry's dead cold hands haunt him until Tom stops sleeping, eyes wide open in calculation.
He'll sleep when he sees Harry again.
And when Sirius Black is dead.
:
Tom arrives at King's Cross an hour early before departure and stands guard near the muggle side of the barrier, waiting. A few concerned security guards come to ask him if he's lost or needs directions but are quickly turned away by his shark-like smile.
He's on his fourth cup of coffee when someone tackles him from behind. Tom nearly blasts them away, save for that familiar voice, calling him by name.
"Harry?" Tom blinks down, and sure enough, there Harry is, grinning widely at him. Warm. Heart beating. Eyes more vivid than the dream.
"Hello Tom! I missed you!"
Liar!
"If you missed me so much," Tom holds him still, inspecting every inch of Harry for injury, "then why didn't you write to me?!"
Harry frowns.
"I told you. Didn't you get my explanation?"
"It wasn't a very good one! You barely explained anything!"
"Well, you shouldn't have cursed the Dursleys without saying 'hi' then. Honestly, if you had time to make such a detailed curse and didn't bother stopping to say 'hello'? You're lucky the aurors think a murderer is after me."
"Speaking of murderers," Tom glowers, grip tightening around Harry, feeling his pulse, "how could you never mention that your parents were murdered by a Dark Lord?"
"Ah, it slipped my mind? I mean, everyone knows… I thought your housemates would have mentioned it?"
All of Tom's housemates are dead to him.
"At least tell me that you don't have to live with those muggles next summer." Tell him that his curse did the work necessary to punish the Dursleys the way they deserve.
"Oh! No. Well, maybe? I'm pretty sure Dudley and Aunt Petunia kept twitching whenever they looked at me but I'm sure they're fine now. The aurors showed up rather quickly…"
In hindsight, the home of the son of well-respected Ministry spies must be well-guarded from the Dark Arts. A pity Harry won't ever see Tom's masterpiece play out. Still, what's done is done. The Dursleys will never be able to escape the lingering nightmares from that curse, even if they won't be driving to insanity now. And Tom can always return when he's older to finish the job…
"But Tom, as… terrifyingly sweet as the gesture was, you really shouldn't have done it. I don't want the aurors to come after you… You're really lucky they thought it was Sirius Black. Also, the moral implications…"
"Screw the moral implications, I'd do it again in a heartbeat to keep that filth away from you. They deserved it, don't tell me that they didn't. I'm smarter than any magical person that works for the Ministry, I can take care of myself. Convince them to let you live elsewhere and you won't get a repeat performance from me."
Alarmingly, Harry's eyes begin to water.
"Why are your eyes doing that? How do I make it stop?!" Tom goes through the spells that he knows, wondering if there is one to stop tears.
"Nothing, nothing—"
"Don't tell me that there's nothing I can do!"
"I'm just… happy. That was… oddly sweet of you, Tom. Thank you." There's a language to Harry's smile, Tom is starting to realize, one that he has yet to learn. There are too-happy smiles, too-bright-to-be-truly-happy. And there are distant smiles when Harry looks at somewhere Tom can't follow. Then there are Harry's delighted smiles, when he looks at Tom as if Tom means something more, but this smile is just… small but warm, as if it feels lucky to exist, and Tom wants to blow on that warmth, feed it air so it can grow into fire and—"I still don't approve though. Not everything can be solved so simply with magic."
Tom scowls. "Tell that to me when you aren't suffering because of your relatives"
"And what if that curse just made them hurt me more?" Harry asks, oddly solemn.
"They wouldn't have! I put in fail safes! They were to ignore you and destroy each other…"
"Oh Tom," Harry says fondly, and all too sadly, "you can't always think of everything. You're only human."
No, Tom thinks fiercely, he's better than human. He'll prove it. Then nothing will ever touch him or Harry again.
But before Tom can say so, a bark gets their attention. They both look down to see a shaggy black dog growling at Tom, pressing close to Harry with its mangy fur.
"Snuffles!" Harry lights up, scooping what he can of the giant dog into his arms. "Did you miss me, buddy? Did you?"
"Harry, step away from that thing! It could have fleas! Or diseases!"
The dog, apparently Snuffles, growls at him with its yellowed teeth.
"No!" Harry cuddles closer to the smug dog. Tom will turn it into a rug and then burn it. "Snuffles is a good boy! The aurors gave him to me to be my bodyguard! Isn't he sweet? Hedwig loves him."
The expression on the demon owl's face has nothing to do with love. She screeches at the mutt while it seems to half-bark and half-laugh at her.
"The aurors. Sent you. A mere. Mutt. To protect you," Tom hisses out.
"Yup!"
"Are they so incompetent?!" Tom will raise the Ministry to the ground, just watch him.
"I'm pretty sure they set up guards outside Private Drive too. And they were nice enough to drive me to King's Cross, so it's all fine, Tom. I even got here early for once because of them!"
"And then they just left you without checking to see if you've crossed the barrier or entered the train?!"
"Er… yeah, I suppose they did do that…"
That's it. When Tom grows up, he will destroy all the bureaucrats involved in this careless incompetency.
"Hmmm… that's either your 'I'm going to become a Dark Lord' face or your 'I'm going to become the Minister of Magic face,' I'm honestly not sure which path would be the healthiest for you. Or the world."
"Stop saying nonsense," Tom scowls. He'd be a great Dark Lord. Not that he'll tell Harry that. "Get your mutt and let's go to the train." Tom grabs Harry's hand and tugs him along. "He better be properly trained."
Predictably, Snuffles tries to bite Tom.
He privately decides that if the mutt were to die from a mysterious accident later at school that it won't be his fault.
:
Tom sticks close to Harry through the entire train ride, ignoring Abraxas Malfoy's invitation to meet later. He refuses to let go of Harry's hand.
"After all, I don't know when you'll do something stupid and get yourself killed again," Tom scowls.
Snuffles tries to bite him again.
Harry goes oddly quiet. The smile he gives Tom this time feels different, a bit… odd, like spring melting the last of winter, still soggy in slush, and yet… there the sun shines.
Everything's fine.
:
Tom jerks awake at the sudden smack to his face. He snarls at whoever dared to hit him only to meet the eyes of the putrid mutt.
"You…!" he hisses, ready to throw a curse.
Abruptly, the dog barks, moving over to nuzzle with a dozing Harry, Harry, who has all but collapsed against Tom's shoulder.
…Tom did not realize he had fallen asleep so soundly… or so quickly…
The demon owl rudely pecks at Tom and Tom shoves her away. "Stop that! Do you want to wake him?"
Both the mutt and the demon owl exchange glances as if weighing the pros and cons of annoying Tom or letting their human sleep.
But the train screeching to a stop makes Harry falls off his seat in surprise. Tom's hand reaches out to catch him too late, fingers only just brushing against Harry's curls. Then Harry topples over on the floor.
For a second, Harry looks too still and too cold like his dream—
"No," Tom hisses, reaching out.
But Harry wakes, eyes slowly blinking up at him. "…Wha…?"
He glances around, nearly smudging his glasses as he rubs his eyelids. "Oh!" he beams, so very vibrant and alive and here. "We're home!"
"Yes," Tom stares at Harry intently. "Home."
:
That night, Tom can't sleep.
Hogwarts is the same as always, the same floating lights, the same stone walls, the same breathtaking sight through the woods. And yet, the feast, the helpings of food, the vast stairways and the paintings seem like a haze. All he can see is Harry's smiling face at the Gryffindor table, aglow in candlelight.
A smile that can be ripped away from him if Sirius Black gets Harry.
"No," Tom glares into his pillow. He'll stop Black. He'll do what the aurors can't.
:
Longbottom nearly spits out his pumpkin juice when Tom sits next to Harry at the Gryffindor table. "W-what are y-you doing here?!"
Tom ignores him, unimpressed, moving the third helping of treacle tart off Harry's plate in favor of some fruit. "Do you have to poison yourself with sugar every morning?"
Startled, Harry looks up at him and then beams. "Tom! How are you doing?" The mutt, Snuffles, seethes, drool threatening to fall on Tom's robes. He's sure this dog must have rabies.
"Fine. I'm walking you to class," he announces.
"Oh! Do we have Charms together?"
"No. I'm just walking you to class."
Harry stares at him oddly again, like Tom has begun speaking Goblin, before that odd warm smile returns. "Alright."
"And I'd like to have one of those 'sleepovers' you mentioned. At Gryffindor Tower with you." Tom would suggest the Slytherin Common Room but hell will freeze over before he gives Draco Malfoy access to Harry.
"Really?! Oh, I'm so excited! I've never had a sleepover before! We can read comics! And play boardgames! Oh, and I can tell you all about my summer!"
Tom abruptly shoves more fruit onto Harry's plate.
Nodding slowly, Longbottom attempts to chew on his toast. "Right. So. Is this going to be a thing… or…?"
Tom glares at him.
"Right. Shutting up now!" But Longbottom eyes him suspiciously anyways.
Tom makes sure to put a silencing and slowing spell on Snuffles before the mutt can throttle him.
:
Gryffindor Tower is as homey as Tom expected it to look. The dungeons where the Slytherin Common Room resides has always been cold, like the dark underside of a cave by the ocean. Tom has to constantly spell his bedsheets with extra warmth. But here, the fires seem warmer and bolder. Here, fluffy armchairs in various shades of scarlet litter the floor, somehow obnoxious yet endearing. No hidden cold spots or icy smiles.
It's perfect for his Harry.
"Here!" Harry tugs him to the center of the common room where piles and piles of blankets have been set up. "You, me, and Neville can sleep here tonight! I got Penelope to sneak Percy away and the other Gryffindor Prefects won't care."
"That…" Tom pauses, staring hard at Longbottom, "sounds lovely."
Longbottom's eyes go wide. "Oh. I, uh—on second thought, I just remembered that, well, I have that essay! Still! To write! And Snuffles will watch over you—I mean, substitute for me, right?"
The mutt, still a persistent parasite, barks in agreement while eying Tom venomously.
Harry frowns "Are you sure? Tom's really nice, I promise!"
"Yup! Sure. I'm going to… find Cedric and Cho to help me out, bye!"
"Tell them I say hello!" Harry calls as Longbottom rushes out. "Guess it's just the two of us now…"
Tom finally smiles. "Yes, it is."
The mutt barks, jumping in between them while Hedwig flaps her wings like a tropical butterfly trying to scare prey.
One day, after Harry's grown tired of pets, Tom will get rid of them.
:
With a compromise to leave the window open to Hedwig can go flying (and leave them alone) and for Snuffles to guard the common room entrance (like a bodyguard should be doing) so they can have some semblance of privacy, the two of them settle into their blanket pile. While Tom would murder any Slytherin who ever witnesses this, he has to admit the blanket pile is comfortable.
To Harry's disappointment, they stay up doing homework and studying ahead for lessons. By ten o'clock at night, they begin straying to other topics, as study sessions with Harry are warranted to go.
"Why don't we have any spells to make mail faster and more convenient? I asked a professor that and he just replied, 'Because it's tradition!' How will we foster creativity with 'just tradition'?"
His Harry is right, of course, growth cannot come without innovation. The laws and traditions of the Magical World should adapt and change to suit the current status quo. Redundant and impractical ideas and laws should be replaced or eliminated. What better way to change those worldviews then by educating the younger generations…?
"We'll change that. One day, we'll figure out how to change things."
Harry rolls away from Tom on the blankets and murmurs, "I think you will definitely change things, Tom. But not me. I'm nothing special. No one would listen to me."
"I would listen to you," Tom says without thinking, sitting up so he can look Harry face to face. "You're important to me." There's no point in Tom denying it. Denial would only hinder further contact with Harry.
His Harry's eyes go oddly misty. "Thank you. That means… more than you know."
The way Harry looks at him makes Tom's skin hot with some sort of need, the urge to reach and touch and hold…! But before Tom can calculate what it is, or what it means, the mutt jumps onto the blankets between them to roll around and shove Tom over.
"Snuffles!" Harry frowns, yet still petting the damn mutt. "That was rude! Apologize to Tom!"
The mutt rolls his eyes.
"You should definitely go to sleep in the boy's dormitory tonight or the owlery with Hedwig. No, don't give me those puppy eyes, I'll be fine. Tom's with me."
Huffing, the mutt growls in Tom's direction. Clearly, Tom is more of a concern to the mutt than Harry's safety.
"Not arguing! Out!"
Stubbornly, the mutt stays put.
While Tom wants the mutt gone, he can see why it's being so stubborn. "Is it so wise to order him to leave when Sirius Black is after you?"
Harry laughs. "Oh, we don't have to worry about Sirius."
"What are you talking about? Of course, we have to worry about him! He's an extremely advanced Dark Wizard, Grindelwald's right hand, he's killed people! Yes, we should worry about him hurting you!"
"Nah, he's like, right there," Harry points at Snuffles. "He's my godfather, you know. Or should I say, 'dogfather'?"
The mutt makes a strangled noise.
"This is serious, Harry!"
"Yes, that's his name, Sirius!"
"No, I meant, you need to look at this realistically. I'm not joking. I need you to be safe!" Tom grabs Harry's hand to feel the warmth, to chase away the cold. "You're special to me. Nothing bad can happen to you or I—"
Harry pulls Tom down into his arms, until Tom is lying against Harry's shoulder and whispers, "Nothing bad will happen to me," his whisper gently nuzzles the top of Tom's hair, even as it trembles, "not as long as you are here. Now, please. I'm tired. Let's rest."
"I'm not tired—"
Harry's laughter rumbles against Tom's chest, such a contrast to his frantically beating heart. "I didn't say you were. But I am. Let's sleep. All of this will look better in the morning."
Tom wants to argue, wants to keep pushing the issues, but Harry is always more reasonable in the morning. Tom's eyes only close for a moment, because Harry needs quiet in order to rest, not because Tom is tired…
He doesn't notice the angry yellow eyes watching them from the dark.
:
Tom has no dreams that night. Only warmth and this rare contentment that he's never felt before in his life…
Then something shoves him awake.
Tom gasps, arms empty and cold.
Alert, he rolls to his side, arms searching for Harry when he sees the dark shadow standing over Harry, gnarled and bloodshot hands about to hook round Harry's neck—
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"
Magic flares up from Tom, lashing out and throwing the figure away from Harry near the fire. The flames light up the figure's features into the aged and warped face of an older Sirius Black.
No. Tom freezes. No, no, no, no. His hands shake with unbridled rage.
The murderer, Grindelwald's Right Hand, Sirius Black, is here. Hogwarts is not safe, has never been safe. All of its warmth and magic, rotting with careless pride and danger because it let Sirius Black get close enough to put his hands around Harry's neck—
Tom launches himself at Sirius Black, aiming his wand at his throat, Avada Kedevra on his lips but, no, the killing curse is too kind, Tom should make him bleed, cut him with a slashing hex again and again, until Black is barely breathing and then Tom will crush his skull—
Black ducks out of the way, quickly transforming into the mutt to dart around Tom, and Tom should have listened to Harry. Of course, of course, Harry would let a murderer become his dog and believe in his intentions!
Is Tom the only one interested in keeping Harry alive?!
Tom puts a shield charm and barrier around Harry to prevent Black from getting him, then whirls around, ready to throw a slashing hex, when Black jumps to human form and catches Tom off guard with a punch to the face.
Blood rushes out from his nose as Tom nonverbally throws the worst spells he knows at Black.
But Black is quick, dodging the spells like a soldier bred for war.
Infuriated, Tom doubles the number of spells, watching Black's eyes widen as an armchair blasts apart under the sheer force of Tom's spells.
"Wait!" Black shouts, hands up in front of him. "Stop! I don't want to hurt Harry! I'm an ally! I—"
The curtains, where Black was standing, burst into flames.
"I'm not like Harry," Tom hisses. "I won't be fooled by you. Now die."
Fire pokers levitate in the air, all of them racing towards Black's vitals. It will be quick and over and Tom will have to turn the body to the aurors and break the news to Harry about taking in mangy strays, then—
One moment, Black is there, seemingly frozen by the raw power coming from this not-quitw-13-year old. The next, in a blink, Black fazes in front of Tom, dark magic wafting through the air, as the fire pokers disintegrate into nothing (how, how, what dark curse did Black use, there's nothing left—) and Tom feels petrificus totalus binding him in place.
No! Tom fights and squirms. But. He. Can't. Move.
Harry lies there, defenseless, unable to wake or hear anything because Tom was too arrogant to wake him up, too weak.
"Finally," Black's rancid breath invades Tom's nose. "I've got you. Soon you'll know nothing again."
Without warning, Black dives into Tom's mind.
:
Images burst out of Tom's mind, memories upon memories, flipping across his eyes too fast to calculate—the orphanage, the rabbit dying, children's frightened stares, Mrs. Cole using the whip, Dumbledore, a closet bursting into flames, then Harry, Harry, Harry, and Black's dirty hands daring to tug some of Tom's memories ways, trying to CHANGE them, make Tom indifferent to Harry, ignorant of Black's animagus secret and Tom REFUSES.
Tom imagines a guillotine, thousands of them, slamming down on Black's mind, cutting off his dirty presence from Tom's for good and then Tom tears into Black's mind, intent on ruining him as he tried to ruin Tom but—
He sees a sorting ceremony, feels fear, as he's sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin, and thinks good riddance to his family, finds completion when he meets James, precious James, and Peter, and Remus (pain, pain, pain, he's sorry, beloved, please come back, he didn't mean it), and annoying spitfire Lily, and they're so happy and naïve and stupid because they thought it would last forever but then Grindelwald killed James's parents and James was different, colder, and Lily was too as her family rejected her, and the next thing Sirius knew, he signed up for war, to be a spy, to be by James's side forever—
They thought they could do anything except—
Peter was always the weakest of them all and Sirius should have listened to him—
Peter dies.
James and Lily die.
Remus, oh Remus, he's so sorry, Remus, don't leave, don't leave, it's my fault, I did this to you—
(I'll kill him.)
Sirius Black lives.
(I'll wait for the right moment.)
Sirius Black's hands are stained red.
(I'll make him feel what I felt, as I take away what he loves most.)
But bloody Grindelwald orders Sirius to bring him Harry Potter and that is the one thing Sirius Black cannot do.
:
Tom falls back. The petrificus totalus breaks as Sirius Black wrings his hands through his mangy head and Tom spits out, "You're a spy?! You're still on our ministry's side?"
Black hisses, digging his nails deeper against his skull. "Can you shut up for one damn moment? My bloody head… shit…!"
"It's your own fault if your head cracks open, you incompetent moron! What kind of secret auror tries to rip into an underaged wizard's mind?! You deserve far worse than that!"
"Then what should I have done?!"
"Use a memory charm!"
"Oh!" Black brightens. "Right! Stay still and—"
"Hell no." Tom accios Black's wand and holds it tight. "I will snap your wand."
Black raises his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine! I won't obliviate you!"
Tom glowers.
"Or rearrange your mind," Black adds, then mutters, "When you're not looking though…"
"You know, I've never tried human to inanimate object transfiguration. You're make for a good piece of rubbish. Then I can properly dispose of you."
Black turns livid. "See, this is why I don't want you near my godson, you slimy Slytherin!"
"Hypocritical, considering your use of dark magic and staying in Grindelwald's ranks all these years."
"I was waiting for the right time to kill him! Harry understands, I'll hide him and—!"
"Harry understands. But Harry needs guardians that won't beat him. Not someone who's waited nine years to kill his enemy! How incompetent are you?! You're supposed to be an adult! You have the power to take him away from there while all I can do is—" kill them, Tom thinks, only to attract more flies. He's powerless, despite his superior intellect and magic, "—nothing."
He was sleeping in the same room as an animagus, as a double agent, and he didn't know. He was sleeping and Black could have strangled Harry in his sleep, because he let his guard down, because he was weak, because he did nOTHinG—
"You're going to leave Hogwarts. You're going to stop being a coward and you're going to kill Grindelwald by the end of the year and then you're going to fight for custody of Harry, despite the blood laws, or I'll get rid of you right now."
"You wouldn't hurt me," Black scoffs. "Harry would hate you."
"You don't know what I'd do for Harry." Tom's a good liar. Harry would never know.
(But what if he did?)
Black glowers at Tom, looking every inch the murderer Tom thought he was but… unexpectedly, his face crumples into something weary and broken.
"Do they… really beat him?"
"Yes!" Tom snaps. "Are you so blind?! Where do you think all the scars and bruises come from?!"
"I just… I thought… they're Lily's family! They're supposed to love him! This can't be real…!"
It's pathetic, really, the way Sirius Black breaks down. Tom always suspected that the adults around him were unqualified actors, who only said they knew what they were doing. Now he knows that adults are still overgrown children, whose minds never grew up.
:
"Don't come back until you know you can take custody of Harry. Don't give him false hope."
Sirius Black stands by the fireplace, floo powder in hand, and grits out, "I won't allow him to see you anymore, once he's mine."
"You won't," Tom tells him, "because you're afraid of losing him. And you will lose him, if you keep him from me. I promise."
:
Grindelwald doesn't die at the end of the year. He loses an eye, too many of his followers, and goes deep into hiding.
Tom Riddle never forgives Black, even when he takes Harry away from the Dursleys.
Some jobs have to be done yourself.
END NOTE: this chapter should be renamed, Sirius Black gets dunked on by a 12 year old