Chapter Text
Previously in ‘Look at the Stars’…
Relic of the soul, torn and preserved-
you will anchor yourself to the living.Bone of the father, unknowingly given-
you will renew your son.Hair of the slain, stolen in silence-
you will resurrect your killer.Tooth of the Thestral, ripped from the mouth-
you will rise with Death’s kiss.Blood of the creator, willingly shed-
you will reap your reward.
There was a crack in the sky of lightning and the air around them became electric, filled with magic so sharp Harry could feel it clear to his soul.
The potion surged, not just with heat but with light and power. Steam hissed and twisted into impossible shapes, like serpents fighting in the air. The cauldron trembled, the ground beneath them groaned, and the blinding white light grew so strong Harry had to shield his eyes with his one good hand.
Then came the scream.
It wasn’t loud in volume, but it was deafening in its own way. Harry stumbled toward Sirius, blindly trying to find him in the light, just before something heavy struck Harry directly in the chest.
Harry gasped, though it didn’t hurt at first. It burned though, it burned as it felt like something was carving him from the inside out. Harry grasped for his collarbone, trying to push against it and find Sirius and figure out what went wrong and —
The light disappeared all at once, sucked into the center of the cauldron where a body appeared. Harry didn’t have a chance to check on Sirius, to do more than notice the tear in his clothes, the glowing black ink on his collarbone, before the curled back straightened and the boy turned directly to face Harry.
He was shorter than Harry remembered him being, gaunt in a way that was more elegant than starved. His skin was pale, only dark across his collarbones with the same mark Sirius had on his chest, the one Harry instinctively knew would be on his if he looked down. His hair was dark and soaked, falling down around his eyes… his very red eyes.
Harry cringed, only for a moment. Tom’s eyes flickered. Then they settled into something closer to brown, not quite right. Brown enough, but Harry knew the shadow of red was in there.
Tom Riddle stepped out of the cauldron barefoot, steam still rising from his skin, and looked down at his own hands as though he were seeing himself for the very first time.
“Fuck me,” Sirius breathed, suddenly beside Harry, every muscle in his body tense. “It worked.”
Tom looked up from his hands and his eyes landed on Sirius for a second before moving over to Harry. He smiled and it was startling enough that Harry was shaken from his shock and realized how very terrifying Tom was.
He was attractive, as attractive as he had been in his memories, but sharp too in a way that had every nerve in Harry’s body on edge.
“You’re wearing my father’s face,” Tom said, his first true words spoken directly to Harry. “I know you though…”
Tom stepped forward and Sirius tensed, but neither of them moved an inch backward.
“Harry Potter…” Tom lifted his hand, placed it directly on the mark on Harry’s chest. As soon as he touched it, the burning dulled. There was no splitting pain in Harry’s forehead, nothing at all except for a heart racing with fear, excitement, relief.
“And Sirius Black.”
Tom lifted his other hand, placed it over the mark on Sirius’s collarbone. Harry felt goosebumps erupt on Sirius’s arm beside him, but the breath he let out was easy. Sirius’s left hand found Harry’s right hand and they were connected like that, all three of them.
The truth of it thrummed in Harry’s blood, in his veins, in his thoughts: for better or worse, the three of them were bonded.
Harry stood there, wearing Tom’s father’s face, his first enemy touching his chest, his hand in Sirius’s, and felt a slow smile of triumph stretch across his face.
It was Harry’s past before him, his future beside him, and everything he was never supposed to want in his grasp.