Harry grunts as he is slammed into the ground. "That's not," he wheezes, rolling on his side, "fair. Why can't I use my magic just for training?"

"You could," admits Tom, holding out his hand to help Harry up. "I am, however, prepared for these things in more than the usual sense."

Harry ignores the hand and jumps to his feet. After lunch with the Malfoys, Tom declared they'd be training -- which is fine, and something that Harry is enjoying, despite its faults, but... it does have many faults. Like the fact that Tom is allowed to use magic freely and Harry is not. "Fuck does that mean?"

Harry frowns, looking at the dirt and droplets of blood that splatter them. He rolls his eyes when Tom heals them.

"I'll show you," says Tom. He points a finger toward himself and says, excitedly, smugly, " Crucio."

Harry blinks, jerking forward, breath catching in his throat. ( Kill the spare, Cedric Diggory, I can touch you now. A duel he didn't really win. ) " What are you--" he says, almost shouting.

... But Tom Riddle is fine. The spell bounces off (absorbs into something?) of thin air. He is not shaking or screaming or crying, shows no signs of pain. Admittedly, even Tom is not that good of an actor.

He's alright.

He's okay.

Tom looks at him, a concerned look in his eyes. "It's a state of the art shield," he says slowly. "One that I developed. Spells reflect right off of it -- the Killing Curse, Crucio, Imperio, the best of it. I cannot be killed by any means. But, sorry to change the subject, are you alright? You look--"

Harry takes one deep, shuddering breath. "I'm fine, " he says. He's also unsure if the Killing Curse can be blocked by magic shields... but he supposes that many things have changed from one world to the other, and this is one of them.

"You're pale."

"Not that I have a lot of outside time as a Professor," he retorts weakly.

Tom frowns. "Do you want to stop? We can take a break, if you want."

Harry grins a wobbly grin. "Like you can get rid of me that easily. Afraid you'll lose, Tom?"

Tom chuckled lightly. "You're alright. Alright." He wonders, even so, the history behind Harry Potter and Crucio. (If it was Voldemort himself who cast it.) He also knows that Harry offers up his past in chunks. He will take them as he goes. "And I thought, Harry, that the scoreboard reflected that it's I who's winning?"

"Doesn't count."

"Try a little harder," Tom teases. "Without magic, you still need the ability to protect yourself. This is essential."

"I know that," growls Harry. He squares his shoulder, digs his heels into the ground, and raises his fists. "Let's go. Come on."

"You sur--" He ducks to avoid Harry's fist, swinging at his face. Tom huffs. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

He throws a couple cutting charms Harry's way, who makes quick work to avoid them. "You're a fast runner," Tom notes, sending another one his way. "Your reflexes, too, are superb."

"Thanks," Harry says, breathless. "They had to be."

And that is... worrying. "What do you mean by that?" But Harry's busy charging him, sidestepping every curse sent his way. It is impressive. Would be effective, against any normal wizard. But Tom is not that.

Tom spreads a line of fire in front of Harry. He expects a stuttered stop in his tracks, an angry retreat, but Harry has always been prone to denying Tom's expectations. Harry jumps, flying through the flames with what is either bravery or a total lack of self preservation.

Perhaps it's both.

And in that moment, Tom cannot help but think that he looks, without a doubt, angelic.

(Tom's former Harry would never do something like this. Tom's Harry is more an angel than a demon.)

Harry lunges, obviously, to try and tackle him. Adorable. Tom holds his ground and turns it into more of a controlled spin, twirling him around in his arms.

"You're marvelous," breathes Tom. He puts out any fire that caught on Harry's robes and repairs the damage.

Harry does not move to pull out of his hold, but he doesn't return it, either. "I just jumped through literal and actual fire to try to beat you the fuck up," says Harry between pants. "Why -- why do you sound like... like that ?"

Tom cannot look away from his face. The scare of his forehead. His pupils, the curve of his lip. Tom swallows. "Like what?"

Harry huffs, faint blush on his cheeks. "Like you're enamored. Like you want to kiss me."

"Isn't it established that I do ?" says Tom, pulling him closer. Harry stills. "Even if it failed, it was impressive, Harry. Your will. Your stature, your beau--"

And though Sirius would say 'suck it up so we can figure out a way home,' Sirius also would tear Tom apart for even daring to stand so close to him. Harry snorts, releasing himself from Tom's hold. "Whatever, whatever. Can you stop going on about my beauty and put out this fire? It's a hazard, I'll have you know."

Tom thinks the lightning makes Harry look rightfully otherworldly, makes him look delightfully hypnotizing, kin to veela. He puts out the flame anyway. "Your wish is my command, love," he says.

Harry rolls his eyes, popping his knuckles. "Right," he says, flatly. "My wish, then, is to have one more battle."

"You just lit yourself on fire."

" Right, " says Harry. "That's why I'm only asking for one more match."

And Tom did just say "your wish is my command." And he was only sort of lying when he did.

So he sticks out his hand, spraying rocks at him.

Harry dodges. Runs. Kicks up dust while he does. "Those puny things all you got?" he yells, laughing.

Run, dodges, and, yes. Mocks.

Tom makes the stones bigger. Harry always rises to the challenge -- and why shouldn't Tom do the same?

Harry, this time, does not try to charge him. He does not try to move toward him even at a slow rate.

What he does is grab one of Tom's rocks in his hand. His arm cocks back and, with one step forward, it is hurled towards Tom's face.

He is so astounded -- so surprised, impressed, smitten -- that it does not miss.

Blood drips into his vision. A large pain sting directly above his right eye.

"Huh," notes Harry. He's standing in front of Tom now -- and when, Tom thinks, did he get so close? "We're matching. Aren't we?"

"You threw a rock at me," Tom deadpans. "The rock I summoned. You used it against me."

"Look, if you're going to be mad at the fact that I won, maybe acknowledge your own part in it?" Harry laughs. "I mean, shit, bro. It's not like I had many other options."

"I am not mad. I'm -- I'm impressed, Harry."

What Harry was was lucky. Lucky enough for Tom to choose to shoot rocks at him, lucky enough to think to throw them... and lucky, privately, to realize what that means.

Harry thinks, sweat running down his face, grinning victoriously, that if you can tackle him, and if rocks can hit him...

Then the statement "I cannot be killed by any means" is a lie. Isn't it?

...

Remus Lupin here is a stiffly held man with a man bun. "Pleasure to meet you acquaintance," he says, bowing. He glances up at Harry. "I've heard much about you."

And that's weird, too. That's different. Remus does not bow. "Sirius is a talker, ain't he?" Harry jokes, shifting awkwardly on his feet. How does Tom deal with this, desire this? To take pleasure in the demeaning of others...

"Yes," says Remus, shortly, rising. "That he is."

"Will I get to see him today?"

"Tomorrow. The President wants me to show you to your place of residence here. Sunday, you'll train together."

Harry waves with his arm. "Lead the way, then."

Remus starts walking and Harry begins following. Harry hums. "What, exactly, has Sirius told you?"

"Oh, what hasn't he?" Remus chuckles. "He is... excitable, where I am involved."

"Let me guess," says Harry. "He wanted to tell you everything?" At this rate, Remus probably knows more about him in a few days than Tom's figured out through Harry's entire time here.

"What I know is now comprehensive. He would have followed me into my room, if I had not denied him."

Harry wrinkles up his nose. "Gross."

"No, not like that... Well," Remus sighs. " Maybe like that."

"Does he know?"

"About what?"

"About," Harry fakes a gag. " Snape. His counterpart's fraternizing with Snape. I haven't the heart to tell him -- I think it would push him over the edge, I really do."

"Me too," says Remus. "It is that... he is kind, Sirius. More than he was before. He does not speak kindly of Severus."

"No, he wouldn't," Harry decides. He tilts his head. "So you like him, know he dislikes Snape, and won't tell him because of it?" Friends sparing friends.

"Yes."

"Are you ever going to?"

"...Possibly. If he does not lay off his... advances."

Harry takes it as a certainty that it will both happen and Harry won't have to do it himself. "When you do tell him, write to me. I want both sides of his reaction."

Remus goes quiet. "I," he says at last, "do not see why not."

"I am wondering one thing, though," says Harry. "My Sirius hates Snape. He's not claimed by him," not owned, not off limits, "and... if I had to guess -- and this is just a presumption, don't mind it if you don't want to -- you like him to. SO here's my query: Why deny him?"

"Severus will not see it that way."

"Yeah? Who cares?"

" Severus! "

"And? And you care because? "

"Because it's Seveurs," says Remus, tiredly. "And I like Severus."

Harry gasps out a small, " No."

"No, not like that, Harry." Remus chuckles. "We're friends. Good friends. And he's... I wouldn't quite say 'heartbroken' that Sirius is gone, but it's something close."

"Right," Harry snorts. "Heartbroken implies more emotion than he's capable of."

Remus smiles. "He's hopeful, believe it or not--"

"I don't."

"-- about there still being a Sirius around, and I'm not bad enough of a friend to tear that hope away from him."

"Could you be like... fifthteen percent more evil? Or rational. Cause I think we both know by now Sirius ain't the type to give second chances -- even to someone he technically hasn't given one to."

"Nor are you, I gather."

"Not the point."

Remus stops in front of a door. "Your room," he says. He holds out a key on a string. "And you key."

Harry takes them. "Think about what I said. I find that letting your life be dictated by Snape has never had a good outcome."

Remus smiles lightly. "I'll keep that in mind, Harry."

"Will you?"

"Not really. But the sentiment is nice."

"I've the best advice, I'll have you know."

"You've also never dated before," says Remus.

Harry groans. "Sirius and his big mouth..."

Remus laughs. His hand raises up, as if to ruffle Harry's hair, before falling to his side. He clears his throat and keeps smiling, but it is sadder now. "I'll see you around, Harry."

...

Harry thinks that he looks worse. Not by a large margin, of course, it's been but a week, but he has experienced more reminders of traumatic instances in his life in the last seven days than he had in the past year. His strenuous exercise routine is also interrupted -- who knew being a teacher took up so much timer?

So if that is concern in Sirius' eyes, it is still loathed by Harry. But it's not misplaced.

Sirius, on the other hand, looks, against all odds, better. He is, as he puts it, "thriving."

Harry catches up with him through training, thinking his good mood is surprising but shouldn't have been. Memories of his time in Azkaban had surely flooded him the first few days. The moment he was out of prison, though, what was holding him back? Sirius holds onto, more so than Harry does, the idea that they will be returning home in the near future. And, maybe, he's figuring that if he is stuck here -- not forever -- then what is the harm in enjoying it?

And Remus. Remus must've helped.

"Access to the Potter vault has helped me tremendously, Harry," Sirius is saying. He's filling out paperwork beside Harry, who is just there for moral support -- standard procedure for new recruits... and anything standard, of course, means Harry is exempt. "How'd you manage that? Getting Voldemort to add my name? I couldn't imagine him giving me anything willingly." He laughs bitterly.

Harry shrugs. "He'll do anything I ask, apparently," Harry lies. Harry lies because he does not know how Sirius would react to the truth and because Sirius does not need it. Sirius is not poor in a place that respects poor people only for the fact that someone needs to be below them -- and how that came to be (violence against a hard working goblin minding her own business; being assaulted then Obilivitaited) is not relevant.

What Sirius does not know can't hurt him. What Sirius does not know protects Harry.

"I've always wanted to be an Auror," Sirius tells him. "I have in training for it, too, before... Before your parents died and I was..."

"Imprisoned," Harry says, nodding. "And I expect they don't have a very good trainee program, do they? But, hey, at least all of this must look familiar," he says, jokingly.

The slow appearance of Sirius' bad mood disappears when he laughs. "Hell yeah, it is. It's a bit different, of course--"

"Like everything here is."

"-- But the basics of it, I've got in the bag."

"You're going to make a great Auror," Harry says truthfully.

Sirius teases, "The same way you're already making a great personal assistant?"

Harry's head thumps against the table. "Don't talk about it."

"People talk, Harry."

"Lemme guess," says Harry, peeking up at him. "About me, right?"

"And how Mr. President," he says the term of respect saracastically, "has already taken a liking to you. You've done a great job getting him to like you -- the moment he finds a way for us to get back home, he'll give it to you so fast it'll make your head spin."

"I haven't had to do much, actually," says Harry, sitting back up in his chair. "He's done most of that himself. I'm not as likable as people think I am, but... I guess everyone has a taste."

"And you're his?"

"Fortunately." And unfortunately. "But I don't know if he'd give up a way home so readily as you seem to think he would."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Why's that? He likes you, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, but you've seen him, haven't you? And -- and people talk, don't they?" Harry sighs. "He likes me." More than he should, more than Harry would prefer him to. He likes Harry in a way that is useful but not comfortable. "He likes me so... so he wants to own me. And I've made progress, don't get me wrong -- he's made progress. Boundaries and freedom and all that shit. I just... don't think he's going to want to... 'give me up' that easily."

Sirius is made of hope. He has been for a long time. He needs something to keep him going -- and Harry thinks that it is really more denial than anything. "But he has made progress?"

"He sure is trying to. I appreciate it, for what it's worth."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You appreciate it? Careful, Harry. Someone might start thinking you like him, too."

Harry scoffs. "He wishes."

Lunch comes quickly. For Harry, not quick enough. "I'm fucking starving," Harry says. His arms are filled with snacks, bought from the Ministry gift shop, and he is waiting for Sirius to finish up paying.

Sirius thanks the cashier and takes some of the snacks, freeing up Harry's arms. "As if. You just had breakfast."

"Like, hours ago. I'm a growing boy, Sirius, and a hungry one at that."

Sirius leads them past the break room -- Remus isn't there and Sirius cares little for any of his other coworkers -- and takes them outside. There is a concrete ledge and Harry sits on top of it while Sirius leans against it.

They spread their collection of snacks out in front of them and begin working through them. Harry tears a piece of beef jerky off with his teeth and chews gloomy. For a place that houses people, it's awfully inconvenient that they don't serve meals as well.

If this is what all his meals are to be like, he's going to have to start sneaking stuff from Hogwarts.

Sirius does not seem to mind. Of course he wouldn't. He knows hunger too well to dwell so thoroughly in its absence.

"I've been getting weird dreams lately," Sirius says out of the blue.

"Hm?" Harry wipes crumbs off his face.

"They're starting to feel as if they're not mine. Like... they are about me; a version of me."

Why is Harry getting deja vu? "Like they're close," Harry finishes, quietly. He puts all his and Sirius' trash in a pile.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's a good word for it. And they're really out-there, these dreams," continues Sirius. He wrinkles his nose. "I'm dreaming that I'm some weirdo--"

"That part isn't a dream, though."

" You're one to talk," retorts Sirius. "I dream I'm some weirdo that comes out the other side of the Veil in love with -- get this -- fuckin' Snape. "

Harry blinks. "I... yeah, that's -- that's... that's some ridiculous dreams you've got there. Yeah, no, I couldn't even imagine."

But he can.

Because, on this side of the Veil, it did happen.

And those dreams -- the fact that they feel as if they're a narration of another person; the fact that they discuss events that are true here and only here ...Harry cannot place why, but it feels familiar.

Sirius is no Seer. (Lord knows that if he was, things would've turned out much different.) So why is he dreaming of things he shouldn't know about?

And why does Harry have the indistinct feeling he's done the same?

"I can hardly remember them come morning," says Sirius, oblivious to Harry's turmoil. "And, yeah. They do seem ridiculous."

"You could say that again," Harry jokes, somewhat dryly.

"You could," he says absently. "But I wouldn't."

Harry stares at him. "What?"

"I get a lot of insider info. From Remus." Sirius' grin takes on that particular fondness it always does when discussing him.

"I didn't think he'd returned your openness so suddenly."

"Eh, it's a work in progress. Remus works with new recruits. He is also one of the main developers of the Veil -- the, uh..."

"Unspeakables?" Harry guesses.

"That's the bitch," Sirius exclaims. "He's been talking about all sorts of top secret shit; probably violating a dozen procedures by doing so."

"Shit, really?" And that confirms something else; Remus has fallen just as easy as Tom has.

"They're working on this new technology. They have this spell that's able to tell the 'existence' status of their Harry and Sirius through the Veil -- I don't really get it either; using some trace amounts of magic they'd cast that's still here? Something like that. So they're throwing other things through the Veil to see if anything else continues to exist. To see if we can communicate with the other reality somehow, you know? So far, it's a failing task."

"That's... really cool," says Harry. "I mean, that's incredibly advanced magic -- Hermione would love it, that's for sure..." But it hurts to think about Hermione, so he shakes his head. "Anyway... how does this relate to your dreams?"

"It's got me thinking, bro."

"Well, that's dangerous."

"Fuck yeah it is."

Harry snorts. Like father, like son. Harry understands where he gets his humor from.

"So I'M thinking that if their Harry and Sirius continue to exist -- such as yours truly -- and we're able to tell that via--"

"Oh, god, you're using the term 'via.' Remus' nerdiness has rubbed off on you."

Sirius sticks out his tongue. "We're able to tell that through means on our side of the Veil. That means it doesn't work as originally theorized. It was hypothesized objects could pass through the Veil only when the same object passed through from the other side at the same time -- and though this is true, it also appears much more complicated. Harry and Sirius' magic, trace amounts of it, are being implemented into this spell."

"You're using big words and it's scaring me."

"Oh, shut up."

"Then get to your point, dimbo."

"If our magic is able to pass through the Veil on its own, then what about my dreams?"

"Well, what about them?" he asks, but he doesn't have to be a Hermione to see where he's heading with this.

"What if they're trace amounts of their magic, somehow affecting me? Furthermore--"

"Please don't say furthermore."

" Furthermore, have you thought about your counterpart? What he's doing in our universe? What the fuck is up with that, huh?"

"I've considered him briefly," Harry says, rolling his shoulders. "And about how much I'd like to beat the fuck out of him. Beyond that... I've been a bit busy."

"Get busy thinkin' , bro!"

" You're one to talk."

"Yeah! Apparently! And you're using my phrase against me." He sobs jokingly. "Oh, they grow up so fast."

Harry ignores the aching in his heart. (Like father, like son.) "What's your point?"

"What if my dreams are a window -- using that fucked, not understood Veil magic -- into whatever the other Sirius is experiencing right now? That's what these feel like. The events that happen in them, the way they feel -- they do not seem like dreams."

"I'd," he says, quietly, "prefer it if they were, though."

Sirius furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean?'

"I've... well, I don't know," Harry shrugs. "It's weird, alright? But I've been getting dreams, too. And... they're similar to," exactly like, "what you've been describing. And I'll tell you Sirius," he laughs awkwardly. "They don't mean shit."

"They don't, or you don't want them to?"

"Obviously the latter but preferably the former."

"What have your dreams been about?" he asks, curiously.

And Harry does not want to talk about it. They are private and leave a vile taste in his mouth and none of Sirius' god damn business -- but this is Sirius. And he loves Sirius. He has no reason to hide this from him. "I barely remember them," he says, digging his toe into the dirt.

"Tell me, c'mon." Tell your old pops.

Harry cracks a smile. "He's... weirded out. By me. By this place. He's grateful to have you. And I think," he hisses through his teeth. "I really think he's in love with Tom."

"On God?"

"On God, Sirius, I swear to you. He -- oh lordy, get this," Harry cackles. "He's like a teen girl. He thinks Harry Riddle, Tom Potter -- like all the fucking time. Downright embarrassing."

Sirius laughs earnestly and Harry's laughing too, of course he is, because it is funny.

But it also, distantly, somewhere in Harry's mind, contributes to the ever growing question of what went wrong? Tom's not happy that his Harry is gone... but it's not as if he's complaining that he is. Why is he so eager to abandon the man he loves -- a man who, fervently and whole heartedly, loves him back?

And... okay, Harry's no expert on romance. He'll admit that. He's not even come close to dating anyone, and whatever you can call the thing he has with Tom doesn't count.

But. And he'll be brave enough to say it. Tom has gone from supposedly loving someone one year older than him... to being obsessed with someone who is three years younger.

It means nothing on its own. Every piece of the puzzle here, independently, can mean nothing.

Together, though. Together they paint a picture. A very telling picture, if only Harry knew what it was telling.

"Apparently this Harry was on good terms with Dumbledore and Snape and Tom," Harry jokes. "And I'm sitting here, like... trying not to lose my mind because whoever that freak was, everyone assumes I am, too."

Sirius wheezes, laughing so hard he is doubled over, pounding his fist against the concrete.

"I punched him." Harry adds, clarifying, "Snape, I mean."

"OhmyGOD YoupunchedSeverusSnape. "

"Breathe, Sirius."

Sirius responds with hysterical laughter.

"And I'm training a bunch of kids -- well, right now, I'm allowed to call it teaching," though for how much longer? "but it's basically training – how to implement the James Formation, hoping that someone should uses it to beat Snape the FUCK up."

"What's," Sirius rasps out, "the James Formation?'

"It's my... wait, are you serious?"

"That is my name."

"No, I mean," Harry chuckles. "Have I really not told you it?" He had known he was afraid of Sirius finding out about the more grey areas of his actions...

But the James Formation is iconic. It's his baby.

Had he really been so afraid of rejection that he hid even that from Sirius? Does he not believe in no risk, no reward?

"Damn, man," Harry says, learning back on his hands. "It's a fight formation of mine. People meant to distract, people meant to do a frontal attack. A lookout. With Hermione being our main strategist... It's, yeah. It's fun."

"Mischievous," Sirius grins. It is not a rejection -- it is acceptance. It's approval. It's like Harry doesn't know him at all. "You ever caused shit with it?"

"All the time," says Harry, still dosed in relief. "I mess with Draco all the time with it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry rambles. "You know that time I bodyslammed him?"

"How could I forget? I'd never been more proud."

"I used my Formation to get there. I mentioned that I got Ron to distract him, didn't I?"

Sirius grins. "Fuckin L, bro."

"Fuckin L?"

"Auror slang I'm picking up."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Thought only Remus was your friend," he notes. "And he doesn't seem the type to use slang."

"Remus' friends are my friends," says Sirius, shrugging. "Have you made any of your own?"

For reasons he does not understand, Draco Mafloy's face comes to mind. "You," says Harry, slowly, "could say that."

...

Harry wraps his arms around Sirius' torso. He says, into his shirt, "Go kick ass."

Sirius squeezes him harder. "You, too," he says quietly. "If anyone causes you trouble..."

"Throw hands," Harry says. "I know, Sirius. You've said this."

"It's the duty of a father," Sirius says proudly, pulling back to look Harry in the eye, "to worry for their son."

Harry could just die. "Is that so?"

Sirius places a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah," he says, kindly. He narrows his eyes at the top of Harry's head -- away from Harry's conflicted expression (he loves James because he is his father and loves Sirius like a father and maybe both can find a place in his heart to coexist) -- and adds, grumbling, "And stop getting taller than me."

"Already too late on that one, Sirius," Harry croaks out. "I'm working on outgrowing Tom next. Just a few inches and I'm there, Sirius, just you watch."

Sirius glances behind him, where Tom is waiting (patiently... for Harry, he might wait forever) to take Harry back to Hogwarts. "I feel like I should tell you something," Sirius says, eyes shifting back to Harry."

Harry frowns. "No adult ever has ever said that and meant to tell me anything good. Will I like to hear it? Will I implode in rage?"

"You might not need to hear it," says Sirius.

"Then don't say it." Seriously. Why do adults feel the need to complicate things so much?

"But you might need to. So I'll say it." He cups Harry's face with his hands. "It's okay. To be his friend. Things are rough here, and if he gets you... then he gets you, and that's alright."

"What? But he's--"

"Terrible?' Sirius snorts. "Trust me, I've heard. But it's okay if you want to ignore that. If you need to." He understands that in order to love some people, you must ignore or forgive or forget the bitter nature of their character and understands it is better said than done.

(Harry wonders if he knows who he's talking to.)

Harry does not want to be Tom's friend, does not plan to, but he cannot help but wonder, cannot help but ask: "Why?"

"Because, once we leave, it won't matter. Once we leave, we'll leave together, and I'd never hold something like that against you."

Once we leave, it won't matter. "And," Harry pipes up, bravely, quietly, "if we can't leave?"

Sirius' gaze darkens. "We will leave," he says firmly. He does not answer the question.

Harry hugs him so hard he must bruise and thinks that Sirius means it, what he's said. If they leave, and once they do, any sins committed here will be all but forgiven, all but fucking forgotten. In the face of having their world back, everything can be.

Any sins here will be left behind at the same time this world is.

If they make it home, all will be well.

But -- and it is a damning but -- if they don't ? If at least one of Tom's hypotheses are proven to be correct? If they are trapped here?

Will his friendship, Harry wonders releasing Sirius and walking up to Tom, be held against him?

Harry wonders. He cannot say for sure -- does not know for certain -- but there is at least one thing he does know, grabbing Tom's hand in his own for Teleportation, one truth that is relentlessly consistent: Sirius Black's love is not unconditional.

At least, he suppose guilty, squeezing Tom's hand once, someone's love is.