A Stray.
Tom leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching Harry lazily feed another chip to Teeth. The creature rumbled contentedly, shifting slightly to keep Harry balanced as he lounged atop its back.
"You’ve been quiet about Black," Tom said, voice deceptively idle. "Curious, considering *everyone* is losing their minds over him."
Harry chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. "Not my problem."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "*Not* your problem? The supposed mass murderer who *escaped Azkaban* and is after you?"
"*Supposedly.*" Harry didn’t look concerned.
Teeth clicked its teeth together, head tilting in an odd, almost knowing way. Harry absentmindedly scratched at the creature’s shoulder.
Tom studied him carefully. "You saw him, didn’t you?"
Harry took another bite, face blank. "Maybe."
Tom’s expression sharpened. "*When?*"
"Not long before the winter holidays." He spoke like it was nothing of interest, just a minor event in his life. "I was in the gardens. Thought I saw a dog. Big one. Looked like it wanted to cry."
Tom frowned. "*Cry?*"
Harry nodded. "Like it recognized me."
Silence. A long, considering pause.
Teeth exhaled through its nostrils, shifting slightly as if unimpressed with something.
Tom’s mind raced, piecing things together. "And you didn't think that was *odd?*"
"I thought it was a stray," Harry said simply. "And I like animals."
"Of course you do," Tom muttered, rubbing his temple.
A massive, black dog that reacted to Harry like it *knew* him.
Harry, who looked just like James Potter.
Tom's expression darkened.
"Oh," he said slowly.
Harry watched him, waiting.
Tom smirked, something dangerous curling in his expression. "*Interesting.*"