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Chapter Text

The wrought iron kissing gate of St. Jerome’s Cemetery gleamed solemnly in the bright light of the summer sun as he stood before it, dressed in a short sleeved t-shirt acid-washed blue jeans and a pair of somewhat scuffed trainers though his effort to blend in amongst the Muggles was ruined rather spectacularly by the emerald coils of his familiar that were wrapped securely around his shoulders and neck. In the deep shadows of the old church, its stained glass windows isolated shimmering portals of brilliance scattered amongst the dominion of the peacefully sleeping dead, the dark brunet felt outlandishly out of place and very much as if he shouldn’t be there. Though he knew he had to stay, for the sake of his own peace of mind if absolutely nothing else.

Not to mention that all of the effort he’d gone through to sneak away from the Burrow-and under Mad-Eye Moody’s watch, no less-couldn’t be allowed to go to waste and thereby he couldn’t turn back without at least preforming the very basics of what he’d come to.

Silent and with a grim-expression far beyond his years set onto his face the handsome youth moved purposefully between the countless neat rows of markers, old and new, upright and lain flat, white and grey and black, dark blue eyes scanning names and dates in search of two in particular. When he’d found them at last, after close to twenty minutes of stalking the hallowed grounds like a loosed Kirk Grim, they were emblazoned into an obelisk of shining white marble.

JAMES POTTER                                   LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960                  BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981                 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

With shaking hands, Tom lay the bouquet of flowers he’d brought with him-painstakingly constructed of summoned China Pink, White Clover, Marigolds and Rue-at the foot of the headstone before carefully kneeling in the deep emerald grass. Nagini looked on in concern as he gathered himself, staring at the stone in front of him for what seemed to be a small eternity, before finally finding his voice.

“I know that-.” Tom cut himself off and shook his head. Mouth suddenly inexplicably dry, he licked his lips before trying again. “They say that the dead know all so you must know who I am, and…I can hardly imagine that you want me here. I’ve done terrible things, or would have done terrible things. Much of the suffering and pain of the person I care the most for in the world is my fault. You’re dead because of me. But I hope that…you’ll listen. If even just a little. And believe the message which the flowers I brought with me were meant to convey though I suppose it may have been at least a little bit presumptuous to assume that either of you were interested enough in Victorian literature to care for flower meanings…”

He trailed off, running trembling fingers quickly through dark curls.

“Merlin! I’m never this nervous when I’m talking to the living. And, to be honest, I doubt I’d be so nervous talking to anyone else in this graveyard either because, I….Circe, you both must hate me. Rightfully. I killed you. I murdered both of you and tried to kill your son and now I’m with him and I…it doesn’t help and it won’t bring you back to know it but, I…in all honesty I’ve hated myself with an indescribable ferocity every hour of every day since the moment I learned of all that I’ve done to him.”

His eyes fell to the flowers sitting on the ground, their petals-a mix of white, yellow and pastel pink-standing out against the earth in streaks of color. A peace offering which now seemed grossly inadequate in the face of all his countless sins.

“He should hate me for it too, but he doesn’t. Because he’s a better man than that. Than me. Than I could ever be. Harry should blame me, and yet instead he insists on telling me that what Voldemort has done isn’t my fault: I think that he really believes it, too. There was once a time when I was selfish enough to believe it, but now I know the truth: I bear the responsibility of having created Voldemort in the first place, and thereby every sin he has committed rests with me.”

As his shoulders curled inwards Nagini’s coils tightened as if in an effort to comfort him but she didn’t speak.

“I love him. With every fiber of my being which I once devoted to hatred and avarice I love your son. And though I know, by Morgana, that I have no right to ask anything of you I’m still going to beg on my knees, my bloody pride be damned to hell along with me, for your blessing in regards to our relationship. Or, at least, that you not scorn your son for falling in love with a monster.”

The sun continued shining overhead. The headstone in front of him remained resolutely mute. Tom stayed there, kneeling and head bowed, until Nagini broke the silence at last.

“Master, the Order’s Werewolf is staring at you.”

“Remus.” Tom sighed.

As if prompted forwards by the fact that the other had acknowledged his presence Lupin moved closer, his footsteps stopping just beside him in the grass. Still, Tom did not look up.

“He’s right to tell you that Voldemort’s actions are not your fault, you know.” He said.

“I don’t.”

“You may have created him, as you say, but you didn’t kill James and Lily. You didn’t brand Harry with that scar. You aren’t the one who is holding Wizarding Britain in a grip of fear. You and Voldemort are no longer the same man.”

“You sound like Harry.”

Lupin smiled. “Good. Harry seems to be the only one capable of convincing you of anything.”

Tom attempted to smile in return, but his face refused to properly respond. “Got ahold of Polyjuice Potion in a desperate attempt to escape your Muggle relatives, did you?”

The older Wizard shook his head. “Given some of what I’ve heard about the Dursleys I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to hear he had tried such a thing.” His gaze found the bouquet and he raised an eyebrow. “An interesting choice of flowers.”

“Each of those holds a very specific meaning.” His reply was brittle. “A half-baked idea and most likely wasted effort, thinking back on it. Messages mean nothing when they’re not understood.”

“To my knowledge James didn’t know much of flower meanings beyond the mainstream-roses for love and lilies for mourning-nor, to be honest, do I think that he much cared. Lily, however, knew quite a few.” With a rictus hesitance and rather sour tone he added “Severus taught her, I believe. They were friends, once.”

Tom made a small, non-committal sound.

“You’ve worried quite a few people by running off like this. There was a mentionable panic around the Burrow before Ginny admitted she’d helped to smuggle you out and told us where you’d gone.”

Another wordless sound.

“You confided in her, and not someone else, despite your…conflicts?”

“Ginerva and I have a strange strained relationship, but we’re united in a common goal. She was the only one there who both understood who I really am and wasn’t bound by some principle or another to stop me from running off.” His eyes never left the gravestone in front of him, as if he suspected it would divulge the meaning of life at any moment. “I had to do this. Alone. Precious would be furious with me if he knew of what I’ve said.”

Tom didn’t need to see him to feel the other man’s concern. “You should tell him. Harry needs to be made aware of how you feel, Tom. He may be able to help you move passed it.”

“He already does. At least in some shallow capacity though I’ve never disclosed the true depth of it: the Chosen One has enough on his plate as it is without having to worry about his basket case boyfriend on top of it all. As for helping me…the only thing which will allow me to ‘move passed it’ is seeing Voldemort dead, once and for all.” He told him. “Only then will I ever be able to begin to forgive myself.”

Rather than comment, Lupin said “you’re both very much alike, you know.” Tom said nothing. Nagini hissed softly and rested her head against his collar bone. “James and Lily would be glad to know that their son has ended up with someone like you.”

“A murderer?” his tone was entirely flat with no inflection.

The Werewolf had no response to that statement. “Come on, Tom. We should really be getting back before Alastor decides that you’ve been gone for long enough and comes to drag you back himself. We wouldn’t want that, I’m sure.”

“No,” he echoed in a hollow voice, clambering back onto his feet at last, “we wouldn’t want that.”

Still looking somewhat concerned for the wellbeing of the younger wizard, Lupin nodded and began to head back towards the cemetery’s gate. With one last look at the grave and the flowers that he’d set before it, Tom followed him out.

Chapter Text

Whether it was during the First Wizarding War or the Second, meetings with the Dark Lord were always the same: punctuated with torture of some form or fashion and tasting of fear. This meeting, Severus knew immediately, would be no different. In fact, if the unconscious body hanging suspended from mid-air over the center of the table was any indication, this meeting would be worse. Much worse.

As usual Voldemort sat at the head of the table, osseous form swathed in a regal black cloak which made him look even paler than he already was and perched in a throne-like chair of gold and black velvet, his cat-like red eyes glaring out from beneath the shadowed cowl of his hood. Nagini’s massive coils hung from her Master’s sharply pointed shoulders: his form so thin that it was a wonder it could even support such weight at all.

Snape had a hard time reconciling the Dark Lord as he saw him now-form rather reminiscent of the North American Wendigo-with the youth that he had been in his teens. The dark haired boy whom he had taught for half a year, had followed as closely behind Potter as his own shadow and had answered, however begrudgingly, to Dumbledore.

The former Professor was swift to secure such thoughts behind his Occlumancy shields and take his seat at the table as Yaxley, whom he had encountered on the way in, did the same. Draco, he noticed, was at the meeting as well and likely for his first time, seated between his mother and father both of whom appeared unnaturally stiff. There was also an unfamiliar face at the meeting that night, the man in question dressed not in the black robes of a proper Death Eater but rather in a fine looking pinstripe suit.

A bureaucrat then. Marvelous.

When the Dark Lord spoke the temperature in the room seemed to plummet far beyond what the fire crackling in the hearth behind them could defend against. “What information have you brought to me, Severus?”

“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to transport Harry Potter to one of a number of safe houses this coming Saturday, at nightfall.”

Those seated around the table shifted, a few muttering quietly amongst themselves. All in the room were staring either at Snape or at their Master.

“Nightfall?” Voldemort repeated, sanguine eyes blazing with a scorching intensity. “This coming Saturday?” the Dark Lord continued to stare at him and Snape held his gaze long after most would have looked away. The serpent-man’s face curled into a shark-toothed smile. “You have done well, once again, Severus. This information comes from the source which we discussed?”

“It does.”

“My Lord,” the bureaucrat leaned forwards, his voice high and reedy and alone enough to intensify his already simmering dislike of the man. “My sources say differently, My Lord.” More muttering, slightly louder this time, swept the room as Voldemort’s eyes turned onto him but when the Dark Lord said nothing the man continued “my men within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement-.”

“The Auror Office will play no part in the protection of Potter as the Order believes, rightfully, that we have infiltrated the Ministry of Magic. My source has revealed to me that they have taken great pains in laying false trails.”

“B-But, My Lord-!”

Voldemort held up a hand and all in the room instantly silenced.

“And where, Severus, will this safe house that he is to be brought to be?”

“I’ve no way to know for certain but it will be one of the homes of the members of the Order, most likely. And that place, according to my source, will be given every protection that both the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix can provide.” He told him. “If I may, My Lord, I think it best that we act to intercept them while en-route as-unless the Ministry has fallen by Saturday-we won’t be able to touch him once he arrives there.”

“Yaxley!” The Dark Lord demanded, making the Death Eater in question flinch violently. “Will the Ministry of Magic have fallen by this Saturday?”

All heads turned to focus on Yaxley.

“With the greatest regret, My Lord, I must inform you that it is unlikely that the Ministry will have fallen within so narrow a time frame even with the great strides towards that end that we have made.”

“Very well. We will strike while he is en-route and has moved into the open.” His attention drifted briefly to the body slowly revolving overhead. “Bear in mind that my claim upon his life still stands. And luck and chance have thwarted me for long enough.” The Dark Lord rose with a soft rustle of fabric and began to slowly prowl the room. All eyes followed him, alert and frightened. “As such I will need a wand from one of you. To insure that past…incidents do not continue to occur. Lucius.” The Malfoy Head stiffened as Voldemort came to a stop behind him, white hands gripping the back of his chair. “In repayment for your son’s…passable performance on his mission you shall have the honor of providing that wand.”

Lucius stared up at the cowled figure above him, so much like a Dementor, for a drawn out moment before croaking “I…my Lord?”

“My Lord.” Mocking him with a simpering hiss, the Dark Lord held out one long skeletal hand. Purposefully close enough to make him cringe in what almost amounted to disgust. “Your wand Malfoy. Now.”

Hands shaking so violently that he very nearly dropped it, he withdrew the length of wood from within his robes and handed it over.

“Am I sensing…Elm?”

“Y-Yes.”

“And the core is Dragon Heartstring, is it not?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Good. This will do fine.” Pulling his own wand from his black robes-the length of Yew as thin and as white as one of its owner’s fingers-he compared their lengths. Noticing the other man’s sudden pallor, he bared his sharpened teeth. “Oh, there’s no need to be frightened of that. I would never lend my wand to anyone. Not to those who profess to have desired nothing more than my return, then for the chance to bask in my Dark Glory once again, and yet now seem so disgusted to host me in their home-.”

“My Lord, we are not-!”

“Silence with your lies!” Even the popping fire went quiet. Red eyes burned like the infernos of Hell in the darkness of the cloak’s cowl. “Nor, even, would I lend it to you my dearest Bella. Tell me, did I hear correctly that your niece has recently married Dumbledore’s Werewolf? You must be so proud.”

“No, My Lord, we are most certainly not!” She all but shrieked, face flushed a blotchy red and dark eyes burning as she leapt to her feet. “We-Cissy and I-are nothing if not horrified! We have had no contact with our sister since she married the Mud Blood, and that brat is no niece of ours!”

The other Death Eaters seated around them waited, tense and barely breathing, for the Cruciatus Curse which was surely coming to light up the room with red but Voldemort simply nodded and began walking back towards his place at the head of the table. “Yes,” he hissed, the dark susurrus of that single word drawing itself out long into the silence. “Many of the oldest bloodlines have, over the centuries, become diseased. We must each prune our own family trees with delicacy and care, lest that disease become…terminal.”

“Of course, My Lord, of course!”

Voldemort ignored Bellatrix’s affirming cry. “We shall all, very soon, cut out the canker which has strangled our world for too long and trim away the deadened branches until only the pure remain. For now,” his gaze tilted upwards and he pointed the tip of his newly acquired wand at the hanging captive; the revolving body returned to consciousness with a jolt and a groan, “tell me, Severus, do you recognize her?”

Given permission to show curiosity, everyone else in the room-with the exception of Draco who now appeared on the verge of becoming ill-looked up at the helpless captive. Snape ignored her pitiful pleas for his assistance and turned his dark eyes to the infernal red ones.

“Yes. I do.”

“Draco?” the Malfoy Heir gave a jerky nod, clearly not trusting himself to speak though whether or not he still possessed a voice to speak with under the sway of his terror was in itself debatable. “Not that you would have taken the class.”

Dismissing the teen for the time being, the Dark Lord returned his full attentions to their unfortunate victim.

“For those of you who are not aware this is Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Taught that Muggles are not, in fact, any different from us. That they are not, in fact, dangerous. And that Mud Bloods, the thieves of our Magic and shameless vandals of our culture, are to be accepted with open arms as equals.”

Though the tone in which he spoke was light and almost jovial not a soul in the room dared to laugh.

“Speak, one of you, and tell me what the punishment for the egregious crime of poisoning the minds of our children should be?”

The serpent around his shoulders hissed.

“Indeed, my precious. Death.” The cavernous room was set a flame with a sickly green light and the revolving body dropped to the table with a loud thump. “Dinner, Nagini. This meeting is at end.” As the massive serpent slithered free of him and onto the table, smooth scales scraping against the polished wood, he hissed “Draco, Bellatrix, Severus, you will remain. I wish to speak of…the boy.”

It was difficult to tell who was more horrified by the prospect, Draco or his mother. Lucius simply swept from the room, looking as if he couldn’t put distance between himself and his Master quickly enough. Bellatrix swiftly sat back down. Snape, having not moved to begin with, simply remained where he was.

“The Potter-boy, My Lord?” he questioned carefully, mindful not to spare so much as a single glance at the gruesome scene taking place in the center of the table.

“No. Not the Potter-boy. The other one.” He said. “You fought with him, Bella, did you not?”

“I did, My Lord.”

“And he defeated you, destroying the Great Hall in the process?”

“My L-Lord, he was stronger than…Dark Magic-!”

“I do not require your excuses, Bella.” Voldemort cut her off. “Severus, you taught this boy?”

“Briefly, My Lord. He transferred in at the beginning of the second term: Dumbledore had Potter retrieve him from, I believe, Romania where he was hiding in the Hoia Baciu Forest.”

“Hiding? Hiding from what?”

“The law, I would imagine, as he swiftly revealed himself to be an accomplished practitioner of the Dark Arts. And from you, as well.” He told him calmly. “The story which I was told claims that his mother feared for the life of her son should you learn of the birth of another male Heir to the Slytherin line so she fled the country to raise him in secret. Dumbledore has been looking for him for quite some time by the time he resorted to sending Potter in to finish the job.”

“Another male Heir to the Slytherin line?” Voldemort repeated. “You are certain?”

“I heard him speaking Parsletongue with that insufferable boy a number of times, My Lord.”

“But you are certain that he is of my family line? There are others, lesser known and all but without influence, outside of Britain possessed of the gift as well.”

“It is merely what I was told, My Lord.”

“He was in your year was he not, Draco? A classmate?” the teen nodded again. “And what can you tell me about him?”

“He was loads smarter than that filthy Mud Blood, and she was the smartest in the class.” Draco informed him hoarsely once having finally managed to remember how to speak. “Potters a Poof, apparently: he’s his boyfriend.”

High, sibilant laughter erupted from the head of the table, making all three of them jump. “Harry Potter has a taste for the Dark, does he? I suppose I should not be surprised: the most constant relationship with anyone he has had in his life has been with me.”

“His name is Thomas Gaunt.”

The laughter died instantly; eyes widening, Draco swiftly moved to take cover as the cloaked man leaned forwards, hood falling back to reveal his nightmarish visage and the expression of rage and shock which had been splattered across it.

“What did you just say?”

“Gaunt?”

“No! No, you sniveling runt! The first name! What did you say his first name was?”

“Thomas!” The teen’s voice had elevated to a terrified squeak and he was now as far under the table as he could get without sliding off his chair and onto the floor. “His name is Thomas, but he goes by Tom! Tom Gaunt!”

The throne-like chair hit the ground with a sound like a gunshot as the Dark Lord’s balled fists assailed the table top with a loud bang. “Out! Get out! All of you!”

Not needing to be told twice and without giving the older Wizard the chance to change his mind Draco bolted out of the room as if he’d been set alight. Bellatrix, however, was much less willing to leave and Snape had to drag her out before she wound up Hexed.

A wave of one hand slammed the double doors shut behind them as he began to pace, the fire flaring with his rage and confusion each time he passed it by.

Thomas Gaunt? Thomas Gaunt? No! No, it wasn’t possible! It couldn’t really be him! It wasn’t! There was no possible way that Dumbledore could have ever been that desperate, and even if he had been it wouldn’t have worked out well for him. His younger self would have refused the shackles of his sickening ideology, charmed himself free of the Light and would be here already by his side. His lust for knowledge back then had been eclipsed only by his lust for carnal pleasures of the flesh and any chance to learn from himself-more powerful and more worldly than he ever could have imagined back then-he’d have leapt at it immediately. And he certainly wouldn’t be with Potter!

No. It was much more likely that he was, in fact, a relative he hadn’t known about. His Uncle could well have gotten up to any number of things before he’d gotten around to dealing with him, and who was to say with absolute certainty that his Mother and Uncle were Marvolo Gaunt’s only children? That he hadn’t had another wife out there somewhere.

Who was to say that the story Dumbledore had told Snape wasn’t a lie? That he wasn’t merely a distant relative but his own son! He found that comparatively less likely-Merlin, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered with things like sex so it wasn’t possible that any child of his would be Potter’s age-but there was still a small chance.

And Thomas was such a common name. He himself was, most unfortunately, testimony to that fact.

“Hurry, Nagini, and finish your meal. We’ve much to do.”

For the second time in under two minutes Harry swore viciously under his breath. Some small detached part of his mind was thankful he’d been breaking his Aunt’s strict ‘no shoes on indoors’ rule at the time and had as such avoided impaling his foot on the tea cup he’d stepped on-likely his cousin’s idea of some sort of trap-while he’d been in the process of running to the bathroom to treat his savaged finger.

Still four more days before I can use my magic. He thought bitterly, wincing as the cold tap water hit his sliced skin. Tinged a vibrant red, it circled rapidly down the silver drain. Not like I’d be able to do much of anything for this even if I could use magic, though. I’m terrible at Healing Charms. But at least then I could have maybe avoided cutting myself in the first place by using magic to clean out the trunk. Not that I’m any better with Cleaning Charms. Turning off the tap with his elbow, Harry opened the medicine cabinet with his uninjured hand and pulled down a box of adhesive bandages. I’ll have to remember to ask Tom to reteach me the basics of both of them. Even if we will be living together and he can do all of them perfectly-naturally-it would probably pay to be able to make an attempt on my own that wouldn’t result in an even bigger mess.

With a twinge of loneliness at the thought of his dark-haired boyfriend he ripped open the paper packaging with his teeth and then awkwardly began to fumble with the wax paper backing with one hand. It was well into July, four days before his birthday to be exact, and he hadn’t heard a thing from Tom since they’d been forcibly pried apart by Mad-Eye and a less than pleased Petunia not long after stepping off the Hogwarts Express. Nothing from him, not so much as a single letter, though one from Ginny had explained that this was not for Tom’s lack of trying: the Ministry of Magic was checking all of his mail to ensure that he wasn’t sent something dangerous, and any communication from an unverifiable person would not have gone over well with them. It was for that reason that all post owls in the vicinity of the Burrow had been specifically instructed to bite him should he attempt to send anything.

According to her, by this point in the summer his fingers were a mess.

Having finally managed to free the bandage from its packaging and secure it into place, Harry grabbed the nearby hand towel and traipsed back into the hall to mop up the tea-and-glass-crumb remnants left behind by the destroyed tea cup. Once that was done with he resumed his efforts to clean the bottom layer out of his trunk for the first time in his life: a detritus of six years of magical schooling consisting mostly of socks with no matches that no longer fit, decrepified potion ingredients, broken quills and candy wrappers from the depths of which something as of yet unidentified had stabbed him.

Moving forward with his task, now with considerably more caution and only after having pulled on his Dragon-hide Herbology gloves, Harry began his search for the responsible object. Pulling free the now all but given-out Support Cedric Diggory: Potter Stinks badge from his nightmare of a Fourth year, an empty inkwell and a couple of handfuls of old underwear before finally discovering what the culprit had been.

A ragged shard of glass about the size of his palm: all that was left of the last gift that Sirius had ever given him, the rest of it having been reduced to a fine silver dust scattered across the bottom of the wooden trunk. For the briefest of moments Harry could have sworn that he saw an eye-blue and twinkling and most certainly not his own-reflected in the shard of glass but then he blinked and it was gone. Blue replaced with his own familiar green.

“Oi! You!” His Uncle’s bellowing voice reached him from the lower floor. Harry had lived under the Dursleys’ near tyranny for long enough to know full well that ‘you’ as good as translated to his name. “Boy!” Vernon yelled, louder this time, when he didn’t move quickly enough for his liking.

Heaving out a heavy sigh and anticipating leaving #4 forever, never having to be away from the world to which he really belonged, sleeping every night curled beside the warmth of a larger body with so much eagerness that it was very nearly painful Harry set the shard of glass carefully in the middle of his bed and hastily descended the stairs.

He found his relatives in the sitting room, Vernon-purple faced as always-in a fawn colored zip up, his Aunt Petunia in a coat that made her look rather like a fillet of salmon and Dudley in a black leather coat which strained around his broad shoulders.

“Took your time!”

“Sorry, Uncle Vernon.” Harry said, bowing his head in contrition which he didn’t really feel.

“I want a word. Sit.” The purple color darkened as he added in a pinched voice “please.”

The raven perched mincingly on the very edge of the couch.

“We’ve decided,” his Uncle informed him, “that we’re not leaving.”

Unimpressed, Harry blinked up at him. “And, in twenty minutes, are you going to call me back down here to tell me that you’ve changed your mind again and are actually going to leave like you’ve been doing for the entirety of the last two weeks?”

“I…well…you…!” Purple turned to red as Vernon’s small eyes glittered with anger. “I am not going to change my mind again because I’ve figured out what it is you’re really doing! Once we’re out of here you’re going to use your freak magic and Bippity-Boppity-Boo the deeds into your name and-!”

“Have you forgotten, Uncle Vernon, that I already have a House?” He drawled. “Even if my Godfather hadn’t left my #12, why the bleeding hell would I want this place? All the fabulous memories of sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs and being treed by Marge’s vicious mutts?”

Vernon opened his mouth to speak but, before he could, Harry plowed onwards.

“Voldemort. Is going. To kill you. If you don’t leave. He killed my parents, has spent fourteen years trying to kill me and-though he’s told me repeatedly he doesn’t waste his time with pointless ventures-will kidnap you and hold you in the hopes that I will try to save you if he finds out where you are.”

Vernon and Petunia stared at him, likely both wondering the very same thing, and Harry stared right back but before any of the three of them could say anything Dudley spoke.

“I’m going.” He said. “I think…Harry’s right. I’m going with the people that are coming to take us to safety because I don’t want Volde-Volde-HIM to do…something.”

And, just like that, Harry knew that he had won. No matter how much they wanted to avoid any contact with ‘his lot’ whenever they could his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never allow themselves to be separated from their precious Diddykins.

“I…we…fine! We’re going! But the minute that this war of yours is over-.”

“You’ll be free to return to this house if you want to.” A knock on the door presented just the excuse he was looking for to get out of the room.

“Harry Potter!” Daedalus Diggle, wearing a mauve top hat, swept into a low bow at the sight of him. “An honor! An honor as always!”

“Thank you, Daedalus.” Flashing a somewhat embarrassed smile at the dark-haired Hestia, he stepped aside to allow the two of them into the house. “Thanks for doing this, really, I…to be honest, I have to warn you that they’re a little bit of a…handful.”

“Nothing we can’t handle I assure you.” Daedalus told him, bouncing passed down the hall and into the sitting room with an excited cry of “hello, Harry Potter’s relatives,” which had the Dursleys looking scandalized.

“Mad-Eye and the others will be arriving here at nightfall to collect you: there’s been a bit of a change of plans, but there’s also a bit of a surprise that I think you’ll like.” She told him. “He didn’t want it to happen but they teamed up and, well, Ginny managed to get Molly on their side about it and even Mad-Eye can’t well stand up to her, so…”

Leaving him somewhat confused and with the task of shutting the front door, she proceeded into the sitting room as well. By the time that Harry got there matters had, it seemed, been explained to the Dursleys if Vernon’s repeated mutterings of “can’t even drive” were anything to go by.

A shout from Daedalus’ pocket watch prompted them all into action. “We’re all packed and ready to go, yes? Marvelous. We’d best be leaving now: a moment to say goodbye to your relatives, Harry?”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Three pairs of startled eyes landed on Dudley at the same time, who was staring at Harry as if he’d just sprouted a second head.

“No.” Harry finally said after a long moment. “I’m not. I thought that that was clear.”

“Well…but…what about…what about Volde-whatever?”

“What about him?”

“He’s trying to kill you, isn’t he? So why aren’t you coming with us? Into…into protective custody?”

“He’s going into protective custody with one of his own lot.” Vernon hurriedly told him.

“’His own lot’?” Hestia demanded, furious.

“It’s fine.” Harry hastily acted to diffuse the situation. “I’m used to it. And yes, I’m going into the protective custody of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Well, that’s that. We should be going. Come along now, Dudley.” His Uncle looked for a moment as if he was going to move to shake his hand but ultimately seemed unable to face doing so and simply walked out the front door. Petunia sniffed at him a final time and followed her husband out.

Expecting that his cousin would do as his parents had, Harry was shocked when Dudley stepped up to him and held out his massive hand. They were far from friends but their relationship had begun to improve since the Dementor attack in their fifth year. Perhaps, now that he thought about it, the tea cup hadn’t been a booby trap after all.

Hesitantly, Harry took the offered hand which could easily have crushed his own and they shook.

“I know we’ve had our problems but…you saved me from those things and…I guess I just want to say that if that brunet you were with at the train station ever gives you problems you come find me and I’ll sort him out.”

Sure, Dudley was considerably bigger than Tom was but, even without the use of magic, Harry doubted his cousin would really be capable of holding out against his boyfriend in a fight. Still, the thought made him smile.

“Thanks, I will.” He said. “Take care, Big D.”

“You too.”

Dudley released him and stepped onto the porch. The front door closed behind him. The engine revved. The car swung out of the driveway and headed down the street. And just like that his last living family was gone.

A glance at the clock which hung on the wall in the kitchen revealed the time to be 4:30 P.M. A handful of hours still to go before nightfall when the Order would come to collect him; he was fully packed now that his trunk had been successfully cleaned out and Hedwig was securely in her cage. There was nothing much for him to do, now, other than perhaps to sleep and so that’s precisely what he did. Carefully placing the shard of mirror amongst his belongings, he curled up on top of the bed and with a speed that was remarkable managed to fall asleep.

And almost immediately found himself sitting at a kitchen table. A kitchen table which was starkly familiar, despite him not having seen it since his third year.

                Was this really…?

“Hello, love.” Harry jumped and whirled around in his seat; a witch with long red hair and green eyes-his eyes-smiled gently at him as she crossed from the stove to set a cup of tea on the table in front of him just clear of the beautiful crystal vase filled with fresh flowers-two different varieties of white ones, one yellow and one pink-which stood in the center of the table.

“Mom?” he demanded, wide eyed with shock.

“Your mother? Course not: that’s some other beautiful witch which neither of us know who somehow ended up in the middle of our kitchen.” His grinning father, taller than him by a considerable degree and with hazel eyes but sporting the same untamable mop of raven hair, stepped into the kitchen from the hallway and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Hello dear.”

“James.” There was more fondness than exasperation in her voice as she seated herself at the table while his father went to get a cup of tea for himself. “While you’re up could you get more water for the flowers? They’ll die otherwise.”

“Yes, dear.”

Still smiling, Lily returned her attention to her son who, after repeatedly having to remind himself that this was a dream, had picked up his cup and gestured to the flowers. “Lovely, aren’t they?”

Harry nodded as he drank his tea, though what she said next nearly made him choke.

“Tom brought them by: the poor dear was a nervous wreck. Very precise in his choices though, probably because he didn’t know how to put it into words.” Stroking the soft petals of one of the larger white flowers his mother looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you know anything about the language of flowers?”

He stared at her blankly, setting his cup on the saucer in front of him with a quiet click. “I…no. I didn’t even know that there was a…language of flowers.”

“You’re just like your father, Harry.” She told him, smile still in place. “I bet you don’t do too well in Potions class either, though could probably talk about Quidditch for hours.”

“Leave the poor boy alone, Lily.” Setting his own cup of tea in front of the unoccupied chair, James poured fresh water into the vase before sitting down. “Albus told us about him, Harry. We know who he is and we know that you’ve changed him: we wanted to make sure you both knew that he’s more than welcome in the family.”

“Tom needs to know that he isn’t a monster, love. That what Voldemort has done isn’t his cross to bear and that what someone does as a child,” at this point she looked rather sharply at James and Harry couldn’t help but think about what he’d seen in the Pensive during his final Occlumancy lesson with Snape, “doesn’t define who they are as a man.”

“You’ve both done so many heroic selfless things already, shown far more bravery than even most Gryffindors possess, and are headed towards even greater things still. Your mother and I just wanted to make sure that you knew, for certain, that no matter what we will never be anything but proud of you.”

Harry wanted to reply, wanted to tell his parents how much he missed them. How much he wished that he knew them and wished they were still with him. Wanted to tell them everything that he’d gone through that wasn’t heroic or brave and was just normal, like going to school and falling in love, just so that he could stay there a little bit longer even if it was just a dream and not real but the sound of a shattering plate from downstairs prevented him. Yanking him out of his chair and away from what could have been his home and throwing him back onto his bed in the cold reality of #4’s smallest bedroom.

He’d slept until nightfall and there were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Quickly wiping them away with the back of his sleeve Harry stuck his wand into the back pocket of his jeans, grabbed the handle of his trunk with one hand and Hedwig’s cage with the other and exited his room only to stop dead in his tracks.

Staring up at him from the gloom of the bottom of the stairs was a dark figure, the white light of their lit wand shinning off their dark blue eyes and the silver mask they wore as they raised it a bit higher to reveal the smile pulling at their pale lips.

“Hello, Precious.”

Chapter Text

Harry was down the stairs so quickly that he may very well have Apparated, crashing into Tom with so much force that the taller boy stumbled backwards a few steps until his back hit the wall. His arms flung around the dark brunet’s neck as his slid around Harry’s waist to pull him closer; prying the mask from his face and crushing his lips to his, teeth clicking and tongues coiling and fingers clenching in coarse fabric and soft hair.

“This is why I didn’t want to bring Gaunt along: snog each other once we’ve gotten Potter to safety!”

At Mad-Eye’s gruff demand Tom pulled away with a soft pop, prompting a thoroughly disappointed whimper from the raven. “Sorry Moody, but you’ll have to forgive us. We’re like addicts going through withdrawal.”

“Addicts, are they?”

“Nice one, Pointedly.”

As the twins snickered rather loudly, Moody-looking decidedly unamused-clomped back into the kitchen.

“We’re on a tight schedule, or have the lot of you forgotten that? Gaunt, do your job!”

“Oh, right, almost forgot about the entire initial premise of my being allowed to come along.” Tom’s arms moved up his back and a brief sharp pain flared against the back of his head.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, Precious.” With a small clump of raven hair clutched in his fingers Tom released him, took his hand and began to tow him towards the kitchens with Fred and George bouncing eagerly behind.

Both of Tom’s hands, he realized, were covered in bandages.

The moment that they entered the kitchen Harry was nearly bowled over at the same moment that his vision was obscured by a mane of bushy brown hair. “Harry!”

“H-Hermione!”

Tom easily steadied him as he stumbled slightly, one hand resting gently in the middle of his back as he held up the hair with the other.

“Ms. Granger.” He said, adding under his breath “before the Auror blows a gasket.”

“Oh, right. The potion.” Fumbling for a moment in her beaded bag, Hermione pulled out a vial of muddy brown potion. “Put it in here. Hurry.”

“Is that Polyjuice Potion?” Harry roared, but his efforts to snatch the potion were thwarted when Tom caught both his wrists in the firm grip of one hand as he dropped the hair into the thin neck of the bottle. “No! No, this is too dangerous! I’m not letting any of you risk yourselves for me!”

“Like we haven’t done it before.” Ron snorted.

“That was different! That was different because you weren’t…this…you’re turning into me!”

“Trust me, mate, not all of us are thrilled by it.”

The attempt at a joke only made the situation worse.

“Everyone here is of age, Precious, and they all know the risks.” Tom released him only once sure that the bottle was safely out of reach. “And all of them volunteered for this.”

“I didn’t!”

A gelid dark blue stare pinned Mundungus where he stood a moment before the dark brunet drawled a careless “acceptable losses,” which made the other turn pale. He returned his attention to Harry and made an effort to smile. “I’m told that these are calculated damages.”

“I don’t…I…” his green eyes desperately scanned the motley gathering of Witches and Wizards now standing in his kitchen; Lupin, looking more and more prematurely aged with every cycle of the moon; Tonks, who by now had mostly succeeded in cleaning up the remains of the plate she’d broken; Bill, scarred from his contact with Greyback during the most recent battle, standing beside his one fourth Veela fiancé, Fleur; Fred and George, grinning widely and looking all together thrilled about the prospect of a good fight; Ron and Hermione, the later of whom offered him an apologetic and somewhat watery smile; Kingsley, who he’d last seen briefly on the television shadowing the Muggle Prime Minister; Mad-Eye, grizzled as ever; Hagrid, taking up most of the kitchen on his own and grinning at him in what was likely meant to be reassurance; Mundungus, whose trembling and evident terror he had absolutely no sympathy for; and Tom, who-he had the distinct feeling-had never once stopped observing him in some capacity since he’d come down the stairs. Grasping desperately at straws for anything that might put them off of a plan which, he felt sure, all but amounted to suicide Harry demanded “what happened to the original plan? Sidelong Apparition-.”

“The Ministry of Magic has means of tracking Apparition. And the Floo Network.” Mad-Eye informed him gruffly as the potion was passed around. The number of Harrys in the room steadily increasing towards seven. “We’ll be using non-traceable means of travel to get you to the Burrow. Thestrals. Broomsticks. Portkeys. Every one of you will be assigned to a protector and will be ferried to a number of different established safe houses at each of which you’ll find a Portkey waiting to take you to the Burrow. Mundungus, you’re with me. Harry-the real Harry-you’re with Gaunt.”

“Originally, back before Ginny and I convinced Molly to lobby for my accompanying them, you would have gone with Hagrid-something about him having brought you here so it only be appropriate that he take you away as well-but I managed to convince them otherwise.” Tom told him quietly as he tapped the locket once with his wand, causing it to shimmer out of sight. “The obviousness of the real Harry Potter wanting to be accompanied by his partner is precisely what makes it all so perfect as a red herring: the Death Eaters would expect that we’d expect that they’d expect you to go with me and thereby they’ll expect that you’ll be paired with someone else instead.”

Harry simply stared at him, mind grinding to a momentary halt. Catching his blank stare, the dark brunet smiled.

“Have I confused you?”

“Perhaps a bit.” He admitted distractedly. Tom smirked as Harry leaned against him and, together, they watched as the others changed into clothing which made all of them appear entirely identical.

“Don’t look at me, Bill! I’m hideous!”

“Merlin, Harry! Your vision really is horrendous!”

“Hey-“

“We’re identical-“

“Wicked!”

Despite his continued misgivings, he couldn’t help but smile at their varied reactions as he watched them each shove what they’d been wearing before back into the bag which Mad-Eye had been carrying. Trying, desperately, not to think about the fact that any of them-all of them, even-could very well die in the effort.

“Come on, Precious. They’ll be along in a moment.” Gently, grip around his wrist, Tom pulled him back through the hallway and out onto the front porch. Scattered across Uncle Vernon’s pristine lawn were a couple of broomsticks, Hagrid’s bright red flying motor bike, a Thestral and-.

“Buckbeak!”

Tom watched as his boyfriend scrambled delightedly up to the Hippogriff, resting a hand on the regal creature’s neck after being granted permission to approach. He allowed them a brief reunion before approaching as well, bowing at the waist and waiting until Buckbeak bowed in return before getting any closer.

“I figured you’d be pleased to see him. Ginerva told me that the two of you have a little bit of a history.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Harry said as the Hippogriff pressed its beak into his hand. “I’ve ridden him a few times back in my third year.”

“Good. Because he’s our ride tonight.”

Harry’s eyes widened but, before he could say anything, Mad-Eye and the others piled out onto the lawn.

“Onto your mounts, all of you! We haven’t got a moment to waste!”

“Well, that’s our cue.” Tom pulled his body fluidly up onto Buckbeak’s back before reaching down for Harry. “Come on.”

“My trunk-.”

“Sent along. Seems like someone let Hedwig out of her cage, though: easier to have her fly with us, I suppose.” The dark brunet replied. “Now come on, Precious. We don’t want to be left behind.”

The raven hesitated for just a moment more before taking Tom’s offered hand and allowing himself to be pulled up onto the Hippogriff. Harry pressed himself against the other’s back, securing his arms around his waist and tucking his face into the divot just behind his shoulder blade.

“It’s going to be alright, Harry.” He could feel the vibrations of Tom’s voice just as well as he could hear him. “We’ll get through this and it will all be alright. The safe house we’re headed to-Tonks’ parents’ house-isn’t far. From there we’ll take a Portkey: they won’t be able to get us.”

Harry didn’t reply, ignoring the dull pain of the wire frames of his glasses pressing into his face. As much as he liked Hagrid-penchant for highly dangerous magical creatures aside, the half-giant was a good friend to have-he was intensely grateful that it was Tom he would be going with. Though he had no doubts that Hagrid was capable of defending him-or, at least, he told himself that he had no doubts about the fact-Harry couldn’t help but be glad for the comfort that only the other boy could offer him, merely by his presence alone.

“Good luck, everyone.” The grizzled Auror said. “We all leave the ground at once, or the diversion is lost: on the count of three. One!”

Ron, shooting a rather guilty-looking glance at Lupin, wrapped his arms around Tonks’ waist in much the same way that Harry had Tom’s.

“Two!”

Hagrid’s motorbike roared to life with all the force and fury of an angry Dragon.

“Three!”

Tom dug his heels into Buckbeak’s sides and the Hippogriff launched them into the air with an echoing shriek, a rush of wind whipping his hair back from his face and making his eyes water. All around them, brooms were ascending swiftly. The black tail of a Thestral flicked passed. If the force of his grip around the other’s waist bothered him the dark brunet didn’t comment on it. His legs-thighs clenched tightly around the powerful creature beneath him in a reflexive effort to keep himself from falling-were already sore and rapidly going numb as they ascended higher and higher. Closer to the clouds, to the stars, much like they had on the night so long ago when Tom had flown with him across the Black Lake.

He had no idea how it happened, but between one blink and the next they were surrounded. Masked, cloaked figures on brooms closed in from all sides: a circle of close to thirty Death Eaters into the center of which they’d so obliviously risen. Green light flared up from all around them, Tom swore loudly and Buckbeak lashed out with his talons sending one of their attackers who had ventured too close spiraling down to break on the earth far below.

Tom jerked the reigns and the Hippogriff dove towards the ground at an angle which was very nearly suicidal, but not quickly enough to avoid another cloaked figure and another blast of green light which was intercepted by something winged and white with a furious shriek.

“No! Hedwig!” But his voice was taken by the howling wind. His owl! His first friend, arguably, and the only connection he’d had to the Magical world for so long. Gone. What about the others? His friends? Were they alright? Had any of them been killed as well?

The raven twisted around as best that he could without releasing his hold on the other rider, but between the terrible angle, his awful vision-made all the worse by a combination of cold air and rapidly freezing tears-and the general chaos he could see nothing but a blur of color as they leveled off again at a slightly lower altitude.

“Tom, we have to go back!”

“No.”

“Tom-!”

“My only job is to protect you, Harry! If one of them has died and I take you back there, back into danger, this will all have been for nothing!”

Another jet of green light flew by so close that it raised the hairs on their necks as it raced passed. Four Death Eaters had pulled level with Buckbeak, though these proved intelligent enough to avoid the scything talons and brutal hooves of their mount.

“Damn the bloody trace to hell! Use your wand the minute that you’re given the chance!”

A Killing Curse from Tom sent the four skittering apart like roaches fleeing from a light but they regrouped quickly and came at them from another side. Keeping up easily despite any maneuvers which Tom attempted to employ to shake them off. Another Curse-this one dark purple in color-was lobbed at their pursuers; three of their attackers managed to avoid it but the fourth was not so lucky and barreled directly into the center of the cloud.

He didn’t come out, but blood fell from the cloud like rain.

Aiming his own wand the best that he could through their wild flight, Harry bit out a fierce “Impedimenta!” and looked on in vindictive satisfaction as another Death Eater slammed headlong into the invisible wall that he’d conjured.

Snarling, Tom flung something unrecognizable and frighteningly orange in hue at one of the last remaining Death Eaters; their haste to avoid it caused their hood to slip back, and the jaundiced light of the Hex which went whizzing by revealed a face which, with a pang of shock, Harry recognized. He could tell that Tom was gearing up for another attack, but he couldn’t allow him to hurt the young man. Not when he knew that he was innocent and under the Imperius Curse.

“Expelliarmus!” His wand spun away into the darkness. A moment-little more than the space of a single heartbeat-passed and then, quite suddenly, both of their remaining pursuers fell away without a word. They were, suddenly and quite unsettlingly, alone.

“Harry!” Tom called over his shoulder, quite obviously just as confused and unsettled as he was. “Harry, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” He called back, casting around in confusion at the surrounding darkness. “I don’t know, Tom, they just-!”

Agony stole his breath, cutting him off midsentence with a howl of pain. His scar burning so badly that it felt as if a white-hot ice pick had been driven into his skull right between his eyes. Harry was only distantly aware of the fact that he was now looking through someone else’s eyes. Someone else who raced alongside them on a familiar black cloud, watching Tom remove his panicked dark blue gaze from his own coiled form and turned it onto him; his pale, serpentine features reflected in the wide indigo pools as a shock of undeniable recognition shot through him.

And then they were falling.

Tom had tackled him at the same moment that Voldemort raised his wand, taking them both over the side of Buckbeak’s back and into freefall, the Killing Curse aimed at them skimming harmlessly over their heads. Harry’s heart and stomach both leapt into his throat, fingers clutching blindly and mindlessly at Tom’s arms and chest and the fabric of his shirt in a futile effort to stop their fall before its inevitable and deadly conclusion of meeting with the earth below.

And then, suddenly, their direction of travel changed from vertical to horizontal and they were rocketing forwards. The branches of the small forest the canopy of which they’d fallen below in an effort to escape from Voldemort’s notice crackling and snapping as they whipped by. Lashing at their faces, arms and chests. Brief flashes of the leaf-strewn forest floor, the dappled glimpses of the star-spattered night sky and the pursuing dark cloud of Voldemort’s creation clinging doggedly to their tail woven intermittently between the seemingly directionless spiraling gloom of Tom’s magic in his desperation to get away.

Then the Dark Lord pulled to an abrupt halt with a furious scream, the trees broke apart to allow them free of the small forest and they hit the ground-hard-in the middle of a garden.

“Merlin, Tom!” Harry bit out, spluttering on foul tasting water as they both clambered out of a small pond.

“Sorry, Precious.” He replied, pulling off his mask as the lights in the house flicked on. “I didn’t exactly have the time to warn you, and I doubt you would have heard me even if I had.”

“Whose there?” another voice-male and one that he didn’t recognize-called out as a woman shouted.

“They’ve crashed, Ted! In the garden!”

As two figures rushed towards them Tom raised his wand, careful to keep the tip at a non-threatening angle. “I, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Heir to the Slytherin Line and the House of Gaunt, swear on my magic that Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, ex-Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix formerly under Dumbledore, entrusted me with the task of seeing Harry James Potter to safety at the home of Molly and Arthur Weasley. Instructed to depart by Portkey from the established safe house of the parents of Auror Nymphadora Tonks.”

A pale glow of magic briefly surrounded Tom as the two slowed to a stop in front of them and he lowered his wand again.

“Are the two of you injured? We were told to expect you on a Hippogriff; what happened?”

“Death Eaters.” Harry said bitterly, rising to his feet alongside Tom. A mixture of mud and pond scum were slathered down both their fronts. “We flew right into them. They were waiting for us.”

“Must not have fallen for the false trails. A pity, but that’s over now. We outpaced them: we’re safe.” The dark brunet turned his full attention back to the pair-Tonks’ parents-who had rushed out to assist them. Eyes having adjusted to the dim light cast into the garden by the windows, Harry could see that the man was fair haired and rather large and that the woman bore a bit more of a resemblance to Bellatrix than he was comfortable with “allow us to apologize in advance for the Hippogriff which should be arriving here without either of us soon. Voldemort himself showed up and we had to bail in order to escape from his homicidal intentions.”

Well, that was one way of wording ‘attempted murder’ which Harry hadn’t heard before.

“But…how did you get away?” Tonks’ mother, Andromeda, asked them.

“How did we get away? Simple: the same way he caught up with us. I’ve been able to fly since my fifth year.”

“Because you were insane enough to throw yourself off of the Astronomy Tower. Multiple times.”

“You’ll have to excuse him. His feathers are still a little ruffled.” Tom failed to catch Harry’s flinch. “We should probably be going. Where is the Portkey?”

“Inside. This way.”

Andromeda led them into the house and to a small room, handing them a small silver-backed hairbrush.

“That’s the portkey, there. It should be leaving at any moment now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tonks.” He told her, inclining his head as he reached out to grip the brush. Harry, still silent, did the same. “We apologize for frightening the both of you.”

Before anything else could be said the portkey lit up bright blue and the small room folded in around them.

Chapter Text

With a yelp and a heavy thud the world around him pitched violently and, the next thing Harry knew, he was lying on top of Tom in the front yard of the Burrow with the hairbrush, no longer glowing, lying silent and inert not far away.

“You know,” the dark brunet said as he sat up, Harry-mildly red in the face-scrambling off of him as the door swung open and Ginny and Mrs.Weasley both rushed towards them, “it’s lucky that you’re even lighter than you look, Precious, because otherwise you probably would have broken at least a few of my ribs.”

“Surely you’re not that fragile, Riddle.” Ginny simpered at him as her mother helped them both to their feet.

“Harry! Thomas! Are you both alright? What happened: where are the others?”

Tom’s expression flickered briefly in concern as Harry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, Mrs.Weasley? Is no one else back?”

“They were waiting for us: were on us almost the moment that we left the ground; they must have somehow caught wind of the correct date that we were going to move him, but thankfully didn’t have all of the information that they would have needed to completely neutralize our efforts. Didn’t have a clue that there’d be seven of him.” He said, voice outwardly calm but carrying a subtle stony edge to it which Harry had never heard from him before. “We very nearly made it to Tonks’ parents, but had to bail off Buckbeak at the last moment when my counterpart decided that he wanted to play tag.”

“Oh, thank goodness that you’re both alright!” Mrs.Weasley exclaimed, tugging them both into a tight hug. Ginny, Harry saw, looked rather pale. “Drinks! Yes, warm drinks will be just what all of us need!”

As her mother turned and rushed hurriedly back into the house both boys turned to Ginny and the red-headed witch seemed all too happy to answer their silent demand for information.

“Tonks and Ron were supposed to arrive first,” she told them, pointing at a rusty oil can which lay on its side not far away, “that was their portkey. And that one,” she indicated a ratty old tennis shoe which had, quite clearly, seen better days, “should have been Dad and Fred’s. The two of you were third, and George and Lupin should be arriving right about now.”

A pale blue glow suffused the yard just as she spoke, a pair of figures spinning into sight before falling to the ground. It only took Harry one look to know that something was horribly wrong and he took off running towards them with Tom half-a-step behind. Lupin, supporting George-unconscious and with his face covered in what he at first mistook as cherry red paint before realizing with a sickening lurch that it was in fact actually blood-began to stumble towards the door of the Burrow a split second before the other two reached him. Harry grabbing George’s legs and lifting him up off the ground as Tom shadowed Lupin almost as if in fear that the older man might suddenly collapse as well.

They laid him on the couch in the sitting room; the raven barely had the time to release his hold before the Werewolf dragged him into the kitchen and shoved the point of his wand into his face.

“The first night that you arrived here with Tom, what was the one bit of information you were most hoping he wouldn’t so flippantly reveal?”

“Our relationship.” Harry reeled off instantly, all but going cross-eyed in an effort to keep his sight on the tip of the other’s wand. “I was rather hoping to introduce the fact that I’d become romantically involved with a teenaged Dark Lord a bit more carefully than that, but Tom being Tom…”

“Because, like you said Precious, I am a teenaged Dark Lord and live solely for the purpose of destroying the best laid plans of Harry Potter.” Tom snorted from where he lounged against the doorframe. “She’s managed to stop the bleeding, but from what I can tell the efforts to regrow his ear are pointless. I haven’t a clue what spell was used but it was Dark, of that much I’m certain.”

“Sectumsempra.” Lupin informed him grimly. “Always a specialty of Snape’s.”

“Snape?” Tom winced slightly at the volume of the raven’s shout.

“He lost his hood during the fighting. I wish that I could have gotten him back, really I do, but it took all of my focus to keep George on the broom once he’d been hit: he was losing so much blood.”

Another flash of blue light ended their conversation there; all three rushed out onto the front lawn to find Hermione and Kingsley standing there, each holding one end of a badly bent hanger.

The towering Auror didn’t waste a moment in pointing his wand at Lupin.

“The last thing Albus Dumbledore said to us.”

“Harry is the best hope we have of defeating Voldemort. Trust him.”

Kingsley nodded but didn’t lower his wand, instead turning to point it at Tom.”

“The first thing you said when the pair of you arrived in the Headmaster’s office.”

Tom smirked, the sound of a toppling candy dish briefly seeming to ring out through time and space around them. “You’re joking.”

“That was the first thing you said when you got to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, incredulous. “’You’re joking’?”

The dark brunet shrugged. “There’s a story behind it that’s rather convoluted.”

“Given that it’s you, Thomas, I can only imagine.”

“Someone betrayed us.”

“I think,” Tom said almost coldly, “that that much is rather obvious by now.”

Hermione was too busy scanning the yard with a hopeful expression on her face to chide him for his disrespect to an authority figure. “Who else is back?”

“George. No one else. And he’s injured.” Harry told her grimly. “It was Snape.”

The bushy brunet covered her mouth with her hands.

Lupin, still looking at the other man, asked “what happened to the two of you?”

“Standard Death Eaters for the most part-injured two of them pretty badly and may have killed one of them-but then Voldemort joined the chase half way through; thankfully, he disappeared after little more than a minute. He can-.”

“Fly,” he cut in, “believe me, we know. Luckily, I can as well; it’s how we got away.” Turning his gaze to Hermione he put in “call it family magic.”

“But how did he know that it was you? That you were the real Harry?” Remus’ voice had taken on a hard edge. Tom turned his head to aim a glare at him but was ignored, reaching out to gently take the raven’s hand and squeezed it at the hurt expression which briefly passed across his face.

“It was Hedwig, I think. She tried to defend me and…they killed her. “

“You know that that’s not all, Precious. It wasn’t until you disarmed that Death Eater that they fell back.”

Green eyes turned on him, glittering with anger and what almost amounted to betrayal. “Stan was not a Death Eater, Tom! He was under the Imperius Curse! I couldn’t just kill him!”

“The time for disarming is over, Harry!” Lupin snapped, again arising the ire of the dark brunet. “Many among the Death Eaters already believe Expelliarmus to be your signature move. Don’t let that conception of you become reality: one of the most important facets to survival is unpredictability!”

“Stan? Stan Shunpike, the Knight Bus Conductor?” Tom was intensely grateful for Hermione’s swift action to change the subject before any of the three of them could do something they’d likely come to regret. “I thought he was in Azkaban!”

“There’s obviously been a mass break out, though one which the Ministry must have covered up.” Lupin said bitterly. “Travers was supposed to be in there too.”

Silence fell between them. The two older Wizards repeatedly exchanged loaded looks. Hermione was shifting her weight, bouncing from foot to foot, clearly wanting to do something but not knowing what. Beside him Harry was shaking, his fists balled at his sides and wetness glittering in the corners of his eyes.

The last time that I saw him like this was the night that Dumbledore died, out on that balcony. Knowing that he needed to do something to distract him before the much smaller raven broke down entirely, Tom glanced over his shoulder back at the lit windows of the Burrow. “We should all go inside and see if Mrs.Weasley needs any help with tending to George. We’ll know when another Portkey arrives, so there’s no point in waiting out here.”

Remus and Kingsley both ignored him, but he tugged Harry insistently along and Hermione-after a moment’s further hesitation-followed him as well. By now, Mrs.Weasley had managed to stop the bleeding revealing a clean hole where his ear had been.

“How is he?”

Mrs. Weasley startled slightly, looked up at them and then reported “I can’t make it grow back, but it could have been so much worse. At least he’s alive.”

“Thank God.” Mad at him or not, Harry couldn’t help but press into the taller male’s side.

“Hermione and Kingsley are back?” Ginny asked, looking over at said witch who nodded. “Thank goodness.”

A loud clambering from the kitchen interrupted them before anything more could be said, Mr. Weasley yelling in a tone which Harry had never heard him use before. Something along the lines of answering their questions after he’d seen George before promptly stampeding into the room, near wild-eyed and disheveled from the sky battle which they had all just gone through with Fred not far behind him.

As Fred took his place beside his stirring twin Ginny stepped up to them and indicated the door with her eyes before heading out. Tom was about to stay firmly put but Harry pulled away from him. With a sigh, he followed him out. Kingsley was pacing back and forth as if trying to cut a furrow into the yard. Lupin, in contrast, was standing very still and looking up at the starry sky. The four of them stepped up to join him and, in silence, the minutes stretched into what almost felt like hours.

A broom materialized from the darkness with enough suddenness to make them all jump, hitting the ground in a less than ideal landing and throwing up pebbles as it skidded along nearly throwing both its riders off.

Hermione tackled Ron at the same moment that Tonks did the same to Lupin, beginning to prattle off all about what had happened to them and why they’d been late. Kingsley announced his need to leave and exited the property before Disapparating with a soft pop. The dark brunet paid none of it even the slightest mind, attention too focused on Harry who had once again all but attached himself to his side.

Tom doubted that the raven was even fully conscious of the fact that he was doing it.

He only pulled his attention away from his lover’s obvious distress again when a Thestral swooped into view and Bill and Fleur dismounted, the eldest Weasley child announcing into the general uproar of their arrival “Mad-Eye’s dead.”

Tom’s eyes fell closed and he muttered a swear under his breath. Harry now seemed to be making an effort to crawl inside of him. One of the girls-whether it was Ginny or Hermione he couldn’t tell-let out a choked sob.

“We saw it; we were both heading North.” Bill said. Tear tracks were streaked across Fleur’s face. “The minute that we were in the air Voldemort came flying right at them; Dung panicked and Apparated to escape, giving them away. Mad-Eye was hit full in the face with a Killing Curse and fell. There were at least twelve of them on us-.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” Tom cut in, drawing the eyes of all in the little group to him; he was only dully aware of the fact that he was the only one who wasn’t crying or looking haunted by the news. “Don’t blame yourself: no one needs deaths on their conscious which they haven’t caused.”

They all stood looking at each other for a while longer before it finally seemed to become evident to everyone that there was nothing left to wait for. Slowly, quite downhearted, they filed inside.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, sliding his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him closer. The raven nodded wordlessly and relaxed instinctively into the contact. Tom didn’t remove his attention from the smaller male until a glass of Fire whiskey had floated over to both of them. Taking it with a well-hidden grimace as Harry did the same, he mimicked those around him in raising the glass into the air. “Mad-Eye.” He echoed the rest, taking care not to knock back the entire contents before setting the glass aside on a nearby table. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him but, in light of the situation, said nothing.

Tom allowed the silence to reign unbroken for just a while longer before asking “may we make use of the shower, Mrs.Weasley? We landed in Tonks’ parents’ pond and its best that we get cleaned up before going to bed. And, with everything that’s happened I think bed is the best place for Harry at the moment.”

“No. No, of course. Go right ahead.”

It took numerous gentle persuasions and a slightly less than gentle tug to convince the raven to release his hold on his now empty glass and accompany him out of the room and up the stairs. One look at the dull green eyes was enough to tell him that the other male was no longer all there, quite possibly succumbing to the early stages of shock.

Merlin, this could be bad. Tom thought as he nudged the raven through the door after having turned on the light. “Take as long as you need, Harry. I’ll be right outside.”

The smaller male didn’t answer him, but nodded stiffly and closed the door. A few seconds later Tom heard the water running and sighed in relief, sliding down along the opposite wall until he was sitting on the floor and putting his head in his hands.

This was serious. He’d known it was serious since the moment that he’d seen Dumbledore fall-no, the moment that he’d come out of the Pensive full of Harry’s memories-but this was serious. People might die. Harry might die. He’d known this. Harry had told him this. Yet nothing could have prepared him for realizing just how much danger that they were really in.

Their near brush with his counterpart had shown him the stark reality of the fact that no matter how he fought, in the end, he might not be able to protect him.

Tom was quick to gather his wits about him when he heard the water shut off and was back on his feet by the time that Harry opened the door, holding his pond-soiled clothing in one hand and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

“Head up to the room,” he told him softly, relieved that some of the awareness he usually saw had returned to his eyes. “I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

As Harry moved passed him Tom quietly closed the door and stepped under the still falling stream of water, washing the remainder of the pond scum off and quickly drying himself before wrapping the towel tightly around his waist and heading up the stairs. He expected to see Harry dressed and asleep, or at least curled up under the covers, so when he got into their room he pulled up short in surprise to find him sitting on the edge of the bed without even the towel around him any longer.

“Precious,” he wasn’t sure if his voice was tinged with concern or fear. “Are you…ok? Given what’s happened I didn’t think that you’d want…why aren’t you dressed?”

“I don’t want…I just…” Harry kept his green eyes firmly on his hands. “I thought that I might feel better if I could…”” his shoulders curled inwards as he trailed off.

Understanding, Tom sighed and crossed to the other side of the bed. Dropping his own towel onto the floor beside it, he slid beneath the sheets and motioned him to do the same. Harry didn’t waste a moment to take the invitation, all too pleased to coil himself around the taller male in a near perfect impression of Nagini. Tucking his face into the crook of the dark brunet’s neck.

“Are you alright?”

Harry nodded, his black hair tickling the other’s chin.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “When he appeared, and you started screaming, I was sure that you’d been hit by something or-.”

“No. That’s just what happens…whenever he’s around me.” Harry told him. “It hurts.” Tom couldn’t help but think back to the memory that he’d been shown of the Ministry of Magic, Harry lying amongst the scattered glass writhing in a pain so powerful that he himself had felt it. “He recognized you.”

The dark brunet stiffened. “What do you mean he recognized me? How do you know?”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably for a moment. “When he showed up, for a little while before you pulled us both off Buckbeak’s back, I could see us. Through his eyes. I don’t know if he fully put together who you were, but he recognized something about you.”

Tom relaxed again. “Relations have similar traits, even distant ones. There’s no need for us to panic about this.” Yet. “You were crying when you came down the stairs at #4. Why?”

“I just had a dream is all; Tonks woke me up when she broke the plate.”

“And what was the dream about?”

“My parents.” The raven admitted with a small sigh. “Did you really go to Godric’s Hollow.”

Tom pulled back slightly to look at him in surprise. “How?”

“My mother said you brought them flowers.” She’d said more, of course, but he was too shaken up and tired to go into detail about that now. “Your hands; did the Post Owls really do all of that damage?”

Tom sighed again, much more heavily this time, as the raven carefully traced the silver scar which had been branded across his chest. “Yes. I didn’t want you to feel like I’d forgotten about you; after the 20^th time Nagini tried to eat Ronald’s twit of an owl.”

He felt Harry’s smile press into his neck; that alone made all of the bandages wrapped around his hands worth it.

“I knew that you hadn’t forgotten about me, Tom. I was never worried about that. Especially not after Ginny told me what was going on in one of her letters.”

“Ginerva told you that, did she?” Tom watched the shadows flicker and play across the ceiling above them as he spoke. “She’s made quite the sudden turn around regarding me, you know. I think it’s her way of trying to earn your forgiveness.”

“I’m not still mad at her.”

“That doesn’t mean that you’ve forgiven her, though.” Harry grumbled something under his breath and the dark brunet rolled his eyes but changed the subject. “I didn’t know that you were so close with Mad-Eye.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then why did his death hit you so hard?”

A long drawn out pause of silence. The raven moved his head from where it had been tucked into Tom’s neck and rested it on his chest instead. “It’s because I feel guilty.”

The other boy’s strong arms came up to wrap around his waist and held him close. “This isn’t your fault, Harry. It was his plan: Mad-Eye and everyone else knew full well what they were getting into.”

“That isn’t why.”

“Then what?” he asked softly.

Green eyes blinked owlishly up at him before he spoke. “Because I’m glad it was him…and not you. And it’s horrible. But it’s true.”

“Precious,” Tom said patiently as the other hid his face in his chest once again. “You’re not the only one who’s glad that it was Mad-Eye that died and not someone they loved, no matter how close to him they may have been. It’s only natural.”

Harry didn’t answer. Tom sighed, gently running his fingers up and down the column of his spine.

“I can tell you don’t want to talk about this anymore, and that’s fine. Try and get some rest.”

Harry nested closer to the taller male, cheek pressing into the warmth of his chest. Breathing in the other boy’s familiar scent. Listening to the solid ka-thunk of his resting heart beat as Tom continued his careful ministrations.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Tom stretched, luxurious and cat-like, before rising from the bed and making his way over to his trunk to excavate his clothing for the day. Harry, already dressed and sitting atop the bed with his knees clutched to his chest, watched the dark brunet rummage around for a while before selecting a shirt and pants to tug on.

“Precious, forgive me, but you look the Devil.” Between sleeping on it wet and the minor charge of static caused by its brief contact with the shirt he now wore, the resultant bed-head left Tom’s hair so wild that it easily rivaled Harry’s own. When he turned towards him there was honest concern painted across the handsome features of his face. “Did you really sleep, or were you just pretending for my benefit?”

Green eyes-slightly bloodshot and ringed with dark circles-regarded him with an almost guilty exhaustion. Harry shifted his position slightly before he answered. “I slept for a while.”

“But something woke you up?” he asked softly. “A nightmare?”

Nodding, the raven dropped his gaze into his lap.

Tom crossed the room back towards him, his bare feet tapping softly against the attic’s wooden floor, and knelt in front of him. Carefully reaching up and taking his hands which were resting in his lap.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“It happened again. It’s been so long since the last time…but now I’m getting flashes into his mind again when I sleep.” He said.

“You saw something?”

Harry nodded. “Olivander went missing around the beginning of last year, right before the term started. I think Voldemort has him; the man I saw him torturing…well, I can’t be completely sure, he looks really bad now, but I think it was him.”

“He was torturing him?” Tom repeated. “Do you know why? Maybe it had to do with our wands?”

“He was looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“I don’t know.” Harry admitted. “It was…muddled. He didn’t mention what it was, but…” he trailed off and fell silent for a moment before reaching out to run his fingers through the dark brunet’s hair. The chocolate strands submitted to being ordered a great deal more easily than his own hair ever would have. “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen your hair this wild before.”

Tom shrugged and rested his head in his lover’s lap, allowing him to continue fixing his hair. “I guess I’ve stopped caring about my ‘perfect image’ around you, Precious. Considering that we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together you’re bound to see a case of major bed head eventually.”

Would there ever really come a time when their biggest worry would be waking up with untamable hair? The prospect was so alien that it was almost unimaginable to him. Could the war ever really end? Could his life ever really consist of such mundane things as waking each morning beside the man he loved, going to work at his job-perhaps as an Auror, perhaps as something else-and, maybe, tending to any children they might have, adopted or otherwise?

Harry hadn’t been able to imagine a future for himself before he’d met Tom. Now that he had he didn’t want to, because he was far too afraid that-through either his death or his partner’s over the course of the war-it would never come to pass.

“We should probably head downstairs for breakfast, Precious.” Tom’s voice shook the raven out of his musings. The dark brunet had raised his head and was now regarding him with soft lapis eyes; Harry’s hands were still in his short silky hair. “We don’t need the twins barging in on us again, or Mrs.Weasley getting worried over us. Not to mention that we’d both be done considerable good by having some food in our bellies.”

With all his usual grace Tom rose to his feet and gently pulled Harry along with him. Too tired to resist, especially knowing that it would simply be a waste of breath and little more to attempt to argue with him, the raven allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and steered down the staircase to the bottom floor.

Everyone else who was staying at the Burrow, many looking to be bowed beneath the weight of different levels of exhaustion, had already gathered at the table. Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side to the right of a pair of empty chairs the backs of which Nagini had draped herself around and Ginny, taunting Crookshanks with a short length of string, sat to the left. The Twins-George’s missing ear now concealed beneath a clean bandage-sat across from her, grinning ear to ear as usual and no doubt planning some manner of prank. Mr. Weasley and Bill, with Fleur on his other side, were both pouring over a copy of the Daily Prophet. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about putting the finishing touches on the morning meal.

“Good morning, Mrs.Weasley.” Tom said as they entered, Harry sleepily echoing the sentiment as they went to sit down.

“Good morning Thomas. Good morning Harry. I was just about to send Ron up to get you; sit down. Breakfast will be ready in just a moment.”

“Morning Harry.” Fred and George both said at once as the pair settled into the empty chairs.

“You look awful, Harry-.”

“Busy last night?”

“Getting to know each other again?”

“Making up for lost time?”

“I can make the pair of you identical again!” Tom growled, eyes narrowed as he threateningly brandished a fork in their direction.

“Tom!” Harry yelped, horrified, while the Twins just giggled madly as if the dark brunet had just told a particularly funny joke.

“He is so protective of Harry,” Fleur purred, resting her head on Bill’s shoulder. “It is so sweet to see such a thing. If we had more people like Tom in relationships like theirs maybe then we’d have more marriages and less wars!”

Nagini released herself from the back of Tom’s chair and settled loosely around the raven’s shoulders instead.

“Hello, Harry.” She hissed as platters of English Breakfast floated over to each of them. “It’s good to see you again. Master has been pinning for most of the summer and will relax again now that he feels he can keep an eye on you. Not to mention that now the owls will stop pecking him when he wants to send mail.”

“I’m glad to be back, Nagini.” Harry told her, picking up his fork and beginning to eat. “He’s not the only one who’s been pinning; I’ve missed him horribly, and being around my relatives certainly didn’t help.”

“Master did what he could to distract himself. Preparation for the wedding between the two at the end of the table have kept him-along with everyone else here-busy but they are not finished yet. I suggest you be prepared to be put to work on the matter as well.”

“I will.” He said as the serpent released him to return to her favorite perch. “Thanks for the warning, Nagini.”

Not long after the conclusion of his brief conversation with the snake Ron nudged him, prompting the raven to look over at him.

“I figured that I should probably warn you, mate,” he said quietly, keeping a close eye on his mother who now sat a few feet away, “Mum’s not happy about our decision not to attend Hogwarts this year. She interrogated Tom first but he talked her in circles like I thought only a Slytherin was able to: it was unbelievable. She went after Hermione and I after that-got Lupin and Dad on her side too, though they both dropped it once we told them that Dumbledore told us not to tell-but Mum’s still on about it. I figured I should let you know because it’s only a matter of time before she tries to corner you about it, too.”

“Oh, uh, right. Thanks for the warning, Ron.”

Marvelous. Being questioned about his decision not to return to Hogwarts that year-including but not limited to the hunt for Voldemort’s scattered Horcruxes-was the last thing he wanted to have to contend with after the horrible events of the night before and his near total lack of sleep. Bill and Mr. Weasley had finished with their perusal of the Daily Prophet, leaving the paper lying on the table top.

Merely for something to do, Harry picked it up and began an examination of its contents.

The meal ended much too quickly for his liking and, as he had expected and feared, Mrs. Weasley jumped on the chance to get him alone in hopes of getting information.

“Harry, dear, could you help me with the dishes please?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Leaving the paper at his place the raven got to his feet, pushing the chair back under the table.

“I’ll help, too,” Tom-likely having realized what was happening-stood up as well but, before Harry could relax, Fleur seized the dark brunet by the arm.

“They will be fine handling the dishes on their own, Tom! Have you forgotten that you promised you would help me today?” she asked, pulling him towards the door. “I need someone to model my shoes and you have the perfect feet.”

“Oh, yes I…wait, what?”

Looking minorly horrified by what he clearly hadn’t realized he’d agreed to, Tom was dragged out of the kitchen by the quarter Veela and a gleefully cackling Ginny. Harry was now alone in the kitchen entirely at the mercy of Ron’s mother. Resigned to his fate, the raven heaved a sigh before moving towards the small pile of dishes sitting in the sink. She didn’t waste a moment more than necessary to start in with why he was really there.

“My son and Hermione both seem to be possessed of the idea that the four of you will not be returning to Hogwarts the year. Thomas, as well, believes this though all things considered it would hardly affect him as he’s already well above the level of most adult Wizards.”

“Oh. Well…they aren’t falsely possessed of that idea. Dumbledore sent me to get Tom for us to do precisely what the two of us are going to do which involves us venturing out across and potentially beyond Britain so there’s really no point in returning to Hogwarts this year as what we’re doing now is more important than our education could ever be. Ron and Hermione caught wind of it and wanted to come.” He said. “If our education is your concern I’m sure that Tom is more than able to teach us what we need to know. If not, we can always go back to Hogwarts after the war is over.”

“Your education is not my only concern, Harry! Thomas is the oldest of the four of you, and he’s still only 17!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Dumbledore had the entire Order of the Phoenix at his beckon call; if he wanted something done he would have turned to us instead of dropping such a thing onto the shoulders of children-.”

“I think, Mrs. Weasley, that you’ve forgotten just who Harry and I are.” Tom had come back into the kitchen and now stood in the doorway nearly three inches taller than he normally was; Harry’s eyes went as wide as saucers when he looked down and found out why. “He’s the Chosen One of prophecy, the only one who can defeat Voldemort, and I’m the socially retarded genius who started all of this bullox in the first place. What we’re doing is something Dumbledore started but only we can finish and is paramount to our efforts in the war: if it isn’t done, even if we do defeat Voldemort, he won’t stay gone. He will come back.”

“But to abandon your education-.”

“Hogwarts isn’t safe for Harry anymore!” He jumped at the sharp snap and stared at his partner in shock: he’d only ever heard him use that tone when he’d been denied the ability to accompany them in the effort to retrieve the locket from the sea cave. “I understand that you want to protect us and if you wish for your son to stay behind then it is completely within your rights as his mother to take that matter up with him-though I wish you luck-but I’m afraid that myself, Harry and Hermione are not within your jurisdiction. Not to mention that this is far from a matter of abandoning our education. Dumbledore is dead. Hogwarts is now no safer for Harry than anywhere else, and becomes even less safe for him when one thinks about the fact that they will expect he’ll go there. The moment that the Ministry of Magic falls-hope for the best but expect the worst-Hogwarts is the first place they’ll look. He’ll be slaughtered.”

Grimacing slightly and shifting his weight, Tom folded his arms across his chest and assumed a position which rivaled that of the Weasley Matriarch’s.

“We’re safer on the run than we are staying at any one place for an extended period of time, no matter how safe it seems to be. Until Voldemort is gone for good, we can’t afford to rest.”

“I…yes, well…” Mrs. Weasley cast around in a desperate effort to find justification for continuing her argument but found nothing in the face of Tom’s blanket onslaught and relented. “You’ll at least stay for the wedding, won’t you?”

“Harry and I always planned to, Mrs. Weasley.” He replied indulgently before turning his attention to Harry again and motioned towards the door. “A walk around the garden, Precious?”

Having to pull his eyes away from the silver heels which the dark brunet was wearing, Harry nodded and followed him out the door.

“What are you wearing?” he asked him the moment they were outside, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

“A contraption invented by Satan to torture we poor mortals. I believe they’re called Stilettos.” Bracing one hand against the outside of the Burrow and using the other to rip the silver heels off of himself, he set them neatly on the porch and spared a brief moment to massage feeling back into his feet. “Merlin, how the bleeding hell do women wear those things?”

“No idea.” Harry said as Tom-now barefoot-walked over to him. “Mind the Gnomes in the garden. They like to bite.”

“I know.” He told him, looking down at his hands and then shrugging. “Most of these are from the post owls, but not all of them.” Tom quickly pushed the memories of the savage sharp-toothed vaguely potato-shaped little monsters out of his mind. “Anything interesting in the Daily Prophet this morning?” The smile slid off Harry’s face like oil. Tom realized instantly that he’d said something wrong and began efforts to back pedal. “Harry-.”

“The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a damned bloody thing about Mad-Eye’s death, and I haven’t heard a peep out of the Ministry of Magic regarding my use of underage magic fighting with the Death Eaters. When I summon a Patronus to fight off Dementors I received a letter of expulsion within an hour!” Harry hissed, fists clenching and making the scar on the back of his hand stand out in stark relief. “They haven’t done it because they don’t want to admit that Voldemort could be as powerful as he is; powerful enough to take such blatant risk as coming out into the open! Scrimgeour is no better than Fudge!”

“People are afraid, Harry, and they don’t want to believe that their worst nightmares could be true.” Tom said softly, refusing to wither beneath the annoyed green-eyed glare that the raven aimed at him. “You are right, however. It is blatantly irresponsible for a leader, especially one who used to be a bloody Auror, to assume the position that he has. It not only does nothing for the public-who are safer while informed-but it hands power over to the enemy.” The dark brunet tilted his head up to look at the window of Ron’s bedroom. “Now, we should head back inside and make our way upstairs. Something tells me that Ronald could do with a bit more help cleaning his bedroom than Ms. Granger could ever hope to offer on her own.”

Chapter Text

‘Disaster zone’ was the first phrase which sprung to mind when the pair stepped through the door of Ron’s room. Having shared the space with the red head before Harry was hardly surprised by the matter but Tom hadn’t had the luxury of such prior experience and reared back slightly in shock at the extensive mess.

“Sweet Morgana, have you ever cleaned this room?”

“No,” Hermione called to them somewhat smugly from where she stood in one corner sorting through books, “I doubt he has.”

“I have too, Hermione!” Ron grumbled, the lower half of his body protruding from underneath his bed as he mined for crusty socks. “It’s just been a while.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being able to cope with living in this for an extended period of time.” Tom shuddered delicately, edging back out into the hallway to avoid stepping on anything with his bare feet. “If you hate cleaning so much that you avoid it until you no longer have a choice why are you doing it like a Muggle?”

“Because he isn’t good at Cleaning Charms.” Hermione set Travels with Trolls down on top of one of the stacks with a loud thunk.

“You weren’t going to help him, Hermione?” Harry snickered.

“It isn’t my concern, Harry. If Ronald can’t even clean his room on his own-.”

“Oh, come off it!” Ron resurfaced from underneath his bed and aimed a reproachful look at the witch. “She doesn’t know one strong enough to handle this.”

“Even if I did,” Hermione huffed at him as she weighed the worth of Numerology and Grammatica, “I wouldn’t use it to help you out of this. Magic shouldn’t be used for every little thing and it was your own choices that got you into this mess.”

“True enough Ms.Granger, but all four of us will be stuck here for hours if something isn’t done.” Tom drew his wand and waved it in a sweeping motion that Harry recognized as the same spell which Dumbledore and Slughorn had used to put to rights the mess the Potions Master had staged in an effort to avoid being found.

The invariable clutter instantly began to zoom around the room. Dust vanished from all the surface it had fallen across; picture frames straightened themselves; posters hanging on the walls which had started to peel reattached themselves; books launched themselves back onto the small shelf that many of them had fallen from; dirty clothing and the numerous socks which Ron had unearthed rushed the hamper; scattered sweet wrappers and the remnants of a broken teacup drifted calmly over to the trash bin; the layer of feathers and owl pellets covering the bottom of Pigwidgeon’s cage vanished with a quiet pop.

“Ah,” replacing his wand back within the folds of his clothes, Tom smiled and stepped into the room again, “now I don’t need to worry about stepping on something which will send me to St. Mungo’s with Tetnus.”

“Of course you’re the only one of the four of us who’s reached mastery of House Hold Charms, Tom. It’s very Dark Wizardish of you.”

“Oh hush, Harry. Contrary to popular belief, even a Dark Wizard can’t live in a damp cave filled with bones and blood.” He replied tartly. “I can guarantee that Voldemort doesn’t live amidst the twisted detritus of the people he’s tortured and killed.”

“Sure about that, are you?”

The dark brunet rolled his eyes and advanced further into the room passed Ron, who stood in place beside his bed gaping around at his now clean room as if he’d never seen it before, and walked up to Hermione. Harry trailed after him, smirking.

“Might I ask,” Tom inquired, blue eyes flickering between the three piles of books which teetered haphazardly around her, “what the point of these are?”

“I’m sorting through our school books; filtering through all of the ones that we don’t need in order to separate out the ones that we do. Anything which could potentially assist us while we’re out there.”

“Because we’re going to be traveling the country in a mobile library.”

Hermione sent a pointed glare at Ron but otherwise didn’t respond to the comment. “This pile,” she indicated the one which was, by far, the largest, “are all of the ones I haven’t gotten through yet. This one,” she pointed to the second largest, “are the ones we most likely won’t need-every book that hack Lockhart insisted on us buying during our Second year, for example-and will be leaving behind. And this one,” she pointed to the smallest, “are the ones which we’ll be taking with us.”

Tom nodded. “I see.” Both boys watched her waiver between the ‘need’ and ‘leave’ piles with raised eyebrows. “Something wrong, Ms. Granger?”

“Well, it’s…I just…” Hermione bit her lip before sighing. “Do you think we’ll need to translate Runes while we’re out there?”

“We could, potentially. And though I’m well versed with Runes myself and have a fairly eidetic memory it’s still possible that some things would escape me.” Tom said, gently taking the copy of the Spellman’s Syllabary from her and setting it on top of the ‘need’ pile before beginning to look through her other selections. “Where will we be keeping all of this? And the rest of our supplies? How will we be taking all of it along with us in a manner which isn’t cumbersome?”

“Oh, I’d forgotten that I hadn’t shown the three of you! I spent a good portion of the summer coming up with a solution to the problem of having so much to carry with us.” Hermione darted passed them out of the room and returned a few moments later with a beaded bag on her arm. She held it out for Tom to take and the dark brunet, no doubt reflecting of the fact that he was now being handed a purse after having been forced into a pair of heels, took it somewhat reluctantly. “Open it.”

Eyeing the small bag dubiously he undid the clasp and reached inside, nearly stumbling forwards when his entire arm plunged in without warning. “An Enlargement Charm.” He retracted his arm, peered into the cavernous depths of the bag and then closed it before handing it back to her. “Impressive. Make sure to put a Lightening Charm on that as well.”

“I already have,” she sounded rather smug as she took the bag. “I’m going to be packing tonight so that we can leave at a moment’s notice and I want all three of you boys to give me everything that you want to take along so I can put it in here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“We’ll have everything ready by tonight, Hermione.” Harry promised. Ron didn’t answer, flopping down onto his bed with a quiet groan.

“I’d suggest not going back downstairs for a while, mate.” The red head said as Tom began gently tugging Harry back out the door. “Mum will find something else that needs to be cleaned before the wedding. Like Dad’s shed. Or the chicken coop. It’s almost like she expects to have Bill and Fleur’s wedding in the washroom.”

“We aren’t going downstairs, we’re going upstairs.” Tom told him as he left the room. “I need to speak to Harry in private for a moment.”

“Your room is right on top of this one, so if you’re going to shag try and keep it down.”

“Ronald!”

Grinning and shaking his head, Harry followed Tom back up the stairs and into the attic room where they’d been staying.

“So,” the raven closed the door and leaned back against it as the dark brunet walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, “are you going to shag me, Tom?”

“Tempting, but not this time.” The taller male gave a small smile but it didn’t quite touch his eyes. Harry instantly felt himself becoming nervous.

“What happened?”

“Nothing has happened, Precious. You don’t need to panic.” He held out an arm, inviting Harry to come and sit beside him. The raven was quick to accept the invitation and perched on the edge of the bed to Tom’s right, curling into his side and resting his head on his shoulder. “I just needed to speak with you briefly about the matter of my cover and the locket. The Horcrux that’s an exact copy of this.”

He plucked gently at the golden chain which hung around his neck.

“I know that you wish to continue to keep the matter of who I really am from Ron and Hermione until an opportune time, so the locket Horcrux presents for us a considerable problem. It’s too late to disguise the one that you have on-they’ve both spent half a year looking at it-so that means we’ll have to Glamour the Horcrux once we’ve found it.”

“And that means that either you or I will have to get to it first.”

Tom nodded. “Yes, it does. And that in itself could present us with a considerable problem: we’ve no idea where the locket is, or what situation hunting it down will lead to, and thereby can’t be certain that we can keep it from their sight long enough to avoid uncomfortable questions.”

“We’ll just have to be vigilant, then.” The reminder of the fallen Ex-Auror sent a renewed twinge of guilt through him and brought a small smile to his face.

“Indeed we will.”

The door to the room swung open so quickly it made both of them jump and Ginny stuck her head into the room. “I don’t mean to interrupt you two and your ‘alone time’ but Mom sent me up to get you; I’ve already sent Ron and Hermione down.” She said. “She wants us all outside to greet Fleur’s parents when Dad arrives back with them.”

“Right. We should head down, then.” Tom rose from the bed and pulled Harry up along with him. “Best not to give Mrs. Weasley any reason to be upset with us: she’s stressed enough as it is with preparing for the wedding.”

Ginny led the way down the stairs and out of the house where the rest of the Weasley family and Hermione had already gathered to wait for Mrs. Weasley to return with Fleur’s parent’s and younger sister.

“Would you look at that,” Tom muttered under his breath, giving the side eye to the pair of Flutterby bushes flanking the door which most certainly hadn’t been there before, “the boots and cauldrons are gone.”

“I’ve never seen the place so tidy.” Harry muttered back. “Really no surprise, though, with the work you’ve all been put to.”

Mr. Weasley, burdened down with luggage and leading Fleur’s family, appeared at the gate a moment later. The quarter Veela rushed forwards to greet her parents and sister; while Madam and Monsieur Delacour were busy speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey Gabrielle floated over towards them.

Fleur’s sister was all but her mirror image, eleven years old and with the same long blonde hair and silvery eyes. She sent him a small smile and batted her eyelashes as she approached. Tom let out a hiss that sounded like a Basilisk that had had its tail stepped on and reached around to tug the locket into plain view.

“Hello, Harry.” She simpered, ignoring Tom entirely; something which clearly didn’t sit well with the dark brunet. “Fleur tells me you’ve been well?”

“Oh, uh, yeah Gabrielle.” Harry said awkwardly, aware of Tom’s possessive presence. The other male was now so close behind him that he was practically standing on the back of his shoes. “I’ve been fine. How have you been?”

“Fine.” Fleur’s sister replied brightly. “Do you have a date for the wedding, yet? Someone to dance with?”

Harry didn’t even have the chance to respond before he felt Tom’s hand close around his arm like an iron vice. The dark brunet spun him around and crushed their mouths together, glaring over the smaller male’s shoulder. Ginny quickly acted to pull the stunned blonde away to a safe distance before she could prod the dragon further.

“Merlin, Tom!” Harry yelped, light headed, once his partner had released him. “Don’t tell me you really feel threatened by an elven year old girl, even if she is a quarter Veela!”

“Mine!”

The wedding was only a few days away, now, and once it was over the Delacours would be headed back to France and the four of them would be well on their way across Britain in search of Voldemort’s scattered Horcruxes. Harry could only hope that he could keep Tom from murdering Fleur’s younger sister in the meantime.

Chapter Text

Harry stirred slightly as the mattress shifted underneath him and something warm and soft pressed gently against his chest where his heart beat against his ribs. Nuzzled into the softness of his belly. Silky hair tickling his skin as it moved steadily downwards, insistently pulling him closer and closer to the waking world until finally being jerked back to full awareness when he was enclosed in wet warmth.

At some point before beginning his administrations the dark brunet had, with great care not to wake him while doing so, placed his glasses back on his face with the clear intent that he’d be able to see exactly what he was doing the moment that he opened his eyes. Pulling back and dragging the tip of his tongue along the large vein running the length of his rousing member as he did so Tom grinned wolfishly at him.

“Happy birthday, Precious.” He purred before immediately going back to what he’d been doing. Still bleary from sleep and unable to properly process what was happening the raven could only surrender himself to the whims of the older male. Letting his eyes fall closed again, curling his fingers in Tom’s hair and riding out the building heat until the coil wound so tight that it snapped and he had to smother a yell by biting his lips. The dark brunet licked his lips and stretched himself out on the mattress beside him with his dark eyes glittering and the same grin back in place.

“What was that?”

Tom gave a noncommittal shrug and propped up his chin on one hand. “Not much of anything, really. I wanted to do something nice for you, plus I needed a way to wake you up since you were still out cold, and I took the presented opportunity.” He said. “My plan was originally a great deal more tame-breakfast in bed to be more exact-but I doubt that Mrs.Weasley would allow that. We do have additional guests were here for the wedding and I’m sure that she’d prefer the birthday boy be down at breakfast with everyone else.”

He had a point with that one.

“Go on, then. Get dressed.” Smile transforming into something closer to a smirk, Tom plucked at the collar of his shirt; when Harry tried to get up off of the bed he caught him by the arm with one hand and pushed his wand towards him with the other. “Now now, love. You’re legal. No need to walk five feet and open your trunk when you can simply summon your clothing.”

The raven stared at him for a moment before smiling himself and taking his wand. Pointing the length of Holly wood at his trunk and casting a firm “Accio!” Harry caught the clothing which flew towards him.”

“How does it feel to be free of the Trace?”

Harry beamed at him. “Brilliant.”

“I can imagine. You’ve only waited seven years in order to be able to use magic without catching flak from the Ministry.” Tom rose from the bed and made his way over to the door of their room as Harry pulled his shirt on over his head. “Ready to go down and face the music?”

Best to get all of the excitement over with as soon as possible.

Everyone was already in the kitchen by the time they made it down the stairs, a large pile of presents stacked up in the center of the table. Harry was swarmed by Hermione and Ginny the moment that he stepped into the room and was all but dragged to his seat at the table by Mrs. Weasley who immediately set a plate filled with food in front of him with orders to eat.

“You heard the woman, Precious.” Tom smirked around the rim of his cup of black coffee, piece of toast in hand. “The sooner you eat the sooner you get your presents.”

The raven directed a mild glare at his partner before shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“So,” Madam Delacour asked, pulling the dark brunet’s attention to her, “you are the Tom that we have heard so much about? Harry Potter’s boyfriend?”

“I am.” He replied, finishing off his toast and clearing the crumbs from his hands. “Your daughter has enjoyed using me as a life sized dress up doll; heels, jewelry, flowers. Thankfully I’ve managed to avoid being stuffed into the bride’s maid dress.”

“It’s not like you had much else to do for most of the summer, Tom.” Ginny snorted from her own seat at the table, prompting the older male to roll his eyes. “Just over a week ago you were all but begging to ‘play dress up’ just for something to do.”

“Yes, yes, thank you for that Ginerva.”

Harry smiled at Ginny who smirked back at him before reaching for another biscuit.

“We hear that you transferred in to Hogwarts from abroad?” Monsieur Delacour joined the conversation.

“I did.” Tom said with a nod.

“What school did you attend prior?”

“Oh, uh…none. I learned from my mother until she died, and from there I either learned from the serpents or taught myself.”

“He is quite the prodigy; very intelligent. I heard that he singlehandedly chased off one of those mad people during their attack on Hogwarts.” Fleur put in from her seat beside Bill. “Harry brought him back from Romania where he had been living in a dark forest. They are quite cute together.”

“We are, aren’t we.” Tom seconded distractedly, refilling his coffee while sending a side-eyed glare at Gabrielle which bordered on threatening.

“So you are from Eastern Europe?” Madam Delacour said. “Could you, perhaps, also be part Veela?”

The dark brunet inhaled his coffee and immediately started coughing while quite a few of those gathered around the table laughed. “N-No!” He said once having managed to expel most of the hot coffee from his lungs. “Merlin, not at all though I suppose that I should take that insinuation as a compliment so thank you for that. I spent most of my life in Romania but I’m English born. And Half-blood: I get my looks from my father, and he was a Muggle.”

“Nothing on your mother’s side? You’re certain?”

Sharing a brief grimace with the raven, Tom nodded. “Absolutely positive.”

Breakfast continued from there as one would expect, with plenty of food and friendly banter. And Tom occasionally possessively dragging Harry against his side while smirking at the younger girl. When everyone was finished eating all attention turned to the presents.

“Regrettably, Arthur had to leave early for work but he’ll be back in time for the party and told me to wish you a happy birthday.” Mrs. Weasley told him. “That’s our present on top.”

Harry picked up the indicated parcel-small and wrapped in gold paper-and unwrapped it. Inside of it was what looked like a watch, though rather than numbers and hands the face was decorated with a variety of moving stars and moons.

“Giving a wizard a watch when they come of age is an old tradition.” Tom noted, examining the item over his shoulder. “Bit beaten up, though.”

“Gives it character.” He retorted, stepping lightly on his foot while smiling and saying. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Turning his eyes on the other male he asked, “what did you get me?”

“Last.” Tom said, shoving another gift into his hands.

“That one’s from me.” Ron called.

The gift turned out to be a book called 12 Ways Into a Wizard’s Heart, prompting Tom to send him a very pointed glare.

“It’s usually something Witches read but I figured you could use it since…” he gestured to the dark brunet and trailed off, obviously fighting the urge to hide underneath the table.

“Thanks,” Harry flipped through it quickly and then smirked. “It’ll be useful after the war.”

Tom made an effort to take the book but he held it out of reach.

“Harry!” He mewled.

“No. They won’t work as well if you know what I plan on doing!”

The struggle continued for a few moments longer before Tom gave up with a small huff and handed him another gift: a magical razor from Bill and Fleur.

“That will give you the closest shave you’ve ever had,” Monsieur Delacour informed him, “just make sure that you tell it clearly what you want or you may find yourself with less hair than you wanted.”

Fred and George had, as expected, sent him a large box of Wizard Wheezes merchandize which Tom eyed warily; Hermione had purchased for him a new sneak-o-scope; the Delacours had given him a box of fine French chocolate. With no other gifts left he turned his eyes expectantly onto Tom. “Well?”

“Eager, love.” He produced a narrow, oblong object from behind his back and handed it over. “Here you are.”

Ripping open the wrapping paper revealed an odd holster-like item made from acid green leather. He didn’t even get the chance to ask what it was before Hermione told him, sounding surprised.

“A wand sheath.”

“Is that Dragonhide?” Ron asked, wide eyed.

“No, but you’re close. Basilisk, not Dragon.” Catching the raven’s surprise, he grinned. “I told you that I’d be keeping some of the skin for my own purposes. I had one made for each of us.” Tom pulled the right sleeve of his shirt back, revealing the sheath which he had buckled to his forearm. “I figured it would be useful in the future: less chance of dropping your wand or having an accidental spell light your clothing on fire or worse. Not to mention that, so long as you have it sheathed, it’s impossible for someone to disarm you without the use of Parselmagic and the only other person capable of doing so isn’t prone to disarming. To retrieve your wand from it all you have to do is say ‘release’ in Parseltongue.”

“That sheath will protect your wand from being broken, Harry.” Hermione told him, looking at it in what almost amounted to awe. “Basilisk skin is incredibly durable, even without additional enchantments being added. I don’t know if even a Killing Curse would be able to put one down.”

“You know Mrs. Granger, that’s a good question. And it’d be simple enough to test it after the war is over: inspectors from the Ministry wouldn’t be able to get into the Chamber of Secrets. All we’d need to breed a Basilisk is an egg from the hen house out back and a toad: I’m sure that Neville could be convinced to let us borrow Trevor-.”

“Tom, no!”

The dark brunet blinked at him like a lizard sunning itself on a rock. “I’m a Parselmouth, Precious. I’d be able to control it.”

“That’s not the point!” Harry snapped back at him, pulling away. “Breeding something just to see if you can kill it, even if it is a dangerous Dark creature, doesn’t sit well with me.”

Only a few months ago Tom would have simply sneered at him in response but now his dark eyes softened. He stepped closer and pulled the smaller male somewhat unwillingly into his arms.

“You’re right.” He mumbled softly into Harry’s black hair. “It was incredibly cruel of me to think of doing something like that. I’m sorry.”

The raven crinkled his nose slightly. “At least I know that animal abuse is something you’ve grown out of. Now I just need to make you connect the same dots regarding people.”

“Oh, hush.”

Normal conversation had resumed around them. Harry slid his wand into the sheath and began fiddling with the buckles in an effort to strap it on.

“Where’s Nagini?” he hadn’t seen much of the serpent since he’d gotten there and he suspected that this was on account of the warm weather outside.

“Now that you mention it, I’m not sure. She’s around here somewhere, most likely sunning herself in the yard or on top of one of the roofs. We should go and look for her: at the very least it will distract you for long enough for Mrs. Weasley and the others to prepare your party under your nose.”

Amused, Harry shook his head. “Help me put this bloody thing on first.”

Tom reached for his arm with a smile and soft fingers.

Due to the two of them making a game out of it, locating Nagini had taken far longer than it reasonably should have and so, because of their search and the ravenous make-out session which Tom had initiated behind Mr. Weasley’s shed, by the time that they returned their attention to what was going on around them it was early evening and everything had already been set up. Three tables had been conjured end to end in the Burrow’s garden, streamers had been draped across the bushes and the leaves of a nearby crab apple tree had been turned gold, the twins had bewitched a number of purple lanterns emblazoned with a large 17 to float over the tables and Charlie, Lupin, Tonks and Hagrid had arrived.

“Merlin,” Harry said, looking around with wide green eyes as Tom’s long arms wrapped themselves loosely around his waist. “It looks amazing.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Hermione said with a smile. “The streamers were simple but turning the leaves gold was a little bit harder. I would have asked Tom for help but I assume that he was busy?”

“Just a little bit of snogging, Ms.Granger. Nothing scarring to walk up on.” Tom said, removing one of his hands from the now blushing raven’s hips and running his fingers gently over Nagini’s glossy scales. “I had to do something to distract him for long enough for the lot of you to get all of this,” he gestured around at the decorations, “done.”

“Well, I suppose you have a point about that.”

“If you think that this looks amazing wait until you see the cake that Mum’s made you, mate.” Ron told him.

Mrs. Weasley came through the gate a moment later, levitating what looked like a massive snitch behind her. It took Harry a moment to realize that the beach ball sized snitch was, in fact, the very cake which Ron had mentioned.

“That looks great, Mrs. Weasley!”

“Oh, it’s nothing Harry dear. It’s not every day that someone turns 17.”

“She has a point, you know.” Tom purred, warm breath fanning across the shell of his ear. “Do your best to forget about the war and the Horcruxes and Voldemort for just one night and simply enjoy yourself. It’ll do you good, Precious.”

The raven relaxed against his taller partner’s chest. “You say it like it’s easy.”

Tom squeezed him gently as Hagrid, dressed in his best-a horrific furry brown suit-lumbered over.

“17, eh Harry?” he bellowed excitedly, a bucket of wine given to him by one of the twins in hand. “I can’t believe it’s already been 6 years since you and I first met! Do you remember?”

“Something about you busting down the door, giving Dudley a pig tail and informing me quite bluntly that I was, in fact, a Wizard.”

Tom smirked.

“Were those the details?” he chortled. “Alright Ron? Hermione?”

“Not too bad. Busy, though: we’ve got some newborn Unicorns that I’ll show the four of you when you get back.” They exchanged a somewhat guilty look which the half-giant didn’t catch. “And Neptune’s been looking for you, Tom.”

The dark brunet blinked. “Neptune?”

“That’s what I named him. You remember the Kelpie that I showed you all on your first day? Well, he really took to you. Looks for you every time I go see him.”

“…oh, really?” Tom looked as if he didn’t know quite what to say.

“You made quite the impression on him.” Hagrid said as he rummaged around for a moment in one of his pockets before pulling out a small, furry drawstring pouch. “Here, Harry. Took a while for me to think of what to get you, but then I remembered I had this. Mokeskin: really rare. Put anything in here and the only one who will be able to remove it is you.”

“Thanks, Hagrid!”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” The half-giant waved away his thanks before lumbering off after Charlie, no doubt to ask about the dragon they’d helped hatch during their First year.

They were next approached by Tonks and Lupin: the latter looking rather unhappy compared to the radiant Auror beside him even as he smiled at Harry and shook his hand.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Tonks hugged him tightly.

“Careful Tonks,” Ginny said as she came up to them, smirking at Tom, “he’s extremely territorial.”

“I don’t feel threatened by happily married non-Veelas.” Tom said dryly moments before a streak of silver light came flying across the yard, landing on one of the tables.

The silver weasel sat back on its hind legs and announced in Mr. Weasley’s voice “The Minister of Magic is coming with me.”

Harry barely registered Lupin’s apology as he grabbed Tonks and hurried away, turning to the dark brunet and hissing “Tom, get inside!”

The taller male unfroze and bolted for the door, Nagini letting out a startled hiss as she clung to his shoulders tighter in order to keep from flying off her perch, and made it inside a split second before Mr. Weasley and the Minister of Magic both appeared at the Burrow’s gate. Everyone stood in silence as they approached. Scrimgeour looked older and grimmer than the last time that they’d met but Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel the least bit sorry for the man.

“Sorry to intrude,” he grunted as he came to a stop beside the tables. “Didn’t realize I’d be gate crashing a party. Many happy returns.”

“Thanks.” Harry said dryly, already missing the feeling of Tom’s arms around him.

“I’ve come to have a word in private with you, Mr. Potter. With Mr. Ronald Weasley and Mrs. Granger as well. In regards to the will of Albus Dumbledore. Is there some place where we can speak?”

“Of course,” Mr. Weasley said nervously. “Why don’t you use the sitting room.”

Scrimgeour looked over at Ron. “Lead the way.”

None of them spoke as they left the evening shadows of the yard and stepped inside. The Minister seated himself in the armchair normally occupied by Mr. Weasley. Harry Ron and Hermione squeezed themselves onto the sofa.

“I have some questions to ask each of the three of you so I think it would be pertinent-.”

“Whatever you have to say you can say to all three of us.” The raven growled, sending the older wizard a challenging glare. “You speak to all of us or none of us and that’s the end of it.”

The look he was given in return made it quite clear that, had they not been on the crumbling cusp of war, his insolence would not have been tolerated. “Very well. As I said outside I am here regarding the will of Albus Dumbledore.” He glanced at Ron again. “Would you say that you were at all close with the Headmaster, Ronald?”

“I…me? Not really.”

“Why do you think you were singled out, then? Dumbledore made exceptionally personal bequests: nearly all he owned was left to Hogwarts. So why?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess he liked me-.”

“I think it’s safe to say that of all the students at Hogwarts Harry, Ron and I were the ones who had the most contact with him. And, as the friends of the ‘Chosen One’ we could reasonably be expected to assist Harry in defeating Voldemort.” Hermione’s voice verged dangerously on a snap but the Minister ignored her and reached into a much larger version of the pouch Hagrid had just given him, pulling out a scroll.

“The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wilfric Brian Dumbledore. To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator in the hopes that he will remember me when he uses it.”

He took out said item from the bag-appearing at first glance to be nothing more than a Muggle cigarette lighter-and handed it to Ron.

“That is a valuable object of Dumbledore’s own creation. Why would he have given you something so rare?”

Bewildered, Ron shrugged. “To turn out the lights?”

Realizing he’d get no further answer from the red head Scrimgeour returned his attention to Dumbledore’s will.

“To Ms. Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.”

He pulled out a small and ancient looking book, its binding stained and peeling. Hermione took it and held it in her lap, staring at the title which had been written in embossed Runes.

“Why do you think he left you that book, Mrs. Granger?”

“I love books. Always have. I studied Runes in school and I’ve never read this one: he must have thought that I’d enjoy it.”

Looking unhappy with the explanation he’d been given but unable to find any point of contention he again returned to reading. “To Harry James Potter,” Harry felt his breath catch in anticipation, “I leave the Snitch that he caught in his first Quidditch game at Hogwarts as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.”

In a movement which was utterly anticlimactic he pulled out the walnut sized orb.

“Why would he leave you this?”

“…That’s a good question.” He said begrudgingly. “I like Quidditch?”

“Merely because you like Quidditch and not to hide something inside it which the Ministry inspectors could not get to?”

Harry stared at the man in front of them as if he’d lost his mind, Ron doing much the same from beside him, but Hermione seemed to understand what he was implying. “Snitches have flesh memories, Harry: they remember the first human that touched them so that the victor can be sorted out in the case of a contended capture. They’re also hollow, so a small object could reasonably be fit inside.”

That was one thing about Quidditch which he hadn’t known.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Potter? Take it.”

There wasn’t any possible way he could avoid touching the Snitch without the Minister taking notice, and even if he could Harry was far too eager to see what was inside to bother. The wings fluttered feebly when it was dropped into his hand but other than that nothing happened. He lifted it to eye level and shook it, half expecting to hear something rattling inside, but was met with silence.

“Sounds hollow to me.” His voice sounded as disappointed as the Minister looked. “Is that all?”

“No, Mr.Potter, it isn’t.” He told him. “Perhaps one of you could inform me who one Thomas Gaunt is?”

Hermione sucked in a small gasp and Ron stiffened beside him. Harry froze, wide eyed, but before he could speak Tom-Nagini no longer wrapped about his shoulders-stepped out of the hallway with his arms crossed and jaw set.

“I am,” he informed him sharply, causing the Minister to start and look around. “And I don’t much appreciate the tone you’ve been taking with my boyfriend.”

Had the situation been at all different Harry probably would have burst out laughing at how the older man looked at him slack-jawed as Tom crossed the room to settle himself on the arm of the couch beside Harry. “You’re…?”

“Boyfriend. Yes.” He hissed. “I understand that, as a former Auror, you take issue with Dark Wizards but I didn’t think you took issue with Homosexuals as well.”

“I…of course I don’t…to suggest-!” Unable to formulate a proper response to Tom’s accusation in an acceptable frame of time Scrimgeour resorted to dropping the matter completely and lifting the will high enough to obscure most of his face, blocking his own view of the dark brunet’s triumphant sneer. “To Thomas Gaunt I leave the remains of the diary of Thomas Marvolo Riddle in the hopes that it will serve as a reminder to him of the price of pursuing Darkness.” He pulled the mangled book from the bag and handed it over to Tom who ran his fingertips pensively over the mauled leather cover. “Can you-.”

“Hazard a guess at why the barmy, Muggle candy obsessed coot charged with managing Hogwarts left me a book destroyed well beyond even magical repair?” he interrupted snidely. “A reminder, perhaps, of my boyfriend’s martial prowess against deadly 60-foot-long reptiles?”

Seeming to realize that Tom was more than prepared to be insolent on a level even Harry wouldn’t dare to the Minister wisely didn’t attempt to question him further.

“There is one other thing which Dumbledore left to you, Mr. Potter, though he had no right to bequeath it to anyone as the Sword of Gryffindor is an important historical artifact that belongs-.”

“To Harry!” It was Hermione who interrupted him this time. “It chose him! He pulled it from the Sorting Hat!”

“The sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor but that does not make it their property.”

“Though it’s painful to say it, he’s right.” Tom said. “If anyone could make a reasonable claim of ownership over it, it would be the Goblins, but that’s an entirely different can of worms all together. And I can imagine that you think he tried to leave it to him because of some delusional line of reasoning that running a sword through Voldemort would kill him-you’re probably not wrong as, let’s face it, stabbing anyone in the heart will kill them no matter how powerful they are-but attempting that would be far from a practical way of going about dispatching the Dark Lord.” The dark brunet ignored the older wizard’s stare, calmly examining the cuticles of his nails. “I think it’s much more likely he left it to him because Harry is already in the possession of one of the other four Founder’s items.”

“And which item would this be?”

The grin Tom directed at him bordered on evil as he reached behind Harry and tugged the locket from under his shirt. “It looks better when it can be seen, Precious.” He purred. “Consider yourself lucky, Minister, as most outside my family do not get the privilege of laying eyes on the locket of Salazar Slytherin.”

“And how, Mr. Gaunt, did you come to be in possession of the locket when Voldemort is the Heir-.”

“Voldemort is an Heir of Slytherin, not the Heir of Slytherin though I’m sure he’d love to think differently. Now,” he rose in a single fluid movement, his posture an obvious unspoken threat as the air around them thickened with the faintest charge of magic, “I think you’ve interrupted the party for long enough, and I’m sure you’ve more important matters to attend to.”

To Harry’s surprise Scrimgeour rose as well, though his expression made it clear he did not appreciate being threatened. “I regret to know that your…attitude hasn’t changed. We should be working together, Mr. Potter, we’ve the same goals.”

“But not the same methods.” Harry said, I must not tell lies standing out against his clenched fist.

Grimacing, the Minster hobbled out of the door and towards the gate.

Tom shook his head and ran a hand through his hair before making his way towards the nearest chair, the air in the room clearing as he sat down. “You swallowed it.”

All three looked at him blankly. “Er…what?”

“The first Snitch you ever caught. You swallowed it, remember? I used to make fun of you for it all the time, and Nagini kept asking me if I thought it tasted anything like a bird.” When the raven’s expression didn’t change he sighed. “The flesh memory won’t work with your hand because you caught it with your mouth.”

A moment of further confusion later Harry started into motion, bringing the golden orb to his lips with renewed anticipation and somewhat awkwardly pressing the cool metal against his mouth. All four of them stared at it expectantly for half a heartbeat and then “Look!” Hermione yelped, pointing at the lettering which had begun to form across the metal.

I open at the close.

“What does that mean?” Ron demanded.

Tom’s brow furrowed. “I…don’t have the slightest clue. Harry?”

The raven shook his head.

“Everything we’ve been left is some sort of puzzle.” Hermione said. “Well, maybe not the diary. That could very well just be a warning to you about not following Voldemort’s path: You are a practitioner of the Dark Arts, Tom.”

“You’re probably right about that, Ms. Granger.” He said, fingering the broken spine of the dead Horcrux.

“The biggest question is why did Dumbledore leave Harry the sword? Do you really think it’s just because of the locket?”

“I know exactly why he left him the sword, but I couldn’t tell the Minister that.” Tom said. “He killed the Basilisk with it.”

“What difference does that make?” Harry asked, the feeling of annoyance settling over him once again as he dropped the snitch into the bag which Hagrid had given him. “It’s not like we’re going to be running into another one of those.”

“It’s Goblin steel, Harry. And you stabbed the Basilisk with it. In the mouth.”

“But what-!”

“Goblin steel only takes in what makes it stronger!” Hermione yelped with enough suddenness to make both Ron and Harry jump. “The Sword of Gryffindor is impregnated with Basilisk venom! It can destroy Horcruxes!”

“It’s still at Hogwarts in his office, most likely.” Harry said. “Looks like we’ll have to stop by the school after all.”

“Yes, we will, but we can think about all of that later on Precious. For now, we’ve a party to enjoy.”

Chapter Text

“And I’d had so much faith that you’d finally left the ‘40s behind.”

Tom smirked at him and shrugged, long fingers easily doing up the top button of his frock coat. “We both have our preferred styles, Precious. I rather like avoiding being made to wear dress robes whenever possible, but modern styles of formal wear depart too much from the classical. Besides,” he smoothed the lapels of the fine fabric down over his chest, “there’s something timelessly tasteful about the clothing of the Victorian Era. Which, I’ll remind you, was old fashioned even in my time.”

“You’re not helping your case, Tom.” Harry informed his partner, his smile growing further when the taller male simply rolled his dark blue eyes. He let his gaze rake shamelessly over the profile view which Tom was so thoughtfully providing him; his hair was as carefully tended as always, the high collared black frock coat he wore falling gracefully behind him and reaching to mid-thigh over a spotless pair of white pants and a set of mid-calf cut dragon hide boots. “What about your heels?”

Faltering midway through adjusting the red tie he wore Tom looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“Your heels, Tom. Your silver heels.”

“Those are the bride’s heels, you dolt, and you know it!” Shaking his head and grumbling something about having a child for a lover as Harry burst into a fit of rollicking laughter the dark brunet walked up to him and seized the black tie that he wore with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. “Merlin Harry, this looks like it was done by a toddler who has yet to learn to tie their shoes; it’s a tie not a noose or a bow on a Christmas present.”

“Oh, come on Tom it isn’t that bad!” Harry huffed, folding his arms in front of him as his boyfriend undid all of his hard work with just a few sharp tugs. He thought that he’d tied it well, thank you very much. Apparently the other disagreed. “Such a mother hen.”

“Uh-huh.” A final tug and he stepped back. “Much better; it actually looks like a tie now.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic, Precious, and come along. We should really be joining the others outside. You have your wand and wand sheath, yes?”

“Yes, Mum.” Tom swatted him lightly on the arse as he walked passed him and out the door, prompting Harry to stick out his tongue at him.

“There you are, mate! Fred George and I were starting to get worried.” Ron exclaimed on catching sight of them exiting the Burrow. “The pair of you took so long we thought for sure that the girls would finish before you!”

“Harry got dressed in about two minutes, as the mangled mess of his tie quite clearly displayed before I fixed it for him.” Tom informed them casually, ignoring the snickers that his attire was drawing out of Fred and George. “He stuck around to watch me get dressed.”

“More like watch you undress.” Harry felt a light flush burn his cheeks as George bounded up to both of them and handed them each a seating plan. “Here, take these. Since Mum’s busy with other last minute preparations, its Bill’s wedding and all of the girls are still busy putting on their makeup it’ll be our job to deal with the guests when they arrive.”

“And that should be at any minute now.” Fred put in.

“Seating arrangements? I suppose that would cut down on some of the chaos that the number of guests we’ll be having might otherwise present.” Tom said, curiously examining the copy he’d been handed. “I’m sitting with Harry, so I have no problem with this.”

“Wouldn’t want to be separated from your famous boyfriend when there’s going to be a gaggle of Veela cousins around, would you.” George said, grinning from ear to ear.

The face Tom made was priceless.

Grabbing his wand hand as a precaution, Harry turned his attention to the setup which had been provided for the wedding of the Weasley family’s eldest child. At three in the afternoon the sun was still high in the cloudless cerulean sky, shining down on the recently groomed garden-alive with bees and butterflies in an array of different colors-and the brilliant white canopy which had been erected in the yard, born up by poles coiled with white and golden flowers. Where the guests would soon be sitting was, for the time being, no more than a sea of empty golden chairs with delicate legs-as well as one massive specially reinforced one which was no doubt meant for Hagrid-and at some point earlier the twins had secured a pair of massive golden balloons on either side of where Bill and Fleur would soon be standing.

Earlier in the day a number of waiters clad in white had arrived along with a band in golden robes; all three of its members were now sitting in the shade of a nearby tree, a blueish smoke which looked suspiciously as if it had originated from some form of pipe drifting lazily away from the area.

“I don’t know about you, George, but when I get married no one is going to be going through any of this.” Fred said, attempting unsuccessfully to loosen his collar. “You can all wear whatever you want, I don’t care, and if I have to put a Full Body Bind Curse on Mum to do it I will.”

“Rather extreme.”

“She wasn’t horrible this morning, all things considered. Cried a bit over Percy’s refusal to come but no one wants that Prat here anyway so it’s no real loss.”

Tom snorted. Harry and Ron both remained wisely silent on the matter.

“Uh-oh; here they come. Brace yourselves.”

Beyond the distant boundary of the yard, out passed the wards which had been erected by the Order and the Ministry, a number of brightly colored figures began to appear in quick succession. Their number rapidly multiplying and quickly forming into a procession which began snaking its way through the garden towards them. Exotic flowers in every imaginable color and bewitched birds adorned the hats of the witches and precious gems gleamed on the cravats of Wizards, the sounds of talk and laughter growing louder and louder as the crowd grew closer and closer.

“I think I see some Veela cousins.” George said eagerly, craning his neck to get a better look over the heads of a group of middle aged witches.

Tom’s grip on the raven’s hand tightened. “Harry will be going nowhere near them; I’m fluent in-.”

“I’ve got it, Pointedly! No need!” Before his twin could act to stop him Fred had bolted towards the approaching pair, leaving George to deal with the middle aged witches and Harry to attempt to communicate seating directions to an old couple who were a bit more than 3/4ths deaf. Tom rushed off with a small squawk of alarm to clean up the mess which had resulted from Hagrid misunderstanding his seating directions while Ron dealt with Perkins, Mrs. Weasley old colleague from the Ministry.

“Wotcher, Harry!” He jumped at Tonks familiar voice and turned to see her standing with Lupin a few feet away from him. “Sorry about last night; our suddenly leaving and all. But the Ministry has been really against Werewolves recently and we figured our sticking around wouldn’t do you any favors.”

“I understand.”

“We all do, and as far as we’re concerned-at least from my perspective-Rufus Scrimgeour can shove his prejudice so far up his arse that it comes back out his mouth.” Tom huffed, reappearing beside Harry with an air of annoyance about him. “Ex Auror or not, he’s nothing more than another blithering politician: we haven’t had an affective head of government since before the bloody Witch Trials! When I’m Minister of Magic all of this brown nosing bullox will be permanently done with.”

“Someone certainly has big plans for the future.” Lupin tried to smile but the expression didn’t last long before settling back into misery, though why the raven couldn’t understand.

“That’s nothing new, Remus, though I should have taken this avenue in the first place. If I had we wouldn’t be here.”

“You’d be old and I wouldn’t know you.” Harry interceded, wrinkling his nose and affectively breaking the grim pall which had fallen over their little group.

“I would be old, wouldn’t I? 70 something by now?” Tom chuckled, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. “But even then I’d look a right bit better than Snake-face.”

“You’d age well.”

“Precious, that makes me sound like a bottle of wine.”

“You look nice, Tom.” Tonks cut in the change the subject. “If a bit old fashioned.”

Harry snorted. “Just a bit?”

Tom prodded him gently in the ribs. “Thank you, Tonks. Turns out I clean up nicely when I’m not perpetrating mass murder sprees. I’ve a brilliant method of getting blood out of fabric too, if you’d like to know?”

“Well, we’ll let you get back to seating people. Come on, ‘Dora.”

As Lupin led Tonks away to their designated seats Tom escorted Harry back to the entrance where they found Ron face to face with a slightly cross-eyed wizard wearing a set of yellow robes so bright that they had to avert their eyes for fear of going blind. Around his neck a strange triangular eye hung from a golden chain.

He’d been in the process of prattling on about Gnomes to the red head when Luna-in her own set of yellow robes and with a gigantic sunflower in her white blonde hair-rushed up to them.

“Hello Harry. Hello Tom. Where’s Nagini?”

“Hello Luna.” Harry said as Tom shrugged.

“She’s around here somewhere. I believe that the guests were warned about her presence but I could be wrong; I just hope that she doesn’t frighten anyone too badly by slithering out from beneath a table.” Catching sight of her bleeding finger his expression changed to mild concern. “Ms. Lovegood…your hand is-.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. I was bitten by one of the Gernumbli.” She stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth and sucked on it dreamily.

“…Gernumbli?” he repeated, looking over at Harry as if for help but the raven simply shrugged at him. Bewildered. “I was under the impression that the garden only had Gnomes.”

“With as intelligent a person as you are, Tom, I hadn’t realized that you didn’t already know that Gernumbli Gardensi is the proper name for a Garden Gnome.” Luna informed them both. “You look very good; both of you. I know most people wear dress robes to occasions like these but Father believes it’s best to wear sun colors for good luck.”

“Well…that shade of yellow is certainly…eye watering. Which is a lot like the sun I suppose.”

“Eloquent of you, Ron.” Tom smirked at him before indicating an ancient witch who looked rather like a cross between Snape and an angry flamingo. “I think someone needs your assistance finding their seat.”

“Oh bloody hell, that’s Aunt Muriel.” Ron winced before looking over at Harry. “I’m going to warn you, mate, that you’d best avoid her.”

With that he scurried off quickly. By the time he returned Harry and Tom had shown nearly 20 more people to their seats between them and the marquee was nearly full.

“Nightmare, her. Always has been.” He said. “Thank Merlin the twins set off a Dungbomb under her chair one year; used to come by every Christmas before that and-blimey, you look amazing Hermione!”

“He always sounds so surprised.” She rolled her eyes as she came to a stop in front of them, hair sleek and shiny and wearing a lavender dress and heels. “And, I’ll have you know, your Great Aunt disagrees. Met her upstairs while she was showing Fleur how to wear the tiara and, after referring to me as ‘the Muggleborn’ she informed me that I have skinny ankles and bad posture.”

“Muriel’s rude to everyone. Just told me that my ears are lopsided.” Ginny drawled, walking over in one of the bride’s maid dresses. “I can’t wait to see her go after you, Tom.”

“She won’t be able to find anything physically wrong with him, I’m sure, so she’ll go after him about the fact that he’s bent.”

“And a snake speaker.” Ginny added. “She’ll consider it the mark of a Dark Wizard.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong.” Tom pointed out with a smirk. “I am bent, I am a Parselmouth and I am a Dark Wizard. I’m also used to being on the receiving end of mockery and ridicule, though it’s been a while.”

Knowing exactly what he was referring to Harry stepped closer to Tom and squeezed his hand but before anything could be said a dark haired figure he hadn’t seen in almost three years arrived, holding his invitation out to Ron without looking away from Hermione.

“You look wonderful!”

Catching sight of Ron’s face-rapidly turning the same shade of red as his hair as he stared at the invitation as if he truly thought it was a forgery-Tom spoke up.

“I realize that it’s likely been some time since you’ve seen each other last but the wedding will commence soon and its best we show you to your seat, right Harry?”

“Huh? Oh, right definitely.”

After showing Viktor to his seat Harry and Tom had to rush to take their own lest they be run over by the bride. They wound up sitting in the second row, directly behind Fred and George, with Hermione-slightly pink in the face-and Ron-ears still red with indignation-to their left. No sooner had they all gotten settled than Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stroll up the aisle, waving to their assembled relatives, and Bill and Charlie got up to stand at the front.

As the music swelled from within the balloons Harry settled against Tom, both turning in their seats to look as Fleur-escorted by her father-began making her way up the aisle.

“Just think, Precious: the next wedding we attend will be the one where you’re walking up the aisle.” The words were spoken so softly that he barely heard them but they were still enough to make him turn pink once again as one of Tom’s hands found his. “It will be the two of us standing before a sea of friends and family, being bonded officially and legally for life.”

As the same tufted-wizard who had spoken at Dumbledore’s funeral rose to deliver the vows Harry couldn’t help his mind from wandering. Imagining himself in white, walking down the aisle under the eyes of so many towards Tom who stood waiting at the front of the room.

He only returned to reality when the bride’s bouquet-doubtlessly aimed directly at him-crashed into his chest, showering him in petals and pollen and causing those around him to erupt into titters of laughter.

All of the wedding guests rose as one at the request of the tuft-haired wizard who, with the flick of his wand, replaced the chairs with tables and a golden dance floor. Waiters popped out of seemingly nowhere, bearing trays of drinks and tarts and sandwiches as the band began to play.

“We should go congratulate them!” Hermione squealed excitedly, dragging Ron off before he could protest. Tom and Harry watched them go before the dark brunet gestured towards the nearby tables. “Well, shall we find a table for ourselves? Away from Muriel?”

“Yeah. Away from Muriel sounds good.”

They crossed the dance floor quickly, passing Luna and her father who stood in place revolving on the spot and waving their arms, and made their way over to the nearest empty table. No sooner had they sat down then Viktor dropped into the seat on Harry’s left.

“Who is that man in yellow?” he demanded with a scowl.

“”Xenophilius Lovegood,” Tom informed him mildly, observing the encroacher with a mildly peeved expression; clearly he’d been hoping for a bit of time alone. “The father of a friend of ours.”

“Who are you?”

“Thomas Gaunt.” They shook hands. “Call me, Tom.”

“You know the man well, Tom? Harry?”

Tom shrugged.

“No,” Harry told him. “I only met him today. Why?”

“Were we not at a wedding-a place where violence has no standing-I would duel him right now for daring to wear that filthy sign.”

“The Deathly Hallows?” Krum gave Tom a numb stare. “Tale of the Three Brothers. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Heard of it?”

“Isn’t that the book of children’s stories you used as justification for your paranoia that Muggles are all out for our blood? What did you call them, Second Salemers?” Harry asked him dryly.

Tom ran his fingers through his dark hair somewhat sheepishly. “Yes, well…never mind that. Why do you have such a problem with that sign?”

“Because whatever mark you are thinking of it isn’t that one! That,” he jabbed a finger in the direction of the man in question, “is the mark of Grindelwald! The man murdered many people, my grandfather among them! It would be like me wearing the skull and snake of Voldemort in front of you!”

Tom’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head slightly to one side, no doubt trying to recall if he’d ever actually seen Gindlewald’s sign for himself.

Harry asked. “How can you be sure?”

“Grindlewald went to Durmstrang: he carved that symbol into one of the walls while he was there!” He said coldly. “I am not mistake: I’d know it anywhere after walking passed it for so many years!”

“I’m sure that he doesn’t know what it is. Probably thinks it’s the shape of the head of a…a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something.”

Apparently mistaking this comment as Harry making fun of him Krum drew his wand from within his robes and began tapping it against his thigh. Tom stiffened, eyes narrowing, and nearly rocketed out of his chair like a startled cat when Harry exclaimed, quite loudly and with absolutely no warning, “Gregorovitch!”

“Sweet Morgana, Precious! Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack!”

“Sorry Tom.”

“What about him?” Krum demanded irritably, disregarding their exchange.

“He’s a wand maker; he made your wand.”

The Bulgarian Quidditch player narrowed his eyes. “How did you know that Gregorovitch made my wand?”

“I…um…well, you see…” At that moment his mind decided it wanted to be as unhelpful as possible and went blank.

“You read it somewhere, remember Precious? In one of those fan magazines of yours.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was it.” He said quickly.

“I hadn’t realized I’d ever discussed such things with interviewers for such magazines.”

“Does anyone ever remember everything they’ve ever said to other people?” Tom inquired airily.

“So…so, uh…Gregorovitch…where is he these days?”

He looked puzzled. “He retired several years ago now; I was one of the last to purchase one of his wands. They are the best, despite the insistences otherwise by you Brits.”

He may have said more but Harry was no longer listening, thoughts racing a mile a minute. Could what Voldemort had been interrogating Olivander about have had anything to do with Gregorovitch? And if not, could Gregorovitch know something about it-whatever it was-which Olivander did not?

At some point during his musings Krum wandered off, or maybe retreated to avoid Tom’s anger after having threatened Harry, because by the time he returned to reality the Bulgarian was gone.

“Let’s go and sit somewhere else.” Tom said once realizing Harry had come down off cloud 9. “You look like you need something to distract you.”

He didn’t allow Harry the chance to protest, hauling him out of the chair and across the room. They wandered for a while through the festivities, watching the cake be cut and bottles of champagne float about the area by their own power. Ginny was dancing with Lee. Ron with Hermione. The twins had disappeared from sight, no doubt with one of Fleur’s Veela cousins. Charlie, Hagrid and a short wizard Harry didn’t recognize were standing in the corner singing Odo the Hero.

After narrowly escaping a drunken party goer who seemed convinced that Tom was, in fact, his son they found their way to a small table occupied by an old wizard whom, Harry quickly realized, was the man who had written Dumbledore’s Obituary: Elphias Doge.

“May we sit down?”

The man gasped loudly and leapt to his feet, grabbing one of Harry’s hands and shaking it wildly. “Oh, Harry Potter! My dear boy! And Thomas Gaunt, too! I am so glad! Honored! Honored!” Seizing a floating bottle he nervously poured them both a goblet of champagne. Tom only took his with great hesitation. “After it happened I thought of writing to you; the shock of witnessing it!”

“We saw your obituary. The one that you wrote for Dumbledore.” Tom said. “You certainly knew him well.”

“I knew him longest, if one doesn’t count his brother. No one ever does seem to.”

“Even if you’d only known him for a day you’d have been more qualified to write about him then Rita Skeeter.” Harry slurred the name like a vicious slur; Tom squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you saw it.”

“Vulture of a woman; I knew exactly what she was doing when she spoke to me! I called her an interfering trout and she turned around and questioned my sanity!”

“She hinted that he was involved in Dark Magic when he was a teenager-.”

“The only thing she was correct about in that entire interview.” The dark brunet grumbled. The older man glared at him as Harry whipped around indignantly.

“What!”

“I know more about Dumbledore’s dirty laundry than most; you know why. But you shouldn’t allow that fact to change the way you see him, Precious: everyone has skeletons in their closet. You should take it, instead, as confirmation that Albus Dumbledore was as human as the rest of us.” He held out a hand to him. “Say goodbye love and allow me a dance if you’d please?”

The raven continued to stare at him for a while longer before sighing and taking his hand. “Fine, one dance.” He looked over at Elphias Doge. “It was nice speaking with you. Maybe we’ll see each other again in the future.”

Those were all the words that Tom allowed him before dragging him away. Onto the dancefloor. They quickly became surrounded by whirling couples.

“I don’t know why you insisted on dragging me out here. You know that I have two left feet, Tom.”

“I didn’t let you fall last time, and I won’t let you fall this time; just trust me.” Harry huffed at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…you had to pick the fastest song they’ve played all bloody night didn’t you!”

He smirked down at him. “I suppose that it was poor timing on my part, but you don’t need to worry about any of that.” Tom lifted his hand from his side and set it on his chest; Harry could feel his heart beating against his palm through the fabric of his clothing. “We won’t be dancing to that.”

Annoyed as he was to the situation at hand Harry couldn’t help but smile at his partner as they began to dance. A slow, surprisingly graceful waltz to a melody which no one else could hear. Out of time with the surrounding dancers but not caring in the least. Stopping only after the song had changed twice more.

Tom opened his mouth to speak but, before he could, they were startled from their moment of calm by numerous shouts of alarm as a streak of silver light shot through the roof of the marquee and landed a few feet from them before taking the form of a lynx and beginning to speak.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

Everything around them fell away into complete and utter chaos.

Chapter Text

Cracks sounded all around them as figures appeared from thin air in bursts of dark smoke, no longer hidden behind black cloaks and silver masks, faces bared and sneering and wands scything through the air. Bolts of light flew in all directions. Voices shouted and screamed. The roof of the marquee was on fire. Tom snarled as he grabbed Harry by the hand, overturned the nearest table with a resonant crash and dragged him down behind it.

“We need to find Ron Hermione and Nagini and get out of here!”

“But what about-?”

Tom clapped one hand over his mouth and used the other to send a Full Body Bind Curse at a Death Eater who had attempted to sneak up on them, causing the man to topple forward over the edge of the upended table like a marble statue pushed from its pedestal. “We don’t have the time to argue over this Precious, so please bite your tongue a moment longer and listen to me. They’re here because they’re after us-more specifically, you-and if we leave they will follow.” His voice was barely audible over the surrounding chaos, the spells thrown by both sides of the fighting going on around them flashing in his dark eyes. “The longer we stay the longer they do. Take it from a true Slytherin-Sorting Hat’s insistences aside-that standing one’s ground isn’t always the answer.

“Are you suggesting that we retreat?” the raven hissed upon succeeding in ripping the other’s hand away from his mouth. “That we abandon everyone here to die-.”

“They won’t die.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t, but it’s a reasonable assumption that they’ll stand a better chance at survival with us gone than with us here.” Harry sent him an incredulous look and Tom plowed onwards before he could speak again. “Think, Precious! I’m a prodigy and you’ve been through more in your life than any one person should ever have to but we’re still barely more than children; they’re adults and can fend for themselves. Better without us than while having to defend us.”

It was obvious from the expression on his face that Harry knew the dark brunet was right and even more obvious that he wasn’t happy about the fact. “Fine. But we’re not going to sit here and wait until they find us. We’re finding them on our own.”

“Never expected otherwise.” Tom told him, flashing a grin which held a blood-stained edge. “On the count of three, then?”

“On the count of three. One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

Both leapt up from behind the upturned table, the roar of spells on both their lips. Jets of green and red shot from the tips of their wands, the two Death Eaters who had turned to advance on them falling stunned or dead. Tom didn’t bother skirting around their makeshift shelter, simply vaulting over it instead and prompting the raven to roll his eyes.

“We haven’t the time to walk around everything, Precious.”

“So that’s your excuse.” He grumbled back in the same breath that he used to send another attacker to the ground. “Do you see them?”

“No.” Tom called back, craning his neck to see over the writhing throng of fighters while still keeping as much of his attention on watching for further aggressors as possible. Green sparks fell in a shower from the tip of his wand, hissing like fiery serpents. “Even with the good number of guests who fled the minute they got the chance there’s still too many people here; they must be somewhere in the crowd.”

“Then we have to go into the crowd!”

“Harry, don’t!” But the smaller male either didn’t hear him or didn’t listen and barreled forwards towards the main fighting in the middle of the room. Not registering the other man’s presence until he’d grabbed him and pointed his wand into his face; Tom raised his own but before he could do much else a blur of green scales and red blood dragged the offender to the ground with a strangled cry.

“Be more careful, Harry! Prey blind to its surroundings is easy to kill!” Nagini hissed at him rather crossly, dislodging her fangs from the convulsing Death Eater’s throat.

“She’s right, Precious; by Morgana, what were you thinking running off like that without making sure I was there to watch your back! We can’t afford to become separated and surrounded!” Tom bent down briefly and hoisted his familiar up onto his shoulders. “Have you seen the others, Nagini?”

“Yes, a few moments ago Master. They’re together and looking for the two of you.”

Harry perked up at this, pressing closer to Tom so that both could better protect the other’s flank. “Where?”

“Not far from the edge on the far end, though they may have moved by now.”

The raven met his eyes, gaze stern and allowing the other absolutely no objections on the matter. “Let’s go!”

Tom nodded to him, another shower of sparks-as red as the Torture Curse this time-falling from the tip of his wand. “I’m right behind you.” He told him. “We’ll skirt the edge to the far end of the crowd; the less time we spend in the midst of everything the better it will be for us in the long run as it’s best to avoid injury as much as possible at this point.”

Crouching as low as they could to avoid being pegged by any stray spells the pair hurried along to the far end of the crowd before plunging headlong into the fighting. Looking about them for Death Eaters the attention of whom they may have caught and for any signs of their missing friends and from time to time looking back to ensure that the other male was still beside them. Still ready to act in each other’s defense should the need arise.

“Tom! Harry!” The raven whipped his head around at the sound of Hermione’s voice; she sounded terrified and almost on the verge of tears. Unable to find either of them and no doubt fearing the worst. “Harry! Harry! Tom!”

“Hermione!” Seizing the hand of the dark brunet and dragging him backwards Harry charged in the direction of the voice of his friend, his wand raised. “Hermione! Ron! Over here!”

Pushing people out of the way, careless of their shouts of indignant alarm, and trampling over the fallen bodies of their attackers-wounded stunned and dead alike-Harry broke free of the crowd again and, in an instant, was enveloped by the bushy brunet’s crushing embrace. Her dress was torn. One hand still clutched onto Ron’s with force enough to turn his fingers white. Nagini let out a furious hiss of warning from her perch atop Tom’s shoulders.

“Go!”

The dark brunet’s bellowed command was swallowed up into a rush of constricting color. Drowned out by blinding light and a mechanical roaring sound as a cherry red double decker bus bore down on them.

“Move!”

Harry wasn’t sure if it was him who said it or one of the others but the next thing he knew he was lying on his front on the rain drenched pavement; he barely had the time to process that much before Tom hauled him upright and began dragging him through the crowds on the heels of Hermione.

“Where are we?” Ron’s voice sounded from behind them amidst the chattering and laughing of the late night revelers passing by closed store fronts. A group of half-drunk twenty somethings ogled Nagini as if they’d never seen a snake before.

“Tottenham Court Road.”

Harry’s attention returned to Hermione. “Tottenham Court Road?” he repeated. Tom lightly sidestepped another pub-goer just as the man doubled over and vomited onto the sidewalk. “Why here? What’s here?”

“Nothing. And no particular reason. It’s just…I used to come here with my parents. It was the first place that came to mind. I don’t really know why.”

“Alley.” It was the first time that Tom had spoken since they’d arrived on that crowded street in the middle of Muggle London, his tone low and sharp. He dismounted the main drag and stepped into the shadows of the alley leaving the other three with little choice but to follow. The dark brunet leaned his back against the brick wall and folded his arms over his chest. “We may not be dressed in Wizarding formal wear but we still stand out like a sore thumb: we need to either change or transfigure our clothing into something less conspicuous and then find somewhere to sit and talk. Figure out the next step. We can’t stay out in the open forever.”

“Tom’s right.” Hermione said, fumbling with the clasp of the beaded bag and reaching inside. “I’ve got clothes for everyone in here. And there’s a little diner about another block or so down which, if I remember correctly, is open 24 hours.”

She pulled out a hoodie and jeans and well-kept trainers-which she handed to Tom-a t-shirt and jeans and a pair of worn trainers-which she handed to Ron-and a sweat shirt, pair of jeans and badly scuffed trainers which she handed to Harry.

“You’re not changing?” Ron asked as Harry pretended to be having trouble undoing his tie so that he could watch the muscles flex in Tom’s back as he pulled the hoodie over his head.

“I will. At the diner. In the bathroom. Not in some public alley with three boys.” She was slightly pink in the face.

“Sweetheart, of those ‘three boys’ you mentioned one is a poof another may as well be and the third is your boyfriend who is going to see it eventually. We don’t have the luxury of being coy.”

“I-I…you’re right, Tom. Could the three of you maybe just…turn around?”

“Course.” The dark brunet flashed a lop-sided smirk and turned, pulling Ron around with him as he did so. “Now now, Ronald, it’s impolite to stare.”

Ron turned red up to his ears. “I wasn’t staring you bloody Git!”

Harry ignored the two of them and pressed his face into the soft fabric of the hoodie Tom wore, closing his eyes and letting his familiar calming scent fill his lungs and drive away the mingled smells of the city-rain soaked pavement, exhaust and the nearby river.

“Alright, I’m ready. Just shove all of your old clothes back in here and we can head out.” As Hermione held out the bag to them something inside of it echoed and clattered. “Blast! That’d be the books; a pity too, I had them all stacked by subject.”

Tom’s sigh sounded genuinely sympathetic. “Having to resort texts is always a drag.” Harry wasn’t surprised that his partner had gone through a similar occurrence before.

“Books?” Ron spluttered, utterly disbelieving. “I thought that you were joking about the books!”

“I think you’ve forgotten who it is we’re talking about, Ron.” The raven noted rather dryly.

The other two chuckled.

“Well, shall we head out?”

“Not yet.” Tom drew his wand and stepped up to Harry, pushing his black bangs back away from his face. “It won’t do all that much, but we should still hide the scar.”

He rapt him smartly on the forehead and Harry’s eyes watered, a stinging sensation which had nothing to do with the newly applied glamor and everything to do with how hard he’d been hit emanating outwards from where he’d been struck.

“Merlin Tom, did you have to hit me so bloody hard?”

“Sorry, Precious, I suppose that I’m a little nervous.” The taller male pressed a brief kiss to his brow before allowing the black hair to fall back into place. “You’ll live.”

“So sure? I think I’m bleeding internally.” He quipped dryly. Rolling his eyes Tom drew him under his arm and followed Ron and Hermione out of the alleyway.

The walk to the diner did not take long. The bell which hung over the door tinkled with a merriness that not a single one of the four of them felt at all appropriate for the situation. The floors were tiled in a checker board pattern. The walls and tables a matching, somewhat dingy off-white color. In place of the darkness from outside the harsh artificial light made their eyes sting.

“So, do we wait for service or seat ourselves?” Harry asked, recalling what few times the Dursleys had had no other choice but to take him along to restaurants. “I don’t see a sign.”

“It’s been a few years but as far as I remember it’s seat yourselves.” She told him as Ron stared around blankly.

All three boys followed Hermione to a booth with a good view of the entire diner-empty aside from them for the time being-and was as far away as possible from the door. Hermione sat beside Ron. Harry beside Tom; the cut of the neck of the hoodie showed a beautiful view of the dark brunet’s collar bone. Nagini had since disappeared under the loose fabric and was no doubt now wrapped around his chest.

“What now?” he asked into the silence which had fallen between them.

“We order drinks.” Tom said simply, indicating the approaching waitress with the subtle twitch of a finger. “And then we talk.”

The dark brunet smiled back at the young woman when she batted her eyelids flirtatiously at him. Without his complete awareness or consent Harry felt his face settle into a territorial glare; Tom chuckled as one of his arms wound around his waist and pulled him closer.

“What can I get for you?”

“Cappuccino, please.” Hermione said.

Ron glanced up at the waitress nervously, looking more than a little bit out of his element. “Oh, uh…same.”

“And you, gorgeous?”

“Coffee. Black, please.” Tom told her. “And a hot chocolate as well, if you have it, for my boyfriend.” The look on the waitress’ face as she hurried away was almost comical. Tom kissed Harry’s temple and nipped at his ear as the raven huffed. “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“So,” Hermione piped up a little bit more loudly than was really necessary, “onto the matter of where we should be staying?”

Harry colored. Tom smirked. The waitress returned with their drinks and then left again.

“You know,” Ron piped up, “we’re not that far from the Leaky Cauldron-.”

“Don’t be thick, Ronald! It’s too dangerous to stay in any public wizarding establishment! We’re all too recognizable, especially Harry.”

“A Muggle hotel, then?” Harry asked, not much liking the sound of such an action. He’d never been to a hotel before but he knew that they were expensive. Did they even have Muggle money on them?

“Or a privately owned property in the Wizarding World, though I’ve no idea where we could go. All of the safe houses were warded by the Ministry as well as the Order so their locations are all known.”

“#12.”

All three turned to him, wide eyed. “What, mate?” Ron asked him.

“#12 Grimmauld Place. The former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. The Black family estate which you were left ownership of after the passing of…” Tom trailed off, setting his cup back in its saucer with a soft clink and looking at Harry with appraising eyes. “It wasn’t one of the safe houses on the list provided to the Ministry: Kingsley let me read it after a little convincing if for nothing else than to keep my occupied a bit longer. They don’t know where it is. So why not there?”

“Snape does. For all we know he’s told Voldemort about it already.”

Harry’s scar prickled and a shiver of static passed down Tom’s spine; both exchanged a loaded glance. The dark brunet fingered his cup. “I overheard Mad-Eye and some of the others talking about having warded it against his doing that.” He said. “To another point, I don’t think we should be saying the Dark Lord’s name.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a sudden fear of it.”

“Fear, no, but…names are things of power and I have a bad feeling about invoking his name now that times have changed and the balance of power has shifted.” The bell hanging over the door clanked again as a pair of burly workmen in full uniform walked in, taking a seat a few tables away. “Call it intuition.”

Ron and Hermione gave him sidelong glances that made it seem as if they worried for his mental health. Harry dipped his head, the sweet smell of chocolate and whipped cream filling his nose as hot steam caressed his cheeks.

“Tom is right.” He said. “About Grimmauld Place. Sirius said to me once… that between his father and Dumbledore the number of enchantments placed on it would make it difficult to find a safer house anywhere.”

“Well, I guess it’s decided then.” Ron said after another somewhat prickly pause. “Do you have any Muggle money on you Hermione? Harry? Tom?”

“I’ve got a fair bit; it’s probably all at the bottom though. Give me a moment.”

Tom’s head jerked up at the same moment that Hermione bent over her purse and the two workmen leapt onto their feet and drew wands from within the folds of their uniform.

“Down!”

Harry lunged across the table and knocked both Ron and Hermione to the ground as Tom ducked a Curse which went whizzing by his head. The tile wall beside them shattered, shrapnel cutting one of the raven’s cheeks as coffee and hot chocolate from their upended drinks spilled across the table and onto the floor.

All three scrambled back onto their feet quickly and pointed their wands. The waitress screamed and bolted for the door; a rebounding Stunning Spell from Harry struck her and she collapsed. Tom’s Cutting Curse flew wide as his target dove clear, the table he’d been standing in front of falling apart in two pieces as the dark brunet snarled in frustration, Nagini echoing with a rasping hiss from beneath his shirt.

A Full Body Bind Curse from Hermione hit one of the Death Eaters from behind and he fell forwards with a crash into the scattered debris of broken tile and shards of glass.

Another Stupefy from the raven took the other down as well.

Tom kicked the massive blonde onto his back with a sound of disgust as Ron approached the other.

“That’s Ral.” Harry hissed mutinously. “I should have recognized him: he was on top of the Astronomy Tower on the night that Dumbledore died.”

“This one’s Dolohov. I recognize him from the wanted posters.” Ron reported.

“Forget their names, how did they manage to find us? And what are we going to do with them?”

“It wasn’t a coincidence, that’s for bloody certain.” But how? Harry couldn’t possibly, for the life of him, find any reasonable explanation for the matter. They hadn’t been tracked. And none of them still had the Trace on them; it broke at the age of 17 in accordance to a Wizarding law which even Voldemort, now in charge of the Ministry, couldn’t change.

Hermione kept babbling on nervously about what they should do with their attackers, reasoning that they should Obliviate them, but Harry wasn’t paying her words any mind until the moment that there was a flash of instantly recognizable green light and a high-pitched shriek.

“What are you doing?”

Both Harry and Ron started and whirled around. Tom lowered his wand again from where it had been pointing at Ral-now clearly dead-and gave her a look which was quite clearly unimpressed.

“What do you mean?”

“You killed him!”

“Yes.” He replied blankly, stare emotionless. “And?”

“We can’t just k-kill them! They’ll know that we were-.”

“I think it’s fairly safe to say, Ms. Granger, that they already know we’re here.”

“They’re unconscious! They can’t defend themselves! It’s immoral!”

“There’s no place for morality in war.” Tom lifted his arm again, this time pointing his wand at Dolohov, but Hermione grabbed him by the wrist and forced it back down. The only sign of Tom’s thoughts on the matter were the shower of black sparks that shot from the tip of his wand in response. “If you can’t do it fine, but stay well out of the way of the people who can.”

“We can just Obliviate him!”

“Release me.”

“Harry! Please!”

There were tears in her eyes as she cast an openly pleasing gaze at him. Silently begging him to talk the other down. The raven looked from Hermione’s red face and wide eyes to Tom’s slate expression and back again before he sighed and pointed his own wand at the Death Eater instead.

It was horrifying how easily he dragged up the proper intent, though the length of Holly hissed in displeasure as the green light shot from the tip. Hermione let out a somewhat strangled squeak and released her hold on Tom and Ron pulled her against him, grim faced but clearly in agreement with their actions. Harry took a small step backwards, staring at his wand as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

Tom’s hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed.

“You’re going to tell me that the first time is always the hardest, aren’t you? Always the worst.”

“Not always.” He replied. “Then again, I hated my father.” He raised his voice to be certain is next words were heard. “We need to leave. Now. There’s no telling when more of them might show up.”

Ron and Harry both stepped up to him and Hermione, still sobbing softly, did so as well. All four of them turned on their heels and vanished on the spot.

Chapter Text

His lungs expanded gratefully to gasp in cool night air and he stumbled slightly on landing, righting himself just before tripping over the raised curb. They’d arrived in a familiar shabby square carpeted in sparse greyish-colored grass and surrounded by the high fronts of grimy stone buildings. Rotting bin bags over flowed around a lopsided mailbox within the broken gate outside of number eleven. Loud music thudded from one of the upper bedrooms of number thirteen. Everything looked exactly as it had two years ago on the night which he had first arrived there.

Harry, Ron and Hermione could see number twelve-they’d been told the address by Dumbledore, who was the secret keeper-and started immediately towards the house but he’d barely taken a few steps before he realized that Tom had not and turned back. The dark brunet was still standing in the street, staring at what he could still only perceive as a badly done misnumbering of houses.

“Hermione, Ron, wait. Tom can’t see the house!” He hissed, forcing the other two to stop and turn back as well. Their eyes were wide, darting around as if expecting more Death Eaters to appear around them at any moment. Harry could feel his entire body shaking with nerves. Remembering the method by which he’d come to be able to see the house, he looked to the bushy brunet. “Do you have any paper in that bag? And something to write with?”

“I…oh, yes.” Still obviously shaken by the events at the diner Hermione quickly opened the clasp of her bag and began to rummage through it. “Just give me a moment to find it. Should be near…yes, here.” Pulling out a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen she handed them both over to him.

Ripping off a small portion before handing the remaining parchment back and quickly scribbling out the same message he’d been given two years before.

‘The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.’

“Here,” he said, hastily pressing the slip of paper into one of his partner’s hands. “Read it, memorize it and focus on the address. You’ll be able to see it, then.”

Tom took the slip of paper and read it over a few times before crumpling it up and raising his head. A brief glimmer of interest flickered in his dark blue eyes as he watched the formerly nonexistent house inflate like something out of a cartoon, pushing both number eleven and thirteen aside to make room for itself.

“Impressive,” he said, “though I’d expect nothing less of Dumbledore.”

“We should really get inside, mate. Before someone else sees.”

“Ron’s right, Tom. Come on.”

All four of them hurried up the cracked, uneven drive at almost a run. Harry tapped the shabby, black painted door once with the tip of his wand. With a flurry of metallic clicks and the rattle of the chain being drawn back the door swung open and they crowded inside. It swung shut behind them with a low creak and a clunk and the gaslights flanking the front door flared to life, throwing flickering blue tinged light down the length of the hallway; fading in brightness as it went and ultimately reducing the entrance into the kitchen to little more than a gaping dark mouth. The house was just as Harry remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, smelling of must and stale air and with odd shadows cast across the stairs by the House Elf heads hanging on the walls.

Tom eyed these with an odd look. “Eclectic would, I suppose, be the proper word for the…decour?” He said, analyzing their surroundings as they stood clustered nervously together on the door mat. “Long, black curtains placed in the middle of a hallway where there couldn’t possibly be a window…exotic…wall mounts.” His gaze fell on the troll’s leg umbrella stand lying on its side as if it had just been knocked over. “I really hope that that’s a replica, because if it isn’t that’s disgusting.”

“More importantly, it looks like someone’s been in here.” Hermione hissed.

“Could have been. But that also could have happened when the Order left; Tonks is in it, after all.”

“These Jinxes that they put up against Snape,” Harry said, looking to Tom, “what were they? Do you know?”

“I know that one of them is a Tongue-Tying Curse, and I know that more than one safe guard was put in place, but what the others are and where they might be I’ve no idea.”

“Maybe they only activate if he shows up.” Ron sounded hopeful. “I mean, none of us are Snape, right, so we should be fine.”

“Presumably.”

Still, no one made any effort to leave the mat that they were standing on. Keeping their backs pressed against the door and their shoulders brushing against each other; taking comfort, however subconscious and small, from the physical affirmation of the other’s presences. Four Gryffindors-even if one of them had been a Slytherin up until recently-and yet not a single one of them was brave enough to push forwards.

Finally, Harry had had enough. “We can’t just stand here forever,” he said and stepped forwards.

“Severus Snape?”

The hoarse whisper of Moody’s voice from out of the surrounding darkness made all four of them jump. The raven opened his mouth to respond but before he could a blast of frigid air rushed over him and his tongue curled in on itself rendering speech impossible.

This only lasted a few seconds but it definitely ranked amongst the most uncomfortable experiences he’d ever had in his life. And he wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by it either, if the reactions of the others were anything to go by; Ron was retching slightly, Hermione had turned as white as any ghost and Tom was working his jaw in obvious discomfort.

“That would have been the Tongue-Tying Curse I mentioned,” he croaked after another moment further. “Tread carefully, Precious. We’ve no way of knowing what else could have been set up to ward him off or how to safely get passed it.”

Harry nodded back at him over his shoulder before gingerly taking another step forwards. The shadows twitched at the far side of the hallway and a figure-tall, looming and comprised entirely of whirling dust-rose up from the floor and rushed towards them. Loose robes and long white hair flowing behind it; a familiar, yet terribly altered reflection which raised an arm as if to throttle him.

Hermione screamed; the curtains flew back and the portrait of Sirius’ mother began to shriek. Harry shouted something which might have been “no!” but he was too frightened to be sure; Tom seized him by the scruff and yanked him backwards, wand held in his other hand as he threw his arms wide as if in an effort to shield all three of them.

“It wasn’t us! We didn’t kill you!”

Dust clogged the air around them, thickly settled across their shoulders and in their hair; the instant that the word ‘kill’ had been uttered the figure had exploded. Harry was wide-eyed and shaking; Hermione had curled into a ball beside the door with her arms raised over her head and Ron was clumsily patting her on the shoulder and stuttering out shaky assurances that everything was going to be alright.

Once certain that nothing else was going to pounce out at them from the surrounding darkness Tom let his arms drop back to his sides.

“Mudbloods! Filth! Stains of Dishonor! Half-breeds! Taint of shame upon the house of my fathers-!”

A flick of his wand dragged the curtains closed again, cutting the screeching hag off mid-rant. “Now I see why the curtains are there.” Tom stowed his wand back in its sheath and turned towards him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Harry told him, shaking the dust free of his hair. “Do you think it worked?”

“Do I think it worked?” he repeated, reaching up to dislodge the dust from his own hair as well. “I’m afraid that I don’t know what you mean.”

“That. The dust-figure. It was meant to scare Snape off, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Tom allowed, still not following.

“Do you think it worked? Do you think it scared him off, or did he just blast it aside like he did the real Dumbledore?”

“Did it scare him off? It might have.” The dark brunet reached out and gently began brushing the dust from the front of his shirt. “There’s really no way of knowing for sure.”

“Tom’s right: before we go any further we ought to check.” Hermione raised her wand. “Homenum Revelio.”

Nothing stirred.

“You’ve just had a shock-.” Ron attempted, but before he could finish Hermione snapped “it was supposed to do that!”

“Well, what does that mean?” Harry asked, hoping to cut his two friends off before they could start to bicker.

“Good news, that’s what.” Tom supplied. “We’re alone. No one but the four of us is in this house.”

“I think you’re forgetting about Old Dusty, Tom.” Ron said as he eyed the spot on the floor from which the figure had risen.

“Yes, well, something tells me that he isn’t going to mind.” The dark brunet said dryly as Hermione cast a rather frightened look at the same spot. “We should head upstairs. Take care of any last minute loose ends which absolutely must be tied off tonight and then claim rooms and head to bed. We’ve had a long day and are definitely going to need our rest to deal effectively with what’s sure to come.”

“Tom’s right! Let’s go!” The bushy brunet couldn’t seem to put distance between herself and the entrance hallway fast enough, lighting the gasp lamps with a flick of her wand and rushing up the stairs and out of sight. The three boys exchanged looks before following her up.

They found her shivering slightly in the drafty drawing room on the first floor. Tom scanned the area as Harry leaned indifferently against him. Ron crossed to one of the windows and twitched aside the heavy velvet curtains which hung across it.

“No one’s out there that I can see,” he reported a few moments later. “They haven’t followed us to the house at least.”

“Small mercies.” Tom said. “Even if they couldn’t get into or even see the house their presence would be a prob-Harry!”

The raven had collapsed with a yelp, clutching at his forehead as his scar split open. Tom fell to his knees beside him, hands gripping his shoulders, but he barely registered the other’s presence as the room in front of him swam out of focus.

Frustration.

Pale, clawed feet-bare and mostly hidden beneath the long black cloak he wore-picked delicately through the scattered debris of the destroyed diner.

Annoyance.

His followers were fools; far too zealous with their taste for battle for their own good. They’d attacked too soon. Should have waited until the crowds had dispersed and it was easy to pick out the two figures of interest and drag them away. Deliver the Boy-Who-Lived, along with ‘Thomas Gaunt’, to him for proper punishment and evaluation respectively. Nagini slithered along beside him at his feet, her scales scraping dryly against the floor.

Rage.

Dead. The Death Eaters he had sent to do what should have been a simple job were dead; the faint magical signature left behind on Ral was so similar to his own that it was nearly identical. But the one left behind on Dolohov was Potter’s.

Interest, edged with reluctance.

Harry Potter had successfully used the Killing Curse. Perhaps the ‘Golden Boy’ wasn’t so pure after all.

“Harry!”

This time the shout jerked him back to awareness, shattering the link. His face was buried in the soft fabric of the large hoodie Tom wore, the dark brunet’s heartbeat in his ear as he gently rocked him back and forth; at some point during the brief glimpse into the Dark Lord’s mind he’d been pulled into his partner’s lap. Ron and Hermione were standing over him as well now, concern and fear on their faces.

“What did you see?” the tone of Ron’s voice bordered on panic. “Was he…? Did you see him at my place? Is my family ok?”

“They’re fine, at least…I don’t know.” Harry swallowed thickly, the aftershocks of pain still juttering through his body. “I saw him at the diner. He knows that we were there; that we killed them. But he doesn’t know where we went afterwards.”

“I thought the connection had closed, Harry! Occlumancy-!”

“Isn’t working, clearly!” Tom snapped with enough vitriol to force her back a step. “Snape was hardly a fit teacher for him so I took it upon myself to reteach him the basics. What you seem to be failing to understand, Ms.Granger, is that the Mind Arts aren’t something one can learn in a handful of days simply by reading a bloody book! It would take decades to perfect Occlumancy barriers strong enough to keep him out, and in order to be a Legelimens of any sort one must be born with the affinity!”

“I…you’re right, Tom. I’m sorry, Harry. I’m just…nervous, I suppose.”

Before Harry could speak a silver Patronus soared through the drawing room window and landed between them before taking the form of a weasel.

“Family safe. Do not reply. We are being watched.”

The Patronus dissolved and Ron collapsed onto a nearby couch with a strangled sound of relief. “They’re alright.” He warbled shakily, dragging a hand down his face. “They’re alright, Oh, thank Merlin they’re alright.”

Despite everything he’d just seen and the pain he’d been through Harry couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s reaction as Tom smoothed down his hair. Of course he himself felt greatly relieved by the knowledge that his surrogate family was alive and unharmed, but he knew that his relief paled compared to Ron’s.

“We should head to bed.” Tom finally spoke up again maybe fifteen minutes later once silence had fallen between them again. “We all need our rest, and there’s nothing else that we can do for now. Perhaps, in the morning, we’ll be able to think of something which will lead us on to our next step.”

“There are plenty of rooms; most of the ones on this floor should be cleared out what with all of the cleaning that the Order did while they were here.” Hermione said from her position beside Ron on the couch. “It’s safe to assume that you’ll be sharing a room?”

“That’s not even a question, Hermione.” Ron snickered from beside her. By that point Harry was too drained to even manage a blush.

“The two of you will be staying up a bit longer, I assume?”

“I have a few things I’d like to read up on in order to refresh my memory, and I may check out the Black library.”

“That can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”

“And what are you going to be doing that’s too important to sleep?”

“I’m going to check the kitchen and see if we have anything to eat in the house.”

“Oh, of course it’s food! With you, it’s always food!”

Shaking his head slightly Tom put an arm around Harry’s shoulders and gently led him from the drawing room and down the hall, pushing open the door of the first bedroom that they came to and headed inside. Harry allowed himself to be steered around at the whim of the taller male, collapsing onto the bed the instant that his knees brushed up against it. He felt the other side of the bed dip, and then barely registered the tender brush of Tom’s lips against his forehead before succumbing to a deep and somewhat troubled sleep.

Chapter Text

A sense of urgency filled him to his very core for some reason Harry was unable to place. The heavy door was in front of him. He was all but nose to nose with it. Close enough to reach out and touch it. The door led to the spiral staircase down from the Astronomy tower. The spiral staircase that he needed to descend. Needed to descend and find help. Find help for…for…for something! Something urgent. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember why or for who.

Snape. Find Snape. He hated the man but needed potions. Harry reached out quickly, the silvered fabric of his Invisibility Cloak flowing like water over the skin of his arm, and wrapped his thin fingers around the cold metal door knob.

Voices. Loud and harsh, accompanied by heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs outside. People were coming. Dangerous people.

Wait…how did he know that they were dangerous? Why was he up on top of the Astronomy Tower to begin with?

Before either of these questions could ruminate, let alone be answered, his body went rigid as a board and he fell back against the nearest wall just as the door burst open and Draco Malfoy spilled across the threshold closely followed by his mad Aunt, Fenrir Greyback and the other Death Eaters who had been there that night.

That night. Damn it! Why was he reliving that night again, just when he’d thought his usual plague of nightmares-if not ever gone-had at least moved on to something more…varied. All of the details of the events of the Battle of the Lightning Struck Tower rushed back to him all at once. Returning from the cave and ending up in Hogsmead. Flying back to the castle on Rosmerta’s brooms in hopes of thwarting an attack in progress. Draco showing up. Dumbledore sacrificing the chance to defend himself in order to instead prevent Harry from intervening by putting him under a Full Body Bind Curse. And then him saying “Malfoy.”

Those weren’t the right words. That wasn’t Dumbledore’s voice. Wasn’t the aged grandfatherly tone that he was used to hearing from the elderly wizard but rather a familiar dark baritone, its normal slight purring quality replaced by a tremor induced by the horrible potion from that awful cave.

‘No.’

It wasn’t the Headmaster that was up on top of the tower with him. He knew, without having to look, who it was. Would know him anywhere just by that voice alone. Didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see. But his eyes were drawn to his companion anyway.

Tom looked unnaturally pale beneath the effect of the Draught of Despair and the greenish glow of the Dark Mark hanging in the sky overhead. Slightly bent at the waist and propped up against the ramparts of the tower. Wandless. Weak. Alone, against the Death Eaters, with Harry frozen as he was. He turned his head slightly-the motion carefully made so that their attackers wouldn’t catch it and realize that he was there-and met his eyes. Wide, terrified emerald meeting with resigned and apologetic lapis blue. A gaze which communicated a clear, heart-rending message.

‘I love you.’

‘No! No, please, no! No! I’ve already lost enough! Not him! Not him too!’ Harry wanted desperately to somehow free himself. To draw his wand. Attack the Death Eaters. Run to Tom. Protect him. But the spell was too strong. Or he was too weak. He was trapped.

Forced to watch the other man become consumed in a flash of emerald light and vanish over the rampart’s edge.

“No!!!” Harry sat bolt upright with a scream which was surely loud enough to disturb the sleep of every man woman and child in London-Muggle and Magical alike-and threw himself blindly onto the opposite side of the bed. Rolling with absolute abandon onto his front-had the dark brunet still been there he would have ended up on top of him-and curling around the pillow he’d been sleeping on without giving his mind much chance to process the fact that Tom wasn’t there. Breathing in desperate lungfulls of the other man’s scent left behind on the must and mothball scented pillow as he burrowed deep into the slowly cooling sheets where the dark brunet had been laying when Harry had fallen asleep.

Alive. Alive. Alive. He was alive. Tom was fine. It was just a dream. Only a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

For now.

No! No, stop it! Don’t you dare think about that! The thought was vicious and acerbic. Fingers contorting tightly in the old fabric. Tom is going to survive. You’re going to survive. You’re both going to survive!

Harry himself didn’t fully believe it, he was lying to himself and was well aware of the fact, yet it served its purpose to repeat it over and over again in his head. Coupled with the fading warm and the faint scent of Tom it calmed him down.

The raven fell back into a fitful sort of half-sleep for another few hours. Waking again when the sun had begun to stain the sky outside the dusty windows of number twelve a pale grey. Blessedly there had been no further nightmares during this time.

Tom still isn’t back. Harry thought almost numbly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and blinking sleep from his still-heavy eyes. I wonder where he’s gotten off to. And Ron and Hermione. Are they up yet?

He supposed that he may as well get up and go looking; number twelve wasn’t a particularly large house-though he supposed it was still easy enough to get lost in-and he was sure to run into one of them eventually. The little raven dragged himself up off the bed, put his glasses on, made a half-hearted and certainly futile effort to tame his hair and then exited the bedroom. Setting out into the halls. Looking for Tom. For Nagini. For Hermione or Ron.

The first floor was empty so Harry moved to the second. Ascending the stairs by the pale glow of his wand. Stopping only a few steps passed the top of the stairs to peer through the open doorway of the room in which he’d stayed the last time that they were in the house. It had been relatively neat back then-at least so far as anything inhabited by two teenaged boys for any period of time could have been-but now the wardrobe stood open and the bedclothes were ripped back with what almost amounted to violence.

He was really starting to believe that the toppled troll’s leg umbrella stand was not the result of the Order’s evacuation of the house. But if not the members of the Order of the Phoenix then who?

Had Snape been there before them after all? Had he made it passed the protections, then left after finding what he was looking for, or after failing to? Or had it been the thief, Mundungus, who had raided the house on more than one occasion both before and after his Godfather had died? He supposed that it was better not to think about that now. For the time being at least, it didn’t matter.

Almost of their own accord his eyes found the portrait of Sirius’ great-great-grandfather; nothing but a mud brown back drop ensconced in a gilded frame. The occupant was no doubt spending the night in the Headmaster’s study at Hogwarts. All the better. Had he seen him, the bloody Git would all but certainly have reported it to Snape.

He exited the bedroom and closed the door before continuing to the top floor. There was nothing here but for two doors; heavy, wooden, as darkly painted as the rest in the old house and adorned with nameplates of tarnished silver.

The nearest one denoted the owner of the room beyond as SIRIUS. He’d stumbled on his Godfather’s bedroom. Without even so much as a thought to the fact that he might be invading the privacy of the dead he pushed open the door and rushed inside, wand held high overhead to shed as much light across the room beyond as possible.

A large bed and curved headboard. A tall window observed by dusty curtains of heavy velvet. A tarnished chandelier frosted with solid wax from the melted candle stubs still seated in their holders. It was a spacious room and had probably once been handsome but had since fallen into disrepair along with the rest of the house; a long strand of gossamer webbing stretched from one arm of the chandelier to the top of the wooden wardrobe and a loud scurrying of disturbed mice scattered away from him as he entered.

Very little of the grey-silver silk walls were visible beneath the posters which plastered them, no doubt kept in place by Permanent Sticking Charms else Sirius’ parents would have all but surely removed them. Several faded Gryffindor banners hung amidst pictures of Muggle motorcycles and large posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls. The only Wizarding photograph in the room was of four students standing arm in arm as they laughed at the camera.

Stepping closer and with a swooping feeling of mixed happiness and sadness, Harry realized that the students in the picture were the Marauders. His father with the same untidy black hair which stuck up in the back and round glasses. Sirius, handsome without having to try and slightly arrogant face far younger and happier than he had ever seen it alive. Remus, even then a little shabby looking but with the stress-induced wrinkles and premature grey hair still a long time coming.

Pettigrew.

Hissing mutinously under his breath Harry turned abruptly on his heel, no longer wanting to look at the photograph. At his father and his two real friends arm in arm with the man who was equally as responsible for destroying their lives as Voldemort was. How had they ever trusted him? How couldn’t they have seen the truth? Was it not obvious enough when his Animagus was a rat.

Needing something to distract himself with and in utter desperation Harry cast his eyes to the floor: the sunlight had strengthened since he’d left the room where he and Tom had slept and now revealed that the wood paneling of the room was scattered with mangled books, papers and small objects. Sirius’ bedroom had been searched as well, though by the look of things whoever had done so ultimately determined its contents to be worthless.

He bent down and began to pick up the scattering of papers and book pages. Turning them over or upright in his hands. Examining them. A couple were part of an older copy of A History of Magic, another few originated from an instruction manual on motorcycle care. The third was obviously handwritten and crumpled into a ball; he unfolded it and smoothed it out only to receive a considerable shock.

It was a letter. A letter to Sirius from his mother. She’d written to him thanking him for the toy broomstick which he’d given Harry for his first birthday. About how, suspiciously, Dumbledore still had his Father’s Invisibility Cloak. About how Wormtail, the bastard, had seemed ‘down’ when he had visited likely because he’d known it was the last time he’d be seeing either of his parents alive. About how Bathilda Bagshot had visited often. Had doted on him. Had told stories about Dumbledore which were, apparently, ‘incredible’.

She formed her g’s like he did; such an inconsequential fact, yet more than enough to warm his heart. But he couldn’t fully focus on the pleasant feeling that it engendered because the letter was incomplete. What was it about Dumbledore that his mother had found so ‘incredible’? Was it something that Harry already knew about? Was it something that he didn’t? The need to know was like a furious itch in the back of his mind.

The rest of the letter had to be around there somewhere.

He dove headlong into the remaining scattered papers. All but slithering through the mess on his front in a desperate search, treating what fell into his hands with the same lack of care that the person responsible for making the mess in the first place. Tossing documents about by the fistful. Falling into drawers. Crawling under the bed. Raiding the wardrobe.

Nothing.

It was only after he’d collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, lying face first on the ground, that he caught sight of something he hadn’t noticed before in his rush. Something small, ripped and made of paper. Harry reached out and turned it over.

Not the remaining portion of the letter which his mother had written to his Godfather but the bottom half of the picture she had mentioned sending with it. Himself as a baby zooming around on a little toy broomsticks with a pair of legs-his father’s?-chased him, making sure he didn’t hurt himself, the cat that they’d had, or break anything else in the house like he had done to the apparently ugly vase Petunia had sent them for Christmas.

It wasn’t what he had wanted to find but it was still a precious treasure. Harry slid the ripped photograph in between the folds of the old letter and slipped it into his pocket before resuming his search. After another quarter of an hour had passed he was forced to accept the fact that whatever remained of what could quite possibly be the last letter that his mother had ever written was gone.

Before he could give too much thought to the fact that he’d never know the full contents of the last letter to his Godfather a pair of familiar arms wound around his waist and pulled him back against a warm, hard chest.

“What are you doing all the way up here, Precious?” Tom asked him softly, nuzzling into his black hair. “I thought for sure that you would still be asleep, after all it’s only five in the morning, so when I went back to our room and found you gone I was worried. What woke you up?”

“Bad dream.” Harry turned in the other’s arms and buried his face in his shirt; neither of them wanted to attempt to get anything out of Hermione’s enchanted bag while she was still asleep for fear of disturbing whatever organization she’d set up inside it so both were left in the same badly rumpled clothing from the night before. “I couldn’t really get back to sleep afterwards so I went looking for you.”

“A nightmare? Or another vision regarding my counterparts’ activities?”

“A nightmare.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” The softness in the other’s blue eyes reminded him sickeningly of the contents of the dream which had disturbed his sleep. His heart twisted in his chest.

“No.” Harry told him, perhaps a bit too quickly. Tom raised an eyebrow and squeezed him gently but didn’t comment on the matter. The raven twisted his fingers loosely in the fabric as the dark brunet rubbed gentle circles into the skin above his hipbones with his thumbs. “Where were you? When I woke up you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Tom admitted to him with a small sigh. “I spent most of the night just lying next to you, watching you sleep, but I got restless after a while and went to mess around with the piano in the drawing room; ended up losing track of time while fixing it I suppose.” Gently prying one of Harry’s hands free of his shirt he enclosed it delicately in one of his own much larger ones. “Come on, love. I’ll play something for you. It might help you calm down.

Harry nodded, not resisting as Tom pulled him out of Sirius’ bedroom and into the hallway. But as they moved towards the stairs he caught sight of the plaque which hung on the other door and stopped short.

DO NOT ENTER

WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION

OF

REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

“Harry?” the dark brunet questioned, confused at his sudden stop. “Precious, what’s wrong?”

“Regulus Arcturus Black.”

“Regulus…?” Tom repeated, looking from the plaque on the door to Harry and back again before his eyes widened in understanding. “R.A.B!”

Chapter Text

The Slytherin colors of green and silver draped the windows, covered the bed and all the bled from the walls to the point where Harry almost expected emerald and pewter to drip down and stain the clutter strewn carpet. Painstakingly painted over the sumptuously carved headboard of the bed-which didn’t look to have been slept in for a number of years-was the Black family crest along with its motto, Toujours Pur, and beneath was a ragged collage of stuck together newspaper clippings all with their edges curled and the parchment they’d been printed on yellowed with age. Tom picked his way through the impressive mess with all the grace and poise of a heron, an expression of mild disgust plastered on his face.

“Merlin’s beard, this is an absolute complete and total bloody disaster!” He cautiously edged around a pile of cushions and pillows that had been thrown together in such a way they almost resembled a crudely made fort. “I had thought that Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow was atrocious! Between this room and your Godfather’s it’s certain that someone has gone through this house between the time that the Order of the Phoenix left and we arrived. Perhaps Snape, perhaps someone else.”

“I think it’s much more likely that it was the thief that Dumbledore not so wisely brought into the Order, Mundungus Fletcher. He’s stolen things from this house on more than one occasion both before Sirius died and after Grimmauld Place had passed into my ownership.”

“So he stole from both your Godfather and you?” Tom knew that he couldn’t take issue with the principle of stealing itself, at least not without turning himself into a titanic hypocrite, but he could, and did, take issue with the fact that it was Harry that was being stolen from. “But how much, in all, do you think has been taken?”

“A couple hundred galleons worth of items? A couple thousand? I have no idea and I don’t particularly care; what I care about is the fact that what he’s stolen is rightfully Sirius’ and represents the last physical connection that I have with him even if he hated this house.”

“You’re completely within your right to be upset, Precious. No need to sound defensive; I’m not about to start making excuses for him.”

Tom bent to examine the collage of newspaper clippings, lifting one of the less glued down strips to read the text which accompanied the picture. “Regulus seems to have been quite the fan of me, Harry. Were he still alive-and given how long he seems to have been missing without hide nor hair having been seen of him I assume that he is-you’d have considerable competition. This clipping was taken from the edition of the Daily Prophet which detailed my being awarded a trophy for special services to the school.” He allowed the clipping to flutter back down amidst its fellows. “Though I must admit I stand impressed. I took pains to keep my identity as Voldemort separate from my identity as Tom Riddle for reasons both legal and political; not wanting the authorities to realize that my ‘civilian guise’ was a mask for a murderer and not wanting those outside my original inner circle to know that the future leader of the ‘Pure Blood World’ was actually a self-hating Half blood.”

“You’re a bit too narcissistic to ever be describable as ‘self-hating’, Tom.”

The dark brunet made a point of recoiling in false injury. “Precious, you wound me!” He snickered, though his light expression slipped quickly into concern. “Not in the mood to take the piss out of the situation?”

“I’m concerned, Tom.”

“We’re all concerned, Harry. We’re in the middle of a war. But we can’t afford not to cut back a bit whenever we get the chance to, lest our minds break like dropped China and we both end up like my counterpart: off our nuts.”

“I don’t mean that I’m concerned about the war.”

“Bloody Gryffindor; we’re only facing the Darkest Wizard of all time. No need to be concerned!”

“I am concerned about the war but that isn’t what I’m talking about right now.” Harry clarified with a small huff. “Talk about taking the piss out of the situation; that seems to be what we’re doing now.”

“Sorry, love. Just trying to have a bit of play. What are you concerned about?”

“That the locket, if it was here, has been taken.” He said. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing the ruddy bleeder has ever done.”

Tom’s cut features instantly sobered. “Yes. What happened with Mad Eye.”

“And then there was the night that I was attacked by Dementors during my fifth years, he was supposed to be the guard on duty. About an hour before it happened I heard what I had thought at the time was a car backfiring; it was actually him leaving his post to go buy black market cauldrons at a ‘bargain price’.”

There was a squall in the taller male’s blue eyes. “He’d better pray that I never find him. And that if I do he’s possessed of information too valuable to lose by outright killing him. Because something tells me that your heart won’t be bleeding on his behalf.”

“Not a drop.” The raven said darkly. “It’s a bust, Tom. It isn’t here.”

“I think you’re right, but that doesn’t mean it’s somewhere else in the house.”

“A top to bottom search is in order, then?”

“Afraid so, though it may be difficult to pull it off without risking Ron and Hermione might see the locket before either of us can get to it. We’ll have to wait until they wake up to continue.”

“Play for me to pass the time?”

Tom smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

The drawing room’s much less cluttered space was a great relief to both of them. The antique piano was adorned with enough carvings to make it look like a piece of rather pretentious Victorian art and had definitely seen better days, not unlike the one which he had found in the Room of Requirement, but it seemed to at least be capable of producing a pleasing sound after all the time that Tom had spent doctoring it.

As he had the last time that Tom had played for him-Merlin, it had been so long-Harry sat beside his partner on the concerningly rickety bench and rested his head against his shoulder.

“You’ll be playing Fantasies Impromptu again?”

“Not this time, Precious. Over the summer I heard a song on the radio which reminded me a bit of us and figured that I could figure it out on the piano fairly easily but I haven’t the chance until now. Care to hear it anyway?”

“I already know that whatever you play it’ll sound amazing; plug away.”

“Amazing? Try rough beaten; I’ll have to cold hammer it out so be prepared.”

“At least it’ll be interesting.” Harry jumped when Tom pinched him. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“Those little comments, smart arse. Maybe I should teach you to play the piano instead.”

“Maybe you should,” the raven shot back with a grin. “Merlin knows I’m in need of a good handful more skills if I’m to even come close to standing equal with you.”

“Harry,” Tom turned his full attention onto him, “you don’t need to possess a handful of novelty skills to be able to call yourself my equal. Being able to do a little of a lot won’t get you anywhere meaningful in the long run.”

“You know a lot more than ‘a little’.”

“That’s true, but the fact that I have mastered a lot of moderately useful things is due entirely to the fact that I’m a genius.”

“Not helpful, Tom. You might want to work on your humility.”

The dark brunet laughed and dropped his forehead against his. “Precious, darling, I may be a genius capable of doing quite a lot of quite a lot but you’ve repeatedly shown yourself to be capable of doing the impossible. And I know that you’ll continue doing so in the future. Believe me, Harry, you’ve been my equal since the start.”

The door to the room flew open before Harry could respond and the moment was broken. The raven and the dark brunet pulled apart and turned from the piano to find a father frazzled-looking Hermione standing in the doorway.

“Merlin! There the two of you are; Ron and I have been looking all over for the pair of you! We were starting to become concerned!”

“Sorry, Ms. Granger. Precious and I had various sleep-related complications and then wound up walking around the house for a bit.” Tom told her. “Of course we do have good news to be able to show for the fact. We’ve finally gotten to the bottom of the riddle surrounding R.A.B.”

“You did? Who is it?” Ron asked, entering the room as well.

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” Harry said. “Sirius’ brother, though it wasn’t in his room. If it is in this house, then it’s somewhere else and between the cleaning that the Order did and whoever went through this place before us…”

“Even if it was here it could be anywhere now.” Hermioned collapsed onto the couch with a groan.

“What about Kreacher?” Ron piped up; Harry wasn’t quite able to suppress a small sneer prompting Tom to raise an eyebrow. “He was always nicking things during cleaning. I know that he’s a miserable little bastard-“

“Ronald!”

“but he might be our only chance.”

“Kreacher?” Tom repeated. “The House Elf of the Black Family?”

“And the little Git responsible for Sirius’ death; I’d rather we search the house ourselves because I can’t guarantee that I won’t bloody kill him if I see him!”

“We don’t have that kind of time to waste, Precious. Not if there’s an alternate option. We need to know if he has any information.” Tom griped his shoulder gently. “I know that you dislike him, and with how deeply you wound up being hurt by his actions, I can’t blame you. But I also know that you and I are both aware that every moment we spend without our hands on even a single Horcrux, let alone without an arguably dependable method of destroying them considering how dangerous Fiend Fyre is, the Dark Lord gains more momentum. More power. More followers.”

“’The Dark Lord’?” Ron eyed the brunet rather oddly. “You know that only Death Eaters call him that, right?”

“I refuse to be a fearful idiot and call him one of his other ridiculous titles, and if I called him by his actual given name it’d start sounding like I’d gone round the bend and begun referring to myself in third person.”

“Then just refer to him as V-.”

“Don’t!” Tom clamped his hand over the raven’s mouth. “Do. Not. Say it!”

“Why not, Tom? You weren’t afraid of his name before. Has that changed now?”

“It has more to do with suspicion than fear, Ms. Granger. Tell me, what were we talking about in that café before they walked in on us? The café that they shouldn’t have been able to track us to?” Three pairs of eyes widened in shock. “It’s called a Taboo, and where it’s only a hunch at the moment I’m not certain that the protections put up around this house would be enough to defend against it. So let’s just ere on the side of caution until we know more about the matter.” Satisfied to shelve the topic for the moment Tom removed his hand from Harry’s mouth. “Now, the elf?”

The raven huffed and reluctantly barked “Kreacher!”

With a loud crack the ugliest House Elf that Tom had ever seen appeared from thin air in the middle of the room, hunched over and muttering loudly; it looked to him much more like a Grendillow with hair!

“The Bloodtraitor and the Mudblood are back again. Back again with Kreacher’s worthless new master. Worthless just like the disappointing son who hurt Kreacher’s mistress so. And just when Kreacher had thought he might be free of them.”

The brunet grabbed the raven’s upper arm to keep him in place. “Contain yourself.”

The Elf swung around at the sound of Parseltongue and stared balefully at Tom. “The new boy speaks the tongue of serpents; he must be of the blood of the great Salazar Slytherin himself. Kreacher does not know him, no, Kreacher does not, but he stands with the nasty brat and his filthy friends so he must be a disgrace to his blood. Yes. Yes. Of that much Kreacher is sure. He is.”

His handsome face twisted into a rather rye smirk. “Kreacher is lucky that the ‘new boy’ is able to restrain himself, because otherwise he’d feed him to his lovely Nagini.”

“Tom!”

“Oh, come off it Hermione. You have to at least agree that he brought that one on himself.”

“He’s far from right of mind, Ron. How could you say that?”

“The Mudblood thinks that Kreacher either wants or needs her protection. He does not. No. No. No.”

“There’s only so long that I’ll be able to keep my own temper enough in check to hold you back Harry. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Kreacher.” His tone was enough to drag the Elf’s attention back to him. “To start with I forbid you from ever calling anyone ‘mudblood’ or ‘bloodtraitor’ again.”

This earned him a watery-eyed glare.

“And secondly I’ve a question for you; I want it answered truthfully is that understood?” He took Kreacher’s silence as answer. “Has there ever been a big golden locket in this house? It looks…similar to this one.”

With great reluctance Harry pulled the locket from within his shirt. Kreacher’s eyes became as round as saucers, locked on the heavy emerald crusted clasp.

“Master has Master Regulus’ locket? The locket which Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy. The locket which belonged to the Dark Lord-.”

“That locket is a family heirloom of mine and a token of my affection. It isn’t the locket you’re referring to. Isn’t the locket that we’re looking for. But I take it from your reaction that you’ve seen it and that it was here.”

“The disgrace-.”

“I order you to never insult Tom again!”

The remainder of whatever tirade Kreacher was preparing to go on was made in silence. Once finally finished, he croaked a hoarse “yes.”

The little group exchanged mild expressions of glee before Harry hastily followed up his question with “where is it now?”

“It was in the cabinet before Master and his nasty friends threw it out. Kreacher stole it back, he did, but…” the elf suddenly appeared rather beside himself and looked away, “it’s gone.”

The elation fled the room faster than air escaping a badly punctured balloon. “What do you mean it’s gone?” the ancient, hairy elf almost seemed to seize, swaying where he stood. “Kreacher-!”

“It was the thief! The thief that did it! Mundungus Fletcher stole it all! All of it! Ms. Cissy and Ms. Bella’s pictures. Mistress’ gloves. The Order of Merlin. The family crest! All of Kreacher’s treasure and-!” He seemed almost to be having a panic attack now, ears drooping and his face going an ashen gray. When he started screaming it was so sudden that all four sprang back in alarm. “And the locket! He stole the locket! Kreacher tried to stop him, Kreacher did, but Kreacher failed! He failed! The last order of Master Regulus!”

Tom realized his intention first and bellowed “watch him!” a split second before the distraught elf dove for the nearest object heavy enough to be used as a tool of self-punishment; Harry pounced like one of the lions used to represent their House and flattered Kreacher beneath him. Clinging to him with all his might as he writhed around like an infuriated crocodile, his screams and curses mingling with Hermione’s shrieking to create a dreadful cacophony that had both other boys covering their ears.

“Kreacher, I order you to stay still!”

The elf froze instantly. So quickly, in fact, that the raven wasn’t sure if it was his order that had stopped him or a silent wandless petrifying curse from Tom. He lay flat on the floor, a puddle of tears rapidly growing underneath him.

“Let him up!” Hermione squeaked.

“Don’t.” Tom interjected, ignoring her glare. “He’ll just try and hurt himself with something else.”

“Right.” It might have been a bit vindictive of him, but for the time being Harry was more than happy to keep him pinned right where he was. “How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket? And don’t you dare lie to me!”

“Kreacher knows because Kreacher saw him! Kreacher saw him, saw him, saw him, saw him! Coming out of Kreacher’s cupboard with his filthy thieving hands full of Kreacher’s treasures! Kreacher told him to stop! Kreacher did! But Mundungus laughed and ran…”

“You called the locket that we’re looking for ‘Master Regulus’’ but you also said that it belonged to V-the Dark Lord.” Cautiously, ready to grab him again in the event the elf tried to bolt, Harry rose off him. “Sit up and tell us everything you know about the locket!”

Slowly Kreacher did as he was told, sitting up and curling into a ball; placing his wet face between his knobby dirty knees and beginning to rock back and forth. He continued like this until all four of them felt on the razors edge of impatience, and then he finally spoke.

“Master Sirius ran away but good riddance. He wasn’t a proper Pureblood. Wasn’t a proper Black. He was a bad boy. A bad, bad boy who broke my mistress’ heart with his lawless backward ways. Just like his worthless Uncle. But Master Regulus had proper pride. Proper dignity in his pure blood. He spoke for years of the greatness of the Dark Lord, of how he was going to at last bring magic back out of hiding to rule over the unworthy. The Muggles and the Muggleborns. And when he was sixteen he joined the Dark Lord. Proud, he was. So proud. So proud and happy to serve.”

Well, that explained the near stalkerish level of collecting newspaper clippings regarding him even in passing, though not entirely.  To have pictures not only of Voldemort, but of Tom…it struck Harry as more like an investigator’s corkboard than a worshiper’s shrine.

“Master Regulus was a good master. Always liked Kreacher, he did. And one day a year after he joined he came down to the kitchen the see Kreacher and tell Kreacher that the Dark Lord…required an elf.”

“The Dark Lord required a House Elf?” Harry Ron and Hermione all simply looked confused but Tom’s expression was one of dark dawning comprehension.

“Yes. Yes. The Dark Lord required an elf and so Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher.” He moaned. “He said it was an honor. For him and for Kreacher who must do exactly as he was told and then…and then come home.”

The speed of his rocking picked up and his breathing transformed into shallow sobs.

“Kreacher went to the Dark Lord; the Dark Lord didn’t tell Kreacher what to do but took him to an awful cave beside the sea, inside of which was a cavern and a great black lake.” Subconsciously, Harry pressed against Tom’s side. “There was a boat. And a basin on an island full of a horrible potion that the Dark Lord made Kreacher drink so that he could put the locket inside. It made Kreacher see terrible, terrible things. Made Kreacher’s insides burn. Made Kreacher call for his Master Regulus to save him. But the Dark Lord laughed and left him there.”

The raven never would have believed that he could ever have felt sorry for Kreacher.

“Kreacher needed water so Kreacher drank from the lake. But there were dead things in the lake. Dead hands. And they dragged Kreacher down.”

“Inferi.” Tom intoned grimly.

“How did you get away?” Harry asked.

Kreacher raised his head and stared glassily at him with large bloodshot eyes. “Master Regulus gave Kreacher an order. Kreacher was to come home.”

“I know, but how-?”

“That ought to be obvious, mate,” Ron interjected, “he disapparated.”

“But…you don’t understand, Ron. That cave…you couldn’t apparate inside of it or-.”

“Elf magic is different from Wizard magic; isn’t that why they can apparate and disapparate inside of Hogwarts.”

“But the Dark Lord couldn’t possibly have made such a stupid mistake!” He protested. “He’s too paranoid!”

“Of course he could, Harry.” Green eyes turned onto Tom in surprise. “House Elves were lesser creatures in his mind. He never would have even once considered the possibility that they could do things even Merlin couldn’t. That they could foil his best defensive magics. Of course he made such a mistake, and I’m sure it wasn’t the only time.”

“A House Elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding.” Kreacher’s crow-like croak was as grim as ever. “Kreacher was told to come home. So Kreacher came home.”

“Then you didn’t disobey orders at all.” Hermione’s kind statement was met with a furious headshake.

“What happened after that? After you told Regulus what had happened? What did he say?”

“Master Regulus was worried. Very, very worried. Told Kreacher to stay hidden and to not leave the house, so Kreacher did. And Master Regulus began to follow the Dark Lord’s trail. Looking into his past. And then…he came to the kitchen to find Kreacher one night, he was disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell, he could…and asked Kreacher to take him. To take him to the cave where he’d gone with the Dark Lord.”

Tom had retreated to the corner and was now facing away from them, leaning against the wall, face obscured by his dark bangs and the hand that he was using to pinch the bridge of his nose. As much as Harry wanted to shelter from the memories of what he’d seen in that cavern and the dream that he’d had the night before about the Astronomy Tower he could tell at a glance that the other boy was far worse off than he was. For him it had to be many countless times worse, because he was being confronted with the effects of his own cruelty. Of what he’d so narrowly escaped becoming.

“And he made you drink the potion?” he couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. He knew that Sirius had said that his family had been horrible and he didn’t have much trouble believing that he had given the way that the Malfoys had treated Dobby. But for Kreacher to still care so much for Regulus if he had-.

But the elf was shaking his head again. Ron was pale and Hermione had covered her face with her hands.

“Oh, bloody fuck.” Tom muttered into the wallpaper.

Apparently all three of them had caught onto something which he still failed to grasp.

“He drank it, Precious. Regulus. Regulus drank the potion: he must have ordered Kreacher to switch the lockets.”

The elf let out a pitiful wail.

“Kreacher, is that true?” a sobbing mess, the trembling House Elf nodded.

“He ordered Kreacher to switch the lockets. And to leave. To leave without him. To never tell his mistress. What had happened. To destroy the first locket. Kreacher did as he was told. Kreacher swiped the lockets once the basin was empty. And Kreacher watched as Master Regulus was dragged beneath the water…”

“You brought the locket back here and tried to destroy it?” Harry prodded. “How?”

“Everything! Everything! Kreacher tried! Kreacher tried denting it, tried to get inside it, but it wouldn’t open! He punished himself. Tried again. Punished himself. Tried again. But Kreacher failed! Kreacher failed! He couldn’t destroy the locket!” Kreacher’s beaked nose was leaking greenish mucus. “Master Regulus has disappeared without a trace; Kreacher could not tell his mistress what had happened and could only watch as she went mad with grief. Kreacher could not tell her! Because he was ordered not to!”

At this point there were no more coherent words, and with how hard Hermione was crying she didn’t look too far from being unable to talk herself. Even Ron looked troubled by what they’d heard as Harry rocked back on his heels.

“I don’t understand, Kreacher. If Regulus died to bring the Dark Lord down, why were you so happy to betray Sirius to him by passing information to him through Narcissa and Bellatrix?”

“House Elves don’t think that way.” Tom had been silent so long that Harry had very nearly forgotten that he was there; he was standing in the doorway now and his back was fully to them as if he’d been in the process of exiting the room. “What do Wizarding Wars matter to them? They’re enslaved to families and are loyal to those who are kind to them. Mrs. Black seems to have been and your Godfather’s brother obviously was, so he served them willingly and mirrored their beliefs.”

“Regulus-.”

“Changed his mind? Yes, he did, but it doesn’t look as if he explained that fact to Kreacher now does it? Care to take a stab at why that was?”

Harry was silent for a moment before he grumbled “they were safer that way. He was trying to protect them.”

“From the colors of his bedroom I’d assume he was in Slytherin, but I think he’d have survived well enough in Gryffindor. His last actions certainly reminded me of someone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the raven groused, “but-.”

“Kreacher was alone for a long time before your Godfather returned from Azkaban, wasn’t he? And he must have been starving for a bit of affection, genuine or not. Rather much like a neglected orphan child with a dead mother and a father who never wanted him.” Harry cringed. “Was he kind to him?”

“I-.”

“Was he?”

“Sirius was horrible to Kreacher.” Hermione piped up before Harry could answer. “I’ve said all along that how wizards have always treated House Elves would ultimately come back to bite us. You Know Who suffered for it. And so did Sirius.”

Harry had no way of replying to that, not in any manner that would be satisfactory, so instead he again looked at Tom and asked “where are you going?”

“Out.” He said. “Maybe outside. Maybe upstairs. Either way I need to be alone for a while. Clear my head.”

“What? Tom, you can’t go outside mate! You’ll be-.”

“Recognized?” he turned his head enough to look at them, though his fringe still hid his eyes. “No I won’t. The Death Eaters are looking for a man, after all, not a fox.”

He vanished down the dark hallway before any of them could respond. Harry watched Kreacher continue rocking for a few moments before saying “Kreacher…when you feel, uh, up to it…I’d like you to sit up please.”

It took maybe five minutes before the elf had stopped sobbing and sat up.

“We need you to find Mundungus Fletcher and bring him here so we can ask him where the locket is. We want to destroy it so that we can defeat the Dark Lord once and for all, just like you do, but we know how to.”

“Master wishes to destroy the locket?” Harry nodded. “Master wants Kreacher to find the thief and bring him here?”

“Yes. I do. And…” he reached into the moke skin purse that Hagrid had given him for his birthday and pulled out the fake Horcrux. “I think you should have this. Surely you have better use for it than any of us.”

Giving the House Elf a Black family heirloom for his own might have been a bit of a mistake; it took them almost an hour to calm Kreacher down again.

Chapter Text

A large dog snapped and snarled at him from behind the decicated panels of a rotting privacy fence. The planks rattled as it threw its weight against them, claws scrabbling against the wood in a futile effort to get to him as thick strands of drool flew from its jaws. Tom couldn’t be certain exactly what it was from his position but he felt assured it was a mangy mutt of some sort. It looked like one. Smelled.

The streetlamp at the end of the block reflected orange in his eyes. His ears swiveled about in search of any out of place sounds as he peered down the street. His wet nose twitched, burning with the abhorrent mix of scents which seemed to loom over the entire area like a miasma. Oil. Diesel feul. The sickly sweetness of rotting bin bags left too long piled up in the sun.

Disgusting Muggles.

A stereo thudded in one of the upper windows of another house. His hackles rose and settled and his muscles bunched as he rose from his haunches and started back towards number twelve. Trotting along the broken sidewalks and sickly grass, weaving from shadow to shadow as he skirted the off-gold pools thrown haphazardly across the uneven ground with a marked caution. At the edge of the property of number thirteen he abruptly turned off the side walk and slunk into a stand of scraggly bushes, crouched low to the ground and waited.

His dark eyes scanned the street with careful attention, looking for even the slightest thing out of place. Cloaked figures skulking about where they shouldn’t be. The odd bending of perception which tended to happen around the edges of a disillusioned person.

There was nothing there.

Tom bolted out of the bushes and darted across the lawn, only stopping once he’d reached the stoop and risen from four legs onto two. Now concealed behind the reach of the considerably protections which had been erected around the building he stood still for a long moment, lying his forehead against the splintery wood and leaving his hand resting heavy on the serpent shaped knob, them finally pushed it open and stepped back inside.

His tongue rolled up and then released again as the Tongue Sticking jinx passed over him with the hoarse croak of Moody’s voice. He banished the dust figure with the appropriate phrase and then dropped back onto all fours again. Silently running up the stairs and slinking down the hallway until he arrived at their bedroom and found the door open.

It was only around eight but night had fully fallen outside and the little raven was curled up under the blankets in the middle of the bed, looking even smaller than usual by comparison to the mattress. Given his lack of sleep the night before Tom wasn’t entirely surprised to see him napping.

The bed dipped lightly as he leapt up onto it, but the slight jostling didn’t cause Harry so much as stir. The brunet nosed the thick comforter and cotton sheet upward and slipped underneath it and rested his head on the raven’s chest. Eyes falling closed under the reassuring sound of his partner’s heartbeat.

Soon enough, he fell asleep as well.

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d first dropped off into a light slumber, but began to drift back towards awareness to the sensation of warm fingers messaging his scalp and stroking his fur. Tom’s ear twitched and his eyes slid open.

It had been dark outside the window before, but now it was pitch-black and there were still no lights on in the room. While he’d been asleep Harry had sat up and now leaned against the headrest with his legs crossed and his hand buried in the thick fur of his fox form. The dark brunet hadn’t planned to alert the raven to the fact that he had woken up, knowing full well that the smaller boy would question him the moment that he knew, but his own body conspired against him in the form of a jaw cracking yawn.

“You’ve been gone all day and most of the night.” He said, his hand going still. Tom immediately found himself missing the smooth repeated motion. “I was worried.”

He pressed his head closer against the raven’s bony hip in way of apology. Harry’s hands slid gently beneath him and lifted his body into the air; Tom made an indignant sound as he was parted from the sheets but didn’t get much squirming in before he was dropped back into Harry’s lap.

“Talk to me.” He let out another squawk of protest and made an already doomed attempt to flee up the raven’s shirt. Harry heaved a heavy sigh which made him sound far too old for his age and pulled Tom free again. “Tom, please. After the Sky Battle, after what happened, you told me to talk to you and when I did I felt better. As much as I could given the situation. So why won’t you take your own advice and talk to me?”

Tom attempted to spare himself by looking away from the pleading green eyes but failed miserably and huffed out a sigh of his own before reluctantly turning back. Still not meeting his partner’s gaze.

He’d spent hours outside just running around and causing havoc amidst the neighborhood pets. Once upon a time he’d been able to compartmentalize, to make of himself a stone bulwark and look down upon similar situations with a heart that was frozen and unmoved. But that had been before the beautiful menace known as Harry James Potter had gone back decades and across three timelines to save him from the same future he was now seeing play out before his eyes. His occlumancy barriers, though still fully capable of rebuffing intruders, were shot for the purpose of organizing his mind.

He’d been forced to retreat into the simpler mind of an animal to find any relief.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Harry wasn’t a Legilimenze but in this instance he didn’t need to be. He knew him well enough to be fully aware of what exactly it was that he was thinking. What dark place the House Elf’s story had left him mired in. “It wasn’t your fault, Tom. It wasn’t you. It was Him. Not you; nothing that He has done will ever be your fault.”

When he still refused to look at him Harry took it upon himself to force his hand, gently resting his hands on his jaw and turning his head to face him. The last of Tom’s resistance broke when he locked gazes with those luminous green eyes. Eyes that never looked at him with the blame or anger which he fully felt that he deserved. He reached up and covered one of Harry’s hands with his own much larger one and leaned into his touch. His eyes falling shut despite himself.

“I’m not him, no. But I was him. I could have been him. And he…he was me. Don’t you see, Precious? I created the Dark Lord. I thereby bare a responsibility, in Magic’s eyes if not perhaps in human law, for everything he’s done, and it hurts Harry. It hurts. To know what he’s done. To feel the blood on his hands, drenching his skin, as if it were my own. I…” He shuddered. Leaned in further. Seeking comfort without realizing what he was doing. “I wish that I could claim He follows a twisted mirror of my beliefs, bastardized by the repeated shredding of his soul, but that would be a lie. One which I could never convince myself of.”

When had he begun to shake? Where had the tears which now beaded his dark lashes and dewed his cheeks come from? He still wasn’t used to this. These feelings. This vulnerability.

“I never wanted this.”

Harry didn’t allow his surprise, if he felt any at all, to show and pulled him in close. Tugging his head down onto his shoulder where he could bury his face in the crook of his neck and break. Leave it to the sentimental Gryffindor to consider physical touch as the end all be all of cures for every malady and woe. Of course, he reminded himself rather dryly, he was a Gryffindor now himself if only for less than a year.

“I know.” Tom didn’t have to explain to him his vision. What he’d wished to achieve. How he’d expected the outcome to be a utopia of magic or what he thought had gone wrong to transform it into a nightmare of tyranny and fear instead. Harry didn’t have to soothe him with a string of meaningless platitudes which amounted to nothing in the end. Didn’t have to tell him that he understood. For them, two simple words were more than enough. “I know.”

When they’d first met he’d only wanted to control him. When he’d realized that he’d actually begun to feel things for him he’d been dubious. He’d never been more thankful that he hadn’t let that stop him than he was in that moment.

‘Only port in a storm’ was the phrase which immediately sprang to mind. Tom wrapped his arms around the smaller male’s waist and pulled him closer. Pressing his chest against his and burying his face in his black hair.

“You make me weak, Precious.” He could hear the shakiness of his own voice. The unsteadiness of the legs upon which his words stood. “That’s what he’ll say. That’s what he’ll say, and he’ll be right. That I love you, that I have a while soul and a heart made of flesh instead of stone and that I’m weak because of it. That we’re all weak. And he’ll be right because we are. We’re weak.”

“Tom-?”

“That’s good, though. Don’t you see?”

“Tom-.”

He didn’t need to see his face to know that Harry was more than just a little bit concerned. More than just a little bit concerned. He no doubt thought he’d lost his mind. That somehow the day’s events, something which they’d been told by Kreacher, had caused him to swing unhinged. No doubt the tense laugh her let out only added to that conclusion. “I’m not crazy, doll. Just hear me out-it’s simple. He values power. Terrifying. Awe inspiring. But empty, ultimately. Anyone can have power. Power can be bought. Can be stolen. But we’re too weak to have power. We have strength instead. Strength, which must be earned. Strength bests power every time.”

“Riddle, are you feeling ok?” there was amusement lacing the raven’s voice now. “I wasn’t aware that my future husband was a closet manic pixie dream boy.”

“Manic pixie-? I’m not a bloody depthless cardboard cutout and my purpose in the absolutely insane plot of your life is not to bring noise and color! You seem to have quite enough of that as it is without adding a blibbering moron into the mix!” It was then that the rest of what he’d said seemed to register and Tom pulled back in surprise. “Future husband? This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with you being the one to catch the bouquet at the wedding would it?”

“Are you saying that you don’t want me to ever be Harry James Potter-Riddle, Tom?”

“Harry James Potter-Riddle?” there was a hungry purr to his voice now. He swung him around and pulled him into his lap, pressing his back against his chest. “And myself Tom Marvolo Riddle-Potter. Yes, I think I like that. Having you legally all to myself. Forever.” Harry gasped in surprise when Tom sank his teeth into his neck, releasing him quickly and soothing the darkening bruise with a pass of his tongue. “Mine!”

It was obvious that both of them were relieved by the change of subject. Harry pressed himself closer against him and tilted his head back against his shoulder.

“And yes. It does. Just a brief little fantasy of me in white and you at the altar.”

“White? But you’re not-.”

“I said white, Tom, not a dress. I’m aware that I’m a man, thank you, naïve Gryffindor or not, and have no interest in public cross dressing however perhaps I’d be willing to try something similar in the bedroom if you’d like?” Harry’s coy glance up at him reflected his own eyes, blown black with lust. “I simply thought you’d appreciate the symbolism of it given your love of classic literature. Me, the lighter of the two of us, in white. You, the darker of the two of us, in black. Though you’re welcome to wear a dress instead if you prefer. We can even ask Fleur to borrow those heels.”

Tom swatted him lightly upside the head. “Brat!”

“What? I thought you looked good in those heels! And you’re close enough to an hour glass figure that you could really-ouch! Ok, I’ll stop!”

“It’s the rare moments like this one, when your self-preservation shows through the ‘bravery’ which is resolutely strangling it, that I understand why the Sorting Hat put you in my House to begin with.” There was no real bite to his voice. Not caring that he still hadn’t gotten around to changing out of his clothes from the night prior or that they were wrinkled well beyond repair he slid back beneath the sheets. “Come on, Precious. We’ve no idea when things will pick up again and we’ll need all the energy we can possibly spare. There can’t be more than a few hours left between now and morning; it’s best the two of us be getting back to sleep.”

Chapter Text

When dry, his pelt-like his hair-was glorious, glossy and soft but when wet it was rapidly reduced to a heavy unpleasant mass which hung unflatteringly off his frame and made him look like a half-drowned cat. As the rain pelting down from overhead had gladly taught him. He wasn’t certain if the fact that the copy of the degenerate rag which the Daily Profit had become-in all honesty it had been a rag even back in his own time; a drama tabloid passed off as fact and subsidized by government funding-looked just as bad as he did made him feel better or worse about the situation at hand.

Repeating the same pattern of checking the surrounding area for watchers that he’d gone through the last time he’d been outside-two days prior-as quickly as he could without sacrificing thoroughness, Tom hurriedly mounted the stairs and entered #12.

He dropped the paper onto the mat with a wet thump and shook out his pelt, sending icy droplets of rain splattering in all directions and then rose up onto his hind legs and shifted back into his human form. Picking up the still dripping rag, Tom cast a drying charm on both it and himself, then went through the steps of passing the house's protections before strolling down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Harry and Ron were sitting at the table discussing Quidditch in low voices-the fact that their current conditions left them unable to keep up with current happenings in the sport didn’t seem to even faze them for a moment-while Hermione put the finishing touches of their dinner.

“Kreacher hasn’t returned?” he asked as he stepped into the room, drawing the attention of all three to his arrival.

“Not yet.” The bushy brunet told him as she pulled down bowls from one of the cabinets with a flick of her wand. “But it shouldn’t be too much longer now. Mundungus is a rat with a lot of practice hiding and poor Kreacher is old; I’m sure that he’s working as hard as he can.”

“I’m sure that he is, as in this regard our intentions line up with his. I was simply asking if anything of note had transpired while I was away.” Tom bent and pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before pulling out a chair and sitting down beside him. “I do so hate being out of the loop and uninformed.”

“Hate to break it to you, mate, but nothing’s happened; we’re in the same position as we were when you left this morning.” Ron told him. “Hope something will change soon, though. I’ll lose my bloody mind if this goes on much longer.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate Ronald!” The bowls of simply made stew settled lightly before each of them at the table. Hermione took the seat beside Ron. “No one has ever gone insane from boredom, nor have they died from it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that no one has over the entire course of history, Ms.Granger, but I’ll concede that the incidences are incredibly rare.” Tom smiled angelically at her when she sent him a semi-pointed glare, dipping his spoon into his stew.

Harry took his partner’s other hand, resting on his knee under the table, and gently squeezed it drawing the curious gaze of blue eyes. “I’m glad to see that you’ve moved passed what was bothering you so badly a few days back, at least in part.”

“I haven’t moved past it but I’ve let it out enough to reduce the pressure to something manageable. Once this war is finally over, then I’ll be able to move on.” He said. “But not while my own personal demon is still running around causing damage.”

“What was that last bit you said, mate? You…slipped into…Parseltongue.”

“I’m aware.” Tom said, removing his hand from Harry’s to stoke Nagini’s scales as she crawled up his chair. “I did so purposefully. Certain things are meant to be kept between couples; that Precious and I share a language only we and the serpents of the world can understand simply makes keeping such things between us all the easier.”

“We shouldn’t be keeping secrets in a time of war, Tom. We need to trust and support each other now more than ever.”

Tom felt the corners of his lips pull slightly downwards. Throughout the time he’d spent with Harry he’d improved by leaps and bounds when it came to trusting and leaning on others but certain things still, and always would, prove to be too much.

“There’s no such thing as a man without secrets, Hermione.” He said, opening the paper which he’d brought along with a flick of his wrist. “You’ll know what you must when you must and not before. Until then…”

Harry sighed and shook his head, not quite able to keep a small smile off of his face. “Just when I thought you were doing so well.”

Tom huffed and threw an arm around the raven’s shoulders, pulling both him and his chair closer against his side. Harry nestled calmly against the dark brunet, his only real reaction to the forced shift in position being to reach out and pull his bowl of stew closer.

“What about you?” he asked around the spoon in his mouth. “Did anything happen while you were out on patrol?”

“Not really. I went considerably further than usual this time and slipped into the Leaky Cauldron to nick a copy of this; there are some fairly interesting tidbits of information in here.” He said. “If, by ‘interesting’, one means to say concerning, at least. Take a look.” Tom picked up the copy of the Daily Profit, unfolded it completely, and set it back down again. “You seem to have acquired a new title, my love.”

“Undesirable #1.” Hermione recited, looking aghast. “Wanted for his part in…the murder of Albus Dumbledore?” Harry had burrowed closer against Tom on reflex and was now glaring at the moving image of his face, enlarged to cover half the front page. Ron had stopped eating and, like Tom, was watching Hermione as if in fear that the witch would explode at any moment.

Seeing her swell up with indignation like an infuriated puff adder on Harry’s behalf might have actually been amusing if the situation hadn’t been what it was.

“That smarmy. Insufferable. Wicked. Scheming. Bloody. Bastard!” All three boys cringed reflexively at the volume of her shriek. “I mean…are you…how dare he! Vol-!”

“Granger!”

“Oh, fine Gaunt, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in control of all of Magical Britain now! He doesn’t need to hide behind-!”

“He isn’t hiding behind anything.” Harry cut in darkly, his gaze never leaving the picture.

“Precious is right. It isn’t the Dark Lord’s aim to hide, but rather to defame him. Declaring Harry an enemy of the state would do nothing to sty-my the support which he might be able to draw from hold outs. Insinuating that he could have played a role in the death of the Head master, however, plants that seed of doubt in their minds. It limits the pool of helpers to those who truly know him, and that number is small enough to keep under constant watch by Death Eaters. Or Aurors. At this point they’re tantamount to the same thing. But that’s not all; look here.” He turned the page. “Just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse, they’ve begun treating people like cattle.”

“The Muggle Born Registration Committee?”

Tom nodded, face set into a grim mask but blue eyes on fire. “Look who’s in charge.”

“Bloody hell. It’s that awful pink toad.”

“That it is.” Without so much as batting an eye, the dark brunet reached across the table and used his wand to bum a hole through the photograph’s face. “The good news is we’ll likely have to deal with the Ministry at some point soon. With any luck I can take out my pound of flesh regarding her abhorrent treatment of you, Harry.”

“Let’s not hope for contact with the Ministry, Tom.” As much as Harry wanted to see him go ‘full Voldemort’ on the awful woman, and to perhaps play the part of Bellatrix himself, they didn’t have the time or numbers to go head to head with the government under the Dark Lord unless they had to.

He hoped that they didn’t.

“You know, Tom, that removing the face from photographs of people who you don’t like is considered a sign of psychopathy in the Muggle world.”

Tom flashed his perfect teeth in an utterly disarming smile. “No need to worry, Ms. Granger. I’m high functioning.”

The raven accidentally inhaled his tea.

“Breathe, love.” Tom gently thumped his back to help him clear his airway. “Now that that’s out of the way and while we’re all sitting down to dinner I think it’s time we discussed in more detail a matter which I’d meant to bring up a few days ago.”

“What would that be?” the red head had already served himself seconds and was well on his way to thirds.

“My reasoning for being so touchy about the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name.” He said. “It’s only supposition, but I think what happened at the cafe is enough to warrant being cautious. I believe that his self-declared name is under a taboo.”

“And at the cafe we were talking about…oh, Merlin, it makes so much sense!” Hermione exclaimed. Ron and Harry exchanged lost looks.

“Er…what’s a taboo?”

“The Taboo Curse is a dark curse which allows a caster to make words-typically names-taboo, and when said words are spoken the caster is alerted to the location of the offender.” He supplied, calmly examining his nails. “I myself don’t know much about it beyond that, as its use is fairly limited and I didn’t see much advantage in it. As such I couldn’t tell you if the protections placed around this house would be enough to counteract it or if using the French phrase ‘flee from death’ instead of the anagram for Tom Marvolo riddle would still trigger it; is it literal, or intent based? It’s better to simply avoid using it at all until we’ve determined as much, since leading one’s hunter right to them is never very wise.”

Further conversation was ended by a crack, followed swiftly by a clang and a cry as the table was overturned. Dishes spilling to the ground and sending food and bits of glass everywhere. Tom snarled, dragging Harry back out of range of the destruction with Nagini slung about his shoulders like an affronted, hissing scarf. Ron had done the same with Hermione and was now holding her behind him as if expecting the rubble to spring up and start attacking them at any moment.

All four of them were left staring at the writhing pile of rags which was pinned down by a pair of clearly agitated House Elves. Mundungus had been found.

"Kreacher.” Harry address the hunched, fry pan wielding Elf in as calm a voice as possible considering the shock of the situation but his green eyes widened when he registered the identity of the other House Elf. “Dobby?”

“Harry Potter!” The tiny creature squeaked in delight, releasing the struggling thief for the other Elf to handle and bowing very low. “And Harry Potter’s Mr. Gaunt, Mr. Wheezy and Ms. Granger too!”

Mundungus yelped as Kreacher hit him with the frying pan, the copper ringing like a bell. The aged House Elf took advantage of the Wizard’s momentary daze to bow as well.

“Kreacher has done as Kreacher’s master and the Snake Speaker asked.” Another clang as he hit Mundungus again for good measure; Tom hid a smirk behind his hand. “Kreacher has returned with the filthy thief Mundungus Fletcher.”

The thief chose that moment to leap to his feet, displacing the House Elf which had been pinning him down and sending him crashing to the floor. Rather than even attempting to draw his wand, the coward dove for the stairs in an effort to escape. Ron pounced at him but missed. Harry’s stupefy punched a small hole in the wall. Tom bound his wrists and ankles with a flick of his wand and watched Mundungus tumble backwards with dispassion.

“Running,” he said, “is a very bad idea.”

“What do the four of you bleeding brats want? Setting a rabid House Elf on me! If you don’t let me go-!”

Harry snarled at him, flinging the nearest piece of rubble out of the way and trampling the rest to get at the man. He shoved the point of his wand in his face, the tip already spitting red sparks.

“Go ahead. Make that threat. See what happens.” The thief clammed up immediately, still glaring at Harry. Tom chuckled low in his throat.

“Kreacher apologizes for the delay, master. The thief has many holes to hide in but was cornered in the end.”

“Dobby helped, Harry Potter! He saw Kreacher in Diagon Alley struggling with Mundungus Fletcher and knew that Kreacher was Harry Potter’s elf so he was quick to assist him.”

“You’ve both done very well.” The raven said distractedly, grinding the tip of his wand into the other man’s hollow cheek. “We have some questions for you.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’!”

Tom caught a gentle grip on Harry’s upper arm before the little raven could get physical and dragged him backwards. “Calm down, Precious.” He soothed, levitating the other man’s bound form. “Allow me: this is, after all, my area of expertise more so than yours. I’ll have him singing like Dumbledore’s phoenix by the time I’m finished, just give me…fifteen minutes.”

After summoning his boxed wand from the depths of Hermione’s bag he strode out of the room. Tom paused only long enough to say “care to accompany me, Kreacher?” and allow the elf and his pan to scramble eagerly ahead of him before vanishing into the hall.

Harry hissed after the thief once more before turning his attention to cleaning up the mess that had been made of the kitchen. Hopefully Tom would show him the memory later.

Rather than lowering him to the ground Tom just dropped the man and he, Kreacher and Nagini watched in satisfaction as the mangy mongrel’s body thudded on the floor.

“Oi!”

“Shut up.” The dark brunet resisted the urge to kick the man. Kreacher had no such reservations and swung the pan again.

“Bloody hell, Gaunt! You just goin’ ta let him hit me?”

“I’m going to do a lot worse than allow Kreacher to clobber you with a piece of crockery. He could beat you to death with it and it still wouldn’t be as bad as what I’d gladly do to you if it weren’t for the fact that I can’t kill you.” Tom swept the clutter from a small table and set the box down on top of it. “Not only do you have information that I need, you’ve caused trouble and emotional distress to my Precious. Simply killing you wouldn’t be repayment enough. He was in a right state after your little stunt.”

“Look Gaunt, no offense to you an’ your boyfriend but I ain’t no bleeding hero! And I didn’t sign up to die for anyone!” He said, squirming in his bonds as Kreacher raised the pot again looking at Tom for direction on whether or not to hit the man yet another time but the dark brunet’s attention was on opening the box. “The bloody Dark Lord came flying at me an-.”

“The ‘bloody Dark Lord’ is already upset with you as it is and I would suggest you shut your dirty coward mouth before he becomes even more so.”

“Eh?” Mundungus stopped struggling and busied himself instead with looking around the room. Perhaps thinking Voldemort was hiding behind a chair? “I don’t see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I may be a coward but you’ll have to do better than tha’!”

“Riddle.”

“Wha-?”

“My surname. It’s Riddle. Gaunt was my mother’s.” He traded out the Hornbeam wand for his true Yew wand. It heated up at his touch and spat golden sparks, almost as if it were pleased by his return, and despite himself Tom almost smiled. “I find that my wand is much more recognizable than my face, now that my elder self has buggered his to hell.”

Tom grinned maniacally when, as he turned, the thief’s eyes fell on the length of yew and turned deathly white.

“Now,” he tapped the wand against his hand as he spoke, scattering red sparks throughout the room. “I could just tear through your head with my Legelimency, extract the information that I desire and send you to the Janus Thickey ward for the rest of your life but where’s the fun in that?”

“Master’s Snake Speaker is the Dark Lord?”

Tom spared enough of a glance in the House Elf’s direction to make sure he wasn’t coming for him with the pan before answering. “Yes, I am, but not the one which we’re fighting. It’s complicated but I have no interest in keeping him around-among other reasons, he’s a threat to Harry-and the locket, as promised, shall be destroyed.” He said. “Speaking of, where is my locket thief?”

“I-I don’t-!”

“Crucio!” The bonds prevented him from struggling too much, but they didn’t stop him from screaming. Tom frowned, canceled the curse and erected a silencing charm over the room. No reason to invite the others to come running. “Let’s try again. I’ll speak slower so that you can understand me. Where. Is. My. Locket?”

“I didn’t know that it was your locket, I swear! I wouldn’t ‘ave taken it if I did and I certainly wouldn’t ‘ave just-.”

“I didn’t ask you if you had it, I asked you where it is!” He bellowed, his magic lashing out and threading the windows of the room through with spider cracks. Kreacher hurried to fix the damage while Tom reigned in his temper and said in a voice which sounded remarkably like his older self “speak!”

“Just ‘ow valuable was it?”

Even terrified, greed controlled him. He would have loved nothing more than to murder the man then and there but knew they needed the locket’s location too much. “It’s priceless, given that it’s an heirloom of Salazar Slytherin, but the value of the object isn’t the problem. It’s a tie to the Dark Lord’s immortality and thereby must be destroyed if he’s ever to be permanently stopped. Now, where is it?”

“I-.”

“Crucio!” He lifted it after only a split second; it was meant simply as a spur to make him spill his guts faster.

“It’s gone!”

“Cr-.”

“Merlin’s sweet mercy, I can’t tell ya nothin’ when you’re constantly cursin’ me!” Tom sneered at him but bit back on another Torture Curse. “I gave it away. Not out of tha' goodness of my heart, mind you. Didn’t have a choice.”

“And?” he growled.

“I was cornered by some bleedin’ Ministry snoop while in Diagon Alley; asked me if I had a license for trading in magical artifacts. Course I didn’t, but she took the locket instead o’ fining me. Said I should consider meself lucky.”

“A Ministry snoop? Who?”

“I dunno. Some hag.”

“I’m going to need more detail then that!”

“She was a little woman. A witch in the real Muggle since of the word. Bow on her head. Looked like a half transfigured toad.”

“Half transfigured…Accio Daily Prophet!” The door of the room swung open and the paper came flying straight at him. Tom snatched it roughly from the air and shoved it into Mundungus’ face. “This woman?”

“Can’t be sure since someone burned her face off but yeah, I think so.”

“Noted. Thank you ever so much for the assistance.” With a wolfish sneer Tom Obliviated the grimy man of the events which had taken place after the House Elves had dragged him back to Number 12 and left him passed out on the floor. “Kreacher, you may do with him as you wish as long as it doesn’t happen here. I can assure you that Harry wouldn’t be in the slightest bit upset.”

Leaving the thief to the House Elf mercy, Tom left the room and returned to the kitchen where he’d last left the others. They were all still there and had set the room to rights.

“Tom.”

“Umbridge has it.” He told them all, sliding his Hornbeam wand back into the sheath on his wrist while holding the boxed Yew wand in his other hand. “She forced him to give it to her as a bribe. We’ll have to go into the Ministry of Magic in order to retrieve it.”

Both boys groaned and Hermione bit her lip. “Well, we should start planning right away as it’ll take forever to safely-.”

“No it won’t.” Tom cut it, slipping the box back into her bag. “So we need to get into the Ministry of Magic without seeming out of place, and find our way to Umbridge? Umbridge, who now heads the Muggleborn Registration Committee? What’s the best way to find Umbridge once we’re there? Seek out said committee. And what’s the best way to do that?”

“Um…mate, are you really suggesting that we pose as Muggleborns?”

Clearly a semester in Gryffindor Tower had poisoned his mind, because Tom’s handsome face unfurled into an unsettling grin. “Precisely.”

Chapter Text

The pale grey light of just past dawn filtered through the crack in the heavy velvet curtains hung astride the windows of the bedroom the pair shared in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The taller boy’s resting heartbeat thudded calmly in his ear as Harry lay curled beneath the sheets beside him, slowly being drawn towards full awareness by one of Tom’s large hands rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back.

Shifting and wrapping his arms loosely around the other’s waist Harry buried his face deeper in the folds of Tom’s nightshirt with a protesting groan. The dark brunet chuckled low in his chest, his hand moving upwards to bury long thin fingers in his wild raven locks. Well-groomed nails scrapping gently at his scalp.

“Precious.” Tom spoke softly, as if not wanting to disturb the calm of the early morning, but from his position curled atop him Harry could keenly feel the vibrations of his voice. “We need to get up.”

The raven mumbled something that was incomprehensible even to him, but was supposed to translate to “no! Too early!” or “don’t want to!”

All that this succeeded in doing was making Tom laugh again, louder this time. Harry still had his eyes closed but he could hear the fond smile on his boyfriend’s face. He dropped his face into the smaller boy’s raven hair and kissed the top of his head.

“I know that it’s early, my love, but we have no other choice. Today is the day, don’t you remember?” He said. “Today is the day that we’re going to ‘register’ at the Ministry. Today is the day that we’ll be paying that bint Umbridge a visit-and a harsh lesson if I have my way-and procuring the real Horcrux. Today, my dear raven, is the day that we take our first step towards actual progress in defeating my counterpart. We have much to run over, still, and we can’t afford to be late.”

Letting out another annoyed grumble Harry raised his head to glare at Tom with bleary green eyes. “Have I ever told you how much I hate it when you’re right?”

He flashed the smaller male an entirely disarming grin, lithe fingers flying lightly up his spine. “You’ve insinuated as much, once or twice.”

 “Is anyone else up yet, do you think?”

“I haven’t heard anything, so probably not quite yet.” Tom told him, stifling a yawn of his own. “The sun hasn’t quite gotten around to properly rolling out of bed yet so I suppose we can spend twenty or so more minutes doing something to wake up without it being time gone remiss.”

“Do something like take a shower?” Harry caught the mild look of annoyed disappointment which flashed across the other male’s face and smirked down at him. “I thought it would be fairly obvious, Tom, that I hadn’t meant ‘do something like take a shower alone’ but since apparently I need to specify…”

Tom pulled him down into a brief, sweet kiss before sliding off the bed. His long sleeved night shirt was rumbled, his hair was sticking up in all directions and the sweat pants that he wore pooled around his ankles.

In Harry’s mind, it was the picture of domestic perfection.

“I believe that we do indeed have the time for a shower before we have to meet the other two for a ‘war room’. Though I can’t guarantee that you and I will come out of it any cleaner than we are now.” His blue eyes glittered with a shrewd sort of amusement as he held out a hand to help him up. “I’ll have to take special care, though. We can’t have you struggling to walk while we ransack the Ministry.”

Desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing a vibrant shade of red and incensed as to how, after all this time, Tom’s innuendos could still affect him so keenly Harry took the offered hand and allowed his boyfriend to pull him onto his feet and up into his arms.

“Tom,” he wrapped his arms loosely around his neck to better secure himself, playing with the smaller curls at the nape of his neck, “you know that I have perfectly workable and unbroken legs, don’t you.”

“I do.” The dark brunet shouldered open the door of the bedroom that they’d shared and started down the hall towards the bathroom. “Consider it practice Precious.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Practice?”

“For after our wedding.” His dark eyes were soft as he looked down at him. “I know that it’s usually the woman who is carried but, for obvious reasons, we’ll have to do things differently. And, given that you’re shorter than I am, logic dictates it will be simpler for me to carry you than for you to carry me. My feet would be dragging along the ground and it would just be embarrassing for everyone.”

“I am not that short!” The raven pouted and the dark brunet chuckled, reaching over to flick on the light and setting him down on the shower mat. “But I can see your point.”

Tom sent him a small grin before pulling his shirt up over his head. Slowly. No doubt solely for the sake of torturing the raven.

Harry regretted not bringing his wand with him; if he had he’d have been able to simply vanish both their clothing. Unable to do so the raven decided he’d refuse to play his partner’s little game in another way and went to turn the water on.

Tom made a disappointed noise, followed soon after by the sound of his shirt falling to the floor. “Someone doesn’t seem to be in the mood to play.”

“We don’t really have the time to ‘play’, Tom.” Harry said, testing the temperature of the water before turning back to face him. He was comfortable enough in his own skin, by this point, but still couldn’t quite fathom how Tom could stand so unashamedly naked in front of anyone. He found it hard enough to do the same in front of his own reflection. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“I haven’t ‘forgotten’ that we’re pressed for time, Precious.” Always one to flaunt the fact that he was perfect at everything, Tom windlessly vanished Harry’s clothes and pulled him against him. His mouth descended on his shoulder and his white hot tongue traced along the column of his throat. “But that doesn’t mean we have to rush.”

The silken sensation of skin against skin, coupled with the grip of Tom’s hands on his hips and his hot tongue on his neck made him shudder and his breath hitch. It had been too long since they’d been together like this and Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it before now.

“Are we just going to waste the hot water?” He mewled, knowing that if he waited any longer to say it he’d be too distracted to even attempt to bring up the point at all.

The dark brunet made a sound that was rather similar to a snorting horse before seizing handfuls of his bum and lifting him off his feet. The raven squawked in alarm and wrapped his arms and legs around the taller male’s body; moments later he was being dunked under the stream of hot water.

The shower rained down on them, the droplets lightly pelting his skin and tracing odd patterns as they slid down his back and shoulders. Harry spluttered slightly as some of the copper-tasting water invaded his mouth, the heat drying his tongue. He shook wet bangs out of his eyes and looked up at Tom just in time for the dark brunet’s lips to come crashing down on his.

The hard cut muscles of Tom’s chest pressed against his, pinning Harry’s back against the cold tiles of the shower. His body shielding him from the full force of the shower’s spray. Damp skin, warmed by the water raining down on their heads, sticking slightly where it pressed together.

Tom purred as he parted the raven’s lips, Harry sucked his tongue into his mouth. Suckling on it. The dark brunet all too pleased to take full advantage of the granted access. Exploring the new territory unhindered. One hand reached between them to pay his stirred member some much needed attention and the other reaching to one side. Seeking something and, apparently, finding it quickly.

A lid popped.

On of Tom’s long, pianist’s fingers prodded lightly at his entrance, slick with something oily and cold-body wash or shampoo, most likely-before slipping inside and beginning the familiar process of wiggling and stretching. Adding another. Finding that spot, that gloriously pleasant bundle of nerves, and pushing against it with expert precision. Slipping in a third while he was distracted.

For all that he had talked about ‘not needing to rush’ Tom certainly seemed to be moving things along at a clipped pace. Not that Harry was in any position to complain.

Certainly not now, his hard length leaking and entrance gasping to be filled with something more substantial than Tom’s fingers.

And the other seemed to sense his thoughts because he leaned forward to press his lips against the shell of his ear. Hot breath wafting over his skin, nudging at his entrance without giving him what he knew he really wanted.

“Something you need, my precious darling?”

“We don’t have time for this!”

Tom clucked his tongue but seemed to take mercy on him. Once more gripping his hips and aware of their time without having regularly done so, the taller male attached himself once more to the side of his throat and slowly slipped inside him. Inch by inch. The raven’s nails biting crescents into his shoulder blades as he breathed through the intrusion.

Tom had bottomed out; he could feel the other’s pulse fluttering beside his own. Lithe, agile fingers wrapped around his hand, pulling it from the wall and laying it instead against his stomach where the shadow of his length reflected on his skin.

“Can you feel me?” with his lips against his ear Harry couldn’t see Tom’s face but there was a tone to his voice that Harry had never heard before.

He dropped his forehead against the broad shoulder in front of him, the locket pressed between them leaving small imprints where the gems on its surface dug into their skin. “Yes.”

Harry wasn’t given the chance to consider the origin of the question; Tom replaced his hand firmly against the wall behind them and rolled his hips sharply forward. Finding the bundle of nerves at his core and making the raven’s head snap backwards with a groan.

With how long it had been since either of them had such intimate contact with each other neither lasted very long.

Tom had to hold him up for the first few minutes after they’d finished and the pair went about cleaning each other up to at least a presentable degree. He laughed at him when the raven grumbled a complaint about him being ‘too tall’ and not being able to reach his hair.

Ten minutes later the pair were both dried, redressed and heading down the stairs into the kitchen. Harry joined Ron and Hermione at the table as Tom went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“I hope you two had fun in the shower.” Hermione said mildly; Harry turned bright red once again but Tom didn’t react much beyond taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe keep it down a little bit next time? Playing ‘what’s that sound?’ isn’t either of our idea of a pleasant way to have our sleep disturbed.”

“My apologies.” The dark brunet’s tone was serene but the small side smirk which tugged at his lips gave away how amusing he really found the situation. “I may have neglected to put up a Silencing Charm in the heat of the moment.”

Heat of the moment indeed. Harry kept that comment to himself.

“Shall we move on to how we’re going to handle infiltrating the Ministry?”

Harry couldn’t help but wish they had a bit more time before they had to leave; black coffee and Tom were two flavors that mixed incredibly well.

Seeming to sense what he was thinking Tom’s smirk grew wider, locking eyes with the raven as he slowly took another drink from his mug.

He stuck his tongue out at him.

“The both of you need to focus if we’re going to go over this!” Both Tom and Harry immediately turned their full attention to Hermione. “We’ll have to Apparate into an abandoned building or alley way near the visitor’s entrance. You remember your role from that point, Tom?”

The raven could tell that Tom was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Make use of my animagus form and pretend to be in distress to pair ‘cute and fuzzy’ and ‘injured’ together into a deadly force of manipulation.” With his mug having run dry, he eyed the coffee pot briefly before waving his hand and banishing it into the sink. “I haven’t forgotten, Ms. Granger, the portion of our plan that I myself came up with.”

“The smug cheek isn’t necessary, Gaunt! I hadn’t thought that I’d need to remind you that we aren’t playing a game.”

“You’re right,” he said, “I apologize. Go on.”

She took a moment further to glare at him before continuing her review. “Once we have the coins we’ll use a bit of basic Transfiguration to change our features enough that we won’t be recognized and will head in to use the visitor’s entrance. You remember where it is, Harry?”

Less than pleased by the reminder of his trail, Harry frowned. “Yeah. I remember where the old telephone booth is. The both of you should too.”

Tom crossed the room to lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Yes, well, it’s better that more than one of us remember it as a failsafe of sorts.” He hadn’t seen her act this manic outside of periods of exam review. “Once we’re inside we’ll stick together for as long as possible; once we’re there we’ll move on Umbridge while Tom is being interrogated.”

“A simple enough plan.” The dark brunet said. “Though experience tells me it won’t work out that way.”

“There’s no need to jinx it, Mate!”

“I don’t put stock in ridiculous Muggle superstitions.”

Muggle superstition or not, shouldn’t we be going?” Harry asked, finishing up the hot roll that he’d been eating since they first sat down.

Tom nodded and stepped away. “I’ll meet the three of you in the front room in five minutes. Make sure that nothing is left behind in case something goes wrong.” He walked out of the room, Nagini following on his heels.

After briefly running the question of the whereabouts of their belongings with Hermione and learning that they were indeed all safely tucked away in her beaded bag, the trio went to join the dark brunet in the front room.

A shrunken Nagini was wrapped around his arm; Tom held her out to Harry as they approached. “Here, Precious. Having a serpent on me while ‘sitting pretty’ in the court room will only lead to problems. I trust you to hold on to her, and her to keep you safe.”

“Am I not competent enough to look after myself?”

Tom reached out and gently ran his fingers through the raven’s already wild hair, messing it up even more. “Your competence isn’t in question. But the situation we’ll be entering into is a dangerous one. And I guard jealously what I consider to be mine, as you’re well aware.”

“So am I protecting Nagini or is Nagini protecting me?”

“Something like that.”

Harry sighed.

“Shall we be going?”

They broke into pairs, Ron and Hermione the first to step out and balance precariously on the narrow stoop before Apparating away. Tom and Harry followed after them; Harry teetered dangerously on the stoop now that the door had closed behind them; Tom stood solid as a rock with his large warm hand wrapped around his own partly to keep him up and partly to ensure they stayed together; a pair of puffy eyed Death Eaters could be seen staring at the house from across the street.

Tom twisted in place and the pull of Apparition dragged them both away.

They ended up directly beside Hermione and Ron in a dingy alleyway nestled between a pair of abandoned buildings. The bushy brunet was tapping her foot rapidly against the ground and repeatedly checking the time on a summoned watch.

“Hurry!” She hissed. “They’re going to be here any minute! You need to get into place!”

“Relax, Ms. Granger.” There was a sigh plainly evident in his voice. “Panic will make you sloppy.”

Before she could reply Tom had shifted form and scampered away, vanishing around the corner.

Harry would have been lying if he tried to say he wasn’t jealous of Tom’s ability to ‘escape’ the situation.

Hermione could be really scary when she wanted to be; Harry would rather sleep in the same bed as the Dark Lord than be on the receiving end of her full anger. He already had, of course, but he meant Voldemort not Tom.

Being in the same bed as Tom was never an unpleasant experience.

Thankfully the dark brunet wasn’t gone for very long; five minutes after he’d disappeared the black fox, limping now, reappeared followed by a small witch with fly away hair. Tom played it up quite a bit by falling over onto his side before darting out of reach, a stupefy from beneath the invisibility cloak preventing the woman from reacting much beyond straightening up in surprise.

She toppled over into a small puddle.

“Well,” back in human form, Tom carefully rearranged his immaculate hair, “I do love acting but, well…that was far from my best work. Or most fulfilling role.”

“Not that that really matters, now.” Harry gently pressed one of the golden coins labeled with the letters M.O.M into the palm of his hands. “We should be getting around to the Transfigurations now, shouldn’t we?”

“We should.” Tom pulled out his Hornbeam wand and tapped the features of his face seemingly at random, thinning his lips widening his face and turning both his hair and eyes pale. Before Harry could recover from the sight of his boyfriend with blonde hair he’d done the same to him; though he couldn’t see himself he could feel his features shifting beneath his skin. “I’ll say that I prefer you raven haired and green eyed, though I suppose that flaming hair befits your personality. Black eyes, though…”

“The red hair comes from my mother, most likely.” He said. “I have to say that, though you still look magnificent, I’m not sure that I can see you with pale blonde hair and silver eyes.”

“The eyes were my father’s.” His features didn’t twitch but there was a tired disapproval to his tone, a worn down sort of acceptance that hadn’t been there before when he’d spoken of his most hated parent, that made him smile fondly. To him this, above all, was proof that Tom really had changed. “Abraxas might have inspired the hair.”

The smile turned into a smirk.

“We should head towards the visitor’s entrance, now.” He said, reluctant to break the moment but knowing that they didn’t have much choice. “We’re running out of time.”

The visitor’s entrance of the Ministry of Magic seemed, for the moment, to be the one thing in his life that hadn’t changed and Harry wasn’t certain if he was pleased with this fact.  The four of them plug Nagini-who had hidden herself in his sleeve-piled into the old abandoned phone booth and inserted their coins into the slot.

Harry dialed in 62442 and they were immediately greeted by the same cool female voice as before.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.” An irritated tap with Tom’s wand had the thing spitting out badges, all four etched with names that were either very Muggle sounding or conspicuously misspelled. They wasted no time in pinning them to their chests before taking ‘formation’ as the booth began to trundle downwards.

By the time it reached the bottom floor they were the perfect picture of ‘frightened Muggleborns’; when the doors slid open they revealed an Atrium which was very different from anything that Harry remembered. It seemed darker, somehow, in the absence of the points of light shed by the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren which had once been there.

It had since been replaced with a towering statue of black granite; a towering witch and wizard each perched primly on a set of ornately carved thrones. Etched below their pedestal in letters each a foot high were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.

Tom looked like he might pass out and once more buried his face in Harry’s hair to hide it from view. Ron pushed his currently brown hair out of his eyes as if unable to believe he’d really seen what he thought he had. Hermione’s hair, now straight and black, had fallen into her face in a curtain.

“It’s horrible.” She said. “Look at what they’re sitting on.”

“Muggles,” Tom’s voice waivered, “in their ‘rightful place’.”

Harry looked at the horrible statue again and realized that the thrones that the two were sitting on were carved of twisted bodies; stunted looking and misshapen men women and children with ugly faces and malformed features.

Tom grip on him had tightened. Remembering with a stark clarity his very recent breakdown regarding the warped results of his beliefs Harry took it upon himself to begin leading their little group towards the registry booth in an effort to spare him a modicum of control.

When they reached the booth they announced themselves as Muggleborns there for registration. The man behind the booth demanded their wands but, by then, Tom had recovered from the shock of seeing the statue and gave him the same treatment that he had the booth.

They kept their wands, stowed away and out of sight. Tom’s expression was stormy. No one in their little group mentioned the fact that he was throwing Confundus Charms like rice at a wedding.

The courtroom in which the ‘registration’ was being conducted was on the same floor as the Department of Mysteries. Harry stared at the black door as they passed, trying to keep the memories of both his near unlawful trial and the disastrous ‘rescue mission’ at bay as they passed through the doorway on the left hand side of the torch lit stone passage.

When the first signs of the all too familiar terrible chill began to claw at him Harry realized with a gripping horror exactly what it was that they were walking into. He looked to his right and saw that Ron and Hermione recognized the feeling too.

Their breath was rising in silver clouds. Tom shivered and pressed himself closer, seeking warmth in much the same way as Nagini did by crawling further up his sleeve.

“It’s cold.” He said. “What’s doing this?”

Harry very nearly stopped in his tracks when the realization that Tom had never run into a real Dementor before fell on him like a ton of bricks. Only a Boggart that had taken a Dementor’s form. An imitation which was nothing compared to the real thing.

“Dementors.” In a brief fit of morbid curiosity Harry wondered what memory their presence would drag to the forefront of Tom’s mind. “A lot of them.”

The taller male visibly paled, then forced an expression of calm onto his face and squeezed the raven’s hand. “We’re together. We’ll be fine.”

Harry might have smiled, had it not been for the ever increasing effect of the Dementor’s presence.

The turned a corner a moment later and were met with the horrible sight of a long dark hallway crammed with the terrible skeletal figures. Frost lined the floor and walls. The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe. Terrified Muggleborns had all huddled in the far corner; they went to join them.

Harry felt numb down to his fingers. Nagini was voicing a string of hissed complaints. After three failed tries on account of his own distraction Tom managed to cast a wandless warming charm on both  the raven and the miniaturized snake wrapped around his arm.

They didn’t have to wait long. Just until Tom would be called in and could sufficiently distract those sitting on the bench. Holding out until then would be simple enough.

Five minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty before the doors finally swung open, revealing two more Dementors dragging a quietly sobbing and nearly unconscious man between them.

Another name was called which Harry didn’t recognize in a voice which he recognized immediately as belonging to her; a brief glance at the badge pinned to Tom’s chest revealed that it was the false name that he was now working under. He reluctantly peeled himself away from their group and shuffled into the courtroom.

He immediately felt as if he’d fallen down a particularly deep well; the walls were rounded, formed from stone and claustrophobically close and the cavernous ceiling was aswarm with yet more Dementors. Behind a balustrade sat the bench of ‘judges’, Umbridge central amongst them; a long haired cat Patronus prowled up and down at the foot of the platform they sat on.

Tom’s fingers itched to pull his wand and summon his fox but he resisted the urge.

“Sit down.” Her voice was like a shot of pure sugar and made him want to gag.

Tom perched himself on the edge of the chair in the middle of the courtroom, hissing when the chains leapt to life and bounds his arms tightly enough to bruise.

“You are Tamlan Mirus Rydal?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t difficult, in this environment, to inject a tremor into his voice.

“And your parents are,” she made a show of looking through her notes before sending him a simpering look, “I don’t seem to have any information on them.”

“That would make two of us; I’m an orphan. Never knew either of them.” A partial truth.

“And how old are you?”

“Seventeen this past December.”

“And you went to school where?”

“Beauxbatons, in France.”

“Why didn’t you stay in France, Mr. Rydal? To my knowledge they still retain their backwards stance on your kind.”

“I returned because I’m in a relationship and fully intend to marry them once this war is over.”

The half-Transfigured pink toad gripped the banister in front of her with her stubby pink fingers and leaned towards him. “And who, Mr. Rydal, would this person be?”

Tom smirked back at her and allowed his disguise to slip. “Harry James Potter.”

The doors of the courtroom flew open with a loud bang and three silver animals-an otter a terrier and a stag-flew into the room from the hallway outside, followed by his three companions and a small handful of well-aimed stunners.

“Tom!” All thoughts of the locket dropped by the wayside for the time being Harry rushed towards him and pointed his wand at the chains still wrapped around his arms. “Diffindo!”

Nothing.”

“That won’t work. Try Relashio.”

The dark brunet’s advice was sound and the chains fell away; Tom rose to his feet, messaging the tender imprints the metal links had left behind.

“Are you alright?”

He looked down at the little raven and nodded before tapping his face again with his wand. This time, rather than shifting his features, silver threads spiraled outwards and formed themselves into a familiar mask. “I’m alright. Are you?” Harry responded with a nod of his own. “Marvelous. Now, let’s see to why we’re here.”

Tom’s posture was fierce and predatory as he prowled forward, and both Ron and Hermione shrank back from him as he passed. He leapt the banister was ease, tred purposefully on the feet of half the bench, climbed onto the table and leveled the toad-woman in an arctic glare.

“Blood quills. On children. On my Precious! Do you have any idea how much I hate the fact that there’s no time left for me to adequately punish you?” A flick of his wrist ripped the locket from her neck, the chain seeming to wrap itself around his forearm like a living snake. “We’ll just have to settle for making sure that everyone knows what you really are.”

“Tom!” Hermione sounded close to panic. “We don’t have time for this!”

“It will only take me a moment, Ms. Granger, to carve ‘abuser’ into this creature’s forehead.” The strokes of his wrist were made inelegant by his anger, the letters coming out harsh and ragged. “Barely a punishment, but it will have to do. Perhaps something better can be done later.” With a grace that was far beyond Harry while he wasn’t in the air Tom leapt back to the floor, landing with the quiet click of rubber soles on stone. “We should evacuate the Muggleborns while we have the chance; they’ll close the floos once they’ve realized something has happened.”

Exchanging quick nods the quartet set off towards the still open courtroom doors at a run. The three Patronuses rampaged down the narrow corridor, driving the cloaked figures before them, but Tom’s efforts to send his own to join them were met with failure.

The locket. Dark eyes flicked downwards to the glittering clasp clutched in his fist, the front hidden from view until an opportune time to shift its appearance presented itself. It seemed to recognize him, to feel safe enough in his grasp not to feel the need to influence or outright attack him-or maybe it simply couldn’t-but its presence on his person rendered the Patronus Charm impossible.

Cursing under his breath, he joined the other three in herding those who had been slated for trial that day towards the lifts.

“There will be too many people up in the Atrium to make this an easy escape; listen up, all of you, because I’ll only go over these instructions once!” He called over the clatter of the approaching lift. “We’ll move immediately towards the floos; how many of you managed to hold onto your wands?”

About half of the group raised their hands.

“Alright, pair up; one each with and without a wand. When you get through the floos you’re going to Apparate away immediately. Get your families and leave the country until Voldemort has been dealt with. The four of us will be the last to leave, to make certain that all of you get out. Understood?”

Well aware that he should have seen Tom taking the reins of the situation a mile off a rather bemused Harry could only shake his head as they piled onto the lift.

Travel upwards was torturously slow but it was nothing compared to the chaos of the Atrium. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes since they’d stormed the courtroom yet there were already people sealing the fireplaces. Trapping them inside. There was no way they’d be able to get across the cavernous room in time to stop or distract them.

Tom snarled “Open,” and thrust the locket ahead of them just as the clasp popped open. What happened next he couldn’t say with any measure of certainty; a massive black cloud sprang free of the locket’s interior with all the force and sound of a category five tornado and tore the room ahead of them apart. The tiles in its path were pulverized into sharp shards of wreckage. The walls were pitted and torn as if by massive claws. Half of the fire places had been demolished and the Ministry workers who had been closing them had disappeared.

He’d thought the diary had been dangerous.

“Go! Get into the fireplaces that are still open and go! Hurry!”  Harry’s shouting prompting the now semi-stunned group into motion. Tom was pivoting about on his heel, brandishing his wand in one hand and the locket in the other with a mad glint in his eyes. Ron and Hermione were bouncing between keeping a look out for approaching attackers and making sure the dark brunet didn’t suddenly snap and turn on them from behind. And then all of Muggleborns had left and Ministry workers were closing in on them from all sides.

“Come on!”

He half expected Tom to use the locket again to just blow the lot of them away but was relieved when he instead whirled around and dragged him into the fireplace after Ron and Hermione.

“Let’s go! We have to get out of here now!”

Tom turned on the spot; halfway through the revolution he felt the tug of something that wasn’t Apparition on his arm but it was too late to stop or correct their course and the crushing darkness closed in around them.

The man was holding onto his wand arm. The moment that the touched down on the stoop of Number Twelve he used his free hand to cold cock him in the temple. His unwanted passenger collapsed, releasing him, and Tom seized hold of the person nearest him out of reflex before Apparating again.

He barely had the time to realize that the arm he was holding was too thin to belong to Harry before the agonizing pain of what could only be a splinch tore up his left side and everything went black.

Chapter Text

His feet hit the floor and his knees buckled immediately, his body crumpling like a fallen tree and landing with a crash against the rotted floorboards. His awareness immediately overwhelmed by an awful mixture of decaying wood and plant matter, mold, standing water and blood. His entire body felt cold, the once agonizing injury reduced only to a dull throbbing ache. His entire body shaking. It was difficult to breathe, as if metal bands were constricting around his chest; as if the tube that Disapparition had forced him through had, despite spitting him out the other end, not released its hold.

Shadows were pressing in on his vision and his surroundings spun wildly on its axis like a globe pushed by a massive invisible hand.

His arms were difficult to move but, after a concerning amount of time, Tom managed to raise his hand and press it to his side. Numbed-through fingers slipped into the gash up to his first knuckle torn from mid-ribcage down to his hip. A renewed surge of hot sticky blood gushed over the back of his hand, trickling over his wrist and between his fingers and making it even harder to move them affectively.

Where were they? Tom hadn’t thought of any specific destination when he’d Disapparated from the stoop of Number Twelve, quite likely a large part of why he’d ended up injured, and could have ended up anywhere from the condemned orphanage where he’d spent his childhood-though he doubted the place still stood as rumor had it that construction crews had finally gotten around to doing their jobs-to the house in which his father had lived before he’d murdered him.

Was he going to die? Bleed to death on the filthy floor of God only knew where? All because of some mistake made in the midst of a reaction of panic? What would Harry do without him? What would he do, having broken his promise not to leave him?

He attempted to get up, failed, and fell back against the floor with a thump. Pain, newly acute and cutting through the blanket of numbness which lay over him like a hot knife, shot through his entire body. Tom groaned, struggling to stay awake. Feeling blindly about for his find but finding the cold clasp of the locket instead.

“Tom!”

He knew that voice. Had heard it before. It sounded close by, worried, and oh so familiar. But who did it belong to?

Harry?

Had he managed to grab the raven after all? No. No, it didn’t seem that he had. A face had appeared in his swimming line of vision, as pale as the full moon viewed through a pall of lacy clouds. The features indistinct, but clearly feminine and set into an expression of concern. It wasn’t his Precious. The shape of the face wasn’t right, nor was the color or length of the hair.

“Tom, you’ve been splinched and you’re losing a lot of blood. I have Dittany in my bag, just try and stay awake!”

It felt as if his mind were slipping in and out of tune, his hearing as reliable as a phone in a subway tunnel. Tom was almost certain that his pupils had become fixed as he’d lost the detectable ability to move his eyes and the shadows overhead were thicker than he’d ever seen them before. Reaching down towards him. Forming into hands with clawed fingers. The balding wings and ragged cloak of a skeletal figure. It felt as if a dragon was sitting on his chest. Inflating his lungs made his ribs strain. The simple act of breathing drained so much of his energy.

He barely heard the pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle as he sank further down into darkness, a burning itch ripping up the length of the wound as he lost his grip on consciousness completely.

Tom had no idea how long he was unconscious, but when he woke up it was still very dark. The shadows hung about the room like thick sheaves of black silk had only deepened since he’d last seen them, which meant that it was either the same night as they’d arrived wherever they now were or another night entirely. He felt weak, no doubt owing to the blood loss that his injury had experienced, and his clothing was ruined: torn along the side that had been wounded and splattered in rusted brown.

His efforts to move were met with the astounding, and very much concerning, realization that he’d been bound in thick ropes. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and left lying on the floor without either his wand or the locket.

Oh, bloody hell he needed to get out of his bonds and find out what had happened. Where they were. Where Hermione, and he was now aware that it was her that he had brought with him, had gone. If they’d been attacked in the interim of his unawareness or if Hermione had been the one to tie him up.

Before he could get much further than reaching for his magic to initiate the transformation the point of a wand was driven quite brutally into the side of his neck.

On reflex, Tom choked.

“Don’t! Even! Try it!”

“Be reasonable, Ms. Granger; is it really necessary to stab me in the throat?” He croaked around the wooden point still grinding into his flesh. “I’m sure that we can talk this over-.”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists! Especially not terrorists with racist tendencies!”

Well then.

He’d never seen her actually angry before, and was now starting to understand the wary glances that the other two had shot her on occasion.

“It’s a good thing that I’m not a terrorist with racist tendencies then, isn’t it?” his back talk was rewarded with yet another sharp prod, blue sparks shooting from the tip of her wand and skittering across his skin. Tom hissed.

“I’d suggest you save it, Riddle; I’m not a fool! Pretty lies only work when the person you’re trying to feed them to doesn’t realize what you are!” She spat at him. “Ginny was right about you all along! And Harry…does he know?”

“Of course Precious knows; I think that you’ll quickly find that this isn’t the great conspiracy of the Dark that you think it is!” He snapped, finally beginning to lose his patience. “Now, are you going to slit my throat with that or not? Because if the answer is no, might I suggest letting up on the pressure before you skewer me? It’s rather difficult to breathe!”

She looked disgusted by the prospect, her expression in that moment reminding him a great deal of a highly offended cat. “I am not a murderer!” The point of her wand was no longer biting quite so hard into his flesh but it hadn’t left contact with his skin either. “Not like you.”

Though his inner Slytherin informed him sharply that it was a very bad idea the Gryffindorishness that he’d become infected with prodded him to glare right back at her; he considered it a small, if counterproductive, victory when she noticeably quailed. “I’d tell you that I’m not either, but that would just be another of those ‘pretty little lies’ you mentioned now wouldn’t it, doll?” Aware that it was useless and wanting to conserve his energy he stopped struggling and went limp in his restraints. “I presume it was the locket that gave it away? I’d intended to grab Precious-he and I had a plan to glamor the Horcrux, you see, so that it didn’t become immediately clear that it was the very same locket as the one that he’s been wearing and thereby give away my identity-but in the confusion I misaimed. I take it that you didn’t bother looking for the locket until after you’d seen to my injury?”

“Do you think I’d have wasted Dittany on the Dark Lord?”

“Careful, Ms. Granger, intentionally allowing someone to bleed to death in front of you is hedging awfully close to murder.” Seeing her squirm made him smirk, but it slid off his face quite quickly. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And I intend to tell you everything, but that will take quite a while and its best that we make sure that we’re not sitting somewhere where we could be sprung upon by my counterpart or his rabid dogs. Have you had a look around?”

“You’re not in any position-!”

“Have you had a look around, Ms. Granger? It’s a very simple question!”

The look of absolute reproach that she sent him reminded him of Harry’s late owl. “I have. You were unconscious for almost an hour.”

“Describe it for me.”

That pointed look still adorned her face as she glared down at where he lay on the floor. “It’s a shack and it honestly looks like its melting; the garden is entirely overgrown and there’s a small village at the bottom of the hill.”

“Little Hangleton.” Had he had more energy Tom would have cursed; of all the places he could have wound up with as a default to Apparition Point it had to be the hometown of his parents. “We definitely need to leave; my counterpart hid the ring which Dumbledore destroyed in this building and it may still be equipped with some manner of wards which would alert him to our presence. For all we know he’s based out of the manor house across the way. Untie me!”

“Untie you?” Hermione sounded absolutely aghast, as if the mere prospect of freeing him was something both foreign and repugnant. “Are you…oh, of course you’re mad! You’re the Dark Lord!”

“Not yet I’m not!” He snapped back. “Give me my wand and I’ll swear a vow not to attempt to escape or preform any of the other ludicrous actions no doubt bouncing around in your paranoid Gryffindor mind!”

“I’m not going to-!”

“I am capable, need I remind you, of freeing myself wandlessly! I simply haven’t done it as a sign of good faith!”

Hermione continued to stare at him suspiciously for what almost felt like an eternity before she reluctantly handed over the Hornbeam wand that he’d been using since his arrival in that time line.

With his wrists bound in the way that they had been Tom wasn’t able to do much beyond hold his wand in a stiff vertical position but thankfully, for this at least, that would prove to be enough. Tom had experience with swearing vows by now, but doing so while lying on his back and all but hogtied was definitely new.

“I, Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr., swear on my magic that I will not attempt to flee or harm Hermione Granger when she unties me and to answer her questions truthfully once we’ve arrived at a place which can be reasonably deemed safe.” After the pale light had faded from around him he looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

With a flick of her wrist the ropes slithered off of him like thick snakes. The dark brunet couldn’t quite contain a sigh of relief as he sat up and messaged his wrists where the coarse fibers had dug into his skin. Hermione’s wand was now pointing right between his eyes.

“No sudden movements.”

He bit back the urge to remind her of the contents of the vow which he had quite literally just taken and slowly rose to his feet. The lack of iron left him rather unsteady; Tom teetered on his heels and narrowly avoided toppling over.

“Lumos.” The tip of his wand flared to life with a blinding light, scattering that shadows across the caving walls and revealing the hole which had been broken through the floorboards, presumably by Dumbledore. Deciding that his shirt was beyond all hope of salvage Tom pulled it over his head and threw it into the corner. He clinically examined the puckered red line that the Dittany had reduced his wound to and clicked his tongue dismissively once certain that it wouldn’t burst open and start bleeding again. “Do you still have extra clothing in that marvelous bag of yours?”

His attempt at a compliment was met with a shirt being trebuchetted  at his face.

“Thanks.” He pulled it on over his head and then indicated the door. “Shall we leave?”

“What about Ron and Harry? How are we going to find them? Given that you’re such a ‘magical genius’ that you think you can seize power and affectively run a country surely you must have some idea!”

“You’re being hysterical, Ms. Granger. And the venom you’re lobbing at me is rather misplaced.” He winced when a Stinging Hex, followed by yet another prod, fell across his back. “Nagini. She’s a serpent of a magical variety and will be more than capable of finding me through the bond we have as Master and Familiar. She, if you’ll recall, is with Harry and Harry is with Ron.” The night air was still pleasantly cool though the teeth of winter’s distant approach were beginning to become evident. Below the hill on which they now stood, lights were visible shinning out through the windows of Little Hangleton. The town had changed little in all the years that it had been since he had been there. “I know of a place where my counterpart will never think to look, provided you can trust me enough to lead the way.”

Tom held his arm out, half-expecting the lioness to simply Hex the limb straight off him, but Hermione reached out and took it. Though she did make quite a point of digging her nails into his skin. “Try not to splinch yourself again. You’ve already used all the Dittany I’m willing to spare on your account.”

“Shame. Precious will be heartbroken when I bleed to death from another preventable injury.” When this half-joke was met with yet another glare Tom couldn’t help but sigh. “What is it this time?”

“I simply can’t believe you have the audacity to call him that after everything you’ve done.”

“I’ll have you know that the worst I’ve ever done is go after him verbally in a fit of jealous rage, for which I was promptly punched in the mouth. Once I’ve explained my circumstances, Ms. Granger, I’m certain you’ll come to understand what everyone else does: just because I’m guilty of creating the Dark Lord doesn’t mean I’m guilty of everything he’s done.”

Never mind the fact that he himself didn’t believe that.

Without giving his companion the opportunity to reply Tom twisted on the spot and the pull of Apparition whisked them away.

Chapter Text

He never had bothered to retain the name of the little sea side town that the wards of Wool’s Orphanage had visited. He’d retained the memory of the cave, of course. Of the cavernous inlet where he’d driven the two Muggle children, Amy and Dennis, into insanity for daring to call him ‘freak’ one time too many. The cave that, once upon a time, he’d dreamed of transforming into a Temple to his-no, to Voldemort’s-power and splendor. Where his counterpart had hidden the locket.

The tang of brine in the air brought back terrible memories. The brush of the salt laden sea wind like pale talons raking over his mind. The crash of the distant waves was like the condescending laughter of the monster that still lived under his skin; a voice hissing in his ear like a massive snake with its coils wrapped around his throat.

“Look at what you’ve done, Tom. At what you did; what you were capable of even without me. Look! Look at what’s happened; everything that all of them have suffered. It’s all because of you. Because you created me. Everything I’ve done is your fault.”

Tom wanted to scream until his vocal chords ripped. To tug on his hair until it came out in bloody clumps. To scratch at his skin until it peeled from his bones in sheets. To end it all before his guilt could.

“You’re a fool to think that you could ever be a good person. That you could ever be anything but bitter, cruel and alone. That the boy you’ve hung your hopes on for salvation could ever feel anything for you but hate.”

He wanted to gouge out his eyes and tear off his ears because maybe if he was blind and deaf he could escape. But Tom knew better than to think that that would spare him from his own darkness.

All it would do was trap him with it.

“You’ll never defeat me. Never escape from me. Never change. Even if you kill me I’ll still live because I am you!”

Tom cracked his neck and stepped away from Hermione; she’d released his arm in what almost amounted to disgust and was now watching him in clear suspicion. Ignoring that, he focused on thickening his Occlumency walls in the hopes of drowning out the nagging hiss that he’d dubbed his ‘inner Voldemort’; he only succeeded in distorting its words until he couldn’t understand what it was saying anymore but that was good enough for him.

Any reprieve was like an oasis in a desert.

“Where are we?” she demanded, shivering in the cold. A wave broke against the cliff face behind them, soaking them both through with spray.

“I don’t know the name of the town. We visited it when I was ten as one of the summer trips the Matrons took us on to get us out of the city for a day.” Tom pushed sopping curls out of his eyes and began to make his way down towards the lights of the town below, picking his way delicately around the tide pools and uneven terrain to ensure he didn’t take a misstep and twist an ankle. Plainly reluctant, Hermione followed suit. “It’s wholly Muggle, out of the way and nothing special. My counterpart will, most likely, have forgotten that it even exists at all. We’ll be able to safely stay at a room in the inn for the necessary length of time to regroup and to gather the food supplies we’ll need.”

“Are you certain that that’s still the case? You were ten in 1936; that was sixty one years ago!”

“That it was, but small towns like this one tend not to change all that much.” His arm shot out to prop her up when she tripped over a raised bit of rock. “Watch your step, it’s quite treacherous up here.”

When she thanked him it was clearly out of obligation rather than any real appreciation for his efforts. Something told him that Harry would be in for quite the tongue lashing when they finally did manage to regroup.

The rest of their trek was made in tense silence. By the time they finally made it into the town-which, according to a rickety wooden sign, was named Bywurst-and located the run down to a shambles inn a line of pinkish-grey had broken out along the edge of the horizon. Both of them were shaking as they stepped through the door and the man standing behind the desk, his bloodshot eyes as droopy as a basset hound’s, sent them an odd look.

“Do you still have that Muggle money on you?” Hermione nodded, rummaging through her beaded purse for a while before pulling it out and handing it to him. The message was clear. Tom took the money, and approached the desk.

“A room for two, please.” He ran his hand through his wet hair with a heavy sigh. “It’s been…a long day.”

“You and your girl look a bit washed up. What happened?” the man looked as if he expected them to turn out to be drug runners or some other such nonsense but still put the money into the till and reached under the desk to grab a key. He supposed that it was true what they said about the mistrustful nature of small towns towards outsiders.

Back when he’d first come here Tom had been so used to being treated in such a way that he’d assumed it was just him and hadn’t paid a lick of mind to the other children; perhaps if he had he’d have realized that they’d all been painted with the same broad brush. Much like he’d done with the Muggleborns and still did, to some degree, with the Muggles.

“A ‘bit washed up’ would be an accurate, if highly understated, assessment yes.” Tom didn’t bother to correct the other’s assumption regarding the nature of their relationship. “We ran a bit afoul of the cliffs; thought we’d do a bit of sightseeing by moonlight and misjudged the reach of the whiteheads.”

“I understand that, as tourists, you’re not from around here but that was an incredibly foolish thing to do. Even during the day the cliffs are extremely dangerous. Not only could you fall or be washed off by a rogue wave but the limestone is unstable; one misstep and you could fall into a sea cave. There’d be no saving you from there.” He handed a small, tarnished key over the top of the counter. A leather tag with a painted number 47 hung from the back. “I don’t know how much longer the two of you plan to stay here but I suggest you stay away from them.”

“Thanks for the warning. If we do go back we’ll be sure to keep a safe distance.” Catching Hermione’s eye he motioned towards the stairs. She sent him a poisonous glare before starting up them. “Have a good night.”

“You as well; by the look of trouble in paradise, you’ll probably need it.”

He grimaced and turned away from the desk to follow her up towards their room. His sodden trainers made wet thumping sounds as he ascended the stairs. Hermione stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs, giving him the side eye through the thick darkness shrouding the hall; he paused for a moment but, when nothing was said, moved passed her.

Something about the way that she was staring at him, glaring in silence, reminded him of the way that the awful Muggle Matron at Wool’s-Mrs. Cole-would after something strange happened around the orphanage or to one of its wards. Only, this time, he actually felt like he’d done something wrong.

The key rattled as he slid it into the lock, keenly aware of the point of her wand pressing into the small of his back. Tom sighed, turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room on the other side of the door was dingy and sparsely decorated, sun-bleached curtains hanging ling astride salt-scoured windows. It smelled like brine and dust and was, most certainly, far from the cleanest of lodgings but Tom was too tired by this point in time to care.

The blood loss caused by being Splinched had certainly contributed to how absolutely exhausted he felt, as had the late hour, but Tom had the sneaking suspicion that the real reason that he was on the verge of collapse had to do with the locket.

The locket had been locked away in Grimmauld Place for years after being hidden away in the sea cave where his counterpart had left it. While it was possible that it had gained a little bit of energy from the thief and the bitch there was no possible way the Horcrux could have fueled the devastation it had caused at the Ministry from that alone. It must have drained a considerable chunk of energy from him as well.

It was the only explanation.

Tom would have loved nothing more than to collapse onto one of the two beds and pass out but knew that Hermione wouldn’t allow it until he’d explained the situation to her satisfaction.

He ran his hands through his hair again, fingertips brushing over the too-hot skin of his forehead. He felt feverish.

“I’m not like the Purebloods, you know? I was a Magic supremacist more so than a blood supremacist at the core of things-with my narcissistic tendencies and being a Halfblood myself I couldn’t, even with gold-class mental gymnastics, ever truly consider the Purebloods to be superior to me for something that I couldn’t control or change-but I loved the Magical world so much, and hated Muggles so much, that I suppose it poisoned me.” He said. “And my hate for Muggles isn’t unfounded or based on misunderstandings or stereotypes.”

“How could you possibly say that? About people who really aren’t all that different from us; who are powerless against you!”

“Powerless against me? Yes, now they are but they most certainly were not when I was a child. Tell me, in honesty Ms. Granger, if you were to be repeatedly and viciously mauled by dogs would you then go on to call the hatred of them which would inevitably develop unfounded?” she looked like she wanted to answer but couldn’t bring herself to under the weight of his solemn stare. “I’m not looking for pity. I’m not preaching a sermon in the hopes that you’ll agree. I’m not hoping for forgiveness for the unforgivable. I’m simply a broken man whose seen his sins, confronted the evil that his hands and tongue would have wrought, speaking the truth in the hopes that you’ll understand I’ve changed enough to want to undo what can be undone. I want to kill, or at the very least imprison, my own personal Hyde; if it weren’t for Harry I might be tempted…but the Horcruxes would make Jekyll’s last recourse impossible for me.”

“For someone claiming not to want pity your words hedge awfully close to a Pathos plea.”

Tom dipped his head, feeling slightly dizzy. “I suppose that we should start at the beginning.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” She moved to sit down on the edge of the other bed, never moving her wand from its position aimed squarely at his chest. “Try not to draw this out, Riddle. I’m sure that we’d both like to get some sleep sometime today.”

“Decades ago in a little village called Little Hangleton there lived a young witch named Merope Gaunt, who lived in a decrepit little shed with her brother Morfin and her father Marvolo. She was the last direct female Heir of the ancient Salazar Slytherin and was regarded by her family as a useless worthless thing; the abuse she’d been subjected to for all her life led her Magic to be stunted to the point where her family believed she was a squib, which in turn led to even more abuse. A terrible vicious cycle that she couldn’t escape from, made even worse by the knowledge that-obsessed as her family was with keeping their blood pure-she was condemned to marrying her brother.”

Tom’s fingers found a loose thread on the sheets he sat on; he gripped it between his forefinger and thumb and gave it a short sharp tug.

“Across the town from the Gaunt shack was a beautiful country manor on a hill and in that manor lived a beautiful young Muggle man named Tom Riddle who, almost every day, would ride by on the path outside astride a beautiful white horse with a beautiful woman by his side. Merope would watch him pass by every day for many months on end and, over time, fell in love with the man without ever having even truly met him. She dreamed of the life that they might have together, of a happy life away from her monstrous family, and that dream helped keep her going. But one day her brother caught her hanging out the window to look at him and attacked him, covering his face in painful hives. The Ministry, of course, because involved and after Morfin and Marvolo attacked the Hit Wizards who had been sent to arrest him they were both taken into custody and tossed into Azkaban. Leaving Merope alone.”

“What happened to her?” though obviously annoyed, Hermione was clearly too curious to interrupt his story midway through. “Did she escape?”

“No. Though she was free she didn’t leave the little shack where she lived. With her family gone and the abuse at end her magic finally blossomed and she took full advantage by brewing a potion and slipping it into Tom Riddle’s drink. That potion was Amortentia; I trust you know of its effect.”

Slate faced, she nodded.

“They married and ran away together and she kept him under its influence for nearly a year until she fell pregnant with his son. Believing that enough time had passed that he’d have fallen in love with her for real or, at the very least, that he would stay for his child she stopped giving him the potion but she was wrong. The moment he’d regained his senses Tom Riddle left her and never looked back.” He said. “The grief stunted her Magic once again; that, combined with her lack of a wand, left her all but cut off from the Magical world and unable to find work. She ultimately sold the locket, the only valuable thing she owned, for a paltry sum out of desperation so that she could eat. Finally, on the bitterly cold night of December 31^st 1926 she stumbled out of the snow onto the doorstep of Wool’s Orphanage where she birthed her son and died an hour later.”

The thread came free from the sheets with a loud snap.

“Do you know what love potions are illegal, Ms. Granger?”

“Of course I do; the reasons are obvious! It’s barbaric; you’re taking away another person’s will! It’s not all that different than the Imperious Curse!”

“Those are the better known reasons. A less known one is that a child conceived under the influence of such a potion is never quite…right. They’re born without the inherent ability to love and to understand love. Don’t misunderstand; it doesn’t leave them unable to love, but rather than being able to inherently comprehend it they have to be taught. And, well…before Harry showed up there was no one in my life willing to do so.” He said. “I’m sure my mother must have loved me in some capacity but all she ever managed to contribute to my life was to name me after the man that she enslaved, kidnapped and raped. There was no teaching done. And all that the torment of the Matron and the other children at the orphanage where I grew up did was teach me to hate and mistrust Muggles. My time at Hogwarts only made that worse.”

Tom was no longer sure if the moisture on his forehead was on account of his still damp hair or a breakout of cold sweat.

“I believed that death was a disgusting mortal weakness, a horrible flaw in humanity, a cosmic joke. I was afraid of it, mortally so, and I believed that my mother’s death was proof that she couldn’t have had magic. So I looked furiously for my father’s name-for Riddle-in the Hogwarts records but found nothing. Finally I gave up and started searching for my mother’s name instead, driven to do so by the content of my first conversation with Nagini, all while enduring my House Mates’ endless torment. The ‘Mudblood of Slytherin’ I was called, until I found out just whose blood I had. Until they realized they could use me for my power. From there I sought to gain control, to find immortality, and to correct the course that the Magical world had taken.”

“By opening the Chamber of Secrets?”

He nodded. “It took me almost another two years to find the entrance, but I tacked it down eventually and found the Basilisk inside.”

“Moaning Myrtle?”

“An accident. I didn’t know that she was there when I came up; when she yelled the Basilisk looked over before I could tell her not to. It was more out of desperation than any form of malice that I framed Hagrid for the crime. The blitz had begun and I didn’t want to be trapped in London forever, forced to live with Death all but sleeping in my bed. I did what I had to; I’m not proud of it now.”

Tom swallowed.

“Having already killed someone, all be it indirectly, I figured ‘why not take revenge on the man who abandoned me as well’. I hunted down my father, now a broken man still living in the same house in the same town, and used my Uncle’s stolen wand to slaughter both him and my grandparents. Then I convinced Morfin that he was not only responsible for the crime but proud of it. I hated my father. Hated that he’d left me so callously to rot in that hell hole. Hated him for saddling me with his name. Hated him for playing a role in my even having been born at all; born unwanted and abandoned to the cruelty of the world. But more than anything I hated myself for how, for just a moment, when my father first saw me and didn’t speak, I thought that maybe he hadn’t known he’d had a son. That maybe he’d welcome me home and I’d finally have a family. For how crushed I felt when he called me a freak.”

His eyes itched. Tom gritted his teeth and scrubbed at them with the back of his hand. Once more reminded of the unhealthy heat of his face.

“When I return for my sixth year a new student, a sixth year like myself, had transferred in. Had been homeschooled up until then, so he said. Was Sorted into Slytherin. And I was drawn to him, inexplicably, in a way that even I couldn’t understand. He was like me. I could tell. I…I wanted him, though at the time I couldn’t understand that it wasn’t truly out of lust or an interest in the power he so clearly held. I hadn’t the capacity at the time. All I saw was green eyes and black hair and I wanted. And Harry used that to trap me. To destroy me. And rebuilt me free of the monster that I’d created as a small, scared child.”

“Harry was never in Romania, was he? It was time travel. You’re not another Horcrux, you’re from the past!”

“I am. But not the past of this time line; there’s enough separation there that reality as we know it wouldn’t collapse around our ears.”

“But how is that possible?”

“I wouldn’t know the mechanics of it. Dumbledore may have written down the basic idea, the premise and overall scope of how it was supposed to function, but the delicate inner workings of Parallel Timeline Traversal Theory died with him.” He said. “All I know is that he sent Harry to retrieve me for assistance with finding the Horcruxes faster by means of a small ring. Unadorned. Silver. It worked like a Portkey but traversed timelines rather than distance. He came to get me at the start of the year and we returned at the end of the first term, narrowly avoiding death at the hands of my nascent Death Eaters who weren’t happy with the loss of their avenue to power. You know everything from there.”

“The Order knows about you?” Tom nodded. “And this was truly Dumbledore’s idea?”

“So Harry tells me.” He said, and then sneezed. Twice. Three times in quick succession. Tom squinted through now watering eyes in order to see her clearly. “The next question you’re going to ask is why Harry didn’t tell the two of you before? I’d like to say, beforehand, that I’ve pushed him to do so before-many times-and that I also can’t blame him for not doing so given your reaction thus far. Being a considerably less intellectual creature I can only imagine Ronald’s reaction will be even more…explosive.”

“He needs to know!” Hermione sat forward aggressively.

Tom sighed, rubbing his burning sinuses. “Harry needs to be the one to tell him.”

She continued to glare for a moment with sharp brown eyes, then crumbled from her coiled position and sighed as well. “I suppose you’re right, Tom. Harry ought to be the one to tell him. And perhaps…waiting until after all of this is done and over with would be best.”

“You know him better than I do; I’ll take your word for that.” Kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up onto the bed Tom let himself collapse against the pillows. “We’ve reached an understanding, then?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I trust you, Riddle. You’re going to have to prove that you really have changed because far too many of your past actions have been far too in line with what I’d expect from him than I’m comfortable with allowing.”

“I suppose that’s understandable,” he said, shivering violently. In an effort to warm himself Tom pulled the sheets and setae up to his chin. “Goodnight, Ms. Granger.”

“Goodnight.” Her reply was rather reluctant.

The sky outside had now lightened considerably. The dark brunet was racked by another fit of violent sneezing before he dropped off into a troubled sleep.

Chapter Text

Tom Marvolo Riddle certifiably felt like shit. And for all that he’d seen it coming the night before-well, the morning before really but what use were such hair-splitting differences when it came down to things?-it did nothing to soften the blow. With any luck it would turn out to be nothing but a cold. With his luck, it was probably a virulent and highly fatal case of Dragon Pox.

Absolutely drenched in sweat, red in the face and no doubt hot enough to fry an egg on his forehead yet somehow still feeling as if he’d been locked in a Muggle freezer he shivered violently and groaned. The vibration of his voice irritated his dry and scratchy throat, sending him into a fit of wracking coughs which soon transformed to violent sneezing which shook him to the core.

Merlin, forget about Muggle bombs and his Dark-mad older counterpart. At this rate, the shuddering would do him in. That or Hermione, whose bedside manner-at least where he was concerned-was less than stellar. Grades aside, someone wouldn’t be getting any jobs in the medical profession.

“Oh, honestly!” Having woken up only about five minutes before the bushy brunet had now realized the frankly quite pitiful state he’d been reduced to: drenched, ashen in skin tone and quivering like a leaf in a hurricane and all that Tom could do was look up at her with watering, red rimmed eyes.

“I do apologize, Ms. Granger, for unintentionally becoming ill and presenting myself as an unwanted nuisance.” He wasn’t certain which was more painful: talking, or having to hear how atrocious his voice sounded. “Don’t mind me, I’m only dying. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Maybe the vague illusion to the horrible loveless existence he’d suffered back at that shite orphanage for most of his life was a bit of a low blow, maybe it wasn’t, but Tom never had been one for pulling punches or considering the feelings of those around him. …Well, apart from Harry but he wasn’t there just then so what did it matter? Entirely miserable and not in the mood to deal with anything, let along the cold shoulder which had come to follow the night prior’s revelation of his identity he rolled onto his side and nestled deeper into the sheets.

They were uncomfortably sticky and damp but were also his only choice if he wanted to get warm. Well, really he needed to cool off but his sudden aversion to the cold-had the raven really managed to infect him with that too?-wasn’t up for being reasonable just then. He just wanted Harry, but since he wasn’t there he’d settle for sleep.

They needed to do more than lay around. Had urgent matters to attend to, like securing food and other supplies. But as things stood he was in no state to be doing anything and wasn’t about to make himself worse by forcing the issue.

Something rounded and made of glass poked him in the back, dead between the shoulder blades, with a bit more force than was really necessary. With a disgruntled noise at having to move Tom lifted his head enough to peer over his shoulder. Hermione was holding a potion vial in one hand and using it to mercilessly prod at him.

“Drink this. We can’t afford for you to be lain up or for me to catch whatever you have.” It seemed as if every muscle and bone in his body protested the action, but the dark brunet somehow still managed to force himself to sit up and take the vial. A Pepper-up Potion, by the look of it. And the look of it was about all he had to go off of at the moment with how clogged his sinuses were. “Take that off and take a shower. I should have a change of clothes for you in here.”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice and knocked back the potion in one as the witch started digging through her beaded purse. Warmth instantly flooded through him, reducing the pressure in his head and the scratchiness of his throat and forcing enough of the fatigue away that he could drag himself out of bed without much difficulty.

“Locket.” She stopped him half way across the room, the change of clothes held out in his direction. “You’ve worn it long enough, especially in your state.”

Though wary of what the Horcrux might do while in the hands of someone it didn’t recognize he knew that she was right. Pulling the chain over his head, Tom handed the Locket over. Cringing slightly. When nothing happened he allowed himself to relax and resumed heading towards the shower.

Despite still feeling rather cold Tom knew he needed to bring his temperature down immediately. He turned the dial as far as it would go in the direction of cold, all but showering in a deluge of hail, and gladly cleaned the layers of sweat from his skin.

Was Harry alright? What about Nagini? Had they gotten away from Number Twelve like he had? Where were they now? What were they doing? How long would it be before they caught up?

Tom hated how vulnerable not being within sight of his Precious made him feel. Hated that part of being in love which truly did make him weak, in some respects. But he was stronger for it over all and wouldn’t trade where he was now for the world.

Especially not to go back to what he used to be.

Having wasted enough time in the shower he turned off the tap, stepped out onto the worn thin mat and dried himself off with a questionably clean towel. Changing into the set of fresh clothes that he’d been given and feeling a great deal better than he had been when he’d just woken up, though not feeling ‘better’ by any means, Tom exited the bathroom again.

“You didn’t use all of the hot water, did you?”

Now that was just uncalled for. “I’ll have you know, Ms. Granger, that this budding Dark Lord showers cold.” At least he did when he was suffering from a high fever. Again, unimportant distinctions. “The hot water is all yours, lioness.”

“Be ready to leave.” The bathroom door clicked shut behind her. Sighing, the dark brunet busied himself with fixing his bed and then perched at the foot of it to wait.

Little words were exchanged after she reemerged from the bathroom and the pair left the dinky little inn a few minutes later.

“It may be better for us to split up.” He said as they clomped down the stairs. The innkeeper sitting behind the desk was the same one as the night before and didn’t so much as spare them a glance. “This town is small and doing so will do nothing but save time. Running into trouble is next to impossible and we can regroup here once everything is finished. All in all there’s no respectable reason for us not to act on the option.”

The look that she sent him left Tom with the creeping suspicion she expected him to seize the chance to bolt. With reluctance tinging her movements, Hermione handed a small stack of pounds to him and said “Send up red sparks if anything happens, Statute be damned.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. And to keep an eye out in case you do.” Having heard what she’d done to Draco in their third year Tom was swift to remove himself from the situation and trotted off down the street.

Much like Little Hangleton, Bywurst hadn’t changed all that much in the decades that had passed since he’d last visited. And even though he’d paid very little attention to the tepid Muggle village around him back when the wards of Wools had visited he was still able to competently find his way to the market.

Everything that can last long enough to not go to waste. After rooting through the majority of the market Tom had managed to come up with some salt and a handful of spices along with meat for jerkying-hopefully he could figure out how to go about doing that-potatoes and carrots, a couple jars of preserves and a loaf of bread. He was perusing the rather sad looking selection of herbs on offer when he felt something crash into his back, nearly knocking him forward into a box of basil.

“Hello, Master.” Nagini, still in her shrunken form, pulled herself up onto his shoulders and vanished into his shirt. “You’re warmer than usual. It’s nice.”

So that was what had crashed into him. Smiling and dropping the thyme he’d been considering the bark brunet turned in Harry’s arms and dropped and draped his own around the smaller raven’s shoulders.

“Hello, Precious.” Thank goodness. Already he could feel his body beginning to relax. Tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying bleeding away. “I hate to have this be our reintroduction but due to an unfortunate splinching I wasn’t able to glamor the locket in time. You have a considerable amount of explaining to do, I’m sure; I’ve already gotten my end of it out of the way at wand point.”

Harry opened his mouth to question him further but didn’t get the chance; Ron appeared from the crowd, looking rather annoyed.

“Bloody hell, Harry! Did you have to leave me alone in that crowd of Muggles?”

Slightly pink, the raven turned apologetically back towards his friend. “Sorry, Ron.”

“Over excited to see me again, were we?” Tom grinned when the smaller male shot him a glare.

“You said that you splinched yourself,” the unvoiced and slightly barbed question of how he’d managed to do so made the dark brunet roll his eyes, “are you alright?”

“A bit of Dittany fixed me up; no need to worry.”

Green eyes squinted at him from behind wire rimmed glasses. “You don’t look ‘fixed up’ to me.” Before Tom could react there was a hand on his forehead. “Merlin, you’re hot!”

“Believe me, I’m very much aware. I’ve been told enough.” The look he was sent made it clear jokes weren’t appreciated where matters of his health were concerned. “I might be coming down with a bit of a cold. But it’s really nothing to worry about.”

Tom was already well aware that the other wasn’t convinced.

“Where’s Hermione?” Ron demanded quite suddenly as if he’d only just now realized the witch wasn’t nearby. “She apparated away from Number Twelve with you, didn’t she?”

“Yes. Relax.” He said. “We split up to cover more ground in the effort to gather supplies. We agreed to meet back at the inn that we were staying in until Nagini managed to locate me and lead the two of you here. But now that you’ve arrived its better we depart.”

“Tom, you’re sick!”

“And I can recover just as well here as somewhere else, Precious.” He was all too aware of the tired edge to his voice. The Pepper-up Potion could only stretch so far against blood loss, the drain from the Horcrux and a cold. “We need to keep moving. It’s our best defense. As long as we keep moving it’ll be harder for them to find us.”

His point was irrefutable but true to his nature Harry still tried. With all the patience he once wouldn’t have possessed Tom refuted his points, even as his exhaustion mounted, and perhaps seeing this the smaller wizard finally relented. They walked back to the inn not long after.

Hermione had already gotten back by the time they arrived and looked about ready to lay into Tom for how long he’d taken to return before noticing the two of them and launching into an avalanche of worried questions instead. Where had they been? Had they run into any trouble? Were both of them alright? Thankfully she didn’t go after him about the truth of Tom’s identity but he knew he’d be answering those questions in the not too distant future.

Needless to say, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

After the lightning round was over Hermione informed them that she had a location in mind at which they could safely make camp for at least a little while and they apparated away.

The Forest of Dean was massive and green, filled with towering trees with thick trunks and gnarled mossy roots. It smelled of sun and dark earth and reminded Harry a bit more of the Forbidden Forest than he would have liked. After the tent was summoned from the bag and erected the raven marched the dark brunet inside and pushed him down onto the nearest bunk.

“Precious, please!” His protest was weak as the mattress creaked beneath him.

“Look mate, I get it that you missed him but ‘Mione and I would rather not see the two of you go at it.” Ron grumbled as he claimed another bunk for himself.

“We’re not going to ‘go at it’, Ron! He’s sick and needs to rest but I know the stubborn git won’t unless he’s forced to!”

Harry was bristled up like a cat and Tom couldn’t help but smile. “The pot really shouldn’t be calling the cauldron black, my dear.” The raven shot him a decidedly more mild glare before moving to curl up next to him. The dark brunet kept him gently at bay. “Not now. I don’t want you catching this too.”

“A cold won’t kill me. And I’ve had worse before.” He said.

“I’m aware.”

Harry sat back on his knees, looking at Tom half lopsided. “Misery loves company, doesn’t it?”

“They do say it does,” his second attempt to lay down was met with the same resistance, “but I love you enough that I’d prefer to be miserable alone.”

“I think I miss the old you.”

Tom snorted. “No. You don’t.” Anything else he might have wanted to say was swallowed up by a massive yawn.

Huffing, he shifted his position so that he was sitting on the side of the bed. “Go to sleep. You need the rest.”

“I’ll be alright in a few days, Precious.” Tom burrowed deeper into the bed he’d been forcibly dropped on. “Don’t worry so much.”

The repetitive motion of fingers carding through damp curls dragged him into a sound sleep moments later.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione’s voice shattered the silence, making him jump and look around. “Ron’s outside. I had him take first watch because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Hermione-.”

“Have you forgotten what happened in second year? About the diary? How can you take anything that comes out of his mouth, anything about him, as genuine?”

“It should be rather obvious why I haven’t gotten around to telling the pair of you yet! Examine your own reaction, Hermione, and you should find all the answers you bloody need!” Feeling the embers of anger stirring inside of him, fanned by the powerful desire to defend the man he loved so much, Harry kept a close eye on the volume of his voice. He didn’t want to wake Tom by accident. “As for your other question I’ll give you the same answer I gave Ginny when she tried to kill him with some of Fred and George’s fireworks! You can’t fake your greatest fear; I saw his boggart twice while I was in the other timeline and though his fear never changed the form it took did!”

The look she gave him alone was enough to urge him onward.

“There’s a reason he made so many Horcruxes. That he created any at all. It isn’t because he wanted immortality for immortality’s sake, it’s because he’s terrified of dying! Tom fears death more than anything else.” He said. “The first time I saw his Boggart it was his corpse. The second time it was mine.”

“You’re really going to tell me he was never running something on you?”

“Of course he was running something on me! He’s Tom Bloody Budding Dark Lord Riddle! But method acting bit him in the arse.” He snapped. “His original plan was ‘convince the new kid that I love him to get him to join my baby Death Eaters and let me into his pants’ to ‘shite, I’m actually in love with him now’.”

“Harry-.”

“No offense, Hermione, but you don’t understand what it’s like to live the way that Tom and I have.” The small pale dark eyed boy sitting alone on a threadbare metal cot in an unfurnished room. The cupboard under the stairs, dark and filled with dust and spiders. “A few things different, and the ‘Dark Lord’ wouldn’t be going after me because I was trying to stop him.” Silence fell between them and stretched into a small eternity. “I’m not going to force either of you to stay.”

“Harry-.”

“If you really have enough of a problem with Tom that you won’t even give him a chance to redeem himself then you can leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” An edge had found its way into her voice. “I trust you, Harry, but I don’t trust him. I just want to make sure that you’re safe.”

“I’m fine, Hermione.” He returned his gaze to the taller wizard’s sleeping form. Even out cold, there was the tightness of discomfort evident in his features. “When it’s out to protect you, there’s nowhere in the world safer than a Basilisk’s coils.”

Chapter Text

Almost two weeks ago they’d arrived in the Forest of Dean. Three days ago, much to the raven’s relief, Tom’s fever had finally broken. An hour ago he’d reached the point where he believed he should be pronounced well enough to contribute to the daily routine of their highly dysfunctional ‘tribe’; gathering firewood, maintaining the spells which hid their campsites, foraging for what little the British Isles had to offer in the face of the approaching winter, keeping watch and wearing the now glamoured Horcrux. Harry, however, wasn’t having it and that was why Tom still found himself planted on his bunk with Nagini draped across his body forced to breathe through his mouth by the painful vice-like pressure still being applied to his sinuses.

They’d moved a handful of times already and were now in yet another forest the name of which he hadn’t bothered to catch. Hermione was trying her best to pluck indignation surrounding his presence up around herself like a cloak and maintain a state of vigilance but how pitiful his state was and how low the cold had brought him (for a while there he’d really been concerned he might die) had made it difficult for her to do so. Still, that hadn’t made the conditions any better.

The season had left the pool of resources which they had to draw from to replenish their supplies as shallow as a puddle of rain water and what they’d bought in Bywurst had begun to run low. Neither he nor Harry were strangers to living feast and famine, specifically the ‘famine’ aspect, and Hermione, too, was faring rather well. Ron however had never had less than three square meals a day each with multiple helpings and the sudden lack of food had left him more than just a little snippy.

Add in the locket Horcrux and the trio were soon snapping at each other like rabid wolves. For all the damage that the Horcrux had done to him, likely because of the stunt he’d pulled using it as a weapon to aid their escape from the Ministry of Magic’s atrium, it hadn’t affected his emotions at all. His efforts to convince them to allow him to wear the locket so that they could all keep their heads clear had been denied on three fronts: Harry out of concern for his weakened state, Hermione out of distrust and Ron because by then he’d simply settled into a pattern of being unreasonable.

If something wasn’t done to keep him occupied soon the young Dark Wizard felt sure he’d lose his mind.

The fluttering of canvas flaps drew dark blue eyes to the entrance in time for him to see Harry duck in through the door. His wand was tucked into the sheath on his wrist and the locket was nowhere to be seen; it must have been passed off to one of the others once his stint at guard duty had come to an end. Green eyes found his and the little raven straightened up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He said, then frowned and reached up to massage the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, I sound like a duck that’s been snorting opium.”

Harry’s smile was tired, crinkling more than it should have around the edges of his eyes, and made him look old. Tom hated it. Hated how they were all out there freezing their arses off slowly starving and snatching at straws. Hated how much the other Wizard, along with countless others Muggle and Magical alike, had suffered. Hated how, in the end, it all boiled down to him. “Well, it’s good to see that you haven’t lost your sense of the dramatic.”

“’Overdramatic’ I’m sure you meant to say.”

“You said it, not me.” Harry said.

Tom made a show of giving an affronted grumble but there wasn’t much force behind it. He was just glad to see that the raven’s smile had become closer to what he was used to seeing.

“Are you still contagious?”

Bleary dark blue eyes blinked at him before Tom raised his arms; that was the final action needed to coax a real smile out of hiding. “Probably not, now that my fever has finally broken.” He said. “Come here.”

Nagini, after a bit of coaxing, made room for Harry on the bunk with a sleepy and rather disgruntled sounding hiss. The little raven quickly filled the empty space, curling into Tom’s side and resting his head on his chest. Long fingers found wild black hair, starting to play with the soft strands.

“How have things been going?” he asked. I wish you’d let me help you. This is my fault. I need to do more than sit here.

“Not well. All of the same things as before. No progress. More fighting.” He wanted to ask, again, for the Horcrux but knew he’d be denied. It wasn’t worth upsetting Harry now. “Tom, I…I don’t even know.”

“Harry.” Ignoring his familiar’s grumbling as she was forced to slither off him fully and leave the bed he pulled the little raven up onto his chest. Running his hands down his back. “Tell me.” He didn’t like to see him like this. With his green eyes shadowed by unhappiness and doubt. “Precious, please.”

“They didn’t come for this, Tom. They didn’t come for weeks of camping in the woods with nothing to show for it. Weren’t prepared for starving in the cold with only one Horcrux and no way to get at the only thing we know of that can destroy it. They came thinking this would be an adventure like what we’ve had at the end of every school year! That it would be whimsical and glory filled and over by Christmas!” He buried his face in Tom’s chest. “And on top of that Hermione doesn’t trust me like she used to; Merlin, it’s like she actually thinks I’d never intended to tell them the truth and that I’m plotting with you to unleash a new Dark Lord once the once currently raising hell in Britain is out of the way!”

The dark brunet didn’t answer, just kept rubbing his thumbs into the small of the raven’s back. For a long time Harry lay curled atop him, listening to the wind outside the canvas tent the still somewhat stilted rhythm of his breathing and the thudding of his heart beat.

“Tell me about the future, Tom.” He mumbled into the side of the taller male’s neck. “Where will we be after the war is over? What will we be doing?”

Not living quite as happily as Harry would probably have liked. Tom knew that they wouldn’t be able to conceal his identity through to the end of the war and when it came out, if he survived, he’d be sure to be a target to pay for his counterpart’s crimes. The Ministry would want him on trial. Would try to throw him into Azkaban at the very least. Those who’d suffered loss and pain at Voldemort’s hands would be after him for a pound of flesh. But the hard truth had no place in the tent with them at that moment.

“Well,” it took him longer than it would otherwise have but he managed to pull a smile onto his face, “the three of you will be returning to school for your final year, I hope?”

Harry made a noncommittal grunt.

“And I’ll start looking for a job. My political aspirations will have to wait at least a little while, as I’ll need to establish myself first. Maybe I’ll teach. Hiring me as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor should break the curse my counterpart put on the position.” He said. “And of course there’d be the matter of our wedding. We’d marry, honeymoon wherever you want, move in to either Grimmauld Place or one of the Potter properties or somewhere else entirely if you’d rather.”

“And have a family?”

Tom smiled again, and this time it was real. “I’m sure there’s a magical child in need somewhere that we can adopt.”

“I’m sure there is,” the little raven’s face was suddenly bright red, “but…”

“But?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Do we have to adopt?” he asked. “Isn’t there a spell, or a potion or something that would…?”

“There might be,” Tom hedged with a sigh, “but it would have to have been invented fairly recently because I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Couldn’t you invent something?”

“Probably, but I don’t feel comfortable using something on you which hasn’t been tested.” He said. “Maybe I’ll use it on myself.”

“Please don’t.”

“Why not? I thought you wanted a child with me.”

“I do, but you’re prissy enough without adding in hormone induced moon swings.” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. Annoyed as he was he still found the expression adorable. “I’d rather not see what you would do in the pursuit of a midnight snack of fish tacos and ice cream.”

“Smart arse.” Tom huffed, tugging gently on his hair. “That said, I concede your point. I’d be a ruddy nightmare.”

Both laughed. Harry settled his chin back on Tom’s chest and nuzzled closer, his green eyes fluttering closed. “I’d still love you anyway.” He said. “I’ll always love you, Tom, no matter what might happen. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” He knew it, yes, but he also knew he didn’t deserve it. “And I love you as well, Harry. With everything I have.” Silence fell again between them, and after close to an hour both drifted off to sleep.

That respite didn’t last for very long and after dinner the animus which the locket had been steadily fostering between them finally boiled over. Ron went off first, Harry not far behind and soon the pair were fighting. Snapping at each other and snarling like dogs. Digging into weak points. Tearing at vulnerabilities. Prodding. Mocking. Everything exploded when Harry brought up the Red Head’s family and Ron responded by reminding the raven he didn’t have one.

Wands were drawn and something inside him snarled, urging his body forward, but he held himself back. Harry could fend for himself and Hermione wouldn’t allow the hard-headed pair to kill each other but she’d blow him clear to the North Sea if he so much as attempted to lift a finger towards separating them.

He left the tent in a rush and shifted, paws landing on frozen ground and kicking up the layers of frost and fallen leaves which had formed across it. Snow had begun to fall at some point earlier and the air smelled like ice and nighttime. He paid no mind to the flakes which landed in his fur as he ran. Not going far, just down the hill atop which they’d made camp and around the rise of its shield, looking to burn off steam and time. With any luck by the time he got back the argument would be over.

For better or worse.

Hearing an unfamiliar noise Tom skipped to a stop as quietly as a pair of soft paws could against a crackling carpet and paused to listen. Ears perking up, swiveling left then right. Wet, black nose twitching in the ever deepening darkness in search of scents which shouldn’t be there.

The prickling sweetness of the leaf litter and the rich wet soil. The chalkiness of dust spread across gravel and the silt-laden water of a river trickling nearby. Wood smoke. Roasting fish. And people.

His hackles rose and his tail puffed out as he realized the noises that he’d heard were voices, yet too far away to leave the words being spoken discernable. Chuffing, stance cautious, Tom crept forward. Moving through the undergrowth with all the quiet he could manage to muster. And then the brush gave way to the slopping bank of the little river and the fire which had been erected there by three figures: Ted Tonks, Dean Thomas, and a Goblin he didn’t recognize.

Tom relaxed, rising to his fox form’s full if rather unimpressive height but didn’t stray from the tree line. Ears at last able to clearly discern their words.

“It was a fake.” Dean was saying, earning a disgusted grunt from the Goblin. Tom received the distinct impression he’d come in the middle of a story. “I know because, well…Ginny told me before I left. She broke into the Headmaster’s office with Neville and some of the others trying to get the sword; not sure why. Detention with the Carrows must have been a nightmare.”

The Sword of Gryffindor wasn’t in the castle anymore? Had been replaced, it seemed, with some manner of decoy? By who? Why? And where was it now?

Before he could consider any of those questions a large stone, picked up from the bank, collided with his side and he yelped, taking off back towards the tent as he heard Ted say “bloody hell, Griphook, it’s only a fox.”

Ron was gone when he got back, shifting back onto two legs and re-entering the tent. He barely had the chance to brace himself before Harry crashed into him and wrapped his arms around his waist. When Tom looked to Hermione he found her eyes rimmed red.

“What happened?” he asked, ribs still tender where the stone had struck him.

“Ron ran out. Said he didn’t want to deal with this anymore.” She said. “It’s just the three of us now, unless he comes back. If we’re going to find some way to get to the-.”

“Forget it.” He ignored the annoyed look the witch sent him for interrupting her. “There’s no point in risking breaking into Hogwarts. Especially not now that we’re a man down. It wouldn’t advance our efforts.”

“How, Riddle, would retrieving the sword not ‘advance our efforts’ when it can destroy the locket?”

“Because even if we succeeded in breaking in and getting out again we wouldn’t achieve anything. The blade in his office is a fake.” He said. “The real sword of Gryffindor has been stolen.”

Chapter Text

Where in the hell Hermione had found the bloody thing Tom neither knew (though he strongly suspected Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was involved) nor particularly cared and exactly why she’d thought it might be pertinent to cram it into her expanded beaded bag of tricks he had no idea. Either way, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Slytherin Phineas Nigelus Black had been neither happy nor helpful to be summoned blindfolded and threatened. All of the information he’d been willing to offer them had been tidbits they’d either already known or could have guessed. After insulting the trio enough to leave Tom sorely tempted to light the portrait on fire he’d absconded and not returned.

Left with a dead end they’d been given no other choice but to twiddle their thumbs, essentially, for the next three days before the time came where they could no longer remain in that campsite safely and had to move, settling this time atop a cliff near the sea. All chances of Ron being able to locate them if he decided to return were gone, now, and ever since Hermione had been nearly inconsolable. Touchier than usual. Leading Tom to shield himself with ‘cute’ by spending most of his time in fox form. Just to be sure she wouldn’t suddenly snap, drag him out of the cave and hurl him off the cliff into the sea.

Ability to fly unassisted aside, that wasn’t an experience he particularly wanted to go through.

It had now been a week since then and all he’d heard had been the sighing of the ocean-muted behind the powerful wards which they’d erected around their campsite to keep themselves safe from discovery-the pattering of the winter rain against the canvas roof of the tent over their heads, Hermione’s sobbing and the sound of their breathing. On occasion one of them would get up and move around or Nagini would hiss something to him or Harry but even still the dark brunet felt as if he’d forgotten the fact that other sounds existed at all.

He was curled up beside Harry with his eyes closed and his head resting on his chest, body numb and limp beneath the distracted attention the raven was paying to his ears, but started when the other wizard suddenly spoke.

“What if we were wrong?”

His voice echoed through the confines of the magically extended tent, almost thunderous against the drumming of rain and waves which had by now faded into background noise. Nagini raised her head up off of her emerald coils and hissed a wordless question. Tom crossed his paws demurely over each other and tucked his tail about his body.

“Wrong?” Hermione’s voice was raw and cracked from the amount of crying she’d been doing. “What do you mean, ‘what if we were wrong’, Harry? Wrong about what?”

“About the sword.” He said. “About it being stolen. What if we were wrong? What if it wasn’t stolen?”

Tom sighed and rested his head on his crossed paws.

“Do you not trust Tom now?” though aware he wasn’t anything remotely close to threatening in his current form he still sent her the best glare that he could muster on account of the fact that he considered her tone to be very much uncalled for. “According to what he overheard from Dean, the Sword of Gryffindor in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts is fake. Presumably, Snape would have had a Goblin brought in to confirm the matter. Are you going to tell me you think that that Goblin was wrong?”

“No, Hermione. I’m not saying that I think that the Sword of Gryffindor at the school isn’t a fake.” Harry was wearing the locket again and, judging by his own tone, had taken exception to the other’s tone as well. “What I am saying is that it may not have been stolen. It may have been replaced.”

“By who?”

“By Dumbledore.” Harry drawled. “It wouldn’t be the first time that he hasn’t told us everything! That he’s strewn pieces of a puzzle around for us to find as if we were playing some sort of game and not dealing with a war that could cost the lives of hundreds of people! To think he even-Tom!”

The brunet had shifted back while the little raven had been distracted and, before he could act to stop him, had snagged the chain of the Horcrux with one of his fingers and flipped it over his head.

“Hey!” The raven tried to lunge for him but Tom caught both of his wrists with one of his hands and held the locket out of reach with the other.

“Enough! You’ve worn it for more than long enough, both of you, and you’re not in any state to keep it up anymore.” He said. “Listen to yourself, Precious! No matter how upset with Dumbledore you might become or how badly you might think of him I know that you’d never have said anything like that! It’s obvious that the locket is affecting you far more than it should.”

“Tom!”

“This isn’t something that I’m going to negotiate with you!”

“You can’t wear it!”

“It doesn’t affect me like it does the two of you.”

“You might get sick again!”

“Harry!”

“I’ll switch out with Hermione instead!”

“Switch out with Hermione? Are you bloody insane? She’s already acting like a harpy!”

“He’s right, Harry.” Between having to agree with Tom on something and offense at his comment the expression on her face was less than kind. “Only having two people wear it doesn’t give us enough time to recover. And with Ron gone we don’t have any choice but to let Tom have a chance.”

The raven sagged slightly, turning his head far enough to send the bushy brunet a half-helpless half-betrayed look. “But-.”

“Precious.” The by now familiar soft tone had invaded his voice again. Releasing the little raven’s wrists he rested a gentle, warm hand against his face. Cupping his jaw. “I know you’re worried for me and I appreciate that, I really do, but you need to let me do something. I can’t just sit around doing nothing when I’m responsible, indirectly or not, for so much.”

Harry didn’t say anything more than that but his glittering green eyes continued pleading with him.

“I promise that if I begin to feel even a little bit weak while wearing it I’ll take it off immediately.” He said. “I promise.”

After a last drawn out moment the raven sighed and relaxed. “Alright.” He said. “But you’d better remember that promise, Tom.”

“I will.” He gently ran long fingers through the smaller male’s wild black hair. “You know I’d never lie to you, Precious. That I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, anymore.”

Hyperbolic as Harry knew the other’s statement likely was, it was still a nice sentiment.

“I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

The sudden apparent digression took both Tom and Hermione to look at him with mirrored expressions of surprise. “What? Why?”

“Harry, we can’t! That’s-!”

“Exactly where the snake faced plonker would expect me to go, I know, but it’s not just out of a desire to see my parents graves for the first time in my life.” Harry said. “Where better to hide Godric Gryffindor’s sword than Godric’s Hollow?”

“He has a point.” Tom’s voice was heavily laced with reluctance as he crossed his arms over his chest. “But if we’re going to do this it’s not going to be tonight. Tomorrow at the earliest, so that we have time to plan. And we’re going to do it the Slytherin way.”

“And what, Riddle, constitutes the ‘Slytherin Way’?”

“Cautiously, Ms. Granger.” He growled, turning and sitting back down on the edge of the bunk. “Now it’s getting late and we should be turning in for the night. Who has the first shift for guard duty?”

“I do.” Hermione rose from her bunk with the rustle of sheets and tromped out of the tent. Tom sighed and, when Harry’s hand landed on his wrist, looked over at him in silent question.

“Don’t turn back. At least not yet.” He said. “You’ve been in fox form for so long, only shifting back for guard duty and…I’ve missed you.” Harry had gone slightly pink in the face. “I’ve missed lying down with you.”

“Missed me?” the dark brunet purred, pulling the little raven tight against his chest and dropping his face into his hair. “Well, we’ll have to rectify that won’t we love?” Releasing Harry abruptly, he stretched out on the bed and held up the covers. “Lay with me. We have enough time between now and the next shift for us to get in a good bit of sleep and cuddling in beforehand. Let’s not waste it.”

Harry didn’t need further encouragement and quickly curled up beside him, tangling their legs together and tucked his head under his chin. Tom raised an arm to snuff out the surrounding lanterns then draped it over the smaller male and closed his eyes. Surrounded by the warmth and shelter they’d only ever been able to find in each other the pair could almost imagine that the war had already ended.

It wasn’t much later that they drifted off to sleep.

“I’ll go ahead and use my Animagus form to scout the area; if I don’t come back in half an hour than you’ll know it’s safe to come along.”

“Or that you’ve been hurt or killed.” Now it was Harry’s turn to cross his arms, tapping his wand against his leg and sending sparks scattering across the frosted ground. “Bellatrix knows what your animal form looks like. What if she’s one of the Death Eaters stationed there, if there are any at all. I don’t like this, Tom!”

“I have to admit to agreeing with Harry, Master.” Nagini hissed. “This plan doesn’t seem very sound, ‘Slytherin’ or not.”

“There isn’t another choice if Harry wants to go to Godric’s Hollow and visit his parents’ grave.” He said. “We have to make sure the area is safe somehow or we’ll all but certainly be apparating straight into trouble.”

“Then at least use-!” Harry began.

“If it’s snowing here it’s doubtlessly snowing even more closer to London and my footsteps would give me away if I were to use the invisibility cloak.” Tom said. “Trust me, Precious, please. I’ll be fine.”

“Tom-.”

“Harry,” the dark brunet stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller male. “You know nothing will keep me from you, don’t you? I’ll come back.”

“You’d better.” Harry huffed.

Tom chuckled, kissed him on the forehead and then stepped away. “I’ll see you soon, carissimi.” He spun on his heel and their camp disappeared from sight.

He reappeared in the shadow of the same cathedral he’d stood outside of that summer, staring once more at the all too familiar kissing gate of St. Jeromy’s Cemetery. Snow was up to his ankles already and still falling fast, landing all around him with quiet pattering sounds. His breath rose in silver clouds which took on the myriad of brilliant colors beaming down through the beautiful painted windows of the building behind him. Recognizable chords of the hymn ‘My Love is Always Here’ echoed through the stone walls.

They’d lost track of time entirely while on the road and the realization that it was Christmas Eve swept over him in a tide of images of how the night should have been spent: curled up by the fire with his raven without a care in the world beyond each other.

Tom huffed and fell forward onto all fours, cautiously taking in his immediate surroundings before creeping out of his position hidden in the deep shadows. Pausing once more to listen. Nothing beyond the snow landing all around him and the music from within the church reached his ears.

His paws punched through the ice encrusted snow with quiet cracks as he trotted up to the kissing gate and pawed at it, cursing the canine’s lack of apposable thumbs. At least if he’d had a snake as an animal form he could have slipped through some of the slats of the wrought iron fence, never mind the fact that he’d probably have frozen in the cold before he’d achieved anything even marginally close to being considered meaningful.

The gate clattered against the metal latch that held it closed. Growling, Tom propped himself up on his hind legs and, after a valiant effort and a great deal of uncomfortable stretching, managed to push it up with his nose.

At last the gate swung open, allowing the young Dark Wizard masquerading as a fox to proceed into the graveyard beyond.

The place had been solemn enough during the summer but now, in the cold of that lonely winter’s night, it had been buried beneath a pall of silence as thick as the snow which covered everything. The gravestones seemed to stare as he moved between them, charting a meandering path between them that would ensure no one who might have been lurking nearby would suspect his destination or that he was anything more than an animal.

He waited five minutes three graves down and, once certain that no one was waiting to ambush them when the other two arrived, turned and headed towards the statue he’d seen when last he’d been there but hadn’t had the chance to visit.

Tom didn’t know what it would have looked like to a Muggle, a World War II memorial more than likely, but to him-to any witch or wizard-it revealed itself for what it really was. A couple sat together, smiling, atop a bench; a wizard wearing a pair of familiar spectacles-round and wire rimmed-and a witch with long hair holding a contented infant in her arms. Snow rested atop their heads like knitted caps and gathered on their shoulders like scarves.

The Potter Memorial.

Tom lowered himself onto his haunches, head low and ears turned back in a posture not unlike a dog being reprimanded after doing something it had thought would please its owner. Tucking his tail beneath him. Shivering in the snow. It couldn’t be that much longer before the other two would arrive. He’d wait there.

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Tom heard something shuffle off to his right and turned his head, looking sharply through the darkness. Nothing but the offensive smell of rotting meat had begun to permeate the area.

The sound of feet breaking the snow from only a few feet behind him made the dark brunet whirl around with a snarl and a snap. Harry jerked back in alarm, green eyes wide between the same round glasses his father had worn.

“Sorry,” he said, “we didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

The stench had begun to fade back into the smell of snow and nighttime, but still Tom wasn’t willing to shift back. Huffing softly, Tom set his paws against the raven’s knee and nuzzled his hand in apology. Harry smiled, crouched down and started to scratch behind his ears. Hermione was less forgiving of his reaction though her glare seemed less sharp than usual.

“What’s wrong? Why are you still in fox form?”

Shrugging as an animal was a difficult thing to do. Tom sneezed instead.

“Why’d you wait here and not at the grave?” he looked up at the statue, likely for the first time actually examining it, and his expression transformed into one of surprise. “Is that-?”

“Harry,” Hermione stepped forward and gently touched his arm, “we can’t hang around here all night. If we’re going to visit your parents’ graves we need to get moving.”

Tom nudged the little raven in the leg in agreement and started back in the direction of the Potter family grave, leading the way through the forest of headstones. By the time the three of them got there the snow had finally stopped falling. The lights had gone out in the church and, in the distance, they could see the occupants beginning to leave.

Both the dark brunet and the witch showed their pace as the grave came into view, leaving Harry to proceed forward on his own. A few moments passed where the raven just stared at the grave, but then he dissolved into tears and fell to his knees in the snow.

Tom contained his false start forwards only barely but Hermione still noticed it. Thought it was obvious that he’d far from won her trust and she was still less than pleased by Harry’s choice in relationship partner she still said “go” and walked off to give them a bit of privacy, Nagini presumably contained in her bag.

Lifting himself back onto two legs Tom spent a few painful moments longer watching the other wizard’s shoulders hitch, then he moved forward to kneel beside him and pulled the other into his arms. Harry curled into the offered comfort immediately and, not knowing what he could possibly have said, Tom simply held him until he stopped, and even for a while after that.

They didn’t break apart until Hermione reappeared, the look on her face enough to raise the hairs along the back of his neck.

“Harry, Tom, there’s someone standing at the graveyard’s gate.” She said.

“Who?” the raven’s voice was barely audible with how muffled it was by Tom’s chest.

“I don’t know.” She said. “They’re just…staring.”

“Do you think they’re a Death Eater?” Tom asked.

“I don’t think so. They’re…old. An old woman.”

“An old woman was staring at you from the gate of a graveyard in the middle of the night on Christmas eve?” he said. “That’s….creepy.”

There wasn’t any other way to describe it, really.

“We should see what she wants.” Harry said. “She may be the one that Dumbledore left the sword with.”

Both brunets were left united for that moment in the thought that that was an idea which could charitably be considered…less than safe. Still…

“Following a random old woman who could just as easily be Baba Yaga as a Death Eater under Polyjuice Potion is not in any way a Slytherin decision. However,” Tom sighed, “Dumbledore wasn’t a Slytherin and it is a very Gryffindor one. Precious is right. Has she seen all three of us, Ms. Granger, or just you?”

“Just me, I think. Why?”

“Because the element of surprise may yet still be on our side.” Tom said. “Give me the invisibility cloak; it won’t be much with all the snow on the ground but if she can see the two of you it’s likely a third set of footprints would go unnoticed and if something goes wrong…”

He didn’t need to finish what he’d been saying because Hermione had already removed the invisibility cloak and thrust it towards him. Tom disappeared beneath the silvery material and the trio began to shuffle towards the gate.

The ‘old woman’ was, dare he say it, less ‘old’ and more ‘ancient’. Decrepit and bent about herself like a hollowed out tree she clutched a cane in one gnarled dragon-like claw and was draped in fabric which wouldn’t have looked out of placed hung across a window as a curtain; it was about as equally caked in dust. Tom was struck with the confusing sensation that he’d seen her before, quickly followed by the realization that he remembered where: the back of his A History of Magic textbook, though she’d looked a bit younger then.

This was Bathilda Bagshot. She knew Dumbledore, didn’t she? Had been one of the people Rita Skeeter had interviewed for her stupid little tabloid masquerading as a book? Maybe Harry had been right. Maybe Dumbledore had left the Sword of Gryffindor in Godric’s Hollow. Maybe she did have it.

The other two seemed to recognize the woman as well because Harry said “Ms. Bagshot?” in a questioning tone. Rather than respond the aged witch simply nodded, turned, and began to shuffle down the street.

Odd.

Presumably, she expected them to follow her. Either way, that was what they did. Walking down the quiet, otherwise empty streets with Harry in front with Bathilda and Hermione and Tom a few steps behind. The raven was chatting with the old witch quietly, awkward, trying to get further information out of her without knowing exactly how best to go about it. To Hermione their words were little more than the indistinguishable hiss of whispers but to him they were so much more and it chilled Tom to the bone to realize the truth.

Parseltongue.

This wasn’t Bathilda Bagshot at all.

They were walking into a trap!

Tom bit down on the swelling urge to raise the alarm; that would have been a very stupid mistake as there was no way for him to know how many of them could be lurking in the area waiting to pounce not to mention there was still the chance that the sword could be hidden somewhere in the house. Their best chance of slipping his counterpart’s net with the lowest likelihood of injury would be to allow the imposter to lead them into an enclosed area. As long as he didn’t allow Harry out of his sight he could contain the situation and everything would be alright.

Unseen beneath the folds of the invisibility cloak Tom drew the hornbeam wand from the sheath on his wrist.

They arrived at the property a few tense minutes later. The gate creaked as it was pulled open. Tom’s heart thudded in his chest. They walked up the ice bound path towards the front door. The inside of the house was dark and cluttered and filled with an offensive odor; damp, excrement, urine and rotting flesh. Hermione moved across the cramped room with the mincing delicacy of someone walking across thin ice. His heightened state of awareness worked against him and, distracted by his paranoia, Tom didn’t realize Harry had left the room before he turned and found the raven gone.

There were footsteps on the floor above.

Cursing, the dark brunet flung the cloak away and rushed onto the second floor. A hall, dim and narrow and equally as cluttered as the floor below. A doorway to his left, propped open by an overflowing chamber pot. More Parseltongue, a shout of alarm and the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. Wand raised high and throwing white light across the massive emerald serpent and the corpse it had crawled out of Tom barreled into the room and bellowed “Nagini, no!”

The leviathan spun around with a hiss of alarm, an expression flickering across her face which was the closest thing to surprise a snake would ever manage to muster.

 “Master?” She hissed, Harry’s presence seemingly forgotten, and slithered over to examine him more closely. “You look different. Younger. Like you used to.” A Horcrux. Five times the size of his Nagini. This wasn’t his Nagini; he had to keep that in mind. Had to get rid of her while he had the chance. And without the sword there was only one, very dangerous method through which to do so. Made all the more so by the grief and guilt which flooded through him at even the thought of doing it. Even if it wasn’t his Nagini. Even if he was putting her out of her misery. “You smell whole again. Like you did before you broke yourself and gave me one of your pieces to protect.”

She’d come within inches of him now, so long that when she raised body halfway off the floor she was eye level with him. Tom reached out and took her giant head in his hands. Running his fingers over her cold, smooth scales. “I’m sorry, Nagini.”

“What are you apologizing for, Master?” Her tongue flicked against the back of his hand. “Why did you stop me? You told me to hold the boy until you got here. To bite him and make sure he couldn’t get away. How are you already here? I didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry, Nagini.” Hermione, who had come up the stairs behind him, darted passed to his left to join Harry where he was still standing. Watching them. The serpent tried to turn back to the cornered pair with a threatening hiss by Tom dug his nails into her scales and with a monumental effort managed to hold her in place. Aiming his wand at the nearest point of her monstrous body and locking down his barriers as best he could in hopes of eradicating any chance of a lapse in control. “Caleo Infernum.”

All of the oxygen was sucked from the room, the air heating to an uncomfortable degree as a concentrated jet of flame erupted from the tip of his wand. Sulfurous. Dark orange. Blindingly bright. His magic railed against him as the spell fought to break free of his control and it took almost everything he had to prevent the devilish flames from slipping their bonds and exploding into a hellish conflagration that would consume the house and all four of them along with it. His counterpart had erected protections around the snake and they held up admirably but the fire was too strong, too hot, and broke through. Licking across scales. Quickly reducing flesh to ashes. But he’d removed his focus from holding the snake in place in order to be able to control the spell and, realizing that he wasn’t her Master after all, Nagini’s last act was to sink her fangs as deep into his forearm as she could.

Tom yowled and toppled backwards, cutting off the spell just in time to prevent it from breaking loose. Falling with the weight of the burning snake on top of him. His ears were ringing. His arm throbbing as the venom spread. Thoughts like ‘highly venomous’, ‘injects enough venom to kill five men in a single bite’ and ‘hemotoxin’ scattering like frightened mice through his mind.

I’m going to die. He wasn’t sure if it was ironic or pathetic that the cause of his death was a bite from his own familiar.

Hands, Harry’s or Hermione’s he couldn’t tell, grabbed him by the shoulders and the oppressive darkness of apparition collapsed in around him.

Chapter Text

Mr. Weasley had almost died after he’d been bitten by Nagini, and he’d been at St.Mungo’s at the time; a fully stocked wizarding hospital. They were out in the middle of Merlin only knew where with nothing around them but trees for miles. Dittany would have healed the punctures but would do nothing for the venom and even if Hermione had brought bezoars or general antidotes with her in her bag it would do nothing. Rationally he knew that, but the rational part of him had left the area the moment Tom’s locket had started to burn. Tom was in danger. Tom was dying. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Tom!” He fell to his knees beside him in the frozen leaf litter, clutching at every inch of him that he could reach. Hands. Arms. Clothes. He was drenched in cold sweat and far paler than he should have been, the flesh around the punctures rapidly turning black. Already aware of the answer, he turned towards Hermione with wild eyes. “Help him!”

She, too, was almost ghost white. Standing with a hand over her face and the invisibility cloak draped over her arm. Tears made her brown eyes sooty and she shook her head, as helpless as he was.

“You can’t do anything?” What did screaming do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. So why? Because he needed to vent, somehow, and there was nothing more that he could do. “You can’t do anything? Really? Or maybe you just don’t want to because of who he might have become! You can’t just let him die because of what he might have done!”

“Precious.” His voice was dry. Weak. His hand shaking as it lifted off the ground, thin fingers winding in the fabric of the front of his shirt. “Don’t. It’s not her fault. Don’t do this.” This was worse than that horrible night in the castle when Ginny had attacked him with fireworks, when he’d stumbled on him lying on the ground and for a split second thought him dead, because this time he really was dying and there was no hospital wing to take him to. The blackness had spread passed his elbow now; spattered with sickly splotches of green and yellow. The afflicted arm lay twitching but otherwise limp against the frozen ground. Tom set his other hand against the raven’s cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb. “You can’t burn your bridges. It’s just the two of you left. You have to do this alone now.”

“Tom, no! You’re not dying! You can’t!”

“I’m sorry, Precious.” The same worn tired tone with which he’d spoken to the massive snake. His dark blue eyes sagged shut, body weighed down with exhaustion. It was starting to become difficult to breathe. “Take care of my Nagini.”

“Tom. Tom, no! You have to stay awake!” Harry seized the taller male by the shoulders and shook him with all his might, not caring that he was banging the dark brunet’s head against the hard ground as he did so. “You have to stay awake!”

“I’m sorry, Precious.” His words were slurred, now. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Tom!” What to do? What to do? He had to do something! Couldn’t just let the other wizard die! But what?

The moke skin bag that Hagrid had given to him.

The chunk of broken mirror he’d dropped into it and forgotten about.

The eye that he’d seen in it back at Number Four. Bright blue and familiar.

He tore the drawstring bag from around his neck and ripped it open, up ending it and spilling both the mirror shard and the snitch onto the forest floor. Seizing the shard he brought it close to his face. Expecting, hoping, that he’d once more find the eye looking back at him.

An eye was indeed staring back at him but with a surge of panicked disappointment Harry realized that it was his own.

“Help!” Tears had choked off his voice into an almost inaudible wail. Nothing answered him. The image didn’t change. “Help! Please! Tom is dying! Please!”

Nothing. The mirror remained just as empty as it had been when he’d first pulled it from the bag. Disgusted and overwhelmed, he threw the shard away and heard it shatter on the ground before slumping forwards over Tom’s chest. Sobbing harder than he had since Sirius’ death in the Department of Mysteries two years before. Great, wracking sobs which burned his throat and hurt his chest.

He’d lost so many people in his life already that, fair or not, he should have been used to it by now at least to some degree. But losing Tom was losing more than just a person. More than just a friend or the man he loved. It was losing, once again, any chance of a truly happy future.

He sobbed so hard his body shook and his ears began to ring. A high pitched, eerie piping sound which grew steadily louder as minutes passed until the sound of feathered wings could be heard through the trees and he realized it wasn’t ringing in his ears at all. He raised his head and looked around, green eyes centering in on the splotch of gold and scarlet racing towards them through the darkness.

“Fawkes!” But how? Had the mirror actually worked? Had his cry for help been heard after all?

The Phoenix let out a joyous cry and soared into the clearing they’d apparated into, landing beside Tom with the quiet rustle of jewel-bright feathers and the clatter of golden claws. He lowered his handsome head, tilting downwards as if to examine the ugly wound in his arm, then blinked and dripped familiar pearlescent tears onto the open flesh.

A thin cloud of silvery smoke rose from the wound, growing thicker with each healing tear that fell from the Phoenix’s beady black eyes. The bruised-blackness began a steady retreat back down Tom’s arm, withdrawing towards the wound, and then disappeared completely. The punctures sealed up, leaving in their place a shiny silver scar. Fawkes raised his head to meet Tom’s eyes.

With a momentary hesitance the dark brunet lifted his formerly wounded arm towards the Phoenix, pausing just short of making contact with the vivid feathers. Fawkes clicked his beak, warbled and leaned his head against his hand. Tom seemed fascinated by the bird, almost unable to believe that Dumbledore’s former familiar and the donner of the core of both their wands was allowing him to touch his feathers and after everything, feeling almost entirely wrung out by the roller coaster of emotions the night had been Harry was still able to bring himself to smile.

“Thank you.” He said, sounding very much like he truly meant it.

Fawkes nipped at Tom’s fingers then turned his head to look at Harry and whistled.

“Thank you, Fawkes.” He said.

The Phoenix called again, his musical cry echoing off the trees around them like the ringing of crystal chimes, then spread his wings and lifted off from the frosted ground. His gold and scarlet form soon vanished over the black tops of the naked trees.

“Are you alright?” he asked, still slightly choked up, as Tom shuffled himself into a position somewhat considerable as upright.

“Physically.” He still sounded tired and worn down, but now that he wasn’t panicking over the looming reality of his partner’s death on the frozen forest floor Harry could hear the sadness which laced his voice. Looking very much like a kicked puppy, Tom raised his dark blue eyes to Harry and said “she wasn’t my Nagini,” before breaking down.

Tom still hadn’t quite gotten around to becoming comfortable with displaying his emotions, and this was painfully obvious in the way he forced himself to remain silent and almost completely still but for the slightest hitching of his shoulders as the tears flecked dark lashes and dripped down his cheeks. The sob only broke free when Harry wrapped his arms around him and the dark brunet buried his face in the side of his neck.

He only looked up again with reluctance when Hermione’s hesitant footsteps stopped not far away, eyes wet and over bright. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, half guilty, and was struggling to hold up the weight of the snake in her arms as Nagini stretched towards him.

“Master,” her tongue flicked out at them. There was worry in his voice. “You smell like death and fire. Why are you crying?”

“Nagini.” It was choked. Pained sounding. The snake hissed in alarm and coiled around him and he clutched at her in response. Almost like a frightened child would clutch at his mother after having been lost in a crowd of strangers. Determining it was no doubt better to leave Tom be for a little while and allow him to get it out Harry rose and looked over at Hermione.

“Thank you.” She nodded but didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry.”

Another nod was all the acknowledgement that he received before Hermione said “we should start setting up,” and walked away from him. Beginning to weave the by now familiar protective wards around the clearing. Harry joined her, circling the clearing and waving his wand in a myriad of patterns. Voicing the incantations he’d grown so used to, now, that he barely had to focus in order to cast them. Occasionally glancing back at where Tom was still curled up on the ground with Nagini.

After the wards were woven to a passable degree the pair moved on to raising the tent. The sky had begun to lighten as the earliest hours of the morning drew nearer, Hermione stopped him at the door of the tent.

“I’ll take first watch,” she said. “Just worry about Tom. You should get him inside before he freezes or catches another cold.”

Nodding, Harry left Hermione to settle herself on a rock outside of the tent to walk over to where the dark brunet was still sitting. Tom was curled up into a ball with Nagini’s emerald coils wrapped around his form, staring despondently out into the dark trees as the snake made a tone-deaf attempt at what sounded like a lullaby.

Harry had felt terrible when he’d lost Hedwig, but as close as he’d been to the owl who’d been his first friend and only link to the magical world that bond had been nothing compared to Tom’s bond with Nagini. And he hadn’t been the one who’d had to kill her. He couldn’t imagine what the other Wizard must have been going through and as much as he wanted to focus on his own relief that Tom had survived he knew that it was more than likely better to give him his space for the time being.

Harry rested a hand on his shoulder and did his best to offer a comforting smile when the dark brunet looked up at him. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

“It’s late and cold. Come inside.” He said.

“Harry is right, Master.” Nagini hissed. “You’ve come close to dying once already today. We don’t want you to catch a cold again.”

He continued to stare for a long moment before getting to his feet with a bit of struggle, knocking frost free of his clothes, and began to head towards the tent with a stiff stumbling gate. Harry followed him.

“Are you alright?” he’d already asked that already but asked it again regardless. As Nagini adjusted her position so that she was balanced on his shoulders Tom nodded. No verbal answer. “Are you certain?” Another nod as they both ducked in through the opening of the tent. Another nod as Tom sat down on their bunk and curled up on his side. Instead of going to lay down beside him Harry took up a position on the bunk which had formerly been occupied by Ron and watched him until he fell asleep.

“This is hard for him. Very hard for him.” He jumped at the suddenness of Nagini’s voice and turned his head to look at her. Amber eyes gleamed in the low light of the tent. “He carries so much weight over what his counterpart had done and fails to understand that just because he once held the same beliefs which drive the monster you fight doesn’t mean that he’s responsible for what has happened. Or that he should pay recompense for what he might have done.”

“I know. And you’re right. But I’ve already done everything I can to help him realize that, Nagini.” Harry said. “Tom has to move passed the rest of it himself. No one can make him realize anything until he’s willing to let it go.”

Nagini hissed again and settled down beside Tom’s sleeping form. Silence persisted in the tent for a while before Harry got back to his feet and went to join Hermione at the front of the tent.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Sleeping.” He said. “This is all so hard on him. I’m worried about what his mental state might be when all of this is finally over.”

“I was wrong about him. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one that you should be apologizing to.” Harry said. “How has watch been?”

“Fine?” Yet she looked uncomfortable. “I just feel like…we’re being watched.”

Watched? Harry squinted through the darkness in a doomed effort to discern any figures which might have been lurking in the dark trees but as far as he could tell there was nothing there. Even still, now that Hermione had mentioned it, Harry couldn’t help but feel it too. “I can take watch the rest of the night, if you want?”

“Are you sure, Harry? I can do it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He said. “Really, Hermione, it’s alright.”

The witch made a few more weak protests, more out of politeness than any real desire to stay out there in the cold and Harry continued to insist until she finally gave up and went inside leaving the raven alone in the frigid dark. He still felt those eyes on him but no matter how hard he looked. Harry couldn’t make out anything beyond shadows and snow. The feeling persisted until sunrise; at that point all awareness of it faded away into a splitting all too familiar pain.

The house, empty and dark in the strengthening light of early morning. Why hadn’t he been called? Nagini had never failed him before. Had never disobeyed him before. Black robes flickering behind him he soared in through the broken window, confronted by the half-incinerated form of his familiar.

Nagini! His companion! His Horcrux! Dead! Fiendfyre, clearly, but how? Potter couldn’t have known of such a spell, surely, let alone cast it with enough control not to destroy the house and himself along with it. The Mudblood, perhaps. But Gaunt was more likely.

A surge of renewed anger filled him; he would make his long lost relation pay for what he’d done here. Would hurl Potter’s dead body at his feet and watch him break before he killed him. But the use of Fiendfyre meant the little bastard knew! And that meant he had to check the others! The cup in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts and the Diadem at Hogwarts were fine, there was no error margin or loop hole there, but the others…they were potentially vulnerable. Not from Potter, no, there was no way Potter could have stumbled blindly through his protections and gotten out again, but from the insufferable man he knew was the only source from which the brat could have learned such sensitive information.

Dumbledore.

Harry found himself lying on his side when the vision faded, forehead pressed against the frozen ground. As he straightened up and looked around the raven couldn’t help but find himself to be quite a bit smug in the knowledge that he’d been given the locations of the last two Horcruxes by Voldemort himself and that the Dark Wizard was unlikely to move them.

Chapter Text

Their experience in Godric’s Hollow had left all three of them badly shaken but to Harry’s relief Tom seemed to have finally recovered from what he’d had to do to his Counterpart’s version of Nagini, though he kept his own so close now that if he hadn’t known better he might have mistaken her for a Horcrux as well. Voldemort had realized, one by one, that the containers of the shards of his soul had gone missing; the locket first, then the ring, and finally the diary which had been left in the Malfoy’s care. Anger was there, it always seemed to be whenever he was dealing with the Dark Lord, but it was eclipsed by an almost overwhelming sensation of fear. And Harry would have been lying if he were to attempt to claim that knowing the pale bastard who had made his life hell was the one afraid for once didn’t fill him with a sadistic sort of satisfaction.

Maybe Hermione was right and Tom was a bit of a bad influence on him. Maybe it was just a natural response not to have much empathy to spare for his life-long arch nemesis. At least, not in the form he’d taken now.

It was about two hours after they’d finished a meager diner of rubbery less than appetizing mushrooms which Hermione had managed to cook over a fire. Tom was seated outside, swathed in a coat and a Warming Charm with Nagini wrapped around him like an emerald scarf.

“Who’s going to take the next watch?” Hermione asked from her bunk, looking up from the book that she’d been reading for the better part of the past hour; one of her old Ancient Runes textbooks, he thought.

“I will.” Harry said, pushing himself into an upright position and scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand in an effort to chase all traces of sleep away. “I need something to do the keep myself awake anyway, it’s too early to be sleeping again, and Tom’s been out there with the locket for long enough.”

“Alright,” Hermione watched him push himself off the bed and onto his feet. “I’ll take the watch after you.”

“Alright.”

The raven haired wizard made a poor attempt at smoothing his uncooperative hair into something that made him look a bit less like he’d shoved his thumb into a light socket as he shuffled across the tent and out between the canvas flaps. Tom was poised just outside the opening with his knees pulled up to his chest for warmth and the hornbeam wand held loosely in his right hand. He was staring out into the distance, breath rising in silver puffs into the cold winter air.

“Tom.” The dark brunet turned his head to look up at him, blinking rapidly in order to refocus his eyes. He was shivering despite the coat and charm and smiled when he saw him, the locket’s golden clasp glinting against his chest.

“Is it time to change shift already?” he asked. Nagini sluggishly raised her head to look at him as well.

“Thank Slytherin! It’s freezing out here!” She uncoiled herself from his lap and slithered hastily towards the open flap of the tent. “I’ll be inside, Master.”

“She gets along with December about as well as you do, Precious.” His knees cracked as he shifted and stood up.

“I was born in July,” Harry defended, crossing his arms in an effort to keep the chill of the night at bay for a little bit longer. “And yeah, it’s time to change shift. Both with watch and with wearing the Horcrux.”

Reluctantly, Tom pulled the locket’s glittering chain from around his neck and draped it over Harry’s instead. Once he’d done so the dark brunet pulled him closer, ensconcing him in the coat worn hastily draped over his broad shoulders and pressing him against his chest. “A kiss before I head in, to tide me over?”

“Bloody sap.” Harry grumbled, unable to hide his grin. Tom grinned back, kissed him briefly and then passed him the coat. Harry put it on-properly, unlike a certain someone-and then cast a fresh Warming Charm over himself as he watched Tom vanish into the tent.

Winter baby or not the raven could tell that his partner was very much relieved to be out of the cold.

Already shivering, Harry settled down for what was all but certain to be a very long and uneventful night. All the better if that was the case; all excitement had come to be synonymous with at this point was danger, and they’d had more than enough of that to last a while. If not a lifetime. Harry doubted their reprieve would last that long so he’d rather not waste the energy hoping it would.

Even when nothing happened night watch was still a rather stressful task, mentally if not physically. Aside from the biting cold, the darkness-especially on a night like this one, where the moon was obscured by a layer of lacy clouds-played tricks on his mind and eyes and made it seem as if every flicker of motion from the wind through the trees or the fallen leaves on the ground was a Death Eater, or even Voldemort himself, slithering towards them through the pitch black forest like a giant snake.

Sounds were even worse.

The rattle of the wind through the naked bows overhead was like the popping of joints as a lurking enemy pulled itself up to its full height. The footfalls of an animal, large or small, enough to raise the hairs along his arms and neck and flush his skin with goosebumps. Soft clatters and the low murmurings of conversation from inside the tent made him jump a mile.

One hour of his shift passed. Then two. The lights in the tent behind him went out as the other two went to sleep. Two more hours before he could switch off with Hermione and curl up with Tom. Harry shifted himself into a slightly more comfortable position on the rock and pulled the coat he wore tighter about himself.

The sooner he could get back out of the cold and into his arms the better. Tom was warm and wouldn’t complain about being touched with cold feet or hands or even being woken up by his arrival, he’d just pull Harry under the covers with him and go back to sleep.

Maybe Nagini was starting to rub off on him as well if all he could think about whenever he got cold was how to warm up again.

Harry cast another Warming Charm over himself, rubbed at his eyes, cleared away the lair of frost which had formed across the lenses of his glasses and tucked himself back up into the tightest ball that he could manage in an effort to conserve body heat.

Whether or not his effort was successful was debatable.

About another forty five minutes passed in that fashion before something caught his eye and he raised his head. Squinting between the thin trunks of the trees, half-certain that his eyes were once more playing tricks on him. There was a faint silver glow visible through the forest, dim and barely there to the point where Harry would have dismissed it as nothing more than the light of the moon if it weren’t for the fact that the moon was currently entirely obscured by clouds.

Not to mention the little detail that the light was steadily growing brighter and brighter until Harry could be certain of two things. One: he wasn’t seeing things. Two: whatever was producing that light was coming closer.

Heart beginning to pound Harry leapt up from the stone that he’d been sitting on so quickly that he almost toppled backwards over it and whipped out his wand. Holding it high. Prepared to act however he was forced to if any action was made necessary at all. If it hadn’t been for the wards they’d erected around the clearing Harry would have at the very least alerted the other two if not fully raised the alarm but supposed they weren’t in any immediate danger. He had a chance to scope out exactly what they’d be dealing with before he went and did anything he was potentially bound to regret.

A small eternity seemed to pass as he stood there, wand raised and eyes wide, body trembling from anticipation and cold and breath rising above him in a rapid series of lacy clouds before the source of the light finally revealed itself. Stepping out into the clearing from the trees.

A silver doe, glowing with a soft cold light which stretched across the frosted ground and made the ice crystals which had formed among the hardened soil glitter like powdered diamonds. Silent and graceful, despite surely not being able to see or sense him behind the wards it couldn’t pass through the Patronus raised its head and looked directly at him. The light which shone from its body seemed to grow warmer and brighter as if to invite him towards it. To follow it. And then, after a drawn out moment, it turned away again and walked off back into the trees.

Even as he was overcome with an unexplainable need to follow the Patronus back into the trees and towards whoever had cast it Harry wasn’t a fool. He knew that it could be a fatal mistake to go running blindly after the doe when it could merely be a Death Eater’s attempt to lure him away from safety and into a trap. A part of him wanted to wake the other two, or at the very least wake Tom, but he knew that neither Hermione nor his partner would have allowed him to follow the Patronus at all.

So he settled for draping himself in his invisibility cloak instead and took off running into the forest in the direction that he thought the doe had gone. Harry found it waiting for him a handful of yards into the trees; as he trotted to a stop nearby it flicked one ear at him as if in acknowledgement of his arrival and began walking again.

How it knew that he was there Harry hadn’t any idea and doubted the Patronus, whoever it belonged to, would have the capacity to answer if he asked. Not to mention that doing so would give away his exact position to anyone who might have been lurking nearby. They’d probably already be able to hit him with a spell if they were really of a mind to so it was pretty much a moot point but it still made Harry feel better to cling on to that last little bit of perceived protection.

It led him quietly through the forest without pause, to the point where Harry had begun to grow concerned he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the tent once he was through, and where its final destination was Harry hadn’t the slightest clue. The doe would trot ahead of him a ways, pause and turn to look back, and when he caught up would start off again at the same steady pace as before. Finally another clearing opened up ahead, smaller than the one where they’d made camp and with a frozen lake inlaid into the center like a pane of volcanic glass.

Harry stopped at the edge of the ice, not wanting to risk it breaking and falling through-there wasn’t anyone around he knew he could trust to pull him out of the drink and knew Tom would never have forgiven him if he’d frozen to death doing something stupid-but the doe continued onwards until it reached the center of the lake. Once there it turned to face him again and, for a long moment, stared before fading away.

Alone in the darkness Harry debated his options for a moment before lighting the tip of his wand and testing his weight on the ice. It held. Taking a deep breath of the painfully cold air and doing all he could to keep his balance, the little raven began to edge his way forwards out towards where the Patronus had disappeared.

The center of a frozen lake was where the ice was always the weakest, but luckily enough for him it had been cold enough for a sustained enough period of time that it was able to hold his weight. Cautiously, Harry crouched down and brushed away the layer of snow which had formed across the pond, peering down through almost ten feet of dark silty water. Something at the very bottom caught the light, glinting red and silver. Harry looked closer and his eyes widened.

At the bottom of the frozen pond was the instantly recognizable form of the Sword of Gryffindor.

Harry turned back to the trees and looked around wildly. Hoping to find the person responsible but seeing nothing. Who had put the sword there and how long ago? He had no way to answer that.

He needed to get to the sword.

The raven pointed his wand down at the glittering blade and hissed “accio” but the weapon didn’t even shift from where it lay. It seemed like he’d have to go down at get it himself.

Returning to the edge of the pond his stripped off his clothes, he folded them and set them on the frozen soil beside the water along with his invisibility cloak. Not wanting to risk losing the Horcrux or having Tom wake up in a needless panic when his ring turned cold Harry left both of the lockets on and shuffled back across the ice, pointing his wand at the thick skin over the water and casting a “Diffindo!” The satisfying crack of the frozen surface splitting open echoed between the trees like thunder. The water was pitch black. With another deep breath, he jumped into the pond.

‘Cold’ didn’t even begin to describe what it felt like. ‘Sub-zero’ was much better. ‘Liquid frost-bite’ probably the best. Thrashing wildly in response to the shock, barely able to hold in the breath he’d taken, Harry fumbled downwards towards the sword. More than three fourths blind between the silt and the fact that he’d left his glasses up top with his clothing he somehow managed to claw through the water towards the sword. It was only a few feet more, now. If he reached out his arm and really stretched he’d almost be able to touch it.

His fingertips brushed along the ridged hilt of the sword and the chain of the Horcrux constricted around his throat like the coils of a snake. Forcing the air from his lungs in a cloud of silver bubbles. Harry reared back. Floundering and with all sense of direction stripped from him. Where was the surface? He needed to breathe! Harry clawed at his throat, tearing at the chain, but it did nothing. Not only had it cut off his air it had cut off the blood supply to his head.

Cold darkness flooded in with the water.

When Harry woke up he was lying on his back in the frosty forest litter, the coat that he’d been wearing draped across his still very naked body and a fresh Warming Charm cast on him. The locket which Tom had given him was still around his neck, had likely called the dark brunet to him though how Tom had possibly gotten there in time Harry didn’t know, but the Horcrux was gone.

“Tom?” his voice was a hoarse, barely audible croak.

“Over here, Precious.” The dark brunet’s voice held the satiny undertone of danger which raised the hairs along the back of his bruised neck. Harry struggled into an upright position, turning his head to find Tom facing away from him, holding an immediately recognizable and soaked-through figure at wand point.

“Ron?” Harry must have been seeing things. His best friend had run out on them over a month ago now and there was no way he possibly could have found even their campsite, let alone the little pond in the middle of the forest that he’d been in the process of drowning in. And he couldn’t have been the one responsible for the doe because his Patronus was a dog.

“Bloody hell, mate.” The red-head blinked a trickle of cold water out of his eyes as he turned his head to look at him, evidently still wary of the hornbeam wand thrust in his face. The sword was held in one of his hands and the locket dangled from the other. “Mind telling us why you suddenly decided to take up ice diving? How’d you get all the way out here, anyway; I got here just as you dove in. According to Gaunt, once he stopped trying to Hex me, you’ve made camp a couple miles away.”

“A doe. A Patronus.” Harry pushed himself to his feet and hastily began the process of redressing. “I followed it and it led me here. Whoever cast it must have left the sword down there.”

“What do you mean ‘whoever cast it’?” Tom hissed. “You didn’t know and you still followed it into the bloody forest without telling anyone? So soon after Godric’s Hollow? Have you lost your mind!”

“He’s right, mate.” Ron said.

Not helpful. The glare Tom shot him made it clear that taking his side in the argument wasn’t winning him any points.

“You act like I just went running off without thinking.” Harry said.

“You’re going to attempt to convince me-?”

“I brought my cloak, Tom.”

The dark brunet threw up his arms and stalked away to the far edge of the clearing, spitting parsel curses all the while. Harry sighed and looked back at Ron. “Well?”

The red-head jumped and looked back at him. “Aren’t you going to-?”

“Tom’s just upset that I put myself in danger without him being nearby to help.” Harry said. “He’s been a bit sensitive to potential losses since we killed the snake at Godric’s Hollow.”

Ron went white. “You killed the Dark Lord’s snake?”

“Yeah, we did.” Harry couldn’t quite keep the resentful “no thanks to you” from slipping out.

At least, with the way his expression immediately shifted, Harry knew that Ron truly regretted what he’d done. “Look, Harry, I’m really sorry. I wanted to go back almost the minute that I’d left but I couldn’t.”

Tom growled from where he paced at the tree line, pale sparks scattering intermittently from the tip of his wand.

“Then how did you come back?” Harry asked.

“It was this!” He produced the Deluminator from his pocket and held it towards him, an almost manic look in his eyes. “Dumbledore must have left it to me because he knew that something like this would happen and I’d need it. It led me back here just in time to dive in and save you!”

The raven took a small step back and looked at his friend as if he’d lost his mind. “Ok then.”

“No, really!” Ron insisted. “I was sitting on my bed in the inn where I was staying playing with it and a ball of light suddenly popped out of it and hit me in the chest, right here.” He pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart. “I heard a voice, Hermione’s voice, and then apparated and ended up here.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry nodded slowly as Tom slunk back towards them and wrapped him in his arms. “Be sure to give Hermione that line about the light. It might make her less likely to kill you.”

Tom snorted and pulled him closer. “I doubt it.”

Ron had once again gone very pale. “I figured she’d be mad,” he said, “but that bad?”

“Worse.” The dark brunet sounded absolutely thrilled. “But that’s the least of your current concerns, Weasley. Of the three of us, the only one here who hasn’t destroyed a Horcrux is you. It should make suitable recompense, I think, to have you off that damned locket.”

“I’ll tell it to open,” Harry said, stepping out of Tom’s arms, “and when it does, stab it.”

Ron still looked far from comfortable with the prospect but nodded none the less, walking over to a stand of boulders to set the locket down on it. Harry followed and, once the Horcrux was properly positioned, hissed the command.

Clearly, the shard of soul contained inside the locket was very much aware of what they were planning because the instant the little mirrored doors popped open a cloud of the same black smoke which had destroyed the atrium of the Ministry exploded out of it with the wailing sound of a steam engine rushing passed at full speed. The smoke shivered and trembled. Twisting in on itself and out again. Forming new shapes and collapsing old ones and hissing all the while.

Harry couldn’t make out what the images were or what was being said but it was obvious, even so, that the Horcrux was making a desperate last effort to dissuade Ron from destroying it.

The flash of silver as the sword came down made it clear that its best attempt had not been enough. The blade slammed against one of the mirrored doors, shattering the glass, and with a final piercing shriek and explosion of dark smoke the Horcrux vanished leaving only the broken locket behind.

“What was that?” Harry demanded. “What did it try to show you?”

“A couple things. First it tried to convince me that you and Hermione had been going behind my back but, Merlin Harry, I’ve seen you with Tom enough times to know that isn’t true; you’re on him like spikes on a Horklump.” He said. “And it also tried to ‘break the truth’ of the fact that Gaunt isn’t a Gaunt at all but actually a Riddle because it thought I didn’t know.”

Harry felt Tom go very still beside him. “You knew?”

“Just because I didn’t pay all that much attention in school doesn’t make me an idiot, mate.” Ron looked rather unimpressed as he leaned his weight against the sword. “How many siblings do I have?”

“Six?” Harry wasn’t sure where this conversation was going.

“Exactly. ‘Family resemblance’ only accounts for so much unless you’re identical twins, and he’s a little too young to be the Dark Lord’s identical twin.”

Tom crossed his arms and set his jaw. “How long?”

“Not as long as Ginny,” he said, “but a while.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Harry asked. “Why?”

Ron shrugged. “Didn’t think I needed to.” He said. “It’s obvious he makes you happy and that you’re worth more to him than gold is to a ruddy goblin. And after having known you for this long I know you can take care of yourself.” When the pair continued to look bewildered he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” Harry blinked. “I’m glad I let you sit with me on the Express first year.”

“Hermione attempted to kill me after she found out.” Tom grunted, shifting his weight. “I regained consciousness trussed up and was promptly informed she didn’t make a habit of ‘negotiating with terrorists with racist tendencies’.” He tilted his head. “I wonder what she’ll do when you come sidling up as if you never left. Speaking of which, we should be getting back.”

Tom started back at a swift trot with Harry just behind him. Ron hesitated before following.

Hermione had emerged from the tent by the time they got back, likely to look for them after waking up and finding himself alone. As expected, she was less than pleased to see Ron again.

Citing the need to warm him up properly from his stint swimming in the forest pond Tom had pulled him inside and onto their bunk, curling up around him beneath the thin covers as they listened to Ron getting screamed at outside.

“I want to go back to Ottery St. Catchpole and speak with Xenophilius Lovegood.”

The day had been going less than swimmingly thus far; Hermione had been sour since morning and spent the majority of the day buried in the ancient copy of The Tales of Beetle the Bard which Dumbledore had left her. Ron, despite the dressing down that he’d received and the sulfurous glares he was still being subjected to on occasion, was still buoyed by the triumphant giddiness of the successful destruction of the locket the night prior and practically radiated happiness. Tom, once more coiled up with Harry and Nagini, had found that his fingers had begun to itch with the urge to wrap around his neck and wring it like one of the chickens which lived outside the Burrow.

Her odd statement served as just the distraction that he’d need from matters at hand. Tom, much like Ron and Harry, turned his head to look at her and the dark brunet asked “why?”

“Because of this.” She turned the book around and pointed at the symbol which had been hand drawn onto one of the pages. An all too familiar symbol formed from a line, a circle and a triangle. “It’s popped up everywhere important. Tom’s ring. One of the graves that I saw in Godric’s Hollow while you two were at the Potter grave. This book. Xenophilius was wearing it at the wedding so I figured that he’d know what it was.”

“We don’t need to go anywhere.” Tom said, lifting his hand and beginning to fiddle with the ring in question. Staring at the golden symbol etched across the black stone. He’d never thought to connect it before but it did, indeed, seem to be the very same symbol. “That’s the mark of the Deathly Hallows. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility. Three items granted to wizards who historical accounts believe may have been Peverills for having the ‘cleverness’ to ‘best’ death. In reality it was a trap; the items were designed to lure them to their own ends more quickly and only the youngest brother, Ignatus, was wise enough not to let greed get the better of him.”

“The Tale of the Three Brothers, right?” Ron asked excitedly. Tom nodded. “Mum used to read us those stories: they were wizards so they could summon a bridge to cross a rushing river where travelers usually drowned. Death hated to be cheated but he was cunning so he appeared to the brothers and pretended to offer them a reward but the youngest was able to work out what he was doing. When the older brother asked for an unbeatable wand and the middle brother asked for a way to call back the dead he asked to leave without being followed and death gave him his own invisibility cloak.”

“I thought it was nothing more than a children’s fairytale,” Tom’s blue eyes rested heavy on Harry, “until I was shown an invisibility cloak which resisted summoning and had retained its power for generations, passed down the Potter line from father to son.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe. “You think that my cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows?”

Tom nodded. “I do.” He said, looking down at his ring again thoughtfully. “And this ring may be another.”

“Which leaves…” Hermione trailed off.

“The Elder Wand.” Ron said. “The most powerful wand in existence, if it’s real.”

“There are historical records which make me think it is; a wand of Elder and Thestral Hair which has a bloody past of dueling and murder that can be traced all the way back to another Peverill. It disappeared around 1503.” Tom said. “I suspect my Counterpart may be looking for it. May have it already. He wouldn’t be interested in the rumors of the power granted to the ‘Master of Death’ who united all three Hallows, wouldn’t think he’d need it, but the wand…”

“What makes you think so?” Hermione asked.

“Do you remember that nightmare that you had, Harry? About the torture of a man you thought was Olivander? A wand maker. And that he may have been looking for Gregorovitch, another wand maker?”

“I do.” Harry said.

“Who better to ask about a legendary wand?”

“But that’s all conjecture.” Hermione said.

Tom nodded. “It is.” He said. “But I still believe we should be prepared for the possibility. For now, we should be concerned with getting our hands on the last two Horcruxes. Hogwarts and Gringotts, right?”

“Yes.” Harry said.

“It will be better to go for Gringotts first.” He said. “Fortified as it may be, we need to have the cup in our possession before we move on Hogwarts as it will be all but impossible to avoid a full scale confrontation with the Dark Lord’s forces when we go there.”

“You expect us to be able to break into Gringotts, steal something from a vault and get out again without being caught?” Ron spluttered. “You’re crazy!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Tom snapped.

“We’d have to get our hands on Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione said, “and hair from Bellatrix as well if we’re going to manage to break into the Lestrange vault. How do you suggest we do that?”

“I suggest we don’t.” Tom said. “We’ll use glamors and the cloak.”

“Goblins can see through glamors.”

“Not Parsel glamors.”

“We’d need the vault key to get into-.”

“That’s what the Imperius Curse is for, Ms. Granger.”

“Well then,” Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. “Since you seem to have everything planned out why don’t you explain, Tom?”

“I’d be pleased to.” Harry pinched him in retaliation for the sneering tone which had begun to invade his voice. “Harry and Ron will be under the cloak, you’ll be glamored to look like Bellatrix, I’ll be glamored to look like my Counterpart, and we’re all going to walk right in through the bloody front door.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t misunderstand Tom, I’ll always love you no matter what happens, but there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell I’m going to kiss you looking like that!”

Ron’s efforts to hold in his laugher resulted in the red head doubling over with a rather undignified sounding snort and almost toppling over onto the frozen ground outside their tent. Glowing red eyes blinked slowly from beneath the shadows of the deep cowl, unimpressed.

“Funny that you should be laughing, Ronald, when you’re still firmly quartered in the dog house!” Tom growled; hearing his boyfriend’s satin tones issue from Voldemort’s withered wraith like frame was a strange experience. For the sake of their disguises, and no doubt much to his relief, the dark brunet had traded the hornbeam wand once more for his yew wand. The white wood glinted in the sun like a desert dried finger bone in his spidery, taloned hand. “You’ll have to let me know what such accommodations are like after you’ve been there for long enough to really get comfortable. I’m too good at what I do to ever see the place myself, so I’m afraid I must rely on second hand testimony.”

“I think that may be a little bit of a low blow.” Harry said, grinning. Tom responded with a more mild, if very dry, look.

“I play dirty, Precious. After so long having been with me, I’d have thought you were well aware of that.”

“Seeing the two of you flirt when he looks like that is incredibly disturbing.” Hermione teetered over to them on the ridiculous set of heels she’d fashioned after what the mad witch had worn the few times they’d seen her. “How anyone can walk in these I’ve no idea! And this hair!” The untamed mane chose that moment to flop forwards into her eyes; she flung it back into place with a huff of annoyance. “Let’s just get everything packed up and get this over with! Even if it’s only a glamor and not a product of Polyjuice Potion being stuck in this form is still a nightmare!”

“How do you think it is for me?” Nagini hissed from her position astride Volde-Tom’s shoulders; she’d been magically lengthened to better appear as if she truly were the Dark Lord’s snake. With any luck it wouldn’t yet have gotten around that she’d been killed and her presence would lend them an extra layer of authenticity. “I feel like I’ve been put through a taffy machine!”

“Green apple or lime?” Were those even taffy flavors?

The snake turned her head enough to glare at the raven. “Acid pops.”

Bad mood; noted.

“I suppose the sooner we get things over with the better. Lingering will only make things worse for our chances as it will increase the likelihood we’ll be caught in the act by the Death Eaters or, worse, the Goblins themselves.” It was difficult to tell beneath the cloak that he wore, but it seemed as if Tom shuddered. “They tend to be less than lenient with robbers, as the message carved into the front doors of Gringotts states. And with the fact that they couldn’t give a toss about ‘wizarding matters which don’t concern them’ attempting to justify our actions by explaining about the necessity of destroying the Horcruxes won’t stop them from mounting our heads on silver pikes. Likely outside of the bank in Diagon Alley. All the better to ward off any future attempts that way.”

“If we’re caught and still manage to get away,” Hermione said, “we’ll never be able to enter Gringotts again. The Goblins will hate us.”

“That’s the thing about beings which could care less about wizarding law; all we have to do to smooth things over with them is to pay the monetary price of whatever object was stolen, as well as the cost of any damages which might have been incurred during our flight. There’s more than enough money for that in the Potter trust vault alone; throw in the Black Vaults he inherited and the proceeds from the sale of the Basilisk parts last year we’ve nothing to worry about on that front.” Tom said. “Focus on the task at hand, Ms. Granger. ‘Nervous’ isn’t a compelling look for Bellatrix Lestrange.”

He had a point. Unhinged. Psychotic. Cultishly devoted to the Dark Lord. These were all good ways to describe how the mad witch acted. Nervous absolutely was not.

“I know that, Riddle!” Snappish, Harry thought, was a little better. “I know what I have to do to convincingly pretend to be the Dark Lord’s insane lieutenant and will do that when I need to but we’re not at that point yet now are we?”

It was impossible to tell with how alien the planes of Voldemort’s face were compared to what he was used to, but Tom made some sort of face in response. What, precisely, it had been wasn’t particularly important so Harry decided not to waste their time further by asking about it.

“Let’s get the tent squared away,” Tom said, rolling the yew wand between the Dark Lord’s taloned hands. “We’ll apparate to Charrings Cross Road, head immediately to Gringotts through Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron and hope that we’re not intercepted and that no one notices the wand discrepancy on Hermione’s part. The two of you will be able to fit under that cloak? And no one will see you?”

“We used to cram all three of us under the cloak and run around the school at night, Tom. Don’t worry about us.” Harry said. “You ought to be more concerned with your own prospects. Remember how well your last go at ‘method acting’ went?”

The raven jumped when the taller wizard gently pinched him. “Watch that cheek, Precious. You’ll hurt yourself or someone else.” He said. “You’re certain I can’t convince you to give me one little good luck kiss?”

“You should have asked for that ‘one little good luck kiss’ before you put that glamor on.” The raven said. “I’ll kiss you all you like later on. Everywhere.”

Ridged, hairless brows rose above glittering red eyes. “Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

“Bloody hell, Harry. I get it that you haven’t had the chance to go at each other since Grimmauld Place but now isn’t the time!” Ron had already averted his eyes.

Harry rolled his own but the grin didn’t leave his face. Tom snorted, the slits of his nostrils flaring. “Let’s get going, then.” He said. “To Gringotts for the cup and Hogwarts for the diadem.”

One day? Two days? A week? The end of the war was near. So close that he could almost taste it. The prospect that within a month Voldemort would be gone forever, that he could finally have a normal life and live peacefully with Tom without constantly having to worry he could die at any moment, made him almost tear up. But it also filled him with fear. Who would he lose in the final, no doubt most bloody days of the war? Ron? Hermione? Would he fail in the effort to take the Dark Lord down and die himself?

Would he lose Tom?

“Precious.” Despite looking like Voldemort’s, Tom’s hand was still warm where it came to rest against his cheek. Harry blinked, starting slightly, and focused on the other wizard; over his right shoulder, Hermione and Ron were taking down the tent and packing it away in her expanded bag. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking about, don’t. I’m not going to tell you that there’s a certainty that everyone you love and care for will make it to the other side of this alive, but it’s better to enjoy the time you have with them then to focus on what might happen.”

“I guess you’re right.” That damned dream: the nightmare he’d had so long ago now and, thankfully, had never had again. Tom, bent double and weak. Consumed by the sickly green light of the Killing Curse. Toppling backwards over the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower.

Harry grabbed him by the lapels of his robes and pulled Tom down to him, feeling the brunet briefly stiffen before wrapping his arms around him.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kiss me until I dropped the glamor.” He said.

“I might have regretted it later if I didn’t. If I lost you.”

“Harry-.”

“Harry, Tom, we’re both ready to go when you are.” Hermione called, breaking the moment between them.

Tom didn’t finish whatever he was going to say, but continued to stare for a drawn out moment before finally pulling away. “We’re ready.” He said. “Ron, get under the cloak with Harry and grab onto one of the two of us. Once we get to Charrings Cross, stay close.”

The raven still felt troubled by the prospect of all he stood to lose but he forced himself to push that notion to the side, draping the cloak over himself and Ron and then grabbing Tom’s arm. Strong and leanly muscled despite the birch-branch appearance of the Dark Lord’s limbs. They’d be in some trouble if anybody bumped into them and put together the fact that Tom didn’t feel the way he looked.

Of course, with their luck the little raven figured he should have been more concerned with their chances of running into the real Voldemort either in the reception area of the bank or on their way there. Before he could dwell on things any further Tom spun on his heel, Harry’s fingers constricted around his arm to prevent it from being wrenched from his grip by the motion, and the clearing where they’d made camp vanished into a blur of color.

They reappeared with a quiet pop in an alley and moved immediately forward onto the road and towards the Leaky Cauldron, not pausing even for a moment in order to regroup. Tom held himself with an imposing posture which, in that form, made him appear as if he were as tall as a sycamore tree and moved across the uneven sidewalk as if he were floating. Bare feet pale against the dirty concrete. Hermione had all but glued herself to his side and walked with an exaggerated skip to her step, a crazed look in her eyes.

The Dark Lord did not waste his time turning doorknobs, and accordingly Volde-Tom threw the door of the pub open before them with a wave of his hand. The old bartender, also named Tom, jumped a mile and immediately began to trip over his words on catching sight of him but Volde-Tom waved him off with a high pitched sneer of dismissal.

The Leaky Cauldron, in stark contrast to the last time Harry had been there on Christmas eve the year before, was empty and cold. There was no one to see or question them as they proceeded through the pub and out into the dirty courtyard and behind it.

The yew tapped a dry clacking pattern against the uneven brick and the wall shuffled aside with the great grinding sound of stone against stone. Once their path was clear the pair continued forwards into Diagon Alley.

Here, too, things had changed. The colors were muted. The crowds were gone. Countless stores had been closed and even boarded up. Staring down at him from all directions, plastered over near about every surface, was his own face posted beneath the tag-line UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE. Harry shuddered, directed his attention away from the posters and kept walking.

Gringotts was, perhaps, the only building in all of Diagon Alley which hadn’t changed. At least, not on the outside. Goblin guards still stood astride the entry, holding spears and watching their approach with dispassion. The etching on the golden outer and silver inner doors glittered in the light, far more menacing than ever before.

Inside of the bank were a pair of burly, scruffy looking Wizards armed with some sort of sensors; the moment they saw them they started forwards and Tom’s white wand made a vicious slash through the air.

“Crucio!” Hermione did a good job of controlling her reaction, but surprise flashed across her face for a split second. The nearest man fell to the floor with a thud and writhed against the polished tile as Tom mercilessly held him under the Torture Curse. The other man, wide eyed, was quick to make a hasty retreat. “You would dare insult me so? Insinuate that I am some sort of common criminal? Me? Your Lord!” He released the man and stepped forwards, surging like smoke. A serpent poised to strike. Watching the display, Harry shuddered. “Explain yourself.”

“I was only doing my job, my Lord.”

“Your job?” he hissed, Nagini hissing as well; showing the red lining of her mouth. “Crucio!” The man screamed again, back to shuddering against the floor. Tom released him again. “Is it your job to insult me? I wasn’t aware. Such a profession will have to be done away with post haste!”

“I-I’m s-sorry, my Lord!” The man whimpered, spitting froth onto the ground. “Forgive me! Mercy!”

“Mercy? Yes. Lucky for you, I am a merciful Lord. And I also haven’t the time.” He snapped. “Come, Bella. I require my cup.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered from where he stood beside him, visibly awe struck. “He’s good.”

Harry nodded and they shuffled hurriedly after the pair as they made their way up to the nearest Goblin. The hook-nosed creature placed its hands on top of the desk it sat behind and leaned forward to peer at them.

“State your business.” It drawled, sounding bored.

“Mind your tone, wretch, when speaking to your Lord!” Hermione snapped, squaring her shoulders and putting on the best offended Rottweiler look she could muster. “I’ve come to retrieve something of great importance which I’ve been keeping protected for the Dark Lord. He requires it. You need not know why, Goblin.”

The Goblin thinned its lips but otherwise remained remarkably professional. “Very well, Mrs. Lestrange. If you could produce your vault key we can proceed.”

“My vault key? I haven’t had my vault key since I was thrown into Azkaban to rot!”

“Then allow me to briefly see your wand. To ensure-.”

“My wand?” Hermione shrieked, sounding like Umbridge might if she were to be inflated with copious amounts of helium. “Allow you, a lesser creature, to see my wand? Me? A Pureblooded witch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? You will do no such thing and will not keep the Dark Lord waiting another moment longer! Take us to my vault so what belongs to him can be retrieved!”

“Mrs. Lestrange-!”

Harry quickly pointed his wand at the Goblin and whispered “Imperio!”

The Goblin stiffened briefly, then his eyes glazed over and a detached expression came over his face. With an airy motion and a pleasant tone of voice, he dismounted his desk and informed them “follow me,” before toddling off towards the carts.

Stroking Nagini’s scales and tilting his head slightly, as if he were speaking to her, Tom hissed “well done” as he swept after the Goblin.

Cramming all four of them, the Goblin and the snake into one cart was difficult but they managed it, somehow. The Goblin pulled the lever on the cart with barely enough time for them to sit down and they went rocketing off into the darkness of the tunnels. The cart rattled violently on its wheels. Harry was flung against Hermione and Nagini let out another hiss, this one considerably more affronted, as they dropped off a massive hill.

He’d never been this far under the bank before. Down down down they seemed to go, around corners and through loop-de-loops and past a myriad of concerning defenses. The pale form of something massive flickered by, a gout of flame belching from a hole in the wall behind them as they raced away. The cavern shuddered under the force of a deafening roar.

So rumors about the dragons really were true, then? Oh, great.

Up ahead there was a fork in the rails; they went right and splashed through a wall of what looked like water. Harry shook out his hair, wiped off his glasses and then looked up to find blue eyes blinking back at him. The glamors had been washed off of both Tom and Hermione.

“The Thief’s Downfall!” Ron shouted over the rattling wheels and the rushing wind. “Bill told me about it!”

“What are we going to do?” Hermione and Harry both looked to Tom.

The dark brunet pushed his soaked fringe out of his eyes. “Nothing! It’s fine! We don’t need the disguises anymore.”

“But how will we get out?”

“Flying.” He called back. “Our getaway driver spat fire after us just a minute ago.”

“A dragon, Tom?” Harry was astounded; at least now he knew why he’d been sorted into Gryffindor this time around. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Not at all!”

“How do you expect to keep it from killing us?” Ron asked. “Charlie deals with the things; they’re XXXXX rated creatures for a reason! And Bill says that Gringotts uses Iron Bellies; they’re massive! Now’s not the time to start acting like Hagrid!”

“Hagrid doesn’t speak Parseltongue.”

“It’s not a snake, it’s a bloody dragon!”

“What evolutionary tree did you think Basilisks came from? Garden snakes?” Tom shot back. “We’re here! Get ready because this cart doesn’t look like it’s going to stop!”

“We’ll have to jump?” Hermione asked.

Tom nodded. “Yes. On the count of three. One!”

Harry pulled his legs up underneath himself.

“Two!”

The raven tensed like a cat prepared to spring.

“Three!”

All four of them leapt from the cart, Nagini spitting and cursing and Ron having enough sense in the moment to grab the Goblin. Tom pointed his wand at the rapidly approaching ledge and bellowed “Arresto!” and, with a sensation similar to their sudden stop when they’d tumbled off the cliff into the Death Chamber, they wound up in a heap.

“Sword, if you’d please, Ms. Granger.” Tom said as he rolled up onto his feet, the soaked-through cloak flopping about with a wet slapping sound. “We may need it, either inside of the vault or on our way out the door.”

“One moment.” Hermione quickly opened her bag and fumbled through it for a moment before she produced the glittering blade and passed it to Tom, who slid it cavalierly through one of the belt loops of his jeans. Harry couldn’t help but think that the dark brunet looked quite stately with a sword at his hip. “We’re going to have him open the vault, then?” she asked, pointing at the still ensorcelled Goblin.

“We’re going to have him open the vault.” Tom confirmed. “If you would, Precious?”

Harry nodded and pointed his wand in the direction of the vault’s locked door, prompting the Goblin to go over and unlock it. On the other side of the heavy iron portcullis mounds of glittering coins and strange magical objects greeted them.

“Come on, then. We haven’t much time. We’re looking for a golden cup.” He stepped over the threshold, coins crushed underfoot with a loud crack. “And remember, don’t touch anything.”

In they went, cautiously, looking about at their surroundings. Mountains of galleons. Piles of sickles. Seas of knuts. And there, sat atop a tower of gold-leafed boxes, was “there!” Harry pointed in the direction of the boxes. All three of the others looked up and spied it as well. “You should be able to summon it, right Tom?”

“Most likely. The locket wasn’t threatened by me, so the cup shouldn’t resist either. And, in technicality, I am its creator.” He raised his wand and pointed it at the cup. “Accio!”

Sure enough the thing flew off the pile of boxes and into his hand but the moment it touched his palm Tom hissed and began to toss it between his hands as if it were red-hot. And, to make matters worse, even time he touched it the cup duplicated itself. Soon a rain of superheated cup copies were clattering to the ground around them and, moments later, the other objects began to multiply as well.

“Bugger!” Tom drew the sword and hastily dropped the cup onto the blade; the handle slid down its length with a rattling sound and, finally, stopped duplicating itself. “Out! Out! Before we’re buried alive! Leave the Goblin!”

Tom grabbed Harry with the hand which held the sword and Ron with the other and began to haul them out of the vault with Hermione just behind. A flick of his wand sent the door of the vault swinging shut behind them to stem the overflowing tide of objects, locking with a booming clang as alarms began to blare.

“Bag!” Hermione quickly held it out and Tom dropped the cup into the opening. “Run! Dragon! Now!”

They bolted up the nearby passage, running full tilt up the incline with their legs burning. Tom held his wand in one hand and the sword in the other and sparks, silvery-white, seemed to shed from both of them. Out of the passage. Around a corner. Out into a room filled with pillars, and at its center…

“Take cover!” Tom’s grip came down on Harry’s neck, this time, and hauled him behind a pillar. Just in time to get clear of the tornado of orange flames which went roaring passed them. “Alright! Go! Get onto its back while I’m cutting our deal!”

“Tom-!”

“Take Nagini! Go!” He pushed the raven gently and then bolted around the opposite side of the pillar, hissing swift Parseltongue with his hands raised high as the Goblins began pouring from the other passages. Harry couldn’t make out what was being said. The Dragon let out another, earth shaking roar.

Blind, it seemed, from the hazed cloud-blue coloring of its eyes. Colorless scales, as if it had been raised down there. Away from the sun and the sky. For a moment Harry felt sorry for the creature, but then its massive tail almost took his head off his shoulders and all sympathy was gone. Ron and Hermione were already on the beast’s great back, seated in the valleys between the towering ivory spines of its crest. The raven lodged his foot in the crook of the dragon’s heel and swung himself up as well.

The air heated up again as the dragon spewed another gout of flames. “Tom!”

A flash of black darted by to his left and below them. Harry looked down. Tom, sword raised, ran passed with the hem of his cloak smoldering and swung. The blade struck the chain which tied the dragon down, shattering it, but the force of the blow sent the weapon spinning from his grip with a clang. The dragon grabbed him with one of its forepaws before he could retrieve it and, with a final column of flame, began to climb.

Stone cracked and popped like gunshots as talons punched through it and gripped hard. The trio and the snake clung desperately to the massive spines as the beast dragged itself towards the light. Towards the scent of freedom.

Chaos exploded through the reception area as the dragon used its head like a battering ram to bust straight through the floor and then the roof right after. Perching on the lip of the jagged hole that it had formed for the briefest moment, tail leading down into the bank as it enjoyed the sensation of the wind on its scales for what may well have been the first time, and in the few seconds that passed before its great wings snapped open and instinct hauled its titanic body skywards the raven couldn’t help but think that that was a lot of damage to have to pay for.

And then Gringotts, Diagon Alley and all of London itself were falling away behind them. An arrangement of a child’s block houses. An unintelligible stripe of color against dark earth.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out! Quite the story we’ll have to tell any children we might end up with.” Tom puffed, hauling himself up onto the dragon’s back along with them. “I hope the three of you are ready for this. Our estimated time of arrival to the end of the war is approximately seven hours.”

Chapter Text

It was freezing that high up in the air, flying through the cloud layer to avoid potential sightings by both aircraft and Muggles on the ground. Nagini had retreated into Hermione’s bag about four hours before and Harry couldn’t blame her. Two hours earlier the sun had gone down. Frost had formed across the dragon’s scales and the lenses of his glasses but at least the constant rush of gelid wind had somewhat dried their clothing.

What he wouldn’t have given to have the dragon they were riding breathe fire on him that very moment Harry didn’t know. At least if he was burned to a crisp he wouldn’t be cold anymore.

Tom leaned forward slightly in his position astride the base of the Ukrainian Ironbelly’s neck, far closer than anyone fully sane would likely dare even if they could communicate with the beast in some capacity though Harry knew he couldn’t control the dragon the way that he’d been able to the Basilisk which his ancestor had left behind in the Chamber of Secrets, and said something.

The beast responded with a guttural rumble which shook its entire frame.

“What’d it say?” Ron called up to him.

Tom spun around on his perch, nearly toppling off, and shrugged. “Don’t know.” He said, grinning like a maniac. “I don’t speak dragon, but the dialect differences don’t seem to be an issue for our chauffer here.”

“Harry,” Hermione asked from behind him, gripping the spine in front of her for dear life. “What is it about you, exactly, that seems to be a magnet for crazy?”

Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Dobby and his homicidal, all-be-it good hearted, efforts to ‘protect’ him his second year. Moaning Myrtle and her thoughtful invitation to share her toilet. And now they were a couple hundred feet in the air headed Merlin only knew where on the back of a dragon that Tom could talk at and not to. As much as he wanted to defend his boyfriend, who need he remind himself was Voldemort only younger and less snake-like, he was forced to admit that his friend had a very good point.

“Like attracts like, I guess.” He grumbled. “What does that say about the two of you?”

The witch behind him didn’t answer; too busy looking down at the hazily visible forms of mountains which they could only just see through the clouds which they were soaring through. The layer of lacy white water vapor seemed thinner than it had been before. Were they not as high up anymore?

Tom’s sudden shout of “hold on, we’re going down!” was nearly drowned out by the roar the beast produced before the downward tilt of its wings became dramatic and they seemed to drop out of the sky like a stone. His heart dropped into his stomach and then his stomach leapt into his mouth; it felt like one of the dives he’d made countless times after the snitch on the pitch during practice or games on his broom. Only this time it was so much worse. He wasn’t in control. Didn’t have the assurance of the fact that he could pull up at any moment, even the very last possible moment, and save himself from breaking against the earth. As much as he doubted the fact that the dragon they were currently astride had any such violently suicidal inclinations the bloody thing was blind, or near to it, and there was all but certainly no way for it to tell solid ground from miles more of clear air.

Hermione screamed. Ron, green in the face, had wrapped both his arms and legs around the spine in front of him. Tom, meanwhile, had climbed up the dragon’s neck and was now seated directly behind its massive head, hooting and hollering as if they weren’t currently about as aerodynamically inclined as an unconscious ox.

It was times like these that made Harry realize, Horcruxes or not, there wasn’t that large of a mental divide between Voldemort and Tom. They were all but certainly about to die and there the dark brunet was, screaming gleefully like some lunatic spectator in the Roman colosseum.

They were closing in on the ground now; Harry could make out a village and, a little ways behind it, a shack and a castle. His eyes widened in surprise as he clung to the dragon with one hand and both his lungs and kept his glasses pinned to his face with the other. Hogwarts. Hogsmead. The Shrieking Shack. They were going to slam into the earth about a mile outside of the town, any moment now. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Their momentum changed from down to forwards as the dragon pulled out of its dive with a great down stroke of its huge wings. Its tail slammed once against the earth below and sending up a geyser of rock and snow and soil. Hogsmead was just ahead now and, as Harry opened his eyes, he could see that it too had changed. The buildings and the snow which lay across their rooftops looked the same but their streets, despite the late hour, were patrolled by wizards in dark cloaks.

Death Eaters. Or supporters. Or maybe something else. Either way Harry knew they didn’t live in Hogsmead. Didn’t belong in Hogsmead. They answered to Voldemort.

Shouts of alarm went up as they caught sight of the dragon’s massive, pale form bearing down on them. Spells of all colors fired off. The dragon’s back foot slammed into the village gate and uprooted it with a brutal clang of metal being pulverized. The trio ducked down against its back. Tom, more exposed, swore loudly and toppled backwards down its neck. Catching himself at the last possible moment to keep from falling off. His body swung wildly like a flag in the wind, grip slipping. Dangerously close to flinging him into the inferno which belched from the dragon’s maw.

“Tom!” Harry lunged forwards with total abandon, climbing over Ron and scrambling between spines in order to get to where the other wizard only barely clung. He didn’t know how he made it there, never mind how he made it in time, but he did and pulled the dark brunet back up to relative safety as the dragon lifted back into the sky.

It was difficult to tell with how dark it was but the other man’s pupils were blown wide with fear, his face white. Before Harry could speak the yew wand had been pointed into his face.

“Expecto Patronum!” the fox flew passed over his left shoulder, narrow jaws sinking into the darkness beneath the cowl of the Dementor which had swooped in behind them and knocking the desiccated creature back and away. Below the rushing of the wind and the pounding of his own blood in his ears Harry could hear an awful shrieking sound echoing up from the village below them.

“A Caterwauling Charm!” Hermione called up to them. “They know we’re here!”

“I’d bloody bet they do!” Tom said as Harry sent out his stag to join the silvery fox running rings around where they were perched, keeping the swarm at bay. More puffs of silver smoke went up behind them as the other two struggled and then succeeded in summoning their own Patronuses. “Somehow I get the creeping suspicion it was the great plonking dragon that gave us away; I think that assessment’s bloody obvious! We’ve more important things to worry about!”

Another Dementor was caught on the antlers of the stag and flung towards the little fox, which sent it packing with an all too eager pursuit. The way Ron’s terrier was circling another two reminded Harry disconcertingly of how Ripper had acted the one time it had chased him into a tree.

“I’m not going to be able to convince him to try and land again; not when we didn’t even manage to touch the ground back there. But with this route we’re going to go right over Hogwarts. We’re going to have to jump.”

“Jump?” Ron shouted back, his Patronus disappearing with a pop. He hastily resummoned it but it wasn’t as bright this time. Slower. “Jump where?”

“Onto the roof. It doesn’t matter which one of them!” Tom said. “I won’t be able to go far with all three of you, but the seventh floor won’t be far from the roof. From there, we bolt for the Room of Requirement and hope that we make it; I’ll get us as close as possible.”

“It doesn’t look like we have any other choice.” Harry said. The castle was growing steadily closer, looming black against the night and more menacing than ever before. “Don’t lose your Patronuses! Those Dementors are certain to be on us the minute we hit the roof!”

“More like the minute we jump.” Tom said. The lake was gone behind them. The ground rapidly following suit. Any moment the castle would be behind them too and they’d have lost their chance. “Now!”

The lip of the roof had just barely passed below them when Tom had issued the command. It was as much a likelihood they’d hit the castle as they’d miss it. And then there was the fact that it was slanted at an angle which could only be considered dangerous. The fall was swift. Cold air whipped passed him and a split second later he’d collided, hard, with the roof and was sliding down slate tiles. Sharp and coarse. He clawed at them, scrambled for purchase with his feet on the icy shingles and finally managed to arrest his slipping just short of the edge.

He barely had the chance to recognize as much before he’d been seized and dragged over by Tom, the dark brunet’s swan dive into the abyss made considerably less graceful than it otherwise would have been by the weight of their bodies. They fell for maybe a split second, long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the snow covered ground and the dark form of the dragon racing away into the night before his vision was obscured by the cloud of Tom’s magic and they went spinning away along the battlement of the castle.

Through the random flashes of stone and glass and sky and snow that he’d get through the breaks in the lacy quilt of black it was obvious to Harry that Tom was truly struggling to hold them all aloft. It wasn’t at all the swift, thrilling terror that he’d felt both times he’d flown with the other wizard before. It was slow. Strained. Like a motor on the brink of puttering to a stop and giving out.

Thankfully, they smashed through a window in a shower of glass before the magic could give out and send them plummeting to their deaths. They hit the ground, hard, in front of the tapestry of dancing trolls. Tom hissed in pain. Their Patronuses converged like an honor guard outside the broken window, preventing the Dementors from following them inside. The moment the door appeared they barreled through it and collapsed onto the floor, not particularly caring precisely which version of the Room of Requirement they’d ended up in.

Harry delivered a particularly harsh kick to the door in order to close it and slumped back onto the floor to catch his breath.

“Bloody hell,” Ron huffed, “wasn’t that an adventure?”

“I’ll say.” Neville’s voice from behind them made all four jump and turn their heads to look, slowly sitting up. “I’ll say one thing, Harry, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

“And it always seems to involve blood in some capacity or another.” Ginny said, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “Though this time it seems to be Gaunt’s more than anyone else’s; you all have cuts and bruises but his arms been flayed open like a steak.”

“Yes, Ms. Weasley.” Harry looked over and started in alarm when he caught sight of Tom clutching at his forearm in an effort to put pressure on the gash from wrist to elbow. “I have a bit of a bad track record with broken glass.”

“Tom-!”

“Relax, Precious.” He sighed, looking rather pale. A roll of gauze popped into existence beside his knee and he hastily began to wrap it around his arm. “We’ve both had worse. And we’re in the Room of Requirement. No need to worry.” Tom pulled the cork out of the Blood Replenisher Hermione handed him with his good hand and drank it in a single gulp, grimacing. “Focus on the fact that we’re currently in the middle of enemy territory.”

As they got to their feet, Harry looked around. The room they’d ended up in wasn’t anything that he could ever recall having seen before, thought it looked vaguely like the meeting room for the DA in their fifth year mixed with a dormitory. Comfortable hammocks hung from the ceiling. Everyone that Harry remembered having been in the DA who’d yet to graduate was there, staring at them, smiling, along with a number of others who hadn’t been. Some he didn’t recognize.

“What are all of you doing here?” Harry asked, looking around.

“Hiding.” Neville told him. “From Snape. And from the Carrow Twins; Death Eaters that have taken over position as the Dark Arts Professors.”

“Dark Arts?” Hermione repeated.

“It took the place of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Seamus said. “It’s bad. Really bad. A couple of weeks ago, they had us practicing the Cruciatus Curse on First Years.”

Briefly, Tom dropped his face into his hands. Harry reached over and gently squeezed his good arm.

“You’ve been staying in here? For how long?” Hermione asked.

“Since the start of the year, for some of us.” Luna informed them dreamily from where she perched in her own hammock. “They tried to take me on the Express because they didn’t like what father was printing in his newspaper. He was supporting you, you see. But the Blibbering Humdingers warned me and I was able to hide and as soon as we got to school I hid in here. The others started joining me about a week later.”

“But how have you managed to eat?” Tom asked. “Food and water are among the few things that the room can’t provide. It’s a fundamental law of magic.”

“The room can’t provide food but it can provide a way to get it. Over here.” Neville headed across the room and Harry and the others followed. He stopped in front of a portrait of a blonde girl with blue eyes.

“That’s Arianna.” Tom sounded shocked. “Dumbledore’s sister. But what’s a portrait of her doing here?”

“Connecting us to a similar picture in the Hog’s Head. The pub run by Abeforth. Dumbledore’s younger brother.” Neville said. “We’ve been getting food from him; he may not have been all that close with his brother, but he’s certainly not a fan of Voldemort.”

Tom cringed. “Bugger the Taboo, I suppose. If he doesn’t already know we’re here he deserves a panzer boot up his arse.” A couple of nervous titters went up behind them. “It’s good that we have this; it’s a pipeline we can use to get reinforcements in directly from Hogsmead.”

“Hogsmead is guarded.” Ginny said.

“Not anymore.” Harry said. “The dragon we rode in on turned the lot into kindling. They’ve got some Dementors there still but those are easy to take care of with a Patronus.”

“Did you say you rode in on a dragon, mate?”

“One of the guards from Gringotts, to be exact.” Tom waved them off cavalierly. “A more important question is how we’re going to get into contact with those reinforcements.”

“Fred and George.” Ginny suggested. “Send them a Patronus. They run a weekly radio show called Potter Watch which is set to run in about forty minutes. That’d be the best way to reach as many people as possible.”

“That’s sound.” Tom said. “Keep everyone here while we’re away, Ms. Weasley. I don’t want anyone being picked off in the meanwhile. The four of us will head down this tunnel to the Hog’s Head and let Abeforth know what’s happening before the cavalry begins to arrive.” Another flick of his wand sent his Patronus through the ceiling, presumably to contact the twins. “Neville, perhaps you ought to come with us.”

The Gryffindor nodded and pulled open the portrait, revealing the passageway inside. Dark, dank and cold the sound of dripping water echoed up to them. “This way.”

The passageway was short and they came out the other side considerably more damp than before. The Hog’s Head was equally as dark and dirty as Harry remembered it being and still smelled like goats. Something trotted by in the shadows on hooved feet with the clanging of a brass bell.

Before the raven could confirm if it really was a goat that he’d seen Harry’s line of sight was obscured by a somewhat scruffy, notably dirty man whom he recognized as the bartender of the pub.

“A dragon? A bloody dragon, boy? Are you insane!”

Harry was too focused on the man’s pale blue eyes to focus on anything that was coming out of his mouth. “You!” He spluttered. “It wasn’t Dumbledore that I was seeing in the mirror, it was you!”

“Devil with the mirror, Potter!”

“No matter what we’d done we’d have tripped something, so why not do it with a bit of artistic flare?” Tom said. “We got rid of almost all the guards.”

“A bit of flare? You’re too damn much like your current self to be of all that much help! You and Potter together are like water and potassium!”

“You know Muggle Chemistry?” Hermione sounded surprised.

“I know a lot of things, girl. That tends to come with advanced age.” He grunted. “Why’d you bring them here, Longbottom?”

“Because we figured we should warn you about the influx of people you’re going to see coming through here once the next episode of Potter Watch goes live.” Tom told him. “Fred and George, with any luck, will be communicating our call for reinforcements in about forty minutes.”

“So you’re going toe to toe with your counterpart, are you? And here? At Hogwarts?”

“He dictated as much when he hid the last Horcrux here.” Tom said. “We’ve the cup and a means to destroy them both but have yet to find the Diadem.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Tom.” Harry said.

The dark brunet glanced at him. “What do you mean, Precious?”

“Do you remember, last year, when we went into the Room of Hidden Things? The hissing head dress?”

“That you blacked out around for a brief moment and attempted to scale a pile of trash to get to? Yes. I remember.” He said mildly. “Wh-oh, bloody hell! We walked right passed it without even realizing what it was!”

“It’s in the Room of Requirement?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” Tom said. “But we won’t be able to get to it right away. We’ll have to wait until its safe in some capacity to move everyone out of the room and change it from the outside. Voldemort would have made certain no one, not even he himself, could call it into another room.”

“And that means you can’t either.” Harry said.

Tom shook his head. “No.” He said. “We should be getting back.”

“Not before eating a proper meal you’re not; the four of you look like you haven’t eaten real food since the Ministry fell and you can’t go fighting Death Eaters on an empty stomach.” Abeforth shuffled away behind the bar, dropping four dusty butter beer bottles down onto the wooden top. “Sit down.”

“He’s right.” Ron pulled up the nearest chair and sat down on it. “We can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Tom made no comment and followed suit, soon joined by Neville. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances before sitting down as well. None of them could really tell exactly what it was that was set before them but it was a lot more appetizing than can-stewed mushrooms so none of them complained.

Tom hastily pulled his sleeve down fully, hiding the now blood-drenched bandages around his arm from view.

“Are you alright, Tom? You look a little pale.”

The dark brunet looked over at Neville and nodded. “Fine, Neville. Thank you.”

“Can I ask?”

“About what?”

“The things that you’ve all been saying, it’s made me wonder…Ginny was suspicious of you last year, you know?” he said. Tom smirked but didn’t answer. “She had a bad experience with Voldemort’s diary her first year. With his younger self.”

“And she thought he and I were one and the same.” Tom said.

“Are you?”

“The diary was a Horcrux. A fraction of Voldemort’s soul embedded in an object in an effort to make himself immortal.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yes it does.” Blue eyes turned upwards from the plate to stare at him. “Ginny thought I was another Horcrux. That I was feeding off of Harry like the diary had off of her. I’m not. I’m the real thing.”

“You’re-?”

“Voldemort? A bit younger. You didn’t think I always looked like that, did you?” his attempt at a smile didn’t quite come out right. “’I am Lord Voldemort’ is a twelve year old’s best attempt at an anagram for the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Tom!” The dark brunet and Neville both jumped a mile and then turned to look at Harry, glaring from his other side. “Why don’t you tell everyone back in the Room of Requirement that you’re the Dark Lord’s younger self as well while you’re at it?”

“I intend to.”

“What? No!”

“Harry, we don’t have a choice!” Tom’s voice was firm. “It was never a choice between telling them and not telling them. We never could have gone on like this forever, pretending. You know that. It was always a choice between our terms or his because if he doesn’t know who I am yet he’ll put it together quickly once he sees me here. With my wand. With Nagini. Without my mask. What do you think would happen if we left him that power? If he revealed the truth in the middle of the battle?”

“They wouldn’t turn on us.” Harry’s voice was pulled taut, on the verge of breaking.

“Maybe not.” He said. “But chaos would surely break out. And that could kill us all.”

“But the Ministry-.”

“Bugger the Ministry.” With his good arm, doing his best not to think about the almost numb throbbing of his wounded one, Tom reached out and tugged him closer. “The only thing they could reasonably get me for is ‘unlawful trans-timeline migration’ and something tells me there’s no such thing on the books.”

“If they know the truth about who you are they’ll never trust you. You’ll never have that career you wanted.” Even as he said it, Harry knew his last attempt to convince his partner otherwise was for nothing.

“I do realize that, though one never knows. I may yet be able to make it as a politician.” He said. “What I do for a living doesn’t matter. I’ll be happy no matter what life I live, as long as I get to live it with you.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, looking at Neville, “they do that a lot. its worse when they’re flirting than when they make doe eyes at each other but either way you get used to it after a while.”

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded.

“If we’re all finished we should be getting back.” Tom finished off his butter beer and pushed himself up to his feet; his favoring of his injured arm didn’t go unnoticed. “Thank you, Abeforth, for what you’ve done for us. We’ll do our best to make certain that it isn’t in vain.”

The man’s response was a grunt.

Back on the other side, Tom turned to look over the room in front of them as the other four filed out behind him and pushed the portrait closed. “The broadcast has started?”

“About ten minutes ago.” Collin said, trotting up to them. His camera was, for once, absent. “You guys were gone for a while. We were starting to get worried.”

“We had dinner.” Harry said. “Don’t ask us what it was because we really don’t know.”

“Who listens to Potter Watch? The main demographic.” Tom folded his arms behind his back and began to pace. “Is it Order members?”

“Largely.” Ginny said. “And supporters. Most of them would already know, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The brunet grunted, paused and then muttered something to himself too quietly for any of them to catch. “Ms. Granger, I think we should retrieve Nagini from your bag. If we’re to go to battle I require my highly venomous familiar.”

Clearly, she’d had more than enough of an experience holding Nagini the first time she’d had to pull the serpent from the bag so Hermione just held open the beaded purse and let Tom dig the snake out himself.

“If the reinforcements we’ll be receiving are largely already aware then that means there’s no point in waiting on the revelation.”

“Revelation?” Seamus tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“The Gulping Plimpies did tell me that you’d talk about where you really came from eventually.” Luna said.

“Precious.” He looked to the raven. “I’ll need your help with this.”

“Do we have to do this now, Tom?” The dark brunet responded with a stern look. Ginny backed him with an expectant look of her own, joined by Nagini who leered from Tom’s shoulders. Harry huffed, shoulders slumping. “At the beginning of last year Dumbledore called me into his office and informed me that Voldemort had insured his immortality by splitting his soul into seven pieces and creating Horcruxes. In order to be able to kill him and be assured that he’d never come back we needed to destroy those Horcruxes but we had to find them first. And in order to find them we had to know what we were looking for. We could have fumbled through it on our own, but that would have taken years. Years we didn’t have. We needed a short cut and the only one we had was to turn to Voldemort himself. His younger self.”

“Multiple Timeline Traversal Theory.” Tom said. “He handed him a bloody silver ring which amounted to an untested dimensional portkey which could well have killed him and unraveled the fabric of the space-time continuum as we know it but, he was a Gryffindor, when do they ever think before they act?”

“Dragon, Tom.” Harry said. “Dragon, Tom!”

“Dragon, Precious. And it got us here, didn’t it? And I never said I wasn’t guilty of it myself; I wear lion stripes now too, remember.”

“Uh-huh.” The raven huffed. “I wound up back in the 40’s in another timeline and was sorted into Slytherin. Tom was…something.”

“Eloquent.”’

Harry ignored him. “He tried to manipulate me. Court me into becoming one of his baby Death Eaters. But that’s the problem with tunnel vision: I beat him at his own game.”

“I wanted to save magic because this is the world I love and belong to. But I let my prejudice blind me, just like my distant ancestor did. And in that blindness I focused on the wrong enemy.” With swift flicks of his wand, mimicking the motions the diary had taken in the Chamber during his second year, he began to write. Soon the name ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ hung in fire in the air; he flicked his wrist again and the letters rearranged themselves into the phrase ‘I Am Lord Voldemort’. There was shame in his eyes, this time, rather than mad pride as he looked at it. “Albus Dumbledore and I never got along for a number of reasons. Never could quite see eye to eye. But he was right about the power which can be found in love. In love there is redemption, at least in some part, and there may be more that I can find in war. I’ve done terrible things, am responsible at least for the foundations of everything that’s happened. This thing that I created has come terrifyingly close to destroying the world I love forever. I won’t apologize, empty platitudes change nothing, but I’ll promise this: I’ll make things right or die trying.”

“And why,” a voice sneered from somewhere amidst the crowded room, “should we trust you?” After a moment passed the crowd shifted aside, revealing the pinched face and blonde hair of Zacharias Smith.

“I’m not going to tell you that we should.” Tom said, shrugging. “But as things stand currently I’m the lesser of the two evils.”

“There aren’t two evils.” Hufflepuff snapped. “You’re him, just younger! You said so yourself!”

“A better question,” Ginny raised her voice until it was loud enough to drown the Hufflepuff out, glaring daggers at the blonde, “is this one: who here in this room trusts Harry?” She raised her hand, followed by Ron, Hermione and Tom; the dark brunet contained his wince at the sensation of blood seeping through the bandages and dripping down along his arm. Slowly other hands lifted into the air until almost everyone had raised them. That done, the red head turned to look at him. “Harry, do you trust Tom?”

“With my life,” the raven said. “He’s saved it a number of times now.”

“Tangentially, that settles things: we trust Harry, Harry trusts Tom and thereby we trust Tom.” She looked back at the rest of the room, as if daring any of those gathered there to disagree. “I think we’re done here. Shall we start planning?”

“The first order of business is to gain control of the castle and the best way to do that is to run out Snape; behead the snake.” Tom said. “Surely they’re aware we’ve brazenly busted into the castle by now? There must be some intruder protocol that we can take advantage of.”

Chapter Text

Even the fact that it was now the middle of the night didn’t account for how dark the familiar staircases and hallways had become. Black banners embossed with the sickly green Dark Mark hung from the landings above them, fluttering gently in a nonexistent wind and flanked by a pair of unfamiliar teachers in black robes. Death Eaters, he felt certain, from the way that they were sneering.

Despite being made clumsy on his wounded side Tom managed to poke him squarely in the wrist with his pinky. “Keep your head down and your eyes forwards.” His voice was low enough that the regimented block of black and red that was Lion House on its way towards the Great Hall drowned it out from being overheard. “We can’t have them seeing your pretty face and recognizing you prematurely.”

Harry turned his head enough for the dark brunet to get a clear view of his smile and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. His palm was wet and sticky. He looked down; blood dripped from where their fingers had locked together. “Tom, your arm!”

“I’m fine!” He didn’t look at him this time. “It’s just a bit of blood; I’ll have it seen to quickly in the Hospital Wing once we’ve secured the castle.”

“That’s a lot more than ‘a bit of blood’” He protested. “Your entire arm is wide open. People kill themselves that way!”

“It’s wrapped tight and I’ve taken a Blood Replenisher. I’ll last.” He said. “It isn’t as if we can do much about matters right this moment anyway.”

As much as it bothered him to know that the other wizard was actively bleeding onto the castle floor, so much so that the sleeve of the school robes he’d only just recently put on had begun to grow wet, he knew that Tom was right. Tenderly, cautious not to apply too much pressure, he ran the pads of his fingers along the coarse, damp fabric of the gauze wrapped around his wrist. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“A bit.” Tom flinched as Harry’s fingers ran over the covered gash. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry.” He quickly dropped his hand back to where it had been before and he again entwined their fingers. It was strange to realize that he was entirely comfortable, or at least as close to entirely comfortable as one could be in such circumstance, covered it Tom’s blood. Maybe that was part of being in love with someone. Maybe their relationship was a little bit twisted. “We’re almost there.”

“We are.” He said.

“You’re ready.”

Tom looked down at him, then, his dark eyes betraying a tangle of emotions too complicated to make out. “I’m right behind you.”

The doors of the Great Hall were just ahead now. The Death Eaters they’d seen back on the landing above them were walking down the stairs behind them, their forms low and slinking like monstrous hounds. Lion House was the last to arrive in the Great Hall; the other three Houses were already assembled into similar blocks of green and yellow and blue. In front of each House stood their Heads-McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Slughorn-and at the front of the room, now flanked on both sides by the two Death Eaters who’d since continued forward to the front of the room, was Snape.

The ‘Head Master’ was dressed entirely in black and Harry felt his hackles rise. Despite the pain it no doubt caused him Tom squeezed his hand. “Steady, love.”

“I’m sure,” Snape drawled, looking them all over, “that you’re wondering why you’ve all been called here. In the middle of the night. The answer is…both simple and complicated.”

Black eyes once more perused the room.

“Earlier tonight there was a…dragon-sized disturbance in Hogsmead Village. Whomever was behind it went on to break into the castle through one of the windows on the upper floor.” He said. “There is only one person whom I can think of who could possibly be responsible for all of this.”

Another, long, drawn out pause.

“If whomever is hiding Potter doesn’t produce him immediately there will be severe consequences.”

“No need for threats, ‘Professor’.” Harry put so much acid into his sneer that he almost burned his tongue off, stepping calmly into view. “I’m right here.”

“And not alone.” Tom strode out behind him, certain to keep his bone-white wand fully visible as Nagini revealed herself from where she’d been hidden wrapped about his chest. “But have I not always been the dark shadow to the Boy-Who-Lived, Severus?” The last word was spat in a cold susurrus which lanced through the room like a blade of keen ice and made all who heard it shudder. Tom had circled around Harry now and was slowly moving towards the front of the hall where Snape stood frozen. Menace poured off of him like smoke, so thick it almost distracted from the steady dripping of blood from his wounded arm. “You. Know. Who I am!” He hissed. “Your Lord, Severus. Your Lord at the very peak of his power!” Your Lord who is more protective of what he considers Precious than the dragon we rode in on. And you have made me very angry!”

Nagini hissed, rearing up from his shoulder and lashing out at the woman who’d attempted to draw her wand and curse him. She shrieked and fell. The man bellowed and flung himself at Tom only to be struck dead on by the Killing Curse; his body slid down the small flight of stairs.

Snape had begun to back away, black eyes focused on the rapidly approaching ruthlessly grinning predator, wand raised.

“What’s wrong?” he purred, eyes glinting. “Rock and a hard place?”

The former Head of Slytherin House had not grown rusty over the course of his almost a year of being Head Master. His reaction time was as fast as Nagini’s and Tom recoiled with a scream, more blood splattering the tile floor where the gash had been ripped wider. McGonagall was moving before Snape could cast again, driving the black clad Death Eater back from Tom until, at last, the man was forced to flee through the window in a column of the same black smoke he’d seen both the dark brunet and Voldemort fly on and a rain of broken glass.

“Tom!” Harry ran up to him, gently taking his shoulder and turning him around. His arm hung limp at the elbow, robe and shirt sleeve both torn, dripping copious amounts of blood onto the tile floor at his feet. “Merlin!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter, but I need to get to my patient.” Madam Pomfrey shuffled passed him. When she grabbed his arm Tom yelped. “Oh hush! You should have done more to properly treat your injury earlier; come here!”

“But we need to fortify-.”

Tom was cut off by a razor sharp glare from the Healer as she began to drag him towards the corner of the Great Hall, the bag of medical supplies which floated behind he whacking him over the head for good measure. ”The others can fortify just fine without you and your severed tendons. And I’ll be finished in more than enough time for you to do a bit of help provided you back up and stop squirming.”

Even worried as he was, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the witch’s manner and the helpless look Tom sent him despite the pain that he was in. That smile died quickly when Pansy Parkinson stepped forward and pointed at him.

“What are you all waiting for?” She shrieked. “Seize him! The Dark Lord will destroy the castle and kill us all if we don’t!”

“That Dark Lord will probably do a lot worse if we even consider touching Potter.” Someone shouted back from somewhere in the black and blue Ravenclaw block.

“Argus,” McGonagall’s lips were pursed pale as she glared at Snake House. The caretaker, whom Harry hadn’t realized was standing in the room before, jumped in surprise. “I think that Horus’ students ought to be shown to new quarters in the Dungeons. They ought to be safe there for the duration of this battle.”

“Of course, uh,” for a moment the man seemed to struggle regarding how to address her and then settle on “Head Mistress.”

Half protesting loudly, half sending obviously fearful looks in Tom’s direction, the occupants of Slytherin were herded out of the room, bound no doubt for the dungeons. Something told him it wouldn’t be their common room that they’d be put up in.

It was a pity that Draco Malfoy was conspicuously absent. Knowing the arrogant ferret git was shivering in a cold dank cell would have been a good boost to his moral. Probably that of others, too.

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, still hidden in amongst the red and black of Lion House, and the two started towards him.

“Mr. Potter.” He turned to face McGonagall as the other two reached where he stood. “Why have you come back here?”

“Because Voldemort hid the last thing we need to get rid of in order to be done with him for good here in the castle.” He said. “We’re going to destroy it, and him, once and for all.”

His former Head of House and Transfiguration Professor nodded gravely. “There will have to be fortifications made. And, in the meantime, an evacuation. Anyone not at least in their fifth year should not remain behind. And I’d prefer it no one under age remains. You’ve some means through which to contact the Order?”

“We already have, Professor.” Hermione said. “They should already have begun to arrive in the Room of Requirement.”

“We can get people out the same way; the passageway in there leads straight to Hogsmead. And there’s also the passageway into the Shrieking Shack.” Harry said. “I’d suggest putting Tom in charge of division plans of battle. He tends to be good at coming up with that sort of thing and they tend to be just crazy enough to work.”

“And what will you be doing, Mr. Potter?”

“Around the castle. There are a few more things we need to do before the battle starts in earnest if we’re really going to kill Voldemort for good.” Harry said. “We’ll need to get into the Chamber in order to destroy the cup, and the diadem once we get it.”

“I can get it open, Harry, if you want to stay and check on Tom.” Ron said. Before Harry could point out the fact that his friend could not, in fact, speak Parseltongue the red head made a strangled choking sound and proceeded to explain “you talk in your sleep, mate. And not always in English.”

He hadn’t been aware that Parseltongue sounded like a choking goose to anything that wasn’t a snake. “I’ll be right behind you in case that doesn’t work.” He said. “Can I have the Map, Hermione. I think it’s best that we leave it with Tom.”

“I think you’re right,” Hermione dug around in her bag for a moment before producing the familiar parchment and handing it to him. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll see you in the Chamber, then?”

Harry nodded and the pair headed out of the Great Hall. With the map in hand the raven crossed the room to where the dark brunet was all but being force fed a Pain Potion, his mangled arm now properly closed bandaged and put into a sling.

“I’m fine!” He protested, almost sounding like a whine. “I can handle a bit of pain! I will not take anything which poses a risk of dulling my perceptions! It can’t be afforded!”

“Well, if you’re going to be so stubborn about it I suppose I’ll let you suffer.” The old healer huffed, ceasing her efforts at last. Tom looked quite relieved by the turn of events. Harry almost rolled his eyes, but was prevented from doing so when the witch turned to him and said “I would say I expect not to see you once this is all over, Mr. Potter, but experience says you’ll be ending this year almost every other. In my Hospital Wing, if not in St. Mungo’s” before shuffling away.

“Nice sling.” He forced himself to grin.

Tom tried to smile back, but seemed to have about as much success. “It won’t stop me from holding you,” his good arm snaked out to wrap around the raven’s waist and pull him close, “or from fighting.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you not to.” He wanted to. Desperately. As he knew Tom wanted to do the same for him, even though it wasn’t possible for him not to fight; Voldemort would see to that. Both of their answers would have been the same if either had asked, so both did each other the favor of avoiding the question. “Ron and Hermione are headed to the Chamber to destroy the cup and I was about to head out after them but figured I should give you the map first. It might help.”

Tom took the offered parchment as best he could with his bound hand and nodded. “It will. Thank you.” He said. “Take Nagini with you, when you go. Just in case. I know that you’ll be with Ron and Hermione but in case something happens or you’re separated…”

Harry nodded. “I will.” He said. “We’ll get the diadem and destroy it too once the Room is clear. The Professors have started fortifications and the students below fifth year, and those above who don’t want to stay and fight are going to be evacuated soon. Planning is up to you, so just worry about that alright?”

“We each have our jobs to do.” Tom said as Harry’s fingers found his face, gently tracing the curve of his cheekbone. “And I will do mine, but my heart will be with you.”

“And mine with you.” He swallowed. “Tom-.”

“Don’t.” The dark brunet pressed a gentle finger to his lips. Above them, the stars in the enchanted ceiling glittered. “Don’t say goodbye.” He pulled him closer and bent, resting his forehead against Harry’s and closing his eyes. Tom’s eyelids were pale, slightly bruised from the poor sleep schedule they’d all fallen into; Harry wanted to reach out and smooth them down. Feel them tremble beneath his fingertips. “This isn’t goodbye, Precious. No matter what happens. Even if I die. I’ll always be here for as long as you return to me, be it in body or in memory.”

‘The ones you love never truly leave you. You keep them alive through your memories. In here.’ He’d heard that before, somewhere, but in the heat of the moment Harry couldn’t remember who had said it.

“I’ll always return to you.” He could feel his lashes growing wet. “Always.”

“And I to you.” Tom released him, stepping back. “Always.”

Recognizing the wordless cue to leave for what it was Harry pulled away from his partner, though it hurt to have to do it. With Nagini slithering after him and without turning away the raven retreated from the Great Hall. Not wanting to lose sight of the other wizard before he had to. Tom, too, seemed to feel the same and held his gaze until Harry rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

“Riddle.” He looked down. Ginny stood a few feet away, watching him with her arms crossed and her wand in hand. “Whatever orders you have start giving them. I can’t speak to anyone outside of the DA, but we’re all ready to follow them.”

Evacuation. Fortification. Defense. Focus! Tom tapped the Map smartly with his wand and stated “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” before summoning a table and spreading it out on the top of it. “Send Creevey and some of the youngest members who are still able to remain to run in shifts to the Room of Requirement until everyone who’s coming to reinforce us has arrived and everyone evacuating has gotten out.”

“Alright.” She said. “What else?”

“Have Neville and some of the seventh years running between the Professors; any help they need fortifying they lend.”

“Is that all?”

“From you, for now. Dobby!” He didn’t know if the elf would answer him, it would have been so much better to have Harry call him but he’d already left. Thankfully, with a loud crack, the bat-eared little creature appeared beside him.

“Harry Potter’s boyfriend Tom Gaunt has called Dobby and Dobby was sure to come right away.” The elf squeaked, ears flapping excitedly. “What is it that Tom Gaunt needs doing?”

“It’s my understanding that you’re the one responsible for taking all of Hermione’s S.P.E.W clothing?”

Dobby nodded. “I am, Sir. None of the others wanted to clean Gryffindor common room after she started leaving them.”

“She made both hats and socks?”

“Dobby isn’t sure if they were meant to be socks, Sir, it’s rather hard to tell but he isn’t picky.”

“I need those socks, Dobby. All that you have; at least enough to stick a number of them to every column of both the main bridge into Hogwarts and the secondary one.” He said. “And I need tar, as well. And Taurisaz Runestones; you should be able to get them from the Ancient Runes Classroom.”

“Dobby will get them sir. Right away.” The elf popped away.

“Socks? Tar? Runestones?” Ginny asked, returning from delivering the dark brunet’s orders. “What are you going to do? Ward off your older self with the power of smelly feet?”

“No. We’re going to defeat my older self by using basic Muggle strategies of war.” He said. “What is a castle, at its core? A fortress. Something built for the purpose of keeping armies, though perhaps not magical ones. That defense means nothing if we allow ourselves to be overwhelmed. So we’re going to take out our front and bottleneck if it we fail. Drive the Dark Lord’s army back across the chasm.”

“That doesn’t explain-.”

“Sticky bombs. A relic of World War II but, then again, so am I to some degree.” He said. “Muggles used them to blow the treads off of tanks and bring down bridges. And taking down bridges is precisely what we’re doing.” Another crack and the elf reappeared with the supplies. “Thank you, Dobby.”

“Of course, Sir. Is there anything else that Dobby can do for Tome Gaunt sir?”

“Rally the elves. The other creatures in the forest that would stand with us as well. Hogwarts must be protected!”

With a deep bow Dobby disappeared once more.

“Help me, Ms. Weasley. We need these made as soon as possible.” He grabbed a sock and a stone, dropped it inside, tied off the top and then dipped it into the pot of tar. “The Muggles would use fuses and C-4, but this will be much more forgiving for our efforts. The Runestones not only make it pack a considerably larger punch for its size, which should be enough to bring down the main bridge down the main bridge but make it simple to set it off at any time!”

“And when are you planning to set these off?”

“As soon as most of his forces are half way across the bridge.” Tom said. “Send them all into the canyon.”

“Things are going well with everything else.” Ginny said, setting another band aside. “There’s a massive shield spell up around the castle, all of the known secret passageways are being sealed off and McGonagall has used some sort of spell to set all of the statues and suits of armor in the castle marching.”

“We’ll all but certainly need them.” Tom said. “Giants. Dementors. Werewolves. Inferi, possibly. Who bloody well knows what else. And all of that on top of the Death Eaters and Supporters. We’re facing something almost insurmountable; with luck on our side, the confusion and shock of seeing Voldemort fall will turn that tide in our favor regardless.”

“Harry tends to have luck on his side.” Ginny said.

“Yes.” Tom replied. “Let’s hope that that holds out.” Dropping the final bomb into the pile he stood up and shouted “everyone still here who’s on a Quidditch team or even just has a broom I need your attention! Stick three of these to each column of the main bridge and one to each column of the secondary wooden one.”

No one replied but a flurry of motion went up as those around them began to react to follow through on Tom’s orders.

“Have we lost anyone in the DA to the evacuation?”

“No one important.”

“Meaning Smith?”

She smirked. “What do you think?”

The dark brunet straightened up and went back to glance at the map but before he got a chance to he was jumped from behind by a familiar pair of red heads.

“Hey there, pointedly.”

“We figured that we’d find you here.”

“At the head of matters.”

“The helm of things.”

“You are just a wee tad bit controlling.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom turned his head to look at the grinning twins. “I’m not going to justify my alpha personality to you.”

Ginny snorted, but when she caught sight of who stood behind the pair and shifted her expression into a glare. “What’s that bloody git doing here?”

Not having seen the red head with horn-rimmed glasses before, Tom tilted his head in confusion.

“Now now, little sister. Be nice.”

“He’s reconsidered his prattish ways.”

“Has a brain after all.”

“Oh,” the dark brunet drawled, “you must be Percy.”

“He is Percy.” Fred confirmed. “Percy, Tom. Tom, Percy. Tom, this is our older brother. Percy, this is Harry’s over protective boyfriend who reacts about as well to his ‘Precious’ being insulted or harmed as a rabid Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

If Tom wasn’t mistaken, that description had made the older Weasley very pale.

“He’s also the Dark Lord before he went reptile, so that should let you know your prospects if you make him mad.” Ginny looked far too pleased by the thought of her brother ending up on the wrong end of the snake, as it were. “Voldemort used to be a pretty boy.”

“Yes, Ms. Weasley, thank you.” Tom drawled. “Do you know who else is here or coming?”

“I know that, Mum and Dad are.” George said. “Bill and Charlie too. Maybe Fleur as well.”

“We saw Kingsley on the way in.” Fred added. “And he said something about Tonks and Lupin coming.”

“What?” Tom said. “Don’t they have a child that’s only a few months old? Perhaps younger, even?”

Both twins shrugged.

“Tom!” Cho was running towards them, hair flying behind her and broom in her hands. “Everythings in place with the bridges. The Death Eaters, they’re all outside. Hundreds. We can see them on the other side of the barrier.”

“Alright, thank you.” He said. “Can everyone back in here; they’re certain to start bombarding the barriers if they haven’t already and something should be done to boost morale.”

She nodded, taking off again. “I’ll get them.”

As Cho headed away Tom turned back to the twins. “I want the pair of you to listen to me because I’m only going to say this once, though I’d hope it’s fairly obvious. Now is not the time for pulling pranks. It’s a real battle. You shoot to kill. Or you don’t shoot at all.”

“We know that, mate.”

“And keep your heads on straight. Keep a distance from windows.”

The twins exchanged glances. “Why windows?”

“Because they’re the weakest bloody part of a wall.” Tom said, leering at Fred. “I don’t want any one being crushed to death by debris.”

“Well,” Percy said somewhat stiffly, “I suppose we have that in common.”

Tom grunted and turned away, back towards the Great Hall which had steadily filled with people. Adults and students alike. All looking up at him, watching his every move. There once would have been a time where such a thing would have struck him as the proper way of things, but now he felt as if he’d begun to understand Harry’s aversion to being the center of attention. He must look less than inspiring, covering in his own blood with his clothing tattered and his arm in a sling before the fighting had even started.

Time to put his silver tongue to its proper use.

“Voldemort thinks we’re weak. Broken and without real hope. Without a real leader now that Dumbledore has gone. He thinks that superior numbers and Dark Creatures will be enough to make us fall to our knees and surrender. That we’ll roll over like a scared dog and allow him to go unchallenged in destroying everything we hold so dear about the world we love. How wrong they are!”

A brief pause to wet his lips. Find the right words. The hem of his Gryffindor robes fluttered sharp behind him with his sudden motion as he began to pace. The eyes of everyone in the room followed him.

“We will fight them on the grounds until the forest burns and the lake runs red! We will fight them in the courtyards and from the ramparts of the towers until the last spell is fired and when our magic runs dry we will crush their skulls with the stones that pave our castle’s floor! We will fight them in the hallways and the classrooms until our knuckles are skinned and bloody and our wands lay on the ground shattered! And if we find ourselves surrounded and disarmed, wounded and without hope, drowning in puddles of our own blood, we will life our heads in defiance and spit in their faces! But we will never surrender, for there’s no reasoning with a tiger when your head is in its mouth! There is no hope for us in this but victory or death!” In a sudden flurry of motion Tom thrust his wand upward with his good hand, the yew glittering in the low light like a white rapier. “For Magical Britain! For Hogwarts! For our freedom!”

The cry of “freedom!” was mimicked by the crowd, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of the barrier beginning to give way.

“Onwards!”

Like a tide in the ocean the small army that they’d managed to amass from Order Members, supporters, Professors and students surged out through the halls and into the courtyard. The protective shield formed a pearlescent shell above the castle but there were visible holes beginning to form in it. Singed around the edges, as if they’d been inflicted by giant cigarettes held in massive invisible hands. Growing larger every moment, which each spell that slammed into it from outside. The statues and armor suits stood around them, weapons held, waiting. At any moment the barrier would come down completely.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the master Runestone, holding it clutched in his palm. Waiting.

Spells continued to pummel the barrier with a sound like thunder. The holes grew wider and wider. Anticipation was so thick in the air that he could have cut it with a knife. Where was Harry? Had they gotten into the Chamber and destroyed the cup yet? What about the diadem? Were they somewhere in the crowd behind him? He couldn’t turn to look. The barrier would come down at any moment.

With a final clamorous bang and blinding flash of light the barrier gave its last best effort and collapsed and the dark mass began to run across the bridge.

One.

“Hold the statues back!” Tom shouted, holding up his good hand.

Two.

“Stay put! I don’t want anyone getting caught up in this!”

Three!

Without another moment’s hesitation Tom activated the Rune and the Mcguivered bombs under both bridges exploded. He knew the rickety wooden one was done for, no problem, but even with three on each pillar the dark brunet had had reservations about how truly affective they’d be on the main bridge. Rightfully.

They all went off, the fire and thunderous sound and bits of stone revealed as much, but didn’t have quite the effect which he’d hope it would. Large chunks of the bridge did fall, crumbling and dropping away into the abyss and taking a number of the enemy with them, but the bridge remained passable. If only marginally.

At least it’d be easier to go about making that bottle neck.

“Statues, forward!” Stone and metal clattered and clanged as they rushed passed along with some of the more eager fighters. Tom, as much as he itched to dive head long into the fray and began lobbing Curses Hexes and Spells in all directions, didn’t follow. A commander’s place was somewhat more protected; behind the front lines, if only just.

He may have been the serpent’s venom, but with the raven nowhere in sight he was also its head.

“Push them back!” He bolted across the courtyard and leapt upwards onto a fallen pile of stones. Providing himself with a better view of the battle. “Don’t let them off the bridge! Push! Them! Back!”

Black. Black everywhere. Every figure, wizard or otherwise, was dressed in the color and formed a seemingly endless tide of pitch, like a dark fog rolling over the hill tops from the sea. A Death Eater narrowly avoided a Cutting Curse which slit open the sleeve of his cloak and revealed the Dark Mark branded on his skin. A man, hunched filthy and wild eyed, leapt onto the back of a witch he didn’t recognize like a hunting animal and took her down, vanishing into the roiling crowd; a werewolf or simply a madman he wasn’t sure. At the far end of the bridge a giant had begun a lumbering approach, more visible some hundred yards behind it. Acromantula were skittering about on thick ropes of silk.

The air was getting cold.

“Dementors! Six o’clock!” Someone shouted.

Tom spun on his heel, the proper Charm already on his lips. His fox sprung once more into being and raced skyward, joined by a horse and a rabbit and a wolf and a cat and others. All forming into a hail of silver animals. A glittering blizzard of crystalline light forcing back the Dementors and the dark night in away that the moon and stars could only envy.

A snarl from his left. Tom spun again in time to blast a leaping werewolf, half-transformed without the influence of the full moon, aside. The man-beast let out a pained howl as it crashed to the ground, twitched once, then lay unmoving. On the bridge the giant roared, a single swing of its massive axe sending statues and armor and Death Eaters alike all flying off of the bridge like toy soldiers.

Tom swore. “Fall back! Fall! Back!” He bellowed. “Everyone on the damn bloody bridge fall back to the God damned stairs!”

It took a Sonorous Charm and quite a lot of ferocious yelling but he finally managed to get his message across. Those few who had been brace enough to forge forwards onto the bridge with the statues and the armor suits began to retreat. He waited until almost everyone was passed before he pointed his wand at the bridge.

“Bombarda!” The spell created a small crater in the stone but did nothing else. He tried again, movements sharper and more forceful. “Bombarda!” Same result!

The bridge must be magically fortified somehow. There wasn’t time for him to figure out how and attempt to undo it. He had to go for a more temporary solution.

Tom pointed his wand at the archway above him this time and cast the spell a third and final time. “Bombarda!”

He leapt from the pile of rock and ran clear of the collapse; a number of Death Eaters weren’t so lucky and were crushed in the collapse.

It wouldn’t hold for long. The minute the giant got there it would be flung aside. Hell, the pile could be scaled fairly easily but it would give them enough time to regroup.

“We’ve got ammunition to take some of them out with once they come through.” Ginny informed him, hair tangled clothing rumpled and with a small cut dripping blood down her cheek. “Lavender, Pavati and that hack Trelawney are on the ramparts with a surplus of very heavy crystal balls.”

“Marvelous.” Though that still left them in dire straits but Tom couldn’t help but smile at the image of their enemies having their skulls cracked open by a rain of stones. “Though we’re still not in a very good way.” He said. “We’ve lost the bridge. We’ll be forced inside soon, and then we’ll have nowhere left to run. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Darkest hour. He gripped his wand tightly. I’m out of tricks. Is this really it? All that shite we went through with the Horcruxes and we’re going to get steamrolled without my Counterpart even making a damn bloody appearance?

The pile of rocks clattered. Then trembled. And then were tossed aside with another resonant roar. With Death Eaters swarming around it like ants the first giant stepped into the courtyard.

Hail Mary. If Tom hadn’t been so certain of the fact that time had begun to tick down on the last minutes of his life he might have been annoyed that it was a Muggle prayer from the church visits his childhood had been forcibly filled with that flashed across his mind.

Fight until the end! Don’t go down afraid! If you’re going to die don’t die a death you’ll be ashamed of! Pushing aside his mounting fear as it made an attempt to overwhelm him Tom resumed firing off spells. Charging back down the stairs and into the courtyard with some of the bravest in the resistance following behind him.

Tom felled the nearest Death Eater with a Killing Curse. Another with a Blood Boiling Hex.  Blasted a third ahead and flung a handful of spells at the giant which all bounced off its thick skin to little effect. The giant bellowed and stamped its feet. When it swung its axe Tom was forced to fling himself out of the way. He hit the ground on his hands and knees and, with only one good arm to break his fall, toppled to the stone ground.

A werewolf closed in with sharp nails and drooling teeth and the dark brunet braced for the sensation of fangs being driven into his flesh.

Something heavy landed between them with a yelp and a shriek, splattering him with werewolf blood slime and water from the Black Lake. Tom raised his head in time to see the Kelpie rip into the wolf with its clawed front feet and sent the slavering beast packing with a triumphant snort. Screeching and more deafening roars rang out above them, cutting through the pounding of hooves which filled the courtyard as the centaurs rode in from the forest behind them amidst a volley of arrows. The herd of thestrals responsible for pulling the carriages at the start of the year, led by none other than Buckbeak, were circling the giants heads. Dive bombing them like a flock of angry birds.

Before he could catch sight of much more a massive figure loomed out at him from the dark night, reaching down with one hand to pick him up and roughly-though he doubted it was intentional-dusting him off with the other.

“You’re alright there, eh Gaunt?” Hagrid grunted as he set him down again. “Sorry it took us so long to get here. Grawpy and I started back the minute we heard but we were rather far out.”

“You couldn’t have arrived at a better time.” Tom said, gently pushing the Kelpie away as it made an effort to eat his hair. “You saved me.”

“Me? Nah. That was all Neptune; told you you made a good impression.” He said. It was too dark to tell but there might have been a smile behind that wiry beard. “Looks like they’re starting to retreat and he wants to chase them down.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

The Kelpie snorted and dug its slick muzzle into the back of his neck.

“Thinks he wants you with him.” Neptune repeated the motion and then trotted around in front of him. Butting against his chest and nearly pushing him over. “That looks to me like permission to ride.”

Ride a Kelpie? Had anyone stupid enough to attempt such a thing actually survived? If so, their numbers were probably about as low as their IQ but the Death Eaters were retreating now and the predator inside him was pushing him to follow. To chase. But he’d be left behind by both his quarry and the Centaur driving them if he attempted to do so on foot. Not to mention it wouldn’t look anywhere near as impressive to attempt to chase them on foot as it would to run them down from the back of a man-eating fish horse.

“I don’t taste as good as carrots,” he informed the Kelpie as he grabbed a firm hold of its mane and swung himself up onto its back. “Pickling my drowned corpse in stagnant water for a few weeks won’t change that so don’t get any ideas.”

Neptune made a strange, whistling snort in reply and took off towards the bridge rapidly shifting from a trot to a canter. By the time they’d reached the bridge he was in a full gallop and soon pulled to the front of the charging hood. Despite the very present danger of the possibility of the Kelpie taking off towards the Black Lake or the pond in the forest to drown him he couldn’t help but find the rush of it all enjoyable. All he needed was the Sword of Gryffindor back in hand and he’d feel like a proper knight.

A tug on the Kelpie’s mane signaled Neptune to slow and he trotted to a stop at the mouth of the bridge. The Centaur continued after them, firing off more arrows as they thundered away towards the hills the Dark Lord’s forces had come from. Tom watched them go from his perch atop the Kelpie’s back and felt Neptune shudder beneath him.

“You’re right. We should head back.” The dark brunet said, still watching their retreat. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, but it was better to concern himself with managing his side then what their enemies might be doing. Neptune turned his gnarled head to look at him with one milky blue eye and snorted. “Thank you.”

The Kelpie snorted, turned, and started back along the bridge at a brisk trot.

Fallen rock. Shards of broken crystal balls, scattered sharp and ragged across the ground like broken glass. Blood. Tom dismounted from the Kelpie’s back, summoned a carrot and opened his mouth to start basking more orders but before he could do much more than draw breath a shrieking pain erupted somewhere in the center of his mind, somehow having slipped behind his walls. He doubled over with a groan, clutching at his temples with his eyes watering, only barely aware of everyone around him doing the same. And then he heard it.

The high, arctic hissing voice which could only belong to his Counterpart. Speaking directly in his mind.

“Defenders of Hogwarts hear me now as I speak to you for I, your Lord, offer mercy.” Mercy? Tom wanted to laugh out loud and may very well have dissolved into a manic fit of laughter then and there if it hadn’t been for the pain. “It’s not my wish to shed magical blood. Comply with my will and I’ll allow almost all of you to live. Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Tom Gaunt as you may know him, will be the only exception: I’d thought I’d killed him years ago, but it seems to not be the case, and he must pay for his crimes.” Not over what he’d done in Godric’s Hollow, then? That made two of them. “Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you.”

What? No! No, that wasn’t something he could allow! But what could he do, aside from stand there with his hair on end? Nothing. He didn’t even know where the reptile bastard was!

“Come to me, Harry Potter. Give yourself up and your friends will not have to die for you. Fail to appear and everyone who has taken up arms against me will die and it will be your fault. You have one hour.”

Calm down. Calm down. Harry had better sense than that and even if he didn’t Voldemort had ensured his raven wouldn’t cooperate by making mention of his continued intent to kill him regardless. Everything would be fine at least on the front of needing to be concerned Harry might run off.

“You all heard him, didn’t you?” He did a good job of keeping his voice from cracking. “We have an hour to prepare for a renewed attack so we’d better not waste it! Take the wounded up to the Hospital Wing, if that portion of the castle is still standing and safe, and as close to it as you can if it’s not. And contact St. Mungo’s: see if there’s anyone that can be spared and is willing to come. I want anyone among you with any experience on training in healing to assist them. Once the battle’s over entirely we’ll move them to the Great Hall for proper treatment but for now we’ll put them in one of the unused class rooms.”

Movement had already begun around him as what remained of their forces unfroze, beginning to gather the dead and wounded.

“Everyone else, begin refortifications and repairs. Do the best you can.”

Leaving Neptune standing in the midst of the courtyard to do as he wished, either remain and lick at the blood on the cobblestones or return to the forest, Tom bent down and hauled the nearest wounded man to his feet. Slinging his arm across his shoulders and beginning to haul them up the stairs towards the castle’s open door.

The Hospital Wing had lost its windows and a number of the beds were covered in debris but the room was, over all, workable. Tom deposited his load on the nearest unoccupied bed and headed over to a familiar pair of figures one of which was considerably more cut up than the other.

“Didn’t I warn you about staying away from the bloody windows?” he couldn’t resist a slight smirk.

“I did stay away from the windows, Pointedly.” Fred informed him; was that damned nickname ever going to die? “The glass didn’t want to stay away from me. Seems I’m irresistible.”

Tom rolled his eyes. George seemed to share his opinion because he said “that’s almost as bad as your ‘holey’ joke.”

The dark brunet’s attention was pulled away from the conversation by the arrival of Hermione, Ron and Nagini. Ron was pale, Hermione’s face was tear stained. Even Nagini looked shaken.

“Tom!” He whirled around, heart rate sky rocketing at the panic in her voice. “It’s Harry! He’s gone to the forest!”

Chapter Text

Tom took the grand staircase three at a time, shuffling people out of his way without the slightest care for their shouts of alarm or anger and sending bits of stone and other debris flying around him. Forest! He needed to get to the forest and stop Harry! What the bloody hell was he thinking? He knew that the raven wasn’t taking the Dark Lord up on his offer, there wasn’t a chance he’d have done so when it would have condemned him to death as well, but if not that then what? What had driven him to go out into the forest alone? He must have told the other two why, otherwise they surely would have stopped him. Maybe he should have asked before he bolted from the room? Maybe he should stop and ask them now? They were chasing him, after all. He could hear them shouting for him to stop from the landing above, unable to catch up with all of the people in their way.

No. He couldn’t stop. There wasn’t time to stop! Disgusted with even the thought of wasting so much as another moment in order to do so Tom pushed the idea out of his mind and burst through the doors. Leaping off the top of the stairs leading down into the courtyard with absolute abandon. Landing badly on his right ankle and hearing it give way with a sharp snap. Pain flooded through his body with almost enough force to make him bend double and vomit but he still struggled onwards regardless.

Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. No time! Too much at stake. He couldn’t run or even walk there now. Couldn’t fly through the forest with the trees as closely grown as they were. He didn’t have any choice but to ride Neptune again. Luckily the Kelpie was still there and didn’t seem to have changed its stance on allowing him onto its back.

“The forest!” He shouted, hauling himself once more onto his perch. “Go! Hurry!”

Whether it was its words it responded to or simply the urgent tone of his voice didn’t matter. The Kelpie did as he said and took off towards the Forbidden Forest at a full gallop without another moment’s delay.

Stone gave way to grass as they bolted down an emerald hill, across the grounds of the school and into the forest. Thick, scarred trunks of ancient trees and gnarled strands of brush rushed past at an almost alarming rate of speed. The carpet of knotted roots and thick moss which covered the dark loamy soil groaned and clattered beneath the Kelpie’s clawed feet. Tom kept his eyes alert and on his surroundings, searching. Searching for signs of his Death Eaters or his Counterpart. Searching for signs of one of the less friendly denizens of the Forbidden Forest waiting to pounce out at him. Searching for any signs of Harry but founding nothing. With one of his arms in a sling and the other engaged in keeping him astride his sprinting mount he had no means by which to use his wand. Was relegated to wandless magic, but that was next to useless to him when he couldn’t see a damn thing with the darkness.

Motion, indistinct but plainly as large as a man, from his right. His head snapped around only to be lifted from his perch and flung to the ground. Landing in a pile of moss and leaves which cushioned his fall. Neptune kept going, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that he was no longer on its back, and soon disappeared into the dark forest leaving him behind with whatever it was that had attacked him.

Seizing his wand from its sheath Tom fired off a spell at random, not even aware of which one it was. His attacker brushed it aside with a flick of his own wand, the flash of white light illuminating their features for just long enough to reveal who it was.

Snape.

Harry! Harry! Get to Harry! There wasn’t time for him to fight! Tom flung another spell at random. Turned and tried to keep running despite the darkness and the uneven terrain and his badly shattered ankle. He made it a few paces then tripped. Fell. Got up. Tried again.

“Incarcerus!” The ropes were heavy. Winding around his legs. Knocking him once more to the earth. Pressing against his ankle. Tom screamed, the sound a mix of pain and frustration. He flung another spell at random, hitting nothing, and then began a futile effort to crawl. To pull himself along the root covered ground like a serpent with his one good arm and bound legs. “Enough. Do not make me stun you, Riddle.”

Another effort to attack led to him being disarmed. Footsteps were moving towards him now. His only hint that Snape was standing over him was a sudden darkening of shadows in a vaguely man-shaped configuration.

“Get away from me! I’ll rip you apart later but I don’t have the time now! I need to get to Harry!”

“I cannot allow you to stop Potter from reaching the Dark Lord.”

“Because he’s ordered you to-!”

“I’m not acting on Voldemort’s orders, boy! I haven’t been for years, not truly!”

Not acting on Voldemort’s orders? Than whose? Years? Why?

There wasn’t time for this!

Tom resumed attempting to crawl but Snape anticipated his efforts and a Stinging Hex fell across his knuckles. He yelped. The sound echoing in the darkness like the cry of a beaten dog.

“I can’t allow you to interfere.” He said again. Voice no longer quite as harsh as it had been. “Potter has to die for all of this to stop. Dumbledore knew this. He always knew this from the very beginning. Knew the boy had to die to be rid of the Dark Lord at last, and that the Dark Lord had to be the one to kill him.”

His connection with his Counterpart. His ability to speak Parseltongue. The strange draw that he’d felt tugging him towards the raven since the very beginning. Harry was a Horcrux. “No!” It was meant to be a firm, strong shout of denial but it came out as a broken groan instead. A feeling swelled up in his chest like a well spring of cold and heavy water. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years, since those dark nights he’d spent curled up on the rickety windowsill watching the empty London streets in hopes one of the passerby’s he saw would be his father coming to save him. Despair.

Alone. He was alone again.

“I know what you’re going through.”

Pity? Sympathy? He couldn’t tell, really, and didn’t want either. “You don’t know a damn bloody thing!” The trees around them creaked and trembled, a cold wind rushing through their bows.

“You’re wrong.” Tom had expected the other man to yell and curse him but all he did was speak calmly. “I loved her, but I made a mistake and lost any chance with her forever. Had to watch her marry another man whom I hated and have a family with him. And then I made another mistake and this time it got her killed. Because your Counterpart didn’t keep his promise to spare her. I don’t know how I ever expected him to.”

Her? A man he hated? His Counterpart’s promise? Tom felt his eyes widen as the pieces fell suddenly into place. “Lily. The doe. The Patronus he followed which led to the sword. It was you.” He said. “But…after all this time?”

Black eyes glinted solemnly down at him as he waved his wand to free Tom from his bonds. “Always.” Tom pushed himself shakily onto his feet and, not knowing what else to do, just stood there. Grateful for the darkness which hid the brunt of the raw pain on his face. “Albus saw to it that Potter was raised in such a way that he’d make the ‘right choice’ when the time came. Raised like a lamb for slaughter ready to go to his death to save others. I don’t know why he chose to bring you into this as well. Perhaps to ease the guilt he felt for not doing more back then, when he could have. Either way, all he’s done is destroy you both.”

A voice echoed hollowly in the back of his head ‘for the greater good’. Tom wanted to scream.

“He asked me to give you this.” With the gentle click of metal Snape produced the locket. Not the broken Horcrux but the locket he’d given Harry as a Christmas gift. The Charm that was meant to ensure he’d always be there to protect him.

Tom wanted, desperately, to break down in tears then and there. To collapse and give in and just roll over because there wasn’t any point in him living anymore now that Harry had gone. But he resorted to old habits instead. Reverting to those habits he’d developed in the orphanage and used while in school and before the eyes of the Knights of Walpurgis which would one day become Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Emotional shudders slammed down like the metal doors of an empty warehouse.

Without another word he turned and began to limp away, back towards the castle, the locket hanging from his good hand. Leaving the spy standing in the darkness to do with himself as he would. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

He had a Dark Lord to kill. And, for now, all that he had left to do was wait. It seemed to take a small eternity for him to return to the castle. Once there, he sat down at the base of the stairs up to the front door with the locket in his lap. That was where the other two found him. Neither said anything, they simply sat down on either side of him and joined him in waiting as the minutes ticked down towards the top of the hour. The only motion Tom made in all that time was to drop the locket around his neck, allowing the clasp to jangle against his chest. Slowly, those left able to still fight trickled out behind him.

Death Eaters gathered on the far end of the bridge. At their head was Voldemort, grinning like a mad man and with all his sharp yellow teeth on full display, and floating limp behind him like some macabre balloon was…

Tom held himself back only barely, rising to his feet and descending the stairs to meet the other force. His own small group shuffling behind.

“Harry Potter,” the man informed them all gleefully, dropping the body into a limp heap against the flag stones; several of those around him flinched, “is dead!”

Spiteful laughter from the Death Eaters mixed with sobs and whines of despair and fear from behind where he stood. He felt like he was about to explode from the rage which he was forcing himself to keep contained.

“And now there’s one final loose end to tie up before I grant you all that promised pardon.” Slitted red eyes landed on Tom. He tilted his bald, scaled head and stared him down for a long moment. The wand in his hand wasn’t the yew and phoenix feather one he’d grown up with but was still familiar; it took him a moment to realize who it had belonged to.

All along he’d thought the thing either legend or lost to history and it had been in Dumbledore’s possession.

“I’d always wondered, on fleeting occasion, what I might have looked like if I’d given in to Dumbledore and his foolish prattle about ‘love’. I must say, Tom Riddle, that I’m surprised. You’re even more pathetic than I expected you’d be.” More mad giggling, quite a lot of it from Bellatrix. “Look at what the ‘power’ of love has amounted to. Your ‘hero’ lies dead at my feet!”

“Love amounts to nothing? Maybe you’re right.” He said. “I suppose it’s a good thing, then, that at the moment I’m depending a whole hell of a lot more on hatred isn’t it?”

Voldemort anticipated his motion and met the spell he threw at him with one of his own. Jets of light exploded into emerald sparks which scattered everywhere and, like that, a vicious duel erupted. Tom knew he was outmatched as far as experience went so he had to keep control of the duel. The minute that he lost it he’d surely be overwhelmed. So he’d have to keep moving and never let that happen.

More spells collided in flashes of vibrant color. Corkscrewing in random directions like ricocheting fireworks.

With a flourish of his wand Voldemort sent a column of flames spinning upwards into a burning snake. It struck. Tom retaliated with the same spell, the flames having no time to coalesce into any form at all before it collided with the serpent with a crackling bang! A tide of orange fire surged outward in all directions. Towards where Harry’s body lay. Unable to bear the thought of him being incinerated, of having nothing left, he pulled his attention away from Voldemort for long enough to banish the flames all together.

The Dark Lord took the opportunity to bodily attack him, slamming headlong into his chest and flinging him to the stone knocking the breath from his lungs and breaking ribs and, before he could attempt to catch it slammed his bare clawed foot into his throat and pressed down.

Tom choked. Vision starting to go spotty as he made a futile effort to push off his foot and claw at his ankle.

“If you wish to stand with Muggles than you deserve to die like one.” He hissed. Watching his struggles beginning to weaken. The spots had converged into a black border which was beginning to pour in around his eyes. “You should have come to me the moment Dumbledore brought you here from whatever time or world you came from. I could have made you strong. Instead, you allowed him to make you weak! Now you’ll join Potter in dying at my feet! Last words?”

Movement in his peripheral vision drew his eyes; Tom almost couldn’t believe what he saw. Harry, who just moment before had seemingly been lying dead where he’d been dropped, was on his feet with his wand raised. “Harry!”

“Crucio!”

Voldemort shrieked when the curse struck him across the back and stumbled forward, allowing Tom to roll up onto his side and gasp for air. Harry leapt from the pile of rocks he’d been perched on and bolted towards the right end of the courtyard. Voldemort attempted to pursue him but Tom flung himself into his Counterpart broadside and both raced off towards the astronomy tower.

“Tom!” The dark brunet only narrowly avoided the other’s first effort to ram into him, spiraling out of the way, but his second struck home and both crashed through the stone wall of the tower. “Tom!”

As renewed volleys of spells began to fly across the courtyard behind him Harry pushed himself faster, correcting his coarse towards the astronomy tower.

Tom barely had the chance to recover from the shock of being slammed into the side of the tower at high speeds enough to roll out of the way of the Killing Curse which was lobbed at his head. The brilliantly green curse punched a burning crater into the stone floor where his head had been just moments before. He fired a spell blindly. Missed. Voldemort swung at him with a snarl and Tom recoiled, clutching at his lain open cheek.

“I don’t care how many times I have to kill him before he stays dead, I will be rid of that little bastard one way or another!” He snarled, batting aside another spell with one motion and disarming him with another. “But if you’re so intent on being the first to die than I’ll grant you that desire.”

Tom dodged yet another attempt at the Killing Curse, stumbling on his broken ankle, and flung himself at his Counterpart. Voldemort stepped out of the path of his strike, grabbed the arm which had been hung in the sling, and pulled. Bones broke. Talons cut through cloth and skin and ripped the gash back open. Tom screamed.

“Tom!”

A flurry of bright light and hissed curses, his vision was too blurred to decipher what they were. Voldemort released him. His knees hit the stone ground. New hands, gentle and familiar, were on him now; he blinked to clear his vision and looked up.

“Harry.” Unable to move his now badly broken arm at all Tom still made full use of his good arm to pull the little raven against him. Ignoring his own whine of pain as the motion irritated his broken ribs. Eyes burning, he tucked his face into his wild black hair. “You’re alive! Thank Merlin! But how?”

“The Hallows, I think. I’m not really sure.” He said. “The snitch. The stone was in the snitch.”

“The Hallows? But even if you’d had the stone and the cloak that’s only two. Voldemort has the wand.”

“He may have the wand but he doesn’t own it.” Harry said. “The wand has to be won, but the legends never said anything about having to ‘win’ by killing the former owner. You only have to disarm them. Like Draco did to Dumbledore.”

“So Draco’s the owner of the Elder Wand? That still doesn’t-.”

“Draco was the owner of the Elder Wand.” Harry said. “Until I disarmed him in the Room of Requirement.”

Tom let out a wracking sigh. “Only you, Precious. Only you.”

“Tom.” Harry said, pulling back enough to touch where his face had been torn open. “You’re a mess.”

“I’ll be alright.” Tom covered the hand resting against his chest with his own. “I just need a chance to catch my breath. But they need you down below; you’re the only one who can defeat Voldemort. I’ll be right behind you.”

Harry didn’t want to leave him there, that much was obvious, but it was equally clear the raven knew he didn’t have a choice. Reluctant, he stepped away from Tom and hurried back down the tower stairs.

The battle had spilled into the castle, now; the halls were swarmed with fighters from both sides and the blows being exchanged shook the foundations of the castle around him. The strongest concentration of the battle was in the Great Hall. That was where he’d be the most likely to find Voldemort so, with his wand clutched tight in hand, Harry sprinted down the remaining stairs and through the open doors.

Chaos. People everywhere. Spells flying in all directions. Harry maneuvered through the crowd the best he could, ducking stray curses and sniping at any Death Eaters he saw until he finally reached the front of the room. He barely had time to register the fact that Voldemort was standing on the raised dais where the staff table normally was before a Killing Curse was once again flying straight at him. There wasn’t any time for him to react.

The curse never struck.

Somehow, his life always seemed to follow the same pattern. Voldemort would attempt to kill him, he’d come within inches of death, but someone that he loved would die instead. His mother. His father. Sirius. And now Tom.

The dark brunet threw himself in front of him before either Harry or Voldemort could even realize he was there. The acid green jet of light struck him in the chest and his body collapsed. At once it seemed to happen in slow motion and be over in moments. He lay on the floor. Motionless. Eyes glassy.

“No!” Forgetting all about the war and the fighting all around him and even Voldemort himself and fell to his knees beside Tom. Reaching out to rouse him despite knowing it was worthless. He was gone.

Harsh laughter from above him drew his attention back upwards; Voldemort had moved while he’d been distracted and now loomed above them, red eyes glowing in the slowly strengthening light.

“He threw his life away for you, Harry. Like so many before him. Like everyone here has by continuing to fight.” He said. “His death is your fault. If you hadn’t poisoned him with ‘love’, he’d still be alive.”

His fault? His fault? Maybe he was right, to some degree, because if Tom hadn’t loved him like he did he knew he wouldn’t have died for him, but how dare the bastard say such a thing when he’d murdered him! Snarling, Harry lunged to his feet and flung a Disarming Spell at Voldemort which was met by the blinding green of the Killing Curse. Just like in the graveyard during his fourth year, the spells connected.

His wand vibrated violently. His magic pushing against Voldemort’s, each in a desperate effort to overwhelm the other. Unlike the last time, Prior Incantatem did not occur. Voldemort’s magic was coarse and unrelenting and it pressed against his with all the force of a raging hurricane but it wasn’t enough. Harry’s wand pushed. The Elder Wand resisted its wielder’s control. Green gave ground to red. And then it was over. The wand flew from his hand. Voldemort staggered. And as the sun rose outside the Great Hall’s windows the Dark Lord collapsed.

Physically, emotionally and magically drained Harry stumbled back towards where Tom had fallen. Legs unable to support his weight any longer he lay down beside him and rested his head on his chest, like he’d so often done when they’d curled up together. As he lost consciousness, Harry could have sworn he heard the faint sound of a familiar heartbeat.

When Harry woke up Ron and Hermione were sitting next to him and he was lying in one of the few remaining unoccupied bed left in the hospital wing. Darkness had fallen once more outside the window, so he knew that it had been at least a day.

Voldemort was gone forever. The war was over at last. But Harry couldn’t find it in himself to be in any way happy.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione sat forwards when she realized his eyes were open. “You’re awake!”

“Who?” his voice was coarse and raspy.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a somewhat worried glance. “Who?”

“Who’s hurt?” he clarified. “Who’s dead?”

“Fred got pretty cut up when one of the widows exploded.” Ron said. “Some others got pretty hurt too, but they’ll all be alright, mate. You don’t need to worry about them.”

“Remus and Tonks are dead.” Hermione told him. Harry looked down at his hands and nodded. “But…we do have some good news.”

Good news? What could possibly be good news?

“Tom’s alive.” Harry went very still, not daring to look up at her. Half expecting to be told this was, in fact, little more than a cruel joke. “We don’t know how or why but the Killing Curse didn’t kill him. They took him to St. Mungo’s eight hours ago, when they realized he still had a pulse. He’s…he’s in a coma, Harry.”

A coma? But that wasn’t…of course! You couldn’t commit suicide with the Killing Curse; it would simply put you into a coma instead! Wasn’t that what Tom had told him, so long ago when they’d discussed the Unforgivables back in Tom’s own time? Voldemort and Tom may have been different in all the ways that truly mattered, but magically they were still bound to be identical. Had Tom known that when he’d thrown himself between them?

Regardless of the answer to that, Harry doubted it would have affected his choices in the end.

“You need to realize…just because he’s alive...” Hermione stopped herself, then tried again with a hesitant “you do realize he may never wake up, don’t you?”

“He’ll wake up.” Harry told her firmly. “It may take a long time, but he’ll wake up. Tom’s too strong not to. And I’ll wait.”

This time, when they exchanged glances, there was pity in their eyes.

“I want to see him. Do you think Madam Pomfrey will let me go?”

“She did say you only needed rest.” Ron said. “And I doubt she’d be adverse to you going to St. Mungo’s even if that wasn’t the case. It is a hospital.”

There wasn’t much arguing with that point. Harry pushed himself up out of the bed and started heading towards the nearest fireplace, his friends quickly falling in behind him. Despite how bad he was at using the floo, the moment he located floo powder he threw it into the hearth and stepped through.

St. Mungo’s was as busy as ever but he ignored the chaos around him and walked up to the front desk. The overworked reception witch looked over at him expectantly.

“I’m here to visit Tom.” How had he been checked in? Under which name? “He’ll be under either Riddle or Gaunt.”

“Tom M. Riddle: Spell Damage, fourth floor. He’ll be in room six.”

“Thank you.” Harry said and hurried towards the stairs. He’d never climbed so many floors so fast in his life and barely contained himself from running down the hall. Reaching the correct room at last he pushed open the door and stepped inside; neither Ron or Hermione followed him.

Tom was the only occupant, lying listless on the bed with his eyes closed and his hands resting to either side of him. The slight rise and fall of his chest let him know that he was breathing. Nagini had wound the emerald length of her body about the head board like tinsel and hissed at him as he approached; no longer able to understand Parseltongue, Harry had no idea what she’d said.

He reached the bedside and, slowly, lowered himself into the chair that he found there. Taking Tom’s hand: limp and cold but with a pulse beating undeniable against his pale wrist. Harry could have sagged with relief then and there. He still had a chance. Hadn’t lost everything after all.

“Tom.” He squeezed his hand gently but got nothing in return. “Come back to me. You promised that you would.” No matter how long it took, he’d wait. No matter how bad it seemed, he wouldn’t give up on him. Because he knew that Tom would have done the same for him, had their positions been switched. “I’ll still be here.”

Always.