Harry was sitting on Tom's bed, lounging in her knickers and a bath robe she stole from his closet. Tom was idly playing the piano, still partially undressed. He was humming to himself, and seemed to be in a good mood.

It had been a month since their first encounter, and somehow Tom was still interested in seeing Harry. Harry hadn't minded, she now had free access to the house and could basically come and go as she pleased. More importantly, she had free access to the roof.

She had already made inquiries in town about the local black market dealers, and done her own investigation on local factories in the area that would produce phosphorescent paint. There was a place twenty miles away that produced light up paint for nighttime visibility for the military use, so Harry had to break in and steal it. It had been a bit of a bother getting to the factory undetected, she had to come up with an excuse of having to visit the doctor, then hitchhike to the factory and pretend to be one of the workers in the assembly plant. She waited until the foreman was writing his reports to ask to see him alone, hinting at her interest in him. (Apparently it was quite easy to get to some blokes with the offer of a workplace sex, he hadn't even noticed she didn't belong there!) Once she had him an inch away from her, she pulled out her wand and cast the Imperius. Minutes later, she had five shrunken buckets of paint in her pocket, and a rather confused foreman sitting on his desk with a report noting that any missing paint was thrown out due to contamination. Once she returned to her post, she hid the paint in the barn, since the only ones who would spend any length of time there was herself, and Duchess of course.

Harry thought about her plans as she played with her hair, the curls undoing into frizz. She turned over to the other side when she heard Tom stop playing the piano and walk back to the bed.

"I'm going to have to go soon, it's well past curfew." Harry said as he put his arms around her, kissing her lips, then moving down toward her neck.

"Just stay the night, darling. It's already late enough. If you get up before morning you can start your chores and they'll be none the wiser." Tom urged.

"You know I can't," Harry replied as Tom continued kissing her, his hands moving across her body, groping her. "Tommy!" she squealed in protest, playfully swatting him. He laughed. (She had taken to calling him Tommy, and much to her disappointment he seemed to love it.)

He hugged her, and went down to his knees, his head resting on her stomach as he nuzzled her. "No, you can't leave. I forbid it," he replied playfully.

"Alright, I'll stay, but we're not going another round. I'm exhausted." Harry acquiesced.

"Then we shall have to occupy ourselves some other way," Tom answered, winking. He got up and twirled her around, causing Harry to wobble.

"I never was much of a dancer," Harry huffed.

"That's a shame, you have the build for it. How about music, do you play?" He asked, leading her to the piano.

As they sat down on the bench, Harry paused. To be honest, she had never been very musically inclined. However, she did remember Mrs. Figg had a piano, and while it was never tuned and gathered dust, she did remember one afternoon when the old woman had taught her the first and last piece she had ever learned.

"Well, I only know one, and it's not very good," Harry replied weakly.

"By all means," Tom insisted. "And I can accompany you if you'd like."

Uneasily, Harry began to play the simple exercise unevenly from memory, missing a few notes here and there. Suddenly, Tom recognized the melody.

"I know this one, it came out a few years back, didn't it?" He started playing the other part of the piece, initially making Harry feel annoyed.

"You're playing is marvelous, darling," Tom stated reassuringly, causing Harry to blush. "Do you know the words, or should I sing along?"

Harry's eyes widened. "There are words?"

"You don't know them? Well, I guess I'll sing along." Tom replied.

As they continued to play the simple repetitive melody, Tom effortlessly sang along.

Heart and soul, I begged to be adored
Lost control, and tumbled overboard, gladly
That magic night we kissed
There in the moon mist

He continued to play, staring at Harry, who really tried to look away, not sure where he was going with this.

Oh! but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling
Never before were mine so strangely willing

He seemed to pause after the lyric, but moved on.

But now I see, what one embrace can do
Look at me, it's got me loving you madly
That little kiss you stole
Held all my heart and soul

With that, he kissed her. Harry let him, but she could tell he wasn't as passionate about the kiss as he was before, as if he was distracted. Did he suspect anything? Was she not holding her cover well? She needed to distract him.

"That's a terrible song," Harry concluded.

Tom smiled, "It's certainly no Cole Porter, but it serves its purpose." He gazed at her, lingering a bit longer than necessary, brows furrowed.

"Tommy, what's wrong? Is everything alright?" Harry asked, feigning innocence.

"Sometimes I feel as if I don't deserve someone so beautiful and good as you. Harriet, I don't know what you see in me." Tom muttered, causing Harry to jump.

"I see a good man, who deserves love," Harry replied, trying to come up with a meaningless platitude she could think of off the top of her head. The last thing she needed was for him to suspect anything. Not now, when she was so close.

"How can you say that? You don't even know me, Harriet. I have secrets. Deep secrets that I'm ashamed of, and you shouldn't have to be privy to." Tom confessed, his face darkening. It seemed he had been meaning to say this for a while, the words were bubbling out of him.

"Is this about your marriage, I know about that." Harry replied, placing her hand on his knee trying to comfort him. "It doesn't bother me at all."

"You don't know the truth." Tom replied dramatically. "Anything those harpies gossip about in the village is nothing close to the truth." His breathing was jagged. He stood up and started pacing.

"Well tell me the truth then, or don't. I don't care about your past Tom. We only need to focus on the present." Harry replied, trying to sound sympathetic but feeling her patience wear thin. Harry got up from the bench and picked up her dress, getting ready to leave.

Tom stopped pacing and turned to face her. "Please don't leave," he pleaded. "Alright, I'll tell you. But, don't judge me. I couldn't bear to see you hate me." Harry tried to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

As Tom recounted his marriage to Merope, he certainly added an emotional edge that wasn't present in the memories Harry had seen in the Pensive. He told her of the existential horror of feeling intense, unwarranted passion and of the side effects. Constant fevers, palpitations, painful arousal. He went into detail about his disgust for his bride, and how even as he kissed her for the first time, he could feel his skin crawl and he recoiled from her breath.

By the time he finished discussing their wedding, he kept going, detailing their lovemaking much to Harry's chagrin. From his accounts, every encounter was a nightmare. It wasn't so much the physical discomfort, it was the powerlessness and the lack of control of one's own body with full consciousness that something was horribly wrong.

"I don't know how to say this, but she was a witch, some sort of succubus or something of the sort. She made me drink this foul concoction every morning, it smelled nice enough- the fireplace in my home, the field I liked to ride in, and wildflowers- but it tasted vile, and I saw her adding bits of her hair to it, so that certainly didn't make it more palatable." Tom rambled.

"And this drink, made you continue to love her?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"No," Tom replied quietly. "It kept me obsessed with her, and tame. It wasn't until one day, when she stopped the dosage that I came to my senses. Oh God, Harriet, it was awful. It was like lifting your head up from drowning, but with the terror of finding yourself still in the water. I had given up everything, my family, my life, for this horrible little creature. I couldn't take it. The moment I started to feel like myself, I ran."

"You did what you had to Tommy, no one would blame you," Harry replied calmly.

"But that's not all. She was pregnant. I knew she was expecting, but I wanted no part in that. The things I saw her do, it was like the work of the Devil. I couldn't bear the thought of her carrying some monster like her, having to see it. Some hideous freak," he spat.

Harry sighed. "Honestly, Tom. Are you hearing yourself? Love potions? Mind control? Magic? I'm sure we've all made decisions we've regretted but you don't need to bring the Devil into it."

"I know what I saw. Believe me or not, it's true. But do you hate me, Harry? Can you forgive me?" He looked into her eyes, searching for some reassurance.

"The real question Tom is if you can forgive yourself." Harry answered blandly.

"That's what I've wondered for years. I've thought about the baby, what it might be doing, where they might be. I never heard from her again, and in some level, I'm relieved."

"Then perhaps it's for the best if we leave it at that," Harry stated finally.

Tom looked at her suspiciously. "You wouldn't happen to be my long-lost daughter I hope."

Harry laughed. "I doubt it, I knew my parents and they were faithful to each other. Besides, who's to say you didn't have a son?"

Tom sighed in relief. "Fair enough. But it does take a weight off my shoulders, knowing you accept me, even after telling you my darkest secret."

He kissed her, and held her in his arms for the rest of the evening. Harry frowned. She was going to have to paint the sign on the roof another day. It seems Tom was unwilling to let her slip away.

Harry needed to place the mark on the house, but she needed to make sure the Riddle House was going to be a target. If her plan was to be watertight, there needed to be documentation that the Germans wanted to hit the house.

Other than for going to Germany, she was going to have to intercept the spy radio signals and send a decoy message. It could work, Little Hangleton was nearby a munitions factory. If she could convince them to send a message tricking the Germans with the wrong coordinates, the heads at Whitehall would be none the wiser. It would be risky, but she would certainly have magic on her side.

Harry told her supervisor she was going to have to be gone for the day, once again for women's troubles. Her supervisor eyed her suspiciously, but told her to be discrete.

"Second one of you lot heading out to the city to sort this out. I hope you've found a good one, last thing I need is one of you girls bleeding out. We don't want the authorities getting involved," she admonished. Harry thanked her profusely, and said discretion was her middle name.

She apparated to Buckinghamshire, clearly thinking of the large red brick mansion she had visited once on a trip in primary school. She stumbled onto the manicured grounds, she took in the sight of it. Bletchley Park, the hub of the codebreaking operations of British intelligence, and was one of the most vital, top-secret buildings in Muggle Britain. The machines they developed in order to help with decryption led to the world's first digital programable computer. There were teams of codebreakers deciphering German messages, and around 8000 were women.

Harry adjusted her dress, now charmed to look like a more sober dress suit, and walked purposely towards the huts, the buildings added to the mansion that housed the intelligence operations. Harry made her way to Hut 6, which contained the decoding room.

Harry entered the dimly lit room and oppressively hot room. In front of her were rows of women on what looked typewriters. Harry stood for a moment, assessing her next move.

"What are you standing around for, haven't you got an Enigma key?" asked a rather irritated woman. She had an elegant voice, well spoken and well dressed. She was presumably one of the Debs, as they were snidely referred to by their male counterparts.

"I'm afraid not, I'm new," replied Harry.

"Well, come on then, we haven't got all day." The woman replied, motioning her to the giant machine standing in the room. It was larger than a person, and humming and moving. Harry briefly marveled at it before moving closer to the woman, who was busy looking at the ticker tape. Deftly, Harry took out her wand and cast the Imperius, quietly whispering her command in the woman's ear. The sound of the Typex machines making it difficult for others to listen in, and their own activities distracting them from what they wouldn't have understood.

Harry placed the cloak over herself, and waited as she saw the command go through. It was done. Now all she had to do was paint the signal and wait.

It wasn't until another week later when Harry had the opportunity for an overnight visit with Tom. He asked her to arrive earlier than usual, and look presentable. Harry only had the one dress, so she made the most basic preparations.

When she arrived at the back entrance, Watson was waiting for her. "Follow me," he stated curtly. Evidently, he had hunted some rabbits that were laying on the kitchen table, ready to be skinned and he was in a hurry.

Much to Harry's surprise, they did not climb the stairs, but walked straight to the main dining hall.

"What's going on?" Harry asked before finding the answer all too soon.

Mr. and Mrs. Riddle were standing at the dining table, their reproachful gaze boring into her. Tom was also present at the table, smiling sheepishly.

"Harriet, darling, these are my parents though I'm sure you're aware of that." Tom introduced the pair, and Mr. Riddle nodded, giving a harrumph. Mrs. Riddle gave her an icy glare.

"Lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle," Harry replied confidently, giving a broad smile.

Mrs. Riddle seemed to ease up, but was still examining Harry with her eyes. "Well, she is a pretty thing, Tom. But she's awfully young. Do sit down dear, we're about to start supper."

Dinner was a quiet affair. They ate some of the rabbit hunted earlier, along with potatoes. No one spoke a word.

It wasn't until the sherry was poured that Tom spoke up. "Harriet, there is something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Must you say it now, I'd prefer if you told me in private," Harry replied curtly.

"Now, now. There's no need for you to be skulking about, dear. It won't do for you to be popping in and out like some harlot," replied Mrs. Riddle. "If anything needs to be said, it will be said in front of the family.

"Precisely," Tom agreed. "And I would like for them to be present." Tom pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket.

Oh no.

Tom opened the box, revealing a small Asscher cut Emerald ring. He stood up, bending down on his knee, barely hiding the discomfort it was causing his back.

This was too much. She couldn't make her presence known. She had to leave no trace. If the Riddles died, she might be a suspect – it looked suspicious, former fiancée involved in effort sabotage their blackout. She hid her face with her hands, hoping to hide her terror.

"Harriet Evans, would you do the honor…"

"I can't marry you, Tom." Harry blurted.

Tom faltered. "Why not? What reason could you have?"

"I'm already engaged," Harry lied. "He's in the RAF, we're going to marry once the war's over. Oh Tommy, don't be like that. Why can't we just focus on the here and now? We don't need to make things complicate with marriage."

"I don't see a ring on you," Tom pouted.

"He couldn't afford one, but it doesn't matter. What we have now is great, but we're going to have to go our separate ways soon. And let's face it Tom, we have separate lives, I don't belong here."

"It seems the girl has more sense than I gave her credit for," Mrs. Riddle added.

"Quite," replied Mr. Riddle, occupying himself with the paper.

"But I could give you more, I could make you happier, Harriet. Don't you see, you're the only person who I've ever cared for. You're the only one who I would want." Tom pleaded.

"And I'm yours, always," Harry replied, trying her hardest to sound sympathetic. "But I don't need you to prove anything to me with big gestures. Time is so fleeting, lets just enjoy what we have and not look too deeply into it."

Tom swallowed his pride, placed the box back in his pocket, and they spent the rest of the evening by the fire reading.

It seems Tom was not in the mood to ask her to stay the night, and escorted her back to her bunk. When she saw him return to the house, she followed behind while wearing the cloak. She stopped by the barn to pick up the paint, sending a silent prayer to whatever deity was around the cans had not been noticed or tampered with.

She carried two cans with her as she cast Alohomora and hoped Watson didn't hear the door creak open. Silently, she climbed the stairs to the roof, undetected by the caretaker.

When she reached the roof, she popped open the tops of the paint, marveling at the bright glow of the phosphorescence. Of course, it was not as bright as modern glow-in-the-dark paint, which contained strontium aluminate, but Harry hoped the blackout conditions could make the glow look brighter.

Harry thought a moment of what she wanted to paint. A swastika? No, too vile, even if she was committing murder.

Then it hit her. What would be the symbol that would attract the most attention from the Germans, but would be so forbidden that it must be destroyed before the Muggle authorities find it painted on the house? Harry wondered if it would be too obvious, too much of a taunt.

It was ironic in a way, two of them were only a few meters apart.

With a sardonic grin, Harry took out her brush and painted a large symbol of the Deathly Hallows on the roof.

An hour later, she descended the stairs, discarding the empty paint cans in a coat closet. She noticed Watson was sleeping in the kitchen by the door. Quietly, she cast a Stunning Spell not to wake him, and cast a Floating Charm, picking up his body and carrying it out the door and safely to the barn.

She spent the evening taking a long quiet stroll back to her bunk and thought about the Greater Good. Did Dumbledore ever have any ethical dilemmas about murder when he and Grindelwald planned the bright world of Wizard supremacy of their youth? Would he have thought of the lengths he might have had to go through if Ariana hadn't died?

Harry stumbled back into bed sometime around two in the morning, wrapping herself fitfully in her sheets.

As she closed her eyes, she felt the ground shake, the air crackling with the deafening sound of an explosion. The other girls started to scream as they saw fire blazing in the distance.