Prodding at the fire in front of him with a long stick, Harry frowned. The flames in front of him popped. The spring a few hundred feet back through the trees burbled. An owl hooted. He hadn't seen Tom in four days and four nights; tomorrow would be the fifth and Harry worried that the former Claymore might never return. That, perhaps, he'd gotten it into his head that even as much of a magnet for disaster as he was Harry was safer without him. That abandoning him was better than seeing him dead despite everything that had been said in the inn at Holyhead after Tom had returned from hunting the Awakened Being.

Annoyed, the little raven snapped the stick in half and tossed it into the fire, wincing when the sudden movement broke open the scabs which had formed over the shallow claw marks. Better to head over to the spring and wash it off before the blood could stain his clothing; while he was at the spring he could try and find some frogs or crawfish under the larger stones which he might be able to make a meal out of.

It wasn't ideal, by any stretch of the imagination but it was better than starving. And even then he wouldn't be able to stay there much longer. If Tom didn't return by the end of the week he'd be forced to move on without him. And no matter how badly he wished that wasn't the case, it couldn't be avoided.

Maybe, through scent or chance, the brunet would be able to find him again. Maybe he wouldn't even try.

Clambering up onto his feet and knocking damp, fallen leaves from where they clung to his hands and clothing Harry left the pack of near to useless supplies (spices, the little pack of money, the fire starter and the other two outfits he'd purchased for Tom in Tutshill) sitting beside the fire and started off towards the trees.

Even in the center of the island winter had made its presence known, and when a cold wind blew Harry shivered. The temperature of the water was likely to be miserable. He might actually have to sit in the fire in order to warm up once he was done washing off the blood and splashing about in the shallows. The owl hooted again from somewhere nearby and above him. To his right the undergrowth rustled. Harry froze, swung around, and was confronted with the large eyes of a deer which bolted away as soon as it caught sight of him. Sighing in relief the little raven shook his head and continued on his way towards the spring.

It wasn't anything particularly awe inspiring or impressive; it wasn't even that deep, only coming to about his mid-waist and spanning about ten feet in width but it was enough to support a stable population of small crustaceans and amphibians as well as allow him to wash out his wound. The water was so clear that Harry could see straight through to the rocky bottom and was hemmed in along its shore by boulders ranging in size from about the width of his head to the width of a standard house.

Quickly stripping down and leaving his clothing folded on a smaller rock, Harry wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to preserve as much heat as possible and looked at his hip to assess the state of the wound. Blood was smeared dark red across tan skin, leaking in crimson beads from the cracks formed in the scabs that had built up in the days since the wound had been inflicted. He prodded at it gently with his fingers and they, after deeming the damage relatively minor, stepped into the water.

Ice shot up his spine and his foot instantly went numb. Hissing in surprise but, having gone too far to simply back out now, Harry grit his teeth and forced himself to wade further into the water. Ankles. Knees. Hips. By the time the spring had reached his waist the water had actually begun to feel a bit warmer; the little wizard was certain that wasn't a good sign but at least he couldn't feel the cuts stinging. Harry scrubbed gently at the bleeding wound, wanting to make certain it was clean and not in danger of becoming infected while at the same time aware that just because the chill of the water had left him unable to feel it didn't mean he couldn't cause himself further damage if he applied too much pressure or caught at the edges with his nails by mistake.

Harry looked up when he felt a sudden chill along his spine which had nothing to do with the temperature of the water and turned towards the shore, stepping back with a splash and a gasp of surprise. Red eyes peered out at him from a gap between two dying hedges, silent and staring. How long they'd been there Harry didn't know but he felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise; if the near-attack had taught him anything it was that red eyes weren't a good sign. At best it meant that instinct was close to the surface and at worst it meant that Tom wasn't in control at all. He wasn't afraid of Tom, even after what had happened, but he couldn't keep his heart from starting to race.

The predator in the trees perked up and Harry stepped back. Bad move. Tom emerged from the trees, prowling towards water's edge on all fours; gore caked beneath his curved talons and covered head to toe in blood. Reaching the water's edge he rose onto all fours and stopped, head cocked to the side.

Reluctant to remove his eyes from the brunet, afraid it might incite him to attack, Harry looked back over his shoulders at the cluster of large boulders a handful of yards behind him. He doubted he'd be able to make it up and off them before Tom could catch up, but maybe if he didn't make any sudden movements the former Claymore wouldn't feel the need to pounce and he'd be able to hide until Tom had returned to his proper state of mind.

Harry took another step back. A large grin split the other's face, revealing sharpened teeth, and he matched his motion. Stepping forward into the water with an almost playful sounding chirp. Each time he took a step back it was matched with a step forwards by the former Claymore. Every instinct in the raven's body screamed for him to run but he held it back, aware that sudden movements would almost certainly be a death sentence.

His back collided with the nearest boulder with a thud. He nearly lost his footing on the loose gravel bottom of the spring. Tom had closed the distance between them almost completely. Harry turned his back on him and reached up to grab the rock but before he could pull himself up and escape the brunet had pounced.

Clawed hands caught at his hips and spun him around, his back hitting the rock behind him again. Tom pressed close, the half-tacky coating of blood smearing between them, and nuzzled into his raven hair. A deep purr built in the back of tom's throat.

"T-Tom?" Harry jerked in surprised when a forked tongue flicked out and licked him behind the ear. Taloned hands gripped handfuls of his arse.

A dry hiss issued from between those jagged teeth before he snarled "mate" and began charting a messy trail of wet kisses and bleeding marks down the column of Harry's throat. Tom's Inferus nature was fully in control, he was soaked in human blood, could bite out his throat at any moment, yet Harry found himself becoming hard. Maybe if he wasn't so busy whimpering at the sharp burn of Tom's teeth against his collar bone he might have wondered what that last little fact said about him.

Any hope of continued cognitive thought came to an end when Tom's forked iron-tinted tongue invaded his mouth. A clawed finger probed at his entrance then slipped inside him, followed by another; they stretched and scissor and the raven's groan was greedily swallowed.

Harry wrapped his arms around the taller male's broad shoulders. His back pressed flush against the coarse, cold surface of the boulder. Sharp nails scraped along his inner thigh, hooking one of his legs around Tom's waist and spreading him open. Tom reattached himself to the side of Harry's throat as he sank into the warmth of the smaller body, hissing possessively when the raven whined and clawed at his back. Nipping at his Adam's apple. Licking along the curve of his jaw. An incessant purr vibrated his body as he waited for the other to adjust.

"Move." Harry's voice was muffled in the crook of the brunet's neck and jaw. "Tom, please move."

The former Claymore snapped his hips forward, pushing deeper into Harry's body. The little raven viciously bit his lip to keep himself quiet, feeling the heavy drag of silken flesh on flesh, assaulted by sensation as Tom established a frantic rhythm. A litany of satisfied hisses and grunts joining with Harry's moans and the splashing of water. One hand pressed him close, claws splayed across the small of his back, and the other wrapped around him. The calloused heat bringing him to completion moments before the brunet followed him over the edge; molten heat spreading deep inside him as the larger male slumped forward. Huffing and panting.

"Sparkling?" Tom sounded hoarse and confused, as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep. Suddenly seeming to realize the situation they were standing in-Harry's arms and legs wrapped around his waist, the smell of sex and blood in the air and the fact that he was still buried inside him-he jerked upright with wide black eyes. "Harry! Did I-?"

"You didn't hurt me, Tom. And you didn't do anything to me I didn't want." He let his head drop back against Tom's shoulder. "We should go back to camp and talk but we're covered in blood and…other things." Harry felt his face heat up. "We should clean ourselves up first."

"…That may be best." Carefully, Tom set him down. Harry whimpered as the brunet pulled out, over sensitized flesh on fire. "You're covered in bites and bruises."

"I was into it." The raven admitted coyly, still bright red as he set to the task of washing off. "I meant it when I said you didn't hurt me. What took you so long to come back? I was getting worried."

"I'm sorry, Harry." He said, washing the smeared blood from his chest. "I had to go quite a ways and once I started hunting I got a bit carried away."

"How many?" Harry asked lightly, not looking up.

Tom took a deep breath. "Twenty."

"So you'll be good for a while, then?"

"The hunger never goes away, Harry. I could eat until I explode but it wouldn't make a difference."

"But you won't need to hunt again for a while?"

"No." He said. "But that doesn't mean you're safe around me, Sparkling."

"That's something we need to talk about at camp." Harry emerged from the spring and pulled is clothing back on. "I have a theory."

"A theory?" Tom repeated, washing the last of the blood out of his hair and emerging as well. "About me?"

"Yes about you."

"And what theory would that be?"

"The theory we're going to talk about back at camp."

Tom huffed and shook his head before following him back towards the guttering fire.

Harry opened the bag and pulled out the second of the three outfits he'd purchased in Tutshill and tossed it to Tom. "Try not to destroy this one right away because I only have one more."

"You act like I set out to ruin my clothes." Tom grumbled, pulling on pants. "As if that's my sole purpose in life."

"It would make for an impressive title." Harry snickered. "Heartless Voldemort, Destroyer of Clothing."

"Have you slept since I left?" the brunet picked up a raggedly skinned rabbit and hung it over the fire. The little raven rolled his eyes. "Well, we're back in the camp. Why don't you tell me this theory of yours."

"'This theory of mine' might be how we make it so that you're not dangerous to me. Or at least less dangerous. It probably won't last forever, but…at least it's something." He said. "When you attacked me you were starving and, um…well…frustrated, apparently and your instincts took over. But after you went hunting and we…'mated' you woke up again."

"What's your point, Sparkling?"

"Maintaining control is easier for you to do when your instincts are satisfied." He said. "So we just make sure their basic demands are always met: food, sex and territory."

Tom's eyebrows rose. "Where did you get territory from?"

"The old stories. About the Abyssal Four. They all had their own portion of the land where they lived and hunted and those became four of the five Provinces. With Slytherin being dead I say we take his: it'd be easier than fighting one of the other Abyssals for theirs."

"I don't know." Tom said, a troubled expression settling across his face. "Your theory may have merit, but…I don't have the greatest memories of my home Province. I'll have to think about such a decision at length before making it."

"I can understand that." Harry said, turning the rabbit on the spit. "I don't have great memories of Gryffindor Province myself."

Silence fell between them. Once the rabbit finished cooking the raven pulled it off the fire and portioned it out. After they'd finished eating Tom spoke again.

"Is there anything else you wanted to speak about, Sparkling?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. You said that you used to be like me. Before the Order got to you."

"If by 'like you' you mean a wizard, yes. I was." Tom said. "But I don't have my magic anymore; I lost it when they turned me into a Claymore. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm sick of being near to helpless, Tom." Harry prodded at the ground in front of him with one of the rabbit's little bones. "I want to learn how to control my magic. I'm done with constantly needing to be saved. I understand that I won't be able to defend myself from everything, but doing something for myself once in a while would be a nice change of pace."

"I'm not certain I'll be able to do much to help you, Sparkling, but I'll do what I can." He said. "But not tonight; it's late and we should get moving again tomorrow. It's best you get some sleep."

Harry grumbled something unintelligible in reply and scraped together another pile of leaves to serve as a makeshift bed. Collapsing down onto it with a huff. "Are you going to come over here of do I have to sleep with the supply bag again?"

Tom blinked at him from across the fire. "Are you cheating on me, Sparkling?"

"Not yet, though the supply bag certainly seems more willing to help keep me warm at night so maybe I'll start!"

"I can't have that happening." The brunet rose from where he'd been sitting and, after a brief moment's hesitance, circled around towards him. "Losing you to a supply pack would be a humiliation I simply couldn't bear."

"Good." Harry pushed the bag as far away as he could without having to get up. "Because, attentive as it may be, ours would be a pretty boring relationship."

"I'm glad I have that much going for me." Tom said, stretching out on the forest floor beside him. "You were alright while I was away?"

"I'm still alive." Harry curled into Tom's side and rested his head on his chest. His skin still carried the faint smell of blood. "I thought you'd broken the promise you made me after Foxwick."

"Never." Tom said. "I may have to leave you from time to time, especially now that I need to hunt, but I'll always come back."

"You'd better." Thin fingers tightened around the fabric of the brunet's shirt. "I'll hunt you down again if you do. I swear."

"Stubborn as you are, I've little doubt of that." The fire beside them flickered down to embers.