It was raining as Harry wandered through the grounds of Hogwarts, watching the patterns that rippled across puddles upon the grass as he dwelt upon a variety of thoughts. He had decided to leave the Common Room for a while due to the fact that Tom was having yet another meeting with Slughorn, and he knew very well that it would be quite a while before Tom returned. He didn't want to wait around indoors, because he wanted a chance to think.

Today was the last day of the Easter holiday, and Harry was somewhat annoyed by the fact that Tom had to be somewhere, but he tried to not think about that too persistently. Each time Harry looked out across the grounds of Hogwarts, he was reminded of the years he had spent here from ages eleven to sixteen. That felt like decades away to him, even if it had only been just two years. The change in time made it feel like one of the most distant things he could remember.

He was surprised to find that his happiest memories of Hogwarts hadn't been lost in the darkness as he looked across the sombre grounds, though he knew he would never be able to quite capture that sense of blissfulness that he had felt at a younger age within this school. He remembered in his first year here, when he had felt so much awe at the very idea of Hogwarts, with it's libraries, forests, owl post, quills, creatures, broomsticks, and general magic. He felt somehow nostalgic as he remembered how brilliant Hogwarts had been.

He felt so much older than usual as he reflected on his past, and he slowly became aware of the fact that he mustn't even look the same as he did in his real school years. With all the things he had changed about himself, he was unrecognisable. He contemplated whether it had been a bad idea to change things – in the sense of knowing his own identity rather than of sheer thought towards the future. He didn't even wear glasses anymore…

Yet this was just a disguise, Harry reminded himself. He of all people should remember this, having used so many other disguises through the years with Ron and Hermione, to appear as other students or Ministry workers, or just anyone but themselves. He smiled slightly at the thought of their second year, when they had been convinced that Draco Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin, and had gone to such great lengths to try and confirm this as a theory.

Yes, he should remember this is a disguise. Using PolyJuice, human transfiguration or any other means of morphing appearance was vital to survive, so Harry was right to have left his old identity behind. The Order of the Phoenix members had always encouraged such precautions to be taken when the situation was severe enough. Moody would have said it was the right thing to do, and Sirius, and the other Order members, if they weren't ignoring him from the world of the dead.

Harry continued to walk through the rain, dwelling upon memories. All of these thoughts led onto other thoughts, of course, and it was late in the day before Harry realised the time. It was eight O'clock, and he knew Tom would be back from Slughorn's office soon, so he decided to head up to the castle.

The Common Room itself was empty when Harry arrived, so he headed for the dormitories. He smiled at the sight of Tom sitting on the end of his bed, reading over some parchment with his back towards Harry. With seeing that Tom hadn't noticed him yet, Harry walked forwards, taking off his soaking cloak and throwing it aside as he sat on the other side of the bed. Tom was about to turn around, before he felt Harry's lips already upon his neck. Harry heard him let out a hum of laughter and appreciation as he kissed him softly various times.

"I should have heard you," Tom smiled, as Harry slid his hands along his waist.

"You were distracted," Harry pointed out, soon resting his chin on Tom's shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Merely my Astronomy Essay," Tom replied. "There are a few minor things I want to change."

Harry looked down at Tom's neat handwriting etched into the parchment, as he asked, "How long were you here for?"

"Not long. Perhaps ten minutes."

"How was Slughorn?"

"As uninteresting as always," Tom answered. "Where were you?"

"I decided to take a walk."

"It's raining," Tom stated.

"I know."

"You weren't regretting your past, I hope?" Tom asked, faintly not light-hearted enough to hide his concern.

Harry pretended he hadn't heard anything as he faked a breath of laughter. "No."

"Good," Tom replied, his voice sounding perfectly carefree on this second take. "But you shouldn't go outside in this weather. I don't want you to get sick."

Harry couldn't help but smile a little at Tom's consideration. "It doesn't take long to cure a cold with magic."

When Tom said no more past this, Harry kissed his neck a few more times, his hands slowly making their way up his chest.

"I'll never get any work done like this," Tom said quietly, a teasing note in his voice.

Harry continued kissing him, feeling the desirable texture and shape of his neck with his lips. "They'll be back in two hours," he whispered as he neared Tom's ear.

Tom leant his head back slightly, almost giving in to Harry's touch. "Which is all the more reason for me to do this now," he said, only just hiding his longing as Harry's hands began to undo his tie.

"I think it's all the more reason for me to do you now," Harry hissed, smiling at his own immature twist of words. His use of Parseltongue seemed to have had a strong effect upon Tom, however, for felt the Heir of Slytherin begin to lean towards his touch at the use of it, and he continued kissing him, opening his shirt button by button.

In defeat, Tom moved away from Harry slightly, and turned around to push him backwards, grinning as he did so. His shirt was already fully open as he began to undo Harry's, kissing him on the lips passionately. He moved away only to kiss along Harry's jaw, until he reached his ear.

Tom let out a soft sigh of craving, before whispering, "I'm going to miss this."

Harry tried not to think about their lack of time as he paused for a moment. "So am I…"

– X –

"That ain't nearly as much as we were betting on!" Avery exclaimed.

"What? That's thirty Galleons, seven Sickles, and two hundred and six Knuts," Mulciber said, pointing to the stacks of money in front of him. "That's exactly what we were betting!"

"You put down at least seventy Galleons."

"You're wrong!" Mulciber argued. He turned to Nott for support. "Tell him he's wrong."

"I heard seventy," Nott replied. "Seventy Galleons, seven Sickles, and two hundred and six Knuts."

Mulciber looked at Nott in disbelief. "I'd never bet that much!"

"I think he's lying," Lestrange said lazily from behind the evening paper he was reading. "He's always lying, these days."

"There, see? You betted way more than thirty," Avery said. "So you can either pay up, or get the fuck out."

Mulciber looked rather irked at this. He stood still for a moment, trying to decide whether a fight was worth keeping the extra forty Galleons. His eyes travelled from Avery, to Nott, to Lestrange, and even to the other Death Eaters who were watching the conversation, before he seemed to decide that he was outnumbered. He took out a large bag of money begrudgingly, throwing down the extra Galleons. "I need a drink," he added shortly afterwards.

It was the first week of May, and the Death Eaters had been back at Hogwarts for just over a fortnight. Harry was currently sitting in the headquarters with all of them and Tom, relaxing after yet another long day of school and practising the Dark Arts. Most of the Death Eaters had just finished playing a long series of card games, and they were now talking amongst themselves about various subjects that Harry wasn't very interested in.

Tom was examining his Death Eaters with the same quiet contemplation he always looked at them with, and Harry wondered vaguely whether he was reflecting on the particular skills he had perfected in almost every individual around. None of the Death Eaters were nearly as good with the Dark Arts as Tom was, of course, for he had mastered every aspect of the subject with seemingly unnatural ease, though Harry knew he had to be somewhat satisfied with his personal army. As unintelligent as the Death Eaters might be in general, they were doubtlessly more educated in the Dark Arts than the majority of the country.

It was late in the day – perhaps ten or eleven O'clock – and Harry was secretly waiting for everyone but Tom and himself to leave the room, or else for the chance of Tom and him to slip away without being noticed. As usual with the school being so busy, they hadn't had a moment alone together for the entire day, and barely minutes together in the days before. Harry was so painfully bored of school and the Death Eaters by this time; the only thing he had to keep him sane was memories of his past, and of Tom.

"Jonathan, do you want to borrow the Daily Prophet again?" Lestrange asked from across the table.

"Sure," Harry replied, glad of something to do. "Thanks."

As irritating as Lestrange could be in the art of suspecting Harry of getting extra lessons in the Dark Arts, he was always generous in offering to share what news the world had to offer. Harry had asked him once why he was so willing to give away newspapers, and he had explained, "My father is very against news corporations, and hates the idea of all the advertisements and ill-informed articles they produce, so in return I decided to begin buying newspapers with my own money every day, twice a day, sharing the news with anyone interested, merely to annoy him. The more people I share news with, the more news gets spread. My father was never a particularly pleasant Wizard…"

Harry was glad to know that Lestrange didn't hate him as much as his father, at least. Even through his greatest moments of disliking Harry for the idea of private lessons with Tom, Lestrange always gave Harry access to the news. Harry flipped through the newspaper now, trying to find an interesting article, but he soon found there were none. He began reading about the newest broomstick at a complete lack of other things to do. It amused him somewhat to see how greatly outdated it was compared to what he was used to…

Harry spent around thirty solid minutes reading. It was quite a while before a conversation being held by a few of the Death Eaters caught Harry's ear. He didn't look up from his paper as he listened, somewhat taken aback.

"Professor Spindle got it lucky," Avery was saying thickly, clutching a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. "If Slughorn hadn't almost caught us slipping Wartcap Powder in his wardrobe, we could have had him retire from the school, by now. What is even the point of Muggle Studies..."

"It should be stopped," Dolohov agreed. "If Dumbledore won't do it, it only makes sense for us to take matters into our own hands."

"I reckon it's only a matter of time before an attempt is made in his life," Avery said in a low voice, grinning boyishly. "You know what happened to that Mudblood Myrtle two years ago. If we could get him like that..."

As Harry watched, he noticed that Tom looked somewhat annoyed… or perhaps a little more than somewhat. Avery hadn't noticed this, until Nott (who was sober and not at all a part of Dolohov's group) elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Apparently Nott wasn't any less frightened than the Death Eaters around him who were suddenly averting their eyes from Tom. Almost the entire room stared fixedly down at the table as Tom remained wordlessly infuriated. The room feel into progressive silence – a deadly silence.

Avery finally looked at Tom. The grin of his previous conversation slid from his face. Mulciber and Dolohov were trying not to laugh as they backed away from looking at either Tom or Avery like trained – yet intoxicated – dogs. Their will to stop making noise overpowered any humour they might have seen in this situation, which amazed Harry, considering how much they must have drunk. He wondered how Tom could keep them all so well in line…

Avery was exceedingly pale as he looked from Tom to Harry, his moth an almost comical O shape. He soon began spluttering out words in a vain attempt to be forgiven for whatever mistake he had evidently made. "I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say – I didn't realise – they was the ones who–"

"Leave," Tom hissed.

Before Harry knew it, Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber and around seven other Death Eaters jumped out of their seats, scrambling for the door. A few of them were fighting against laughter again as they stumbled into the corridor, while others pleaded for them to be quiet. Nott stood up too, watching Tom apprehensively even as Tom stared down at the table. Lestrange followed Nott in standing, and they headed for the door swiftly, accompanied by Rosier, his two Ravenclaw friends, and a herd of others. Harry couldn't even catch glimpses of anyone's thoughts, for the room was emptying in record time.

Sooner than (and not quite as satisfyingly as) Harry could have hoped, he and Tom were perfectly alone. The room was quiet for the first time in hours when even the distant footsteps of running Death Eaters had faded away behind the closed door, and Harry stared at Tom, who stared back at him expressionlessly. There was a long pause.

"So," Harry began, his voice the only audible sound, "they… tried to kill Professor Spindle."

"I meant to tell you," Tom stated quietly.

To be perfectly honest, Harry wasn't really surprised that the Death Eaters would do something like this, being Death Eaters and all, but he was confused as to why he hadn't known this before. It was evident from the reactions of the Death Eaters that Tom didn't want Harry to know about the uncontrollable Muggle-hatred of his followers, but Harry didn't understand why.

"You might think it was somewhat important," Harry remarked, his tone attempting calmness in contradiction to his internal annoyance and confusion.

"What was I supposed to say?" Tom asked him in a low voice. "I cannot control these particularly foolish endeavours, and I don't see what use it would do trying to now."

"Yeah, what would be the use in stopping them from murdering their own professor?" Harry mocked, his temper rising.

Tom appeared irked by Harry's use of sarcasm. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" Harry inquired. "That you don't see what use it will be to you in the future? That you don't think it will be a good idea to stop them now, so you can use more of them later on?"

"I should have told you earlier," Tom reflected more to himself than to Harry, as he dropped his gaze. "I knew you would react like this…"

"What, like a normal person?"

Tom seemed to be struggling with how much he should argue back to Harry. "I can't be held responsible for everything my friends do. I'm not a teacher."

"You teach them the Dark Arts," Harry reminded him, "and you're their leader. They wouldn't even care if you told them not to do it anymore – they'll do anything you say."

"And I've spent a lot of time making sure they'll do as I say," Tom added. "I don't even see why you care, they always go after Mudbloods and blood traitors. It isn't as though this is news to you."

Harry bit back a retort at this, knowing that as a Slytherin, and through peer pressure, he wasn't supposed to care about anyone who wasn't directed linked to him, or who was a Mudblood or blood-traitor. He also knew that this was going to be the least of his worries within a few years, when murder and felony was usual. He tried not to dwell upon that idea too much… he tried to remember why else he cared instead.

"You didn't have to lie to me."

"Technically I didn't lie," Tom reasoned. "I merely forgot to tell you."

Harry refrained from correcting Tom's 'forgot'. "Why?"

"I didn't think you'd understand," Tom explained. "The others are used to it from how often they hear details, but you were the exception. They started this around a year ago, and you're the only new person who has joined my group since then."

Harry thought about this for a minute, but found he was still annoyed with Tom for hiding this. Even if Tom had been cautious about the reaction he might have to the whole situation, Harry hated the idea of being left in the dark. But as Harry thought about it, he supposed Tom had been correct in assuming that he would be very against the whole situation. He sighted. "With all the terrible things the others do, why did you keep this from me?"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, visibly surprised that Harry had asked this. "Murder has to be the worst thing my friends do."

"No," Harry argued, these thoughts only just coming to his head as he spoke. "With all the things you teach them, with all the weapons you hand them, they have the power to do a lot of bad things… In the future, they could do worse…"

Harry was no longer looking at Tom; he was gazing at the glossy black table in front of him as he thought. He knew that in a matter of years the Death Eaters would be committing crimes far more severe than what they could manage now, at Hogwarts. They had a terrible reputation now, but it was only going to get worse…

In the future they would be demolishing Ministry buildings, murdering innocent people, gathering dangerous magical creatures, crushing uprising forces, expanding their seemingly unstoppable army of Dark Wizards, and who knew what else. Their current crimes would be nothing short of kind, in comparison…

"You don't resent me for what I've taught them?" Tom asked quietly.

Harry glanced up at him, trying to decide upon an answer to this. He knew that Tom had worked tirelessly for years to get his Death Eaters as educated in the Dark Arts as they now were, and Harry wondered for the first time whether he regretted the little aspects of his this ambition that had grown out of hand. Harry slowly came to realise that he would have to accept all the Death Eaters' behaviour in the future, no matter how terrible it became. If he wanted to stay with Tom, and if he wanted to visit his past again, he didn't have a choice.

"I don't resent you," Harry said, "and…"

He struggled for a minute, forcing himself to speak so as to extinguish any hint of doubt in Tom's mind.

"And I don't really care about what the Death Eaters do. It's their business; neither of us can control it. I just don't want you to feel as though you need to lie to me – or withhold the truth."

Tom smiled a little, perhaps out of relief, and took Harry's hand in his own. "I won't withhold any more important information," he said softly. "I was merely scared that you weren't ready to know."

"I'd rather face the truth," Harry stated.

"Yes," Tom agreed. He lent forwards to kiss Harry, and they were silent for a moment as a result of it. The embrace was beginning to deepen, before Tom moved away.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

Tom looked as though he wanted to say something, and Harry waited. After a few seconds of hesitancy, Tom just smiled, and said, "I'm merely glad we've bought ourselves a few free minutes."

Harry smiled back, but something was telling him this wasn't really what Tom had wanted to say. He was very tempted to push the subject, yet he knew Tom would deny the idea of his previous hesitancy being important, so he pushed the thought away from his mind instead. "What did you tell the Death Eaters to make them hold their tongues about hating Professor Spindle when I'm around?" he asked.

"I didn't really tell them anything, actually. I was rather vague about the whole thing," Tom confessed. "It isn't often that they're curious enough to disobey my commands, either… I didn't expect them to tell you anything even while under the influence of alcohol. I gave them precise instructions in the art of keeping this secret. They weren't even allowed to think about it when you were around – or, rather, when you could read their minds."

"You did a pretty good job," Harry remarked, "except for the fact that all of your friends are probably now under the illusion that I'm some sort of Muggle-lover, or that I can't handle things this extreme."

"Their foolish assumptions never last long," Tom reasoned.

"It's still embarrassing," Harry said, moving closer to Tom, and smiling softly in spite of his claim. He kissed Tom again, savouring the idea of how much time they had together tonight, and relishing in how wonderful it felt to kiss and feel him again.

Neither of them pulled away this time. Harry ran his fingers though Tom's hair and Tom held him closer. It was past midnight when they arrived, reluctantly, back in the Common Room, where almost half the Death Eaters were missing. When Harry lay awake for hours again that tonight, he thought about the Death Eaters, wondering how they would all turn out in the end. He could barely believe how much fouler they were becoming. Worse than he had ever known…