It was around five forty-five in the evening as Harry sat in the living room of his and Tom's flat, staring down at a book in his hands. His eyes were not moving across the pages, for he couldn't truly get into the volume, even if it talked about magic that was pretty interesting. Harry's mind was too distracted by the fact that Tom was late. Tom was never late – and Harry didn't think of this in the sense that Tom was 'never usually late' or 'rarely ever late', either. It was simply that it was not in Tom's nature to do something unusual one day, not without cause…

Yet Tom had said, "I may be a bit late upon coming home," Harry reminded himself. It had only been forty minutes more than usual, so maybe Harry was worrying too much… Harry didn't feel this was enough to rid his unease. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Tom was with Hepzibah Smith. When Harry had first heard her name mentioned by Tom, he had felt anxiety pour through him. Every time Harry thought of her again, that anxiety returned, and today it was especially prominent.

As Harry read, his mind kept reminding him of the memory he had seen with Dumbledore, concerning Hepzibah, the cup, and locket, and Tom. What was unusual about the memory coming to mind today was his brain was playing the memory in order of what had happened when. Harry could almost quote the exact words Hepzibah and Tom had exchanged, and that wasn't to do with the dreams that had haunted him concerning this scene, he was sure. There was even a point where Harry felt he had seen the cup being held before his very eyes, as Tom might have seen it. But when he blinked, he was staring back down at the ink written on paper from his volume. Even more strongly, the locket had appeared, again from the angle Tom might have seen it at, and Harry's vision of it had been so strong that he was sure he could have drawn an exact picture of it. It was strange, and he tried to ignore the fact that it happened.

Harry knew he must have just been worrying too much, as he sat in this empty flat. Without much thought, he slowly closed the book in his hands. There was a minute of silence. He wanted something to distract him, but there was nothing to do here but read, or spend time with Tom. Harry was waiting for something… perhaps just for Tom to return home soon. He felt empty. He couldn't see how, considering he was worrying only a moment ago. His mind was blank, and he sat at the edge of his seat, staring into space. Somehow, he couldn't shake away the feeling that this was the beginning of an event like a tsunami. Water was receding out to see, leaving the shores bare of water…

After a moment, Harry stood up, and made his way towards the kitchen. He felt oddly detached from his own body. When in the kitchen, Harry stood for a minute, unsure what he wanted to do next. He was neither thirsty nor hungry. He examined the tiles of the floor as he rested against the counter top. A few minutes passed in silence, as he waited for thought. There was something wrong. This fact or idea stayed in his head for a moment. It caused him anxiety, for perhaps no reason. Harry remained where he was, until he felt he was getting nowhere with standing, just waiting.

He poured himself a glass of water, placing the glass upon the counter top after drinking very little of it. The sky was pitch black outside, and the lights in this flat were dim to say the least. Harry sighed. He didn't know what was wrong with himself today. It was past six O'clock now, and still Tom was not home. Harry walked back into the front room, planning on picking up another book. There were a few upon one of the bookshelves that were of particular interest to him. He was walking past the couch and chairs, heading for the shelf, when it happened.

With the feeling like a white-hot knife being dug into his skull, Harry felt his scar burn. He hadn't expected this in the least, and the pain blinded him, causing him to yell in agony as he clutched at his head, trying to stop the torture. He was standing before the dark figure of a man lying on the ground. Unable to run away from this alleyway, the man withered and twisted on the floor, desperately trying to get away from the blade of the knife in Harry's hand. All Harry could feel was pure loathing spreading through his body; elation on the act of cutting deep gashed in the man his only relief.

The sliced and bleeding face of the man could be seen through Harry's eyes, and at the shock of viewing it, Harry suddenly returned to the present, as if he had woken up from a dream. Except his scar was still hurting. Harry was lying on the floor, his hands clinging to his head as he pressed his eyes closed tightly. It was pain beyond belief. Harry stopped himself from yelling, even if he knew the neighbours wouldn't hear him anyway. Very slowly, and almost unnoticeably, the pain began to fade away. But Harry remained on the floor for perhaps minutes, until it was bearable enough for him to stand.

He felt dizzy, to no surprise, and his scar still throbbed as though it was burnt. He didn't know what had just happened, and he was now more confused than ever. Who had that man been? Why had Harry just seen him, and attacked him as if he were really there? And most importantly, why had Harry's scar hurt in the first place? Harry's heart was beating quickly, and the aching from his scar was disrupting his thoughts. He knew that there could only be one answer to all of this, yet he was hesitant to contemplate it. He had only ever felt something like this before when the connection between Voldemort and himself allowed him to see into the Dark Wizard's mind…

But that was impossible now, surely. There was only Tom around, and there was no immediate connection between them… unless having the same shred of soul within them caused Harry to be connected to Tom just as much as when he was the missing piece, for Voldemort. Maybe this fact made them even more connected, somehow. But Harry knew his own attraction towards Tom went past souls. That was merely an addition. He had never expected his scar to still react this way, even if Tom got angry enough to somehow cause a connection again… or to make a previous connection known. But Tom was with Hepzibah Smith, and Hepzibah hadn't been in Harry's vision.

Tom could have been lying about visiting Hepzibah, Harry thought. But why would he lie, and where would he be, if not at Hepzibah's house? Would he have left to go and kill that man? Harry didn't believe so, somehow, yet by denying it he felt more confused. Tom was only going to kill Hepzibah Smith… History told Harry so. Dumbledore had suggested so. Harry winced a little, his face suddenly displaying disapproval. Dumbledore had said, promised, and suggested a lot of things…

Harry was standing in the middle of the front room while he thought. He was very confused now. Maybe all of that had just been a part of his imagination… Yet if all of that had been a part of his imagination, Harry didn't think he'd be working at the Daily Prophet, editing simple newspaper articles. He'd probably be stuck in a hospital, on second thought. It was a quarter past six. Tom was over an hour late now. Harry remained standing where he was, too shocked to do anything else for a further ten minutes. He then sat down. It seemed to take hours for another ten minutes to pass.

It was after this when Tom arrived home. Harry glanced around as soon as he heard the door opening, and he stood up when he saw Tom come inside. The small half-room that made up the entrance to their flat, separated from the front room only by an archway, was poorly lit. Tom did not dwell within the entrance after throwing his cloak to the side, however. Harry smiled when he saw Tom, relieved and nervous that he was back. When Tom stepped into the light, Harry's smile faltered.

Tom was covered in blood.

All of Harry's fears, all of the things he dreaded most, came flooding back to him in an instant. Tom had killed someone. Harry stared at the taller Slytherin from across the room, his face pale, drained of all colour. Tom's eyes met his for only a second, before he turned towards their bedroom. Harry followed him, watching as he headed straight into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Neither of them spoke as Harry watched Tom. He took off his suit jacket, and threw it to the ground, leaning over the sink with his hands on either side of it, his head bowed. Harry's heart was hammering, and he felt sick. His scar was still prickling. Tom's white shirt was bloodstained all over, but Tom did not seem to notice this as he rested with his eyes closed. Harry wanted Tom to say something, anything, as he struggled with his own voice, but Tom was mute.

Harry was standing behind the Heir of Slytherin, distanced from him in this small room, and nearly resting against the wall behind him. Harry couldn't guess what had happened to Tom tonight. He couldn't fathom how anything happening was possible. He stared at Tom's back, trying to work it out. "What happened to you?" he asked after a time, his voice shaking slightly.

Tom made no answer.

Harry then thought of where Tom had gone this evening. He wondered if maybe his mental images of the locket and cup had been real, to some extent. "Was this something to do with Hepzibah Smith?"

Tom's knuckles whitened against the sink, but still he did not speak, did not look up.

"What happened with her?" Harry asked quickly, encouraged with this slight reaction from Tom. "Why are you covered in blood?"

It felt like Harry was speaking to a brick wall, as Tom remained where he was.

"Who did you murder?" Harry asked quietly. "Was it for Horcruxes?"

There was a pause, before Harry realised that Tom had begun shaking. Harry watched him, thinking this was happening in fear or anger, but he was wrong. Tom was laughing. It started slowly, but quickly escalated into the sounds of hysterics. Tom's voice echoed around the bathroom, ringing in Harry's ears, as he remained clutching to the sink, his head still bowed. When his laughter subsided, over a minute seemed to have passed.

"Of course it was for Horcruxes," Tom breathed, a smile still audible in his voice.

"Who did you kill?" Harry inquired, not truly knowing whether he wanted to hear the answer to this.

"A Muggle," Tom replied without hesitation. "A tramp."

Harry felt nauseated. His heart was pounding. It terrified him to hear how calmly Tom spoke these words, how carelessly. "Why did you kill him?"

Tom laughed again, less severely than before, and turned around to face Harry. "Why not?"

Harry was terrified and confused with everything, especially the look upon Tom's face now, the face he loved so much. Tom was smiling the creepy smile Harry disliked. His eyes were wide and alert with a mad happiness that Harry had never seen in anyone else. Tom was psychotic, confident that Harry would feel the same amusement and satisfaction that he felt from the murder he had committed. Tom's smile only widened with Harry's silence, so perhaps he mistook Harry's expression of confusion for awe.

"The Muggle was inconvenient," Tom said, "and as filthy as can be. I'm glad I had the chance to rid him of this earth… glad I put him in his place."

Harry stared at Tom in concern and disbelief. "What did he ever do to you?"

Tom laughed once more. "It was more the fact that he was there at the wrong time."

His smile faltered after a few seconds, and his eyes moved away from Harry's. This was in anger rather than regret. "What happened at Hepzibah's house?" Harry asked. He still didn't work out the whole story behind what had happened.

"It was all rather sudden…" Tom replied. After a moment he walked towards Harry, past the doorway, and into their bedroom. He was running his fingers through his hair, and he appeared tense, until his smile returned, and he faced Harry again. "I found it."

Harry was standing just past the bathroom door. "Found what?"

"The locket," Tom replied. He appeared feverish, deranged. "Slytherin's Locket. My uncle spoke of it, as I told you once. She had it, at her house… as well as a Trophy made by Hufflepuff."

"So you killed her for it?" Harry asked. He hoped that Tom hadn't killed Hepzibah, or wasn't planning to until two days from now, like Dumbledore had told him after showing him the memory so many years ago.

"No," Tom replied, "but I'm going to." He said these words so simply that Harry realised Tom must have honestly believed that he would think of all of this as a success, a triumph.

This was perhaps why Tom didn't try to hide it from him, Harry thought. Tom could have composed himself before returning to the flat, cleaning himself of the Muggle's blood and acting as though nothing unusual had happened. Harry found this idea even more frightening than the sight of Tom covered in another man's flesh and blood, laughing hysterically. He was almost glad that Tom hadn't concealed the truth. It meant Tom trusted him with accepting what he had done, and that was… Well, Harry couldn't say that was better, exactly.

"When are you going to kill her?" Harry inquired, trying to stop his voice from shaking. Tom was standing past their bed, and on the complete opposite side of the room.

"As soon as I can," Tom responded. He appeared neither frightened nor annoyed with this idea. He was just stating facts. "I'm going to kill Hepzibah first, using –"

"First?" Harry repeated, genuinely shocked by this comment.

A smile broke across Tom's face, this time to merely bare his teeth. There was no humour behind it. "It turned out that Burke was a part of this too…"

"A part of what?"

"He bought the locket from my mother," Tom said, nearly through gritted teeth. One of his hands curled into a fist as he stared into space. He began walking again, pacing. "He bought it when she was pregnant with me, no doubt. I don't know how much he bought it for, but it evidently wasn't a fortune… It was never his to take, and he's going to pay for his thoughtlessness now."

Harry was bewildered, caught between fear of Tom's plans to murder more than one person, and curiosity at the sudden thought of whether Burke deserved it or not… Harry remembered seeing the memory of Burke, hearing him say how he bought the locket for a mere ten Galleons. Burke had known only too well that Merope was pregnant, and on the verge of death… Harry shook the thought away, unable to decide on anything. "You can't just go around killing all these people, Tom!"

"They deserve it," Tom stated, "and I have the perfect plans to murder all of them. Hepzibah and Burke will die in the same way. I'll use Hepzibah's House Elf for the first murder. Using the Imperius Curse, I'll force the Elf to slip poison in Hepzibah's tea. I'll be at her home, waiting for her to die, and when she does, I'll modify the elf's memory, and it will admit to the Ministry that it remembered putting poison in Hepzibah's tea. The Elf is so old, it would be no wonder if something like this happened."

Harry felt sick as Tom paced the room, evidently finding enjoyment, finding support in speaking this ideas aloud. Harry hated how Tom referred to the House Elf as an 'it', how he knew exactly how to leave evidence lying around, and how he had planned all of this so quickly, a mere two hours after seeing Hepzibah, at most.

"Borgin will kill Burke," Tom announced. "Borgin will be driven mad by the murder, not knowing why he had done it… I'll modify his memory too, so he forgets that I was there, and forgets how the Imperius Curse feels. The Curse will be put on him for around a month, until after Hepzibah's murder is looked into, when they realize that I'm long gone. As soon as I am reported missing, Borgin will commit the murder. The Ministry will care about this story more than the idea that I am gone. They will think that Borgin and Burke had something to do with Hepzibah's murder. Borgin will be left to talk his way out of Azkaban, as messy as his murder may have been…"

It was like Tom was planning nothing greater than a play, was becoming enthusiastic from nothing more than the idea of his actors creating the most convincing drama the world will ever see. Even if he himself could only watch from behind the stage when the crowds viewed his work, he would be satisfied by the thought of the show, and by hearing people's reactions to it. All of this was too easy for him. It was too satisfyingly and hilariously simple, yet very effective. It came naturally for him, and this terrified Harry. He stared at Tom with continued concern.

"We will be miles away when this happens," Tom remarked, perhaps trying to reassure Harry, noticing his loss for words. He walked forwards, grinning. "Together we will flee the country – and go to Albania, perhaps. There are many dark witches and wizards there who could teach us great things, and who would leave us alone when we aren't visiting."

Tom was standing close to Harry now, gazing down at him. He smiled as Harry looked at him, and his smile refreshed itself before he spoke. "We will see many glorious things, concerning the Dark Arts or not concerning them, when we run away together," Tom said, standing closer than ever. "We can move away from dreary England, and away from this tedious interlude in our life."

Harry paused for a moment, staring into Tom's dark grey eyes. The putrid smell of blood was stronger when Tom was closer to Harry, and Harry suddenly couldn't believe that Tom looked ready to kiss him any second. "Is this turning you on?" He asked in disbelief, glaring at Tom.

Tom's lips twitched at Harry's comment and glare. "No, but you are," he replied.

"You're covered in blood, back home from murdering a Muggle tramp for no reason!" Harry exclaimed. He felt suddenly angry, as opposed to fearful and disoriented. He looked at Tom, ready to argue with him as Tom's smile slipped away, and he took in Harry's observation.

There was a pause where Harry felt as though Tom's OCD was returning. Tom looked down at his hands, which were stained crimson. Before Harry knew it, Tom was pulling at his bloodstained and dirty shirt, taking it off as quickly as he could. Tom headed for the bathroom as he did this. Harry wondered whether Tom would finally see what was wrong with all of this as he ran the tap in the sink, and splashed water on his face. Was the weight of his murder hitting him yet, Harry wondered?

Unsatisfied with the sink, Tom began taking off the rest of his clothes to take a shower. Harry remained outside the bathroom, and headed for their bed. He sat on its edge, putting his face in his hands. Harry didn't know what he was going to do about this. He hated that this was all happening so soon. He didn't want it to… he just wanted to stay where he was with Tom forever. Harry could imagine Tom in the shower now, causing the water to run red. He could image Tom stopping in the street to murder that Muggle, just because he was there. Harry supposed he had walked from Hepzibah's house in shock, trying to think things over. As Harry's palms pressed against his eyes, he could see the knife digging into the Muggle's flesh…

Harry put his head up, and opened his eyes. He stared at the sink in the bathroom, the only thing visible from this angle. Harry didn't know what he was doing. This fact struck him very fast, and he remained staring at the sink, realizing that he had been procrastinating. When he thought about Hepzibah Smith showing Tom the locket and cup, he had been sure that he could convince Tom out of murdering her. But Tom had murdered someone else before he could accomplish this. Tom's mind was now set upon two more victims, and Harry hadn't been able to say a word against it before the plotting was done. The thing that Harry wondered, as he sat upon this bed, staring into space, was had he planned to do anything to stop Tom, really?

Tom had finished his shower, Harry heard. Had Harry ever wanted to stop Tom from becoming Voldemort, Harry wondered? Had he known deep down that Tom was already broken, already a dark wizard even before he and Harry met, and created a bond? Tom had murdered his father and grandparents, and Harry had known this all along. Tom walked past to find clean robes, but Harry didn't look at him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Nothing he could say would stop Tom going after Hepzibah Smith and Caractacus Burke, just like with Emeric… even if Emeric hadn't died. Nothing he could do will change the fact that Tom had killed someone tonight.

Harry remained where he was as Tom put on robes behind him. He wondered what Tom was thinking about. Was Tom worrying about the discovery of the Muggle tramp's body, perhaps? Or about the Ministry looking into it when magic was found to be the cause? Tom had doubtlessly used magic, after the knife. Harry wondered why he had used a knife at all, before he decided that he didn't care to know. Or was Tom planning their escape from the country at this time? Harry closed his eyes. Tom began speaking.

"We'll leave in two days," he said. "The night we kill Hepzibah. I want the locket and cup in my possession mere hours before we reach Albania… We'll go by Apparition mostly. It will be days after we leave before anyone from work sees we're gone. We'll leave this apartment without–"

"I'm not going," Harry interrupted quietly. He had succeeded in withholding most of the strain in his voice as he sat, still not looking at Tom.

There was a pause, where Tom might have been staring at the back of Harry's head. "We can't stay here," Tom said. "Not in this house, not in this country. Even if the Ministry doesn't suspect us of anything, there's the risk of Dumbledore and Borgin working something out concerning all of these coincidences and connections."

"No," Harry said, standing up. He turned to face Tom, their bed between them. "You can go where you want, and you can run from whoever might suspect you of your murders, but I'm not going with you."

At this, Tom appeared changed. There was no smile left upon his lips, and no anger or wild satisfaction at the memory of his murder within his eyes. He looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as though he felt Harry might be playing some cruel joke. Most of all, he looked the same way he had a few months ago, when he had inquired the reason behind Harry not making a Horcrux. It now appeared that Tom's fear had been right. Harry didn't want to spend the rest of forever with Tom.

"Why not?" Tom asked, as though he hoped there could be a double meaning he was blind too recognise in his bewilderment.

Harry looked away from Tom, not wanting to see his face. "I… I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?" Tom asked quietly.

"I can't live with the knowledge that you murder people for your own benefit," Harry replied, staring at the ground as he attempted to sound calm and tranquil. His attempt was unsuccessful. "I thought that maybe you would stop doing it, would evaluate the situation with help from me and realise that what you're doing is wrong, but… it's too late."

Harry should have listened to Dumbledore when he said that Tom was a psychopath. He should have done something about it then, yet like now, Harry wasn't at all prepared to do anything. Harry was only managing to say these things to Tom now because the idea of three murders, and not one, was scaring him. There was a silence in the room as Tom thought, and Harry stared at the floor.

"I won't let you go," Tom said.

"You can't make me stay," Harry replied almost angrily, without hesitation. He glared at Tom for a moment, not hiding his desolation very well. He dropped his gaze again, his voice quieter when he continued. "I know all of your tricks… I'm too strong for you to keep via force."

Tom seemed to know this was true, and he was silent for a moment. "You've accepted what I've done in the past," he began, his voice suggesting that he was confused. "We've talked about it a hundred times, and about the murders you've seen. You…"

Tom broke off, and didn't seem to know what to say. Harry stood in anticipation; sure that Tom would finish this sentence. He thought that Tom always knew what to reassure people, what to remind them of, and what to con them into thinking. It was what Tom was good at, and what he was apparently programmed to do. But here he was speechless. Harry lifted his eyes slowly to meet Tom's; to be sure there wasn't another reason for his discontinued sentence. Tom was gazing at him as though he knew this would be the last time he would see him.

There was sorrow in Tom's eyes, and Harry was sure that he mistook this at first glance. A few moments passed, and Tom remained the same. Harry realized now that Tom's expression was merely a more prominent version of the expression he had worn when he asked Harry if he didn't want to live with him forever. There were no tears in Tom's eyes, but he appeared unsure with what was happening, as anguish could be seen clearly upon him.

Harry was overwhelmed that Tom was not gazing at him with resentment, anger, obsession, or mere impassiveness. Tom's expression was mirroring his own in many ways, and Harry felt a stronger wave of misery than ever before. He couldn't help but think of the agony both he and Tom would feel if Harry left. And where would Harry go? There was no one else in the world left for him besides Tom. Harry had placed all the trust and attachment that he had had left within Tom… Harry didn't know what he would do without him, and he didn't know what to feel, as Tom remained gazing at him, unable, like him, to say a word.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he was walking towards Tom. He kissed him, their lips pressing together as they stood in a passionate embrace. Harry's body was alive with the feeling of Tom beneath his hands, and pressed close to him. His fingers were running through Tom's hair, and they remained there even as Harry pulled away from the kiss to merely hug Tom. His closed his eyes, holding Tom. Sorrow tore through him, affecting his entire body. His heart ached as his eyes burned… all be wanted to do was stay in the arms of his lover.

Harry wasn't sure how long they stood there for. His face was buried in Tom's shoulder, and he didn't want to think. He just wanted to feel, even if that hurt. Yet thoughts of what options Harry had invaded such a wish. There was no way he could change Tom, and he wasn't going to try such a hopeless endeavour. He didn't know what else he could do. He didn't know whether there was anything else he could do.

Tom finally spoke, after what felt like both a very long time, and no time at all. His voice was quiet, as Harry had expected, but not strained with any emotion. He merely spoke calmly, as he rested with his head against Harry's. "You're the only person I have… the only person I've ever cared about."

Harry remained with his eyes closed, listening to Tom's voice so close to him. After a moment of Harry not saying a word, Tom pulled away from their embrace. Grey eyes met green, and they gazed at each other for a moment, Tom's hands falling away from Harry. He hesitated for a moment. "There's no one to stop either of us, Harry," Tom assured him quietly. "No one to tell us we're doing something morally wrong, as we seek revenge upon those who have made our lives the way they are. We've no one but each other…"

Harry was curious as to why Tom had said this. It made him think of the people he had lost, perhaps as Tom had intended. Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to think in relation to them now. They would want him to leave Tom, and run away to Dumbledore, or something. Harry hated this idea greatly, and he pushed it out of his head. The dead might also suggest for Harry to live on his own, but to do what? Wait fifty years, until he could do something about the Battle of Hogwarts? Train in the light arts until then? Live alone, and become maddened in his solitude, thinking about Tom?

"You told me you would kill Grindelwald if you could," Tom remarked. "For revenge, you seemed to understand the urge to murder."

"For revenge," Harry repeated quietly. "You killed a man tonight for nothing more than amusement."

"I killed a man tonight because he reminded me of my past, and interrupted thoughts of my mother, how little she was paid for an heirloom of Slytherin's, and how she wasn't able to survive after selling it, when she could have lived to a decent age, and not died in a Muggle orphanage at the birth of me." Tom said these words without the faintest trace of sorrow left. He merely appeared angry at the thought.

Harry couldn't help but think this was somewhat rational, but he didn't voice this yet. Two more planned murders was a lot for Harry to take in… but Harry thought back to some of the stories Tom had told him about the orphanage. There were stories from that hadn't even been caused by Tom, which sickened Harry, and scarred him. Harry wasn't sure whether many of the orphans left that building with perfectly sane mentalities…

Many people sought revenge upon others when learning how they had effected their past. The people who didn't seek revenge, who didn't find some form of relief, normally found some way to kill themselves, generally very slowly. By drinking oneself to death, while regretting the past, or by lying to oneself and putting on a lovely show for the rest of the world to see, few people could get over anger and resentment. This was not to say that murder was the best option – in fact, murder was the worst thing one could do, for oneself, as well as others. But Tom had had reason, even if he had made terrible mistakes…

"Why are you scared of this now?" Tom asked quietly.

"I was always scared of it," Harry responded.

Tom didn't seem surprised by this, merely confused. "I don't see why. I'm never going to affect or hurt you when I murder."

Harry contemplated this. He didn't know what to reply.

"I'm never going to hurt you," Tom repeated, "and we will neither be caught with this nor scarred by it. I don't understand why you hate it so much."

"Because it's murder!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "It's wrong!"

"Murder being wrong is a mere popular belief," Tom said. Harry stared at him in worry, but didn't interrupt. "What Burke did to my mother was wrong, and ended in death, but was that severe enough to get him a cell in Azkaban? The Ministry murders wizards all of the time for committing crimes… am I not allowed to do the same thing? Most people believe that murder is a bad thing, even as they sit and watch a wizard being executed for murder in the first place. Hypocrisy is sweet on the tongues of those who do not wish to speak the blatant truth. Those too weak to seek revenge will fool themselves that the Ministry is seeking it for them, and the rest of the country, yet they are wrong to think this."

Harry looked up at Tom, and didn't know what to think. He was unprepared to face the fact that he felt Tom's every word was reasoned. Tom was powerful enough to look after himself no matter what happened with the Ministry or other people… No one would go hunting Tom for murdering the Muggle tramp, Hepzibah, or Burke. Tom would leave too much evidence for the murders of Hepzibah and Burke for the ministry to bother looking further. What was more, Hepzibah and Burke were indeed two of many people who made Tom what he was. Voldemort, a murderer…

"The world is a corrupt and damaged place," Tom said quietly. He moved a little closer forwards Harry. "Little or nothing can fix it. But I believe I can improve it."

"Through murder?"

"Through research," Tom affirmed. "Murder is merely for my own gain."

Harry didn't comment upon this. When he dropped his gaze, thinking, Tom took his hand. "Please come with me to Albania," he pleaded, taking his other hand to caress Harry's jaw.

"I don't know, Tom…"

"Won't you agree that what I have to say is rational, in some small way?" Tom asked.

Harry was hesitant to reply the truth, even as he gazed into Tom's eyes. But he didn't want to lie, and the truth was for once an easier option. "I can understand where you're coming from in some ways, but…"

Harry couldn't find an ending to this.

"You don't have to think about the murder," Tom said. "I could do it all myself before we go and –"

"No," Harry said. Tom looked at him, surprised with his interruption. He seemed to be wondering whether Harry was about to say he wasn't going again. "I want to come with you."

"You don't have to," Tom said.

"I want to," Harry responded. "I want to see that you're not just ruthlessly killing people."

Tom gave a weak smile, which faded away after only a few seconds. "If that's what you want, we shall go together…" He continued touching Harry's face, holding his hand. He leant in to kiss Harry softly. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you too," Harry replied, but he didn't prolong the kiss. He instead stood for a moment, thinking. He very much liked the idea of running away to Albania with Tom… but he felt there was still something left to say. "I'm not going to murder anyone, though," he stated the second the thought arrived in his head.

"Of course," Tom replied. His eyes fell to Harry's lips. "You won't have to murder anyone."

Harry wanted to say something about Horcruxes, but he thought better of it. He knew he would have to do a lot of thinking soon, but for now he didn't know where to begin. All he knew was that he wanted to be with Tom… no matter what. He kissed Tom, allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of their embrace yet again.