James tapped the photos with his wand, expanding them so he could see the finer details of the murder scene. The body of Morris Smith had slumped to the side of his armchair. An oak cane leaned against the nearby wall. It looked as if he had been reaching for the cane when he was killed.

The house was a cluttered mess with walls stained with tobacco and growing mold. Pictures and newspapers hung in frames on most available surfaces, most of them askew, and some had been knocked to the floor. In the centre of the photo were the putrefied remains of Morris Smith. He had decomposed severely and had spread out and down the chair, leaving a tarry-looking substance on anything nearby, be it the floor or fallen images. .

He tapped the photo again to shrink it down, and slid it back into the file folder. James cleared his throat. "Not to be insensitive, but what does a dead squib have to do with my investigation?"

Amelia Bones tapped the table with her fingertips. The clicking echoed through the room as she let out a deep breath and looked away. "On the surface, yes. There's more to it."

Her nerves were so highly strung that James could almost see her vibrating under the tension. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his robe and held it out to her. It might not help her, but it would certainly help him from dealing with her nerves.

Lighting the cigarette with the tip of her wand, she inhaled deeply. "Didn't know you smoked."

James gave her a half shrug and lit one of his own. "Used to, casually. Ever since the Prophet burned, it's been a few times a day, I guess. I blame Alice."

He considered asking Amelia how she was coping and decided against it, since she was probably hearing it every damn day. People used to ask him about Harry until it was clear the subject was a sore point.

Amelia took a long drag and levelled him with a look equally as long. "This ties into the Witch Weekly investigation. His majesty," she spat out the word like it was acid, "came down to our offices with a report he had received from the Minister's undersecretary and chastised me for ignoring it. I'd never seen the damn thing before." Amelia tucked up her robe slightly and perched herself on the edge of the table. She waved a dismissive hand, sending smoke rings into the air. "Anyways, it was just a report about some squib photographer who had worked for Witch Weekly and that we should bring him in to question him. It wasn't even about the coronation attack… Just seems like they want to add another nail to their coffin"

James picked at a loose thread on his robe sleeve. "They're being accused of organizing an assassination attempt. I can see why his lot are willing to throw some more fuel into the fire."

She stared at a blank spot at the floor and nodded her head. "I didn't think anything about it and passed this down to Tonks. Didn't tell her was a priority because it wasn't. Anyways, she stopped by the house. Overgrown lawn, pile of mail, weird smells, you know the deal. She heads in and there's a body that's been decomposing since winter."

James nodded. He'd seen the same situation himself a few times.

"Tonk's said there was nothing out of place, no signs of forced entry. Heads further in, and finds his dark room." She glanced at James to ensure he knew what that was before continuing, "What does she find? Pictures of her aunt dated February of this year."

James tilted his head to the side as he processed that. The only aunts Tonks had, that he knew of, were Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, and there was no way in hell that either of them would go to the home of a squib. "Really?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange. I know. It doesn't make any damn sense. We also found traces of her in the house, a few strands of black hair that, once tested, showed a close relation to Nymphadora." She let out a deep breath, making a stream of smoke hit the bulb. The room grew hazy. "Tonks took the photographs and sealed the crime scene and brought this to me immediately. Now, we don't have definitive proof that Lestrange is one of his royal highness's loyal followers, but if it walks like a redcap and stabs like a redcap…" She trailed off.

James bit back his urge to say 'it's an animagus' and instead put on his Sirius face. "I see now. Tell me about the report. I need to see where this thing started."

Amelia Bones reached into her robe and passed him a piece of parchment folded into thirds. "Just says he took illegal surveillance for Witch Weekly. After Tonks came back, we looked further into him, and that's not the case. He used to work as Rita Skeeter's personal photographer over ten years ago and exclusively for the Prophet until he and Rita parted ways."

James looked at the report. The information was spartan: name, location, former job details, and what he was suspected of. "This doesn't make sense."

Amelia rubbed her chin. "I know. Nevertheless, we continued looking into the situation. Lestrange was there on February 4th. Smith died on or around February 13th, a bit over a week later."

James put his cigarette out on the edge of the table, discoloring the wood. "Same day the Prophet burned down." He flicked the butt into the nearby garbage can.

Amelia uncrossed her arms. "The very same."

He passed her the parchment back. "This really doesn't make any sense," he repeated.

Hazel eyes looked through him, the intensity of her gaze pinning him to his seat. "I think Slytherin has a leak."

James's eyes widened. So far, Slytherin's ship had been watertight. Occasionally, things would slip off the deck, but this was the first evidence of an intentional leak. James wanted it to be Harry, even though he knew better.

"Interesting. The question is if we bring in Lestrange now or sit on it until we have more evidence?"

"It's your case, so the decision is yours. Before you move on Lestrange, I want you to look into the Prophet fire and see if you can find anything connecting her to it. There were no leads to connect it to anyone, but now... that was the night of the celebration at Lansdowne Palace, the amount of press and photographers there… if Lestrange isn't in any of them, we might be able to catch her with no alibi and put pressure on her. Maybe Slytherin will panic and we can capitalize on it." She rolled her shoulders forward, popping them.

James shuddered at the sound. "If we arrest her when we raid the Witch Weekly offices again, Slytherin might miss out that one of his followers was taken in. With enough time, she may incriminate herself."

"Your order of immunity applies to the Prophet investigation as well. Take this copy of the report and do what you have to," Amelia dropped a copy on the desk between them, dropped her cigarette butt and ground it into the floor before walking out. The doors slammed shut behind her.

James tucked it into the investigation folder under his arm and started towards the Department of Mysteries. He had an office there, one that only he could access. All the Unspeakables who worked as researchers ignored him for the most part and any of the Unspeakables who had clearance to do less legal things, the ones in the same position as he was, he never saw any of them. There were others; little notes on other doors in their shared departmental space would vanish or have replies written. He didn't question it. Amelia was likely the only person who knew who they all were.

Amelia's behaviour was beginning to concern him. They both agreed Edgar had been chosen as one of the… terrorists in order to discredit Amelia and the DMLE. When this case eventually came to trial, the solicitors would argue she had a vendetta against Slytherin and his followers because of Edgar's supposed politics. That was why they would need as much evidence as they could get. Nail him from multiple angles. If they could remove some of his support from him, maybe he would panic, and things would begin to fall apart.

It hurt to say, it hurt so damn much. He had proof that Harry was responsible for Hermione's situation and at some point, he would have to arrest him and bring him in for a trial.

Being able to move on Bellatrix—perhaps it would start a chain reaction. If it took Slytherin down without taking Harry down… He shook his head. James had chosen justice over family—he had told Taurel as much—but when all the chips were down, would he be able to send his son to Azkaban?

Would he be able to live with himself?

##

Harry leaned back, hung his arm over the back of his chair, and gave Theo a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. So far, outside of stiff and formal pleasantries, they had sat in silence.

Theo ignored him. He was completely focused on cutting his steak.

"So, how have the markets been treating you?" Harry asked weakly. Ulysses Nott's death hovered above the table like the noxious presence it was.

"Could be better. It's been fluctuating heavily since the coronation attack. I've been swamped with trying to deal with the markets, my father's properties and investments, as well as the fallout from his untimely murder." Theo briefly looked up at Harry. "The fact that we still have a Prime Minister, the Wizengamot, the Sacred 27, and now a king, well. It makes the markets very volatile. No one can predict where orders are going to come from and if they're going to be contradictory. Before we had a king, it would take ages for legislation to get through, and now it's either slower or it's getting fast tracked through via royal decree."

"Ah." Harry chased a piece of lettuce across his plate. "You're absolutely right—"

"I know," Theo said, cutting him off.

Harry could feel himself deflating. Any attempts at starting conversation had been shot down. He would attempt to kick off with a fairly neutral subject, and Theo would respond with pinpoint precision in ways that made Harry sound like a right arse.

"Well… anyways," Harry began, attempting to keep his voice as free of emotion as possible. "I know our last year was a bit on the tense side, and I would like for us to move past that. Mend our fences. We're both Slytherins, and we can recognize how much having a good network is. I want you to know if there's anything you need, I would be more than happy to assist," Harry replied, with well-practiced ease. He had rehearsed it in front of his mirror several times and Tom had even given him a thumbs up, though he may have been slightly distracted with paperwork and Snape showing up… Still a positive reaction.

Theo pursed his lips and set his utensils parallel on his plate. He lifted his gaze to Harry for the first time in the evening and scowled heavily. "I'm only here because Draco asked. I have sat through this cumbrous meal, I have listened to your attempt at small talk." He weaved his fingers together. "I am tired of being in your filthy, sycophantic presence. I lived in the same room as you for the better part of a decade while being taught by your mudblood mother. You, a dirty half-blood, infected our space, and then you had the shamelessness to ingratiate yourself in with us. To act like you were one of us while your father and his ilk would target our families. You played the game well enough to the point that we felt sorry for you, that clearly a gifted mind had just been born on the wrong side and that we could bring you into the fold."

Harry froze as if he had been petrified. He had never expected Theo to have this sort of animosity towards him. He didn't expect much from Theo since he considered him as deep as a puddle outside Tesco. "I don't know where—"

Theo jabbed a finger at Harry, his face transformed in rage. "Shut up. Shut up. You do not get to speak. This has been years in the making, and you will hear me."

Harry was speechless. He felt the illogical urge to laugh at the insanity of the situation.

"You managed to squirm your way in with us because we thought you were just some poor soul who didn't know better. We pitied you so much that whenever you slipped up, it was brushed off. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be loyal to your family—you can't help that your mother is a mudblood, as long as you eventually disavowed her—but being friends with something like Granger," he spat out Hermione's name, "befriending Granger and allowing her to taint our spaces? It's not bad enough that she stole someone else's place in our world, but then she got a foot in the door via you to encroach on some of the few safe spots we still have!" Theo glared at Harry, complete distaste and a hatred Harry had never known the other felt.

Harry leaned back in his seat. The anger from Theo was almost palpable in the air between them, sizzling and crackling with years of anger.

"When you and Slytherin started up together, I thought it was a good sign. That you were ready to wash your hands of the mudbloods. My father was opposed to the relationship, but I didn't think much of it since he hates your mother so much." Theo shoved the table away from himself and stood up.

"And then you had the absolute gall to strike me. You, a foul half-blood, put your hands on me," Theo touched his chest, a member of the nobility, in defense of fucking mudbloods. Not even a particular one, but just my use of the word." He sneered and looked out at the other diners that surrounded them, others who couldn't hear their conversation due to the privacy wards around them. "That's when I began to pay closer attention to Slytherin. I saw what my father meant. You were making him soft. You were going to ruin it for all of us, and you have." Theo slammed his fist on the table, knocking the wine glasses down. Harry leaned further back. " Slytherin is in charge and hasn't cleansed our society of the filth like he was supposed to. Instead, my father is dead." Theo stood there panting.

The other tables had turned to watch them at this point. They couldn't hear what they were saying but they could see there was some sort of a disagreement between a member of the Sacred 27 and King Slytherin's paramore.

Having seemingly caught his breath, Theo apparently had more to say. "And you want to know what really pisses me off? You act like you're some intellectual who can walk the line between the two sides, a friend of mudbloods and purebloods alike, but we both know that you were involved in orchestrating the coronation attack, and therefore the murder of my father, as well as obliterating Granger's mind. You're a disgusting hypocrite, so wrapped up in yourself-righteous ideology that you have no idea what kind of scum you actually are." Theo turned on his heel, breaking the privacy ward. "Thanks for the meal."

Harry sat there blinking, it was like he had been hit by a lorry, a lorry he had known for seven years, and had considered to be pretty damned bland. "Well, that was unexpected." He looked vacantly at the table as he tried to process what had just happened.

"—Nott. His father died—"

"—the King better not—"

"—same house? Why—"

"—bribery maybe—"

The sound of whispering hit him all at once, a wave of speculation and whispering rushing at him. Harry pushed himself up and dropped a pile of galleons without counting and strode out of the restaurant and into the muggy summer air of Leethe Alley. There was no way he could stay there a minute longer.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he felt for the comforting grasp on his wand. Harry began to untangle everything. He hadn't expected it before the dinner, but Theo Nott was an enemy now.

Technically, he had been an enemy all along; nothing had changed from Tom's overarching plan of taking over the government with the pureblood's assistance. Now though, he was a personal enemy, and Harry would be prepared to bet his eye teeth that Theo would cross party lines in order to attack him. His head started to pound with a headache, and he could feel the thumping of his blood in his head.

Feeling eyes on the back of his neck, Harry looked back down the alley. No one that he could see was watching, only two witches packing up their stall for the night. Still, he jogged down the streets until he saw the Gringotts at the junction of Diagon and Knockturn Alley.

As he approached the junction, he could feel the staccato rhythm his heart pounded against his ribcage, trying to escape.. He grasped the side of the nearest building and held his hand to his chest.

Theo knew. He knew so damn much. His father must have informed him about the plan for the coronation attack. Maybe to make sure Theo didn't do anything brash like jump into the fray. A thought climbed its way from the depths of Harry's subconscious; what if Ulysses involved Theo in 'recruiting' Cedric Diggory. Had Theo been involved in the failed attempt to kill him? His head felt light, and his feet wobbled beneath him.

Had Theo poisoned him?

Stumbling, Harry started to feel saliva pool in the back of his mouth, which usually preceded a panicked run to the loo. He made his way back into Knockturn a bit and retched against the wall, the expensive meal making an annoyingly quick revist.

He left the mess and started to trudge to the apparition point while casting a series of diagnostic spells. His lungs were working overtime as he sucked in air. Each exhale seemed to make the lightness in his head worse, and the edges of his vision pulsed darker.

The spells didn't turn up any magical ailments. Another spell and he could see there were no muggle poisons in his body, and he had even specifically keyed ricin into the spell ever since Dumbledore's assassination.

Pressing himself into a passageway between two shops, Harry fell to his knees and took in great, shaking gasps. Uncaring of the filth that was so close to him, he buried his face into his knees as he attempted to control his breathing.

Should he tell Tom? The painting? Of course he should tell Tom, not telling him would be stupid. Theo was a threat to both of them. How many others felt the same as Theo? Were any of his fellow Slytherin's actually his friends? Did they all fake it?

Part of him wanted to go to Hogwarts and beg his mother to tell him he wasn't a horrible person. Yes, he hurt Hermione, but he didn't mean to. It wasn't malicious. If he had done it out of anger, of course he would hate himself. He had to protect her from herself, and then she had gone and fallen down those damned stairs! Harry's pulse pounded in his ears.

His vision went completely black for a moment. Theo's words looped on repeat in his head, repeating again and again and again.

He pulled at his hair. It was all for the greater good. Hermione would see that, if she could. Ulysses Nott had been a blemish… He had tried to kill Harry too, so it was only fair that one of them died in their attempts at mutual assassination. He didn't even kill the man; Tom had put Snape in charge of the group. Harry had only known that it was going to happen. He didn't order the attack—

"Hey, are you okay?" A soft voice came from behind him and Harry felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Are you having a panic attack?"

He lifted his head slightly enough to catch a glimpse before his eyes watered and he buried his face again. "I'm fine." Harry knew her, or at least, knew of her. She had been a Hufflepuff in his year.

She crouched next to him and began rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. "Shallow breathing is bad, you need to breathe deeper and get all that air into you."

Harry slowed his breathing and took deeper breaths. The hand on his back was reassuring and helping him collect himself. "Thanks," he whispered.

"It's no problem. One of my friends has panic attacks, so I'm pretty good at bringing her down from them. Another thing you can do is find something and just analyze it really close. It will distract you. I find the best course of action is to talk to someone you trust. Do you need help to the floo?" She asked, her voice a whisper.

He shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you." He lifted his head and they made eye contact for the first time.

There was a gasp and she yanked her hand away from him. "Oh."

Disgust flashed across her face for a second before falling beneath a mask of neutrality. "You should have a cold bath. It might make you feel better." She said, all kindness and warmth from her voice had vanished in an instant.

Harry stared at the spot she had just been and wracked his brain for who she was. He had known all the students that were within three years of him. She had been in his Arithmancy class, though they had never interacted as far as he remembered. Some sort of dull Hufflepuff who he would never pay any mind. It wasn't shocking to be scorned by someone from the other houses, but her face… she looked like she had wanted to boil her hand after touching him.

Bones.

The name suddenly popped to the forefront of his mind. Susan Bones. Niece of Amelia and Edgar Bones.

Edgar Bones had been one of their imperiused attackers. A fervent and outspoken anti-monarchist. He had been one of the first people considered. Harry had told Tom that Edgar Bones would be a great choice. He hadn't known the man and, as such, he hadn't really thought about the man's family. Tom had wholeheartedly approved since it would damage Amelia Bones' reputation.

Did she blame him for her uncle's death, or was she just disgusted because he was on Tom's side?

Harry climbed to his feet and stumbled out of the alleyway. It was only a few steps to the apparition point. The moment he was in the space he spun on his heel and landed at the servant's entrance to the palace.

He didn't want anyone to see him coming in, didn't want anyone to see him moving through the halls. Not when rumours may already be growing about his meeting with Theo. Words had a magic of their own and they seemed to move faster than any spell.

Harry made his way past staring and startled servants, and entered the spaces between the walls, where the servants traversed.

The area around Tom's private quarters were heavily warded against entry from behind the walls, forcing Harry to step into the more heavily trafficked corridors of the palace, a place where others could see him. He pressed on a switch and the panel swung open into a, mercifully, empty hallway and scurried to Tom's bedroom.

If the hallways were mercifully empty, the emptiness of Tom's bedroom was cruel. Harry sat down on the nearest chair and focused on the sunset beyond the window.

He began to admonish himself. He needed to be better with his occlumency. It needed to be a natural reaction to him to just cut off his emotions whenever they began to elevate.

Ever since Hermione's accident, he had been trying to make it a reflex, and yet, Theo's confrontation had just cut through his rational thoughts like they were gossamer.

Pressing his back against the chair, Harry focused on regulating his breathing. He moved the hurt, the anger, the shock out of his forethoughts and compartmentalized them away. Each emotion was sectioned off and encased where he could look more closely at why they upset him as they did, or ignore them and allow them to fade away.

He closed his eyes. Breathed through his nose.

Draco had asked Harry to reach out to Theo. Why? Draco and Theo were not particularly close, acquaintances who moved in the same circles, both pureblooded nobles. A weak house of Nott would likely mean a stronger house Malfoy. To allow Theo to get his footing, it would be removing an advantage from Lucius.

Lucius Malfoy, Slughorn, Lestrange, and Flint had supposedly reached out to Theo. Slughorn made sense, the man was a Slytherin and liked for people to be in power; the more people in power, the more he could network and benefit.

The other three though, were likely taking advantage of the situation, seeing Ulysses Nott's records to see where they could strike, to move on certain assets, buy properties out from underneath. They would never allow someone from their side of the fence truly fall destitute like the Weasley's. They would make Theo regret trusting them, would make him have to work for his position.

Draco would know this. Draco wouldn't want to undermine his father and allow Theo a connection to the monarchy unless it benefitted him in some way… Harry opened his eyes. Someone either called in a favour from Draco or blackmailed him to arrange the meeting today.

But for what purpose and who?

There was no denying that Harry had made enemies. Ulysses Nott had been the biggest threat and was dead now. If Theo arranged the meeting to start some sort of vengeance quest against Harry… Well, no Slytherin would state their intentions so boldly.

It could have been Avery. If he and Harry were playing a game of cat and mouse. Perhaps he arranged it to make Harry focus his attention away from him and towards Theo. Make a new enemy of the house of Nott to keep his mind off Avery and his threat to Tom.

If they hadn't set a series of privacy wards during their meeting, he would almost be willing to say that perhaps a reporter or auror wanted to get a scoop. To have Harry react publicly to Theo's accusations. Thankfully, there had been no beetles.

There was also the smallest possible chance that Draco actually was more friendly with Theo than Harry had perceived and acted against his natural Slytherin instincts to try and help a friend. There was 0.000000000001% of a chance of that, though.

He would tell Tom about the encounter and let him know Theo Nott may be taking his father's place as their pet pest. He would also allow the painting to know if it wasn't already eavesdropping when he tells Tom.

Speaking of, Harry spotted a bit of movement in what was generally an empty landscape, Harry pushed himself up from the chair and made his way to it. "Snooping?"

Painted Tom crossed his arms and stared at him cooly. "The privacy wards alerted us that you were here."

Harry shot a look towards the door. "Is Tom on his way? You shouldn't be here…"

"He's in the middle of a meeting. Who knows when he will be here." The painting raised a painted brow at him. "I thought you would be at your apartments tonight. At least, my counterpart was intending on seeing you there," he groused.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. He wasn't quite ready to go into it. Right now, the wound was too fresh for the painting to go in and add his own barbs. "Would you rather me not be here? I don't know if I can take you harping on me even more." He'd lowkey been avoiding the painting since his meeting with Avery.

"I wouldn't harp on you if you didn't make such elementary errors."

Harry huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Look, I had to take advantage of the opportunity. And even if I did get to research it, what would I have done? Ignore Avery? How can I get him to trust me if he doesn't see results? As it is, we looked up who the damn photographer was and the only thing Avery got wrong was that he was a photographer for the Prophet, not Witch Weekly."

The painting scoffed. "Avery does not get things wrong. I don't know what his play is, but I will find out."

"Do you think it could have anything to do with his idea to expand the nobility?"

The painting gave him a bewildered expression. "That seems to be a reach."

"Look, I hardly know anything about the man or his plans beyond using Tom. I don't even know what his goals are, and from the sound of it, neither do you."

The painting frowned, his face pinched in annoyance. "I know what our goals were when we made them at Hogwarts. Whether or not they have remained the same is a different question."

Harry began to pace in front of the painting. "What were those goals? Tom told me of his true intentions, to overthrow the nobility, but what did he promise Flint, Avery, and Nott? To make them richer and more powerful? They already have everything they could possibly get from being members of the elite."

Harry became acutely aware of the silence as the painting didn't answer for over a minute. He approached the painting again, his jaw set. "What did they want?"

The painting scowled, his face twisting before he spat his response. "There were talking points of muggle subjugation and the cleansing of muggleborns. Dividing the magical world from the mundane." He waved his hand flippantly.

Harry stared at the painting, his mouth falling open. "I don't know why I am surprised. I shouldn't be. Avery is smart enough to know that's impossible. There's so many more muggles! If we get rid of muggleborns where will fresh blood come from before we're all inbred and looking like the Hapsburgs? Who in their right mind signs on to genocide most of the damn planet?! And that's on top of it being wrong to want to kill billions of people!"

The painting gave him a half-hearted shrug.

There had been a little, niggling thought at the back of mind, one that Harry had vigilantly ignored. What if Tom was lying? What if he didn't want to overthrow the nobility? What if he just wanted to bring Harry around to his side over time? Or… what if he was going to go through with the agenda he and Avery had made at Hogwarts, and Harry had made him change his mind? Is that why Nott wanted to kill him? Why the painting had tried to do so as well?

He pushed the thought to the side as he normally did. There was no use mentally debating himself about it. There was no way he could get an answer that wasn't veritaserum, and he would not do that to Tom.

The click of the door opening behind him had Harry glancing to the landscape quickly. The painted Tom was already gone.

Tom strode into the room and hit Harry with a sad sigh while shaking his head. "Not that I don't appreciate your presence, but I was in the middle of a meeting when my wards let me know you had entered my rooms. I thought maybe you had snuck in to give me some sort of treat," he looked at the bed, "but alas, I do not see you nude and covered in oil."

Harry laughed the first time in a while. "If only I had the forethought." He walked up to Tom and put his hands on his chest and spread them out so he could feel Tom breathing, feel his heart speed up when Harry moved a bit closer.

Tom hummed happily and began to lean down to kiss him.

"Tom?"

"Yes?" His voice was breathy.

"Am I a monster?"

Harry watched Tom pull back, his brows knitting together in bewilderment. Tom looked him up and down. "...What?"

"Am I a monster?" Harry repeated. His hands tightened on the front of Tom's robes, praying for an answer that didn't hurt.

It was the first time he had seen Tom completely floundering and confused. If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, he would have laughed at the exasperated confusion that graced his Grace's face. "No? Why are you even asking this? What happened?"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. "I… Draco asked me to check in on Theo Nott. I invited him out for dinner, and it was really awkward and uncomfortable. It's not like we were particularly friends at school, but we tolerated each other, I guess?" Harry was rambling. "It got worse in the final year because of… , at the end, I talked to him about mending fences and offering to help him, and he just exploded. Called me a hypocritical sycophant." Harry felt something wet trail down his face and he wiped away the tears forming.

"Oh. Harry." Tom said softly and tucked a lock of Harry's hair behind his ear. "He's wrong. He doesn't know you. He doesn't know the real you. Not like I do. Once we fix everything, he will see how wrong he is." Tom kissed Harry's cheek where a tear had fallen. "If he lives to see our glorious revolution." He kissed Harry's other cheek. "No, you're not a monster. You want what's best for everyone, and he and his ilk only want to further their own ambitions. We have to do what's hard, to do what's right." He put a hand in the small of Harry's back and nudged him closer to himself.

Tom started to undo the buttons on Harry's robes. "I hate that he's made you question yourself. You're divine. If anyone was a monster, it would be Ulysses for forcing us all into this position."

Harry closed his eyes and pressed his face into the crook of Tom's neck.

"Thank you," he whispered.