"Now we wait."
Harry didn't look up from Tom's pale face as Ollie spoke. He'd been sure that Tom would not survive the poisoning from the silver bullets. But so far, he had. He'd fought, and Harry had found himself right there helping his captive fight.
He no longer knew what he stood for. Nothing made sense anymore. When he'd had Ollie brought in, the man had been shocked to see Tom still in Harry's possession. Still shackled. Ollie knew better than to say anything, but from his expression Harry understood Ollie's confusion.
He shared that confusion now.
Why wasn't Tom dead yet? Why had he nursed the bullet wounds Conner had been brave enough to deliver?
Tom moaned in his sleep, head thrashing back and forth on the pillows, fingers reflexively grasping at the thin sheet Ollie had thrown over his naked body after he'd stripped him of his sweat-soaked clothes earlier. Ollie had injected him with something to get him to rest, and also given him potions for the silver poisoning.
Harry had been the one to wipe Tom' brow with a cool cloth. He'd been the one to force the man's mouth open and pour blood down his throat.
Why?
Just days prior he'd been looking forward to his death. He'd been making plans for it. Salivating at the thought of it. And now?
He stared down at his right hand, held it up and fisted it. He'd touched Tom. Not out of anger. Not out of revenge. To help him. To heal him. He hadn't known he'd had it in him. But he'd stood next to the bed and stared down at Tom crying out in his feverish state. Screaming in pain that Dumbledore had inflicted on him. Reliving all those vile memories in his nightmares.
He'd wanted Tom broken. This was the most vulnerable he'd ever get. And instead of wrapping his hands around Tom's throat and squeezing the life out of him, Harry had instead held water and blood to his lips and encouraged the man who'd killed his Fenrir to drink.
He'd encouraged him to fight.
He squeezed his fist tighter.
What was happening?
He was pulled to Tom, making Harry the helpless one. Watching himself edge closer and closer to the brink of that cliff. Betrayal and guilt awaited him at the bottom, yet sometimes that fall didn't seem so bad.
That scared him. Fear resided in the heart that had somehow become lodged in his throat. He was afraid of Tom. Afraid of himself, of what he might do the next time they got close enough for Harry to feel Tom's body. Close enough for him to put his hands on Tom.
It wouldn't all be in anger.
It wouldn't all be in rage.
"Keep feeding him the potions."
Ollie instructed,
"Lots of fluids and keep an eye on the wounds."
He paused,
"Sir."
Harry didn't answer and Ollie eventually exited the room. When the door clicked closed behind him, Harry went to his knees right there.
"Fen…"
He tilted his face upward, eyes closed,
"I'm sorry…"
His throat worked,
"I'm so sorry…"
It was foreign to him, everything he'd done since he'd walked into the bunker to find Conner standing over a bleeding Tom, a gun in his hand. He should have thanked Conner for doing what Harry somehow could not. He should have finished the job Conner started for him, and ended Tom's life.
A life for a life.
Blood for blood.
Tom for Fenrir's.
How could he justify not delivering on the promise he'd made to Fenrir? How could he justify the panic he'd experienced as Tom bled out on that cold floor? Was there a way to explain what he felt at the sight of Tom so pale and delirious, frail and vulnerable on that bed?
His chest squeezed, seemingly instantly too small to contain his heart as it pounded furiously.
He felt for Tom Riddle, and it wasn't all about revenge and retribution.
"Fen…I am so sorry…Please forgive me…"
He begged. Because he'd never be able to forgive himself. What he'd done. The way he'd betrayed Fenrir, there was no excuse. He touched the ring around his finger, caressing it as he took a deep breath and got to his feet.
Things couldn't remain as they were. He glanced at a sleeping Tom. He was still now, face lax. Harry didn't allow himself to linger. He couldn't afford to. Instead he left the room and went in search of Conner.
On the way, he dialled Mark who picked up on the first ring,
"Boss."
Harry didn't bother with small talk,
"I'm going to kill Conner. I'm merely informing you because he was one of your team members."
Mark was silent for a moment before he spoke,
"You may do with him as you please, Sir."
Harry ended the call as he resumed his search for Conner. He found him down in the bunker, smoking a cigarette while staring at his phone. At the sight of Harry, he jumped to his feet.
"Sir."
"Explain yourself."
Conner's jaw ticked,
"He killed Mr. Greyback. And you're keeping him here, why? You're feeding him. Keeping him alive? He should be dead."
Harry backhanded him hard enough that Conner staggered a couple steps backward,
"Two things."
He kept his tone even and his expression calm as he held up two fingers,
"You don't question me. Ever. And you follow my orders."
He grabbed Conner by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eye when the other man would have glanced away,
"Every single time."
The other man weighed more than him. Was taller than him. To some that might mean Conner would be the one with the advantage. Conner had always been a follower, better at taking orders than giving them. Never one to take the initiative.
"He killed him."
Conner spat,
"He took him from you, and you're protecting him?"
So, Conner had a sudden death wish. With the one hand on his chin, Harry slammed the heel of his other hand into Conner's windpipe, pushing him back against the cage when he doubled over,
"You don't have to tell me what Tom did. I was there."
He banged Conner's head into the cage one final time before dropping his hands and stepping back.
The other man coughed and sagged against the cage,
"Boss"
"Not your boss, am I?"
Harry removed his trusty blade from his pocket.
Conner's eyes went wide, and he held up both hands,
"Boss…Please…"
"You don't really expect to question me, disobey me, and live, do you?"
He stabbed Conner in the chest, in the heart. Once,
"You will die…"
He twisted the knife.
The other man froze, mouth dropping open as he grabbed at Harry's lapels. Harry pushed him off, pulling out the blade slowly, as Conner made a high, painful sound. He stepped back, and Conner crumbled to the floor.