Author's Note: I was moving along quite well on this chapter and then all of a sudden hit a wall, so it took longer than I intended. However, it is also a longer chapter, so there's that.

I chose to skip the making of the Horcrux because there is a process JK Rowling has thought of, but hasn't told us yet. If/when that becomes available, I'll go back and write it. Because of that, this picks up after that has happened, and it makes for a slightly awkward beginning of the chapter—sorry about that. Later, too, I break up a scene strangely, because I needed to change POV.

Tom is lowkey ooc in this chapter, but there's a reason for it, which I explain in the A/N at the end of this.

The school year had ended, the students were boarding the Hogwarts Express, and Tom had taken the Diary with him. When the moment came, he felt he couldn't leave it behind, far away from him for two months. Made under the stress of creating the Horcrux, it had been a rash decision; he was stuck with the Diary for the summer now, trying to keep it safe, hidden away, unnoticed. He tried to tell himself there was wisdom in it because the Basilisk could not necessarily be trusted, and as its venom was one of the few things capable of destroying the Horcrux… He knew that was only delayed justification, however. He had been in no fit state of mind to make any important decisions then, but there had been nothing else he could have done; control had slipped away, as much as he would have liked it to be otherwise.

What he had read implied the process was almost unbearably excruciating; he'd thought that had been some scheme of those who wanted to keep the power for themselves, to scare people out of attempting it. He'd been wrong.

Even now, he felt a burning sensation inside him, sometimes all over; he would suddenly feel nauseated and had had a constant headache since the Horcrux was made. People were commenting that he looked pale, and asked if he was alright. He had a much more difficult time politely telling them he was fine than he'd ever had before; it was as if the will to act kindly, even if it was insincere, had been sucked out of him. He would need to achieve mastery of this again.

For now he just had to make it through the train ride and then somehow get back to the orphanage.

Charlotte saw Tom's friends all filing past without him, going to sit somewhere else. "That's odd," she said to Valeria. "I'm going to see what's happening."

Avery caught sight of her heading towards the compartment where Tom was. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. He isn't in a good mood... We're leaving him alone for a reason."

She ignored him, and the grave looks of the others, and went in. Tom was lying on the seat, turned away from her. She quietly slid the door shut behind her, but he must have known someone had entered. "I thought I told you to go away!" he growled without lifting his head to see who was there.

"It's me." He opened his eyes at her voice. She moved towards him. "You're not well?" She could tell that had to be the case, based on how he was acting, and he looked pale. Kneeling beside the bench seat, she felt his forehead—feverish. She gently stroked his hair. "Did you get bitten or stung or scratched by anything in your Care of Magical Creatures exam? And not tell anybody because you were too proud?"

"No," he answered, clenching his fist.

"I hope it isn't dragon pox..." He'd shut his eyes again and now was thankful he could not see Charlotte's lovingly concerned face.

"Of course it isn't dragon pox," he said harshly. "Everyone would be ill."

"You're right. I'm just worried about you." His anger was growing as she repeatedly brushed her fingers over his hair. He reached out and grabbed her other arm, gripping her tightly near her wrist, to let out some of his frustration and to cope with the pain he was feeling. It might have been hurting her, but he didn't care. She didn't react, as far as he could tell—he still wasn't looking at her. He let go of her and opened his eyes. She was staring at his grip on her, red lines fading from her skin between where his fingers had been.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" she asked. He noticed her voice made her sound like she was in pain. He didn't understand why she was asking about him when he'd just caused her suffering, for he assumed her arm was the source of the hurt in her voice.

"I'll be alright," he said firmly. At this point, he needed to make himself believe it too. Somehow he had relaxed. His breathing was in time with her hand's movement across his head, although he failed to see the connection. She stopped, and now that annoyed him. He pushed himself into a half upright position.

"Do you need help?"

"No." His voice was tight with anger and pain, although the pain was easing. He sat up the rest of the way and Charlotte moved to sit next to him. He thought about telling her to leave instead, but another sudden wave of nausea overcame his ability to speak. They sat in silence for a minute or more, and then he was finally able to say, "Aren't you worried about getting sick yourself?"

With a shake of her head, she took his hand. Of course. He might have known that would be the answer, but he'd tried to scare her away regardless. His reasoning was still impaired, it seemed.

Realizing he was leaning to the side towards her, falling, more like, he let himself rest against her shoulder; she turned to better support him.

"You should have gone to see Madam Beauregard before we left Hogwarts," she said. He didn't want to move his head and he didn't want to form words, so his only response could be a groan that sounded more miserable than he would have liked. It accurately showed how he was feeling, but he hated to let Charlotte, or anyone, know that.

But he knew all of this would be worth it in the end; he kept reminding himself of that—the power that having a Horcrux would give him, the fact that he had achieved something hardly any other wizard had. The reality was still setting in. He'd dreamed of this for quite some time and now, surreal though it was, he had done it. A smile came to his mouth.

He felt Charlotte's lips against the top of his head. She thought he was smiling over her, naturally. "What are we going to do if you aren't feeling better by the time we get to King's Cross? Will you be able to make it through London on your own?"

This was a terrible thought. Her concern was justified, and he hated every solution. He couldn't go staggering across London on his own with all his school things; something might get lost. Muggles might offer him help. Having Charlotte go with him was equally unthinkable, to rely on her. "Let's hope I'm well enough by then," he said.

"My mother always arrives at the station late because she doesn't like the crowds," Charlotte replied.

"What are you going to do? Go with me and then find your way back on your own?" He laughed, finding the thought of her trying to navigate the Muggle train system very amusing. He sat up, feeling a bit better. "There wouldn't be time for you to get back. And we'd draw too much attention."

"You'd draw a fair bit of attention alone if you pass out in the streets, an odd stick in your pocket and a trunk full of strange books."

"I think I'll be fine. I'm starting to get over it," he said. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You said you weren't worried about getting sick, didn't you?"

She smiled, put a hand around his face and kissed him back. "I'll take the risk," she said softly. He felt almost normal again. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, enjoying the moment of relief. He hoped it meant his post-Horcrux suffering was at an end. He sat there, just breathing, freeing his mind from thoughts aside from how nice it was to feel comfortable. A highly unusual experience for him.

Then he looked at Charlotte, the outline of her body set against the blur of the countryside through the window. He had to turn away because it was tempting him too much. There was no point in feeding his lust for her in that instant, because he couldn't act on it; he needed those feelings to dissipate. But he wanted her, and only the fact that they were in a train full of other people stopped him; any protest she could have given would have been unheeded.

All at once his headache returned as a horribly sharp pain, as though his skull had been cleaved straight through. Every previous thought vanished as he gasped and Charlotte turned to him quickly. He leaned forward and his hand ended up on her leg, squeezing it as he had done with her arm before. Again, she was calm. She put her face near his and her hand on his arm. "What can I do?"

The pain subsided and he was looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing down at her thigh, where his hand still rested, now relaxed.

"I didn't feel it that much," she answered. He wasn't sure if she was telling the truth, but he supposed it didn't matter. "I think you should try to rest, sleep, for the remainder of the trip," she said.

"That's what I was trying to do when you came in here," he replied bitterly. He felt a pain in his chest and lay down. He wished she would lie down next to him. To fall asleep with her in his arms—he didn't know where that desire came from, but it seemed the only thing he needed at that moment. She moved to stand up. "Don't leave," he said, which could have sounded weak and needy with a hint of desperation, but he felt he'd been commanding enough to not be ashamed of himself.

"I'm just moving to give you more room," she answered, indicating with her head that she would sit on the other side. He rose up enough to reach her.

"I want you here," he said quietly, embarrassed of it, although he had no reason to fear judgment from her. Still, the idea of it... But he was doing it anyway.

She took a seat beside him again and he sat up the rest of the way, folding his arms around her. "Here," he whispered, lying back down, pulling her with him and trying to do so gently. He remembered when he had been trying to sleep next to Charlotte and that fact had been an annoyance; a month and a half later he was choosing to embrace her while he slept. He'd never had the inclination to treat her this way before, and perhaps if it had occurred at another time he would have fought against it, but he lacked the will to do so now. Anything that put his agony into remission was welcome, and having Charlotte near him seemed to be doing that—this was partly the reason he acted on these feelings; the main reason, however, was that whatever he wanted to do, he did.

"This... isn't very comfortable for me," she said after lying there for a bit.

Twisting around onto his side to make room for her on the seat cushion instead of on him, he saw that she had been in a sort of awkward, unnatural position, which he hadn't paid attention to earlier.

"Better?" he inquired.

"Yes. But is having me here not going to keep you awake?"

"It's fine. I feel better already." It was true. "And I'm sure I'll only improve with rest." He bent his face down into the softness of her hair to block out some of the light; he really did hope to fall asleep.

Tom's arm tightened around her waist. Charlotte flinched slightly, thinking of how he had squeezed her before, and readied herself to say something this time. The edge of the seat was within reach and, unlike her, the cushion didn't have pain receptors; he could use that if he had to grab on to something. But nothing more came of it.

It had hurt her to see him in pain. She had no idea what malady he was suffering from, but thought her mother would have at least a guess. And even though she felt Tom was the type who preferred to overcome illness and suffering like this without the intervention of anyone else, she decided she would have her mother look at him if she got the chance. It might have helped if she'd asked him exactly what was wrong, but she hadn't because she wouldn't have known what it meant or what to do anyway. The odds of him answering her were minimal, too, as mostly he had ignored her questions and refused her help.

She could feel the rise and fall of Tom's chest against her back as he breathed. Uncertain if he was asleep or not, she stayed quiet and still, stillness further necessitated by the small amount of space there was, and also for that reason she stayed awake—and besides, she was hardly tired. She thought about how excited she was to be going home, to see her father and mother again, about how she would spend her summer. She wondered if they might go back to France, even if it was only for a short time she would be happy, even if it wasn't her hometown.

She wondered what kind of magic she would practice. Her parents always liked for her to advance her studies even when she was out of school, usually focusing on one particular theme per year. Strictly speaking, she, being under seventeen, was not allowed to use magic away from school; her mother, however, had concluded that no one at the Ministry would be the wiser because the Trace wasn't fine-tuned enough to tell who exactly was casting the magic. Her father conceded, saying it was fine as long as her practice only happened under their supervision.

Her thoughts again returned to Tom. A captive in Muggle society, he didn't have this luxury, to be able to practice magic when he wasn't at Hogwarts. Not that he needed the practice,—he didn't seem any less skilled for it—but she was certain refraining from using magic for two months must challenge him. At least this summer would be different, when he came to visit her.

As she thought more about this, however, she realized her mother had not specified a length of time for him to visit. Perhaps she only had meant for a day. Her father still had to agree to it, too, a visit of any length. She'd been so eager and excited for the event, that she forgot to consider the true likelihood. But surely her parents would see that they had to take Tom away from the orphanage for as long as they could? And surely they would want to get to know him? What other way did they have to do this than to have him visit? She convinced herself again that there was no reason to doubt. Tom could be persuasive, so if she needed help getting her parents to agree, she was certain they could manage it between the two of them.

She shifted her body around, but couldn't feel comfortable on the relatively narrow seat; as much as she wanted to stay there with Tom, she carefully lifted his arm off of her and went to sit on the other side of the compartment. She smiled looking at him, sound asleep.

He was right that it was unrealistic for her to be the one to accompany him home if he was still unwell when they got to King's Cross, but she still wanted to help him, and was tempted to try it anyway.

After a while, Valeria appeared in the window. Charlotte motioned for her to enter, quietly. She came in and sat down, at the same time whispering, "I was just curious if you were coming back."

"I'm sorry I went off and left you for so long; I did intend to come back," she replied.

"I sketched out some designs I can work on over the summer—as if I didn't have enough to do already. It's fine." She laughed, and then glanced at Tom a bit anxiously. "He's asleep then? Why did the others leave?"

"He wasn't asleep when I came in. He's sick with something and only fell asleep a little bit ago. I didn't want to leave him to wonder where I'd gone when he woke up," Charlotte explained. "His friends left because he made them go, I think, but he let me stay; he wanted me to stay..." She drifted off into thought, feeling so very in love.

Valeria smiled at her, but looking over at Tom again, frowned. "Perhaps, with him being ill, I should go," she said, standing up. Charlotte stood with her and hugged her tightly. "Think you'll come see me this summer?"

Charlotte hesitated, not enough to be noticed, however. Valeria lived in the middle of a Muggle city, as her mother, being a Muggle, had an ordinary life to live while she kept the secret of her wizard husband. The previous summer, this same conversation had happened. Charlotte's mother had more or less forbidden her to go and, truthfully, Charlotte herself was not keen on the idea. She wanted to visit Valeria, of course, but being around her Muggle mother and in the midst of Muggle society, she disliked the thought of that. "You could come stay with my family for a while," she offered. "Although not at the same time as Tom."

"Tom is going to stay at your house?" asked Valeria, looking surprised.

"My mother wanted to invite him."

"So you should come visit me after that so I can hear all about it." Valeria grinned.

"We'll see." Charlotte smiled back to not give away her true thoughts. Then, seeing him raise his head, she turned towards Tom. Valeria looked to see what had her attention. "Oh! I was just leaving, Tom. I hope you feel better soon."

"I am already, thank you, Valeria." He sat up. She gave Charlotte another hug and left.

Looking out the window and recognizing the landscape as being closer to their destination, Charlotte said, "We'll be there soon. Are you really feeling better now?"

"Well enough," he said with a smile.

"Good. I hope it stays that way."

The train came to a stop shortly after this. Neither of them seeing a reason to throw themselves immediately into the throng of students rushing to get off the train, Charlotte stayed with Tom and they disembarked when things were less chaotic in the corridor. Once on the platform, she searched the crowd and caught sight of someone unexpected. Her father had managed to be there to meet her. Her face lit up. Then she noticed her mother was there too, standing behind him. For them to both be there... it was unusual; she hoped that nothing bad had happened. She turned to Tom to bring him over to them with her, and realized maybe he was the reason. That was a much nicer thought.

"Papa!" She hugged her father first. "Je n'attendais pas que tu serais ici! (I didn't expect you to be here!)"

"Ta mère a proposé que nous te retrouvions ensemble. Toi, et ce jeune homme... (Your mother suggested we both meet you. You, and this young man...)" He gestured to Tom, who stepped forward uncertainly.

"Ah, oui. This is Tom. Tom, this is my father, Monsieur Jean-Marc Soleil. And of course you and my mother already met."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Tom smiled at Monsieur Soleil and shook his hand.

"And you, and you. We look forward to knowing you better; if I understand correctly, you are coming to stay sometime this summer?"

"Yes, if the invitation still stands, I'd like that very much," he replied. "I imagine that, in the months since Charlotte told you about me, you must have been wondering 'what is he like? this boy she spends so much time with'. If I were in your position, I know I would want to be certain that boy was... good for her. I hope that after my visit you are confident of that." He smiled again at them both. While he spoke, Charlotte went over to greet her mother, exchanging kisses with her on each cheek.

"That's quite true, yes," Monsieur Soleil agreed.

"For today, you are fine to get home yourself?" Madame Soleil asked, turning to Tom.

"I am, thank you. I've been making the commute on my own since I was eleven." No symptom of his ailment seemed to be present now and Charlotte deemed it unnecessary to mention.

It was decided that they would collect Tom from the orphanage in two weeks and after he had obtained permission from the matron there, which he was evidently certain he could do. However, Monsieur and Madame Soleil were both willing to visit and speak with her themselves.

Although she knew she would see him again in a matter of weeks, it was difficult for Charlotte to say good-bye to Tom. Not only that, but, with her parents right there with them and all the others who were around on the platform, it was slightly awkward. They couldn't be as affectionate as they would have been alone. She almost forgot this, at first turning to him ready to embrace.

He took her hand and stood closer to her. "You'll write to me, won't you?"

"Of course." She smiled sweetly. "And you'll write back?"

"Of course."

"I'll see you in a few weeks then," she exhaled.

"Hopefully sooner than that," Tom said. They held eye contact for little longer; she wanted to kiss him so much. "I should be going," he said quietly, letting go of her hand. She smiled as she watched him leave and was startled by her father's hand on her shoulder.

"Il faut que nous partions aussi. (We should leave too.)"

Author's Note: If you're skeptical about both of them fitting on that train seat, honestly I am too, but I have nothing to prove that they wouldn't, so let's just go with it. Also I'm sorry I used the word pain what felt like 50 times in this; the synonyms for it didn't work very well. Lastly, here's a mini-essay for the thing I said I'd talk about.

Two things are happening with Tom during the scene that is mainly from his perspective. He's in physical pain a lot, and he feels unusually drawn to Charlotte. In keeping with the Harry Potter series' major theme of love, and because love has an astounding impact in the real world, it is love that his soul longs for. (This love does not necessarily need to be romantic love,—in fact, I might say it would be better if it were not—but in the context on this story, that's what makes sense.) Part of his soul is trying to do good and also find love for him, so that someone will help him save himself from the fate he is building, while another part is embracing the destruction. Apparently,—I read this on the wiki, but I think it makes sense; I just can't remember if it was in the books—when a Horcrux is made, the maker is even less likely to be guided by morality. Tom exhibits this in this chapter. However, I also wanted to show another side of what could happen with the creation of a Horcrux, which is not specified in the series, that being how the soul would fight back against it. This is why he keeps hurting (at certain times, mostly not at random). Gradually, that pain disappears as the human will overcomes it; although his soul made an effort to turn him back, he made a choice to continue to pursue evil.

This makes sense in my head, but writing it down didn't turn out like I thought, so maybe that didn't make sense at all.