Harry woke up sore, cold, and momentarily disoriented. Sadly enough, that was a state of being that he was quite familiar with by now. Due to the absence of any detectable immediate danger, the boy remained still in his bed for a moment longer, trying to make sense of the world.

He was in a room that wasn't exactly his, but one that Tom had given him when they had arrived to this house. Harry didn't feel like he was injured in any way, although… he did feel strangely bereft of something... something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Did it have something to do with the ritual? Had they succeeded? Was the life debt gone, now?

'If the life debt is gone,' Harry thought, 'then what about... what about Truls?' Was his friend all right? Tom would know, wouldn't he? Should Harry call for him, or go look for him? To ask about Truls, just in case. What if Truls was hurt? After a few moments of contemplation, Harry, feeling shaky, sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. His feet had barely touched the ground when a house-elf popped in, looking at him with its wide, bulging eyes.

"Master Potter is awake!" it squeaked. "Master Potter's bath will be ready right away. Does Master Potter require help? Tinsel can help Master Potter to his bath—"

"Thank you," Harry interrupted, realizing that perhaps a quick scrub wouldn't go amiss. He was clean, he could feel that, but clean in a way that spoke of scourgify, rather than soap and water. It was clean but... not... clean. "I can get to the bathroom on my own. Um... I would appreciate a change of clothes and a towel to be ready for me when I get out. Or, you know, just put them in the bathroom on a chair or something."

"Of course, Master Potter," Tinsel replied. "Tinsel will make it happen, Master Potter!"

Harry's steps were heavy and shaky when he finally began the short walk from his bed to the bathroom adjacent to his room, and by the time he had undressed and climbed into the bathtub, he could barely hold himself up. He sunk into the warm water with a relieved sigh, and sat still for a few moments, his thoughts drifting back to the life debt.

If removing it had been a success... then... what would happen next? There was an unpleasant feeling at the pit of his stomach, a ball of anxiety and fear that he wasn't sure how to handle, no matter how used to this feeling he was by now. Merlin, how he missed his friends. Not just Truls, but also Clemens, Filippa, Björn, and everyone else. Luna, too, even though she was at Hogwarts and he could have seen her more often. He hoped that she'd like the gift he sent her: a book on mythical creatures. He knew that he would like whatever she sent him, even if he wouldn't have a use for it. He had liked the earrings even if he hadn't worn them in a long time, and the face mask that she had sent him... it was nice?

'Not everything has to be useful,' Harry thought to himself with a sigh, thinking of washing his hair but finding the shampoo too far to reach for. 'Where would I need a mask after all?' The only place he struggled to breathe in was the train station, but what were the odds of that mask working for him there?

Harry was startled out of his thoughts when the door of the bathroom was pulled open, and Tom stepped in. The man looked fine as ever, dressed in clearly tailored robes, with his hair neatly combed back. The smug look that Harry had begun to suspect to be just Tom's, well, face, was there as always, and the man sounded almost pleasant when he spoke:

"Glad to see you awake," Tom said. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak and sore. I can barely move my limbs," Harry replied, and then gestured towards the shampoo. "Hand me that."

Tom hummed in response, and grabbed the bottle of shampoo before moving closer to Harry. "And how were you planning on washing your hair, if you can barely move?"

"You wash my hair, then," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Merlin knows I would appreciate it." When his words were met with a douse of water to the head, Harry thought that Tom would follow it up by throwing the bottle of shampoo at him as well, before leaving him to his own company for now. Much to his surprise, however, the Dark Lord kneeled down by the bathtub, and poured some of the shampoo onto his hand, before rubbing it into Harry's wet hair with hesitant moves.

Harry wasn't sure what to think any of this, but he didn't hate it.

"Not many would have drank that poison," Tom suddenly said, startling Harry again. "You did well."

Harry closed his eyes, unsure of what to say at first. Yes, he had taken the poison Tom had given him, but... it wasn't simple trust that had made him do it. Harry didn't consider himself reckless, but neither was he incapable of taking risks when necessary – not when the stakes were as high as they were in his life. He needed Tom's trust, and if gambling with his life and drinking the poison Tom had handed him was an action that made the man believe Harry to have blind faith in him... then wasn't it simply the wisest thing to do?

"The life debt is gone now, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Tom replied, and Harry's relief nearly drowned under the second douse of water that washed the shampoo out of his hair. "You can rest until lunch, and after that... we'll start by trying to send you to the train station, and see how that goes."

"Wow," Harry said mockingly, wiping water from his face and blinking his eyes open. "Not even a full day's rest."

"Do you need a full day's rest?"

Harry fell silent for a few moments, and thought of Delacour and the third task that loomed ahead of him. "No," he said. "After lunch is good."

The earlier feeling of bereavement had vanished, making Harry feel somehow... light on the inside. He still felt cold, but in a way that had nothing to do with his surroundings; a light chill that settled into his bones as if it was a part of him. The soup he was eating didn't warm him up by much, but he wasn't about to complain. Not when there was so much else he'd rather talk about.

"Is there anything you can tell me regarding the third task?"

"No," Tom replied absently, browsing through the day's paper. "Mainly because even I know very little of its details. Which is why I'll be sure to teach you as much as possible."

"Do you want me to win?" A long time ago Tom had called Harry his champion, and told Harry to do his best. But watching him try his best from the sidelines was a fair bit different from actively training him. Even if Tom wasn't doing it for free.

"I want to be impressed," the man finally said. "You and Delacour have both succeeded in that, so far." And— Merlin, how was— Harry didn't hate Delacour, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about the words Tom had just said. Something about them had taken Harry's good mood and appetite away.

"You said you wanted me to try going to the train station again?" Harry asked, pushing his plate aside. "Anything else?"

"Nothing for now," Tom replied. "We'll start by sending you there to see if that can be done. If it is possible, you can start asking about Regulus Black again. I am certain that he is still alive, but... well, there is always a chance."

"And then?"

"Oh, that would be all for today. Tomorrow, we'll go back to training you. You'll also want to open your Christmas gifts, I believe."

"Will we do apparition training again, tomorrow?" Harry asked, dreading the answer. Tom, sensing his discomfort, smirked at him.

"It's only for your own good," the main said. "We'll practice it every day. There are, however, a few other things I'll be teaching you, but you needn't worry about any of that yet."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, shaking his head and thinking of rain and wind and steel already. "First, the train st—"

The shift caught him off guard, and the next thing Harry knew he was sitting on a bench in a familiar station, surrounded by more people than he could take a moment to count. The noise – Merlin, it was so loud, the people were talking while some trains arrived and some left. There were bells ringing, and a huge clock near the ceiling that Harry never seen before was ticking loud enough for him to feel it.

What was he supposed to do, again? Oh yes, look for Regulus Black. But how was he supposed to look for anyone in this crowd? He couldn't even find Merope or Albus.

Harry coughed, absently noting how thin and dry the air felt. Uncomfortable, in ways he wasn't sure how to describe. He sat still, not knowing what to do, but in the absence of a pull to take him back to the world of the living, he didn't feel the urgency to leave. Someone sat by him on the bench for a brief moment, rummaging through their pockets, before the sound of a train's horn got them moving again. Someone else almost fell on top of him, pushed by the crowd, before again disappearing into the masses.

Harry, to get a better view of the station, moved to stand up on the bench. The only thing he could see better now were the trains themselves, and the size of the crowd. Merlin, how many people were there? And they kept just... appearing. With every person that went off into a train, another came to the station.

He was so caught up in trying to make sense of the world around him, that it took him a while to notice that someone was watching him. When he finally did notice, with dread in his gut, Harry turned his head, and ended up looking straight towards a towering... entity. It wasn't a person, no matter how humanoid it looked. Its ashen skin had a blue tint to it, and Harry knew that once again, this had to be one of the tribe. He wasn't close enough to see its eyes, but its face was turned towards Harry, and Harry knew that it had been looking at him. It wasn't… it wasn't the same one he had seen in Istanbul.

Breathing became harder, and he regretted nothing as much as standing right then. If he had been sitting down, surely the thing wouldn't have noticed him? But oh, he knew better than to truly believe that. They were following him, and somehow, they could find him even here, at the train station. And it would be only a matter of time before they would find him in Durmstrang.

Harry returned to where he had been, sitting by the table, with an impact that made him lurch forward and lean against the hard surface. He could hear a strange sound, like a dog gasping for breath, barely audible over the thundering beats of his heart. He was sweaty, and nauseated. What snapped him out of this state was a sudden gust of clean air, and then someone – Tom, of course it was Tom, no one else was there aside from the two of them and a handful of house-elves – dragged him to the couch, and pushed him to lie down. Harry clenched his eyes shut for a few long moments, before the world felt somewhat stable again.

After silence, Tom spoke: "Well, that was interesting. Do explain."

"Do you remember when I told you," Harry wheezed, feeling drained to the bone, "about the things I know that I cannot tell you."

"Because of where you can go," Tom said, nodding. "You need to rethink this new habit of withholding information, if this is what ends up happening when you're working on a task I've given you."

"I'm not hiding information," Harry replied tiredly, and closed his eyes. Merlin, the couch was soft. His head hurt. "I'm protecting you."

Tom didn't ask him about the train station again.

Oh, he still sent him there. Every morning, right after apparition practice. But the few times that Harry returned pale and trembling, gasping for breath, he didn't ask what had put him into such a state. Instead, he decided to add more into Harry's training schedule. To distract him.

"We've discussed this before," Tom said one afternoon, after a generous dinner. Harry was lying on his back by the fireplace, warm and content with his life for the time being. "The Imperius Curse. You know what it is, don't you?"

"I do," Harry replied, opening his eyes and turning towards Tom. "It's removes a person's free will."

"It sounds exactly like the kind of a curse you would hate from a moral perspective," Tom said, before narrowing his eyes at the boy. "Am I right?"

"I know you're trying to make fun of me," Harry replied. "But as a matter of fact, I once wrote an essay—"

"Of course you did."

"—and I think that referring to it as less harmful than the Cruciatus curse or the Killing curse is arguably incorrect, because—"

"Oh, Merlin, why is this happening."

"—the physical pain of Cruciatus, if inflicted only for short periods of time, which is usually the case, doesn't equate to the psychological damage that—"

"We're not having this conversation," Tom decided, and silenced Harry with a wave of his wand. The betrayed look the boy levelled at him was nothing short of delightful. "And you needn't worry about your sensibilities quite yet. Before we get around to you even trying to cast it— on someone else, mind you. Not me. We will begin by you trying to overcome it."

"I remember that conversation," Harry sighed sadly, as soon as Tom cancelled the silencing spell. "It's going to be a lot of work, isn't it? Don't make me do anything embarrassing."

"There's no joy in embarrassing you when it's only the two of us here," Tom said. "It is a wonder that Durmstrang hasn't incorporated this lecture into their curriculum yet."

"Overcoming the Imperius? Do you want them to? I'm sure they'll get it done if you tell them."

"Hmm."

"Oh," Harry suddenly said, nodding slowly. "You would think that."

"Think what?" Tom asked. "I didn't say anything."

"Well, you didn't say anything, but you made that hmm sound and we both know what it means."

"We do?"

"You make it whenever you think you have a good idea, but can't make it happen for some self-determined reason," Harry said. "You made the same sound when you considered the exchange program between schools, but then dismissed the idea because, well, as much as we could learn from Beauxbatons, they would also benefit in equal measure."

Tom watched Harry with wide eyes, and didn't stop the boy when he continued: "I think that you find the thought of teaching people how to shrug off the imperius good and useful, in case they fight against rebels, but you also don't trust them with a skill that will render one of the most useful Dark curses virtually useless, in case you're the one who needs to subject them to it."

"I think you're reading too much into a passing thought," Tom managed to say, despite how unsettling he found Harry's observation. There was a conclusion, somewhere in there, that he didn't want to even think of. The conclusion that somehow, despite all good sense, he actually had gotten close—

"Probably," Harry said with a shrug. "Either way, it's hard to say when such a curse is needed." He hadn't thought that he'd ever have to use the killing curse, but live and learn, really.

"Unexpected words from someone so hung up on the ethical implications of the imperius," Tom said dryly.

"I know you think I'm naive, and that I trust everyone blindly," Harry argued, rolling his eyes. "But considering that you never know who is going to stand by you in the end, I do understand the necessity of not... helping them build up their defenses."

"You don't trust everyone blindly?"

Harry thought of Truls, and how close they were, and of the vow of secrecy he had made the boy take before agreeing to go to the Yule Ball with him. "No."

"Colour me surprised," Tom drawled, clearly not believing Harry. "You've been very trusting in my company, for a very long time now."

"Yes, Tom, I have," Harry said, avoiding eye-contact in a pretense of bashfulness, while the thought of occlumency briefly ran through his mind. "But it has less to do with me trusting people in general, and more to do with me trusting you in particular."

"That—"

"Tom," Harry interrupted, looking up at the man, and desperately hoping that he wouldn't think to use legilimency right then. While he wasn't outright lying, he was attempting to manipulate one of the strongest – if not the strongest – wizard alive. "You handed me poison, and I willingly drank it. Do you think I would do it for anyone else?"

"I wouldn't know," Tom claimed, but Merlin, he did know, didn't he? He knew that no matter Harry's flaws – and by Circe, the boy had plenty of them – he wasn't as foolishly trusting anymore as he had once been. But, once again, this wasn't a conversation Tom wanted to have. "Tomorrow I'll put you under imperius, and you'll have to try and apparate, despite my orders."

"I can barely apparate now with your orders," Harry said, finally sitting up. He didn't resist the shift of the conversation away from trust issues, knowing that there was nothing good to be gained by making Tom feel uncomfortable about having feelings. "You think I can somehow resist your command and apparate? Are you insane or pretending to be humble about your abili- ah!" The stinging hex hit Harry's calf, making the boy yelp in pain.

"You do realize that you ought to speak to me in a completely different manner, don't you?"

"Consider it a security measure," Harry said. "If anyone ever tries to steal my identity and use polyjuice-"

"Why would anyone bother?" Tom asked, unimpressed. "You're a nobody."

"Not if I win the Tournament," Harry reminded him. "But, if anyone ever does pretend to be me, all you need to do is—"

"Hear them talk, yes, yes," Tom sighed, reluctantly amused. "Merlin forbid you'd ever speak to me respectfully in private."

"You complain now, but you'll miss me when I'm gone," Harry said. "In a few weeks, back at Hogwarts, too busy to be bullied by you."

Tom scoffed, clearly in disagreement.

But he didn't argue.

Tom had instructed him against taking the train, and told him to apparate to Hogsmeade instead. Despite his reluctance to apparate all alone in case anything went wrong, Harry obeyed, and reached Hogwarts hours before the train would arrive. The boy was... nervous about his return to Hogwarts. Going back to Durmstrang was always so easy. Going back to his own apartment, meeting his friends who lived so close to him. Attending lectures in familiar rooms, living a routine he knew by heart. Hogwarts was so different, and was so full of people. There were so many students there that Harry doubted anyone could remember them all.

Also, he was nervous about Truls.

Very nervous.

It didn't really help that Truls didn't arrive until much later in the day, less than an hour before dinner. Nothing appeared to be out of ordinary, and Harry refused to read too much into the surprisingly sharp searching look he had received from his best friend earlier. During dinner Truls sat by Harry's side as usual, and after a few moments of friendly and familiar pleasantries, Truls was drawn into a Quidditch discussion with Krum. Harry... wasn't sure if anything had changed. Truls hadn't yet mentioned anything about the life debt, but that could be simply due to him not having the time for it. He looked fine – well and healthy, didn't he?

"Is everything all right?" Mette asked suddenly, leaning closer. "You're not eating."

"Oh, no, everything is fine," Harry replied immediately, and offered her a smile. "It's just, well, the tournament. I wish I knew what the third task was, already. I hate waiting."

"People are betting left and right," Maria said, joining the conversation. "The most popular bet so far is that you'll be fighting a dragon."

"That's ridiculous," Mette huffed, shaking her head. "There's no way they'd do something like that."

"It would be exciting to watch," Ingrid pointed out, helping herself to more soup. "We don't see people battling dragons too often."

"For a very good reason, I'm sure," Mette replied. "The most believable suggestion that I heard, was about a three-way duel between the champions. Think you can handle that, Harry?"

"I could try," Harry replied, though he hoped that the third task wasn't a duel against the other two champions. He had no interest in going against George or Delacour. Although... if he defeated Delacour, wouldn't that be something?

"You still have that confidence thing going on," Metter sighed. "The lack of it, really. The sooner you realize that you're a celebrity now—"

"I am not," Harry cut her off, horrified. This, for some reason, made Anthony Lestrange chuckle, which was already a bad omen for Harry. "Why would I be a celebrity? That is ridiculous!"

"Well, you did perform spectacularly in the Tournament so far," Mette reminded him. "Not only that, but you're the youngest champion, and from Durmstrang. If you capitalize on your fame—"

"What fame!?"

"—you can make a career out of it."

"He really doesn't seem to be the type to do that," Lestrange pointed out. "Look at him. He's shaking."

There was a feeling of something being amiss, but Harry couldn't dwell on it, choosing to speak instead: "I'm sure that once the tournament is over, people will move on. Durmstrang doesn't allow journalists, after all, even if it weren't unplottable."

"Oh, keep thinking that," Lestrange replied, and why was he enjoying this now, anyway? Did the thought of Harry being harassed by journalists delight him that much? "You'll see in the summer."

"While I hate to agree with him, it does mean that you'll be expected to behave a certain way," Ingrid said. "To represent Durmstrang, no matter when or where."

"I'm not sure what you think I do when I'm on my own and away from school," Harry told her, "but I doubt that the truth is half as exciting as how you're imagining it to be." After all, talking to dead people and conspiring to somehow rescue Tom from himself weren't exactly exciting activities. Stressful, is what he would call them.

"Well, so far so good, when it comes to journalists," Mette said, just as Harry's thoughts began drifting to what could be amiss. "I mean, Skeeter likes him well enough. She's only ever written nice things about him."

"So far, as you said," Lestrange replied, clearly pleased by the thought of Skeeter turning against Harry. "But once he makes a mistake, then there he goes. That's the way they operate, you know. Journalists."

"Unlike some others, such as you, Harry isn't the type to pick fights with strangers and cause trouble in public," Maria said, and though Harry was grateful, he was also surprised by the confidence of her assessment: he didn't really know her, after all, and she barely knew him.

"Are you implying something?" Lestrange asked, the tone of his voice changing abruptly. "You need to be more careful, you know. We're supposed to present a united front while we're among these... people."

Increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, Harry tried to focus on the decorations of the Great Hall instead. While any signs of Christmas were well and truly gone, there was still a somewhat festive atmosphere. He glanced at the Ravenclaw table, saw Luna, who was wholly focused on something flying above her drink. At the Gryffindor table, just behind the Ravenclaws, Harry was Ron and Hermione, and a few of their friends.

Harry couldn't wait to find a moment to talk with Hermione - the girl had left for the holidays with a list of things she'd be researching, and Harry was curious to know if she had found anything interesting. Maybe she, too, had looked forward to spending time with him again. Of course, he'd have to try and dodge Truls's—

Oh.

With a realization tinted in alarm, Harry finally figured out what had bothered him for a while now. Truls hadn't, not after the initial greetings, so much as looked his way. He hadn't joined their conversation, hadn't reached to Harry, hadn't— Nothing, he had done nothing, aside from focus on his conversation with Viktor. Harry, feeling worried all of a sudden, wasn't sure of what to do.

Maybe it was just… all in his head?

It continued.

The situation with Truls. If it could be called a situation. It wasn't that much had changed, really... certainly not enough for anyone else to realize that something was different. Truls and Harry still spent most of their time together, and they were still far too close than what was usually considered common between two boys of their age.

But Harry... Harry knew that something had changed.

Truls wasn't as quick to come to him, anymore. Not as eager to ask for Harry's opinions, or sit quietly for hours by his side. He wasn't as jealous as he had been, and hadn't tried to kiss Harry again. Instead, sometimes, Harry would catch the boy watching him with a blank look on his face. Truls would still wrap his arm around Harry's shoulders, but the times that he'd do that were becoming fewer and fewer in number. He didn't seem mad, or anything. It also didn't appear to be something Truls was doing intentionally, and they hadn't discussed the life debt yet. Truls hadn't asked him about it - not even once.

What had happened? Should Harry confront him about it?

It was as if he was just, slowly but surely, beginning to care less and less about Harry. Which was a terrifying thought, but was it selfish of Harry to think so? If the life debt had been what had kept Truls by his side all these years, then was it fair of Harry to feel abandoned now? Besides... perhaps they were just... relearning their friendship, in a way, right? Maybe he was just making up things, too caught up in his anxiety and thus thinking that something was wrong, when nothing really was?

"A sickle for your thoughts?" a familiar voice asked then, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He turned to see Hermione, smiling at him nervously. He mustered up a smile in return, pushing the thoughts of Truls aside for now.

"Not worth that much, really," he replied. "Want to sit down? How was your holiday?"

"Oh, it was great," the girl said quietly, and sat down after casting a quick look around them, in case someone was watching. "I've been reading up on, well, the things we discussed last time."

Harry felt sick, again, his anxiety returning tenfold. "You mean...?"

"The train station," Hermione whispered, leaning closer. "It's such a fascinating thing, Harry! The closest equivalent of it that I found was, well, a limbo. In numerous beliefs, there is a concept of a state between life and death - a place called limbo. I think that might be what the train station is."

Harry, who had never expected to actually learn about the odd things in his life, was stunned. "When someone dies, they go to the station, and from there they board a train that takes them... where?"

"I couldn't find information on that, unfortunately," Hermione admitted with disappointment. "But there's still so much I could research. I haven't studied any of this before, you see - the subject just never seemed, well, relevant. But now it is, and oh, Harry— there are so many books and so many perspectives and theories! Plenty of them are humbug, of course, but, it is so amazing!"

"You're amazing," Harry blurted, deeply impressed. "The way you just... find out these things, I... I mean, of course everyone writes essays and such, but you just... you do beyond that. Hermione, you're amazing."

"Thank you," the girl replied, her smile wide and bright, a blush on her dark cheeks. "I mean, between you and me, I think I have what it takes to get an apprenticeship or work for the ministry."

"I'm sure you do," Harry agreed. "Which one will you try for?"

"Oh, neither," the witch dismissed, her smile losing its radiance. "They don't let muggleborns— well, I mean, it doesn't matter how smart I am, very few professors here would grade me well enough for me to qualify. They don't... even if my assignments are perfect - and everyone knows, you see, the students know and they ask me for help - some teachers won't give me anything above Acceptable."

Harry, who hadn't even realized that this was yet another way for Voldemort's people to contain those they do not approve of, was stunned. "That... that must be changed."

"How?" Hermione asked, looking at him with a tired expression. "There's no way for it to change, not unless everything else changes first. And even then, it's very difficult to prove that a teacher is being unfair, you know. They would just say that perhaps I'm not as smart as I think I am, or didn't do as well as I thought I would. That's what they said to me in the beginning, before I stopped asking about it."

"We'll figure something out," Harry replied, his anxiety giving way to deep, calming anger. "You keep studying and doing your best - I promise that you won't regret it in the end."

"I trust you, Harry," the witch said, looking at him with a serious expression. "But as we discussed before, to generate enough influence to bring change, you must start by winning the tournament. The third task - whatever it is - must leave an even stronger impression of you than either of the two tasks before it."

"That... I know. But I'm not sure how to do better than I did in the second task."

"We need to start out with finding your niche, if you remember what we talked about," Hermione reminded him. "I will keep looking for information, of course, but I think that your ability to go to the train station is something that we can build on."

"I think we need to find out the reason why I can even do it," Harry said. "If it is a branch of magic that I just happen to know, somehow, then sure... I could learn to use it. But if it's something else..." He had asked Merope, a long time ago, if he could go to the train station due to the circumstances of his birth. He never did receive a clear answer.

"I've been thinking about that," Hermione admitted. "And, well, you told me something that I think you dismissed too early."

"And that is?"

"You said that you when you go to the train station, you get this… sliding sensation, right? Like an energy of some sort."

"Yes, more or less," Harry replied, unsure of what she was going for.

"Can you re-direct that energy?" Hermione said. "Perhaps it could result in a… I'm not sure what, but if you held on to that energy, and cast a simple lumos – what would happen? Would you like to test it out?"