Harry staggered as he pressed his hand hard into his forehead.

Tom twisted away from the door.

"Harry-?"

Harry blinked through the dizziness as his scar burned fiercely. Something warm and wet tricked between his fingers. Tom's stared in horror at the blood as he gripped Harry's shoulders.

The footsteps echoed up the wooden stairs.

"Tom, it hurts-"

"I know, I feel it too. Just hang on-"

They had no time to prepare. The footsteps came to a sudden halt as the broken door creaked open in its frame. Tom yanked Harry behind him, their hearts pounding in rapid succession.

A cloaked figure stood on the threshold. A hood was drawn over their head, hiding everything but a cruel smile.

"Reveal yourself," Tom demanded.

The man dipped his head, grin widening.

"Of course, my Lord."

Harry couldn't breathe, watching as hands reached up slowly. The hood fell.

"You?" Harry gasped.

"Me," Quirrell laughed and it wasn't his usual quivering tremble, either, but cold and sharp, just like after the troll.

"Y-you sent the Death Eaters?"

The amusement disappeared in an instant. Quirrell took his first step towards them. Harry's scar burst with another round of pain and he stumbled into the back of Tom.

"There was no other option," Quirrell said. "You nearly lost everything."

His gaze shifted over to rest on Tom, but he didn't get to say anything further. To Harry's horror, a voice spoke, and it seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Let me speak to them...face to face..."

A chill ran down the back of Harry's neck, did Quirrell have a dæmon after all? Quirrell turned away sharply, hands wrung together.

"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrell protested.

Tom was deadly still, fixated to the spot as conflicting emotions rushed to Harry.

The voice spoke again.

"I have strength enough...for this..."

Petrified they watched as Quirrell unraveled his turban, before he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, grotesque, distorted and stretched. Fearsome red eyes locked straight onto Harry. An unfamiliar presence pierced through him. It was completely intrusive, like this thing was seeing straight into his soul, into Tom.

"You have something that belongs to me," the face hissed.

Harry shook his head, distraught, every instinct screaming at him to run. Tom however, was absolutely captivated, and Harry felt an unwelcome stab of longing run through him.

He could feel the connection, deep and terrifying mixed in with Tom's own presence. Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved or horrified. This was so wrong, Tom was his, and his alone, not part of this thing.

Harry turned back to the face and took a steadying breath, closing his eyes ever so briefly. He knew it was true, despite what he'd been told.

"You're Voldemort," he whispered.

Voldemort's piercing gaze intensified and Tom's grip loosened from holding Harry.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, distorted face more fearsome then before. "See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapour..."

Harry nearly fainted from the intensity, the awe that was coursing through Tom and the pain direct from Voldemort.

"How is this possible?" Tom said, face openly mesmerised .

Voldemort's lipless mouth curled into a scowl.

"You are a fragment which became separated," Voldemort hissed. "It was unintentional, however, a part of my soul latched itself onto Potter when he failed to die. Now, I have form only when I can share another's body... Quirrell fortunately, found me in his travels...and there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and mind."

Tom shivered and took a step away from Harry, the broken floorboards creaked beneath his feet.

"Tom-" Harry stumbled, panic coursing through him. And in that moment, he did the only thing that felt rationale. He yanked Tom as hard as he could, back away from Voldemort.

Harry could feel the malcontent, the pure hatred from this figure. There was no way the death eaters had been sent in Harry's best interests.

"Don't be a fool," snarled Voldemort.

Harry wanted to run but Quirrell's body blocked the only exit. Tom snapped out of out his daze, turning back to Harry's pale form as blood still poured from Harry scar. Tom rushed back to Harry's side.

"You're hurting Harry," Tom stammered.

Voldemort's twisted face curled into a cold smile.

"Tom, don't worry about me-" Harry said.

"Is there a way to stop it?" Tom asked, shaking hands checking over Harry, too afraid to look away.

"Potter is depending on you to survive," Quirrell answered, taking a step back so Voldemort was closer. "It is probably because your connection is temporarily pulling the other way which is causing the boy so much discomfort."

"But why am I okay?" Tom asked hurriedly, "Surely there is something you can do?"

"It is not my concern," Voldemort hissed. "If anything, I see it as a fitting punishment."

"Punishment?" Harry bit out through clenched teeth. "I haven't done anything!"

Quirrell's hand twitched, wand sparking.

"You have endangered my soul once too often," Voldemort hissed. "Your foolishness has nearly cost us everything."

"Harry would never-" Tom said.

Voldemort looked deadly. "And yet, the boy fell off his broom?"

"Tom wasn't hurt-" Harry started, "I didn't mean to-"

"And the troll?" Voldemort demanded.

"But Hermione-"

It was the wrong thing to say.

"If you ever endanger yourself for the sake of a mudblood, I will never let you out of my sight again," Voldemort snarled.

"You can't do that!" Harry protested.

"You dare command me?" Voldemort hissed and Quirrell raised his wand.

"Crucio!" Quirrell hissed.

Tom tried to step between them but he wasn't quick enough. A bright red curse sailed through the air and collided straight with Harry's chest. Something stung, briefly and sharply.

"Ow," Harry muttered, as his chest burnt briefly.

Voldemort's face twisted into a fearsome scowl, nearly causing Harry to collapse.

"There is something protecting the boy," Voldemort seethed.

Quirrell lowered his wand.

"I would be more grateful if I were you, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Surely you can see your options are limited. Better save your own life and join me..."

"I could just tell the ministry about you," Harry argued. "That you're Voldemort. Then they would have less of a reason to go after me and Tom."

Harry's head exploded and he fell hard onto the dusty floor. Tom fell beside him, gripping his shoulder in support.

"Harry didn't mean it," Tom began frantically, "He would never tell, not after what the ministry just tried to do."

Voldemort did not seem satisfied.

"You guard something very precious to me, Potter. Do you really think that fool, Dumbledore would ever stop trying to destroy you? Do you really think he would ever let you keep a part of my soul?"

"He's right, Harry," Tom cut in at once. "Giving them Voldemort would never stop the ministry, there are probably other ways of separating us."

"But-"

Tom's nails dug into Harry and for the first time since the guillotine, Harry could detect pure fear. Tom was terrified and it was pulsing through every inch of him.

"Please, Harry," Tom pleaded. "Don't make this difficult. Voldemort is our best way at staying together."

Harry swallowed uncomfortably as he tried to understand why Tom was paralysed in fear.

Voldemort's eyes focused on Harry from where they knelt on the floor.

Harry bit his tongue, he didn't want to do this, he couldn't bare that Tom was connected to someone, something, else. It just wasn't fair.

Tom was waiting, he looked deadly pale, drained from two connections.

"Okay," Harry grit out, hoping he wouldn't regret this. "I'll do whatever Tom wants."

Harry felt the rush of immediate relief from Tom. Voldemort too looked pleased.

Harry took a shaky breath. "So, what happens now?"

Harry's stomach churned as they landed on solid ground. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the bright sun light of their surroundings. Tom looked around puzzled. They were on a steep path, high on a hillside.

Thankfully, Quirrell adjusted his turban back in place to hide Voldemort's horrendous face from view.

"Where are we?" Tom asked.

Quirrell glanced in the direction of a small village down the hill.

"Hogsmede, the village nearby Hogwarts," he answered.

Fear drenched Harry in an instant.

"You're sending us back?"

"There is something I need to collect," Quirrell replied. "Something hidden deep within the castle and at Hogwarts, I can keep an eye on you both."

"But the Ministry-" Harry started, horrifying images of the guillotine flashing back in his mind.

"The guillotine is broken and the Ministry have lost their window of opportunity. There is little they can do now."

"Except find another way to tear us apart," Harry bit out. He could still see the blade, feel the mesh of the cage against his fingers. He didn't care that it was broken, he would never let anyone try to take Tom from him again.

Quirrell raised an eyebrow at this but Tom interrupted.

"The ministry will think I organised the attack."

Quirrell pulled his cloak high up over his head to obscure his face from view.

"If you follow my orders exactly then you will be safe. I will protect you."

"We wouldn't need protecting if you weren't sending us back to school," Harry mumbled. Tom elbowed Harry in the side and gave him a pointed look.

"What are your orders?" Tom asked.

Quirrell observed them both silently for a moment, eyes lingering on Harry briefly.

"There is a witch waiting for you in the Three Broomstick's, you will speak with her."

Harry looked down the hill at Hogsmede. It certainly seemed an innocent enough request. Tom seemed to think so too.

"That's it?" Tom frowned.

"I also expect you to make your own way back to the school."

And before Harry could even blink, Quirrell disappeared with a loud crack, taking Voldemort with him.

Finally, at last, Tom and Harry were alone.

It was instant relief. The throbbing pain in Harry's head faded and he sank into Tom, clinging on as if nothing else mattered. Tom watched him anxiously.

"Better?"

Harry shook his head into Tom's shoulder, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the absence in his very being. Tom shifted.

"Why did you have to be so difficult?"

Harry blinked, drawing back.

"With what?"

"With Voldemort."

At once the sourness returned to Harry's mouth, he took a slow step away from Tom.

"Voldemort killed my parents."

"True," Tom answered calmly, eyes deadly serious. "And Dumbledore just tried to separate us and have me killed."

"I know that," Harry answered numbly. "Why does that change anything?"

Tom shrugged.

"It doesn't, but I think it counts for something when Voldemort is not trying to murder me."

"Still doesn't mean I have to like him," Harry mumbled, crossing his arms.

Tom opened his mouth to immediately protest but at Harry's begrudging look his eyes softened in an instant. His lips twitched into a smile, eyes lighting up in amusement.

"You don't have to be jealous, Harry."

Harry wrinkled his nose.

"I'm not jealous."

Tom's smile split into a wider grin and he twisted Harry back into place.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Stop it," Harry grumbled, trying to pull away.

"You do, which totally isn't fair. You have your own dæmon."

It was the wrong thing to say and Tom knew it. Harry drew a shaky breath, feeling the rush of cold air cut right through him. He was about to reply when the next statement made his blood run cold.

"It hurts doesn't it?" Tom asked. "Being separated from your soul?"

"You mean like you and Voldemort?"

Tom's face at once turned into a frown.

"You could feel something though, couldn't you? Harry continued, eyes shutting momentarily. "It's your own soul after all. You felt connected to Quirrell ever since we met him, but you didn't bother to tell me?"

Tom's hands fell to his side.

"You wouldn't have understood."

"I just lost my dæmon," Harry countered. "You think I don't know what it's like to be connected to something other then you?"

It was harsh and Harry regretted it the second he spoke. Tom's face shifted, eyes hardening.

"Maybe now," he hissed, taking an abrupt step towards Harry. "But how could I tell you before?"

Tom gestured back in the direction of where Quirrell had disappeared.

"How could I ask you to understand, when I didn't even myself?" Tom demanded.

Harry's insides twisted but Tom wasn't finished.

"I was scared, Harry," Tom admitted. "And Quirrell's presence day to day was hurting you. What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have told me," Harry stated numbly. "How am I meant to trust you now?"

Tom was in front of him before Harry could blink. Toms fingers dug into Harry's wrists before he could step away.

"Don't you dare," he hissed, "I thought it was because Quirrell didn't have a dæmon, not that he held my soul. Do you know how much of a relief it is?"

This statement alone crushed Harry completely. He tried to pull away but Tom wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry," Harry tried to reassure Tom. "I don't care that you're connected to Voldemort."

Tom's eyes immediately slid away and he smiled sadly.

"You've never been a very good liar, Harry."

Hogsmede was a quiet village. A few shops lay dotted around, and for most part the streets were empty. Harry moved quickly, sticking as close to Tom as possible as he glanced over back over his shoulder.

Fortunately, they found the Three Broomstick's easily. It turned out to be an old looking pub in the middle of town. Harry had barely stepped inside when Tom leaned up close, his hands tugging around Harry's waist.

"Look cute," he whispered.

"What?-"

There was a flash and Harry blinked furiously.

In front of them stood a witch, tall and blonde with the widest grin Harry had ever seen. A hideous crocodile handbag swung from her arm and large spectacles covered her eyes. Beside her floated a camera which flashed again.

Harry took an anxious step back.

The woman only took another step forwards, hand darting out to grip Harry's shoulder painfully tight.

"Rita Skeeter," she introduced herself smoothly, spinning Harry around expertly and pushing him in the direction of a private room. "You don't mind if I use a quick-quotes quill do you?"

Out of her handbag floated a horrible acid green quill and numerous pieces of parchment.

Harry twisted his head as she guided him forwards and into a private room.

"A reporter?" Harry mouthed towards Tom.

Tom however, flashed his best smile.

"Forgive Harry, he's not used to the attention," Tom said.

The witch's smile flickered.

"I can answer any questions you may have though?" Tom added, smile widening.

"Of course," Rita Skeeter rearranged her face in what must have been an attempt at a grin. She paused and remained standing close to Harry. Her quill started scribbling away.

"You may call me Tom," Tom continued, and then he tilted his head expertly. "I'm sorry, but I don't see your dæmon?"

She looked surprised by his name before she settled her face back in a large fake smile

"Oh, he's around."

"Of course," Tom smiled. "You mentioned something about a quick-quotes?"

He looked towards the quill, which at once stopped moving.

Rita Skeeter battered her hand.

"Oh, it's nothing special. I just want to make sure I capture everything. The ministry has been running around in circle's for days and it's all been very hush hush. I suppose you're the reason?" She looked at Harry, expectantly.

Harry however, bit his lip.

"You've not been gaining your information from the ministry then?" Tom pressed, boyish charm shining through and reverting her attention from Harry again. "You seem to know who I am, after all?"

Rita Skeeter's smile faded completely this time.

"I suppose you've had instructions?" Tom continued, eye's piercing into her own.

"Something like that," Rita Skeeter responded slowly as even her fake smile slipped

Tom grinned.

"Good, shall we continue then?"

He sat down and tugged Harry next to him.

Rita Skeeter remained standing, quill hovering by her shoulder.

"So, you don't remember a thing?" she tested.

"Of course I don't," Tom looked sheepish, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think I would be going through school again if I did?"

Rita Skeeter laughed, her voice unnervingly high pitched as her quill scribbled away.

"Harry, do you like having..." She paused before testing the name. "Tom, as a dæmon? It must be traumatic for you, knowing who he is?"

Harry jutted his chin up at this. "No, it's not. Tom's mine."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"So, what are the ministry planning on doing with you?" Skeeter looked pointedly between Tom and Harry. "We've had nothing but dead ends with the minister, and you can imagine the blackout on information."

Tom arranged his face perfectly, tears expertly welling in his eyes.

"They just tried tearing us apart," he deliberately pulled Harry closed at this. "If the Death Eaters hadn't come-"

Rita Skeeter's quick-quotes quill dropped to the floor. Harry wasn't sure if it was from excitement or fear.

"Death Eaters-?"

"You have to admit," Tom smiled as they walked back across the Hogwarts grounds. "It's a clever plan."

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and shot Tom a wary glance.

"It might not work," he retorted. "I still think we should run."

"Running is useless," Tom said. "Voldemort would just have some Death Eaters pick us up again."

"I still don't like it," Harry mumbled. "Just because someone writes a report in our favour doesn't mean the ministry are going to let us stay together."

"The whole trial was out of order," Tom answered calmly. "Fudge wanted the whole thing hushed up for a reason. It's all politics and with the public on our side they'll be little room for the ministry to manoeuvre."

"If the public will be on our side," Harry pointed out.

Tom halted, stopping on the expanse area of grass. He gave Harry a stern look and crossed his arms.

"You're the Boy Who Lived, Harry. Not to forget, you just lost your dæmon because of the ministry. It won't matter what I once was."

"It does, everyone will still think you're a murdering Dark Lord," Harry said. "They're not going to forget in a hurry."

"No," Tom agreed. "However, coming between a wizard and their dæmon is a huge taboo. Let alone trying to rip one from a child, which incidentally is what the Ministry just tried to do. Every witch and wizard has a connection like we do. And nothing is more important, more precious then their dæmons. They will understand."

Harry gave Tom a sceptical look.

"And if anything goes wrong, we just wait for Voldemort to save us?"

Tom stopped suddenly, concern at once flashing over his face.

"Tom-?" Harry started hesitantly.

He reached forwards slowly but Tom remained still, eyes avoiding Harry's own. Harry felt as if his insides had frozen. Tom was feeling exactly the same when he'd agreed to side with Voldemort, complete and utter terror.

"Tom, what's wrong? Why are you so scared of Voldemort? He's not going to hurt you."

"No, he's not," Tom agreed.

"Tom, tell me-"

Tom's shoulders tensed.

"You know I would always choose you, don't you?"

Harry stopped, instant dread filling him. He'd never contemplated that Tom would leave on his own accord, never thought that would be an option. He ignored the concerns erupting in the back of his mind, didn't want to ask again for fear of rejection.

"Why are you saying that?"

It was useless to lie. Harry could feel every emotion and he knew that something was wrong.

Tom didn't say a word. Harry didn't know if this was worse or not, that Tom was deliberately choosing not explain.

Harry couldn't find his voice. Tom had lied about Quirrell, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Just promise me, you'll remember."

"Tom-"

"Promise me," Tom insisted, squeezing Harry's arm.

Harry's gut twisted painfully, but Tom wouldn't say another word.

Harry trudged back into the castle, feeling worse then he ever had. His dæmon was long gone and Tom still hadn't settled as he refused to say any more about Voldemort.

The Entrance Hall was busy as students came and went from dinner. Harry hadn't realised how late it was and his stomach churned painfully. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten and he had no appetite.

Just as they were about to sneak up to the common room, a couple of familiar faces stepped out of the hall.

Ramiron noticed them in an instant and he squeaked to get Hermione's attention. Her face lit up in surprise, as she ran up to them both.

"You did it, I can't believe you did it!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down.

"Let them breathe, Hermione," Ron said, but Ramiron was racing round Tom at one hundred miles per hour.

"What happened?" Hermione pressed as she plastered a wide smile on her face.

Harry couldn't manage it, the absence of his dæmon and the lingering awkwardness with Tom was too much. His expression must have said it all.

Ron and Hermione noticed and Ramiron and Sephronia stilled.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted, looking between Harry and Tom anxiously. "What happened?"

Ramiron brushed against Tom's leg in an attempt to comfort them.

Tom didn't even get a chance to say anything.

A voice snapped out from the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Potter!"

All six of them jumped.

It was Snape. Harry wanted to shrink and disappear, he didn't want to face the consequences so soon. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed with Tom.

Laraine, Snape's dæmon, bated her wings, intense bat eyes darting over them both.

Snape didn't wait any time.

"Come with me, now!" he demanded.

Harry gripped Tom's hand. Surely this couldn't get any worse.