Harry's bare feet pressed against the smooth stone floor as he carved the same path back and forth. A lingering despair hung in the space around him as his inner turmoil replicated the dire conditions of Azkaban. The internal dread however, offered no sharp relief from his insatiable impatience.
Harry paused briefly in front of the free standing mirror, momentarily distracted by his disturbed reflection. Patches of decay crossed his body, a contrast from the heathy skin that remained. His dead eye swirled as he fixed his gaze past Hedwig, and out of the thin slit of a window.
Tom should be in Hogsmeade by now.
Hedwig hooted softly, her large amber eyes blinking open. She watched intently as Harry exhaled deeply, perspiration mixing in the surrounding mist as he began pacing back and forth once more.
His agitation was mixed with a building anticipation. Waiting was torture, but Harry would surely feel the moment when Tom held Lyra for the first time. He clenched and unclenched his hands, nervous energy a mix with his inter turmoil, surely it wouldn't be that much longer. Tom would bring Lyra back to him. He had promised. Harry ran his hand through his hair, desperate for something to hold onto and ground him.
It happened instantly, in less than a single breath. The fragile resolve Harry clung to shattered. He stumbled, clutching his chest from the pure dizzying terror as everything fell apart.
He couldn't move or think. Only breath, sharply in and out. The flickering candles extinguished and the darkness rushed to claim what little light there had been.
No! No, no, no, no!
Harry knew instantly, didn't have any doubt as his world came crashing down.
Riddle.
He was with Lyra, was touching her.
Harry's chest crushed from the weight of it as panic descended, only made worse by the complete lack of control. There was no means of stopping. A spiral was building, relentlessly pulling him into a desperate despair, and then it was gone. The release was instant, just like before.
Lyra and Riddle had separated.
Harry struggled, body shaking violently as he moved towards where his school bag had been dumped on the floor. He nearly broke the zip as he tore it open, grabbing the first piece of parchment he found. He started to write, only to stop almost immediately, the quill suspended as ink dripped onto the page.
Dumbledore.
Harry couldn't bring himself to do it.
Tom was wrong. Dumbledore would take Lyra and keep her from him, without a care of Harry's needs. Not if Tom could still keep him stable and safe. The risk was too high.
There had to be someone else who would help. Harry's fingers shook as he started to write, thick blotches of black ink sprayed across the page as he tried to convey the panicked urgency.
Hedwig remained dutifully still as Harry rushed to tie the parchment to her leg.
"Find Professor Lupin," he whispered, throat raw. "Fly as quick as you can."
She hooted once, nipping his finger as if to reassure him and then spread her wings and took flight, disappearing into the storm. Harry took a shaky breath and clutched the stone window sill, waiting for the moment when Lyra would be safe, where he'd feel her in Tom's arms.
Seconds passed, then minutes.
Nothing.
Surely Tom would have sensed Harry's turmoil, would know to hurry. That the worse possible outcome had occurred.
Still nothing.
Harry sunk into himself, the shadow dancing across his skin as he struggled to escape it. He'd believed Tom had been overprotective and reacting to a threat that Harry believed had passed. Why had Riddle caught up to Lyra now, when they had been close at being reunited.
A gasp escaped Harry's lips at the abrupt ache in his chest. Anger and terror resounded, but the emotions were not his own. Tom's feelings were thick and oppressive, and they ricocheted through Harry, tenfold.
Tom had arrived.
Harry waited, desperate for a hint to know Lyra was safe. When nothing happened, he started pacing again, feet tracing the same familiar path. Only, it was worse, and the stakes so much higher.
The limited comfort was that Lyra remained untouched.
A hoot came from the window. Hedwig had returned. Harry scrambled across to retrieve the scrunched up parchment tied to her leg, but she hopped backwards hooting loudly and flapping her wings.
"Stay still-"
She could not be calmed. She flew up and circled once before landing back on the window ledge. Harry tried to grab the parchment again but she snapped her beak at him and edged back towards the open window.
Harry froze at the hollow realisation of what she was trying to communicate.
The note was the one he had written.
"You couldn't find him?"
Hedwig hooted loudly, nipping Harry's fingers impatiently. He bit his ashen lip and glanced nervously in the direction that he knew Dumbledore's office to be.
There was nothing else for it.
"Go to Dumbledore," Harry said stiffly. "If he's not there, find Snape."
Hedwig hooted again but she didn't move.
"Go," Harry snapped, pushing her back towards the window. She ruffled her feathers indignantly but dutifully flew back out into the snow.
Harry watched, his absent heart swirling.
Tom was a match for Riddle, surely there was still a chance everything would be okay.
But if Lyra was already captured-
Harry took a rattling breath. He had to calm down. Tom's fury wouldn't help, but Harry's panicked emotions would be just as debilitating. Unclenching his fists, Harry shut his eyes and lent against the window. The cold night air rushed over him.
It didn't help. He'd failed miserably to clear his mind last time he was alone, and with the stakes so much higher-
A tremendous bang jolted Harry's eyes open. He whirled, and came face to face with an enormous werewolf.
The door was a splintered mess, iron bars dislodged, lying useless on the floor as a full size Niamh prowled towards him, teeth bared and growling.
"Professor Lupin," Harry breathed.
The light from the full moon remained hidden behind the thick clouds.
"Tom-" Harry started, his thoughts jumbled. "He went to get Lyra, but Riddle was there-"
Before he could draw breath, even comprehend how to explain the dire situation, the werewolf had closed any distance between them.
The creature was huge, towered over Harry, snarling.
Harry had never truly appreciated just how frightful Niamh's true form was. He'd only ever been captivated, locked in his desire to destroy her beautiful, glistening light. Harry stepped away, his back pressing hard against the stone as Lupin growled, could easily rip him limb from limb but Harry understood.
"The shrieking shack," he whispered.
Air rushed to fill the space where Lupin had occupied, billowing around Harry as he was suddenly alone again. He just caught sight of the werewolf's tail disappearing through the crumbled remains of the arched doorway.
Despite his uncontrollable tremors, Harry ran to the broken door without putting his shoes on.
The way up to the tower was chaotic.
By squeezing up the narrow passageway, the werewolf had left a path of destruction behind. The towers central pillar had partially collapsed and the stone steps jutted out precariously with barely any support to hold them up.
Breathing deeply, Harry cautiously shifted his weight forwards. The first step felt firm enough, so with tremendous care he edged forwards, fingers digging into the cracks in the wall for support. The next step was just as sturdy but the third crumbled at the slightest pressure, stone and mortar cracking and disappearing to lodge itself further down the ruins.
Wincing at the sound, Harry kept his body pressed flat against the outer wall. Barely waiting for the debris to settle, he tentatively started to progress down the tower.
Fiendfyre lingered in the recesses of the decrepit room. Flames danced and crept up the walls, eager to leap forwards and create a raging inferno if only permitted.
Tom stood over the husk of the man. A deadly curse lingered on his lips as he raised Harry's wand and pointed it directly at Sirius Black's heart.
"Where is Lyra?"
Black winced and blatant, raw fear crossed over the man's face. His voice was rough and he coughed gruffly, attempting to regain his breath after severe smoke inhalation.
"She got away."
Tom shut his eyes briefly, failing to contain his anger.
"And Riddle?"
Black jerked at this, barely staying out of reach of his rabid dæmon. The large dog's eyes were unfocused and she thrashed wildly against her restraints.
"How do you know-"
Tom had felt the moment when Riddle and Lyra had touched, knew that it was Harry's despair and turmoil shooting across their bond. Tom's gaze slipped to where Riddle's broken wand lay, still spurting deadly fire.
"Where is Riddle?" Tom repeated, raising his wand to Black's temple.
"He went after Lyra," Black croaked. "I couldn't stop him."
Tom struck, plunging straight into the Black's mind. The last few hours revealed themselves in a blur of twisted and warped moments, flying past at a rapid pace.
The spell broke abruptly, and Black slumped forwards, his chest heaving. Tom watched impassively as Black regained his composure. When the man finally spoke his voice was barely audible.
"Harry's not with you?"
Tom paused.
"No."
Black's shoulder's sagged, relief apparent. His dæmon snarled and lashed forwards, biting and scratching. Blood dripped onto the floor from several large gashes that cut deep into her chest. Then a hard clarity rushed over Black and he stared up at Tom with such intensity.
"Voldemort wants Harry for something. That's why Riddle has been hunting Lyra, he wants to bait Harry out-"
Tom's brow knitted together. He'd passed over the details while digging into Black's memories.
"Did he say why?"
Black shook his head, a shadow crossing his expression.
"He said something about restoring dæmons-"
Tom didn't respond, but his hand tightened around his wand. Restoring dæmons. That statement had the most terrifying implications. Implications that Tom didn't have time to contemplate. Precious time was running out and Lyra wouldn't have gotten far.
Tom turned, raising his wand towards the restraints on Black's dæmon.
"You should get out of here," he said quietly. "If you get into Hogwarts, Professor Lupin will help you."
A look of surprise briefly crossed over Black's face, but a moment later it was gone.
"I'm coming with you." He pushed himself against the wall with a heavy grunt. "You saw the Death Eaters."
Tom paused, surveying the haunted man. From the pure rage in Black's eyes there would be no convincing him otherwise, and Tom couldn't waste any more time. Withdrawing his own wand, and with slightly more effort to control the fiendfyre, Tom passed across Harry's wand.
Black took it, pointing it straight towards his dæmon. His burnt hands shook slightly.
"Episkey."
The blood congealed slightly but it still pooled thick at the surface. The dæmon snarled, her neck pulling at the chain, causing only more damage.
Tom took a step closer and twisted his own wand.
"Vulnera Sanentur," he said lightly.
The deep wounds started to knit together tightly, skin stretching to make good the brutal cuts as her breathing eased. Lowering his wand, Tom barely considered Black's injuries. There was little he could do to treat fiendfyre.
"We need to go quickly."
Black nodded, and a second later he had transformed. His dæmon quietened as Tom released her restraints.
They left through the remains of the burnt wreckage, Tom leading Black out through the partially collapsed wall. As soon as they stepped outside, Tom released the fiendfyre. It swarmed the broken building, fiery beasts hissing and spitting as they erupted, hungrily consuming the remaining contents within. A rush of hot air blasted across Tom's face.
Crack!
Above the roar of the fire, there was a resounding crash as wood splintered and gave way. A plume of ash and soot burst high into the sky, mixing with the snow as the roof caved in.
Black whined, his tail dipping between his legs.
"Quiet," Tom hissed.
There were voices coming from just around the corner of the building. Tom hurriedly unrolled Harry's invisibility cloak and threw it over himself. Crouching low, Black dipped into the undergrowth.
Tom tiptoed towards the corner, keeping a wide berth from the viciously hot flames. He could just make out a group of people and their dæmons silhouetted against the snow. The dæmons were creeping away from the fire, animalistic instincts overcoming their rationale.
Someone cursed loudly as their dæmon, a squirrel, scurried onto their shoulder.
"It's fiendfyre, sir."
There was another curse, and then the immediate sound of a incantation and a flash of light. Nothing happened.
"There's no dæmons around," a voice that was clearly Alastor Moody grunted. "Can't be sure about Death Eaters though."
Tom froze, his heart pounding so painfully quickly. Moody's blue eye was just as blind to him as Harry's dead one. It was sheer dumb luck that Black, who was possessing his dæmon, was also hidden.
"They've probably scarped," the gruff voice of Rufus Scrimgeour sounded. "Dawlish, Savage head towards Hogsmeade, see if there's been any further disturbances. Find whoever called it in, they might be able to tell you more."
Two Aurors, the one with a squirrel and the other, a crocodile dæmon held their wands and twisted with another loud Crack! into the night.
"Kingsley, Tonks go check on the Hogwarts perimeters, see if the dementors have picked up anyone that shouldn't be there. Any trouble and call for backup. Moody, you stay with me, we'll deal with this."
Two further Cracks! resounded, mixing in with the crashing and banging of the shrieking shack disintegrating.
Very carefully, Tom slipped back to where Black was hidden.
Black's ears perked, listening to Tom approach.
"Move quietly," Tom whispered, shivering slightly as he pulled the hood down further.
Black followed, pawing the ground as Tom's footprints appeared in the snow.
Tom walked softly, listening for the smallest sounds. He had no indication of where Lyra had gone. Harry's whirling emotions, mixed with his own, flooded any hint of direction that he could had gleamed.
Instead Tom focused on the other part of him, the part he didn't often try to connect to. Riddle's presence was oppressive, but his direction was clear.
"Come on," Tom said, twisting his step towards the village. "Riddle's this way."
From afar, Hogsmeade looked unusually quiet. The commotion from the shrieking shack was lost to the distance, and the gentle covering of snowfall blanketed the furious noises. Only the burning, bright light was visible as the fiery beasts leapt high above the treeline, casting long flickering shadows against the mountain sides.
As they drew closer to the outskirts, Tom loosened the ties around his neck and pulled the invisibility cloak from his shoulders. Black paused beside him as Tom knelt down and threw the cloak over Black, causing the dog to disappear from view.
"Stay quiet and hidden," Tom whispered. "If you see an opportunity to get to Lyra, do not hesitate. Get her to the castle."
A low growl told Tom that Black understood. Tom felt the faintest brush against his leg as the dog moved quickly into the village.
With a slow steadying breath, Tom made his way cautiously forwards. A few lights from nearby houses were lit, but otherwise people had settled down for the night.
There was no sign of where the Aurors had gone.
Tom walked up to the front of the Three Broomsticks. The snow, piled up high around the buildings, was non-existent in the centre of the cobblestone path. The ground was dead, the black oozing substance lingered just as strongly as it had done a month ago.
Tom slipped past, his grip tightening on his wand.
Up ahead a few shops had glowing displays and the light spilled out onto the street, illuminating something on the ground.
Tom stopped, his feet scrapping to an abrupt halt.
A pine marten dæmon was sitting on the cobblestones, in a deliberately cleared patch of snow. They were at least half a dozen paces away from each other and for one heart wrenching moment Tom truly felt like Harry was right in front of him.
"Lyra-"
Only the smallest disturbance in the air alerted Tom that they were not longer alone. He snapped his mouth shut and barely resisted raising his wand.
From amongst the narrow streets, in-between the buildings, dark figures were moving in the shadows. The artificial lights provided just enough visibility for Tom to know that he was completely surrounded.
The oppressive presence of Riddle was immense, and Tom slammed down his Occlumency, shielding himself from the Dark Lord's presence.
Riddle had changed from when they'd first met. He had clearly benefited from the scraps of Harry's soul, was practically glowing with a new found energy and solid presence.
Riddle stepped forwards so that he was almost directly between Tom's line of sight from Lyra.
"Where is Potter?" he asked softly,
Tom tilted his head, a thin smile on his lips.
"Safe in the castle."
A clear look of annoyance crossed Riddle's face. He raised his wand and pointed it at Lyra. The pine marten was pulled into the air, instantly suspended within an enchanted, protected space. A transparent sphere somewhere between a glittering shield and a cage.
"Bring him here."
Tom didn't even blink.
"No."
Riddle twisted his wand. Lyra collapsed inside her bubble, her eyes widening as her body wilted, overcome by pained exhaustion. She drew so perilously still, her fragile heart beat slowing to an unnerving pace that could barely be detected.
Tom's curse was perfectly aimed, the green light missing Riddle by inches who broke his own to summon a wall of rock and earth. The impact caused debris to explode inwards, captured in a flash as a new shield of illuminated white, burst into life to surround and protect Riddle.
Riddle lowered his wand, his red eyes burning with deadly anger through the dispersed dust and grit. When he spoke, his voice was a dangerous hiss, dripping in venom.
"The Dark Lord may tolerate your disobedience to a degree, but he will not forgive this."
Tom's thin, unnerving smile widened.
"Our Lord should know by now where my true loyalties lie."
"Then you are a fool," Riddle hissed. "You would gamble with Potter's life, let him struggle amongst our enemies when he could be safe, treasured, under the Dark Lord's protection."
Tom laughed, couldn't help his mouth burst into a crazed smile.
"I would have taken that option years ago if there was even the slightest possibility. Voldemort wants Harry dead, he always has."
Riddle raised an eyebrow at this. A sudden cool expression moved over his face as he surveyed Tom will distinct destain.
"And if our Lord changed his mind? If the boy now has a future amongst us?" he asked quietly.
"You're lying," Tom said, but his voice came out oddly distant despite himself as he recalled Black's warning. "Voldemort threw Harry away, left him to rot."
"True," Riddle acknowledged mildly. "The Dark Lord would have seen the boy turn completely, but we both know that would have been an unnecessary waste. Specially, when Harry has so much potential."
Tom curled his fists.
"Potential?" he repeated, anger creeping into his voice.
"I took a chance," Riddle said, eyes glistening and delirious with sudden excitement. "I could not let the opportunity go to waste."
The hard matter of fact tone was enough to stay Tom's wand, he paused, confused by Riddle's words.
Then it hit him, and a deep routed understanding overwhelmed Tom in every sense.
"There's a reason you did this to Harry," Tom whispered, the ache in his chest was painfully tight. "It wasn't mercy that you sent him away. You wanted Harry to end up half demented."
"Of course," Riddle smiled, and he was disgustingly satisfied as he hummed. "Why else would I remove the boy from our Lord's care. Fortunately, the Dark Lord seems to have forgiven my interference. He agrees that Potter in this state is far more useful."
Tom was sure his heart skipped a beat, mixed in with his burning rage and the horrific truth was a weird twisted hope. Voldemort would not let Harry deteriorate any further. Without daring to believe, Tom tested quietly.
"A weapon?"
Riddle laughed at this, genuine amusement crossing his face.
"Now you don't truly believe that? The Dark Lord already has a multitude of dark creatures at his disposal, no, Potter is far more precious. You see, this task is of the upmost importance, you should both be honoured. Ever since his rebirth, everything has been leading to his moment."
Tom didn't say anything, his haunted expression staring at Riddle as the killing curse itched on his lips again.
"Surely, you must have realised," Riddle breathed madly, taking a step forwards and opening his arms wide, a frightful smile on his face. "You must see what Harry can do."
And Tom did and that terrified him. Black's words now made so much sense. Deep down, Riddle was convinced that Harry would restore and grant him his deepest desire.
"You're delusional," Tom hissed, shaking his head. "It's impossible."
"Is it?" Riddle said. "The Dark Lord has pushed the boundary of souls more than any other, and you doubt his capability."
"It's not his I doubt," Tom said, voice tightening. "If Harry fails-"
"The boy will not," Riddle interrupted, anger flaring at the mere possibility. "You know he grows stronger every day. If given the right instruction, he would be capable of tremendous feats."
Tom shook his head, knew his next statement was fact, had said it multiple times before.
"You can't have more than one soul. It can't be done."
A disgusting smile slipped onto Riddle's face, horrible intent shrouded from Tom.
"What's your answer?" Riddle pressed, eyes flashing a horrible red.
Tom tilted his head as if considering, but he already knew his response.
"No."
Riddle's expression soured.
"You're not thinking clearly. If Potter succeeds-"
A cruel grin twisted onto Tom's face, his eyes darkening in pure amusement.
"You destroyed the thing most precious to me," Tom said softly. "It's only courteous that I repay the favour."
"Potter's fate was inevitable," Riddle said coolly. "If I had not helped you escape Malfoy's home, then Potter's fate would have been sealed."
A second curse erupted from Tom's wand but it wasn't aimed at Riddle. A cloaked figure who had been skirting around the periphery dropped to the ground unmoving. Riddle tilted his head, and let out an overly dramatic sigh.
"If you insist on making this difficult."
He waved his hand, and a dozen masked figures slipped out from the gaps between the shops.
"I know Potter abandoned you in the chamber for months, but with you and Lyra to draw him in, he might actually find the motivation to join us," Riddle said.
Tom braced himself, another curse ready on his lips. He looked past Riddle to see Lyra still contained, trapped in her glowing prison. If he could free her then Black had to be quick, might only get one opportunity.
A tremendous crash sounded from nearby. Tom steadied himself, but didn't move his wand from being pointed at Riddle. Riddle however frowned, his own focus shifting to the source of the commotion.
Another crash, this time it was louder and was growing closer. The noise was coming from within Honeydukes. The Death Eaters shifted, but they dare not act without Riddle's command.
There was another deafening bang and then something very large shifted in front of the display window, blocking the light from within.
Riddle took a single step forwards.
The glass shattered and a huge mass burst out onto the street.
For a brief, delusional moment, Tom thought it was Black. This creature however, was something much larger and far more deadly.
A werewolf.
The creature raised itself to its full height, towering over them and nearly reaching the height of the nearby buildings. There was a disturbed silence, and then the werewolf raised its gigantic head towards the sky and howled.
Tom took a step back, his wand shaking slightly despite himself.
A second later and the werewolf lunged. It tore itself at the line of Death Eaters, teeth snarling and claws scratching. Curses erupted, flashes of reds, purples, oranges burst violently through the street.
Tom threw himself into the narrow gap between Honeydukes and the Post Office, barely avoiding the onslaught. A curse shot against the wall, shattering and sending sharp pieces of shrapnel ricocheting in the darkness.
Tom flinched and nearly tripped, his feet caught against something very large. Looking down was the body of an Auror. The man was lying awkwardly, limbs snapped in different directions and his eyes were wide open. His dæmon had long since vaporised.
Unnerved, Tom edged back towards the commotion. The werewolf, impervious to most magic, was wrecking immense havoc as it threw itself in a frenzy at anything that moved. Shouts of anger, cries of pain and incantations filled the night as the beast relentlessly attacked.
Lights were flickering on further down the street, the residents of Hogmeade alerted to the disturbance. Surely, the other Aurors would hear the commotion, would wonder where their colleagues had disappeared to.
Riddle was no longer standing directly in front of Lyra. Instead, he'd taken cover in a nearby recess, his wand slashing forwards causing the glass from the broken window to raise into the air. It hovered for a moment, before diving towards the werewolf.
There was a horrendous howl as the shards wedged brutally into its fur. Enraged, the werewolf limped forwards, but Riddle flicked his wand again, this time pulling up the wooden remains from the broken window as he prepared to plunge giant splinters into the werewolf.
Keeping low, Tom slipped forwards and angled his wand carefully. His counter-curse hit Lyra's protection dead centre. In less than a second, she had fallen to the ground.
Riddle whirled, just in time to see Lyra vanish, disappearing under the invisibility cloak. He twisted his wand, towards the space where Lyra had been.
The blast shook the ground, an earthquake trembled, tearing the street apart and disturbing the very foundations. The force was enough to catch Black and Lyra, throwing both animals several feet horizontally, scrapping across rock and gravel. They landed hard, dislodging the invisibility cloak as both dog and pine marten tumbled, battered and bruised, out into the open.
"Seize her," Riddle screamed. His own wand striking back at the werewolf which had closed the distance between them.
Tom darted out from his cover, his curse knocking out a nearby Death Eater, but there were more closing in and quickly surrounding Black and Lyra.
Black released his animal form, his first spell cursing his own dæmon, knocking her away before she could attack him. The next caught the nearest Death Eater off guard as they crumpled to the ground.
Lyra darted back and forth between Black's feet, ducking and dodging the stray curses which broke through his defence. She wasn't quick enough.
One caught her straight on, and coils flicked, weaving and locking themselves around her. She gave out a strangled cry and transformed thick and fast between different forms, but this only caused the bonds to dig deeper. She collapsed back into her pine marten form, entangled and completely immobile.
"Lyra-"
Tom dodged forwards, narrowly missing another curse as he fired back another volley of his own.
A yelp sounded from the werewolf, and the creature was thrown violently through the display windows of Gladrags Wizardswear. There was a whine amongst the shattering of glass, but the creature did not immediately re-emerge.
Tom twisted, barely missing Riddle's next curse. It shot over his shoulder, colliding with the store front so that he was nearly blasted from his feet from the sudden wave of pressure. He stumbled but managed to stay upright as he tried to get to Lyra.
Riddle's next spell summoned a wall of debris, razor sharp glass and rubble, swirling and enclosing Tom inside a vortex. Tom skidded to a halt, he sliced back his own curse to counter.
"Protego!"
The invisible shield barely had time to form. A red curse hit it with such force, that the light rippled as it shattered, sending stray shards to scratch and burn against Tom's skin. He twisted his wand to summon another, but it fell back into itself, sliced apart almost instantly.
Further down the street, Black had transformed again, shifting back into his dæmon's mind. With a furious leap he threw himself at the nearest Death Eater, snarling and biting. The wand was torn from their grip and the coils surrounding Lyra burst.
Before she could regain her bearings, Black grabbed the scruff of her neck, lifting Lyra with his teeth. He dug all four paws into the ground, and braced himself.
The other Death Eaters cut off their escape. Black darted to the side, barely missing the curse. A Death Eater, summoned a large net, and it hovered ominously directly overhead.
Tom threw his hand into his pocket, seising the portkey without thinking.
"Go!" he yelled.
It flew away from him, spelled towards Black and Lyra as it hurtled through Riddle's whirlwind of a barrier. It collided with the pair, and in a flash they were pulled away.
A curse caught Tom's shoulder and a tremendous pain blossomed across his chest. Spasms ripped through his fingers as he failed to hold onto his wand. It slipped, falling silently into the snow as the storm of debris dissipated. Blinking pain ricocheted through Tom and he slumped to his knees, clasping his shoulder as he took sharp tight breaths.
Riddle approached quietly, his own wand summoning Tom's into his outstretched hand.
He stood over him, fury barely contained.
"Get up," Riddle hissed.
Tom didn't move.
Riddle's fingers curled around his upper arm, hoisting him roughly to his feet.
Tom stumbled, pain still blinking as his vision swayed dangerously to black. He desperately tried to clear his mind, to make sure that his link to Harry was unaffected, and that he would be supported matter what.
Around them, the Death Eaters were disapparating, loud cracks sounding throughout the now errie silence that had descended. Tom looked up, just in time to see Aurors and their dæmons breaking through a vertical shimmering barrier which starkly divided the destruction and the undamaged part of the village.
Riddle, still holding Tom firm, twisted on the spot as they disapparated into the night.
Harry's journey out of the castle was painfully slow.
The archway at the bottom of the tower had collapsed and he spent agonising minutes clearing away rubble before he could slip through. When he finally emerged into the empty corridor, he was numb, shaking and covered head to toe in dust and grit. Magic was clearly the only reason the tower had remained precariously standing.
Harry didn't have time to compose himself, and he clambered over the remains of the debris before pressing forwards anxiously.
Most students had returned to their dormitories, and Harry made it all the way down to the first floor before voices halted his progress. With a strangled panic, he dived into the hidden stairway, just as a group of older students and their dæmons appeared further down the corridor.
Harry stayed there, back pressed against the castle wall, hand clamped over his mouth as he tried not to breath or think. The heavy tapestry the stairs were hidden behind, felt almost non-existent as he waited. He could hear the dæmons trailing alongside the group, knew that it would be so easy just to take one-
No.
Harry slammed his eyes shut, thinking of Lyra and Tom. He couldn't fail them now.
Why was it so difficult?
Harry had spent hours with other dæmons and he'd remained in control. Yet, his resolve was being tested, and Tom wasn't here to regulate him.
It took longer than it should have before Harry finally abandoned his hiding place, long since the voices had faded away, although he didn't get much further.
A wave of intense hate exploded in his head. Harry staggered into the wall, nearly dislodging a portrait of an old wizard sleeping. His vision blurred. The anger was raw, uncensored and intense, and the source was terrifying.
Harry had known Tom's anger, having been on the receiving end more times than he could count, but this was extreme, unfiltered, reminded him only of Lord Voldemort. It made earlier flickers of emotions mute in comparison.
And then it was gone, leaving Harry breathing heavily and in a far worse state than before. If another dæmon crossed his path-
Harry arrived at the Entrance Hall, dizzy and feeling sick.
It was however, empty.
Daring not to make a sound, he crossed the floor and slipped outside, tearing down the front steps two steps at a time.
The grounds were very dark, and Harry pressed on without the fear and temptations of the castle to pull him back. The blizzard cut straight through him, lingering on his decayed skin as his chest tightened. Harry's breath misted in front of his face, before being whipped away by the howling wind.
Harry arrived at the whomping willow, clutching his burning side. With a slight panic, he realised that there was no trace that a werewolf had been here. The snow was undisturbed, and there were no paw prints which led up to the stump of the tree.
The willow's branches were unladen and waved frantically around as he took a step closer. Any rock Harry could have thrown was buried under several inches of wet snow and slush. He couldn't even make out the base of the tree through the heavy snow that swirled around it.
Harry darted forwards. A branch came hurtling out of nowhere, colliding hard across his stomach. His feet slipped out from under him, and he landed in a snow bank several feet away, winded and aching. Harry tried to stand up, only to find that his muscles didn't respond. His limbs were unusually unresponsive. In a wild panic he thought that the tree had damaged something, but in less than a few seconds his strength returned.
"Tom-" Harry groaned, clutching his head. "What are you doing-"
A loud yelp sounded in the distance.
Harry whirled, ears strained. There was no other sound but the swishing branches of the whomping willow above the roar of the wind.
With a half hearted glance back towards the castle, Harry started to walk slowly, breath misting in front of him. The draw was oddly calming and he moved without any hesitation or doubt, half knowing what he might find. It didn't take him long to arrive at the edge of the lake. It was slightly more sheltered here, the wind although loud in the distance had dropped significantly.
Up ahead, two dæmons were lying next to the ebbing water.
Whether it was the sheer accumulation of exhaustion and panic, or that this easy prey had been all but given to him, all rationale left Harry as his mouth curled into a haunting smile.
It had been hours since Harry had taken the forbidden potion, and his thirst for dæmons was unquenched, growing with every second. He drew a rattling breath. The darkness encouraged him, became him.
He approached quietly, bare feet pressing softly into the snow. Harry was less than twenty paces away when he stopped.
A strange feeling, one that he couldn't place washed over him. It conflicted with everything Harry knew and felt. His mind was screaming, but an overwhelming sense of calm was distorting and disorientating any impulsion Harry could cling to; like a memory long forgotten.
It wasn't possible.
That terrible ache, that had lingered over him for two long years was absent. It was like his soul had never left.
The smaller dæmon stirred, lifting her head as wide eyes stared unnervingly back in his direction. Harry sucked in a single shallow breath. She was just as the mirror or Erised had shown him, a pine marten with light brown fur, and dark brown around her eyes. A single tear swelled in his good eye, but he wiped it away roughly on his sleeve.
Lyra.
Harry knew with complete certainty that they belonged together and always had.
The large scruffy dog that lay beside Lyra was starting to stir. Her human was a few paces, knelt at the the lakeside, hands plunged into the freezing water and body shaking with uncontrollable tremors.
Sirius Black.
A hollow emptiness was growing, and Harry's voice wavered, the joy of meeting Lyra broken in an instant. There was only one thing that mattered now.
"W-where's Tom?"
Startled, Black flinched, sending ripples out across the lake as he hurried to his feet. Harry saw that the man's hands were scared and blackened, and his gaunt face broke out in a world of different emotions.
"Harry-"
Harry's terror was building, rising within him and he was suddenly shivering from the brutal cold. As if it had turned on him and refused to relinquish its steely grasp. Riddle was still out there and Tom was caught in the middle of it.
Not even Lyra could calm his rising dread.
"Where is he?"
The temperature, although below freezing was starting to plunge. The snow which had been wet, had turned to sharp icicles, was starting to make the surroundings brutally uninhabitable.
A wave of open fear crossed Black's face, his expression darkening. Harry could taste the man's fears, knew that he had been thrown back into Azkaban as his worst memories surfaced.
Harry didn't care. He just wanted Tom.
Black had taken a step back, the need to flee apparent and engrained in every fibre of his body, to put as much distance between himself and Harry as possible, but Black's voice came out hard and determined.
"Stay here. I'll get him."
Then Black was gone, had transformed, and the dog was heaving its battered and bruised body off the ground. Claws started scratching and pawing at the snow just beside Lyra, and jaws opened to retrieve a small glass vial between sharp teeth.
The portkey.
It whirled Black away before Harry could take another harrowing breath. But there was still that fear, unsuppressed and leaching into his every thought, it made Harry far more dangerous and unstable. The fact that Black had the portkey was harrowing, given that Tom had hung onto it just on the off chance it was needed.
What had happened-
Lyra.
She remained on the shore, watching Harry's existential crisis silently.
Harry dared not approach, for each second cost every ounce of control, that he might falter with only the smallest of temptations.
Lyra's ears were alert, and she shifted into a crouched position, teeth bared. Her tail swiping back and forth, but she didn't say a word. Despite the perfect unison of their connection, Harry was slightly unnerved. There was no hint of emotion from Lyra. She was just there, filling the void that would only exist with her absence.
It was this that made Harry ache for Tom. But Tom wasn't a dæmon. Harry had known that for months, and yet the stark difference between Lyra and Tom couldn't have been more noticeable. How could he not have realised.
Lyra moved abruptly, startling Harry. Her small body leapt through the snow, skirting the bank as she weaved agitated back and forth.
The reason for her distress became apparently clear.
There was something else nearby, just beyond Harry's vision. The surroundings had become much darker, and the little light that reflected against the ground or the gleaming water had dimmed.
Harry knew this feeling so intimately. The terror amplified as the water that lapped against the shoreline began cracking as it froze. He felt them before anything else. An icy hand had clawed its way into his existence, was consuming him from within. White fog was blinding him.
Dementors.
There was a blur, movement, the pattering of feet. And then Lyra was in his arms, and Harry could feel her small, fragile heart through her soaked coarse fur as his fingers dug into her.
She was just as terrified as him.
Harry clamped his right hand over his mouth. He couldn't breathe as he was thrown back to the graveyard and his deteriorating body. It felt as though something was closing in on him and there was no possible escape. Fear clawed at his absent heart and the darkness called out and embraced him, offered him a way out from his worst torments.
Harry's mind was lost, the temptations rising as he only desired one thing. It was right there for the taking. He'd not been this close to a dæmon since he'd devoured Quirrell's, and that feeling was so fresh, so enticing.
There was nothing that would stop him. Nothing.
A thin smile crept onto his face, he only wished he could see her beautiful light before he claimed her, hating that for some reason it remained obscured. In the corner of Harry's eye, a silvery animal burst into existence. It was the wrong light.
It was driving the dementors back, and it burned. He was too weak to move, his body sick and shaking. The terror of the graveyard was ebbing away.
Harry was on his knees and Lyra was scratching and biting at his hands. The silvery lynx and jack rabbit, circled around him.
Fighting to stay conscious, Harry took a strangled breath. They patronus dissipated, transforming back into their more appealing forms. Behind them, two Aurors were standing, their red robes contrasted against the snow.
"Merlin," Tonks breathed, her wand light shinning directly over where Harry knelt.
She dropped to her knees and reached out her arm but stopped when Harry flinched away, his numb grip tightening desperately around his dæmon.
"Harry," Tonks said gently. "Give me Lyra. We'll look after her for you."
The tightness in his chest was extreme, and Harry shook his head fiercely, trying to stop his good eye from welling up again.
Harry would never let him and Lyra part. Not again.
The jack rabbit and the lynx were huddled close together, speaking in hushed whispers. Kingsley held his wand drawn, pointing in the direction of where the dementors had vanished.
"Okay," Tonks said, holding up her palms in surrender. "Lyra stays with you, but if it gets too much-"
Too much. Lyra was intense, her presence both freeing and debilitating. She had settled at least, was now perfectly still, her small heart still pounding.
Tonks sighed, and ran her hand through her short pink hair.
"Where is Tom?" she asked. "Why isn't he with you?"
Tom.
Harry didn't know and that killed him more than anything else.
"Sirius Black-" Harry whispered, and it felt that he hadn't spoken for a life time. "He went to bring Tom back-"
Back from where? Tom should have been with Lyra, should be with Harry now. They had crossed paths, why else would Black have the portkey. The answer was horribly clear, but Harry didn't want to admit it.
Riddle.
Something catastrophic must have happened.
Kingley moved sharply, casting wand light over the snow. It lit up clear paw prints leading away from Harry before coming to an abrupt stop at the shoreline.
"Sirius Black?" Tonks repeated, startled. "He was here?"
Harry never had a chance to explain.
They were interrupted by the flash of a patronus bursting into life.
Harry fell into himself, grasping his arms around Lyra as the patronus moved through the air to come to a stop in front of the small group.
It was a red kite with one wing torn off. The shimmering protection made the usually hidden dæmon visible to Harry's good eye for the first time.
Moody's dæmon.
"Itzel," Kingsley said, straightening up at once. "What happened?"
She stared up at the group. In particular, her beady eyes settled on Harry and Lyra for a little longer than was comfortable. She ruffled her feathers, and looked back to Kingsley.
"Tom's been taken by Riddle," she said. "It wasn't clear if Potter had been too-"
The words washed through Harry. Everything around him seemed to be suddenly spinning. There was a sharp animalistic cry as Lyra writhed in his arms.
"Potter needs to be removed from Hogwarts now," Itzel continued. "Without Tom, he won't be allowed to keep his dæmon."
"No-"
Harry couldn't speak, a hard lump lodged in his throat.
No Lyra, no Tom.
Alone. Completely alone.
Harry would be returned to his clinical prison indefinitely.
"Whatever you do, just hurry," Itzel said as she bristled her feathers. Her patronus form was being pulled back into the night and her voice was growing more and more distant. "We have casualties and Scrimgeour's called for reinforcements. Sirius Black is in custody-"
And then she was gone.
Lyra hissed, twisting furiously before even Tonks or Kingsley could say anything. In one fluid movement she transformed.
The small explosion of light rippled across Harry's vision, dancing across his dead eye before crashing back into itself. The distortion was just as strong as Cyrilla's, an energy that Harry craved above all else. He knew nothing, desired nothing but the raw tempting light.
The shouting around him barely registered as he attacked. Another flash, and the distortion erupted again, flicking back to her original form but the act itself drove Harry's frenzy.
A cold and unnatural light burst into life. The patronus shone intensely, burning across and blocking Harry from seeing further. His limbs were unusually heavy, didn't react properly. Another flash and everything rushed to black.
The next thing he knew Harry was lying on his back in the wet snow. Snowflakes swirled around above him, and his head pounded with unbelievable pain. His hands and feet were bound together and something was clamped tight over his mouth. It was suffocating, and he struggled uselessly against his bonds. The surrounding dæmons were all revealed to his dead eye in their perfect mesmerising light.
Harry fell into himself, the despair became him as he twisted, unable to break free and claim what was his.
A panicked shout erupted from nearby.
"Lyra, stay back-"
A soft weight pressed itself onto Harry's chest, and claws dug painfully into his skin. Harry fell still and breathed sharply in and out, watching his untouchable prey. This dæmon was tauntingly close, made him feel so dangerously alive.
Simultaneously, everything felt so right and so wrong, as if the world would tear apart at the slightest imbalance. He wanted to devour this dæmon more than anything, and at the same would be devastated if her light ever extinguished.
"We can't wait any longer," Kingsley said as his lynx slunk around his heels. "I'll deal with Scrimgeour. You get Potter out of here."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Tonks said. "If Scrimgeour gets suspicious, tell him I'm dealing with the dementors-"
Harry turned his head, watching as the lynx broke out into a run, tearing away from the jack rabbit who hopped back and forth in the snow. The dæmon he desired above all else remained on top of his chest, her claws digging in tighter.
Tonks approached slowly as the dæmon growled.
"I'm not going to separate you, I just want to untie Harry's feet so he can walk."
The dæmon growled again, but she didn't change. Her golden twinkling dust swirled around her, but Harry's vision was suddenly obstructed.
The jack rabbit had shifted from his enticing light, to the cold hard protection that Harry despised. He flinched, twisting on the ground as it burned his very existence.
There was no escape, and Harry was left to its complete mercy.
Tonks shifted forwards and pulled Harry roughly to his feet. He staggered, but she kept a firm grip on his shoulder. With surprisingly little strength Tonks began tugging him towards the wrought iron entrance gates. The other dæmon clambered onto his shoulder, her tail brushing into his face as she coiled around his neck.
He could barely hold himself straight. The patronus made his whole body feel heavy and slow. Every step was an immense effort and he knew only severe exhaustion. Even his thoughts were pained as the light burned.
"Hold on," Tonks whispered.
The dæmon's claws scratched against Harry's decayed skin, digging into his shoulder's. Tonks twisted on the spot, her own grip tightening around Harry's wrist.
The next thing Harry knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions. His head thumped as his ear drums pressed in on themselves. Then as suddenly as it had happened, the darkness dissipated.
Harry blinked, his good eye barely focusing. There was a cold light which reminded him fiercely of St Mungo's. Instant panic flooded Harry as he tried to pull away from Tonk's hold.
It took him a moment to realise they were still outside. The cold light was from a gentle snow fall, the flakes minute compared to the thick snow of Hogwarts.
They certainly weren't at St Mungo's. They weren't even in the Ministry.
Instead, they had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard. Up ahead, was a house several storeys high, and was so crooked it was most definitely held up by magic. A sign was very lightly covered in snow and read The Burrow.
"Come on," Tonks said, her hand loosening from around Harry's wrist. "Let's get you and Lyra inside."