It's not their fault, Harry is adamant on that. The two are children, they don't even understand the world yet, much less a complicated thing like morals.

Especially in Tom's case. Growing up during war time would have been horrible – most adults didn't make it through the other side intact. Plus the mother's side of the family isn't the best either, what with inbreeding and mental illness running in the family as a genetic disorder.

So that's nature and nurture both pushing Tom to be a little messed up. Harry's not saying Tom is the best child but he's hardly the worst.

Harry says this earnestly to the Unspeakable as they sit in the warded and enlargened backyard around a small table, sipping morning tea and nibbling on biscuits while the children run around.

"Then what's your excuse for Gellert?" the Unspeakable deadpans, nodding behind Harry.

Harry turns to find Gellert standing behind his chair, hands behind the boy's back. Harry smiles and shifts around in his chair to better face the child. "Oh? Do you have something for me?"

Gellert smiles brightly, eyes wide and shinning as he presents the surprise to Harry. "I made it myself."

Harry stares down at the bloody pigeon in Gellert's hands.

The Unspeakable skulls the rest of his tea, stands and pats Harry on the shoulder. "I used to think you were an optimist, Harry. Now I just think you're a dumbass."

Harry sighs as the Unspeakable apparates away. "Where did you find that? Gellert, put it down, that's so unhygienic."

Gellert shuffles forward and makes a motion like he's about to drop it in Harry's lap.

"No!" Harry shrieks, pulling his knees up and pushing his hands out protectively. "On the ground, Gellert! The ground."

The little blond boy blinks his big eyes and drops the pigeon with a wet splat onto the ground at Harry's feet. His smile curves up into something horrific.

"Go wash your hands," Harry complains. "Oh, honestly. With the backyard tap – don't track that blood into the house."

Tom trots up as Harry sternly watches to make sure Gellert gets rid of all the blood. Harry turns to warn Tom about the dead pigeon Harry's going to have to bury, only to notice Tom is also hiding something behind his back.

Harry frowns. "That better not be dead, Tom."

"It's not," Tom huffs and holds out his trusty knife with what looks to be newborn kitten skewered on the end, weakly struggling, not even old enough to scream.

Harry goes still. He doesn't understand what's happening for a moment.

"Do you like it?"

Harry breathes shakily, reaching out but then shying away. He needs to...to help but he can't. He can't heal that.

"Death!" Harry screams. "Death, come here!"

A figure bleeds out of Harry's shadow, wavering and indistinct, rising up and opening a gaping maw to swallow the kitten whole before sinking back into Harry's shadow like a slick oil spill.

"It wasn't dead," Tom insists, sheathing his knife easily, the blade licked clean.

Harry jabs a finger at the boy. "It was more dead than it was alive! Both of you, inside, and clean your hands with as much soap as we have."

Gellert turns off the backyard tap and slides a sideways glance at Tom, smug. "Mine was bigger."

Tom puffs up. "Harry likes kittens."

"Inside!" Harry roars.

Harry sighs into his hands, elbows braced on the dining table and so tired even though the day isn't even half over.

Gellert nibbles on the left-over biscuits from Harry's chat with the Unspeakable because he said he was hungry. Harry is upset -he has every right to be- but he won't take food away.

Tom has his arms crossed, frowning at Harry. "I don't see what the problem is."

Harry slowly lifts his head out of his hands, propping his chin on closed fists. "I'm glad, Tom," Harry says honestly. "I really am. Because if you had done that, knowing it was wrong, we would have a much bigger issue."

Gellert licks crumbs from his fingers and Harry quickly grabs the boy's hand, spelling it clean because even after twenty minutes of vigorous washing and several high-powered spells, Harry still isn't sure if the boy's hands are clean enough to be touching anything.

"Okay," Harry sighs, slumping back. "Do you remember what I said? About killing being wrong?" Harry winces a bit because that's really very black and white. "Unless it's self-defence or an accident?" He thinks about the kitten. "Or mercy."

Gellert smiles with pity. "Harry, those weren't people."

"Killing at all is wrong," Harry retorts.

Tom raises an eyebrow. "Do you know where meat comes from?"

Harry pauses and it takes a while, probably too long, for him to reply. "That...is for survival purposes. Like self-defence is."

"You stepped on that spider last week," Gellert chimes in.

"That's practically an insect," Harry scoffs. "Fine, murdering mammals is wrong."

Gellert now looks very disappointed in Harry. "Spiders are arachnids and birds aren't mammals. You did go to primary school, right?"

"You haven't been to primary!" Harry cries. "You're like five years old-" He stops himself and drags a hand down his face. "I'm not explaining this correctly. You should not kill anyone or anything who feels a pain response just because you want to."

The boys contemplate this for a moment and Harry feels a disturbing sense of victory rise within him because he doesn't often win arguments. A bit difficult when your opponent is a genius and there are two of them.

"What about Mr. Brown?" Tom asks. "The man at the big park?"

The victory drains away before Harry can even enjoy it. "That…is different. He's a pigeon catcher-"

"He kills birds," Gellert corrects.

Harry purses his lips. "Pigeons…are a pest…"

"So why are you upset I killed one?"

"I…am upset because you had no reason-"

"They're a pest-"

"That's not your job!" Harry cries. "And you enjoyed it – I saw that look on your face when you showed it to me."

"Mr Brown enjoys it," Gellert hums, casually kicking his feet under the table. "Sometimes he finds a bird who isn't dead from the poison yet and chokes it to death slowly."

Harry blinks slowly. "He…does that?"

"Sometimes worse," Tom muses. "I've seen a couple animal control workers kick a pregnant stray dog to death once. And they're paid to do it."

"W-well, I'm sure they're not paid to do that exactly," Harry stutters. "A-anyway, they're wrong, no matter how you look at it."

Gellert tilts his head. "Then why has no one stopped them?"

"I'll report them immediately after this," Harry says. "Forget about that - we're not talking about Mr. Brown or some animal control workers, we're talking about you two right now."

"So we get punished while he's free to continue?" Tom accuses, eyes narrowing. "Simply because we don't have our own autonomy as children and have to follow your particular moral code, which certainly doesn't seem to be the most popular flavour of ethics around-"

"Do you want to be Mr. Brown?" Harry snaps. "Do you want to catch pigeons until you're sixty-four, getting pleasure from killing animals weaker than you because you'll never amount to anything else? Is that how far your ambition takes you?"

The boys stay quiet.

Harry takes a deep breath. "People kill animals and they kill each other, sometimes for good reasons and sometimes for bad. You will be better than them. I am holding you both to a higher standard because I know you are smarter and stronger and just more than most people will ever be."

There's silence for a beat as Harry's words sink in.

Harry runs a hand down his face. "Go to your rooms, I need to take a moment."

The boys leave slowly. There's not a hint of guilt, not that remorse was expected, but they're thinking about their actions and that's all Harry can hope for.

After they leave, a shadow falls over Harry as Death materialises behind his chair. Death reaches over Harry's shoulder and a small kitten seeps into being from his downturned palm, the tiny creature wobbling shakily on the table.

Harry sits up in shock. "You healed it." He cups his hands around the kitten to try and support it. The kitten is so impossibly soft.

"I patched a corpse together," Death corrects. "Do not mistake movement for life. It no longer has a soul."

Harry gently strokes his thumb down the kitten's back with the lightest touch he can manage. "That's fine. I'm missing bits of my soul too."

Death leans down, lips brushing the air over Harry's temple. "Not missing. I have it."

Harry half turns to look at Death. "Are you going to give it back?"

Death scoffs loudly and obnoxiously. "Keep dreaming." With that, his form folds in to a point like a contained implosion.

Harry looks back at the kitten. "I need new friends."

"Mew~"

.

A/N: So I just convinced myself murder is perfectly natural and nothing to be concerned about. These boys are a bad influence.