Original notes:

OK, so this is the chapter that never seemed to end... I thought I'd get a lot further on in the story than I actually managed to do - I'd had the request of including more Tom & Harry normal moments rather than doing time-skips to the important events, so...yeah. It just kept growing. I thought I'd finished it at 23k words, but then realised I'd missed a couple of important points...

After the tension at the end of the last part, I'm sure you'll all be glad to know that the last scene in this chapter is the fluffiest thing in this story so far ;)

Also, about tags and warnings...I'm not the most sensitive person - I read some pretty dark stuff without any problems. As such, I'm not always certain what is likely to be triggering, and what is not. I'm going to edit the tags a bit in the near future - not all of the tags relate to the main characters. If you would like to know more details, message me about it. For this part, I've added a couple of warnings in the end notes, so if you're concerned, scroll down to the bottom of the page first. I figured that would be the best compromise between avoiding potential spoilers and accidental triggers. If you spot something I haven't warned about that you think might need one, please tell me.

Other than that, thank you so much for all your feedback so far - it's really helped keep me motivated to write. As an additional note, if any of you know how to use work skins, I'd love to pick your brains - the healer's list is supposed to be in Bradley Hand IT, and Tom's writing near the bottom is supposed to be in Copperplate Gothic Bold, but I have no idea how to make that happen :(

Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Harry returned to the reception exactly five hours later. In fact, he had actually arrived earlier, having finished with the Ministry and then ending up just pacing in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, but had decided not to bother the receptionist or healer with excessive inquiries. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would be worried for Voldemort, he would have suggested they should get themselves checked out at this very hospital, but Harry certainly found himself worried for Tom. And maybe that was the difference – Tom wasn't Voldemort. Not anymore, and probably never again.

Harry was starting to wonder if, even if he somehow got free, Tom would be inclined to recover his former identity – certainly, sacrificing himself to save someone else was not expected behaviour from a dark lord. Of course, it could be argued as self-serving – if Harry died, so did Tom, but would the man have risked death to avoid death? That curse had not been messing around. If it had hit Tom in the head, he would have been dead.

Approaching the desk with intent, he inquired about his slave. Fortunately, it was still the same receptionist, so he quickly got an answer.

"Oh, Mr Potter! Healer Pinflower wanted to speak to you as soon as you arrived. Let me send her a memo." So saying, he quickly scrawled across a memo pad and then tapped it with his wand. The note folded itself into a paper airplane and zoomed off. "We got the idea from the Ministry," the man explained when he saw Harry's curious look. The healer arrived shortly after.

"Ah, Mr Potter. Please follow me." Harry did so, hoping to visit Tom. Instead, they entered an office. If the photo of Healer Pinflower and another woman was any judge, it was her office.

"Aren't we going to visit Tom?" Harry asked, suddenly fearing the worst. The healer gave him a questioning look.

"Do you wish to?" Harry frowned at the question.

"Of course!" he replied emphatically. He didn't like the surprise that flashed across the healer's face at his vehement tone.

"Then we shall do so shortly. First, however, I must inform you of the steps I have taken to stabilise his condition and ask what you would like to be done henceforth. Now, your slave's condition was serious upon entry. He had sustained multiple fractures to several of the bones in his back from the explosive curse. Five of his ribs sustained oblique fractures with two of them being displaced." Seeing his non-comprehension, she clarified. "I mean that there were signs of damage to five of his ribs, but only two had fully broken." Harry nodded, understanding. "Ten of his vertebrae also sustained damage, either in terms of a fracture or both a fracture and a slight displacement. Fortunately, no damage was sustained to his spinal cord, or indeed, to compromise his spinal column integrity." Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. If Tom's spinal cord was OK, the rest should be fixable.

"Continuing on, his soft tissue had sustained significant trauma from the injury. The areas in close proximity to the blast epicentre ranged between second and third-degree burns as well as blunt force trauma. Areas further away from the epicentre, such as his lower back, shoulders and neck, had sustained burns ranging between first and second-degree. As you can imagine, this caused his body to go into shock. He is currently in a magically-induced sleep, but can be woken at any time if you would like to take him immediately."

"Is he OK now, then?" Harry asked, confused. He thought it would take a lot longer than five hours to heal those kinds of injuries. The woman tilted her head to one side in a non-committal response.

"I have stabilised him and he is now at a low risk of further complications, however I didn't want to proceed to non-necessary treatment before gaining your authorisation. Historically, St Mungo's has not catered to slave-owners, but it happened on occasion before the end of slavery as a punishment was completely brought into force. In such cases, procedure dictates that as the slave-owner both owns the slave and is obliged to pay for the treatment, all non-life-threatening treatment is to be done only with express permission."

"So what would happen to Tom if no more treatment was pursued," Harry asked in order to see what he was dealing with. The healer pulled out a piece of paper and slid it in front of him. Tapping it with her wand, it filled with a short list of entries.

3 x blood-replenisher potions – 40G

1 x bone-mender draught – 24G

1 x anti-infection philtre – 5G

4 x burn-balm pastes (str 4) – 72G , 12S

1 x general healing potion (str 3) 15G

3 hours 34 minutes of care by Healer Pinflower (Master healer acc.) 93G, 5S

5 hours of bedspace – 25G

Total: 175G

"As you can see," said the healer, pointing at the list, "this is a breakdown of the various costs of his treatment so far. You are obliged to pay this before you are allowed to collect him. If no payment is made, the slave will be returned to the Ministry from whom we will recoup our costs, before the Ministry sells him to a different master." Harry decided not to tell her that in his case, that wasn't possible – it was hardly going to be an issue, so there was no need to raise it. "If you choose to take him with you today, your slave will take several months to heal completely, assuming light duties which do not require him to lie on his back." It took a moment for her meaning to register, aided by her slight expression of disgust. When he did realise what she was getting at, Harry felt like being sick at the implication that he would…that he would expect…bedroom activities from his slave in that condition. He would have been outraged that she thought him capable of expecting that sort of thing from him at all, except that from the reading he'd done so far, it generally was expected, unless the primary master was not interested or too old. But still…. She continued talking.

"You should also purchase a few burn-balm pastes of at least strength 2 and a couple of anti-infection philtres to help the healing along and avoid him picking up an infection during normal activities."

"And if I pursue treatment for him?" The woman took a breath and let it out slowly. Harry wondered whether it was a sigh of relief or of annoyance.

"Then it depends on how much you would like to do. If you would like him restored to decent condition, that is, bearing scars but functional, I estimate another two hundred or so galleons in potion and time costs plus another ten hours of recuperation time in the hospital bed, which would run you fifty galleons by itself."

"And if I want him, uh, restored to the best condition you can get him in?" The woman eyed him.

"Is that also including healing some old injuries and correcting some evidence of short-term malnutrition?" Harry considered, but didn't need to think too long over it.

"Yes." She was silent for a moment, evidently running numbers through her head.

"I can't give you an exact estimate," she said slowly. "However, I anticipate that it might be another five hundred to seven hundred galleons. That would take your total to perhaps around nine hundred galleons." She hesitated slightly before continuing. "Just to make sure you're fully aware of the situation, if you chose to sell the slave, he probably wouldn't recoup your losses unless he's considered a collectable item. As an unknown, I would estimate his value to be less than seven hundred galleons."

"I understand," Harry said, and he did. He understood finally how slaves were seen in this world – that their pain and suffering were worth less than a couple of months' rent to their masters. That everything was based on how much they could be sold for. Nine hundred galleons was a lot of money, yes, but not for a person. Hermione had explained money in the Wizarding world to him while they were on the run, and her explanation had been a lot more comprehensive than 'twenty-nine knuts to the sickle, seventeen sickles to the galleon': the explanation Hagrid had given him on first entry to the Wizarding world.

It had come about because, starving and desperate, but with their only money being a small pile of galleons that they couldn't use due to being Undesirables number one, two and three, Harry had suggested they sell a galleon to a muggle pawnbroker, and use the muggle money to buy food. It had seemed a decent idea to him – pawnbrokers would buy it for the gold and they'd just never go back for it. However, Hermione had quickly shot it down.

It seemed that the goblins had already considered the idea that wizards might choose to go to the muggle world to make some money, thereby denuding Gringotts of the galleons. As a result, every coin, galleon, sickle, or knut contained an enchantment within its metal which would make it seem worthless to any non-magical eye or measuring device. In fact, if examined by a muggle, it would appear to be a cheap plastic coin toy, nothing that they would want. Even destroying the coin wouldn't help – the enchantments were imbued in the different metals in a way that only the goblins were capable of: their skills with metal and stone were unmatched.

That, of course, had led on to a discussion on how, then, Gringotts set its conversion values between muggle money and galleons. After all, when Hermione had purchased her supplies for her last year at school, it had been a rate of 5.65 pounds to the galleon. Now, if the rate had been based on gold price which had apparently been around £250 per ounce the last time Hermione had been aware of it – why she looked at gold prices at all, Harry had no idea, but it was Hermione, enough said – that would put each galleon's value at around £50. However, what Hermione had explained was that it wasn't based on the value of its base materials, but on its purchasing power.

Now this was another term Harry hadn't really been familiar with, but after Hermione had explained, he had understood. It was about the relative cost of purchasing products and services. For example, if Harry bought a normal book in the muggle world, it would cost perhaps £5. A book of a similar quality bought in Flourish and Blotts would be worth 1G. Thus, the purchasing power of 1G was £5. Similarly, a rent for an apartment in London might be approximately £1500 per month; a rent in a magical area of London might be 300G. At the same time, salaries were numerically significantly lower. Mr Weasley, as a Head of Department in the Ministry, might earn just short of 9000G per year; an equivalent House of Parliament cabinet member might earn around £45,000 in the same time.

So, based on his knowledge of the purchasing power of galleons, he was looking at paying perhaps £4,500 in medical bills for a slave who was reckoned by the healer to only be worth £3,500, since she didn't know his true identity. Putting these against other figures, Tom was considered by the healer to be worth less than a tenth of Mr Weasley's annual salary, or perhaps two and a bit months' rent for an apartment in London. Harry wasn't sure if he had ever felt so disgusted with the Wizarding world.

"I will take the third option for him, please," he said, trying not to let his ire show through – the healer was just doing her job, after all, and she had agreed to taking care of Tom in the first place. Nevertheless, he was further annoyed when she showed visible surprise.

"You are aware that the full treatment is not necessary for any sort of use you wish to put your slave to, and will not result in debilitating permanent physical damage, yes?" she clarified.

"Yes, I'm aware," he told her, some of his anger showing through despite his best efforts. She gave him a thoughtful look and then noted something down on the piece of paper. Showing it to him, she asked for his assent. It came to a total of eight hundred and fifty-nine galleons, seven sickles.

"There may be one or two extra charges if certain treatments take longer or require more magical aids to deal with, but this is definitely the minimum," she informed him. He nodded as he looked through the list of potions. Seeing something missing, he frowned and looked back up at her.

"Is Tom likely to be in pain at any point in this process?" She shrugged very slightly.

"Quite likely – it will be impossible to keep him in an induced magical sleep for the whole time, and some of the treatments are uncomfortable." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Then why don't I see any pain-relief potions on here?" he asked, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. After all, maybe it was because pain-relief potions would clash with the potions used for treatment – he might be getting better at Potions, but that didn't mean he'd know off-hand which potions couldn't be used together. Both of her eyebrows shot up.

"I didn't add them because I didn't think you'd care about your slave being uncomfortable," she told him frankly. "The pain won't be excruciating, and I rather imagined that he was used to pain, being what he is. Please pardon me if I made an incorrect assumption." Harry looked at her directly. She met his gaze with no artifice. She truly had believed that he wouldn't be bothered about a bit of discomfort, and that he tortured his slave often enough to increase Tom's pain tolerance levels to heights where they wouldn't be touched by the treatment. Harry could only shake his head in despair.

"Please give them to him if he expresses any signs of discomfort, or if he asks for them. In essence, while he's under your care, please treat him like he's a normal patient; not a slave. I'm not like those other masters you seem to be judging me by." She looked at him searchingly for a few moments.

"No," she finally said, softly. "No, you're not."

After that, they were able to go and see Tom. He was on his front on a hospital bed, his back covered in bandages and his head turned to one side. He was asleep, but even in his sleep, he was frowning. Harry recognised lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, and his face had none of that innocence which had been there the last time Harry had seen Tom sleeping. Instead, it looked worn, tired out by a life which had never been easy. Harry gently stroked a lock of his hair out of his face and behind his ear, a surge of protectiveness rising inside him.

Feeling discomforted by his own emotions, Harry stepped back and looked towards Healer Pinflower, intending on asking for a pain-relief potion on Tom's behalf. Instead, the healer was already ahead of him, spelling a potion directly into Tom's stomach that Harry recognised from the sheer number of times he had had to take it. Within a few minutes, the lines on Tom's face had softened and he seemed to relax further into the bed.

"I won't wake him for another few hours unless you order it," the healer told him quietly. "He needs the time to rest and let the potions do their work. Come by on Monday to pick him up. I'll send an owl if there's anything that needs your attention before then."

"Can I come visit tomorrow? Will he be awake?" The healer showed surprise once again, but this time controlled it a lot better.

"Between 4pm and 6pm is a good time to visit – he will probably be awake during that time. At least, I won't be using the magical inducement, but whether he'll be sleeping because his body needs it…." Harry nodded.

"I'll do that, then." Healer Pinflower nodded sharply.

"Good. Now, when you come to collect him on Monday, you will need to bring with you both the galleons for his treatment and your certificate of ownership. I'm afraid we cannot release property without proof of ownership." Stomach curling again at the blatant description of Tom as his 'property', Harry agreed, making a mental note to dig out that certificate Kingsley had given him all the way back in August. Then, taking his leave, he went home to an empty house and a dinner that he had to make for himself.

XXX

Tom woke slowly. He became aware that he wasn't at home – his sheets weren't as scratchy as these, nor did they normally smell of industrial-level cleaning charms. Opening his eyes, he realised another difference – his sheets weren't white. Trying to roll onto his back – not being comfortable lying on his stomach in an unfamiliar place – he immediately realised that it was a bad idea. Pain shot through him, not the collar this time, but a more familiar pain of physical injury. What had he done this time?

Oh. Memory returned and Tom grimaced. He had got this delightful injury from playing hero and jumping in front of a curse. How…Gryffindorish of him. Still, he wasn't dead, which had to be the best possible result of that hellish scenario. And, if his guess was correct, he seemed to be in St Mungo's. He recognised the place by its combination of white everywhere and the murmur of many people moving around and talking.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice said. He tried to shift around to see who was speaking, but was promptly told off for it. "No, don't move around – you'll undo all of my hard work." The person moved until she was in his field of vision. And a she it certainly was – a healer by the looks of things and, yes, he was at St Mungo's for sure. Nowhere else had that logo on their uniforms. Meeting her eyes, he saw her flinch as she saw his red orbs, and immediately remembered that he wasn't supposed to meet the eyes of non-enslaved people. If his medical condition was as bad as it felt like, he didn't want to make it worse by inviting a complaint to the Ministry and then a subsequent Ministry-enforced punishment.

"Where's my master?" he inquired politely, though not managing to add a 'ma'am' on the end as he probably should. Fortunately, the healer didn't seem offended.

"He said he was going to visit later today, but I've told him to come pick you up on Monday, so he'll probably be here then." She sounded like she didn't believe Harry would show up, but Tom was pretty sure that if he said he would visit, he would. He kept that thought to himself, though. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse," Tom replied wryly. She made a soft sound as if in agreement, or maybe sympathy. Tom thought dryly that while he was referring to having been completely disembodied for thirteen years, she probably thought he was thinking of being punished by his master.

"Are you in any pain?" He thought about it.

"A little," he said eventually, "but nothing significant." She nodded.

"Very well. Your master has given permission for you to be given pain-relief potions if you ask for them, so please don't hesitate to ask if you have a need." She paused and then looked at him searchingly. "You're very lucky, you know," she remarked softly. Tom frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"To have such a kind master," she clarified. "He actually fought for you to be admitted. We don't normally treat slaves in St Mungo's."

"Why not?" Tom asked, storing away the fact that Harry had apparently fought for him. For some reason it made something inside him feel warm.

"Because usually, the reason a master brings his or her slave here is because they've beaten the poor thing so badly that they're worried the slave will die or be permanently injured. It simply does not match with our vows to do no harm when we are patching up a slave only to send them back into the same situation that caused the injuries in the first place. As a result, the Head of St Mungo's decided long ago to not accept slaves as patients except in special cases."

"So I'm a special case, am I?" Tom asked, amused. The healer's mouth quirked up.

"Well, that depends. How did you get injured?" Tom thought about it. Should he tell the truth? Or should he lie? Then, figuring that Harry, being a Gryffindor, had probably already told her what had happened, he decided it would be counter-productive to lie.

"I took a blasting curse meant for my master," he informed her. When that quirk at the corner of her lips turned into a small smile, he knew he'd picked the right option.

"Then yes, you're a special case." There was a pause for a moment. "Still," she continued after clearly having been in thought for a while, "you're lucky. Your master didn't decide to just give you the basic treatment; he didn't even decide to give you treatment purely to get you functional, despite that being expensive enough. No, he decided to give you the full treatment, meaning that you'll be better coming out of here than you were before the curse. Do you know how rare it is for a master to choose to spend more on his slave than the slave's worth?" Tom could probably guess, given what he had learned about the way slavery had worked in the Wizarding world in the past.

"Rare?" he hazarded a guess.

"Very rare," she agreed. "In fact, there are a couple of incidents on record where a master, bringing in a bloody and battered slave, decided not to pay for any treatment once he had heard the price. Actually, in one of those cases, the master just walked away, leaving the slave on the floor in front of the reception desk – apparently, according to the healer who made that record, the master had said that the cost of the treatment was far more than she could get from selling the slave in good condition. She would rather St Mungo's deal with the slave and sell him back to the Ministry, than have to take on his medical care. As for the rest, the vast majority chose the minimum amount of treatment and then took the slave as quickly as possible. Like I say, I don't think you realise how lucky you are." No smile remained, just a serious gaze that bored into Tom. He frowned.

"Why are you telling me this?" She looked at him for a moment more before answering.

"Because I don't know what goes on in your master's house, and I don't expect you to tell me. Maybe he is some tender-heart who is nothing but smiles and hugs with you – Merlin, given that he's Harry Potter, I hope that's true. But maybe he isn't. He bought a slave, after all. So, really, I'm telling you this because if you need to be grateful to keep him sweet, I want you to know how grateful you need to be. Really, I don't want to be just another of those healers who patches a slave up and then throws him back into a nightmare without doing what I can." Tom nodded slowly.

"Thank you," he said after a few moments. He knew that wasn't what his life was like, but she didn't, and he could appreciate that she was trying to help him. Though, perhaps as an object lesson it had missed its mark, if nothing else, he could recognise that the books hadn't been exaggerating about the treatment generally experienced by slaves. The healer nodded and then after that, was purely professional and continued to tell him about his injuries, the treatment he had had so far and what was expected to take place.

Taking in her words with one ear, Tom thought about what she had said previously. He had to admit that even with what he had come to understand about Harry's character, it was good to know that his master would protect him if Tom took a chance on Harry's behalf. And a full treatment? That was slightly unexpected, nonetheless. There was no need to deal with injuries which had taken place since his rebirth and hadn't been healed properly – Tom had never mastered healing magic and as Lord Voldemort had refused to seem weak enough to need someone to heal him. Nor was there any need to counter his slight malnutrition from being in the hands of the Ministry for three months. Neither of those conditions impacted his usefulness or really gave him any discomfort – the latter was being dealt with by time and decent food, anyway.

Tom supposed that it was Harry's way of saying 'thank you', but it left him feeling slightly uncomfortable. Yes, he had undoubtedly saved Harry's life – given what the healer had said his injuries were, if the curse had hit Harry, as unprepared as he had been, they would have been significantly more serious and probably lethal – but it was rather self-serving. If Harry had died, Tom would have died. End of. But, Tom supposed, if Harry wanted to be grateful…who was he to turn it away?

As his treatment for that time, the healer changed his bandages and smoothed burn-balm across his wounds. She also gave him a couple of potions he didn't recognise. Tom did end up asking for a pain-relief potion in the end as one of the potions caused a dull ache to pervade his body. Then, she told him she'd put him back in a magical sleep for a few hours to allow the potions to work uninterrupted. Tom agreed, not that he probably had much choice, because he understood how when sleeping, his magic would aid the potions where, when awake, they might actively oppose some of the effects.

XXX

The next time he woke, Harry was there and the quiet around them revealed the presence of a privacy charm. He was sitting in the chair by Tom's bedside, reading a book. Tom took a moment to just look at him, taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted by his book. Suddenly, he realised that he'd never really looked at Harry. He'd always been studying the boy's expressions or watching what he was doing in order to know how best to affect him.

Now, looking at him, well, he wasn't sure he could keep calling Harry 'the boy' in his thoughts – there was little boyishness left in his master. Instead, his face had all the lines of an adult, though his shoulders might continue to broaden a little in the next few years. There was a crease in between his eyebrows, perhaps at the book, and his lips were twitching, as if longing to say aloud something in what he was reading. When he looked up and locked gazes with Tom, the first thing that came to his mind was that he'd never realised how green Harry's eyes were, nor how much they had been obscured by his glasses until he had got rid of them.

"Tom, you're awake," Harry said redundantly, something he evidently realised as a hint of colour rose to his cheeks.

"I am, master," he replied, the respectful address grating less than usual. Harry had…Harry had kept good faith with him. Tom had protected him, and Harry had protected him in his turn. He was, well, he was worth more respect than many of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, for one thing.

"That's good," replied Harry. "Tom…" he leaned forwards, setting his book to one side. "Look, I just…Thank you. Thank you for taking that curse for me." Caught off guard by the sheer sincerity in Harry's voice, Tom found that he had to look away for a moment. Shrugging slightly uncomfortably, he replied with the first thing that came to his mind.

"Well, if you die, I die, right?" He looked back at his master's eyes, expecting anger at his honest response. In fact, Tom wasn't sure why he had given an honest response – Merlin knew it would be far better for his plans to have a grateful master – but there was something about Harry's sincerity that called for honesty in return. Instead of anger, there was a strange expression of…understanding in Harry's emerald eyes.

"Perhaps," agreed Harry noncommittally, "but you didn't have to take the curse for me, anyway. I might have survived, especially with my magic acting instinctively to protect me." Tom fidgeted uncomfortably. That was true, but even factored into his calculations, he still knew he'd have done the same thing.

"Well, you didn't need to pay for a full treatment, either," he retorted, trying to get away from his uncomfortable emotions. His master frowned.

"Now don't you start on that, too," he said almost crossly. Tom's eyebrows rose in surprise at his tone.

"Master," he began tentatively, "start on what?" Harry sighed and waved a hand impatiently.

"It's just…Everyone seems to think I'm a monster all of a sudden. Just because I have a slave, apparently all morals go out the window! I mean, the Ministry was happy to believe I was torturing you on a regular basis when they visited; the healer seemed to think I would just take you as soon as you weren't at death's door." He snorted in disgust. "Heck, she even thought it was necessary to inform me, by implication, that-that fucking you with you on your back while your injuries were healing was something to be avoided!"

Suddenly realising what he had said, Harry stopped and blushed furiously. Tom paled as the words and Harry's reaction registered. He had a horrible suspicion that the other man wouldn't have reacted as much to his own words if he hadn't actually entertained the idea in the first place. While Tom was certain that his master's outrage at the idea of…copulating while his slave was injured was sincere, he hoped that his master's reaction didn't mean he was considering the idea for when Tom wasn't injured. The idea of being forced to serve his master sexually was…abhorrent, to say the least. Tom hadn't thought about the possibility before his master's words, but now he wondered if he should have. Well, no helping it now. All Tom could do was hope to not be appealing enough for Harry to act on his possible thoughts, and that started with not reacting to the subject at all.

Fortunately Harry didn't notice his reaction as he was avoiding Tom's gaze while the blush faded. He cleared his throat and then continued in a quieter tone.

"Anyway, I'm sick of being assumed to be a monster. So, yes, I chose for you to have a full treatment. You saved me from serious injury, at the very least. Besides," and here Harry finally met Tom's eyes again, a hint of mischief in them, "since I inherited a good portion of your estate, I suppose you could say that you paid for your own treatment." Here he grinned at Tom, and the latter couldn't help but allow the corner of his lips to quirk up in response. To be fair, it was rather ironic, wasn't it, that he would end up paying for his own treatment after saving the boy he'd been trying to kill for years?

"Then perhaps I should thank myself, master," he replied airily. The other man laughed.

"Sure, why not. But I still feel I should thank you – treating you for your injuries is not enough. So, Prae-" Suddenly realising what his master was planning, Tom's eyes widened and he quickly interrupted Harry.

"Master! Please, no!" Harry stopped speaking, frowning.

"What's the problem? I was just going to say the word to activate the reward function of the collar."

"I know, master," Tom said quietly. Harry's frown deepened.

"Then what's the problem?" he repeated. Tom hesitated, wondering what he should say.

"I don't like it when the collar rewards me," he said finally. It felt very strange to make himself that vulnerable, to admit to something that he disliked. If he'd ever done that at either the orphanage or Hogwarts, it would have been used against him in a few seconds flat. After leaving Hogwarts and gathering his followers, showing vulnerability would have had the sharks circling immediately. Why on earth would he have settled for having Wormtail help him when he had so many other, much more competent followers, if he hadn't been worried about them taking advantage of his vulnerability? But for some reason, he felt he could trust Harry with this.

"Why?" Harry asked. Tom struggled to put the concept into words.

"I don't like the way it can control me," he admitted finally, the words feeling like they were torn straight from his soul. Creating a horcrux had hurt less than this. "Pain is…pain. It's manageable until it isn't. But pleasure? It seduces, it addicts. It changes my mind without me even knowing." Finally meeting Harry's eyes, he was met once more by an unexpectedly understanding gaze. There was a moment of tension before Harry nodded slowly.

"Very well. I won't intentionally use the reward function of the collar," he said finally. Tom dipped his head.

"Thank you, master," he said, and meant it. If Harry broke his promise…well, he'd deal with that if – when – it came.

"But I still want to reward you," Harry continued, his tone lightening. "So, what do you want?" Tom thought about it. Considering how grateful Harry seemed to be, it was almost like he had written a blank cheque. But ultimately, there were only two things Tom needed, and he wasn't sure whether even as grateful as he was, Harry would give him one of them. Mind made up, he looked back up at Harry.

"May I have free access to any book in the Black library, master?" Harry looked at him with an incredulous gaze. Tom did his best to appear innocent, or at least, not plotting to escape, which is what he really was. It was surprisingly hard not to fidget. Eventually Harry spoke.

"Seriously, you potentially save my life, and this is what you ask for? Sure, as long as I have your word that you will not use any of the magic on other people without permission. Heck, I'll extend the permission to any other books that you could reasonably be expected to be able to read if you weren't a slave. Plus, if there are any books you are desperate to read that we don't have, tell me and I'll see whether I can buy them for you."

"Thank you master," Tom replied immediately, surprised at Harry's generosity. Maybe he could have asked for free use of his magic after all…Ah well, too late now. Never mind – it was probably more important to be able to read practically any book, anyway. He had been struggling to continue with his research on the collar as the supply of books he was able to read which were 'connected' to plants in some way or other, but were also useful for Arithmancy had dried up. Now, he would have a lot more free rein. As for Harry's condition, it was easy enough to agree to – the likelihood of the counter to the collar requiring him to cast magic on his master was slim, considering what he'd already decoded. After it was off, there would be no need to keep to his agreement. He kept his grin hidden with difficulty – this was a major victory. Now…now he had access to hopefully all the information he needed. But there was one other thing… "Master?"

"Yes?"

"I have another request."

"Yes?" This time, it sounded a mixture of wary and amused. An interesting combination… Tom hesitated. How could he put this?

"Master…when you go out, may I come with you?" Harry frowned in confusion. "Not to Hogwarts or the Ministry," Tom clarified. "Or even one of your friends' houses. But if you go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, or some other public place…please take me with you."

"Why?" asked Harry baffled. Tom hesitated again. Revealing vulnerability earlier had helped significantly… Should he try the same method?

"As I said earlier, master, if you die, I die. After this incident…if you go out on your own, I'll be worrying the whole time that something's going to happen to you, and I won't even know until you die. If I'm there, maybe I can do something to help. Or even if not, at least I'll know." He was relieved to see his master nodding his head slowly. He hadn't felt like he'd explained it very well, but then he couldn't even work out his own emotions and why the idea of Harry dying felt more significant than simply being a precursor to his own death.

"You know if you want to do this, you're going to have to stick to the public standards of behaviour perfectly," Harry warned. Tom nodded.

"I'm aware," he replied simply. It was…bearable. The idea of sitting at home and waiting to die was not. Harry nodded again.

"Very well. I'm not going to force you, but if you want to come, by all means."

"And can I perhaps have permission to use defensive magic, if you are attacked, master?" Tom asked hopefully. Harry chuckled.

"I'll think about it," was all he agreed to. Tom shrugged – he'd got far more out of this than he'd ever imagined, so he'd be satisfied with that. Harry then turned serious. "There is one other thing, actually," he said. "Kingsley spoke to me about it at the Ministry yesterday. He'd heard about the incident and came to find out what had happened," he explained. "Because your whole thing is different from that of most slaves, if something happened to me – not death, but some serious injury – no one would be able to get your collar to respond."

That didn't seem so bad for Tom. His opinion clearly showed on his face as Harry continued. "Yes, I know that sounds great, but think about it. You wouldn't be able to leave Grimmauld Place, ever. You would never be allowed to use your magic. There could be no changes to the rules of your collar." That was true… "So, Kingsley suggested I leave a backup plan. If something happens to me, Kingsley will send someone to fetch you. He will call you 'kitten' and will say that Kingsley sent him. I expect you to obey that person until you get to Kingsley. Kingsley will then assign you a temporary master. You will obey that person as if he, or she, were me until I am able to come and get you. Do you understand?"

Tom was not exactly happy about it. He had finally come to the realisation that life with Harry was not terrible, and he was working out how to manage the other man to his own benefit. There was no way he wanted to have to adapt to some other person. Still, if he was able to go out with Harry and help protect him while he was out, maybe it would decrease the chances of that sort of thing happening… Well, in the end, what choice did he have?

"Yes, master," he agreed, though he didn't hesitate to let his discontent show through his voice. No doubt the healer would be horrified at his lack of 'gratitude', but Tom knew Harry well enough to know that the man would rather hear honest discontent than a fake happiness. It was just another way in which they were alike.

Still, it was useful to know that if he did something for Harry, or behaved in a way that made Harry feel indebted to him, his master would be inclined to be generous. Tom wasn't sure at that moment how he could use the information, but he was sure it would help him later.

XXX

Getting home, Harry sighed as he settled into his sofa. Well, at least Tom seemed OK. The healer had done a good job so far, from what Harry could tell. He was thankful that the man should come out of the hospital not bearing any damage from taking the curse for Harry. Somehow, their dynamic seemed to have shifted with the uncharacteristic action. Not by massive amounts, of course, but the way Harry had felt while dealing with Tom had been inevitably altered by his gratitude for the man's choice to suffer instead of allowing Harry to be hit.

How few times had Harry ever experienced someone else taking hurt for him, rather than simply stepping aside and letting it happen, or even adding to it? His parents had died for him, and his friends had tried to protect him as much as he tried to protect them. The Wizarding world as a collective, however, and washed their hands of responsibility for Voldemort, happily giving it over to an underage wizard and then castigating him when he tried to protect himself. Harry forced his thoughts away from the bitterness which still ate at his insides and thought back to how things had changed between him and Tom.

What would that mean for them in the future? Tom had access to any book he needed for his research now, which would probably mean that that whole situation would come to a head sooner rather than later. And…he'd expressed some form of concern for Harry's well-being. At least, when it came to public places. Sure, Harry knew it was probably more to do with his own self-preservation – if he was present, he would be able to do his best to prevent his master from being killed and thereby himself dying – but was it just that?

Harry wasn't sure whether to grant Tom's request about using defensive magic. Sure, he could limit the man's use of it to only necessary situations, but it was a risk nonetheless. It was probably enough of a risk to have him out there unrestrained; if Tom used magic and hurt someone, and his former identity came out, Harry would be crucified in the media over it. And he couldn't rely on Tom's self-preservation instincts to stop him from taking advantage, either; any consequences to that sort of misuse would reflect worse on Harry than Tom, probably.

No, it was probably too much of a risk. But then, if Tom had been able to use defensive magic in Fortescue's, he would have been able to cast a defensive shield to absorb the curse rather than being horribly injured…. But then again, did Harry know for certain that's what he would have done? What if he'd deflected the curse into the crowd and hit someone with it? Someone who'd died? Would anyone have understood the situation? Would Harry have been able to forgive himself for allowing Tom access to magic which had indirectly killed someone? He sighed, unable to answer any of those questions.

The fire he was staring at flashed green. He snapped to attention and leant forwards just as the head of his best friend appeared in it.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, before noticing that the person he wanted to speak to was right in front of him. "There you are," he said impatiently, as if he'd had to search for ages. "What the hell was up with that letter this morning? Why did you give your ticket to Ginny?" he demanded. Oh. Well, Harry probably should have expected this call. That morning, he'd realised that there was no way he'd be going to the quidditch match – it was supposed to start at three pm and could easily go on for more than two hours. With wanting to visit Tom during the time the healer had given him, he knew he wouldn't be able to attend, but he hadn't wanted to waste the ticket. Fortunately, he'd known someone who would appreciate it.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry apologised. "I had to visit Tom in the hospital." Ron frowned in confusion.

"Visit him in the hospital? You mean you lent him out to the healers?" Harry shook his head.

"No, he's in the hospital." The confusion on Ron's face didn't clear.

"You mean he's injured? What happened?" Thankful that for once someone wasn't accusing him of beating his slave to the point that he needed medical attention, Harry launched into an explanation of what had happened the previous day. After he finished, Ron was silent for a few moments.

"He really took the curse for you?" he asked quietly. Harry nodded. "Well, that's…" he trailed off. Harry felt the same way. "Could this be some slimy Slytherin scheme?" Ron asked, perking up. Harry found it somewhat amusing that Ron seemed to prefer to think it was a manipulation than think well of the man who used to be Voldemort. He shrugged.

"Only in as much as he knows that if I die, he does too. But Ron, it was a serious risk to take. Several of his vertebrae shifted – if there had been more force behind the curse, he could have been paralysed. And if it had hit him elsewhere, he could have been killed. He was gambling with his life there. Hell of a risk to take for a manipulation…" Ron grimaced.

"You've got a point. Well, I've got nothing. Maybe –" he cut himself off, cocking his head to one side. "Listen, mate, Hermione's home." He frowned, listening more carefully. "I think…I think she's crying. Hold on." Ron's head disappeared. Since he hadn't cut the floo connection, though, Harry could still hear muffled noises from the other side.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he heard Ron say. There was a muffled sound which Harry guessed was a reply, then it got louder until he was able to actually make out words.

"- and called me a Death Eater sympathiser because I said abuse wasn't a fair punishment! Oh Ron!" Feeling uncomfortable hearing her cry without her knowing, Harry wondered whether he should cut the connection anyway. The decision was taken out of his hands when a moment later, Ron popped his head through again.

"Look, I've got to go, Harry. Hermione's in a right state. Some wanker at work's been giving her a hard time recently. Just…" he hesitated for a moment. "Ah, never mind. Have a good evening – see you tomorrow." Harry nodded and opened his mouth to wish Ron the same in return, but his friend had already withdrawn and cut the connection.

XXX

With Harry going to Hogwarts on Monday, the time flew until he could go and pick up Tom. The previous evening had been very strange. He hadn't realised how much he had got used to Tom's presence until the man wasn't there. And it wasn't that Harry had missed his cooking – Tom had improved by leaps and bounds, but Harry was still years ahead of him – or anything like that; it was more the sense that the house was empty, quiet. That when Harry fell asleep, there was no one else there but him. It was something he wasn't used to, and didn't really like. After all, first he'd lived with the Dursleys who made no effort to hide their presence. Then he was in Hogwarts and sharing a dorm with four other boys. Next he was on the run with Ron and Hermione, sharing a tent with them… It had been only since the war that he'd been solitary. He'd thought he liked it, but it wasn't until Tom had come and then gone that Harry realised how much he didn't like being completely alone.

And the man wasn't bad company, really. He didn't invade Harry's every waking moment with either words or simply his presence. Indeed, some days, they only saw each other for a few minutes over dinner. But Harry found the knowledge of his presence, the intermittent reminders of a creaking floor, a footstep, an aggravated mutter, was enough to keep the loneliness at bay. As for when they managed to coexist quietly in the evenings, each reading his own book in the sitting room…in some ways, those moments were the highlights of Harry's daily routine.

So, as soon as he finished at the school, he dropped by the bank to pick up a thousand galleons and then by the house to find that certificate of ownership Kingsley had given him. Returning to St Mungo's, he went directly to the front desk, feeling impatient when he had to wait in line for about ten minutes.

"St Mungo's, how can I help?" the woman at the desk said cheerfully, then her eyes widened as she recognised him. "Mr Potter! What can I do for you?" Harry sighed internally, but outwardly wore a genial expression.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up Tom Riddle." She looked through the records on her desk, a frown forming on her face.

"I'm sorry, I have no record of a Tom Riddle." Sighing for real this time, Harry leant closer.

"He might be under my name – he's my slave," he admitted quietly. The woman's eyes widened further and a surprised expression crossed her face.

"You have a…I understand, you have a slave," she repeated with bemusement. Returning to the pile of parchment, she started leafing through it again. "Ah, here we are: Slave Tom for Master Harry Potter. Yes, he's ready to be released to you." She looked awkward. "Apparently I'm supposed to ask you to show your certificate of ownership and to pay the total before he can be released..." Harry nodded.

"It's OK, the healer made sure I was aware of the hospital's requirements," he told her reassuringly. She smiled at him gratefully as she slid a document over. Harry looked at the bill. It wasn't much dissimilar from what the healer had previously shown him – the main difference was that Tom had had four pain-relief potions over the last two days and had been in the hospital for a few hours longer than expected due to Harry's day at Hogwarts. Still, his thousand galleons easily covered the costs. In the end, he counted out the change from his bag of galleons and then just gave the rest to her. She looked flustered for a moment before casting a spell on it. A number floated over the top and she smiled again at Harry.

"That seems all present and correct, Mr Potter. Now, can I see…?" Harry slid the certificate over and she inspected it carefully. "OK, that's great, thank you." She stamped a form and passed it over to Harry. He checked through it – it was just a summary of all the treatment, the fact that he'd paid and a receipt of collection in one. He signed it, the receptionist duplicated it, and then he was ready to take Tom home.

"Is Tom still in the same room as last time?" he checked. The receptionist looked.

"Ah, no. He's in Waiting Area Seven – the healer wanted to free up his bed since he's completely healed."

"OK, thanks," Harry told her, happy he'd asked instead of just charging off as his first instinct had been. "How do I get there?"

"Just follow the corridor, take a right and then the second left. It's there." Harry smiled at the receptionist and she blushed slightly.

"Thanks again."

"No problem, Mr Potter. Please come again. I mean, for a visit, not because you need treatment, that is. Oh!" she continued muttering to herself, a mortified look on her face as he nodded politely and then walked off in the direction she'd pointed. He supposed that awe-filled adulation was better than people accusing him of being a dark lord and being afraid of him, but given a choice, he'd rather have neither….

Following the directions, he soon found the waiting room. It was as depressing as all other hospital waiting rooms – white and clinical with uncomfortable chairs. Tom was leaning against one of the walls, looking stiff. There were two women and a man also waiting in the room. Harry walked over to him.

"Tom," he said getting nearer.

"Master," Tom greeted him, dipping his head. Harry noticed one of the women look over at him, then start whispering to the lady next to her. Harry tried to stop himself from getting irritated.

"Why are you standing?" he asked, to try to distract himself. Tom cast a glance back to the same ladies.

"I didn't think sitting would be…appreciated," he said finally, quietly. Harry looked back at the gossiping biddies and shot them a glare. They paused in shock for a moment, before returning to their clucking, more furious now than ever. "Master," Tom said to Harry, evidently seeing his ire, "It's not worth it. In the end, I am a slave, and if in public, I'm expected to either kneel or stand. In the absence of any specific command, I chose to stand." Harry eyed him, unsure where this suddenly amenable Tom had come from. The man noticed him looking and shrugged slightly. "We're in public, master," he reminded Harry. Maybe that explained it, then.

"Yeah, let's go home," Harry told him, feeling suddenly exhausted. Somehow, seeing Tom back to normal made him feel all the worry that he hadn't realised had been weighing him down. Surely he couldn't be getting to like Voldemort, could he?

The thought consumed him throughout the walk to the entrance, Tom walking the requisite pace behind him. Could he be starting to actually like Tom? He certainly found the man attractive, but like? He'd felt protective of Tom straight after the accident, and then when the healer had been refusing to treat him. He'd missed the man while he'd been gone for more than what he did in the house. And now…he still liked the idea of Tom kneeling to him and obeying his orders, but anyone else…? He'd wanted to snap at the old biddies for thinking that they had any right to command Tom in the slightest. Harry had fought for the right, had bled for it; no one else was allowed to.

And maybe it was also in part that Tom was now under his care, completely helpless to his orders. If he'd ever doubted that the collar stopped Tom from casting magic, they were wiped away by Saturday's events – if Tom had had any other option, Harry seriously doubted he would have used his own body to stop what he had to have known was a powerful curse.

"Master?" Tom asked. Harry snapped back to awareness. They were standing in Grimmauld Place, lingering in the entranceway while Harry had been lost in thought. He vaguely remembered apparating them, and suddenly felt thankful that he hadn't splinched either of them in their distraction. At least, he didn't think he had. Turning, he scrutinised Tom. No, he looked intact.

"Are you OK?" Harry checked, just in case there was some injury under his clothes which he couldn't see. The man looked at him quizzically, as if wondering why his master was so concerned.

"Thanks to you, master, yes." Harry looked away uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

"Good, then," he said awkwardly. There were a few moments of silence before Tom broke it once again.

"Would you like me to make dinner, master?"

"No, don't worry about it. You take it easy this evening. Get a book and read by the fire, or something," he suggested. "I'll make dinner tonight."

"Thank you, master," was the response before Tom passed him to go upstairs. Breathing in and out slowly, Harry decided to get started on the meal.

XXX

After all the events of the last three days, Tom didn't really feel up to reading anything particularly strenuous. In the end, he just chose a novel he'd found in the library which looked quite good, and as his master had suggested, went to read by the sitting room. He sat in a chair by the fire at first, but found that the material against his back irritated him too much – newly-grown flesh was always a bit sensitive. Instead, he decided to lie on his stomach down on the rug in front of the fire. It was extra cushioned to make floo calls more comfortable, but it worked well for lying down and reading as well.

A few minutes later, he decided to take his shirt off too – even that material was annoying. Besides, the warmth of the fire felt nice against his skin. After a while, he even started to feel a little sleepy. Putting the book down, he folded his arms and rested his head on them.

At some point, he woke. He was disorientated at first, his gaze falling on Harry in the doorway. The man was looking at him, his mouth slightly ajar, hunger in his eyes. Suddenly feeling chilled despite the heat of the fire, Tom opened his eyes wider and felt his body tense. His master abruptly jerked his eyes away and cleared his throat.

"Supper's ready," he muttered, turning away. Tom slowly stood up, putting his shirt back on. He felt unsettled at the confirmation of his previous suspicion that his master found him attractive. People finding him attractive hadn't been unusual, not before his looks had been blurred by delving deeply into the Dark Arts, at least. And he'd used it, quite effectively really. This…this was different.

Oh, Tom could acknowledge that Harry was good-looking, in fact in a different situation, he might be down-right delectable. Those clear green eyes, plush lips and the kind of hair that would be so easy to slide a hand through and grip tightly to pull in for a kiss… But this was not a normal situation. Here, Tom couldn't forget that Harry wasn't just some attractive man; he was Tom's master. As such, he didn't have to seduce, he didn't have to convince, all he had to do was order and take.

What Tom had seen so far of Harry's character seemed to indicate that he wouldn't do that, but the key word was 'wouldn't'. Not 'couldn't', and his sentence wasn't a quick one which would be up before Harry had got past whatever moral qualms he no doubt had about taking what was there in front of him... Well, hopefully he'd be out of here before he had to test how long Harry's resolve would last. Especially if he realised that Tom might find him attractive in return – maybe he would convince himself that he was just being proactive, that Tom really did want it. Tom shuddered in horror. No. It could never work between them. Not like this, anyway.

Harry avoided his eyes, already at the table eating. It was some sort of spaghetti with a creamy sauce dotted with pieces of bacon and onion. Tom took a bite. Oh! That was good. He accidentally let out a noise of appreciation that almost sounded like a moan. Suddenly realising what he'd done, he flashed a horrified look at his master. Harry was sitting there, still steadily trying not to make eye contact, but a small blush was rising on his cheeks. Hell! And there he had been, deciding that encouraging his master's interest in any sort of way was dangerous! The tension between them rose. Tom desperately searched for some topic to use to cut it.

"Master," he started finally, moderating his voice to not reveal any of the fear he was currently feeling at the idea of being…being…made to assume the role slaves were commonly required to take. "What is this? The recipe, I mean."

"Oh, this?" Harry sounded relieved to have something different to talk about than the tension that was so thick between them it could be cut with a knife. "It's Spaghetti Carbonara. I got it from that book." So saying, he jerked his thumb towards a book on the shelf that Tom knew very well. Or at least, he knew one recipe in it very well. Given their current levels of relative amicability, Tom decided to ask a question which had been bugging him for a while.

"I have a question, master," he began, looking at Harry for a cue to continue. Harry looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd seen Tom half-naked. The blush had gone, Tom was relieved to see.

"Sure, go ahead," Harry said curiously.

"When I first came here, I became…practised at a particular recipe…" he trailed off, looking for any acknowledgment in the man sitting across the table from him. Instead, blank incomprehension met his eyes.

"Did you?" Harry asked blankly. Well, that probably answered his question, but he decided to ask it anyway.

"Did you never realise that I only made Spaghetti Bolognaise for the first two weeks?" Tom asked tentatively. Harry stared at him.

"…No?" he responded. Tom managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes with only a great amount of effort. "Why did you do that?" OK, that was it. The eye roll was happening. As expected, his collar shocked him briefly for the 'disrespectful behaviour', but he couldn't care less.

"I was trying to annoy you," he admitted in exasperation. "I eventually gave up because you didn't seem to notice and I was getting bored of Spaghetti Bolognaise." There was a pause where Harry looked at him in amusement.

"Well, that failed miserably, then," he remarked. Tom glared at him futilely, wondering if throwing a piece of spaghetti at his master would count as an attack. Deciding not to risk it, he grumpily returned to his meal. Honestly! What he put up with sometimes. How someone could be so perceptive at times yet so dense at others….

When he realised that he had thought that with a tinge of fondness, he mentally threw up his hands and cursed the whole situation to the infernal hells.

XXX

"Potter." Harry turned at the sound of his name to see Robards striding down the corridor towards him. He was just leaving the classroom with the rest of the Auror recruits, all of them hungry for lunch after the heavy morning of lectures.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, signalling Neville to go on without him when he saw his friend pause.

"Come with me. I need to have a word." Harry agreed, all the while wondering what the 'word' would be about. Robards' tone hadn't given anything away. He hoped he wasn't in trouble for anything in the programme… Racking his brains, he decided he couldn't think of anything that would be a problem – he hadn't had any problems with the other recruits, and he hadn't failed any assignments.

Entering Robards' office, the Head Auror gestured for him to sit down.

"I've called you in about that incident with your slave on Saturday."

"Tom didn't do anything wrong –" Harry started hotly, but he cut himself off when Robards raised a hand.

"I know that, Potter," he said, slightly impatiently. "It's about the man who attacked. I need to know whether you intend to press charges on his attempted attack on you." Harry frowned.

"On me? What about his attack on Tom?" The man looked at him pointedly.

"Your slave falls under laws regarding property. You should know what that means by now." Harry did.

"Laws on property state that no damage to property below the value of ten thousand galleons is prosecutable, however the owner of the property can demand compensation for any loss of income or repair charges paid," he stated. The Head Auror nodded. "But Tom technically doesn't have a value," Harry protested after a moment of thought. "Kingsley gave him to me." Robards shrugged.

"And debating that point could lead to years of wasted lawyers' fees and no real settlement. Of course, you're at liberty to do so, but I wouldn't suggest it." Harry reluctantly agreed. The case studies they'd looked at so far hadn't been promising in terms of results in similar situations. That said, he hated that a human being was being classed as property to the extent that he could have died and still the only action that would be able to be taken would be 'compensation for damages'. And for some reason, it felt even worse that the human being in question was Tom. Probably because he'd done it to save Harry's life.

"Then yes, I want to press charges for attempted murder," Harry stated coldly. Robards nodded steadily.

"In which case, here are three cards of prosecutors you could use. They're all good at their jobs, but it's up to you which ones you choose." He handed three cards over. Harry tucked them into his pocket without looking at them.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Not a problem, Potter." A small smile touched the corners of his lips. "I hear you caught up well in your studies and are one of the best in the class." Harry looked down bashfully, enjoying the compliment; but at the same time, the inferiority complex drummed into him by the Dursleys raised its head to say he didn't deserve it. He was determined to beat that, though, so just accepted the praise gracefully. Robards hesitated, but then went on. "That incident…did you order your slave to protect you or…?" Harry shook his head.

"No," he said honestly. "I had no idea he was going to do that. Still don't know why, as a matter of fact. He says…well, he says it was self-preservation, but…it was a lot of risk to take for self-preservation." he admitted. Robards looked at him seriously for a moment.

"Clearly, whatever you're doing to engender loyalty within him is working. Keep on like that – if more people could engage positively with their slaves, our society would be a lot better once they are released." Harry shrugged helplessly.

"I just…treat him like he's human. Because he is – doesn't matter what the law says." Then, worried he'd said too much – Aurors were supposed to uphold the law, after all – Harry looked up at Robards. What met his eyes wasn't disapproval, in fact it was the opposite.

"I hope you continue to think like that, Potter," the Head Auror said softly. "It may not be popular, but then the job of an Auror is not about being popular – it's about upholding truth and justice." Then, snapping back to his usual stern countenance, he nodded sharply and pointed at the door.

"Now get out of my office," he ordered. Harry smiled at him, stood up and went for lunch.

XXX

Tom was on his knees, scrubbing the floor in the kitchen. Somehow, even though he cleaned up after himself every evening, it still got in a right state. After months of the same monotonous chores, Tom had got to the point where he didn't really have to think about what he was doing, and had taken to musing over his research and turning the calculations over in his mind while he accomplished the cleaning of the day. That or other thoughts, which often led him in uncomfortable directions. He preferred thinking about his freedom. At least any type of thought process took some of the boredom out of the tedious tasks.

Absently, he heard a whoosh from another room, but he was too concerned with his thought processes to interpret the sound. Therefore, when a voice spoke to him from the doorway, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Where's Harry?" He twisted around to spot his master's red-headed sidekick. Uncomfortable being on his knees in front of this man, Tom quickly got to his feet. Crossing his arms, he was nonetheless aware that he hardly cut an intimidating figure: wet knees from the floor, sweat dripping down his forehead, face red from exertion.

"He's not here," Tom answered shortly. The red-head glared at him.

"I can see that. Where is he?" Tom eyed him, weighing up whether to answer or not. This man wasn't his master – as long as he wasn't directly disrespectful, he shouldn't be punished. As such, he fixed his eyes to one side of the red-head, rather than either looking at him directly or looking down.

"Out," was his reply. The man sighed in frustration.

"Merlin, I don't know how Harry deals with you!"

"He's my master," Tom replied snidely. "He doesn't have to 'deal with me'." There was a pause and Tom realised with horror that the blood traitor was looking at him thoughtfully.

"You know, I'd never have thought that you'd willingly acknowledge him as your master, not considering the history between you two." Tom forced himself not to react. Actually…the red-head had a point, much as Tom hated to admit it. A couple of months ago he wouldn't have acknowledged it without the collar forcing him. What had changed? "Look," the red-head continued. "I just want to give Harry a message."

"You couldn't send an owl?" Tom pointed out with disdain. The man shuffled slightly.

"I'd rather not. Just…when he comes home, tell him to floo me. Alright?" Tom considered it.

"Fine," he replied eventually, thinking privately that he would, but only because he was pretty sure that if he didn't, his master would find out and then he'd be in trouble. Not because he was inclined to do this…man any favours.

"OK. Good." The red-head turned to leave, but then paused. Tom mentally rolled his eyes. What now? "Um, you know that thing you did for Harry a week or so ago?"

"Jumping in front of a curse for him, yes, I vaguely recall it," Tom stated flatly.

"Yeah, that. It's just…we appreciate it, OK. Harry's friends, that is. And, well, I never thought I might say it to Voldemort but…thank you." This time, Tom did meet his eyes with a disbelieving gaze. Had he actually…Yes. Yes, he had, and his expression looked sincere. Not sure what to say, Tom just nodded once. The Weasley boy nodded awkwardly in return and then disappeared out of the kitchen.

Tom waited until he heard the floo activate again before returning to his chores, shaking his head. A Weasley thanking him? Would wonders never cease?

XXX

Harry got home feeling a lot better than he had at lunchtime. Fortunately, they'd had practical classes that afternoon, so the anger he'd felt about the way slaves were considered in the Wizarding world had largely been used up. It helped, too, that instead of using the whole lunch break to eat lunch, he'd just grabbed a sandwich from a canteen, and then had apparated over to one of the law firms. He'd chosen it because one of the partners was Patil, and he at least had a connection to them through his housemate Parvati.

They'd managed to fit a conversation with him in immediately, probably because of his fame, Harry thought guiltily. Frankly, though, he didn't mind in this case – it wasn't so much about justice for himself; it was more about justice for Tom, though of course the actual charges would be about aiming a blasting curse towards Harry, given the way the laws considered slaves.

He'd been assured that they had a good case, assuming they could get sufficient witnesses involved. The evidence was rather cut and dry – the man, whoever he was, had aimed a powerful blasting curse at Harry who was completely unaware of being targeted. That it hadn't hit the intended target was, in a way, immaterial except that it was attempted murder charges rather than grievous bodily harm charges or, worse, actual murder charges. Harry had, of course, named Neville and Luna as key witnesses, as well as mentioning that Florean Fortescue might have seen something. Not to mention the Aurors who had arrived on the scene and took the man – and his wand – into custody. Naturally, Tom, as a slave, wouldn't be eligible to testify.

Actually, that was one thing Harry could see the reasoning for. With the collar, the master could order their slave to say whatever they wanted along with denying all use of truth serums or memories. But nonetheless, the lawyer had told him that it was likely this wouldn't even go to court – with the combination of the evidence, Harry being who he was, and his use of their reputable law firm, it was likely the attacker's lawyers would approach Jones, Briggs and Patil about a plea bargain.

At this point, Harry wasn't sure whether he would accept it or force the matter to go to court. He guessed he would see what they suggested. Apparently the highest punishment they could hope for would be ten years in Azkaban. A miniscule sentence, of course, compared to the consequences of what might have happened, but something, nonetheless.

Harry had left the lawyers feeling confident in their ability to prosecute the case and a lot more settled. The practicals had only helped that. He wasn't sure whether to mention it to Tom. Did it really matter? Maybe he should just tell the man when the sentence was pronounced…But would he prefer to know that it was being dealt with?

Following his nose, he went into the kitchen. Good timing! Tom was just dishing up.

"Master," greeted Tom neutrally, bowing his head slightly. "Your friend visited earlier. I believe he wants to speak to you." Harry frowned.

"My friend? Which one?"

"The red-head." Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Ron?" Tom nodded. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, only that he would like you to floo him."

"Did he say it was urgent," Harry clarified, already starting to turn towards the sitting room.

"No, master." Harry hesitated. Surely Ron would have made it clear if it was urgent…it could probably wait until after dinner? After everything that had happened in the day, he was pretty hungry. Not to forget that he'd only had a small sandwich for lunch, and a strenuous afternoon. Making up his mind, he turned back and sat down.

"Smells good," Harry said, sniffing appreciatively. "What is it?" Tom raised an eyebrow at him.

"…stew, master," he replied, neutrally.

"What kind of stew?" Harry asked.

"Good stew," was the reply, the barest hint of mockery in it. Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes and grinning.

"Fine, don't tell me then. Just give it here – I'm starving!" Tom eyed him, looking slightly concerned that his master might be going a bit loopy as he handed the plate over. "I'm not crazy, I swear," Harry told him, starting to dig in. Mm, it tasted as good as it had smelled... "It's just…It's been a bit of a…an interesting day."

"Do you want to talk about it, master?" offered Tom unexpectedly. Harry considered the question. Yeah, he'd like to talk about it, but should he…? In the end, he had chosen to be a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin, so he decided to follow house tradition and jump in head first.

"I…Robards approached me at lunch time. He…he wanted to talk about Saturday," Harry gave Tom a pointed look, and saw when it was received by the way his expression shuttered and his eyes lowered to the table.

"I see."

"He wanted to know whether I was going to press charges against the man who attacked us." He paused to gauge Tom's reaction, but nothing was revealed, so he just decided to continue. "I said I was. Unfortunately, I can't really get him on what he did to you, because of the laws on slavery, but I'm going to press attempted murder charges."

"That sounds sensible. If you tried to prosecute him based on what happened to me, I suspect you would be offered damages and nothing else," Tom replied, no hint of anger in his voice. Harry stared at him.

"Aren't you angry?"

"Why would I be angry, master?" Tom asked, as if it was a reasonable question. Harry just shook his head, frowning at him.

"You've just said that you know that your life is worth only a handful of galleons in the eyes of the law – doesn't that make you angry? Merlin knows, I was fuming in Robards' office about it!" Tom was still for a moment before sighing, shrugging slightly and meeting Harry's eyes.

"Why should I be any angrier about this than anything else about my current situation? I'm trapped with the man who used to be my prophesised vanquisher, forced to obey every command unless I want to be in pain constantly. I cannot leave the house without permission, I cannot eat without permission. I cannot use my magic at my will, but only at yours. I was given to you like an unwanted parcel. Why would I be any angrier at the reminder that in the eyes of the Wizarding world, I am considered as of no more value than a cupboard or the table at which we sit? I am reminded of my slavery every minute of the day as it is." Harry closed his mouth, realising he was gaping.

For some reason, hearing those words had really hurt. Why, he didn't know. Why should he care what Tom thought? It wasn't like the man had said anything that was untrue, was it?

It was probably Harry's fault – he had taken Tom's recent actions as meaning that they were reaching some kind of understanding. But Tom had said it himself – he'd been aiming for self-preservation. Why did Harry keep looking for an explanation beyond that? Was it because that's what he wanted to see?

He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore and stood up.

"I'm going to Ron's," he muttered.

"Master…" Tom started, but trailed off without continuing. Harry wasn't really very interested in what he had to say at that point. He just shook his head sharply before leaving the room.

XXX

Tom stared at where Harry had been sitting until his abrupt exit? What had he said? Was Harry upset that he wasn't upset? Was that a thing? Sighing, he decided to finish his own food, at least. He supposed he should consider himself fortunate that, although he required permission to eat, at least he had it.

Once he'd cleaned his plate, remarking to himself that he probably should have used a few more spices to really bring out the flavour of the lamb, he hesitated over what to do with Harry's half-finished food. Had he had his magic, he would have just cast a stasis charm over it and left it as is. Without his magic… He didn't want to just put it in the bin – that was a waste of good food, and Tom abhorred waste, always had.

Perhaps it had been drummed into him after years at the orphanage where he had only had enough to keep him alive, never enough to satiate him. Tom wondered what might have happened if he hadn't grown up there where not only food and warmth was lacking but love and affection as well. Would he have still grown up with this never-ending desire, this instinct to take as much as he could get and then take more; to hoard what he had as jealously as a dragon even while coveting what others possessed?

Even now where he could be argued to own nothing, not even his own body, he hoarded his books, hiding them where his master wouldn't find them unless he made an effort. He hid his mind, his emotions, allowing only glimpses of what really lay below the surface. And more than that, he jealously guarded his secret hope of being free, the flame that burned within his chest and kept him going even through the times when he wondered whether there was anything of himself left within this shell.

But that was for the dark of night, thoughts to ponder when he awoke from a nightmare and couldn't sleep, bathed in his own sweat. For now…He decided to leave the plate on the table. The worst that would happen is Harry would come back and decide to punish him somehow, but then any of Tom's choices could lead to that so…

He decided to go upstairs and work on his research, but soon found that he couldn't concentrate. Within a couple of hours, he'd given up in disgust. He was too concerned about what mood Harry would be in when he came home to pay proper attention to what he was doing; with the complexity of his project, he couldn't risk making an error. If he misunderstood even one line of calculations, he'd end up wasting a lot of time in the future.

Instead, taking a book on Wizarding law, he went downstairs to the sitting room. It was odd being here without his master, and he made sure not to lie in his normal position – he'd risk being stepped on or kicked when Harry came through otherwise. For some reason, despite technically being able to use the chairs…he found he didn't want to. It just felt…wrong. He was used to being here with Harry and lounging on the soft carpet in front of the fireplace, reading a book, while Harry flipped pages and scratched on parchment with his quill.

He'd been reading for a while when the floo flared. Quickly drawing his legs up so he was definitely out of the line of fire, he watched through hooded eyes as his master stumbled out. Harry sighed, brushed himself off and ran a hand through his hair. Tom must have made some sort of movement that caught his attention, because he suddenly whirled around, wand out.

Tom looked at the point of the wand aiming at him, wondering if he should feel frightened. Most slaves in his position would, he imagined. But strangely…he didn't. Maybe it was because so far, Harry hadn't actually cast a single spell at him to harm him. Unless one considered the aguamenti which had woken him up that one time, that is. Sure enough, his strange faith was rewarded when his master let out a shaky breath and lowered his wand, tucking it back into his arm holster.

"You startled me," he murmured, then tilted his head to one side, frowning. "What are you doing there?" Tom lifted the book he was reading as evidence.

"Reading, master. Looking at laws around attempted murder charges." Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"You're researching the case?" Tom shrugged.

"I thought I might as well make myself useful." The surprise didn't disappear even when Harry hummed in acknowledgement. "Master…" Tom started, then trailed off again. He'd thought through this moment several times, but each time had phrased his words differently. He still didn't know which ones to use. "I…I didn't mean to imply with my words earlier that I am…ungrateful for the way you have treated me. Believe you me; I am aware that my circumstances could be a lot worse. It's just-" He was cut off by Harry raising a hand and shaking his head.

"Tom, don't worry about it. I was just…" he shrugged. "I suppose I thought things were different than they really are. It's me, not you. Just…I don't want to talk about it anymore tonight, OK?" Tom nodded silently. Fine. Tom would be more than happy to avoid talking about feelings or his own slavery. He couldn't help but feel a pang inside him at the…defeated tone in Harry's voice, though. It just sounded wrong.

"What did you do with the food?" Harry asked, his tone forcibly bright. "I hope you didn't throw it away," he warned more seriously. Tom wondered idly whether the impact of Harry's childhood had engendered a similar loathing to his own of waste and a desperate possessiveness over those he considered his.

"I left it on the table, master," he replied, watching carefully to check that his master's reaction wasn't negative. Not that he could do anything about it if it was, but he'd rather have the fore-warning. Harry, however, just nodded and walked towards the doorway, throwing an absent-minded 'thanks' over his shoulder.

Tom returned to his reading, taking careful mental note of any information which might be useful to know in the case of their attacker.

XXX

Harry growled as he reached for another piece of parchment, only to find that the drawer was empty. He was almost finished.

"Tom!" he called, his voice irritated. A few minutes later, the man appeared in the doorway and kneeled, his expression as irritated as Harry felt.

"Yes, master?"

"Do you know if we have any more parchment? I've run out." Tom's frown deepened

"I think there's some in the library, but not much," he responded.

"Can you get it for me, please?" Tom glared at him.

"I'm not a house-elf," he told Harry grumpily. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"No, but you are my slave." He waited a few moments, but when Tom didn't move, he sighed, irritated even further. "Tom, just go and get the parchment. Now." He didn't shout, didn't even raise his voice, but there was steel to his tone. With a final glare, Tom turned around and disappeared. A few minutes later he reappeared, a small sheaf of parchment in his hand. He dumped them on the table roughly.

"Here, master," he spat, before an expression of pain shot across his face. "Can I get you anything else?" he seethed. Harry eyed him. This seemed somewhat…disproportionate. What had got into Tom all of a sudden?

"Tom, are you OK?" he asked warily, knowing he'd probably get a nasty response, but figured he should try at the least. As half-expected, he saw the anger flare higher in his slave's eyes and his lips twist into a snarl. Then, like a shutter coming down, they blanked and became carefully neutral.

"Of course, master," Tom intoned flatly. "Why wouldn't I be?" Harry wasn't sure how to respond. Frankly, there were many reasons for why Tom might be angry, but he hesitated to bring any of them up, for fear of rocking the boat again. His thoughts were interrupted. "If that's everything, may I go back to what I was doing?" Tom asked, still that deceptive politeness.

"Sure," Harry agreed, watching him go. Then, shaking his slave's odd behaviour out of his head, he returned to his studies.

XXX

Scrivener's Supplies was difficult to move in, and especially difficult to move past people in – the stacks were piled precariously high with parchment of different grades and qualities, quills, ink pots and all the other miscellaneous expected by a shop that advertised itself as a scrivener's one-stop shop for their general supplies. The stacks were both so precarious and so closely packed into the limited area that every time Tom passed between two of them, he was worried he would accidentally brush one of the sheets and send the whole lot tumbling down. If he caused a single stack to topple, it would probably cause an avalanche which would bury them all.

He hadn't been surprised when Harry had decided to visit the place. He'd been complaining for the past three weeks that he was running low on parchment, not to mention using Tom as a gofer that one time. That had been particularly irritating since it had completely disrupted his thought process with his research. An added annoyance there had of course been that having given his master his supply of parchment, he had been unable to take his own notes for the past few days. When one considered the number of assignments Harry had to complete every week, however, not to mention all the notes he penned, it wasn't a shock that he would need to resupply at some point, and this was the first time he had revisited Diagon since that incident a few weeks ago.

True to his request, Harry had invited him to join the trip since he was headed to somewhere other than Hogwarts, the Ministry or one of his friends' houses. Unfortunately, he hadn't granted Tom access to defensive magic. He hadn't out-ruled it as a possibility, though; he'd simply said he wanted to think about it for a bit longer first.

Tom wasn't sure why it was so important to him that Harry did give him access to his magic for defensive purposes. After all, it wasn't like it would help him escape his collar – he was pretty certain that nothing which would break the collar's enchantment would be possibly classed as defensive. Nor would he be able to use it to protect himself. A slave using magic on a free person because of his or her actions was simply not accepted by all laws which governed behaviour of slaves. No, it could only be to protect his master. So why did he want it so much? Well, Tom supposed that it was logical to prefer a magical shield over a body shield, but he wasn't sure that was the full reason. His mind shied away, however, from truly naming his motivation to ensure he had as much facility to protect his master as he could.

A man came towards him, so he shifted as much out of the way as possible. Unfortunately, it was impossible to squeeze out of the passageway completely, as the stacks were so closely packed. As the man went past, he brushed very slightly against Tom. In the blink of an eye, he turned on Tom and struck him on the side of his head.

"Stupid Death Eater scum," he snarled as Tom staggered away, one hand going up to his suddenly throbbing ear. He put out a hand to stop himself, but his heart thumped in horror as it crashed into one of the piles. Both he and the man watched with wide eyes as the pile started swaying, first away, and then towards them. Just as it appeared it was about to cover them both in a flurry of parchment, it stabilised and the top sheets which had started drifting down, flew back up to their original spots.

Tom looked towards the end of the corridor of stacks to see his master standing there, wand out, a dark look on his face. Something inside Tom flinched at the thought that he'd misstepped. After all, Harry had made it plain more than once that if he behaved badly when out in public, he would be punished. But Tom wasn't sure what he should have done to avoid this.

"What do you think you are doing?" Harry demanded, his voice and eyes cold.

"Master, I…" Tom started, not sure what he was going to say. Harry's eyes flashed towards him, cutting like a knife.

"Not you," Harry said sharply. "Come here." Tom hurried to obey, half-expecting to receive more pain as soon as he got within arm's reach, either another blow or perhaps the collar's trigger word, but instead, Harry pulled him by the arm until he was behind his master. Harry then looked at the man still standing a few feet away, his wand still in his hand, though not pointing at anyone right then. "What do you think you were doing, hitting my slave?" he demanded again.

"You're its master?" the man sneered.

"I am," acknowledged Harry steadily, his voice still like ice.

"Then I expect you'll be punishing it for accosting an upstanding citizen like myself."

"Accosting?" Tom's master replied, his voice revealing his incredulity, though he politely declined to comment on the 'upstanding citizen' part of it. "He did his best to get out of your way – he's not to blame for the sheer lack of space in this shop. And frankly," he continued, casting a glance at Tom's ear which was definitely feeling overly hot and throbbing, "I think you've already punished him enough for an accidental touch." The man now scowled angrily at him.

"Those…monsters deserve everything they get! With all the people they've hurt and killed, they shouldn't even be able to walk among normal people!" Harry looked at him for a moment, then replied calmly. "Fortunately for us all, you are not the one making the decisions. He is my slave; I will decide what he deserves. Come, Tom," he instructed and turned around, starting to move away. Tom followed. He longed to cast some sort of mocking glance at the man, but decided that it would ruin the moment. The man shouted after them.

"If you won't punish it, I'll go to the Ministry and report you." Harry paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"Go ahead," he challenged. "My memories will prove that my slave behaved correctly in the circumstances. They will also prove that you attempted to damage my property unlawfully. If you want to go down that route, be my guest." When the man didn't respond but just stared angrily at him, Harry nodded. "That's what I thought." Turning around, he exited the shop, Tom following.

Getting home, Tom realised Harry hadn't actually bought anything.

"Master, I'm sorry you didn't get the supplies you needed," he said, hoping that if Harry was inclined to punish him for making his shopping trip futile, the apology as a preface might soften it. Harry turned to him, a wry quirk at the corner of his lips.

"It's OK. I identified what I needed in the shop – I'll send an owl order for the actual items. I was just coming to get you anyway so we could pay and then leave."

"So…" Tom started hesitantly. "You're not angry?"

"With you?" Tom nodded mutely. "No, of course not. As I said to the man, you behaved correctly in the situation. His reaction was unwarranted and unwelcome." Harry sighed. "Look, Tom, I'm a straightforward guy at the end of the day. You be straight with me, and I'll be straight with you. As long as you are doing your best to make our lives together as easy as possible, I will do the same. I'm your master and you're my slave, that's true no matter how much either of us may not want it to be. But, as long as you recognise that, and don't keep pushing me, I don't see why we can't coexist perfectly well. And as your master, if I think people are taking advantage of the fact that you can't fight back, I'll defend you."

"And the Ministry, master?" Tom asked thoughtfully. Harry looked at him steadily.

"Well it depends – if you deserve whatever the Ministry says, I'll probably go along with it. If you don't…well, we'll see how much influence the Man-who-Conquered really has, I guess." Tom nodded in acknowledgement. "Come here a moment," Harry ordered him suddenly, Tom obeyed, coming within arms' length again of his master, but feeling a lot less concerned than the previous time. Harry pointed his wand at Tom's throbbing ear and muttered a healing spell. In a few moments, his ear was back to normal.

"Thank you, master," Tom murmured, taking a step away. After silence pervaded the space for a few moments, he continued. "If we're not going out again, master, may I be excused? I have cleaning to do."

"Sure, but one thing more, Tom." He looked into Tom's red eyes with a considering gaze. "I was quite impressed by how you comported yourself with the man. You could have tried to defend yourself, or used your sharp tongue to attack verbally, but you didn't. I was impressed. As a result, you have permission to use defensive magic while we are out together in a public venue, as long as there is no other option which would be equally as or more effective." Tom's breath caught in his chest. "And I shouldn't need to say this, but I will – you may not cast magic to kill or seriously injure another person at all, and causing any other injury, however small should always be a last resort. In fact, only use magic which will not even risk hurting anyone else unless someone is at imminent risk of death. Understood?"

"Yes, master," Tom acknowledged. He hesitated, but felt it should be said. "Thank you, master." Harry never released Tom's gaze, but he nodded very slightly. Then, feeling like there was too much tension in the moment, Tom quickly turned and went to continue his daily chores, his mind spinning with thoughts and questions.

XXX

Harry came home in a bad mood. He swept into the kitchen where Tom was preparing dinner and cast a stasis charm on the food.

"Master, what…?" asked his slave in confusion, flinching back from the stove which had suddenly stopped doing anything. Harry didn't bother to explain himself, merely grabbed Tom's wand from the cupboard, and jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen door. When he reached it without noticing Tom following, he barked out a sharp command.

"Come." Tom came. Harry made his way up to the second floor which housed the duelling room. Entering, he tossed Tom's wand to him. "Same rules as always. Let's duel, kitten." The other man was taken off guard as Harry started shooting spells at him, but he recovered admirably quickly.

Soon, they were trading volleys of Hogwarts level spells. Harry started throwing in a few of the ones he had been learning in the Auror training, figuring Tom could handle it, even if he was restricted to lower level spells. He could definitely tell the difference the Aurors had made to his ability to cast. They had only really started learning spell chains, but the difference it made to the speed of casting was tremendous.

With Harry's anger giving him a slight edge, and Tom as restricted as he was, they were fairly evenly matched. Tom was still the superior caster, of course, but Harry's spells were quick and powerful and Tom had to make sure none of them hit, which slowed him down slightly. When Harry's anger had run its course, he called an end to the duel, even if neither of them had won.

"Stop!" Tom stopped dead, letting the spell he was casting fizzle out at the end of his wand. Harry wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve and felt relaxed for the first time in hours. Conjuring a chair near the wall, he slumped into it, his true exhaustion making itself known now he had stopped moving: it had been a hell of a day. Tom disappeared from the room. Harry grunted when he realised. He guessed he should have probably taken the wand from him before he left, but never mind – it wasn't like the man was allowed to use it, after all. When a glass of water appeared in his vision, he jerked back in surprise.

"I thought you might be thirsty, master," was Tom's explanation. Harry eyed him suspiciously – it wasn't like Tom to be helpful without being asked, after all… Nevertheless, he took the glass and drank from it – he figured that the collar would prevent his slave from poisoning his master if that was Tom's plan. When all he tasted was cool, refreshing water, he felt validated in his belief.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. Tom settled down in front of Harry on his knees.

"You seemed angry when you came home, master. Would you like to talk about it?" Harry eyed him.

"You're not going to like it," he warned. He didn't like it. Tom's expression didn't change from its smooth neutrality. Harry sighed. "Robards spoke to me at work today. We're invited to the Ministry New Year's Ball."

"We, master?" clarified Tom, his voice not revealing what he thought of that. Harry nodded.

"We," he repeated, grimly. Tom was silent for a few moments, looking away. When he met Harry's eyes, his crimson gaze was full of calculation.

"It's a publicity stunt, isn't it?"

"Basically," Harry agreed with a groan. "The 'Man-who-Conquered' being the face of the new Ministry, looking towards a brighter futures, yadda, yadda."

"And behind the 'Man-who-Conquered', one of the subjugated," murmured Tom. "Physical proof of how much potential enemies stand to lose by going against you, and by dint of your tacit support of the Ministry, them." Harry looked at him with a rueful look on his face.

"You know, you're probably absolutely right. No wonder Robards was so emphatic about wanting you there." He sighed again, heavily. "And it's not like I can refuse to go, is it?" He looked hopefully at Tom as if expecting the man to pull a reasonable excuse out of his hat to prove him wrong. Instead, the man shrugged, looking away.

"Technically, you could refuse, master, but it would probably have significant effects on your future at the Ministry. No doubt, as the biggest event at the Ministry since the end of the war, this ball is going to be used to set the tone of the Ministry's public relations for years, if not decades to come. If you're not there, you'll be extremely conspicuous by your absence."

"Yeah," said Harry dolefully. "That's what I thought." He sighed once more, but then had a thought. "I suppose you don't have to go. I mean, I get the effect they're trying to go for, sure, but I don't see any reason why I need to force you to attend when they haven't even explained why it's important that you go." Tom looked back at him, and the warmth in his eyes took Harry aback. It wasn't like they were shining with affection or anything, but the fact that they were showing an emotion that wasn't either negative or careful neutrality was…a first, Harry thought.

"Thank you for your consideration, master," Tom said, his voice having a note of warmth that was also obvious by the sheer novelty of it. "But I suspect that your superiors would be irate with you should you arrive without me in tow."

"But imagine it," Harry urged, not quite sure why he was trying to talk Tom out of going, when part of his bad mood when coming back had been because he had been contemplating talking Tom in to agreeing to come without having to resort to ordering him. "All of those people, having to be a slave in front of them. It'll be worse than that dinner with Snape!" The glare that Tom shot him at mentioning the 'S' word was at the same time reassuring and upsetting. Reassuring in that this strangely pleasant Tom was not what Harry was used to; upsetting because Harry actually liked being able to have a conversation with his slave without it degenerating into negativity.

"Nothing could be worse than that dinner," Tom informed him icily. Then he thawed a little. "That said, I understand your concerns. You do not need to worry that I will embarrass you in front of your colleagues. I promise, I shall be on my best behaviour," he finished, a wry twist to his lips. Harry frowned at him in confusion.

"But…why? Why put yourself through that? I mean, I promise, if you say you don't want to go, I won't force you – Merlin knows I wish I didn't have to go. And I wouldn't, if it wasn't so important. But this won't benefit you." Tom shrugged.

"Some might say that the slave being of benefit to the master is, in fact, their raison d'être." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but you're not usually 'some'," he remarked wryly. "I want to know what you get out of this." Tom looked back at him and there was a hint of humour in his eyes.

"Fine, master. I'm a slave, I've come to recognise that." Harry couldn't help from adding an unspoken 'unless you find a way to escape, that is' in his thoughts. "As a slave, it behoves me to make sure my master is happy, if only because when you're unhappy, you tend to share it," he pointed out. Harry reflected on how things had worked between them so far and had to agree. "Having your superiors at work irritated with you for failing to create the image they so desperately want, would probably make you unhappy. Therefore, it is to my advantage in the long term that we go together, much as both of us would prefer to avoid it in the short term." Harry nodded slowly. It sounded plausible… He still eyed his slave, wondering if the man was employing the tactic of revealing a less important truth in order to hide another. He wouldn't put it past him.

"I see," he replied noncommittally.

"Then we will have to decide how I am to present myself, master," Tom told him, smoothly controlling the direction of the conversation. It was almost impressive, if Harry had been impressed by Slytherin tactics, that is. Still, he didn't press on the previous topic – if he ordered Tom to tell him the whole truth, it would probably destroy the small progress they seemed to be making, much as Harry was reluctant to hope again after having his hopes dashed not that long ago. Besides, Tom had already promised to behave in public more than once, and he was right – making a scene at the ball would do nothing but make Harry angry. He'd probably be forced to punish him in front of everyone as well, a fact he was sure hadn't escaped Tom's notice.

Sure, he might do that to try to evoke sympathy from the watchers, but if what he'd overheard from Hermione was true, expressing the slightest of sympathy for Death Eaters was enough to draw criticism, even for one of the heroes of the war. So really, Harry couldn't see how Tom could cause problems for him in this particular instance. Maybe there was some longer goal he had – he'd said it himself: short term pain, long term gain. Actually, thinking back on his actions over the last three months, most of them had been done with that in mind.

Ah well, he'd deal with it if it came up later. If he spent all his time thinking about what Tom was plotting, he'd be like he was with Malfoy in Sixth year, and frankly, that was something he'd rather not repeat.

"Alright. What about it?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Well, do you want me to be the well-trained slave dressed neatly but inconspicuously? Or do you want me to be the regularly-beaten slave who flinches whenever you speak to me and is practically dressed in rags?" Harry stared at him.

"Isn't this a bit out of character for you?" he asked hesitantly. "I thought you hated behaving like a slave in public." Tom shrugged.

"The only way I can see getting through this without doing or saying something…unwise, is to pull on a persona. The more different from reality, the easier it is to remember it's just an act."

"Huh," acknowledged Harry. He supposed that if anyone knew masks, it would be the man who had got through Hogwarts while pretending to be a model student. Hmm, that raised an interesting question – given how different the Tom he'd got to know was from the evil maniac he'd spent so long trying to battle, had Voldemort ever been just a persona? If so, perhaps it was one which had taken on too much life, eventually becoming reality… Directing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he asked Tom a question. "Why those two suggestions?" Tom met his eyes, his gaze thoughtful.

"Consider what the Ministry wishes to portray, master. How do you think my suggestions would fit in?" Harry glared half-heartedly at Tom.

"You're not trying to turn me into a Slytherin, are you?" Tom just smirked at him. Heaving a theatrical sigh, Harry gave some serious thought to the question. "Uh, well, I guess that the second is about punishment. Presenting you as badly treated makes it look like you're getting what you deserve."

"As you say, master. What are the benefits and drawbacks of this approach?" Harry considered it. This kind of seeing from others' perspectives was not something he was used to. But…thinking about it, it was about getting in the mind of other people. That would surely only help him with his Auror work – being able to understand the mind of a criminal enough to predict where they would next target was an important skill, he'd discovered in one of his classes. "I suppose…it's quite a brutal image. It might shock people."

"True," Tom commented. "What else?"

"Perhaps…perhaps it would give a message that I, and by association, the Ministry was unafraid to use force, that they – we – wouldn't let fair play or kindness get in the way of justice."

"Exactly. Now, what about the other approach?" Harry thought about it. This was kind of fun – he felt like he and Tom were conspiring together against the world.

"That one's not about punishment…perhaps it's about reformation – the other aim?" He looked at Tom, but the man just gestured for him to go on. "So, there you are, serving me as a 'perfect slave', me, the person who was the figurehead of the side that you fought against. And I guess…it's not about violence, so maybe it's about control?" Tom's expression was pretty neutral, but Harry could see the hint of warmth in his eyes. "By having you there, it says to the people watching that the Ministry's methods are effective and that, a few months after the war ended, they are in control." Tom nodded his head slowly.

"For someone not used to thinking through these kinds of things, that wasn't bad." His praise was grudging, and somewhat of a back-handed comment, but Harry still felt good about it. "The final question, then, is which would suit the aims of the Ministry best? Our goal, after all, is to make sure you are in your superiors' good books." Harry again thought about it.

"Much as I'd like to see you playing the role of a terrified slave," he started slowly, "I think the one with you as a competent slave would be both more believable and better for what Kingsley's trying to achieve. Plus, I'm tired of everyone just assuming I'm abusing you. If I play into that role, I'll never be rid of it." The last he said with a bit of asperity, still sore over it. Tom bowed his head briefly.

"Very well, master. Perhaps we could procure appropriate clothes for me at some point." Harry nodded.

"I suppose that would be a good idea. Alright, we'll go out on Saturday." A brief look of unease went over his face. "Let's hope nothing happens this time." There was a pause.

"Master, I do believe you've just…jinxed it," commented Tom dryly. They stared at each other.

"For both of our sakes, I hope you're wrong," Harry muttered finally. Tom shrugged elegantly. There was another brief moment of silence.

"Shall I go and prepare dinner, master?" Tom asked.

"Sure," said Harry, getting up. "I'll be in the sitting room." He left the room, his last view of Tom being the man bending forward to pick up his empty glass before rising to his feet fluidly. His bad mood was gone, replaced by a kind of tired contentedness. He wasn't sure if it was more from the physical exertion of the duel, having told Tom about the ball and getting his agreement to come, or the give and take they'd engaged in. It was a surprise, but Harry realised he'd actually enjoyed the conversation – it had felt like he and Tom were conspiring against all the people he'd have to encounter at the ball. And, much as he didn't want to raise his hopes once again for an amicable relationship, he couldn't help the contentment that hummed in his chest at the fact that they had been able to plan together without animosity.

At the kitchen table about half an hour later, Harry tasted the stir-fry that Tom had made and hummed in contentment. Tom's cooking had definitely improved.

"This is really good, Tom," Harry told him warmly. "You've been doing a really good job with the dinners lately," he praised. Tom dropped his eyes to the table and clenched his hand around his knife briefly, his expression stiffening.

"Thank you, master," he managed to choke out a moment later. Harry frowned, taking in his slave's actions closely. Surely the collar wasn't punishing him? What would it be punishing him for? Then he realised – it probably wasn't punishing him; it was rewarding him. No doubt it was reacting to Harry's approval to give him a dose of pleasure that he really didn't want.

"I'm sorry," he said, biting his lip. "I didn't realise it would-"

"It's fine," Tom cut him off. "Just…please… Don't be too…effusive," he finished. Harry just nodded, feeling crestfallen. He couldn't praise Tom, now?

And then a realisation hit Harry like a bludger – of course Tom wasn't starting to feel any sort of affection or warm-feeling towards Harry naturally. The collar was designed to make an obedient, eager-to-please pet. Despite Tom's resistance to its methods, clearly, it was still having an effect. Feeling like he was mourning the loss of something he hadn't even realised he'd wanted, Harry turned his eyes to his plate, his food now tasting like ashes in his mouth.

XXX

Tom sighed, leaning back in his chair. The collar's enchantment was one of the most complex he'd ever seen. But he was making headway. Bit by bit, hours spent on one line of calculations until he was certain that he understood how it worked and how it related to the lines connected to it. And he wasn't even close to halfway done. At this rate, he'd be looking at hopefully having the whole thing done by next April or May. Five or six months…

It was enough to make him scream.

The bloody collar had changed its methods. He'd been doing so well at avoiding punishment recently, that it had taken to rewarding him more often instead. Dinner last night had been a case in point. At his master's warm compliment, the Merlin-be-damned thing had decided that he should be sent a wave of pleasure that had almost made him moan out loud. Yes, he knew Harry hadn't done it intentionally, but it was just so frustrating!

He knew he should probably act out for a while, reset it back to punishment mode or something, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to doing it. Maybe it had been the more relaxed atmosphere between them, or maybe it had been the soft look on Harry's face every time he looked at Tom recently…but whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to say something nasty which would get him punished, or even do something which might upset Harry… He could say something to his master, but he suspected that Harry knowing would defeat the purpose of the exercise – misbehaving with his master's permission wasn't really misbehaving.

Maybe he could slack off on his chores, or something. But then if Harry found out, he'd probably give Tom some sort of disappointed look, and that would hurt more than the punishment. Tom wasn't interested in exploring why that might be the case, but accepted it as a fact.

Aargh!

Glaring a hole in the wall, Tom took a few deep breaths. Right now, frustration was worse than useless – it was counterproductive. He pushed it away – he'd deal with it later in the garden with the monstrous plants which were still ruling the roost. Actually, Tom wasn't trying very hard to defeat them – clearing the garden meant the end of his sanctioned wand time, so he'd secretly been mixing attack spells with ones that would make the plants grow. So far, he didn't think Harry had noticed.

But for now, back to work. He bent over his parchment again, squinting at the complex runes and numbers which made up the enchantment diagram.

XXX

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cast. Tom countered by simply stepping out of the way, his wand moving through the motions of another spell which was cast wordlessly. Harry deflected it with a wordless protego, but his eyes widened as he saw the characteristic red of the Cruciatus heading towards him – he was out of position and wouldn't be able to dodge in time. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, the two spells colliding in mid-air. There was an explosion that sent them both flying backwards.

"Ow," Harry heard Tom groaning from the cloud of dust which had formed over them all. Harry agreed, wincing as he pushed himself upright, coughing. Testing his limbs he nodded in satisfaction – a few bruises and cuts, but fortunately no broken bones that he could feel. With a few movements of his wand, the dust had started to clear revealing a dent in the floorboards, and a crack in the ceiling above.

"Oops," Harry said, his eyes wide. Looking over at his slave, he saw the man using spells to clear his clothes of the dust which was making him look like a rather funny coloured ghost. Taking a glance down at himself, Harry realised that he couldn't really say much considering he looked just as bad. He started using tergeo to siphon off the dust from his own garments. They both then moved on in unspoken agreement to fixing the room. "Did the duelling wards get damaged?" Harry asked Tom, reminding himself to get the man to teach him how to feel magic at some point.

Tom cast a couple of spells before shaking his head.

"No, they seem fine, master. They need recharging, though. That was a hell of an explosion. Why did you try and counter an Unforgiveable with a Second-year spell, exactly?" Harry shrugged.

"It worked before."

"It worked bef- when did it work before?" Harry grinned wryly at him.

"You mean the events of the graveyard are not as engraved – hah – on your memory as they are on mine?"

"The grave- oh. That time." Tom's mouth twisted with irritation at being reminded of it. Harry didn't blame him. He'd had a fair few nightmares of that moment himself, being haunted by Cedric's death and by his part in the resurrection of his mortal – or immortal, as it may be – enemy. Over time, however, he'd come to take some pride in it. Not in the deaths or the resurrection, but in his survival. Voldemort had engineered that whole situation, planning to use Harry in life for his blood, and then no doubt also in death as a blow of terror to herald his resurrection. He'd only achieved one of those aims, despite having all the advantages. So yeah, Harry took a bit of pride in having stymied his enemy once again and, as a result of his survival, giving the Order a year to prepare – Voldemort wouldn't have been concerned with the prophecy if the subject of it was dead, after all.

"Yeah, you know when you shot avada kedavra at me and I countered it with expelliarmus? That time." Tom looked thoughtful.

"Then why was there an explosion this time instead of it prompting Priori Incantatem?" Harry stared at him.

"Uh…how about because we don't have brother wands anymore?" Tom frowned.

"What?" he asked sharply. He winced. "Master," he added quickly. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm using a different wand…" He wiggled his wand out in front of him. Tom squinted at it.

"So you are. When did that happen, master?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. Harry just shook his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe you hadn't noticed! They're not even that similar in colour – my holly wand was a bit paler than this one and longer. I broke my wand on Christmas Eve in, oh, 1997, I think? Yeah, that sounds right. I used a few which didn't really work for me for a while, but when we rescued Ollivander from Malfoy Manor, he agreed to make me a new one." In the end, the man had chosen blackthorn for its reputation of being wielded by warrior, in the knowledge that its requirement of passing through hardship with its wielder was likely to be achieved, given the situation. For a core, apparently he hadn't had any phoenix feathers available, but he'd had a few threstral hairs which he'd thought would go well.

It had taken a while for Harry and the wand to get used to each other, but slowly, battle by battle, one desperate struggle for survival after another, they had built a relationship. Now, Harry had no complaints. In fact, he wondered if it was an even better fit – his holly wand had always had some spells it hadn't liked to do; not so with his blackthorn. He still kept the broken pieces of his first wand in his room, along with the shards of the communication mirror from Sirius, his invisibility cloak from his dad, his album of photos, and the snitch he'd received from Dumbledore – though he'd thought more than once of throwing that away after learning about the man's plan for him, he'd never actually done it.

Tom looked thoughtful.

"You know, I have a vague memory of the Malfoys telling me something about you using a different wand, but I think I was so angered by your escape that it didn't really register…" A thought struck Harry.

"If you didn't know I was using a different wand, why did you go back to your yew one? I thought you did that because you weren't worried about the Priori Incantatem effect." Tom shook his head.

"It wasn't that, master. In reality, the wand I had sought to replace mine with was supposed to be much more powerful, but it didn't live up to its reputation. After trying it for a while, I decided to return to the wand which had served me faithfully throughout my time." Harry nodded slowly, his mind racing.

"The Elder wand, wasn't it?" he asked, remembering the discussions he'd had with Ron and Hermione while they had been on the run. "Strange…maybe it was just a fairy tale, then." Tom shrugged.

"Or maybe I wasn't its master. The thought occurred to me not long before…before May, that while it was my order which had led to its previous master's death, I hadn't actually killed him. I was planning on killing Severus as soon as I saw him in the battle, but…"

"You didn't get a chance," Harry finished. Privately, he felt like they'd dodged a bullet with that one. The idea of Voldemort being even more powerful was not a pleasant one. He shivered. Eying Tom, he saw his fingers tapping unconsciously on that long, pale wand, and suddenly didn't feel like duelling anymore. Sticking out his hand, Harry felt the need to remind himself that Voldemort was gone; Tom was all that was left and he was in charge of Tom, so those terrible times couldn't happen again.

"I'm stopping duelling for today. Wand," was all he said. There was a flash of irritation in those blood-red orbs, but Tom complied, placing his wand gently into Harry's hand. Harry nodded. "Good. Now, I want this place spotless by the end of the day." The irritation turned into true annoyance, but Tom just bowed his head.

"Yes, master," he acknowledged, only traces of his anger able to be heard. Harry nodded again, sharply, then turned and went out of the room. Time to bury himself in his studies – from experience, he knew that was the only real way to distract himself from the memories that threatened to suck him under.

XXX

"Tom!" The call echoed up the steps to where he was polishing the bannisters. For some reason, ever since that duel, his master had been more pernickety about his actions, giving him more specific chores to do rather than just the general 'clean the house' one he'd been comfortably exploiting. Polishing the bannisters was definitely not something he would have chosen to do. Plus, it cut into his research time – Harry seemed to know rather too well what was and what wasn't possible to accomplish during a day. He was never given tasks which were not achievable, but they didn't leave him much time for anything else.

Still, the one good thing with them was that when Harry was more specific, it gave Tom more opportunity for disobeying him slightly without him noticing. He'd been pleased to note that little disobediences, like using a different polish on the bannisters, for example, was enough to reset the collar out of its damnable pleasure mode. Sure, he'd had to endure a fair bit more pain in the last couple of weeks than he'd prefer, but as a solution to avoiding too much of the pleasure, at the same time as not upsetting his master…it worked.

Walking down the steps quickly enough to not be tugged along by the collar like a dog, but slowly enough to not feel like he was rushing eagerly to meet his master's command, Tom reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Sanjay Patil and Lucy Briggs are coming in a moment. They're here to talk about the case." Ah, the lawyers. Tom wasn't quite sure what that had to do with him, but… "We'll need tea and biscuits in the sitting room." That explained it. His master hesitated for a moment, then continued. "You've been researching Wizarding law, haven't you?" Tom shrugged.

"Intermittently," he replied. What he actually meant was he'd read a few books on it in the week after finding out about it, and not since. Harry nodded.

"OK, good. I want you to stay for the discussion, then, and if you've got any pertinent question or point which you think should be said, I'd like you to contribute."

"As you wish, master," Tom said indifferently. He'd read about the matters out of interest more than any sort of thought that they might be useful. But if his master wanted him there, well of course he would be.

"Think of it as practice for how to behave at the Ministry ball next week," Harry told him cheerfully. Tom glared at him half-heartedly. He was unfortunately right – they had that whole event looming where Tom was going to have to play the perfect slave. Fortunately, the trip to Diagon Alley to get him a set of sober, neat robes had gone off without a hitch – just diving in and diving out of the clothes shop.

"As you say, master. Shall I prepare the tea and biscuits now?" he asked, deciding to start his act now. A quirk formed at the corner of his master's mouth as he nodded, taking in the slight shift in demeanour Tom had made and the more servile note in his voice. Mentally, he distanced himself from his body, the way he had always done at Hogwarts. He'd found it had been the only way of getting through each day without lashing out and hurting someone with his magic, especially in the first few weeks after returning from the orphanage.

Instead of the words and actions being registered by his real personality, they essentially bounced off his carefully-crafted persona. They couldn't really impact him, because they were aimed at a figment of his imagination. It had been lonely, but Tom had never known anything but loneliness. At least, he hadn't until coming here. Here, in his master's home with all his barriers stripped away, with someone who knew the worst of him, but was still willing to be kind to him; someone who was still willing to defend him, to stand up for him when he couldn't for himself.

Suddenly realising his teeth were clenched and his hand was so tight around the handle of the kettle that Tom was almost worried it would break despite being metal, he forcefully redirected his thoughts. Feeling vulnerable had never been something he'd liked, even just with himself. He'd been glad when creating his first horcrux had lifted a weight off his shoulders in terms of that – after he'd split his soul in half, his desire for introspection and to question his own actions had evaporated almost completely. Now, looking back, he realised that's where he'd gone horribly wrong, but sometimes he longed for the feeling of invulnerability, the self-assurance that he couldn't be wrong.

Taking a deep breath as he set the kettle on the stove to boil, he used the unfamiliar motions of preparing a tea tray to settle himself into his persona. He was a slave, a well-trained slave. He was unnoticeable until called upon by his master to serve, and then he would perform the action competently and efficiently before returning to his state of insignificance. He did not fear his master, but he respected him and would obey even the slightest indication of a desire.

Feeling himself having slipped into the unfamiliar skin of this new persona, he picked up the tray and walked towards the parlour. Entering, his eyes lowered, he gracefully knelt on one knee, placing the tray on the coffee table in between the arrangement of armchairs. The conversation around him paused.

"Master, the tea you ordered," Tom said smoothly, not a hint in his voice of the begrudging, irritated or grumpy tone that would usually accompany such a phrase.

"Mr Patil, Ms Briggs, tea?"

"Black, please," the male voice said.

"The same for me, please, but with a splash of milk," added the female voice. Tom prepared the two teas quickly, as ordered, handing them to his master, who then passed them to the appropriate people.

"My normal, Tom," Tom's master ordered. Tom did so, adding a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, handing it over with his head bowed. Not that Tom had prepared it before, but he'd seen him make his tea often enough in the morning to know. Of course, the impression they were giving was that this was a usual occurrence.

Done with the tea, Tom rose, moved to beside his master's chair and knelt once more, his head bowed so that his eyes were ostensibly on the floor – in actual fact they were using the shadow of his fringe to watch the events without being seen. Settling into position and being prepared to be still for as long as necessary, he had to be glad that, despite the general pretence of this whole situation, at least he'd had enough practice at kneeling recently to not find it too uncomfortable anymore.

"Is this the slave damaged by the incident?" asked the woman, her voice calculating.

"He is," replied Tom's master neutrally.

"St Mungo's did a good job at restoring him to full health, I see," she commented. "Now with him in front of me, I can see why you decided to choose that option – he's rather stunning, isn't he." It's just the persona, Tom told himself. The persona would not take offence: the persona cannot take offence, because to take offense is to embarrass the master.

"And, he saved my life," retorted Tom's master sharply. The man cleared his throat.

"I think we're getting off topic here. We've been approached by lawyers from S. – they have discussed the situation with their client and reviewed the evidence. The defendant, a Mr Jameson, has agreed to plead guilty if we offer a suggested sentence of five years imprisonment and payment of damages. Is this acceptable to you?" There was a silence, then Tom heard his master shifting next to him.

"Tom, what has your research told you about the general outcome of attempted murder cases that go to court?" Why was Harry asking him this? Tom surfaced out of his persona for a moment so he could think clearly. He had two experienced lawyers right in front of him that he could ask for ask for information… Ah, unless it wasn't information but an opinion that he was asking for. Certainly, the last time they had spoken about this subject, Harry's words had indicated that he thought Tom should be more angry about the situation than he really was…maybe he wanted to see if Tom was willing to go with the proposal?

"Master, my research has indicated that many attempted murder trials are a bit hit and miss. From what I've read, many things can sway the judge's decision and thus the sentence applied. Depending on many factors, including the subjective picture of the defendant and the public's opinion of you, master, the sentence if taken to trial could be anything between three and ten years. If I may add something, however: if it is made apparent that a plea bargain of five years was made and rejected, it might sway the judge into being more lenient to the defendant." There. Hopefully he'd managed to make his willingness to accept the suggestion plain to Harry without revealing the exchange of opinions to the lawyers. Tom sank back into his persona, hearing the shift as his master turned back to face his guests.

"Would you agree with my slave's summary?" he asked, a note of challenge sounding faintly in his voice.

"You had your slave researching criminal cases?" the woman asked, her voice surprised.

"He was one of the most brilliant students at Hogwarts in recent times." The shrug was clear in his voice, even if Tom couldn't see it. "I didn't see the point in wasting that brain completely when I could be putting it to work for me."

"True," the woman replied, sounding slightly impressed. "Well, he did a decent job: I would have said something similar. And his last comment was spot on – historically, judges do not look kindly on prosecutors who continue to push a case when a satisfactory plea bargain has been offered. No doubt S. knew that, which is why they didn't offer a minimum sentence."

"My colleague is correct," the man broke in. "Added to that is the uncertainty around how a judge may view both you and the defendant – you have the glamour of being the Man-who-Conquered, and your 'social currency' is still at a significant high, but there are also extenuating circumstances in the case of the defendant which creates some unpredictability as to the final sentence decided. In my professional opinion, it's a good deal." There was a pause.

"Say we accept the bargain…what would be the next step?"

"We, on your behalf, will set a court date. When it is established, we will submit your written statement. At that point, the lawyers of S. will put forward their guilty plea, agreeing with your written statement of events. We will subsequently recommend a five year Azkaban sentence and full repayment of all costs, submitting a copy of your St Mungo's bill and our legal fees. Unless the judge is keen to have more information or deems the recommended sentence inappropriate, he or she will agree with the proposed sentence and the defendant will appear briefly in court to receive the sentence in person. After that, you will receive an official owl from the court informing you of their decision, along with a bank draft for your damages extra to our fees. Those will be paid directly by the defendant."

"And if the judge requires more information?"

"Then you may need to testify in person, and we may have to call in other witnesses. I highly doubt that will be necessary, however. Generally, the court prefers the most time-efficient option, especially in this time where they're still scrambling to catch up with all the misdemeanours which were not solved by the enslavement of all main actors in the last war. Unfortunately, as you can probably imagine, the chaos of those events allowed a plethora of petty crime to thrive, despite it not being directly linked to Death Eater activity."

Huh, Tom hadn't actually thought about that – in toppling the previous Ministry and gutting the Auror's department, he hadn't realised that he was opening the doors for a whole load of other petty criminals. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised though – crime always did well in times of uncertainty and change.

A sudden thought arrested him for a moment – had he actually taken full control of the Ministry, had he actually killed his nemesis and disposed with the Resistance, would he have dealt with the crime which his actions had inadvertently caused? Would he have brought them to heel once the people they were preying on were, essentially, under his rule. He had a nasty feeling that, as insane and…psychopathic as he had become, he wouldn't have cared.

And wasn't that a realisation? After all, hadn't his original goal before splitting his soul been to become the Minister for Magic? Hadn't he sold an ideal of a new, better world to his followers, even once he had started down the pathway to madness? What would the world have been like if he had won? A crime-ridden society where everyone either feared or preyed on each other? A nation beset with the rot of madness which had infected its ruler? Shaken by his realisation of how bad his rule would have been for the Wizarding world, he pushed the thoughts away and returned to the conversation at hand and his persona.

"-good decision, Mr Potter," the woman said warmly. "We'll send the required paperwork for a court date as soon as possible, and send your acceptance to S. ." Apparently his master had agreed to the plea bargain. Probably the best choice, really. There was the sound of a briefcase being opened and parchment being withdrawn. "Could you just sign here...and here. Good, good. Now here again…initials here. There, you're done."

"Thank you for your advice," Tom's master said.

"Thank you for choosing us, Mr Potter," replied the man. "While, of course, we hope you do not have any other legal matters that will need to be attended to, we hope that should an event arise, you will consider our law firm again." Tom's master let out a short, humour-less laugh.

"Given it's me we're talking about, I probably will need legal help again. And yes, I would be happy to continue working with your firm. Assuming the settlement of this case as predicted, of course." There was a pause and then the sound of him shifting in his chair. "Do you know why this…Mr Jameson…attacked us?" Tom's master asked. Tom, interested in the answer too, briefly broke out of his persona to lift his head and watch the two lawyers. "Was he a supporter who was missed by Lady Magic's enslavement?" The two lawyers exchanged an uneasy glance.

"He wasn't a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Mr Potter," answered the woman. Some part of Tom was pleased that some people still feared his name so much that even having been publically defeated, they still wouldn't say it. Another part of him, the part that had only come into existence very recently, was discomforted.

"Then why did he attack us?" asked Harry, frowning. The lawyers exchanged another glance.

"Are you sure you want to know, Mr Potter?" asked the man gently.

"Of course," replied Tom's master, clearly confused. The man sighed.

"Mr Jameson's wife was killed in an accident two years ago, an accident that had its origins in Death Eater activities. His only daughter was killed only last April…She was at Hogwarts and had an altercation with the Carrows, from all accounts. I believe she was…not in a good state when they found her body. Mr Jameson apparently blames you for not ending the war sooner. Of course, his blame is misplaced, but he wasn't a supporter of terrorism; he was just a grieving father." There was a silence filled with unspoken words. Tom glanced up at Harry – he looked stricken.

The female lawyer stood and picked up her briefcase, looking slightly awkward.

"We'll see ourselves out, Mr Potter. Thank you again for choosing our firm to conduct your legal affairs."

"Of course," Harry replied woodenly, standing too to shake hands with both lawyers. "Thank you for visiting." Then they were gone and Tom's master slumped into his armchair with a sound that almost sounded like a sob, hiding his face in his hands. Tom hesitated. Should he just…go? Merlin knew he wouldn't want anyone seeing him if he was distressed like this. Then he reconsidered – much as they were alike in many ways, they really weren't in many others.

Hesitantly, he shuffled round on his knees so he was almost facing Harry. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the man's knee.

"Master?" he asked, surprised by the note of concern in his own voice. He wasn't actually worried for his master, was he? Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath before releasing it, just as explosively. He took his hands away from his face. Tom was actually surprised to see that his eyes were dry. Harry clearly noted it.

"You thought I was crying?" Tom shrugged. "I…I don't cry. I can't, I don't think, most of the time. Too much supressing tears when I was young – now I can't cry even when I want to." His voice sounded completely desolate. Tom was struck by the extremely strong – and extremely unexpected – desire to comfort him. Harry's voice sounding so…dead, was simply not right – it was always full of life, full of emotion, whether positive or negative.

"What distresses you, master?" he asked instead of addressing his own desire or Harry's words. Harry leaned back in the chair, staring into the ever-present fire.

"I…I could have ended the war a year earlier, maybe. I don't even know if it would have worked but...Dumbledore," and Tom had never heard the old fool's being spat with such venom, not from someone on his side, at least – it shocked him to hear the boy he believed had been mentored by the man using such a tone, "left breadcrumbs along a trail that was supposed to lead me towards some fantastic solution. And while I have my doubts about it, significant doubts…it also doesn't stop me feeling guilty at all the people who might have died needlessly, because of my choices." Then he looked back at Tom, the fire he had been looking at somehow having entered his eyes, or at least that was the impression Tom had with the way they almost glowed in a hostile glare.

"And then I question why I should feel guilty. It wasn't me who tortured, raped and murdered those people. It was you and your Death Eaters. Why should I take the burden of your guilt on my shoulders?" In that moment, the answer was simple.

"You shouldn't," Tom told him, his voice an antithesis to Harry's fire – it was instead as calm as a millpond.

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback. While Tom was glad to note that the anger had died down in his confusion, strangely enough, that hadn't actually been his motivation for speaking. Tom hesitated to identify why.

"You shouldn't bear the guilt, master. It isn't yours to carry. I targeted you as a baby, and victimised you as a child. You fought me as a teenager, defeating me as a young man. You have already borne a burden greater than most, and have succeeded despite it. Those people who would blame you for not ending the war sooner…where were they during the war? They have wands, do they not? This Mr Jameson had enough power to see through the notice-me-not and then cast a powerful Blasting Curse; where was he when his daughter was being terrorised? If all the parents had come together and stood against the Death Eaters I had put at the school, there would have been no contest."

"You know the answer," Harry told him quietly, his voice carrying a strange note. Tom hesitated to name it as 'wonder', but couldn't think of anything else it was similar to. Tom shrugged.

"Of course. Fear. I acted intentionally in ways to make them fear me, to cooperate in their own subjugation. Well, they should not then turn around and attack one of the few wizards who did not allow that to stop them fighting," he said fiercely. Harry looked at him for several long moments.

"Why does it sound like you actually approve of what I did?" Tom looked away, and didn't answer for a long few beats. The words had just poured out of him, crystallising emotions he hadn't even realised he had; bringing up conclusions he hadn't realised he'd attained. The fire cracked, the sound reminding him of Harry's nature – a flame that burnt bright and hot, but could gutter and die if its fuel was removed.

"Maybe I do," he said finally, quietly. Looking back up at Harry, he met that emerald gaze, so intent on his own. "I've had a lot of time to think, master. Cleaning is not the most…engaging of tasks, after all," he gave a forced chuckle. "And…I've had a lot of time to think about my actions and what might have happened if I'd got everything I wanted. It's…It's not a good picture." He stopped, unable to continue, colour rising in his cheeks. "But one thing I have always admired is bravery. Even when I just cut it down in its tracks a moment later, I always thought well of the wizards and witches who stood up for their beliefs. And people who just take their pain out on others…they're not brave.*" Harry didn't release his gaze for a good few seconds, those green, green eyes feeling like they were piercing him to his tattered soul. Then, as he leant back and looked at the fire again, Tom felt like he could breathe once more.

"No, they're not," Harry agreed finally. Tom joined him in gazing at the lick of the red-gold flames in the grate. In silence, they kept each other company, each with his own thoughts.

XXX

"Tom," started Harry. They were relaxing together, in their normal places: Harry at his desk on one side of the room, Tom on the carpet in front of the fireplace with a book. Tom looked up, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Master?"

"I'm…I'm going to the Weasleys for Christmas Day. You…I didn't think you'd want to go, but if you want to come, I'm sure they'd be…well, I'm sure they'd be OK with it?" His voice sounded full of the doubt that Tom felt at the assertion. Tom grimaced at the thought of spending the day with a gaggle of rambunctious red-heads, having to be polite while scenes of orchestrating their deaths played through his head every time they made an insensitive remark.

"No, thank you, master," he said firmly. "I'll be just fine here." Harry nodded, looking relieved.

"OK. Good. I mean, I'm glad you're OK with that." An amused look came on his face. "I have to say I couldn't really imagine you fitting in, even if none of them knew who you were."

"It's the stuff of nightmares," remarked Tom, unthinkingly. Then, with a sudden chill of horror, he whipped his head towards Harry, hoping insulting his friends wouldn't make him take offence. Harry just laughed when he saw Tom's expression.

"Don't worry about it," he said finally. "The Weasleys are wonderful, but even I have to admit they can be a bit much." Knowing he wasn't going to get punished now, Tom allowed his face to show an expression that showed exactly how much of an understatement he suspected that averment to be. Not that he'd ever personally encountered the Weasleys en masse, but they just had a certain…air. Silence fell for a few minutes before Harry broke it once more. Apparently whatever he was reading was not enough to keep his attention from wandering.

"I've been wondering this for a while. Why did you choose Nagini to be one of your horcruxes? I mean, she was alive, wasn't she? I don't know how long snakes live, but surely that's a bit of risk to take."

Tom put his book down and switched to leaning against one of the armchairs near the fireplace – he had a feeling this conversation was going to take longer than just a few exchanges, and lying on his stomach while craning his neck up to look at Harry simply wasn't comfortable.

His horcruxes. Even though he didn't have them anymore, it was still uncomfortable to have them just casually discussed. They had once been his most precious objects, the tethers that would hold him to life no matter what happened. Now…now they were reminders of the damage he'd done to himself from fear of dying before the world had learned his name.

And Nagini…now that was a whole different story. Sighing, Tom cast his memories back to the first time he had met Nagini, in the forests of Albania. She had been wandering, restless like him. Something about her had drawn his attention – she had been no ordinary snake; that was certain. Possessing a human intelligence, he rather thought that conversations with her had been the main thing that had brought him out of that world where time drifted past like mist, here one moment, gone the next.

"Nagini wasn't a snake, master, not really.**" Harry frowned at him.

"What do you mean?"

"She was a Maledictus." The frown deepened.

"A what?"

"A person with a blood-borne curse passed from mother to daughter, destined to eventually be forced into the body of a beast permanently." Harry stared at him.

"I did not know that." Tom smirked at him.

"That much was obvious, master." Harry lifted his hands as if to ward off something.

"Wait, backtrack a moment. Nagini was a human? Or, had been a human, at least?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that still a risk? I mean, she'd still have a limit on her lifespan, right? Whether it was a snake's lifespan or a human's." Tom shrugged.

"Technically, I believe she had a human lifespan; she was certainly as old as me – she never told me her exact age, so I'm not sure how old she was exactly. Nevertheless, by being a horcrux, she would be kept alive as long as I was." A wave of wistfulness flowed over him. "That was one reason I made her a horcrux to begin with. We…grew close, in our time in Albania." Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

"Voldemort actually appreciated someone other than himself? Wow – learn something every day, I guess." Tom glared at him half-heartedly – it wasn't exactly untrue after all. Hadn't he admitted to himself a couple of weeks ago that him being the ruler of the Wizarding world in Britain would have been disastrous for the society, simply because he wouldn't have cared? Harry drew his attention by startling suddenly.

"Wait, are you telling me that I would have been immortal?" Tom stared at him, his mind easily connecting the dots.

"Don't tell me you were a horcrux?!" he spluttered in sheer incredulity, then winced. "Master," he added. Harry gave him a wry grin.

"Yep, your seventh, unintentional horcrux."

"What…but how?!" Harry shrugged, and the smile vanished from his face.

"When you killed my parents. Dumbledore believed your soul was so fragmented by that point that you didn't realise what you'd done. He thought that was where I got the ability to speak Parseltongue from," he looked thoughtful. "In fact, I don't know whether I still have that or not." Tom frowned.

"But how did he plan for you to defeat me if you were my horcrux?" Harry sighed and didn't answer for a long moment.

"You know that conversation we had after the lawyers left a couple of weeks ago? The one where I said Dumbledore had had a plan?" Tom did. The words and the conclusions he had drawn that afternoon hadn't stopped rattling around his head since.

"Yes, master."

"Well, that was his plan. He thought that the best way to get rid of the horcrux was for me to walk up to you and get you to kill me." Tom stared at him.

"Was the old fool genuinely insane?" he asked in disbelief. That was…the worst possible idea he'd ever heard. Sure, the only way he knew of to destroy a horcrux also involved destroying its vessel, but he could think of two rituals off hand which might be able to move a soul piece from one vessel to another. He'd done some research before creating his third horcrux, in two minds about his primary tether being a diary, especially one linked to his former identity; in the end, he'd decided that the potential of the diary as a weapon outweighed its inappropriate symbolism as an object. Sure, the rituals were complicated and designed for objects, not people, but he would have thought the great Albus Dumbledore could have modified them sufficiently, with time. Though, he supposed that they were dark, and perhaps he hadn't known they'd existed. Still, a little bit of research would have gone a long way. Clearly, he hadn't looked too hard for another solution. Harry chuckled, the sound angry and humourless.

"Seems like it. He raised me like a pig for the slaughter. Even Snape was horrified when he heard the plan, and you know how much he hates me."

"When did you find out, master?"

"Near the end of 1998."

"But Dumbledore was dead. How could he tell you from beyond the grave? Unless," here Tom looked horrified. "Unless he's not dead…" Harry chuckled again and this time it sounded a bit less forced.

"No, he's dead. It was Snape who told us. He thought we were taking too long, you see. We'd thought of going to Hogwarts in May for your diadem, but had decided that it was too risky when you still had at least one other horcrux around – Nagini. Plus, we knew you'd discovered that they were being destroyed and we didn't know if you'd started creating them again. Then there was the whole mess of that autumn where we were desperately chasing down your trusted Death Eaters, hoping to find out for certain whether Nagini and the diadem were the only ones left. I think Snape caught wind of you doubting his loyalty or something, because that's when he defected for good and gave us the memories of his conversations with Dumbledore."

"Did you ever confront him? Severus, that is." Tom asked, intrigued despite himself. Frankly, he thought he was just in a state of shock. Finding out that the enemy he'd tried to kill for so many years had actually been one of the tethers holding him to life… Not to mention, of course, that Albus 'all life is precious' Dumbledore had been planning the death of his golden child for what must have been years. And then also finding out how close he had got to actually dying…Much as he hated to admit it, for the first time, he was glad that Harry had done the ritual – he might hate being a slave, but when compared to the alternative of being dead, it didn't seem so bad. Especially not as Harry's slave, a little voice in the back of his mind said quietly. He pushed it away, unwilling to explore that line of thought at all.

"No," Harry said simply, shrugging. "No point. I saw what I needed to in the memories – he'd disliked the idea, and argued with Dumbledore about it, but when push came to shove, he didn't find another way either. That's when we went looking for other options and found the Ritual of Justice. We were reluctant to use it because of its historically patchy results, but…" Harry shrugged. "We were desperate, so…. And you know the rest of that story." Tom nodded slowly, feeling overwhelmed with information. A thought occurred.

"There's an easy way to test if you're still a Parselmouth, master," Tom said. Harry looked at him questioningly. "If I speak Parseltongue to you, and you understand it, then you should probably still be capable of it." Harry considered it.

"It might be useful to know, I suppose," he said slowly.

"Can you under-?" Tom started asking in Parseltongue, but couldn't even finish his sentence when severe pain shot into him from the collar. When it faded, leaving him panting and twitching, he found he'd half-slumped sideways onto the floor. Ow. That had hurt – he hadn't had a punishment like that in…well, weeks.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Harry asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I'm fine." Tom dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand, pushing himself back to leaning against the chair. "Parseltongue is a magical language – it appears that speaking it violates my restrictions on using magic. Did you understand it?"

"Yes, I did," Harry told him, his voice still troubled but with a hint excitement. "Look, I don't see why you shouldn't be able to use Parseltongue – it's a language, what can you do with a language? So you're allowed to use it whenever." He paused for a moment, then added an addendum. "That is, you're allowed to use it whenever as long as it's not for the purpose of hurting or killing a sentient being etc. Or getting a parseltongue-speaking being to do the same. And as long as you're not being punished by not being allowed to speak. OK." Tom found a smile pulling at his lips.

"OK," he agreed. "Thank you, master," he added, feeling like it was deserved. Not that he'd be using it much, of course, though he did wonder what had happened to Nagini when his soul was reformed. He wondered if he'd ever find out.

XXX

It was Christmas Day, around eight am. Harry knocked on his slave's door. When there was no sound, he knocked again. Suddenly, he heard movement; the door opened a moment later.

"Master?" yawned Tom, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. He started to kneel, but Harry put out a hand, catching his elbow to stop him.

"It's OK, you don't need to kneel to me today. Or call me master. Just for today, though," he clarified quickly. Tom looked a lot more awake suddenly, his crimson eyes sharpening.

"Was there something you wanted?" the man prompted after a short pause.

"Yeah. I'm about to go to the Weasleys, but..." Harry trailed off, biting his lip. He was re-thinking this – was it actually a good idea? But it was Christmas, and Tom was going to be here on his own… He pulled Tom's wand out of his back pocket. "Here." Tom took it, frowning at him.

"Master?" he asked, a hopeful note in his voice. Harry's lips quirked in the corner into a half-smile.

"So, I thought…you can use your wand today, until midnight tonight. Same rules apply as before." Here, he injected more seriousness into his voice, wanting to make sure he was understood. "No performing magic which could harm a sentient being in any way, if you damage something, fix it, and since I'm not going to be around to keep an eye on you, no leaving the house or entering my bedroom." Smiling again now that the serious stuff was gone, he continued. "Merry Christmas, Tom." Nodding sharply, he turned and started down the stairs.

"Harry?" he heard and paused, half-turning back. Tom was still standing in the doorway of his room, a soft look on his face. "Thank you and…Merry Christmas." Harry felt his smile widen and his heart suddenly thump in his chest. Coughing, he thumped himself on the breastbone and nodded once more, turning back and headed towards the floo.

XXX

Tom looked down at the wand between his fingers, sure that an avaricious look was gleaming in his eyes. Casting tempus, just because he could, he grinned, his expression sharp. It was just past eight in the morning. Harry had said he had until midnight…that was a good sixteen hours.

Sixteen hours of magic, of freedom. Tom suddenly felt an up-swelling of warmth as he thought about how Harry had given him this gift so easily, despite everything he'd done. Despite everything he'd done with magic, he'd been given so few limits, really. Off the top of his head, Tom could think of at least five ways he could exploit the situation, but for some reason, he found he didn't want to. Harry had trusted him, leaving him here alone with permission to use magic. And, while Tom found it exceedingly strange…he didn't want to betray Harry's trust.

Maybe it was because he understood the sting of betrayal, the way it tore at his very being. Maybe he wouldn't have understood if he was still Voldemort – learning of Severus' treachery had just filled him with rage; it wasn't until he had been made whole again that his feelings of bitterness and betrayal had risen to choke him on the mention of the man's name. Whatever the reason…he felt Harry had been betrayed enough. Tom had felt almost…aggrieved on his master's behalf when he had explained about Dumbledore's perfidy in pretending to be a mentor while knowing that the pathway he was leading the boy down would ultimately end in his death…

Either way, Tom found himself avoiding the idea of doing anything that intentionally broke one of the rules, even if his method of doing so avoided punishment. He did, however, plan to work on his escape plan, even if there was that little voice in him that was starting to wonder if it was even worth his effort.

XXX

A few hours later, he had given up on his plan to work on the collar. Unfortunately, it seemed like he couldn't actually take advantage of his time with his wand – he simply wasn't far along enough in his understanding of its spellwork to produce an appropriate counter-enchantment. He'd tried, oh he'd tried, from his current understanding of the collar, but it had all been useless, some of it worse than useless – apparently the instruction to avoid harming anyone included himself, so when a couple of attempts had injured him, he'd earned punishments from the collar. He could only hope that he would be given access to his wand at a more opportune time when he would already have a counter-enchantment prepared.

So, the question had been what to do. Of course, he had wanted to use magic; that was for certain. It was always wonderful to feel his power move through his body, focusing through his wand and then producing what his mind had envisioned, no matter the actual task. In the end he had decided on something that would be a way to use magic effectively. How ironic was it, that on his 'day off', he had chosen to do chores that he had spent the last few months griping about?

Yes, he knew very well how most people would react to the knowledge that the Dark Lord Voldemort was using his free time to clean a house. But honestly? It was the most useful thing he could think of to do. He was able to enjoy the feeling of casting spells, while at the same time reducing his work load for at least a week. More, in fact, he thought gleefully as he left some enchantments in various areas that would automatically clean any dust or dirt that came into contact with it. He had left the areas they habitually used free of magic, though, since if Harry realised what he had done, he might dispel the enchantments to increase Tom's workload again.

No, cleaning charms and enchantments were not something he'd particularly studied before, except for the purpose of cleansing a ritual area. Tom had hated doing it, but he'd actually gone and researched some useful spells in the library before starting his self-appointed task.

Still, his mood was steadily improving, a smile lingering on his lips as he felt the magic flowing through his veins. Added to his triumphant anticipation of the amount of free time he would have over the next week, and his mood was practically jubilant. Not to mention, of course, the slight high that using a lot of magic always gave him. He almost felt drunk on it all; a very pleasant change to normal life.

XXX

Harry played with a piece of wrapping paper, one of many that had been strewn all over the sitting room after the present-opening frenzy. It had been the usual Weasley chaos, presents flying every which way, Molly scolding one son after another as they intermittently hid, snatched and threw presents to annoy their siblings. Harry had been happy with his gifts that year, though in a way the real gift was being able to share the day with friends, and had been glad that his own gifts had been well-received.

The sounds of the Weasleys clamoured around him: a playful argument going on between George, Bill, Charlie and Ron over who was the best chess player; Hermione debating something with Percy and Fleur, all animosities over their individual positions during the war put aside for the day; Molly humming along to Celestina Warbeck in the kitchen; Arthur exclaiming over something or other (probably muggle related) to Ginny, who was looking desperately for a way out of the conversation. But in the midst of the noise, Harry felt like a lonely island, because he wasn't actually there with them, not entirely. Part of him was still at home, wondering what Tom was doing, how he was feeling being alone on today of all days. Because here Harry was, with friends, and Tom had no one.

Getting up, he decided to quickly pop back home to see how the man was getting on. He'd have to be back shortly for lunch, but at least he could have a quick visit. He told himself it was so he could see whether his slave had demolished the house in his absence, but knew that wasn't the real reason. He quickly told Hermione what he was about to do, just so she could make sure no one worried. She looked at him searchingly, seeming to see more than Harry would have liked – an annoying habit of hers, to be fair – before nodding.

A quick floo trip and he was in the house. Using a Point Me spell, he quickly found Tom. To his surprise, he wasn't doing anything of what Harry might have expected him to be doing. Not that he'd really thought about it, but he would have imagined Tom would have been, he didn't know, trying to get out of the collar? Destroying things? Circling himself in rings of fire? Harry really hadn't thought this through. But honestly, cleaning would have been the last thing on his list. That was what he was doing, though. With magic, of course, a quirk to his lips of pleasure as with a single wave of his wand, half a day's worth of dust disappeared into nothingness. Harry couldn't help but watch for a few moments, enraptured by the way the expression softened the lines of Tom's face, making him look less beautiful, but more attractive – like a statue was beautiful, but a real person was attractive.

"Tom," he said finally, quietly. The man jumped, nonetheless, spinning around with his wand out.

"Master," he acknowledged, lowering his wand immediately. Harry half-smiled.

"You don't have to call me that today, remember?"

"Oh, yes," muttered Tom, looking away, his expression chagrined. Then he looked back, wariness in his eyes. "You're not here to…take my wand away, are you?" he asked, sounding like he was trying to prepare himself for the disappointment. Harry immediately shook his head.

"No, I said midnight tonight, and I mean it. No, I was just…I wanted to know how you were getting on, here on your own." Relief suffusing his red orbs, Tom half-smiled.

"I've been alone many times at Christmas, master – Harry. I appreciate the thought, but you need not worry." Harry looked down, shuffling his feet.

"I know," he admitted. "So have I. It's just…I remember what it felt like to have no one at Christmas. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone." When he looked back up, Tom's eyes were softer than Harry had ever seen them.

"You need not worry, Harry," Tom repeated quietly. "This year, I'm not alone." Then, as if he hadn't meant to say the last bit, colour rose on his cheeks and he half-turned away.

"Hey," said Harry softly, his heart hurting as he thought about all the Christmases both of them had missed. He walked towards his companion, reached out, and hesitantly, wrapped his arms around the taller man's torso, his head only just reaching above Tom's shoulders.

Tom was as stiff as a board for what seemed like ages. Harry was about to let go when he started relaxing a bit, his arms encircling Harry like he was made of glass, touching rather than holding. They stood there for a few seconds before breaking apart, both of them bright red and avoiding each other's gaze. Harry cleared his throat.

"Right. Um, I'm going back to the Weasleys, then. I'll try to save you some of the lunch for later. OK, uh, bye." So saying, he took off out of the room like a cat with his tail on fire. Had he looked back, he might have seen Tom standing there, a slightly wistful expression on his face.

XXX

Hours later, Harry returned to the house pleasantly tipsy, full and happy from a whole day spent with his friends. Going to the kitchen to drop off the bowls Molly had given him after he'd asked for leftovers, he found three items on the kitchen table. Tom's wand, first of all. Harry was glad he wouldn't have to chase the man down for it. That would not have been a good end to the day. Then, there was a note sitting on a box. He looked at the note first.

Dear Master,

Dear Harry,

Master,

Harry,

Merry Christmas.

TmR

A smile coming onto Harry's face, he opened the box. The smile slipped off his face a bit as he took in the item inside. What…? What did Tom think he'd do with a knife? It was beautiful, though. Vaguely familiar, Harry had a feeling it might have been one of the items they'd found in a drawer while cleaning the disused rooms – Harry had said to get rid of it, but Tom had clearly got rid of it by…transfiguring it into something that was still similar, but completely different at the same time. Harry lifted it out carefully, feeling the weight of its handle and its perfect balance in his hand. There was another note inside, tucked underneath.

You never know when you'll be without a wand

Huh. Was this as a result of their conversation about how Harry's wand got broken? That was…strangely sweet. And so Tom. Who else would give him a weapon to maim people on Christmas Day? The smile back on his face, he inspected the knife more carefully. The jewelled handle that had used to be in place had been transfigured into a much more serviceable metal one without jewels, but instead with engraved swirls and patterns that were deep enough grooves to provide friction even in the event it was covered with…fluids.

About to draw it out of its sheath, he paused. He remembered Sirius saying, when they had been here all those years ago, that many of the items in the house were cursed. Sure, Harry's command to Tom had forbidden him using any magic which had the potential to harm someone, but that didn't mean he couldn't leave magic in place that was harmful. Suddenly wary, he put it back in the box and started casting all the detection spells he knew.

A few minutes later, he felt slightly ashamed of himself – the knife was completely clean from what he could tell. The only thing that had been of note had been an 'ever-sharp' charm on the blade and a 'no-accident release' enchantment on the sheath. Taking the knife out again, he pulled off the decorated sheath.

The five-inch blade gleamed and glittered at him, its clearly razor-sharp edge glinting in the light as he turned it from side to side. Holding up the note that had been in the box, he tested its edge. The knife passed through the material as if it wasn't there, not snagging for even a moment.

Harry put the knife back into the box, his lips unable to shift from their curved position. He really hadn't expected Tom to give him something, but something inside him felt very warm that he had.

XXX

Warnings for the chapter: casual mentions about the social expectations that slaves are sexually assaulted; clinical description of a wound; general nastiness about the treatment of slaves in this messed-up society.

*Oh Tom, you poor little lamb – you don't realise how much of a hypocrite you are…

**This whole story is entirely canon. I kid you not. All except for how Voldemort and Nagini met, that is. I went on the wiki to find out what species of snake Nagini was, only to find…this.

Horcruxes – my theory of what they did to Tom in this fic. Here's the definition of Psychopathy on Wikipedia: Psychopathy is traditionally a personality disorder characterized by persistent antisocial behavior, impaired empathy and remorse, and bold, disinhibited, and egotistical traits. Voldemort all over, right? But what about Tom Riddle? Charismatic, intelligent and a model student is what he's described as, by everyone except for Dumbledore, at least. Not quite the same, I don't think.

Personally, I could go both ways – first, that Tom Riddle was psychopathic/sociopathic from an early age, whether that was as a result of being conceived with Amorentia, or because of his childhood in the orphanage, or a mixture of both; the view we see of Tom is a carefully constructed mask which only Dumbledore sees through. Second, that Tom Riddle was a disturbed child, but not an unredeemable one, if he had been shown the right kind of care and given boundaries by someone who actually wanted the best for him. In this one, the 'model' student is still a mask, but less so.

In the second case, which is the one I'm using for this fic, Tom Riddle does become psychopathic, but it's a result of splitting his soul in half and placing it in the diary. After all, the diary is the first horcrux, perhaps from an accidental death, whereas the deaths of his father and grandparents for the ring are, by that point, very much intentional actions.

Subsequent horcruxes had less effect overall, because they were smaller parts, but bit by bit, they eroded his ability to think rationally, to plan properly and to care about anything other than himself. The exception being Nagini because of the reasons mentioned in this chapter and also because she was herself a horcrux, therefore part of him.

Characterisation – OK, I'm a little nervous about what all of you are going to think about my development of their characterisation in this part, because it has moved on a lot since the first chapter, though more for Tom than for Harry. Here's a little summary of my thoughts on the matter, if you're interested.

Harry – he hasn't changed as much – his initial problem with having Tom around was that he saw him as an enemy. Then, he started seeing him as an enemy who was different from Voldemort, but who he found physically attractive. Now, after Tom's actions, he's subconsciously changing that label from 'enemy' to 'companion'. He's not there yet, but that's where it's going. So he's a confused little sausage because every so often he is reminded that Tom used to be Voldemort, and the actions he took as the Dark Lord aren't suddenly annulled because he's not that person anymore. But at the same time, he's seeing clear evidence that Tom really isn't Voldemort, and he wants to create an amicable relationship, for his own peaceful existence, if for no other reason. I see him as a character who would rather not rock the boat if he can avoid it – we see it repeatably that Harry is only antagonistic to people who were antagonistic to him first (which, incidentally, is why he's not provoking Tom as much – Tom is being less antagonistic, so Harry doesn't feel the same need to push at him).

Tom – he's changed a lot. Thanks to having his horcruxes forcefully re-combined with his main soul piece (and yes, I'm including the destroyed ones, as I figure that destroying the horcrux just leaves the soul pieces floating around in 'limbo' rather than being consumed or something), he's able to be introspective and self-analytical in a way that he hasn't really done since he was sixteen. That, added to the fact that he's had a lot of time to think, and a number of reality checks which have made him conclude that many of his actions were not…the best, means that he's got a significantly different perspective by this point than in part 1. Also, it can't be forgotten that he has basically not spoken to anyone but Harry since August. Not for any significant conversation, at least. Add into that the recognition that he is essentially undergoing Pavlov's experiment – when he acts in accordance with his master's will, he's rewarded; when he acts against it, he's punished – and the fact that he is coming to see Harry in a different light should be understandable.

Those are my thoughts, at least. Our boys still have a long way to go, and I promise you, it's not going to be fluffy for long, so enjoy it while you can… :O