In the last chapter: After Harry's birthday, he finally tells his parents about his immortality, but not about Tom. Harry has a curious encounter with a crow. Tom finally invites Harry over to talk. Harry tells Tom everything, including that Harry is Tom's last horcrux, so he's also still technically immortal. Harry and Tom play doctor, things get tense in the best of ways. Tom invites Harry back the next evening.


Harry pursed his lips at his reflection and picked a bit of near-invisible lint off his sleeve before deeming his appearance appropriate for the meeting he was about to have. It was only a few minutes to noon, but Harry knew that was all he needed to apparate to Little Hangleton and find his way through Riddle Manor to have his second meeting with Tom. Actually, Harry had been in the process of getting ready all morning, but had purposefully kept himself as busy as possible with making sure every little detail was perfect, in order to prevent himself from arriving much too early and putting himself in an awkward position.

Only a day had passed since their first meeting, but Harry was almost just as eager to go back and continue to 'get a feel' for what Tom was thinking. In all honesty, their first meeting had gone far better than he'd expected. He thought Tom would hang on more desperately to what he knew in order to ground himself, that Harry would have to pry his beliefs and thinking models from his stubborn grasp but the Tom he'd met yesterday seemed reluctant towards his past-self. Harry really hoped that was the case. He dared to hope that he wouldn't have to destroy what he'd spent so long trying to mend. To him, it felt like he'd spent months tending to a sick, broken bird, waiting so desperately to one day see it fly. . . Only to have to snap its delicate neck because it pecked at him. Harry swallowed hard around the stone in his throat at that thought and straightened his robes as he looked to the clock.

With it being time for him to leave, Harry stepped away from his mirror and was about to apparate when there came a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Sirius slipped into his room, expression solemn.

"Harry, can we talk a bit?" He asked. Harry hesitated at the sudden request from his parent. For, he could sense that this conversation wouldn't be a short one and Harry would surely be late to his meeting. But Sirius had been oddly quiet over the last few days and Harry could recognize that the conversation was going to be important. He nodded and gestured toward two armchairs he had in his room that faced each other. They took a seat and Harry allowed his mind to go blank of any other duty he had that wasn't listening to Sirius, as he didn't want to give the other man even an inkling of his drifting attention.

"You and I haven't really talked since . . . since you told us about your abilities. Now, I've done a lot of thinking over that time and I want you to know my thoughts on the matter. I know I haven't been a parent for very long in the grand scheme of things—most parents get quite a few years of childhood before they have to be ready to deal with more important things—so I know I'm not the best at knowing what I'm supposed to do. Especially with you, Harry. From the moment I met you again, it was clear you've been doing things on your own, your way, for quite some time and I had no idea how I was supposed to support you, to give you what you needed.

"Over time, though, I realized that you are still a kid and even though you can take care of yourself for the most part, that doesn't mean you should have to. There'll be times when you know you can do something on your own, but you know it would be easier and less burdensome to have someone do it for you, or at least be with you to have your back. . .

"I realized that that's what you coming to us was. You've been handling it on your own for years without a problem, and you could probably continue to do it for years to come, but you allowed us in and now you're not alone." Sirius' dark eyes were earnest as he held Harry's gaze, even if his expression was tinted with an inner pain.

"I'll be honest, hearing what you had to do and what you'd been through . . . it was hard. And although I'm sure I can't understand all of it fully, although this thing with Death and his 'gift' are confusing and thoroughly terrifying, although I know that this isn't everything and there are things you're still holding close to breast right now, I need you to know something. Even though it wasn't easy to hear, you need to know that I will have your back. I need to make sure you understand that no matter what you tell me, or what you do, I love you Harry.

"I didn't understand what it meant 'unconditional love' before I became a parent, because even my own parents had never held such feelings for me. I'd grown up believing that all love was conditional, some love was just stronger than others and could withstand a lot more. Like with your father, James, I knew that I cared about him enough to do most things—would even kill or die for him. But even then, that love wasn't entirely without limits. But with you, Harry . . . I understand it. . .

"You are my child and I know my love for you is absolutely unconditional. I didn't know what that meant before, but I do now. Not only would I do anything for you, I would do the impossible, because you're my son and that is a magic all its own. So, I don't want you to ever worry that something you say or do will ever change that." Sirius quirked a small, genuine smile that somehow seemed so much brighter than any of the joyous, blinding grins he always donned. "Being a parent means that, in my own way, I'm a bit invincible too. So, don't ever be afraid to lean on me or even hide behind me, because there are more ways to get hurt than just physically, and you may have a guaranteed way back to the land of the living, but that doesn't mean you should always have to put it to use."

When Sirius finished speaking, Harry didn't say anything, but Sirius seemed to already know what he wanted because he stood up opened his arms to his son. Harry jumped up and was in the other man's arms in a flash. He had grown quite a bit in the last year and was only a few inches shorter than Sirius, so he had to duck his head a bit to bury his face in Sirius' shoulder, lip clamped between his teeth while he took in his adoptive father's warmth and scent of firewood and the shortbread cookies Remus had made. He felt just as much as heard the deep chuckle resonating through the chest close to his cheek. Sirius stroked his back with one hand like he was a child, while the other soothed over his onyx curls. Harry didn't mind the gestures, they made him feel safe and comforted.

After a moment, Harry withdrew from the embrace and offered his adoptive father a thankful smile. Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder and kept it there as he spoke.

"Now, I don't want to ruin it if and when Remus comes to talk to you later on, but I promise he feels much of the same. We were going to sit down together to talk with you, but I think it's better to have a little one-on-one talk in private in case you have anything specific you want to tell either of us and also because I knew I had a lot to say just from me." And after Harry nodded his head in understanding and gratefulness at being able to hear from Sirius alone to be sure that this wasn't just something Remus had prodded him into doing, Sirius' face brightened, and he clapped Harry's shoulder once more before dropping his hand.

"Now, I'll let you get back to what you were doing while I go and nick a few more of those cookies." He winked with a mischievous smirk and left Harry to himself.

At the reminder of what he'd been up to before Sirius had knocked, Harry cursed when he checked the time and found he was already ten minutes late. Harry disapparated with a small pop and reappeared at the edge of the Riddle property like the day before. Once again, he was led through the manor by a house elf, though this time he was of half the mind to actually pay attention to where he was going to try to regain his bearings a little. Also, if he continued to come back, he would be able to make the trip on his own.

However, instead of being brought to the same near-empty room as he had been in before, Harry was brought to a more nondescript door in a hall far away from the central area of the manor. He rapped his knuckles on the door twice to politely announce his presence before entering. The first thing that he noticed was that the room was significantly smaller and more intimate than the other he'd seen. A mix of rich stained wood floors and furnishings with cream colored walls peeking through the various book shelves, mirrors, and paintings. With the desk and leather chair on the far end of the room and comfortable looking armchairs at its center, the room appeared to be a personal office. Harry's curiosity was interrupted when Tom stood from the chair behind the desk and moved to sit in one of the armchairs. His posture and movements relaxed, inviting.

"Apologies, I was a bit held up by a personal issue. I hope you didn't wait long." Harry said calmly as he took the other seat. The room was a comfortable temperature, despite the summer heat outside, and the chair he sat in was upholstered with clean, soft fabric the same dark blue shade as his favorite robes. His fingertips trailed idly along a tight seam at the end of one of the arms and he wondered if any of the armchairs at Grimmauld Place were that comfortable. When he looked up, he found himself the subject of Tom's rapt attention and warm honey pooled in his lungs, slowing the air's path back out with sweet vapors that made his tongue taste saccharine and his mouth water.

Harry returned all of the attention he got. Eyes trailing down the gentle wave of his dark hair, skating over his smooth cheek and along the line of his jaw in much the same way his fingers had explored the texture of the fabric beneath his hands. He wondered which would feel softer and his breath caught a little in his throat as his heart began to race. His thoughts had strayed. He should not be having such thoughts. These were not things to let one's mind linger on in polite company, not when they needed to have their wits about them for conversation.

"Not at all." Tom finally replied, but the moment refused to dissipate, and Harry swallowed to try to rid his mouth of this strange and alluring taste. His mind continued to work and string along conversation from his frazzled thoughts even while his body seemed thoroughly distracted.

"How are you feeling? Not just physically, but about everything we talked about yesterday." Harry asked, knowing that he'd shared far more with Tom than he had with those he considered closest to him. Tom looked down in thought, a moment of reflection before he spoke. Harry took the moment to collect himself.

"It was . . . a lot to take in at once. So many things have changed, shifted around and beneath me and it's hard to determine where I stand. Though, I'm grateful you were honest with me and it really seems that you have helped me in a big way. Thank you, Harry, it couldn't have been easy. About . . ." Tom hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "About what I've done, to you and your family, I am sorry. I've come to deeply regret many of the things I've done—most of the things I've done—but especially what I've taken from you."

Harry listened patiently, feeling like maybe these words were more important for Tom to say aloud than they were for him to hear. After a moment when Tom met his gaze again, Harry offered a small, kind smile and spoke.

"Thank you for that, but I've had many years to think about my life and what could have been done differently to change certain events or prevent some aches. If I had grown up with my parents, I suppose my life would be very different than it is now, but that is not something that burdens me. I may have lost one family, but I have found another," Harry's mind drifted to the interaction he'd had just prior to arriving, "And I can't imagine any parents caring more for me than they do. It is unfortunate that I won't get to know my birth parents in this lifetime, but if there is anything I've learned over the years, it is that death is not so unforgiving nor so permanent as people tend to think. I know that one day, when I decide that I have done all that I could in this world and wish to move on, that I will find all the closure I need in the next world." Harry assured, wistfully imagining the beautiful afterlife he'd seen again and again and what it would be like when he finally went there, and it was not just an empty space, like an antechamber, and he could reunite with those connected to him.

"Then you don't plan to be immortal forever." Tom took the offered subject change in stride, feeling the strange, heavy weight of his apology. It was said as a statement, but Harry could hear the inquiry between the words. He huffed a gentle laugh.

"Certainly not. To live forever would be awfully lonely existence. How long could one endure? To pull people in, love them, and then have to eventually see them off into the next world? I still have much to do here, so I won't be leaving any time soon, but . . . eventually. . . Immortality is not a gift fit for us humans, if we lived forever, we would eventually stagnate the world and humanity would devour itself. If we never passed on, how could we become the soil for our children to flourish? Just existing would be awfully heavy responsibility." Harry shared, it wasn't often he thought about things such as that. He liked that he could discuss it with Tom. He felt . . . comfortable, in a way he usually didn't around others.

Tom seemed to chew on his words as he sat back in his chair. After a moment, Tom called for one of the house elves—one Harry knew quite well, as he'd pestered the poor creature to near insanity to tell him what it was feeding Tom weeks prior—Harry coughed uncomfortably and turned his head away from the elf as a few prickles of heat buzzed in his cheeks. Tom didn't notice, as he was busy requesting tea and a light snack for them from the elf.

For the rest of the afternoon—edging on the first signs of the approaching evening—Harry and Tom talked about anything that came to mind, no silence was too long, nor topic untouchable. There were times when Harry hid behind his hands as laughter came unbidden and free, or Tom's low timber bounced with unexpected mirth of his own. Occasionally the threads of conversation would lead into something heavier, but nothing so weighted that it kept either of them from continuing onto lighter and less consequential things.

It wasn't until the natural light in the room had dimmed too much for either of them to see very well and Tom stood to turn on the lights that they both reluctantly agreed that perhaps it was time for Harry to depart for the evening and return home in time for supper. However, just like the meeting before, that wasn't until a promise for another visit was made and both wizards were practically glowing from the encounter. Harry made his way out of Riddle Manor, heart pounding in his chest, mind buzzing, and a slight twinge in his face as his lips tugged into a small, secret smile to remind him that the not often used muscles had been exerted during his visit.

Before he apparated, Harry turned back to look upon the manor, a playful breeze tugging at his robes and raven curls. He spotted the form of Tom in one of the windows, watching him and bit down on his bottom lip before he began to smile like a fool again. Harry turned and popped away.

As Harry quickly made his way through the house towards his room, he heard Remus' shout from down in the kitchen telling him dinner would be ready in ten minutes and to wash up before he came down. Once he reached his room and closed a door between himself and the outside world, Harry sighed and moved over to his bed to fall back over the covers, robes and shoes still on, but he paid it no mind.

Every inch of skin felt alive and humming with magic and excitement. It felt like at any moment light would come cracking through his skin, the thriving verdant vines and leaves come flourishing out from between his ribs and turn his body and the entire room—the entire house—into a garden. His breath huffed out of him like a puff of laughter and he could practically see it curling in the air like it was the dead of winter. He felt like he had swallowed a tiny sun and now it was hovering in his center, just behind his navel, where it would stay permanently. He felt . . . warm. . .

From just beyond the veil, Death watched his innocent little necromancer with a profound fondness and amusement. Death had not quite had this in mind when he proposed the quest of saving Tom to young Harry, but . . . he knew that this was much better. He just wondered how long it would take those two to see what he could. Death sighed, wondering if his robes would turn grey waiting for them to realize.