"I want Healer Robes," Harry declares the moment he storms into Tom's office.

"Okay," Tom says without looking up from his work.

"Wh – you're not supposed to agree!" Harry complains. Pulling a scroll of parchment out of his robes he stalks towards Tom's desk. "I have arguments!"

Tom looks up from his notes and grins. "Really?" he asks, laughter vibrant in his voice. "You have arguments to get a new pair of robes?"

"Well – " Harry cuts himself off with a dark murmur. "Agh, fine. Don't disagree, then. I still want the robes."

"Of course," Tom replies, tucking away a parchment and reaching for a new one. "I'll order a pair for you. They'll be here before school."

Nodding, Harry pockets the roll of arguments (who consists mostly of some variation of 'I'm Harry Potter' and 'I do what I want') and sits down in one of the chairs opposite of Tom. "Good," he says. "Now over to the other thing I wanted to talk about."

Tom looks up from his notes again, this time with a frown. "What is it?" he asks, straightening up and putting down his quill. Well, it's nice to see he can take some things seriously.

Harry staples his fingers together and tilts his head to give Tom a hard look over the brim of his glasses. "The full five weeks I have spent at Malfoy Manor," he begins, "as your right-hand, as your bonded, as your partner – I have not once discussed with you your plans for the Wizarding World." This has been bothering him a lot, especially the last week, after he regained the memories of his past life. If they are to be equal in this – or as equal as Tom ever gets – then Harry has to know the details.

"Oh," Tom says, his shoulders slouching slightly in relief. "Oh, well. My plans for the Wizarding World are, simple as they might sound, to secure us from the muggles and have the Ministry on my side as I do it."

"I get that," Harry nods, "but how do we get there?"

Tom pushes aside his notes and lean onto the desk, a thoughtful frown on his brow. "There are three major players in this," he begins slowly. "You, me, and my Death Eaters. You, as in the Boy-Who-Lived. Me, as in Voldemort the murderous mad-man; and my Death Eaters, as in the ones with political power." Harry nods to show he's following. "Your job will be to first befriend the Minister and show him you're on his side. Later we will have someone posing as your squib friend – they will 'show you that the world is dangerous for them', and you will 'draw your own conclusions' from that. You will then tell the Minister about your concerns. Sort of soften him to the idea that muggles truly are dangerous. He will panic and worry about losing your support if he doesn't do anything about it, and therefore be far more open to the idea." He pauses, and at another nod from Harry, he takes a deep breath before continuing. "Meanwhile, Death Eaters like Lucius will be talking to him from their side, discussing how dangerous muggles are, the war between muggles, and generally, instead of looking at them like dirt, look at them like armed dirt." Harry snorts, and Tom shoots him a quick grin. "I, on the other hand, will be creating havoc, have raids, attacks, and so on. This is both to throw Dumbledore off our trail, and also to keep my… wilder Death Eaters in check. Do you understand?"

"Fully," Harry says, giving one hard nod. "Befriend Minister, have squib friend, meanwhile politics, armed dirt, attacking muggles." He raises an eyebrow. "That it?"

"More or less," Tom nods. "Glad to see you take initiative, Harry. Any news on the bond front?"

"None," Harry says, shaking his head. "Wormtail's working slower than ever, it seems. At this rate we'd find more if we set Bella to do it."

Tom snorts; it's wide-spread knowledge that Bellatrix has forgotten how to read during her stay in Azkaban. "Oh, well," he sighs. "I suppose we'll find out about it sometime." He frowns, taps out a quick rhythm on his desk, and lights up. "About that. I actually had some matters I wished to address."

"By all means," Harry says, making a sideways cutting motion with his hand, "go ahead."

"Hogwarts," Tom says, tone serious as he leans forward again. "First of, I'll need to remove your disguise before term starts – for obvious reasons. I'll teach you how to cast it yourself later. Now, over to the important – I want you to make 'friends' in all of the houses."

"Why?"

"To make a show of your niceness, of course," Tom replies promptly. "It's considered naïve to have friends from all the houses, especially if that group of friends cannot co-exist peacefully by each other."

Harry frowns. "That's stupid," he offers flatly.

Tom shrugs. "I don't make the rules."

Shaking his head, Harry puts it aside. Yet another thing to be discussed later. "I already have friends in Ravenclaw," he muses. "Luna Lovegood. But I'm not on speaking terms with anyone in Hufflepuff – and certainly not Slytherin."

"Unless you can't exist peacefully with her, may I suggest Susan Bones?" Tom says.

"Bones?" Harry repeats, raising both eyebrows. "Why her?"

"Her aunt is on the Wizengamot, and if Severus and Lucius are to be trusted, Susan aspires to be a major political influence, as well," Tom explains. "Besides, she is a Light witch, firmly planted on Dumbledore's side."

Harry nods slowly. "It will do my reputation good and increase my reliability?" he guesses.

"Very good, Harry," Tom hisses. He's taken to praising Harry in parseltongue. The effect it has on Harry…

He preens, straightening a bit in his chair with a small smile. Then the smile slides right off again. "And what about Slytherin? That's sure to dirty my reputation again – no offence – and besides, no one in Slytherin will trust me."

Tom taps his chin and frowns. "I wonder…" he mutters.

Suddenly an idea hits Harry upside the head. "Wait!" he exclaims. "I need a contact within Hogwarts anyway; what if we tell Snape that "James" will be acting as a spy at school, while we reveal my identity to Malfoy? Will that work?"

Tom tilts his head to the side and stares silently at the roof for two brief moments. "Yes," he finally says. "Yes, I think it will. Draco will have to swear an oath, but…" He nods. "Yes, that will work. Good thinking, Harry."

Harry smiles. "Okay, but – I have more to talk about, actually."

Tom stares at him for a moment before sighing. "Alright. What is it."

"Er," Harry says, the bravery and confidence of Harrison fading from his mind for a moment. "Well, uh… the bond requires physical intimacy, yeah?" At Tom's hesitant nod he warms up a bit. "I won't be able to have that while at Hogwarts."

"Ah." Tom taps his chin again. "Portkey, then. And a two-way mirror."

Harry blinks. "That was fast."

"I know my ways."

The corners of his mouth twitching in a smile, Harry shakes his head fondly. "Can you arrange that, then? I have no idea where to get either."

Tom nods absentmindedly as he reaches for a blank parchment and scribbles it down. After a short moment he hesitates, before shooting a quick look at one of his quills and nodding to himself.

"Tom?" Harry asks hesitantly.

Tom holds up a hand to shush him and reaches for a crow-feathered quill, the dark feathers shimmering in the shade of a quiet midnight sky. He mutters a few words, flicks his wand at the quill, hisses something, and then places the quill on the desk. "There," he says. "Portkey, going from right outside Hogwarts to this very room."

Harry stills.

He's – did he just – so –

Not only is the quill expensive-looking, the tip a beautiful silver with a small snake slithering up the side, but – but –

in his chest swells an unidentified emotion, threatening to crawl up through his throat and spill from his lips in a choked sob –

"Oh," Harry says. He reaches out, hand trembling, and closes his fingers around the portkey. "Thank you."

"The activation word is safety," Tom says, slipping into parseltongue for the last word. He shoots Harry a stern look. "Don't lose it."

"I won't," Harry assures him. "Promise." He smiles.

Harry's Healer Robes arrive three days later – a pale, silk-and-cotton shirt with wide sleeves accompanied by a dark belt with several pouches tied to it, as well as a pair of tight, pale, cotton pants and tall, dark boots. The cape that follows is also of silk – although Tom, being considerate and possibly kind, has also bought the same pale cape in thick wool.

Harry pulls the robed to his chest and nearly cries in joy; it's been far too long since the last time he held robes like these.

Tom hands him a silver broch a few days later, inlaid with a detailed, golden snake and a simple emerald for its eye. "For the cape," Tom mutters, looking away from Harry. "Accept it or I'll hex you."

Harry would've accepted anyway.

Three days later, two weeks before school starts, and Snape and Malfoy – Severus and Draco – are pulled into the room usually used for Death Eater meetings. Tom stands at the front of the room, wearing his usual Voldemort disguise, while Harry is standing by his right side, new Healer Robes snug against his body.

"Severus," Voldemort says, dipping his head at Snape before turning to Malfoy, "and Draco," he adds, dipping his head in that direction as well. He receives a trembling bow in return. "We have summoned you here because you both hold valuable positions within Hogwarts."

Malfoy – Draco whimpers. Voldemort gives him a long look, but when Harry elbows him in the side he tears his gaze away.

"James here," he says, acting as if the moment never happened, "will act as a spy for me. No, Severus," he ads coldly, "there's no use to suspect the first years. He will not be among them."

Severus nods silently.

"I expect," Voldemort drawls loudly, bringing all attention back to him (Ha. As if it had ever been away), "that if you are to receive any orders from James, either by letter or vocally, you are to follow them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent," Voldemort hisses. "You are excused." Severus bows, and as he straightens, his gaze lingers on Draco. Voldemort raises an eyebrow and answers the silent question. "No, Draco shall stay."

Draco whimpers again.

Harry frowns, suddenly remembering that Draco's only fifteen, and the moment Severus is out the door he turns to Voldemort. "Go easy on him," he chides. "He's just a kid."

"I – " Draco splutters indignantly.

Harry interrupts him by shooting him a dark look. "That does not mean you can interrupt, Draco," he says coldly.

Draco nods hurriedly. "Y – yes, my Lords," he whispers, paling rapidly. "What – what do my Lords need of me?"

"Draco," Voldemort says, "what you now will see and hear is not to leave this room. You will have to swear on your magic that you will not re-tell this information to anyone without James' or mine permission. Do you understand?" Draco nods, lower lip trembling and brows knitted together in a tight frown. "Then swear."

Draco fumbles for his wand, raising it into the air after a few unsteady moments. His whole arm is shaking. "I – I swear on my magic that I will not re-tell what I am about to see or hear to anyone without Lord James' or Lord V – Voldemort's permission," he stutters. The tip of his wand brightens for a moment before settling down to a faint glow.

"Hm," Harry says. "Beyond the slight stutter that went remarkably well." He turns to look at Voldemort, who's still staring intently at Draco, his eyes nearly glowing a bright red. "Oh, come on, Tom," Harry groans. "Drop the disguise and stop terrorizing the boy, he's already sworn an oath."

Sighing, Voldemort snaps his fingers and turns into Tom.

Draco gapes.

"Oh, do pick up your jaw from the floor, boy," Tom snaps angrily at him. "We don't have the whole day."

"Y – yes, my Lord," Draco whispers, bowing again. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

"Now listen, Draco," Harry says, taking a step towards the trembling boy. Once upon a time he would've gloated at seeing his nemesis like this, cowering at his feet, but Harry isn't like that anymore. He can't see someone worthy of having dirt thrown at them, armed or not; he sees a boy struggling to survive in a shattering world. "What we need of you is to befriend me. Don't put sticks in my wheels. Don't go out of your way to make life hard for me. Listen to my orders. Trust me when I need you to. Do you understand?"

Draco doesn't look at him when he gives his reply. "Yes, my Lord," he whispers quietly.

Taking pity on him, Harry sighs, expression softening. "Don't worry, Draco," he reassures him, "I won't have you betray your friends or hurt someone."

The trembles quiet down a bit. "…thank you, my Lord."

"Now," Harry says, clapping his hands and turning to Tom, "would you be so kind as to key Draco in to my disguise, love?"

Tom makes a disgusted sound. "Don't ever call me that again," he complains – but he does comply, pulling out his wand before stalking towards Draco. He then proceeds to tap the boy's temple, before moving over to Harry and gently tapping his scar.

"Really?" Harry asks, disbelief rolling over his tongue, just as Draco yelps and stumbles away from him. "You had to go and key it into my scar?"

Tom shrugs.

"But – " Draco cries. "But – Potter – isn't – "

"That's Lord Potter for you, Draco," Harry says sweetly. "Get over your shock, please. We don't have the time for that. Do you understand, Draco? Befriend me."

Draco looks back at him, mouth opening and closing as he searches for words, before he finally shuts it and nods tightly. "Fine," he mutters.

Tom clears his throat pointedly.

Draco startles. "I – I mean," he scrambles to add. "Y – yes, my – my Lord."

There's a fire burning in his eyes – a somewhat confused fire, fair enough, but still a fire. But hey, as long as he follows orders…

"You're dismissed, Draco," Tom says. "Leave."

Draco nearly runs out of the room.

Once the door shuts behind him, Harry turns to Tom and grins. "Have a problem with being called love, hm?" he asks sweetly as he walks over to him. Before Tom can give a proper response, Harry leans into him and wraps his arms around his torso.

Letting out a long, quiet hum of pleasure, Harry smiles into Tom's chest. It's nice, he supposes, to have someone ready to offer him comfort – even if it is only physical. It's something he's lacked this entire life and most of his last; being touch-starved isn't exactly something he longs for.

Tom doesn't give him any reply beyond a dark grumble and pulls Harry closer, placing his cheek on top of his head with a small, disgruntled sigh.

"The Death Eaters are growing restless."

Harry looks up from his book to give the fidgeting Tom a confused look. "Restless?" he repeats. "Elaborate."

Tom picks at his sleeve. Pause. "There hasn't been a raid or attack since my return," he says slowly, "they, ah… they want action."

"What are you planning to do about it?" Harry asks, closing the book and raising both eyebrows. This is all news for him – and before the spell, he probably would've objected. Objected to the torture, to the murders, to the sick joy the Death Eaters find in it… but, honestly, why should he bother? Nothing he says will stop it, and anyway, it isn't like those muggles matter to him.

"I was thinking about arranging an attack on a muggle/wizard village," Tom says, slightly-nervously looking down at his feet instead of Harry.

Odd. He usually doesn't display feelings other than anger, amusement and curiosity. Something's wrong.

"Then by all means," Harry shrugs, "go ahead; I won't stop you."

"I'll be there," Tom ads hurriedly, and it clicks.

He wants Harry to be worried.

Touching.

"I expect you will be careful, of course," Harry says, matter-of-factly, before re-opening his book and turning to it. "Or so help me, Tom, I will skin you alive."

Tom's shoulders slump a bit in relief, and Harry smirks into his book. So he was right, then. "Yes, dear," he mutters mockingly.

"Tom," Harry growls dangerously, not looking up from his book. After a pause of silence he sighs. "You don't have any Horcruxes anymore. Remember that."

"I could always create new ones," Tom muses lightly.

"Absolutely the fuck not," Harry grunts, now looking up at Tom with a glare. "We do not want a repeat of the First War. Horcruxes are addicting, Tom. You won't be meddling around in that again. I won't allow you."

"Fine," Tom grumbles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "I'll give you more information about the attack when I have it sorted out."

"Good," Harry says. He returns to his book and Tom exits the library.

Harry smiles.

Step. Step. Step.

Turn.

Step, step, step.

Turn.

Stepstepstep turn.

The pacing quickens again, and Harry digs his hands into his hair with a quiet growl. Draco, who's standing over by the door, gives him an uncertain look.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," he drawls sarcastically. When Harry spins around and shoots daggers at him he slinks back against the wall. "My Lord," he adds hurriedly.

"You don't understand," Harry says, again turning to continue the pacing. "Tom's never been gone this long before." The bond is complaining – and quite loudly, as well. Hopefully it won't be this hard when he goes to Hogwarts – there he won't have to be afraid of Tom's well-being every second of every minute.

Draco frowns. "It's… it's just been three hours," he reminds him, confusion etched into his voice.

"And that's three hours too much," Harry mutters absentmindedly.

Turn.

Suddenly, a loud bell in the neighboring room goes off. Harry's eyes widen at the signal of someone apparating in. He draws his wand, shoves Draco aside and stalks into the room, healer robes snapping around his ankles.

There's a group of maybe twenty Death Eaters there, some sitting, some standing, some sprawled across the floor and groaning. Many of them look hurt in some way or another, and while Harry worries for a moment, his gaze lands on Tom-as-Voldemort and the worry is cut short.

He's leaning against one wall, clutching his arm against his chest with a vice-like grip – and there's blood oozing out between his fingers.

"Fuck," Harry says, and then he runs. He's by Tom's side – he can't think of him like Voldemort when he's hurt like this; can't insult him in that way – within seconds, hands covering his and bodies pressed close, worry at the back of his tongue like acid. "Tom," he says, his breath rushed in the fruitless attempt at appearing calm, "Tom, look at me. What happened?"

"Muggle," Tom hisses. The knuckles around his wound have gone white. "Gun."

Harry's blood turns to ice. "Just your arm?" he whispers. "Please tell me it's just your arm."

Tom nods, expression tight with pain. "Hurts," he whispers. "Harry…"

"Shh," Harry breathes, tapping Tom's good hand gently. "Let go, please." Tom pries his own fingers off his arm, the move sluggish and strained – but he listens to Harry, at least, so most of his good sense should still be there. "There you go," Harry mutters soothingly, grabbing the bloodied hand and pressing his lips to Tom's fingers. "Now, I'll clean this real quick," he says, peering at the bullet-wound without letting go of his hand. "Then I'll patch you up. Okay?"

Tom nods mutely. Harry draws his wand slowly, without looking away from the wound, and after a quick round of inspection spells he concludes that there's nothing terribly dangerous – although it probably hurts like hell, and if not treated correctly, the wound might get an infection. Well, good thing Harry is equipped for treating it correctly.

A few moments later, a muffled hiss from Tom, and his arm is as good as new.

"…thank you," he whispers. Harry tilts his head back and meets his dark gaze. He's been holding Tom's hand throughout all of this, and now their fingers tangle together.

Harry smiles. "Healer," he breathes, a quiet reminder, before he steps away from Tom. He misses the warmth immediately, the bond giving a small, painful twinge – but there are others who need him. He's pretty sure he saw Bellatrix bleeding.

The next few minutes he flutters back and forth between the hurt Death Eaters like a butterfly between flowers, crouching beside them, asking where it hurts and what happened, inspecting and reassuring and patting the backs of their hands. It doesn't matter who they are or what their history with him is – he's a Healer, for Merlin's sake. He heals, and they're hurt.

There are many gazes that linger on him as he moves, surprised looks and suspicious glints that fade when he smiles at them. He's not unaware of it. He just doesn't care.

Wormtail, the pitiful excuse of a man, trembles when Harry sits down by him – but Harry's calm voice and soothing words soon warm him up, and the gratitude in his eyes does not go unnoticed by Harry.

When there are no more Death Eaters to be healed, they all look at him in a new light. Draco is standing by the door still, biting his lip and frowning as the scene unfolds. When Harry steps by him, Tom in tow, he bows and mutters, "My Lord."

It isn't directed at Tom.

The immediate moment the doors close behind them, Tom snaps his fingers and his disguise melts away. Harry leans into his side. All those Healing charms have tired him out – he isn't used to Healing that many at a time, and not someone who needs it that badly. He'd been a Healer at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake. The job required it of him, certainly, but there was rarely the need for healing something as severe as what the Death Eaters had gotten themselves into.

Tom looks down at him, lips twitching in a small smile as he wraps his arm around his shoulders.

"I'm sleeping with you tonight," Harry says, matter-of-factly.

Tom freezes, the small smile slipping instantly. "What are you – "

"In your bed, you idiot," Harry sighs exasperatedly. "The bond. I'm tired. You've been hurt. It's better to be with you than without."

He knows he doesn't make much sense, but he's tired, his feet dragging behind him as he walks, and Tom isn't much better. He's probably been handing out curses like candy tonight, and that's just as straining as healing.

They both deserve the rest.

Tom sighs and resumes walking. "Fine," he says.

That night Harry sleeps in Tom's arms, cuddled up to the comforting warmth, and although he's tired and his nerves frayed, he hasn't been more comfortable since before he died.

He knows Tom feels the same way, and drifts to sleep with a smile.

Harry is woken up the next day by frustrated hooting. Goddamnit – post? At this hour? God, he's still so tired – he really shouldn't have performed all those spells without any forethought.

Groaning quietly to himself he turns his head away from the sound. His cheek meets with warm skin.

He freezes.

His arms are around someone's very warm torso.

Someone's very warm arm is slung around his shoulder.

Tom.

He relaxes.

"Are you going to get that?"

Oh. He's awake.

"Nnooo," Harry mumbles, the word muffled by Tom's chest. "Tired. Wanna sleep."

"Be that as it might," Tom says. There's a smile in his voice. "I'm awake and the blasted owl is bothering me."

"Then get it," Harry suggests cheekily.

"Can't," Tom says, and shrugs. "You're on me."

Harry grunts.

The owl screeches.

"Fine," Harry mutters, pulling his arms away from Tom and rolling off him. "I'll get it."

Half a minute later the owl is gone, Harry is back in the bed, and Tom is wrapping his arms around his waist.

The thick envelope has a Hogwarts crest on it.

"About damn time," Harry mutters. "And honestly," he adds, "I don't get why it didn't come over to the bed and drop it off."

"Wards," Tom replies promptly. "I don't want to be interrupted while I sleep."

Harry makes a noncommittal sound, settles back into Tom's embrace, and opens the letter. Nothing unusual about it – just the usual mumbo jumbo and a list from McGonagall.

He's been good at not letting out too much, then. Hermione's letters have become less pestering, praise the Lord.

"Hm," Tom says, peering over his shoulder. His breath is warm against Harry's neck. The bond twinges, Harry's eyes widen as a long-drawn shiver runs down his spine, and then Tom pulls back. Oh shit. That's bad. "We'll have to go shopping, then."

"D'chu think Draco's gotten a letter as well?" Harry asks. He very pointedly Does Not React when Tom begins to play with his hair. "Think we could go together?"

"You and Draco?" Tom asks. It sounds like he's raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. And you," Harry adds. "I'd like to go with you."

Tom stills, fingers combing through Harry's hair coming to a stop. There's a long pause, and when he resumes stroking his hair, his fingers are trembling. "…alright," he finally says. "I'll age myself to look younger."

"Add blond hair," Harry suggests. "If someone asks we can say you're a distant relative of the Malfoys."

"And why are you in Diagon Alley with the Malfoys?" Tom asks. He sounds like he's raising an eyebrow again. His fingers keep carding through Harry's hair.

Harry tilts his head with a pleased sigh. The bond thrums through him, leaving a soft tingling sensation behind. Strange, that he can feel it growing stronger. Even stranger that he's not complaining.

"Hmm…" he murmurs. "Perhaps… ah. Last year, Draco and I made friends in the shadows. This summer he was worried for my mental health because of Cedric and had Lucius kidnap me. I was protected by very powerful wards, making it impossible for me to tell anyone about my location."

Tom hums, a pleased sound that rumbles through his throat. Harry, who's head is resting on his shoulder, feels the vibration and shivers again. "Good thinking," Tom purrs, his breath hot against Harry's skin, and oh, oh no. He really shouldn't be reacting like this, but – "And I were visiting, yes?" Harry gives a distant mutter and tilts his head back, resting it fully on Tom's shoulder and closing his eyes to bask in the glorious sensation. "A distant Malfoy relative… I wonder if we can pull it off as me being a squib, you turning Draco to the Light and Draco convincing Lucius to invite "me" over, to understand me better…"

What is he talking about? Oh, God, this is distracting –

"I'll inform Lucius about our plan, then," Tom muses. "Now, Harry – I'm very thankful for you healing my arm yesterday, but I don't need you to heal it again. Get off me before it falls of for lack of blood."

Huh? Oh!

Harry jumps away from Tom, who raises his arm and shakes it with a wince. "I can't feel my fingers," he complains good-naturedly.

"Oh, do shut up," Harry says, determined to ignore the blush on his cheeks. "It's not that bad."

Tom scowls at him, but can't hold the mask for long before he snorts and looks away.

It's a bit weird, Harry has to admit. Being back in Diagon Alley after everything that's happened this summer… it makes his skin itch to be back in such a normal place. Honestly – it's just been eight weeks, and he's found out he's bonded to the Dark Lord, struck up a friendship with said Dark Lord, re-gained memories from his past life, healed a dozen Death Eaters, made friends with said Death Eaters… oh, and not to mention that he's allied to the Dark Lord.

God. It's not surprising that it's weird being back.

He hopes he won't run into Hermione.

Tom, who's magically dyed his hair a pale blond and brightened his eyes, is squinting down at a scroll of parchment. "You two got robes?" he says, shooting Harry a quick look.

"Yes," Harry says, a skip in his step. It might be weird to be back, but God is it great to be outside of the manor.

"Y – yes, my Lord." Draco looks distinctively freaked out to be shopping with his arch-nemesis and the Dark Lord.

"Aw, Draco, none of that," Harry coos. "We're just friends! Yeah?"

Draco looks straight-up pained now. "…right," he says. "Harry."

"That's the spirit!" Harry beams. "I think we really just need to focus on books, Tom," he says. "And maybe parchment," he adds thoughtfully.

"I – I need a new set of quills," Draco says timidly. "And, ah, a new cauldron."

"What happened to the last one?" Harry asks, throwing a surprised look over his shoulder.

Draco rubs his shoulder. "Potions accident," he mutters.

"Hm," Tom says. "We should stop by Flourish and Blotts, Harry. I know of a few books you'd probably like."

"Really?" Harry asks, pleased happiness shining through his voice. "They have books on Dark Magic there?"

He just knows that Draco is close to crying now.

"I was thinking more of Healing," Tom replies drily. "You know a lot of healing techniques from the Founders' era, but close to nothing from modern times."

"Hm," Harry says, tilting his head and tapping his chin.

Wait. Fuck. That's a thing he's picked up from Tom.

He stops tapping.

"You're right, we should stop by Flourish and Blotts," he nods. "Anything else?"

Tom squints at a tall witch walking by. Really, sometimes his suspicion can go too far. "I thought of buying you a snake," he says absentmindedly.

Harry stops. Draco, not prepared for the sudden decrease in pace, crashes into his back before stumbling back. "A snake?" Harry whispers. His hands tingle. "A – a snake."

"Yes," Tom says, coming to a stop as well. He turns to give him a slightly worried look. It's strange, to see it coming from behind bright bangs and bright eyes, but it's the same spark in those eyes that it's always been. "Shouldn't I have?" Tom asks quietly, taking a step closer.

"I – " Harry tries. His mouth has gone dry, he can't really – think, he can't – "Tom, I – " He swallows. Swallows again. "Thank you. So much."

Tom softens. "You're welcome," he says softly. "You accept?"

Purely on instinct, Harry's hand shoots up to the base of his throat, where the broch Tom had gifted him with usually sits. "Yes," he breathes. "Damn it, Tom, yes."

Tom grins at him, dips his head, and continues to walk.

Harry and Draco continue to walk as well, Harry somehow ending up walking next to Draco, rather than Tom.

The boy gives him a strange look. "Are you – are you usually like this?"

"Yes," Harry says. He smiles. "We are."

Harry decides, fifteen minutes later, that life hates him. They're walking past Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Harry chatting happily with Tom and a somewhat distraught Draco following behind, when –

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

Harry, Tom and Draco all collectively freeze.

Harry closes his eyes. "Oh no."

"Stay strong," Tom whispers, only half-joking, as he takes a step back.

Wincing, Harry turns around to face his friends. "…hey, Hermione!" he greets. "Oh, and Ron, too!" But no Neville. Huh. Wonder where he is – probably holed up with his grandmother somewhere.

Hermione is glaring at him, hands planted firmly on her hips. Ron sits at the table next to her, ears red and eyes wide. "Where have you been?" Hermione shrieks. "We've been terribly worried about you, and so help me, if you don't have a good explanation – !"

"Well," Harry says, poking his index fingers together and kicking the ground nervously. "I think you might need to get a larger table. The story is long."

First now does Ron notice the two blondes behind Harry. "Malfoy!" he growls. "And – whoever you are – what are you doing here?"

Draco shoots Tom an uncertain look, but when he only waves his hand dismissively (and discretely, of course, he's a Slytherin) in the air, the boy loosens up and sneers at Ron. "I could ask the same for you, Weasel."

"Draco," Harry moans. "And you as well, Thomas! Please don't make this harder than necessary – and Ron, that's included in my story!" He gives them all a slightly-desperate look. "Will you all please calm down?" he begs.

Tom shrugs and goes for one of the nearby chairs. "Fine by me," he says. Ron gapes at him – and then he turns the gape to Harry, and then to Draco, when the both of them sit down as well, Harry being immensely grateful for Tom relenting.

Hermione gives Harry a very hard look, but thankfully decides to sit down opposite of him, rather than to continue yelling. "Well?" she inquires, aggressively raising an eyebrow. "I expect this to be good."

Drawing a deep breath, Harry nods. "It… it all started at the beginning of last year…"

Towards the end of Harry's tale – a tale about friendship, redemption, finding hope in dark places, and a trust that would shock even Dumbledore – both Hermione and Ron are speechless. Well, Ron is speechless. Hermione seems to be trying to get out some sort of word. Or sound.

"I – " she says, before closing her mouth and frowning. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry looks down, forcefully pulling up the part of him that is solely Harry Potter. It's harder now, than it was a few days prior – with every minute that passes Harry and Harrison merge more and more together, but – he can still somewhat tell where one ends and the other begins… though it won't last long, that's for damned sure.

"I… I was so afraid you'd ditch me…" he says quietly. "And, to be fair, neither of you talked much to me, anyway. I didn't feel like I could trust you, and… and Draco was there for me…"

Both Hermione and Ron look uncomfortable at that. "Listen, mate, I'm really sorry about that," Ron says. The uncomfortable look increases.

"I've forgiven you," Harry hurries to assure him. True, as he'd forgotten why he was so hurt in the first place during the two weeks he'd spent as a blabbering mess. "Still, I was hurting at the time, and… it didn't seem like you'd be very accepting."

Tears well up in Hermione's eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Harry," she whispers. "I wish I – "

"You're forgiven," Harry says. "Please. Just – try and understand now, yeah?"

"Of course," Hermione says, nodding fervently.

Ron looks over at Draco with a frown. Dread knots in Harry's gut. Please don't start a fight, he begs. Please. "So I guess you aren't that bad, Malfoy," he says, scratching at the back of his neck.

Harry kicks Draco's leg when he doesn't give an immediate reply. "Same to you, Wease – ly," Draco says, nodding tightly.

Probably sensing an oncoming slaughter, Hermione decides to put a stop to that particular conversation. "You're buying supplies for Hogwarts?" she asks, directed at Harry and Draco.

"Yeah," Harry says. "Actually… we aren't quite finished yet. Can we continue?"

"Oh," Hermione says. "Well, we're almost done… we were on our way home, actually…"

"He meant alone, Granger," Tom says drily.

"Oh!" Hermione repeats. "Uhm…" She looks distinctively uncomfortable with leaving now, but, after a pregnant pause where she bites her lip, she thankfully sighs and gives in. "Alright, fine. I'll… we'll see you two at the Express, then."

Nodding, Harry stands up. Tom follows instantly after, quickly followed by Draco. "See you there," Harry says. He offers them a warm smile before walking back into the street.

They walk approximately twenty feet before Harry leans into Tom, buries his face in his shoulder, and screams.

He pulls back and continues to walk, acting for the world as if he hasn't just screamed into the Dark Lord's shoulder, while ignoring the exasperated (Tom) and terrified (Draco) looks following him in his wake.

Harry crushes his face up against the window of the shop. "She's beautiful," he breathes, his breath materializing on the glass pane in the form of fog.

The 'she' in question is a snake. A relatively small snake, barely the length of Harry's arm and just as thick as three of his fingers. Certainly the match for a thousand year old basilisk. Her scales are rough, though – sharp, black-tipped spikes. She looks utterly terrifying.

Harry loves her.

"Well then," Tom says, stepping by him and towards the door. "I'll buy it to you."

Harry can't muster the strength to speak a single thank you – not even as his new pet wraps herself around his arm within moments of meeting him. "Hello, sweetie," he hisses quietly.

"Hello. I'm keeping you."

Harry laughs. "My name's Harry."

"You may call me Athie."

Harry raises his arm a bit, and Athie slithers closer and headbutts his forehead.

"Yes," she mutters. "I'm definitely keeping you."

Turning to Tom to give him a blending smile, Harry nods happily. "I am ready for Hogwarts."

Tom smiles back. "Good luck," he offers. "You'll need it."

Harry doesn't doubt that one second.