Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots or characters are mine.

AN:

Answering some questions:

When the Grey Lady possessed Harry, she spoke to him in his mind, but Harry spoke out loud. She hasn't given any indication of wanting or being able to read his mind so that they could communicate without speaking. Furthermore, given what she found in Harry's soul and how it reacts whenever she tries to stirs things inside Harry, I don't think she'll ever try to rummage inside Harry's mind either.

About the Horcrux in Harry, last chapter we saw that it was protective of him, possessive, and 'contently ensconced' in Harry's soul and even partially merged. This is all due to the close proximity between Harry and Tom for years, the Horcrux in Harry being affected by it and sensing his 'vessel's (Harry's) relation to a nearby soul it recognizes (Tom's). So that explains why it acted like it did when the Grey Lady possessed Harry. But while the Horcrux obviously reacts to Tom's soul mood, mainly anger and fury, making Harry feeling it through pain in his scar, there's no reason for Tom to feel anything from Harry, not anything that he could recognize anyway. So Tom will never feel Harry's mood's and etc, in this case, given that Tom has a complete soul, thus, which isn't surging forward trying to grasp something 'missing'. It's a one way channel between them.

About what Tom knows: he doesn't know that Harry has ever spoken or interacted with Abraxas Malfoy since the first day when Tom and Harry where thrown out of the compartment in the Hogwarts Express when Malfoy found out they were muggleborns. Tom thinks that was the only interaction between them. Tom DOES know that Harry and Alphard are secret friends (remember when Harry received his Scorcrup from Alphard as a birthday present?) but has no idea that Harry has told Alphard that they are Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants, or that Alphard knows about their goal of finding the Chamber of Secrets, much less that the boy is actually helping Harry with that, and certainly doesn't know that Harry told Alphard about the letters and books they had received from Grindelwald.

Usually in my fics, every little thing is important and comes up, having impact in the plot, eventually. Some details, of course, are just for plot-building, to give a sense of the times the characters are living through and such, or just anecdotes. But in last chapter's scenes with the Grey Lady, everything she said falls into the category of 'little things that become important'.

IMPORTANT: I've had many reviewers saying that since I did Slash for Black Heir and Vindico Atrum, they would prefer that this story has HET pairing for Harry. I must say that Het wasn't my original intention, but if most of you prefer Het for this story instead of Slash, I can do that. I wouldn't mind trying my hand at Het for the first time, so please let me know what you prefer! Or maybe both - Bi? Well, let me know soon, please, because that kind of stuff will be coming up and I can't change it later if I've already set more bases for Slash. At this point, I can still turn it either way without making a complete mess.

Here's another uberfast update, enjoy and let me know what you think of it! ^.^

Part I: Chapter 38

It was late April and much had happened.

Harry had celebrated his thirteenth birthday and New Year's Eve -1940! the date had seemed amazing to him- mostly with Alphard in the kitchens, as they happily gobbled down the delicious feast the friendly house-elves prepared for them and the mouth-watering cake they had baked for Harry - his most absolute favorite, chocolate on top of more chocolate.

Alphard had even given him a marvelous present: a gorgeous Broomstick Servicing Kit, in a brown leather case with golden lettering spelling Harry's name, containing a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a brass clip-on compass, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

"You must keep the Comet 180 up to par," Alphard had said, grinning as he shot Harry a hopeful glance. "For next year, if you decide to try for the Team."

Tom, who had never been one for celebrations, festivities, or birthday parties, had unsurprisingly spent the day ensconced in the library, surely studying something stuffy and boring that only he found fascinating.

No matter how much Harry had cajoled and wheedled, his brother had refused to take a free day to have some fun, though he had done something unexpected.

"What's this?" said Harry, startled and astonished when his brother thrust a book into his hands.

Gazing at it, Harry saw that its covers were made of a smooth, soft black leather, with his initials in silver thread.

"A diary," replied Tom shortly, as he unpackaged another one, very similar to Harry's, only with T.M.R. inscribed instead.

Harry couldn't have been more surprised or deeply touched by his brother's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

They had never traded presents before, because they hadn't had any money of their own, for starters. But now that Tom did have his plentiful pouches of galleons, which kept steadily multiplying in number given the boy's activities, Harry hadn't expected a gift either.

When Harry shot him a warm, beaming smile, Tom stiffened instantly, as if he was being outrageously accused of having any snuggly, cozy feelings.

"Don't make a big deal of this," Tom hissed out in a warning, dangerous low tone of voice. "I ordered a catalogue from Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade because I wanted a diary for myself. And I saw I could buy two for one, so I did. There's nothing more to it!"

For a moment vastly tempted to rile his brother up and mercilessly taunt him about the issue, Harry was won over by his curiosity nonetheless, and he cocked his head to a side. "What do you want a diary for?"

"To write in it," retorted Tom with incisive, mocking sarcasm, before he shot him a snide look and went back to studying German, holding the tome so high up that it prevented Harry from seeing his face.

Harry rolled his eyes at that, though from then onwards his curiosity and intrigue only escalated, since Tom carried his diary wherever he went and frequently wrote on it in a feverish, exultant pace, always refusing to show Harry what he was up to the many times he had attempted to sweet-talk him.

Nevertheless, he was soon busy with many other things to further dwell on the matter.

The night Harry had found Nagini in the scorched clearing of the Forbidden Forest, he had marched back to Hogwarts, grilling the Grey Lady for more information regarding the Room of Requirements and the ways it worked.

Given her answers, certain that there was no way Tom and Alphard could cross paths in it since the Room couldn't be used by another if there was already someone inside, he had revealed its existence to both boys, separately of course, using it as an excuse to explain his absence from the Yule Ball.

"You needed to use the loo and a room filled with toilets appeared?" Alphard sniggered in amusement, accepting Harry's words without an ounce of mistrust or any further questions about what he was doing on the seventh floor when he should have been in the Yule Ball in the first place.

Harry had showed his best friend where it was and how to summon and use it, and they had had a blast, making the Room of Requirements turn into all sorts of things: a sandy stretch of beach with tall palm trees and two hammocks in which they had placidly swayed to then engage in a battle of swinging hammocks and thrown, conjured pillows; a room filled with muggle toys like tin soldiers and airplane models or toy trains with a circuit of tracks, and foot balls, and whatnot, Harry having the time of his life as he showed his friend how everything was used; a large, lavish tent with hanging veils and colorful, feathered fans that magically floated and gave them pleasant breezes, as they sat on huge, plush pillows on the floor, snacked on sweets and pastries they had taken from the kitchens, and felt like pampered sultans; a room filled with mirrors, each distorting their image in bizarre and outrageously funny shapes, making them roar with laughter and guffaws until their sides ached and they clutched each other, grinning and panting; and finally, a cozy room stacked with a whole library with books on the Animagus Transformation – the very reason Harry had for showing Alphard the room.

Tom had been another matter altogether.

"What were you doing on the seventh floor?" he demanded, piercing Harry with narrowed eyes.

"I wanted to give it another quick search," said Harry impatiently, "to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything."

"You told me you were done searching for the Chamber of Secrets on that floor," retorted Tom sharply, his eyes narrowing even further, "last year." His expression then turned infuriated. "And why would you go there when you were expected to be in the Yule Ball!"

"Because it was more important than a stupid dance!" snapped Harry hotly.

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, filled with suspicion. "You expect me to believe that?" His lips twisted, as he sneered contemptuously, "And you couldn't contain your urge to urinate, like a little, bitty baby, and wished for a loo?"

"Yes," gritted out Harry as he stood before the expanse of wall covered by blue and bronze magic.

Tom shot him his most scathing look. "What do I want to see a bathroom for?" He gave Harry a disgusted glance. "And what happened to you? Got stuck in a toilet for hours?"

Glowering, Harry snapped, "No, you idiot. I spent hours figuring out how the room worked!"

"How a loo works, really?" jeered Tom acidly. "I knew you were thick, but not that much."

At the end of his rope, Harry said heatedly, "Shut up and observe! Then you'll understand!"

And he proceeded to walk up and down before the wall, stating loudly what he wanted so that his brother realized what it was all about.

The moment a door appeared, he yanked it open and shoved a puzzled and suspicious Tom inside.

His brother did stop asking mocking and incisive questions the instant he saw what was awaiting them, Tom's dark blue eyes marginally widening in understanding, amazement, and gleeful giddiness.

The Room of Requirements conjured exactly what Harry had desired: an exact replica of Slytherin House's Dueling Chamber, with all the types of dummies, the arena, adding shelves with books on the Dark Arts, and even wards, in Rowena Ravenclaw's blue and bronze magic, that shone before Harry's eyes displaying the same sets of Ancient Runes of the real Dueling Chamber, thus making him certain that they could cast any sort of grave and injurious curse and they'd be insulated from detection by the rest of the school's wards.

"And," Harry said smugly, reveling in his brother's marveled expression, as he pointed towards another addition, a shelf filled with books on Legilimency and Occlumency, "I've also solved our other problem. No need to buy those kinds of books from Knockturn Alley anymore."

He wouldn't have showed Tom the Room of Requirements if he had known what the consequences would be.

There wasn't a single second of spare time in which Tom didn't demand that they went to their very own 'Dueling Chamber', to continue learning and practicing from Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks, added to all the others in the shelves of the room, to advance in their studies of German, and to begin delving into Legilimency and Occlumency.

Indeed, the following months were all about reading and studying until late hours and dueling against each other until Harry could barely stand on his feet, and proving to Tom how much German he was mastering, and sitting on the floor and trying to 'clear his mind' and 'meditate' for the first steps of learning how to shield his mind.

In particular, Harry hated the latter. Tom didn't seem to have any problems in closing his eyes and instantly concentrating to empty his mind.

However, Harry had never been good at sitting still. Poor Alice would know, from the many times in his childhood, during lessons, when Harry had been unable to focus for two minutes straight without having to do something with himself, squirm on his seat, shoot a longing look at a toy, pull at Amy Benson's pigtails, or daydream about Robert Hutchins' stories of the heroic battles of Achilles and Hector, Ulysses' thrill-filled voyage, the Musketeers' adventures, and whatnot.

Now that he was older, he didn't have the urge to do any of those things, thankfully, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the other things he had on his plate.

To his misery, the first stages in learning the Animagus Transformation also required deep meditation for months, to 'ponder about one's innate personality traits' and mull over and detect their resemblance to 'animal characteristics'.

At least, Alphard was just as bad as Harry was at the whole humming and ruminating and seeing the 'Inner You' crap, both too naturally filled with bubbling energy to be able to cross their legs and 'lose themselves in their inner being' like a wizard Yogi from the wild mountains of India – as the Animagus books reiterated, since the Transformation had apparently been discovered by those sorts of wizards millennia ago, along with the Egyptians and American Indians, and by very similar, accidental means.

"This is rubbish!" exclaimed Alphard one day, hurling one of the books to a wall, fuming. "There has to be another way! If I wanted to be like one of those levitating idiots, I'd go to Nepal!"

"Well, it does say we need to 'discover ourselves'," said Harry grumpily as he flipped the pages of the book on his lap. "And only then, we can do the Egyptian test with animal parts to see which 'calls to our soul'."

"What about the potion?" demanded Alphard, gazing at him with big grey eyes filled with a gleam of hope.

"The one that will make us hallucinate?"

"Yes," said Alphard excitedly, as he leaned forward to take a peek at Harry's book. "The one that will give us daydreams about our Animagus form and all that."

"To brew the potion we need the base ingredient first," interjected Harry with a frown, "this peyote magical cactus from Mexico."

"I can order that from the apothecary in Knockturn Alley," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively.

Harry nodded, before he heavily sighed. "But the books say we can't drink the potion until we've done all the rest first, or the hallucinations will be about any other thing and can be 'dangerous and terrible' – 'not even the Aztecs dared without previous preparation', and all that."

They both shared a dejected, glum look, and went back to attempting to 'enter deep trance' for two seconds straight.

But it hadn't been all work and no fun for them either. There had been the Quidditch matches, with Harry on the Slytherin stands, roaring and cheering for his housemates, especially Dorea Black and Alphard. It couldn't raise any suspicions, after all, that he was cheering for the Team's new Chaser, and a brilliant one as Alphard proved to be.

Though the competition was tough. The Gryffindor Team had also undergone some changes when some of their players had graduated last year. Felix Prewett had become one of the Beaters, surprisingly fierce and brutal, and Minerva McGonagall, most astonishing of all, was their new Seeker, stunningly skillful and fast.

It was certain that the final Quidditch match would be riveting and amazing, since the Slytherins had beaten the Ravenclaws spectacularly, while the Gryffindors had effortlessly trounced Hufflepuff's Team.

Moreover, a happy, proud, and satisfied Dorea Black had eased a tad the frequency and exhausting brutality of the Team's Quidditch practices, allowing Alphard to have some more spare time to spend with Harry.

They had instantly used it to go looking again for another entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, besides the small pipe Nagini had discovered. With Ulysses perched on top of Harry's head as usual, and The Three Musketeers' Map in hand, they had resumed their exploration of the sixth floor, marking on the map the rooms examined.

Also, at Harry's insistence, they had checked the tunnel-like, immense pipe behind the Mirror of Desires. They spent a whole, long night at that, with Harry hissing at all the torch-holders with decorative figures of snakes, but it had been to no avail. Not one had moved or even shifted an inch.

"Maybe it opens from the other side?" Harry proposed, as he eyed the last of the torch-holders with a musing frown. He gestured at their surroundings. "Maybe this pipe is connected to another, and that's the one which leads to the Chamber, but can't be accessed from this side…"

"Maybe," said Alphard dubiously, and sounding exhausted. "But if that's the case, it's of no use, is it? Unless we find the other pipe, if there is one…"

Harry sighed deeply and merely nodded, too tired as well to even care. All the things he was involved in, with his brother and Alphard, added to his own secret ones, left him dead on his feet most days.

Though his dealings with the Grey Lady had improved a bit. She had begun to treat him better, even calling him by his first name instead of 'boy' or 'child' and complaining less, as she started to increasingly enjoy the things Harry did for her.

One day, he had gone to the kitchens, asking the house-elves to prepare all the dishes she went whispering about in his mind, and had slowly tasted every one of them, even the ones which look outright disgusting to him, like stewed snails, the French bouillabaisse with icky, slimy shellfish, a plate of frog entrails and whatnot – all apparently delicacies in her time- to the Grey Lady's deep sighs of marveled appreciation.

On another occasion, Harry had gone through a whole school day with her possessing him, though behaving, while she found pleasure in reminiscing about her own school years as Harry went from class to class.

The wonder of learning, she had exclaimed exultantly, of feeling again knowledge sinking in! In your mind…

By springtime, one Saturday morning, he had marched to the Black Lake. The Grey Lady had even kindly suppressed her remarks about his 'dangling bits' as Harry discarded all his clothes and took a plunge.

The water had been a bit chilly but still excellent, as he placidly swam and then dove into the depths of the lake for as long as he could, caressing the undulating, aquatic weeds for her, so that she could feel their touch, gazing at the schools of colorful fishes zooming by, and even having a struggle with some Grindylows, which hadn't been intended.

But she had had the time of her life, since swimming had apparently been her favorite pastime when alive. And it seemed that Robert Hutchins had done a fantastic job in teaching him how to swim, since the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw hadn't complained once about his skill in the water.

Another month, he had spent a whole Sunday evening simply asleep, so the Grey Lady could know what it was to rest and dream again.

Though the following morning, as they woke up, she had remarked uneasily before flowing out of him, You have peculiar… dreams.

Harry wondered, at the time, to which one she referred.

His ever-recurring nightmare of the red eyes and flash of blinding green?

Or the beautiful and mysterious woman with golden hair and blue eyes that that night had once more been singing Alice's lullaby to him, as she lovingly caressed his hair, murmured with pride and satisfaction what a 'breathtaking, beautiful, powerful little boy' he was, a credit to his 'two exalted bloodlines', and called him by that strange name again: Antares.

But he hadn't bothered asking the Grey Lady what she was speaking about.

He had already tried to glean from her the meaning of the many strange things she had said the first time she had possessed him. Particularly about his 'peculiar soul', with something 'Dark and evil', coiled with his own, merged, a 'nasty, possessive protector'.

It had been to no avail, she always remained tight-lipped: either dismissing his questions loftily or becoming angered with him, snapping that she was in no mood of being pestered with silly, unimportant inquiries.

And last weekend, he had slipped out of the castle with his Comet 180, and had gone to the site where last year Dorea Black had given him his secret Quidditch lessons along with the Team's Keeper, Antonin Dolohov.

In such a perfect place, out of sight from Hogwarts, he had zoomed into the skies, laughing with sheer joy.

He had forgotten just how much he loved flying, the glorious sensations of freedom and carefreeness it gave him, melting all his troubles and concerns away from his mind, and leaving him to simply revel in the feeling of wind against his face, flapping and twisting and pulling at his robes, his body pleasantly aching with the effort expended, the sensation of a magical broom underneath him, to be reined and controlled and mastered with skill and will, and the sheer zest for life it made him feel.

Harry had even executed some midair acrobatics and daring, dangerous, and thrilling twists and dives, so much so that the Grey Lady was left speechless for a moment when he had landed back on the ground.

I never knew, she had then breathed out, sounding awe-struck and immensely delighted, that it could be that way. I wasn't much of a flyer in my day.

Harry had smiled, satisfied that he had so thoroughly pleased her, for once, and quite content and proud of his own abilities. Though, he had also been left yearning for more, regretting he wasn't actually in his House's Quidditch Team.

"Perhaps next year," he had muttered under his breath hopefully, though given the situation of things, it wasn't likely.

It was late April, but many things had happened outside of Hogwarts in the previous months.

By January, Tom and he had received a letter from Alice, this time written in proper paper and pen, with the news that the refugees had been allowed back to their homes. They were all back in St. Jerome's Orphanage, and well.

That had been the only good news, since in March the Germans had finally bombed Muggle Britain for the first time, killing many in Orkney. And given Alice's letter then, London was once again suffused in fear and panic.

By early April, the war escalated, with the Daily Prophet announcing that Denmark and Norway –which had tried to slither out of trouble by declaring themselves neutral- had been invaded by Grindelwald's wizarding and muggle Nazi forces.

Furthermore, unlike the case with Czechoslovakia and Poland, it wasn't an instant victory for the Dark Lord. The battles dragged on, now that Muggle Britain and France were in open war with Germany and had sent forces to aid the Norwegian and Danish.

It seemed that Grindelwald was being cautious of not using his followers of wizards against the Allied Forces of the muggles, so that the secret of the existence of the Magical World wasn't compromised. Apparently, there was no such thing as a mass-Obliviation. So it was muggles against muggles, and wizards against wizards, in this occasion, which balanced the scales.

The fact that Wizarding France had declared war on the Dark Lord, and sent their vast Corps of Aurors, also seemed to be the reason for Grindelwald's failure at conquering Norway and Denmark in just a matter of days.

"It's thanks to Dumbledore," Felicity had explained that day they met, her tone proud. "He has many ties with important wizards and witches in France-"

"And he's been going there to convince them to oppose Grindelwald directly, and he succeeded," interjected Harry musingly. "Yes, I've noticed that Dumbledore has been missing from meals in the Great Hall during the weekends." Then he scowled angrily at the red-haired twins. "But why hasn't Minister Marchbanks done the same as the French Minister of Magic? Marchbanks appointed Dumbledore the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, had Unspeakables cast those wards all over Wizarding Britain to protect us from muggle weaponry, has been recruiting more and more Aurors, but still doesn't declare war on Grindelwald?"

The Prewett twins remained in grim silence, and Harry's hands clenched into fists, as he then spat furiously, "What is he waiting for! Even Muggle England has been at war since last year!"

Felix looked angered himself, while Felicity bit her bottom lip fretfully, but none replied.

It was Tom who gave him a useful opinion on events.

"Gravius Marchbanks might have been Dumbledore's advocate and little friend once," his brother sneered, "but he's no fool. He was the Head of Law Enforcement for decades and an Elder of the Wizengamot for some more, he's not going to act stupidly." He shot Harry an irritated look, as he demanded sharply, "Why do you think he's first waiting to see how the tides turn?"

"Because Wizarding Russia and Hungary are already on Grindelwald's side," said Harry slowly, a frown on his face. "And according to the Prewett twins, their father thinks the Italian Ministry of Magic will soon fold too and declare allegiance to the Dark Lord before he attempts to overtake them. And because you think that the Italian muggle leader is already secret allies with Grindelwald's Nazi puppets."

"Exactly," said Tom curtly, satisfaction lacing his voice. "And what's left of Europe will follow when the Dark Lord takes over the Nordic countries, and it will only be the French against him." His voice turned scathing, as he added, "Do you think the English Ministry of Magic will ally with France against the Dark Lord, given such odds against them?"

"The English muggles did!" bit out Harry incensed.

"And they'll pay the price for it," said Tom coolly, though with a gleeful glint in his dark blue eyes that Harry didn't miss.

A day later, Harry sat glumly in the Great Hall, with his untouched plate of breakfast before him.

Tom had just received the Daily Prophet, with more news about the battles still going on in Norway, because Denmark had already surrendered. The war in Norway, however, had dragged for almost a month, increasingly turning fiercer and more brutal, though much of the country was already occupied.

Harry was startled when a couple of owls swooped in and dropped letters before them.

Frenziedly, he opened his envelope quickly. He hadn't heard from Alice in weeks, and that was strange enough.

He had been fearing that something had happened to them, that perhaps Muggle London had been bombed and the Daily Prophet had failed to give the news – he wouldn't put it past them, filled with idiots as that newspaper seemed to be.

He frowned as his eyes flew over Alice's sentences. 'All was well' was the gist of her letter, but her handwriting was wobbly and shaky, and he could swear that that smudge of ink had been a teardrop.

"What did she write to you?" he said as he turned to look at his brother.

"Nothing relevant, the same old nonsense as always," replied Tom scornfully, sticking his letter into his school robes' pocket.

Harry stared at that. Tom never kept Alice's letters.

In fact, his brother always dismissed her missives right away after barely reading them, casting them a snide, irritated look before abandoning them on the table as if they were yesterday's rubbish.

His green eyes narrowed to slits, filled with suspicion, as he demanded sharply, "What did she write? Let me see."

"See what?" drawled Tom indolently, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Her letter!" hissed out Harry impatiently.

"What for?" said Tom with dark annoyance, waving a hand dismissively as his voice turned contemptuous, "She wrote to me the same half-brained stupid ramblings she must have written to you."

His brother's refusal only served to make Harry even more certain of the ominous feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach, and his heart began to pump tumultuously as a wave of distress swamped over him.

Without thinking it twice, with something stuck in his throat, Harry whipped out his wand in the bat of an eyelash, and roared, "Expelliarmus!"

He caught his brother completely unawares and unprepared, and Harry instantly snatched the incoming wand and then hurled it with all his might to the furthest corner of the Great Hall.

Tom was a force to be reckoned with, and impossible to beat with a wand, but without it, his brother didn't stand a chance. His brother had never deigned to learn from Robert Hutchins how to fistfight, after all.

If Harry had managed, when he had been a little boy, to defeat the much older Dennis Bishop, his brother was a piece of cake.

And before Tom had the time to gather his wits back from his stunned and startled stupefaction at Harry's actions, he lunged at him.

They went rolling to the floor, as their housemates jumped to their feet and away from their scuffle, staring in silence and wide eyes, clearly not knowing how to best react to such an appalling public scene.

"Stop this nonsense!" Dorea Black yelled commandingly as she and other older Slytherins started to hurry to reach them and put some order.

The students of other Houses in the way, however, made it impossible. Many had risen to their feet, eager to watch, comment, gasp, bring hands to their mouths, excitedly gossip, stare with astonishment, or do like the Gryffindors, as Harry and Tom continued to grapple with each other.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Gryffindors were standing up at their table, gleefully cheering and roaring for blood, obviously thrilled at seeing Slytherin against Slytherin.

"Mr. Riddle!" one of the professors boomed from the Staff Table, as several of them, Headmaster included, hastily tried to climb down and reach them.

However, Harry was deaf to all, as he struggled with Tom on the floor, his brother snarling infuriated, such a murderous look in his eyes and with such anger that Harry felt his forehead was splitting apart. But it didn't stop him from finally rearing a fist backwards and then smashing it into his brother's face.

A loud crack resounded, and Tom roared in pain and clutched his bleeding, broken nose with his hands, while Harry, panting wildly, wasted no time in digging his fingers into his brother's pocket to fish out Alice's letter.

"MR. HARRY RIDDLE!"

Amazingly enough, it was their Head of House who reached them first, panting with effort and with his protruding belly wobbling. Professor Slughorn looked baffled though aimed his wand nonetheless, clearly to cast some spell to put an end to the brawl and then dole out grave detentions.

But with the letter in his possession already, Harry jumped to his feet, away from his brother, and effortlessly swirled out of the way of the beam of light that shot from Slughorn's wand.

He was pelting out of the Great Hall before anyone had the time to blink, clutching letter against heaving chest.

Harry didn't stop until he was in his dormitory, where he dropped on his bed, panting loudly to catch his breath, as he snapped Alice's letter open.

Soon, as he read, all color drained from his face, his chest constricted, and his throat turned dry.

Alice had stopped receiving letters from Robert Hutchins and, fearful, she had gone to the War Office, demanding an explanation. She had been told nothing at all, as much as she insisted. Not the name of Hutchins' unit, where they were, why she wasn't receiving letters, or what could have happened to him.

She'd only been dismissively told that his unit had been engaged in some campaign, and he was presumed 'missing', and not to worry, as the War Office didn't get reports of updates on the situation of their soldiers until many days later. 'Missing' meant that he was alive, just unaccounted for: 'war is a disorderly, messy thing, Missus'.

But she didn't sound as if she believed that at all.

She ended by writing in a shaky, tear-stained scrawl: I thought you had the right to know since Robert has been such a large part of your lives, but I ask you not to tell your brother. I don't want to worry Harry, as I know he would.

Harry crushed the letter in a trembling hand, his green eyes wide, unseeing, and beginning to tear, such a piercing, unbearable ache in his chest as he had never felt before.

Ignoring the sudden blaze splitting his head in pain, and swallowing a moan, he was on his feet the next second, at first dizzily and unsteadily, wiping his eyes with a sleeve, to then suddenly know what he had to do.