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:

WOW! So many of you have put in your two cents about the Het or Slash issue, I'm so thrilled :) And completely blown away and happy, since from what I've already seen, most had never reviewed before, lol! I thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

I'll be going over all reviews to count the votes as soon as I can. I hope to have the results for the next chapter update.

Oh, and don't worry about me getting influenced by what my readers want instead of writing what I like.

When I ask about things like this, it's always because it helps me a lot to really know what readers prefer. It helps me to write better, give more interesting plots, and even come up with new ideas.

But I would never wreck the story to please some readers when I know that the suggestions just wouldn't go well with the fic. Like, for instance, if I'd been told to put Dorea Black or Charlus Potter with Harry, then I would have said no. Simple as that.

It's also one of the reasons I don't like to use polls for things like this, because in polls you can only choose one of the options given by me and you have no chance to write or express anything else, so I don't learn much from it.

That said, thanks again to all of those who already reviewed and gave their votes! I hope you enjoy this chapter too ^.^

Part I: Chapter 39

After the brawl during breakfast, Harry had to put up with much.

Professor Slughorn, with Dorea Black at his heels, had found him in the common room when he was about to make his escape.

At first, the Slytherin Head of House had tried to cajole from him the reason for his outburst. When Harry remained tight-lipped, Slughorn had sighed and assigned him detention – two full hours helping Miss Nightingale sort bandages in the Infirmary.

Harry's green eyes had gone wide, amazed at his good luck, but had been quick to scowl as if deeply irritated and then hang his head low in gloomy acceptance of his punishment.

Looking satisfied at having so easily sorted out a difficult child, Horace Slughorn had merrily left the room, leaving Harry to be confronted by a seething Dorea Black, so mad that she hadn't even noticed that her customary Grooming Charm needed a renewal.

Indeed, with a mop of long, wild black hair sticking in every direction, Dorea Black had raged at him for a full hour, at his audacity for giving such a 'disgraceful spectacle of muggle brutishness', dishonoring the whole House with his 'despicable and shameful display of boorish loutishness', and whatnot.

Harry's ears had been left ringing, but he had bore it all with equanimity.

Knowing he couldn't give any cause for suspicion, given what he had in mind, he had gone to all his morning classes and acted as if nothing at all had happened.

Tom didn't speak or look at him, completely and smoothly ignoring his existence, though the frequent stabs of blazing pain in Harry's forehead allowed him to be certain that his brother's unexpressed fury was one of those that were serious and dangerous.

Indeed, Tom wasn't one who ranted and yelled and stormed when he was most enraged.

If Tom snapped, snarled, hissed, and raised his voice, Harry had always known it wasn't that big of a deal and he didn't have much to worry about.

In those cases, more often than not, he always managed to soothe his brother's temper by wheedling and softly telling him how sorry he was, and peering up with wide eyes filled with regret, and such.

The danger was when Tom was most quiet, seething in silence, stoking his rage, compounding and multiplying it, utterly ignoring Harry's existence, to then, always, enact some sort of viciously cruel vengeance when least expected.

Indeed, when his brother was silent, Harry knew to be very wary and guard his back.

Miss Nightingale had perfectly fixed Tom's broken nose in a jiffy, but Harry knew that meant nothing. Tom wouldn't forgive or forget, and it was pointless to apologize.

Furthermore, Harry's housemates gave him a wide berth, as if not wanting to be associated to his lowly, muggle-like barbarity and lack of any civilized manners, which they accentuated by shooting him disgusted sneers or malevolent glares for having so thoroughly besmirched their reputation before the whole school.

The other students peered and gazed and stared at him, as they excitedly gossiped about him between themselves, or snickered.

The only two exceptions were Alphard, of course, who in public pretended as if he didn't know him at all, but didn't go to the extent of imitating their housemates' treatment of him, and Abraxas Malfoy.

Indeed, since their violent confrontation of Yuletide, Malfoy seemed to have gone through several stages.

During the first days, the boy seethed and shot Harry very frosty, chilling looks filled with vengeful intent, and Harry had been alert and on guard, expecting it at any given moment.

Though, the boy then began frowning now and again as he glanced at Harry, the looks turning pensive, calculating, and pondering.

The moment Abraxas Malfoy's glances became intrigued and fascinated, even more than ever before, Harry had groaned under his breath.

Nevertheless, the boy hadn't made any attempts of approaching him, though during that day, as the rest of the Slytherins glared and sneered, Malfoy looked gleeful, with a pleased smirk on his face.

With immense patience, Harry waited till lunchtime, and then, he acted.

Knowing his friends' schedules by heart, he hovered by the entrance of Hogwarts as Gryffindors made their way towards the castle after their Herbology class in the greenhouses.

Harry pounced on the Prewett twins the moment they took their first steps into the castle, and instantly grabbed their arms, pulling them into the nearest broom cupboard.

"What's all this about?" said Felix bewildered, squinting in the darkness, just as Harry pulled on the string dangling from the ceiling.

With a 'click', they were suffused in light, as the stood squashed between mops, buckets, and shelves with bottles of detergents and cleaning sponges.

"Are you well?" said Felicity, eyeing him with deep concern, her voice quiet and hesitant. "What happened with your brother today at breakfast-?"

"I need to ask a huge favor from you," cut in Harry hastily, shooting them a pleading look. "I need to know the whereabouts of a muggle soldier of the British Army. His name is Robert Hutchins, he's in his mid thirties, born in-"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" said Felix holding up a hand as he stared at him, looking baffled. "Who? What?" The boy shook his head. "Go slower. What are you asking of us?"

"Well, your dad is the Head of International Magical Cooperation," said Harry, impatiently carding his fingers through his hair, "so he has access to stuff, right?" He shot them a hopeful look, as he rushed out, "He could find out about my friend in the Muggle War Office. I'm sure there must be information about him somewhere in there! What his unit is, where he was sent, what was the last battle he fought and such!"

"Who is this Robert Hutchins?" said Felicity, staring at him uncomprehendingly. "And what's happened?"

"He's a friend of the family," replied Harry quickly, "and, er... my aunt's betrothed, and we've just learned that he's been declared 'missing'." His jaw clenched as he shot the ginger-haired twins a hard look. "I know what 'missing' means but I won't believe he's dead until I've got proof!" He shook his head violently, his hands clenching into fists as he muttered, "And he can't be dead. I know he must be alive somewhere."

"This is why you fought with your brother?" said Felicity in a soft voice, her expression crumbling with compassion as she gently squeezed his arm. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry-"

"There's nothing to be sorry for!" snapped Harry, scowling as he jerked away from her touch. "He's not dead!" He then shot them an anxious look. "Will you help me, please? Will you ask your dad to find out about him?"

Felicity, at first startled by his violent reaction, bit her bottom lip fretfully, while her twin shook his head as he said firmly, "Our father would never do it. He doesn't have access to the Muggle Ministry and its departments." Felix let out a heavy sigh. "The only way he could get that information for you is by using magic on muggles and steal whatever records they have. And Father would never agree to do something like that even if we asked-"

"Oh, but!" breathed out Felicity, making her twin look at her with a frown on his face, which quickly cleared, Felix's eyes widening in some sort of realization.

Indeed, the red-haired twins stared at each other, their mismatched eyes suddenly glinting mischievously as they shared a wicked, conspiring grin.

They glanced at Harry, and shot him identical, roguish grins as they chorused, "Our cousin Ignatius, on the other hand…"

Harry had given the Prewett twins every bit of information regarding Robert Hutchins that could be relevant: the man's full name, age, place of birth and such, even remarking that the muggle had dark hair, blue eyes, and two missing fingers from his left hand.

Felicity had conjured parchment and inked quill and scribbled it all down. The twins then assuring him that their cousin, who worked for their father, would undoubtedly do his best to help and get that information for them.

Furthermore, that late evening, after classes, Harry had served detention in the Infirmary, putting especial attention on where Miss Nightingale kept the key of the supply cupboard.

But the two days that followed were sheer torment. He couldn't focus in class, he was constantly jittery and anxious as hours ticked by and he got no news from the Prewett twins.

Hutchins could be giving his last dying breath while Harry was there, stirring a Minty-Breath Potion, or suffering Professor Binn's droning lectures about Goblin Wars, or enduring explanations from their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of how to cast Shields he could already perfectly perform in his sleep, or clipping the Amorous Brier's twigs in Herbology so that the bush could feel more pretty and thus give better magical berries.

By Friday evening, as he sat for dinner in the Great Hall, Harry was a mass of nerves, anguished, miserable, and distressed, with dark circles under his eyes, his stomach rolling with constant apprehension and misgivings, and his heart permanently lodged in his throat.

So much so, that he jumped in the air when an owl sudden swooped in to drop a letter in his soup.

Scowling at the bird that instantly took flight again, Harry grumbled under his breath as he cast the letter a Drying Charm.

He then opened it, instantly recognizing the penmanship. As he scanned the brief sentences, he let out the most powerful exhalation of deep relief of his life.

He felt Tom stiffening by his side, even the pressure of his brother's piercing gaze boring into one side of his head, as his scar began to prickle.

Harry didn't look at him, though. Tense silence had reigned between them since their scuffle.

Indeed, Harry simply rose to his feet and calmly left the Great Hall, leaving his untouched supper behind.

He spent the next hours in his bed behind closed curtains, as he heard his roommates chattering and commenting about the following Quidditch matches, then rummaging in trunks, preparing for sleep, and finally giving some snores in their beds.

All the while, Harry absentmindedly petted a sleepy Ulysses while he obsessively reread Felix Prewett's letter over and over, as if it could help make the unbearable hours of waiting pass swifter.

Midnight. Our common room. Password for Fat Lady: 'Gryffindors are the Champions'.

Harry had merely rolled his eyes at that, once – the Gryffs weren't letting anyone forget that they had won last year's Quidditch Cup for the umpteenth time in a row, even though Slytherins had gotten the House Cup, mostly due to Tom.

Then he had gone back to anxiously bit his bottom lip, impatiently casting Tempus Charms again and again.

The instant the latest charm's glowing red letters finally displayed '23:50', Harry carefully moved Ulysses unto the pillow, the little Scorcrup cozily snuggling with it and letting out a small yawn without being awoken.

Then he yanked his bed curtain's open and jumped to his feet.

"Lumos!"

Harry froze.

Tom was lounging on his bed, with opened curtains, his lit wand in hand as he pierced Harry with narrowed, dark blue eyes.

Tensing, Harry gazed back at him, and they remained silent, staring at each other.

He waited, his scar pricking painfully, but his brother didn't say a word, not even when Harry tested the waters and took one step in the direction of the door.

He took another slow step and glanced back at Tom.

When his brother did nothing but further narrow his eyes to slits, Harry sprung forward, reached the door, and yanked it open.

"Whatever you're plotting," said a cold, deadly tone of voice, "I won't let you go through with it."

Harry stiffened at the threshold, before he quietly shut the door behind him.

As soon as he climbed through the hole of the Fat Lady, he saw the Prewett twins waiting for him, donned in their nightgowns, standing in the middle of their empty common room.

Felicity rushed to him, taking him by the hand as she led them to the couch in front of the grand hearth that had a fire merrily crackling.

"We received this by owl today," she said, her pretty face enlivened and bathed in the soft, warm light coming from the fireplace, as she placed a package on Harry's knees.

Harry immediately tore the wrappings apart and stared at the thick folder in his hands, heart pounding fast in his chest, his breathing hitching.

"Where is he?" demanded Felix as he stood by the side of their couch, casting impatient looks at the fireplace before glancing with wariness at the stairs that led to his housemates' dormitories. "If anyone comes down fancying a midnight snack, we're done for…"

Barely listening to what the twins were saying, Harry uncoiled the string of the folder and took out its contents, spilling them on top of the low table in front of him.

With jerky moves of his fingers, he spread the numerous papers, his green gaze wildly jumping from one to the other, searchingly.

Though what instantly caught his attention was a large map, of Norway, with drawn figures of battleships on the depicted coastline of the country, or figures of soldiers or artillery, all with arrows stretching from the drawings to other locations on the map, all over the place.

"Army mobilizations and troop movements," said Harry under his breath in realization, before he frantically pulled out another map, this one with black crosses on top of the names of towns, annotations underneath with the number of dead soldiers in such or such battle lost, with red dots marking 'German Occupied Territory', which spread over the majority of the land.

Another was a lengthy report on strategies and tactics proposed to be employed, with information about the enemy troop's numbers, military capability, resources consumed, water, food, and ammunition levels, all given by persons called 'Foxtrot' or 'Scotch' or 'Charlie' – codenames for British muggle spies, he realized with awe, before feeling utter dismay.

With his jaw clenching at the dismal picture that the reports were presenting, Harry frenziedly shuffled through the papers -discarding report after report with attached large black and white pictures of Norwegian towns left in shambles and mere rubble after German air-raids or tank and artillery attacks- until he suddenly halted, gripping one paper with shaky fingers.

It had a small black and white photo stapled on one corner, with all sorts of information underneath, like weight, height, age, and then the name of the soldier's Battalion, the number of his Unit, and the list of battles he had engaged in.

Harry glanced at the picture again, recognizing Robert Hutchins' face immediately.

"Is that him?" Felicity whispered softy by his side.

"Yes," replied Harry hoarsely, his dry throat constricting as he kept staring at Hutchins' picture.

It had been stamped over with red-inked, bold letters: 'Presumed Dead'.

With his heartbeat shuddering to a halt, his eyes flew to the very bottom of the list of battles of Hutchins' file, and he choked out, "Namsos Campaign… a week ago…"

He felt a hand landing on his shoulder, squeezing in sympathy, as Felix's voice said quietly, "I'm sorry, mate."

"Namsos, you said?" gasped out Felicity as she grasped a stapled sheaf of papers that must have caught her attention, her eyes roving over it, becoming wide and disbelieving. "Harry, look at this!"

Harry instantly moved closer to her, even Felix leaned over the back of their couch, as they all read the document that had 'Top Secret' stamped across its pages.

Reading and reading, flipping page after page, they remained in stunned silence.

"It cannot be," finally said Harry in a coarse voice, his eyes wide and wild, given the shocking, sordid, and repulsive information that had just sunk in his mind.

"The British muggles had planned to invade Norway themselves?" said Felix, shooting them a dumbfounded look.

"Yes," breathed out Felicity, her eyes still incredulously scanning the pages, her expression horrified, "to ensure that Norway's merchant fleet kept transporting goods to Britain at low rates… to take over the country's ports and harbors so that the British Royal Navy could control the North Atlantic… and to form a trade blockade against Germany… to freely mobilize armies across Norway to reach Sweden and destroy their iron ore mines… to lay their own mines in Norwegian waters and ensure resources for British factories…"

She trailed off and shot Harry an appalled, aghast look. "Your friend's Battalion wasn't sent to Namsos to help the Norwegians, he was sent because-"

"Because the Germans invaded Norway before Britain did," gritted out Harry, peeling his gaze away from the document, his fisted hands shaking so badly that his arms trembled, as his eyes narrowed to slits in a surge of such rage that he could barely speak. "Because Grindelwald must have spies in every shadow and knew what our muggles were up to, and he beat them to it."

Harry felt sullied, utterly befouled. To think that Tom's cynical notions about politics seemed to be absolutely right. That Britain and France hadn't sent their armies to aid the helpless, severely outnumbered Norwegians out of humane support and assistance, but to attempt to stop the Germans from taking over a country they had coveted too, still striving to take it for themselves.

And Hutchins had been sent, like a disposable little tin soldier, to battle and sacrifice life for national self-interests, for trade routes, mines, and ports, not to 'save lives and protect freedom' as the British Army propaganda spouted.

Harry's chest ached.

"Oh, this is horrid!" cried out Felicity with teary eyes, shoving the document into a file as if it had burned her fingers.

Felix shot them a grim look. "Who knew the muggles were so-"

They all jerked backwards, startled, when the fire before them spiked and spat, before abruptly turning green, a figure appearing in the flames.

"Finally!" exhaled Felix, looking deeply relieved. "What took you so long, Ignatius?"

Harry stared at the head and shoulders of a handsome young man, who had to be the twins' cousin, and appeared to be crouching on his other side of the Floocall.

"It wasn't easy," said Ignatius with a heavy sigh, rustling his curls of hair with a hand. "Had to first convince my mate in Magical Transportation to tweak a bit the Floo connection of my office so that I could call to your common room instead of ending up waking your Headmaster." He pinned the twins with his gaze. "Have you received my-" He halted as his eyes shot to the table covered by papers. "Ah, yes, you have."

"How did you get this?" said Felicity, looking at him admiringly and in awe.

Ignatius' lips twisted wryly. "Wasn't easy either to make copies of that, let me tell you. I'm never Polyjuicing into a muggle again." He shuddered as his expression turned disgruntled. "I spent all yesterday being yelled at. That Winston Churchill muggle curmudgeon certainly has a temper on him, barking orders left and right at me, to get him this or that report or file or glass of scotch and case of cigars – loves those to bits, he does- and of course I didn't know where anything was. I got sacked." He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, the poor sod I assaulted on his way to work and took a hair from did, anyway. Must have figured that out today, the chap."

"And you," continued the wizard without pausing for a hitch of breath, his eyes swiveling to Harry, "must be my cousins' friend in Slytherin House."

"Um, yes," said Harry, blinking, still a bit dazed by all that the wizard had rattled off.

From the green flames, Ignatius pierced him with a narrowed-eyed, weighing gaze.

Apparently, he found something he liked or approved of during his split-second assessment, since his expression relaxed and he grinned widely. "Glad to finally meet you, I've heard much about you from Felix and Felicity." He shot his cousins a warm, fond look, before he glanced at Harry again, his expression turning somber. "Sorry for your friend – your aunt's betrothed, was he?" He sighed wearily. "Things aren't looking good, not for the muggles or us."

"But he's been listed as 'presumed' dead," said Harry hastily, leaning forward towards the green flames, his tone turning hopeful, "so they really don't know. There's still a chance-"

"Not likely," interjected Ignatius, shooting him a pitying glance. He sighed deeply. "And even if he was still out there, somewhere alive, if he hasn't already been taken prisoner by the Germans, there's no chance that his army is going to look for him."

Harry frowned at him. "Why not? They can't leave him behind if he's just missing."

Ignatius shook his head in the green flames. "The British Muggle Army is retreating from Norway – it's a lost cause already, the Germans are everywhere. The muggles of the War Cabinet spent yesterday making the final evacuation plans. They are heading their armies to France." He shot them a glum look. "They got reports that vast German armies are mobilizing towards there. And here in the Ministry of Magic we also know that Grindelwald will strike the French Ministry soon, once he's done with the north."

Harry shot to his feet, his jaw clenching, as he demanded forcefully, "When is the British Muggle Army leaving Norway?"

"In four days," replied Ignatius, shooting him a startled look, before he heaved a deep breath, a hand appearing in the green flames to gesture at the documents lying on the table. "I suggest that you don't show any of that to your aunt. Let the muggles give her the news. Must go now." He roguishly grinned at them, and winked at the twins. "Your father thinks I'm putting in extra hours at work because I'm so very ambitious, but he won't believe it if I stay after one in the morning. He knows I like going carousing with my mates at nights!"

At that, Felicity pursed her lips reprovingly and Felix gazed with envious longing, just as Ignatius gave them a cheery wave of the hand and disappeared from the green flames -apparently with every intention of going straight to indulge in drinks, dancing, and debauchery with his friends- the fire soon dwindling down back to normal.

Harry didn't waste any time in gathering back all the papers, stuffing them into the folder.

"Harry…" murmured Felicity quietly by his side, tentatively touching his shoulder.

He glanced at her, seeing her cheeks coloring as she continued softly, "I'm sorry about your friend. I had hoped that, well-"

"Yeah, me too," cut in Harry, straightening up with folder against his chest. He took the edge off his expression as he warmly smiled at the twins, and said sincerely, "Thanks for the help, I owe you big." He gestured emphatically at the fireplace. "Give Ignatius my thanks too. I didn't get the chance."

"Sure thing," said Felix, eyeing him worriedly. "You'll be well?"

"Yeah, of course," muttered Harry, "I just wanted to know... to be certain…" He shot the twins a forced, weak, tremulous smile. "I'll be fine."

He gave them a faint wave of the hand in parting as he headed for the portrait hole.

"Harry!"

Felicity rushed to him as he was about to climb in, pinning him with her beautiful mismatched eyes, frowning, as she then stammered anxiously, "You can't still think - you're not going to try-"

"Try what?" interjected Harry, blinking at her in puzzlement.

Felicity eyed him closely, and he blinked at her again.

The next second, she exhaled deeply, looking vastly relieved as she mumbled with a smile, "Nothing."

Harry shot her a baffled look, before he patted her on the shoulder and went through the portrait hole.

The moment he rushed into his dormitory, Harry encountered just what he had expected and hoped for.

Tom was still awake, sitting on his bed, a dark scowl appearing on his face as soon as Harry stepped inside, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits.

Not wasting any time, Harry plopped himself down on his brother's bed, opened the folder and dropped the sheaf of documents, maps, photos, and reports on Tom's lap. "Read it."

Glancing down, Tom frowned as he bit out harshly, "What's this?"

"What Ignatius Prewett got for me," replied Harry calmly, "from the War Office."

Tom shot him a surprised look, before his eyes narrowed again, though obviously he was too intrigued since he said nothing as he swiftly grabbed the pages and began to read.

Harry patiently waited until his brother was done, not even commenting when Tom perused the 'top secret' document that had so thoroughly shocked and disgusted Harry, regarding Britain's true motivations for sending troops to Norway.

"Churchill isn't that much of an idiot as I had thought," murmured Tom as he read that classified document, his tone laced with approval.

"Well," finally said Tom when he was done, as he laid down Robert Hutchins' file, his tone acid and sneering as he skewered him with an intense gaze, "so now you know he's dead."

"Presumed dead," corrected Harry coolly.

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits. "Meaning?"

"You know what I mean," said Harry, staring back at him. " 'Hutchins isn't going to die', remember?"

It had become a motto to him during their Summer Holidays, when they had gone to the orphanage and been told by the caregiver Magda that Robert was gone, that the man had enlisted in the army, when he had heard Alice wretchedly sobbing in the kitchen, when he had punched Tom for saying snidely that he'd always known that Hutchins would end up dead.

'Hutchins isn't going to die' was what Tom grudgingly ended up saying after their fight, that night when his brother had climbed into his bed.

'Hutchins isn't going to die' was Harry's promise to himself and Robert Hutchins. One that he would fulfill no matter the cost.

"You knew what I would want to do the moment I read Alice's letter," added Harry in a hard voice. "I'm going to find him. I'm going to Norway."

"To Norway?" hissed out Tom in a deadly tone, his fury clear by the way Harry's scar began to throb. "To look for a muggle that has been missing for a week?" He violently waved Hutchins' file in front of Harry's face, and spat, "If he wasn't killed or captured, he wouldn't have survived a week without food or water anyway, you half-brained imbecile!"

"Soldiers always carry supplies in their bags," retorted Harry calmly, before he deeply sighed. "I'm not saying that I know if he's alive or not. What I'm saying is that I'm going to find him either way." He shot his brother a steely look. "Because if there's any chance he's still breathing, then I'm making sure he's coming back home."

Tom let out an incisive, jeering laugh, giving him his most scathing glance. "Oh yes, because going to Norway is just a matter of snapping your fingers, is it? How are you planning on getting there, do tell." He shot him a contemptuous look, as he sneered mockingly, "And how will you find him? With your powers of Divination and mind vibes, will you?"

"I'm not saying its going to be easy, you idiot!" retorted Harry, bristling and incensed. "But I did nothing when I knew beforehand when Grindelwald was going to attack Czechoslovakia, because I let you convince me that there was nothing I could do!" He glowered at him, as he gritted out, "And I told you that 'next time' I would take action, no matter the cost. Well, this is my next time!"

"It's not the same situation, you fool!" spat Tom in a cold, harsh tone of voice. "You have no chance of finding him-"

"I do," interjected Harry firmly. "I've been planning how to do it for the last few days." He gestured pointedly at the documents spread on Tom's bed. "I just needed information first." He shot him a sharp-edged grin. "And now I have it."

Before he gave his brother the chance to open his mouth again, Harry said quietly, "I'm going to Norway with or without you, but I rather it's with you."

With an infuriated expression on his face, Tom hissed out acidly, "I'm not going into a mad search for a stupid muggle who's already dead!"

Abruptly, Harry clutched him by the shoulders, locking gazes with him, as he said vehemently, "I'm asking for your help, because my chances are better with you coming along." He clenched his teeth. "I'm asking you to help me, just as I've been helping you with things that are important to you, like searching for the Chamber of Secrets. I'm asking you to repay the favor, because Hutchins is what's important to me."

Snarling, Tom jerked backwards, making Harry's hands fall from his shoulders, as he said, seething, "I'm not getting expelled just to help you satisfy your pathetic need of being Hutchins' savior–"

"We won't get expelled," interjected Harry hastily. "Today is Friday. Teachers won't notice if we're gone for the weekend. And I already have a plan of how to get out of the castle and to Norway."

When Tom scoffed snidely in utter disbelief, to then shoot him a sneer, Harry sighed, carding a hand through his hair.

He then stood up, gathering back the papers into the folder, before he gave Tom one last glance as he muttered, "I'm asking you, my brother, for help. You have until tomorrow to decide if you want to give it."

"Why till tomorrow?" jeered Tom scornfully.

"Because I'm making the last preparations tomorrow," replied Harry shortly, "and with any luck, I'll be in Norway before nightfall."

And with that, he reached his bed and yanked the curtains shut.