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 and characters are mine.

AN:

This is a short chapter, but the other one will come soon.

Hope you enjoy!

Part I: Chapter 43

Tom staggered up to his feet, his ears were ringing, his jaw ached, and there was an unbearable throbbing pain lashing through his left arm, which he then saw was twisted in an unnatural angle, dangling uselessly at his side. He clutched his shoulder with a hand, hissing under his breath, his face paling with the agony that was coursing through the arm that was certainly broken in several places.

For a moment, he could only feel utterly disorientation and confusion and shock and befuddlement. The pain barely allowed him to think straight, he had never felt something like it before, so consuming and devouring that it seemed to threaten his own mind to become obscure and faint, as if it wanted to flee away and shut itself down.

With insurmountable effort, he gritted his teeth and lurched and shoved forward, and forced his mind and thoughts to some semblance of order and clarity. He used every bit of Occlumency that he had been studying with Harry in the Room of Requirements to try to tuck the agonizing pain away to some corner of his mind.

He didn't fully succeed, but his mind had always been such a sharp tool of sheer acuity and precision that it seemed to straighten itself up when the full moon broke from under a cloud, bathing his surroundings in a dim silvery light, feeding his sight and senses with perceptions that his mind began to automatically sort out.

And then, he was flooded by jumbled recollections that suddenly rushed into his head.

He had been running after Harry, with Tilly Toke, the Hufflepuff idiot, dashing ahead of them, chasing after the frog of magic that had apparently detected some filthy muggle who was still alive.

And then, an explosion, and Tom had been hurled into the air and had apparently struck ground so hard that his arm had been broken and he had lost consciousness for a while.

Abruptly, the realization struck him, when his gaze flickered around and he caught sight of a crater some distance away from him: a wide hole on the ground, covered by blackened, melted snow and pools of blood, bits and pieces of flesh, clumps of scorched golden hair, lumps of entrails and brain matter.

Tom instantly understood his current situation, and he was gripped by such all-consuming fear and panic that he went rigid, his breathing became quiet, and all color drained from his face. Because he knew he was standing in the midst of a forest filled with landmines, and that Tilly Toke was no more.

If he took a wrong step, he would cease to exist too. He was surrounded by certain Death, and he felt nothing but abject terror.

It was a series of sudden screams that jolted him out of his mind-numbing state. A very familiar voice was shouting his name, and Tilly Toke's, with desperation and fear. Yet the voice sounded strange, thick and garbled.

Tom snapped his head around and saw Harry several feet away from him. Something was wrong with the boy, though, because he was clambering around, and behaving even more weirdly by squinting and then widening his eyes and then squinting again, as if he had trouble seeing properly.

The boy didn't have his eyeglasses, but that wouldn't explain his bizarre behavior. Harry's eyesight had been corrected by the potion Tom had brewed and the horrid eyeglasses the boy kept using for pathetic, soft-hearted sentimental reasons had been rid of their augmentation by Dorea Black.

And the halfwit didn't seem to realize what had happened, because he was staggering where he stood.

At the sight, Tom was gripped by even more fear and panic than ever before, because Harry could be one step away from blowing himself up in any second. The realization gripped him like unmerciful claws squeezing his chest so hard that for a moment he couldn't breathe.

The next second, Tom was yelling furiously at the idiot, because he despised feeling fear, because he was the great Salazar Slytherin's true and only heir, and Slytherin's Heir should never fear anything. But Tom sometimes did, and he hated it, the feeling of being afraid, the sense of weakness and impotence and vulnerability that came along with it, and when he feared, he hated and despised what caused it, and he was filled with rage.

"DON'T MOVE, YOU IMBECILE!" he roared and snarled. "THERE ARE LANDMINES!"

But Harry merely groaned in pain and clutched his forehead, and kept staggering, wildly glancing around, squinting hard in all directions, as if he hadn't heard him, as if he was only feeling Tom's fury through his scar, and it let him know that Tom had to be close by and he was desperately attempting to hone in on him.

Tom realized the reason when he caught sight of thin trails of blood leaking from the boy's ears, and he went white.

Harry had been closer to Tilly Toke than he had been. The explosion, the blacklash, it must have ruptured Harry's eardrums. The boy was deaf.

Suddenly, Tom heard noises, the sound of rushing feet, of boots crunching snow, of voices excited and laced with bloodlust, in a language he had studied and understood and recognized, as he caught sight of a light – a gas lamp, he realized- appearing through the trees, bobbing up and down, in the distance, coming closer.

Soldiers. Germans. Who had heard the explosion and Harry's and Tom's shouts, who had certainly been the ones to set the landmines in the forest, as a trap for any lingering enemies or scouts. And they would be upon them in a manner of minutes.

Frantically, Tom glanced around. He saw the Comet 180 that Harry had been carrying and that had evidently flown from the boy's hands due to the blacklash of the explosion that had killed Tilly Toke.

And he knew the decision he had to make. There wasn't any time to do both things: he either went for the broom and immediately flew away and saved his own skin, or he went for Harry.

Tom furiously hissed under his breath, because he had made a choice when he had been seven years old. He had chosen to keep Harry as his, when discovering they weren't brothers. He had known, back then, that it would be an annoying, heavy burden, though the rewards plentiful in time.

Indeed, his hesitation was one of a split-second, and his gaze snapped back to Harry. Yes, his choice was made, but he was no half-brained Gryffindor to recklessly and mindlessly rush to the rescue, across snow littered with deathtraps.

Because Tom refused to die, not for anyone and not for any reason, even less in such ignominious circumstances as being killed by muggle contraptions. A long time ago, he had vouched to himself that he would never die. Never, not like his weak-willed, contemptible, pathetic mother, nor like anyone else. Because Tom was like none other.

Thus, his dark blue eyes instantly zeroed in on the little pest that was hanging from Harry's chest with sinking claws. At least, it seemed that the Scorcrup was partly aware of their dire situation, because the little beast was hissing frantically at Harry, apparently trying to make the stupid boy understand, his ridiculous soft fur standing on end, his stupid puffed tail flying from side to side anxiously, his ears flickering towards the noise made by the approaching German soldiers.

Tom had always despised the little beast, because Harry adored him, because it had been Alphard Black's gift to the boy and Black had no business giving Harry things, things that Harry apparently loved and valued more than all the things Tom had given him throughout their lives – like life-lessons, and harsh reprimands meant to improve Harry, and dedication to shape him up, and even attention, and Tom didn't freely give his time and attention to others.

But now was not the time for feeling bitterness and spite and anger due to Harry's persistent ungratefulness.

"Come here, Ulysses," Tom snapped commandingly.

The stupid creature stared at him, and Tom impatiently skewered him with narrowed eyes, as he hissed out, "If you want me to save your imbecile of an owner, you'll come to me, and you'll show me a clear path." He pointed a finger towards the bits left of Tilly Toke. "Surely you understand what's under the snow. Sniff them out, the explosives, and safely lead me to Harry."

And Tom waited, with steel and ice in his veins, forcing himself to remain calm and cool as he saw from the corner of his eyes that the Germans were about to enter the clearing in the woods in which Harry and Tom stood in, their voices now clear.

The Scorcrup at least had the decency to not bob his head up and down, like he usually did to Harry to express his understanding, and didn't let out any ridiculous purrs that so many students considered so adorable.

The little beast merely stared at him for a brief second and then landed on the snow.

Several feet separated Tom from Harry, and Tom couldn't be certain that the pest had fully understood him or that he would be able to smell the landmines, or that his weight, though very slight given the creature's size, wouldn't activate one. But that would serve too, because if the stupid critter got himself blown up into smithereens, he would have triggered one landmine that Tom wouldn't have to concern himself about.

It seemed, though, that books were right, and that Scorcrups did have some smidgen of intelligence due to their Kneazle side. Not that Tom would ever admit that to Harry for as long as they lived.

But Ulysses had sniffed his way through the snow and was now before Tom, and Tom followed him, with heart frozen and lodged in his throat, as the little beast backtracked and began to sniff again at a furious pace, turning around one patch of snow, then another, and finally they were in front of Harry, who was still squinting and groaning and behaving like an idiot, injuries not an excuse in Tom's opinion.

And it had been just in the nick of time, because the moment Tom yanked open Harry's satchel, fished out the Invisibility Cloak, grabbed his 'brother' around the waist and made them fall to the ground on which Harry had been standing –and thus proven to be safe from landmines- and just as the Scorcrup seemed to realize that Tom would expend no efforts in caring about what happened to him, since the little beast frantically jumped and attached himself to Harry's jersey with his claws, Tom swiftly covered them with the Invisibility Cloak, as seven Nazi soldiers appeared in the clearing.

The fall to the ground had jolted his broken arm, and the whiplash of pain was immense and unbearable, so much that it dimmed his vision for a moment, like a narrowing tunnel, but Tom forced himself to remain conscious, biting down on his own tongue so hard to endure the pain that he felt blood filling his mouth. But he couldn't faint, not when Harry couldn't hear the soldiers and was still apparently having trouble seeing right, because the boy tried to flail his arms, clearly out of incomprehension.

Yet Tom clamped his uninjured arm even more tightly around the boy's waist, hard enough to make Harry lose all his breath, and was then quick to slightly raise his hand under the Invisibility Cloak, pointing at the scant, gory remains of Tilly Toke.

He had Harry's back pressed against his chest, the boy's head below his, and Tom stared down at him, and finally saw realization dawning. Harry's green eyes went wide, as he fixedly stared at the crater and blood and bits and pieces of the once Head of Hufflepuff House and Charms professor.

Under his arm, Tom felt Harry's heart give a hard lurch and thud, and then the boy went limp in his hold. He had not lost consciousness, but seemed to be in a state of utter shock.

Harry suddenly jerked slightly, and Tom realized the boy had finally caught sight of the German soldiers.

They were aiming their rifles in all directions, carefully stepping through the snow. They had indeed been the ones to set the landmines.

Tom went as still as a statue, not even making sound with his breathing, and was glad to see that Harry had the fortitude of mind and sheer instincts of automatically doing the same, though he could feel the boy's heart thundering wildly in his chest.

Tom had feared for a moment that the sight of Tilly Toke's remains would have swamped Harry with horror, and despair, and wrenching guilt –because his 'brother' always seemed very fond of feeling guilt and martyrdom for every little thing, and it was a grave, contemptible weakness that always made Harry act very foolishly, more than was due for being an innate halfwit.

If the boy had cried out in anguish or sorrow, Tom had no doubt that, invisible or not, bullets would have found them at the mere sound. He had been prepared to slap a hand on the boy's mouth. Thankfully, it wasn't required.

Tom went back to observe the soldiers, his dark blue eyes intent and narrowed to slits. Yes, they had to be the ones to have set the landmines, yet it wasn't conceivable that they could remember exactly where the explosives were embedded, not under snow that looked all the same. There had to be something-

Oh yes, Tom saw them, then. A twig there, a peeble over there, an old, shriveled leaf on another patch of snow, a small piece of wood some other distance away…

"Markers," he heard Harry breathe out haggardly in a barely audible whisper.

And Tom glanced down at him. His 'brother' was fixedly staring at the searching German soldiers too, and seemed to have realized the same as Tom had. Well, Harry did -very occasionally- demonstrate that he had a smidgen of a brain somewhere in his skull.

They both seemed to be suspended in their own tension and stillness and fear, as they watched the Nazis carefully roam their surroundings.

The soldiers had discovered what was left of Tilly Toke, poked at the wizard's bloody remains with the butt of their rifles or tips of their boots, and then blabbered in an angered and dissatisfied German between themselves, as they scowled and frowned.

They had to have heard Tom's and Harry's initial shouts, and they were evidently looking for the people who had produced them.

At one point, one of the soldiers came dangerously close to where Harry and Tom were huddled together beneath the Invisibility Cloak, but suddenly, another soldier called out, sounding both excited and puzzled.

Tom knew it would happen eventually. He knew what the consequence would be when he had chosen Harry over broom.

Harry evidently only realized it then, since Tom felt the boy stiffen in his hold, the green eyes widening in absolute horror and desperation.

He didn't chance it this time. He quickly raised the hand of the arm he could move and pressed it tightly against Harry's mouth, the boy's breath silent yet panicked.

The soldiers had found the Comet 180 and were now surrounding it, looking thoroughly confused and gobsmacked. Indeed, the sight of a broom in the middle of a warzone couldn't be that common, especially since the Germans seemed to realize it was no common sweeping broom but a rather weird one.

The fact that there was a small plaque made of gold inscribed with the words 'Comet 180' on the broom handle was quickly detected, not to the mention the footholders peeking out from either side, made of pure gold as well.

The Germans stared and one even scratched the back of his head, but soon one other, with a look of gleeful and hopeful greed that cared not about strange things, lurched forwards and smashed the butt of his rifle into the broom.

The Comet 180 was soon broken to pieces by the pack of soldiers, the plaque of gold tested and bitten by one of them, before he excitedly chattered, evidently pronouncing that it was, indeed, real gold. The footholders suffered the same fate, vanishing into the satchels and bags of the Nazis.

They gave another cursory look around the forest, but apparently the unexpected finding of some bit of riches had satisfied them well enough and put them in a very good mood.

The soldiers jauntily trotted away, and Tom glanced down at Harry, who had slumped against him. The boy wore an expression of utter dismay, misery, and hopelessness, as he stared at the splinters of wood of what had once been the Comet 180.

Indeed, his 'brother' now knew what Tom had realized before it all came to an end.

They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, frozen to the bones, in damp clothes, with no food or water or any sorts of supplies, in a warzone, in a country unknown to them, where they didn't speak the tongue or understood it, brimming with Nazis, far away, with a whole sea in between, from Scotland, and with absolutely no means of returning home to Hogwarts.

It was then when he finally allowed himself to unleash his fury, to feel it vibrating and roaring and snarling inside him, at the utter fool that Tilly Toke had been for rushing into the forest, for the dire situation in which they found themselves stuck in, and at Harry, for having concocted his mad rescue plan, for ever believing that saving a lowly muggle like Hutchins was worth any of it.

And the tight ball of fear he had congealed inside him when observing the Nazis roaming about looking for them, thawed and uncoiled, as his rage soared, as the agonizing pain flashed with renewed force through his broken arm, as he hissed under his breath and everything started to dim.

At least, he had the vindictive pleasure of glimpsing Harry bend over, moaning as he clutched his scar, before everything went black.