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:

Here's another quick update with the next part – and this time it's long! Though the most important action will begin next chapter ^-^

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! ;)

Part I: Chapter 44

Harry wasn't allowing himself to think about anything.

Not about Tilly Toke being dead, the one adult in Hogwarts he had truly admired and liked and trusted, who had taught him so many spells in private and helped him create The Three Musketeers' Maps, and encouraged him so much and praised his natural talents and intuitive grasp of Charms. Who had so bravely and selflessly agreed to come with him to Norway, and so gently helped him heal and rescue Robert Hutchins, and who had so nobly and honorably desired to aid any other survivors that could be left.

Not about the sight of blood staining the snow, the bits and pieces and clumps of flesh and organs and hair.

Not about the fact that they had no broom, no portkey, no nothing. Merely thinking about the Comet 180 made his chest ache.

Not about when he had realized what the absolute, spine-chilling, terrifying silence meant. That he was deaf, and had no means to heal himself, because he was fairly certain eardrums weren't made of bones, yet he wasn't sure if they were flesh or cartilage either and he wouldn't risk it. He didn't have Healing Potions for those kinds of things, anyway. And he didn't want to think what it could mean if his ears weren't healed before some time limit, if his deafness could be permanent and irreversible due to that.

He couldn't think about any of it, because if not he knew he would crumble, under the weight of fear, and sorrow, and wretchedness, and guilt, and panic, and tears. It would seize him and not let go, and he would be useless.

And Harry couldn't afford to be useless, because his brother had lost consciousness, slumping over Harry, making him fall flat on his face on the snow. It had been with some considerable effort that he had shoved his brother's weight off himself, as gently as he could.

It was only then when he understood what had happened, because he had seen that Tom's left arm was bent at a horrible angle, looking as if it was broken in at least two places. He hadn't known that his brother had been putting up with that sort of pain, hadn't known that he was also injured.

The only consolation he had was that his vision was no longer flashing in and out intermittently. It seemed it had only been a temporary repercussion of the blinding light and discharge caused by the detonation of the landmine that had killed Tilly Toke.

He found solace, too, in two other facts.

That he still had some potions left. Not many, he had used most with Hutchins, but there were some drops and dregs left in two flasks, and half a phial of Skele-Mend. And that was sheer luck, because it was the only thing that could help Tom.

And foremost, that he had Ulysses with him. It was with his Scorcrup's help and keen sense of smell that Harry managed to get out of the forest filled with landmines, hefting, with much pants of effort, Tom's dead weight on his back, as he dragged him, slowly, back to the ruins of Namsos.

He didn't dare remain in the forest, not when he knew that there were Germans somewhere in there. He didn't understand why, exactly, they seemed to be encamped near Namsos, that was nothing but rubble and desolation.

Nevertheless, he wouldn't heal Tom in the forest. He had to find refuge, and the only place he could think of was the half-destroyed church in which they had found Hutchins. It would shield them from the chilling wind, and there was no one in Namsos, no landmines either.

It took him nearly half an hour to drag Tom, both under the Invisibility Cloak, with Ulysses sniffing the way ahead, in the lead. The Scorcrup was small, and Harry didn't think he would be seen. And even if he was, muggle soldiers would think he was nothing but some stray kitten scavenging for food in the ruins of Namsos and its surroundings.

The moment they were back inside the main chamber of the church, Harry carefully laid Tom at one corner, the one with walls still standing and half a roof offering protection.

The full moon had already disappeared, the sky beginning to lit with the first rays of dawn. They had spent the whole night in Norway. Three hours of flight between Vinje and Namsos, then the time they spent finding Hutchins and taking him to the camp of the British Army, another hour going through the ruins of the town to find more muggle survivors, and then whatever time had passed by when they had been in the forest.

Harry was ravenous. He couldn't hear his stomach complaining but it was twisting and certainly grumbling. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to drop dead asleep.

He had been parched with thirst too, but that had been easily solved. He had grabbed handfuls of snow and stuck them inside his mouth. He hadn't even cared that the snow had been stained with someone's drops of blood. He had been too weary and tired to look around for pristine one.

The matter of their damp clothes and how they were stiff with frost, their scarves, shoes, mittens, and socks soggy and chilly, didn't have any easy solution because he couldn't use any magic due to their Traces.

It had gone beyond getting expelled from Hogwarts if the Ministry of Magic was notified by their Traces that they were in Norway instead of being safely ensconced in school. Or that they used magic in a country that was a warzone, filled with muggle soldiers that could see it. Beyond doing any improper use of magic or breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

Harry feared that all those things alone could get them cast out from the Wizarding World with their wands snapped, but there would be even more reason for such punishment because a wizard had lost his life, a professor of Hogwarts. And one who was so famed, since Tilly Toke had been an awardee of an Order of Merlin First Class for having saved muggles from a rogue dragon, and had been further well-known and popular from all the pictures of him splattered in The Witch Weekly, as they named him the Most Charming Smile and Gallant Figure and such nonsense.

Harry hated that he had to think in such cold-blooded, harsh, and practical terms, but he knew that they could allow nothing to link them as being in Norway during that night. Tilly Toke had bought the portkey to Vinje in the Ministry of Magic, and there would be records of it. And when Tilly Toke didn't come back to Hogwarts, the Ministry would look for him and they would see that the wizard had bought a portkey to Norway.

They couldn't afford for their Traces to notify that they had been in Norway too. Too much of a coincidence, someone could piece it together.

No, what had happened to Tilly Toke had to remain a secret that they would have to take to their graves. No one could know that the wizard had come there because he had been aiding Harry, taking risks and acting out of selflessness to rescue muggles at Harry's instance.

It was devastatingly unfair that Tilly Toke's last heroic acts would go without being praised and commended and known. But the wizard was dead. What use did a dead man have for those sorts of things?

Harry clenched his teeth under the mantle of guilt that unmercifully weighted down on him like a ton of stones, but he then ruthlessly brushed it to a side.

It was his fault, his burden to carry, and he would, in silence. Speaking the truth would not bring back Tilly Toke, but it would get him and Tom expelled from Hogwarts at the very least.

And Harry knew well that Hogwarts was everything to Tom, because of Slytherin House that his brother wanted to rule over, his ambitions, his hunger for more magical knowledge, and that mysterious multi-staged plan that Tom had put in motion since first year.

He didn't think Tom could bear losing Hogwarts or having nothing left but the Muggle World. It would change him, it would fill him with fury and bitterness and rage and who knew what else.

Furthermore, Harry didn't want to lose Hogwarts either, which despite the troubles had become a home to him as well. It would be unbearable to never see his friends again, Alphard Black and the Prewett twins, and even Dorea Black and Charlus Potter and all the others he could get to know. Or to not fulfill all his tasks, as helping the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, and figuring out what other things Santi wanted him to know about, or finding the Chamber of Secrets that was so important for Tom, and becoming Animagi with Alphard and keep learning about magic and all the wonderful things that could be done with it.

So it was decided, and Harry single-mindedly focused on what they would need to survive their current situation, because he had gotten Tom in this fix and he would get him out of it too.

Thus, first, his brother.

With teeth clattering due to the cold, Harry opened his satchel and brought out the half-full phial of Skele-Mend. Hutchins had been in agony when drinking the Skele-Mend even when he had taken the Pain Dimming Potion first. But of that potion there was nothing left. So it was certainly going to be tough on Tom.

Harry opened the mouth of his unconscious brother and dipped everything that was left of the Skele-Mend.

Tom's eyes flew open, and Harry instantly slapped a hand on his brother's mouth, because even if he was deaf, he was certain that Tom must have been screaming, and they couldn't afford for the Germans lingering out there to hear them.

At least, he didn't have to hear the bones of his brother's arm rearranging, cracking, and snapping. Though he realized he should have used his Slytherin scarf, as stiff as it was, to silence Tom's screams of agony, because in the next second he felt his brother's teeth sinking into the flesh of his palm.

Harry winced, and then gritted his teeth, keeping his hand there, tightly wrapped around his brother's mouth, but it felt as if Tom was biting down so harshly as to cut deeply to the bones.

Indeed, Harry saw that Tom's dark blue eyes were wide with pain but also flashing with vicious and malevolent vindictiveness. Tom was doling out his punishment and revenge, and the teeth dug in deeper.

Harry gritted his teeth again, so hard that he was certain they were going to crack soon, but suddenly, Tom's jaw slackened.

He took a quick glance at his brother's arm, which seemed to be fully healed, since it was no longer bent unnaturally, and then slowly removed his hand away from Tom's mouth.

Harry flinched and whimpered. The pain in his hand was scorching, and the wound made by Tom's teeth deep, bleeding copiously.

"Bastard," he spat at his brother angrily, as he cradled his hand against his chest, not hearing if he had said the word correctly but hoping that his sentiments were at least understood.

He didn't like speaking much now, because it gave him the impression that his tongue was just uselessly flapping and rolling around in his mouth and his lips moving senselessly, as if neither could really be forming any comprehensible words but just gibberish. It was a very unsettling feeling, trying to speak when not being able to hear one's own voice.

Clearly utterly unrepentant, Tom shot him a very nasty smirk, as he checked and slowly moved his arm around, though he was still pale-faced from pain and discomfort.

Meanwhile, Harry was quick to use the few drops left of the Murtlap Unction. The wound of his hand slowly knitted shut, but it worried him that now they had nothing left but a flask with a bit of Blood-Replenishing Potion.

He didn't drink it, preferring to save it, though it wouldn't be of much use since it didn't heal. It was a shame too that they had no Pepper-Up or Restorative Draft. Those would have been right useful.

Testing his hand, and feeling it much better, Harry then glanced around.

Making a decision, he gently grabbed little Ulysses from the floor and then set him beside Tom. Staring into his Scorcrup's eyes that were as green as his, he pointed a finger from Ulysses to his brother and back.

Apparently, his familiar understood the message, but didn't look too happy about it. Nevertheless, little Ulysses stood guard by Tom's side, as Harry took hold of the Invisibility Cloak.

Before he could make a move to rise to his feet, Tom grabbed him by a sleeve, frowning at him.

"Going to look for supplies," Harry hoped he said clearly. "Stay here. I'll be back."

He rushed out of the church under the Invisibility Cloak before his brother could stop him.

Harry went around the ruins of Namsos, listing in his mind all the things they needed, all the things Old John Bryce had ever mentioned. First, they would need clothes that weren't wet as theirs, and above all, gloves and as many socks as possible.

'Keep your twenty toes warm and you will come to no harm,' Old John often said, when he told the boys of the orphanage about his experiences in the Great War.

Harry knew that the cause of death among soldiers had primarily been due to illnesses, dehydration, starvation, from the ill-conditions in trenches filled with rats, lice, and roaches, and also –more important given the situation at hand- hypothermia.

Old John had said that blood circulation was first lost in hands and feet, and that many soldiers had lost limbs due to that, or even died from untreated pneumonia and such.

It wasn't a pleasant experience, going around ransacking the corpses littering the ruins of Namsos, stuffing what he found in his satchel, but he did it all the same.

When he already had a bunch of useful stuff, Harry turned around to make his way back to the church. Though he paused for a moment when he glimpsed something in the distance.

Namsos had a coast at the south of the town, a fjord with a narrow beach with sand and pebbles and a small port that had been partly destroyed.

Harry knew that it was the Norwegian Sea that he was looking at, which connected with the North Sea of Britain. The water was dark blue, with some chunks of slowly melting ice floating about, along with debris that must have been washed out from the port. But what had captured his attention was a small, black shape he saw in the distance. There were two others in the sky as well, above the one in the sea, it seemed.

He didn't like it, it could be Germans. He hastily returned to the church and dropped everything before Tom.

There was a cigarette lighter that still had some petrol in it, useful for when they would have to make fires to keep warm. All the socks and gloves he had extracted from corpses, though with holes or burns in them. Two pairs of shoes, too large for them, but that would be easily solved since they had to wear as many socks as possible to keep their feet warm. Also the only two thick woolen jerseys that he had been able to find, stained with blood and a bit torn, but which would go along nicely with the two Norwegian Army uniform jackets he had stolen from two dead soldiers – the coats were grimy but also long and thick, which was more important.

Tom was staring at the little pile of treasures with a look of distaste on his face, but then Harry proudly showed him his most important finding.

Tom sneered and said something, and then seemed to remember that Harry couldn't understand him and clamped his mouth shut and merely scowled darkly, looking very ill-tempered.

Harry sighed, but then insistently showed him again the Army-issue gun he had found.

He didn't have any intentions of using it, but having a weapon could prove useful if they were found by some muggle soldiers. At least they would see that Tom and Harry weren't defenseless boys, and a gun could be used to threaten. And well, it was for 'just in case', and his brother needed to know about it.

"Look," Harry said, or hoped he was saying, as he pointed at the hammer of the gun. "You have to pull this down first, then press the trigger, if you want to shoot." He then pointed at the sight at the end of the barrel. "This is to help you take aim. And this-" he pressed the release and the gun's cylinder snapped open to one side, showing four bullets inside "- is for when you have to reload it with more bullets. I'll go see if I can find some more ammunition and clothes, and food too."

Tom seized his arm and shot him a frown. It looked inquisitive, so Harry merely said "Old John" as a mode of explanation, which instantly made Tom scowl and look even more annoyed.

Harry ignored it, left the gun in Tom's lap, and trotted out of the church again, under the Invisibility Cloak.

Tom had always despised Old John Bryce and never paid any attention to the old muggle's stories about the Great War, because he said that Old John was an ignorant oaf who knew nothing about the politics involved in the Great War.

But all of Tom's lofty knowledge about 'politics' and such rubbish wouldn't help them now, would it? It was the tricks for survival that soldiers employed which mattered, and Harry knew them all, thanks to Old John.

Though, Harry's knowledge of guns wasn't that extensive.

During their summer visits to Old John, the man had showed the boys of the orphanage his collection of rifles and guns - his trophies from the Great War, like the spiked helmet of some German soldier of the Kaiser's Army of those times. The old man even had two guns that he had stolen from other German soldiers he had killed. With pride, the muggle had displayed the guns to the fascinated and marveled eyes of the boys, mentioning their parts and how to clean them and such.

Harry remembered that in those occasions Tom had been in another room of Old John's house, arguing with Robert Hutchins about Communism or some such thing, as always, not in the least bit interested in lowly, common, and plebeian things as weapons used by low-ranked soldiers that were nothing more than cannon-fodder and had no say in how countries were governed or wars planned and plotted.

Meanwhile, Harry and Eric Whalley had been breathless with awe and excitement, as they usually were when Old John showed them anything pertaining to the Great War or told them stories. They had even convinced the old man to show them how to shoot.

Regretfully, Alice had gotten wind of it, and had put her foot down and shrieked at Old John about how he wouldn't be teaching little boys how to kill!

Nevertheless, the gun he had found looked very similar to the ones Old John had showed him, so he hoped it wouldn't be that difficult to handle.

Harry halted, just as he was sticking inside his satchel a can he had found incrusted in a patch of snow. The label was in Norwegian but it showed a picture of something that looked like a bowl of soup, so he hoped it was. It was the only thing remotely looking like food that he had found so far.

But now he was seeing that the shape in the distance was much bigger. Indeed, he could clearly discern that it was a ship, a large one. And the two things in the sky above were, distinctly, airplanes. All had to be moving at full speed, and it looked like they were coming straight towards Namsos.

Feeling very apprehensive, filled with forebodings, Harry quickly scampered through the ruins of the town.

He was in the far side of it, far away from the church, so he ran as fast as possible as he kept the Invisibility Cloak tightly wrapped around himself.

When he finally reached the church, he glanced backwards. The ship –warship, he saw now- and the two airplanes were even closer than before. They would reach Namsos in minutes!

Harry rushed into the church, reaching the corner in which his brother was siting, with a pensive, plotting, and brooding expression on his face. He hoped Tom was trying to figure out how to get back to Hogwarts, because he had no ideas except to gather as many supplies as possible.

He hastily took out the two pullovers he had snatched in his second round of corpse-ransacking, which were in tolerable conditions so he added them to the pile of other things, before he glanced at Tom and attempted to speak clearly and urgently, "We have to change!"

They had to get dressed in all the clothes he had found as quickly as possible, and then he would have to stuff all the other things in his satchel.

"And then get out of here!" continued Harry, as he gestured wildly at the pile of clothes. "Something's coming, I saw-"

Tom suddenly clutched him by the arm in a tight grip, his head snapping around, a look of intense alertness on his face.

"What-"

But Harry couldn't get another word out, because Tom was abruptly pulling him along in a sprint, looking both puzzled and troubled.

"Ulysses!" urged Harry, casting a glance over his shoulder, and opening his arms just in time for his Scorcrup to reach him and jump into them.

His familiar settled himself on Harry's shoulder just as Tom yanked the Invisibility Cloak from Harry's hand and pulled it over them.

Harry realized what Tom must have heard the moment they came out of the church and stood rooted in place.

There were trucks rushing, coming from the road that led to Namsos, and Harry recognized them immediately because it was those he had seen in the camp of the British Army. Robert Hutchins had to be in one of them!

And suddenly, feeling as if a lightning bolt of clarity had struck him, he understood, just as everything around them seemed to burst into pandemonium and chaos.

He understood the reason for the landmines in the surroundings of Namsos, and why Germans had been in the forest, hiding, because one of the trucks suddenly exploded, clearly its wheels having rolled over a landmine dug in the road, as the other trucks swerved to a side but didn't stop and continued moving at full speed, now entering Namsos, smashing through the shambles, while Germans –not just the seven who had looked for him and Tom, but ton others– suddenly appeared flowing out of the forest, in all directions, running, chasing, and shooting at the trucks.

It became a savage battlefield, as Tom pulled him to the ground, as bullets flew everywhere and the trucks halted some distance away from the coast, British soldiers jumping out of them, answering back the German gunfire.

And the warship Harry had seen was suddenly there, reaching the narrow beach at one side of the destroyed port, and it was a strange one, because in the next moment, the thing it had in the front proved to be some sort of wide metal plank that slammed on the beach, opening the ship, and soldiers came pouring out if it.

They were rushing towards the trucks, where now the army doctors and nurses were carrying out the stretchers with the wounded, and the soldiers from the ship began to help them, or running along offering cover and protection whilst firing their guns and rifles at the Germans that were pushing in at all sides, surrounding them, trying to prevent them from reaching the ship.

The sky suddenly turned into a battlefield too, the two airplanes Harry had seen engaging in battle with four others that had appeared out of nowhere – a small detachment of the German Luftwaffe, they had to be. Because the warship had a British flag that Harry could now see clearly, and there were anti-aircraft guns at either side of the ship's vast deck, and they were being manned, firing up into the sky and at the enemy's airplanes, which appeared to be throwing bombs, because black blurs fell from the sky and struck the sea, trying to hit the ship and causing huge waves to rock and slam against it.

This was the evacuation.

And the Germans had been waiting for it, to ambush. And of course that they had known about the British's plans, because Grindelwald and his Nazi puppets had to have spies everywhere. And Harry should have realized that of course that the evacuation would be by sea!

The neighboring country was Sweden and they were trying to keep themselves neutral in the war so it was obvious now that the British wouldn't go by land and cross borders into Sweden, which could very well deny them access.

Harry didn't know if he should be grateful or not that he was deaf. Because the gun firing, the bombings, and the explosions had to be thunderous and overwhelming, but on the other hand, hearing nothing but absolute silence made it all look all the more frightening, chaotic, and surreal.

They were crouching there on the ground, beneath the Invisibility Cloak, with Ulysses hanging on his shoulder, in the middle of a confrontation between Germans and English, with bullets flying everywhere, and Harry understood one thing.

He tapped Tom on the face so that his brother would look at him, and then pointed a finger at the ship in the shore a long distance away from them. "England."

Tom seemed to realize what he meant, because his expression became grave. But it was their only chance. They had to be on that ship. It clearly was of the British Royal Navy, and it was certainly going back to England. Once there, they would only have to figure out a way to go north to Scotland –easily done by train– and then Hogwarts.

Harry began to rise to his feet, but Tom violently pulled him down, scowling darkly and shaking his head.

Harry frowned, and then frantically gestured with his hands at the ship, insistently.

Tom glowered at him, before he angrily jabbed a finger in the direction of what was happening on land.

Harry swallowed thickly because his brother had a point. There was no way they could cross through the battle going on between Germans and English. They were fighting in a wide area in front of the beach where the ship was anchored, whilst more injured were being transported from the British Army trucks to the ship, in the midst of it.

The Invisibility Cloak would protect them from sight but not from gunfire. And as much as they ducked and dashed and darted between the soldiers in order to reach the ship, it was foolish to think they wouldn't get killed by some stray bullet.

Their only way to the ship was obstructed by the fight.

Harry blinked. That wasn't the only way.

He glanced at the sea, and then at his brother. "We swim to it."

For a moment Harry thought that perhaps his tongue had flapped in some wrong way and that he had only let out some sort of incomprehensible mumble jumble, because Tom merely stared at him.

But then his brother's expression darkened, and he mouthed one word that Harry understood, 'NO', and by the vicious look on Tom's face, he really meant it.

"We swim," Harry insisted, in what he hoped was a very curt and stern tone of voice. "Only way. Only chance."

Tom scowled fiercely, but Harry pointedly began to take off his coat, and his brother seemed to realize it was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

Once he had discarded his coat, Harry gestured pointedly and impatiently at Tom's.

Tom glowered, but apparently knew what it was all about –that for swimming it was best if they weren't encumbered by the weight of heavy clothes- and took it off, all the while looking very ill-humored.

Harry was quick to take Ulysses and wrap him with his Slytherin scarf, which he then tied around his neck, leaving the Scorcrup safely tucked, secured, and ensconced under his chin. Must be because he was part Kneazle and Scorpion, and certainly not the Crup side, that Ulysses had always abhorred water quite a lot. He always hissed like a kettle the times Harry attempted to bathe him. His Scorcrup would just have to put up with it, this time.

Once done, he hastily grabbed his brother's hand, covered them with the Invisibility Cloak, and began to run.

They came as close as they dared to the fighting going on, and then turned left, until they reached the seashore.

The ship was some distance away, but they could swim to it and then creep out of the water and unto the beach there, and cover themselves quickly with the Invisibility Cloak to then dash into the ship by taking the plank that served as floor and bridge between ship and beach. Or perhaps when they reached the ship they would see that it had one of those small ladders attached to its hull that some ships had – that would make matters easy.

Quickly, Harry toed off his shoes, seeing Tom following his lead, and then patted Ulysses comfortingly on the head because his familiar was giving him a very piteous look.

Nevertheless, when they were ready, he yanked off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it in his satchel, which was nearly empty -only with clip-on compass, flask of Blood-Replenishing Potion, map of Norway, and the can of food he had found, since all the rest had been left behind in the church- and then ran into the water and dived in before anyone could catch a glimpse of him.

It felt like a violent shock of pain, the water so freezing that it made his body ache and spasm. It was so overwhelming that it was nearly incapacitating. And his ears were instantly filled with water and it was then, just as something piercing and burning and horrible flared from the depths of his head, that he realized his mistake.

Harry had forgotten that there was a reason why he couldn't swim as anyone who fancied doing so could. Because he was deaf, he wasn't whole, his eardrums were shattered, offering no block, no protection, and water had rushed in, and he felt it, wrecking inside the inner channels of his ears, and it was unbearable and agonizing.

Yet he moved, he frantically flailed his arms and legs as he kicked to surge up to the surface of the sea, to take a deep intake of air, to feel Ulysses' claws gripping him and the weight of the Scorcrup pulling down on the drenched scarf, now harshly pressing around his neck, and he cried out as the insides of his ears flared.

But he kept jerkily and frenziedly moving his arms and legs too, even though it was painful to even lift a finger due to the freezing water, because he knew that if he didn't, his body would just seize up and he would plunge down into the depths like dead weight.

His teeth were clattering violently, the pain in his ears was killing him, as he gasped for air and tears of pain streamed down his wet face as he saw Tom's head bobbing in the water, the boy's face looking almost blue with cold.

His brother said something, was yelling something apparently, but Harry didn't understand and he didn't dare shake his head to express that because he feared that whatever he had left of the insides of his ears would be completely ruined.

And then Tom brought out a hand from under the water, that was shaking and trembling, and he pointed with an unsteady finger. Harry followed the direction and saw that the ship was moving. Its plank had been pulled back into place and it was moving away from the shore, from Namsos, from them.

Harry's eyes went wide with horror and desperation and he began to yell, to kick his legs in the water like a maniac, trying to swim as fast as possible, as he used an arm to wave it in the air like a madman, as he kept shouting who knew what, hoping the soldiers that he saw in the ship's deck would hear or see him.

Tom was doing the same, but they were too far away, and there were still Germans some distance away at the beach the ship had left, still firing at the English, and then something happened.

Harry saw an enormous wave rolling over towards them, and realized some other bomb must have been dropped trying to hit the ship and striking water instead, and the immense wave it caused first swallowed Tom and now it was coming towards him.

"Take a deep bre-!" he began to shout at Ulysses in warning, but was swamped over by the wave before he could, and he was plunged into the depths of the sea, feeling as if he was being pulled and tossed by a hurricane of tides, rolling head over feet several times and spinning, and water rushed and flooded into his ears once more and pain became excruciating and exploded.

Tom glanced down at his 'brother', and scowled darkly. He was furious, and worried, and fearful, and furious again because that was more important and an apt emotion to be feeling.

He had Harry's head on his lap and the boy didn't look good.

It was by sheer luck that Harry was alive.

After the wave had taken over Tom and he had managed to swim his way up to the surface of the water, he had waited to see if Harry appeared. But the boy had not, and gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the way his muscles and very skin ached due to the freezing waters that felt like piercing daggers, he dove into the depths in search of him.

Tom hadn't found him, not the four times he had plunged in and swam around and tried to see something in the darkness of the water and then gone back out to catch breath and plunge in again.

Just when he had begun to steel himself to the fact that the boy had certainly drowned, just as he started to go through considerable efforts to force himself to feel nothing about the loss and to not let it affect him, he had seen a small figure splumped on the beach, half immersed in water.

Frantically and violently moving his arms and legs, because there was no other way of swimming in such freezing waters without going mad, even as every little motion of his muscles fiercely ached and burned, Tom finally reached the shore, crawling out of the sea, and saw that it was Harry.

Incredible. It seemed that the tides and waves had just rolled him up to the beach, saving his life. Only Harry had such dumb luck.

Oh, the boy had been half unconscious and barely coherent, with closed eyes, whimpering, and blabbering to himself, something about 'ship' and 'hurts' and 'ears'.

Tom had stared, and then glared, because he hadn't thought about the boy's eardrums and he realized what the lack of them must have occasioned in the boy.

However, it was Harry who should have thought about it when proposing his mad plan of just swimming up to the ship. Of course it hadn't worked, the time had been too limited and the water had been too cold, to the point that Tom himself didn't know how he hadn't passed out and drowned.

But then, it had been the only chance of reaching the ship and he knew that Harry would have kept insisting on it, because trying was better than just standing there, watching a ship to England fade into the distance.

Well, it was a moot point now, because the English were gone, and so were the Germans the moment they had failed with their ambush, when the ship had left the shore and the last of the German airplanes in the sky had been gunned down.

Tom was fairly certain they had completely left the area of Namsos since he had heard the sounds of rumbling motors and rolling wheels – the Germans' own trucks which they must have had been hiding in the forest, he thought.

It was then when he dragged Harry to safety, with Scorcrup along, alas.

The little beast had survived too, seemingly entangled in Harry's drenched scarf. Pity that, though at least Tom had had the pleasure of utterly ignoring him when the stupid critter had meowed softly at him, clearly asking for Tom to free him out of the scarf. As if he would.

By the time he dropped Harry on the floor of the church, Tom didn't think he could have been any more exhausted or cold. But he had known the importance of changing into dry clothes, and thankfully, all of Harry's scavenging served for something.

First, of course, he had dressed himself, and then he had tended to Harry.

Only then had he disentangled the little pest from Harry's scarf. Not because he had to remove the little beast in order to change Harry's clothes, but because he had sent the stupid creature to do something for him.

Fifteen minutes later, the Scorcrup had returned with something unexpected.

And now Tom had Harry's head on his lap, and Harry was mumbling nonsense in his sleep, with a forehead drenched in sweat because the boy certainly had a fever, along with the ear infection he must be suffering.

Meanwhile, Tom was brooding, while he waited for Harry to recover somewhat so that they could discuss their options. And also so that he could furiously yell at him, not caring that the boy wouldn't hear or understand him, but just to release some stress and anger, and at least make Harry pay, by feeling his fury as pain in his scar.

Tom frowned at that, and glanced down again at Harry, bringing up a hand and carefully touching the boy's scar.

There it was, a pleasant, tingling warmth on his fingertips, what he always felt when touching it, though he had never confessed such to the boy.

He snatched his hand away and glowered at Harry's scar. It was so very odd and infuriating.

Despite his words to the contrary, he believed Harry about how the scar reacted to his moods. Tom had had ample evidence of it during their whole lives. And he had never forgotten how Dumbledore had reacted at the sight of Harry's scar, how the old coot had even attempted to touch it, and the expressions that had crossed the wizard's face – puzzlement, intrigue, but also concern and misgivings.

Thus, that day, the very day his superiority above all others had been confirmed when Dumbledore had told them they were wizards, Tom had also known that Harry's scar was magical in nature.

He had researched about the matter during his first year, and even now and then he kept going back to explore the topic. However, he had found nothing that could explain a scar like Harry's. Not even in books about powerful dark curses had he found a single one that could cause such a mysterious scar.

Furthermore, why would someone cast a strange curse on a baby, and a baby of unknown parentage at that? And why would the consequence be a magical scar with a link to Tom's moods? He, who had nothing to do with the boy's scar or even with the boy himself through blood.

Moreover, sometimes, he had even felt when he caressed it – but of course that it was a ridiculous notion – but he had thought he felt something under the scar, surging forth, struggling to reach him or to pull him in, wanting him.

He didn't like it one bit.

Nothing about Harry's scar made sense. And Tom despised things that escaped his comprehension.

To add insult to injury, feeling pain in the scar made Harry become short-tempered, snarky, and even uppity with him, and that was not something that Tom liked.

No, he much preferred when Harry was like that with other people. Indeed, even the boy's occasional bouts of cunningness were also a good trait, certainly, but not when it was used against him.

Tom much rather preferred when his 'brother' gazed at him with green eyes filled with breathless admiration, and unquestioning fierce loyalty, and even understanding and profound acceptance, as a brother of his should well do.

He was, after all, the great Salazar Slytherin's Heir, the very last of that most exalted, unique, and powerful bloodline. Thus, by birthright, anything he wanted or desired should be his.

And why not, when Harry had been given to him, through the despicable lies spouted by those half-brained, filthy muggle women, Alice Jones and Kathy Cole. It was them who had told them they were twins. Thus, it was them who had given Harry to him.

The fact was now irreversible and incontrovertible, because that night in the orphanage when he had overheard the two muggle women yapping and had then forced them to tell him the truth -he still remembered with relish how he had nearly suffocated Kathy Cole to death with his magic- he had made the decision to keep Harry.

The shock of the discovery had been great, and he had felt devastating disappointment as well as fury. Nevertheless, he hadn't been prepared to let go of Harry, of the boy's affection and love of him, the admiration, the attention, the 'friendship' of sorts, though the term made him sneer in disgust, but all the same, he hadn't been ready to lose all those things. And more importantly, Harry's steadfast loyalty towards him, to such point that the boy was able to accept him as he was, no matter the things he did that Harry considered so horrible – things the boy wouldn't forgive in anyone else, Tom knew.

Indeed, Harry was able to love and forgive him and stick by his side no matter what, and Tom had been well aware that it was because Harry thought they were brothers. The boy was just the type that was ridden with pitiful and ridiculous notions and emotions of that sort, who would trust, help, care about, and follow a brother to the ends of the world, and never abandon, no matter the reason.

Thus, ever since that night, Harry was his to keep, to teach, to mold, to perfect, and yes, even to protect, because the boy was an impulsive, pigheaded, and reckless idiot when he allowed himself to be swayed by pathetic sentimentalities – like worrying about Hutchins and so stupidly wanting to rescue the worthless muggle.

Well, the boy would outgrow that, Tom would make sure, because Harry, being his, shouldn't be caring about anything or anyone but him.

And his mind was rambling with inane thoughts, he realized. And his eyes were drooping again, his exhaustion creeping in once more.

Tom attempted to resist, because he wanted Harry to recover so that they could do something to get back to Scotland. He also wanted to remain awake so that he could have more time to think about possible ways of accomplishing it. But he failed. They had been without sleep for more than twenty-four hours and too much had happened.

He decided he should rest, it was the smart thing to do. But he was still cold, despite the dry clothes he was now wearing.

Shivering, Tom musingly glanced at Harry and then carefully placed the boy's head on the floor and rolled him to one side. In the next moment, Tom laid himself behind the boy, wrapped an arm around him, and pressed close together.

It was to keep warm, and if Harry woke before him and dared to ever say a word about 'cuddling', Tom would make him feel worlds of pain under his wand when they were back in Hogwarts.

Harry shifted, and groaned, and whimpered, because the pain inside his head was unbearable.

Slowly, he awoke, feeling his forehead drenched with sweat, hot and burning, his mind groggy and hazy, and his half-lidded eyes offering him a sight that swam with fever and incomprehension for a moment, before he realized where he was.

There was an arm over his waist and he felt a body behind his, a slow, constant pattern of inhalations and exhalations of breaths fluttering the small hairs on the back of his neck, and he realized that it had to be Tom. Harry then saw that little Ulysses was curled against his chest, fast asleep, as well.

He realized, too, that he felt dry and warm, and foggily saw that he was wearing some of the clothes he had gathered. A pullover on top of a jersey, underneath a thick Norwegian Army uniform jacket. His feet felt layered with several socks, inside large shoes, his hands tucked in several pairs of mittens and gloves.

However, Harry let out a small sob that he couldn't restrain, because of the pain in his head and because he realized they were back in the church, that they had missed the ship, their only chance of going back home.

He felt nothing but misery and despair and hopelessness. And the pain inside his ears sizzled and churned and pierced again, and Harry closed his eyes and curled himself under Tom's arm, with another sob escaping from his lips.

Suddenly, he felt fingers tenderly and soothingly caressing his hair, and Harry snapped his eyes open in alarm.

His distress only grew when he dizzily saw that there was a man crouched before him, touching him, and he froze.

The next second, though, as he saw the golden glow emanating from the man, the milky eyes peering at him, the translucent, handsome face that had become so familiar, and Harry's green eyes went wide. Stunned astonishment, and joy and profound relief swamped him and he nearly threw himself at the man.

Nearly, because Santi was quick to grip him, halting any further movements. The man shot the sleeping Tom a look before he gazed back at Harry and pointedly brought up a finger to his lips, then gesturing at him to follow.

Understanding, Harry kept his silence, as he carefully removed his brother's arm.

It didn't work, at first, because in some kind of automatic reflex, Tom's arm clutched him tighter when Harry attempted to move away.

Harry shot his brother an apprehensive glance, but confirming that the boy was still asleep, he then finally disentangled himself from Tom without awaking him or Ulysses.

He had trouble standing, his mind swirling feverishly, but then he felt Santi helping him up and taking him by the arm to gently pull him along.

Harry was led outside the church, though before he could attempt to speak and explain everything that had happened, Santi placed his hands on both sides of Harry's head.

Staring and blinking, Harry suddenly felt a warm, tickling sensation flowing into his ears as Santi's hands began to glow red.

In the next moment, as Santi dropped his hands and gave him a wide grin, he felt a rush sensations: his mind cleared, his vision became unfogged, his face stopped feeling hot, the piercing pain vanished from his skull, and sounds abruptly surrounded him, the cry of seagulls flying in the sky, the wind howling through the ruins of Namsos, the soft murmur of waves lapping the shore of the town.

"You should be well now."

Harry heard the man's words clearly, and he gaped at him in wonder as he touched his ears. "You healed me." Then he was beaming with happiness and gratefulness because he could hear his own voice again, too. "You found us! You-"

Abruptly, he clamped his mouth shut and gave him a look of horror, glancing around, expecting to see a Ministry letter popping out into existence in any second, as he said with terrible anxiousness, "You used magic, and my Trace-"

"Your Trace cannot detect my kind of magic," interjected Santi, giving him a wide smile. "Fear not."

Harry blinked at him, and then went slack with utter relief and relaxation. He was about to tightly hug the man as he had never done before, not even when Santi had comforted him in the bridge of Hogwarts, wanting to blabber out his immense gratefulness, when the man spoke again.

"You're in quite a fix," said Santi calmly, as he shot him a considering look. "I've come here to-"

"To help us!" said Harry quickly, nodding and warmly smiling at him. "Thank you! I didn't know what to do to get back, because we tried to-"

"No," interrupted Santi gravely, piercing him with his strange, milky eyes that sparkled like constellations. "I came here to offer help to you." His gaze became more skewering and intense, as he added softly, "I can take you back to Hogwarts right this second. I can take you back to your own bed in the Slytherin dormitories."

Harry stared at him, speechless, never imagining that Santi could solve their situation that easily, before he perked up with joy. "Yes! I'll go fetch Tom!"

He didn't even have the chance to turn around when Santi was already preventing it by gently grabbing one of his arms. "No, I said I would help you - only you." He gave him a grave, stern look. "I told you before that Tom Riddle must never know about me."

Harry gawked at him incredulously, and gestured wildly with his hands. "But this is different! We are stranded here, we need-"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Santi curtly. "You have to choose. Either you let me take you back to Hogwarts or you stay here with Tom Riddle."

Harry clamped his mouth shut and glowered at him, before jerking his chin up as he bit out, "I'm not leaving my brother behind."

Santi nodded, not looking at all surprised but rather resigned, bitter, and grim for a brief moment. "Then you have to make your own way back to Hogwarts." He shot him a speculative glance. "You do know the only way in which you can manage that, don't you?"

Harry frowned pensively, as he began to say slowly, "Well, the fastest way would be by apparating or portkeying to Hogsmeade. But we don't know how to apparate or how to cast the charm to make portkeys, and we couldn't do either anyway because we cannot use magic…" His frown deepened. "Though, I suppose we could get a portkey from the Norwegian Ministry of Magic if we found-"

"Exactly," cut in Santi hastily. "They have many portkeys in the shelves of their Department of Magical Transportation, and they are all clearly labeled. They have three, at present, that go to Hogsmeade."

Harry stared at him. "Well, that's good to know but-"

"You'll have to steal one," continued Santi quickly, as he shot him a wide, gorgeous grin, "which you can easily manage by using that Invisibility Cloak I know you have."

"Yes, but-"

"Now listen carefully," added Santi, his tone now urgent as he clutched Harry's shoulders and gazed down at him with piercing eyes, "do you know when the French and British muggle troops will be leaving Norway?"

Harry gazed at him with befuddlement. "Yeah. We just saw a British battalion leaving Namsos, and Ignatius Prewett told me that all evacuations would be finished in four days…" He trailed off, before he added musingly, "Well, he told me that two days ago." He blinked at Santi, and then glanced around. "If today is still Sunday, that is."

"It is. Sunday noon," said Santi, pointing at the sun high up in the sky. "You and Tom have been asleep for six hours since dawn."

"Right," said Harry, frowning. "Then that means that all of the Allies' troops will be out of Norway in two more days." He shot him a puzzled glance. "So?"

"So," said Santi gravely, his hands still on Harry's shoulders, the grip slightly tightening, "it means that you only have these two days to reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic and get a portkey out of this country." His expression turned grim. "Grindelwald is waiting for all British and French muggle troops to leave Norway before striking the Ministry."

Harry swallowed thickly at that. He had known that the Dark Lord's tactics for conquering Norway were different from those used all the times before.

In the last issue of The Daily Prophet it had been reported that Grindelwald had only invaded Norway with his muggle Nazi troops, sending no wizard followers since this was the first time that France and England had sent armies to help another country against the Germans, given that they had declared war only recently.

It seemed as if Grindelwald had been wary of doing anything that could breach the Statute of Secrecy, with so many muggle soldiers in Norway that could see one of Grindelwald's followers doing magic.

Harry had also known, from the Prewett twins, that Wizarding France had been sending Aurors to the Norwegian Ministry, giving aid in preparation against an attack, since Dumbledore had persuaded the French Minister of Magic to declare war on the Dark Lord, succeeding in that whilst failing in convincing Gravius Marchbanks of doing the same, for the time being.

"Grindelwald will strike at noon," said Santi in a low voice. "Precisely at twelve o'clock on Tuesday. Thus, you must reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic before then." He skewered him with his gaze, and demanded urgently, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," muttered Harry quietly, before he gave him an anxious look. "But where and how-"

"It will not be easy," interrupted Santi, pressing tightly on Harry's shoulders before he released him. "But this is what you have chosen." Abruptly, he caressed a lock of Harry's hair and smiled warmly and encouragingly at him, though it looked a mite strained and pained as well, as he said in a murmur, "You said to me, once, that this was your journey of discoveries – discoveries about yourself and other kinds." His smile grew, tight and tense, as he whispered, "You called it your very own Odyssey."

"My Odyssey?" mumbled Harry, feeling thoroughly astounded.

Then he blinked, and suddenly, for the first time, he realized that he fully believed him, as inexplicable as it was. He now believed Santi when the man had said that he could travel through Time, that he was a one-of-a-kind magical being, if he could be called anything at all.

He believed him because the 'Odyssey' only meant something to Harry. Not even Tom or anyone else would have used it as reference of something significant, since it was the tale that Robert Hutchins had often told to the boys of the orphanage, the very one that was Harry's favorite along with the Illiad, and with which he had named his Scorcrup after the hero of the story.

And he then remembered his encounter with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, and how the Grey Lady had told him that the centaurs were referring to Santi when they spoke about the 'The Fates'. He recalled the little palomino centaur, Firenze, looking so awed and excited as he gazed at Harry and chirped that he was 'The Fates' Companion'.

Harry didn't know what that last meant, exactly, but he swallowed thickly all the same, because Ulysses's Odyssey had been fraught with danger, bloodshed, and despair, too, and it didn't seem like a tale of glorious adventures anymore.

"Remember," said Santi sternly, yanking Harry out from his swirling, apprehensive thoughts, "you must be in the Ministry before Tuesday noon."

And with that, the man disappeared in the next bat of an eyelash, leaving Harry there, staring mutely, because Santi hadn't told him where the Ministry was or how Tom and he were supposed to get there in barely two days time.