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:
Sorry for the long wait! I've been very busy lately, with few chances to write. Anyway, here's the new chappie, finally. I'll try to post the next one by Saturday or Sunday.
Enjoy!
Part I: Chapter 45
Harry instantly rushed back into the church. He wasn't that surprised when he saw that Tom had awoken whilst he had been outside talking to Santi.
His brother was now rising to his feet as Harry reached him, glaring irritably. "Where have you bee-"
Tom clamped his mouth shut, looking even more annoyed as he glowered at him and began to attempt to communicate by gesturing with his hands.
At that, Harry shook his head and beamed at him. "You can talk to me. I can hear you now."
Dropping his hands, Tom stared at him with narrowed eyes. "What?"
"It seems my eardrums healed themselves while we were sleeping," said Harry dismissively, as he quickly walked around Tom to reach his satchel.
"You always say I heal abnormally fast," he added absentmindedly as he hastily took hold of it. His satchel was still wet from when they had plunged in the sea trying to reach the ship, yet it was still usable, and he wasted no time in plucking out what was left of the map of Norway.
"Not that fast," retorted Tom sharply, skewering him with eyes now narrowed to thin slits, gleaming with suspicion and puzzlement.
"Huh?" said Harry distractedly, as he tried to carefully unfold the drenched map. He briefly glanced at his brother to simply shrug his shoulders. "Well, my ears just healed themselves. What does it matter how?"
He went back to peel the map open. The ink had run all over the paper, there wasn't much left except some blurs and smudges, and Harry frowned as his gaze roved over them, as he said musingly, "Ministries of Magic are usually located in the capital city of countries, right?"
"Usually, yes," said Tom shortly, before he glowered at him and demanded in that whiplashing, commanding tone he so liked to employ, "What are you doing?"
"Trying to see how we'll get to Oslo, of course," replied Harry, as he kept gazing and squinting at the unintelligible marks of the ruined map.
"Oslo?" Tom took several steps to tower over him, his expression dark and ill-tempered, as he spat, "What for?"
Sighing, Harry glanced up at him and replied matter-of-factly, "Our best chance of getting back home is to find the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. We'll go to Oslo – hopefully the Ministry is really there. And we'll have to find it, and get in and steal a portkey from their Department of Magical Transportation." He pulled a casual, nonchalant expression over his face. "I mean, all Ministries have those Departments, don't they? And they're bound to have a portkey to England or Scotland, or maybe to Hogsmeade itself."
Tom stared at him, his eyes narrowing, before he smirked abruptly as he intoned in a strangely smug and vicious tone of voice, "By portkey, you say? Of course, that would be the safest and fastest way. Yet perhaps there won't be any need to obtain a portkey from a Ministry."
Harry gazed at him in utter befuddlement, as his brother's smirk widened.
"Indeed," continued Tom, looking as if he was relishing a dramatic scene of his own doing, "we might have a portkey already." He gestured at Ulysses, who was staring up at them from the floor, as he added coolly, "I made your little pest go back to Tilly Toke's remains and bring me whatever he could find – whatever there could still be there, whatever of use-"
"You mean," interrupted Harry slowly, first blinking, then frowning, and finally feeling a surge of joyous hope, his green eyes widening, his voice rising with excitement, "that the boot survived? You have it?"
Tom shot him a glower as he sneered contemptuously, "Of course not, you dimwit. That portkey was just an ordinary boot, the explosion caused by the landmine surely blew it to smithereens." His glare turned nasty, as he added acidly, "And boots don't 'survive', you imbecile, they are objects. When will you learn to speak properly instead of embarrassing me by blabbering like an illiterate idiot?"
Bristling, Harry opened his mouth, but Tom waved a hand to shut him up as he intoned placidly, "The fuzzball brought me something else." He took something out of a pocket and dangled it before Harry's face, his voice turning vicious, "Now we know why you were his favorite, don't we, little brother?"
Harry didn't understand at first, as he stared at a small, round pendant swaying from side to side from the silver chain held in Tom's hand. He just stared uncomprehendingly at the symbol –so very familiar– decorating the piece of jewelry.
"But that's-" Harry finally mumbled, thoroughly confused, "that's the-"
"The Dark Lord's mark, yes," said Tom, smirking poisonously.
"What?" Harry stared at him, utterly taken aback.
"I know," said Tom, his smirk widening, his dark blue eyes flashing, his tone low and venomous. "We always wondered who in Hogwarts was Grindelwald's spy. Who was putting the books from the Dark Lord under my pillow, or asking a house-elf to do so." He let out a harsh chuckle. "Who would have thought it was the imbecile of Tilly Toke all along? Genius, isn't it? To recruit the Head of Hufflepuff House as a spy, a wizard who had an Order of Merlin for saving stupid muggles, a man who always spouted nonsense in class, about our duty as wizards to save pathetic muggles." His eyes gleamed as he added with relish, "I bet Albus Dumbledore didn't even suspect him. And it explains so much, doesn't it, little brother? Why Toke was always so interested in you, why you were his favorite, why he praised you and taught you more charms outside of class, why he came here with you-"
"No," croaked Harry, shaking his head, feeling he couldn't be any more gobsmacked or thoroughly bewildered. "It can't be. That symbol is-"
"The proof," spat Tom impatiently, as he pointedly shook the pendant again. "Tilly Toke was wearing this. This was the only thing that wasn't destroyed by the landmine. This is what your stupid little critter found. It must have landed in some patch of snow that covered it, because the Germans certainly didn't see it."
Harry yanked the chain from Tom's hand, grabbing the pendant, frowning as he stared at it. In the next moment he seized the Invisibility Cloak with his other hand, and stared from one to the other, astounded.
He had remembered correctly, he had been right. The symbol in the Invisibility Cloak, by the hem, at one corner of it, was exactly the same as the one in the pendant.
"What are you doing?" said Tom, looking supremely annoyed.
Harry glanced up at him. Of course, his brother didn't see. Tom couldn't see the Invisibility Cloak, and much less the symbol it bore, always looking as if it was made of thin, silvery threads of magic.
"Brother," breathed out Harry, his eyes wide, "the pendant's symbol-"
"Does it have magic? Do you see anything?" demanded Tom, his voice giddy and excited. "It must be a communication device of some sort or a portkey, I think, but I couldn't get it to work-"
"A device? A portkey?" interjected Harry instantly, deeply alarmed. "You didn't try anything with magic, did you?"
"Certainly not," retorted Tom, frowning at him, before he shot him a hard glower, taking a threatening step towards him. "We cannot use magic, no matter what-"
"I know-"
"We cannot activate our Traces," continued Tom, his voice increasingly harsher, his expression growing darker.
"I know, Tom-"
"No one can ever know that we came to Norway-"
"I know-"
Tom towered over him, like an ominous, menacing shadow, as he spat, "No one can ever know about how Tilly Toke died-"
"I know!" yelled Harry at last, agitated and angered. "I know all that. You think I didn't realize? You think I don't understand what the consequences would be!"
Skewering him with his gaze, Tom eyed him closely, before he declared curtly, "Good. At least you managed to figure out what's at stake here." He shot him an impatient look. "Now tell me, do you see any magic in the pendant? Or in the Dark Lord's mark itself?"
"Dark Lord's mark?" Harry stared at him in confusion before he shook his head, deeply frustrated. "This symbol isn't-"
"You mean you didn't know?" sneered Tom scathingly, eyeing him with disdain as he pointed a finger at the pendant. "You didn't know that that symbol is used by the Dark Lord? He marks his Haupte Kommandanten with it." His dark blue eyes glinted. "I've looked into those kinds of Dark Arts spells used to create magical brandings – fascinating, useful things they are, quite ingenious of the Dark Lord to use them." He smirked at Harry. "I've even heard that there's a wall in Durmstrang carved with the crest, etched by the Dark Lord himself when he was a schoolboy."
"Mark? Brand? Crest?" echoed Harry, staring at him. "What on earth are you babbling about?"
"That's Gellert Grindelwald's family crest, you dimwit!" spat Tom, looking irritated and exasperated beyond measure.
Harry became speechless, as his eyes darted from Invisibility Cloak to pendant and back. He was about to say something when he abruptly clamped his mouth shut.
His mind was swirling with confusion and astonishment, yet he realized what was the only explanation possible.
Surely, he didn't think Charlus Potter saw magic like he did himself. He didn't think Charlus could see the symbol, but perhaps the boy knew it was there. Maybe that was why Charlus had never mentioned it – that his family was related to Gellert Grindelwald.
There must have been some Potter and Grindelwald ancestors who had married each other. Only that could explain why the Invisibility Cloak – a Potter heirloom, passed down from father to son, generation after generation, for ages, as Charlus often remarked- could have a symbol that Tom insisted was the family crest of Gellert Grindelwald.
Harry could certainly understand why Charlus Potter didn't want anyone to know that he was related to the Dark Lord. Telling Tom about the symbol of the Cloak would be betraying Charlus and his secret, and Harry wouldn't do that, not after all the kindness that Charlus had shown him.
Furthermore, it was then too when he realized that the Cloak was completely dry. It had been in his satchel when they had swam in the sea attempting to reach the ship, and even now his satchel was still a bit wet. But the Cloak was not. In fact, it felt unaccountably warm. Did all Invisibility Cloaks possess such magical traits? Did they all bear a hidden family crest too?
He would try to ask Charlus about all of it, with as much subtlety and tact as possible, since it was still quite perplexing and mindboggling.
"Right," said Harry, as he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak back into the satchel and returned the pendant to his brother.
"So?" demanded Tom crisply, as he gestured at the piece of jewelry.
"Oh," muttered Harry, staring back at the pendant, before he heaved a deep breath and said sincerely, "No, I see no magic in it."
Tom scowled at that, frowning down at the necklace in his hand. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," said Harry, sighing, before he narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What did you want to do with it, if it was still working, anyway?"
Tom didn't answer, merely shot him an ill-humored glare, yet Harry had an inkling and he didn't like it one bit.
They couldn't test with their wands and magic if the pendant was still working, if it had some lingering bit of magic that he couldn't see, that might have withstood the blast caused by the landmine –though it certainly still retained some magical properties, since both chain and pendant looked utterly undamaged.
They had no way of knowing, but if Tom was right and it had been a communication device or portkey, it was clear to whom it would lead – to the Dark Lord himself, the very last person Harry ever wanted to encounter.
Harry preferred not to think about it, how he and Tom never saw eye-to-eye when it came to Gellert Grindelwald, nor about what it meant that Tilly Toke had apparently been wearing that pendant.
He shoved it all to the back of his mind and focused on the matter-at-hand.
"We have two days to get to Oslo, find the Ministry of Magic and steal a portkey from them," said Harry curtly. "That's the only way we'll get back home."
"Two days?" Tom sneered caustically, and Harry was swift to inform him, mostly with half-truths.
Obviously, he didn't mention Santi at all, but ascribed it all to Ignatius Prewett and the things the wizard had told him during the floo-call.
"The Dark Lord will attack the Norwegian Ministry of Magic," said Tom, his eyes narrowed to slits, "on Tuesday at twelve o'clock? Prewett told you such?"
"Yes," Harry lied smoothly. "In our Ministry of Magic they're quite sure of that."
Tom pierced him with his eyes, his jaw clenching. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
"I didn't?" Harry blinked at him. "But I told you that-"
"You told me," hissed out Tom infuriated, "when, according to Ignatius Prewett, the muggle British and French troops would be leaving Norway, not when the Dark Lord would be taking over the Norwegian Ministry."
"Oh, really?" said Harry, looking nothing but baffled. "Must've slipped my mind, then." He gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. Anyway, we must make haste."
"Haste?" sneered Tom acidly. "To reach Oslo? And how, do tell, are we supposed to get there? We have no means of transportation, you half-brained imbecile!"
At that, Harry shot him a pensive look. "The Germans-"
"Are gone," snapped Tom irritably. "I heard them leaving the area, in trucks-"
"Trucks?" jumped in Harry instantly, his eyes growing wide. "All trucks?"
They stared at each other, before Tom said churlishly, "I hardly think-" but Harry was already dashing out of the church, with Tom reluctantly following at his heels.
The moment he stood outside in the midst of the ruins of Namsos, Harry came to a halt, as they both looked, as if one, towards the coast. There was nothing left except the half-destroyed port. Evidently, the Germans had also taken the trucks left behind by the British Army.
"As I thought," griped Tom acerbically.
Harry's shoulders slumped in dejection, before he forced into himself some cheer. "Alright. Then we walk."
"Walk?" snarled Tom savagely. "Don't you remember the map? Don't you remember the distance between Namsos and Oslo? On foot, we wouldn't get there in two months, much less in two days, you idiot!" He paused abruptly, giving him a considering look, his dark blue eyes gleaming. "Unless-"
"No," snapped Harry sternly, shooting him a glower. "I didn't ask about the Germans because I had any intentions of going to them. We won't look for them, won't ask for their help in any way-"
"If this can't take us to Grindelwald," interjected Tom in a hard tone of voice as he dangled the pendant before Harry's face, "the Germans might."
"Not likely," said Harry shortly.
They both knew the chances were very slim that any ordinary German foot-soldier would even know who Gellert Grindelwald was. Maybe they had heard the name, since from Slytherin gossip they knew that the Dark Lord masqueraded as some sort of wealthy factory owner, who financed and gave advice to the Führer Adolf Hitler and his cronies, but a common soldier wouldn't have the means to take them to Grindelwald or even know where the wizard was.
Moreover, they knew the risks too. Tom's German was quite good by now, it seemed that languages came naturally to him, nevertheless, a Nazi soldier might just shoot them the moment they opened their mouths and let out British accents.
"Never the Germans," stated Harry stonily. "Never Grindelwald either."
Suddenly, his scar flared with pain, and he bit back a moan as he stared at his brother. He knew what Tom must be feeling and thinking, but Harry refused to get sucked into any quarrels. They couldn't afford it.
"We walk," repeated Harry stiffly, as he turned around to enter the church.
"Oh yes," hissed out Tom from behind, his tone viciously mocking and piercing, sounding like a rattle-snake about to strike, "because that will help us out of this impossible situation we're stuck in - because of you. We can't do magic, can't travel by any means, yet your solution is to just walk? And what – hope we grow wings and reach Oslo in mere days?"
"I don't know what else to do, alright!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs, as he spun around to face him, angered and feeling nothing but sheer misery. "I haven't the foggiest idea. But we're wasting time standing here, arguing! We must get moving. Something will pop up – that's all we can hope for!"
It became a tense affair after that.
They didn't speak to each other, the silence between them strained and weighting heavily, as Harry packed into his satchel the scarce things left that they weren't already wearing, from what he had gathered during his rounds of corpse-ransacking.
With Ulysses tucked under Harry's layers of clothes and the Invisibility Cloak covering them, they took the road of Namsos, and they walked, and walked, for what felt like an unbearable, monotonous eternity.
Hours passed, in complete silence, during which they glimpsed nothing but forests of leafless trees at either sides of the long, winding road, with no bushes bearing berries nor trees giving fruits, only scraggly weeds and trees, and barren land.
There were no sounds, no indication of any life, either, the area certainly having been completely abandoned and deserted.
When the road branched into two, Harry took out the clip-on compass for a broom he no longer had, and followed the direction of the needle, marking south, making them take the road on the left which seemed to lead there.
Their feet began to drag, their breathing became haggard pants, their faces rigid with cold and their muscles petrified, as the chilly, humid winds began to soak their clothes, as their teeth clattered, no matter how many layers of jerseys, coats, socks and gloves they were wearing, since they all became wet as they trudged through snow, their overlarge shoes drenched.
The hunger was painful and stabbing, unmercifully twisting their grumbling stomachs, and it was then when Harry spoke the few times that he did, when Tom complained.
"Not until nightfall," he said firmly. "We'll open the can of soup then. We'll make a fire too. Only at night, when smoke will not be seen from above the treetops. We'll make it small, only to warm us a bit, not enough to give off too much light."
"And after the can is gone?" bit out Tom acidly.
"Then I'll find something else for us to eat," snapped Harry tersely.
His brother didn't appreciate it, either, when he complained about thirst and Harry answered by grabbing a handful of snow, shoving it into Tom's mouth, as he stated short-temperedly, "That's our water."
Harry didn't allow them any rest, not a moment of pause. He was relentless, no matter their exhaustion. As long as there was a faint ray of sunlight, they would walk.
Tom didn't voice his complaints after that, but Harry certainly felt it, his scar flaring in pain now and then, making his head throb constantly, at times feeling as if it was about to split open.
Yet, Harry said nothing about it, because Tom had been right. They were in such a dire mess because of him, and he had no right to grouse or whine and ask his brother to control his fury at him and the difficult situation they found themselves in.
Tom kept up with the pace, yes, but Harry knew the real reason. Not to reach the Norwegian Ministry of Magic before Tuesday noon, but to be there exactly at that time, to encounter Grindelwald in person, at long last.
It wasn't a mere suspicion about his brother's true motives and desires, it was a certainty. Tom had wanted to meet Grindelwald since their first journey in the Hogwarts Express, the very first time they had ever heard about the wizard, from Felicity and Felix Prewett.
Harry didn't know what Tom believed Grindelwald would do with them if they ever crossed paths. He didn't think his brother was deluded or blinded – Tom didn't worship, he used and took from people. He certainly wanted to do likewise with the Dark Lord.
Nevertheless, Harry never wanted to find out if Tom was sly enough to match wits with the Dark Lord, managing to be the manipulator instead of the manipulated. The reason for Grindelwald's interest in them –for the letter and books the wizard had sent, declaring himself their 'mentor' from afar- was still a mystery, still unexplained even if the Dark Lord somehow knew they were Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants.
For Harry, it had gone beyond deeply distrusting and disliking the Dark Lord. Now, he wanted Grindelwald dead.
However, he didn't speak about any of it, not until he had to break the silence between them, when the sun had already set and vanished and there was no daylight left – the moon and stars obscured by the clouds filling the dark sky.
"We should stop," breathed out Harry, a stitch at one side of his torso paining him, his stiff limbs feeling unbearably heavy, the hunger twisting his entrails piercing, constant and overwhelming, to such point that he could think of nothing but food, and rest, and sleep.
The new road they had taken hours before still hadn't led to anything but more of it, fading into the distance. They had come upon no villages, no trucks or motorcars circulating on the road either. It felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere, but Harry still hoped that they might cross paths with some other road, a wider one, perhaps one of the main ones in the country. One that could take them to Oslo.
However, it was certain that they needed some rest. They had been walking for a whole day, without any sustenance, with clothes now damp with frost, and with exhaustion that felt crippling.
Tom looked awful, with a face pale from tiredness, lips nearly blue from cold, always shivering, with dark shadows forming under his eyes, looking thoroughly unkempt, smelling of sweat and dirty, unwashed clothes. Harry didn't think he himself could look much better.
He glanced at the forest to his right, and pointed a finger at it. "We should make camp there."
Tom followed him in silence, as they entered the woods. Harry was quick to drop his satchel on the first small clearing he found, to then set little Ulysses on the snow-covered ground.
"Go see if you can find something to eat," he said hopefully to his Scorcrup. "Perhaps a small animal that you could hunt for us."
Ulysses instantly obeyed and disappeared between the trees, as Harry turned around to face his brother and sighed. "Help me get some wood for a fire."
It was easy to find a stone with a sharp edge, and Harry yielded it as if it were a knife as he inspected one of the trees nearby. He touched it, feeling the bark wet from snow and therefore useless. The other tree trunks would be the same, he knew.
"Hoist me up," he said to Tom, and quickly clarified when his brother arched an irritated eyebrow at him, "I'll have to hack off some of its branches. Wood has to be dry to make a fire."
Tom scowled at him. "Why should I be the one who-"
"Because you're freakishly tall for our age!" snapped Harry impatiently, huffing and irked due to the fact, which seemed so unfair to him. "So I need you-"
"I'm far beyond average, as I should," drawled Tom arrogantly, a smug smirk quirking his lips, "as I am in all things."
"-to help me up so that I can reach the dry branches," continued Harry peevishly, ignoring his brother's interruption.
In the end, Tom did help by steepling his fingers together and letting Harry use his joined hands as a foothold, then finally managing to climb to his brother's shoulders and stand on them.
"Be quick!" Tom groused as he held Harry in place and helped him retain balance by grabbing his calves.
Harry scowled down at him as he kept hitting and cutting a small branch with the sharp-edged stone. "I don't weight much!"
"Yes, but you're not a feather either," gritted out Tom from teeth clenched in effort, glaring up at him from between Harry's legs. "Hurry up!"
Half an hour later, Harry climbed down with pockets filled with small twigs, while Tom glared and rubbed his abused shoulders.
Making a fire was no easy deal. Harry had the cigarette lighter he had found in the ruins of Namsos, but he had no coals or newspapers to use, and it was only after his fifth attempt when he succeeded in burning one of the twigs for long enough so that it could ignite the others, forming a small pyre with them.
By then, Ulysses had already returned, meowing despondently, letting him know there was no prey to be found in their surroundings.
"A rabbit would have been nice," mumbled Harry, nevertheless patting his familiar on the head for his efforts.
The fire was a rather pitiful one, but both he and Tom were quick to sit in front of it, so that its warmth would help dry their clothes a bit.
They draped the Invisibility Cloak over their shoulders, as they shivered and pressed close together, while Harry finally fished out the can of soup from his satchel.
In a few minutes, after he had placed it by the edge of the fire, it was heated, and with hands protected by layers of gloves and mittens, he clumsily took it back. With the sharp stone, he finally smashed the top open, and ravenously dipped it back so that its contents could trickle into his awaiting mouth.
The moment the fluids entered and went down his throat, Harry spat it right out, spluttering, hacking, and coughing.
"It's stale!" he chocked out, wheezing.
"Give me that!" snapped Tom, yanking the can from Harry's hands and testing its contents. He dipped a finger into the soup and then brought it to his lips, carefully licking his fingertip.
The can of soup was violently hurled into the distance, Tom looking furious as he rounded on Harry. "Perfect. Just perfect. We need to eat something in order to survive!"
Harry shot him a miserable look, before he perked up. "According to Old John, a person can live for three weeks without food, as long as they have water. Soldiers during the Great War-"
"They were sitting in trenches!" snarled Tom angrily. "They didn't have to walk for miles upon miles! We won't make it if we don't have food, you imbecile!"
"True," retorted Harry, doing his best to maintain his cheer, yet he began to nervously play with the buttons of his Norwegian Army coat, as he suggested tentatively, "We could – erm, well… Hutchins-"
"I'm not eating your excrement," hissed out Tom, looking livid, "or drinking your urine. Nor mine. I'm not a mindless beast!"
Harry sighed at that, he wasn't looking forward to feeding on pee and dung either. He musingly glanced at his surroundings, trying to remember all the little tidbits of information that Old John had shared.
"Oh, I know!"
He was up to his feet in a second, and vanished into the forest.
"I can make a vegetable soup of sorts," he said bracingly when he returned a long while later, grinning at his brother as he showed him the scarce bits of gangly weeds he had gathered, along with bits of tree bark he had chopped off.
Tom answered him with a glare, as he spat, "That won't be enough. Our bodies are already burning everything just to keep warm!"
Harry could say nothing to that, but worked undaunted, as he went to look for the can that Tom had tossed away. He emptied it and cleaned it with snow, and then stuck the weeds and pieces of bark inside, along with some more snow, and placed it by the edge of the fire.
It took nearly an hour, for the snow to melt into water, to heat itself and boil the bark and weeds and make them tender.
Harry finally offered the can to Tom, who was quick to grab it, drink a bit from it, and declare with an ill-tempered expression on his face, "Disgusting."
After tasting it for himself, Harry had to admit that it was quite awful. Boiled or not, the bits of bark were hard to swallow and the weeds tasted flat or had a pungent, bitter flavor.
He even felt hungrier than before when they had drank the whole improvised 'soup', and his brother seemed to be right. All the energy they had already expended in walking and in keeping warm amidst such cold surroundings wouldn't be restored with just some bits of weeds, and they still had a very long way to go.
"Something will turn up," mumbled Harry when Tom kept glaring at him.
They went silent after that, Harry using one of the spare twigs to poke at the fire, staring at it morosely, while Ulysses snuggled on his lap, with furred tail coiled around to keep warm. His familiar looked more like a porcupine than a Scorcrup now, with his fur frozen with frost and snow, standing up in all directions.
He was yanked out of his depressing musings when he felt Tom shifting at his side. He glanced at him, and instantly snapped anxiously, "Will you stop fiddling with that!"
Tom glowered at him, as he kept turning Tilly Toke's pendant this way and that, inspecting it, as he sneered hatefully, "Why should I?"
"Because I don't want to end up in Grindelwald's clutches!" yelled Harry angrily. "We still don't know what he wants from us, and I don't trust him one bit." He wildly gestured at their surroundings. "He's the one who's caused all this – this stupid war that's getting so many people killed." He glowered and roared furiously, "That almost got HUTCHINS KILLED!"
Tom shot him a contemptuous look as he sneered, "He only gave the filthy muggles an excuse to kill each other – and good riddance, I say."
"He's been doing much more than that," bit out Harry, glaring at him, "and you know it."
"So what?" said Tom crisply, narrowing his eyes.
Harry jerkily carded a hand through his hair in exasperation. They had both seen all those corpses in Namsos, and that had only been one small town in Norway. He could easily imagine all the other times something like that had already happened, in all the other countries the Dark Lord had already conquered.
"It's a waste," said Harry angrily. "A complete waste of lives."
"Oh, is that what War is now?" drawled Tom mockingly. "It has not lived up to your expectations? It is no longer thought by you to be so filled with noble and glorious adventures-"
"I don't think that anymore," muttered Harry, as he crabbily jabbed the fire with the twig once more. "Haven't, for a long time." He abruptly snapped his head around to glare at his brother. "It is a waste, and all for what? Just to-"
"To make a better world," spat Tom impatiently, "for wizarding kind. The Dark Lord has the power to make it happen, so he is – with war, the fastest and most efficient way-"
Harry instantly regretted having spoken at all. He had already heard all the arguments before, and they still disagreed on every point.
"-because Magic is might, little brother. It is power, it is control over nature and all others, it is superiority," Tom continued harshly, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. "Hence, why should wizarding kind be the ones hiding and cowering from Muggles? It should be the other way around!"
Carding a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and kept silent. It was pointless to argue. His convictions had only solidified with the things they had seen and experienced, and someday he would let Tom know that, and he would make him understand. But not now, not when he needed his brother's help to get out of the fix they were in.
"Oh, you remain silent," said Tom scathingly, piercing him with his eyes. "Could it be that you're finally seeing sense?"
"Sure," grumbled Harry, shrugging a shoulder dismissively.
"Then take it," said Tom sharply, his tone challenging as he eyed him closely and held up a hand, Tilly Toke's necklace dangling from it.
"No," Harry bit out waspishly, shooting the pendant a dirty look. "You keep tinkering with it, if you want. But if you suddenly vanish, don't expect me to go rescue you."
"I would not need to be saved," sneered Tom contemptuously, closing his hand around the pendant as he lifted his chin up in sheer arrogance, "and much less by the likes of you. Keep your pathetic heroics to yourself." His eyes glinted as he added viciously, "And in case you hadn't noticed, when you try to help someone, you get others killed."
Harry stiffened instantly, feeling as if he had been dealt a cruel, harsh blow. He squared his shoulders in the next second, as he bit out curtly, "Fine. I won't."
He knew what was coming, had been dreading it for hours, and indeed, Tom –as always- knew what to jab and twist to make him hurt.
"I hope you're satisfied, little brother," drawled Tom venomously, before he let out an harsh chuckle. "Oh, yes, you should be applauded – getting a pureblooded wizard killed in exchange for saving the life of a worthless muggle-"
"I didn't get Professor Toke killed," gritted out Harry through clenched jaw. "I didn't mean – it was an accident!"
Tom nastily smirked at him, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Yes, but the circumstances in which he was killed were of your own doing, weren't they? Toke wouldn't have stepped on that landmine if he hadn't come here to Norway, at your insistence."
Glaring at him, Harry felt that oppressive sensation again, something mercilessly constricting his chest, but he refused to give his brother the satisfaction – to let him see how his words hurt him like stabbing daggers, pointing out his grave, unforgivable mistakes.
"You're..." Tom trailed off, intently staring at him, to then make a sound of disgust from the back of his throat. He shook his head, as he sneered acidly, "You idiot! You're feeling guilt again – you never learn, do you?"
"Learn?" Harry stared at him, taken aback. "What are you-"
"I could tell you," hissed out Tom, looking vastly irritated, "that it wasn't your fault." He dangled the pendant in front of Harry's face. "That Toke came here due to ulterior motives, because he was the Dark Lord's spy, without a doubt-"
"Couldn't have been willingly," whispered Harry miserably, glancing up at his brother with wide, pleading eyes. "Grindelwald must have been forcing him, or blackmailing him, or even threatening him with death, right? Because Toke was good-"
"What does it matter!" snapped Tom with impatient annoyance. "He was still betraying your trust, was he not?" He shot him an ugly sneer. "Making you like him, befriend him, all the while giving information about you to the Dark Lord – that must have been part of his orders, at the very least." He skewered him with a hard look, as he spat, "Toke betrayed you."
Harry didn't know what to say to that, and glanced down at his hands, frowning. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Toke during the whole day when they had been walking, but now he still didn't know what to think of the wizard, didn't know what to feel either.
"My point is, little brother," continued Tom, his voice low and cutting, "that saving the idiot of Hutchins cost Tilly Toke's life. And you should not-"
Harry's shoulders hunched automatically, and he wretchedly stared at his brother. Tom, for some reason, went silent, looking furious with his reaction.
"Tell me," abruptly demanded Tom in a harsh voice, "if it had been a simple matter of choosing between Tilly Toke's life or Robert Hutchins', which would you have chosen?"
"What?" croaked out Harry, blinking at him uncomprehendingly before he bristled, and yelled dejectedly, "I didn't want Toke to die! How many times do I have to say it? I didn't mean for any of it to happen-"
"I know," snapped Tom ill-temperedly, "just answer the question!" His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he added in a soft, cruel tone, "It wouldn't be the first time you had to make such decision, unwittingly or not. I made you choose between Julian Erlichmann's life or that of the Czechs. Remember? And you chose Erlichmann."
"That was different!" cried out Harry, agitated. "I thought Dumbledore would prevent it, that he would help the Czechs-"
"You chose to make me keep quiet about Julian Erlichmann's role as Dumbledore's spy, in fact saving his life in doing so - a wizard you have never met, a complete stranger to you," continued Tom, now looking vastly irritated, his jaw clenching, as his eyes narrowed. "Someone for whom you harbor a weird obsession and fascination for, always reading the Daily Prophet in hopes of finding any mention of him, always-"
"Obsession?" choked out Harry, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hadn't thought his brother had noticed, he hadn't known Tom had been observing him so closely.
Tom shot him a sneer, before he said scathingly, "You felt guilt, when you discovered that Dumbledore had done nothing to save Czechoslovakia, yet you told me later that you would have chosen Erlichmann's life all over again." He gestured impatiently, as he bit out sharply, "This is the same scenario I'm posing before you. So I want you to answer truthfully. Just think of it as a mere hypothetical exercise to satisfy my curiosity."
"Fine!" snapped Harry angrily and frenziedly. "If it had been just a matter of choosing, I would have chosen Robert Hutchins." He glowered at him. "Of course I would have. Ten times over!" He deflated abruptly, staring unseeingly at his hands, as he whispered, "I liked Tilly Toke, but Hutchins…" He winced, feeling pained and awful. "Robert Hutchins is Robert Hutchins. He means the world to me."
"Exactly, you imbecile!" snarled Tom, darkly glaring at him. "So why are you feeling guilt for Toke's death? You should never feel guilt, whether it's for something you did on purpose or a consequence of your actions and decisions. Guilt and regret is for the weak-minded!"
Harry snapped his head up to stare at him incredulously. "You are using what happened to… what- give me a life lesson?"
"Precisely," said Tom, smirking with self-satisfaction, before he quirked an eyebrow at him. "Has it sunk through your thick skull?"
Harry could say nothing but kept staring at him, frowning slowly.
Giving him a very impatient look, Tom gritted out, "You deal with the consequences of your actions, you learn, but you never allow your mind to be clouded by crippling and useless emotions like regret, little brother. Are you able to finally understand that?"
"Yes," Harry whispered, eyeing him weirdly. "I think I do."
Tom widely smirked at him. "Good."
And Harry really did, but about much more than Tom could ever suspect.
His brother was right, because it was true that feeling guilty for Tilly Toke's death was useless, it wouldn't bring the wizard back from the dead. It was also true the self-awareness he had suddenly comprehended: that he could be ruthlessly selfish, with no right to do so, choosing the life of someone over that of others. Wasn't he like Tom, in that? Yet not quite, because he had chosen Julian Erlichmann and Robert Hutchins due to emotions, and Tom never acted out of those kinds of feelings and desires.
Nevertheless, he could put his wishes and interests before those of others, with horrible consequences, yet feeling relieved if the outcome went his way, no matter the cost, as had already happened. Because if Hutchins was safely sailing back to England, it had all been worth it.
Was that what Santi had meant, about his 'Odyssey' and the discoveries he would make? About what he was capable of doing and choosing? About…
Frowning, Harry touched the Invisibility Cloak draped over their backs. The corner of the piece of cloth, precisely the one that bore the symbol, was dangling from his shoulder. Grindelwald's crest, allegedly, in a Potter heirloom.
He glanced at the pendant, still in his brother's hands, now that Tom had gone back to inspect it for the umpteenth time. Grindelwald's crest on a piece of jewelry that had hung from Tilly Toke's neck.
Oh, yes, he now knew at last, what some of those things the Founders' judgments had blabbered about during his Sorting meant. He had never forgotten, just hadn't understood. Now he did.
'You are the tool of titans, boy, and you'll need to become one yourself if you wish to survive!' Salazar Slytherin's judgment had said.
Harry didn't know about the last bit, but the first part was clear given recent events. One titan: Gellert Grindelwald. The other, who else but Albus Dumbledore, a wizard believed to be a match of the Dark Lord's in magical prowess and powers, one who was always observing him and Tom closely, always seeking to speak to him in private.
And he in the middle, their tool? For what, exactly?
Regardless, Harry didn't think so. As if he would ever let them use him for whichever obscure purposes. But he would have to find out, wouldn't he? There were too many strange occurrences. What was Grindelwald's crest doing in Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak, for starters? Was it really that they were related to each other?
And then, would he be thinking about such things and reaching such conclusions if Santi hadn't told him beforehand that he would be making discoveries? What was the relation of cause and effect in this instance? Had Santi told him on purpose, knowing what decisions it would lead to? Was this another task given to him by Santi - to unravel it all?
Yet, if Santi could travel through Time as he pleased, as now Harry was sure of, why keep giving him tasks when Santi knew everything that was going to happen? What difference could Harry make in a future that was already fixed? Unless that wasn't Santi's purpose. Or… was Santi another titan, then? And Harry his tool too?
Harry sighed, pushing such convoluted thoughts to a side, and rose to his feet, glancing at his brother. "You should go to sleep. I'll take the first shift."
"Shift?" Tom peeled his gaze away from the pendant in his hands and stared at him.
"Because of The Sleep of Death," clarified Harry. At his brother's frown, he mumbled tiredly, "What happened to soldiers in the Russian front during the Great War, brother. Old John said many went to sleep and never woke again, because of the cold. We can't risk it. So we'll sleep no more than two hours at a time each. I'll take the first shift, while you sleep, and we'll take turns."
He didn't wait for his brother's consent and took the Army-issue gun he had found in the ruins of Namsos, tucking it under his belt as he left the clearing.
Ulysses was quick to follow him, and Harry frowned as he glanced down at him.
"You can't transform here either," he said in warning. "The same rules apply as in Hogwarts."
Indeed, if they came upon a muggle, the last thing he needed was for Ulysses to transform his tail into that of a scorpion's. Harry didn't want to imagine what a muggle's reaction would be to that.
Unchanged, Ulysses looked simply like a little kitten, albeit one with some strange features, like his folded ears and too protruding muzzle.
Ulysses let out a meow that sounded resigned, but nonetheless bobbed his head up and down in understanding, and Harry could only glance at him in amusement.
He sometimes thought that his familiar rather enjoyed spitting and hissing and making terrifying clanking sounds as he changed his soft, fluffy tail into the frightening one of a scorpion's. As much as the Scorcrup clearly enjoyed charming people and making them coo at him when he pulled adorable little stunts, like purring loudly, peering with green eyes too big for his face, licking cheeks, and playing with his tail for the observer's entertainment. When they were alone, Ulysses didn't go chasing after his own tail like an idiot, after all.
It was incredibly boring, pacing a wide circle around the edges of the clearing of the forest, keeping guard and being ever alert for the unlikely happenstance that someone might appear and stumble upon them.
It was unpleasant too, now that he was away from the fire, since Harry had to constantly rub his arms and legs so that they wouldn't go numb.
He merely entertained himself by counting the seconds, then minutes, and finally two hours, the only measure left for him since they sorely lacked a clock of any kind and casting a Tempus Charm was certainly out of the question.
"Wake up!" someone whispered sharply in his ear.
Harry started, as he groggily opened his eyes, only to see Tom's face looming above his.
His brother looked even worse than before, his usually neatly groomed hair completely disarrayed and dirty, the circles under his eyes now puffy and dark, his face too gaunt and pale.
Well, Harry wasn't feeling peachy either. Lack of food and proper sleep was certainly taking a toll on them.
"Is it my shift again-?" he began to yawn out, before Tom made a shushing motion with his hand, urging him to stand up.
Harry blinked, yet obeyed, realizing it was dawn already. The sky was pink and violet, with the sun's orange streaks illuminating it all quite beautifully.
Yet he couldn't enjoy it. For him, it simply meant that it was Monday morning already, and they were no closer to getting to Oslo before Tuesday noon than when they had set out.
It was when he finally stood on his own two feet and swayed, when he realized just how exhausted and weak he felt, his body shivering and trembling of its own accord, his head feeling heavy and his mind slow and foggy.
"Look," whispered Tom, as he briskly pulled Harry behind a tree.
He realized what his brother meant when he heard distant, chopping noises and peered over one side of the tree, curious and intrigued.
He then stared at the sight, his green eyes going wide. Far away, he glimpsed five men, two with axes in hands, with all the appearance of being lumberjacks or just muggles hacking off some chunks of wood from the nearby trees.
It was only when he kept inspecting them when he realized they were soldiers. At least from such distance he could discern that the men were wearing coats exactly like theirs.
"They are Norwegian soldiers," Harry breathed out, ecstatic, turning around to face his brother, his expression glowing with hope and joy. "Tom, they could help us!"
Tom frowned, before he curtly nodded. "Yes. Perhaps, but we should consider this carefully-"
"Consider what?" said Harry with exasperation, before his voice turned frantic. "Tom, without help there's no way we will ever reach Oslo. We have no supplies and I don't think that without those we could walk for much longer." He gestured excitedly in the direction of the soldiers. "They could have food, or even a truck! And they are on the good side-"
"Good side?" sneered Tom acidly. "Don't be an idiot, there's no such thing-"
"You know what I mean," snapped Harry impatiently. "We need help. We could at least try."
"Very well," said Tom flatly, not looking too thrilled at the prospect of asking muggles for aid.
Grinning, Harry dashed back to the clearing. The fire had extinguished itself long ago, by the looks of it, nothing left behind but mere ashes, so he simply packed everything else into his satchel.
Harry finally stretched the collar of his jersey and gently tucked Ulysses inside, tightly wrapping his Slytherin scarf around them to further protect his Scorcrup from the blistering cold, leaving the creature's small black ears to tickle Harry's chin, little Ulysses' green eyes and tiny nose poking from above the scarf.
When he was ready, he reached his brother and nodded at him. They both began trudging through the patches of snow and yellowish grass, weaving through the trees as they approached the men.
One of the muggles caught sight of them, who was quick to elbow the others and they were all soon staring at them, pausing with axes in hand.
Harry began to smile, to make himself look as harmless and friendly as possible, before he frowned.
"RUN!" bellowed Tom suddenly.
And Harry did so immediately, just as his brother did the same, because he had seen it too: the men's uniforms were utterly disheveled and torn, worn with a motley disarray of shabby civilian clothes. If they had once been soldiers, they clearly weren't any longer.
Haggardly panting for breath, as he heard the men chasing after them, roaring and yelling, he soon lost sight of his brother. They had dashed into different directions, darting through the trees and snow, in their mad escape from the unknown.
A stitch in his side was soon paining him, as he nearly collapsed against a tree, with Ulysses frantically hissing under his chin, and Harry slumped over, grabbing his knees with his hands, wheezing and coughing.
He staggered and stumbled when he tried to break into a run again, and suddenly halted at the voices he heard, calling out.
One was Norwegian –or at least it certainly wasn't German, it spoke in the strangest, most unintelligible language he had ever heard, not letting him understand a single word- the other voice was Tom's.
"Harry, come out from wherever you are!"
Extremely wary, Harry pressed against the tree and quickly poked his head over one side. He took a glimpse of the situation and instantly hid back, unseen.
Sighing, and anxiously carding his fingers through his hair, he knew he had few options left.
The men had captured Tom. They were standing there, several feet away from him, with Tom at the front, one of the men aiming the gun at Tom's head, the others with their axes held up threateningly, as they glanced at their surroundings, looking for Harry.
One of them yelled again a string of incomprehensible words, but Harry caught the gist of it. Either he revealed himself or they would harm Tom. And Harry gritted his teeth, because they had the gun, because his brother had been the last on guard duty during the night and the men had obviously taken the gun from Tom's belt. His brother hadn't been quick enough.
But it couldn't be that bad, could it? The muggles were deserters from the Norwegian Army, indubitably, but still Norwegians –allies of England and France, for as long as that had lasted.
He and Tom just needed to find a way to communicate with them, and explain, and everything would be all right.
Harry comfortingly patted little Ulysses on the head, before he stepped away from his tree, raising his hands in the air, in case the Norwegians thought he could have a gun too, and began to walk towards them.
As he reached them, catching sight of their expressions, he knew it had been a grave mistake.