"Take my arm," Tom requested.

The streets of Knockturn Alley were as dark as can be. It was far past midnight now, and not even the silhouettes of the buildings besides Harry and Tom could be seen. A thin layer of white snow was on the ground, and everything above it faded into the cavernous heavens, while unseen clouds covered all of London, blocking out the stars and moon. They stood upon the street, ready to leave this country, but Harry couldn't exactly say he wanted to take a last glance at the Alley. He certainly wouldn't miss this place in any way…

Harry could think of no objection to Tom's words, so he walked towards his lover. In spite of it being almost an hour since murdering Hepzibah, Harry still felt hallow, and lacking in thought and emotion. He had spent about the last twenty minutes just standing in their flat, doing nothing as Tom double-checked his trunk, placing the locket and cup safely and securely within it, and even going so far as to lock it with complex, and probably dark, magic.

Harry's strange, quiet, and distanced state hadn't gone past Tom's notice, but he had made no comment of it inside. Now, as they stood upon the cold street, Harry looked up at Tom to see that he was analyzing the younger Slytherin with calculating eyes. Harry wondered why he was staring. He felt as though he should say something… but he couldn't think what.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked.

"I'm fine," Harry replied automatically.

"You can tell me if the murder was too much for you to take," Tom said quietly, unconvinced of Harry's words. "I shouldn't have let you join me in–"

"I'm fine, Tom," Harry repeated. He wasn't angry, embarrassed, or at all changed from his vacant state, but he felt as though this was the right reply to give.

"I would prefer you tell me if there's something wrong," Tom said, pressing the subject.

"I'd be sure to tell you if there was," Harry said, averting his eyes.

He was unsure whether Tom believed this. He wasn't sure whether he himself cared. They'd be in Albania within a few hours, and perhaps then Harry could rest. He felt that would do him good. Upon both Harry and Tom's trunks rested two brooms. They would have to Apparate to the south of England, to the exact end of the country, and fly to France before Apparating across it, flying over the border to Italy, Apparating across that too, and flying to Albania.

This was the only way they wouldn't be tracked by any Ministries, and it was almost impossible to do, especially in one night, if you weren't educated on the magic required for it. Harry trusted that Tom would get them out of England, France, and Italy without being caught, however, and without much struggle.

Tom didn't make another comment about Harry's well-being, but Harry knew he was still thinking about it. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry replied honestly.

Tom span on the spot, and at the sound of a loud 'crack' they disappeared into thin air. After a minute of suffering the sensation similar to being forced through a thick rubber tube, Harry found that he and Tom had Apparated to the seaside. Tall buildings of white and brown mostly could be seen upon the land, as Harry and Tom stood only a few meters away from the sea, upon the hard rocks of the beach. There was no sand here, only pebbles.

Harry saw the bright streets deserted of many people behind them, and a pier in the distance, out at sea. The people who were still awake, and upon the streets were laughing from far away, but they could neither see nor hear Harry and Tom. It was dark where they were. "Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Brighton," Tom replied.

He was looking out at the sea, and Harry followed his gaze, which rested on the pier. They stood in silence for a minute.

"There's a Muggle theatre there, currently," Tom said quietly. "There used to be another pier called the Chain Pier, but it was demolished in a storm, in 1823. At a very convenient time for the Muggles, who wanted it taken down, anyway…"

Harry didn't know why Tom was telling him this. "How do you know that?" he asked, as the cold sea air blustered around them.

"I came here once, as a child," Tom explained. "A day trip, with the orphanage…"

"Oh," was all Harry could reply. He wondered for a second whether the cave where Tom would one day hide the locket in was near here, until he remembered what the sea and rocks had looked like when he and Dumbledore had visited. It had looked nothing like this place… and anyway, Tom wouldn't hide a Horcrux in such a populated area.

"We should go," Tom said, turning away from the pier to look at Harry, and then at his trunk. He began untying his broom, which rested on the back of the travelling case, and Harry followed. There were handles on their brooms for their trunks, and they secured the locks and buckles on it, Tom adding magic to be sure their possessions were safe. "How well can you fly?" Tom asked distractedly.

Harry was almost confused by this question. "I was a seeker at eleven," he replied.

"You played sports?" Tom asked, looking at Harry as he stood up straight.

"Well, yeah," Harry responded, until he remembered what his past was supposed to be. "Er… It was important for us to play stuff like Quidditch. For teamwork… or maybe just because it was annoying for the carers to look after all of the kids twenty-four hours a day."

Tom smiled lightly, paying more attention to his trunk again.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?" Harry asked. They were both ready now.

"No," Tom replied. He smirked again. "But that doesn't mean I cannot fly accurately… Are you ready?"

Tom was on his broom by this point, floating about a foot from the ground. Harry wasn't sure why, but he smiled as he got onto his own broom. He had made his trunk lighter, as Tom had, so it was easier to fly. "Ready," he said.

They began flying southeast, Tom leading the way to begin, before Harry caught up, at a quickening rate. They were racing across the sea, England fading away from them slowly but surely. These brooms weren't half as fast as Harry's Nimbus 2000 had been, and certainly not as fast as his old Firebolt, but it felt good to be in the air again. Tom was a decent flyer, and Harry would bet that he could have been good at Quidditch, if he had wanted to.

They were always in each other's sight as they sped across the sea, the tall waves tens of meters below them. Harry's lack of emotion seemed to have been left in Brighton. Now he felt more alive than he had in days, and almost happy. It was easy to forget about everything that had happened, as he travelled besides Tom. They were running away from every danger, every crime…

From Brighton, they travelled to Calais, in France. They didn't spend much time on land, and only ended up walking and talking to each other in a short break, before Apparating to Nice, in the southeast of France. They flew to Sanremo, northwestern Italy, and after another short break Apparated to Lecce, southeast Italy. The flight from Italy to Albania was longer across the sea than England to France, but Harry quite enjoyed this fact. When they landed in Vlorë, Harry was nothing but jubilant.

They Apparated only one more time, to a small Wizarding village that Tom said was near a Muggle town named Berat, or Berati. They were close to a river, and the houses were all coloured in white, brown, and grey, with cobblestone paths and unique stone structures for every building. There were probably only a few hundred wizards that resided here, and that was better for Harry and Tom.

Harry felt so much better, as they stood upon the rural streets that were far different than those of London. Because it was the beginning of winter, most of the trees were bare of leaves, and there was snow all around them, but Harry no longer felt the cold. He and Tom had gotten off their brooms, and were now standing in the centre of the wizarding town, snow falling blissfully in the utter darkness. Tom was looking around at the buildings that he could see vaguely. When his eyes fell upon Harry, a soft smile crossed his lips.

"That was marginally easier than I could have hoped," Tom said.

"What? Escaping and entering four countries within two hours without so much as a pedestrian knowing, never mind a ministry?" Harry asked, grinning. "No, that was a breeze."

Tom seemed to enjoy the evident amusement Harry found in this, for he smiled too as they began walking. "That still took quite a bit of research, as you and I both know."

"Yeah, but instead of suffering for years, practicing and testing the magic between borders, with our Guinea Pigs being sent to Azkaban constantly, we managed it in one night, with no assistance." Harry wasn't sure why he couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face, though honestly he wasn't fighting it too much.

"So much is true," Tom remarked. "Yet I must add that we are somewhat more equipped and advanced than the average Wizard wishing to flee a county… Here we are."

They had stopped outside a short, long building near the centre of the village. There were a few lights on inside, regardless of the hour, and upon a sign made of old, chipped, wood was a painting in faded colours a wand, alight with magic, besides a sleeping lynx. There was something written in Albanian that Harry couldn't understand, yet Tom could evidently read it. Harry guessed that it must have been an inn, for they headed towards the door. Tom knocked a few times, before turning to Harry as they waited for an answer.

"If they say anything to you that you don't understand, Legilimency always helps," Tom advised.

Harry nodded, knowing that Tom understood Albanian perfectly anyway. They heard footsteps from inside, and the door to the inn opened to reveal a stooped, elderly Wizard with a long grey beard, and watery eyes that appeared weary. The Wizard said something in Albanian, and Tom replied to it. The language was very quick and complex, to Harry's ears. After only a moment of conversation, the Wizard let them inside his inn, smiling kindly.

They entered a small entrance hall, with a few doorways leading to other parts of the house, and a stone staircase leading upstairs to their left. The floor was made of smooth, dark stones, placed together to form a patternless collection. The elderly wizard continued talking to Tom, leading them further into the house as he closed the front door.

"A jeni vëllezër?" he asked Tom.

"Jo," Tom replied, "ne jemi miq."

The wizard was now climbing the staircase as Harry and Tom followed him, levitating their trunks, towards an empty room on the second floor. Tom continued conversing with the innkeeper right up until they were all standing in a bedroom. Harry wondered how long Tom had been planning to move here, as he spoke what sounded like perfect Albanian. Their bedroom was small, with tall windows and many rugs upon the stone floor.

Harry then contemplated how Tom had gotten them another room for two. It hadn't looked as though he, Tom, had used the Imperius Curse, or a Confundus Charm… though Harry hadn't been looking that determinedly, and it was always difficult to tell when Tom used a spell slyly. The wizard only spoke for around a minute more, before leaving the room.

Tom turned around to face Harry when they were alone. He appeared content, and he examined their room for a moment, viewing the beamed ceiling, curtained windows and red and brown carpets. His eyes rested on Harry when he was done. "We got away, after all," he commented.

"We don't know that for sure," Harry replied. "We're pretty far away from any English news and so on."

Tom smiled, turning towards his trunk. "The old Slytherins are still sending letters, as you know. We could always ask them for news."

"That's true," Harry said, distracted by watching Tom unlock with trunk with magic. After a moment, Tom found the locket and cup, hidden beneath a few items. Harry watched as he opened the cases, examining his treasures carefully. He was glad when Tom didn't pick up either heirloom. "They might be suspicious if we keep asking them for the news."

"We'll let them be," Tom replied. He replaced the lids of the cases, and paused, before standing up. "It keeps them interested, at the very least."

"When will we ask them to rejoin us, do you think?" Harry asked, curious to know whether Tom's answer had changed.

Tom took a moment to think about this, appearing unconcerned. "It will still be years before a full reunion. Yet we may meet a few of them every now and then… depending on where we all are."

Harry nodded, but could think of nothing to reply.

"Do you want them back?" Tom asked curiously.

"Not particularly," Harry replied. They smiled. "Why would I?"

"They're decent protection," Tom said, "and can be powerful, past their flaws."

"We don't really need any more protection or power," Harry reminded him, "and I prefer being alone with you, even if they can be amusing sometimes."

"Ah," Tom replied, "I almost forgot about what a rare occurrence being properly alone together had become…"

Harry smiled, and walked over to sit on the end of their bed. He was tired now that their travelling was over. He rubbed his face with his hands, before saying, "I can't believe we've run away this quickly. It seems like weeks ago since I was last at work…"

"I quite agree," Tom said, sitting next to Harry. "Yet the greatest changes in life are always this quick, and exotic… from my experience, anyway."

"No, it's the same for me too," Harry said. He wondered whether Tom was referring to the change from the orphanage to Hogwarts. That had certainly been as fast paced and new for Tom as it had been for Harry, the latter was sure. "Though I have to admit that the bad times of life arrive just as quickly."

"Yes, but unlike bad times, there is nothing foreboding about this," Tom said.

Harry couldn't help but agree, after a moment of thought. Everything around them was so different, and nothing was connecting him or reminding him of the terrible things they had done. Not even Tom, somehow. They had run away from everything, and now they were free. The only thing that could stop their freedom would be if they were caught for the murders, but Harry would be confident that they were safe even if he didn't know the future. This was what Tom was good at…

Harry wondered how long it would be now until Hepzibah's body was found. He then remembered about Hokey. Would the House Elf contact the Ministry, he wondered? Had Tom ordered her to, knowing it was what she would have done, had she actually poisoned her mistress from elderly confusion? Harry didn't feel like asking Tom about it, somehow, even if he wondered about it… Tom felt nothing in relation to the deaths, perhaps as Harry did… They were only happy. Perhaps just because they had gotten away…

"I didn't think it would be that easy," Harry said quietly.

"Didn't think that what would be easy?" Tom asked. "The murder, or fleeing the country?"

Harry tried to smile, but he found he couldn't, suddenly. He began, slowly, to realise that maybe his happiness was worse than feeling nothing… but he pushed that thought away. He was tired. "Both, I guess. Murder and vanishing without a trace are generally pretty hard to do without being caught, after all."

Tom smiled, but Harry felt he was watching him more carefully than before. Had he noticed Harry's smile falter? Harry soon decided that if Tom had, he was glad… Maybe Tom might help him to not worry over this, if they could generally avoid the subject. But was avoiding the subject worse? If they thought about it as neither a bad thing nor a good thing, but just as what happened, in plain facts, would Harry and Tom be complete, heartless, criminals?

Harry thought that it was perhaps a little too late to wonder if they might be criminals… But Harry hadn't murdered Hepzibah… What did all of this make him? Harry had neither stopped Tom nor encouraged him. Yet he had wanted to see Hepzibah die… But only to see if Tom was still sane, Harry reminded himself. Harry was now greatly confused. Why was he thinking about all of this? He preferred being ignorantly happy, like before…

"It's getting late," said Tom quietly. He had been watching Harry, as Harry stared at the ground in front of them. He might have seen a change in Harry, but he made no comment of it.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, still staring at the stone floor.

"Around four in the morning," Tom answered. "English time. Albania is an hour later."

Harry made no reply to this. He felt as though the weight of his crime might be catching up with him… but before he could elaborate upon this thought, he felt a hand clasping around his own.

"You seem quiet," Tom said, entwining their fingers. "What are you thinking about?"

"The murders," Harry replied honestly.

Tom took a while to reply to this, as he gazed at Harry. "I would only expect as much…"

Harry was relieved that Tom hadn't reminded him yet again that they wouldn't be hunted down for this… Harry wouldn't care even if they were convicted of the murder. They would get away, easily, and the fact that they had committed the crime in the first place was bothering him more… as well as something else he couldn't quite grasp.

"You'll forget about it all, over time," Tom assured him. "It's not easy to forget it all, exactly… but possible."

Harry had a feeling that what he had to forget, in relation to the murder, wasn't quite the same as what Tom would have to… But he appreciated that Tom at least tried to understand what was bothering him, even while Harry knew, someone deep inside, that Tom could likely never understand his, or anyone's, emotions fully.

With Tom's hand still linked to his own, Harry lay back on the bed, sighing. He was exhausted. He felt as though he could fall asleep exactly where he was, especially when he felt Tom lay down besides him. Tom lay on his side, slightly, watching Harry on and off. Harry wondered if he was worrying about the likely idea that Harry would never make a Horcrux. Harry couldn't imagine what killing someone personally would be like…

They talked quietly for a while after this, neither of them full of any sort of energy. When they fell asleep, less than an hour later, and within each other's arms, Harry had dreams full of dark crimes, fuelled by much guilt, remorse, and fear. When he woke up, not many hours later, he knew he should have really expected nothing less… Anyone with moral sense as strong as his, having committed or witnessed murder, should feel the weight of the crime heavily…

It was a week since arriving at the inn when Harry sat on the side of the bed, in front of the tall windows of their little room. A forest was visible, far in the distance, and past the roofs of the houses within the village. He and Tom had gone walking a few times in the woods nearby, but Tom had explained that these were nothing compared to a few in other parts of the country. There were many interesting creatures around, be they magical or not, or kind, or evil…

Had he given up on light magic, Harry wondered? He had been practicing the Dark Arts for two whole years now, with Tom. He had thought of himself as a grey wizard, but now he felt he was doing worse, heading towards the darkness. Harry wondered whether he was completely immoral, and whether he was weak for staying. He wanted to stay, for many reasons… for more reasons than to leave, and for stronger reasons. He cared too much for Tom…

It was not long after this when Harry heard and felt Tom move behind him. Tom had been asleep before, but had awoken a few minutes ago, to see Harry gazing out the windows. Harry felt Tom move behind him, making his way across the bed. He said a tired "good morning" and wrapped his arms around Harry as he replied the same. Tom kissed Harry's neck, and causing Harry to close his eyes in desire. After a moment, Tom rested his chin on Harry's shoulder, taking in the same view of the world outside.

"We should go to the forests again today," Tom said. "It is very nice, despite the season."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "That'd be good."

They didn't carry on the conversation past this. Sunlight was pouring down weakly through the clouds, lighting up the white snow, and the dark trees that were covered with it. A bird or two could be seen occasionally, flying across the cold scenery. The village was silent, the smell of burning wood notable at times.

"Has my soul been ripped apart?" Harry asked in a whisper.

He had been thinking about this over the last few days. Even if he hadn't been the one to place the poison within Hokey's reach, commanding her, via the Imperius Curse, to poison her mistress, he had been there to see it all, and he hadn't stopped it at all… The thought made him feel somewhat forlorn, and voicing it made him even more so. He was thankful, now, that Tom couldn't clearly see his face.

Tom was contemplating Harry's words thoroughly. "I don't know."

Harry preferred to hear this answer, rather than a false one to lift his spirits. He wondered whether Tom had known this might happen before, or if he had decided through recent examination that Harry was suffering a change, likely a shattered soul. "What was it like when you killed your father?" Harry asked.

"It felt good," Tom replied. He thought for a moment. "It never exactly healed anything, nor relieved me from the hatred I felt towards him… but it felt good, very good. It was a worthy vengeance…"

Tom had had reason to kill his father, Harry thought. Harry had noting against Hepzibah personally… unless you counted the connection through Tom. But was that really a good enough reason to kill someone?

"You must feel the same, or worse, with the capture of Grindelwald," Tom said. "With him being neither dead nor caught by you personally…"

Harry didn't offer any comment to this, in case of ruining Tom's idea of Harry's hate for Grindelwald. In full honesty, Grindelwald was the furthest thing from Harry's mind at this time. He was too worried about Hepzibah's death… they had actually murdered someone… Harry could see her glassy eyes staring into space…

"What are you feeling, relating to what happened?" Tom asked.

"With what happened to Grindelwald, to Hepzibah?"

"Both," Tom decided.

Harry thought about this for a time. "I'll never forgive Grindelwald, but to be honest I don't care how long it takes for him to die, as long as I don't have to see him… and as long as he will die, eventually. As for Hepzibah… sometimes I don't feel anything."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Tom asked.

"No," Harry replied. "I don't feel anything at all… No remorse, no guilt, and definitely no happiness… but it's all still there, somehow…"

"Can you feel me?" Tom asked.

"That's physical," Harry replied without thinking.

"Not always," Tom said quietly. Harry was a little surprised that Tom had pointed this out, and rightly so. There was a pause.

"I meant right now," Harry clarified. He felt Tom plant another kiss on his neck, perhaps smiling. He tried to focus on what he was saying again. "I just don't know what to think about it…"

"You don't have to think about it," Tom said, as a suggestion rather than a fact. Their room was very quiet past their low voices. Harry enjoyed the feeling of Tom upon him, even as he continued to try and work out what he was feeling. "We've left it all behind us successfully… We would do well to not bring it here. To abandon reflection for as long as we can, and to heal from it long before we need think about it would be the easiest solution."