"I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anyone, Tom."

"I trust you."

"But you never trust any of your friends," Harry said. "Why would Quentin be any different?"

"I feel as though everything he does is to deceive you and I," Tom muttered. "We aren't safe with him around, hiding things…"

Harry laughed in disbelief, watching Tom as he paced the room. "He isn't a threat to us, Tom."

"He's a definite threat!" Tom exclaimed, visibly annoyed by Harry's lack of seriousness towards the subject. "He knows the details of your past, and I'm sure he's trying to make you pay for either his hate towards you, or your hate towards Grindelwald."

"I haven't even done anything to him – nor Grindelwald!"

"Quentin was never one for requiring reason."

"But it isn't as though he can defeat me in a fight," Harry observed. He then laughed again, unable to believe that Tom could become paranoid from this. "He can't do anything to me, especially not when you're around, watching over me."

Tom was not reassured by these words. He continued pacing Harry's living room, appearing deeply disquieted. "How do you explain his sudden unwillingness to look us in the eyes?" Tom inquired. "He must know that we have the ability of Legilimency…"

Harry disliked this fact being brought up again. It truly was odd that Quentin appeared to know not to meet their eyes when he wanted to withhold something… but Harry wouldn't admit it. He decided to move on from the subject slightly. "He's stopped asking me questions this last week, at least. I have to say it makes me hate him a lot less."

"You shouldn't hate him less for asking fewer questions!" Tom insisted sharply. "You should hate him more, and be cautious of him, because he has stopped what annoyed you. There has to be a reason behind it…"

"You're too paranoid, Tom," Harry said for what he felt like the hundredth time.

"You're not paranoid enough!" Tom argued, getting only more annoyed with Harry's claim. "You know I never think these things about people without reason. You know I don't just make this up, or project it. There's something that Quentin is hiding, and I won't let such a blatant fact go unnoticed!"

"He isn't going to do anything!" Harry declared, becoming anxious of Tom's obsession with distrusting Quentin. "We'd know by now if he was a follower of Grindelwald. How couldn't we?"

"We should force him into telling us what he's plotting," Tom voiced, apparently deaf of everything Harry had just said. "If he isn't going to be honest with us, if he thinks hiding things from us is a wise idea, we need to do something about it. I can't allow my friends to keep secrets from me, to freely plan how to get to you –"

"Tom–"

"We should teach him how very wrong he is while we gather all the information his mind holds," Tom carried on, ignoring Harry's interruption. "We should punish him for his treachery, and warn all of the others not to make the same mistake that he is doubtlessly making…"

"You can't just begin planning how best to torture someone the moment you think they're a threat!" Harry said as Tom paused in sharing his ideas. Tom didn't look at him as he continued walking back and fourth across the room. "We don't even know if Quentin is planning on doing anything against us yet. Give this a few more days, to make sure you aren't wrong before you punish him."

"We both know I'm not wrong!" Tom remarked in pure frustration. His hands were curling into fists and uncurling again repetitively, as his fingernails clawed lightly, and not so lightly, against his palms. "We should go and get him now, and demand that he tells us what he's up to. We should find out where Grindelwald's people are before they find us first…"

"Tom," Harry began as he stood up, grabbing Tom's arm to turn him around, "listen to me–"

"You can't deny the fact that Quentin is trying to harm you!" Tom exclaimed, his voice rising in exasperation. "It's horribly ignorant of you to treat every situation as though it isn't happening! To deal with every problem at the last second, and to push everything out of your mind until it is staring you in the face will cause you to lose against chance one of these days! And since you refuse to open your eyes, I have no choice but to do it for you!"

Harry let go of Tom's arm, and glared at him. Tom waited for him to speak, but Harry couldn't find the words to express his sudden shock. He felt anger tearing through him, as he contemplated Tom's words… but the more Harry thought, the more confusion and affliction slowly replaced his anger. Tom turned away from Harry in the silence, perhaps seeing his change in emotion. Harry watched as Tom began rubbing his temple, contemplating what to say. His voice was quieter when he spoke, still looking away from Harry.

"It maddens me to have this peril hanging over our heads," Tom explained as gently as he could with his continued – but now somewhat controlled – irritation. "I cannot stand to think what would happen if Quentin sought revenge on you, knowing how much information he has relating to your past… I don't mean to suggest any of this is your fault. It merely infuriates me to do nothing about it…"

"But you think I'm blind to problems," Harry pointed out quietly, trying to force his voice to be emotionless. "You think that I pretend things aren't happening until the last minute, or when it's too late."

Tom turned to face Harry, hesitating for a moment. "I didn't mean that as an offence."

"But you don't deny it," Harry observed.

Tom seemed tempted to say nothing. "No… I won't deny meaning what I said."

Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised, or at all offended, but at this moment he just couldn't help himself. He averted his eyes from Tom's, and tried to accept Tom's honest opinion, but he was struggling. The more he thought about it, the more Harry realised that it was not so much the fact that Tom had withheld these thoughts from him which caused him to feel great discomfort, it was more the fact that he knew, deep down, that Tom had formed these opinions on a series of past events, and he was, in the simplest explanation, completely right in suggesting Harry was blind to problems…

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Harry asked, if only to keep talking.

"It was never important to mention," Tom answered. He was examining Harry closely, all signs of furiousness gone from his voice by this point. "I merely want you to understand how vital it is that we be cautious around Quentin."

"I already know that," Harry remarked defensively. "You didn't need to remind me – I've been more cautious around him since you suggested he was planning on hurting me in some way."

Tom watched Harry, as Harry glowered at him slightly. After pausing for a time, Tom took a step forwards, to stand closer to Harry, and placed his arms around him. Harry was in half a mind to move away from Tom, and say something cruel and hurtful to seek revenge, but he resisted the urge when he found comfort in Tom's light embrace.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Tom repeated quietly, gazing down at Harry, "I just want to protect you. Quentin troubles me greatly… and I quite honestly don't know what we are supposed to do with him, even if my suspicions of him aren't true. He cannot stay here for much longer, I don't think…"

"Let's just throw him out," Harry suggested, echoing the offer Tom had made a week ago. "I don't care if he knows I was involved in making him leave. He causes too much trouble."

"I believe that's what I'll do, the first thing in the morning," Tom agreed. "I care neither where he will go after leaving this place, nor whom he might meet… Unless you too are curious about his secrets?"

Harry smiled lightly in response to Tom's words. "We can ask him a few questions," he said, "but I won't allow you to threaten him with anything more than words. He might be innocent."

"No one is innocent," Tom voiced softly.

"You know what I mean," Harry disclosed. He couldn't help but find amusement in Tom's words now, even if he tried to not show it. He reached up a hand to caress the side of Tom's face, and Tom slowly leant into his touch, evidently enjoying it. They stood for a moment, closely embraced, and listening to the sound of each other's breath.

"It's getting late," Tom quietly mentioned.

Harry allowed his hand to drift higher from Tom's face, his fingers running slowly through Tom's hair. "Won't you stay the night?" he asked in little over a whisper.

"Of course I will," Tom hissed softly, a smile dancing on his lips.

He closed the distance between them, his lips gently brushing against Harry's own. After they kissed once, Tom lingered an inch away from Harry, his breath brushing against Harry's skin as he doubtlessly smiled. Harry moved forwards in defeat, taking Tom's bottom lip slightly – and then not so slightly – between his lips, not wanting Tom to tease him forever. He knew Tom did this to make him want this more, and Harry had to admit that it worked rather well…

Their kiss depended, Tom's hands sliding along Harry's waist and back, as the embrace tightened. Their breath was escalating, and Harry felt dizzy as Tom's tongue diligently touched his own, drawing Harry deeper, and fuelling his hunger with skilfully placed examples of how wonderful their kiss could feel. Harry began biting Tom's lips, urging Tom to settle his ever-increasing desire as he kissed him more deeply. Tom pressed his body closer to Harry, and Harry could feel how much Tom enjoyed kissing him, playing to his needs at a terribly captivating pace…

Harry took Tom's hand in his own, and began leading him away from the living room, and out into the hallway. Tom followed Harry, kissing his face and neck each time they paused at a door, or upon climbing the stairs. When they were entering Harry's room, Tom pressed Harry against the doorframe, kissing his neck, and biting his ear, sucking on his earlobe lightly, and whispering as Harry breathed roughly in pure desire. Harry soon led Tom to his bed, pushing his lover onto it, and kneeling over him on his hands and knees, kissing Tom's collarbone and pulling at his robes…

–X–

It was well past midnight, and the room was dark, when Harry lay in bed, resting his head against Tom's bare chest. Tom was asleep now, or at least close to it as is his breath came slow and evenly. His heart was beating calmly, and it soothed Harry. Harry had been thinking about what Tom said to him earlier, relating to him ignoring problems. He worried that maybe this is what he was doing with Horcruxes, on some level. He still read about these dark creations often, but he never truly sat and wondered how he planned on making one for himself, as Tom evidently wanted…

He wasn't ready to make a Horcrux, and he wished that Tom would understand this. Harry knew that Tom lacked the moral senses to help him treat something like killing people the same way Harry did; with great caution and after much debating about it before it could even be thought of… at all. Harry wondered vaguely whether he and Tom were just on two opposite sides of a spectrum, in this case. He wondered, as Tom's pulsing heart soothed him, whether they could meet each other in the centre of this all, to help each other deal with the fact that Harry hated murder, whilst Tom loved it. Harry contemplated how to do this, perhaps even by tomorrow, as he eyes closed in weariness. He was almost ready to drift off to asleep like Tom…

When suddenly, he heard someone knocking on his front door. Being as tired as he was, Harry was convinced that he had imagined this sound at first, and he didn't open his eyes. But the sound continued, and he was forced to wake up a little more. He couldn't imagine who would be looking for him at this hour, when Tom was here already. When the knocking didn't die down, Harry got out of bed, and began to get dressed quickly.

He heard Tom take a deep breath; perhaps about to wake up from the sudden change in temperature with Harry leaving his side… but Tom remained asleep. Harry left the room, heading down the hallway, and then the staircase, to reach his front door. The person waiting outside had stopped knocking by now, and Harry opened the door, looking around for whoever had awoken him at such an hour. Quentin could be seen standing on his porch.

"What do you want?" Harry asked shortly, rubbing his face with his hand.

"I need your help, for just a minute," Quentin said. "There's some trouble with the others, and I think it would be best if you helped to deal with it."

"That's not my problem," Harry stated.

"See, but I asked Tom for help already, and he told me to come to you," Quentin elucidated.

Harry was about to buy this in his tired state, before he remembered that Tom was gloriously waiting for him up in his bedroom. Harry stared at Quentin, careful not to show a flicker of confusion. "Tom told you this?"

"Yes," Quentin lied.

Harry tried to stare at him long enough to read his thoughts, but Quentin avoided eye contact when he noticed Harry's paused gaze. Quentin wanted Harry to believe that Tom ordered him to go and sort out a problem with the other Death Eaters… and the more Harry thought about it, the better it seemed to go along with Quentin's lies, to see what he was trying to trick Harry into.

"Alright," Harry said, "I'll be with you in a minute."

"Oh, but see, I really do need you immediate–"

Harry closed the door on the older Death Eater, and began heading up the stairs. When he entered his room again, he saw that Tom was still fast asleep. He contemplated waking Tom up, to tell him who was at the door, and what he, Harry, planned to do, to see what Quentin was up to. But Harry knew Tom would never allow him to go through with this plan… and Harry thought back to Tom's worries about Quentin, and his claims that Harry was blind to problems. Harry wasn't annoyed with Tom for what he had said, exactly… but he wanted to prove to himself, if anything, that Quentin wasn't as scheming as Tom believed in paranoia.

If Harry's greatest flaw was an inability to accept problems, then Tom's greatest flaw had to be his endless paranoia. Harry wanted to spite Tom in some slight way, as he walked quietly across his room to take his wand from his bedside table. With his wand in hand, he turned to leave the room again, magically turning out the lights before placing his wand up his sleeve for easy access. He headed down the stairs, and to his front door. Quentin was leaning against the front of Harry's house when Harry stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

"Are you ready?" Quentin asked. "It's this way…"

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Past midnight," Quentin replied.

"Why are the others still awake?"

"We stay up this late often… Especially when someone starts arguing."

They didn't speak after this, as they walked onwards. Quentin was averting his eyes from Harry determinedly, but Harry wasn't attempting to read his mind anymore. They were heading straight for one of the buildings where some the Death Eater slept. Harry was feeling less tired now as he breathed in the cold air of night, wondering what Quentin was planning for him. When they arrived to their destination, everything within the long building was silent.

Quentin headed inside, and Harry followed. The hallway past the front door was dimly lit, and Quentin led Harry towards a room at the far end of it.

"It seems awfully quiet for problems with the others," Harry remarked quietly, letting the tip of his wand slide down his sleeve to rest against his palm.

"They're in here," Quentin claimed, holding a door open for Harry.

Harry looked at the room besides Quentin, and began walking into it. It was badly lit, and very long – it's where the Death Eaters generally sat together for meals. It was almost like a miniature Great Hall, but with tall windows on only one side of the room, and with a plain, beamed ceiling. As soon as Harry heard the door close, he heard the lock click too. He turned around to face Quentin swiftly.

"Why did you bring me here, Pyrites?" Harry demanded, suddenly annoyed. "It's probably two in the morning by now, and I know there are no problems with the others."

"Of course there aren't," Quentin mocked, now leering up at Harry. Harry let his wand slide into his hand more securely under his cloak as he watched Quentin. "The others are all asleep, which isn't surprising so early in the morning."

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry repeated, unsatisfied with Quentin's lack of answer.

"I've been planning to bring you here for a long time, Jonathan – or whatever your name is," Quentin said. "I'll find out what you're really called soon enough… I'll find out all the secrets you're hiding from me."

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Harry inquired.

"By nothing less than force, I should think."

"So you think you can fight me?" Harry laughed.

"I've been taught how to fight well," Quentin stated.

"There's nothing you know that I haven't learnt from Tom already," Harry retaliated.

Quentin's smirk refreshed. "Tom's not the only person who's taught me great Dark Magic… I think you, of all people, might be able to guess who my other, true teacher might be."

Harry tried not to show his sudden apprehension. He didn't dare suggest whom Quentin might learn the Dark Arts from; who was more 'true' his leader than Tom. Harry clutched his wand tightly in his hand, waiting for Quentin to form the answer with his bothersome, smiling lips.

"Can't think of who it might be?" the Death Eater sneered. "Well, I'm sure Grindelwald's people will loosen that tongue of yours."

Quentin reached for his wand, and Harry's reaction was immediate.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled.

With a jet of scarlet light, Quentin's wand flew into the air before he could even raise it properly, and Quentin himself smashed hard against the door behind him. Harry kept his wand pointed at the Death Eater even as he lay on the floor, feeling his bleeding head. Quentin looked up at Harry, glaring at him. Harry was about to raise his wand again, to knock Quentin out, before he felt someone grab his wrist.

Quentin being on the floor in front of him, Harry hadn't the faintest clue who might have grabbed him. He span around, thinking as a last hope that it was merely Tom, or even one of the Death Eaters, but he was wrong. A Wizard who he didn't recognise, who was taller than him, with scars cutting across his unpleasant face, held his wrist very tightly, and glared down at him.

As Harry tried to get over the shock of seeing this new face, he realised that there were more unfamiliar people entering the room from a door at the back. Harry felt his heart skip a beat, and he stared in shock as tens of Wizards pointed their wands at him. In the few seconds it took him to worry in terror about what he was supposed to do now, all he really knew was that he wasn't going to leave without a fight.

Since the scarred Wizard held his right hand up, all Harry could do was drop his wand and grab it with his left hand before it hit the floor. The wizard crushing his wrist hadn't expected this in the slightest, and he made no sign of even beginning to attack Harry when Harry shot a spell at him, hitting him straight in the face. The wizard howled, clutching his searing head and dropping his wand as he moved away from Harry, completely blind and confused.

Harry pointed his wand at the nearest figure, and shot a spell quick enough to send the victim smashing into two other Wizards. He raised his wand again, and knocked out two more wizards by smashing them together. Jets of red, blue, yellow, and purple shot from Harry's wand as he tried to fight off the now alert and attacking Wizards in front of him, but he knew even before the fighting ended that he was going to lose. The spell that finally hit him didn't come from any of the people he didn't know, however. Quentin had managed to pick up his wand behind Harry, and he didn't hesitate to use it.

"Stupefy!" Quentin cried.

Harry was paralyzed by the weight of the spell, and he heard his wand clatter on the floor, feeling ten other spells hit him even before he fell completely unconscious, lost in utter darkness for Grindelwald's followers to seize once and for all. Quentin, amongst so many others, had defeated him.

–X–

Harry slowly opened his eyes. His body was sore, and he was lying on a cold, rugged floor made of stone. It took Harry a moment to make out the sight before him, not only because he had never been here before, but also because the room he lay within was rather dimly lit. The walls were dark, and only one or two torches shed light upon the scene. There were cracks between the large stones that together created the walls around Harry, and one of the first things Harry remembered seeing in these cracks was a very large, and very savage rat.

Harry sat up, repulsed by the rat, which scampered down the wall and retreated into a hole in the corner of the room. Upon sitting up, Harry discovered that there were chains bolted around his wrists, forcing him to stay generally where he was. This distracted Harry from the shock of seeing the rat, and he looked around the room a little more, to see nothing else but a door, doubtlessly locked, on the wall that was previous out of view, to his right. There weren't even any windows here, so Harry hadn't the faintest idea what time it was. He sat still; trying to listen to what was happening outside the room he was in. After about a minute of listening, Harry heard someone screaming in the far distance.

He tried not to listen as he felt his heart beat faster, but there was no ignoring this noise. It played as an almost constant sound, unable to be disregarded even as Harry attempted to down it out with thought. Harry hardly dared to believe that he was sitting in a dungeon owned by no one other than Grindelwald's followers. It felt like a very vivid nightmare as he stared down at the grimy floor, sure he could see blood on some parts of it. This had to be a mistake, an unfunny joke…

Tom had been right about everything… Harry no longer saw the floor as he stared down at it. Quentin had plotted how to capture Harry, and how to break into Tom's land quick enough to let Grindelwald's followers in there. Harry wasn't at all sure how that was possible… until he remembered that these were the people who had broken considerable amounts of the Ministry of Magic's defences when Harry was at Hogwarts. It wouldn't have been too hard to get to him, even under Tom's protection… Harry hoped desperately that they hadn't gotten to Tom, or even the Death Eaters, too. But he then supposed that he wouldn't be here if Tom had begun fighting. They wouldn't have defeated Tom.

Harry rested his head against the wall behind him slowly. He had tried to prove that Tom's paranoia was a great flaw, but he had only ended up proving that Tom was right in thinking Quentin was a threat. Harry had been ignorant of the problems Tom had pointed out, whilst he tried to test Tom's biggest defect… and Harry had to say that was pretty ironic, all and all. He didn't smile as he reflected upon the thought in this cold dungeon, however. He knew he was a complete idiot to have landed himself in this situation. He should have trusted Tom's word even a little bit, but he had instead gone completely against it…

Harry suddenly heard the clicking of locks, and he turned to face the door. When it opened, and when wizards began filing in, Harry stood up, his heart hammering. He had no wand – nor any shoes, he noticed, as he stepped upon the hard floor. What they thought he might do if he had shoes, Harry didn't know, but at this point he didn't care. The chains around Harry's wrists forced him to stay where he was, as he attempted to move further back into the room. Two ferocious-looking wizards now faced Harry, their wands pointed at him, and their expressions very unkind. The door to the room was slammed shut.

"Was weißt du über Grindelwald?" one of the wizards growled the moment he could, as his dark, soulless eyes bore into Harry's.

"I–I don't know what you're saying," Harry stammered quickly.

"Sprichst du deutsch?" the second Wizard asked. He appeared somewhat less ruthless, but none the less quite unnerving. When Harry made no response, he asked, "You are English?"

"Yes," Harry answered hastily.

The two wizards looked at each other.

"You speak no German?"

"No, none," Harry revealed, his heart still beating very quickly. He was standing almost against the wall behind him.

The wizards seemed on the verge of not believing him, but they didn't care to press this subject… not yet, anyway.

"Vot do you know about Grindelwald?" the dark-eyed wizard demanded.

"I don't know anything about him," Harry declared. "I've never even met him for any–"

Harry felt a sharp pain in his side, as if a large, invisible needle had slowly begun piercing into him, near the base of his right rib. Harry gasped in shock, but forced himself not to yell from it. It was very uncomfortable, but he knew that this was perhaps the least painful thing that would happen to him for a while.

"Tell us vot you know," the second Wizard requested. "This vill only get more… unpleasant."

"I'm telling the truth!" Harry exclaimed, in full honesty becoming very anxious by all of this. "I don't know the first thing about Grindelwald! I don't know any more than I read in the newspapers, like everyone else!"

But the Wizards were, of course, unconvinced. The needle dug deeper into Harry's side, and Harry closed his eyes tightly against the pain, clenching his jaw.

"Vot is your name?"

Harry opened his eyes in sudden horror, realising slowly that he had no name to give…

"Vot is your name?" the second wizard repeated more forcefully, allowing the needle to dig deeper into Harry. A noise escaped Harry's lips.

"Richard!" Harry exclaimed. "Richard Plunkett!"

"Ve know of this one," the wizard told him.

The needle dug deeper into Harry's side, and he had to try harder not to shout. "Jonathan," Harry panted. "My name is Jonathan Smith…"

"Lies!" the first Wizard spat.

The pain worsened as the needle sliced through Harry's insides more. Harry felt as though he might throw up.

"Jonathan Granger!" Harry said, thinking of the first name that came to mind.

The pain increased again, and Harry pulled against the chains around his hands, failing to remain silent.

"Ve know 'Jonathan' is not your name. Tell us the truth!"

The pain increased again, and Harry felt as though the giant needle was piercing through the other side. He felt dizzy, and he hoped uselessly that the needle would stop hurting after this.

"Fine," Harry panted. "My name is Draco… Draco Malfoy…"

The Wizards looked at each other, pondering this. They seemed to decide that Harry might be telling the truth about this. However, they weren't done asking him questions yet.

Harry felt a second needle begin piercing his left lung, and he felt dread fill him as well as ruthless agony. His eyes and teeth were clenched tightly up until the movement stopped.

"Vot is your relation to Grindelwald?"

Harry's breath was quick and now strained with utter hopelessness. He honestly had no connection to Grindelwald what so ever… unless you counted the connections he had lied about for Tom's benefit. His eyes remained closed, but his voice remained strong. "I don't relate to Grindelwald in any way…"

More declarations of lies, more torment… Harry felt anger and despair mix with his anxiety. Even if he did know anything about Grindelwald, he knew he wouldn't tell these people. Even if he had a real name, or had a real past in this era, he wouldn't give into their torture. They wouldn't stop if he told the truth anyway. They would only stop when his body was too tired to live on, or when they decided they needed to think of a different method to urge the truth out of him…

They continued asking Harry questions, and forcing the invisible needles through his body for what felt like hours – and it could very well have been. The only thing that kept Harry strong was knowing that Tom was surely already searching for him, and when he would find Harry, all of the people here would pay – including Quentin. Grindelwald's followers vanished the sensation of the needles from within Harry, but Harry's insides were still sore when he was left alone in the room, lying on the cold stone floor. It wasn't long after the first visit from Grindelwald's followers when Harry either fainted or fell asleep again from pure agony, dreaming no dreams and remembering the hours of torture…

–X–

Harry was awoken by a sharp kick. This spiteful gesture, as well as many other things, such as the feel of the stone floor beneath him, and the smell of dirt and blood, told and reminded Harry that he was indeed lying in a dungeon run by Grindelwald's followers, and not wakening from some horrible dream, only to find himself lying comfortably in the arms of his lover. Harry opened his eyes, unsure of how long he had been asleep for as he viewed this windowless dungeon again. He saw that there was only one Wizard waiting for him to wake up, and he looked more closely at the face to see if it was someone from before…

When he recognised who it was, he sat up, wide-awake. This was in shock rather than joy, for it was not Tom waiting above him, ready to leave his terrible place. Tom would not have kicked Harry awake, and he certainly wouldn't have had his wand pointed at Harry's face, with pure hatred burning in his dark brown, rather than grey, eyes. Emeric was a few years older now, and it showed in his pale, thinned face, for his eyes were wearier than Harry had ever seen them before, and his brown hair was kept far messier than Harry had ever seen it.

"Emeric?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I knew it was you," Emeric muttered, staring down at Harry in annoyance with his wand was pointed steadily. "I always knew you had something to do with Grindelwald. I knew you had to have connections with him on a more personal level…"

Harry stood up, cautious of the somewhat deranged look in Emeric's eyes. From reading his thoughts, Harry knew Emeric wasn't completely mad… but he could never really be sure. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, still very confused. "You're one of Grindelwald's followers?"

"Of course I am," Emeric barked. He gave a cold laugh. "My cousin and uncle have been involved with Grindelwald's cause for years. Did you never take 'my family forced me into working with the Daily Prophet' literally?"

"I don't believe it," Harry said, still struggling to think of Emeric as a follower of Grindelwald.

Emeric laughed again, glaring at Harry more intensely. "Well, look where we are now!"

Harry had to say that Emeric had a point, unless Harry had completely lost it, and all of this was his imagination, which he very much doubted. He supposed that Emeric had just been a particularly unexpected and thus useful spy, keeping an eye on one of the most famous British newspapers for Grindelwald… "How did you end up here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Emeric joked, glowering. "In truth, Richard, I mostly ended up here because of you, when I was forced out of my job because you wanted my position in the Crime Department of the Daily Prophet. I knew you had to be against Grindelwald the moment I left that office. Anyone who isn't trying to bring justice to the world would have enough brains to understand who I really worked for, and why."

"You weren't forced out of your job because I wanted your post," Harry explained, somehow irritated, "and I'm not trying to bring justice to the world in any way. Just because I'm against Grindelwald, doesn't mean I'm not a part of something equally as powerful – if not more."

Emeric stared at Harry, hesitant to believe his words. "What do you mean?"

Harry found himself leering at Emeric, smiling only in hatred. A sense of empowerment filled him, fuelled by anger and vexation, as he knew how his next words would affect his old workmate. "You don't have the slightest idea about the Dark Arts group that I'm a part of, do you?"

Emeric seemed almost unwilling to answer this. "I heard a few things from that Quentin fellow about it… He makes it sound like nothing, as I'm sure it is."

"He has no idea how powerful my group is," Harry said, wanting to scare and alarm Emeric. "He's a useless follower, and has only been with us for a few months. He doesn't understand the importance of our work with the Dark Arts, teaching all of the people who follow us magic you could barely understand, while we train Dragons and –"

"Dragons?" Emeric repeated, blatantly surprised.

Harry smiled unkindly.

"How did you get Dragons?" Emeric demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Emeric glared more harshly, and seemed tempted to use magic against Harry, but he resisted. His tone was full of curiosity when he spoke. "Who is this 'Tom' you mentioned?"

"You've met him."

"When?" Emeric inquired.

"When he decided that he didn't like the fact that you fancied me," Harry answered.

Emeric stared at Harry, and there was a long pause. Emeric appeared unsure whether to believe what he had heard, as the blood drained from his face. Harry read Emeric's mind, watching him struggle. Emeric wanted to deny Harry's accusations, but he stopped himself from doing so. He was also close to asking Harry how he knew about the way he felt towards him, but he changed his mind at the last second, asking another question instead.

"Why did Tom care?"

"Because," Harry began cruelly, watching Emeric's mind as he spoke, to view the only amount of pain he knew he could inflict now, "Tom is my boyfriend."

This was the first time Emeric's glare vanished completely, replaced by a look of astonishment and distress. He thought about Harry's words, his wand still pointed at Harry's face, but he didn't seem to know what to say. His expression said it all, as well as his now troubled mind.

Harry wasn't warned long before he watched Emeric's mind suddenly become enraged. Harry couldn't do anything but stare in shock before Emeric raised his wand, and shouted, "Crucio!"

Harry fell to the ground, feeling the familiar sensation of his bones being lit on scorching fire, his skin being pressed and stabbed by white-hot knives… He couldn't hear his own screams, or form a single thought until the Curse was released what felt like minutes later. When the pain stopped, Harry looked up at Emeric, who stared at him in pure enmity.

"Tom will find me soon," Harry promised Emeric in a hoarse voice. "He'll find me and kill you all for trapping me here! He'll save me from this place, and there's nothing any of you can do to stop him!"

Emeric was backing away from Harry, too angry to say a word. Harry began laughing, knowing that his words were perfectly true. Tom would show up any hour, any minute… Emeric said something in German after opening the door, but Harry continued to laugh even when more of Grindelwald's followers filed past the door. They asked him more questions, and used a different torture today, which literally split open Harry's skin, giving the illusion that burning poisons were seeping into his flesh when it was cut, but Harry no longer cared.

When the followers left Harry hours later, lying upon the stone floor, surrounded by fresh patches of his own blood, Harry basked in how good it felt to be alone from them again. He thought about Tom, and how he would he saved from this hell soon enough. All of the people who tortured Harry, who drove him mad with the scarring memories of pain, were all as good as dead now. Harry would be free once more, when Tom found out where he was. When Harry closed his eyes, tired and aching, he felt that any minute Tom would burst through the door, to get him out of here…

But when Harry awoke again, Tom still wasn't here. Harry told himself that it might have only been a day since his absence, but after several more hours of inexorable tortures he was sure it had been longer than that now. He couldn't stand not knowing what time of day it was, nor knowing how long he had been here for. Emeric told him coldly, after what felt like a week of being here, that he must have misjudged either the power or the attachment Tom had. Harry had only glared then, but now that he was alone, he thought about this quite deeply.

Harry lay on his back, staring at the cracks that ran along the spider strewn, chipped, and damaged ceiling. He knew that it wouldn't be long before more followers visited him, to ask him questions that he had absolutely no answer to. He knew he would have to suffer again, but he wondered for how much longer now. He wondered how many more tactics of torture he would have to endure, and how many more sessions he had left before Grindelwald's followers would decide to kill him. But he wondered, above all, whether Tom would ever show up.

Harry couldn't imagine where Tom was. He didn't know what Tom must be doing with all of this time. It had been days, surely, since Harry had been captured. Harry didn't even know if it was night or day, or whether Tom would be asleep at this moment. He wondered whether Grindelwald's people had designed this prison to drive him mad with knowing nothing of the outside world, not even the time. Everything seemed to happen for so long here, and Harry hated it so very much…

Harry wondered what on earth Tom could be doing. He wanted to believe that Tom would rescue him, relieving him of all this pain, but that hope was slowly wearing out. Harry wondered, in pure desolation, if Tom had only ever lied to him. What if Tom had only kept Harry because he was an interesting object, in Tom's eyes? An item that had many uses, but no true value to Tom, perhaps? Harry was tired and deluded, and many of his wounds still stung terribly. Maybe he had mistaken every glimmer of emotion in Tom's eyes, every note of concern in his voice…

Harry closed his eyes, feeling warm drops of water spilling from them. He wished more than anything that Tom would find him. Yet perhaps this place was too well hidden, even if Tom was doing anything to search for Harry. Maybe Grindelwald's followers were stronger than Tom, and Harry had messed up history in some dramatic and idiotic way. Tom had to save Harry… Harry didn't know what else would happen to him…

Tom wouldn't let him die in this terrible place if he felt any slight affection towards Harry. Harry tried not to wonder if Tom thought of this event as a simple solution to the getting rid of him efficiently. He tried not to wonder if this is where his life would end forever, after everything he had been through. But the truth was that Harry could very easily die in this gloomy, filthy place, at the hands of Emeric, or any of the other merciless followers of Gellert Grindelwald…


Dear Readers: I hope you're all enjoying the story, first of all! I must thank you all for the lovely reviews that I've been receiving — they really do make every chapter even more worth writing.

But I'm writing this AN mainly to tell you all that I am again searching for a new Beta Reader. My last one is too busy, I feel, and my best friend Killing Curse Eyes cannot fill in for the moment because her computer just died, so I need someone ASAP. The few requirements for this 'job' are:

• You should be online often - at least once a day.

• You should have some previous experience in Beta Reading, or at least know how it works.

• You should accept the way that I write, and refrain from changing sentence structure, use of words, et cetera, unless I simply have it completely wrong.

• You should refrain from attempting to sway my choices in plot turns, or to suggest ideas that I cannot reply a polite 'no' to. I don't mind suggestions at all - in fact I encourage it greatly - but 90% of the things people suggest to me cannot be woven into TVoV, haha.

• It will probably be easier if you have Microsoft Word - the application I use for writing.

Just like before, you can leave a comment, sent me a Private Message, or email me if you want to become my Beta Reader. My email is 'slave of pacific waves at google mail dot com' (lol). Please tell me a little bit about yourself, and especially why you would like to be my Beta Reader. I'm looking for someone who knows what they're doing, but who enjoys this story and, like me, won't think of this as a job in any way. Doing this for pure enjoyment, or for the satisfaction of knowing you'll get chapters hours before everyone else, will make this a lot more fun.

By the way, we're past 200,000 words on this story now!

-Light