The stone floor beneath Harry's feet was bitterly cold. Outside the snow was covering land for as far as the eye could see, and inside, in the dining hall that the Death Eaters currently called their own, the lack of harsh winds made the room only marginally bearable. Harry had just returned home from Grindelwald's fortress with Tom and the Death Eaters, and Tom wasn't pausing for even a moment in his detailed lecture to his friends on how they had failed him. Tom was infuriated about the death of their best Dragon, and he was apparently still irritated by many other problems and nonfulfillments from his friends, which had been building up in Harry's absence.
The Death Eaters were responding to Tom's angry reproach very solemnly, and in an almost fearful way. They flinched when Tom shouted, and waited apprehensively to be directly yelled at. This made Harry wonder what had happened when he was gone, relating to the correlation between Tom and his friends. The Death Eaters seemed to have done a lot of things wrong in searching for him, but in full honesty Harry couldn't focus on the list of mistakes that were being shouted. His ability to hear was lacking as pain began to grip him again.
He supposed that by now both Tom's healing magic and his own spontaneous energy – gathered for the sole purpose of him getting away from Grindelwald's people – was fading, and he was experiencing the damage that had been inflected upon him even more powerfully now, because his superficially healed body was realising how hurt he really was. Tom had healed the biggest wounds on Harry's body, but beneath the surface Harry still had agonizing injuries…
"Weariness is no excuse for any of this," Tom saw saying, as Harry struggled to listen, his vision clouding. He could feel where the invisible needles had pierced his skin, where the fire had burnt him, where his body had split open a hundred times… "I can't afford to have you all lacking in the energy and dedication that this job requires! You should know enough magic by now to wake yourselves up! You should follow my orders when I tell you all to search for someone!"
Darkness was pressing on Harry's vision, and he tried hard to stand still, to let the darkness pass without affecting him… His heart was pulsing thickly, and his breath was short. He felt as though all of the pain he was still suffering through was being inflicted again only in this very moment…
"I can barely fathom how inadequate you rambling idiots are! Do you know how much work it is to find and capture a Dragon without being traced? Do you understand the energy, the power, and the magic it takes to train a Dragon as I have trained –?"
Crash! Tom's words stopped abruptly. Harry had almost completely fainted, but he was quickly pushing himself back up, with help from the table that he and Tom stood next to, surrounded by seated and standing Death Eaters.
"Are you alright Jonathan?" Nott asked from across the table.
Everyone was looking at Harry now, and Harry tried to stand up straighter, despite the agony he felt. His dark, reddened eyes were doing nothing to help his false vigour. Tom was gazing at Harry, and Harry met his gaze for only a second, before mumbling a quick, "I'm fine."
A few moments passed, and the Death Eaters seemed to notice now that Tom had stopped talking completely to analyze Harry, his infuriated expression falling away. Harry thought he saw Tom make a subconscious gesture to try and help him while he, Harry, battled the pain that was returning. But Tom stopped himself from moving. He seemed to be thinking about something that he felt was more important than shouting at his friends, and it appeared that he tried to end his chat with the Death Eaters as a result of Harry almost falling unconscious.
"I haven't finished with any of you yet," Tom warned sourly, as he glanced at his friends. "Yet I shall wait for the morning before I continue reminding you all just how much you have failed me these last few days. Go to sleep, all of you – even if you have barely earned such a luxury…"
The others began to stand up and file out of the room, neither talking nor looking at each other very much. When they were all gone, and when both doors leading to the corridor and the snowy fields outside were closed, Tom took the last few steps between Harry and himself.
"Are you alright?" Tom asked, reaching up a hand to hold Harry's shoulder gently. He seemed to understand what was happening, as Harry slouched a little more, trying to ease the pain.
"I thought you healed all this," Harry muttered, as he closed his tired eyes.
"I suspended the pain," Tom explained, watching Harry attentively. "Here, let me help you a little more, so we can go home…"
Harry didn't object as Tom began to use more magic on him, to lessen the pain. When Tom was done Harry felt a lot better, and he was able to stand and walk now. Harry realised that he was still tired despite feeling no pain.
"Be sure not to cause yourself any more harm," Tom warned. "Your body can no longer process it when you're in pain, which is both very useful and very dangerous."
"I don't think I'll be doing anything dangerous soon, so you don't have to worry," Harry said. "I'm exhausted…"
"Come on, I'll heal you more when we get home," Tom said, as he reached down to squeeze one of Harry's hands softly. Harry could feel Tom's touch, but he was somewhat numbed. Harry reflected upon how complex the magic Tom had just preformed must be, if it worked even this well…
Harry followed Tom as he began walking from the room. But no sooner had they reached the door they were met by another Death Eater. Gonson appeared careful not to annoy Tom, as he reported, "Nott, Lestrange, and Macnair say they just saw some people try to get past the defence of our land."
"And?"
"And they were unsuccessful," Gonson answered, apparently pleased to announce this. "They seemed to be thrown back by the magic pretty far away – and they were on brooms, oddly. There were just two of them, from what I heard. But I don't get why they would try flying here–"
"They weren't truly trying to get in," Tom stated. "So much is evident from the fact that there were so few of them, attempting so feebly to reach us… They were probably testing what magic I put furthest out."
"So," Gonson continued, "what should we do?"
"Nothing," Tom responded. "None of you will be of any help now… Don't bother me about this until something fails. There will doubtlessly be more of them trying to get in."
"You don't think they'll be able to, though?"
"Not so soon."
"But they did it the other day," Gonson reminded Tom, as he glanced at Harry for a second. "What's changed this time?"
"My determination," Tom said simply, "as well as my preparation and dedication. But if you'll excuse us…"
Tom walked past his now silent Death Eater, and Harry followed. By the time they had reached the end of the hall, Gonson had returned to the others to repeat the answers Tom had given to all of his questions. This left Harry and Tom alone for the first time since getting back here. They were only a few steps away from the door that led outside, when Harry remembered something.
"Shoes," he mumbled, as he thought about how cold the snow would be, even if he might not be able to feel it. Harry took out his wand, and began to transfigure himself a pair of simple, standard shoes. No sooner had be begun the spell, however, he noticed that his magic wasn't working.
Harry paused, and tried the spell once more. Again, there was no magic being taken from him. Harry looked up at Tom in confusion, trying to understand what was wrong. His numbed hands couldn't feel the unfamiliar wood beneath his fingertips, but one glance from Tom reminded Harry that he had swapped wands with Emeric.
"It – it won't work for me," Harry voiced, a feeling of foreboding gripping him.
"That's a likely result of trading wands with someone," Tom pointed out, appearing somewhat discontent about this too. He attempted to settle Harry's worry by saying, "I'm sure you'll get used to the wand soon. It worked when you tried to throw spells at Emeric."
Harry was silent as he stared down at the new wand, and Tom conjured a pair of shoes for him. Harry didn't know what he would do if this wand wouldn't work for him… but he tried to push the idea out of his mind, as Tom began heading outside, his hand brushing against Harry's again.
Across the snowy fields, and towards Tom's house, Harry could see the distant fire of Dragons. He watched for signs of Grindelwald's people attempting to reach them through the layers of defence that Tom had put up, but the sky was clear, and he didn't see anything unusual past the thickly falling snow. He didn't speak to Tom as they walked side-by-side, for the harsh winds were weakening their ability to hear, but Tom's warm hand was wrapped around Harry's own, to show he was there.
With a great wave of unforeseen relief, Harry and Tom entered Tom's house. Harry could barely believe he was back here, as he examined the view of the front room and kitchen, as well as the staircase leading upstairs. Tom ignited the torches, and all was clear. The front door was locked placidly.
"It's so good to be home again," Harry remarked, turning to face Tom.
"It's a relief to have you here again," Tom responded, as he smiled lightly.
Harry smiled back. His lips were cracked, and he felt a slight twinge of pain even past this, but he didn't pay any attention to it. He was about to continue talking to Tom, when he noticed something over Tom's right shoulder. The living room looked different than he remembered.
"Did you… redecorate?" Harry asked slowly.
Tom's smile faded, and he turned to glance at the room behind him to see what Harry was seeing. Many of the portraits on the walls had been replaced, as well as the couch, chairs, and a few cupboards here and there. The carpets on the wooden floors remained the same, but small things such as the glass on the glass-fronted cabinet, and the placement of the objects on the shelves and mantelpiece had been changed quite a bit.
"I suppose it wasn't exactly a calm reconstruction?" Harry joked. "Unless you actually had time to sit and contemplate how best to change the living room when I was away."
"I didn't waste time planning how to change anything," Tom confirmed quickly. "Nor did I plan on having to replace almost everything in the room… It took only a minute to fix and reconstruct."
Harry understood that Tom had smashed the whole place up in a storm of emotion at almost losing Harry to Grindelwald's people, and Harry found this oddly endearing, despite it meaning that Tom had been unable to control his anger at one point or another. It proved to Harry that Tom actually cared. Tom wasn't even nearly that upset about the death of his best Dragon, which meant so much to his ever-important aspirations…
Tom turned to face Harry, appearing discomforted with Harry's lack of commenting.
"I would have replaced it with exact replicas," Tom began, likely regretting not doing this before, "but I couldn't care much about that, in full honesty…"
"No, it's fine," Harry said sincerely. He gazed up at Tom, not knowing how to convey what he was feeling. "I would have done the same thing… In fact, I did once."
Tom seemed mildly surprised. "When?"
"When my godfather died," Harry answered, noticing the emotion that was somehow still attached to this statement when the words were out of his mouth. He continued talking, to get rid of the memories of what it felt like when Sirius died. "I ended up smashing someone's office… Though I didn't have to replace it myself, of course."
Tom smiled softly at Harry's last comment, which lighted up his previously attentive expression. He didn't make any comments about being sorry for Harry's loss, nor about being happy that Harry felt the same pain as him, because Harry knew and expected all of this already. In situations concerning the loss of loved ones, no words of comfort could ever cure the pure anguish involved, and anyone who attempts saying "I'm sorry" or "It'll pass" is only fuelling isolation with such an easy response, no matter how wholeheartedly they mean it.
Anyone who has truly struggled under the weight of such a loss will instinctively know that in a single look, and in a moment of silence, two people can reach the closest thing to a complete understanding. Words are irrelevant in the art of conveying the purest of emotions, and Tom seemed to know this as well as Harry did.
Tom's hand found Harry's own, and they gazed at each other wordlessly, fingers intertwining. Harry wondered half-curiously, half-reluctantly what Tom had gone through in his absence. He tried to forget how he himself had felt about being away from Tom so unwillingly… It was unbelievable, how good it felt for Harry to be with Tom again. It was also unbelievable that the magic Tom had used to numb Harry's pain was fading away now. Tom seemed to notice this before Harry could hide it.
"You're probably suffering again, and starving," Tom observed.
Harry gave a weak smile. "How did you know?"
Tom smiled back, examining Harry carefully before withdrawing his wand with his free hand. He began numbing Harry's pain once more.
"It isn't wise to do this so much, but I would prefer you ate before I heal you more efficiently," Tom said.
Harry nodded, and let Tom continue the magic. When he was done, Tom guided Harry to the kitchen. They spoke lightly as Tom began making food, but by the time they began eating, their conversation was slower. Tom smiled as they ate, watching Harry devour the meal hungrily, having not eaten in what felt like far too long. Harry hadn't realised just how hungry he was, until he saw and smelt what Tom was making. They spent perhaps half an hour in the kitchen before heading upstairs, exhausted from all they had gone through these last few days.
Tom's room was warm and so brilliantly familiar. When Harry examined the place, Tom closing the door behind them, he felt so exhilarated. He had been so close to losing Tom, that he was slightly overwhelmed with happiness at being here once more, safe and together. Before Harry could do much more than gaze at the room before him, Tom began healing him properly.
"This might hurt a little," Tom warned, "but it will heal most of your wounds completely."
"That's fine," Harry assured Tom, smiling weakly.
Harry realised, as he stood in this familiar place with no distractions, that he was in pretty bad condition all in all. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, his mouth had been dry before the large amount of water that he had drunk at dinner, his skin was still scratched and bruised in many places, his feet were damaged and dirty within his shoes, and his robes were bloodstained and grimy. All of this had been irrelevant when running away from Grindelwald's people, but now Harry saw all of this very clearly… Though he supposed that in this situation, he wasn't exactly expected to apologise for being in such an awful state.
"What happened, when you were captured?" Tom inquired, as though this question had been bugging him for the last few minutes or more. "I can only imagine what might have happened to you in nine days of imprisonment."
"Nine days?" Harry repeated in disbelief. He thought he had imagined so much time passing. "What happened to you?"
"I lost all connection to you," Tom explained, appearing uncomfortable with Harry's bewilderment. "If the British Ministry of Magic itself and so on cannot even find Grindelwald's people, it would never have been easy to find you."
"I'm not blaming you," Harry stated, "I'm just surprised. They didn't have any windows in there, and they wouldn't tell me what time it was – or even what day it was."
Tom didn't appear completely reassured by this. He watched Harry for a moment, an odd expression on his face, before he continued with his magic, avoiding eye contact. "I should have found you sooner."
"You found me, and rescued me," Harry observed, "I don't mind how long it took. I'm safe now, and we're together again."
"But had I reached you sooner I could have saved you so much harm, so much pain," Tom remarked, meeting Harry's eyes again. He appeared very fearful of Harry judging him for taking so long. "I tried to find you with such determination – I didn't pause for even a moment to think of anything else. But… there were times when I was too worried to think logically. I would have found Quentin sooner, had I not… had I not been so caught up in anxiety."
"I don't blame you," Harry said again, more gently this time. He realised Tom was very concerned with the matter at hand, and it worried Harry somewhat. He wanted Tom to be happy that he was home, to forget about how much they had suffered. "You managed to get me out of there alive. Nothing else matters."
Tom studied Harry, evidently trying to agree with what he was saying. As Tom's eyes travelled across Harry's face, the healing and their conversation paused, Harry could tell that Tom blamed himself for every scratch, bruise, and extended injury that he had. Harry didn't know how to tell Tom that he couldn't be held responsible for anything that had happened, but he was sure that Tom didn't know how to get rid of his guilt. Tom continued healing Harry.
"It's a miracle no bones were broken," Tom muttered, "but you have a lot of other injuries beneath your skin."
"We can heal them, right?" Harry asked quietly.
Tom didn't reply immediately. He used nonverbal spells on Harry, causing soft bursts of different types of magic to pulse through him, healing him. "I'll be able to make you feel fully healed," Tom said quietly, "but it's too soon to tell whether you'll be physically affected by all of this later on."
Tom didn't meet Harry's eyes as he spoke. Harry stood for a moment, somewhat startled. "You can't fix me?"
"I can make you feel healed," Tom repeated, "and you know I'll do anything for you to remain alive, but it could be difficult for you in the recovery process. Grindelwald's people never intended to let you live, and thus never cared whether or not the magic they used would affect you later on."
Harry struggled to compost a response to this. He had a feeling that Tom might try and bring up the subject of immortality, and he wanted to avoid that. If Tom really felt they needed to discuss it urgently, he would have said it a lot more clearly, so Harry felt no guilt when he focused Tom's attention on something less difficult to discuss.
"How long will it take you to heal me the best you can?"
"About a month… maybe less."
Harry nodded. Tom had begun to use magic to clean him off, because Harry was far too tired to take a proper bath. Harry's hair began to move as though caught in a strong wind, and he could feel his skin being washed of all the dirt and grime that was smeared on his neck, caught beneath his fingernails, and stained on his dirty clothes. Tom replaced Harry's robes with warm, clean pyjamas and let him step out of the shoes that he had transfigured earlier.
"All set," Tom said.
Harry smiled faintly, his lips no longer cracked. As Tom turned away to begin changing out of his own robes, Harry walked over to the bed, his now bare and very clean feet leading him there. Tom's bed was so immensely comfortable, Harry found. He closed his eyes for a moment when he was under the covers, and he opened them again only to look at Tom.
Tom was in quite a bad condition too, even if he was fixing it now. His hair was very messy in comparison to how it normally was, and his eyes were only a little less bloodshot than Harry's own. Harry was sure that Tom hadn't eaten very much when he was gone, and he obviously hadn't slept well. He wasn't as dirty as Harry had been, of course, but it was evident that he had given up looking after himself properly for these last few days.
Then Harry noticed something else. Tom still had red scars across his chest, from when Emeric had attacked him earlier on. Harry could barely believe that that had only been a few hours ago… He knew he shouldn't be shocked that Tom was still scarred, but he had expected the wound to fade away completely with the help of magic. He wondered what curse Emeric had used against Tom…
"You still have scars from earlier," Harry remarked.
Tom turned to look at Harry, not responding to this immediately, as he pulled a shirt over his head. "It'll fade eventually," he said.
Tom began walking across the room, towards the window to Harry's right. Tom stood by the clear glass, gazing up into the sky as he thought. Harry examined Tom's face in the dark reflection, seeing slight signs of worry in his otherwise impassive countenance. He looked less unkept with fresh pyjamas, and vaguely neater hair, but his dark eyes gazed in concern at the blackened sky.
"We're going to be fighting a war against Grindelwald's people," Tom expressed quietly, his breath causing the window to fog up before his lips. "Yet I believe we are safe for the moment…"
They paused for a time, contemplating Tom's statement.
"Come to bed," Harry urged softly.
Tom turned away from the window and, after a moment's hesitation, walked towards Harry. He kissed Harry when they were both under the covers, lying close to each other. Tom's arms were wrapped around Harry in a tender embrace, and he smiled after a few moments, drawing away from the kiss to gaze into Harry's emerald eyes.
"I was so scared that I would lose you," Tom said in little over a whisper, his hand sliding along Harry's waist slowly.
"I was scared that I would lose you too," Harry admitted just as softly. His hand was resting on Tom's neck, his thumb tracing along Tom's jaw, and to the base of his ear. As he thought, Harry's eyebrows furrowed a little. "I almost gave up all hope… but I knew you would find me, somehow."
"I wouldn't let you die," Tom whispered.
"I know." Harry smiled. "Finding me proved that more than anything. I shouldn't have doubted you for even a moment."
They thought, examining each other lovingly. The lighting in the room was dim, because Tom had only ignited a few of the torches when they arrived in the room, and the warm blankets around and above Harry and Tom shadowed them somewhat. Silent snow built up on the window ledge, as the torches crackled quietly.
"Do you really think there's going to be a war between Grindelwald's people and us?" Harry asked, not liking this idea at all.
"If we want to be completely safe, and free to do what we want to, a series of fights with Grindelwald's followers is inevitable," Tom stated. When Harry appeared daunted by this, Tom asked, "Don't you want to destroy Grindelwald's following?"
"I do," Harry said honestly, "but I just don't want any of this to hurt you and me, or even any of your friends…"
The more Harry thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that if he started a war between Grindelwald's people and the Death Eaters, a lot of things could be put at risk relating to the flow of events through history and so on. This, of course, brought up the question of what would have happened to Grindelwald's followers if Harry hadn't stuck in this era. In the nineties, Harry hadn't read any history or theories about witches and wizards admiring Grindelwald even after his capture and general downfall, and it made Harry wonder whether he, Harry, was actually supposed to be here, to help rid the followers of the wizarding world…
Yet if Harry wasn't supposed to be here at all, and if Lestrange, Nott, Avery, or any Death Eaters of the sort died, it could change history dramatically. The affect of one death could lead to so many different outcomes in the lives of those close to who died, which would lead to many different choices being made, and by extent it could stop many vital things happening in Harry's past, making the current future very far from what it was supposed to be…
"My friends getting hurt can't be avoided," Tom said indifferently. "It doesn't truly matter what happens to them in a war, or in general. They will all have to be replaced eventually, even if that might seem as though I'm wasting energy with training them in the first place… We're going to outlive them, at any rate."
"I noticed you've started treating them differently since I left," Harry said, not wanting to discuss how the Death Eaters were unknowingly dedicating themselves to Tom so wholly that their lives no longer had much value. "They no longer question you at all."
"They have made a lot of mistakes this last week or so," Tom reminded him. "From all my yelling, I think they fear me a great deal…"
"The fact that we're raising Dragons and hiding from Ministries probably helps quite a bit to make them fear you, as well," Harry added.
They smiled simultaneously.
"What did they do wrong, anyway?" Harry asked.
"I would list you all their mistakes, but I don't want to get annoyed again tonight," Tom said. "The worst thing of all was that they didn't know until days after you left that Quentin was a part of another Dark Arts group… I'm sure I informed some of them about that detail. It was obvious…"
"What ever happened with Quentin anyway, when you found him?" Harry asked.
"I went to his house with Avery, Mulciber, Gibbon, and Ransom," Tom explained, "and we began interrogating him, simple as… He was braver than I thought he would be. He actually tried to hold onto the information, so either he hated you a great deal, or he was rather devoted to Grindelwald…"
Tom contemplated his own words, his expression suggesting he was still curious as to why Quentin refused to give up information for so long. Something else was more pressing to Harry, however. "How did you kill him?"
"I didn't," Tom said. "Mulciber did."
"Mulciber?" Harry repeated, bewildered.
"Yes. With a Killing Curse – nothing too gruesome…"
There was a short pause. "Why didn't you kill him?"
Slight confusion cross Tom's face. "I thought you didn't want me to kill people?"
"I don't," Harry confirmed. Yet he had thought that Tom was only going to stop killing Muggles, or Wizards who had no reason to die other than for sickening amusement and so on. "I just… I'm surprised you couldn't not kill him."
Tom watched Harry, and Harry wondered at this whether Tom was just lying to him so he wouldn't hate Tom for another murder. Harry felt a twinge of sadness at this, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Tom that he wouldn't care if he murdered Quentin. Harry didn't want Tom to kill people… but now that Harry had been captured and tortured for nine solid days, he felt slightly confused about all of this. He hated Quentin for ratting him out to Grindelwald's people, and he honestly couldn't bring himself to dislike the idea of Tom killing Quentin for revenge.
Harry moved closer to Tom, kissing him gently on the lips, before merely lying close to him. He was exhausted, much like Tom, and he was still very confused about how he should feel now that Quentin was dead. Quentin had tried to kill Harry by extent. Was Harry honestly supposed to try and feel bad for his death, considering this? Harry couldn't say he was glad Quentin would be underground soon enough, but he also couldn't say that it upset him at all. Harry was so tired, and so confused…
"He deserved it," Harry mumbled close to Tom.
Tom seemed to think about this, but he didn't make a reply to it as they held each other. Their eyes were closed, and they were not far from falling asleep now. Harry listened to the sound of Tom's breath, still subtly elated that Tom was so close to him once more…
"I'll never let this happen to you again," Tom whispered.
"Neither will I," Harry agreed. "The next time one of your friends start hating me, I won't be such an idiot."
"You can't be blamed for this," Tom said. "With all that you have gone through relating to Grindelwald, and with all the curiosity you must have felt when Quentin began showing sings of knowing Grindelwald's followers, you did only what anyone else in your situation would have done."
Harry felt slightly guilty upon hearing this incorrect excuse being used. "I should have done better than just anyone else…"
"We'll both do better next time," Tom muttered.
Harry smiled a little. "I love you, Tom."
"I love you too, Harry."
