60 – Inferior

Much of the forest had been burnt to the ground. Tall trees that had grown decades old were now scorched where they stood, leafless and bare, allowing the starry sky to be displayed far above them. This place was completely unrecognisable to Harry's eyes; it was as though Tom had ordered the Knights to change the location of their hideout earlier, and this was the second time they'd be moving tonight. Harry felt as though he had completely lost his sense of time.

Charred shapes could be seen strewn across the blackened area, illuminated first by the small fires that the Death Eaters cast to see their work more clearly, and second by the emerald light that descended from high above the forest. The fluorescent constellation of Dark Mark dimmed the closest stars to it, causing the entire forest to be visible faintly in it's light, giving definition to all the ashy shapes that lay upon the ground. There was no mistaking that many of the shapes seen in the dim green hue were the remains of burnt bodies.

Tom had ordered the Knights to pack up the tent and to clear the area of all signs that might indicate who had stayed here. A Ministry was bound to know about the level of magic that had been used during their battling, and they wouldn't be pleased about it. It wouldn't be wise to get caught magically burning down a large part of this forest, especially as the effects of Fiendfyre were irreversible, there was still the remains of bodies lying all around, and they still had a number of illegal Dragons under their control.

Most of the Knights were teaming up to tame the Dragons. Not everyone was here; many of Tom's followers had died or had simply gone missing without explanation. It was evident that a few of the Knights of Walpurgis had been captured, or had gone to join Grindelwald's people again, yet there was no real knowing. The loyal and strong Knights who remained were very tired by this point, yet their victory of fighting off Grindelwald's people had given them the strength to follow Tom's orders well.

Harry only watched the others work, he didn't join in. He saw Gonson, Nott, and Ransom amongst quite a few others attempting to heal their wounded companions the best they could, in preparation for fleeing this area. Other Knights were carrying trunks out of the tent, passing them to those who waited with brooms at the ready. There was one broom for every follower, a lot of which were used to carry the luggage. It wasn't long before the Knights would be ready to leave, led by a very triumphant Tom.

Harry felt listless. Without truly seeing it, he stood watching the world go by. He had lost his sense of the present and had lost the ability to think, or to feel, properly. He was suspended in a state of such deep change. His outer self had withdrawn and had frozen, being pulled back sharply like the tides of a sea to the horizon before a tsunami. All he could do was wait, an awed sense of anticipation gripping him. Any time, but not now, the weight of his crimes would crash upon him. It was unavoidable.

They were getting ready to leave now; Harry followed to join them. He didn't speak to anyone as they mounted their brooms. It was as though he wasn't there at all, he was lost in his own mind. Even Tom, who was more enthralled by his actions this evening than Harry could ever fear, didn't speak to Harry now – he had to lead the others out of here. They began their flight, heading in some new direction. Despite the joy of flying, Harry felt gone...

It was an hour or two later when they landed. The Knights were exhausted now, but they set up the tent as Tom ordered them to, rushing most of it now in their desire to sleep. The sun was rising slowly, setting a completely different tone as the sunlight shone upon the greener forest they stood within. Harry didn't look at much of it. He headed inside with the others. He made his way to his room without stopping along the way.

He wasn't alone in his room for very long. Tom followed him there about twenty minutes later, after making sure the Death Eaters didn't need him any longer. As soon as he saw Harry, a wide smile broke across his face, maddening his handsome features. He spread his arms wide as if to greet Harry warmly for his accomplishment, striding across the room to meet him. Harry shifted nervously at the sight, sitting on the edge of his bed. Tom was too happy to notice his unease.

"I cannot believe it," Tom began, his voice low and astonished. "I cannot believe you did it at last..."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't want to have this conversation, nor to see Tom reacting so joyously to the terrible crime that had been committed. He tried to hide his disgust, worry, and sorrow, even if he was sure that beyond Tom's wide, wild eyes nothing as subtle as expression could be registered.

Tom was walking towards him. His face still remained the same, as if he were wearing a mask of permanent madness.

"Everything is going to change now," Tom whispered. "Now, Harry, we can move on with what we planned to do – with what we were meant to do – with the Dark Arts... We will be great."

Harry dropped his gaze. These words horrified him.

Tom moved closer still. Harry felt the mattress beneath him move as Tom sat besides him, his closeness suggested he wanted all of Harry's attention.

"Tell me how it happened," Tom urged. "Tell me how you did it."

Harry shifted where he sat, trying to make up for his unwillingness to answer this question by distracting Tom. "I don't know, it's just... it just happened..."

"I can't believe you found Emeric," Tom said in a quiet voice. "Out of all the wizards out there, fighting..."

Harry hated the sound of this accusation. "I didn't find Emeric," he said. "He found me first, so I... I just wanted to follow him, to find out why..."

"What did you find out?" Tom asked. "Did he say anything before you fought?"

"Not really," Harry mumbled, "only that he thought I should go be with him, instead of staying with you. I didn't, of course... He was completely delusional about everything – it was mad. It was like he was obsessed..."

A flicker of irritation made itself clear on Tom's face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had arisen. Harry was sure he was hiding it. "How obsessed?"

"He didn't even want to hurt me," Harry explained. "Well... that's what he kept saying anyway. He did get annoyed, after a while... and did try to use the Cruciatus Curse."

"What?" Tom asked quickly. He couldn't hide his anger now. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Harry said, "he never got the chance to."

"But he spoke to you," Tom noted, "either you were listening to him or he managed to attack you enough to make himself heard?"

That wasn't quite it, Harry thought. Emeric had been able to talk to him whilst not attacking him by deflecting all of his attacks... or all but one. "I wanted to hear what he was saying," Harry lied.

"I can't imagine why," Tom said, unable to hide his bitterness. He then added, as if it occurred to him that this was more important, "Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

Harry nodded after a moment of hesitation. He twisted his hands in his lap, trying to push away thoughts of what had happened in that forest. He felt as though some unseen force was compressing his ribcage, making it harder to breath normally. It was as if the guilt for what he had done to Emeric was coming back to haunt him... He struggled to hide this from Tom.

"Macnair seems affected by the fight that went on," Tom observed.

"Yeah," Harry responded vaguely. "You could say that..."

"I should have chosen a stronger Knight to protect you," Tom muttered. He didn't truly seem bothered by this idea for long, however. Harry heard a breath of laugher. "Yet I doubt it truly mattered, in the end. You were strong enough on your own."

Even Tom must have realised that Harry should have been able to defeat the two wizards more easily, Harry thought. This seemed like a rather big omission on Tom's part, yet Harry said nothing about it. Tom hadn't seen the fight after all, so he likely saw no problem in Macnair falling, or in Harry struggling to fight the two wizards on his own.

Harry turned to face Tom as a thought struck him. "Is Macnair alright?"

"He's being healed amongst the others," Tom informed him.

"But is he okay?"

Tom's eyes narrowed a little. "Why?"

"It was just a bad fight," Harry said. His eyes wandered to Tom's shoulder as the thoughts crashed over him again.

"What happened to Macnair?" Tom asked curiously.

"That other wizard got to him," Harry explained, his tone low. His eyebrows were creased in concern.

"What was it that he did to Macnair?"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Closing it again he bit his lips. He didn't know how to even begin with talking about what had happened to Macnair...

Tom didn't seem to care about Harry's lack of responses. Another thought seemed to occur to him suddenly. "Did he hear you talking? Did Macnair catch your conversation with Emeric?"

There was a silence. Harry looked up at Tom. He tried to think back to when he had fought with Emeric; trying to work out when it was that Macnair could have fallen unconscious...

"Well?" Tom pressed.

"He wasn't conscious," Harry pointed out quickly, trying to calm Tom as soon as he could. "There was no way he could have heard – he was delirious from how much he was beaten up, anyway. He couldn't have heard."

Tom wasn't convinced. His expressions were fading slowly, his mind blatantly racing.

"You can't do anything to him," Harry said seriously. In his own worry he had momentarily forgotten about his sorrow and despair. "There's no point – he... he didn't hear anything, Tom."

Harry watched Tom take a deep intake of breath before sitting up straighter, averting his eyes for a moment to think. After around a minute he appeared somewhat less keen to go after Macnair, yet it was hard to be sure. Quietly, he said, "I don't suppose he would have heard..."

"He didn't," Harry assured him. Secretly, he wished he could know this for sure.

Tom was unfazed now. He didn't seem to honestly care what had happened to his Knight anyway, especially as something more interesting occurred to him. "Tell me what he was like."

"Who?"

"Emeric," Tom said. "Tell me what he said to you?"

Harry wished he wouldn't stare like that. "I – I don't really..."

"What did he do?" Tom asked. "How did you kill him?"

Harry wanted to get up, to get away from Tom. He didn't want to think about Emeric's death, never mind talk about it. It was surprising that Tom couldn't see this in his pained expression.

In the hesitance, Tom reached a hand up to touch Harry's face, urging him to not look away any longer. Harry appreciated it at first, until he looked up and saw that Tom's dark eyes still burned with a deep happiness that he couldn't seem to hide. He leant in until Harry' face was inches from his own, tipping Harry's chin up to look at him more closely.

"He will never be a threat to us again," Tom said in nothing over a whisper. A smile had broken across his dark red lips, which Harry was examining now to avoid his eyes. It was evident that Tom thought Emeric had scared Harry, rather than his murder scaring him. Yet Harry couldn't help but like it when Tom's breath brushed against him. He closed his eyes. "We will be together forevermore, inseparable by anything... even by the greatest forces known to this universe..."

Harry felt Tom move after these words, so he opened his eyes. Tom had backed away marginally to retrieve the wand from his pocket. Harry wasn't sure what he was doing at first, until Tom pointed it towards him. Harry was still covered in Emeric's blood. Tom wanted to fix this.

The thought alarmed Harry when he realised it. He tried to move away – from what he wasn't truly sure – but Tom reached out his free hand to clasp Harry's, encouraging him to stay. Tom washed away the blood from his hands and wrists, clearing the dirt from his clothes. He then moved to Harry's head, cleaning away all that remained of Emeric. Harry hated to think about the blood spurted upon him... When he was clean, Tom's smile widened once more. He was watching Harry.

Before Harry knew it, Tom moved forwards as if he could resist the urge no longer to begin kissing Harry's neck. He planted his lips upon Harry over and over again, laughing into his neck in pure ecstasy. His hands were moving along Harry's body, rubbing against him in the desire to get closer still.

"You will be mine forever," Tom breathed against Harry. He was laughing more between his words, breathing out and in heavily as if what had happened was dawning upon him strongly, causing his desire to deepen. "Now that Emeric is gone, now that you have killed him, everything will change..."

Harry opened his eyes. He stared blankly ahead of him, feeling Tom kissing him vibrantly, but not quite enjoying it. Not even Tom, nor the knowledge that they could stay together forever if he wanted, could distract Harry from the fact that he had killed Emeric. He was a murderer..

Before Harry knew it he was backing away from Tom. He suddenly wished more than anything that he was alone now. He stood up, feeling as though he was about to burst at any moment with remorse for what he had done. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, trying to find a way to make Tom leave.

"I'm really tired," he said distractedly, not meeting Tom's stare.

He didn't know what else to say. Tom was mute.

"We can just, I dunno... do this tomorrow."

Tom stood up. "If that is what you would prefer, I cannot object."

Harry knew Tom was probably annoyed but he couldn't find room to honestly care. "Right..."

He then heard Tom laugh softly. He found amusement in the way Harry acted, perhaps. "After your accomplishment tonight, I do suppose you need rest... I'll be available to you whenever, however."

Harry only nodded after a second, unsure what to say to this.

Tom walked over to him, to kiss him once on the lips. It was evident that he wanted to stay for longer, but Harry didn't respond much to the kiss. Before long he was turning away, just as Harry had hoped. "Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight..."

Harry heard the door close behind Tom. The silence that surrounded him beyond this was numbing. He stared into space for a while – for how long, he couldn't be sure. He stood very still, trying not to feel. He concentrated hard on his slow, even breathing. The pressure around his lungs worsened with every passing moment. It reminded him of what he had done. It reminded him of the actions he could never take back. He held his breath...

When Harry breathed in heavily after a minute, unable to resist any longer, he felt a sharp pain coarse through his body. He couldn't stop the tears from blocking his vision when he breathed in a second time, fighting against his persistently compressed lungs. He was crying uncontrollably before he even knew it, bringing his hands up to his head in stress and despair.

He could feel irritation rising in him slowly. It was spreading throughout his body, binding him closely and pressing against his skin, making him crave destruction. He didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't think of any way to release himself from this crushing guilt, sorrow, pain, and hate. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Emeric's cold, bloodstained corpse lying before him.

Anger suddenly rose within Harry. The next thing he knew, he had picked up the nearest object – a clock embedded with a moving representation of the solar system and stars – and had thrown it across the room. With a deafening 'CRASH' the clock hit a mirror across the room. The glass shattered into thousands of pieces, falling to the floor in a shower of glittering shards. Harry swore loudly, knowing that no one would hear him in here anyway. He began pacing the room, unable to stay still.

Tom had ordered the Knights earlier to collect any identifiable bodies from the forest, to leave no trace of who had been fighting. They hadn't been able to sort through the bodies to find their own dead quickly, so Tom had ordered them to take any corpse in sight, to sort through them all later, to give their Knights a real funeral. Emeric's body would be there, piled amongst the rest of them, haunting Harry from a continuously close proximity.

'BANG!'

Liquid from the second object Harry threw steamed down the wall, leaving long drops of blue in it's wake. Fury amongst tens of other emotions still raged within Harry and this was barely helping it at all. No matter what he did now, he couldn't run away or distract himself from the fact that he had made a terrible, irreversible mistake; one that could change all of history before his very eyes. He couldn't know yet what affect defeating and killing Emeric could have.

The wand – the Elder Wand – worried Harry most at this moment, for the sake of the future. He understood that he had only broken Draco's wand earlier (as much as he deeply regretted this, considering he hated the use of Emeric's wand), but two things beyond this worried him: were there two Masters of the Elder Wand currently, and would the Wand itself die out because of Harry?

If Harry had become Master of the Elder Wand in his past (the future), by disarming Draco at the Malfoy Manor, there would now be no one in the future who would become the next Master. Either Harry himself would become the true owner of the wand by living all the way to the future, or the wand would cease to exist later. At this time there was doubtlessly now two people who could take full power of the Elder Wand without even fighting, for two people were it's true Masters: Harry and Dumbledore.

This still didn't even begin to explain why Emeric had been stronger with Draco's wand. It can't have been a mere placebo affect, since Emeric had no idea that the Elder Wand even existed, never mind that Harry had been the rightful Master of it. Nor could Harry really believe that Emeric might have just wanted his wand to work better. Either Harry had been mistaken by Emeric's power and he had been too stressed by the sight of him to fight properly, or this was another thing about time-travelling he had never learnt before.

The first option seemed the most likely... but if the second option was true, and if Draco's wand had begun acting like a sort of second Elder Wand, did that now mean that the only wand left was Dumbledore's? And if Harry were to go to the future, would he have to get the real Elder Wand back from Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts, or later? It seemed an impossibility. Voldemort would never give up the wand, with or without the true power of it...

Harry didn't want to think about it. The other emotions at the other things happening to him were drawing him away from these painful thoughts of the Elder Wand. He felt so very far away from the Battle of Hogwarts now. He felt like an entirely different person – especially now, especially as the weight of his crimes piled upon him. He was no longer the boy he used to be. He was a man now, twisted and different than ever before. He felt himself sinking to the ground, resting with his head on his knees, tearing at his hair with his hands.

He was shaking uncontrollably. If there was one thing he wished, it would be that the pain within him would stop, so his crying would cease. He felt he was falling apart, crashing piece by piece to his inevitable and ultimate destruction. His soul had cracked. It had broken in two by the act of murder and Harry was sure this is what he was feeling now, past his aching heart, which pulsed with a number of terrible emotions. He was shattering.

This is what Dumbledore had saved Draco from enduring by ordering Snape to kill him. This is what Tom could never feel in relation to the crimes he had committed. This is what literally all of the Death Eaters would go through, causing them a sense of emptiness and delirium rather than sorrow. This is what would cause Harry nightmares from this day on, stopping him from sleeping due to fear of it, and fear of himself.

-X-

It was only a few days later when Harry found himself back in Tom's house again. Tom had regained enough strength to put shields up around this land already, and because Grindelwald's people had become a lot weaker in the recent battle, it was far less likely that they could possibly break in once more. Tom used a lot of different ancient magic than before, confident that this would put Grindelwald's people off track, beyond the fact that they wouldn't have such a prime opportunity to attack again.

Harry stood by the living room window, looking out at a view of the distant forest. He was thinking about the Knights that Tom had sent out to go track down more of Grindelwald's people. There were less and less followers of Grindelwald's who dared to venture anywhere on their own these days, so they travelled in groups mostly, enduring their inability to work any other way in fear. The ambushes stopped Grindelwald's people from doing a great deal of things.

Occasionally Tom's followers would not succeed in bringing down groups of Grindelwald's people, and occasionally they themselves got hurt from it instead, but more often than not they won via surprise and brutality. Harry hated to think about the ways that they murdered those people – and worse, the torturing that went on with those who were captured alive. Tom planned the attacks extremely carefully; it was rare that any of Grindelwald's people made it back able to accurately explain what had happened.

After a long while, Harry heard someone open the front door. At first he thought it might be Lestrange or Macnair, who were staying at Tom's house, or Nott who sometimes visited from Harry's house, but instead it was just Tom. They hadn't seen each other today; Tom had been busy making plans, telling Harry that he should continue to rest after his accomplishment. Harry had only taken the offer to rest because he couldn't find it in him to concentrate on anything. He could barely take his mind off of Emeric's death...

"Good evening," Tom greeted as he entered the library Harry was in.

"Hey," Harry responded. He was in half a mind to turn back to the window. "How are you?"

"I'm well," Tom told him, smiling softly. "And yourself?"

"I'm alright."

"I've just sent off a group of seven to chase down our latest wanderers," Tom mentioned contently. "They should be back by dawn with results."

"That's good."

"It's great," Tom grinned. "Grindelwald's league are getting weaker by the day. I shouldn't be too long now before they're done and gone entirely."

"That's insane," Harry said, in what he hoped was a better attempt to sound interested.

"I was thinking of perhaps planting a spy or two," Tom carried on. "After what happened with Zerrissen, it is evident that Grindelwald's people have already thought of this, but I have far more subtle ways of achieving such a plan."

"Are you sure they won't expect that?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't believe so. I have greater ideas than they had."

"I'm sure you do," Harry responded.

"I shan't do it just yet, however," Tom explained, "we still have quite a few more rounds of attacks on stray followers to pay attention to."

"Did you send Macnair out on one of those missions?" Harry suddenly asked. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

"I believe I did, yes..."

"But why?" Harry asked. "I mean, I thought you were keeping him here to put him into Occlumency training with Nott and Lestrange?"

"I was," Tom said, "but Macnair was around at the right moment for me to put him on a mission, I didn't think much of it."

Harry was confused. They had discovered quickly that Macnair had indeed overheard much of the conversation that had gone on between Harry and Emeric, and he was suspicious. Tom had taken Macnair away from the rest of his followers the moment he saw the thoughts within his mind. Harry was sure that Macnair hadn't told anyone about what he heard, yet this appeared to be little consolation to Tom, who didn't believe it. He was irked by the whole event.

Macnair couldn't have known what Emeric and Harry were talking about; past never suspecting that Harry and Tom could be dating, Macnair had been distracted quite a bit by the pain he was going through at the time. Although Tom had treated the matter as though it were even worse than it had been with Nott and Lestrange, Harry knew it wasn't a real problem. They could do something as simple as make up a story to smooth Macnair's confusion and they wouldn't have to worry any longer – he didn't even need Occlumency, in Harry's opinion. He wished Tom's opinion was the same.

"Nothing happened to him, right?" Harry asked slowly.

"I don't believe so," Tom said casually, "yet it is unknown who will and won't return from attacking Grindelwald's people."

This annoyed Harry, somehow. "You sent him there on purpose, didn't you?"

Tom stared, a little taken aback. "All of our Knights must be of help to this group one time or another, Harry," he pointed out. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "All of our Knights must risk their lives."

"But you did this on purpose," Harry said indignantly, sure of it now. "You're trying to put him in danger!"

"Why would I do that?" Tom asked, a little too monotonically.

"To get rid of him," Harry elaborated, "but you shouldn't have done that – he doesn't even know anything, he doesn't care."

"Why do you care?" Tom inquired, appearing only mildly affected by this conversation. "It is not a an attack upon the Knights when I send them off to fight, they should think it an honour. They are inferior to us, Harry."

"I care because it's obvious what you're planning."

Tom said nothing.

Harry didn't like the sound of any of this. He watched Tom carefully, trying to look for any signs that might indicate if he was lying or not. Harry found himself oddly irritated at this whole conversation. He didn't want anything to happen to Macnair, yet he was sure that Tom looked upon the Knight as nothing more than a problem. After all, Tom evidently wasn't scared of people's deaths, considering he still kept the bodies of those who had died in the forest battle.

Harry winced. "Why do you still keep all of them here?"

"All of what?"

"The bodies," Harry managed, grimacing in disgust. "You've already buried all the the Knights of Walpurgis who lost their lives, why not do the same to the rest of them?"

"I will not hold a funeral for our enemies," Tom stated.

"Then why are they here?"

"We can't have left them in that forest for someone to find."

"There's no reason to keep them here rotting!"

"You needn't shout, Harry."

"You won't seem to listen to me any other way, Tom!"

"I've made it clear why I chose to keep those bodies here," Tom said. "It was for convenience."

"Well, you should get rid of them."

"I will."

"Soon," Harry added.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Tom inquired.

"Because it's wrong! You can't just keep a bunch of dead people lying around after your followers murdered them all!"

"You were as much help as many," Tom mentioned quietly.

Harry glared at him. He was caught between anger and sorrow and he wasn't sure which way to go. He was leaning towards anger, without even really choosing to. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Many of the Knights only succeeded in killing one or two enemies," Tom explained. "Even if, admittedly, quite a few of them killed a larger number..."

"Right..."

Tom watched him curiously. "You're rather irked about all this."

"Yeah?" Harry asked sarcastically. "I didn't notice."

"I don't see why you are," Tom carried on. He paused, thinking deeply about the matter as curiosity took over his expression more. "What's bothering you?"

"I just don't like what you're doing."

"I've done you no harm," Tom reminded him.

"I never said you did," Harry said, "I just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. He could feel the vexation leaving him slowly. He dropped his eyes to look down. "I'm just concerned."

For some reason Tom walked towards him. He stood a few steps onwards, standing between Harry and the couch that stood behind him. "About what?"

Harry wasn't sure why he had done that. "About everything... Everything that's changed."

"Change is inevitable, my love."

"I know," Harry agreed, dropping his gaze again. "But I only –"

Harry's words were cut off in shock.

His eyes had looked away from Tom to stare idly at the couch behind him, yet something had caught his attention. Engulfed almost entirely in the shadows that were cast down by the torches bracketed to the walls, Harry saw something that caused him to stare in shock, unable to believe his eyes. The blood trained from his face almost instantly and he felt himself take a step back in horror. There was a body stuffed beneath the couch.

Surrounded by what could only be dark, drying blood, a hand wasn't fully hidden. It's fingers were curled and likely hard due to how long the corpse must have remained there for; it appeared as though Tom hadn't expected it to be noticeable, yet he had doubtlessly been in a rush after the murder if he didn't even have time to dispose of the body better. Harry knew that this was Macnair; Tom had never sent him away on any mission. Despite his pleads, Tom had killed the Knight anyway.

Harry crashed into a table that stood behind him in his determination to back away. He met Tom's eyes again and knew in an instant that he understood what he had seen. Tom was not at all pleased about it; he monitored Harry's every move with his dark eyes, waiting for the inevitable series of reactions Harry was bound to go through. Harry tried to think if Tom could have really murdered Macnair since yesterday morning. He withdrew his wand.

"Mobilicorpus!"

The corpse slid out from under the couch. It was not a pretty sight; the face of the wizard appeared to have been smashed in by some turn of events. It left a long, thick trail of blood where the body moved, despite the fact that most of the blood upon Macnair's face had dried already. There was no mistaking that this was Macnair even if he was almost entirely unrecognisable. Harry could see it in his wide, open eyes.

"Harry, wait-"

It was too late, Harry was already walking away from the room. He was heading for the front door, not able to process anything beyond his desire to get away from that corpse, away from Tom. Thoughts of his own crime and of Emeric haunted the corners of his mind, dawning upon him ominously no matter how hard he tried to block it out. It was going to storm heavily because of the recent humidity. Harry could see this when he stepped out of Tom's house, he could hear it and could could feel it upon the air. Tom was still calling after him. He began to run.

Heading vaguely for his own house, Harry never stopped. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now but he knew what he wanted – to leave as soon as possible. He couldn't take that Tom had dismissed his pleads to leave Macnair and he couldn't stand to think about the brutal way that Macnair had evidently been murdered. The faces of those who had been murdered most recently were plastered to Harry's pained mind, staring at him still. Very sharply Harry stopped running – he had reached a point accidentally.

Harry withdrew his wand. There was nowhere left for him to run to, so he knew he had to find another way. He began saying the counter-curses to all the magic he could think that might be used upon this land. His voice was shaking but it never interrupted his concentration, nor the words that he spoke. Before he could even really begin to break down the forcefields that were trapping him in here, however, Tom had caught up to him. He knew what he was doing the moment he heard the low, familiar sound of his curses breaking.

Tom didn't shout at him to stop. Nor did he use any form of attack to stop him, he merely walked towards Harry steadily, his expression blank. Without a word, without so much as a panicked movement, he reached an hand out to softly place upon Harry's. This was enough to stop Harry from continuing with his curses. Harry's expression was contorted, he didn't know how to react this. It was starting to rain.

"Even if you did know how to break my magic, to flee from this land so quickly," Tom said, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the falling of rain, "you know as well as I do what consequences could occur if Grindelwald's people are close. You would only have to endure further sight of death."

Harry didn't understand how he could be so calm. Not only had Macnair's body been discovered now, but it was blatant that Harry couldn't deal with this any more. He couldn't watch these deaths happen without question and he couldn't find it within him to accept it. Macnair was dead. His son would never be born into this world, which finally proved solidly to Harry that despite it all, time was going to change. He had badly lost in his attempts to change nothing. It was over...

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked in a whisper, feeling the sorrow dawn upon him. "Why did you kill him?"

Tom held his hand a little more firmly, perhaps without noticing. Harry's expression confused him. "I couldn't let him run the risk of thinking the wrong thing. He isn't Nott or Lestrange."

Harry tried to pull his hands away from Tom's. "Let me go."

"Harry –"

"Let me go, Tom!"

Tom refused to. "Listen to me."

Rain was beginning to pour down now. They could hear the distant roar of thunder. Harry was pulling his hands free. "I don't want to listen–"

"It was all for you."

Harry had walked back a few paces as his hands were freed. He wondered for a moment if he had heard Tom correctly. There was something in those dark eyes that told him he had.

"Macnair's death, our fighting with Grindelwald," Tom listed in a low voice, "you must understand that it was for no one else but you."

Harry couldn't find the words to speak. He had forgotten this. He had forgotten that Grindelwald's people would never have gotten involved with Tom's followers if it weren't for him. Even if they had been wary about Tom's group gaining power, they would not have attacked him this early, they wouldn't have seen Tom as such a threat. Everyone who had died so far had died because of Harry. Not only in this battle, but in the Battle of Hogwarts too...

"I didn't just murder Emeric," Harry whispered. Feeling dazed, he was staring almost blindly, unwilling to move a muscle. "All of their deaths... it was all my fault..."

The thought dawned upon Harry so hard, he felt as though it was slowly crushing him. He could barely process it; he was staring at Tom with an expression of utter hopelessness, trying, with little avail, to accept or to suppress the pain he was going through. Beyond everything he had feared, everything he had forced himself to believe for the sake of saving himself from burning sooner, he had done more harm than he had ever realised before. He was worse than Tom himself...

The shock was so strong, Harry couldn't even find it within him to act upon any of his other emotion. He soon found, however, that Tom was closing the distance between them. The next thing he knew Tom had pulled him into an embrace. The rain pouring from the sky was warm against them in this mid-summer storm. When Tom began kissing him, Harry responded willingly. He needed comfort, he needed to know he wasn't completely alone because of what he had done...

Their embrace made Harry almost forget his worries. It made him forget about the past, for he was able to keep his mind only in the present with Tom, feeling him so close. He didn't have to think about standing in the forest and watching Emeric die. He didn't have to think about Macnair's cold body being stored beneath Tom's couch. He didn't have to think about the rancid smell of carcasses by him now. He didn't have to look at the pile of dead people that rested besides him and Tom, which had made him stop here...

But the kiss soon ended. Harry had pulled away as a thought occurred to him, a thought that shocked him, somehow. He still had Tom. He still had one person who remained besides him, undefeated by every enemy they had faced. Tom was never going to die because of him; he was never going to die at all. He would be there for Harry forever. Harry had someone who would love him no matter how much time slipped by.

"I want to be with you," Harry whispered, trying to stop his voice from shaking. "I want to stay with you forever. I... I don't care about anything else. I love you, more than anything..."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. They stood watching each other, listening to the rain.

Then Tom reached up a hand. He brushed Harry's hair back, away from his face, with his long fingers. He appeared astonished, numbed by Harry's words. He gazed at Harry as though he were a prized possession, sacred, fragile, and valuable in every way. He kissed Harry's face over and over again as if dazed.

"I will love you forever," Tom hissed softly, close to him. "I will be with you..."

Harry pulled Tom into a closer embrace, closing his eyes. He never wanted to let Tom go. He never wanted to think about he had done wrong, he just wanted to stay here like this, safe in the knowledge that they had all the time in the world together. The rain poured upon them and he saw flashes of lightning beyond his eyelids, thunder raging in his ears. He noticed none of it. He held Tom close...

After a long while, Harry heard footsteps around them and opened his eyes. When he saw what it was, he let go of Tom in shock, trying to push himself away. Tom allowed him to go, yet watched him calmly even while he withdrew his wand. Tom had taken out his wand already too, but it wasn't to fight the people who had appeared around them. Harry had thought at first that they were Knights, or Grindelwald's people, but he was wrong. They were Inferi.

"You have no need to fear Death so determinedly, Harry," Tom informed him calmly. His every word haunting Harry, pressing upon him slowly and sickeningly. "With magic, we go far beyond what forces nature can muster. Together, we can have more power than anything else upon this earth..."

The Inferi were moving as if in slow motion, stumbling in their attempts to get away from the large pile of bodies. They stepped upon each other's limbs, appearing to lack any true strength, whilst they had just enough will to attempt following Tom's orders. Wizards with prominent wounds upon them – their signs of death – were staring blindly with whitened eyes, open mouths, and limp bodies. It looked as though many of them were nothing but puppets, ready to kill any enemies that might be unlucky enough to cross their path.

"Grindelwald's people don't stand a chance..."