69 – The Ouroboros

"What happened to you?" Nott asked the moment his door swung shut with a faint click. "Are you alright?"

Harry didn't know where he was supposed to begin. His eyes scanned the house, getting a view of Nott's large, high-ceilinged living room to the left and dark passageway to the right that lead to Nott's kitchen, before coiling further into his home.

"Are you alone?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course. Do you want to sit down? I've just mad some tea."

"Yeah. Thanks..."

Nott headed in the direction on the living room.

"No, wait," Harry said, stopping him. "Can we go upstairs?"

Nott was hesitant, confused by Harry's paranoia.

"I don't want to be found here," Harry explained shortly.

Something about the way he said this give explanation for his odd actions. Nott nodded, the crease between his eyebrows never fading. "I understand."

As he turned for the dark wooden stairs, Harry caught sight of Nott summoning a tray from his living room. Although the staircase lead to the colder upper half of the house, Harry found that Nott's library was warm and comfortable. The fire grew larger with a wave of Nott's wand, making Harry think back to the fact that he lived with no one else. He never had any friends here, nor lovers, nor love interests. Just the Knights, his family, and Harry. There was no time for Harry to dwell upon this, however.

His body would not relax, even as he took his seat. He was so tense that he was sure Nott would notice it immediately. Nott set the tray down wordlessly, patiently, but no matter how calm he was, Harry dreaded this conversation. He couldn't gather his thoughts; the stress from this only added further pressure to the emotions he was trying very hard to keep under control. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, nor what he was truly doing by coming here at all. The more he thought about it, the more it dawned upon him that he was utterly lost.

"Here," Nott said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry took the cup of tea from Nott's hands, not meeting his eyes. He was going to have to explain all of this right, in a way that wouldn't give away any of the essential things he had to keep secret for his own safely – and in some cases, for Nott's. The only reason he was here at all was because he needed someone, anyone, to express his emotions to. If he had to hold back all of this on his own, Harry feared it would drive him mad. More mad... He had killed two men already, which was a firm reminder that he was a long way away from sane. He closed his eyes.

The scent of warm tea passed heavily through his nose, down into his lungs, calming him for the faintest second. It gave him further relief from the effects of the frozen morning air that had torn through his throat on his arrival to Nott's home, but he almost wished the icy breath outside would break through the windows of this small library. He had tensed against the pain of winter's chill earlier, but now he understood that if winter was to to take it's strong hold of him again, it would relieve him of the emotional pain that pulsed through his veins only in his comfort.

"It's happened, hasn't it?" Nott asked in a quiet voice. It seemed that he couldn't refrain from attempting to prompt this conversation, for he knew their time was limited.

The house was still. Although Harry's eyes were closed, he knew Nott was watching him. He wasn't fearful; he awaited an explanation from Harry only with hope and apprehension. Harry felt a moment of relief, upon opening his eyes, to see Nott was being patient with him. He didn't have to ask what Nott meant.

"Yes..."

A look of such sorrow, such joy, crossed Nott's face that Harry was reminded immediately of Hermione. He dropped his gaze, wishing that had never happened.

"You've realised that you're – that you changed, before?" Nott asked hurriedly, as if he was so eager for clarification that he couldn't hold in his curiosity. "You're back. I – I can see it."

All Harry could do was nod once, his jaw clenching as his eyes continued to scan the wooden floor unseeingly.

"What happened to you?"

Whatever Nott's reaction was, the only thing Harry could take from it was the eagerness and fear in his voice.

"A lot. More than I was expecting..."

His stomach leapt uncomfortably at the thought. He brought his hands up to his face, cowering at the very thought of having to relive the night's events through explanation. All the while, Nott was patient. If Harry could have found a way to, he would have thanked the Knight for this readily. Feelings raged inside of him and distracted him beyond his control. He ran his hands up to his hair, trying to steady himself.

"It feels like I –"

He stopped. The look on Nott's face reminded him only of Ron and Hermione. Somehow, in spite of everything that had gone on, Nott was waiting for him like his friends once had. Harry had to stop and watch his expression, his heart throbbing at the thought of what Nott, too, had gone through these last few years alone. Yet he was here now, waiting, as Harry's only friend...

"It feels like I've woken up," he carried on in a low voice, "from years of – of numbing myself down... Too much happened to me, too much stopped me from finding any peace even at Hogwarts. I needed something to take my mind off the past. I chose to do this, to join Tom and the Dark Arts, just to forget... It never worked, and now I know it. Now, I can't deny it..."

Harry was breathing deeply, evenly, to try and settle his aching limbs. His fists were clenched to hide his shaking hands.

"Whether I'm here in England, or out in the middle of Albania, or across however many countries I've seen with Tom, I know this isn't who I am... It's never been who I am, no matter what I've been through, no matter what I've seen or done. I – I can't do it. It's been seven years of – of hell, seven years of trying to change, and it's lead to nothing. After all these things that I've done..."

Harry wanted to say that the speed of all of this was terrifying him, while the looming future was terrorizing him in a constant hum, but he couldn't find the words. He could barely keep up with anything that was happening. His head ached and pounded as thoughts tortured and confused him beyond reason. Seven years of rationalities had fallen in one night alone, and Harry didn't know what he could do. He was trapped where he was; the only hope for him resided in the little awareness he had gained back amongst his confusion.

"I want to change who Tom is, but I think it's too late. It was too late when I met him, too late when he started Hogwarts, because he's been broken like this for so long. Because of the way he grew up, the way he was abandoned... I can't change him and he clearly can't change who I am either. The only solution seems to be to accept it, to give up..."

"Why?"

Harry shook his head, grimacing at the pain and extent of his confusion. "Because I've been here for so long... It's like I've been scared, this entire time, of being alone or having nothing and no one to turn to. I am alone... It didn't matter how many times I tried to ease my way into the Dark Arts, I could never get into it. Tom knows that it's addicting and he uses that to his advantage, but it can't change. It can't change how I feel..."

"I know," Nott said quietly. His gaze was steady, his eyes alight with honest care. "It's always been something we have in common. Trying to please someone else, to impress them, by joining all of this..." He laughed humourlessly, his expression darkening. He felt no need to hide his emotions. "It doesn't work."

"I wish it would," Harry muttered, in a voice so faint that even he wondered if perhaps he hadn't meant to say it at all.

Nott might have agreed, but if he did he wasn't eager to make it known. His mind wandered to a seemingly more troubling thought.

"It's why you gave me those books, isn't it? To hide my shared dislike of the subject?"

Harry had to think about this deeply to decide. "If that's why I did it, it was a subconscious thought. I can't remember. I was scared of Tom, I know that, but..."

"But what?"

Harry was thinking about how he had become an emotionless, horrifically hollow person when Tom had taken away his emotions. He had known, on some level, that he was going to hurt people in that state, he was going to murder, harm, and hate anyone who got in his way. He was horrified by the thought now.

"I wanted to protect you," he muttered. "From Tom, from me... from everything."

"Why?"

The question was uttered in a tone embedded with anticipation and fear. Nott could clearly sense a sinister undertone to Harry's words, even if there was no way he could guess what had happened.

"I was scared," Harry told him shortly. "After I found out about Emeric, after I told Tom about it, I was scared something might happen to you. It's good I gave you those books, anyway, because it's just another type of skill for you to -"

"What did he do to you?" Nott demanded.

Harry paused, bewildered. As far as he could remember, Nott had never cut across him like this before, least of all with such curt determination to get an answer. It reminded him – for what was now far from the first time tonight – of his lost friends.

"Tom was trying to help me," Harry explained, pained by the fear of being misunderstood, "and he succeeded. For a while, anyway... But the way I was being helped only stalled the sorrow I was meant to feel. By trying to help me, Tom risked worse side-affects, and in some ways it lead to worse things..."

This drew his mind back to the man in Italy. He still couldn't fully comprehend or remember what had happened, as if his mind had blocked out the entire event. It felt like a dream, like a dark feeling so vast and vivid that it can't have been real. Yet the scars remained, both mentally and physically. Harry never wanted to face what had happened, but he knew that he must.

"Tom never meant it to hurt me," Harry said firmly, not caring that he was almost repeating himself. "I understand he needed to do what he did to protect me. I just wish that, through everything that happened, I didn't do what I did... I care about Tom so – so much... but there's some part of me that can't, despite everything, become what he wants me to become..."

Harry watched for Nott's reactions, a look of hopelessness dawning on his own face in a need to be understood.

"He's going to keep hurting me, I can't keep lying to myself about it. As long as I can't force myself to enjoy the Dark Arts like he does, I'm going to get hurt again and again no matter how much either of us try to avoid it. I love Tom, but I – I can't -"

"You can't leave him," Nott said suddenly, clearly thinking this is where Harry was headed. "Everyone will suffer from it, you must know that. He won't be able to take it, he'll – he'll go insane, to say the least, he -"

"I'm not stupid," Harry said quietly, "I know what he'll do. I know it's too dangerous."

Nott watched him steadily for a long time. His lips were pressed together in concentration.

"What is it?" Harry asked

"It seems like you want to," he said slowly, "but I know that you love him. I've heard the way you speak about him, even when you're scared, even when you're not fully yourself. I know that he loves you too, because I've seen the way you interact, I've seen the look in both of your eyes when you're near each other... You proved you love him, too, from the fact that it took you so long to notice that you kept changing... So, why do you seem guilty? What have you done to want to walk away from him, when you know you're both in love?"

Harry felt as if a strong force was wrapped around his lungs, trying to suffocate him readily for all of this. He didn't want to give in to his guilt, to explain the betrayal he planned, but Nott would guess it anyway. In an attempt to give more rationality to his crimes, Harry admitted an earlier one.

"After – after I changed," he began unsteadily, "from finding out what Tom had done to Emeric... I did something that I regret. I wasn't myself, I was lacking some important feelings... I... I took someone's life... It wasn't planned – I didn't do it out of wrath or any personal reason, I just -"

His voice faltered. He felt the stress rise up in him, especially at Nott's bewildered expression, and he couldn't take it. He rubbed his face with his hands, breathing deeply.

"It was a mistake," he said, surprised to find he was frustrated, "I don't know why it happened, or what I was even thinking. I – I hate myself, for all of it. I hate that it's real and that all of this – everything that's happened – isn't just some terrible nightmare. I can't take it, I – I don't know what I can do..."

The feels were too much for him to easily overcome, especially as his irritation and hate was directly mostly, if not fully, at himself. He wanted to say that he wished he could stop Tom from becoming what he would one day become, but he wasn't ignorant enough to even hope this, and he wasn't foolish enough to tell Nott that he had seen Voldemort in the future. He was trapped; no longer himself. Yet he remembered, with his palms pressed hard against his eyes, what he must do.

"At this rate, Tom will rise to a huge amount of power within nothing more than a few years," he muttered through his fingers, speaking slowly, carefully, so as to avoid saying anything vital. "I can't stop that. I can't change that, because I would have to change everything he's ever been, everything he'll become... No matter what I do, he's going to be powerful..."

"I know."

Harry's vision was foggy when he looked up, his eyes were sore even as he fixed his gaze determinedly on Nott.

"I have to be there, whether I like it or not," Harry carried on, "but the way I see it, it doesn't matter what I feel. So long as I still take part in the Dark Arts, as long as I still seem the same... it doesn't matter what I think..."

Nott looked as if he had been anticipating this. He hastily tried to rearrange his expression to one that was unreadable, but Harry hadn't missed the look of awe – and even happiness – he had shown. It was a look of many thoughts within his mind slotting elegantly into place, causing fearful wonder to rise up in it's wake. On top of all of this was despair. Nott's chest rose and fell visibly, his eyes alight with a hopeless, fearful desire for this to mean what what he wanted it to.

"I know you can't take this either," Harry began, struggling to word all of this right. "You tried to run away from the Knights, from all of this, last year. You know better than I do what consequences follow it... We're stuck here, stuck like this, but we have one weapon. We have one way of protection that Tom can't stop."

"No," Nott said, his voice shaking in sudden panic, "He's a highly trained Legilimens, there's – there's no way I can defy him, there's no way I can hide my thoughts from him!"

"You're not a weak person," Harry told him firmly, "You're already more advanced in the subject of Occlumency than Tom ever wanted you to be. You're doing well."

"Not half as well as I should be. Not half as well as you."

"Yeah, well... that's different."

Nott was unsure. He waited for Harry to carry on, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in fear.

"I'll give you information about it," Harry told him. "You won't be able to borrow books often, but anyway you'll have to learn Occlumency slow enough so Tom will think you're just determined to practice the subject on your own. He barely pays attention to you, either way. He treats you as insignificant, which is the best thing you could hope for."

Nott still didn't say a word. He thought it over slowly, carefully.

"We have years," Harry assured him quietly, "you don't have to be worried about your strength yet. You'll grow more as a Knight as well as with with your own studies."

"I suppose," Nott murmured. He was still. The idea was dawning upon him with not a trace of joy or excitement now, just pained understanding. "I suppose... we have nothing to lose."

These words hung in the air in overwhelming truth. Harry wanted to say something, anything, to break the curse of it, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself agreeing: he had lost everyone he knew. He had lost his friends, his family, his loved ones, all because of one man. Nott had been left alone with no choice but to carry on being a Knight. He had lost his best friend, the man he fell in love with, and the hearts of all of his old school friends as they grew more brutal and mindless with every passing year. They were alone.

This was the only reason why Harry had gained Nott's trust. Harry was the last shine of hope for him to carry on for, because he was the only person who really spoke to him these days. He was a sad young man, and no one else knew why. They had bonded on a mutual hate of the Dark Arts in the past and now, together, they were bound by a sickening fate, by an unworldly knowledge and shared understanding that they were made for better things, that none of this was right. They had succeeded as Knights for being brilliantly skilled, but they fell, separately, for the weakness and power of feeling from their untainted hearts.

– X –

A few weeks passed before Harry saw Nott again. He brought a few books along to lend the Knight, giving valuable, illegal information on the art of Occlumency and Legilimency. Harry told Nott to return the books at a particular time and date and Nott accepted all of this with gratitude, saying he'd practice the magic on his own as soon as he could. It worked out smoothly and systematically from the very beginning, thus they got into the regular routine of meeting each other every few weeks.

Harry used any time he could to speak to Nott – after meetings, after spending a day away from Tom, after gatherings with the Knights in various places – so long as it was a stretch of a time long enough for conversation, but short enough to escape Tom's notice entirely.

"I'm not sure how often I'll be able to visit you," Harry told him at the beginning of all of this. "Maybe every few weeks or months. Tom and I are going to be travelling again by the end of the year, so it'll be even less often then. There won't be much for us to discuss, anyway."

"I understand."

Sometimes, however, Harry would visit Nott for no reason beyond a desire to talk to him, to check that he was alright, and to share stories about the good and bad parts of his life in general. The feeling of foreboding that surrounded the rise of the Knights of Walpurgis was so strong, at times, that these conversations were Harry and Nott's only relief. It was a reminder that, beyond everything, there was hope. There was someone else who shared the same fear, pain, and worry concerning all of this.

By mid-year Nott was becoming a master at Occlumency. As well as this (and perhaps because of it), he was gaining more respect from the other Knights. Harry knew it must be because Nott was learning how to shut off emotions and worrying thoughts no matter what was happening around him. It was what most of the Knights had to do just to survive – to kill any sense of resistance or 'weak' emotion inside them – except in this case, by blocking out his thoughts even to himself, Nott had the ability to protect his true soul, his true heart. Knowledge that Harry was there for him gave him the strength he needed to become stronger and to face all of this.

Harry felt safe when he saw these changes in Nott. So safe, in fact, that he felt no regret to tell him, more than halfway through the year, that a change was going to happen.

"Tom wants me to travel far with him," he said, "to carry on our research while moving almost constantly. By the end of this year, we'll be gone and we'll stay that way for a long while. You'll be able to live your life normally for a few years, but then he'll return. And so will I... and I don't know what I'll be like by then."

"You won't be different," Nott said, to his surprise. "You might have to find ways to deal with what happens, but he can't change who you are, clearly. You're still you, because your soul can't change."

Harry felt an odd, sickening feeling rising in him."I'm – I'm not the man I used to be."

"I know."

"Then how am I not different?"

"Because you returned," Nott said firmly, "and you'll return again."

True, Harry had broken through some of what had been piled on to him to survive, but the next few years were a daunting thought to him. His love for Tom couldn't protect him from the darkness that they were going to sink into in their travels. Harry wouldn't be immune to it no matter how determined he was to be as unaffected as he could. Tom had already changed his soul, he had made him a Horcrux and he would do it again, soon. Recently, Tom had mentioned it.

"Just remember what I told you, Christopher..."

– X –

August dawned dark and horrid, but with light-hearted news: Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier were getting married. Tom was amongst the first to be invited after family, soon followed by Harry, Lestrange, Avery, Nott, and many of the Knights who had attended school with Black and Rosier. This would be of absolutely no interest to Harry if it weren't for one thing; the wedding was the night before he and Tom would leave England for good, travelling far and wide without looking back for a very, very long time.

Harry thought that having Knights at the wedding might be irksome to the new bride and groom, but on the contrary Black was honoured to hear Tom would be attending it even on such an important day. Moreover, it struck a desire in the other Knights to actually show up, which was much to Druella's taste: she, apparently, adored a grand celebration with as many witches and wizards as they could afford to feed (which, due to the union of two very pure-blooded families, was an extensive amount).

The size of the wedding did many good things for various people. It allowed Tom to meet with many of his Knights without drawing attention to himself, it gave all of the Knights a chance to say goodbye without having to make up excuses to their families in the process, and it gave Harry a moment of something close to peace. The huge, grand room in which everyone gathered in for drinks, dancing, and conversation was so distracting that Harry didn't have to stand by Tom the whole night. He was left to his thought.

The walls were decorated in long, billowing drapes of silver and green, hinting of Slytherin colours due to the horribly 'pure' blood that was being united this evening. The material, however, was not to block out the high ceilings and elaborate architecture of this great hall; it only complemented it's grandness further. There were no flowers in sight, only twirling decorations of floating silver stars and dark, fine furnishing set around tables that were covered in elaborate white cloth. An entire orchestra was playing loud, tasteless music that echoed through the sound of dull conversation and shrill laughter. It was so far from the only other wizarding wedding Harry had been to that he couldn't help but stare at the cold, false people surrounding him.

Around the legs of all the standing guests, House-Elves weaved in and out of sight, carrying silver platters high above their heads. As one passed, Harry avoided half the tray laden with expensive foods and grabbed a drink instead. The goblet he took was cold and blindingly silver. It and had a thin serpent wrapped around the outer rim of it, which Harry thought was of very poor taste, especially as he saw that the staring green eyes weren't made out of coloured glass. Purebloods were very proud indeed. He drank.

Over the top of his goblet, Harry caught sight of the bride and groom stranding on the other side of the room, surrounded by many happy faces (some genuinely joyful, others with deadened eyes) of their friends and family congratulating them. He couldn't help reflect cynically that these two sorcerers were going to be the mother and father of Bellatrix Black. Harry could see it in Cygnus's dark hair and eyes, in Druella's womanly figure and fierce, proud stance. Her beauteous, blood-red lips were arched into a wonderful smile, but Harry knew her daughter would never have such a pure look upon her face.

The only comfort Harry could take in this union of the Rosier Family and Black Family was that Bellatrix's sister Andromeda was a kind woman. Narcissa may have been good and bad, but Andromeda was an honest woman. She had been a good mother and she would be an even better grandmother to the boy who was left behind after the death of his parents in the Battle of Hogwarts. Tonks and Lupin were dead, so Teddy was lone... What had happened to his godson, Harry wondered? He felt a sudden pang of regret at forgetting about him. The only living loved one...

Harry took another deep gulp from the silver goblet in his hands, his fingertips brushing against the engraved snake once more. He noticed, then, that the snake made a perfect ring; it was eating it's own tail. Immortality, he thought. The Ouroboros. It seemed as though the design was suddenly a bit more tasteful, but Harry's mind was wandering elsewhere. He thought about Tom.

Their relationship was much like a serpent eating it's own tail, but not for the Slytherin reference or promises of eternal love that Druella and Cygnus clearly wished to portray at their wedding. Harry and Tom worked in a viscous, eternal circle. Tom had destroyed Harry's old life and in return Harry was betraying him now, which would make Tom destroy his old life, which would make Harry betray him now... This, very subtly, very swiftly, made Harry think it was his fate to be here. They made each other who they were...

Harry had shown Tom love, affection, and what it's like to truly care for another human being. Tom had returned his love readily and honestly, all in an attempt to heal the pain of Harry's past, which was caused by the hate, destruction, terror, and loss Voldemort himself had shed upon him. All of that hate, all of that pain from Tom, was caused by the love Harry showed now, the love he would betray. It was caused from the fact that even though Harry couldn't change Tom, he could stay true to himself. They both knew love and hate, truth and betrayal, loss and gain, only through each other. They were in love now because Harry forgave. They would be in hate again when Tom did not...

"Hello," said a voice, interrupting Harry's deep thoughts. It was Nott. "How are you?"

"Hey," Harry said, his attention torn from the goblet, "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm alright. I almost wasn't going to show up, but I figured, since you and Tom will be gone by tomorrow..."

Nott attempted a shrug as he trailed off, taking a sip from his drink. His eyes wandered the room after this, further telling Harry that he still desired to hide a long way away from Lestrange.

"It's so bizarre," Harry commented.

"What is?"

"All of this. The way people act here, the prejudice, the decorations – these goblets cost more than some families can afford in a month."

Nott laughed, seemingly sincerely amused. "For Purebloods, all of existence depends on worth. It's easy to distract people, that way." His brow furrowed, "But I thought you were Pureblooded?"

"I am. I just never grew up like one."

"True."

Harry was grateful for Nott's lack of rigidity at having brushed so close to the subject of orphanhood.

"Did you go see him, yet?" Nott asked quietly, looking across the room. The question was vague, so that if someone overheard their conversation, they might merely think Nott was referring to Cygnus or Tom. His tone hinted otherwise.

"No. I'm going to leave early to do it. I couldn't find any better time."

"Won't you be noticeably gone?"

Harry shook his head. "There's so many people talking to Tom here, distracting him – he'll be stuck at this party all night at this rate. He understands I don't like staying around for things like this for very long, anyway."

"I know, but even so... You said this wizard can help us. The sooner you contact him, the better. If you can't go now, it'll be months before you can see him, perhaps years."

"I'll see him tonight, no matter what."

Nott thought this over. "I'll stay here, to make sure Tom doesn't leave early."

"You don't have to," Harry told him, "there are plenty of others around. I don't want to risk you seeing Le-"

"No," he said firmly. "It's alright."

He gave Harry was was likely supposed to be a strong, comforting look, but it made Harry feel worse. He, however, couldn't argue against it. He needed to be sure he wouldn't be missed.

"Thank you..."

"Don't worry about it."

Neither of them spoke for a time.

"I'll write to you," Harry said, not caring that this was out of context. "When I'm away."

Nott watched him for a moment, his expression solemn. He struggled to find an answer. "That'd be good."

Harry nodded. He then asked, before he could help it, "Will you write back to me?"

"Of course, yes."

"Good," Harry said, trying to sound unaffected. "It'll be good for you to have a few years off from all of this, anyway. There might still be Knights around, but Tom can't command you all from that far away. You just need to remain strong."

Nott nodded. He didn't say a word.

"Who knows," Harry said, "you might be able to find someone once you have less duties under Tom's work."

"Maybe," was Nott's short response.

Harry wished Nott was more eager to bond with someone romantically. He knew it would make him happier and would heal some of the wounds that had been left behind from Lestrange. Nott had had a few girlfriends and boyfriends these last few months, but none of them had stayed for any considerable stretch of time. The truth was, Nott wasn't interested in anyone new. He might find them physically attractive, but their minds, Harry knew, their personalities and their views on life were easy to criticize. Legilimency didn't help. Nott didn't want anyone else.

"Things have been getting so dark lately," Nott murmured over his goblet, "I'm not quite sure if it's wise to settle down with anyone. Unless my family forces marriage upon me... I have no interest."

Nott took a sip of his drink slowly, savouring the taste. Then, to Harry's surprise, a smile twisted onto his face. Harry watched, until the smile grew so big that Nott began laughing. The humour broke his solemnity immediately, causing him to almost choke on his drink. He was staring at the goblet, the tone of his mirth suggesting a layer of anger somewhere.

"I'd never want this!" he exclaimed, laughing at the stupidity of it all. "These – furnishing and these – these idiotic goblets! I'd rather buy myself a ticket – a hundred thousand tickets – far away from this place than to waste my money on foul tableware. With these foul people..."

There was definite anger, and not just annoyance, in the way Nott studied the people around him. Harry was almost glad; anger was still better than sorrow.

"I hate them all," Nott murmured, his dry humour at all of this still standing, "I hate all of this."

"Well, nothing's forcing you to be here."

"My family is," Nott said. "The Knights..."

"They cann't stop you from being who you want to be."

Nott said nothing. Even his anger was fading a bit now.

"Especially not right now, especially when Tom's going away."

"I suppose..."

"And anyway -" but Harry stopped.

Four Knights were approaching, blatantly keen upon making their small group bigger. Avery, Rosier, Dolohov, and a visibly reluctant Lestrange were joining them.

"Y'alright, lads?" Avery asked boyishly, a foul grin on his hamlike face.

"We're fine," Harry answered. With an ounce of sarcasm, he asked, "I hope the wedding's been treating you all well?"

"It's been alright," Dolohov slurred with a drunken grin, "spoke to a few in'eresting bridesmaids."

"I've told you," Rosier said irritably, "stay away from my family – even my cousins."

"What? I thought you was marrying your cousins anyway!" Dolohov jeered. "That's what Purebloods do, ain't it?"

"That's what my aunt and mother-in-law told me," Avery grunted, laughing.

"I highly doubt you have anything close to marriage on your mind, Dolohov."

"Either way, it isn't as though anything short of a mountain troll would take interest in Dolohov," Lestrange commented, sounding bored as usual. "You mustn't get flustered so simply, Rosier."

Rosier glowered at him. "As if you weren't annoyed with him at your wedding."

Nott shifted uncomfortable besides Harry.

"I didn't care what he was doing," Lestrange spat, as if this were obvious, "the day was too important for me to waste time on people like Dolohov. You should have the same attitude, Rosier, and appreciate your sister's, your family's, celebration."

Rosier, who took great offence to being talked down to, puffed up at once. "I do appreciate my sister's wedding," he snapped irritably, "but how am I supposed to enjoy it if this blithering idiot is swaying drunkenly about the place? I can't just leave him, it's an embarrassment!"

"Amongst a few," Avery injected, grinning into his goblet.

"What are you giggling about now?" Rosier demanded.

"Well, come on, just look at 'em," Avery said, gesturing in the direction of Cygnus and Druella, "Who knows how soon it'll be before Cygnus starts chasing after other women. You know what he's like."

Rosier turned a shade of purple Vernon Dursley would have been proud of.

"All in the name of Purebloods!" Dolohov exclaimed at the sight.

"Let us just hope that this marriage will at least mask his more adult habits for a while," Lestrange commented.

"Well," Harry said slyly, stricken with irritation, "from what I've heard, being fond of witches isn't the only reason why Purebloods around here have been rushing into marriage."

The reaction was immediate; Lestrange's face flooded crimson and his bored eyes tensed into slits at once. Harry had no idea why he had said it; it was a mix of feeling Nott's discomfort and feeling a building need to protect him, on top of a willingness to be daring and to show his authority over the Knight. For a horrible second, he deeply regretted it.

"Not many people 'round here are marrying for love, if that's what you mean," Dolohov slurred.

His idiocy saved any question of Harry's cruel remark.

"A lot of people will say it is, but it ain't true. Every wizard has got to sleep around some time, it's just how us men work. Women know that."

A vague desire to inform Dolohov that men and women were no different gripped Harry, but he refrained from saying anything about it. If Dolohov was the type of person to seek out other witches to sleep with after marriage (if he even could), then Harry assumed his wife would soon catch on and would be, perhaps, just as keen to begin sneaking behind his back with far more success. Harry had heard something similar happening to one of the Knights at Hogwarts, he thought.

"You can't say that no Purebloods fall in love with each other, Dolohov," Rosier corrected him, his patience clearly wearing very thin. "What is more, not everyone sleeps around!"

"Come on, who doesn't do it?"

"A lot of people!"

"Like who?"

"Just because you're a disgusting half-blood who can't so much as walk into a room without scanning it for victims, doesn't mean we all are!"

"You must excuse me," Nott said quietly. He turned away before Harry could so much as stop him. In honestly, however, he felt too guilty to.

"– you and your Mudblood views, you wouldn't know a thing about what it is to be Pureblooded! You wouldn't know our honour, our pride, or the need to be true to your blood status, you –"

Lestrange gave Harry such a malicious, vindictive look when their eyes met, it was a wonder that Rosier and Dolohov didn't stop arguing to see it. It was obvious what he was thinking; his entire life, his entire identity, and his role in the wizarding world as a whole depended on the fact that he must continuously pretend to be an upstanding, proper Pureblooded husband with his upstanding, proper, Pureblooded wife. Harry couldn't help but allow himself to smile at Lestrange, his glare full of equally as much hate.

Lestrange looked away first, knowing that Harry had much more power than he did – and knowing why that was. His expression was filled with anger and disgust, which Harry soon chose to ignore, completely satisfied that he had caused such a strong reaction. Avery had joined into the argument with Rosier and Dolohov, jumping between both sides of the debate as to whether or not Dolohov was a degenerate Mudblood after all.

Harry turned away without excusing himself. There was no way Rosier, Avery, or Dolohov would hear him and he felt no need to say a word of farewell to Lestrange. He found Nott halfway across the room, standing amongst a group of Knights who were eager to talk to no one but Tom. As Harry approached the group, taking a position opposite Tom and besides an eagerly talking Gonson, he knew from one quick glance at Nott that he wasn't upset or even shaken by earlier – but he might have been hiding it well.

Tom met his eyes a second after he looked towards him and a smile crept onto his face. With a quick word to the five Knights around him, he excused himself and walked in Harry's direction.

"A must have a private word with you for a moment, Jonathan," he said, taking Harry's arm lightly, "I shan't be a minute."

The Knights behind him gave faint words of understanding, even as Tom headed forward without a backwards glance. He stopped walking once they were in a quieter part of the party, in a dark corner of the room where only an ancient witch sat, apparently snoozing even with all of the noise and music. When they faced each other, Tom appeared in good spirits.

"I'm afraid I might be here for a few more hours," Tom said without hesitation, "I hope this won't displease you?"

"I don't mind," Harry said, his heart suddenly quickening. This was it. "Though... I'm not sure I want to stick around for that long, personally. I might head home early, to get some rest and so on before tomorrow."

Tom smiled affectionately, "I hope only that I shan't test your patience too jarringly."

"It's fine," Harry told him, returning the smile from adoration of Tom's soft eyes. "How long, exactly, will you be?"

"I must speak to Black, so well past midnight."

Good, Harry thought. Even if Tom was never late, he was very rarely ever early. When he estimated a time, it was precise.

"Black has done a great amount for us," Tom mentioned, "so it would, of course, be rude for me not to congratulate him. I understand the idea bores you, however. It would be suspicious if you were to join me in such a small repayment, and you can make better use of your time back home, I'm sure."

"That's what I thought," Harry said lightly. Then, to make matters more calm, he added quietly, "I'll wait up for you."

Tom grinned. He looked as if he was a millisecond away from kissing Harry. He smiled softly for a long moment instead, his eyes rising up from Harry's lips. There were many people not far away from them, but no one else could see the look in Tom's eyes.

"I must return to the Knights," he then said. "I assume you won't be here for long?"

"No. I might leave for home now," Harry said. His heart raced more. It felt wrong, lying to Tom so simply.

"Then I shall see you in a few hours."

"I'll see you then."

At this, Tom turned away. Harry watched him go, his expression falling into one of bleak worry. He waited ten minutes or so before weaving his way through the sea of people to the exit of this large building. He Apparated home after speaking to no one. He found Tweaky waiting patiently inside for his Masters' return, but Harry excused himself to get changed before coming back downstairs to talk to the House-Elf properly.

"I'm going to be gone for an hour or two, Tweaky," Harry said very clearly, fastening the clasp on his travelling cloak, "but I don't want anyone to know where I've gone. Do you understand me?"

"Tweaky shall not tell a soul, Master."

"Not even Tom."

The Elf's eyes widened.

"If he comes back here early and I'm not here, tell him I've gone for a walk. Even if he asks you directly, Tweaky."

"Yes – yes, Master Harry," the Elf said eventually, clearly terrified at the idea of having to lie.

Harry thought, then, that he probably should have been more subtle about it, so Tweaky thought he wasn't telling a lie. An idea occurred to him.

"It's a beautiful night," he said, "there's a bunch of stars out... It'd be a waste not to go out walking, even if Tom wants me here."

Tweaky's tiny ribcage deflated it's air, telling Harry he had held his breath in worry, but breathed now in relief. "Of course, Master. 'Tis a lovely idea, Master."

Satisfied, now, that the Elf wouldn't be too terrified to pass on this lie onto Tom, Harry headed for the door. He said a sort goodbye, before heading off into the cold, starry night. He walked for five solid minutes into the countryside that surrounded his and Tom's house, to be sure that when he Apparated, Tweaky could neither see nor hear him. The sky was truly beautiful. Harry couldn't take more than a minute to stop and stare at the wondrous stars above him.

In ten seconds flat, he was at the top of the country. Scotland was cold and rainy but Harry drew his cloak closer around his neck and face, conserving warmth. He wondered for a moment if Tweaky had noticed he was dressed too warmly for a summer evening in England, but he was in no state to truly care. House-Elves rarely commented on such things either way, unless asked directly.

When Harry turned around, he saw lights looming not far away. He headed in the direction of Hogwarts, with it's few lit windows. The students were gone for the summer, gone for another two weeks, while a few teachers would be staying at the school, continuing their various forms of research before preparing for the new school year. Harry headed on through the cold, desiring to get this done as soon as possible.

The corridors of Hogwarts were colder than usual due to the lack of residents inside the school. Harry met no one as he crept through the castle: the security of the place as a whole was weak due to the fact that there seemed to be no outward threat from the world in general while so many students were away. It was easy, if you knew the type of magic Harry knew. If you gained all sorts of knowledge of rare magic from the old followers of Grindelwald who had become the more recent Knights of Walpurgis. To Harry, to Tom, and to a few of the Knights, even breaking into Hogwarts wasn't a hard challenge. Not until that would change, one day, because of Voldemort himself.

Harry was standing outside of Dumbledore's office, the fear rising in him. He knew the wizard was awake; light was pouring out from under the door and through slits and cracks in the old wood. Seeing no better way to go about it, Harry brought his hand up and knocked.

There was a pause, before a chair being moved back could be heard. Dumbledore was wearing slippers when he walked towards the door; Harry could hear it in the shuffling of feet beyond the sound of a trailing nightgown.

Would Dumbledore attack him, Harry wondered? Would he throw him out of the school, or keep him here for hours, to the point where Tom panicked and worried where he had gone? He would interrogate Tweaky, torture him, and the Knights would be next. Lestrange would be the first to rat out Nott, if a drunken Avery or Dolohov didn't do it first. Rosier might try to defend him out of pity, but Tom would know it was lies. The door opened.

Harry's expression didn't change even as Dumbledore's humming stopped, his eyes widening. The two wizards watched each other for a long moment, neither of them desiring to attack the other, but both fearing it from the other nonetheless. Finally, using his partly opened lips, Dumbledore spoke.

"Hello, Jonathan."

Harry inclined his head, as if in an act of peace. "Professor..."

Dumbledore's eyes scanned Harry's face, his expression not at all scared, but confused nonetheless. His gaze was steady, his brow furrowed.

"Come in," Dumbledore said, to Harry's surprise. "Take a seat."

Harry was hesitant. "I can't stay here for long."

"Then do make haste, for our conversion will surely be heard by anyone passing by this corridor if we continued to dawdle upon my doorstep."

His kind tone wasn't at all soothing to Harry, who worried that Dumbledore was leading him into a trap. There was no denying that he was right, however; Harry was left with no choice but to follow him inside.

Dumbledore's room was small, but it's blazing fire easily warmed and lit it up, making it homely and calm. Harry took a chair near the fireplace, facing Dumbledore and feeling uncomfortable, despite the many cushions.

He was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Albus Dumbledore looked at him without a trace of the care and affection he had shown Harry as a growing boy. Harry no longer hated the wise wizard like he used to, and this above all lead to strange, sad feelings that originated in his chest. He tried hard to ignore this.

"Why have you come here tonight, Jonathan?" Dumbledore asked him calmly. "After what has been four months short of a year since fleeing from me, fleeing from the subjects we discussed, and fleeing with an item taken, why have you broken into this castle once more to greet me with neither malice nor ill intent?"

The calmness of his tone, of the quiet room, of these soft armchairs, sent Harry's mind into an odd state of uneasiness and nostalgia. The smell of Hogwarts, of candles, torches, parchment, dust, polished suits of armour, owls, and ancient wood and stone was so familiar to his nose, every breath was torture. The sight of crimson, Gryffindor-inspired furnishing and tall, stained glass windows showing a dark view of the grounds outside all sent odd emotions souring through Harry's entire body. He was home, but only for a very short visit...

"I needed to talk to you," Harry said. "I thought you might be able to help..."

"What is it, may I ask, that you seek help for?"

"I was wrong," Harry said in a low voice. "I realise, now, that I made a mistake. I should have listened to what you said... I've been trying to change who I am for Tom, trying to accept who he is... and it hasn't worked..."

Dumbledore was surveying him carefully. Harry waited, feeling impatience build within him, but he couldn't speed this along any faster. The impatience was embedded with unease and fear, above all.

"What brought on such a change of mind?" Dumbledore asked, his tone still light.

Harry tensed up at this, not knowing where to begin. "A lot has happened. This isn't the life I want to lead and... a friend of mine helped me to see that."

"Have you left Tom on his own, Jonathan?"

Harry shook his head, feeling like a child as sorrow gripped him. "No. It's too dangerous, even if I wanted to. He'll go made, he'll – he'll hurt a lot of people because of it. He can't deal with this sort of thing, so I have to stay. And I want to, because if things get worse... I want to be there when it happens. I want to help..."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows were locked close together on his brow.

"The things he does," Harry carried on, unsure of himself, "the things he gets away with – it's only getting worse. I can't change him from being who he is. I can't leave and I can't change myself either. All I know is that what he's doing it wrong, it's – it's terrible..."

"What is it that he does, Jonathan?"

It was so much easier to be called that name by Dumbledore, Harry suddenly realised. It took away memories of the past, it stopped a jarring sense of horror from flooding him. He wondered if this is why Tom had changed his name too. For a new life, for a new him.

"I don't have a death wish," Harry answered, "I'm not stupid enough to tell you what sort of things Tom gets up to."

"What I mean is, has he harmed you? Abused you, in some way?"

Harry hesitated. "It's complicated."

Dumbledore said nothing. Although he tried to hide it, Harry thought he saw a faint trace of sorrow on his old headmaster's face.

"Things are going to get worse," Harry told him, trying to get to the point as soon as he could. "It's going to get worse than ever..."

"And you believe you must be there when it happens?"

"Yes. I have to be, I – I can't just sit around and do nothing. I haven't a choice... There's nothing I can do, and..."

Harry trailed off, his voice too weak by this point. He was terrified that he was doing this and even more terrified at the idea of Tom finding out about any of this. He couldn't express how much it tore at his heart to betray Tom. Harry was ruined; he was destroying the last person he loved in an attempt to put things back to how he wanted them to be, to ensure that he didn't lose even himself to Tom's unending ability to get what he wanted...

"I have a spy," he carried on shakily, "I have one other person who doesn't want to be a part of Tom's followers... When things get worse there's at least two people, now, who are willing to do more than join in. None of us can just turn away from all of this, not now..."

"What is it that you intend to do," Dumbledore asked, "beyond cautiously waiting, observing it if things become more severe?"

"I – I don't know," Harry said. "Not yet, anyway... That's, er, sort of why I'm here..."

Dumbledore's tranquillity faded a little bit after this; his expression was worn and serious. "I cannot help you to lie about your relationship with Tom, Jonathan."

"It's not about that. And I'm not lying to him," Harry said defensively, "I still love him."

"Yet you hate the things he is a part of, I am sure."

"I don't have to love the Dark Ar-" Harry stopped. "I mean, I don't have to be interested in his research to love him... He isn't his work."

"He will soon become the Dark Arts, Jonathan, if he is truly as fearful as you say."

"He isn't that powerful, yet."

"Then what help do you seek from me, my dear boy?"

"When things get worse, the wizarding world will need as much help as it can get to ward off all of this," Harry told him.

Dumbledore frowned. "What makes you think this will become a problem for the whole wizarding world?"

He was treating him like he was mad, Harry suddenly realised. It must all sound like nonsense to him – but how could it, when Dumbledore himself had experienced the wrath of Grindelwald in exactly the same way? How could Dumbledore sit there and seemingly humour him about all of this?

"He's – he's gained so much power already. You must know this – you know that we gained followers from Germany, you know most of the students involved in Tom's gang at Hogwarts are still a part of this... Half of them have murdered people already, Professor. They'll continue doing so, in a few years maybe... There's going to be a time when some sort of – of counter-force will have to be organised, and –"

"Will the Ministry not suffice?" Dumbledore inquired, watching Harry over the tips of his fingers. He was sitting forwards in his chair, his hands brought together below his chin.

"I – I don't know," Harry admitted. He wasn't sure how Tom's rise to power truly began. A few of the Knights already had Ministry jobs. "Tom intends to infiltrate the Ministry, eventually..."

"These are very serious claims," Dumbledore said, thinking deeply. "Tom was an exceptionally brilliant student at this school, I cannot deny it, and I am well aware of many mysterious happenings as of late concerning a few of Grindelwald's ex-followers and a few ex-students of this school who were close to Tom... Are your claims, however, a mere projection of fear? A mere wave of uneasiness set off by the recent realisation that Tom's sort of magic is too much for you to take?"

"No," Harry said firmly, "it's nothing like that."

"Have you any proof?"

Harry's heart sank. "Proof? You know about Grindelwald's people, you know what Tom's like."

"My dear boy, I do not mean to sound imprudent, but both of those reasons were mere opinions and guesses on my part."

"You know Avery fought some of the wizards who didn't join us," Harry carried on, refusing to let this go unnoticed, "you know what all of the students close to Tom were like at school and you know they've all mysteriously gone missing for months – years – at a time. I've changed, that should be proof enough! I've taken your advice, I've listened!"

To his utter astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"Ah," he said, "I do believe these facts rather escaped my notice."

Harry said nothing, watching his old Professor in disbelief.

"If things are truly as bad as you describe, and if it isn't the mere horror at having woken up," Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to think the matter over a great deal... My biggest inquiry, above all else, is whether or not Tom has taken the Elder Wand from you."

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't know it's power. And before you ask, I didn't bring it here either because, well, I was scared you'd try to take it back..."

Harry resented the fact that he had to use Emeric's wand tonight. He was glad, only, that he had no reason to use it beyond Apparition.

"A rather wise decision, might I add."

Dumbledore was smiling again, that shine of humour in his sparkling eyes. Harry didn't understand it.

"Now," Dumbledore said, returning to his business-like tone, "How reliable is this spy you mentioned?"

"Very," Harry said without hesitation, glad they were getting somewhere. "He doesn't care for anything going on. He's – he's my only friend."

"Are you entirely sure of his sincerity?"

"Definitely, yeah. He tried to leave the Kn–... Tom's group, because he couldn't take it."

"Why is it that you have chosen tonight to come visit me, and not a later date, Jonathan?"

"I -"

Harry stopped. He was too nervous to know what he wanted to say. Dumbledore watched him as he bit his lips in nerves, barely breathing.

"I need to ask you for a favour..."

"Yes?"

"When things get bad," he said slowly, "I want to be sure that – that I won't lose control... I'm going to be with Tom this whole time. There's no turning back. I need... I need to know that if the worst happens, I have someone who will stop me from giving too much power to Tom. I need someone to stop me giving him my full help, or the Elder Wand, if I lose control..."

Both of them sat very still, watching each other. The fire crackled and wind pushed against the high windows of Dumbledore's room. Nothing else could be heard for a very long time. Dumbledore's eyes were full of wonder.

"Are you asking me to prevent you from carrying on, if such a thing were to happen?"

"Yeah, I... I guess so..."

Harry felt sick. He grimaced at the thought of turning back into that emotionless, hateful being Tom had made him.

"I wanted to ask him, to tell him," he said in little over a whisper. "My – my spy... but I couldn't..."

Dumbledore didn't say a word. He was watching Harry with amazement, with horror.

"You have – you have to kill me," Harry said very seriously, very clearly. His eyes were burning and blurring up, but he didn't look away; he barely even dared to blink. His voice fell to a whisper as his words broke."If things get bad. I c-care too much about Tom, I... I know too – too much..."

"What do you know, Jonathan?"

"I – I..."

Tears were welling up in Harry's eyes before he could help it, but still he stared at Dumbledore, frozen by the horror that struck him at the knowledge that all of this was real. The next thing he knew,his breath was uneven and he was shuddering like mad.

"Jonathan?"

"In – in f-five years," he said shakily, in a voice so low that it could barely be heard over the crackling fire, "Y-you're going to become the he-headmaster here... at Hogwarts... D-Dippet is going to retire, and a witch named Min-Minerva McGonagall is g-going to take over your Transfiguration post... She's going to be employed h-here for a long t-rime, but a year after she starts here, T-Tom is – Tom is going to ask for the Defence Against The D-Dark Arts job again. You're g-going to refuse the offer and – and he'll be a-angry, but... but..."

"Why are you saying these things?" Dumbledore asked him, his expression serious.

"B-bec-cause I – I know," Harry managed, shaking so violently that he could barely talk. "I – I knew you... a long time ago, f-for me... I know – I know what's going to h-happen, Professor..."

In Dumbledore had been confused before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

"Your f-father went to Azkaban after at-attacking t-three Muggle boys and your – your sister went m-mad. Your mother died because of her. You were left to lo- to look after your br-brother Aberforth and sister Ariana on your own. You ha-had to cancel travelling the world, you were angry and – and disappointed by it. You never t-told anyone, but when you met – met Grindelwald, that changed... Y-you still blame yourself f-for her death..."

For the first time in all of Harry's memory, Dumbledore was looking at him with fear.

"- but it was his fault, Professor. It was Grindelwald, and – and you should know that."

Dumbledore looks like a ghost. Harry had never seen him so pale in all his life.

"Other things w-will keep happening," Harry carried on, guilty that he had shaken his old Professor. "There – there will be s-students you'll t-t-teach wh-who aren't even born yet. Remus L-Lupin, a student who is g-going to be attacked b-by a were-werewolf as a child... J-J-James P-Potter, who... Who will be a Gryffindor and w-who... who..."

Harry couldn't carry on. The look on Dumbledore's face was too much to take, as well as the sound of these familiar names never once spoken of in this era...

"I'm s-s-sorry," he croaked. He stood up shakily, barely finding his balance through the violent trembling of his limbs. "I – I have to go... I'll... I won't be around for a long while..."

Dumbledore never said a word. He continued watching Harry with a look of pale, gaunt dismay. That stare burned into Harry's mind, his heavy heart, and his panicked eyes as he sped out of Dumbledore's room, on the corridor beyond at once. Harry had made a huge mistake in crumbling, yet again, because of a discussion with Dumbledore. He threw an Invisibility Charm over himself as he nearly ran towards the exit of the school, hoping that no one would be around to hear his quick, uneven breathing.

Harry had to take ten solid minutes outside of Hogwarts just to calm himself down. He needed to get home as soon as possible, before Tom returned from Black's wedding. He fixed his crying eyes and blocked up nose, steadying his breathing slowly but surely, clutching at his skull. He had succeeded in telling Dumbledore what must be done if the worse came to be, if Harry himself became unreachable, inseparable from Tom due to love or force. All he had to do now was calm down and remain strong. Many troublesome, difficult years lay ahead of him...