70 - Reawakening

The day dawned grey and rainy, but this did little to take beauty away from the quiet world outside. Dark, misty forests and rocky mountains stretched out for miles beyond the thin windows, accompanied by the sound of soft winds. Harry and Tom had rented a place from a wizard who owned a lot of property in this small, admittedly quite creepy village in northern India. The odd stillness of the world outside and the lack of sunlight didn't bother Harry, however. He was resting in Tom's arms, gazing through the tall windows and feeling so calm, none of it felt real.

Harry wished he could stay this way forever. Tom must have been awake too, for he moved ever few minutes to get closer to Harry, whose arm was wrapped around his waist protectively, his face nuzzling Tom's neck every now and then. Harry watched as the breezed swayed the dark trees, a distant, unidentifiable bird looming high above the scene, scoping activity of the quiet lands below. They watched as the world moved on, feeling ageless.

There was no way to tell how much time passed before Tom showed he was awake. He turned on the bed, facing Harry and greeting him with a tired, content smile. He kissed Harry once, his hand gliding along his bare chest, up around to his back to hold him gently. Tom continued watching Harry with half-closed eyes from this angle, smiling gently any time their gaze met.

It had been four months since Harry and Tom left England. The more time that passed, the more often days would begin like this, with both of them facing no troubles beyond a desire to stay close to each other. Harry's heart was in a flutter, his head felt light from the beauty of the world and of Tom on this dark, rainy morning. He reached up a hand to touch Tom's handsome, angular face. After all the time that went on, after all the magic they took part in, Harry found Tom as handsome now as he had found him the moment they met.

A lot of time had passed since then, Harry reflected. A lot had gone on, a lot had changed. Beyond all of this, however, his heart remained true. He still found himself lost in admiration for Tom, captivated by the tone of his voice, enthralled by every movement, every sign of affection. Tom's determination and ambition was admirable to say the least. His subtle acts of romance furthered Harry's love for him, while a need to see him happy, a need to share all of life's experience with him made Harry bound to him. It saddened him to know what he must do...

"Are you alright?" Tom asked him quietly.

Harry re-focused his eyes, tearing his gaze away from the hand on Tom's neck. He tried to arrange his expression into one that was tired and happy, if not completely unreadable. All he could do was nod reassuringly.

"I dreamt about you," Tom then told him softly.

"Did you?"

"Yes." His smile broadened at the thought. "It wasn't much different to waking life, in honesty... yet this is what's most charming about it. Every minute, every hour with you is like a dream, to me..."

This made Harry smile too. He moved a little closer to Tom.

"What did you dream of?" Tom asked.

Harry tried hard to hold onto his smile, but his heart was sinking. He realised he couldn't tell Tom what he had dreamt of. There were times when he would wake up panicked and terrified in the dead of night, unable to breathe, unable to so much as lay there shakily, hoping to not wake Tom up. His throat would burn with suppressed sorrow, his lungs aching for more breath that he denied them air in terror of letting his feelings free. Tonight hadn't been one of those nights, but he had dreamt badly nonetheless. He had dreamt of his old friends.

"I don't really remember..."

Harry knew that Tom would be comforting if he heard that Harry hadn't slept well, but Harry didn't want any comfort. He couldn't explain the extent of the guilt, the loss, and the sorrow that followed him everywhere. He couldn't explain how it felt when his mind reconstructed the faces of the boy and girl he had grown up with at Hogwarts, the friends that tried to heal him from the affects of living with the Dursleys for ten solid years of his life. He couldn't describe the horror of what he knew Tom would one day be...

"I'm just glad I'm with you," he added quietly.

Nothing was said for a moment. It was clear that Tom knew Harry wasn't being fully honest; confusion and compassion was building up behind his dark eyes. Harry was too stressed by this to hold his gaze. As a last resort, he pretended nothing was bothering him.

"It's beautiful here," he said, his eyes on the windows past Tom.

"I knew you'd like it," Tom said, turning to look back at the view. Harry was glad that this stopped his determined assessment of what Harry's expression could mean.

Harry closed the cold gap between them, taking his chance to keep Tom looking at the beautiful scenery before them. He turned more on the bed, getting comfortable with Harry's arms wrapped around him. He gave a hum of laughter as Harry's chin rested close to his shoulder. Sunlight was breaking through the thick clouds, shedding a golden hue upon the high mountains. The forest stayed dark, but it's radiant, magical beauty remained nonetheless.

"It's odd, being awake at this time of day," Harry mentioned, seeing clouds curl and expand slowly in the distance. "We'd always sleep through the day, in Albania... It's like it never stopped being night, back then."

"I know."

A lot of years felt like that to Harry, in truth. Hogwarts had been a monotonic blur, a year in Diagon Alley with Tom had been pleasant and almost normal, but after the murder of Hepzibah Smith it had all changed. Albania had been bad, but Emeric's murder made that seem like nothing. The only time this had worsened was under Tom's curse. He couldn't remember a thing. Those five months had been a living hell and Harry didn't like to think about it much.

They sat watching the day dawn for what felt like no time at all, but the mist above the forest was fading and the sun was getting higher. Tom stretched, sitting up and turning to Harry.

"We should get up," he suggested.

"It's cold," Harry responded, stretching too.

Tom smiled. "All the more reason to get dressed."

Harry didn't want to hear it. Smiling, he sat up in bed, lunging at Tom to kiss him.

"All the more reason to say in bed," he mumbled.

Tom couldn't resist when Harry pulled him back into bed, holding him closely and laughing.

A few more days passed in peace within this small, warm house. Cold winds howled against the windows as quills scratched parchment, pages turned every few minutes under the sound of conversation between Harry and Tom. They took daily trips to the vast, empty mountains nearby, venturing across rocky plains, examining the Magical Creatures that dwelt here, searching for rare magical herbs, enjoying the beauty of nature, and finding odd signs of hidden magic from wizards long since gone from this land.

One morning Harry was awoken by the sound of loud, persistent tapping on their bedroom window. He opened his eyes to a ruffled silhouette of an owl, puffed up against the cold of winter. Tom was downstairs making breakfast, unaware of the owl's presence. Harry got out of bed and headed to the window hastily, wishing to stop the jarring sound.

When his hand was on the latch of the window, he paused. Before him stood a snowy owl, handsome yet flustered by the fact that Harry wasn't hurrying to let him inside anymore. Harry continued opening the window, slowly now, as his tired mind processed memories from the far past. The owl didn't look exactly like Hedwig (Harry could see this even after eight or nine years since he last was her), but there was definitely a resemblance. It made Harry feel oddly lonely.

Tied to the owl's foot with a string was a letter. After recognising the thin handwriting at once as Nott's, Harry began untying the string more eagerly, distracted from the snowy owl. The letter wasn't very long, but it was written calmly, giving Harry only his third instalment of news from Nott since he had left England with Tom five months ago. Harry read it where he stood.

Dear Jonathan,

Thank you for your last letter, your advice was both extremely helpful and wise beyond all solutions I could find in my previous state. Things are better now – I'm currently travelling with my great aunt and uncle across northern England and I expect I should be leaving my house, seeing new people, and visiting new places far more often from this point on.

As for all of this talk concerning the letters our Lord has received, giving further examples of the others' desires for our work to continue, I have to say first and foremost that I don't support this persistent attempt to force our Lord to come back. I don't care to list the names of those who joined into these dramatic displays of magic to catch our Lord's attention (as I'm sure you don't care to hear it, either), but I will say that it's all calmed down a bit now. Av and Dol have stopped trying to recruit all of us into a group, so I expect their enthusiasm will fade away soon enough. They'll then get on with their normal lives until our Lord changes that (if he indeed wants to).

Even as February grows nearer, there are no signs that winter will stop, to progress, finally, into another spring. Because of this, please excuse the owl I have chosen if he has been too noticeable wherever you are now. From what I have seen lately, there has been quite a few complaints about owls flying around England. Rubicon blends in; it's easier.

-Christopher

The letter was simple enough. There was no real news beyond the fact that Nott was travelling, and Avery and Dolohov had stopped bothering him (amongst quite a few others) to take part in illegal magic to alert and impress Tom (after failing almost entirely in both respects). The only part of the letter that truly interested Harry was the last paragraph. It was clear that Nott was telling him to be cautious when they exchanged letters from this point on, but Harry didn't know if this was because of the Ministry or the other Knights, or even just where Nott was travelling with his aunt and uncle.

What was more, Harry wasn't sure if Nott had mentioned the ongoing winter just to explain why his owl, Rubicon, was so snowy and noticeable beyond snow, or if he meant it as a sort of subtle, perhaps even subconscious, worry that the winter (sorrow) would not end soon. Harry knew he might be over-thinking it, but he wasn't so sure. He began reading the letter again when footsteps interrupted his concentration.

"Good morning," Tom said softly as he approached.

"You're up early," Harry commented, lowering the letter in his hands.

"I thought I might have an early start." Tom smiled before his eyes wandering to the to the snowy owl, then the letter. "It's clear you were awoken in a rather different way than I."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, wishing Tom hadn't seen the owl and note.

"Who's your letter from?" Tom asked.

"Nott. He wanted to tell me that he wasn't a part of all the attacks Avery started in England."

Harry tried to sound casual when he said this, but he wasn't sure how well he succeeded, until Tom made a faint gesture that might have been the beginning of him shaking his head in confusion.

"Yet we knew this already," he said.

"I know, but he was just trying to make sure we knew. It's not important."

"Well, you certainly made haste to read the letter, despite it being 'not important'."

Harry realised, then, that he was neither dressed nor at all ready for the day.

"What is more," Tom said, "if he is so cautious as to make an effort to inform both of us that he is, so he claims, entirely uninvolved in the recent events back in England, I wonder only why he addressed a letter to you, and not to I, or to both of us."

"You know what he's like," Harry said hasitily, "he doesn't want to bother you and he knows I'll tell you about any news he's brought up. Plus, he needed some advice from me."

Tom was not entirely convinced. Harry decided to carry on talking before he became more paranoid.

"He has no one to turn to. I know that his life is his own problem and you don't care what happens to the Knights unless it'll affect the work they do for you, but this will affect his work for you, Tom. If this was Avery or Rosier or any of the others, they'd be able to sort it out on their own, but you know he's different."

"I do not praise my friends for distracting you with their problems like this," Tom snapped. "I cannot fathom how far away you must be before Nott will leave you alone, to me and our research, but I feel no reluctance to take you a great distance away to find out."

He was very annoyed by all of this. His eyes were burning, his teeth visible as he spoke every forceful word. Harry could tell, however, that he was grasping for excuses to be mad at Nott. He was worried and angry and he was avoiding the points Harry had made.

"He doesn't bother me – and there's no reason for you to be so bothered either. He's not a Knight we can just replace overnight; he's been with you all throughout Hogwarts, he's one of the only people who has learnt directly from you for longer than his last year or two of school, or last few years since Albania. You can't throw him away just because you're paranoid, Tom."

"I don't desire to get rid of him," Tom told him, "I desire only to stop him from contacting you so often."

"He's sent me three letters since we went away, Tom."

Tom's face twitched in annoyance.

"Look, can you just stop this?" Harry asked him. "Nothing's going on, he's not threatening anything by writing me three letters telling me about his life. He's just lonely, and I care to hear what's happening in his life. He's too valuable for us to just completely ignore."

Tom was thinking this over carefully, his nostrils flaring. "He's weaker than any of the others. He's still caught up in sentiment."

"And yet he works the hardest. He learns the fastest, Tom, and he has more skill than almost any other follower we have. We can't afford to lose him."

The only quick response Harry got from this was a long, calculating stare from Tom. He then looked away in what appeared to be distaste; a look he so often gave when his followers annoyed him, displeased him, and failed to impress him.

"I cannot object," he said in a low voice, "if you truly believe he is valuable enough for all this bother. He is not, however, worthy of my personal time. Perhaps it is best that he doesn't send letters directly to me... Take on his problems, if you must, but do not allow them to affect you."

With that, Tom turned away, his expression dour in his determination to get away. They didn't mention the issue for the rest of the day, nor for a great deal of time after this. Harry wrote back to Nott, but he didn't correspond with him very often as months passed. Spring arrived, by which time Harry and Tom had travelled to many different parts of the world together. Nothing of particular interest (beyond a few enthralling discoveries in their research) happened to them in this time. That is, until the summer arrived.

– X –

They spent four solid months in Bulgaria, which was the longest amount of time they'd stayed in one place since leaving England. Because of this, they had unpacked their luggage here more than they had in any other inn or house they rented. They had packed extremely lightly for their travels, leaving their entire collection of books back in England with a few trusted Knights, as well as a huge amount of plans, writing, research, and other forms of documentation. They sold every piece of furniture, every useless item in their house, and they travelled with four important things: broomsticks, research, clothes, and Horcruxes.

Harry was packing his trunk when he was distracted, for a minute or two by, a smaller case nestled between a few stacks of parchment and robes. The case was very long and thin, and was held together with a large number of locking charms. Within it was the Sword of Gryffindor, which Harry hadn't bad a proper look at for months now. An odd feeling of foreboding is what made him pause.

He decided to open it, after some deliberation. The sword was just like he had always remembered it: shining, powerful, and impressive, with a ruby-studded hilt and the name of Godric Gryffindor engraved on the edge of the blade. Harry didn't think any Gryffindor could be less deserving of this Sword than him. He was so distracted by this thought, he almost didn't have time to notice that something was a little off. The Sword was very still. The Sword was quiet. Harry took a moment to think about this, before he convinced himself his guilt was playing odd tricks on him – on his mind, on his senses, on his emotions.

Even when he and Tom moved the next day, however, thoughts of the Sword stuck in Harry's mind. The Sword, as his Horcrux, was a constant reminder to him of the choices he had made and the choices he was going to have to make in the near future. After seeing his Horcrux again with his own eyes, he couldn't keep his mind clear of it no matter what he tried. It reminded him that he wasn't whole. He was far from a Gryffindor. He had murdered two innocent men.

He rolled over in his bed, distressed by the very thought. The movement put a small distance between him and Tom, which he didn't close; he was too stressed for Tom's comforting touch. He wanted to forget all about his troubles, but he was unwilling to use magic, either, to fall asleep. There was something, some little nagging problem, that kept him awake. He had been thinking about Emeric's death on and off these last few months, but not one night had been as bad as when Tom first took away his Curse...

Was Harry perhaps getting used to the idea of his first murder? He didn't think so, somehow. The guilt of murder was still fresh, even now, it just didn't hurt as much. Tom wanted him to block out every thought of Emeric's death if it still caused him any pain, but Harry wasn't taking his advice, or his demands, very seriously. It no longer hurt as badly, which was as good as it could be, in his opinion. Yet it was curious.

Tom wasn't only scared of Harry's death, he must have been scared that by neglecting his Horcrux, Harry wouldn't be as keen to join in the Dark Arts as he had once been. The thought made Harry's stomach clench uncomfortably. If he no longer felt that overwhelming, terrifying sense of remorse and if he had indeed begun growing a conscience again, disliking the Dark Arts more and more, what had triggered it? Tom's Curse had been strong, very strong, but it can't have broken a year's worth of the Dark Arts that followed Harry's Horcrux...

Harry thought he knew the answer to all of this. As he lay awake on his side, staring into the darkness and listening to Tom's slow, deep breathing, his mind wandered to the Sword of Gryffindor. As soon as he was sure enough that he wouldn't wake Tom, he got out of bed, lighting his wand. His soft footsteps led the way. He saw that his trunk was already out, so he knelt beside it, taking out the Elder Wand to unlock it quietly.

When the case surrounding the Sword was out, Harry placed it on his knees. He paused here, holding his breath to listen for sounds of Tom awakening. When nothing could be heard beyond the sound of breathing, Harry continued. The Sword shone in the faint light as soon as the case creaked open, it's silver blade reflecting the ceiling and Harry's paused, hovering hand. Inspired by the sight, Harry touched the Sword briefly, holding his breath. It wasn't cold. It wasn't connecting to him. It wasn't speaking to him.

Harry wanted to look away to deny that this was happening. His head was spinning, nauseating him on top of the thin lines of blinding light the Sword cast over his eyes. His wandlight rebounded off the sword in all directions, shaking with every small movement Harry made. He closed the case on impulse, annoyed by the distraction. He brought his hands up to his face. The Sword was dead to him. His Horcrux was gone. There was silence.

He may as well have been asleep at this point, he felt. Except his heart was pounding painfully and his hands were refusing to un-claw themselves from his scalp. He felt as if an internal organ had been coughed up through his mouth: it was useless, now, and risking his death. He felt unprotected, as if he was going to be in grave danger at any given moment. More than this, he was terrified – of his sudden mortality as well as what he was going to do to stop Tom from punishing him.

He had to stand up. He returned the case, closing the trunk and locking it hurriedly as if to distance himself from his non-Horcrux. He was stumbling towards his bed in the darkness, trying to be as quiet as he could. Where had his piece of soul gone, he wondered? Had it returned to him? Or had it drifted on into a world of nothingness, abandoning him, never again to work like a Horcrux? This was never something that Tom, or any of the Dark Arts books he knew, covered. Anyone willing to make a Horcrux, after all, wouldn't care to know what happened to their soul if the action was reversed. They wanted only to know how to avoid redemption.

He felt his way along the sheets until warm bedcovers were at arm's reach. Tom didn't stir when Harry clambered into bed next to him. He lay still with the covers drawn over him. He was caught up in thought. Was his missing shred of soul waiting in the land of nothingness to part with him only in death? He didn't feel any more whole now than he felt after the creation of his Horcrux, even if he was doubtlessly a lot more sane. A part of him, usually hidden deep within, was missing. Lost forever.

A shiver seemed to travel through Harry, unrelated entirely to his cold upper body. He moved towards Tom without thinking twice about it, placing his arm around Tom's chest until he was holding him closely. He realised now that he was shaking in fright; he hoped beyond belief that Tom wouldn't awaken to feel this. He didn't want to have to explain himself. His eyes were shut tight and he focused hard on Tom's familiar smell, on the way his heart beat for Tom's touch.

Tom's presence wasn't enough to block out Harry's thoughts, but it lightened the impact. Tom was a comfort – to feel him close by stopped that terrible, seemingly endless state of despair and unreality Harry would otherwise feel. He tried to think back to when he had last risked his own death. They hadn't done anything particularly dangerous since Italy, but things were going to get worse. Tom had plans to experiment with stranger, darker pieces of magic and Harry would have to follow. It would be risking his life, risking everything...

Tom wasn't careless, he wasn't willing to just let the two of them die at any given moment because of their Horcruxes, but death was less fearful when they couldn't die properly. Being immortal enabled them to experiment with magic that no witch or wizard had ever dared to try before. To a greater extent, they would be able to continuously experiment with the same magic again and again to understand it, without risking any permanent affects on themselves.

So the question Harry had to ask himself was: would he tell Tom about his broken Horcrux, or would he take this chance to be free from it all?

Harry would have agreed immediately to getting a new Horcrux if it weren't for two things: he feared Tom's wrath, and he had a clear memory of what making a Horcrux had done to him. Tom's Curse had been worse, of course, but his Horcrux had still left him as a lifeless, cheerless being, lacking a noticeable amount of emotion. Harry wasn't whole now and he feared what might happen if he meddled further with his shattered soul...

He wanted to escape ever having a Horcrux to preserve what little sanity he had left. Horcruxes shook him, they destroyed who he truly was. They warped his view on the world and blinded him of the thing that mattered. He hated this – and feared it – more than he feared death itself. It made him want to find other solutions, but he had only one: the Deathly Hallows.

He understood that the Hallows didn't make him immortal, but they nevertheless made him a Master of Death. The Elder Wand would guide him through any duel, the Invisibility Cloak would hide him from death itself, and the Resurrection Stone was meant to keep him sane. Sword, Shield, and Sanity. It would stop him from meeting an early death – as long as he was smart about it.

It was the Stone, especially, that caught his attention on this cold, dark night He wasn't sure if it actually brought people back to life (he thought it was more likely that it was his own projection of his dead friends that appeared before him, and nothing more), but he didn't think this was the purpose of the Stone. Death could taunt him as much as it wanted to, but with the Stone, Harry was safe. Not because he had the power to bring anyone back, but because he could remember every detail, every feeling of love and longing for those he had lost. They never left him.

Tom stirred in Harry's arms, interrupting his thoughts. Harry was tired and calmer now. He dreaded what the morning might bring, if he was to tell Tom about his discovery. He wanted to be honest, for once, to wake Tom up even now to explain what had happened, but he couldn't. He couldn't go back to Horcruxes, if it was going to take away his sanity. His mind was too important, now more than ever.

Tom protected his life to save his own intelligence: it's was a huge reason behind his craving for immortality. He lived for his research, because nothing gave him a deeper sense of satisfaction than to learn more magic than any living witch and wizard he knew. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to soar high above Muggles, above any Sorcerers with purer blood, above the terrible life he had been thrown into at birth. He loved immortality, too, to numb the pain of his dead mother. It was in spite and anger than he made himself more powerful. It made Harry wonder, often, if he thought love was a weakness, because of her.

How long would Harry be safe for with the Deathly Hallows alone? In day-to-day life, he was protected. In the paperwork and the work they did with the Knights of Walpurgis, he would be fine as long as he fought and defended himself well. But before they'd do work with the Knights again, Tom was going to experiment with a lot of new magic they'd learn in the next few years. If something went wrong, Harry could get badly hurt or die from it. If they quarrelled with other dark wizards, or were attacked by people just the same, Harry could get caught up in a bad fight...

Tom had stalled years of his research in fear that Harry would get hurt beyond repair. He had been as patient as he could be, and even if he had lost it a few times, he had succeeded, in the end, in convincing Harry to make a Horcrux. All of this was so they could be safe and work together forever. An immense wave of guild was gripping Harry, swaying his opinion back in favour of making a new Horcrux. He was beginning to realise that the idea of replacing his Horcrux took away a huge weight of fear from his shoulders. He was going to tell Tom in the morning, he decided. He was drifting off to sleep...

– X –

When he awoke, it was to find Tom laying close to him, stroking his hair behind his ear. He couldn't remember his dreams, but he didn't spare it much thought when he saw Tom's dark eyes watching him in the morning light, a smile playing on his face. He was sitting up in bed, his upper body out of the blanket. Harry moved closer to him, catching the sound of a hum of laughter.

"I must apologise for waking you, if that is not to your tastes," Tom said. "I merely couldn't refrain from seeing your face."

"S'alright," Harry mumbled, resting his head against Tom's chest. "What time is it?"

"Ten O'clock," Tom answered. "I hope you slept enough?"

In truth, Harry had only slept for four hours, but he decided not to mention that. "Yeah."

Tom didn't seem to believe him – likely because he was already falling back to sleep. It amused him. "You're still tired."

Harry opened his eyes, turning his head up to Tom once more. He remembered, in his attempt to be more awake, why he had stayed up so late. His broken Horcrux had kept him up. "I'm alright."

To his discomfort, Tom's smile faltered. Harry's voice had been unconvincing, and on top of that his expression was easily shown in his tiredness.

"Are you?" Tom asked, seriousness catching him.

Harry's stomach lurched. He propped himself up on his elbow, distancing himself from Tom. "Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe – maybe I am tired."

Tom watched him, his silence telling Harry he had seen something that unnerved him greatly. The truth.

"Did you not sleep well?"

"I – I dunno," Harry stammered lamely. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What did you dream of? Was it another nightmare?"

"I don't – I –"

"You should have woken me," Tom said, sounding almost offended, "You shouldn't have suffered that on your own."

Harry was too discomforted by all of this to correct Tom. Instead, he went along with it, feeling only more guilty as he did so. "I was going to wake you..."

"What stopped you?"

Before Harry could answer, an idea seemed to catch hold of Tom's attention.

"You dreamt of Emeric, didn't you?" he asked, worry back at full force. "I can see it in your expression, you're fearful!"

Harry's head felt light. "Tom -"

"That was more reason than ever to wake me!" Tom exclaimed, fuelled by Harry's clear anxiousness. "You know what you're risking! You know I'm here, I can stop that!"

"I know," Harry told him, trying hard to keep him from getting angrier still, "but I couldn't, Tom, it wasn't that important – and anyway, you have work to get done. You needed the sleep. I didn't want to worry you."

Tom was dubious. Pressure felt as if it was building up behind Harry's lungs and he tensed. Tom seemed to be determining whether or not he should cease his irritation at all of this. Eventually he did, dropping his gaze as he attempted to overrule his anger.

"It is important," he said in a low voice. "Emeric will be the death of you, if this carries on... Don't think for one moment that he's worth that much."

Harry's heart sank. It no longer mattered how much he thought about Emeric, because he had already done exactly what Tom had warned him not to do. He worried that Tom was going to place that Curse upon him again if he knew what had happened. He was caught between fearing death and fearing Tom...

To his surprise, Tom moved close to him. Instead of keeping his anger close to him, he was attempting to be gentle with Harry.

"Awaken me," he said quietly, "the second this happens again..."

He had caught Harry up in an embrace, his lips brushing the side of his neck as he pushed him back. Harry was guilty once more and it stalled his enjoyment for any of this. He soon found himself kissing Tom instead, not wanting to be comforted by him. He wanted to show Tom love, past all the lies and betrayal. Tom smiled into the kiss, pulling him closer still. They forgot about everything for a while.

– X –

The summer passed dry and scorching hot, yellowing the landscape of every country Harry and Tom passed through over the next three months. It was beginning to turn autumn when they found themselves in Provence, France, watching the trees swell and return to their green state in the downpour of constant rain. After a month or so, a slow decline into brown was seen. Golden sunlight shone through deadening trees, reflected in every hanging drop of water while it warmed the earth with what little heat it had left to give.

They remained quietly settled in another small town, this time visiting a morose couple Tom knew through lighter connections. They were quiet and liked to keep to themselves, asking very few questions about Harry and Tom and their work. Tom was only interested in speaking to the wise old father of the woman who owned this house. He did so for the next week, talking in pleasant, quick French. Eventually Tom gained the information he needed. They left the next morning, breaking in and stealing books from a house down the street the same evening.

The books contained information on magic that was very dark indeed, magic on the warping and manipulation of someone's conscious mind. Tom had read many books on the same subject, possession, but this particular information caught his attention for the sole fact that it discussed the possibility of a witch or wizard controlling mass amounts of people.

It was different than the Imperius Curse in the sense that you could only change the tendencies and atmosphere of the mind, rather than the actions of a single human being. This, of course, made it far less useful in emergancies, but placed for a long stretch of time on a mass number of people, this would have a greater chance of repression than a thousand Dementors. Spreading fear is the most efficient way of control, and Tom was willing to use this power to his full advantage.

They celebrated their success at finding these books by settling into a deserted house in the middle of a magical forest. It was a cabin further south that was used only in the summertime by a rich relative of Rosier. Tom saw no problem in breaking entry to stay the night, seeing as they didn't have their mind set on any other location in France. Rosier had let the information slip too easily, after all, and it was a good distance from the town they had fled from.

They made themselves comfortable in the small cottage, conjuring their own food and starting a roaring fire in the previously cold stone fireplace. By morning, Tom liked the place so much that he suggested they stay at least a week or two. Harry agreed honestly, but his his heart sank when Tom next mentioned that he'd like them to try out different types of magic here, so far away from curious eyes. With no excuse, Harry had to agree.

They made their usual preparations that same day. By nightfall, Tom wanted to begin experimenting on Harry's mind. The magic was slow to begin with, so they spoke to each other normally for the first hour or two while Harry felt no effect. But gradually, his spirit began to decline. He responses became slower and clouded, his mind wandering to thoughts he'd normally prefer to avoid. Thoughts of his old friends again...

"Are you alright?" Tom asked when Harry closed his eyes tightly, his palm pressed hard against his forehead.

"I'm fine," he said, "it's – it's just a headache."

"It could be psychological," Tom mused. "While the possession takes affect, while a state of depression seeps in, mere thoughts can trigger a response so strong that the mind begins to expect sickness where there would normally be none at-"

"Ginny..."

Tom's voice had fallen. The name hung in the air, spreading total stillness once Harry's eyes had opened. He was shocked at himself. Saying Ginny's name had been an immediate reaction to thinking about possession and Tom, which lead to direct thoughts about her.

"-all..." Tom finished slowly, his eyes narrowing.

Harry avoided his stare. He wasn't angry, but his curiosity was enough to inspire fear in Harry – stronger than usual due to the morphing of his perception.

"Ginny..." Tom said quietly. "If I am not mistaken, she was a girl you once dated?"

"Yeah... Yeah, she was..."

Tom couldn't hide his confusion as his eyes narrowed a little more. "What made you think about her?"

"She – well, she got possessed. It was – it's not something I've forgotten..."

Tom mulled this over, his curiosity fading. Perhaps he remembered that Harry had lost her long ago, for his expression became dark. The thought made Harry feel a surging pain.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked again, noticing him grimace.

"Yeah."

"You can fight the magic, that's the point of this lesson," Tom reminded him.

"I know..."

When had Ginny died in the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry wondered? He had wondered this numerous times, but it resurfaced in his mind still because it was an unsolvable mystery. He couldn't know the answer until he saw or heard about it...

"Try not to focus too much on subjects that torment you," Tom advised him, his tone a little less business-like than his previous instructions had been. "Even if, to others, this is the entire point of the magic. What I am more interested in seeing is the mere extent to which my alteration can reach."

Harry closed his eyes, nodding, trying to relax. Tom was obsessed with magic concerning the mind. Memory Charms, enchantments for alteration, possession, potions to bring back the past – anything that could torment those who were 'weak' – fascinated Tom like no gore, no torture, no bodily alteration could. To control mass amounts of people was even more interesting still.

"What I am most curious about is the extent to which negative emotions – depression, in short – can reach. If I were able to convince a mass number of people to throw away their lives, for example, for positively no reason at all beyond an inability to stop their minds filtering the world for negativity, I would have power over a great deal of things. I could be responsible for killing off any human beings – common Muggles, threatening enemies, workers at the Ministry – with absolutely no evidence left behind."

Harry's brow furrowed, a sinking sensation gripping him. "So, this experiment... what you're trying to determine is whether I'll try to kill myself just from you changing my perception?"

"Yes, in short," Tom said, sounding indifferent. Seeing Harry's widened eyes, he added, "I shan't let you succeed. It's for the mere sake of understanding this magic, since we're low on other wizards to practice on currently -"

"What if I succeed?" Harry asked abruptly. "You'll just let that happen?"

"In suicide? I shan't let it happen, my love."

"But this is experimental magic," Harry pointed out in disbelief, "You can't know what I'll do or – or even if I'll be able to shake this off once you're done experimenting -"

"Don't allow yourself to be so panicked, my dear."

"How can't I?" Harry demanded, his heart beating madly in his chest, as if it was just catching onto the idea that this might be the end. "That's the point of this! And if I can't shake it off then you can't fix it!"

Harry was thinking of Ginny, of his other friends again. He was never going to know what happened to them if he died now. He would join them in death after fixing nothing, changing nothing, all in the name of helping the dark wizard who killed them.

"That's why being immortal is vital. We shan't have to go looking for others to risk the lives of so soon."

"What about my life?" Harry asked, his hands shaking violently. "You didn't tell me any of this!"

"The chances of you suffering any permanent damage from this magic is slim -"

"But it's possible! You said there was a chance!"

"You're immortal, my love, you cannot d-"

"Take this off of me," Harry warned him in a low, shaking voice, jumping up from the bed he was sitting on.

"Harry -"

"You can't do this!" he exclaimed shrilly. "You can't just risk my life like it means nothing to you!"

Tom stood up too, bewilderment taking over his face. "I'm not going to let anything happen -"

"I don't care what you say! Just take this off!"

Harry's head was spinning; it felt as if the whole room was closing in on him, as if every breath he took was poison. He had to stop this magic; that's all he knew. He was panicked and cowering, gasping for breath. He was fading away – he knew he was. He was going to die.

"Harry-"

"TAKE THIS OFF OF ME!"

For the first time in a long while, Tom looked close to fearful. Harry could sense it when the magic began to loosen, seeping away from him. His paranoia subsided, his horror, agitation, and fear fell away. He was left staring at Tom across the room, breathing heavily, thinking quickly. Neither of them moved.

"Do you not trust me?" Tom asked him. His eyebrows were creased.

"I – I was too scared to."

Tom was not amused by this. He seemed to think it was an excuse, until a thought struck him. "The magic is strong, evidently."

Harry still felt shaken, his voice strained. "Yeah..."

Tom examined the way he stood several feet across the room, trying to recover. An odd look crossed his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have explained the magic to you more clearly..."

Harry tried to shrug it off. "It's over now..."

"Yes."

They stood there for a time, doing nothing more than watching each other. Harry had come to the realisation that sooner or later he was going to have to make a new Horcrux, or he'd disappear without being any use at all in life. He suddenly shared a desire with Tom to say bound to earth for the sake of his work, but their reasons for it were very, very different indeed.

Tom was surprisingly understanding about the situation. This may have been because of guilt, or because Tom knew how terrifying the risk of death was, or because Tom believed the magic was so strong that it could easily have caused a reaction on Harry like this – seeing as he knew the cause of his terrible thoughts. Harry didn't care to know why Tom was kind about it; he was too busy trying to feel relief while his thoughts wandered to darker subjects.

He knew, now, that he would never have died from the magic Tom had attempted on him tonight, but this didn't make him regret that he had forced Tom to cease the experiment. It might have gone too far – even to the point where Harry told Tom about some secrets he had sworn to keep forever. It was safer to avoid it. What is more, Harry had learnt a valuable lesson from all of this.

He wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready to risk his life, because there was a reason for him to carry on living. He had the chance to change what had happened in his past. He could spare hundreds, even thousands, of lives if he carried on living his life fully with Tom. If he did not, he meant nothing. If he died so soon, he would never know whether he could change the future...

For the next few days Harry did a lot of deep thinking. Tom was busy with his work, writing down his opinions on the experiment before he wrote theories on what greater uses he could see for the magic as a whole. He then got to his favourite part: listing ideas for how he might manipulate the magic in different ways to not only expand its use, but to discover new concepts that no other witch or wizard had succeeded in finding before.

Harry helped on and off by giving his opinions and pointing out any mistakes or misunderstandings in Tom's writing itself, but he hadn't given the new magic much thought and his concentration was weakened. Tom didn't seem to notice it very much, he was too enthralled by his new discoveries. He wrote down future plans for how he might introduce this new magic to his Knights. Harry couldn't help but enjoy his enthusiasm.

One evening, however, Harry couldn't stand keeping his terrible secret from Tom. He he spent much of the day outside, admiring the huge pine trees that grew for miles, creating a vast home for an endless amount of creatures. It was cold and raining lightly outside. When Harry returned to the cottage Tom was waiting for him, having finished his work early.

"Come," Tom beckoned, "let us warm up by the fire."

Harry followed him through the open bottom floor of the cottage. In the centre of the house there was a chimney, facing one room – the living room – but giving off enough heat to warm the kitchen, entrance hall, and the rooms upstairs too.

Tom made the fire more roaring with a wave of his wand. He then took a seat beside Harry, wrapping an arm around him as they sat close, gazing into the flames. All of this subtle kindness might have been Tom's attempt at an apology for practising that magic on him, Harry thought. Tom's long fingers entwined themselves in his own. He leant his head on Tom's shoulder, as if in forgiveness.

Tom spoke to him about the work he had finished today, discussing plans for their next project as well as suggesting where they might move to after their short stay here. Harry listened as best he could, but again his mind wandered elsewhere. For over an hour they sat like this, until the right kind of silence fell for Harry. In that moment, he knew he had to tell the truth.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

It was as if Tom had been waiting for him to talk.

"There's something I have to tell you..."

Tom's attention was fixed on him, his patience endless tonight. Harry almost didn't want to tell him, but he knew he had to. He took a deep breath.

"I think... Well, I know that something's happened..."

"What is it?" Tom asked, his expression serious.

"It's just..."

Harry didn't know where he was supposed to begin, or what he was supposed to stay to stop Tom from slipping into a state of fury the moment he heard about all of this. He wanted to avoid Tom's anger by just suggesting he should make a second Horcrux, but he couldn't stand to lie again, this time. He needed the truth.

"Emeric won..." Harry told him in little over a whisper, staring into Tom's dark, confused eyes. "I'm – I'm mortal..."

There was a long, stunned silence. Tom didn't seem to move a muscle as he watched Harry, but his eyes showed all signs of anger, terror, confusion, and hurt.

"Since when?" Tom asked him in a deadly voice.

"Since – since our last few days in Bulgaria. But it must have happened a long time before that, maybe as soon as you broke your curse in me. Tom, don't think I lied, I just – just couldn't tell -"

Tom stood up, stricken by all of this too intensely. He seemed to want to distance himself from Harry, to give his thoughts room to grow behind his pained, furious eyes.

"It's al-alright," Harry stammered, "I'm still alive, aren't I? I'm still -"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom hissed through his teeth, pacing the room in delirium.

"I'm telling you now," Harry said, "Nothing's happened, I – I wasn't sure I'd need to fix this so soon -"

"You thought you'd be fine walking around as a mortal without telling me?" Tom asked in disbelief. "How could you think such a think for a second? You know how dangerous the work we do is! You know of the risks we face every single day as we travel like this across the world, meeting who knows what at every turn!"

"I know," Harry said, "I just-"

"You just what?" Tom demanded. "I beg you to tell me what could possibly have gone through your mind, beyond a morbid desire to run the risk of choosing death over me – even in spite!"

"It isn't my fault that the Horcrux broke," Harry reminded him forcibly, "You know how complicated all of this is."

Tom's anger deepened. His paranoia then seemed to follow. "It would not surprise me if you had done all of this on purpose. "

"What do you mean?"

"Have you perhaps told Nott of our most secretive work in the letters the two of you so confidently share? I would not be surprised if it were that you and he had destroyed your Horcrux to spite me. This would be a mere rise of guilt for a betrayal you cannot undo."

Harry was bewildered, lost for words to understand how Tom had created such a mad theory. "Why would I tell him – or anyone – that I'm immortal with you? You think I don't want to be with you? You don't think I want to live forever too, to keep both of us alive for as long as possible?"

"I don't know what desires you share with Nott, but I'm sure my immortality means little to you now."

"And what, you think I'd risk both of our lives for Nott? Tom, all I talk to him about is his work and his life! We have the Sword upstairs, you can see it hasn't been destroyed. There's no way I could have done all of this just to betray you – don't you understand what this is about?"

"What?" Tom spat, "What is this about?"

"I never killed Emeric for the right reasons," Harry explained. He had to raise his voice when he said, "How else could a Horcrux be destroyed without you knowing?"

Tom was breathing heavily, trying to take control of his own anger.

"Your life is too valuable!" he said aggressively, "You should have warned me the moment you even suspected you might be mortal! Everything we're working for – everything we've ever existed for in our entire lives – depends on your remaining immortal with me!"

"I know that, Tom. Of course I know."

"Do you not love me? Do you not care to be with me forever? This is vital to everything, as I have so clearly informed you on countless fucking occasions!"

"I was scared," Harry told him, desperately trying to make him undersand.

"Of what?"

"Of that Curse... I didn't want you to put it back on me, I didn't want to become that – that person again... but you won't have to use that again."

"You're mistaken," Tom hissed, "you clearly cannot live without it."

"Not with a Horcrux from Emeric, I couldn't. But since that Horcrux is broken anyway, we don't have to worry about my soul trying to repair itself for him. I think I should make a new one instead... I don't know if I'll ever be able to make one from Emeric's death, but he isn't the only person I killed, remember? I can make a better Horcrux."

Tom's eyes had widened. He was watching Harry steadily, thinking all of this over, his anger put to the side. He was disbelieving, calculating.

"You'll make a Horcrux?"

"Yes," Harry said. His voice was calm.

"It would certainly solve a few problems," he mused. "You shan't break it with any remorse for you most recent murder, and -"

Very swiftly, very sharply, a mad grin fell across his face.

"You may remorse over Emeric, but a new Horcrux will use use a different section of soul entirely!"

"So, it'll work then?"

"Yes," Tom beamed, "yes, I think it will!"

Tom's voice was quivering in happiness. The next thing Harry knew, he advanced towards the couch, sitting down besides Harry in haste. His pupils had dilated visibly, his breath held in awe and disbelief.

"This will be better than ever," he whispered, "this shall fix all of the complications we previously faced with Emeric's murder!"

This expression of happiness was so overpowering that it unnerved Harry; he hadn't seen Tom so overjoyed since the first time he said he'd make a Horcrux. Just like last time, Tom's first response seemed to be to reward him in idolisation.

He kissed him once, and again, grinning as he cupped Harry's face in his hands. His eyes were still mad a few inches from Harry's, a breath of laughter escaping his lips.

"It's perfect," he said in a hushed voice, watching Harry as if he were some great treasure, "a new Horcrux will be perfect..."

Harry was almost proud that he had struck such happiness, wonderment, and admiration in Tom. Even in his state of joy, however, an odd form of sorrow seemed to hit Tom. He seemed to wince.

"I risked your life," he said. So delicately, he held Harry.

Harry could see pain within Tom that he had never seen in his life. His chest rose and fell, his hand still cupped over Harry's jaw as they sat close.

"I'm alive," Harry reminded him, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "I'm still with you."

Tom seemed to want to say something, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he urged Harry into an embrace. It was as if he felt that by wrapping his arms around Harry, having him hold him, and pressing his lips to his forehead, he might be able to protect the soul within him. Harry realised then that Tom was shaking.

"We shall make your new Horcrux as soon as possible... by tomorrow night..."

Harry closed his eyes, his ear pressed against Tom's chest. He listened to his heart beating for a long while, glad, at the very least, to find that the truth was sometimes better to tell.

– X –

After little thought, Harry decided to reawaken a Horcrux in the Sword of Gryffindor. It would be a waste of other interesting magical artefacts if he were to choose a different object, after all, and he wanted very badly to avoid using the Ring as his own. Tom kept pushing the idea, but not only did Harry not was to disrupt history, he also wanted to avoid tampering with the Resurrection Stone. So the Sword it was.

They made his Horcrux here, in this comfortable cottage alone in France. Harry had to admit that once they had preformed such a dark piece of magic, the place didn't feel the same again. He was aware of the fact that it might be his own perception that was warped by a lesser soul, but he wasn't entirely sure. The place felt cursed.

The process of making a Horcrux itself had gone almost exactly like last time. They spent three more days in France to allow Harry to heal and they planned to move down to Spain for the first time after this. Since he knew what to expect, Harry felt as if creating a Horcrux this time wasn't so bad. He was sure, however, that the sound of his agonised voice still rang in Tom's ears as clearly as it rang in his own.

Harry wasn't sure how much of himself he lost in the months that passed. He found himself agreeing to take part in pieces of Dark Magic with far more ease than before and he felt more confident in the work he took part in, but still, when he lay awake at night, he thought of his friends. He loved Tom, no matter how mutated his soul became, but his friends were his main reason for living onwards. They would need him more than Tom ever would.

Harry often daydreamed of the future, of the past. The idea of using a time-turner to skip twenty-six years into the future, to watch Voldemort's downfall, had crossed his mind a few times, but even if he had access to the Ministry of Magic, had knew that the chances of obtaining a strong enough time-turner to go that far into the future were slim. The only time-turners Harry had ever actually seen changed a few hours of time at most. It was a difficult type of magic.

Instead, Harry lived life the best he could with Tom. He was not opposed to this. Six months after leaving the cottage in France, Harry and Tom were in South America, exploring the lands there to settle much of their curiosity and interest. They were moving up higher on the earth before a piece of news from home pulled them both to a steady, contemplative stop. Armando Dippet had retired from his post as Headmaster of Hogwarts School, to be replaced by no one other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore must be enthralled," Tom commented through gritted teeth, still clutching the letter from Lestrange in his hands, "Headmaster of Hogwarts School... Why Dippet decided to resign this year, I have no idea."

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. "He's ancient. You can hardly expect much else."

"You would think that, being over three hundred years old already, staying a mere few more years at the school wouldn't be an impossible task."

"Dumbledore has pretty much been running Hogwarts for him though, hasn't he? Honestly Tom, this isn't something worth getting mad about."

"It's definitely worth getting mad about! The chances of me becomong a teacher at Hogwarts now are close to impossible," Tom said. He was very irritated indeed. "I had a chance of convincing Dippet to let me teach once I aged a few years, but that's gone now..."

"Dumbledore would have found a way to stop you, you know he could have. He would have just made up other excuses."

Tom's nostrils flared. He must have known Harry was right.

"I must write back to Lestrange..."

The subject was dropped from this point on.

Tom's irritation towards Dumbledore faded over the next few months, or he at least made a habit of ignoring the subject completely any time it was touched. While Dumbledore was surely busy running Hogwarts on his own, Harry and Tom were back in Europe. They spend the spring and summer moving further east, but when the leaves began to wilt once more, Tom wanted – in secret – to return to the UK. They were going to begin hiding Horcruxes.

Tom wanted to visit a cave he had had a particularly gruesome and important history with, a cave he had visited as a boy with his old orphanage. They stayed in a quiet inn under fake names, as usual, but Tom was in no rush to even begin visiting the cave. Harry had a suspicion that Tom was returning to the United Kingdom for more reason than he had so far admitted, but he hadn't pushed the subject. He had other questions he wanted to ask first, about the cave.

"If you visited this place with your orphanage," Harry began, "why is it somewhere you're happy to keep a Horcrux safe in?"

"I thought the answer might be obvious."

They were making their way across a vast landscape, the sea visible far ahead of them.

"It was proof," Tom explained, "that I had greater skill than anyone had ever admitted to me... The cave should have been impossible to get to. I should have died trying, had I not had the ability to use magic, even then."

"But you knew the cave was there," Harry pointed out. "How?"

"I went exploring," Tom said, looking out at the soft, wild grass and wheat that bowed in the harsh wind.

Sunlight shone on the distant sea, but thick clouds loomed above them, giving the land an odd lighting. The dark forests behind them only heightened the affect.

"I found a snake – or I should say, she found me. I was so enthralled to find another one, I left the rest of the orphans to follow her, to talk to her. Only, I too was being followed, by two of the others."

"And the snake led you to the cave?"

"She led me towards the sea. From the edge of this cliff, I could see the cave down below. I was so inspired by my power to understand snakes, I decided to test my abilities further. I was even able to allow the two Muggles to join me, all in my determination to be sure that others saw my greatness..."

Harry and Tom had reached the cliff's edge. They could indeed see the cave looming far below, a darker slit in the rough, distant surface of rock. The tide was low, but still there was a hint of salt carried up in the harsh winds. It must have been at least a fifty foot drop to the sea itself.

"I never questioned my abilities from that day on," Tom finished. "This cave led me to the discovery that one day, in spite or everything, I would be great..."

Waves crashed against the dark surface of the rock, audible even past the sound of cold wind and Tom's soft voice. The sun was setting.

"What happened to those two Muggles?" Harry asked him quietly.

Tom was silent for a long time. Harry knew what answer he'd give before he even gave it.

"I'd rather not say."

One look at Tom's face dissolved Harry's curiosity. Tom's attention lingered on the cave far ahead of them, his expression too blank to be sane. They went down the side of the cliff soon after this, examining the structure of it and deciding what they might do with it over the next few months. Harry couldn't shake off a feeling of uneasiness until they were back at the inn, a long way away from the strange place Tom was so powerfully drawn to.

It was a month after being back in England when Harry realised why Tom had decided to stay here for a short while. He was not (despite previous suggestions), at all over the fact that Dumbledore had become Headmaster of Hogwarts. In fact, he was still so furious about the change of staff that he himself wanted to make another small change to the school. He wanted to curse the Defence Against the Dark Arts job for as long as it would take before Dumbledore accepted him.

"It is a flawless plan," Tom assured him joyously the night he admitted all of this. "Professor Merrythought retired only three years ago, but with ease I shall force her replacement to give up his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher by Christmas. Dumbledore will have no choice but to consider my offer on such short notice."

"So you want the job?" Harry asked, wanting to make this all very clear. "And what am I supposed to do when you're off at Hogwarts teaching the Dark Arts for ten months a year?"

"Join me," Tom suggested playfully, "I can Curse another job until it's yours."

Harry smiled a little. "Dumbledore isn't stupid. He's too suspicious of you, Tom."

"I know he is. But obtaining a teaching post at Hogwarts isn't my only reason for doing all of this."

"How so?"

"I wish to hide a Horcrux there, up at the school," Tom told him. "Not only is Hogwarts an incredibly safe location, but I have a hiding place in mind. To keep a piece of my soul there, within the heart of the castle... well, that's better than any teaching post could be."

"That's brilliant," Harry said, his mind wandering to other things.

"Until Dumbledore resigns – perhaps for a more seemingly admirable job – I shall have to remain patient. I shall continue to focus on our more important work if I cannot get this job soon... but Dumbledore will not win. I'll be waiting for the right time to strike."

"How long do you think it'll take before you get another chance like this?"

Tom sneered happily. "Since the job will be cursed, every year from this point on will be another chance for me to join that school. Dumbledore is vain, and power-hungry at heart; he will likely take up the next offer he's given to become the Minister for Magic. After defeating Grindelwald, this is only the next logical step. An attempt at modesty is what keeps him bound to Hogwarts; his loyalty to the school is nothing more than a stunt to ensure more people will vote for him."

Harry knew Tom was entirely wrong about this, but he never said a word.

They finally met some of the Knights again after another month. Tom had finished cursing the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. The current teacher was due to send in his resignation papers at the end of November, to quit the school by the time the Christmas holidays starting in December. Tom received a letter from Lestrange informing him about the new post open up at the school and, after a few days of waiting, Tom sent a letter back pretending he was only just returning to England for it.

Tom parted with Harry to stay at Lestrange's house for the next two weeks, but Harry met up with him again, as well as all the other Knights, at a celebration Lestrange held for Tom's return. None of the others suspected that Harry had been travelling with Tom, because a lot of the Knights hadn't seen each other since Rosier's wedding.

"To the Knights of Walpurgis!" Tom toasted happily, causing grins to spread across the faces of the sea of followers before him.

"To the Death Eaters!" a second voice cried out, a jeering laugh following.

Harry turned in bewilderment to see that Avery had proposed a toast to this.

"Death Eaters?" Gonson repeated in confusion.

"You didn't hear about the group Avery lead in dedication to Tom these last few years?" Rosier asked. "While the Knights waited, the Death Eaters were impatient."

"And now Voldemort's back, things'll carry on better than ever!" Dolohov added thickly, clearly satisfied by all of the recent events.

"So you made an entirely new group?" Gonson asked. "Why?"

"For those most loyal!" Avery grinned. "We had some great times waiting for Voldemort's return, I can tell you that much..."

As Avery began to explain what had happened over the last three years (backed up harmoniously by an eager Dolohov and Mulciber), Harry stopped listening. He had no interest in the crude, immature going-ons of the Knights too loyal to carry on with their own lives. Tom was in deep conversation with some of the more respected Knights, catching up with them as best he could in such a short amount of time.

Tom explained to them where he had been and where he planned to go next, all in the name of his work and research. Many of the Knights wanted only to know if he would stay here to continue leading their group. Tom gave an indefinite answer. When word got around that Tom was about to go for an interview to become a teacher at Hogwarts, many of the Knights volunteered and insisted upon joining him – at least to Hogsmeade.

That was the first night Harry spoke to Nott again. He, as well as Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov, and others, had been chosen to follow Tom up to Scotland, to protect him if all else failed. Lestrange, perhaps to Nott's relief, felt it would be wiser if he avoided even distant contact with Dumbledore, to ensure that Tom would always have a safe place to return to. The Knights were very protective of Tom (and Lestrange was very protective of his own name and reputation).

Nott was pale and thinner than before when Harry saw him, but he didn't seem to be at his very worst. He was, at the very least, comforted by Harry's presence. They didn't speak immediately; they waited for some of the other Knights to begin talking amongst themselves before they engaged in any sort of proper conversation.

"You've come from a long way away, I'm sure," Nott commented.

"Not too far, recently," Harry admitted.

"Still, it has to mean a lot for you to come here just for a teaching post."

He meant 'you' as in both he and Tom, Harry was sure. "It means a lot to him."

Harry wasn't even sure what the Knights thought of Tom's enthusiasm for this job. They seemed to understand it on some level – at least enough to follow him as loyally as ever – but it must have been a slight surprise. They wanted him to be the leader of a great gang, not to spend his time intellectualizing the education of young witches and wizards.

Through the falling snow, Nott was watching him. Harry could see himself more clearly in the faces of the Knights than in any mirror he knew. It was the expressions of surprise and shock, of wonder, curiosity, fear, confusion, and uneasiness that told Harry he had changed a lot more than he once thought. Nott knew Occlumency too well to leave his mind open, and he was rarely so judgemental, but the time he spent watching Harry spoke for itself.

"Have you been alright?" Nott asked him.

His voice was low, but casual. If the Knights had noticed him speaking, his tone would have dulled their hearing. Harry had a sudden moment of guilt: he had changed and Nott would see that. It was only to be expected from being away for so long, but it made him more determined to act like he had always acted.

"I've been fine," he said. "Things have been alright."

Nott smiled a little, but got distracted when the other Knights called his name. They were heading further into town.

"We're all going to go visit the Hog's Head," Nott explained, "if you want to join us."

Harry gave it a moment's thought, but decided it was too risky. He shook his head.

"Thanks, but I'd rather go wait outside Hogwarts."

Nott nodded. "I understand. Well, I'll see you around then."

"Yeah..."

Without hesitating for too long, Nott turned away. Harry was left standing alone in the snow, thinking about the events going on at Hogwarts. He turned in the direction of the great castle, fading into the shadowy, snowy night.