72 – Connections

Time was a strange thing. The thought kept replaying itself again and again in Harry's mind as he stood alone in his bedroom, his back to the door. His attention was fixed entirely on a delicate item he held within his hands: a pocketwatch. It was normally kept within a cupboard he and Tom stored their most precious items in, such as Horcruxes, ancient artefacts, and treasures found in their dealings through the Death Eaters, but quite often, lately, Harry removed it just to look at it. It drew him in and distracted him when he was away, no matter how many times he held it within his hands...

The shining gold surface of the watch appeared to be completely smooth, but when Harry looked closely, he could see faint circles and lines etched skilfully into it. It was a beautiful item to behold, but the emotions Harry felt from it dampened it's beauty slowly. It reminded him of his past. It reminded him of the passing of time itself. It became more curious and eerie the more he examined it, because there had been a strong sense of recognition attached it the moment Tom brought it home. Harry had no idea how that could be possible...

They had taken it to a specialist in northern England, who had owed Tom a favour after a few Ministry Officials conveniently turned a blind eye to unlawful dealings done within his small, humble shop. The specialist told Tom, after a moment of paused yearning, that the watch was indeed very rare. More rare, he said, than any archaist would be willing to admit before buying it himself. As Tom had suspected, it was an Heirloom.

So why, Harry wondered, was this item recognisable to him? Why did it fill him with a feeling of sorrow and nostalgia? Wizards owned watches like this often, but he couldn't recall seeing even a similar design to this in the hands of anyone he knew. Someone insignificant could have owned one similar, yes, but then why should Harry not remember the owner?

His first theory (and his first fear) was that he had forgotten the owner due to his damaged memory. After the recreation of the Sword Horcrux, his mind had become a strange place; it was broken and twisted in many ways. More often than ignorable, Harry forgot how things happened and when, but Tom assured him this was normal for now. Harry's second theory (thought of with as much reluctance as the first) was that his memories of the watch might have been older than he was willing to recall... Maybe -

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He looked up calmly, lowering the watch. The chain holding it was delicate; it wove between his fingers easily. Tom seemed surprised when he entered the room, slowing to a stop.

"Again?" he asked quietly, smiling. "I rather thought you might have memorised the watch entirely, by this point."

Harry let the chain drop from one hand. It landed in the other. "I doubt you brought me a present so I could hide it in a cupboard all it's life. Especially not one this historical."

Tom made his way closer to Harry, amused. "No, I suppose not... I'm glad you like it."

Harry turned away from Tom to place the pocketwatch back in it's case, finding Tom's dark eyes watching him when he turned back.

"Is there news?" Harry asked. "I thought you were working downstairs."

"Yes," Tom responded softly, "there are a few visitors who have requested that we should meet them in a matter of minutes. I would have declined the offer, initially, but Lestrange insisted this group could be of great use to us in the future..."

"Who are they?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Come," Tom said, taking his hand. "I'll show you."

They made their way out of the bedroom, through the empty house.

The place was comfortable and perfectly suiting to their needs; a grand gift from Cygnus Black. Harry was sure Tom knew this and would remember it well. It was safe from the Ministry, safe from crime. The only real complaint Harry had was that it was decorated in a way the stunk of Pureblooded wealth. It reminded him of the Malfoy Manor, which wasn't something he could openly discuss. Tom enjoyed having the house and treated it with casual liking that many would mistake for comfort; they would assume and believe that Tom had been raised in a place like this. He would not correct them.

Downstairs, Tom released Harry's hand, telling Tweaky, the House-Elf, to expect their visitors' arrival any moment. Tom had let Tweaky return to his new house to serve him, never once thinking how this could be dangerous. Over the years, the Elf had heard many conversations between and about the Knights of Walpurgis – he might have heard enough by this point to understand Tom's entire organisation. The idea amused Harry slightly. He kept an eye out for signs of a betrayal in Tweaky, saying nothing that might offend Tom.

Within five minutes, the guests arrived. Lestrange, Black, and Dolohov were the only wizards Harry recognised at first, with six or seven new others lingered behind them. Harry tried to get a better look of the strangers' faces in his attempt to work out who they were. They were eyeing Tom with looks of awe and curiosity, eyeing Harry with only the latter. Harry met eyes with a tall, brutal-looking man and with a jolt of horrid fear, he realised he knew that face.

The man's attention turned away a second later. He smiled at a few whispered words his friend spoke, his sharp, pointed teeth bared in the movement. This added no light to his dark eyes, but suggesting genuine amusement nonetheless. His large hands supported chipped, yellow fingernails that seemed to have reddish-brown dirt dug into them. His face was rough and was in need of a shave, but he didn't appear to enjoy maintaining his appearance much. He was muscular and more handsome than Harry expected possible for a young Fenrir Greyback – not that that was saying much.

"Is this your entire group?" Tom asked the stranger standing closest to him.

"No," the stranger answered. He was clearly the leader of this small group; he was the most brave and brutal-looking of all seven men. He spoke slowly and clearly, despite his heavy London accent. It made his words sound sinister. "A lot the others... well, they didn't reckon it was worth coming all the way up 'ere to meet you, knowing you might not have seen us at all."

"And why is it that you have requested to see me?" Tom asked.

"We wanted to talk to you," the stranger said. "We've heard some rumours, see."

"Rumours?"

"About this here group. People have been sayin' youse are getting stronger than anyone first supposed possible. With rumours like tha', it was only a matter of time before we'd start getting curious."

"What is it that you're curious about?" Tom asked. His words were soft, thoughtful. It unnerved the new wizards, who had expected great force from someone of such stature, someone of such a dark appearance. "I assume you must be requesting to follow me, in some way."

"Yeah," the wizard responded, "we were thinkin' summat like tha'."

"What have you to offer me?"

"What?"

"In return," Tom said. "What use might you be to me?"

The wizard turned to his six companions, grinning. "I reckon you already know the answer to tha', m'Lord."

Tom gave a hum of laughter, one that wasn't quite a lie to humour his guests. "I'm not quite sure what service Werewolves might be to me."

"What we can offer you is our help any time you need it. If you've got a problem with any witch or wizard and need 'em to be punished, we'd happily be of service... We're in need of some good victims, see. Not to mention Ministry protection."

"What is your name?" Tom asked curiously.

"Gavin McDarline."

"Well, McDarline," Tom began, "your offer is both very bold and very straightforward. How am I to know, however, that you are sincere in your dedication to my group?"

"You can rely on us whenever we might be of use," McDarline swore. "We'll come and help youse out. We don't need to follow you properly, we just wanna an alliance, for both of our sakes."

"I see," Tom said, inclining his head slowly as he thought. "That is indeed a promising offer and I imagine it might be of some use in the future... The least I can say is, I expect successful results from you."

McDarline was satisfied, grinning. "So we're 'ired, then?"

"Yes, you are hired. I shall send some of my Death Eaters to contact you, should the occasion call for your help... Expect to hear from us soon."

He then turned to Black and Lestrange.

"You may now escort our guests to the door."

"Yes, my Lord."

Led by the two Knights, McDarline, Greyback, and the five other werewolves turned away, making their way out of the room. Harry's eyes were on Greyback, who may or may not have noticed being stared at for the whole of that short meeting. It surprised him immensely that Greyback had stuck by the Death Eaters for so long.

Black and Lestrange returned to Tom when the werewolves left. They looked at him with serious expressions, trained so well under his reign.

"Your suspicions were correct, my Lord," Black began, seemingly comforted in his trust for Tom. "Werewolves are eager to stand by our side, likely a result solely from your preparations."

"Yes," Tom agreed calmly. He surveyed his two Knights with satisfaction. "They shall be of great use to us, especially as the Ministry is their largest enemy... You have not disappointed me."

Although they did not comment on this, Harry could see the relief and joy in both Black and Lestrange's posture now.

"Your work here has come to an end," Tom told them. "I shall begin giving orders to another pair of Knights to start a stronger communication between us and them, to-"

"Which Knights?" Lestrange interrupted.

Tom's eyes snapped to his with a look of surprise. Although he did not say it nor show it in any prominent way, Harry knew he was annoyed. He was sure both Knights knew it too; the atmosphere in the room had changed.

"You dare to question me about my plans?" Tom asked softly.

Colour rose in Lestrange's cheeks at once. "No, of course not, but-"

Tom averted his attention, bored by the weakness. He spoke over Lestrange. "I suggest the two of you leave here at once. I have plans to begin."

"Of course, my lord," Black said, bowing. Lestrange soon followed his lead, still angry and embarrassed.

Tom turned away from his Knights silently. Harry, however, had locked eyes with Lestrange as he straightened up. Harry was not outwardly gleeful, but something in his stare still offended and irritated Lestrange deeply. He glowered for a moment, before turning away with a twirl of his cloak in defeat and an attempt at pride. In seconds, he and Black were out of the house, gone for the night.

Harry turned to Tom, who was pacing the room. There was a smile on his face.

"Werewolves are now on our side," Tom said in a hushed voice, as if the idea stunned him. "How brilliant – how terribly easy it was!"

Harry was surprised by his happiness. "You really think they'll be important, then?"

"Of course!" Tom exclaimed. "They have always been massively feared creatures. They would send the Minister of Magic himself into a recoiling panic if ever he had to deal with an uprising from them. How brilliant it will be to have them under our power! We could make an army of them – we will have every bloodthirsty Werewolf in England following our commands in a matter of months!"

"By offering them victims," Harry added, understanding. "Everyone will be terrified when the Werewolves start attacking more often, but even when rumours about us being a part of it all start popping up, there'll be no way to really prove it. No way to stop it, anyway. Especially because if the Ministry starts looking into it -"

"Several Knights will confuse the Ministry from within, as always!"

"That's why you don't want Black or Rosier involved in talking to the Werewolves, isn't it?" Harry asked, taking a seat. "You don't want anyone close to the Ministry knowing who's doing what."

"Yes," Tom grinned, "I want to cause confusion even amongst the Knights. Only you and I shall know who runs separate aspects of our plans!"

Harry tried his best to be enthralled by the idea of all this, and eventually he succeeded. Tom was joyous for the whole night, drawing up plans and discussing important ideas with Harry, who never once had to fake his interest.

That night, Tom again brought up a subject Harry had been thinking about on and off for months. His next murder. Harry hadn't decided who he wanted to kill yet, even if he knew he had to do it soon. He wanted it to be an important kill. He told Tom this and watched him struggle to understand it for a while. They spoke of possible victims, possible people Harry could go after, and although they came to no conclusions that night, it lead Harry to some very important thoughts.

He had begun to realise, as time went on, that more than a few murders and attacks through the Death Eaters directly connected individuals who would one day put a lot of effort into resisting Voldemort through the Order of the Phoenix. After Mulciber murdered Bones, Harry first suspected this. Edgar Bones, a relative of the man Mulciber killed, was going to join the Order and was going to fight for this war with strength and vigour. Then there was Harold McKinnon, related to Marlene McKinnon, who had been murdered not a month ago by Avery.

As winter began to creep over England a few months on, Harry stood alone in the streets of London, waiting. Snow fell thickly and steadily past him, piling up as muddy, dark slush that would freeze into ice by dawn. Muggles would find this troublesome, Harry thought. All except the one wizarding dwelling on this cold, lonely road; the family he had been watching. The family he had been closely examining to see the workings of...

The sun had completely set, sending Harry into shadows. When the lampposts turned on, they cast spots of horrid orange light on the rest of the street. Harry was not put off by the cold temperature, even when the family he spied on were twenty minutes later than usual. Tom was not here. He was busy with the Knights, too busy to even witness the crime Harry planned to do tonight. Neither of them were sure if it would be now or later in the future when he went through with this. Harry had been watching his house for a while...

When the family finally arrived, they walked quickly through the streets to resist the cold. The youngest child was running gleefully ahead, red hair flowing behind her. A tall man, who must have been her father, talked merrily of things Harry didn't listen to, things his second daughter seemed deaf to as well. His two sons listened. They talked back to him, joking, laughing. They were twins, identical from their flaming red hair down to the last freckle.

"It's all easy for him to say, isn't it, Gideon?" the first twin asked.

"It is, Fabian," the second twin responded, grinning towards his father. "He was always a top-level student at Hogwarts, but it'll be twice as hard for us to get good marks on our OWLs."

"We have twice the chance of mucking up, we have," Fabian added, laughing.

"If Hogwarts treated your scores as one, then yes," the oldest sister remarked, "but since they don't -"

"Oh, don't remind him about that, Molly!" Fabian cut across her, ginning. "We always get a better score combined."

"Only because neither of you can agree to learn the same subjects properly."

"Then the solution is easy then, isn't it?" said Gideon.

"We'll just change places in our exams," Fabian finished.

"You'll do no such thing!" Mr Prewett told them. "If your mother gets word from Hogwarts of you two cheating on your OWLs -"

"Don't worry, dad," Gideon said, "we won't get caught."

They headed into the house, closing the door behind them and cutting out the sound of Mr Prewett's frustrated yet amused comments to his two sons. Molly Prewett was the last to enter the house, casting a look out at the dark street as if she knew someone was watching her. Harry didn't move even when the front door closed. He prepared himself for another hour of waiting. He watched lights on the second floor flicker on, then off again. It was time.

Taking out the Invisibility Cloak, he draped it around his shoulders, pulling up the hood. Then, taking out his wand, he headed for the house. The locks were easy to break; they were nothing compared to the enchantments even the lowest ranking Knights were trained to master. Harry silenced the door, silencing his footsteps too. There was one night on downstairs, in the living room, but Harry ignored this. He made his way upstairs.

On the corridor, he was stopped momentarily by one of the twins leaving his bedroom for the bathroom. Being neither seen no heard, Harry was not at all startled by this. He waited for the twin to close himself in the bathroom before he made his way to a second bedroom. A bedroom, to Harry's luck, used by the youngest child.

It was as simple as pushing the door open as if it had happened naturally. The young girl sat up in bed, awoken by the noise and light. She couldn't see anyone entering the room. Harry made his way to a corner silently, noticing that the girl can't have been older than nine or ten. The girl was alarmed by the door, she called out for her sister. Molly arrived in slight concern a few minutes later, glancing around the room. She was calmed by the lack of disturbance.

Smiling to her sister, she said reassuringly, "Rose, the door probably wasn't shut properly. Don't be so alarmed."

Molly then turned away. She shut off the lights before leaving, so darkness fell around everything except a glowing jar of fireflies Rose kept as a night light on her bedside table. In the faint light, Harry could see Rose's concerned eyes scanning the room once more. She could sense Harry's presence, even if she was too young to know of that kind of magic. She drew the covers right up to her ears, closing her eyes tightly.

Harry was going to murder her. It would be simple enough, it wasn't as if he could lose against the power of a ten-year-old child. It would force the Prewett Family to start taking part in the Order of the Phoenix, in the resistance against Voldemort. Harry knew it had to be done. With one quick spell, he could end her life and leave the house without ever being noticed. He withdrew his wand.

The Prewett family would know it was murder, but their only evidence of it would come from the mark of the Death Eaters that Harry planned to leave here. The Dark Mark. Dumbledore would surely know what it meant, but he wouldn't speak to the Prewetts for a number of years, likely. They would mourn for a while, before getting angry, before seeking revenge. Before taking down the Death Eaters themselves...

The girl was not yet asleep, but killing her would be so quick, so effortless, she wouldn't have time to fight. Harry stepped forwards, prepared for this. He stepped on a creaky floorboard. Rose's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, looking around. She couldn't see Harry, but for the first time all night, Harry looked closely at the fear in her eyes. This was it, he told himself. One simple spell...

"Avada -..."

He hesitated. At the sound of his whisper, Rose froze up, and when he paused in regret she drew in a heavy, terrified breath. She screamed.

She screamed so loudly, Harry heard a mad shift in the house around him. Molly and her two brothers had jumped out of bed; their doors banged open and their pounding footsteps drew near. Light poured into Rose's room. One of the brothers scooped Rose up in his arms, protecting her as she screamed nonsense and pointed to where she had heard Harry's voice. Molly was the first to react with magic.

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

Harry was far too strong to be affected by her spell for longer than a second, but it knocked him off balance nevertheless, causing the Invisibility Cloak to slip. All of Rose's siblings started howling in fright when they saw him. The second Harry's muscles stopped tensing, he was out the door, pushing the second twin aside to flee down the staircase. Mr Prewett was on his way up.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry shouted.

Mr Prewett wand shot out of his hand. He was knocked down several stairs, stumbling until his head hit a wall. There was blood. A lot of blood. His wife screamed and began firing spells wildly, but Harry blocked them in his way out the door. In seconds, he left the house, hearing everyone in it still full of terror and fright, screaming and cowering. Harry disappeared into the shadows of the street, holding his Invisibility Cloak in one hand all the way.

He didn't cast the Dark Mark in the sky. He had failed because of his hesitation. He had let his identity show because of Molly's spell. He felt sick with rage. A 13-year-old Molly Prewett, soon to be Molly Weasley, had disrupted his secrecy. She had protected her sister so well that every Ministry official in England would be searching for Harry by morning, every Death Eater and Knight would realise that he had failed to kill a little girl. Molly Weasley had stalled Harry's next Horcrux, ruining Lord Voldemort's desire to have his one true love completely immortal. She had defied him successfully. He had failed to surpass that.

He closed his eyes. He was back under the Cloak, his heart pounding, his head aching from where it had hit a wall. He had almost murdered an eleven year old girl, but had failed to do so... Would the Prewetts now never join the Order of the Phoenix? The scare might be enough, Harry thought, because they wouldn't forget this night for a long time. Rose might even be so scared by all of this that she'd suffer trauma for longer than he'd expect. Was that enough for a family to spend their lives fighting Voldemort? Was it enough for them to die for? Harry wasn't so sure.

He felt as if he had watched his own crime from a long way away. It felt like a mad dream, like one of the visions into Lord Voldemort's mind he had known in his teenage years. When their connection had been strong, it was as clear as glass. Harry looked down at his hands, which were shaking. They were his hands indeed, not Voldemort's... Not Tom's long, more elegant hands... Harry closed his eyes.

If he had succeeded in killing the girl, Tom would have been too pleased to care about the inconvenience it caused. He would have praised Harry and would have been willing to spend hours upon hours making sure that Rosier, Lestrange, Black, Nott, and others stopped the Ministry from looking too deeply into the crime. Since Harry had failed, Tom had to waste a lot of effort worrying about a problem that gave him nothing in return. He would want an explanation. The Death Eaters and Knights would then discuss Harry's failure; rumours would spring up about it, jokes would be made spitefully...

Harry was tempted, very tempted, to go back and kill the Prewetts. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that they must have contacted the Ministry by now. On top of that, they would be protective of their daughter and Harry was unwilling to kill Molly or the Prewett twins. The parents were good targets... but Harry recalled that look in Rose's eyes. He recalled how well Mrs Prewett fought. He recalled that the Ministry could be here any second...

"Fuck," Harry whispered under his breath.

He wanted to break something, to hurt someone, to send up the Dark Mark just to honour the night. But there was nothing to be proud of. He had failed to murder anyone. Why had he hesitated? This could have changed history – his weakness could have warped his entire reality of the future. Harry was too stressed. He was too overwhelmed by the horrid excitement of the night. Before he knew what he was doing, be pointed his wand to the sky and shouted, "MORSMORDRE!"

A shower of green stars burst into the clouds above him, illuminating the sky in a strange, muffled green hue that had to be visible for miles. The constellation of a looming skull could be seen masked by fog, giving the Dark Mark an even more sinister appearance than normal. It overpowered the horrid orange lighting in the streets around Harry, likely catching the attention of every Muggle nearby. Harry reached for his Invisibility Cloak instinctively.

It was wrong to do this, he felt. It pinned the action to the Death Eaters and caused problems as several Muggles – several hundreds – would see this magic in display clearly above the snowy streets of London. Harry didn't care. He was thrilled by his act of evil, by his recklessness and lack of care. He balled his hands into fists. He had to go home, now, before he made things worse...

He Apparated before the Ministry showed up. He went to a random location first, a populated wizarding place, so the Ministry couldn't track him down. When he arrived back at his house, he headed inside hurriedly, knowing only too well that a few Ministry-involved Knights could arrive at any minute to ask Tom why the Dark Mark was suddenly looming above a quiet street in London. Harry had to tell Tom about his crime first, as unwilling as he was to say what had happened...

He searched the house for Tom silently, never calling his name. He found him in the living room, working as usual. When he entered the room, Tom barely looked up. Harry had been stalking the Prewetts for just under two weeks due to their Christmas vacation, so Tom had likely given up expecting anything important to happen. Harry had lied about his connection to this family, saying they were friends of a now-dead wizard he had known. Tom had left his strange interest as his own business. Harry had been glad about this, before.

"I thought you might be out for longer," Tom commented tranquilly, noticing he was there, "yet I'm glad you're here... This work shan't take longer than twenty minutes. Can you wait for me?"

All Harry could do was stand in the doorway, holding the Cloak in one hand. His lips were dry. He wondered if he should have used a knife, just so Tom could see blood, so he could understand the situation without Harry saying a word. Harry was breathing heavily.

Tom looked up at his silence. He examined Harry's face, unable to read it. He saw his withdrawn wand, his Invisibility Cloak. He saw Harry's nervous stance, the tremor in his hand. After watching his Knights murder so many victims, he understood. He stood up.

"Who?" he asked softly.

Harry tried to find his voice, distracted by the joy in Tom's eyes. "No one..."

"What?"

"I... it didn't..."

Tom moved around the table, making his way across the room. "Who did you try to murder?"

The words fell so delicately on his tongue, Harry was stunned. It was a casual question from Tom, which was unusual, but it was bound to such happiness, such triumph, Harry was unsure he could have heard Tom right.

"A – a child," Harry said. "A girl... A daughter of Prewett..."

"Why her?" Tom asked. His pupils were dilated. He was standing close to Harry, reaching for his face even as he backed away slightly on instinct, in panic, confusion, and delirium.

"I – I don't know," Harry managed lamely. "I... I just wanted to... to kill someone important... But I attacked the father too. He – he was unconscious, I think... I don't know..."

Why was Tom so happy about this? He looked at Harry as if he had done a great thing, as if even attempted murder was a gift to him on many levels. He looked as if he might kiss Harry any moment.

"Tell me what happened..."

Harry never had the chance to. In the next moment, two Knights had entered the room, neither making their presence known previously nor knocking on the door. It was Rosier and Lestrange. Lestrange gave Harry and Tom an odd look when he saw them standing so close, but he did not comment on it. Rosier seemed blind to their closeness, especially as Tom's hand fell from Harry.

"My Lord," Rosier began in a strained voice, "it's urgent that we speak."

"What is the problem?"

"The Ministry is in a panic at the sight of the Dark Mark above the streets of London. It has to have been one of our own people who cast it, of course. A man has been brought to St Mungo's with suspected damage to his head and brain -"

"Already?" Tom asked.

Rosier paused, confused.

"You know the man's been attacked?" Lestrange asked.

"Of course," Tom said softly. "My Knights do not kill and use the Dark Mark without my permission to do so."

Lestrange's eyes flickered to Harry, understanding. "It was him, wasn't it?"

Harry looked away, annoyed and discomforted. He couldn't lie when he was already under such stress. Tom, apparently, felt no need to lie at all.

"Yes, Lestrange. I'm glad to see the Ministry hasn't yet worked it out."

"It won't be long now, I fear."

"How is it that they reacted so quickly at this hour?" Tom asked, ignoring Lestrange's comment.

"The Dark Mark sent the Ministry into an immediate state of fear," Rosier explained. "They see the pattern now: after Bones' death, Mulciber used the Mark. After Terry and Crow, Dolohov used it too."

"What is the problem?" Tom asked his two Knights. "Mulciber is already in Azkaban. He will not be questioned yet about being a part of a group, for the Ministry has no solid evidence to suggest it, beyond the presence of the Dark Mark. What is more, Dolohov was never caught for his murders."

"What if Jonathan gets caught?" Rosier asked.

Tom turned to Harry, appearing almost serious for the first time. "Was there any evidence left behind?"

Harry shook his head. "They saw me, but I don't think that will help them much."

"They'll know it's him," Lestrange said in a drab, bored tone.

Tom fixed his eyes on Lestrange immediately. "Why are you so sure?"

Lestrange paled at the intensity of his stare. "Well, any Ministry could work out the clues after such a..."

"Such a what?" Harry asked.

Lestrange's voice dropped down to a hateful murmur. "After such a clumsy job."

Tom drew up straighter, contempt ruling his cruel gaze. Before he could say a word, however, three more Knights arrived.

"My Lord!" Gonson exclaimed, lost for breath, "The Ministry -"

"I know of the Ministry's panic, Gonson," Tom cut across him. "Tell me what's important."

"There's problems," he panted, sweat dripping over his tiny nose. "They suspects it's – it's linked to Mulciber and – and that it's a part of the Death Eaters -"

"They know of the Death Eaters?"

"No – no they don't, but -"

"The Ministry knows for sure that we're a group," Nott said, taking over Gonson's explanation in impatience. "They're going to start an inquiry about anyone linked to Mulciber, which will cause problems not only for a few Knights, but for a few of the main witches and wizards we've been trading goods with these last few months."

"Connections to Mulciber can be sorted," Tom said.

"It'll be one hell of a fucking job!" Ransom commented irritably.

"Don't fear for your life so desperately, Berkeley," Tom asked of Ransom coldly, an exasperated look on his face. "Mulciber was not linked to you too closely. Others should be twice as concerned as you."

"I'm not scared about my life!" Ransom argued. "I don't care if I die, I just care that I don't get chucked in Azkaban for the rest of my life along with Mulciber – he'd murder me there for the fun of it!"

Tom ignored this, perhaps angered by Ransom's comment on death.

"Also, Jonathan is in danger," Nott told Tom.

Tom was visibly alarmed for the first time. "They know it's him?"

"No, but the Ministry now knows what he looks like," Nott said. "We have no idea how soon it will be until a description of his identity circles every newspaper across Britain. By tomorrow, everyone could be searching for him – even searching their memories to recall if they've seen him before."

"They cannot know it's him directly," Tom reasoned.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Ransom asked.

Tom glared at him, enraged, but this didn't silence him.

"How the fuck could anyone mistake those green eyes?"

The Knights all glanced at Harry, momentarily annoying him. He looked away.

"We can change the way Jonathan looks," Tom said.

"We can't change people's memories," Lestrange reasoned. "Anyone who's seen him in the past will come here asking questions about where he is now. Jonathan will have to go away for a while."

Harry could sense that Lestrange enjoyed this idea very much. It annoyed him so deeply, he spoke before he could stop himself. "As much as you want to get rid of me, Raphael, there's nowhere I can go."

"A cell in Azkaban is your next step from here," Ransom spat.

Harry glared at him. "Be careful I don't send you there myself."

"What are you going to do, cause me a concussion?"

Anger seared through Harry like fire, burning at the back of his brain. He wanted to attack Ransom for his obnoxiousness, to relieve all the stress, fury, and hatred that was building up inside him. He wanted to prove himself...

"Don't, Berkeley," Gonson warned him, seeing the look in Harry's eyes.

"Who's gunna stop me, eh?" Ransom asked. "The whole fucking Ministry's going mad about this, but not because he actually killed anyone! Do you know how many people I've killed? He murders one of Grindelwald's lot and gets credit when nothing else happens. Then he can't even defeat a kid! A defenceless kid! How did that feel, then? How do you like causing all this trouble when any of us would have -"

His words were cut short when Harry's anger became too much. "CRUCIO!"

He flew towards Ransom, who was screaming in agony, twisting wildly like a snake on the ground. The four Knights stared in horror, backing up as Ransom's limbs jolted around wildly, his screams piercing the air.

"Jonath-!"

Harry let the spell go on and on, his veins aching with the thrill of torture. Ransom had killed countless witches and wizards, innocent or not. Tonight he was facing the first real consequence of those crimes, as well as a consequence for angering Harry about a problem he could not explain. The Cruciatus Curse ended. Harry couldn't hurt him forever; he had had enough now. He turned away, blind with rage, and tried to overcome his emotions.

"Point proven," Ransom jeered through gasps of breath. "Couldn't even kill me!"

Harry stopped walking. Ransom was laughing behind him, mocking him. All of Harry's problems, all of this anger and pain, could be solved with one spell... There wouldn't be that terrified, sad look to stop him now. Ransom felt no horror at the idea of death, because he knew more than anyone that he deserved it. Harry turned around, taking out his wand.

"More torture?" Ransom asked. "As if I haven't faced that bef-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

There was a flash of blinding green light, a thud, and silence.

It was as easy as that. Ransom even died with a smile on his face...

Four Knights stared. Harry twisted his neck, closing his eyes. His wrists burned with the desire to do more, to hurt Ransom further. But he couldn't. It was too easy. His heart was calm, his breath was evening out now that Ransom's words were silenced.

"He didn't care for death anyway," Harry said, pointing at the corpse. His voice was shaking in anger and humour. "He – he just said it, didn't he? 'I don't care if I die, I just care that I don't get chucked in Azkaban along with Mulciber'. So I saved him the pain! I saved him!"

He was laughing now, at the truth of his own claims as well as at the silence that fell from the Knights. It all felt so unreal. It felt too good.

He's insane, Harry saw Gonson think. He's as insane as Voldemort...

A hand grabbed the hood of Harry's cloak. Tom's hand. Harry's smile fell away.

"Come with me," Tom ordered, pulling him along. "A word, please..."

Tom was angry, Harry feared. He was rushed from the room by him without an interruption from anyone. Harry's heart sank for the first time, beating quickly in cowardice and fear. They reached the entrance of the dining room, a dark corner of the house. Tom threw him forwards roughly, closing the door behind them.

"Tom, I'm sorry," Harry panted, watching him approach. "I don't know what I was doing, I didn't -"

The next thing Harry knew, Tom was kissing him. He pushed Harry against the wall, their lips meeting for several stunned seconds, before Tom moved away. He kissed Harry's neck, breathing heavily, laughing. He pushed against him further, his hands on Harry's waist.

"Let me reward you," he hissed roughly, smiling into his words, into his kisses, "for you have given me the greatest reward of all; eternal love... All of my waiting, all of my fears... they have been greeted with the greatest, truest reward..."

Harry was too weakened by surprise to respond at first. Tom kissed every inch of his skin, his hands moving across Harry's body. His breathing filled Harry's ears, his look of excitement and sheer happiness filling his eyes.

"Aren't – aren't you angry?" Harry asked when he could catch his breath.

Tom stopped kissing him, moving away. He pushed back Harry's hair, grinning. "Should I be?"

"I – I dunno. Ransom was a good Knight, wasn't he? He was important to you..."

"Your immortality is well worth the life of any of my Knights," Tom told him softly. "If I had known you'd kill one of them..."

Tom kissed him once more, treating him so delicately, so feverishly, it was too much to take. He pulled away after a minute.

"We must return to the Knight," he said, perhaps realising only now that they'd be missed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed vaguely, grinning. "We, er, better sort all this out first."

Tom smiled, squeezing Harry's hand lightly before turning away.

When they returned to the Knights, it was to find that a fifth wizard, Black, had joined the group. He was causing a lot of worry amongst the others with the news he bore. Harry and Tom stood in front of the group, intrigued by their concern even before Black stepped forwards, addressing Tom.

"Brian Prewett dead," he said clearly. "St Mungo's couldn't fix the damage inflicted on his brain from the fall he took. It's the only injury from that that could have killed him."

For the first time, Harry felt a shock of cold fear. He had killed Molly Weasley's father...

Tom, on the other hand, looked at Harry with dilated pupils once more. For a moment, he seemed to forget entirely about the five living Knights. A mad, joyous smile took over his face.

"Jonathan will have to go into hiding," Nott commented, "it's too risky for him to be here now. A break-in is one thing, but with murder added to the mix... there won't be a witch or wizard in England who isn't looking for him by morning."

Tom turned to him, back on focus. "I said before a disguise would be satisfactory."

"Not if you want to really keep him safe... We've traded with a lot of wizards, and more than a few enemies have seen Jonathan. It isn't worth the risk."

Tom was thinking deeply, his expression serious.

"Might I suggest he work up in Scotland, amongst the Dragons?" said Lestrange. "Or in Albania, amongst Giants?"

Harry glowered at him again.

"No," Tom said softly, "our Dragons relate too closely to our trades. What is more, there is no need for more Knights to communicate with our Giants... No, I believe Jonathan would be best off working alongside one of our less known groups..."

"Which, my Lord?" Nott asked, before he could help himself.

Tom was not in good spirits; this was clear when he turned a cruel gaze on Nott. "Do you honestly believe it is safe for me to divulge such information to you, Nott?"

Somehow, Nott didn't pale, nor become particularly nervous. "No, my Lord," he answered. "Of course not..."

"Then you would be best off keeping your curiosity silenced. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I will take it upon myself to find a solution to mask Jonathan's identity... If there is any more news from the Ministry on the matter, I ask each of you to bring me the information individually. There will be no need to discuss it amongst yourselves. Is this clear?"

The Knights standing before Tom all nodded and agreed to his words seriously.

"Now leave," Tom ordered, "until further information arises from the Ministry or St Mungo's."

"What about him, my Lord?" Rosier asked, gesturing towards Ransom's corpse.

For the slightest moment Tom smiled, as if he had almost forgotten about this fresh death.

"Leave him, for now. We shall carry out the usual routine to dispose of the corpse..."

Doing as they were told, the Knights began turning away from Tom. Lestrange was satisfied by the night's events. He seemed convinced that Harry was going to end up leaving England to join a rougher part of Tom's work for his own safety, leaving Tom to focus more on his 'truly important Knights', as Lestrange thought. Nott, on the other hand, had a blank expression, but the way he turned away from Harry and Tom suggested a reluctance, a sorrow.

Tom withdrew his wand the minute the Knights were gone. He locked the front door, turning to Harry with a grin.

"This is brilliant," he said in a hushed voice, "Prewett dead too, a second murder... You have done better tonight that I could ever think, ever dream..."

Harry wasn't sure if he agreed. He watched Tom blankly.

"The things we can do with this, the things we can accomplish!" Tom exclaimed. "We must choose what items you desire to use as your Horcruxes!"

Harry didn't like the idea of creating two more Horcruxes. He tried to think of a way around it. "I can't think of a second item, beyond the watch."

"We'll find something," Tom told him. "This is a positive problem compared to all that we have waited for, all that you have accomplished on this night alone! Come, let us go upstairs to examine our treasures..."

Harry followed him wordlessly out of the room. He felt empty, as if Mr Prewett's death had broken him in the last few minutes alone. His soul felt broken, but not because of remorse. He felt disconnected to his own self. He wondered, as Tom beckoned him into their bedroom, if his soul had split for a third time tonight from his attempt to murder Rose Prewett. Or for his crime against the wife, two daughters, and two sons of Brian Prewett...

"Here it is," Tom said, summoning the pocketwatch from it's case. "What will soon hold your next shred of soul..."

Harry examined the floating watch, feelingly oddly connected to it now he knew his soul was going to be encased within it. He had always been oddly connected to it... He wondered sometimes if that's how Tom had spotted it and why he had decided to bring it home. They were sometimes drawn to curious things like this simultaneously.

"When should we make it a Horcrux?" Harry asked blankly.

"As soon as possible. Later in the month, perhaps."

Harry took hold of the watch, letting the thin chain slither between his fingers. Soon, this watch would be cold – colder than any normal artefact should be in a warm room like this one.

"Thank you," Tom whispered.

Harry looked up at him, drawn to his curious behaviour. When their eyes met, Tom took a step towards him. He covered Harry's hand with his own, entwining their fingers around the golden chain.

"For what?" Harry asked him quietly.

Tom seemed to think the answer was obvious; he was overjoyed. "For defying death in love for me."

He kissed Harry once softly, holding him close. In truth, Harry was too distracted by other thoughts to appreciate the delicacy of this action.

"Where are you sending me too?" he asked Tom. "If not Scotland or Albania..."

"I want you to stay in England," Tom said.

"You know I can't stay here with you. Not even with a new identity, people will expect it. They've seen how I act, where I am in our group, how I'm treated by the others."

"I know," Tom said, stroking his jaw. "You will have to go to a different part of England. The best choice we have at the moment is to send you away to give orders to our latest beasts."

"The Werewolves?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Yes. You shan't be fighting with them, of course, I merely need you to deliver messages to them."

It was dangerous work, Harry knew, but only one thing bothered him. "I won't see you as often."

Tom stroked back his hair, smiling. "I'll come see you. You can come see me too – it isn't dangerous so long as no visitors of mine see you..."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure he liked this idea, but it wouldn't be for longer than six months or so. Tom kissed him again, and again.

"I want to keep you here," he whispered.

Harry tried to think what to respond to this, but his mind was blank. Tom was holding him close, his hand at the back of Harry's waist. He was kissing his neck again, sending him into a state of slow disorientation. Harry was haunted, for the first time tonight, by his murders. He was haunted too by Tom's...

For the first time in perhaps years, he thought about Macnair. Harry didn't understand why Tom had murdered him. Macnair was a boy who had done nothing more than defend Harry, alone, against Emeric and his companion. It did not sadden Harry to think about Macnair's innocence, but it confused him nonetheless. Especially after the fate he had met before his death. When he had been snatched away in that dark forest, forced into an act so sickening, so dark, Harry wondered sometimes if he had mistaken it all. Perhaps, he thought, Macnair was indeed better off dead...

Harry tried not to think about it. Tom was enthralled by Harry's murders, he was too overwhelmed by love, excitement, and happiness to even begin explaining it. Knowing he would have to go away soon, Harry pushed the thoughts aside. He enjoyed that night with Tom, because it was extremely easy to avoid all thoughts of the two men he had killed. It was easy to focus on the love he felt for Tom, the happiness he felt at the knowledge that they were safe to be together forever...

By the next day, Harry had to move out. A few hours after Brian Prewett's death, newspapers were printing out descriptions of Harry's appearance for all of England to know. He had to change his face – even his height – to avoid curious looks from people when he passed them by. He had a new apartment in central London, in a crowded non-Muggle area where he could slip into a crowd of people and be recognised by no one. He had a fake name and his only job was to pass on information to the Werewolves, setting up attacks that needed doing.

"This has been a right good job," Fenrir said to Harry one night, bearing bloodstained teeth in a grin. He stunk of human flesh and alcohol and seemed happy with the work he had done. It was six O'clock in the morning and this shadowed corner of a small town was occupied by no one but themselves.

"Your task went smoothly, I take it?" Harry asked, turning to the leader of this group.

"Yeah, it went perfectly," McDarline answered.

"Best job we've done all month, I'd say!" a nameless Werewolf added.

"You didn't attack anyone innocent, did you?"

McDarline looked taken aback by Harry's question.

"Anyone innocent?" he repeated. "'Course not..."

He was lying, clearly. The two Werewolves behind him began to laugh sickeningly. McDarline dedicated to explain himself.

"I'll tell you one thing, no one you're ever gunna meet is innocent. Not if you really look into what they've done in life, or what they'll do."

Harry looked at him blankly, saying nothing.

"Not that you'd know much about innocence, 'darling," Fenrir laughed.

"Just don't piss off our Lord," Harry said in a low voice. There was no point arguing with these three men.

"Nah, he knows what we're like," McDarline said, laughing. "He knows what we do, and he's never punished us so far."

"Not to mention," Fenrir Greyback added, "it gives the Ministry a good scare, doesn't it?"

A few hours later, Harry found out that two children had died at the hands of these three Werewolves. They 'got carried away', they later told him, snickering and laughing at the idea. Tom was not particularly bothered by the event; he had wanted the mother of these children dead very badly and he didn't mind who else went with her. As Harry passed on new assignments to the Werewolves, they got progressively more brutal and unsubtle about their attacks. Soon, more deaths and more 'accidents' occurred to various victims, mainly Muggles, and the Ministry was furious about it all.

Although Harry never mentioned it to the Werewolves directly, he understood they were putting a very bad name on themselves, giving the British Ministry of Magic all the fuel they'd need to turn Witches and Wizards against them. All of their victims, all of the living men and women who were affected by to their attacks, would have no choice but to live in secrecy or join a Werewolf clan as they reached adulthood. It was a horrid cycle that kept the Werewolves' numbers growing no matter what. It was a system that Tom understood well. He used it to his advantage, protecting his clan of Werewolves as readily as he protected his own Knights.

Harry hated the work he had to do. It was a simple job; he met up with the Werewolves a few times a month and pointed them in the direction of which enemy of Tom's they'd have to attack next. Sometimes Harry talked to one Werewolf individually, giving him the plans Tom set out, and sometimes he met with a group a day or two before a full moon to explain a sudden change in who they'd attack. No matter what, he had to meet the Werewolves after their attacks, after their transformations back into human form. Bloodstained and thrilled by their work, they'd tell Harry how the night went so he could inform Tom by morning.

Harry had a lot of time to waste, beyond this work. There were hours in a day when he was left alone, with absolutely nothing to do. He didn't like being alone so often. He was haunted by the deaths the Werewolves caused, even if he didn't feel responsible for any of it. Every morning after a full moon he'd read a list of new death in the Daily Prophet. Occasionally, the Werewolves spent a month doing nothing more than scaring people, but this was less often than Harry would prefer. No Knights of Walpurgis caused this many deaths – not even the Death Eaters. It was difficult to accept, for a long while.

Harry visited Nott often to battle his loneliness, talking to him for longer than usual because he knew he could. Tom never found out about this, but more than a few times Harry returned to his horrid flat after an evening at Nott's house to find Tom waiting there. There was no real explanation for his presence, nor for the vague paranoia he showed. Tom was not suspicious. He asked Harry idly where he had been, and Harry gave a false explanation convincingly. After this, the subject would be dropped.

It was two months after moving into his new flat when Harry made his next Horcrux with Tom. He regretted doing it here the moment he did; it left a strange change in the atmosphere. He wondered sometimes if splitting a soul cursed a location because of the inhumanity of the action. He felt as if he could hear echoes of his own voice screaming in agony sometimes. More than a few times, flashes of that night appeared to him during the day. The creation of the Pocketwatch Horcrux had been difficult for him, likely because he wasn't happy about the death of Brian Prewett.

"T-Tom – T... T-Tom..." he remembered saying over and over again, never really present at all in his delirious state.

Tom's cold hands had tried to soothe his burning skin. Harry had been shaking badly, sweating all over and vomiting every few minutes. For hours, he never felt as if he was really there. He lost consciousness numerous times, experiencing strange changes in consciousness too. Tom had stuck with him that entire night, waiting for the affects of the new Horcrux to lessen. He was overjoyed about everything happening; he assured Harry again and again that things would be alright. He wasn't wrong, either.

When the Horcrux was completed and the after-affects died down, Harry felt no different than before. He was already dead inside, he felt, living life in a monotonic blur. He mostly searched for thrill, for all that was exciting. Working with the Werewolves fulfilled some of this desire, but he sometimes sat for hours alone instead, staring at the Pocketwatch and Sword. One reminded him of the passing of time, the other of how he had changed...

One evening, Harry felt it was too much. He picked up his travelling cloak mechanically, preparing to leave the building. He wanted to see Tom, but by the time he arrived on the street, closing a door behind him, he remembered there was an important meeting with the Death Eaters being held tonight. A few captured enemies were involved. Harry couldn't go there, but he knew, somehow, this hadn't been his real intention.

He had been alone for three days and he needed someone to talk to. If he couldn't go see Tom, he wanted to see Nott instead. Without thinking twice about it, he Apparated to Nott's home. The familiar house stood proudly against the setting sun, it's shadow cast towards Harry. Lights were on inside, as were a few fires; the chimneys expelled smoke vaguely. Harry headed towards the front door and knocked. He got an answer after a few minutes.

Nott was alone, to no surprise. His house was as warm and welcoming as ever – and bright, compared to Harry's apartment. Nott led Harry upstairs, to a sitting room opposite the setting sun. Harry could see mountains and forests illuminated in deep shades of red and yellow. Nott was pouring him a drink.

"Are you alright?" he asked when they faced each other again.

"I'm fine," Harry responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Nott watched him closely for a minute, lowering his glass of wine. "I saw the last Werewolf attack written in the Daily Prophet a few days ago. You didn't get hurt, did you? It sounded horrible."

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't get hurt. I wasn't there, I met up with them all about an hour after it happened. It's the normal procedure."

"How did they get away with killing those four wizards? The Ministry arrived there before the full moon fell."

"A few Knights helped out," Harry explained shortly. He couldn't say much more than this. "Tom was prepared for what happened."

"More prepared than usual," Nott observed. "So it was all planned?"

Harry nodded, looking away. He took a sip from his goblet, trying to appear calm.

"I'd hate to be those Knights," Nott said. "Dealing with Werewolves would be difficult..."

"They did well, considering," Harry said.

Nott nodded, taking another sip of his drink. Although he couldn't ask which Knights were involved, Harry knew he had suspicions.

"I'm surprised Tom doesn't involve you in more assignments like that one," Harry said. "You're a good fighter. You'd know how to look after the Werewolves."

"I'm not a killer."

"You don't have to be. Tom hates it when the Death Eaters kill more people than he ordered."

"I'm not a Death Eater either," Nott reminded him. "My Lord doesn't want me to be a part in anything really important. I don't think he trusts me."

Harry didn't doubt that, but he said nothing about it. There was something odd in Nott's tone, something off. It made Harry wonder for the first time if Nott was glad he avoided joining the Death Eaters in the past.

"He senses I'm weak," Nott murmured.

Harry watched him closely after this, confused. Nott was one of the best Knights Tom had for fighting. He was amongst the wisest and the most skilled, rivalled only by Lestrange. Unlike Rosier or Gonson, who were smarter than him, Nott had an unmatched ability to stay level-headed in battle. He was one of the only sane Knights of Walpurgis, which was an advantage for him. He was no less determined than any Knight, no less prepared. The only 'weakness' he had was a pure heart.

Tom might think this was a horrid weakness, but Harry didn't agree. He struggled for a moment to put this feeling into words. Nott's heart was the reason Harry got along with him so well. In the dark mass of corruption and dishonesty amongst the Knights of Walpurgis, Nott was the only sane wizard that remained. He was the only light in Harry's life, sometimes. The only hope...

"I can't see how Tom senses you're weak," Harry said in a low voice, watching Nott in this dark, shadowy room, "because I sense you're strong."

Nott seemed worried about this for a moment. They were close together, standing by a large window that let in the light of the dying day. Nott had opened his mouth to say something, but he paused. A familiar look, one of sorrow, reached his eyes as he averted his gaze to the distant trees.

"He'd think you're weak too, if he found out your heart isn't in all of this..."

There was something blank in Nott's blue eyes, something despairing. It was as if he had accepted that things would go wrong one day.

"I know," Harry told him.

"He'll kill you," Nott mused, in nothing over a whisper.

The weight of this claim stunned Harry momentarily. He thought it over. He realised it was probably the truth...

"Whether it's before or after killing me, I can't be sure," Nott added.

His face was blank, as if none of this affected him, but Harry could sense he was scared. He didn't want his mind to be read in that moment. A familiar feeling gripped Harry, a desire to protect the Knight standing before him as his one true friend. He reached out an arm, taking Nott's frail hand within his own. Nott's eyes snapped to his at their touch.

"I'm not going to let that happen," Harry told him clearly, seriously.

Nott's eyes had widened. His pulse was quickening. Did he not trust Harry's word? In the light of the setting sun his face was softly shadowed, but something had happened to make him terrified for the first time. Harry struggled to work it out, trying and failing to read his mind. Then, with a start, he realised Nott's hand was trembling. It shook so badly that Harry released it in shock. Nott immediately pulled his fingers free, moving away.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Nott was stressed. He couldn't deal with the fear that ruled him in that moment. Harry felt as if he knew why he was so scared – he was shaken by their previous closeness. He couldn't overcome the terror that haunted him.

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry told him.

"That's besides the point!" Nott said shakily. He seemed almost angry. "If our Lord saw that, you know what he'd do. He'd see the worst possible explanation first. He'd be furious..."

"I love him," Harry said plainly, "he knows that."

"That won't make him less furious about what he fears – what he believes! We're already running a huge risk talking together like this, if he saw that..."

"You're a good Occlumens – a great one," Harry reasoned.

Nott didn't want to hear it. He wouldn't even look at Harry. He couldn't shop his hands from shaking at the idea of angering Tom.

"I don't think of you like that," Harry said.

"It's besides the point," Nott said again, his eyes closed tightly as he pulled himself together. He breathed in and out heavily. "It just can't happen..."

Harry knew he was right. Tom would take any sign of affection between them the complete wrong way. That was a step too far. Harry felt guilty for scaring Nott so badly, he clearly couldn't get his emotions together even now.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

Nott looked at him for the first time, seeming more stressed than ever.

"It's fine," he said in a low voice. "It just can't happen..."

After this, he seemed a bit more calm. Harry wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He wasn't particularly bothered by what he had done, but the fact that Nott feared his touch so much unnerved him a bit. Like any Knight, Nott was terrified of Tom. Most of England feared him, Harry supposed, but he had never believed for one moment that comforting Nott would be enough to terrify him so much. It made Harry think deeply about how much power Tom had...

"Do you want to sit down?" Nott asked him, seeming keen to move on. "I wanted to ask if you heard anything from Dumbledore. He must have contacted you about the recent murders. He's smart, he knows you must be connected to them."

"Actually, he hasn't said a word," Harry admitted. He began following Nott further into the room, taking a seat in a comfortable red armchair. "Either he thinks I've lost it or he hasn't added it all up yet."

He began talking to Nott about his thoughts concerning Dumbledore. They discussed how Dumbledore might react to the possibility of Tom's Knights gaining even more power over the next few years. Harry was glad that Nott calmed down. They understood each other now, and Harry tried to be more careful from this point on. Throughout the evening, only one thought bothered him.

Nott wasn't as safe as Harry wanted him to be. He wasn't safe at all. If Harry were to lose his head, to sink fully into the Dark Arts without realising what he had done, Nott would be in grave danger. Tom would find out they'd been conspiring against him, against the Knights, and Harry wouldn't be able to help him. Dumbledore couldn't help Nott either, because he wasn't aware which Knight had become Harry's personal spy. If Harry wanted to protect Nott, if he wanted to make sure that he was safe no matter how insane Harry became, he had to make a plan...

He decided he he'd arrange a meeting with Dumbledore. He had to protect them both not only from Tom, but from Harry himself, lest things should go wrong. The thought occupied Harry's mind all through his talk with Nott and all the way from Nott's house back to London. Harry was so absorbed in his planning and his worrying that he was startled to find Tom waiting at his apartment.

"Tom," Harry said breathlessly, taking his hand away from his wand. He had reached for it on instinct after seeing an unexpected person in his house. He really thought he should have expected this.

For a moment, Tom said nothing. Harry looked at him, noticing for the first time that he was on edge. He was irritated about something. Very irritated. In that moment, horror struck Harry as he realised there was an accusing, infuriated look in his eyes. He knew...

"Where were you?" he asked softly.

Harry was rooted to the spot, lost for any idea on what he could do. If he said he was visiting Nott, Tom would get suspicious. But if he lied about it, and if Tom knew, Tom would take it as a confirmation that something terrible had happened. Harry needed to react quickly. He went for the best answer first.

"I went out for a walk," he said. "I've been stressed about the last Werewolf attack... Rosier's not still struggling to keep the Ministry confused, is he?"

A moment of relief passed over Tom's face. It was as if he took Harry's words as a confirmation for something he felt he should have known before.

"Rosier is managing well," Tom told him. "Avery won't get caught for his involvement in this month's attacks. The Ministry is already beginning to suspect other targets, thanks to Lestrange's involvement in confusing the Aurors."

"Everything's alright, though?" Harry asked, thinking quickly. "You seem worried."

"Things are fine," Tom assured him.

"Why are you here so early?" Harry asked, moving further into the room. He was calm now. There was no danger.

"I wanted to see how things are with you," Tom said. His voice was quiet. "I... had a bad thought."

His hesitation caught Harry's attention. Tom didn't normally hesitate. "About what?"

Tom did not answer immediately. He shook his head, as if he thought it was nonsense.

"It is irrelevant," he said shortly.

Harry didn't push the subject. An odd notion gripped him. He felt as if Tom definitely knew, somehow, that he had mistakenly gotten close to Nott tonight.

What confused Harry most about this was that Tom was not furiously angry. He was only stressed by his thoughts, which meant he didn't know for sure that something had happened. He merely suspected it. He was keen to believe Harry when he said he had just gone out walking, which meant he was doubting his own thoughts. The only explanation for this seemed to be that Tom had experienced something he had never experienced before, and Harry thought he knew what that was.

Tom had caught a vision, a flash into Harry's mind tonight. He undoubtedly saw Harry holding someone else's hand, comforting them. The vision was stressful enough for Tom to begin searching for him, but hadn't gone to Nott's house... Harry assumed two things from this: Tom knew neither where Harry had been nor who he had been with. All he knew was that Harry was getting close to someone else. Although Harry meant nothing by his gesture of holding Nott's hand, Tom knew it had happened. He was in denial, now, but he knew...

For the first time, Harry understood why Nott was so terrified. Nott, apparently, was more aware of Tom's outstanding abilities than Harry was, even if Harry understood that all of this was the result of the connection he and Tom shared. Nott didn't know about their connection, of course, but he knew Tom was powerful. Tom was intelligent enough to realise that a vision that clear wasn't something he could safely ignore...

Harry was worried about what Tom might do if he ever found out how close he and Nott were. He decided, with no hesitation, that he needed to see Dumbledore.