August 1, 1998
The phone box's door folded back on itself and Tom stepped onto the polished wooden floor of the Atrium. Being a Sunday the Atrium was sparse with Ministry workers, but the floos still whooshed into life every so often. His colossal monument to magic was gone, the Fountain of Magical Brethren once again in its place. The steady splash of water was louder than usual in the quiet chamber. He had expected as much, but the sight still caused his lips to tighten.
Tom smoothed the front of his suit, a simple black two piece, and reminded himself of why he was here. He had far more important matters than silly statues. The click of his shoes sounded through the spacious welcoming hall as he made his way to the visitor's desk.
The wizard on staff gave him a rather grumpy scowl when Tom stepped before him. He put down his magazine, Which Broomstick, and grunted, "Wand."
Tom pulled from his pocket his wand and with a smile, bypassed the wizard's waiting hand, placing it directly on the scale set on the desk. "I am here to speak with the Minister."
He clasped his hands behind his back and began to count.
One, two…
The scale vibrated. A slip of paper slithered from a slot at the bottom.
…three, four…
The sour-faced wizard tore it off and read the wand's details.
Five.
Blood drained from the wizard's face so fast Tom was impressed he remained on his feet. His horrified eyes latched onto Tom, taking him in fully for the first time. He staggered to the right and slammed his palm down on a purple button that was half hidden by Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers.
At once, a blaring, ear-splitting, screeching wail sounded through the Atrium. Fumbling with his robes, the wizard pointed his wand at Tom, shaking from head to foot.
"Stay right where you are!"
The smile never left Tom's lips. As the Aurors on duty rushed into the Atrium, circling the desk, Tom raised his arms, placing his hands behind his head.
"Your minister," he repeated calmly. "I've come a long way."
xXx
"Harry, dear. I'm sorry, but you have a floo-call."
Harry grunted into his pillow. Blearily, he peered at Mrs. Weasley.
"What?"
"It's Kingsley," said Mrs. Weasley apologetically. "He's very insistent."
God, what time was it? Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes. He'd stayed up too late. That was the last time he ever tried going head to head with the Weasleys when it came to Firewhisky.
"I'll be right down," he mumbled and Mrs. Weasley departed.
He sat up. He'd been gifted Bill's old room for the night. Its original owner had been absent long enough that whatever decor Bill had given it in his youth had long ago been exchanged for something more along the lines of 'guest'. A vase of sunflowers stood on the windowsill and the bedspread was a cheerful buttercup yellow — nothing Harry imagined the teenage Bill would have put up with. After a swift search of the floor, Harry pulled on his sweater, zipped up his jeans, worked his feet into his trainers and staggered down the stairs, still half asleep. It appeared that only he and Mrs. Weasley were up. Not even Mr. Weasley had yet risen.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley stood anxiously to one side of the fireplace. Kingsley Shacklebolt's bald head was in the crackling flames. At the sight of the grim expression on his face, Harry's mind woke with a jolt. Kingsley had only looked so severe during the war.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked at once.
"I need you in cell three," said Kingsley. "It's him." Without a goodbye, he vanished.
Harry felt that a bucket of ice water had been plunged over his head. There was only one him. Mrs. Weasley stepped forward.
"What is it, Harry? What's happening?"
Three months since the war and still she was on edge. Could Harry blame her? She had not come out of it unscathed. It didn't help that Rita Skeeter enjoyed nothing more than to remind the wizarding public three times a week that You-Know-Who was still at large.
"I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll come back for my stuff later. Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing, but I've—"
"Got to go, I understand," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'll tell the others."
Grateful, Harry took a pinch of floo powder, flung it into the fire, and in a burst of green flames, shot to the Ministry. The moment he stumbled out of the fireplace he was surrounded by his colleagues. The Atrium was in lock-down. The siren blared so loudly, Harry screwed up his eyes. He was amazed he'd made it through the floo in time before they'd been sealed.
"Harry!" Eddie Parker cried.
"Will someone turn that blasted thing off?" Tilly Shipling roared.
"The Minister contacted me," Harry shouted over the alarm. "He wants me in cell—"
"Three!" Eddie bellowed back. "Yeah. Come on."
Harry followed Eddie through the Atrium. The few Ministry employees and visitors present were clustered in tight knit pockets, nervously waiting for the okay that all was safe. As the grills clanged shut and the elevator descended, the alarm diminished somewhat.
"It's him?" Harry asked swiftly. "Voldemort?"
A shudder ran through Eddie at the name. He shook his head, his ginger curls bouncing. "Nah. Some other bloke. But he had his wand, all right. Why, I have no idea. The guy could be under the Imperius Curse. Could be a Death Eater. Merlin knows what's going on."
"What do you mean, his wand?" Harry asked sharply.
"His wand was weighed. He weighed it himself."
Harry blinked, nonplussed. "He … what?"
"Yeah." Eddie looked just as dumbfounded. "That's what doesn't make any since. Why stop at the weighing station? According to Eric, the bloke marched right up to him and put it smack down on the scale, merry as you like. Didn't act at all that he had You-Know-Who's wand."
"What did he do?" Harry asked, his mouth very dry. "The bloke?"
"Surrendered," said Eddie. "I was one of the first to the Atrium — you know I've been trying to finish that damn report. I heard the alarm and got down as quick as I could. He just stood there, asking to see the Minister. D'you think … d'you think this bloke might have" — Eddie lowered his voice even though they were the only two in the lift — "killed You-Know-Who?"
Harry didn't reply, but he felt thoroughly ill. The elevator jerked to a stop and Harry didn't wait for the grills to slide fully open; he squeezed through them, Eddie right behind him. The Interrogation Cells were on the same level as the Courtrooms, but in the opposite direction. Their footsteps rang loud and sharp in the stone corridor.
"Potter. About time." Head Auror Gawain Robards marched toward them from the end of the corridor. The man had a face like a bullmastiff, along with the short temperament of one whose tail had been caught in a door jamb once too often. "That will be all Parker."
Eddie nodded and returned back to the elevator, but not before Harry saw the look of disappointment on his face.
"This way," said Robards.
"You're sure it's him?" Harry asked, quickening his pace to walk alongside the man.
Robards' eyes cut to him. "You tell me."
They turned a corner and were barred by Alice Vablatsky and Gifford Ketteridge, two of the highest Aurors in the department. Behind them, next to a glass window set in the wall, stood Kingsley.
"Sorry Harry," Gifford apologized.
Harry didn't mind. He knew the procedure. He stood still as Gifford ran a Secrecy Sensor down his front and back.
"He's clean."
Alice and Gifford stepped aside, taking their posts at the end of the corridor. Harry hurried to the window. He stared, transfixed, through the glass. On the other side sat a man who had plagued him, day and night, for three months.
Tom.
"Well?" Robards demanded on his other side.
Mouth too dry to speak, Harry nodded. He looked just the same. Haughty, straight-backed, and beautiful.
He didn't understand it. Why was Tom here? Why appear now after months of hiding? And to walk straight into the Ministry?
"He wants something," said Harry. "He wouldn't risk coming here if he didn't think he'd get something."
"You, apparently," said Robards.
"What?" said Harry.
"He won't speak to anyone unless it's you," Kingsley explained.
Harry stepped closer to the glass. Tom couldn't see him as it was charmed to be tinted within the cell, but Harry had the feeling that Tom knew he was there. He stared straight at him, never blinking, never shifting.
"Then let's see what he has to say," said Harry.
He didn't miss the look Kingsley and Robards shared.
"I can handle this," Harry told them.
It was a testament to their respect that they did not argue, but the tension between them did not lessen. Instead it prickled like a porcupine's quills. Harry turned the doorknob and entered the cell. Three months of separation. Three months without a word, without a glance, and the moment Tom's eyes traveled over him — head to foot — Harry felt that three months had been three minutes.
"Harry," said Tom, smiling in greeting. "You look well."
Amazing how his voice sounded exactly true to Harry's memory. He supposed it shouldn't surprise him. Not really. Not when that voice played in his head every night.
Harry drew out the chair across from him and sat. "Peace does that to people."
Amusement shined in Tom's eyes.
"What are you doing here, Tom?" Harry asked, crossing his arms and keeping his guard up.
Tom flicked a bit of dust off the tabletop. His wrists were bound in handcuffs.
"Archibald Blane. The Tebo Cult. Malodora Somnolens."
Harry knew those names. Though he had only been on the force since mid-May, he was very well acquainted with the Aurors' most wanted list.
"What do they have to do with anything?"
"I know where they are," said Tom. "I have come to give testimony. In exchange for my information, I will be granted clemency."
The door banged open. Robards charged into the cell, Kingsley right behind him.
"What the hell are you playing?" Robards shouted.
Tom barely spared him a glance, still speaking directly to Harry. "You will provide a written statement clearing me of all charges."
"Like hell!"
"Auror Robards."
Robards, his hands clutched into fists, took a step away from the table as Kingsley stepped forward.
"I will not pardon you, Tom Riddle." His eyes were hard, but his voice was calm.
Tom's gaze finally left Harry, shifting up to Kingsley.
"Mrunog Gudar will be most disappointed to hear that. He was just recently abducted by the Tebo for his audacious public speeches regarding wand rights for goblins. And then there are the six missing witch cases that you've never been able to stick on Kenneth Meadow. He's so very good at hiding the bodies, isn't he?"
"And you know where they are, do you?" Robards snarled.
"Yes," said Tom, pleasantly. "I do."
"He probably did them in on your orders!" Robards seethed.
Tom chuckled. "Meadows is not one of mine."
"Then how do you know where the bodies are?" Harry asked. "If they aren't your Death Eaters — Meadows, the Tebo — how do you have information on them?"
"Because information is power. Secrets are currency. I've always made it my priority to know the little things people don't want to share. So do you want to play with me, Minister, or is another goblin's head not worth your notice?"
Kingsley was silent. Robards was so furious he was redder than a radish.
"I can give you one of the most zealous anti-creature groups right now," said Tom softly. "I hold the keys to every hideout of twenty of the most sought after witches and wizards of the last decade. I know their alliances. I know their weak spots. All I ask in return is my name cleared and a spot on your force."
Even Robards was stunned speechless, but not for long.
"You?" he sputtered. "An Auror?"
"Give me my documents," said Tom. "Agree to my demands, and you will be praised as the greatest force against the Dark Arts the wizarding world has ever seen."
"Or how about I throw your ass in Azkaban?" Robards hissed.
Tom looked upon him with amusement. "You won't."
"Oh?" said Robards, bristling. "Why won't I?"
"Because along with the very public discovery of Mrunog's mutilated body, the Daily Prophet will receive a scorching letter, detailing how the Minister of Magic himself turned away invaluable information that would have saved Mrunog's life. The goblins will not stand for that. Relations are strained to the breaking point what with that trouble over Gringotts. They do hold grudges, don't they? Just think, to be the Minister who saw the end of the Second Wizarding War, only to ferry in another." The corners of Tom's mouth lifted. "What a pity."
"You want to help us catch dark wizards?" said Harry, feeling that he'd spiraled into some other dimension.
"Clearing the field, are you?" Robards growled.
Tom smirked. "No need to clear it when it's already mine."
"Then why?" Harry demanded.
Tom's eyes latched onto his, his gaze piercing. "I would think that would be obvious, Harry."
Harry's breath froze in his lungs. For a moment, it was as if there was no one else in the room with them, but the moment was gone as quickly as it had come. Tom turned back to Kingsley, business-like and crisp.
"There are rules in order to have my information," he stated. "The first is that I will only work with Harry. He and I will be partners. I know it isn't exactly your method, but I'm sure you can finagle whatever reasons you need to appease the rest of your Aurors. The second," he continued as Robards turned a shade of puce to rival Uncle Vernon, "is that I will go by Thomas Thorne. A select handful of Death Eaters knew my given name, but not my face. I have a birth certificate for your files."
"You're one pompous bastard," Robards snarled. "Like hell we'll do any of the sort."
"Have it your way," said Tom with a breezy shrug. "I've never cared much for goblins either."
Harry jumped to his feet, but Kingsley beat him to Robards, sidestepping in front of the Auror before he could reach Tom.
"Outside," Kingsley ordered. "Both of you."
The moment Kingsley shut the cell's door, Robards was on him.
"You can't possibly be considering—"
"I am," said Kingsley. "When a life is on the line, always."
"Do we know that Mrunog's missing?" asked Harry.
Robards snapped his fingers, getting Alice and Gifford's attention. They hurried to them.
"Sir?" said Alice.
"Mrunog Gudar. A threat's been made on his life."
"Nothing new there," Gifford muttered.
Robards glowered. "Check it out. I want to know where he is. And I want to know now."
"On it, sir."
They departed.
"And if he's not home?" asked Harry.
"No need to go there yet," said Robards. He fished out what looked like a large galleon from his pocket. "Not until they send word. Won't take more than five minutes."
It was the longest five minutes of Harry's life. They stood silent, watching the coin on Robards' palm. It was a new addition to the Auror department and one Harry had suggested. The galleons Hermione had charmed to communicate meeting times during their fifth year had been given an upgrade. With a tap of a wand, the serial numbers transformed into a short message. It had doubled efficiency.
"Ah ha! Now we'll see," said Robards as the coin glowed a brilliant red.
Harry and Kingsley peered down at the message on the coin's face.
House empty. Signs of struggle.
"They could have taken him anywhere," said Harry.
Robards flung the coin at the window. It pinged down the corridor.
"He's done this on purpose!" Robards roared.
"Of course he has," said Kingsley grimly.
"He's probably the one who set it up!"
"Regardless," said Kingsley, "there's only one choice."
"But Minister—"
Kingsley ignored Robards. All his focus was on Harry. "Do you agree?"
Harry looked from the Minister to his head of department.
"At the Ministry I'll be able to keep an eye on him. If he's planning another takeover, it won't slip past me."
"You honestly believe he will not kill you?" asked Kingsley.
Harry took a deep breath. "Yes."
Though Harry had never expected Tom to do something like this he knew Tom would never try to kill him again.
"But more importantly," Harry insisted, "we have to. Mrunog's life's in danger. Tom doesn't bluff."
"You don't know that," said Robards.
"You don't know Tom," said Harry. "But whether you believe me or not doesn't matter. We don't have time to check his story. We don't have time to risk it. If Mrunog's murdered — if it comes out that we knew about it before it happened with time to act —"
Robards' fingers rubbed his forehead. "We're making a deal with the devil," he growled.
Harry kept his mouth shut. He knew such deals only too well and how they turned everything upside down.
"Then it is agreed," said Kingsley, grave and resolute. He waved his wand and a sheaf of parchment with the official Ministry stamp appeared before him. "Gawain, get your team ready. The moment Riddle reveals Mrunog's location I want them Apparating. Harry, if you'd join me? I need you to be a witness."
Robards was already halfway down the hall, his robes billowing. Harry took a great, shuddering inhale, as if he were about to dive into the deepest depths of the ocean. He nodded and Kingsley, with parchment in hand, opened the cell door.
xXx
Salazar, this was difficult.
The moment Harry stepped into the holding cell Tom's fingers itched to wrap around his wrists and pull him flush, to bury themselves in his hair, to trace the outline of his face, his lips. The effort to keep himself relaxed and indifferent was more than Tom had expected. Harry was not in uniform, but that did not surprise him. The boy had not been given weekend duty. Favoritism or not, the department wouldn't make their Chosen One work on his birthday. Not when it was a time witches and wizards around the globe celebrated. Imagine the bad press if it got out.
For three months, Tom had become quite the subscriber. Harry was everywhere. From the Daily Prophet to the Australian gossip columns, he was mentioned five times a week. His picture — even the worst, most blurred snaps — were showcased center stage. Tom collected them all.
When the door opened again and Harry returned with only Shacklebolt, Tom could not keep the grin of victory from his face.
"Have you changed your mind, Minister?" he asked.
Harry shot him a warning glare, but Tom felt nothing but delight. Shacklebolt sat in the vacant chair and Harry stood in the opposite corner.
"I agree to discussing terms, but first I want to know where Mrunog Gudar is being held."
"Afraid not, Minister," Tom replied coolly. "I need your word that I will not be locked in Azkaban the moment I give him up. In writing. Seeing as the Tebo do not linger, we had best be quick."
Tom had always made it a priority to know the Aurors in the department. Kingsley Shacklebolt was not a man to be trifled with, though his easy-going friendliness could fool a person into thinking otherwise. He did not look remotely friendly now. He looked, actually, that he very much wanted to bash Tom's head into the table. Tom watched in satisfaction as Shacklebolt pulled out a quill from inside his robes, conjured an inkwell and set to work.
The minutes ticked on. They went back and forth with the pardon and all the while, Tom kept Harry in the corner of his eye. The boy was agitated, shifting from foot to foot as Tom took his time looking over their latest revision. Incredible what could be accomplished when necks were on the line. Tom was quite satisfied. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. No sentence, his entire criminal history wiped clean as if it had never happened. And in turn, Lord Voldemort was no more. Tom could never resurface as the Dark Lord ever again, nor could he have any contact with his Death Eaters without Harry, Shacklebolt, or Robards present. If he did, the contract would quite literally blast him right off his feet, numbing his magic long enough that Tom would wish he'd been splinched instead.
"Due note, Riddle, that any crime you commit now will be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law," said Shacklebolt.
"With great enthusiasm, I imagine," said Tom. "Shall we sign?"
Shacklebolt did not pass him the quill.
"Mrunog," he growled.
"Oh, yes! Nearly slipped my mind. 74th Westmore Road, Blifton."
Shacklebolt turned to Harry, but he had already pulled out a coin from his jeans and was tapping his wand against it. Curious, Tom watched as a second later the coin glowed red in Harry's palm. Something must have appeared on its face, for he looked up at Shacklebolt and nodded.
The Minster held out the quill and Tom took it, but Shacklebolt did not relax his grip.
"If you hurt him," he whispered in a voice of cold iron, "I will lock you in Azkaban myself."
"A threat I do not doubt," Tom replied softly.
Shacklebolt let Tom take the quill and he signed his name with a flourish.
"Harry," Shacklebolt said. "I need your signature, too."
Harry, who had kept to the shadows, moved forward. Tom held out the quill for him and Harry took it without hesitation. Quickly, he scratched his name beside WITNESS and gave it back to the Minister. He did not meet Tom's gaze.
Shacklebolt sealed the order with a wave of his wand and then, with a tap on the cuffs binding Tom's hands, they uncoiled onto the tabletop.
Tom rubbed his wrists. "My wand?"
The Minister's nostrils flared, but he dug into his pocket and extracted the yew, handing it over.
"I want that information, Riddle," said Shacklebolt, conjuring another sheaf of parchment.
"Perhaps we should move to a more hospital environment?" Tom suggested. "Seeing as we're all colleagues. This cell is highly unfavorable."
xXx
The lights swung overhead as the lift rose upward and Harry pinched his thigh. He felt that he'd been hit over the head by an ogre's club. Had Mrs. Weasley really woken him or was he in fact having the most unsettling, bizarre dream of his life?
Partners? With Tom?
Jesus.
While in the elevator, Harry made sure to keep Kingsley between them. He tried not to, but Tom could have been made of gold for how his eyes kept shooting to him. The sharpness of his shoulders, the line of his back, the gentle curve of his – Harry jerked his eyes away and listened to the cool voice of the operator announce the stop.
"Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
As the lift doors opened and Kingsley led the way to his office, Harry's eyes darted at Tom again and this time Tom returned it, the small smile of amusement back on his lips. Blushing, Harry hurried after Kingsley, Tom trailing after them at a leisurely pace.
Harry had to hand it to Kingsley as the Minster conjured a teapot and refreshments, offering them to Tom and himself while they sat in armchairs in his office. He looked far calmer than Harry was.
"This list," Kingsley pressed.
Tom took his time stirring his tea. He set down the spoon, crossed a long leg over one knee, settled back in his chair and began. The carriage clock on the desk steadily ticked on as Tom gave them everything. He handed over the most dangerous and vicious witches and wizards that were still at large without the slightest hesitation. Some were known Death Eaters who had fled after the war, but most were independent criminals who'd dodged Azkaban for years and Tom knew them all, right down to their preferred jar of jam. It was disturbing and dizzying. The Wizengamot would be packed for months with trial work, possibly years.
The coin in Harry's pocket burned. He pulled it out and read Robards' new message.
"They have Mrunog," he told Kingsley. "He's uninjured. They're bringing the Tebo in."
Onward they went, Tom speaking and Harry writing as quickly as he could. Kingsley refreshed their teapot. He conjured a fresh plate of biscuits. The entire Law Enforcement Wing would be in a frenzy. Harry could picture the Daily Prophet's headline: Mass Arrests of Most Dangerous.
When they finally finished, Harry's hand was cramping. His stomach gnawed with hunger, demanding something with more sustenance than biscuits. He glanced at the clock and received a shock. It was half-past two. Even Tom looked slightly less smooth.
"Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Riddle," said Kingsley, looking over Harry's copious notes. "If you are up for it, we should discuss your cover story."
"My father is Lester Thorne," said Tom, stretching out his leg. "He met my mother, Aleska Istrefi, while traveling in Albania. One thing led to another. I studied magic at home and received my diploma in criminal study. I have the papers, if you would like to see."
"That won't be necessary," said Kingsley quietly.
"Early this morning I accosted a suspicious vagabond who, I discovered, was in possession of Lord Voldemort's wand," Tom continued casually. "I recognized it immediately and Apparated straight here. When conversations spread to my current state of employment, I was offered a job within the department, which I accepted."
Tom really was a pompous bastard.
"Harry," said Kingsley, without shifting his glare from Tom, "could you deliver these papers to Robards for me?"
Harry stood so quickly, he might have been sprung from his chair. He snatched up the stack and crossed the room to the door at top speed.
xXx
Tom's lips thinned in annoyance as he watched Harry flee the room like a graphorn was on his tail. Shacklebolt sat at his desk, his stare fierce.
"This isn't a game, Riddle. You have agreed to work for the Ministry and I fully expect you to do just that. You come into the office on time. You work the cases Robards assigns you. Harry is an excellent Auror and has the potential to go very far. You will not drag him down."
"What makes you think I have any intention of 'dragging him down?'" Tom asked. "Has it not been made clear enough, Minister, that I want nothing but the best for Harry?"
Shacklebolt held his gaze. "What you consider the best, Riddle, is not something I would brag about." His eyes hardened. "I know exactly why you're doing this. I know what you've been through. What both of you have been through."
Tom sat back in his chair, his hands casually clasped in his lap. "And how quickly did it take you to wheedle our adventures in the Carcerem out of Harry?"
"I didn't," said Shacklebolt. "He told me."
Tom was surprised. Harry was the sort who kept his cards close to his chest. They were alike in that regard. But he supposed Harry had had his reasons for confiding in Shacklebolt. He knew the Minister recognized him for who he really was the moment the man appeared in the Atrium. He had not, however, expected Robards to know.
"He told me everything," Shacklebolt continued, the slightest emphasis on the word telling Tom 'everything' meant quite literally everything. "And I just have one question."
"Really?" said Tom, his coolness dissolving slightly in a wave of testiness. "And what's that?"
"What if he doesn't want you back?"
xXx
The department was buzzing with Aurors bursting through the double doors every few seconds. Robards had called an emergency meeting and Harry squeezed himself between Alice and Maybelle Wildsmith. Not making eye contact with anyone, he passed Robards Tom's information. The man hardly paused in his orders, but he gave Harry a nod all the same.
Harry felt that he should stay and help with the arrests, but he didn't want to leave Tom and Kingsley alone too long.
He slipped out of the crowded department without anyone noticing. Another ride upward and he was hurrying down the carpeted top floor to the Minister's office yet again. He knocked on the door and did not bother waiting for an invitation to enter. However, the moment he stepped into the office, he froze.
"Where's Tom?" Harry asked at once.
Kingsley turned from the window. It showed a dazzling view of snow-topped mountains. Chile, Kingsley had told him days before.
"He left," said Kingsley. "He gave us his testimony. There was no reason for him to stay."
Harry couldn't believe it. He hadn't even considered that Tom would just up and leave, but then … what had he expected? For Tom to wait for him?
"I'm going to have maintenance see to your cubicle in the morning," Kingsley continued. "It will take them some time to expand it to fit two desks, so if you need anything from it, you might want to grab it now."
"I don't need anything," said Harry, stuck on imagining his small workstation now shared with Tom. "I should get back to Robards, then."
"You should go home."
"Robards called everyone in. They're starting the arrests today."
"And he does not need you," said Kingsley firmly. "You have enough on your plate. Go home. Get some rest. You're going to need it. Robards won't disagree. That's an order, Harry."
At Kingsley's words Harry felt such relief he literally thought a weight had been removed from his shoulders. He was exhausted. He was mentally scattered. He felt jumbled and chaotic.
Once more, he returned to the lift. As it rattled down to the Atrium, a numbing stillness came over him — his brain putting up its walls, protecting itself from the shock that was Tom.
He Apparated home and was startled by how warm it was. It was a gorgeous summer day. A real treat. He'd planned on spending it lounging in his back garden, maybe spreading fresh mulch on the vegetable beds and planting the flutterby bush Neville had given him for his birthday.
Merlin. Yesterday he'd turned eighteen. Reeling from the realization, Harry turned up the path to his cottage and stopped abruptly. Tom stood at his fence. Steadying himself, Harry continued up the path.
"I was surprised to learn that you'd moved," said Tom, conversationally.
Harry tapped the lock on the gate. It swung open. "Grimmauld Place is too big for me. Tea?"
Tom pushed off from the fence and followed him into the cottage. It was the same one he, Ron and Hermione had passed on their way to the Lovegoods back during the Christmas holiday to ask about Deathly Hallows. It had been abandoned then, and it had remained so for the two and a half months after the war. When Kreacher passed away two weeks ago, Harry inquired into the cottage's owners, learning that the Fawcetts — its previous owners — had fled to Indonesia during the war, decided they preferred it there, and intended to stay. The transaction was done in mere minutes over a floo-call. An owl delivered the deeds and Harry's Gringotts vault was now emptier than usual. He was delighted with the place. Casual and homey — the exact sort of wizarding home he'd always dreamed of. No screaming portraits, no doxy infested curtains, no depressing family tapestries with names blasted out. The Burrow was nestled in the valley below and Luna's house was just a few miles away to the north. Harry couldn't imagine anywhere he'd rather be.
Or at least, it would be perfect once he finished moving in and renovating. Harry, who'd never thought he owned much of anything, discovered that he possessed quite a bit — or rather, that his friends were far too energetic in gifting him all sorts of house-warming presents. Half-emptied boxes littered the floor. The kitchen was in total disarray with Harry ripping down the prancing hippogriff wallpaper and painting the walls a light cream color instead.
Both of Tom's eyebrows rose as he took in the cluttered family room.
"This is your home?"
"Yeah. Well, as of three days ago," said Harry, walking into the kitchen and searching for the kettle. Failing, he put a pot on the stove, lit the burner with his wand and began the hunt for teabags. Tom followed and Harry made sure to keep the kitchen table firmly between them.
"So," said Harry, putting two mugs on the table. "You want to be an Auror. Isn't it funny how you think you know someone?" He found the canister of teabags and set it down on the table with more force than necessary.
"Why are you angry?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Harry sarcastically as the water reached a boil. He hadn't realized how angry he was until he'd spotted Tom leaning against his garden fence. The shock — the numbness — dispersed like fog on a furious wind. He splashed water into the mugs, not caring that copious amounts spilled onto the table. "It's been three months of radio silence, my life has just finally gotten back to normal, and you decide to stroll in. What's not to love about that?"
"I wanted to come earlier."
"That's not the point," Harry snapped, which was a lie. A total, complete lie. Every day he thought he was done thinking of Tom meant a night where he could do nothing but. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. He was furious with himself by how he held on. By how he couldn't quit Tom and here he was, flesh and bone, standing in his cluttered kitchen with dancing hippogriffs half peeled from the walls as if he'd never been gone.
Tom stared at him with the same scorching gaze that haunted Harry's dreams. He stepped around the table and Harry, in turn, moved two steps backward.
"I wanted to come earlier," Tom repeated softly, "but I feared how you would react. I came to the funeral."
"Which one?" Harry asked bitterly.
"The Weasley boy. Fred, I believe."
Harry's throat tightened. He'd felt that someone had been watching him from behind the graveyard's trees, but he'd put it down to paranoia. The press had been everywhere right after the war, Rita Skeeter even more of a nightmare than usual. Everyone wanted to know what Harry was going to do. Do you know You-Know-Who's whereabouts? Do you have any leads? Will you fight him again?
"You were there?"
"My Disillusionment Charm is very good. I … needed to see you. Even if we didn't speak. Even if we stood yards apart."
"That was over two months ago," said Harry, forcing himself to remain calm, but inside he was raging. "What did you think you'd achieve by coming here?" he demanded. With each word his composure splintered, his voice rising in volume. "Did you think that if you gave me enough time to sort out my feelings that we'd go back to how things were?"
Tom's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were too bright. Too dominating.
"Nothing has changed how I feel about you," he said softly.
"This isn't the Carcerem!" Harry shouted.
"Why does that matter?"
Harry fumbled. "Because —"
Because why? he thought wildly as Tom looked at him expectantly. Because why?
"Because that was then and this is now," Harry said stubbornly. "Three months is a long time and I don't know if I —"
Harry cut off as Tom took a sharp step forward, making him back into the wall.
"You don't know if you what?" Tom asked quietly, his eyes dangerous.
"I don't know if I feel the same," Harry finished just as quietly. "But force me into anything and I'll let you know exactly how I feel."
"Who said anything about force?" Tom asked.
The front door opened and closed. Harry's head whipped around.
"Harry? You here?"
It was Ron.
"Harry?"
With Hermione.
"Your friends?" asked Tom.
Harry pushed past him and rushed into the living room.
"Harry," said Ron. "Where'd you run off to? Mum said Kingsley floo-called. Did something hap—"
He broke off. His eyes widened. He took a startled step backward and Hermione clutched his arm, alarm all over her face. Harry didn't have to turn to know that Tom had moved into their line of sight.
"What's — what's he doing here?" Ron demanded.
Tom leaned casually against the kitchen doorway. "Do you wish to tell them, or shall I?"
Glaring at Tom, Harry pushed Ron and Hermione into the corner by the fireplace.
"He showed up at the Ministry this morning," he told them in an undertone. "He made a deal with Kingsley."
"A deal?" said Hermione sharply. "What kind of deal?"
"One where he's now our informant," said Harry stiffly. "And works with me."
"Bollocks," said Ron at once.
"Harry, that is extremely dangerous," said Hermione in a strained whisper.
"There was no way around it," Harry hissed. "Mrunog Gudar had been kidnapped and Tom knew by whom. You know how furious the goblins have been since we demolished half of Gringotts. If he'd been killed it would have been the tipping point. He gave us all twenty names off the most wanted list. Robards is out arresting them right now. You're probably going to get called in any second," he added. Hermione was the newest associate in the ranks of Ministry lawyers. "No one was going to turn that down." As he spoke, Harry felt sick to his stomach. "He's cast aside Voldemort and sworn to never reform the Death Eaters. If he does — if we get wind of it — he's sent straight to Azkaban."
Ron stared at him as if Ginny's pet Pygmy Puff, Arnold, sat on the top of his head. Hermione looked at him with mounting concern.
"But why come back now? It's been three months."
"He's planning something," said Ron darkly. "We can't trust him."
"You trusted me before," said Harry quietly, reminding them of the morning when he and Tom had returned from the Carcerem.
Ron blinked rapidly. Hermione's concern did not fade, though she chewed her bottom lip, far more torn.
"You haven't told them," said Tom from the doorway.
Harry ground his teeth, wishing Tom would read his mind and shut up.
"Not specifically, no," said Harry brusquely.
"Told us what?" Ron asked immediately.
Tom frowned at Harry with an annoyance he rarely wore, which Harry didn't understand because why would Tom care whether they knew about—
"We had sex," said Tom bluntly, speaking directly to Ron and Hermione. "Often."
Harry felt as if the air had been sucked from the room.
"Well," said Tom, brushing off the front of his suit. "It seems that you have much to discuss." His smile was pleasant. "I'll show myself out."
"Where are you going?"
Tom ignored him, though he paused at the door. "Green suits you," he said, his eyes lingering on him. "You should wear it more often."
Harry blushed, noticing for the first time the color of the sweater he'd pulled over his head that morning. Tom departed, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving Harry feeling that a great, towering wave had just crashed over them all.
Bracing himself, he turned.
Hermione's hands were over her mouth. Ron wore the same stunned expression of one clobbered by a bludger.
"You—"
Hermione lowered her hands. "Oh, Harry."
"You—" Ron seemed to have lost the ability of speech. "You and —"
"Yeah," said Harry.
"When?" Hermione whispered.
"Why?" Ron cried.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could skip ahead to next year.
"We just did," he said, weakly. "We … things were different in the Carcerem. We were different. We looked out for each other. And …"
"And?" Ron prompted.
Harry swallowed. God, this was awkward.
"We became allies. Friends, almost. Eventually we … cared for each other."
Ron sat down heavily.
"I didn't mean for it happen," Harry told them. "I hated myself when it started. I tried to stop."
Hermione took Harry by the arm and pulled him onto the sofa.
"Harry," she asked seriously, "were you in love with him?"
Harry's face burned.
"W-what?" he sputtered. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Hermione did not look convinced.
"Yes," said Harry firmly.
"I'm not asking whether you're in love with him now. I'm asking if you were in love with him then. You forgave each other. That's what you and Dumbledore said. That was the only way the Carcerem would free you. So did you feel more than forgiveness?"
If Harry could have become any hotter, he would have self-combusted. He looked to Ron, wanting to share the look of exasperation they so often did when Hermione went too far out on a limb, but Ron was frowning, considering her words.
"He's given up his pure-blood mania, then?" asked Ron. "Absolutely? One hundred percent?"
Harry nodded. "He signed an official document. He works for the Ministry now."
"For how long?"
"Forever," said Harry. It hadn't hit him at the time, but now, he found the realization that Tom had chained himself to the Auror Department — to the Ministry — for the rest of his days staggering.
"And why did he do that?" Hermione asked again.
"I don't know," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
"I think you do. Lord Voldemort would not have given up his crusade just because of a tryst. That sort of change happens because of something far deeper. How do you feel about him?" she repeated, determined to get an answer.
"I — I'm not sure," he finally admitted.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that told Harry they didn't believe him one bit.
"It's complicated," Harry said, instead. Which was true. Nothing had ever become more complicated than he and Tom. Even within the Carcerem. Nothing had been simple.
"Do you trust him?" Hermione asked.
And again, Harry wasn't entirely sure. But he knew one thing for certain.
"He won't hurt me and he won't hurt any of you. I'm positive of that. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't keep our eyes on him. He's not exactly … predictable anymore."
"We'll help you on that front," said Ron with a hint of his former bravado. "Can't have our rehabilitating Dark Lord go spell happy around the Muggles."
"So you're not upset with me?" Harry asked, nervously.
"To be honest," said Hermione, "when you told us about the Carcerem, we felt that you were leaving something out. The way he looked at you in Dumbledore's office … Well, it wasn't the expression I would have expected from Lord Voldemort. And when you and Ginny didn't get back together, Ron and I wondered if it had anything to do with what happened inside that artifact. Are you going to be okay with this?" she asked quietly. "Working with him?"
To be perfectly frank, Harry had no idea.
"I'm the best one for the job," he said, and no other statement had ever been truer. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to handle him."
.
.
A/N: Wowza. Long chapter. Don't expect those. :D
Tom's alias: I initially had it as Thomas Gaunt with Morfin having a fling with a witch in the village and Tom's birth going undocumented when the witch fled to Albania to get away from Morfin's drunken violence, but then I realized that Morfin was in Azkaban during the time and the dates weren't matching up. It also made more sense to me that the best alias is one with the fewest links possible to actual wizarding families and people who could contradict the lie, hence an entirely fabricated family with the intricate documentation to back up it. Tom's got skills.
I've recently gotten the new version of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and that is where the graphorn reference comes from. For those who don't know, it's like a horrifying rhino/bull/alligator that mountain trolls keep trying to tame and keep failing. ^^
I do not know who first came up with using galleons for communicating messages rather than dates and times, but I first came across the use in mindcandy's story Stunning Shifts, so I'm giving her credit. It's an incredible fic, by the way. Highly recommend it.
Aaand because a reader asked, yes, I am posting Of Your Making on AO3. Thank you for reading! Next chapter, Harry and Tom as co-workers! *nothing to worry about at all*