Everything was a blur; the floor tipped beneath him. Harry felt that he'd stepped off a spinning top. Someone helped him sit up. He thought it was Luna. People were shouting, but he couldn't make sense of it through the ringing of his ears. The wind, he noticed, had gone.

"The window," he murmured. He tried to rise, but he was so weak; his legs and arms shook with the effort.

A hand was suddenly on Harry's other arm. Pale, slender fingers stood out against the black of his robes.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry tried to focus, but Tom's face kept shifting in and out. He was going to be sick. What was wrong with him?

The blinding flash of a camera and the loud, abrasive voice of Rita Skeeter made Harry cringe. And then the gruff voice of a man joined the confusion in Harry's head.

"What is this? What's happened?"

Robards was here? Someone had called Robards?

"Harry!" Luna cried as he vomited all over the floor, the world spiraling around him.

.

.

Harry came to slowly. He was tucked into bed. It was night outside his window. Blinking, he looked around.

"Hey," said Ron.

"Ron?" Harry sat up, groggy. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on you." He rose from the chair he'd been sitting in, putting the Daily Prophet aside. Harry spotted the sport's page. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"What a disaster. What time is it?"

"Almost ten. You okay, mate?" Ron asked. He eyed him critically.

Harry nodded slowly. His head pounded. He felt sick. "I think so."

"Riddle said you were mostly fine," said Ron, though he sounded like he didn't believe Tom for a second. "That you just needed rest."

"Tom was here?"

"He called us — Hermione and me."

Harry was startled that Tom would do such a thing. That he'd even consider it.

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked, realizing that she wasn't in the room.

"At the Ministry. With all the arrests the Aurors are making the entire law department is pulling everyone onto overtime. So what happened?" Ron asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't Tom tell you?"

"Only that a lunatic let loose a tornado and that you had some kind of fit after banging your head."

Harry bristled. "I didn't have a fit. I fell into a stained glass window — one of those Elladora Work things." And he told Ron everything. About being slammed against one of the art pieces and instead of crashing back to the floor, continuing to fall until he landed in a world made of nothing but darkness. How he had felt that he wasn't alone within it and that whatever it was had latched onto his magic, drinking it up like a straw.

Ron looked horrified. "He didn't say anything about that. Riddle didn't see you disappear?"

"There was a tornado," Harry pointed out. With annoyance, he rubbed the tender bump on his head from where he'd hit the marble floor. "But that Work's dangerous. They have to know." He swung his legs out of bed.

"Woah!" Ron jumped up. "You're supposed to stay put. Riddle was very specific—"

"You're listening to him, then?"

Ron's ears burned red.

"If you want to go head to head with him, fine by me," said Ron shortly. "Just tell him it was your choice."

Harry grinned and pulled on his robes.

xXx

Tom had not been so close to shaking Harry senseless in a long time, but when he saw him walk into the department, he was sorely tempted. The boy was dead on his feet.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing Harry by the arm.

The department was not empty, even well past office hours, but the Aurors on staff were too focused on their arrests to notice their golden boy in an argument with his brand new partner.

"That stained glass thing — Nothingness. I fell into it."

"You what?"

"There was something inside it," said Harry. "I need to talk to Robards. We have to make sure no one goes near it."

"You fell into it?"

"Yes," Harry snapped, impatient. "And when I cast Lumos—"

"Potter. I thought you were recuperating."

They both turned. Robards marched up to them.

"I'm fine," said Harry.

Robards' eyebrows constricted into a single line. "You don't look it."

"I'm only here to tell you that the Elladora Work is dangerous."

"The one the thief tried to nab?"

Harry shook his head. Every second he stood, he grew paler.

"Maybe they're all dangerous, I don't know. I fell into the one called Nothingness."

"Fell?" said Robards, eyes darting from Harry to Tom and back again. "What d'you mean fell?"

"I'd tell you if you two would shut up for two seconds and let me explain!" Harry exploded. "Sir," he added apologetically, glancing at Robards.

Robards' lips thinned. "My office."

.

.

Tom listened to Harry detail what happened within the Elladora Work and he could only think of one thing: Harry had been in danger and he hadn't known it.

He had not seen Harry vanish, too busy dealing with that idiot thief. After casting the counter jinx and binding the Collector in ropes, he had turned to find Harry on the ground, winded but fine. A swift diagnostic spell told him Harry suffered from magical strain, which had struck Tom as odd at the time. Harry hadn't attempted any spells out of his comfort zone.

Frowning, Tom ran his fingers on the inside of his left wrist where the Carcerem's tattoo used to be. It had taken, it seemed, the useful ability to sense Harry in threat of his life along with it. This was most displeasing as no one ever found himself in more dangerous predicaments than Harry Potter.

"You didn't see what it was?" Robards asked.

"No," Harry replied. "I couldn't see anything."

Tom wondered if he would ever meet anyone more stubborn than Harry. He was practically sagging in his chair. He never should have gotten out of bed. Tom told Weasley—

"I wasn't aware the Elladora Works were permeable," said Robards.

"They aren't," said Tom. "Or at least, they haven't been."

"Where are they being held?" Harry asked.

"The" — Robards consulted his notes — "Gaze of Veeshu — that's the one the Collector was after — is in our possession. It will be sent to the Zabinis tomorrow."

"Zabini?" Harry sat up straighter.

Robards glanced up from his notes. "They are the owners of the Elladora Works. After the attack, Spear returned the rest of the collection to them."

"Including Nothingness?" said Harry, growing upset. "It's dangerous."

"Your account is disturbing, but nothing that would warrant the Ministry's involvement. Not without evidence that the Work in question is a Dark object. As it stands, we would require the Zabinis' consent to study the piece."

"So we don't do anything?" said Harry, incredulous.

"Until we are given probably cause or you convince them to pass it over to our curse testers I'm afraid so. If it's at all reassuring, Camila Zabini will probably not showcase the Elladora Works again. She's very protective of her great grandmother's art, apparently. They're back under lock and key." Robards' hard eyes softened a fraction as he studied Harry. "Do you need to go to St Mungo's?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm okay. Just tired."

"I'll take you back," said Tom, rising to his feet.

It was a sign of just how exhausted Harry was that he did not argue. By the time they'd reached the lifts, Harry was leaning heavily against him.

"I told that Weasley boy that you were to stay put," Tom grumbled.

"He said you'd point that out," Harry murmured. His eyes drifted shut. "And you should know — with us being partners and all — I never stay put."

Tom snorted, but he felt fondness rather than irritation. He wrapped his arm more securely around Harry, the boy's perpetually messy hair tickling his chin. The lifts opened, they descended down to the Atrium and Tom helped him to the nearest floo.

It was one of the problems with the floo-network: only one could travel at a time. Tom sent Harry on his way and quickly followed, barely appearing in time to snatch at his robes before he toppled over sideways.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, giving his head a little shake. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"A hefty amount of magic's been sucked out of you, that's what's wrong," said Tom. What if Harry hadn't broken the connection when he had? Would he have been drained dry?

"But it was only seconds," Harry argued, his speech beginning to slur. If Tom didn't get him into bed soon, he'd have to carry him.

He maneuvered him past the couch and into the single bedroom — Tom's bedroom. He had not directed the floo to Harry's cottage, but to his rooms at the Cornithia, a stately all-wizarding hotel outside Yorkshire. Weasley had already let Tom down. Clearly he was the only person who could make sure Harry stayed in bed, even if it meant locking the door.

Harry was too dazed to notice that the bed Tom deposited him on was not his own. Tom didn't even think he was aware of anything anymore as he pulled off Harry's shoes and tugged off his outer robes.

That was as far as he went. It was clear Harry was not as comfortable with intimacy as he'd been before. By the time Tom pulled the blankets over him, Harry was fast asleep.

For a moment Tom stood there, watching Harry's chest rise and fall.

"Nox," he whispered.

The lights winked from their bulbs and he departed, shutting the door softly behind him.

Salazar, he wanted him. He had not expected Harry to be so uncomfortable around him. Angry, yes. Aloof, possibly. But to stubbornly refuse to acknowledge his own feelings when they were so clearly etched all over his face … Tom had not missed how his eyes dilated, how his breath quickened, how his cheeks darkened when they sat beside each other in the Aurum. He wanted Tom just as much as Tom wanted him and yet Harry retreated.

Gritting his teeth, Tom leaned against the door, willing away his desire, but it only grew, spreading through his bloodstream into every inch of his being like a poison. Like a drug. Losing the fight, he slipped his hand into his trousers, thinking of Harry lying in his bed and all the things they could do to each other.

xXx

Harry was warm and comfortable. He rolled onto his back, stretching. Leisurely, he opened his eyes.

And froze.

This wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't even his house or Hermione's flat or the spare room at the loft apartment Ron and George shared over Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He sat bolt upright. In quick succession, he noticed he was still in the same clothes as yesterday. His shoes were tucked at the foot of the bed, his glasses and wand were on the nightstand, and his Ministry robes were draped over the back of a chair.

Where was he? And how had he gotten here?

He remembered trouble at the Aurum and speaking with Robards, but all that came after was a blur.

Ears attuned for any noise, Harry slipped out of the bed, putting on his glasses and snatching up his wand. He inched to the bedroom door, wand at the ready. The hinges were silent as he edged the door open, glancing around a spacious, clean-lined sitting room.

"Tea?"

Harry spun around. Tom raised an eyebrow at the wand pointed at his chest. Embarrassed, Harry quickly lowered it.

"What?" he asked.

"Tea." Tom put the cup in Harry's hands and moved to sit on a couch. By a spread of bay windows, Harry spotted a breakfast tray, laden with a bowl of fruit and a silver platter of pastries.

"Where are we?"

"The Cornithia," Tom answered, opening the Daily Prophet.

"Isn't that upscale?"

Tom didn't spare him a glance. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Loads better, actually. So is this where you're staying?" Had he slept in Tom's bed? Had Tom slept with him? Harry felt himself reddening. "I, erm, don't remember much—"

"You were past your tether," Tom agreed. He finally looked up at him. "Happy to be of service."

But he didn't look particularly happy. Had something happened between them in the night? And why had Tom even brought him here? Why hadn't he sent him back to Ron? To Hermione? Harry wished he could remember more of last night. Surely they hadn't done anything. He had a sudden image of himself wrapping his arms around Tom's neck, drawing their mouths close. If he'd done that he'd remember, wouldn't he? Harry considered asking, but almost immediately lost his nerve.

He set down his untouched tea, the awkwardness in the room growing thicker by the second.

"I — I should go. Thanks for letting me crash here."

Tom made a sound of agreement behind his newspaper. Harry moved to the fireplace.

"Harry."

He turned. Tom held a slender box out for him.

"Happy belated birthday."

Harry stared. He returned to the couch and took the box, both curious and wary. Tom watched him expectantly, the paper draped across one knee.

Harry opened it and nestled in a bed of black velvet was—

"The Elder Wand?" Harry looked at Tom, shocked. "You're giving it to me?"

"By all rights, it's yours," Tom stated. "And I prefer mine anyway."

"You're giving this to me?" Harry repeated. "The most powerful wand there is?"

"Keep going on about it and I'll take it back," said Tom, suddenly waspish.

Harry beamed. "Thanks."

Tom was rarely caught off guard, but Harry's thanks had him blinking like an owl. Harry gazed down at the wand tucked inside the box, amazed that Tom had given it up.

I prefer mine, anyway.

Harry stilled, an idea sparking into life …

He dug at the collar of his shirt and pulled out the mokeskin pouch hidden beneath it. Fingers trembling, he fished out his broken wand and set it on the coffee table. Holding his breath, he pressed the Elder Wand's tip to the snapped wood.

"Reparo."

The two halves melded together seamlessly. Harry picked it up. It radiated warmth, flowing up his arm and swirling in his chest, spreading through him like an old friend's embrace. Like the kiss of the sun. He sent the fruit bowl afloat, made his shoes tap dance from the bedroom, and for the hell of it, turned the couch's white upholstery into a brilliant red and gold plaid. Tom's expression was unamused and grinning so wide his face hurt, Harry changed it back.

"This is — this is —" There weren't words to describe his happiness, but Tom didn't seem to need to hear them. There was softness in his gaze as he watched Harry delight in the return of his wand.

"As commendable as your old wand is," Tom began, "you do intend to—"

"Nope," said Harry, stashing the Elder Wand in his pouch.

Some of the softness hardened. "You control the most powerful wand in history and you intend to keep it as a backup?"

"Like you said," said Harry, beaming. "I prefer my own."

"But—"

"Thanks for looking after me last night," he said again. "I hope I wasn't a total idiot."

"You were fine," said Tom, "but—"

"I guess I'll see you at the Ministry." Harry toed on his shoes and strode to the fireplace. "It's not mandatory, but Robards likes us showing up by nine."

Harry laughed at the look on Tom's face, which, as he was currently enveloped in green flames and swallowed a great deal of ash, was not the wisest. He tumbled out of his own fireplace a whirlwind ride later, coughing.

"Where have you been?"

Harry looked around. From the kitchen, Ron stormed into the sitting room. He looked livid.

"I was with Tom," Harry replied. "Didn't he—"

Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe.

"Oh, you were with Tom. Doing what?" he demanded sharply.

"We weren't doing anything," said Harry, annoyed, though uncertainty pooled in his gut.

"And yet you two just decided to spend the night together."

"It wasn't like that," said Harry, hating the blush that crept up his neck. "I wasn't well. He took me to his flat to look after me."

"Because no one else could look after you? You were well enough to run to the Ministry when I said you weren't, but if Tom says you should stay with him—"

Harry frowned, trying to understand where all this aggression was coming from. "I thought you were okay with this."

Ron looked close to punching him.

"Okay?" he roared. "You think I'm okay with Lord Voldemort prancing around like he's normal? Like he isn't a mass murderer who killed your parents?"

Harry flinched.

"Or who started a war that killed Fred?"

"Ron—"

"Can't you see how he's taking everything?" Ron shouted over him. "One day back and he's got you wrapped around his finger! Oh, Tom. I'll do whatever you say, Tom."

"I'm not—"

Ron snatched up his coat. He plowed past Harry to the door.

"And the worst thing is that you don't even see it," Ron snarled.

The door banged shut behind him.

.

.

Nine in the morning and already Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was packed. Harry squirmed through the noisy shop, full of the customary bangs and whistles and odd smells, looking for Ron, but he came upon a different red-head.

"Harry," George welcomed in happy surprise. "What're you doing here?"

The guilt already in Harry's stomach welled up as he looked at George. Though Ron had said the Auror program just wasn't his speed, that he didn't fancy the scars that went along with the job, that he wanted 'just two minutes' without a Dark wizard trying to do him in, Harry knew better. He wanted to make sure George got out of bed every morning. He wanted to make sure he ate.

"I'm looking for Ron," he said. "Is he here?"

"In the back," said George. "May want to steer clear, though. He's acting like a gnome pissed in his boots."

Harry laughed feebly and headed to the back of the shop. Pulling a star-speckled curtain aside, he stepped into the storage room. He heard rustling further down. Turning a corner, he found Ron digging through a box labeled with a crooked stamp: Anti-Gravity Hats.

Ron heard him approach and a hat slipped from the box. It floated upward until it bobbed against the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I should have told you and Hermione everything from the start. I should have told you about …" he made an awkward hand motion. "Me and Tom."

Ron didn't say anything.

Harry swallowed.

"I was scared how you'd react. I was scared to admit that I let it happen. That I wanted it," he added quietly, keeping his eyes on Ron's left knee. "Kingsley told me that the Unspeakables think the Carcerem was in use for possibly half a year, but to everyone else it was like a second passed. It was hard for me to wrap my head around. One minute, we'd said our peace and the next we're back in the middle of a war. I — I just wanted things to go back to normal, but things can't go back to how they were. I know that."

Another hat slipped from the crate, joining its companion on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, looking Ron in the face. "Tom and I had months to work through things, but you haven't. And it's rotten of me to just expect you to and I get it if you can't. Most people wouldn't."

"I don't want him taking over again."

"He won't," said Harry firmly. "I won't let him. Kingsley and Robards won't let him. And I know for a fact that you and Hermione won't let him. Just because I forgave him does not mean that I approve of what he did. It does not mean that I don't care about all the people he took from us. I can't go back and make none of it happen, but I can make sure it never happens again. I don't know if Tom actually wants to be good — I doubt it, but he's here. He's trying. If he's willing to give being decent a shot then I'm not going to turn him away."

"And if he can't be decent?" Ron asked. "If he attacks someone?"

"Then I'll arrest him," said Harry, without hesitation.

Ron's arms remained crossed. He chewed the inside of his cheek, but quietly he said, "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah." And Harry could tell that he meant it. Ron ran a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I shouldn't have blown up like that. I know you're not an idiot. He just scares me, you know."

Harry nodded. He did know. "You want some help with those?"

Ron looked up. Half a dozen hats bobbed overhead. "Sure."

As they made the hats float back to them, Ron said, "So, you like blokes. Have you always?"

"I don't think so," Harry said after careful consideration. "And I don't know if I like blokes."

Ron looked at him funny.

"But you and Riddle—"

"That was different," said Harry. "That was …"

Harry couldn't think exactly what it was.

"But you had sex, right?" Ron questioned. "You slept together?"

"Yeah," said Harry, focused on stuffing a rebellious top hat back into the box.

"So it was experimental?"

No, it hadn't felt experimental. I had felt natural and perfect. Harry paled. Oh, Merlin — maybe he really was.

"Would you be okay with it?" he asked Ron. "If I did like men?"

"Yeah," said Ron, finally cracking a grin. "Yeah, I'm cool with it. Just maybe next time don't pick a psychopath?" he suggested, hopeful.

"Yeah," said Harry, grinning now as well. "Sounds good."

"Hey—" For the first time, Ron spotted Harry's wand. "That's your—"

Harry let the lamps shine on the wood. He still couldn't believe that the holly was repaired and Harry told Ron how it had happened.

Ron was floored. "He gave you the Elder Wand?"

"Yep."

"The Deathstick? The Unbeatable Wand? He just passed it over?"

Harry nodded.

"Blimey. Things really did get serious in the Carcerem."

"Yeah," said Harry softly. "Things really did."

xXx

Tom was bored out of his mind. He thought Aurors were more exciting than this. Chair balanced on its back legs, he watched Harry work. The cubicle had been expanded, making enough room for another desk and filing cabinet. Harry's side of the rectangle was cluttered, lopsided pictures on the wall, all waving and beaming, papers stacked on the desk's corners, a spare scarf left on a hook, a potted plant set in the corner. Periodically the bush released a heavy sigh that told Tom he wasn't the only one dying from lack of stimulation. At least he had an attractive view. Harry had a habit of rubbing his left ear while he worked. Tom imagined his teeth biting the lobe, his tongue swiping the sensitive skin beneath.

"Are we going to stay here all day?" he asked, crossing his ankles on the desk.

"Unless we get called out for something, yes," Harry replied, not looking up from his scribbling.

Tom let the chair fall back onto four legs with a bang. Harry flinched, shooting Tom a glare that quickly morphed into confusion when Tom stood.

"Where're you going?" he asked.

"Didn't you know?" Tom replied. "Maybelle's taking me on a tour."

"Maybelle's on a case."

"Not anymore. I would ask you, but since you're so busy with paperwork…"

Harry's jaw tightened. "You don't need a tour of the Ministry. I bet you know the building inside and out."

"True, but the newly appointed Thomas Thorne hasn't had the pleasure. It would be strange if I didn't pretend otherwise."

Harry's lips were a thin line.

Right on cue, Wildsmith's golden head popped into the cubicle's opening. She beamed at Tom.

"Ready?"

"Yes," said Tom, giving her a wider smile than he normally would have done, "only Harry was just suggesting that he take me instead."

"Oh." A faint blush spread across Wildsmith's cheeks. "Oh, right, yeah. You two are partners. I just thought…"

Harry was rooted in his chair.

"The more the merrier," said Tom. "Come along with us."

"Oh, no," said Wildsmith, retreating just as Tom expected she would. "I'll let Harry take care of it. I should really finish my report, anyway. Another time? Maybe we could get a coffee?"

Tom didn't reply, but he bestowed her his most winning smile.

She slipped away and Tom turned, gazing at Harry expectantly. "Now you have to take me."

"Seriously?" said Harry. "You're flirting with her?"

"Does that bother you?"

"No," said Harry at once.

How beautifully uncomfortable Harry looked when he lied. Tom smirked and leaned against the cubicle opening, the day suddenly far more interesting.

.

.

A/N: Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes! It was a lovely day and you guys made it even more so.

I received so many comments regarding Ron and Hermione (which were all very positive – yay!) that I felt that it would be a good thing to share my decision for their initial reaction toward the Harry/Tom reveal with everyone.

First off, that chapter was already very heavy with Tom's return that having Ron and Hermione get into an argument with Harry about their relationship felt jarring and out of place. Secondly, Ron and Hermione have grown dramatically. War does that. Hermione's a rational thinker already, but she still has the tendency to react emotionally. Ron, even more so. By having them react with more level-heads I was hoping to show their growth in maturity. I also loved them behaving in a manner that Harry was not expecting. But Harry and Tom sleeping together is a majorly big deal and though Ron and Hermione are showing huge support and understanding for Harry, there is still an undercurrent of mistrust between them and Tom, so I knew a fight was necessary and it simply needed the right placement and the right jab in Ron's side (i.e. Harry spending the night with Tom without any warning) to get things out in the open and addressed.