Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12058710.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle, Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Tom_Riddle, Albus_Dumbledore, Gellert_Grindelwald, Hermione
      Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Alternative_Universe_-_No_Magic, Alternate_Universe_-_Dystopia, Underage
      -_Freeform, Violence, Manipulation, Captivity
  Collections:
      Tomarry_Big_Bang_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-11 Updated: 2018-01-10 Chapters: 4/? Words: 18728
****** This Winter House ******
by lordmarvoloriddle
Summary
     In a world where people are divided into strict roles to serve a few
     selective individuals -Harry Potter- who had lived his life alongside
     his parents into the midst of the last resistance against the
     tyranny, finds himself captured and brought to serve none other than
     Gellert Grindelwald. In the man’s house he meets his savoir, Tom.
Notes
     beta by lunalcvegoocl
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Take off your shoes.”
Despite knowing better, as if he was driven by some unseen force, Harry lifted
his green eyes. The man appeared to be in his fifties or so; golden hair caught
into a low ponytail and a somewhat amused expression on his angular face as he
regarded Harry. From such a short distance the man seemed to be around the same
height as Harry himself, broad shouldered and rather bulky underneath his
tailored suit held together with sleek buttons around his midsection.
Harry disliked him immediately.
Yet, he exhaled and bowed down to untie his shoelaces like the obedient pet
they expected him to be, aware he was being watched closely. The living room
was filled with silence as he stood up next to his dirty trainers, waiting for
the man to address his presence. He did not. Instead, hands clasped behind his
back, he examined Harry from head to toe, not saying a word, stony expression
not betraying his emotions or thoughts about the boy.
A clever man. It was becoming clear that the man in front of him knew the exact
buttons to press to strike fear in others, how to set them on edge, hanging
onto his every word; and it did not benefit Harry in the slightest. Harry knew
the tales about masters such as these. Just the usual. They were neither too
young nor too old, bored, uninterested, some cruel and some kind. Ordinary.
Kindness appeared to be lacking in the blonde man before him and that was just
from one glance. Still, Harry was sure he wasn’t wrong.
“My name is Gellert Grindelwald,” the man finally began, his tone as if he was
making an announcement in front of a large crowd, not standing three feet in
front of Harry in a barren living room. To his relief, Gellert did not step
closer. “From now on, or until I decide otherwise, I am going to be your Master
and you will address me as such. Alternatively, you have my permission to use
‘Sir’ in order to avoid that mouthful. Did I make myself understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry responded immediately, still not bowing his head. He was
breaking a rule, they had gone over every one of them ruthlessly in class, and
both of them knew it, but Grindelwald was allowing it to happen right before
his eyes. If this wasn’t the case he would have already corrected Harry in a
less or more painful way.
“I hope you know the rules.”
“Of course, sir.” The ‘sir’ was thrown in the last possible second, the word
unfamiliar on his tongue, struggling to remember to add it on at the end of
every sentence. Harry would need to correct that as soon as possible if he
wanted to come out of this unscathed.
An old man appeared through the door on Grindelwald’s left, as if summoned,
Harry was shocked by his state. He seemed to be on the edge of collapsing due
to the hunch in his back, Grindelwald did not seem to mind when he did not lean
down in order to bow in front of his master due to his unfortunate condition.
He threw Harry a brief uninterested look before bringing his attention back to
his master.
“Kreacher,” Grindelwald both acknowledged and instructed him, “take Mister…” he
stopped at that, eyeing Harry as if expecting something from him.
It took Harry only a moment to understand.
He doesn’t know my name, he doesn’t know who I am.
Harry had the strangest urge to laugh at how pathetic that was. And totally
reasonable.
“Harry Potter, sir.”
Grindelwald’s eyes widened a small fraction at the sound of his given name
before he nodded, as if there was nothing particularly interesting about him.
So he knew about his parents then. That could either work in his favor or
against him.
“As I was saying, take Mister Potter to his room. His poor excuse of shoes are
to be disposed off immediately.”
Harry expected…something. To be told something, anything. Some clarification
about his life here, about his role, or even some parting words, maybe a cue to
leave. Yet there was nothing. Only talks about his trainers without him being
involved in any way. He had no choice but to follow the hunched man up the
staircase only in his not-so-white socks, feeling eyes on the back of his neck.
Looking behind was not an option.
This house didn’t have the right to appear so…normal. The kind of house Harry
had lived in before with his mother and father, just the three of them. Before
Dumbledore and the camp. Because after that, the new house hadn’t been just a
house, it had been their house. It had served a great number of purposes, from
a meeting place to discussing plans or even interrogating nameless screaming
people down in the basement.
Harry had been six when he found about that by mistake. Some careless member of
the Order had forgotten to lock the door and his childish curiosity got the
best of him. Watching people having their fingernails removed by force with
their mouths opened wide in a silent scream was not an image any child his age
should have witnessed.
Harry hadn’t had the stomach to hang around to see the rest. When his mother
had came upstairs to check on him not long after, fiery hair caught in a high
ponytail, he pretended to be sleeping, heart hammering in his chest, coming to
terms with the fact that it was not only The Others were torturing people,it
was their side was too.
Sleep had refused to come that night.
He was still referring them as ‘The Others’ then, too young to be taught
anything else. Apparently the word ‘Republic’ still meant good in the general
sense. You wouldn’t want your kid to be confused about that, is what was
explained by his father when he was old enough to be present at some harmless
discussions about food rations over a hot cup of green tea.
Of course, that was long before the brave people of the Republic had somehow
discovered them and they were separated in the chaos that followed.
Harry had been caught and sent here, mere months after being held at some
school where he was explained in detail about what his life would be from now
on. About his duty. He had known these things, mainly the rumors, the
horrifying tales tattled by Ron’s older brothers when the children were left by
themselves.
Surely it could not be true, he had thought at that time. They were all humans.
What kind of person would do something like that to another human being? How
could anyone own another person? Buy them? People were not things, they were
not material objects, they weren’t things to be owned as pets, such as a dog,
maybe a furry cat. Even then, you didn’t make your dog fight or open his legs
for you. Most people didn’t, anyway.
And until only mere months ago, Harry had thought only girls were used for that
anyway.
The purpose was reproduction, repopulating the hollow earth; healthy females
were needed for such a task. What would you want a man for? As ordinary as it
was, if it was a relationship they were looking for, they could always find
willing people the traditional way.
Why get them by force? Seamus had been the name of the boy who had been his
roommate in his time spent between the school’s white walls, he had laughed at
Harry when he had wondered about it.
In time his own situation had been quite clear, easy to grasp. There were rules
and punishments and Harry had been forced to learn them all, quietly minding
his own business, hoping for at least a whisper or rumor about his parents or
Sirius. No one had known anything of great importance.
At last, when almost all hope had been lost, he had heard that The Order’s men
were everywhere throughout the system. Harry hoped that was true, considering
he needed an out as soon as possible.
Everyone was alive, Harry told himself at night, laying under the covers. They
had managed to escape.
He knew Dumbledore well enough to be sure the man was able to protect everyone.
Well, everyone beside Harry. But that had been a misfortune. He happened to be
in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no one was to blame but himself.
Now, Harry could only wait for them to somehow reach him. All while living in
the same house with Gellert Grindelwald, a quiet menace of a man.
Kreacher did not talk to him, simply rushed him inside one of the many rooms on
the second floor before he closed the door, not locking it. Just like that.
Harry stood in the middle of the chamber inspecting.
It wasn’t small, which was a surprise. The blue curtains were wide open, as
well as the double window facing another building with many lightened windows.
People lived there as well. Another surprise.
Not that Harry held any illusions about escaping on his own. He was not a fool.
Even if he managed to climb down, which he surely would, he would need to pass
through all the guards in front of the house, avoid being seen by the men
living in the other building, the ones outside the property and then the main
security point where he would need to present an ID he did not posses.
It was useless even to think about it.
Still he dreamed about saving himself, not sitting and waiting around for a
miracle to happen. But for that to happen, he needed to get out the mansion in
the first place. The Order had several safe houses in London, locations which
Harry was well aware of. If he was able to get there safely; he could contact
the others. He could go to them. The only problem was that no slaves were
allowed to leave the house unaccompanied. System’s rules.
He exhaled in annoyance, shutting down the blue blinders in a cheap imitation
of privacy, trying to be as optimistic as possible and scanned the room
for….something useful.
The wardrobe was filled with clothes and shoes ready for him considering he
hadn’t been allowed to bring anything from the school. Not that Harry had
anything. There was a table next to the window with a single book on it. Harry
picked it up out of curiosity, making a face at the tile. ‘The New Ways of the
Republic’, he read with disgust.
Does he really expect me to read this bullshit?
Of course he does, Harry righted himself moments after. He had seen the people
visiting the school. Young girls and boys who preached about their wonderful
experiences in the masters’ houses, about the greatness of the Republic, waving
their hands around in an exaggerated manner as if they were painting on an
invisible canvas. Some had to be faking it. There was no way one could act that
manner on their own will. And yet, after just a handful of minutes in this
house, Harry already started to doubt himself.
Would he be quizzed about the book?
He hoped not. Well, he’ll have to wait and see.
For now, he hoped Grindelwald was going to let him be. Harry let out a chuckle
at his own wishful thinking. He had only two options and he knew it. Either be
one of the fighters or be a whore. The man had to already have the latest
category, Harry reassured himself. Grindelwald didn’t seem the type to warm his
bed all by himself.
It almost midnight, the electric clock from the nightstand read in enormous
blue numbers. Harry let the tip of his fingers travel over his smooth surface
of the screen, they used to have one of these in the living room where the
meetings were usually held too. At home.
Electronic devices were expensive and hard to find these days, batteries even
harder. They barely could afford something like this. And now he had one in his
own room, which wasn’t even really his room to begin with.
Harry sighed, lying on the bed, still fully clothed, not caring his jacket was
still on. He was hungry and exhausted, his mind filled with worries and hopes,
sure he shouldn’t express either of them. Curling up on his side he blinked
into the darkness, pushing back the childish urge to cry like some pathetic
life form.
No, he was stronger than that.
Harry would do as told and with a little bit of luck someone would know
something about his parents, Sirius or Dumbledore. And then he was going to
send them a message and they would come for him. Or maybe, just maybe, he would
be able to get out of the house all by himself. That was the plan so far, a
good plan in his opinion. That best one he had at the moment. The only one he
had at the moment.
Harry closed his eyes, calmed his breathing and willed himself to sleep in this
foreign bed, in this foreign house. Surprisingly enough it didn’t take him long
to fall asleep. Various things huddled up in his mind but it seemed distant,
disconnected, as if thinking about someone else’s life. Not his. Because this
kind of situations always happened to a stranger or to a friend. Not to you.
Never you.
The darkness that followed was a welcomed distraction.
 
 

It wasn’t a dream, Harry realized, choked in dread as Kreacher strolled in the
room the next morning, commanding Harry to be downstairs into the chamber next
to the living room in half an hour. The old man threw him a nasty look after
catching sight of him sleeping with his clothes on. Harry wondered if he was in
trouble.
He discovered he had his own bathroom, a modern one with warm water. He took
the time to wash himself and brush his teeth with care before returning to the
room and dressing in a long-sleeved black sweater and pair of tight pants which
were more comfortable than they appeared at first sight. There were no larger
ones and his fingers were trembling as he put them on.
These were not soldiers’ clothes. Harry thought he may vomit then. He had his
answer concerning his role much sooner than expected.
Still, he tried to maintain his composure, stealing another look at himself in
the bathroom’s mirror before moving towards the first floor. The hallway was
deserted yet he heard voices as he came down the staircase. Harry could look
around freely now.
A normal house he discovered yet again with disappointment. No skulls or body
parts decorating the pale-blue walls. On his way down Harry had seen only one
painting, just outside the room he had slept in. A bowl of fruits placed onto a
rusty table with a missing leg that somehow was still standing. People wouldn’t
spare it a second glance.
The door leading out of the living room was closed and voices could be
distinguished on the other side.
A conversation, which meant there was someone else in there, someone worthy
enough to sit at the same table as Grindelwald, to have a conversation with
him. He knocked twice before he heard the man giving him permission to come
inside.
Harry let the door fall shut in silence, regarding the only two occupants of
the table. Grindelwald himself and on his right a honey-skinned girl with bushy
hair who seemed to be about Harry’s age. He stared at her, she stared right
back, until Grindelwald cleared his throat, putting an end to their brief
interaction.
“Take a seat.”
The only other plate filled with food was on his left and Harry had no choice
but to sit there, breathing steadily as he looked at Grindelwald. He didn’t
know if he was allowed to even set his eyes on the girl. The man seemed to
sense his obvious discomfort.
“You are allowed to make contact, to talk with each-other and there’s that,” he
announced, bringing his glass of orange juice to his lips before drinking.
“Hermione, this is my new boy, Harry Potter. Harry, this is Hermione Granger.
As you can see, the two of you are in the same situation.”
There was no need to elaborate about ‘the situation’.
His tone was merry as if he was giving the most wonderful news. Harry was glad
he hadn’t started to eat, otherwise he would have choked. The girl was watched
him with curiosity, when his gaze wandered to her.
She didn’t dislike him as Harry expected her to and he did not understand why.
Why were the two of them eating at the same table as Grindelwald in the first
place? It didn’t make any sense. At least not to Harry.
“Hermione,” the man addressed her again, ignoring Harry’s existence, “after
breakfast you and Mister Potter should have a conversation, to explain to him
to him to rules of this house and anything else you deem appropriate.”
It sounded like a request but Harry was sure it wasn’t one. There was a nod as
she resumed eating in silence. Well, it appeared you didn’t always have to
answer, at least not using words.
“So, I was saying before Harry arrived, Mister Malfoy had lost, even with the
new one. Unfortunately for him he’ll need to find himself another man before
the end of this month. If he wants to participate, of course.”
Harry tried not to appear too eager as he started eating, all ears to what the
pair was speaking about. He couldn’t believe Grindelwald was telling her these
things, that he allowed Harry to sit here and listen.
Weren’t they supposed to be locked up somewhere, only seeing the light of the
day when the man wanted to fuck either of them?
Hermione smiled at the man.
“Of course we won, sir,” she spoke with pride. “We always do.”
Grindelwald returned her smile and Harry felt out of the place here in this
apparently peaceful conversation that so closely mirrored family life. So he
did the only thing he was able to do. Continued to eat his fried eggs and drink
something else rather than water for once.
The pair were still talking about the so-called Fights, an event Harry knew all
too well from his parents. When they finished, Grindelwald bid them a placid
goodbye before leaving the room, wiping his mouth with a napkin which he left
onto the table. No warm gesture of affection towards Hermione or anything
closed to it.
The bushy-haired girl turned to Harry after they were left alone and offered
him an awkward smile. He felt compelled to do the same.
“Umm,” she began, unsure of herself, judging from her tone or from the way she
was folding the white tablecloth with her hands. “Let’s go somewhere else to
talk. I’m sure you have questions.”
 
 

Harry stared up at the books, endless rows of books, more than he thought was
even possible to gather in a single place. Dumbledore had had library too, yet
it did not even come close to the size of the one before his eyes. His fingers
were inches away from one of them when Hermione voice stopped him.
“Don’t. You’re not allowed.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at that. She motioned him to join her to one of the
table next to the wall, sitting across from each other. Hermione’s attire was a
blue dress that came down to her knees, it looked nice, making him wonder all
kinds of things about her. Things you usually did not ask a stranger about
simply because it was inappropriate. Like what she did to deserve special
treatment.
“Well, reading what you desire is a privilege and privileges should be earned,”
she recited as one would do an unknowing child.
He stared at her, not believing his own ears.
“What?”
Hermione sighed, absently playing with the ring on her fingers before
answering.
“Look, Harry. Can I call you Harry? Anyway, this house is different from
everything you know about well…other houses.” Her lips were set into a tight
line. “He’s not a rapist if that’s what you’re worried about. Grindelwald is
going to sleep with you only if you want it to happen and when you want it to
happen.”
Harry let out a breath of relief. He hadn’t realized how stressed that
possibility had made him, more that it was normal. But he was a virgin and the
possibility of his first sexual encounter going down like that was beyond
terrifying, making his blood run cold.
“That means he’ll have to wait forever,” Harry informed her smugly. “Because
I’ll never want to share his bed, no matter what. Besides, what does he expect
from us? To fall in love with him or something?”
Hermione let out a chuckle her body shaking with mirth as if Harry had made the
funniest joke.
“Of course not. It’s a trade, don’t you understand? Sleeping with him brings
you privileges, like reading, choosing your own clothes, going out, seeing The
Fights….all kind of things. You give him something, he repays you.”
He stared at her trying to keep his mind far away from the ‘going out’ part.
Harry pitted the girl and the way she thought she really had a choice.
“Don’t you realize how he’s using you?” he asked, leaning forward, afraid
someone might hear him even if they were all alone. “You have to give yourself
to him to be able to do the most mundane things…this... this isn’t normal.”
The girl blinked at him, a sad smile spreading on her lips like Harry was the
naïve one between the two of them, not the other way around...
“Where have you lived until now I wonder?” she let out. “And look Harry, of
course I know what’s happening. But it could be worse. Usually it is at others
houses. The Masters there rape their slaves and use their bodies as they see
fit, even killing them when they get bored or simply feel like it. Those people
can’t even leave their rooms. And no one does anything to help, no one cares.
So I’d rather stay here, whoring myself for privileges to this single man and
preserve a little autonomy than be used by any other person whenever he
desires.”
Hermione’s tone had become harsher and harsher as she kept on speaking, her
words cutting like glass.
“I…I apologize if I offended you. It’s the first time for me,” he explained
himself, “and things are a little bit hard to process. I don’t really blame
you, just to clear things up. After all, everyone wants to survive…”
“Of course it’s the first time; otherwise Grindelwald wouldn’t have received
you.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
“Receive me? I thought he bought me from the school.”
Hermione shock her head, hair dancing, leaning towards him well.
“No, Masters can only buy the fighters they desire. The slaves used for you-
know-what are offered by the functionaries of the system to whomever they deem
appropriate. You and I have been quite lucky to be given to the supreme
commander,” she mused.
Willing his expression emotionless proved itself to be quite the challenge as
he processed the new information. Gellert Grindelwald was the supreme
commander, the one he had heard so much about. The man who had made the entire
system, the man who had rebuild what was left of the world as he saw fit. The
one who had forced people into the slave system.
His hands clenched, struggling to keep his face impassive, not betraying what
he knew or felt. Harry was in the same house as the man The Order had tried to
kill all this time and he had the chance to actually do something about it.
But you won’t risk it, a little voice in the back of his mind hurried to add.
It was the truth. Even if he somehow managed to kill the man, without the Order
he wouldn’t be able to get out of here alive, not to mention reaching London… A
dead end which wouldn’t lead anywhere but to death, or worse, torture. The kind
of torture that made you reveal things you weren’t even aware you knew… A chill
passed through him at the thought.
“I understand,” Harry spoke in a soft voice. “And you can go out and stuff?
Alone?”
Hermione smiled, nodding at him with the eagerness of a child in front of a
gift.
“Yes, I can visit the shops; I have money to buy the things I desire, sometimes
alone, sometimes not. It depends. And I can talk to people too,” she added
while looking at him. “It must sound horrible of me but I’m really glad you are
here. Beside Grindelwald, who is away most of the time, I have no one to talk
to. Not to mention Kreacher, he always scoffs at me and babbles about how
‘unworthy’ I am behind my back… But sitting here with you is almost like…having
a friend.”
Her face went red after saying that and she hurried to apologize.
“No, it’s all right,” Harry assured her, somehow amused and sad at the same
time. Most probably this girl hadn’t had a friend in her entire life. “I’d like
to be friends if you want. It makes life more bearable, doesn’t it?”
They smiled at each other and Hermione extended a hand to him over the table.
“Then let’s do this again. Properly this time. My name is Hermione Granger.”
“Nice to meet you Hermione. My name is Harry Potter.”
 
 
Grindelwald was not present at dinner in the evening, only him and Hermione
eating chicken and talking with one another about trivial things over the light
of a few candles. Safe things. He found out that the girl loved reading and she
asked him subtle question about the kind of life he had until now. Hermione had
been brought up at one of the schools, he learned. Not knowing her parents, the
girl was thirsty for whatever information Harry had about how a family was.
One day she was supposed to offer just that to Grindelwald.
Harry told her only about his parents. About how much he cared for them and the
other way around. About how safe he felt around them. Of course, he failed to
mention it had been that way only till Dumbledore and The Order had came into
their lives. After, it had been… complicated so to say.
That was the time he started hanging around other children after being left
alone on more than one occasion. Harry was shy at first. It was odd hanging
around The Weasleys and kids his age, seeing them playing with each other and
so on. A good period of time passed before Harry had truly integrated in their
group.
Or to be honest, he wasn’t so sure he had really ever done such a thing. Harry
was different from them. Knowing adult things, things none of them could even
fathom, like the men and women tortured in the basement. They were all happy in
their ignorance. In truth, they really didn’t want to know. Exactly like
listening to ghost stories. You made yourself seem as if you wanted the
storyteller to continue but in truth you dread every word you might hear,
afraid. They were like that too, eager for whatever information about the
Others, only to be unable to sleep at night after hearing even the smallest
detail.
He was the total opposite. Always, no matter the situation, it was always
better knowing than not knowing. If you knew things you were ready, powerful,
aware. One was ready to defend himself from the danger. You couldn’t be taken
by surprise. You saw things as they really were, not some kind of rosy
reflection of the reality other people wanted you to perceive.
Hermione was like that too, Harry realized. An intelligent girl who knew a
great deal of things about the system and life in it, things Harry did not
know. He was clearly as a disadvantage here. So he asked questions, nothing too
private as to embarrass the girl, mostly about being outside of the house.
About other Masters she knew, about slaves she knew or about other people
living here with them. He doubted it was only the three of them and old
Kreacher.
“Oh, there’s the old lady who’s in charge of the cooking and the other one who
deals with the cleaning, but I don’t know their names. Grindelwald says they’re
beneath us.” She looked at him with open disapproval in her gaze after chewing
the little piece of meat in her mouth. “You aren’t allowed to speak with them
longer than necessary, other than a quick ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye.’ Mostly
greetings. Tom lives here as well yet he usually doesn’t eat with us. Only
sometimes.”
There was another boy here, Harry thought. He wasn’t alone. Then why did
Grindelwald take him in if he already had one to serve his other needs?
“Is he like us?” Harry asked, having already finished his food. He was eating
faster than one normally would, but it was a bad habit to break.
Years of shortage regarding nourishment did that to a person.
“No, Tom’s a fighter, he represents Grindelwald at the Fights. He came here
before me. He’s the most skilled of them all,” she added with faint admiration
and pride in her voice. “No one lives once they are chosen to fight with him.”
“They fight to the death,” Harry wanted to ask, yet it came out as a statement.
He wasn’t surprised. They made people their sex slaves, why wouldn’t they force
them to kill each other as well? Harry didn’t know which was worse. “If he’s as
great as you say why isn’t he here with us?”
Hermione looked down in what Harry realized was embarrassment, her cheeks pink.
“You know… not to mingle in that way. There are laws against it. Both of your
heads will be cut off if they catch you. And somehow, I don’t know how, they
always catch you. ”
“But it’s stupid,” Harry argued. “No one would be foolish enough to risk
sleeping together knowing that.”
“You would be surprised,” sighed Hermione. “His rooms are into the other wing
of the house. He has everything he needs there, but you will surely see him
sometimes.”
They ceased the conversation after that when Kreacher came to rush Harry back
to his room while Hermione was free to do whatever she desired. She, unlike
him, had privileges. Lucky for Harry, he was still dressed when the man
returned an hour or so after, announcing that the Master of the house demanded
to see him alone. Well, it was going to happen sooner or later.
The man’s office proved to be in the same wing of the house as the fighter’s
room was, Harry couldn’t help but notice. Here there wasn’t a single painting,
not even the plain one with the fruits. He was made to knock and enter without
waiting for an answer by Kreacher and his rude mumblings behind Harry’s back.
Did Grindelwald know about that? Did he even care?
A fire was burning in the chimney, unlike the rest of the house it seemed there
wasn’t electric heating in here. It gave the office a particular kind of glow,
a warm and pleasant light that invited you to sleep. There were books as well
as two comfortable-looking chairs in front of the fireplace and another one in
front of the desk where Grindelwald was smoking. The window behind him was open
wide, not a sound being heard from outside. It was way too quiet.
“Do sit down, Mister Potter,” Grindelwald instructed in a bored voice and Harry
did as told. “How do you like my house?”
He had quite the nerve Harry noted with a little bit of admiration. But then
again, why wouldn’t he? Grindelwald was the supreme master, so to speak.
“It’s nice,” he admitted, seeing no point in lying about that. “Quite big for
the few people living here if you ask me.”
There was nothing polite about his remark, however Grindelwald seemed more
amused than angry by Harry’s taunting tone.
“Hmm, yes. It must be quite the change from the ramshackle you are used to.
Being on the run with your parents and the Order was quite exhausting for a
teenager such as yourself. How did you even manage to go on with your daily
life?”
So he knew then. There was no more doubt Grindelwald knew. Harry sat
straighter, looking them man into the eyes, glad the smoke was being blown
outside and not into his face.
Well he was Harry Potter and he was not going to behave like a coward
especially now when Grindelwald was aware of everything.
“I suppose you aren’t going to spare us the pointless complications and just
tell me everything you know about the Order and Albus Dumbledore…” Grindelwald
observed, not letting Harry out of his sight. “Or maybe you will?”
“Of course not,” Harry answered. “I know nothing.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
Grindelwald’s grin reminded Harry of a lion ready to strike. The older man
drummed his fingers against his desk, listening to a melody only he heard, all
the while looking straight at Harry with intimidating purposes.
“Moving on, I’m sure Hermione told you that I’m not going to make you share my
bed if there’s no desire to do so from both parts. But, keep in mind that my
patience is not forever and neither is my interest. And you really, really
shouldn’t lose that. So, I ask yet again, don’t you have anything else to tell
me?”
His gaze was intense; however Harry stood his ground, even smiling at the man
in defiance. He won’t do anything to me as long as he thinks I’m important.
Better keep it that way then.
“No, sir. I know nothing of importance,” he repeated himself, telling the half-
truth. “Otherwise I’d tell you.”
The man was good at hiding his emotions, Harry had to admit. The fury was well
hidden behind his passive face he presented to the world. One had to know what
to look for, and being used to Dumbledore’s pleasant looking expressions no
matter what was happening, Harry could easily read behind this man’s facade.
Underneath lied raw anger, directed at him.
“Then-“
Grindelwald was cut off by two perfectly timed knocks on the door and Harry
heard someone come in without waiting asking for permission, letting it fall
shut behind him with a hard ‘thud’. He didn’t turn, his attention set on
Grindelwald’s expression. The man’s dark eyes were narrowing at the unknown
visitor quite subtly.
“Should I return later?”
It was a pleasantly deep voice. A man’s voice.
“No,” Grindelwald objected, ceasing his drumming, giving up on his cigarette,
crushing it onto the ashtray. “Mister Potter and I were just finishing our
conversation. I trust your job went well.”
“Of course,” came the answer from behind him.
“Good, that’s all.” The golden-man tilted his head, fixing Harry with his eyes,
still addressing the unknown man. “Why don’t you accompany Mister Potter to his
room? It’ll be a shame to let him get lost. Who knows what may happen to
him...”
The stranger must have nodded because Grindelwald motioned Harry to stand up
with a dismissive gesture of his hand, like he wanted him out as soon as
possible.
Such course of action was perfectly fine with Harry.
“Goodbye sir,” he offered with a blank expression, glad it was over.
“Goodbye, Harry.”
He turned then, eyes settling on the most handsome man he had ever seen. Taller
than both Harry and Grindelwald, he towered over him, looking at Harry with a
bored expression on his unfairly attractive face. As if he was regarding
furniture, not another human being. He couldn’t be more than thirty Harry
quickly decided. Twenty-something he appreciated almost instantly. The stranger
had wavy black hair and grey eyes that were still locked on Harry’s face.
Realized his lips were parted in surprise, making a fool out o himself, he
closed his mouth, hoping he wasn’t blushing or something as embarrassing as
that.
“Lead the way, Tom,” Grindelwald voiced from behind them. “I don’t have all
night.”
Tom, the fighter he had heard so much about nodded, still looking at Harry and
then he turned on his heels and left, not once looking behind him to check if
Harry was following. Of course he was. He hurried his peace, falling in step
with the handsome man who ever so slightly slowed down. Tom did not say
anything, eyes ahead, not even when they arrived at Harry’s doorstep without
any instructions from his part.
Grindelwald must have announced his arrival to everyone, he decided. Harry kept
quiet as well, Hermione’s warning echoing into his mind at the most inopportune
moment. It wasn’t like there could be something between them. Not that Harry
knew how that something was supposed to begin.
And these thoughts were entirely inappropriate.
“Thank you,” he still let out with his back turned towards Tom, hand on the
doorknob.
A warm breath washing over his neck, way to close, and he shuddered. Harry felt
Tom’s body almost pressed to his own and then long fingers parted his and a
soft material was pushed into his hands.
“Bring it back to me,” whispered Tom in his ear.
And then he left, neither of them looking after another. Harry didn’t dare to.
He entered his room with small steps as if he wasn’t in a hurry, heart
hammering in his chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Turning the small
lamp on he sat onto the edge of the bed, smoothing his hands over what proved
to be a napkin and read.
Wait for me at midnight in your room.
The handwriting was elegant and Harry stared down at the note, biting onto his
lower lip, thinking, debating with himself over what to do next. What if the
man was spying on him for Grindelwald, waiting for Harry to make a mistake so
the he could get his precious information from Harry without breaking the law?
He could be…It made sense; Harry himself would have done that if he were
Grindelwald. But Tom also could be one of their own. A spy from the Order, his
ticket straight out of this place.
Well, one thing he knew for sure. Harry was going to wait for him. From then on
he’ll wait and see.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     beta by lunalcvegoocl
There were two more minutes until midnight when, without any sound, his door
was parted and a tall silhouette invited itself inside. The lamp was safely
turned off and Harry was tucked in bed, staring at the ceiling in darkness. He
ever so slightly turned his head onto the pillow to stare up at Tom who brought
a finger to his lips in a signal so well known that Harry almost smiled.
This was beyond dangerous. His room was parallel to the building where the
guards slept. If he had chosen to leave the lamp on they would have been able
to see everything, no matter the curtains. They would have seen Tom. Could they
be killed for just this? Harry wondered.
Well, it didn’t matter. For now he’ll just sit here and listen what the other
had to say. If he was with the Order or not.
Harry’s eyes went wide as Tom stepped closer and -without any sign of shame-
sat next to him onto the bed, turning onto his side without a word. This was
really happening. After letting out a long breath Harry did the same. Tom’s
warm breath washed over his face, smelling like mint. Up close he was even more
handsome, even in such poor lighting.
Tom’s hand rose as if he expected something from Harry. He understood at once,
placing the napkin onto Tom’s open palm from where he had hidden it under his
pillow. Then Harry waited for the other to speak.
“There are no microphones in here, but speak as quietly as possible,” Tom
whispered, looking at him.
The blinders were drawn, yet faint light was coming from outside, illuminating
their upper bodies so they were able to distinguish each other’s features quite
clearly. Harry only nodded in silent acceptance.
“I’m with the Order,” the man next to him declared, not wasting a single
breath.
Harry fixed him with a look, raising an eyebrow. Tom didn’t appear to be lying,
at least judging from his calm expression... but then again all spies were good
at that. It was part of the job description.
“And I should simply take your word for that?” Harry commented. “You must think
very little of me.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed in annoyance and Harry wasn’t sure it was genuine or a
clever way the other used to manipulate him.
“For the sake of our obviously dangerous discussion, let’s say I believe you,”
Harry continued. “What proof do you have? Wait…tell me something only a member
of the Order would know. Make me believe you, Tom. If that is even your real
name…”
“The basement of the main house -the undiscovered one- was used for torturing
people. Only a few members were aware of it,” Tom confessed in an instant.
“Dumbledore’s orders. We all know the old man likes his secrets. Remus Lupin,
dear friend of your parents doesn’t know about it. Black and Pettigrew do. Your
father agreed to it from the start. He didn’t think the others would give their
blessing over what was happening down there.”
Harry stared at him, a faint smile spreading onto his lips as well as a sense
of ease.
“I’ve never seen you around there,” he admitted. “Otherwise I would have
remembered your face.”
Tom returned his grin somehow smugly.
“Of that I’m sure of. No one can forget my face once they’ve seen it, Harry
Potter.”
There was something strangely pleasant into the other’s arrogance. Almost
teasing. Friendly even, it amused Harry more than it ought to.
“My parents are well, aren’t they?” Harry asked a few moments after, dreading
the answer soon to follow.
“I don’t possess that information,” Tom responded, no inflection or emotion in
his voice. “My contact answers directly to Dumbledore. I know only about the
things he chooses to tell me.”
“That means he knows I’m in here,” Harry concluded somewhat bitterly.
“Of course. He knew where you would be sent even before Grindelwald himself
did.”
Harry made a face.
That simply wasn’t possible. How could he? Tom must be wrong, he decided for
the time being. If Dumbledore had been aware he would have done something. Not
serve Harry right into the hands of his greatest enemy.
“Are you here to help me escape?” he childishly asked.
“Yes, I am going to get you out.”
“How? No offense, but you’re just another slave in here. Like me.”
Cool grey eyes went outright frosty at the mention of the word ‘slave’, as if
the most horrible insult had been uttered to him. And it probably had.
“I’m a great deal of things Harry. You shall see. But you have my word I’ll get
you out of here. Just wait and try not to bring too much attention onto
yourself. Or offer any kind of information about the Order to Grindelwald,
otherwise it’s all for nothing.”
Tom moved to stand then but Harry caught onto his sleeve and held it in his
hand.
“How long?”
Grey eyes bore into his.
“We’ll see. Sleep well, Harry.”
He more heard than saw the other leave, just as quietly as he came in. Harry
resumed his position on his back, thinking, hope gnawing at the corners of his
mind. The excitement was too great for him to be sleep that night.
 
 
 
The next few days passed in a blur, merging with one another, so alike that
Harry thought he may be truly going crazy.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Hermione and sometimes Grindelwald, if the
man was at home and not doing whatever he usually did. And then he just stood
in his room, looking out the window, completely and utterly bored, just
thinking about nothing and everything.
The whole process repeated itself the day after.
He had caught a glimpse of Tom only once since that night. It had happened onto
the main staircase while Harry came down for dinner and collided with the man’s
chest face first. If not for the strong hand holding him in place he would have
tumbled them both onto the ground. Harry had looked up at him, not surprised to
find his gaze being returned. But they did not dare to speak.
Harry had realized Tom’s hand was still on him, not doing anything, just
resting there, that in itself was dangerous. An unnecessary risk.
As if sensing his thoughts Tom windrew his hand and with a small nod he
continued his way up the stairs like nothing ever happened. It took a lot of
will from Harry not to turn around and stare after the man. Instead he started
walking as well, already dreading the long night ahead of him.
At least the food in here was tasty. And enough.
 
 
 
“Do you love him?” Hermione raised her eyes from the book at Harry’s unexpected
question.
Once again they were sitting in the library. The girl read and Harry was half-
way counting the books decorating the shelves around them. The infinite trail
of numbers had been interrupted by his own curious mind while in the midst of
it.
“I-“ Hermione stammered, which was already odd because the bushy-haired girl
did not do such a thing. “I don’t know. I’m grateful for everything and he’s
pleasant company but….” Her words lost themselves in her mouth and Hermione
stared at some place behind Harry’s shoulder, deep in thought before she spoke
again. “Sometimes he’s nice to be around. It depends. But love?” There was
another long pause. “No, I don’t think so. Love is a complex matter, something
I’ve read in so many books by now. Feeling it is different. So no, I don’t
think I love him. Just as Gellert does not care about me in that sense. What we
have is a mutual agreement, beneficial for both sides.”
“A business arrangement,” Harry concluded for her.
His only response was a nod of head.
“Oh-I almost forgot,” Hermione gasped, once again reaching for her book resting
on the table. “We won’t be meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
“What? Why?”
“Another fight is being held. You aren’t aware, but me and Gellert always go to
see Tom,” she explained. “Well, he’s obliged to, being his master and all, but
bringing me is not mandatory. I remember he asked me if I wanted to go and see,
more than three years ago and I, of course, accepted. It’s barbaric, the way
they slaughter each other, all those deaths and corpses lying onto the ground
like nothing….But it’s preferable than being locked at home. Anything is better
than loneliness.”
Her last words hit Harry hard and Hermione noticed only after she finished
speaking them. Her cheeks went bright red as she hurried to apologize.
“I’m sorry for offending you. I know it must be hard, sitting here all day long
when the only alternative is…” she sighed.
“It’s fine, really.”
It wasn’t, but Harry could get over it.
They kept on talking after that, trying to distract one another. Meaningless
things, mostly Hermione telling him about what she knew about the System. How
the headquarters was In London, how Grindelwald went there from time to time,
whole-days trip where he was away from home and the bushy-haired girl was left
by herself into this enormous house.
Hermione seemed to hate when it happened, at least judging from the look in her
eyes. Considering the fact that they weren’t allowed to even talk with the
servants Harry could understand. Not that one could have a conversation with
Kreacher, but whatever.
Meanwhile Harry was in deep thought.
The Fights. Tom would be there. Outside of this damn house. Maybe that was the
time when the Order sent him information and the other way around. And Harry
wasn’t allowed to be there. And yet he needed to. Trusting the older man was
one thing, but being able to get out and see for himself was more than
desirable.
Even if he didn’t actually manage to speak with the Order himself, Harry would
have witnessed how everything was like. This house was familiar by now, as well
as the stories, however, reality was different. It had to be.
He needed to see.
The decision was made before Harry rationally realized. He wanted to go and see
Tom fight and there was only one person who could set it in motion.
Grindelwald.
They moved on to dinner not too long after, just the two of them. They spoke
some more while Harry went over numerous strategies of approach, over and over
again. He was glad when they finished and Kreacher came to announce that the
master of the house had returned. It seemed Hermione intended to go and see him
but Harry quickly asked for a private meeting as well.
It was permitted by the servant and he left the room feeling Hermione stare
after him, on the back of his neck.
He knocked only once at Grindelwald’s door and he was invited inside almost
immediately.
The office was just as he remembered; even the heat of the fire was the same.
The only difference was the window which was now closed; the blinders tightly
shut and bound together with a ribbon. The man’s golden eyes were on him as
soon as he entered, giving up the papers in his hand.
“I have an offer,” Harry announced, not having the patience to play around.
Grindelwald’s eyebrows rose at that and his lips moved, morphing into a grin
from ear to ear. He waved a hand in the boy’s direction with a relaxed move of
his hand.
“Sit if we’re talking business.” The man waited until Harry did as told before
speaking again. “So, I gather that you have reconsidered my proposal? Are you
done with being locked in the house from dawn to sunrise?”
There was cheeriness into his voice and it really bothered him. Made Harry want
to wipe the smirk off his arrogant face. With a knife if possible.
He stopped, banishing the violent imagine somewhere into the back of his mind.
“No, sir, but I have something else I think you may desire.”
“And that would be?” the man asked, laughter disappearing from his voice,
obviously pleased with the way things were going.
“The location of a few of the Order safe houses in London,” Harry let out. “
I’m sure the System is dying to know about one or two. Or three.”
The smile was back again, wider this time. Harry kept on looking at him,
waiting for an answer, heart hammering into the cage of his chest
“And what would you want in exchange?”
“To go see the Fights from tomorrow with you and Hermione.”
It was settled.
 
 
The man’s head rolled to the ground without a single noise. Only the wild cheer
of the crowd could be heard echoing between the tall walls where the fights
were held. Harry averted his eyes for a few moments, taking long breaths of air
and when he looked once again the people dressed in black were already carrying
the corpse out by his hands and legs. One of the men seemed to lag behind the
others and immediately after he bowed down and picked up the severed head like
one would raise a ball. For once he was glad he had skipped lunch.
The speaker was telling them something Harry caught only half-way through. It
was a hoarse voice which made everything he said even harder to distinguish
over the noise.
“-and now we welcome the given representative of High Commander Grindelwald,”
the man howled and the people went wild. “Riddle and-”
The opponent’s identity was lost within the enthusiastic shouts. Harry’s
attention was caught by the unfamiliarity of the name and he leaned forward,
his forearms resting against the railway in order to see better. Yet, the one
who calmly entered the arena as if he had all the time in the world was no
other than Tom. Tom, who standing face to face with his adversary made Harry’s
stomach clench in the worst kind of way.
Because the other looked like a brute, massive and bulky with a shaven head and
a missing ear. Even though Tom was taller than the man, the upcoming fight
seemed entirely inappropriate. The inequality was obvious.
And what was even more frustrating was the fact that Harry had a favourite. He
was not the passive spectator he’d rather be. Harry actually wanted Tom to be
the one to win this even if it meant killing the other in cold blood. Maybe it
had something to do with the fact that the older man was his only tie to the
Order, or maybe he just liked him more than the bald one.
His fingers were trembling and he buried the in the stiff material of his
jacket, hoping Grindelwald’s eyes had not been on him this entire time. The
possibility of the blonde imagining Harry had anything to do with Tom was
dangerous for both of them.
The commentator howled something and in a blink of an eye it started. Tom
attacked first, as fast as a snake closing in on it’s prey.
He missed the bald’s thick neck by an inch when his sword was met with the
other’s, quickly stepping backwards. With a growl his opponent went after him.
There was no real technique in his movements, Harry observed. No planning, no
strategy, just brute force. And in that precise moment Tom’s victory was a
certainty.
The black-haired man seemed to have been expecting the reckless lunge, because
as the tallest sword was charged at him he stepped aside and somehow his own
weapon was impaled in the other’s throat the very next moment. When the man
fell to his knees as a puppet whose strings had been severed, the crowd erupted
into cheers, dutifully accompanied by louder clapping.
Tom leaned down to recover his bloodied weapon and Harry was impressed. His
mother’s teachings about the importance of human life and the horrifying act of
killing seemed so far away now… Pretty words, meaningless words. The reality
was different and Harry simply couldn't see what Tom had done as wrong.
Ironically, it felt more right than most things these days. In the proper sense
of the word, justified.
He found himself clapping as well.
It was the final fight of the evening as the speaker proudly announced and
Harry was still watching Tom, looking at the way he did not bow in front of the
crowd as the others before him had done. He simply turned around and left the
same way he came in. Slowly, not gracing the corpse lying on the sound with a
single glance.
When his back left Harry’s vision he had no other choice but to turn to
Grindelwald. The proud smile that graced his features came as the surprise and
the posture of his hands making it obvious that he had been clapping as well.
Hermione who was sitting on the other side of Grindelwald caught his gaze and
smiled. It faintly occurred to him that they looked like parents watching their
child perform an important task. The comparison was disturbing.
“So,” Hermione's voice raised over the other noises, “what do you think? Did
you enjoy it?”
Harry stole one last look at where Tom had disappeared before answering her.
“Tom definitely was very good. The best one from what I’ve seen until now.”
Grindelwald had been closely listening their exchange, his expression amused.
“I believe my Hermione asked you about the show as a whole, but it’s most
interesting to know you value Tom’s skill so much. After all he really is the
best…” the man trailed off, his gaze distant.
Harry stayed silent.
Never again was he going to be this stupid.
Drowned in the same meaningful silence, he followed Grindelwald and Hermione
through the endless lines of chairs, stealing looks all around him, searching
for a familiar face, a way out, anything. He got nothing, only people and the
open entrance leading to the insides of the building. It didn’t pass Harry’s
notice that most of the crowd was moving to another part of the arena. A second
exit, then. Made sense, considering the masters saw mingling with bad eyes.
Or a second way out in case of danger, Harry’s mind supplied.
The insides of the arena were lavish and well kept, from the high windows to
the shiny floor underneath their expensive shoes. Harry had wondered why
everyone’s clothing was so lavish and now, looking at everyone gathering around
the three of them, it all made sense.
It was a party.
They stepped into what proved to be the main hall and Harry could not believe
his eyes. Even though he lived at Grindelwald’s mansion and had seen the riches
displayed there, it did not compare with the bare opulence surrounding this
huge place.
The long tables were kept close to the walls and almost every inch of it was
filled with food, piles of food that most probably wouldn’t end up being eaten.
A waste while outside the city people were dying of thirst and hunger. His
hands were bawled into fists while Hermione took hold of his arm and lead them
in the opposite direction from where Grindelwald was heading.
He stared after him, watching Grindelwald shake hands to a blonde man with long
hair, all dressed in black, until Harry was forced to tear his gaze away. They
had reached one of the tables and he followed the girl’s example and sat down.
Multiple pairs of curious eyes meet his.
They were all young boys and girls.
Gazing at him, wearing awkward smiles on their faces. Never had Harry seen so
many teenagers gathered in one place. Sure, he had grown up with the Weasleys,
but it did not compare even by far. Hermione appeared to sense his uneasiness
as she cleared her throat and gestured from Harry to the group and then back to
Harry.
“You must have heard by now, but in case you didn’t, this is Harry. He’s new.”
Murmurs and greeting assaulted him and Harry was bombarded with a series of
names he wasn’t able to remember seconds later. Just one girl with pale long
hair named Luna somehow sticked to his memory. Judging from the way she and
Hermione were talking to each-other it wasn’t the first time the girls had met.
“So, how was your life before?” one thin boy directly asked Harry after he took
a long sip out of what appeared to be orange juice.
Harry stared at him, putting head to head the most convincing lie he was able
to conjure. Not that he cared what they all thought about him, but he was
caught in their company and he couldn’t sit and ignore everything and everyone.
He needed to make connections, not isolate himself and hope for the better.
After presenting his lie the group moved on interrogating Luna. Most precisely
they were curious about the last trip of her master, whoever the man may be.
“Oh,” the girl started in a dreamy voice. “Mister Malfoy did not bother to
explain, nor to me or lady Narcissa…”
The gossiping trailed on after that, yet Harry’s attention was already
elsewhere. On Grindelwald, or to be honest, on the person talking with
Grindelwald and the blonde haired man. Tom who was dressed in fancy clothing
just like all of them and who seemed at home in this place, surrounded by this
ostensive luxury.
He looks more lordly than Grindelwald himself, Harry couldn't help from
noticing.
Tom had just killed a man not too long ago and now appeared to be the prototype
of a lord who had jumped from the pages of a book or something.
The conversation appeared to be reaching its end and those grey eyes were
suddenly on Harry’s own. He fought the instinct to avert his gaze and blantly
kept on staring at the man. It didn’t took long until Tom simply turned on his
heels and met with another well-dressed stranger and moved to what could only
be the hallway.
“Excuse me,” Harry mumbled, his eyes still glued on Tom’s back. “I need to go
to the bathroom.”
He heard Hermione say something and Harry realized than in case of an
emergency, he really didn’t know where the bathroom was. Nor was he sure going
there was allowed. Well, Harry had other things to worry about, like the
stranger who was right now meeting with Tom. It could be no one important or it
could be a member of the Order.
Either way Harry needed to see it with his own two eyes. Trusting Tom was one
thing, plain stupidity another.
Harry apologised after bumping into an old lady holding two glasses of wine in
her insecure hands and continued his way toward the other side of the room. All
this crowd must have been sufficient enough to hide him from Grindelwald’s gaze
if the man was not otherwise busy.
When he finally reached the corridor Tom had disappeared into, Harry was out of
breath.
It was so quiet there that only the hollow noises from the main room meet his
ears. The wild pounding of his heart did nothing to soften his sense of unease
as he put one foot in front of the other, moving in the single direction the
corridor went.
Harry was almost ready to take the second corner with his hope at the point of
perish when he heard something else beside the quietness. The faint sound of
whispering of voices.
If not careful enough, Harry would have said it was only the wind passing
through these lower passages.
On his toes, almost pressed to the wall, he tip-toed closer and closer, right
at the corner. The fear gripping him was unnatural as this was only Tom and
yet….the panic did not cease. His laboured breath was unmistakably loud and-
“-ord...as I said, they are willing to receive us by the end of this month,” an
unknown passive voice was saying. “As soon as your decision is made we are
ready to flee. All preparations are made, both there and here...”
He could not see them and waited for Tom’s response which did not come.
Frowning, Harry made to move away from the cover of the wall when suddenly a
hand was clasped over his mouth and a strong body pushed itself against his,
drawing them back into the cold surface at his back.
Harry knew it was Tom even before the man loosened the hold on his head,
settling onto his neck, allowing him to gaze up into his grey eyes. They were
narrowed and even the hard set of his jaw was evidence enough of the man’s
rage.
He could kill me right here and right now, Harry’s mind whispered, betraying
his fear.
His feet barely touched the ground from where Tom was holding him up and
looking at him with fiery eyes. He towered over Harry like a living menace, not
yet striking but neither letting him go. It was terrifying.
“What in the word are you doing here?”
The question may have been harmless, considering he wasn't shouting if not for
the look on his face. Harry slowly moved his hands up and placed them onto
Tom’s wrist, just resting there.
“I...I thought you may be meeting with one of the members of the Order,” he
answered truthfully and breathlessly in the small space between their mouths.
“And I-”
“You what? You thought to ruin everything by not trusting me when I promised
you I would get you out no matter what? You simply came after me when you
aren’t even allowed out of Grindelwald's sight?”
The guilt came as a surprise, accompanied by the foolishness of his actions,
voiced by Tom. He couldn't believe he had been stupid enough to risk as much.
The hand around his throat tightened by a fraction and Harry drew up a sharp
breath, his own hand digging into Tom’s own. There was no point in fighting the
older man, no chance at victory. The only hope was Tom’s mercy and it did not
seem likely he was going to be offered such thing.
“I’m sorry,” Harry tried again. “And I swear I trust you, but staying in that
house is hell and I miss mom and dad and-”
The pressure on his neck disappeared and Harry realized Tom had withdrawn his
hand. His feet were once again onto the ground, his face barely reaching Tom’s
chin. However, the man did not step back, just stood there on the half-obscured
room, looking at Harry with pity.
“How come he allowed you to attend?” Tom finally inquired. “What did you offer
him?”
The allusion was plain and obvious, coloring Harry’s cheeks in red despite his
strong resolve. This closure between them was of not help either. Tom was
distracting and having his entire attention fixed on his persona was maddening.
And the most surprising of all was Tom’s expression at the possibility. Not
disgust like Harry would have otherwise guessed, but anger. He did not known
what to do with this information.
“I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re thinking. Just gave him a few
addresses of past Order safe houses. They’re empty,” he could not restrain
himself from grinning. “Other than dust and mice he’ll find nothing there.”
Tom did not appear impressed in the slightest.
“And what does your pretty little head think it’s going to happen when
Grindelwald is going to send his men there and find out you had been lying to
his face?”
It was not a rhetorical question and the taller man was expecting an answer.
“I would have managed it at that time,” Harry reluctantly admitted, his gaze
holding Tom’s own with ease. “Just like always.”
The corners of Tom’s perfectly shaped mouth were slowly inching upwards and
Harry stared, struggling to come to terms with the mood swings. And Tom was
still pressed to him.
“You’re unbelieva-”
His face froze and for a few moments and Harry could not understand why.
“Tom?” he slowly called, his hand settling onto the man’s shoulder.
And then he heard them. Steps, more than one. Coming straight here. To them.
Their faces must have been a mirror of each other. They would be found out and
be hanged or even worse. Harry was never going to see his parents again, never
go where he wanted to and Tom was going to die still a slave and-
Demanding lips descended upon his and Harry gasped in surprise, squeezing the
material of Tom’s jacket into his fist. He did not know what to do with his
mouth, with his hands, with his everything. He just tightly held onto Tom’s
hard body while the man showed him how.
They were kissing. Harry was kissed for the first time in his short life by no
other than the devilishly handsome Tom Riddle who appeared to be after his very
own soul. His strong hands were over Harry's cheeks, moving the boy’s head to
his liking until Harry literally could not breathe.
His feet hurt from standing onto his tiptoes for a better reaching of Tom’s
mouth but Harry did not let go of him, not even when the countless steps
stopped right next to them. The wall was freezing against his heated body when
Tom’s lips left his and Harry had a brief moment of chasing after them.
A deep cough startled him and they both turned to find Grindelwald’s golden
eyes set on their pressed bodies. The many men behind him were not as angry as
their leader yet surprise was clearly written on their faces. Grindelwald
stepped towards them.
But despite all this, Harry wasn’t as afraid of him as he had been of Tom.
He waited.
***** Chapter 3 *****
The noise of dozens and dozens of conversations surrounded him so close that it
made him  choke on the air. Both this and the endless waiting stretched like
spilled water, soaking  everything in its way .
He did not know where Tom was.
Grindelwald’s men had separated them last night while Harry was dragged here,
into the lowest levels of the fighting arena. He hadn’t know that back then,
but now, listening to the infernal shouts echoing through the tall walls, there
was no doubt about his location. Or his purpose here.
But what had happened to Tom?
And why did his traitorous mind keep hanging on to  that ? On that one stupid
meaningless  thing .
Harry was perfectly aware of why the older man had kissed him, thank you very
much. Of all folk gathered at the party, somebody must have seen him follow Tom
and the black-haired man and reported back to Grindelwald. The consequences of
such possible conspiracy would have been deadly, so deadly that Tom had
preferred to distinguish it as a forbidden romantic affair instead of what it
really was. Maybe they wouldn't be killed for that.
The regret inside him was clawing his way up like a living and breathing
monster, inching closer to the surface into the thin tunnel of his neck.  There
is no one to blame but yourself . If Harry hadn’t decided to follow Tom none of
this would have taken place. Sealing his own fate was one thing yet destroying
another person as well was the lowest type of hell to him. Not any person. Tom.
Tom who had already risked his safety in order to help him. Harry gulped and
hoped for the best.  If only Tom wouldn’t die . Then all would be okay.
Somehow.
But why was he here in the twisted pleasure of his own company?
The only logic explication was waiting for the singular purpose of fighting, or
better said; to be killed in cold blood by a nameless brute. His lifeless
corpse already hung in front of his mind-eye, Harry’s whole body shuddering at
his soon-to-be fate. And Tom...well one thing was certain. They wouldn’t take
the risk to let Tom take the stand. Harry was sure enough he would have
defeated anyone.
A small smile could not be helped.
He took a large gulp out of the yellow cup of water that had been delivered
this morning. It was cold and made his already stiff body even colder, only his
empty thoughts bringing him the tiniest bit of inner calmness.  And it was
ironic how Harry could die any moment now and the only two things he was able
to think about beside his actual death were his parents and Tom, the presence
of the later being a fervent surprise. And not just the kiss, but all of Tom.
Even that well concealed, terrifying part of him had so viciously  stared at
Harry as he pushed the smaller boy into the wall.
Harry let his head fall onto his knees as he exhaled, willing himself to
maintain his newly-gained composure. Panicking was dangerous when so much was
at risk, this particular situation even more so.
When steps echoed near his improvised cell, Harry’s head instantly shot up. No
one had talked to him since last night, not even the man who brought him water.
Maybe…
The familiar sight of Tom made his heart throb and he all but jumped to the
bars when the other drew closer. In a bizarre way the man appeared to be
somehow wrong even if there was nothing visibly altered with him. He came
within reach of to the bars, intently staring at Harry, speaking in a low
private tone.
“Harry, I want you to concentrate on what I am going to say. In only a few
minutes they are going to drag you out there -by force if necessary-  and make
you fight.”
Harry nodded, his heart sinking with each word uttered. There hadn’t been any
doubt about that in the first place. The other matter however….
“I know, but I can’t possibly win-”
“With me,” Tom hissed, his larger hand coming to rest over Harry’s own over the
cold icy bars. “They are going to force us to fight.”
The noise from outside faded into background and the only thing in Harry’s
vision was the other’s eyes. The hand covering his own squeezed his, the simple
gesture bringing unwanted tears into Harry’s gaze. Due to the blinding light
from the rounded-shaped lamps decorating the walls, there was no hiding it.
“I’m so  so  sorry,” he ended up stammering, letting his head fall against the
bars with a faint ‘thud’.
“Don’t cry. I hate it when people cry.”
Harry let out a humourless laugh and attempted to comply with the cheeky
demand. From what he had gathered in studying this place there were no cameras
down here and Harry hoped he was right. The consequence of anyone seeing him
and Tom here like this may be another sentence, even harsher than the first if
his mind was to be trusted.
What Tom said after almost did not register.
“-because no one is going to die today.”
The absolute certainty into the other’s voice made him pause, wondering how
such thing could even be possible. Maybe if he and Tom run away now….but no,
there was no way the older man would be able to get him out safely, breaking
through all the safeguards. It was simply beyond the realm of possibility. And
yet…
“What are you talking about?” he asked, inching as close as the bars let him,
which wasn’t very far at all.
Tom stole a look behind him as if to ensure they were alone before answering.
“The sentence is not death but injury. Do you follow me? I need to wound you
badly enough in order to be sent directly to the hospital. On the way there my
men will intercept the car and take you away, to a meeting place-”
“What about you? When are you coming to me?”
The words flew out of his mouth mindlessly and both he and Tom were rather
startled by it.
“As soon as I’m able to,“ Tom stated with conviction, “And regarding the
damaging part….”
“I don’t care,” Harry hurried to add, convincing both the other and himself,
“As long as it saves us both and it won’t kill me I’m ready to do whatever it
takes.”
Tom’s lips were parted as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing coming out
of Harry’s mouth, in such a way that it appeared he hadn’t been expecting Harry
to agree with the plan in the first place.
“I can’t seriously injure any vital organ so I must to settle on something
else… Something that once hurt would appear more dangerous that it really is….”
Grey eyes were locked onto Harry’s forehead covered by his black curls. “Like a
cut on the forehead.”
Three beats of his heart and a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach later
Harry nodded, isolating the thought of what would soon follow from everything
else. Similar to a wall dividing a town from an eminent flood, bound to break
apart at some point.
“Harry.”
Tom’s voice brought him out of his reverie and the hand abandoned his own, its
warmth vanishing, leaving Harry surprisingly hollow. Not unlike an empty shell
left on the shore. The realization that he was behaving and feeling like this
because of the older man did nothing to soften the dismay. There was no hiding
from oneself. Harry thought he fancied Tom in the way Ginny used to fancy him.
In both cases the objective chances of the other person wanting them back were
well below zero, statistically speaking. And this was neither the time or the
place to be thinking about it.
“Harry,” Tom urged again, his face becoming the sole focus of Harry’s vision.
So handsome that it did not seem real. “I must go now. Trust me and play along
with everything I do. One of my men will bring you to me. Everything will be
fine.  Trust me .”
“I do.”
He really did. No lie this time.
And he could not understand how Tom could even smile in such dire situation.
The man withdrew from the bars and made to leave before slowing, as if he had
forgotten to say something of great importance, then he turned around, looking
straight at Harry.
“We shall meet in the place where there is no summer,” Tom promised. “Wait for
me.”
And he left down the white corridor, not giving Harry the chance of uttering
any parting words. Harry stared after him for a while before resuming his
uncomfortable position onto the floor. There were some mattresses somewhere
near the wall yet he prefered not to use them. Why that was, Harry did not
know. Not consciously at least.
“ Meet in the place where there is no summer …” he whispered to his ears only,
struggling to find the hidden meaning behind the remark.
But where? The Earth was burning hot these years.
 
 
Despite everything, he was not ready when they came from him not too long
after. The dark brown uniforms were painfully familiar from the time spent in
Grindelwald’s home. Harry walked calmly with the four of them, dreading every
single step he took along the road, the consolation of Tom waiting for him at
the end of it being the only thing motivating him to keep going on. That and
the sweet thought of freedom.
Briefly he thought he may tasted it but then it crashed down on him that it was
really just the air invading his nostrils and that he was going straight to the
middle of the arena. His shoes submerged into sand at the same time the
blinding sun meet his eyes. There was only another shadow beside his own,
indicating only a single guard had remained. The thin object in his hands could
be nothing but a weapon.
It dawned on him that only a few hours ago he had been observing this very same
scene from above, and now he was standing here himself. The irony of it was
laughable.
“Stop,” the voice instructed and forced what proved to be a sword into his
hands with little ceremony.
As he left, his steps sounded almost funny,  flop flop flop , just as though he
was dragging his own feet after him.
Harry finally looked up to find Tom staring back, his face blank. Down to the
shoes on his feet he was the promotional poster of a warrior. Tall and well
made with muscular arms clearly visible in his short-sleeved black shirt. Harry
had been in those arms, had been crushed to that strong chest. Tom’s eyes were
on him, his hair slicked back, all sharp cheekbones and tightly pressed lips.
The blade swaying from his hands was the last thing Harry noticed.
The announcer's voice was hollow in his ears, vaguely realizing that his name
was being called. And then clapping, excitement palpable in the empty space.
If he believed Tom would hesitate, he was unimaginably mistaken.
Harry barely had chance to throw himself to the left before the wind danced
past his ears, the blade almost touching skin. His green eyes were wide,
remembering Tom’s words.
Trust me.
The spectators were strangely quiet the second and the last time Tom charged.
Out of nowhere a familiar  heavy weight was pushed against him, the sand making
it easy to lose his footing. When his back thudded against the ground another
body soon followed, Tom’s thighs kept his legs bound together by his superior
weight. The roar of the the crowd was almost spellbinding and for a moment it
seemed as if everything stopped, frozen in place even in this feverishness
heat. Tom’s blade was above his head and Harry was gazing up at the man. Not
the weapon.
What he found there was nothing but the usual cold mask and Harry’s breath
hitched as the not-quite-sword yet neither knife came down like a death
sentence. He expected pain, but this was heart-wrenching agony that tore
everything previously there to thorn, both inside his mind and his writhing,
thrashing body.
Even without the sound amplification, Harry was sure his wails would have
reached the highest level of the arena.
Something wet was glistening alongside his forehead, flowing straight into his
tightly-shut eyes-  and it was finally over - but just as a nasty joke, the
kind the Weasley twins enjoyed, the blade came down one more time. And then
another.
With all the inferno inside him, Harry screamed.


 
Coming back to himself occurred in segments. Slow, agonizing fractions that
seem to last for an eternity.
After Harry’s forehead had been split open there was blackness followed by
whiteness and then black again, sometimes decorated with shiny white dots,
sometimes not. Strange unfamiliar voices surrounded him as well as movement,
the sudden quietness of everything impelling it was nothing but a dream. A
nightmare in which his mind and body were locked inside, a terrifying maze with
no way out.
The absence of pain should have worried him.
The particular feeling did not exist in there, in this definite place between
unconsciousness and weakness. It was peaceful in a way, being cut off so
harshly from reality, from all worries, yet something kept nagging at the
corners of his mind,  pushing  and  pushing  and  pushing  and-
There was light. Real light shadowed by hot searing pain that made Harry lurch
forward as if burned. His fingers felt the folds covering his forehead. A thick
bandage.
It was the first thing he realized once he woke up. The agonizing pain inside
his head which pulsed and pulsed and pulsed like a living thing was second.
Now, sitting in a bed inside an unknown runned-down chamber, Harry’s insides
clenched in fear and disgust at the horrifying sight which must have lied
beneath. And the unforgettable pain, as if his forehead had been split open
with each movement of Tom’s dull sword, was sealed into his memory with no
escape from it.
They hadn’t even given Tom a sharp blade, he realized now.
The perfectly round moon was hanging right in front of the single window and
like a little boy, Harry’s eyes filled with unwanted tears. There had been no
other choice, he had agreed to this…and yet…here he was, face hidden in his
palms, not bearing to even think about stealing a look at himself. Harry
daren't even  see  his forehead.
In the instant he whispered Tom’s name the door swung open and Harry jumped,
scrambling to his shaking feet,  hoping .
The sight of an disheveled Remus Lupin left him open-mouthed, as the tall man
wasted no breath in enveloping Harry in a tight hug. As he returned the
crushing embrace, with far less enthusiasm his eyes, a man was standing in the
doorway, looking at both of them with a sour expression on his abnormally pale
face. The familiarity of the greasy black hair struck him, struggling to place
the man somewhere in his foggy memory.
He had seen this man before, with-
Tom.
This three letters made his breathing sharp and even if he knew the other was
not there, Harry still stared somewhere behind Tom’s man, wishing for a
miracle, craving to see those grey eyes on him.
“Dear God, Harry, we were all so mad with worry, James and Lily couldn’t even
properly function...” Lupin was chanting in his ear. When he finally allowed
Harry some room to breathe, his gaze was immediately drawn to the boy’s covered
forehead with guilt contorting his features. “We are so so sorry. We should
have been there sooner-”
“Cease your sentimentals,” the greasy-looking man interrupted as he finally
entered the room, dropping a large bag onto the bed. “We’ve wasted enough time
and now that the boy is awake you must immediately depart.  Now .”
He had a chilling voice, as if there was something displeasing in addressing
the two of them.
Lupin seemed to take a hold of himself and moved to open the bag, he threw a
jacket straight at Harry’s face.
“Please put it on. It can be quite chilly at night.”
A pair of shoes followed and soon enough Harry was following the two men
outside of what proved to be a small house, into the warm night, to find a car
waiting for them. The vehicle did not stand out in the slightest and he
supposed that was purpose.
Dozens of question were on his tongue yet Harry remained quiet, his attention
on the two middle-aged men. Tension was radiating from their stiff posture, and
the periodical glances behind their shoulders betrayed what Harry already knew.
They were being pursued.
After all, Gellert Grindelwald was not a man who easily gave up on his
possessions.
Hopefully it would all go well and they would take him to the meeting place
with Tom and then both of them would go to the Order, to his mum and dad and-
Two cars. Why were there two cars? What for?
He watched as the black-haired man got inside the second car and started the
engine without addressing any of them a single word. Not even the boy. Waking
up from his short-lived stupor Harry surged forward, right to the already
closed door.
“Where are you going?” he furiously demanded, hands working on the stiff
handle.  It did not move . “Tom said you were going to take me to him, to that
location where there is no summer, so why in the world are you-”
The look in the other’s black eyes could only be described as taunting.
“My loyalty is to the Order, not with some power-hungry beast,” he snarled. “I
took you to your family. Now be  happy .”
If Remus had not grabbed his arm, Harry would have jumped in front of the car.
The arms held him tight as he struggled and thrashed, following with dread
after the vehicle until it simply disappeared into the darkness alongside his
only way of ever meeting Tom again, leaving behind just a trail of smoke.
“Harry, Harry... Listen to me !”
Lupin’s raised voice paralyzed him because Lupin never yelled. Not ever.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know...about the Order and about that man.
About Riddle.”
“Whose Riddle?” he demanded, his tone bitter, his eyes still blindly searching
for the missing car.
Tom was going to wait for him and Harry-
“Please, we need to get moving now. We’ll talk on the way home. I’ll explain
everything.”
He let go of Harry as he stepped closer to the only car left. The sigh that
escaped Lupin was proof enough that Harry had not moved an inch.
“Harry,” pleaded the man, holding the passenger’s side  open, “we really need
to go.”
The urgency wrapped around Lupin’s words convinced him. Both this and the
schemings of his mind. So Harry listened in silence to everything was there to
say, piece by piece tracing back to Tom.
Tom Riddle.
The name had a nice ring to it and to his great shame, it fascinated him. The
desire to taste it with his own lips was overwhelming, yet Lupin’s presence
made it impossible. Harry took a deep breath and kept on listening.
“He lied to you,” Lupin spoke with sympathy while his eyes were on the road.
Half-an-hour had passed since their departure, minutes in which Harry had to
physically restrain himself from jumping straight out of the moving car. The
promise of broken bones or worse held him back like chains.
All of Lupin’s words ought to have made him angry and yet Harry was not. The
fact that Tom wasn't even a member of the Order, the fact that he was Lord
Voldemort himself, leader of the famous Death Eaters was of no importance now.
Not after what happened.
And yes, certainly the man had intended to manipulate him in order to gain
close insight into the Order, but he had risked his safety and life to get
Harry out. What kind of person who did not care behaved like that?
He did not voice his thoughts to Lupin and the old friend of his parents did
not demand a real conversation, very likely giving Harry time to adjust.
Believing him weak. To lick his wounds at his own foolishness and then get over
it. And Harry  did  think. Mostly about this Severus Snape. Tom had trusted the
greasy-haired man enough to leave Harry in his care, not knowing his true face.
Utterly in the dark while Dumbledore’s man was going to feed him lie after lie,
and ultimately-
Those kind of thoughts were pushed into a deep corner of his mind for now.
“Lupin,” he tentatively started, mimicking Tom’s tone. The one he used
everytime he and Grindelwald spoke, “Is the weather still hot where we are
going?”
His eyes followed the fond smile stretching over Lupin’s thin lips while long
dark shadows ran all over their faces, obscuring their features.
“Yes, of course, it’s so similar to the old place that you’re going to have a
hard time distinguishing this from...you know…. home .”
The mention of his childhood house did not move his heart.
“But it’s to be expected,” the other trailed on,  “after all the sun burns hot
over the South, while in the Nord the few people that still live out there are
freezing inside their beds night after night. And we still don’t know how such
a thing is even possible.”
Lupin said something after that but he was half-way cut by Harry.
“I know we’re in a hurry, but can we stop just a minute? I need to pee.”
Even before the man nodded in agreement Harry knew he was going to say yes. He
knew Lupin after all.
Waiting in the driver’s seat in a mocking of privacy Lupin’s gaze followed him
until Harry slowly disappeared into the darkness, making a show of fumbling
with his trousers. When catching a glimpse of him proved to be impossible and
the thick line of trees came into sight Harry did not waste any breath.
He ran.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     beta by lunalcvegoocl
After a while looking back was no longer an instinct.
Putting one foot in front of the other, Harry walked forward through the dense
forest covered in green moss, in the direction Harry dearly hoped North was.
Walking alongside the road would have been an easy yet a fatal mistake. Lupin
was bound to look for him there. Was the man aware of his intended destination?
Had he guessed it from their superficial conversation back in the car? It
hardly mattered. Harry himself didn't even know where he was supposed to go.
In the place where there's no summer. North. But where exactly North?
He hid those uncertainties in the back of his mind with ease. Other, more
pressing matters screamed for solutions. His stomach rumbled, a painful
reminder of the lack of food. Almost two days had passed since he had ran away
from Lupin and Harry had had nothing to satisfy his stomach with. Water had
been found at a small river in the forest but food was still a pleasant dream
which was evolving into a nightmare with each passing second. Harry was
dreadfully hungry and he feared going on would be futile if nourishment was not
found. He had known hunger at home but nothing near this. Not dizziness that
clouded his vision and made him stagger as a drunk man would.
Yet Harry carried on.
When one or two leafs quivered he sometimes stilled in gut wrenching terror
before hurrying his pace, yet never breaking into a run. In those moments he
almost regretted leaving the safety of Lupin's presence, of not going home. And
then Severus Snape's car driving away into the night came in mind. No matter
what, Tom needed him. Tom needed to know Harry had not betrayed him. That Snape
had lied. About this and who knew what else.
Harry was indebted to him and the favour ought to be returned.
The sun had began its descent when Harry caught glimpse of the train tracks,
two parallel lines made of thick iron that stretched over the arid hills like
an giant never-ending snake. Sitting down with his back leaning against the
trunk of the tree Harry made his decision and waited.
He had fallen asleep at some point into the night when he heard the noise which
made him jolt awake and on his feet. Hidden away at the edge of the forest,
Harry eagerly watched as the train lazily slithered towards him. Towards North.
He grinned, never happier for the lack of speed due to the heat. Right now it
suited Harry just fine.
So when the first two wagons came and went he broke into a run and somehow -
despite the burning pain into his feet- managed to grab onto the rail cart and
hauled himself up somewhere near the end of the train and broke into the wagon.
Outside the sky was becoming darker and darker and Harry went into a set of
giggles. Sprawled onto his back he stared through the small crack he had to see
outside. Images danced in his vision while Harry battled the need of throwing
up. Nothing else but his hunger. Maybe the pain throbbing in his forehead. The
bandage should be changed at some point to prevent infection but it was the
last thing on his mind as Harry moved onto his knees to gaze around. Boxes met
his eyes.
Rectangular boxes big enough to sit on were piled on top of each other with the
help of some kind of mechanism keeping them in one place. More like a shelf
with iron legs that prevented the boxes from tumbling down with the train's
movement. There were just two rows of the charge so Harry was able to reach
them, testing the lid. No lock was placed, not even duct tape.
When Harry caught glimpse of the carrots inside he almost started crying right
then and there. Chewing on one -not minding the dirt- other boxes came to his
inspection. All kinds of vegetables in different colors. From orange to brown,
several Harry had no name for. He recognised the potatoes and cucumbers and of
course the carrots, yet the rest remained a mystery. They could be eaten raw
and that was enough for him. He took a little from several boxes in order to
show their disappearance as little as possible.
As soon as his belly felt normal again, Harry inched close to the small opening
he had left. It was dark, the chilly air cooling his heated body. Welcoming now
but soon to become a liability. In the middle of the night Harry realized he
would suffer from the cold. The thin material of the jacket Lupin gave him was
his only shelter and he buried himself in it, hands deep inside the pockets yet
not escaping the chill.
Harry wondered where all this cargo was heading to. Surely the other wagons
were filled with something else beside vegetables. Or maybe not. Well, it made
little difference to him. The destination was not the capital and that was the
finest piece of news Harry could have hoped to receive. And it was going north.
How far north remained to be seen. It brought him to the most pressing matter
now that his hunger had been dealt with. He possessed no real information on
how to find Tom. Snow and winter were his only clues. But the entire north
could be adorned by mountains of this supposed white-matter, making the task of
reaching Tom resembled one with no clear chance of achievement.
"Worrying is irrelevant," he whispered to himself in reassurance.
True to his prediction, Harry had been stiff with cold that night. Even then he
did not cover the opening. Sleep had kept him warm and when darkness was
blinked away from his eyes cold air cut through him like glass. The second
thing Harry noticed was the speed. The train was moving faster than any other
vehicle he had ever seen, quicker than a car. Peering outside he found only
whiteness. So much whiteness that it made his eyes hurt. The light was too
bright and Harry was too cold and everything was too different for him to
calmly take in.
The concept of snow was familiar with him in theory, yet seeing it with his own
two eyes left Harry speechless. It was enchanting. Pretty beyond words, even
the sky was grey, giving everything the appearance of an illustration between
the pages of a fairytale book. However Harry knew it was not the case as he
took in the numbness of his limbs. Flexing his fingers inside his pockets the
best he could was an unfamiliar and unwanted experience.
The train did not stop while he ate his breakfast, nor did Harry glimpse any
railway station or anything close to it. Just a few small houses here and there
which looked deserted at first sight. Far away from each other, Harry wondered
what kind of lives the people who used to live here had. And where were they
now?
Despite of himself Harry dozed off a few times so when the train suddenly came
to a halt and not resumed moving, he filled his pockets with frozen carrots and
after checking his surroundings Harry jumped straight into the snow. The wet
coldness swept past his shoes just as he heard the voices. Male voices shouting
at one another onto the opposite side of the train. Harry wasted no time in
hurrying into the line of trees in sight. Crunched down between two tall
bushes, he waited for at least one hour if his sense of time was right. The sun
was still up as the train simply turned and trailed along the railway parallel
with the one they had come with. Back down south.
He was standing in front of a station, that much Harry was sure of. Onto the
platform more than twenty men, dressed in dark blue uniforms, were carrying the
boxes into the building next to them. One women with a notepad was closely
observing their work. The transportation of boxes was over and done with it
rather swiftly, forcing Harry to remain in the same uncomfortable position in
fear of being seen. Something told him his presence would not be welcomed.
When night was upon him and a few windows were lighted inside the building,
Harry dove deep into the line of trees, walking parallel to the station and
crossed over the railways a good while after he passed it. The darkness was not
absolute and Harry followed the traces of light to what appeared to be a small
village. More than ten houses sitting in close proximity at little over ten
minutes from the train station. Hidden at the outskirts of the village, Harry
debated with himself. Should he risk going in? Surely the people working at the
station must be living there. What if they saw him? What if someone tattled to
then? But at the same time he simply could not blindly go forward and hope for
the better. It had helped him until now, but things had changed. 
Taking a deep breath, and wrapping his arms around himself Harry stepped
between the rows of houses, searching for the one closer to the other end of
the village, easily accessible in case of an emergency exit and simply stepped
onto the porch and knocked twice. Then he waited.
The old man that swung open the door looked like a gray Santa-Claus from those
old books his mother used to read to him. The lenses of his glasses were dirty
yet the blue eyes were still visible. A sense of familiarity washed over Harry
as the man stared down at him, clearly intrigued by the unexpected presence
onto his doorstep. Or maybe by Harry's disheveled appearance.
"I need some directions," he pleaded. "If you would be so kind to-"
Blue eyes scanned over him as if to decide whether Harry counted as a menace or
not.
"Come inside. You're letting the snow in."
Struggling to suppress the urge to smile or burst into an array of
gratefulness, Harry followed the old man inside and left his damp shoes into
the hallway. His host made a grimace at the horrendous state of Harry's socks
and made an impatient gesture to what could only be the living room.
"Go and warm yourself while I get you something to eat."
Harry stared after the man as he disappeared through another door before doing
as told. In that moment, this stranger's living room where the fire was burning
hot seemed the most welcomed sight that ever was. He pulled one of the two
chairs closer to the hearth and brought his hands in front of it, feeling the
heat surge into his skin and beyond. Tiredness overwhelmed him, but despite
this Harry glanced around.
There was nothing noteworthy about the room. A table, two chairs and a few
pieces of furniture. Resembled his old house in a way, only somehow...less. The
walls were bare apart from the one facing the chimney. It was the portrait of a
young girl dressed into a blue dress with lace on her sleeves. She appeared
wealthy.
When the man came back with a tray consisting of some kind of soup and bread,
Harry thanked him yet again and assaulted his food while the kind stranger
poured them both what appeared to be ale if he was not mistaken. His eyes were
glued to Harry as the boy ate in utter silence. On any other occasion it would
have been uncomfortable but right now Harry was way too ravenous to be
bothered.
"What happened to your forehead, mister Potter?" the old man asked after his
plate was empty.
Harry's throat felt dry despite the drink just leaving his lips. He toyed with
the idea of lying, but playing fool did not seem like an option right now.
"How do you know my name?"
"You look just like your father. It's not hard to guess. So I wonder yet again
how in the world did Lily's and James's son managed to find himself here..."
Gracious as ever, Harry chose to answer him with yet another question.
"And you are?"
A harsh laugh bubbled out of the man's throat.
"Aberforth Dumbledore and I'm-"
"Dumbledore's brother," Harry finished in his place.
Aberforth took a large swing of his ale, clearly intrigued by Harry's guess.
Something like a smile pulled at his lips, making himself more comfortable in
his chair. No visible trace of menace from what Harry could gather.
"So, boy. What happened to your forehead?"
Harry told him. Everything. It felt good doing so even if he logically knew
about how dangerous it was. But as illogical as this was, Aberforth made him
feel safe. Safer than he had been in a while. And if he wanted the man's aid in
finding Tom, Harry needed to be as truthful as possible. There was no danger
about Dumbledore finding out. The brothers were not close and even if Aberforth
was to bail on him it would take forever for the news to reach their
destination. Or so he hoped.
Dumbledore's brother was a different type of listener than the other
Dumbledore. You could actually see what he thought about Harry's actions, how
his face was the picture of exasperation when Harry came to the part when he
had abandoned Lupin. But Aberforth did not interrupt even once. When Harry
finished he wordlessly refilled his glass.
"You came all the way here to find Riddle."
It was not a question, therefore he did not answer it. It sounded more like
Aberforth debating over Harry's mental sanity. Or the lack of it.
"Please, tell me you know how to find him."
The severe edge of his longing startled even him. Harry was so very tired that
dwelling on its meaning was not worth the effort. His back was resting on his
chair and he was warm and sleepy, his limbs made of jelly. But they were having
an conversation, despite the fact Harry felt like passing out.
He repeated, "please tell me you know something."
Aberforth sighed, a perfect addition to his already worn-out image. In this
poor light he seemed almost as tired as Harry. Maybe more. He had no sure way
of knowing though, and Harry did not intend to ask.
"I can't promise, but I may be in touch with one or two people who have a good
chance of finding him." Aberforth ended up saying in an annoyed yet resigned
voice.
It made Harry smile as he thanked him yet again, hope surging through him like
warmness. No promises the man had said, but how could he not? How could he put
an end to this happiness? Finding Tom was possible and Harry stood right on the
edge of it. It did not even make any difference for how long.
"Don't waste your breath on thanking me. I'm merely helping the child of a past
acquaintance." He stared at Harry, his mind far away. "Even if I don't approve
of your actions of running after Riddle. You're putting your life at risk on a
whim."
"I trust him."
Aberforth's laugh could pass as a snort. He stood and and instructed the boy to
follow him. Harry collected his jacket and followed Aberforth up to the second
floor where he was rushed inside a dark bedroom. The outline of the bed was the
only thing visible before the candles were lit.
"Would you listen to an old man's advice?" asked Dumbledore's brother as he
blew out his own candle. "Trust no one, mister Potter, not even those you so
vehemently defend."
When the door closed behind him Harry crawled underneath the covers and fell
into a deep sleep, Aberforth's words the last thing on his mind.
 
 
It was evening when he finally woke and it took a while to realise Harry had
slept an entire day. It was not yet dark outside but it soon would be. The
candles had long since burned out, signaling Aberforth had left him to sleep
ever since. His dirty socks were dry and his head still hurt when he left the
comfort of the bed to go downstairs in search of food.
Harry discerned the voices straight away and seriously mused on whether or not
was he still asleep. His hand froze onto the balustrade as he took in Tom's
voice. The words were incomprehensible but the voice belonged to Tom, Harry was
sure of that and wasted no time almost running to the living room. Both men
turned from where they were talking in front of the fireplace when he bursted
in and Harry's legs did not feel trustworthy anymore.
Tom was staring at him not with surprise, but with spine-chilling disinterest.
Harry came to a halt, casting aside the urge to jump into the older man's arms.
His lips felt wrong, he did not know what to do with his hands and he did not
understand why Tom was looking at him like that. Was it because of Aberforth's
presence?
"Harry."
"I...I came."
And Tom could very well see it. There was awkwardness between them and
Aberforth sensed it right way as he excused himself, mumbling something about
going out to feed the goats. Tom offered him a polite nod while his grey eyes
were still locked on Harry's.
"Snape didn't-"
"Aberforth told me."
Harry's mouth was still opened and he closed it, feeling like a fool. Like a
know-nothing child. Worse, feeling like Tom did not want him here, which made
no sense whatsoever. The older man was even more handsome dressed in all black,
coat, gloves and everything. And then he stepped closer as if sensing Harry's
inner turmoil. Still, he remained silent.
It was not the reunion Harry had hoped for. Not that he had expected kisses,
but never this indifference that cut like sharp glass. Not when they were all
alone.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me."
Tom's eyes softened ever so slightly. Outside, Aberforth let out a long trail
of curses, getting more inventive as he went along.
"And I am."
Different retorts passed Harry's mind. You surely don't seem so. Was everything
a lie? Am I a bother? Do you hate me? Or worse...did I never cross your mind at
all? None did he said out loud.
"Well then, I'm tired. Goodnight."
He made to leave but Tom moved faster, pulling him to his chest, burying his
face inside Harry's curls in an instant. Then Tom sighed and Harry felt like
sighing too.
"I am happy to see you," Tom repeated, his voice muffled by Harry's hair.
"Yet... there are whole days that I thought you ran away from me and I-"
It was Harry's turn to interrupt him. His hands were wrapped around Tom's
waist, feeling the thick material of his coat, inhaling his unique smell,
relishing into the feeling of absolute security enveloping him.
"You hated me."
Tom did not deny it, only held Harry tighter.
"I….was mistaken."
His words were laboured as if it pained him to admit them out loud. Harry was
the one who broke their embrace, feeling the absurd need to glance at Tom's
face as they spoke. The older man's eyes travelled to his forehead and his
gloved hand came up, fingers tenderly brushing over the bandage. It must have
been filthy by now.
"How bad does it hurt?"
Not if it hurt, but how bad did it hurt. Harry shrugged, following Tom to the
empty chairs and sat down as well. They sat far apart now, when only a few
moment ago they were pressed together like ink on paper. But they needed to
talk, so separation was a given.
"Could be worse," he answered.
After another intense gaze at the covered wound they moved on. Harry told his
share of the story and then Tom started onto his own. Just as expected, Snape
had lied and when Tom came to the meeting place, the greasy-haired man kindly
informed Tom of Harry's escape. Rage twitched in his voice as he spoke and
Harry realized that Severus Snape's fate would not be a kind one. And something
else entirely. This well-dressed man before his eyes was different from the one
who had came to visit Harry's in his imprisonment. Not by much, but still.
There was no pretense of kindness here, he already knew Harry knew about trying
to manipulate him in order to get to the Order. How that made him feel remained
to be seen.
"What about you, Harry?" he kind of taunted when Aberforth returned and
announced another late dinner. "Do you loathe me for lying to your face?"
Harry smirked at him as he sat up.
"Would I have come here if I did?"
There was joy in Tom's eyes as they moved to follow Aberforth. Harry glanced
behind him before doing so, watching as snow began to fall from the sky. In
spite of the cold, he found that he was content.
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