Lightning and War

return

Tom pitted his strength, once again, against the weight holding him down. It had to crack. It had to be like rotten ice, or broken earth, because he willed it so. He had to get to Harry's side and stand there for this battle.

But it didn't move. It hadn't moved since Harry strode away from him and into the Wizengamot courtroom, around a corner that Tom was frustratingly unable to surmount with simply his eyes.

Tom sagged back on his knees, and resolved to wait a minute, to bring his magic to the surface of his skin and hold it there. It was possible that he would manage to break Dumbledore's hold if the bastard's power came into direct contact with Tom's, with only the barrier of Tom's skin separating them.

But before he could do that, a breeze stirred the corridor. Tom glanced around and caught Shara's eye. She nodded. Like him, she'd felt that.

Is this some kind of attack from Dumbledore's allies? This time, Tom tried to shuffle around on his knees to see it, but the magic prevented him from doing even that. He drew himself back, in rage at the thought that he might die struck from behind without even the chance to see his attacker, and hurled himself forwards again.

He stopped halfway to the barrier that was Dumbledore's magic, because something other than an enemy attack was coming down the corridor.

Some of his Knights cried out in shock. Others tried to bring up their hands in front of their faces, obviously recognizing the power in what was coming, but not the source of it.

Tom did. The minute the first wind heavier than a breeze touched his face, he knew, and his chest rebounded like a drum beaten by the magic, and he had the urge, for the first time in his life, to sing aloud for joy.

Harry's magic.

The power poured past them in a mostly invisible torrent, visible, like the wind, from the hair it lifted from their shoulders, from the rippling shudders that it caused in the stone blocks of the walls, from the way it touched their skin. Tom bowed his head, and felt a sensation like a hand caressing his hair.

There was too much for this to be a remnant of the portal he had closed after Dorea had gone through it, Tom thought, dazed. Besides, Harry would have summoned that magic at the beginning of the battle, just to get up off the floor. What was this? Some reserve of power in the diadem that even Harry hadn't known about?

He never questioned that if Harry had known about it, he would have shared it with Tom.

The wind hovered above their heads for a moment, and Tom felt it on his skin more keenly than sunlight. He found himself extending his hands, laughing aloud. It was a childish thing to do, but—

He was extending his hands.

The enchantment that Dumbledore had used to keep Tom and his Knights kneeling there reasserted its grip in the next moment, driving Tom's head down towards his knees. But right now, it didn't matter. All that did was knowing he had broken it once, and there was now more give in it, enough that he could raise his head and shuffle around on his knees.

No one else was coming up the corridor.

Tom turned to face forwards again, and caught Shara's eye. She nodded to him, her face reflective of grim determination intermixed with radiant hope. It was a strange expression, but as he started to crawl forwards, Tom was sure that he was displaying the same mixture.

Even when he wasn't in the same room, and couldn't possibly know what it meant to Tom and Shara to break free of this enchantment, Harry had freed them.

Tom directed all that determination towards his wish to stand at his husband's side, and crawled.

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