The last three months had been the busiest three months of Harry's life. Harry and Tom trained Lawrence, Myrtle, Polly, and Nina in the Dark Arts with a heightened sense of urgency, helping them master hexes and move onto easier curses—after all, mastering curses were the best ways to master their counterspells. Unfortunately, due to all the intense Dark magic practice, they had to explain cleansing rites to them. It hadn't been a fun conversation... to say the least. Harry still winced at the memory of it, hearing Nina's enraged yells and seeing Lawrence's raised eyebrows. But they'd gotten past that topic, and the six of them were now fairly well-versed in the Dark Arts. It was an especially handy skill, considering how often the Slytherins attacked them.
The fake galleons had saved their lives on more than one occasion, including one memorable time where Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy, along with a couple of their cronies, had ambushed Tom and Harry on their way back from a late night at the library. Harry managed to press his coin in time, and he fought bitterly with Tom to hold off the seven assailants until help came. When Lawrence, Myrtle, Nina, and Polly arrived, the scene on the fourth floor turned into a warzone. The two groups fought bitterly, spells blasting back and forth as they volleyed shots at each other. When they heard the yowls of Fitch's cat, everyone scattered. From the scream Filch let out upon seeing the ruins of the hallway, Harry knew he was quite unhappy at not apprehending the perpetrators of such a crime. He considered himself lucky that no one was majorly injured, and more importantly, no one was caught. (That would have been hell to explain.)
The FiGS meetings had been an even greater success than Harry could have anticipated. Almost every muggleborn on campus was involved in FiGS, and most FiGS members opted into attending dueling sessions. In those sessions, the six FiGS founders taught members proper dueling forms, tested their baseline for Light and Dark magic, and helped them learn jinxes and hexes. Myrtle became one of the most loved dueling instructors due to her open, relatable demeanor and wealth of knowledge—she'd taken Tom and Harry's advice to heart, progressing even past Nina and her vast pool of raw talent. A general mood of empowerment spread through the FiGS community, as dueling and self-defense no longer became unattainable goals. Many a member had hugged their instructors after a successful practice, saying tearily that they'd accomplished something they once thought impossible.
Naturally, the Slytherins caught wind of the meetings. They most definitely did not approve of FiGS or their mission. However, there wasn't really anything they could do about it, other than to privately bemoan its existence. They had no legal grounds to complain on, especially as the club was on its way to being chartered and already had a faculty sponsor in the mighty Professor Dumbledore. And taking on the entire Hogwarts muggleborn population was even too much for the Slytherins to consider, so they retaliated in their own way. They recruited purebloods in other houses to their cause, such as Ravenclaw Tripe twins and Myrtle's old bully, Olive Hornby (although Harry suspected she joined mostly due to her bitterness at seeing Myrtle succeed), as well as some Hufflepuff and Gryffindor purebloods. Mostly those who joined wanted to cultivate and use the closeness they gained from allying themselves with such socially and politically important students—really, how had the Sorting Hat not sorted them all into Slytherin?
Harry liked to think of the current Hogwarts dynamics as a quasi-cold war between the two factions: FiGS versus Slytherin and her allies. FiGS and Slytherin were on equal footing when it came to fighting power and the number of members. However, neither faction would win unless they gained the support of the general public. Involving regular students in the war directly or trying to recruit them into the fold weren't effective or efficient methods of winning the war, so both factions tried their best to sway public opinion. Currently, the general public was evenly split in who they supported: Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students tended to sympathize more with FiGS, while pureblood Ravenclaw students tended to sympathize more with Slytherin. Yet, there was a third, silent faction—the Hogwarts administration and staff—that had yet to take action. The administration had not made any public statements or moves, seemingly content to watch the war play out and swoop in and support the victor once the ashes cleared. And Harry desperately wished it would remain that way. A third player on the board, unbeholden to anyone's ideas or morals, would greatly destabilize the tenuous balance Harry and Tom had so painstakingly cultivated. (After all, chess was hard enough between two players. Harry shuddered to think of what would happen if the referee began playing.)
Really, how could Harry not bask in the glory of his achievements? (He was starting to understand why Tom enjoyed the activity as much as he did.) He did have many things he needed to finish before third term ended, but he was content with where FiGS had ended up for now.
Ugh, exams.
Harry was also greatly anticipating his well-deserved break before the hellish studying for final exams began. The six of them would enjoy a relaxing, fun day at Hogsmeade. And he was really looking forward to stealing Nina's glacial snow flakes restocking his supply of glacial snow flakes!
----- ----- -----
May 30, 1942
"Don't you dare," Nina threatened Harry, one hand protectively holding her half-empty box of glacial snow flakes, her other hand held out in front of her to stop Harry from swooping in and taking the last sweet.
Harry pouted. "You're simply too rude," he sniffled, reaching into his own box to pop a candy onto his chilled tongue. Something about the fresh flavor of peppermint and hint of sweetness as the snow flake melted on his tongue tingled his taste buds just right. "Oh, would you look at that!" he gasped exaggeratedly, pointing to his now-empty box, "I don't have any left!"
Lawrence sighed, sticking his hands into his robe pockets.
Tom removed the empty box from Harry's hands and slid a new box into its place. "Merlin knows this'll shut you up for the next twenty minutes," he muttered.
Harry opened the box and happily munched away on the treats.
Nina snorted. "He'll shut up until the sugar high kicks in. And it'll really be over for all of us."
Tom grimaced. "I refused to think that far ahead. Perhaps I should have."
Lawrence sighed again. It was noticeably louder than the last.
Catching sight of Polly and Myrtle, Harry waved with his free hand. "Did you guys finish shopping?"
Polly nodded. She ran up to meet them, holding a large shopping bag in each hand. Myrtle caught up to them shortly after. "The clearance sale at Gladrags' is absolutely amazing," Polly gushed. "I would have never been able to find a pair of socks like these anywhere else!" She opened her bag, revealing a garishly patterned navy and yellow monstrosity. Harry resisted the urge to wince.
"I got a pair to match with Polly," Myrtle added. "They were really cheap. I couldn't resist!"
Harry winced this time.
"Unique, indeed," Lawrence commented blandly. "Why don't we go to Scrivenshaft's? I've been meaning to replace my lucky quill since I snapped it last week."
"Oh no!" Myrtle gasped. "We're so close to exams, I hope the pheasant-feather quills aren't sold out!"
The four of them made their way to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.
After many hours spent meandering on the streets of Hogsmeade, the six of them ate a hearty meal at the Three Broomsticks. Afterwards, Harry and Tom parted ways with the rest. The two had told them they needed to remain behind and wait for night so they could pick up their new shipment of quartz crystals, which would be enough to supply everyone's cleansing rites until the end of the school year.
To avoid being detected by professors on patrol (and even worse, be caught for breaking curfew), Harry and Tom slipped behind a tree and covered themselves with the Invisibility Cloak and a liberal amount of silencing charms. Once the full moon rose to its rightful place in the sky, Harry and Tom walked across the stone street and to the singular mailbox at the edge of Hogsmeade. The mailbox gleamed, enveloped in a bright, silvery sheen.
The mailbox was receive-only. It operated by sliding a wand into a tiny slot on the side, as one would register for a box under their wand and name, and the contents that were delivered to appear in the mailbox. Once the contents were removed, the wand would be ejected. Most of the time, it was a neat and tidy system. It was an easy way to get less-than-savory materials, such as banned items in Hogwarts, necessary materials for the Dark Arts, or simply purchases that were deemed too scandalous for polite society. Needless to say, it received much use.
That was the reason Harry and Tom switched over from owl-ordering to the mailbox, as it heightened their privacy and prevented others from ascertaining their ordered products. Because the mailbox received a lot of use, the only time it was readily available was after curfew on Hogsmeade weekends, which ended up working out as it was the only time Harry and Tom were able to visit the mailbox anyways.
As Tom slid his wand into the slot and waited for the system to process it, Harry felt a slight throbbing begin to make itself known in his head, growing incrementally until it pounded away at his skull. Tom's impatient foot tapping was not helping his mental sanity.
"I have a bad headache right now. Do you mind if I take the cloak and lie down on that bench over there?" Harry asked.
Tom scanned their surroundings, and once he saw that there was nobody except them, he nodded.
Harry yawned before spinning around, extricating the cloak from Tom and covering himself fully. He walked down the road until his favorite bench was in sight.
Finally I can lie down!
He stepped forward until he was no more than three steps in front of the bench when he heard a small, muffled squeak. Harry fumbled around, but was too slow to catch the small thing—a rat!—and it snuck under his cloak. The rat climbed his shoe and grabbed onto the edge of his cloak. Harry shook his robe, trying to smack the rat off, but to no avail. It scampered up to his navel, and it then began getting larger and less gray. Harry smacked the thing again, but it was too late.
Before his eyes, it morphed into a rat-faced man that was half-snarling and half-sniffing the air. The man's dull, watery blue eyes ogled Harry, and he gave two cursory sniffs by scrunching his nose.
With one hand, Harry grabbed his wand and pointed it at the invader, his other hand reaching for the fake galleon. But the rat-man was faster. He whipped out a wand with grubby fingers, and yelled in a squeaky voice, "Stupefy!"
The last thought on Harry's mind was that the man's breath smelled as if he hadn't brushed in many years.
----- ----- -----
Tom whipped his head around as the yell of the Stunning Spell echoed across the empty, dark village of Hogsmeade.
Harry?
He had never been so grateful the slow mailbox was still processing his wand. He snatched his wand out of the slot and sprinted to the bench. Harry and the cloak were gone. On the cobblestone road, something gleamed on the ground. Tom crouched and picked it up. An unopened glacial snow flake, the white wrapper of the sealed candy glowing luminously under the sheen of the bright moonlight.
Fuck.
He put the candy in his pocket and warily inspected the area around him. He had no idea what happened, whether Harry was safe, whether he was safe, and he hated it.
A trail of glacial snow flakes shone as brightly as mini suns contrasted harshly against the dark grass, leading further and further into the approaching forest. Tom gritted his teeth and sprinted, ignoring the burn of his muscles and frantic beating of his heart, following the trail of candies until it led to a violent tree whirling its branches this way and that. Tom halted, panting slightly.
The candies clearly led to this tree, yet he was stuck and unable to go any further.
Fuck!
Tom inspected the tree as he took cautious steps forwards.
"Immobilus!" The spell hit the tree. Nothing happened. The tree remained violent and wrathful, twisting and turning in all directions. Above the loud whipping and slapping noises of the tree, he heard a dog whine. Turning back, a great black dog ran towards him, shaggy and overgrown and absolutely monstrous.
"Stupefy!" The dog yelped before rolling over to avoid his spell. "Stupefy!" The dog kept dodging his spells, still gaining ground on him. It ran faster and faster, growing more feral by the minute. Tom's heart thumped loudly in his chest. When it was a few feet from him, Tom saw his chance and jumped out of the way, hoping that the dog would get hit by the branches.
To his utter surprise, the dog turned away from him and sprinted, deftly dodging and rolling out of the branches' reach. Just as it was getting close to the tree, it missed an attack from behind. The branch hit its side, sending it flying back near Tom. It let out a pained whine as it struggled to stand back up. When it eventually rose, it shook itself vigorously.
It's waiting to try again, Tom realized.
Indeed, when the branches momentarily slowed its death-pace, the dog charged toward the tree. Again, it was whipped aside, flying through the air once more back to the start. The smack of wood against flesh was louder than the last instance. Tom watched as the dog remained down for a minute, then two.
After another few minutes, it lifted its head up and struggled to push off its hind limbs, and it fell down once more. It tried again, putting its remaining energy into launching off its back paws. Once standing, panting heavily, it stared at the still-whipping tree. And when the branches began to slow down the tiniest bit, the mangy, feral dog sprinted, miraculously dodging all of the branches. At the base of the tree, it butted its body against the knot in the truck.
The tree froze. Whipping branches were halted in their positions, still eerily life-like, as if they would resume movement at any moment. Tom never realized how still and unnatural it felt, how silent it was without the noises from the tree.
So that was its plan all along.
The dog raised its body and perked up, staring directly at Tom. Tom gripped his wand tighter. It yipped at him. Tom made no response and continued to watch it. The dog growled, shaking its head before it yipped again, this time louder, as if it was an urgent message. Then, it turned around and entered a hole under the tree, disappearing altogether from Tom's view. Exhaling and inhaling deeply, Tom relaxed his death grip on his wand. Holding his wand too tightly would only hinder his reactions.
Ever so carefully, he crept along the path the dog took, staring at the frozen branches. A glowing spot on the ground caught his eye. It was another wrapped candy. He picked it up and stored it in his pocket, now acutely aware that Harry was inside the tree.
At last, Tom approached the hole the dog had disappeared into. He lit a bright light at the end of his wand and stuck it down the gaping black void, revealing a hollowed out space in the shape of a circle.
It's a tunnel, he realized.
Tom took one last deep breath before he laid down on his belly and prepared himself for whatever was coming.
For Harry, he recited over and over. For Harry.
Tom kept his lit wand in front of him as he crawled into the tunnel, feeling it slope downwards. After he pushed himself through the narrowest bit, he slid down an inclined slope, catching a glimpse of the dog before it slipped away, out of sight.
He followed warily, wriggling through the tunnel until the tunnel sloped upwards to a small opening. Once through the exit, he stood up and stared at the boarded door in front of him. Noticing a hole in the door, Tom bent his knees into his dueling stance and peeped through the hole.
The dog was nowhere to be seen. In the disorganized dusty, musty room, a tall, disheveled black-haired man was dueling a short, ugly man. Spells flew by in shades of emerald and crimson and navy and violet faster than the eye could follow.
Harry lay bound in ropes and unmoving on the center of the floor, seeming unnaturally pale. The Invisibility Cloak was neatly bundled to his side.
Harry! His throat constricted. He's not dead, he can't be, there's no way, Harry's just unconscious, surely he has to be—
A patch of moonlight fell onto the tall man as he moved, and Tom realized who he was looking at. Sirius Black! The escaped Azkaban inmate, one of Grindelwald's feared lieutenants, and a possible suspect in Harry's attempted murder.
Hot, red, pulsing anger overcame him. He wouldn't let Sirius Black finish the job! He would make him suffer.
As he prepared to bellow out a spell, a lavender spell spiraled outward from Black's wand, hitting the rat-man, who was harshly catapulted many feet into the air. His features illuminated under the moonlight, his ugly, protruding front teeth were on full display.
Hanging just below his collarbones, the man's pendant glinted under the full moon, shining like a beacon. The symbol of Grindelwald.
Tom didn't finish his spell.
The triangle, circle, and line burned itself into Tom's mind, as if he hadn't already seen it enough times. This man was an acolyte. But then, Tom wondered, why would two acolytes duel?
The two men kept dueling, firing spells with all their might. Black became more deranged as the seconds passed. Tom rapidly ran scenarios through his head, each more fantastical than the last. Perhaps Black was angry at the man... no, it couldn't be—perhaps Black thought he was a spy? Or—
"I'll kill you!" Black screamed with a snarling face, a mad gleam in his eyes. "Traitor! You killed James and Lily!" Even greater confusion washed over Tom.
What?
Black shot another spell at the acolyte that zigzagged through the air, the neon yellow color blinding Tom momentarily.
"YOU KILLED THEM!" Black roared, seemingly seconds away from tearing his clothes into shreds from the barely restrained anguish and grief and long-standing anger.
"Immobulus!" Black's well-placed spell hit the acolyte dead center. The man froze in his position: his legs bent awkwardly and arms outstretched. An expression of unadulterated fear was etched on his frozen face.
Black stepped closer, his wand never leaving the man's face. "You will die for what you did," he whispered. He stomped on the man's fist, the sound of crunching bone and wood loud in the silence. Lifting his foot, Tom saw the man's fingers were broken, crooked and bent at unnatural angles. Positively mangled. His wand was snapped in half and badly chipped, splinters of wood strewn across the floor.
"This only begins to make up for what you've done," Black snarled.
Tom had seen enough. "Petrificus Totalus," he said, opening the door and stepping into the room.
His aim was true. Black toppled, falling backwards and hitting the floor with a loud thud, his eyes widened. His limbs were stuck together.
Tom jumped over Black's immobilized body and sprinted until he reached Harry's unmoving form.
"Rennervate."
Please wake up.
The spell hit Harry right in his chest. Harry did not wake. Tom's lungs constricted. He was lightheaded, he was wheezing, he couldn't breathe—
"RENNERVATE!" Tom yelled as he hiccuped, breathing in uneven gasps of air.
Tom begged, prayed, pleaded wake up, wake up, wake up, wake UP, WAKE—
With a sputtered cough, Harry awoke. The crushing grip of fear around his heart relaxed. Tom let out a loud sigh of relief and grabbed Harry's shoulders, ignoring the feeling of rope burn against his palms.
"Harry," Tom breathed.
You're awake.
Harry blinked his eyes blearily. "Tom?" A vulnerable expression passed on Harry's face as he struggled weakly against the ropes. "Tom, what's going on? Tom, Tom—I'm scared."
Tom's heart clenched viciously in his chest. "I'm here," he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I'm here, relax, I've got you."
Harry relaxed in his bindings. Tom swallowed back a lump in his throat at Harry's unquestioning trust in him. He gently patted Harry again, hoping Harry understood his appreciation of him. Harry's eyes softened slightly, and Tom took that as a yes.
Tom pointed his wand at Harry. "Relashio." The ropes split into many short ribbons, and Harry shrugged them off of his body. Once they had all fallen to the ground in messy tangles, Harry attempted to sit up. Tom crouched and extended his hand, and Harry took it gratefully, pulling himself into a sitting position.
I'm here. I'm not leaving you ever again.
Tom moved closer to Harry and put his hands on Harry's shoulders. A warm feeling spread through Tom as Harry looked up at him. Tom greedily absorbed the trust in Harry's eyes. Looking around at the two bound men, anger flared through him. "I almost lost you," he said in a low voice. "I'll make them suffer." Harry shivered and leaned in, rolling his head to rest on Tom's forearm.
Harry stared blankly at the immobilized figures, still frozen in their precarious positions.
"My spell will hold for another hour. We'll first find out why they attacked us. Then, we'll plan our revenge," said Tom, licking his lips as he fantasized about their punishments.
After all, they had hurt Harry.