A/N: At last! I was going to post this the other night because I wanted something nice to look forward to after my surgery in the morning. (But this was before I came to the quick realization it was only doubling my anxiety lol so here we are.) Another short chapter but I hope you guys will like it! :) There's a few things you'll all have to forgive (or at least try to overlook): The most obvious being the blatant disregard for proper medical/police procedure when a wanted criminal is, well… You'll see.

Bella's always been eager to fight. Isn't patient enough like Tom who prefers to hang back and assess, calculate, and prepare as best he can. This caution, he's found, gives him an advantage. There's nothing at stake in this for her. She won't hold back; Doesn't care about the consequences beyond whether or not something will displease Voldemort. Her aim is to kill, if necessary. For Tom, it's to get to Harry at any cost. Bellatrix, on the other hand, is more concerned with making sure that doesn't happen.

Neither are going to fight fair. There's hair pulling, wound kicking, and use of whatever weapon or tool they can use on the other to weaken. Bellatrix's been eager to do this for a long time, and now that the proverbial leash is off, she's not going to hold back. Tom has to admit he's been itching for this too. To finally wipe that manic grin off her face.

The sense duller is effective and will last for about two minutes. More than enough time for her to use the advantage to kill him. She rips off the mask as soon as the spray disperses. Bella emerges from the smoke – or rather, her knife does. She's not using her gun, as predicted. She likes to get personal. Which works, as Tom would prefer to save the ammunition for bigger fish. But he can't take the chance of doubling back to try and find a wounded D.E. to get another weapon off them. Bella slashes wildly and Tom dodges as much as he can, but finds he's unable to effectively cover his nose and mouth at the same time. He will have to face her as nothing more than a Mute. It's a dirty trick but this fight was never going to be clean.

Tom attempts a quick exit from the fight when the chance presents itself. Typically, he never avoids confrontation. But he needs to get to Harry as quickly as possible, and with the least amount of damage done to himself.

He's also quick to discover that the possibility of escape is nil.

Tom manages to capture the wrist wielding the knife. But then a knee thrusts toward his solar plexus - which he effectively blocks with his forearm. He twists the arm in his grasp, hoping to get the hand to release the knife. But a leg comes swinging at his head and he has to lunge back. He backs up even farther as she advances. He needs to wait for the right opportunity to get the upper hand now. It shows itself when she goes to reach for her other knives. He advances in a flash of movement, overpowering her by locking her arms across her chest. She struggles and screeches. Her legs kick out and drag them both down to the ground. From there Tom pulls the limb in an unnatural way, trying to bend and break. Bella utters a choked off yell before he rolls away from the knife which slashes out at his face. Once he's far enough, Tom lifts himself to his feet again. They both stop and exchange an intense stare.

The sound of an armed unit can be heard marching up the stairwell. Bella wipes away blood from her mouth, smearing it over her chin while licking her lips. Tom squints from the cut above his brow which bleeds into his eye. Both pant heavily, caught in a sudden moment of uncertainty. If they're both found, neither one will win the fight. Voldemort will kill Harry and likely escape. Prison will be the only fate Bella and Tom face.

The voices drift closer and Tom makes a dash for the stairs which earns a mad cackle from Bellatrix who gives chase. She manages to catch up to him and they engage in another quick struggle. Tom aims once again for the leg he'd been working on and this time there's a satisfied sound as it breaks. A loud wail erupts from Bellatrix's mouth and Tom doesn't wait before he sprints for the stairs. With a single spare glance back, he catches a glimpse of the SC019 unit storming in on Bellatrix. She's trying to drag her mangled body across the floor to the window when they descend on her.

"Don't move! This is the police!"

Tom experiences a pang of regret that he didn't finished her off. But he doesn't spare a second glance back as he ascends to the eleventh floor.

Tom stalks in the direction of Voldemort's office. As soon as he nears the locked door, he ducks behind the wall and pulls out the bottle of suppressants. He empties a handful of them into his palms and stares for a split second before closing his eyes. He leans his head back and inhales the lingering scent of Harry. He can't hear or feel him in there anymore and deduces his mate must have gotten out safely. The thought brings with it pride and comfort as much as it brings regret. Tom pulls out his handgun and checks the magazine to find there's only three bullets left. He slams it back in and faces the door.

Tom punches in the code Draco gave him when he asked for the lab.

When Tom bursts into the room, Voldemort is leaning against a pillar by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. His back is to Tom who zeroes in on the hybrid's right leg to determine there's a problem with it. There's an overpowering smell of rust and Tom spots Snape's body lying in the corner in a pool of his own blood. Tom picks up the familiar scent of Harry's own as well and it ignites a fire inside his veins that might eat him alive if the pills weren't taking effect so quickly.

Voldemort sways, dangerously close to a zone Harry must have tried to put him in, and Tom takes that as his chance. He lifts his arm, aims, and fires off a shot which misses by an inch and cracks the window. Tom's vision is swimming. Voldemort's ducked to the side and swings up his gun to send off a return shot. Tom narrowly escapes it, drops to the ground and rolls behind the leather sofa. Two more shots and the window shatters entirely, letting in a gust of strong wind. He's run out of bullets now and waits for Voldemort to do the same. But the other man has noticed.

The gust of wind coming in from the broken windows bring with it a cold laugh. "It looks like you're out of bullets, Tom," Voldemort says. "The game is over. Sadly. It's been fun."

"I don't think it is, not yet," Tom replies, and tugs out his cell from his coat pocket. He presses send on a text; A number.

About five seconds later a loud explosion rumbles through the building. Objects rattle in the office and fall to the ground.

"That will be your precious lab," Tom explains.

There's a pregnant pause before Voldemort leaps out from his cover with a roar and shoots once, twice. The third shot hits its target and Tom stumbles, shocked, until he falls to his knees. His hand presses at the wet patch on his gut and there's a sharp spike of despair as Harry cries out through the bond. Tom tries to focus on Voldemort as he limps over the broken glass which crunches under his leather shoes. They stop in front of Tom's face before he feels them press down on his neck. He gasps for breath.

"When did I lose you?" Voldemort asks.

"Don't flatter yourself," Tom chokes out. "You never had me."

Tom takes out the curved blade from his sleeve and in one fluid movement, swipes at Voldemort's ankle, making a deep cut in the tendon. Voldemort drops to ground at once, screaming out and grasping at his heel. Tom scrambles on top of him to make a neat gash in his throat. Blood gurgles up out of Voldemort's mouth and Tom watches him choke on it. After a minute, Tom's breathing is too shallow and he clutches his chest. His heart feels like it's going to stop. He falls to the side on his back and pries Voldemort's gun from his fingers. It still has one bullet.

There's banging at the door. Must be the Order and the SCO19 unit trying to get in. They won't be able to, not without the code.

A thunderous blast causes the ground beneath their feet to shudder. The three of them grip the walls and the railing to steady themselves. Once it's stopped, they share a wide-eyed look with one another.

"The bloody hell was that?" Ron asks.

"It's an explosion," Hermione says. "Must be a bomb or something."

"Christ," Ron says, and turns to head back down the stairs. "Come on then, we've got to get out of here."

Harry watches his friends start to descend and bites down on his lower lip. Tom must be in Voldemort's office by now. Had he set off the bombs? How?

"Harry, come on."

Hermione and Ron look back at him, gazes imploring. Resigning himself, he takes a step down and –

Harry sucks in a sharp lungful of air and collapses to his knees, feeling like he's been punched in the gut. He gasps and chokes for air as a pain unlike any other spreads through his body, curling around his heart. He cries out, clutching at his side while unfocused eyes stare back at his friends. Their concerned voices are nothing more than a dull noise near him.

"...rry...! arry-!"

He hears the shout like he's underwater. But once he breaks the surface –

"HARRY! What's wrong?!"

"Tom," Harry chokes out. "I need to get to Tom! I have to – NOW!"

They scramble to lift him up and begin to make their way back up the stairs. When they arrive on the eleventh floor, there's a group of police gathered outside Voldemort's office trying to get in. The door is as thick as any in a bank and would need more sophisticated machinery than they had on hand. But that would take time to get, and Harry needs to get in now.

Just as despair begins to claw its way up Harry's throat, Moody waves to his men to stop what they're doing. He cups his hand to his ear while a frown creases his already heavily lined face.

Harry turns to his friend. "Ron, what – "

"He's got the code," Ron murmurs. They watch as Moody repeats a number back to one of the officers before he punches it in on the keypad.

Once the door is finally open, the police file in with Harry close behind.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione calls behind him.

As soon as Harry steps foot inside, he's greeted by the sight of Voldemort on the ground. Apparently bleeding to death while Tom leans against a pillar over him. Eyes flicker to Harry as he comes in before turning back on Tom.

Moody grabs him by his shoulder. "Mr Potter, you can't be in here," he says. "I'll have someone get you out safely."

Harry wrenches his arm away with a defiant, "No!" His eyes glued to Tom. His mate holds a gun in his hand while the police aim theirs, ordering him to put it down.

Tom spots Harry and takes a step away from the pillar when the police scream at him not to move. Tom freezes, eyes locked with Harry's own across the room. The bond between them thrums and yearns.

A movement out of the corner of Tom's eye has him looking down. Voldemort's body twitches and there's a gurgled gasp.

Tom stares and the yelling from the police become more frantic. Voldemort's hand slowly inches across his chest to the weapon concealed under his coat.

There isn't any time for thought when Tom takes aim and puts a bullet between Voldemort's eyes. Precision perfect, even as Tom feels himself bleeding to death.

He also feels the explosion of a bullet as it connects with his chest, along with Harry's desperate yell. Then he's on the ground beside his enemy with a SC019 unit surrounding him, shouting and yelling. All Tom can hear is the distant cry of his mate. Harry's there, kneeling beside him. Green eyes so brilliant and large this close.

Tom commits them to memory, the rivers and canyons of the iris, the inky darkness at its center. Like a night sky.

Harry has vague awareness of Voldemort's body being taken away.

Without seeming to notice getting there, Harry's found himself kneeling beside Tom. His fingers clutch his bondmate to his chest as his whole body shakes. He can hear the distant but familiar voice of Moody and Dumbledore. They order the police to stand down and vacate the room, leaving Harry and Tom alone.

Harry cups Tom's face and holds him close while desperate eyes seek and catalog his injuries. It's funny, Tom thinks, because he never thought anyone would shed tears over him in his whole life. But here he is, in the arms of his bondmate; Another thing he'd never have dreamt of having before. As far as death's concerned, Tom couldn't think of a better way to go than this. He stares back at Harry and takes in his features again.

A siege of emotion crashes through the bond. Tom winces to feel it come from his mate; Regretful that he's the cause of such despair. Then Harry's hands come up to reach for Tom's face but he gently pushes them away with a shake of his head. "No, my love," he murmurs.

A whirlwind of emotions flash across Harry's face. "I want to be with you..." he says in a broken voice, eyes glassy with unshed tears as he gazes down at Tom.

The Sentinel only continues to stroke a weak, bloodied thumb across Harry's hand. He's always been the bringer of death, surrounded himself with it. While Harry's always been there to prevent it, to show how beautiful and peaceful the opposite can be. Tom wants him to stay that way. Untainted.

Somehow, Harry understands the unspoken words.

Tom's gaze softens as he regards Harry with a familiar look of curiosity and fascination. As if anyone caring about his life was a wholly new experience for him.

"You are," Tom eventually replies, and his eyes travel past Harry's shoulder. "Get him out of here."

Harry realizes his friends are still there though he doesn't turn away from Tom. He doesn't know what Ron does but Tom seems appeased by it and lays his head back on the floor. His breathing is shallow and his eyes droop as they stare up at the ceiling.

Harry sniffs as he stares back at Tom. "I'm sorry I shot you."

The corners of Tom's eyes crinkle and his lips twitch. "I know."

Nothing is said for a long time after that. Tom's breathing becomes deeper and slower until Harry can't tell if there's air escaping anymore. A small, pathetic noise wrenches its way out of his throat and he clutches Tom's head, searching his face with desperate eyes.

Hermione's voice is gentle in the ensuing silence. "Harry…"

Harry jerks his shoulder out of her grasp, tears blurring his vision. His throat hurts. A part of his mind feels like it's slipping away no matter how hard he tries to grab hold of it. It's slipping, oh God, it's slipping –

Harry doesn't push the hands off his shoulders this time, and lets them envelop him. The form of Tom is now a blurred and obscured picture before him. A black silhouette arranged on the ground in a darkly graceful way. Harry can't help but think that if anyone could make death a beautiful form of art, it would be Tom.

It's quiet in the end. Anyone who isn't watching closely could easily miss it when Tom closes his eyes.

Harry doesn't. He's there for every excruciating second, and for every second after.

The pain is blistering and tears through him like a knife. Harry closes his eyes shut tight against the onslaught. Never before has he experienced something like it. He fears it will never end, and almost wishes for death to take him too.

But it doesn't. The torment ends and takes with it the pain, leaving a great gaping hole. So hideous and ugly that Harry almost wishes he could have the pain back instead. Anything would be better but the unbearable emptiness.

Two ministry members appear from the corner of his vision and crouch down on either side of Tom's body. They lay out a large bag on the ground beside him before lifting him up and placing him inside. They zip him up and the one chewing on a piece of gum glances at his wristwatch. He nods to the other dark skinned man and they both lift Tom up again to place him on a gurney. Harry can't take his eyes away from the sight of them taking him away.

When they leave Voldemort's office, a mass of people have all gathered outside. In the crowd, a familiar face lined with stern concern appears. Harry remembers her from the Order – McGonagall. She escorts the three down to ground level where an ambulance awaits. Harry sits on the back, head swimming and chest aching as his physical injuries get taken care of. He feels the weight of a stare on him and looks up to meet silver eyes.

Draco is standing a few feet away, talking to a Ministry official and his father.

Harry realizes at that moment Draco must have been the one to give Moody the code to Voldemort's office.

Harry projects a sincere feeling of gratitude. Draco dips his head before turning back to his father.

3 years later...

Harry shifts uneasily in his office chair while reading an old newspaper from the small pile in his bottom desk drawer. He's read it countless times over the years. But it's something about today that makes the hole inside him ache a little more.

Splashed across the front page of this particular issue is a picture of Basilisk tower. The top floor of it sending a plume of black smoke streaking across the sky. Others have his face and the headlines are all variations of the same thing –

'The Man Who Lived'

'Omega Hero'

'Broken but Undefeated'

His eyes skim through the articles and speculations of how he might have been able to survive a broken bond. There's been a few in history who have done it; Chief Guide Albus Dumbledore of the Order of the Phoenix being the most recent.

Harry's brow feels damp and he tugs uncomfortably at his collar and tie while he ignores the thought of what it means.

"Alright, Harry?"

Harry looks up to see Ron standing by his office doorway. Harry straightens in his chair before stuffing the paper back into his bottom desk drawer. "Yeah, fine."

Ron comes over and whistles at the state of his desk. "Working hard, I see."

"Hermione said she's got some new evidence from the Ministry. Thought I'd pull up some old files."

"All of them, you mean?"

Harry grins. "Practically."

A chime goes off in the room and Harry swipes up his cell from the desk to see several text messages waiting for him. Though he refuses to put the number into his contacts, Harry knows exactly who it is.

- My place at 6?

- ?

- I've got things to do, Potter, stop playing hard to get.

- Unless you're on the pills again, you know you need what I can offer.

Harry growls under his breath before thumbing a curt response.

- I can get what you offer other places, prick.

Almost immediately there's a new response:

- Sure.

Harry angrily jabs back another reply.

- My place 9. Want you gone after though. I'm serious this time.

The reply he gets this time is a simple smiling emoji and Harry wants to throw his phone at the nearest wall. Instead he puts it on silent and chucks it into the top drawer of his desk before slamming it closed.

Ron raises an eyebrow. "That him?"

"Yeah."

Ron snorts and turns back to whatever he's playing on his phone. "Don't take this the wrong way, mate, but you sure know how to pick 'em."

Harry can't help but smile. "Tell me about it."

Ron's nose twitches and Harry can't help feeling a humiliated flush course through him. He knows he's close to his time of the month and wonders why, of all Sentinels, he had to pick Draco to help him with it. Must be a hidden masochistic urge, Harry supposes.

"You coming to lunch?" Ron says.

"No, think I'll stay with this for a bit."

Ron pulls a face as he pockets his own phone. "I see Hermione's work ethic's finally rubbed off on you after all these years," he says sadly. "And I thought I'd done so well to protect you!"

Harry laughs and waves him off. "Go on. I'll get a snack from the machine later."

With a "Suit yourself" Ron leaves and Harry heaves a sigh. He stands up and leans over his desk, frowning down at the folders and papers strewn about the surface. He straightens and pinches the bridge of his nose when a soft knock sounds on his office door.

"Come in," he calls over his shoulder.

Hermione slips through the door and gives him a tentative smile. "Hey," she says. "Ron said you'd be in here. Not going to lunch?"

Harry tries to give her a convincing smile in return. "Not today. Thought I'd give the case another go but..." He gestures helplessly at the desk. "Nothing. There's not enough evidence. Not enough links... The Order's scrambling."

Hermione gives him a sympathetic twist of her mouth. "The Ministry's not having an easier time of it either. Building back up the public's support and confidence hasn't been a picnic after the whole... well, you know."

Harry swallows, nods, and turns back to his desk. Without thinking, his fingers absently trace the faded raised flesh on his neck. There's a small sigh and Harry knows she's giving him that worried look again.

"Harry," Hermione begins in that tone of voice that means he shouldn't try. Harry's shoulders drop in defeat. She comes to stand next to him and places a palm on his back, rubbing soothing circles. "You miss him, don't you."

"It's just – It's like I can still feel him, you know? Like the bond's still there. I know it's crazy, but..." Harry trails off.

"It's not unheard of to feel phantom pains from bonds that've been... broken," Hermione tries. "Especially the way yours was."

She cuts herself off, knowing from past experience that pushing any further will go nowhere.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and avoids her eyes. "Right. Enough about me, what's going on with the case?"

And just like that, the topic is dropped and they get back to work. It's the only thing that can take Harry's mind off things these days.

"Well, I've actually got something for you this time. There've been more murders. Expertly carried out, left no trace. And the victims all seem to have previous involvement with Voldemort or his company in some way."

Harry's attention perks up at that and everything else is momentarily forgotten.

A lone figure sits at a long glass table in a basement. Along each wall is an armory lit only by a series of fluorescent lights embedded in the shelves. The glow of a screen illuminates his pale face while a small, neat pile of files and papers are stacked on the table beside him.

A minute movement makes his chest twinge. Briefly closing his eyes, he instinctively reaches for the comfort he craves. But in its place is emptiness; Nothing but a severed line. The remains of it are faint but he can still feel something. It's there. A thin sliver, a glowing thread in the dark. He hangs onto it like a life line. The only thing which helps him press forward.

It took a few months to heal, a full year to gather his forces. But it's only now that things are starting to take shape. Voldemort's most faithful have been picked off, one by one, along with any possible competition. It's only a matter of time now before Harry and The Order will start to hunt him down. They'll notice his patterns. They'll begin to wonder and question. He's content to let them, and confident in the knowledge his bonded will find him.

And when he does, Tom will be ready.

A/N: Can't believe it's been more than a year since I started this! You've all been fantastic with sticking with me through it and your feedback has been invaluable (to say the very least). xx

There might be a possible sequel if there's enough interest, and I've also made a small playlist as an accompaniment – You can find it on my tumblr: username is 'vanillaghost' and the post url ending is /post/156003258574. Feel free to drop by and say hi, or tell me what you thought of the fic (and if I should plan another installment)! :D