Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, objects, or schemes of plot crafted by the wonderful J. K. Rowling.

AN: This is a muse that's been in my mind for over a year now, but that I've since been refusing to write in order to focus on my original writings. However, this really wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to give it a whirl and get it off my chest. I hope you enjoy it.

The dedication for this first chapter has to go to The Fictionist, whose stories inspired me to actually get this one out there. Thanks so much.

I have most of where I'm going with this planned out in my head, so no, this is not a one-shot. Hopefully, it'll eventually tie into canon. I really wanted to explore the complex relationship between Harry and Voldemort, and this idea that part of Harry understanding Voldemort's motives and emotions so extraordinarily well is tied into the fact that they once knew each other in a past life. And thus this fic was born...

Chapter I: A River-side Rendezvous

914 A.D.

The burning light of the torches lit his way through the darkness. The hill was steep, and he could hear the wild screams behind, chasing him down ever nearer. The small black haired boy tried to still his panicking heart, to focus on placing one foot in front on the other. One wrong step now would mean death, and he shuddered away from the thought of those raging flames.

He hadn't meant to be different, hadn't known that the strange things he could do were wrong. Recalling the frightened, distrusting look of his fellow clansman whenever he had caused something to happen in a way it shouldn't - whether it was filling an empty bucket with water or stopping a falling stone or even making a dying plant grow - he wished the greater powers had never cursed him this way. He didn't want to have to run, didn't want to be alone.

But he didn't have a choice.

The looming tree line towered above him when Hadrian heard his mother's screech. Its anger pierced him as it always had, but now it brought desperate tears to his eyes. His own mother...

"Freak! Tempter from the darkness! Face the light, beast!" Hate tarnished the voice that once sung him soft tunes. Hadrian could imagine the red flames reflecting in her eyes, knew she would be at the forefront of his persecutors. Shoving away the pain, he raced with all his strength for the trees. If only he could reach the woods, he would be safe; his small body would aid him where their larger frames would not.

The cries rang after him. "Serpent-speaker!" A male voice boomed menacingly, icy sharp in the cold winter air. The rest took up the chant, interspersing it with other such calls.

"Snake-tongue!"

"Die, son of the serpent! Die!"

The boy didn't understand why they despised him so. The snakes he spoke to had been kind, willing to help him in any which way. What was wrong with that? He wasn't evil, he wasn't. He knew that as certain as he knew the dawn would come, even in the darkness.

Roots tangled his feet as he waded through the thick shrubbery, jumping over the last few to a clear, full run. The moonlight cast strange shadows through the overhanging tree branches, creating false strangers that seemed to follow him as he tore through the night.

Hadrian could still hear the pursuing crowd behind him, but they were farther back now, held up as they traversed the grounds he knew so well. Most of the clan, too wary of the dangers of the wild, had usually stayed near the village, where numbers were plenty and so safety assured. But Hadrian had always been curious, and when he could slip away unnoticed, he'd retreated into the woods, an untamed home where he could think in its silence.

Another way he was different, he thought bitterly, before crushing that thought too. It was too painful, now, in the moment which sought to make him lose everything. He'd face it later, when he was safe and in the sun and he could remember that there was some happiness in the cruel world.

His feet continued to pound against the ground as the night bloomed and retreated, as the stars rose and fell, and the moon shone and then faded into nothingness as the dawn finally arose. Thoughts ceased to plague his mind, until he was empty and there was only the fact that he was running to remind him that he was alive.

Eventually, though, the muscles in his legs gave out, and Hadrian tumbled to the welcoming ground, thankful for the chill of the grass as he pressed his flushed forehead against it. His stomach ached, the muscles locking down from over-exhaustion, and his chest felt as though as entire sea was bearing down on him. He wasn't sure which parts of that were only physical though.

When he felt recovered enough to move, Hadrian crawled to his feet, leaning against a young sapling for support. His entire body protested, but he violently fought to suppress the urge to just fall back to the ground and let it swallow him. He had to keep moving; if he stopped, he'd think, and that was as akin to dying as anything he knew.

And yet, try a he might, once the gates had been opened, they flooded, and the thoughts came with a merciless rush. He was as unable to hold them back as he could a stormy tide. The pretty green grove that surrounded him could occupy his eyes, but the real fight was on the insides.

Why?

He'd known the others didn't like the... things he could do, the unnatural things that sprung from a talent that he shared alone. But he'd never understood their fear; it was his power, and he was good, so his power must be good. Why couldn't they understand something so simple? Why couldn't his mother?

The sense that his mother disliked him had haunted him all the days he could remember. It was something cold in her green eyes that chilled ever more so when Hadrian said something in which she seemed to see something else. It made him wonder if it had to do with the father he had never known, or it was solely with him that she found such disapproval.

But despite the fear, despite it all, he'd been tolerated. Shunned to some degree, perhaps, but still allowed to eat at mealtimes with the rest of the clan, still permitted to gather berries and greens in the open fields with the other children. But as soon as the snakes appeared, and his mother caught him speaking to one, conversing in a tongue she didn't understand, he'd been hated. There'd been no regard for past times, no thought to the memories accrued in the ten seasons of his life that he'd spent with them all... no hesitation when they cursed him as an evil temptation sent by the greater powers to ensnare them in corruption. None had argued when they cast him out to face the justice of fear and fire. Somehow, that hurt more than anything.

Hadrian sighed, evening his breath in order to slow his heart. He's always thought people were overstating when they mentioned the breaking of the heart. After all, surely that would cause immediate death? The heart couldn't really break. And yet now, he understood: it wasn't so much a break as an ache, one that rippled and ruptured but left no physical signs of the pain inflicted. It was all inside, Hadrian thought, and he wondered how people were supposed to deal with that along with all the outside pains too.

Still, the sun was shining and he could hear the joyful trill of birds in the distance. Most of all, he was alive. As long as that was true, he could survive anything. The world might be cold and cruel, but he was not, and he could make his own light, even if it was a small light that shone alone against a sea of darkness.

And so, under the faded stars and the grey clouds that had not yet covered the sky, he wandered on.

It was the rush of water that first attracted his attention. Over the past weeks since his flee from death, he'd managed to follow a small stream, keeping close to its path; where water lay, so did life. A scare a few night ago though, a howl in the dark that had him fearing of wolves, had chased him from the scene, and when Hadrian tried to find it again, he found himself sorely lost. The berries he'd scrounged up had sustained him so far, but he knew that without water soon, he wouldn't last long.

When he heard the gentle bubble of flowing water, Hadrian almost said a prayer, before he realised he didn't know any of the gods' names. He settled with sending a heartfelt thanks to the land.

In the few seconds before he broke out of the dark forest's enclosure, he imagined the cool, soothing way the water would feel as it passed down his parched throat. His fingers clenched with the desire to simply feel the glorious liquid.

The radiant glow of the sun blinded him for a moment, white obscuring his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the dizzying sensation. When the colours filtered back in, confusion washed over Hadrian. He froze.

A body, only marginally larger than his own from what he could see, floated down-face in the river. It wasn't moving, and he wondered for a terrifying moment whether it was dead.

He glanced at the water, wanting it so much... and hadn't he already waited for it? Surely it wasn't his fault if he wanted a drink, if this person was just there dying...

But he couldn't, something inside him told him it was wrong, that he needed to help, needed to do something...

And, for a reason he couldn't quite explain, Hadrian felt a strange connection drawing him to the body, something intangible and powerful. What this his power again? He didn't know the limits and heights of it, after all, so perhaps that was it. His throat burning in plaintive protest, he dived towards the body, the water immediately soaking through his rough-hewn clothes.

It was harder than expected to drag it up to the bank. The added water made it even heavier, weighing down the strips of fur the body had weaved around its neck. Breathing heavily, Hadrian tugged it onwards, water splashing into his eyes and filling up his ears. How had he ever thought this was glorious? He laughed inside at the irony.

Reaching the muddy bank, he scrambled up on it, gripping the body by the sodden clothes on its back. With a strong pull, he managed to get the body land-side, before he collapsed next to it.

Hadrian glanced over, and spiked by curiosity, he rolled the body over.

It was a boy around his own age, as he'd suspected, with handsome features and neat black hair. His eyes narrowed of the fur strips, which, he now realised, looked awfully tight... he pulled them off, having to slip them over the boy's head once he'd loosened them a bit, since they were far too knotted to unravel completely.

The skin around the boy's neck was red, rubbed raw by the strips' chokehold. And Hadrian felt a wash of sympathy for the boy, whom must have been driven off like he was, except he had escaped and this boy had not, not really.

With gentle care, Hadrian smoothed out the skin with his fingers, trying to stimulate the blood flow. He'd never met someone who had nearly drowned (though he'd heard awful tales from his mother of what would happen to him if he did) and he felt utterly consumed by helplessness as he tried to think of ways to save the boy who suddenly meant something to him.

Leaning over the boy, he began to push down hard on his chest, repeating the motion more frequently as nothing appeared to happen. He gave a forceful, frustrated push, and water trickled out of the boy's mouth and with a sudden gasp, the boy began to breathe. It was laboured and harsh, but even. The boy's eyes remained closed, and Hadrian supposed the boy was merely asleep now, instead of dying.

He lay down himself for a moment, catching his own breath, before heaving himself up with a sigh. The boy was still cold from the water and the chill the air had acquired, and Hadrian wasn't much better in his own sodden clothing. He set out towards the trees, hoping to find some good sticks and stones to start a fire.

The sun was still out when the boy awoke. Hadrian gazed at him from across the fire, the flames framing the boy in flickering shades of orange and red.

The boy's eyes calmly took in his surroundings, his face impassive as he turned his intense gaze to his rescuer. Hadrian saw that the boy's eyes were a solid grey, intriguing in their darkness.

"Who are you?" The boy's voice was quiet but demanding.

"My name is Hadrian," He replied. "And I just saved your life."

The boy frowned. "I wasn't going to die."

Hadrian stared. "Yes, you were," He said firmly. He wasn't asking for thanks or rewards, but he wasn't going to let the boy shove it in his face either.

The boy's face remained irritated. "I can't die, you fool. I have powers that protect me from such weak endings."

"Being powerful doesn't mean you can't die," Hadrian countered.

The boy turned away, hissing in frustration, and to his surprise, Hadrian realised he understood what the boy was saying.

"Fool, doesn't understand what I am. I, die? Impossible.

Hadrian scowled. "I'm not a fool, which by the way, doesn't mean much coming from a person who did just almost get themselves killed."

The boy whipped around suddenly to face him, mouth parted and eyes round with shock.

An awkward silence pervaded as the two dark-haired boys stared at each other.

"You speak?" The boy asked, seemingly shaken.

"Yes," Hadrian responded. "I mean, if you're talking about being able to talk to snakes, then, yes, I do."

The boy eyed Hadrian in awe. "I didn't know anyone else could, I didn't..." The boy whispered.

"Nor did I," Hadrian said softly. The boy's gaze was uncomfortably steadfast, seeming to drink Hadrian in as though he couldn't believe he was real. Hadrian was feeling much the same.

"Thomason," The boy said eventually.

"What?"

"My name."

"Oh..."

"And you are Hadrian-"

"Harry," Hadrian interrupted. The boy stared in confusion.

"You said-" Thomason started.

"I go by Harry. I mean, that's what I call myself, at least."

The boy nodded slowly, his grey eyes still direct.

"You may call me Tom," He said quietly.

"Tom," Harry repeated, savouring the word. He had a feeling it would be an important one.

"Can you do other things?" Tom asked, his brows drawn together.

Harry hesitated. "Er... what kind of things?" He thought he knew what Tom was after, but he wanted to be sure. He didn't want to scare him off now that he had found him.

"You know what I mean," Tom replied quickly, his tone exasperated. Harry shook off the sudden mood change. Maybe people who almost died were like that for a time afterwards.

"Things that shouldn't be possible," Tom continued, "Yet we can do. Magical things, Harry."

"Yes," Harry whispered, a sense of wonder overcoming him. Magic. So that was his power's name. And Tom could do it too, and the thought filled him with joy because it meant he wasn't alone, that he didn't have to be anymore because he had Tom.

Tom had a strange look in his eyes, but Harry thought he looked happy. There was a depth to his gaze, though, that made Harry shiver, not in fear of Tom himself, but perhaps in fear that he knew, somehow, that Tom could see right into his soul.

They let the silence wash over them for a while, comfortable as they warmed themselves from the fire's flames as the cool temperature dropped further. Harry thought briefly of going to find some food, or maybe a dead animal so he could steal its coat for warmth, but he didn't want to leave Tom, especially since Harry thought he must still be recovering from nearly drowning. The idea that he might go out and return to a dead Tom was enough to keep him seated even when he felt his fingers might actually freeze off.

"How did you come to be here?" Tom's voice broke Harry out of his dark imaginings.

Harry bit his bottom lip.

"I... ran away."

Tom's only reply was a raised eyebrow.

"They didn't like that I could speak to snakes. They thought it meant I was an omen of evil," Harry replied tonelessly, staring straight ahead into the darkness. He felt the heat of Tom's gaze on his cheek.

A moment passed. "I see," said Tom quietly, and when he didn't press for more, a rush of gratitude swept through Harry.

"And you?" said Harry, trying to sound off-hand.

Darkness tainted Tom's eyes and his features blanked, his entire aura becoming closed off. For a second, he seemed to merge with the shadows. Harry shivered suddenly but didn't glance away.

"My fellows, like yours, Harry, were not the most... accepting humans the world has ever provided," Tom responded calmly, but under the facade, Harry saw that Tom was still tense, the muscles of his neck taut and his fists clenched.

Instinctively, without any thought to stop or judge his actions, Harry reached out and took one of Tom's hands in his own. The moment he did, he regretted it. The sudden skin contact sent sparks tingling through Harry's palms, and he would have released the hand immediately if he weren't so stilled by Tom's expression.

If he'd thought Tom's stare intense before now, he now knew he had been wrong. The raw indefinable emotion in his eyes stopped Harry's breath, and he would have been afraid but for the sudden softness of Tom's features.

The whole of eternity existed in a moment, where the cold, the trees, the fire, the water, none of anything existed but the two of them.

Tom's fingers tentatively curled around his own, and Harry grasped them firmly.

"They can hate us if they want to," Harry said, feeling bold, "But we'll have each other, and they can never stop us together."

"No," Tom murmured, smiling. "They won't."

They slept that night under the stars, glowing above them as if to reveal the whole fate of the universe in the mere span of a night, in the mere span of a life. Before he surrendered to the enclosing relief of slumber, Harry wondered if he and Tom's fates were drawn out above them, if destiny had a plan already written for them - and it was a them, of course, for surely if either one of them did have a preordained destiny, it would include the other.

Because maybe he didn't know Tom well yet, but he knew that something stronger than chance had bound them together.

Harry resigned that he would likely never know the path in store for him, but at least he could be sure that Tom was on the same path, and if that was true, they could survive anything. Even certain death, as Tom proclaimed, Harry thought with a small smile.

And at least there would be one more light added to his own that could blaze with glory against the dark sea of eternity.

Awkwardness rose with the sun. In the natural light, which illuminated all details and alleviated all shadows, the tensions the darkness hid returned full force. Somehow, night had softened the unknowns and closed the distances. The bright streaks of sunshine awoke the reality that, under the dark moon, had been allowed to slumber.

Harry stared up at the blue sky, for once free of grey clouds. He remained still as he just listened to the sound of his even breathing, the soft exhales barely heard over the sounds of the woodland's wildlife. Concentrating on his hearing, he detected the clicking of grasshoppers surrounding him, the call of birds somewhere to the south, the pad of four-footed animals further down the river…

There was no sound next to him.

Turning over, Harry caught his eyes with Tom's, the colour seeming lighter in the day. They stared at each other silently for a moment.

"Hello," Harry breathed.

Tom's features remained blank, before he rolled onto his back and sat up. His body froze like ice as he gazed out at the river at their feet. Harry sat up too, frowning down at his lap. The air coalesced with intangible tension, the kind that felt as if it would actually invade the chest and crush it with its overpowering pressure.

Harry glanced aside, then with a pull of defiance, straightened his back and shifted back towards Tom

"Where are we going then?"

The question was inane, practical but inane, yet it was all Harry could think of to break the terrible silence.

"What?" Tom's eyes gleamed with irritation, his cold voice sharp. Harry inwardly recoiled, but didn't flinch. He tried to clear his own voice of emotion.

"Where from here?" He said slowly. "We can't just stay here. People will find us soon."

Tom frowned, but his lips were unmoving.

"We need—"

"Let me think," Tom interrupted harshly. Harry bit his lip, cowed. Shame washed through him. He closed his eyes. Was Tom still reacting to his almost death? Harry thought not, his stomach sinking.

"We'll find others," Tom stated decisively.

"What?" Harry said in surprise, "No—"

"As you say," Tom continued, his tone mocking, "We need food. Food tends to be where there are people."

Anger soared through Harry's veins. "Death tends to be where there are people."

"Life or death, Harry, which is your choice?" Tom snapped, before he froze, staring widely at Harry. The familiarity of Harry's spoken name hung between them.

Tom sighed, running a hand over his face. "If we sat here, we'll die, either from starvation or from other dangers. If we go, we have a chance at life. And," He turned to Harry, his eyes intense, "I won't die, Harry, I won't."

"I'm the reason you're not dead," Harry returned somberly, "Don't I get a say for that?"

"What would you have us do, then?"

"Tom…"

"Say it, Harry."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I don't know," He murmured.

"Then as you don't have a ready plan, I suggest we go with mine," said Tom, rising to his feet. To Harry's shock, he lent down a hand to help Harry up. Harry stared incredulously.

"I don't understand you," He said in disbelief.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "We have a great deal of time to remedy that."

Pausing for a moment, Tom's eyes turned distant. Suddenly, he released a laugh, which sounded strange, as though un-used.

"What?" Harry asked warily.

A small smile twisted Tom's lips.

"Here we are, the morning after we first feet," Tom's grey eyes glanced down to Harry's, glittering with amusement, "And already we are fighting."

"We wouldn't be if you weren't so temperamental," Harry bit out.

"Temperamental?"

"Well, more like rude…"

"Ah, assaulting my manners, Harry? That is rude…" Tom's voice was light with laughter.

"Stop it," Harry said indignantly, scowling up at the other boy. Feeling strangely vulnerable on the ground, he quickly scrambled to his feet. Tom reached out a hand to catch Harry's neck as he did.

The world disappeared. Time itself stopped as space collapsed in on itself. Power sang through the air, coursing through their bodies until the fingers clasped against Harry's neck burned with warmth.

Harry flinched, uneasy, and the universe resumed its normal state. Bewilderment dominated Tom's face.

Pulling Tom's hand away, Harry treaded a few paces toward the river. Its rhythmic movement echoed loudly in the quiet, but Harry found it deeply soothing.

"I don't think you should touch me," He said determinedly. Tom's face contorted with displeasure.

"If you wish."

"I do."

"Then I shall not touch you again."

Tom paused, and then spoke, hesitant. "I meant no harm…"

"I know," Harry replied, finding he couldn't quite look Tom in the eye. "So…where do we find these others?"

"I say north," said Tom, sounding detached.

Harry glanced up at the sky, where the last of the fading stars had vanished.

"And how do we tell north? It's not night."

Tom gave Harry a fondly exasperated look. With a sigh, he gestured towards the river.

"Water flows south, Harry. If we follow the river long enough, it will eventually turn, and when it does, we shall know our direction."

"But that'll take 'till dusk,' Harry argued. After yesterday's arduous flight, he possessed no desire to trek a winding – and possibly pointless – journey. At least, he thought, glancing at the river, they wouldn't want for water this time.

Tom didn't respond, instead simply turning and walking down alongside the riverbanks. Frustration wound its way through Harry, and he parted his mouth to speak, before sighing. It would be no use; Tom was determined and Harry sensed his new friend was not one to be swayed lightly. Resigned, he followed Tom as the river's rippling water lapped on besides them.

As Harry predicted, it was nearing nightfall when the river finally turned downwind. They set up a small fire, which Tom said would keep away the worst of the beasts that lurked in the twilight hour. Not that Harry really concerned himself with what Tom said at the moment; his feet hurt from the continuous walking, his stomach rumbled plaintively in hunger, and his skin was chilled from the cold despite the fire. His latent emotions from this morning had not abated, and as time went on, Harry found himself increasingly angry at Tom's blatant disregard for Harry's words. And I was right, Harry thought bitterly, wrapping his swaddled woolen coat tighter.

Yet despite Harry's furious silence and obvious scowl, Tom carelessly tumbled down next to him, their bodies touching. Warmth radiated from him, and Harry reluctantly edged closer, the temptation of escape from the winter weather too much to resist. Huddled together, the night passed into full darkness, the flickering flames of the fire snapping and hissing before finally dying out.

The next day was much the same. Harry and Tom walked in silence, though more from tiredness than from anger. This night had served as their friend; when the morning calls of nature awoke the two, the frustrations of the past day had slunk away, leaving a quiet understanding in its wake.

The more they walked the wider and fiercer the river became, the small trickles replaced by the loud rush of fast flowing water and the random crashes as it beat against the now present rocks. When Harry's muscles grew too tired, Tom let them rest without argument. They lounged on the grassy, sloping banks, eating foraged berries as the blue sky expanded out above them.

Tom quietly told Harry that they could move on away from the river now, that small villages should be close by once they retreated from the thick forests. Harry saw the wisdom in Tom words, but nonetheless, the prospect of leaving the constant river behind daunted him; the memory of a raw throat parched of water lingered in the back of his mind.

Still, when they did reach open fields, joy sparked in Harry's heart at the utter freedom of the plain, all vibrant with life. He grinned at Tom, who returned it hesitantly, staring at Harry in puzzlement. Harry didn't care though and simply relished in his existence; the fresh air in his lungs, the sweet scent from the meadow flowers that assaulted his senses, and the calm companionship his life had so much lacked.

The sun gleamed high in the sky when Tom and Harry first sighted the rural town nestled between the hills. A simple stone wall surrounded the dwellings, rising and falling with the land. Smoke swirled out from around the thatched-roof huts, coiling in the air above like tangled serpents.

Harry glanced over at Tom, whose face was once again blank.

"Do you think they'll give us food?"

"No," Tom said immediately.

Harry frowned at him.

"Then what was the point of all this? We should have stayed by the river, then. At least we had berries."

Tom acted as though Harry hadn't spoken. "They won't give it; we will take it."

"Tom—"

Tom strode off down the hill, rigid determination obvious in his every movement.

"We can't just steal from them!" Harry shouted after him.

"It won't be stealing if they're dead," Tom retorted loudly.

Harry stared at Tom, frightened. Coldness froze his heart, his rushing blood seemingly replaced by fragmented icicles.

"You can't," He breathed out, trembling.

"We can," Tom replied calmly. "We will."

"I won't."

"Harry," Anger sharpened Tom's voice. "We have no choice—"

"There's always a choice!" Harry called out desperately. "Please, Tom, can't we just sneak the food out? They don't need to die, not just for us."

"There's less danger this way. Isn't that what you wanted?" Tom's tone mocked him.

Harry set his jaw. "You couldn't kill them, not even if you tried."

Tom's expressionless façade wavered. "Of course I could, don't be a fool."

"No, Tom," Harry said softly, "You couldn't."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'd stop you."

Silence descended over the hills, the screech of the drifting wing the only sound. Harry's throat caught at Tom's betrayed look. He quickly ran down the hill to meet him, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, Tom," Harry pleaded.

Tom's eyes slid carefully over Harry's features. Their eyes locked briefly, but then Tom turned his head aside.

"How do you want to do this, then?" He sighed.

Harry's thoughts raced into overdrive, his relief palpable as he shifted to view the town once more. The walls would be easy to scale, but they remained in pure sight. Still, less people would be watching now than in the night hours, when guards routinely stood watches over long stretches. Harry hoped the people would merely mistake him and Tom as mischievous boys.

From there, their target would have to be located in the central reaches of the town; if detected, the ensuing alarm would be further from the day guards' ears. Tom and Harry would just need to slip into the crowd.

"Follow me," Harry murmured, heading towards the town.

"What?"

"Just trust me."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Fine."

They skirted around the gates when they were close enough to be seen. As Harry predicted, the walls were largely unguarded, allowing them to climb the wall using the stones natural footholds. Tom raised his eyebrows at Harry when they reached the top edge.

"Now what?" He asked skeptically as they hung there.

"Blend in," Harry hissed lowly.

He vaulted up onto the flat top, which was wide enough for two of Harry's size. Breathing fast in anxiety, he turned to reach out a hand to Tom, but found the other boy already kneeling beside him.

"We head to the centre?" Tom guessed, his grey eyes steadily evaluating the inner dwellings spread out below.

Harry nodded once, slipping down the wall's other side hastily. They would have only minutes; sparse the guards might be, but blind they were not. In plain sight as they were, Harry and Tom ran the high possibility of being spotted at any moment.

Going down was much faster than going up, Harry found. Soon enough, he and Tom reached the ground, slick under their feet as the mud moistened. The wall had made it weak, the weight breaking up the earth into small fragments that eventually congealed together. Worriedly, Harry glanced at his hide boots and then at his clear footprints imprinted in the mud.

"We need to move fast. Now," He muttered to Tom under his breath.

"I thought that was obvious," Tom replied lowly.

Harry took Tom by the elbow, guiding him through the narrow alleys between the houses, all clumped together as they were, round and short next to square and tall. Some were obviously of an older style, with animal pelts serving as doors, whilst others had their entranceways blocked by thick wooden slabs with iron handles. They stayed close to the buildings, ducking by every time someone passed by an alley mouth; the less people who saw their faces, the better. Particularly his, Harry thought, glancing back of Tom's young but handsome face.

Music reverberated from the town's centre, the intricacies muffled by the hum of voices that sought to drown out it and each other. Shouts of anger and joy clashed with the ever-present boom of a man selling his wares and the loud laughter of children. A market, Harry thought, and pondered what treasures there were to be bought. But not for him and Tom… they were here for food, nothing else, Harry reminded himself.

Still, as they moved into the main area and Harry caught sight of the musicians, all decked in green with a white tree sigil, he wondered briefly what it would be like to dance. Though he quickly dismissed the notion, for some reason he felt the oddest sense of embarrassment. Without catching Tom's eye, he casually pulled him towards the house Harry designated as their target.

Sidling around so they remained hidden from view to those in the market, they paused with their backs pressed to the house's back wall. Tom turned his head towards Harry's.

"What now?"

Harry slowed his breathing. "I go in… and you wait here."

Frowning, Tom said, "You expect me to just stand here whilst you go in alone?"

"I expect you to trust me to know what I'm doing."

"And have you ever stolen anything before?"

"No," Harry admitted, "But I'd chance a guess that neither have you."

Tom sighed in irritation.

"Be quick about it, Harry, no dallying. I mean it; it's both our heads if we get caught."

"I know," Harry said quietly.

Rolling his eyes up towards the sky, Tom offered a sound of disgust. "We should have just killed them."

Harry left without a word, creeping around to the doorway, which had been left the slightest part ajar. Pausing to listen to any sounds that might be coming from inside the house, Harry took the moment to ready himself. Stealing from the innocent went against every grain of his being, but it was better than Tom's alternative of murder. This way, Harry was only thieving the belongings that sustained their lives rather than taking their actual lives.

When no hint of sound was forthcoming, Harry stealthily slipped inside, making sure to leave the door just as open as he had found it, in case the owners returned early. The furnishings were modest, common wood carved simply enough to meet the owner's needs. Woven rugs and drapes decorated the floors and walls, they too bearing the white tree sigil against a backdrop of forest green. Harry supposed it was the town's symbol. His lips tightened, his chest aching guiltily when he sighted a child-size rocking horse. He moved on quickly.

Carefully, he headed towards a large wicker basket, opening the lid, which revealed the heaps of apples and pears and roots tumbled inside. Grabbing the woolen-sewn bag that hung from a nail near the door, Harry piled as much as he could inside, largely bypassing most of the vegetables except the carrots and lettuces. Thinking of Tom's expression if he saw only greens in the bag, Harry searched the house for meat.

The main entrance room took up most of the space in the house, but a small corridor led to two other rooms. Following, Harry found what was obviously a bedroom, complete with a large sleeping rack covered in sheepskin and two immense boxes, one plain brown and the other gilt laced with ornate flowers and shining gems that surrounded a white-shadowed dancing maiden under a weeping tree. Harry eyed it dubiously, but seeing nothing else of interest, closed the door and went to examine the other room, which he found, to his delight, to be a storeroom.

The smell of raw, salted meat took him off guard for a moment, bringing back memories of the feasts that would herald the return of the hunters in his old tribe. Even for him, those times were glorious. But that path was closed to him now, and he had to forget the past and find his own way. Shaking away the recollections, which remained seeped with pain and regret, Harry walked down the wooden-structured aisles, taking beef, pork, lamb, and fish at random, no longer entirely concentrated on his task.

He continued until the bag was filled to burst, and when he looked down at the gathered food, a deeper sense of guilt raced through him. There was enough food there to feed this family for weeks, and he was taking it all in one fell swoop. It was only the thought of Tom standing outside waiting for him that allowed Harry the strength to find his way back out of the house.

Tension dominated Tom's face when Harry met up with him at the back wall. Tom pushed off it when he saw Harry.

"What took you so long? Never mind, we've got to get moving. It's almost close to sundown and they'll be closing the gates."

"The gates? Why do the gates matter?"

"Because we walking out of here through them," Tom said, "Or do you imagine you can climb unnoticed with that sack on your back?"

Harry's brows drew together worriedly. "Do you think they'll let us out?"

"We'll see," said Tom shortly.

Glancing up at the sky as they walked – this time, Tom leading him – Harry saw the truth of Tom's words; the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon, the sky's blue colour transforming into a collage of red and orange hues. The sounds of the market had dimmed now, and with regret, Harry realised the musicians had long ceased their playing.

The wall guards hardly gave a care when the two dark-haired boys passed under the main southern gate. Instead, they lit numerous fires along the top of the wall, their faces noticeably lined with concern, whilst their movements bespoke clear anxiety.

Tom eyed them curiously as they walked under the archway. "That's odd."

"What do think's going on?" Harry frowned.

"Nothing that we're going to be around long enough to see," Tom remarked, taking Harry's hand to urge him faster along. Tingles started to ripple in Harry's palm, but he determinedly ignored it.

By the time the town lingered far back in the distance, night truly had fallen, the stars aglow as everything else faded to black. The wind picked up again, howling and moaning as the temperature continued to drop.

Tom used his coat to shield the fire, leaving them both to shiver under Harry's, which he draped over the back of their bodies, their front's facing the open fire. They pecked listlessly at some apples, too tired to properly eat and too cold to consider moving. Near the fire-pit laid the wrapped up bundle of stolen goods. Other than their clothes, the items within were only possessions that Tom and Harry owned in the world.

When the wind finally died down enough to speak, Harry asked a question that had circled in his mind since he'd first found Tom.

"Tom? Do you… who tried to kill you?"

The body next to him froze, and Harry guessed Tom's expression had returned to its blank state, as it always seemed to do when Tom decided his emotions were too valuable or private to share. Bundled up tightly as they were, Harry didn't have enough leeway to move, yet alone twist enough to examine Tom's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to either.

"Does it matter?" Tom finally spoke, his voice as cold as the wind.

"What if they come after us?" This hadn't been Harry's initial thought, but it seemed a good enough excuse to justify his question on the grounds of something other than pure curiosity and a strange sensation of protectiveness.

"They won't."

"How can you be sure? They never saw your dead body."

"I'm sure, Harry," Tom spoke through gritted teeth.

"Who were they?"

"Enough."

"But, who—"

"Harry," Tom warned.

The smaller dark-haired boy sighed. "Why can't I know?"

"Because there's no point… because it doesn't concern you."

"Don't you trust me?" Hurt tinged Harry's voice.

Tom's hair shifted against Harry's cheekbones as he turned his head slightly in the other direction.

"I trust you with your life, just not with mine."

There was nothing to say to that, so Harry buried his torn feelings and laid his cheek softly on Tom's shoulder, closing his eyes and letting everything but Tom's warmth fade into the abyss. Tom's body remained tense for another few minutes, before he suddenly relaxed, tightening the wrapping around them and drawing their bodies closer. With a sad sigh, Tom turned and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's head.

Opening his green eyes to slits, Harry gazed out at the constantly flickering flames, wondering if the fire had eyes to see, and if it did, what reflection he and Tom made.