Dear readers, I've decided to officially go on hiatus while traveling, but here's a 12k update to make up for the bad news. I've created a journal / blog, a Wordpress under my name (Angstier), so feel free to look it up if you'd like to hear updates about my situation. There's a link in my profile. Enjoy this one. x

20 – Snatchers

Harry was in a world of his own, his senses locked to the crackle and boom of spellfire. He stood in a fighter's position, ignoring the ache of his palm and the soles of his feet and paying attention instead to the conjured target he could glimpse behind smears of light that clouded his vision. After hours of duelling practice, his sight had grown narrow and his movements a rhythmic trance, but still he didn't feel like stopping. He was lost in the wordless, thoughtless state of learning, where he could banish worry and comfort himself with knowledge.

All concept of time escaped him during these long training sessions. Tom, who had first been watchful and vocal about how Harry could improve, had lately grown quiet. Harry thought it was because these lessors bored her, or that she felt she couldn't help, but at the end of each day she spoke to him in great detail about magic and where it was most useful. Harry was under the impression that all this time, Tom had been watching the practice over his shoulder, but when he turned around to speak to her after an unknown length of time, he found that she was nowhere to be seen.

Harry was dazed when he stopped his training. He became aware he was standing in utter darkness and hastily lit his wand. Sunlight that had spent the day reaching in through cracks in the boarded-up windows had long since faded from view, leaving nothing but dead-eyed darkness leering at Harry in its wake. Under a consistent source of light, he was able to see the Muggle graffiti that still littered the walls of the upper floor, as well as the target he had been practicing on all night. The seat Tom usually took to watch him was empty, leaving only one conclusion. She was out or downstairs. Harry hurried from the room.

He found Tom in the living room, surrounded by a pile of newspapers that she paid no attention to. She had a book in hand and lowered it upon Harry's arrival. Her steady stare did nothing to calm his nerves, which built up in the change between training and quietness. He hesitated at the edge of the room, trying to decide what he wanted to do next, when Tom spoke.

"You did well today."

She had watched him earlier, when he started the practice at midday. Harry brushed aside the complement, focusing on what came to mind.

"When did you leave?"

"A few hours ago. I needn't have seen more."

Harry nodded once, but in truth he had no idea what time it was now. Strangely, he still wanted to go back upstairs and carry on his training, which worried him. Perfecting new forms of magic thrilled and soothed him at the time, but the consequences were obvious even to himself when his eyes wandered to the high windows, which had now been enchanted to reveal the outside world. It was the dead of night and he could see nothing beyond a sheet of darkness, yet he kept his eyes on it as if he expected to see a real target, a real Death Eater, flicker into sight. Irrational fear stalked him.

"I came across something interesting today," Tom told him, her fixed attention dragging him away from his worries. "I took the Cloak out in search of news in the early afternoon."

With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, a stack of newspapers jumped up and levitated across the room to Harry. He expected to catch sight of the usual dreaded headlines of the Daily Prophet, something about an ex-Order member being caught for an awful crime or he, Harry, being described as an ever-more fearful wizard, but when he stepped forward and reached out, it wasn't the Prophet he caught. A different newspaper, this one made of glossy parchment dyed in shades of vibrant pink, green, and yellow, found him.

"What's this?" asked Harry slowly.

"It's our new source of information."

"But you can't – you can't be serious, Tom."

Rather than the usual bold headline printed in black ink on plain parchment in words that the Ministry chose for its well-tamed puppets (reeking of the metallic scent of bribery, no less), this paper had a comical, animated illustration of a crooked-face wizard on its front page. The character, whether based on a real person or not, kept on a perpetual scowl beneath shifty eyes that shrunk and popped at irregular rates, as if he was looking for a way out of the spotlight. The headline, printed in a sharp, shocking green font, read, "SNATCHERS" with a small description: "How the Ministry plans to capture and imprison all Muggle-Borns."

The newspaper's style was familiar, but its contents were unrecognisable. Given the choice, Harry never would have believed that the Lovegoods would talk out about the Ministry, nor that Tom would come across it, but sure enough, written up at the top of the front page was: The Quibbler. It inspired a sense of nostalgia in Harry that he had never expected to feel again, mixed with the realisation that changes in the war were a very real issue that touched almost everyone. He wondered how he had never thought of it before, that despite the Order of the Phoenix falling, there were still people who believed in spreading the right message.

"Where did you find this?" asked Harry in a rush. "How did you find this?"

"I've been on the lookout for alternative news sources, hoping to catch sight of what's really going on in the war," Tom explained, speaking clearly. "Today, I was fortunate enough to come across two wizards discussing the matter to each other. We aren't the only ones who know the Daily Prophet is corrupt. A small wizarding store that I've been eyeing for weeks now was almost empty, except for the shopkeeper – a Muggle-lover – and a dear friend of his. He keeps quite a few editions of The Quibbler behind his counter, handing them out to friends and relatives when he feels its safe."

"So, the Quibbler is – what, telling everyone what's really going on?" asked Harry, "and people believe in it?"

"It's one of the rare remaining options," explained Tom, "people hardly have a choice. You can't underestimate the mental capabilities of a madman. With insanity comes undeniable intellectual ability, and vice versa. The Lovegoods might be amongst the only remaining Pureblood families willing to contemplate the unbelievable. Read the main article – you may be surprised by their sheer courage."

Curious to learn more and lost for words, Harry checked for the article on 'Snatchers', whatever they were, and found a two-paged piece written near the start of the paper. It was printed on a jarring pink background, all of the words floating and jumping out of the page. It read:

SNATCHERS: How the Ministry plans to capture and imprison all Muggle-Borns.

The Wizarding World is no longer safe for Muggle-Borns. The list of Witches and Wizards reported as missing by their friends and families continues to grow with each passing day, yet mainstream news such as the Daily Prophet fails to give any mention to it. The Ministry of Magic is choosing instead to focus on an issue that continues to anger many high-ranked officials, backed by blood-purists: there has been a rise in number of Muggle-Borns fleeing from the Wizarding community before – and often after – their blood-status has been marked, going on the run, into hiding, or sometimes into the safety of the Muggle world.

In order to capture anyone who resists evaluation, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission now demands by law that every member of the Wizarding community should be checked and questioned about blood-status, family heritage, and other personal matters. Those who resist contribution to 'research', whether a Pureblood, Half-Blood, or Muggle-Born, will be marked as outlaws and enemies of the public (or as the Death Eaters call it: 'blood-traitors') for so much as missing a hearing. A hefty reward is being offered to anyone who can hunt these 'fugitives' down, which has created a tremendous wave of blood-purists working for the Ministry of Magic under the name of 'Snatchers'.

Some reports claim that the 'Snatchers' work alone, others say that they're chosen by the Ministry after evaluations, but still more say that every 'Snatcher' is in contact with the Death Eaters themselves. What we do know is that 'Snatchers' have complete permission to do what they must to find missing people, making them ideal means of gaining information on other so-called enemies to the Wizarding World, such as Harry Potter. Although Muggle-Borns rarely survive an encounter with these fearsome gangs of blood-purists, Pureblooded individuals unfortunate enough to get caught up in a raid often survive and are able to give a full account of what to expect:

"They appeared out of nowhere," claims one eye-witness to a 'Snatcher' attack, who has chosen to stay anonymous for the sake of their protection. "Five or six of them showed up when a group of friends and I met up for drinks and conversation at my home. I had no idea anyone was on the run from the Ministry, but they questioned us all anyway. They disarmed us, tied us up, and started asking about our family histories. They took away three of my mates, those Snatchers did. I've never seen anything like it..."

Further information on why and how 'Snatchers' have the power to hunt down resistant members of the Wizarding community remains to be investigated. All that can be said for sure is that the brutality we're witnessing from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission is sure proof that the Ministry of Magic no longer supports anything but a blood-purists' view. Despite their claims on 'harmless research', it's a fact that they are tracking down Muggle-Borns for imprisonment and unknown 'experiments' and there is more than enough evidence available to suggest there is Death Eater activity and influence in the walls of the Ministry of Magic. With 'Snatchers' on the rise, The Quibbler pleads caution.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Pureblooded Muggle-haters," says an anonymous Ministry contact, who is unable to leave his job in fear of being marked as a 'blood-traitor', "or if you're a bit more cynical about the future outcome of this war, it's a lifetime career path. The Ministry can no longer trust its own Aurors in fear of them working for the other side, so it's getting as much help as it can get from eager volunteers – keeping very quiet about the matter, of course. Since's Scrimgeour's resignation, or whatever you want to call it, things have been going very differently in the Ministry..."

The depths of the Lovegoods' bravery didn't end there. Harry stood in stunned silence, letting the pages of The Quibbler flicker through his fingertips, revealing articles on corrupted heads of Ministry departments, rise in Dementor activity, long lists of missing Witches and Wizards and their family members' desperate stories. Practically every page was packed with columns of information on suspected Death Eaters activity or tips and guides given by experienced duellers on how to protect yourself from torture and imprisonment.

"I don't understand," said Harry flatly. "How hasn't the Ministry caught onto this yet?"

"Oh, I don't doubt the Ministry knows about it," said Tom placidly, relaxing where she sat. "The Quibbler, however, has been written off as laughable time and time again, thus those who read it and those who believe in a similar mindset will themselves be seen as laughable. Ridicule is a powerful social and political tool for silencing controversial opinions. Moreover, it would put the Ministry in a very compromising position if the Lovegoods were to disappear."

"Are the Lovegoods safe, then? I know they're Pureblooded, but they were close to the Order before it fell. It seems pretty obvious that that's what influenced them to recognise the Ministry for what it is."

"They were close to the Order, yes, but never a part of it. Moreover, there would be no way to prove it, even if they were. The Lovegoods haven't yet broken the Ministry's laws and they surely passed the blood-purity tests. Death Eaters, surely, see no reason to harm a valuable bloodline so hastily. The Lovegoods are free to share their opinions, to spread knowledge, and even to announce their stance of your innocence."

"My innocence?" repeated Harry. "What're you on about?"

For the first time, Tom was amused, thrilled that he had taken the bait.

"Didn't you notice?" she asked quietly, practically taunting him. "The Lovegoods still believe the Ministry is spreading lies about you."

In fact, Harry had noticed his name written in the article, but he had chosen not to think about what it meant. The Lovegoods may have supported him after Lord Voldemort's rebirth – that might have even been the reason why they continued to write about the Ministry's lies and Death Eater activity now – but Harry refused to believe that his recent crimes could be something to overlook. He may not have been caught yet, but he felt there was no hope in his innocence, not by any stretch of the imagination. The thought bothered him with a degree of painful regret.

"Regardless," Tom carried on, picking up on Harry's internal conflict, "we should listen to what The Quibbler says with caution, but continue to read it while it lasts. It's a better source of information than anything else we currently have."

"Yeah," agreed Harry slowly, "We could use this, at any rate."

He meant it, despite his lack of enthusiasm. This was a portal into an active world he wanted to be a part of. It gave him hope that they could take down the rise in Death Eaters and their supporters if only information like this kept on flowing and the people who read it kept on listening. The Quibbler didn't release their papers daily, but Harry nevertheless spent the following days awaiting the next edition and scanning other newspapers for even a glimpse of what was really going on. It was a week after reading the article on Snatchers when he came across an edition of the Daily Prophet that highlighted the vast difference in news the Ministry wanted the public to see. To give himself a comparison, he read it eagerly.

The Prophet often spoke in depth about the potential of Muggle-Born's 'stealing' magic from Pureblooded Witches and Wizards, claiming that their recent disappearance and withdrawal from Wizarding society was evidence that they had something to hide. The Muggle-Born Registration Commission slyly claimed that it had to force everyone to submit their blood-status in order to confirm how dangerous the issue could be for the British wizarding population. What really shocked Harry about the Prophet, however, wasn't just the way they twisted the truth, but how openly and casually officials spoke about it, as if they were doing no harm:

"It's really a harmless way for us to get an idea of what sort of population we're dealing with," says Homer Cine, a Ministry spokesperson for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. "Since the rise and fall of Gellert Grindelwald. blood-purity has become somewhat of a taboo subject, but there's no reason why we shouldn't take it into account these days. This is a unique opportunity that will revolutionize the way our world works. The way I see it, if we had no reason to suspect Muggle-Borns, there wound't be so much controversy about it now. We're trying to make sure we do a thorough job in uncovering the mystery of magical ability..."

Instead of the usual long lists of missing people, casualties of gruesome crimes, and articles on suspected Muggle murderers that had flooded the columns of the Prophet months ago, there was instead only information on Muggle-Borns and 'fugitives' scattered across the paper. Details on their crimes were printed in frantic language, describing these people as enemies to anyone with magical ability. New studies were being announced on the 'damaged intelligence of half-breeds' and sections were dedicated to speculation on the harm that breeding with Muggles could do to 'pure' families. Quickly, it became clear there was no hope in reading mainstream news.

Harry continued to practice magic alone. He felt the need to train in powerful attack and defensive spells, to calm his nerves and give himself something to do. The way Tom spoke of duelling like an art, like a lifetime pursuit, had inspired within him a desire to dedicate himself to it every day. She explained duelling in a way Harry had never imagined before, describing how to get into the mind of opponents and outsmart them by sheer instinct and unconscious knowing after perfecting the fields he was most interested in. It became his only relief.

Tom knew how the Death Eaters fought. More than this, she knew how to track down the rare books and studies on the Dark Arts that they had used as their handbooks, their guidance, during their early years. With these texts in hand, Harry was able to read up on hidden magic and uncover the weaknesses and strengths of different styles of duelling. With practice and patience, he might one day be able to recognise styles of magic as they came – in the heat of duels, in the panic of war and the thill of fights.

"Death Eaters are not unlike Aurors," described Tom one evening, "in that they're well-versed in a set of guidelines upon which they develop their own unique duelling style. Some prefer brutality, others quick-witted stealth, and each can find a comfortable way to express their strongest traits. Aurors are normally limited by Ministry regulations, but in the light of wars, they often set aside their strict rules in favour of possessing, murdering, and interrogating whomever they chose to in the hope of tracking down their enemies..."

"Which could mean anyone who isn't a Death Eater," Harry added. "Anyone who questions what's going on."

Tom nodded to this, too familiar with the Ministry's changes to appreciate the humour anymore. "They do what they must to hide their mistake."

The next edition of The Quibbler seemed to agree with their thoughts. Harry read it in one go the following week, scanning every page for news on those he had once known and those in control of the Ministry whom he had never met. There were more stories about Snatchers and the Muggle-Borns who had been captured and imprisoned, or worse, by the Ministry. The idea of Pureblooded criminals tracking down innocent people bothered Harry consistently, but it wasn't until he read a certain page of the Daily Prophet that he felt it was a real problem. In a list of Muggle-Borns wanted for interrogation, he spotted a name he recognised.

Hermione Granger. The name mocked him from an article spread out across two pages. There was a moving picture below it, a photograph that had been taken of her years ago. She was smiling brightly, reflecting the ascetic of a better time. It was haunting to think that Snatchers would be after her. Another photograph, printed below, showed Autors with serious expressions moving through the Ministry of Magic, about to embark on a mission. Harry recognised none of them. Hermione's name, however, was written in big print amongst other 'dangerous Muggle-Borns' and at first, he couldn't think why.

"Granger is suspected to be travelling with Harry Potter. Approach with caution."

Harry scanned this line several times, unable to grasp it. It told him only one thing: Hermione was on the run with Ron. Neither of them had showed up at Hogwarts and they weren't going to, either. They had to face the world. He remembered what had happened to Hagrid for just being around him at the wrong time – imagine what the Ministry was going to do to someone like Hermione, if she was caught? Imagine how she'd be questioned, as a last hope for the wizarding public to know what had happened to the missing girl, as a last hope for Lord Voldemort to know just where Dumbledore had gone? She was a Muggle-Born, a close connection to The Chosen One. A well-known advocate for equality...

"They're after Hermione."

Harry told Tom this in their kitchen. They were reading two newspapers together, waiting for the meal they had made to cook. He spoke it flatly. There was really no way to express the emotions that the Daily Prophet had managed to tear forth from the depths of his subconscious. He had tried so hard to ignore this possibility, to stick to working alone and hope, carelessly, that no one was going to be hurt like Hagrid was. No one was going to get harmed, captured, or killed in his name again...

"Hermione?" Tom repeated. "Is the Ministry searching for her?"

Harry nodded. "Apparently she failed to show up for questioning. She's on the run."

Even as he said it, a sinking sensation found him. He didn't want to consider her fate. He didn't want to think about the posters that would be plastered across all of Wizarding Britain with her face on it, naming her as yet another "Undesirable." If they'd known anything about her, they'd never assume that she was travelling with Harry – not after what he had done. She was protecting herself. Harry only hoped she was doing it well.

"Do you fear for her life?" asked Tom quietly, reading his expression.

"Of course I do," Harry admitted, broken. "Anyone would."

Tom considered this. She put down her paper slowly. Harry didn't know what to do, so he waited.

"We could trace Hermione before the Snatchers do," Tom suggested slowly. "We could protect her. She could be a vital asset to us, in exchange for her complete protection."

"No," said Harry at once. He didn't spare energy wondering what she meant. "I don't want to find her."

He was firm about it and Tom noticed. Instantly, an idea sprung to Harry. It made him both angry and hopeful, full of some honest desire to protect Ron and Hermione and to seek revenge on those who had started this.

"I don't want to find her," he said again, "but I want to stop her from being found. I want to scare off the Snatchers. I want everyone to know that if they dare to go near Ron or Hermione, I'll be after them. The Snatchers are easy – anyone with a bit of nerve could take them down."

Tom was surprised by his honesty, his forcefulness, and his fury.

"And how will your power compare to that of the Ministry's protection?" she inquired softly, speaking in his best interest. "How, moreover, will you stop them from alerting the Death Eaters when they recognise you?"

Harry had no answer. He thought about getting help from people outside, but there was no one left to trust and he wasn't interested in risking any more lives. He wanted to scare the Snatchers off, but not tell the Ministry what was on his mind. He wanted to seek revenge and take back freedom from the Death Eaters and blood-purists who had come to power.

He glanced at Tom, noticing the thoughtful look in her eyes and the patient stance she held herself in. Suddenly, it hit him.

"I'll disguise myself."

It made perfect sense. It didn't matter to Harry whether or not the Snatchers saw his face and recognised him for who he was. He was after them for revenge. The longer he could hide his identity, the better.

"Just like you," he carried on in a rush, "I'll take on a new form to fight them. We're strong enough to keep using Transformation – they'd never know what hit them. These aren't Witches and Wizards trained in combat, they're not even real supporters of the Death Eaters – all they are is fanatics."

Harry could use this to sharpen his skills in combat, to give the Ministry something to fear, to remind the world how wrong the uprising in Muggle-Born hatred was. The idea thrilled him and filled him with hope.

"If I show up with my own face, the Snatchers are bound to summon in Death Eaters faster than I could even cast the first spell, but as a stranger, they'd think they have a fair chance at duelling me. There'd be no way to trace me, no way to warn people who's doing this. At the rate we're going, we're not going to be losing duels any time soon."

The more he spoke about it, the more inspired he felt. He thought this was really going to work. Tom didn't interrupt him, didn't say a word of doubt. She seemed, if anything, in awe.

"It's a stable plan," she said. "A perfect introduction. We can use transfiguration together, perfect the art with time."

"You want to be there with me?" asked Harry suddenly, hopeful.

"I wouldn't miss this."

Before he knew it, Harry was beaming at Tom, who spoke with confidence.

"If they see me, they'll recognise you," she explained calmly, "so we must both go in disguise. We're stronger together. You can learn much more if I stay by your side."

"I want you there," Harry admitted. "I need all the support I can get. If I want to take on the Death Eaters one day, anyway, I won't be able to do it alone."

He felt ready. He wanted to hunt the Death Eaters down like his parents had, like the Order had before it had fallen too far under Dumbledore's demands. He was prepared to do anything he could do change the course of war, to protect his last remaining friends from afar. Tom spoke to him in depth that night about plans. They decided against using Polyjuice Potion – it would take too long and Harry had no desire to steal the identity of other individuals. He wanted to be unrecognisable and unknown. Tom agreed to stick to Transfiguration.

Together, they dedicated the following week to gathering information on the Snatchers' raids. They weren't as hard to track as one might expect – Tom spent time questioning individuals who had recently been attacked, as well as people who had witnessed Muggle-Borns being dragged off to the Ministry. The only problem was there was no feasible explanation for why the Snatchers showed up and how they chose fugitives. Harry thought they might be reading down lists of suspects and following them, but it made no sense for them to attack groups at random, often at private parties, gatherings, and meetings.

Regardless, what Harry and Tom did find is that the Snatchers certainly existed and they sought out Muggle-Borns every night. The Ministry paid them for every person they brought in, motivating the Snatchers to circulate more than anyone could dread, often showing up systematically to wizarding neighbourhoods to question random individuals. Tom had made contact with several victims, who swore they would send word over if the Snatchers were seen again. In the meantime, before being called, Harry wanted to seek the Snatchers himself.

The first night they saw a raid was a week and a half after Hermione's name had appeared in the papers. Harry and Tom spent hours walking the streets of wizarding London at night, in a densely populated neighbourhood where three raids had occurred in a month. Harry had on the Invisibility Cloak and a wand in his right hand, but they had agreed not to attack anyone yet. Tom, who stood beside him, asked him to stay focused.

"Did you see the windows over there?"

Tom was disguised as a tall boy with fair hair and freckled skin. Harry rather thought he looked related to the Weasleys and was surprised each time he spoke, because the once soft tone of the dead girl with its grainy texture had been replaced by a deep, contemplative howl of a voice. It came as a relief. He was no longer distracted by the deceased.

"Which windows?" asked Harry. His voice remained the same. He felt no different with brown hair, a reorganised face and eyes of an unfamiliar blue.

"They've shielded their windows. You'll see the lower floors."

Harry saw it. Large curtains were being drawn over the windows of a single house in a long street of closely-knit white buildings of London. Lights flickered on in the house next door. Wand-light. Someone must have been making noise. He saw the door open and a single figure step onto the stairs overlooking the street. The arrival wasn't wearing a hood, but carried a wand and closed the door behind him.

"He's on lookout," observed Tom.

"How did they get in the house?"

The figure by the door descended into the tiny garden, hiding amongst the tall bushes. Harry could distinguish the blue light of his wand. A curtain shook upstairs and shadows scattered on the ceiling in a panic. Harry stepped forwards.

"You mustn't act in haste," Tom warned him, reaching for his wrist. "Tonight, we must observe them."

There was a commotion on the top floor. Harry couldn't stand to see it. Neighbours, unaware of the Snatcher on watch, were peeking through their windows. He wondered if any of them dared warn the Ministry and whether or not they'd be immediately ignored. He thought he could hear shouting, screaming.

"I didn't see them enter that house," he said again to Tom. "They can't have been there all night."

"They must have Apparated."

Harry didn't like the idea. He thought houses should be private, at least, even if the Ministry bent the rules for anyone willing to aid them. The Snatcher in the garden turned around. The door was opening.

What happened next seemed too harsh to believe. In the pooling light of the ground floor, three Witches and Wizards with bound hands and sealed lips were thrown forth at the command of four Snatchers. One Wizard fell down the steps in front of him, swiftly dragged back up by the man on lookout. Harry could hear their voices now, as well as the muffled yelps from the Muggle-Borns who had been caught.

"We fished out three of 'em," one Snatcher boasted from the back of the group. "I reckon the others are blood-traitors, but we won't get much off the Ministry for 'em. Not worth the hassle."

"Any of 'em gems?" the Snatcher on lookout asked lazily.

"Not that I can see. This lot is only enough to get us a few rounds of drinks tonight, I should think."

The wizard who said it laughed at his own joke after that. Another turned towards the Muggle-Borns in question.

"Hear that, filth? That's all your worth to our world now. A few rounds of drinks and a warm spot by a pub fire!"

"That'll give you somethin' to dream 'bout in Azkaban."

They roared with laughter after this. The group had stepped out onto the street, where the Snatchers seemed elated. One turned to the nearest houses with open arms, grinning madly and trying to catch the eyes of those who watched from around the curtains.

"Anyone else hiding filth?" he demanded from the street at large. "Fancy clearing your street of Mudblood scum? We'll be well happy to help you!"

Curtains were closed, lights were extinguished. Harry couldn't stand to watch it. The Snatchers walked the streets with gloating confidence, thrilled by what they had done and hungry for their reward. The three Muggle-Borns were herded like sheep between them, their eyes large and breath a hysterical struggle. Their lives were stolen for a profit.

"Come on lads, let's bring 'em in!"

In a clutter of sputtering bursts, the Snatchers Disapparated, pulling the Muggle-Borns along with them. The street became a hollow shell, an empty stage that demonstrated the wrath of blood-purists and the real extent to which the Ministry had changed. Harry couldn't pull his eyes away from where the group had been. Curtains from high windows straightened out, lights flickered into life, the whole street seemed quick to accept what had happened and move on, but he couldn't believe it. He couldn't shake the image of where these Muggle-Borns might have been taken.

"I believe that's enough evidence for one night."

Tom spoke clearly, calmly, but Harry didn't respond. He was angry. He recognised the feeling welling up in him and wished direly that the Snatchers had walked by, so he could soothe the craving he felt for a fight. Tom clasped his elbow, trying to catch his attention. Eventually, Harry spoke.

"There's more of them out there. They'll be making rounds all night."

It was obvious what he wanted. Revenge was his only desire. Tom recognised the reaction well.

"We must make further plans."

"Like what?" Harry urged, frustrated. "They're only going to capture more innocent people, Tom. We're strong enough as it is – we could start to end this now, we could stop this."

"One day won't make a difference. We've recognised the Snatchers. That was our intention for visiting London tonight. Now, we must return to safety to discuss our next move."

Harry didn't protest. Tom took his arm and span sharply, sending them whirling across the country in seconds. The next clear image Harry saw was the front of their hideout, blacked out to avoid suspicion and barely visible in the moonlight. Tom slipped from underneath the Cloak to open the front door. Harry followed, disorientated and angry. He felt like he had failed tonight.

"Won't you take a seat?" Tom asked of him gently, indicating the living room. "I'll fetch us tea."

Harry nodded distractedly, heading towards his usual armchair. It was warm and cosy in here, a fact that left him full of guilt. He watched Tom cast shadows from the threshold of the kitchen, his movements even-paced. He watched him until steam rose up to press against the windowpanes and the kettle's shrill shriek cried out. Tom emerged soon after, levitating a tray with the guidance of Dumbledore's wand.

The tray was placed down, but Harry paid no attention to it. Tom was dressed in Harry's own robes, fiddling with the clasp of a travelling cloak. He removed the long black material and seated himself with a grace that Harry was incapable of, all the while maintaining a serene expression. That angered Harry, somehow. A teapot poured its content into two cups, one of which Tom reached for. The other, Harry ignored. His mind was torn.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he asked outright. "How can you not care about what we saw?"

Tom met his stare then. He put down his cup, which was much too hot, and paid Harry his full attention.

"Should I be concerned?"

This pushed Harry further. He gave into the temptation to blame Tom for how he felt.

"Those Muggle-Borns are probably never going to see the light of day again, but you don't seem to mind. We could have stopped it."

"We could have not been there at all," Tom argued delicately, "had we chosen not to witness it."

Harry's stare was deadly. He was partially aware that he was fighting a needless battle, but his anger told him this was right. He was angry and he needed Tom to understand it. He was furious at what had changed and even more aggressive at the thought that despite his own turmoil, Tom felt nothing. He held his silence, until Tom brushed his fair ginger hair back with one hand, thinking.

"Hundreds of people will have seen events similar to what we witnessed tonight," he said softly. "The notable difference between their position and ours, however, is that we intend to change it."

"How does that make it any better?"

"It's better because a change will happen."

Harry didn't agree. He considered it an excuse. Tom read this on his face.

"You must learn to recognise the difference between matters you should dedicate your emotional attention to and matters you should change," he explained, speaking evenly. "Anger will provoke resistance. Sorrow will torment you. Both may leave you inactive, which is the greatest risk of all. It's only in action that peace can be found – especially peace of mind."

"So, you reckon I should just sit tight and pretend everything is fine?" suggested Harry, frowning aggressively. "Just tell myself it doesn't matter what I saw tonight?"

Tom reached for his tea once more. He took a slow sip, before meeting Harry's stare, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was seeking the source of the problem. Harry knew that what Tom said made sense, he generally listened to it, but he couldn't stand pretending his gut feeling meant nothing.

"The Muggle-Borns you saw tonight were not your friends," Tom told him patiently. "It was not Hermione you saw being dragged off to the cold grip of the Ministry's judgement. It was a handful of many victims of war. We will save them, in time, we will scare the Snatchers. All I ask is that you remember, you and I are guilty of no crime for not stopping what we saw. We will fight who is responsible, in time."

Stubbornly, Harry said nothing, but sat brooding the matter. He didn't want to make Tom his enemy, that much he knew. He only wished his reaction could be allowed and not shut down. He felt, eventually, that Tom had a point and that he himself was being selfish for putting his emotions before any discussion about how to save those Muggle-Borns, but he remained angry nevertheless.

"We can fuel these feelings towards action," suggested Tom. "We can make better use of them than idle dispute. The question is, how do we attack the Snatchers and begin to tip the scales without catching the Ministry's attention?"

They began to discuss plans. They brought up everything they knew about the Snatchers from the little information they could gain. Tom voiced interest in speaking with a few key individuals in disguise about how much the Ministry knew, but together they agreed that since this was a new field and since no one had yet tried to attack the Snatchers as an outsider, they would have to do so cautiously and with full awareness of possible interference. In short, they had no one to trust but each other.

Harry returned to his bedroom alone hours later, his mind buzzing with ideas. In truth, he wasn't the least bit tired, but they had talked the subject to death and he needed time to process it all. Tomorrow, they would pick their first fight. The idea thrilled and enticed him. It would be the first time in weeks, in months, that he could feel like he was really changing something, not just sitting in this house, dreading his impending fate. Tomorrow, they would see what it meant to begin fighting a war. It was a thought that deprived him of sleep, but energized his spirit.

The following evening fell over stormy skies. It was ten o'clock by the time Harry and Tom landed in London, but still the burning farewell of a late summer sun could be seen, peering like a great red eye from under a canopy of shadowy purple clouds. The core of Wizarding London was as it had always been, an abundance of spindly roads winding through crooked buildings packed with magical artefacts and exhaling smoke that smelt of wood, Floo Powder, and elaborate teas and meals. They wandered through its streets fully transformed in their new disguises, waiting for night to fall.

Harry was tense. He listened to the sound of Tom's even footsteps, trying to clear his mind, but his attention latched itself to the faces of each passer-by, who glanced up momentarily with a solemn expression or else avoided eye-contact altogether in fear of getting involved in bad business. He could tell who was Pureblooded and who wasn't just by appearance: those who thought themselves safe walked with boasting confidence, while those against the war cowered in fear. It was too predictable. It was so sudden a chance compared to the last few years, Harry felt he would never get used to it.

He was dressed as a man in his thirties, with knowing hazel eyes and an angular jaw that couldn't help but express his apprehension. He kept his wand up his right sleeve, pressed to the palm of his hand, and walked with obvious caution. Tom, on the other hand, was untroubled. She had taken on the form of a woman of similar age, with long black hair, strong shoulders and posed posture. Her features were sharp and skeletal, but there was no presuming that this made her delicate, not with the daring poise of her every movement. She was sure of her abilities and kept Dumbledore's wand hidden from sight.

They spoke in hushed voices to each other every so often, exchanging their thoughts on the people around them and the location they had wandered into. It was a densely populated area and Harry hoped they wouldn't miss it if the Snatchers were nearby. Night fell heavy in a rush of chilling darkness, but their path was illuminated by the many lights and fires from the nearby houses. Eleven o'clock ticked by, followed by midnight, and it was then that they found what they were looking for. Harry thought it was a tremendous turn of luck.

Outside of one particular house, a mere few meters in front of the path Harry and Tom had chosen, an elderly wizard stepped into the night. He was lugging a heavy suitcase over the threshold of an ancient house, speaking to someone behind him in a frantic whisper. An old woman stepped out into the light after him, ushering two small children. When they spotted Harry and Tom, who had stopped in their tracks, their pale faces turned whiter and the wizard beckoned them without a word. In moments, they hurried down the street together, only the children daring once to glance back.

"That witch and wizard were likely hiding Muggle-Born children," observed Tom. "Their parents, at least, are nowhere to be seen."

Harry was shocked. He'd never considered what might happen to families if a parent were locked away as a Muggle-Born, or if another was targeted alongside their children for investigation.

"Why did they go on foot?" he asked. "Why didn't they Apparate?"

"I suspect the Ministry would track underage Apparition, much like they would track the Floo network. A better question may be, why did they choose this moment to run?"

Harry had no answer. He sought evidence in the buildings that arched high above them, but couldn't see anything suspicious. Most windows were blinded. No one else was standing outside on the street. It was only when the family disappeared completely, when the sound of the rolling trunk and their footsteps were gone that Harry and Tom stood listening and heard it. Somewhere close-by, voiced were screaming.

"Who is that?"

Tom was listening too. Harry sought clarification, following the gaze of her cold blue eyes to a house just besides the one that had been evacuated. The front door opened, letting out further sound of desperate screaming. A familiar type of wizard, dressed in a long brown dragon-hide coat, stepped into the night, unaffected by the chaos behind him. Harry's heart swelled in sickening anger. The stranger's eyes passed over them warily and Tom tugged at Harry's arm, urging him to walk on.

They moved down the street at a calm pace, Tom acting as if she had seen and heard nothing. It took everything in Harry's power not to scowl over and initiate a fight. They were far from the Snatcher's range, but couldn't exactly turn around to avoid this painful encounter. Step by step, they tried to prove their innocence. Harry wondered whether it was common for Muggle-Borns to flee once they heard those screams. The wizard might not be here to warn the other Snatchers of danger, but to watch out for anyone trying to make an escape. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, Tom's grip fell away and she moved.

In an instant faster than Harry could process it, red light flashed over the street. There was a heavy thud followed by quick steps and by the time Harry wheeled around, Tom was halfway towards the Snatcher's unconscious body. She flicked Dumbledore's wand and the body rose, toes an inch off the ground and head slumped over. Harry followed Tom without question or comment, their movements too quick for him to worry or fully process the weight of what they were doing. The levitated body pressed against the door, which stood ajar, until it disappeared into dark hallway, leading the way.

Harry was at Tom's heels by the time they were inside. He closed the door behind them and Tom lowered the body to the floor to avoid the noise. Light from the landing upstairs led them on, where screams cried out, washing out every thought in Harry's mind. He moved up in a trance, their steps on the creaky stairs masked by the commotion they were about to enter. On the landing, with wands drawn, Harry and Tom saw a figure in a doorway. A curious Snatcher turned their way.

Harry got the pleasure of cursing their enemy this time. All the training he had put himself through came instinctively as he threw one strong spell, knocking the wizard back into the room he was guarding. The screaming of a tortured wizard stopped, the Snatchers looked over to their associate, but before they could question what had happened, Tom emerged in the doorway. What happened next was chaos. Harry saw spells fly, Tom's figure disappeared, and without missing a beat he jumped in.

It was nowhere near a fair fight. Three Snatchers standing in a circle hit the ground and lost their wands before they had a chance to defend themselves. Muggle-Borns, who knelt before their captors, bowed down further in panic, trying to distance themselves from the cries of shock, roars of fury, and tremors that shook the walls and sent portraits crashing down. When it all settled into place, when the noise stopped and a change was enforced, Harry had a wizard at wand-point and the reality of the situation in front of him became clear. It was a gruesome sight to witness.

He thought at first that they had made a mistake. A wizard lay dead on the edge of the room, his body blue and bleeding, but there was a trail of drying blood left over from when he had been dragged from the centre. Another Wizard, doubtlessly the one who had been tortured and questioned, was covered in smears of the other man's blood and remained scrambling onto his knees, trying to gauge where he was and what was happening. The Witch who had been crying out for him gaped at Harry with hallow eyes, speechless.

"Any Muggle-Borns here," said Harry at once, "get up and go. Leave the country, go into hiding – just get away while you can."

It was obvious who was innocent. Four Witches and Wizards, some Muggle-Borns and others those who had supported them scrambled to their feet and helped others up, heading away without question. The same elderly Witch who had been screaming spoke to Harry and Tom in a raspy voice as she passed by, traumatized and deranged.

"Thank you. Bless you. Bless your souls..."

Three Snatchers and a corpse remained when the others escaped. The dead man's eyes were blank, but his murderers stares were deadly, bemused, and frightened. Their wands were scattered under furniture and drowned in pools of blood, leaving them powerless and full of questions. The most brave among them, a man with oily hair that stuck to his ears and large forehead, was the first to speak.

"Who're you?" he demanded. "What're you doing here, mucking up our business? Who're you working for?"

"We work for ourselves," answered Harry, "and unless you want to end up like your victim over there, I suggest you listen closely."

"We ain't some Mudblood scum," the wizard argued. "We're Pureblooded, see, and we're doing our part for this country. Involve yourselves in our business, and you're messing with the Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters, are you?" taunted Tom quietly. "Well, I never saw Death Eaters put up so feeble a fight. Nor have I ever seen them operate under the Ministry of Magic's rules."

The Snatchers became discomforted. They had lost the fight, there was no denying it, and it was obvious they were following the Ministry. They shouldn't have murdered that Muggle-Born at all. They were low-ranked blood-purists, about as far away from the Death Eaters as any common citizen. Tom took advantage of their shame.

"We're here to send a message."

She spoke the words clearly, a warning to each man they had captured. The Snatchers listened to her with full attention, trying to get an idea of what had happened and why they had been overthrown.

"We order the 'Snatchers', and by extent the Ministry of Magic, to cease its investigation into the lives of Muggle-Borns," she said. "If you fail to comply, we will duel and murder each and every Witch or Wizard who dares to seek petty cash under the false belief that they are protected. We will continue to do so until your organization of half-witted Dark Arts enthusiasts gains an irreversible reputation of falling mercy of more able fighters."

A Snatcher began to laugh, followed by a second one, then the third. It wasn't clear whether they had understood Tom, nor whether they knew why the others found humour in it, but all three of them lost interest in whatever was being threatened against them. The wizard who had started mocking Tom seemed to be encouraged by some new belief, or else by the bravery the first Snatcher had shown. It was a bold move, or at a least stupid one, as he remained at the mercy of Harry's wand.

"We may not be Death Eaters, but we'll have them on you either way," he warned, speaking only to Harry and ignoring Tom. "They'll find out who you are, filth. No Mudblood can stop what we've started. There's too many of us, too many who've waited decades for an opportunity like this. There's no beating pureblooded supremacy. This is our world, after all."

Something about his assuredness and the resentment in his every word inspired hatred in Harry. He saw this man, with his sickly yellow eyes and lopsided mouth, as one to really fear, as a nightmare that might haunt him if he allowed thoughts of Hermione's situation to poison him. This was a man of fully-formed beliefs, the type of halfwit who would be willing to die in the name of his prejudiced views. Harry found himself craving to test that loyalty.

The Snatchers didn't believe in them. That was the situation Harry and Tom found themselves stuck in: these wizards weren't powerful, but they were ignorant enough to trust that even if disarmed, even if rounded up and captured by strangers, they were protected by the Dark Lord as long as their enemies supposedly supported equality. They were the perfect soldiers for the Ministry and the Death Eaters alike, dumb, devoted servants who questioned nothing. Harry looked to Tom for a way out of this. She was brooding.

It took a moment before an idea struck her. Harry noticed it only when her shadowy expression froze. Slowly, thoughtfully, she crossed the room to where the Snatcher who had spoken kneeled before Harry. She paid close attention to the wizard, her head tilted in the direction of Dumbledore's wand. Her heavily-lidded eyes reminded Harry then of a Lestrange, as did the temperament she kept upon tracing the wand over the neck of the Snatcher. Steady determination. Curiosity for how best to gain what she desired. It wasn't until her black lids flashed to white and she met Harry's gaze that he felt the fire in her stare.

"I see your fury," she told him softly, each word curling and sizzling across her tongue in unmatched Parseltongue that stretched to every corner of the room. "I see your wrath. It may be the last remaining tool that we have. You see, they underestimate our power."

She had lured in the attention of all the room, her eloquent speech only exaggerated by the soft voice and perfect composure of her female form. Harry was fixated to what she said, but not nearly as much as he was enticed by the familiar being that shone through her every movement.

The Snatcher between them fidgeted roughly, crying out: "What's all this? What're you speaking?"

The wizard was shaken, properly scared for the first time tonight. His tone expressed that he knew exactly what was going on, but he sought confirmation nonetheless. It hit Harry, hard, why Tom had chosen to speak to him in their private language. Even Snatchers, as the lowest Dark Arts enthusiasts, knew what Parseltongue was. Tom was using it as a tool to warn and scare them into realising that their enemies weren't Muggle-Borns revolting. They were as good as Pureblooded. They were the Snatchers' own kind. They had no fear of the Ministry because they had nothing to run from. They were revolting against this change in government because they chose to.

Nothing scared a bigot quite like seeing their own kind turned against them. Their entire reality was based around the belief that they were a part of an unchangeable order they had been born into. They lived under the presumption that people like them shared the same discriminating views, because their crude actions were directly influenced by the identity they had built up for themselves. That was why, as Tom stood proud, neither she nor Harry chose to break the confusion. They wanted to be feared.

Harry focused his attention back on what Tom had said. His disgust at the wizard before him hadn't changed, he would be more than willing to give into that longing to shut the man up for good and seek just a little justice against the cruel change that had overtaken the wizarding world he once knew. The problem was, he feared making the wrong move. He feared bloodlust was clouding his judgement.

"You want me to kill him?" suggested Harry cautiously.

Tom inclined her head once, a smile pulling at the edge of her red lips.

"This is war," she hissed. "We must do what is necessary..."

He glowered down at the wizard once more. The man seemed to know that the two of them were discussing his impending fate in a language he could not understand. He was breathing through his nose heavily, keeping his lips fused in a thin line. The man couldn't get his head around what was happening and who Harry and Tom might be and why they were here. However, Harry was sure that the childish wonder in his own eyes, the murderous curiosity, and the humorous realisation that he was free to do what he would told the man enough. He was going to die for a cause that he questioned in his last seconds of life.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green light. It happened so fast, Harry could hardly believe that the curse had come from his own wand, uttered from his own lips. The Snatcher flew away from him, his body crumpling to the floor and his head smashing against the corner of a low table. Blood began gushing out of the man's skull, that was the strangest part of all. If Harry's curse hadn't killed the man, the blood that poured out in the next minutes alone certainly would have been enough.

The two remaining Snatchers didn't say a word. Harry found it suddenly incredibly funny. This was no longer a one-sided system where Snatchers were promoted to an authoritative position and Muggle-Borns fled from their wake whenever possible. Here was the war, represented in the bodies of an innocent man and his murderer, who lay equally as dead and for equally as little purpose in an unfamiliar house in London. Except, there was no one to mourn the death of the Snatcher. His degrading corpse oozed blood that merged with the drying remains of the Muggle-Born until there was no telling whose was whose.

"You can tell the Ministry this, if they're so interested in 'research'," said Harry flatly, breaking the stunned moment no one else dared to touch. "It doesn't matter what your opinions on purity are, because all blood runs red. We'll keep proving that to you lot until you get the message."

The two remaining Snatchers didn't retort this time. Neither of them laughed. Harry had proved their validity and nothing would change that now. Tom was the first to move, she indicated Harry to turn back. Together, they stepped over the body of a Snatcher passed out in the doorway and joined the darkness of the landing. Harry was shaking now. He was full of adrenaline, trembling with the weight of what he had done while he mind raced to figure out what his actions meant and what was going to happen now. They had been two anonymous fighters. The Ministry and Death Eaters could do nothing.

The street outside was full of cold winds that reset the senses and calmed the mind. Tom took Harry's hand and they span on the spot. Their house came into clear view once more. Only, this time it represented rewarding safety, not a step back or an act of cowardice after what they had witnessed. Harry cherished Tom's guidance, he appreciated the warm rooms and the light within it. The Muggle-Borns they had let free would be making plans to leave the country. The Snatchers would be on their way to warn the Ministry – or at least their fellow kind – of the change that was happening all across Wizarding Britain. People were fighting back.

"What did we do now, Tom?"

He cut to the point, seeking solace for the problem that held him back from expressing jubilation. She greeted the question with an air of ease and comfort.

"I suggest we celebrate."

Harry's reaction was severed. On the one hand, he felt overjoyed that they were starting their response to the Snatchers, he was proud to have let those Muggle-Borns run away, and he was grateful that as a team, they worked incredibly well. On the other hand, he didn't know how to react to the idea that he had committed another murder. This was war, he knew that – he didn't need convincing that his actions felt justified. What scared him was that he felt no pity for the man.

"That didn't go as expected," he said. "None of it did."

"Yes, we dove into the issue rather bravely. Yet we have learnt what to do."

"What, murder people?" Harry suggested, before he could help it. The question wasn't accusing. It made Tom laugh softly.

"We've learnt to make our power known."

Harry raised his eyebrows in agreement, he couldn't argue that they had accomplished that. Tom's confidence convinced him easily that what he had done was right. It felt right because of the flood of accomplishment and ecstasy that came to him only too easily. He felt triumphant, strong, and quickly rationalized the matter. Sirius would have relished the opportunity to get back at the Snatchers, if he had lived to see this day. His parents would have fought just as courageously, even if they weren't in such a dire circumstance that they would need to kill. The last detail was the only thing that set Harry apart. He was in a life or death situation.

"They're never going to know who's fighting them," he observed in a shaking, excited tone. "The Ministry, the Snatchers, the Death Eaters, they won't know what hit them. It will take them ages to confirm that this is a real problem – and by that point, who knows how many Witches and Wizards will hear about us and start fighting back? They made a mistake, turning common Dark Wizards into Snatchers. Anyone could take them on, if they know what to expect."

The reality of the situation was dawning on him. This could be an inspiration to the beaten-down resistance. It could be a spark that starts a rebellion against the Ministry, if they only kept at it like this. They could disguise themselves to confuse the Snatchers. They could turn themselves into hundreds of people, because even if Harry's own name had been poisoned by what the Ministry said about him and even if his mistakes didn't fare well with the public, his actions might have a chance of changing their minds. He could redeem himself. He could create something great.

Tom let him carry on, because she recognised the look of reverence and the symptoms of strong inspiration that overtook him.

"With this, we could become something better," he explained in a low voice, "we don't have to live by any old reputation people have put on us. The Ministry ruined my name – the papers are only making it worse and I haven't had a chance to explain myself. I have no one left in my life, Tom, except for you, but I'm starting to see that as something better than it is worse. There's no one left to explain myself to, no one left to protect and satisfy. I've no choice but to start again, with a new face and a new identity – and maybe that way, I'll be understood. We can start again. We can do whatever we need to. We can become whoever we want to be."

Something about his words, or else the sincerity with which he said it, stopped Tom in her tracks. She might not have expected him to come to these conclusions. She might not have thought that he felt this way about the troubles in his life. What Harry knew for sure was that they suddenly shared a desire to pursue a new life, to continue fighting, and to explore what their morals truly meant to them. Admiration found her.

"Yes," she agreed softly, "we could start again, together. Free from others' presumptions. Free to discover our true potential..."

They spoke for a long time that night. The subject of change was dropped, exchanged instead for a whirl of ideas about their next move. Harry went to bed that night with a feeling of courage and high relief strong in his heart. They were making progress, their lives were forming an order around this war and he wanted nothing more. By dawn, he had forgotten about the man he murdered. He was concerned only with where they would be that night and how fast a change might become apparent in the habits of the Ministry.

It wasn't difficult for them to track Snatchers again that night. Groups of wolfish Wizards did their rounds in popular Wizarding communities like clockwork, combing through areas with greedy precision to get as much gold as they could. The idea, surely, was to warn the Wizarding community that no one would escape evaluation. The Snatchers positively harassed people, regardless of their backgrounds, suspecting always that their victims were guilty of at least one crime. Soon enough, Witches and Wizards would turn against their own kind in anger at being disturbed and would begin to blame Muggle-Borns for the inconvenience. That was how these things worked.

They took on new forms every night. Each new transfiguration scared the Snatchers as much as the last one had, if not more. Stories about Witches and Wizards standing up against the Muggle-Born segregation must have been spreading across the country, but few seemed to believe it at first. Harry and Tom's interference only touched a small percentage of the Snatchers. They didn't kill another man so soon, but fights became increasingly more dangerous. A new battlefield was forming. Harry relished in every moment of it, until St Mungo's was full of casualties.

He admired the art of duelling. The fighting styles of the Snatchers they came across were most often predictable, but occasionally a real fighter crossed their path. Each time, it was a brilliant surprise that rewarded him generously with a feeling of accomplishment. No matter what form he was in, the Snatchers were distressed and alarmed by the Dark Arts being used against them. Tom, in particular, had a knack at scaring their enemies into subversion. Tales would be whispered amongst Snatchers of the strength of their enemies. Doubt would be fed into their community over who was on their side and who wasn't.

Harry felt like he understood Tom more and more with every disguise. Whether male or female, British or otherwise, what stayed consistent in Tom was the power with which he fought, the calm state of his soft voice, and the easy confidence he maintained as a master of the arts. Harry recognised Tom's habits in every new body, the marks that made him an individual, and he was sure that even if they parted from one another he would be able to recognise Tom's soul a mile off. He was drawn to what Tom could teach him, until each disguise appeared ever more unnoticeable. He saw less and less of the dead girl they had possessed and it did wonders for his state of mind.

Their attacks didn't stay one-sided forever. One night, a fortnight into their routine of tracking and stopping Snatchers, they met a challenge for the first time. The night was like every other one had been, they had found a house where a family of Muggle-Borns were being protected and hidden by other Wizards and the Snatchers were doing their best to capture and interrogate everyone present. Harry and Tom had interrupted the questioning, letting the Muggle-Borns free. The Snatchers seemed to know what was happening, but Harry and Tom spent no time informing them. They finished their attack by leaving their enemies mostly unharmed.

"We shouldn't give up yet," said Harry as they stood by the door of the rickety old house. "It's just gone midnight, but we might be able to find another group doing rounds close-by."

Even as he said it and before Tom could respond, an unusual sound interrupted them. Someone had Apparated onto the street outside. Harry might have doubted what he heard, but as he and Tom looked at each other for confirmation, their senses alert, they heard a loud 'crack' again. Instantly, Harry reached for the Cloak in his pocket and threw it over Tom and himself. They rushed over to a corner of the hall, ducking down to hide themselves just as the front door burst open.

A burly man appeared at the entrance, breathing heavily and holding out his wand. He wasn't an Auror, nor a Death Eater, but dressed in ragged clothes common amongst Snatchers. He scanned the bottom floor, saw no one, and turned to the others.

"Upstairs!"

Harry couldn't believe it when seven witches and wizards burst into the place, running to the upper landing. How they had been summoned, there was no guessing, but they were here for answers. Voices cried out, talk was made, and an itching to escape found Harry.

"They've just left!" a woman cried down from the second floor, speaking to one last Snatcher.

An eighth man grunted his understanding, positioned right outside the door. His shuffling footsteps became clear now that the others had settled. He was heading into the house. Harry pressed as far back as he could against Tom, trying not to disturb the coatrack between the door and himself. The last Snatcher was slow in his examination of the place. He had a lit wand and was peering around every corner curiously, looking for signs of unwanted presence. He took his time in passing by the first hallway. When he was gone, Tom spoke in hushed Parseltongue.

"Let's go."

Harry didn't object. They crept away, past the hanging coats and through the open door. Outside, the garden was overgrown and thorns threatened to catch the Invisibility Cloak. They rushed to the street beyond the occupied house, huddling low to hide their ankles, which wasn't easy in their disguise of two tall men. With his heart beating fast, Harry tugged Tom to stop beside him near an unlit lamppost.

The Snatchers were still angry. They shouted information to each other across the house to get an idea of the situation, but there was nothing they could do to change what had happened.

"We could fight them," suggested Harry daringly. "They've no idea."

"It's best not to," Tom argued, "more will be on their way by the time we finish. We don't want to escalate matters, not when our job is done."

Still, it was interesting to witness what happened to the people they defeated and left behind. The wizard who had searched the bottom floor came out to the front of the house, scrutinising the area. Harry didn't know why they remained where they were, fixated to their enemies' movements. He could have suggested they go home, but didn't.

"I thought we were goners there," he murmured. "Just for a moment."

"Not a chance," said Tom, sounding playful for the first time. "Haven't you noticed? We haven't lost a fight yet. We'll leave behind a thousand unconscious Snatchers before one gets a chance to harm us."

Harry let out a breath of laughter, genuinely. It felt brilliant to be here, always a step ahead of the Snatchers, always at the advantage of the fights they chose. Tom relished in his amusement. Their eyes locked, blue onto brown, as hazel had once been to black, and green had once been to grey. For a moment, Harry was rather sure Tom would have liked to kiss him. He was unsure whether he was imagining it. A thrilling sensation swept over him, exaggerated by every breath he pulled in, until the feeling overwhelmed him and he dropped his gaze, cutting it short.

Tom may have noticed it. The idea worried Harry. Hesitantly, full of calculations, Tom took Harry's hand in his own. They span on the spot and Disapparated back home. The illusion was broken. They walked inside without a word and Tom went to the kitchen to make tea. Harry began second guessing himself, but took a seat to settle his nerves. By the time Tom returned, Harry was sure he had read too much into the moment and the thought was backed up by his actions. Tom acted like nothing had happened.

"We did well tonight," he said, "but the reinforcements who came suggest that from this point on, the Snatchers may be less than ignorant."

"How did they get there so fast, do you reckon?"

Tom shook his head, the curly locks of his brown hair shaking with the movement.

"I can't say I have any idea. Our victims won't have had time to send an owl, obviously, nor did they have wands to Apparate. There was no Floor Powder, or else their reinforcements would have arrived via fire..."

He became lost in thought, rubbing his long fingers against the fine hairs on his jaw, which surely felt unfamiliar.

"It may have been luck, or else we missed a vital detail. Regardless, we must keep a closer eye on our enemies, if this sort of thing happens once more."

"I suppose so."

Harry didn't have any further ideas. He was distracted by the furrow of Tom's brow, a sign that this issue overtook his entire mind. He sat with one foot crossed to his other knee, drumming his free hand on the leather arm of his chair. His black eyes found Harry. He kept on thinking.

"The reinforcements knew what to expect," he observed. "Word will have spread fast about our habit of leaving Snatchers to rot, but what, I wonder, could have prepared our enemies for a further fight so soon?"

"I dunno," said Harry distractedly. "Someone might have been looking out for them. Maybe one of them hid and escaped us."

Tom watched him closely.

"The Snatchers rarely expect us," he argued. "The chances are incredibly thin."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Harry reached for a cup of tea, taking a swig. He wasn't in the mood to debate and pick apart problems, even such a vital one. He couldn't focus on any feeling of elation and he wasn't scared about their next attack. He felt sure that they could defeat the Snatchers, any number of them, and still escape without harm.

"You seem distracted," observed Tom.

Harry let out a deep breath, placing his tea back on the table. He leant back in his chair until his shoulders touched the cold leather and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm just tired from the raid."

Tom's eyes narrowed. He saw through Harry's lie and in an instant, retorted with what was on his mind.

"Are you no longer attracted to me?"

It was a sudden accusation. Harry got defensive.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Tom held his ground. Harry knew he was being stupid, he understood this was a confrontation that had been avoided for months now and he could avoid it no longer. His blood picked up pace, his mind raced. He decided to drop the act, but he didn't know what to say.

"I choose to experiment with forms," said Tom shortly. "You think me less desirable for it."

"It isn't that."

Harry wanted to speak the truth. He tried to say it as clearly as possible, but found it hard to turn these feelings into words. Tom listened closely.

"I still have feelings for you," said Harry in a low voice, "and I don't care whether you're male or female, Tom, I don't care what you look like. You're the closest person in my life and I can't stress enough what that means to me. It's just, when your disguises end, I can't stand to look at the girl we possessed. It isn't right."

The idea seemed to click in Tom's mind. He was no longer annoyed, at the very least. Harry kept a close eye on him, feeling vulnerable and on edge now that he had spoken about his feelings.

"I want you to become who you want to be," he concluded shortly, "just not at the price of anyone else's lives, dying or not."

"I see."

Tom responded gently, calmly. Harry wondered what wild theories had run through Tom's mind up until this point of disclosure. He wondered whether Tom had been testing for his reaction to the different forms he took, men and women, beautiful and plain, muscular, thin, delicate, dark, and bright. It was an idea that made Harry feel suddenly ashamed that he hadn't spoken up sooner. He hadn't meant to make Tom second-guess himself.

"Why don't we make you a new body?" Harry suggested, the idea occurring to him for the first time in weeks. "We're strong enough to work on the magic and you're probably strong enough to leave that girl's form."

"I've been thinking of it myself," agreed Tom quietly.

He didn't elaborate. Harry wasn't sure how they'd go about creating a body, but he didn't ask questions and didn't put further pressure on Tom. He tried to change the subject back to the Snatchers. They spoke about it normally after a few minutes and this time, Harry showed genuine interest. It felt like a relief to him to let the truth be known. It calmed his mind to know for sure that he and Tom were still on the same page and that they were in this together.