the gift of fear (tomarry) (harry x death)

you strain to hear my breath over the sound of death

Tom takes the tip from Orion. He sneaks out during the weekend and walks casually, like he is going nowhere suspicious. He comes across the portrait of a pear and, feeling confident in himself, his cheeks already warm at the thought of what he's going to do, tickles it.

The portrait swings open. Tom steps inside.

The kitchen. It is the place where hundreds of house elves work, alongside their magic, to create the feasts that are held regularly at Hogwarts.

During their months of travel, he and Harry had wandered Europe, sectioning off house elves here and there until it was just he and Tom left. There was of course the great pressing issue of Hogwarts -- with Grindelwald's attacks becoming more intense, and the tension between him and those who oppose him worsening, more and more house elves seemed to mysteriously disappear.

Harry, of course, knows how to feel that void. A great deal of his house elves ended up in Hogwarts.

Tom sees that now, wandering the kitchen. It is filled with familiar faces, not all of them friendly.

Tom gets the sense Kreacher is not the only one that knows the Flood was Tom's fault.

Tom feels the ever present sting of guilt in his gut. He ducks his head and keeps looking.

And, there he is. The man of the hour. Kreacher is baking pastries the Muggle way -- the way Harry always taught them -- and Tom's heart warms at the sight of him. He is the same stout elf as ever. Recognizable even in a sea of similar, wide-eyed creatures.

Tom nearly breaks out into a run. He instead walks, slowly, up to him and waits for Kreacher to notice him. Kreacher looks up eventually.

Then he freezes. All color leaves his face. He looks like he'd just walked through a ghost.

Tom knows there is a hysterical smile on his lips. There are so many things he wants to say. I missed you. I've made new friends -- you'd love them, or you'd hate them, but I'd welcome your opinion either way. I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry.

Especially: I'm sorry.

But the words, all of them, get caught in Tom's caught and he just stands there, red in the face, smiling. "Kreacher," he croaks out eventually. "I've m--"

But anything he was going to say is cut off by Kreacher's expression turning sour and into one of disgust. "What are you doing here?" he asks in a furious whisper, shoving some cupcake in the oven. His face has turned a nasty red.

Tom blanks. "I -- I came to see you."

Kreacher laughs. " Why ? Came to gloat your victory? Good job. You've done it. Now get out of my face."

"No -- Kreacher -- that's not what I--"

"It is," affirms Kreacher strongly, cutting Tom off. "Of course it is. That's just so you isn't it?"

"No!" shouts Tom. He winces then continues, quieter, "I feel awful about -- about what happened. You don't know--"

"Then say it," demands Kreacher.

"What?"

"Say 'what happened.' Describe what you did. "

This is just cruel, Kreacher, he wants to protest. But tears build up in Tom's eyes because he thinks Kreacher is right. He does deserve this. He owes it to Klippers, to everyone. "I flooded out world and I killed our people. I killed Klippers. And -- and I can't sleep. It haunts me, constantly, and everything I feel bad about doing just seems to be building up. It is one thing after another. I'm a monster, Kreacher, I really am." He sniffs loudly.