Tom stood behind his desk, his sharp grey eyes fixed on Harry, while Snape and Barty flanked the room. The air was heavy with tension, the aftermath of the attack still fresh in everyone's mind.
Harry, still standing, ran a hand through his hair. "The leader of the mercenaries knows who hired them. I got an address from the man I read: 347 Harker Street. It's a hideout, or at least a place they've used recently. If we wait too long, they'll disappear."
Snape, his expression as stoic as ever, raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you propose we tell the authorities? That we divined this information from the criminal's mind?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure they'll take that at face value."
Harry met Snape's gaze with a calm intensity. "I don't care if the police believe it or not. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of finding them."
Barty, standing near the door, straightened slightly despite the bandage on his shoulder. "If someone's going after them, I'm coming, too."
Tom's eyes flicked to Barty, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You're injured. You'll be a liability, and we can't afford that right now."
Barty's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.
"I can go alone," Harry said, his voice firm. "I'll be in and out before anyone knows I'm there."
"That's out of the question," Tom said coldly.
Harry's green eyes narrowed. "If you want results, you need to move now. It's not like I can die, anyway." His voice carried a bitter edge, and his gaze flickered to the floor.
The room went still. Snape's eyes darted to Tom, whose sharp gaze pinned Harry in place.
"Finally admitting it, huh?" Tom said, his voice low and unreadable.
Harry straightened, the bitterness in his expression fading into resolve. "I'm not admitting anything. Just stating a fact."
Tom leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the desk. "You're suggesting we send you into enemy territory alone, without backup, based on the assumption that you're invincible?"
"Not invincible, just harder to take down," Harry said flatly. "I've been through worse and come out the other side."
Snape sighed, crossing his arms. "Reckless as this plan is, Potter isn't entirely wrong. The police won't act on this information, and if we delay, the trail will go cold."
Tom's eyes flicked to Snape, then back to Harry. "And if something goes wrong? If you're captured?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "Then I'll deal with it. But right now, I'm the best option you've got."
Tom studied him for a long moment, his grey eyes narrowing as if searching for cracks in Harry's resolve. Finally, he straightened, his decision made. "Fine. But you're not going in blind. Snape will give you what intel he can about the area, and you'll stay in contact."
Harry nodded. "Understood."
Barty looked like he wanted to argue, but a sharp glance from Tom silenced him. "You'll recover, Crouch. Your job is to stay here and coordinate any response we need."
Barty's jaw worked, but he nodded reluctantly.
Tom turned his attention back to Harry. "If you're caught, if you fail—"
"I won't," Harry interrupted. "I'll get the answers we need."
Tom's lips thinned, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gestured toward Snape. "Brief him. And Potter," he added, his voice softer but no less firm, "don't make me regret this."
Harry's gaze didn't waver. "I won't."
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After the debriefing, which wasn't much at all as they didn't have the time to plan, Harry lingered near the study door, double-checking his wand and mentally running through the plan. The tension in the room was palpable, but it was the weight of Tom's gaze that pulled him from his thoughts.
"Potter," Tom said quietly, his voice low and steady as he stepped closer. The others had left the room, leaving them alone.
Harry glanced up, his green eyes sharp but guarded. "What is it?"
"You don't have to do this," Tom said, his tone unusually soft. His sharp grey eyes searched Harry's face, betraying a flicker of something that might have been concern. "We can find another way."
Harry shook his head, his jaw tightening. "There isn't another way. If we wait, they'll be gone. This is the only chance we have."
Tom's expression darkened, but not with anger. "You've been throwing that line about being unable to die around like it's a shield. But that doesn't mean you should be so willing to—"
"To what?" Harry interrupted, his voice edged with bitterness. "Take a risk? I've done it before, and I'll do it again if it means keeping Sirius safe."
Tom took another step forward, his presence towering. "Does it hurt?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter but no less intense. "When you… die. Does it hurt?"
The question caught Harry off guard. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn't find the words. The truth was lodged in his chest, sharp and heavy. It did hurt—every time. The physical pain was excruciating, but fleeting compared to the aftermath: the disorientation, the phantom aches, and the weight of returning when so many others hadn't.
He hesitated too long, and that was enough for Tom to see through him.
"It does," Tom said, his tone heavy with realization. "Doesn't it?"
Harry's gaze dropped, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "It doesn't matter," he said finally, his voice quieter. "It's just part of the deal."
"It does matter," Tom snapped, his voice rising before he reined it back in. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly before landing on Harry's shoulder. The touch was firm but brief, and when Harry looked up, he was startled by the intensity in Tom's gaze.
"Don't die," Tom ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Whatever else happens, you come back alive. Do you hear me?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the genuine worry in Tom's voice. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself nodding instead.
"I mean it," Tom pressed, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he stepped back. "You're no good to Sirius—or to me—if you're injured."
Harry swallowed hard, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. "I'll do my best," he said quietly, and it was the closest thing to a promise he could give.
Tom nodded once, his composure slipping back into place like a mask. But as he turned away, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of something raw in his expression—something fragile and unspoken.
Whatever it was, Harry didn't have time to dwell on it. The mission was waiting, and failure wasn't an option.
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The alleyway Snape left him in was silent save for the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. Harry just had to walk for thirty more minutes before he stood at the edge of the shadows, his wand tight in his grip as he surveyed the dilapidated warehouse ahead. He knew he had to remain silent, but his thoughts were far from quiet.
Taking a steadying breath, he wished his Invisibility cloak was with him. It would have been easier with it. Though as soon as he thought of wanting it, the cloak shimmered into existence from thin air, materializing on top of his shoulders. Harry blinked, startled by how effortlessly it had come to him.
Before he could think further, the soft flutter of wings reached his ears, and a small raven landed gracefully on his shoulder.
Harry stiffened. "You again," he muttered under his breath.
The bird tilted its head, its beady eyes glinting with something far too intelligent to belong to a simple animal. When it spoke, its voice was as smooth as silk yet carried a hollow resonance. "Finally, you remember that you're the Master of Death."
Harry froze. His grip on the cloak tightened as he turned his head slightly to look at the raven. "What are you talking about?" he whispered harshly, his voice barely audible. His heart pounded, the words sending a chill down his spine.
The raven nuzzled against his cheek, an unnervingly affectionate gesture. "Hush, Harry. You'll make too much noise."
"Death." Harry frowned, thrown off by the impossibility of the moment. "I've seen you before," he said quietly, his green eyes narrowing.
The raven clicked its beak softly, ignoring his pointed tone. "I've missed you," it said, its voice wistful. "It's so exciting, all these feelings. They're overwhelming at times, but they're… nice."
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. His gaze darted around the alley, but it appeared they were still alone. "Feelings? What do you mean?"
Death—or the raven—simply nuzzled him again, its weight light but strangely grounding. "We'll talk about it later, Master," it said softly, almost teasingly. "For now, your mission awaits."
Harry opened his mouth to press further, but the weight of the situation fell heavily on him. He let out a quiet sigh, pulling the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders as the raven hopped down to perch on a nearby crate, watching him intently.
"Stay quiet," Harry muttered, more to himself than the raven. "I'll deal with you after this."
The raven made no response, simply tilting its head as it watched him disappear under the shimmering fabric of the cloak. With one last glance at the warehouse, Harry steeled himself and moved silently toward his target, every nerve on edge.
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