"I- I think I love you." Tom confesses, the words tumbling out of him all at once as if it's painful to keep them in.
"I love you." This time a revelation, not a confession. His eyes are alight with something akin to joy as he tests out the words, savouring them with a hushed voice and a small smile.
"I love you." A promise, a certainty. He says this as if he was saying the sky is blue, without hesitance or ever having to check.
He offers these three words to Hary as a gift, something to be treasured and cherished.
And Harry knows that he will jealously horde these words, this moment. For he knows that he willl be the only person to ever recieve these words, the only person to ever see Tom without a mask or facade.
"Oh Tom, I love you too." An assurance, a promise.
Tom leans his forehead against Harry's, so close that their breaths mingle and they would only need to move one inch closer and their lips would meet.
"Oh good," Tom chuckles softly "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't."
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Tom is still unfairly pretty, Harry thinks, with not a single curl out of place and clothes impeccably clean.
"Really Tom, one would think that you would become a little disheveled after taking the Draught of Living Death but no, you are just as.perfect as you were when you were alive." Harry tuts, shaking his head as he carefully sharpens an annoyingly blunt dagger.
He grabd a cloth from the pail of water beside him and carefully rubs it up and down the blade, scrubbing at the rust red marks that stain the tip.
"Don't worry Tom, this shouldn't hurt at all. I mean you are comatose" Harry laughs, putting the cloth back in the pail and placing the blade between his teeth.
He begins unbutton Tom's shirt, slender fingers fumbling with the buttons, until an expanse of pale skin is exposed.
"Oh Tom," Harry breathes "You're so stunning dead, even if you're not truly dead yet."
Harry rises from his haunches to discard his robes, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. He brushes dead leaves off the bottoms of his jeans, taking care not to get any dirt on Tom's still figure.
He crouches again and takes the dagger from his mouth, checking it all over for imperfections.
"Let's see if this is sharp enough." He murmurs, drawing the blade across his palm. A thin line of blood wells, and runs down his arm, staining his shirt.
Satisfied, he presses the knife just above Tom's heart, skin dipping down slightly. He does not aply enough pressure to break the skin though, not yet.
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Harry laughs too, soft and quiet, even though he knows the things Tom would do would be unforgivable to anyone else.
Anyone else but Hary.
"I love you, Harry Potter, even the parts of you you're too scared to show anyone else."
"And I love you, Tom Riddle, including the good and the bad."
And Tom knows that this will be a memory that will stay with him always, tries to commit Harry as he looks now to memory. With his cheeks and nose flushed red and avada green eyes fixed so steadily on his own. His lips parted slightly, breath escaping him in a plume of smoke, and hair a thatch of messy black strands, wind mussing it up further.
And Harry is just euphoric 'because Tom loves him. Him! The scruffy orphan boy from a childhood Harry knows Tom would rather forget! And yet Tom has fallen for Harry anyway and Harry knows Tom, he likely won't care for anyone as strongly ever again and Harry knows that he won't feel like this about anyone else either. And he knows its probably not healthy, depending on another person like he does, especially when it's Tom, but he can't bring himself to care. And Tom's said that he loves him and he loves Tom-'
"Harry, I'm giving you my heart. Please take care of it." Tom says gravely, and Hary nods because of course he'll take care of Tom's heart, he'd take care of Tom if he'd let him.
"Only if I can give you mine." And now Tom's eyes a shining with unshed tears and Harry just wants to brush them away but now is not the time and Tom just needs to say this now otherwise he won't ever say it and instead will let it stew in the darkest corners of his mind.
"Why would you want me taking care of your heart? I could break it just like everything else in my life."
"Because I trust you, Tom. And you didn't break me, so not everything in your life."
And now Harry wipes away the tears streaming down Tom's cheeks.
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Harry plunges the blade into Tom's chest, relishing in the way blood squirts out of the wound and paints his face. He draws the blade down until there is a jagged wound in Tom's chest, blood spurting out and trickling onto the ground. Staining leaves red.
Harry yanks the blade out, making a horrible squelching noise and licks it, moaning slightly at the delectable taste of Tom's blood.
Then, he shoves his sleeves up further and plunges his arm into Tom's ribcages, rummaging around until he found Tom's heart. It beat its final beat, a pathetic fluttering thing not unlike the sensation of cupping a bird in your hand, and then went still.
Harry wrenched it out of Tom's chest, veins stretched to breaking point.
He cut the veins with the practiced ease of a man who had done this a thousand times before and kissed the heart before setting it on top of his robes.
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Tom's face was flushed, eyes glistening and tear tracks running down his cheeks.
"Thank you. For trusting me." He said, voice fragile and broken.
"Of course Tom, who else would I trust?"
Tom flushed an even brighter scarlet and Harry swore to make him blush as much as possible.
It was intoxicating, being able to see every one of Tom's reactions without them being filtered or managed in any way.
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"Oh dear Tom, you're looking a litte pale." Harry frowned.
Tom's cheeks were bloodless and there was a slight bue tinge to his slack face. His lips, usually pink and soft, were a white-ish blue and his face was so pale that his hair stood in stark relief against the white of his face.
"Ooh, I know!" Harry brightened considerably and brought his bloodstained fingers to Tom's lips.
He smeared Tom's own blood against his lips and cheeks, a grotesque caricature of make up. He then licked the remainder of the blood off his fingers, closing his eyes in bliss as he atsted the sweet, metallic lifeblood of his lover.
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Harry closed the small distance between them and kissed Tom.
Tom started, not expexting it, but then melted into it, licking into Harry's mouth.
Harry moaned into him, hands coming up to Tom's shoulders. Tom moved his hands to Harry's waist and drew him even closer.
And Tom tasted devine and Harry wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever when Tom pulled away to catch his breath.
Harry pouted, put out, but then Tom leaned down to kiss him again and this kiss was nothing like the first.
It was not sweet or gentle or kind, it was clashing teeth and tounges fighting against each other and Tom's hand slid further down to squeeze his arse and Harry clutched at his school robes with a white knuckled grip.
And he tilted his head up to give him better leverage but then Tom broke off the kiss and Harry didn't even have time to complain before Tom was latched onto his neck, kissing and biting and licking and Harry tilted his head even further back to provide better access and he couldn't even think straight, couldn't do anything but moan and his knees gave out beneath him until Tom was the only thing holding him up-
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Harry picked up the heart reverently, holdig it as if it may burst if he squeezed it too hard.
He brought it up to his mouth, kissed it, and then bit into it. Blood burst all over his face, and in his mouth. The muscle was chewy and sweet and a little bit salty and very metallic. The taste coated his tounge, enveloping it in the taste of his lover.
It was like nothing he'd ever tasted before, slightly coying but not too overpowering that he couldn't appreciate the chewy texture of the heart.
Blood trickled out of his mouth as he took another bite, desperate for another taste of Tom.
He licked his fingers until there was no blood left, the pail of water rendundant.
It had not been enough, the brief taste of muscle and blood, but Harry could not bring himself to further desecrate his true love's body.
"I'm sorry Tom," Harry grinned, teeth bloodstained and dirtied, "But now I really do have your heart. Don't worry, you will have mine in a second."
And, not bothering to clean the dagger, Harry plunged the knife into his own chest then cast it aside to the ground.
He reached into his ribcage and tore his heart free, tendrils of veins and arteries trailing behind. Running on purely magic at this point, he opened Tom's mouth before placing his heart in it and laid down beside his lover.
"Don't wory Tom," He said as his sight darkened, "Somebody once told me that death is the next great adventure."
"Whatever it is, we'll face it together."