Tom is coming back from Hogsmead when he sees a figure on the edge of the forest. He turns towards the figure, he’s a Prefect after all, he can’t let students break the rules. As he comes closer, he realises two things: one, the person is Harry Potter and two, it’s Harry Potter who’s currently acting like an insane person.
He’s clicking his tongue, alternating with making little kissy noises. Tom glances towards the forest but there’s no one and nothing there. He counts to ten in his head and approaches the other teen.
“Potter,” he starts charmingly, “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
Without turning around, he answers in a way that’s not an answer at all. “Riddle. Nice to see you.”
“You do know the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason, right? And that I can deduct points if you decide to walk in?”
Potter finally looks at him, eyes bloodshot as always, a small, innocent smile on his lips. Tom feels a weird tingle down his spine and hopes Potter doesn’t notice how his gaze lingers (oh he does, he does).
“But I don’t want to walk in… I just want them to walk out.”
Before Tom can react, Potter makes the last final noise and out of the forest walks a thestral. Apparently without a care in the world, Potter smiles brightly and proceeds to pet the winged horse and then another one, and another one, as they come out of the forest and flock around him. He laughs and kisses them on the forehead, almost between their eyes, and all Tom can think is that Potter is absolutely deranged.
“What is wrong with you, Potter?” He doesn’t care that his words don’t match his perfect persona, the image of Harry Potter seeking out the symbols of death is too much, even for him.
“They are beautiful. It’s hard not to like them when you let go of all the prejudice wizards have.”
“You have seen death?” Tom asks, although he has no idea where does the question come from.
Potter turns to him once more but this time all Tom can focus on is his eyes and for a second he’s not looking at a teenage boy, he’s looking into an abyss and the abyss is looking right back at him, and it opens it’s mouth, the teeth are made of stars, and speaks, “Oh, you have no idea.”
Then the world is back to normal and Tom doesn’t know what just happened.
“And you, Tom Riddle?” Potter asks. “Is it the orphanage and the Blitz, or is it Myrtle, lying on the floor in that toilet?”
Tom freezes, his blood feels like ice because how can he know how is this possible who is this how-
He still can’t move when Potter steps towards him, takes Tom’s face in his hands and kisses him on the forehead, almost between his eyes.
-
Tom wakes up with a gasp, the remains of the nightmare still scattered in his brain. He walks into the bathroom and splashes some water onto his face in an attempt to collect himself. But then he looks into the mirror and there’s a black tear running down from the inner corner of his eye and it looks like he’s crying ink but no, that’s not it- the trail starts at his forehead, almost between his eyes, where a smudge of black charcoal adores his skin.
...
...
“Don’t you understand, Potter?” Tom laughs something deranged. “I am not a good person. I am not yours to save, I am not your pet project, stop trying to fix me. I am not a good person.”
His chest heaving, Tom thinks that if he was able to cry, he would, right now.
“Oh, Tom, but it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Potter’s eyes glow, the Angel of Death amongst humans. “Circumstance makes us and it certainly made you - you were born broken, that’s your birthright, and you can’t escape it.”
He makes a few steps towards Tom.
“I don’t need goodness, that’s probably one of the curses of my existence, that I am not the person who I once was. But I will not allow you to make another horcrux. You have no idea what it does to your soul, you think you know but you really, really don’t. You don’t know what it means to live the rest of your life with a part of your soul lacking, there is nothing worse than this.”
And Tom bristles because he knows this magic, he’s researched it and he’s practiced it and-
“There are things worse than death, Tom Riddle.”
He closes the distance between them, takes Tom’s face in his hands and they’re kissing, sparks of magic buzzing like electricity between them. Potter is shorter than Tom but he allows the other boy to back them into a wall, his thigh between Tom’s legs, an imitation of their position from days back.
Tom fists the black strands of his hair and pulls backwards, the low moan that escapes Potter going straight to his trousers. “I will not bow to you,” he says, his other hand curling around Potter’s neck.
“I would never expect you to.”
That night they both learn what it means to be undone.