Caught
"“I can’t help but love you
Even though I try not to
I can’t help but want you
I know that I’d die without you”
-War of Hearts (Ruelle)
Tom remembers how it all fell apart.
Tom staggers between classes and collapses into empty stairwells in a fashion that reminds him so horribly of that day and vomits petal after petal until he’s hacking up whole flower heads. He tastes mercury and pollen. His every breath is accompanied by the rustling of leaves.
“I have to perform the spell, I have to-“
But he can’t. She’s made him feel alive. His smirks are softer, his eyes shine brighter, his laughs are louder. He’s dying, looking sicker and sicker with every day but he’s never felt more alive.
It all comes to a head, however, when he walks into the wrong Potions Classroom and sees the fatal word scrawled in white chalk.
Amortentia.
But this time, this one god-damned time out of hundreds it hits him.
Old parchment curling beneath his fingers, freshly-cut grass and spearmint toothpaste. The musty smell of a misshapen jumper, the slightest waft of lavender, a touch of honey.
Their voices drift in and out of focus as the ground rushes up to meet him
But all he can see
Smell
Hear
Is her.
He remembers how Dumbledore found him sprawled in a stairwell, throwing up everything from last night’s dinner to a bouquet of roses, dripping with blood.
Tom stares at him almost defiantly, legs too weak to support him, brain too oxygen-deprived to come up with a good excuse.
He passes out and wakes up in a hospital bed to a quiet tut, an explosion of gifts set around him, and a rather frazzled-looking Dumbledore picking through a box of his sweets.
Tom might’ve been mad if he thought he could keep them down.
When he’s finally able to speak, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I thought about that thing you said, you know.”
There’s a brief pause. The old professor raises an eyebrow, plucking out a deep pink jellybean.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid. I’ve been informed I quite often spout comments of note.”
Dumbledore stares at the jellybean as if it might pontificate all the secrets of the universe to him if he just stares a little longer- Tom honestly wouldn’t be surprised- and pops it in his mouth. Tom’s almost tempted to warn him. Almost. The vibrant magenta is a sure sign of a soap-flavoured bean but he just has to see the look on the infuriating man’s face when he realises. The reaction is more than worth it, and Tom can barely restrain his grin as the professor’s face twists and he spits the offending sweet into his palm.
Tom continues, his mood somewhat improved- “About being a leader. And what you said before, about it never being too late to change.”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from his nausea.
“Really?”
Tom nods and on finding his schoolbag, passes the first sheet of his notes to him. He frowns at the flash of- sorrow?- that passes over the professor’s face but dismisses it as nothing. After all, the old codger has been trying to get him to turn over a new leaf for as long as he can remember. This is the closest he’ll ever get.
“And what did you think?”
Tom pauses, considering his words very carefully.
“I thought it might be worth a try.”
“That’s- that’s very good, Tom. Very interesting.”
The words are not quite as cheerful as they should be.
NOW
The petals are larger now, rounded and full, deepening in colour. The pail by his bedside is overflowing with petals, the floor is overflowing with cards, his bed is overflowing with gifts and yet his mind- the one thing he needs brimming with ideas- is depressingly empty.
He’s already found, read, and dismissed his next option, a ritual. It would slow the progression of the disease hugely, buying him precious weeks or months of time.
It's much more complicated than the spell- nothing he couldn’t handle normally, but like this, he doubts- and would require the blood of ‘the victim’s love’. That clearly wasn't an option. Hermione wasn't available to draw blood from and he isn't sure if he’d dare even if she was.
Tom lies awake at night, staring at the hospital wing ceiling and wondering if it’ll be the last time he ever does.
Dumbledore or the Mediwitch will perform the spell if he enters the fatal stage of the disease and save his body, but nothing they can do will save him- his mind, memories, who Hermione influenced him to be- and he knows Dumbledore needs him to forget, anyway.
He is living on borrowed time.
Sooner or later he will have to act, cure or no.