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Tom watched the strange green glimmers flicker along the strands of Harry's hair, reflections of the only colour in the room.
The Chamber was almost entirely grey, built of smooth, solid stones designed to withstand the test of time and all sorts of magic. When Tom had first discovered it in fifth year, it held nothing but a famished basilisk and remnants of broken furniture. Since then, he had stripped away all traces of decay, replacing the debris with elegant pieces found in the Room of Requirement or gifted by his closest Knights.
Now, aside from the dark mahogany of the tables and bookcases, everything else was green. A deep, rich shade that matched the emerald cloth of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and the bed hangings in the dorms. It lacked originality, perhaps… but after all, if there was one place where Tom ought to honour his illustrious ancestor's colour, it was here.
Tom had expected Harry to be impressed when he first brought him to the Chamber. But Harry, as always, had surprised him. He simply praised the cleanliness and dryness of the place, as if Tom were showing him around any old sewer tunnel, and not Hogwarts' greatest secret, which Tom had been the first and only one to discover—which Dumbledore himself had never managed to uncover.
Harry was truly unpredictable. Harry upended everything.
After months spent fighting and circling each other, Tom had finally discovered Harry's secret too. He was a time traveller. And not just any time traveller... His charming boyfriend, that infuriating boy with tangled hair and crooked glasses, the only person who had ever genuinely interested Tom, the only one he had ever grown attached to, was none other than his mortal enemy, prophesied to bring about his downfall within the next fifty years or so.
Of course. Tom's life could never be simple.
Yes, those green reflections were strange; they made Harry look as though he were underwater, perhaps submerged in the depths of the Great Lake… Tom could almost see him, surrounded by swirling seaweeds and Selkies singing for him. Harry would probably befriend them. Perhaps he already had… it wouldn't be the first bewildering story he'd told Tom about his past.
Tom let his head rest on his palm and continued to observe Harry absentmindedly.
They suited him beautifully, those odd reflections. It was as if Harry were made to be drenched in green, made to exist in this very room beside him. The thought pleased Tom.
Normally, Harry's hair was black. Jet black. It was one of the first things that had struck Tom when they'd met in Dippet's office a few days after the start of term. Black hair, warm skin, and incandescent eyes that had burnt Tom alive from the very first glance. So green they had almost killed him on the spot.
The second thing that had struck Tom was that this Harry Evans was the most stubborn git he had ever met.
"I'm fine, I don't need your help," he'd snapped the moment he stepped out of the Headmaster’s office.
Tom pressed his lips together, trying to stay civil with the newcomer. "Headmaster Dippet asked me to show you the way to the common room and help you settle in. Let me—"
"I don't need you," Harry spat before running off—in the right direction.
Tom had been left speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had dared raise their voice at him.
And even though all that hostility was long behind them now, Harry was still a right pain in the arse.
He was currently slouched on the only sofa in the room, spine curved and legs sprawled, staring at the ceiling while lazily twirling a small stone above him with his wand. His Potions essay, crossed out to the point of absurdity, lay abandoned on the table before him.
Tom sighed. Harry was supposed to be studying with him, but he clearly hadn’t managed more than ten minutes of serious work since they’d arrived. He didn’t actually expect Tom to do the assignment for him… right? No, if that were the case, he would've been upfront about it from the start. So, why was he so distracted today?
Something was off. Tom could feel it.
"Harry," Tom said softly, leaving the table where he'd been sitting to join him on the sofa, "I can tell something is wrong. Talk to me."
Harry's fingers stilled on his wand. The stone spun for a heartbeat longer before it dropped onto his chest, then slid off and rolled onto the floor. The sound echoed around them, turning the silence even heavier.
"I want you to stop making new horcruxes," Harry finally said.
What?
"I beg your pardon?"
Harry let out a small sigh, stretched, then pushed himself up to face Tom. "No more new horcruxes," he repeated slowly, as if Tom were simple. "That's all I'm asking. You can keep the diary and the ring, but that's it. Stop there."
His eyes met Tom's, and Tom had to look away. Too bright, that green. Far too bright.
"You can't ask me that," Tom replied, voice hollow, eyes locked on his hands. They were trembling slightly. He curled them into fists.
"Well, I'm asking anyway. Stop, Tom. Please."
The vulnerability in Harry's voice made something in Tom's chest constrict painfully.
"Harry, you don't understand." Tom lifted his head, throat tight. This was serious. He needed him to understand. "I have to do it. I—"
Harry's shoulders slumped a little, and he looked at Tom with something that resembled pity.
…It was unbearable. Tom stood abruptly, the sudden movement making his head spin, and began to pace around the room. His footsteps echoed loudly, much too loudly on the stone floor, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He clenched his fists even tighter, until his nails dug into his palms. The slight sting helped him think.
That was impossible. It was the worst thing Harry could possibly ask of him. Tom was willing to sacrifice many things for him—for that little nuisance of a boy who had stormed into his life, ravaged everything, and somehow made it all better... but not this.
Not this…
"Tom, you're already immortal."
Harry's voice was calm, gentle, as if Tom needed to be soothed, as if he were some fragile thing on the verge of breaking, as if…
"I promise you I won't touch the diary or the ring. They're yours. You can keep them. I'll even help you protect them—"
"Stop that!"
Harry was talking too much, too fast. He was promising too many things and at the same time, none of it was enough. Nothing could replace Tom's plan, the one he had meticulously crafted for years.
How dare he ask this?
Tom kept pacing faster and faster, all his thoughts racing through his head, his heart pounding.
Harry was a threat. He had known it from the beginning. And it had been confirmed when Harry told him everything—the prophecy, Voldemort, his scar... But Tom had let himself be blinded by attachment.
He'd been weak.
…
Should he kill him?
"You don't need to tear your soul apart again," Harry said, voice low and pleading.
"You don't understand!" Tom yelled, spinning towards him.
His magic crackled, sending the ink bottle, the parchment roll and the quill flying off the table. The bottle shattered against the wall, and black liquid spread across the grey stone like the venom Tom wanted to spit in Harry's face at that moment for asking the impossible of him.
Harry didn't move an inch. He continued to stare at him with that mixture of pity and pleading in those impossibly green eyes…
"I've seen death too," he murmured, his upper lip trembling slightly. "I understand that it terrifies you, I get it... but you can't let that fear control you."
"I'm not afraid!" Tom snapped back.
Harry remained silent for a moment.
Tom couldn't keep still. He felt like everything was falling apart, and he hated that. He hated Harry for urging him to stop creating horcruxes, and he hated himself even more for even considering giving him just that.
How on earth had it come to this?
"Tom, please. Don't destroy yourself any more than this."
Tom needed to pull himself together. His entire arm was now shaking, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. Losing his temper like this wasn’t him. To the point of releasing his magic accidentally… It was pathetic. It was weak.
Weak, weak, weak… He would always be weak. Not until he managed to create all seven…
He had to steady himself. He had to regain control and convince Harry.
Tom slowed his pacing and returned to his seat on the sofa. He took several deep breaths before speaking again, in a voice he wanted to sound calm and firm. "Harry, this isn't up for discussion. I will make seven horcruxes whether you want me to or not."
"Then it'll be without me."
The words were quiet, final.
Tom felt the ground shift beneath his feet.
"You'll fight against me?"
Tom's voice cracked on the last word, the sudden betrayal leaving him breathless.
How could Harry turn on him like this overnight? Did everything they'd shared together these past months mean nothing to him?
"No, Tom." Harry exhaled slowly and lowered his head. "The truth is, no. The old me probably would have... but I can't bear it anymore."
Tom didn't know how to reply to that.
"I'm tired, Tom," Harry said, raising his head back to meet his gaze. Tom felt his heart shrink a little when he heard the sheer exhaustion in his voice and saw the confirmation in his eyes. Harry wasn't lying. "That's all I've ever known, fighting you, my whole life. I've already tried everything to stop you. I've given up everything that mattered to me, everyone I loved, and I've risked my life to come here, to try to change the past. If I haven't succeeded and you’re still set on going down the same path, then fine."
Harry’s voice sounded weary, but didn't waver in the slightest. His mind was already made up.
"Go ahead, destroy yourself, and the whole world while you’re at it," he continued, bitterness slipping through the edges. "But don’t ask me to sit quietly by your side while you do it. If you continue, I’ll leave. That’s it, it's as simple as that. I won’t hold you back, but you won’t be able to hold me back either."
"You can’t do this to me…"
Tom hadn’t realised he was gripping Harry, both hands wrapped around his upper arms. Harry gently placed his warm hands over Tom’s and pushed them away.
"Yes, Tom, I can. And I will."
"Harry, be reasonable," Tom grabbed his arms again, more firmly this time, but it was pointless. He could already feel them—feel Harry—slipping away. The cold crept deeper into him. "I—I can’t lose you."
Harry pushed Tom’s hands away once more, and they fell back on his thighs like limp, useless things that could do nothing to keep Harry close. Tom stared at them, helpless.
Then two warm, gentle hands cupped his face and lifted it. He met the green once more, and it hurt so much to look at it. Why had Harry's eyes never been so beautiful as when he was abandoning him?
Harry leant in and rested his forehead against his. The warmth of his hands on his cheeks and the feeling of his face so close to Tom's was comforting. A few black strands tickled Tom’s face, and Harry’s familiar scent washed over his senses, numbing everything else. Tom felt at home.
"I need you…" The sound that scraped out of Tom’s throat was weak and pathetic. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that Harry was still here, still close. That he stayed.
"It’s either more horcruxes, or me."
The finality in Harry's voice made Tom's chest feel like it was caving in.
"You can’t make me choose…"
Harry lifted his head and looked at him sharply. His hands were still on Tom’s face, but they felt as light as air, ready to vanish the second Tom said the wrong thing.
"Harry…"
Tom didn’t know what else to do except drop to his knees and rip out his heart to offer it to him right then and there. How could you stop someone who had already decided to go?
Finally, Harry pulled his hands away, and Tom closed his eyes. He couldn’t face this. It couldn’t end like this, not after everything they'd been through…
Tom heard the soft rustle of fabric, felt the sofa dip beside him, and then suddenly, a weight settled on his thighs. A familiar, perfect weight—meant to be there. Harry.
Harry straddled his lap and threw himself against Tom, arms wrapping tight around him. Harry was still here. Harry was staying. Harry was warm, solid, pressed close with his face buried in Tom’s neck. Tom clung to him like his life depended on it.
"What do you really want, Tom?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking slighly, his breath brushing against Tom’s skin and making him shiver.
Being enveloped in Harry's warmth and scent helped steady Tom. And at the same time, not being able to see Harry's face or his reactions made confessions easier.
"I—I don't want to die," he heard himself admit aloud for the first time.
"You won't die," Harry shot back instantly, his hands sliding up to Tom’s neck and around his waist.
"I want power," Tom murmured. The words were coming out on their own now, uncontrollable.
"You already are powerful."
"Not enough."
"You are, Tom."
"No— You don't get it..."
Suddenly, Harry froze. Then, slowly, he straightened up and slipped off Tom's lap. He cast one last bright look before turning his back on him. The weight of the void he left behind him crushed Tom.
Harry walked towards the exit, and he might as well have torn off one of Tom's limbs as he left—it wouldn't have hurt any less.
"Wait, stop!" Tom shouted, lurching to his feet. His voice was trembling—and he deeply, deeply loathed himself for it. "You can't leave just like that!"
You can't abandon me.
Harry stopped, but kept facing that damned door. "You didn't say anything that would make me stay."
Tom could barely breathe. Panic, anger, fear... all these contradictory feelings melted and mixed together inside him, but they all came from one place, and one place only: Harry. Everything always revolved around Harry.
Harry, who had his back turned away and was about to leave him there, after spending so much time by his side, after Tom had confided in him and trusted him. Tom swore he would never lower himself like that with anyone ever again.
"So that's all I was to you?" Tom said, his voice turning acidic. "You got close to me... you did all of this just for that? To make sure the future changes and I don't become him?"
Did you really give up so easily? Was I not worth trying harder?…
Harry turned around, his eyes shining and his features distorted by an emotion Tom didn't understand.
"I don't give a damn about him," he spat, taking a step in Tom's direction. "What matters is you. Fuck— Tom— it's you, it's always been you! You, with your stupidly handsome face and all your terrible flaws. Even your two damned horcruxes, I'll take them! I'll take everything."
Horcruxes. Why did that word sound so ugly coming from Harry's soft, delicate mouth? Tom wanted to stop him from ever saying it again, to kiss him to seal his lips and soothe his pain.
Pain?
Yes, that was it. Harry looked like he was hurting. What could Tom possibly have done…?
Harry kept walking back towards him—Tom breathed a little easier with every step he took—waving his hands dramatically with each sentence. "I'm already willing to turn a blind eye on so many things, Tom, because I can't do without you." His right hand pressed against his heart. "I'm willing to forget that you killed people—even your own family—to create those abominations." He rolled his eyes and dragged his hands through his hair in pure exasperation. "And do you know why? Because deep down, even though I hate them, I'm relieved they exist. Yes, relieved, because I can no longer imagine a world without you."
He paused and met Tom's gaze again. Tom fell into those green eyes and saw something indescribable there, something that looked like love perhaps, if that word wasn't too small and too silly to describe what existed between them.
"I care about you so much that it makes me a selfish mess, and now I'm even glad that you've made them," Harry continued, the confession sounding unbearably heavy for him, "because they mean you'll live forever."
Finally, Harry closed the distance between them. He let his head rest against Tom's chest and intertwined his hands with Tom's. "I want you to live a long, long life, and a happy one. I want you to accomplish all your plans, really," Harry said, "but I'm also lucid enough to know that you have to stop now. You have to, Tom! Because if you keep making more of them, you'll change, and I'll lose you for good. You know I'm right..."
Tom squeezed his hands, trying to reassure him. "No, I can control myself—"
"That's not true, Tom, for fuck's sake! You're lying to yourself!" Harry’s hand slipped out of Tom’s and curled into a fist that he slammed weakly against Tom’s chest.
Tom tried to soothe him by wrapping his arms around him again in a tight hug. Harry lifted his head and looked right into his broken soul. "You've already noticed the changes they've caused, haven't you? Don't lie to me."
Tom was powerless against that look. Against him. "Harry…"
"Do you remember what it feels like to experience the full range of human emotions?" Harry's voice had dropped to a whisper. "To cry from joy, to tremble with fear, to quiver with anger? Have you already forgotten? Do you remember what it feels like not to be so cold all the time?"
Tom froze. There was no way he could have guessed…
Harry instantly sensed he’d hit the mark, and leapt at the chance to torment him further. He placed one of his hands—so warm, so soft—on Tom's cheek.
"You're always cold, Tom. Do you really think I didn't notice?" he asked softly. "I did. And I know it's because parts of your soul are missing from your body. For now, I can warm you. I can hold you close and share my warmth, my humanity..." He backed up his words by pressing his warm body against Tom’s and guiding one of Tom’s hands beneath his jumper.
Harry's skin was even softer than his voice, and deliciously burning. He radiated warmth, and it seemed like he could heat up the whole room with his presence, perhaps even the whole world. Everything felt brighter, sunnier, easier when Tom touched Harry. Life was no longer quite so unbearable.
"But if you continue going down this path, one day, I won't be able to. Your soul will be so fractured that even my warmth won't be enough. And I refuse to watch that happen. I can't— I can't watch you sink into a cold, slow, lonely agony for eternity."
Those harsh words resonated in Tom's ears like the worst possible sentence. No, he couldn't let that happen...
Harry kept moving Tom’s hand along his body, lifting it higher. Tom felt the shape of his ribs under his fingers. He wanted to trace their outline and cover them with kisses.
"Imagine not being able to feel this anymore. Imagine the day my fingers touch your skin and you stay unmoved," Harry murmured, sliding his own hand under Tom’s shirt, brushing the lower part of his stomach. Tom shivered at the touch. "Imagine being near me and feeling nothing at all. Not even caring about me anymore."
Harry stilled and stared at him, waiting for an answer.
"That won't happen. It's impossible," Tom murmured, more certain than he'd ever been. He would do anything to stop that. He couldn't lose Harry and his warmth, his irreplaceable presence in his life.
"Yes, it will," Harry replied. "I know it. I've seen it happen before, remember? Voldemort tried to kill me several times without any hesitation, without an hint of remorse, even though I was just a child…"
Tom had heard this story before. He knew how far that other version of himself had fallen, how completely he had failed. But it wouldn't happen again. It wouldn't happen to him—not now, thanks to Harry.
Harry had defied time itself and every magical law in place to come and warn him.
Harry was his own, perfect little miracle.
And Harry, without any warning, shoved Tom back onto the couch and collapsed onto his lap. "So…" he whispered in his ear as he slipped both hands under Tom’s shirt, fingers tracing the line of his tensing abs. "Do you still care about me?"
"Of course I do," Tom hissed, instinctively tightening his grip on Harry’s waist, which he hadn't let go of even during the fall.
"Mmh…" Harry pressed his hips against him, and Tom struggled to muffle a moan when he felt their growing bulge grinding against each other. "Then stop," Harry breathed, as if it were the most simple thing ever. Tom almost believed it too.
"I need you… You can feel it." Harry's voice was the most tempting sound he'd ever heard in this moment, and for a second, Tom even forgot why he was fighting with him. "You can feel me, right now, because you've only made two. But make another horcrux, Tom, just one more, and this..." Harry pressed a small, deliberate kiss just behind his ear. "... will be gone."
No.
Harry's hair tickled his neck, and his breath—hot, the way everything about Harry was—fell damp against Tom's skin. Yet it felt just right. Tom didn't want to lose this—never.
But then Harry pulled back, just enough to see his face, and Tom's thoughts cleared. The realisation hit him.
"You’re manipulating me."
"Maybe," Harry replied, his eyes sparkling as he pressed his hips even harder against Tom’s. "But I've told you: I'm willing to try everything," he added, the last word lingering on his parted lips.
Tom died a little at that.
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, and one of his hands began to tug at the waistband of Tom's trousers.
Unable to hold back any longer, Tom yanked him by the collar of his jumper and kissed him fiercely. His hands tangled in Harry's perpetually tousled hair as his tongue claimed his mouth. Harry's caresses became bolder. The sound of a belt buckle clicking echoed as their breaths mingled and Tom swallowed every little moan that escaped Harry's lips. Finally, warm fingertips brushed against his cock and short nails grazed his bare skin, eliciting a small yelp from Tom.
"Harry— I can't—" Tom managed to utter between messy, wet kisses.
"Tom," Harry whispered softly, almost reverently, as if his name were a prayer that would solve everything. Harry's lips left Tom's mouth to wander down his neck, tracing a wet path of kisses and little bites until they reached that sensitive spot just below his ear once more. "Tom," he repeated like a plea, "don't you see?"
Tom didn't see and didn't hear and didn't know anything. Nothing existed in that moment except Harry: his flaming hot body pressed against his, his teeth nibbling at the tender spot of skin that made Tom melt entirely, and the feather-light touch of his fingers, making Tom's cock tremble with need.
"W—what?"
"You need me," Harry said before sinking his teeth into his neck.
A sharp, embarrassing cry tore out of Tom. Harry licked the spot he'd just marked as his own—as if Tom's body weren't already entirely and irrevocably his.
"Why did you do that?" Tom asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes prickling.
"Why are you pulling my hair so roughly?" Harry replied in a shaky breath.
Tom released his grip immediately. He hadn't realised he was yanking Harry's hair since they started kissing. He felt Harry chuckle against his bruised skin, his warm breath giving him goosebumps.
It was always like that between them. Only Harry could understand him, and Tom was certain Harry felt the same. It wasn't so much that Tom needed him as they needed each other.
And as if to confirm that, Harry lifted his head and pressed his lips against his, tongue demanding, and nails digging into Tom's neck and shoulders. Tom responded even more vigorously, grabbing his waist with one hand and his arse with the other. His hand felt the curves and hollows of Harry's body through his clothes—a body he now knew by heart, and yet would never tire of exploring.
Harry gasped and moaned between kisses, and those little noises he made drove Tom completely mad. Tom wanted to hear and feel everything about him, to bury his head in his hair and his cock inside him, to drown in his scent and swallow every single drop of his cum.
And even if he managed to do all of that, Tom knew it still wouldn't be enough. He would never get enough of Harry.
"Harry..."
Harry trailed his open mouth along Tom's jaw and began to trace the outline of his face. Tom's head fell back, his whole body surrendering under Harry's delicate touch.
And if Harry was warm, his mouth was fiery, and when his breath ghosted over the saliva left in its wake, the contrast between the air and the moisture always made Tom lose his mind, even though he was trying his best to remain somewhat coherent.
"Tom…" Harry's hands were fumbling with Tom's shirt, trying to unbutton it as he continued to kiss and nip at the curve of his throat, lingering exactly where it was needed to make Tom forget how to breathe. "Don't you see?"
"Mmh?" Tom grunted. His mind was utterly blank.
When Harry's hands finally tossed Tom's shirt aside, they immediately set about doing the same with his trousers. They quickly freed Tom from any remaining fabric that was in their way and encircled his cock. Tom's hips jerked despite himself. He felt worse than a rutting animal, but Harry's touch was enough to make him instantly bend to his will.
"You don't need them," Harry breathed, thumb tracing a small circle on the tip of his cock, spreading the precum that was already beading there. Tom's head spun; he felt utterly dizzy with need.
Then Harry raised his hand and brought it to his mouth, sucking on his wet fingers while staring at Tom.
Tom grabbed Harry's jumper and pulled it up roughly, just enough to reveal the dark, hard peaks of his nipples. He captured one in his mouth while pinching the other between his fingers. Harry let out a small cry and rolled his hips against Tom's painfully hard cock. The denim of the jeans scraped harshly against the bare skin, and Tom groaned against Harry's nipple, licking and sucking it harder.
Harry began to tremble against him, his lean chest exposed to the open air and heaving, his abs rippling in waves, almost undulating under Tom's starved mouth. Tom's hands burned against Harry’s warm, golden-brown skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from tracing every ridge, every muscle, every joint of Harry's body—relishing in the way Harry's nails dug into his back as he did.
With his tongue still dancing over Harry's nipple, Tom looked up and caught a glimpse of Harry's face overwhelmed by pleasure, his features relaxed and his hair messier than ever. Tom's cock twitched, his tip pressing painfully against the fucking denim.
"Fuck— Harry, I need you—"
Harry glanced down at him, a very real Slytherin smile playing on his full lips as he recognised the agony in Tom's expression. "How?"
They were so close, so close. Tom knew it. Fuck, he knew it.
Over the past few months, he'd learnt Harry's body by heart. He knew that without those last stupid layers of clothing, he would already be deep inside him. Harry was positioned in a devilish, intentional way so that their bodies aligned perfectly—if only he wasn't still wearing those jeans. It was pure torture to be so close, and still unable to truly feel him.
"What do you want? I don't understand," Harry lied, his thumb tracing Tom’s cheek with mocking tenderness. Tom leant into his touch anyway.
"More horcruxes?" Harry pressed, the word a cruel jab.
Tom glared at him—or at least he tried to, but he wasn't sure he really succeeded, not when he felt so feverish and beside himself and so-fucking-hard-he-was-going-mad. "I need— your body—"
Harry’s fingers ran through Tom’s curls, nails scraping lightly across his scalp, dragging another helpless shudder out of him. "Do you deserve it, though?" he murmured, lips brushing against Tom's ear.
Tom wanted to deserve it. To deserve him. He wanted it so badly.
But could he grant Harry what he was asking for?
"I can try," Tom rasped.
Harry's hand in his hair turned into a fist, pulling slightly. "Undress me, then."
Tom didn't need to be told twice. His hands rushed to Harry's fly, and he pulled his jeans off as quickly as possible, almost tearing his underwear off with them. Soon, Harry was sitting on top of him, naked except for the jumper he was still wearing, pulled up high enough for Tom to admire his entire body. The sight was breathtaking, but Tom was interrupted in his contemplation when Harry took his hand and brought it to his mouth, with a mischievous look in his eyes.
Then, slowly, he slid Tom’s index finger between his lips and sucked, in the most erotic way possible, leaving Tom completely speechless. He released the finger with a soft, wet plop, a thin strand of saliva still clinging to it, and flashed Tom the most dazzling smile—too bright to be real—before guiding his hand down between his thighs and pressing the slick fingertip against his entrance.
Heart slamming in his chest, Tom began to massage him docilely, doing his best to coax the tight ring of muscle into relaxing. Harry toyed with his hair and kissed his face, twirling dark curls around his fingers and trailing his lips over Tom's forehead, temples, and cheekbones.
"How badly do you want me?" Harry whispered, rolling his hips in slow circles on Tom’s finger. "What are you willing to trade?"
Tom saw red. "Are you fucking mad?! I won't trade you for anything!"
Harry pushed himself down, and Tom's finger sank into the dizzying, exquisite heat of his body. Tom almost came right then.
"Oh, what a shame," Harry said lightly, rocking on that single finger with tiny, teasing thrusts, "I really wanted to have sex with you today."
Tom gritted his teeth. "And what are we doing now, exactly?"
"Peace talks."
"For Salazar's sake, Harry!"
"What?"
Harry’s lips hovered over Tom’s, so close that they barely touched. He kept up that languid roll of his hips, fucking himself on Tom’s hand while clinging to him—head pressed to Tom’s forehead, mouths almost, almost joined… Tom wanted to kiss him even more than he wanted to become the youngest Minister for Magic in history. And he deeply, deeply wanted to replace that finger with his cock. Wanted to to bury himself to the hilt and make Harry scream, wipe that smug little smirk off those full, deliciously sweet lips.
Tom started to match Harry's movements, twisting and curving his finger inside, forcing Harry’s body to yield and accept more on him. Harry let out soft, needy groans that spurred Tom on until he pushed a second finger in alongside the first.
Then, sensing that Harry was losing himself more and more in the sensations, Tom dragged both fingers towards his lower abdomen, pressing and rubbing hard circles around the spot he knew was most sensitive inside him. Harry writhed on his hand, grinding their bodies together even more, their cocks sliding slick against each other as he finally crushed their mouths together in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.
"Does this feel peaceful to you?" Tom asked, breath frantic.
Harry bit his lower lip. "Very."
"So, everything’s sorted?" Tom pressed a third finger in, still pushing deeper, stretching Harry’s body around him to its limit.
Harry moaned and pulled Tom’s head to his chest. Tom got the hint instantly: he closed his lips over one of his nipple again, teasing it gently at first, then harder, almost mean, while his fingers still worked inside him.
But even though Tom was the one moving his hand, it was still undeniably Harry who was setting the pace, moving his hips faster or slower, bending his knees to take Tom's fingers deeper or shallower, pressing Tom’s face harder into his chest to make him suck harder, or yanking his hair to guide him to his other nipple.
Tom was completely at his mercy, and fuck— he loved it.
But his own length lay neglected, and the ache became more and more unbearable as Harry’s slid hot and leaking against his stomach. Harry’s cheeks were so beautifully flushed, and he was glancing at him with glassy, heavy-lidded eyes, while the most beautiful sounds Tom had ever heard escaped his kiss-swollen lips; yet all Tom was allowed to do was offer him his fingers and worship him with his mouth only. That should have been enough, but Tom had always been voracious, and right now, he was starving. He needed to own him completely.
Harry tugged Tom’s head back gently, and Tom looked up, gazing at him through his lashes, hazy with lust.
"Are you going to stop making new horcruxes?" Harry asked in the softest, sweetest voice.
"How can you blackmail me like this?" Tom muttered, feeling terribly vulnerable under the gaze of that angelic-looking demon.
Harry silenced him with another kiss. Their tongues met, thick and lazy, swallowing each other’s moans and the wet slap of skin as well as the broken noises neither Harry nor he could hold back any longer.
"What’s stopping me?" Harry breathed against his mouth, eyes daring him and chest heaving.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing could stop him. Not even Tom. Especially not Tom.
"This is wr—wrong," Tom stammered, pathetic.
Harry’s lips stretched into a wide grin, wicked and fond all at once. "It wouldn’t be the first time I did something bad," he whispered.
Then he spat, right onto Tom’s cock.
He wrapped his hand around it, spreading the slickness up and down his length, and Tom whined at the long-awaited touch. Harry pressed their cocks together, trapping both in his fist, stroking them in time with the slow roll of his hips around Tom’s buried fingers. It was too good, too much... Tom's balls were drawn up so tight they ached, and every slide of Harry’s hand felt like fire licking along his cock.
"Harry," he choked out, "I'm going to—"
Harry stilled, gripping the base of Tom’s cock hard. "No."
Tom gasped and dropped his head on Harry's chest, defeated. His fingers were still buried deep inside Harry, squeezed tight by the contraction of his muscles, and his other arm was locked around Harry’s waist, holding him close as though Tom would collapse if he let go for even an inch.
Forehead pressed against Harry’s burning skin, Tom took deep breaths in and out until the pressure eased. The familiar scent of Harry's filled his lungs and helped him relax. His cock was still throbbing, but he'd regained control of himself. Harry didn't loosen his grip on him.
"If you want to fuck me," Harry murmured, his voice cruelly soft, "you have to last, Tom."
"O—Okay."
Only then did Harry start moving again in slow, languid rolls of his hips. The slick head of his cock brushed Tom’s in maddening little teases. Sweet, sweet torture… Then Harry’s hand began to stroke him again slowly, agonisingly slowly, gliding from base to tip in infinitely long motions. Tom held his breath and, somehow, managed to stay in control.
Harry gave him a small smile that felt life a truly worthy reward, then crushed their cocks together again, hard, as though he wanted to merge with Tom.
Tom was trembling, breathless, thoughtless. He felt as though he were outside of his own body, as if he were experiencing a weird trance that would surely be the end of him. He was floating in a haze where nothing existed except Harry’s touch and the press of Harry’s skin against his. Pleasure rose higher and higher, but Harry’s fingers stayed firmly locked on him, preventing the release from taking over him completely.
"Harry, I feel like I’m dying—"
"But you’re immortal, love," Harry teased, stealing a kiss from him.
"Harry," Tom whimpered into his mouth—almost begged—but Harry showed no mercy. If anything, his strokes continued with the same intensity and the same inexorably devastating slowness.
Tom kissed him, pressing his lips harder, in an attempt to plead for release, to distract Harry long enough for him to loosen his grip or, better yet, to let him come.
"Harry," Tom breathed, "Harry…"
As their tongues tangled, Tom’s frustration grew, and the kiss turned feral, possessive; he fucked Harry’s mouth with his tongue the way he wished he could fuck his hole, setting a brutal rhythm to their kiss since he wasn’t allowed to control anything else. It became rough and wet, salty and full of bites, almost violent—as if to punish Harry for torturing his body and mind.
Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry filled Tom's every thought and every sense, and still, it wasn’t enough. Tom needed more, needed to sink into him and share that impossible heat, brand him, claim him—
"Please," Tom finally begged, face strangely wet, "I’ll do anything, Harry, please…"
Harry stopped his hand's motion. Tom's vision was blurred, but he saw him cock an eyebrow. "Anything for what? For me to stop?"
And with that, Harry let go of Tom’s length and lifted himself off Tom’s fingers. The sudden emptiness left Tom feeling desperately hollow, and that felt worse than anything. He could almost feel an icy draught passing through him, chilling the emptiness where the missing pieces of his soul should have resided.
"No! I need you! I need you, Harry— Please, please, I need you so much— I'm nothing without you…"
At last, Tom realised: he was crying. Crying. When was the last time that had happened? When he was still a child? Tom couldn't even remember tears from his childhood, and now here he was, breaking down in Harry's arms. He had truly hit rock bottom.
"I need you too," Harry murmured, lowering himself back onto Tom and sliding one hand into Tom's hair. He hushed him with soft little "shh, shh" sounds, and Tom clutched him, feeling more pathetic than ever, weaker than he'd ever been.
And yet, he didn’t regret a thing. If this pitiful confession—those sobbing pleas—were what it took for Harry to stay, to keep existing right there beside him, then Tom would repeat them a thousand times. He would do anything.
Because Harry was here. Harry was warm and real. Harry was naked and pressed flush against him, cock still stiff and leaking, and Tom wanted him so desperately that every second spent without feeling him was worse than any second spent enduring a thousand Cruciatus curses.
"You only have to promise me one single thing to make sure we stay together forever," Harry whispered, tilting Tom’s head back and trailing a line of slow kisses across his shoulders.
"Just one thing to promise, and you’ll get everything you want." Harry's lips climbed up Tom’s neck while he deliberately ground his arse against Tom’s painfully hard cock.
"I promise," Tom said, weary and exhausted.
Then, slowly, Tom lifted his head and fell into eyes so green he swore he could drown in them, and almost already taste the cold, deep, lake waters on his tongue. Mesmerising eyes, that held him prisoner as Harry stroked the tears from his cheeks with his thumb.
"And do you swear?"
A faint golden ribbon of light began to shimmer around them. Tom saw it and immediately knew what it was: a magically binding oath. Harry had trapped him. Tom was too exhausted to care or to even feel the sting of betrayal.
Harry's voice came out very low, pleading and cracking at the edges, enough to crush Tom's heart as he repeated, "Do you swear it on your magic? That you’ll never make another horcrux?"
Tom hesitated for only a fraction of a second.
"I swear it," he choked out, burying his face in Harry's hair.
"Thank you," Harry breathed in his ear.
Tom held on as the golden light flared and wrapped around their joined arms. It infiltrated his skin, through muscle and bone, searing the oath straight into his core. Fresh tears spilled over, leaving hot tracks down his cheeks. Tom couldn't stop shaking, and he couldn't take his eyes off Harry.
"You’re so pretty," Harry said, brushing another tear away with the pad of his finger.
"Fuck y—"
Tom’s words died in a choked cry as Harry sank down and took his entire cock inside him in one long, single slide.
All thoughts vanished.
The vow, the tears, the hollowness in his chest… everything burnt away beneath the sudden, blinding heat of Harry’s body swallowing him whole. Harry was so tight, even after all the time Tom's fingers had spent prepping him; and he was so wet, thanks to their mixed saliva slicking his entrance and Tom's cock; and he was impossibly hot, warming Tom from the outside in, right down to the furthest reaches of his soul.
Harry was perfect, and he was his—
His, and his alone, and he wouldn't go away now… never.
And Harry was rising up, then sinking back… again, and again… Each roll of Harry’s hips was deliberate, tight heat squeezing Tom’s cock until his vision blurred at the edges. Harry’s walls clenched around him, and Tom's hips jerked helplessly upward, chasing more of him.
Tom was openly crying now, with no room left for shame or self-pity. How could he care about any of that when Harry was fucking him like that?
Tears streamed down his face and into his neck, and Harry wiped them away one by one with tender swipes of his hand and light kisses. Foreheads pressed together and hands entwined, their skin slid together, slick and burning. And Harry kept riding him hard, stealing Tom's breath each time he slammed himself down on him.
It took less than a dozen of strokes.
Tom’s entire body seized. His back arched off the sofa, and his hips snapped up as the orgasm tore through him. Violent, blinding pleasure like he had never experienced before, never even dreamed of… He came with a broken moan that cracked in the middle, pulsing deep inside Harry in thick, shuddering waves that felt like they were being dragged out of his fucking broken soul. Tears poured faster, mixing with the sweat on his face, and his mouth hung open on silent gasps as Harry kept moving, kept squeezing, wringing every last drop from him, until Tom was nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.
But Harry didn’t stop.
Tom's cock was still half-hard and still trapped inside that greedy heat, so Harry kept riding him, slower now, chasing his own peak. As Tom’s length slowly softened, Harry’s relentless rhythm dragged little aftershocks through him—delightfully painful.
"Touch me," Harry ordered, voice ragged as he guided Tom's hand to his own cock.
The command snapped Tom out of his trance. He wrapped his fingers around Harry’s length and started to stroke in time with each of his bounces. Harry’s head fell back as he fucked himself on Tom’s softening cock and into Tom’s fist.
And Tom simply watched with awe: black hair cascading down his neck, throat flushed and exposed, nipples stiff and sweat beading all over his chest, making him shine like the most precious gems… Harry was… unreal. Otherworldly.
Tom felt as the mortals chosen by the Greek gods for union must have felt in ancient times. How could one explain what it felt like to be used by a deity in such a beautiful and devastating way? How could one feel anything other than terribly insignificant in the face of such beauty, and at the same time incredibly blessed to witness this scene of pure bliss and release? Tom was useless, and he was everything at once. He was the tool for pleasure, and the spectator in the front row. He was the obedient servant, and the luckiest man on Earth. He was one with this monster of manipulation, this angel fallen from heaven or hell to save him, this creature with burning green eyes that consumed every inch of him.
A few more frantic strokes and Harry came with a sharp, choked cry, spilling hot cum across Tom’s stomach, his own chest, their joined skin. Then he leant forward and kissed Tom slow and deep, tasting salt and tears, their hearts pounding against each other, and their bodies still firmly entangled.
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured.
"It's okay," Tom replied, tightening his arms around him, "I know."
Tom didn't lie. He didn't hold it against Harry, and he didn't even find it in him to regret his choice. Tomorrow, he'd start plotting a way around this fucked-up magical oath, and he would find a way to convince Harry to let him make at least one or two more horcruxes, but for now, he simply let himself rest against his boyfriend.
Because Harry felt like home, and Death didn't seem so frightening when he held him close. Tom breathed more easily with his nose buried in that mass of black hair. There, he felt lighter, and a little warmer too.
