AN: AU – Non-magical, Historical, taking place aboard RMS Titanic. Yes, the one you're thinking about. Tom is Rose's brother, Harry is Caledon Hockley's cousin (Cal was Rose's fiance).
Songe d'Automne
"Have you seen Rose?"
Harry turned toward the door, hearing a familiar voice. Miss DeWitt Bukater's brother was standing at the threshold.
"She's probably wandering somewhere with Jack Dawson," he answered, walking over to a gramophone and changing the vinyl record. Waltzes, stated the enigmatic inscription on the blue box. "I'm pretty sure I saw them running away from my cousin's butler half an hour ago. They seemed rather amused."
"Mother will be furious." Tom entered the room, not bothered to wait for a proper invitation, and sat down on the golden plush-covered couch in Empire style; he seemed exhausted. "She's been counting his millions for two years, waiting for their wedding day."
"She should marry him herself then, if she's so eager to see his money," Harry snorted in response, nesting himself next to his lover. He hated cousin Cal with a burning passion, especially Cal's belief in his own uniqueness because of his fairytale-like fortune, one he didn't even earn himself.
Rose's brother didn't answer. They've talked about the unfortunate engagement hundreds of times, wondering when Mrs. DeWitt Bukater will find an equally suitable fiancee for her son. So far she tried to marry Tom into the Black family through one of the three beautiful sisters, but Bella, Narcissa and Andromeda quickly made it clear that they were not interested in a man who didn't have a fortune - or even a bit of interest – to offer.
Harry envied Rose. He could give up on the money his parents were providing him with, he could abandon this boring and empty life, if only he was sure that Tom would do the same... Rose didn't have to worry about her wealth – she didn't have any either way and Harry believed Jack Dawson could help her live a life wealthy enough - but Tom was obliged to care for their mother and she... Well, she was used to a luxurious lifestyle. They were staying in a seemingly peaceful uncertainty, though Harry's fear was growing with every passing day. It was obvious their time together was coming to an end and approaching was the moment when the one he loved - loved more than his mother and father, more than his own life - would leave him to spend the rest of his days in an old manor build somewhere in the misty countryside with a greedy wife at his side. As long as they were bacherols, no one asked why they were spending so much time together. It was only fitting for young gentlemen to stick with their own kind: enjoying hunting, seeing plays in the theater and taking trips to the continent, visiting clubs and even libraries, if they considered it an appropriate pastime activity. Tom could live in Harry's house in London for months and no one, nor their parents, neither friends or neighbours, would consider it suspicious.
If only his cousin knew what Harry was doing and with whom. Sometimes he entertained himself thinking which one of them Cal would kill first - Harry, Tom or perhaps himself, seeing what kind of relationships his aunt's only son prefered. Most of the time the thought filled him with gloom rather than amusement; it seemed unfair Rose could chase a third-class passenger on the main deck, when they had to hide behind carefully closed door.
The clock struck midnight. Harry felt a warm touch on his shoulder; a pleasant shiver reminded him he wasn't alone.
"You're frowning... You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" Tom's voice was filled with poorly concealed bitterness. "You're thinking about what will happen when we reach New York."
"I don't have to think about it," he sighted in response, pulling Tom closer. They were on the ship only for a few days, but Harry had the impression his lover's clothes carried the same faint salty fragrance as the water that was everywhere aroung them. "Your mother will finally find a rich desperate woman tempted by your misty eyes and your beautiful voice and then I'll lose you forever."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. There was no point in denying Harry's theory - they both knew that Ruth DeWitt Bukater would rather die than allow her son to lead an unmarried life. She was dreaming about grandchildren, a heir, and could anyone blame her for it? Mr. and Mrs. Potter probably also had some plans for their only child, even if they weren't sharing them so openly. They were visiting the Weasleys quite often recently... Maybe they wanted him to marry the joyful Ginevra?
"Can we..." Harry began uncertainly, noting with surprise that his voice was trembling dangerously. "Can we pretend for a moment that it's not happening?" He didn't want to look up, clutching Tom's white shirt desperately. He would have to lend him one of his own, if they decided to take a night walk. "If you... If we could be somwhere else, in another world... What name would you chose?"
"Tom... Riddle," he said after a moment's thought, smiling slightly. "How do you like it?"
"Ingenious indeed," Harry tried to sneer, but instead of laughter an unexpected sob came out of him mouth. He didn't know why tears started filling his eyes so suddenly. He didn't cry since his godfather died many years aso, and the tears he shed then were quite different – child's tears full of sadness, not fear and uncertainty that accompanied him now.
Delicate hands tried to wipe the wet streaks off his face, but instead of allowing them to do it, Harry snuggled against Tom's neck in despair. He felt a heart beating rapidly, though he wasn't sure who it belonged to.
"Tom Riddle, can we agree on it, Harry?"
He nodded, his eyes still closed. He was ashamed that he was so easily fooled by his own frantic dreams. There wasn't even a shadow of chance for them from the very beginning. What would his parents think, if they knew he didn't go to New York because of Rose's wedding? That his main motivation was spending a few more days with the man he was bound to lose either way? Would they be disappointed?
The opening bars of Songe d'Automne filled the room. Titanic's orchestra had played the waltz every night so far, so great was its popularity. Harry had already had the opportunity to dance it with every unmarried woman lucky enough to travel first-class, including the forever single Augusta Longbottom and petite Cho Chang; her exotic beauty caught even his eye.
Suddenly Tom stood up and Harry was forced to look at him.
"May I have this dance?" The question sounded... wrong; Harry was used to ask it himself. However, guessing that he may never have another chance, he smoothed his crumpled vest and answered as cheerfully as he was able to:
"Why not?"
...
It was strange to dance with a man, but another feeling was even more confusing - Harry has never had a chance to dance with someone he had feelings for. Sometimes it seemed to him that his love for Tom was destroying him, burning him down slowly, not leaving any part of his body and soul intact. But he couldn't give up on everything Tom was: his warm voice and the malicious comments he made with it, his brilliant mind and the way he was insolently boasting about it. Even the stupid pride that didn't allow Tom to accept any help seemed touching.
I don't want your love, Tom told him, when Harry kissed him for the first time five years ago. They were sixteen and horrified by what was happening between them.
I don't think I'm ready to be loved by you, Tom said two years later, when Harry's parents allowed him to move from Godric's Hollow to London.
I don't deserve your love, Tom tried to say goodbye last wanted to say goodbye last autumn, but it was too late.
All this time Harry was reapting with persistence that he loved him, as if someone was paying him for speaking those few words so many times. He was saying I love you, when they were lying side by side on chilly winter mornings, when they were returning from the theater late at night, the rain bouncing furiously on their cab's window, and when they were walking through the deserted park before dawn. If only their youth could last forever; if only there were no marriages, wives, or children...
The waltz ended with a lingering low note and the needle jumped up from the plate. The room fell silent, feeling strangely unnatural, though for a moment none of them could tell what was so disturbing about it.
"The machinery," Harry said suddenly. "It stopped working... What could it mean?" He looked at his lover as if expecting an answer, but Tom looked equally confused.
A prolonged metallic creak sounded somewhere in the distance.
"Something happened," Harry said with a note of fear in his voice, the grip of his hand on Tom's shoulders became almost painful.
"Impossible, this ship is unsinkable," Tom laughed, trying to convince himself that the halted machinery didn't have to mean anything alarming.
"But you've heard what Rose said wbout the lifeboats, haven't you? Andrews himself admitted that there are not enough for everyone."
"Harry, calm down, we're not sinking."
But the boy didn't want to listen to him and – grabbing his black coat - ran out of the room. The brightly lit corridor was empty, which only increased his fear. Were all the passengers locked in their rooms? Or maybe they were still upstairs, enjoying the evening? Why was it so terribly quiet everywhere?
Harry saw William Murdoch at the end of the corridor. He didn't have to say anything for Harry to realize that something horrible has happened; the first officer's face expressed such an unrestrained dread that the passenger began to fear the worst.
"What happened?" Harry called after Murdoch, but the man disappeared behind the corner, running somewhere in haste.
Harry heard steps behind his back; Tom managed to catch up with him. His wrinkled shirt looked way too suspicious, but Harry had a feeling that whatever happened, no one would pay special attention to Tom's wardrobe.
They ran in the same direction as the first officer.
"Can you feel it?" Tom asked, when they stood outside at last, the cold wind reminding Tom that he didn't take his coat with him. "The ship... It's tilting."
A long deckchair Mrs. DeWitt Bukater was enjoying so often began to glide slowly toward the captain's bridge, dragging the downy mattress, as if it was trying to confirm Tom's suspisions.
"We're drowning," Harry realized suddenly, though it seemed only few people were aware of Titanic's hopeless state.
Somewhere above their heads a white flare flashed and from a distance came the sound of the orchestra playing merrily. It seemed the passengers were having another party.
"Rose," Tom turned toward the staircase dramatically. "We need to find her."
...
They saw her on the other side of the deck; even though she was wearing Cal's coat, she was accompanied by Jack Dawson.
"Rose!" Tom drew his younger sister closer, as if to protect her from the inevitable. "Why aren't you in a lifeboat yet?"
"I was," the girl replied frantically; her wet hair was plastered to her face in long strands. "I had to... I had to come back."
"Have you lost your mind?!" Harry felt a sudden sting of jealousy, hearing the fright in Tom's voice. Would he be equally scared if it was Harry who was in danger? "You know that there's not enough room for..."
"Rose, we need to get out of here," Jack interrupted him suddenly. The angle of the ship's inclination was increasing alarmingly with every second. "We're not safe."
"Safe?" Tom wanted to sneer, but before he could finish his thought, Rose broke free from his grasp and - fighting with gravity pulling her down the deck - she followed Jack.
Harry couldn't even take a single step, he was so frightened by what was happening around him. He saw another flare. Tom checked his pocket watch in the flash of light, as if they could be late for dinner because of the small inconvenience. It was past two.
Before the white flash disappeared completely, the lights went out on the deck and the ship sunk into a nightmarish darkness. Harry noticed wit awe that millions of starts were watching him with gruesome calmness. People were screaming around him, but he couldn't understand their words.
Something howled shrilly inside the ship. The crunch of metal and wood breaking was getting closer at an alarming rate.
I love you, Harry tried to say once again, but an excruciating roar drowned out his words. It seemed to him that he's heard the right answer at last.
...
Harry heard a sound of a violin coming from afar, as if from another world. He knew that melody.
"Don't close your eyes," someone insisted desperately, embracing him tightly. Everything felt so cold.
Something pulled Harry down, icy water surrounded him. Only the violin melody was becoming clearer, rather than subsiding, as if they were dancing.
AN: I know I promised I won't kill Tom again, but it was a rather unexpected story and I wrote it for my own birthday, so please bear with me.
Songe d'Automne is a beautiful waltz and it was in Titanic's orchestra repertoire. According to Titanic's junior wireless officer Harold Bride it could be the last melody played on the sinking ship.