He remained at the window; arms spread wide as he gripped the railing. His bodyguards had all disappeared. No guns, nothing but them.
"Tom."
If he sounded unsure, if he sounded lost, if he sounded as unsettled as he felt, Harry didn't care.
Tom turned away from the window. His face was a smooth façade, devoid of anything resembling an expression. But just the sight of him sent Harry's senses reeling.
"You for them."
"Yes…"
If he'd doubted it before, there was no denying it this time. Heat pooled in his groin, and his belly tightened with each step Tom took toward him. He felt awake, after a long time asleep. Alive, after such a long time being dead with Fenrir.
Thinking of him cooled him down some, until Tom touched him. A palm to Harry's cheek. He trembled under that touch. So simple, yet so not. The prelude to more.
He wanted more, so he leaned into Tom's palm.
"Goddamn it."
As Harry watched, Tom's mask crumpled,
"It's still there."
He grabbed Harry by the throat, yanking him closer,
"It's still there. You're still there."
Harry didn't ask him what "it" was. He already knew.
"Tom…"
Mouth on him, desperate and wet. An attack Harry accepted, wrapping his arms around Tom, hugging him close, and opening for him. Biting back, pushing forward into hardness. Into Tom, who tasted just like Harry remembered.
Dangerous. Intoxicating.
Fingers in Harry's hair gripped him tight, held him still, as Tom led. And Harry followed. Only too happy to give up, give in, and let Tom take what Harry had wanted to hand over for so very long.
Something bad couldn't taste this good. Something bad couldn't weaken his knees and harden him to stone. Something bad couldn't feel this right, Tom in his arms, in his mouth, melting like the best kind of confection on his tongue.
The kiss was full on violent, breath-snatching. Nothing Harry ever felt before. Nothing he'd ever get from someone else. Only from Tom.
Only Tom.
He consumed, and Harry didn't mind. He didn't care. He let it happen: the one hand gripping his hair, the tongue stripping him naked, and the other hand sliding down his torso to cup his erection.
He groaned into Tom's mouth and bucked into his hand.
Feeling.
He didn't think he'd ever want something like this again. But he did. He wanted Tom's touch. He trembled for it. His mouth watered for it. That it was the man, who'd taken away Fenrir from him, that was making him feel like this no longer surprised him.
That it was Tom Riddle kept him in a state of wonder and incredulity. But none of it stopped him from placing his own palm over Tom's groin and squeezing. It didn't stop him from chasing those wet lips when Tom tried to pull back, from catching them and sinking his teeth in, keeping him there.
Keeping him close.
On Harry's tongue.
Inside him.
In this moment he'd give anything, everything he had, to keep Tom's hands on him. To keep their lips as fused as they were. He didn't hurt as much when Tom touched him. He didn't ache so badly. The hollow inside him didn't seem so endless and all-consuming. The loneliness that battered him and bowed his shoulders retreated, taking the overpowering darkness with it.
Twice in one lifetime.
How could he walk away?
How could he let it go?
Tom lifted away slowly, their lips making a wet sound when they parted. Harry opened his eyes and found Tom watching him. His usually cold eyes now blazed like the hottest inferno.
Their gazes locked.
"I get in the same bloody room with you, and I catch fire."
The words rumbled from Tom as he stroked Harry's jaw,
"I underestimated the danger you bring."
"Tom…"
He lifted a hand, but something pricked his neck. Words tangled all over each other in his throat, and he gurgled, vision dimming. His body locked down and he blinked at Tom, at his gray eyes, cold and piercing.
One second, they were eye to eye and the next, Harry found himself gazing up. He'd crumpled to his knees. The pounding of his heart, along with the sound of blood rushing through his veins, deafened him. Tom stood right there, not even an inch away, but Harry couldn't make his hand cooperate to reach out, to touch his knee.
Stroke his leg.
Which was something he ached to do suddenly.
Tom didn't move, but something dropped suddenly around Harry's neck. Rope, looped in the shape of a noose that bit into his windpipe, cutting off his breathing. A sharp tug dropped him backward, and Tom moved then, legs planted on either side of Harry's twitching body.
He was going to die, he understood and accepted that. It just bothered him that he'd fallen straight back into Tom's trap again so easily. He deserved to die for making the same mistake twice. Still, he regretted not getting to kiss Tom Riddle again. And as his vision blinked out, he wondered what he'd say to Fenrir when they finally met on the other side.