Notes: I apologize for the delay. Sometimes life gets in the way of the posting schedule. Anyway, we continue with some plot and some mess. Pretty much usual.

WARNINGS: sexual content

32. Dark'ning Thy Power

Hermione's cheeks ache from the effort of holding her smile.

She risks a glance at Tom beside her. His expression is as frigid as a winter midnight. His eyes are hard diamond and his jawline a sharp promise of barely suppressed violence. She wishes she could be like him, unknown and unrequired to greet the never-ending line of mourners passing through the reception.

She's talked with at least a hundred guests—students, ministry officials and everyone in between. While her voice grows hoarse, Tom avoids saying a single word. Not that she requires him to speak. These people mean nothing to him and he's apt to say something cutting or inappropriate if he does part his lips.

If she felt stronger, she'd send him away, spare him the monotony of the ceaseless sympathy that although genuine, causes her nothing but heartache. But Hermione is held together by the thinnest threads and without Tom by her side, without his fingers gently laced between hers, she fears she will unravel.

It doesn't help that Draco disappeared entirely.

She and Tom stepped out for a moment of air, just long enough for her to charm her makeup back to a semblance of order and muster the courage to face the crowds. When they came back for the reception, his platinum hair was conspicuously absent.

She doesn't have the energy to worry about that right now.

She barely has the energy to smile at Professor Slughorn as he emerges from the mingling crowd.

Tom mutters an oath under his breath, his grip on her hand turning vicious. She forces her lips upward despite the pain.

"Professor, so wonderful to see you here."

But Slughorn isn't looking at her.

It's a sign of her fatigue that it takes her a full inhale and exhale to realize what's happening. When the pieces slam together, her wand drops into her hand. War habits die hard and for once she's glad of it.

She jerks her head toward a hall leading away from the atrium. "Join us for a walk, Professor?"

Slughorn considers her for a long moment before nodding stiffly. As they cross the wide hall, she catches sight of Draco. He's a disheveled mess, but right now she doesn't have time to wonder what he's been up to.

She lifts a brow and jerks her head toward Slughorn when she catches his stormy gaze. His expression shifts from practiced neutrality to alarm in an instant. She motions toward the hall with a flick of her wand. He glances behind him and nods.

Draco's already opened the door to a Ministry break room when they reach him. He surveys the three of them, wand twirling between his fingers. For a moment, despite the obvious differences, she sees only Tom. But then azure eyes fade to grey and Draco slams the door behind them.

Slughorn spins, his own wand drawn.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Good to see you again too, Horace," Tom drawls.

Her former professor's eyes widen. He shakes his head and takes a step back. "Dear Merlin, it is you."

"I'm not exactly a face you forget," Tom replies, tone luscious velvet.

For one terrifying moment Hermione wonders if Slughorn and Tom ever crossed any lines together. But the way the professor is looking at his former student indicates nothing but genuine horror.

She lets out a shuddering breath. "Give us a moment to explain."

Slughorn's wand swings toward Hermione. Both Tom and Draco are in front of her in an instant. She groans, but allows them the illusion of protection. They can discuss the matter of respecting her competency as a witch later.

"You are aware this is Tom Marvolo Riddle, Junior, aren't you?" Slughorn's wand gives a particularly violent shake as he points it directly at Tom. "Lord Voldemort himself."

"That name no longer means anything to me," the dark boy replies, smile a vicious slash of lips and teeth.

The professor's greying brows draw together. "Which name?"

Tom shrugs, the leather of his coat rustling softly. "Either."

Hermione can feel the confusion radiating from Slughorn. She takes pity on the professor and tries to explain. "Tom isn't Voldemort, Professor. He's a product of an extensive amount of dark magic, but he's no longer anything but human. He recovered his soul, with Harry's help. The wizarding world has nothing to fear from him."

She feels Tom's stare boring into her skull, but doesn't look his way. He surely doesn't want her to explain he is all bark and no bite, but Slughorn is a liability they can't afford. They need to get him on their side and fast. The alternative is…

Hermione shakes her head. She isn't going there unless they have to.

"And you expect me to believe Lord Voldemort has simply rolled over and surrendered? Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice? Shame on me."

"My name is not Voldemort," Tom hisses, the promise of violence lurking beneath his words.

Slughorn narrows his eyes. "And who exactly are you?"

Tom takes a step back, gaze darting to Hermione. She tries to convey in one look how desperately they need Slughorn to leave this room in one piece and with their secret safely sealed between his lips.

Tom sweeps his ebony hair back from his pale brow and leans against a ministry desk. He fumbles with parchment, then a quill, his fingers dancing the feather between them.

"If I'm being completely honest, Professor, I don't know." He pauses, the quill somersaulting over his knuckles. "The boy you knew is dead. He died a long time ago. It was a slow descent as pieces of him were torn away by the magic you explained to him. You gave him the power to tear himself apart."

The older man's mouth opens, but a single look from Tom has his jaw snapping shut. "I suggest you don't forget what you told him. The gateway you opened for that desperate boy was dark indeed.

"But that's not your fault, Horace. He was going to find those books whether you helped him or not. All you did was hasten the process." Tom swallows, his throat bobbing as his sapphire stare holds Slughorn motionless. "After all, you weren't the only one helping me. I might have been part of your pathetic Slug club, but all you ever wanted from me was a piece of my glory. But Marcus, he wanted so much more, which means he gave more too."

It's a terrible thing to watch the professor's face as he discerns Tom's meaning. His brows shoot upward and his mouth goes slack. It's a good minute before he manages to ask, "Marcus Weatherstone?"

Tom's answering smile is a grim line with barbed hooks for edges. "I'm surprised you didn't know. Then again, you lot only pay attention to what you want to see."

"When?"

"You don't want to know."

"I'm sorry."

Tom's laugh is cold, an echo of darkness. "Now you care. Weren't you just proclaiming I was Voldemort himself? Decide already. Am I a boy you pity or a monster you seek to destroy? I cannot be both."

"You are Voldemort," Slughorn insists. Tom's gaze is steel, expression stoic. "But I must admit that if you were the monster I came to understand, I would be dead already and you would not have spoken of such… indelicate truths."

"Monster or boy, Horace. You must choose," Tom insists.

Slughorn casts a glance at Draco, then Hermione. "And what do the two of you have to say on the matter?"

Their gazes lock, winter skies and toasted cinnamon. Hermione reads the truth as plainly in Draco's eyes as he must in hers. Now isn't the time to pull their punches.

"Tom has only ever protected me, Professor," Hermione explains. "I… I don't think I could ever be in love with a monster."

The older man blinks, as if her response makes no sense at all. She supposes it doesn't, given who she is and who he believes Tom to be.

"And it would be particularly odd for two of us to fall in love with a monster, don't you think, sir?"

Tom's aloof façade cracks when Draco speaks. He stares at the blond, dark brows arching.

Draco's lips twist. "As if you didn't know."

Hermione certainly did. But based on the scattered emotion ravaging Tom's handsome features, he did not.

Slughorn takes a step back, as if sensing he's intruded into a private moment. Hermione wishes desperately that they could let him go, that she could give Tom and Draco this moment.

"Later," she murmurs softly. Both Tom and Draco release a breath, their chests shuddering in near synchronicity.

Hermione steadies herself, forcing her focus toward the gaping professor. "As you can tell, Tom is no longer the boy you knew at Hogwarts. He's changed, in profound and drastic ways. And his safety depends on you."

Slughorn lets out a long sigh and settles into a chair. "Tell me everything."

So they do. They tell him about the diary and the Horcruxes and their escape. About Harry and his plans with Tom. The dark boy even explains the details of the ritual Draco and Hermione have never heard before. Then he looks Slughorn directly in the eye and explains magic no longer flows through his veins.

A dagger pushes deeper into Hermione's heart. Tom's fractured tone is enough to make her want to bury his shadowed visage in her breast and never let him go. Nothing she can ever do will alleviate this particular wound. It may have been his choice, but she is sure he did not fully comprehend the price.

Slughorn frowns, expression wary despite the intimate truths still echoing through the small room. "Forgive me if I don't simply believe you, Tom."

The dark boy shrugs, but the quill snaps between his fingers. "I can hardly help what you choose to believe, Horace."

"There is a way…" the professor trails off, his brows raising.

Draco understands before Hermione. He takes a half step forward, angled jaw tense. "That is not necessary."

Hermione watches the depths of Tom's sapphire eyes tangle. His hands clench to fists as he looks at Slughorn through ebony bangs. "Fine."

She blinks, certain she heard him incorrectly. "Fine?"

His lips press into a thin line as he turns to her. "Fine. I've invaded enough minds for my own purposes. It's only fair I…"

But he can't finish. Nor can he hide the pain that distorts the handsome lines of his face into something broken and dark.

She can't stand the idea of Slughorn in Tom's mind. Of anyone knowing the darkest moments of pain he has endured. Because without magic, he has no way to curtail the invasion. He will be an open book. His scars will be dragged open, leaving gaping wounds. And some of his scars are hers.

"No."

Slughorn looks at her sharply. "It is the only way to be sure, Ms. Granger."

"No," she repeats. "He can't protect himself against you. You could do anything to him and he couldn't stop you. If you want to know about Tom, look in my head. Look in Draco's. But he's off limits."

The professor sighs, rubbing a hand at his greying temple. "I don't think you fully understand the gravity of the situation, Ms. Granger."

"I think it is you who do not understand."

"I understand your feelings have compromised your judgment," Slughorn says gently, as if speaking to a child.

Hermione bristles, her teeth grinding to contain her rage. She is so far from the naïve girl he taught at Hogwarts.

"I would be very careful with what you say next." Tom's voice is deceptively calm, but Hermione can see her fury reflected in his charged stare.

Slughorn looks between them. He shakes his head. "Do not be so easily swayed, Hermione. Tom Riddle is nothing but lies and manipulation. Just look at the ring on his finger. Do you know what that is?"

She catches the flare of Tom's eyes before he masters his reaction. Her gut twists. Slughorn can't possibly be right. She knows Tom. But dread coils through her stomach as she remembers just how many dark secrets still lurk behind those hypnotic eyes.

Slughorn raises a brow at Tom. "Shall I tell them?"

Tom's shoulders are a stiff line. "I have nothing to hide, Horace."

"Fine. Then you should know he wears the Resurrection Stone on his hand. I assume you are familiar with the Deathly Hallows? Well, this is one of the artefacts."

Hermione's stomach flips over. She recalls the book Dumbledore gifted her. The stone. The wand. The cloak. She has no idea what happened to the wand, but based on what Slughorn has told them, Tom is in possession of both the stone and the cloak.

While this is unsettling news, she can't divine what Tom could want with the Hallows. He's lost all his magic and from what she can tell, that's an irreversible loss. And the Hallows involve life and death, not every day magic. It makes no sense for him to be collecting them now.

"That doesn't prove anything," she says through numb lips. "Just because he has the Resurrection Stone doesn't mean he's evil, Professor."

"But it does prove he's hiding something," Slughorn counters. "And I'm not leaving this room until I know what it is."

"Then you were never here."

Draco's tone is pure ice, the Death Eater he once was rising to the surface. Hermione gapes at him. They cannot possibly… she can't even think it. Draco cocks an amused platinum brow and she abruptly realizes what he means to do.

Of course. It's their best option.

Slughorn's wand swings wildly between the two of them, his gaze growing more frantic with each passing second. Draco's lips quirk and Hermione understands he's enjoying this. Slughorn was never her favorite professor, but he was downright rude to Draco and she suspects the blond hasn't forgotten.

She grabs Tom by the arm and drags him toward the door. "Let's let Draco clean up this particular mess, love."

He casts a darkly amused look at the squirming professor and follows her out the door. Slughorn doesn't even try to stop them. Hermione shakes her head as they lean against the wall of corridor. They're deep in the Ministry and the shadows obscure them from sight.

"Still as much of a spineless coward as ever," Tom mutters.

A dark chuckle crosses her lips. "Indeed. I always despised him. Made my skin crawl with all his obsequious rubbish."

The door to the break room clicks shut. It takes Draco a moment to find them in the depths of the hall. He strides toward them with a lazy smile. When he reaches their position, he leans close to Hermione and mutters, "it's done."

They wait in silence until the door opens again. Slughorn stumbles out, his hands searching his pockets frantically. When he can't find what he's looking for, he lets out a low moan and turns back to the reception.

Hermione manages to wait until the professor is clear of the hallway before sniggering. "What the hell did you make him think?"

"Nothing. But I may have made him forget he transformed his flask into a chocolate frog card." Draco's grey eyes skitter to Tom's and stick. "And he has no memory of ever seeing you here."

"Thanks," Tom murmurs.

Draco doesn't look away and Tom narrows his eyes the slightest bit. The blond raises a pale brow and Tom's full lips press into a hard line.

Finally, when Hermione can't bear the growing tension a moment longer, Draco sighs and releases Tom. He runs a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair and she's reminded of his rumpled state.

"Let's get out of here," Draco suggests and although Hermione knows she should return, she doesn't protest.

The three of them link arms and Draco raises his wand. A moment later the Ministry twists away and they're deposited on a misty moor, the wind tearing at their clothes and howling in their ears.

~*Break*~

Draco is patient.

He waits until Tom presses a warm kiss to Hermione's trembling lips and sends her to bed, her exhaustion clear in the sagging slope of her shoulders and droop of her lids.

Only when he is sure she is resting does he clamp his hand around Tom's wrist and haul the other boy into the damp night. The fog lies heavy around the safehouse, obscuring the stars and diffusing the moon into an eerie orb.

He can just make out the delicate contours of Tom's face in the haunting glow. The dark boy's eyes are hard flint and his jaw is set. He's ready for this fight.

That's fine. So is Draco.

"That's why you stole my wand, isn't it?"

Tom's lips press together, refusing to answer. Draco lets out a bitter laugh. "I don't need you to confirm what I already know, Tom. I've put the bloody pieces together now that Slughorn pointed out the obvious. You have the stone, the wand and the cloak."

The dark boy remains silent.

Draco just reigns in the urge to throttle him. "So, you've collected the Deathly Hallows while we were all looking the other way. Congratulations, you manipulative git."

"Does this conversation have a point?" Tom sounds bored.

Draco knows better. He sees the muscles of Tom's neck straining, the leap of his pulse at the hollow of his throat.

"Yes," Draco snaps. "You're going to bloody well tell me why."

"Or what?" Tom lifts a dark brow. "You're going to torture me? You're going to force the truth out of my mind? I heard you earlier, Draco. You're not going to do a damn thing to me."

Throwing Draco's feelings back in his face is not Tom's finest moment. Draco forces a steadying breath into his lungs. This approach isn't working.

And really, he should know better. Tom is the product of ruthless selfishness, of the needs of others coming before him at every turn. He will always shut down when Draco starts swinging. It's all he knows how to do.

Draco needs trust right now, not antagonism.

He rakes his hands through his hair and stares at Tom with wide eyes. He drops his occlumency shields for good measure. It shouldn't matter now that Tom can't use magic, but Draco wants every barrier between them eliminated.

"I'm sorry," he says, "it just caught me off guard."

Tom shifts, but tension remains in every facet of his frame.

Draco continues, "I guess I'll start with my truth. Yes, I love you. Yes, I'm in in love with you."

This gets a reaction. Tom's eyes go darker than the night. "Then why did you end things between us?"

He just resists saying something inane like you know why. It's plain Tom doesn't fully understand what lies between them. "For Hermione, Tom. The way you love her, it's special. And she deserves to have all of you."

Tom nods, shadows shifting over his face. "I guess I do not fully understand love. Desire, that's easy, but I am unfamiliar with love."

He's never experienced it before now. Not that Draco is any better. Whatever complicated desire Tom feels for him is the closest Draco has ever come to being loved. Hermione's affection, although appreciated, is something else. The attachment of a friend, not a lover.

"Just because I love you, doesn't mean I need anything from you," Draco explains, voice just above the rustle of the wind. "The only thing I want is for you to find peace and I believe Hermione is your best chance, not me."

Tom blinks, sooty lashes caressing his pale skin. "You deserve peace too."

The sentiment makes his heart stutter. He wants nothing more than to feel Tom's lips on his again.

He puts a cigarette to his mouth to quell the urge. Tom's dark stare lingers on his lips and heat licks through Draco like a flame. He takes a long drag and forces his gaze to the rising smoke instead of the alluring boy illuminated to mysterious perfection by the hazy moon.

"I've never been good at denying myself what I want," Tom murmurs, dark and sensual.

It takes everything in Draco not to react. He sucks desperately on the cigarette. "If you want her, you can't have me."

He imagines the pout of Tom's pull lips. It does wicked things to him. He coughs on his next inhale.

"Why are you so sure?"

Thankfully Tom sounds genuinely curious, the flirtatious edge to his voice gone. Draco still doesn't dare look at him. "Because Hermione and I have talked about it. And as much as she might wish to be okay sharing you, she isn't. It's not how she loves and we need to accept that."

"You… you talked about me?"

Now Draco does look. Tom is wide eyed, his pale skin awash with the ghostly pale light. He hates how much he craves the feel of that flesh beneath his lips. How much he longs to bring a flush to Tom's cheeks as he…

Draco's jaw clamps down. He was doing so well. He's not going to let alluring lighting ruin everything. It's several more drags on the cigarette before he can manage an even tone.

"It's not like we compared notes or anything, but yes. We talked about the possibility of us… sharing you."

Tom makes a noise halfway between a moan and a choked laugh. It goes straight to Draco's groin. His pupils devour the azure of his eyes. "Salazar, Draco. Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to torture me?"

Draco thinks they're doing a good job of torturing the both of them. It doesn't help when Tom rips the cigarette from between Draco's fingers and brings it to his mouth. Draco watches the smoke curl around his lips and his slacks become too tight in an instant.

Sweet Salazar indeed.

He studies the twisting whorls of fog sliding between them. "No, I'm only trying to have you understand. To be transparent about the conversations I've had with Hermione."

"She mentioned you kissed her."

Draco can feel the heat of Tom's stare searing into him. Thankfully, this isn't a memory that stokes his own desire, no matter how Tom may feel. "We wanted to prepare for our roles. But I think she wanted to be kissed by someone who didn't want her, who wouldn't push her."

Tom hums in the back of his throat and passes the cigarette back to Draco. Their fingers brush, sparks skittering across Draco's skin at the contact. He tastes Tom's mouth on the paper. It's nearly too much for his fragile self-control.

But this conversation isn't only about the desire crackling between Draco and Tom. He pulls his pieces together and glares at Tom. The other boy is the picture of wanton desire, all heavy lids and bitten lips, but Draco forces himself to remain stoic.

"Tell me about the Hallows, Tom."

Some of the heat fades from Tom's visage. "You know me too well."

"I know you use your body too often."

"It works."

"I know."

"Apparently not well enough," Tom sighs, stealing back the cigarette.

"I'm not about to judge you," Draco reminds him. "I was a bloody Death Eater for Salazar's sake."

Silence stretches between them. Draco watches the smoke fade into the mist and waits. He can't push this.

They walk deeper into the moor, the fog consuming them entirely. Draco can barely see Tom now, the other boy merely swirling shadow and soft edges.

When they're so far into the vast expanse that Draco worries they're thoroughly lost, Tom says, "they're not for me."

He stops and Draco nearly runs into his back. Tom turns slowly. He's a distorted version of himself, a reflection in a fogged mirror viewed from an odd angle. "The Hallows. They aren't for me. Maybe they were when I took your wand—how did you manage to master the Elder Wand anyway?"

"I disarmed Dumbledore. I had no idea that was the Elder wand," Draco admits. No, he didn't put that particular piece of the puzzle together until Slughorn pointed out the ring. It terrifies him that the wand was so close to Voldemort for so long. Draco's brows pinch together. "Wait, how did you know it was the Elder wand and Voldemort didn't?"

"We were never the same person. At least, not recently." Tom sighs, pulling a fresh cigarette from his leather jacket. "When he split my soul so many times, he also destroyed his sanity. Even though he had the resources to put the pieces together, to figure out where the wand went, he didn't have the finesse to obtain the correct answer. Instead, he desecrated Dumbledore's tomb, among other things."

"But how did you know?"

"Whatever magic brought me back, it elevated my senses. I could feel the power of your wand. It only took a few trips to my library to confirm it was the Elder wand."

"And then you stole it from me," Draco sighs.

Tom gives a careless shrug. "It's not like I could ask you for it. The Elder wand has to be won. I had no choice but to defeat you in some sort of combat."

"So all I have to do is punch you in the face to get it back?"

The haze doesn't conceal Tom's flinch. "Please don't. I'm rather defenseless now, if you hadn't noticed."

"Did you just say please?"

Tom takes an aggressive drag of his cigarette and glares daggers at Draco. "Fuck you, Draco."

A contrite sigh escapes his lips. He keeps forgetting just how far Tom has fallen. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You're just usually so… demanding."

The hint of smirk tugs at the dark boy's lips. "You enjoy it when I'm demanding."

And Draco's trousers are back to being uncomfortably tight.

He groans and Tom's smirk erupts into a full-blown smile. It's almost worth the discomfort and sexual frustration.

He scrambles around the more deviant thoughts to stay on track. "So what do you need them for?"

"I can't tell you, not yet." Tom takes a step closer and suddenly Draco can't breathe. The dark boy lets his lips skate across Draco's cheek before he murmurs into Draco's ear, "I need you to trust me."

Draco's breath hitches and his pulse becomes a herd of hippogriffs. "I can't think straight, Tom."

Tom chuckle is a deep rumble that threatens to undo him. Draco tries to move away, but slender fingers cup his jaw, freezing him in place.

"You can trust me, Draco," Tom murmurs. His breath is sweet with cloves. "I'm doing this for her."

Even though they're talking about Hermione. Even though he has vowed to stop, Draco wants nothing more than to close the gap between them. To feel those satin lips part for him.

Tom's nose trails the line of his jaw and Draco trembles. His lips press to the corner of Draco's, branding him.

Draco wrenches back, shattered moan on his lips.

"Fuck, Tom. You can't bloody do that. Not anymore"

"I told you, I'm bad at denying myself."

Draco pulse is an unsteady gallop. "Well, you're going to have to get better. I don't have enough self-control for the both of us."

"Good," Tom mutters.

Before Draco realizes what's happening, Tom's mouth is on his. He gasps and they're lost to each other, lips sliding in a desperate mess of desire.

Draco knows he has to pull away. That this is the worst thing they could be doing, but Merlin, he craves this. He craves the soft moan that escapes Tom as Draco's tongue traces the roof of his mouth. The delicious friction that grows between them as their hips meet.

They stumble and fall. The damp ground soaks through Draco's button-down in an instant. He doesn't notice. Tom mouth is on his skin, writing promises he will never keep. Draco's belt clinks as Tom's deft fingers work it apart. The zipper on his charcoal slacks tugs down and a needly mewl escapes Draco's trembling lips.

He needs to stop this. He can't look Hermione in the eye tomorrow if they do this.

He buries his hands in Tom's ebony hair and gasps as the other boy swallows him down. His hips piston and he can no longer remember why this is such a terrible choice.

Draco loses time to the heady pleasure. The mix of lusty heat and damp coolness make his body tremble at the edge of sensory overload. He explodes into Tom's hungry mouth.

He barely notices when the dark boy flips him over, the moor cooling his flushed chest. He rises to his knees on instinct, his elbows sinking into the dirt. He's too lost in the familiar rite of pleasure to protest as Tom's fingers coax him into quivering anticipation. He can feel a tug at the back of his mind, an echo of the knowledge that this is wrong, but he can't focus long enough to understand.

He wants this more than anything.

Draco gasps, low and fractured, when Tom finally sinks into him. His fists gather clumps of heather as they begin to move together.

Tom's lips press against the shell of his ear. "Tell me, Draco."

He groans as Tom angles his hips for maximum pleasure. "Tell… tell you…what?"

The next thrust makes ecstasy explode through him. It's not enough to push him over the edge, but it's dangerously close. Tom repeats the motion and Draco collapses, face hitting the dirt.

"Tell me how you feel."

He has just enough functioning brain cells to realize what Tom requires of him. He arches his back into Tom and chokes out, "I love you, Tom. Merlin, I love you so much."

The slap of Tom's hips against his ass becomes frenzied. A calloused hand reaches down and grasps him, stroking boldly. Draco sees stars. The darker boy follows him a moment later.

"Draco," he hisses, mouth hot against Draco's shoulder blade.

It takes Draco a good half minute to understand what they've just done. And why that's the worst thing. His charcoal slacks are bunched at his ankles and his shirt is soaked through with sweat, mud and Merlin knows what else.

He rolls away from Tom, tugging the slacks up as he goes. He feels mud caked on his face. He swipes at it, but only manages to smear it further.

Tom has refastened his own trousers by the time Draco whirls on him.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"You seemed to enjoy it."

Draco hisses and takes a step closer to the other boy. "You know what I'm asking you."

The expression on the brunette's face is surprisingly contrite. "I know we shouldn't have… but when you said you loved me earlier, it's all I could think about. I couldn't go a moment longer without hearing you say those words while I was buried inside you."

"And what exactly are we going to tell Hermione? I'm fairly certain she was trusting us to keep our hands to ourselves."

A shadow falls across Tom's face. "We don't tell her anything. It's not like we've never had sex before."

"We've never had sex while she thought you weren't involved with me." Draco crosses his arms. "I'm not going to lie for you, Tom. If she asks, I'm telling her what happened out here."

For a moment, violence simmers beneath Tom's pale skin. But then he nods, a curt, jerky motion. "Fine. Tell her whatever you want. I don't care. Just don't say a bloody thing about the Hallows."

Draco is abruptly reminded that as much as he understands Tom, so much of the boy is still a mystery. He searches azure eyes for answers he knows he will never find. "Fine. But don't do this again."

"I didn't do anything you didn't want."

Draco knows. His body still tingles from the waves of pleasure Tom produced. "I know and I don't blame you… not like that. But I'm trying to get over you, Tom, and I can't bloody do that if you're fucking me whenever it suits you. That isn't fair to either of us."

"You could fuck me," Tom replies flatly, but Draco can see the amusement sparkling in the depths of his heated gaze.

"You're impossible."

"Uniquely so," Tom says. He reaches out and brushes away the mud from Draco's cheek. "Truce?"

Draco exhales, his breath making eddies in the fog. He doesn't have the energy to fight Tom anymore tonight.

"Truce."