She exhaled heavily, cheeks stained with dried tears. "I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice cracking. "I love you."
It was the first time she told Tom she had loved him. Tom smiled softly at her the feelimg bittersweet, as her wand dug into his chest.
"They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. So where, my love, should I have kept you? I told you! I promised you, I would be whoever you wanted me to be! So why... please just get it over with," he pleaded. It hurt. He wished she would do it before he could have the chance to cry; or worse, hurt her while trying to save himself.
Hermione blinked, pain etched on her own face at the sorrow of her lover. She looked up at the sky once, perhaps offering her final prayer, before raising the wand to Tom's neck. "Sectumsempra," she muttered, watching with hollow eyes as Tom was flung back, deep gashes riddles across his body, almost immediately pooling around him. He laughed, coughing, gurgling blood. He had hoped it would be quick, at least.
Sobbing, she pointed the wand at herself, just as the howls of a werewolf reached them from afar. Tom watched with widened eyes as Hermione's lips trembled, "avada kedavra," she whispered, not sparing Tom another look.
Her wand flung out of her grasp, her body immediately falling limp. Her eyes went white, jaw slack. The sound of her sniffling was gone,
leaving Tom in the silence.
"Hermione!" Tom cried weakly, rolling over to crawl towards her. His nails scraped against the hard concrete, chipping his fingers raw. He cried, desperately reaching out for Hermione. He pulled her into his arms, her body limp and unresponsive. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tom chanted, petting her hair affectionately, his hands shook and his eyes went bleary. "Please, help!" Tom cried, "I'm sorry," he kissed the top of her head.
He yelled, screaming with her head pulled to his chest. The werewolves, they were getting closer. Though he could not see, he could hear the way they were edging closer, rustling amongst the leaves. "Please, wake up," he begged.
He screamed, not out of pain but out of sorrow. He screamed for as long as his throat would allow him. The wolves remained watching them. When death came for Tom that night, he was not afraid. When he held Hermione's body close to him, despite the lack of its usual warmth, he was not afraid.
Death was not cold for Tom Riddle. Death was not fearsome for him. Solely because he had Hermione by his side. He coughed his final words out, ones that fell on ears that wouldn't- no, couldn't, hear.
— "I love you, Hermione Granger."
