Tom was already out of bed by the time Harry managed to open his eyes and keep them open. The room had fallen into darkness, leaving Tom to pace in nothing but the dim embers of the hearth.
Harry sat up, folding his legs to his chest and hugging them close. With the fire so far down and the bed so empty he was already becoming chilled.
Or perhaps it had something to do with what they just seen.
It had been easy to open his mind to the memories, to let them flow as her remembered them. If he did nothing but stand back and let it play out, just observe and not try to be a part of it all, then it all happened as it had before.
It was Tom's response that had been a bit of a shock, though, perhaps it shouldn't have been...Harry had honestly expected anger. Not directed at him but simply in being shown the monster that Tom had somehow grown into. Confusion was also warranted. Sure. It was easy to see the twisted man that Voldemort was, how he relished his power and the fear he held over others, and think that it had been his plan all along to fall down a dark and destructive path.
Clearly Tom knew the path he had been traveling down was dark. How could he not? It must have been quite a shock to realize, though, that such a path could be just as destructive to himself as it was to those he wished to control.
Every time Tom passed before the banked fire of the heat the embers flared, throwing the room into a slightly brighter shade of gold before snuffing back down to glimmers.
He probably didn't even know he was doing it.
"Tom?" He called out when it seemed that Tom was too lost in his own thought to see that Harry was awake.
Tom jerked as though stung, but quickly recovered and before Harry could even blink he was there, leaning onto the bed, hands hovering over Harry as though afraid to touch him before settling on cupping his face.
"Harry, I..." he began, but could not seem to find the words to keep going.
"It's okay," Harry said with a little smile, "I'm okay."
"It is is not okay!" Tom recoiled, though he did not leave the bed or release his gentle hold on Harry, "it's anything but...I..."
Harry was already shaking his head, "I told you...you're not...him."
"That...thing," Tom said after a brief pause, he did not exactly hunch in on himself, though he had always held himself so tall and put together that the slight slouch of his shoulders and tipping of his head seemed so pronounced. "I want to say that I cannot understand how I...became that...that thing. What was it that you asked? How many horcruxes I had made?" Tom took a deep breath, when he looked back at Harry there was so much sorrow in his dark eyes that Harry's breath caught in his chest.
"How much of your soul can you rip out before you stop being human?"
Harry swallowed dryly, his voice was shallow and hoarse, he said, "but you didn't. You're still you, not him."
"Yes," Tom said, softly, but desperation rang in his tone, "I just have to make sure that it stays that way."
That seemed like such an obvious statement that Harry simply shrugged. Of course Tom wouldn't become that. He had already changed so much, and now that he'd seen how much of a monster Voldemort was there shouldn't be any reason for him to continue down that path.
Tom, evidently, did not think it would be so simple.
He was pensive for several more minutes, his grip on Harry not letting up though his dark eyes were unfocused and far away.
"I know what to do," Tom said after several silent minutes. He rose from the bed, pulling Harry up behind him. They stopped only long enough to put on shoes and grab their cloaks before Tom was leading them out of the common room door and down the cold dark hall to the main stairs.
"I didn't realize we had slept so long," Harry said as they passed window after darkened window in their mad dash through the deserted castle. Tom didn't look back from wherever it was that he was taking Harry, though he answered all the same.
"You were asleep for a time, the potion, no doubt, kept you from waking."
Well, there wasn't much he could do about that. He would just have to wait until tomorrow to speak with Hermione and Ron again. "I hope they'll be alright," he said softly, then Tom turned a corner and Harry knew exactly where they were.
Second floor, headed towards a corridor that Harry was, perhaps, far too familiar with.
"Tom?" Harry began, steps slowing as they got to the bathroom door.
"It's alright, I promise," his grip tightened on Harry's hand as he opened the door and led them in.
Harry looked around, trying to spot, and hopelessly avoid, Myrtle. But she did not seem to be in residence at the moment. All the stalls were closed, but Tom did something, waving his wand almost carelessly, and proclaimed that they were alone.
He stopped before the tap, the one with the little carved snake on the side and looked to Harry for the first time since they left the room. He looked as though he might say something, but in the end he simply turned to the sink and whispered, "open," in a soft hiss.
The sink sprang back, just as Harry knew it would. And Tom took his hand once more to pull Harry into the hole, once they were through he turned back and closed the door with another quick command.
The tunnel leading to the chamber was in a lot better repair now than it had been when Harry was twelve. The path is smooth and free of slime, there were no discarded skeletal bodies of the basilisk's meals lining the way, and though the way was still steep, they managed to get down to the bottom of the tunnel with nothing more than carefully placed steps and a hand braced on the cold stone wall.
The way was dark, but Tom went forward with no hesitation, and Harry had no choice but to cling to his arm and follow along. Eventually the way leveled out and Harry was on flat earth once more. Tom paused for a moment, there was a groaning, scratching sound from up head and suddenly they were walking into a space that was just as dark, though the air was free flowing and if anything, cooler than before.
Tom snapped his fingers and a multitude of a candles sprung to life. There had to be at least a hundred of them. They were scattered all over the floor. Single tapers, branches of brass and silver candelabras, all flickered and glowed against the silent, cool breeze of the camber.
Tom rushed ahead to an alcove Harry hadn't noticed the first time he had been there...he had been a little too preoccupied for too much sightseeing, but now he inched forward to get a better look at why they had to come there, tiptoing around the boarder of the candles so as not to disturb any of them. The alcove housed a bookcase carved into the slick grey stone upon which sat many a fat leather bound book. They must have been enchanted to withstand the moisture, as the one that Tom plucked up opened like it was new. And dry.
Tom leafed through the book frantically, "this was Salazar Slytherins personal library," he said, shutting the book and replacing it on the shelve to grab up another, "or well, some of it. The stuff he didn't want anyone else to see, at least."
"What are all these?" Harry ran a finger down the spins of several books, though none held any sort of identifying mark. No author name, no title, no number to show which might come first.
Tom put the book back, and sighing, reached for another, "journals, for the most part. Though some are spell books or instruction manuals for rituals. All written by him...all written in Parseltongue so that only his heirs could read them." Tom didn't pick another book at once, he stood staring at the shelve as though it were purposefully hiding the right book firm him. Then he gave himself a shake, then laughed hollowly.
"I thought that when I found it, when I read what he had written, what he wanted, what his plans for the future had been, I thought I could do it and somehow..." he exhaled slowly, "somehow he would be proud...of me." The last was said in little more than a whisper, as though he were afraid to actually say it aloud.
Harry had the feeling he was a bit ashamed, maybe embarrassed to have ever thought such a thing. But he understood. He had hoped that his actions in the past had made his parents proud. Once Sirius was gone, he was only a little surprised to realize, Harry had wanted to keep making him proud too.
"And there is a ritual or spell here you think will help, er, future you?" Harry itched to take one of the books down himself, see Parseltongue written out, but.
But these books were bound to be full of dark magic. The sort of thing that could really twist someone. The sort of spells and rituals that Tom had probably enjoyed, but Harry wasn't sure he could bring himself to look at.
Tom ran his eyes over the near uniform covers, they were all shades of green or grey and other than slight size variations between them, there was nothing to make any of them stand out. He took hold of a short, fat book on a lower shelf and flipped it open halfway, "a ritual, yes!" he stood up quickly and lowered the book for Harry to see.
Harry squinted down at the page at first, as though it wouldn't count as him looking if he didn't do it full on, then blink and opened his eyes when nothing happened. And when he realized that the writing on the page was definitely not English.
How odd, that he should hear Parseltongue as English and not realize a difference, but here were words written out soft, looping furls that was completely foreign, and yet.
"I can read this?" Well it wasn't exactly reading so much as Harry looked at the words and knew what they were instantly...which was kinda like reading, once he got to thinking about it. He had just assumed there would be some lag between his eyes seeing the words and his brain understanding them, and yet...
He turned away from the page to stare at Tom instead of heading back down that loop once more. "What is it?"
Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, brows furrowed, he said, "there was quite a few...unsavory rituals in here. Things that Slytherin had wanted to implement on people to keep them in line. Loyal to only himself or his heirs. I suppose he thought he would have many of them...instead of just one."
"It's been a while...you know since he did all this....maybe there were more heirs at one point. Maybe they just never found his chamber," Harry tilted his head and looked around, "it is weird that no one else ever found this place."
Tom shook his head, holding the book back up to Harry, "that isn't important. What do you know of unbreakable vows?"
"Uh, I don't," Harry said simply.
Tom's face softened, the frantic energy fading to fond calm, "unbreakable vows are made between two people to assure that pacts are held up. However, they are not exactly unbreakable. See, one can go around them, though the person will die. This is no real problem for someone who has taken steps to assure that their death won't be permanent or those who have hidden some of their life force in an object."
"The Horcruxes...."
"Exactly," Tom nodded curtly, "there must also be a third party to an unbreakable vow, someone to witness and cast the spell between the participating parties, and well...for obvious reason, we don't want to go down that path."
Harry gaped at him, "you want to do an unbreakable vow?"
"No. I want to do something much more powerful and lasting than that," Tom's smile was nearly feral as he held the book back up to Harry, his finger tapping just under a line of swurvy text that read, 'Blood Bond."
If Harry had been gawking before there might not even be a word for what he was doing as Tom set off for the rings and rings of candles in a flurry.
A Blood Bond...well that sounded pleasant. Down right cheery. Nothing bad could ever happen with that.
"Er, Tom..."
He turned back to Harry and, seeming to realize that he hadn't been followed, picked his way to the outer ring of candles and held out his hand, "it's safe. I promise, Harry. If there's any potential harm to anyone it's to myself," Tom took a deep breath and left the circle to stand by Harry's side again, "I could never harm you, and that's why I need to do this...to make sure that there is no future where you could be harmed."
"But..." Harry's head buzzed, or perhaps that was his ears or the very air itself, "you could be hurt, and I..."
Tom shook his head, "Salazar Slytherin made this particular bonding ritual for his most loyal followers, people he wouldn't want to harm, to be preformed with himself, so we know that it will be safe for you, to assure that the one initiating the bond would always stay loyal to him."
"But-"
"It differs from a vow because it cannot be broken, and it only requires the two of us...or possibly only me, so long as I have a sample of your blood."
"Tom?"
But Tom did not appear to hear, he kept on, "unlike the vows. It won't allow the one who initiates it to go against their bonded...well...Slytherin would have wanted them to call him their leader, but that doesn't quite work for us."
"Tom!" Harry said sharply, drawing Tom's dark and faraway gaze back to him, "Tom this sounds dangerous. It...well, it sounds like mind control or something."
Tom, thankfully, seemed to take Harry's worries into account, he was silent for several long seconds as he looked to the book, then back to Harry, and finally shook his head. "Not mind control. I already don't want to hurt you, this just makes sure that, no matter the future, I can't."
"But what if you change your mind?" Harry blurted out, only after realizing how detrimental to his health it might be to say Tom shouldn't do this in case he decided he'd like to be Voldemort after all. "What I mean is...We, er," he blushed furiously, this was not, at all, how he wanted to have this conversation, "we, er....like each other, right?"
In answer, Tom swept forward, pulling Harry into a kiss and embrace that left him light headed and rather heated, and did nothing, at all, for his wildly uncontrollable blushing.
"Right...ah....Well," he cleared his throat, still gripping Tom's robes and trying not to look into his smirking, stupidly handsome face so he wouldn't have to pick whether to hit him or kiss him. "What I was trying to say...we like each other now, but what if that...changes?"
"Harry," Tom tucked the book under one arm and took Harry's hands in his own, "you could go back with your friends, destroy everything I have and leave me here a lone, and I can assure you that I will never regret this....Harry?"
Harry had hidden his face in Tom's shoulder when it all became too much. He took deep, even breaths and tried to will his throat to work and his eyes to not burn, "if you make me cry I'll be so angry with you," was all he managed to say, but it was enough for the tension in Tom's shoulders to ease.
He laughed, wrapping his arms around Harry's boney shoulder, "let me do this?"
"If it isn't harmful, then why don't others do it?" Harry asked, moving his face so that he was speaking into Tom's neck and not his chest.
Tom shrugged, "the ministry has always frowned on anything that could be seen as pushing a witch or wizard into positions of open servitude. There's a chance this particular ritual was simply lost in time due to a misunderstanding of its intent. Though, it is just as likely that Slytherin never shared it with the masses."
That did seem likely...there was nothing that seemed overtly dark about it...not that Harry was sure he would be able to tell what made a particular ritual dark or not. Was it the intent, or the ingredients? Were there parts of the day or night that were better for dark magic than others?
That really felt like something he should know.
"If it messes up...or...or, if it causes you pain, can we stop?"
There was a moment when Harry thought that Tom would simply say yes, but what he said was, "I'm not sure, but I still want to go through with it."
Harry nodded, "what do we have to do?"
With a soft smile, Tom pulled Harry into the rings of candles, "it should be done in a circle. This one was already here when I first found the camber."
"I don't remember it," Harry said distractedly, "there definitely weren't any candles."
"Here, stand," Tom took Harry by the shoulders once they were in the large, candless centre, "stand here. I'm going to go and get the rest of the things we'll need." Tom went off in the opposite direction of the bookcase to a table cut from the same stone as the rest of the room. From there he selected a few tools that Harry couldn't see and carried them back to Harry and the circle in a black clothed bundle that he sat on the floor.
"How do you know this ritual?" Harry asked, trying to settle his nerves as the bundle opened and a wickedly sharp blade caught the flickering light.
"When I ran out of homework in the summers and things at the shop were slow, I would come here. I read all of his books in the first year after finding the chamber."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, "You're just like Hermione, she would have done the same too."
Tom tensed, for just a moment before his shoulder shook with laugher, "I suppose I am," he flashed Harry a bright grin before going back to work.
From the bundle he took a little jar of coarse black powder, he walked counterclockwise around the circle, sprinkling it as he went. When he had completed the circle the air around them shimmered and settled into a sort of shield with a rainbow sheen.
Harry was too entranced in the shimmering veil around them to pay a lot of attention to what else Tom was doing, a part of him was curious as what was going on, but a larger part was too nervous to look. He still trusted Tom, believed he wouldn't do anything to hurt Harry, at least not intentionally.
"Alright, we're ready," Tom said, standing from his crouch where he had done something with the knife and a large chunk of rose quarts and a wooden bowl of salt. "The rest is very straight forward."
"Okay...what do we do?"
"The books says that we both need to be in the centre," Tom moved them around until they were in the middle and then lowered himself to his knees.
"Um...should I?" It felt terribly wrong to be the only one standing, being the one to look down on Tom, now about level with Harry's shoulder.
Tom shook his head, "no, you're doing perfectly," the books was open by his knee on the floor, he spread it flat with one long finger, trailing over the serpentine script, "there are words I'm supposed to say but they aren't quite right...more of an act of fealty than what we want." He tapped a finger idly on the yellowed page, "perhaps the words don't matter."
"I think the words must matter, Tom," Harry said frantically, "aren't they sort an important part of any ritual?" This was sounding like a worse idea by second, but Tom was already shaking his head.
"Words, and even how one waves their wand, are really second to intent as far as magic is concerned, Harry. Think of acts of undirected juvenile magic, those that we preform before ever learning what magic is. There are no words of power there, no structured movements, just intent. If anything, wands and words are just focus points for one's magical energy."
Harry didn't know enough about magical theory to contest any of that, and wished he had been able to run that by Hermione real quick, or a teacher, at the very least. He shifted uneasily, his hands still held in Tom's loose, one handed grip as he thought it through.
"I suppose," Harry said softly, worrying his lip, "you could say nothing and just...feel what you want," maybe it wouldn't work. If he didn't do the words like they were supposed to, maybe the ritual just wouldn't do anything.
Best case scenario, honestly.
Tom nodded and looked up from the book with a smile, "fantastic idea. Quicker than trying to come up with a rhyme to fit our purpose."
"It rhymed?"
"This particular ritual, unfortunately, yes." Tom said dryly, then he took one of Harry's hands in each of his own, facing him fully now, "just relax," he said with another reassuring smile, though Harry could feel nothing but nerves between the both of them. Tom moved Harry's hands palms up, cupping each one in his own hand, his thumbs pressed into the centre of Harry's palms.
For a long moment there was nothing but the sputtering of candles and the ever shifting iridescent haze of the air around them. Harry was certain the ritual wouldn't work without the words. He would have to convince Tom that their future would be one of peace not because he pledged so to Harry, but because Harry was going to stay with Tom and make sure he didn't fall down a path to darkness, despair, and ruin.
The real question was how long would they stand in this chilly room before Tom would listen to reason about it all?
Then a warmth sufficed him. It was sudden and all encompassing, he might have brushed it off as a figment of his imagination, the chill of the room seeping so far into his bones for so long that he was starting to feel warmed by it, except that what he could see of Tom's features smoothed out, his shoulders relaxing and he released a long held breath.
For several more minutes nothing happened, so far that Harry could tell. He stood over Tom, who held his head bowed over his and Harry's clasped hands and not a sound could be heard in the massive room. Then Tom released one of Harry's hands to reach down for the knife, he still wore a contented smile on his face, though the nerves that wracked through Harry spiked.
"I really do feel as though we should say something...poignant, for the occasion," though all he did was pull one of Harry's hands forward, his own still cupped around Harry's smaller one, "this will hurt a little," Tom said softly just before pressing a kiss to Harry's palm, followed immediately by the cool edge of the blade.
Even knowing that it was coming, the sharp pain was a surprise, it was quick though. A thin, even line drawn on his palm and then Tom removed his hand from around Harry's and swiftly performed the same slash on himself. Tom dropped the knife, letting it bounce carelessly on the floor, sending crashing echoes through the chamber, but he was far too occupied with his ritual to notice. Harry had kept his hand how Tom had left it, slightly cupped, allowing the spilt blood to pool there, Tom positioned his hand under Harry's, tipping it just enough to spill the blood into his own wound. Harry cringed, it seemed horribly unsanitary...maybe that was why the ministry didn't like this sort of thing.
Before he could recoil any further though, Tom brought their hands together, palm to palm, blood to blood. He held Harry's hand tightly between both of his, his forehead pressed to where they were join and said one breathlessly whispered word.
"Ligare!'
Harry had honestly expected nothing to happen. It was a rushed ritual without words, it sounded more like blood oaths muggle children in movies did. Not something actual wizards got up to in ancient, corroding chambers.
Thus, he was completely unprepared for the heat, running like scalding liquid through his veins, from the palm of his hand down through his limbs, fingers, toes, his heart. It all burned with a sweet intensity.
He had thought they'd had a connection before. The bright glimmer of energy between them that allowed them little snippets into each other's emotions. Allowed them to share dreams. Allowed them to get closer to each other than most would think possible. It had felt so vast, so potent...yet it was nothing but a shadow compared to this. A single flickering flame next to the blazing sun.
Tom was there. He was everywhere. He coursed through Harry's veins, he was the air that filled Harry's lungs. He was light and darkness, and everything in between. He could feel Tom's surprise and elation, as the spellbinding took hold, as though it were his own.
With a gasp he opened his eyes and met Tom's, surprise he knew he mirrored shone in dark brown eyes, though it quickly faded, turning darker, smoldering. Like a switch had been flipped, the warmth that ran through Harry taking on a more demanding presence.
There were too many sensations all overlapping, one on top of the other in fast succession that it was too much to sort them all out. Tom's lips were on his lips. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Tom's hands were everywhere, dizzying in their frenzy to touch and pull everything all at once.
The sudden rush, the frantic pulse of the moment, thankfully, slowed. Harry blinked and Tom was lowering him down onto the soft, warm ground, and Tom was was above him, looking at him as though he had never seen Harry properly before. It wasn't until the warmth of Tom's skin touched his own that Harry even realized they had lost their robes, he couldn't recall doing so, and right then couldn't think of why it would matter.
"You're beautiful," Tom's voice was soft, reverent. Something that Harry could now feel completely. Tom's lips were back on his own and he pressed the expanse of his naked body down over Harry's, engulfing him in warmth. Everything slowed, then narrowed down to just them. Just Tom. No dark, cavernous chamber, no worries about uncertain futures.
They had explored one another, as any young couple would. But dreams were no match for reality no matter how nice they were, and the little they gotten up to in the real world had been hurried and infrequent.
Now, Tom's hands left a blazing trail down his chest, brushing over nipples budded from the chill air and down to his stomach. They were so much larger than Harry ever realized, big and strong and protective. And when they went lower, Harry easily made room for them, bringing his leg ups and around Tom's waist.
Tom did something then, cast a spell without words or motion, there was no change in the slow, hungry movements of his lips, no hitch of breath or twitch of a finger. Yet the spell was cast and the magic flowed, and Harry felt it like it had been his own. He had no idea what the spell might have been, couldn't even find it in him to care much, as Tom claimed his lips once more. Usually so cold, he left a burning path as his hands snaked further down Harry's body.
Tom cupped Harry's sex, squeezing gently, drawing a gasp from him as that had Harry scrabbling for purchase on Tom's back with desperate fingers. But he was moving on quickly, fingers running over Harry's surprisingly slick rim, before slipping in with ease.
Hanging on to purposeful thought was suddenly beyond him, too small of a part of himself begged to be inquisitive, how and why did Tom know a spell for lubrication? Should they really be doing this on a damp and cold floor? Why wasn't the floor damp and cold anymore?
Beyond that he had thought of what this would like enough times, usually alone in the bath, that he, momentarily, was overly concerned with remembering every impossibly overwhelming detail.
Then the pressure grew as Tom added another finger, twisting his hand as he plunged deeper, his kissing turning desperate, hungery once more, and every thought was quickly ripped from Harry's mind. Replaced with nothing that wasn't Tom. His body, warm and solid above Harry, his hands, his mouth, his very emotion as they flowed, unfettered, between them.
Quicker than he had expected, but not soon enough by far, Tom was moving back, removing his fingers, and bringing his hand up to Harry's thigh, raising it to better potion himself between Harry's legs, only to hold still. Gazing down at Harry, his breaths coming fast. He opened his mouth, lips red from his ravishment, as though he wished to say something. Harry could feel it. The struggle to fit words in the moment. To give voice to the enormous feeling that Tom had never encountered before. Had no word for. No idea how to handle. But Harry understood.
It was love.
Harry moved his hands from their white knuckled grip of Tom's shoulders to cup his face. He pushed everything else away, the excitement of the moment. The fear of the unknown. The doubt of the future. He only wanted Tom to sense that Harry understood. That he felt the same.
Jade green eyes looked into rich, amber brown, and Harry whispered, "I love you too."
Tom's lips were back on his instantly, love, pure and electric raced between them and finally. Finally! Tom pushed into him, slow, tenderness radiating between them through every inch of movement, and the careful strength of his hands as they held Harry close.
Any initial discomfort that might have been was swallowed by the feedback of Tom's own pleasure and how he perfectly slid into Harry, lighting up his nerves.
With a gasp Harry's head fell back, a moan slipping through his lips. Tom took that as invitation, latching onto Harry's neck to kiss bruises against his neck and shoulder as he began to thrust into him, hard and slow, and so very right. And suddenly Harry couldn't hold back any sounds that slipped his lips if he had wanted. They echoed over the damp walls and moss slicked floors, reverberating through the blinding darkness beyond warmth of the flickering sea of candles that surrounded them.
They built to a frenzied peak quickly. Pleasure on top of pleasure. Impossible to separate from each other. Harry's hands clutched frantically across Tom's broad back, nails digging in so desperately they must have drawn blood, but he could not let go, "Tom!" He managed to gasp out, a warning, a prayer of sorts, as everything within him crested.
There was a growl from Tom in response, feral and deep. With a final, powerful, thrust, Harry's hold crumbled. The dual sensation of both his and Tom's release was both numbing and exhilarating. The press of their bodies, so close they could be one. The way Harry could feel Tom pulse within him as his own body squeezed around Tom's length.
They were still connected when the world settled back around him, sticky and exhausted. And absolutely, amazingly perfect. His every nerve hummed with their shared love and satisfaction. Tom had relented the sharp nips his had worried into Harry's skin, to pepper gentle kisses across his neck and jaw instead. Seemingly lost in the feel and shape of Harry's skin over his lips, until Harry was able to lift a leaden arm up to run chilled fingers through Tom's hair.
Tom pulled back, hands taking over to touch every inch of Harry's face they cold as they smoothed his hair back and pressed over the apple of his cheeks, his brow, his jaw.
"You're amazing," Tom said, his voice hoarse and nearly reverent. He took a deep breath, something in him stilling, perched, ready to flee. Though there was nothing but determination in his dark eyes. He said, "I do...you know," this throat bobbled with nerves, but he pressed on, "love you."
The expression, 'so happy I could burst,' had never really meant anything to Harry before. Until that moment. Fore surely he would combust with how much joy he felt. There was simply too much of it. It was one thing to know, to feel what Tom felt for him. It was another that Tom trusted him to say it out loud. He couldn't help it, his laughter bounced off the walls in shivering peals, and the only thing that stopped it was Tom as he captured Harry's lips for another, lingering, kiss.
In the end they had to move when Tom's charm on the floor, to make it soft and warm, and free of water and slime, began to vanish. They help each other back into their robes, taking many stops along the way to trade wide smiles and kisses that were made clumsy in haste and by hardly concealed joy.
They left the knife and tools forgotten where they lay on the floor, Tom extinguishing the candles with a careless snap of his fingers. The giant carved doors falling shut behind them with a clash that was lost to them in their reverie.
Tom, so careful as he helped Harry back through the passage, stole long moments on their way through the halls to simply hold him and be held in return. Any boundary and wall that had been held between them for fear, of the future, of themselves and of each other, where now gone.
And as Tom pressed him against the wall of another dark corner of the still and silent castle, Harry was unbelievably happy to have followed Tom to the chamber. That Tom's crazy ritual had actually worked.
And he was beyond ready to walk hand and hand with Tom for the rest of time.