Work Text:
He was slipping, sliding on the mud, the floor slick with rain and impeding his escape. His hands scrabbled against the dripping bricks of the narrow alleyway, trying to put more distance between him and his pursuer.
If he didn't escape, he would die.
He rounded the corner, feeling the skin on his palm break as he did so, blood dripping to the floor.
No.
No.
He was already there.
***
Tom rounded the corner, lips curling upwards into a mockery of a smile. Another day, another murder.
Cedric Pretty Boy Diggory had been the perfect target, always smiling, always laughing. So disgustingly kind.
Tom had become close to him, and then struck. Slit his throat and used his own blood to paint a smile on his face, painted glitter so painstakingly onto his grey eyeballs, left him sitting on his armchair smiling at a wall for the rest of forever.
That was what he did.
He killed the pretty ones.
Tom had started with Draco Malfoy and his bright blonde hair, Regulus Black after that, then boy after boy after boy. Cedric had been his last, and Harry Potter would be next.
Optimistic, dreadfully pretty Harry Potter, who smiled at him with those bright emerald eyes, was practically begging for death.
Tom wasn't sure how he'd kill him, yet, but he had time. Harry would be his, and his alone.
“Hey, Tom!” Harry called.
Tom relaxed his smirk into something much gentler.
“Harry,” he said, holding his arms open and letting Harry bury his head in his chest, which was something he’d begun to do, and Tom couldn’t help but laugh at the sign of trust.
Harry should not have trusted.
“How’ve you been?”
Harry groaned. “Absolutely awful. I don’t know why I thought working in retail was a good idea.”
He burrowed himself further into Tom’s arms. “I’ve missed you.”
Tom smiled. “I’ve missed you, too.”
He drove them back to Harry’s house, regaling Harry with a (false) tale of what he did last night.
He paused as they went through the door, holding out a hand for Harry.
"Come on, don't leave me hanging!" Harry laughed, spinning around, arms outstretched, a smile upon his lips.
Tom smiled. Looks like he'd found Harry's cause of death, after all.
"Are you sure you want to hear the end?"
"Please. As soon as they realised you were listening, they probably kissed and made up."
"Or perhaps they murdered each other."
Harry gave him a Look. "And you saw, and didn't tell the police? Likely story."
"Sorry, love," Tom said, frowning. "I have to go."
"You're not seriously going to leave without telling me the end of the story, right?" Harry asked.
The door had already closed behind Tom.
***
Tom made his way down the shelves of rope, trying to deem which one was more appropriate. He figured that the kinder feeling, the better, right?
Kill with kindness, Harry had said once.
He'd regret that soon.
"Tom!" Harry cried, and Tom jumped.
How had Harry found him?
"Honestly, you could've just said you were going shopping. I know it might be hard for you to believe, but the rest of us do that too."
Tom relaxed. "How did you find me?"
"I followed your car," Harry said, cheerfully. "Besides, you owe me the end to that story!"
They'd ended up eating ice-cream, and Tom made his excuses to leave. He needed to kill Harry. Tonight.
The night drew in with a heavy thunderstorm, and Tom gripped the rope all the tighter. He would not be put off from ending Harry. Not today.
Harry's house was as silent as a grave.
A hand settled on Tom's shoulder, and he jumped.
"Hello, Tom," Harry whispered. "Strange that a serial killer would be so terrified of death.”
"H-Harry?" Tom asked, attempting to sound innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Harry shoved him to the floor and slammed his foot down on his shoulder. "Don't lie to me!" he screamed, unhinged.
"You're a murderer. A killer. And you were going to kill me, too."
Tom lay there, heart hammering in his chest. How had Harry found out?
"You're not even denying it," Harry scorned. "Pathetic."
Tom swallowed, eyes following Harry as he stalked across the room.
"Not so cocky now, are we?"
Three.
Tom still stood a chance of escape.
Two.
Harry left that exit open.
One.
"I guess I'll have to kill you, too."
Tom froze, and his window of escape slid away. Kill him?
Harry wouldn't do that.
"You wouldn't," he said. "You wouldn't want to stain your soul."
Harry laughed. "Darling, it's far too late for that."
Tom's brain stopped. Harry had killed people?
"Oh yes, Tom, I can see the cogs working." he said. "I've killed many people before. Far more than you, and for far better reasons."
Harry walked over, pulling Tom up by the collar.
"I've killed rapists, child abusers, murderers and worse," he said. "You are nothing compared to what I've seen."
He was going to die here, wasn't he?
"I've tasted every single one of them, in every single way."
Tom's stomach lurched as Harry forced him into a kiss, writhing as he tried to fight his way out of it. Harry's teeth cut through his lip, and Tom tasted blood.
"You'll work great in my dinner."
Harry leant back for a minute, basking in the taste of blood.
“I could have forgiven you for trying to kill me, but not them. None of them deserved it!”
There were a thousand things he could have said in that instant, about how Harry had no right to be the jury, judge, and executioner, but he didn’t.
Tom bolted.
The door slammed open, and Tom ran. He ran like the hounds of Hell were on his tail.
"Run all you like; it won't save you!"
Tom ran, and ran, and ran.
It had rained heavily, and everything was waterlogged.
He was slipping, sliding on the mud, the floor slick with rain and impeding his escape. His hands scrabbled against the dripping bricks of the narrow alleyway, trying to put more distance between him and his pursuer.
If he didn't escape, he would die.
He rounded the corner, feeling the skin on his palm break as he did so, blood dripping to the floor.
No.
No.
He was already there.
"It's not as fun when you're the powerless one, is it?" Harry whispered; strong arms wrapped around him like lovers reunited.
He felt the blade draw across his throat, then nothing.