"Till Death Do Us Part (Never)"
Blood dripped in a steady rhythm, the sound faint in the vast silence of the room. Harry Potter stood beneath the makeshift altar, his glasses askew, one lens cracked from the earlier skirmish. His wedding robesβif one could call the bloodstained, shredded fabric thatβclung to his form. His hand trembled, clutching the hilt of Gryffindor's sword, the blade still slick with blood.
Across from him sat Tom Riddle, an eerie stillness to his pale features, despite the gaping wound over his heart. His black suit was immaculate, or it might have been if not for the deep crimson bloom staining the chest. He smirked, as if death was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Till death do us part," Tom drawled, his voice soft yet cutting, "what a quaint concept."
Harry's breath hitched, the overwhelming stench of copper and magic almost suffocating. "Youβyouβre supposed to be dead," he rasped. His green eyes burned, not with the usual defiance, but something far more broken.
Tom leaned forward, his movements slow, deliberate, as though savoring every moment of Harryβs disbelief. A crimson threadβmagic, lifeblood, and a soul tether all in oneβconnected the two of them. It glowed faintly, pulsating in time with their hearts.
"Death is hardly an obstacle when one has made arrangements," Tom purred. He gestured to the thread. "Do you like my gift? A Horcrux bound by marriage. Truly, Harry, you should be flattered."
"Flattered?" Harry's grip tightened on the sword, his knuckles whitening. "You murdered half the Orderβhalf the guestsβjust to drag me into this!"
Tom tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something disturbingly close to affection. "A necessary sacrifice. Love demands commitment, after all. And youβ" He reached out, his hand ghosting over Harryβs bloodied cheek. "You were always destined to be mine."
The words made Harryβs stomach churn, but the cursed tether binding them burned at his resistance. He tried to pull away, but his body betrayed him, leaning into Tomβs touch despite every instinct screaming at him to run.
"Why me?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking. "You could have anyone. Youβre Voldemort. You donβt needβ"
"But I want you," Tom interrupted, his tone sharp, final. "The Boy Who Lived. The thorn in my side. The one who defied me time and time again. Do you know how intoxicating that is, Harry? To possess the one thing that could destroy me."
Harryβs knees buckled, and he fell forward, caught only by Tomβs arms. The tether thrummed with approval, tightening its hold. Tomβs breath was warm against his ear as he whispered, "Say it, Harry. Bind us properly."
Tears welled in Harryβs eyes, but they didnβt fall. "Iβ"
"Shh," Tom cooed, pulling him closer. "Thereβs no escape now. No death, no freedom. Only us. Forever."
As the tether flared to life, binding their souls in eternal tormentβor perhaps love twisted beyond recognitionβHarry could only think of how tragically fitting it was. A wedding vow soaked in blood, bound by magic, and sealed with despair.
"Till death do us part," Tom murmured again, his lips brushing Harryβs temple, "and even then...not."