Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

The bullet speeds ahead of him, and he watches the bullet pierce Harry's heart, watches Harry fall backwards, watches Harry die.

He loves Harry. He loves Harry with all his heart, would never hurt him, would die for him, would do anything for him.

He watches Harry plead for his life.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry clasps Tom's arm, begs him to please, please not hurt him, promises him the world-- Tom doesn't want the world, only Harry, Tom would do anything for Harry.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Tom remembered meeting Harry. He'd been so bright, so happy, so brilliant - like a ray of sunshine.

So pure. So pretty.

Some days, Tom things he might have been in love with Harry since they first met.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

"Tom! Tom! You'll never guess what we found! A new ice-cream place - they have your favourite. Wanna join us?"

Nobody had ever bothered to learn his favourite ice cream flavour before.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry was smiling, so happy. He loved Tom just as much as Tom loved him.

Which was more than anyone would ever believe.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry runs through the grass, laughing. Tom remembered the first time Harry had done this with him, how delightful the feeling of wind through his hair was. Goddammit, he loved him.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Tom and Harry first kissed each other drunk, at a party. Harry had avoided him for a week afterwards, and then apologised. Apologised, like Harry should apologise for doing exactly what Tom wanted.

They'd never kissed again.

Admittedly, Tom was too scared. He loved Harry, and he didn't want to ruin their beautiful friendship-- their beautiful, unlikely friendship that had somehow blossomed over Tom falling into a river. (This was so precious to him that he let Harry tell people about his Most Mortifying Moment of all time. Anything with Harry was precious, though. Harry was precious.)

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

A bullet speeds into Harry's heart. He falls, that terrible, horrible, sad expression on his face as he died forever engraving itself into Tom's heart.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Tom watches Harry die.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry dies.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry dies.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry dies.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Harry dies.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

I don't want this.

The bullet skims over Harry's shoulder, Tom's aim just off his mark.

Harry is alive.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

***

Perhaps you're wondering how the cold, elusive Tom Riddle became so close to literal ray of sunshine Harry Potter?

Well, let me enlighten you.

Tom was skipping stones, sitting on the river bank, cursing his father's name, and Harry had been there - well, he was there for some reason, he usually was. Harry hadn't meant to crash into Tom and send him tumbling into the icy waters, but he did, and Tom ended up getting pulled up by a weed with glasses who had no right to have that much strength.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter. Sorry about knocking you into the river - my house isn't far from here. Would you like a change of clothes?"

The audacity of this boy, this sunshine boy, with these earnestly shining eyes and concerned expression.

Tom had said yes.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Salt burns his eyes as he tries to ignore the tears streaming down his face, the barely audible chokes of "Harry, Harry I'm sorry, please forgive me, I'm sorry," that kept streaming out.

"I'm sorry," Tom whispers. "I don't want this. I love you."

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

Hell was a dismal place, and Tom hated it.

Tom lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.