Folie à deux | tom riddle

PART XI

You hear scrabbling from outside, and a low howl – then footsteps. They thud slowly closer to the door. You drop Tom's hands for a second, and the two of you turn to the door with wide eyes.

Like he was rising from the dead, Dolohov staggers to the doorway. His face is a bloody, pummelled mess, his nose is cracked, leaning towards the side of his face, there's a thin trail of saliva and blood leaking from his mouth, bruises are blooming across his cheeks, he's limping, and the capillaries have burst in his eyes, making them red and bloodshot.

He looks absolutely decimated, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes narrowed into fierce slits.

"You're betraying the cause... how could you?" He barks, more so towards Tom than you.

"Oh my God." One of your hands fly to cover your mouth. He looks positively undead, like some unholy resurrected Lazarus, still covered in wounds.

Tom raises an eyebrow at him, looking only mildly surprised. "Dolohov. You're awake." He remarks.

And then, he starts to advance.

Both you and Tom shoot up defensively. He seems more assured of himself, strolling languidly towards Dolohov, whereas you want nothing more than to get away from him.

Dolohov balls his hands into fists, promptly swinging at Tom. "The cause!" He howls.

Tom ducks it easily, moving his shoulder to avoid the hit. His face contorts in rage as he kicks Dolohov harshly in the knee, knocking him back. "Is mine to shape!"

"M- ah, no – fuck." He stumbles backwards, knocking his back on the doorframe, before taking in a deep breath and lunging, knocking Tom to the ground to continue wrestling with him. They roll each other over multiple times in a flurry of limbs and cursing.

"You should have run away." Tom growls, slamming Dolohov's head into the floor.

The Russian quickly kicks Tom off him, dragging him up and slamming him into the wall, hands fisted into his collar. They snarl at each other, exchanging blows. "Ah – I have the –" Dolohov whimpers. He's barely separated from Tom for a second.

You're sure you're not even thinking. You're simply running on instinct and adrenaline now. Quickly, you pick up a chair, and bring it down hard on top of Dolohov's skull.

Crack.

His body crumples to the floor with a thud.

"Oh my God. Tom, fuck, are you alright?" You approach him hysterically, putting your hands on his shoulders and looking him over a second time.

"I'm fine." He replies, turning away from you to look at the discarded body and chair. "Is – Y/N. Y/N. Did you kill him?" He's either shocked or elated. It's difficult for you to discern when you're in this state.

It's obvious why Tom's asking. Because Dolohov's limp form doesn't so much as twitch. He's completely motionless, his form prone and his eyes dull and glassy. There's so much blood oozing from his matted hair, congregating in a growing puddle around his skull.

"I don't – God, I can't. Where's his pulse?" You fall to your knees, scrambling to put your hands against his neck. There's nothing. Frantically, you lift his wrist. It's dead weight. You press the tips of your first two fingers to his pulse point, waiting desperately for something, anything.

There's nothing. Not even the faintest whisper of life.

Tom drops to his knees beside you, and he presses his thumb under your jaw, forcing your head up so you'll meet his gaze. "Would you kill him for me?"

"I don't know." You whisper dazedly. Distantly, you realise you're crying. There's tears running down your face, hot and steady.

He wipes them from your cheeks. "We both know you would."

"Tom – I can't." You sound so broken, your chest heaving and your voice ragged.

Everything hurts.

Everything's a lie.

Dolohov still doesn't have a pulse.

Tom looks at you, a small smile on his lips. He's more gentle than he's been with you ever before, more soothing as he brushes his hands over your cheeks and cups your face. "Oh, my darling Doctor. I think you just have."

And then, the world goes black, and all you know is his arms around you.