I sit Tom down on the sofa in the lounge and take a seat on the plush armchair across from him. Sunlight streams in through the windows, bleaching Tom's face white and casting pools of gold across the carpet. I clasp my hands nervously together, shaking a little bit with trepidation. This is it. The moment when Tom learns the truth and either decides to help me or leaves me to die.

"Do you remember when we talked about immortality?" I begin quietly, softly.

Tom nods, brows constricted.

"And you remember what I told you about rebirth. How you have to have a link, a sort of anchor, keeping your life force in this world."

"Yes," says Tom cautiously. I wait, and after a moment his confusion subsides a little. "The locket is your anchor?" he puts forward gingerly.

"Correct," I say. "Unfortunately, your mother was unaware of this. Otherwise she never would've sold it to Borgin and Burke's."

"That was my mother?" Tom asks.

"In her defence," I amend, "she was desperate. Regrettably, desperation and ignorance are not the best combination."

"So what does that mean for you?" Tom ventures curiously.

I lean back in the armchair, sinking into the soft cushions, and clench my fingers tightly together. Then I take a deep breath.

"The locket must remain in my bloodline," I begin. "That's how the magic works. But the chain was broken by your mother, and the only way to fix it is for you to reclaim the locket." I pause for a second, then add: "Also you may need to kill all the people who've owned it since your mother sold it."

Tom raises his eyebrows. "You want me to kill Hepzibah Smith? And the owners of Borgin and Burke's?"

I shrug a little guiltily. "It's not like you haven't killed before," I say sheepishly.

"What?" he says distractedly.

"Come on, Tom," I say. "I know you killed your father. And your grandparents. I've seen you wearing Marvolo's ring. You could have only got that from Little Hangleton. But that's not relevant right now. What's important is that you go to Hepzibah Smith's house, reclaim the locket and then my immortality should be restored."

"Why do you want to be immortal?" Tom asks suddenly, frowning and folding his arms.

That takes me by surprise. "Excuse me?" I say, more out of shock than anything else.

Tom shrugs. "You've said more than once that immortality is a curse. And you said that I should never attempt to become immortal. Why not just live out a mortal life with me?"

I swallow nervously, avoiding his gaze. He has a point. Except that he couldn't possibly understand why I have to be immortal. And yet I owe him the truth. That is the only way he'll agree to take back the locket. And I have to get that locket back; it is absolutely essential.

"When I was very young," I begin slowly, "I met a seer in Paris. And she- she told me that I had a great destiny. That it was my fate to vanquish a terrible evil. She said that I could only die once I had accomplished that. So that's why I have to stay alive: I'm still waiting for my purpose to be fulfilled."

"What evil?" Tom asks after a long moment.

"I don't know," I reply honestly.

There is another, long, horrible silence.

Eventually, Tom says "So you've been using me. All this time. You just need me so that you can stay immortal."

I shrug. "That was my original intention. I told you, Tom, remember? I'm selfish, and backstabbing, and cruel. But—" I add hastily as his eyes begin to narrow, "I didn't account for one thing." I stand up and walk over to Tom, kneeling at the foot of the sofa and taking his hands in my own. "I didn't anticipate just how much I would come to genuinely care about you. You're my best friend, Tom. And the only family I have left. Don't underestimate that."

He won't look at me. "How can I believe anything you say?" he asks bitterly at last.

I grin: it's clear that he's coming around. This is just his half-hearted attempt at prolonging the discomfort of this conversation for me. It fails spectacularly. He's never been able to stay mad at me for long; we both know that he'll forgive me soon enough. I'm talented enough at talking my way out of problems and Tom is desperate enough to keep our friendship intact that any conflict is sure to be solved quickly. Which is fortunate, since I've come to value his companionship.

"Use legilimency and look in my mind," I say confidently, "or pour veritaserum down my throat. I don't care. But I swear to you that I'm telling the truth."

At last, he smiles faintly at me. "That won't be necessary," he says quietly.

"Good," I say, standing up and pulling him to his feet. "Now," I begin, grinning fiercely, "let's work out how we're going to steal that locket."

We spend several weeks planning out the operation. The magic of the locket, as I tell Tom, is delicate. If we make the slightest mistake, it has the potential to kill me. So we plot out every possible outcome, account for every eventuality. I teach Tom some advanced spells: dangerous enchantments that can't be learned from textbooks. It's a testament to the amount of raw power in his blood that he manages to master them so quickly. I'd forgotten, I realise, just how powerful he is. It was easy to overlook his strength due to my own superior knowledge of magic, but now I remember that he is the prodigy of his generation, the heir to a mighty bloodline. I feel a bit like a proud parent when he succeeds in learning a new spell, except it's a bit odd acting as a mentor to someone biologically the same age as me; I still think of myself as seventeen, even if I have memories and experiences stretching back over hundreds of years. That's one of the benefits, I suppose, to rebirth over other forms of immortality. I never have to grow old.

We choose a night. We make sure that everything is in place. We go over the plan. I hate that I have so little participation in it, but unfortunately, it's up to Tom to do all the important parts. I'm just there to ensure everything runs smoothly. It's Tom who must take back the locket. It is his purpose, his destiny and his blood-right.

He is, after all, the Heir of Slytherin.

I would like to point out that, by complete fluke, this chapter turned out exactly 1111 words long, and that was so satisfying to me that I couldn't bear to edit it at all. I do love a nice palindrome :)

Next chapter is the pendant pilfering! The locket larceny! The necklace nicking! …The trinket thievery? …The bauble burglary? (Help me out here guys, I need to come up with a name for the next chapter and alliteration is too good to resist.)

Love you always,

Amy Grace xx