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Chapter 34
Drákavlos of Kyrenaika
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"IT WAS ALWAYS going to be like this," said Tom.

Marina looked up from the basilisk fang in her hand, knowing what was coming next. "No," she said loudly, stepping away. "No, Dumbledore's wrong. There's a way to do this right –"

"Marina," Tom murmured with a patience that made her heart ache, head tilting. "You know it has to be done."

"I'm not letting this happen!" she exclaimed.

But Tom was suddenly much closer, his dark blue eyes right there in front of her, his hand gently closing around her wrist. He slowly lifted her hand, drawing it in towards him. "You can't change it," he whispered.

Marina tried to pull away but she couldn't move properly, her limbs weak like she'd just woken up. "Tom, please," she tried, shaking her head.

Tom ignored her, placing the tip of the fang against his own chest, his other hand coming up too, closing around her own. "It has to be like this," he said, not looking away from her.

Marina could see it now that she was closer, the fear in Tom's eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his long fingers were trembling slightly where they held hers.

"No," Marina whispered, but Tom just looked at her, tightened his grip, and pushed hard.

The fang slid easily into his heart, black ink erupting around on his shirt at once as a short, choking breath fell from his lips.

He fell to his knees and Marina went with him, his hands still holding hers to his chest. She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face as Tom's head dropped, ink spilling from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut and his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. His grip on her hand became looser and looser, and she stared as the ink flowed over her fingers, staining them black.

"I'm so sorry," Marina whispered, going to pull back from his slack grasp.

"Don't go," Tom choked out at once, looking up at her in panic as he tried to hold onto to her harder. "I don't want to be alone."

Marina woke up with a jolt, her face wet with tears. She stared quietly at the dark ceiling of her room, her hair damp on either side of her face. She laid there a long time, trying to let the ache in her chest fade before eventually admitting to herself that it wasn't going to happen. Distantly she supposed that crying was better than screaming – at least this way she hadn't woken up Tom. She drew a hand across her face, wiping away her tears and taking a shaky breath as she curled over and pulled the blankets up over her head, drawing her legs up and hugging them.

The look she had seen in Tom's eyes haunted her until she finally fell asleep again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina thanked the store vendor as politely as she could over her own sinking disappointment and stepped out of the little book shop onto the broad, paved plaza outside. It was absolutely bustling despite the relatively chilly day, the crowd completely eclipsing Diagon Alley's meagre population. The Mediterranean wizarding community was in a much less dire state than that of England, and Marina's attention was constantly drawn by the delicious smells coming from packed food stalls, the bizarre animals milling around, and the different style of the robes everyone was wearing, mostly white with intricate and colourful trims.

She sped down the street towards the large amphitheatre that loomed at the far end of the plaza where her and Tom agreed to meet, distinctly aware that she was technically late. They'd been asking around wizarding Argos for a few days, but no one had anything to tell them – not even a hint of a whisper of a rumour of a legend pertaining to Herpo, basilisks, or anything sounding vaguely Horcrux-y.

By the huge steps of the amphitheatre, Marina barely had a chance to look around before Tom appeared looking about his regular amount of annoyed at her. She ignored the little fluttering in her stomach that had begun rearing up whenever she saw him as of late, steadfastly blaming it on the fact that she was once again coming to him empty handed.

"You're late," he said at once, pointedly.

"I know," she rolled her eyes, amused.

"Anything?" he frowned, serious at once.

Marina shook her head. "You?"

The look on his face was answer enough.

Marina sighed. "How hard can it be to find a creepy three thousand year old man surrounded by basilisks?" she grumbled.

"Very," Tom said, giving her a dry look.

When he lightly touched her back as they wove through the crowd to keep track of her in the lively throng of people, Marina staunchly ignored her fluttering stomach all over again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

"I really thought we'd be able to find something out here," Marina frowned as they made their way out of the Mycenaean ruins for the second time that week. "Isn't it weird that we haven't found anything?"

"Herpo evidently never wished to be found," Tom said, looking around disinterestedly at the meagre December crowd of Muggle tourists. "I hardly think that it's surprising."

Marina grit her teeth. She was beginning to worry that they really might not find anything after all.

"Marina," Tom said, giving her a knowing look as they wandered down the path away from the ruins. "It's not even been a week – Dumbledore and I searched for nearly two years."

"Yeah, I know," she muttered. "It's just frustrating."

They wove around the hill to find their Portkey again, and Marina picked up the tambourine-sized mosaic disc from where they'd hidden it in the trunk of a tree as their departure time grew closer and closer.

"Don't throw up this time," Tom said, smirking as he placed his hand on the disc next to hers.

"I didn't throw up!" Marina protested, kicking his leg lightly. "I balked at most!"

He gave her a very smug look but before she could retaliate, the Portkey activated and they were twisting horribly and then –

They were back in the wizarding streets of Corinth and Marina promptly wrenched the Portkey from Tom's hand to go give it back to the witch they'd rented it from.

"See?" she said pointedly. "Didn't throw up."

"This time," he sniggered, turning away before she could kick him again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina closely followed Tom through the boisterous crowd so that she wouldn't lose him again, resisting the urge to take hold of his sleeve as a broad-shouldered witch nearly knocked her away from him. She'd managed to get lost the day before and had spent a stressful twenty minutes wondering if she'd be lost in the backstreets of wizarding Athens forever. Luckily, they were soon standing before an impossibly huge building with towering columns that Tom passed beneath without a second glance, confidently making his way up the steps and inside. Marina trailed behind, neck hurting from how much she was craning it to look at everything. It was some sort of library, filled with scholarly looking witches and wizards with long scrolls in their arms and serious spectacles on their faces.

"Why are we here?" Marina whispered, automatically feeling the need to speak in a hushed tone.

Tom didn't reply, he just nodded in front of them. A tall, very tanned wizard in a white and green robe was waiting for them – he had thick brows, pitch black curly hair, and a dark beard, and on his hands were a plethora of glittering rings and bangles.

"Ah, Tom," he said warmly as they approached, holding out his hands jovially. "Good to see you again."

"Angelos," Tom greeted politely.

Angelos seized Marina's hands at once, eyes sparkling. "You must be Marina," he said, smiling broadly.

Marina cast Tom a look, but he only shrugged. "Yeah," she said awkwardly. "Nice to meet you."

"Tom did not mention that you were a beauty," Angelos said with a playful expression.

"Angelos," Tom said again, much more sharply – but Marina was laughing.

"There's a reason," she snorted, drawing back her hands. "But thanks."

The wizard before them raised his bejewelled hands in polite surrender, but he still looked playful. Marina decided that she rather liked him.

"You mentioned documents on a particular ruin when we spoke last," Tom continued pressingly.

"Straight to business, aren't you?" Angelos smiled broadly. "Very well, this way…"

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

"Oh my god, can you hurry up," Marina drawled teasingly, leaning heavily against the open door and staring out at the sky in mock despair.

Tom gave her a very sarcastic look as he approached. "I had to pay for our meal."

"Excuses," she smirked, letting him exit the inn before her as they headed off down the street. "Where's Angelos?"

"Meeting us there," Tom said stiffly.

"I'm so excited," Marina beamed, skipping slightly. "Like, don't get me wrong, walking around Mycenae was pretty amazing regardless, but we've never been to the wizarding ruins before. I didn't even know there was a wizarding part of Mycenae –"

"It is lucky that Angelos agreed to be our guide," Tom said evenly, looking out across the plaza as they wove through the crowd, "I thought perhaps we might fare better with some local expertise."

"You're kidding yourself if you think I'm going to be at all useful today," Marina snorted, watching with interest as an old wizard shepherded a small flock of brilliant gold sheep down a nearby sidestreet. "I'm going to be so super distracted."

"We are going to look for Herpo's former residence, not as tourists," said Tom pointedly.

"You can look for Herpo's former residence, I'm going as a tourist," Marina grinned.

He shook his head disparagingly, but Marina thought that she caught a smile on his face before he looked away.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

"Do not be disheartened, Marina," Angelos said gently as they passed back under the Lion's Gate out of Mycenae, still empty-handed. "There are still many places to search."

"I know," she mumbled. She turned to look at the carvings again, the two lions leaning up on the platform towards each other and the tall column between them. She couldn't help but stare at it every time they went past – something about it niggled at her, a thought in her head like a beetle wriggling around in loose soil. "Hey – Angelos –"

The wizard was at her side in an instant, placing an easy hand on her opposite shoulder. Marina gestured up at the carvings above them. "What do you know about this?"

"It is the oldest Grecian monumental carving in the world," Angelos said, looking up at it with her. "You Muggles do make such impressive things without magic, don't you?"

"Why are the lions facing a column?" said Tom from beside Marina. He sounded oddly curt – Marina supposed that the repeated disappointments of their search were finally getting to him.

"A mystery," Angelos smiled. "Though it may hint towards the cultural influences of the Mycenaeans. Note that the column is as wide at the top as at the bottom."

"What does that mean?" Tom asked, frowning at the carving.

"Greek columns taper, don't they?" Marina asked, looking at Angelos for confirmation.

He nodded. "The straight column, and the plinth upon which the lions' feet rest… it is of Minoan influence."

"Oh yeah," Marina said, feeling stupid. "I forgot about the Minoans."

"So did the rest of the world," Angelos smiled as he turned away, guiding her with him. "They disappeared without a trace of explanation thousands of years ago."

"Left behind some cool palaces, though," Marina grinned as they continued down the path, Angelos' hand still resting easily on her shoulder.

"That they did," Angelos said jovially, "if you ever visit Crete, I must insist that you visit them…"

"If we go to Crete, I'm insisting on that myself," Marina said playfully, nudging Tom.

Rather unusually, he did not rise to her teasing, and Marina thought that there was something slightly forced about his demeanour as they made their way back to Athens.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Two days later, Marina collapsed heavily into the seat next to Tom where he had ancient parchments spread out in an arc on the desk before him. It was past dinner time and they were still holed up in the sprawling, chaotic archives beneath Angelos' library. Usually Marina was enthralled by the place – texts floated around of their own accord, the colourful mosaic figures of people and animals along the walls would move captivatingly, and she had once seen a Veela woman carrying an armful of scrolls who was so beautiful that Marina had forgotten how to walk for a good five minutes. Today, however, she rested her head heavily on her palm and sighed – she was very hungry and very tired.

"I'll be one more hour," Tom said distractedly, pouring over a yellowing parchment.

"Yeah, yeah," Marina muttered. She had heard him say that before, and it was never, never just one more hour.

She glanced over his shoulder at what he was looking at. It was a very good drawing of the inside of a ruin, the crumbling base of a wall visible – upon which was painted a strikingly recognisable form that spanned its whole length.

"Is that a snake?" she asked, surprised.

"I believe that it is a basilisk," he muttered, "they were once depicted with a feathered plume like that."

"What are you looking at exactly?" Marina said, squinting at the drawing with interest.

"An artist's rendition of the ruins of a house in Mycenae." He gave her a pointed look. "From the wizarding quarters."

Marina gaped at him. "Herpo's residence?"

"Perhaps," Tom said in a measured tone, looking back at the drawing. "The ruins were destroyed some time ago, hence why we didn't find them ourselves. This drawing is all that remains of its existence."

"What does it say about the paintings?" Marina said quickly, nodding at the long paragraphs of text fringing the drawing.

"Nothing," Tom said evenly, "it merely discusses wizarding Mycenae as a whole. The fact that the artist captured the image of the basilisk appears to be pure chance."

But Marina was peering closer at the document. Next to the ruin, the artist had drawn a series of broken pieces of pottery with incredible detail and painted with watercolours. "What are those?"

"They were excavated from the house," Tom said slowly, watching her. "Why?"

Marina reached forward and pulled the document from in front Tom to before herself, leaning over it attentively. On the broken sherds she could see the fractured image of long, tentacled arms. One fragment showed two long white oval eyes with large, rather cute black pupils.

"It was decorated with an octopus," she murmured.

Tom leaned in too, so close that Marina could feel warmth on her shoulder and realised that he had rested his elbow on the back of her chair. She frowned slightly, forcing herself to stay focused on the paintings of the sherds.

"Does that mean something to you?" Tom asked curiously.

"Yeah," Marina said, shifting awkwardly. "Uh, you – you remember the Minoans?"

"From the Lion's Gate?" Tom looked up at her, surprised.

Marina stared back. He was very close. So close, in fact, that she could see each of his dark eyelashes and the patterns in the deep blue of his eyes, the rich smoothness of his skin, and the little shadows cast beneath his cheekbones. She could even see the few strands of hair that had separated from the soft wave that fell across his forehead, they would be very easy to brush back into place –

"Yeah," Marina said blankly. "Uh – so they liked octopuses."

Tom slowly arched a dark, elegant brow, a movement that she could not help but track. "They liked octopuses," he repeated, sounding rather amused.

Hearing him say it back to her made Marina realise exactly how stupid she sounded.

"Yeah," Marina said, wrenching her eyes off of Tom's face and pointedly looking back at the drawings as she tried to shake the warm feeling on her skin.

"Are you alright?" asked Tom, still sounding amused. "You're being uncharacteristically breviloquent."

"I'm fine," Marina said awkwardly, too distracted to even tease him for using the word breviloquent in regular speech. "Just tired. What I mean is, if that really was Herpo's house, he has some very typical Minoan style pottery in his floor." She resolutely stared at the drawing of the ruin, and then noticed something.

"And," she said triumphantly, pointing at the little paintings decorating the ruin's base beneath the basilisk, "those repeating, kind of flowy patterns along the bottom of the walls are pretty classic Minoan, too."

"To Crete after all," Tom murmured, looking intently at where she was pointing.

"Just like that?" Marina asked, glancing at him with surprise.

"We have no other leads," he said evenly. "If this was indeed Herpo's residence, and he had these artefacts –"

"I've always wanted to go to Crete," Marina said dreamily. "If we don't get a chance to go to Knossos, I'll literally never forgive you."

"Please try to stay focused, Marina," Tom said dryly. "Need I remind you that there is a war going on."

"You can't take me to one of the coolest archaeological sites in the whole world and not expect me to utterly nerd out about it," she grinned at him.

Tom didn't deign to reply as he stared at her, probably rendered silent by the ridiculousness of this statement.

"Are you alright?" she smirked, nudging his shoe with her toe. "You're being uncharacteristically breviloquent."

Tom rolled his eyes and stood. "I'll be sure to thank Angelos for giving us access to his archives," he said busily, rolling up the parchment. "He has won us our first lead."

"Excuse you, I believe that honour remains mine," Marina said with mock indignancy, lounging in her chair. "Recognising the Mycenaean death mask, and all that. You can thank him for our second or third lead at best."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sat up as Tom burst into their room, throwing down the brochure on the Palace of Knossos that she'd been longingly studying. "What happened?" she asked immediately, seeing his animated expression.

"After we spoke to that librarian, I checked in again with the Magical Ministry and managed to gain access to their records," Tom said quickly, falling into the seat next to her on the couch.

"Managed to gain access?" Marina repeated with amusement. "Charmed your way in, you mean, that poor secretary..."

"Perhaps there was some charming involved," he said with a sly smile, swatting Marina's hand away as she poked his ribs. "Point being, there have been a series of disappearances off the island in question for as far back as the records span."

"No one thought to do anything about that?" Marina deadpanned.

"They did," Tom said at once, "only one person ever returned."

"What did they say?"

"Nothing," he said pointedly, staring at her with an infectious spark in his eyes, "they washed upon shore five years after their disappearance. They were petrified."

Marina's brows shot up. "Huh," she said, looking out the window at the sprawling cityscape of Heraklion. "Maybe we really got something."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina fell into the seat closest to the rail of the ferry, staring out at the beautiful ocean before them. It was a gorgeous day, the sky a bright cerulean blue without a hint of clouds, and the sun bright on the glittering sea – but Marina was feeling cold and dreary, her face expressionless.

"Marina," Tom said quietly from beside her.

Her grip tightened on the black fabric that still encased the golden death mask on her lap. They had retrieved it less than half an hour ago, having left it as late as they possibly could, and yet its effects were already so potent that she could barely muster herself to look at him.

"I'm fine," she said dully. "I just… I didn't miss this."

"It's not far," he said softly, nodding at the distant hint of land off the shore as he sat down next to her. "The island we're looking for is just off of that one there. I've arranged for a local fisherman to take us to where the disappearances are thought to have occurred."

Marina knew she should be more excited. It had been nearly two weeks since they had first found the mask in her lap and suddenly, despite failure after failure, it really felt like they could be at the finish line – but she felt nothing but that relentless leaden weight in her limbs and the hollow jitteriness in her heart.

The ferry's bell chimed out and they pulled away onto the water. Marina took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping, feverish chill that was spreading across her body.

"Hey," she said listlessly. "About that night when we first found the mask –"

"If you apologise for that again, I'll throw you overboard," Tom said smoothly, leaning back in his seat. "The first four times were sufficient, I assure you."

Marina gave a weak smile.

It was a fairly brief journey but it was made infinitely longer by the heaviness settling in Marina's bones, like she was slowly being filled up with cold cement. When they arrived, Tom immediately headed off the ferry down to a smaller dock where a tiny rowboat was moored, Marina having to jog lightly every now and then to keep in pace with his long strides. Next to the little boat was a surly, very unhappy looking man with deeply tanned skin, a broad moustache, and a wrinkled, weathered face. He was standing with his huge arms folded across his barrelled chest, frowning at the two of them approaching.

When they drew near him, the man held out his hand by means of greeting and Marina thought that he meant to shake their hand before realising that his palm was upturned. Tom drew out a pouch that jingled considerably and handed it to him, and the man immediately opened it and peered inside with a squinting eye. Evidently he was satisfied since he jerked his hand at his boat and went to untie the rope holding it to shore.

"Where did you get that much money?" Marina whispered as they got into the boat and sat down.

"The Death Eaters have deep pockets," he replied quietly.

The surly man returned and stepped heavily into the little boat, sending the thing rocking wildly. Marina was roughly thrown against Tom's shoulder and he caught her quickly, his hands lingering to stabilise her.

"Thanks," she muttered, immediately shirking away.

Tom hesitated for a fraction of a second. "You're welcome," he said evenly, looking away too.

The man began to row with huge, powerful strokes that sent them gliding through the water with ease. Marina watched the bright blue waves with an impassive expression, knowing that if she didn't have her arms wrapped around the horrible mask, she'd be captivated by the sight. The dock and the ferry they'd arrived on quickly grew smaller and smaller, and Marina fixed her eyes on the fisherman's scuffed sandals rather than have to look out at the uncomfortably sunny sea.

"Marina," Tom said quietly.

She tilted her head towards him, too tired to reply or even look up.

"We're close."

It was enough to raise her head. Sure enough, a craggy waste of an island was drawing into view before them behind the form of their oarsman, whose face had somehow become even more sullen than before.

The spit of land was a sparse jutting rock with water-weathered caves and gorges visible even at a distance. Not a thing grew on it, and it was baked bone white under the astringent sunlight. There was only one beach, a small smear of white sand against which the fisherman drew the boat but refused to it touch himself – he just gestured at them to leave whilst glaring angrily back the way they'd come.

"We should hurry," Tom muttered as he stepped out of the boat, "I doubt he will wait for us long."

He turned and offered Marina his hand, but she ignored him with a hard feeling in her stomach. Pretending like she hadn't seen it, she clambered out of the boat herself. "Can't you just Apparate back?" she asked dully, turning towards the looming shelf of white rock to avoid looking at him.

"This island repels Apparation," Tom said from behind her, tone inscrutable. "Let's go."

They wandered towards the crag of rock before them, passing by dark entrances to caverns that looked to have been slowly weathered by rushing water and the crashing waves.

"How are we going to find the right one?" Marina asked dully, waving a heavy hand at one of the nearby caves.

"Perhaps we already have," Tom said curiously, attention grabbed by something on the ground before them.

Marina half-heartedly trailed after him with down-turned eyes, nearly bowling straight into him when he suddenly stopped.

"Look," he said quietly.

On the rocks before them and spilling out of the mouth of a dark cave, Marina saw a tide of hundreds and hundreds of skeletons. It was hard to tell exactly what they would have once been, some looked like they might be sea creatures, others birds – but there were so many that they blurred together into a sea of sun-bleached bones littered with straggles of green seaweed. With a jolt, Marina suddenly realised that there was a very good chance that she was about to come face to face with a basilisk.

Next to her, Tom drew his wand. "Come on," he muttered, and he stepped onto the bones and through the mouth of the cave.

Marina followed quickly, staying close beside him. If she was really going to meet a basilisk, she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather be with than Tom.

The cave grew dark almost unnaturally quickly, like the light from outside was being consumed by the very walls. Tom lit his wand and kept going, ignoring the cracking and snapping of little bones beneath his feet on the steadily sloping floor of the cave. Marina on the other hand was feeling worse and worse; the feverishness was getting more intense and she felt like her head was spinning even when she was looking dead straight ahead.

"Tom," Marina whispered, shivering.

He turned at once. When he saw her face, his expression turned hard and his wandless hand went to her shoulder - though she barely felt it. "Do you have the flint?" he asked, eyes roaming her face.

She nodded, opening her hand to show him. "It's not – it doesn't –"

But her jaw was trembling too much for her to speak.

A crease appeared between his brows and he quickly cast the charms over her. Marina's shoulders hunched, trying to focus on the feeling of warmth that the charms had brought even as she could already feel it diminishing.

Tom gave a sharp breath through his nose, sounding frustrated. "This will be over soon," he said in a low voice, turning back to the darkness ahead.

Marina nodded and stumbled after him. Time was bleeding together again, and before she knew it, the walls of the cave were drawing away and they entered into a dark, cool cavern deep in the island. Tom froze, holding up his wand ahead of them to let the light fall forward.

They both saw him at the same time.

In the centre of the cavern sat a man, though at first Marina thought him another skeleton. He was cross-legged, so thin that his elbows and knees bulged monstrously next to the narrow lengths of his limbs, and the bony juts of his vertebrae on his neck protruded so sharply that they seemed close to piercing his skin – though it didn't much look like skin anymore. Grey and sallow, drawn and papery, it sagged on his bones and was so dry that Marina could see vast swathes of it peeling away like he was shedding it. His hair was nothing but strands of white cobwebs dangling from his skull – and it looked very much like a skull. His eyes were so shadowed and sunken that the full borders of his eye sockets were visible, his deeply sunken cheeks casting the bony struts above into mountains, like the human face that might have once resembled the mask in Marina's arms had been eroded away.

Most disturbing of all was his mouth. His jaw hung loose from his head, his lipless maw wide and dark. All of his teeth were long gone and the jawbone that had once held them had receded away, having been rendered useless. The gaping, grinning hole left behind made him leer snake-like in the darkness.

Herpo had not moved at the sound of their approach, hardly undetectable due to the bone-littered cave. The only sign that he was even alive was his slow breathing, his ribbed chest heaving with it laboriously beneath his tattered tunic, the rasping sounds of each breath crossing his yawning mouth nearly disguised by the distant waves far behind them.

Marina looked away from his horrible, skeletal face, feeling sick. "Should we talk to him?" she whispered, wanting nothing less.

Tom was frowning, staring at the man with a mix of disgust and captivation. "I don't think he will respond, unless…" He visibly set his jaw and stepped forward, wand still raised.

A long, drawn out hissing sound gently filled the cavern, starting low and quiet and resonating louder and louder before fading away again, and Marina realised much too late that it had come from Tom. Herpo's breathing stuttered. Slowly his skull began to raise on his rake-thin neck, his jaw still wide. There was an ear-splitting silence. Then, Herpo's slack jaw slowly creaked up, and a skin-crawling low hiss came from his emaciated form.

Tom took a long, tense breath beside her, understanding what she could not. "He will speak to me," Tom muttered, grip tightening on his wand.

Another hiss fell from Tom's lips, and Herpo's head jerked to Marina. She felt her heart stop as the black pits of his eyes met hers and Parseltongue echoed out once more.

"Give him the Horcrux," Tom said quietly.

Marina looked around at him, terrified. The idea of coming any closer to the figure before them filled her abhorrence and nausea. She pressed her lips together, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she turned back to Herpo; the caverns of his eyes were still fixed on her hungrily.

She forced herself to step forward, pulling at the black fabric covering of the mask. Fragile little bones cracked beneath her feet as she revealed the golden face beneath and she held it out to Herpo with shaking hands, still using the fabric to avoid touching the thing with her skin.

With astonishing quickness, Herpo's skeletal hands struck out and seized the mask, so fast that Marina stepped back in fright. She tripped on the bone-littered floor and fell but Tom immediately caught her, stopping her from hitting the ground as his arms hooked under hers from behind. Marina grasped at him in panic, scrambling backwards away from Herpo even as she was unable to look away from his haunting face. Tom's arm moved firmly around her shoulders and she held tightly onto his shirt, fear coursing through her as she stared wide-eyed and horrified at Herpo.

A hiss came from Herpo's mouth as he stared mesmerised down into the mask's golden eyes, louder, echoing through the weathered holes in the rock around them. Marina felt Tom stiffen and his other arm quickly came up behind her, placing his hand on the back of her head and pulling her face into his chest. "Close your eyes," he said sharply, holding her there tightly. "Don't look up."

Marina nodded, clamping her eyes shut and forcing a deep breath despite her racing pulse as she pressed her forehead against his chest. She could hear something else behind them, the dry sound of scales sliding on rock, something huge moving in the unknown space behind her, a low, deafening hiss rumbling through her very core. Shivers erupted all over her body and Tom's arms around her tightened.

The basilisk had come.

.•° ✿ °•.
A/N: There's like, a LOT of archaeology in this so if you don't like it, don't worry, it's OVER NOW. (I love the Minoans guys, let me live my true fantasy...)
Also, I was so planning on writing a scene in the little montage sequence where a local resident mistakes Tom and Marina as a couple on their honeymoon and they both get really embarrassed, but I couldn't quite fit it in, lmao. Just know in your hearts that it's canon, that happened at some point :P
Thank you so so much for reviewing, it genuinely lights my heart up and makes me smile like crazy, I read every single one (usually multiple times lol).
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