We take care of Borgin and Burke first. Knockturn Alley is silent, deserted, any would-be wanderers deterred by the wards I place along the street. It's not difficult to unlock the door to the shop with a casual flick of my fingers, nor is it a challenge to silence the jangle of the ancient bell. The inside of the store is deathly still, even particles of dust seeming to be suspended, frozen, in the lengthy shadows. A few jewels wink lazily at us from their cabinets, their cut crystal picking up the dim light of the crescent moon.

Make it quick, I say into Tom's mind.

He nods, and soundlessly navigates his way though the store, ascending the wooden ladder to the apartment above. While he's gone, I pass the time by filching artefacts off the shelves. A silver goblet, a fat sapphire ring, a green glass bottle.

There are two flashes of green light from upstairs, then Tom emerges, climbing down the ladder. He walks calmly, unperturbed, towards me.

All done? I ask.

All done, he confirms.

Good, I reply.

The next stop is Hepzibah Smith's house. I've broken into it enough times for it to be as easy as breathing, but this time it's Tom who must enter. He deftly disables the spells around the property like I've showed him, then points his wand at the door to unlock it. The lock clicks, and the door swings open on silent hinges. Tom pauses on the doorstep, looking back at me for reassurance. I nod, and he pads quietly into the house, leaving me resigned to my vigil at the front gate. Restlessly, I begin to tap my foot, drawing my cloak around me. It's frustrating, not being able to take the locket back myself, but if it means that I'll remain immortal, I have to trust that Tom is capable of doing it. Even now, I can imagine him stealing through the plush, carpeted rooms, gliding along like a deadly phantom towards his prey.

A flash of green light through a window, the glare muted by a lace curtain, and I exhale in relief. Now he must be making his way to the living room, opening the glass cabinet and plucking the locket from its bed of silk cushions. Cradling the cold metal in his cold hands, tracing the trickle of emeralds with his long fingers. Feeling the gold warm to his touch, as if in recognition. Whispering the words we have practiced, over and over.

Ego herede de Slytherin. Per meum sanguinem: meus es tu. Quia ego dici tibi, optime, tu ad verum dominus restituere. Unde, cum malum sit indirecta, quod injuriam curari nequeas. Et cum ultra domus mea est in genere!

There is a blinding flash, golden light streaming out of every window. The ground shudders, and a powerful wind throws me backwards. I sprawl onto the damp grass, the blades tickling my face. The world is at once utterly still and silent, even the rustling trees quieting down.

And then there's pain, so much pain, spreading like liquid mercury through my veins, like a searing fire consuming my insides. My blood is freezing and my flesh is melting and my head is imploding and my heart is being squeezed and shredded and daggers are forcing their way out through my skin and I can't breathe for the unending agony of it.

When I awaken, it's to Tom standing over me, giving me a gentle shake, an expression of mild concern on his face.

"Salazar?" he asks quietly.

The pain is gone. Instead, I'm left feeling oddly light, as if gravity has suddenly lessened its hold on me. I rise to my feet, quickly, smoothly, gracefully, and see the world in greater depth and colour. I place a hand to my chest, feel the steady heartbeat. I touch my throat, feel the incessant thrum of blood pulsing past my fingers. Then I look at Tom, and the ancient locket resting around his neck as if it's always been there.

"Did it work?" he asks gently.

His voice sounds slightly muffled, as if he's speaking underwater.

"I think so," I reply, and my voice is similarly distant. I blink a few times, shake my head to try and clear it.

"Let's go home," he says, taking me by the elbow.

"Yes," I hear myself say vacantly.

He apparates us back to the Cambridgeshire House, and leads me through the front door like I'm a lost child. I let him guide me to the kitchen, sit me down whilst he pours us both a measure of firewhisky. He hands me a tumbler, and I take it automatically, the glass heavy in my hand. I worry for a second that it's just going to slip through my phantom fingers and smash on the floor. Cautiously, I take a tiny sip, then lower it delicately to the table. I barely feel the burning down my throat.

Tom joins me at the table, taking a larger mouthful of whisky. His hands are steady, calm. He watches me with a composed gaze. There's something more settled in him, now he wears the locket. Something serene, unruffled.

"I want to go to Albania," I say softly, after a long moment.

Tom narrows his eyes. "Why?" he asks.

"My cave…" I begin, trailing off as my eyes begin to lose focus. I give myself a little shake, try to force my spirit back into reality. "I need to visit my cave," I restart, a little stronger. "It's where I- I do my rituals. To make my new forms. So I can- come back. To life. I just need to make sure that everything went well. That there aren't any- complications."

Tom nods in understanding. "We can leave tomorrow."

I shake my head. "No. I have to do this- alone. The cave won't let anyone but me in."

"Okay," he replies a little warily, his brows contracting.

"Tom," I say, taking his hand. My voice is faint, my eyelids drooping. I sway somewhat in my chair. "Thank you."

And with that, I fall unconscious at the table.

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I've unfortunately been suffering from a wee bit of writer's block, but, fingers crossed, I'm back in the game now, and hopefully should have another chapter out before long.

Thanks for getting this far with me :)

Amy Grace xx