When
I told no one of my experience within the Death Chamber—for that was what I later learned that I was called. Nor did I mention the Time-Turner to Tom, for I enjoyed pretending that once it had left my sight, it had left my mind as well. However, in spite of this, Tom wished to discuss both instances, though he drew much more attention to the first. When I asked him how he knew of this, he appeared startled. "Did you yourself not tell me?" he replied with his dark eyebrows arching. It was a response of such an innocent nature that it held no truth.
If this pair of matters ever entered our conversation, I was more eager to discuss the Time-Turner, though only as a last resort. In truth, my curiosity had, for the time-being, been drained. But of course, Tom would turn our talk from this and revisit the topic of my unconscious spell in the Death Chamber. Sometimes, he found humor in my sudden weakness, though other times, he grew serious. What precisely could Death reach out and speak to me from beyond the veil? Once more was I able to witness his child-like moments, for only children could produce such a multitude of questions at once.
But just as the questions of a child always were, Tom's questions were often ones that I could not answer. He knew more of death than I, I thought, for he had more than once been the cause behind it. Simply because I had recently spent a fraction of a day around it did not mean that I had suddenly become qualified to describe it in the desired detail. I did not even know the reason the veil had needed to be guarded. When I relayed this to him, he grew irritated, agitated and frustrated for reasons I could not comprehend. Soon, though, I began to suspect that my ignorance was not the sole initiator of his mood.
I did not approach him with this thought, of course. At least, not at first or with the intent of doing so; rather, by happenstance.
The night in which this occurred, I was suffering from a common cold—for the Department of Mysteries' climate had at last taken a toll upon my health. I had returned home early several hours before, as the heat of my forehead had been inhibiting my focus and I could accomplish nothing. I had been startled to find Tom waiting for me, to help me settle comfortably into bed. Mr. Burke had sent him away early, he had told me, briefly stroking my hand. There had been concern in his tone as he had remarked of my state, yet this worry had only reached hi eyes in part.
I had closed my own eyes then, feeling a somnific pressure upon my lids. Before he had even left the room, I had been consumed by sleep, not plagued by dreams or an aching head.
When I opened my eyes once more and rose, I felt that my physical condition had improved greatly, for I could walk without a slight stagger in my step. It was dark, however, and so it was still difficult to navigate around the room, even though it was sparsely furnished. I grasped in the direction of the little table I knew was somewhere beside me until my fingers closed around my wand.
"Lumos," I whispered, startled to find that my voice had gone hoarse. Perching the slender slice of wood upon the table's surface, I found a candle and lit it, then proceeded into the outside hall. Whether or not Tom slumbered, or was even near, I could not be certain, for the moon was full and high in a coal-black sky; from this alone, I knew that the hour was late.
My path turned sharply and I entered the kitchen, which shared a wall with a room that served as a living room and study combined—though these were only the formal names of its components. I held my candle aloft, casting a sweeping circle of light around me as I inspected the room. This action revealed nothing—and no one—and I concluded that I was alone; our flat was far too small for Tom to be any other place inside of it. With a frown, I returned to the kitchen, deciding to keep my hunger at bay.
It was when I began to pull a glass from the cupboard that there came an enormous rush of air from behind me. Quickly, I turned, and the glass slipped from my touch and shattered as it hit the floor. However, I ignored this, nearly stepping upon the broken pieces. I was more concerned with whatever it was that had suddenly entered my home.
Cautiously, I peered beyond the door and into the living room; my foot was perched in such a way that I could easily flee and retrieve my wand. Yet I need not have worried, for it was only Tom, who, for one fleeting second, appeared just as skittish as I. Then the moment passed and I exhaled while Tom's shoulders lost their stiffness. Still, he did not move, and I wondered why until I saw the object that was clasped within his hands. Like a beast waiting to strike, I could sense his unease as he pulled a delicate chain fro around his neck, the Time-Turner attached to it.
"I must thank you again," he said at length, seeming to unfreeze as the words left his lips in a transparent cloud. I stepped into the room and came to pause before him. The gap between us filled itself with silent questions as we stood in the darkness that still remained. These questions were ones that even I could not leave unasked.
"When did you go?" I first queried. This particular formation of words sounded awkward upon my tongue but where instead of when did not seem to fit either.
"Shall I tell you a story?" A strange smile alighted upon his face as he said this, bringing forth a look that could have meant either good or bad had come to pass, interchangeable until the circumstance was revealed. All that was certain was that this look was one of triumph or discovery, a smug fingerprint of enlightenment. I knew that Tom was one to bring his accomplishments into the light, and his accomplishments often brought both good and bad, though to whom… This was in constant questions.
Tom began to pace, a warning that he soon might slip away from me and into his own mind. With haste instead of thought, my hand shot out to rest upon his shoulder. I gripped it firmly yet gently, and I held my breath, waiting for my grasp to be shrugged away. When it was not, I felt strengthened; I took a step, bringing myself closer to him. But it was as though he had turned himself to stone: he could neither rid himself of me nor draw me into his arms.
"A story…" he whispered, turning his neck sharply so that his eyes faced mine.
"What is this story?" I prompted, not letting go.
"My story, in part." His eyes gleamed. "Although, it is also the story of my mother. The very last, dirty pages of it."
"You still will not redeem or forgive her?"
"I forgive no one but you, Danielle," Tom hissed. He nearly snarled when he found my hand could not be moved from his shoulder. "And how could I forgive that woman," he continued, "when she foolishly pawned something for so little that had more worth than her very life?" He sneered. "And with this worthless life, she did pay for her misdeeds, just as she deserved to do."
"What object did she pawn?" I pressed. "Was it just before she gave birth to you?"
The corners of his lips twitched, in anger or maddened amusement, I could not discern.
"Very good, Danielle," he said softly, though it was as if my name were being uttered upon a foreign tongue. He looked at me for a long moment, and this time, he wore a smirk. "You still wear it, I see."
It was then that I realized he had reverted to Parseltongue. I nodded, unconsciously touching the locket through layers of cloth.
"What irony," he mused, yet I could tell that he found no irony in it at all. "For it was a locket that my mother so carelessly tossed away. A priceless heirloom, forged by Salazar Slytherin. But she knew nothing of this; she was far too mindless to comprehend what it was and what her actions would be and mean."
"And yet you have found it. Did you not visit the moment it left her hands? Did you watch her die, Tom?"
He paused. "I deny nothing."
I nodded, grimly satisfied, although I knew this was not the only tie he had traveled to. If this had not been so, he would not have required the Time-Turner for which he had asked and gained.
"You must wonder why it was that I desired this Time-Turner," he remarked, turning the tiny device within his hand. He laughed, pleased by the expression upon y face, an expression which resided there only because my own thoughts had been echoed aloud.
"It was due to a task given to me by Mr. Burke that I first approached you, in regards to the Time-Turner. I was told to acquire a cup which had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Yet the man did not know for certain in whose possession it was. In truth, he still does not know… I have only just gained this knowledge myself, and may confirm his thoughts. But even this is more than I had hoped. For you see, Danielle, both cup and locket were last seen in the home of a single person, that of a witless and vain woman. And Burke knows nothing of Slytherin's locket."
"And so you mean to steal them from her."
"Oh no, I do not stoop to theft," he chuckled, not remembering that I had done that very thing for his sake not long before. "She will simply give them to me."
"What if she does not?"
"Everything has a price placed upon it."
I understood, then, that this was a challenge to him, a twisted game. Merely stealing would not suffice. He would win her heart in a different way than he had mine, whispering into her ear until she could not distinguish her own will from his. The end result would be the same no matter the path he chose to reach it: the cup and locket would be his. But only through this method would he be satisfied, for in this way, he would win the game. I only hoped that he would not be forced to cheat to do so.