"No need for cynicism, Tom," Vivian huffs, "if anyone has earned such a title, it's certainly him. Whatever you think you can do – he's been doing it for much longer and clearly better –"

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Nagini interrupts her while eyeing me. "Earlier you said it yourself. Tom's been radiating magic ever since he was a child. It's easy to underestimate young blood – but often fatal."

"Gini, you've experienced him yourself, time after time," Vivian almost whispers. "And with all due respect – you're not a witch. As such, believe me when I say that no one can be more powerful."

"That symbol he wore back then," I hear myself say, "what was it?"

"What symbol?" Vivian asks, clearly alarmed. "The triangle?"

I nod.

"Why do you want to know that, Tom?" She seems to wish she could appeal to my common sense – as though there was any left of it. "Stay the hell away from anything involving him. He's asked an alarming number of questions about you then, right after you met, because it was probably much clearer to him than it was to me that you might one day make a name for yourself. But remember … at the top of the triangle, there can only be one. And you don't want to mess with him, so just forget about it real quick and –"

"What does it stand for?" I all but continue. "What does the triangle mean? Does it represent the Deathly Hallows?"

Vivian gulps like she's partaking in a conspiracy, but eventually she pulls out her wand.

"What has also been a symbol of Freemasonry for centuries, with its elements of the square, compasses and Horus' eye," she says, drawing those very forms of the symbol in the air in burning lines with her wand, "is indeed equally a representation of the Deathly Hallows. In this case, the occult goes hand in hand with magical fairytales."

"The Three Brothers, by Beedle the Bard –"

"Yes, Tom, he at least assumes it must be about the Peverell family. The symbol is their crest … And it represents three possessions that, in combination, may conquer death." She wipes the symbol away with her wand so that it breaks down into its component parts. "The triangle as the most effective Cloak of Invisibility, it can supposedly hide you from hell." She points to the vertical. "The line for the most powerful wand in the world, given away by the Grim Reaper himself, and last but not least …" Our gaze shifts to … "the Resurrection Stone, said to bring back the dead. And whoever holds all three – the Cloak, the Elder Wand and the Stone – is to be just as invincible as immortal." Her eyes never leave my face, she adds, "Now guess who holds the Elder Wand …"

Guess who holds the stone, I think. Wouldn't it be possible? I can't help but feel that if the Peverells were mentioned in the Slytherin family tree, they might have passed on their heirlooms as well.

"Interesting," I only say, though. "That's really interesting … But probably nothing more than a fairytale and rumours in the end?"

"No, I've witnessed the power of the Elder Wand, with my own eyes," she replies all serious. "Impossible to fight it. Those aren't just children's stories."

"Is that why you followed him?" I ask. "Why you agreed to support his Greater Good?"

"No, Tom, I just made a mistake," she's sad to reply. "I had my reasons at the time, but I deeply regret it."

"Fair enough," I retort. "But there's more than one path to immortality."

"If you mean that on a spiritual level, fine by me," she firmly replies. "But anything beyond that, Tom –"

"I'm talking about a Horcrux."

Jim swallows hard.
Nagini nods as though it was indeed a viable path, Vivian begins biting her lips quite anxiously.

"Can you introduce me to him?"

She slowly shakes her head. "What on earth are you up to?"

"They say he created one."

"I'm sure you know what else they say," Nagini adds. "That the ritual supposedly hurts. A lot …"

"Do you know more about it?" I ask, but she only shakes her head.

"Just that … And that it requires a sacrifice. Have you murdered, Tom?"

I simply nod.

"But you don't know how to instrumentalise it within the ritual," Vivian says under her breath. "Do you?"

"No, and I can hardly ask Dumbledore …"

"You can't ask him either," Vivian whispers. "He'll curse you out of this world, Tom, if he all but suspects you could ever be dangerous to him –"

"I can be very persuasive."

"I know, under normal circumstances. But in this endeavour, you die trying." Vivian keeps holding my gaze. "And I care about you. So I can't help you."

"Purely a matter of negotiation, Vivian," I counter. "What do you want?"

"What?"

"What do you want?"

She gives me a bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter one bit, because you can't beat him. He used to be impressively sober, he was right about a lot of things – but life changes us all, and by now he's completely insane if you ask me."

"His downfall," I gather. "You want his downfall. And your freedom that comes with it. Don't you? Just say it."

"What would it change?" she bleakly asks. "You will not bring that about, Tom, that's out of the question …"

"Completely out of the question, until a few moments ago, was that there could still be someone alive to understand me," Nagini points out. "Basically, it would have been completely out of the question for the Dark Lord to have cared about a little child then – but he was troubled. Viv, there must be a reason for that …"

"If he had sensed real danger," she firmly replies, "Tom wouldn't be here now, but buried face down!"

"He values magical blood," Nagini disagrees. "And don't forget that even then he had visions of a boy who could still be as useful to him as dangerous. Credence obviously wasn't the one, but back when he met Tom, he did pay close attention. I'm sure he knows exactly when he's graduating from Hogwarts – and Tom could hardly turn around after his last year, he'd want to recruit him right away. Nurmengard is lonely, what could be more interesting than a prodigy with an affinity for Black Magic, as he himself once was. Like Credence was …" She sighs, pushing aside obviously tormenting feelings. "And besides, wouldn't he be terribly taken with a boy who was once under Dumbledore's care – and then join him? That would be sweet triumph for him."

"Why, what's it with their feud?" I ask.

"Feud," Vivian repeats, sighing. "Not a feud, Tom. It's a tragic love affair. They made a blood pact as young men never to fight each other – which is bitter irony of fate today, as it turns out, because probably only Dumbledore could match him."

"No Unbreakable Vow?" I ask.

"Tom," Vivian groans, "there is no way around a blood pact either! It is impossible –"

"Very little is impossible in magic," I claim. "There must be a reason for the existence of two kinds of pact."

Impatiently she murmurs, "Tom, forget about it! Get married, work a semi-fulfilling job for the ministry and for heaven's sake stay under the radar!"

"See, Vivian," I reply wanly. "that's completely out of the question."

She shakes her head in dismay. "Just as stubborn as ever, huh? Find a girl that makes you happy, let her be your home, have beautiful children and just –"

"The vow," I cut her off, I can't think about Harper any longer than Nagini could think about Credence, "surely there's a way around it."

"That's like trying to fly without a broom! Don't grit your teeth on things like that!"

"That's what I'm pretty good at though."

I promptly turn into black smoke, speeding across the room before I float straight through Vivian.

Visibly shocked, she stares at me as I again solidify in front of her.

"Theory and practice outgrow each other if you only learn to understand their principles long enough," I say as Jim and Nagini can't help but nod in appreciation. "His day might be coming to an end –"

"In return for your night?" Nagini asks, amused yet surprisingly ambiguous.

"Who knows," I reply, glancing from one to the other. "Where do you wish to stand?"

"Why do I have a feeling that we are casting out the devil by Beelzebub when we help you?"

"Because you've known me ever since I was a child," I reply, giving her a mirthless smile.

"Again, Tom," Vivian says, shaking her head in exasperation, "you can't beat him!"

"I won't have to if you're right about Dumbledore."

"He could do it, most likely," she corrects me.

"Great." I shrug. "Then let's see to it that he may try – with some … information at hand."

Vivian gives me a questioning look.

"My interest, first and foremost, is rooted in the Dark Arts," I explain to her, "and a Horcrux –"

"Goodness, Tom, stop it already! Once again – this is … occult black magic! And you'd better read up a few more books on it before you even dare to get involved with a beast like him –"

"I've been digging up all the available material on it for months, Vivian. There are no sources that go into any details of the ritual. No sources on the incantation."

She blinks a couple of times. "I'm sure there's a bloody good reason for that, don't you think?"

"You take me to him," I just continue, "I study him and tell Dumbledore, as casually as possible, weak points I can observe –"

"He has none!"

"Everyone has some," I claim.

"Do you?" Jim asks, giving me quite an unusual seriously look. "What are you running away from? What could possibly make you want to magically tear your soul apart?"

"I do have my reasons," I hear me say, turning to Vivian again. "We can't give Dumbledore any more of an advantage than that. Somehow the Blood Pact can be broken, and he will navigate through the rest himself, as brilliant as he is … With that, you will either get what you want right away, namely your freedom, or … should Dumbledore fail, you'll get it with … let's say … a little time delay. Your Dark Lord will remember me and seek revenge, and then I – immortal, after the splitting of my soul – will fulfill my promise."

"What if I say no."

"I think he'll do it anyway," Nagini hums, "it might only take him a little longer without us."

Vivian frowns. "Well, Tommy, do you have it in you? Would you kill me, too, if I was in your way?"

I wink and repeat Nagini's words. "Not you …"

"Right answer," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "He would have said yes. And you're lying, but at least you're indecisive – like you couldn't do it after all."

"Is that really what you think?" I ask, even though I can't help but grin.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, almost in amusement. "Your brilliant plan, however, has a major flaw. Literally, Tom. Your face is impossible to forget. He'll instantly remember that pale, peculiar boy you were, and he'll know to treat you with skepticism at the very least. You won't find out anything about him at all."

"Him and Dumbledore," I think aloud, "what truth do the rumours hold? Were they like brothers?"

"No," Nagini immediately says, "they were closer than brothers."

"Perfect …" I feel my mouth curve into a ready smile. "And do you happen to know anyone that looks like Dumbledore? A younger Dumbledore, I mean."

"What are you up to?" Vivian asks at once, her eyes narrowing. "Tom?"

"Clothes make people," I say, "and faces sympathy … We just need the right one."

"Wishing you had a little Polyjuice Potion available, huh?" Vivian chuckles.

"I rarely make wishes, I happen to have some at hand. So – what do you say?"

"That you think far too much like him …" Still she eventually nods. "But so be it, I'll try to help you. I'll take you to him, but only on one condition. An Unbreakable Vow –"

"Come on, not again," I groan.

"Swear to me you that won't become insane – if you're in it for a Horcrux, I can't condone it, but that's your choice. However, if you want me to support you while still mortal and foolishly thinking of duels between him and yourself, then I'd rather have you die by our Vow. Without pain, instead of being tortured out of this world by him. In short, forget about the Elder Wand!"

"Gladly, for now," I promise, extending my hand to her. "Who wants to take the oath?"

"I can do it, there's just enough cursed magic in me for that," Nagini says. "Where's your wand?"

"Pocket inside," I reply, yet looking at Vivian.

She certainly hadn't imagined our reunion to be like this. But I hardly feel any different …

"One more thing," Nagini begins before placing the wand on our arms. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. He hasn't trusted me or you for years, Vivian. We need help."

"Who do you have in mind?"

Nagini smiles. "You know who I'm thinking of. If we're lucky, we'll meet her at Carkitt Market in the morning."

"Tom, are you there? Will you open the door?"

With a wave of my hand, I do as I'm told and Nagini finds me brooding in a spare room, fully dressed on a bed of questionable hygiene, leaning against the wall. The arrangement of the furniture reminds me quite horribly of Wool's and Jim can claim as many times as he likes that he boils these sheets regularly – because in the end, what he thinks is regular is simply open to question …

She's holding two bowls in her hand, but she doesn't enter.

"Will you eat with me?" she asks, nodding to the bowls.

I can smell the flavors that spread through the air, and it's probably on instinct that I sit up.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Filled to the brim and a bit heavy," she retorts, "so let's go up to the roof and eat – you're starving."

Before I know it, I'm already levitating the bowls so that her slender wrists aren't strained any further.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"The roof?" I repeat. "Why the roof?"

"Don't ask an old woman so many questions, Tom, just move." She chuckles to herself as soon as she notices my irritated look.

"You practically called for this next question, and it's quite a forbidden one as well, but just how old are –"

"I was born in 1856."

It must be rude how I'm staring at her, but I simply can't believe those words. "You're almost 90 years old? Really?"

She nods. "That's the blessing in my curse – at least looks wise I'll stay young before I never have a human body again. I've been lucky to live mostly as a human anyway, but it won't stay like that for much longer. I'm already transforming more frequently than I did five years ago."

Then she turns her back on me and heads for the stairs. "Come on, let the food fly."

She's actually right. I am starving. And so without further ado I follow her, up the stairs to the roof.

As she opens the door into the open air, we can still hear the wing beats of countless pigeons that we're chasing away, and the orange sun is lighting up the tower of St Anne's Church. Its huge clock proves that it's indeed lunchtime. How strange to see Soho by day and from above …

"Do you come here often?"

She winks and waves me along. "It's a good overview of quite a lot up here …" She breathes in the spring air – but given the nature of Soho, that subsequently also means the smell of ale and tobacco – and she walks towards the midday warmth, to the other end of the rooftop. "And it's a good place, especially," she then says, "for you, as you're not only starving, but obviously also avoiding all light."

"What do you mean?"

She sees me following her as she glances over her shoulder, and she gives me a warm smile. "Sunlight is healthy, Tom, don't hide from it so consistently."

"I don't hide from it, I just –"

"You're as pale as a corpse, Tom."

It's no use arguing against it – facts usually speak for themselves …

She sits down on one of the empty whiskey crates overlooking the still quiet neighbourhood, then she soon gestures for me to sit down, too.

"How long do you think you've got left?" I ask while the bowls are floating back into our hands as well. "As a human, I mean."

"Three years, maybe," she answers, looking up into the sky, "barely longer … Physically, it's already liberating to take on my snake form, it hurts less than this shell, it's just …" She taps her forehead. "Right here, I still know it's completely twisted."

"Unjust, the way the mind tends to catch up with us."

"What does it catch up on with you?"

I look at her, quite bleakly so, and whatever it is – I trust her, like a mother I never had.

"Long story," I nevertheless deflect. "The details are abstruse, but it all ends just as much in a curse …"

"I guess we're the shadow children of this world then." She looks down into the steaming contents of the bowl in her hands.

"Aside from filled to the brim and heavy," I begin, doing the same, "what is this?"

Against all expectations, the symbiosis of exotic spices and broth makes me hungry and as rarely as I have an appetite – the small patties, the Mie noodles and the half boiled egg really do look as good as the dish smells with its spring onions, herbs and chilli.

"Bakwan Malang," she replies. "As the name suggests, a dish from the town of Malang in Jawa Timur. Not far from Surabaya."

"Your home?"

She nods, pulls out two porcelain spoons and hands one to me.

"It's been a long time, but I still miss Java. Food like that eases it a bit. Try it!"

I do just that and feel as if I've been hugged from the inside straight away. "This is ridiculously good … Spicy, but really good …"

"You Brits think everything is spicy."

"Probably true. Where did you get the ingredients? Chinatown?"

"Yes, the others still prefer lentil stew. Can you imagine? And when I heard you had no appetite at all, I knew you'd make an exception for this."

"What else do you think?" I wanly look at her. "About me?"

"I knew you would brood all alone, as you always did as a child – and I suspect about you …" She pauses and smiles, it's barely noticeably. "I suspect that you're an Heir of Slytherin. You see, there aren't many Parsel tongues in this part of the world. So I wonder – did you find the place?"

"What?"

She looks at me, all amused. "His catacombs …"

"The chamber," I repeat, sighing, and finally I nod. "Deep down under the castle, a tomb for the living – yes."

"And what about his monster?" Nagini asks, her eyes wide. "Did you hear it? I was at the viaduct briefly in 1927, but not close enough to Hogwarts …"

I slowly nod. "She's hungry, Nagini. I can't trust her that much yet."

"Watch out for that one, will you?" she almost whispers. "It's in our nature to murder."

"In mine, too … But where's the guilty conscience?"

She just waves it off. "I haven't had one for decades either. But why a Horcrux? Do you really want to be immortal in this dreary life?"

"I don't want to feel anymore."

"Ah," she hums, nodding bleakly. "I understand that, at the very latest since Credence …"

"Who was he?"

She hesitates, as though the mere memory pains her. "A wonderful friend. But also an Obscurial. And thus something the Dark Lord wanted to use for his own purposes. Just a bit too much black magic and anyone is in danger …"

"So he's no longer –"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I never saw him again. He was the only one who didn't shudder when I changed forms." She smiles with a hearty sigh. "He never treated me like I was cursed, he was … just there. It's very rare to find someone who's just there."

How right she is.
And yet I ran away from the only person on earth who wanted to be there for me.

I stare to the clock of the church. "Did you … love him?"

"Yes, with all my heart."

What would my answer be if someone asked me about Harper?
I've never really loved her because hell wanted me to be incapable of appreciating the angel heaven sent me?
How infernal is that?

"For years I've wanted to make him pay," Nagini whispers, darkly intent. "Credence was so much more than a weapon in a meaningless fight."

In silence, we both let our gazes wander across London's rooftops.

"And I bet he doesn't even have one …"

I screw my face up. "A Horcrux? You don't think so?"

"I think he just wants the Hallows," she groans in thought. "But maybe he can help you with the ritual anyway. Still, Tom … Jim was right earlier, you're just running from something."

"My soul is already tainted," I repeat. "The crime has been committed. Wouldn't it be plainly logical to go all out when nothing else matters anyway?"

"Don't forget that he'll likely hunt you down if he finds out who you really are. Unless Dumbledore wakes up."

"Which he only will if the pact can be broken …"

She nods. "Exactly. But don't you have access to the venom of what probably is the last living European basilisk?" She looks at me for a long moment. "They say the poison itself is capable of destroying Horcruxes … How much harder can the bond of a Blood Pact be?"

She raises her eyebrows more surreptitiously than Albus Dumbledore ever could, and I all but smirk.

"That might work," she murmurs contentedly. "We just have to convince Queenie tomorrow, and then it might actually work …"