I need to sort out my priorities. Urgently. Which fire requires attention first? I have plenty of impossible goals to achieve within a year, so I'd better waste no time.

"Tom?" Elliott is clearly puzzled as he gets up from the sofa in the common room, right in the middle of the night. "Damn it, Tom?"

I have a blood pact to break that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore hasn't been able to destroy in 17 years – with nothing more than the presumption of a viable way on my hand.
As much as I dislike Dumbledore, he's one of the brightest minds of our time. Who, if not him, would know what to do? Surely, he'd thought of poison himself and let the Keeper of the Keys make illegal purchases if he'd seen an opportunity?
But where to get basilisk venom when breeding them has been banned for centuries, and the animal is difficult to hide, given its size …
Still – who knows? Maybe he never wanted to destroy the phial in the first place. And he does indeed hide, just as Grindelwald suspects.

"Tom, can you even hear me?" Elliott stares at me as though I were a ghost, now blocking my path at that. "Where have you been?"

But that's not my only problem. I need to get rid of that absurd amount of anxiety. I'm still not properly functioning because my past has finally caught up with me. I feel sick just thinking about the Gaunt's incestuous family history on a regular basis, and even worse whenever Merope and her love potion comes to mind.
Was she that much better than Morfin in the end? Didn't her decisions lead to the same deeds that now overshadow even my life?
And not just mine. It's her fault that I can't love Harper. And I know that, yet it feels like my own sin …

So how do I untangle this Gordian knot of problems that will break the necks of everyone I've ever cared about in a year, at the latest, if I can't make any progress?

Much more indignant than before, Elliott repeats, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Louder, if you please," I hiss, finally facing him in the otherwise empty room, "make sure the whole dungeon can hear you!"

If I went to Dumbledore with basilisk poison in my hand, he'd know immediately who and what I am. He probably already suspects as much anyway, since I told him I could talk to snakes as a child …
Of course he'd stare at me. I'd have stared at myself, knowing what I know today.

In any case, Echidna would no longer be safe in the castle, and the chamber – although it seems ideal – could no longer serve me as a setting for the creation of a Horcrux.

Yet if I'm unable to die, can't I do much more for everyone involved in the pact if the worst case comes?

I have to start with the Horcrux. There's no way around it – only when I'm immortal can I devote myself to the blood pact, which will also dissolve my unbreakable vow.

But that presents me with the worst of my troubles. I'm back where I began, and not a step further.
How do I create a Horcrux …

"Why are you even awake?" I suddenly ask Elliott.

"I …" He pauses, shrugging. "Why I'm awake?" He's glancing at me with wide eyes and then narrows them in rising anger. "Tom, I've been worried about you for weeks! I can't sleep at all at the moment!"

"Ah – welcome to my world," I all but say.

How the hell do I create a bloody Horcrux?
Grindelwald's hints didn't even give me a clue as to how to go about it …

I just need to keep my composure. I'll find a way. I can't think about my blatant lack of sleep, or the fact that without Queenie's cooking I'll soon forget to eat again. And in absolutely no way can I think about Harper or the way my life has been turned upside down.

Too much to do.
How am I even supposed to find time for classes? The last few weeks I've had no obligations in that regard, but here, back at Hogwarts, my movements are significantly restricted, even as a Prefect.

Elliott can't help but stare at me. Not least because of that, I follow up with, "Drives you mad not being able to sleep, doesn't it?"

I need to become Head Boy in September to maximise my range of freedom.
That should be the least of my challenges – most of the kids either look up to me or are afraid, and I'm sure Slughorn can arrange an evening with the professors to get the elections started …

"Lack of sleep makes you go completely crazy, yes!" Elliott hisses, blocking my path yet again with his hands on his hips. "I want answers, Tom. Sit down right now, or else –"

"Or else what?" I hold his gaze until he sighs and shakes his head in exasperation.

"Tom, what happened? Why no owl? No letter, no sign of life? Come on, sit down!"

"You want to talk about that in the middle of the night?"

"I do! You disappeared from the face of the earth for almost four weeks during the holidays! Without any excuse! Nobody knew anything about you, Tom! Not even Harper, she was –"

"What?" I acidly ask. "What was she?"

She's not dead. I've already verified.
Because I couldn't help it.
I know I shouldn't be flying around the castle – the Ravenclaw tower, to be precise – like a dementor well past midnight. But I had no peace of mind until I was certain Harper was safe and sound, as Grindelwald had sworn.

And so Myrtle, the only one who was still awake, had to wonder why black smoke was flying past the window again and again – until she finally got it and opened it. She was able to quickly reassure me that Harper, very much alive, was asleep – and so I continued on my way to the dungeon.

Hence, with my head full of fog and the familiar sound of the groaning door hinges in my back, I entered the Slytherin common room so distracted that I hadn't even consciously noticed Elliott …

But here we are.

Perplexed, he tilts his head. "Harper was worried about you, of course! She said you had something to do, but when you didn't come back even after a week, she couldn't pretend that everything was all right. What happened between you?"

"We're in no way discussing that now," I decide, cracking my neck from left to right. My body is starting to protest.

"Oh, tight back?" Elliott smugly asks, holding my gaze afterwards. "What have you been up to?"

"Ell, I'm not in the mood –"

"Don't do that now! I'm your best friend!" He presses his lips together and, after taking in a deep breath, he adds, "And still I'm nothing against the professors – because they'll be hopping mad!"

"I've already spoken to Dippet," I say. "It's all sorted out."

His jaw drops, but it's true.

Dippet in particular is still eating out of my hand. He didn't blame me once when I turned up on his doorstep just before midnight. He had been worried about me, how very touching, and he immediately understood that I had to stay away with my highly contagious and almost deadly case of dragon pox. He vowed to treat that very understandable reason for my absence with utmost confidentiality, and he assured me that I wouldn't have to worry about explaining it to the professors.
The man is a godsend.

Just like Echidna, because she's still my best prospect for a viable –

Echidna …
Hell surely hath no fury like Echidna. She didn't have anyone to bring her fresh meat in the last few weeks, just like the centuries before. But with my ridiculous bad luck, I guess I'll have to worry about her starving to death just when I'm going to need her. How ironic would it be if all my plans with her were now too late, even though she's been hidden away in the castle for almost a millennium?

This thought makes me so nervous that I can barely manage to stay calm.

But I can't come to her empty-handed either. I need Hagrid, that is to say, Hagrid's meat, otherwise the ancient mother of monsters will likely go for my throat before I can even find out whether I'm immune to her poison and her gaze …

"So as the headmaster's favourite, can you just come and go whenever you please?"

"I can do much more than that," I growl.

"Maybe, but you can't sit still for a second!" he complains. "I'm not your enemy, Tom. So sit down already, let's talk!"

He doesn't deserve to be ignored, I get it. And I would rather not curse him, but if only he knew how inconvenient this conversation is right now …
Groaning quietly, I return to the sofas with him and let myself fall into the cushions opposite him, massaging my ever aching temples.

"What happened? In general, and to you?"

"Questions again," I reply in annoyance. "Just try to sleep, Elliott."

"Oh, sure!" he murmurs. "Listen, you don't owe me a thing. But surely I don't have to explain to you that with Harper, you've been –"

"Stop it!" I snap, getting straight back up. I can't have this conversation now … I force myself to be as level-headed as possible when I say, "You have no idea what went on, Elliott. Just don't get involved. Stay out of it."

He nimbly blocks my path again.

"Don't treat me like Avery or Lestrange –"

"Then don't ask probing questions like they would! I haven't slept a night in three weeks, I've been under constant surveillance, I desperately need a cold shower and, even more urgently, something to eat because otherwise my blood sugar levels drop lower than those of a rotting corpse – and generally speaking, I have way bigger problems than your offended pride currently, yes?"

"Then let's solve your problems together!" Quite taken aback, he firmly nods as if to emphasise that option. "That's what friends do!"

Friends …
Have I ever had a friend? Or was I just trying to convince myself that Elliott was important to me? Given the very doubt, I have to assume that everything, so far, has been a lie. One that I admittedly wanted to believe for the sake of it …

Unaware of my existential crisis, he pulls a few pear drops out of his cloak and presses them into my hand. "For the blood sugar levels."

I take a deep breath and – only because I'm dizzy – don't ask how long they've been in his cloak.

"Thanks," I grumble, "but still, Elliott – stay out of it."

And with that, I leave him in the empty common room – simply lacking more energy for any discussion today …