The shimmer of a mighty full moon follows me through the corridors as my brisk steps carry me to the lavatory on the second floor.

I'm barely in touch with myself, my body, as I come to land on rat skeletons on the crunching floor, taking shape again out of black smoke deep beneath the washbasins.

I'm unable to think straight, I merely function. And I follow my path, my destiny, all along into the cold Chamber of Secrets.

From the movement of the floor alone I can feel Echidna rise from her slumber until her huge body slides through Slytherin's mouth.

"Is it time yet?" she hisses.

While I hold Harper's diary tightly, feeling probably more sentimental than I should, I light all the torches and candles along my way with a loud Incendio.

And Echidna knows well what that means, no answer is required.

It is time.
I know what I have to do.
Why I have to do it.
And how.

If my soul is to split in two and bind itself to one object, it must at least be something I hold sacred.

Everything Harper has ever said, done or given me equals just that. And so I hope that, if she ever finds out, she won't be too disgusted by such obvious misappropriation of her diary, but recognise that idealistic attempt to give it a vague meaning at least.

Today is the day – the night – for which I have waited for much too long. It's time to finally move forward.

Seven in number were and are required to even begin the process. But with me, they have long since been ticked off, all along with the murder of Morfin Gaunt, I paid my dues.

The darkness wants to take its toll, and that it shall receive in sevenfold form.

Superbia – Pride – has guided me in my arrogance for as long as I can remember.

Avaritia – Greed – in all my longing for eternity, even if no living soul should ever be entitled to it.

Luxuria – Lust – undeniable in Little Hangleton, in that cursed place where I found myself in heaven with Harper and burned in purgatory the second I woke up.

Ira – Wrath – aimed at all the world, as an eternal companion.

Gula – Gluttony – the old thirst for power, a sin so undeniable as dreadful.

Invidia – Envy – all the normal lives that people take for granted, with their foolish expectations of meaning.

Acedia – Sloth – the most paralysing of all sins, spiritual ignorance, deeply rooted in my heart.

No, I can't go back into the light. It's too far away, with all seven deadly sins so obviously dominating my life.

I take my robe off and roll my white sleeves up, I put the medallion and the diary down, then I find myself standing in the huge pentagram surrounded by runes and eternal black candles.

The shards of my existence spread before me while the full moon's shine still reaches the cold floor of the chamber through all its secret tunnels. Otherwise, nothing but cold, damp air surrounds me.

I let the ancient parchment note float up in front of me one last time, even though I've long since memorised its words and symbols.

∞ Animus magis magisque discinditur ∞
ᚾ
7

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Once, twice, only heaven and hell know how many times I repeat just that. Air in and out.

Out of nowhere, Edwin's words come back to me.

He lost a considerable amount of his humanity and split off even more from society. Children, that's why Horcruxes are said to be so painful. You might learn something else if I tell you that consciously splitting your soul separates you from the rest of the world. From mortality, yes. But also from the true meaning of life. The process must be an unspeakable, physical agony, barely endurable pain – in a short period of time a Horcrux creates what normally happens to a soul over many years, or, at best, of course, doesn't happen at all.

Yet here I am, ready to force it in five nights.

And the steady dripping of the stalactites above Echidna and me gives me a clear rhythm.

"Animus magis magisque discinditur!"

I pause, tense, but I feel nothing.

I repeat the words, quieter, louder, concentrated and ever so casually, then I finally realise what's missing.

"Accio!" Looking at Harper's diary next to my cloak, I expect it to move when it doesn't.

"The symbol on the ground," Echidna whispers, "isn't it supposed to stop light from escaping?"

I nod. "You're right, then why would a spell make it out …"

She pushes the diary towards me with her head until I pick it up and, in full possession of my soul, look at the engraved gold letters on the black leather one last time.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harper May Riddle …

It sounds so right and is so obviously wrong.

I shake my head, it's raw intuition, still my left hand holds her diary up. And then I hear myself repeating the incantation once more.

"Animus magis magisque discinditur!"

As soon as I speak, a sharp pain forces me to my knees.

I gasp for air and support myself on the damp ground beneath me, but agony was no understatement.

This is worse than the Crutiatus Harper demonstrated in the Room of Requirement.
Significantly worse.

I groan from the bottom of my soul, literally, and struggle to catch my breath.

"Son of Slytherin, you don't need to do it – the Master couldn't himself …"

The piercing pain radiating from the centre of my body, as though I'd just been disembowelled alive, completely clouds my mind.

After a few heartbeats and deep breaths, however, I realise that it's obviously working. My insides are tearing – piece by piece, millimetre by millimetre. This is exactly what I wanted, even if it feels like dying. Either way, I can't stop anymore – I have to repeat the words …

"Animus magis …" I whisper and force myself to complete the incantation. "… Magisque discinditur …"

Glowing pain out of this world, growing in intensity, everywhere at the same time. In my head, my pain memory, in every one of my nerves, in every thought. I cling to the diary and continue, even if I all but gasp.

"Animus magis magisque discinditur, animus magis magisque … discinditur … Animus … magis magisque discinditur …"

It feels like an eternity, repeating these words over and over again, but then suddenly, everything happens fast.

I can't help the sudden urge, I retch miserably. Considering my body's state, I'm expecting blood – but what I spit out is bright, glistening light.

I struggle to keep my eyes open enough and lift my gaze from the floor. There it floats and shimmers, right in front of me, like a thousand tears united. And the immaculate sight, pristine light of my soul, makes me sincerely doubt my actions for a moment.

Who am I to destroy something so sacred for the sake of immortality?

And yet my hands open Harper's diary.
And yet I place my left hand in the centre of two pages until the flames of the candles around me blaze inexplicably high.

My light tries to escape indeed, but fire blocks its path.

"Animus magis magisque discinditur", I repeat with the last will I can work up, and finally I watch as the tears of light obediently drip onto the pages of the diary.

As soon as they touch the paper, their glow dims. What was shining in silver becomes black, spots on white that evaporate like water on a hob, just to rise up like dark smoke again.

"Breathe it in," Echidna whispers, mesmerised by the black mist just like me.

I'm dazed with pain, but her words reach the bottom of my consciousness. I get up on my feet, the diary in hand, I can barely stand. Yet here I am, my head tilted back and both my eyes closed for the sky, as though I was still hoping for a hint of redemption.

"Son of Slytherin, breathe!"

She's right. I need to breathe.
And I do. I breathe – and all at once the candles and torches go out, as if by a violent gust of wind.

I breathe and breathe because my life depends on it. And the darkness I receive in return for the light of my soul uplifts my slumped body indeed. It's as if the new, stale content was artificial and wrong, but nevertheless it's sufficient to fulfill its purpose.

And then there's sudden silence, even within myself.

I'm bleeding out internally, or so it seems, but I'm standing. And where at first there was a glowing heat from the tearing in my soul's core, now all of a sudden there's but wavering, sticky coldness.

My heart is still beating, but my mind is in another place.

I can't feel myself hitting the ground, I can't feel anything, but I still realise how Echidna's placing her head next to mine, to not leave me all alone on the wet ground in this full moon night …

Hi there,

oof, 80 chapters.

A lot of Slytherin cynicism, a huge word count, and lots of plot yet to come. I never thought I'd get this far and that this would become such a huge project, also one I'd now also translate into English, but well …

I hope you enjoyed the road so far and what's yet to come. Don't be shy to leave a comment and thank you for reading along.

xx
Dalia