The waning crescent moon keeps shining high above me, far away as can be and out of sight down here – in the long-lost, infamous catacombs of Salazar Slytherin.
As much as I suffer from bitter coldness ever since the full moon, as much as I'm aware of a certain red gleam in my eyes, and how far away any touch on my skin feels as of lately – I can't let it stop me from performing the rituals.
There is no way back.
I have no choice but to accept the devastating alteration of my body and its senses to improve my circumstances in a magical context.
Still one teasing thought keeps crossing my mind. My magic also seems to suffer from the rituals.
I can only hope that in particular will be balanced out once I'm done …
Only with heavy breaths I manage to drag myself to the end of the Chamber of Secrets, right in front of the pentacle on the ground. I feel that I cannot light the eternal candles with my bare hands anymore, let alone the torches high above the giant snake heads along the platform of Slytherin's statue.
Not anymore. Lighting up the world with fire was ridiculously easy not too many days ago …
But I have no time for doubts or false pride. I draw my wand, the least straining way to focus the magic within me.
"Incendio!" I hear myself mutter, yet even with my wand in hand, this little spell feels exhausting.
Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, phoenix feather as a core – nothing less chose me years ago. But should my intentions stand in such stark contrast to those of the wand that it simply goes on strike these days?
Or is it just me and the well annoying fact that I'm literally falling apart?
Well. So be it.
"Animus magis magisque discinditur!" I begin to chant, over and over again, the diary in my hand, with flickering candles around me as Echidna glides towards her doe at the entrance of the chamber.
"Son of Slytherin," she hisses as she's making her way back to me with her prey, "a part of you is dying – do not perish with it, for we still have our duty to fulfill …"
A metaphorical part of me is dying.
But it doesn't feel metaphorical, quite the contrary.
Dying could never be so painful while still alive – I can feel every fibre of my body burning, and it's becoming more intense with every ritual. Like a thousand sharp needles stuck in my every pore, hot and cold, in a struggle for air.
"Duty?" I ask under my breath as I run her words through my head again. "We've already been over this!"
"We have to cleanse this place, of mud!"
I pause, I'm exhausted. This discussion should be postponed until pain does no longer force me to my knees, but how could I not address it right away?
"Echidna, if only you knew her …" I groan, my stomach finally turning while I break a cold sweat. Still I concentrate. "She's intelligent, talented … She'd still love snakes if it wasn't for my mistakes – and yet you regard her as mudblood …"
I can hardly say more. The effect of the incantation I've already spoken is taking on insane proportions today – if I didn't know better, I'd think my skull was going to burst open any moment.
Grindelwald's words are spinning through my head intrusively, even though I wish to suppress them so much.
The worst pain you can imagine. Agony. And if your body knows the chemistry of light – love – it's very dangerous to get to that point anyway.
My soul keeps clinging to my body, more than ever, and there can be only one reason.
A reason completely impossible.
And yet it is forced into my consciousness …
Or am I just exceptionally sensitive today? For better or worse, I'll grit my teeth and end what I have begun.
"Intelligent, talented – but where is she?" Echidna whispers, all while this absurd pain is numbing my mind. "She's not watching you die, son of Slytherin, I am! Why does she not stop you from dying?"
"She's trying to …" I all but sigh.
"Not enough – so let's kill her first!" Echidna hisses, dashing towards me until my sudden Cruciatus makes her writhe.
Agony caused by my cold rage ripples through her body like lightning, and I release her within a heartbeat. I don't wish to torment her. And thanks to using this amount of magic, I can barely see straight anymore …
"Echidna," I groan, glaring into her eyes as she approaches me again, almost trembling from humiliation, "it must be unmistakably clear to you that we are never discussing. You do what I ask, no more and no less."
"My old master said that many times," she hisses, closing her eyes as though she tried to chase away the memories. "But he never stopped so soon … With the punishment …"
"I would rather not hurt you," I gasp. "But you won't harm anyone without my permission. You obey me, and only me."
"Son of Slytherin," she whispers, sliding around the pentagram until she can rest her head on her own body. "Still you're exhausted, you need to stop …"
"I can't," I hear myself say.
I hate to, but I repeat the incantation. Again and again, I keep going, even if I soon have to whisper because I barely manage to catch my breath.
I'm not going to stop, and I'm not going to faint.
And just when I think that I'm only lying to myself, about to drop dead at any moment due to the crazy tension between my body and its soul, it happens for the third time.
Light leaves my body in the form of tears, in exchange for nothing but darkness.
And when all is done, the world around me spins much too fast. Falling asleep here, possibly forever, in eternal peace, seems so infinitely more tempting than the throbbing pain in my chest, my legs, my head – but I can't stay away from the dungeon too long again. Even the shortest of absence is soon discussed behind closed doors by now …
Elliott still hates me, but I know he's just waiting for a chance to help. If I'm not to be found where I'm supposed to be tonight, he'll end up looking for me.
And where will he start? With Harper.
She'll tell him about the Chamber of Secrets and before I know it, there'll be the lifeless bodies of two people that death must never take.
No, I have to make it to the dormitory somehow …
Mechanically, I force my legs to take step after step, even if it costs me more strength than I believe to hold.
I perceive Hogwarts' corridors around me blurred and threefold, and I probably should've just stayed with Echidna. With each new ritual, the after-effects become worse. I can barely hear myself think. I can't feel my body, everything feels cold … The ground seems deeper beneath me with every move forward, further away, even when the walls seem to be getting closer – but I make it to the dungeons.
And upon my arrival there I can only ask myself whether I'm imagining music.
At this point, anything between my reality and nirvana could be questioned, but the laughter, various voices – no, they are no trick of my tired mind.
I whisper the password of my house to the grey stone wall and the door hidden by the ancient bricks immediately slides open, ironically revealing my worst nightmare in the anteroom.
A party being celebrated, in the rhythm of … what is it? I hear the song, I hear the lyrics, but for the life of me – I can't name the title, even if everyone in the centre of the common room is singing and dancing along.
My skin is taut from head to toe, likely about to explode at any given movement, as if I were made of wax – but the atmosphere is exuberant and in my demoralised state I hardly stand out for that very reason.
My sense of balance, however, soon fails me. A clear indication that the only thing that can help now is to flee forwards. Hence I push my way through the crowds of people with a throbbing migraine – until someone holds me back. I don't feel it, just the recoil.
Avery?
"Tom!" He beams at me, but I practically see him twice. "You haven't got a drink yet!"
I probably look so perplexed that he decides it's best to pour me a glass of Firewhisky and put it right in my hand – even if I can barely hold on to it.
Against all the noise he calls into my ear, "I know you said that I had nothing but hedonism on my mind, but this stuff is superb, you'll see …"
We all get what we deserve. And I deserve this hell. Still, I need to get out of here as fast as I can. I'm about to trip over Avery, but he's intoxicated enough to not even notice. Instead, he toasts with me to then down his drink while I just leave him standing there. And in my dizziness, I don't even succeed in placing the glass onto the next best table.
The glass and its contents shatter like crystals on the floor, but if I bend my head down now, or even try to cast a spell, I'll probably die on the spot …
I simply have to make it through the common room to the dormitories.
"Riddle, easy!" Rouvenia suddenly supports me. "Are you all right? Reparo!"
With a wink of her wand, she puts the glass back together to leave it on a book table.
"Tom?" she then asks with an audible urgency in her voice. "Tom, are you all right?"
I all but nod, and as she pulls me out of the crowd, I let my eyes wander around the room.
Eric Johnson is much too interested in Cassia, Elliott is giggling with Leonora on his lap, Hagrid next to him is –
Eric Johnson? Leonora? Hagrid?
"Why is the dungeon bursting with guests?" I ask Rou.
"Why are you about to die?" she retorts, quite aghast. "You look horrible!"
"Rou – what's Gryffindor's prefect doing in the dungeons next to Hagrid and a badger?"
"I just wanted to have a good time," she meekly admits, shrugging her shoulders. "Avery organised Tadpole's Firewhisky, didn't you hear about that? Since it's my birthday …"
"Bloody hell, yes," I sigh, a faint sense of guilt piercing through what should be my heart. "I was going to say that this morning – happy birthday …"
"Forget about it, too late." She all but rolls her eyes. "Make it up during our exercises tomorrow, I want you to show us how you manage to fly like smoke –"
"Why did you bring Thursday's exercises forward? Johnson said –"
"You wanted us to be more ambitious!" she sighs. "There you go, now we'll practise tomorrow." She pushes me along, ever more anxiously. "Are you not feeling well? Surely you haven't had anything to drink, it can't be that –"
"Everything's fine, I just need to … breathe …"
She doesn't let herself be fooled and tilts her head as she feels my forehead, then my hands. "You're burning and freezing at the same time! Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?"
"Of course not, Rou, don't you dare –"
"Fine!" she immediately tries to sooth me. "Relax! But come on … You need to sit down, we'll make room for you on the sofas –"
"No, I'm practically not here at all."
"As of lately, you never are – but why actually?" Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. "What the hell are you up to? Whatever it is, you seem to kill yourself!"
"Are you all right?" Elliott asks – much too suddenly he's standing next to Rouvenia – and looks highly concerned in no time as well, although he'd rather still be angry with me. He's horrified when our looks briefly meet.
"Tom, your eyes are blood-red! What's wrong with you?"
"Now that you mention it," Rouvenia whispers, scared as well.
"I just need to …" Oh, that stabbing pain in my head makes me go crazy any second … "Get some rest, that's all."
Elliott gulps in utmost reluctance and Rouvenia doesn't believe a single word I say when I break away from the two of them. I continue to struggle through the common room, fervently avoiding any eye contact or small talk.
Ties on the lampshades, cigarette smoke wavering in dim light, knocked over bottles of liqueur, half-empty glasses and closely entwined couples as far as the eye can see.
Slughorn would love it.
I don't. Even if I could …
"No, no, forget about it! You stay right where we can see you!"
With a spirited tug, Elliott grabs my arm and maneuvers me back towards the leather sofas against all protest. "I won't let you die alone somewhere in the dark," he hisses, still he's worried. "You got that?"
"Elliott, stop it, I need to –"
"No way," he insists. "Sit down." He shoos Lestrange and Leonora up and places me between the cushions before forcing a glass of water into my hand. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd had some opium …"
"Much better than that, Elliott," I groan in all my sarcasm, "you have no idea …"
"Because you're not telling me a thing, that's right," he says, unexpectedly snide. Still he sits down right next to me, pulling Leonora back onto his lap.
"Oh – Tom, are you unwell?" she now also asks, making me laugh for good.
"What does it look like, Leonora?"
"After-effects of the dragon pox?"
I eventually nod, almost in surprise. Why not, really? "Indeed."
"There you are again, Riddle! Where did you leave your raven?"
There's a hand on my shoulder.
I can't feel it, again, because everything inside and on me is burning like purgatory anyway, but Orion behind me immediately hears, "Get your dirty hands off me. Now."
"Why so uneasy?" he asks me, leaning over me with a grin. "What were you up to the other day after Dumbledore left you alone with her?"
"Black, I'm rather unwell," I growl and look up at him, "but you're right about to join me in wishing you'd never been born."
Startled, he pulls his hand back, inching away from me in shock. "You have red eyes, Riddle!"
"Just your vivid imagination," I claim and tilt my head back because my body is literally about to fall apart – at least it feels like it …
"That's enough," Rouvenia decides, getting up hastily. "I can't just stand by watching you die."
Faster than I could stop her, she grabs Leonora to cross the common room, they both hurry to leave the dungeon.
"You made the birthday girl run off," Elliott sighs, giving me a look of weary frustration. "And Leo …"
"That's what I always do, you've just never properly realised it," I say under my breath, biting my lip to stop myself from groaning in pain.
"You're somewhat dying." Elliott is clearly worried. "You're shivering. Tom, you're cold … I need to go and get help, I can't –"
"You're not going to do anything," I growl while I struggle to get up. "I just want peace and quiet."
He's clearly overwhelmed by the situation, but so am I. Who would've thought I'd play with my life to become immortal …
"Where are you going?" Elliott calls after me competing with the loud music.
I'm not answering, I take the stairs. Not to the dormitories, quite the contrary. There's a level below the common room, at the bottom of the black lake, lit by tall windows and castle arches tainted in the outside water's shimmering green light.
Mulciber and Nott often play cards on the sofa down here, as they are doing now, but I have to interrupt that.
"Get out," I order, "now!"
They hurry for their own good, unhappy for sure, but I couldn't care less. And when I finally let myself fall onto the sofa, with the music from upstairs still ringing in my ears like from another universe, I try to take a deep breath for a moment. But my lungs seem to burst.
How am I supposed to continue with the rituals and complete them with the new moon when I'm already more dead than alive?
Stopping now is certainly just as deadly.
It's a cursed premiere – there's no one I might ask, no comparisons, nothing …
I bury my face in my hands and soon stretch out completely on the sofa, on the verge of despair – massaging my temples is a ridiculous attempt to get rid of the nagging migraine.
I breathe in, I breathe out. I just need some rest. In and out, illuminated by the pale light of the lake dancing across the walls. In and out, again and again, far too concentrated to fall asleep, but steady enough to calm the throbbing pain and my pounding pulse. In and out, until my delirium makes me feel as if I've drifted off and my body seems almost paralysed.
And yet at some point, through closed eyelids, I register shadows on me that tentatively interrupt the greenish light plays of the lake. And as if in a trance, I hear her – she comes closer, whispering, "Thank you, Rou …"
Is this wishful thinking or reality?
"I didn't know what to do," Rou says, "but he really didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing – he might be dead by now because we didn't help right away." Anxiously, she asks, "Or do you think he can hear us?"
"He would've shooed you away already if he could," I hear Elliott speculate. "Is he even breathing?"
Harper sits down next to me, hesitantly putting a hand on my chest.
This is real.
"Yes," Harper whispers.
I want to say something, I wish to shoo them all away – like Elliott predicted – but I can't make a sound. As if locked in. The old familiar sleep paralysis. My head is awake, my body is not.
"Refuses to die, that's good," Elliott finds in his usual gallows humour.
"I'll stay here with him. Could you try to keep it a secret?"
"You'll be undisturbed, I'll see to it," Elliott says, and it's almost assertive.
Rou adds, "Call us if you need anything."
"Or if he gets worse," Elliott whispers.
"I will, thank you …"
And when it becomes quiet around us again, she reaches for my forearm until she believes she can find a pulse.
"Oh, Tom," she says under her breath. She sounds so hesitant, her touch is insecure, even if I can barely feel it. As though she wasn't certain whether I can hear her. "You're all cold … When was the last time you ate?"
She sniffles, but I still can't move nor speak – I can't escape the paralysing doom, and certainly neither the headache. As if someone's nails were scratching along the top of my skull …
"Really, you're freezing," she mumbles, already gently pushing me towards the back of the sofa so that when she curls up to me, the backrest and she herself may warm me.
Feeling her body temperature against my skin again – even if I can only sense it with a time lag – is like a revelation. As if nothing bad had happened. As if we were once again perfectly unharmed and complete while snowstorms passed by the window in her parents' attic.
As if my heart was finally beating again. As though I hadn't lived the last few weeks, simply existing, just not dead …
"Don't you realise what it does to you?" she whispers, embracing me tightly as if desperate to hold my soul together.
"Harper," I finally manage to moan, but I can't open my eyes. Every one of my limbs is hurting to the point of unconsciousness.
"Shh." She puts her index finger on my lips, I feel it. "You need to sleep, yeah?"
"Why are you here, I've killed … I practise darkest magic … Just let go –"
"You want me to condemn you because of that lunatic? And because you're hurting yourself? I can't do that."
She puts her head on my shoulder and begins to whisper, "I'll never be the shining example of morality you want me to be, Tom. You've taken a life, you've broken the fifth Mosaic commandment – but at the same time, because of this act of anarchy, society has no more misdeeds to fear from your uncle. I didn't write that commandment on stone with my finger. So who am I to judge you? I don't think in black or white. And I'm not letting go of you just because you're desperately trying to save yourself from all the pain the story of your past brings. I'm not going anywhere. You've pushed everyone away just to avoid experiencing what it's like to be all alone again, and I can't imagine how it felt to have no one. What it's like to grow up as a child without parents, without family, or anyone you can trust … I guess you wanted to see the same reactions from the world confirmed over and over again. That they'd all leave you. That you are alone. And time and time again, this self-fulfilling prophecy came true …"
She squeezes my hand, I think, and she pulls me even closer into her embrace.
"But you should've realised by now," she continues, "that I am not going anywhere. You're making it unnecessarily difficult for us, but whatever the world thinks it knows, whatever it has done to you, and you to the world – I'm not leaving you."
I can't say anything in reply. How easy life could be, without baggage. Without guilt and without mistakes.
Without curses.
It's more than obvious that I desperately need her healing closeness. And it's wrong of me. But how could I, destined to drown in the open sea, turn down unexpected rescue?
Whenever I think I can't take the pain any longer, her presence reassures me. And she has no idea how much it feels as though she's saving my life.
"Harper," I eventually sigh half asleep, "you know it. You know, don't you? I'd have, I would … If I could love – I would love you …"
She doesn't say a thing. She just kisses my cheek, and she is the only person in this world who constantly keeps her promise.
She doesn't let go.