"—and now add the venom, Black," instructed Tom, staring down at the small girl peering into her bubbling cauldron, its pearlescent gleam casting pretty patterns on her face.

Lyra tipped the phial and watched in wonder as the concoction hissed and sizzled, accepting the snake venom into its depths and transforming from a dark rich purple to a blinding shade of white. The light emitting from the cauldron danced on the gloomy stone walls of the chamber deep in the foundations underneath Hogwarts but Lyra never looked away from the simmering liquid moonshine. She was totally unaware of her surroundings. Tom's grip on her mind was unparalleled, especially with her wand in his hand.

Bringing Black down to the chamber was Tom's only choice, brewing the illicit potion up in the heart of the school would only attract unwanted eyes.

Luck favoured him, Lyra was able to anchor him to this plane and allow him to breathe, talk, walk again like before. It wasn't a fluke, her powers flourished. His broken shard of a soul had never felt stronger, like it could withstand living on its own two feet, like it was growing accustomed to its fractured composition and thriving on the possibility of maybe one day regenerating the missing counterparts. His physical connection with the girl tethered him to the mortal world longer than he theorised but only if he had Lyra in his grasp. Without her he couldn't escape his diary. His soul felt weaker without her company.

In reality, with the power she possessed, Tom didn't need the potion at all to bring his body back. But he still didn't know what power Black harboured, he would have been a fool not to have a backup plan. What was allowing him passage back to his former body without the intervention of the illegal draught? The potion was a mere precaution at this point, relying on Black's mysterious ability alone would have been the idiotic thing to do. He coerced the young Gryffindor into forgetting about brewing the potion while she was lucid and instead lured her down to the Chamber of Secrets where he continued to control her puppet strings once night had fallen, modifying the plan to fit his changing agenda. The opportunities to lure her were endless, it was almost too easy at this point and he didn't deny that he enjoyed how bewitched she was by him.

Their Christmas adventure had quenched Black's persistent thirst to have him in person. He hazarded a guess that her addictive obsession with him wasn't helped by his excessive use of an Unforgivable, nor the compliance draught he had taught her disguised as a quick energy pick-me-up, but it was just part of the plan. Black's crush on him didn't affect him whatsoever, he had dealt with the opposite sex before.

He felt nothing, he didn't mean any of the sweet nothings he told her, emotions were for the weak and he was stringing her along with false promises and faked feelings. It was all an act, a requirement for the task at hand…

An act…

Repeating in his times of solitude that he was merely playing a part to entice the girl wasn't working anymore. He wasn't distracted by true companionship before his creation, and he could never be persuaded by it now…

And yet, he knew he was lying again. This time to himself.

He truly enjoyed Lyra and all of her quirks. The Sorting Hat made a mistake when he chose the lion's house — she was a Slytherin through and through — and he told himself he could change her for the good. And she was a Black, a Pureblood who had undeservedly inherited everything he ever wanted. The positives were piling up, he couldn't keep denying it. What was so wrong about wanting someone else to share eternity with? He was doing all of this for himself, of course, but why couldn't he have one more person, one more soul to keep him company? To share his dreams?

"They weren't all lies," Tom murmured under his breath, extinguishing his neverending trail of conscience, and his hiss disturbed the tense concentration of his servant.

"The bubbles have stopped, shall I add the bone?" murmured Lyra, barely glancing up at her mentor as she reached for the ivory powder amongst the ingredients sprawled out around her in a colour wheel like a true artist. She sat on her robes to avoid the inevitable slime stains from the grime caking the floor, the miniature pewter cauldron was perched on its tripod above a small circle of ice blue flames in front of her as though she was in Potions class.

Tom finally stopped pacing and observed her patient handiwork, concerned that her heavy handed touch would interfere but she was as steady as a ship on dead water as she sprinkled the offering from his father's grave.

The Riddle bloodline was stamped out, he remembered that day well, but it only reminded him of all that he achieved after his first Horcrux creation. Their deaths must have been a mere drop in the ocean that was the endless list of dreams that he already achieved.

He once had an army at his fingertips, or so Black had told him, and he found himself wondering whether they would remain loyal and rejoin him once he gained his body back for good. He was only sixteen years old, he was not the all-powerful adult wizard they once served but that wouldn't matter once he revealed himself and proved this old existence was all part of his plan.

He had done it before, he can do it again. Lord Voldemort was a character of his own, he could easily follow in his own footsteps — but how far did Lord Voldemort tread? Did he succeed in creating more than one Horcrux? Did anyone know of his diary's true nature besides himself? Naturally, revealing that his immortality was the work of his Horcrux that restored him was never an option when he first discovered them. No one was to know what truly aided him in surviving the pull from Death.

Black stole his diary from the clutches of a man named Lucius Malfoy, possibly the son of Abraxas, which could only mean his intentions of keeping the diary safe was a testament to his loyalty as his father was a friend. He didn't know what the diary was, no one did.

Tom's mind wouldn't stop whirring, clusters of his thoughts were intertwining without his realisation and he lost track of Lyra's brewing process for a moment. The arrival of the slow oozing white smoke billowing from the cauldron brought him back as it played at the hem of his trousers.

"I think it's ready," she announced, scooping her wild hair into a messy knot before the ends dipped into the concoction. Tom held his hand out, silently asking to see her wounds as he stood over her and the textbook-perfect draught that contained her blood.

Lyra obediently showed him the deep slice across her palm and he admired the droplets of dark blood forming along the sharp line. He dared to squeeze her skin, prying more from her cut as though yearning to see it pool before his eyes, and he smeared his thumb with the glistening hot liquid once her hand was dripping onto the floor where they splattered like tiny crimson stars. She never flinched once, the Imperius Curse was all too familiar with her now.

"This may hurt a little, my treasure," hissed Tom, enticing her up from the ground so he could draw the rune on her forehead with precision. Her gaze was ghostly, the whites of her eyes bled into her silver irises and heavily-dilated pupils as though she had lost her vision.

The curse was working accordingly, but a small part of Tom wished he could trust her to stay lucid during the ritual. To see her face when he finally bridged the gap into true immortality, to achieve what no one had before by earning another chance at life. It was an interesting scenario to say the least but he knew it wouldn't end in the way he wished. The girl had to die.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't trust Lyra entirely, not while her friends lived or before he dealt with her traitorous tendencies. The chances of her surviving were virtually nonexistent, and he hated how poisonous the guilt felt. Did he truly want the girl to survive?

Yes you do. Keep her, forever.

"Use your blood to draw the rest," Tom instructed her, his deep voice resounding only in her ears, and he took his place in the shadows as he watched her prepare the space.

Lyra smeared her palm against the cold tiles, tracing the dark runes as though following a diagram laid before her. Then she situated herself in the centre of the circle, waiting patiently for Tom to complete the stage. She looked so small compared to the gargantuan statue of Slytherin behind her, virtually lost in his shadow as she knelt before him. In the faint flickering of the seven candles Tom conjured to illuminate the circle of blood he saw her presence grow, her shadow morphing into multiples. He wasn't too sure what about Black had changed in the dim atmosphere but he could sense it within the circle.

Something was happening, and Tom obnoxiously assumed that the ritual had already begun. Oh how wrong he was.

"A lot of hard work has gone into this particular plan, Lyra," Tom gave the girl the decency of an explanation, his intelligence wasn't going to go unacknowledged, "I could have drained you of your lifeforce and left you to die. That would have been so much easier for me to achieve, but I require something more from you. You are proving yourself to be more useful every day and I will not spill precious pure blood if I can help it."

"I am more than just my blood, Riddle, I thought you knew that," whispered Lyra, watching him with faultless concentration, "you can't kill me."

"And I don't intend to, my treasure, we will be closer than ever," lied Tom, admiring her self-confidence, "from what you've told me, there is a reason that you are still alive despite the traumas you have faced."

That bit was true. How this petite thirteen-year-old managed to survive against his former self was another cog in the clockwork of mysteries that surrounded Black, but considering he was currently standing in the Chamber of Secrets with his body almost intact and his fragmented soul stronger than ever, he knew there was a reason. And a good one at that. Why would he kidnap her last year if there wasn't one? He had to squeeze every drop of use out of her before she perished… if she perished at all.

Tom breached the circle and offered Lyra a small silver goblet, its thick contents sloshing against the sides like an iridescent wave pool, and his smile stretched when she accepted it with a gentle head bow. The fresh blood red symbol on her freckled skin dribbled down the side of her face but she didn't dare smudge its trail, and Tom enjoyed how rapidly the scarlet bled onto her white shirt like watercolour painting. She was the artist commemorating the historic night Lord Voldemort rose again.

"Drink, my girl, drink and think of me," he muttered into the darkness, relishing the surge of energy that he hadn't felt in years. The theory of the Dark Arts was nothing compared to the practice, it energised the marrow in his bones and the nerve endings hidden beneath his skin. "Do you promise to help me in my endeavours? To avenge my downfall by surrendering yourself?" Do you promise that you will give yourself to me?

"Yes," answered Lyra in a whisper, her swollen lips grazing the rim of the cold silver cup, "I promise."

The mixture touched her tongue and melted on contact like butter, it tasted like glass that had been sitting in the sun all afternoon. It was the strangest dichotomy between hot and cold but she swallowed it without hesitating and allowed it to settle in her stomach—

NO! GET IT OUT! NOW!

HE'S HARVESTING HER! HE'S TRYING TO STEAL HER FLESH?!

It was like a fatal allergic reaction. The second the potion trickled down Lyra's throat her insides contracted and forced her to expel it. She choked on her own tongue and doubled over, clutching her sides in agony and retching until the liquid moonbeam spewed onto the floor in front of her. Tom lurched forwards, taken back by her initial reaction.

That wasn't supposed to happen. The presence in the circle wasn't going to let him dig his claws into her once and for all, they weren't very happy.

"Black?" Tom breathed, unsure about what caused her to throw up, "what happened?"

"I can't swallow it," Lyra gasped, blushing horrendously as she tried to clean her vomit up, "I'm so sorry!"

Tom cleared the mess with her wand, the muscle twitching nervously in his clenched jaw as he disregarded her apologies. That shouldn't have happened but he didn't dare let his doubt be known.

"Drink the potion," he ordered her again, stepping closer to observe her, and Lyra nodded.

She sat up straight once more and took a much larger gulp this time in the hopes of washing some of it into her system — but Tom jumped back as the girl whimpered and threw up again, the luminous liquid splashing out onto the stone and draining into the ancient cracks. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, his palms had never felt so clammy before, the downfall of his grand plan was unravelling before his eyes and he couldn't seem to stop it.

"No, this isn't happening, I refuse…" Tom muttered to himself, his black eyes incomprehensibly wide as he watched Black shudder violently and fall forwards onto her hands, convulsing from the potion as though she had been poisoned. She was alive, she was human — it should have worked.

"This is impossible, Black, what have you done?!"

"N-nothing!" Lyra squeaked through her whimpers, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball. Her arms clutched her cramping abdomen and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to tense away the pain. Her stomach felt as though it was eating itself, her insides were corroding from the potion. "What's happening to me?!"

I'M NOT LETTING HIM TAKE YOU! NOT AGAIN!

Tom froze on the edge of the crimson circle, transfixed by the hisses that were surrounding him. The presence obstructing his full hold over Black's soul was finally tangible, feasting on the dark magic in the air gave them enough power to emerge from their confinements and they oozed into reality to face the great threat standing in their way.

The shadows cast on Lyra manifested with her agony and transformed, jutting and twisting as though caught in a vicious invisible tornado, but they surpassed the girl curled up on the floor and rivalled him in height. Two cloaked figures made from matter Tom could never fully comprehend flanked Black on either side, shying away from the wispy flickers from the candles surrounding them but unafraid of the boy before them. They looked like shadow men, or shadow beasts from another dimension entirely. None of their features were visible to the human eye and their stature didn't make any sense. They were fragile and delicate, but monstrous and willowy simultaneously, Tom's head started to pound the more he tried to rationalise them. They were nothing, a black abyss, he didn't know what to do.

"Who are you?" spat Tom, forcing more malice into his voice to hide his fear, and he held Black's wand out in warning, "what are you?"

They were born from dark magic, that much was clear, so he found it rather hard to be frightened.

"Pathetic, weak, a parasite - you will not harm her, Riddle, you can't keep getting away with this."

Even though he couldn't see the face hidden in the shroud, Tom knew the figure on the left was looking and speaking directly to him. Their words came from a place of familiarity, of deep rooted hatred and affinity for the darkness, they knew him personally. They knew the man he came to be.

Ah. That wasn't good.

Tom pried his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth and pointed the wand at them, his spine stretching taller to enforce his authority over them. They couldn't see him sweat but maintaining his hold over Lyra was becoming quite unbearable, he couldn't let her wake up. Not now of all times.

"The power the girl possesses," his growls echoed around the cavernous chamber like a predator cornering his prey, "is it you?"

"When will you learn, Tom?" The shadowed figure on the right crooned, almost saddened at the sight of him trying to comprehend, "life isn't a game you can win, this isn't something you can take by force… the power she possesses will never be yours."

Their ethereal, breathy whispers resonated more with Tom than their partner's. Like a lost voice from a distant dream he knew them personally too, but their soft timbre plucked something inside of his chest and he winced. He instinctively glanced at the abandoned diary a few metres away, afraid that he was about to disappear, but his soul barely withstood the powerful heartache and kept him tethered to Black.

"You know I'm right, if only you had just listened…"

"Enough!" barked Tom, hunching his shoulders in defence — they were playing with his mind, this was all a ruse — and he flicked the wand towards the shadow man on the left, intending to hurt them.

"Crucio!"

But the cosmic red spell whizzed straight through the shadows and the darkness swallowed it whole, absorbing his offensive magic like a heavy cloud of smoke devouring a weak flare. The shadow faintly laughed at his failure.

"You don't know what you're dealing with so I suggest that you leave Lyra alone. She is not a disposable pawn in your twisted games, she is not a vessel for your dark magic, and her souls are not to be meddled with. Heed this warning, Riddle, and best believe that you are so extraordinarily lucky that your little diary isn't the only anchor keeping you here. Because if you truly were alive, you wouldn't be for long," the shadow grew in fury, repulsed by the fragmented evil glaring back at them, and they slapped their disjointed limbs onto the wet ground, ready to pounce at him and rip his head off, "if Black ever unlocks her true potential then you should be terrified for all your lives… Beware because we are only her messengers…"

Tom was mesmerised by their revealing threats and his mind whirled faster, keeping up with the overbearing force of his thoughts.

"You know who I am…?" he rasped, hardening his brow to intimidate the faceless figures, "does Black?"

"She doesn't," answered the right, "she is in control, we are not — that is something you should have known. You are not the puppet master, you do not get to choose and you never will."

"You will not use the girl. Obtain a body to strip for parts elsewhere if you must, but it looks like we are already too late... You know exactly what you're doing to her, manipulating that poor girl for your own good, it's a tale as old as time."

"Do not blame me for Black's interest, she is starved of love and affection, I'm simply filling a void. I'm being a friend," Tom answered back through gritted teeth, but the shadows edged towards him. The air thinned, starved of oxygen by the black masses. Tom was struggling to breathe but he never let it show through his perfect snarl. "She came to me."

"Liar…" whispered the right shadow, "you called to her, to us. You're taking advantage of her naivety and her age, not to mention her connection to the boy you sought to defeat. You've gained her trust and you will curse the day you break it. You've seen her potential, you fear losing to your great adversary and relinquishing your power onto those who you run from. Do not touch her again, Tom, I mean it."

"Tread carefully Riddle, they do not like to be kept waiting. You cannot outrun them, you cannot defeat them," the presence of the unknown was laughing at him again. Tom couldn't quite catch the eye of his magnificent ancestor looking down at him. Not now during this abysmal failure, Salazar shouldn't see him like this.

"You're wrong. You don't know what I can do," he eluded, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him crumble under pressure, "your threats are empty and meaningless, you do not know what I can offer her—,"

"Death?" croaked the left, rather amused, "or The Dark Arts? Maybe the opportunity to be your slave for eternity? We know the man you truly are, we can see exactly what debauched, degenerate plot you have tucked away at the back of your mind, but the irony of the situation is quite humorous… So much so that we cannot wait to watch your schemes implode and diminish in front of your eyes."

"Is Black a Seer?" hissed Tom, disregarding their taunts to try and read between the lines and figure out the truth, "are you beings from another dimension?"

"No… and yes…" purred the right, unable to deny him an answer. Whether it was truthful, strangely Tom couldn't tell. "Like we said, we are her messengers… but we shouldn't be here."

"You brought us here in the first place, you're the reason she grows stronger beyond her means," snarled the left, snapping its neck towards Tom with an audible crack. He fought the shiver tickling the top of his spine, reminding him that he wasn't the darkest being in the chamber.

"I never intended to unleash you, and I never even intended to strip the girl of all of her flesh, only enough to conjure up a form as a backup if this form ever fades. She clearly is powerful enough to withstand the pain," he corrected them, "if anything it is you who brought me here. Whatever you are, you've given me enough strength to exist." Talking back to the dark creatures wasn't a very conscientious idea but it was the best he had. "So I will ask you again, what are you?"

"That is a discovery you will have to make for yourself, if you do not know then we cannot say."

"For Black's sake, I pray you never find out—,"

"You don't know who you're dealing with, you could never understand our connection," Tom fought back again, frustrated with their narrative, "I will turn her into the most fearsome witch to ever walk the earth. She will be smiling while doing so because she wants this, you don't understand Black's mind like I do. I know her needs as if they were my own, and I crave the same affection she yearns for and that I lacked my entire life too. We are two in one, bred from the same cloth, she is mature enough to make her own decisions so it's not my fault she fell so helplessly," Tom took a step closer, making sure they saw how he meant every word, "I will find a way to rip you two out of her even if it's the last thing I do. Your dominion over her will cease to exist and she will be mine."

He never revealed that he intended to take the shadows for himself, if they protected the girl then surely they could learn to protect him too?

It seemed as though the melting candles lining Lyra's bloody circle were keeping the towering shadows at bay, they couldn't reach him and he backed away from the edge of the circle, ensuring his safety. The collar of his shirt was starting to irritate his skin from his agitation — that was new too, like his body was acclimatising to the mortal world. His sturdy proclamation lingered in the air like a dying piano note, echoing as though hammering his point into their conscience, but they didn't seem dissuaded by his determination.

"You intend on stealing us for yourself," hissed the left, repulsed by his subconscious monologue, "this does not surprise us… you're an open book, Tom, we know you…"

"But I do not know you, I do not believe a word you spit," he countered, his anger getting the better of him. He was sick of interacting with these otherworldly beasts now, they needed to leave, "the girl doesn't know what you are, does she?"

"She does not… thanks to you," answered the right shadow, slumping slightly as though in shame, "and thanks to me—,"

"Don't," interjected the left, snapping its hood towards its companion, "you did everything you could—,"

"But it wasn't enough, look at him, look at you… but more importantly, look at her."

Tom followed the tendril of the right shadow that reached down to help the girl suffering on the floor between them. Lyra was on the verge of breaking, she was whimpering and squeaking in agony as she writhed on the floor like a possessed feral beast. An intense pressure was caving her chest in, she couldn't feel anything but pain as it tore through every fibre of her body, she could barely lift her head up from the ground. Her cries were weak, they were not whiny nor did they grate on him like the orphans around him growing up. Tom didn't expect to feel any sort of remorse for putting her through such agony but his gut wretched.

Maybe brewing this potion was a step too far, and Tom hated how quickly the relief spread through his body. It seemed as though he did not want to harm the girl, he was beginning to accept the fleeting emotions of regret and he couldn't stop them.

"I can feel their anger, I've never felt it like this before," Tom managed to catch one of their dark whispers and his head started to ache from their excruciating secrets.

"The potion is supposed to work on living beings, why isn't it working?" he dared to voice, locking away his momentary lapse of character, but the shadows snubbed his question and bent down to console Lyra. She was too consumed by Tom's curse to take much notice, her milky eyes were screwed up and she couldn't stop muttering to herself. She was totally unaware of the guardians looming over her.

"You're a fool, Tom," hissed the mass of shadows on the left of the fallen girl, turning its head to stare at him, "she is no ordinary living being… you should've known, you were the one who sentenced her to a cursed life… a love you will never earn for yourself. Your disgusting potion won't allow you to latch onto her soul for sustenance, they won't let that happen."

Before Tom could fully process their latest breathy revelation, both masses of darkness encroached on Lyra to finally ease her pain having grown tired of the company of true evil. They enveloped her in their smoky arms and pumped life back into her, their sheer force physically tugging her up from the floor like a broken doll and disappearing in the air like her cold breath fogging in front of her. They knew the chances of them escaping Tom's grip was next to nothing, they couldn't control her no matter how hard they tried and their inability to fight on Lyra's behalf became their greatest foe.

The gloomy atmosphere of the chamber lightened somewhat when the candles burned a little brighter, signalling the conclusion of Tom's failed ritual and ridding the shadows of their power. Dazed, confused, but still under his every whim from Tom's persistent Imperius Curse, Lyra shook out the peculiar tingling feeling invading her body and puffed until she could speak again, using her knees as a support for her achy back.

"What happened? I think I passed out," she wheezed, looking up at her mentor who was staring at her as though she had grown three more heads, "did the potion work?"

Tom was overcome with an avalanche of new thoughts and feelings. Everything he thought he knew came crashing down like a fatal landslide of ice, he had never felt so bewildered before and he couldn't believe he was doubting himself.

All because of the girl in front of him, gazing expectantly at him as if she hadn't just unleashed an unattainable force of nature he had never encountered before.

His plot was already mutating in his mind, evolving to overcome the unbelievable scene he had witnessed tonight, but he had to stay focused on his main goal. Killing Potter was the priority, ridding the school of Mudbloods was merely a side hobby at this point, but now he knew the man he became was tied to Black and the power she possessed…? His future self did something, but what? His mind was mush. He needed more time. His plans needed to change.

I was the one who gave her this power…?

"Tom?" asked Lyra once more, still waiting for instruction, and Tom shook the pressing matter from his mind for the final time and locked eyes with her. The tremors from his encounter vanished as he smoothed his hair out of his face and approached her within the circle, still half-expecting the shadow men to return.

"You did wonderfully, my girl," he murmured, unsure of his admission, but his charming smile hid any doubt. She knew nothing of the figures guarding her from his potion, the innocence in her dreamy expression confirmed it, "I feel stronger than ever, thank you."

That wasn't technically a lie.

"Good," Lyra breathed, her ghostly eyes sparkling, "for a moment there I thought I ruined everything!"

"Oh no, Black," Tom purred, risking his safety to caress her cheek. Would the shadow beasts actually hurt him? A shiver of fear was reluctant to roll down his spine but it was there. The now familiar warm prickles that tickled his fingers whenever he touched her quenched his rising agitation like an ice cold drink on a sunny day. He could still interact with the world outside of his paper sanctuary. The shadow men eluded that he was on the path to his resurgence, and he couldn't help but believe them.

"You haven't ruined anything, my treasure… This is only the beginning…"