"Are you feeling better?"

I inevitably have to ask myself the same question, which seems ridiculous – but contrary to my wildest expectations, there is no throbbing, no burning skin. No rumbling, drilling ache in my bones ...

"Much better," I gasp in astonishment.

And it's no lie.
Is it Harper's warmth that allows me to catch my breath for a moment? Is that the cause of and cure for all the pain?

Whatever it is, it leaves me with a dull emptiness – but no pain. Just a fundamental question keeps nagging, in its full force, and irrevocably.

What the hell am I even trying to protect Harper from? She is of age. She's here because she wants to be. Obviously she's good for me – so why would I be stupid enough as to give that up?

Why wouldn't I be able to have it all? Her as well as immortality? Who cares if I can't love her? She knows about that fact and still she is here.

I feel so much better with her around.
And maybe, with her by my side, I won't die of pain before I even manage to complete the ritual …

But use her like that?

My head wants me to understand how wrong and twisted it is on an emotional level, but it cannot reach my heart.

It's as if all reservations, all scruples, have disappeared overnight.
As if it was finally working.
The darkness taking over …

No inhibitions. No guilty conscience at all.

I turn my head on Harper's arm and give her a kiss on the shoulder as she looks at me in surprise.

"They're dark green again," she whispers, quite taken aback, but unable to suppress a hint of relief at those words.

"My irides?"

She nods.

Perfect.
Nothing's more inconvenient than red eyes.

"You scared me, yesterday," she says under her breath. "Tom, you've scared all of us, ever since you got back. We're worried about you, it has to stop –"

"How do you feel about Bonnie Elizabeth Parker?"

She looks at me all perplexed. "You mean ... as in Bonnie and Clyde? What's your point?"

"If you were Bonnie," I begin, allowing myself to appreciate her cupid's bow for the first time in weeks without any remorse, "what would you have said to Barrow?"

"Me as Bonnie Parker to Clyde Barrow?" She groans and rolls her eyes until she turns on the sofa and stares at the ceiling. "Don't play games with me, just say if you wish to know whether I'd be your accomplice!"

"Would you be?"

"No, Tom," she hisses, giving me an incredulous laugh. "Certainly not! I'd be the one hitting you over the head with Bonnie's Colt revolver until you regain your senses!"

"Then you shouldn't have been here last night," I simply assert. "I guess I'd have died without you. You prevented that."

And yet, I still consider letting her in on all my plans.

Let her in on my plans ...
Let her in?
How can I even think that? How shabby would it be to drag her into my abyss? I know it'd be outrageous, but why don't I feel it?

"Do you hear what I'm saying?" she asks in irritation, turning back to me. "You have to stop tearing your soul apart! It kills you!"

"I feel rather well today," I protest.

"But why …" She eyes me suspiciously. "How could you be so miserable yesterday, and now as arrogant as always? Do you know what? No!" She puts her index finger onto my lips and hurriedly adds, "Don't speak – I would rather not hear it. What I want is for you to come to your senses and realise that you have to stop the ritual!"

"I can't do that." I hold out my hand in front of me, taking a quick breath. I concentrate. And when I open my eyes once more, contrary to my hopes, I don't see a green flame hovering above my palm. What used to be possible without a wand and through concentration alone now seems like a contradiction in itself.

"That's alarming," Harper is quick to voice my thoughts, pointing to my empty palm. "You're the epitome of exceptional talent – and now you're failing at something like that?" She conjures up a flame in her own hand as if to confirm it. "So what do you mean," she whispers, "you can't stop? Are you really going to sacrifice half your magic for this nonsense? Why?"

"I have my reasons," I inform her, forcing myself to give her a lazy smile. I can't just stop a ritual without risking my life, and I also have a problem with Gellert Grindelwald to solve. For the latter, I should probably be immortal – just in case.
But indeed I mourn the loss of my control of magic, that is a pity ...

"Harper, you need to return to the tower before they miss you upstairs."

She can see it. She feels it. That she can't do anything. That she can no longer reach me. No longer angry at all, much more concerned, she scoots closer and shakes her head, eyes wide open. Completely silent. Because what could she say?

I've never seen her so dejected before. Not even after Little Hangleton – basically, I think she finally knows as well as I do that I'm lost.

"I always thought ..." She struggles for composure. "I thought if I just hugged you tight enough, if I ... was with you and there was nothing between us that couldn't be said, then ... I thought we could have it all." Before she gets up to leave, she adds, "You were always honest with me, but since you've stopped telling me the truth, everything has changed ..."

And with that, she takes the sun with her, and leaves me in the shadows.

As soon as her footsteps fade and become quieter, I feel an unpleasant tug in my limbs. It soon radiates right down to my fingertips, just like last night, while I all but stare at the opposite wall.
As if I'm waiting for her to come back at any given moment, or for me to move and run after her.

But nothing of the sort happens, the nerve irritation from last night merely returns, intensifies and soon feels like growing pains. As if I were a child and my bones needed more time ...

Why was I doing reasonably well minutes ago, while my body is already collapsing once again now?

Is she the light against all the darkness? And what do I have to say or do to have her with me like the remedy I don't deserve?

"Tom?" I can literally hear Elliott's concern, and his mimic emphasises it when he finally arrives beneath the stairs. "Tom, are you all right?"

I nod with a groan. It's not a lie. I'm not as bad as I was last night. But I'm a lot worse than I was a moment ago ...

"Has Harper left yet?" Elliott asks, looking around as if he suspects her hiding behind the sofa until he sits down next to me.

"Indeed," I eventually say. "She's gone."

"I'm still angry with you," he informs me. "But by now I'm even more worried than angry. Why don't you tell us why you're feeling so terrible? Why did you ask Leonora about runes the other day? What the hell are you doing?"

"You're all asking too many questions ..."

Care of Magical Creatures, the only subject I find incredibly difficult, and yet, as so often, I drag myself to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with Rouvenia, where Professor Kettleburn is cheerful to greet his class.

Dippet hates and loves the man. Kettleburn is a really friendly person, but just as lively as he is, also chaos personified.

His so-called occupational accidents, as many as they are abstruse, have cost him a limb or two and, in his case, one could truly claim that recklessness does hurt in the end.

"Come closer, everyone!" the professor calls out in utmost excitement. His old, patched coat swings along as he walks towards a small box in the midst of us, gathered in a circle under the giant fir trees.

"Are you all right?" Rouvenia whispers when she takes a good look at me. I'm pale as snow, probably.

"Everything's fine," I lie as convincingly as I can, but she just shakes her head with a soft sigh.

"In this box we find ... no, wait!" Kettleburn laughs to himself and then rubs his hands together as he crosses his arms. "Guess!"

I wish to groan, but Nott immediately calls out, "A Zouwu?"

"Not quite, not quite," Kettleburn replies in high spirits. "The next suggestion?"

"Possibly pixies?" Myrtle calls from the opposite side of the circle.

Harper is right next to her, and she would look enchanting if she hadn't been so obviously crying since the morning. Red eyes ... Unlike mine, not from committing a black magic ritual that is illegal. But still, it's just as much my fault – she's crying for me.

"No, not even close," Kettleburn rejoices. "Yes, Rouvenia?"

"A Pogrebin, as you promised the other day, sir?"

"No, my dear, unfortunately Professor Dippet has forbidden me to show you one up close. I'm very sorry ..."

Rouvenia grimaces in disappointment and then nods, so Kettleburn's gaze wanders on straight to me, much to my chagrin.

"Mr Riddle? What are you suggesting?"

I do my very best not to make any sounds of disregard before I say, "Sir, given your excitement, I wouldn't be surprised by a dragon today ..."

"Let's put it this way," Kettleburn retorts with a grin, putting his left prosthetic hand on his hip. "Scales are correct! May I introduce you to …"

He opens the box with a wave of his wand and the four wooden walls, barely knee-high, fall to the floor on all sides as if by magic.

What emerges is –

"A runespoor!" Kettleburn proudly exclaims.

Marvelous. A three-headed snake.
Exactly what we need right now ...