Alliances
— Act 2 —
[Part Three]
It was around midnight, yet Severus still could not manage to fall asleep. Ever since he was a young boy he had battled with insomnia, but recently it had made a resurgence and led to nights with little to no rest. Today, it seemed, would be yet another.
Yawning into a balled fist, Severus gave up on his attempt for sleep and slipped out of his bed. Jamming his feet into a pair of slippers, he made his way towards his desk and pulled out Tom Riddle’s notebook. Propping it open, Severus glared down at the blank pages, hoping that perhaps his stare would awaken some ancient magic and would reveal all its secrets.
When that did not work, Severus threw the book down, accidently knocking over an ink well in the process. Cursing at his clumsiness, Severus tried to smear away the ink that had landed on the book, but as he did so the oddest thing happened. The ink that had fallen onto the parchment began to disappear, splotches melting away into the paper. Severus watched with interest until the last of the black faded away. Fascinating.
Grabbing a quill, Severus refilled his inkwell and dipped the nib of his feather in. Taking a quick minute to think, Severus began to write, purposefully fixing his cramped scrawl into a legible cursive.
Hello, I am Osvarr.
The words sunk into the paper, slowly turning transparent.
A moment passed, then two. And just as Severus was about to give up and call it a night, words began to appear.
Hello Osvarr. I am Tom Marvalo Riddle. How do you do?
Shocked, Severus stared down at the message. It reeked of dark magic.
I should wait for Mr. Jigger. Severus thought, yet his curiosity continued to nag at the back of his mind. As such, he began a message back.
I am well Mr. Riddle. And you?
Quite the same. Though if you do not mind me asking, would you happen to know the date? I have been trapped within this abominable book for ages.
Trapped? Severus wrote. What do you mean trapped?
There was a distinctive pause, as if Tom was thinking. This book seems to possess true sentience and novel thought—how intriguing.
To be honest it’s a rather long story. Perhaps I can tell you another time Osvarr.
I would enjoy hearing about it. Severus replied. As for your question about the date—it is currently November 24, 1979.
The words that returned this time were shaky, quite unlike the strictly mechanical handwriting from before. Oh my. That is rather shocking.
What day did you think it was? Severus asked.
A hesitant pause. To be completely honest with you Osvarr, I believed it to be December 7, 1943. I am—I am at a loss.
Severus felt an oddly emphatic pang in his chest. How must it have felt being trapped in a book for so long, with no contact with the outside world. I would have gone insane.I’m so sorry Tom.
It’s not your fault Osvarr. I apologize for thrusting this upon you. It is an situation that I must acclimate myself to.
Severus began to write out a response, feeling a sharp need to reply. Nevertheless, it must be awful knowing that so much time has passed. It begs the question—how did you get trapped in such a book in the first place? Severus paused, weighing his options. Did it perhaps have anything to do with a man named Lord Voldemort?
This time the reply was quick, the words slashing as if written in such haste that Tom had forgotten all about his previous concern. Where did you learn that name?
I could tell you. Severus wrote back. But I too have questions. Perhaps we can make a deal. You answer one of my questions and I will answer one of yours in return.
That is acceptable. Tom wrote back. Though I trust you will answer your question with the same level of detail as I do mine?
Severus bit at his lower lip, taking note at how quickly Tom had caught onto his plan. This one was definitely a Slytherin.
Even with the caveat, the offer was too tempting for Severus to pass up. In fact it felt as if his very blood ached to converse with this Mr. Riddle a little longer.
Very well. You first.
And so, Tom began. So you wish to know how I became trapped in this diary. It is a rather long story and it is much easier to communicate through visuals instead of words. I would prefer to ‘show’ you exactly what led to my situation instead of attempt to explain. Can I do so Mr. Osvarr?
Before Severus could even think, his hands were moving in curly script. Sure.
The minute his quill finished it’s last stroke, the book began to tremble as if possessed. Severus stood up, backing away with his wand at the ready. Now that he was not directly communicating with Tom, Severus felt his faculties return. Oh merlin, that book must have had some sort of compulsion on it—with all that Dark Magic, it is the most logical conclusion. It must have been charmed to begin covertly, or else I would have noticed it earlier. Such advanced craftsmanship is disturbing in something so inane as a diary.
Feeling an indeterminable amount of dread, Severus felt himself grow faint.
I should have seen this coming.
The book was now vibrating so fast that the pages made a cacophony of noise as they slapped against one another. The binding of the book let out a groan and Severus felt the world go dark.
A moment later, he awoke. But he was no longer at Jigger Manor.
Instead, he found himself in front of a building. Written on a plaque above the entrance, an old wooden sign read: Wool's Orphanage. A home for those in need.
“Mr. Osvarr, you do not look as I expected you too.”
Severus turned around so fast that he would have fallen over, if not for the hands that steadied him. “Woah there. I did not mean to startle you.”
Looking up, Severus took a minute to regain his bearings. Pressing a hands to his eyes, Severus winced. He had not thought to take any polyjuice before dealing with the diary—it had seemed unnecessary. Now he was regretting that decision immensely.
“Are you quite alright?”
Turning his head towards the voice, Severus examined the boy before him.
Tom Riddle was a particularly handsome fellow. With perfectly styled hair and a strong jaw, Severus knew immediately that he had, once upon a time, been a heartbreaker. Now though, Severus could see the beginnings of madness in his eyes—no doubt the result of his incarceration in the pages of a diary. As he watched, Tom’s concern melted away to a playful grin—his lips curling in an almost seductive manner. Even so Severus could feel something ever so off about the man’s character. It was as if he was acting—like the emotions on his face were merely a flesh-deep mask.
Removing himself from Riddle’s grasp, Severus blinked a few times as he felt his body return to equilibrium. “I am fine. Merely unsettled. It is not often one gets sucked into a book.”
Tom snorted. It did not reach his eyes. “Well, it’s not often that one gets trapped in a diary. Yet here I am nonetheless.”
“Mmm… quite.” Severus replied, forgoing Osvarr’s typical accent. Without the polyjuice it would be best to forgo his disguise entirely—leaving room for further excuses down the line in which Severus could claim to have just been replicating Osvarr’s person.
“Well, if you are feeling better now, I suppose I should begin my little presentation.” Tom said. “I may have all the time in the world, but I’m sure that’s not the case for you.”
“That would be most agreeable” Severus replied. It would not do to remain in this diary for too long—who knew the effects it would have on his physical body and mind?
“Wonderful!” Tom exclaimed, and with a snap of his fingers Severus found himself alone, directly in front of the orphanage he had noticed earlier.
From just inside he could hear muffled voices.
“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but that boy—something about him is just off.”
“Tom right?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you know his mother gave birth at the doorstep of the orphanage before dying? Her last words were what his name should be. That in and of itself is weird enough.”
“I know. But it’s more than that. The boy’s a freak. When he gets mad weird things happen. Do you remember when Billy stole his blanket? The poor child came to me with burn marks all over body from where the blanket had touched him. When I asked Tom if he had done it, he had just stared at me with that blank gaze of his. He’s psychotic, take my word for it.”
“I remember that. Now that you mention it—bad things happen around that kid. Things that can’t be explained. It’s like—oh I shouldn’t…”
“Don’t worry. We all think it.”
“...it’s almost like black magic. Like the boy’s been possessed by the devil.”
There was a distinctive pause.
“Maybe we should bring him to the priest. He might know what to do.”
“Yeah… you’re right. Let’s ask sister Abigail. The sooner we do this, the better.”
“Agreed.”
Before the memory ended, the door to the orphanage burst open and a kid ran out. His face was calm, but he moved with a desperation that contradicted his expression. Severus began to chase after him, noting the resemblance between the child and the man he had met earlier.
After a good ten minutes, Tom Riddle stopped running. His face now red, Severus watched as he clutched at his chest, his breathing far more labored than it had any right to be. Curling inwards towards his knees, Tom closed his eyes as if in pain. Through the harsh gasps, Severus heard a heartbreakingly quiet plee. “What’s wrong with me?”
Severus reached out, attempting to place his hands on the boy’s shoulder. But before he could make contact, the memory around him began to fade. The last thing Severus saw was Tom’s magic lashing out, burning a circle in the grass around him.
A moment later, Severus was somewhere entirely different.
Taking a look at his new surroundings, Severus quickly placed it as a cathedral. With glass stained walls depicting scenes from the bible and wooden seats stretching as far as the eye could see, Severus found himself comparing the place to Spinner’s End’s own parish.
Taking a seat on one of the benches, Severus waited for a good ten minutes before two women and a man walked in. In between the huddle, Severus could just make out the curly brown hair of Tom Riddle.
Eventually they stopped at the front of the room. The man, who Severus could now see was dressed in a vestment, turned on a tap. Slowly, the basin at the front of the room filled with water.
The two women held Tom firmly around the wrist, even as the child struggled against their hold. For a minute Severus wondered why the boy’s magic wasn’t interfering in the proceedings. He got his answer a moment later when Tom swung his head around and made eye contact with Snape. Tom’s pupils were blown wide and his eyes were rimmed red as if he had been drugged.
My god. Severus thought to himself. This is an almost perfect situation for the formation of an obscurus.
During his sixth year, Severus had done some research on obscurials for extra credit in Care of Magical Creatures. What he had found made his stomach turn, so much so that he had forgone the assignment and instead retreated to his bed for an early night.
Obscurials were creatures created by an explosion of dark magic. For an obscurial to form, certain criteria had to be met. The first was that the magic had to come from a young wizard whose core was underdeveloped and unstable. The second was that the young wizard must have either been attempting to suppress their own magic or had been forced to do so by some outside factor. The final criterium was a triggering event—much like the one Severus observed before him.
The final result of an obscurial was a creature so dark that a band of ten or more Unspeakables would be needed to contain it. And the young witch or wizard left behind? Well, the less said the better as they would be left nothing more than a mere husk with no capability of intelligent thought.
Turning his attention back to the scene before him, Severus found Tom standing inside the tub of water, shivering and miserable. Behind him, with both hands place on his shoulders, the priest began to chant.
“Let us pray. Oh God of power, behoove us with your holy intention. Set thy disciple free of evil. Called for you by loyal blood, we pray absolution for Tom Marvalo Riddle, who now bows before you. Ultimate redemption: freedom from greed, lust, desire. Banish thy spirits which hold his soul in sin. Let us pray. Amen.”
Severus watched as the priest pushed down on Tom’s shoulders hard enough to send him to his knees. Violently, the priest grabbed ahold of Tom’s hair and yanked it into the water. For a solid minute Tom struggled before the priest let him up. After a wretched gasp, he was shoved back under. Globules of crimson leaked from a jagged cut as Tom's head rebounded against the delicate porcelain. This time, Tom went still, the only sign of continued life the bubbles that floated to the surface of the holy bath. Severus realized what was going to happen moments before disaster struck.
In an awe-inspiring show of power for one so young, a wave of magic blasted from Tom’s prone form, sending both the priest and women flying. Severus winced as he heard the priest’s neck crack at impact. There was no doubt he was dead.
Tom then emerged from the water. As he spent a moment panting for breath, the wounds on his knees leaked blood into the tub. When he looked up, his eyes were glowing red with power.
Stepping out of the water, Tom walked past the bodies around him. Raising his arms, the magic he had sent out returned to his body. Tracking blood with each step, he left the scene of carnage behind.
As the memory faded away, Severus could not help but shudder as he recognized the darkness in Tom Marvalo Riddle’s gaze. At that moment, Severus felt something click in his mind. Tom Marvalo Riddle was not the name Severus knew this boy by. No.
This was Lord Voldemort.
But before he could even begin to process that realization, the next memory began.
———————————————————
Remus Lupin was visiting his friends house. James had invited him and Sirius to hang out in Potter Manor for the day, and Remus had been loath to turn down the offer, even when feeling ill due to the full moon in a day’s time.
Nevertheless he had shown up, smiling wanly. Almost right away James noticed his state and had him sit down, bringing him a mug of cocoa the house elves had made—with whipcream and a dash of cinnamon, just as Remus liked it. He was soon joined by the Maraurders, and squashed between his friends, he almost felt at home.
The only missing piece was Peter, who nobody could seem to get ahold of any longer. The last Remus had heard from him, he was off pursuing a lead about his absent father. Remus hoped that his friend had merely been more successful than expected. Otherwise, the only logical conclusion for his absence was that he had been caught in the most recent Death Eater attack.
Sipping at his hot chocolate, Remus wiggled his way into Sirius’s side with a contented sigh.
“James!”
Next to him, the aforementioned Potter jerked, standing up he disappeared around the corner of the room at his father’s call.
“Huh, wonder what Fleamont wants from him now.” Sirius murmured. “I swear his parents have been on his case recently. You know, the whole, ‘you’re getting married—you’ve gotta start taking on responsibility!’ like honestly, we haven’t had an adventure in months!”
Remus chuckled. “Only you can think marriage is a bad thing.”
“Hey! I love Lily, you know I do. But it sort of feels like he’s trading me for her, ya know?”
Catching on to the vulnerability Sirius was showing (a rare occurrence), Remus provided his two cents. “It’s nothing like that Siri. James is just caught up in the moment. Marrying somebody is a big deal that he doesn’t want to mess up. He loves Lily, yes. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you as well. He’s just stressed, and it’s our job to be there for him.”
Sirius flopped into Remus’s lap dramatically. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”
“I guess so. And by the way, if you haven’t caught on by now, I’m always right.”
At that Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. It had the unfortunate effect of making Remus break out coughing.
“Woah, sorry Moony. I completely forgot that it’s almost your time of the month. You okay?”
Wheezing slightly, Remus leaned back. “...yeah. Just winded.”
Before Sirius could continue apologizing, James ran back into the room, his face glowing in a way Remus had only seen once before—the day of his engagement.
“Remus! Sirius! You have to come with me right now!”
Without waiting for a response, James was off again.
Following behind Sirius, Remus jogged after his friends, trying to push away the lethargy that increased with every step. Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived at Fleamont Potter’s office.
Leaning heavily on Sirius, who had wrapped an arm around him in support, Remus followed James inside.
“Ah, hello Remus. Sirius. It’s a pleasure to see you both again.”
Fleamont Potter was an intimidating man on the surface. With his wideset shoulders and large frame, he towered over most people he met. Yet Remus knew from personal experience how kind the man was—and how intelligent.
“How are you feeling Remus?” Fleamont asked with utmost concern. “You don’t look very well.”
“I’m admittedly not at my finest sir, but I honestly don’t feel too bad.”
In the corner of the room, Remus could see how James was practically vibrating with energy.
“Um. Sir, is there any reason I’m here? I don’t mean to sound rude, but we’re not normally allowed in your office. Have I—have I done something wrong?”
“Oh not at all! In fact it’s quite the opposite. I actually have some extraordinary news for you.”
Remus frowned in confusion. It did not last long as James burst into the conversation, unable to hold back any longer.
“Ohmygod Remus, you’re not going to believe it but there’s been a new discovery! There’s this new potion’s master whose made a potion that can cure Lycanthropy!”
Remus’s brain stopped functioning.
“Wha—”
“Woah now!” Sirius exclaimed, supporting Remus as his knees gave out from underneath him.
“C-come again?” Remus asked, hardly believing his ears.
Fleamont approached, speaking with a soft compassion. “Remus, they’ve found a cure for lycanthropy.”
Unable to hold back, a sob emerged from his mouth. Curling inward, Remus reflected on all his transformations. The indescribable pain of bones breaking and reshaping, the hatred and prejudice he found around every corner—it could all end.
At his side, both James and Sirius bent down. Wrapping their arms around him, they squeezed him carefully, even now conscious of his weakened state.
Then everything came crashing down.
“W-wait. I can hardly afford—”
“That’s nothing to worry about.” James interrupted. “I’ve got that covered.”
How did I get so lucky? Remus asked himself. James, Sirius and Peter are the best friends a man could have.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need too Moons. You’re like a brother to me. It’s the least I can do.”
Sniffling, Remus extracted himself from the group hug. Standing up straight, he expressed his gratitude to Fleamont, who proceeded to dismiss the thanks as unnecessary.
“So who can I thank for the cure?” Remus asked. “I’m forever in their debt.”
Fleamont paused, face scrunched up in thought. Then it cleared as he remembered the name. “Oh yes! I saw him at the ceremony. Youngest potion’s master in a century, could you believe it?”
“With what he’s done for me, of course.”
“Ah, what was his name again? Oh, I remember now! Severus Snape I think it was.”
And the world around him exploded into chaos.
“Snape! Snape made the potion!?”
“Like hell—that greasy waste of space? No fucking way!”
“I bet he stole the credit! Slimy Slytherin piece of shi—”
Well. Remus thought. I can’t say I’m surprised by their reaction.
But instead of stepping in to stop the slander, Remus let it continue, instead basking in the idea of being free from the curse that had haunted his every step since he was two years old.
I will no longer be a werewolf. Remus pondered incredulously. I’ll finally be a normal human.
A smile spread over his lips. The first true grin he had ever expressed in his life.
I’ll be free!
———————————————————
Regulus looked around the quarters he had been given. He had been shocked to receive a nicely furnished room instead of a dungeon-like cellar. While he felt grateful for the occurrence, it also put him on edge.
Snape had been so mild. The worst that had happened as of yet was their most recent confrontation—and yet even then the worst that had been sent his way were mere words. Cutting words, yes. Cruel words, yes. But words nonetheless.
Had it been Bellatrix whom he had crossed, Regulus would still be a twitching mess, muscles spasming with the after effects of the cruciatus.
So the lack of retribution had Regulus paranoid. It was positively unslytherin to let sleeping dogs lie, and if anything, Snape was as Slytherin as they come.
Sighing, Regulus lowered himself onto his bed, the mattress far too soft for him to deserve.
As he settled down for the night, his pajama sleeve slid back, revealing his dark mark in all its esteemed glory. Against his sallow skin, it was a dark splotch of ink and evil, marring his arm and soul.
Merlin. I hate this godforbidden tattoo. I hate what it means. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate what it’s forced me to become.
Using his opposite hand, Regulus scratched at the skull, imagining it flaking away underneath his nails like dry skin.
If only I had not been born a Black. If only I had been brave enough to leave my family behind the way Andromeda and Sirius did. If only, if only…
His nails dug deeper, drawing blood.
Severus said that I should have chosen death. Wouldn’t that be nicer than my life right now? At least then I could have had a shot a peace.
Dragging his nails against the ink, Regulus winced as the tattoo suddenly came alive.
Oh shit.
And he had all but a moment to prepare himself before he was engulfed in a searing pain like nothing he had ever felt before.
He knows.
Seizing upward, Regulus whimpered. The muscles in his arm cramped. Fire was poured into his viens. The smell of bubbling flesh met his nostrils. His body jerked, his fingers fisting into the bed sheets unnaturally.
Feeling bile climbing up his throat, Regulus panicked. If he threw up now he would choke, and there was no way he could turn over with his muscles locked up as they were. Letting out a pathetic whine, Regulus lifted his hand, only to drop it as he lost all feeling in the limb.
Lost in a haze of pain, he did not notice when somebody else slipped into the room.
“My god!”
Moaning, Regulus felt as calloused hands turned him over just in time. Vomit splashed over the duvet and blankets around him.
The man retreated, only to return a moment later. Regulus’s arm was grabbed by the interloper and a cool balm was applied where the Dark Mark should have been. And then, finally, blessed numbness spread across Regulus’s body.
Sagging into the mattress, Regulus’s vision cleared as the pain faded.
Above him, a concerned Arsenius Jigger frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he waved his wand, murmuring healing spell after healing spell.
Against his will, Regulus’s eyelids fluttered close, but he remained awake, merely too exhausted to move a muscle.
But before he could descent into the darkness of sleep that beckoned him, he was rudely shaken.
“Mr. Black, I cannot allow you to fall asleep yet. You need to drink this potion.”
A vial was pushed against his lips. Through force of habit, Regulus’s lips pursed, preventing the liquid from entering his body.
“Mr. Black?”There was a pause. “Hm. Then I’m going to spell it into your stomach, alright? This is going to feel rather odd.”
A moment later, Regulus felt his midsection bloat as it was unexpectedly filled.
“There we go—that should help things along quite well. Now, Mr. Black, once the invigoration properties of that potion kick in, you’re going to feel very dizzy.”
And that he did. For a solid minute, Regulus experienced the worst vertigo of his life. Feeling as if he was on a muggle merry-go-round, Regulus found himself on the verge of puking once more.
“There there… it should stop any second now.”
It eventually did, thank merlin. Afterwhich Regulus called on the artificial strength the potion had given him to shakily sit up and catalog his injuries.
Looking downward, he felt the blood leave his face.
His arm was a mess of melted flesh and muscle, glistening in the moonlight let in from the window. It was a tapestry of pinks and reds, with blood and tissue misplaced on the surface of his body as if erupted out. The only good thing about the gruesome sight was the lack of a skull and snake tattoo marring the surface.
“I’m afraid I’ve done all I can. Once your arm heals over, the scarring will remain—no amount of dittany can help heal such a magically charged injury. Your just going to have to wait it out.”
Regulus nodded, eyes unable to leave his arm.
“Other than the obvious, are you feeling pain anywhere else?” Jigger asked.
“...no.” Not anymore, at least.
“That’s good. Great in fact. I’ll leave you with the balm I put on your arm earlier to numb it. But now that your not in any pain, would you mind explaining what the hell just happened?”
Dragging his eyes away from the shitshow that was his wound, Regulus met Jigger’s eyes, his mouth dry and acrid.
“He knows. The Dark Lord knows of my betrayal.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Quite. But before I can rest we have to tell Severus.”
“I’ll do it—”
Regulus cut in. “—No. You have to bring me with you.”
“You’re hardly in any fit state to be up and about.”
Regulus fought the urge to look away from Jigger’s perturbed gaze. “Bring me with you. Please.”
Look at that, the great Regulus Black reduced to begging. I wonder what you’d have to say about that mother?
“Oh, very well. At least let me wrap up your wounds first.”
“Yeah, go ahead. And also…”
“Yes?”
“…thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
———————————————————
Severus felt sick.
“I was in the library that night—in the restricted section and I read something rather odd about a bit of rare magic. It’s called, as I understand it, a horcrux.”
In front of him, Tom’s face was carefully blank, like a scholar vaguely curious about some novel research, but not nearly as invested as to pursue the matter in reality. But Severus had seen that very same mask donned before—when Tom had mutilated Billy Stubbs’s pet rabbit, or when he had tortured his fellow orphans in a cave. He had been the same way then—detached on the surface.
But Severus was not a fool. Tom was not even close to detached. He was euphoric.
“What’s wrong with me?” A child had once pleaded. Shaking, sobbing, alone.
“No.” A monster had said, staring down at Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson—two very muggle, very defenseless children. “No! What’s wrong with you?”
Severus closed his eyes. He felt sick.
In the memory, Slughorn paled, eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”
“Horcrux. I came across the term while reading, and I didn’t fully understand it.”
“I’m not sure what your reading Tom, but this is a very dark stuff, very dark stuff indeed.”
“Which is… ” Severus watched as Tom paused, thinking his words over carefully before taking the plunge. “...why I came to you.”
And no matter how much Severus wished against it, Tom’s words worked like a charm. Slughorn had always had a weakness for flattery.
“A horcrux in an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”
“But I don’t understand how that works.” Tom interrupted, coming closer to the professor.
“One splits ones soul and hides part of it in an object. By doing so you should be protected should you be attacked and your body destroyed.”
“Protected?” Tom asked. His eyes were blank. They had been blank when he had carved out Amy Bensons’s tongue.
God. Severus thought. My god.
“The part of your soul that is hidden lives on. In other words you cannot die.”
“And how does one stretch his soul, sir?”
“I think you already know the answer to that Tom.”
“Murder.”
Slughorn flinched at the word. “Yes. Killing rips the soul apart, it is a violation against nature.”
“Can you only split the soul once? What if, for instance, you split it seven times?”
Slughorn replied, aghast. “Seven!? Merlin’s beard Tom! Isn’t it bad enough to consider killing one person? To rip the soul into seven pieces… ” Slughorn paused, sweat beading his brow. “...this is all hypothetical Tom—all academic?”
Tom smiled, as if laughing to an inside joke. Reassuringly he dipped his head. “Of course sir.”
And just as he told Amy Benson, her blood lacing the stone, her voice silenced for good—
“It’ll be our little secret.”
The memory changed before Severus could get a good look at Slughorn’s response.
A moment later he rematerialized in a cave-like chamber. It was dank, with the roof carved from rock and dripping with slick minerals. Up ahead, Severus could hear what sounded like scraping, as if something large was wiggling its way through the hallway.
Tom was sitting nearby, fiddling with a ring on his finger, eyes far away. But as the scraping came closer, he closed his eyes, sighed, and stood up.
“Sessspirssssensss ssstrahsss”
Severus jerked, recognizing the hissing as parseltongue. Since when was Tom a parselmouth?
No doubt he had missed some major developments that the Tom he had met (the one trapped in the diary) had not thought to be relevant. But to speak parseltongue—that means Tom, and hence Voldemort, has founder lineage. He has to be part of the Slytherin line—but how? And how did he end up in a muggle orphanage?
Severus’s contemplations were cut short when the ground beneath his feet rumbled. Stumbling, he fell to his knees, and when he looked back up again…
Somehow, from one moment to the next, the space that Tom had been facing filled completely. Coils of scaly skin, the glint of decaying fangs, and two eyelids the size of dinner plates.
What. The. Fuck.
Am I hallucinating or is that a Basilisk?
Yet Tom did not even seem fazed. Instead, he grinned, his eyes slightly feral.
“Shahaashhhh ssspprisssthasss.”
The basilisk’s nostrils flared; it’s lips curled. Saliva dripped from its mouth.
“I know you're hungry.” Tom cooed up at the beast, switching to english. “Don’t worry, you’ll be satiated soon.”
Riddle turned to a nearby wall, tapping the tip of his wand against it, the complex illusion he had placed fell. Severus watched in horror as a large pipe was revealed. On it was engraved the Hogwarts crest.
Don’t tell me we are underneath the school right now. Severus thought desperately. Please don’t tell me that there has been a starved basilisk living right beneath our very feet all this time.
His hopes were quickly dashed when they climbed up the pipe, only to emerge in a bathroom. And not just any bathroom. It was the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Severus had heard plenty of stories of the infamous ghost. Known for her horrid habit of self pity and proclivity towards gossip, she was almost universally hated. But even Severus knew the sordid affair she had claimed led to her death. Nobody had believed her—after all, since when did somebody die merely due to meeting another’s gaze.
And just as expected, the minute the basilisk emerged from the chamber, a snivelling little girl emerged from a neighboring toilet stall.
“Damn Olive Hornby—complete and utter bitch! My glasses aren’t ugly! But nooooo—”
As Myrtle bemoaned under her breath, Tom removed a familiar notebook from the satchel strapped across his body.
Then, with a hiss from its master, the basilisk shot out of the pipes. Myrtle, suprised by the noise, looked up—her glasses conspicuously missing (no doubt due to the aforementioned Olive Hornby). Severus watched as her face stiffened in surprise. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to understand what was before her, but before she could, she fell to the floor, stiff and very much dead. Her last sight—two ginormous yellow eyes.
Tom watched the girl’s death with a look of utmost concentration. The minute the basilisk lunged forward for its feast, he did the unthinkable.
With a grunt, Riddle doubled over, his hands cupping the area around his heart. He stumbled, face twisted in pain. Nevertheless, he drew his palms away from his chest—dragging along a fractured, glowing shard of his soul. He carefully lowered it into the diary, and for a minute, Severus could only see a blinding light.
There was silence, as if time itself had stopped, and then in a rush the light faded and noise returned. Tom was on his knees, pale as a ghost and panting. But Severus could see the glint in his eyes, the rust-like red that rimmed his irises reminiscent of the exorcism Severus had witnessed earlier.
Moaning Myrtle was no more. And Tom Riddle had become immortal.
Fuck. Severus thought. Fuck.
And he was promptly spat out of the diary.
“Severus? Severus? We need to come in… Regulus isn’t going to be able to stand for much longer—”
Words of ink appeared on the page the diary remained open on. Your turn.
In a panic, Severus levitated the book into a trunk nearby. Locking it away he threw up the strongest wards he knew of before opening the door.
“By merlin! What happened to you!?”
Severus rushed forward to help Mr. Jigger support a swaying Regulus Black. With deliberately slow steps, they led the injured party to Severus’s bed.
“S-severus.” Regulus murmured once he was situated. “H-he knows of my betrayal. He tried calling me through the dark mark, but I was… distracted. When I did not reply he lashed out—my arm… my arm—”
Slowly, the youngest Black unwound the gauze around his injury and Severus inhaled sharply. “That does not look good.”
Jigger snorted at his apprentice’s tame reaction. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I had to use a Class X numbing balm on it.”
“Class X, really?” Severus asked. “Though I suppose it makes sense, dark magic and all.”
“N-not just dark magic.” Regulus added through clenched teeth. “Blood ritual as well.”
Both Severus and Mr. Jigger fell silent.
Then… “Blood ritual! Are you insane!? Why would you ever consent to that?!”
Regulus laughed, a weak, choked sound. “Didn’t have much of choice now did I? Mother insisted that I had to prove my loyalty after Sirius’s betrayal. But I’m not an idiot. I went through the terms—there is nothing that can impact our plans.”
“Our plans!” Severus shook his head, “I wasn’t even thinking of our plans. Blood rituals leave you open to all sorts of issues—blood curses,diseases! Not to mention the fact that if the Dark Lord got access to any more of your blood, he could drain your magical core in its entirety! You’d become a squib overnight!”
“I know that.” Regulus murmured. “Especially now that he knows of my defection.”
Severus swallowed, for the first time truly understanding the risk Regulus had taken by offering his services as a spy. It had not been a move of cowardice as he had first thought it to be—instead, it had been quite the opposite. A show of bravery like none Severus had ever witnessed.
But before Severus could express the thought aloud, there was a rapping on the window.
“Who’s sending you owls in the middle of the night?” Mr. Jigger asked. “It’s hardly considerate.”
Severus shrugged, unsure himself.
Unlatching the hatch, a tawny owl flew inside. Grabbing the letter, Severus skimmed over the contents. Interesting.
“Who’s it from?” Regulus asked, his wound covered once more.
“I’ll be damned…” Severus began. “Huh. Well, it seems Osvarr’s not only caught the Dark Lord’s attention, but Albus Dumbledore’s as well.”
“Dumbledore?” Regulus questioned. “What would Dumbledore want from us?”
“An alliance, apparently.”