Disclaimer: All chacters you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling

Author notes: Thanks to Mistress Siana for being a marvelous beta-reader.

Chapter 8

There and Back Again

It may have been time to admit she had a slight problem on her hands. Of course, she would never ever do that—a problem meant someone else would have to help, that it was drifting towards an area out of her control.

The mark on her ankle was very simple. Highly similar to the old chains of flowers she had made before school. Unpresumptuous.

Just as she was, leaving the door in her mind open just a crack—only a crack, so he could slip in and not assume she was waiting for him. The dreams came with increasing frequency now.

She lived his life with him, and by doing so, added several years on her own fragile age. She didn’t know whether this was wise, if she would grow old before her years, or if it was the final piece of the puzzle and only wisdom could come with age. Either way, during one of his visits during the week, in his chosen place (her head), he allowed her into his memories.

If his memories weren’t a lie but it didn’t matter if they were. If they were fabrications, there would still be a truth under the lie.

During one memory, he asked her first. In memory form, her bias colored his features. They weren’t as sharp, somehow less intimidating; however, his movements grew even more fluid and his words more alluring, tainted by sleep. She had the feeling he hated her, even if he denied it, even if every motion denied it.

But, Luna thought, when she slipped into the daydreams (which were during the day, night, he could enter into her mind at any time), it was acknowledgement. It scared her each time she felt it, raging underneath her own skin now.

This time (at time she should have been in Transfiguration class, in a group, but they couldn’t stop him), he was lounged in her favorite spot near the window.

You want to understand me completely? He asked. Laughing.

Luna nodded.

I would say it’s my enemies that understand me the best. They know my cruelties. Sometimes it is my allies, they know my mercy. But they never truly know. They wouldn’t dare know.

Her sleep was honest. She dared. Twice, thrice, and even more. And yes, it would hurt.

I’ll be both. An enemy and an ally. That way, I can’t lose.

Winning? Just imagine it as cutting your losses. Winning, such a vulgar term in this case.

She stood politely by the book case where he had mocked her, listening. Where was her body now, did time matter, it very well didn’t! During the very important things, times would stop, if it were real at all.

Someone once used the word to me, in a discussion. He, rather like you, fancies himself a great philosopher. A man of words.

Luna wondered what she fancied herself. If she could have answered (and have it make sense), it would be a mirror. Her mother had had a mirror once.

Let me show you my proof, how I win the argument of words with action. Every time.

The books turned to dust quite literally.

And then Luna was in a very hot place, judging by the way the sun baked on the back of her neck and her feet were covered with sand. Still in her Hogwart’s uniform, she surveyed the place curiously.

She didn’t see the temple. Most likely due to the fact that she was standing on it, and tripped over a misplaced statue’s nose. The sand had an odd taint to it. Black. It was then she realized the sand—rather underneath the sand—was alive with strange, black bugs with knotted tails on them. A few crawled over her hands and she remained still, wondering and not wanting to frighten them away, until a hand appeared through her middle.

Now that had not been there before, she reasoned and wondered how someone was so nimble as to avoid all her insides. Then another hand lifted her by the tie and there was a thoroughly sensory moment where she was pulled back, watching the hand give way to the arm, and the arm to the torso and the back.

It certainly didn’t make her feel quite the same as a ghost. It felt real and warm and made her nervous for reasons she couldn’t name.

“You know they’re poisonous, right?”

By the way, there were two Tom Riddles. Now, one was more than enough but he had chosen to act upon divide and conquer in the worst case of split personality Luna had ever seen.

“No worse than your hand through my stomach,” she said. “Are you stressed? You seem to be falling to pieces”

“Sometimes, I wonder why I bother,” he said, dismissively.

Luna looking around at the vast pool of sand. “Now, what is exactly is it

that you—the Tom Two— are looking for?”

The other him, older and his age burning away at him like a candle (the faster you run, the faster it chases you), stared at something under his feet. In this desolate place.

“Patience.”

And she was, to a point. The night was terribly cold. Achingly so, and she wondered why memories hurt. In any case, she should have died, and Tom Two definitely should have, but also memories and monsters never die. The desert held a certain respect for this fact, and instead, the wind whispered beautiful and horrible things, as stories with a kernel of truth often were. She hummed lightly, and her Tom did not stop her.

Then, in her head, the seventh day came, the sun rising overhead, melting away the purplish gloom.

Then Tom Two took something out of his cloak. That something was a hand, the fingers ironically shaped in a friendly hand shake. A detachable hand? Cultural diversity or local joke played on tourists? Luna looked at her Tom.

“There is one way into this place of legends. The right hand of a righteous man is the key.”

She mentally added a tune to the grim proclamation, for it was the kind of thing that deserved it; a Mad Martin the Muggle’s theme song would do.

“You have the hand, forgot the man,” she said.

“A lesson: I had brought twelve men here, their memories purged and not a shred of reason in their hearts. The most acclaimed wizards in the books and by reputation. I helped make them, in the words of my opponent, like children. In the end, the only truly righteous man is a dead one.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem as somber as the words, but she had yet to discover what really made him happy.

“I see you didn’t try your own hand first in your tests,” she observed.

“I thought I might need it to reap the rewards,” he said, smirking.

“You are very much alive then,” she answered.

Tom Two knelt down and placed the hand on the circle, amongst the insects. Luna blinked.

“Most girls are scared, I’ve noticed, of things that crawl on the ground.”

“When they prefer finger foods, it does make one a bit squeamish.”

The black mass parted, and there was an emblazoned triangle in its stead. Something was hidden underground, and the now-picked clean hand fit perfectly into the brazen hand print in the middle. The circle turned on its own accord, splitting down the middle.

“And that was the answer,” he said, not hiding his pride.

“According to the person who likes to play in the sand, yes,” she answered. “You shouldn’t do that, you know. That’s actually--.”

“According to the most powerful wizarding civilization in known history, yes,” he interrupted.

She shrugged. He was the age old result of having too much time on his hands, Luna thought, then laughed out loud.

Underneath the sand, there was a forest with trees curved like old men and holding up the ceiling like the ribs of Atlas. Not the sort you see above ground. Pure white trees, like great white spiders were everywhere, and their branches paved a path.

They walked together while his other self paved the way.

“It seems they must have been trying to be a bit too righteous,” she said, as they passed several discarded skulls. Honestly, this was the most depressing civilization she had ever seen. For one thing, by the looks of it, they had completely eradicated each other in the pursuit of a good riddle for their door.

Did they realize that their society could not progress and decided to mystify the late comers? Or did the fact that good men were hard to find give rise to the possibility of hopelessness and self-vanity? And why did he find them so wise when they were standing in ruins?

“Their methods were not without flaws. Yet it is entirely reasonable to assume there is no such moral idealism in men. So to beat this dilemma, one would simply become so much more than a man.”

Luna blinked up at him. “Is that what you really, truly want?” she questioned.

“Really, truly yes,” he said, without hesitation.

“I thought you wanted to take over the world,” Luna said happily, very sure of her facts.

“As a result. It would be my natural right, if I succeed in my goal.”

“That’s a very manly thing to do, though,” she mused. She didn’t plan on telling him that women already rule the world; as her mother had told her, keep that a secret.

“How do you manage to make everything possess an element of the absurd?”

“Oh, it’s very easy when everything has an element of the absurd,” she continued. “In the stories, gods are really just delighted in playing tricks and having a chat about it over a cup of mead.”

“Along with the routine human sacrifices supplying the daily bread.”

“You want to eat people?” Luna whispered, keeping her distance.

“With a side of relish and…what are you doing?” he asked, when she stopped completely. “It’s a thing commonly referred to as humor.”

“But you’re funny without trying,” she opined, wondering at his sudden attempt at anything remotely light hearted. Or not, as it were.

He froze, and Luna thought perhaps her private amusement should have been just that—private. If she didn’t laugh, she would cry.

“I see. I will have to rectify that. When I have the time. Whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

She knew she would pay dearly later or sooner, and she would never know when. He would draw it out just to torment her. She sighed and set her mind to her surroundings. There was a familiar melody, from the trunks, and Luna realized what it was.

“Crickey, it’s a cricket,” she announced. “That means a whole year of good fortune.”

The trunk shook, and she caught a glimpse of it underneath the branches. It was quite…quite big. Actually, a little more than that and…she stared. Usually, nightmares would stay in the dark but this one was crawling towards them. That really wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Trust me,” he said, pulling her along by the hand. “Even in my lifetime, I would forgo their gifts. Bad luck is always one step after good.”

Now that she looked, down into the gaps between the arching branches (which formed archways more than natural shapes), and saw that the cricket had ample company in ample amounts. Actually she thought they were closing in on them, forming a tight circle. Dark shapes with prickly legs and menacing pinchers loomed overhead, freshly wet.

She needed a bigger jar. Yes, like in a story, she thought blindly and clung to the thought, thinking of the tune and the name for the characters, and how this may not be real. Dreams can’t hurt you, right, it was the rule. If one touched her though, brushed her with its many legs, over and over again…dreaming that over and over again with no way to wake up….

She stepped closer to him.

“This is usually the point in the story where we, the merr-brooding band of explorers, flee. They give a fierce chase but against all the odds, we allude capture.”

Luna began to walk quickly but his arm blocked her.

“I am not about to run from an insect.”

His other self shared the same sentiment, keeping a steady pace despite the increasing humming. The sound made her want to run and it cut through her curiosity like a poison dart.

“Not even a billion humongous ones?”

“No. Learn how to count.”

Their pinchers, as far as she could tell, glistened with gory promises and a good trim with a side of lopping. To her surprise, Tom covered her with his outer robes. To her surprise, it was comforting.

“They sense your fear. It’s as real as you make it. That’s the beauty of it. And the danger of it.”

Luna suspected it was the early forms of magic, when it was starting to try to reach those certain people who were in tune with it. It was aggressive, greedy, and somewhere inside, she felt its pull. One had to have to control of every aspect of their personality, desires, and in the spots where there was chaos or doubt, the pull turned into a spiraling whirlpool.

But despite the reasoning, those legs were quite real, and she had dreamed them up herself. And in the back of her mind, she thought reality wasn’t that reliable, and secretly questioned her own reality. It made her a bit sick so she had to stop.

She had to admit she was glad he was here with her. His other self hesitated only just, walking into the mass as if they were particularly ghastly wall-hangings.

“And we are through,” he said. She still heard them scratching at the gate, like blood hounds. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Tom had moved, or rather glided in a fluid motion, to stand near what resembled early, pre-historic drawings on a wall. Well, he was always one to talk with his movements and poise rather than words, Luna observed.

He leaned back against the odd figures lazily.

“Come to think of it, why did you journey here? There are other spots for a holiday.”

“In search of answers. Certain self-righteous, self-indulgent fools claim that love is the greatest power on this earth. And, alas, I will have to take his hand for his sentimental drivel; it is the law of the ancients, is it not?”

“You went half way around the world to prove someone wrong?” she asked, but somehow was not too surprised. She found it rather cute in a way, if not terribly amusing albeit obsessive. “You couldn’t be happy with your own idea.”

“No, it’s just a convenient side interest. If love is the source of all magic, or the greater power, I would have run into definite proof along the way. Instead I discover this.”

He pointed to one of the lower designs, imprinted with an alarmingly rich color. She knelt down, brushed off the cobwebs, and squinted. Oh…

“Well, I don’t know exactly what they are doing to each other, there, but--.”

“That’s the wrong one!” he burst out, and completely blocked her view. She was distinctly sure he had pointed it out. She frowned.

“Now that you’ve hidden it, I’m quite curious about it.”

“This is it, here. Get it right this time.”

A bit annoyed, and still trying to steal a glance at the censored figures, Luna studied the figures and…her eyes met an even more captive sight than Ginny’s cracked and tormented soul. It was a figure of what used to be a person. Its jaws had become a gaping, pleading hole with sharp needle like teeth drawn over in dark red; its eyes had become pure white (eggshell, with the age) and seemed to have a waxy, honeycomb film over the lids. The face was caving in around the cheeks and the hair curled into snakes that fell occasionally in heaps, a continuing cycle of despair pulling its hair out…

It did not help that this particular depiction was enchanted to move. Another figure, another despairing Fury, held a real, real person in its grip and its mouth was sealed in a searing kiss, one without compassion or the slightest trace of warmth but of starvation and eternal need.

“Do you know what you are seeing, little bird?”

She shook her head.

“Why, the birth of the first Dementors. Born armed to the teeth, straight out of the depths of love.”

“That…Tom, that isn’t love.”

“It is, Lovegood. The inscription says so. It makes it quite clear. In their day, these people were fond of bottling emotions. Tasting them, you know, through the means of potions and brews. I’d say they grew to like the taste.”

“No, they’re Furies! Why, they must be distant cousins to the Fluries and Harpies United. So it’s…it’s madness and harping, right. After someone hurts a member of their family, I believe.”

He paused, one of his hands shifting to the back of her neck.

“Those taste sweet—well, not the harping, I’m sure, it’s not even--, but nothing compared to that other unfortunate ambrosia. It drove them to depend on the emotion completely, wasting away into the creatures they are today.”

“But how did a good emotion do them harm?”

“Oh, it’s easy to explain,” he whispered, pointing to the symbols that hung above the pair in eternal explanation. “Their love hurt them, drove them to want to ease the burden of what was naturally instilled within them. The soul itself…has imprints of every feeble attachment, every human feeling. You feel sorrow in their presence because they, the lost lovers in this story, take all your warmth. The creatures never affected me when I met them…”

He took her hand, which always seemed so small in comparison, and placed it on the mural that moved underneath her palm.

“Now, look at their victims, look at them. If love is the great redeemer, as he says, why would it create the most wretched creatures on earth?”

“It’s rather…it’s rather hard to understand,” Luna said, vastly intimidated by anyone’s desire to really hear her opinions. It didn’t help that the mural reflected her current situation a little too much. “I think too much is too much, no matter what the emotion was. They wanted to have the feeling all to themselves. I don’t understand,” she finished.

“Then remember addiction. Obsession,” he spoke, You know obsession and his lips were cool next to the tip of her ear. She shivered and something shivered with her.

“Why is the wall moving?”

“Because it’s not a wall at all,” Tom said, laughing at his mimicry, and she realized that he was right. She tried to pull her hand away but he would not allow it. “The creature is caught in transition, right in the middle of devouring that unfortunate soul.”

“And the person in the blue is real too?”

“Don’t worry, he’s past feeling it. And this is a water prison. After all, to the soul it is death to become water. They were a very practical people, these magic wielders.”

“It’s definitely a case of the grass is greener on the other side. But now they’re all gone,” she reminded him.

“Not quite.”

He allowed her to step back from the vessel and they both caught up to his other self.

Now she was highly intrigued, or more likely entranced. Whom would they meet, she wondered?

The halls, if they could be called that, narrowed, turning a light pale blue, in a similar fashion to the lines in one’s arm. Life lines. You could probably read every fate in the world.

“The loom!” she cried and turned to him. “Is it the loom of the Fates, the tapestry? Oh, you’re going to rearrange your destiny, aren’t you?”

“Nothing is ever so simple. One thread would affect the other, theoretically. Besides, that’s a co-dependent action, on the looms of false deities. That magic would devour you like a spider would in its web.”

Oh, you’re one to talk, she thought. “A hint, please.”

“That would ruin the atmosphere,” he said and nodded towards something in front of them.

Well. That’s what it was. In the form of a well, and over it was a remaining thin sprig from the tree. It looked like the runt of the sprigs, in her opinion, and she decided to hold her breath when she crossed.

And of course, it was ladies first, apparently. For the both of them!

“You’re much heavier than me, times two. Really, the heaviest should go first.”

“I’m—we’re—men of a better time. Really, we insist.”

The Tom Two couldn’t hear them but he did wait, looking down the well with an expression of rapture. Then she noticed the legs, real legs by the way, on the bottom of the well…it was a cauldron. The toes moved, drumming the floor in a gesture of impatience. They were…not human, either.

Well, there was no other way around it.

Luna pretended she was a feather and placed her foot on the branch—not the runty rig—in defiance. She would make it across. The cauldron moved with her, following her progress diligently. This was highly unusual behavior for a cauldron, no matter the condition of its bottom.

It was, like the crickets, massive. Old. The material was quite questionable. Then she noticed the small orbs hanging over her, lighting the way.

“Tom,” she called over her shoulder. “The cauldron is chasing me.”

“That’s the least of your worries. Just don’t look down.”

Then she did.

Into a cauldron filled to the brim with souls. Why she could tell they were souls were due to the fact that they retained their features, impressions, from their life. And there were other…things, Luna noted, like apples that bobbed up and down merrily. To hold the spirits in, an apple a day would keep the doctor away. For only the Healers could put your soul back into your body.

Someday that could be her. Or her mother. In a cauldron, and hadn’t her mother said they were all special? So she wasn’t after all? Breathing heavily, she almost toppled over.

Looking up, she saw that the spirit lights were not as stationary as she had hoped.

“Careful, not all of them are human. They are eager to get out, and your body, without protection, is perfect.”

She had a memory of a whisper in her ear. You make the perfect doll. Where the memory came from, she could not say. Only the feeling of not having her body, of something else controlling her was something she could imagine with clarity.

The spheres, which on closer inspection were composed with three circles, danced gleefully around her, drifting closer.

“If they touch you, it’s over.”

Luna felt he could have mentioned that sooner. Despite her precarious position, she began to hurry, heel-toeing it. It was like being entrapped with highly talkative seashells.

The things I’ve seen, the wrongs. Let me touch you, I’ll want to feel.

…She’s waiting for you, just tell me and I will-

I’ll show you all the treasures that you seek. You’ll forever wander and never-

“Have anything to lose,” she whispered and for a moment…considered it.

“Listen to my voice,” he called, perfectly composed. “They’re deceiving you. You must block them out. Except that one.”

There was one final glow at the end of the pitiful path.

“That one—that one has a penchant for testing you. What are you most afraid of?”

She didn’t answer, staring at the crouching thing at the end.

“Here, your fears can hurt you. Physically as well as mentally. So—”

Tom was right behind her.

“My fear is quite boring. And I don’t want to bore you,” he muttered. “There should be no secrets between us friends. Let’s have it.”

He pushed her toward it. The orb shattered, into several round coin-shaped items that splashed into the cauldron of stalkery.

“I—Bottle caps?” he asked, astounded. Luna felt an angry tug on her necklace. “The very ones you have around your neck!” She gasped, and he loosened his grip.

He seemed to be taking this rather personally.

“I have them on a string, so I know just where they are at all times,” Luna explained in a solemn tone.

“I don’t—are you--out of all the possible scenarios, you fear corks. Corks. I’ll give you a reason to, if--.”

“Genies fear corks.”

“Are you a genie?” he asked, his face oddly calm in the face of this affront. “A half-genie and half-bug?”

“You should know, actually. Remember, you were going to look it up, my background.”

His hand darted out rapidly and he flicked her wand out from behind her ear. It was really a bit immature.

“Well, the fellows at the tavern and wedding guests are also wary of corks and caps,” she said reasonably, leaning down to get her wand.

“Oh, I can tell you’re a regular at taverns with your secret life as a beer wench” he said, glaring. She blinked. “There must be something more you aren’t telling me.”

Then he paused as the light shifted again. And again. It seemed to struggle to form something but could not hold a shape, melting into another thing only to fall to pieces.

Some part of her felt guilty and she looked away from it. The sound of it struggles made her feel exposed, as if that wrong thing inside of her had broken apart and decided to dance besides her.

“I see.”

“What do you fear?” she asked quickly. She didn’t want to hear his opinion of it. She didn’t know what she’d do then, if he didn’t pretend with her.

He smiled knowingly.

“Used to fear. You can define a man by his fear, and obviously, I am more than a man. And you apparently are akin to the average beverage.”

Luna cheered up immensely. Beverages were highly important. Everyone had to drink, once in awhile, you know, to stay alive. She smiled brightly and moved to peek around him to see what he used to be afraid of. His fingers were still intertwined in her necklace.

“Of course, there is more,” he said. “To possess such simple relics at the core of your soul. You wear your fears around your neck, and you should know, that’s the most vulnerable spot.”

His grip tightened, and the old magic in the air heightened the sensation, as it sought out all the empty places to invade. This place was madness.

…and the white arches were not tree branches. It was a ribcage, after all. They were inside of a thing that had passed away when the earth had been new. And she thought it was still alive. She thought it was eating away at her.

“I would like to leave now.”

“The thing is dead. It’s just a physical realization of magical energies that was practically hollowed out to form a temple. The sooner you move, the sooner you can leave.”

Shaking, she heard a humming coming from deeper down in the tunneled throat.

“Magic is a living force,” he continued, wrapping an arm around her. “Even in inanimate object, it grants a semblance of life. Here, what they’ve done is extraordinary, the only case of its kind. The magic remains in the tissue, feeding in its various forms. Those souls keep the magic alive.”

“But it’s rotting, too,” Luna said, thinking of the Dementors.“

“Ah, balance. A soul within a soul would rot the body, it just wouldn’t be fatal. On the contrary, it’s the rudimentary form of immortality.”

“This is bad,” she said, sure of it. The traveling spirits, both human and in-human, joined in a taunting song about silly little girls. Children are the fountain of youth, but girls are so much sweet with blossoms in their cheeks, pluck them out. Just make them, break them, and put them in some bread. She shuddered, as the spirits kept up, strolling besides them and turning to every sort of children behind the trees (skipping, singing, screaming) and then twisting, twisting them into every sort of roll. Shadows would leap in the form of wolves and ghosts and monsters that wait only for the youth.

Dearheart, her father would say, this is the place where all the stories come from.

“This is very, very bad.”

“Then you are very, very bad,” he said, and she started. “This very exchange is happening within your own body. Wizards live longer than Muggles due to presence of magic in their blood; in its essence, magic, all magic, is immortal. All this is your heritage, you know. Show a little appreciation. ”

“The magic has a mind of its own here, and it wants me,” Luna warned him. “And you. It is the wolf in this forest.”

“Of course it does. Never call it evil. It’s just choosy in its favorites; my blood draws it in. When I was younger…” he said, his eyes strange and nearly child-like. “When I was younger, that very shape would always be out the window, on the grounds…it’s always wanted me. But I can master it, and this magic will obey me.”

“Then tell it stop hunting us.”

“It’s all an illusion until it gets close enough, and it gets close enough because it needs us. Can’t you feel that? My dear girl, it’s toying with you. Let it, open your self to the sensation.”

Luna knew she would be overcome by it. If she opened herself a bit, it would caress and devour until that bit was a whole. This magic was white and fierce and being devoured would not hurt. That was the most dangerous thing of all. She would like it and be here forever more in pain and pleasure. Luna shook her head.

“Then you’re saving yourself for other sensations, I take it. What a pleasure. Pay no mind to the shadows, the real treasure is right before us.

The two of them, one barely a boy and the other more than a man, approached the gate attached to the tunneled throat. The gate stretched out, groaning in its metal work and grinning back at them. Above this gate was a small hive. It seemed blacked and abandoned, and Luna couldn’t blame the bees that had left.

Again there were words. Again, she didn’t need to understand the language to see the story.

The lady behind my teeth loved the world so

She poured her soul into the very earth

Until there was no more to give.

The eternal fool

The eternal lover

Give her a kiss if you dare.

It swung its jaws open and inside, was a wall of honeycombs, each one holding a different shadow inside. Faces, more inhuman once more, were curved and buried in the deepest lull of sleep in the sandman’s chamber. For sand made their beds and covered their eyes like the rarest silk.

“I doubt even you couldn’t have imagined this,” he said, his voice holding a tangible excitement, very close to a frenzy. “An endless collection of the vanquished.”

“From what war?” Luna whispered, not recalling any event with so many vanquished.

“Why, the war of magical superiority. These beings could use magic as well as wizards. Once, I believe, they were what the Muggle myths termed gods and demons. Any thing they can’t understand, they isolate it in their minds, from the very existence of real time. Hence, myths and tales to frighten their children…or themselves. They told the stories because it was the only way their minds could grasp such things. However, in truth…in truth, the wizards have forgotten the very peoples they have enslaved. You see, every sentient thing wants to be special.”

“But they were here first. How could the wizards do that? Why? It’s so very cruel.”

“Haven’t you noticed what Hogwarts is like? The strongest, the best, the quickest are rewarded and the slow, small, and timid are pushed to the side, and Hogwarts is only the beginning of this ideal. In the pursuit of purity, weakness can not be allowed. And if these beings were stronger, better, the roles would be reversed. Rightly so. But now, now…the wizarding world has not…they are like children, grown fat after only one meal. They have forgotten how to struggle. I see our fate in these figures.”

Luna found a different fate altogether. One of self imposed vanity and delusions. All their secrets in their dreams…lost for good. It seemed like self-infliction, horrible and near-sighted. She shuddered.

“But enough of living in the past. The past is still living right now. Above you, Luna. Look.”

She looked. Embedded into the roof of the mouth, exactly behind its teeth, was part of a tower. Once it had been whole, and the shape had been odd among the trees. Leaves and vines still curled around walls that had fallen perhaps a century ago.

Out of the top of the ribbed remains that looked rather like an old bird cage, Luna saw that there was hair, a river of grey hair, pooling down towards the ground. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened.

Forgetting her fear, forgetting the virtual catacombs that surrounded her, Luna hurried forward. Her mind was in an excited fervor. This, by Puck, was something she knew.

Hands shaking with naïve rapture, she reached out to seize the hair and scale the heights.

“When--“ He asked, laughing and curling an arm around her to stop her in mid flight. “When would that ever be a good idea?”

“That’s how you’re supposed to do it. Then someone is meant to free her from the spell with a kiss. That would be you, Tom.”

“Actually, the person who scales the hair is the one in charge of the kissing.”

Luna let go of the strands she had in her hands instantly. Could one imagine what centuries upon centuries would do to someone’s mouth?

Still, she shivered as he held her against him. Trapping her against him. She couldn’t see a thing from this view point. His other self, filled with the same rapture Luna was suffering from, cast a Levitation spell. So he was on equal footing with the cage.

She shook and she struggled. He kept his gaze on his other half, now holding her with both arms.

“Tom,” she said, with such excitement it sounded like a persistent chirping. “Tom. Tom.”

“Yes?”

“Can you float me up there?”

“I don’t know, this experience might be more than you can take.”

Now she was more persistent than ever. “Oh, but it will drive me mad if I don’t see her. She’s been so lonely up there, and you’re not very hospitable. I know you’ll leave her in the cage and she’ll be sad.”

“…Very well. Wander up there and have your hello party.”

“But what about the mints?”

Instead of supplying her with the necessary defense, he cast the charm and Luna felt very light. It was unbelievable that she would finally meet the source of some many stories. A living story, and this person simply must be wonderful. Luna could let her out and show her the world she loved so dearly.

His other self was on the opposite side, thankfully, and she parted the foliage without hesitation.

And promptly wished she had never ever asked to see.

The person, if it could be properly called a person, was…not very…well. Her eyes, unlike the Dementors’ eyes, still resided in her head. The look out of them was quite mad. Somewhere, maybe near the quarter of 1000 B.C, she had tried to end her eternity (judging by the use of the shard of metal from the cage in her side), only to find that now the world loved her just as much. The one-sided love had taken its toll, as one-sided loves were the doom to all fair maidens.

Her skin was entirely composed of folds long before her bones had started to fail her. It was only through the light gleaming against empty, glassy eyes that Luna had discovered there were eyes to be had. Her mouth had long lost itself to decay and the continual use of the lotus leaves on the vine…which by the way, held jeweled eyes in the center. Their eye lashes tickled her palm. Her nails had grown and curled inward on themselves. Her clothes had turned to rotten mold.

She looked past her two visitors, not seeing them. Entranced with the flowers that had kept her company and the very small ornament in her hair that formed two small lions standing proudly back to back in an old unidentifiable metal, sword gripped tightly in their jaws. Most of the features had been rubbed raw of the ornament, though. In the space, which was quite large, there had been a long table, and it was clear once upon a time she had been worshipped, revered, and adored, judging by the amount of jewels, tokens locked up with her.

Then there were the other things. The cradle, where there was a stained, decomposing blanket with a curved, tooth-like knife placed almost lovingly in the folds. The chains on the table.

Perhaps that was why the woman was here in the cage. She had given death out a little too freely. Once worshipped, then loathed, now forgotten.

She could have been pitied. But in the end, she would not understand the emotion she had never shown in regards to the others whose blood had touched the long table. In the end, it was the cage that saved her, divided her from the new others, the new world that would find nothing in her to worship. The feat of immortality itself was hidden by the immortality of the consequences.

“Erm,” Luna said, and this was all the introduction she managed. For Tom’s worser half had stuck his arm through the bars and plucked the ornament from the ancient’s very hands. Luna wondered why he didn’t take it with magic, but then again, where would his sport be in the act.

Those empty eyes sharpened, and the woman let out an enraged howl, long and animalistic in its desperation.

“Wait a moment, you can’t take that,” Luna said, finding she was more protective of someone else property than her own, and she reached out to knock the ornament from his grasp. To which…to which he suddenly became very real and seemed surprised by her appearance.

“Is she your ward, spirit?” he inquired, entrapped her against the bars where the woman’s ghastly hands traced her face like a blind woman. “Are you a ghost attached to this metal?”

The woman’s fingers were like worms. He was…this half or quarter or whatnot of Riddle was very strange. She couldn’t look into his eyes and found herself trapped. And the thing behind her wanted to hurt her just as badly as he did. Only he was smiling.

She held on to the piece, closing her eyes tightly. “Excuse me, I am not a ghost. I’m Luna Lovegood and I’m just as real as you are.”

I hope, I hope, I-

“Oh. Good to know.”

Then he dropped her. She screamed, passing through every layer of time, and gasped when her Tom caught her.

“I see we’ve met thrice now,” he said calmly.

“And you’ve tried to kill me thrice and I’m starting to think it’s persona…what?” she asked, confused.

“Sorry, math is not my strong suit.”

“Never mind, did you see, you’ve just stolen that lady’s brooch. You have to stop yourself.”

“I have my hands full at the moment.”

She struggled a bit half-heartedly and he wouldn’t let go.

“You can stop him with your mind.”

“I’m agreeably preoccupied. Besides, I would have just thought up the brooch to begin with.”

She gasped. “You would steal with your mind, Tom. Think, if someone was to steal your mind, how would you feel? It’s such a horrible thing to lose.”

“Shhhh. As I recall, we’re going to have company.”

And then she heard it. The cracking sound. Of bodies that had not moved in millenniums.

“I can put you down now, if you like.”

“No, this is quite all right,” she said, looking out at the moving creatures that were waking up to the woman’s call.

His other self joined them on the ground, and she glared at his back.

“It’s nothing personal,” her Tom said. “Be still and look away.”

She called them creatures. Some were part human, some were all human—in appearance. Some were beautiful and some were monsters. One, for instance, who circled above, had the head of a falcon, complete with wings. There were people with bold, large eyes that Muggles mistook for fairies.

This motley group had two things in common: power and anger.

When he killed the falcon who was the first one to attack, she shared the second attribute.

“I told you to look away,” he interrupted when she opened her mouth.

“You love magic and yet you kill it,” she said fiercely.

“There are a plenty more like him here, and he’s the only one necessary to clear the path. The rest are slow with age.”

He demonstrated this theory by literally stepping on several heads (still attached to the bodies of the beast trying to rise) to get across the room. He was quite nimble for such a tall person, she mused. She looked over his shoulder, to stare at the fallen bird, and saw another one (for there were very many) was quicker than Tom had suspected.

“Behind you,” she cried.

A curse shot over their heads and struck the man in mid attack. Dear bluebeard, they could wield fire as a weapon. She decided to stop worrying and hang on to him, with her arms around his shoulders.

“You are very bad at math,” she said, shivering and remembering he had said only one of the creatures died.

“Right, I forgot that about that one,” he said. And realizing he would never forget any such thing, she understood that things could change even in the past.

“Tom.”

“Just keep your head down. Poke me in the eye with your wand again and I will drop you.”

But his grip felt secure, and somehow, he managed to weave through the onslaught between the monsters and himself quite well.

His other self, however, started to take his time killing those who flew at him. All manner of ancients turned in dust, as the past met the future and proved not enough. She gritted her teeth when several of them screamed in fresh agony. Their magic was pure, unevolved, and his was dark and terrible to behold. Spirit animals were skinned into smoke, fire demons extinguished, and former gods brought to their knees and beheaded all at a flick of his wand.

A few…the group of nimplets whom Muggles said were fairies…stood passively, holding each others hands. Wide-eyed. Uncomprehending. They didn’t understand the intent to harm. The world had left them behind. She closed her eyes when they went without a murmur.

And all was silent except the sobbing of the lady in the tower.

She peered through the bars at them and opened her mouth, trying to form words.

His other self turned and left without acknowledging her…but allowed her to see him place the ornament slowly into his pocket.

Years later, when she watched Cedric Diggory’s father sobbing over his son’s empty body, she would remember Lady Lilith and her grief over her fallen sons and daughters. For in eternity, she would become a spring and weep forever.

Further down, they realized the entrance had moved. The tunnels had become twisted and unrecognizable. More spirits and horrible monsters met them on their way out. She didn’t pay attention any more, keep her face buried into his shoulder.

“Tired?” he asked, thoughtfully.

“Tom,” she whispered and was about to say so many things that were dancing inside her mind and welling up like an infection…then she said, “I’m glad you’re warm because I’m very tired and cold.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You are a young girl and with so much excitement, I imagine so…do you have any questions for me? You’re usually bursting with them.”

“…No. That’s all right. You were quite fearless, back there,” she added, understanding him and feeling...as if having no fear at all was quite a bit worse than having fear.

“Hm. I wouldn’t say so. Well,” he paused. “I think…I was chosen to do go there and find her after all those centuries.”

Luna thought of the wolf in the trees and nodded. “It’s just a memory, isn’t it? Time heals, I suppose, or at least, makes the wounds fade.”

“Not for her. Not for me, either.”

She tightened her grip and stared up at him. “You know, just because the wolf came to you, it doesn’t mean you have to let it haunt you, Tom. You know that, right.”

“I do. Now if you are cold, let me help you.”

“I suspect the desert will be warm enough. You don’t have to carry me through the dessert, by the way.”

“Hah, is that where you think we are?”

The terrible two pulled something else out of his cloak. It was small hourglass. He tapped it once, and in an instant, they were in a crowded tavern. Luna looked at the bearded men dressed in coats and at the snowing falling blissfully out the window.

“We were in the hourglass!” she said.

“Found at the Hourglass tavern in Greenland. It was right in the seal over the bar.”

Despite her conflicted feelings, Luna marveled at his intellect, and smiled. “How ever did you find it?”

“I’m just rather good at guessing. Power comes in small sizes, on occasion. Would you like a drink?”

She blinked. “A creamed coffee, or something,” he clarified. “We’ve got the time, and this is the place to spend it.”

His other self had left already, disappearing into the frigid snow. “Where is he off to? He can’t sit down with us for a moment before going for a stroll in the snow?”

“You two didn’t get off on the right foot for another meeting. Regardless of the presence of alcohol. Now, sit here by the fire, and I’ll get you something.”

Tom moved to the bar and Luna sat down on the rug, quite cozy. It was a very merry Christmas the third time in a row, and she was very much at peace. There wasn’t a lot of green in Greenland however, after all. She noticed the plethora of white beards of the bats.

Soon, he returned with two mugs. He didn’t have to wait in line, you know.

“You didn’t slip something into it this time, did you?”

“…Perhaps. Take a risk.”

“Trade your mug, Tom.”

He obliged. She took a sip. “What is this... it tastes like beans. With cream!”

“I thought you’d remember our previous outing. So I anticipated your request.”

Luna gaped, thoroughly astounded. Brilliance.

“Promise I didn’t put anything in it. Enjoy your coffee and take in the scenery. It’s nice this time of year.”

“Did you notice the herd of Dumbledores?”

“…herd of Dumbledores?”

“Yes. All these men with white beards. They all look like Professor Dumbledore. This must be his native land.”

“Which one looks the most like him, in your opinion?” he inquired. “The doppelganger who wins the contest gets a prize.”

She tapped her mug in concentration. “I chose that plucky fellow of there, singing along with the music. He has the exact twinkly look in this eye.”

“You do know that means he’s trying to read your mind, don’t you?”

She coughed into her cup. “Yes, afraid so. Besides, that twinkle there is more of an intoxicated twinkle. Dumbledore is drunk on most topics; he thinks himself well versed on any subject. But he’s not falling out of his chair while preaching.”

“Hmm…then him, the one with the beard to his feet.”

“Too much hair.”

“The one sitting all by himself, in the corner.”

“Too little-no, that’s about right. Dumbledore had to start wearing a hat around my time. Oh, he tried going without it at the beginning, to show his majestic head and the joy of old age. Didn’t last a day.”

Luna laughed, the image of Dumbledore woefully bald stuck out in her mind. “Want to see what these Muggles do when faced with the perils of hair loss?”

He waved his hand and in a moment, half of the room’s full heads of hair were blown off, rising like a white mass! There were several loud snaps, and things that looked like brain-eating wombats took flight.

“There are bolts in their scalps,” she cried. “They snap poor animals to their heads.”

“…I pity the mass extinction of these fiends’ prey. Such ignoble deaths.”

“Well, their heads would get nippy. Professor Dumbledore has no excuse.”

“Right you are,” Tom agreed. “How do you like coffee?”

“I love coffee. May I try some without the cream?”

“You like yours black, then. A girl after my own heart,” he said, smiling. They spent the night there, and Luna woke up to wonder why she was so wide awake at four in the morning.

Her excitement wrought from consummation of the black beans did not last long. That very day, Ginny and Tom had snuck back through that crack in her mind. He let her hear every word of their conversation during breakfast and during her first class.

You know I’m your only friend. Your own brothers forsook you, unremarkable thing you are, and your Harry Potter will never acknowledge you, much less look at you. My poor little Ghost, let me put an end to your suffering. I can make more out of our life than you ever will.

They danced, Tom speaking ever so softly and Ginny shrieking and shouting. All the while, Luna watched Ginny sit in the desk in front of her, obediently writing down the answers on the board.

Luna’s parchment was blank when she handed it in to Professor McGonagall. The older woman pursed her lips in disappointment. She left the room quickly, ready to leave the building and go outside where her thoughts might be free.

Then there was a distant tinge in her arm. Luna.

He was calling for her specifically. She wandered around the corridors until she could wander no more, something pulling and wearing at the back of her mind like a hound.

At first, she missed it, stepping into the haunted girl’s bathroom, expecting just the typical downpour of tears.

Luna wondered how she could have missed it—for there was so, so very much of it. The blood covered the tile like a briar thicket and droplets darted through the lost children following breadcrumbs through a maze.

The source of the spring was near the sink, and Ginny Weasley was so painfully pale it made one hurt to look at her. A bloody quill lay innocently nearby.

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Tom said, looking through Ginny’s narrowed eyes. “I’ve just been calling you for twenty minutes.”

She stared.

“It seems the little bitch learned a new trick,” he said, dismissively, and Luna inwardly flinched. “Writing implements, a necessary evil, especially when used on the skin. She was writing a message.”

He held up the inner part of Ginny’s arm, and Luna saw the words HEL carved there, jagged and much too clear. Across her wrists were also marks, giving her hands the image of being sewed on.

“I let it go too far. It’s my fault,” he said.

She held her breath, leaning by the side of the door, watching the blood soak into the diary. Was he admitting a mistake?

“At first, it was quite funny. As if anyone would look under her uniform.” He laughed. “I thought she just liked the pain, because this was an act she could do herself. I had no hand in this, and that’s sad. It’s rather morbidly fanciful, isn’t it?”

“She must be in a morbid state of mind, Tom,” Luna said, who was distinctly light headed. Also something was thoroughly rotten in this state, and she felt her whole body tremble, thinking of getting a passport.

“Well, I let her go about her business, pretending not to notice, then I snatched her hands away, back under my control, to let her have hell all she wanted. Her fingers twitched, and we have this.”

He motioned to the marks on her wrists.

“She was trying to-to hurt herself?”

“To kill me along with her, but clearly her rotting body would not affect me. It was out of spite. Pure spite. She would have been a good girl if I hadn’t been waiting for her all her life.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, still leaning against the door, with alternating waves of hot and cold washing unmercifully over her body. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen blood before; it was the small girl, and the stained porcelain sink, and dear, dear, there was so very much.

“But at least she is giving me a struggle near the end,” he said dismissively. Luna blinked. “Don’t tell me you’re going to faint.”

“Since three’s a crowd, I’ll leave.”

“And in my hour of need, she flees.”

“Well,” Luna pondered. “Well, if she was born for this moment, perhaps you were too. I don’t believe in fate but I really do respect your beliefs. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

“Oh, she’s jealous,” he said. “You both have my undivided attention, as you can see.”

“The problem is that the blood is outside of her body, right?”

“…Yes, that appears to be the problem. Now come here.”

Luna stood, feet planted firmly near the door.

“Will I have to force you? I do appreciate an act of good will every once and a while, you know.”

“This may very well be Ginny’s only means of escape. I’m not going to block her exit. It would be rude,” she said, thoughtfully and entirely convinced of her reasoning. It made the dizziness evaporate, and she even felt herself smile.

“What a contrary mood we are in today. We both know you’re not a ruthless child. Impersonal, but not ruthless.”

Luna looked at the ceiling and found that there were thousands of taps there too, and there was a rather racy mermaid, covered up in shells, and a lamprey was quite a wonderful distraction she took with gratitude.

“Ruth-less,” she mused. Less of Ruth, perhaps giving, perhaps loving… “Fate is not always kind. Think, Tom. If she was born to meet you, if she was born to die with you, then maybe, just maybe, she was meant to take you along with her.”

“You don’t believe in fate.”

“Oh, no. But you really do. Daddy says to always respect other people’s beliefs.”

Ginny’s mouth curved, and her hair stuck out at sharp angles all around her pale face. Her tiny legs were buckled and curled up underneath her, and her knees were stained with blood. Her dark eyes were lit up with something that resembled pleasure, and dear, oh, dear where does Ginny end and Tom begin?

“This is exquisite,” he muttered, his eyes unfocused as if listening to a very distant, unreachable sound. “Simply exquisite. I’m so close to death, and it can’t taint me. This girl is filled to the brim—or near empty I should say, and I hear her dying.”

Luna almost went to him, them, but managed to hold on to the door frame. She wished it could have gone differently, with Ginny. They could have been friends. With Tom…she had to hide that fact, lock it away until he was gone.

“I’ve never really liked surprises. Well, let me correct that. I never like receiving them as much as I savor giving them. It is necessary to be tested, I know, and I need to be tested, but the unexpected is a bit trying,” he said, sighing. “I was going to save this one for later. It can’t be helped.”

Suddenly, expectedly, something stretched under her skin. It should have been painful. It wasn’t because it—the chains—had been there so long without her notice, and her body had become accustomed to their presence. It seemed as if she now possessed scales underneath her flesh, or the scales had possessed her.

Well she couldn’t say she very much cared for this surprise.

“Come here to me,” he said gently, and the chains pulled her forward, and this time it did hurt. “I don’t want to see your tears. There has been enough letting for today.”

She gritted her teeth, thinking of the necklace her mother had made for her, they had made together, not this feeling.

“Who would you say entrances the other, the puppet or the puppet-master? The master drops the strings, the hollow thing ceases to be real. Do you want me to drop you, Luna?”

Distantly, through the haze of a throbbing agony, Luna accepted that the rules of the game had changed. She planned to play fully, and change with the game, for there was only the game that kept him at bay, kept him real, as he said.

“Could you?” she asked, curiously. “A puppet always has a purpose in the show. Why would you fashion me if you weren’t fond of me? Daddy sa--.”

She gasped as the chains tightened.

“Enough of that word,” he said, strained. “You try my patience with your pathetic co-dependency.”

Luna smiled at the irony. “That word bothers you,” she observed. “I will use it quite often until it doesn’t anymore.”

Ginny’s face contorted horribly, and the pain swelled to such a pitch Luna really did feel the edge of dizziness creeping, creeping closer. The funny thing about pain was two important facets: one, in pain, you knew you were alive, and two, it wasn’t so very bad near the end. There’s a certain pitch, a certain swelling of the physical nature that her mind rode, and it pushed her so far up she barely felt it except a caress. It was like a dark, dark wave (like at the ocean, only that one was blue) and she was on the crest.

The problem was coming down, trailing down, spiraling down, and breathing hurt and what goes up must come down, and she passed the pain and it was real again. She forced herself to keep breathing. It sounded as if she had ceased in an unstoppable laughing fit, and it was far better to laugh or she would cry. She had never cried, she thought, never but in mirth and it wasn’t going to change, that rule. Not for any game in the entire world.

She noticed the chains were loosening and there were tears running down her cheeks. Everything felt raw. Her body was contorted and she, in tiny steps, un-tensed, letting it fall like hair in a tie, a rat. She noticed Ginny’s shoes, and that one had a hole in the toe, and it was very odd that he had continued to tie her little shoes so meticulously. Who would care, honestly?

In his way, he was truly very funny. Unless…unless somewhere, Ginny was still alive and well and sane. Perhaps they were too close together, and tying shoes was the way she kept herself separate. Ginny wasn’t afraid to die to stop him.

Luna looked at him from her position, her head damp from the spill on the floor, and saw he was fading. Ginny’s head started to droop. To her amazement, Luna realized that she had outlasted him. A half-a-tick later, she realized quite the opposite. She had outlasted Ginny, not Tom, and that alone was on a technicality.

The rules of the game had changed, her mind repeated diligently in the respite, and one must change with the game. There was still hope for Ginny, possibly, she allowed herself some faith. In the midst of the terror, the evidence of the opposite that she was bathing in, Luna found her faith again. This too will pass, like all things would pass. Luna leaned forward and took Ginny’s shoulders, shaking them lightly.

“Wake up, wake up,” she said gently, polite as ever. “It’s a new day today and it’s waiting for you.”

At least, that’s what her mother had woken her up with. Indeed, his eyelids started to flutter. It was all him. Ginny still drifted beneath consciousness, and Luna hoped she hadn’t lost her forever.

Moaning Myrtle was mercifully silent. The doings in the room, the screaming, had driven her into hiding.

“Tom, are you all right?” Luna inquired, her hands shaking from the experience. “How can I help you?”

Her mind was clear, free from any schemes. She meant what she said. And from the look that burned in his eyes, she knew it was the most piercing thing she could have done to him. It was frightening, to look him in the eyes and hold no ill will, even after he had almost pushed her too far. He pushed her away.

Well, if he had enough energy to do that, then all was well. Too well. Had he been testing her, a bit of a trial run? Did Ginny really carve into her own flesh or was it another’s hand? Was it even her blood? Tricky.

“It could have been worse,” she whispered. “Besides, I know you lost your temper. You really do have a horrible temper, you know.”

“There, there,” he said, distracting her by wiping the tears off her cheeks. “Even though you are the epitome of passive-aggressive behavior, I was not upset. Were you always such a disobedient child?”

The way he said it didn’t seem as if she was being scolded. If she ever had felt willful, or rather bad, then this was the moment. She shouldn’t have been pleased.

“In my family, it’s encouraged.”

“It’s time you learn that obedience is a virtue,” he said, admiring the links of chains down her frail arms. She frowned. Obedience just breeds bed sores and an idle mind.

“Are you obedient?” Luna asked, meeting his gaze.

“When it matters. I am the picture of submission when I have the reigns in my hands.”

“Me too,” she said, not minding warning him.

“I forget how young you are. Then you remind me,” he said, amused. “Now are you hurt?

“You hurt me.”

“I know. Are you still in pain?”

She shook her head.

“Do you understand how to avoid a repeat performance in the future?”

“Yes.”

“With that knowledge, will you?”

“No,” she said.

“Good. I would hate for you to think I am limited to the realm of the mind.”

“Since you are not, would you like for me to take you to Madam Pompfrey? However, I don’t think she can fix you.”

He drew back as if burned.

“I wish you could be, because I think I might need you.”

After all, might was not a lie, it was right, so there. Might just be her newest pawn.

“Not in a horrible way, just for…a little while. You are my first friend, you know, and I will miss you if you were to go. I think you want to drive me away, really, with all this.” She motioned to the stains on the floor. “Yet you still want to be around me.”

“Is that what you think?”

“You just want me to hate you, is all.”

“It doesn’t matter how much I hurt you,” he said coldly. “In the end, you’ll adore me just as much. In this place, in this world that’s entirely composed of children in every form, that’s what you all do.”

“I do not adore you,” she said. “I like you.”

“Then am I the one who needs to be fixed?”

She bit her lip, and found it already thoroughly bit.

“I’ve always been this way, a little odd, it doesn’t matter, and I’ve been wondering if we could leave now. I could take your book and we’ll leave this very moment. You don’t have to prove anything, really.”

He pulled her wand from behind her ear.

“Let’s pretend that was really true and that you didn’t need me to be your proof. If I were to really show you everything about me, you would--.”

“Hate you?”

“You see me as an idea, I know this. I’ve indulged you. That is all I need to be. Look at your body, look at your hands, and understand that I do not need you. You are similar to Ginny now, though some part of you pitied her.”

“Does she know where you grew up? Does she know how you grew up? Did you tell her?”

“…Yes. It’s an exchange, and must be mutual.”

“Then I am the same. You must tell me what you’ve told her. You have to promise.”

“That is between the two of us,” he motioned to Ginny’s body. “However…however, there is something more I could say, if I wanted to test your confession.”

How strong is your affection? If it is true, it should survive anything, correct?”

Luna nodded.

“I’ve already shown you what I am, what I am capable of. But you view it as a spectator. You feel absolved by your distance. I wonder….if I hurt you in a place you thought untouchable?”

“You don’t want to hurt me,” she said simply. “Not like that.”

“Then I must.”

“I know.”

Of course, she knew the hurt would be brief, in comparison. He was like his ruins, and even though he would harm her, she couldn’t help but feel his disaster strongly.

“You’re pale,” he noticed. “And see, your small hand shakes like a leaf. You don’t hide pain as much as your other feelings. See, you are like the rest.”

“If you need me to be,” she answered. Surround yourself with the mundane, smother any potential only just; it is the worshippers that make the god and lay the mortar.

And Luna, little Luna with little hands, learned how much power she possessed against him when he did not refuse her offer. She shook and he thought it was from pain.

“I believe you have class, Transfiguration, is it, in ten minutes? So do I, apparently. How about we take the day off, you and I? Get to know each other during the day instead of at night.”

When she was at home, she used to listen to her father’s friends from the nook under the stairs. The undercurrent of something harsh and raw and rich was in their voices, though what they said seemed to be in a strange foreign lingo. She felt rather vulnerable without darkness and stillness to hide her from something so thick it was almost tactile.

“Professor Dumbledore said that was wrong. Anyway, this is such a mess,” she protested, not usually so tidy but for bluebeard’s sake. It was supposed to be on the inside, usually. “We smell like the mess. Mrs. Norris will scent us out or something else will sniff us out. It’s not supposed…I suspect Ginny’s not alright…”

“Easily rectified.” It was. Soon every last drop was gone and the marks on Ginny’s arm went with them. “Afraid of blood, then?”

“How can you be afraid of what’s inside of you? Is that strange of me?”

“Not at all. That’s the most normal thing you’ve ever said. Don’t make a habit of it.”

While the pain was terrible, the sensation of defeat was far worse. She was starting to believe she was in more trouble than Ginny was.

“Do you know this was very cruel? Much more so than what was at the temple.”

“Of course I do. In regards to both of you. It’s very cruel.”

She grew sad at that confession. “Then you have to know it’s very wrong.”

“Yes. Now, ask yourself, does it really matter? The end of this will wipe out all these transgressions. The beauty of it will. Don’t fear pain, Luna. You know you’re quite alive then.”

She shivered at the familiarity and looked away at Myrtle’s stall. He must have been hurt to say something like that, in reaction to pain. Then again, was the woman in the cage ever hurt really? Was she giving reason to deeds that deserved none?

“And when you learn you are safer with me than with them, things will go swimmingly.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked. “You can’t help being cruel.”

“You make me sound like a victim to my passions. I can be many things for you.”

“I don’t want a shape-shifter who pretends for me. How about a true friend? I’m sorry, you know, about my remark about fixing you. It’s hard, because I want you to be as you are, because you’re not supposed to change people, but it won’t do, to let you hurt people just because you have to, to make yourself feel better.”

“What? Another crack-pot theory about me? I’m certainly on your mind. Didn’t I just tell you--?”

“Well, for someone who possesses people and puts chains on someone else, you can see where I get the impression. I’m sure you have your reasons for being cruel and believing you can stand alone, but I’m beginning to wonder if--.”

“Use and need are not mutually inclusive, innocent. There’s a world of difference between the two.”

“So you truly don’t need me?”

“I might need you,” he said, using her words against her.

“You need everyone to make you a lord, so yes, you really need every single person and that’s why you’re cruel. You need us to make you special and that’s the only way you know how,” she answered back. To tell the truth. And she just barely saw the glass refract, bending inwards, and just barely closed the stall door, before the mirrors above the sinks shattered.

And she heard something hit the ground on the other side.

Luna did not think for several minutes, thrown into shock once more. Then she realized that she had killed him. Simply killed, definitely killed, and finally killed him. By pushing him into a rage or a grave doubt…she leaned against the door, terror and sadness spinning through her mind. Ginny had gone with him, too. She couldn’t help anyone.

“Tom?” she called. “Please answer.”

He didn’t and she quickly opened the door, fearful and near real tears.

“Tricked two times in a row. Bless her bleeding heart.”

Ginny was unharmed as he was.

“I think we’ve narrowed down the terminology. Beyond a doubt, you need me. So…” He reached out and pulled her closer. “Behave. Be a good girl. This will all be over soon.”

The glass crunched under her feet. Suddenly, she knew how to save both Ginny and Tom. There was one final trick to separate the two and keep Tom with her…in a place he couldn’t harm her.

A mirror. Everyone knew that a mirror was just as dangerous as water when it comes to souls. If he really couldn’t help himself, then there was no other option. Besides, everyone had a spot of good in them, she simply knew it.

“I will be good, Tom,” Luna promised. As will you.

&

Credits:

-The title of this chapter is from JRR Tolkien, specifically his work The Hobbit.

-Luna’s “This is usually the point in the story where we, the merr-brooding band of explorers, flee. They give a fierce chase but against all the odds, we allude capture,” is influenced by a quote from movie Lady in the Water.

-Lilith is from mythology, and she is included in many different texts and stories. She is sometimes considered the first wife of Adam. And there are also references to fairytales as well in this chapter.

- Tom’s “to the soul it is death to become water” was said by Heraclitus. “She would have been a good girl if I hadn’t been waiting for her all her life” is influenced by A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor.

Replies: (I try to reply through email but if there’s a specific question, I will definitely answer it in the next chapter :).)

Rory: I think a lot of your questions will be answered before the CoS storyline is done. As for Neville, well, I have big plans for him in this story :). He’s among my favorite characters.

Anonymous: Thanks, Tom Riddle’s very fun to write (perhaps too much fun to write ;)) and I’m very glad you like this story! As to your question about editing, yes. I felt like the chapter is too lengthy and I tried to clip some of the details. I promise I won’t do it again, since I’ve been trying to keep the pace down. So no worries about any more editing ;).

Thank you for reading. Any feedback, including concrit, is welcome.