room at midnight, is what your letter read.

every step through the dark halls echoed no, but i kept walking anyway. you kept me tethered because you left everything unanswered.

i knock on your door - i should be worried. we've never been this alone. not truly. not even in my library.

the moon and books were always a witness.

the door creaks open and it's just you and i in the head boy living quarters. i envy you don't have to sleep in the dungeons anymore - the tiles were bitter to the touch.

in this place however, the hearth bloomed and my blood unfurled.

i was expected to see some touch of the boy possibly hiding within - even with a discarded piece of clothing on the floor but there was nothing.

if you weren't there i wouldn't even think anyone lived in this place.

turning you're watching me - waiting.

when do we begin?

you gesture over to a door that leads to your room and oh yes - there it is. there's a dent on one side of your mattress - your preferred side. book's scattered. candles melted. an ash tray with half a cigarette. and your desk was a maze of its own.

the human touch was a delicate thing.

part of me wondered if i were the first to ever be in your room - in some way it made you look vulnerable.

you look up at me from a journal then - what do you know about immortality?

i shrug - it's a childish fantasy.

childish? you seem affronted and i laugh.

if one wants to live forever then clearly they have a childish perception of life. if they knew any better they'd prefer six feet under than infinite loneliness.

are they not the same?

i think it over, perhaps. then again what would i know?

come here, all your requests are demands - i find myself obeying regardless.

you wave a hand to the numerous pages of parchment that littered the slab of wood, drawings splattered, elegant scrawl - though there's a beat of chaos in it. theories?

i read - soaking in the ink and i let it fill me for a moment before spitting it back out.

horcruxes?

when you smile it's frightening - i love it.

do you know about them?

only what's in front of me, i stare at the writing again, trying to wrap my mind around it. in text it seems so simple. it looks awfully reckless.

it is.

you speak as if from experience, i joke but you don't indulge and my eyes widen - you can't have.

your eyes glow.

when?

that takes you by surprise - fifth year.

my brain churns and then - myrtle?

you appraise me for a moment before nodding.

why drag me in here if you've already done it?

i want to do it again.

you're properly insane. why aren't i running? you've just confessed to murder.

that could kill you if done twice -

perhaps i wasn't as transparent as i should've been, i've done it twice already. i'd like to take a new approach.

my muscles finally give out and i fall against the edge of the desk, staring resolutely at the floor. am i in shock? i feel an inkling of fear but it's not enough.

what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

taking a step closer, you grip my chin and make me meet your eyes - you agreed to this.

and if i change my mind?

will you?

the question hangs heavy in the air and the notion that i truly don't know digs at me.

am i really so corrupted?

i wouldn't have picked you if you weren't.

i glare - every word you spoke made this sound intimate when really it was just toying with nature. a gamble. you've won twice and you're testing the waters again.

what... what are you suggesting?

your fingers dance down my throat and it bends to your will, do you know of the philosophers stone?

i nod - starting to get the hint - you want to make your own elixir?

clicking your tongue your head nods once, in a sense.

and you think i'm capable of that?

i find it disheartening at the lack of faith in yourself.

i shake my head, you don't care that much. about the potion yes, but not me.

diana.

i lean away from you. i knew from the get go i was being used but to have it so plainly laid out in front of me hurt.

more than i'd like to admit.

i'd prefer your cruelty over whatever this was.

fine, your grip on my neck tightens and you guide me up, pulling my face to yours - my hand grabs your wrist but it's unrelenting.

i can breathe but i can feel my heart slamming against your hold - eyes watering.

no longer beguiling - the cracks were getting wider.

do this and i can guarantee all you've ever wanted will be granted to you.

how do you know what i want? i manage to get out, my breath coming out hot and my eyes felt heavy.

you've killed two people.

are you going to kill me?

the grin that stretched your face was sinister and i felt trepidation finally start to trickle down my spine. you let go and i drop - grasping at my skin but your touch still ghosts there.

horcruxes require near death experiences as well as taking a life, you began. walking over to your nightstand and grabbed a cigarette. i felt frozen - i should see you in a new light but i don't.

you look the same and i'm confused.

what i propose is that you'll need the psychological and physiological reaction to death in order for this process to work. still including the near death experience. that influx of fear, adrenaline and awareness. both mind and body respond to imminent death - and in a case where power of will and mind over matter are at balance and strong - i'm talking about the sheer will to survive - only then is genetic predisposition against death possible.

your movements are frantic, waving around the cigarette as glowing ash flies - part of me wants it to land on my clothes and burn me alive.

now given that a horcrux has worked twice it's no guarantee, if i can simplify the process - which is where you come into play - results will be concrete. i myself will be unable to kill - to wound. i won't need other objects or beings as a dependent.

you're mad.

you shrug a shoulder and lift the tobacco to your lips, eyes blazing as you look me over, and you're still here.

and if i go?

smoke plumed out of your mouth, your jaw ticking in challenge, then i'll obliviate you and you'll be on your merry way, back to your nights in your library.

my mouth goes dry.

and you?

it'll be like we've never even met, diana.

i don't move - i hate myself - i hate you.

you don't say it but i can see it on your tongue.