Despite what his mind was telling him to do, he all but ignored Delilah as they walked back to the inn to meet with the others. Not that she seemed to care about this fact, appearing even more determined to ignore his existence. As they reached the door, she held out her hand and grabbed his wrist, dropping his ring back into his hand and giving him the cloak. His mouth barely opened before she walked off, not sparing him a glance as she moved through the main floor and up the stairs.

He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening over his ring so hard the stone on it began to cut into his skin. Why did utter nonsense leave his mouth when he was around her? Stupid, ridiculous nonsense that had no business seeping out as if he had to throw up poison he had swallowed. He had to get her out of his system even though the words came up easily like warm honey, only to have disastrous consequences when it attracted venomous spiders.

Tom shook his head and made his way up the stairs. What did she want from him? On one hand she wanted him to be sweet and the other she apparently found comfort in him being an arse. It felt like anytime he actually fell comfortable around her it blew up in his face, making her shut off. When he said those three ambitious words to her before apparating she avoided him like the plague.

Opening their door the room was empty, he assumed she went and joined Olive and Pyrrhus perhaps. Dead set on not talking about earlier. He rolled his jaw and went over to the desk, sprawling out the invisibility cloak as he sat down heavily in the creaking wooden chair. His ring glinted at him as he lit a candle and he observed them both. Two out of three. The magic was nearly iridescent in its gentle glow, illuminating the Deathly Hallows softly. The cloak held more of a warm color within its threads, lulling him to reach out and trace the intricate pattern woven into it. The ring had a cool, blue light around it. Most people didn't even notice he wore a ring, as if there was a disillusionment enchantment on it. He hadn't placed it and he didn't detect any tampering either besides the horcrux. Tom still wasn't sure what the true effect of the horcrux was or if it even did anything besides ward people off from looking at it because it made them uncomfortable. Not that they even noticed what was happening, it was like a gentle nudge from their subconscious to ignore it and move on. Much like Muggle-repelling charms.

Still, putting a part of his shredded up soul into something ancient didn't seem like it wouldn't have any repercussions. He bit his cheek as he studied them and summoned his bag into his hand. It held an array of books and his journals that he didn't want to part with in the hopes they'd become fruitful. Tom dug through it, trying to find something of significance. The research done on the Hallows was slim, if any. Most of the history surrounding the objects didn't equate them to being anything other than a fairytale. He was sure part of it had been, not quite believing there was a physical embodiment of Death that offered up these objects as gifts. Regardless if they were tricks, he couldn't fathom it.

He had a theory, given the Peverell's had a long history of boastful gaudiness and overt displays of experimental magic they eventually ended up in alchemy. He wondered if they themselves took on the impossible task of confronting death and created these objects themselves. The feat was too wonderous for Mankind to handle so people turned it into something that could be understood. Something not so scary. Something like a children's bedtime story.

What Tom needed to figure out was how?

Once he was able to fully understand their construction he knew he could harness their capabilities. But he needed to do it correctly to garner their full potential. Blood magic was at the top of his list. It was strong and always full proof, guaranteed to bind an object to the caster. That sort of magic came from life itself. He considered whether or not the Three Brother's used blood magic or some other sort of ancient magic he wasn't to make out. He ran diagnostics on both objects but it didn't give him much.

He turned his ring over in his hand but froze, not sure if Elio would pop up again. Sliding the ring back on his finger he sat back in his chair and tugged at the roots of his hair with one hand. Thinking. Always thinking. The Deathly Hallows had never been all together before, especially not wielded by a single individual. Tom wasn't convinced they'd have the ability to make the bearer incapable of dying. Paranoid there was a culpability somewhere and not wanting to put his full trust into something that could end up getting him killed if he let his guard down. If they had been able to be tainted with dark magic he had issues believing they were untouchable.

Not that that process had even been easy. When he killed his grandparents and father to make his second horcrux he had balanced precariously on the edge of no return.

Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton 1943

The pain had been unbearable. His soul was ripping apart inside of him, his body not being able to keep up. As if every nerve in his body had been stripped away from him, tangled up, and then roughly shoved back underneath his skin and pricking at his muscles, trying to get down to the bone and shatter his skeleton. It had felt as if his brain would start seeping out from his ears and his eyes were being ripped out of their sockets by greedy, claw bearing hands. Tom had blacked out for nearly a day, his heart beating weakly and just barely keeping him alive while his ring all but screamed out in agony on the ground next to him.

Tom had dragged himself up, covered in dried and caked blood. Ignoring how the crimson was spattered over the walls. He had gotten carried away, a blood lust had gripped him. Tearing his family apart like they were nothing because that's exactly what they were. Nothing. They didn't want him and he returned the sentiment. Some of the blood was his, he had been able to taste the copper coating his tongue. He'd apparently bit through it to get through the torment. He tried to cast diagnostic charm on himself but his hands had been shaking so much it took a few tries. Once successful, the glowing light illuminated the dead bodies around him as he read.

Much to his horror he apparently had been on the cusp of having a seizure. His mind had been on the verge of crumbling apart, not being able to handle it. The torture he had put himself through had been nearly too much for his subconscious to handle.

Tom shook his head and flexed his hands, looking down at his fingers and making sure he was able to keep them still. The first half of sixth year they wouldn't stop trembling and he had to take a dangerously large quantity of calming draughts to save face while studying nerve damage. They still twitched now and again, an annoying reminder that he hadn't perfected the ritual. Tom had equated the side effects to being the consequence of an incessant and heavy use of dark magic in a short span of time.

However, now as he thought about it, he wondered if part of the torment had been the ring trying to fight back. His mind trailed, trying to shake the fright of near death off but it clung to him like a suit perfectly tailored to him.

Would it be possible to reinforce the Deathly Hallows?

His gaze flicked over his desk and he froze, eyes narrowing slightly. More so a twitch as he considered the potentially outlandish idea that just came to him. If he could break down the alchemy of the Philosopher's Stone into a different metal he could try to plate the ring and wand, to weave it into thread to reinforce the cloak. Could that work? His mind spun. If he could break down the complexities of the stone he wondered if he could even solve the problem of aging that the stone didn't remedy. It might prolong life, but it didn't necessarily sustain it. A thousand years from now he would just be a withering body with a stubborn and tired heart. What if he could fix it? If he did and he paired it with the Deathly Hallows...

"Fuck." He laughed quietly and ran a hand over his mouth as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He'd truly be a God amongst men.

Tom thought of Delilah and debated. He'd tell her at some point. He'd have to. Not to mention she could prove herself useful once again, she had a slightly larger grasp on runic magic than he did. Of course Tom knew she wouldn't immediately agree but he was confident he could find ways to persuade her. If he focused his priority on using the reinforced Hallow's as a way to defeat Grindelwald that could potentially get her on board.

If he could make them immune to the disease that was death, he didn't see why she would continue to be opposed. She claimed loneliness would get the better of any immortal, but if he had her by his side that would be all he could ever ask for. It was some sort of dreadful devotion buried in his heart that made him possessed by the idea. To try and do something. Not seeing how people were able to just sit there and pray, hoping for the best but never getting it. They were all a part of the grand ballet, the end slowly approaching. There was a sense of it in the air, the heavy curtains would always fall but there would be no encore. People could pray their sins away as much as they liked, they would all still die anyway.

The thought of Delilah or himself not being alive and breathing, imagining a world without either of them in it– his breath caught in his throat and it felt as if his heart began to rot. Turning to mush and leaking its sweet and sickly poison into the rest of his body as panic gripped him. Tom's eyes hurt and black spots swam in his vision. He blinked rapidly and tried to breathe, leaning forward and resting his head on the desk and the soft fabric of the cloak greeted him. "Calm down," he muttered to himself. He couldn't panic. He couldn't freeze up. He couldn't sit there and let time pass. He had to do something to stop it.

Taking a shuddering breath he lifted his head and rubbed at his eyes. She was placed into his life for a reason. A constellation telling him something, presenting him with an array of labyrinths, he just had to be clever enough to get to the center. A glittering array of stars in her eyes, a mark of remarkable feat gifted by Dionysus himself.

Tom lit a cigarette, making a list in his head of what he needed to do. He had a gut feeling that there was something about the stone that he needed to know.