A/N: I truly apologize it has been forever. I went through a terrible loss and many many chaotic events happened over the course of this Summer. I truly hope this lives up to the hype, much more to come. You guys have been waiting forever so wanted to bust this out. I hope I did it justice. I know it's short and there's a purpose. The ending may shock you. Next part is already halfway written. The more I delve into this ,the more I truly want to flesh out this piece and make it the best I am able.

WARNING: DARK THEMES

Enjoy
xA

Part II

Horcrux Cave

Tom Riddle

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  Veins of crystalline salt, luminous as unicorn's blood, snaked across the walls.

  Textured rock hollowed out from the relentless assault of the oceans tide, carried rivulets of water. It trickled down slickened deposits of mineral and fossils embedded, creating a mosaic of monochrome shades. Undulating patterns from the briny erosion of stones, had formed small apertures allowing in the shallow light. It reflected off the large stalactites overhead, casting eerie reflections into the shallow pools upon the cavernous floor.

  It illuminated a pair of eyes capsizing as the ocean's pulse. Hands as pale as bone remained folded behind an erect posture. Residue from the weathers brew dripped from locks of sable as neat brows settled in a stoic expression. "I don't entirely know why I was drawn here, but it's certainly served its purpose..."

  There was a subtle whimper as a flash of light crackled outside, illuminating two pale figures trembling on the floor. Wrapped in slimy fronds was a girthy boy and a weedy girl whose mouths were held hostage.

  A sudden sour tang percolated the brackish undertone. The young boy's lips curled up in a gratified smirk as he remained on his haunches. "Does my sense deceive me or did you just soil yourself, Bishop? Not very becoming next to frail Ms. Benson. The cause of her malnourishment, weren't you?" He cocked his head with a calculating perusal, showcasing the small cleft of his chin. "I did not particularly care for the same glutinous act you pulled on Harven."

  Slowly he bent down to the shivering boy whose bones he could practically hear creak inward at his threatening proximity. Those wide hazel eyes red rimmed as a tear slipped down one chubby cheek.

  "What's the matter, Bishop? Afraid of, "evil's spawn"? But not when Mr. Cole's belt is present. What was it you said, you "relish in Tom Riddle's smarting hide"?" He leaned in a closer, voice venomous as he bit out, "Eager for a demonstration...?"

  "Mnnhh ppm mnhhm!" The boy's cries remained muffled as more tears cascaded down his waxen face.

  Tom's eyes glinted with a malice as dark as the blackened pools before them. His eyes flicked to the fair-haired girl who'd remained silent as the dead. Her freckled cheeks shone silent tears that spoke of sheer terror. "Not so keen trailing along are you, girl? Sister would suds your tongue for it's gossiping sin. Quite the afflict you've caused for a certain companion of mine."

  He tapped a finger in contemplation against one angled knee, before he straightened to his feet. His hands folded behind his back as he paced along the slickened rock. "Did you know the cyanobacteria—blue algae—in seaweed can have harmful toxins due to seawater alone? If ingested or even exposed it can lead to problems with one's health. Perhaps girl, you'd like to be the lab rat to test such theories."

  With a flick of his wrist the seaweed slowly began to unravel from the girthy boy, coiling it's entire length like a preying serpent thrice around the girl—leaving the tail end to slither up through one nostril and out her mouth. Before long the whites of her eyes shone. It left Dennis's terrified screams piercing the bitter cavern just as blood started to bubble up her lips and nasal passages.

  Tom continued his lesson, unbothered, twisting a wrist as if to demonstrate, palm facing up. "If left long enough, not only will the mucus lining tear. But the capillaries in the eyes will eventually burst from pressure, alone."

  "STOP, P-PLEASE H-HAVE MERCY!" the boy cried, choking on his own sobs.

  "Only because you asked nicely," Tom replied snidely before reversing the action.

  The apt fascination crystallized in his eyes as the same demonstration was forced upon Dennis. Wriggling like a helpless worm on a fisherman's hook. Vengeance tasted like the sweet piquancy of brandy as he focused on the spasming of his muscles. A deep crimson painted the stones with his livelihood, blooming across the waters. It reminded him of a passage learned in Sunday pews. Only when the blood vessels along those eyes began to engorge, did he finally relent.

  However, his practices did not fully end, the fruits of his work providing rapturous results. As he'd learned when procuring belongings from the children who'd wronged him, he banished sight temporarily from their eyes. Acquiring their shoes upon entry, Amy's feet were left cut up by broken shellfish he had her dance across. He, the puppeteer enacted the strings, grazed his fingers across the grainy ridges of barnacle that was stained with Dennis's blood to exhibit his fleshly pain of Mr. Cole's lashings—on Dennis.

  Small lacerations slowly formed across his skin as Dennis screamed. Drunk off the power wielded by his hands, Amy's screams rattled in the cavernous hold—

  When the temperature abruptly plummeted.

  Tom watched as a latticework of ice formed over the moistened rock, frosting in the very crevices and stealing over the waters. With a furrowed brow his breath suddenly floated around him like a ghostly apparition. A chilling breeze rustled through a harrowing gap as a hoarse cry like that of lamenting souls carried forth a darkness that leeched to the walls.

  Although he could make people hurt, make them fear, this he was not doing.

  "W-What's happening Tom?!" Amy hoarsely cried; voice scratchy but filled with renewed terror.

  Dennis crab crawled his way backwards as if to stave off the very weight of the presence drawing closer.

  They were greeted by a creature resembling a Reaper from the pages of old. Levitating. In. Air. Shrouded in dark robes that billowed in an unseen breeze as if beckoning them to their death, skeletal hands left barren of a scythe stretched forth.

  Amy's bloodcurdling scream threatened to shed blood from his ears by the elevated pitch, alone. It was as if the air compressed as a weight settled in his chest. And yet, he found himself drawn to the strange creature. Not so much out of fear as it was curiosity. With it's face obscured by a hood he could make out a mouth that emulated death and decay. He felt the cold sink further into the marrow of his bones, dampening his spirit as it loomed ever closer—

  Before it glided strangely past...

  Back in 1942, Harven Euphemia Potter, awoke to the sound of her own screams.