"You're absolutely infuriating." He breathed out, pressing her body against the bookshelf with his own. His dark eyes brewed with irritation, and another emotion she couldn't quite decipher.
"Trust me." She said, her chest heaving with every bre...
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March 8th, 1947
Dear Tom Riddle,
I hope this letter reaches you well. If you're reading this letter then it means the Minister of Magic has delivered it to you some way somehow. I'll get straight to the point. Cerys is dying.
Tom blinked profoundly when he read those words. What in Salazar's name? He read them over once more? What? He half expected this to be a joke, for the letter to continue into how Cerys wasn't dying, but that didn't happen. He gripped the letter tighter in his hand as he sat down in the chair of his hotel room.
The letter continued on to explain Grahamm's condition, why she was dying, what exactly was happening. His eyebrows drew in and his lip curved down.
Dumbledore is unwilling to help. He claims it's for the best to let Cerys... die, for the lack of better words. It was him who sent her and him who's letting her suffer. I've searched days upon days in the library and I've yet to come across anything remotely useful. From my knowledge, you're the brightest student Hogwarts has seen. I have faith that you could help Cerys and prevent her from never seeing a future for herself. We share a common enemy: Dumbledore, and I'm sure you'd do well siding with us on this matter. If you do, you'll gain immunity from any prosecution or charges from the Ministry. Additionally, Cerys briefly mentioned you wanted something. I'd be willing to help you get it if you help us in return.
With great hope, Fabula Bulstrode
Tom swallowed as he sat back in his seat, lips pressed into a fine line. Cerys was dying. How did he know for sure, though? It was possible this was all a ploy by the Ministry to capture him. After all, he was wanted for escaping the Ministry and stealing an ancient artifact.
He glanced over across the room at the side table of his bed. Cerys' necklace layed still on the wooden furniture. It would make sense as to why she had an animagus, her hair, time travel, split souls. He smiled bitterly. Cerys was a horcrux in of herself.
He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. If it was true that she really was dying, Dumbledore was letting her. His lips curled up into a scowl. Dumbledore, the root cause of this mess. His jaw clenched and the parchment slipped from his hands.
He brought his hand up to his chin. His thumb scratched the area below the corner of his lip as he thought about what to do. To respond to the letter would mean that he was agreeing to help them, after all why respond if he didn't want anything to do with them, and if this were a trap, why not trap him the moment he entered Hepzibah's house? They had their chance, they knew he'd be there, but they didn't take him.
Tom bit his lip. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to do such a thing. He wouldn't put the effort into a dying girl. He closed his eyes but immediately opened them when he saw an image of Cerys, desperate, lonely, turning to ash... like in his dream. His jaw clenched. How did things end up like this? How had he gotten into such a big mess?
