Intertwined → Tom Riddle

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Amara stared at her brother, her eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Roman-"

She couldn't even get the words out.

Amara had read all about Horcruxes in Secrets of the Darkest Arts, she had read about how they were made, the darkness that went into them. To create one, was an abomination.

"You want me to split my soul, to tear myself apart, to," she took a shaky breath, "to kill?"

"If it keeps you alive, then yes for Merlin's sake!" Her brother spat at her, "Amara, I don't want you to die, like how Mother did."

She shook her head, "don't. Don't bring her up. Not now."

"Sorry," he apologised, "that just can't happen to you."

"And you think a Horcrux is a way to stop that from happening?"

Amara was in disbelief, but part of her felt torn. She was willing to commit crimes, but none of it was for her benefit; a Horcrux was for her. Amara wasn't doing this for herself, but a Horcrux made it personal.

"Amara, I think a Horcrux keeps you alive. You know Father, you know what he is capable of, you've seen it-"

She stood up firmly, "shut up about Mother!" Her voice was loud, but shaky, cutting through the room. "Just shut it Roman!"

"I got you this," he spoke softly as he reached into his pocket, "to keep with you." In his hands was a necklace, small and silver, with the scales of justice hanging from a chain. "In this one," he pointed to the left, "is a poison. And in this one," he showed her the other, "is the essence of a bezoar. It's a cure to any poison, any at all. Here," he dropped it in her hands.

Amara manipulated the necklace in her hands, "why do I need a poison? Is it for others," she paused, furrowing her brows, "or is it for me?"

Roman stood up, looking her into her swirling chocolate eyes. "Amara, please," he pushed her fist closed, "mother always had one around her wrist. Don't you remember?"

She thought back, her mother had always worn a rope bracelet on her wrist.

"It was soaked in poison," he said, as though reading her thoughts. "Strong enough if she needed to take it, or if anyone else needed to be silenced." Roman glanced at her neck, "may I?" When she didn't object, he moved her hair out of the way, taking the necklace from her hands, and tying it around her neck. "Always remember it's about justice, Amara," he said, looking down at her necklace.

"Amara, Roman!"

The pair froze at the sound of their father's voice.

"Come downstairs, now."

Without another word, they stopped, heading out of Amara's bedroom, and into the living room where he awaited them. He sat, a frown on his face and drink in his hand, "sit."

They nodded, taking a seat on the opposite sofas.

"Now, Amara, update me." He ordered her simply, taking a sip of his drink as he awaited her response.

She gulped, she had made such little progress, and even if she had, it would never be enough to make her father proud.

"Well, it's certainly been tough," she began quietly. "It took a lot of work, but I made it into the restricted section of the library. Now I have access to the information I might need, hidden in the books, like the Secrets of the Darkest Arts."

Her father stifled a laugh. "Oh Amara, how stupid are you? All these months, and all you have achieved is you have read some books that have been sitting inside of this house all along."

Amara felt her heart pang, the words stuck on her lips. Months, months she had spent trying to get into the restricted section, for books that had been sat in the room beneath hers the whole time.

"You impertinent fool Amara."

"But now I can make a plan!" She protested with little strength, "I can make progress, I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing Amara," he didn't even acknowledge Roman sat beside her. "You are just another failure of mine, another child who knows nothing." He stood up from his chair, "Amara, you are a let down. Your mother, how she would be filled with disappointment at the sight that is you." He looked at Roman, "leave us, leave us now!"

Roman knew what was to happen, he knew the fate the awaited his sister, he knew that there was nothing he could do to stop the storm that was his father. "Yes, at once." He nodded, and with the shortest smile to Amara, he darted out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

"Now Amara," her fathers sharp voice cut through her like a knife, "you knew your task, it was simple, a child could do it. I suppose that is all you are, a child. You need to learn your lesson Amara," he stepped closer to her, "and I mean, really learn."

"Please-" she pleaded with him, "please."

"It does not please me to do this, but if I do not, then who will?" He spoke down on her as she quivered in her seat, "a child must be punished in order to learn. Isn't that right?"

And as he stared his daughter, his child, his own flesh and blood in the eyes, he muttered the spell that any parent would dread to hear.

"Crucio."

Amara dropped at once, her body colliding with the harsh leather beneath her. Her body convulsed with pain as she let out an earth-shattering wail, but it did not stop her father.

He gripped his wand more firmly, twisting it as the spell intensified, as his rage intensified.

Another rush overwhelmed her as she writhed in pain. It was as though she was being set alight. Little fires everywhere, all over her body. No origin point, no way to end them, she simply had to wait them out.

As her father sent another, she wailed once more. Amara wailed until she had no voice, until she had no more tears. And with tear-stained cheeks, she watched as her father departed, with one thought, and one thought alone – she certainly wasn't ready to die.