Sacrificial Serpent {Tom Riddle}

three

As days turned into weeks, the desperation in Snape's eyes grew more profound. The potion Mattheo and he had crafted, a concoction they had hoped would lead them directly to Lyla and Tom, had failed in producing accurate results. The mixture, a blend of rare ingredients and intricate spells, should have been their beacon, guiding them to wherever Lyla and Tom were being held. But it fizzled out without so much as a flicker of hope.

Everybody had been searching in hopes of bringing both Lyla and Tom home safely. They had hope that Tom was not behind anything with negative or malicious intent. In their eyes, Tom and Lyla were both missing and their families and friends were working tirelessly to bring them both back safe and sound. Lyla and Tom's friends believed that Tom wouldn't hurt anyone, especially Lyla, but Lyla wouldn't just leave her friends and her father behind without saying anything.

Snape stared at the empty cauldron, his jaw clenched tightly. Mattheo, standing beside him, had a similar expression of frustration and concern. The room was silent, the weight of their failure hanging heavily in the air.

Pansy, who had been watching from a distance, approached Snape cautiously. "Professor," she began softly, her voice gentle but firm, "we'll find them. Lyla is strong, and so is Tom. They'll hold on until we can get to them."

Snape didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the cauldron, as if willing it to produce some last, lingering clue. But there was nothing. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "I should have found her by now," he muttered, more to himself than to Pansy. "She's my daughter, my darling girl... my responsibility."

Pansy placed a hand on his arm. "And you will find her. But right now, they need us to stay focused, not to lose hope. We can't afford to give up."

Snape nodded, though the worry never left his eyes. He turned to Mattheo. "We'll keep trying," he said. "There must be something we've missed."

Weeks had passed, and there was still no sign of Lyla or Tom. The search parties continued their relentless efforts, scouring the forests, mountains, and even venturing into the darker parts of the magical world where few dared to go. But all leads came up empty, leaving everyone feeling more hopeless with each passing day.

Meanwhile, in the cold and damp dungeon where Lyla and Tom were hidden away, the situation was becoming increasingly dire. Lyla had begun to notice the changes in Tom. It wasn't just his mood that shifted—it was as if he became an entirely different person from one day to the next.

On good days, Tom was himself—apologetic, gentle, and clearly pained by whatever force was controlling him. But on the bad days, he was someone else entirely. His eyes would harden, his voice would grow cold, and he would become cruel, ignoring Lyla and snapping at her if she so much as asked a question. Lyla quickly realised that somebody must've been controlling his mind and body on his bad days, where he wasn't himself.

One particularly bleak day, Tom had returned from wherever his controller had sent him, and Lyla could tell immediately that it was one of his bad days. His face was devoid of the warmth she had come to rely on during his brief moments of clarity. He ignored her pleas for food and water, leaving her to shiver in the corner of the cell they were trapped in.

"Tom, please," she begged, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "You have to fight this. I know you're still in there."

Tom turned to her, his expression one of cold indifference. "Shut up," he snapped, his voice harsh and unfeeling. "You'll get nothing from me."

Lyla recoiled slightly, her heart aching. But she knew this wasn't the real Tom. She had to believe that the Tom she knew was still inside, somewhere. She didn't say anything more, not wanting to provoke the dark presence controlling him. Instead, she waited, hoping that he would come back to her soon.