'I'm an angel and the devil.
I'm as bad as it gets and good as it can be.'
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In which Tom Marvolo Riddle meets the Devil in the form of a sixteen year-old woman.
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Myrtle Warren laid on the cold stone slab in the middle of the forbidden forest with her ebony unraveled from her braids and closed eyes shielded by her thick rimmed glasses. The leaves shuffled with the wind in antcipation, the whole forest was bustling with life; they knew what was going to happen tonight and they came to witness the miracle. The preservation spell Dumbledore had casted when Myrtle Warren was murdered shimmered blue in the moonlight.
The moon loomed above three figures and the shadows of all except one were down casted onto the ground. As Dumbledore analysed the platnium blonde necromancer he couldn't help but feel alarmed at her lack of empathy for the situation and, the oozing darkness that fell out of her fingertips. His wariness grew when there was no shadow casted by Lucille, the moonlight shone on her like a lighthouse yet no shadow, no black image was painted on the ground.
Dumbledore had sworn when he approached Lucille in Tom Riddle's clutches that black blood dripped down her arm, he swears on his sisters life that the blood changed from black to red. Which meant not only was this sixteen year-old girl a necromancer but a skilled illusionist, it was a highly unlikely story.
This girl, if she even was girl was something else entirely. It didn't click then for Dumbledore but it did later, when he had to shake her hand to save the lives of his beloved students.
A shaky breath escaped Lucille as a thin silver blade slid through the skin of her palm, the blood that poured out was red to watching eyes but to her own, it was pitch black. Her right palm hovered over Myrtle Warren cascading like a waterfall onto her white nightdress from 1943.
Myrtle Warren's body hadn't changed in the slightest, she wasn't a rotten corpse or sixteen year-old girl as she would've been if she hadn't been murdered. The presevation spell had stopped her body from decomposing but held her in the form she had in 1943. In other words, she was young. An ounce of pity stung the Devil's heart.
The soft burning smell of sulphur began to fill the air, a smell closely associated with death. Dippet crinkled his nose in annoyance but Dumbledore slolwy glanced to Lucille and the creamy crimson blood seeping from her palm.
Lucille mumbled ancient words from the begining of time, her azure eyes eaten alive by the darkness of her damned soul. Her eyes were black. Dumbledore and Dippet were postioned behind her so that they could see her contorting face. Using her left finger she dipped it into the wound that was opeing and closing, she drew a cross on Myrtle's forehead.
It was an ironic 'fuck you' to her father who she hoped was watching. Raising the dead wasn't good in his holy book and yet, he got praise for raising Jesus.
The seeping blotches of black on Myrtle's Nightgown reminded Lucille of the Bubonuc plague, the black welts that would form on this skin from infection. A smile graced her lips as she thought about the havoc she caused by crafting a virus as lethal as that one, she didn't no how humans survived with their mortality. They were stronger then she originally thought.
Removing her finger from Myrtle's forehead she grabbed four black candles and placed on each of the four corners of the stone slab, the unlit candles surrounded Myrtle. Dumbledore and Dippet stood fascinated and, scared. With a small flick of her hand they lit ablaze, the flames soared into the starry sky concealing the stars with a thick layer of smoke. The flames erupted again and swirls of red and orange danced together passionately in sin.
The wind howled trying to extinguish the unnatural flame and the leaves rustled wildly in protest, storm clouds brewed from above and the crack of thunder sounded. Worry glances were shared between Dumbledore and Dippet.
The two stared in awe at the girl and the power, the weather had changed abruptly; this was all her doing and Dippet marvelled at the thought of a skilled female witch attending hogwarts.
Lucille whispered underneath her breath,
ventilat ignes | Fanning the fire
nos interrumpere mortum | We interrupt death
resurgemus, evigilare faciatis | Rise, awaken
ambules in terra viventium ut eodem | Walk into the living the same
In potestate satanae
She repeated again fiercer, the soul was trapped between this world and the next; she was lingering in turmoil and if Lucille didn't act quickly she would become a ghost. Stuck forever on this plan with no memories but the feeling of being lost.
ventilat ignes | Fanning the fire
nos interrumpere mortum | We interrupt death
resurgemus, evigilare faciatis | Rise, awaken
ambules in terra viventium ut eodem | Walk into the living the same
Rain started to fall from the black clouds and thunder cackled in the distance, the rain simmered the flames into wisps of smoke that caressed Myrtle's stiff body. As the rain fell the cawing of a Crow could be heard in the distance, it cried out in agony before it fell silent.
The slow echo of a heartbeat filled Lucille's ears, the rising of a chest and the fluttering of eyelids alerted her. Stepping backwards into the night she watched from the distance as Myrtle sat up abruptly with tears pricking her eyes. Clawing at Dumbledore's robes she sobbed into them, he didn't once look at Myrtle's face but Lucille that watched smugly underneath a tree.
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That night, Tom Riddle awoke clutching his chest the immense pain of making a horcrux returned into his body and memories flashed of Myrtle Warren's dead body. Hissing in anger and pain he clawed at his chest, the red raw flesh between his fingernails his, small lines of blood emerged. Yellow eyes flashed before him.
The pain stopped abruptly as thunder cackled.
Darkness glazed over his eyes as he kept his hand over his heart, he had the feeling of being restored. He was complete, human and, completely susceptible to death. He didn't know why or how but someone had derailed his plans.
He had regained his pathetic mortality.
He was going to obliterate and destroy whoever did this, Tom Riddle would make the person beg to be in Hell.
