The Chain [Tom Riddle]

Nessa hovered over Tom's shoulder, anxiously watching as he adjusted the microscope's lens.

"Do you see it?" She asked, practically breathing down his neck.

"I do." Tom sighed, the disappointment obvious in his tone. He hated when Nessa proved him wrong — and this time, she was devastatingly spot-on.

He had tried questioning her earlier about where she got the sample of hemophilic blood, but she danced around every inquiry with maddening skill. Now, as he fiddled with the microscope, he entertained himself with absurd theories: maybe she'd jabbed a random fool with a needle or broken into a Muggle hospital and stolen vials.

"Unlike this sample," Nessa said, pulling him back to reality, "I still have my clotting factor... for now. But it's only a matter of time before it diminishes."

Tom leaned back, arms folded. "I remember you saying viruses mutate. This curse—" he gestured vaguely to her, "seems to do the same. So how do we stop it?"

"The solutions are far too advanced for the timeframe I have left," Nessa said, voice flat. "I'm focusing instead on creating a stronger blood-clotting spell."

Tom furrowed his brows, intrigued despite himself. "What's wrong with the current one?"

"It only enhances healthy blood's natural ability to clot. I tested it." She pulled a battered doll from under the desk and shoved it under his nose. Its arm had a rough scab where fake skin once was. "This one's filled with healthy blood — see how it clots and dries up with the spell?"

He scowled at the evidence and pushed it away. "They're dolls." He muttered, stubborn even now.

"No, look!" She insisted, shoving it closer again. "No skin. No tissue. Just blood. And it still worked."

Tom grit his teeth. It was impressive, and he hated that.

"Creating a new spell takes tremendous energy. Draw me up some wand movements, and I can—"

Before he could finish, Nessa practically smacked him in the face with a thick binder.

"Already done!" She said, beaming.

Tom stared in shock at the five pages she had written. He recognized every formal movement from textbooks by heart but these weren't them. Her designs were messy, wild, almost frantic. And yet none of them were lazy copies. They were completely original.

"You have what muggles call it, arthritis now, I assume?" He said dryly.

"Absolutely," She grinned. "Worth it, though."

Tom flipped through the pages slowly, feeling a reluctant admiration spark inside him. If not for her curse, if not for the slow deterioration of her body — Nessa Karyme could've been a spellwright, a force in magic he might've feared.

Recently, he'd been studying ways to transfer power — draining it from objects, from artifacts, even from people. He thought he might use it to grow stronger. But now, a new, more dangerous idea whispered in his mind: What if he gave power to her?

"Don't let it go to your head," Tom said finally, voice low. "But you're remarkable. I wonder what you might've been if you weren't cursed."

He didn't break eye contact. Neither did she.

Her lips parted in shock. She blinked once, twice — and then pink bloomed in her pale cheeks. She ducked her head slightly, but it was too late; Tom had seen her flustered.

Before he could tease her for it, blood began dripping from her nose.

Nessa's hand flew up instinctively, and she rummaged for a tissue with growing urgency.