The Chain [Tom Riddle]

Warning sexual content:

Nessa and Euphemia strolled through the village of Hogsmeade. They had just left The Three Broomsticks and were on their way back to Hogwarts.

Nessa walked mindlessly, half-listening to her friend's usual rant about her beau, Fleamont. But as they wandered through the cobblestone streets, Nessa noticed a few things.

The first was a young witch, someone Nessa believed to be Muggle-born—storming off with a mix of hurt and anger written across her face. A young wizard followed close behind.

"Ofelia, wait! That wasn't me!" Alphard pleaded, his voice desperate. But the girl didn't slow, didn't even glance back.

A few buildings down, Nessa spotted Helia watching the scene unfold, a small, victorious smile curling her lips. So that's what the mystery potion was for, Nessa thought grimly.

And then, the third thing she noticed—she was suddenly, deeply tired. And they had only just started walking.

"Can we stop for a second?" She asked, leaning against a brick wall.

"What's wrong?" Euphemia asked.

"I just need a moment. You can go ahead so you won't be late for your date with Fleamont."

But Euphemia shook her head and gently pulled her friend in closer. She spotted a bench nearby and guided them over.

"I'm not going anywhere without you." She said, stroking Nessa's back.

A dull heaviness settled over Nessa, fatigue creeping into her limbs like lead, slowing every movement. Euphemia's voice became muffled, distant, as though she were underwater.

Nessa's eyelids drooped without her permission. Then, quietly, a hollow ache stirred in her abdomen, a gnawing emptiness that twisted and shifted. Nausea bubbled up, slow and steady, creeping higher with every breath. Her mouth began to salivate, and with it, the queasiness swelled.

Euphemia grew more and more concerned as she watched her friend's expression glaze over. She looked around the quiet street and called out for help.

Hogsmeade wasn't very crowded.

"What's all this yapping about?" came an older voice. Euphemia turned, relief flooding her face at the sight of an elderly man stepping out of a nearby shop.

"Please, sir! We're students at Hogwarts, and my friend—she needs help getting back!"

The old man shuffled closer, squinting at the two girls. His hair was a thin silver halo around his liver-spotted head, and he clutched his cane with white-knuckled hands.

"Please, sir, she just needs help getting back to the castle." Euphemia said again, desperation creeping into her voice.

The man peered at Nessa, who was slumped weakly on the bench, her breathing shallow, her head lolling slightly to one side. He leaned in for a closer look—and then froze.

His whole body stiffened, and his grip on the cane tightened so much that the wood creaked under his fingers.

"No." He croaked. His voice trembled, and he took a slow, fearful step back.

"What?" Euphemia blinked in disbelief. "Please, she needs help—!"

"I won't touch her," the old man rasped, shaking his head violently. His watery eyes darted between them, panic flaring in his gaze. "I won't go near her."

Euphemia took a protective step in front of Nessa. "What are you talking about?"

"I see it." The man whispered hoarsely. "Her soul—" He pointed a trembling, crooked finger at Nessa. "It's marked. Twisted. Heavy with darkness."