You will never truly know yourself or the strength of your relationships until both have been tested by adversity.

- J.K Rowling

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I woke up feeling for once, that I was safe. I relished the warmth of the blankets around me, even the softness of the pillow beneath my head. It was the very early hours of the morning. I was in the spare room of Dumbledore's home, after talking and having a meal together I felt way more relaxed than I'd ever felt in a very long time. It was surprising how just talking to someone likeminded really brought a deep reassurance, an affirmation stating boldly that everything might not be ok now but eventually it would. I sat up, pushing back loose curls from my face. Now that I was up there was no way I could fall back to sleep. I blinked, slowly getting to my feet. There was a dresser against the wall in front of me, I walked over to it and peered at my reflection.

Did the whomping willow just wrestle with me for 5 straight hours? My hair was in tangles, my wrists were still in bandages from where I had seen the apparition of my mother in the Slytherin bathroom and had cut my wrists with a razor. Overall, I looked like I was trying to cosplay as the distant cousin of a Inferi.

I managed to find the bathroom. Small, with light blue walls and a tiny window it gave off a strong feeling of being back in my house with my muggle parents. I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the steaming hot shower and started washing my hair. It was a relief to shower, although painful as it was having water and soap soaking into my bandages it was worth it just to feel more like myself, and less like a piece of destruction Tom left in his wake.

What I had been through had been dehumanising. I knew for a fact I was now a completely new person. Broken. But stronger. Like a Phoenix, like the Fawkes that Harry, Ron and I had known in a later time.

As I towel dried my hair and reapplied fresh bandages to my arms I mulled everything over again. But as much as I could try to reach logical conclusions about Tom's behaviour I couldn't understand one thing. Why was he acting so strange? He was... almost kind to me one moment before in the Common Room. As if someone had just gone and taken the real, messed up bad boy and replaced him with a human who actually had emotions or something. It was so confusing.

I'm not going to think about him. I can't.

In my head I repeated the words like a mantra. By the time I left the bathroom, instead of feeling better I was feeling significantly worse. There was something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but it was there lurking in the darker corners of my mind like fog over a lake.

I felt.... sick. Like I couldn't stop thinking about Tom. As if I was mentally allergic to him, and my body was having some sort of reaction.

I padded down the hall in my slippers, my warm dressing gown that covered me did nothing to stop the chill from reaching my core. I sat stiffly at the breakfast table, doubling over as a wave of nausea hit me.

What the hell is going on?

I reached into my beaded bag, and took a couple of drops of Dittany beneath my tongue. I couldn't afford to be sick right now. Because then I'd have to go back to Hogwarts, and be admitted to the Hospital Wing which was in no means off limits to Tom.

Or would Dumbledore take me to Saint Mungos instead?

As I sat, I stared up at the clock on the wall. 4am. Dumbledore was still asleep. I sat very still, with my head in my hands. Maybe I could wait this out. After all, I had been through worse, right?

Just then, a sharp pain tore through my chest. I lurched in my chair, falling to the ground with a crash on the polished wood floor.

Ok, maybe not then.

I lay very still, afraid that if I moved something else would happen. I couldn't call out to Dumbledore to help me, I could barely breathe. It was as if all the air in my lungs was sucked out leaving me gasping on the ground like a fish on dry land. What was happening to me? Was this Tom again, toying with magical ways to harm me while I was absent?

I closed my eyes, feeling waves of sickness and dizziness sweep over my mind. I had to do something. I could be dying, for all I knew. Not by natural cause of course, but something sinister and probably a plan thought out very carefully by Tom Riddle who was supposed to be miles away and far away enough so that he couldn't hurt me. Shakily, I extended an arm and plunged it into my beaded bag. I had Felix Felicis, a half full vial of Liquid Luck. I downed all the contents in one, almost crying out in pain at the flash of pain sparking in my chest in response. I couldn't die if I was in luck's favour.

Perhaps you could my mind thought darkly. If you really wanted to die, luck would grant you what you truly desire, wouldn't it?