The Egyptian sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless blue sky as Tommie Riddle approached the mirage-like ripple at the crest of a lonely hill. The ripple was difficult to spot in the glare off the sand, but the heady, heavy power about this place was unmistakable. Almost no travelers made it this close to the tomb of the ancient, Nameless Sorcerer, who, legend held, had discovered true immortality—without the need of crude methods such as Horcruxes or vampirism—or easily-overcome ways such as the Philosopher's Stone. Truthfully, Tommie was content with her five ill-gotten Horcruxes, but she was anything if not thorough; if a superior path toward immortality existed, she vowed to find it, no matter the cost.

The folk in the Wizarding settlement at the hill's base had cautioned her against the ascent. "I'd rather not send another adventurer to their death," an olive-skinned, dark-haired witch of indeterminate age had sighed. "Better wizards than you never returned." The few other people brave enough to leave the cooler shade of their houses nodded in sage agreement.

"I am Lord Voldemort," Tommie replied. To her disappointment, none of her audience flinched appropriately. "I will mine magic's best-kept secrets, for I intend to go down in history as the greatest witch of this age."

"Bold, foolish words from one so young," the witch said. "If we meet again—that is, if we meet again and he hasn't changed you in some way, I might just believe you."

Oh, she'd show her.

When Tommie reached the top of the hill, she rested with her pack nestled behind her to consider what she was up against. The wards were hard to sense, and she was exhausted and covered in a film of sweat. She lifted her damp hair to massage her neck and took a sip of water from the bottle at her hip. Wishing ruefully that she could have dispensed with this demeaning and Muggle hike—replete with physical exertion and endurance of the taste of stale, chalky water as it was, she turned to the task at hand.

The tomb's wards were slippery, nearly impossible to untangle. Tommie would find a knot of magic, then lose it in a burst of sparks and sand. This process repeated five or six times, her frustration mounting with each failure.

"Is there a price I must pay?" she hummed, the wards resisting her once more. On a whim, she made a small cut in her finger, and allowed a few drops of blood to scatter in the sand near the visible distortion of the air. With that, the wards were easy to unravel, almost as if they wished to be. Odd...

As the last of the wards dissolved, the tomb itself appeared: a plain, undecorated sandstone structure, no taller than ten feet at its peak. Tommie ducked through a small opening in the side, and straightened to her full, less than imposing five feet six inches as she walked down a cool, narrow corridor that served as the tomb's welcome mat. A faint, dank breeze carrying the scent of old stone wafted about her as she walked, her feet echoing along the dusty floors.

The corridor widened into a central room lined with guttering torches. Tommie shivered as she noticed a small, thin man sitting with crossed ankles in a chair, a book in hand, the torchlight reflecting off his bald head. "I've been expecting you," the man said into the silence.

"Did the witch in the village inform you I was coming?"

"Naturally, though you were far from discreet." The man rose from his chair and walked toward her. "Welcome to my tomb. Or my home, really, seeing as I'm not dead. Anyway, I am the Nameless Sorcerer, as so many have dubbed me. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I am Lord Voldemort. I seek knowledge," Tommie said, breathing deeply to quell her rising excitement. "I wish to know how you achieved immortality."

The Sorcerer's eyes sparked with rage. "Impudence! You have committed abominable acts to mutilate your soul. Your arrogance is boundless and quite offensive to me, as is that ridiculous name you've chosen. The knowledge you seek will be useless while your foolishness persists." He flicked his hand, and a bolt of blue light shot toward her. She managed to dodge; in the process, her feet tangled and she landed heavily on one elbow. Pain jarred through the bones of her arm.

"However," he mused, contemplating her spralled form, "few have made it into my tomb. Fewer still have departed unscathed." He smirked at her. "So saying, I will let you go."

What? "My thanks," Tommie hedged, hoisting herself unsteadily to her feet.

"Hmm, I'd hold off thanking me until you hear my terms," he said, carelessly waving a hand.

"All right then," Tommie returned. "What would those terms be?"

"You shall walk the earth as a creature of my choosing, until the curse accompanying your new form is broken. Really, I'm doing you a favor," he added, forestalling her protest. "Tearing your soul in the manner you have? Unutterably irresponsible! I'm fixing that, while someone still can."

"Wait—" she pleaded, ashamed of the tremor in her voice. He ignored her protest, whispering an incantation she didn't catch. Pain engulfed her, pain like she had never known: Hunching shoulders, bending limbs, spine extending into a long tail, hands and feet curling and crunching into paws, a faint pricking as her teeth became those of a carnivorous mammal. And deeper still, another agony, as the shards of her tattered soul were squished together like a lump of extraphysical clay. No, she screamed. All those adeptly-planned murders—wasted!

She lay gasping and confused at the feet of the ancient sorcerer. "In case you couldn't tell, you're a sphinx, Tommie Merope Riddle. I'm sure you appreciate the irony," he purred. "You shall remain this way until someone finds the answer to the riddle I shan't tell you."

She growled ferociously, and he laughed. "Now, now, dear. That's no way to improve your lot. No one will wish to help you if you insist upon growling at them." He gestured with his left hand, and she felt herself caught up in a gale. "Good luck, Miss Riddle. I daresay you'll need it."

Tommie was deposited unceremoniously at the base of the hill she had so recently scaled, the tomb once again obscured. She lay quietly evaluating this new body of hers. A lithe strength infused her limbs. Her claws were sharp. Rising, she stretched onto her toes, admiring glossy dark fur and sinuous muscles.

She could get used to this. Sphinxes lived long, and held powerful magics of their own. Unfortunately, this knowledge did her little good. She had read about sphinxes only once, and with nothing more than perfunctory attentiveness. Instinct was powerful, however; she'd learn what she wished to know in due time.

"You survived!" The olive-skinned witch appeared nearby, eyes gleaming in the late afternoon sun. "Well, this is more interesting than his usual curses. I suggest you make the best of it. Whatever your riddle is, the answer will be nigh impossible."

Tommie nodded curtly. "I don't doubt that. Would you know how I might go about returning home?"

Instead of answering, the witch briefly patted her shoulder and Disapparated, her laughter ringing in the slight breeze. Were the witch and the sorcerer lovers? Their responses to her had been almost identical...

Sighing, Tommie began to walk. Perhaps she could let herself be captured by some British creature enthusiasts, who would take her home—eventually.

#

The years in the desert passed slowly. Tommie walked for interminable miles, hoping to find the sort of wizards that trapped magical creatures so they could ship them home and gaze at them in quiet awe. On the days luck favored her, she ran across groups of Muggles, whom she had little choice but to play with incessantly—the spinx's need for puzzles and riddles became tiresome at times—and then to slaughter, for fear they would report her existence to Muggle authorities. The bloodshed should not have bothered her, and yet it did. This sort of gratuitous killing seemed different than the murders for her Horcruxes. There was no prior planning. These people were insignificant. Bloody kills bored her, left her cold and unsatisfied. She took such pride in the anonimity and flawless execution for Horcrux murders; what she did in the Egyptian desert shamed her.

Rarely, she met other sphinxes, who were belligerently territorial and had little to say beyond snarling and clawing. On one memorable occasion, a male sphinx attempted to mount her, making promises of undying devotion and riddles never before heard as he did so. "Get the fuck off me," she growled, pushing him away in disgust.

"Come now, darling," he purred, circling her. "You seem so lonely out here."

"I need no one," she replied, and then gave him a wound severe enough that it had scarred by the next time she saw him, while they were both pursuing a herd of camels.

Males were all the same, she concluded, no matter their species.

When the day of her return home came, she nearly missed it. By now, Tommie felt more sphinx than woman, having spent twice as much of her life-fifty years of it—as the former. But here were British wizards, chasing her across the sand...

"Why do you wish to capture me?" she asked, coming to a stop and turning to face them.

"There's going to be a Tournament in a few months," one of the wizards said, "and they wanted a sphinx for one of the tasks."

"No doubt to tell a riddle and attack the competitor if they fail to answer correctly."

"They didn't give us details," the wizard said. "They just said to bring back a sphinx, uninjured and willing."

"I meet those specifications to the letter," Tommie purred.

"After the Tournament," the wizard went on, "we'll release you here, so it wouldn't be permanent captivity."

"Fine, fine," Tommie said. "I would have consented to go with you, even without that."

As Tommie and the British wizards departed, a shadowy figure watched. "That's it, girl," the Nameless Sorcerer whispered. "Go on home. The one who can break your curse awaits."

#

I really should have listened to Hermione and not entered this thing, Harriet Potter thought, clutching the stitch in her side as she ran from the Blast-Ended Skrewt which pursued her relentlessly, ceasing only after she created the illusion of a brick wall in its path. The maze was eerily silent now, as if holding its breath in anticipation for something she could not sense. The Cup was close. If her luck held, she'd no doubt run into something nasty enough to make the Skrewt look like an abject failure.

"Halt, child, or else I will be forced to attack you."

Harriet skidded to a stop just before running headlong into the next creature serving as an entertaining obstacle for all those watching. A sphinx crouched before her, blocking the way forward, clearly prepared to spring if she made any more sudden movements, its long tail twitching.

Harriet's first question should probably have been along the lines of "okay then, what do I need to do?" Instead she asked, "Um, are spinxes white now? All the pictures I've seen show them with darker skin," for the sphinx before her was pale-faced, lacking even a subtle olive tint, with high cheekbones and a wide forehead, black hair—like Harriet's, except not as wild—spilling across her shoulders. She had chocolate-brown fur and a white underbelly; her unsheathed claws gleamed dully in the light of Harriet's wand.

At Harriet's question, the sphinx nearly laughed. "Oh no, only me," she replied. "Got on the wrong side of a powerful sorcerer many years ago."

"You were born human, then," Harriet said, surprised. She'd never heard of anyone powerful enough to manage a Trafiguration like this. Undoubtedly Hermione would be intrigued (and then pepper her with questions, after which she would disappear for several weeks, emerging only when she made herself sick from neglecting basic necessities, like eating and sleeping... Merlin, Hermione was the greatest friend a girl could have).

The sphinx nodded. Her eyes—obsidian, long-lashed—were wistful as she examined Harriet. "How I would have loved to show off my abilities in a competition like this."

"Is it possible to break the curse?" Harriet asked, feeling a deep and unexpected pity for this creature she'd only just met.

"For all intents and purposes, I'd say no. It's been decades, and I rather doubt its requirements can be fulfilled." The sphinx shook her head in annoyance, as if shooing a fly.

"I'll help you," Harriet heard herself say, before she could think about the implications of her offer. Hermione would shake her, shout about her "saving people thing," and tell her emphatically to step back and think. But too late for caution now, because the sphinx was giving her a desperately hopeful look. "Are you certain?" she asked skeptically.

"I— Yes," Harriet said, with a confidence she did not feel.

"In that case, you must free me from the spells that bind me within the Maze when you reach the Cup, so that I can follow you out afterward. However, before we begin, you must answer a riddle in order to pass me. I'd dispense with the riddle out of gratitude, but I'm a sphinx. Riddles are what we do."

"Can't say I'm surprised. Go on."

The sphinx narrowed her eyes at Harriet's flippant tone, then settled onto her haunches with the playful, volatile air of her kind. "First think of the person who lives in disguise, deals in secrets and tells naught but lies. Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend, middle of middle and end of the end? And finally give me the sound often heard, during the search for a hard-to-find word. Now string them together and answer me this, which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"

Well damn. Start with the second clue, because the answer was obviously D. The first seemed like a Slytherin, but was more likely a spy. And the third? "Er," Harriet mumbled, "is there a time limit on this?"

"I rather want you to pass me, girl," the sphinx growled, "so please answer correctly, and soon."

"Spider?" Harriet said, as she figured out the third part. "I mean, 'er' is a sound I make, and I'd only kiss a spider if I had a hitherto unknown arachnid fetish."

"Lovely," said the sphinx. "Now then, let's get going. Disillusion me once you have the Cup, and I will stay close when you leave the maze."

"And the other spells they have one you? How am I supposed to remove them?" Harriet couldn't help but ask.

"If you touch the Cup while touching me, I expect they will break due to the proximity."

"And if they don't?"

The sphinx gave a low half-growl. "There is little my captors can do if they cannot find me."

Harriet sighed. "Is your riddle a clue for the next obstacle?"

"Why would I give you a riddle with no purpose?"

"So it is."

The sphinx's eyes sparkled. "If I told you, that would be cheating."

"Let's get this over with," Harriet said.

The final walk took less time than Harriet believed it should. After the suspense of the rest of the maze, she thought bitterly, perhaps they wanted a fast finish. In the center of the clearing, the Cup shone with an unearthly golden glow. Harriet barely stopped herself dashing headlong toward it. Slow down, she thought chidingly, or else you might fuck this up.

"Oh, would you look at that," Harriet lamented as one of Aragog's ugliest and hairiest descendants scuttled relentlessly toward her. (No, she didn't have an arachnid fetish after all.) It was on her before she could raise her wand. God, this thing was... too fast to be allowed.

"If you get yourself killed on the verge of victory," the sphinx growled, "then you certainly didn't deserve to get this far."

"Oh, shut up!" Harriet snapped, gasping in pain as one of the creature's pincers dug into her hip. Finally managing to raise her wand, she shot a gout of flame into its face, crawling laboriously out of its way as it fell twitching and smoking to the ground.

Harriet edged around the fallen spider to the center of the clearing, the sphinx brushing against her left hand. Pocketing her wand, Harriet grasped the handle of the Cup. Golden sparks exploded about her, and a new path opened in the hedge, this one wide and unencumbered by snaking vines.

"I am a genius," the sphinx purred. "Their binding enchantments are as impotent now as a castrated Muggle."

Harriet cringed. "Kudos to you, then. Er, wasn't that comparison a little graphic? And prejudiced?"

"Should have known you were a bleeding heart," the sphinx sighed. "Well, hurry and Disillusion me so we can walk the Path of Glory out of here."

Grimacing, Harriet whispered the incantation and hit the sphinx across the head with perhaps more force than necessary. The charm worked beautifully, leaving hardly any visible traces. "Good work," the sphinx said admiringly. "Your Disillusioning equals mine, or what mine once was."

"Thanks," Harriet said, thinking privately that this witch's ego was what had led to her being cursed in the first place.

Path of Glory was a bit hyperbolic. The maze's newest addition, though wide and well-tended, was dark and curved in every possible direction. By the time she reached the end, Harriet's surroundings spun sickeningly about her. "I won. Why must they torment me more?"

"Why not?" the sphinx replied.

"And the winner of the Triwizard Tournament of 1998 is Hogwarts Champion Harriet Potter!" Ludo Bagman shouted, bouncing up and down with unbridled excitement. "Give it up for Potter, folks." The cheers were deafening. Harriet—resisting the temptation to cover her ears—raised the Cup to raucous applause and chants of "HOGWARTS!" and "POTTER!". She thought she saw a few audience members blow kisses.

Harriet glanced pleadingly across the field at Professor Dumbledore, sitting ensconced in the judges' section of the stands. Catching her eye, Dumbledore nodded and rose to his feet, his robes—silver as his hair—glimmering in the half-light. "Miss Potter is tired from her ordeal. Perhaps we can continue this celebration after she has had time to rest?" His suggestion was met with a faint chorus of disappointed groans.

"The old coot is still alive?" the sphinx hissed next to Harriet. "He's got to be over a hundred by now."

There was a much louder chorus of sympathetic groans from the crowd. "Sounds fair to me!" Bagman said. "Awards ceremony right here tomorrow at noon. It's gonna be great, and all of you had better be there." The crowd cheered, and began to disperse.

"I'd recommend that you go hide in the forest, but that's most likely where they'll look for you," Harriet said. "So, come with me, I suppose. Just stay out of people's way."

"Well, obviously," the sphinx growled. "I have no desire whatsoever to be recaptured and taken back to where they found me."

"Yeah, and having a sphinx for a pet is a pretty serious crime, so please don't do something that'll get me arrested."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the sphinx replied. "Though if you dare refer to me as your pet again, I may reconsider."

In the chaos and euphoria of Harriet's victory, no one seemed to take any notice of her conversation with thin air.

Madam Pomfrey rushed over, clucking her tongue. "Games like these are dangerous for no good reason. So, any injuries, Potter?"

"Yeah—"

"Oh never mind that. Come with me," Pomfrey continued, acting as if Harriet hadn't spoken. She led her to the hospital tent, where Claire Leroux, the Beauxbatons champion, already lay.

"I'd congratulate you, Potter, but I'm too disappointed. Give me time," Claire said.

"Fine," Harriet replied.

"Merlin, Potter," Pomfrey sighed. "Is this acromantula venom? The things people find entertaining..." She trailed off in annoyed muttering. "Drink this," Pomfrey said at last, dabbing something on Harriet's wound and handing her a goblet of what Harriet guessed to be some sort of antidote. Whatever it was, it tasted terrible. Pomfrey moved away to greet the exhausted-looking Durmstrang champion, who gave Harriet a bitter glare as she was marched past.

"Look at that. You've made powerful enemies," the sphinx whispered close to Harriet's ear.

"No I haven't," Harriet hissed back. "We all agreed to the rules, and I won. But, yeah, I'm a little concerned they might curse me in my sleep..."

"I do not express anything remotely sentimental," the sphinx said, "but I need you, so I'll keep watch."

"Er, thanks," Harriet replied, relaxing back into hou pillows.

Not twenty minutes passed before Pomfrey came back. "All right, Potter. You should be good to go. Get plenty of rest. Don't stay up celebrating."

"I'll do no such thing," Harriet promised gravely.

"That's it, girl. Now, I never want to see you again. Merlin knows you've come to me far too often over the years."

Harriet smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, for everything."

Pomfrey hugged her, misty-eyed, before pushing her through the tent flap. The Disillusioned sphinx followed on silent paws, leaning against Harriet's hand as they walked out into the night.

"Harriet!" Hermione came running, nearly knocking Harriet off her feet with the force of her hug. "Oh my god, you won! And I know I said repeatedly that the Tournament as a whole was dangerous, and that I'd never speak to you again if you entered—"

"Among other things," Harriet cut in.

"Yes, well, congratulations anyway."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harriet said. "Um, I have to take care of something before I go to the Tower, so I'll meet you there."

"What is it?"

"Oh, I'm going to send a letter."

"All right." Hermione smiled radiantly and hugged Harriet once more before departing for the castle.

"And where exactly are you going?" the sphinx asked.

"Room of Requirement. Best place for you to stay until we leave, wouldn't you say?"

"You found the Room of Hidden Things?" the sphinx growled, sounding immensely annoyed.

"Well, yeah, I've stumbled across it a time or two. And I've got house-elf friends."

"Who befriends house-elves but a Gryffindor?"

"Okay then," Harriet snapped. "There's nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor. So, what were you?" She began walking, the sphinx keeping up easily.

"Slytherin, naturally."

"Oh boy," Harriet groaned.

By the time they reached the blank stretch of wall across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his fruitless endeavor, Harriet's feet ached and her head was swimming. I need a place for a sphinx to sleep, she thought, pacing unsteadily in front of the wall. A door appeared, and she opened it onto a large room covered in a thick rug, which had little else in the way of decoration.

"This looks cozy," the sphinx noted, padding inside. "Now then, remove the charm. I would like to see my paws properly."

Harriet did as she was bid, then flopped onto the rug, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She opened them once more, however, at a sharp jab to her ribs.

"Excuse me, but do you intend to sleep here?"

Harriet rolled onto her side. "Why shouldn't I? This rug is comfortable enough, and I'm fucking exhausted. Also by staying here I get to avoid more congratulations until tomorrow."

"This room was made for my use," the sphinx said, stalking around Harriet, and crouching so that their faces were nearly level. Her eyes—dark and weirdly attractive—bore into Harriet's. "I would much prefer to spend the night alone."

"Too bad." Harriet squeezed her eyes shut and rolled onto her other side.

"I believe your bed would be far more comfortable," the sphinx tried.

"God, fine!" Harriet sighed. "I'll go. See you tomorrow, and I hope you're less bitchy by then, because I've already gone out of my way to help you, and I have doubts as to whether that was a good idea."

The sphinx smiled, baring her fangs. "Oh, I am grateful. But this isn't 'bitching,' as you so crudely put it. This is how I have always been."

"Ugh." Harriet pushed herself heavily to her feet, and left the room in a huff.

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked as Harriet entered the seventh year girls' dorm and flopped onto her bed.

"Owls were out hunting," Harriet replied. "Had to wait for Hedwig to get back."

"Oh, of course," Hermione said, yawning. "'Night, and congratulations again."

"Sure. 'Night." Harriet buried her face in her down pillow, seeing the dark-furred sphinx prowling behind her eyes.