*.*.*.*

CHAPTER ONE

THE GIRL WITH THE SERPENT TATTOO

Anyone who knew Sophia Parish would describe her as a quiet, pleasant young lady, if a little radical and ambitious—but that was par for the course in Slytherin house. She had a sly mischief about her that betrayed itself in the corner of full lips when they formed her secretive little smile. It was in the glitter of her eyes when she looked at people sometimes—like she knew something they didn't, and was trying desperately not to laugh at them. Though, perhaps she was not representative of all Slytherin traits…

For one thing, she seemed willingly oblivious to the rigid social hierarchy the house tended to demand of its students. She was particularly studious and quite a talented witch at that, when most girls of her generation were more focused on relationships and arranged nuptials rather their aptitude with a wand. Her head of house, Professor Slughorn, despaired over her disinclination towards networking, and when he'd questioned her about her future career choices, she'd baffled him by launching into a lengthy and complicated explanation of strange astronomical and alchemical equations that coincided closely with some extremely esoteric reaches of muggle studies, at which point he had stopped listening. The girl was generally polite to everyone, but as her mind usually existed on another plain of reality entirely, she kept to herself for the most part, save for a scattering of acquaintances from other houses, and her best friend, Eileen Prince—whom she was rarely seen without. Most of her housemates chose to view her as an amicable eccentric, always ready to lend a hand to those falling behind on their studies, and left it at that.

But none of them, save, perhaps, Eileen, really knew who she was.

The girl, despite her friendliness, was an intensely private person…and reasonably so.

The term of 1942 was a bad time to be a muggle-born in Slytherin.

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened… said the line of bloody writing on the wall.

Enemies of the Heir beware…

Sophie didn't know if he was trying to rhyme or not, but overall, she thought it a fairly poor choice of words. Then again, Riddle had always had a sick sense of humor, she thought grimly… She felt her eyes unconsciously drifting over towards the other end of the table, but somewhere in her head, a mental rubber band snapped, and they zipped back to her egg-in-a-basket with a start. One does not acknowledge the existence of future dark lords, if at all conceivably possible, she reminded herself sharply. Overcompensating for her almost lapse, she put far too much concentration towards cutting into the toast with her knife and fork.

She'd already made that dismal mistake when she tried being nice to him on the train, but it only seemed to make him suspicious of her. Their entire first year, he watched Sophie with wary eyes as if he suspected she was out to steal his soul! Which really was ironic, incidentally… In any other situation, it might have even been comical. But Tom Riddle was a highly intelligent young man, with a knack for judging the character of others, and in all honesty, he was right to be suspicious of her. After all, Sophie was hiding something of much greater consequence; something that made the misfortune of her muggle parentage seem absolutely trivial in comparison… And Tom Riddle was one of those people who could just tell when someone was untruthful with him. Perhaps because he was often untruthful himself, and recognized it easily in others?

Like him, Sophie was very rarely genuine with her true feelings. Much of her friendliness and eccentricity was over-exaggerated—a carefully maintained ruse she used to keep others at arm's length. For various reasons, this did not work on Tom Riddle, (nor on Eileen Prince, for some reason Sophie still didn't understand) … In any case, it was almost a given that the boy shut down all her overtures of friendship early on, before they could really gain purchase; something she felt she should have anticipated from the start. If she'd given up on the (doomed to fail) friendship scheme earlier, she could have employed her avoidance gambit with much more success, and it would have saved her a good deal of grief. This year, however, seemed to be nothing but grief…

It all started when Ogg, the school's game-keeper, had found all the roosters slaughtered. It caused some alarm for a short time, but no one panicked or roused up too much of a fuss. No one but Sophie, anyway. Next went the spiders—tumbling after each other out of the castle in eerie, single-file queues no one but Sophie seemed to notice. Normally, she would have been happy to see the last of the eight-legged-menaces, but in this case…well… Everything seemed to be going fine until Mary Hammond was found.

Now, already, several people she knew had been petrified.

Sophie knew, in her special way of knowing things, that it was only a matter of time before someone ended up dead

And if Riddle found out her secrets…she wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Eileen's squeeze of her hand made Sophie jump, blinking quickly out of her staring match with her uneaten toast.

"Sorry," she said quickly to her friend, her voice coming out rather breathless. "I'm just…" Eileen eyed her critically with those cynical black eyes of hers, and Sophie was—as always seemed to be the case with this particular witch—compelled to tell the truth, "…worried."

The girl's abyssal eyes softened incrementally, and she squeezed her hand once again in silent consolation. As a muggle-born, Sophie had a right to be terrified, and they both knew it. Unbeknownst to Eileen, Sophie was worried about much more than that…but the Prince girl's secret power seemed to be squeezing information out of Sophie like twisting a dishrag dry.

"Everyone is worried…" she verged, eyeing Sophie closely. "What are you worried about, specifically?"

Sophie's stomach flipped upside-down and she felt what little color she had in her face drain from it sluggishly.

"What would you say if I told you, hypothetically…" she began, leaning in to scarcely breathe in the other girl's ear, "that I know exactly who is responsible for all this…?"

Eileen's expression very deliberately did not change.

Then she looked Sophie dead in the eye, and said, "…I'd tell you to stay the hell out of his way."

Sophie blinked, stricken…but she couldn't say she was surprised. After all, that's what she'd been trying to do for the past six years, with varying amounts of success. But this time…this time it just felt wrong.

She leaned in even closer to whisper almost inaudibly, "What if I told you that, at this very moment, he's sitting three seats over and one across from you…?"

Don't look at Riddle, don't look at Riddle—sweet Merlin—don't look at Riddle, don't look at Riddle…

Neither of them looked.

(That would be acknowledging the existence of a future dark lord, and Sophie hadn't deliberately been that self-defeating since her first year).

Instead, after daintily patting her lips with a napkin, Eileen stood from the table abruptly—though not without her ubiquitous poise—quietly grabbed Sophie's wrist, and dragged her out of the Great Hall without much ado. The Prince girl continued in this abrupt manner, sweeping down the corridor until they reached a suitable broom closet before proceeding to unceremoniously shove Sophie into it. She was immediately after her, securing the door, warding and locking it magically behind her. And within less than a moment, she was upon her.

"Are you insane?" she hissed at her furiously.

Half-bemused, half-chagrined, Sophie shrugged.

"At this point? If I'm not yet, then I'm certainly going to be." She paused then added, "If I'm not dead by the time this is over, that is."

Eileen pinched the bridge of her nose in vexation.

"That is not what I want to hear, Sophie."

"Well, I'm sorry," she shot back, sounding anything but, "but I don't know what I'm supposed to do—and I don't see you offering up any helpful suggestions!"

"I gave you my suggestion," Eileen pointed out flatly, her eyes hard.

"What, to stay out of his way?" Eileen nodded. Sophie stared, completely nonplussed. "You mean to say I should just watch this all play out then? That I should just…not do anything?"

"Do you have any proof?" her logical friend fired off.

"Not an ounce of it," Sophie answered tonelessly.

"Then yes, that's exactly what I mean to say," Eileen summed up emotionlessly. At Sophie's horrified, colorless expression, the girl expressed with an air of heavy exasperation, "You're not a Gryffindor, Sophie! This isn't something you can just charge at head on! You need proof."

Sophie's green eyes entreated her friend almost desperately.

"You…you believe me, don't you, Leenie?" she whispered, so anxious she was close to tears. At the flicker of doubt in her friends eyes, she grasped onto her, jabbering, "It's him, Leenie, I know it's him—please, you have to believe me—"

Eileen squeezed both her hands reassuringly, and said, "Of course I believe you—but it's not me you need to convince, it's Dippet. Find some proof, and bring it to Dumbledore. Everyone knows he hates Ri—" she broke off, as if saying his name might summon him, and shortly amended, "—You-Know-Who…"

Sophie's eyes widened at the familiar epitaph, and she suddenly burst into hysterical laughter, startling Eileen into letting go of her hands.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry, it's just, I-I…" Sophie hiccupped, wiping tears away from her eyes, "I think I really might be going insane…"

Her cynical friend clucked her tongue with disapproval.

"Too much stress," she muttered, eyeing Sophie with a critical eye and tapping her chin in thought. "I'll make you something that should help you become less of a nervous wreck later. This should help for now…"

She waved her wand wordlessly and Sophie was immediately filled with warmth from the silent cheering charm. It wouldn't last for long, but it would at least help her save face for the time it would take her to calm down on her own. She smiled gratefully, and joined their arms when Eileen offered hers without prompting, discretely exiting the broom closet.

"Thanks…" she murmured genuinely, leaning against the other girl companionably. "I'm glad you're my friend, Eileen."

She sniffed derisively, and pointed out, "Who else would want to be your friend?"

Sophie grinned at her, knowing not to take offense to her sardonic remarks. In fact, Eileen's snarky attitude was what Sophie loved most about her. She spoke her mind, regardless of how cold and sarcastic everyone else found her. The girl had a cutting sense of humor that appealed to Sophie on several different levels. And yet, deep down, under all the Slytherin and Pureblood pomp, Eileen had a heart of gold. Not only that, but she played a mean game of gobstones. If she didn't have such an obvious (and terrible) taste in men, Sophie would probably ask Eileen Prince to marry her someday.

But today, she merely smiled and said, "That, my dear, is a question I'm quite happy not to know the answer to..."

.*.*.*.

Sophie took Eileen's words to heart, and after Charms let out, she bid her friend adieu and headed directly for the library. Her shoulders were hunched and she was careful not to look up from the floor, ears pricked for any telltale sounds of slithering, rough scales on stone, or worse, hissing… She knew exactly what she was looking for, but naturally, whenever she found herself around an unnatural number of books, she found herself getting distracted. Not only did she manage to locate her damning evidence, but she picked out several different volumes that interested her, some of which seemed especially promising for her own personal projects—astronomy, alchemy, magical transportation, and one especially interesting tome describing magical religious roots and pagan history around the world.

She put the book on dangerous beasts aside, ready to take it directly to Dumbledore. She had evidence to damn the creature, if not the puppet master, yet surely Dumbledore could put whatever she had to good use. Not only that, but this might at least keep poor Rubeus Hagrid safe from the fallout of whatever happened next… Sophie had a soft spot for the friendly half-giant, despite his abysmal taste in many-legged pets… She resolved to get him a hermit crab as a form of appeasement someday.

She was just getting to an especially interesting chapter in Afterlife: A World History, and so she did not look up when she heard someone settle across from her little table nook. That is until they greeted her in a darkly familiar voice swaddled in silky charm that sent a violent shiver down her spine.

"Hello, Miss Parish…"

Sophie tensed as if all her bones had suddenly been replaced with steel rods.

But it was only a passing moment, and she swallowed discretely before looking up from the passage she'd been reading with masterfully feigned surprise.

"Hullo, Riddle." She hesitated only slightly before she added, "Did you need something?"

He was dapper as ever, nary a hair out of place with a pleasantly interested smile gracing his perfectly sculpted features. His skin so resembled porcelain some days that she wondered if it might crack like a Venetian festival mask if he was ever introduced to excessively disagreeable cold weather conditions. Then again, she wondered if it might do that anyway if he were ever to wear a genuine smile on his face. She hoped not, because she was afraid of what she might see between those cracks…

It never failed to rile Sophie's ire whenever she had to look at him.

As it was, she was careful to focus on his attractively squared jaw rather than his eyes; she'd gotten quite proficient at avoiding his attempts at legilimancy as of late, she thought. And it was no great loss, she told herself. Riddle's dark eyes were always dead and flat looking anyway. Creepy bastard…

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you…" he apologized with a remarkable attempt at a contrite smile upon his deceptively seraphic features.

Of course, he was far from an angel. He was here because he wanted something from her, and Sophie wasn't sure she wanted to find out what it was.

Instead of voicing that thought, however, Sophie just shook her head, saying, "Not at all. What can I help you with?"

Get to the point, then leave, she begged him silently, get to the point, then leave

Riddle smiled winningly at her again while she tried not to cringe back, "Oh, nothing really. I just happened to see you over here, and I was wondering if you were still working on that Alchemy essay for Professor Steiner."

She and Riddle were some of the few students to take Professor Steiner's class. Overachievers, most of them. Alchemy usually wasn't offered as a class to students at Hogwarts, but Sophie had been very determined…

"Right, yeah. I finished that ages ago—here," she picked up a book, Alchemical Formulas Through the Ages, from her sizable stack and shoved it at him. "If you're falling short on inspiration, there's some really useful references in section three—I've read through the whole thing twice. Fascinating, really. You'll love it."

Take it and go, she pleaded, just take it and go.

As he accepted the text graciously, Sophie's wrist tilted slightly, allowing the sleeve of her robe to chivvy up a just bit, exposing the edge of some dark, animated ink on her inner forearm. Riddle's sharp eyes spotted it instantly, and Sophie tensed again as his long, white fingers encircled her wrist—not ungently—and rotated her arm to better inspect it.

"What's this?" he asked, sounding intrigued.

"Oh, erm…" Sophie swallowed her distaste at the contact, and pulled her sleeve up rather bashfully at the attention. "Just a little something I picked up in Knockturn Alley last year when I managed to nip away from my parents for a bit…" She laughed a little shakily. "They still don't know I have it."

Inked under her skin was the depiction of a snake eating its own tail. At times, it would contort into an eight on its side, symbolizing eternity. The backdrop of a multicolored and multilayered transmutation diagram with seven distinct points played behind it, lined with various tiny runes, symbols, and scriptures. Among them, predominately, were the symbols for the body, the soul, and the spirit.

He stared at it intensely, tracing the serpent lightly with the edge of his fingertip. Sophie prayed he couldn't tell she'd just erupted in gooseflesh—and not the good kind.

She almost jumped when he declared, "I like it."

"Really?" She arched a skeptical brow at him, grateful when he released her, the tension diffusing slightly. "You don't think it entirely inappropriate and unladylike? I've been lectured by at least six different people by now, you know…"

"It's surprising," he admitted. "But I think it suits you, if you don't find me too bold in saying so."

Surprised herself, and more than a little suspicious, Sophie muttered, "Thanks, Riddle…"

"What does it mean, if you don't mind my asking…" he asked suddenly, yet tactfully as always; he still eyed the writhing snake closely.

"Er…well," Sophie began a little uncertainly, wary about the subject.

She'd gotten the tattoo on an impulse, to mock herself really. But with a little reaching, it might reveal more about her than she would preferably like Riddle to know. Still, she didn't want to seem unjustly paranoid…

Sod it all.

"It's an Ouroboros," she explained with a shrug, "an ancient symbol for eternity and rebirth. It has a lot to do with alchemy, obviously…though I'm not through researching it just yet."

She indicated the open book on spirituality in front of her.

He was careful to sound innocuous when he asked, "What's religion to do with alchemy?"

"Quite possibly everything…" she murmured absently, trying to go back to reading and remain hyperaware of him at the same time.

Maybe if she pretended to be absorbed, he'd go away and leave her alone.

No such luck.

"What do you plan to do after Hogwarts, Miss Parish?" His question jarred her out of her attempt at ignoring him. And when she looked up at him with an incredulous expression, he defended, "I only ask because, well…" he made an admirable attempt at looking modest, "after myself, you're the top student in our year. I've noticed you're quite diligent, which I find…curious for a girl, if you'll forgive my judgement. You seem like you could go places…"

She blinked blankly at him, nonplussed at his uncharacteristic probing.

Just what was he after?

"I do plan on going places," she affirmed vaguely. "A great many places, if I can…" When she glimpsed a flash of impatience from him she added on a conciliatory, "Look, Riddle—it's really complicated. I tried explaining it to Slughorn once, and he smiled and nodded, you know, as he does, but he had this glazed look in his eye like he had no idea what I was on about. It was humiliating…"

He leaned forward, attempting to catch her eye, (which she deftly avoided), and offered, "Give me the abridged version then, if you think me incapable of understanding…"

Oh, hell, she'd offended him.

She squirmed uncomfortably and tried one last feeble protest.

"You'll think I'm mad…"

She saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in clear amusement.

"Try me."

She'd really rather not, but Sophie let out a sigh of relent and closed her eyes sullenly in defeat. There didn't seem to be a way out of this without offending him further.

Finally, after a long, drawn out pause, she confessed, "I want to cultivate life on other planets—make them…habitable." She threw her hands up in a careless shrug. "So, there you have it. Mock me as you will."

But instead of criticism, all she received was a calculating stare.

"How exactly do you plan to accomplish that…?" she was surprised to hear him ask, seemingly intrigued.

"Erm…" she floundered a bit at the sudden interest. "Well, that's where the complicated bits come in. It may require some innovations which are not strictly, er…legal."

Riddle raised both his brows speculatively at her.

"Such as?"

She arched a brow right back.

"I don't think I'll be telling you about my illegal activities, Riddle, hypothetical or otherwise. You're a bloody prefect, remember?"

Yeah, and look how much that matters when he's sicking a giant venomous beast on the student body every other weekend, a voice that sounded like Eileen's snarked in her head.

Instead of seeming disappointed, however, Riddle just smirked.

"This is true," he actually had the gall to chuckle at her. "But you've caught my interest now," Sophie cursed herself inwardly at that as he voiced aloud, "I suppose I'll just have to earn your trust if I want to learn more..."

"Doubtful," Sophie told him abruptly. "I don't even trust Eileen with this business. The only reason I tell her about my hypothetical illicit activities is because I want her to know where to find my mangled body, just in case things go horrifically wrong…"

He gave her a highly alarmed look—which, for Riddle, was merely a slight elevation of the brows.

"Do you expect them to go wrong?"

"I don't think anyone ever expects Murphy's Law to apply to them," she told him in lieu of an answer, then, toeing a thin line, smoothly transitioning the subject away from her goals, she added rather vindictively, "But then, with people being found stiff as death hither and yonder these days, one learns to appreciate all sorts of danger sprouting up in their midst, no…? Who's to say Slytherin's monster won't take it a step farther next time and kill someone?"

A slight frown marred Riddle's face. Slight, but there.

"I'm not sure if that's the point…" he opined obscurely. "The victims seem merely to have been petrified the last I checked with the matron. The intention, I think, is to scare off the muggle-borns…"

"Yes, well," Sophie muttered rather viciously, "I think whoever this so-called Heir of Slytherin on a power trip is—they're playing with fire. Someone's going to end up dead, and then they're going to close down the school. And then, there'll be no more Hogwarts for mudbloods, or purebloods. Seems rather asinine if you ask me."

She'd just called him asinine to his face.

She thanked Merlin he didn't know she suspected him.

"You should hold your tongue, Miss Parish," Riddle warned, a dark look about him that told Sophie she may have crossed a line somewhere. "You never know who might be listening…"

Feeling brutishly defiant, Sophie thought, damn it all to hell, and retorted, "Yeah? Good. I hope the stupid git hears me."

To his credit, Riddle remained completely composed.

Too composed.

She'd definitely crossed the line there, no mistake.

The barmy old hat should've sorted her into Gryffindor; she could practically sense moldy old Slytherin face-palming in his grave. Then again, she was fairly sure he wouldn't have approved of her anyway, so maybe he was cheering her on. Go on, idiot mudblood girl, goad my Heir into plotting your ghastly demise, go on! Perhaps she really was going mad. Hearing all these voices in her head was not a good sign, she knew.

She sighed.

"I'm just angry…" she confessed, artfully displacing the fact that he was the cause of said anger. "I hate being made to feel so powerless in all this… It's not fair, and it's driving me out of my bloody mind, Riddle. I'm tired of it, and I want it all to stop." She hissed bitterly, "Bastard couldn't have waited another year before he started all this shite? It's inconsiderate, that's what it is…"

Surprisingly, he laughed at her.

"You care about graduation, but not about the mudbloods?" he asked, amused, dropping the politically correct term only after she'd used the slur herself, she noticed critically.

"Not particularly," she lied abjectly. "But I don't want anyone to die either."

"I don't think anyone will die," he was decent enough to console her, dismissive as it was.

"Remember Murphy's Law, Riddle," she warned him sharply. "No one thinks it applies to them—but it does. The worst thing that can happen always happens."

"That's a rather pessimistic way to view things…" he remarked blandly.

"Not so; I simply don't live in a fantasy world," she replied bitingly, and rather ironically if she did say so herself. "It's the law of the universe, Riddle. Chaos is a pattern. Entropy. It all points towards more and more disorder. If something can go wrong, it inevitably will. If anything, the mere probability ensures it." She stood abruptly, gathering her things. "Anyway, I wish I could say I've enjoyed chatting with you, but this conversation has only served to remind me of everything that is wrong with the world. Of course, that's not your fault…"

It really, really is, the voice in her head snarled.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you…" and, bless the little psychopath, he really seemed like he meant it.

"No-no, not at all." Sophie waved him off. "I'm just upset in general these days. Nothing to do with you. Honest."

It's everything to do with you, the voice hissed venomously.

"If it makes you feel any better, I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed speaking with you, Miss Parish," Riddle stood as well, politely helping her with her books. "I found your viewpoint…highly illuminating." He caught her eye and said, "You're a very intelligent young woman…"

At that, she let out a rather unladylike snort.

"If you want to call insulting the Heir of Slytherin out where anybody can hear intelligent…" she remarked sardonically.

The corner of his lip twitched in amusement.

"Some might call it brave," he suggested innocuously.

She merely raised her brow at him skeptically as she shouldered her bag.

"I'm a Slytherin, Riddle." She smirked right back at him. "If I valued bravery any more than I value horse dung the hat would have put me in Gryffindor… Though I applaud your efforts at a compliment, I think," she grinned openly now, "or was it an insult?"

"I think I'll safely leave that distinction up to you, Miss Parish…although," he paused deliberately in handing her back a book. "If I told you it was a complement, would you allow me the honor of speaking to you on a first name basis, from now on?"

She almost gaped at him.

"Really, Riddle? You snub me for years, and you choose now to finally strike up a friendship? Why the sudden fancy?"

He shrugged elegantly—which Sophie did not buy for a second—and drawled, "The phrase, 'better late than never,' comes to mind…" His lips twitched in amusement again. "I apologize if you ever felt snubbed by me, Sophia."

The fact that he did not answer her question, nor did he directly apologize for snubbing her, did not escape her attention.

She shook her head slowly at him.

"You are bloody unbelievable, Tom Riddle."

His lips twitched again.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I'll safely leave that up to you," she mocked snidely, then swiftly turned on her heel and strode away without leaving him any definite answers.

If only she knew she'd just started a recipe for disaster, she would have whirled around and done everything she could to extinguish any interest in her he might or might not have had. She might've even been successful. But a discovery she made only when she was on the other side of the castle cemented her fate.

The book she'd found on basilisks, Moste Macabre Monstrosities, that she'd planned on taking straight to Dumbledore was nowhere to be found…

"Fuck!" she screeched, then she remembered when Riddle had handed back her books, and she screeched it again, heedless of the scandalized looks she received from those around her. She cursed him soundly, within her mind and without.

She thought now might be the appropriate time for panic…

With that, she raced off to the dungeons to find Eileen.


Another take at a Harry Potter fic. Clearly not mine.

I'm not British, but I'm trying to merge dialogue quirks as seamlessly as possible. If any of you kind Englanders out there notice any discrepancies, will you please let me know? Also, any suggestions on slang or idioms from around this era would be treated like gold nuggets!

Sophie is portrayed by Malina Weissman in my mind.

Please tell me what you think!