Hello everyone! Thank you for being patient with my updates. I keep wanting them to be more frequent, but I'm finding that it can be hard to be a writing machine!

As always, thanks so much for reading and I don't own Harry, Tom or anyone from J.K.'s world, only Ivy!

A special thanks to GreyMoonHuntress, Imsebastianstanbutter, and AvalontheLadyKiller for commenting on the last chapter!

Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter, things are getting interesting for our psychopathic couple!


Chapter 11: Target Practice

Hogwarts, Scotland, September 1942

Tom shut the heavy book in front of him with a satisfying snap. He rose from his worn seat in the library and began the trip back to the Slytherin common room. Finally, after months of research, he had finished his quest to learn how to create a Horcrux and how to begin the trip to immortality. His face split into an almost feral grin of triumph. In the end, the last piece of the puzzle had come from one of the books in Hogwarts's own restricted section of the library.

The irony was very apparent to Tom when he considered the lengths that the fool, Dumbledore, had gone to limit the teachings of Dark Magic within the school. But that hadn't stopped him; Tom was not anything if not resourceful. After spending the summer combining the libraries of his pawns and using his own magical intuition, he had discovered the exact method for splitting his soul and sealing it to an object.

In the end it was annoyingly simple, in fact, and only consisted of three parts. The witch or wizard wishing to create a Horcrux would procure an object and perform a series of spells that would allow it to become a vessel for a portion of their soul. Afterwards, they would then choose a victim, kill the victim, and then use the energy from the murder to sever his or her soul and affix it to the charmed object.

The only tricky part that Tom could see was in fact how he would kill someone and ensure that the murder could not be connected with him. But, after giving it some thought he had answered that little problem with two words: the Basilisk.

He had come to see the creature at least a few times a week since the beginning of term. Mostly, he came alone, but he did on one occasion bring Ivy to meet the serpent. He paused in his long strides as he remembered the occasion with a mixture of amusement and discomfort.

He hated to admit it, but he had been worried. It was a necessary gamble on his part, he needed to ensure that someone else knew about the creature in the case that his hold over it would waver and he be placed in a more life-threatening situation than he was before. But even so, he had taken a large risk and put both himself and Ivy into a precarious situation. He hadn't been sure how the serpent would react to someone other than the Heir, but as he so often was with Ivy, Tom ended up being surprised.

"What do you mean you found Slytherin's monster?" She had asked the year before.

"I already told you, didn't I? Do you really need me to repeat it?" He had answered testily, always hating to explain himself.

"I can't believe that it didn't kill you, Tom." She had said, her tone brooding and a little irritated.

"Of course it didn't, I'm the Heir, aren't I?" He had smoothed away her thick hair with a brush of his hand, while at the same time smoothing away the worries that clouded her features.

He looked down at that same hand that had touched her face those months ago and continued his long strides to the dungeons. When he had taken Ivy to meet the snake, he expected it to immediately try to kill her. After all, he alone could hear its incessant desire to 'rip and kill' and while he had been alarmed at first, he realized that the creature would only do so at his command.

That had been most…satisfactory.

Ivy, for her part, hadn't been afraid in the least. She never had been put-off regarding his affinity for snakes, often crouching down to pet the little ones that came to him at the orphanage without the least bit of female squeamishness in her expression. But, given that this one was at least a hundred times the size of the largest garden snake that Tom had ever found, he had to admit that her lack of fear astonished him. He himself had been apprehensive of the creature the first time he had laid eyes on it. But then, he had been alone and caught completely off-guard.

Yes, he supposed that the reason Ivy had always been unafraid of snakes was because they were synonymous with Tom himself.

"What's his name?" She had asked during the first week of the new term, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she placed one hand on the Basilisk's smooth belly.

"…His what?" Tom asked blankly, not really sure that he had ever heard of such a ridiculous thing.

"His name, Tom. You can't just expect to call him 'Basilisk' all day."

Tom regarded the girl in front of him, eyes carefully downcast so as not to draw the creature's deadly gaze. He chose not to respond, instead inwardly urging the girl to continue down the same path with her thoughts.

Ivy waited patiently for a few minutes and then continued, "Why don't you ask him if you don't know." She stepped back from the monster and Tom reached out a hand to steady her so as she wouldn't trip over the ancient stones.

"What should I, your master, call you?" Tom asked it warily, the slippery syllables of Parseltongue skipping across his mouth with practiced ease.

The Basilisk, who had been extending his long neck to sniff the main room in the Chamber, paused from his discoveries long enough to reply. "No name wassss given by firsssst Masssster, no name is needed."

Tom relaxed, fascinated by the Basilisk's indication that he had been Slytherin's first monster and had seemingly known the Founder personally and relayed his response to Ivy.

She hadn't reacted immediately and they had finished their visit and were on their way back up to the main castle when she finally replied.

"Even if he doesn't have a name, we should probably give him one."

"Why would we need to do that?" Tom asked, genuinely interested but a little exasperated.

"Because, we can't just call him Basilisk when we are in the castle, people will get suspicious. He needs a code name."

"…A code name?"

Ivy nodded her face the picture of seriousness.

"Fine. How about Bob." Tom deadpanned.

"Bob?"

"Bob the Basilisk."

Ivy laughed and Tom grinned slightly. It was rare that he made a joke, but it he enjoyed hearing Ivy laugh.

Tom had to acknowledge, however, that there was some sense to her plan and the two of them had decided on one that they both found very fitting: the Basilisk would be called Mort, the French word for death. And death indeed, it would bring while at the same time bringing eternal life to its master.

Satisfied with his reminiscing and scheming for the moment, Tom found himself at the entrance to the Slytherin Common room just in time for his Prefect rounds. With a jolt he realized with mild excitement that it would be his first time patrolling with Ivy. Quickly he took a cursory look in the dorms and nodded with satisfaction when he discovered that everyone was where they should be.

He hurried back into the halls and found Ivy just as she was descending her last staircase to meet him. She looked up at his approach and grinned at him.

"How are you?" She asked quietly, sliding her fingers through his in a gesture that caused his insides to wriggle most pleasantly. Like a basket full or snakes, or eels.

"Just fine, today has been nothing but good news." He quickly told her about his newest and final discovery concerning how to create a Horcrux.

She nodded along, asking several relevant questions as the two of them walked along the corridors of the dungeons, the first half of their rounds for the evening. When he got to the part of the needed sacrifice was when Ivy appeared to get quiet, thinking very hard.

"Who would you consider for the ritual?" She asked curiously as though they were discussing nothing more than who would be the next Minister for Magic and not murdering someone in cold blood.

But Tom didn't hear her question; instead he was focusing his sharp gaze on a bruise that he had just noticed on Ivy's wrist.

"What's this?" He asked calmly, raising her arm so he could examine it more closely.

Ivy's face darkened but she waited until he was done looking before she removed it from his grasp.

"Nothing I can't handle." She said dismissively.

Tom stiffened and locked eyes with her. He scanned her face but could see no sense of fear in it. He relaxed marginally, but still uttered a two-word command.

"Tell me."

Ivy looked stubborn for a moment, but then she explained, haltingly at first, then more easily how she had been on the receiving end of numerous curses and hexes from other jealous students since the beginning of the term. It seemed to Tom, with the two exceptions of Patsy and Susan, that the entire female population of the school had it out for her. She explained that it had actually been occurring for the past two years but it had been minor, she had been able to ignore it, but now, with the added stress and responsibility of being Prefect, she was a down-right target.

The bottom line seemed to be that because of her obvious association with Tom as well as several other good-looking Slytherin boys, Ivy had become hated by most of the girls at Hogwarts, and not too few of the boys as well it seemed.

Tom listened with a mixture of amusement and anger. He had always known that he was good-looking, handsome, et cetera, but to learn that his looks had caused almost territorial bouts between women would have been comical if not for how it was impacting Ivy. He was amused because of how well Ivy had not only been keeping it to herself, but also because of how well she had been able to defend herself. He was angry for both of those same reasons.

"Even Slytherin?" He asked careful to keep his anger at her previous silence in-check.

Ivy nodded reluctantly. "But like I said, it isn't anything I can't handle. The Third year who gave me this," she gestured to the minor bruise on her wrist, "will have a nasty little surprise for her when she wakes tomorrow." Ivy smiled coldly at the thought.

"What Third Year?"

"Myrtle Warren." Ivy said dismissively. "Tom, it's not that I didn't want to tell you. It has nothing to do with me not trusting you." This time she took both of his hands in hers and stepped closer to him. His eyes met hers again and he had to struggle to hold on to his temper.

"But you didn't tell me." He said, irritation clear in his tone.

"I didn't want to bother you."

"The same way you didn't want to let what Stubbs said about me over the summer bother you?" He challenged, arching one dark eyebrow at her.

Ivy closed her mouth on what she had been about to say and Tom saw her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. Suddenly he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the thought of Ivy battling things on her own, like she had done as a scared child. He couldn't stand the idea of anyone laying a hand on her. She was his, his alone to touch, to protect…even to hurt though the thought had never once crossed his mind. Whatever, when it came to Ivy all actions would be done by Tom alone.

He took control and pushed Ivy into one of the alcoves at the end of the corridor. Effectively pinning her against his chest and the wall he aggressively pulled her face up to his and kissed her. It was sudden, forceful, and possessive and it took Tom a moment to realize that his brash actions may have crossed that invisible line he had discovered in Hogsmead two years ago.

But it seemed that once again, Tom was different, he was special, especially when it came to Ivy. She didn't push him away, she didn't curse him, instead, she melted against him. As he continued his kissing she moaned lightly in the back of her throat.

Tom smirked against her mouth. Just as it should be.

He removed his hands from the sides of her face and placed them on her waist. He drew her closer to him, playing with the portion of her shirt that was tucked into her skirt. Ivy's hands were placed firmly on his chest, but she slowly snaked one to the back of his head and weaved her fingers in the strands of his dark hair. The effect was electrifying and with each touch of his scalp she sent shivers down his spine.

Trying for something new, Tom moved his mouth to focus on the side of her neck, humming to himself with satisfaction as this new avenue caused several previously unheard noises to escape Ivy's throat.

Tom wasn't sure how long they stayed in their alcove, maybe minutes, maybe decades, but suddenly he had to come up for air. He held her smaller form to his chest, both of them breathing deeply from the intensity of their activity.

"P-patrol," Ivy panted, "We still need to have a look around Ravenclaw tower and the surrounding corridors." She looked up at him and Tom had to smile at her appearance. Her light skin was flushed, her hair was messy due to his touch, in short: she was perfect.

"Yes, I agree. Besides, there are some things we still need to talk about."

Ivy paused from calming her appearance to look at him, guilt written on her face.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I didn't want to b—"

"Well you did 'bother' me, as you put it." He replied testily. "The same way you bothered me over the summer. I know you can take care of yourself, Ivy, especially after what you did to Hensley. That isn't the point. It bothers me when I can't keep track of my own things. It bothers me when you put yourself at unnecessary risk." He said this briskly, dusting off all evidence of their would-be tryst, not even noticing what had popped out of his mouth.

"'Your things'?" she repeated, frowning at him.

Tom immediately tensed. He had thought of Ivy as 'his' for years, possibly ever since she had first taken his hand after he had broken the brat's arm that had taken her book back when they were kids. But Tom had never said it aloud. He wasn't quite sure why he hadn't chosen to share that bit of inner dialogue with her. Perhaps because it was some kind of violation of an obvious social standard that he had picked up but then discarded. After all, one didn't 'own' another person, that was slavery, wasn't it? But Tom didn't view Ivy as a slave…he viewed her as a possession. His first real treasure and the one that was still the crown jewel of his collection.

Tom looked back at Ivy, daring her to declare herself as anything other than his.

"Yes," he stepped back towards her, suddenly overcome with that need to possess her, to touch her, to feel her against him once again. "You. Are. Mine." He said it slowly, deliberately, and in a tone that stated clearly that the fact wasn't open to discussion or debate.

Ivy's face turned red again and she shyly looked at the floor.

"I never wanted to be anyone else's." She said in that soft voice that he loved.

Instant pleasure spread across Tom's chest, a mixture of lust and triumph. It was as if an un-noticed weight had been lifted off his chest, as if he had won some kind of invisible contest. He hadn't really thought of the possibility that Ivy would be with anyone else, after all, how could that happen? But having heard it from her own lips was like the cherry on top of a Muggle sundae. Tom shrugged off the sensation. He wasn't afraid of anything and as long as he had Ivy…and his Horcrux, he might as well be invincible.

"Of course. And what will you do differently?" He asked, his voice deceptively sweet.

"I won't put myself at unnecessary risk." She repeated as the two continued on their rounds.

"And?" Tom prompted.

"And I'll tell you if I have any problems…Mav." She whispered his special name, the name only she called him and Tom didn't doubt anything that she said.

He smiled in response, a true, slightly crazed smile and as they completed their rounds. But his mind was elsewhere, focused on two other issues that their conversation had unleased. First, he needed to ensure that the rest of his House knew that Ivy was his and as such she would be rightly defended. And the second? Well, it looked like he knew who his Horcrux victim would be after all.

Hogwarts, Scotland, December 1942

Somehow, it turned out that Ivy's Fifth Year was full of nightmares as well as daydreams. The year before has shown her mere glimpses of the cruelty that jealous witches could concoct from simple rumor-spreading to sending her surprise curses and hexes. She had mistakenly assumed that once she was a Prefect, all that would cease.

She had been far from correct.

Within the first few months of the new term Ivy had suffered from five nose-bleed hexes, several broken bottles of ink that had mysteriously ruined multiple homework assignments, and to top it all off, someone had charmed her skirt to flap up every time someone said her name. It got so bad that she had resorted to layering wards over herself before she left the Ravenclaw dorm to ensure no poor first year got an unexpected view of her knickers.

But even so, these things were only the tip of the bullying iceberg. The real danger existed in the traps. True, damaging curses that popped up seemingly from no-where. The first was a curse that spurted flame and nearly singed off her eye-brows, the second, had been a rather poorly cast bone-breaking curse that had resulted in the bruise that Tom had seen during the third week.

But Ivy wasn't one to go down so easily.

True, it was harder for her to seek revenge being a Prefect, but she still managed. After about a month Ivy had deduced that the majority of her attackers were a group of Third-Year girls from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, each one with a mad crush on Tom.

Their teamwork resulted in no-end of headaches and irritation for Ivy, but she had to admit that at least Tom had been instrumental in scaring the daylights out of Slytherin House the day after she had told him of her troubles.

Hogwarts, Scotland, October 1942

Tom had known that something wasn't right with Ivy. And Tom was almost never wrong. He first became suspicious when she received an uncharacteristically low grade on a Charm's essay in their second week, and, while it was still a respectable score for other students, it wasn't up to Tom's usual expectations of her.

Then, Tom began to hear things. Things about Ivy that he couldn't just dismiss as infantile gossip. They went something like, "That Petros is such a know-it-all and I can't believe that she actually made Prefect" or, "Petros is always hanging around boys, I bet she's really popular, if you know what I mean. I think I might like to slide into the sack with her."

And there were other, crueler, things that Tom heard while he was in the men's lavatory, or on his way to the Great Hall, things that made his knuckles clench and then crack from his white-hot anger at their lewdness. Always, after he would identify the speaker, he would wait until they were in a crowd of people and then shoot a nasty stinging hex their way. But despite his efforts to curb the unacceptable words of his peers, he seemed to be failing to end them. At least, not until he decided to enlist some help.

After hearing from Ivy herself that her association with Tom was at the root of the problem, he decided that extending his own influence with in Slytherin House was the first step he would take.

"Abraxus." Tom intoned the next evening in the Slytherin common room as he twirled his wand deftly between his long fingers, "What do you think would happen to someone who idly spreads cruel rumors around the castle about another student? Perhaps one in Ravenclaw?"

His voice, while still at a reasonable volume, created an almost instant hush among the usual chatter. At the change, he couldn't help but smirk, it seemed that those in his house knew by now not to cross him. Over the past few years things—strange things—had happened to students who crossed him, and though no one could directly link it back to his actions, it was enough for any Slytherin to pause before doing so.

The blonde who had been frowning over several smudged pages of his astronomy homework looked up immediately at the sound of Tom's voice.

He locked eyes with the taller boy and his thin lips curled in instant understanding. "Well, I think, that if someone were to be that unbelievable dense they would suddenly find themselves extremely…inconvenienced." He dotted an 'I' with such force that he stabbed his quill through his parchment to complement his not-so-veiled threat.

"Ah…yes, 'inconvenienced' as you say. Yes, I think that would be very fitting indeed. After all, aren't most of us related to our dear friends in Ravenclaw?" He asked this question rhetorically, but he knew that by now everyone was listening and very aware of the quite obvious hints that Tom was dropping.

"Of course," Abraxus agreed, "My second-cousin is currently a Second Year and I know how tragic it would be if someone would stoop so low as to tarnish her reputation. Would anyone care to disagree?" He raised his light eyebrows, daring anyone in the room to challenge him.

Of course no one did.

"Oh, but my dear Abraxus, no one in the noble house of Slytherin would stoop so low to allow anyone to tarnish another student's reputation…especially since there would be no possible gain in doing so." Tom practically purred.

And with that, the two boys packed up their homework and bid the rest of their House goodnight, Tom lingering enough only to lock eyes with several of his other chess pieces, making it clear that what he said was not an idle threat.

He smirked to himself, not worrying for one moment that his wishes would be left unanswered. Now, he had only to wait and let his plan unfold.

And he didn't have to wait long. Soon, it was as if a silent war was being ragged between the houses, Slytherin and Ravenclaw on one side with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor on the other. Ironically, it seemed that the only Ravenclaw stupid enough to stand her ground was Myrtle Warren, the welp who had attempted to break Ivy's wrist. She stood stoutly with her Gryffindor friends, totally oblivious that the conflict had escalated from petty female issues to a full-blown blood feud.

At first it was clear to the instigators the reason behind the silent duels in the corridors and the hexing across classrooms while the professors were writing on the board, but after a few days it seemed no one would be able to trace anything back to Tom. Which was, of course, exactly the way he had planned it.

Tom found that several times he almost laughed out loud at the sheer ease in which he was able to manipulate his peers. In fact, he found he obtained happiness from doing so. It was in one of these instances of amusement that Ivy chose to find him.

"Tom, did you do all this?" He watched her delicate frame gesture wildly around at the barely-concealed spells and nasty looks being shot around the grounds of the castle.

Tom didn't answer her, but he knew that she could read his expression well enough to gleam her own answer. He expected her to be pleased, grateful, that he would so readily defend her honor, as well as his for choosing her to be by his side.

For once, Ivy didn't surprise him. She sat down by his side, gratitude gracing her elegant features.

"Thank you for your help." She signed, laying her head briefly on his shoulder.

"Of course, didn't I tell you I always take care of my things?" He replied softly, his breath ghosting across the skin of her cheek.

Ivy smiled.

Hogwarts, Scotland, December 1942

Ivy smiled at the memory of Tom's assistance. Since then, the conflict had died down, especially after several students were sent to St. Mungo's due to a rather nasty rash that had spread after mixing two illegal hexes during a duel.

Luckily, that meant that Ivy's conflicts had died down as well and with Christmas break approaching the next day, she was looking forward to spending some nice quiet time around the castle. It had been a tough several months but at least her trials had come to some good. They had allowed Tom to move forward with his plan.

Ivy had known about Tom's desire to create a Horcrux since he found out about the spell during the last year. She also knew the steps he would have to take to complete one, including killing another person. Ivy knew that Tom would have no problem making this choice, but she wasn't sure how he would choose the victim.

Ivy paused from her task, wrapping a singularly special present for the boy in her thoughts, to ponder why it was that the idea of killing another person to further their own ends didn't seem to bother her?

Not being able to come up with a satisfactory answer, she shrugged and returned to her project and her thoughts. Under the cover caused by the blood feud, Tom had taken the Basilisk out, each time testing both the creatures…talents, as well as his control. So far he had succeeded in only petrifying two students.

Luckily, the teachers hadn't been able to figure out exactly what had caused the attacks, but unluckily they had called for an immediate cease-fire shortly after the second petrification which meant that Tom was running out of time to make his move.

Finally, Ivy finished her wrapping job. She looked at the little lumpy package and frowned. Maybe if she used a tidying spell she could make it look nicer? The chime of the clocked caused her to jump out of her considerations.

Realizing the time, Ivy decided to forgo the last spell and rushed out of the dorm. That night was to be the last meeting of the Slugclub for the term and as Prefect she was in charge of making sure that the rest of her House could attend safely. Though, she shrugged in amusement. She knew that there would be no danger. Mort, the Basilisk, was snoozing away in his Chamber. After all, his Master was to be Ivy's date for the evening and she planned to keep him singularly occupied.

She smiled at the thought. Ever since Tom had declared Ivy to be 'his' any doubts she had had about the two of them had been nicely swept away by the tide. She followed through with her duties, her mind clearly focusing on anything but being a Prefect in that moment. She finished up and headed into the party, eyes roaming the crowd with hungry anticipation for Tom.

She spotted him in the back, slowly ushering in Slytherin students to the brightly lit room. He was just finishing with the last student when he straightened up and caught her eyes. He smiled at her, not a true smile, but one that showed that he was happy to see her. They met with a few quick strides across the room and Ivy couldn't wait any longer.

She thrust her present into his hands and he grabbed it looking startled.

"What's this?" He asked. They usually didn't exchange presents, since both of them hadn't a penny to their name.

"For your project." She said, and she didn't doubt he knew exactly what she meant.

He eagerly opened it, long fingers siding gently across the clumsily wrapped paper. He took off each piece, savoring the moment of the first official gift that she had given him until the item underneath was revealed.

"A diary?" He asked.

"Yes. It's not very expensive, I purchased it myself, but the enchantments are my own invention."

That caught Tom's attention. He loved anything one-of-a-kind. He opened the book and took out his wand, muttering several incantations until his eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"What are these?"

Ivy couldn't help grinning. "The first one is a locking spell, only you or those who you allow can open the book. The second is a spell of my own invention, it allows you to write as much as you want and the book absorbs it. You can recall anything you wrote by asking the book and it will show it to you, and only you."

He blinked at the ordinary looking diary, turning it over and over in his hands as if he could somehow sense the magic in its pages. He finished his examination and looked down at Ivy, grinning as he responded.

"How utterly perfect."