May 25th, 1943

Within the following weeks, the vigor at which classes were restarting after the holiday could only signal one thing for the fifth years - OWLs were ever closer, now no reprieve between the exams and themselves. The rest of the school seemed to join in with the fervor that Ravenclaw had taken on, and Merissa found it increasingly difficult to focus, though she was thankful it was for petty reasons now.

The library, which would have been the most obvious study area, was constantly crowded now, and it was difficult to even find a table for oneself, yet alone have the peace to study. The common room was usually empty, but there came the problem of the inhabitant that had taken to following Merissa around.

Patrick Burke has somehow gotten it into his head that since they were the top students in Ravenclaw, they had to create an alliance of sorts to ensure their mutual victory. Merissa felt little compulsion to help Burke in the first place, and his constant pestering had made her even less obliging.

"But you must know some of the examiners, most even," he was insisting, dogging her down the staircase to the Great Hall, "Most of them are from the Ministry! Your father works there."

She had hoped telling him she was hungry and heading to dinner would have gotten rid of him, but he had taken upon himself to suggest they review while eating to not lose any time. Such a suggestion was not appealing, given they had spent the last several hours doing just that, however he seemed unasuadable.

It might have been entirely absurd if Merissa didn't understand, to a degree, his pathological need to do well. She too was taking her studying more seriously than she let on and since returning from vacation, she had a strange urge to achieve in every sense of the word. However, Burke's mind numbing methods of interrogation were not making her compassionate.

"I've told you, I've never met one," she insisted, pausing to keep him from bounding into the trap step, "My father works in Magical Law Enforcement that's five floors away, and besides, I don't visit him there often."

"Huh, too bad. They must be really brilliant though, to be picked for assessing. What do you think their qualifications are? Interesting job, that would be."

"Fascinating," she sighed, "Listen, I told Abraxas I would have dinner with him. I'll see you after? And please let me eat today, Burke. I'm starving."

It was the only lie she could come up with on the spot, but it was effective enough - hardly anyone outside of Slytherin seemed able to stand Abraxas and the company he kept for long. Burke nodded in apparent allowance of her plan, "As long as you're efficient. We still need to practice vanishing more before tomorrow."

She didn't bother trying to argue with him or question what he meant by efficient, just nodded and went by. Then, with no choice otherwise, she moved to the Slytherin table and joined Abraxas, though she rather thought it time they stopped glaring at each other across the hall anyways. He didn't so much as smile at her when she took the seat beside him so she spoke rather sharply as she began dishing her plate, "Hello love, good to see you as well."

From across the table, Alphard snorted and asked, "How's your studying going? I see you've rid yourself of the six foot lump you have growing out of your back."

Her eyes flickered to her house table, but Patrick was far down on the other end and far out of earshot, so she responded in a dark undertone, "I'd have tried to push him out the tower window if I thought it would deter him. He's heedless. I'm not going to have any magic left by the time we're actually testing. That, or I'll actually push him out the window."

Alphard laughed a petty laugh and it struck her he might actually - if not entirely misleadingly - be jealous of the time she was spending with Patrick. She studied his expression covertly as she began to eat, before moving her attention to Abraxas who had still done nothing but nod formally at her as she took her seat.

"And how is yours going?" she asked the blond, not satisfied with being ignored.

He blinked at her and it was clear he hadn't been paying attention.

"Your studying," she supplied.

"Oh, fine."

She frowned, "I hope you have been practicing at least. It's been months since we've performed half of what they're testing on and you -"

Suddenly leaning forward, she plucked a scruffy brown feather from his sleeve, "Where have you been?"

"No where, must be from the pillows," he replied evasively, brushing her off as he did his robes. She scowled at him but he didn't notice. He had met eyes with Tom a few seats down and gave a nearly indiscernible nod. Riddle stood without answer and swept from the hall.

"Are you really that daft?" she hissed in Abraxas's ear, "I can't believe you're still skulking about for him -"

"Shut up, Merissa," he told her flatly and his tone was enough to make her stalk off from the table. Still fuming, she barely noticed before she bumped into Tom again, apparently also making a hasty getaway towards the library, likely to secure a table before the after-dinner rush could occur. He paused when he noticed her.

"Thorpe," he greeted curtly, but lacked his usual venom.

He looked elated, or as close as his features could come to constructing such an expression. It did not sit right on his face somehow, almost as if it were not designed with such a purpose imagined. Her stomach flipped, but it was not a leaping, excited sensation, rather more like when expecting there's one more step and instead your foot is met with empty air. She had forgotten what it was like to be truly frightened of him.

"Riddle," she countered tersely, "What are you doing?"

He was either surprised by her tone or was a very good actor, "I'm off to the library. I'd judge by your direction, you are as well. Shall we?"

"No," she denied him at once. She couldn't even look him in the eyes - the pitilessness of them reminded her too firmly of another abyss she feared now.

His voice lowered with his expression, "Why not? I have been meaning to speak with you -"

"I'm going to my dormitory, Burke is waiting on me," she cut over him and departed as swiftly as her legs would carry her.

She felt a breath of relief as she entered her common room, but this was dashed just as quickly when she saw a huddle of students within, whispering to each other with great urgency.

"What's going on?" she asked Susan, spotting her on the peripheries.

The girl shrugged, "I've only just asked the same."

"It's Mary," Elizabeth Springer told them in an undertone, "She found . . . well -"

Merissa could see over the girl's shoulder now to the center of the commotion. Abigail was stroking Mary's short blonde hair, as she tried to choke out her story, broken by thick sobs.

"I-I got to the fourth floor and t-that's when I saw someone lying there at the end of the corridor, and I thought it was s-strange so I came closer and they were just f-f-frozen there. . ."

The girl cut herself off with a fresh round of sobs. Merissa's stomach flipped - she must have just ran by the place. And then she was thinking about how she had only seen Tom a moment ago, hurrying away from dinner as if he knew what had happened. It didn't seem plausible he could be responsible for this given the timeframe, nor did she have any reason to suspect him for this in particular, yet he was the first thing her mind jumped to, as if her sense couldn't help it.

"Who was it, Mary? Whose body was it?" someone asked slowly.

Merissa felt herself recoil at the word 'body'. It sounded far more serious when phrased so than the girl's story had originally let on.

"Oliver Jones!" Mary cried, wiping some of the tears from her cheek just for them to be replaced, "I b-barely know him, but I'm sure that's who. His face was just a-awful -"

"Dead?" Susan interjected.

Abigail gave her a reprimanding look but everyone leaned in for Mary's response.

"I-I don't think so," Mary whispered, suddenly meek, " His face was just frozen in place, like he'd seen something t-terrible, but he didn't look dead, just frozen, like he was made of stone -"

"Petrified," chimed in a weasel-like sixth-year, Chance Barnet, with a knowing nod.

There were murmurs around the common room, "What could petrify someone like that?" Springer asked nervously, vocalizing the question they were all asking silently.

"Really advanced dark magic," muttered a fourth year.

Murmurs broke out again across the room, but before any more theories could be voiced to the group, the eagle door swung open and admitted a tall figure.

"What on earth is going on?" Elmer Crouch, seventh year prefect was staring at the clump, "I heard that a second year's been attacked? Where is Mary Longbottom?"

Mary raised a shaky hand and Elmer was quick to come to her side, telling the rest of them to go back to their dormitories. It was still dimly lit due to the changing season, but no one argued and the room emptied.

Merissa shuffled up the steps, feeling little but the clenching and unclenching of an invisible hand on her insides. Halfway through her assent, she spotted a pair of familiar saucer eyes peering out at the procession from the third year dormitory.

"What's going on down there?" Myrtle Warren asked Susan, voice barely a whisper.

Then she spotted Merissa, starting like she had seen a ghost, assuming such a thing was rare in the castle. Merissa had quite forgotten about her if she was honest, but now that she remembered she wondered what the girl could possibly have to fear from her. How she stared.

"There's been an attack," Merissa responded slowly, "Crouch wants us all in our dormitories."

The eyes were gone, back behind the door without a word. She might have asked after it, but Susan nudged her forwards, "C'mon, I don't want to get detention over that weirdo," she muttered and Merissa heeded her, continuing up the stairway.

Once in their dormitory, Merissa ignored the pile of homework on her desk and laid on her bed, still fully clad. Abigail joined them a few minutes later, but Mary remained absent. It was eerily silent, only broken as Merissa's cat sprang on her bed, mewing to greet her.

"I haven't seen you in ages," she told it with a frown, "Thought you might have found another master."

She stroked it absentmindedly as Susan watched on from her own bunk.

"Did you know him?" Merissa asked the room at large.

Abigail shook her head, and Susan spoke, "Jones isn't a wizarding name."

Merissa stared at the ceiling beyond the indigo hangings, "Figure he was muggleborn, then?"

"What kind of question is that?" Abigail snapped.

She was visibly much more upset than the other two girls, her face red and splotchy with emotion. Merissa lifted her body from the mattress to prop herself up with an elbow, still rubbing the jet cat between the ears, "I don't see much other reason for a second year to be on the receiving end of advanced dark magic."

"And that's reason enough? To be a muggleborn?" the redhead demanded, but she didn't allow Merissa time to respond, "I'm going to see how Mary is, she's probably terrified as it is!"

She marched out of the room, letting the door bang behind her. Susan and Merissa stared at each other for a long moment before Susan remarked, "She's just upset. Everyone's a bit on edge, I suppose. Still, I don't know why she has to get so defensive. She's not muggleborn."

Merissa sighed and dropped her elbow, flopping onto her stomach, feeling miserable. She didn't deem it wise to relay her suspicions to Susan, because if they were wrong she felt foolish and paranoid, and if they were right . . . well, why subject Susan to that danger. She hadn't mentioned her excrusion with Abraxas either, nor did she plan to. Even despite the danger, Susan would want to see the place herself, and now that Merissa had experienced the creature, or at least felt its breath and heard its terribles whispers, she had no courage to return to that place.

/_\

May 30th, 1943

The next few days passed without event, and Merissa kept a close eye on Tom, not knowing what she'd do if he acted strangely, but knowing she wanted to be the first aware. However, it never came to such a head, with Tom following his schedule rigidly, time spent out of class often in the library or apparently his dormitory, as would only be assumed for someone as ambitious as himself. Merissa failed to find one deviation from his routine, although he was not acting normally either. He seemed almost in good spirits which only perturbed her more. Still, nearly a week went by, and her suspicions fell, along with the rest of the school. Everyone seemed to be chalking it up to some fluke accident and even with her suspicion, Merissa couldn't create a feasible situation to explain what had happened.

This evening, she had her rounds with Thomas, and while she was not looking forward to wasting an hour of potential studying time to break up couples snogging behind tapestries, things felt rather as if they were falling back to normal as they exited the common room together.

"How's your studying going?" Edward asked predictably as they fell down the staircase. It was all anyone in Ravenclaw seemed to have interest in these days, "I'm feeling pretty good about it myself. Not ready-ready, but ready for the stage we're at. I've been working with Abigail on revising a different skill each night and revisiting everything in the morning. I find it rather invigorating, you know? It's a shame there's no more quidditch to look forward to, though I suppose it would all be a bit much together. Still, your Malfoy must be plussed, they had a great season and they've won the cup. I'd be feeling a confidence boost if I were him, going into exams on such a high note."

Merissa didn't see how quidditch wins translated to testing abilities, but she knew better than to ask what his theory was in that, so she simply smiled and nodded. She had grown to appreciate that although the hour would consist of her being talked at, there was very little she needed to contribute.

Thomas was going on about how much of the material he felt confident about, and she was sure to nod at all the right places to appease him. She planned to spend the hour like this, appreciating the mindless mental break it was allowing. As they neared the bottom of the steps, heading to begin their patrol of the first floor, Merissa heard the faintest whisper, a hissing she almost recognized as language. She turned around, expecting to see someone around the corner, but the corridor was empty. Thomas was looking at her puzzled and clearly had heard nothing.

"What is it?" he asked, breaking off his monologue to peer down the corridor as well.

"I don't know," she replied honestly, although it felt as if the icy hand had taken back to gripping her stomach, "Er - fancy starting this way? I'm bored of our usual route."

"It is less efficient to start down that corridor," he warned seriously, "But, since you're my friend, I'm willing to make an exception."

She barely heard him, "Thank you, Thomas," before starting down after the noise.

Her shoes clicked loudly on the stone, bouncing off the walls of the empty hall, yet she could hear nothing else, even as she strained her ears. They had nearly made it to the end of the corridor before she accepted it was empty. She didn't know what she had expected and felt particularly ridiculous for allowing the settling of an old castle to frighten her.

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard someone down here," she explained to Edward, "We can go back to the normal rounds."

He shrugged, "No harm. Let me get the tapestry while we're here."

He reached behind her to swish up the curtain covering a nook that couples often hid in. She had turned already, sure she would have heard someone breathing if they were so close, but to her surprise and horror, something did collapse out when he shifted the tapestry, nearly hitting her shoulder as it fell onto the floor.

It was a couple, interlocked as well, but they were no longer snogging, and both faces were frozen in fear. Thomas let out a loud shriek and Merissa backed into him, clutching his arm and feeling her nails sink into his coffee colored skin.

"Oh good God!" he cried, "Oh Christ, what is that?"

She shook her head, turning away from the pair, "Stay here, I'll get help," she insisted and flew back down the hall from where they just came.

The staff room was on the first floor, the closest place she could hope to find a professor, and she was not let down when she barged in, out of breath. Slughorn and Kingsley were smoking in arm chairs near the fire, bits of ash collecting on the lapel of Slughorn's velvet jacket.

They both looked shocked and affronted by her interruption but she said quickly, "Please Professors, there's been another attack - I mean Thomas and I just found some - some people on rounds. Just down the corridor," she outstretched a shaking hand to indicate the direction.

Kingsley bounded out without a word, but Slughorn seemed more frozen by the news. He was pale and appeared flustered as he got to his feet, squishing out his cigar as he led her out. By the time they reached Thomas, the couple was being removed by Professors Kingsley and Merrythought, who seemed to have come across the scene, still clad in a flannel dressing gown and nightcap.

Merissa folded her arms around herself and turned away, not wanting to see the pair's petrified faces again. Her heart was still thumping erratically. She allowed Edward to regale the tale, contributing only when he said, "Merissa heard something though, didn't you? Just before we went down the corridor."

Three pairs of eyes turned to her and she nodded slowly, "I don't know what I heard, it was just a whisper. I assumed it was pipes. It didn't sound like a person, anyways."

Slughorn looked as drawn as she felt but no one asked her anything further, and with a few more questions they were heading back up to their dormitories, Slughorn their escort, a clear sign of the sudden severity that he was willing to make such a trek with his overloaded belly.

They stayed silent all the way up, save Slughorn's laborious breathing. When they reached the common room entry Edward slipped in without a word, very uncharacteristically. Merissa couldn't help heed the twisting feeling in her stomach and so before Slughorn could bid her goodnight, she asked suddenly, "Professor, what happened to them?"

Slughorn looked drawn and sighed, "Petrified, I'm afraid. I don't know by what, before you ask me."

"A-are they going to be okay?" she asked. She couldn't get their horrified expressions from her mind - they seemed burned into it.

He responded quicker this time, "Ah yes, petrification is reversible enough. You know that. You've brewed mandrakes, smart girl."

"Yes," she admitted. She did know this. Still she had wondered, or rather needed that affirmation, "I do. I just wanted to be sure. Thank you, Professor."

Merissa was not settled however, and no matter how logically she knew it wasn't possible, she had to know, to be sure to cross off one theory before she drove herself mad with guilt, especially if it was unfounded. She started watching Tom carefully again - despite the fact that he turned out to be an extremely boring subject of study lately. He was sticking to his schedule ever closer - everyone was with the new safety rules put in place, but she couldn't help feeling this was not quite enough for her to be sure. He spent plenty of time out of her sight, in the Slytherin common room and his dormitory where she was not permitted if she had liked, due to the new curfew.

Wednesday evening, she finally had her chance to investigate indirectly, spotting Avery leaving the table prematurely for dinner. She also rose, telling her friends she was feeling tired and ought to return for the night. Once in the corridor, she caught up to his lope just as he was beginning to descend down into the dungeons.

"Phillip!" she called after him.

He halted, if a bit skittishly, "Oh hello, Merissa," he greeted, "Abraxas is still up at dinner if it's him you're after."

"Yes, I know," she told him, "Um, could I have a word?"

"About?" he asked a bit defensively.

She allowed her face to drop carefully, "I'm sorry, it's a bit awkward, but I need some advice. About Abraxas."

She had played this conversation out a hundred ways, and she hoped she would be able to steer it like she had practiced relaxed at once, the first small success.

"Of course," he agreed, and followed her down the entry hall.

She emitted a melancholy sigh and wrung her hands once they were facing each other again, "Well, we've been having a bit of trouble lately, I'm not sure if you've noticed. . ."

She was quite sure that he had.

He assented, and she went on, "I know it's more my fault than his. Only I have no idea how to mend things between us, though I want to. I wouldn't ask, only I know you're his closest friend."

He clasped one of his massive hands on her shoulder and beamed at her, "I'm so glad you asked. I think he's been a bit miserable without you himself. Hasn't smiled in weeks."

"I suppose we've all been a bit on edge about the attacks as well," Merissa slipped in crafitly.

"You don't say," he muttered, "You should have seen his face when he heard you had found a victim. I think he nearly fainted. Riddle had to snap him back into his senses."

"He was in the dormitory?" she demanded, before she could catch herself.

He seemed puzzled by her question but luckily misunderstood it, "Abraxas? Yes, of course, it was past curfew. Everyone had been in for hours."

Her heart was pounding and she had a strange urge to smile but she repressed both, instead saying, "Oh good, I only worry he's not being careful."

"We look out for each other," he assured her. She couldn't help but appreciate how horribly true that seemed to be, yet he continued, "As for Abraxas, I think you've wounded his pride more than anything. You just need to apologize - I swear he regrets every time you two are nasty to each other. As for beyond that, he's a man, I think you know how to make it up to him if that fails."

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly not wanting to be in any way inappropriate in his language but still getting his point across. Merissa fought back a laugh, hilariously wrong as he was, but thanked him anyways before moving onto the corridor.

She felt very cheered, beyond relieved, that Riddle had an alibi during the attack. It felt silly to suspect him now, as she reminded herself she had seen him herself moments before the first attack. But then she supposed it was natural to suspect the most sinister person she knew of nefarious goings-on. She stopped by the second floor bathroom on her way up to her common room, but upon finding it so still and quiet, she swore he must have given up after all and swore to spend minimal time on it from now on. Neither her or Abraxas had poor enough sense to ever give an inkling of what they had discovered. Let whatever was down there rot.

She allowed herself to be swallowed up by the frenzied studying occurring in every nook of the Ravenclaw tower when she arrived, moving to a table where Susan and James were revising Transfiguration while Abigail took advantage of the thick cover to snore into. Burke had already given up on her arrival, she was told, and had gone to the library solo. Impressed by the second stroke of luck, Merissa found herself following Abigails suit before long, resting unhindered by troubled thoughts for the first time in months.

/_\

June 7th, 1943

Steam was curling around Merissa's face as she peered into her cauldron, smirking as she stirred. It was perfect, of course. Everything was perfect today. With her newfound peace she had found it much easier to concentrate, even to allow Burke some grace. Now, with classes almost done for the day she had managed to have quite an amicable Potions class with Tom. He seemed in a good mood, almost serene, if not far off in his considerations as they worked silently together. There was no venomous undertone of the muteness however, rather comfortable type between two people who understand each other well.

She did know him well, she realized, almost surprised at the revelation as she waited for him to finish chopping the dragonfly entrails, which was why she could tell he was in an unusually calm mood. His actions were not the rather theatrically languid movements he saved for performance, but a keen, composed focus she found she liked much better. He had a somewhat self-satisfied air about him that she could only assume meant his OWL preparations were going well. That would certainly make him pleased. He handed her the measured portion of chopped remains to add to the simmering solution.

Never had she seen him in such good spirits, which was why it shocked her so much when she heard a voice hiss from his direction.

Kill.

"Excuse me?" Merissa demanded, her head jerking up from her task.

"What?" he asked, his face innocent as if she had just broken him from his thoughts. His dark eyes were innocent as they could ever be. Had he said it then? She had been sure it was his distinct hiss. She recognized the sound as something she had only ever heard from his tongue.

"Did you just say kill?" she snapped.

If this was his idea of a joke, it wasn't a very amusing one. But then he did look pale himself at her question - perhaps he hadn't.

Then, vanishing that brief consideration, Tom jumped out of his seat as if it had become electrified and all but fled the room, a stricken expression on his face. Merissa openly stared after him along with the rest of the class. Afterall, Tom Riddle was hardly ever one to skip out on classes before being dismissed, yet alone run from them.

"Everything alright, Miss Thorpe?" Slughorn asked. His tone was clearly meant to come across lighthearted though it did little to cover his concern.

"Yes," she managed to give him a convincing smile despite her own surprise, "Riddle had to leave but he made sure I was nearly done before."

Slughorn nodded and moved on, placated. Merissa wasn't why she felt so much relief that her excuse had worked, or why she had just lied to her favorite professor from him, but she did know she found herself actively hoping it had been vague enough to match with whatever excuse Tom would give him later. It felt like the right thing to do, even if she could recognize Tom might be the last person on earth who needed her protection.

/_\

Meanwhile, already a few corridors down, Tom was frantically pacing the halls trying to locate his monster. The hunt needed to be called off, and now. Thorpe couldn't make the connection for herself, particularly not when she knew so much. He cursed himself for overlooking what was so obvious now: she could hear it.

Of course she could. He had taught her to.

The basilisk should have sounded like faint hissing pipes to anyone else, in fact he knew it did. No one else jumped at the whispers when he heard them at night, down in the dungeon where it liked to explore. In a way, it made him feel less alone. There were so many whispers for just his ears that sharing these ones with someone else would have been comforting, did it not also entail the possibility of everything being ruined. He would have been happy to allow his beastie to rip into any undesirable today, but now he was too paranoid. Tonight it would have to make due with the rest of the roosters Malfoy had killed.

Malfoy wasn't aware why he was performing these tasks of course, or that the reason he was being subjected to them was punishment for what Tom knew he was withholding. It was obvious that Thorpe had been helped along in her endeavor, and Tom had half a mind to do away with them both to simplify matters. But then, it would not be a simplification, and he knew now most of all he had to keep his hands clean.

Come back, he hissed into the walls again, but either the creature was too far away to hear him or ignoring him. Perhaps, he considered, Thorpe might be hissing to it from the other side of the castle. It was bad enough for her to know the place, and indeed he thought that may have been the end when he discovered her trespass. But she had surprised, even baffled him, by doing absolutely nothing. She made no indication she knew and he had done the same. Now his lack of offense was clearly to be his downfall. This must be her master plan after all, and even he hadn't seen it coming, taking control of his monster.

This was clearly karmic payback for teaching a linguist parseltongue. He cursed, turning suddenly, realizing he would need to visit the Chamber after all.

/_\

When Merissa had finished in Potions she began roaming the halls, searching for Tom. Locating him did not take long, as she caught sight of his shoulders disappearing around a corner. Her feet propelled her forward and she was about to call out to him when he surprised her, turning another corner, towards the staircase.

"What are you doing, Riddle?" she questioned under her breath and began trailing him.

After arriving on the second floor her worst suspicions were confirmed when she saw him slink into the lavatory. Sinking down into her old spot behind the suit of armor, she rubbed her face roughly with her hands before murmuring to the ceiling, "What am I doing?"

She recalled the faces of the couple she had come across, her stomach lurching. Some part of her must have known, especially when the second pair were muggleborn as well but she had hoped so desperately that they had been random attacks. After all, she still had no idea how he was doing it if he was nowhere near the victims as Avery had said. Ultimately, the how was insignificant.

You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved, she had told Abraxas, and now she had to remind herself. Tom Riddle didn't want to be saved.

/_\

Tom landed on the pile of slimy bones with a crunch. Brushing himself off, he yelled up to the main pipe, "COME BACK."

Within seconds he could hear it slithering and its whispers back. Hungry. Kill. Flesh.

"Yes, I'll give you flesh," Tom snapped in Parseltongue, "Just a few more days, then kill whoever you'd like."

The monster was unhappy, hissing a few phrases of dissent, but he heard it return to its lair and he turned from the carven likeness of Slytherin and began the journey back. When he finally returned to his dormitory he was exhausted and quite annoyed when he found it was already occupied.

Merissa was perched on his desk, glaring at him as he closed the door behind him, not breaking his gaze on her.

"You've been gone a while," her voice was heavy with implication and he had no doubt she had pieced together what had frightened him out of Potions. He raised his wand and locked the door before he moved from it.

"I wasn't aware anyone was waiting on me," he replied simply.

She watched him carefully and he could tell she expected him to hex her. Her presence implied she knew, but how much he had no idea. He would rather wait until she gave indication, but she seemed to be playing the same game.

He placed his bag pointedly on the chair her feet were resting on, then reached around her to his desk, "Excuse me," he lilted sarcastically as he took his transfiguration book from beside her.

Her indigo gaze tracked him and she finally spoke, "I know it was you."

He raised his eyebrows, "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

She tossed her head impatiently, "Fine, if you insist on pretending to be ignorant, let me make my lesser complaints first."

She snatched something small from her bag. Her hand extended a slip of paper towards him and he read the script: I feel in some ways I've been attending the same party my entire life. He at least brings some change to the guest list. Even if he is still an insufferable prat.

He stared, entirely bemused of what he was being accused of now. She seized the paper out of his hand before he had decided upon anything and set it on fire, flinging it into his wastebasket. The entire thing lit, but he was too surprised to do anything except watch it burn.

"Well?" she snapped, "Can I have it back then? Your point has been made, I won't cross you again. We're even, and you are a highly insufferable prat, for the record."

His eyes flashed back to her, "That was about me then?"

She was fuming, and for once he had no idea what had ignited her.

"Don't you dare play with me, Riddle, I'm done," she hissed, "You are the only goddamn person who was lurking around the castle during Easter. No one else could have taken it. God knows you have no shortage of motive against me, especially now."

His annoyance grew beyond his curiosity at her tone, "Believe it or not, Thorpe, I have no idea what you're on about. I didn't take anything of yours."

She scoffed, "I checked the list, Riddle, no one else who stayed would have anything against me -"

She cut herself off abruptly as if struck by something and her eyes flitted up to his face again with a much different expression this time.

"What?" he demanded, "Figured it out then? Again, I did nothing to you."

"You didn't," she murmured, examining his expression, "I have to go."

He snagged her wrist and pulled her back around, "Absolutely not, Thorpe, you're explaining yourself. Sit down."

She surprised him with how much force she was wriggling her arm around with, trying to escape but he ignored her and pulled her back towards his desk.

"I -" she began but he was in no mood.

"Sit," he ordered and she huffed and did so, "Well?" he demanded.

"Fine," she huffed, seeming to remember her apparent list of grievances beyond her surprise and giving him a venomous glare, "Someone took my journal over Easter, they've been sending me notes like that, quoting my word back at me. I assumed it was you because -"

"Because you always suspect me, yes," Tom interrupted, "Who is it then?"

She shook her head as if the thought might be dispelled by doing so, "There was someone who was in the Ravenclaw tower the entire break," she explained slowly, "I suspected them of spying on me in the past, but I didn't even consider -"

Tom seemed entirely done with her vagueness and pulled her back around, frowning at her, "Who?"

"Myrtle Warren. She's a third year, a mudblood, a nobody honestly," she shook her head again.

He raised his eyebrows, "What do you have worth spying on for someone like that?"

It was an invitation, and one she understood, he guessed, although she did not take it to explain herself. She seemed to be deciding the same as he - what degree of honesty to give.

"In the beginning of the year I was suspicious of you, I researched you and your family," she admitted.

He kept his expression unreadable, "Find anything interesting?"

Another invitation and she avoided it again.

"No," she lied, "Other than the obvious, the Gaunt line descended from Slytherin. But you told me that."

She was a bad liar and he asked again, "Nothing else?"

She blinked and seemed to be unable to stop herself, "I surmised you were likely a Parseltongue."

"And she could know that?" he asked, head suddenly buzzing. Another possibility, an opening in the Chamber, a loose end he had not anticipated.

"She could," she breathed back.

"Anything else she could know?"

She knew what he was asking but she dodged it all the same, "That was all I knew over Christmas, when I was writing my notes down. I haven't since, and she undoubtedly knows nothing of legillems yet alone has the skill . . ."

He studied her face for a long moment before deciding anything. It was obvious she was not being entirely honest, but she was a poor enough liar that he thought he could pinpoint exactly what she was omitting. She hid very little in her glimmering eyes, and as he held them he couldn't help admire they were extremely captivating - as dynamic as the ocean they were colored alike.

At last, the decision came, "I'll take care of it."

"What?" she demanded, "What does that mean?"

"It means I will take care of it, Thorpe," he told her, his irritation mounting.

"I know you've opened it," she said, her final grievance, at last.

He pointed his wand at the door, ensuring it would not be impregnable. He kept his gaze on her, searching if there was any hint of omission left in her.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the second attack, for sure. Longer, probably. I knew something was different as soon as I came back from Easter holiday."

"Have you written it anywhere? Spoken to anyone of it?" he demanded, "Is there any way anyone else could know. Think hard Thorpe, this is not time to feign ignorance. I will know if you lie to me."

"No," she replied, "I haven't told anyone my suspicions, nor do I plan to."

He lowered his wand. There was no lie in her statement, though he couldn't understand why. She was baffling, no matter how much he thought he understood of her.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The question rang out from her, not afraid, but rather matter of fact. He stared another beat and then shook his head. He was surprised she would even ask, the possibility seemed so far removed from an acceptable one for him now.

"No, of course not," he replied simply, "Can you be sure you haven't been followed?"

Her breath caught, "You don't think Warren . . ."

"If such a creature could have spied without your knowledge would be highly detrimental of my opinion of you, however, it is possible and I don't fancy the idea. Does she have any close acquaintances?"

"N-no," she stammered, after thinking it through, "She's a nobody. I have no idea what she could possibly have pieced together. The Chamber is a pureblood oral tradition. I don't see how someone with no wizarding parentage could ever -"

"I see your point, Merissa," he interrupted her, "We can't stay up here much longer though without coming up with a proper excuse. Meet me on the fourth floor, Sunday 4 'o'clock. Wait for me."

"I'm meant to just trust you to take care of it?" she demanded, resisting his urgings to the doorway. She pulled her wrist entirely from his grasp and scowled at him openly, planting her feet, "Give me one good reason."

He laughed humorlessly. She was so impossible.

"Trust is an awfully ironic topic for you to be lecturing me on don't you think, Thorpe?" he let the implication hang in the air for a long moment but when she said nothing he continued, "For mere example, you say you've as well as known it's been me carrying out the attacks for weeks and yet you've told no one, because you don't trust anyone outside myself - even to as limited capacity as you do - just the same as I."

"I have much more to hold over you. I'm not attacking people, for one," she snapped. She seemed to dislike the comparison.

He took the threat as a challenge, "No, but you could be, couldn't you? Any self-respecting pureblood would make a far better suspect for these crimes than me, a half-blood prefect with no family to speak of, yet alone to tie me to Slytherin's monster. You've even been at the scene of an attack."

"This isn't inspiring me to trust you," she gritted out from between her teeth.

He smiled again, "You're right, I don't mean to threaten you. A habit, I suppose, but we understand each other enough that I should try to break it nonetheless. You are intelligent - it doesn't seem necessary to explain the situation to you."

"Rest assured, I know you would kill me if I breathed a word," she muttered sardonically.

"Our communradry would give me pause."

"I'm not really in the mood for your attempt at jokes," she told him stiffly, "I know you must have found my trespass, and therefore feel as much dislike for me and I distaste for you. I don't see the need to pretend to be friends anymore."

His expression hardened - he had not expected that, "Meet me at 4 o'clock, don't be late and don't let anything get in your way."

"Fine," she sneered and pushed past him.

Finally, left alone to digest and plan, he still couldn't help wonder what degree of honesty he would ever be able to give her, and if her level would ever match his own.


And with that there are two more chapters of this story! I think I have already mentioned, but I do plan on making each year a new 'book' so once I finish this up, and with that I will be posting under a new story, so put me in your author alerts to get an email when that does happen.

I am really happy to be posting again. My life has been really imbalanced in the last year with work, as I've mentioned, and also more prominently something I haven't mentioned, I've had some deaths in the family. The most recent of which was my dad, who passed about a month ago now. It was really hard and honesty I did not feel like myself for a while after. I think some things won't ever be the same, but with editing and putting out this chapter it's almost like I've gained some piece of normalcy back and I'm really glad to say that. It feels strange to share this here because I don't know any of you well, but it would feel insincere to go on about how pleased and excited I am without mentioning that as well.

Additionally, I really do want to put out there what a difference art and expression can have on the healing process. I know I've been in bad places before, and either consuming or creating works has been really cathartic. I've always enjoyed stories of all kinds, and immersing myself into this one is one of my favorite things. So ultimately, thank you for those who enjoy this story, and thank you for those who also create stories, or whatever other type of art. It is special and it is important.

I'll be responding to reviews in the next update. Thank you all again for reading. You make a difference in my life -xx