Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter character's or anything related to the works of J.K Rowling. I only own the plot and any original characters you might notice.

Hey everyone! I know it took me awhile to update but hopefully this chapter more or less makes up for it? Yes, no, maybe? I also don't have a beta-reader so if there are any errors please let me know so I can fix any mistakes.

I am still working on unpacking and getting settled in and due to the holiday seasons, family festivities, and a new work schedule-I will still be trying to find a routine that will allow me to update on this series regularly.

To those readers who favorite, message, or even review please keep them coming. Those little things let me know people are reading this series and want me to continue on with it-especially reviews (hint,hint) Enjoy the chapter!

December 11, 1943

Ophelia was once told by her Poppa to hold her breath whenever she felt something viscous coming her way…Ophelia was five when Gregory Darwin advised that she hold her breath to keep the monsters from finding her. Poppa had even said to hold your breath if you never wanted to be called in class-he swore it worked like a charm.

She wasn't five anymore, she couldn't hold her breath until everything bad went away. Instead, she stood eerily still as Tom Riddle and his gang of friends brushed past her. Even then they weren't even passing by Ophelia directly. Tom Riddle and his gang passed by a sturdy pillar Ophelia was using to hide behind so she could stand eerily still.

The Hufflepuff tried to shake off the dread and sense of newfound anxiety associated with the Slytherin prefect. Since Tom's unexpected visit while she was in the infirmary, Ophelia could not ease her nerves or emotions around him. It was all a confused mixture-happy to see Tom care for her but at the same time she wanted to scream bloody murder at the sight of him.

Ophelia's hatred for the Forbidden Forest grew tenfold than what it originally was. Not to mention, Ophelia's anger and annoyance at Margo kept eating away at the half-blooded witch. Memo received: Margo hates Edmund, adores Tom. Great, okay, I got it!

There was also the fact that Dumbledore was gone! Gone! Ophelia pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to count to ten to calm herself down. The Hufflepuff wasn't even sure if she did tell Dumbledore what she knew about Tom. Why would Dumbledore even take off so close to exams and finals and such?

Ophelia's sanity hung by a few threads. Very thin, cheaply made threads but threads all the same.

"Ophelia?"

Oh...there was also another thing.

A nervous and almost forced grin came to Ophelia's lips, "Hello, Edmund."

"Erm," Edmund cleared his throat as he pointed at Ophelia's feet (or at least where they should have been.) "Aren't you cold, you're standing in about two feet of snow."

"I was," Ophelia thought up a little lie. "Well, I was planning to jump out and startle you but I ended up daydreaming instead."

"Tsk." Edmund held out a hand for Ophelia to take so he could help her step out of the little hill of snow. "Don't daydream too much, I know I might be the funnest tutor there is but daydreaming will not help you by any means."

Say something coy and clever!

Ophelia offered a little grin to the Ravenclaw as she took his hand and leapt out of the snow. Her hold on the pure-blood stayed; for a brief moment she enjoyed the feel of his hands against hers. "Edmund, you might not be the funnest tutor but you could possibly be the handsomest tutor."

"Careful, a silver tongue like that and you might start sounding more like me."

Ophelia tensed up at the unwanted voice that butted into her and Edmund's conversation. Immediately, Ophelia let go of Edmund's hand.

"Riddle." Edmund acknowledge the Slytherin prefect.

"Campion." The tall and handsome teen acknowledged the Ravenclaw.

Ophelia looked blankly at Tom, she took note of how his little gang members were off a few yards away from them. "Your friends are waiting on you."

"They can wait." Tom flashed one of his best smiles at the Hufflepuff. "I haven't seen you since I helped admit you into the infirmary. I want to see how you're doing, Ophelia."

"Riddle helped to admit you?" Edmund Campion didn't know about that, he naturally assumed that either Elwood or Zolotov helped.

"I was out of it when it happened, Edmund." Ophelia more or else had to explain to the Ravenclaw. "Anyways," She turned her attention to Tom, "As you can see, Tom, I am fine."

"Really? Your voice still sounds awful." Tom quipped at her. "Almost like you swallowed a frog." The sight of Campion and Ophelia made Tom's stomach knot into violent little tangles as he crossed his hands behind his back and did his best to keep up with his public image. "Doesn't her voice sound awful, Campion?"

"No, not really." Edmund didn't like how Tom was looking at the Hufflepuff. Carefully, the young French man wedge himself between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff. "I hate to be rude, Riddle, really. However, I have been assigned by multiple professors to help get Miss Darwin caught back up with studies before finals."

A small grimace unnoticeable to most humans flashed onto Tom's face. "Eager to study with a frog, Campion?" Tom didn't like how casually Edmund disagreed with him. Tom's browns eyes darted over to Ophelia-he was certain she was the only one who picked up his true tone of maliciousness.

The Ravenclaw student quickly came up with reply as sharp as a whip (a normal trait of Ravenclaws, really.) "Kiss the frog and you get a princess." Edmund let a calm smirk come over his face, " Though, Ophelia is quite possibly better than a princess."

A subtle blush managed its way to Ophelia's face. That might have been the most sincere and complementary thing anyone has ever said to me.

This skinny stick? Better than a princess? Tom kept his rude thoughts to himself perfectly. She's barely better than a mud-blood. BARELY. He supposed he kept his opinion to himself due to the fact Edmund Campion might be a pure-blood he'd later what to recruit. MIGHT, was a strained key word.

Ophelia saw the slow build to Tom's anger, should the two males continue to exchange quick jabs and rude remarks, that slow build to anger would erupt like a violent volcano. The Hufflepuff, laced her hand gently around Edmund's wrist.

"It's been nice, Tom. Now," Ophelia stopped for dramatic affect, "Edmund and I must get going."

"Riddle." Edmund nodded at the Slytherin as he began to lead Ophelia to the library.

"Campion." Tom stated evenly. His dark eyes lingered on Ophelia before she allowed herself to follow Edmund's lead. A possessive was there as he looked at the mousy brunette. "Ophelia, I'll leave you in his care for now."

As smart as Edmund was, he would never picked up on the small and toxic way Tom phrased his sentence.

For now...Ophelia thought as she tried to focus as Edmund explained what she missed in Arithmancy. For now, meaning...meaning Tom wasn't done being...Ophelia furrowed her eyebrows together. Done being what?

Deep in the pit of the Hufflepuff's soul, she felt like there was something completely blanked out of her mind. Maybe Tom said something to her at one point that explained his growing foulness...But really, it's not as if she could remember.

"Do you follow?" Edmund's voice cut through Ophelia; he took the startled look on her face as one for confusion.

He wasn't aware that Ophelia had been preoccupied with other thoughts in her mind. Edmund Campion was no Tom Riddle. Yes, he was a smart and gifted wizard, but Campion lacked the ability Riddle had to so easily read Ophelia's mind.

"Sorry," Ophelia shook her head, "Um, this is a lot to process in one sitting." Her hands combed through her mousy brown locks. She wasn't paying attention at all to anything Campion said. "Can I, I think I just need a minute. If that is alright, Edmund?"

The Ravenclaw watched as Ophelia's neck stretched and rolled back, her once short locks dropped like heavy silk over her shoulders. Admittedly, Edmund fancied Ophelia better with long hair as opposed to when her hair was short. Without much thought, the blonde haired male reached out and tugged at a strand of the Hufflepuff's hair.

Ophelia let out a half-smile as she looked over to face Edmund properly. "Hmm?"

Then Edmund did something most Ravenclaws didn't do-he acted without thinking first. One hand stayed on that particular strand of hair but the other hand found its way to Ophelia's chin. Carefully, he leaned his face closer to hers. No thoughts came to Edmund's mind as he pressed his lips against Ophelia's.

As he pulled away, a satisfied feeling washed over Edmund.

Ophelia felt something similar but odd at the same time; the only word she could used to describe the sensation was: safe.

"So," Ophelia said with her best version of a charming and flirty smile. "Does that mean break time is over?"

"Yes!" Edmund chuckled as he pulled away and began to re-explain Arithmancy. "You have finals we have to prepare you for."

"Alright." Ophelia let a light hearted sigh out of her mouth. She could push Tom out of her mind for a couple of hours? Couldn't she?

On the other side of Hogwarts, Margo sat on the edge of Peter Elwood's bed as her legs dangled off with her arms crossed defensively on her chest. Peter, who had surrendered his bed to the last minute visitor, found himself lying down on William's bed.

A small part of Peter was happy William was an early bird-the Zolotov male probably wouldn't be back until sometime after noon. Peter stared up into the ceiling as Margo complained and mope and whined and bitched and moaned about something near and dear to her heart.

"Is it so bad, I think Campion is a piece of filth and Pipa can do much better!?" Margo went on, "I mean, okay maybe personality wise they get along fine but looks?!"

Peter sighed and shifted around in William's bed. He wondered if he'd die listening to Margo's complaints. "What about looks?"

"Pipa has that classic London look! Campion just looks like a cheap French aristocrat! Their kids-if they ever had any-would be so confusing to look at!"

Peter shook his head, "No, they would not be and that was rather out of line."

Margo ignored Peter's statement. "My mum told me that Edmund Campion is still getting his inheritance money." She flipped her long and platinum blonde hair towards her shoulder and began to braid it. "He doesn't even carry the same last name as…" Margo's voice broke.

Peter turned his head to look at the pretty witch who was on the verge of tears as she braided her hair. He repeated after her, "He doesn't carry the same last name as who?" He already knew the truth, Margo did too.

Margo choked back her tears, "It's not fair!"

"Margo-you think everything that slights you in any way isn't fair." Peter mumbled.

"I am good bloody person!" Margo's voice shook as she sucked a breath in. "This must have been how my mother felt when…" She stopped braiding her hair to bury her face into her hands.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose before he got up to sit by the Blaine heiress. "Margo."

Rushed sobs escaped from the pure-blooded witch's lips.

Peter called her name out again. "Margo."

"Peter!" The blonde screamed, "What?!" She wiped the heavy tears off her face with her hands and threw them onto her lap.

"What your mother went through and what you are going through are two completely different instances." Peter went on, "Campion isn't stealing Pipa from you, yet at the same time, Pipa isn't a porcelain doll for you to possess and control."

The blonde said nothing, a frown was the only thing she expressed.

"Maybe," Peter said carefully, "You should tell Pipa the truth?"

A scoff escaped the teen's lips. "What, and bring more shame to my family name?" Margo's lips quivered as another set of sobs tried to rake through her body. "No thanks."

The Elwood heir sighed and cupped the Blaine female's face. He pinched her cheeks gently before pressing his forehead against hers. "You know very well Pipa doesn't give a damn about that kind of stuff."

Margo sighed, but said nothing.

"Tell the truth, Margo." Peter said as he placed a small kiss on Margo's cheek, "Give your friend that, the truth."

Ophelia had a something of an uncertain feeling in her gut as she wandered away from the library; her fingers traced the outlines of a stack of flashcards on Potions. Edmund was kind enough to let her take his.

The Hufflepuff found herself out front Dumbledore's office door; it felt empty just from how it looked on the outside. She tucked the flashcards into her winter coat and knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, "Professor Dumbledore?" Another set of knocks, "Professor, if you are there please answer me."

No answer.

Ophelia sighed and tried on last time, she balled her hands into a tight fist and began to hit the door with all her might.

Still no answer.

"I'm losing it," The Hufflepuff whispered into the door. She sighed again before pulling herself away from the door. There was still that blank in her memory that bothered her and Ophelia's intuition kept linking back to Dumbledore's office.

Another alternative popped into her mind to try and fill the white slate in her memory. Ophelia tapped her foot on the ground repeatedly until she came up with the final answer to the question she posed in her head.

Okay...fine...Yes.

She began to make her way to the dungeons, and as soon as she found the particular room she needed, a chorus of knocks echoed through.

The door swung open for Ophelia.

Coal black hair, brown eyes, pale, and tall-but overall, eerily handsome.

"Tom."

"Ophelia."

The heir of Slytherin allowed the Hufflepuff into his room, the door closed swiftly as soon as she entered.

Ophelia kept her nerves under control and breathing steady as she found herself already falling into familiar habits when she was in the prefect's room. She sat at the edge of the bed as Tom settled himself on the chair by his desk.

Something in her gut made Ophelia feel both uncomfortable and hurt at the sight of Tom.

"Well?" Tom scoffed at the witch in front of him. "Are you going to sit there and waste my time or did you have something you needed from me?" Tom's brown eyes scanned quickly over the teen and for a moment they lingered on her legs.

"I have a question," Ophelia stated as she shifted in her spot and stuck her hands into her coat pocket. The flashcards bumped against her fingers, so Ophelia took them out of her pocket and began to fiddle with them as if they were playing cards.

Tom looked at her with a blank stare, "So? What makes you think I have an answer?" A little flare of jealousy flashed in what was left of his soul when he spotted the cards in her hands. Campion's, I bet. A look of disdain painted his face, "Why don't you ask Campion your stupid question. I am sure he'd be more than happy to entertain your dull mind."

She ignored Tom's comment as agitation bubbled in her body. "How did you find me?"

Tom arched an eyebrow at her, he knew exactly what Ophelia meant but there was no way she could remember what he did to her….No, I executed 'Obliviate' perfectly so Ophelia must mean something else. The handsome young man decided to play dumb. "You came to my room, filth. I didn't find you."

Ophelia began to move her fingers through the stack of flashcards faster, pretending to cut and split them up as if she was playing poker. It helped Ophelia keep her growing anxiety with Tom at bay. "No." She shook her head and stopped messing with the stack in her hands. "How did you find me the other week? In the snow?"

Tom narrowed his eyes at the girl. He was lucky Ophelia didn't always pick up when he was reading her thoughts. Tom saw the white blank that was left in her memory, he tensed up slightly. "Prefect duty, Ophelia." Tom easily lied to her face. "I thought I heard a commotion over at the Quidditch Pitch and went to go investigate. I found you asleep instead."

"On the snow?" Ophelia didn't understand quite understand that. "I was asleep in the Quidditch Pitch...on the snow?"

That doesn't seem...right? Ophelia stood up from Tom's bed and headed to the door. "I need to go." Something wasn't adding up and it was starting to scare her.

Tom quickly stopped the Hufflepuff from leaving by beating her to the door; his back easily pressed up against the door and he placed his hand firmly over the door knob. "So soon?" Tom reached out with his free hand and ran his long fingers through Ophelia's brown hair. "Why not stay?"

Tom could almost feel her heart pounding against her chest, the only thing he could feel for sure was her growing fear for him. It was beautiful to Tom. He leaned his face closer to the Hufflepuff, their lips so close to each other. It had been awhile, Tom thought as that familiar scent of slight cinnamon pulled him in.

In the Slytherin's mind, a series of images associated with Ophelia being close and intimate flashed in his mind as if it was a storm. What he remembered the most, what image occupied his mind often: Ophelia Darwin, still and unconscious in perfect and untouched snow...He found her perfect and untouched by any one else but him.

"I can't kiss you." Ophelia spat out as she stepped back from the impending kiss. "Edmund won't like me to do that." Her dull green eyes widened at what she had just said. Why did you say that out loud? Why?

A cruel chuckle escaped Tom's lips. "Why do you give a damn about what Campion won't like you to do? Much less, what makes you think I give a damn about what Campion's likes?" Then it hit Tom. "You like that French bastard?"

"He likes me back." Ophelia retorted, refusing to look at Tom.

"I very much doubt that he does."

"He is very gentle with me and he is nice."

Tom felt anger swirl through his body. (Or maybe it was denial which made a swirl tear through him?) "I supposed he had to be." Tom insulted the Hufflepuff easily without missing a second. "You're possibly the dumbest sixth year in Hogwarts- of course he is gentle and nice towards you. How else is Campion meant to teach a slow cow such as you?" Tom's tone was bitter, angry, and there was the dangerous tone of jealousy in his voice.

Ophelia stood in Tom's room, quiet and still just like when she hid behind a pillar. She could feel the negativity that was Tom and his whole being. That specific brand of negativity reverberated across the room in the same way heat would flow from a fireplace.

Tom could also feel the emotion that boomed through Ophelia. He found though, there was no fear in the Hufflepuff at this point-only hurt. That specific brand of hurt crackled to the Slytherin in the same way thunder would crack in a storm.

The pained look on the brunette's face began to hurt him, which only made the handsome young man irate as the brunette stood in his presence. "Get out." Tom hissed at Ophelia.

Ophelia stood still. She was unsure if this was one of Tom's cruel little tests, the one in which Tom would tell her to do something then blow up at her even worse if she did listen.

"Are you deaf on top of stupid now?" Tom's mind began to see images of Ophelia wrapped up in Campion's arms; he imaged the two of them walking through the halls together; he imagined them in the library, the Grand Hall, in the Ravenclaw common rooms...Tom imaged Campion placing lips on something Tom knew was his!

"GET OUT!" Tom yelled at Ophelia as he violently swung his door opened. "GET OUT!" A voice in the back of Tom's head told him to curse Ophelia down to the ground repeatedly if she wouldn't listen. He was tempted...but at the moment, Tom didn't have it in him to do it. "Get out…" His voice was quiet but it sounded like venom to the ears. "Or I will make you get out."

Ophelia's heart was in her throat by this point. Fear and hurt had nearly rendered her immovable-but survival mode kicked in. The need and urgency to get the hell away from Tom powered through fear and hurt.

Slowly, the brunette picked up one foot after the other until she was out of the Slytherin's room. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Ophelia repeated that in her head as if that was a spell she needed to think for her legs to work. The Hufflepuff chanted it all the way back to her room and pretended that everything was perfectly fine and normal.

Tom did the same, only within the means of his own specific routine. The Slytherin also pretended that everything was perfect and normal. He knew eventually, his bitterness would fade and Ophelia and him would go back to their usual dynamic.

Tom was sure of it...and in the off even that things didn't go the way he planned, Tom was sure he could fix it.