A/N: A point that always got to me about Fem-Harry stories, that the prophecy details 'he shall have the power the Dark Lord knows not' and all that, so if you change that to a she, to fit Fem-Harry, then Neville Longbottom is no longer applicable. Hence, I personally prefer to change Neville as well, as you will see in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.

Chapter Two

Jasmine flicked her cards in hand with a flourish as she sat alone in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Unlike most on the platform outside, she was already dressed in the regulation uniform; grey jumper, white shirt, black skirt and tights, black robes; all unmarked of course, before she was sorted. Though she knew exactly where she was headed.

She performed another trick absent-mindedly, allowing the cards to form a ladder between her two hands against the flow of gravity, the inner card twisting to turn towards her.

The magician.

A fun little card, deception, cunning, trickery and intelligence. She felt it suited her.

Tarot cards were interesting once magic became involved. They had little but ambient magic, fuelling themselves off of the wielder, leeching per se when the user desired an actual prediction. Of course, that required skill with divination…or just the ability to channel one's magic through the cards.

Jasmine had the latter.

Of course, they weren't just used like that. A skilled dealer knew the cards they were shuffling, the location of each individual one, which made pulling one out for dramatic effect easy.

She was distracted in a complex shuffling movement by the door of the compartment opening to reveal a red-haired boy, with a smudge of dirt on his nose, and fairly worn looking clothing. In-fact, everything on him seemed second hand, and his expression pegged him as lonely but tired. 'Youngest child-no-youngest boy in a large family,' she deduced, 'probably a developing inferiority complex, and an overbearing mother judging by his collar.'

"You mind if I take a seat?" he brokered. Jasmine didn't respond, instead looking down as the deck proffered a card into her hand. Flipping it over she examined the up-side.

The fool.

"Sorry, seat's taken by someone else," she stated without looking back up, reshuffling her deck before the boy could see the card.

"Oh, right…I'll be going then," he replied, sliding the door closed behind him.

Jasmine pondered for a moment whether he was too stupid or unobservant to notice the lack of any luggage-including her own, admittedly, which was shrunk and in her pocket-and the fact that there was space for at least three other people in the compartment, five in a pinch. Or perhaps he was merely intelligent enough to know where he wasn't wanted. By his expression, she favoured the former.

At eleven AM precisely, the train slowly moved out of the station, and began the so far largely uneventful journey to Hogwarts. The first interruption was only as they passed into the Scottish countryside, a bushy haired girl followed by a nervous looking brunette opened the door to her compartment.

"Have you seen a toad anywhere? Nadia here's lost one," the bushy haired girl asked in an authoritative tone.

"No," Jasmine replied, flicking her ever moving cards around to present one face-up to her. With a frown she regarded the face of the High Priestess. Interesting.

"Are those tarot cards?" the girl questioned, peering over to try and see what Jasmine was looking at.

"Yes," she answered, automatically shuffling the cards so that she would not see. With renewed interest, she set her eye on the girl.

She was already changed into pristine Hogwarts robes, exactly to convention, her blue eyes were sharp with considerable intellect, her hands were those of a frequent reader and comprehensive note-taker, and her bearing belied those who normally got their way through sheer perseverance if nothing else. She would most likely grow to be an intellectual, a librarian or a teacher perhaps.

"I read about those in Unfogging the Future, I thought the prospect of Divination seemed rather woolly, if you ask me," she continued, in one breath. Over-eager it seemed.

"Perhaps," she replied, taking back to practicing her artistic shuffling.

"You don't say much, do you?" Jasmine smiled at the bushy haired girl's statement.

"I don't say many words, there's a difference," as she gazed up unblinkingly with her emerald eyes, the brunette held her gaze unwaveringly.

"See you around then, Jasmine Potter," the girl said in parting, before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Jasmine sat there, blinking for a moment, her hands no longer moving as she considered the girl. How had she known? She hadn't given her name, and had taken care to cover up her infamous scar with makeup and strategically placed hair.

'Oh, she's one to watch out for,' she considered as she returned to shuffling. 'Definitely interesting.'

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Unlike most of the first years, Jasmine did not flinch when ghosts entered the hall, merely arching a single black eyebrow at the spectres. Theatrics were her thing after all, and she recognised the obvious play at getting a reaction from the new students.

"Hey, you, you're Jasmine Potter, aren't you?" knowing the voice was directed at her, Jasmine turned on the spot to see a boy with blond hair slicked back, with aristocratic features, fine clothing, and an upturned smirk of the arrogant. "My name's Draco Malfoy," the way he put emphasis on the 'Malfoy' said a lot about his thoughts as to the family, fully buying in to the pureblood superiority no doubt, and believing himself better than everyone else by extension. Jasmine really didn't need a card to work out his personality-not that she ever needed them, they were just quicker. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." The blond ponce outstretched a hand to be shaken.

She didn't take it, for a moment, instead flicking a hand out to slip a card from her sleeve. Glancing down so that only she could see it, she saw an upside-down knight of cups. Predictable, merely confirming what she had already deduced. That he was a self-serving, cunning, arrogant arsehole in the making. Duplicity was his custom.

"What's that?" he asked curiously, staring at the hidden card when she didn't take his hand.

"King of wands," she lied, with a quick gesture and sleight of hand displaying said-same card, "the country gentleman, belying significant heritage and power."

"Ah, of course," he smiled, visibly straightening and puffing himself up to an even greater degree. The lie was calculated, she didn't want him as her enemy after all, not when his father was such a powerful, wealthy and all around useful man.

And she wanted that man under her thumb, and this could be the first step.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Malfoy," she stated formally, holding out her pale hand to be shaken. He took it, shaking once, and she gave him a perfectly practiced fake smile. They were distracted from any more 'pleasantries' as the door behind Jasmine creaked open, and a woman emerged clad in formal black teaching robes.

"Alright first years, gather round," she stated with a Scottish lilt to her voice. She had black hair, done up in a severe bun, and lined through with streaks of grey that went with her slightly wrinkled face, and small glasses. She seemed every inch the clichéd strict teacher. With a half-interested wave of her hand, a card slipped from her sleeve. The queen of swords, most often associated with widows, mourning, sadness, and sterility. Sounded about right.

Jasmine only half-paid attention to the speech she gave about a house being a family, knowing already about the house system, and already knowing she could care less for the other students in her year. She was simply here to learn, and perhaps make a few connections to help her alter ego.

When they eventually filed into the Great Hall, there were various 'oohs' and 'aahs' at the much vaunted, enchanted ceiling. And before them all sat a hat, on a three legged stool.

So much for a grand, historical artefact.

One by one, the first years were sorted. Jasmine paid little attention to the persons, or the clapping or cheering (depending on the house they were sorted into.) The only person she noted with any interest was Hermione Granger-a name for the authoritative witch at last-being sorted into Gryffindor. An intriguing choice for such a clear academic.

'Oh there's more to you than at first seems, isn't there Miss Granger?' flashed through her mind as she followed the bushy haired girl with her eyes as she sat down at the table clad in red and gold.

The rest of the sorting blurred past until…

"Potter, Jasmine," called McGonagall, and the hall went silent. With calm ease and nonchalance, Jasmine parted herself from the thinned crowd, and moved to sit on the stool. When the deputy headmistress placed the hat on her head, it fell slightly lopsidedly, just showing her emerald eyes under its floppy brim.

"Hrrrmmmm, well this makes things awkward," sounded the male voice in her head, "would you mind lowering your occlumency barriers so I can sort you, Miss Potter?"

"Yes, I would," she thought clearly, pushing the words outside of her mindscape, "my mind is my own, thank-you, and I would permit no-one else to enter it."

"An educated view-point to take I suppose," mused the hat, "such suspicious nature though, and the need to protect secrets. I sense Slytherin may be a place to which you are suited."

"Ravenclaw, if you please," she replied, "I am-primarily-an academic, and I have no wish to face the squabbles and rivalries accorded to Slytherin house, not to mention the idiotic ideas on purity of blood." That was mostly true. After all, the man after whom she modelled herself was a scholar-a professor even-and it was true that she had no wish to deal with the infamous Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. Of course, the other big reason she did not mention, was the preconceptions about Slytherin. It was well known as a place of dark wizards, the cunning and ambitious (as well as the stupid blood purists, but that was a cultural side effect), so much so to the extent where she emphasised and hinted at Slytherin colours in both her Adler and Moriarty personas. Ravenclaw placed her simply as an academic, nose in a book, beyond suspicion. A place where she could pursue whatever she so wished without distraction. The perfect cover.

"Well, I suppose with that sound reasoning, we can ignore any other flaws, better be, RAVENCLAW," the last word, the hat shouted out into the Great Hall, leading to actual cheering from the prior more subdued Ravenclaw table.

With grace, she swept the oversized hat off of her head, and walked over to the Ravenclaw table, where space was quickly made amid the other new first years.

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The first week of school was largely uneventful, though not particularly impressive. Jasmine had hoped for more in the way of education, but she supposed this was what she would have to do with.

Firstly, there were no subjects like the sciences, mathematics, languages, etcetera, apparently anything muggle was swept into an optional, third year course. History of Magic was a joke, taught by a ghost, who theoretically should be a good representative of history, but was instead a droning fool who didn't even have half his facts right. Flying was relatively fine, but it really didn't interest her much. Astronomy was years behind the muggle world, and most of what they did could be done with an electronic telescope automatically. Herbology was rudimentary and simplistic as far as the syllabus went, though the teacher somewhat made up for it with her enthusiasm, but Jasmine still did not see the need for three lessons a week. Defence against the Dark Arts was taught by a stuttering fool, and she seemingly had a headache every time she was in the room. She also felt there was something about the professor she was missing, but she just couldn't concentrate properly around him to surmise much. Charms was useful, and her head of house had apparently once been a duelling master, so he knew his stuff, but they had to move abominably slowly as they had to wait for the whole class to achieve a charm before moving on to the next. Transfiguration was similar, and Jasmine could see many applications for the subject, but they still had to move as slowly as the Gryffindors they were paired with, who of course McGonagall favoured. And finally, there was the class she had actually been looking forward to; potions.

She sat currently on a bench second row from the front, purposefully with no partner by her side as she had placed a mild repelling charm on the chair. She was tentatively looking forward to potion brewing, as it seemed a subject with so many uses for the skilled and precise. Her only problem was apparently Snape, the professor, hated anyone outside of Slytherin house, primarily Gryffindor, but he apparently rarely favoured those of the blue and bronze house.

Speaking of the man, he swept into the room precisely one minute after the class was due to start, doubtless a perfectly timed and calculated entrance with his robes billowing.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making," he declared as he stalked up to his lectern, "however, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He left his sentence hanging ominously, allowing the obviously pre-practiced speech to sink in before taking the register. He paused at one name however;

"Ah, Miss Potter…our new celebrity," he sneered, as if disgusted by the word. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He directed the question directly at her, and his expression obviously said that he didn't expect her to be capable of answering.

"Draught of the Living Death, sir," she replied dutifully. Luckily of course, she knew her course books back to front-her mind cataloguing and storing everything she read for later use. And she even had reading of a wider, more general field.

Snape, however, scowled as she answered his question correctly.

"Correct…what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Only what country it may be found in-due to slightly different variations of local species and local culture-and by those variations, how long it will take to kill you." He was testing her, she knew, and she may as well put on a good performance.

"As far as potions are concerned, the plants have the same potency, barring poisons," the man replied, "tell me, where would I find a bezoar?" A triumphant glint showed in his eyes, not believing she would know of the stone found in the stomach of a goat. Naturally, of course, she did, though only because she had researched a wide range of poisons and their antidotes, both for her own use and to prepare when they were used against her.

"In my right pocket," she answered, truthfully in-fact. Of all antidotes, a bezoar was the first that one should try, as it functioned as a broad, general curative.

"You have a bezoar on you?" questioned Snape incredulously.

"Well, we are about to, as you said, delve into the subtle and exact art of potion-making, and as complete novices, many of whom may have never used a cauldron before, which makes the likelihood of mistakes not just possible, but probable. I felt it a good idea to carry something in case of such issues being dangerous," 'and in case someone tries to kill me,' she added silently. She was well aware of her fame-and what a bloody annoyance it was to someone who would much rather stay anonymous.

Snape responded to her small speech by straightening up, a look of grudging respect in his eyes.

"Two points to Ravenclaw for the good sense to prepare, and two points for respecting potions as something that is indeed dangerous," he stated, pulling his own wrinkled stone from a pocket, before turning to look at the rest of the class, "well? Why aren't you writing this down?!"

A mad scramble began for writing implements, but Jasmine noted carefully the calculating look the professor sent her. It seemed that she had changed some expectations he had had of her.

##########################################################################################

"Have there been any problems?" Jasmine inquired to the image of Scabior upon her watch-mirror.

"Apart from the usual, just one," the man replied, "planning officer causing issues over building the club. Think he's after a ministry standard bribe, but I didn't want to try without your permission, since you're the one handling finances."

"Have one of Greyback's men persuade him, or if that fails, eliminate him," Jasmine replied, the words being changed to Irene Adler's cutting frostiness.

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It was curiosity that eventually brought Jasmine to the third floor corridor after hours, roughly a week after Halloween. It was obvious that Dumbledore was doing some manipulating, since if one really wanted to close off an area, the last thing you do is tell the student populace to stay away. No, if you want it closed you make up something about maintenance or the like.

But that wasn't the only thing not adding up.

The troll on Halloween had obviously been a distraction, planted by Professor Quirrel. When Jasmine was able to concentrate, all the information about him screamed that something was off; the stutter was totally fake; the leap from muggle studies to defence for seemingly no reason; the fact he seemed terrified of his own subject; his turban was weird, as he had no connection to Arabian culture, and the garlic would seem to be there to hide something else, if her reasoning was right, perhaps a disfigurement?

Of course, all this led to the question of what was going on in this game of chess, and Jasmine felt it all revolved with what was behind this door.

With care, and clasping the hand of glory with its flickering candle carefully, she whispered an unlocking charm on the door with her ebony wand, smiling as it opened, it felt good to use the wand far better suited to her than the holly and phoenix feather one, that was Jasmine Potter's wand. For now, she was Irene Adler, glasses present on her face if not the rest of her normal vestments.

Slowly, she eased open the door, and froze at the sight within. Now that she hadn't expected, and she took a good long look at the giant three-headed dog beyond the door as it snuffled in its sleep, smelling her presence most likely as it quickly began to wake. She quickly closed and re-locked the door, before strolling away, musing over what she saw. The purpose now was obvious, the dog was guarding something, as it sat on a trapdoor. That something, was likely a thing Quirrel desired, and so the headmaster was luring him into a trap.

She was so distracted by her musing, that she almost missed the scraggly looking cat that mewled at her presence. Almost.

With a quickly muttered spell, the cat was frozen for a period of exactly ten seconds, and she had ten seconds to get away before Filch turned up. Plenty of time.

She dashed down a corridor, and bee-lined into a random, abandoned old classroom, closing the door quietly behind herself. She waited for a long moment, pressed to the door and listening for the tell-tale signs of the caretaker to move away.

When they did, she let out a breath she didn't even realise she had been holding. As the tension left her body, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and slowly turned-feeling like the person about to die in a horror film-to regard the room she found herself in.

All the desks and chairs were stacked up against the walls, and covered in age old dust and cobwebs. But standing in the centre of the room, was a large mirror, lined and edged in gold filigree. Cautiously, Jasmine walked over to it, gazing over it.

As she stepped into its field of reflection, she froze, staring at the image contained.

A woman stood, front and centre, her features achingly familiar from the playfully manic, emerald green eyes sparkling, to the clothing almost exactly the same as her Irene Adler disguise. The differences were that they were tooled for a fairly pronounced bust, taller stature with a longer coat and slightly shorter skirt to show off lissom, black clad legs ending in tall high heels.

But it was the face, that mad, malice-filled expression and the superior smirk as black lips played with the tip of a pair of green aviators held in her hand as jet-black hair tumbled down across her shoulders and down her back.

This was, most obviously her, as Irene Adler, all grown up. Jasmine's eyes scanned quickly up and down the mirror, reading the inscription; 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

"I show not your face but your heart's desire…" Jasmine muttered, deciphering the words that were simply spelled backwards…as if viewed in a mirror. "Interesting I suppose," she added, gazing across her grown up twin's voluptuous form, "I guess even I am marred by the desires of vanity, but damn I look good."

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Discerning the nature of the three headed dog proved to be a relatively easy task. Research detailed the dog as a hell-hound, a real creature summoned from the otherwhere and having made its way into muggle mythology as Cerberus. Talking to Hagrid made the oaf slip out the name of Nicholas Flamel, and a bit of quick research in the library allowed her to deduce that the item being guarded was the Philosopher's Stone, an item of some alchemical power that could transfigure base metals into gold and produce the elixir of life.

Of course, there was something else which distracted her through all this.

When first she went to find books on exotic creatures, many were already booked out. To one Hermione Granger. And later, the girl had eyed her across the great hall, a knowing look in those blue eyes.

And of course, later on, when she had taken out a book detailing the work of Nicholas Flamel, she received a notice that she was to return it in a given period as a reservation had been applied to it. She didn't need to guess as to who reserved the tome.

Her duelling with Granger even continued into lessons, where it had become almost a game to compete on grades and points won for houses. Jasmine had originally thought that perhaps she should fade into the background, be unremarkable so as to avoid drawing any attention. But this girl just seemed to ruffle her… and besides, she was already famous as the 'Girl-Who-Lived' and all that nonsense, she may as well be respected for achievements she actually made herself.

And so they played a game, and when tests were handed back, or lists published, two names always stood out. One from Ravenclaw, the other a Gryffindor.

And so, Jasmine wasn't surprised when sitting on a windowsill in a high, out of the way tower, reading a book detailing information on who her possible new employees were for her two separate businesses-charmed of course to appear as a second year potions textbook-when Hermione Granger strolled up and leaned against the wall beside the nook, only surprisingly without her friend Nadia.

"So," Granger began, "why do you think Quirrel wants the Philosopher's Stone?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jasmine replied innocently, not even looking up from the list of potential brothel madams.

"Oh, come now. We both know we can't lie to each other," Granger replied, and Jasmine let out a slight smile.

"Perhaps you can't. True skill lies in weaving individual threads into a tapestry so complex and containing snippets of truth so as to be indistinguishable from the truth," she replied off-handedly, "sadly, our dear professor lacks that ability. Or, more accurately…"

"His possessor," Hermione finished.

"Mm, care to share how you came to that conclusion? Out of professional curiosity of course," Granger gave a bark of laughter at the statement.

"Not able to do it yourself?" she said with a slightly mocking tone.

"I merely wish to hear your trail of reasoning," she replied innocuously, casually turning the page in her book to view the current building costs for Madame Rosa's.

"The eyes, the mannerisms, the occasional bouts of hosting a conversation with himself in private-referring to the other person as his master-, the zoning out, his pale complexion and sweating. The turban is hiding some sort of visible sign of the possession, and he uses garlic to mask the smell of something-most likely his own decaying flesh as it breaks down from the magic whatever spectre is clinging to him is using to stay attached," she eventually replied, "Dumbledore seems to be aware that someone is after the stone, and has laid a trap for them, but only Snape seems to know that its Quirrel who's after it, and has confronted him a few times already-he got injured by the dog on Halloween trying to protect it. I don't think either realise about the possession, and that Snape thinks Quirrel will lead him to an employer or some such." Jasmine nodded a few times, taking in the information, and the assumptions made-she hadn't given much detail of her findings, just a summary, which wasn't quite what she had wanted but would do.

"Not bad, you're even close. However Dumbledore and Snape are aware of who is after the stone, just not that he is currently clinging to Quirrel like a limpet to a rock. He is not a spectre, and he is not unintelligent though, his connection is just decaying, as," Jasmine finally turned to look at the other girl, "Quirrel is dying, his host body cannot sustain the parasite leeching off him, hence, why he has been pursuing Unicorn blood in the forest-you should really pay more attention to your housemates, Ronald and Malfoy's detention in the Forbidden Forest nearly brought them into contact with him. It's just a hold-over measure though. Quirrel isn't the one who wants the stone; the person clinging to him does, so as to gain a new body of his own."

"A new one? As if he had one before…" Hermione mused, "you're suggesting the leech is a ghost of some sort, aren't you?"

"Depends on your definition of the term, but he's someone who 'died,' yes," she replied, "in-fact I'm rather surprised you can't figure out the last few details, it's rather easy to surmise. Go on, impress me." Jasmine looked directly into Granger's eyes, practically able to see the gears grinding behind those sharp, sapphire orbs. "I'm sure you'll figure it out in time, darling," Jasmine said as she stood up from her seat, brushing a hand surreptitiously against the stone. "Until then, ciao."

As she stalked off, she was mentally putting her plan into place as well. If she was going to enact it, it needed to be now. It wouldn't take long for Granger to work out the one person Dumbledore would risk so much to capture. Especially with the little clue she'd left on the sill. A single card from her deck.

Death.

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Honestly, Jasmine was slightly disappointed as she walked into the final chamber.

'Fluffy' had been simple of course, this she had already known, just a bit of music put him to sleep and she was able to move down to the next room. The Devil's Snare was a joke; it was only mildly dangerous, and with the ridiculous number of Herbology classes given in Hogwarts' curriculum, she knew perfectly well that a simple 'lumos' from the ebony wand clasped in her hand would be enough to make the plant shrivel away from her, and let her past. And despite her lack of interest in the sport, she was a natural on a broomstick-most likely due to her father's genes-and getting the winged key was a breeze, with a shield spell deflecting the rest. The giant chess set was laughably easy, the opponent acting as an unworthy adversary and being forced into check within two dozen moves. The troll, of course, was nothing, and a dark cutting charm she had learnt in one of the books Borgin had supplied was enough to pierce its thick hide. And finally, Snape's logic puzzle, which she supposed almost made sense, since most magicals completely lacked common sense, but was still all too elementary for her formidable mind.

And so now, she strode into what looked like a disused auditorium or lecture hall, at the base of which rested a familiar mirror.

Slowly, Jasmine descended the steps; wary of what she knew now, after a little research, was the Mirror of Erised-a powerful magical artefact. As she reached a point roughly two metres from the mirror, it changed from her reflection into a different scene. Jasmine blinked at the image, hooking a finger over her green aviators to look at it with her own eyes, not believing what she saw.

"That's new," she muttered, regarding the image with incredulity and interest.

Her body was much the same as before-beautiful, dressed in her typical black clothing, mischievous and mad glint in her emerald eyes-but this time, the aviators-identical to the ones she wore now in reality-were rested halfway down her counterpart's nose, rather than the tip being between her dark lips.

No, instead, those lips were busy tangling in a battle with those of one grown-up Hermione Granger. The grown woman was dressed in a dark grey great-coat, open and flapping to reveal the navy scarf around her neck, overlaying a simple white shirt and casual black jacket. A matching blue skirt, black tights, and casual black boots completed the outfit, along with a complete lack of make-up or jewellery, and long curly hair tumbling down her back. She wasn't exactly a model, but definitely pretty, and with a surprisingly athletic body shape that Jasmine found herself appreciating.

Almost in time with the girl catching herself admiring the fake image's rear, and stopping herself, the mirror image of a grown up Jasmine pulled away from her lover, winked at the real her while pulling an uncut red gem from her pocket, before placing it back and returning to snogging the hell out of a reciprocating Hermione.

Jasmine barely noticed the sudden gain of weight in her pocket, so entranced was she by the image, primarily by the way their mouths battled constantly-black against natural red-for dominance, fighting a little war every second as hands roved over each other's bodies.

Was this really her heart's desire?

That left a lot of awkward things to think about. Not least what the hell was wrong with her to be thinking of this at eleven, after all she did know her brain was well overdeveloped and mature for her age, but not this mature.

But she couldn't remain forever-and she did remember the warning of the books she had read, of those too entranced by what was fictitious and not real. Saying it to herself didn't stop the image behind her eyelids. Haunting her. Taunting her.

With deliberate care, she took the small, wooden box from her pocket that had once held her watch, and placed it down on the floor in front of the mirror, facing so that the person approaching would see the engraved 'M.'

It was enchanted, and filled with tarot cards of her own design, having said same 'M' seal on the rear side. When the box was opened, dozens upon dozens of copies of The Fool would explode into the air and rain down upon the person who opened it, and inside, would rest a single card unmoved, facing up. The Magician. After all, she had to leave a calling card, and it kept with her 'M' theme.

A/N: So yeah, since Jasmine is both Moriarty and Irene Adler, we end up with this pairing. This chapter also takes bits from Missy in recent Doctor Who (which I'm warming up to again in Capaldi's second series, didn't like the first that much, but the new one is good so far.) Anyway, I may put in the "Traps are my flirting" line at some point. Oh, and the tarot cards, when used they're mostly going to be a device of her insulting or using people, or leaving a little calling card. I just thought it would be a nice, distinctive personal touch, that and I had the opening shuffling scene from 'Now You See Me' on the mind (great film by the way), and I felt it worked since Jasmine is, essentially, an illusionist in this story, managing three distinct characters and creating the illusion that they all exist as separate people.