Author's Note: Ulterior Motive? What possible ulterior motive could I have for writing this?

Jack Rowan hummed a tune as she left the medical wing. All things considered, not to bad. Well except for the fact that Pomfrey had refused to flatten her chest completely, claiming Jack might want them later. At least they were more properly sized now and with a proper bra on, didn't even move around. Marvelous thing, a proper bra. She didn't know why she hadn't started wearing one sooner.

Ah yes, didn't need one. Well there was a niggling detail you just couldn't get around. Damn. She thought for a moment about forcing Crabbe or Goyle into one and then dismissed it with a shake of her head. Those were crazy thoughts and that just wasn't proper. Unbecoming a witch, crazy thoughts.

She turned the corner and started up the steps to the Owlery.

"The Slytherin Dorm is in the other direction, Miss Rowan," Snape said from behind her.

"I need to go to the Owlery, Sir," Jack said. "Won't take but a minute." Before Snape could reply, Jack dashed up the stairs and out of sight.

Oh yes, Marvelous thing, a proper bra.

In the Owlery, Jack waved for Draco's Eagle owl to come down. The bird stared at her for a moment then spread its wings and glided down.

Jack gave the letter one last look.

To Gringotts Accounting Office:

Remove the sum of five thousand Gold Galleons from the family vault and use it to open an account under the name of Jack Rowan who is to be awarded sole dominion and responsibility for its use. Key to be delivered to her at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

-Narcissa Malfoy.

Forging Narcissa's handwriting hadn't been easy, especially with Pomfrey hanging around, but it had been done. Now even if Narcissa went nuts and had Gringotts cut off Draco's access to the family vault, Jack had no money worries. Besides, with all the money that flowed in and out of the vault daily five thousand should disappear into the flow very easily in just a day or two. Which was about how long it should take for Narcissa to recover from the shock Jack had given her. She tied the note to the owl's leg. "Gringotts," she said simply and the owl glided out of the room.

Right. Back down then. Smart steps now, different hips and all. Marvelous thing, a proper bra. Whee!

Snape was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. "I trust, Miss Rowan, that you have no more side trips planned?"

"Nope. That was the last one." It was the only one, actually.

Dutifully, she followed Snape through the corridors --did he ever actually wash his hair?-- down the steps and into the Slytherin common room, which, at this time of day, was deserted.

"Your things have been moved the seventh year girls dormitory," Snape said. "I'm sure you can find it. You will be expected to join your house at dinner." With that, Snape left the room.

Well, Jack, here you are. What shall I do first? Read? Nap? Plot world conquest? Do laundry? Play Solitaire? Oooh, decisions, decisions, sweet meats, decisions.

Sweet meats? Yum! Jack went to raid Draco's locker.

A few hours later, she heard the painting open and the sound of Slytherins returning. She dropped into a chair and crossed her legs. Sitting just so, allowing the the light from the torches to capture her face just so, you sexy beast.

"Draco?" Pansy Parkinson pushed her way to the front of the crowd and hurried towards her. "Are you all right? Madam Pomfrey changed you back, right?"

Jack stared up at her. Draco was in love with this? You had deplorable taste, OId Sod, you really did. Fortunately, you're dead. But I'm not. Damn. I have to deal with this. You owe me big time, you bastard.

"Draco's dead," Jack said and stood up fast enough that Parkinson flinched backwards. Which was nice, the flinching that was. More people should flinch backwards from Jack Rowan, yessiree Merlin. In fact, let's take care of that right now. Just wait for the moment. Wait for it . . .

Pansy stared, goggle eyed, then laughed nervously. "But you're standing right there, Draco."

Wait for it . . .

"He died. Dead. Six feet under. My name's Jack Rowan."

Wait for it . . .

Another nervous laugh. Merlin's teeth, how did you resist the urge to strangle her, Draco? Draco? You paying attention? Oh, right . . . you're dead. Bloody inconvenient, that.

Wait for it . . .

"Come on, Draco, stop being silly," Pansy said, and reached out to take Draco's arm.

NOW!

With the same speed that she'd used on the tower, Jack grabbed Parkinson's arm, spun her around, and twisted it up behind her back. She then wrapped her free arm around Parkinson's throat and pulled her head back.

"My name," Jack said, slowly and carefully, "is Jack Rowan. I'm here to replace Draco Malfoy, who's dead and if anyone says that they miss him, they're a liar." She jerked Parkinson's head further back and met the other girl's eyes, which widened in sheer terror. "I have a message for the students of Hogwarts, Pansy," she purred.

"M-message?"

"Yeah, the message is this; 'God's come to Hogwarts, her name's Jack Rowan, and she's pissed." She shoved Parkinson away. "Start spreading the word." She jabbed a finger at Crabbe and Goyle. You two. Here." They came shuffling over, their eyes empty of thought. Good Me, Draco, you up and die and leave me with these for minions? No wonder Potter kept kicking your arse all over the bloody castle.

She grabbed Crabbe's necktie, he being the smarter of the two, and pulled him down so that she could whisper in his ear. "I have a message for the Dark Lord, one you're going to send him. Tell him what happened to Malfoy. Tell him whose replaced him . . . she twisted her grip on Crabbe's tie and he began to choke. "And if he still considers me a Death Eater . . . I quit." She released Crabbe and shoved him away. Crabbe stared at her a moment and then shuffled off, Goyle in his wake.

Easy as you please, Jack wandered over to the bookcase, selected one at random and then sat down in a chair to read.


Hermione Granger, current Head Girl of Hogwarts, wasn't one for gossip. It was, in her opinion, silly and foolish.

But when the gossip was that Draco Malfoy was dead, she went straight to her two closest friends and found them already in the dining hall.

As usual, Ron Weasley was staring at his dish as though he could will dinner to appear by sheer force of will. Harry Potter was staring off into space, preoccupied with something, but he acknowledged her arrival with a nod.

"Hullo, Hermione," Ron said, not taking his eyes from his plate.

"Draco's dead. Its all over the school," Hermione said as she sat down.

"Dead? Malfoy?" Harry asked, green eyes narrowing. "How?"

"Probably the Chaos Potion," Ron said. "Git must have sipped it or something." The two boys exchanged glances. "This is gonna be the best year ever, huh, Harry?" Harry nodded and then smiled at Ginny Weasley, who had just sat down on Ron's other side.

"Honestly," Hermione sighed. "Malfoy's dead, Ron. Perhaps a little compassion might be in order?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply when he felt Harry stiffen beside him. A split second later, Ginny did the same. Ron looked at each of them, and then where they were looking.

A girl stood in the doorway. She was short and skinny with pale skin and dark hair that had been slicked back. She wore a boy's school uniform in the Slytherin colors and a secretive smile. Her hands were clasped behind her and she was gazing at the Great Hall as though she owned it. Then, almost casually, she turned on her heel and calmly strolled towards the Slytherin Table.

"That's Rowan!" Ron looked over as Lavender Brown and Pavarati Patil sat down next to Hermione.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Jack Rowan," Pavarati said. "I heard she killed Draco to take his place."

"She thinks she's God," Lavender said.

"She strangled Pansy Parkinson and then raised her corpse," Pavarati said, nodding.

"She told off Voldemort," Lavender put in.

"She's Voldemort's Daughter," Harry said flatly.

Everyone turned to look at him. The Boy Who Lived was sitting ramrod straight, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

"What?" Hermione asked softly.

"Rowan. She's Voldemort's Daughter."

"Harry?" Ron asked softly. "Are you sure?"

"It's the hair."

"The hair?" Lavender repeated. "Harry, we've all seen the Prophet Photos when he lead the Death Eater attack on Saint Mungos. He has no hair."

"No . . ." Harry closed his eyes and struggled to find the words without giving away what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. If anyone knew that Voldemort's younger self had been controlling Ginny's mind, she'd never hear the end of it. "I just . . . know."

"Odd," Hermione said. The bushy-haired girl was twisted around in her seat, staring across the room at Rowan.

"What's odd?" Ginny asked.

"The Slytherins," Hermione said in a thoughtful voice. "None of them are sitting near her. It's like they're . . . afraid." She pursed her lips in thought. "No, terrified. They're terrified of her."

The sound of a fork striking glass drew their attention and they all looked towards the High Table as Dumbledore stood up.

"Before we begin," Dumbledore said. "I have some things to say. First off, Draco Malfoy is dead, an accident in Potions. As such, Potions is hereby suspended until completion of a Ministry investigation." A few quiet cheers went up from the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. "Those of you who were in the class with him at the time should expect questioning from Ministry officials." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Draco was a credit to his house, exemplifying many of the qualities that define a Slytherin. He was cunning, ambitious, and quick to seize the opportunities presented to him." He reached down and lifted his glass. "To Draco Malfoy."

"To Draco Malfoy," the Hall murmured. For the first time, Ron noticed the banners on the wall were black.

"Secondly," Dumbledore continued. "As morbid as it is, a New Head Boy is needed. I am pleased to announce that the new Head Boy is Mister Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor."

"Me?" Ron asked as the Gryffindor table exploded in cheers. The red-haired boy looked physically ill. "Head Boy?"

"Congratulations, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said. "And lastly, I would liked to welcome Jack Rowan to Hogwarts and to Slytherin House. I'm sure she will prove to be a credit to Slytherin House."

"Actually," Jack called out. "I plan to be two credits!"

"And we all look forward to it," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "And now, let us feast."


McGonagall came up to them as they left the Great Hall. "Congratulations, Mister Weasley," she said, handing him the Head Boy Badge.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Ron said quietly as he took the badge.

"You know," McGonagall said thoughtfully, "the last time the Head Boy and Girl were both Gryffindors, it was Mister Potter's parents. Harry's father was even the Quidditch Captain." She smiled down at him. "Don't let us down, Mister Weasley." With that, she turned and walked away.

"Me, Head Boy . . ." Ron moaned as Hermione took the badge from his hand and pinned it to his robe. "And Quidditch Captain."

"You sound upset," Ginny noted lightly.

"I am, Ginny," Ron said. "Do you know what Fred and George will do when they hear about this? I'll never hear the end of it."

"All things come to an end, Ronald," said a new voice from behind them. They turned to see Rowan standing in the shadow of the Great Hall doors, the upper half of her face in shadow. Harry could feel her eyes though. They bored out from the blackness, measuring, assessing . . . hungry.

"It's Ron," Ron snapped. "And what do you want?"

"Only to offer my congratulations," Rowan replied in an even tone. "And to say that I look forward to meeting you on the Quidditch field this Saturday, one Captain to another."

"You're the Slytherin Captain?" Hermione repeated. "How? You just got here."

"Oh I'm not Captain right now," Rowan replied. "Not even on the team." She paused and her mouth stretched in a smile that made Harry shiver. "Yet." With that, she turned and walked away.

Ron turned and looked looked at his friends and his sister. After a moment, Hermione reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry, Ron. She's just trying to mess with you. There's no way she'll be Captain."


Saturday . . .

Maurice Mangon, Slytherin Chaser, wasn't the brightest of wizards. He was big, mean, and had just enough brains to realize that attaching himself to Draco Malfoy's coat tails would take him far in life.

He also made an interesting noise when Jack rammed her knee into his crotch. The noise his head made as it hit the floor when he folded up and dropped was simply delightful. But the looks on the faces of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, that was . . . mmm, so tasty.

"Mister Mangon seems to have hearing problems," Jack said lightly. "Still, I think that's been corrected." She looked around the locker room. "Just to be sure. Anyone else having trouble hearing me when I said that I'm Seeker and Captain?" There was a chorus of shaken heads. "Good," Jack said and walked over to the board where a diagram of the Quidditch field had been drawn. "Here's what we'll do," she said as she turned back to the team and began to explain. "Any questions?" she asked when she was done. The Keeper raised his hand. "Yes?"

"With respect, Captain," he said. "You're gambling an awful lot. One mess up and we'll be out of the tournament completely."

"True," Jack said lightly and then smiled. "But think of the fun." A bell went off. "It's time. Remember your instructions. More importantly, remember that Potter is mine."


High above the Pitch, Harry couldn't believe how well the game was going. Gryffindor had close to a hundred points to their credit and Slytherin hadn't even scored once. Even Ron, who had moaned nervously when Rowan had been announced as Seeker and Slytherin Captain, was playing very well. Not that he had much to do, Gryffindor kept taking the Qauffle long before it ever got near him and the Slytherin Keeper was only half-heartedly trying to guard the hoops. Early in the game, Rowan had zoomed off around the stands, but had reappeared moments later, looking vaguely annoyed, which told Harry that she had lost it.

Harry shrugged and returned to looking for the Snitch, only to nearly fall off his broom as Rowan's head dropped into his field of vision.

"Lovely day for a game, isn't it?" she said cheerfully. "Thunderstorm brewing, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling . . . Gryffindor whupping our arse . . ."

Looking up, Harry saw that she had hooked her legs around her broomstick and hanging from them like a kid on the monkey bars. Down below, Gryffindor scored again, putting them at a hundred and ten to zero. Looking back, he saw that Jack had pushed her goggles up and his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

She was Voldemort's child, no mistake. Harry was one of the few people who knew that Tom Riddle and Voldemort were the same person, and Tom Riddle was clearly evident in Rowan's hair and eyes. Worse still, those eyes . . . Harry swallowed. Then she smiled and Harry was practically seated on the bristles of his broomstick before he realized it in effort to get away.

Below, Gryffindor scored three more times, bringing them up to a hundred and forty and Slytherin went on the defense. They formed up on their goal and ruthlessly refused to let the Gryffindor team anywhere near it. He heard Ron howl in rage at something, but didn't dare take his eyes off Rowan.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded.

"Not much." She pulled herself upright and then dropped, landing lightly on the head. Above, her broomstick hovered a second longer, and then dropped into her hand. She smiled at Harry and crouched, the wind blowing her Quidditch robes out to one side. She looked down at herself and pressed a finger to her chest and made it shake, the rest of her fingers curled around something. "Marvelous thing, a proper bra, Potter."

"I wouldn't know," Harry said.

She laughed the same way Harry recalled his Aunt Petunia laughing when his cousin Dudley had done something "precious" as a kid, and while her laugh was much more pleasant then Aunt Petunia's, Harry was still taken back when she reached out and tapped his nose with a finger. "I can see why Draco hated you, Potter."

"Is that why you killed him?" Harry asked.

She cocked her head and studied him for a moment, making Harry feel like a the snake he had released a lifetime ago, before he'd ever learned the truth about his parents, and himself. He knew now how it felt. Imprisoned by an invisible barrier while strange creatures stared at him. "I haven't killed anyone, Potter." Implied in her tone was "yet" and Harry fought down the fear in his chest. He had to stay calm. He was aware that the game had come to a complete halt as everyone stared at them. Rowan smiled again and then reached down and tugged the broomstick handle up, and the Firebolt began a lazy spiral into the sky, carrying them closer to the storm building high overhead.

"You're Voldemort's daughter, aren't you?" Harry said.

"She considered this. "If you mean the Dark Lord diddled me mum seventeen years ago and I was the result, yes. I carry his blood in my veins . . . and he's going to be as upset about that as I am about it."

Going to be. Harry filed that away to tell Hermione in the hopes she could make sense of it. "You never told me what you wanted," he said out loud.

"What's the point of school, Potter?" She countered. "Why are we here?"

"To learn magic," Harry replied and then had to grab the stick to keep from falling as a bolt of lightning set the tail of Rowan's broom aflame. Rowan didn't even jump, but instead regarded the flames with a dispassionate interest until they were blown out by the wind.

Harry risked a glance upwards. The dark and angry clouds were drawing closer.

"And how do we learn them?" Rowan asked, not once removing her eyes from the charred bristles of her broomstick. "Through lessons. Lessons, Potter." She looked back at him and then held out her hand, palm up, and opened her fingers. Cupped in her palm was the Golden Snitch, which fluttered its wings. "Congratulations on a game well played," she said as she stood up and tugged her goggles back down over her eyes.

Rain had begun to fall and with a smile, she fell backwards off the broom. Stunned, Harry could only watch as she plunged downwards until she drew even with the stands. At that point, she pulled her broom stick under her and standing on it, hands clasped behind her back, rode right to where Professor Dumbledore was sitting and offered him the Snitch, which he accepted with a nod. Rowan then glided over to Ron, shook his hand, and sped off towards the changing rooms.

Feeling sick, Harry pushed the stick downwards and made his way towards the ground.

"She shook my hand," Ron said in a sick voice as he and Harry made their way to the locker room. "Called me a worthy opponent."

"That was deliberate," Harry said through clenched teeth as they entered the changing rooms and racked their brooms before pulling off their wet robes.

"Deliberate?" Ron echoed. "What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry sighed as they finished changing and left the room, Ginny joining them as they walked out to where Hermione was waiting with umbrellas. "She deliberately let us get up to a hundred and forty, just so she could snatch a victory out from under our nose."

"It was just luck," Ron said. "Luck."

"Not even Slytherin plays that badly on their worst day," Harry replied. "No one plays that badly. She was baiting us." The icy rain made it even colder and their breath steamed as they walked. "And we took it."

"But when did she catch the Snitch?" Ginny wondered.

"Probably when she took off around the stands," Hermione said. "She must have caught it and pretended otherwise." She paused and continued in admiring tone. "Marvelous planning, really. She hinged everything on that. If Madam Hooch had known that she'd caught the Snitch before Gryffindor reached a hundred and forty, the game would have been over and she wouldn't have been able to trump us like that. It was as much a psychological victory as it was a Qudditch match."

They drew in sight of the Hogwart's main doors and entered. "Here," Harry said, spying an empty classroom and pulled his friends inside. There, he told them what Rowan had said to him during the game.

"It almost sounds like she's planning to take on Vold-" She sighed as Ron hissed. "Planning to take on You-Know-Who. She's either very confident, or bonkers."

Harry sat down on a desk. "I think its worse than that," he said.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"You know how people say eyes are windows to the soul?" Ron, Hermione, and Ginny nodded. "Up there, I looked her in the eyes . . . and saw nothing." Harry's voice dropped to a despair laden whisper. "There's nothing there."