Author's Notes: Huge thanks again to all my readers and reviewers: blueforest, Kiki, All-American Vampire, lovinlovegood1, Wren, Larken27, and The Enchanted Teakettle. Oh and to Larken27, that is so cool about your similarities with Damaris – weird but cool! Now for the next chapter. sigh When it comes to Tom Riddle, nothing is ever easy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

Chapter 15

Stasis

Later that week, the Hogwarts Express was ready to steam its way out of Kings Cross and Honora proudly walked along Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as though she owned it. She had to admit she loved the feeling of power and importance the glittering Head Girl badge gave her; all the other students looked at her with awe and respect. It made her hold her head high and wave to everyone, as though she were the Queen of Hogwarts. She peered up over the crowd, and with a slight tingle of distaste, found Tom Riddle amongst a group of his Slytherin associates (Death Eaters, the voice in her head could not help reminding her).

Once again gathering her three months of built-up courage, Honora strode up toward him, keeping her face friendly and open. 'Oh, Tom!' she waved.

She swore Riddle heard her, but he did not offer any indication of acknowledgment. In fact, he turned his back slightly to her.

Honora could not believe how rude he was acting. 'Tom!' she said, more loudly, and pushed her way through the dark, intimidating crowd of Slytherins, standing her ground.

Tom finally met her glance with a curt nod of the head. 'Yes?' he said.

Honora tilted her head and smiled at him, masking her inner aggravation. 'Shall we gather the prefects in their carriage for the meeting?'

Tom lifted his head to gaze over the crowd, stern and unreachable. 'I'll take care of it,' he said shortly. 'Excuse me.' He ducked away, walking fast through the crowd, leaving Honora with no opportunity to protest.

Honora looked after him in hurt puzzlement, unsure where his previous familiarity had gone. He had been so nice during their ice cream date on Diagon Alley, and now he was essentially ignoring her. And here she thought she had made some progress with him. She shook her head. Tom Riddle was impossible to read; polite one minute, frosty the next. If only he could let his guard down just a little bit…but she knew he would never do that. She doubted any of Riddle's Slytherin friends even knew what kind of madness lurked underneath his façade.

Speaking of Slytherins, Honora realised she was standing smack in the middle of a crowd of them, their surly faces turned to her in distrust.

All eyes were on her, making her skin crawl. She looked purposefully away from Raoul Lestrange, who was staring at her in a way that made her certain he was having inappropriate thoughts. Then, Antonin Dolohov stepped forward, looking down his nose. 'Who do you think you are, speaking to Riddle so casually? You're not his friend. You're a nobody.'

'I'm Head Girl, actually,' Honora replied briskly. 'And don't forget it, Dolohov. You don't scare me.' She pushed her way out of the Slytherin pack, ready to go assert her authority somewhere else. Just as she had stepped out of the circle, a hand grabbed her elbow, and Honora turned, annoyed.

It was Olive Hornby, her lips smeared with red lipstick, nose upturned. 'You just stay away from Riddle,' she hissed quietly. 'He would never go for with the likes of you, anyway.'

Honora gaped at her. Did this girl genuinely think Honora was after Tom Riddle as a romantic interest? I wouldn't consider it in a million years, she thought. Going out with Lord Voldemort! As if I would! However, Honora decided to make Olive squirm. 'I'll do whatever I damn well please, Hornby. Now let go of my arm before I decide to start off your academic year with a detention.'

Olive released Honora with a sneer. Unfazed, Honora gave her an equal look of disdain and walked away.

She boarded the train just in time, and aside from introducing herself, she let Tom lead the prefects' meeting to discuss the various protocols. He still showed no informality towards her, but Honora shrugged it off as a behavioural anomaly. He'll come around, she told herself with optimism. I'll gain his trust.

Duties done, Honora returned to the compartment with her fellow Ravenclaws and caught up on everyone else's summer. Jamie Whitcomb, whose father was a Muggle, was talking rapidly with Kay about the war news.

Honora piped in on their conversation. 'I wonder if the Dark lord Grindelwald is sort of behind the Nazis,' she suggested. 'Or collaborating, or something.'

'Could be,' said Jamie. 'My dad works for the Army. They've heard stories about Hitler's men being obsessed with finding certain ancient relics.'

'Is there any evidence for that, though?' Kay asked. 'I mean, you don't think Grindelwald has just put Hitler under the Imperius Curse or something?'

'I think the Muggle Hitler is probably a foul enough character on his own,' said Honora. 'Of course, I don't know much about it…I just think it's a strange coincidence that a German Dark lord is fighting us, at the same time as everything else.'

'I heard Dumbledore is really going to go after Grindelwald,' contributed Ash. 'The Ministry of Magic has had teams of Aurors after him, but I think Dumbledore's the only one who could really do something about it.'

'But what about our Transfiguration classes?' Damaris asked, sounding alarmed.

Everyone laughed at her.

Almost first thing, upon returning to the castle, Honora waylaid the caretaker, Apollyon Pringle, and asked him if anyone had returned a gold locket. The grizzled old man just leered at her, and said, 'No, little girl. No lost trinkets found by me.' Honora had felt very uncomfortable with the way he stared at her (the second time that day that had happened; she wondered if she was wearing too much eye makeup), and she had hastened out of the caretaker's dungeon office, feeling frustrated.

It seemed she would have to write off her precious family locket as stolen, lost forever. It felt like a bad omen.

In any case, the welcoming feast that night was wonderful, and Ravenclaw cheered their new first-year members loyally. Honora was interested to see yet another transfer student from Europe; a third-year boy named Jean de Trois. He was sorted into Gryffindor. After the feast, Honora led the students up to the portrait of the Arabian wizard, and set the password as 'tipsy troll.'

Lawrence snorted at this and mentioned something about the Slytherin Beater and a bottle of firewhisky.

As Head Girl, Honora got her own private bedroom in Ravenclaw Tower. It was luxuriously appointed with a huge carved canopy bed in blue and bronze, a beautiful dark wood armoire with the Ravenclaw crest on it, and a pretty white marble bathroom with bronze fixtures. She was thrilled with the space, but missed the camaraderie of sharing a room with four other girls. Her bedroom seemed so lonely. She resolved to use her power as Head Girl to throw late night wine and cheese parties in her quarters; Damaris and Kay would surely be up for it.

In addition to her private rooms in Ravenclaw, Honora also shared a common room with the Head Boy. Their room was located on the second floor; Honora had been told that it was mainly used for meetings, study groups, or general Head Boy-Head Girl sociability. She had not yet seen it, but after she got the first-years to bed she decided to go have a look.

She met Willow McLeod and her other former room-mate Lucy Redding in the Ravenclaw common room. Willow waved at her, and got a crafty look on her face when Honora mentioned she was going down to the Head's common room.

'That Tom Riddle is looking awfully good this year, Honora,' Willow said. 'You know what I mean?'

'No, I don't know what you mean,' Honora replied, looking directly at Willow. 'I think he's horrible.' She could not help but smile a little as she said it.

'Right, right,' Willow laughed. 'I wish I was Head Girl. I would sneak up on him and give him a kiss!'

Lucy looked scandalised. 'Willow!' she giggled.

Honora rolled her eyes. 'Anyway, I'll see you later,' she said with a wave. She walked quickly down the stairs, to the second floor. The Head common room was guarded by a portrait of an unfriendly-looking witch in black robes with a large wart on her nose. She was flying around on her broomstick above a large, scummy pond. In the background, a man was hanging from a gallows, his feet swinging in the breeze. How fitting, thought Honora.

'Hello, I'm Head Girl,' Honora introduced herself.

'So?' the witch said tetchily.

'So, let me into my common room.'

The witch cackled and zoomed around. 'I'll get you, my pretty!'

'Oh, brother…' Honora was getting fed up with the witch's antics. 'What's your name, witch?'

'Why, oh why should I tell you?' the witch glared down her hooked nose at Honora.

'Try 'Matthew Hopkins burns in Hell,' suggested a male voice behind her. Honora turned to see Tom Riddle looming over her, a picture of the model student in neatly pressed uniform, Head Boy badge glinting on his shoulder.

'That's right, handsome boy,' the witch's demeanour changed immediately into a simpering sweetness. The portrait swung open.

'Thanks,' Honora said to Tom. He just shrugged. 'Oh, this is nice!' she said as they walked into the common room.

It was. A curved bay of tall gothic arched windows lifted toward the vaulted ceiling, and a large part of the left hand wall was taken up by a fireplace with a carved mahogany mantle. The floor was covered with a plush silk carpet, handcrafted by the famous wizard weavers of Persia, an intricate design of red, gold, green and blue. A long antique black velvet sofa stretched in front of the fireplace, flanked by four magnificent armchairs. Tapestries of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin crests hung on either side of the portrait hole. There was a study table with two chairs in the bay window, and a longer conference-type table stretched down the right hand wall. Two pretty silver chandeliers hung in mid-air, lit by tiny candles. It was an elegant and comfortable space.

'What's in here?' Honora asked, going over to a large cabinet and opening it. Inside were stacks of parchment, quills, texts, and a large black book which turned out to be a roster of every student at Hogwarts, their class schedules, their marks for every year, and all kinds of other juicy information. Honora's eyes lit up. 'Wow!' she said, riffling through it. 'I didn't know your friend Mulciber failed Charms twice!'

Tom glared at her. 'Can we just decide on the schedules already?'

Honora sighed. 'Fine.' He's sure in a bad mood, still, she thought.

'We need to go over all the prefects' schedules and make timetables for their patrols, and our own. Dippet also told me to tell you we have a meeting with him tomorrow evening at eight o'clock.' Tom spoke crisply and still acted without any indication of their friendly rapport from the summer. Honora wondered what she had done to make him turn so cold all of a sudden.

'All right…when do want to do the schedules?'

'Tomorrow, lunchtime, here.' Tom turned to go. 'I assume you find that satisfactory?'

'Yes,' said Honora. 'I'll bring some snacks.'

'Do whatever you want. Good night.' His robes whipped behind him as he walked quickly out the door.

'Sheesh,' said Honora to herself. 'Wonder what's got into him.' Perhaps he had not had a good day; in any case it was too late at night to dwell on it, and Honora contented herself by going back to her beautiful bedroom and unpacking her things. She set her hairbrush and perfume bottles out on her vanity table, and draped her pearl necklace across the mirror to give it a nice feminine look. Finally, she hung her clothes in the large wardrobe and carefully stacked her favourite books on her nightstand.

'All done!' Honora said, to no one in particular. She climbed into bed, thinking how strange it was to be all alone.

The next day, the Ravenclaws were chirping excitedly about a new year of learning. Honora had done all the summer reading, and was looking forward to her most advanced classes yet. On that first day, Slughorn detained Honora and a few others after Potions to let them know about a Friday night dinner in October he was having, with a special guest appearance by Connor Coppertone, the American Undersecretary of Magic.

As arranged, Honora went to the Head common room at lunch, carrying a plate of sandwiches and grapes. Just because Tom wanted to spend his lunch hour working did not mean she should starve.

'What are you now, a house-elf?' Tom said rudely from the table, sneering at Honora as she walked in with the plate of sandwiches.

Honora rolled her eyes. 'No,' she said. 'In case you hadn't noticed, it's the lunch hour, and I'm hungry.'

Tom turned back to the papers spread out in front of him. 'Here,' he said with a bored sigh, 'take out a quill and start writing down the names of the patrols on this chart.'

Honora just looked at him resentfully. 'Fine,' she finally said, taking the papers.

As Tom read out pairs of names, Honora transcribed them down for various night-time patrols. As Head Boy and Head Girl, she and Tom would patrol the corridors every once in awhile, as well. Honora couldn't wait for that jolly time. She munched on a sandwich, and then some grapes, knowing it was irritating him.

Once they were finished with the charts, Honora made three more copies with a swish of her wand and took two to post up in the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common room boards.

'That's all for now,' Tom said in a dismissive manner. 'Remember, Dippet's office tonight.'

'You're not my diary, Tom,' Honora snapped, forgetting momentarily about the obvious Horcrux connection.

He looked up sharply. 'What?'

'I mean, I don't need you to tell me my schedule.'

'Oh. Well, good. One less thing for me to have to say to you,' Tom retorted, his gaze cold and unsympathetic.

Honora made an indignant noise. Why was he being so nasty? She shook her head and stood up from the table, standing with the prefect schedules in her hand. When it became clear that Tom was not going to say anything else to her, she turned on her heel and left the room, feeling disturbed, confused, and very much unwanted as a friend.

A/N: Cookies to whoeverknowswho Matthew Hopkins was!