Lucy was not a stranger to dreams.

At the orphanage, she despised them. Found them a waste of time. Dreams didn't get her anywhere— they didn't make the imagined family in her mind any more real. And so, she despised going to sleep. When she slept, she'd dream.

Then came her first year at Hogwarts. Her dreams changed form. Instead of gray buildings and humble families, she dreamed of dragons. Huge, burly beasts with fangs and claws and everything nice. She dreamed of Quirrell and what might happen if he found her secret.

After his death, she dreamed of Voldemort.

It didn't make any sense to her. She'd seen him face-to-face once. He was just some creep hellbent on killing her best friend.

She read about him and found out the horrible things he'd done. Killing hundreds of innocent muggles, and for what? The betterment of the wizarding world? Quirrell was a puppet of Lord Voldemort, and Lucy knew most of what he said were mere echoes of the things his master told him. For the greater good. Hah! Voldemort wanted power. He craved it, and he was willing to do anything to get it. He would use anyone, even a nervous professor like Quirrell.

He was a monster, inside and out.

And yet, Lucy dreamed of him.

The most frustrating part was that... he was never evil in her dreams. While in her nightmares Quirrell burst into flames in the middle of the crowded King's Cross platform, Voldemort was merely a passing face in the background, always watching but never acting.

It was infuriating.

When she met Tom, the nightmares stopped for a while. There was nothing but blackness, occasionally a flicker of green. She liked it.

But then, slowly, the nightmares began trickling back... and they were worse than ever. Nearly every one was the same.

A book sat in the center of a dimly lit room. She sat in front of it, trembling, knowing what was about to happen. And then the book would bleed; thick, black sludge would pour out of it, slowly filling up the room. Each second passed agonizingly slow. Around her, a high, distorted laugh rang through the small room and it would be the last thing she heard until the black sludge filled her lungs. Right as she was about to drown, she'd wake up the next morning, bone-tired.

There were a few exceptions to her dreams.

These were not any less horrifying.

In these scarce instances, they were different. There was the blackness of the sludge, and then flashes.

An explosion of feathers. Red hand-prints wiped on a white blouse. A low, hissing voice as soothing as the whispers of the wind. It wasn't the images that frightened Lucy, but rather the feeling that came with them.

The only way she could describe it was that she was ready to kill.

It was a terrifying sensation, to wake up feeling as though you had slaughtered a person in cold blood. And what's worse is that whenever she tried to think about it, think back on the previous night, her mind would come to a complete stop. She couldn't think about it. And so she would think about how she couldn't think about it.

Lucy dreaded going to sleep. She was at a complete loss of what to do. She couldn't not go to sleep. One way or another, she'd sleep every night without remembering falling asleep. Whether she was in the common room or her desk, she ended up at her bed.

Last night, she'd gone as far as to sit crisscrossed on the floor with a mug of coffee in front of her. It didn't work. After Tom nagged at her for ages to stop being weird, her recollection faded, and she woke up in her bed, reeling back from her most recent nightmare. This time, Harry has been the one to fall from the staircases and he burst into flames as he landed. Then, the black sludge filled the castle.

She stared at the ceiling with her eyes narrowed. Finally, she declared, "This sucks!"

"It's morning and you're already having a bad day?" Tom asked dryly. She looked over to see him sitting in her desk chair, staring at her. She blinked. How long had he been there?

"No. I mean, yes. I mean— Ugh!" Lucy sat up and put her hands over her eyes. She rubbed at them in hopes that she might rid herself of her dreams. "You're lucky you can't sleep, Tom Riddle."

"And why is that?" He clearly didn't think being less than human was something to celebrate.

"It's a waste of time! I could have punched the Heir in their face by now if I had all twenty-four hours in the day."

On the topic of time, she checked the clock and internally groaned seeing it wasn't even seven o'clock yet. Who needed alarm clocks, when you had disturbing dreams? She gathered her things and headed into the bathroom to get ready for the day. She continued speaking, knowing Tom could hear her from the desk. "I wish I had mystical diary powers so that I never had to sleep!"

"And the decades of sense deprivation to go with it? I'm sure you'd be enthused," he said stiffly.

"Technicalities, darling," Lucy sniffed, suddenly taking on a posh accent. She took one look at her mess of tangles in the mirror and decided that it wasn't worth it, and she pulled it back into a ponytail. "But I suppose if I can't gain mystic diary powers, I'll have to find another method to solve this dilemma. Vampirism isn't looking so bad right now."

"You're already very annoying today. I think I'll keep my distance."

Lucy burst out of the bathroom, dressed in her school uniform. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him disapprovingly. "You are too negative sometimes, Riddle. What happened to you? What happened to the light in your eyes?"

He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet on the desk. A hint of a grin pulled at his lips. "I've never had any such thing."

"I saw you as a cute little boy," Lucy pointed out. Tom's smile faded instantly. "You looked pretty innocent to me! If a little demanding..."

"Well, how else was I supposed to get anything? You should know as well as I, Lucy, that good things never come to those who wait. You've got to take it for yourself." He wiped an invisible line of dust off the edge of the arm rest. It was more for the show of it than anything. He couldn't very well touch anything.

"One day, I'd like to have a discussion with you that doesn't end up in a lecture." She grinned triumphantly when his smug look disappeared. "Now! I'm off to become a vampire." She picked up her satchel and began throwing the necessities into it: the diary, obviously; loads of red muggle pens; a stolen potions knife; and most importantly, a blanket. Tom arched an eyebrow at her and so she explained. "In case the vampire gets tired," she said, like it was obvious.

"I'm fairly certain you're being ridiculous, but on the off chance that you're considering it, absolutely not. You shouldn't be leaving the dormitory this early anyway. Does the fact that someone is trying to kill you mean nothing to you?"

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be killed at six-thirty on a Tuesday," Lucy said sarcastically. "I'm in more danger when I'm in a group of people. The Quidditch match, the staircases... Not exactly subtle, is it?"

"Where are you going?" He got straight to the point.

"Uh, the Forbidden Forest? To find a vampire? So I won't have to sleep anymore? You're kind of slow on the uptake here, Tom."

He rolled his eyes at her dramatics. He didn't move an inch from his seat, but he instead gestured for her to sit down on the bed. She made a show of sighing, but sat down without an argument. She didn't really want to go outside on this cold morning. However, waiting around was just as unbearable.

"There's always a deeper meaning behind your inane ideas. Why are you suddenly against sleeping? You've never complained before." He'd learned that there was a method to Lucy's madness ages ago. Nothing she did was pointless, no matter how much she pretended it was.

"Because it's a waste of time," she repeated.

"Really?" he said casually. "I thought it had more to do with your nightmares every night, but that's just me."

It was as if he struck her. Her eyes widened, and a faint red blush covered her cheeks. He looked insufferably happy to see this for a split second before his features calmed once more. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, lamely. She had to admit it wasn't a very good excuse .

"I think you do," Tom replied. He took his feet off the desk and positioned himself so that he looked more attentive. Approachable. Paired with his wide-eyed, 'you can trust me' look, it was nearly impossible to resist. She hated him sometimes. "I wasn't going to bring it up before, but clearly, it's a problem."

"Everyone has nightmares sometimes," she said defensively.

"Not everyone has them to the point that they're a walking zombie most of the day."

Lucy rolled her eyes. Clearly, he wasn't going to let this go anytime soon. She could always tell when he had his mind set on getting something— he had a certain gleam in his eye. She would almost call it greedy, but of course Tom was too proper for such notions.

"You really want to know? Well it's quite simple, you see. Every night, black liquid pours out of a book and slowly drowns me until I wake up. If that's not fun, sometimes my old pal Quirrell shows up and bursts into flame. Old Voldy likes to pop in sometimes too. Altogether, it's loads of fun!"

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. Any other day it would have rubbed him the wrong way. She expected him to snap at her but surprisingly, his lips quirked upward.

"Voldemort, you say?" Tom leaned in. "Are you afraid of him?"

She burst out laughing in his face.

He frowned. That wasn't the answer he wanted. She tried to pull herself together after seeing how unamused he was, but she couldn't help it. No, she wasn't scared of Voldemort. That was simply irrational— he wasn't trying to kill her. She was afraid of the implications of his existence; his presence was paired with the death of someone she held dear to her, like Harry.

"Are you quite done?" He snapped.

"Y-yes, sorry," she said, forcing herself to keep a straight face. A few snickers still escaped. "To answer your question, no. He shows up in the background, but he doesn't really do anything."

"Surely you must feel somewhat cautious."

Ah, how to word this in a way that wouldn't make Tom want to kill her... "There's no reason for me to be afraid. He's out to kill Harry, I doubt he'd so much as glance in my direction."

"He kept you alive last year. He'd had to have seen potential in you— and you were only a first year."

"Yeah, well, Quirrell was mostly in control. I don't think Voldy was very aware," Lucy dismissed.

Tom tilted his head at her. "It seems to me, Lucy, that you are making excuses. Why do you bother with humility? You're a brilliant witch."

What. "I, uh," Lucy didn't even know what to say to that. What do you do when people are nice to you?! She thought frantically. Mallory didn't prepare her for this.

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "No excuses. You are leagues above your peers. Do you realize how difficult nonverbal spells are for even grown wizards? I, of all people, know that you are not nearly as 'average' as you think you are. I've seen you teach yourself spells on a whim, simply because you want to. You're the same as me when I was your age. Lord Voldemort chose you for a reason."

"That's not exactly something I'm proud of," Lucy said stiffly. She had enough people thinking she was a murderer, she did not need Voldy the War Criminal's approval on top of that.

"Why not? Lord Voldemort was the– one of the most powerful wizards in existence. But I'm getting away from the point. The point, dear, is that you should have more pride in your abilities."

Lucy was mostly unconvinced. Sure, she was quick at picking up spells, but she didn't see the need to boast about it like he always did. She wondered if he was this arrogant when he was at Hogwarts. She doubted it. If he was, no one would have been able to stand him. Good looks could only get you so far.

"I'll get right on that," she said wryly.

Tom didn't like her dismissive tone. "I'm serious," he insisted.

"You're always serious— that's why I like you."

"I'm not saying you have to brag— that would make you a Malfoy." They both paused to shudder at the thought. He continued, and she leaned against the wall, readying herself for another lecture. "It's time you think seriously about your magical future, Lucy. In fact..." a smirk made its way onto his face. "I think it's time we start more intensive magic."

"Aw, what! I already have enough to worry about," she complained.

"Excuses," he half sang.

She couldn't help but laugh at his tone. Yeesh, when did Tom Riddle get playful?

He grinned again and then looked toward the door of her dormitory. "We could go to the library and get some books... what day is it today? Tuesday?"

She nodded.

"Excellent— the passageway will be open."

"And what happened to me not wandering around by myself?" She demanded.

"It's different when I tell you to. Are you seriously complaining about breaking the rules?"

She paused. Okay, no, she wasn't. But still. "Your version of breaking the rules is lame, Prefect. Breaking into the library? Really?" Tom glared at her. Grinning, she grabbed her wand and bag. "Buuuuut, I'm not complaining. Here we go! On an adventure! To the library!"

When Tom said she'd be learning intensive magic, he really meant intensive magic. Here she was in the restricted section, horrified at the first book she held in her hands.

"Why on earth would I need to learn how to split someone's brain in half? From the inside out?"

She hurriedly shoved that book back on the shelf, ignoring the eye roll Tom sent her way.

"You cut a troll in half," He reminded her.

"If I knew it'd kill it so slowly, I wouldn't have done it. These are just overly cruel for no reason!" Lucy left the bookshelf containing dark curses entirely. "If I have to take care of someone, I'd rather stick with a simple diffindo, thanks."

"And if its natural armor prevents that? If the Wizard's shield is designed to block 'light' spells? What then?"

"Then I'll throw a killing curse, damn the consequences. You can't block that one."

"Have fun in Azkaban then," Tom scoffed.

She went to the more general area and began to sift through the books. She didn't dare open them on a whim– these books were restricted for a reason, and she'd read about plenty of cursed books. She muttered a revealing charm to see if there were any curses, and when it glowed green, she knew she was in the clear.

"That's for drastic circumstances, Mr. Morality." The book in her hands looked promising enough. She paged through it, skimming. Then she pointed at a chapter with a smug grin. "See? Unblockable nonlethal curses. Oblivio— this one takes away all your senses... Though the ethics of not being able to block something is sort of odd..."

"Rochester? Who in Merlin's name are you talking to?"

Lucy's blood froze, and Tom uttered a harsh, "Oh, fuck."

She paused in her panic to shoot him a scolding look. That was the first time he swore 'like a muggle' as he'd call it, and it did not sound good on him.

He gave her an urgent look. "Take care of it, or I will," he commanded.

Lucy quickly turned around to see who'd walked in on her. And thank God it wasn't a professor. Instead, Graham Montague stood by the bookcases with a quizzical expression. She shot him a dazed smile.

"Oh, you know— the voices in my head," she said happily.

"That sounded in depth for a voice in your head," Montague said flatly. His gaze fell to the section of curses she was in. He smirked. "Didn't think Hufflepuffs could even be dark. Let me guess, your unnamed friend ditched you as soon as they heard me?"

Bless Slytherins and their rationalizations. Lucy made a show of looking annoyed. "Yes, actually. You can't trust men, Montague, I'm telling you."

"Who was your friend?" He wondered.

"It's a secret," she said with a smile. "But I will tell you, it's definitely not a Gryffindor."

"'Course not. Gryffindors are too proud for anything dark." Montague stepped forward with a curious look on his face. "I must say, I really didn't take you as a dark witch, Rochester— considering your friends, and your muggle background."

At once, Tom said, "I don't like him."

Lucy almost rolled her eyes. He didn't like anyone. He didn't like Harry and Harry was the kindest boy on the planet.

"I dabble," she said evasively. "Are you going to turn me in? I can't help but notice that shiny prefect badge."

"Nah, not today, anyway. But I would really be careful about wandering on your own— the entire school heard about your fall."

"More like my attempted murder. It happens to the best of us," Lucy snorted.

"You're not nervous?" Montague held open the door for her as they left the restricted section. All the while, Tom glared daggers at the back of the other boy's head.

Lucy shrugged. "My friend's a lot scarier than anyone else here."

"Yet he ran away at the first sign of trouble," Montague pointed out. "He can't really be the scariest."

"You'd be surprised," she said, ominously.

He gave her a weird look. "Okay then... You're very strange, Rochester. I don't think badgers should be so curious."

"What can I say? I'm a trendsetter." Finally they reached the entrance to the library. Lucy turned around and saluted him. "Thanks for not turning me in, but I'd better go find my friend before he kills someone. He's very sporadic like that. See ya!"

Before Montague had a chance to reply, Lucy dashed around the corner, ducking into a secret passageway. Once she was far enough away, she leaned against the wall and let out a breath. "That was way too close," she muttered.

"We need to be more careful," Tom agreed quietly. "Especially around that boy."

"His name's Montague."

"I don't care what his name is— he's much too nosy for my liking. I expect now he'll be on the lookout for your 'friend'."

"That's Slytherins for you," Lucy sighed. "I don't know what to make of him myself, but he didn't turn us into Dumbledore. That's got to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Never let down your guard because of a few good deeds, Lucy. Especially not to a boy like that."

"A boy like that? Mallory and Anthony vouched for him. Tom, he acts like you, but nicer."

"Which is precisely why you shouldn't trust him," he replied. "If I didn't like you, I'd be nice to you."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?" She said, amused.

"Not for me. And not for Montague, either."

Lucy decided to trust Tom's opinion. She could be civil with the boy, but there wasn't any need to seek him out. "Alright, I don't trust him," she said easily.

Tom blinked. "Just like that?"

"You know Slytherins better than I do. 'Sides, he acts too much like you. One is enough– I'd have a breakdown if there were any more."

"Well... good. I think?" He shook his head with a slight grin. "I've got an idea, to prevent any other slip ups like today. From now on, when you speak to me in public, make sure it's in Parseltongue. Okay?"

"You can't even speak Parseltongue."

He arched an eyebrow. "I never said that."

...

Hold on one second.

What?

"You can speak Parseltongue?!" She demanded, loudly. "And you didn't think to tell me, oh, when I was freaking out about being able to speak it?! Are we related? I'm going to lose my mind if you're my grandpa or something—"

"Yes, I'm a Parselmouth and no, we're not related." Tom held up his hands placatingly, but it did little to calm her down. What a sneaky git! "I wanted to be sure of my theory before I told you— but, the reason you can speak Parseltongue, Lucy, is because of me. Your soul is linked with mine at the moment."

"My soul?!" Lucy made a distressed noise.

"It's nothing dramatic. When you have the diary, you have my abilities. Simple as that." She calmed down a little.

"So we're definitely not related?" She repeated.

"Lucy, I know for certain that I would rather die than have children and that is saying a lot coming from me. There is absolutely no chance my future self would ever have a child." Tom sounded so sure of himself, and Lucy had to admit, she believed him. Tom didn't show any signs of appreciating affection, let alone having a child with a woman.

"Thank God. Thank all the gods. You know what, thank all the gods in all the different universes. Thank the gods that don't even exist yet—"

"I get the point!" Tom snapped. "I share the same sentiment. Anyway, remember your Parseltongue, alright?"

Lucy nodded. She started repeating to herself, "Remember your Parseltongue, remember your Parseltongue, remember your Parseltongue, remember your— holy shit!"

Tom immediately made a disapproving noise, but she cut across him, beaming. "Tom! I remembered my Parseltongue! We need to find Malfoy immediately!"

Without another word, she took off sprinting down the passageway.

"What are you doing?" Tom called after her.

"You'll see!"

"Let me get this straight," Malfoy said, rubbing his temples tiredly. He was still dressed in his silken pajamas, and beside him Zabini didn't look too happy either. A few Slytherins passed through their common room, shooting them weird looks. "You broke into our common room and woke me up because you want me to summon a snake?"

"Uh... yes? I thought I made that pretty clear when I yelled outside your door, 'Malfoy, wake your lazy arse up and summon me a snake or I'll kill you and your entire fami—"

"I know what you yelled!" He snapped.

"So... do it?"

"No."

"What? Why!"

"Because you're insane, that's why!"

Blaise nodded. "I'm going to have to agree with Draco on this one. You're mad, Rochester."

She put on her best puppy dog eyes, although the effect was tarnished by the fact that she threatened him not even five minutes earlier. "Come on, pleeeease? It's important!"

"Why can't you summon yourself a snake?" Malfoy snapped.

"I don't remember the spell." And it was a lot more fun to wake you up. "C'mon, please? If you do I'll prank Flint."

"Why would I want you to prank Flint?" He scoffed.

"Because he yelled at you in front of the whole school despite you buying the entire team those shiny new broomsticks and made you look like a joke," Lucy suggested. Malfoy actually looked like he was considering it now. "Like, a bad joke. Not one of those funny ones that everyone laughs at. He made you look like a really bad joke that everyone feels bad about its existence, you know?" He promptly elbowed her harshly in the side. "Okay, too far!"

"Just give her the snake, Draco," Blaise said, rubbing his eyes. "Rochester's voice this early in the morning is like knives against a porcelain plate."

"That has got to be the most Pureblood simile I've ever heard of," Lucy said, raising her eyebrows.

"What's a simile?"

"What—?!"

"Serpensortia!" Malfoy said, before she could launch into a rant about wizarding grammar. To her delight, a long snake shot out of the end of his wand. At once, it curled into a defensive position and made to strike her.

"Hold on!" She said quickly.

The snake jerked back, surprised. "Hey! You're talkin' to me!"

"Why do you sound cockney? You know what, never mind. Anyway, hello handsome snake! I'm Lucy and it is a pleasure to meet you."

The snake slithered forward. She willed herself not to tense up. Yep, snakes were still creepy. "I've never seen a human who can talk before," he said, curious. At least, Lucy thought it was a boy. The voice was deep enough.

"I'd imagine you wouldn't," Lucy said, smiling.

Blaise and Malfoy shared a weirded out look. In unison, they stood up and walked back to their dormitory without another word.

It was a good thing Lucy had vanished Flint's bed as a prank before she brought it up to Malfoy, because now she had an excuse to do it.

"Would you care to join me? There's about to be a lot of people coming down here and while they are Slytherins, I don't think they're too keen on live snakes."

"Why not? I got nothin' better to do," the snake replied. She almost jumped out of her skin when the snake quickly slithered toward her, wrapping its way up her body until it hung around her neck. Just because she could talk to snakes didn't mean she was all of a sudden pleased with them crawling all over her...

She quickly hurried out of the common room before another Slytherin saw her. If Montague caught her with a snake twenty minutes after he caught her in the restricted section of the library, he might not be so lenient...

"You haven't told me your idea yet, and I already don't support it," Tom informed her as soon as she stepped behind a tapestry.

"Mr. Snake, I have a favor to ask of you," Lucy began.

"Me too. Don't call me Mr. Snake," was the snake's immediate answer.

Of course she'd get the sassy snake. Lucy nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "That's fair. What should I call you then?"

"Anything except Mr. Snake."

"Great, nice to meet you, Ford. Now! I have a little heist in mind. Any objections so far? Worries? Concerns?"

"What's in it for me?"

Great, he was a businessman too. She got all the best ones, didn't she? "Uhhh, hows all the eggs you want, whenever you want sound? Is that okay?"

Ford's tongue flickered out. He hissed, but it sounded more pleased than threatening. "Sounds good to me! What am I stealing, boss?"

"First of all, we're going to need to scout some stuff out, alright? No snakes shall be harmed in the process of this heist on my watch. I need you to find the Headmaster's office. Look for some cabinets. I don't suppose you can read?"

Ford stared at her blankly.

She sighed. "I figured. No problem— I'll write it down and you remember what the symbols look like, okay?"

"Sure, boss."

"Okay, what is going on?!" Tom burst out.

She turned to give him a pleased smile. "I'm getting the records, of course."

Tom was quiet for a good few seconds. And then, suddenly, he burst into loud, high peals of laughter, leaning against the wall and holding his sides.

She stared at him, miffed. "It's a good idea!"

Annoyed, she waited for him to get ahold of himself. He was still chuckling as he spoke. "It is a good idea. Brilliant, in fact! Don't you see, Lucy? I'm impressed! You have genuinely impressed me!" He started laughing again. "Dumbledore's precious office infiltrated by a snake! My dear, you are making Salazar Slytherin incredibly proud."

Lucy positively glowed from the praise. Tom complimented her sometimes, but none sounded as genuine as this one. She laughed along as well.

Hesitantly, Ford joined in. "Heheh... uh, boss? You already losing it?"

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself. Clearing her throat, she looked at Ford, unable to keep her smile off her face. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine, Ford. Just excited, is all. We don't have a lot of time, but shall we stop by the Great Hall for an egg? You can eat it in my bag, if you like. It's quite spacious."

"Yeah! But the egg better be good!"

With an excited flick of his tail, Ford slithered into Lucy's bag. She was amused to see his beady littl eyes peeking out every few seconds.

"Would it be cruel to tell Hermione to grab something out of here?" Lucy wondered.

"Incredibly," Tom nodded. He smirked. "Do it anyway."

She hummed in reply. She probably wouldn't do it, but boy was she tempted.

Now that her morning's adventure was out of the way, she headed toward the Great Hall. It never ceased to amaze her how the other students could go easily about their day without a care in the world. Meanwhile, she always had a secret or adventure to hide.

Even Harry Potter managed to get into less trouble than she did. The only difference was, trouble found Harry whether he wanted it or not. Lucy, however, had a way of finding trouble herself, in the most unseemly of places.

She waved at Anthony and the others on the way to the Gryffindor table. He shot her a miffed look, so she stopped by. Not to talk to him but to simply grab the one hard-boiled egg off a large, golden platter. He stared at her with a blank expression as she slipped it into her bag. She leaned forward with a grave look on her face.

"If you tell anyone of this, Rickett, it will be your demise," she said softly.

"Am I having a nightmare?" Anthony whispered to himself. He turned to Cedric and pinched his arm.

"Ow! What the hell!" Cedric scowled, rubbing the sore spot.

"Nope, not dreaming," Anthony concluded.

"You're supposed to pinch yourself if you think you're dreaming, you useless lard," the other boy pointed out.

"Ah, but what's pleasure without a little pain?"

"Did somebody say pain?!"

All of a sudden, Maxine was behind Anthony, holding him in a headlock. Cedric laughed at the righteousness of it all, until Heidi appeared behind him, holding her hands on each of his shoulders.

Daisy sighed and buried her face in her hands. "How are any of us Prefects? Why are Heidi and Cedric both going to be Prefects too?!"

Lucy froze. Oh no. Not again. "Maxine... you're a prefect too?" she said, utterly dismayed.

Maxine paused in her assault on Anthony to stare at the younger girl. Lucy looked completely heartbroken. "Why does she look so tragic?"

"Look away from her eyes! She'll enchant you!" Cedric warned. Heidi flicked his ear. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Felt like it," Heidi shrugged.

Maxine released Anthony completely and turned to Lucy. "Listen, Rochester, I'm not like these other stuffy prefects, okay?"

"Rude," Daisy huffed.

Maxine ignored her. "Listen, barely anyone knows I'm a prefect, so don't go spreading it around, alright?"

Once again, Daisy tried to be the voice of reason. "Max, everyone knows you're a prefect, you're wearing the badge!"

Lucy shook her head. Her world was turning upside down. Why, oh why was she friends with so. Many. Prefects. There was Tom, Percy, Anthony, Daisy, Maxine apparently, and sort-of Montague... "Next you'll be telling me Herbert Fleet's a prefect, too."

Herbert looked up from his book. He was surprised to have been mentioned, but also pleased. He held up the lapel of his robe, showing her his polished badge with a proud grin.

Lucy promptly turned around and walked to the Gryffindor table without another word. She stopped by Fred and George, who were bent over something that looked suspiciously like one of the objects on Filch's list of banned goods. She lay a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Weasleys," She began quietly.

They turned around to beam at her.

"Well if it isn't Ickle Rickett!" George smiled.

Okay, she was supposed to act solemn but she couldn't resist. "I prefer Strongarm, actually," she tried.

"Absolutely not!" Fred said, his smile as pleasant as ever. "What can we do you for?"

"A promise, if you will. Never become prefects, okay? You're my only hope, you two."

"We'd sooner die," George assured her.

"Or at least Georgie will, if I find out he's gotten a badge!" Fred added.

At least she could trust those two. She nodded at them and gave each twin a pat on the back.

Finally, at long last, she found her favorite trio. She sat in her usual seat next to Harry. He barely managed to pull the bowl of oatmeal out of the way before she dropped her head onto the table, groaning into the fine wood. She felt a movement next to her and she turned her face over to see Harry mirroring her position with a grin on his face.

"Rough morning?" he asked.

"Reach into my bag, will you?" She said absently.

She heard Tom's chuckle without having to look at him.

Harry did as she asked without thinking, only to gasp and jerk his hand away. "Lucy! Why do you have a—?!"

"Harry, you're speaking Parseltongue!" Hermione elbowed him in his side. Across the table, Ron dropped his fork onto the platter. Everyone sitting nearby also gave Harry unnerved looks.

"I wonder why," he said sarcastically. Lucy could hear the undertone of hissing in his voice. She grinned. He hadn't bothered to try and control his Parseltongue, which she thought was a shame. It was rather useful, if not a fun party trick. It was especially fun to talk to Harry in Parseltongue and see him unknowingly speak it back to her in front of Lockhart or Snape.

"Think of something other than snakes," she suggested.

"Bit hard, when you're carrying one around! Speaking of, why are you carrying one around?"

Lucy opened her mouth to reply, and then paused. She glanced at the Professors' table. At this point she shouldn't have been surprised to see Dumbledore's focus on the four of them. She met his gaze and then offered him a wave and a wide smile, which he amiably returned.

Another advantage of speaking Parseltongue?

Not even the Greatest Wizard of the Modern Age could eavesdrop on her.

"Harry will tell you two later," Lucy said pointedly, looking at Ron and Hermione. They looked a bit disappointed but ultimately understood. She couldn't feel too bad for leaving them out. This was rather important. She turned back to Harry and spoke in Parseltongue quietly. "This is Ford— remember the records in Dumbledore's office?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You're not going to—?"

"I'm not going to do anything. Ford here has agreed to do all the dirty work."

"Damn right!" Ford's muffled voice claimed.

He must have spoken loudly, because Neville Longbottom looked toward her bag with a fearful look on his face. She half-shrugged in his direction as if to say, 'hey, it happens'. He scooted away.

"But stealing from Dumbledore's office?" Harry said worriedly. "Isn't that a bit— well, isn't it wrong?"

"Yeah, it is," Lucy admitted. There wasn't a point in denying it. But Dumbledore would never hand over the records willingly, especially where his friend Hagrid was concerned. "Once we're done with them, we'll return them. He won't even know they're gone."

He'd definitely know they were gone. And she had a feeling he'd know who stole them.

The important part was that he wouldn't catch her in the act.

"I guess it's the only plan we've got," Harry said reluctantly. He glanced down at her bag again. "Where'd you get the snake?"

"I told Malfoy I'd kill him if he didn't summon me one."

He cracked a smile though he tried to hide it. He gave in at last, snickering. "That's terrible, Luce— but since it is Malfoy..."

"Okay, that doesn't look like important discussion anymore!" Ron complained. "Switch back to human, please? Sounds bloody creepy."

"Wait until you hear of Arachnomouths," Hermione said.

Ron's face went white. At that moment, the bell rang, indicating their next class. Hermione smiled and picked up her bag without another glance toward the red haired boy.

"That was a joke, right, Mione?"

She didn't answer.

He hastily picked up his bag as well. "Right?!"

"We're going to be late," she replied.

"Hermione!"

Lucy exchanged an amused look with Harry as the other two lost themselves in the crowd.

"And they call us bad," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Well, we are the Heirs, Halazar."

"Don't even start."

Lucy snickered. She grabbed a piece of toast on her way to class, and as she fell into step beside Harry, she felt in higher spirits than she had in a long while. Finally, she had some semblance of a plan— a step toward a conclusion.

Her only concern at this point?

She hoped her bag wouldn't smell like eggs.