OMG COMMA FINISHED A CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!

-has a heart attack in surprise and subsequently returns as a ghost and blames Kira-

Yes, I am surprised with myself. My writer's block seems to finally be subsiding, partially helped by the fact that I'm reading the sixth Harry Potter book again and getting all kinds of wonderful ideas for this story, which revived my will to write in general.

I also got a good many reviews in my too-long-absence. Would like to reply to them.

ThreeBooksInTheFire: Replied in a PM, I think. Right? I have a short memory. If not, like I said, she's not dead. She and Tom planned it out - we don't know exactly how just yet, of course, but it will be explained.

Parvati48: Loads of thanks for all the reviews, my HP stories are particularly unpopular and I really appreciated it. Not sure I can reply to everything, but I can reply to what you asked about Annabelle easily enough.
Her name was completely random. I knew she was a Potter, but as far as her first and middle name, and her preferred alias, that was completely random.
As for her family history, it was slightly mentioned in Serpentine, but it takes a good bit to infer that. It was just sort of a cameo of the Potters toward the end of Chapter 4:
- The house-elf looked down at the tiny bottle in its hand, seeming to debate over what to do. "Lindus does know that Master Brooks's daughter Belinda lives in Britain…" he said slowly. "He could tell her Master Brooks died of old age. Mistress Belinda is due to be married soon to Marcus Potter,"...
So Belinda Brooks and Marcus Potter are Annabelle's parents. Then, at the very end - and unless you're me, you probably wouldn't have gotten this:
- He caught a bit of conversation from a nearby family with a young girl and an older boy.
"Now, what house are you going to be sorted into, Annie?"
"Dad, why do you have to keep asking me that? And don't call me Annie, it's a little girl's name…."
"Oh, leave her alone, Mark, she'll be sorted into whatever house she's sorted into," said her mother, sounding slightly amused.
"Bet she's in Hufflepuff," said the older boy.
"Oh, just because you're in you're last year doesn't mean you –"
"You might just be daft enough to be put th–"
"Adam!"
"Sorry, Mum…"
That would be the same family. So, "Mark" would be Marcus Potter, the mother therefore Belinda. Annie is Annabelle - Anna Belinda Potter, Belinda for her mother. Then who's Adam? Another minor OC I made up, Annabelle's older brother who is a more direct ancestor of Harry than Annabelle. He's James's father and Harry's grandfather, specifically. That would make Annabelle Harry's great-aunt, of course.
I tend to plan out my major OC's histories in a slightly obsessive manner, particularly for Harry Potter stories, as is evident here. Then I give random cryptic hints about it to see who can work them together. I'm just psychotic like that xP

Now, onward with the story stuff!

Disco-claimer: I do not own disco, nor do I want to. I also do not own the Harry Potter series, despite how awesome I think that would be.
Warnings: In this chapter, we will see signs of just how specifically Murphy's law applies to Timothy, and also signs that, through everything, true friendship isn't an easy thing to rid oneself of. Can be as much of a blessing as a nuissance.
Quick Quotes Quill:
With a relieved sigh, I stowed my wand away and started forward.

Then a hand landed on my shoulder to stop me.

Had it not been for that hand holding me in place, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have ended up with my head going through the rather high ceiling from jumping so badly. I was much too afraid to glance over my shoulder as the hand that had just caught me left it. Though I was certain the Basilisk didn't have hands and that I therefore did not risk being killed, I knew that depending on who had found me, I could be facing a fate much worse than death. Therefore, I had no interest in knowing who this was. Strangely, I was reminded of my recurring dream. For all I knew, it could indeed be the hand of Death himself resting on my shoulder. At that thought, I flinched.

"Out for a midnight stroll, are we, Gaunt?"

I flinched more at that. Death definitely would have been a kinder entity to face in this situation.

In one of my amazing stokes of utter genius, I somehow managed to forget the invisibility cloak when I set out for the hospital wing in the night. Naturally, this meant that there were a number of things bound and determined to go wrong that night. That was just a fact of life for me.

This was the first night that teachers had been selected, as well as a few "trustworthy" students who weren't prefects (most of whom were Gryffindors, no huge surprise there), to help patrol the school. This meant that it was far better protected than usual, which meant that I was going to have to be very careful. I was out of the dungeons and hiding from a number of prefects in the Entrance Hall alone before I realized I had forgotten the cloak. Turning back at that point would have gotten me caught. My only choice was to move forward, grumbling about my own stupidity all the way.

As I did just that, I tried hard to ignore a low hissing I kept hearing within the walls that almost definitely bode ill for me.

I was honestly surprised that I made it as far as the first floor corridor that the hospital wing was located on. I could see the double doors from where I stood around the edge of the corridor, exactly where I needed to be. It was unfortunate for me that I could also see someone pacing up and down that very hall. After coming this far, giving up and going back for such a tiny reason seemed a foolish thing to do. It didn't make it any better that it was a Gryffindor prefect, namely Harold Sloper. I didn't know Sloper at all, but all Gryffindors had the same opinion of me lately, so that didn't matter. They were obviously looking for any reason to get me into trouble, and I wasn't about to give them a reason. I had learned once already what being expelled meant for me, and I definitely didn't want that happening again.

I gave one glance up and down the hall before coming to a conclusion on what to do. It was rash and there was every chance that it might get me seen, but it seemed to me to be the only other option without use of an invisibility cloak.

"Sorry about this, Sloper," I said quietly as I withdrew my wand and stood back against the wall.

I flinched slightly as a low, hissing voice that seemed closer than before proclaimed that it smelled blood. That was a little harder to ignore. Nevertheless, I cautiously glanced around the corner of the wall and into the corridor to see just where he was. His back was to me. Now was the best time. I wasn't brilliant at nonverbal spells, but not many sixth years I knew of were – not to count Annabelle, who could do nearly any kind of spellwork with no problem at all. I couldn't deny that it made me a bit jealous.

There was no point pondering it now. I had to put my practice to work. So, I carefully stepped around the corner and, with a half-hopeful, half-determined thought of the incantation 'stupefy,' I raised my want. Though surprised, I was quite satisfied when the spiral of red sparks hit Sloper squarely in the middle of his back and he fell forward without a sound. With a relieved sigh, I stowed my wand away and started forward.

Then a hand landed on my shoulder to stop me.

Had it not been for that hand holding me in place, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have ended up with my head going through the rather high ceiling from jumping so badly. I was much too afraid to glance over my shoulder as the hand that had just caught me left it. Though I was certain the Basilisk didn't have hands and that I therefore did not risk being killed, I knew that depending on who had found me, I could be facing a fate much worse than death. Therefore, I had no interest in knowing who this was. Strangely, I was reminded of my recurring dream. For all I knew, it could indeed be the hand of Death himself resting on my shoulder. At that thought, I flinched.

"Out for a midnight stroll, are we, Gaunt?"

I flinched more at that. Death definitely would have been a kinder entity to face in this situation.

"And having a bit of fun stunning Gryffindor prefects while you're at it, I see." Even the Basilisk would have been better. "Trying to sneak about without being noticed – you do realize the extra protection that has been placed on the school? It wouldn't surprise me to find a student petrified somewhere in the castle tonight now. Of course, it is a bit odd to find you here. Come to pay a visit to your latest victims, maybe?"

It would be a little hard to explain it away when someone did turn up petrified tonight – the Basilisk was still proclaiming that it was going to rip and tear someone as it made its journey within the walls.

"Well, Gaunt?" Abraxas Malfoy's sly and calculating voice spoke again from behind me. "Care to make an attempt at explaining this?"

I turned around to face him fully and reply. "I was trying to get to the hospital wing. Sloper was guarding it; this was my only option." That wasn't a lie at all. He would obviously think it was, or that I wasn't giving enough details for it to be a proper explanation.

"And why did you want to get to the hospital wing?"

"Can't exactly go in daylight hours, can I?" I said, choosing my tone carefully. This was one situation where even I wouldn't backtalk Malfoy, and that was saying quite a lot. "The Gryffindors hate me enough already as it is, they'd consider my presence to be sacrilege or something."

"I will repeat my question, Gaunt. Why do you want to get into the hospital wing? All you have answered is why you have not gone during the day."

I gulped inaudibly, still sorting through the words in my mind. The lack of any kind of filter between what was serious and what was sarcastic made the task a bit harder for me than it might be for the average person. "I would think that after the most recent victim was found, sir, that you might find me to be a little less suspicious."

"And I might have until I found you wandering around the castle in the middle of the night. I will give you one last chance to answer my question."

"I would think that was a good enough answer," I said quietly, my fists now clenched. "Maybe not direct, but it should have answered your question. I have nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. I – like any other person who crowds to the hospital wing during the day – just wish to visit someone. However, I can't go during the day because I would likely be hexed and end up being a patient myself rather than just a guest."

After a moment of silence, Malfoy responded in a rather annoyed voice, "It bothers me that I actually believe you."

I blinked a few times, disbelievingly. "That is slightly troubling," I agreed. Malfoy wasn't supposed to believe a word that came out of my mouth. That completely and utterly defied all laws of nature.

"Indeed. Unfortunately, due to your lack of stealth, I have found you and cannot ignore this blatant breaking of the school rules to meet your own desires. I will have to take fifty points from Slytherin house for your being out of bed after hours, and another twenty for your disabling a prefect in the process. You would do best to make your way back to the Slytherin common room before I find any further reason to deduct points from my own house. Now go. And don't get yourself caught again on the way; Slytherin has lost more than enough of the progress it made during your absence in less than five minutes."

I agreed to leave quickly, still too shocked that Malfoy had actually believed something that I had said to be able to protest. I wasn't too shocked to avoid various prefects and teachers on the way down to the dungeons, however, nor was I too shocked to ignore the fact that the Basilisk definitely still had quite a good nose for blood.

Ducking around corners every time I caught a glance of a shadow moving nearby, I made my way back to the dungeons. Sneaking around prefects was something I had grown quite good at over the years, as I hadn't had access to an invisibility cloak until a year ago. Given that I had indeed been discovered by a teacher, it was obvious that my skill had begun to rust a bit. I had been preoccupied with where I was going, and therefore had paid no attention to what was already behind me. The increase in security as of lately was really no excuse for me. It was with shame and annoyance that I told the usual blank patch of wall in the dungeons the password and entered the Slytherin common room.

I immediately heard sniggering in my head that didn't belong to me. Rolling my eyes, I made my way over to the sofa in the common room and fell down upon it. Soon, the laughter invading my mind was accompanied by a voice.

"How the bloody hell do you manage to forget the invisibility cloak until you're already out of the dungeons?"

Oh, shut up, was my response to Tom. I've been a bit distracted today. You know, between finding out my girlfriend was one of the latest Basilisk victims and trying not to get killed by everyone in the school?

"You would figure they would lay off a bit after this," he agreed. "Of course, considering you're something of a spokesperson for Murphy's law, that would be too easy."

I'd like to punch that Murphy bloke. I think he pointed Malfoy in my direction.

"Well, at least he's somewhat more on your side now. And Dippet."

Yeah – wait, how d'you know that?

Tom was silent for a moment, but I still sensed some incredulity in my mind that didn't belong to me. It didn't strike me just how stupid a question it had been until after it had already been posed. "Well," Tom replied, "we're only having a conversation by means of Legilimency, so I guess it makes absolutely no sense for me to know what's inside your head."

Oh, sod off. We've already established that the little common sense I might have has completely failed me tonight.

"That's obvious. But it was also to remind you to keep your block up a little better. Might I remind you of what I said earlier regarding Dumbledore? He's getting suspicious."

Of you, not of me.

"That doesn't matter! If he suspects you know something, then you've got to be careful as well. As it is, he still doesn't suspect you – it's me he's out to get, but he believes you know that I'm connected to the Chamber."

Well, he is right to suspect that, I pointed out.

"I'm aware of that." It was easy to tell he was getting impatient. "That's why I don't want him finding out anything."

What're we going to do when the Basilisk kills someone? The school would be closed, and you've said yourself that you don't even have complete control of the thing. I don't think anyone could.

"I'm working on that, and you should be as well. Not only would I end up going back to that bloody orphanage, you'd also be stuck with your father until you turned seventeen." He was getting more impatient yet. If it was possible to get punched in the mind, then I had a feeling Tom was probably trying to work out how it could be done. I definitely thought it sounded rather painful. I was being a bit of a pest, but that was all well justified, I thought. Until I thought of something more creative, this was the best I could do for revenge.

I knew I wasn't bound to get away from this without a questioning as to why I had gone off after dark in the first place, and I didn't. However, it wasn't until the next day, the start of winter holidays, that I received said questioning. It was on the way up to the Great Hall at around breakfast. Tom was more or less toneless about the entire thing, and I more or less lied my entire way through it. I hadn't been so completely careless as to have left every part of my mind unblocked the previous night. Tom might have known that I had every intention of going to the hospital wing, but he didn't know what I intended to do there.

It was a sign of our friendship that he didn't suspect that my intentions were to incriminate him – and strange as it is, I have not lied once in saying that Tom did indeed consider me a friend rather than a follower. I even went as far as to break past the barriers he had set up within his mind to determine this – undetected, of course. No matter what way anyone looked at it, I had had a head start in Legilimency and was therefore still ahead in it. Stealth was one thing that developed more the longer it was practiced.

On the contrary, it was a sign of my slowly growing disloyalty that I did, subconsciously, hope that I would find out something that would incriminate him. I hoped that Legilimency could be successfully employed on the petrified victims of the Basilisk, and that I could view the conversation Annabelle and Tom had that resulted in her becoming a statue and me coming back to Hogwarts. More than anything, I wanted to find something in that conversation – anything at all, that proved that this was entirely Tom's fault. It might have been a betrayal of the trust that Tom held in me. It wasn't as though I cared at the time. As far as I was concerned, it was entirely his fault that she was in the hospital wing, merely a statue with a soul trapped within. This was the true start of my secret resentment towards Tom Riddle. I say secret, as, until very recently, he hadn't known of just how far I have gone to betray him, to keep him from some of his greatest goals. He still doesn't know of all of the betrayal. Once again, a story for another time.

Admittedly, my idea of using Legilimency on someone that had been petrified was a bit of a stretch. It was hard to keep reminding myself that I had no idea whether or not it would work, and that I might perhaps have to wait until Professor Beery finished raising this year's cropping of mandrakes, until Slughorn made the restorative potion that would cure the victims. I was so determined to get the truth that I kept forgetting that there was every chance my plan to actually get it might fall through. Maybe it was a trick of my subconscious mind, forcing me not to think such pessimistic thoughts in my determination. I didn't know then, I don't know now, and there is little point in dwelling on it.

"Y'know," I said to Tom as we entered a near empty Great Hall, "I think there's actually a rather easy way to keep Dumbledore from finding anything out."

"And what would that be?" He sounded rather skeptical. I didn't blame him, of course. I was still half asleep, meaning that I was even more lacking of common sense than usual. It was mostly my fault, being that I had been out so late the previous night. The little sleep I had gotten, however, had marked yet another occurrence of my subconscious mind's favorite nightmare, so even it hadn't been peaceful. This was enough reason, I thought, to justice why I walked into the Slytherin table when we reached it and nearly fell over it.

I continued with my ponderings anyway. "We could start thinking in Parseltongue."

"Is that possible?"

"Dunno," I admitted. "Haven't tried yet. I suppose if you close your eyes and picture a snake, then maybe. Got to admit, it would work, though."

"I doubt it would," Tom said, sounding somewhat amused as I again nearly fell over the Slytherin table in an attempt to sit down that didn't work so well. "Our first language is English, so even when thinking in Parseltongue, the thoughts would be lying merely a layer below the Parseltongue in English."

"So use Occlumency in between the two layers," I said reasonably.

"If we're going to be using Occlumency in the first place, that completely defeats your idea of thinking in Parseltongue," Tom pointed out. I shrugged. "It's just an extra effort that would be entirely unnecessary. Dumbledore will already be suspicious as to why we're constantly keeping up a shield anyway. He'd just get more suspicious if we started thinking in another language."

"Would Spanish work?"

"Same principle as Parseltongue. And you don't even know Spanish."

"Not really any point in learning it, either. I'm already unintentionally bilingual, that's good enough for me. Granted most snakes aren't all that great for conversation…" Tom rolled his eyes and took advantage of a momentary silence to change the subject.

"Do you have any idea what a Horcrux is?" I looked at Tom with a raised eyebrow. "Obviously not," he answered his own question.

"What is it?" I asked. "Aside from something out of another book you obviously snuck out of the restricted section."

"That's the only place where there's anything interesting. Books shouldn't be made restricted, it's ridiculous. Whatever Horcruxes are, apparently the publishers saw fit to censor them out, I'm guessing since it's a fairly new edition." He opened his bag, which sat on the bench next to him. It was normal that he keep it with him during holidays, with as much as he read. When it wasn't laden with school books, it generally was with library books, and generally ones from the restricted section that he hadn't had any permission to retrieve. As a well trusted prefect, he generally volunteered to keep patrol at night in the library whenever he ran out of reading material. He had never been caught, but even if he was, he could probably talk his way out of it.

Unless he was caught by Dumbledore, of course. That would be the only situation in which there would be trouble for him.

Tom set large, old-looking book on the table. I looked at it with raised eyebrows as a small cloud of dust rose up around it. "New edition, is it?"

"Considering the first edition ever was published fairly early in the Middle Ages, I'd say yes. This one was only published about a century ago." He opened it rather carefully and flipped to the introduction. "It mentions it here," he said, pointing to something. "'Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction.' It's mentioned later in the book, but it gives the impression that a good bit of text was cut out, since all it is, is a mention." He shut it just as carefully.

"What exactly does it say?" I asked, sliding the book over to examine its cover. Its black leather cover was slightly scratched and torn from years of wear, and it was emblazoned with scratched silver leaf, reading Magick Moste Evile. I started to open the book.

"Careful opening it, it startles easily." That only made me curious as to how a book could startle. I opened it carelessly to about the middle, allowing the front cover to thump in a muffled manner against the table. It let out an eerie wail that luckily was only loud enough to be heard by anyone sitting near where we were at the Slytherin table. What was lucky about that was that, because of my reputation's recent descent into oblivion, no one was sitting anywhere near us. I blinked a few times at the book. "A lot of old books get like that. You really don't read much at all, do you?"

"I don't think I need to answer that," I said, flipping (now much more carefully) through the pages of the book, not really taking anything in at all.

"Not really," Tom agreed. "Like I said, it more or less only mentioned Horcruxes. It said that they were the closest means of any magic to immortality, moreso than even unicorn blood, apparently, but that the magic required to create them is so gruesome that few wizards through all of history have ever even thought of creating one."

"Doesn't even give a clue as to how?"

"No," Tom said irately, glaring down at the book. "Can't exactly ask any of the teachers here. They all trust me enough, but asking something like that would probably change some of their opinions."

"Merrythought would know most about something like that, I'd wager, but asking the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher about the 'wickedest of magical inventions' almost definitely wouldn't go over well. Dippet might even be confused if his favorite student started asking about gruesome ways to immortality." I ignored the fact that Tom rolled his eyes at this and continued. "What teacher would you say probably trusts you the most?"

"Probably Slughorn." We had both already known the answer to that.

"So ask him," I said through a yawn. "Come up with something. Tell him you're writing a paper on them for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Won't do – the subject's apparently been banned at Hogwarts for some time." Tom smiled wryly. "Dumbledore helped with that, of course. If I said I was doing a project on them, I'd only be advised to stop because of that."

"You saw it in a book, then," I said. "You wouldn't be lying, just don't say that it's a book you found in the restricted section. Though I doubt you'd find anything about them in Flourish and Blotts, either, so it would still seem like you had to have gotten it at Knockturn Alley or something."

"I could just not mention where I got the book," Tom pointed out.

"Unless Slughorn asks," I countered. "Say you borrowed it from Orion Black. I don't really like him, so it won't be a huge deal if he gets expelled or anything. Of course, if it's Slughorn we've decided on, then he probably won't ask. Being a good student helps sometimes."

"Who'd have thought being in that ridiculous club would actually have its advantages."

"Me. It's gotten me out of detention more times than I can count. That's what I call an advantage."

It was that moment in time that Professor Merrythought chose to burst into the Great Hall, looking quite disconcerted and pale, and hurry up to the staff table to speak to Dippet. As he spoke, Dippet's eyes flashed down towards the Slytherin table – towards me, particularly. I had forgotten about the Basilisk's midnight conversation with itself over the smell of blood. This caused me to suddenly remember it quite suddenly. That probably meant –

"Another attack," Tom finished my thought, looking up towards the staff table. "Merrythought found him in the Charms corridor on his way down." Ah, the wonders of Legilimency. "Night before the students heading home for winter holidays were due to board the train. Would be interesting if it was someone who was supposed to be heading home."

I thought to myself, with slightly raised eyebrows, that Tom had a rather bizarre definition of the word "interesting." It wasn't as though this surprised me. I had known Tom for more than five years. Not much surprised me anymore.

Ah-hah-hah! I made a connection between Tales of Beedle the Bard and HBP that I doubt anyone else made unless they're as obsessive as me!!!

You see, Hermione finds a mention of Horcruxes in one book in all of the restricted section.

That book is called "Magick Moste Evile."

That same book is mentioned in Beedle's lovely tales, in one of Dumbledore's notes. I figured out it would have been published pretty early in the middle ages because Dumbledore said that "in the early middle ages" (which could have been any time between 600 and 1000 AD) Emeric the Evil was in possession of the Elder Wand of the Tale of the Three Brothers. Then in the next paragraph, he said that "A full century later," a dark wizard called Godelot came in possession of the wand, who said that the wand knew of "majick moste evile," which became the title of Godelot's master work.

Now, I figure that even if Emeric lived in the tenth century (after 900 AD), it would have been only in the eleventh that Godelot lived, which still basically qualifies as pretty early on in the Middle Ages.

Go me and my connection-making skills!

-cheers for self-

So, I successfully resolved nothing in this chapter. I blame Abraxas Malfoy (as does Timothy, I'm sure). I did give needed information, though. Malfoy now somewhat is on Timothy's side, and this is the start of Timothy's secret rebellion against Voldy, which will be extremely important in sequels to this. It also set the scene for Voldy's asking of Slughorn about Horcruxes. Yay slightly-altered canon (slightly because Voldy doesn't have his grandpa's ring)! So, this chapter wasn't random. There are some very very important things in it. I promise. Really. I've got this all planned out, so don't worry.

Aye, I would also like to make an advertisement (even though no one reads this story =/) for a K-On! fic my friend Sparanda is writing.

If anyone reads/watches K-On! and thinks that the nonstop yuri in most K-On! fics is retarded, then you will want to read this story, because no yuri is present (which is awesome). It's called Brand New Page. Being that I betaread it, I can vouch for the fact that it is indeed a very good fic.

Now, go read it. And leave reviews.