A/N: Well, there ya go. Another chapter done! I had a lot of fun writing this one(: Next chapter will be about the rest of Morgan's classes on her first day and it might be out tomorrow, depending on how much time I have left. Thanks to CrackedLips, tpfang56, kellie-rose (who was my VERRRAAAY first reviewer!!:D), shadowontherun, and Diina for the lovely reviews you all submitted. They made me very happy. And thanks to those who put this story on their Alert/Fave. Oh, and if I keep getting reviews like that, guys, I might just have to update everyday(;
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be checking over my work ever five seconds to make sure everyone is in character. (Oh, the woes of a fanfiction writer!)
Chapter Six: The Shameless Slytherin
Morgan padded lightly after Tom Riddle, whistling a cheery tune as they made their way down the dark corridors. After having been sorted into the Slytherin house, Dippet instructed the school Prefect to guide her to the common room and help her get settled in. Neither order sat well with Riddle, though he did a good job of hiding his discontent.
Walking beside the fellow sixth year, Morgan felt like she understood what Dumbledore meant when he said he couldn't send Harry after mini-V. Even though the Dark Lord had never specifically targeted her in the 90's, she harbored hate for the man. And often more times than not, she had to stop herself from imagining up circumstances in which she would be able to sock Riddle in the nose. She couldn't even begin to fathom how little control Harry would have over his actions if he saw Voldemort unprotected and vulnerable.
But regardless of the fact that Tom Riddle was going to turn into Voldemort, Morgan didn't like the kid. He was just too…smart? Dark? Perceptive? Manipulating? Perhaps it was all those things at once. It was unsettling to be around someone whose expressions and emotions were always fake. She figured that every comment mini-V made was quickly calculated beforehand. Everything about him was planned. Nothing about him was real.
It was annoying, Morgan realized. She wanted to see something that wasn't planned on his face. She wanted to see him squirm.
"Riddle," she said slowly, "Why did you say that you found me in Dumbledore's office instead of telling the Headmaster the truth?" Her face was the picture of innocence when Tom turned his head towards her sharply.
He studied her for a moment before replying in that annoyingly calm and collected voice, "Prefects are usually not allowed to go to their common rooms before the feast ends. But I forgot my wand, so I took a quick trip down there, nothing terribly against the rules, but something frowned upon nonetheless."
Throwing all caution to the wind, Morgan chuckled. "You, Tom Riddle, are a very good liar."
The comment caused the Slytherin to stop suddenly, his eyes narrowed, "I do not know what you mean, Miss Hume." His voice was still polite.
Morgan frowned, "All this 'Miss' business is irritating. Just call me by my last name."
"Which one?" Tom said unkindly, before quickening his steps. They had just reached the stairs that led to the dungeons, and Morgan began to get the impression that he was trying to get away from her as fast as possible.
"Oh, right. Sorry about that. Hit my head a bit hard, ya know, amnesia or something like that." She had a feeling that her lie was downright terrible, but she didn't really care. She didn't need mini-V to like her in order to complete her mission.
"Don't waste my time with your lies, Hume." Riddle ground out, his voice hardening. "I have more important things to do."
"You know, I could say the same thing to you, Riddle, but I am much too polite to do so."
Almost at once Tom froze on the stairs, his back going more rigid than normal. He stayed like that for a minute, as if contemplating a decision, before finally turning around to face her. A dark expression clouded his eyes, though his face was otherwise impassive.
"You might want to watch your words, Hume. I know for a fact that everything you told Dippet in there was untruthful. You're lucky I don't care enough to actually find out who it is you really are. Just stay out of my way, or else you might find Hogwarts a most unpleasant school."
The threat was spoken suddenly in a low voice, and though the words were intended to scare her, they had the opposite effect. Morgan could actually feel herself relaxing more. It was a nice refresher to know that the man in front of her was no more a polite, rule abiding child than she was. He was Lord Voldemort and she was Morgan Caldwell. There would be no lies or pretenses for them to work around. They were both straight out distrustful of one another, and that was better than having to pretend to be civil.
"You want try and intimidate me? Fine, go ahead. See where that gets you Riddle." Morgan mocked him openly. "But right now, I am tired of these mind games, so be the gentleman that you like to think you are and escort me to the common room."
It seemed as if Riddle was actually thinking about pulling out his wand and hexing her right then and there. Though his moment of anger passed suddenly, and instead of giving her a reason to tackle him down the flight of stairs ahead of them, he just glared and continued walking.
The rest of the trip was completed in silence. Well, silence on Riddle's part and humming on Morgan's. Luckily for the Slytherin heir, it wasn't long before they reached the stone wall that led to the common room.
Morgan watched with interest as Riddle walked forward and placed his hand on a specific stone. And then, in a clear voice, he simply said, "Felix Felicis."
A large portion of the wall swung inwards then, leading into the Slytherin common room. She hadn't had time to take a good look around when she was first discovered in Riddle's dorm, but now that she did have the time, she found the area to be rather gloomy.
It was a low-ceilinged room with greenish lamps hanging in most places. High-backed chairs were collected around the fireplace while a few dark couches sat in the corners. The entire atmosphere was dark, and Morgan could barely see the two staircases on the other side of the room. One staircase, she guessed, led to the girls' dorms, and the other to the boy's.
The dungeon was empty now, besides for the few older students circling around the fire, talking in hushed voices. Morgan didn't like, it made her think they were planning something, and she immediately went on guard. It took her a moment to remind herself that in this time she was one of them, and that they had no reason to act poorly towards her…yet.
"Your dorm is up there," Riddle said blandly. And then, he spun on his heel and walked right back out into the corridor. Morgan almost followed him— after all, it was possible that he was looking for the Founders Necklace— but stopped herself from doing so, knowing that getting on Riddle's nerves was one thing, but letting him realize that her interest in him went deeper than mutual dislike was another.
Instead she stalked up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, walking through the adjoining hallway until she found the door labeled 'Sixth Years'. Throwing it open, she was thankful to notice that a bed had already been conjured up for her, and that the dorm had been expanded accordingly. She also noted the sixth year girls had their own fireplace as well, and she chalked it up to the fact that it was colder in the dungeons than anywhere else in the castle.
"Who're you?"
Morgan looked up to see her dorm mates tending to their own beds respectively.
"We all saw you at the feast with Tom, but whatever are you doing in our dorm?" It was the same witch that spoke the first time. She was tall and pale, with daunting brown eyes and thick black hair. She was meticulously groomed, full lips parted in an emotionless smile.
Morgan resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably from her position, "Leah Hume," she stated. "Transfer student. And you are?"
The witch inclined her head, "Lucretia Black."
The other girls in her dorm introduced themselves as well; Violetta Fanding was a slim, blonde haired witch with a cool exterior; Marinette Blooming was a shorted, stout witch sporting waist-length brown hair; and finally, there was Isabella Marston, easily the prettiest out of the four witches, with startling green eyes and curled red hair that complimented her rosy cheeks.
"Your bed, I believe, is that one right there, wouldn't you say so Violetta?" Morgan decided she didn't like the sound of Marinette Blooming's voice, it was low and coarse. Besides, there was the way that she said her words, almost as if they meant something different all together.
"Right, er… I guess I'll just get settled then." No one else said anything, and Morgan sniffed in annoyance. Out of all the houses that mini-V could have been in…he had to be in the one that had the least amount of fun.
Taking the last bed settled up against the stone wall, Morgan pulled out her trunk and quickly enlarged it to its original size. Her small, four-poster bed was covered with a thick green comforter and silver sheets. A dark colored curtain hung around her space, promising her privacy when she wished to sleep. Already sitting on the mattress was a piece of parchment with her timetable and two sets of school robes with the Slytherin crest. All in all, everything seemed to be in order.
"What classes do you have?" Marston had wandered over to her bunk and sat herself carefully down on Morgan's bed.
Morgan watched, curious, as the witch smoothed out the creases in her skirt with manicured hands. Her back was straight and her legs crossed tightly together. The behavior baffled Morgan, who was used to her friends letting loose in the dorms and sprawling out everywhere. She wondered if it was only the Slytherins who acted so proper or if it was all the girls in the school.
"Classes…" Morgan shuffled around for her timetable and passed it out to Isabella.
"You have a loaded schedule, quite the scholar I see," Marston said politely, running a primed fingernail down the list. "Merrythought, Slughorn, and Dumbledore are really good professors. Their classes are easy to learn in. Professor Binns is dreadfully boring," the witch giggled a bit, carefully covering her mouth with one hand while she did so, "He's a ghost you see. Oh, and Kettleburn's class is scary, not many girls sign up for that one—"
"That is because, Marston, it is improper for young women to waste away their time with the dreadful beasts that inhabit the forests. Spending your time like that is surely not the way to attract the attention of a good boy and get married." Black interrupted darkly.
Isabella blushed, "Yes, of course, Lucretia, we understand that." She turned to Morgan then, "Maybe you can speak with Dippet and have him change that dreadful class."
Morgan shook her head, "Naw, I love working with animals. I used to go to the Muggle zoos when I was younger."
Blooming's wheezy laugh assaulted Morgan's ears, "Leah, honestly, why would you enjoy a thing like that? Hanging around Muggles, that's rather comical, darling."
Morgan purposely scrunched her nose at the aforementioned Slytherin, causing Marston to smile slightly.
"Anyways, we have a few classes together: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Charms. Then you have Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Ancient Runes by yourself." Marston looked at Morgan, puzzled. "Why are you taking Ancient Runes?"
Morgan glanced down at her schedule to, and groaned. "Aw, bloody hell. I dunno what Dippet was thinking. Isn't that class supposed to be hard?"
Blooming stared at Morgan open-mouthed, Black's lips were pursed into a thin line, and Marston's eyes had widened slightly. Fanding was the only one who did not react at all.
"That certainly isn't the language for a proper lady to have," Black said sternly, her glare burning holes into Morgan's body. "It would do you well to remember that, Hume, least you bring shame to our house."
Morgan rolled her eyes.
"Perhaps you should finish up organizing your stuff, Isabella, you always let your possessions get out of hand." Blooming commented saucily.
The redheaded witch blushed before nodding her head and stepping away from Morgan. "They're right, I can be messy. I should clean up." She walked back to her own bunk, but not before shooting Morgan a speculative and innocent glance.
"Don't worry," Violetta Fanding said in a monotone voice, one that was neither condescending nor warm, "I am taking Ancient Runes as well. If you find that you are having trouble, I will be more than willing to assist you."
Morgan nodded in acceptance before searching through her trunk for some clothes to sleep in. She wasn't surprised to find that all the books she needed for her classes were in the trunk; Snape had said almost everything would be provided to her, and she was grateful, even though the only pajamas she found to was a sheet-like night gown that would trail down to her feet. She would have tried to transfigure the hideous pajamas into something more comfortable and less 'Virgin-Mary-Like' but knew that with her luck, she would end up setting the dorm on fire. She opted to kick off her shoes, pull off her stockings, un-tuck her button down shirt, and climb into bed instead. If it was at all possible, Black's lips pursed themselves into a thinner disapproving line.
After getting comfy, Morgan almost pulled out Snape's letter and almost pulled out the thick folder on Tom Riddle, but rationalized that there was tons of time to do so, and that mini-V wasn't going anywhere. It had been a long night, and now that she thought about it, she knew the days ahead would be even longer.
For one thing, she didn't want anyone to know that she was a Metamorphmagus. So far she had been doing a good job making sure that her actions did not dictate the color of her hair or eyes. But still, if she got too angry or too happy or too sad…well, she wasn't sure she would be able to stop her appearance from changing accordingly. Though she wasn't worried about the shape of her eyes or nose, changing those things took a lot of concentration, and couldn't be done unknowingly.
There was also the issue of the scars now lining her chest. She certainly didn't want those to be seen. Not because it would have struck many people as odd and unusual, but because she didn't want to hear the questions that would arise.
And hell, there was even the Dark Mark that she had to be careful of. She couldn't let that be seen, not at all. She reached over and pulled the curtains around her bed before rolling up her sleeve and glancing at it. The tattoo of the snake squirming through the human skull no longer moved or burned: something she was grateful for. She would need to look up concealing spells though, just in case it was possible to cover the mark up. Not only did she not want to have to go through the effort of physically hiding it every day, she also didn't want to have to look at it and be reminded of what she left behind.
It took a long while for sleep to finally reach her, but when it did, it was nice and dreamless.
---
Any lingering hope Morgan had for having fun in the Slytherin house was dashed the moment she woke up.
In her own time, Morgan was used to being awoken rudely, either by a pillow being thrown at her head or a friend smacking her into submission. It was one of those rituals that made waking up for school seem… almost bearable.
Unfortunately for her, no such nonsense was tolerated in the Slytherin dorm. When Morgan was startled awake, it was by a soft, almost delicate shoving, that never went beyond a cool, unknown detachment. And when she finally did open her eyes she found that her fellow sixth years got ready quietly, almost without a word to one another. It was annoyingly dreary; the girls acted like they were getting ready for a bloody funeral.
What's worse, after Morgan clued them in on that fact and let them know that lightening up a bit never did any harm, they merely looked down their noses at her. It was rather disheartening. So instead of trying to further engage any of her robotic, no-fun allowed roommates in discussion, Morgan showered and got ready in silence.
She supposed that she was better off doing so regardless, for when she wasn't talking, Black and co. (as she was beginning to call the bland quartet) ignored her completely, not even sparing her a glance, which made it easier for her to conceal her Dark Mark and scars.
Walking down to breakfast in the Great Hall was slightly livelier, in the sense that Black idly chatted with Blooming about the latest 'Pureblood High-Society Balls' which were, apparently, to die for.
Morgan seriously doubted all of that, but was beginning to learn that if she kept her mouth shut she could actually block out Blooming's wheezing voice semi-successfully.
Actually eating in the Great Hall though, Morgan found, was much worse than any other part of her new morning ritual. Her dorm mates— after looking down their noses at the rest of the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor students— sauntered over to the Slytherin table, swaying their hips in a prim fashion that made Morgan stop for a moment, thinking that there was no way walking like that could be comfortable. Black tossed her an exasperated glare when she continued walking with her hands in her pocket and her back slouched forward.
The other houses studied her without remorse, analyzing every detail of her appearance and the way in which she held herself. Most of the students, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that she was nothing special: for they had adverted their eyes lazily. Only the Gryffindors eyed her longer, a weariness settling into their gazes.
"Leah, come on," Marston smiled in an almost-sincere way, grabbing her arm playfully and dragging her down into a seat next to Fanding. Black and Blooming were sitting across from them, carefully piling fruit onto their plates neatly. Marston soon followed suit, leaving Morgan as the only one to start shoveling eggs and toast into her mouth.
"Hume, would you stop eating like a savage?" Black inquired delicately, her voice sub-zero.
Morgan was about to respond saying that yes, yes it would, when Fanding interrupted on her behalf. "Hume's eating habits are not of your concern, Lucretia." The blonde-haired sixth year was reading a text book, choosing not to eat.
Morgan grinned, silently cheering at the fact that she had made a stony and intimidating ally. She also made a mental note to not associate Violetta with the rest of Black and co.
"T-tom! How are you this morning!"
Morgan looked up from her eggs to see Tom Riddle and a slew of other boys walking down the Slytherin table. Marston's cheeks were a bright red as she smiled at the Prefect, unconsciously fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she did so.
Morgan had wondered why her beautiful dorm mate had taken so much time to get ready that morning. Even though all the Slytherin girls were dressed in a similar uniform: knee-length black skirt, tucked in white blouse, shiny black shoes, and slimming black robes; the witch had taken a large amount of time adjusting her appearance compulsively, believing for some reason that pulling her robes to the left would make her more attractive. It was a shame all that work was wasted on Tom Riddle.
"Hello Isabella, I am well, how are you faring? And Miss Hume, it's a pleasure seeing you again." The evil overlord to be was standing to the left of Fanding, his body angled towards Marston in a respective fashion and his thin hands clasped behind his back. His lackeys, a group of unknown boys, stood by him loyally, casting curious glances at Morgan.
Marston blushed an even deeper red at Tom's greeting, while Morgan frowned. She turned around in her seat to face the Slytherin heir head-on. "I thought we decided last night that we weren't gunna pretend to be nice to each other? False pleasantries give me headaches."
Black glanced up from her continued conversation with Blooming, an expression of shock on her face. Morgan believed it was the most alive she seen her roommate look since arriving. "L-leah!" Her tone was one of scorn and reproach, almost as if she couldn't believe that Morgan had dared speak so rudely. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before coming to the conclusion that she had no words to offer.
Tom's polite smile hardened a bit, his dark eyes blank. "A good-morning to you regardless." He said stiffly before beginning to start towards the other end of the breakfast table.
Blooming stopped him though, "Oh, Tom, don't mind Leah, she's a rather odd witch. I'm not sure, but I think she might just be having a hard time adjusting to Hogwarts. Please, do come sit with us; of course Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Caldwell, and Prufoot are welcome as well."
Morgan started, flinging a forkful of eggs across the table and onto the floor. Caldwell!?!
Her fit of surprise was ignored, however, as Tom smiled gratefully (Morgan knew the gratitude wasn't real) and filled the six seats to the other side of Marston, who appeared as if she was about to die from happiness.
Morgan quickly threw down her silverware and grabbed at the ends of her hair, making sure they had not strayed away from their original brown in shock. A few patches of hair had turned a funny yellow color, and the Metamorphmagus put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. Blocking out the sounds and visions of the nosy hall helped her concentrate, and within seconds she knew that her hair had returned to normal.
"Are you quite alright, Hume? You seem to have catapulted your food, not to mention it looks like you're trying to curl up and die inside your hands."
Morgan wearily lifted her head to find the smallest hint of a half-there-half-not smile on Fanding's lips, her hazel eyes not once straying from the pages of her book.
"Ah, yeah, just fine." Morgan ruffled her hair when she felt a dainty hand tapping her shoulder.
"Leah, don't you want to meet some of the boys?"
Great. It was Marston again, and this time her voice was several octaves higher than usual.
"I would absolutely love to." Morgan replied, turning so that she faced the boys sitting beside Marston and straddled the bench. Her actions were met with raised eyebrows.
Tom, sitting right next to Marston and therefore nearest her, took it upon himself to do the introductions. "This is Abraxas Malfoy, a fellow sixth year." He gestured to a tall blond with a dazzling smile and grey eyes; Morgan had to hold back her snarky and biased comments. "Next to him is Marcus Prufoot, a seventh year, Head Boy and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team." The boy in question had neatly trimmed brown hair and a malicious gaze. "Then we have Crux Nott, another sixth year," the next boy had dark hair, and bad teeth. "And Volans Avery, a seventh year," an auburn haired stout boy was pointed out.
"And of course, me," The last of the boys was grinning largely, a predatory look on his handsome face. He had startling honey colored hair and brown eyes, though no kindness was found in them. "Braxton Caldwell, at your service."
Morgan couldn't help but lean forward automatically, stretching herself rather oddly across Isabella and Tom to get a better look at Braxton. Her blue-eyes were large and wondering, an odd smile set upon her lips, as she reached her hand across the row of six boys, desperately grabbing for her might-be grandfather. "Mo-I mean, Leah Hume!"
Braxton looked thoroughly amused by the display of eagerness, and smiled condescendingly to the others while he met Morgan's handshake halfway. "The pleasure is all mine."
Morgan was still in a state of admiring disbelief when Blooming said offhandedly, "You can stop throwing yourself at him now, Hume, please, if not for the benefit of your dignity, for the benefit of poor Tom and Isabella."
Morgan jerked her hand back as if it burned, making sure to scoot more towards Fanding, who was still immersed in her book. "I-er, I wouldn't use the term 'throwing' per se…" she muttered distractedly, her eyes still locked onto Braxton. She left the sentence open, but instead of finishing it, stared at her plate in deep thought, seemingly oblivious to Tom's annoyance at the whole situation.
"Like my dear friend asked you before, boys, please excuse Leah. She didn't get a lot of sleep last night and is feeling under the weather. Not to mention that she—"
"—Doesn't like to be spoken about as if she's not there." Morgan declared loudly, looking up from her plate and openly scowling at Black. "I don't need you to make excuses for my behavior, woman, and I do not force my company upon those who don't deserve it." She stood up from her seat, kneeling down to snatch up her prepared schoolbag and grabbing a pastry from a nearby platter. "Now me and this muffin will take our leave!"
The sixth and seventh year Slytherins stared after her departing form, watching as the unimpressive addition to their house plopped down next to a first year at the edge of the table and began chatting amiably.
"Lucretia, dear, please close your mouth. It's rather unattractive for you to have it gaping open like that." Violetta turned a page in her book.
"I can't believe we have to share a room with her, she's shameless," Blooming muttered shallowly.
"Yes," Tom Riddle muttered, his attention returning to his breakfast. "Lucky you." There wasn't a hint of envy in his tone.