A/N: Here's where the plot picks up! Its the extra special chapter for you guys, just because I'll be gone for a week(: Be sure to leave me lots of reviews so that I'll update loads more when I get back!! Thanks again to all my reviewers, you really make my day, and to anyone else who has put the story on their Alert/Fave. See you guys in a week!
Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling. It is Meghan. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter(:
Chapter Eight: Save the Last Dance
By the end of her first month at Hogwarts, many people were forced to acknowledge the fact that Leah Hume was odd.
Most of her professors disapproved of her, from the way she walked to the way she just couldn't keep her mouth shut. What baffled the Hogwarts staff more than anything, though, was the way she tended to separate herself from her own house. She never sat next to any of her dorm mates or fellow Slytherins. Instead, she would sit in the back of the classroom, usually leaning backwards in her chair and scanning the contents of one library book or another.
When asked a question, the young woman would usually give a ridiculous answer. Professor Bragidly, the Charms teacher, had a particularly hard time with the new student. When asked about the correct incantation for the Fidelius charm the Slytherin looked up from whatever book she was reading and wrinkled her nose before saying, "27?"
Needless to say, Bragidly wasn't pleased. Just like many of the other teachers. The problem was that when it came to homework, Leah Hume did amazingly. She wrote all her essays with practiced care and passed all the tests with flying colors. After conversing with the Headmaster about the situation, it was finally determined that Leah was just an abnormally advanced student with a unique work ethic.
Professor Dumbledore appeared to be the only teacher that could hold the witch's attention. In his Transfiguration classes Leah Hume sat near the front, listening intently to the material being covered. She was often found speaking with the professor after class, conversing with him about one thing or another.
The only other teachers that tolerated Leah was Slughorn and Kettleburn. It had been discovered that Miss Hume was quite the natural at brewing potions, which could be the reason as the why the burly man tolerated her attitude and distant behavior in his class. Professor Kettleburn seemed to have it easy, though, for Miss Hume always participated diligently in his class, most times sitting with Potter and Macmillan. Almost everyday after class he would see her sneak up behind his understudy, Hagrid, and try to engage the boy in a conversation. Kettleburn secretly cheered on her efforts.
Outside of the classroom, however, Leah Hume was rarely seen. Every once and awhile she would be spotted in the library, but never at any meals. Most assumed that the young witch simply went back to her dorm, and Lucretia Black never said a word to dissuade others from believing such. In all honesty, Hume's roommates rarely spied the witch coming back into the dorm, and preferred to keep that fact silent. They did not wish to parade the fact that the new addition to their house was quite the oddity.
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Morgan Caldwell rubbed her left forearm irritably, peeling back the sleeve of her shirt to glare at the Dark Mark. She sat on the floor of the Room of Requirement, five books spread around her. She had tried every concealing charm known in Hogwarts, and still the mark showed strikingly black against her white skin. It was as if it didn't want to be hidden.
She leaned back against one of the couches in the room and sighed unhappily. She had been going through all the books in the Hogwarts library for a month and she still had no success. The only thing she accomplished was causing the skin surrounding the mark to flare up.
All the work was necessary though, because despite the long-sleeved blouses she was forced to wear, the black tattoo had almost been spotted three more times. And after looking up the meaning of the Dark Mark, Morgan realized if it was discovered she would be put in a very compromising position. The mark was representative of everything forbidden and dark, it was a symbol of evil magic.
"This sucks." She kicked away a few of her books and studied the room around her. She had the Room of Requirement conjure up an almost exact replica of the D.A. headquarters, and when she was feeling lonely (which she often felt) Morgan would pretend that Neville and Seamus and the other members of were there with her, giving her advice. It was beyond pathetic, but it helped her pass the time.
Her fellow Slytherins all pretty much loathed her. Especially Black and co., though it never bothered her before and certainly wasn't going to now.
Almost all of her classes bored her. She had already learned the material the teacher's were covering. The only classes she really enjoyed were Transfiguration, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures. She often tried to befriend the half-giant Hagrid after class, though he was rather talented at slipping away. After skimming through the file Snape had supplied her about Voldemort, she couldn't help but try and speak with him. She felt bad for the expelled student and how he was wrongly accused and convicted.
Glancing at the small clock settled over the fireplace Morgan groaned. It was time for the first official Slug Club gathering. From what she had gathered, Slughorn made a point to have at least one giant get-together every semester, one in which talented people outside of Hogwarts were invited to.
Standing up and stretching Morgan studied her appearance in the mirror. Due to her sleepless nights practicing charms and reading, large circles laid even more prominently under her eyes, and because she rarely found time to go down to the kitchens, she was looking as thin as ever.
She wasn't wearing anything for a party, either. It was Saturday and she was dressed in clothes that she would normally wear in the 90's. She knew that the loose jeans she wore would be completely unacceptable, as were the Converse shoes donning her feet. Grumbling in annoyance, she quickly pulled out her wand and concentrated on changing her jeans to a suitable skirt. After almost five minutes of playing with a few spells, she had managed to configure a simple black skirt that flowed a little above her knees. It was a tad bit too short, but she honestly didn't care. Next came the shoes. It took her twice as long to do that.
When she had transfigured her shoes and pants, Morgan checked the clock, only to see that she was already ten minutes late. The simple black button-down shirt would have to do, she figured. And so she hastily exited the Room of Requirement and ran down to the dungeons.
"Leah! My dear! I was starting to think you wouldn't make it!" A burly and smiling form of Horace Slughorn greeted her, a cocktail glass in hand. "And—oh dear, what is it that you are wearing?"
Morgan frowned, confused, before looking down at her shirt. "Er…clothes?"
Slughorn chuckled happily, "Well I suppose what they say about geniuses are true then! They can be quite odd. But do come in!" A fat hand waved her in through the door and Morgan began to understand why her professor had been so shocked at her attire.
Everyone else at the party was dressed extravagantly. The boys all had on neat suits and the girls wore dresses that high-lighted their slim figures. Morgan stuck out like a sore thumb, and as soon as she had fully entered the room she found most people staring at her.
"Hello Hume," Morgan turned to see Violetta Fanding walking to her. The petite witch had dressed up in a lavender gown that trailed to her heeled feet. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to attend at all."
Morgan couldn't help but be grateful for the fact that Violetta had not called her out on her clothing. It was just one of the things that she had come to expect out of her fellow Slytherin. Fanding was the closest thing to a friend she had. "I wouldn't dream of it," She grinned. "I don't believe I got the memo about the dressing up though."
"Maybe if you paid attention and decided to sleep in our dorm every now and then I would have been able to inform you."
Morgan rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Yeah…I suppose it is my fault."
Violetta simply nodded, though no more words were exchanged.
"Leah, you look…well, you could have at least tried to dress nicely, couldn't you have?"
Morgan winced at the sound of Isabella Marston's voice. The other Slytherin was strutting towards her, a dark green gown swaying with her feet. She was hanging off the arm of Tom Riddle, who eyed Morgan's choice of clothing with an amused smirk.
"I had more important things to do Marston," Morgan answered stiffly, once again rubbing her left forearm. "And I—"
"If it isn't little Miss Hume!" Braxton Caldwell appeared by Violetta's side, a grin lighting up his entire face. "I must admit it's been a long time since I've spoken with you!"
Morgan grinned earnestly, in all her trouble with the Dark Mark she had forgotten about her could-be ancestor. "It has been," she agreed. "Though you being a seventh year might have a lot to do with it."
"Nonsense!" He wagged a finger at her, "You haven't been coming down to the Great Hall at all! Where do you run off to? Are you like Mr. Riddle here? Going to the library?"
Morgan cast a sidelong glance at mini-V who was studying Braxton with dark eyes, apparently not appreciating the hidden insult. "Well, you know, I've been having trouble keeping up with the schoolwork," She lied.
"Well I can always tutor you!" Braxton tossed her a suggestive grin.
Morgan tried to hold a fit of laughter at bay, "Ah…no that's alright. Anyways, I was just about to leave, you know."
"I don't think so," Braxton grabbed her arm gently; "Let me treat you to a dance."
Morgan scowled. "I don't dance."
"Sure you do!"
"I surely don't Caldwell." She answered back, just as adamantly.
Isabella smiled, "Awh, go on Leah, Caldwell will take good care of you. I do believe he has had his eye on you ever since he saw you in the Great Hall."
Braxton straightened his shoulders, "Oh, don't go telling my secret Miss Marston," he smiled hugely again. "Now, Leah, I insist."
Morgan wanted to dig a hole and go hide. "Absolutely not Caldwell," She jerked her arm away from Braxton and shot him a withering glare.
"Come now, Caldwell, dance with me," Violetta gracefully set her drink down on a table and stepped forward on Morgan's behalf
Braxton studied the blond beauty before smirking. "Well, my lady, if you insist…"
"I do." Violetta spun away with Caldwell, trailing to the middle of the dance floor where they began the waltz.
"Thank god," Morgan groaned. "This was such a bad idea." She sank into a nearby chair, noticing that Tom and Isabella had disappeared somewhere. Or at least, that was what she thought…
"You must love telling lies, Hume." Tom's voice came from behind her, and she craned her neck to see the pale Slytherin standing to her left. "You are most definitely not having trouble with your schoolwork."
"Yeah, you're right. It's pretty easy." Morgan answered offhandedly.
Riddle pulled a chair up next to hers. "Which leads me to the question: why are you going to the library during your free periods?"
"Which leads me to the question: why do you care?"
Tom folded his hands in his lap and Morgan couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked. "Concealing charms with the strength that you have been studying are rarely a good sign."
Morgan gaped at Riddle, "You've been spying on me?"
"No, merely observing the books that you have checked out, Hume. I've noticed you in the library every night during dinner and every afternoon during lunch. I was curious."
"I liked it better when we ignored each other." Morgan said darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"There's no need to act like a pouting child."
Morgan wrinkled her nose, "Go find your girlfriend, Riddle, and bother her."
A look of disgust passed through mini-V's eyes so fast that Morgan almost missed it. "Isabella is not my significant other. She merely asked me to escort her to the party and I—"
"Didn't want to soil your reputation by turning the poor girl down?" Morgan supplied. "After all, how would it look if perfect and selfless Tom Riddle turned down a simple date to a party?" She snorted angrily. "Poor orphaned Riddle, so charming and ambitious; he would never do such a thing! I'm sure Hagrid would disagree though!"
All of a sudden tension filled the air and Morgan saw Tom clench his fists together. When she moved her gaze up to his face, she saw his eyes burning straight through her. "Now how would you know that?" He sneered, turning his whole body towards her.
Morgan gulped, but didn't say anything.
"Has the confused half-giant been telling you stories, Leah?" Her first name rolled off his tongue darkly and he leaned towards her.
Silent alarms screamed in her head for her to get away, though she had flipped through Tom's file she couldn't remember if he was a skilled Legilimens or not. She jumped from her seat and tried to back away from Riddle, but he was on his feet just as fast. She tried to scurry away when a pale hand shot out and gripped her arm.
It was nothing like the gentle way Braxton had grabbed her. No, Tom's hold was vice-like and threatening. A quick tug on her arm forced her to spin towards mini-V again. His face was composed in a lazy and charming smile. "Please dance with me, Miss Hume."
Morgan averted her eyes and tried to rip her arm from Riddle, "No," she hissed vehemently. "I think I'd rather not."
"Thank you Miss Hume," Tom's grip tightened even more as he pulled her out to the dance floor. A fast moving song had come on and Morgan whimpered unhappily.
"I bruise easily," she quipped. "And I really can't dance!" But her body was dragged straight into Riddle's regardless. "Son of a bitch, Riddle, I can't dance! Oh god, I'm gunna trip!" All thoughts of Legilimency were wiped from her mind as she closed her eyes shut. Horribly embarrassing memories of the Hogwarts Yule Ball flashed before her closed lids: Getting asked to dance by Seamus, tripping, knocking him and five other people down. Oh god, that was terrible!
Before she could stop herself, Morgan's free hand was digging into Tom's robes tightly. "Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip," she whispered the words to herself nervously.
"Get a grip Hume." Tom growled out, it felt like her hand was breaking in his hold.
Taking deep breaths, Morgan meekly released her hand from Tom's suit and let it hover uncertainly between them, "Oh hell." The song changed then and she blushed furiously, realizing that she had been freaking out for a whole of three minutes.
"Well, it was nice dancing with you Riddle, but now I have to go kill myself, thanks." She tried to pull away then, wanting desperately to end her embarrassment, especially when she saw Isabella eyeing her angrily from the side of the dance floor. "On second thought, I think Marston is going to kill me anyways…"
Tom didn't release her; instead both his hands went to her waist where he gripped her just as tightly, "I'm tired of your games, Hume, no more distractions." Morgan didn't move. "Put. Your. Hands. Around. My. Neck." Each word was articulated with a dangerous lit. Morgan figured Riddle was finally losing it.
"Well, okay, if it's really necessary." She lifted her arms so that the encircled Tom's neck awkwardly. Her body began trembling with humility.
Tom noticed her shaking in his hands and smirked lowly, "I'm not going to hurt you anymore, Hume, if only you would answer my simple questions."
Morgan glared at his hard chest, "Hurt me? I'm not hurt you asshole! I'm embarrassed! Oh god, I hate dancing! I'll never live this down! I'll never be able to face anyone—"
"Look at me," Riddle said furiously. Morgan complied stiffly, not letting her glare loose its intenseness. Tom's mouth was pulled downwards in a frown and his pale face was flushed with anger. "Is that seriously what this is about, Hume?"
"Well, uh, yes," Morgan flexed her fingers around Tom's neck worriedly. "I've had some really bad times dancing. I don't like it." She shook her head, brown hair splaying around her.
Tom almost looked shocked, his eyes widening. "Leah, you are the strangest girl I have ever met!" He scowled and loosened his grip on her waist, though it was still less than comfortable.
Morgan stood on her tip-toes, trying to examine the arm that Tom had previously gripped, "I bet you left me with a bruise though. You probably left a few on my hips too, asshole."
Tom led them in a small circle, having no problem keeping up with the dance. "Your language is atrocious."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a disgrace to the noble house of Slytherin, spare me the speech." Morgan looked away to see Isabella fretfully talking to Lucretia. "Oh dear. I think they're planning my murder."
Tom turned to look at his date, "Not my problem," he murmured. He lifted one hand away from her waist and gripped her chin, forcefully moving her face to his own. "Now for my questions."
Morgan began to panic again, though this time for much more sensible reason.
"What has Hagrid been telling you, Leah?" Tom's dark eyes stared into her blue orbs.
'Don't think, don't think, think about nothing. You have nothing in your head! Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb…'
A frustrated frown found its way upon Tom's face. "Leah," He whispered warningly. "I don't want to have to hurt you…"
Morgan inwardly snorted, 'Bullshit,'
"But if need be—"
"Miss Hume?" A new voice interrupted Morgan's thoughts and she suddenly found Tom's hand darting away from her face and back to her waist again, pulling her into his body sharply.
"Can we help you?" Tom asked calmly.
"Hello Riddle," the boy greeted Tom simply. "I was going to ask Miss Hume to dance."
"I'm afraid that we're a bit busy now, Potter, though as soon as we are done I'll send her your way."
Morgan sneered in disgust at the way he spoke about her, as if she was a possession. "Actually, Riddle, I would love to dance with Potter." She retracted her hands from Tom's neck and placed them against his chest where she discreetly tried to push him away.
Tom glared at her, his eyes black and furious. His lips were pursed in a thin line, and his grip on her hips increased. "Alright, Hume," Riddle said back softly. "Just be sure to save me the last dance."
His hands finally fell away from her waist and Morgan stepped away from him easily. She grinned at her savior, Charlus Potter.
Charlus gave her a small smile, his black hair sticking up untidily. "Hello Leah," He said loudly, "I don't really want to dance." The last part was whispered conspiratorially.
Morgan let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank god. I hate dancing." She took his offered arm and he led her off the dance floor and to the older occupants of the dungeon.
"Was Tom Riddle hurting you?" Charlus asked a bit sharply, anger outlining his features. "It looked like it was getting very…uncomfortable."
"That's exactly the word I would use," Morgan agreed. "But don't worry, it's alright. I was just aggravating him."
Charlus laughed, "I really don't know why you weren't in Gryffindor. You don't get along with any of those snakes."
"Nope," Morgan pulled her arm back from Potter and stuck her hands in her skirt pocket. "Well, I'm gunna be leaving, I never even wanted to come to this stupid party."
Charlus gave her a mischievous smile, "Macmillan and I have something planned for the end of the party, if you wish to stay, I assure you it will be worth your wild."
Morgan shook her head, not daring to look back at Tom Riddle, "No, I really should go now, I have some studying to do."
"It's Saturday!" Potter sounded exasperated. "Even McGonagall isn't studying."
Morgan smiled at the mention of the Head-Girl and her future Transfiguration teacher, "Well Minerva is not falling behind on her DADA essay," She totted. "I'll see you later Potter." She waved before expertly weaving her way between the crowds of people. She had to neatly dodge Slughorn, who was looking around the room to introduce her to a pair of vampires, and sidled out the dungeon door.
She was very much so aware of Tom Riddle glaring at her from the other side of the room.
As soon as she escaped the party, she practically ran to the Room of Requirement, quickly entering her preferred room and collapsing on the couch. She was screwed. Terribly screwed. All because she let slip a few little words! Before Tom never bothered her, sure he appeared curious as to what she was doing with concealing charms, but she knew that within a week he would have forgotten her odd behavior. But now…
"Be sure to save me the last dance."
Morgan had no doubt she would be running into Riddle a lot more often. And it would not be pleasant.
His interest in her would make it almost impossible to search for texts on the Founders Necklace undetected…but on the plus side…
Morgan rolled up the sleeve of her right arm, glancing at the bruises darkening the skin there. At least now she had a reason to break his nose.