A/N: First off, I want to say sorry for the fact that this update is three days late. My vacation got extended and there was no internet access, haha. Anyways, this one is EXTREMELY long, and I know some of you hate that, so I'm sorry, but I really didn't want to cut it off(: Anyways, slight warning, there is some angst in here (towards the end) but it needed to happen. And also, because I feel like I should warn you, there is some more severe swearing. Anyways! I hope you all enjoy!

I would also like the time to thank everyone who has reviewed: CrackedLips (You're reviews are always so well thought out and amazing!), Diina, Samara Moon, shadowontherun, xxthethieflordxx, IzzyoftehRandomanius, Angelique Aurealis, FYInichole, Ducky-Rawr-Foxears, Clo () (My first anonymous reviewer, thanks!), BEN-Beyond the Elusive Nomads-, and Clearly Epic who clearly shares my sense of humor! Also, I want to thank the people that have taken the time to Fave/Alert this story! THANKS GUYS!

Disclaimer: I am so tired right now, I can't even type one out.

Chapter Nine: Shaky Hands

Morgan was a very oblivious person. It was a fact justified Sunday morning, the day after Slughorn's party. The young witch woke up early, dressing in her school robes and wandering down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Like always, her shoulders were slumped forward and her hands were buried in her pockets. Her dark brown hair lay unkempt on her head and her blue eyes were locked on the stone floor in deep thought.

Upon looking through a very thick and time-consuming book, Morgan found that when something of a dark nature needed to be hidden, potions were better suited to get the job done. Concealing spells covered up what needed to be hidden with an illusion. Due to the dark magic confined in her mark, illusions were dispelled. Potions, though, would physically alter the skin on her arm, and in theory, could not be counteracted by other charms. Morgan found a very specific reference to a potion that would solve her problems and she was eager to get started brewing it.

Promising herself that she would head to library after eating some pancakes, she pushed open the Great Hall doors. As she walked the length of the Slytherin table she didn't notice the shocked glances she received.

She walked right past Lucretia Black and co., ignoring their stifling glares and the congregation of boys that sat neatly beside them. Morgan noted, however, that Tom Riddle was indeed seated next to Isabella Marston, despite his protests of not being involved with her.

Violetta gave her a curt nod that she returned with a companionable smile before pacing down to the Slytherin first years. Lyra's eyes went wide with surprise when Morgan sat down across from her.

"Hello my dear friend. How are you this fine morning?" Morgan grinned openly and reached for a piece of toast, in a particularly good mood.

"What hole did you climb out of," Lyra hissed back, her gaze combing over Morgan's features. "You look terrible."

"Oh Lyra, you're making me blush," Morgan's cheery tone was not to be disheartened and she bit down on her toast with relish. She didn't doubt that she looked bad—staying up all night pouring over books tended to have that affect on people—but just like always, her mind was too bothered with other matters to care.

"Where have you been? You've left me alone for a month." Lyra pushed away her golden plate and glanced over her Charms homework. With a quill poised in her hand she appeared torn between continuing her assignment and speaking to her older friend.

"Terribly sorry about that," And Morgan meant it. It wasn't hard to tell that Lyra wasn't exactly popular in their house: she was unusual, and as a Slytherin automatically unapproachable by the other houses.

"Just…don't do it again, okay? I know we might not be friends…exactly…but—"

"What gave you that impression?" Morgan looked slightly alarmed, her eyes wide and her mouth popping open, which really was an unattractive picture, considering the toast she had mashed in there.

Lyra gave a little squeal of disgust, "Leah, seriously! Close your mouth!" The smile fighting its way onto her face was unmistakable.

Morgan grinned, poking out her tongue and leaning over the table towards Lyra, "Munahkln!"

Suddenly, a hand slammed onto Morgan's back, causing her to sputter out the half-chewed toast in her mouth. The food flew into Lyra's face and hair.

"LEAH!" Lyra seemed too shocked to say much else, embarrassment turning her cheeks a dark red color.

"Hello there Leah!" While Morgan was left staring openmouthed at Lyra, Charlus Potter slid onto the bench. On her other free side, Kayden Macmillan sidled up to her too, both Gryffindor's looking cheery.

Morgan closed her mouth. Then opened it again. Then blinked.

"So…Er…about that weather…" Morgan smiled weakly and wiped the excess toast from her chin.

Apparently just noticing the mess they created, Charlus coughed nervously, his natural instincts going against apologizing or helping a Slytherin, "Oh, sorry about that." He hesitated before pulling out his wand and waving it. Instantly, the chewed food coating Lyra's face disappeared.

Lyra's surprise didn't go away as quickly though. She stared at the two Gryffindor's disbelievingly, and for the first time in her life, Morgan took the time to notice the people around her.

Every other student in Hogwarts was gazing at the Slytherin table in shock, discreetly pointing at Morgan and her friends. It annoyed her.

"Hello Kayden and Charlus," she said with a firm glare in Lyra's direction. The first year witch quickly closed her mouth. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"

Potter smiled, grateful to have something to talk about, "Well, Miss Hume, Kayden and I noticed that for the first time in weeks, you have decided to grace us with your presence at breakfast."

"And we figured their must be some sort of occasion that has prompted this sudden change," Kayden continued happily.

"And we wish to inquire as to what occasion it is that has made us so lucky." Charlus finished zealously.

Morgan realized they were making fun of her. "I try to please at least one person a day, and today just happens to be your day Charlus Potter."

"I don't know whether or not I should be insulted," Kayden threw in, smiling.

Morgan playfully shoved his shoulder, "Who are you again?"

"I am so confused," Lyra admitted at last, her elbows on the table and her head balanced on top of her hands. "What is going on here?"

"It might come as quite the shock," Kayden said seriously. "But we're actually friends of Leah."

"I mean, who knew she had friends!" Charlus finished chuckling. Morgan thought that, in a strange way, Charlus and Kayden were like Fred and George Weasley: they almost always finished each others sentences and had an odd knack for getting into trouble. Hanging around the two made her feel more at home than she had felt in a long time.

Lyra, however, looked as if their company was less than desired. "Okay. Well, I'm just going to go now. Bye Leah." The short witch jumped up from her seat and gathered her things before stalking out of the hall at a brisk pace.

Morgan frowned, "You scared her! Now I'm stuck with you two, all alone."

"Now I am sure that was meant to be an insult," Kayden said.

"And we wouldn't be scaring away all these snakes if you just sat with us at the Gryffindor table. Besides, there's someone we want you to meet over there." Charlus, disregarding the openly hostile glares he received, reached over and took a muffin from a nearby platter.

"Well I'm not moving," Morgan warned them. "I am comfy right here on this bench. Bring them over." She picked up a new piece of toast and stuffed it in her mouth. "Especially now that I have this nice empty seat across from me that they can occupy."

Charlus and Kayden exchanged glances before shrugging. "Alright, we'll bring him. Save our seats and make sure some snake doesn't go and poison my muffin," Charlus said easily, placing his pastry on an empty plate in front of him.

The two left then, leaving Morgan to deal with the dark glares her peers generously took the time shoot at her. She stole a glance towards Tom Riddle, only to find him pleasantly eating a bagel, his thin lips moving fast as he conversed with his Malfoy lackey.

She wouldn't deny that she was worried about how he would act towards her. They definitely didn't leave off on good terms, and she was sure he was furious with her. But he didn't show it at all. No, instead he carried on as if she weren't there. Though Morgan found a small pleasure in the fact that he had to keep politely moving his hand away from Isabella's.

Lucretia was more open with her hate. She met Morgan's eyes and her face hardened, though a small, tight smile appeared on her delicate lips. The gesture carried a clear enough message: "I'm smiling at you now, but I secretly hope you get hit by a truck."

Morgan smiled back happily, even going as far as to wave enthusiastically to the woman.

"Leah, may I introduce you to James Darley!" Charlus was standing across the table from her, holding onto an arm of a tall boy while Kayden gripped the other.

James was tall and very well built, with muscles that seemed ready to burst under his white shirt. He must have been at least six feet tall with a very intimidating scar carved into his cheek. His eyes were a dark green and his hair was cropped short. All in all, he was a very handsome man, who looked as if he had forgotten the reason as to why he was there.

"This is her?" His voice was low and judgmental as he took in Morgan's stature.

Annoyance bubbled up in Morgan. It was like she didn't meet some unknown standard he measured her up against. It reminded her wholly of the Father Miller in her orphanage, who always believed that what she did was never good enough, and who wasn't afraid to voice his thoughts.

An angry glare settled into her eyes, and she stared dispassionately at the giant, "What the hell do you want?"

James was startled and Kayden started laughing, falling down onto the bench and dragging his friends down with him. "Told you she was something," He said appreciatively.

Charlus reached across the table and stole back his muffin, "A real lion among the snakes," He agreed. "She helped your little brother out."

Morgan stared down at her lap in thought, her hair falling over her eyes and her hands working around themselves unconsciously. After a second, her head flew up and she snapped her fingers, "William Darley!" She said amazingly, "You're his brother? The seventh year?"

James seemed unsure of where he should place his hands, or of how he should sit, really. He seemed so uncomfortable. "Yes."

Morgan's eyes widened, "But he's so…tiny…" She trailed off, once again noting how enormous James was.

Charlus nodded, knowingly, "James here is a real snake hater, helps us give the Slytherins hell whenever we can. But because of that, his brother became a target; I guess you would say, since he's so little and only a first year."

"Uh, right. Okay then." Morgan said.

"So he wanted to thank you for helping out little William when he wasn't able to." Kayden replied, shouldering James sharply. "Right?"

"…Right." James said after a long moment. "Thanks."

Morgan realized that since meeting him, James Darley had said a total of six words. "Your command of the English language amazes me."

James glared in response, "Maybe I just don't trust snakes."

Sorry, twelve words.

"Join the club," Morgan snorted, taking the time to frown at Lucretia.

"Now, now, we want you two to become best friends," Kayden chided cheerfully. "That way it won't be awkward when you watch us play Quidditch today, Leah."

Morgan pushed away her empty plate and sipped her orange juice. "Quidditch? Today? Gee guys, thanks for telling me in advanced."

"Yes well, we didn't want there to be any schedule conflicts," Charlus said jokingly. "Being our friend means watching us play on Sundays."

"I don't think I want to be your friend…"

"Oh Charlus, it's almost as if she thinks she has a choice in the matter," Kayden remarked.

Morgan let loose a few chuckles, "Your witty comments know no bounds."

Charlus wrinkled his nose, "Of course not. Now let's go out to the pitch so that we get there before anyone else does."

Potter and Macmillan pulled James up from his seat and Morgan willingly followed them out of the hall.

---

Morgan really wished she had the time to go outside more often. The fresh air did wonders for her senses, and even though the sun seemed to burn through her pale skin, she enjoyed the weather.

She was perched on the floor of the Quidditch pitch, the tall stands inclosing her. Her back leaned against the base of the center hoop on the left side of the field. In the air above her, Charlus, Kayden, James, and some other boys were flying around. They were practicing evasive maneuvers and racing each other carelessly.

Morgan tried to look impressed, but really, they were just going so… slow! The brooms they rode upon were so laughable; she couldn't even begin to fathom what it would feel like to be stuck on one.

She rubbed her hands together and noticed James was very talented at blocking the fist-sized rocks that were thrown at him; she assumed him to be the Gryffindor keeper. Charlus and Kayden, on the other hand, seemed quite at home trying to pummel their friend with the rocks, so she had to guess they were the beaters.

The only other kids on the pitch that she associated with an inkling of talent were a small boy with dark hair and a wider kid covered in freckles. The small kid had to be a seeker while Freckle-Face, she assumed, was a chaser.

Even though she thought their brooms were going to unbelievably slow, she was jealous of the guys. She pretty much knew that girls weren't expected to know anything of Quidditch in the 40's, let alone how to ride a broom. The fact that she couldn't fly was a huge disappointment.

After a half-hour, Morgan watched as James pulled his broom down to the ground and landed beside her. His head was bleeding and he was cursing loudly.

Morgan didn't acknowledge him, even when he sat down next to her and wiped away the blood running down his neck. It wasn't hard to figure out that Charlus and Kayden were very good at what they did, and had managed to hit the taller Gryffindor with a large rock.

"Head's spinnin'" James muttered gruffly, as if he felt the need to justify his presence next to her. "Got hit with a rock."

"Yeah well, it was bound to happen sometime. Charlus and Kayden are very good at what they do." Morgan muttered without thinking.

"Good at what they do?" James asked, cautious suspicion in his voice.

Morgan almost sighed. If she wanted to try and fit in, she shouldn't continue the conversation with James, because it would just lead to her admitting her very uncommon interest in Quidditch. But, hell, she figured she already stuck out like a sore thumb, so why not?

"You know, they're chasers, right? And you're a keeper, I'm assuming." She raked her fingers through the growing grass, keeping her eyes trained on the students flying above her.

"You know about Quidditch?" James sounded skeptical and Morgan kept herself turned away from him.

"Uh, yeah. Lots of girls know about it and stuff up north." She lied.

"I think I'd like to go up there and see that one day," James answered thoughtfully. He had already pulled out his wand and used a nonverbal spell to heal his head wound.

"Yeah, sure, but I would wait until this war thing was over. It might put a damper on your vacationing plans, I guess."

James stared at her, deadpan, for a long while before shaking his head, "You are so odd." He paused. "I can't figure it out."

"There is nothing to figure out!" Morgan retorted, defensively. "I'm just as normal as any other person here—well, okay, that's a lie. But still!" She crossed her arms and glared at him then. "I'm tired of being judged by you today. It's annoying and it makes me uncomfortable."

James blinked before opening his mouth, as if to speak, before he closed it just as quickly. He repeated this action a few more times before saying: "Well what's your favorite position?"

"Position? In Quidditch?" Morgan looked at him, wanting to ask what the hell kind of question that was before replying. "My favorite to position is chaser, but I think seekers have the most important job on the field."

James snorted, "Keepers are the most important, hands down."

"If that doesn't sound egotistical I don't know what does…"

"Your insults are not really needed, nor welcomed."

"Yeah well, you're not really needed or welcomed, and yet here you are." Morgan pulled out a chunk of grass and flicked it towards the Jolly Green Giant. "Go away."

"It's a good thing I don't like to please people," James said, "Or else I might actually considering leaving."

"I can see why Charlus and Kayden were throwing rocks at you." Morgan snapped back. "They had the right idea, too. So tell me, what can I throw at you to make you leave me alone?"

James eyed her arms seriously, "You want to throw something at me? With what muscles?"

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Morgan demanded, before pushing herself to her feet.

"Not when it comes to snakes, no."

"So help me God, if I get called a snake one more time…" Morgan pulled out her wand and pointed it at the larger boy's nose. Even when he was sitting down and Morgan was standing, he came up past her stomach.

"I just call it like I see it," James said, icily. He stood up stiffly and Morgan was forced to crane her neck back to meet his intense glare.

"You asked for it," Morgan muttered angrily, and before James could ask what she meant she began moving her wand. "Avis!" A flock of birds burst forth, "Oppugno!" The birds flew at the giant, angrily pecking and nipping at him.

"Leah! C'mon! ARE YOU SERIOUS!?" James grunted, swatting at the persistent birds unsuccessfully.

Morgan chuckled dryly, "Good birdies," she said, glancing up in the sky and noticing her argument with James had attracted the attention of the other Quidditch players. Without another word, she spun on her heel and strode from the pitch calmly.

---

Hours later, Morgan resurfaced from the library, tucking a copied piece of parchment into her bra happily. Her time spent pouring through the books had proved successful, and she had been able to copy down the concealing potion she had seen referenced earlier.

It surprised her how easy books with dark magic were to access now. She supposed it was because Voldemort didn't exist yet. Either way, she wasn't complaining. The ingredients she needed to get for the potion were extensive though, and she figured she would have to steal some from Slughorn's stores. That, or she could just ask him for some material, claiming that she was working on an extra project. She was pretty sure he would believe the excuse.

Pulling down on the hem of her skirt, Morgan bit down on her bottom lip in thought. A trip to the kitchens seemed in order, even though it was only ten minutes to curfew. She was hungry though, and in desperate need of sugar. The house-elves always seemed to have the Red Vine licorice she liked.

She stopped by the pear portrait and was rewarded with a foot of the candy, as the elves claimed that she was "nicest to the elvies" and needed some color in her "cheekies." The trip only helped increase the good mood she was in, and so, on her way to the dungeons (she had decided she would actually sleep in her dorm that night), she hadn't been paying much attention to her surroundings.

Which was why she didn't see Tom Riddle until she ran into him.

Her string of licorice fell from her mouth and she let out a wounded gasp, "Aw man, not the candy," She whined. She couldn't see anything, so she fell to her knees and started searching for the vine. "C'mon, ten second rule," She muttered to herself hopefully.

All of a sudden, a ball of light lit up her immediate area, and Morgan saw Tom Riddle sitting on the floor a few feet away from her. His glare was angry, until he realized who is was that he actually bumped into.

His features went blank before a charming smile pulled at his lips, "Hello Miss Hume. How are you this evening?"

Morgan was still toppled on the floor, decidedly less graceful than the man a few feet in front of her. Her eyes flickered around the surrounding darkness, and could only conclude that they were very much so alone. Everyone else had gone to bed, and she was pretty sure that Tom was the only Prefect patrolling the dungeons.

It really was a spot of bad luck.

"Uh…fantastic, just heading on my way to the common room, gunna get some sleep." Morgan slowly inched her way to her feet, gazing wearily as Tom did the same.

"That's great," Tom said kindly, "You look very tired Miss Hume."

There was really no arguing with that, so Morgan stuffed a hand in her pocket and pulled out another Red Vine, deciding that her previous one was long gone: it had been way past ten seconds anyways.

"Right, well, I'll just be going then." She slowly began inching her way around Tom when he spoke again.

"Actually I was wondering if we could talk for a second." Tom held out an arm to stop her. "Last night, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for. As I am sure you can understand, I was just a bit weary and troubled because of the way you appeared to be accusing me. I only do my best to watch out for the students at this school, and to be told that I have done otherwise is rather insulting. You can tell me any doubts that you have about my character, and I assure you, I can assuage them."

His eyes were lit up in kindness, with just the right amount of worry, and his thin lips were lightly pulled down in a tired frown. His smooth tone was so believable. And the way he held her gaze…she almost found herself wanting him to reassure her that he was a good man. There was no way the Tom Riddle in front of her could become Voldemort. No way.

But then, under the light of his wand, Morgan spied the Marvolo ring on his finger. She recalled reading from Snape's file that it belonged to Tom's Uncle, and that Riddle nicked it off the man before framing him for his father's and grandparent's deaths. Anger came flooding through her, and her softened gaze turned to a glare again.

"We have nothing to discuss, Riddle. Just get out of my way," She felt her bravado returning to her again, and she assertively stuffed her hands in her pockets and ducked under Tom's arm.

She almost thought that he was going to let her go, but after she had gone three steps she felt his pale hand wrap around her shoulder. And then she was pushed back into the stone wall.

"You are so ridiculously unbelievable." Tom hissed, all traces of fake kindness gone. The anger looked much more real on his face, and it made him seem more human, as if he actually felt emotions instead of displaying them to please the people around him.

"Let me go," Morgan said back, her hand going to her wand. "I'm not trying to start anything."

Riddle's wand dug into the side of her neck, the light spilling out around her, while his free hand went up to grip her chin. "I wish I didn't have to do this…"

"Liar," Morgan gasped out, trying to pull out her own wand from her pocket. "Damn bastard."

Riddle actually laughed then, "You appear to know me very well, Leah," His body was very close to hers now and their faces were inches apart.

"So were on a first name-basis now?" Morgan demanded, trying to turn her head to the side and out of his hand.

Riddle would have none of it though, and merely tightened his hold. "It would only be right, seeing as I am going to learn so much about you tonight, Leah, all those secrets you're hiding in that head of yours…" He moved his wand so that it trailed from her temple to her collar bone.

It was only then that Morgan saw how much danger she was in. Secrets. Things like she was from the future or what she was supposed to find. Everything would be ruined in a matter of seconds. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't.

In a move that surprised Tom, she rammed her head forwards into his. She was immediately rewarded when Riddle let her slip out of his grip. She resisted the urge to beat on her enemy more, knowing that he would quickly regain himself. Instead she did the only sensible thing that she could do: she ran.

She heard his footsteps coming after her, and she tried to quicken her pace, but she really wasn't in shape. She cursed the Red Vines in her mind and tried to push on faster. But as she rounded the next sharp corner, she knew that the only thing she could do was go on the offensive.

She hid behind the corner, and when she heard Tom about to turn it as well, she jumped forward and tackled him to the ground sharply. Her weight surprised Riddle, though he had enough sense to drag her down with him.

They hit the floor instantly, and like always, Morgan disregarded the fact that she was a witch, and straddled Tom. Her knees dug into his ribs painfully, and her arms held his above his head.

She noticed, from a small shift of moonlight that had happened to make its way through the corridor, that her head-butt was already beginning to bruise Tom's forehead. She grinned gleefully.

Tom, if he was angered by the situation, didn't look it. His eyebrows rose in a clam way, his wand clutched in his restrained hands lithely. He didn't appear troubled or uncomfortable with their position, if anything it looked as if he was merely indulging Morgan in some sick little game.

Morgan was too edgy to notice. She carefully pulled back one hand and slipped it into her robes to finally pull out her wand. Though instead of hexing Tom, she poked him on the nose, her dark glare bearing down on the wizard. "Leave me alone! And for godssakes! Stop trying to get into my head!"

Tom's arms were slack in her hold, "You seem to have gotten us in a very questionable position, Leah," His voice was soft now, attractive. And his pale skin gleamed in the small amount of moonlight.

Surprise flitted over Morgan's features and her mouth popped open, her hands dropping to her sides unconsciously. Only one thought ran through her mind: Mini-Voldemort made a joke. And it contained sexual innuendo. And it was directed at her.

"You…You made a…joke?" A small giggle involuntarily left her lips, pushing her weight backwards as she plopped down on top of Riddle's torso in a non-threatening manner. "No—"

But whatever she was going to say was cut off as Tom suddenly pushed himself upright into a sitting position. The movement caused Morgan to fall on the floor and before she could register what was happening, she was pushed against a stone wall again. Two pale hands wrapped themselves around her cheeks, their warmness surprising her as a body was painfully pushed against her own. Tom's face came into focus then, his lips smiling carelessly. Those were the only moments she had to prepare herself for what happened next.

It was painful. Beyond painful. Like someone was forcibly ripping through her mind unrelentingly. She felt him inside of her head, picking away at her thoughts almost leisurely. He was basking in his victory, wanting to make her feel as much pain as possible before he actually did what he meant to do.

Morgan was suddenly thankful that he was a gloating bastard, because she quickly tried to block out and hide the most important parts of her, just like the way Hermione once told her.

She forced herself to forget that Morgan Caldwell even existed. Forced herself believe wholly that she never had a life before the one at Hogwarts in 1943. And tried to forget all the information in the file about Tom Riddle.

And then he was digging. As if her memories were tangible, and extended parts of Riddle were physically sifting through them.

She closed her eyes from the pain, and the thoughts Tom examined were suddenly flashing behind her lids:

She was seeing Hagrid's face. She saw pictures of a basilisk, and of an Acromantula. The Chamber of Secrets. Mrytle looking straight into the basilisk's gaze.

But that wasn't what Tom was looking for. He wanted to know how she figured out his secret. And he was having a hard time doing so. Morgan had done an exceptional job of hiding what he wanted the most, and he appeared to be just realizing it.

Her Occlumency wasn't perfect though, and random memories began being pulled to the forefront of her mind:

She was small and getting slapped again, a tall man with a graying beard and black eyes was yelling at her drunkenly. She had messed up. Pete, the newest charge of the orphanage, had gotten his Sunday mass outfit dirty when she was supposed to be watching him.

Next, she was alone. The edges of her vision blurred, as it was the first time she had gotten drunk herself. She was crying outside of the church, because she was ten years old and realized she was never going to be adopted.

Then an unnamable grief assaulted her. And she couldn't breathe. She couldn't do anything. A few feet in front of her the still body of an eight month old infant lay in a crib. The child had been abandoned at the steps of the orphanage behind the church, and she had been allowed to name her. She cared for the baby for six months and grew to love it, but it didn't matter anymore, because Anne-Marie suffered cot-death after Father Miller had laid her to bed. It was his fault. Everything was.

And then, then she was blinking back tears and shaking and staring into Tom Riddle's face.

His gaze was slowly coming back into focus, and when he finally seemed to be registering the fact that she was still there, he removed his hands from her face. He looked at her curiously, his head cocked to the side, though he made no move to put any distance between them. She was still squished between him and the wall.

But that didn't matter to Morgan now. Nothing did, really. Unwanted tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and her hands shook. She had never been violated in such a way before. Sure, she had been slapped and cursed to hell but this had been different. It had felt so unnaturally wrong! Like her very soul had been peeled out of her body and set up for examination. And the pain, it was a ripping one that left burning stings in its wake, burying itself deep inside her head.

She felt contaminated; there was no other word for it. As if she wasn't fully herself anymore. And she felt hatred soak into every pore of her body. She hated Tom Riddle.

She wanted to tell him that. That she wished he would die some horrible bloody death. But she felt that is she acknowledged her hate to him, she would be giving in. She had to pretend she wasn't affected, and even though her tears and shaking hands gave her away, her words wouldn't.

"Have fun poking around in my head?" She asked thickly, having to stop and sniffle angrily. "Because if you're quite done, I'd like to go to bed." Oh god, how she wanted to make him hurt as much as she did.

Tom's hands went back up to her face, and she couldn't stop from flinching away and turning her head. She didn't want to go through that again. Not now. Not ever.

But Tom really didn't seem to care for anyone's personal space. The thin hands dragged her face towards his own and his dark eyes smoldered dangerously. "Do I have to tell you how important it is you not to tell anyone about this, Leah?"

"Just Obliviate me, you bastard," Morgan hissed in response, her brown hair now hanging limply in her face.

"No," Tom chided in a tone reeking of fake ease. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger, almost like how she poked his nose with her wand. It disgusted her. "Don't want to go and damage any of those secrets you're hiding in there." Both hands encircled her face again, "Regardless, I don't think you'll be telling anyone, you certainly don't want to reveal the fact that you are hiding a lot more than you let on. And it seems I was right, what you told the Headmaster was a lie…"

Morgan was reminded of what he had seen, the small bits of her past, the saddest times in her life. She jerked away from him, "Let me go." She growled. The intimidating factor she had hoped to put in the statement was lost in her shaking hands and tear-streaked cheeks. Not to mention the fact that she wasn't an intimidating person to begin with. She was the small one, the cheery one, and now she was the one with the secrets.

This time, Tom actually responded to her request and stepped away from her. He straightened his robes and smiled at her discomfort. It appeared to please him to see her flustered and angry beyond words. "I believe I told you that if you didn't stay out of my way Hogwarts would become a less than pleasant place, did I not?"

Morgan didn't want to dignify that question with a response.

"And now look at the mess you've gotten yourself into, Leah." He shook his head charmingly. "I really wish we could have been more civil towards each other, and I know you'd rather not have me hurt you like that again." Morgan noted how he didn't deny that he had no qualms about digging through her mind once more. "So let's come to a truce. We can help each other, and I assure you, if you just tell me what I want to know you will not suffer at all."

Morgan was still leaning against the wall, and through her muddled thoughts, wondered if this was the official Death Eater recruitment speech. Part of her wanted to agree. To give in and beg to be spared. But then she thought of Harry Potter and Neville and Seamus. None of them would have given up. None of them ever did. And she wouldn't either.

She held onto the hate she harbored in her body and stepped forward. "Fuck you, Tom Riddle."

Tom was certainly surprised. The look on his face was priceless. His dark eyes widened and his mouth opened very slightly. But that was nothing compared to the way he looked after Morgan pulled back her fist and smashed it into his face. Muggle Style.

Before anything else could happen, Morgan took off down the corridor, deciding to hop up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. The common room wasn't safe anymore. She needed to go back to her safe heaven: the Room of Requirement.

By the time she was safely nestled into her room she realized two things: One, she had finally socked Tom in the face and broken his nose. Two, her hands were still shaking.