A/N: Well, my lovely readers, here we have another chapter. Its rather long, though I've found that updating once a week makes me more inclined to write more. Anyways, the plot thickens from here on out, though I am sorry to say the interaction between Tom and Morgan I was looking forward to has been pushed back. Though TONS of stuff is happening in this one -- like a little trip to the Chamber of Secrets. Anyways, like always I want to thank my lovely reviewers and all those who fave/alert. I would take the time to write down all your names, but its freakin' 6 in the morning and I am dead tired. Forgive any mistakes that you find, I have no beta. And I've found that I got less reviews for the last chapter, hopefully, if you read, you'll review just to make me smile. And to make the updates come quicker, hah.
Disclaimer: WHY MUST WE POST DISCLAIMERS WHEN WRITING ON A SITE CLEARLY LABELED FANFICTION!?! IT MAKES NO SENSE.
Chapter Eleven: When Good Days Go Bad
For the first time in over a month and a half, Morgan Caldwell was wearing a T-shirt. And she was damned well proud of it.
Well, so maybe it wasn't exactly a T-shirt. Rather, it was one of those fancy blouses that even Lucretia Black would approve of. But not even that fact could bother Morgan today. Nothing could, really, because everything was starting to finally work out.
It had been a little over a month since she had broken into Slughorn's private potion stores, a little adventure that was surprisingly easier than she thought. The poor, misguided fat man didn't even have protecting spells around his cupboards. Slipping into his office during dinner was possibly the easiest thing she had done since arriving in the stupid past.
After retrieving all of her required ingredients, it had taken Morgan weeks to brew her strong concealing potion. And she hadn't been disappointed. Seconds after downing the strangely opal colored concoction, she felt a familiar tingling and jittery motion buzzing beneath her skin. Her very DNA began rearranging itself, tricking her body into believing the marks that marred her skin never existed. It was a very complicated process that delivered immediate results.
So Morgan was in an exceptionally good mood. And she wouldn't let the thoughts of her still ailing Metamorphmagus abilities, or Black's annoyingly smug grin, hold her back.
"My, my, Leah, you look wonderful today. Any particular reason why you've actually taken the time to look presentable?"
Morgan tossed Blooming a short lived smile, "Marinette, your good humor never ceases to amaze me. It's no wonder you have so many friends."
The short witch was still trying to figure out whether Morgan had insulted her or complimented her when Violetta Fanding showed up. The tall witch sat down next to Morgan at the breakfast table without so much as a greeting, like always. She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and pulled out another book, pushing away her gilded plate to make room for the dusty novel.
"If you always have your nose in a book, dear, you'll never find a suitable husband." Lucretia totted. Her plate was neatly piled with small amounts of fruit that she ate at appropriate intervals, making sure to never put too much in her mouth at one time.
"I agree with Lucretia," Marinette contributed. "You have decent looks, why distort what you have going for you by indulging yourself in bad habits?"
Ah, there it was again, the underlying insult in an offhand comment. Classic bitchy behavior for the girls of the time period. At least for the girls of the Slytherin house.
"If I were you, Marinette, I would spend much less time worrying about me and much more time worrying about those split ends of yours. Not to mention, your flat footedness is a less than desirable quality." Violetta turned a page in her book, her cool eyes glancing up momentarily to assess the reaction of the stumpy witch.
Morgan snorted into her goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Do you find something funny?" Marinette hissed, her face turning an unattractive red color.
Isabella, usually the happier witch of Black and co., rather gloomily buried her head in the crook of her arm. "Why must you all carry on with silly insults when there are other, more serious problems going on in the world?!"
Morgan peered over her cup at the redheaded witch sitting across from her. Was there seriously an economic conscious witch in the noble house of Slytherin?
"Tom Riddle hasn't even wished me a happy birthday! Let alone given me a gift!"
Guess not.
Lucretia leaned over to her friend and rubbed her back soothingly, "Don't worry darling. I'm sure he's just busy. Tom Riddle is one of the greatest men to walk the halls of this school, and that entails a lot of work. You should just be lucky that he's got his eye on you."
Once again, Morgan found the insides of her goblet interesting as she tried to banish her peals of laughter. Tom Riddle having his eye on someone? The mere notion was completely laugh worthy. Tom wasn't interested in being with someone. He was interested in everything else. Like power, or torture, or lacrosse.
"I'm starting to doubt he's interested in marrying me," Isabella Marston continued. "He hasn't even mentioned it. In fact, we haven't talked in the longest time!"
Marinette shook her head quickly, "Do not say such things, dear! Remember that Hogsmeade trip a few weeks ago?"
Isabella made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.
Morgan winced. She sure as hell remembered that visit. It had been a few days before Halloween; one of the worst holidays for her, and Charlus and Kayden had dragged her out of the castle. They led her right into a dark alley where James Darley popped out and scared her half to death.
After she had finished pounding her fists on James' back, he calmed her down enough to tell her it was payback. She had deserved it, he reasoned, because he still had little marks from her damned birds.
All in all, the whole affair was unpleasant. Though she cocked her head curiously, urging Marinette to continue and tell everyone what happened between Isabella and her apparent beau. What ludicrous thing could Tom Riddle have done for Isabella to get the idea that he fancied her?
What? Did she trip on a patch of ice and Tom caught her? Simply to avoid having Isabella drag him down with her? Or perhaps they had bumped into each other in the village and Tom had said 'Sorry'. The possibilities were endless! And all equally ridiculous!
"That red bouquet of roses was simply gorgeous Isabella! Tom couldn't have been clearer about his feelings towards you!"
…. Or not.
Morgan choked on her pumpkin juice, sputtering the liquid across the table. An odd cross between a terrible cough and an obnoxious laugh came out of her throat. Violetta lazily tapped her back with a gentle ineffectiveness.
Isabella thrust out her chin, a slight blush coating her cheeks. "What's so funny about that, Leah? Think Tom's too good for me?" She demanded.
Morgan was still too busy coughing to comment.
"Don't worry, Isabella, Hume is just jealous. It's quite obvious she's fancied Riddle ever since she got to this school. Though envy is very unbecoming of a lady when not kept in check."
Tears streamed out of Morgan's eyes and she tried to quiet her laughter. "You all thought that I fancied Riddle?" Her hands shook with mirth as she grabbed a chocolate muffin from the breakfast table. "That's like believing Lucretia is humble! Ridiculous!"
Lucretia's eyes narrowed, "Leah, your obnoxiousness and disrespect is getting on my last nerve."
"You never liked me to begin with," Morgan pointed out. "Anyways, I certainly don't fancy Riddle that way. I just find it funny that he gave you roses because he never seemed like someone who was exactly in-tune with their romantic side. Ya know? Kinda like Fanding!"
Violetta smirked slightly, "And how would you know that, Leah?" She closed her book and raised an elegant eyebrow, participating in—for probably the first time in her life—playful banter.
"Violetta, you…" Morgan paused, trying to think of the right way to describe her friend. "You're kind of like a calculator. Ya know? Very factious and straightforward. Like, if I want to know what seven times six equaled, I would go talk to my calculator because it would give me the answer right away. I wouldn't ask Marinette here, because, well, I don't think she can count past ten, and also because she would try and tell me a bunch of useless gossip before actually giving me the answer."
"That made no sense at all. Besides the part where you insulted Marinette, that I definitely understood," Violetta smiled. "Though if I had to describe you, the words reckless and clueless come to mind quite often."
"Oh ha, ha, ha," Morgan rolled her eyes.
"I can count past ten," Marinette interjected with a growl. "And I am tired of you always insulting me!"
"Now, now ladies, no need to fight over me!" Braxton Caldwell swept onto the scene, pushing back his hair and taking a seat across from Violetta. He winked at her suggestively before leaning towards Isabella.
"Hello Caldwell," she sniffed, her puffy eyes narrowed, "What do you want?"
"I just came to deliver you a lovely message from Tom Riddle," Braxton answered. "He says, 'happy birthday, Isabella'. He also apologizes for the fact that he can't see you today. You know, busy Prefect stuff."
Marinette smirked, "See, I told you not to worry Isabella. He didn't forget."
"He still didn't get me a birthday present," Marston snapped back. "And we still barely talk! It's such a burden. Sometimes I think I should just date a nice Hufflepuff."
"Tom Riddle is the most wanted man in this whole school. Do not let him go," Lucretia warned tersely.
"You wound me!" Braxton yelped. "I thought I was the handsomest man in Hogwarts!"
"Try not to be so egotistical," Violetta said.
"Oh you love it. Speaking of me and you, when are you going to let me take you out for your birthday?"
Morgan's mouth popped open, "You two are gunna go out together? Like on a date?"
Violetta shrugged indifferently, "I have not decided whether or not I will be letting Braxton take me out." She brushed back her thin blond hair and rubbed her temples, "I haven't been really thinking about it at all," She confessed.
"Good thing I am not one to be discouraged," Braxton replied. "You'll say yes eventually. Don't you remember the first time I met you and I said I would marry you someday?"
"You were eleven. I hardly took you seriously."
"And yet, here we are."
"How adorable," Marinette remarked, though from the scowl on her face, Morgan guessed Blooming really didn't care for the couple at all.
"Back to the problem at hand," Isabella stressed evenly, "Tom hasn't been present for a few weeks! Where's he hiding? Does anyone see him anymore?"
Morgan took another bite of her chocolate muffin and mulled Marston's words around in her head. It was true; actually, that Morgan had not seen Riddle. She had been too focused on brewing her potion to notice that he had suddenly begun to leave her alone. And though normally the thought would please her, under the circumstances it unsettled her. He was up to something.
And that something probably had to do with the Founders Necklace.
Not very good news at all.
"Right well, it was pleasure, as always, but I've got places to be." Morgan spun out of her seat and straightened down her blouse. "Good luck with the Tom Riddle thing," She acknowledged Marston, who only sniffed in return. "And good luck with Fanding, Braxton."
The seventh year grinned, "I don't need luck."
Violetta smacked his arm with her book.
---
"If I were an evil monster where would I be hiding…" Morgan mused to herself, stalking Hogwarts halls. Since it was Saturday, she didn't have any classes to attend to, which left her a lot of time to search for Tom Riddle.
The fact that he was less present than usual did not settle well with her. Well, really, nothing about her current situation settled well with her.
She had been too distracted these first few months. When she should have been searching for the Founders Necklace, she was pouring through the pages of spell books. It wasn't right.
Now it was two months into the school year and she had no idea where to look for the Necklace. Morgan also didn't know where Tom Riddle was with his search. He could have already found the damn thing!
"No sense in whining about shit you can't change," She sighed unhappily. She would simply have to start from square one, and that meant finding Tom.
Naturally, the library would be the place to start. Morgan was pretty sure Tom spent half his time there.
Her intuition proved correct, for when she waltzed into the library minutes later she spied him among the shelves in the Restricted Section. How cliché.
Morgan always hated the Restriction Section. It was so dark and gloomy. Not to mention, the one time she picked a book off the shelf there it screamed at her.
Tom, however, seemed completely at home among the dark books. His back was to her, his slight shoulders straight, while one hand supported a thick novel. His head was dipped over its pages.
The way Morgan looked at it; there was at least a seventy percent chance that whatever Tom was reading had something to do with the Founders Necklace. She was pretty sure she just couldn't meander over there and casually ask her archenemies what he was studying. No, this operation required discreet action and swift execution.
Unfortunately, Morgan lacked the ability to go through with such actions.
Taking a small running start, Morgan loped down the dark isle swiftly and promptly jumped on Riddle's back. Her small legs encircled his waist and her arms settled themselves on his shoulders.
Morgan had to give Tom some credit; he didn't let out a startled yelp or start flailing around, instead he stiffened up, snapping his book shut in one motion and reaching for his wand in another. Morgan appreciated the position he was in: he couldn't very well hex the student on his back, lest his Prefect position be put in jeopardy.
After a second, though, Tom sniffed the air and relaxed slightly. "Leah Hume, what in the world are you doing?"
Morgan froze. She hadn't gotten this far into her plan.
"Uh, well, you see…I was…er…testing the laws of gravity!" Morgan paused, "And how did you know it was me anyways!?" Good, very good, always better to go on the offensive.
"Your hair always smells like raspberries," he said simply.
Morgan ignored his answer and tried to crane her head over his shoulder. Her eyes frantically sought out the book he had been reading, and she had just barely registered the emerald embedded in its cover when Tom reached around and grabbed her. He dragged her off his back and towed her to a small rickety table down the isle.
He tossed the book on the floor, very obviously out of her line of sight, and sat in one of the chairs. "You were testing the laws of gravity?"
Morgan nodded very seriously. "What goes up must come down."
Tom frowned in annoyance, "Now is a very inconvenient time for you to bother me, Leah." He tapped the lamp that sat on the table with his wand, and it lit up accordingly.
Morgan shrugged and took the seat across from him. She tried craning her neck around his chair to see just a tiny bit of the title of his book, but wasn't very successful. "You see, that's the point of bothering someone, it's meant to annoy them. If I bothered you at a convenient time, it would hardly be effective."
Tom leaned across the table, "I think I preferred it when you avoided me," He said softly. "Which leads me to the question, why are you so friendly now?"
"Friendly?" Morgan scoffed. "I wouldn't call jumping on your back friendly more like—"
"Intimate." Tom said seriously.
Morgan's mouth popped open. "Ew. I was gunna say violent, or something equally terrifying."
"You never think, do you?"
"I wouldn't say that, exactly…"
Tom sighed darkly, "Leah, you had your bare legs wrapped around my waist and your arms around my neck. Can you not see the implications?"
"Oh. Right. Not good. Especially since Isabella Marston is under the impression you're going to ask for her hand in marriage." Morgan grinned at the scowl that flashed across Riddle's pale face.
"Women." He spat the word out as if it were disgusting.
"In her defense, you did give her a bundle of red roses, apparently." Morgan said skeptically. "Who told you to do that?"
Tom crossed his arms, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do!" Morgan answered back triumphantly. "You obviously don't like Isabella, let alone anyone—well, besides yourself anyways—and you don't know how to woo a girl, so that means someone is telling you how. Now, I'm not sure why you would want people to think you like Isabella, but you do."
"Braxton Caldwell picked out the roses," Tom admitted after a moment. "But that's not the point." His eyes darkened, "Why are we having a civil conversation. The last time I checked, you hated me after…"
He didn't have to say it. Morgan knew exactly what he meant, and frowned unhappily at the mention of their past midnight meeting. It had hurt like hell, and was a complete invasion of privacy, but after she had talked with Violetta, Morgan had decided to come to terms with the encounter. It was easier than she expected—and instead of spending her time fuming over the whole ordeal she became curious. Why had Riddle stopped so soon? If he had pushed further into her mind that night, she was sure he could have stripped away all of her secrets.
"Water under the bridge," Morgan waved one hand dismissively. Besides, she was in a good mood today.
"Water under the bridge," Tom deadpanned.
"Yes."
"You are going to be the death of me," Tom snapped after a minute of silence.
Hah! If only that were true.
"Excuse me?" Morgan asked politely, leaning backwards in her chair.
Tom pointed a long digit at her, "Everything about you is one contradiction after another. I can tell you're up to something, but whatever it is, it's just beyond my grasp. And it's driving me crazy."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you often infuriate me."
"At least I'm doing something right."
Neither said anything for awhile, Tom was staring into the fire-lit lamp whilst Morgan was content to gaze at the ceiling. It was kind of like the calm before the storm.
In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to get back on speaking terms with Tom, but after her poorly thought of plan—the one where she basically jumped him—it seemed unavoidable. At least, for the moment, he didn't have a clue about what she was doing, so perhaps her rash acting was for the best. She seemed to be confusing the hell out of the calculative Riddle, the man who prided himself on figuring people out and manipulating them afterwards. And the longer Tom stayed oblivious to Morgan's real motives, the better.
"Oh, I think you should get Isabella a birthday present. She was whining about the fact you failed to do so." Morgan muttered.
"Doesn't matter," Tom replied easily. "You seem to be more uncovered than usual today."
The offhand comment surprised Morgan, "Uh, what?"
Tom nodded towards her bare arms, "You're wearing a short-sleeved blouse. Not to mention, your skirt is shorter than usual. Your research on concealing charms worked out then."
Morgan leaned forward in her chair, "That's a rather wild guess."
"Not really," Tom disagreed. "Before today you've never worn anything other than long-sleeved shirts, even when the weather was nice. But today, when it's only fifty-four degrees outside, you're dressed like that. Which leads me to believe that whatever you're hiding is on one of your arms."
"Oh how very observational," Morgan snapped, uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. "But that isn't any of your business."
"I'll find out soon enough," Tom said confidently. He began picking up his things from the floor, "Don't accuse me of being rude now, but I have other matters to attend to. And the next time you see me, a simple 'hello' will suffice, hugs are not necessary."
Morgan's cheeks turned rather pink, "It wasn't a hug Riddle! It was a vicious attack! And where the hell are you going!?"
"'That isn't any of your business,'" Riddle mocked Morgan, getting to his feet. Morgan followed suit, and walked up to him, poking him in the chest.
"What are you going to do?"
Tom grabbed her wrist, "You are so pushy today, aren't you? And, it would seem, very eager to spend time with me."
"Stop trying to make it seem like I fancy you!" Morgan said, frustrated, before she pulled back her wrist. "What if I'm just trying to make sure you don't do anything stupid?"
"When have I ever done anything stupid?" Riddle groaned, though a small smile pulled at his lips. "And who said anything about fancying me?"
"Oh goddammit." Morgan muttered. "I can think of a few stupid things you've done!"
Tom leaned down, and since Morgan had long ago closed the distance between them, he was very close to her face, "Do tell."
"Oh no," Morgan said, backing up a bit, "Share and tell is over."
Tom shrugged, "Very well, but if you must know, all I'm going to do is have a conversation with Professor Slughorn."
"Oh yeah," Morgan said dumbly, "Slug Club is tonight."
"Yes, and I need to finish some homework." Tom slung his bag over his shoulder. "So we will continue this conversation at a later date."
"Yeah well, it kind of seems inevitable I guess."
"Good to know you're finally accepting that fact."
Tom walked away then, his crisp footsteps echoing through the empty library. Morgan stood there silently for a long moment, before gathering her stuff too, and heading towards the librarian. Once she reached the front desk she mustered up her best, "I'm-a-polite-and-a-really-good-child" expression.
"Can I help you dear," the aging witch questioned her.
Morgan nodded, "Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me what books we have at school with a green emerald embedded in their cover."
The gray-haired witch mulled over Morgan's words, "There's only one book that I can really think of," she began slowly. "It would be in the Restricted Section—" Huzzah! "—and is filled with really dark magic. I wouldn't dare let a student check it out, unless they had a signed note from the Headmaster."
Dark, restricted, dangerous. All three words did not sit well with Morgan when put together with Tom Riddle. Well, at least she knew it didn't have anything to do with the Founders Necklace. The Necklace was an artifact, not a spell.
"Oh, okay, that must not be the book I'm looking for," Morgan lied. "I'm actually looking for a book about the founders and ancient artifacts of the magical world."
"Oh, those are some wonderful subjects," the witch commended Morgan. "Let me show you what we've got—you're the new student, correct?—I'll just grab them for you now then, and save you some time."
Morgan grinned, "Wonderful."
---
Morgan retreated to the sanctity of the Room of Requirement for the next few hours, skimming through the books the librarian had piled up for her. Most of them were full of useless information she really didn't give a damn about—what Helga Hufflepuff's favorite color was (orange), and Godric Gryffindor's favorite pastime (bird-watching).
It wasn't until ten at night when Morgan picked up the last book in her large pile. It was extremely thin, with a cloth cover and papery pages. In fact, it kind of resembled a diary. Morgan reasoned that the small book must have accidentally slipped in with the other thick volumes, and leisurely flipped through it.
It turned out to indeed be a diary, one of a famous artifact collector. The wizard had a knack for finding the unfindable, and though Morgan grew excited at the prospect, no mention of the Founders Necklace was uncovered. That was, until, the very last page of the diary.
'It would seem that all of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is full of secrets. But none as elusive as the mention of one little Necklace. It has been said in legend that the Necklace was made by all four of the school's founders. It supposedly holds a phenomenal amount of power, though for how long that power will last is unknown. It has never been seen, though I would bet my life that it is hidden where only the true of heart would find it. Or perhaps, where the dark of heart would. Deep within in the chambers, closest to Salazar, is where I fancy it hides, just waiting for someone to nick it up. If only that someone were me.'
So the little artifact collector was a little presumptuous, but who was Morgan to judge? Her heart beat erratically as she reread his last entry about the Necklace. Closest to Salazar Slytherin…
Well, it had to be in the Chamber of Secrets then, right? From what Morgan remembered, the secret chamber could be accessed from the girl's bathroom, the one that Moaning Myrtle haunted. The problem was actually getting in there though; because she was pretty sure you had to speak that creepy snake language. Pastletongue? Paresltongue? Whatever that language was called, she knew she couldn't very well speak it. So she was screwed.
Tom Riddle probably spoke it, him being the heir of Slytherin and all. But she couldn't exactly go up to him and ask him how to say "open" in snake language without looking a bit suspicious. She could always go snake-hunting, and ask a snake to pretty please open up the chamber for her. Though she doubted she'd get very good results from doing that.
Sighing irritably, Morgan decided that she might as well stakeout the area just in case. So, gathering up a cloak (because it was getting chilly out), she strode out of the Room of Requirement towards the girls bathroom on the second floor.
It was empty, of course, and strangely enough, not even Moaning Myrtle was there. The sinks were collected in a circle in the middle of the wide room, and Morgan caught her own reflection in the mirrors above them.
"Right, well, stakeout time?" Her own face looked back questionably at her, and Morgan realized she really had no idea what that exactly entailed.
She strode around the sinks, running her hands along the water faucets, her eyes searching for the tiny serpent she knew would be carved into one of the handles. After hastily circling the sinks once without any success, she closed her eyes heavily and let touch alone guide her.
So, as one can imagine, when her hand came in contact with something very much alive and not metal, she squealed and nearly jumped five feet in the air. A loud hissing noise snapped back at her in response, and Morgan's eyes flashed open.
"Oh dear, uh, shit."
A small green garden snake stared back at her blankly, and seemed to hiss again to reprimand her for her crude language. The snake's small body was curled around the handle of the hot water tap and Morgan's hand hovered over it.
"Uh, sorry for disturbing you," She said hesitantly, "Any particular reason why you're here?"
The snake stared back at her, unblinkingly, and Morgan rubbed the back of her neck. "Well alright then. Now that you're here and everything, would you mind doing me a favor? See there's this chamber thing underneath us and I kinda need to go poking around down there. Mind helping me open these sinks up?"
The sheer insanity of the statement baffled even Morgan. And she briefly wondered why she had even bothered talking to the snake to begin with. But then, amazingly, the snake rose up and twisted around to face the mirrors on top of the sink. It let out a single hiss, and suddenly the sinks began collapsing in on themselves.
The snake then slithered off the hot water tap and onto Morgan's offered hand. "Woah, that actually worked," she mused, not unhappily. "That was kind of my last-ditch plan, ya know? Never really expected it to work. No matter."
She brushed back her hair and wrapped it into a pony-tail with her free hand. "Time to go exploring." Her blue eyes flickered to the black pit in the center of the bathroom uncertainly. "Uh, right. Shall we?"
---
Morgan freakin' hated the damn Chamber of fucking Secrets. It was more like the Chamber of Shit and Other Unpleasant Shit. So far, the only thing Morgan had found was old bones and mold. It was bad enough that she had tripped on the stairs on her way down, and then had to go through this extremely unpleasant tunnel slide that landed her on top of a pile of—guess what!?!—more bones, but now she was standing before a solid and very closed off looking wall.
"Oh by all means, god," She snapped, "Bring me down here through all this crap to stare at a damn wall." There was a picture of a snake painted on it, and Morgan was reminded of her fellow explorer. "What to contribute a little effort here? Ya know, be a team player?"
In response, the green garden snake flicked out its tongue, but, luckily, did let out another hiss. The wall was suddenly brought to life, it seemed, and split right down the middle. Due to the darkness pretty much bleeding off the stone walls, Morgan had been forced long ago to pull out her wand and say a simple "Lumos", but it seemed the charm wasn't necessary anymore, for the room she now entered was lit extremely well.
It was a large hall that had varying levels of water collecting on the ground. At the far end of the room, however, there stood a large stone-faced statue with an open mouth. There were no signs of life, but Morgan knew of the stories about the basilisk. She pulled out a pair of sunglass goggles that Quidditch players wore on sunny days.
"I'll still be petrified, but that's better than dead," She muttered to herself, pulling the goggles over her head. "Sorry Mr. Green, I only have one pair." In Morgan's defense, the little snake curled around her arm didn't seem too interested in them anyways. "Right, now if I was a devious little bastard who wanted to hide something important in the most inconvenient place it the world, where would I hide it?"
Unfortunately, Morgan knew exactly where she would hide it. She wanted to slap Salazar Slytherin right then and there, but unfortunately for her he was long dead, and the only thing she had to work with was his stupid statue. With that black hole of a mouth. Which she was about ten seconds away from crawling into.
Morgan took a few hesitant steps towards the statue when a deep guttural hissing came from within it. Great. More snakes. Morgan immediately cast her head downwards and whipped out her wand, wondering for not the first time that perhaps this hadn't been the best of ideas.
A large slithering sound echoed around the hall, followed by a thump, which meant the basilisk had exited the statue's mouth. Morgan was about to raise her wand to attempt to cast a petrifying spell, when Mr. Green began hissing again.
The small snake had risen up from Morgan's hand and spat out a ton of angry noises towards the general area of the basilisk. In turn, the basilisk hissed back, though he seemed to be coming closer and closer. Not good.
Morgan inched her way away from the larger snake, and realized that the Killing Curse may be her only way out of her current predicament. The thought didn't settle well with her, even if the snake was most likely planning how to digest her best.
More hissing noises.
Dear god, were these snakes discussing politics?
Then, the sound of parting water. The basilisk was slithering away from them, towards the end of the chamber. Wonderful. An actual improvement.
"Nice negotiating, Mr. Green," Morgan complimented her companion, before moving her head up to study her obstacle again. If Morgan had to bet, the inside of the statue wasn't at all clean. But she had a very strong gut feeling that the Founders Necklace was in there, and by god she was gunna get it.
She strode towards the statue confidently and cautiously clambered up Salazar's chin. She probably didn't look very dignified at the moment, but could care less. She swung one leg over into the statue's mouth, and wrinkled her nose when her foot hit a rather mushy ground. She sidled the rest of her body inside the icky tunnel and put forth her wand again. She whispered "Lumos", and was rewarded with a rather disgusting sight.
Snake crap. All. Over. The. Damn. Place.
"Just my luck." Morgan growled in response, covering her face with her hand. The smell was atrocious. Even Mr. Green seemed affected by it, and opted to take shelter in her pocket. "Good thing I'm a damn witch." She pointed her wand deep into the hole, "Scourgify".
The effect was immediate, and suddenly the tunnel around her was wiped clean. Only solid, shining stone stood in front of her, and Morgan gently lifted her wand to search the surrounding area. The tunnel seemed pretty straight forward, and only led in one direction—down.
Ambling down the steep stone decline, Morgan let her hands help her keep her balance, and tore off her goggles. It took at least five minutes to get to the end of her journey, and when she did, she couldn't help but be disappointed.
The tunnel opened up to a relatively large circled ground, and sitting in the middle of the hallowed out stone sat a small trinket. It was round in shape, with gold features decorating its surface. It was small though, and sat on the end of a silver chain. In the middle of the circular device was a small black gem that glittered in the artificial light of her wand. Five different indents outlined the perimeter of the trinket, and when Morgan picked it up she discovered the individual fingers of a hand were meant to settle in there.
It was cool. But it sure as hell wasn't the Founders Necklace.
"God hates me. It's fucking official."
From deep within her robe pocket she heard a small hissing sound.
Oh, Mr. Green.
Morgan didn't know how long she had spent wandering around the Chamber of Secrets, but she figured it was long enough. Stuffing her newly discovered—but completely unwanted—discovery in her other pocket, she made her way out of the tunnel. Climbing back up the incline was harder than going down, so it took an extra ten minutes, but when she finally did reach the end and had tugged on her Quidditch sunglass goggles, she couldn't have been happier.
The tunnel was cramped.
Morgan closed her eyes again (the basilisk was on the other side of the hall, and she didn't fancy being petrified), and navigated her way down the statue of Salazar Slytherin based on touch alone. Mr. Green slithered out of her pocket at that point, and began hissing at the basilisk again. The larger snake seemed more complacent the second time around, and wordlessly slithered back into his humbled abode. Once the basilisk had completely vanished within the statute, Salazar's stone mouth closed on its own, which Morgan found a bit odd, though she wouldn't deny she was thankful to be done with the killing snake.
Finding her way out of the Chamber proved to be a lot easier than getting in. Especially when Mr. Green was being more sociable and helpful and hissing at her when she went the wrong way. It only took about twenty minutes for her to slink back up the moldy dark steps to where she knew the exit to be. At that point, though, she was completely dead-tired, and almost entertained the idea of just going to sleep there.
Mr. Green, apparently, disagreed with her, as he rose off her shoulder and hissed at the dark mass in front of them. Instantly, the familiar grinding sounds of sinks folding in on themselves met Morgan's ears, and she watched happily as the girl's second floor bathroom was revealed.
She joyfully jumped up and over the sinks, imitating a movie she once saw in her own time. "Ah, Mr. Green, we did it. I must say, we make a good team."
"Oh Leah, I would leave talking to snakes to the Paresltongues."
Morgan groaned, "Not you!" She turned around slowly to see Tom Riddle leaning against the exit to the bathroom, his hands casually draped in his pockets. His eyes looked especially excited; Morgan could almost see their characteristic glint of red.
Tom shrugged before opening his mouth and letting loose a short little collection of hissing sounds. Mr. Green slid off her shoulder then, and made his way over to the Slytherin heir.
"Traitor," Morgan mumbled to the snake, watching as it abandoned her easily. And she thought they were beginning to bond.
"Now, Leah, I believe you have something for me."