A/N: Ahh, its been a week too long, my friends. Anyways, originally I had this chapter and the next one (which I will be posting in five minutes) as one whole chapter. But then I realized Chapter twelve would be 23 pages long and contain wayyy to much information for one segment of our story. So I split it in half. Anyways, thanks again to everyone who review (Especially Nait) and to everyone that alert/faved. Sorry for the wait, guys(:

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Twelve: Stick Waving Idiots

"Now, Leah, I believe you have something for me…"

Morgan's hand inadvertently jumped to her pockets, her fingers gently rubbing the trinket residing there. "Come again?"

"Hand it over," Tom said simply, a dark smile pulling at his intense features. "And don't bother lying to me. We both know you have it."

"Riddle, Riddle, Riddle." Morgan glanced about the bathroom apprehensively. Her only exit was blocked off by the heir of Slytherin, which didn't do much to improve her spirits. "Riddle." His name was repeated on her tongue simply for the sake of buying time.

Tom quirked an eyebrow, "Yes Leah?" He slowly pulled his wand from his cloak pocket. It was an exaggerated movement with one clear meaning: No funny business.

"How's the weather outside?"

Tom blinked dumbly. Had the circumstances surrounding their meeting been different, Morgan would have smirked at the look of utter confusion that clouded his features. "Pardon me?"

"The weather," Morgan said again, cautiously. She began inching her way around the collection of porcelain sinks. They towered upwards from the center of the restroom, arranged in a neat circle; it gave her the leverage she needed to put as much space as possible between her and Tom. "You know, is it cold out? Or warm, or…" she stumbled over her words. "You know. The weather."

"You're doing it again," Tom said stiffly. The red excitement slowly dimmed from his eyes, replaced by agitation.

"Doing, what, exactly?" Morgan's footsteps were small and light, but gradually they began putting a desired amount of distance between her and her enemy.

Mr. Green hissed from his contorted position wrapped around Tom's knuckles. The pale teenager narrowed his eyes, "Leah, what are you doing now?" he questioned, noticing her movements.

Morgan tried to warp her features into a mask of innocence, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Always trying to cause trouble," Tom brewed darkly.

The next moment Morgan found she couldn't move. She was rooted to the spot, magic welding her feet and arms together. Her eyes widened in anger. She hadn't even seen that one coming.

"Nonverbal spells are a strength of mine," Tom pocketed his wand, "I'm surprised you didn't know that about me."

He was mocking her.

"That was hardly necessary," she muttered, ignoring his sarcastic comment. Well, at least she could still talk. "What do you want? Have you come here to give me a detention for being out after curfew?"

"Stop acting like a simpleton when we both know you are much more than that." Now that Morgan was sufficiently tied up, Tom leisurely walked to the bathroom window and let the green garden snake slide from his grasp. His gaze delved into the darkness surrounding the castle for a few, long moments.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment," a small smug smile tugged at Morgan's lips, one she quelled instantly. Tom Riddle was the enemy, not someone to joke around with. Especially now.

"Take it as you wish," Tom said absently, turning his head to look at her. "Now, then, I'll be getting what is mine." He took swift steps to her immobilized form. Morgan's heart began pounding against her chest as she tried to squirm away. It was helpless though. She was helpless.

"Yours?" her voice rose in volume. "Are you crazy? It's mine. I don't recall you stalking Slytherin's dingy lair for the damn thing!" She forced herself to keep talking, desperately trying to delay the moment when Tom would reach into her pocket and take from her what she had worked so hard to find.

He didn't stop walking though, and soon he was standing right in front of her. "Have you forgotten who controls the basilisk, hmm? You would have died down there, if not for me."

Morgan glared into his dark eyes, "Excuse me, but I do believe it was Mr. Green who saved my life down there. Besides, I had the situation under control."

Tom's head fell back and he let out a controlled laugh, "And who, pray tell, was Mr. Green working for? Whose orders was the snake following?"

Realization flooded Morgan's gaze. "Oh," she pursed her lips.

"What? No thank you?"

A very small smile pulled the corners of Tom's lips up. It almost looked condescending. It doesn't matter Morgan told herself silently. And it really didn't. She was sure that, had the situation called for it, Tom would've killed her without a second thought. Besides, he only saved her in the first place so she could bring the trinket up to him personally.

Tom cocked his head to the side, studying her unabashedly. Cautiously, and very slowly, he allowed his hand to ghost over her cheek. His eyes never strayed from her face, gauging her reaction.

Morgan was surprised by the trail of cold Tom's touch left in its wake. It was a like a live snake was slithering across her cheek. His hand brushed from her temple to her chin, and she tried to bite it.

"No. Touching," she growled almost incoherently.

"Does that bother you?"

"Keep your hands to yourself, and maybe I'll allow you to keep them."

Tom smirked in spite of himself, "Good to know." Though Morgan was pretty sure he wasn't referring to her comment about letting him keep his limbs.

"You know what, Tom Riddle, I don't like you." Morgan thrust out her chin defiantly. "You're a sick evil bastard. And I can't wait to see the day when you'll keel over and die."

Anger twisted Tom's eyes, "That won't happen," he said lowly. "Ever. Not with this." His hand darted down into Morgan's skirt pocket, pushing the material against her thigh as he fisted the gem. When he pulled it out it seemed as if time had stopped moving. No longer was he focused on Morgan and their conversation. He only had eyes for the trinket, eyes tinted with red. They caressed every single one of the precious metal's contours. "Beautiful," he breathed softly.

"Oh yes, gorgeous," Morgan growled. She was glad she was under the body-bind curse now, because if she wasn't, she was sure she would have been shaking. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to let mini-Voldemort simply take whatever he wanted! Sure, the trinket from Salazar's statue wasn't the Founders Necklace, but it had to be pretty important if the sight of it lit up Riddle's face like that. And if it was important, that meant it was Morgan's job to keep it away from Tom.

The enormity of her utter failure stole the air from her lungs. Why? Why had Dumbledore sent her? She never did anything right, could never keep her mouth shut. She didn't have the abundance of knowledge that Hermione had. She wasn't the spell master Harry was. Hell, even Ron Weasley or Ginny would have been a better choice. So why? Why her!?

"Now," Tom's attention was drawn once again to Morgan's frozen form. "I'm afraid I will have to give you detention." He smiled darkly, "Detention helping a Prefect plan the Christmas feast. Every year one Prefect is chosen to complete the job, and tomorrow I will volunteer to do so. That should give us plenty of time to talk privately. I am very curious as to why you went into the Chamber in the first place." He paused, "Among other things, of course."

Morgan gritted her teeth together. "Go to hell. I'll never tell you anything." She spat at the Riddle's feet. "Prick."

"Charming," Riddle remarked dryly. "And you will, believe me."

Just then, the bathroom door squeaked open. "Riddle, are you in here?"

A dark scowl flashed across Tom's face. He pointed one finger at Morgan, "Not a word."

"There you are. You haven't checked in after your rounds and—" Minerva stopped mid-sentence, her brown eyes flashing. "—what's going on here?" She looked from Morgan, still under the body-bind curse, to Tom, standing completely still with his wand withdrawn.

"I was doing my rounds on the second floor when I saw Ms. Hume," Tom explained smoothly. He thrust his wand back in his pocket, "She ran when she saw me, and I chased her here, where she tried hitting me with a curse. I responded accordingly."

Morgan forced herself to remain calm, to not start swearing until her breath was gone from her body.

The Head-Girl glared at the two Slytherin's, "So you hit her with a body-bonding curse? Don't you think you should remove it now?"

Tom smiled thinly, "It would be a shame for her to run away again."

Minerva glowered before pulling out her wand and reversing the curse. Full mobility was instantly returned to Morgan's body, and she stiffly nodded in thanks to the Gryffindor.

"I do believe a detention is in order," McGonagall said clearly.

Morgan crossed her arms and sulked.

"I was just in the process of issuing one," Tom cut in. "To help with feast preparations in December."

Minerva sniffed in response, "I don't think so Riddle. The nature of her punishment is not for us to decide."

"Fine. Then let's take her to Slughorn."

"No, she'll go to Dumbledore, he's the Deputy Headmaster."

"So?" Tom's tone went down an octave, his temper rising. "Slughorn is her Head of House. He is in charge of her punishment."

"You said she tried to curse you, Riddle. That is a serious offence. One that must be dealt with from a higher power." Minerva smiled evenly, "Surely you know the rules by now."

Whether it was from humiliation or rage, Tom's cheeks flushed darkly, "Very well then. Am I to assume you will be escorting her, Head Girl?"

Oh, a battle of wills. Morgan hid her smile in the crook of her arm as she listened to the insults hidden in their words. Minerva and Tom seemed to share an equal hatred of each other.

"You assume correctly," McGonagall replied back curtly. She grabbed Morgan's forearm and began towing her out of the bathroom. "Your done for tonight, Riddle," she called back over her shoulder.

Morgan cast a smug glance backwards, only to see Tom staring impassively back at her, his hands stuck in his pockets.

---

"Two weekends going out in the forest with Kettleburn," Violetta murmured before dinner Monday night, "perish the thought."

Morgan rolled her eyes, "your sympathy is much appreciated." She glanced over her history book in the Slytherin Common Room, though she really didn't retain any of the information she read.

"I will not offer sympathy when it is not needed," Violetta answered back from her position on a leather couch. "I expect you'll actually enjoy going out there at night."

"You know me too well."

"No, you're just very predictable." The blond witch tapped her quill against a piece of parchment, "I also expect Dumbledore gave you that detention purposely. He seems to favor you."

"Who wouldn't favor me?" Morgan tittered back.

"Any sensible individual."

"Someone's in a particularly good mood this morning," Morgan noted, acknowledging the small smile on Violetta's lips. It was barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

"Caldwell has insisted upon taking me out this Saturday for my seventeenth birthday." Morgan could tell Violetta was having a hard time concealing her excitement with a nonchalant tone.

"That boy just never gives up."

"No, he doesn't." This time, there was blatant fondness tied to Violetta's words.

Morgan grinned as the clock tower chimed, indicating the beginning of dinner. "Well then, I guess I'll leave you to talk to Caldwell about your date over mashed potatoes." She stood out of her seat and pulled her bag over her shoulders.

Her friend nodded, "You won't be at dinner."

It wasn't a question. It was a knowing statement.

"I'm going to go outside. Relax a bit."

"At least bring a coat." Violetta said dismissively.

"Dually noted," Morgan said in farewell, though she did not bring the extra article of clothing with her. Instead she pulled her school robes tighter about herself as she shuffled through the castle and out a side entryway. The October wind bit and snapped at her exposed skin as she made her way over to her favorite oak tree, the darkness wrapping around her pleasantly. She sat down quickly, gathering the fabric of her clothes about herself. The air was crisp, clearing her senses of the perfume and cologne streaked corridors.

Speaking of such, the dull scent of some sharp cologne assaulted her nose, and she looked up to see a figure bundled in a Gryffindor scarf making their way to the tree. When the bulky figure finally came up beside Morgan, they sat down swiftly and pulled a jar from the folds of their cloak. A small and warming ball of fire glowed from within it.

"Hello Hume," James said simply. He placed the jar between the two of them and leaned against the tree. His dark green eyes glanced about them anxiously, though Morgan wasn't sure why; the wind was blowing flurries of dead leaves in all directions, obscuring most things from their vision. Not to mention, the lit castle was their only beacon of light besides the small bewitched jar.

"Uh. Hi." Morgan rubbed her hands together for warmth, angling them towards the small fire. "Not to be mean, but this is really rather random." It had been a few weeks since James had said a word to her. It wasn't out of dislike that they kept their distance, more simply because neither of them had a purpose to seek the other out.

"What have you been doing these days?" James' bare hands rubbed the scar on his cheek absently. "I haven't spoken with you in awhile. Charlus and Kayden have not either."

"The usual." You know, scouring secret under ground tunnels, fending off a basilisk, brewing illegal potions, and running from the darkest wizard of the world. Yes. The usual. "What about you?"

James drew his knees up to his chest and draped his long arms over them. "Same I guess…" he trailed off uncertainly.

An awkward silence descended upon the two and Morgan suppressed a sigh. Why did people always have to be so difficult? "Look James, I know there's a reason you're out here. So you might as well just come out and say it."

The huge Gryffindor scowled, "Fine," he snapped. "I hate this school and everyone in it."

Morgan paused for a long time, "That's not a very Gryffindor thing to say." Her unhelpful response seemed to goad James further.

"These…idiots…these stick waving fucking idiots!" His fists clenched around themselves.

"May I remind you, you're one of these so called, 'stick waving idiots'." Morgan supplied unemotionally. "I'm just saying."

"You don't get it!" James cried out, jumping to his feet. "I'm not! I'm not one of them. I'm a fucking filthy Mudblood," he said the word with so much contempt that Morgan winced. "I'm dirt to these people. Dirt."

"But you're not dirt."

"You're right," James said steely, "I'm not." Rage contorted his features into an ugly mask, "They're the dirt. You're dirt. You contemptuous, self-centered brats! All of you! You all-powerful fucking bastards!" He was breathing heavily now, his huge arms quivering. "I hate all of you."

Morgan didn't reply, instead she began tracing patterns in the dirt with her finger. It was funny, how only a few weeks ago she was here seeking condolence from Violetta, and now James was searching for the same thing. "Why do you hate us?" Her eyes didn't stray from the ground.

"You all claim you're better than Muggles! More powerful then them! Then why not help! WHY NOT? Don't you fucking see that there's a war going on out there? That people are dying! DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! Say a fucking spell to make it go away! You can stop it! Stop the war. Stop the killing. But you don't care. Muggles are beneath you! We're dirt. But you know what; I'll tell you something, we're better than you! If we had the power to, we'd stop the war. We'd stop people from dying." James raked his hands over his head furiously.

"And then, while I spend every fucking waking moment worrying about my family, you mock me for checking the newspapers for bombings! Not that the fucking Prophet would mention much of that. Because who cares if a couple thousand Muggles died yesterday? It doesn't matter to you. You don't care." His low voice cracked and he stopped pacing. "You don't."

Morgan looked up at him from the ground. "What happened to your family James?" She knew something had to have brought on his unquenchable anger.

"I don't know." His voice was quiet now, and his features filled with despair. "Friday morning there were periodic bombing throughout all of London. I've tried contacting my mother, father, and little sister, but I haven't heard anything back Nothing." As if in a daze, James sat back down again. Morgan was surprised to see tears streaking down his scarred cheek. His rough hands wiped the moisture away quickly.

"I wish I could go back in time," he whispered quietly. "Back to when I first got my letter from Hogwarts. I'd reject it, say no. I'd rather be with my family right now, then here with these self-righteous bastards. At least then I could protect them, take care of them. I can't do anything here."

The tears still streamed down his face and Morgan tried to rub the feeling back into her arms. Her whole body had gone cold with sympathy for the usually strong Gryffindor.

But what could she say? What could anyone say, really? Nothing. She could offer no verbal comfort, no reassuring words. At this point they would be considered lies. Factually speaking, there was a good chance James' family had been killed during the bombings or seriously injured.

Instead, she scooted next to the older wizard and hugged him. He was at least three times her size, but still his muscled arms pulled her into an embrace. They constricted around her side, seeking any form of comfort they could find. His head ducked down and buried itself into her hair and neck, tears soaking her exposed skin there.

"Wh-what if they're dead?" James choked into her. Her body shook with the vibrations from his voice. "What do I do? What can I do? William—oh god, William won't—he won't…"

Morgan's face took on a grim expression while her frail arms cradled James head. "William is a very tough kid," she muttered over the wind. "He is a Darley after all. But we're not sure of anything yet, so there's no need to think about that now."

James tightened his hold around her, and if she had not been used to painful embraces—thanks to Tom—then she would have yelped. It was almost as if the Gryffindor was trying to meld her into his own body. The only benefit was that she was no longer cold.

It was much later when James finally relaxed his hold on her, self-consciously drawing away and rubbing his hands against his face. Morgan suspected that he had fallen asleep for a little while, though she spent most of the time watching the stars.

"I-uh-I guess," James' voice was much rougher after the tears, and thick with sleep. "I mean…" He brushed down his jacket and avoided Morgan's gaze.

"Don't worry," Morgan said simply, hugging her chest with her tiny arms. The lack of James' body warmth hit her like a ton of bricks. And soon she was shivering very obviously in the colder night air. "I mean it."

A very grateful and small smile plucked James' lips up. "Thanks."

"There is nothing to thank me for," Morgan answered sincerely.

James nodded before he blushed.

"What's wrong?" Morgan crossed her stretched out legs together. She was five seconds away from sprinting back to the castle, and she was pretty sure her teeth were clattering together.

"You're freezing," James muttered ashamedly. He took obvious notice of her skirt and thin cloak. "Jeeze." He peeled off his huge and thick jacket, leaning over and tucking it all around Morgan's body. Luckily, he had a wool sweater on.

"James, normally I would yell at you to take back your jacket but I am freezing. So thanks." Morgan grinned and found she could almost wrap the thing around her twice.

"The least I can do," James said. "And I just wanted to let you know; about all that yelling I did earlier…I don't think you're dirt. You're different. And not just from the Slytherins, but from everyone."

Morgan waved the comment away and pushed herself to her feet. James' jacket came past mid-thigh, and she ducked her head into its fabric. The wind was picking up. "Right, well, its getting late so let's get back to the castle."

"Sure," James threw one arm around Morgan's shoulder and pulled her into his side. "Still cold Leah?"

Morgan angled her body towards his own, "Not nearly as bad as I was," she answered back, playfully tugging on the scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Next time bring a coat."

"I'll see what I can do."

To any other student onlooker, the outlandish display of affection would have looked inappropriate and scandalous. A student would assume something forbidden was going on between the Mudblood Gryffindor and Pureblood Slytherin. And that's exactly what Lucretia Black did.

---

"Well, at least you're wearing the right clothes," Kettleburn said appreciatively. "Can't say I've had any female students do the same when given detention with me."

Morgan shrugged, "I like the clothes, actually." She pulled her leather padded jacket tight about herself and checked to make sure her boots were tied up tightly. Her black and baggy slacks were tucked into them. She still had not gotten the art of transfiguring clothes her size, so they hung off her frame. The jacket, however, fit perfectly, as it was provided by Dumbledore. The padded leather was enchanted, so that practically no item could pierce it. The fact that he thought she needed such protection, though, unsettled her.

The Care of Magical Creatures Professor pulled out a lamp and lit it with his wand. He handed it to the huge half-giant Morgan knew was Hagrid. "Right, well you and Hagrid will take one half of the forest and I'll take the other," he said simply. "What we're looking for is a fatally injured Hippogriff. I've found its blood scattered about heavily."

Morgan nodded.

"When you find it, shoot up green sparks into the air with your wand. If you encounter any trouble at all, shoot up red sparks. It's approximately 8 o'clock, I'll expect you back here at 11." Kettleburn took out his own nine inch wand and started off brusquely into the left part of the forest.

Morgan was left standing in the dark with Hagrid, unsure of whether or not she should ask if he wanted to lead. The big teenager was gripping the lantern with his trashcan sized fist, gazing into the patch of forest on their right.

"Well let's go eh?"

Morgan was pleasantly shocked to hear the friendly tone of his voice. Ever since her first day at Hogwarts she had been trying to speak with the apprentice caretaker. But he always vanished off after class stealthily.

"Yes, let's," Morgan smiled at took off into the dark trees. She took confident steps, having traveled through the Forbidden Forest many times. Hagrid kept a steady pace with her, carefully stepping over tree branches and tree trunks as they delved deeper into the darkness.

"You've been tryin' to talk ter me," Hagrid said abruptly, after walking for fifteen minutes. "Always after class."

Morgan shrugged, "Yeah, I have. I just wanted to talk to you, to see if you were a student."

"I'm not." Hagrid said sadly. "My wand got snapped after I was expelled just last year. But yer see, it wasn't my fault. Was a huge misunderstandin'."

Morgan forced back a resentful smile as Hagrid launched into a full narritive of his tale. She waited until after he was finished to comment. "That's terrible. Riddle is a bad apple."

Hagrid shook his head, coming to a stop by a fallen tree trunk. "S'not true. He was only doing what he thought was right. He believed Aragog was doin' all the killin' and he did what he thought he had ta." The half-giant placed his lantern down on the ground and stretched out. Morgan stood by a thin tree, her arms crossed.

Jesus, everyone thought Tom was a goddamn saint. It was ridiculous. He was evil. And yet people who he had done wrong to were defending him. Devious little fuck-up…

"Yer know, we really don't haveta go further into the forest," Hagrid ventured out after a few moments of silence. "Me and Kettleburn know that Hippogriff is long dead. He jus' didn't know what else ter do for yer detention, so he told us to go lookin' for it."

"Oh," Morgan said blankly. "Okay then. Let's just talk."

"Yer want to?" The surprise in Hagrid's voice made her heart hurt. The poor guy was treated like a complete outcast. He didn't even expect to encounter people who desired to speak with him. She knew the feeling.

"Yeah, we'll keep talking." Morgan assured him. "Right after I climb this tree." She jumped, grabbing the branch of the tree she had been leaning on before hauling herself up. She nimbly climbed through the braches, testing how high she could go.

Hagrid's booming voice followed her all the way up, and her own loud responses filled the harsh night air with friendly laughter.