A/N: So I'm sitting here and there are a TON of things I want to say. But I am SO DAMN TIRED. I'll say them anyways: this chapter was a week late because last week was my sweet sixteen and I was in no condition to write. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but be sure to tell me how you do. There are a tons of things I secretly snuck in here, like some foreshadowing and other juicy literary things. GOD I AM TIRED. Right, anywho, I'll try to answer reviews tomorrow during school, but I still want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review and faved/alerted. SO TIRED.

Disclaimer: HGEAHIGEILILIGNIGNIEALIDEIOEDIgjOJP#U()RT#U(ehiGEQ_)UTOQ I AM TIRED DAMMIT. ANNOYING DISCLAIMERS SHOULD FEAR ME.

Chapter Fourteen: The Biggest Fucking Idiots in History

"I WAS THIS BLOODY CLOSE TO GOIN' TER GET KETTLEBURN! DO YA UNDERSTAND THAT?"

Morgan winced and drew her arms around herself, pretending to notice the night chill for the first time. "Hagrid, look I'm—"

The half-giant held up one large hand, a sure sign for Morgan to stop talking. "I was worried." Morgan's eyes widened when she realized extremely large tear drops were soaking Hagrid's beard. "I thought something had happened to ya."

Well, something had happened to her. But that was beyond the point. Morgan looked down at the forest floor abashedly, "I'm sorry; I fell and hit my head. I know you told me to start looking for a stream, but then I saw this nice tree..." Her voice trailed off very believingly. "And then I fell out of it and smacked my head on a rock. I just woke up ten or so minutes ago."

Hagrid wiped his nose with the back of his ham-sized wrist, "Well, as long as yer okay I guess." He looked up at the moon with dark beady eyes, "Time ter go in now anyways," he said gruffly. "Tomorrow night, I ain't letting ya out of me sight. And ya said I was the clumsy one..."

Hagrid began leading the way back to the school, Morgan dutifully trailing behind him. Her small tongue unconsciously poked out of her mouth, running over her swollen bottom lip, still tasting the blood.

All of a sudden, she felt alone. So terribly alone. There was no Dumbledore's Army to turn to with her problems. She could tell no one in this time the truth, and no one in this time could offer her consolation.

Her hand reached forward and latched itself onto Hagrid, who's larger hand swallowed hers instantly. "Er...I don't want to fall," Morgan muttered, trying to justify the sudden contact.

Hagrid gave her hand a gentle squeeze, "Of course ya don't."

---

Tom Riddle glanced towards Leah indifferently, watching as a large Gryffindor pulled her to their house table. She followed the seventh year in a daze, her eyes locked onto the stone floor.

"Tom, you aren't eating, is everything okay?" Isabella touched his shoulder lightly, a worried smile masking her face. Everyone else at the Slytherin table politely averted their eyes.

Tom forced himself not to glare at the elegant hand touching him, "I'm fine, just tired."

"Of course you are," Isabella giggled. "It takes a lot of energy to be the best of the best."

The heir of Slytherin shrugged before allowing his eyes to slide over to the Gryffindor table once again. Leah was squished in between the large seventh year and a slighter student he knew to be a Potter. She wasn't eating and her hands were wringing themselves around each other in her lap.

A very light smirk touched his lips. Last night had affected more than she let on. It had been an unexpected turn of events, but not unwelcome in the least.

Focus.

Tom frowned and let his eyes fall to the golden plate in front of him. Focus. There were other more important things to think about. Like the progress of his current endeavor. His back-up plan, should the Founders Necklace not deliver.

But it was hard. Leah Hume was an enigma. He couldn't figure her out. Normally, it was quite easy for him to break-down a person based on their wants. Their desires; should they be power, money, sex, or revenge; were very easy to play off of, to manipulate. But Leah, he couldn't figure out her motives. Why she did what she did. Or what it was she exactly wanted.

He didn't even know where she came from, exactly. How did she get those scars? And what about the glimpse of the orphanage he saw in her mind?

Not to mention that binding mark. The symbol on her arm was one of a very dark history, dating back to Salazar himself. But the magic used to make the mark… that was interesting in itself. Whoever designed that spell was a genius. It inexplicitly attached the bearer to the intended person. It was the perfect way to ensure loyalty, to always keep tabs on someone.

And Leah was bound to him. The heir of Slytherin. He could hurt her with a single touch, bring her to the brink of destruction and then offer her a lifeline. The mere thought was intoxicating. So much control over the fate of someone.

He hadn't felt this way since manipulating the Muggle children at the damned orphanage. They thought they could push him around; well he could end their existence with the utterance of a few words. It was amazing to see the terrified glances they shot at him. It was power.

And Leah was well on her way to behaving the same way. Though controlling her took more unorthodox ways then he was used to. He had to assert his physical power over her; a spell didn't intimidate her, not in the desired way, at least.

Tom resisted the urge to touch his lips. He had spelled away the tenderness and swollenness, but he still felt her small mouth fighting against him. The rush of dominance when she pulled away and gave in was addicting. But definitely unorthodox.

Focus.

Tom looked back up from his empty plate. The Gryffindor that had pulled Leah over to their table was wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Leah didn't react or notice at all, her head still bowed. The Gryffindor was not to be deterred, though, and his hand constricted around her thin shoulder comfortingly.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Isabella interrupted his thoughts quietly. Her lithe body was turned towards his and she leaned in close. "Apparently that man, I think his name is James, wants to date Hume. A Slytherin with a Gryffindor, can you imagine? It's quite ridiculous." Isabella's hand went back to his shoulder, "Though Leah has never really been a good Slytherin."

Tom's hands moved to his lap where he traced the Marvolo ring with one long finger. He glared at James from across the Great Hall, his eyes taking special notice of the way the seventh year very discreetly tucked Leah tighter into his arms.

James was pawing his huge hands over something that didn't belong to him. The Gryffindor might as well been trying to steal Slytherin's ring. It annoyed Tom.

"It doesn't matter," Tom muttered.

Isabella nodded urgently, believing that Tom was finally beginning to contribute to the conversation. "You're right, what Leah Hume does has no affect on us whatsoever."

Tom ignored Isabella, though his hands tightened together at the notion of 'us'. She was bothersome to say the least, always begging him to show affection, always believing there was something more. In reality, Isabella only had one purpose, and she wasn't good at doing as she was told.

"I need to go now. You should leave to." Tom said very evenly, his fingers still trailing over the ring on his hand.

Isabella's made-up face fell, despair pooling up in her eyes. "Why, Tom? Why do you always do this to me? Don't you want me? Is this the only thing I'm good for?"

Tom Riddle climbed to his feet steadily, brushing down his neat and tidy clothes. He offered his hand to Isabella carefully, pulling her off their house bench. He gently led her out of the Great Hall and up to the seventh floor. Per routine, he covered the witch's eyes with his long hands and paced the length of the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.

'I need a place to keep a young witch entertained.' Tom repeated the sentence over and over again in his head, until the door to the Room of Requirement appeared opposite of him. With Isabella's eyes still covered, he led her into a large room filled with books and parchment. Light music drifted throughout the room from an unknown source, and a large couch sat near the fireplace.

Isabella peeled Tom's hands off her eyes, not letting them go for several seconds. She gazed around the room, tears trailing down her soft and rosy cheeks. She turned to Tom Riddle, "I don't want to do this anymore," she finally said.

Tom's dark eyes filled with insincere comfort, "It won't be for long this time, Isabella, but I can't trust you anymore. The last time I let you out of this room, you went to breakfast and told everyone you haven't seen me for days. Lucretia asked me about where I had been a few hours later."

"I'm sorry," Isabella whispered, "But I was lonely. Books can hardly keep me entertained forever, Tom. I don't want to do this anymore. I thought…I thought that you wanted me for other things, that you actually liked me." Her hands went to his chest, where she let them sit hopefully.

Tom pulled them away from his body, "I told you what this was about a long time ago, Isabella."

"But I want more!" The tears streamed through her eyes faster then, "I want more from you."

Tom looked away from the sobbing mess in front of him, disgusted. "Stop being ridiculous." He turned his back to her and began walking to the exit.

The noise of a cloak shifting brought his attention back to the witch. He spun around to see a shaking wand pointed at his face, "I said I didn't want to do this anymore. And I won't."

Tom gave a sigh of annoyance, and before Isabella had the chance to breathe, let alone to utter a spell, Riddle's own wand was out. "Stupefy."

Isabella collapsed on the carpeted floor and Tom made no move to carry her to the bed. Instead, he left the room, his thoughts drifting as he cast a quick charm that rendered him unnoticeable. He would go back to the clearing. Now that the centaurs believed that they had exterminated the human threat they wouldn't be patrolling the area. He would be able to work in peace. His hands drifted to the small diary in his pocket and shook in anticipation. It was going to be another painful day.

---

"Leah, are you sure you're okay?"

Morgan looked up into James' puzzled expression. It was then that she realized he had a thick arm pulling her into his body. Her eyebrows furrowed together, "I'm fine, just tired."

It wasn't a complete lie. She was absolutely exhausted. After coming back from detention she ran to the dorms and collapsed on her bed, thankful that she didn't run into Tom Riddle. However, sleep wouldn't come. She stayed up well into the night tossing and turning, mulling over all the damn problems she had.

"You're looking very ill," James continued, his hand rubbing her shoulder. "Do you even eat at all?"

"Of course I do," Morgan retorted, her hands flying to her face, trailing the pale skin there.

"It's just that you look pale, and you don't have any meat on your bones."

The words confused Morgan even more. Back in her own time she rarely had a decent meal, and yet she looked worse than she did then. She ate more now and made sure to consume a lot of sugar, yet she was still thin and pale. It wasn't anything serious to worry about, but curious, very curious.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine, honestly." Morgan reached up and patted the arm James had laid over her. "You're acting like you're trying to keep me from falling to pieces," Morgan noted dryly.

James' arm squeezed tighter around her shoulder, "You look like you are."

"Thanks for the compliment," she grumbled in response. "But what about you? How are you doing? Did you hear anything from your family?"

The bigger Gryffindor leaned his head down towards her, so that they were eyelevel. "Not yet," he whispered darkly, "I'm really getting scared now."

Morgan reached up a hand and patted his scarred cheek gently because her words failed her.

James pulled away with a small smile, "Thanks."

Morgan shrugged, not exactly sure what it was she did that was deserving of thanks. She glanced around the Gryffindor table to make sure they had not been overheard; James was very private about his family now, understandably. Charlus was pressed against her other side, immersed in some Quidditch conversation with Kayden while everyone else was pretty content with their breakfasts.

"Do you have another detention tonight?"

"Yeah, tomorrow will be my last one though, unfortunately." Morgan let her hands trace patterns onto her empty plate.

"You are the only girl I know who likes trudging through the forest," James said appreciatively. "You're also the only one I know dumb enough to hex Tom Riddle."

Minerva McGonagall had told all the Gryffindors about Tom's made up reason for her detention; and they all loved her for it.

"Violetta has called me reckless."

"The Slytherin? Isn't she dating that asshole Braxton Caldwell?" James stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth.

"I dunno," Morgan admitted unhappily. She was supposed to be friends with Violetta, and yet she didn't know the first thing about her life. "Probably."

"Oh, okay. Do you want to go outside for awhile, sit by that one tree?"

It was a tempting offer; the sun was actually shining, warming up the air outside, but Morgan didn't know if she could go outside and relax. She wasn't exactly in the conversing mood, her thoughts kept straying to the night before, and more often then not she had to stop her tongue from running over her sore lips.

Her eyes looked back towards the Slytherin table, only to find Tom Riddle missing, as well as Isabella Marston. "Hey, where did Isabella and Tom run off too?"

James frowned at the change in conversation, "I don't know. They've been disappearing together everyday for the past week or so. Probably sha—you know, hanging out." A warm blush began working its way up the Gryffindor's neck, but Morgan didn't pay that any attention.

"What do you mean 'together'? I thought it was only Tom who holes himself up in the library."

"I seriously doubt their going to the library together…"

"But, I mean, it was only Tom that was leaving before…Why did they start leaving together…"

"Tom has always disappeared," James said, "It's just that now he's started leaving with a girl. I don't see what the problem is especially if he's going to marry her like everyone is saying. Why does it even matter?"

"It doesn't," Morgan said defensively. "I'm just curious."

"Well, let's go be curious outside, maybe we can go down to the Quidditch pitch later and I can teach you how to fly."

Morgan held back a snort; she already knew how to fly. "No, I can't, I have a ton of essays to do. Tomorrow can we do that?"

James looked rather crestfallen, but nodded regardless. "I have Quidditch practice at ten in the morning. But afterwards we can fly together."

"Great." Morgan peeled her body away from his and jumped to her feet. "Right well, I guess I'll be going." She gave James a light wave before taking off at a brisk pace, her thoughts whirling.

So Tom and Isabella had been running off together every single day for a week. Tom had said himself he didn't even like Isabella, so what in the world was going on!? It was so frustrating.

Think. Think clearly, she scolded herself. Ask the right question.

Why now? What happened that was so significant a week ago?

It had been the night she found that trinket in the Chamber of Secrets (her mind was still trying to figure out what was so important about it), and had also been the day she attacked Riddle in the library.

Could the trinket have anything to do with it? Tom certainly seemed excited about it, even though it wasn't the Founders Necklace.

Her face scrunched up in thought as she tried to remember every single conversation she had with Tom that day. In the library he said something about going to see Slughorn. But that was the Slug Club night, something she had stopped attending after the first meeting, so there wasn't anything usual about that.

She tried to remember anything else from the library, but for some reason only the conversation regarding Slughorn stuck out. Why? Why did she remember that so distinctly?

And then it hit her.

'Tom Riddle learned how to create a horcrux from Slughorn in his sixth year. So be prepared. After he creates his first one he will come to resemble Voldemort more than a polite schoolboy.'

Snape's file. It had been very direct about the creation of Voldemort's horcurxes, though it had failed to mention when exactly in his sixth year they were created. Could Tom have found out how to create a horcrux that night a week ago? And had he been making them for the past week?

Her heart thumped wildly at the thought. The more times you split and separated your soul, the more monstrous you became. Could she deal with an even more monstrous Tom Riddle? Probably not.

But where in the hell did Isabella fit into all of this?

Morgan's head was starting to hurt, and she made her way up the Room of Requirement. She would get her cloak and begin to search for Tom. She would find him no matter what.

Morgan reached the seventh floor quickly and began pacing the length of the Room of Requirement's wall. 'Just get me in here, hurry!'

She didn't bother to specify where 'here' was. She had been the last person there; so obviously, it would just reconstruct the last room that had been in use.

The door appeared before her instantly, and she barreled through it without much thought. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, however, she paused. Her room wasn't colored silver and green, and there weren't any books on the shelves.

She glanced down at the carpet and gulped. "I don't remember leaving you in here either," she muttered, eyeing the collapsed form of Isabella Marston.

Morgan leaned down, her pulse racing and all thoughts of Tom Riddle gone. "I swear to god, if you're dead Marston, I am going to fucking flip." She placed her head cautiously on Isabella's chest, seeking out the tell-tale signs of a heartbeat. Thankfully, she found one.

Sitting back on her haunches, Morgan contemplated what she could do. She needed to talk to Isabella, so that meant she had to wake the witch up.

Without much grace, she began poking the redhead's nose repeatedly. Nothing happened.

"Time to bring out the wand," Morgan muttered to herself, filling the silence in the room. She pulled the stick out a shot a jet of water at her fellow Slytherin.

Isabella Marston flailed at the contact, her eyes popping wide open and her cheeks flushing. She sat up suddenly, pushing Morgan backwards with a surprising amount of strength. Morgan pulled herself to her feet quickly, stowing away her wand and watching Marston apprehensively.

"What are you doing here!?" Isabella sounded frantic, her eyes wide and searching the room. "Get out!"

"Very polite of you," Morgan grumbled, brushing invisible dust of her clothes. "Do you know where Riddle is? It's important."

At the mention of Tom's name, Isabella's eyes filled with tears. The color from her cheeks fled and her mouth popped open, "You mustn't tell him you were here, please, you need to leave Leah." The smaller witch dragged herself to her feet, her shoulders shaking with silent cries.

"Bloody hell," Morgan sighed and walked over to the Slytherin cautiously. "What did Tom do to you?"

"N-nothing," Marston drew herself up to her full height (which wasn't all that impressive), and took a deep breath, "Nothing at all. Now I'm afraid you're going to have to leave, before you force me to take action."

Morgan stared in silence at Isabella, one eyebrow raised. Luckily for Morgan, her fellow Slytherin wasn't a very strong individual, and soon collapsed on the nearby couch, wrapping her thin arms around her torso.

Morgan sat down next to the witch carefully.

"Leah, what's wrong with me?" Isabella finally cried out. "Tell me, please, because I can't seem to figure it out. My family bred me perfectly; I'm one-hundred percent Pureblood!"

"Lucky you," Morgan said dryly.

Marston turned her watery eyes back to Morgan, "I know you think you're funny, Leah, and you are, really. I like it when you make fun of Lucretia and Marinette because they need to be put in their place sometimes. But this, this isn't funny. This is me falling apart," Isabella leaned forward off the couch, squeezing her sides together and choking out sobs.

"I don't understand it!" the witch continued. "I throw myself on him, time after time, I give him everything I have, and I get nothing in return. And he doesn't notice! When he told me that he needed my help, and that dating would only be a ruse to fool the Half-bloods and Mudbloods, and other unworthy wizards I thought—maybe, just maybe, he'll fall for me. Because there's nothing wrong with me! I'm beautiful, rich… pure!"

Morgan was just starting to realize what a modest witch she was rooming with. Smirking at the thought, Morgan's hands glazed over the cover of a large volume beside her.

"But he never cared! He sticks me in this room because I'm nothing to him. Nothing at all. I only ever had one purpose, and its breaking my heart." Isabella raked finger through her hair, her eyes leaking a constant flow of tears. "Growing up," she began more softly, "My mother always told me if I was polite, and genuine, and pretty, I would find someone to share myself with. 'You deserve the best' she always told me. And Tom Riddle, he's the best of the best…yet he won't even look at me without mildly concealed disgust, as if I'm a hideous deformity!"

She leaned over to Morgan and grasped her hands, pulling them away from the book they had been holding, "Tell me Leah, am I pretty? Am I nice? Am I wonderful? I hardly feel it. I feel useless, forgotten, and spent. I feel hideous, like a filthy Mudblood."

'Maybe it's because you're hideous on the inside' Morgan thought silently, her eyes fixed on the mess in front of her.

"What did he use you for, Isabella," Morgan asked, masking her urgency behind sympathy.

Marston pulled away from Morgan suspiciously, her mascara stained face regarding her for a moment before answering. "An alibi," she finally said thickly, fresh tears spilling over at the thought. "So people won't ask where he's been the past week every night and day. 'They'll assume we're together, and you won't discourage them from these notions.' He never understood that I wanted us to be together during those nights. I want to give myself up to him, to love him, but it's so hard. I don't think anyone can do it, I don't think anyone can love that man."

She leaned back towards Morgan, "The truth, though no one sees it, is that he's a monster Leah. A cold-hearted monster and I wish I knew that before I—I just wish I knew that. But I can't do anything now, not anymore. I'm terrified of what he'll do to me, absolutely frightened. He's an animal though, and he belongs in that bloody forest."

Morgan's head snapped up, "Forest?"

Isabella frowned, "Never mind that," she said quietly. Her hands went into the pocket of her robes, "I don't know how you found me, Leah, but I want to thank you for listening." She pulled out her wand, "But you must know I can't allow you to remember what it is you have heard. I'm sorry."

Morgan eyed the wand with annoyance, her hands creeping back to the book beside her. It was a thick volume, and would definitely do the trick.

"I should feel bad for this, but I think you deserve it as much as Lucretia and Marinette deserve to get made fun of. None of you are perfect, you're all faulted, and people need to pay for their faults." Isabella wiped her cheeks with the back of her wrist, "I shall see you tomorrow morning, and you shan't remember a thing."

But before Isabella could let loose the Obliviate charm, Morgan's arm snapped forward and smashed the huge volume into the side of the Slytherin's head. The small witch fell soundlessly to the floor.

"I should feel bad for this," Morgan mocked in a high falsetto, "But I've been waiting to do it for awhile."

Morgan brought herself to her feet and rubbed the back of her head unhappily. The whole answer had been staring her in the face. The reason why Tom knew about the centaur's arrow poison, the reason why the centaurs were even there in the first place, was because of him. She was impaled with an arrow for his damn sake. The thought made her angry, so angry that she didn't realize she had stepped on Isabella's fallen body as she made her way out of the room.

That, or she just didn't care.

---

After casting a disillusionment charm on herself, Morgan made her way out of the castle. Somehow, clouds had already begun covering up the sun, and the air was chilly. Trudging across the castle grounds Morgan couldn't help but dread the oncoming winter with a passion. It was going to suck.

Focus!

She looked around carefully, as if someone could have known her thoughts slipped away from the serious situation at hand. Sticking her hands into her pockets, she ducked her head and ran straight to the forest. She gazed around the trees, expertly tracking her way back to the clearing.

As soon as she heard the sound of running water, she slowed her pace. She passed from tree trunk to tree trunk, hiding for a few moments before advancing. When the clearing came into sight, she stopped a few feet away, ducking behind a bush.

Tom Riddle was in the middle of the clearing, his hands shaking wildly and his eyes unfocused as he sank to his knees. His mouth was pressed together in a firm line, a line that soon wavered. His mouth fell open and no sound came out.

It was then Morgan realized he had created a barrier between the clearing and the rest of the forest. He was undoubtedly screaming and in a ton of pain, it was just that she couldn't hear it.

Her blue eyes spied a small diary sitting neatly on the forest floor, watching Tom writhe in pain.

So she was too late. He was already ripping apart his soul. At least, he was in the process of it.

His hands went to his head, where they gripped his neat hair and pulled at it madly. Morgan had to avert her eyes, she couldn't watch anymore. She just couldn't. Her heartbeat was very loud in her ears. Tom was killing his humanity.

Morgan dove out from under her bush and ran into the clearing. Even though Tom was on his knees, he came up to her stomach, so she ducked low and tackled him. The combined force of her sudden movement sent them both spiraling across the grass and Morgan's ears popped when she could suddenly hear the gut-wrenching screams Riddle was producing.

They soon stopped though, as Morgan sat on his stomach defiantly and slapped her hands over his mouth. "Stop it!" she commanded helplessly. "Stop right now!"

Tom's unfocused eyes didn't see her. His body fought against her and his arms punched at her quickly. Morgan's hands left his mouth and gripped at his cheeks, ignoring the weak blows his body was extracting on her.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, stop it right now," she realized she was fighting back tears, "Or I swear I'll give you a real reason to scream." Her voice was thick and she bit her tongue. To see someone, no matter whom, in so much pain…it was sickening.

Tom's breathing calmed down soon, and suddenly he was really seeing her. His eyes widened, still in shock, and he roughly shot upwards and pushed her off of him. She fell to the forest floor with an inaudible thump, in a slight daze herself, as she wiped at her eyes furiously.

"What in the hell were you thinking!"

Tom gazed at her blankly, "Why are you crying?"

Morgan rubbed her eyes harder, "I'm not, idiot! Now answer my question!"

But apparently, Tom didn't care for Morgan's question, as he turned his gaze to the clearing around them and picked up his nearby fallen wand. His dark eyes landed on the small diary last, when a painful wince overtook his expression.

"Yeah, ouch is right!" Morgan stammered, "Damn it Riddle, don't you know you're killing off your goddamn humanity? Honestly, you're the fucking stupidest smart guy I've ever met!"

Tom turned away from the diary and looked at her impassively. She realized his shirt had been unbuttoned, and sweat poured off his body. "What are you doing here?" his tone was getting slightly more comprehensible, even though his movements were jerky and pinched.

His shaking hands went to button his shirt up again, but they couldn't seem to get a good enough grip on the buttons. His pale features were wrought with concentration as he tried to accomplish such a simple task. He was more pathetic than Isabella.

Sighing loudly, Morgan pushed herself to her feet and walked to him. Without a word she yanked his hands away from his shirt. The sudden movement caused him to waver, and he had to place his hands on her shoulders to maintain balance.

"So stupid," Morgan muttered to herself, her hands quickly doing up the buttons of his shirt. Tom's hands gripped her long hair gently, as if fascinated by how the strands felt against his skin. Morgan ignored the contact and quickly finished her task. When she was done, she tried to pull away, but Tom didn't loosen his grip.

"Alright, alright," Morgan growled. She half dragged-half pulled Tom near the stream and gently sat him down by the bank. With his hair sticking up at all angles, he looked like a madman amidst a place of beauty.

He was blinking slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he finally glanced back at Morgan.

The young witch had moved away from him, her eyes darting around the clearing apprehensively. Her arm throbbed at the thought of the pain she had felt there a mere twenty-four hours ago. She was afraid.

"They won't come back," Tom said slowly. "They think that you have died and that their clearing is protected."

Morgan turned back to him, her eyes darkening. "Well, you know, I wonder why they shot a fucking arrow at me in the first place, Riddle!" She threw her arms in the air, "What are you thinking!? Horcruxes! Please, tell me, what compels someone to throw away their very humanity, because I'm very curious. I'm actually thinking about writing a book; I think I'll call it, 'The Biggest Fucking Idiots in History'."

"Stop talking so fast," Riddle commanded. "I can't think straight."

Morgan's mouth snapped shut, and she went back to examining the clearing unhappily.

It was a long time before Tom spoke again, at least ten minutes, but when he did his voice had gotten back its previous strength, and he was standing. "What are you doing here?"

Morgan glared, "Stopping you from ripping your soul in half."

Tom's hands rubbed tiredly across his face, "We really have to discuss how you know everything about what I'm doing sometime."

Morgan didn't stop glaring.

"So you know about horcurxes, and you figured out the centaurs and the clearing…you really are becoming a big problem. At least, you would be, if it weren't for that tattoo of yours."

In the darkening light, Morgan watched as Tom tried to pat down his hair. His dark eyes were sharp again, and they gazed at her with interest. "Why did you interfere?"

"Because I have something called empathy, and it makes me a bit impartial to seeing people writhing on the floor in pain."

Tom raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. And why should he? Her answer was the truth, well, at least most of it. Her other motivation for interfering was to stop him from becoming harder to handle. Had he split his soul, he would have been a lot more unpleasant to deal with.

Her eyebrows furrowed with unease, "Why did you do it, Tom? It hurts so much, is it worth it? Do you understand…you won't be whole anymore? You won't be you. You'll be…something else." The thought of doing such a thing sent shivers racking through her body. It was terrifying. As terrifying as her being unable to do Metamorphmagus transformations.

"I won't be me anymore? Ha," Tom smirked darkly, "And what's so bad about not being Tom Marvolo Riddle? What makes you think I want my father's name? A filthy Muggle, he wasn't even fit to be buried in the same ground I walk on."

"Don't say that…" Morgan cautioned unhappily.

"Why not? He deserves it! He deserved everything he got, him and his filthy parents." Tom began to angrily stalk the clearing, his eyes focused on the surrounding foliage.

"Why?"

"Because they let her die," he swore thickly.

Morgan frowned. Tom hated his father and grandparents because they allowed his mother to die. The thought scared her, because how many times had she contemplated killing Father Miller because of the death of Anne-Marie? Too many.

"I don't want his name," Tom said, more quietly this time. "I don't care if I turn into something else."

"Yeah, well I do," Morgan interjected.

Riddle looked at her dryly, "You hate me," he said simply.

"Yeah, but I'll hate the monster you turn into even more," she shuddered as her mind conjured up a picture of Lord Voldemort. "Believe me."

There was another round of silence, and then, "Oh, by the way, I knocked Isabella unconscious in the Room of Requirement."

Tom looked startled, "What?"

"I knocked her unconscious with a dictionary, I think. It felt good."

Riddle started laughing, his deep chuckles obliterating the peacefulness of the wood, "Did you really?"

"Yes. She was trying to Obliviate me. Now I may be able to tolerate you, but Isabella is one scorned woman. She's probably contemplating various ways to kill you as we speak. Should have married her when you had the chance." The bland humor felt familiar on her tongue, not too mention safe.

But at the mention of death, Tom's eyes blackened again and moved towards the diary.

Morgan threw her hand up in the air, "Oh no! Don't think about it. No more horcurxes! You didn't make one today, did you?"

Riddle shook his head, "No, you broke my concentration."

"Okay, good. Don't try and make one anymore," she commanded.

Tom looked amused at her attempt to be assertive, "And why should I listen to you?"

"Just don't do it."

Tom walked closer to Morgan, backing her into a tree. "And what do I get in return?" He leaned down, pushing his nose into her neck while one hand trailed to the back of her head, burying itself in her hair. "Hmm?" his voice and breath spread over her skin.

'Not this again' anger cursed through Morgan's body, and she used her hands to try and push Tom away. When that didn't work, she lifted her hand up and went to slap him.

Tom caught her wrist seconds before it was about to make contact, and he leaned away from her. He ripped the sleeve of her shirt up and pressed down hard on her Dark Mark.

Pain rippled through her arm at a dreadfully fast pace, and she felt Tom's anger and despair; his unquenchable need to become something more than human, something to be feared and admired.

"Stop doing that too," Morgan gasped out when he finally ripped his hands away from her. "I hate it." Anger was cursing through her veins.

"I know," Tom said.

Morgan straightened out her clothes furiously, dragging her coat tighter around herself. Funny, how she was getting used to it already; used to the pain and the anger and the unhappiness. Maybe she realized Tom didn't really mean it, that the pain was just a reassurance for him, a reassurance that he still had control. "Well, I'm leaving now. Stop trying to rip your soul in half, okay?" she snapped.

Tom stared at her, "Okay. We need to take care of Isabella. I'll have to Obliviate her."

"Oh the horror," Morgan mocked, though she silently wondered when she had been included in his plans.

"Then we need to talk, about quite a few things."

Morgan shrugged, "Alright."

As Tom began walking out of the forest Morgan felt pity for the man. He didn't know it yet, but she planned on making him pay for every single time he touched her, no matter what the reason.