A/N: Yeah. It's been awhile -scratches head- but what can you do. Life gets in the way. At least this chapter is one of my longer ones. R & R if you wish for an update. Kudos to all those who reviewed last chapter/faved/alerted. You guys were kinda like my motivation to get off my butt. Happy holidays, guys.

Chapter Sixteen: Put Up or Shut Up

Morgan uneasily pushed her eggs around the gilded plate in front of her. She tried—very hard mind you—to keep her eyes there, but every once and awhile they snaked over to the Gryffindor table. James was sitting there, his back rigid, and she swore he shot her confused glares over his shoulder every ten seconds. Or maybe that was just her imagination.

…Wait. No it wasn't.

"Ugh," Morgan flapped her head down on the table unhappily.

"Having a lovers spat?" Violetta slid into the empty spot beside Morgan and gave her a very small smile.

Morgan paled, "Lovers!? What? Where the hell did you get that idea from? Why does everyone, including him, think that there's something going on? Can't a girl hang around a guy because she wants his friendship?"

Violetta responded with an odd sound in the back of her throat.

"Did you just snort?" Morgan asked the table.

"Well, yes," Violetta answered, "But just because you're being utterly ridiculous."

"You don't say."

"I am just going to ignore that unenthusiastic tone of yours and explain to you what you're obviously dying to know but too embarrassed to ask about." The young blond witch settled both of her small hands on the table and took a deep breath. "Leah, did you know that about every single one of the witches and wizards before you today will graduate with a fiancé?"

Morgan, her face still buried in the table, growled.

"Apparently not," there was a torn look on the other witch's face, as if she didn't know whether to be disgusted or amused by her friends antics. "Well, now you do. So take a look at James for a moment—"

Morgan squirmed in her seat.

"—he's a good looking guy, single, and a seventh year. Now that's unusual. He's obviously looking for a wife, and when you started meeting with him on several occasions, he apparently thought you were looking for a husband."

Morgan looked up from the table-top and scrunched her nose at Violetta, "Are you sure that Slytherin logic applies to tactless Gryffindors?"

"Have I ever pointed you in the wrong direction?"

"There's a first time for everything."

Violetta shrugged, "That's how I see things. Take it or leave it, Leah." The witch gracefully pulled herself to her feet and stalked out of the Great Hall, but not before reminding her friend of their upcoming Charms period.

At least that class wasn't with Gryffindor.

Morgan glanced again at the aforementioned table and flailed out of her seat when her eyes connected with James'. She fell to the floor with a loud thump, and didn't even try to get up for a few minutes. She could practically feel Lucretia's eyes burning holes into her head, and was that the sound of laughter coming from the other side of the hall?

Why yes, yes it was.

---

"Good morning class, you're all looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

In response to their professor's rather sarcastic greeting, the collection of Slytherin and Hufflepuff students sighed. Monday mornings were the absolute worst, and Bragidly was especially fond of torturing his students.

Fortunately, the whole class knew of one student who could return the favor.

"Leah, you're late again. Though this does not surprise me, why don't you humor me and give me a reason as to why?"

Disgruntled and looking slightly sick, the Slytherin student replied in kind, "Uh…I got lost."

"Miss Hume, you've been at this school for months, I'm sorry but that excuse will just no longer do. Now, I'll ask again, why were you late?"

Navigating her way around the classroom desks, Morgan waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder, "Oh, well, since you asked so nicely I guess I could let you in on my little secret. I was, ahem, out."

"Out," Bragidly repeated dully.

"Yes, that's what I said, wasn't it? Out."

"Out doing what, Miss Hume?"

"Saving the world. I'm a superhero, don't cha know. It's what I do. I even have a cape and everything, I could model it if you wanted, but I swear to god if you get too excited I'll bust a move on you, because I am not into that kinky 'lets-play-dress-up' sex thing, or the whole, 'oh-professor-I'll-do-anything-for-an-A'!" After finishing off her monologue in a high falsetto voice Morgan added, "No, none of that. If I were to model my costume for you it would merely be on a professional level."

The Charms professor turned a lovely shade of red, "Shut up and sit down, Miss Hume, you're head of house will hear about this."

The rest of the class, holding in their reactions via the palm-on-face-method, remained motionless at their desks.

"Now!" Bragidly's commanding tone filled up the silence in the room, "Since Miss Hume is so fond of jokes, we'll just spend the rest of the period writing a lovely essay about the Unforgiveable Curses we discussed this past Friday. I want at least a foot done by the end of this class, and two feet ready for when we next meet."

No face-on-palm method could stifle the resounding groans.

"Sir," a Hufflepuff named Jordy-something cried out, "How are we supposed to write an essay that long about them?"

Morgan, who had long ago taken her seat, joined in the grumbles, "Yeah, I could pretty much sum that subject up in a sentence: if you see a green light coming towards you— duck, or else you're pretty much screwed."

"Three feet!" Bragidly hollered, "And you all know who to thank for that."

Morgan ducked under her desk to hide away from the glares her classmates shot her. Violetta shook her head mockingly, "Silly little snake," she whispered.

Morgan stuck out her tongue and dragged herself back into her seat, only to find a neatly folded up piece of paper resting there. She recognized the handwriting immediately: Tom's.

Her head snapped up to gaze around the room so fast she was almost sure she would suffer from whiplash later. And for all her effort, the only thing she was rewarded with was the sight of Tom Riddle writing at his annoyingly leisurely pace. It was ridiculous that he could work so slowly and surely and still finish shit in half the time as the other kids.

Morgan sent his back a scowl for good measure before peeling back the paper.

"Meet me in the usual place tonight—9 o'clock."

Usual place? Where the fuck was that? Did they even have a usual place? If he was talking about the Room of Requirement then he needed to reword his statement. The Room of Requirement wasn't their space, it was hers—her space that he just so happened to invade. Only Tom would do something so pompous as to assume he was welcomed there whenever he wanted.

Morgan sighed and shuffled her parchment around her desk. There was no avoiding thinking about her previous conversation with Tom now. Ugh, and she had been doing such a good job of pretending it never happened. All it did was make her more confused.

---

It was the sound of creaking that eventually woke her up. It was consistent and hard on the ears, so it was impossible to ignore. Opening her eyes was unavoidable, though she tried to put it off for as long as possible. When she did, the creaking was finally dying down. But that was probably due to the fact that Tom was on his feet, stretching.

Oh man, from her vantage point she could see the exposed part of his stomach. He certainly wasn't muscular, not in the slightest, but man, that torso was still something to look at. Those hip bones—

ACK!

Morgan flipped off the bed—a physical reaction to her mental exclamation. What in the hell was she thinking? The boy-man standing in the middle of the room was Tom Riddle. Sure, she wasn't stupid enough to try and deny that he wasn't attractive, but she had to be smart enough to realize that admiring thoughts weren't allowed.

"Sleep well?"

Oh, fuck you.

Morgan could just tell from the way his lips were quirked up slightly that he knew what she was looking at. Like his ego needed to get any bigger.

"Oh yes, very well, it was lovely." Good, short and clipped answers.

"And falling off the bed, was that lovely as well?"

Fuck you sideways.

"Oh that? That was just…awesome." Morgan dragged herself to her feet, wincing at how tender her back was. All these aching muscles…it was getting ridiculous. She was starting to feel like an old lady.

"Good," Tom chuckled, probably at her stupidity, and motioned to the couch. "Sit down, and let's talk."He took a seat in the armchair by the fire.

Begrudgingly, Morgan walked to the couch. When she sat down, she found the cushions were still warm from when Tom was sleeping.

She tried to mimic the imposing stance Tom had settled himself into—crossing one leg over the other while resting an elbow on one knee and her face in her hand. From the way Tom smirked again, she probably wasn't successful.

"Now that we're comfortable, tell me the truth."

"The truth, about what? You'll have to be more specific."

Tom sighed, "The truth about everything. Where did you come from? How did you get that mark?"

"Oh, heh, that." Morgan gave a sheepish grin, to which Tom responded with a raised eyebrow. This was it. No more lying. Time to come clean.

"I grew up in an orphanage. I don't know who my parents were, I don't even know if they're alive." Morgan frowned, "They didn't want me when I was born, so I've never really cared enough to go looking for them. Their loss, ya know?" She had to give it to Tom; he really knew how to listen. He was leaning forward in the chair, his dark eyes gazing at her so deeply that it made her skin tingle— almost like it did before she was about to do a Metamorphmagus transformation.

"Anyways, the owner of the orphanage was Father Miller. I used to look up to him. Even though I was different, even though I made weird things happen sometimes, he kept me. I never noticed the way he always refused to give families a chance to adopt me.

"I didn't find out I was a witch until I was thirteen." Okay, so maybe she wasn't going to come completely clean. "And I only found out then because a strange man came into town. He seemed to know Father Miller, and Father Miller seemed terrified of him. That man immediately saw me for what I was and offered to take me into his home. He said he would teach me all about my powers, something I had no idea I possessed.

"In any case, Miller wasn't too happy. But a quick spell changed that right around. I was soon packing the little things I had in a small suitcase and trailing after my new teacher. Turns out though, Malding was a practitioner of dark magic. He made me get this tattoo; he made me swear servitude to Slytherin's decedent— whoever that person may be. And that's…about it."

Sometimes Morgan really felt like commending herself on her ability to lie, honestly, the shit she pulled out of thin air…one would think she was a magician.

"And how did you know about me? How did you know about the Basilisk?"

"I did my research before coming to the school. Malding sent me here to try and find the heir of Slytherin after we heard of the Chamber of Secrets being opened. I knew that Hagrid couldn't have been responsible. I mean, he's a kindhearted Gryffindor; no way could he have killed that ghosty-girl. Besides, it's pretty obvious that Hagrid's so called monster wasn't the one in the Chamber. As for these scars, well, they come with the territory of having an abusive guardian."

Tom actually laughed—a deep high laugh that sounded like dry ice. "You have no idea how many holes there are in your story, how many inconsistencies. How did you know where the Chamber was in the first place? Why did you assume I was the heir? Not to mention; that Malding guy. Hah, ridiculous. You know, I could just find the truth out for myself. No more lies. No more inconsistencies. Just me and all your deep dark secrets."

Morgan pulled off her robe and apprehensively rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. How could she delude herself into thinking her lies were actually solid? She was screwed, no doubt about it. Well, she would die before letting him know the truth.

Tom stood up and ran a hand through his hair, "But that's not what I'm going to do." He turned back to glance at her, and his eyes weren't as hard or sharp. "I was actually counting on an answer like this, perhaps hoping for one as faulty and untruthful."

"Ugh," Morgan sank back down into a lazy position on the couch, "You are so confusing."

"Perhaps I should explain?"

Morgan snorted.

"If you would have given me a truthful answer, well then, you wouldn't be you."

"I'm sorry, but is that supposed to make sense?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I like all your secrets. Without them, without the way you ludicrously hide them, things wouldn't be the same. If you started telling the truth all of a sudden…you wouldn't be as much fun. Didn't I tell you before that you were either the best spy or the worst spy? I think I've decided that you're the best bad spy there is."

"God, you are seriously messed up. You're actually okay without knowing the truth?"

"I'll find out eventually, it's not like you're going anywhere. Besides, you're eternally loyal to me. Nothing much you can do against me at this point."Tom crossed his arms, "You've been a distraction lately, all I've been able to think about is you."

Why was she blushing? He didn't mean that as a compliment, not in the slightest. So why did she want it to be a compliment?

"You are, perhaps, one of the only people I can't seem to figure out," his eyes narrowed in thought, "Frankly, it's been driving me crazy, which doesn't happen very often."

Now she knew why she wanted to be complimented by him: because she felt honored in some sick way. Tom Riddle was, after all, destined to be one of the most powerful wizards to ever walk the earth. How could she not feel special?

No, no, no. That was bloody stupid.

But true nonetheless.

"But I'm determined to turn you into something useful. You'll help me search for the Founders Necklace."

What had she gotten herself into?

She was so fucking stupid.

---

"Ugh," Morgan smacked her head against the wooden desk again.

"Leah, might I remind you that the point of an essay is to actually write out ones thoughts?"

"Oh how very insightful of you, Violetta, really, you deserve to win a Pulitzer's Prize for that one."

"Isn't that some American thing?" The blond witch wrinkled her nose. "Where do you get these things, Leah?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Morgan groaned in response, looking around at the other students. The class period was just about to be over, and everyone was still ferociously writing. Well, everyone besides Riddle of course. When Morgan's gaze slid over to him, he was sitting calmly in his chair, all his materials packed up already. As if feeling her gaze on him, he spared her a quick and amused glance.

"Ugh." Her head smacked against the desk again.

"Really, Leah, your etiquette has been suffering as of late," Violetta scolded lightly as the passing bell tolled in the distance. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"No," Morgan grumbled, dodging Isabella's attempted shoulder jab as they exited the classroom. "I've just been…tired, is all I guess."

"Big surprise there," Violetta sighed, "I guess we can always talk about it when you're ready. Anyways it's time for Transfiguration."

Morgan nodded, following her friend down the school hallways and ducking whenever she caught sight of a large Gryffindor. She still had no idea what she was going to say to James. It was tough.

When the duo had finally reached Dumbledore's classroom, Morgan had thought herself into a circle.

On one side, she knew there was no way in hell she was staying in the past. So it would be unfair to allow James' feelings to manifest. Besides, who even said she liked him?

On the other side James was…nice. Kind, even, and quite unlike any person she had ever met. She liked how safe she felt when she was with him, and his muscles…well, they weren't too bad either.

But then she thought about Tom. Now why they hell he even mattered in this instance was yet to be discovered. She didn't know why she thought about him, just that she did.

Damn, who knew her stupid mission would involve so many stupid hormones?

Morgan scowled and took a seat in the back of Dumbledore's classroom. Violetta, naturally, took the seat beside her. "You really look like you're killing yourself," the witch muttered, pausing to extract her quill and other notes. "It's not good to keep things bottled up inside, you know."

Oh man, if only Violetta knew how much shit Morgan had bottled up inside. The potentially dangerous game of cat and mouse she played with a certain future Dark Lord, James, finding the stupid Founders Necklace, dealing with stupid thoughts about a certain future Dark Lord, her dumb inability to perform a Metamorphmagus transformation, ugh, the list just kept getting bigger and bigger.

Life just really sucked sometimes.

"Okay, class, today I would like to take the time gather the group of students eligible to learn to become an Animagus. In this class, I do believe we only have five students: Leah Hume, Violetta Fanding, Tom Riddle, Jeremiah Mincus, and Dmitri Copper." Dumbledore peered over his glasses, "Out of those whose name I called, is there anyone who would like to decline my offer?"

For a long moment, no one raised their hand. But then…

"I, uh, decline, professor. Respectfully, of course," Morgan fiddled with her fingers, glancing up at Dumbledore through her hair.

Dumbledore appeared to see through her for a few minutes before he nodded, "Very well then, if I may I have some of your time after class, though, Miss Hume?"

Morgan shrugged, "Sure, sir." She tried to ignore the incredulous gaze almost everyone in the class gave her, including Violetta.

"I thought we both agreed that we would do this if we got the chance, remember, at the beginning of the year?"

"We never agreed to anything, Violetta, we were barely even friends then." Morgan hadn't meant for the reply to come out so scathing, but it did.

"I see," Fanding turned back to her work. Gone was the friendly air about them, replaced was a frosty silence. But what was more, Morgan didn't even care about apologizing.

The rest of the class passed by without much incident, except for the fact that Dumbledore's eyes kept trailing back to her, his gaze calculating. The slightly higher level transfiguration they practiced left her a bit tired out, and more than a little depressed.

Whenever she transfigured something with her wand it reminded her of the empty void in her heart—the place where her Metamorphmagus abilities should have been. That place was like a black hole inside of her, constantly taking away bits and pieces of her and never giving any of them back.

By the time the class bell had wrung, Morgan had smacked her head against the desk five more times.

"Now, now, my dear, that can't be too good for your health." Dumbledore waved his wand, shutting the classroom door after the last student left and taking a seat across from Morgan.

"I think I'll survive," Morgan mumbled to the table. "Dying just isn't that easy."

The young witch straightened her back to see her professor mouthing a quick spell. When she looked at him curiously he gave her a sly smile. "It's a precaution, I assure you, to make sure we are not overheard."

Morgan leaned back in her chair, "Dumbledore, why did you want to talk to me?"

"Always to the point," Dumbledore sighed, "It's an admirable quality, though sometimes pleasantries are welcomed as well." When Morgan met his words with a blank stare, he folded his arms upon her desk, "I wished to speak with you because I feel as if there is something you are not telling me," piercing blue eyes stared at her seriously, "And I want you to know that you can talk about it with me, no matter what."

Well, in that case…

Morgan cleared her throat, "Sir, can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

"Certainly."

"Hypothetically, if someone were to say, oh I dunno, travel through time to complete some daring mission that should have totally been given to a more competent person…would the aforementioned someone suffer from any lasting side-affects?" Morgan was, of course, thinking again about the loss of her Metamorphmagus abilities. There could be some correlation between time traveling and that.

Dumbledore smiled kindly and shifted in his seat, pushing his bright blue robe—

the one dotted with moons—aside, "It would depend upon how far back they were traveling, and for how long they planned to stay."

How was it that Dumbledore could see through her with just one small gaze and a couple of sentences? Morgan already felt like a smaller person under his scrutiny.

"Let's say this person was going back fifty years, and was staying there for a year or so."

Dumbledore frowned, "That would be very dangerous."

Morgan slumped forward in her seat and let her head hit the table again, "Eh?"

"No one is meant to travel through time, my dear. Time is such a fickle thing, almost like a living person. When someone ventures so drastically outside of their designated time period…well, time tries to correct the mistake."

"I really don't like the sound of this."

"Essentially, though it of course has never been proven, if someone were to travel so far back in time as you said, and stayed in the past for such a long time, they would die."

Oh, goddamn it.

"It wouldn't be a fast death, either, no; time would slowly break down the traveler's body until there was nothing left."

Morgan felt the muscles in her arm twitch painfully.

Oh no.

"That is why it is important for a time traveler to always have a way to get back to their own time." Dumbledore patted her arm, "Now, hypothetically speaking, does this time traveler have a way to get back to home?"

"Yeah," Morgan answered hollowly, unconsciously clenching her muscles, "She does."

"Well then, there is nothing to worry about. Now, though I would normally push an academically inclined student like you to learn how to become an Animagus, I think I can make an exception. You have a lot on your plate, it seems."

Morgan attempted to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Thank you, sir."

"No need, now then, off you go. If you wish to have any more hypothetical discussions, then feel free to stop by." Dumbledore smiled calmly, gently leading the way out of the classroom, "Now, please do try and hurry to get to your Care of Magical Creatures class."

---

Just what she needed—a time limit! A freaking time limit to complete an almost impossible task!

Morgan stomped down the corridors, flailing her arms every which way. How was she supposed to find that stupid necklace with time slowly breaking down her body and freaking Riddle on her ass?

Fate was cruel. No, more than that, fate was a stone-cold bitch.

And of course, Morgan just had to be the butt of the joke.

"You know what? I don't even feel like going to class. What's the point?" Morgan stopped her rampage through the halls and slumped down in one of the deserted corners.

"I agree."

Morgan jumped in surprise, watching as James appeared out of nowhere. "Holy shit, Jesus Christ, what the hell!"

In all his tall glory, James grinned, folding a cloak around his arms. "This, my friend, is an Invisibility Cloak. It belongs to Charlus, pretty damn good, isn't it?"

Morgan watched, dumbfounded, "Holy hell." She waved a hand over her tired face, "That is pretty good. Where the hell did Potter get a treasure like that?"

"Who knows?" James sat down and gave Morgan a timid smile. "So, do you want to talk now?"

James' meek manner left Morgan reeling. The huge Gryffindor was usually imposing, completely assertive. How could she say no? Wiping all thoughts of death, time-limits, and means of traveling through time from her head, Morgan patted the ground beside her. "Yeah."

James took a seat beside her on the floor and began unwrapping the Invisibility Cloak. He shrugged, "Just so no one sees us. I'm supposed to be in Potions." He tried to drape the cloak over both of their bodies, but it didn't exactly work out.

James sighed; noticing the way Morgan tried to put as much space as possible between them, "Don't be such a baby." He gently grabbed one of her arms and dragged her tightly into his side. "There," the cloak easily fit the both of them then, thanks to the adjustments made to their positions.

"Won't someone hear us?" Morgan hissed, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

"Oh, right," James gave another grin before awkwardly reaching over Morgan's torso to get his wand. He whispered a quick incantation, "There, nice and sound proof."

"Yeah." Morgan scratched the back of her head while trying to move. It felt weird to be so close to James, especially after the way she had left things.

"Look, Leah, I really like you. A lot. And I know you like me; at least I hope you do. Don't you just, I don't know. Don't you want to at least try? If it doesn't work, then fine. At least we gave it a shot." James' arms came to encircle her waist, wrapping themselves around her body. Morgan had to crane her neck back to see his face: his sharp jaw-line, intense eyes, jagged scars, and slightly crooked nose (he must have broken it before). She drank it all in before gently reaching her hand up to pat his cheek.

His skin felt soft under her touch, though a tad bit stubbly. Morgan was allowed to let her fingers to trail the indented skin of his scars for a few seconds before his hand caught hers. "Let me try something, please?"

Morgan already knew what was coming next. She gulped, "Uh, sure."

That's when James kissed her.

His lips were soft, almost unbearably so—they made her chapped lips feel imperfect. She tried to pull away then, gently, but James wouldn't let her go. One of his hands came up to cup her cheek, something he used as leverage to draw her in further. His other free hand trailed up and down her side, tracing patterns into her lower back and stomach. It wasn't until his tongue traced her lips, licking and nipping softy, that she put more force into separating their two bodies.

James backed away then, breathing heavily and smiling. He leaned forward and kissed her nose, then each of her eyelids. They were butterfly kisses that made her feel even worse for what she was about to do.

"James," she cleared her throat, trying to get her thoughts in order. "I can't do this with you. Not right now. I have a lot of things I need to sort out."

James' emerald eyes darkened, "You have things you need to sort out? I'm looking for the sole remains of my family, and you're telling me you have to sort things out? I'm tired of excuses and dodgy answers, just tell me the truth: do you like me?"

"Yes." And she did. At least she thought she did. But there were so many things wrong. So many unwanted thoughts in her head and so many things to sort through. How could she continue with her mission when she had to think about James?

Hands folded themselves around her cheeks once more, "Then we'll do this." James kissed here again, this time with more force. His arm around her waist drew her in even tighter, putting their bodies flush against each other. He took advantage of Morgan's resounding gasp to deepen the kiss.

She had never felt more confused in her life.

---

It was 9:05 pm when Morgan finally reached the Room of Requirement. She had spent most of her free afternoon with James. He had never let go of her hand once, something that Charlus and Kayden loved to comment on. It was beyond annoying.

She still hadn't decided how exactly she felt about her current situation. She knew that being in something as silly as a relationship that couldn't last was stupid, but she still couldn't bring herself to call things off.

Boy, was she pathetic.

Morgan tried to push her thoughts away and entered the room. Tom was already sitting on the couch, a multitude of books and parchment pieces sprawled out before him. He glanced up briefly, acknowledging her with a smirk. "You're late."

"Yeah, well, such is life." Morgan dropped her bag and sank into the arm chair, observing the fact that the bed was still in the room. "You planning on sleeping in here often?"

Tom rolled his eyes, "No, not particularly. I thought that was your job." His hands grazed over a few books before he found what he was looking for. "Why are your cheeks flushed?"

Morgan drew her eyes away from the floor to give him a questioning stare, "Huh?"

"Your cheeks," Tom said dully, cocking his head to the side, "They're flushed."

"I don't know," Morgan scowled, "Not like it's any of your business." She began pulling out books from her bag, since she didn't write that stupid Charms paper in class, she would have to do it now…

Suddenly, her chin was yanked back. Tom had appeared in front of her silently, his hand pushing her head back so he could gaze at the marks on her neck. He wrinkled his nose in what looked like disgust. "Did that Gryffindor do this?"

Morgan slapped his hand away, "Like I said, none of your business."

Tom leaned away from her and sat down on the table, "Wrong, it is my business." He crossed his arms defiantly and paused, waiting.

"You're fucking impossible," Morgan snapped, knowing that he was waiting for her to ask him to elaborate. "Please, do tell me why my romantic life is any concern of yours."

"It's my concern because if you get distracted you won't be much use in helping me find the Founders Necklace. Besides, how are you going to be in a relationship based on lies?"

Morgan glared at him, "At least I'm not using James as some sick alibi."

"True," Tom commented dryly, "But I harbored no feelings towards Isabella in the first place. You, on the other hand, actually like that Gryffindor, no matter how little. Allowing the relationship to continue would only end up hurting him in the end."

"Shut up, Tom," Morgan ground out, "I didn't ask for your advice anyways. And what do you mean, 'how little'?"

"I mean, you obviously don't like the Gryffindor that much."

"Yeah, and how the hell do you know that?"

"Because I've seen the way you look at me." Tom balanced a single book in his hand, skimming over its contents and then glancing up towards Morgan again.

The very little color she had drained from her cheeks and her fists were clenched at her sides, "What are you talking about? I hate you Tom Riddle."

"No, I don't think you hate me. I think you hate yourself."

Morgan jumped to her feet and strode towards Tom. She poked him straight in the chest, "Listen to me right now, I don't know what you did to make yourself so delusional, because you're obviously very sick in the head, I don't like you. Why is it that you're so full of yourself?"

Tom sighed, "Women, always make things so unnecessarily complicated." He grabbed Morgan's wrist, standing up and leading her slowly back to the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as he pushed himself against her, not too hard but not infuriatingly gentle, either. While one of his hands still held a book at his side, the other very slowly traced a path across her cheek and down her side.

It was becoming very hard to breath.

"You see?" Tom laid his head in the crook of her neck, speaking silkily into her ear. "You can tell me all you want how much you hate me because as long as I can still do this to you," he bent down even further and gently nipped her ear, causing a tremor to run through her body, "We'll both know you're lying."

And then he pulled away, seating himself back down on the table, "Oh, and another reason why it's my business: I don't exactly like people pawing over my stuff."

Morgan slowly sank to the floor, blinking rapidly and wondering when her body started to betray her.

Maybe Riddle was right, maybe she did hate herself, not him. Maybe she hated herself from the start. She always knew she was handling the mission with incompetence, and then there was that way she always gave Riddle a reason to come after her. Perhaps she had been attracted to him from the start, and rather than hate herself for liking a man destined to be evil, she desperately tried to hate him.

Or maybe, maybe this was all a part of Tom's plan. Maybe he was making her feel this way, just to confuse her and to get her to doubt herself.

Morgan watched Tom study the pieces of parchment on the small table. He glanced up at her, and raised his eyebrow, "Is there a problem?"

Yes.

"No."

"Good, then make yourself useful, I think I've gotten a lead to the Founders Necklace."

Morgan settled herself near the table and waited for Tom to speak again, all the while watching the way her hands twitched uncontrollably.

She began to wonder when everything got so fucked up.