A/N: Oh yes, it has been awhile my friends. Sorry :( Anyways I hope this chapter makes up for it. Life has been busy for me. How y'all doin'? Heh. ONWARDS! Okay, so I would like to thank Welcome To My Mad World who, dear lord, actually reviewed every chapter. I was quite touched! I would also like to thank ZeroHope2Survive who PM'd me to make sure I wasn't dead, and who has also pointed out typos in this chapter. I'll try to fix em up later, but unfortunately I don't have a beta, so sometimes I miss those things. Thanks again, yo, even though I told you that this chapter would be out last Sunday, lol. Also thanks to anyone else that reviewed/fave'd/alert'd you guys are the best fo shoo.

Chapter Eighteen: Troublesome

A look of slight horror crossed Leah's face before her features morphed into a look of longing. "Her name is Melody, Tom, my Melody!"

Well, that was that. He'd lost her. The girl had been foolish enough to eat something that was very obviously meant for him and now she was drugged. Tom might have had the ability to enjoy the situation, if only his anger wasn't still burning under the surface.

What in the world did she think she was going to accomplish by deliberately ignoring his request? The potion brewing in the other room still needed to sit for a few hours, and though he knew that Leah was a number of things, he wasn't stupid enough to deny the fact that she was smart. All it would take is one whiff, and she would most likely be able to identify the concoction he was making.

And that, that was just unacceptable.

Which meant that for the time being she was stuck in this room. He didn't trust Leah to keep her hands to herself when she was sober, so he most certainly didn't trust her under the influence of the Amortentia.

He had been very curious about love potions when he was younger. They had such a strange power over people: the ability to make them obsess completely over another individual. Obsession tended to push people over the edge, and that was something he found intriguing indeed.

Leah would probably tear the room apart if he left her alone long enough. Nothing would stop her from trying to find this Melody person.

How very troublesome.

Tom Riddle sighed and kicked one of the muffins littered on the ground. It wasn't the first time a female had tried to poison him, and it wouldn't be the last, but whoever Melody was, he had to appreciate her sense. He never accepted gifts from admiring classmates anymore, and obviously the girl knew this and had adapted accordingly. She had chosen a messenger he was tolerant of and recruited her to do a delivery.

That only put Melody a small margin above the rest of her classmates though, because she was still dumb enough to assume that he didn't check the gifts he received, even if they were from "friends."

Friends. What a joke. He certainly didn't have any. There was no need. They were a weakness at best, and should only be used as a means to an end.

What about Leah?

Tom waved his wand irritably, banishing the poisoned treats from sight and refusing to acknowledge the voice in his head, even though it subconsciously turned his attention to the subject of his thoughts.

She was watching him with her ridiculously wide blue eyes. All the while, one small hand played with the end of the ribbon in her hair. Her dark locks were bunched up in a knot, the strands barely ghosting against the back of her neck. Pink lips were quirked expectantly, and she titled her head to the side.

He realized she had been speaking to him.

"—I need to find her. I miss her so much, it's like someone is literally squishing my heart in their grip. Will you help me, Tom?"

He leaned against the bedpost with a particularly blank expression, and though he didn't realize it, his wand twirled between his fingers.

Leah was undoubtedly an interesting topic. She had been a point of speculation for him ever since she showed up and started spouting her ridiculous lies. She appeared to harbor a mass of information not only on him, but on other things relative to the noble house of Slytherin.

It was something that made little sense, considering she seemed to hold her house in such low regard. And things only got more confusing from there on out—especially when those things concerned her past.

Her dark mark was of particular interest to him, for it bound her to him fully. Yes, she was still an individual capable of her own decisions, but she could be highly influenced with just one touch. It was more than he could ever ask for, really, since the control was such a rush.

Not that he would ever admit that to her. Besides, he suspected that she already knew as much.

He had stopped trying to peel back the layers of her lies a little while ago, realizing that the more he tried to make sense of things, the more irritated he got. He was a person that just needed to know, no matter what. He loved picking people apart piece by piece, and Leah was just so damn untouchable. Sometimes his confusion and frustration became so overwhelming that it took a lot of willpower to stop from bashing his head against a nearby wall.

It was so much easier to take her lies in stride. Doing so allowed him to focus on the other aspects of herself that she couldn't hide, no matter what she did. He was able to observe how conniving she was, not to mention resilient. Her wit was a force to be reckoned with, and when she was flustered the most curious red tinge would coat her cheeks before her features were distorted in anger. She was most certainly prideful, and rather than take defeat and admit her wrongdoings, she took the offensive and attacked her opponents head on.

Then there were the times when he would catch a look of profound sadness in her eyes—moments where she would stop whatever she was doing just to stare at her hands, looking at them like she had never seen them before. Her eyes would flutter shut— her chest heaving with a breath that threatened to explode from her body— before they would face the world again with a spark unique in its intensity, but not in its determination.

To combat these few moments striking maturity were long hours of pure childishness, an innocence that radiated from her like the sun.

How could someone so exposed to the horrors of life still have that?

These truths about the girl twirling the ribbon in her fingers left him with a grudging respect and a strange desire.

If Leah was all of those things—passionate, slightly crazy, and powerful—what would her loyalty look like? God, he wanted to know. The desire to have her look at him with admiration and trust was quite demanding.

Such thoughts led him to conclude that somewhere along the way—without his consent or knowledge— Leah had become important to him. Having endearing feelings for another person was a weakness though, and that was unacceptable.

But Tom was never a person to be refused of what he wanted, so weakness or not he would keep the girl around for longer, until he got what he needed from her. Then, well, then was a far way off, and he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"—ey! Hey! Are you listening to me Mr. Tall Dark and Broody? We need to skedaddle, we got to find Melody now so I can go profess my love for her. I'm thinking I could make a haiku. Something like, 'Oh how my love for thou—"

"Leah, shut up."

"How rude, you better not speak to Melody like that when we find her." Leah looked slightly put-off as she shifted from foot to foot. Wrinkles of anxiety developed on her forehead when she noticed just how uncaring he appeared. "…Riddle?"

What was with the last name formality? Tom wondered with a slight hint of exasperation. You didn't formally address people you trusted, and the fact that she used such a tone with him was only proof of how far off his goal was.

"I'm not taking you to see Melody."

The gasp of horror that left her throat was truly comedic. He watched with amusement as her mind tried to wrap around a single fact that seemed more terrible under the influence of a love potion.

"I'm not…going…to see Melody?" Blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

"No," Tom confirmed, already turning away from the girl to pick up a long since discarded box from the floor. He tossed it on the bed, peeling back its cover to observe the contents. It was a dress, dark blue in color and stunningly soft in texture. The material of the gown drifted through his fingers to pool in the center of his palm.

It would have been expensive, so Leah wasn't lying earlier when she said it was a gift. Probably from that Gryffindor she as involved with.

His lips pursed. Gryffindors were annoying enough when they weren't weaseling their way into his affairs. Well, at least he wouldn't have to acquire Leah a dress for the Christmas ball. The only question was if the dress fit her, which probably wasn't likely considering the fact that the material seemed to have an awful lot of room for feminine curves.

The thought of Leah with such attributes was laughable. She was far too small.

"I didn't want things to come to this, Tom, but I'm afraid I have to do it. You can be comforted by the thought that it was in the name of love, and nothing less spectacular."

What now?

He turned his dark gaze upon Leah to find she stood in an offensive position, with her feet squared and her wand in one hand. In the other was…a pillow?

Leah waved her makeshift shield, "Prepare for defeat, Slytherin Heir!"

Okay, this was just getting out of hand.

Tom rolled his eyes, "Expelliarmus."

It took a moment for Leah to realize that no, she wasn't in possession of her wand anymore and that yes, Tom Riddle looked slightly more pissed off than usual, by which point she was already chucking her pillow at him and diving for the door.

Silly, foolish, and undoubtedly rash, but amusing nonetheless, and just the slightest bit adorable. Tom almost regretted darting his hand out and curling it around her wrist, bringing her escape to a premature end.

Leah let out a squeak that sounded quite natural coming from a girl so small before Tom shoved down on her dark mark, sending enough pain through her system to cause her to slump against him unconscious.

He shifted her weight, slipping her onto the bed with a quick and sufficient movement. She wouldn't be a problem for awhile now—he figured he could even whip up a swift antidote in time to administer it to her while she was knocked out. That option was infinitely more attractive then forcing it down her throat when she was kicking and screaming.

Tom sighed and straightened, taking a minute to examine Leah's wand in his hand. It was of medium height, and flexible. He wasn't able to determine its exact contents at the moment (for there were certainly more important things to be doing), but he filed away the information for further use.

Throwing one last dubious glance to his captive, Tom Riddle disappeared through the door to find the cure for love.

---

It felt like she had been hit by a truck.

No, actually, that was putting it too lightly—it felt like someone had literally ran her over with a steamroller and then decided to do a nice little tap dance on her head. But if her poor head was in pain, then her stomach was in agony.

Okay, maybe agony was a slight exaggeration for the prickling feeling spreading through her torso, but damn it she couldn't remember anything for the life of her and this was just strange! She was allowed to baby herself just a little.

At least she was on a bed and not the floor. That would have been uncomfortable. And oh my, how delicious her pillow smelled. It stirred a half-forgotten memory filled with bright colors, cauldrons, and a dreadful feeling that almost out-shined the monstrous life forms whipping a tennis ball against the confines of her mind.

Morgan prepped herself well, because by now she was more than familiar with situations where shit really hit the fan, so when the thought came she didn't flinch—no seriously. Because, as she tried to reason with herself, there were hundreds of worse things in the world than her pillow smelling like her Amortentia potion, honestly.

She was totally not groaning in despair. Nope, she was just exercising her lung capacity. Perfectly normal.

"I see someone's finally awake."

Hi, god, yeah it's Morgan, no I'm fine really; just wondering who the hell spat in your Cheerios and turned you into such a vindictive bitch.

Bashing her brains in with hammer was starting to appear awfully attractive—it would finally shut up the tennis players in her head, at least.

"Why are you still here," she snarled into the pillow, which probably wasn't the best thing to do in hindsight, because then her mouth was filled with bedding.

"It is my room," Tom Riddle said quite nonchalantly.

And if those words didn't get her tumble out of bed, none would, really.

"Ouch."

"Don't you think you're being melodramatic?"

No, she thought she was being rational. Because if she was in Tom Riddle's room that meant she was in his bed, and that meant, of course, that it was his pillow that smelled like—

Oh no. Time to put her selective memory to good use. Morgan would quite calmly pretend to have never thought those traitorous thoughts.

She buried her head deeper in the collection of sheets she had stripped from the bed during her flight. Maybe she could curl up and die here. No more mission, no more attractive Tom Riddle, no more getting jabbed in the stomach with said attractive boy's elbow…

Morgan shot out of the sheets, her memories providing her with the energy she wouldn't have normally had. "You," she said darkly, wagging a finger in Tom's direction. "You…you tried to hex me! Damn it! And you elbowed me in the stomach, you fiend!"

Tom, though Morgan couldn't have known, was rather tired and irritated. He sat in a conjured armchair, his head lolling back towards the ceiling as he tried very hard not to knock his companion unconscious again. Though he found her endearing at times, she could also be a nuisance.

"You came to the Room of Requirement after I specifically asked you not to. I was angry, I acted accordingly."

Okay, maybe she could write off the bruise on her ribs—she did break his nose after all—but what she wasn't going to write off were the rest of the aches her body was suffering from.

"Why does it feel like someone's run me over with a particularly large party bus?" Morgan wiggled her feet out from under the blankets and decided, with flourish, that she was going to get comfortable. Thus, she kicked off her shoes with a content sigh.

"You were poisoned with a love potion," Tom replied, "And I had to knock you unconscious to grant me the time needed to brew you a cure and then to administer you the cure."

Morgan blinked. That threw her for a loop. Tom being thoughtful? Well, his version of thoughtful at least. She decided to appreciate the novelty of the situation.

"Oh. Thanks."

The very obscure grunt she received in response was quite unrevealing. But she liked to imagine that it stood for something like, 'oh, it was my pleasure to help such a charming young lady such as yourself.'

She scrunched her forehead up in thought, remembering the exact circumstances of her duel-turned-Muggle-brawl with Riddle. "So," she said, having finally come up with a sufficient rendering of the events in her mind, "What are you brewing that's so hush-hush anyways?"

"Nothing to worry your little head about."

He didn't even have the decency to say 'pretty' little head. And she definitely did not like the insinuation that she was unintelligent enough to handle the truth. After she told him this, he huffed at her, apparently deciding she wasn't even worth the amount of effort it was required to properly grunt anymore.

It was at this point that she was forced to acknowledge the fact that Tom looked ready to pass out from bone-deep exhaustion.

"You look like you could use a nap."

Tom sent a very suffering glare towards the area he believed her head to be. Gross understatements did not make for a happy psycho heir. Morgan filed this information away for future usage.

She sighed, "You could, you know, take the bed if you wanted."

The only warning she got was a very slight whipping sound, and the next thing she knew the sheets were ripped from her body and settling themselves neatly on the mattress. Tom was already there, collapsing against them with a content sigh.

Very rude. But she wasn't about to instruct Tom on the finer points of being polite. So instead she stood up very steadily and reached for her shoes. "Right, well I'll just be going."

It was the sound of the door locking that ended her perusal of her ever-so evasive left shoe.

Tom was leaning against the headboard of the bed, one leg stiffly drawn up to his side, and a book perched on his lap.

"Stay. Here."

A tone like that really offered no argument, so Morgan plopped right back down on the bed, making sure to kick one of Tom's legs out of the way.

Whatever he was making out there, he really didn't want her to see it, which only made her more curious and suspicious, bringing forth a few guilty thoughts about her mission and how not well she was getting it done.

Tom fell into one of his typical 'up-to-no-good-world-domination' silences, or perhaps he was just reading, but no matter what the case, Morgan was left staring at the sheets rather bored.

Her companion seemed happy enough to let her suffer, so imagine her shock when he was the first one to break the silence.

"That is a nice dress." He nudged it with his foot.

Morgan let out a sound of surprise when she noticed the box with the slip of blue fabric melting out of it. What a terrible person she was to bestow gifts upon. Not hours after receiving the thoughtful dress and here she was tossing it to the side like it was nothing.

"Yeah," she admitted guiltily. "It is. James' aunt made it for me, thoughtful bloke he is."

"I don't think it's common for people to call their lovers 'blokes'."

Tom couldn't help but feeling a little bit smug when he heard the sound of Morgan choking on a mixture of spit and air, "L-lovers? Like hell!"

That probably wasn't a nice thing to say about her sort-of boyfriend. From the way Tom quirked his eyebrow at her over his book, he thought so too. "What?" she defended herself valiantly, "I'm not having sex with him! I mean, yes, of course I kiss him but it's nothing like that. I don't want it to be like that."

How true her words were. Anything more than her PG-13 exchanges with James would lead to a festering of emotions that weren't welcome to a person who was undergoing a slow death.

"You don't love him." Tom said.

"No," Morgan admitted, "But I could, in time."

Teensy problem there—she didn't have time. Each second brought her closer to her inevitable death, or if she could help it, the return journey back to her own time. It really wasn't fair for James to think otherwise, and if she had a lick of sense she'd end the thing right now, but sometimes she just needed to be held and loved.

Oh man. Was she selfish or what? Nothing at all like the self-sacrificing hero she was supposed to be. Where were the big-screen superheroes when you needed them? Maybe she should check under the bed.

"I don't think so," Tom disagreed, "Love makes people weak and though you are a lot of things, Leah, you are not weak."

That cynical spiel was really going to grate on her nerves. But more than anything it left her with a great sense of pity for the fucker who thought that something as powerful as love made people weak. If only he could see that love was the only keeping her grounded on the bed next to him, maybe then she could make him eat his words.

"You should end your…fling with him," Tom continued. "It's only going to end with him getting hurt. Especially if he ever finds out you're attracted to another man."

Oh she was two seconds away from gouging that self-satisfied smirk off his features. Bastard, it was her hormones, damn it, she had no control over it.

Perhaps if she kept repeating that thought over and over again, she would be more inclined to believe it. Maybe she could develop her selective memory into selective thinking.

"So Tom, what was it that you were saying about my dress?" which was really code for, 'utter-another-word-and-I'll-castrate-you-with-a-spork'. Tom probably recognized the threat, but like her, knew she was incapable of following through with it.

Selective thinking, she reminded herself. In her mind castrating the future dark lord was just in a days work.

"It doesn't look like it would fit you," he said offhandedly. His hands flipped through his book relentlessly, though Morgan was pretty sure he was doing it just to keep his hands busy. He was always messing with something.

The thought of the beautiful blue dress not fitting distressed her a bit. "What? What do you mean?"

"You're a tiny girl, Leah, that dress would swamp you."

Morgan woefully picked up the gown, stepping off the bed and holding the material up against her chest. Now that she was able to inspect it thoroughly, it did seem a bit wide…

"Damn," she swore, "You're bloody well right. Do you know anyone who would possibly be able to fix it?"

She realized just how ridiculous the question was before she asked it. It wasn't like Tom had a black book filled with the numbers of tailor wizards. The idea of Tom going into a store for a robe fitting almost elicited a giggle from her.

From the way Tom snapped his book shut with a defiant flipping of his wrist, she figured he thought the question was stupid too. Although, apparently it was for a different reason, "Leah, do you not realize who you're in the same room with."

Oh. Of course, how could she be so dumb? If Tom could quite happily make someone's brains bleed from their ears, surely tailoring spells were within the limit of his skills.

The thing was, tailoring her dress would be…helping her. The word felt foreign in her mind when associated with the Slytherin heir. He was being awfully nice all of a sudden.

She narrowed her eyes warily, "…You want to help me?" She received an agitated sigh in response.

"Leah, contrary to your popular belief, I'm not a totally…unsavory person. Of course I'll help you."

"It's not that you're unsavory," Morgan defended her opinion of him, "It's that you're too much like a Slytherin. You only ever do something unless there's something in it for you."

"I'm just trying to help a…friend, if you don't want my help, then fine." He went to pick up his book again.

Friend?

Morgan took a quick look around the room to make sure that the world wasn't ending in a blaze of fiery pain. She also patted her stomach, just to check that she was still alive.

Okay, so she was still alive and the world wasn't ending. Now she just wished she had a video camera or something to capture that monumental moment.

She had never really been looking for Tom's friendship…in fact, the only thing that she ever set out to do was infuriate him. But apparently, shallow half-plans coupled with inexperience led to unexpected things happening.

Morgan was pretty much terrible at getting her mission done. She barely skimmed through the file of information she'd been given and rushed into things headfirst. She gave Tom a reason to suspect her from day one, and revealed to him that he could virtually count on one hand the number of times she has told him the truth.

And it seemed all that earned her his friendship.

Tom was right; she really was the best worst spy ever.

Go figure.

Of course there was always the option that Tom was just trying to placate her, getting her to try on the dress before he setting her on fire.

That would be totally uncool.

She realized she had been staring at the dress for an unnaturally long time, and that Tom was sending her a questioning glance. "Sorry," she apologized for her blank look, "Just trying to wrap my mind around this."

A dark scowl crossed Tom's face, which made her think he was beginning to regret ever saying the word friend without attaching things like, 'weakness, unnecessary, and great people to torture' in the same sentence.

Morgan decided she didn't like that scowl—it was filled with too much vulnerability, as if Tom was embarrassed. Something about that wasn't sitting right with her, so she went to rectify the situation.

"I mean, who'd ever figure I'd get a real friend. My name is usually synonymous with 'pain in the ass' or 'idiot'."

"This is true," Tom agreed, his dark look merging into one of amusement.

Okay, yeah, no need to agree with her on that one. He could have said something nice, like, 'I think you're a wonderful person'. Though, Morgan realized, the world probably would have ended if that had happened.

"Right…" Morgan hitched the dress over her shoulder. "Where can I change?"

Tom pointed to a small door she hadn't noticed earlier, hanging near the front of the room. "That leads to the bathroom."

"Fantastic," Morgan darted to the door, slipping inside and clicking it shut in one movement. Easing herself into the small bathroom, she observed her reflection and saw that the silk ribbon tying up her hair had become mussed while she was unconscious. Sighing, she finished untying it and wrapped it around her wrist.

Stripping down only took a few moments, though she paused to study the scars on her stomach and chest. With a weary look, she ran her hands over the bumpy skin, a sense of nostalgia building within her. The scars reminded her of all the people she left behind in the future.

She couldn't wait to see them again.

But would they accept her? The last time she saw her friends they were pretty much resigned to treating her like dirt. It was what she deserved though, she thought as she rubbed the Dark Mark branded on her arm.

She could only just imagine the looks on their faces if they knew she was getting chummy with Tom Riddle. Harry Potter would probably have an aneurysm and give her a lecture filled with hero ANGST.

Notice the capital letters, because there was angst, and then there was ANGST.

Harry was particularly good at the latter, if she remembered correctly.

Not that she would blame him. Hell, if this had been happening to someone else, she would have grabbed them around the neck, given them a noogie of death, and then probably put them through a blender.

There was something not right about canoodling with the enemy and having sexually inclined thoughts about them.

But Morgan had to acknowledge the fact that she just wasn't normal. She was…well…partially insane for one, and a whole bunch of other unpleasant things. She had to stop trying to justify her interactions with Tom. She would drive herself even crazier.

She was attracted to him. A small part of her enjoyed his company. That was that. It's not like anyone would ever find out anyways. After this whole mission was over and done with she could go back to her time and pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.

She'd probably make up all kinds of lies about how much they hated each other. And it's not like she'd have a hard time hating him in her own time.

She wasn't about to jump Tom's bones when he looked like the offspring of a python and an ugly corpse.

Satisfied, Morgan pulled on the dress and dreadfully acknowledged the fact that Tom was right—it was much too large.

Not being able to reach the buttons on the back of the dress, Morgan hugged the material to her shoulders and stepped out of the bathroom.

Tom was standing by the end of the bed, running a hand through his hair whilst tapping his wand against the bedpost. When he noticed her, he gave her a very slight nod.

"Erm, button me up?"

A small grin worked its way onto Tom's features before he approached her, signaling for her to turn around with a swift motion of his fingers. Morgan complied, holding her breath as she waited for him to utter some spell to do the backing of the dress up in zero seconds flat. She prepared herself for some possible fabric whiplash.

She nearly coughed in surprise when she felt determined fingers flitting across her lower back. "W-what are you doing!?"

"Buttoning the dress up," Tom replied back, a feigned innocence making his words sounds sickly sweet. His fingers fumbled with a button somewhere in the middle of her back, and they brushed more frequently against her skin.

Morgan was pretty sure she was shivering, and it wasn't from the cold. Oh wait…maybe it was. She spied the Goosebumps settling on her arms

"Why didn't you use your wand?" she asked warily.

"Wasn't it you who said you appreciate things more if you do them yourself?"

Oh, good point. Boy did she regret those words now. "Can't you go a little faster," she all but hissed.

"I'm awfully tired; you've had me doing a lot of work today. First I had to make you an antidote and now this. You owe me a lot." Tom's fingers deftly closed the last clasp, and Morgan realized he was a lot closer than she had previously thought.

"Friends don't owe friends," Morgan argued, because she did not like the thought of owing Tom anything. "They do things for each other because they're super nice and not manipulative."

Tom laughed, and she felt the vibration rumbling from his chest. "Maybe you're right," he said, and his breath tickled the hollow of her right ear. "I don't know, I have a lot to learn about friendship."

"Erm," Morgan fought against the blush threatening to spread across her cheeks, "I guess I could teach you."

"I guess you'll have to," he sighed, and if he was any other guy Morgan would have thought the words sounded playful. But he was Tom Riddle, and he didn't do playfulness, even if he apparently did friendship.

Morgan hadn't realized she was tense until she felt Tom shift her hair away from her neck and nip at her earlobe. "Relax."

The fuck!?

She wanted to swear at him, to tell him off for putting her in this very compromising position, and then possibly kick his face in. And she did, in not so many words.

"Eeep!"

What was that!? An inner voice of reason demanded inside her head. That's not even an expletive, damn it!

She jumped, wondering for a split second how she could be terrified of a voice inside her head, and then worried that she was going insane again.

Tom was laughing, and he might have been saying something about how flustered she was, before his hands slipped under her arms and settled on the slopping decline of her hip bone.

"Eh…"

Okay, her inner voice said, at least that was an actual discernible sound. Now try for something more intimidating and scary, or at least something in English.

Morgan tried pulling away from Tom, putting her uncomfortable thoughts to good use. She didn't want to be quite so near him right now. "Okay," she managed to say in a voice that was totally cool and unruffled. "I think I'll go look for that tailoring wizard now," she tittered uneasily and tried stepping forward.

Tom's hands tightened on her waist, "No," he said with a hint of exasperation. "Stay still."

"What? Get out of your sight? Oh I can do that," Morgan pulled more insistently against his hands. She froze when she felt a thumb stroking her Dark Mark. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, forcing Tom's annoyance upon her. There was something else in the touch too that she wasn't quite sure she understood.

"Stop." His voice was a lot colder now, more authoritative. "Be good."

Ugh, such condescending words shouldn't sound so attractive.

"I'm just going to tailor the dress, make it fit better," he tried to ease her worry by removing his hand from her Dark Mark and rubbing it over her shoulders.

"Okay," Morgan said, because his previous tone scared her, leaving her with the expectation that should she face him, she would meet red eyes instead of dark ones. "No more sexual harassment though."

He laughed once more, leaving Morgan with the thought that tonight had been the most amount times he had done so. Then she couldn't think anymore, because his hands were all over her.

They smoothed over her torso slowly and sensually, all the while he whispered words in her ear that sounded almost intimate. It was a spell, though, so she couldn't pick apart what the words meant.

Around her body the fabric of the dress tightened, and she almost blacked out when his hands smoothed over her breasts. Totally not cool.

"It seems someone was expecting a little too much," he mused into her ear, indicating to how loose the fabric around her chest had been.

What a low blow. Where was a ref when you needed one?

"Low blow, Riddle," she said a little breathlessly as she tried pulling away from him again. "Now kindly unhand me."

"Relax," he said, enunciating the word more clearly now. Her body rose and fell with each breath that he took while one of his hands unwound the ribbon around her wrist. He gathered her hair and tied it up with the silk, letting his hand rest on her neck a second longer than necessary. When this was done, he did release her, walking around her slowly.

He eyed her with his head propped up against one fist. "Good," he said. "Go look."

So Morgan did, just wanting to get away from his confusing stares that made her feel weightier than usual. When she finally got back to the bathroom she felt like he had burned a million holes into her back.

At least the dress made her look good. It highlighted the small curves she did have, and with her pixie features and pale skin she resembled a porcelain doll, which was a nice ego-booster after the terribly small size of her breasts had been slapped in her face.

She sighed and touched the ribbon in her hair, twisting its ends as she thought. What was with Tom nipping her ear? That was totally out of character for him, unless he was exploiting her attraction to him.

He's a guy, that awfully familiar voice in her head said, of course he was getting touchy feely with you. It was like a free feel-up.

Morgan didn't appreciate that. It made her feel dirty. She already had James, even though she shouldn't, and Tom's sudden resolve to make her want to do stupid things like kiss him was annoying.

Right. Well, they may be friends, but that didn't mean she couldn't slap him around a bit. Slipping off the dress, Morgan wondered exactly how she should approach the situation. By the time she was sliding her skirt over her small hips, she wasn't any closer to the answer. Oh well, she'd wing it. She seemed to be pretty good at that lately.

"Riddle," she said, inserting steel into her voice when she walked out of the bathroom, "Stop being ridiculously charming and attractive and sneaky. What do you want?"

Okay, so the words charming and attractive could have been left out. But more or less, she was fairly convinced she got her point across. He wasn't fooling her. No matter what he thought.

He looked like he was about to protest when she cut him off again. "We're friends, right? So stop treating me like a child or someone beneath you. And don't you dare say that you have no idea what I'm talking about."

Tom sighed, "I'm still learning, remember," he said with some form of bitter humor. "I've never been on equal footing with someone before"

"That doesn't mean you can't keep your hands to yourself," Morgan growled, stalking forward to poke him in the chest.

Tom grabbed her finger and tilted his head to the side, "Maybe I don't want to," he said finally.

Morgan had always known that Voldemort was insane, but the first thing she had done after coming to the past was admit that Tom Riddle wasn't. He was sane and clever. A bad combination for someone hell bent on world domination. But now he was spewing nonsense.

"Tom," she said seriously and lowly, "You are being ridiculously charming and attractive again, stop it." He probably didn't need her to inflate his head anymore, but oh well. It was the truth.

"Hmm," Tom hummed, and Morgan wasn't sure if he was agreeing with her or disagreeing. But then it didn't matter, because he leaned down to kiss her.

It was different from their first kiss. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Undeniably soft, his lips sought purchase against her own, his hand coming forward to cup her cheek. She sighed through it, keeping her hands bunched down at her sides because this was just so wrong!

Sensing her lack of response, Tom pulled her tighter against him, his other hand joining his first in holding her face. His lips pressed to hers with more force, and he bit her gently. Morgan was scared he was going to force her to recuperate by touching her Dark Mark, but he didn't.

She blinked in surprise when his lips left hers to lay soft and unsure kisses along her jawbone and down to her neck. His lips dusted along her skin, burning a path down to the area where the collar of her shirt met skin. His arms constricted around her waist, eliminating any space between them.

Morgan couldn't quite bring herself to push him away—because she really didn't want to—but she couldn't draw her arms around him either. Instead she dropped her head on his shoulder, wishing the fabric underneath it would cool her flaming skin.

After a few moments his assault on her neck stopped, and he sighed heavily. "You're impossible," he said in another moment of vulnerability. His frustration was quite evident in his tone, and it looked like he wanted to bury himself in her neck and hide forever.

He'd probably never been rejected by a girl.

She felt a little bad. So in a moment of compassion she let her hand dart up to pat him on the head.

What? She never claimed to be good at comforting.

She heard him give a bitter laugh, and she woefully returned her hand to her side.

"Tom," she said softly, "You're being unfair."

He bit down on her neck sharply, and then he was backing her into the wall. Her fear spiked, because now he was angry, and she wasn't sure what she could do.

Tom didn't speak until her back hit the wallpaper. "Unfair?" he hissed, and his tone was deep and angry. Dark eyes smoldered, tinted red.

Morgan refused to be intimidated, so she tried to rip away the arms still tight around her waist. Her chin raised defiantly, "Stop it," she commanded.

"Why," he hissed, "Are you afraid? Afraid of the monster that killed a Mudblood and his own father and grandparents?"

"No," Morgan lied, grabbing the front of his robes and getting in his face, "I'm annoyed with him. You know why? Because he's not making any sense. You told me you wanted nothing to do with me, not in that way."

"Things change," he said coldly.

"I don't understand you."

"You don't understand anything," he snapped, and his hands wrapped around hers. His grip was painful. "And I don't understand you. I should kill you," he whispered, "End this right now."

Morgan's heart was thudding loudly through her chest—its pace increased as her fight or flight instincts kicked in. A small part of her refused to back down, though, "Is that what you do Tom? Kill something when things aren't going your way? Fine, kill me right now." She squared her shoulders and ripped her hands away from his. Steadily, she began to unbutton the first few buttons of her shirt, until her collarbone was exposed. She grabbed Tom's hand, guiding it until it rested on her fast beating heart.

His thumb smoothed over the scarred skin present there, "You're a liar," he said softly, "You're terrified." His whole palm covered her heart.

Morgan met his gaze then, and wondered how the hell things had gone downhill so fast. "I'm not running," she said then. "I'm not fighting. You know the funny thing? I hate fighting, despise it, actually. But it seems that's all I'm doing nowadays." Her voice lowered, "Fight, fight, fight." With her free hand she gripped his shirt again, bringing him to her eyelevel. "So do it."

Tom's breath fanned across her face, cool and fresh. A hand brushed stray hair over her shoulder. He appeared to be quite calm when he laid a kiss on her forehead. "No," he said simply, "I take good care of what is mine."

Her first thought was that he had her fooled, because he looked ready to kill her then. Her second one was that, nope, last time she checked she wasn't some sort of plushie to be thought of as a possession. And her third one was rather unwelcome: she wanted him to take good care of her, because damn it, no one else had ever done so.

Her next words left her mouth completely unchecked, "Good, I'll hold you to that." His eyes widened slightly in marginal surprise, "But don't ever touch me, not like that, not again. I'm trusting you."

And really, what more could he ask for?

---

It seemed that Tom went to great lengths to avoid Morgan after that. Not that she really noticed, because she was doing the same thing. It wasn't until Violetta, who was rather keen with her observation skills, pointed it out to her that she realized the situation.

"You and Tom Riddle are avoiding each other," she had said blandly, leaning over to add a tree root to their potion. "He barely even looks at you anymore. Though you are much more obvious in your methods—I think I even saw you hide in a closet to avoid him."

Morgan had scowled, but was rather relieved that she no longer had to go to such lengths as diving into a pile of brooms to dodge him, since he was obviously not too excited to see her either.

One would think that when two people mutually agreed to not see each other that their interactions would be few and far between. Unfortunately, because god really did hate Morgan, that was not the case.

It seemed almost every other morning she was bumping into him, glancing him over with an uncertain stare before mumbling a muted good morning or good afternoon. Tom was much more vocal and at ease, since he had a lot of practice speaking with people he wasn't happy to see.

Morgan found herself locked out of the Room of Requirement for a week and a half after the incident, and she could only assume that Tom was still brewing his potion. That week was one spent miserably in her dorm, pretending not to hear Lucretia's scalding remarks.

All in all, it had been a lousy month.

Morgan politely asked Marlene, a Gryffindor, to button up the back of her dress as she reflected that it really wasn't a good idea for her and Tom to not spend time together, considering that they were going to steal the Founder's Necklace as a team. Unless he had decided that wasn't the case anymore.

"Wow, this dress if gorgeous!" Marlene admired, "Did James really get this for you?"

Morgan grimaced at the mention of James. Poor fellow had gotten sick, and wouldn't be able to go to the party. The mediwitch had let him out of the infirmary only with the solid promise that he wouldn't leave the Gryffindor common room. It had been rather unusual, everyone agreed, because James never got sick, and now was such a terrible time to do so.

"Yeah," Morgan finally answered her new friend's question. "Wicked, isn't it?"

"Yes! I can't wait until you show it to him."

Morgan tied her hair up with the silk ribbon she had become fond of since first receiving her gift and nodded, just the slightest bit nervous. She hoped he wasn't disappointed by the way she looked. She wasn't curvy, like many of the other attractive girls in his year, nor was she exactly busty. Her makeup spells were very limited, so she had only been able to afford dusting her eyes with mascara and eyeliner.

Marlene dragged her by the arm when she noticed her hesitation. "You look beautiful," she whispered, straightening her own red gown. "Let's go!"

So Morgan swallowed her fears and insecurities and trekked down the stairs, very much so worried that she might trip in the black high heels she wore. Gracefulness wasn't something she was known for.

"Look at Leah! All pretty and dressed up," Charlus picked her up from the middle of the stairs by the waist, spinning her around until she was in the center of the room. Marlene tailed after them, a brilliant smile lighting up her green eyes. She had been one of the first Gryffindors to drag Morgan around and demand she get ready two hours before the party actually started.

"Potter, stop," James groaned from his seat on the couch, "Set her down here."

Charlus complied with a wolfish grin, dropping Morgan onto the couch immediately. When Morgan shot him a hard glare he shrugged helplessly.

Turning her attention to her sort-of boyfriend, Morgan swiped her hand across his forehead. "How ya feeling?" she asked sympathetically.

He pulled her onto his lap, the scar on his cheek crinkling together when he smiled, "Better now that you're here. You look gorgeous; I wish I could be there tonight."

Morgan gave him a quick chaste kiss on his forehead, "I'll stop by after, and bring you some soup from the kitchens."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," she said, running a hand over his buzzed hair. "I'll be with you all night."

Kayden and Charlus obviously didn't like the innuendo in that statement, and shook a finger at them, "No hanky-panky, kiddies."

Morgan rolled her eyes.

James brought her in for another kiss before pushing her off the couch, "Go on," he said, "Get out there and hurry back." He gave her another appreciative glance before sneaking back into the blankets that had been laid out for him. He looked like a little kid all bundled up like that, and the image soothed her.

And then Marlene was whisking her out of the common room, Kayden moving with them and throwing an arm over each of their shoulders. The perks to dating a smart girl, he had chirped when Potter had complained about not being invited.

The dungeon corridor leading to Slughorn's office was packed with nicely dressed students and guests, all filing in orderly to the enlarged party space. Morgan made sure to duck her head when she thought she saw Tom, but luckily there was too much ruckus for her to be singled out at all.

Trying to avoid all the heels, she clung to Kayden's arm until they were finally inside. A huge diamond chandelier hung in the center of the room, right over a temporary dance floor. Tables and chairs covered in expensive fabric littered the perimeter of the room, and already guests from outside of Hogwarts flitted from person to person, chatting pleasantly.

Kayden danced away her and Marlene then, determined to find his own date. After that, it wasn't long before Marlene's Ravenclaw swiped her away too, and Morgan was left by herself, scuffing her heels along the floor.

Her slumped shoulders seemed to turn off any potential dance partners, which was just fine with her, though there was one person that would not be deterred. Violetta sat next to her primly, her floor length black gown ruffling along the tiles.

"You really are poor company," she mused dryly, sipping a drink of some kind. "It's a shame that James isn't here. He owes you a night out after all that trouble you've been going through for him."

She was referring to, of course, the series of mocking jokes all the other Slytherins sent her way, and also the assault she was forced to endure. Thankfully, no one else had gotten physical with her like since then.

"Not tonight," Morgan muttered with a slight grin. Violetta truly was a one of a kind friend, and one of the only people that readily put up with her. "Go have fun with Braxton."

"Perhaps I will," Violetta said, flicking a strand of blonde hair from her cheek, "But only after I ask you this: what are you doing over Christmas break." Her icy eyes searched Morgan's for a long time.

Stealing a necklace. At least she thought she was.

"Nothing," she lied.

"Hmm," Violetta nodded before exhaling. How unusual, she looked nervous. "Would you like to come to my house for the first few days?"

Morgan had no idea why such a question would make her friend nervous, but she agreed anyways. The tension from the blonde's shoulders left immediately, "Good, then I'll meet you at the train platform tomorrow morning. Now you're right, I really must go see Braxton." With a small wave, she elegantly rose from her seat and lost herself in the crowd.

It was only moments later when the seat next to Morgan was filled again, this time with a male student. She recognized him as a seventh year Slytherin, and she eyed him dubiously. He leaned towards her with a wicked grin, "No Gryffindor with you now, eh?" and he folded his arms over his chest.

Morgan froze—one because she recognized the voice, and two because a very large ring with a family crest was staring her in the face.

"If it isn't the douche with the killer backhand," Morgan mumbled as she reflexively rubbed her already healed cheek.

Her old attacker grinned in response.