The Eavesdropping Lottery

January 19, 1945

She was surprised at how quickly a reply came. Not only that, Rosemary was actually quite impressed with how professional he was about the whole thing, given that it was Jasper she was dealing with. Then again, she supposed it was essentially an actual business at this point. Especially with the recent post-holiday boom in sales.

According to their agreement, she owed him at least one improvement in the potion per two weeks. As each batch took around five days to brew, this would give her a chance to try it out, adjust the recipe, and then start in on the next one.

Of course, he had made her a few promises in his reply, too. Per the agreement he proposed in his reply letter, she would remain completely anonymous and he would send her a new round of ingredients every week so she could continue to test and perfect the potion. Along with his weekly shipments would come a rare ingredient of her choice, a perk of his original offer that she had actually all but forgotten.

Unfortunately, her entire involvement was pending on whether or not she could actually find a safe place to brew it. It was far too risky to leave it brewing in her own room. Her first thought had been the Room of Requirement, but then she realized that the magic from the enchantment on the room might somehow interfere. This had been her only real idea, so she definitely had some thinking to do.

That afternoon, she made her way outside in hopes that the fresh air might help her mind stumble onto an idea. Unfortunately, the January wind was so bitingly cold that it appeared to have numbed her thoughts just as efficiently as it did her hands.

Rose glanced toward the Quidditch pitch where Warren was leading the Ravenclaw team practice. As much as she actually liked the cold, she wondered how they could stand it: flying around at high speeds in that cold wind for hours. Willingness to do such a thing had to be some sort of diagnosable madness.

She watched as they flew in various formations, orchestrated by Warren's commands. As she watched him in action, she attempted to feel the same way that she used to feel while watching Tom instruct Dueling Club. And, as unsettling as it was to admit it, she just didn't feel that same unyielding admiration toward Warren. There was a part of her that wondered if it was simply due to her dispassion toward Quidditch in general, but also another that told her that she just didn't care for Warren the same way as she did Tom.

Things weren't bad with him. Or good. They just sort of…were.

And she was bored.

Rosemary sighed and lit a cigarette. Her walk outside had certainly allowed her mind to wander, but clearly about the wrong things.

When it was finished, she re-entered the castle and saw a small group of fourth year Gryffindor students – two girls and a boy – lounging on the stairs in the entrance hall.

"You should tell her!" Trish Meyers said.

Rosemary couldn't tell if they were talking about her, or had just happened to glance at her as she was walking by. Then she heard:

"No, don't! It's so awkward between them now that they've broken up. Can you imagine, having to work with your ex all the time?"

Yeah, they were definitely talking about her. Of course, what she was more concerned with was the fact that they also appeared to be talking about Tom...

She was honestly quite afraid to find out why exactly that might be, but she supposed it was her duty as Head Girl to find out and make sure that things were fine with the students. After all, if she was going to be breaking every other rule in the book by fixing Jasper's potion, the least she could do was put a bit more effort into being Head Girl.

"Good afternoon," she greeted them. "Everything alright?"

Trish looked at the boy – named Quentin Ashburn, if she remembered correctly – pointedly, but he simply muttered "Nothing."

Rose frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

He nodded hesitantly, but Trish rolled her eyes and said: "Riddle wouldn't let him join Dueling Club."

Alyssa, Trish's best friend, looked horrified at her friend's declaration. So did Ashburn, but to a lesser degree.

"What? Why?" Rosemary asked, though there was no need – she was almost certain that it was because he was muggle-born. Being a Gryffindor likely hadn't helped, either.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "He just said that I'm not ready to compete with the others." Then he was quick to add: "And I don't blame him. I mean he would know, if anyone."

There was something that irked her by the way he said this: in pure reverence for Tom. In that moment, it struck her all over again that the vast majority of the school was completely clueless as to who he really was. And, ironically, it wasn't so much that she disapproved of his exclusion of these muggle-born students from Dueling Club; in reality, she was just frustrated that he had gotten his way, yet again, without any sort of ramifications.

Rosemary knew she shouldn't get involved, but she was on her last shred of patience with Tom's apparent power over everything at Hogwarts. Especially now that she knew it was essentially his fault that she could no longer spend time with her friends.

"If he changed his mind, would you still be interested in joining?" she asked Ashburn suddenly.

The Gryffindor nodded his head eagerly. "Of course. He's one of the greatest duelists in the country – maybe even the world. It would be absolutely amazing to learn from him."

Rose fought both the urge to roll her eyes and then the desire to smirk as she pictured what Tom's face might look like if he found out that this muggle-born adored him so.

"I'll see what I can do, Ashburn."

Of course, she regretted saying this as soon as she walked away from them as she now felt morally obligated to discuss it with Tom. Surely that wasn't bound to be the easiest conversation in the world. But something told her it desperately needed to happen; perhaps if she showed him that she would stand her ground with him, he would back off a bit and her friends could actually start openly speaking with her again.

She headed up the Grand Staircase on the way to her dormitory, trying to decide what exactly she would say to Riddle the next time she saw him. Also on her mind was the same question that had been plaguing her all afternoon: where was she going to brew Jasper's potion?

Any train of thought that she had suddenly came to a screeching halt when she reached the second floor and heard a loud wailing just down the hall. It startled her and she rushed off in the direction of the noise, worried that it might be a student in trouble.

The high-pitched wails and sobs led her to a door that was half-cracked and when she realized where exactly she was, she immediately stopped.

As someone who had never really associated herself with the school's muggle-born students, she had barely known Myrtle. In fact, she was quite sure that hardly anyone had known Myrtle. Nevertheless, her death had shaken Ravenclaw.

Shouldn't Rosemary at least say something? It seemed callous to simply walk by the bathroom without any sort of acknowledgment of the girl that had been a member of her own house. Plus, she had heard of enough Slytherin boys getting in trouble over the last twenty-four or so hours since Myrtle had been discovered to know that she was having a rather rough time of it. They had taunted her mercilessly the evening prior, taking turns throwing random objects through her forehead. And though Jason Mulciber and Eric Rosier were the only two that got in any sort of trouble for it, she was almost certain that Tom was somehow involved.

But what could she say to her? 'Oh hi, Myrtle – sorry you died.'?!

No, of course not. But she should at least attempt to be somewhat comforting. She slowly opened the door to the bathroom and crept inside, at which point she wondered if one could actually 'creep up' on a ghost.

"Myrtle?"

Tom was on his way to confront the mudblood's ghost and figure out precisely how much she knew when he rounded the corner and saw none other than Rosemary Horton sneaking into the newly haunted girls' bathroom.

What in the hell…?

As soon as she was inside, he strode without a beat of hesitation to the half-open door.

"Myrtle?" he heard her call out to the pathetic, sobbing mess of a ghost.

The crying abruptly stopped and for a few moments, there was only silence.

Then: "You aren't supposed to be here, didn't you hear Headmaster Dippet's announcement?! Wait, Rosemary Horton?! I never expected you to come here to taunt me." The crying started again.

"What? No, of course not! I just wanted to…see how you were doing."

Her sobs became a bit more subdued. "Really?"

"Yes," Rose said softly. "I heard about last night…"

Tom smirked in pride of his Knights, whom he had granted permission to make her return to Hogwarts as difficult as possible.

"They're an awful lot." Then, rather abruptly, she asked: "I loathe every single one of them – especially Olive Hornby."

"I'm not the biggest fan of her, either," Rose said. "But they're not all bad."

"You're just saying that because you're friends with most of them. I still can't comprehend why you settled for Avery of all people."

"I didn't, actually. We broke up last year."

"Oh really? Why?"

"I sort of fell for someone else."

Tom began listening more intently and silently crept inside the bathroom, carefully situating himself just at the edge of a wall so he could observe the conversation without getting himself seen.

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't work out in the end, either."

It doesn't matter.

His instant reaction was offense at way she said it – so cold and distantly. Though she was right, anyway: it really didn't matter. By moving on to Cramer, she had proven that once and for all.

"And now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, aren't you engaged by now?"

Rosemary shook her head. "Warren Cramer and I went steady over the holidays, but no, we're not engaged."

"Oh, I always thought he was so handsome –"

Tom gritted his teeth at these words.

" –You should tell him to come up here and visit me sometime."

Rosemary smirked slightly. "Sure."

Myrtle suddenly looked bored. "Well, enough about you. Don't you want to hear about my death?"

Rosemary sounded rather apprehensive when she answered: "If you would like to tell me about it, you're more than welcome to."

The ghost didn't skip a beat: "Well it was just dreadful! All I can remember is seeing that revolting creature's huge yellow eyes. It was right here – right where I'm floating now! And that's it – I just died. That slag Olive found my body. It's her fault, you know, that I died – if I hadn't been in here crying because of the terrible things she said to me, then it never would have happened."

It was certainly a relief to hear this account. Apparently he had no need to confront her after all; she hadn't a clue what really happened.

"Is that why you came back to Hogwarts?" Rose asked. "To haunt her?"

"Oh no, I was haunting her for months outside of Hogwarts," Myrtle declared gleefully. "I thought it would be far more fun to surprise her in places she wouldn't expect me to be. But when I paid her a visit during her brother's wedding ceremony over the holiday, she tattled on me to her father, who went to the Ministry. They sent me here and I'm banned from going anywhere outside of this bathroom until she graduates. Originally they had offered to let me go to my parents' house, but they're muggles so they can't see me anyway. And even if they could, I doubt they'd want to: I visited them just a month after my death and every picture of me in the house had been taken down." She started weeping again. Of course.

Rosemary looked at her sympathetically. "Oh, Myrtle, that's awful…"

He made a face; why was she being so disgustingly compassionate – and to a mudblood, no less? It made him loathe her even more to see this form of weakness within her.

"It's not like things were much better when I was alive," Myrtle sighed. "Not that you could possibly understand – your life is perfect."

Tom moved to leave. He had gotten what he wanted and he was certainly not interested in hearing any more of the mudblood's sob story.

"No it's not," he heard Rosemary say defensively.

"Oh, please. How can you say that? You're far too pretty for how intelligent you are. Not to mention your perfect pureblood parents, perfect boyfriend, and huge group of friends…And I'm almost positive you were made Head Girl. Weren't you?"

Rosemary flushed and said sheepishly: "I was."

"Well, there you go. I never had any of those things when I was alive."

"They aren't all as great as they seem…"

Tom paused, half-way out the bathroom door.

"Oh? Do tell…"

"My family only acts like we enjoy each other's company around other people. We're definitely not close. And Warren? Well, he's nice I suppose...certainly a bit more grounded than who I was with previously."

More grounded? What was that supposed to mean?

Then Rosemary laughed. "It's rather ironic since he's rarely on the ground because of Quidditch."

Myrtle sighed. "You're right; you're not perfect. Your sense of humor is terrible."

She laughed again, but then said soberly: "Anyway, I don't know what it is…he's just sort of plain, I guess? And as far as my friends go, well, I rarely talk to them anymore either."

Was it awful that hearing this made him inexplicably happy? Maybe. Oh well.

Myrtle sounded as though she was smiling. "I like talking to you, Rosemary. Will you come back and visit me? Now that Dippet banned anyone from coming in here, I'll be all alone…"

"Sure," Rosemary nodded. There were a few quiet seconds between them until she spoke again: "I can't believe I'm about to ask you this, but…well, I need a quiet place to brew a potion…"

"So you want to brew it here, because you know that no one is going to come visit me? And surely it's one that is against the school rules – otherwise, Slughorn would just borrow you his office."

"I'm sorry, please forget I said anything."

"You can brew it here," Myrtle said suddenly. "I'll make sure to keep everyone away – not that I really need to try to accomplish that. But you owe me a favor then, Horton."

"What favor?" Rosemary sounded relieved. "Anything."

"We'll see. Deal?"

"Deal."

And just like that, he had won the eavesdropping lottery.

After another long evening of sifting for traces of Raoul and MAGI through the papers Mulciber and Rosier had fetched for him the night before, he slowly made his way back to his dormitory. Tom had found little in the way of useful information, but despite this, he was elated and still in half-disbelief that he had been lucky enough to witness the exchange between Rosemary and Myrtle. He opened the door to his dormitory and was about to step inside when he heard her door creak open across the hall.

"Riddle," she said.

"Horton." Tom turned to see her looking at him rather reproachfully, her arms crossed over her chest. "How can I help you?" he asked shortly, suddenly rather nervous that she somehow knew that he had overheard her conversation. But he quickly dismissed this thought – how would she have possibly known that?

"Well, I guess I'll just come right out and say it-"

"By all means." The faster he could get whatever this was over with, the better.

She narrowed her eyes slightly at him. "I ran into a student this afternoon that was quite upset and told me that you turned them away from Dueling Club last night."

Tom was rather surprised that she had the nerve to even bring it up to him. But of course, he welcomed any opportunity to put her in her place. He smirked arrogantly at her and said in the most condescending way possible: "I'm well-aware that you don't understand dueling, Horton. But I'll have you know that it is well within my bounds as Dueling Club Captain to restrict membership given that there are only a few weeks remaining until the inter-school competitions begin. While their interest in my mentorship is appreciated, there is no possible way that they would ever be prepared enough to compete."

Tom could tell by the way her face was flushing that he had sufficiently aggravated her. And she deserved it, too, for daring to stick her nose in his business. He wondered what the look on her face might be if he revealed that he knew of her secret brewing – surely it would be just as entertaining, if not positively more so.

Of course, he would have to wait. He couldn't simply expend this new-found leverage at any time – he would save if for something far more strategic. Perhaps he would threaten her into telling him everything she knew about Beaumont and MAGI, but only as a last resort, if his own research wasn't going anywhere – dealing with Rosemary Horton as little as possible remained a very high priority.

She looked as though she wanted to hurl an insult back at him. Had all the time she had spent with Cramer dulled her mind so profoundly that she might try such a stunt?

"Was there something else you wanted to say?" he dared her.

There was a satisfying, tiny flicker of fear of her eyes as she shook her head.

He smirked again and turned to leave, but froze in place when he heard:

"Are you sure it didn't have anything to do with the fact that they are Gryffindor students? Or perhaps that they are all muggle-born?"

He whirled around to face her once more, so taken aback by her bold outburst that he laughed at her. "What exactly are you implying?" he took a couple of steps toward her and narrowed his eyes slightly, his confident smirk still glued to his face.

"Nothing"

They were standing quite close now – less than a foot apart – and she looked quite regretful that she had opened her mouth at all. And for good reason, because her comment had made him somewhat paranoid that she might know of his connection to the anti-mudblood incidents he had orchestrated. And that was something he certainly couldn't chance.

"No; do elaborate."

Her face was unreadable. "I just know you have a tendency to be a little biased, that's all."

He didn't know whether or not to believe that this was all she meant by her comment or if she just didn't want to let on that she knew more. And there was really only one way to find out…

Unfortunately, the most effective Legilimency technique was to focus all of one's senses on the target, which had been the primary reason he had abstained from performing it on her even once after things ended between them. There was part of him that worried it would spark too many of the memories that he had been so careful to repress. But surely he could handle it now – after all, disdain and irritation were the only emotions he felt toward her any longer. Plus, it was absolutely essential that he remain well-informed of what she knew about his extracurricular activities.

He was about to mentally utter the spell when it occurred to him how long it had truly been since he truly looked in her eyes, which were a shade of deep blue so vibrant that, before her, he wouldn't have believed to be humanly possible.

She blinked. "Goodnight, Riddle." He attempted to refocus, considering time to perform his survey of her mind was quickly running out. But as she swiftly turned away, he was blindsided by the smell of her hair and all he could think about was the way that they used to sleep, with her body curled up against his and her hair in his face. The way he would breathe in her warm, spicy scent all night…

No. He did not like her smell. For him, it no longer evoked such innocent interpretations, like ginger and vanilla. Now it equated to betrayal and agitation.

She closed the door in his face and he looked at it a few moments, trying to make sense of everything that had happened inside his mind over the last thirty seconds or so. When he realized he couldn't, he muttered "Goodnight, Horton" and retreated to his own room.

Though his failure to perform Legilimency on her had subdued some of his earlier feelings of triumph, the overall deep sense of satisfaction remained. It would take far more to shake that from him. Not only did he know of her misconduct, he knew that she was unhappy with Warren and for some twisted reason he could not explain, this was intoxicatingly pleasing to hear.

He wondered briefly if, when she kissed Warren, she felt as lost as Tom did whenever he kissed another girl. He wondered if she felt just as alone.

And then he wondered: what in the bloody hell was he thinking? Warren didn't even matter in this picture – he just wanted to know that Rosemary was fucking miserable. That was all that truly mattered: she was getting exactly what she deserved for what she did to him.

And just like that, all he could think about was that awful night. The one he had spent weeks trying to forget:

"Get out," he told her coldly.

Rosemary looked at him with those sad blue eyes as though he had done some major disservice toward her. Was she completely delusional?

He slammed the door behind her when she left, using his hand instead of a spell because he thought it might feel far more satisfying. It did.

Tom stared at it for a moment before beginning to pace around his room.

Since when was she so fucking righteous? Had she honestly expected him to sit back and continue to allow Cramer to parade her around? What kind of weak scum did she think he was?

None of this mattered, he realized. They were over.

But how? It didn't make any sense. He loved her…she loved him.

He suddenly felt as though he couldn't breathe. What was he going to do? How could he fix this? It would surely take more than an apology. In a stroke of irrational genius, he wondered if he should just erase her memory of that night, just like he did to Warren.

And then it hit him: if she judged him for what he did to Warren, what would she have thought about the far less innocent things he had done over the past couple of years? What would she say if she knew about Myrtle, his family, the Tournament reporter? There had always been a small hope within him that, someday, she might understand him enough to tell her – to share himself entirely with her and perhaps learn her darkest secrets as well – but clearly he had been far too optimistic in this regard. Even if he erased everything he had done from her mind, he still wouldn't be able to trust her with everything else. So what was the point?

He took her scarf from the drawer in his nightstand and brought it to his nose, breathing in the faint traces of her scent from the fibers. Then he tossed it on the middle of his bedroom floor and set it ablaze.

If he had to be alone for the rest of his life, so be it. This prospect was unquestionably preferable to going through the constant effort of hiding himself more than he already had to. Wasting his time on her, or anyone else for that matter was simply not worth it. It would never be worth it.

That night, he had felt as though one chapter of his life came to an end and another had begun in its place. Even in his devastation, he had felt some sense of resolve.

Why, then, did she continue to dominate so many of his thoughts? And when would it finally end? He had thought that things had finally reached a point of closure between them – but if that was the case, why did she still have the power to throw him off? Why did he even care whether or not she was unhappy? A terrible feeling stirred within him as he realized how far he still had to go to get her out of his head entirely.

For them, things were far from over.

"The memory of you emerges from the night around me." – Pablo Neruda

Hey friends! Sorry for the late update. I ended up re-writing half of this chapter because it wasn't turning out quite the way I wanted. Also, things have been absolutely crazy with school - but there are only four days until Christmas break! Yay!

Thank you to Oksanallex, Guest, Guest, x2leoj, RosiePosie15, and Guest for your reviews!

I want to thank all of you reading this story for being so patient, both with my erratic updates and the relatively slow pacing of Part II thus far. BUT - good news! From here on, the pace of the story will pick up quite markedly. I've been building things up for a while...now it's time to get to the good stuff.(;

Looking ahead to the next chapter, another confrontation between Rose and Tom awaits. Plus, more Knights stuff! Due to my exam schedule, I'm planning on having the next chapter out by Friday next week (the 18th) and hopefully I'll be making some major progress with writing over the holiday.

Last thing! This site apparently hates links and as a result, I've decided to make a Pinterest account for the story so you can take a look at my character/general story inspiration. Check out www. pinterest (dot com)/MsRoseHorton if you're interested. I have far more work to do on it, but at least you'll get the general idea.(: