Perhaps it was frustration, perhaps it was having enough of the lies and platitudes from the Headmaster who seemed to think that learning the past of Tom Riddle would in some way help her defeat him.

Either way, she was tired of the current situation.

Her entire life, she never had anything that she could unequivocally claim as hers.

Whether it was the Dursleys, the adults around her, or just the magical society in general... it seemed like no matter what she did, they kept taking and taking, only to give a mere pittance back if they gave anything at all.

She went deep into the Chamber of Secrets. She found it hard to believe that Salazar Slytherin left just an overgrown snake down here. There had to be some basis in the legends beyond a monster a twelve year old could figure out.

Seeing the hideous relief in the back, she steeled herself. It wasn't like she was unused to horrible smells and gods-knew-what being on the floor. Being forced to clean up Dudley's room had been an eye opening experience...and not in a good way. Compared to Dudley, Ron was a neat freak of the highest order.

Shuddering at the horrors she remembered all too well from that room, she managed to go past the basilisk towards the opening it had come from.

Slowly, carefully, she took out the flashlight she had pilfered from Dudley's room. It was one of those you could wrap around your head and looked quite expensive...some poor kid likely had a hell of a time explaining where it went to their parents, only for Vernon and Petunia to deny the idea of Dudley being a thug and a thief.

Thankfully the level of technology was low-key enough that even if magic did interfere with the batteries it wouldn't completely destroy it.

She crawled through the tunnel, which was just big enough to allow even one of the burly seventh years in Slytherin through without any discomfort and was positively roomy for someone as lithe as her.

She had crawled for at least five minutes when the light suddenly went out. It hadn't died due to the battery. More like an absolute darkness had descended without any warning.

A normal witch would have cast a lumos or some other light spell. Or perhaps attempted to spark a fire and light a candle.

She just kept on going, though she was cautious and made sure to feel around first to make sure the path ahead of her was wide enough to sustain her body. Sure, she was smaller and lighter compared to that snake, but there was a chance the serpent had come through a side channel bypassing this odd trap. After all, the basilisk had been able to track her with her scent when blinded.

Then...the light came on as if it had never gone out in the first place.

She moved a bit faster...perhaps it was a trap or just some twisted prank on Slytherin's part. But she would rather make it a bit further before it did that again.

As she entered into a larger cavern, she couldn't help but stare at the scene before her.

It was a massive study, and 'slumbering' in an ancient chair that had almost fallen apart from age was a ghost.

"Hmm? It seems there is someone bold enough to enter my workshop uninvited."

"Workshop?" she repeated.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Girl, do you not know how precious a Magus' workshop is? If I wasn't already dead I would have killed you in an instant for breaching the wards!" he snapped irritably. "It's bad enough my pet hasn't come back from hunting."

"If you're talking about the basilisk, I killed it four years ago," she said bluntly. She narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. "Are you Salazar Slytherin?"

He smirked at her. She took that for a yes.

"So you were brazen enough to kill my guard. If I was still living that alone would have been enough to wipe out your family line down to the last child."

She looked at him with distaste.

"I hate to inform you, but your last living heir has long since gone insane and split his soul into at least seven parts. It was his shade that ordered your...guard...to attack me," she said coldly.

Now wasn't the time for her Gryffindor side. She had a sneaking suspicion something good was hiding here, and the best way to find them was to get Slytherin on her side.

"What."

Slytherin looked pissed...or in shock.

"Your heir has deliberately split his soul, and his current form looks closer to a snake. And before that point, his mother could barely use magic at all. From what I understand, the Gaunt family has been practicing direct incest for some time and it was only the infusion of mundane blood that the power laying dormant was revived enough to be of any use."

He glared at her.

"Foolish girl. My bloodline was never in the hands of the Gaunt line. That was just a mere branch family that attached itself to mine like a parasite because they wanted to learn more about how to use snakes in their rituals."

"Well he's been going around for years claiming to be the heir of Slytherin, so excuse me for not knowing the difference. Far too many fools these days are happy to throw out the name of their family, but don't bother to put in an ounce of work believing the world should just hand the moon to them on a string simply for breathing," she said derisively.

Like Malfoy for instance.

Slytherin looked at her shrewdly. There was a sense of hard-forged steel behind this girl's gaze. It seemed she only needed a bit of nudging before she could possibly turn into a fine Magus...there wasn't a hint of fear towards death at all.

"Girl...what line do you come from?"

"The Ancient and Noble lines of Potter and Black on my father's side. My mother was a first-generation witch my father took a liking to and married, but they were killed by your so-called heir before they could produce any siblings for me. And my godfather was the head of the Black family, however he named me as his heir as he had no children. Technically, I am the head of the Potter and the Black families at the moment, not that anyone would acknowledge it."

The Blacks were respectable enough in his eyes, however it was the Potter bloodline that interested him.

If times really had fallen so low that people would assume the weak line of Gaunt was of his own noble blood, then times had really gone downhill.

"Girl, why did you come into my workshop. I have the feeling it was not out of some idle curiosity."

"I'm sick of being a caged bird that these fools can trot about only to mistreat when I fail to follow the 'standards' they demand of me. And if the headmaster has his way, I will likely die a matyr dealing with the mess he created by allowing the foolish arrogance of the pure bloods to fester. I came here to see if I could find something, anything I could claim as my own and put those bastards in their place," she replied coldly. "And before you ask, it's not because I was born a woman."

An odd stand off passed between the witch and the ghost as they stared each other down.

"Girl, how strong is your resolve?" he asked bluntly.

"Death does not scare me. What terrifies me is the thought of being trapped in a cage where they treat me like a pampered doll that must follow the whims of fools who are terrified of someone with an actual brain teaching them who the real power is," she replied without hesitation.

She was sick of being treated like a doll that could be tossed to the ground if she displeased her 'superiors'. Even if she died in this long-forgotten cage from unbearable agony, it was still a better death than what Dumbledore clearly had in mind.

To hell with his greater good. She was going to fight her own battles her way, even if she died first!

"Good answer. Follow me...if your resolve is strong enough, then perhaps you could rightfully claim the title as Head of Slytherin. If not, then your corpse will rot here until some other idiot tries to steal from me."

"I believe the term is 'looting'," she replied cheekily.

Slytherin snorted at that, but said nothing.

Deeper in the 'workshop' was an odd rock formation. It looked quite a bit like an alter druids might have used while sacrificing animals or enemies to their gods.

"Lay down upon the alter, and push your magic into the runes along the sides. If you can withstand the trial, you will inherit the Crest of my family and become the new Head of Slytherin. If not, then perhaps you shall keep me company as a ghost," he said bluntly.

A magus walked hand in hand with death. As he had no way of knowing if the slip of a girl before him had any blood connection to his line, the risk of dying from such a basic ritual was rather high. However the reward for surviving and obtaining the crest were great enough that any magus worth his salt would be salivating at the chance.

She grimaced at the condition of the alter, but didn't argue. It took her a few moments to figure out where to channel her magic, but when she did the effects took immediately.

If she wasn't already used to pain, the agony of the crest forcibly awakening her circuits might have made her heart stop completely from the shock. It was as if someone had started pouring some red hot liquid down every nerve ending in her body from the head down to the toes and started searing them without pause.

Since no one would hear her, she decided to give in and just scream. The pain was worse than the cruciatus by far, and it was only the knowledge that if she didn't do something she would never be free of her own personal hell that kept her going.

Stubbornly, she clung on to the life within her and refused to give in.

A snarl formed on her lips as she fought back against the pain. So what if her very body was in agony? Her entire life was made up of pain, but for once she would actually get something useful out it in return! If she wanted her freedom, she had to fight for it and bear with it for now.

As if sensing her resolve and conviction, the agony her body was i began to weaken.

She felt as weak as a limp noodle...there was no way she would be able to move for a couple of days at least and that's if she was lucky.

However the power she felt thrumming around her more than made up for it. She weakly made a fist.

This would be the beginning towards her goal to be free of the idiocy that infected the magical enclaves. Forget revenge...such a goal made one's view too narrow in the long term.

A week later...

It had been a week since the ritual, and it had taken her three days before she could do anything more than recover. Considering her circuits were never awakened properly and she was adding more on top of those, surviving the ritual at all was a miracle.

Slytherin was highly impressed with her fortitude and the sheer amount of steel that made up her spine.

If he had been living, the fact she survived such a difficult and painful ritual made by him personally would have caused him to give more than just a second glance.

She might be a bit too skinny for his tastes, and too young, but the strength in her body would have more than made the wait for her to grow up a bit more well worth the effort. His line might not have ended up in such a sorry state if he had this sort of strength hidden in his bloodline.

The mindset of a true Magus was fascinating. Though she had the crest of Slytherin branded onto her back, there was no outward change.

However she could already feel a slight shift in her thinking, and with the help of Slytherin's ghost she was already advancing into someone who could legitimately be called a "first-class Magus".

If her 'friends' knew exactly the sort of changes happening in her, they would be quite distraught.

Hermione, for example, would have made a poor Magus. Perhaps if she had been trained in their ways from an early age, she would have made a second-rate one, but as she was now, she was more or less useless. And the only use Ron would have would be as ingredients for an experiment.

In fact out of all the students the only one Iris bothered to consider a friend was the quirky and highly amusing Luna Lovegood.

Iris dismissed any further attempts by Dumbledore to make her learn about Tom Riddle. If he wasn't going to train her and insisted on taking these little excursions to learn facts that would have no use in putting down that rabid dog, then she had no use for him.

McGonagall was less than pleased with her attitude.

"Ms. Potter, you will show the headmaster respect!"

"Professor McGonagall," she replied coldly, her voice full of ice. "If the headmaster wishes to go around learning more about Riddle's past, then he is free to do so. However I will not waste precious time learning more about a fool and his descent into madness when I could be training or looking through the library for something that could be of use when it comes to getting rid of him once and for all. I have no interest in trying to empathize with someone like Riddle."

"Ms. Potter!" said McGonagall in shock.

Iris turned to look at her fully, her expression cold and uncaring.

"Professor McGonagall, I refuse to humor the headmaster's little games any further. And if Professor Dumbledore thinks I'm going to waste my time learning more about a madman I could care less about, then he has another thing coming," said Iris bluntly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some studying to do for charms."

McGonagall bristled.

"Detention!"

Iris ignored her. She had lost respect for the Scottish woman after a long chat with Slytherin. McGonagall's head was so far up Dumbledore's ass that she could see daylight quite easily. And Iris was disinclined to give the woman a desperately needed reality check.

It was a sad fact indeed when an arrogant asshole like Slytherin was the most reasonable adult she had ever encountered since learning she was a witch...