Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Dobby did not appear in front of me prior to the start of school.

He did appear in front of Harry Potter the night we finished our school shopping.

I didn't know what happened since I obviously wasn't there. Harry was very calm during the ordeal so there was no loud shout of HELP! A STRANGE ELF IS IN MY ROOM, instead he carefully listened to what Dobby wanted to say. When it was over, Harry asked Dobby if he could discuss it with his godfather and sister. Dobby insisted Harry and I shouldn't return to Hogwarts one more time before Kreacher popped out and quite literally kicked him out.

Kreacher did not like the fact that another House Elf showed up. Kreacher woke up Sirius who then woke up Remus and the three—Harry, Sirius, and Remus—talked about it while I enjoyed a nice snooze fest. Because Kreacher liked me, he wanted me to "not worry about it" and how "dark witches need their evil sleep" or something.

I found out about it in the morning.

"It's likely some brat trying to pull a prank," Sirius told us after Harry filled me in. Sirius shoveled piles of food onto Harry's plate while he talked. Despite Harry's small stature the boy could eat a fridge-worth of food per meal. "Ignore it."

"We will," Harry promised over breakfast.

The rest of the summer went without issue. I wouldn't even touch Riddle's diary until I was at Hogwarts and within running distance of Dumbledore. I was reckless, but not that stupid.

Experimentation with the werewolf potion was slow but progressing—if only in terms of what not to do. To keep from going completely insane on having to focus on one thing, I decided to add a side project of making a potion that would allow vampires to be in daylight. Anyo was delighted by it, but he had burned his fingers several times testing it out thus far.

Then at long last it was time to return to Hogwarts.

And... you know... deal with the diary.

Magical luck, please let Tom Riddle not be hot.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The return to Hogwarts was a lovely affair. I sat with Draco, Daphne, and Theodore on the way down. We had a lot of catching up to do. There were some stories that simply couldn't be told through letters. I was ever so pleased that they had all kept up with their running.

"Mother refurbished a training room to look like what they use for professional Quidditch players," Draco low-key bragged.

"Father re-did a portion of the yard so I could enjoy the view while I ran," Daphne smugly said. "He bought me enough outfits to have a different one every day of the month."

"My family visited the dueling tournaments over summer," Theodore said, not wanting to be outdone. "Dad bought me all the right equipment. Think we can start a dueling club this year?"

"I don't see why not," I answered. "If you want to get more serious about dueling there's another exercise we can do instead of running. Not to say we should stop running, but perhaps switch it to only doing it four times a week, and a different exercise the other three?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Reflex training."

"How do you mean?" Draco frowned.

"It'll be grueling but oh so effective. We're going to play tennis with the Whomping Willow."

"What?"

"Come again?"

"Huh?"

"Hopefully it doesn't bash our brains out," I cheerfully added.

"What?"

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Returning to Hogwarts also meant reestablishing my dominance. A couple fifth year students wanted to try to get the best of me after the feast, but my ever so handy Accio had both their shoulders dislocated before they could finish their first spell.

No one tried to attack me for the rest of the night and my title as Queen was kept.

Which meant I had a chance to finally deal with the diary.

After dinner, I locked myself up in my dorm room. The perks about being a Slytherin meant not having to share a room with other students. Salazar was adamant that those in his House had privacy. I had a lovely bed, desk, and chest provided. Since the room would be mine throughout my entire stay at Hogwarts I was able to decorate as I pleased.

I had Kreacher send over a couple more bookshelves, a potion station—basically a smaller desk to prep ingredients next to a still and cauldron—a comfortable reading chair, and a super cozy bed for Iris that was kept on top of my chest at the foot of my bed. I kept two pictures on my desk. One of me, Lily, James, and Harry; the other of me, Sirius, Remus, and Harry. I didn't have much else in the way of decoration except a couple of unicorns that Sirius and Harry got me when I was much younger.

In the comfort of my room, I heaved out a long sigh as I finally pulled out the diary. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, but it wasn't enough to outright discourage me.

What made the whole willingly-interacting-with-the-diary terrifying was how charming Tom Marvolo Riddle was.

Even though I knew intellectually he was going to manipulate me—would I still be able to pick up on it? Every emotion I "noticed" or "feeling" I got from him could be entirely fabricated.

Tom was a mind-bogglingly brilliant wizard who had everyone so tightly wrapped around his finger no one questioned him when he accused Hagrid and his spider of killing Myrtle and petrifying the other students. Despite the fact that it made no logical sense. They loved and trusted him that much.

He, an orphan with no name, power, or money was able to coerce a bunch of bigoted pure-bloods into worshiping the ground he walked on. Even Dumbledore—THE Dumbledore—did not notice the truth behind his facade until years later.

I knew what he was capable of. I knew that every interaction I ever had with him going forward had to be taken with a grain of salt. It was a tremendous risk. Arguably a very stupid risk.

But it was one I wanted to take regardless.

I needed to know. I had to—I had to try to find out the truth. I promised myself I wouldn't live with any more regrets and playing it safe would haunt me until I died.

I'd rather die doing something stupid by my hand than safe inside a bed and constantly wondering.

I let out a long sigh then opened up the first page of the diary.

"Please magical luck, kick in for me, and don't make him too handsome," I muttered under my breath as I wrote out my first greeting.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello," came Tom's response—Ugh, why is his handwriting so much better than mine? The prat.

"My name is Rosaline Potter, but my friends call me Rosie."

"Hello Rosie. I'm Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?"

"Nice to meet you Tom. This diary was given to me."

A chill ran down my spine as I felt Tom's magic slowly slither out of the diary and into my own.

"Oh that's so creepy." I shuddered.

"I've been practicing my occlumency," I wrote out. "I feel your magic trying to enter."

No response.

"I've got it set up a little special. I'm genuinely very curious... If I let you into my mind, would you be able to possess me?"

There was no answer for several minutes, so I added: "If you don't know, or you think it might be a possibility I'd like to try it."

"Okay."

Unsurprisingly the Horcrux agreed rather quickly.

I placed my palm flat on the diary and at once I felt its magic rush into me. I didn't fight it, but instead guided it to my mind palace. At once a bucket of freezing water was dumped over me as Tom's chilling magic settled inside me. As more and more of him left the diary and entered my body, the colder I got.

Several minutes later I was shivering, but Tom's magic had stopped rushing in.

I could—I could feel him inside my mind palace.

Better go say hi.

I stumbled to my bed to get comfortable as I slipped into a meditative state. His magic was bitterly cold inside me, and each movement I made felt like icicles digging through my flesh straight down into the bone. Not—not painful, oddly, simply a sensation. Every breath I took felt like I was gulping in the air on the coldest day of winter. It was difficult to relax enough in order to reach a good mental state to enter my mind palace.

It must have taken me a solid ten minutes to accomplish that much. When I opened my eyes I was in my mind palace and—

FUCK YOU MAGICAL LUCK. YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME FOR THE LAST TIME.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

He was there, sitting underneath a glowing white tree made of crystallized magic, with hints of blues and purples underneath it. The grass was a dark purple and the little hill where the tree stop was quite small. It transitioned into a calm black sea rather quickly.

The sea was a dark mirror that reflected the mesmerizing sky above. I adored space, and it was always a secret wish of mine to one day explore every inch of the mysterious void around us. I crafted these outskirts of my mind to mirror the memories of the galaxies and nebulas I had been fortunate enough to see pictures of. The dark sky was splattered in dusty colors of exploded stars, and worlds too far for us to properly see but shone brilliantly nonetheless.

Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr was a handsome bastard. He had the porcelain skin that would make certain girls burn with envy, the long lashes that were just so unfair, and a face that was eerily angelic. His dark hair was neatly combed with a slight curl to it, and his eyes held a scarlet glow underneath them—a clear sign of the Dark Arts he had practiced.

I took a seat beside him on the hill, and he studied his surrounding environment.

"Hello," I said, extending a hand out to him.

He took it, his grasp cold and firm. "Hello."

Sweet honey biscuits that voice is money. People would pay millions to have him voice act.

A pause.

I would pay a lot of money to record him reading a book with a voice like that.

"So... do you have control of my body now?" I asked, curious (and wanting to hear him speak more already. Oof.). "It feels a little weird to have you in my head, but I don't feel you anywhere else."

At least, I don't feel your conscious anywhere else. Your magic has spread throughout my body and is slowly curling around my own. I feel like my magic is experiencing its first ever snow day.

He smiled the type of smile that probably made his fangirls swoon. Heck, it even made my own heart skip a beat and I was actively trying not to get caught up by his charm."Who can say?"

"You're being uncooperative," I said, letting out a sigh. "But I expected as much. If I let you stay here, would you have a better chance?"

I wasn't sure if it spoke about his level of arrogance, or the fact that he was completely used to crazy witches, but he never once asked me why I wanted him to possess me.

He ignored my question choosing to instead say in such an alluringly sweet voice, "I do have to admit that your version of occlumency is unique."

Not really. Very common in fanfics, and you know... Sherlock Holmes.

I didn't voice that because a compliment was still a compliment. Even if he was trying to manipulate me so I would lower my guard.

I had to admit from a very brief exchange I was alarmed.

Almost scared.

His words were honey. His tone, his manner, the subtle tics of his expression were angelically perfect. When he spoke, I wanted to listen. He was enchanting. It made me nervous. I could plainly see exactly how Ginny, Slughorn, and so many others were swayed by his charisma.

What truly unsettled me was that despite the fact that his alluring words were swaying me—his magic was static. As a Horcrux I was in a unique position. I could accept Tom Riddle's soul into my body without the risk of decay. My magic and my body became vessels to him. As chilling as his magic felt crawling into me, it wasn't uncomfortable.

I was sensitive to magic due to how I had trained myself to learn it. Magic was as tangible to me was water. Tom Riddle's magic slipped in and intertwined like an ivy around mine.

I could feel it. I could feel him.

His words were sweet, but his magic was cold and flat and spoke nothing of sweetness.

Could I trust his magic to tell me the truth?

Or was Tom Riddle such a mastermind as a teenager that he could perfectly control the state of his magic to reflect whatever he wanted? Did he want me to think I could feel his magic the way I thought I could?

My emotions wouldn't be easily hidden from him. While I had control of my mind palace, emotions were difficult to keep locked away. Even on the very outskirts, he would still feel their echoes. The closer he got, the clearer it would become.

He would sense how I felt—I couldn't stop that since I accepted him into me.

But it was doubtful he would pick up that I could sense him.

Or did he?

What a conundrum.

It would make more sense that if he could control his magic he would try to make it come across as warm and sincere. He had no way of knowing I could sense his magic, either.

At the end of the day, though, I had to accept something. If I constantly distrusted him our relationship wouldn't be any different from that of him and Dumbledore's.

I smiled as kindly as I could to him.

I'll put my trust in your magic, I thought privately to myself.

After all my focus—my purpose—for the endeavor was simple.

Exactly how evil was Tom Riddle?

I believed in nurture over nature. I believed that anybody, given the circumstances of their childhood, could become someone truly evil or truly great. Nature played a role, but parenting was much stronger.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a child born in poverty, abandoned, and raised in an orphanage that was far from kind. Orphans in his time period had to steal food to survive because more often than not the orphanage wouldn't have enough money to provide meals for everyone. Coupling with inevitable bursts of magic during his toddler stage, he was likely labeled as something... very bad.

And a child raised to believe they were very bad would inevitably become very bad.

The iteration of Tom Riddle in front of me was still a boy. Albeit a fresh murderer since this Horcrux was made by him killing someone, but I wasn't really in a position to judge that now was I?

But—

Well.

Did one act have to define a child for the rest of his life?

I saw one path he went down—a path dictated by a single-minded drive for power that screamed textbook child abuse. If you looked up a picture of "children turned sociopaths from childhood abuse and consequently do a b c" you'd see Tom Riddle.

It wasn't a justification for his actions, but like with Fenrir, I could understand where he was coming from.

A life without power, stability, or love, made for one hell of a bitter streak.

The world hurt us, why can't we hurt it?

I knew he was capable of compassion—he cared for Nagini, at the very least. His conception under a love potion wasn't ideal, but it didn't prevent him from feeling love himself. Although that was a very common fandom myth after people misread J.K. Rowling's quote about how the love potion was only symbolic.

My interactions with Fenrir certainly confirmed that if given the chance, most "villains" would rather not be villains at all.

Tom Riddle was a man obsessed with power (to make sure he never got hurt), fame (to make sure people loved him), and heritage (to make sure he had a place in the world).

So, truly, I was most curious...

What would happen if Tom Riddle was given another path?

It was a thought that had nagged at me since I had begun seriously interacting with Fenrir. The werewolf was painted as a cruel killer but I couldn't view him as such since meeting him. What he had done in the past was awful—I dared not to deny it—but he didn't want to. He felt as if he had no other options, that no one would care. He had to scream for someone to listen, and even then his screams continued to be ignored and dismissed.

He was made a villain.

Was Tom the same?

I had seen one version of him, but I was not so hateful as to say the one before me was the same as his future self. The one that stood in front of me had one death to his name. He was still a teenager, albeit with fifty years of isolation tacked on, and he had one major misdeed to his name.

Compared to Fenrir's numerous crimes...

It didn't sit well with me to give Fenrir a chance and ignore Tom. I wanted to know the truth. Even if I proved that he was evil to his core, at least I could say I gave it an honest try.

Of course if he showed any interest in wanting to kill my brother my thirst for the truth would dry up faster than a desert in summer.

No regrets. If I want to learn about something I'm not going to sit around and worry about the what if's. I'm going to do it.

"I have a lot of neat things here," I said. "Would you like to stay here, or go back into your book?"

He tilted his head, the gesture oddly similar to that of an intelligent, and perplexed snake. Was that intentional or a genuine tic? "That's a terribly kind offer. I would be ever so grateful if you would allow me to stay here. It's quite beautiful. You must be a remarkable witch."

"Thank you," I said, because I had a feeling he genuinely thought it was beautiful. Remarkable witch maybe not so much, but a pretty scene was still a pretty scene. "I have an inner forest next, if you can get to that level."

"Is there a boat?" he asked, gesturing out towards the black sea that surrounded us.

"You're a brilliant young wizard," I reminded him. "You'll find a boat."

His lips twitched up into a thin smile as his magic quivered in what I could only describe as dispassionate bemusement.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

"Can you hear my thoughts if I project them into my palace?" I asked after I had returned to the physical realm. It was chilly—very chilly—but as I began to circulate my magic alongside his I warmed up. Getting possessed was a bit like having a bunch of ice cubes inside your chest.

I didn't foresee any decay in my future. I was his Horcrux, technically. If I was going to rot away I would have done so within the first year of being a Horcrux.

"Yes," he responded back. "Can you hear me?"

"I can! This is kind of cool. Can you see the outside world through my eyes?"

"Yes, the sea reflects it."

"That's really neat. I've never been possessed before, so this whole experience is super cool."

"Super cool?"

"Um... super neato?"

"Cool is neato?"

"Yes?"

Now that I thought about it, Tom actually grew up in a completely different decade than I did.

"Aha... when you get far enough into my mind palace I really wanna show you Carameldansen."

"Cara what?"

"Hue hue hue hue hue."

"What?"

With a smile on my face I got up from my desk and stretched. The diary was carefully hidden in my locked suitcase and I got ready for bed.

"Good night, Tom," I told him warmly.

"Good night, Rosie," he said with a gentle tone that contradicted his frigid magic.

At least he's not trying to murder me right away. He's already surpassed the bar I had set.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

First thing in the morning for Slytherins was transfiguration where Professor McGonagall made us practice turning beetles into buttons. Transfiguration wasn't my specialty, but I got the job done. Sirius mentioned that if Harry and I did well in our Transfiguration classes that year he'd start teaching us how to become animagus.

After transfiguration was double Herbology with Ravenclaw where we transplanted several mandrakes. While on the topic of mandrakes I had asked Professor Sprouts, "Is it possible to enhance their cry? Make it heard from further away?"

Professor Sprouts gave me an odd look. "It has never been done before, but there are a few who have tried. The latest attempt was using a Muggle piece but Muggle technology goes haywire when an adult mandrake starts crying."

"Damn it. Guess I can't tie a bunch of megaphones to them and toss 'em into Gringotts."

Oops. Hadn't meant to project that thought out.

"What?"

I sent him a picture of a megaphone, projecting the image across my black sea for him to see.

"Oh."

It was nice he didn't ask why I wanted to use them to invade Gringotts. Gringotts was the end game for my thieving career.

After Herbology was doubles in DADA with Gryffindor. I was thankful I wouldn't have to deal with Lockhart on my own, and judging by how apprehensive Harry was to enter the classroom I'm sure he felt the same. Harry went out of his way to sit in the back of the classroom with Neville and he piled all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him as if to avoid looking at the real thing.

I took a seat at the front because I was always first. Draco sat next to me with Theodore and Hermione behind us. Daphne and Tracey took up the other desk in the front row, and the rest of my babeh snakes scattered throughout the classroom.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Daphne's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for the class to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books: well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in—"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes—start—now!"

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

"What happened to Hogwarts? Who is this... man?" The chill from Tom's magic sharpened, conveying a sense of disbelief and anger. I had to admit it was pretty impressive he kept a gentle tone despite the level of disgust I felt from his magic.

"Oh, you sweet summer child..."

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. "Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink.

"But Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact—" He flipped her paper over. "—full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand as her cheeks reddened.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so to business."

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. "Now be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

It was pitiful how some students were falling for his hype and started to lean forward.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them." As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. "Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

"Someone kill me now," Draco blithely muttered.

I placed my head on my desk and sighed. "Wake me when it's over."

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!"

And he opened the cage.

It was madness. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the wastebasket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

But no one was making a move to do so.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

Taking pity on the terrified boy I used Wingardium Leviosa to pull him out of the way.

"Okay. Let's round them up before they give me a headache," I said while rubbing at my forehead.

"Why is he the professor of the Dark Arts?"

"Because a certain Dark Lord threw a tantrum and cursed the position so no one could stay in it for more than a year."

"Who—?"

"Who indeed?"

Tom fell silent, his magic twitching in agitation.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

28. Spend summer preparing for baby Riddle

31. Test if occlumency offers resistance to Voldewhore possession

31a. Also genuinely curious what the hell that feels like??? Note: Like I'm being tossed out in the middle of winter with a wet blanket. Would not recommend unless the possessor is super hot and makes for good convo.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

Note about Tom being born under a love potion makes him "unable to love". That is a fandom myth. Not canonical at all. A quick google search will provide the correct quote that the love potion was merely "a symbolic way of showing that he came from a loveless union..."

I felt the need to quickly add this before I had people trying to say what Rosie was trying to do was pointless because of a fandom myth.

Answer: Probably a jump scare. I laugh those off easily.

Question: If you could be possessed (without repercussions for you) by an already dead witch/wizard or one that has a horcrux at the start of the series... who would it be?

Reviews are love!