Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

My day markedly improved when Draco pulled me aside after lunch to tell me, "Father's got the new brooms."

"Excellent, Draco. Have you already told Professor Snape we'll be donating last year's brooms to the school?"

"Yes," Draco said.

Giving Slytherin the Nimbus Two Thousands last year had been an easy way to curry favor, but seeing the Slytherin Quidditch team in anything other than those sleek black brooms Draco originally got them was plain wrong. After some debilitation, I casually slipped to Draco that perhaps Slytherin should get a new set of brooms this year and donate the old ones last year.

It would look good for Slytherin House to replace the school brooms, after all.

Draco jumped at the chance to show off his wealth and offered to buy Slytherin's new set of brooms himself. I agreed, and the plan was set forward.

"Did he say anything about it?" I asked.

Draco shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay. Good luck in your tryouts tonight."

"I won't need luck," he said with a smirk.

It was such an innocent arrogance. I felt a surge of affection, candle-light warmth igniting in my chest.

With my emotions came the echo of alarm and confusion from Tom. Our magic was carefully woven as he rested inside my mind. We could both catch echoes of how the other one felt—although I did not think Tom was aware that I could translate his magic, and thus he did not know that I knew what he truly felt. I had not disclosed to him I was a magic sensor, and such a thing was rarer than being a Parselmouth apparently.

My wave of friendly endearment for Draco had clearly caught Tom off guard, and his magic recoiled in an almost defensive manner. I could perfectly imagine that his brow would be furrowed in confusion in private. If I were to slip into my mind he would only ever have that angelic poker face smile.

I fondly patted the top of his head. "Your confidence is cute."

His cheeks turned red and he spluttered.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

At the end of the day the Slytherins were instructed to meet up in the common room. I had wanted to wait until after our first day back before holding our annual meeting. It was our first annual meeting, technically, but I would make it a tradition.

"I'm glad to see everyone has returned, and I wanted to welcome our first year students," I addressed the Slytherin House in our common room. I stood atop our coffee table in order to do so. Being short had its disadvantages. "Since Insult Night was so popular we will be doing it again this year."

The Slytherins snapped in approval—except the first year students who looked bewildered.

"We have done wonders to improve our public appearance, but we need to step it up a notch," I went on. "Once a week, every week, we must each perform one good deed. A compliment to someone outside our House, or holding a door open, or anything along those lines will do. Failure to comply will result in punishment excluding extenuating circumstances."

Those who had already faced my wrath winced.

One of the first year students, Harper if I remembered correctly, was confused. "Why?"

Pansy Parkinson sneered at the boy. "Because Slytherins are better than narrow minded bullies. Our House has fallen into disgrace. We must correct it."

"Well said, Pansy," I praised her and she blushed happily.

"How will you know we did a good deed?" asked Miles Bletchley.

"I expect you to report your good deed to me by the end of the week. There are dozens of snakes throughout Hogwarts under my control," I said and the Slytherins nodded at that—Tom's magic showed confusion, but he did not inquire just yet. "They will be watching over, so do not try to insult my intelligence by lying."

Adrian Puccey raised his hand, so I called on him. He asked, "Is Mudblood still forbidden?"

"What a stupid question, of course it is," Daphne scolded him on my behalf.

"We're better than relying on one word," I scathingly added. "Use what little wit you have and dedicate yourself to understanding the basics. Or should I engrave it into your skull for you?"

He paled and rapidly shook his head no.

"Bit of a bearcat, aren't you?"

What does that mean? I thought privately then I remembered. Oh yeah. 1920s.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome?'

Aw, shit, was that not a compliment?

Fighting back my embarrassment, I steeled my voice as I asked, "Good. Any other questions?"

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Come the weekend it was time for the Quidditch's team's practice. I vaguely remembered something had happened in the canonical story, but my memory was spotty. There were some things I could remember clearly like the back of my hand, and other things that were foggy.

Early Saturday morning I got dressed. I was sure to put on some thick Slytherin green wool earmuffs and gloves. I hadn't planned on running during Quidditch practice—we hadn't met up for our running, yet, wanting everyone to get a feel for their classes and workload first—so sitting out there would be quite chilly.

"I never understood the appeal of Quidditch," Tom commented as I dug out a scarf.

"You and me both. But it's good to show support."

"Why?"

"Because it's important to Draco, and Draco's my friend. It's his first training session, and it would be supportive to attend."

Tom didn't respond, but I could sense his apprehension and confusion. He had already seen the dynamics of the Slytherin House and previously commented I reminded him of himself.

"He already obeys you."

"I am the leader of the Slytherins, but I am also his friend."

"That does not make any sense."

"It's not an oxymoron, Tom."

His magic lashed out in irritation, stewing over my words even as he told me in a honey coated tone, "Of course. You're right Rosie. I've spent so long in that lonely diary my mind must be in a trundle. I hope you'll be patient with me."

"Certainly, Tom."

Ugh. Tom needed a job as one of those people who made audio books. His voice was like goddamn butter when he wanted something. This was going to be fun.

Draco was bright-eyed as he greeted me in the common room. The other Quidditch members offered me polite greetings. A few of them yawned which made me yawn. For a couple of minutes we had a yawn cycle going between all of us.

"Okay, enough," Flint said, pulling out a note. "I got the note from Professor Snape. Let's head to the field."

"Note?" I inquired, adjusting my black messenger bag.

"Yeah. That ars—er—that Gryffindor captain Wood booked the field already. Did it on the first day," Flint explained.

"Hm." Iris squirmed from inside my pocket until she was underneath my cloak. She slithered up so that way she could be under my cloak while sticking her head out of my scarf to nuzzle at my neck.

"Mommy I'm sleepy."

"Go back to sleep," I hissed at her. The Slytherins were pretty used to me talking to her so none of them flinched.

"You're a Parselmouth?"

"Yes."

"You are—you are a descendant of—?"

"No. I was not born a Parselmouth. The magic was imprinted upon me."

"How?"

"It's difficult to explain. If you can get far enough in you could probably find the memory."

Which will never happen.

His chilling magic curled in thought. In private—so Tom could not hear—I had to wonder what it was like with Ginny. She only ever described it as cold and dark, but I was a Horcrux. My magic and body had become suited to accept Tom's soul next to mine, on top of which I had become sensitive to magic due to how I learned to use it.

He was cold to me, and I had to actively work to keep my body warm by making my magic keep pace with his. A battle between a glacier and a bonfire.

In spite of the temperature difference, feeling him didn't bother me. He wasn't uncomfortable, rather at times I even found his magic refreshing. I could only conclude that was a specific side effect to being a Horcrux.

I wished I could find more information on it and it's ritual. The concept of it reminded me an awful lot like the archetypal phylactery liches used.

How did magic define a soul? What equation was used for it? Math was used in spellcrafting. The Wizarding World was bounds ahead of the Muggle Community in what I assumed to be quantum physics. That was one of the more ambiguous maths and its vagueness and undefined nature for Muggles screamed magic to me. I was still early in my self studies for it, so I couldn't be certain.

But really, what is used to define a soul? I wish I could get my hands on whatever books Tom read. The scientific concept of it is terribly fascinating.

Iris snoozed softly under my clothes while I and the other babeh snakes headed off to the field. Draco seemed to be in especially high spirits as he kept admiring the new sleek black brooms his father got for the team.

Upon reaching the field the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, shot toward them with Harry, Fred, and George not far behind.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of malicious glee as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, each of the boys standing pretty tall. I, the shortest by a long shot, stuck out like a sore thumb. In spite of my sex and stature, though, none of the Slytherin boys on the Quidditch team crowded me or made any move to "protect me" from the Gryffindor team.

If anything, the chasers actually hid behind me.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

"Me," Draco said as he stepped up by my side.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Draco Malfoy was smirking so broadly his gray eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh, look," mocked Flint. "A field invasion."

Hermione, Neville, and Ron had crossed the field to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

He was glaring at Draco, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Draco, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" purred Draco smoothly. "Perhaps the Gryffindor team will get to use the old brooms we generously donated to the school. You Weasley's have a lot of experience with hand-me-downs, don't you?"

Had he said it in the Slytherin Common room I would have snapped in approval.

"Oh, that's a lovely burn."

"Burn?"

"Insult—hey, what's a bearcat?"

He hesitated. "Strong woman."

"Oh. Then yeah I'm totally a bearcat."

As it stood Fred, George, and Ron turned redder than strawberries at his remark.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply in defense of her House and friends. "They got in on pure talent."

But Draco knew better than to be bothered by an insult. Canonically he might have risen to the bait, but a year under my tutelage resulted in better management. He only had a wide grin for her as he said, "Talent picked out from a motley crew isn't something to be proud of, is it? Gryffindor doesn't even have enough talent for reserves."

"Beautiful comeback. I'm so proud of my babeh snake. You should have seen him before, Tom. He would have only called her a Mudblood and whipped out his wand."

"How dreadfully dull."

"Right?"

I couldn't hold back my proud beaming smile at him. Draco caught it and puffed up his chest in pride. Flint placed a hand on his shoulder as he leered at Wood. "If you've nothing else to say, Wood, get your kittens and clear off."

Flint didn't even make a remark about their blood purity or "traitor" status! I'M SO PROUD OF MY BABEH SNAKES.

The Gryffindor team turned different shades.

Harry said, who had learned to never, ever react after years of dealing with bullshit from Sirius and me, asked, "How long will you need the field?"

"'Til lunch at least," Flint answered on my behalf—not like I would have had an answer anyway.

"That's fine. We can come back afterward," Harry diplomatically said. "None of us even had a chance for breakfast yet."

"But Harry—" Ron started to say, but Harry interrupted him with a held up hand and kind smile.

"It's fine. Draco hasn't had a chance to be on a proper team," Harry said, nodding to Draco who politely nodded back. "Last year Rosie got the Slytherin team to clear off when I needed practice for my first match. It's only fair to return the favor."

Harry then offered a hand out to Draco. "Congratulations on making the cut, Draco."

"Thanks," Draco said, accepting the handshake.

"And good job on the insult. I know Rosie's beside herself with pride right now."

"You know me so well," I sighed happily.

"After practice we should all meet up to discuss our exercises," Harry suggested and at Wood's outraged expression he quickly added, "Not Quidditch exercises, Wood."

Draco's face screwed up like he bit into a rotten lemon. "You mean the tennis with the Whomping Willow?"

"What?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"What?" echoed everyone else.

"Later," I said with a sweet smile.

Harry tiredly looked over at me. "Rosie, no."

"Rosie, yes."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Sunday morning I decided to try out the whole playing tennis with the Whomping Willow thing. The rest of the group would be running while I tested it out.

"Good morning, Madame Whomping Willow," I greeted her with a bow. Her branches waved ominously in the wind. "I am here to challenge you."

Her branches stilled completely, stiffening in surprise anger.

"With this!" I exclaimed with a flourish as I held up a bright neon pink tennis ball and a matching racket. I had to go with bright colors so it would be easier to spot them when they inevitably started flying to my face. I had no clue how the Willow would throw the racket at me, but I had to acknowledge the possibility. "Prepare yourself, Madame!"

Whomping Willow moved her branches in a gesture that could only be seen as: Bring it on, bitch.

I tossed the ball into the air before hitting it with my racket. What followed over the next five minutes was a game of sheer intensity. There was nothing I could do but try and keep up with her rapid-fire knock backs as she effortlessly threw the ball back at me with such ferocity.

I was already working up quite a sweat. I didn't think I'd last the full thirty minutes like I planned, but my test was abruptly cut short when she timed her throw so perfectly it nailed me in the face and broke my nose.

"You win this time!" I shouted as I clutched at my profusely bleeding face. "I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!"

If trees could laugh, she would be laughing at me. Tom didn't laugh outright at my pain, but I could feel the quivering of his magic which told me he very much wanted to.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

October arrived in what felt like a blink of an eye. Classes were as lovely as last year—although I couldn't decide if I preferred the stench of garlic or the nauseating spiel of Lockhart's "lessons." I had resumed my studies with Fred and George about wards: we could only meet once a week, so I did end up having to do a lot more self-studying than what I would have liked. Ron Weasley had joined our morning runs, unfortunately he wasn't as dedicated as everyone else. He was also very reluctant to associate with the Slytherins who were equally apprehensive to talk to him.

Anyo's sister's (Nefeli) wife was quite pleased to join us on our potion experimentation. She sent me a letter to introduce herself as Odette and she had always had an interest in witchcraft and potion making. She had plenty of wizard friends that were all too happy to provide her (free of charge) with the necessary enchanted runes so they could continue the experiments without me.

I found Odette and Anyo to be delightful to work with. Neither held my age against me, and both were content to dutifully try out the experiments I wrote down. They had little input to add in, but simply having hands constantly trying out new recipes for me was a huge help. I did pay them a decent sum, too.

Odette did promise me she would do further research into dire wolves. She knew canines, but what was shown under the microscope was definitely different than what she was used to working with. She'd also do some inquiries on her end to hunt down the fossils of the species for testing.

Tom was... very inquisitive about what I was trying to make. He offered his services, but judging by the chilly intensity I got from his magic I thought it would be best to decline for now. If I hit a wall, I'd make the deal with the psychopath—er or was he a sociopath?—but until then nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not giving the potential Dark Lord a chance to steal my worgen army idea.

By the time October came in—Odette had been working with us since September—we actually started to see results.

Namely, a painless transition.

The werewolf transformation was still long, but with the current state of our potion Fenrir reported that there was no pain. It still had to be taken the day prior and day of the full moon, so nothing long-lasting. It was a start. If I could get the potions to work out, it would be easier to translate it into something permanent like a ritual. Or at least that's what the few books on rituals told me. Something already a spell or potion would be easier to turn into a ritual. Creating a ritual from scratch was difficult and dangerous.

On a Friday night in October I snuck out of Slytherin to go on an adventure.

"Tom, you're a Parselmouth, aren't you? That's how you were able to understand me when I talk to Iris. Would you please tell me, have you heard about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Tom did not respond for several seconds. "Yes."

"You know last year I spent hours searching Hogwarts up and down for all of its little secrets. In the Third Corridor—" I brought up bits of the memories to directly show him—"I found a quest to conquer. At the end was the Philosopher's Stone."

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Tom repeated back in surprise. "Why?"

"A Dark Lord wanted to steal it. Dumbledore hid it at Hogwarts. I found it before the Dark Lord."

"Did you keep it?"

"Heavens no. I have no use for it."

"You would deny immortality and riches?" Tom was incredulous.

"The riches it would provide me would inflate the market and ultimately be useless. The immortality side of it is lame. It only keeps you from dying, it doesn't stop you from aging. Eventually the quality of life simply isn't good enough. I'd rather invent my own way."

"Invent a different way to be immortal?'

"Sure. Tom, do you know what causes people to age?"

Tom's magic quivered in thought. He did not respond as I slowly made my way through the hallways. "No."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Do you know, then?"

"Yes."

"Please explain."

I adjusted my grip on the invisibility cloak, sat down in the hallway, then shut my eyes. After a few minutes of concentration I was back on the island with Tom and in my hand was an amalgamation of a biology book. I took a seat on the island beside Tom and he scooted closer to me in order to examine the book. I opened the book to pull up a memory of a human cadaver.

"There are many factors that result in aging, but it essentially boils down to destruction of the cells. The most notable damages to that cell are: oxidative stress, glycation, telomere shortening, side reactions, mutations, aggregation of proteins..."

"Gly-what?" Tom blinked.

"Oh. Um... let's go back a bit more."

I ended up not going on an adventure that night but spent Friday night and all day Saturday giving Tom an intense crash course on human biology. It was scary how quick he picked it up. Fella could probably breeze through med-school.

Bastard.

Sunday, though!

Sunday I got my adventure. I had my cloak ready, my expandable bag, and Iris at my side.

"What are you intending to do?"

"Open the Chamber of Secrets and see if the basilisk inside is willing to behave."

"You have—you have found it?"

"I didn't discover it. I was told where it was," I honestly answered him.

"By who?"

I almost said you, but refrained. I didn't want to lie to Tom, but I was reluctant to give him the entire truth right away. I settled on not answering his question, smiling to myself as I entered the girl's bathroom.

Tom didn't seem perturbed by my silence. His magic was intrigued but thankfully didn't feel annoyed. He was calmer than I anticipated him being. I supposed that made sense. He had to have been patient to manipulate an emotional twelve-year-old girl. And... he must have learned to maintain his composure when he first started to attend Hogwarts.

He would have been seen as a Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin. No money, no power, no name...

I had reached the sink with the snake carves. I hissed out, "Open."

Nothing happened.

"Um..."

Tom's magic quivered in a way very similar to snickering.

I tried: "Open please?"

Tom's tone sung of smugness. It made me wish he was one of my babeh snakes so I could pinch his cheeks or ruffle his hair really hard. "Who told you to open this?"

"W-Well it was through second-hand knowledge."

"You should have done your research better."

"Do you know how to open it?"

"Maybe."

"Wanna spare any hints?"

"No."

I could feel his smug smile from that one maliciously gleeful no.

"I'll figure it out on my own then," I retorted.

"You'll have better luck defeating the Whomping Willow on your first try."

"But I already lost—?"

"Exactly."

"You're a meanie butt."

Tom let out a barely contained snort.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

25. Play tennis with the whomping willow

33. Make Slytherins do good deeds at least once a week, or face punishment. Note: Training for how to pretend to be nice on a convincing level, and how to properly manipulate. Fucking embarrassing how over the top evil they are.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

sURPRISE!

Answer: mERLIN!!

Question: Which main quest at Hogwarts would you wanna face? Dementors, Philosopher Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Tournament, etc...?

Reviews are love!