Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

I had spent all Saturday night at the Orchid playing a never-ending game of chess with Tom. We were both crashing once dawn crept through the curtains, so I decided to take a brief nap on Sunday at the house. Sil was kind enough to wake me up in the evening later that day so I could return to Hogwarts before my absence was noted.

Poor traumatized and ostracized Rosaline Potter could hide out in her room all day without drawing suspicion from the outside, but I knew my babeh snakes would still be concerned about me.

It was time to head back and check up on them. I needed to prepare for next week with them anyway.

And...

I needed some time to think.

I had put off the Horcrux issue long enough, but Tom bringing them up put them to the forefront of my mind.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Monday morning I had been stolen away from the Slytherin table by Harry as soon as Daphne and I entered the Great Hall. I had come in late because I overslept. I stayed up way too late with Draco and Blaise playing a game of bullshit. Blaise had decided to sleep in and skip breakfast. Theodore, Vincent, and Gregory practically dragged Draco out of bed—I could hear him moaning to be left alone all the way from my dorm room.

Despite being sleep-deprived and grouchy, the pale boy did not show it as he sipped his morning tea and put on a false face of disgust when he spotted me.

I made no effort to hide my tiredness. Maybe it would be a good idea to spread a rumor I was having nightmares.

When Harry grabbed and pulled me over, I didn't put any effort. He seated me in between Hermione and Ron as he sat across them next to Neville. Hermione noticed the bags under my eyes.

She reached forward, her brow creased. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Mn. Stayed up too late Saturday and Sunday," I said, stifling a yawn. "Oh hey. Grats Ron, I heard you made the team."

Ron beamed. "Yeah."

"Paddy already bought him a broom," said Harry. "But we can talk more about that later. Here, read."

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

"Sturgis Podmore?" said Ron slowly as he read over my shoulder, "but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord—"

"Ron, shh!" said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.

"Trespass and attempted robbery," repeated Harry. "On a top-security door. Rosie, you're the most familiar with politics and the laws, what door could possibly warrant such an extreme punishment? The Minister's office?"

"No," I said with a shake of my head, struggling to keep my yawns in check. "Maybe if it was attempted murder, but breaking into any of the public department offices won't land you in Azkaban."

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "No—listen!" he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. "The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so—I dunno—they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"

Hermione looked rather impressed and said, "Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true."

Harry and Neville were uneasy, both looking to Rosie.

"I mean I would do it," I said with a shrug. "I don't think Fudge is that smart though."

"Then what do you think it is?" asked Ron.

"Department of Mysteries. It's not a public department. Breaking and entering that area is a definite sentence to Azkaban. That he didn't speak to his defense is worrying, though."

"Worrying how so?" pressed Hermione.

"Think carefully," I advised. "What do you know already?"

"The weapon," whispered Neville. "If it's in the Department of Mysteries... what if he'd been guarding it?"

Their eyes widened, and I smiled.

"See that, Tom? Brilliant babehs—Oh."

Right.

Tom wasn't in my head.

There was a sting of disappointment in my chest. My stomach dropped unpleasantly and found myself forcing my hands on both Hermione and Ron's back as I encouragingly rubbed them. "There you go. Well thought out, dears."

"We didn't really—" Ron uneasily said but I kissed his cheek then Hermione's.

"Had Fudge been an actual opponent instead of a tic in the side your idea would have been Slytherin worthy," I assured the pink-cheeked insecure boy. "Now I hope you all have a wonderful Monday morning."

"Should be nice," said Hermione. "Do you want to eat with us at lunch?"

"Nope. Theodore's got a brilliant idea to make our pumpkin juice explode," I excitedly whispered.

"You're having way too much fun with this," sighed Harry.

I giggled, unable to deny that.

At least it'll keep me distracted from missing...

I didn't want to finish that thought.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

All throughout Monday my mind wandered. So much to the point that I accidentally reflexively dodged some of the random jinxes my babeh snakes sent my way. I had to compensate by doing a particularly impressive tripping maneuver Draco and I practiced on Sunday that resulted in a sprained ankle.

Madam Pomfrey was not amused to be fixing me up so often and she was extremely cross with Umbridge for not putting a stop to the shenanigans in her class.

Not that I paid much attention.

It was time to seriously consider the Horcrux issue.

First up: the diadem.

Made in Tom Riddle's seventh year, likely near the end of the year to draw the least amount of suspicion. That would make a two-year gap between the Tom Riddle I had come to know and the soul in the diadem.

Two years.

Maybe not a lot. Maybe a whole lot.

I knew the diadem was created from Tom Riddle murdering his biological family. Which, uh... Certainly perturbing. I didn't remember the canonical diadem having much of a personality. It was cursed, as was the ring.

The locket—which I had already destroyed—would have been the next one he made. The ring after that. The cup was made last. I didn't know the time span between any of them, except that it was done after Hogwarts and the cup had to have been last.

Er... until Nagini, at least.

I knew I'd have to collect the Horcruxes eventually, but I had been admittedly postponing it since meeting Tom.

It wasn't like I planned on befriending Tom. At the start of making my list I never anticipated I could tolerate—let alone like—any version of Tom Riddle. Yet here I was. I had come to genuinely care for Tom as a dear, dear friend. He was arguably my best friend. Someone I had started to really count on, and trust.

Sure, there were some secrets I would take to my grave, but he knew more about me than even my family. We shared a staggering amount of views and interests; our thought processes lined up more often than they differed. He was charming, easy to talk to, had a good sense of humor... really there were a lot of things I liked about him that in turn made me like him.

I liked Tom Riddle. An awful lot.

I didn't want to recklessly destroy the Horcruxes, but I had to acknowledge that Voldemort was still a threat to my family. I could cripple him, destroy his allies and standing, but I hadn't yet come up with a way to destroy him without hurting Tom.

Hence my inaction against the Horcruxes.

But maybe...

Maybe I didn't need to decide that on my own.

So, Tuesday morning I got up early (really more like I didn't sleep Monday night) and went to the Room of Requirement. It took me six hours of searching but I eventually levitated the diadem into a protected bag then went to Lunar's Orchid to see Tom.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

It was an hour before breakfast would be served in the Great Hall, yet Tom Riddle was already enjoying a quaint morning tea with blueberry scones in the living room. He was lounging in one of the recliners, amber colored tea in his right hand and a tome about Dark potions in his left. He did not notice my arrival, immersed in his reading.

I silently placed the diadem on the coffee table in front of Tom, drawing his attention to my presence in doing so. Tom finished his sip of tea before he delicately placed the teacup on the floating saucer to his right. He leaned forward in the recliner, slowly picking up and examining the diadem.

His gaze flickered up to meet mine, unreadable behind that loveable poker face.

I turned away, intent on returning to Hogwarts.

He did not ask me what it was, or how I knew where to find it. He did not ask for anything.

He knows?

Lingering at the doorway to the dining room without turning around I asked, "How long did you know?"

Tom's voice was warm and even, as if a friend were commenting on the weather. He said, "Since the day I entered your mind."

My grip tightened on the doorway. I did not respond, nor did I look back to see what I knew would be an angelically false smile.

"In the interest of honesty," he went on pleasantly, "I had intended to free the soul I sensed and have it completely possess you. Then either merge, or create a second body for myself afterward, depending on how things played out." He paused, and I could feel the smile in his voice as he said, "Your mind palace was exceptionally strong. I couldn't get near it, even when you slept."

Is he telling me this to see my reaction? Or...

He had nothing to gain by admitting such honesty to me. For Tom to confess something so dangerous meant he was either absolutely certain I would not react negatively or...

Or he respected me enough to feel I deserved that honesty.

My eyes closed as I recalled what had happened at the Triwizard Tournament. "It shattered. You could have taken control then—could've even kept it. Why didn't you?"

Tom hummed in agreement. "I suspect for the same reason why you brought me this diadem."

Why did I—?

The memory came without prompting, that day in Diagon Alley.

"It would be useful if I could find..." he trailed off, his gaze thoughtful.

When he did not complete the statement after a minute, I gently probed. "Anything I can help with?"

He had been direct in requesting items beforehand. Tom knew I wasn't someone short of money and would easily earn it back if I got low. Especially since I'd be doing heists on the weekends when I could and my werewolf sanctuary was turning a hefty profit.

"If you found another piece of me, what would you do?" he asked.

The pieces fell into place.

No wonder it seemed stinky.

He manipulated me.

As a Slytherin I felt a rush of respect. Barely any time outside my head and already he was able to smoothly use me to obtain what he wanted. Bravo. Well done. I could really only applaud such a masterful use of cunning.

Even if it came with a hint of bittersweet hurt. Ah, well. I wasn't in any place to judge manipulations considering how I was blatantly grooming the babeh snakes to adopt my own viewpoints. And... like... all of my blackmail and political schemes.

Ahh.

What a Slytherin. Gosh, so well played! And so nice of him to reveal past motivations despite the risk. As a friend I feel so proud of how far we've come.

I walked away with a proud smile. "Well played, Tom."

"Thank you, Rosie," demurred Tom as he sipped his tea. "Please get some rest tonight, you look dreadful."

"Mm-hmm."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Exhaustion weighed me down for the rest of the week. Multiple nights with little rest made for a tired witch. The babehs gave me cursory looks of concern, deciding it best not to play along with schemes Friday morning. I was grateful, I didn't have the energy to overly act. The Daily Prophet came in, Hedwig delivered a copy for myself and Harry before inviting Iris to go hunting with her (Iris loved hunting with Hedwig). I read it over as I ate quietly, wishing I had a strong cup of coffee instead of the sweet pumpkin juice.

Maybe Kreacher can bring me some, I thought.

"Tom—"

Bollocks.

I had to stop doing that. I hadn't realized how accustomed I had gotten to talking with Tom when I suddenly wasn't able to. My heart twinged uncomfortably, a sense of uneasy loneliness creeping into my mind.

Does it make me pathetic to miss him already? I wondered. Gosh. Let's just read the paper...

MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"

"Ugh," I grumbled as I read the title. I knew it was coming, but didn't expect it so soon.

In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve."

This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.

"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."

It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of "Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

There was a lot more. The article wasn't written by Rita so it lacked the tooth and nail to dig into Dumbledore and Hogwarts.

Ah, I thought as I read over the paper. Well... 'slong as Harry's not in her claws I really don't care. She won't last the year.

I glanced over at my brother and his friends, frowning when I saw how tired Harry looked. My brother only had bags like that when he stayed up very late or had a nightmare. Once breakfast was finished, I motioned for Harry to meet me before class. My brother and I stepped outside the hall, and I noticed how pale his complexion had become.

"Did you have a nightmare?" I asked.

"Ah. No. Was sentenced to detention with Umbridge yesterday and got back late," said Harry with a shrug.

"Detention," I repeated, a surge of cold alarm shooting through me. I made a grab for Harry and my brother sidestepped me with a raised eyebrow.

Harry gave me a funny look. "What?"

"Detention. Umbridge—Umbridge gave you detention?" I sought to clarify, my eyes darting down to his wrist. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he sighed. "It was long, dull, and irritating. It reeked of perfume so it gave me a headache."

I chewed on the inside of my cheeks, wanting to grab at his wrist but—

"Dull?" I repeated, relaxing. If Harry described it as dull then maybe she didn't use her torture method right off the bat. Maybe Umbridge had a sixth sense for when her life would be in danger if she did something.

"Very dull," he repeated sourly. "Worse than cleaning cauldrons."

I offered a wane smile. "Sounds dreadfully boring. Okay. Just—promise me you'll let me know if it—if it's not dull anymore, okay?"

Should I risk it? Should I kill her now or let it play out? Harry says it's not an issue... it'd be a gamble against Fate to murder her without the replacements ready.

Logically, there was no reason to use my aces or take that gamble. I had to acknowledge my concern was based on things that could happen rather than what had. There was no reason to needlessly endanger myself or lose my trump cards over potential. Especially if I would land a juicier prize if I waited long enough. The more the public associated Umbridge with the Ministry and Fudge the more impactful her fall would be. She could be my catalyst if I played it right.

I had to trust Harry to tell me when things got bad. He knew I would take care of it.

"Why? Did she give you detention?"

"No," I answered. "I know how to play her game. Be a good boy, okay? No matter what she says about me or Grandpa, don't defend us. We can take care of ourselves."

"I can take care of myself," Harry muttered, a touch defensive at my implication.

"I—I'm sorry," I said, resisting the urge to say I know. I wasn't treating him as an equal, rather as someone I needed to protect. I wasn't stupid enough to not realize that'd rub him the wrong way.

Harry's sharp gaze looked me up and down. "You look exhausted."

"Yeah, I'm still playing catch up on my sleep from the weekend," I said. "Draco and Blaise challenged my title as bullshit queen."

"Merlin forbid," he deadpanned. "Get some rest, Rosie."

"Only if you avoid Umbridge, Harry."

Harry's wry smile warmed my heart. He pecked me lightly on the forehead. "Okay. Take it easy today, Rosie."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Tom abruptly returned to my mind later that day on Friday. It came with a sharp pain; a throbbing migraine that brought me to my knees and spurned panicked concern from my surrounding babeh snakes on the way to lunch.

I was guided back to my room, tucked into bed, and assured someone would be by to check on me in the evening if I wasn't feeling better.

Tom's sudden reappearance took some adjusting to. I could immediately tell that something was different about him the moment he returned. His chilly magic was frigid at first, but the longer it intermingled with my own the warmer it became. Even still, while Tom's magic had not only become colder it had become... crueler.

I felt a sharpness to it that did not exist before. If before he was a wintery night, he had transformed into a winter storm that rained sharp icicles.

When the pain subsided enough for me to slip into my mind palace, I rushed to greet him.

He sat on the sandy white beach, nodding to me as I came into existence beside him.

Concerned, I reached out to him. He accepted my touch, leaning forward so I could gently brush his bangs out of the way and examine his face.

He looked... older.

Not much, but the boyish charm to his face had sharpened into something closer to a young man. He was a touch taller, eyes darker, and cheeks lost their rosy tint.

From a sweet angel to a dark one. Dangerously handsome, but more obvious in the lethality. Dark cinnamon eyes looked me over, his magic coyly wrapping around mine as if greeting a dear friend. It sent reflexive shivers down my spine.

Cupping his cheek, I asked, "What happened?"

"I re-absorbed the soul inside the diadem," he answered. "Your body is not accustomed to my size, hence the headache. Not to worry, I'm not a complete soul so it'll adjust."

I blinked. "Wait—I'm sorry, size? You—er—you mean your soul?"

"Yes. I was once at 50%, and now I'm closer to 75%," he said flippantly. "The process was... not something I would want to repeat."

"But I mean—why not?" I asked him. "Er—"

"It doesn't matter," he said firmly. "I could never be whole again, so it would be a wasted effort to even try."

Alarmed, I asked him, "Why?"

"The pieces inside you, your brother, and the one that's running around have suffered too much trauma," he began to explain. "They're deteriorating. The one inside Harry is almost entirely gone. Yours was better kept because you put it in stasis in your own soul, but it will not last for a century, if that. The way I created my... phylacteries was through a halving process."

He gestured to himself. "From 50%, to 25% with the diadem, to 12.5% with another piece, then 6.25% with another, then 3.13% with another, then a three way split between you, Harry, and Voldemort. Barely a percent left. Then that moron did it again. It hardly has half percent left."

Tom shook his head in exasperation. "Souls are not invulnerable. At least, they cannot stay on the mortal plain for an indefinite period of time. The less of it there is the stronger Death calls to it. It's already begun deteriorating—or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say it's having a harder time staying in this current realm. Even if I were to try to put all the pieces back together and start again at best I'd get to 95%."

I frowned. "Will—will you deteriorate?"

"No," he said. "I am whole enough. People can survive here with barely a quarter of their soul left."

"Ah."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "The process of reassimilation isn't pleasant, either. Far more uncomfortable than splitting. I'm glad it was only a two year difference. I shudder to ponder what it would feel like absorbing a piece with over a decades' worth of memories."

"Not even gonna try?"

"Don't want to," he said flatly. "Whatever mistakes that thing made, I'd rather not accept them as my own. If anything I'd want to examine its memories through a pensieve. Much safer."

"Could you do that with—with a piece?" I asked.

"Not sure," he said. "We'd need to collect another piece to find out."

"Well," I said hesitantly, "do you—do you want to?"

He blinked. "Do you want to?"

"I'm trying to be a supportive friend here, don't answer my question with a question."

"Sorry," he said. "Yes, I do."

"Okay. Know where to go?"

"Maybe," he sighed.

I held up a finger. "One more thing. It's very important."

"Mn?"

"I need to know what you scored on your O.W.L.s and how many N.E.W.T.s you took," I said, perfectly serious.

He stared at me.

"You're trying to try to beat me aren't you—"

"I'm going to beat your scores," I confirmed.

He snorted, muttering dryly, "Hotsy-totsy."

I blinked. "What? What does that—oh my gosh that's another word from your century!"

"We live in the same century, you mean decade," corrected Tom with a sigh.

"Oh my gosh. Say it again."

"No. You look way too happy."

"Please. Please. Say hotsy-totsy again. Please. I need this memory."

"No."

"I will beg. This is me begging. Tom, please, I am begging you to please say it again."

"No," he said, starting to chuckle. His magic started to warm back up to me, gently curling into me.

"At least tell me what it means!"

"Nope."

"To-om!" I whined. "Please? I love hearing your slang."

He shook his head in amusement, his lips twitching as he fought back a smile. "Mm-hmm. I worked very hard to kick that habit coming to Hogwarts. Professor Slughorn was kind enough to buy me a dictionary, you know."

"You spoke nothing but slang when you first started?" I whispered in awe. "Oh GOD I would pay so much money to hear that."

"You really want to hear it?"

"More than anything."

He studied me for a moment. He stretched his arms behind him as he leaned back in the sand. He was silent as he stared at the starry ocean before us. I scooted closer to him, smiling in anticipation. Then he cleared his throat. Adopting a surprisingly deeper drawl and thicker accent, he said, "Be a curve not to, or may' a brodie. Don't see it bein' juicy on my end, but I knew some bluenoses who thought it was darbed too and for a while they wouldn't stop pesterin' me when they got zozzled." Tom took a breath. "They woulda liked you better than me 'spect." He paused as if another thought occurred to him. "Nah. They'd like me better with you. Half would say dizzy with a dame the other half a sing me up as a grifter."

I squealed, clapping excitedly. "I have no idea what any of that means, but I am so friggin' happy you said it. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He flicked my nose. "Never ask again."

"Oh I'm going to. Give an inch, I'll take a mile."

"Keen."

I squealed again.

He smiled. "Bribes were called oil of angels."

"OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER."

He laughed, heartily and full of delight as his magic bounced like bubbles in sincerity. "You are too easy to please, Rosie."

I smiled adoringly at him. "Nah. I just missed you."

He reached forward, carefully tucking my hair behind my ears. "Thank you."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Kinda bonus:

Um... for those wanting a translation: I'd hate to disappoint (curve), but I know this is going to be a mistake(brodie). I really don't see this working out well for me (juicy), but I'm remembering some of my prude-ish kiss-ass (bluenoses) "friends" who thought it was also fun (darb). When they got drunk (zozzled) they wouldn't stop bothering me to tell them words a bit like what you're doing now. I think they would have liked you. Or maybe they would have just liked me better with you. Then again they'd probably tease us, not knowing if I was actually smitten (dizzy with a dame) or a better con-man (grifter) than they thought.

^ Tom improvised the grammar to fit the slang, but this would be the intentional translation. Slang was taken from a variety of sources found through Google so take it with a grain of salt.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bonus:

"Can you call me little darling?" I whispered.

"No."

"I will literally steal anything for you if you call me little darling once."

Tom sighed. "You're not nearly mad enough at me to justify wasting that ace."

"You aren't seriously suggesting you'll be able to derail my anger by calling me little darling mid-argument?" I asked him, dubious.

"I'm not suggesting it. I know it'll work," he dismissed.

"Prat."

"As you say, dame."

I hate that got a squeal out of me. At least my reaction made Tom laugh again.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

Tom's a dangerous foe to be sure. Schemer ain't gonna stop schemin'!

And he maaay have wanted to show off a bit to her. Rosie loves a good scheme.

Considering the time period and environment he grew up in, I'm so sad to see the serious lack of young Tom fics where he has a proper accent & slang. Boy grew up in an impoverished 1920s/1930s orphanage in a rather run down area. He stole, regularly, and snuck out often. Boy should be livin and breathin street slang first year!

Answer: Chocolate chip when done right.

Question: What's a pet name you'd like someone dear to you to call you? Or maybe something you want to/do call them?

Reviews are love!