A/N: This chapter is long over due, but you already knew that. Hopefully the next one will come out faster. Though I must admit, we are approaching the end of this tale...kinda...depending on the way I swing it. ANYWAYS-onwards!

Oh, and as always, a million thanks to those who reviewed/fave'd/alert'd. Your continued feedback means the world to me. I sincerely apologize for making all you wonderful people wait so long!

Chapter Twenty-Five: Into The Library

or

And You Thought The Plot Was Nonexistent, Ha!

"You know what's funny," Morgan began thoughtfully, "I actually thought that Ravenclaw was going to piss himself." She grinned toothily, an expression Tom Riddle caught over the edge of his textbook.

He rose a brow in return. "I hardly bit his head off. Besides, it is quite rude to storm into one's compartment without knocking, even if their reason is sound." He closed his large tome with a self-suffering sigh and languidly slid to his feet. After methodically straightening his tie and robe, he leaned down and kissed Morgan soundly. "I shan't be long."

"I certainly hope not. I might actually do my homework if you are."

"And what a shame that would be." Tom departed from the Hogwarts Express compartment, closing its door and stalking towards the front of the train.

The Ravenclaw that had been the subject of Morgan's teasing was a Prefect sent to collect the others for a meeting with the school Heads. The interruption had been most unwelcome, as Morgan has just reached across the divide between their seats to play with his motionless fingers. He relished the casual declaration of affection, and loathed leaving the intimate atmosphere.

He schooled his features into a polite smile of indifference and entered the Prefects meeting. Minerva, the Head Girl, stood stiffly next to Marcus Prufoot, the Head Boy. Both had been at odds with each other all year long, the Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry instigating explosive arguments revolving around conduct and method.

Tom Riddle slipped into line with the other Prefects, listening patiently as the meeting paddled along slowly, until finally, Prufoot took the first shot at his counterpart over the schedules. "Really, Minerva, such lengthy patrols are unnecessary. It's the train ride, and everyone's back from the holidays. I hardly think a large fight is going to break out."

Minerva's cheeks colored an angry red. "H-hardly necessary!" she sputtered indignantly. "Prufoot, we, as a collective group, are the student authority our classmates look up to. To treat our positions with such disregard!" Here, she paused. "No, absolutely not. The schedules stand. Johnson and Maxwell will take the first round; everyone else is free to relax until their turn. But when you're on patrol, don't slack off."

Prufoot rolled his eyes. "Just do what you're told, got it?"

The Head Girl shot him an accusatory glare, and he responded, "There really is no need to be so theatrical. You Gryffindors make everything seem like it is of the utmost importance."

"Patrolling is of the utmost importance, you imbecile!" Minerva snapped.

The introductory insults were taken as the dismissal they were; one by one the Prefects left, Minerva following behind the crowd and dislodging Prufoot's casual position against the door jam with her shoulder. Tom sulked quietly in the corner until he was alone with the Head Boy. Then, he casted a silencing charm.

"Prufoot," he said indifferently.

Marcus gave a quick and unnecessary glance around the small compartment. He leaned forward, his eyes shining with excitement, and said, "My Lord."

In the school hierarchy, Marcus Prufoot was Riddle's superior by default. Being Head Boy did have its privileges, you know. But this was so much bigger than school. He wasn't talking to Tom Riddle, sixth year Slytherin anymore, he was addressing Lord Voldemort, an inherently charismatic and dangerous man who had more power running in his veins than Marcus could ever hope to imagine.

He still remembered the day when Tom Riddle had ceased to be just another scrawny brat. It had been a little over a year ago, in the common room, where the glow from the fireplace had casted an eerie glow on Riddle's face. A green snake as thick as his wrist had been wrapped around the boy's knuckles, and those curious dark eyes had glinted in the light with triumph and power. With the stares of the gathered dozen bearing down on him, Riddle had spoken the language of serpents. Heritage proven, he hardly had to ask for the attention of his brethren; they listened, enraptured, as he wove tales of a future held in the balance by their actions alone. He promised power and protection with his mere presence, and backed his words up with the release of the basilisk shortly thereafter.

Tom gave them all a purpose, a reason to really and truly live. And oh, how natural it seemed to spend hours plotting the demise of the filth that mucked the purity of the Wizarding World. Salazar Slytherin's Great Cause.

He was Lord Voldemort and they were his Death Eaters, and the names left the taste of glory in their mouths.

Keeping his head bowed, Marcus ventured forth with anticipation. "Malfoy informed me that his cousin spoke to you about the next step. Is it true? Are we to finally take further action at Hogwarts?"

Voldemort considered him with eyes that seemed far too cunning. "I believe so." He raised a hand for silence at the exact moment Marcus considered speaking, impressing his self-appointed servant (though the bond of Lord and slave would not remain voluntary for long). "However, it is imperious that we act with the utmost of caution. We work collectively, as a group. Individual action is foolhardy, and the consequences will be...unpleasant at best, agonizing at worst. This is an issue I will impress upon our compatriots at a date and time of my choosing. Until then, you need to exercise patience."

Marcus Prufoot nodded eagerly. "Yes my Lord. I understand completely. I will inform the others and we shall wait for your command." He inclined his head, felt the weight of Voldemort's consideration, and decided that the man could see through his soul.

The compartment door slid open and shut, and Prufoot was left alone.

When Tom Riddle started his walk back to his own compartment, his latest meeting weighing pleasantly and anxiously on his mind, he heard the beginnings of a scuffle. He didn't see the source of the commotion until he quickened his steps and entered another train car.

What he saw elicited a groan of exasperation from his lips.

There was a group of students in a tight knit oval around two young women. One, of course, just had to be Morgan Caldwell. The other, surprisingly, was the normally cool-tempered Violetta Fanding.

"You lying, foul, bitch!" Violetta howled. "Y-you said you were dying! No owl...no visit after what happened!" She waved her wand frantically, and a white flash of light flung towards Morgan. The young woman in question ducked, and the Stinging Hex struck the chest of an unfortunately curious Hufflepuff.

"Violetta," Morgan encroached. "Please, let me explain-!"

This time it was the Flipendo spell, and it hit its target. Morgan was thrown backwards into one of the compartment doors, her head hitting the glass with a prominent 'bang'. When she shook her head free of the stars dancing circles around her vision, she found Violetta advancing on her.

"I cried for you." She paused. "You're dirt, Leah Hume, and if you ever so much as look at me again, I'll strangle you with your own spinal cord."

"I think that's quite enough, Fanding," Tom declared coolly, having finally pushed his way to the center of the impromptu duel. He inserted himself in front of Morgan and leisurely slid his wand into his hand. Fanding registered the motion and retreated a few steps.

"It matters very little. We're finished now." She casted her eyes to her audience and had time to growl, "What are you looking at?" before Braxton Caldwell came sprinting from the other end of the train. He shoved other students out of the way until he reached his girlfriend, whom he drew into the circle of his arms. He had the audacity to glare at Tom.

"What's this all about, Riddle?"

"Miss Fanding attacked another student." He remarked in a polite, disinterested tone, though his stance in front of Morgan did not relax in the slightest. Braxton noted this wearily, and unconsciously inched for his wand.

"I wouldn't do that, Caldwell."

It was at that moment when the Head Girl and Boy arrived.

"WANDS DOWN!" Minerva yelled. "GOOD GODS, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" She was huffing and out of breath, but still managed to assert a strict authority into her tone. She instinctively turned to Tom for an explanation.

"Violetta Fanding attacked one of her housemates, Leah Hume." He leaned down and slipped an arm around Morgan's waist, who was curiously quiet. With little effort, he levered her against his body.

Marcus Prufoot took this moment to dispel the other gathered students. "Back to your compartments, you nosy bastards! Sod off now or I'll be taking House Points." He sneered at a group of Gryffindors, which included Charlus Potter, Kayden Macmillan, and James Darley, the last of which who had gone deathly pale.

With the crowd taken care of, attention was turned back to the matter at hand.

"McGonagall, I am sure Violetta wouldn't attack someone without provocation." Braxton tried to reason.

Tom Riddle sneered. "Are you sure about that, Caldwell? Fanding continued to attack, even though Leah did not have her wand out."

Minerva looked to Morgan, who had maneuvered her way out from under Tom's arm. "It was just a misunderstanding, McGonagall. There was no harm done."

Tom snorted disdainfully. "Certainly not!"

Minerva frowned. "I would think that you'd want to minimize the damage to your House's Points."

"Not now. What Fanding did was inexcusable."

Violetta, red-faced, snapped, "If you had any clue about what type of absolute filth that liar is-"

"Enough!" Tom started.

"Don't talk to my girlfriend like that, Riddle!"

"Cut it out!" Minerva snapped. "Fanding, do you deny the accusation?"

Violetta pulled herself to an impressive height. She stared through Morgan with a curl of distaste distorting her full lips. "I don't deny it. I simply gave Hume what she deserved."

Morgan stared back, equally impassive.

"Very well. We shall sort out your detention when we arrive at Hogwarts with your Head of House. Intending harm to a fellow classmate is a serious matter. But for now, I can at least tell you that fifty House Points will be docked."

Prufoot's brow rose incredulously. "Is that necessary, McGonagall? Hume said there was no harm done. Surely-"

"Put aside your prejudices for a moment, please, Prufoot. You're embarrassing your House." Tom said coolly. "I'll escort Miss Hume back to her compartment." He grabbed Morgan's forearm and guided her back to the front of the train, leaving the others to deal with the poor Hufflepuff passed out near the duel site, the Stinging Hex having inflamed and engorged his chest.

When they reached their previous compartment, Tom eased Morgan into a seat and studied her intently. He casted a silencing charm before speaking. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, reaching forward to touch her head. He rubbed the sore bump softly.

"It's fine. I've suffered through worse, believe me." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"What happened back there? I leave you for five minutes and you're engaged in a duel, you silly witch."

"When I thought I was going to die, I told Violetta. I've just been...so happy, I guess, these past few days...I forgot to tell her I was better. Oh man, I bet she talked to that grump Banheart and the old witch told her I had died."

Tom felt a surge of pleasure at the fact that he had taken over her life so completely. He hated sharing his things, and imagined that the feeling would be more intense when it came to people.

"I tried to explain myself to her...but she wouldn't listen. Not that I blame her. Now that I think about it, though, what in the world would I have said? 'Oh no, Tom just used this ancient and powerful artifact to bring me back from the dead, an artifact I fought sea monsters and shit for. Nothing out of the ordinary.'" She sighed heavily, brushing her slightly curled hair over one shoulder and directing her gaze out the window. "I'm going to miss her. And though I've never had any qualms admitting my faults, some of those insults...coming from a friend..."

Tom kneeled in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. "You don't need her, Morgan. You don't need anyone; you have me." He closed the distance between them and kissed her fiercely, pushing her back until her body was pressed against the wall. He let his hands explore the skin underneath her neatly buttoned shirt while his lips worked a circuit down one side of her neck and up the other. He prided himself on the small gasps she let escape from her pursed lips.

When he pulled away her lips were red and swollen, and when they tweaked into an almost-there smile, he pulled her in for another kiss. It was awhile before they parted.

"Where will you put the necklace, anyways? Once we get to Hogwarts." Morgan asked, out of breath.

"A safe place," Tom replied steadily.

It was at this point that the train pulled into the station, and the Hogwarts students left their compartments in an orderly fashion. Tom and Morgan were separated by Tom's Prefect duties, and so Morgan was forced to share a carriage to school with some younger Ravenclaws. They stared at her suspiciously. Had it been earlier in the year, Morgan might have made some snarky remark about their wands being five inches up their asses, but as it was, her snarky attitude was hard to summon.

There was so much weighing on her mind. Back in the small room at the Leaky Cauldron, with Death right around the corner, it had been easy to choose Tom Riddle over the future fate of the Wizarding World. But now, after being faced with Violetta's wrath, she was harshly reminded that the universe consisted of more than just her and Tom.

She loved Tom. But was she selfish enough-cowardly enough-to let her feelings justify watching him turn into the monster she'd known in the future?

I don't know, and I don't want to think about it.

She made it to the Great Hall without further incident and found herself at the end of the table closest to the staff. There were empty seats surrounding her on all sides, and she felt more isolated than ever. Tom Riddle was sitting in a neat circle of his mindless minions, as far from her as he could get. They had already discussed, prior to leaving the Leaky Cauldron, that it would be better if their relationship was kept a secret; Morgan didn't want the infamy and trouble that came with dating him, and Tom was on his way to cultivating an inhuman and godly image for his followers to worship. The need for companionship was a human desire. He wanted others to think him above it.

So she was alone.

Funny. This feels just like last time, when I had been branded a Death Eater. Except...it's worse.

Dejectedly, Morgan pushed peas around her plate. Her form was filling out nicely, now that she wasn't sick all the time, but it was only a small highlight to an otherwise bleak looking term.

Dinner ended and she made her way to the Sixth year Slytherin dorms, whereupon entering she found herself completely ignored. Violetta wasn't kidding when she said 'lower than dirt'.

Morgan slipped into sleep with a burdened mind.

A library.

Sprawling bookshelves.

A cozy circle of chairs.

Four people.

"She'll have to do, I suppose."

Blurry forms.

A fire.

And then...

Warmth.

It seemed no one wanted anything to do with her. The Slytherins had not changed their opinions of her, even the ones who thought she had been sleeping with Tom before Christmas (she found this immensely funny, considering her nighttime activities these days). The Gryffindors looked at her with disgust, for James Darley was adored and admired by most, and a strike against one in their house was a strike against all.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had heard enough to know it was better to stay away.

The loneliness was easy to ignore at times, when she found herself examining the possibilities of the future. Had she had friends to notice, they would have found her curiously withdrawn and contemplative, not at all like the quirky, outspoken witch of last term. The decision left in her incapable hands was huge; it would affect the entire world, and she didn't want that responsibility. Ever.

But it was one she would have to make soon, for pressure was weighing in on all sides.

"Miss Hume, I must say I am surprised to see you this term. You appear to be in good health."

"Er...yeah. Spot of luck. The holidays did me some good."

"Yes, I suppose they do everyone a good service. The terrible thing about holidays, though, is that they can prompt us to forget the things that matter the most." Cue adjustment of half-moon glasses and a semi-serious eye-twinkle (how did he do that?). "And sometimes the temptations they offer can turn out to be dreadfully dangerous..." Cue a pregnant pause. "I myself have seemed to have gained a good deal of weight from all those Christmas sweets. Especially Lemon Drops."

"Euhmmerrrr."

"Regardless, I am glad you're feeling better, though you seem to be awfully quiet as of late. I suppose you have something big on your mind?"

"You could say that..."

"Anything I can help with? Sometimes it does help to bounce ideas off another."

"...No..."

"I trust you'll figure it out and make the decision that is best. You are one of my favorite students you know? Now off you go, before you're late to another class."

Why me?

She stood in front of the mirror a week after term had begun. She had been terrified of attempting it earlier, for fear of the results, but had no other distractions at her disposal. So she stood there, staring at her reflection, and willing the hair on her head to melt into mousy, lifeless locks, sickly green in color.

Nothing happened.

There was something wrong with her…something inside of her… She felt sick and terrified all at once, because if she was not Morgan Caldwell, the Metamorphmagus witch, who the hell was she?

The library again.

Robust laughter.

Quiet contemplation.

Calculative judgment.

Small smiles.

"She'll do fine."

The first one to end up in the infirmary was a fourth year student whose parentage was dubious, if not unknown. He had been the recipient of a curse that dislocated all the bones in his right arm, wrist, and hand. Morgan heard him crying when she passed the Hospital Wing. He would not be the last.

That same night Tom Riddle took her for an unplanned visit to the Room of Requirement. He pressed her to the bed and kissed her everywhere. Afterward, he traced lazy patterns against her stomach and told her that things were changing.

Morgan was shocked at how easy it was to burrow her feelings of discomfort and guilt. At that moment, she didn't care what Tom did or didn't do to some fourth year, all she cared about was how warm his chest felt under her cheek.

She was a terrible person…and maybe it was time to accept that.

A few weeks later, and Morgan was shocked speechless when Charlus Potter approached her during a free period.

She was lounging underneath a tree along Hogwarts Lake, enjoying the sun, when a rather large shadow ruined her tanning experience. She cracked an eye open and choked on her breath.

"Quite the surprise, huh?" Charlus laughed rather uneasily. He shifted on his feet for a moment before coming to a decision and sitting beside her.

"I suppose."

"You've become awfully quiet."

Morgan cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I've discovered that people don't really care for what I have to say."

Charlus shrugged.

"What? You haven't noticed? I don't think there's a person in this castle that would voluntarily stay in my company long enough to ask for a dropped quill...speaking of which, why are you here? Not that I don't appreciate it, but unless you state your motive, I'm going to have to assume you're here to hex me…which has happened enough in the past few weeks, I might add."

Charlus rolled his eyes and elaborately gestured to the wand shoved deep in his pocket, referencing his innocent intentions. "I came to get some answers," he began haltingly, though he was slowly warming to the topic. "I just don't understand how we fell apart. Things could have been different; if you really wanted, you could have tried to fix our friendship or explain why you shattered our best friend's heart. But you didn't. And what you said to him, it was so completely out of character. It doesn't add up. And since no one else wants to investigate…well, here I am."

"Things would be a lot easier for the both of us if you just decided to hate me like everyone else. Heck, even I hate me; I blame it on my complete inability to put the good of others before my own happiness." She gloomily ran her fingers through the grass.

"There you go with those cryptic comments. Just tell me what's going on. We're supposed to be friends." Charlus clambered to his feet, crossed his arms, and looked down his nose at her.

"Intimidation techniques?" Morgan wondered, smirking.

"Evasive techniques?" he bit back.

Annoyed, Morgan said, "There's nothing for me to explain. I'm a bad person; a snake through and through. There is no conspiracy or mystery to solve. Just forget it, okay?"

"You obviously have never had a friend before, or else you would know that I'm not going to give up on you. I know the type of person you are, even if you've forgotten."

The words struck her straight to the core. When it a appeared as if the whole world had turned against her, when she struggled to find an ounce of good in herself, it seemed that someone else had. Morgan felt sharp stab of affection for Potter. She smiled with exasperation, shaking her head. She suddenly knew that, if anything, she wanted at least one person to have faith in her. "Maybe you're right, Charlus." She rose to her feet and glanced at the setting sun. "It's getting late. I'll see you around."

How strange; just when she thought she had herself figured out, something made her realize she didn't know herself half as well as she should.

Behind her, under the tree by the lake, Charlus Potter spoke to the air by his right shoulder. "Happy now? I told you there was something else going on."

James Darley emerged from the invisibility cloak, a frown on his face. "She seemed so lonely."

Charlus laughed. "Why couldn't you have fallen in love with a Hufflepuff?"

James glared halfheartedly. "You forgot to warn her about the attacks."

"Anyone with eyes and ears knows that students are being attacked."

"They'll go after her."

"She can take care of herself."

A high-backed chair.

"There could be a bit more common sense in there, but she'll do."

They caught her on a late night stroll from the kitchens, a handful of red vines clenched in her fist. A pair of arms appeared from the darkness and constricted around her waist while another hand held up a wand and knocked her unconscious.

When she awoke she was on the floor of an empty classroom. Morgan couldn't see the faces swathed in darkness, but it wasn't too hard to guess. Mini-Death Eaters.

"Your half-blood status and negligible behavior makes you filth. It is our job to eradicate such dirt from the Wizarding World."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she said, but since her mouth was bound, it came out more like "Meruhm bee fuuuhhhh mhhe."

One of the voices, which she recognized to be Abraxas Malfoy, spoke. "I happen to have come across a very interesting curse. It is supposed to burn the skin off one's body, or blister it senseless at the very least."

That did not sound promising, but with all her limbs tied, the most Morgan could do to protest the situation was roll over. And then, not even that, for Malfoy had waved his wand with a smart series of jabs, and a burning fire stole over her entire body.

The pain was never-ending, and didn't stop when Abraxas released the spell. She felt her clothes sink into her skin, and the burning became so great that her vision colored white and she fell into unconsciousness.

It was a good deal later when she awoke, her mind reeling with her latest dream. When she became aware of her surroundings (the infirmary), she clawed her way into a sitting position, despite the soreness and tenderness of her skin. Morgan placed one hand, unusually warm and hot, against her forehead and tried to concentrate on the fleeting images dancing across her mind.

Her brow furrowed. She could recall faces this time: two men and two women, in the same library, sitting together in that familiar cozy niche, each in a position of relaxation. It was all so familiar...yet she couldn't grasp the significance of it, and that was maddening.

Frustration overwhelmed her, and the pain across her body suddenly became too much. She was too hot, too confused, and too damn angry. The tears that came seemed only natural.

Why couldn't she have just died in that stingy hotel room? Why did Riddle have to save her life? Living was so much harder than death. How easy it was, to condemn the world when she no longer had to live in it. This battle raging inside her—to do her job, or to stay with the man she loved—was literally tearing her apart. Just when she thought she could stay with Tom, she was forcefully reminded of something:

The world is not as bad as it seems; there are people out there, friends who I admire so much, who are so fundamentally good it hurts. Here she thought of Harry Potter and his selfless, seemingly impossible mission. I was willing to live and die for those people, not so long ago.

And now this. Her body was incredibly sensitive, sore and itching, yet tender and burning. She tried, desperately, to remember what put her in this state, but there was a wall of forgetfulness inhibiting her progress. She could remember the sweet sticky taste of licorice in her mouth. There was nothing more.

Morgan sat dutifully in bed for the rest of the day. She followed the mediwizard's orders mechanically, sitting up when requested and submitting herself to prodding exams. When evening was beginning to set, she spoke up.

"Do you have any idea when I'll be released?"

Ackley paused on his way to his office. "Another few days and you'll be set in working order. Until then, sit and relax. I will contact the teachers and ask them to send your homework along." He placed a tumbler of a dark, chunky potion near her bedside. "Drink this."

She did, and fell into a dreamless, hazy sleep that was only interrupted by bouts of feverish delirium. It was a cool touch that roused her from unconsciousness. Morgan squinted into the darkness while gently squeezing the hand grasping hers.

"Morgan," Tom Riddle murmured, touching her hot forehead. Morgan nearly wept with relief at the sensation. She studied Tom, a small smile decorating her face. She had missed him.

He was neatly dressed, as always, but his hair was slightly mussed. She noticed that he had drawn curtains around the bed and loosened his tie. Under her scrutiny, he reached into his robes and withdrew a small jar. "You've only been out for a day. It was this time last night that you were attacked." He unscrewed the cap of the jar before vanishing her thin infirmary gown. "I mixed this for you; it's a paste that will help the burns." Tom frowned, studying the stark redness of her body with displeasure.

Unabashed by her nakedness, Morgan moaned at the coldness the cream brought when he spread it across her torso, arms, legs, back, and face. He worked diligently and quietly, stopping only when the jar was empty. Morgan smirked and went to sit up, only to find her body was too weak to support the effort. Tom reached over and helped her upright.

Once she was settled against the pillows, Morgan let her curiosity take hold. "Do you know what happened to me? I keep...I'm trying to remember...but I just can't."

Tom propped his head against one arm, his lips thinning. "You were cornered and attacked by a small group of Slytherins. Malfoy was the unfortunate individual that had the audacity to curse you. He came to regret his decision immensely."

For some reason, the words sank like a rock to the pit of her stomach. "You cursed him back?"

"I tortured him."

"But...why?"

Tom gaped at her. "Are you kidding me?" He studied her grim expression and snorted. "You're not. Typical."

"I just don't understand. When you're little followers attacked the other students, you didn't punish them. My parentage is just as unknown as that fourth year's, but he was cursed, no problem. It doesn't seem fair."

Tom scowled irritably. "Don't be so dense. I don't care for any of those mudbloods. They mean nothing. You are important." He reached for her hand again, but Morgan withdrew it. A thunderstorm began brewing over his features. "What?"

"Your minions...they listen to you. Is there any way you can get them to stop?"

"I have no desire to get them to stop, and even if I did, I couldn't ask them to. They are antsy. They want action, and if I were to deny them, I would hardly have their support. My leadership is too precarious to begin inciting such displeasure." He swept to his feet and began pacing, his eyes hard. "And why does it matter to you? It's none of your concern."

"I hate it, Tom! I've been harboring this guilt for weeks, because I'm sitting back and watching others suffer!" Morgan was breathing heavily now, months of frustration slipping through her clenched fists.

"This is who I am. I've never pretended to be anything different. You've known this. You said you accepted it." His voice had gone deceptively soft, and he stalked towards Morgan with predatory steps. When there was only a few inches of space separating their faces, Morgan tried to twist away, but Tom gripped her chin forcefully. "Were you lying?"

Morgan submitted herself to his gaze, jaw locked tight. "I wasn't. But then again, I thought I was going to die." Her tone was resolute and sharp with conviction. "I love you Tom. I just don't know if it's enough anymore. I don't know if I'm selfish enough to put my happiness before the wellbeing of others."

"You want to leave me. After everything that has happened, you want to leave." He jerked to his feet, already shaking his head. "Impossible. I won't let you."

Morgan raised her eyebrow. "Won't let me? You think you can stop me from walking away?"

"You think you can live without me?"

Morgan thought of Charlus Potter, and how he had said he would never give up on her because he remembered the type of person she was. The words gave her confidence, but also incited doubt. He believed in her, but what if she really wasn't the person he thought her to be? What if she wasn't that curiously thin girl anymore, the one who stood in the Great Hall, surrounded by Death Eaters, ready to face the darkest wizard of all time? At times she felt like that person. But other times…she had horrible, mean thoughts: who cared if they all died? They hated her regardless, it would serve them right. Life had never been kind to her…she had never had something to live for…until now…until Tom.

Tom was staring at her curiously, waiting for her answer. But Morgan was wracked with indecision. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Don't you remember when I said I would never let you go? Not until I'm done with you. Not to mention the fact that you're too close to Dumbledore. You know too much. I'll have to kill you before I let you leave, and I really don't want to do that." He smiled and it was ugly.

But Morgan was shaking her head rapidly, grasping onto the very few things she was sure about. "You don't control my life, Tom."

He turned his back to her and appeared to be considering something. It was awhile before he turned around again, having come to a decision. It had been so long, in fact, that Morgan was in the process of nodding off when he approached. He kissed her hard, almost distracting her from the wand pressed to her temple. He then pulled back a few inches to whisper a memory-modifying charm against her lips.

It didn't take long to wipe her memory. There wasn't that much he had to modify. Tom only needed to make her forget the connections she made between the attacks and his followers.

With a sigh, he summoned a new infirmary gown and pulled a thick blanket over Morgan's prone form. She was asleep again, and her brow was tight with pain. He smoothed his hand over it, feeling the tenderness and heat and getting furious all over again. Malfoy had paid dearly for his indiscretion. Not only had he acted independently, but he had cursed Morgan, and that in and of itself was deserving of severe punishment.

She was too big a target, he thought morbidly. Her flippant attitude, unknown blood status, and lack of friends made her the perfect victim. He realized, now, after weeks of being back at Hogwarts, that their relationship could no longer be kept a secret. She needed the protection.

Tom held Morgan's hand briefly. "You have become far too serious," he muttered, thinking on her new, stoic countenance. "I miss the ridiculousness." He left the room, his mind wandering to other things, because if there was one thing Morgan was right about, it was that the attacks on students had become far too frequent. It was time to pin the assaults on someone before suspicion fell to him. Dumbledore was always snipping at his heels.

It was evening when Morgan awoke, feeling lethargic but clearheaded. Her burns were beginning to itch, but they didn't hurt that much, and when Ackley came to inspect them, he was happy with the results. "You can probably leave now, but just to be safe, I'd like to keep you for the rest of the night."

"Sure thing, doc," Morgan grinned. "I have no pressing matters to attend to" She tried to sit up, but there was a heaviness in her arms and legs that was impossible to overcome. She settled for leaning comfortably against her pillows. "Just send up some food and I'll lay here for the rest of the year!"

Ackley eyed her with bemusement before returning to his other chores. This left Morgan to her own devices, which mostly consisted of picking at the stitches in her blanket and pondering the ever-mysterious library dreams. There was something else, she thought, that should be bothering her, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what.

The monotony was interrupted a little while later, when Morgan received her first official visitor. She was drinking pumpkin juice, contemplating whether or not she wanted to eat, when James Darley walked into the infirmary, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. It was awfully similar to the first time they had met, when Charlus and Kayden had forced him to approach the Slytherin table. The similarity sent a stab of nostalgia straight to her heart.

Morgan watched him cautiously, the little lamplight in the room casting shadows that hid his eyes. When he reached her bedside, he sat stiffly in the visitor chair and immediately began tapping his leg. After a long stretch of silence, during which they regarded each other wearily, he spoke. "How are you feeling, Leah?"

Morgan nibbled on her bottom lip. "I'm fairing okay."

"I told Charlus to warn you...I knew they'd try and get you. I..." He paused, and said, "I hate speaking to you when I can't see your face." He waved his wand to light the lamp above Morgan's bed and froze. "Leah-!" He had noticed the bright red color of her skin and the receding blisters. "What did they do to you?"

"That's a good question. Whatever it was, it was nasty and hurt like hell."

James reached out, like he wanted to touch her, but pulled his hand back almost instantly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

Morgan nearly swallowed her tongue. "You couldn't have known, James. Regardless, it's not like I would have deserved it anyways." She sighed, nibbling on the inside of her cheek. It was a moment before she leaned forward as best as she could. "Please, James, you shouldn't be here."

The scar across his face crinkled when he frowned. "And why not, Leah? And while we're on the subject—why did you break up with me? Why were you so horrible? Why did you use me and then toss me aside, like I'm worthless?"

Morgan could practically feel his anger and confusion, and could tell he had been wanting to have this conversation for awhile. She had hurt James terribly because of her selfishness. She had led him on and then thrown him away, and it had been so easy to say she was doing the right thing when she didn't have to see the consequences.

"You're not worthless James." Morgan said, realizing more than anything that she wanted to console him and take everything back. "You're great, really, I—"

"Don't give me that condescending bullshit. I want the truth. I want to know why. W—"

"Shut up and listen to me!" Morgan leaned over to grab his hand, hissing in pain when they made contact. James winced, horrified, and tried to slip their hands apart, but she was relentless. "Listen carefully, James Darley. You. Are. Not. Worthless. You are a kind man capable of great compassion, even to those who have wronged you in the worst possible way. Don't ever think otherwise. Don't you fucking dare let what I did ruin you, or make you believe that you are anything less than a great man, one of the greatest I have ever met—not me, not some up-their-ass blood purist, no one." She was heaving by the time she had finished, and drained of energy, so she slumped against the pillows.

James stared at their entwined hands, the tips of his ears pink and his lips pursed. "Why wasn't all that enough?"

"Because I was falling in love with someone else. I had let our relationship progress because I was lonely and scared, and I wanted affection, even if I couldn't get it from the person I was interested in. That day on the train, I ended it because I didn't want to hurt you anymore. I thought that if you hated me…I thought, then, that it would be easier to move on."

James shook his head, his eyes narrowed in what could only be righteous anger. "You never loved me?"

Morgan was done with lying. "I liked you, and had I more time, perhaps things would have been different."

"What do you mean, 'more time'?"

But Morgan's attention was on something else—there was a ring on his left hand, a wedding band. "Y—you're married?"

James blushed deep scarlet, and it took a lot of stuttering and frantic breaths before he could get his story out. "My parents set me up with a young Muggle woman. They had the engagement arranged for months, apparently, without my knowing. Without you—well, I didn't see any reason to say no. She's young, quiet and polite, but she's nice."

"What's her name?"

"Margret."

"She sounds lovely. Are you happy?"

"I still want—," James broke off and composed himself, "with time, yes. I think I can love her."

Morgan nodded, satisfied. "Good. I want you to be happy."

"What about you? Are you happy?"

"Sure." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just a bit lonely."

"I know," James said. "Are you free to leave the infirmary?"

"Ackley said I could go, but I don't fancy seeing everyone right now. I'm still tired, actually." She shrugged. "I'll probably wait to leave."

James shook his head. "It's almost time for dinner. Let me take you down there. As friends," he added hastily when he noticed Morgan dubious expression.

A grin, the likes of which hadn't graced her face for many weeks, lit up the room. "Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed!"

James stepped away from the bed and pulled some curtains over. He waited for her to change patiently, fiddling with the sleeves of his robes, his heart pounding painfully fast and loud in his chest. It took awhile, but finally, Morgan emerged. Her face was bright red, the color standing out more sharply against the black of her robes. The contrast was hilarious, and he had to work to keep his chuckles in.

Morgan swatted at his arm anyways, and then swayed dangerously. "Still a bit woozy."

James nodded. He offered his arm, which she took graciously, and led them towards the Great Hall. It took them some time to get there, since Morgan had to stop every once and awhile to catch her breath. A look of fear morphed her features when such moments occurred, and that worried James very much.

The response he received when he led Morgan to the Gryffindor table was even more troubling. Many of the gathered students shot her disbelieving glares. The only friendly face in the crowd was Charlus Potter. He was elbowing Kayden Macmillan in the stomach, who had a twisted scowl on his face.

James gently guided Morgan onto the bench while Potter spoke in a hushed whisper to Macmillan. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Potter said, "Hey Snake Face."

Morgan grinned at his teasing tone, "Always a pleasure Charlus." She directed her gaze, uncertainly, to Kayden. "Hey, Kayden."

Macmillan grunted in reply.

James graced him with an annoyed glance. "Leah is a friend."

"She has a funny way of treating her friends."

The comment stung, but was so incredibly true that all Morgan could do was shrug. "I guess I'm a Slytherin for a reason." She put her elbow on the table and propped her head against it. "How were the holidays? I know it's been months since Christmas, but still."

"Okay," Charlus said. "I went to James' wedding, met some of his family and scared the living daylights out of his pompous, stuck up cousin. I spent a lot of time with my parents. It was rather uneventful."

"I can't believe you just called my wedding 'uneventful'!"

Morgan could feel heady warmth and happiness creeping into her gut. It felt so normal to be sitting with a handful of Gryffindor friends. She realized she wanted to immerse and situate herself into their lives again, even if she didn't have the right to. "How is your family, James? Since the bombs…?"

To her surprise, he grinned. "My grandfather died and we came into a spot of money. My parents bought a nice house in the country, away from all that war ruckus."

Morgan snorted into her goblet of plain water; she didn't think her suddenly nauseous stomach could handle much more. "You sound awfully upset by his passing."

"He was a nasty old man," James grinned.

Morgan turned to Kayden. "What about you?"

The boy in question avoided her stare for a few seconds before he sighed loudly. "All-bloody-right! If we're all so determined to put the past behind us and be buddy-buddy—! I went to James' wedding and snagged some pretty girls around town."

"What about you?"

Three expectant faces studied Morgan, who hurriedly brought her cup to her lips and drank deeply, so deeply, in fact, that she began hacking a terrible cough. Charlus reached across the table and pounded her on the back. "Okay there?"

Morgan swiped a hand across her face and weakly asked for some bread to help clear her throat. James obliged and passed the basket to her, but as soon as its weight settled into her upturned palms, her forearms shook violently.

The bread spilled to the floor. Morgan stared at her hands in absolute horror, noticing for the first time, the spots of blood from when she had wiped her mouth moments before. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She wasn't even aware she was standing until she had to brace herself against the table, her legs unstable.

James was on his feet immediately. "What's wrong? Do you need the Hospital Wing? Leah—" he reached for her but she stumbled backwards.

"I have to go!"

And she fled from the hall, her departure noticed by a few curious eyes, none the more curious than Charlus and Kayden.

"I wonder what's eating her," Potter murmured.

"I told you she was mad," Kayden retorted.

At the other end of the room, Tom Riddle watched Morgan leave, with a feeling he recognized as worry building in his chest. He pushed off his bench and stalked after her, his steps long and determined and his ears deaf to the questioning calls of his housemates.

She wasn't hard to find, as she had only traversed a few corridors before stopping to catch her breath. When she spotted Tom, she held her arms open for him. He swept her up, crushing her to his chest. "What's happening?" he demanded.

"It's happening again! It's starting all over, just like last time! It feels the same! Damn it!" she held onto Tom, clutching the edges of his robes. Her eyes were wide. It was one thing to wish for death, it was another to wish for the weeks of agony that would come with a time-travel related demise.

"Slow down!" he barked. "What do you mean?"

They were in the middle of an empty hallway. Discretion was the last thing on their minds, however, when Morgan pulled his face close to her own and whispered, frantically, about the muscle spasms and the blood. When she pulled back, Tom looked furious.

"No."

"Kill me now," Morgan begged, hopelessly terrified, "I don't want to do that again, I don't want to suffer—!"

"Shut up!" Tom snarled. He backed away from her, wondering about how things could go so ridiculously wrong so soon. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Morgan reached for him, but he batted her hands away. "Go to the Room of Requirement. Wait for me there. I need to arrange a few things. And damn it, DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID!"

"O—okay." With a small nod, she turned and left, keeping close to the wall for support.

Tom walked quickly to the Great Hall, where Dippet had just stood to deliver news the school had been most anxious to hear. "The culprit responsible for the recent, unfounded attacks on your peers has turned himself in and will be receiving a full and harsh punishment for his crimes."

All around the hall, voices broke out.

"I heard it was Avery!" someone at the Ravenclaw table said seriously, "They say he snapped. Couldn't take it anymore. Must have had some family issues."

"Well, good-riddance. He was foul!"

Tom contorted his features into a concerned grimace while a few of his fellow Slytherins smirked. Malfoy was the exception, of course—he stared blankly at his plate of food, flinching whenever his eyes rose and caught sight of Tom.

"All of our students are safe at Hogwarts, and such actions will not be tolerated! Let this be a lesson to any who would wish harm upon their peers." Dippet's tone was grave. "We must, in times of great peril, be able to rely on one another and trust in our friends. We cannot let prejudices tear us apart, we must stand together to face the conflict and war that lies not far from our borders."

The Headmaster was talking about Grindelwald of course, and at the reminder, many of the students let their eyes drift to Dumbledore. Who else would inevitably stand against the dark wizard?

Satisfied with the proceedings, and with anxiety and worry swirling in his gut, Tom bent near Marcus Prufoot. "Arrange for someone to cover my patrol." And without waiting to see whether or not his demand would be met—for who would deny him?—he sped from the hall in a flurry.

When he reached the seventh floor, he found Morgan waiting and panting. Without a word, he gripped her forearm and yanked her to her feet. He waited, on edge, for the Room of Requirement to appear and dragged them both inside.

The room was plain. There was a fireplace with a couch resting in front of it, but nothing else. On top of the mantel of the fireplace, however, rested a necklace set in gold. The runes carved in its frame glittered in the light from the flames, its four gems deceptively beautiful.

Tom tossed Morgan to the couch and walked to the mantel. He leaned over the necklace and breathed over it. Curiously enough, the air around the artifact shimmered before fading. When Tom turned around to face Morgan again, the Founders' Necklace was clutched in his hand. "It will fix you."

Morgan watched him advance wearily. "And if it doesn't?"

"It will."

He licked his lips and carefully drew the chain around her neck, arranging the pendant so that it rested right on her chest, underneath her robes. The effect was immediate. Morgan sucked in a gasp of air, her eyes going wide. She grimaced as her ears popped and pressure built in her head. She was aware of Tom shaking her shoulders, but couldn't hear a thing. A dam was building, it was pushing against the walls of her mind, threatening to overtake her at any second, and when it did, her world went black.

"THIS AGAIN!" Morgan screeched, "REALLY? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

She was surrounded, on all sides, by bookshelves. They ran from the floor straight into the air, where there was no ceiling in sight, only more and more books. The air was curiously light and breezy, and everything seemed to glow from the inside out. The whole scene was rather ethereal and insubstantial, and maybe beautiful, but Morgan was too angry to notice.

Those weird dreams she had been having…they were all about this library. Infrequent snatches though they were; Morgan recognized the overarching shelves and the labyrinth structure.

Growling incoherently, because she was at a complete and total fucking loss as to what the fuck was going on, Morgan leaned against one of the shelves, slowly slumping to the ground. She periodically began pounding her head on the wood, wishing with all her might that she could be back at Hogwarts with Dumbledore's Army.

The sound of her head making nice with the bookshelf overshadowed the soft footfalls heading her way. But though her hearing was impaired, her vision was not, and Morgan saw a young robed witch turn the corner.

She was beautiful, a kind of beautiful that did not exist anymore. Brown and curled waves of hair hung to her waist, shining from the inside out. Sharp features decorated her face—pleasant cheekbones, intelligent eyes, and plump lips, which only served to compliment her willowy form. She was so gorgeous, in fact, that Morgan would have been rendered speechless if there wasn't such a look of fury plastered on the pretty face.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

And because Morgan was so frustrated, she yelled right back, "TRYING TO KILL MYSELF YOU TWAT!"

The witch looked suitably offended. She recoiled, her lips puckering into a scowl of disgust. "Why you insufferable little—!"

"Rowena, bring her here! We've waited ages." The voice was masculine and came from around the shelves.

Morgan died a little inside.

"Rowena Ravenclaw?" she asked meekly.

The witch in question sneered, "Oh now she shows some respect!" A wand was pulled from her finely cut robes and waved in a swift fashion. Several books that were in danger of slipping from the never-ending shelves slipped back into place.

Morgan jumped to her feet. "Am I insane?"

"Hardly," Ravenclaw sniffed, turning on her heel and retracing her steps, expecting Morgan to follow.

Which she did.

The library was, indeed, a labyrinth. There were so many forks and sharp turns, all littered with books and maps and slips of parchment, some which had been taken from shelves and never replaced. It took at least a half an hour for the duo to get where they were going, because Ravenclaw stopped every once and awhile to select some tome from the floor and mull over its pages. Morgan was getting quite annoyed, and made an effort to step on any pieces of wayward parchment she could find. Rowena was most displeased.

By the time they reached the cozy niche that Morgan had become so familiar with in her dreams, she had developed a slight disliking for the Ravenclaw house founder. While the uppity witch might have all the time in the world, Morgan certainly didn't!

Rowena had led her to three others. They were in a pocket of the library free of bookshelves, where a roaring fire seemed to burn as bright as the sun, its glow casting everything in a brilliant light. In fact, it appeared as if they light that illuminated the library and its occupants from the inside out came from the fire itself, which changed colors at different intervals—gold, red, green, silver, blue, and yellow. The shades of the colors were so diverse and deep that one could stare at them forever. It was beautiful.

"A real work of art, don't you think? One of our best creations!" A loud voice exclaimed as a large hand smacked down on her back. Her knees actually buckled. It was at this time that Morgan remembered she was not alone.

There was the man who had spoken to her. He had the beginnings of an unmanageable beard, but a kind face, with open eyes and a mouth constantly quirked into a smile. He was bulky and wide, muscled and toned in a way that made Morgan drool.

The other man was decidedly less attractive. He was tall and bean-pole thin. His skin was pale and he had a small mustache. There was a mop of black hair atop his head that fell a little past his shoulders. He bowed when he noticed her scrutiny, and whether it was to mock her or welcome her, Morgan wasn't sure.

The last was a plump young woman, who had waves of red hair and the most innocent, welcoming smile Morgan had ever seen. She felt instantly at ease with the woman, but as the truth of just who those people were swept over her, she fell to her knees.

A couch was conjured instantly, and the good looking one settled her into it. "There you are, young lady."

"Yes…" Morgan muttered weakly, "here I am."

"Shall we introduce ourselves? You have the lovely Rowena Ravenclaw, the pleasant Helga Hufflepuff, the cocky Salazar Slytherin—" the man near her pointed at the skinny one, "—and me of course; Godric Gryffindor at your service."

"Oh…swell…"

Arm chairs appeared facing her in a semi-circle, and the Hogwarts Founders shifted into the comfortable furniture nicely. The force of all their stares was a little overwhelming. Rowena adjusted her robes, Salazar fiddled with his moustache, Godric placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, and Helga smiled openly.

"I trust you have a lot of questions," Salazar remarked blandly, as if they were discussing the weather and not her sudden appearance in some fantasy realm.

"Just a few."

Godric gestured for her to continue eagerly.

"I mean, I can pretty much sum them all up into one question, and you'll have to pardon my language, it has been a tiring day but—what the fuck is going on?"

"So eloquent."

"Shut up Miss-Smarty-Pants-Let-Me-Look-At-Every-Slip-Of-Parchment-On-The-Fucking-Floor Ravenclaw! I am not in the mood!"

Godric snickered.

Hufflepuff decided to take the reins on the conversation. "Is it safe to assume that you have found our Necklace?"

"Yeah, Founders Necklace. Been there, done that," Morgan said weakly. "What is that thing, anyways?"

"It is us," Ravenclaw said simply.

"And what are you?" Morgan paused. "Oh god, don't tell me you're a horcrux!"

"Of course not!" Godric looked offended by the very idea. "Disgusting!"

"We're something more substantial than memories, but I assure you, I did not put my soul in here with these—anyways…You see, when we were young and had just begun working together, we pooled our powers together to test our limits. We crafted a beautiful necklace and we each poured a little of ourselves into—a little of our power, and little of our mind…pieces of ourselves that would remain dormant until the right time." Salazar picked at the arm chair he was resting on. "It wasn't entirely taxing."

Godric's nose was scrunched up. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

Morgan opened her mouth to speak, but Ravenclaw interrupted her with sharp and keen eyes. "Think carefully, girl, on what you want to say. Ask the rights questions or we'll be here for an eternity."

Morgan scowled, but obediently began to think through the situation thoughtfully. It took a few moments to get over the 'WHAT THE FUCK' feel of the whole ordeal, but weirder things had happened…

Well, no, they hadn't, but still.

"Okay," Morgan began, selecting her words carefully. "You created the Necklace to test your powers, but what purpose did you want it to serve?"

Rowena smiled, and she looked lovely doing so. "We wanted to create an object that would amplify one's magic with our own."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? That's dangerous! L—like super dangerous! LIKE IF VOLDEMORT FINDS OUT EVERYONE IS FUUUCKKEDD DANGEROUS!"

"Calm down," Gryffindor said, holding his hands out in a placating manner. "We know it's dangerous."

"Shut up, you banshee," Slytherin scowled.

Morgan gave him the finger. He looked somewhat puzzled by the gesture.

She sighed and drew in a breath to calm down. "Look, I'm sorry, but you don't understand. There's a dark wizard, and he's going to come into power in a few years, and it'll be horrible for everyone, and with this power…"

"Ah-ha-ha," Godric tutted, "but he won't have this power. You have this power!"

"Come again?"

"Do you recall when I said the pieces of ourselves that we placed in the Necklace were to remain dormant?" Slytherin asked. At Morgan's nod, he continued. "That is because they were waiting for the right person to try on the Necklace."

"One who would have the loyalty of a Hufflepuff!" Helga said.

"The courage of a Gryffindor!"

"The intelligence of a Ravenclaw."

"And the cunning of Salazar Slytherin himself."

They all looked at her expectantly.

Morgan snorted, tears streaming down her face. "Oh—god—you can't be serious! Me? The intelligence of a Ravenclaw? The cunning of a Slytherin! Ha!"

Salazar was disgruntled. "Well yes, as you can imagine, after waiting for thousands of years for the right person, we lowered our standards."

"We wanted someone balanced, who would have power and intelligence, but the loyalty to know what to do with it, and the courage to act on it. We wanted someone who would exemplify all of Hogwarts' Houses, and when you tried us on…We looked into your heart. I saw you take on opponents with twice your talent and twice your size to save a friend. That is loyalty."

"I saw you face down a nose-less wizard with dark powers that would cause anyone to squirm. That is courage!"

"While you are not adept at charms, I saw you learn to read by yourself, and succeed in your non-practical subjects. So yes, there is a bit of intelligence in you."

"And I," Slytherin said softly, "saw your darkest ambitions."

Morgan shivered. "Out of everyone in the world…you chose me?"

"We've been waiting a long time, and only three other people have tried us on—an idiot who couldn't tell left from right, a raving lunatic, and a boy whose heart was so dark, we could barely stand to rest upon his breast." Helga shivered.

Morgan smiled sadly. "That's my Tom. And by the way, I should point out that he's your heir—Mr. Irresponsible."

Slytherin lifted an elegant brow. Morgan crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue before something suddenly occurred to her—

"Tom! Oh, wow! You guys didn't like Tom, so you almost killed him, right? Because when I saw him with the Necklace, it was seared into his palm, all ugly and infected."

"Yes," Godric said, "served the little brat right. One of the meanest people I've ever met. If you had not peeled the Necklace from him, it would have killed him."

"Ah," Morgan said, "and when he put the Necklace on me…"

"We recognized that you were to be our host. Our magic awakened, and we used it to heal you."

"Then how come I'm sick again? How come I'm going to die?"

Helga rose from her chair and sat upon the couch with Morgan. She placed an arm over the thin witch's shoulder and pointed at the raging hearth. "You see that fire there?"

"Sure do."

"That's our life force. As long as that fire stays lit, we stay conscious and alive, living inside of you. But it is your life, your heartbeat that fans the flames. Without you, the flames die and our magic is useless. We can only heal as long as we stay connected with you, near your heart."

"So I was healed, but then I took you off, so your magic stopped working, and I just began deteriorating again?"

"Exactly," Rowena said, "think of this as mutualism. We are both benefiting from each other. We are keeping you alive, and you are keeping us alive."

"Well. Shit."

"There is one other thing you must know before you go," Rowena said seriously. "We only have the power to bond to one person in our existence."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…if you die, Morgan Caldwell, Time-Traveler and lover of Tom Marvolo Riddle, then so do we."

"The Founders' Necklace will become a simple piece of jewelry after your death, and all the power in it, all of our magic, will die with you."

A/N: Yeah, Morgan has some identity issues-what teenager doesn't?