The fresh summer air began to slowly drift in as it became June. Although, no student at Hogwarts could properly enjoy this beautiful breeze, as everyone felt their lives were in mortal danger. Thanks to Tom, the school year was an absolute, chaotic hell. No month went by quickly and breezily. He'd managed to fill everyone within the school with immense fear and mass paranoia. People were being attacked in one of the most safely guarded places in the wizarding world and no one could explain who or what was responsible for it. Tom was not even being remotely suspected. After all, who would suspect the smart, charming, young prefect? Since, he didn't have any more familial research to fill his spare time with and felt he no longer needed to study for the upcoming O.W.L.S, Tom spent most of his time trying to weed out all the muggleborns for the Basilisk. Being a prefect, it was even easier to get the information he wanted, and he was able to work around the new restrictions in a snap. It was almost too easy. Tom had even started to write threatening messages on the corridor walls in red paint after an attack, just to have a little bit of thrill in all of this.

"Mudbloods, you will all perish...!"

It was kind of stupid. The messages were an unnecessary risk. He knew that he shouldn't treat the matter like a game, but it'd been so long since he'd been able to stretch out from under Dumbledore's grasp. It'd been even longer since he'd been out of Frankie's. She often held him back from being that boy with an uncontrollable urge to cause havoc and make people just as miserable as he was. Although, he certainly had a hatred for muggleborns, this tyrant rampage was more of an excuse to indulge in those destructive tendencies he'd been forced to suppress for their sakes.

Despite all the warnings and the blatant signs of foreboding danger, instead of closing down the school, the teachers had put the school on a strict lockdown for the past few months. There were no more trips to Hogsmeade. No wandering the castle alone without a teacher or prefect. Students were confined to the dorms most hours and there was very strict after dark security to make sure no one was in the corridors after eight o'clock. They were probably hoping to trap the culprit in the school and, on the off chance it was a student, make it difficult for them to operate around such tight restrictions. But little did they realize, they were actually sealing the grim fate of every muggleborn student there. The castle was vast, but there was nowhere they could possibly hide from him and the Basilisk if they weren't allowed to leave.

However, despite the lockdown, if you were clever enough you always found a way out. Especially, if you had somewhere you needed to be on Sundays.

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"There was another attack yesterday."

She had said that and yet Frankie was blatantly disregarding the new restrictions that were supposed to keep her from being attacked right at that very moment. Of course, it's not like she was under any threat, even though she was currently shoulder-to-shoulder with the culprit this very moment as well. The two were sunken down at the base of the tree on their normal Sunday walk. They had not yielded one since the new rules had been invoked.

"Really? You don't say? How dreadful..." Tom remarked, trying too hard to sound rather clueless. He was attempting to hold back a secret little smirk that was growing on his face. Tom knew very well that there was an attack yesterday. Not only was it in a buzz around the school, but he was the one who had ordered it. He'd recently discovered that Nero Lawson, a Hufflepuff in their year, was a Mudblood and had made plans to eradicate him immediately. It just took one whisper to his precious pet and Nero was gone.

Well, that was how it was supposed to go anyway. The truth was that Tom had not actually killed any muggleborns yet. The Basilisk eyes were supposed to kill anyone who ever met its yellow gaze and yet all these Mudbloods were just ending up petrified instead. Tom would have loved to investigate, but it was not like he could be at a crime scene as it was happening. He couldn't risk getting caught. It wouldn't just be a simple slap on the wrist, he'd be sent to the wizard jail. He wasn't about to spend his whole life in Azkaban for listening to a monstrous snake.

"I'm just glad he wasn't killed." Frankie sighed. She didn't know it, buts she inadvertently had just said she was happy he was a failure. Tom grew a small scowl.

"Why?" Tom asked, trying his best not to sound affronted. He looked at her like she was crazy. While he couldn't expect her to treat his victims with distain, he wasn't too thrilled about her fretting over them either. "Were you actually friends with him?"

"Not precisely—"

"So, why care about a stranger?"

"He wasn't a stranger! He was our classmate. Even though I didn't really know him personally, it doesn't mean I shouldn't care," she argued. Tom saw her slight point, but all-in-all he still thought he was right. Nero was pretty much a stranger, and she shouldn't be caring about his wellbeing. "It's been months now and there still aren't any leads on who, or what, is causing all of this. It won't be too long till someone dies, Tom. I just know it."

"Stop worrying." he commanded. He didn't want her anywhere near this rather gross and ugly business of his, even though it was an unavoidable subject around the school nowadays. In truth, Tom might've started acting a little reckless because he longed for someone to challenge him. Even try to stop him. Be his enemy. However, the ideal candidate also happened to be the girl he couldn't help but adore. If Frankie started sticking her nose into matters more seriously, she'd be able to figure out who the culprit is in a heartbeat. She already had background knowledge of the Basilisk, which was sadly a lot more information than the teachers had so far. She'd need to be disposed of, if she found out the truth, which was the last thing Tom wanted to have to do.

"I can't. What if it—"

"I can guarantee you and I won't be attacked."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

Well, having a strong relationship with the Heir of Slytherin sure helped. Tom couldn't say that. He didn't want to say it was because of her blood, which immediately was what came to mind. Her pure and beautiful blood. Even if it sided with the Mudbloods and was drawn from the line most traitorous to his, their bond together was made of something far stronger than blood and family. With those reasons combined, she was just as safe as any of the Slytherin. Tom would probably attack some of his own "friends" if their blood wasn't technically purer then his.

He needed a distraction from the question. It was too risky to answer it. His eyes had shifted to the black leather-bound book, lying on the grass beside her. He was hoping to have it be a book he had read, so he could strike up conversation about it, but Tom had never seen that book before. It must have been one of the mystery books she "found" in that unused classroom that she kept hiding from him. This one had a title which made his eyes stick to it immediately.

Secrets of the Darkest Art

Tom went from his strange silence and suddenly sprang into action, leaning over Frankie to grab the book. She immediately went into a state of confused embarrassment, until she realized what he had been after. Upon seeing the book in his hand, she quickly removed her wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" It started to drift from his hand a little, but Tom held tight to it, and she didn't have enough power to lift him up along with it. She'd need to try something else.

"Locomotor Wibbly!"

He became weak at the knees, but the book was still clutched tightly in his arms. Realizing he would not be stopped so easily, she dropped her wand and physically tried to pull him away. Tom managed to keep off the attack and extract his own wand. He put up a shield charm between them and Frankie was repelled back.

"Call off the minor jinxes already. I'm not giving it up."

"You mustn't read it, Tom! It's a terrible book. I shouldn't have left it out." Frankie exclaimed, desperately. However, despite her book review, he opened it up and glanced at the contents.

"Terrible, indeed..." Tom remarked. He'd opened to a page near the middle and his eyes were intently transfixed on the pages with far too much intrigue. Horcruxes. That was a new term to him, and he was curious as to why the picture depicted a man in deathful agony, his fingers clutched onto a silver goblet for dear life.

"Then, please stop. Please..." she begged, sounding even more desperate. Tom glanced up for a moment to meet her gaze beyond the invisible barrier he'd put between them. Frankie was staring at him with a painfully serious expression and for a split second he felt the need to return it.

"Stop worrying, Frankie. It's just a peek. Purely for study. I assume that's why you still have it." he reasoned, flashing a charming smile to get her to yield a little. A book like this was not meant to be in the goody witch's possession anyway. "I'm not mad enough to attempt anything. I just want a look."

The book was filled with many dark things, even darker than the others he had stolen glances of in the past. How to curse objects and even detailed techniques to perfecting the Three Unforgivable Curses. But the one that seem to catch his eye the most were: Horcruxes. It was a brilliant concept if it actually worked. A safekeep for your soul in case your body was ever destroyed. With something like this, one might even achieve something as impossible as immortality. Tom kept re-reading the spell, until the shield charm faded, and Frankie managed to swipe it back from him. She looked down at the particular pages with piqued interest, wondering what caught his attention so much, and made a face of absolute disgust.

"Horcruxes are the worst things I've found in this book. It's repulsive to think someone would use their magic that way." she fumed, angrily.

"But, if you have one you cannot truly die—"

"That doesn't matter. You're taking someone else's life just to preserve your own for a little longer. It's wrong, Tom. Surely, you must see that." Frankie argued, glaring at him with contempt. The good witch wouldn't take any reasons he could give her into consideration. Her mind was made up, so he wouldn't even bother to make the effort to try to change it.

"Of course, you're right." Tom answered. "Only a true monster would ever attempt something like that."

Frankie ranted on and on about how she planned to dispose of it and all the other books she'd found, so that no one else would ever be exposed to their wickedness ever again. There was something in there about the Room of Requirement, or something. He honestly wasn't really paying attention to her mad ramble on how the books were pure evil and she was going to burn them all. Tom was busy burning the spell to make a Horcrux into his mind. It wouldn't matter that she wouldn't let him read it again or destroyed it. Now, he had the drive he needed to actually kill a muggleborn. It said the splitting of the soul would be painful, but he knew if he succeeded he would be a step closer to immortality. A bit of pain couldn't compare to not being able to die. Now, it was the question of what object to place the bit of his soul in and which muggleborn was going to die so he could do so.

Slightly knowing Tom wasn't paying attention to her, she suggested they returned to the castle early and he obliged. They walked up carefully, snuck their way through the greenhouses, past Professor Beery on patrol, and on towards the main stairs. Suddenly, they heard a loudly unpleasant whistle and turned around to see Pringle behind them.

"What are you two doing out?" Pringle shouted, sending several fat globs of angry spit flying in their direction.

"I was on patrol, and I found this girl sneaking around the greenhouses, claiming she left one of her textbooks. I'm escorting her back to her common room and will be alerting her head of house shortly." Tom stated, calmly. He and Frankie had come up with excuses on the off chance they ever got caught outside the new regulations. Unfortunately, Frankie was not given the special responsibilities and freedom that Tom got as prefect, so they had to figure out a different angle. They even threw in a couple of glares at each other for the dramatic Gryffindor-Slytherin effect. Pringle examined the shiny prefect badge pinned to Tom's chest very closely, until he was seemingly satisfied with it.

"Alright, hurry it up then."

They gave each other knowing looks of victory as they turned and ascended the staircases to the seventh floor. A few minutes and several moving staircases later, they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was looking extremely distressed and jittery, jumping up almost completely out of her frame upon Tom and Frankie's arrival.

"Oh—Miss Dickson! My poor nerves! How could you!? Now, more than ever, you can't bring him up here. They say the culprit could even be a student and—for all we know—it could be him!" the Fat Lady exclaimed, glaring at Tom. He might've thought her somewhat clever for making such a correct assumption, had she not always suspected Tom was the culprit when something dastardly was going on. It was as if she couldn't properly decide whether or not she liked him and had come to the conclusion she should switch between love and hatred every other year. Heck, every other week. Last week she was making not so subtle hints that he ought to confess his love already, and then the week before that she blamed him for a mysterious disappearance of shrubs in a painting on the fourth floor. He didn't know where he stood, however, since she was a stationary object he also found that her opinions didn't really matter. "All it takes is one good slash to my canvas and I'm history. Then, who would protect the common room? Everyone in Gryffindor would be in danger. Please won't you be more careful!"

"I'm really sorry. The term is almost over. I promise you won't have to worry about many more Sunday sneak outs—Lilacspiritous!" Frankie remarked. She waved goodbye to Tom and climbed into the portrait hole. The Fat Lady started muttering about how she needed to change the password, when Tom decided he might as well reward her for being the only one right about him.

"Is that all it takes to get rid of you? I'll keep that in mind..."

"MISS DICKSON, COME BACK! HE'S JUST THREATENED ME."

Tom gave a satisfied smirk at the paranoia he gave the annoying painting and walked back down the staircases to his own common room. He tried to sooth is head in the silence as he walked through the student-less corridors to the Slytherin common room. The Fat Lady had given him yet another headache and, if his roommates were acting in their usual manner, they'd only make it worse. Tom took the secret shortcut leading from Hieroglyphic Hall to get past Dumbledore on watch. For some reason, he was always patrolling the dungeons. He quickly gave his common room's password, "Sanguis vita est." and slipped in. Unlike with the Gryffindor's random jumbles of nonsense words, their passwords were always intelligent and relevant. This one meant: "Blood is life".

"Where were you, mister Dark Lord? Off attacking more Mudbloods?" Lestrange asked, nonchalantly, as Tom entered their room.

"Bite your tongue, Lestrange. Don't speak of the matter with such casualty. It's meant to be a secret and I won't risk getting caught because of your loose lips!" Tom scolded, sounding a little more like a strict parent rather than their ruthless leader. Although, he'd felt he couldn't share this information with his one true friend, he found it easy to confess after so many years of cold silence to the Slytherin boys. Finally, he could speak of his noble lineage. Tom had told them of his heritage and the quest that had been tied with it. They were his "friends" after all. Being the Heir of Slytherin, naturally made him have even more power over them. He was practically their king now.

"So, who're you attacking next, Tom?" Avery inquired, despite Tom's orders to shut up. All of them turned to him for the answer. No doubt the other Slytherins were genuinely interested in his work. They were eager for the knowledge, however, were not willing to work for it. He didn't know what he was thinking by telling them, honestly. They were pretty much useless.

"Tell us." Peter asked, probably just to seem like one of the crowd. If Tom actually told him about his plans, there was a high chance the target would not be where he wanted them during an attack. There might even be an intervention from Frankie. If he werent such a coward, Peter would've confessed everything to her and instantly put a stop to Tom's crimes once and for all. Tom had suspicions about Peter's actual thoughts on the terrorizing of Mudbloods. However, unless he wanted a fifty-foot snake after him, he'd keep his own ideas to himself.

"I'm sure he's wrote it down in his journal—Grab it, Peter." Lestrange ordered, pointing in the direction of Tom's bedside table.

"Touch it and you lose a hand." Tom hissed, grabbing the journal from the table with slight haste. Yes, it did have a few of his secret notes and doodles. But, it was more of the fact he didn't want those people touching the only Christmas gift Frankie could ever afford to get him. It was more valuable to him than nearly anything else he owned. He took one last glare at them all, before getting under his covers to block them out. He didn't care that he was still fully dressed and obsessively clutching a journal in one hand. Drawing the hangings on his four poster and curling up under the plush emerald covers was the only thing he could do to get away from them in here. He'd skip supper and take a nap, before prefect night patrol, praying he felt better when he awoke. "Nobody speak to me for the rest of the night. You idiots are giving me a headache..."

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While Tom was curled up in bed, Frankie had decided to go to the library with a group of Gryffindors going on a study expedition that had been approved by Dumbledore. She had a Charms essay and a study guide for Potions that were due soon, might as well get them done now. Quickly, she stuffed a bunch of books and rolls of parchment in her bag and joined the departing group to the library. When she got there, she grabbed an empty table near the back and spread out all her books across the surface to prevent anyone from sitting with her. She didn't want any distractions. After Frankie had finished setting them all out, she suddenly noticed she had accidentally placed Secrets of the Darkest Art out amongst the selections. It was the only one of her wicked books that had the title on the cover and certainly someone was bound to recognize the selection. She let out a small audible gasp and quickly rushed to remove it before anybody else noticed. Unfortunately, the librarian, Madam Domitila Myriadd, had noticed Frankie suspiciously stuffing a book into her bag and came over immediately to grab it without question. Madam Myriadd opened it and, naturally, gasped as well.

"Did you steal this?" she asked, giving Frankie a rather frightening stern look.

"No. I—"

"Don't lie to me, girl." Myriadd snapped. She reminded Frankie in that moment heavily of Mrs. Cole. Cold gaze, arms crossed, and blaming her for something she didn't do. "This book is supposed to be chained up in the restricted section!"

"I didn't take—" Frankie tried arguing, but Madam Myriadd merely put up a finger to silence her this time. She didn't want to hear any of her petty excuses.

"What's going on here?"

Dumbledore had appeared behind them and was looking at the scene with curiosity behind his half-moon spectacles. He had probably just entered the library, to govern and watch over the Gryffindors while they studied, when he heard the commotion happening over at the table. The whole library could probably hear Madam Myriadd's deranged shouting.

"Ah, Professor Dumbledore. You have such excellent timing. One of the students from your house has stolen a book from the restricted section." Myriadd answered, handing him the book. Dumbledore merely looked at the book with a blank and vacant expression.

"Come with me."

Every muscle in her body felt like it was petrified, and she wished in this moment just to drop down and be in a comatose state for the rest of the year like all the others in the hospital wing. Thieving was not tolerated at Hogwarts and that's surely what Dumbledore thought she'd done. She could get kicked out of school, or worse. He might take the contents of the book and think that she is the one attacking the other students. Frankie reluctantly scooped up the rest of her books into her bag and Dumbledore led her out of the library. They walked along the empty corridors in silence, until they arrived at his office.

"Professor, please believe me!—I didn't take it. I found it in the Room of Requirement last year. I know it was wrong for me to remove it, but I couldn't help myself. I just like books!" Frankie blurted out, the second she shut the door behind them. Actually hearing it said out loud, it sounded ridiculous. She sunk down into the student chair and readied herself for a fitting punishment.

"I was wondering where it went. Did you take any others from the room?" Dumbledore asked, calmly taking up the seat at his own desk and setting the book down upon it.

"Um...yes—I believe there are six more, sir. They seemed to be a set." Frankie replied, sounding rather confused. Did he actually have faith in her? Did he believe her ludicrous story?

"That's what I thought." he nodded, picking up the book again. "Have you gotten a chance to peruse the Secrets of the Darkest Art in much detail since you found it?"

"Yes."

"—And what did you think?"

"I think it's the vilest piece of literature ever written. Whoever hid it in that room was right to do so," she snapped, angrily. She had to hold herself back from going on a rant, like she had out on her walk with Tom. "Of course, I would have destroyed it, if I were them."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, as if she just hadn't said something horrible about it. "Everything seems to check out fine. I'll let you go off now—but I just have one more question."

"Okay."

"Have you let anyone else read this book?" Dumbledore asked. Frankie paused. She had let one other person read it, but it was no big deal. It was only Tom, and he would never actually attempt anything in that book. If she told this to Dumbledore, though, Tom would surely get in a lot more trouble considering he was a prefect.

"No one, sir."

Frankie was simply dismissed for supper after that with no further line of questioning. She left Dumbledore's office and started to head towards the Great Hall, nervously shaking and silently rattled. The thing was you couldn't lie to Dumbledore. It wasn't possible. He always knew when someone was lying and, instead of an immediate confrontation, he usually just went along with the lie knowing the truth would come out eventually. It almost always did.

Supper wasn't very pleasant for Frankie. She got so jumpy and could barely hold a spoon to eat a bowl of soup. It was like she was afraid of Dumbledore coming up behind her at any moment to call her bluff. Frankie was walking with a rather large crowd that had decided to be finished, still in a kind of worried daze, when she bumped into someone's back. It hadn't been her fault for once. The individual in question had decided to stop in the middle of the corridor. Frankie looked up and saw Hagrid, holding a napkin filled with food bits and muttering something to himself.

"Hagrid?" Frankie remarked, trying to smile and appear normal. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing—Fancy meeting you here. I haven't seen you around lately..."

"That's because you still have detention for raising those werewolf cubs under your bed."

"Ah, I don't see what the big fuss was about. Sweet creatures, they were." he argued. Frankie let out a small chuckle. She fondly remembered the frosty morning she and Hagrid found the cubs at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They took to Hagrid right away and ended following him up to the castle. Everyone in the house loved them and they really were sweet but being cooped under Hagrid's bed did have some negative side effects to them.

"I know, but I don't think that'll change the fact that they destroyed Merrythought's office," Frankie reasoned. "So, what's with the scraps?"

"I suppose I could show ya. It would be nice for him to get some socializing done—don't want him growing up being anti-social," he muttered, to himself more than her. "Promise me ya' won't go telling anyone about this, got it?"

"I got it." she answered back. Slowly, they made their way downstairs to the dungeons, keeping an eye out for anyone that could be on patrol. Thankfully, everyone seemed to still be at supper. They soon arrived at a small dungeon door and went inside to a dimly lit stone room. It seemed normal and empty, except for a large wooden crate in the center. Slowly, Hagrid opened the crate and peered inside.

"Aragog, I brought some company today!" Hagrid reported, cheerfully, down to whatever was inside. Frankie heard no answer, just a series of rapid clicking. Curiously, she walked over beside Hagrid and looked down to see into the box. A spider a bit bigger than a small dog stared back at her with its eight beady black eyes. "Isn't he just beautiful?"

"Hagrid is that a—"

"Yep, an Acromantula—Got him off a traveler I met in Hogsmeade during one of the trips, before they got canceled."

Most people would have screamed "Monster!" and ran to go find the nearest teacher. However, Frankie thankfully wasn't like most people and her affinity for magical creatures made her the ideal person to deal with a spider this size.

"Wow! A real Acromantula! I've never seen one before. I've only ever heard Kettleburn's stories about them."

"You can pet him if ya' like," Hagrid added, sensing she was a bit hesitant despite her love of magical creatures. You could love a creature and find them fascinating. It doesn't necessarily mean you want to get that close with them, especially if they were a class XXXXX monster. "Don't worry his chelicerae aren't too strong, yet. He's only a few months old."

She gently lowered her hand into the crate and Aragog quickly backed away from the hand, as if she was the one that was venomous.

"Come on, Aragog. It's alright." Frankie smiled, calmly. He stared at her with his eight black eyes, with what was probably suspicion. Carefully, he approached her hand and let her pet his back.

"Aw, I think he likes ya," Hagrid beamed, as Aragog clicked at her. "All right then, time for food, Aragog!—would you like to help?"

"Yes!" Hagrid picked him from the box and placed him on her lap. The two sat talking for some time, while Aragog nibbled little bits of chicken out of their hands. Suddenly, after a while, they heard footsteps, and someone came bursting through the door.

"Excuse me, students shouldn't be—Oh."

Tom was about to give one of his usual uptight prefect speeches but stopped immediately when he saw Frankie sitting there staring at him in confusion with her large hazel eyes. Not only was he shocked by her sudden appearance, but she had an enormous spider occupying her lap and was sitting next to that half-breed, oaf, Rubeus Hagrid, from two years below.

"Good evening, Tom." Frankie smiled, normally, as if she didn't have a literal monster from hell sitting casually on her lap. "Hagrid, this is my friend—Tom Riddle. I've probably mentioned him once or twice before."

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid." Hagrid greeted, holding out his free, foodless hand for Tom to shake.

"I know. I was one of the prefects that had to clean up your little werewolf cub situation." Tom replied, coldly neglecting to shake his hand.

"Sorry bout' that. They were usually so well behaved." Hagrid laughed.

"I'm sure they were," Tom added, with high amounts of sarcasm in his voice. He scoffed at the new creature before him. "I see you've found something else to replace them..."

"I know it's against about fifty school rules, but please don't tell the teachers, Tom." Frankie exclaimed, seeming to know what he was thinking yet again. She, Hagrid, and the spider gave him pleading puppy dog eyes, begging him not to give into his harsh instincts and obligations. If only she hadn't been there, he would have just turned Hagrid in. It would've saved everyone from yet another catastrophic situation and given his reputation a boost. With every good deed he did, suspicion grew farther away that he was really behind the true evil going on at the school. It didn't really matter though. Hagrid was a fool; he'd be caught soon enough. "Hagrid could get into real trouble for being in possession of an Acromantula, but I swear to you, he isn't dangerous. It'd be an amazing opportunity to be able to study them up close in a way no one else ever has. Please Tom—"

"Fine, I won't tell! Just don't let it go running loose around the castle. Avery would have a heart attack." Tom responded, turning away from the begging eyes. "Now, you two should be going back to your common room. It's nearly curfew."

"Of course." Frankie answered, getting up and letting Aragog scurry onto Hagrid's lap instead.

"Why don't you go on ahead? I'm going to stay just a bit longer." Hagrid replied, despite what Tom said being a command not a suggestion. Tom wasn't about to force him to come along when he realized that this meant he once again had an excuse to walk with Frankie back to Gryffindor common room.

"Come along then, Frankie." Tom added, gesturing her to follow him out the door. He and Frankie walked through the dark torch lit corridors in silence for a while. She was lost in thought and Tom was debating what to say to her after finding her in such a bizarre situation.

"Aragog is a real Acromantula, Tom! Can you believe it?" Frankie reported, suddenly, clearly still amazed at the monster she'd just met. Knowing her, if he introduced her to the Basilisk, she'd try and snuggle up with it.

"That thing has a name."

"Of course, he has a name."

"Monsters don't make good pets, you know." Tom stated, suddenly. Frankie couldn't help but glare a smidge at him for this statement. He was hinting his desire to tell on Hagrid. She wouldn't let him.

"Tell that to Mr. Scamander, or Professor Kettleburn, and see how fast they hex you." she huffed. Tom would like to think he didn't deserve this type of savage hostility, when in reality he knew his comment had slighted her more than anyone else. While they hadn't properly discussed magical career paths with each other yet, he knew she had a strong desire to work with magical creatures. She nearly fainted meeting the famous Magizoologist, Newt Scamander, a couple summers ago on their magical runaway adventure and still kept up with him through some correspondence. Not to mention, all the brochures she'd gotten after her career counseling meeting with Dumbledore. "—Kettleburn even told me about a time he got in an argument with one of his mates and he 'accidentally' locked them in a cage with a bunch of Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"The more I learn about this professor, the more I think he should not be teaching..."

After some more skillful teacher dodging and several flights of stairs, they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady a few minutes later. Since it was the second time Tom had visited today and it was after hours this time, naturally, she was in one of her moods again.

"What are you doing out so late? You were supposed to be in the common room five minutes ago!" the Fat Lady yelled at Frankie. Tom plugged his ears in preparation for the oncoming rant. "—And you! I told you not to come here anymore. Go away! Shoo!"

"Lilacspiritous!" Frankie shouted. The Fat Lady was forced to swing open and let her inside. She said goodbye to Tom and hastily walked through the ranting portrait, hoping that her speed might save him from yet another lengthy outburst. However, Frankie could still vaguely hear her shouting at Tom, as she was closing the door.

"—Oh, look what you did. Now, I must change the password," the Fat Lady shouted at Tom, even though Frankie was the one who had said it. If she was going to yell about it, she could've changed it from the last time he came around. Apparently, even after many years of escorting Frankie upstairs, she thought he was a deviant and saw through his charming façade.

"Don't think that prefect badge changes a thing. I know you're still full of trouble!"

"Yes, yes—nothing but trouble..." Tom mused, quietly with a sigh. "I've gotten myself into a whole mess of trouble, haven't I?"

He didn't wait for her reply. Tom merely waved her farewell out of a courteous habit and went back on patrol.

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The next day was the last day of lessons before the exams and O.W.L.S started. Everyone was waking up with even more stress and complaining than usual. All except for Tom. He woke up with a fantastic idea of what object to make into a Horcrux. How'd he come up with it? Well, waking with the item clutched in hand sure helped organize his thoughts. He had fallen asleep protecting his journal from prying eyes again. He'd arrived back to the dorms just in time to find the other boys slowly inching towards the drawer with not only the journal, but with the years' worth of floating parchment notes from Frankie. It obviously meant something to him if he found the need to protect it to such an extent. Now, it was just the task of finding the next foolish muggleborn to sacrifice.

First period, Tom was off to Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws, while Frankie was off taking Care of Magical Creatures with anyone crazy enough to still be continuing with that elective. The teacher in question was Professor Silvanus Kettleburn, and to Tom's growing knowledge, he was about as ludicrous as the subject. Frankie said he sometimes started class thirty minutes early, threw books randomly at students, even if they were paying attention, and would suddenly jump up on student's desks in the middle of lecturing. Thankfully, most classes were outside. Since he was so unpredictable, Frankie had to take extra measures to assure she was successful. Normally, he would've caught up with her after breakfast and walked with her on his way to the second floor, however, she brushed him off claiming Kettleburn needed her to catch fifty Bowtruckles for the examinations tomorrow.

What normally would've been a slight inconvenience to him worked in his favor. He needed to do it soon. Maybe even today. Although, he usually planned his attacks much more extensively, school would soon be out for summer. He didn't have much time to strike and seeing that dopy, warm smile would make him lose his nerve to do what he needed to do. Tom sat in his seat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, looking up at the dragon skeleton in intentional distraction. He was asking himself stupid questions like: "Could the Basilisk's skeleton fit on the ceiling?", identifying particular bones, anything that could take his mind away for just a little while. Then, Professor Merrythought started to call roll and the distraction became easier.

"Miss Warren? Where's Madeline?" Merrythought asked, looking in the direction of the Ravenclaws for answers. Tom suddenly flinched up and looked towards the empty seat with the rest of the class. Madeline was not sitting beside her twin brother, Magnus. Tom knew he hadn't put her in the hospital. They were purebloods. Their mother was the Director of Magical Security at the Ministry, and their father was an Astronomer.

"Family issues. She won't be in today." Magnus replied for her.

"Magnus, you know under the new regime, excuses like that won't slide anymore. I need to know exactly where she is." Professor Merrythought said.

"Fine..." he sighed. Merrythought indicated he did not have to admit to the whole class his family disaster and he followed her outside to talk for a moment. The whole class burst into conversation. Some of it related, some of it not.

"I heard she got in a huge row with their Mudblood sister."

Lyra had taken the opportunity to talk to him on the one subject she knew he'd never talk about with Frankie. No doubt she'd weaseled the information out of Peter, or one of the other boys, about Tom's quest and his status as the Heir of Slytherin. She'd been keeping her distance since the Shrieking Shack incident, but Tom knew she was slowly inching her way back towards him and was still as determined as ever to have him.

"Their what?" he couldn't help but answer. She smiled at the notion of having information Tom didn't.

"Myrtle Warren. She's in the year below us." Lyra replied. Tom had vague memories of a girl with round glasses and dark pigtails being laughed at by a group of Hufflepuffs. They threw multiple jinxes at her, and she seemed helpless. He'd broken it up merely because there were teachers in the vicinity, and he wanted to look valiant in their eyes. The girl thanked him and introduced herself as Myrtle. "Madeline told me the whole thing. Their filthy muggle father shacked up with another muggle woman and somehow managed to produce a magical offspring. It's a simply bizarre story."

"Very bizarre indeed..." He felt sorry for the twins, especially sorry for their mother. Although, Tom was sure his father was the apex of muggle bastards, this man came horribly close. He also thought that it was as much as Myrtle Warren's fault. Even though she couldn't help her existence, it was an insult to the wizarding world. How could someone like her possibly have been given magic? What made her worthy of such a thing?

"It would be a shame if something were to happen to her..." Lyra simpered. She wasn't serious but speaking in a two-faced tone Tom knew all too well. Here was another victim for the Heir of Slytherin. The one who deserved to die. She obviously was laying everything out for him, trying to help in a way she knew Frankie couldn't. While he wouldn't say he needed such help, he rewarded her with a polite smile and did not shun her for once.

"I couldn't agree with you more." Tom exclaimed, with deadly cheer despite the heaviness of the situation. Professor Merrythought and Magnus returned a few moments later. Merrythought's expression was even graver then it'd been when she left the room.

"It appears Mr. Warren doesn't know where either of his sisters are. Anyone with information better step forward. I really don't want to call Professor Dippet and put the whole school on an emergency lockdown."

"I thought I heard someone crying in the girl's bathroom on my way to class," Phoebe Diamas answered, above the hushed whispers. "It's not Madeline though. She's hiding out in the hospital wing, helping Nurse Glinda with the petrified students."

"It might be Myrtle. Quickly! Someone needs to go get her," Merrythought demanded. Tom smiled and made eye contact, silently indicating he would gladly be a volunteer to go. "Would you mind going, Tom? You're one of my only prefects left. Prue is actually out sick, and Robert is still petrified."

"But of course..."

A vulnerable, miserable muggleborn, already sitting in his bathroom just one floor down. It was too perfect.

                                               ─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After somehow managing to catch fifty Bowtruckles, Frankie was unexpectedly wandering the second floor, alone. She was curiously looking around in search of the Potions storeroom. Upon delivery of some very agitated Bowtruckles, Professor Kettleburn had asked her to get an octopus beak, so he could compare it to a Hippogriff's in today's lesson. She didn't even know where the storeroom was and yet he trusted her to go alone. Unlike the other teachers, Kettleburn thought the new restrictions were simply ridiculous and had absolutely no problem sending his students into possible danger. Frankie had no problem with it either, except she would've liked a better note that actually exempted her from getting into trouble. The one she had just said, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Let's do the octopus!—What's that you say?" and had a very crudely drawn map on the back. She was walking by the bathroom, trying to figure out the map, when she heard loud sobs coming from inside. Curious as to the cause, she cautiously entered to find a girl with a mess of thick dark hair, curled up into a tight ball on the bathroom floor.

"Are you alright?" Frankie asked, walking over to her. Getting closer she recognized the agonized shrieks as Myrtle Warren. Since the Warren twins were in Frankie's year, she couldn't help but be tuned in to all the gossip surrounding them. Something had caused the rift in their family to get even larger and had reopened tempers between the half-siblings. Along with the teasing of Olive Hornby and her company, Myrtle had to deal with venomous words from Madeline. She could often be heard crying in various places around the castle as a result of the overwhelming hate against her. Olive liked to call her Moaning Myrtle.

"Go away!" Myrtle shouted, still curled up in a ball. She lifted her hands from her eyes for a moment, to see who she was yelling at, and glared. "Oh, it's you."

"Myrtle, are you—"

"Don't start with that again! I know people like you don't really care about people like me." Myrtle snapped, angrily. "You're just here to tease me till Olive arrives, aren't you?"

"Actually, I'm just here to use the toilet," Frankie lied, pushing passed her towards the nearest stall. People like her? What did that mean? She was honestly trying to be nice. For someone who got teased a lot, she was pretty good at judging others. "I don't know what class you ought to be in right now, but if you're not using the restroom, I'd suggest you go back."

Myrtle made an affronted face and then locked herself into one of the other stalls. Frankie walked into the stall a few doors away, unfazed, and cold. She had just closed the door when she heard something that was not Myrtle's muffled sobs. At first, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It was just light footsteps stepping on the slightly damp stone floor. Someone else had come here alone. Frankie was about to exit her stall, when she was stopped by a sharp singular hiss and the loud scrapes of large moving pipes. They moved and creaked ominously before abruptly stopping a few moments later. A conversation bloomed in the new, brief silence. Someone had apparently arrived from the creak of the pipes. Only, instead of words, they continued to bizarrely hiss at one another. The first voice sounded like a young boy on the brim of maturity. Octaves beginning to go deeper with every spoken syllable. The second, who'd only just arrived, was thunderously ancient and old. Something ethereal with far greater power than anyone else in the school.

It was strange, and probably not what she should have been worrying about at the moment, but the first voice sounded oddly familiar to her...

Then, she saw something enormous, toxic green, slithering across the floor. Frankie jumped up onto the toilet seat and held up her robes, so whatever it was could not see her. She dug into her pockets and pulled out a bunch of small notes she had made from Most Macabre Monstrosities. Since, Dumbledore had ordered Frankie return all the books that she had taken from the Room of Requirement, she had started taking down bits of information from the books. It was only for future reference. If she was thinking about going into Magizoology, she needed to know about dangerous creatures. Thankfully, she had taken down the right excerpt. With something that large and with that coloring it had to be...

The Basilisk

There was a fifty-foot, class XXXXX monster in the girl's bathroom at Hogwarts. It sounded insane when Frankie thought about it rationally. But, if it wasn't a Basilisk, what was it? Even in the wizarding world, there wasn't exactly many things that could match the Basilisk's distinct description. That was what it was, and she was surely going to be dead in a few minutes. This had to be what was attacking everyone. Not about to sit there and die, Frankie began trying to formulate a plan. The book had recalled incidents of indirect eye contact merely rendering the foe petrified. That must've been what happened to everyone else. She could clog the toilet and attempt to run across the flooded floor, head down. Only it would take too long to get a decent flood and the Basilisk didn't just have death stares, it had fangs too. She quickly went through her repertoire of five years' worth of defensive spells. Nothing. The sword of Gryffindor might work. However, she wasn't looking for a full-on battle. It'd take more than one good blow to kill this thing. Frankie took a deep breath. There was one option that she could think of. It was the maddest thing she'd ever do. Madder than leaving home on her own at six, madder than grabbing a sword from a dark wizard, madder than stabbing that sword into the belly of a different wild beast. It might've even been madder than befriending the boy waiting just outside the door poised to kill. She thrust the stall door open, with the only stupidly viable plan she could think of in the moment.

Run.

Luckily, she was staring at the scaly upper-middle rather than the head. A promising start. The head held more horrors then just a death stare. He was standing there. Frankie climbed atop of the Basilisk and vaulted herself over the other side in one fail swoop, as if it were just a hurtle on a running track. Frankie quickly shut her eyes as she dashed towards the exit. Only when she had made it into the hallway did she reopen them again. The Basilisk was desperately trying to turn around and get whatever had gotten away, but could not due to the tight space it was in.

Tom was too busy focusing on the crying stall to notice she had been there at all. He hissed for the Basilisk to focus, and he knocked politely on the door...

For the moment, she was safe. Frankie ran down the hall to get back to class and get Professor Kettleburn. Surely, senseless as he was, he could handle something this serious. Then, once he had been deployed, go and get Professor Merrythought, as well. Suddenly, though she stopped dead in her tracks and audibly gasped. In her mental analysis of the situation, she had forgotten a minor detail.

The Basilisk's head was surely right next to Myrtle's bathroom stall.

Frankie made a U-turn back towards the bathroom, praying she wasn't too late. Any minute classes would get out and flood the bathroom with girls trying to fix their makeup and use the toilet before their next lesson. If she didn't do something fast, everyone else would be in danger as well. Frankie was almost there again when she saw Tom slowly walking towards her. He was clutching the diary she had gotten him, with a creepily satisfied smile on his face. He was looking totally zoned out.

"Tom!—You have to come with me immediately. It's an emergency." Frankie insisted, seeming to be ignoring the fact that he didn't look well.

"What's wrong?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to hurry, before it's too late!"

She dragged him along through the hall. They arrived in a strangely empty and silent bathroom. A fifty-foot snake couldn't hide. Where was it?

"Myrtle?" Frankie exclaimed, but there was no answer. She looked in the direction of her stall and screamed. The door of the stall open and the limp body of Myrtle Warren lay strewn across the floor. Frankie let go of her grip on Tom and ran over to check on Myrtle, in the slight chance she was just barely alive. Tom staggered for a moment, tried to brace himself on the sinks, but then fell to the ground seconds later. Frankie just sat there, very unsure about what she was supposed to do. She had been too late, and the Basilisk was gone. She was sitting between a girl she had left for dead and, unknown to her, her best friend who had just made a Horcrux because of a book she let him read.

Their deaths were her fault.