Sparking the Shivered Soul
Prologue
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable is not mine. Not making money and taking no credit. Please don't hurt me!
A/N: This is AU and diverges from the canon HP-verse mid 6th book. Also it's assumed that Tom killed Myrtle in 7th year and killed his father and grandparents the summer after to make the Horcrux. It's always how I read it since I didn't think he could kill his father if he were still in school and not be found out somehow. Also, please excuse the OOC Tom in the prologue; I hope it's not unreadable. There will be forthcoming explanations on why they're in the same dream, how not all parts of V's soul are created equal, and how not all Horcruxes are the same.
---
Five Years Ago
She sat in front of her favorite table at the back of the library. This table had been a good friend to her all of first year, especially before she had managed to make human ones. It was tucked in a corner out of view but still had fantastic lighting from a well-placed window. She could sit here for hours and not notice any of it pass, and frequently did so. The sporadic passer-by knew not to disturb her.
She was then all the more surprised when she lifted her head and saw a boy sitting across the table from her. She could tell immediately that he was not her age; he was much older and probably in his sixth or seventh year. He was tall, dark, lithe and quite attractive, she noted critically. Her eyes finally moved down and caught the decorations on his uniform; not only was he a Slytherin but he was also Head Boy.
She frowned. He could not be head boy. She actually had a conversation with the guy on the Hogwarts Express a few weeks ago when she realized that it had left without Ron and Harry. The head boy this year was Charles Welker, a cheerful and kind Hufflepuff, not this dark and handsome creature.
He was reading a book and seemed unaware of her presence; his body language indicated that did not wish to be disturbed.
She was terribly confused; not he was not the head boy but she did not recognize him at all from her first year. Why was he sitting at her table?
She cleared her throat and he looked up. The depth of his dark eyes startled her. Nobody she has met in her life, adult or otherwise, has ever looked at her like that. His gaze pinned her in place like some kind butterfly specimen. She wondered how far that gaze went.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he snapped. His tone was rude but his haughty expression showed that he expected an answer anyways.
"I should ask you the same thing," she said, ire and volume rising with each word, "I know the Head Boy this year and you are not him."
She watched as he took in her words and turned to study their surroundings. Puzzlement gave way to realization in seconds and the look on his face told her that he had figured something important out. She did not care how old or wise somebody was, she hated it when they found the answer before she did and left her in the dark.
That made her slightly more irritated than she might have been otherwise. "Well?" She snapped her fingers in front of her face and then crossed her arms for good measure.
His gaze shifted to her fingers, then back up to her face. He seemed unperturbed. "Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Tom Riddle."
The name sounded familiar. It was not entirely unique but quite lovely and it reminded her of the villain from Batman. Then it clicked where she had read it and she stared at him shock. "But you graduated almost fifty years ago!"
"How in Merlin's name do you know that?" Startled would have been an understatement for his reaction.
"I was bored one day last year and read through the names of some of the students that had been at the top of their classes. No one has managed to graduate with more honors than you in the last fifty years."
"That is gratifying to know." His sarcasm surprised her. How cocky he was!
"I plan to change that of course," she added. She almost laughed at his astounded expression; she had worn that expression when recognized the egg that Hagrid was incubating in his hearth.
He looked down at the Gryffindor crest sewn on her left breast and past it to the book sitting in front of her. It was the same one she had been reading all week; it sat on her bedside table inside the cover of one of Professor Lockhart's books. Madame Pince looked like she had wanted to object when she went to get it out but in the end she had only given her the disapproving frown.
"Dark Arts and Death seems extremely advanced for a third year," he said.
"I'm in second year, thank you."
His expression went from surprised to speculative so quickly that she felt slightly uneasy.
"What?" she asked.
"I wonder why I am here." His voice was low and thoughtful.
"What do you mean why you are here? Do you mean why you are in Hogwarts?"
"Of course not," he said, looking around pointedly. "I mean why I am in your dream."
She realized almost immediately after he had said it that she was in a dream. Her surroundings were hazy and indistinct and in fact the only thing coming to her clearly and sharply was Tom himself. "Well, if this is my dream than you're just a manifestation of my subconscious." That explained everything.
"But I am not," he said firmly, "a manifestation of your subconscious. I am present. Here." He spoke so firmly that she almost believed him, even with such a ludicrous claim.
"Are you saying that we're both in this dream?" As she said it her mind was already working through the possibilities. "That we are in some kind of collective unconscious?"
"Perhaps, but as you say, I belong fifty years in your past. I would not be as you see me in your present. Only the person writing…" he stopped before he finished.
She waited for the rest of the sentence and quickly realized that it was not forthcoming. It was curious and she found herself wondering what he was going to say. "I guess we're not in Kansas anymore."
He tilted his head at her odd line.
She sighed at the blank expression on his face. She had almost forgotten that he was a Slytherin. "I guess you don't really know anything about muggles," she added by way of explanation.
The reaction on him was immediate. "Why would I associate with muggles and mudbloods?" he spat, his eyes glittering with hatred.
She recoiled and was surprised that she did not fall over her chair in her haste to get away. His face shrunk into the background, first slow and then faster. She saw him receding into the distance like a bullet, or maybe it was that she was being pulled away.
Of course it was a dream, she thought when she woke up. Hermione found herself back in her bed, comfortable sheets beneath and warm September air tickling above. It was far too early for any of them to have their bed hangings drawn and she found that she could see all the other second year girls just by raising her head slightly. They were all asleep.
She settled herself back into bed and closed her eyes. She felt a vague sense of pain that the boy had been so prejudiced. He was very handsome, perhaps even more so than Professor Lockhart, and his school record indicated that was somewhat of a genius as well. She had enjoyed speaking with him up to that point.
Oh well, she thought as her mind drifted off again.
By the time she got up in the morning, she had long forgotten one Tom Riddle.
---
Water lapped slowly at the banks of the lake. Though clad in only her nightgown, the early November chill did not bother her. The breeze ruffled some of her hair and blew a few strands across her face. She tucked them behind her ears as she looked around.
He sat at the edge of a small overhang off to her right. He was idly throwing pebbles into the water. He had all the airs of one brooding heavily about something.
She deduced almost immediately after seeing him that she was dreaming. There were no sounds and no movement. There was nothing except him and the bright glowing half moon hanging in the sky and bouncing off the surface of the lake. Everything else was shrouded in a haze off at the periphery.
She walked over slowly and moved to sit beside him. At the last moment she recalled his last words to her and left some space between them. He did not seem surprised at her appearance and he seemed too caught up in his own gloom and pensiveness to care about her.
"Hullo Tom," she said quietly. She looked out at the dreamscape lake and wondered if she could make it pink if she tried hard enough. Or maybe she should try with scarlet and gold instead, wondering how much Tom would appreciate that. Further reflection ruled it out as a bad idea. In the end she decided to just wait him out since she herself never enjoyed being provoked or prodded when she was thinking hard about something.
A few minutes passed before he seemed compelled to speak, either out of politeness or desire. "How goes your grand plan to defeat my school record?" His tone was sarcastic but preoccupation stole some of the bite.
"It goes," she sniffed.
He gave her a slightly amused sideways glance.
"School itself is being a bit hampered a little by what's going on though."
"Do elaborate," he said woodenly. He sounded very much as if he would rather not know. He had also tensed and covered his face with a blank expression that put the ones Harry and Ron sported to shame.
She did not want to make him more upset but she really wanted to speak to someone smart about the things on her mind. She did not want to waste this opportunity. "There was an attack on a cat a few nights ago. Someone seems to think that they are opening the Chamber of Secrets again."
"I see." His maintained his empty tone.
She was surprised by his reaction. "Aren't you even going to say that it's impossible and the Chamber of Secrets doesn't exist?"
"But it does exist. Surely you believe that now from what you've seen?" Some feeling had returned to his voice.
"Well, yes. But that's what all our teachers say."
Tom looked at her speculatively. "Let us assume as a premise that the Chamber of Secrets exists. You believe it and I do as well."
"Okay."
"Does the thought terrify you?" A shadow of a smile appeared on his face as his eyes glittered.
She was vaguely reminded of Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs which she snuck downstairs and watched one night after her parents had forbade her to do so. "No. Well, yes but also no." She struggled to put her thoughts into words. She turned and folded her legs so that she sat cross-legged and facing him. She idly picked up a strand of hair and chewed on it. "I mean, I don't want anybody to hurt but the whole thing is rather thrilling and wondrous."
"Thrilling and wondrous." He repeated her words slowly, as if turning them around in his mouth first. His eyes found hers and bore into them, searching for a trace of a lie.
"Imminently." She felt almost relieved to be able to tell him this secret, something she could not voice to her friends, her peers, or even her teachers. "I mean think about it, a thousand years ago one of the creators of Hogwarts built a room which no one can find. Then he put inside it a monster so amazing and legendary that it might still be alive. Do you not find that wondrous?"
"I find it…" He stopped and looked away from her again. He seemed vaguely disturbed about something and she was not sure she wanted to know. There was a darkness to him that bothered her, even in such a safe and tranquil place at this. She looked out again at the water rippling gently under the breeze.
"Well, I do not agree with what he thought should be done with the monster, but I should dearly love to see it," she continued, looking wistfully out to the lake.
"Would you now?" His tone was thoughtful and slightly ironic. Then something else occurred to him. "You do not agree with Slytherin's desire for purity?"
"No, I most certainly do not!" she said indignantly. "I do not wish to die."
"You're a half-blood?" he asked in disbelief.
She shook her head. "A muggleborn actually, or perhaps you prefer the term mudblood?" She still marveled at how much pain it cost her to just say the word though she did her best not to show it.
The mask on his face slipped a little and he looked away.
She could not help the thoughts swirling in her head. They got progressively bitterer as the silence dragged on. She held out for a good few minutes before she felt compelled to defend what she should not have to defend. "I suppose you're too good to sit here and talk to me now?" She asked angrily. "I can be the best in my year, the most brilliant witch in a generation but I guess nothing will acquit me of the horrendous crime of being born to muggles. Would that I be burned at the stake for the grievance."
He would not look at her and continued to say nothing.
She signed in exasperation. This whole thing was so stupid, and if there was one thing she could not abide, it was stupidity. "Look, let's operate under the premise that even if we disagree on the importance of blood, it does not matter a knut here. Even if we wanted to, there's nothing we could do to each other. So can we just work around that somehow since we have to be in each other's company until somebody wakes up?"
He did not respond besides throwing another pebble into the water but she took it as a good sign that he made no move to argue further or move away either. He had always given her the impression of being a little lonely, something she understood well from growing up so much smarter than everyone else.
"Come on, let's call a truce and I'll tell you about our plan to find the Heir of Slytherin."
That did it. He startled and looked back at her with those dark eyes. They were unreadable most of the time but he could not hide the disbelief in this case. "You are trying to uncover the Heir of Slytherin?"
"Well someone's got to."
He gave her a pointed once over. "If you haven't looked in a mirror lately I suggest that you do. Despite what ever overly Gryffindor lens you are seeing the world through, you're still only a twelve year old girl."
"Oh that doesn't matter," she shrugged. "Besides, we have an idea of who might be behind it."
"Do you now?" It was the first time he had really smiled. Even though it was an amused, mocking smile, she could not help but think that it made him look a lot more handsome.
"Yes, although I'm not quite sure how we'd prove it. My friends and I, I mean."
"Prove it," he murmured.
"Make him confess," she clarified.
"And do you have a plan to make somebody confess?" He drawled out that last word in such a way that it was obvious he was patronizing her.
She ignored his tone. "I was thinking a truth potion of some kind." She frowned. "But if he really is the Heir of Slytherin, he'll probably be on guard for it."
"A truth potion," he repeated thoughtfully. "And who is this mysterious heir of Slytherin who might be getting a truth potion?"
Hermione sighed and resumed chewing on her hair. "To be honest, I not quite sure that Draco Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin. At the very least I don't believe he's orchestrating these attacks."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Well, you see, Salazar Slytherin was brilliant. I mean of course you know that. But I mean like genius brilliant. He must have made sure that any idiot couldn't just open up his Chamber and send the monster off to do who knows what. It would or should have to take someone brilliant. And Draco's kind of just a dumb twelve-year old." She paused and smiled wryly. "We all are really."
A curious expression crossed his face that she could not quite read. "You might be selling yourself short, muggleborn."
She made a face at the mode of address but supposed it was better than 'mudblood'. "So I mean, it's really more that I'm trying to eliminate him from the list of suspects than anything, but if it isn't him than I'm really at a loss. There aren't that many possibilities you know, and whoever it was would have to be brilliant. I mean, absolutely brilliant."
"Mmm-hmm." He looked out over the water again and his eyes grew vague.
She wondered what he was thinking. Then a thought occurred to her and she frowned.
"Or maybe it's something else entirely. I mean, someone brilliant might not have to be a student in order to move pawns around at Hogwarts. Considering the world we live in, it might not even have to be a person at Hogwarts right now. Something like the Imperius Curse or…" she trailed off as she realized what she was saying. Where had all that come from? However the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
"Have you ever heard of a book called Moste Potente Potions?" he asked abruptly. There was a look of discomfort in his eyes as they searched hers. His question was enough to derail her thoughts.
"Of course I have," she said, interest piqued at the discussion of a book from the Restricted Section. "It has the recipes of a lot of the potions I've read about. I've never been able to get close to the shelves it's on without Madame Pince shooing me away. That woman's like a hawk." She made a sour face.
"Well if you did manage to get your hands on it, there might be a way for you to eliminate this Malfoy from your list of potential suspects."
"How?"
"The Polyjuice Potion."
Her eyes widened as she realized the implications. "Why didn't I think of that?" she said, snapping her fingers. "It's pretty advanced but I think I can make it." She bit her lip, thinking over the logistics. "And I know how I might be able to convince a teacher to let me read get book too."
It was then that she noticed that her surroundings were getting lighter and she looked up. The Sun's rapid rise on the horizon was casting everything into an orange glow. She could feel the echo of pressure against her body as she rolled over in bed. She grinned at him. "I think that's my cue." She stood up and straightened her nightgown. "Thanks for your help Tom; I'll let you know how it goes!"
He just nodded at her, face unreadable. As the light shined brighter and brighter on him, his expression and then the rest of his body faded to white.
Hermione woke up with the sun on her face, a plan in mind and new determination in her heart. This time, as she got ready to face the day, she remembered Tom Riddle.
---
Her footsteps echoed slightly in the silence of the Great Hall. There was only a single person in the room when she walked in, lit dimly by a few candles floating near the walls and the soft moonlight that made the enchanted ceiling glow. He was sitting near the middle of the Slytherin table and looking over at the Headmaster's podium. She wondered what he was thinking.
He turned and watched her as she approached. He did not look surprised to see her there, nor did he look unhappy.
"Hello muggleborn," he said when she got closer.
She rolled her eyes. "Hullo Tom."
"Did the potion work?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said firmly. She sat on the table and propped her feet on the bench next to where he was seated so that she was facing him.
"Was it too difficult to make?" He shot her an amused look.
"The potion was made perfectly, thank you very much." She infused her voice with as much acid as she could and hoped it would stop the conversation. No such luck.
"Then what could have possibly gone wrong?" he asked with that kind of fake boyish innocence so unlike him that she took a few moments to regain her train of thought.
She pulled a face, not wanting to admit her mistake but decided to just get it over with. She did not think that Tom would just let it go. "I accidentally picked up a…" She paused and closed her eyes, wincing as she said, "a cat hair."
He just looked at for a second, his mind no doubt piecing together exactly what had happened. Then he laughed. It was slow and halting at first, as if he were not used to laughing, but got louder and stronger as he looked up and saw her glare.
"It is not funny!"
He composed himself with some effort. "Of course not."
She was glad that he seemed to enjoy the humor at her expense but she did not like being laughed it. "Like I said, the potion was perfect." She lifted her head and looked down her nose at him.
"Quite an accomplishment." The side of his mouth twitched as he said it though.
She stared at him, daring him to laugh again. After assuring herself that he had finished, she continued. "I was right of course; Draco has no idea who's doing the whole thing and now two Gryffindors and one of our ghosts have been attacked.
He did not say anything and a slight expression of unease appeared on his face.
"They're alive but I can't help feeling that it's less a plan and more dumb luck."
He remained silent.
"I mean, this is a monster brought here to kill students. I'm not sure why ours lived but I can't help feeling that it's key to identifying what exactly is running around our school killing people, or trying to at least."
"Running," Tom repeated almost to himself.
"Well, not necessarily running," she amended, "it's just an expression. It could be crawling or slithering or even flying around the school." She grimaced at the thought of something crawling around her school.
He just looked past her at the hangings on the wall. Even though he was unreadable in a general way, she couldn't help feel that he looked slightly down.
"I hate to say it but this thing would probably be a lot easier to identify if it did kill something or someone. I wonder how previous victims have died."
He flinched at her words.
"You never told me that you caught Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets when you were both in school," she said quietly. "Or that you knew the girl who was killed."
"You've been talking to Harry Potter," he said as he looked up at her, eyes pausing briefly at her Gryffindor crest.
"I know you did what you thought was the right thing but I don't think Hagrid would kill anybody."
"He was keeping a giant spider in the school."
"Giant spiders do not live for thousands of years."
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "And anyway I have to admit that he does not quite fit your description for the Heir of Slytherin. He has always been kind of a blundering fool."
"Don't say that!" she hissed.
"Even if it's true?" he asked, totally unaffected by her anger.
"Well it doesn't matter anyways; the monster is still running loose in Hogwarts. I can't help but feel whenever I turn a corner that I'll be petrified or worse. It's making even going to class quite jumpy and overly exciting." She tried to make a light of it but the anxiety had actually been causing her real stress.
His eyes found hers. "I believe," he began slowly, "that if someone were trying to pick off mud…muggle-borns in this school, you would be the last on the list."
"Really?" she asked, unconvinced.
"I do not believe that Slytherin would have been completely ashamed to have you at his school."
She had to bite back an extremely sarcastic comment, realizing that he meant it as a compliment. She finally settled on a short "I'm so glad."
His lips twitched slightly but he did not add anything. He looked back up at the head table.
"What are you looking at?" she said as she leaned in towards him, her gaze following his.
"I wanted that seat once," he said softly.
"You wanted to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts," she inferred.
"Yes."
"As worthy a goal as any," she said, looking at the place where Professor Dumbledore usually sits and imagining Tom there. "What do you want to be now?"
"What?" He looked completely taken aback.
She frowned. She was sure he had heard her but her perfectly reasonable question threw him for some reason. "You said you wanted that seat 'once'. That means that you replaced it with a different ambition. What do you want to be now?"
He was silent for a minute; either he was considering what he wanted to be or deciding if he should tell her. "It doesn't matter anymore."
She shrugged; she could not make him tell her. "Well I'm not really sure what I want to do when I get out of here, perhaps some kind of research or teaching." She turned slightly and lay back on the table in front of him, hands beneath her head. The moon and starlight in the bewitched ceiling were always brighter than what she could see in England.
"Now what are you looking at?" he said with some amusement.
"The ceiling - isn't it beautiful?"
"You can see the very same thing outside."
"Yes," she grinned at him, "but it won't be magic then."
He took a long breath as he studied her. "You are a very strange little girl," he said thoughtfully.
"Little?" she said indignantly.
"You are very young."
"Yes, I'm sure I am to someone with all the experience and wisdom of being seventeen."
A shadow passed over his face and he looked away.
She watched the sky for a few minutes before feeling like she should say something. "I suppose you're right about me but I won't be little forever."
"No, I suppose you won't," he said, looking up to study the ceiling with her. "You wish to be a teacher?"
"Or a researcher."
"Why would you wish to research magic?"
"My first math, err well, arithmetic teacher asked me if I thought that numbers was something to be invented or something to be discovered. Did we create the way they fit together or did we discover it?" She pursed her lips. "I mean I don't know about math but I think that when it comes to magic, the answer is both. We both discover it and we create it, and isn't that just fantastic?"
His face grew expressionless again.
"Not only would you be able to explore and uncover magic in research," she continued, "but you can also invent and make and create it. Just the very idea sounds kind of beautiful."
"Beautiful," he echoed, thinking on the word.
"Don't you agree?"
"I suppose that magic is about the only thing of which I've known that I might use that word to describe."
"That's a cumbersome way of saying 'yes'," she laughed. Then she thought of something that depressed her. "Well, at this rate I'm probably going to have to go be an Auror or something."
"An Auror?"
"Well yes. My friends are going to want to fight Lord Voldemort if he's still out there when we graduate, and they're absolutely useless sometimes without my help." She bit her lip. "It's hardly what I wanted to do in life but it must be done."
His expression became outraged almost instantly. "You? Fight Lord Voldemort?" You cannot be serious!"
"Why not us?"
"Do you have a death wish little girl?"
"We'll only die if we don't succeed!"
"You think that you children can defeat Lord Voldemort?" he spat. She got off the table and stood facing him.
"Children have done it before!"
"Yes, of course, the great Harry Potter," he said, standing up on his side of the table as well.
"Yes Harry Potter! Yes everyone. It's our duty to stop evil from taking over the world."
"And you think that all you have to do is say it?"
"Well if not us then who? He's been gone for more than a decade and half the Wizarding World cowers in terror at the mere mention of his name! We have to defend ourselves. It's good versus evil."
"Good versus evil," he repeated.
"Yes, and it is light versus dark and right versus wrong. And even if we lose, which I don't think we will, we have to at least fight. It's what people do."
He laughed a quick humorless laugh. "Of course, it's so simple - right and wrong!"
Her chin shot up. "There has not been a dark witch or wizard ever who did not eventually get beaten back and defeated. Why should Lord Voldemort be any different?"
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He turned and walked towards the front doors.
"I will not run and hide from someone who is not even a shadow of his former self," she said, half running up the next aisle to keep up with his long angry strides.
"Lord Voldemort had the Wizarding World trembling at his feet!"
"And where is he now?"
He jerked himself to a stop and faced her across the table. He looked as if he were going to shout something at her.
"Voldemort is a coward." She had blurted it out but the look on his face made her wish she had not said it.
"What did you say?" His voice went low and dangerous but she was not one to back down.
"I said," she enunciated for effect, "that Lord Voldemort is a coward."
"You don't know what you are talking about." His anger was palpable.
"He's a bully, like some sort of spoiled child."
Tom's face contorted and he looked like he would come through the table to throttle her.
"I don't know what he's afraid of but he's afraid of something." She felt compelled to try and change his mind. She could not believe how anyone would side with Voldemort when the man would kill her and everybody like her. "Terrified even."
"Stop."
"Those who are not afraid of the world and all that it entails do not try and control everything around them."
"STOP!"
But she was on a roll and could not stop herself even if she tried. "Surely you can see it?" she said desperately. Why will he not listen to her?
"I told you to stop!" He shouted the last word.
"He cannot have love so he chooses fear, he cannot have friends so he chooses subjects, and he cannot have faith so he chooses order."
Tom raised a wand at her and took blew the table straight up to land upside down near the entrance of the hall.
The loud clatter made her flinch but she felt safe in her own dream. He could not hurt her here. She very much wanted to make him see and come around to her side. "He's so afraid of dying alone that he chooses to prevent death altogether. You can't get more cowardly than that."
"How dare you?" he asked, his voice rising. His wand hand shook with rage as he pointed it at her. He murmured something she could not make out clearly and waved it. Nothing happened.
"He would turn the world into a living hell to just to avoid facing his fears," she finished quietly. Hermione felt a sort of detachment set in as his face became bloated and his eyes bugged out. She would normally be terrified at such a reaction but this was merely a dream. At least she hoped it was.
"HOW DARE YOU?" He roared again with such fury and malevolence that she shied back. He took a step towards her in her dreamscape and her heart started pounding double-time despite her belief in her safety. Just as he came within touching distance, the whole world dissipated.
Hermione woke up with a gasp and jerked herself into a sitting position. Her hands reached out and grabbed fistful of covers. The other four-poster beds in the room were bleached by the dim starlight that shimmered through the windows; she could not see any movement from any of them. She sat still for a minute, taking long slow breaths and reassuring herself that all was quiet, before sinking back into bed.
It took almost an hour to get back to sleep; she could not stop thinking about the rage he exhibited. Why such anger? Did he work for Lord Voldemort? Did he hate her now? Finally, she forced herself to just push all of it away and count sheep and salvage what little sleep she could. It was going to be a big day, what with Gryffindor playing Hufflepuff in the final Quidditch game of the year. It might cheer Harry up some if they won…
---
A/N: For those of you who've forgotten, the quidditch match she is thinking of at the end got cancelled. Remember why? And that's not a bad insight for a girl of her age at the end there but Hermione should probably know her audience a little better. Tee-hee.
Also I borrowed the term "collective unconscious" from Seven of Nine. The Voyager writers probably took it from Jung.
I've never managed to scribble out more a few one-shots before writing this piece and I haven't written anything in a few years. Please don't flame me but please do make constructive comments/criticisms. If I have a particular writing habit that's annoying you, or a word I'm consistently using wrong, I'd like to hear about it. I do know about my problem with pacing but it will probably get better with practice *crosses fingers*. Chapter 1 is almost written. Not only will Hermione have grown up (in more than one sense) but there will be some appearances by Draco as well!