Just let me wake up already
Disclaimer: I don't own HP or any of its characters. I just own this plot, and the vial of 'Veneficus umbra' poison I put up on Ebay. Any takers? (just kidding!)
A/N: Whee, I'm glad this fanfic is so well received. I'm really motivated to write for this over my other fanfics, all of your kind words really make it that much easier for me to put aside my schoolwork and other stuff to crank out this next chapter xD
I name stars after you (I ran out of muffin baskets): Rainbow Cookies, Punkey-Monkey, Alena Emris, Kate (thank you! That's really what I was going for), vinz112, riddleandme, Sakura Takanouchi, irene0222, and sserpensssotia. Thank you all for taking the time to leave a review!
Also, I dip into Tom's POV a little bit during this chapter. Sorry in advance if it's a bit confusing to follow, I'm trying my best.
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Recap:
His mood slightly elevated by replaying the mental image of Hermione tripping over pensieves and memories, Tom returned to the Slytherin common room. He had some business to discuss with some of his…supporters.
Chapter Three: Of plots and pensieves
Hermione fumed as she stalked off towards the gardens, just wanting to get as far away from the castle, and Tom Riddle, as humanly possible.
The nerve of that…that…GARGH!
She clenched her transparent hands into fists, stamping her feet as she paced around a small fountain located in a small garden off of the entrance hall. It was quiet and empty, which was just what she needed. She was having enough trouble lately keeping her own thoughts in line, she didn't need someone else's to listen to.
Whenever she was angry or upset in the past, she had always had a friend or someone else to turn to and talk it out with. Sometimes you just needed to pour everything out to someone else, and have them give you advice on what to do. In this case, she couldn't talk to anyone.
And the worst part is, she thought, I can't even break something!
She would have dearly loved to have been able to throw the heaviest encyclopedia in the library right at the back of one certain Slytherin's head. She certainly wouldn't have had any trouble hitting it, his ego was so inflated that sometimes she wondered how he managed not to float right out a window.
Hey, maybe that's how Voldemort is able to fly, she thought with a grin.
No matter how much Riddle-bashing she did, it still didn't seem to alleviate the bottled-up anger inside of her. In times like this, she loved to either beat her pillow to smithereens, eat a ton of really high-quality chocolate, or scream.
Seeing as she couldn't do any of the first two things, she began to yell at the fountain.
Five minutes and several obscenities later, Hermione felt slightly guilty. What had the poor fountain ever done to her? It's missed out on seven years' worth of opportunities to drown Riddle, she thought sullenly, trying to kick the fountain. Of course she missed, her foot swinging right through the stone and water, causing Hermione to spin around, almost losing her balance.
Suddenly she brightened, catching sight of the Herbology Greenhouses out of the corner of her eye. After all, a good Snargaluff strangling always made her feel better. She figured watching others do it would have much the same effect. Somewhat mollified, she walked off towards the Greenhouses, humming the first song that popped into her head.
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Tom barely made it to the hallway before the Slytherin House entrance when he was surrounded by a large group of boys, all of them wearing the green robes or ties of their house. Tom let a lazy smirk cross his face; apparently they weren't all that incompetent, Aidan had delivered his message to the band of followers that Tom had assembled over the years. They weren't friends, but they were linked together by the title that Tom had recently began calling them: the Death Eaters.
"Yes, Tom? What did you want to talk to us about?" asked Anthony Bole, a fifth year. Young and impressionable, he had been instantly hookwinked by Tom's promises of a world of pureblood superiority and the seduction of the Dark Arts.
"Not here, you idiots! Follow me back to the dormitory," Tom told them, leading the way through the common room and up the stairs to where the seventh year boy's dormitory was. No one in the common room paid too much attention to the group, although several seventh-year girls waved and smiled at Tom, who offered them a wink in return.
"That Cedrella Black, she's a nice piece of work, eh?" Aidan Malfoy asked, earning a none-too-gentle punch in the shoulder from another member of the group. "That's my sister, you moron," Pollux Black snapped, causing Aidan to raise his arms in mock surrender as another of their group attempted to trip Pollux as he climbed the stairs. While not terribly bright, Pollux had muscle, listened to orders well, and had money to spare.
When they had entered the dormitory, Tom locked the door behind them. It was a snug fit, for there were at least nine people in the room.
"So, anything new to report?" Tom asked, taking control of the meeting. They really hadn't done much since he had been forced to close the Chamber of Secrets, and with Dumbledore breathing down his neck, he didn't want to do anything rash before he had graduated. Once he was free and on his own, then he could take his plans on a much grander scale.
"We tried to harass that Muggleborn, Owen Cooke, but we were interrupted by that blood-traitor, Ben Prewett—" Aidan started before Tom cut him off.
"You got caught?" He asked, the anger clearly present in his voice. "Need I remind you incompetent slugs that our actions must not be discovered while we are still at Hogwarts? After what's happened earlier this year, you should know better. I do hope one of you got in a good hex first," he scoffed, staring at each student in turn.
"I did, Tom," one boy said, his perfectly sleek blond hair identifying him as a Malfoy, although he was much smaller than his brother Aidan. "I sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at him, he was in the infirmary all afternoon," he proudly said, glad he could prove himself after always being outshined by his older brother.
Tom, however, had let his gaze drift to the medium-sized window in the wall to his left, where he could see a certain familiar ghost pacing furiously around a small courtyard. He grinned as he saw her try to kick the fountain, nearly fall over, and deliver an obscene gesture he didn't think the goody-two-shoes was capable of. He let out a chuckle before snapping back to reality, where the other Death Eaters were giving him an odd look. Apparently, they didn't find Abraxas' Bat-Bogey Hex quite as amusing.
"Well, anything else?" He asked harshly. Another seventh-year Slytherin, a tall boy with short brown hair, spoke up. "I succeeded in getting that job at the Ministry. Next year I'll be an Assistant in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he smiled, but it was fake. Tom had asked all of them who were smart enough to consider getting jobs in the Ministry or other places where they could spread the ideology of the Death Eaters and even recruit more followers.
"Good job, Rosier," Tom told him, again looking out the window. Hermione had disappeared, and Tom wondered if she was headed back to visit him. If he didn't have a book on Pensieves for her, he'd never hear the end of it. He was already considering taking a Sleeping Draught for that night when he remembered the meeting was still going on.
"That's it. You're all dismissed," Tom said gruffly, waving the boys out of the room. They hurriedly filed out, heading back downstairs for the common room. As Tom preferred to be alone rather than study or chat with the rest of his House they often stayed away from the dormitory during the day so he could have the place to himself, although he spent more of his time in library.
They don't know that I have my own personal chamber, he thought with a grin. While the basilisk wasn't particularly good company while he was working on his Arithmancy essays, the Chamber provided him with an excellent place where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.
He frowned. That ghost girl could get in, if she knows where it is, he thought sullenly. Suddenly in a bad mood, Tom wished he had Crucio-d at least one of his followers during the meeting, it always made him feel better and made the others that much more devoted in their pursuit to do his bidding. The grin returned to his face. The night's still young, he thought as he walked purposefully out of the room and down the stairs, heading straight to the library.
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Hermione had left the Greenhouses and was heading back towards the Castle. It was getting dark now, and ghosts didn't have any better eyesight than normal people. She walked through the door, finding herself back in the entrance hall. It was a quick walk to the library, where she decided she'd wait for Riddle.
She floated through the aisles, looking at the book spines for anything promising. Three rows later, and she still hadn't found anything. Looking up, she saw a book titled Pensieves and Power by Alexander Fancourt, and with a happy yell, proceeded to swipe her hand right through the book.
Growling, Hermione fumed as she paced the empty space in front of the bookshelf. This is going to drive me insane, she thought, trailing her hand through a bottom row of books as her fingers instinctively tried to grab on to the pages. This section in the library seemed to be devoted entirely to books about magical or enchanted objects, and seemed to be completely devoid of students, although Hermione could hear voices faintly from several rows over.
Still fuming, Hermione wondered what to do while she waited. An image from the afternoon popped into her brain, and she fumbled in her robes for her wand. The vine wood felt comfortable in her hand, although like everything else she carried or wore when she was drawn into the pensieve, portrayed a transparent lucidity.
She cast a noiseless summoning spell at the book, but all that shot out of her wand was a light gray filmy smoke that hovered in the air slightly before vanishing.
She tried 'Wingardium Leviosa,' but the same thing happened. Thick gray vapor poured from Hermione's wand no matter what spell she used, and she stuffed the wand back in her pocket, letting out an anguished screech.
At the undisguised laughter behind her, Hermione turned, crossing her arms as she saw Tom Riddle leaning nonchalantly against a bookshelf. He pulled a book out and leafed through it absently, mocking her.
Well at least I can cast the best damn fog spell out there, she thought with a huff.
"I found a book on Pensieves," she said instead, gesturing to the small book on the top shelf. Tom waved his wand and the book shot off the shelf, landing in his outstretched hand.
"Show-off," Hermione muttered, although Tom's widening grin as he read the cover told her he had heard her words.
"I've checked this whole side about books on Pensieves," Hermione stated. "That's the only one, but I don't know about the restricted section."
"You go in there, then," Tom told her as he opened the Fancourt book. "If there are any books on pensieves or memories there, I'll get Slughorn to give the approval."
Hermione floated through the bookshelves, gritting her teeth as she stomped across the library. How is it that whenever I'm by myself I'm horribly lonely, but whenever I try to talk to the only person who can listen, I want to strangle him the second he opens his mouth? If only he wasn't so damn…
Several colorful adjectives came to mind, although Hermione had now reached the restricted section and had to focus on searching for any books that could help her. Most of the books in this section were in some way connected to the dark arts or contained extremely advanced magic, so that no first-years or people who couldn't handle it accidentally picked up the book and started performing the spells. Hermione grinned as she saw the battered copy of Most Potente Potions, remembering her, Ron, and Harry's using it to brew the Polyjuice Potion in their second year.
Scanning the bookshelves critically, Hermione's heart jumped as she saw several books that she thought could help her. One was a book on Pensieves and Rune Magic, and the other was titled, Memoryes and Magick, by Hereward Nightridge. She would have Riddle get both.
Cheerfully, she walked back to where she had left Tom. She found him almost a fifth of the way through the first book, his eyes locked on the pages.
"Tom?" She called, waiting until he looked up from the book. "I found two other books in the restricted section that could help." She told him the titles and authors, and he headed for the front of the library to check out the first book.
"This one is really interesting," he told her out of the corner of his mouth after they passed a group of Hufflepuffs. "There's all sorts of things about pensieves in here I never knew." She didn't know if he was telling her this to irritate her or genuinely inform her.
As they were approaching the front counter, Hermione happily noted that Professor Slughorn was standing in front, conversing with this time's version of Madame Pince. The current library matron was short with steel-grey hair and glasses, and looked like she didn't care one way or the other as Slughorn happily explained a story of an allergic reaction he'd had to a Screechsnap.
"And then it developed interestingly colored scabs, and it's quite contagious, you know… " he trailed off as he caught sight of his favorite pupil. "Tom Riddle! Just doing some late-night studying? I know it's not for Potions," he joked.
"Actually professor, I was just about to ask you for a favor," Tom asked, showing Slughorn the book he carried. "I really wanted to do research on Pensieves, they're very interesting and I thought these books could really help me in a project for my Ancient Runes class." He proceeded to tell Slughorn how he found two other "absolutely fascinating" books in the restricted section, and had intended to go to Slughorn's office first thing the next day to ask for permission to check them out.
Blech, Hermione thought with disgust while watching the exchange. How Tom Riddle could appear so innocent was beyond her. He threw in a few reminders about "Potions being my favorite class, but Ancient Runes is so challenging!" Hermione could barely stomach it.
Ironically, Slughorn ate it right up. "Of course, my boy," he told Tom, clapping him on the back. "Let me go get those books for you and check them out." He gave Tom a wink and bounded towards the restricted section, leaving a small pile of Potions-related books on the counter.
Tom met Hermione's eye and gave her a smirk as he noticed her disgusted expression. She crossed her arms, glaring at him in disapproval.
Slughorn returned, holding out the two books to Tom. "Now, Miss Marsh, I'm sure this won't be a problem! The boy's got my permission to check out these books, a little knowledge never hurt anyone!"
As Tom and Hermione left the library, Slughorn picked right back up with his conversation with the librarian. "—And you won't believe the size it got after three days! Never been quite the same after that."
It was getting late as the two of them made it back to the Slytherin common room in relative silence. Hermione refused to talk to him, and instead began humming the song she'd had stuck in her head that evening. She couldn't remember the words, but the melody seemed catchy enough.
"Is that Celestina Warbeck?" Tom asked with amusement as he set the books down on a table in the empty common room. Shocked, Hermione nodded, finally remembering where she'd heard that song.
"How do you know her music?" Hermione asked, curious. Tom shrugged. "She sang at a ball last year. Wasn't really that good." Hermione bit back a snort. She probably didn't get any better over the years.
"Here, read this passage," Tom said, gesturing to the first book. He waved his wand and the pages flew to where he had stopped reading. Hermione started reading the section titled, "The many properties of the Pensieve."
The pensieve is the only known magical device to store and show memories. They are exceptionally powerful in this regard, and cannot be destroyed by conventional means. Fiendfyre and most fatal poisons are also not effective in destroying a pensieve
Once inside a pensieve, you observe the memories from a third-person narrative. Time outside of the memory stands still to an extent, as no more than ten or fifteen minutes should pass even for the most lengthy memory.
Oh, thank goodness, Hermione thought as she kept reading.
If someone enters a pensieve without a clear thought in mind as to which memory stored inside it to enter, the pensieve will pick one at random for you, although it is often the strongest one. In rare cases, people shift back and forth between memories, or in rare cases, experience two memories at once.
Once inside the memory, you will take on the appearance of a ghost and be able to observe the situation unseen and unheard by all. (Hermione snorted) In some rare instances, people have reported that the person whose memory you are observing can see a slight shadow or depression where you are standing.
Memories are quite precious, so they should be treated with care. Over time, if not stored directly in the pensieve, memories can become diluted or otherwise damaged with age, and it is more common for the side-effects mentioned to occur.
Hermione stopped reading. This said nothing more than what she already knew or had deduced through the last day of thinking about her situation.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she said, putting her hands on her hips. This book says absolutely nothing useful. Open up the restricted ones." She made a grabbing motion towards the biggest one.
"I'm getting a little tired of your endearments," Tom sneered, the glare returning to his eyes. "Sherlock Holmes, Captain Obvious?"
"Don't forget Sunshine," she added, skimming the next page to see if the information there was important or not. "What should I call you then, hmm?" He asked, clearly angered by the 'Sunshine' comment.
"Let's stay with Hermione, as that happens to be my name," she scoffed, trying to grab the edge of the book with her fingers. No matter how many times she missed, she kept trying, convinced that the next time she could actually grab the book.
"Listen, sweetheart," he said, leaning over the table, his voice dangerously low. Hermione began an indignant protest, but Tom cut her off. "I'm tired of putting up with your complaints without even a small show of gratitude."
Hermione was about to retort, "Just for that I'll wake you up at three in the morning by singing 'A Cauldron full of Hot, Strong Love'" but decided against it, inwardly cringing at the way that statement would have sounded with the one Tom said before it.
"Fine, thank you," she said dismissively. "Please put a page-turner charm on this one for me?" She pointed to the Memoryes and Magick book. Tom looked like he was going to say something else, but realized that this was all the gratitude Hermione was going to show him. Waving his wand, he headed towards the staircase to his dormitory.
"I set it for ninety seconds," he said before leaving.
I would have settled with sixty, Hermione thought with a grin. Although, that would have left her with nothing to do at about four in the morning, and by then she knew more Celestina Warbeck songs would have gotten lodged in her brain. As it was, she was having trouble vacating A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love as it replayed over and over in her head. The first page of the book turned, and Hermione sat down at the desk to read it, excited about the potential answers she could find in this book.
The first Pensieve was created by the Druids, to store memories that they obtained throughout their long lives. The Runes on the base stand for 'eternity,' 'knowledge,' and 'justice,' referring to the principal role of Pensieves at that time during trials. Pensieves served as the primary source of evidence because they are incapable of lying, and it is obvious if a memory has been tampered with due to its smoky nature where it has been changed.
Pensieves are unique in that they can be used by almost any magical creature. It is unknown if giants have the focus needed to access a pensieve, but house-elves, centaurs, and merpeople are capable of using it, although they do not do so regularly.
Memories are very closely related to dreams, as they both contain the true unalterable facts about a person's past or innate desires or wishes. Dreams often take the shape of a person's memories, and sometimes experiencing an intrusion into the pensieve can take on a dream-like state.
Once inside a pensieve, one takes on the nature similar to that of a ghost. One is unable to eat food or drink, but is affected by much baser elemental magick like wind or rain. While ghosts are also not capable of feeling pain or crying, memories can do so and experience the whole range of human emotions.
There have been several cases where people spend most of their lives living inside a pensieve, namely to again be with a person who has died. In this case, some unusual evidence has come up.
In these cases, the person in question is literally submerged in countless memories, and thus relives whole days or more, depending on the state of their mind and the memories in question.
Hermione held her breath, waiting for the page to turn so she could read what it said next. She had been sitting in the same position for hours, but her legs never cramped and her eyesight never wavered; signs that she had been reading too long in the past. The page flipped over, and Hermione raced back into the book, brushing aside a stray curl that dangled over her eyes.
As the person spends an increased amount of time in the Pensieve, their body undergoes significant changes. Initially they appear to be like a ghost or shadow, but the longer they remain in the state of memories they are able to transcend the normal limitations of a ghost and obtain almost corporeal status or abilities. It is unknown if their presence is ever noticed by anyone within the memories in question, although as dreams and memories are so closely linked, anything truly is possible.
Hermione's mouth dropped open; there on that creamy vellum page were the words that answered many of her questions, but created just as many new ones.
Why can Tom only see me? If these are his memories that still shouldn't be enough of a connection. Why can't I leave? What memory is the important one from those countless bottles?
Suddenly, the page turned, jerking Hermione out of her reverie. "Oh, damn!" she swore, trying to grab the page with her ghostly fingers. What other important information was on that page?
She glumly turned back to the book, reading the next section on the similarities and differences between ghosts and memories. Who cares if ghosts and poltergeists can do simple magic, but people in memories can't? I already knew that, hello.
Two hours later, Hermione finished the book. She was left with an empty feeling inside, like all the important information had been contained in the page she so conveniently didn't read.
Of course, every other chapter had to reference 'pg 184' in some way, she thought sarcastically. I even read the footnotes and index! Still angry, she moved from the hard-backed chair to a comfortable-looking couch in dark green fabric. She sank into it, suddenly becoming aware of how tired she really was. Looking out the still-dark window, she knew she had nothing more to do but wait for Tom and whatever the next day would bring.
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A/N: Hope you all liked it! I'm trying to write long chapters, hopefully this one answered a few of your questions and created some new ones! I completely made up all the pensieve/memory information, although I think it is a really unexplored facet of the magical universe. I mean, it's so cool that you can separate your memories and stuff, right? I also got most of the Slytherin students' names through a family tree I found on Wikipedia (the answer to everything xD) They might play a semi-important role in the plot, I'm still deciding what to do, I keep changing my mind on where I want to go with this fic. Any comments on where it's going so far would be wonderful!
Love, Kako
