Beyond the Veil

by fanster

Voldemort is gaining power and Harry, now in his sixth year, knows he must find a way to defeat the dark wizard. He is thrown into a world of mystery as he tries to unlock the secrets to Voldemort's immortality. But Harry will be tested like never before when the line between allies and enemies become blurred. Who should he trust? The fate of Wizarding kind depends on his answer.

10. The Tempest

I'd personally like to thank the Son of Whitebeard for the review! And again, thanks to all of my reviewers.

---

Chapter 9
The Tempest

Like Harry's first night at Hogwarts, the first week of school had been busy.

On Tuesday, Harry did get another surprise. Two, in fact. McGonagall had called him to his office before breakfast. "Come in," she said when he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Sit down." He was curious as to why he had been called in. Surely, Tonks hadn't told McGonagall what they were up to last night? Not that he really minded, but that didn't make sense, or else Ron and Hermione would have been summoned as well.

"I presume you know why you are here?" she asked. Harry gave her a blank look. "Angelina has graduated, which means you are now Quidditch captain," she elaborated.

"Oh," said Harry, mildly surprised. With everything going on, he had quite forgotten.

"Oh, indeed," replied Professor McGonagall with some amusement. "This means that you will need to pick your team soon," she continued. "I have scheduled the pitch for you this weekend at ten in the morning. Will that work?" she asked.

"Er, yes," replied Harry. "Yes, that'll work," he answered more definitively. McGonagall observed him for a moment then said, "Good."

"I also assume you will want to be taking Potions, Mr. Potter? I thought I might as well hand you your schedule while you're here."

"Potions? But —" he needed an Outstanding to take Potions at the N.E.W.T. level. Except Slughorn was teaching Potion's now. Did that mean — "I can take Potions now?" he asked.

"Yes, Potter. While Professor Snape only accepted 'Outstanding' O.W.L. students, Professor Slughorn is more than willing to accept students who received 'Exceeds Expectations'". Her lips quirked into what could almost be described as the beginnings of a smile. "I was quite pleased to see how well you did in your examinations, particularly your Transfiguration mark." That was a rather large compliment coming from her.

"Thank you, Professor."

"This means that you are well on your way to becoming an Auror. But I must warn you not to become lax just because this is a non-testing year. You will need to put forth your best effort if this is indeed the career path you wish to pursue."

"Yes, Professor." He thought of something. "Wait, I don't have any potions supplies."

"Professor Slughorn will be able to provide for you until you purchase the correct supplies. You may order it by owl," she said handing him a brochure.

"Thanks," he said again. So something good had come from Snape taking over Defense after all.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter."

He got up to leave, but when he reached for the door handle McGonagall said, "Oh, and Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do try and select a good team. Slytherin, I hear, will have a strong team this year. And if they win, Professor Snape will be most unbearable. I will never hear the end of it."

Harry smiled. Everyone knew how competitive the two Heads of House were with one another, especially when it came to Quidditch. "I'll make sure to find a team I think will win the Quidditch Cup," Harry replied.

"That is good," she said, now smiling a little as well. "Off you go now, you don't want to miss breakfast."

"See you, Professor."

Quidditch captain, he thought. He guessed he should have expected it, but hadn't given it any thought. He was after all, the only one left of the team that won the Cup in his third year aside from Katie Bell. He hoped she wouldn't be upset as she was a seventh year. But they had both been on the team for the same amount of time, as Harry knew he was the only one to make a team as a first year.

"Quidditch captain!" Ron at breakfast. "Well, you are the obvious choice, mate, but still. Now you can run things the way you want."

Harry was glad Ron was happy for him. Sometimes he wondered how much Ron hid his jealousy, but his friend seemed to be genuinely in high spirits. "I don't know about Potions though, mate."

"Come on, Ron. It'll be better if you're there with me. And it's not Snape anymore, how bad could it be? And you need it if you want to be an Auror." He was trying to convince Ron to take the class with him before McGonagall passed out the schedules to everyone else.

"I know," he growled. "Fine. You got me there, Harry. I'll take bloody Potions with you," he relented.

Harry smiled. "You're making the right choice, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Harry smiled even more. "So much for just Charms on Mondays," Ron grumbled unhappily.

The morning began, as it happened, with Transfiguration. McGonagall had started with a fairly difficult task for review — to turn a rabbit into an hourglass — and predictably, only Hermione had been able to complete it to perfection by class' end.

Interesting to note was that when Ron drew level with Parvarti and Lavender as he walked to his desk, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh; Hermione, however, looked like she did not find this to be a laughing matter at all. He noticed that Hermione was colder than usual towards Ron during class; apparently Ron did, too, for he gave Harry a questioning look, to which Harry merely shrugged.

After that, classes were done for the day (well, not for Hermione). Harry and Ron only had Transfiguration on Tuesdays, so they decided to relax by playing some wizard's chess. Harry was pleased to see that Ginny joined them for a while.

Hermione also reunited with them when her classes were over. Ron wanted to get in some practice before the trials began, so to Hermione's distress ('You really shouldn't fall behind on schoolwork this early in the year!'), they decided to head out to the Quidditch pitch.

Harry knew that as captain, he probably shouldn't be helping Ron prepare because this might be seen as favoritism, as no one else would receive the same advantage. But Harry was still Ron's friend and he didn't think throwing a few balls at him was going to make a whole lot of difference. It was more for his psyche than anything.

The three made good on their promise to visit Hagrid, who had thankfully resumed being his cheerful self. Despite this, they still felt terrible and told him repeatedly that they were sorry. "Oh, I didn' really 'spect you to go on taking me class. I know yeh're more interested in other things," he told them to douse their apologetic insistence. "An' I know yeh're rarin' teh be an Auror, Harry," he said with a beaming smile. "An' I think tha's a great idea. Yeh've got teh take a lot o' tough classes fer tha' one. Bes' teh focus yer studyin' there."

Also of great relief to the trio was Hagrid's claim that now was not a good time to visit Grawp.

Wednesday was much more eventful. In Herbology, they were in Greenhouse 3, and so were onto more interesting and dangerous plants. But today was the first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry was anxious to know how Defense class was going to be with Snape, so it was with mild curiosity this time that Harry trudged down to Snape's classroom, which was no longer held in the dungeons.

As Harry took his seat, Snape remarked, "Ah, so you decided to proudly wear your battle scars I see, Mr. Potter. The results of your courageous and heroic encounter, no doubt," he finished dryly, thereby deflating some of Harry's newfound enthusiasm.

. *** .

The Weasley boy sniggered. Well, that was certainly unexpected, thought Severus. Maybe the Weasley offspring was going through a jealous stage which Severus knew he was prone to having. "I still can't believe you just stood there," said the red-headed boy. To his surprise Potter just rolled his eyes in amusement. "You must have looked like a bloody fool," Weasley continued, forgetting, apparently, that he was currently in class with his hated professor.

"Yes, Ron, we've already been over this. And thanks, by the way, for the support," gibed Potter.

"Always here for you, mate," the other boy responded in kind.

"If you two are quite finished," Severus said warningly.

That got their attention. When he didn't budge, Potter seemed to get nervous and blurted, "You're not going to send me to the hospital wing, are you? It's just a couple of bruises," he protested, "She'll just make a fuss."

Yes, Severus knew whom Potter was referring to. He too detested being mollycoddled by the overbearing matron. Wait? Did he just agree with the Potter brat? "No," he said, "I'm not sending you to the hospital wing. I do believe you'll survive, Potter," he mocked.

The idiot boy softly snorted again. Curious. But he was silenced with a glare. Severus turned to walk back to the front of the classroom.

"Prat," he heard Potter quietly utter playfully to his red-headed friend. Severus chose to ignore this.

If truth be told, Severus was mildly surprised. He was sure Potter would regale his friends with an embellished version of the event. But he didn't have time to deal with the antics and strange dynamics between Potter and his trusty sidekick. It mattered not to him, and there were more important matters to deal with at the present moment.

. *** .

Things took an interesting turn when Malfoy opened his mouth and taunted, "Yes, well, we all know Potter loves having ugly marks on his head." His cohort of Slytherins guffawed sycophantically. This was obviously not exactly a rare occurrence, but what made it fascinating was Hermione's reaction.

"Hilarious, Malfoy, how original and so very witty. Here's an idea: instead of worrying yourself over Harry's face, why don't you work on that attitude of yours; plenty enough to keep you busy there." The whole class seemed to freeze. Even Snape seemed stunned into silence. Malfoy, after the initial shock soon composed himself, angrily saying, "No one asked for your opinion, Mud —"

"Oi!" interceded Ron. Harry glared but didn't otherwise react, unlike Ron was probably about to do judging by the way he was reaching for his wand. Harry grabbed a hold of Ron's arm to make sure he didn't do anything rash. Malfoy was just being Malfoy; his opinions were meaningless and his words even more so. Hermione was too clever to get upset over something like that. And Harry couldn't care less how his face looked, he was not going to see Madame Pomfrey if he could help it.

"Don't worry about it, Ron. I'm far too used to it. Once again, Malfoy has demonstrated his unlimited resource of creativity," Hermione continued her rant sarcastically. The gang of Slytherins was beginning to look angry now that their astonishment had worn off.

"You —" Malfoy began, but Snape finally decided to step in. "That's enough."

"What would you know about creativity, Granger?" Malfoy continued anyway; both of them were now completely ignoring an increasingly irritated Snape. "You're about as plain and dry as all those books you read, except even they wouldn't be able to fit that bushy hair of yours in —"

"I said that's en —"

"No," Hermione spoke over Snape, "but they could probably do in your little ferret face." Ron's jaw dropped, Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline, and the whole class was watching in amazement. Like watching a train wreck, Harry thought. Except even that wouldn't be nearly as exciting as this although, admittedly, much more tragic.

"Why you little — !"

"Just leave Harry alone! Or is that so hard for you? You know, people will start to wonder…"

Many of the girls gasped, while Seamus and a few others didn't even bother trying to stifle their laughter.

"Silence, now!"

"Shut your trap, Granger," raged Malfoy. "Everyone knows it's you who's into wonder-boy over there. Tell, me which loser did you pick? Or did you even have to? I bet Weasel-head here would totally be into a threesome with Potter. Wouldn't you, Weas —?"

"ENOUGH!" Snape bellowed, finally grabbing the fighting duo's attention. "Detention, the both of you. I will discuss it with you after class. I don't want to hear another word from either of you," he warned, taking turns to glower down at both of them. "And twenty points from each of you for your display of childish behavior." Harry felt that was rich coming from a guy who belittled his own students.

Hermione at least had the decency to look abashed. Malfoy, however, did not look repentant in the slightest.

Harry stared at Hermione, and then shared a flummoxed glance with Ron. The class was starting to murmur. "Quiet!" Snape yelled before it got any worse. Harry could tell Ron was burning to say something to Hermione, but was too afraid of losing points or earning a detention alongside Malfoy and Hermione.

Eventually the class settled down, but he doubted anyone was paying close attention to the lesson. He would bet his sneakers that all sorts of deviations would be made in the retelling. Even Trelawney ought to be able to predict that.

Harry and Ron waited outside for Hermione after class. The door opened, but it was Malfoy who stormed out without even looking at them. The door opened again; this time, it was Hermione. "Bloody hell, Hermione!" exploded Ron who was no longer able to contain himself.

"Ron, be quiet," she said looking worriedly back at the door as if Snape would burst out of it and give her more detention.

"Jesus, Hermione, what was that all about?"

"Harry!" Hermione said, appalled, her eyes widening.

"Sorry," replied Harry. It was an expression he had picked up from Dudley. He didn't know Hermione would be offended by it. She seemed too much the intellectual type who put their stock in logic to believe in God or be religious. Was she Christian, he wondered curiously? Before Harry had an opportunity to ask her, Ron was already interrogating her [1].

"Never mind that," he said, clearly unconcerned with whatever it was Harry said. "Answer the question. What was that all about?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione tightened her lips and starting walking at a brisker pace.

"Oh, come off it. You really think we're going to give this one a rest?" said Ron.

"I just — I was so angry with what he did to you, Harry."

"You've got to be kidding me," said Harry. "That's what this is about?"

"Yes, Harry. And no, I'm not 'kidding you'," she said somewhat irritably. With everything Harry had gone through, she had become extraordinarily protective of her friend. Being punched by Malfoy was hardly a traumatizing experience, she knew, but she felt an inexplicable need to look after her friend. She was stressed to the max wondering what would become of Harry in his struggle with Voldemort and for everyone else with the war going on. With all of the worry she was trying to hold inside so as not to give her friends any cause for concern, she just snapped.

Malfoy was only serving to present Harry with another problem that he didn't need any more of. "I rather think you would be pleased with my actions. He more than deserved it," she added, her voice quivering, whether from anger or from her movements as a result of walking so quickly, Harry didn't know. It would almost be more comfortable to jog than to walk this fast, he thought, as he strode to keep up with her. Despite his substantially longer legs, it was a chore. Harry and Ron did the best they could to keep up while again giving each other dumbfounded looks. It seemed like they made it back the common room in record time.

By dinnertime, Harry's earlier prognostication proved true.

The rumor-mill included everything from Hermione clobbering Malfoy's face with a book, to Hermione actually killing Malfoy (maybe an overzealous first year, Harry thought), that Malfoy punched Snape in the face to get at Hermione and that they were actually fighting over Harry (this seemed to be the consensus favorite among Gryffindors), rumors that Harry and Ron were an item (Ron was not at all pleased with this particular piece of gossip and glared at anybody who mentioned it; Harry was comforted by the fact that almost no one seemed to believe this was true), and an incredibly random rumor that Hermione and Malfoy got in trouble for making out in class.

"So I hear you punched Malfoy again," said Ginny as she slid into the seat next to Harry, across from Hermione. Harry felt a pleasant chill go up his spine. She smelled wonderful, he realized.

"I did no such thing!" cried an indignant Hermione.

"Oh, so you did snog him!" exclaimed Ginny mock excitedly, bouncing up and down and clapping as if delighted.

This got a laugh out of a lot of the table, particularly those who witnessed the event. Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, I just —"

"— completely demolished him!" Ron finished. "You should have seen her. She was brilliant! That little prick had it coming to him," he added. "Who would've thought that Hermione would be the first one given detention? I still can't believe Snape gave you detention every Tuesday for a whole month."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, starting tonight," she said sullenly, looking up at the clock and dreading when the hands would indicate the seventh hour.

It was one of those inexplicable inevitabilities; when you wanted time to go faster, it would move mutinously slower. When you wanted time to pass by more slowly, it would infuriatingly speed up. In what seemed like no time, it was ten 'til seven.

"Where should I put it?" she heard Harry asking back in the common room; he was posting a bulletin regarding Quidditch tryouts. Sitting by the fire, she felt none of the warmth it was exuding inside her. "Right there is fine, Harry," she said getting up. Her gloomy tone of voice made Harry turn around.

"Time already?" he asked, glancing down at his watch.

"Unfortunately," she replied.

"It'll be alright, Hermione. Snape'll probably keep you so busy you won't even notice Malfoy," Harry tried to reassure her. Hermione wasn't sure whether or not this was a good thing. "Whenever I've had detention with him he's just made me do a lot of tedious, clerical-type work. And he doesn't hate you like he hates me." Well, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe Harry was right.

"Good luck, Hermione. I don't reckon anyone fancies detention with Snape and Malfoy."

Thanks a lot, Ron, she thought. That makes me feel so much better. He really needed to work on his consoling skills.

"You just let us know if Malfoy gives you any trouble," said Ron.

"Ha ha, I don't think she'll need us, Ron," laughed Harry.

This made Hermione smile.

"Well, I'll see you guys later," she said, feeling a little bit better.

That feeling would completely vanish when she reached the dungeons [2].

Hermione descended down the steps to the dungeons, dreading spending unnecessary time with Professor Snape, but more importantly with Malfoy. He was last person in all of Hogwarts she wanted to spend detention with. Him, and all of his self-superiority and pompousness, his condescending smirk and disdainful taunts directed for her expense. Before she knew it she had arrived at Professor Snape's office looking at the very smirk that infuriated her so. She gritted her teeth and entered the room without a word.

"Granger," he acknowledged with contempt.

She sat at a desk as far away from him as possible. She could practically feel him sneering her way, so she turned around.

"Look, I don't want to be here anymore than you do. So let's just make this as easy as possible, okay?" she hissed angrily through her teeth.

"No, thank you. I think I'd rather not," he said feigning sincerity. He was unbelievable, really. How old were they now? And all of this just to get under her skin. No instead of being sensible about the situation, he still had to find a way to cause her as much grief as he possibly could. Despite this knowledge, she was losing her patience.

"Listen, you —"

"That is enough. "Snape had arrived. "Need I remind you why you are both here in the first place?"

Hermione silently berated herself. Really, she had to do a better job of keeping her composure. She was normally quite adept at ignoring the Slytherin crew and their taunts, while Harry and Ron got worked up. But something about Malfoy just set her off. Something that was exceedingly maddening.

"You didn't have to give us detention," Malfoy muttered bitterly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Believe me, the prospect of looking after a couple of mindless adolescents such as yourselves is not how I prefer to spend my time." He paused. "However, I can't very well have the two of you incessantly bickering back and forth in my classroom. I trust that these detentions over the next month will put an end to that?" It was more of a warning or a threat than an inquiry.

Of course, Professor Snape assigned them to do the most mundane tasks during their detentions. Both were silently reading through first through third year papers and making note of simple grammatical mistakes and spelling errors. Professor Snape made it clear that lack of productivity would result in his extending of the allotted time until he was satisfied.

So Hermione worked quickly, not having anything better to do and in the hopes of shortening this session of detention. Malfoy seemed to be annoyed with this, sending exasperated looks her way. At first she thought it was because he had never had to do any grunt work in his life and he was in haughty disapproval with having to do 'house-elves' work' as he would probably call it — his parents probably didn't want to put him at risk of acquiring a paper cut on his precious hands; but she soon realized his huffy indignation was being directed towards her. Was he really so petty that he was upset she was doing better than him in detention?

This was probably for the best, conjectured Hermione. This way, Snape would have no reason to criticize her, and if he did, he would have to criticize Malfoy as well. That would at least make it more bearable. Although she was also still slightly perturbed that Professor Snape was the only teacher who didn't acknowledge her dedication to her studies. Not that she particularly needed his praise, but she was the top student in his class, yet he still treated her as a troublesome miscreant. If nothing else, she would at least like to be considered as the serious student she was.

Normally, she would have gone above and beyond and added other constructive advice (she sorely wanted to, some of the writing was plain terrible), but refrained from doing so as Snape would probably just find a way to criticize her for it. So she just decided to stick with the task at hand.

All in all, detention wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione expected it to be. Malfoy was probably bursting with any number of insults, but he seemed to hold himself in check with Professor Snape present. He did shoot quite a few dirty looks over at Hermione, but she chose to ignore this and continue to work on her task dutifully.

After a little over an hour, Professor Snape seemed to come to the decision that they had done enough. "Next week. Same day, same time," was all he said by way of dismissal. Well, Hermione didn't need any more encouragement. She left quickly without so much as a backward glance.

"How was it?" asked Ron when she returned.

"It wasn't too horrible," she said truthfully. "I think Malfoy was too afraid to say anything with Professor Snape there. He hasn't exactly been lenient with him lately, has he?"

"No," agreed Harry, "and it's fantastic," he concluded in an intentionally overzealous manner, causing Ron and Hermione to laugh.

In the following session of Snape's class, it was apparent that Malfoy did not take kindly to being so openly humiliated by Hermione, purposely bumping into her quite forcefully, causing her to fall over and knock over some papers on an empty desk. "Out of my way, Mudblood," he muttered quietly.

Everyone looked back to stare. "Hey!" shouted Ron with a start, "What was that for?" he asked angrily.

Harry caught the back of Ron's robes to hold him back. Seamus and Dean got up too in case Harry would need reinforcement.

"Do you always have to be such a prat, Malfoy?" asked Harry. "Really, practically tackling a girl? Very brave of you," he said scathingly as he glared daggers at Malfoy, who was sneering back at him scornfully. "That's enough, Potter," Snape intervened.

Ron growled and grit his teeth, trying to fight against Harry. But Harry didn't want Ron to get in trouble and by then Hermione had recovered, standing up and taking the entire class by surprise once again, slapping Malfoy soundly across the cheek — her face scrunched up in anger. Lavender and Pavarti gasped audibly. The Slytherins sneered at her.

"You bit —"

"Silence, Mister Malfoy," interjected Snape, cutting him off. "You two seem determined to earn extra detention time. I do not have the words to describe your abysmal conduct in this class as of late, but I'm sure that with enough time in detention you will be able to come up with some suitable choices. An additional month, I believe, will do the trick."

The Gryffindors jeered at Malfoy in outrage, they all know what he was about to say about Hermione.

"Silence!"

Everyone shut up.

"Fifty points. Each."

Both Houses erupted at this. "I will take more if I have to!" Snape shouted above the chatter. "At this rate, you will be ensuring that the House Cup will be a two-sided race between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I will not accept such behavior in my classroom."

"What was that, Mister Malfoy?" Snape said dangerously, for Malfoy had muttered something under his breath, but Snape with his uncanny ability to catch those in wrongdoing had apparently heard him. Obviously it wasn't anything polite, for all Malfoy did in answer was glower at Snape. This was also an interesting development, thought Harry. Usually, the two of them got on well enough.

"You don't want to test me," he said, his voice dangerously low so that Harry hardly caught what he said. "I daresay you don't want a third month?"

Malfoy scoffed. "This is all your fault, Granger."

"Shut up! Do you want even more detention?" hissed Hermione, clearly more worried about further punishment than Malfoy's faulty argument.

"Three months. Anymore and it seems I will be keeping you both here over Christmas."

"But —"

"Did you wish to make it four, Miss Granger?"

She promptly shut her mouth, killing the protest on her tongue and looking over at Malfoy fearfully should he rashly speak out again. Thankfully, this time he didn't. It seemed Malfoy had wasted all of his good grace with Snape. About time, thought Harry. Malfoy took it for granted that Snape would never punish him and paid the price. Unfortunately, so too did Hermione.

"Disgusting. All of you," Snape spat. "This would put the misdemeanor of my first years to shame. I would have thought that by now you would have at least retained the capacity not to resemble an assembly of mindless, infantile barbarians; apparently that was far too much to hope for," he spoke blisteringly with his eyes ablaze.

He had probably never witnessed this sort of blatant insubordination in his class before. His nostrils were flaring, and Harry knew all too well that meant they were on the brink of breaching Snape's danger zone. Much like the color of Uncle Vernon's face, the dilation of Snape's nostrils served as his indicator; McGonagall's, how thin her lips got.

But at least Snape had not yet reached the 'clenched jaw,' or worse, the 'twitching temple' stage yet. Of course, Harry had only once transcended to the 'impossibly pale' level last year when he wrongfully snooped a peak at Snape's worst memory in the Pensieve. Now that was scary. It'd probably give Neville nightmares. Or cause him to pee his pants, one of the two. Hopefully not both.

The rest of class passed without incident. Harry thought that no other teacher besides McGonagall would have been able to get control of the class as Snape had. The only thing to note was that there was a thick tension mounting in the air between the two Houses. Both were giving each other withering looks and sending their promises of nasty, albeit silent threats across the room. Ron kept looking askance at Hermione, but she just sat in silence giving no indication of how she was feeling.

When the bell rang, she strode off quickly leaving Ron and Harry behind still packing their bags. They looked at each other with puzzled expressions; it seemed they were doing a lot of that lately where Hermione was concerned. Once back in the common room, they discovered Hermione was there, sitting in their usual spot.

She didn't seem to notice them — she was resting her chin in her hand and staring straight ahead — until they were almost right next to her and Harry slung his schoolbag off and set it down with a soft 'thump'.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" asked Harry.

"Hmm?" she said snapping out of her daze. "Yeah, why?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other in disbelief.

"Er, well, you hit Malfoy," Ron supplied unhelpfully.

"I am well aware of that."

They were obviously not going to get a clear answer from her without some prying.

"It's just… very uncharacteristic of you," Harry tried.

Hermione didn't seem to know what to say or know how to say what she wanted to tell them, which didn't happen very often.

"Is there something else going on?" he asked gently, concerned.

"No," she replied in distress, "I-I don't know what came over me. I know I'm better than this. I shouldn't let him infuriate me so," she shook her head. "I guess I just wasn't expecting it and my fury came out in full force."

"I'll say," agreed Ron. "What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know!" Hermione cried, burying her face in her hands. She was on the brink of tears and this worried her two friends very much.

"What's changed? He's always been like this. Usually, it's you reminding me and Ron to calm down."

"I don't know. He's just so confusing."

"Confusing?" asked Ron.

"What's confusing about Malfoy?" Harry asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Hermione repeated miserably. For some reason, she didn't feel like telling her friends what transpired at Knockturn Alley. Maybe she just didn't want to admit that she had needed help. That was probably what sparked off this whole episode, she was too proud sometimes, and she knew it. But she couldn't do anything about it. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Harry sat on the arm of her chair and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "It'll be alright, Hermione. There's nothing wrong with you. You'll just have to remind yourself not to be goaded into fighting with Malfoy." He never thought he and Hermione would ever switch roles like this; it was all very surreal. "Maybe you should take Occlumency with me," he suggested trying to lighten the mood. "You can learn it for the both of us."

She heard give a watery snort through her hands that were still covering her face. She lowered her hands and said, "Yes, just the prescription for me: more quality time with Snape. I swear if I asked him, Harry, he'd think I'm stalking him or something."

"Not likely!" said Ron. "Imagine that, girls squealing after Snape."

"It's been known to happen," Harry said slyly, giving Hermione a subtle glance.

"What?" asked Ron, confused.

"Harry James Potter! You swore you would never tell anyone!"

"I didn't! You just did! I didn't force you to saying anything," he pointed out. As she continued to glare at him half-heartedly he protested, "Oh, come on. That was not a big enough of a clue."

That bit of impudence cost him a swat on the arm.

"Feeling violent today, are we?" he chided playfully.

She didn't move to strike him this time to avoid solidifying his point but instead resigned to shaking her head and giving him a look somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He laughed.

"Wait a minute, you had a crush on Snape?" Ron asked in disbelief finally putting two and two together, his face contorted with apparent oncoming nausea.

"It was just my first year!" Hermione defended furiously and looked around frantically making sure no one overheard as Harry, who had slipped off the arm of the chair and onto the floor, continued to laugh heartily. "You arse," she accused lightly.

"But still," said Ron, not quite seeing the amusement and still looking a bit queasy. "It's bloody Snape. The bat of the dungeons. The greasy gi —"

"Yes, I know, Ron."

"Then why —"

"I don't know, I just did. I think it was because he was intelligent and he has this… very commanding presence. But obviously, it stopped after a while once I realized how horrible his temper was and so on. And of course, how awful he was to Harry," she explained rapidly as she started to blush.

"You mean once you moved on to Lockheart," Harry joked.

"Oh, hush up, Harry. That's quite enough out of you." But her rebuke didn't carry any bite, so Harry smiled back at Hermione jestingly.

"You don't still —?"

"Of course not, Ronald, don't be ridiculous."

"'K, just making sure," he said defensively.

"You forgot his sultry voice and otherworldly gracefulness," Harry added cheekily.

"Oh, please, Harry. That is not the way I put it."

"But he's… greasy. And he's got a huge nose. And he's Snape. I thought Lockhart was bad. But Sn — ?"

"Yes, Ron. We've established this already," Hermione said impatiently. "You aren't able to see past people's looks."

"Hey, that's not —"

"Besides, he's not that bad looking. And I know I wasn't the only one."

Now Ron was starting to look sick again. "Who else —?" But people were starting to arrive in the common room.

"Can we talk about something else now?" Hermione pleaded.

"Fine by me," grunted Ron a touch disgruntled.

"Sure, why not?" chuckled Harry.

"What are you guys laughing about," asked Ginny, coming up to them.

"Nothing," Ron said a little too quickly. Harry suspected that Ginny knew this bit of information already, but instead said, "Malfoy's face after Hermione smacked it." And if truth be told, he'd rather not know if Ginny was included in the other girls that Hermione had just described.

"Oh, yes. I heard about that. Everyone has, it seems. Way to go, Hermione," smiled Ginny.

"Uh, thanks?" Hermione answered uncertainly. Had the news really spread that quickly?

"Ginny, come here!" a girl exclaimed excitedly. "You won't believe this!"

"Sorry," Ginny said apologetically, disappointing Harry. "See you guys at dinner."

"So," he picked up the threads of conversation as if resuming a polite and casual discussion, "where were we?"

. *** .

The rest of the week passed by relatively quietly, although, in Charms Harry was pleased to discover that Professor Flitwick assigned the Disillusionment charm. He had already had plenty of practice when Moody taught them the spell this summer and he had used it a number of times as well. This thrilled Flitwick who then rewarded each of them ten points, making Harry feel less guilty about losing points so quickly on his first night back.

Occlumency lessons went as per usual, and left Harry feeling like he was getting nowhere. The only good thing about his Occlumency lesson was that it provided him with a valid excuse not to attend Slughorn's party. Apparently, Slughorn was holding a get-together for some students, as Harry was informed via a violet ribbon-adorned scroll of parchment.

Of course, no one was supposed to know about these private sessions, and as Snape was no longer the Potions Master, Remedial Potions was not an available ruse. So they ended up telling him that Harry had detention with Snape — an explanation that no one would have any trouble believing. Otherwise, Harry would use his invisibility cloak and knock on the door to ensure that no one knew about his lessons with Snape.

Soon it was the weekend, which Harry was curiously anxious for. It would be his first Quidditch as captain. On Saturday morning, after a quick breakfast, Harry and Ron left for the pitch early. Ron wanted to get some last minute practice in, and Harry wanted to make sure everything was set up properly. He didn't want to be unprepared on his first day as captain.

By the time tryouts were to begin, Harry was shocked to see the number of people flooding in. There must be forty or fifty of them! How was he possibly going to be able pick a team?

Luckily and unfortunately for Harry — he wasn't sure which one at the moment — to his discovery, many of the students in attendance did not play Quidditch, indeed, many of them did not even have brooms. Still more frustrating to learn was that some of them were not even from Gryffindor. He supposed they came to see the 'Chosen One'. What? Did they think he was going to make some public announcement that, in fact, he was the Chosen One and he would be running for the Minister of Magic?

Once he believed he had only the people who legitimately wished to try out for the team, he still wasn't sure quite how to begin. "Er, let's just have you do a couple of laps around the pitch to warm up, shall we?" he requested.

As it turned out, this was a very good idea after it became clear that many of them had never ridden a broom before. He began to get annoyed when he ordered a group of third year girls to leave the pitch because they clearly only came to see him. They didn't even have the common decency to look the slightest bit abashed, giggling as they departed.

That reduced the number to just fewer than twenty which made things much more manageable. Some of those sent off were trying to straggle but Harry saw that Hermione was ordering them off the field from the stands for which he was very grateful.

When time was up, he had slimmed down the count to a dozen which he thought made the day a success. Some of the rejected players pitched a fuss, but nothing significant occurred. The pool wasn't as talented as the team he had been on in past years. He was fairly sure who he wanted as Beaters. That group had been narrowed down to three. He decided he would keep Jimmy Peakes, a short, but burly, broad-chested third year who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger. He was having trouble picking between Jack Sloper and Ritchie Coote.

None of them had the brilliance of Fred and George, but he was pleased with his finds. He was deliberately leaving the Keeper position for last. There would be less people watching from the stands, meaning less pressure. There were three who vied for that position. Ron, of course, and two others: A sixth year, Cormac McLaggen and Ryan Coulter, a third year who showed tremendous potential. That left five others for the three Chaser positions.

He knew he would keep Katie Bell, who insisted on trying out even though Harry was well familiar with her skill. And Ginny was the clear second best out of the group. He considered keeping Demelza Robbins, a fourth-year girl who was quite adept at dodging Bludgers, but she was rather unrehearsed with the strategy of Quidditch and not quite up to par with the other three selections.

He would have to choose between the other three for the last spot. Two of them were Seamus and Dean, and he didn't fancy having to choose one of them only to reject the other. Harry himself, of course, would be the Seeker. They would resume tryouts tomorrow and Harry would make the second, and hopefully final, cut.

Exhausted, Harry made his way back to the castle with Ron and Ginny.

Slumping into his favorite armchair, it was not a moment after that Dennis Creevy was running up to him. Not another request for an autograph, I hope, he thought. "Harry, Harry! There you are!" the young boy panted, bending over to ease the stitch in his side. Harry waited patiently for the younger Creevy to collect himself. "Yes?" asked Harry.

"Dumbledore," Dennis gasped between breaths, "asked me to… to give this to you," he said handing Harry a slip of paper.

"Oh, thank you, Dennis," said Harry, more animated than before.

Dennis smiled. "It's no problem, Harry," he asserted enthusiastically.

Once Dennis left, Harry scrambled to unfold the piece of paper.

"Is it your lesson?" asked Hermione eagerly.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, reading the note. "At eight o'clock tonight."

"Ooh, I bet he's going to teach you all types of advanced magic! I'm so jealous of you, Harry," Hermione rambled excitedly. "Do you have any idea what he'll be teaching you today?"

"Let the man breathe, Hermione," joked Ron.

"Sorry, but, lessons with Dumbledore! What an exhilarating prospect!"

Later that evening, Harry departed for Dumbledore's office, pronouncing "Peppermint toad", the password Dumbledore had given him to gain passage beyond the gargoyle.

"Come in," the Headmaster invited when Harry knocked on the door. "Ah, Harry," he said upon seeing his student enter, "Good, you are here. And I gather you are anxious to begin?" Harry saw that the Pensieve was out once again. "Yes, sir."

"Then we might as well dive in, quite literally," the elder man stated. "You will remember, I am sure, where we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings."

"Yes, sir," answered Harry. "Voldemort's mother was alone and pregnant. Riddle left them."

"Precisely Harry. Tom Riddle, the handsome Muggle, abandoned his wife and he returned to his family in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?"

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore, "You'll know the shop I presume?"

Harry nodded, thinking of his first disastrous escapade with Floo powder.

Dumbledore swilled the contents of the Pensieve much as a prospector sifts for gold. Out of the swirling mass rose a small old man, made of the same silvery substance.

"We acquired it under curious circumstances," it said. "It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly and that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along… Going to have a baby, see. She told us the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time as you can imagine, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' or 'This was Paracelsus' most trusted cauldron' and the like. But upon closer inspection I could see it had his mark all right. A few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near priceless, but she didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve a vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" Harry exclaimed indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," explained Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of money, and so sold one of Marvolo's most treasured family heirlooms."

"But couldn't she have gotten everything she needed by magic?" Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps so," said Dumbledore. "But my guess is that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not believe she wished to be a witch any longer. It is also possible that in her despair of an unrequited love, she was sapped of her magical powers; that can sometimes happen." Harry thought uncomfortably of Tonks. "In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand, even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?" said Harry, aghast.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling pity for Lord Voldemort?"

Harry raised his own eyebrows in turn. He thought about it. "No. Not for who he became," he explained. "Everything he's done has been his choice." He hesitated. "But as a child, he was defenseless, he was innocent. She had a choice, just like my mother did."

"Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but try not to judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering having never truly known love herself, and she never had your mother's courage," Dumbledore said gently. "And now, if you will stand…"

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, as he was joined by Dumbledore at the front of the desk.

"This time," said Dumbledore, "we will be entering my own memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry…"

Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface and he was falling through darkness again… Seconds later and his feet hit firm ground. He opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

"There I am," said Dumbledore brightly, pointing to a tall figure crossing the road just ahead of them.

That statement was hardly necessary, as the younger version of his self stuck out like a sore thumb. It would have been the first thing your eye was drawn to. This younger Albus Dumbledore had long auburn hair and a beard, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. This one made the outfit he was sporting the day Harry visited his relatives at the hospital for the first time since the attack seem conservative in comparison.

"Nice suit, sir," said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self, passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that contained a rather drab square building. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a young woman wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with one Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um… hold on… Mrs. Cole?" she shouted over her shoulder.

Harry heard a distant voice shout something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore and opened the door a bit wider. "Come on in, she'll be right with you."

Dumbledore stepped into the tiled hallway; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them a hassled-looking woman, in her thirties was Harry's guess, came scurrying toward them. When her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she came to a stop and stared blankly at him, at a loss for words. Harry couldn't say that he really blamed her.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Mrs. Cole blinked and shook her head, quickly trying to get over her momentary shock. "Oh, yes. Well — then why don't you come upstairs and we can talk?"

She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten. Things have been very busy around here. One of the children has come down with the chickenpox and things have been rather hectic."

"That is quite alright. Is now not a good time?" he inquired politely.

"No, no!" she said hurriedly. "You set up an appointment for now, so now is when we'll have it."

Dumbledore nodded his head in grateful acknowledgement. "I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.

"Are you his family?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"A school? What school?"

"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "It is a sort of boarding school."

"That's a rather odd name for a school," she smiled. "I've never heard of it, but then again, I'm sure I haven't heard of a lot of things. Being a matron is not exactly an occupation that puts me in the thick of the social world. What is it that you want with Tom?"

"We believe he possess the qualities we are looking for."

Mrs. Cole furrowed her brow, "He hasn't been entered for any scholarships."

"His name has been down for our school since birth."

"Oh. Then who registered him? Was it his parents?"

There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently, Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.

"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."

"I see. That seems fine."

Seeing that she still seemed skeptical, Dumbledore, detecting her to be an honest woman took a more honest tactic.

"Tom, he's not a normal boy, is he?"

Mrs. Cole's eyes widened and seemed to say, 'How could you possibly know that?'

"It is alright. I understand."

She also seemed to decide that he was trustworthy for she said, "No. He never plays with the other children. He's very sharp for a boy his age and he seems to frighten the other children. At first, I just thought it was because he's rather distant, but I think it's more than that."

"Do you mean you think he bullies the other children?" probed Dumbledore.

"I don't know. But strange incidents seem to occur around him."

Dumbledore didn't press her, but Harry could tell that he was interested. He waited patiently for her to elaborate. She didn't disappoint.

"One day, we found another child's rabbit… hanging from the rafters. I don't know how Tom could have possibly accomplished that, but the day before, there had been an argument between the two of them. I don't know who else would have done something like that. Tom, he's always so mysterious. I just don't know. But it's happened more than once, and that's why I think it's him. We take the children out for a summer outing each year, and two of the children… when we found them they seemed shaken. All we could get out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom. He swore it was just to go exploring, but… there have been other things, too. But I haven't actually caught him doing anything wrong."

"I see."

"Even as a baby, he was that way. He almost never cried. And now… He doesn't have any friends, but I don't think he even wants any. I try to help him but…"

"He doesn't seem to want it?" finished Dumbledore. She shook her head gravely.

"At our school, Tom will be surrounded by other children like him." Of course, Harry knew he meant the magic, not the behavior. "I will keep a close eye on him. It is my belief that we will be able to help him," Dumbledore tried to reassure her.

"Really?" she asked hopefully. "Then maybe this school won't be such a bad thing."

"That is our hope."

"When will this school start? What will he need for it?"

"School begins the first of September. The train will leave from King's Cross station. But he will have to return here during the summer."

"Alright," she said, and Harry couldn't help but notice that she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"And the school will provide everything for him. We have funds for less fortunate children. I myself can go with him and make sure he acquires the necessary supplies. Rest assured, he will be well taken care off." He paused. "I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history. I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Cole. "I remember, I'd just started working here. It was New Year's Eve and bitterly cold outside that night. We heard a knock on the door and this girl, not much older than I was at the time, staggered onto our front steps. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour… But she died shortly after," she finished sadly.

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Yes, actually, she did," she said with wide eyes. "It was her wish for her boy to be named after Tom, his father, and Marvolo, for her father; said she hoped he would look like his father. Riddle, she said, was his surname. But that's all she was really able to tell us before she passed. No one has ever come to claim Tom for their own and he's been here ever since." Silence followed this statement. "I suppose you'd like to see him?" she said, standing up.

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, giving instructions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a bleak and lackluster place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they stopped at a door near the end of a long corridor. She knocked and gently opened the door when there was no response.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. …" she hesitated. "I'm sorry?" she looked at him.

"Dumbledore," the younger Dumbledore supplied.

"Right, Mr. Dumbledore. He has some good news for you." With that she left them, closing the door behind Harry and the two Dumbledores to give them some privacy.

It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and a plain bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

Merope had received her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale — there was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance.

"How do you do, Tom?" said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.

The boy hesitated before taking the proffered and shaking it. Dumbledore drew up the straight-backed wooden chair beside the bed, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me? I've heard some of the other helpers ask her to."

"No, no," Dumbledore tried to reassure him.

"I don't believe you!" cried Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was astonishing for one so young. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes widened as he glared at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue to smile placidly. After a few seconds Riddle's glare transformed into a look of wariness.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like it to be."

"School? What kind of school?" he asked, repeating Mrs. Cole's earlier inquiry, but with a much greater amount of suspicion.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, "is a school for people with special abilities —"

Riddle suddenly leapt from the bed, backing away from Dumbledore. "You're from the asylum, aren't you, 'Professor', is it? I'm not mad!" he shouted furiously.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently, "and I do not believe you are mad. I am simply a teacher."

"Then why do you want to send me to your 'school!'" he sneered.

"If you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about it."

"You think you can fool me? You can't!"

"I assure you, Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic," said Dumbledore, switching tactics to a more direct approach, sensing that Riddle would not calm down otherwise.

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them in a lie.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That is correct," said Dumbledore.

"It's… it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, as though his prayers had finally been answered.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it was not an improvement to the anger that was written on it before; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"I can speak to snakes. They find me, whisper things to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."

"Are you a wizard too?"

"I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, 'Tell the truth.'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I take it, then, that you are accepting your place at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'" Harry knew he was challenging Riddle, as perhaps he never had been before, not even by the adults.

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me?"

Dumbledore carefully drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle leapt to his feet. Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage, for all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of those?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore, now tucking said wand away. "For now, it would appear your wardrobe needs attending to." A faint rattling could be heard from within the closet, and for the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door," said Dumbledore.

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of worn and tattered clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out, please," instructed Dumbledore.

Riddle took down the quaking box, looking unnerved. "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it, and show me," said Dumbledore.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of trivial, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly. "I shall know whether or not this has been done. Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, upon entering our world, they are required to abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Riddle again.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money." Harry knew that it was probably painful for Riddle to admit this, not wanting to show any inadequacies, even though it was quite understandable that a young orphan would not possess any money. But it was necessary for him to be able to buy his own things.

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. Riddle took it with the only amount of sheepishness Harry had seen so far. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted a curious Riddle, who was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything."

"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, looking up.

"Certainly, if you require my assistance."

"That won't be necessary," said Riddle with an air and vocabulary unbefitting of a boy his age. "I'm used to doing things for myself. I wander around London on my own all the time. How is it that you get to this Diagon Alley — sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

"Are you sure? I think it might be best if I accompany you."

"I'm sure," Riddle said shortly and confidently.

Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle to keep an eye on him, but was surprised when Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment. "Very well." After telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name."

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to dispatch an irksome fly.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magical, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him."

Police sirens could be heard from outside. "Actually…" Riddle hesitated.

"Yes?" coaxed Dumbledore.

"There's a killer on the loose in London, broke out of the prison. Do you think — maybe it would be best if you accompanied me to this Leaky Cauldron," he said timidly. "I won't need you after that," he added more confidently.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Yes, I can do that." Riddle nodded, not looking at him. Most likely he was unused to being in the position of asking for the help of someone so much. Harry knew that Riddle must despise having to do it. But he could also see for the first time a small and vulnerable boy instead of the beginnings of a monster.

Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. "If that is all, then I shall see you next week. We will go to Diagon Alley then." Taking it, Riddle nodded yet again. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken, and Dumbledore was at the door.

The image dissolved and faded — Harry and Dumbledore were amidst darkness, and for a moment all Harry could see was his own body and the older version of Dumbledore — then shifted into a new scene.

The younger Dumbledore made his way to the orphanage again to collect Tom Riddle. Mrs. Cole bade them goodbye at the front door. "Are you ready, Tom?" Riddle nodded his head, "Yes, sir," he said plainly. But Harry could see from the way Riddle's eyes gleamed that he was very eager to get to Diagon Alley. As they walked along the road, Dumbledore asked, "So how are you faring, Tom?"

"Fine," came the unenthusiastic reply.

"Has anything of interest transpired since last we visited?"

"No, sir." It was clear Riddle was already weary of this social exercise.

"No doubt that will remedied with a trip to Diagon Alley. It is a rather impressive establishment. I must warn you, to be prepared for the unexpected. There are other magical creatures besides wizards: goblins, vampires, hags…" Riddle eyebrows rose slightly.

"So — when I've got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?" asked Tom.

"You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September," said Dumbledore. "In fact, I believe all of the details are included in this envelope," he added, handing it to Tom, "as well as your official letter from Hogwarts and your train ticket."

After that, Tom said close to nothing as the two made their way toward central London, with Harry and the present-day Dumbledore in procession. Nothing significant occurred during the walk; indeed, the only words spoken were Dumbledore's futile attempts at making light conversation and Riddle sometimes answering indifferently. Dumbledore soon relented, clearly not wanting to press Riddle into being uncomfortable.

At last they came to the Leaky Cauldron.

"The others don't seem to notice it," observed Riddle.

"This is true," replied Dumbledore. "It is enchanted so that non-magical folk cannot see it," he explained.

All four of them entered the diminutive bar. "Dumbledore! What a pleasant surprise. And who is this?" the barman asked genially.

"Tom, this is Tom Riddle, he will be attending his first year of Hogwarts this coming year," he elaborated to avoid confusing the old bartender. "I am accompanying him here and he will be venturing forth into Diagon Alley."

"I see," said the other Tom pleasantly. "Tom, that's a good name," he said with a wink. "Can I get either of you anything?"

"A large mug of tea would be much appreciated. Would you like anything, Tom?" inquired Dumbledore.

"No thanks," said Riddle, hiding behind his mask of politeness once again.

"Well, you'll have a great time at Hogwarts. You have a good day, now."

"Thank you, sir."

A small boy with brown hair who looked to be the same age as Riddle was walking out of the courtyard into the pub with his father.

"Hi," he said nicely, "Are you going to Hogwarts this year?"

Riddle nodded.

"Me, too," said the boy. "It's my first year. I wonder what House I'll be in. I think I'll be put into Hufflepuff, almost all my family's been. What about you, what House do you think you'll be in?"

Riddle didn't answer and regarded at the boy with a cool expression. No doubt he didn't enjoy being uninformed, particularly if even this common boy knew such information. The boy's smile faded a little, sensing that something was off.

"Walter, come along now," said the friendly boy's father, now waiting at the pub door.

"Well, I'll see you around maybe," he said uncertainly, looking at Riddle curiously. Again, Riddle did not respond.

Dumbledore went to the back and tapped the correct combination of bricks. This time Riddle couldn't keep the enthrallment off his face as the arch appeared, giving them a splendid view of Diagon Alley. Riddle's jaw opened slightly in awe; it seemed to Harry the first time that Riddle had found anything more impressive than himself.

"There it is: Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said regally. But Riddle seemed not to be paying much attention to Dumbledore, and this time, Harry really couldn't blame him. He, too, remembered feeling overwhelmed with his first experience in the magical world.

"I must run some errands, but I will be here when you are finished to take you back to your home."

Riddle nodded dumbly and stepped through the arch, his eyes flittering back and forth, trying to soak it all in. And then, the arch was no more than a flat expanse of brick.

"I'll have that cup of tea, first, of course," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"Here you are, sir," said Tom, handing the younger Dumbledore a steaming mug.

"Thank you very much."

The two talked about trivialities such as how business was going, news in the Wizarding world, the weather. After about five to ten minutes, Harry was worried Dumbledore would run the memory until Riddle was done, which would surely take hours. He began to wonder why they didn't simply skip forward in time as before. But he soon got his answer.

A clear ringing sounded and Tom the barman cut his conversation off suddenly, looking alarmed. He ran to the back room behind the counter and after a few moments returned, looking much more troubled than before. "There's been an attack on Diagon Alley! Grindelwald, they say Grindelwald is here!"

Dumbledore immediately sprang into action, going to the aide of patrons in the hazardous area and more importantly… "Tom." With that, Dumbledore ran into the arch in the wall and raced into the village. This younger Dumbledore was sprier than the older one, and Harry had trouble keeping up with both of them.

Good thing I ran a lot this summer, thought Harry. The same strange distress signal was blaring in the shopping center. People were running in every which way direction. Harry didn't know the details, but had heard the basics revolving around the legend of Grindelwald. He was an evil wizard who killed for power. The more people he killed, the more power he would accumulate. It became a ravenous addiction, worsening still with every murder he committed.

They searched in vain for what Harry was sure were agonizing minutes for the past-time Dumbledore, although he always stopped for pleas for help that came his way. And then there was no mistaking him: the pale, raven-haired boy was standing in the street just in front of Ollivander's.

"Tom!"

The boy immediately turned around at the sound of his name. He looked a little befuddled at all the chaos. "Professor? What's going on?"

"Danger, Tom. Stick close to me. Quickly, now."

Riddle strode over, in no particular hurry. "Danger? What danger?" he asked, and it was with a little admiration that Harry heard no trace of fear in his voice and still the same inquisitiveness.

Then an utterly different voice sang with laughter. Absorbed in the scene before his eyes, Harry was a bit startled to turn around and see that none other than Gellert Grendelwald had been standing almost directly behind him. "Ah, Albus, how are we doing?" he asked with an air of one sitting for a cordial visit over afternoon tea, his eyes skipping over Dumbledore's young companion.

The auburn-haired Dumbledore pushed Riddle behind him saying, "It was foolish of you to come here, Gellert."

Even though it was only a memory, Harry could feel his flight instincts starting to kick in. The thought of what this man had done was comparable to Voldemort, brutally killing hundreds of people.

"Now, now, no need to be rude," he said with a merry smile that Harry thought was eerily incongruous. "And who is your little friend, here?" he asked, cocking his head and peering at Riddle with such hunger that Harry didn't blame Dumbledore for trying to nudge Riddle closer behind him and out of sight (who was currently poking his head to the side of Dumbledore to get a better look) even though Grindelwald clearly already knew he was there and Dumbledore couldn't shield the small boy's body any better than he was now.

"Yes, such power for one so small. At first I thought it was you, Albus, as you do possess much power," he nodded his head in polite acknowledgement. "But I knew at once that the magical signature was far too dark for you. You have much hate, and anger coursing through you," Grindelwald continued, now directing his words at Riddle, "They are a strength, not a fault as Dumbledore would have you believe." Even Grindelwald's voice exuded a terrifying power; he carefully enunciated each syllable — it almost would have been comical if not for the knowledge of what this man was capable of.

"Who are you?" Riddle demanded boldly. Having heard him give demands like this before, Harry could detect a hint of uncertainty in his voice this time, but the authority was still there, inconsistent for a boy his age. This made Grindelwald roar with wild laughter. "Pity, he is a Muggle, for how else would he not recognize my name? But my question has not yet been answered, who are you, little one?"

Dumbledore glanced sharply back at Riddle over his shoulder, but Tom seemed to understand that it was not the wisest of decisions to give your name to an unstable megalomaniac.

"Do not entertain the thought that for a second you could fool us into believing it is your wish to mentor him and offer him counsel. You and I both know precisely what it is that you want with him," Dumbledore pronounced curtly.

"How right you are!" Grindelwald said roughly, abruptly whipping out his wand at the same time and pointing it at Riddle, who had managed to sidle almost halfway out from behind the younger Dumbledore.

He gasped and hid behind the older wizard, gripping Dumbledore's hand as he did so, shocking Harry and probably young Dumbledore, as well. Riddle now looked every bit the scared young boy you would normally expect to see in a situation like this.

The transformation was astonishing. He seemed to realize his error and ripped his hand away with slight disgust written on his face, ashamed with actions which exhibited a highly uncharacteristic lack of composure.

Dumbledore was probably stunned given his past experiences with the boy, but intensely focused on ensuring Grindelwald could not harm Riddle, showed nothing of this beyond the slight widening of his eyes and stiffening of his shoulders.

For some reason, this made Grindelwald giggle gleefully. "Come now, Dumbledore, give me the boy, and I will leave peacefully. I swear to you no one else will come to harm. You wouldn't want the blood of so many on your hands, now, would you? After all, it is only one, very small, boy."

"I will certainly not 'give you the boy', as you say. But no one else will be dying today on your account, Grindelwald." Harry noticed that the two men were now making use of the opposite's surname, which for some odd reason they had not been before.

Harry wasn't sure who struck first, but the scene was soon immersed in a display of magic as impressive as what he had witnessed at the Ministry between the same, albeit older, man and Harry's own fated rival. As the two wizards fought, it was surreal — almost like déjà vu — to watch Dumbledore protect the younger (and not to mention similar-looking) wizard as he had done for Harry not even a year ago.

As expected, Grindelwald cast spells that wielded a brutal and powerful force. But Dumbledore was powerful in his own right and used his energy more wisely. His careful attention to tactics earned him the advantage as time pressed on. Virtually evenly matched, it was a long while before either of the two men relented. Grindelwald, now sensing Dumbledore pushing into the offensive, began to make use of his own acumen. Dumbledore's primary objective was to protect Tom and he was able to hold Grindelwald until authorities arrived.

With a mischievous smile, Grindelwald brought his wand down like a hammer and two things happened simultaneously. Grindelwald disappeared and Harry heard a loud crack! The walkway splintered and crumbled, and huge chunks of broken pavement flew up as if a small bomb had been detonated.

The buildings shook, some collapsing, and windows shattered. Dumbledore put a protective bubble around him and Tom where Harry could see the concrete halt and slide of as if by some invisible force. The younger Dumbledore also managed to expand the defensive magical barrier to others in the vicinity as well; but everything had happened so fast that the spell was not quick enough to save everyone, some were struck and Harry was sure that at the velocity the debris was moving, most of them had not survived the impact.

People were screaming in terror and running pell-mell in wild pandemonium. The panic was almost tangible. Harry got a shock when some of the wreckage landed right on top of him… and straight through him — he could not be harmed within a memory. Many people were struggling to their feet and some pushed their way through the rubble. Dumbledore helped some of the civilians but it was clear he wanted to get Tom out of there. "Come, Tom. Grasp my arm, please," he said urgently.

Riddle looked at him somewhat puzzled by this request but this time, did as Dumbledore said without argument.

Suddenly, they appeared in front of the door to the orphanage. In the memory, Harry did not feel the sensation of apparition, for which he was grateful.

"Hey, if you can do this, why didn't you do that on the way there? What is that called, what you just did?" asked Riddle.

"It is called Apparition — only those of age are allowed to transport in this manner, and I rather enjoy walking, to answer your first question."

"Who was he, that man?" asked the young Riddle.

Harry saw that Dumbledore hesitated before answering, gauging how much information he could trust Riddle with, weighing how much the exploits of Grindelwald would deter Riddle, and how much they might resonate with him.

"He is a dark wizard. One who has caused untold horror amongst our population. He has all but forgotten what it means to be human, living a depraved and unfulfilled life. He would have killed you today without as much as a second thought. I tell you this, not to scare you, but to demonstrate the pain and destitution that lies in wait for those who wander the path Grindelwald has taken. Grindelwald may only be an agent of malicious brutality now, but this was not always so. Alas, many are seduced by the slow deceit of broken promises of power and fame and grandeur, fall into the void, and are lost to the darkness forever. It is a terrible way to live," he finished gravely.

Riddle seemed to contemplate these words and Harry wondered how much of an impact they made on this younger, human version of Voldemort. Obviously, not very much, thought Harry.

Harry pondered Dumbledore's words, as well, but more because it bolstered his sneaking suspicions that Dumbledore was more familiar with Grindelwald than Harry was presently aware of. But perhaps this was a topic Dumbledore would allow Harry to explore.

It also did not elude Harry that Dumbledore didn't actually say much about Grindelwald himself, and it certainly didn't with Riddle either who asked, "Why? Why does he kill people? He must have a reason." The question, so innocently posed, it seemed, was disturbing coming from a child who should still hold the naïveté that killing was bad and that was that.

"We may never understand the minds of those absorbed in madness," was all Dumbledore said in response.

Riddle pursed his lips in dissatisfaction with the enigmatic answer, but did not press the matter any further. "What is the house that boy was referring to?" asked Riddle.

"There are four Houses at Hogwarts that each student is sorted into and will remain with that House for the duration of his or her career at Hogwarts; they become rather like your family whilst at school. I will collect the rest of your supplies and bring them to you later. What were you able to procure in your short time at Diagon Alley?"

"Just my wand, sir." Harry wasn't surprised that was the first item Riddle procured. It had also what he had been most looking forward to at Diagon Alley, and he was sure it was the same for everyone else entering their first year at Hogwarts, as well.

"Alright, then. Remember, magic is not allowed outside of school. Now, I must go at once. More people are in need of help. I am sorry Tom, but I must leave you now. Perhaps I shall answer your questions more fully at another time. Now, Mrs. Cole will be escorting you to the station, so I shall see you at Hogwarts." Mrs. Cole was to take young Tom Riddle to the station so she would not become suspicious. After all, normal schools would be taken by train or car. All Dumbledore has said was that the school was not located in London, but farther north. She would drop him off there and Tom was clever enough not to cross the barrier when she was present. Dumbledore had explained mounting the platform to the Hogwarts Express on the way to Diagon Alley.

Riddle nodded and the young Dumbledore vanished with a pop.

"I think that will do," said the white-haired Dumbledore at Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

"Sit down, please, Harry," said Dumbledore, landing beside Harry.

Harry obeyed, his mind still full of what he had just seen.

"He believed it much quicker than I did — I mean, when you told him he was a wizard," said Harry. "I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me."

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was — to use his word — 'special'," said Dumbledore.

"Did you know — then?" asked Harry.

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards. He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the hanged rabbit and the young children he lured into a cave were most suggestive.

Considering his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination, I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless. For others' sake as much as his.

"I also want to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings. Firstly, Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless. He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one."

"But he did ask you to go with him. I know it was because he was scared, but that's normal for a kid," Harry pointed out. "Voldemort now would never ask for help like that… And with Grindelwald, when he was scared…"

"He grabbed my hand, yes. Very true, Harry. I was very surprised to say the least. It shows us that young Tom Riddle was not yet Lord Voldemort, and perhaps capable of leading a happy childhood. Which I believe may be important to note for later on. I trust that you also noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?"

Harry nodded.

"There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort' behind which he has been hidden for so long.

"And finally, Harry, the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this hoarder's tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later."

"Yes, sir."

"Time is making fools of us again," said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "It is time for bed, I think."

And on that note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed and bade goodnight to the Headmaster. Harry trudged up the six flights of stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories, where he fell asleep and his dreams were occupied by the young Tom Riddle.

***END CHAPTER***

---

Chapter 10:

Harry is busy with Quidditch, Snape's extra lessons, hiding his feelings for Ginny from Ron, and classes. He receives help from an anonymous tutor and is doing surprisingly well in some of his classes. And then he, along with Dumbledore, continues to delve into Voldemort's past and for the first time, Dumbledore tasks Harry with an assignment. More trouble ensues in Snape's class; Hermione and Draco have a heated debate and in the process, both learn things about the other they never would have guessed.

"For once in your life, can you stop being such a prude? Why do you always have to show everyone up, does it give you a sense of accomplishment? Well, let me give you a rare bit of advice: stop it. It just irritates the hell out of everyone. You have nothing — no name, no honor, no dignity — to hold up. No matter what you do, you'll still be a Mudblood."

"What is it? What have I ever done to you?" answered Hermione, whose voice was rising with anger. "I can answer that for you: nothing. Nothing. I've done absolutely nothing and yet you insist to do whatever you can to belittle me."

Footnotes:

[1] I don't think Hermione is necessarily religious, but I would think at least one of her parents is. So she would have been raised not to use crude language and such, and taking the Lord's name in vain, etc.

[2] Snape's classroom is no longer in the dungeons, but I imagine his office still is. That puts him closer to the Slytherin common room, and he still must make use of the labs for research and helping Madame Pomfrey by concocting potions for the Hospital Wing. It also just suits our 'bat of the dungeons'.

A/N:

I decided to make the caretakers different than Rowling depicted them. I picture gentler, more timid, matronly, nun-like St. Teresa sort of women instead of the more roughshod cockney characters she had. Plus, I can totally picture young Tom completely terrorizing those poor women! For Mrs. Cole, I imagine Elizabeth Mitchell when she played a nun on House (she is most famous for playing Juliet on Lost).

I have uploaded Harry's schedule online and an explanation for its creation, which you can view for your pleasure at: www. scribd (dotcom) /doc/64627591/Class-Schedule. (Sorry, they don't let me post links, so I had to break it up).

We are assuming the year is 2008 during this time.

Signing off,
fanster