((Chapter 9. I'm late on updating once again. I know. Sorry. This is a short little transition chapter that sort of marks the halfway point in the story. So, we're half finished. Thanks to steffypotter, bloodendkisses, The Paymaster, Milka-Weasley, yodle3343, silver gaze, Magic and Sparkle, ramones4me, Mitsuki Ashya, reader972, EuphoniumGurl0, Lion Eyes (I like the new name!), Prongsette, June, Jay Ficlover (thank you for the idea, it's great), sexy-jess, BabyGooGoo2, Black-rose23, avider, ix.dovienya.xi, Kou Shun'u, redtiger, draco rules, drake, tom rulz, Timmy, apHiay, Lady Moofin, Tears-That-Fall, Amerise Rei, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy(for all nine reviews lol!), Gemini Queen (my sign too!), tickle the dragon, Quill of the Lark (thanks to the quotes, they're wonderful), and Miss Elvira Dark. Beautiful, amazing, fantastic reviews from all of you! Thank you to my beta Drama Shethan, as always. Hope you enjoy the chapter...;D))

Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life . . .

Rose Walker

Chapter 9: Silver Slippers and Peacock... Hats

"I'm so excited!" Emma squealed as she crashed into the girl's dormitory. A crumpled piece of paper was clutched precariously in her hands. A few of the girls looked up or raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

"We're having a masquerade ball! It's in two days time, on Halloween night! It will be on the Quidditch pitch, under a full moon. Isn't it wonderful?"

The room erupted into a chattering buzz, and Hermione found that she could barely hear herself think. She was extremely surprised that Halloween was only in two days time. It seemed like she had arrived yesterday. Have I really been in the past for two months?

It was not as if she had been ignoring the fact that she had to find a way back. From the Restricted Section she had found one of the lesser known books by Nicolas Flamel, which included some of his time travel theories. She had finally come to the chapter in which Flamel wrote about traveling back farther than a few days.

Traveling back weeks, months, or even years into the past theoretically defies the essence of time. This is why it has not been attempted by modern day wizards and probably never will be. In the event that a wizard does travel back years in time, we see a very odd loophole occur. Mathematically and theoretically, this occurrence is possible, but realistically perhaps is impossible. It is called the Rumineus Theory, and is completely irreversible. The idea behind it is that time itself freezes until the bearer . . .

"Hey!" Hermione yelped as Emma grabbed the book out of her hands.

"C'mon, stop studying! So who are you going with? What are you going to wear?"

"Oh, I . . ." Hermione honestly had never considered going to the Ball. She had not even expected to be there. "I'm not sure."

"Oh, Helen," Emma said, exasperated. The other girls looked over in interest. "You're always so reserved, you never do anything fun, you never even try to look good . . . you're going to this ball, and we're going to dress you up properly."

At this suggestion, all of Helen's roommates crowded around her, and she caught garbles like, "–if we bring out your eyes a bit–" or "– you'd look stunning in a low-cut dress–" and "– never noticed how pretty you could be–"

"Hm," said Emma contemplatively. "If we just do something with your hair . . . curl it perhaps?"

Hermione drew away from Emma at this comment, beginning to think that the whole idea was a disaster in the making. "Now, really, Emma, I don't feel like going–"

"Nonsense!" a girl named Katie intoned. "You'll love it. There's no way you're not coming!"

Hermione shook her head, but resigned herself to their insignificant chattering. It had been hard to concentrate on anything lately. There was always a niggling at the back of her mind, waiting to push its way up to the surface when she least expected it . . .

What have I done? She thought wildly. She had kissed him. Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. The thought of the latter repulsed her, because she could not see Tom Riddle and Voldemort as the same person. What happened to him? Or rather, what will happen to him? she wondered desperately. How could someone so smart, so charming, so extraordinary, become that monster in the forest clearing? Hermione chewed her bottom lip, a habit she had required lately.

"Helen!"

"Yes?" she questioned edgily, her head snapping up.

"You looked worried there for a moment . . . lavender slippers won't be a problem, will they?"

"Oh, um . . . no. Yes! Er, I mean . . . I was thinking silver, actually."

"You'll look gorgeous, Helen, you just wait."

" I look ridiculous," Minerva spat at Dumbledore as she gazed at herself in the mirror.

He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice as he said, "I, for one, think you look quite stunning . . . in a ridiculous sort of way."

She was wearing a peacock-feathered hat and an overly large cashmere scarf in the hue of blinding aquamarine. She whirled around to face him, her hazel eyes flashing. "Remind me again why I am condemned to wearing this terrible excuse of an outfit for my audience with the Minister of Magic himself?"

"I am telling you, Minerva, he has a bit of a fetish for peacock hats. It will prove extremely beneficial in landing the position at Beauxbatons that you want when he sees you in that . . . that . . ." he stopped, apparently unsure what to call the thing on her head. Now that he rethought it, hat was hardly the word . . .

"And this hideously radiant scarf? What about that?"

By this time Dumbledore was shaking with mirth. "Adds a nice accent to the color scheme," he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger together.

"Argh!" she cried, ripping the scarf off and throwing it down in frustration. "You're terrible, Albus Dumbledore!" but all the same she was smiling. Dumbledore responded by checking his wristwatch.

"You're going to be late," Dumbledore said in mock seriousness. "It is never good to be late for a job interview."

"I'm going!" she said, dashing over to look in the mirror one last time, and grimacing. Next, she ran over to where the port key was, and placed her hand on it, checking her watch.

"Good luck!" Dumbledore said with a wink. She was glaring at him as she disappeared.

Absently, Dumbledore wondered what would happen when the Minister of Magic saw one of the brightest young witches of the age in a ridiculous peacock . . . hat.

Too bad the Minister did not really have a fetish for them.

"Hey, Marvolo," a slick voice whispered from Tom's left.

"Don't call me that," Tom replied in an equally low voice. They were in History of Magic, and Tom was trying not to fall asleep. He had not slept in a very long while.

"Why not?" Joseph Nott said with an easy grin. "Marvolo's got a nice ring to it. Don't you think, Marvolo?"

Tom turned to face Joseph, hard black eyes boring into the other boy's light blue ones. "I said, don't call me that."

If there was one thing Tom hated more than Muggles, it was his own name. It was the name of a coward, a failure, a flake. It was the name of his father. His father, who had abandoned him after his mother had died. His father, whom Tom had killed out of pure rage only the summer before. He had never hated his father; hate was too good a feeling to waste on his father. Tom was numb where his father was concerned. He refused to waste the energy hating Tom Riddle Sr.

"Okay, okay," Nott said hastily. "You're scary sometimes. You know that? You get this blank, cold look on your face that's much worse than a glare or a frown . . ."

"I just . . ." Tom trailed off. "I've made up a new name for myself."

Tom had been thinking about having another name for a long time. Not his father's despicable name, but his own name. The name he had earned for himself.

"What is it, then?" asked Nott.

" . . . Voldemort," Tom said after a moment. Just Voldemort, for now, he supposed.

"Voldemort? What kind of name it that? How absurd!" Nott said with a casual laugh.

At that moment, Tom's blood boiled. You wait, Nott, he thought murderously. One of these days, you will fear that name like nothing else.

The whole world will fear to speak that name.

((A.N. So the Masquerade Ball is scheduled for next chapter . . . what do you think will happen there? And do Dumbly and Minerva have something going on? Stay tuned and review!))