Your Hidden Past

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat serenely in his office. His blue eyes were void of emotion, partially hidden behind his half-moon spectacles, as he surveyed the instrument in front of him.

The fragile, tiny silver instrument on his desk was making rhythmic clicking noises, pale green smoke forming itself from the miniscule silver tube at the top. The smoke seemed to have formed together, the stream of green forming a giant rose bud, its petals unfolding.

'Curious,' murmured Albus, apparently to himself, looking at the stream of smoke with an air of surprise and curiosity. 'For how long?'

The rose seemed to react to this almost instantly, splitting itself in two, and then four. This went on for several seconds, until there were sixteen green roses in front of the Headmaster, some of which petals were still unfolding.

'Naturally,' said Professor Dumbledore, taking his wand out and tapping the silver instrument softly. The clicking noise slowed and died and the smoke roses grew faint, became a formless haze and vanished.

Professor Dumbledore picked the instrument up and replaced it upon its spindly table, next to several other curious silver instruments. Professor Dumbledore took a look at his reflection in the glass door of the closet behind the table, and sighed deeply.

A hand rapped quietly, but urgently on his office door, and the Professor retook his seat behind his claw-footed desk. He pressed his long fingers together and glanced at the glimmering back of the oak door.

'Come in.'

Her brown eyes shot open suddenly, and she sat up. The nightshirt she had been provided with was drenched in cold sweat, damp against her back. She tried to survey her surroundings, but in the dark of the night, it was impossible.

'It seems that you have finally awoken.'

Panicked, the girl turned to her right and left so quickly that she cricked her neck. Rubbing it gingerly, she looked around a little less wild. Her gaze came to rest at the person sitting comfortably on a stool at the foot of her bed.

The girl let out a sigh, her hand on her heart. 'Professor, you gave me a fright.'

Professor Dumbledore gave a small smile at this, holding his wand up a little higher. A small sliver of light fell upon the girl's face and her amber eyes stared up at his, seemingly comforted.

'What happened, sir? Why am I here?'

The Professor didn't seem to hear this, as he carefully lit the candle next to her bed with the tip of his wand. The girl followed his actions patiently, waiting for an answer. 'Sir?' she said after a while, when no answer came.

Albus Dumbledore extinguished his wand and looked up at her, his eyes twinkling. 'Actually, I'd like to know your name first.'

The girl looked up at him, paling slightly. 'Why, it's Hermione, sir. H – Hermione Granger.'

'Miss Puckle?'

Hermione's eyes fluttered. Her surroundings were white, and very blinding. She shut her eyes firmly again, not wanting to wake up at all.

'Miss Puckle? Miss Puckle!'

Hermione felt a sharp jab in her left and she gasped, her eyes flying open. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, smiled down at her, her face hovering inches from Hermione's. In her left hand she was holding a smoking goblet. Hermione gulped.

'Why, I thought you'd never wake up! Drink up, dear.'

Hermione sat up and took the smoking goblet from the nurse, her hands trembling. She took a swig and nearly spat it out again. The potion, whatever it was, tasted extremely foul. She had to force it down with every sip that she took.

Madam Pomfrey smiled, and took the goblet from her. 'Now, Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this. You will be escorted there by Professor McGonagall after lunch.'

She pressed a bright purple slip into Hermione's hand and walked towards the next bed attending a boy who seemed to have sprouted wings out of his shoulder blades.

Hermione looked down to the slip and studied it curiously. 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions,' it read, in glimmering silver letters, 'serves one.'