"When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, and then gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.
"What?" said Harry and Ron together.
For an answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizard's faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.
Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett."
OotP – pg. 543
Hermione sat stony faced in her first class of the day, staring off into space. A few Gryffindors entered, and a couple of curious Slytherin boys, but no one dared to approach the silently fuming brunette.
I should have just stayed to talk to Professor Dumbledore last night about my schedule. Then I wouldn't be in this ridiculous excuse for a class.
A Hogwarts owl had delivered her unfortunate schedule at breakfast, and Hermione had been less than thrilled to see that her first class was Divination with the Slytherins. The schedule was apparently based off the school records her 'aunts' had provided from her previous schooling. For some reason, it failed to surprise Hermione that they had put her in a class she loathed. It also looked as if she wasn't taking Care of Magical Creatures, which made her grind her teeth, a horrible habit that would have made her mum scold terribly (her parents were dentists).
I will definitely be talking to Dumbledore as soon as possible.
Someone slid into the seat on her right, interrupting her disgruntled thoughts.
"Not much of a morning person, I take it? Or perhaps just not interested in the identity of your future husband?" Hermione turned, and then looked up into the mischievously sparkling green eyes of a tall Gryffindor girl.
"I don't really care for Divination." Hermione stated politely, as she cautiously continued to observe the girl.
The stranger grinned, and held back a chuckle at Hermione's aloof stance.
"That makes two of us then. I'm Marlene Mckinnon, by the way. I missed you this morning, but I believe you're in my dormitory. I'm a fifth year as well."
"Oh?" Hermione didn't really know what to say. Socialization was not her forte.
Seeming to sense this, Marlene tried to put the new girl at ease. "Yes, and there are two other girls in our dorm. One of them isn't here, Minerva, because she absolutely hates Divination, but see just over there?" Marlene nodded in the direction of a willowy, fragile-looking girl who was gazing around the room in clear adoration, "That's Sybill. Her great-grandmother was a seer, Cassandra. Maybe you've heard of her. Were you born into a wizarding family?"
Marlene's eyes were intense as she asked the question, and Hermione blinked, overwhelmed at the sheer amount of information she had just been given.
Minerva McGonagall? Sybill Trelawney?
Her mouth opened before she had even finished processing the question.
"Yes, but my parents died in a Potions accident when I was very young, so I was raised by my three aunts." Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified as the words spilled from her lips without thought or direction. Before she had to explain this strange reaction to Marlene, however, a short man swept into the classroom and all of the attention immediately turned to him. Hermione was bemused to notice Sybill hurriedly hushing the people around her.
The man, who Hermione assumed was the Divination professor, was very short. His belly, however, protruded in a way that more than made up for his lack of height. He had dark skin, and looked to be of Arabian or Egyptian descent. He was wearing a creamy turban on his head and sported a thick, scratchy black moustache. His eyes were big and brown, and he wore a glistening monocle that was attached to a chain on his satiny black vest. Hermione thought he looked familiar.
"Wunju." The man whispered as he traced his wand gently through the air, forming a wisp of smoke. Hermione watched, interested in spite of herself, as the smoke condensed to form a familiar rune.
"Can anyone tell me what this symbolizes?" The professor asked in his dry, deep voice. Hermione's hand shot into the air.
"Yes, Miss-?"
"Granger, sir. You appear to have created the runic symbol known as wunju, shaped similar to the letter p, which is known to represent joy and success. Under specific circumstances, it can also be used to motivate and encourage triumphant endeavors. In 1934, this rune gained special recognition when used by the famous seer Inigo Imago, in his Arithmantic work on the creation of the arch that leads into Knockturn Alley. In fact-" Hermione stopped, suddenly aware of giggles behind her. She turned and glared at a large boy in Gryffindor robes who she thought, rather cruelly, resembled a lumberjack.
The professor himself started chuckling, and Hermione turned to the front, her brows furrowed in confusion as the entire class joined in with the laughter. She turned around again and caught Antonin Dolohov watching her, the only other student in the class who wasn't laughing. She stared at his pale face for a moment, her eyes narrowed. He really did look different from what she'd remembered. There were no haunted shadows in his eyes.
"Miss Granger, is it? I'm sorry my dear, it's just that-" the professor broke into another fit of chuckles and Hermione looked back to the front, furious as she waited for him to regain his composure. "My dear, no need to look so upset! Your answer was perfectly correct. I just think that some introductions are in order… you see, I am Professor Inigo Imago."
Hermione gasped. So that was where she'd recognized him from! Inigo Imago was a very famous seer, who had died before she was born. Despite his connections to Divination, Hermione had been fascinated by his work in Arithmancy and had read many of his books, including The Dream Oracle, which she had snuck from Harry's trunk in a fit of curiosity.
Wow, the Inigo Imago is one of my professors! How did I not know he taught at Hogwarts? This is wonderful! I'm so excited! I'm so-
Hermione was brought out of her musings by the particularly loud laughter of a tall Slytherin boy.
-completely and utterly embarrassed.
"All right now class, settle down, settle down." Professor Imago waved his wand, and the smoky wunju vanished.
"I wanted to start our lesson today with this symbol, which Miss Granger so kindly interpreted for us-" He smiled at her benevolently, and Hermione groaned internally as her face flamed, "-because, as you all know, your fifth year will be one of the most challenging phases of your educational career. Towards the end of the school year, each of you will have the opportunity to take your O.W.L.s, otherwise known as the Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations. The results of these examinations will impact your future careers and positions in life. That being said, fifth year is not a time to be anything but meticulously diligent in your studies. I wish you wunju, joy and success, in all of the obstacles that you will undoubtedly face this year."
Several students in the class groaned, and Sybill turned around in her seat to glare at the culprits, as Marlene let out a silent laugh from beside Hermione. The professor continued as though unaware of the interruptions.
"However, this year, I'm afraid, will not merely test you academically. There is much going on in the world right now. Even as we speak, the Muggle world is engaged in a dark and bloodthirsty war. And we cannot ignore the happenings of our own society; there is a terrible contention that affects all of us, whether we live in Britain or not. I trust you all know of what, of whom I speak – and do not shake your head at me, young Lestrange, or you will live to regret it. Grindelwald may have left Britain alone for the time being, but only a fool would be able to ignore his rising influence."
The class went deathly silent, and Hermione felt a shiver of fear. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed as Antonin looked at her, his face arranged in a mask of concern. When she caught his eye, he quickly looked away. This version of Dolohov was hard to reconcile with the Death Eater whose curse had brought her such pain. Professor Imago's voice carried on in a lightened tone.
"But enough of all this doom and gloom, although I still encourage each of you to think carefully on what I have shared. Some of your teachers may believe it best not to make you aware of such things, but there is a reality out there that must be faced sometime in what I fear is the very near future, and as fifth-years, I consider you old enough to be given this knowledge."
You are to become a part of his history.
The words from the sisters flashed through her mind, and Hermione felt overwhelmed. Grindelwald was one of the most horrible wizards ever to live. Dumbledore had beaten him in a duel, or course, but the sisters had warned her that without her help, her former headmaster would succumb to a fate worse than death in doing so. She didn't understand how anything could be worse than death. How was she supposed to become a part of Dumbledore's history? Was it even possible?
Professor Imago was absentmindedly twirling his moustache with a thick forefinger, and he stared off into space for a moment before he collected himself.
"Yes, but at any rate, let's review the last unit of fourth year, and make sure your brains haven't disintegrated into piles of dust over the summer-"
Hermione forced her thoughts away from Grindelwald, happy (if somewhat guilty) to focus on the lesson. Professor Imago's teaching style was completely different from Professor Trelawney's, and Hermione instantly knew that if she decided to continue with this class, she would need to do a lot of review. She also needed to talk to Professor Dumbledore about taking Care of Magical Creatures, and was glad that the next class on her schedule was Transfiguration. Perhaps she could also find out more about the whole Grindelwald situation.
"Do you remember all of this?" Marlene was looking at Hermione's strangely short page of notes, and Hermione was chagrined to realize that her seatmate had filled almost three more pages than she had, with a tiny, cramped script.
"Some of it seems to be a bit hazy, but none of it seems that difficult. I'll just have to do some review." Hermione whispered back, as Professor Imago droned on.
"I'd be happy to help you later tonight, if you have time before dinner. There's this great little spot in the library that's right next to all the old Divination texts. I can tell you where at lunch, if you decide you want to come."
Hermione usually didn't like to accept help, but Marlene seemed so genuine that her normal pride retreated and she nodded her head gratefully.
"Are you sure? That would be really great, as long as it's not too much of a hassle for you."
"No problem." Marlene replied, and she giggled softly at Hermione's enthusiasm before going back to her notes.
For the first time in her Hogwarts career, Hermione left the Divination classroom with a smile on her face; Ron and Harry's jaws would have dropped at the sight.
Tom Riddle was sitting in the third row back from the professor's desk. His hands were folded neatly, and his quill was perfectly aligned with a few pieces of creamy parchment. His tie was meticulously straight, his thick black hair immaculately swept back, and his shiny prefect badge was perched in plain view on his dark robe.
He wore a carefully neutral expression as the last of the students straggled into the Transfiguration classroom. His eyes were downturned, as though intent on studying the blank parchment before him.
Tom caught Dolohov's eye as the curly-haired boy slouched into the classroom. Dolohov looked longingly at a seat in the back, but at a subtle gesture from Tom, sighed and walked to the front where the new girl, Hermione, was happily chatting with Minerva McGonagall and Marlene McKinnon. She looked much more relaxed than she had the night before, and Tom briefly wondered what had brought about the change.
Dolohov slowly pulled out the empty chair next to the girl, looking for all the world like a wizard about to receive the Dementor's kiss.
Tom noticed the girl stiffen slightly, but she didn't turn from her conversation with the Gryffindors to greet Dolohov, who threw a pleading look in Tom's direction.
With an air of long-suffering, Tom gathered his books and went to the seat on the opposite side of Dolohov.
This caused Marlene to look up sharply, and Hermione and McGonagall turned around to see what had caught her attention. Tom met their stares evenly, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. He was pleased to see both McGonagall and Marlene blush, but was surprised to see the new girl look from the Gryffindors to himself in dismay. Apparently she didn't approve of the distraction, and the expression on her face as she realized that the presence of a boy had caused her two new (old?) friends to turn into giggling teenagers was priceless.
She did take the opportunity, however, to say hello to Dolohov, and the two exchanged schedules. Dolohov let out a low whistle as the girl blushed, which irked Tom for some reason. The two were supposed to get along like that: it had been his mission in coming to sit at the front, after all, which really was a sacrifice, considering that Transfiguration was his least favorite class.
Ah, and here comes the grand reason himself.
Albus Dumbledore walked into the classroom, big, foolish grin in place, adorned in blindingly bright canary yellow robes that contrasted horribly with his long auburn beard. Tom was inordinately pleased to note that said beard had acquired a few grey stripes that he was positive had not been there before.
"Good morning, fifth years!" The class quieted immediately as Dumbledore beamed at the students. Tom grudgingly had to admit that the man had good control of his classes. His mere presence could calm the students.
"I trust you all had lovely summers! Mine was particularly interesting. I had the wonderful opportunity to go to-"
"ALBUS!" Dumbledore's speech was interrupted by a tall wizard who flung the door open so violently that it crashed against the stone wall of the classroom.
"How dare you! How dare you come back here, hiding in the corner like a scared little toad! Does she really mean so little to you? I don't understand how you can allow that vile, destructive wizard to-" And then the stranger suddenly blinked, and looked around the room in astonishment as though noticing the presence of the students for the first time.
Tom's eyes were narrowed suspiciously, as he quickly put two and two together. The man, he realized (once the shock of his entrance had diminished) had the exact color hair as Dumbledore, and the same thin, pointed chin, which was surely not coincidental. They had to be blood relatives, and from the looks of it, close ones.
Alright, so who is the 'she' this man's ranting about? A love interest of Dumbledore's, perhaps? That would explain why he never gets too serious with that nurse Pomfrey. And what 'vile' wizard? A supporter of Grindelwald, perhaps?
Dumbledore's relative regained his composure quickly, although his anger was still etched in every line of his furious face.
"Sorry for interrupting, students. I have just so been looking forward to having a little chat with my lovely brother that it completely escaped my mind he would be teaching this morning." The man mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like and he shouldn't be, the wretched fool. He then gave his brother a stiff and formal bow. "I shall wait for you in your office Albus. Don't bother sending anyone with me; I know exactly where it is." With that, the man turned on his heel and marched sharply out of the room, boots echoing harshly in the sudden silence.
The expression on Dumbledore's face was one that Tom had never seen before: fear. Startled, Tom felt a flicker of unease. Dumbledore was an insufferable, disgustingly cheerful and infuriatingly perceptive wizard, but he was nonetheless the most powerful man Tom knew. There should not be much for the man to fear.
Dumbledore's face cleared, and he spread his arms in a wide arc. "I apologize, class; you've just met my brother Aberforth. He's a wonderful man most of the time, but I'm afraid he sometimes gets a bit addled in the head. Don't pay him any mind. Now, where were we?"
"I believe we were just about to start our lesson, sir." McGonagall answered, sucking up to the professor as usual.
Dumbledore shot her a grateful smile. "Ah, yes, thank you Miss McGonagall. I believe we were discussing a short trip I had the opportunity to go on this past summer. I learned some interesting things that I was hoping to share, about the transfiguration of objects in motion-"
Tom allowed part of his mind to wander; it didn't take much concentration to take notes on Dumbledore's lecture. His eyes travelled over to the new girl, Granger. She too was taking notes, but like him, her mind seemed to be miles away from the lesson. He watched her tuck a disobedient curl back behind her ear, and the gesture reminded him of their encounter the previous evening, and of his failure to obtain the Sorting Hat.
Dumbledore must have used his precious little new Gryffindor as a decoy. He probably had the real hat with him the whole time, and I was left with that stupid transfigured crumb!
Tom clenched his fist tighter around his quill as fury rolled through his body. He had been so close, so close to getting that damn hat alone for a little chat, only to be thwarted by the ever annoying Transfiguration professor.
He hated being outsmarted, and he had planned everything so carefully. Tom knew he was getting closer to figuring it out; Sylvia had hinted as much that very morning. True, the sorting hat was closer to Gryffindor than Slytherin; nonetheless, any contact with a founder would help him in his quest.
Granger heaved a sigh, and then looked up – straight into his eyes. She looked startled for a moment, but she didn't break his gaze. He heard students getting up behind him and realized that the class was being dismissed. Dolohov looked between the two, and cleared his throat nervously.
"Um, Hermione, this is Ri-Tom. He's in Slytherin. Tom, meet Hermione."
Hermione extended a hand. "Nice to meet you Tom."
"The pleasure is all mine." Tom replied smoothly.
Dolohov offered his arm to Hermione, who glanced around for McKinnon and McGonagall before realizing they'd already left, chasing after a hasty Dumbledore. She hesitantly took Dolohov's arm, and Tom began walking with them out into the noisy hallway.
"Tom's in Slytherin, with me. He's the only other fifth year that I know of who's taking as many classes as you, Hermione." Dolohov told Hermione, leaning down towards her ear. He certainly was doing a good job of being a charmer for someone who never talked to girls.
Hermione looked at Tom, standing on the other side of Dolohov, with interest. "How many classes are you taking?"
Tom smirked; there was no way she was taking as many as him. "I'm taking eleven at the moment. Everything but Muggle Studies."
"So you're taking Care of Magical Creatures, then?"
"Yes; it was the only class that gave me a spot of trouble, it conflicts with Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Divination. I talked to the headmaster about it, and Professor Kettleburn, and they've agreed to let me attend a special class on Saturdays."
Hermione looked excited. "Really? Do you think they'd let me take it? I'm signed up for ten classes at the moment, but I'd really like to take Care of Magical Creatures. I was actually going to talk to Professor Dumbledore about it, but he ran off rather quickly, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did." Dolohov interrupted.
Tom was frowning. She was taking ten classes? And wanted to take another?
Who is this girl?
"That was odd. I mean, I knew he had a brother, but he was so angry, you know? He shouldn't have yelled like that. But, anyway, do you think they'd let me take that class on Saturday too? Who would I need to talk to?"
Tom was slightly unhappy with the idea of Hermione joining his class; as far as he knew, he was the only student that had requested to take it, and he had been content with the thought that he wouldn't have to deal with the usual bumbling idiots. On the other hand, Hermione, who was walking with a quick stride and a no-nonsense posture, did not seem like an idiot.
Tom made a quick decision. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk to the Headmaster today and see if I can get it sorted out."
"He has a bit of a soft spot for Ri-Tom," Dolohov corrected himself, throwing a completely uncharacteristic wink to Hermione. Tom shot him a look that plainly said shut up.
Hermione smiled at Dolohov, as she addressed Tom, "That would be wonderful! I was just so disappointed when I saw that it wasn't on my schedule. Are you sure that's not asking too much from you, though? I would politely decline, except that it means so much to me. I was actually a bit mad when I saw that it wasn't on my schedule. I know I took it last year."
A bell began to sound, and Hermione glanced around with a frown. Students were rushing by, trying to get to their classes before the final bell tolled, and a ghost was loitering by the girl's bathroom, causing a slight blockage as students changed course to avoid her.
"Well, I've got to get going. History of Magic. I'll see you later then, Antonin, Tom?"
"Alright Hermione. Good luck with Binns. Try not to die of boredom."
"Binns? He's still the teacher? How dreadful," she murmured distractedly, and Tom frowned as she gave a final wave before turning a corner.
Dolohov turned to Tom, and raised an eyebrow. "She remembers Binns?"
"Apparently." Tom bit his lip, as he contemplated the implications. "Maybe something went wrong with the spell. It was a trial run, after all."
Dolohov, apparently satisfied with this answer, left for the library with a hasty goodbye, obviously anxious to get away from Tom.
Tom himself headed down to the dungeons. It was time to talk to Sylvia again; he needed that damn hat.