Of Roses and Thorns

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I disclaim.

September 30, 1943

"What do you remember?" Albus asked, fearing the worst. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing her answer. Albus, while admittedly a great wizard, was certainly no Merlin. Was her memory loss his doing? Did his intrusion into her mind cause the amnesia? "Do you remember anything at all? About yourself, about Hogwarts?"

"I.." Hermione trailed off, looking over his shoulder blankly. "Hogwarts is hidden to Muggles. If a Muggle looks at it, they see an old ruin with a sign saying: Danger, do not enter, unsafe." She looked up at him, confusion marring her otherwise pretty features. "I don't know how I know that. Is it important to know?"

Albus let out a sigh. She had recited a fact from Hogwarts, A History verbatim. He knew something had gone wrong while he had been in her mind. Perhaps they could recover her memories a different way. He summoned his pensieve from where it sat next to his desk and levitated it between them. "This," He explained patiently to the bewildered girl before him. "Is a pensieve. It allows me to place a memory inside and view it as many times as I'd like."

Hermione smiled, recognition lighting up her features. "Oh, kind of like a telly!"

Albus did not know what a telly was nor did he really care. There were far more pressing matters at hand. "Er…yes, exactly. What I'm going to do is take a memory from your mind and place it inside my pensieve, and then we'll go from there. We'll have you figured out yet!" He smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner, but the girl was no longer paying him any attention. She was enthralled with the swirls and movements made by the memories already inside of the pensieve. Albus watched as her fingers inched closer and closer to the liquid, moving slowly, almost—

"STOP!" Albus grabbed her hand and pulled it away from the liquid. "You might be sucked into the wrong memories, my dear." She looked at him with fear in her eyes, but nevertheless murmured a soft apology and kept her eyes trained on her lap. He took her hands and smiled at her. "Do not worry, child, all is well. It is only for your safety and that of my secrets that I had to stop you." She nodded her understanding. "Now, let's get you sorted out, shall we?"

Hermione smiled and tried to not be afraid as his wand pressed itself to the crown of her head.

September 30, 1943 – Slytherin Common Room, Hours Earlier

Tom Marvolo Riddle was, in his humble opinion, the most powerful wizard to have ever lived. As he reclined on his favorite chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room, he couldn't help but revel a bit his glory. He deserved it, after all. His plans post-Hogwarts were coming together, the success that was his summer still gave him immense pleasure to think of, and his followers were steadily growing in number. He almost smiled. Slytherins were an ambitious lot and their pure-blood ideologies made them the easiest to persuade, but he had quite a few followers in other houses as well. Of course there weren't nearly as many Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff devotees as there were in Slytherin house, but there were enough to satisfy the future Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was no fool; he knew that in the end, Hufflepuff loyalty and Ravenclaw wit were far more precious weapons in his war than Slytherin ambition.

Speaking of which…

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Abraxas Malfoy give him some sort of ugly, sullen look. The fool thought he couldn't see him! Tom suppressed a sigh—barely. With the good came the bad, he supposed. He couldn't help but allow himself to smirk. Malfoy's thinly veiled envy was annoying, but not at all unfounded. Tom did lead an enviable life. The professors loved him (with the exception of one particular Transfiguration professor, but Tom knew Dumbledore didn't pose much of a threat), all the students from every house either loved him or feared him, and his power surpassed those of anyone in his year.

Across from him, a leggy blonde blinked her pretty green eyes at him and mouthed that she had a great time with him last night. Tom suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He had no idea who she was and he knew for a fact they had done absolutely nothing worth enjoying the night before. He had been trying to read when she crawled onto his lap and began to assault his neck with her tongue. He let her have her way for a bit before easing her off and going to bed without a single word to the girl.

He visibly shivered at the memory. He hated to be touched without his permission.

It wasn't that Tom didn't like women. On the contrary, he rather loved women. He enjoyed looking at them and their skin was far softer than any lad's. Unfortunately, that was about as much value as he saw in the fairer sex. It was a pity they couldn't all be as intelligent and ruthless as Walburga Black. The rest were, to his disgust, much like the girl from last night.

Tom was already bored with the turn his thoughts had taken.

He turned his attention yet again to Malfoy. The blond, too preoccupied with giving him an ugly look, did not turn away in time to avoid being caught. "I don't know how often I have to tell you, Malfoy, but this is the very last time." Tom drawled lazily. Every ear in the common room perked up at the sound of his voice, though they were all careful to seem as if they weren't paying any attention. Tom smiled, satisfied with the reddening cheeks of the otherwise pale blond. "I am not a homosexual and I will never reciprocate your love for me." Tom turned away from the look of outrage and embarrassment on the other boy's face and smiled at Terrel Nott as if they were both part of the same little joke. The pleasure on Nott's face at the attention nearly made him sick.

Meanwhile, Malfoy continued to sputter. Tom cocked his head and regarded the indignant blond silently. Perhaps he had hit a nerve there. Was Malfoy truly in love with him? He wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be true; he was a rather handsome man and he certainly had more charm, power, and intelligence in his pinky than any of the other males in his house. If Tom were so inclined, Malfoy, with all his connections and wealth, would make a rather advantageous match. That is, if Tom could overlook the permanent sneer on the boy's face and his rather foul temperament in favor of his vast fortune.

"I'm not—I'm—you…" Malfoy's face, as red as the Gryffindor crest, was screwed up in disgust. No, Tom decided, he could never find it in him to look favorably upon that face. Not to mention the boy had trouble grasping the English language and had the intelligence of a hippogriff. He simply would not do. Tom sighed.

No one was good enough for him. He looked around the common room at the youths all lounged casually, as if they weren't prepared to jump off a cliff should he even say the word. They were all just so…beneath him.

Alas, he was the most powerful wizard to have ever lived. It was the lonely fate to which he had long ago resigned himself.

He sighed again.

October 1, 1943

Tom woke up with a feeling of dread. Then again, when had he ever woken up on a Friday feeling otherwise? He sat up in his four poster, wondering if it were at all possible to skip Dumbledore's transfiguration class. Before he could decide, however, a booming voice broke his train of thought.

"Good morning, Tom!" Tom cringed as Cygnus Black slung an arm over his shoulders. "Listen, mate, I know this is a lot to ask of you, considering it's the same thing I've asked the past two weeks, but could you study just a little bit longer tonight? I mean, longer than you usually do. Druella's coming over and I think tonight's the night I'm going to ask her to go with me. I think I'm finally ready to go steady. Plus Mum's been on my case about wooing the bird so we can marry right after Hogwarts, but who cares about that." Cygnus waved his free hand in the air dismissively, as if marriage and spending the rest of his life with his witch (and Tom meant that in the most insulting way possible) were only a minor detail. "She's going to be so pleased, I might actually get to third base and I know you wouldn't want to walk in on that!"

Tom's lip curled in disgust, though not at all surprised. Cygnus Black never was capable of thinking with the head he had on his shoulders. "Cygnus, I do not need to know about your relations with Miss Rosier." Tom stood from his bed, dusting off his pyjamas as he did so. "As it is, I have two essays due next week and it would be in my best interests to finish those essays now rather than later. However I will return promptly at midnight."

Cygnus smirked at him. "You're upset with me." It wasn't a question. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he did so. He found that doing so often alleviated some of the headache brought on by his rather irksome friend. He picked up his shirt and began to put it on, pointedly not giving a reply. Cygnus chuckled. "You are!" Tom gave him a look, which Cygnus returned mockingly.

"I am not." Tom insisted, putting on his tie. He took a moment, checking it was straight and properly tied. He took pride on his rather neat appearance and went to great lengths to make sure he looked impeccable at all times-a stark contrast to the cad lounging on his bed. "I'm rather pleased your relationship with Druella is getting so serious and that marriage is in your future. You need someone sensible to curb your rakish ways, though I can't imagine her brother would be too pleased to hear about this development in your relationship." Cygnus guffawed at that.

"I'd like to see that pup try to do a thing about me and Dru!" He declared, jumping up and off of Tom's bed. "Hurry and finish coiffing your hair, Tom, else we'll miss breakfast!" He tossed Tom's comb at him and practically ran towards the door. Tom combed his hair, deciding in that moment that he wouldn't remind Cygnus that one normally wore pants and shoes when going to breakfast.

Later that day, Tom found himself standing outside of his last class, extremely reluctant to enter. It wasn't that he wasn't good at transfiguration—in fact, he was quite adept at it—it was that Dumbledore refused to treat him with the same admiration and appreciation the other professors often freely bestowed on him. Tom was not just another student and to be treated as if he were infuriated him. As Tom continued to battle between attending class and playing hooky, a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls walked past, giving him eyes and giggling behind their books. Tom gave them a small smile and greeted them hello as they entered the Transfiguration classroom. Preparing himself for the longest class of his life, he followed them inside and took his regular seat at the back of the room between Cygnus and Orion Black. He rested his chin on his palm and prepared for yet another mind-blowingly awful class with their twat of a professor, Dumbledore.

To his immense surprise (and relief), Professor Dumbledore did not show up for their lessons. Instead, a clearly agitated Headmaster Dippet rushed in and announced that class was cancelled for the day. He gave no explanation but Tom suspected that of all the students in the room, he was the only one curious as to Dumbledore's whereabouts. Perhaps they found evidence of—Tom shook the thought from his head and stood from his desk. He tried to quell his paranoia and focused his attention instead on the Gaunt family ring resting on his finger. He smirked, admiring the Peverell coat of arms and was once again reminded of his immense power and rather satisfying summer. He turned then and, with Orion and Cygnus flanking him, left the room and headed for the dungeons.

"Thank Merlin, I am in no state of mind to be learning today." Orion grumbled. Cygnus chuckled and threw an arm around his cousin.

"I wouldn't be so relieved, Cousin. Quidditch practice was cancelled today. His Head Boy Prickness Rosier gave his bollocks over to his new girlfriend and they're off celebrating their one week anniversary." Cygnus wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Let me tell you, if Dru ever tried to get me to skip practice so we can drink pink tea and rub noses like girls often like to do, I'd Avada myself."

Orion frowned. "No one told me practice was cancelled!"

"Learn to read, will you? Rosier sent out notices during breakfast."

Tom let out a wry chuckle. "He barely noticed his food this morning. He was too preoccupied rubbing off at the sight of that Ravenclaw girl." At this, Orion colored and made a noise of protest and Cygnus burst into laughter.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Cygnus continued to laugh, rubbing invisible tears out of the corners of his eyes as he did so. Tom refrained from joining in, his mind elsewhere.

Where was Albus Dumbledore and what could possibly possess him to miss teaching his class? It was uncharacteristic of him and Tom was going crazy wondering what it was that had their professor so otherwise preoccupied. Perhaps the old bat had been battling Grindelwald that morning and had died. He certainly hoped so.

October 1, 1943 – Albus Dumbledore's Office

"I'm afraid." Hermione confessed. Uncle Albus, as he had insisted she call him, smiled at her kindly. He took her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "Are you sure this is alright?"

"My dear, you will be perfectly alright." Hermione felt herself relax at his words. Uncle Albus continued. "It is the safest course of action and will make your transition easier."

Hermione had to give him that. From what he had managed to tell her, he was a respected member of society and she would have an easier time making friends if she had the Dumbledore name on her side. Granted, she still wasn't so sure what was going on, but Uncle Albus had promised to find a way to retrieve her memories and he didn't seem like the type of man to go back on his word. She was frustrated at the lack of information they managed to glean from the broken and fragmented memories taken from her mind. They got a word here, a fuzzy image there, but nothing coherent or useful in the slightest. Hermione inhaled and exhaled deeply, remembering the relaxation technique he had taught her earlier. "Could you tell me again? Please? I'd like to be as prepared as possible."

Uncle Albus chuckled and smiled affectionately at her. He released her hands and turned to his desk, retrieving the stick he had said was hers. Hermione knew what magic was, knew that she had the power to harness it, but could not for the life of her recall how to use her wand. As she palmed the wood, she couldn't help but feel as if something were off with it. It didn't feel like hers, but of course her memory was gone so perhaps the wand would feel more hers once her memory was back. Though muscle memory should have given her some feeling of familiarity…

"Be careful with your wand, Hermione. I know many a witch and wizard to blast a body part off by mishandling such a sensitive instrument." Hermione blushed and immediately ceased twiddling with the stick. "Now, I'm sure you've prepared enough, so don't be so concerned. You are my niece who, prior to attending Hogwarts, was homeschooled. It was at my insistence that you attend Hogwarts. The Headmaster will introduce you at dinner and that is when you will be sorted into a house. Do you recall what the four are?"

"Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor." Hermione breathed the names of the four houses almost reverently. "After sorting, I'm to sit with my house and then the head of house will guide me from there."

The older man smiled at her. "Ah, you should have more faith in yourself, Hermione. You're as ready as you'll ever be. Now, did you decide on your age?" Hermione frowned and stared at her hands. She could not for the life of her recall any details about herself, her age being one of those lost to her. After slipping into a Hogwarts uniform earlier, she had regarded herself in the mirror for almost ten minutes, wondering how old she was. She looked about 19, but she couldn't be so sure. Was there a spell that told you? Her last thought was out loud and Uncle Albus chuckled. "No, I'm afraid I'm not aware of any. How would you like to decide later on? After all, we have three hours until dinner and I'd very much like to try the pensieve again if that's alright with you."

Hermione worried her bottom lip, knowing that any further attempts with the pensieve would only result in failure. Nevertheless, she acquiesced. "Yes, Uncle Albus."

A/N: I've changed ages of certain characters to better suit my needs for this story, but don't worry, Hermione and Tom are their canon ages at the time(s) this story takes place.

Hermione's memory recall at this point is very selective. Any knowledge she may possess comes straight out of Hogwarts, A History. Muscle memory isn't necessarily conscious, however, so she will have the ability to cast spells, though keep in mind the wand she's using is Bellatrix's wand and will hinder her performance slightly.

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