Letters and Memories

Harry twirled the small bottle labeled May 1940 watching as the milky white substance slowly moved around. Ron sat across the table from his best friend, torn between curiosity and unease. They were the only two in the Weasley kitchen and had settled the stack of letters and bottles between them on the old wooden table.

"Don'tcha think we should wait for Hermione?" asked the red-head, carefully gauging his friend's reaction.

"We don't even know if she's going to get out."

"But McGonagall said-"

"And where's McGonagall, huh? She left remember? The only answer is to watch these memories." Harry was breathing hard, frustrated by the lack of answers. What could Professor McGonagall have to show him that Professor Dumbledore did not? Before he could relay his aggravation, the front door to the Burrow swung open, pulling them from their ever going argument. They both rushed around the table to the entry hall to find Alastor Moody levitating a stone basin in front of him.

"Thought you might need it," he muttered before turning clumsily back toward the door. Harry almost slapped himself at his foolishness- how could he forget they would need a Pensieve to view the memories?

"Don't you want to stay and see what's in these?" asked Ron hastily. Apparently, the thought of going through the stern Transfiguration Professor's life was a bit frightening. Moody stopped mid-limp and glanced over his shoulder. His good eye reflected years of pain and anguish; the lines of age seemed to be more pronounced than the scars that his lifestyle had brought him. For the first time Harry noticed the ex-auror's true age. Everyone called him 'Mad-Eye' because of the paranoia his profession had bestowed upon him; no one ever talked about the remainder of the man who wasn't mad. After Dumbledore's death, Harry often found himself wondering about the Headmaster's real life; now after McGonagall's odd actions, he was seeing his elders in an entirely new unbiased light.

"No, I know what's in them memories, boy. I saw her put herself through hell and back once; I don't need to see it again, especially not through her eyes." His gnarled hand clutched his walking as he glanced guiltily to the floor. "There're just some things I'd rather not know." He nodded briefly to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who had come downstairs to the sound of voices, and exited the Burrow without a further word.

Harry picked up the first letter and slipped his finger under the seal and unfolded the parchment. Taking a forcefully deep breath, he adjusted his glasses and began to read.

"I met Tom Marvolo Riddle in May of my third year. Never would I have believed the twelve year old boy I met on the grounds that day would forever change my life. I was curious of the boy who clearly had more knowledge than students' years above him, especially for someone whom I thought at the time was a Muggle born. Looking back, I believe Tom and I's paths were destined to cross even if I had not approached him that day."

"That's it?" asked Ron, dumbfounded. Harry reached for the corresponding bottle as a respond and poured it into the Pensieve. Exchanging a determined look with his best friend he leaned into the misty abyss.

May 1940

It was a clear day on the green grounds of Hogwarts. About thirty students of various ages lined the edge of the Black Lake. Some were studying, others playing around with a quaffle, and numerous couples strolled or laid about the bank holding hands. Harry spotted Tom Riddle immediately, the dark haired pale boy sat by himself, wand in hand hovering over a book. Just as Harry was about to walk over to him, Ron tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to another part of the vision.

Four girls sat in a circle, lunch spread out between them. He recognized the slender dark haired one immediately. Her green eyes were just as piercing at the age of thirteen as they were now. He managed to keep from cracking a smile at her skinny body that she had clearly not grown into yet. The long limbs that Minerva McGonagall used to her advantage now were clearly an annoyance to the awkward child before him now. Though as thin and tall as she was, the young girl to her right was petite; as blonde as Minerva was dark, the round girl was clearly in charge of the conversation since she had been talking non-stop since Harry and Ron had dropped in. They wore Gryffindor robes while the two girls across the circle wore Ravenclaw's blue. One was red haired with a budding body and the other with hair as dark as her Gryffindor friend. The red head was spiraled out on her back and catching the attention of a group of boys sitting to their left.

"Augusta, just because Marcus said so, doesn't make it true," muttered the dark haired Ravenclaw.

"I'm telling you, Professor White is engaged to Eliza Featherstone and that's why we are getting a new Transfiguration Professor," said the blonde, Augusta.

"Felicity's right," sighed a clearly annoyed Minerva. "Eliza only graduated last June."

"Exactly," said Augusta triumphantly. "You know what I'm talking about, right Rheanna?" Rheanna, the red haired beauty, Harry assumed, was far too interested in winking at a boy some ten meters away to be interested in the conversation. Clearly he wasn't the only the one to notice.

"Unless Clarence Rigsby will be at the wedding, I doubt Rhea would even notice." The girls burst into laughter at the re-head's blush. Harry was surprised by the light in Minerva's emerald eyes. He had never seen it before; smiles were rare for her and the carefree child that was sitting on the grass wasn't the one he expected. Granted, there was nothing extraordinary about her, but there was no doubt to she had a pretty face. However the high cheek bones and porcelain skin were outshined by her eyes; bright green and full of laughter.

Harry's attention was pulled from her eyes as they quickly narrowed and both he and Ron followed her gaze to the young Tom Riddle who was pointing his wand at a daisy and muttering an incantation over and over again.

"Who's he?" Augusta had followed her friend's line of sight as well.

"He's a friend of my brother's," said Felicity matter-of-factly. "They are both second year Slytherins."

"So he shouldn't be doing trying to do third level transfiguration work."

"Probably not, but- Minerva!" Felicity called out in exasperation, but Minerva had already risen to her feet and was halfway over to where Riddle sat.

"Oh, he's in for it," Ron said triumphantly.

"What is your name?" asked Minerva as she sat down next to him, folding her wiry legs stubbornly beneath her. Tom's eyes never left the daisy he was trying to transfigure.

"Riddle," he replied as he muttered the spell under his breath again. Minerva's eyes widened when she realized what he was trying to do.

"You know, plant to animal transfiguration work is sixth year level." Riddle's nose wrinkled up in frustration.

"Are you a sixth year?"

"No, but neither are you."

"Your point, Miss...?" Minerva crossed her arms.

"McGonagall, and my point is you don't have the experience. Why don't you try something simpler? Like turning it into a pin or quill?"

"Simple wasn't quite what I was going for." Her green eyes studied him for a moment clearly impressed by his need for knowledge.

"What if I taught you to transfigure it into another plant?" Tom looked up at her question, for the first time truly taking notice of her. Harry had seen memories of Dumbledore's that had illustrated Tom Riddle's thirst to learn, but with the eagerness in his dark eyes, he found it hard to see the monster of the madness.

"You would do that?"

"Well, you are likely to blow something up, honestly." Whipping out her wand she flipped the pages in his book to near the beginning. Then as a demonstration she muttered a few words and the daisy grew into a large fern.

Preview:

Escaping with the Traitor

" She had survived the Dark Lord's morbid intrusion of her mind and Bellatrix Lestrange's deranged torture of carving her lowly blood status into the back of her hand. She had expected pain from them and knew what they would do to her; however, the man she had taken classes from for the past six years absolutely terrified her. Even as unfair as the Head of Slytherin had been, he had always been consistent. There had even been times that she thought he enjoyed teaching and honestly she enjoyed learning from him. But not now. Everything she thought she knew about him went out the window when he murdered Albus Dumbledore in cold blood. "