Disclaimer: I disclaim.

A/N: Hello everyone! Here's Chapter 10.

Oh, and finally some fluff-ish stuff between Ari & Riddle...but it's not what you think. Heh.

24/09/11: Sorry again for the re-post, FF (dot) net's not letting me change stuff again. Goshdarnit.

Pretending To Live

Chapter 10: Doppelganger

And then Olive Hornby's lifeless body hit the marble floor of the Great Hall with a sickening crunch.

It was chaos.

Everywhere, masses of black-clad figures were shrieking, crying out, toppling over one another in their efforts to get away from the center of the room. Like a strange sea, they gushed past anything that stood still and burst through the entrance doors of the Great Hall. They noise was overwhelming.

They pushed past Harry and I roughly, ignoring us as if we were tables and chairs, and then suddenly I saw him collapse to his knees, holding his head in pain. Panicking a little, I fought my way past the people, using elbows and knees to carve a path through the crowd. I finally reached him, grabbing him by the back of his robes and yanking him out of the way of the mindless, terrified stampede.

"He's angry," he muttered, as I forced him to lean against one of the stone pillars at the side of the room. His head was cradled in his hands. "He's furious..."

"Riddle?"

Harry was digging his knuckles into his forehead now, pummelling it viciously. "Something's gone wrong...this wasn't supposed to—"

"Silence!"

Our heads snapped up to look to the front of the room and even the crowd halted as well, blindly obeying the authority thrumming in Dumbledore's voice. Beside the old wizard, Dippet stood, red faced and discomfited.

"You will return to your House common rooms at once," he thundered, his voice rolling in waves across the Hall. "You will stay there until your Head of House informs you otherwise. I repeat, you will return to your House common rooms..."

As the House Prefects began to shout and call out, ushering their respective students out of the chamber, Dumbledore's burning blue eyes found Harry and I at the back of the Hall. He shook his head slightly: Do not follow.

And then a sudden picture of the Transfiguration office flashed into my mind; I blinked and saw that Dumbledore was no longer looking in our direction.

"Harry, do you have your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Left it in my trunk," he panted, staggering to his feet.

"Alright. C'mon then, before the Prefects see us..." I pushed him towards the shadowed sides of the Hall, darting my eyes anxiously around the whole time.

"It won't matter," Harry muttered, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Riddle's going to notice I'm gone, anyway..."

I swore under my breath and ducked down, forcing Harry to do the same and merged into the heaving crowd. Our school robes made us unrecognizable in the mass. Finally, we broke away from the body of students just outside the Great Hall entrance and stumbled along the deserted corridor.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, one palm still pressed against his forehead as we walked.

"Dumbledore's office," I replied. Every time I blinked, the image of Olive Hornby's body flashed in front of me, as if seared into the back of my eyelids. Finally, we were in front of the same door I had blasted through only little more than a week earlier—though it felt longer—and I tried the handle. It was unlocked, so Harry and I slipped in, closing it behind us.

Inside it was mockingly quiet: it contrasted vividly with the pandemonium outside. There were two chairs already set up in front of Dumbledore's desk and I slumped into one of them. Harry followed suit and took the other.

I closed my eyes and saw the body falling through the air again; they snapped open. Determined to distract myself, I spoke.

"Can you still see into Voldemort's mind? I mean, is it the same with Riddle?"

"They're the same person, aren't they?" he pointed out, still scrubbing furiously at his scar. "How'd you even know about that anyway?"

I said the first name that came into my mind. "Hermione."

"Avery's copping most of his anger," Harry muttered abruptly, teeth bared. His hands were gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles stood out bone white against his skin. "Riddle thinks it's his fault..."

"Harry..." I said, "...you should be blocking this..."

He shook his head, lips pressed together tightly holding back what I thought might've been a pained noise. "No," he finally got out through gritted teeth. "We're already at a disadvantage with Riddle's Locket...I won't let us get taken by surprise. I'm going to use this...I need to know what he's thinking..."

The door opened then and we both jumped, turning in unison towards the person who had entered.

Dumbledore closed the door behind him, locked it silently with a flick of his wand and then moved to sit behind his desk. He steepled his fingers together and surveyed the both of us with a piercing blue stare that made me want to squirm in my seat. Then he said quietly, "I daresay the two of you know something about all of this."

"It's Riddle, Professor." Harry said. "He opened the Chamber."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change. "That is a very serious accusation to make, Harry."

"It's the truth," he said hotly.

"Professor..." I said hesitantly. "I don't quite understand...it wasn't Olive Hornby who was supposed to d—to die..."

Dumbledore looked at me intently. "How do you mean, Ari?"

"It was supposed to be Myrtle, sir. From Hufflepuff. I've...read...that she was the only person to ever be killed when the Chamber of Secrets first opened."

Harry gave me an odd look. "Yes, that's right sir."

There was a moment of silence; Dumbledore appeared to be in deep thought. "I think I can make a guess as to why that is so. However, that would mean several unfavourable implications if I were to be correct in my assumptions...

"Before I say this to you, however, may I ask one question?" His eyes searched ours for permission and we nodded mutely. He leaned forward. "Was your future in 1997, the one that led to the five of you coming here to 1944, the single and original pathway that would have happened?"

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

"I mean to say that is your future, your destiny and Fate, as it was supposed to progress?" Dumbledore clarified. "With you arriving in this time period?"

Harry was clearly bewildered by this line of questioning. "Yeah. Yeah, of cour—"

"No." I said and Harry stopped. "No, it wasn't...supposed to be this way, Professor."

"What are you talking about, Ari?" Harry asked and I couldn't meet his eyes.

"I thought as much," said Dumbledore sadly. "There were several signs, you see...allow me to explain.

"There are many complicated theoretical explanations for such a phenomena, but seeing as we are already short of time, here is a much simpler and much more concise way to put it: I believe that your presence in 1944 has had an effect on succeeding events. It has caused several changes to occur in the original timeline, the one that you, Ari, are familiar with."

"What timeline?" Harry said, looking back and forth between Dumbledore and I. "Ari, what's going on?"

"I...is that why I ended up in 1997 as well, even though it wasn't supposed to happen?" I asked instead, ignoring Harry's infuriated look. "Because we had already messed up the timeline back in 1944?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes, that's right."

"But that doesn't make sense!" I said angrily. "Something forced me out of my own time to 1997. I wouldn't have ended up in 1944 if that hadn't happened…and now you're telling me that I wouldn't have come to 1997 if I hadn't time travelled to 1944?"

The screwdriver was back in my head again, made worse by the fact that my thoughts were chasing each other round and round in circles. Though I had tried to talk out what had happened, I only felt more confused than ever. New, more pressing questions burst at the front of my mind like fireworks.

"Ari—"

"And what about my life in 2010?" I demanded. "Was I a witch or a Muggle first? How did Voldemort kill my parents? What happened to the Lockets? How—"

Dumbledore held up a hand then and I fell silent. "It is very unwise to dwell upon questions involving Time, Ari. It can drive one mad."

" But Professor…"

"Ari," he said gravely. "We both know that neither you nor I can answer any of the questions you have just asked. Time is a complex being…and very, very dangerous…"

"You make it sound as if it's a person, sir." Harry said uncomfortably.

The grey-haired wizard only smiled before carrying on, "I will say this however…it is very rarely that these knots, or tangles, in the Strands of Time occur without any cause. I believe that there must be a reason…some pivotal event, perhaps," here his eyes fixed on my own, "that may have allowed things to become…complicated."

A sharp stab of pain drove through my head then and I put a hand up to my forehead, massaging it distractedly. Dumbledore noticed and suddenly looked very weary.

"Both of you need rest. It has been a long night for everyone, and I daresay tomorrow will come almost too soon for our befuddled minds' liking…"

Harry and I nodded and stood up from our chairs, turning towards the door. We had barely taken three steps however, when Dumbledore called out to us again. "Ah! One more thing, first. I have taken the liberty of, er…manufacturing permission slips for any future trips to Hogsmeade you would wish to make. I expect you'd want to stay in those borrowed robes as much as I would like to become Minister of Magic, so you may get new uniforms and school supplies during the Hogsmeade trip this Friday."

Harry gave his thanks which I repeated after him and left through the door without looking back. I paused, glancing back at Dumbledore before I shut the door behind me.

"What was that all about?" Harry said as I joined him in the hallway. "What did you mean by "original timeline"?"

"The original pattern of events. How things would have gone if I had never arrived at Grimmauld Place."

"Hermione didn't tell you about my connection with Voldemort, did she?" he asked quietly.

"No, I lied. I'm sorry."

He sighed then and ran a hand through his hair. "So how would it have been then? What would've happened?"

"I…can't tell you, not when there's still a chance that everything in the original timeline could happen." I paused. "Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time."

His brow furrowed, and a small silence elapsed between us as we resumed walking. I could tell he was obviously less than satisfied with my answer…but would he have been any happier with the truth? I changed the subject.

"You were talking to the Basilisk, weren't you?"

Harry gave a short jerk of his head in affirmation. "Yeah."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he still seemed too annoyed with me to do so by himself so I pressed him further. "Did it tell you where to find the writing on the wall?"

"Sort of. It kept on dropping hints about something like a 'message' and I was trying to follow where the hissing was coming from…hang on," he said frowning. "How did you know I could speak…"

He caught the look I was giving him and his expression turned sour. "Fine, never mind. The main thing here is that Riddle had managed to somehow open the Chamber of Secrets from right under our noses despite the fact that we'd been watching his every move ever since we arrived."

"We must have slipped up, then," I said reasonably.

"Ari, Ron and I are with him nearly every moment of the day. Hermione takes nearly all of Riddle's advanced classes and you and Malfoy seem to just attract his attention wherever you go—"

"Draco?" I was surprised.

"He was asking Ron and I about the two of you this morning. About how you two were related."

I bit my lip. "Harry, unless Riddle can be in two places at once, there's no other way—oof!"

Something collided heavily into me and I stumbled backwards, falling onto my rear with an indignant expression. I looked around to see what I had run into and saw nothing but empty air in front of me.

"What the…?" I muttered, scrambling to my feet.

"It's us!" came Hermione's voice in a whisper from the blank space ahead. "Underneath the Cloak!"

Harry bent down slightly and whispered into the air. "The Cloak? How'd you get it from my trunk?"

"May I remind you that I was a Slytherin for longer than you were, Potter," I recognized Draco's voice say snidely. "I know my common room."

Harry shifted on the spot. "Alright, but…what're you doing under it?"

"What d'you think, mate?" I heard Ron's voice say. "You two weren't at dinner, so we definitely knew something was up, we weren't going to just stand around twiddling our thumbs…"

"Ron, this is dangerous, the Basilisk…!" hissed Harry urgently but Draco interrupted him.

"Shut up and get under the Cloak, I can hear someone coming."

We both moved forward tentatively, our hands outstretched; finally coming into contact with the familiar fabric, we both slipped under it. As always, it was an incredibly awkward fit, with Draco's face pressed somewhere between my shoulder blades and Hermione's hair finding a home in my mouth.

"Where are we going?" I whispered once I had managed to spit out most of the strands.

"We heard Professor Slughorn and Professor Merrythought say they were having a meeting with the other teachers somewhere along the Charms corridor…" Hermione replied, and I felt Harry nod from somewhere at my knees.

"That's where the writing on the wall is. Let's go."

Together we scuttled like a strange, many legged crab along the passageways that led to the scrawled blood message I had seen earlier and we were met with a group of teachers huddled underneath it. Their faces collectively expressed a range of emotions: grim certainty, fear, panic, indignation.

"—absolutely refuse to do this to do this anymore, Headmaster!" Professor Merrythought appeared to be saying emphatically to Dippet when we were close enough to hear. "Thirteen years, I've been teaching at Hogwarts, and no one can say that I'm unaware of the hazards of my job—but killings? And then all this nonsense about the 'Chamber of Secrets'—"

"Not so loud!" Professor Slughorn hissed, glancing around.

"This has been going on for too long, Dippet." Merrythought continued in a hushed shout. "Last year, it was attacks on the Muggleborns, which was already bad enough. When young Tom Riddle caught Rubeus Hagrid in the act—" here Hermione uttered a small squeak, "—I thought this whole business would be finished! But now, barely a fortnight into term, a girl has been murdered!"

"Well, what else can we do, Augustus?" said Dippet with a weary sigh. "The Chamber, if there truly is one, is nowhere to be found. The same thing goes for the so called "Heir"."

"Dippet, I refuse to be a part of the staff if this continues!" cried Merrythought. "I do still hold regard for my safety!"

Slughorn let out a nervous chuckle. "Augustus…it's too soon to be make such rash decisions. Come now, good man…"

"In any case," Dippet said solemnly, "it won't even be necessary. The Board of Governors is getting anxious. I believe that if these attacks continue…well, Hogwarts may really be closed down this time."

No one spoke for a while after that; it seemed the full calamity of the situation had just crashed down upon them. It was Flitwick who spoke next.

"Where is Dumbledore?" his high-pitched, quavering voice inquired.

"Right here, Filius." Dumbledore's deeper voice replied smoothly from the corridor we had just come from and Harry yanked Ron and I backwards by our robes as he swept dangerously close to us. "I have just contacted Miss Hornby's parents. They say they will be arriving here tomorrow."

Another somber silence descended upon the group.

"This is…" Slughorn shook his gingery blond head slowly in disbelief, "…truly awful…"

"So it is, Horace." Dippet replied, taking out his wand and shaking back the sleeves of his velvet robes. "Come now, we had better get on with it…we can't afford out students to become more frightened than they are already…"

"Headmaster," Dumbledore said quietly, "you know my views on this. The students have their right to understand what is happening."

Dippet's face flushed an ugly, mottled red. "I refuse to leave this within sight of children, Dumbledore!" he cried angrily. "The sooner they forget about this, the better!"

He turned to the others in a whirl of purple fabric. "On three!"

The other wizards brought out their wands, some resignedly, and drew a pattern of fluid movements in the air. As they did, a stream of silver light emitted from each their wand tips, joining mid way to form one thick strand of light and snaking its way up to the blood-writing on the wall. After a moment, Dumbledore brought out his own and did the same.

"C'mon," muttered Harry out of the corner of his mouth as the red slowly began to fade away from the stone surface. Together, we moved away from the small group and back to the Room of Requirement.

Harry ripped off the Cloak from himself once we were outside the entrance and paced in front of the stretch of wall. We entered then, Hermione trailing at the back with her wand held ready, and closed the door behind us.

Ron was the last to pull off the Cloak. He stared around at the four of us. "What d'you reckon?"

Hermione curled her hands in her hair, shaking her head slowly. "I don't understand. I mean, it's obvious from what Professor Merrythought was saying that the Chamber's been opened before, but then…" she looked up, "why is Myrtle still alive?"

"I reckon the more important question is: why'd Riddle open it again?" Harry said.

"Well, he's not attacking Muggleborns specifically, at least…" I saw the surprised expressions on the others' faces. "Olive Hornby was a pureblood. She mentioned it during one of our Charms classes." A thought occurred to me then. "Do you think that's the reason why he's so angry? Because his pet accidentally killed a non-Muggleborn?"

Harry shook his head. "No. It's something else, I can tell, but…he's—not—really thinking at the moment…" He held a hand up to his forehead and inhaled slowly through his nose. "Let's just say we can expect Avery to look a tad bit peaky next time we see him…"

Draco broke the resulting silence shakily, his face as pale and as bloodless as a sheet of paper. "Hasn't really changed much, has he?"

"Well Harry, he didn't look that angry," Hermione said reasonably and Harry looked up in disbelief. "Actually, quite the opposite; he looked almost smug when we passed him trying to find you."

"Passed him?" Harry repeated dumbly. "That can't be right…he was still in the dungeons when we all got under the Invisibility Cloak…"

"Maybe he was just really excited to perform his first Crucio of the school year, mate," Ron suggested helpfully. "Have to admit, it's not exactly out of character…"

Draco yawned unexpectedly, making me yawn as well and starting a chain reaction around the room. Harry tried his best to suppress it, but needless to say, failed miserably.

"Alright," he said with a resigned expression. "I guess we should go to bed…Ron, you go with Hermione to the Ravenclaw Tower, I don't want any of you going about alone in the corridors…Ari, Malfoy…"

Hermione brought out her wand and performed a sort of complex squiggle in the air, producing five small, oval hand mirrors which fell in a neat stack in her palm.

"Here," she said, passing one to each of us. "We have to take precautions now that the Basilisk's back…"

Gradually, we filed out of the room and parted ways; Draco and I did not speak for the entirety of the trip back to the Gryffindor Tower. I gave the password to the snoozing Fat Lady, who didn't appreciate being woken up, and headed straight to the girls' dormitory the instant the portrait swung shut behind me.

Inside the dormitory it was deathly quiet; everyone else was asleep. Without bothering to get undressed or take off my shoes, I flung myself on my bed, throwing my bag next to me.

The minutes ticked by as I just stared at the ceiling seeing but not really seeing the tiny cracks in its plaster surface, or the fading burgundy paint. In fact, the world could have lit itself on fire in that moment and I probably would not have noticed.

My parents were dead, yeah, I know. I know they were murdered. It's really not something that uncommon: you may look surprised, but I doubt you had to share a bathroom with at least five other kids whose family had gone the same way.

And now, I had even seen the face of their murderer.

Yet how was it possible?

How was it possible for a mere character, a figment of someone's imagination founded solely on paper and ink to irrevocably alter the course of my entire life? For some reason, I didn't doubt that it was, in fact, him. Of course it was him. But then what did that mean?

Am I real? Am I made up? If I were a fictional character then surely, it would be possible then. A plot point to be toyed around with, played with.

I refuse to believe that.

My name is Ariadne de Lioncourt. I was here, I lived and breathed, just like my parents had before me and their parents, and their parents. I am not a combination of letters on a screen. How dare Riddle make me doubt myself, my own existence. How dare he destroy my family, and my life. How dare he force me to pretend that nothing was wrong now, here in 1944.

I had been a fool all this time, for not condemning him from the beginning. Draco was right. The bastard deserved to die.

Angrily, I sat up in bed; the action caused my bag to fall to the ground, spilling its contents on the floor. Rolling my eyes, I leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up the fallen items and my hand came into contact with the dry, leathery surface of Dumbledore's book. After a pause, I picked it up and opened it on my lap, flicking through the pages. When I came to where I had left off last time, my finger slipped over the edge of the thin page again and I cursed at the sight of the tiny bead of blood welling up from the cut. What, are these pages made from razors or something?

As I watched, the drop made its way to the end of my pointer finger, dangled precariously on the tip…and then fell on the page.

My shout of surprise broke the peaceful silence of the dormitory; more than one person hissed at me to keep it down as they tried to slip back into unconsciousness.

"That's a rather nasty looking paper cut."

That…that devious, scheming old man! I stared at the yellowed page of the book as words in scarlet red replaced the black ink of Dumbledore's own handwriting, covering page after page until all of the original text had been erased. Greedily I scanned the lengthy paragraphs…and then stopped, looking at the book in disbelief. I read the paragraph again.

I re read it.

One more time to make sure.

It was about Horcruxes. But not just about them…it was almost…no, it was exactly an instruction manual on how to make them. There was so much detail…the ingredients necessary for the spells, the incantations, the rituals and even…ugh. Drawings.

If I had ever been confused before, it was nothing to what I was feeling now. Why would Dumbledore think this would be helpful to us? And why blood? The book had its own defenses; it would wipe itself blank if anyone else tried to look at it. So why was my blood necessary?

And…

Did the others know about this? I had the sneaking suspicion that they in fact didn't; furthermore, that they weren't supposed to. Dumbledore surely would have told all of us if that were so.

It occurred to me that this was the Dumbledore of the future who had written this, who had known us and witnessed whatever it was we did in 1944. He had written this book with the very specific purpose of aiding us. I shivered. What had I done?

What was I going to do?

Adarius Rookwood was not feeling his best. His stomach felt like a small platoon of fire toads were passing through for a bit of a kip, his head was spinning faster than a Sneakoscope around Malfoy and there were large, wet handprints on his robes from where his hands had been resting earlier.

To reiterate, Adarius Rookwood was not feeling his best. And it was because of a certain Mr Riddle, whom he now waited for as he paced anxiously back and forth the Slytherin common room. Eyes darting nervously, he glanced at the tall grandfather clock opposite him: it was very late. Rookwood knew that Riddle had been summoned to discuss matters with Dippet, or so he had said, but, surely, he should've been back by now…?

The iron door of the common room open, grating slightly on the stone floor and Rookwood jumped. He gulped as Riddle entered, tall and dangerously graceful, brushing back a lock of dark hair in a weary sort of fashion. Rookwood steeled himself and cleared his throat (he could do this!). Then Riddle's head snapped towards him like a snake facing down its prey and his resolve crumbled like dust in the wind.

"My Lord?" he squeaked.

Riddle took his usual seat, not even bothering to look at him. "What is it, Adarius?" he said indifferently, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"Ah-ah…" Rookwood struggled to compose himself. He cleared his throat. "I-It's about the…er…materials you required me to get." Here Riddle's head swiveled slowly in his direction to stare at him. "I-I couldn't—it's proving very difficult to…"

"Adarius…" Riddle said slowly. "What are you blathering on about?"

Rookwood blinked. "Er…"

"If this is about your failure to remove the Boggart, yes, I am displeased but it no longer matters. In fact, you may have done me a service…" A thoughtful expression crossed Riddle's usually impassive face. "Where is Mr Evans, do you suppose?"

Behind him, out of Riddle's sight, the silver-embroidered curtain rippled, as if touched by an invisible current.

"Evans?" Rookwood said stupidly. Riddle sighed.

"Never mind. Leave my sight." he said coldly, turning away.

Rookwood started. "But—"

"Unless you wish to accompany Avery to the Infirmary…?"

"No!" Rookwood said quickly. "No, my Lord…I'm sorry…" He edged towards the entrance to the boys' dormitory, hardly daring to believe his luck. "I'll just be going, then…"

Riddle didn't even acknowledge his pitiful exeunt and Rookwood fled.

"Good morning, Ariadne."

"Riddle." I whispered faintly. He took his usual seat next to me and we both sat in silence for a while as we listened to Slughorn talk about the potion we would be making today.

It had been three days since Olive Hornby's death. Dippet had passed it off as a freak accident ("That weedy-!" Harry had roared) and the student body, although more terror stricken than usual, was none the wiser. But that wasn't to say most didn't know instinctively that something else was going on; students these days tended to congregate in groups as they made their way to classes, and Dumbledore had now gained a dedicated following of frightened first years, whom he led diligently to all their subjects.

It was by Dippet's forceful insistence that the Hogsmeade trip was still on today. He appeared determined to act as if nothing was wrong, covering up the awkward questions kids asked him with forceful, pointed coughs. Many these days were now under the impression that he was suffering from a type of lung disease.

Slughorn finished his lecture and immediately beside me Riddle began to start work, setting up our cauldron with a practiced flick of his wand. Dutifully, I followed his actions and listened to the usual instructions he issued under his breath to me.

He killed them.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was my first Potions lesson since I discovered my Boggart and I was not ready to deal with this.

I was feeling awful. This morning I had woken up and was shocked to see myself in the mirror: I was, no joke, hideous. Dark circles had carved grooves underneath my eyes, my breath smelled terrible, and the hair on my legs was thick enough to ensnare a small army. Ron was averting his eyes whenever I approached him and Draco wasn't even being remotely subtle, offering to pop down to the Forbidden Forest to get me more of my makeup. And I had spent night after night poring over Dumbledore's book of Horcruxes…

"How are you today, Ariadne?" Riddle asked, his tone quiet and concerned.

"Just dandy," I muttered. Riddle paused to watch me and I ignored him. Did he watch as he murdered my parents? Did he do it quickly? Or did he draw it out…?

I scrubbed at my eyes viciously with my knuckles. I had to stop thinking like that, these circular, useless thoughts.

Riddle stopped shredding his Alacrere leaf to look at me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I muttered. "It's just… I was thinking of Olive Hornby."

Riddle kept his face impassive but I saw his knuckles whiten on the stem of the plant he was holding. "Yes. Miss Hornby's death was a tragic loss. 45 milligrams."

I glanced down at the measuring flask I was holding, tossed out the excess 20 mg inside out the nearest window and poured the rest into the simmering cauldron. Its contents changed from deep purple to an acid green. "There have been rumours about Hogwarts closing."

"Clockwise stir," Riddle corrected and I changed the direction of my arm. "Yes, I've heard them as well."

"Could they do that? " I said. "For some people, Hogwarts is like a second home. Could the Board just make them leave? With the war on?"

Riddle delicately extracted the knife out of my clumsy grip and began to correct the uneven and lopsided caterpillar pieces I had cut while only half paying attention. "Yes, they could." He expertly removed the bug's head and tossed it into the cauldron. "Wizarding war or no."

I watched him work, not bothering to do anything more. I had meant the Muggle war…I took a deep breath."And if the culprit was caught?"

"What do you mean?" Riddle's voice was sharp. "Ariadne, do you know who did this?"

"What? Of course not," I said, turning back to the tray of dragon liver in front of me. Much to my surprise, he caught my wrist in a tight, vice like grip underneath the table, forcing me to look at him. My eyes flew up to his face.

"Did you see anyone before you entered the Hall?" Riddle demanded.

"Time, time you two!" Slughorn's voice boomed suddenly. "The lesson's almost finished, so you better get a move on if you want to finish your potion on time!"

This made Voldemort snap to himself; he let go of my arm. I stared, flabbergasted at him—it was if he had flicked on a switch, the change was that visible. From dangerously focused to polite and hesitant once more.

"Of course sir," he said politely. He shifted more of the ingredients I was supposed to be doing something with onto his own tray and I sat back and let him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrogate you." His apologetic look could have made a cherub cry. "It's just that I would very much like to see whoever did this caught…"

"I heard you stopped the person who did it last time." I interrupted. Riddle's knife paused over his Erumpent tail and I thought I saw a glimmer of red streak through his eyes.

"Yes, I did." His tone was icy.

I met his gaze. "Guess you were wrong then, huh?"

He was silent then, throwing the last of the ingredients into our cauldron which sent a stream of brilliant orange sparks into the air. Riddle swiftly dipped a flask into the hissing solution, corked it and stood up to present "our" work to Slughorn at the front of the classroom. He received his due praise, and then returned to sit back down in silence beside me. I knew that now I had definitely crossed a line.

Though he and I had worked in almost complete silence before, this was different. It was as if the very air between us was injected with ice, with venom. Of course he showed no outward display of his anger…but it was no less obvious, or frightening. I chewed on my nails, on tenterhooks.

He spoke next at the same time a spike of pain drove viciously into my skull. "That was quite a show you put on in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Miss de Lioncourt," he said quietly.

"That wasn't for your entertainment, Riddle," I snapped and he smiled. It was disconcerting to witness his honey smile and yet also see the blank, bald faced cruelty in his dark eyes. It occurred to me, much later, that it was then that our pretense of 'friendship' had dropped completely, leaving only the barest and ugliest remnants behind.

"I wonder…" he said, still smiling broadly, "who on earth that could have been…."

Ice and then fire washed over me; fear and a hideous, burning rage. My wand found itself pointing at Riddle's face, shaking in my tightly closed fist. He didn't even bother taking out his own wand in answer to my openly hostile behavior; rather, he merely quirked a brow upwards, his smile growing.

"My dear Ariadne," he drawled, "I thought we were friends."

My hand twitched and he only stared back pleasantly.

"—oh, there's the bell, you all had better move off!"

Slughorn's cheerful boom cut through my red haze like a knife; slowly, I forced my arm down and my eyes away from his. Of course, they landed instead on the brightly glittering silver chain just peeking out underneath his collar and my wand gave a strange thrum in my pocket. Distracted, I looked down.

"It's a family heirloom."

My head snapped up. "What?"

Riddle offered a small smile and reached a hand into his uniform, pulling out Ravenclaw's locket. Its smooth silver surface caught the rays of the sun streaming in through the window and I watched, entranced, as the light played across the surface of the sapphires set into its cover. "I noticed you seem to be very interested in this."

"I'm not," I said too quickly; Riddle's smile widened, his eyes boring into my own.

And I felt that piercing intrusion in my mind, forceful and hungry and I knew I couldn't fight this off this time-

Someone help me-

"Hurry up, sis, or we'll be late for the Hogsmeade trip!" Draco called out from his position by the entrance of the dungeons. In a flood of awareness, my mind became once more my own and I stood up hastily, avoiding Riddle's eyes and sweeping all of my things into my bag. Without another word, I all but ran towards the exit, following Draco shakily.

" 'Sis'?" I muttered out of the corner of my mouth when we were far enough away from the classroom to feel safe about not being heard.

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are," Draco responded dryly. "What were you doing with Riddle?"

"Nothing, nothing…" I pressed a clammy hand against my forehead, fumbled around in my bag and took a short drink from Madame Laroche's tonic.

Draco watched me for a moment. "He looked like he was about to eat you alive."

I didn't say anything to that and we finished our brisk walk in silence, meeting the other three at the top of the wide staircase that led outside the castle.

"About time," Ron grumbled as we reached them. "Slughorn finished the lesson ages ago and I'm starving…"

"When are you not, Ronald?" Hermione said with an amused expression. "And we'll have to eat later, we still need to get our new books and robes, first…I think we'd better head to Gladrags—it's the only clothing shop I can remember reading about in Hogwarts: A History that was around in 1944…"

"And Honeydukes?" Ron asked hopefully. Hermione chose not to deign that question with a reply.

Hogsmeade Village was in truth, not exactly as I had imagined it. It was smaller, more cramped, and less along the lines of "charming" and "quaint" than "dilapidated" and "dreary".

"I suppose they retouched it a bit during our time," Hermione said sadly.

"No kidding," I muttered, looking around at the busy, cobbled streets. A gust of freezing autumn wind swept past and I pulled my cloak closer around me. "Where to now?"

"Ron and Harry ought to go to Dervish & Banges to get their books," Hermione said bossily. "Draco—"

"I'm not going with them."

"—oh for goodness sake's," she hissed in exasperation. "Fine, go wherever. And Ari and I will have to go to Gladrags to get all of our school robes, day clothes, plus dress robes for the two of us—"

"What? Dress robes?" I said.

"Yes, for Slughorn's party Monday night," she replied arching a brow.

"Oh man, I completely forgot about that!" I groaned, clapping a hand to my cheek. "Wait, you don't think I'm actually going to go, d'you Hermione?"

"Of course you're going to go," she responded loftily. "I already told Professor Slughorn that we are. Oh for goodness sake's," she said again upon witnessing my expression, "they're really not all that bad…"

"Ron and I'll meet all of you at the Three Broomsticks at quarter past, okay?" Harry said and we parted ways. I sighed.

Hermione and I made the short journey to Gladrags Wizardwear and entered the small but cozy looking shop, glad to be out of the chill. An elderly, plump witch at the counter smiled at us and Hermione returned it, approaching the desk.

"Excuse me, my friend and I need some new school robes…"

"Hogwarts?" The old woman said shrewdly and Hermione nodded. "I'll need to take your sizes, then…"

She disappeared underneath the counter for the moment and Hermione called out, "And we'd also like some boys' robes as well, ma'am…"

I wandered around the back of the clothes shop while they continued to bargain, absently looking at any item that caught my eye: a polka dotted blouse, long flowery skirts with matching silk gloves and finally, a dark yellow tulle dress. I was just about to take it off its hanger for further inspection when a blinding axe of pain cleaved my head into two. I fell on my knees with a bang, clutching at my head.

The pain was so intense that I could only leave my mouth open in a silent scream, and then, quite suddenly as it had come, it vanished. Awareness crashed upon me and panting, I looked around my nearby surroundings. There weren't exactly hordes of concerned people at my knee so I took a guess and figured no one had seen…whatever. Clumsily I got back to my feet and leaned against the clothing rack, trying to stop the swimming before my eyes. The yellow tulle dress was still in front of me; it occurred to me then that it was actually a sandy gold than yellow. Then it became spotted with red.

Eyes wide, I held a hand up to my nose and it came away stained with the same shade of scarlet. What…

"Ari, where are you?" Hermione's voice made me jump and I hastily tried to wipe off the rest of the blood on my face.

"H-here," I replied, using my wand to try and siphon off the rest. She finally reached me then with a quizzical expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" she said eyeing me curiously.

"Looking for dress robes," I said, waving one hand vaguely in the air around my while surreptitiously tucking my wand into the sleeve of my robes with the other "Could you help me?"

She nodded, and heart pounding, I shifted the gold dress carefully out of her sight, and mine. Don't. Just don't.

Minutes passed, while we looked through the various assorted clothing in silence: hers thoughtful and mine distracted. As we sifted through the racks, I asked her something that had been bothering me ever since the night in Dumbledore's office.

"Do think we're changing the future?" I said abruptly. Hermione paused halfway through putting back the clothing items and glanced at me.

"To be honest, I have thought about that…" she said slowly, winding a lock of curly hair around one finger, "If Myrtle hadn't died, then she wouldn't be able to haunt the girls' bathroom…if she hadn't haunted it, Harry and Ron would never had managed to find the Chamber of Secrets and I would still be…" Hermione trailed off, lost in thought before she gave herself a little shake. "But…"

" 'But'…?"

"I have a theory," she said, biting her lip. "And I'm not sure how it would work, either, but…"

"Stop doing that."

"Sorry. Alright, you mentioned to me before that the core of your wand is a strand of Time. 'Strand' being the key word. Now, there's this theory about Time and Fate…rather ridiculous, really and actually scorned by modern day wizards, by someone called Daedalus. Have you heard of him before?"

I shook my head.

"He proposed that Fate and Time were…beings…no, entities. Entities that had been at war with each other for a very long time."

"What were they fighting over?"

"Control. Over people, over their lives. Through either the Strands of Time, or the Threads of Fate."

I snorted. "What, no Yarn of Fun?"

Hermione did not look amused and I stopped sniggering. "Daedalus said that the Threads of Fate entwined around the Strands of Time, so normally, they worked more or less in harmony. But, occasionally, Fate does something that diverges from the original Strand…"

My blood chilled. "Like going back in time?"

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Now, can you imagine what would happen to the Thread and Strand? They'd break apart. To be more specific, split into two. And I think that depending on which one of those we're currently following at the moment—Time or Fate—we may be in a sort of alternate reality, separate from our own."

"Okay…let me get this straight. When we time travelled to 1944, our strand, thread, yarn, whatever—broke apart, yeah? Because Time is linear and Fate isn't. So I guess you could say it was our fate to come back here, then." I scratched my chin, deep in thought. "If we're following Fate's Thread, then we're in another reality, separate from the original reality of Time…?"

"Sort of. There are three possible realities: one where we follow solely the Fate Thread, one with solely the Time Strand and the original where we follow both intertwined. Both begin in exactly the same way—that is, we are born, we grow up—up until when a specific event occurs that causes the realities to diverge."

I was beginning to get another headache, though more from Hermione's explanations than anything else. "Right. Brilliant. So we've created a new reality with a new future, wonderful…"

"Actually, no." Hermione looked very self-satisfied. "Equilibrium."

"Sorry?"

"Muggle science. Le Chatelier's principle…that if one change is made to system in equilibrium, the system will try to minimize the magnitude of the change. For example, in a chemical equation where reactants lead to products, by adding more of one reactant, you would be affecting the amount of products formed, and so on…"

It was like listening to someone speak total gibberish. "What?"

"So in this case, what if we're the figurative reactant added in this system? The system being our reality following the Fate strand?" Hermione continued. "Imagine 1944as one side of the equation, the reactants, and our future in 1997 as the other side, the products. Before we came along, it was balanced, perfect. Everything as it should be, where Myrtle dies and as a result, Harry and Ron find the Chamber of Secrets in our second year. But then when we arrived in 1944, we upset the balance and so the system would try to return to equilibrium while accommodating us. By changing the future."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So, if we left, then…"

"The system would adjust to our absence and return to normal." Hermione confirmed.

"Meaning that…"

"Myrtle would die. Once we leave."

There was a short pause following her words.

"So there's no chance, then…" I murmured and Hermione shot me a questioning look. "No matter what we do, we can't change that Riddle will become Lord Voldemort."

Hermione said quietly, "Did you think…"

"No." I shrugged. "But I wondered."

Another silence fell, with Hermione absentmindedly fingering the fabric of the powder blue blouse in her hands. She glanced down. "Have you found dress robes yet?"

"I…" I glanced behind me. "Uh, yeah. This one," I pulled off the gold tulle dress from its hanger and showed it to her. Though initially I had thought to buy it simply because I had thought it would be rude to leave it bloodstained in the shop, I realized now that I rather liked it. The gently shimmering fabric coupled with its gold coloring reminded me of candlelight.

I made sure to present the right side to Hermione, the one without my blood.

"So what's up between you and Ron?"

Hermione fumbled with the glass jar of Peppermint Toads in her hands, nearly dropping it in the process. After we had bought our robes from Gladrags, we'd taken a short tour of the 1944 Hogsmeade, more for my benefit than anything else. Hermione was obviously already well acquainted with the place but she seemed alternately fascinated ("Oh look, they used to have a bookstore right here!") and dismayed ("I suppose the owl post office was fairly recent, then…") by the differences from the Hogsmeade now to the Hogsmeade she remembered. Honeydukes, however, did not disappoint either of us.

Hermione regained her grip on the green tinted container, her face glowing red. "I—sorry, what?"

"I said, how much for one of those bon bons?" I pointed to the ominously shaking box on the shelf behind me.

Hermione looked relieved but still very pink. "Oh, er, there's the sign."

In the end, Hermione bought four bags, each containing a variety of sweets from Honeydukes including Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Sobbing Sugars ('So good—it'll make you cry!' the can had proclaimed) and the ever famous Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans for herself and the others, while I bought three jars of Cockroach Cluster for myself. I nibbled on them while we made the short trip to the Three Broomsticks, where we met Harry, Ron and Draco, all looking surprisingly wet despite the fact that there was a clear autumn sky above us.

"What happened to you?" I said bemused as I beheld their irritable and grumpy expressions.

"Nothing," Draco snapped. "Are we going to go inside or what?"

Mystified, I shrugged and followed His Royal Blondness into the smoky pub, glancing around with interest at its occupants. Behind me, I heard Hermione ask Harry, "What's that all about?" and receive a disgruntled grunt in reply.

There was a large counter ahead, covered with a variety of strange and rather poisonous looking drinks. A curvy woman with wavy blonde hair and a pretty face was wiping the top of the counter with a rather dazed expression on her face and I watched her curiously.

"That's Madame Rosmerta," said Harry sounding rather baffled himself. "The owner of the Three Broomsticks…blimey, she looks exactly the same…"

Hermione giggled at the expression on Ron's face and throughout our visit to the pub, I noticed that he seemed to avoid glancing in the barmaid's direction. That only made the others tease him more ("Guess Aunt Muriel has some competition now!") to his increasing annoyance.

When we finally left (after my fifth glass of butterbeer), I glanced back and noticed Madam Rosmerta hadn't moved at all from her earlier position, still polishing the same spot on the counter with her rather stained old rag and her vacant expression. I craned my neck to get one last shot before I collided heavily with someone, making me stumble into the doorframe and causing the other person to drop their things on the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—here," I bent over to pick up their things. I didn't expect the resulting snarl from the other person and the hand that shoved me roughly away.

"I don't need your help, Mudblood," A Slytherin boy with curly brown hair hissed at me. I recoiled and stared at him for a moment. It was someone Harry had pointed out to me one Potions lesson—Rookwood. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing…" Intimidated, I glanced down at the clear plastic-packaged item in my hand, one of the things he had dropped, and unbidden the name of its contents drifted to the surface of my mind. "Jerusalem root?" Where have I seen that before?

Rookwood paled so fast at my words it was as if someone had leeched the blood out of his body and snatched the bag away from me. He pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at my face. "Mind your—mind your own damn business! You filthy little-"

"Problem?" I started at the sound of Harry's voice next to me. His wand was also out and pointing at the Slytherin.

Rookwood's eyes darted over Harry's shoulder and I followed his glance; the other three were watching as well. Five against one was not what I would have deemed to be a smart move; clearly, Rookwood thought so too and with one last venomous glare in my direction, he turned on his heel and left. Harry watched him leave with a furrowed brow and a hard set of his mouth that put me on edge.

"Thanks," I said. "But don't pop a vein over it, alright?"

Green eyes darted to meet my own. "He's one of Riddle's followers," he said viciously. "I bet he was just dying for a chance to practice his Cruciatus curse on someone…"

"I don't think so," I said thoughtfully. "Actually, he looked …" Scared, I thought, "in a rush."

"Harry!"

Our heads snapped towards the direction of the person who had screamed; it was Hermione's voice and yet we couldn't see her through the sudden swell of the crowd in the streets of Hogsmeade. Immediately, Harry's wand was out again as he scanned the crowd. Feeling though as if something was gripping my stomach in a tight fist, I followed Harry into the mess, pushing aside the other Hogwarts students.

"Excuse me, excuse me, sorry—" I thumped one particularly bulky student wearing the black and yellow of Hufflepuff house on his back, "Dammit, do you mind?"

Suddenly, there was a resounding crack! that echoed throughout the area; it sounded like a round of fireworks had been let off right next to my ear. Then there was a bang like a gunshot—the Hufflepuff boy finally moved then, only I didn't expect it to be a collapse as a bright, vivid green light hit its target.

What…

Time stood still. Someone screamed and that was what made me snap back to reality, ripping my eyes away from the now-corpse at my feet.

It was the scene from the Great Hall the night of Olive Hornby's death all over again, except much, much worse.

"Get down!" Harry yelled and we both ducked just as jets of violet light shot into the crowd. I looked around wildly for the source and saw wizards clad in robes of gold and black advancing from all sides. Their faces were covered with gold half moon masks.

The fireworks, I thought incoherently, That's what the fireworks were, they were Apparating all around us…

"Move!" Harry ordered and I quickly complied, following him through the screaming villagers. It was like our situation was reversed; this time, it was him who was leading me.

"Harry, those men—"

"There's a secret passageway in the cellar of Honeydukes, Ari, I want to follow it back to Hogwarts and get help, do you understand? I need to find the others—stupefy!" One of the black and gold men who had lunged at us was blasted backwards by Harry's Stunning spell. "Ari, run!"

Throwing him one last glance, I ran towards the direction of the sweet shop, stopping and starting like a clockwork toy. Flying curses singed my hair and my clothing, but none of them were direct hits, none that I could tell anyway. By the time I'd rounded my fifth corner, my whole body was shaking from adrenaline and fear.

Someone shouted a warning somewhere from my left and I stopped in my tracks, just missing the fireball that passed through the exact spot where my head would have been if I had waited for another split second. I plunged my hand into my robes and pulled out my wand, spinning in ridiculous, paranoid circles.

There was a crack! and suddenly one of the figures was in front of me, his mouth already forming the words that would mean my death.

"Oh Lord love a—"I leapt forward, tackling him to the ground. We hit the grimy brick floor painfully; his elbow crashed into my stomach leaving me gasping for air and seeing stars. But his wand skittered out of his grasp and while he scrambled to retrieve it I Stunned him, rendering him unconscious in the middle of the alley.

"Flipping—son of a—jeez, what the…God," I mumbled as I stood up on jelly legs. "Ridiculous…gotta go…"

I wobbled my way out of the alley and it occurred to me then that I didn't recognize any of my surroundings. I was on the edge of a sort of forest and the shouts and yells of the people in the Hogsmeade village were fainter here. I swore in my head as I looked around. There is no way in hell I am going down that rape-alley again…

"Où est Grindelwald ? Qu'est-ce qu'il fait?" I whirled around and saw two of the gold masked men standing extremely close to where I was. I froze, not daring to make a sound.

"Il est dans le village, peux-tu attendre pour cinq minutes? Tais-toi maintenant, ou les autres vont nous écouter." One of the men had his mask off and spoke harshly to the other man in rapid French. As quietly as I could, I moved behind the trunk of one of the pines at the edge of the forest, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

Now that I was better hidden, I had the confidence to peer at the two from behind a falling swath of branches. The first speaker had mentioned a familiar name: Grindelwald. It was only when I looked at their gold and black robes for the first time that I noticed it: a strange insignia inscribed on their lapels. A triangle, a circle and a single, straight line that cut through the overlapping shapes.

Some noise of recognition or surprise must have escaped me then; the heads of the two soldiers simultaneously snapped towards the direction of my hiding place. I clapped a hand over my mouth and began to back away slowly into the woods.

Snap. My breath caught in my chest as I stepped on a dry twig. The men converged and I turned on my heel and fled into the forest.

Hide-and-seek had always been a game I was good at. But somehow, things always seemed more difficult when there was true danger involved.

Their heavy footsteps were becoming louder, practically booming in the forest. Realizing that it would be useless to continue further into the forest I began to climb one of the smaller trees nearby. I was rusty; the palms of my hands and the skin of my knees earned several scrapes on the tough bark as I hauled myself up. I found a crook between the trunk of the tree and a branch jutting out at a ninety degree angle and hovered there, waiting.

The two men were nearly at my tree now, from what I could see of the tops of their heads. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn't notice me.

Closer, closer...they had reached my hiding place now...closer...they were directly under it...they continued on...they hadn't noticed anything.

I waited for a good quarter of an hour longer, frozen with fear against the tree, before I mustered the courage to move, to breathe again. As quietly as I could, I shimmied down the trunk of the tree and fumbled for the Marauders' Map I carried around on the inside of my robes. With shaky hands, I unfolded it, frantically searching for the tiny ink blot labelled 'Ariadne de Lioncourt'.

I finally located my tiny doppelganger in the Hogsmeade Forest, too far east off the path back to the castle. There would be no point in going back to Honeydukes; it was swarming with Grindelwald's men.

I swore loudly and made to close the grubby parchment when—

Tom Riddle Jr.

He was close, very close, just a little way from the edge of the Forest where I hid. But that wasn't what made my hands stop, or my eyebrows pull sharply upwards.

Because according to the Map, Tom Riddle Jr. was also currently in the Hogwarts library.

"Ben, qu'est-ce que nous avons ici? "

My wand was out before my hand even knew what it was doing and a streak of red light shot towards the larger of the two men I had been running from. He blocked it easily and responded with a violet curse of his own. The light hit me square in the chest and I flew backwards, slamming painfully against the thick trunk of a tree. There was laughter from the man then, loud and boisterous, while I sat wheezing from the blow with little birdies tweepling in front of my eyes. If I had any breath though, then I maybe I would have joined him; in all his arrogance, the man had forgotten to disarm me.

"Furunculus!" I croaked and in an instant the laughter turned into screams of pain as a bright orange rash began to spread rapidly across his face. 'Furunculus' was supposed to make your opponent break out in boils, but I wasn't about to complain with the results.

Fighting to get air into my lungs, I staggered to my feet; almost immediately I was struck by a blinding pain in my head, making me stumble and collapse back to my knees with a howl. Not again...!

Eyes watering with pain, I looked up at the man, who had managed to get rid of his rash and was now staring at me with nothing but sheer murder in his eyes. His raised his wand and I knew what was going to happen next—

"Avada Kedavra!"

I heard the rush of impending death before I saw the explosion of green light and in some part of me I was aware that it didn't make sense—wasn't light faster than sound?—but then, as I saw the blond man topple to the ground, lifeless and wide eyed at my feet, I realised that it didn't matter. I stared at the body, unable to comprehend, to think.

"Wha...wha..."

There was a soft crunching sound of dead leaves underfoot as someone else approached. Then the person stood over the body of the man, tall and dressed almost inappropriately in a pristine dark suit and tie. He stared at the now-corpse with a sneer of contempt, one hand twirling his wand lazily in his hand. I must have made some noise then, because his head snapped upwards to look at me and for a moment, confusion dominated over disgust in his expression.

"Ari," Tom Riddle said, and he did appear honestly surprised. Then he shook his head slowly and stowed his wand back into his suit. "And here I was, thinking you knew better."

My only response was to gape at him. He watched me shrewdly, dark eyes searching my face. "You're hurt."

Dimly I became aware of a throbbing around my left cheekbone and I reached a hand upwards numbly. Riddle stepped forward and I scuttled back. This made him pause.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. I wanted to snort, but I couldn't find the muscles that allowed me to do so.

Riddle moved closer, stepping over the body of the Grindelwald soldier as if it were nothing but another moss covered log in the Forest until he stood directly in front of me and I was face to face with his knees. He crouched down so that his head was almost in level with my own and I flinched. Riddle ignored this and brought up a hand so that his thumb was resting underneath my chin, forcing my face upwards. His skin was very cold.

I held my breath for the entire time (minutes? hours?) he scanned my face, fearing that if I made any movement...

"It's only a shallow cut. I think you'll live." He smiled and this chilled me more than his gentleness. He drew out his wand and pointed it at me.

I recoiled so hard my teeth rattled, cursing myself to Hell and back for even thinking that Riddle wouldn't take advantage of this situation to attack—but he only raised an eyebrow at my reaction, flicking his wand. I had been expecting pain and so was utterly surprised when I felt the oddly ticklish sensation of my skin knitting back together instead. Wonderingly, I patted my cheek and confirmed that I was, in fact, healed.

By Riddle?

The Heir of Slytherin's mouth curled into what could only be described as a smirk. "Do you think you can make it back to the castle or will I have to carry you?"

All the blood rose to my face like a slap and I found my voice again. 'No!" I flushed when Riddle's expression turned positively wicked. "I can manage."

I stood up, ignoring the hand that he held out towards me, instead relying on the tree trunk behind me to support my weight. When I was finally in a position that could've passed for upright, I saw that Riddle was still studying me with a speculative expression. I remembered the circles under my eyes, the protruding bones under my skin, and, dear God, the hair on my legs and immediately felt self conscious. Especially when Riddle, despite have frolicked around in the woods almost as much as I have, had barely a hair out of place.

"What?" I said defensively.

"How have you been feeling lately?" he said abruptly. I stared at him, wondering how he could possibly expect a reply to such a ridiculous question. As if he had read my mind, he sighed.

"I'm afraid I can't stay for much longer, Ari," he said politely. The tone of his voice wouldn't have been out of place at a quiet afternoon luncheon, but his stormy grey eyes betrayed him. They were alive, alert.

He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a small crystal vial of a sinisterly bubbling black liquid. "Take this."

When I didn't immediately accept the candy from the nice stranger in the white van, he forced it into my hand and closed his abnormally long fingers over my own. "Take this," he repeated, and it was an order.

After a beat, I nodded and he sighed again, stepping away.

"Where are you going?" The question left my mouth, childish and unchecked. The blood rose to my face again when Riddle turned around to face me, one eyebrow arched. His lips curved into a smirk. "Don't worry; I'll see you in a moment."

Suddenly his gaze shifted to something over my shoulder and he tensed. "Watch yourself—"

I whirled around, my alder wand in hand but saw nothing. "What are yo-?" I began, turning back to face him and stopped when I saw nothing but thin air. It was as if Riddle had vanished, leaving nothing behind but a few scattered leaves and a dead man to mark his absence.

As if someone had flicked on a switch, sound bled back into the background. I heard shouts, but not of terror. It sounded like someone was giving orders. There were fewer flashes of colored lights.

"Good enough for me," I muttered and, still clutching the crystal vial, I began to sprint back to the Hogwarts castle.

A/N: Hey so what did you think? We're really getting into the plot now…

Translation of French (spoken by Grindelwald's soldiers):

Soldier #1: Where is Grindelwald? What is he doing?

Soldier #2: He's in the village, can you wait for five minutes? Now shut up, or the others are going to hear us.

Then in the forest:

Soldier #2: Well, what do we have here?

I always thought the majority of Grindelwald's soldiers would probably be European, considering where he was taught and whatnot. However, they don't all have to come from the same parts of Europe…

Tell me what you think's going on in this chapter! Part 2 should be out (relatively) soon, because I have my school vacation next week, which is great.

Oh, and there's a ton of Draco the next chapter, for all you ferret fans. :D

Thank you!