Chapter Three: Memory Loss
Dumbledore sat down next to Tom's hospital wing bed. "Hello Ginevra, I understand you're having trouble remembering things?"
Tom nodded.
"I'm sorry to hear that." the Headmaster said gently. "I want you to know there are many wonderful people here who want to help you."
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was fifty-one years older than Tom remembered him, but the old wizard still had the same sparkling eyes, even as his beard had lengthened and his robes had grown more eccentric.
Tom suppressed a grin. He was sure the old man did not recognize him.
Long ago, Dumbledore had been the one to introduce him to the wizarding world. The Professor had shown up at the orphanage when Tom was eleven and told him there were others like him. It was a community of wizards and witches, Dumbledore had promised. But when Tom first arrived at Hogwarts, he saw the truth—he could use magic like the others, but there was no one like him. Everyone else had parents.
The other Hogwarts students had grown up with all the niceties that came along with a real home—Christmas gifts, pets, vacations—it was all anyone seemed to talk about. Tom had nothing in common with them. So he chose to leave behind the little orphan boy and reinvented himself as an ideal Hogwarts personality—a bright, charming leader.
Yet for all his academic achievements, his impeccable disciplinary record, his prestigious appointment as Slytherin Prefect—Dumbledore had always seen right through him. The professor had always looked at Tom like he was still the misbehaving orphan boy who set fires and played cruel tricks on other children. Tom had tried everything he could to ingratiate himself to Dumbledore to alter their dynamic, but unlike his other professors, the Transfiguration Master was immune to all charm and flattery.
But for the first time, Tom felt free of that look. At that moment, Dumbledore was facing him with the kind, grandfatherly smile he often gave to the other students. It actually felt… nice.
"Do you know who I am?" Dumbledore asked.
Tom's insides twisted up. Did he just read my mind?
No, he would know if Dumbledore was penetrating his thoughts with legilimency. He did not expect the Headmaster would ever attempt such a thing on a student. But legilimency or not, Dumbledore could almost always sense a lie.
Tom had to tread carefully. If he denied recognizing him, the man might sense the lie and grow suspicious. But if he told the truth, that would blow his cover. The best was to lie using the truth.
"I know you," Tom said. "You're the man from the chocolate frog." He gestured to the gift basket next to him.
"Bingo," Dumbledore said.
"We're here to take you home."
"Home?"
"Yes," said Mr. Arthur Weasley, smiling over Tom's hospital wing bed, "The burrow. You remember the burrow?"
"No, I…" Tom started to hyperventilate. In a way, he wasn't acting. Leaving Hogwarts with Ginny's family would be a disaster. Nothing would derail him more than going somewhere he wasn't allowed to practice underage magic. He couldn't go to some random house called the burrow that sounded like some underground hovel! He had to stay at school!
"I want to stay here, at Hogwarts. I remember this place, a little."
A crease formed on Dumbledore's forehead as Tom continued pleading.
"Please, let me stay. I can build on my memories of Hogwarts! More of my memories could come back here. Yes, I'm certain I'll be able to remember more!"
Mrs. Molly Weasley burst into tears. "Oh, but you'll remember home, dear," she pleaded. "When you get there, you'll remember home."
It would be so boring, a whole semester spent at their house with overbearing parents whose attention and fawning theatrics already sickened him. Tom shook his head.
Beside Ginny's parents, the six Weasley brothers were all there too—Bill, Charlie, Percy, twins Fred and George, and Ron—all of them looking pained and saddened.
"Professor Dumbeledore," said Arthur "What would you suggest?"
"It is more likely, I think, Genevra, that your memories would be better jogged at home, in the place you grew up. Early childhood memories are the best ones to build upon. Hogwarts will always be here for you when you are ready."
"Please, I beg you, don't make me go! I want to stay here. Won't you let me stay?"
Molly sank into Arthur's arms. Dumbledore returned Tom's pleading look with an expression of concern. No one said anything for some time. At long last, the old wizard spoke again.
"Let us not decide now. I shall have to think on this matter."
The Weasleys looked surprised.
"But Dumbledore," Molly protested, "How can we let her stay here?"
"Molly, you and Arthur have every right to pull Ginny from school if you wish. However, at this stage it may be best for us to consider her wishes. If you'd like, I can make a recommendation tomorrow after I've consulted with the memory specialist at St. Mungo's."
"Yes, Molly," Arthur said sadly, "Perhaps we should let Professor Dumbeldore decide."
These people had a very high opinion of Dumbledore indeed if they would entrust him with such a decision. Tom had never seen a Headmaster command such respect with parents.
It seemed the tide was starting to turn Tom's way almost too well. Tom felt the eerie feeling that Dumbledore was now playing along with his ruse. The thought terrified him.
"Very well," Molly said between sobs. "We'll let Dumbledore decide."
"I shall make a decision tomorrow. In the meantime, let us give dear Ginny some space to rest."
Later that day, Professor McGonagall arrived at the hospital wing. The tall, stern-looking witch introduced herself as the head of Gryffindor house, and told him the Headmaster would like to see him in his office.
This made Tom nervous. Had Dumbledore come to a decision already? Perhaps he was about to be sent home with the Weasleys tonight?
McGonagall gave him a moment of privacy to change into some muggle clothing Mrs. Weasleys had left for him. Then, as they walked through the torch-lit castle corridors, Tom thought about the overwhelming, drippy presence of that Molly woman. He had no desire to go home with her. How long would he last at the burrow before he cracked and ended up killing the woman? Then his cover would be blown. Much, much better if he stayed at Hogwarts.
They reached the Gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. Minerva spoke Dumbledore's eccentric password. "Cockroach cluster," and the gargoyle shifted aside, allowing them to ascend the spiral staircase.
Tom found the Headmaster's office decorated with all manner of magical curios, including a Phoenix sleeping in a cage. It was so much different from the orderly office Tom remembered coming to share tea on many occasions.
Dumbledore stood up from his desk, wearing a placid expression. "Thank you, Minerva, that will be all for now."
McGonagall looked briefly taken aback at being dismissed, but she nodded and left.
When they heard the stony rumble of the gargoyle shifting back into place, Dumbledore's expression turned sad. A crease formed between his eyebrows, like some disappointment weighed on him.
It happened quicker than Tom could react—he felt Ginny's wand fly free of his pocket and into Dumbledore's outstretched hand.
"Hello Tom," the old wizard said. "Please sit."