Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

"Why am I here?" I asked to the cold, empty air.

"Because I wanted company," retorted Hermione.

"You have company," I said, gesturing to Theodore who was lounging beside Hermione. "I'm a third wheel."

"You're not a third wheel," they immediately denied.

"Ugh. Snog in a broom cupboard already," I snarked, eliciting an immediate reaction from Hermione who hit my shin with her textbook. "Ow! Research buddies should not be hitting one another."

"Allow me," said Theodore, taking Hermione's textbook then hitting my other shin. I promptly smacked the back of his head. Hermione giggled at both of us.

"Seriously though," I said, hugging my cloak tighter. It was drizzling, cold, and miserable. I was grateful that I had an umbrella but I still didn't want to be out there. "Why am I here?"

"For company."

I grumbled, "You just didn't want to sit out here alone."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Don't you want to support Harry?"

"Harry's not a little boy, he doesn't need my support."

Theodore had tagged along to my morning game of tennis with the Willow. On our way back to the dorm to change, Hermione ran into us and asked us to keep her company during the Gryffindor tryouts.

It was Harry's first year as captain.

Given our recent status as Prophecy Ones, our wealth, and not-being-ugly our popularity had noticeably gone up. Or certainly Harry's. I had grown accustomed to being in the spotlight over the years.

Although I was not used to the leers. Some of them made me flustered, and others made me feel icky.

Harry was somehow oblivious to when people leered at him. I didn't know how he could handle the heated gazes. He hated the spotlight on its own, but if he knew that some had ulterior motives... well...

Honestly, I'm really glad Tom's not in my head right now, I thought coolly meeting the gaze of one of the Gryffindor boys who winked at me. His sass might give me a headache.

Then again... jealous Tom might be pretty hot.

Hmm. Thoughts for another day once we have a safe word.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Harry)

Harry wished tryouts didn't happen on a drizzly day but luck wasn't on his side. Thankfully, Remus had purchased him an enchanted umbrella that would hover on its own near him and stay with him as he walked. As long as he didn't go full throttle on his broom, the umbrella should be able to keep up.

A glance at the stadiums surprised Harry, he hadn't expected to find his sister there.

He was not at all shocked to find Theodore next to Hermione, nor that the two of them were currently sharing their own enchanted umbrella.

Harry silently mouthed to Rosie, What are you doing here?

She gestured to Hermione and Theodore, rolling her eyes.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He turned his attention to the massive show up for the tryouts.  Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching the Nimbus brooms Slytherin donated a few years ago, to seventh years who towered over the rest. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

Not for a good reason. Harry had overheard the boy say his sister could give him a proper randy.

Harry nearly tackled the boy. If Neville and Hermione hadn't held him back...

What's worse, the boy noticed Harry on the train and acted like he hadn't said something so gross about his twin.

"We met on the train," the prat said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. "Cormac McLaggen, Keeper."

"You didn't try out last year, did you?" shrewdly asked Harry, resisting the urge to wipe his hand.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," said Cormac, his chest puffed up in pride. "Ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet."

"Right," slowly said Harry. "Well... if you wait over there—"

He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Rosie, Theodore, and Hermione were sitting. There was a flicker of annoyance over Cormac's face until he saw who was over there. He immediately smiled and made his way to the edge.

Hermione's eyes narrowed when she noticed Cormac. She caught Harry's gaze and the two friends had a near-telepathic conversation.

Harry's barely-restrained glower: I don't want him on my team.

Hermione's knowing look: I got you covered.

Relieved his friend had his back, Harry refocused his attention on the tryouts. He started  with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: The first ten was made up of first years and it could not have been clearer than a cloudless sky that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly rammed into one of the goalposts.

The second group was made up of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane, a younger student that kept running into Harry with the tenacity of Gollum chasing the ring, was amongst them.

I really hope she isn't Gollum, he thought, resisting the urge to shudder at the way she kept looking at him.

When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.

"If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor," roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, "leave now, please!"

There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

"Oi!"

"Not you," Harry snapped at Rosie who cackled at his displeasure. He muttered darkly, "Devil incarnate."

She laughed with great glee at that, Theodore and Hermione saying something to her that Harry couldn't hear.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; a new find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot. Pleased as he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

"That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way for the Keepers I'll hex you," he snarled.

Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George—Harry was starting to really miss those two—but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined the spectators in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

Harry had deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was nearly Slytherin green.

None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To Harry's great irritation, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction; the crowd laughed and booed and Cormac returned to the ground grinding his teeth.

It was such an odd occurrence, it made Harry wonder if Hermione had something to do with it. He looked over at her direction and found her giving him a brilliant smile.

I love my friends, thought Harry, beaming in response.

Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Firebolt that was gifted to him by Sirius for making the team last year. "Good luck!" cried a feminine voice from the stands. Harry looked around, expecting to see Hermione or maybe even Rosie, but it was Lavender Brown.

Thankfully, he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd with difficulty, Harry turned to Cormac  to tell him that, oh so tragically, Ron had beaten him, only to find Cormac's red face inches from his own. Harry resisted the urge to step back, instantly disliking how Cormac invaded his space.

While Harry was reluctant to the spotlight, and inclined to introverted tendencies, he was not a pushover.

He squared his shoulders and coolly stared back at Cormac, curling his lip back in a sneer reminiscent of what Rosie would do when someone said something stupid to her.

"His sister didn't really try," said Cormac menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple. It was awfully distracting. "She gave him an easy save."

"Rubbish," said Harry coldly. "That was the one he nearly missed."

Cormac took a step nearer Harry, who continued to hold his ground—albeit he had an awful temptation to reach for his wand.

"Give me another go."

"No," said Harry. "You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way."

He thought for a moment that Cormac might punch him, but he contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what sounded like threats to thin air.

Orc.

Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.

"Well done," he croaked. "You flew really well."

"You did brilliantly, Ron!" Hermione gushed, as she, Rosie, and Theodore approached them.

"Not bad reflexes," praised Theodore, clapping Ron on the shoulder. Ron grinned in response. "If you wanna work on those some more, you can play some tennis with us—"

Hermione, Harry, and Ron winced at the offer.

Theodore and Rosie shared amused looks before Theodore offered his arm to Rosie. "Right. See you later."

Rosie hooked her arm through Theodore's, waving goodbye with her other hand. "See you guys tomorrow for the morning run!"

"Bye-bye," rasped Harry, then he coughed.

Rosie whispered something to Theodore, and the Nott heir immediately pinched her side in retaliation. Harry shook his head in amusement, watching them leave.

"Here," said Hermione, offering Harry a drink from her bottle. Harry took a large swig, surprised to find it was warm tea. "Dobby gave us drinks while we watched."

"Have to thank him later," mumbled Harry. "Thanks 'Mione. Come on then, let's meet up with Neville at Hagrid's hut."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Rosie)

Theodore kindly escorted me back to the dungeons. He wasn't fond that I kept teasing him about Hermione. He retaliated by trying to tickle me. It went to show how fond I was of the boy that I didn't immediately stomp on his foot for using the forbidden tactic of tickling.

Tickling was torturous.

Entering the dungeons, however, we were stopped by Professor Slughorn.

"Rosie, Rosie, just the witch I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out with great pride. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars. I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries."

"I would be delighted," I said brightly. "Thank you ever so much, Professor."

"Oho! Splendid—you don't have any allergies do you?"

"Not that I am aware of. I'll see you tonight, Professor."

"Delightful," he said cheerfully before heading away.

Theodore frowned thoughtfully "Need an escort?"

"Probably go with Blaise," I said. "Thank you, though."

"Yeah. If you ever need one, let me know."

"If you're using me to make Hermione jealous—"

"Shove off," he scoffed. "I'm doing it out of respect for you and Tom. Lots of eyes on you. You're a strong witch—very strong—but some fights are better left not started. If you've someone beside you you're less likely to be approached."

I smiled at that. "Thank you, Theodore. I appreciate it."

"You're my friend," he said. "And Tom's pretty cool."

"Like him, huh?"

"Yeah," said Theodore. "Plays a mean game of chess."

"Ugh, I know right?"

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The dinner parties hosted by Slughorn were interesting. I sat in between Hermione and Blaise for most of them, but there was one party that Cormac was able to nab a seat beside me. That was dreadful. The Gryffindor boy had enough arrogance to give Tom a run for his money, but none of the charisma to compensate. Every time he complimented me, I rebuked him with a subtle insult that flew over his dense head.

Blaise and Hermione noticed my discomfort, however, and both made it a point to sit on either side of me for the next dinner.

I wasn't about to let a horny boy stop me from having a good time at Slughorn's dinner parties. Slughorn was a master networker, I loved watching him fluidly move the conversation from one topic to another—all topics that suited his interests or flattered him.

The man was Slytherin through and through and I could not help but admire his skills.

Class work went by in a daze. I wasn't able to visit Tom as often as I would have liked—I wanted to see him every night—because I actually had to buckle down and dedicate hours to homework and studying. I missed him terribly, feeling a sharp pain in my chest if I hadn't seen him for multiple days in a row. If I hadn't seen him for three days I fell into an irritable mood. I tried not to let it bother me, but I couldn't help myself.

I really... I really liked him.

Like... more than I was prepared to. It was kind of scary how much I liked him, and how being apart could put me in such a sour mood. It wasn't like we could text or call each other in between.

At least I could visit him with my vanishing chest if I had a spare moment. I had to give mad props to those who maintained a long-distance relationship. I was grouchy within days, I couldn't fathom how much I'd miss him if I couldn't see or touch him for months.

I'd be liable to kill someone out of sheer frustration.

Kidding!

Maybe.

When we were able to get together, I was quite happy that he showed he missed me as well. Maybe not as much—Tom wasn't the clingy sort to begin with—but enough that he verbally expressed disdain when I had to go back to Hogwarts.

"Graduation cannot come sooner," he'd grumble as he held me tight and refused to let me get out of bed.

"I'm going to be late," I warned him.

"Be late."

Tom did have a point, however, and that was graduation coming rather quickly. I only had a year and some months left at Hogwarts. It gave me mixed feelings. On one hand: hooray I'd get to properly live with Tom after graduation! On the other hand: I loved Hogwarts and learning magic.

Oh well. Not like I could control time or whatever.

It took a few more weeks into the semester before our next Alchemy lesson had some extra time at the end of it.

Dumbledore had prepared accordingly. He brought his pensieve into the classroom, placing it in the far corner behind some curtains. His eyes twinkled. "Are you sure you want to see my memories?"

"I don't get to see a photo album of his cute little naked baby butt," I said. "You're all I've got Grandpa. Please don't let me down."

"I'm afraid I don't have memories of that either."

"But you have memories of his first year, right? When he had an accent?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

"You know about his accent?"

"I got him to do it once," I said. "And I need more. I need so much more. Please, sir."

He chuckled. "As you wish. Hmm... Perhaps we should start when I first met Tom?"

"Please. Please."

Dumbledore set up a timer in the classroom to ring when it was time for me to go. We couldn't keep track of time in the pensive, after all. Once that was set up we dove into the pensieve, our world shifting in cooler tones as the memory set itself up. I found myself staring at a much younger Dumbledore in plum colored robes that only he could pull off.

We followed the younger Dumbledore into the run down orphanage where he tracked down a sour-faced matron who went by the name Mrs. Cole. A brief conversation occurred between the two where Dumbledore convinced Mrs. Cole he was there to see Tom about his admission into Hogwarts.

The younger Dumbledore politely inquired, "I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right," said Mrs. Cole. "I remember it clearly as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour."

Mrs. Cole nodded to herself.

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, her lips curled back into a rather ugly smile. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty—and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father—yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus—and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.

"Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."

Mrs. Cole snorted, "He's a funny boy."

"Oh I bet he is," I whispered.

"Hush now," said present-day Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was ... odd."

"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Well, he—"

But Mrs. Cole came to an abrupt halt.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely," said Dumbledore.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.

"Or a king," I snidely added, causing present-Dumbledore to let out a soft heh.

"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... Nasty things... "

Dumbledore did not press her. She glanced away, mumbling more so to herself than Dumbledore, "Billy Stubbs's rabbit ... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done it, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then on the summer outing—we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside—well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things..."

"Funny things," I repeated with great amusement.

"It's not polite to mock, Rosie."

"I'm a Slytherin. Mockery is how we show affection."

"Mm-hmm."

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady. "I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole with a sigh. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. As we walked behind her and younger-Dumbledore, I assessed the orphanage. All the children wore gray, and I had spotted more than one worn down areas of the building.

Perhaps not a hovel, but certainly close. Definitely not an ideal environment for any child to grow up in.

So thin, I observed, noticing how some children had sunken in cheeks. Poor things.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton—sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you—well, I'll let him do it."

I and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair, and an iron bed. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

I immediately recognized that face. He was tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale with the face of an angel covered in baby fat. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.

"Oh my God he was so adorable," I whispered, trying hard not to squeal at how utterly adorable baby-faced Tom was. I was fanning myself, hoping the cool air would help calm me down. I wished so dearly I could jump through time and hug Tom, he was that much of a cutie patootie.

"How do you do, Riddle?" said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.

The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Tom, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

Then he spoke.

And I heard the accent.

Oh the accent.

"'Professor'?" repeated Tom. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"Be still my heart," I whispered, clutching at my chest. "Please let me have a copy of this memory."

He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I don't believe you," said Tom defensively. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last three words with great force. Coming from any other child but Tom Riddle it might have been odd, but I honestly couldn't say I was surprised.

It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Tom stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school—your new school, if you would like to come."

Tom's reaction to that was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course—well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you—"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom.

"Baby. So angry. So fierce," I cooed, and present-Dumbledore slipped out a barely restrained chuckle.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Tom's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities—"

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

There was silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Tom. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard."

Tom lifted his head. His face lit up. There was a wild happiness upon it.

I squealed, "I wanna pinch those cheekies so bad."

Present-Dumbledore started to cough.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Tom at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts—"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"

Tom's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in a charmingly polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant—please, Professor, could you show me—?"

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Tom jumped to his feet; he rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Tom stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"One of them," I whispered with utter delight. "Oh, his grammar wasn't perfect yet. This is so friggin' cute."

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Tom looked frightened.

"Open the door," said Dumbledore.

Tom hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore.

Tom took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Tom threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it," said Dumbledore.

Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Rosie, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have—inadvertently, I am sure—been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic—yes, there is a Ministry—will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but—"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Tom, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything—"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up sharply.

"Certainly, if you—"

"I don't need you," dismissed Tom. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley—sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

The alarm rang through, and we pulled ourselves out of the memory.

I had a deliriously giddy smile on my face. "That was amazing. He's so sassy. I am so happy. Oh my golly gosh. Can you—can you give me a copy of that memory?"

"Do you have a pensieve?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I'm getting one commissioned right now. It should be at the village by Christmas," I said cheerfully. "Please, please?"

"I would be delighted to," he said.

"Yay! All that's left is figuring out how to take pictures of memories in a pensieve."

"That would be an interesting endeavor to take—it would require exceptional Charm work to extract key memories, and a clever use of Potions to apply those memories in the photography solution," said Dumbledore.

I wiggled my eyebrows. "Wanna work on it together?"

"If only I had the time," he said regretfully. "I would love to know how you progress on it."

"Will do!"

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

My next trip to visit Tom I was soaring on clouds. Memories of his cute baby face and adorable accent and slang repeating in my head. I couldn't stop smiling.

Tom noticed my excellent mood. He raised an eyebrow. "What's got you so happy?"

"You," I said unabashedly. "Gosh, I love you."

"Thank you?"

"And I totally saw the equivalent of your cute little naked baby butt."

"I do not have a baby butt," he defended hotly, immediately offended.

"No, no. Not your present butt—which is very nice and not at all baby-like—but your past cute whittle squishy cheekies," I squealed.

He stared at me. "My—? No."

"Yes."

"No," he groaned, burying his face with his hands. "Dumbledore is showing you memories of me, isn't he?"

"He is! You were so cute, oh my gosh."

"Which—which years?" he asked anxiously.

"The first time you met," I cooed. "You were so defensive. Like a puffed up baby chick."

His cheeks turned red. "That—I—Rosie!"

"So cute. So cute," I gushed, rushing over and hugging him tightly.

"Stop it. Get those memories out of your head," he griped.

"Never," I giggled. "I only wish I could have grown up beside you. I would have hugged you every day."

Still considerably red-faced from embarrassment, Tom returned my hug. Petulantly, he muttered, "I was not cute. I was well-presented."

"You were cute."

"Well-presented."

"Outrageously adorable."

He clicked his tongue.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

63. If Slughorn comes to Hogwarts, get into his fancy pancy club.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

I actually really loved the Dumbledore meeting Tom scene for the first time and wanted to include it. It's got such a great insight into Tom's character.

Plus baby-faced Tom. uwu.

Answer: Dumbledore, Gandalf, and Skulduggery Pleasant. Because I feel like the conversations between those three would just be... *chef's kiss*

Question: You and your party begin your journey. You must go to the Wise Old Man to obtain your quest. What type of quest do you think your party is best suited for (retrieval, domination, murdering a Big Baddie, etc)?

Reviews are love!