Beta: Cloudy

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Hagrid and Dumbledore graciously accepted the "anonymous" donation of a pretty dragon with scars. Hagrid was in tears looking at the poor thing, and profusely promised me he would take perfect care of the darling.

Dumbledore assured me that the habitat set up for the dragon would be completely safe for the other students. Dumbledore himself erected a barrier that would prevent the dragon from escaping it and harming anyone. The dragon would have the entire area to itself. It was large enough it would have plenty of room to soar and stretch its wings, and all the amenities it could possibly ask for.

The habitat had been designed to house several dragons, but for now it would only keep one.

Returning to Hogwarts, I did let it slip to Millie that Hogwarts had a dragon. Millie had repeatedly mentioned her dream was to work with dragons, and the strong girl was beyond ecstatic. So giddy with joy, in fact, she rushed straight over to Hagrid—who always came to pick the students up from the train—and begged him to let her help care for it.

It was pretty darn cute.

I got caught up with my snakes over winter break—Theodore and Draco stayed at Hogwarts that year—and listened to their happy holiday tales. Daphne assisted her father in Wizengamot paperwork, and answered letters on behalf of the Greengrass family. Vincent actually spent some time at the twins' shop talking to them about some jokes he thought up. Blaise toured Italy with his mother. Gregory actually got to meet the Yorkshire Quidditch team and talk with their Keeper, Ugga, who invited Gregory to try out for Beater once he graduated. Tracey met up with Lisa over break and the two had several dates in Diagon Alley. Pansy took a trip to Germany with her family and had a bit of a winter fling with one of the locals.

It was wonderful to listen to how happy my snakes were. Seeing them smiling, relaxed, and hopeful for their futures—

It warmed my heart.

Canonically, they were probably scared and stressed out. Certainly Draco, what with his father sentenced to Azkaban and he had been given the task to murder Dumbledore.

Voldemort wasn't in any position to threaten the Malfoy's, though. Or really any of my snakes.

He would not be able to touch them while they were in Hogwarts, and Tom and I planned to take care of him before graduation.

Although I couldn't help but wonder what he was planning now.

If I were him, I'd launch an attack on the Ministry. The Aurors were stretched out between all the other public places—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Devon's Moore, Fogwood, and so on—that a small, powerful, strike team could potentially take over the Ministry. Voldemort was insane, but he was still a powerful wizard.

He hadn't been trying to kill Tom, after all, and he still blew up his foot. Had he been trying to kill Tom instead of capture...

Deranged, but still dangerous. He was not an opponent to underestimate, and because of his unstable mindset predicting his next movement was impossible.

The only thing I could say for absolute certainty was that he would not attack Hogwarts, nor Lunar's Orchid. Hogwarts because he was afraid of Dumbledore, and Lunar's Orchid because he was (likely) afraid of Tom and a giant worgen army.

What oh what will you do, Voldemort?

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The new term started next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth years: a large sign had been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight.

APPARITION LESSONS

If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons.

Hell yeah, I thought, eagerly signing myself up for that. Man, heists would be super easy once I knew how to Apparate.

Then I could start stealing back all the priceless museum artifacts I sold and giving them back to the museums!

That'd be so much fun. I'd have to come up with a different calling card.

Maybe a picture of Robin Hood?

For the rest of the day all I could think about was my tales as Robin Hood and Gentleman Rose. Setting them up as separate identities, then feeding bogus stories to the media about how the two were notorious rivals. Maybe I could get Harry and Tom to role play as one of them and set up some dramatic confrontation to be witnessed by a massive crowd...

Screw getting a typical job after Hogwarts, I know what I'm doing, I thought to myself.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Entering Alchemy for the first time in the second semester, I wondered what I'd be studying next. Dumbledore had mentioned we were progressing a lot faster than his previous classes—likely due to the one-on-one teaching style.

I adored learning Alchemy.

Well. Okay. I just plain ol' adored learning magic. The only subject I disliked was arithmancy because math. I could do it well—two lifetimes of rigid instruction in math wouldn't allow for anything else—but I took no pleasure in it.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at me upon entering the classroom. He was dazzling in his star-print purple robes and matching wizard cap. I applauded his fashion choice.

"Would you be opposed if I bought you some robes to make you look like Gandalf?" I asked him.

"Opposed? No," said Dumbledore. "You know Harry sent me some already."

"What? Really?"

Dumbledore nodded happily. "For Christmas. Said I'd pull off a magnificent Gandalf and thought it was a shame I hadn't already dressed like him before."

"My boy," I mock-sniffed. "You have to wear it when he graduates, please?"

He chuckled. "It'd be a shame to let such fine robes gather dust."

"I love you."

"Thank you, my dear girl," he said genially, taking a seat at his desk. "We are quite ahead in our lesson plan for the year. I thought today we could spend our lesson on casual conversation, and perhaps review some more memories if you'd like."

"One, I am always down to look at more baby pictures of my baby. And two, I must know something. It's very important. He had a fan club, right?"

"Pardon?"

"He keeps insisting he did not," I said. "But I mean... come on. He had one, right?"

Dumbledore tilted his head as he considered my question. "Mmm... Not in the way you are thinking of."

"No way," I gasped. "He's handsome, charming, brilliant—you mean to tell me girls and boys didn't flock to him?"

"If he was in the room many eyes turned to him," Dumbledore admitted, "but very few actively sought him out."

I blinked, my mind blanking out. What Dumbledore was saying sounded so absurd to me. Once someone experienced the charisma of Tom Riddle, it was difficult to comprehend him being... not magnetic. "What? I find that hard to believe."

"You hold him in very high regards, but you are—pardon—rather smitten with him," said Dumbledore.

"I mean—I mean yeah. I can't disagree with you there, but..." I gestured helplessly. "He was like the ultimate catch, right?"

"You misinterpret his charisma," said Dumbledore. "And I believe you are under the false assumption that he—like you—used honey more often than vinegar."

My confusion must have amused Dumbledore because he smiled.

"You see too much of yourself in him," he said. "While you are alike, you are so very different. Come here, I have a few memories you might enjoy."

Dumbledore got up from his chair, waving with his left hand. A cabinet that had been pressed against the back wall moved forward and opened up to reveal his pensieve. Dumbledore hummed to himself as he pulled out his wand and poked around in the waters to find the appropriate memories.

In a feathery tone he said, "For now, why don't I show you more memories of him during his fifth year?"

"Aww. I wanted to hear more of his accent," I said. "You know I got Slughorn to give me the memory of when he gave Tom the dictionary."

Dumbledore's pale blue eyes widened. "Did you really?"

"Yeah. I got him drunk and vulnerable," I cackled. "Ah. That sounded wrong—"

"I applaud you on getting such a memory," said Dumbledore. "Horace has been exceptionally tight-lipped about his previous experiences with Tom—at least to me."

"I got him drunk enough to forget what decade he was in," I said with a wink. "He thought Tom was still his prized student who only just graduated."

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore.

"I do what I can," I said with a shrug then dunked my head into the pensieve's water.

The world lost its color as it shifted into a different scene. I found myself standing in the Transfiguration classroom, only instead of McGonagall's minimalist style, it was decorated with a clutter of magical artifacts and pictures. The desks were lined up in neat little rows, and I immediately spotted my paramour.

Tom Marvolo Riddle looked exactly like when I first saw him in my mind. Dark, sharp, and with an angelic smile that could make people swoon. He held himself with an air of quiet confidence. As soon as he entered the room, I found it impossible not to stare at him.

And... huh.

The first memory shown was Tom having an intellectual debate with his classmates in Dumbledore's Transfiguration class. Tom argued dispassionately, sticking solely to logic as he and some other boy went back and forth on some Gamp Laws. The past Dumbledore encouraged the debate, bringing in other students by calling upon them for their opinions.

His words made sense, and indeed, I had heard him use similar arguments before but—

"He feels stiff," I murmured, circling around the past Tom.

It was not really a... an easy visual. Frankly, it was hard to pick out how I found him stiff.

The longer I watched him, the more disquieted I became. There was something inherently off about the Tom I saw.

It looked like my Tom. Sounded like my Tom.

But it wasn't.

Dumbledore showed me two more memories that day, both leaving me with a similar impression to the first one.

It had been a while since I had seen Tom behave so... coldly polite.

Don't get me wrong, he could turn up the charm, but after I had seen how warm he could be...

I watched the memories transition to a time when Dumbledore watched Tom and his group of followers study together.

I say study together rather loosely, as it was largely Tom explaining concepts and everyone nodding and looking admiringly at him. Some would try to flatter Tom, and Tom would rebuff them and have them refocus their attention on their work. I might have been impressed by his ability to deflect, but I was more concerned with his irritation. Had I not known Tom so intimately, I would have missed the subtle clenching of his jaw and the way his dark eyes coldly appraised his peers even as he smiled and spoke honeyed words.

His fellow Slytherins were not much better. They admired him, but it was not a warm kind of affection. Closer to a keeper admiring a prized lethal pet, or how a dog might look upon its temperamental owner.

They spoke as if they were friends, but I did not find any friends among that group.

And then Dumbledore did something that surprised me.

From a memory of Tom, it transitioned to a memory of me. I saw a younger me sitting near the staff table, chatting amicably with my babeh snakes. Dumbledore was too far away to hear what we were speaking about, yet that did not matter.

It made my cheeks grow hot as I realized how—how obvious I was with how much I adored them. I was like a doting mother, reaching forward and affectionately patting them or saying something that would make them smile ear to ear.

I had apparently even wiped some food off of Theodore's mouth, making the poor boy turn red in the face as he smiled shyly at me.

Unlike how Tom's peers viewed him, my snakes held nothing but warmth in their gazes for each other and me.

If someone took a transcript of Tom's group, and my group, the dialogue could be interchangeable without notice.

Yet if anyone directly looked at the groups it was plain as night and day how differently they operated.

As we left the memories, I found myself recalling Dumbledore's previous words: You are under the false assumption that he—like you—used honey more often than vinegar.

We stepped out of the memories. I found myself in a pensive mood, mulling over what I had seen.

"I believe a break from using the pensieve is in order," said Dumbledore as he gracefully took a seat at his desk. "Using it too often in a short period of time can be befuddling for the mind."

I slowly sat across from him, frowning thoughtfully. "Grandpa?"

"Yes, dear child?"

"Can you—tell me? Tell me what you thought of him?"

Dumbledore shifted his weight, peering at me behind his half-moon speckles. For a while, I feared he would reject my request, yet he eventually opened his mouth and began to softly speak, "When Tom Riddle arrived he was a quiet boy. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him.

"He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues."

"Because you were wary of him," I pointed out.

Dumbledore did not respond right away, his pale blue eyes looking out the snowy window. "Correct. I did, briefly, entertain the thought that he wished to start a new life at Hogwarts and truly move beyond his past. Yet, I could not completely dismiss our first introduction, nor what Mrs. Cole had previously told me. It was that set upon prejudice that diverged our paths."

Dumbledore folded his fingers together. "I am—forgive me—a clever man. In the past, I believed myself even cleverer than what I truly was. I was the sole professor he treated differently, and in turn, I believed only I could see the truth behind his facade. We were equally stubborn in continuing this charade, but he was a child and I... I was meant to be his professor."

"You and him are terribly similar," he said. "But you, unlike him, have been open to love from the very start. I can plainly see your sincerity in your beliefs, so while I find some of your actions in poor distaste, I know you ultimately mean them for the best. Your actions on the surface level are nearly identical—both of you took control of Slytherin, gathered a group of determined friends, dabbled in illicit affairs, used your connections to manipulate the staff—need I go on?"

I shook my head, smiling bashfully.

"But how and why you both went about this could not be more different," said Dumbledore. "Tom Riddle was a brilliant boy, but throughout his time at Hogwarts I had never seen him shine. Not the way you have, Rosie. He could smile in a charming way, even set the mood for classes, but no one would miss him if he did not return the next year. Do you understand?"

I shook my head again, my brow furrowed.

"He could pull in a group, and while he was there he could convince them to do all manner of things. Without him, though, the crowd would disperse and scarce few would even remember him. All the connections he made were superficial at best, and easily broken at his convenience. He preferred it that way, and I for many years was under the assumption it was an impossibility for him.

"And then there is you. You've built powerful foundations in your friendships, gently encouraging your peers to better themselves—not for your benefit, but for what you believed to be their benefit. Gone without a trace and you'd have hoards of people searching for you high and low."

I was suddenly reminded of the stark difference between our friend groups—of the clinical control Tom exuded against the jubilant warmth in mine.

"A talent," mused Dumbledore, "that has not gone unnoticed by Tom, I am sure."

My eyes closed at that, and I leaned back in my chair as I processed. "Thank you for your honest insight."

"It is nothing that you would not have noticed yourself in due time," he said simply. "I must thank you, Rosie. There are terribly few willing to discuss a version of Tom that is not Voldemort, and fewer still who would indulge this old man in his past mistakes."

"You regret it?"

"I regret much," he said after a pause. "Yes, Rosie. I regret how I handled Tom. As I look at you, I could not help but ask myself if I had taken a stronger role in his life could he have turned out more like you? Perhaps not morally righteous, but warmer... kinder..."

"Maybe you should ask him yourself."

"Maybe I should."

"He said you could come by whenever," I said. "Anyo knows my address."

Dumbledore smiled at that.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Next weekend was a bit of a busy one for me. First, I met with Warbles at Hogsmeade with Berit who Apparated us both to Lunar's Orchid. I had asked Fenrir to answer Warbles' questions for my biography, and to give the man a proper tour of the village. Fenrir was delighted to show off the village and the worgen lifestyle, and seemed exceptionally proud to be given such a task. He was eager to show off what had been accomplished.

I used Warbles as an excuse to my friends for my absence for the day, and instead went to steal the Necronomicon for Tom.

It uh... wasn't as easy as I would have liked, but c'est la vie.

Tom was quite impressed by my steal and wanted to know all the details.

"I would tell you, love, I really would, but... nope. I'm taking that story to my grave," I explained with a grimace.

"Why?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"I saw things," I whispered. "Things that made the Rosiers look like angels."

Tom peered at me, clutching the book made of wheezing human skin. "Now I really want to know."

"Nope. I'm going to ask Daphne to Obliviate my memories. Ta ta, love."

"Why not me?" he asked curiously.

"You'd be liable to try and extract them from me and then Obliviate me," I said as I wagged my finger at him.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance but did not refute my accusation. He did not pout, per say, but gosh if he didn't exude the air of a pouting man I'd eat my sock. Tom said slowly, reluctantly, "A hint?"

"Cthulhu."

"What? What's a Cthulhu?"

"Something that I will ask Daphne to Obliviate from my mind," I said cheerfully. "Whoever created the guards for that bloody book was clearly a fan of Lovecraft."

"Who—?"

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bonus:

With a free weekend, I decided it was finally time for my other half to meet my better half.

Meaning it was time for Harry to meet Tom. Harry had been dropping hints on wanting to be introduced for a while, and Tom let me know he was ready whenever.

Harry wouldn't be able to recognize him as Voldemort, at least. Sirius and Remus, on the other hand... well, let's just say I was procrastinating that encounter for as long as possible. Harry wasn't terribly pleased to find out about my vanishing chest, nor did he look happy to find that it led directly into Tom's home.

My home, technically, but I didn't think Harry would be comfortable to learn that we were living together yet. Little bit at a time.

Tom graciously met us in the dining room.

"Harry... this is my boyfriend, Tom," I said. "Tom, this is my twin brother, Harry."

Tom extended a hand, a charming smile on his face. "Pleasure to meet you, Harry. I've heard a lot about you."

Harry smiled politely back as he accepted the handshake. "Nice to meet you, too. I've heard nothing about you."

Tom pulled off a remarkably convincing beam. "What a clever brother you have, Rosie."

"I'm terribly proud of his sarcasm, too," I said, patting Harry on the back. "Harry, please be nicer to my boyfriend."

"Sorry for offending you," Harry lied with a shrug.

"Being offended would imply your opinion matters enough to hurt me," Tom said cheerfully. "Always good to see a healthy dose of confidence in a young boy."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Young boy? Exactly how old are you?"

"Harry," I warned sternly. "Tom, please."

"Anything for you," Tom lied with ease.

"Oh jeez," I sighed.

"Anything except basic reconnaissance," Harry quietly muttered under his breath.

"Harry!"

"Come now, Rosie. Let the boy air out his frustrations," said Tom soothingly. "Ah, before I forget, Fenrir left you something on the counter."

"Not one word out of either of you," I warned the two of them, turning away to head into the kitchen.

I did not hear a single peep out of either boy, but as soon as I turned around, Harry was red in the face and pointing his wand at an incredibly smug Tom.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

(◕‿◕✿)

Later

"How did you piss him off that badly? You didn't say anything," I asked Tom.

Tom smiled sweetly at me. "I don't need words to aggravate a child, Rosie."

"What did you do?" I asked him again, more curious than exasperated at that point.

Tom chuckled. "Nothing you need to worry about dear..."

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

I'll answer what Tom did at the end if ya'll are really curious.

Answer: Conversation, and overcoming adversities together.

Question: What will your team be rewarded with at the end of your journey?

Reviews are love!