Book 1: Of Thorns & Roses

31: A Dark Kind of Love

A/N: Just a heads up that I am changing things within these memories! (:

So he did.

Dumbledore slowly dribbled the drops of memories into the pensieve as they swished around like nothing could tame the memories or the ferocity of them.

"Do not fear the unknown, my dear. Embrace it with open arms and hope it doesn't bite," said Dumbledore with the preamble of a smile lingering on his aged face.

"Noted, headmaster," I murmured. My attention now singularly on the floating images that drifted in the moving liquid.

Something whispered in the depths of my consciousness. You will find answers.

Perhaps it wasn't from within myself, but the lingering force that weaved itself into my life these past months. Delightful and terrifying all the same, I welcomed that unknown.

I heard Draco's voice mingle with my running thoughts. Are you okay? It seemed to say.

I lowered my face towards the dipped solid before me and its liquid, coming to life before me.

There he was.

A boy no more than 12 sat before me as a younger Dumbledore soothingly talked to the boy. Tom Riddle.

My insides quaked at the innocence that laced with his darkened irises, but an evil still preyed beneath that watchful gaze. He did not notice my presence as I shifted on my feet.

"Hello, Tom. My name is Dumbledore and I came from a school for special younglings, like yourself, called Hogwarts, but I'm sure you are wondering about my presence here..." The headmaster paused as if awaiting acknowledgement from the boy.

Nothing, so he continued, "The wisps of power and the impossible have graced you with a gift, my dear boy. But I can help you if you come with me to Hogwarts, a school for magic. I am different, like you." The boy's gaze seemed to dazzle with curiosity at Dumbledore's words.

Tom finally spoke, "They think I'm mad for the things I can do, and I want to hurt them all for it." A shiver raked my spine.

"Well, there will be no judgement at Hogwarts," said the headmaster.

Tom's face remained placid and bored, "I can make things move without touching them. I can talk to snakes. I can harm people." There was no emotion mingling with his tone, only painful distance.

Dumbledore's face twisted into shock at the boy's words, like something he said struck deep with unrelenting hands.

Then came in a fury of blazing heat in his cramped closet as flames licked the ceiling, climbing to spread its unbearable presence.

Those flames seemed to symbolize the untamable power that flowed through Tom, even at such a young age.

Before I could linger on the thought, the memory before me began to break apart, flickering to signal the next string of images. Merlin, it felt like my bones were shaking within my hollow body at young Tom Riddle's presence.

We were whirled away like ink dropping into a glass of water, only to apparate into an entirely different setting.

My body turned cold and goosebumps possessed me from head to toe, leaving me shaking in despair. My blood stopped in my veins, as if to pause and witness the scene before me.

My feet swayed in terrible agony. I simply paused.

That face.

Her face.

Hot tears ripped down my face in the agony of seeing her again. My own memory played in my head. Her laugh rippled in my thoughts as I quipped a joke. Ilvermorny shone in the blue sky behind her as if it were alive itself.