November was turning out to be the longest month of Harry’s life. Due to the aftermath of the Quidditch match, he had been forced to miss two of his detentions with Snape, causing the professor to decide the missed days would just be added on. He was still waiting for details on his detention for his role in the disastrous Quidditch match. He hadn’t heard from Dumbledore about getting to view another memory. Defense had become a complete disaster for everyone involved since the Quidditch match. He still had teammates in the Hospital Wing. He had nothing but confusion about his reactions to interacting with Snape, Malfoy, and Dumbledore. And, finally, he was still having nightmares along with the dream with the woman he could never remember.

He was sat with Ron and Hermione at Gryffindor table. The only sounds in the Great Hall were that of cutlery on dishes and the occasional rustle of robes. No one was speaking or even whispering. Even he, Ron, and Hermione hadn’t spoken a word.

Like him, Ron had come out of the match and fight with milder injuries. He’d had a concussion, a fractured cheekbone, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken hand. It was all healed instantly with just a night of observation and tight bandages to keep all of his healed hand bones in place. His hand was still bandaged, but they would be removed the next day.

Harry glanced up when he heard flapping and watched several owls circle the Great Hall. They flew over a few students, including himself, and dropped letters. Seeing who got letters, he realized these were likely the detention details from Dumbledore for the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams. He turned back to his own, noticing he had two.

He opened one, absently watching Ron open his detention details. He moved his attention back to his own mail and found this one to be another meeting invitation.

Harry, 

Join me in my office after dinner tonight. I have more to show you. 

Professor Dumbledore 

He felt excitement at getting to see more memories of Voldemort. He was intrigued by the tidbits of information Dumbledore was finally allowing him to receive. He folded the invitation and moved to his other letter, tearing it open.

Mr. Potter, 

Tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock, you will serve your detention with Professor Snape for your participation in Wednesday’s altercation. You and Mr. Draco Malfoy will serve your detentions together and will assist Professor Snape with inventory, cleaning, and anything else he requests for as long as he requires. If I hear of any issues, more severe consequences will occur. 

Headmaster Dumbledore 

Harry dropped the letter, outraged. He had to serve more detention with Snape, and he had to do it with Malfoy? What was Dumbledore thinking?

“What’s Dumbledore got you doing, mate?” Ron asked. Looking at the redhead, Ron obviously wasn’t thrilled with his detention either.

“Malfoy and I are doing it together with Snape,” Harry grumbled. “You?”

“I’m with Goyle and we have to report to McGonagall,” Ron said despondently. “Why would he have us do joint detentions with the Slytherins?” He cast a glare at the Slytherin table.

“To teach you how to get along and work together, Ronald,” Hermione said, sounding irritated. “You all acted like children.”

Ron turned his glare on her. “Didn’t see you out there trying to stop the bastards from breaking all the rules and beating the hell out of us.”

“You retaliated in the same way rather than being mature and taking the high ground,” Hermione said.

“Were you watching the same match we were playing?” Ron said, dumbfounded. “There was no high ground to take, in case you hadn’t noticed, princess.” 

Hermione threw him an angry, hurt look before getting to her feet and storming from the Hall. Ron clenched his teeth before slamming his fork down onto the table. Harry jumped at the sound.

“See you later,” Ron said before also stalking out of the Hall.

Harry shook his head and pushed his plate away.

Harry walked into the headmaster’s office and took a seat. He waited to feel the odd chill he had felt the other day in the Great Hall when he had met Dumbledore’s eyes, but, this time, there was nothing. Even the strange look he thought he’d seen in the man’s eyes after the Quidditch match wasn’t there. It was just the same sparkling blue eyes he’d seen on the man for the last five years. Maybe he had imagined the chill and the expression. Maybe he had just imagined everything.

“How are you feeling tonight, my boy?” Dumbledore asked. Harry knew he was referring to the Quidditch match and his scheduled detention the next day.

“I’m alright, sir,” Harry said, not really sure how he felt.

Dumbledore gazed at Harry over his half-moon glasses. “I trust I do not have to repeat my disappointment in your behaviour or tell you my expectation that something like this will never happen again.”

“No, sir, you don’t, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Good. You know better and the other students look up to you, so you must set an example.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “Shall we begin?”

Harry nodded and got up to stand by the Pensieve, watching Dumbledore retrieve a memory from the glass cabinet. He looked at Dumbledore expectantly as the headmaster joined him at the Pensieve.

“Tonight, I am going to show you one of my memories,” Dumbledore said. “This is the first time I met Voldemort when he was a young boy named Tom Riddle.”

Harry was surprised Dumbledore knew Voldemort before he came to Hogwarts. He watched Dumbledore pour the memory into the Pensieve. He quickly entered the memory, finding himself standing at a doorway with the Dumbledore he knew and a younger version.

He gazed around, taking in the large, dark building and the huge fence in the distance that seemed to surround the property. He turned to the building and saw the plaque attached to the wall beside the doors.

Wool’s Orphanage, it read.

The door opened, revealing a stern-looking woman of about sixty-five. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun and she wore a conservative green dress buttoned at the shoulder.

“Mr. Dumbledore, I presume?” she said.

Dumbledore inclined his head, tipping his hat slightly. “Indeed. Mrs. Cole, correct?”

She nodded and stepped back, opening the door fully and waving Dumbledore inside. They followed the two inside and followed as they walked slowly through the orphanage.

“How can I help you, Mr. Dumbledore? You were not specific in your visitation request,” Mrs. Cole asked, clasping her hands in front of her as they walked.

“I am headmaster of a school for special children and I believe one of your charges would do quite well there,” Dumbledore explained vaguely.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Cole said, humming. “I’m afraid you may have come to the wrong orphanage. None of our children are particularly remarkable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the cold, uncaring way Mrs. Cole talked about the orphaned children she was responsible for. This was the type of place his aunt and uncle always threatened him with growing up.

“Well, I think I’d like to determine that for myself,” Dumbledore said.

“Very well,” Mrs. Cole sighed. “Who would you like to evaluate?”

“What can you tell me about Tom Riddle?”

Mrs. Cole’s face tightened and she stopped their walk. She turned to him with a frown.

“Tom is a strange and troubled boy. He always has been. I don’t think he would be a good fit for your school,” she told him.

“Could you tell me about him?” Dumbledore pressed.

Mrs. Cole pursed her lips, clearly debating if she wanted to talk about Tom Riddle or not. Finally, she sighed again and stared at Dumbledore with hard eyes.

“Tom has been with us since he was born. He was born here. His mother came to us in labour. It was a difficult birth, one she, sadly, did not survive. She lived long enough to tell us his name,” Mrs. Cole explained. “Strange things happen around Tom and he does terrible things.”

“Such as?”

“He torments the other children, bullies then in horrible ways,” Mrs. Cole said. “Several years ago, he killed another child’s poor pet rabbit. Horrible what he did to the poor creature.”

“I’m sure,” Dumbledore said sympathetically.

“A couple of years ago, we took the children on a trip not far away. Tom went to a cave with a couple other boys. We don’t know what he did to them, they won’t speak of it, but they have never been the same since that day,” Mrs. Cole continued. “He frightens the children, Mr. Dumbledore, and he harms them. He’s got this frightening language as well, full of hissing. Created it himself, I imagine. He even frightens me, I’m afraid.”

“I understand how difficult it has probably been for you to care for such a troubled child. You have done well in caring for him,” Dumbledore said. “I believe my school could help young Tom and you.”

“Even if that’s so, the boy has no family and no way to afford such education,” Mrs. Cole said.

“Not to worry,” Dumbledore said. “We have a wonderful scholarship program for students like Tom. There would be no need to worry about costs. Tom would spend the school year at the school, but you would have to allow him back here in the summer months.”

Mrs. Cole hummed, obviously thinking.

“Might I meet Tom while you consider my offer?” Dumbledore requested.

“Yes, I suppose. This way,” Mrs. Cole said and led Dumbledore down a corridor. She stopped at a door and knocked. “Tom, you have a visitor,” she said as she pushed the door open.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. “If we could have a moment alone?”

Mrs. Cole gave a tight nod before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Dumbledore sat in the chair by the door and looked at the child that was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Harry finally looked away from the young Dumbledore and let his eyes fall on the child version of the madman he had been fighting the last few years of his life. He searched for the dark wizard he knew inside this young boy. Tom had short, dark brown hair, pale skin, and dark eyes. His face was twisted into an expression of eternal anger, hatred, and distrust even at only eleven years old. The boy’s eyes were glued to Dumbledore.

“Hello, Tom,” Dumbledore said gently.

“Are you from the hospital?” Tom asked tensely.

“No, I am not a doctor.”

“You’re not here to take me away to the asylum?” Tom said.

“No, I am not.”

“They think I’m crazy,” Tom said. “I’m not crazy.”

“I know you’re not, Tom. You’re special,” Dumbledore said and Tom’s eyes narrowed. He had clearly never heard anything resembling a compliment before. “I’m like you, Tom, and that’s why I’m here.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed further, suspicious. “Who are you?”

“My name is Professor Dumbledore. I teach at a school for children like you. It’s a school of magic.”

“Prove it,” Tom spat.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, the wardrobe to Dumbledore’s left was suddenly engulfed in flames. Tom’s eyes grew wide. After a few seconds, they began to hear a loud rattling from inside the wardrobe.

“It would seem there is something in your wardrobe that wants out, something that does not belong to you,” Dumbledore said calmly.

Tom stood and slowly walked over to the wardrobe. The flames moved away from the doors, allowing Tom to open them. He pulled a tin from the top shelf and opened it, dumping the contents onto his bed.

“I can teach you how to do that,” Dumbledore said as the wardrobe extinguished itself with no damage done. “I can teach you many things, but we do not tolerate theft or the harming of others at Hogwarts.”

Tom looked up at him.

“What kinds of things can you do, Tom?”

“I can make them hurt if I want, just by thinking about it. I can make them do anything I want,” Tom said, emotionless. “I can also talk to snakes. Can everyone like us do that?”

Dumbledore gave him a steady gaze. “No, that is a very special gift. At Hogwarts, you can discover all your gifts and learn to control them. You can become a great wizard.”

Tom stared at Dumbledore, but before he could respond, Harry and Dumbledore left the memory and returned to Dumbledore’s office. They retook their seats.

“Did you know?” Harry asked.

“Who he could become?” Dumbledore said and Harry nodded. “No, I didn’t, though perhaps I should have. He was clearly troubled and powerful and drawn to dark magic, but I hoped I could help him onto a better path. Naivety, on my part.”

“What happened to cause Merope to end up there, alone and dying? How did she die?”

“After some time, Merope convinced herself that Tom Riddle truly loved her, so she stopped giving him the love potion. She was incorrect in her assumption, and he rejected her. When she told him she was pregnant, he attempted to flee. She erased his memory and returned home as we discussed last time.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Merope.

“Unable to handle all the rejection and abuse, she stopped using her magic. Her shame destroyed her and she came to fear and hate her magic,” Dumbledore continued to explain. “This fear and hatred turned inwards and her magical core began to diminish.”

“That can happen?” Harry said, shocked, and Dumbledore nodded.

“Merope decided she couldn’t bear to have Tom Riddle’s child, so she went to an orphanage. She could have saved herself if she had used her magic,” Dumbledore said. “However, she had already given up on everything by that point. She couldn’t bear to live, not even for her son.”

Now Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for Voldemort. He had a father that hated him and his mother for what they were, and then ultimately had no knowledge of their existence. Then, he had a mother that didn’t love him and couldn’t even stay alive for him. He was left with a name and nothing more.

Was abandonment, abuse, and loneliness what it took for Voldemort to become such a dark wizard? Could it be so easy for him to follow the same path considering his life with the Dursleys? There had been an anger inside him all his life and, with all he’d been feeling that year, like in Defense that day. Maybe he was already heading in that direction.

“Of course, this was my first time meeting Tom, but there is another reason I wanted to show you this memory,” Dumbledore said. “You noticed his trophies from the children he had hurt at the orphanage.”

Harry nodded, curious why that was important.

“While it hasn’t been until recently that I understood, this was an early indication of Tom’s collecting obsession. Tom desired connection and belonging and possession. Later in his life, he would come to desire very special objects.”

“Like what?”

“Another time,” Dumbledore said and Harry frowned, disappointed. “I think it’s time you returned to bed.”

Harry wanted to argue, but he also knew Dumbledore wouldn’t change his mind, so he said good night and returned to the Tower. He stayed up with Ron and Hermione until late, telling them everything about that night’s memory and discussion.

“There will be no talking outside your task. Potter, you will count and, Malfoy, you will record,” Snape instructed. “When you are finished, come see me for your next task. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry and Malfoy said in unison. They glared at each other as though speaking at the same time was the greatest of offences.

“Go,” Snape said, waving them off. “And, Potter.”

Harry turned to face him.

“Do try not to break anything. You will not like my response if you do.”

Harry glowered at the insinuation he couldn’t do the simple task of counting ingredients without causing damage. Without responding, he turned back around and followed Malfoy to the ingredient storeroom. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars and tins and boxes. As Malfoy sat at the small desk on the stool and pulled out a leather-bound notebook, Harry pushed the rolling ladder so he could start at the very top left.

“Let’s go, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “Ingredient, quantity, and oldest dated one.”

Harry climbed the ladder and looked at the label on the front jar. “Asphodel, whole flower.” He quickly counted the jars. “Twelve.” He dug through the jars to double-check the dates, confirming the oldest was at the very front as it should be. “August tenth, nineteen ninety-six.”

Once he heard the quill stop scratching, he moved onto the next ingredient, sat in vials. “Amber, liquid. Twenty-four. January eighteenth, nineteen ninety-six.”

And so they continued on through all of the ingredients. Besides Harry reading off information, neither of them spoke. The work was uncomfortable. He was tense and stiff the entire time, especially considering he was on a ladder with his back to the Slytherin. After a little over an hour, they finished and left the storeroom. They stood in front of Snape at his desk.

“You have completed the inventory?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir,” they said together again.

“For the remainder of your detention, you will be preparing and preserving ingredients,” Snape said and gestured for them to go to desks that were covered in ingredients and storage containers.

Harry looked at the supplies in surprise. Snape was trusting him to properly prepare ingredients?

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Given your complete inability to do basic preparation techniques, you will be completing the preservation step. Surely even you can find and pour the correct liquid when spelled out for you.”

Harry clenched his teeth and glared deeply at the professor’s insults.

“Instructions for each ingredient is on the desk. Follow them exactly,” Snape said. “Mr. Malfoy, when you complete an ingredient, pass it to Potter for preservation.”

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy said.

“Get to work.”

Snape returned to his desk and Harry looked down at the materials on the desk. There were a few larger jars of preservation liquids, a variety of bottles, jars, and vials, a couple piles of ingredients that didn’t require prior preparation before preservation, and instructions on how to preserve each ingredient he would eventually receive.

He blew out a breath to release at least some of the anger he felt at Snape’s words and read how to preserve rattlesnake rattles. The longer he worked, the calmer he felt which wasn’t anything he had ever felt when it came to anything related to Potions. Preservation was proving to be quite simple. All he had to do was measure the correct amount of the required liquids, mix them together, and then add the proper amount of the ingredient being preserved. It was a relaxing task. It also helped that he didn’t have Snape breathing down his neck or Slytherins trying to make his potion explode.

He was in the middle of carefully pouring one of the fluids into a narrow vial when his elbow was bumped by Malfoy dropping the next ingredient on his table. He gasped as the bump made him knock over the vial, spilling the liquid inside it. He cursed and put his measuring cup with the remaining liquid down to prevent more spillage.

“Potter!” Snape shouted, making him jump. “Are you truly this much of an idiot?”

Harry stuttered, glancing at Malfoy. His eyes hardened at the smirk on the blonde’s face. He had done it on purpose! “Sir, it wasn’t my fault. Malfoy, he—”

“Take some responsibility for once in your life, Potter, and just admit even this simple task is beyond what your infantile brain is capable of.”

Harry felt his body grow hot and he clenched his fists so tight his nails cut into his palms.

“As you have proven incapable and untrustworthy to handle these ingredients, detention is over,” Snape said. “Both of you, get out.”

“But, sir, I—”

“Get out!” Snape growled, grabbing Harry’s shoulder and shoving him roughly towards the door.

A sharp pain pierced his skull, making him wince.

“You have improved,” a whisper of Snape’s voice said as he looked down at the cauldron in front of a younger version of himself.

With another sharp pain, the vision was gone before he could even try to understand what he saw. Putting a hand to his head in pain, he stumbled out of the classroom. He leaned on the wall directly beside the door, hoping his new headache would disappear.

He jumped and glared when Malfoy shoulder-checked him as he walked by. The Slytherin was still smirking as he walked away, Harry’s eyes burning into the back of his blonde head.

Harry shook his head and left the dungeons, making his way to the Great Hall for an early dinner.

Harry blinked as the bright light blinded him for a moment. When it dimmed, he looked around and found nothing but white. He frowned. He turned slowly, hoping to spot something in the never-ending white abyss. 

He paused when he felt another presence join him. He tensed and turned, watching the figure come towards him. He furrowed his eyebrows as she came into view. She was regal. She had long, flowing brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She was tall and slender. She was in a dress that resembled a saree, but with less traditional beading and intricacies, and it only had a layer that wrapped around her waist and was pinned to her right shoulder, allowing it to drape down her side. It was a deep, royal purple with gold trim. Short strings of gold and silver beads were sewn along the neckline and hung down on her chest. She was wearing a necklace, a pendant on a silver chain. He couldn’t make out the pendant’s design, but he did see the glittering of four coloured gems: red, blue, green, and yellow. 

He frowned at her again as she came to a stop a short distance in front of him, clasping her hands together. She gave him a gentle, warm smile. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked. 

The woman just smiled as a breeze from nowhere picked up, gently blowing her hair around her face. 

“Who are you?” he asked again, but, again, the woman responded only with a smile. 

He was about to demand a response when he was pulled away and landed in an entirely new scene. His eyes darted around, taking in the different environment before he was suddenly moving out of his control. He was in front of a large house made of brick with dark blue double doors and stained glass windows. He walked up to the doors, raised his hand with his wand, and blew the doors open. 

A scream came from inside and he was met by an older woman when he was only a few steps inside. She appeared to be in her forties with fair skin, high cheekbones, and thin lips. She had red hair in ringlets pinned back to they sat on the back of her neck. She looked very familiar to him, but he didn’t have much more time to contemplate as he, once again, raised his wand at her. 

“You…” was all the woman could said before the more than familiar green light left his wand and hit her in the chest. 

He screamed in his mind as all light left her eyes and she fell to the ground, wishing he could scream aloud and get some help. 

He didn’t want this!

Harry flew up in bed, breathing hard and sweat pouring down his face. His scar burned. He hadn’t had visions since the one last year that led him to the Ministry and Sirius’ death. He thought that part of his connection with Voldemort had been blocked by Voldemort. That’s what Dumbledore had theorized. Voldemort had been harmed or frightened by Harry’s power during the possession and would block Harry from his mind to avoid anything like that again. Voldemort feared Harry gaining control of their connection.

So, what had changed? Why did he get this vision now? Was Voldemort weaker or losing control somehow? It didn’t seem possible. There had to be a reason, something else going on.

Voldemort could be building to something and he wanted Harry to see it.