I hope our story has a happier ending

think we're both fucked up & that's alright

Harry and Hermione are both antsy as they approach the first private lesson with Dumbledore; Sirius is pacing in Remus's quarters, only barely having been talked out of storming the headmaster's office himself.

They go under the Invisibility Cloak's shroud, to keep from anyone else knowing; Harry's gotten taller, such that he has to crouch a bit to keep from letting his ankles show.

They'd told the others not to wait up, but knowing them they're all anxiously awaiting an update about whatever the hell Dumbledore wants to teach them in the RoR.The password is "cockroach clusters", which Dumbledore likely thinks is whimsy and relatable but makes Hermione's lip curl with distaste.

(Pretending to be so lighthearted and friendly as he willfully endangers and harms everyone around him, takes children's lives into his hands and watches silently as they pay the price for his mistakes.)

He's sitting at the desk, of course, smiling like he's thrilled to see them. His injured hand is mostly concealed beneath flowing robes, and Harry and Hermione have grown so used to seeing it at meals and throughout the castle that they don't pay much attention.

"Good evening Miss Granger, Harry."

Hermione narrows her eyes at how familiar he is with her brother, the way he assumes they're on the same side. Her eyes are carefully scanning the room; trinkets, a currently empty phoenix perch, empty frames of paintings whose residents have all coalesced in one spot, whispering amongst themselves. He has a bookshelf along the wall, but the shelves house magical artifacts and tools, sneakscopes and Gryffindor's sword and the like—interesting, that someone who claims to be such a scholar doesn't keep a single volume within reach.

(Or if he does, and they're not visible—why hide them?)

Dumbledore gestures for them to sit, and they do. "How are you both enjoying your NEWT courses?"

Forcing a smile, Hermione nods, the way she knows everyone expects from her. "They're perfect, Professor."

"And for you, Harry?"

As he mumbles something about everything being fine and liking Slughorn, Hermione's attention is drawn to the desk; discarded envelopes, a quill, a bowl of lemon drops, a ring.

(A ring cracked down the middle, some kind of engraving she can't see marred by the break.)

(It holds her attention, for reasons she can't understand.)

"Our lessons this term will involve a great deal of looking into who Voldemort is in order to defeat him. In doing so, will be delving into who Tom Riddle was, and how he became the person he is now."

She and Harry both nod, and Dumbledore rises, walking to the opposite side of the room, where he opens a cupboard to reveal a sole pewter basin.

"A pensive!" Harry exclaims, earning a confused look from Hermione. He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. "Neville has one in our dorm. Uses it to watch the memories of his parents from Dad and Moony sometimes."

They turn their attention back to Dumbledore, approaching the pensive curiously.

"Today we'll be looking at my own memories—those of when I first met young Tom Riddle, prior to his time at Hogwarts." His expression is grim. "Pay attention to his characteristics, his strengths and weaknesses, his motives. They will be crucial for understanding how he has achieved all that he has, how he has immortalized himself, how we can win this war."

At the mention of immortality, Harry and Hermione exchange a look; both thinking of the horcruxes, but knowing better than to bring them up in front of him.