𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 || H.P

𝟒𝟓

Harry POV;

Anger.

Rage.

Just the thought of Alicia being with Zabini put him off.

But her lips felt so good on his, her hands around his waist, and he knew she would find a way to calm him.

He wanted to show her more.

He wanted to erase all the misinformation she was taught as a child.

He needed to talk about the prophecies--both of them.

He wanted to talk about everything Dumbledore has showed him.

But he knew that if he did, the smile on her face would only grow dimmer.

Anger.

Rage.
-

Harry's eyes lingered on Malfoy's spot on the map for quite some time.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" I questioned, confused as to why the open corridor was needed.

He folded up the pamphlet and muttered, "mischief managed."

The map disappeared and all that was left was the original blank parchment.

"This was to make sure nobody sees us." He stated walking, and I followed.

Thankfully, we were headed in the complete opposite direction of the Slytherin common room.
-

"Lemon drop." The gargoyle spun to reveal a spiraled staircase.

"Dumbledores office?" I was slightly behind Harry. "He's still up?"

"He always is," Harry replied. "It's sort of creepy, really."

You would expect the headmasters office to be straightened and clean, but it was rather cluttered if anything. In a strangely organized manner, of course. There were too many desk objects to count, but they weren't in any sort of disarray. The bookshelves ran high up to the ceiling, and though the light was turned on, the former headmaster portraits slept peacefully above. A phoenix slept in a small cage as well.

Dumbledore turned towards us in his chair. Similar to an evil villain in one of those muggle movies. "Ah, Harry, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry examined the room as if he'd never been here before. Hesitant. A glass ornament hanging on a tree. "I was wondering if you could show me- er- us one of the memories?"

Whose memories?

The professors eyes flickered to me. "Miss Shallow," he greeted.

I smiled nervously in return.

Harry started again, "I know it is out of conduct, but I think it may help."

Dumbledore stayed emotionless. "Harry, with the situation you bear, I'm afraid it is too delicate-"

"Please, professor, trust me."

Dumbledore studied us, mostly me, for a while. He was much too difficult to read. "Miss Shallow, do you know the meaning of defiance?"

What the- "Sorry?"

The one who defied.

If he had known all this time, why bother Harry to seek the information from me?

The professors lips twitched, almost the slightest smile appearing on his face. "I'm sure you are familiar with pensieves?"
-

Professor Slughorn sat at Dumbledores desk. His wrinkles were prominent. The memory couldn't have been from over a year ago.

Dumbledore walked right through me as if I was a ghost. He sat across from Slughorn. "Alicia Shallow needs a potions tutor."

The potions professor was baffled. "Alicia Shallow?"

Dumbledores face stayed stricken. Slughorn's hands quivered. "Sir- Miss Shallow's marks are impeccable!"

The headmaster nodded solemnly. "She has powerful ambitions, it's true. I assume Harry Potter can take care of the job?"

It was like Slughorns words meant nothing to him.

"Sir!"

"He is excelling in your classroom, is he not?"

"I suppose he is," Slughorn squeaked.

"Well, then, a little fib never hurt."

The vision started to rewind backwards faster than I could process.

My marks were impeccable?

Time ran faster and faster until the atmosphere felt thicker and looked older. I recognized it as the Hogwarts courtyard.

Kids were spread apart, laughing and talking in their respective groups. One boy, however, sat alone in his green, Slytherin uniform, with his nose stuck in a book.

The boy had black hair, and his features were quite pointed. Mysterious as such, he looked to be in his sixth or seventh year. The book in his hands had a small engraving on the lower end on the cover.

It read, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

And so the boys name was Tom Riddle, I supposed. He looked better with a nose.

He was in deep concern with the words sketched into his book. Constantly looking over and crossing out letters. What an odd hobby— a spelling test with his own name.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.

I AM-

I AM OLD-

I AM LORD-

"Tom!"

He snapped the book shut, but not before I could peek inside.

'I am Lord Voldemort.'

Tom Riddle groaned as a black haired girl ran up to him. "Bugger off, Cicely."

Cicely.

The name sounded terribly familiar. But not even that; her voice was the thing that threw me off.

Delicate. Haunting.

"Oh, Tom! We're going to be late-"

Cicely's words cut off and she went notably stiff. Eyes wide as if a spell had been cast upon her, shooting daggers into the boy beside her. Her lips quivered open like an envelope with an old seal.

Gripping onto the shoulders of Tom Riddle, the words that came out of her mouth were some I never thought, nor did I ever want to hear again.

"Her soul lies with the good! Her fate contradicts her given name—Alicia Shallow—she will be the one with the answer! She will be the one who defied."