Metanoia~ Tom Riddle

Chapter 1

September 1980

The night was young but dark and full of secrets and cold. Much like the young lady, traveling cautiously up to the Headmaster's office.

Veruca was called to Dumbledore's office to discuss some 'things', as the headmaster put it, and she was weary. Dumbledore was known to be, well, a little absurd at times, and the girl was terribly worried.

He had informed her that the discussion would not be related to her classes or O.W.L scores, at that she was relieved, greatly, but then, what was there to discuss? Dumbledore had never really taken a personal interest in Veruca or the happenings of her life, so why now? On a Saturday night, too?

She reached the large door and paused, taking a deep breath. She glanced around, paced a few feet to the left, then the right, coming to pause again in front of the door. She glanced at the watch on her wrist and sighed, it was 10:39, she was a few minutes late now. She knocked on the door and waited.

"Come in!" sounded from an elderly throat. The girl glanced around, one last time, and entered.

"Ahh, Veruca, I was beginning to think you wouldn't be coming."
The voice of Dumbledore spoke, and Veruca had trouble placing the voice to its body at first, only to find the man behind a small case of glass vials.

"Sorry professor, I took a slow walk. I like to admire the beauty of this place, it truly is enchanting at night." The girl spoke slowly, her eyes starring off into the distance.

Veruca remembered the ugly orphanage she had come from. The place smelt of rot, and the caretakers weren't really caring, ironically. She remembers first seeing Hogwarts, on the lake in a boat with three other first-years she didn't bother learning the names of.

"Yes, well, we must get down to business." The old wizard breaks her from her memories.

"I agree, what did you call me for, professor?" she asked, slightly puzzled by the vials the man was looking over.

"Well, my dear, we are going to take a trip," he pauses pulling out a vial and nodding at it, "-down memory lane."

Veruca doesn't respond, instead, she watched the man carefully. His every move elegantly made, though with a strange quirkiness to it. She only watches as he summons a Pensieve and beckons her over.

Veruca walks slowly, her graceful strides steady, and purposeful. The girl is cautious, though by now, she can't tell if she is cautious of the magical object or the magical being in front of it.

What did he have to show her? Was the memory his own? If not, who did it belong to? How did the old man come by it?

"Now, I am about to show you a memory, one I have collected over the years of my hunt to destroy Lord Voldemort."
Veruca doesn't blink at the mention of his name, something the old man takes into consideration. She would need to be unafraid of the person of the topic.

"Are you ready?" he asks. The girl glances at the Pensieve, then the substance within the vial.

"Whose memory?" she asks softly.

"My own." The old man supplies, studying the girl curiously as she runs a hand through her dark hair.

"I'm ready."

And with that, the silvery memory is poured into the Pensieve and the two lean inside.

~~~

A man in purple robes walks toward a tall building, the name written on the entrance sign makes Verrucas breath hitch in her throat. Wools Orphanage. Unwanted memories flash and behind her eyes a heat burns and licks at her dark orbs.