Annabeth has her second lesson with Dumbledore.

Chapter Rating: General and Up Audiences

Content Warning: None

Word Count: 4422

And all the characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, or Rick Riordan.

When Annabeth woke up Tuesday morning, she found a note sitting on her nightstand.

Come at 8 PM.

It had to be Dumbledore. Annabeth hid the note under her pillow while she dressed; then, after making sure her sword wasn't bulging, slipped the parchment into her pocket.

As usual, Cho was still fast asleep, despite breakfast starting in less than a half-hour. No one else was in the dorm, meaning Marietta and the others were already at breakfast. After getting her groaning friend out of bed, Annabeth decided to wait for Cho in the common room. That way, she wouldn't have to hear her complain about the evils of the dawn.

A few students read, chatted, or studied by the tower's windows. Their quiet murmurs, plus the lazy, morning sun, gave the Ravenclaw common room a peaceful, cozy glow. It was the perfect atmosphere for Annabeth's racing thoughts.

Her mind drifted back to the Gaunts, the locket, and the ring. That was normal; ever since she'd seen that memory she hadn't been able to stop analyzing it. The two possible horcruxes excited her; the quest was going somewhere, and it was her doing. She spent most of her time outside class thinking up where the locket and ring were, and how to get there. The possible curses Riddle cooked up, other factors that might come into play... this was where she excelled.

She took out the letter again and read the three words once more, with fervor. Despite her dyslexia, she could read that much pretty well. She also noticed the hidden message in the text, come at 8 PM, and don't let Umbridge know where you're going. With the appointment of a 'High Inquisitor', Annabeth had feared her lessons with Dumbledore might stop, but the letter proved her wrong.

Finally, Cho emerged from the dorms, yawning. They didn't have much of a conversation on their way to breakfast, Cho being half asleep and all. Once they reached the Great Hall, Annabeth scanned the room for her friends. "I need to find Percy and Nico; I'll be right back."

Cho gave her a tired, annoyed look. "You dragged me out of bed just to leave me? What kind of sense does that make?" Annabeth couldn't help but laugh; Cho looked a little like a zombie. She was definitely not a morning person.

"I see Marietta over there. I'll be right back, I promise." Again, she scanned the Gryffindor table, but saw no sign of Percy. She did, however, notice Harry Potter glaring at the Slytherins. Following his gaze, she located Percy with Nico, side by side at the table. The two were talking and messing around like brothers, or, in this case, cousins.

Thank the gods for predictability.

Annabeth walked over, giving them an incredulous look when she realized what they were doing. "You guys finished throwing waffles at each other?"

"Way to break up the fun," Percy pouted, but Annabeth didn't take the bait. She pulled the note from her pocket instead, showing it to them. Percy pulled himself together pretty quickly. "Is that another lesson?"

"Shh!" Nico whispered. His eyes darted to Umbridge, sitting a little too close for comfort at the staff's table.

"Sorry!" Percy whispered back. "So, eight?"

"Yeah, if you guys want to stalk me again," Annabeth confirmed. "Nico, scoot over, so I can sit." She sat down on the bench, sandwiched her body between them, then produced a piece of waffle from Percy's hair. "Boys are disgusting."

"Part of our charm," Nico said, a sarcastic smile on his face.

"You'd know," Percy teased. They all laughed, even though Nico didn't look like he found it all that funny. Not in an 'I'm offended, stop,' kind of way, but in a 'that reminds me of something I'm hiding' kind of way. Percy didn't seem to notice, but Annabeth tended to pick up on that kind of thing a little bit more. Not the same way Piper did, but she had more street smarts than the Seaweed Brain. She didn't say anything about Nico's behavior, though. He tended to keep his cards close to his chest, and Annabeth saw nothing wrong with that. If whatever it was became important, he'd tell them in a second. If not, well, he had a right to privacy.

The day passed in a blur; one minute she sat in Arithmancy with Percy, the next she found herself seated beside Cho at dinner. In the blink of an eye, she stood at the gargoyle, a nearby clock signaling it was seven minutes to eight. According to Nico, Umbridge was currently giving detention to Harry Potter. That calmed Annabeth's nerves; she had little chance of getting caught by a proctoring teacher.

With mountains of homework each, neither Percy nor Nico were able to wait for her like last time. Annabeth was glad that was the case; in fact, she thought it was best. It would be weird for someone to see them hanging outside the headmaster's office for so long, and would look suspicious to passing teachers or students. If rumors circled back to Umbridge, the lessons would become too dangerous to continue. They couldn't get caught by the Ministry, who were doing everything in their power to convince Britain that Riddle was dead. It would just add more knots to an already tangled rope.

At five minutes to eight, Annabeth opened the door with the magic password. The noise of the moving staircase made Dumbledore look up from his desk work, so he was able to meet her eye by the time she appeared in the stone archway.

"Ah, Miss Chase." Dumbledore motioned for her to sit. "Come in, come in." She sat down, her reserve from the previous lesson gone. Dumbledore began at once. "You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London? Couldn't she have been anywhere in the UK at that point?" Annabeth interjected.

"I know she was indeed in London, because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke." Dumbledore poured a new memory into the Pensieve, revealing an old man's face in the spinning, liquid moonlight.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances." Burke's slithering voice rose from the Pensive. In his hand, he held Slytherin's locket. "It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore shook the Pensieve, and Burke disappeared.

Annabeth stared in disbelief at the now empty bowl. Again, her feelings of protection over Merope rose like bile in her throat. "I'm not great with wizarding money, but, ten galleons doesn't sound like a lot. Especially for a priceless artifact." All of Annabeth's self-control couldn't keep the shortness from her voice.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," Dumbledore replied. He didn't mention her tone. "So, we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London, and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms."

"But, she could do magic!"Annabeth cried. "She could have got food and everything for herself that way, couldn't she?"

"Ah. Perhaps she could. But it is my belief--I am guessing again, but, I am sure I am right--that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers, that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"But... she was pregnant. She was going to have a baby boy. A child that needed her!" Annabeth thought of her own parent: her father. Athena, though she was a wise and powerful goddess, wasn't exactly a maternal figure to Annabeth. But her dad... he'd gunned down an army of monsters for her. He'd risked his life to save her, even after she'd run away twice, no doubt hurting him pretty badly. Why couldn't Merope just live so her son could have a mother?

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"

"No." The word came out a little too quickly for Annabeth's own liking.

"Do not judge her too harshly, Miss Chase. She was greatly weakened by long suffering, and she never had much courage. And now, if you will stand."

"Whose memory are we going to today?"

"This time, we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you..."

Annabeth bent over the Pensieve, plunged her face into the cool surface of the memory, then fell through a familiar darkness...

Seconds later, her feet hit pavement. She opened her eyes and looked around; the scene was something straight out of Dickens. Grey, cobblestone roads meandered around brownstone buildings, the tallest of which was four stories at best. While Annabeth could see one or two old-fashioned automobiles, horse-drawn carts easily outnumbered them. People in dark coats and hats bustled on the city streets, the attire bearing a striking resemblance to her father's World War II photographs. Since Annabeth didn't see any "Keep Calm and Carry On" posters, or any other hallmarks of the London Blitz, she assumed it was the late 1930's.

"There I am." Dumbledore pointed in front of him, drawing Annabeth's attention to a tall figure crossing the cobblestone.

This Dumbledore looked decades younger. His hair, though still the same length, was a more auburn color. He hadn't yet received the many wrinkles on his face, minus a few laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes were more energetic and vibrant, his whole body moved with the energy of a younger man. He looked in his mid 50's, though Annabeth still picked up on the air of wisdom most sensed in older men. Annabeth had long since realized that wisdom came from experience, not age, so she didn't find the presence of that aura too surprising.

Young Dumbledore walked through the streets with both speed and purpose. He kept his eyes straight in front of him, not slowing his gait for anyone or anything. That didn't stop the Londoners from staring at him, though. Annabeth couldn't blame them, because, much like Bob Ogden, Dumbledore hadn't mastered mortal clothing. He wore a thick, velvet suit the same bright, fake, grape-candy color of Mr. D's eyes. With summer sun beating down on her, Annabeth had to imagine how hot Dumbledore must've felt.

The longer they walked, the less scenic London got. By the time they reached the high, iron gates, the city looked downright repulsive. Black and rusting iron fencing surrounded a bare courtyard, with only two dying, yellow shrubs. And the square, brick buildings? While not as dirty as the Gaunt's hovel, they still needed a good power wash. Dirt clung to the faded bricks and concrete; grime covered the few windows Annabeth saw. All in all, it looked like a jail.

Dumbledore, the memory Dumbledore, walked up the dirt path to the main building, and knocked on the wooden door. An aproned girl Annabeth's age opened it.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?" Dumbledore gave a pleasant smile, which the girl didn't return.

"Oh." She regarded the suit with a stunned expression, then decided to evaluate how interesting her shoes were. "Um... just a mo'... MRS. COLE!" A distant voice shouted something in response, but Annabeth couldn't make it out. The girl turned back to the young Dumbledore. "Come in, she's on 'er way."

While useful, the conversation between Mrs. Cole and Dumbledore was pretty run of the mill. They talked a bit about Merope, and Riddle's past; how he bullied the other kids, and so on. Mrs. Cole drank herself into idle gossip, droning on and on about her charge. Only after nearly an hour of listening to the matron talk did they reach the room of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Annabeth and the two Dumbledores entered the room, Mrs. Cole closing the door as she left. Riddle's room was shabby and small, like the other parts of the orphanage Annabeth had seen. He only had three pieces of furniture: bed, wardrobe, and wooden chair. The room couldn't fit anything else, though; it was the size of a walk-in closet. A single window, small and oval shaped, let in a little sun. The single beam focused on the pale face of an eleven-year-old, reading a book on the thin sheets of his bed.

There was no resemblance to the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had gotten her dying wish; her son was a clone of his handsome father. He was tall for his age, with dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and pale but healthy skin. Even in his shabby clothes, his natural looks were enough to make him shine through.

His head rose from his book, eyes narrowed at Dumbledore's get-up. Annabeth saw reservation there, faint curiosity masked by suspicion. Riddle wanted to know what was going to happen, but, at the same time, wouldn't let himself lose any ground. There was cunning in those eyes. Intelligence. Resourcefulness.

He was the very embodiment of Slytherin himself.

"How do you do, Tom?" Dumbledore strode forward and stuck out his hand. Riddle hesitated, but took it. Then, Dumbledore grabbed the wooden chair and swung it around to Riddle's bedside. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" Riddle questioned."Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" With his finger pointed at the door, it was clear 'she' was Mrs. Cole.

"No, no." Dumbledore didn't seem bothered in the least, a pleasant and calm smile on his face.

"I don't believe you. She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

That command made Annabeth--uncomfortable, maybe? She couldn't place the emotion--though, she didn't have the faintest idea why. She wrote off the feeling; it was just her nerves acting up, seeing her new enemy for the first time.

Except, Annabeth didn't get this nervous over new enemies.

Riddle's angry eyes bore into Dumbledore, who gave no response. "Who are you?" Again, the question came out as a command.

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school--your new school, if you would like to come."

Riddle backed away from Dumbledore, furious. "You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course--well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

He's just suspicious, Annabeth.

Dumbledore didn't react. "I am not from the asylum. I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you--"

"I'd like to see them try."

Stop reading into it.

"Hogwarts is a school for people with special abilities--"

"I'm not mad!"

There's no need to work yourself up; you're just drawing conclusions where none exists.

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

Silence.

Riddle froze. His face was expressionless. Nothing moved but his eyes, which darted between Dumbledore's features. He was looking for a hint of foul play, that barest reason to believe he was being tricked or lied to.

Annabeth knew that feeling all too well.

"Magic?" Riddle's awed whisper filled the room. His whole face lit with a wild excitement, giddy with energy.

That reaction sealed the deal. No longer could Annabeth convince herself she was seeing things. Her own mind was scaring her more than any quest, any horcrux. She couldn't believe her own thoughts; they were absurd, they were repulsive. And yet...

Dumbledore nodded. "That's right."

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"

Dr. Thorn roared, transforming into a monster Annabeth recognized. "A manticore!"

"Who are you people?" Bianca demanded. "And what is that?"

"A manticore?" Nico gasped, an energized thrill clear in his words. "He's got three thousand attack power and plus five to saving throws!"

In her stupor, Annabeth heard a faint rattling sound from the wardrobe's direction. She forced herself to watch the memory again. It looked like Dumbledore had cast a spell on the wardrobe. At least, that's what Riddle's frightened expression told her.

"Open the door," Dumbledore instructed, words complete with a stern gaze. Riddle hesitated for half a second, then crossed the room, and threw open the door. On the top shelf, a small, cardboard box shook violently. "Take it out." Riddle grabbed the box off the shelf, with a certain amount of reservation. "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"

Riddle gave Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir." No hint of remorse appeared in his words.

"Open it." Riddle took off the lid, dumping the contents of the box onto his bed without a second glance. It was a bunch of everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, a worn down harmonica, and so on. Once out of the box, the objects fell still on the thin blankets. "You will return them to their owners with your apologies. I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle stared coldly at Dumbledore. The tiniest hint of anger flashed in his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have--inadvertently, I am sure--been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic--yes, there is a Ministry--will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir." Riddle replaced the objects in their box robotically. "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied." Dumbledore took a leather wallet from his pocket. Riddle grabbed it, and removed a golden Galleon, turning it over in his hands. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on second-hand, but--"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?"