Chapter 30: Who Touched My Memories?
Slughorn beamed amicably at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"
"Not exactly, sir," Tom said truthfully, for once. "I came across the term for reading and didn't really understand it. Well – I do – but I'm not sure how it works – like the whole eye-contact thing – because you can't really see it like you see a spell, can you? But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously – I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could – so I just thought I'd ask."
"Well," Slughorn puffed out his chest proudly, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Right now you're still a bit young to be attempting it, but come back to me in a few years and I'll be perfectly happy to teach you."
That was easy.
Dammit, Tom!
"Really? You'd do that?" Tom asked.
"Well, certainly. Very few people are capable of it – but if anyone might be able, it would be a boy like you, Tom, and I certainly wouldn't want to deny you any potential skill just because you couldn't find a proper teacher even though he was sitting right in front of you!"
"Why, even your own Professor Merrythought isn't an Occlumens – in fact, I think Professor Dumbledore and I are the only teachers in Hogwarts who are well-versed enough in the subject. And I'm sure a few other members of the noble families pass it down from heir to heir. But, well, he's the Gryffindor Head, so let's just keep this something between you and me, shall we?" Slughorn winked at him.
Once again: that was too easy.
Once again: God-effing-dammit, Tom!
"Thank you so much, Professor Slughorn!" Tom gushed.
"Oh, no problem, m'boy. You might be a bit young, but…hmmm…I might have some materials lying around for preparatory Occlumens…" Slughorn heaved himself from his chair and started rifling through the backs of his shelves. "Ah, here they are! Well, just take these for now, and come back and remind me about this in your fourth or fifth year – or whenver you feel ready. It might be earlier, because you're starting so early, but what can I say. Initiative is key!"
"Thank you so much, sir."
"Oh, you are welcome, Tom."
I told you I got it.
I know, dammit.
We are so good at this.
Tom ended up finishing all of Professor Slughorn's materials before finals week had even come, but ended up deciding to wait until at least after the summer to return for practical lessons.
He knew that Professor Slughorn, despite his exuberant nature, knew how to keep a secret. (He had the backup line all planned out, too – "Oh, and Professor…do you think you can keep this a secret between us? I'm not trying to be – elitist, or whatever. It's just that – well, if the other kids found out I was getting private lessons from you, they might be jealous. Or even the other teachers, because they might accidentally mention it to the parents, and that might lead to some troubles for us. And I don't want that.")
To be honest, he would have loved dearly to start early, but there was simply so little time left at Hogwarts that he decided he might as well wait until he had a continuous period of time to start.
Also, he was doing his best to perfect his Memory Charms, in the event that Slughorn might accidentally stumble across Jerry during their lessons. Because, if Jerry was discovered, then it would be very bad.
Materials on Legilimency and Occlumency were scarce enough to begin with, and none of them ever said anything about what would happen in regards to a split personality.
There was a chance that Jerry wouldn't show up on Professor Slughorn's radar at all, since he wasn't exactly a visible or tangible memory – but neither Tom nor Jerry wanted to take that chance. Proper Legilimens could sense thoughts, too, and Jerry was full of those.
I think I'll just keep quiet.
Yes, that might be for the best.
Well, you seem awfully happy at that prospect.
Do I?
You're a terrible human being.
YOU'RE the one who thinks it's funny to memory-wipe random people!
One, you find it funny, too, and two, it's not "random" people, just Lestrange.
Yeah, well, you were the one who came up with that idea.
Pot and kettle, Tom. Pot and kettle.
I'm not trying to be morally upstanding; I'm just trying to drag you down to my level. Not that you need the help.
Please, it's not like he remembers!
I suppose that's true. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.
That is very true.
What he doesn't know…
Hmmm?
Wait.
What?
Jerry. Ummm…if you've been mind-wiped, how would you know if you've been mind-wiped?
Well, that's the thing. You don't. That's sort of the point of erasing someone's memory.
Okay. Listen. Um. I know we're learning to protect our own minds now, but…how do you know we haven't been mind-wiped BEFORE all this?
Ummm…oh. Shoot.
It's a conspiracy!
Okay. Shit. Do we have any Remembralls?
But they don't tell you what you've forgotten.
You have an eidetic memory. Any red glow is bad.
Do you think we're overreacting?
…Nah.
Though the odds were very highly in his favor, that didn't make him any less paranoid. He could be attacked from the back at any moment, and…
Unlikely, at your age, but you're right. It's a precaution we must take.
How do you even tell if you're mind-wiped?
You're in a better position than most, since you've got an eidetic memory. So if they do a bad job, like most will do, because they won't bother to fill in your missing memories with something else that makes sense, then there will probably be this weird, unexplainable gap in your mental timeline.
And how do you suggest we retrieve those missing memories? They could be ANYWHERE! In any combination of fragments!
Look, why don't we just get to the Room of Requirement and ask for a Remembrall and see how it goes, all right?
Fine, Tom thought, abandoning everything else and sprinting as fast as he could to the seventh floor.
As always, the Room of Requirement went completely overboard and produced an entire shelf of Remembralls rather than just the one that Tom needed.
Grabbing onto the one closest to him, Tom held it up to his face, heart pounding away in anticipation.
He needed to know the answer.
Look, chances are, we're just completely overreacting, and everything will be fine.
Of course. There's no way anyone would bother screwing with the mind of an eleven-year-old orphan, right?
We're totally fine!
Of course we are!
The smoke shifted.
And then Tom was staring at the cloud of red smoke in abject horror.
...
...
...
At that point, there was only one thing Tom could say to properly voice his feelings.
"FFUUUUUUCC– "
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