All the Wrong Choices

I awoke the next morning fully rested. In fact, that was quite possibly the best night of sleep I'd had in years. I dressed for the day in a pair of khaki capri pants and a black blouse, pulling my hair into a frizzy pony tail. Despite my great night of sleep and feeling completely refreshed, I still looked exhausted. I suppose that was what happens after seventy-one years of living.

Hermione and Harry were still sound asleep in their respective bedrooms and I decided to let them sleep in. After all, it wasn't like we had formed a real plan yet – or any form of plan for that matter. The only thing Hermione and I could do, evidently, was gossip. I chuckled to myself as I sat down before the fire and picked up the days-old copy of the Daily Prophet. Maybe being around these kids wouldn't be so bad after all; I was starting to feel young again.

I was completely invested in reading the old copy of the Daily Prophet (for what was probably the fifteenth time) that I didn't even notice the flaps of the tent open until after someone stepped in. I didn't necessarily have to – one glimpse at the mop of red hair and I already knew who it was.

Ron looked over at me uneasily. I folded the newspaper in half, dropped in on the table before me, and looked back at him. His mouth bobbed open every so now and then, as if he wanted to say something but his voice box was broken. “Are Harry and Hermione still asleep?”

“Like logs.” I nodded. Ron nodded once and cleared his throat, taking a step back to the wall of the tent. I watched him curiously. What was he going to do? Shimmy against the wall to the next room? “Have a seat. I'm not going to bite.” Ron glanced at me questionably and I rolled my eyes. “Trust me. You'd have to say something much meaner than that to make me angry. Sit.”

Ron did as told, his lips pursed as he sat in the chair across from me.

“Are you hungry?” Ron nodded, and a summoned a can of vegetables before handing it to him. “Sweetened corn and carrot bits sound appetizing enough? That's mostly what I packed. I didn't know how long we would be gone for, so I went with the non-perishables.”

“I'll take anything at this point.” Ron said, giving me a small, grateful smile. He opened the can and dug in, devouring all of its contents in under two minutes, then looked at me, a mouth full of cold vegetables. “They're not bad uncooked.”

“No, not too bad.” I agreed. “Any word from your family?”

“They're a bit shaken up still,” Ron spoke, “But they're doing fine.”

“I'm glad you two have made amends.” Ron and I turned to look at Harry.

“I never had anything to make amends about,” I replied simply as Ron looked down at his feet sheepishly, “I'm seventy-one-years-old. Do you honestly think I haven't heard worse than that in my life? For Merlin's sake, I was married to Tom Riddle.”

Ron's empty can dropped to the ground, Harry's jaw following. I raised my eyebrows.

“You married Voldemort?” Ron asked in horror.

“I thought…” I glanced between the two teenagers. “I thought Dumbledore had informed you of that.” My eyes continued to dart between the boys. This was terribly awkward – trying to explain to a boy that you are the ex-wife of the man who murdered his parents.

“Dumbledore didn't go into specifics,” Harry finally said, “I just… wow. I never knew he was married.”

“We all make mistakes.” I murmured, scooting closer to the fire to warm myself.

“Professor Longwood was telling me their story last night,” a bed-headed Hermione chimed in, closing her bedroom door behind her, “Well, I prodded her to. It's quite interesting – the psychology of it all – and shocking at the same time. Will you tell me more, Professor?”

I glanced at Harry, who looked like his skin was crawling.

“Another time, Hermione. What is the plan for today?”

“I think that by… well, as awful as it sounds, by reliving some of these memories, Professor, maybe we might pick up some hints on the whereabouts of some of Voldemort's horcruxes.” Hermione spoke quickly. “As much as I enjoy a love story, I think this may be the reason Dumbledore got you all caught up in this.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look before Harry chimed in.

“Professor, uh, how long did you and Voldemort–”

“Tom, please, Harry. If you would. The latter makes me sick.”

“–er, how long did you and Tom see each other for?”

“Oh…” I murmured, racking my brain. “A solid twelve or thirteen years.”

“Thirteen years?” Ron's eyes bulged. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Oh, yes, Mister Weasley,” I spoke curtly, “Unlike today, relationships back then went the whole mile – even if said relationship includes a murderous psychopath.” This didn't stop Ron's face from flushing. “We didn't marry until we were about twenty-five, twenty-six.”

“So,” Hermione spoke, “Let's say you and Tom began dating in 1942 – does that sound correct?”

“Beginning of 1943. We met at the end of 1942.”

“Okay, 1943. And you two were together until, let's say, 1956. These dates match up pretty consistently with the timeline of horcruxes Dumbledore was talking about, right? Harry? Ron?” Hermione asked. I simply shrugged at her question.

“I suppose so.” Harry nodded, watching Hermione with furrowed eyebrows.

“Then that settles it,” Hermione nodded eagerly, “Professor, can you recount your relationship with Tom in its entirety to the best of your ability? He was creating these horcruxes while he was married to you – right beneath your nose. If you can remember anything at all…”


“Nora,” my father sat at the dining room table when I finally arrived back home, “Professor Butterworth informed me that you've scored an A on your curses exam.” My eyebrows perked up at this. This was good news!

“Really?” I asked. “Wow! That's good. I was a bit worried I had failed.”

“Good?” My father asked. “A is for Acceptable, Nora. Acceptable.”

“Curses aren't my best subject.” I murmured.

“You should be earning all E's or O's. A's are unacceptable.”

“It's… it's a passing grade…” I shrugged, trying to reason with him.

“It's disappointing.”

“I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time.”

“I suggest you do, or else you can kiss that job goodbye.”

“I will.” I waited for my father to say something more but nothing came out of his mouth. He simply went back to his paperwork and I quietly made my ascent up the stairs to my bedroom.


Sundays were always slower than Saturdays. Not by much, but they weren't total mayhem. I was thankful for this, however, as I was still a bit bummed out about the lecture I had received from my father.

Aunt Rosmerta busied herself with tidying up the pub while I tended to the patrons. I secretly hoped that Tom would pay me a visit at some point during the day, but that never happened.

I took my break around four and, after grabbing a quick pastry from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, decided to do some shopping. I did have an hour off, after all, and some extra spending money. I stopped in at Honeydukes and got myself some peppermint imps and exploding bonbons; I bought my younger sister a big bag of Drooble's best blowing gum.

I stopped in at Tomes and Scrolls next, my favorite bookstore in the entire wizarding world (I say this as I had never been to the Muggle world and thus couldn't form a fair opinion on their bookstores). But Tomes and Scrolls offered a bit of both worlds – it carried books from both Muggle and magical authors. I grabbed a copy of Beauty and the Beast and a copy of Cinderella for my sister – Elsa loved gifts from Hogsmeade as she was (at nine-years-old) not yet old enough to attend (according to our parents).

I picked myself up a used copy of Dreadful Denizens of the Deep and called it a day, not realizing just how much time I had spent in the bookstore. I cashed out quickly and jogged the five minutes back to the pub.

I should have been watching where I was going better, however, because I turned a corner quickly and skidded out in some snow – right into, as luck would have it, Tom. He barely budged from the impact but I fell to the ground, my shopping bags taking off on a mini vacation.

“Bloody hell! Nora?” Tom asked, looking down at me.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed, quickly standing up to my feet and brushing the snow off of me. My face turned beat red upon the realization that my bottom was entirely soaked. Tom bent down to collect my bags and the contents that had fallen out of them.

“Beauty and the Beast?” Tom asked, observing the book cover before wiping it off on his pant leg and putting it back into the bag. “A Muggle fairytale, isn't it?”

“You've read it?” I asked, taking the bag from Tom.

“Heard of it.”

“It's for my younger sister.” I explained.

“Where did you find that?”

“Tomes and Scrolls. They've got an entire Muggle section.”

“Ah. I've never noticed it.”

“Oh. Well, I've got to go.” I murmured, and hurried away from Tom.

I would have loved to have talked more than anything, but I was already in deep water with my father. I didn't want to earn myself a seat on Aunt Rosmerta's bad side as well.


“Nora,” Aunt Rosmerta didn't even look up, “You're late.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I fell on my way back here.”

“Are you alright?” Aunt Rosmerta asked, looking up at me sympathetically.

“I'm fine. Just a little soaked.” I made my way to the counter and placed my shopping bags in an empty cupboard, pulling my jacket, gloves, and scarf off and hanging them wherever there was room on the coat rack.

The door to the pub opened and Tom popped his head in, something registering on his face when he saw me. He quickly made his way over to me and reached into his pocket. I raised my eyebrows and waited expectantly.

“I – uh, I think you dropped these during your fall.” Out came Elsa's bag of bubblegum.

“Oh.” I glanced between Aunt Rosmerta, who was watching the entire exchange curiously from afar, and Tom, who held out the bag of bubblegum. “Uh, thank you for bringing it back.”

“I would have kept it for myself but I'm not a big fan of chewing gum.” Tom narrowed his eyes at his words, his cheeks speckling with red. “That was a joke. It came out wrong.”

“Well, regardless.” I took the bag and shoved it into the cupboard.

“Are you feeling alright, Nora?” Tom asked, an instant look of regret washing over his face. “I mean, you just seem… less obnoxious than you usually are.” I glanced over at Aunt Rosmerta. When I realized she had gone back to her cleaning, I felt more at ease talking to Tom.

“I'm feeling fine.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked.

“You don't happen to know of any tutors, do you?”

“Tutors?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “For school?”

“Yes.” I nodded eagerly.

“Well, what do you need help with?”

“I got an A on my curses exam.” I explained.

“That's good?” Tom shrugged. “Acceptable.”

“Unacceptable for my father.”

“I've maintained an E throughout the year in Dark Arts. I could help you.”

“You would do that?” I asked. Tom shrugged and nodded. “Wow, that would be great. When can we do it? I have Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays off. What works for you?” I spoke eagerly. This was great. Not only would I get my father off of my back, but I would get to spend time with Tom, too, and really get to know him.

“We could meet tomorrow at noontime.” Tom suggested.

“Okay. How about at the Hog's Head?”

“Sure.” Tom nodded. “I'll let you get back to work. See you tomorrow.”