How Could I Forget?

"Hotheaded brat."

Nicolas Flamel rubbed the arm Tom had knocked out of its socket, gave it a light twist, and popped it back into place, leaving Margaret beside him staring in astonishment. He rubbed the girl's head and said with a beaming smile, "Why so surprised? I still remember the first time your mother sent you to my house. You thought Potions were too bitter and headbutted my jaw out of place."

"S-sorry, Mr. Flamel." Margaret frowned, staring at Tom's fleeing back. "Do you know... what's wrong with Mr. Riddle?"

("Haha, it seems our young man is a little shy," Professor Slughorn's hearty laughter came from the crowd. Tom's escape had stirred up quite a commotion, and he soothed the crowd while rekindling the atmosphere. Amid cries of praise for "Headmaster Slughorn," he picked up a little blond girl, held her hand, and cut the first slice of cake. "To our victory, everyone, cheers!")

"I don't think his brain was damaged by the Horcrux curse. He's healthier than most people I've ever seen."

Nicolas Flamel narrowed his eyes and shook his head. He rolled his neck; the familiar robe brought him a distinctly strange discomfort. "I certainly don't remember ever working with Horace."

"What? Dragon blood?"

Margaret's confusion was drowned by thunderous cheers. She stared blankly at Tom's back as he shoved open the banquet hall doors and rushed out. As a patient who had been troubled by a Confundus Charm for nearly twenty years, the abnormality in Tom gave her a similar feeling. He was like an audience member who had barged into a play, wearing clothes out of time, completely out of place among those exaggerated sets.

Tom pushed open the doors, and the dazzling light made it impossible for him to open his eyes. London's streets bustled