Disclaimer: I do not own anything. The characters - except for Gwen- are all J. k. Rowlings

a/n: I'm using a time line starting from when the first book was published in 1997. So assuming that was the year Harry first went to hogwarts, then the date I have below, would be a short time before the start of the sixth book. I think that's all I had to say. Enjoy.

July, 1, 2001

The newspaper lay on the table face up, its headline bold and un-miss-able. The woman sat there, staring at it, but not really seeing it. She had hardly moved since she opened the Daily Profit almost an hour ago. She had expected it to happen. She had expected it since the moment he so called died, but to actually have it confirmed was different. That made it real, it made the pain something that wasn't just a thing of the past; it brought the pain back into the present.

The woman had a beauty that had stayed with her even as her years had added up. A beauty that age hadn't taken away. All though it had been a fair number of years since the woman had been in what you would call her prime she hardly looked it. The only signs of the years she had lived, and things she had seen were the grey streaks in her crisp brown hair, and lines around her full lips, and round, green, eyes. Time, it seemed had robbed her of so much, but it had let her keep her looks; she had no use – or want – for it.

Words and faces swirled into her head as memories she had kept boxed up broke free of their cells. Thoughts she hadn't allowed herself to think, and feelings she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years came rushing in and she couldn't put up the flood gates fast enough to stop them.

It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. She couldn't handle it if it was. She thought she had dealt with it back then, but now, now she knew she hadn't done anything but hide it all away.

Slowly, her shock left her and was replaced by a burning rage. Her hand came across the table sweeping the paper, and the news of his return, onto the floor where her cat – Iggy – promptly started clawing it into little pieces.

"Why?" She asked the room, "Why the bloody hell couldn't he just stay where he was?!"

She repeated that to herself many times, even though she knew the answer to that. She had so many whys, and that was only the tip of it. Why did he have to come back? Why couldn't he just stay died?! Of course, she knew why he wouldn't just stay died. It wasn't his way to admit defeat like that. In the end, death was probably the only thing he feared.

She played with the simple silver locket that hung around her neck. A locket she should have gotten rid of years ago, but couldn't. The tears had started; they washed away the anger and replaced it with a never ending pain. A pain she had lived with for over twenty years, and would have until the day she died.

"Why," She said quietly to the room, to herself, to him, "Why did you say you loved me, when love wasn't something you were capable of?"

That question had plagued the woman for years, ever since she was a young girl. She had no answer for it. She would probably never have an answer. She had no idea what she knew anymore. She never did really. She thought what they had, had, had been real but now she had no idea. She couldn't tell what had been a façade and what hadn't; he had hidden so much from so many, why was she any different. What if he had just played her too? He just showed her a different mask than he showed the others, but why? Why her?

Thunder echoed around the small one floor cottage, making the woman jump. She peered out the small window above the sink and saw that dark clouds had rolled in covering the stars.

"A storms coming," She said to her cat as she wiped the tears from her face. No sooner had the words left her mouth did rain start coming down like a waterfall, hammering down on her roof. Iggy dashed under the nearest piece of furniture. The rain was coming down so hard on the roof that the lady didn't hear the soft knocking at her door.

A bright flash of lightning flicked across the sky, revealing the dark silhouette of her visitor against her window. The woman yelped in shock and pulled out her long wooden wand. She crept towards her door with slow shaking steps. She could only think of one person crazy enough to go out in such weather, and she was desperate for it not to be him.

The hand holding the wand quivered as she called through the door, "Who- who's there?!"

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore" the silhouette called.

The woman felt weak with relief as she opened the food, "Professor Dumbledore, I didn't hear your knocking."

"Ah, I am sorry for startling you Miss Night," he said as he walked in out of the rain, "and please call me Albus we are both too old for formalities. It's been quite a few years since I was your professor, Gwendolyn." His eyes twinkled.

"All right, Albus," Gwendolyn Night said as she indicated for her visitor to sit, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"That would be lovely," Albus said then noticing the scraps of paper on the floor added, "I see we've had a little mess."

Gwendolyn set two drinks on the table and looked at the floor, "yes, my cat. I hadn't gotten around to cleaning it up yet."

"Perfectly understandable," Dumbledore replied, "allow me to clean it for you." The old man pulled out his wand and with a flick the paper scraps were gone and a newspaper was folded neatly between the two people on the table.

Gwen nodded her thanks. She wondered what she must look like to her old professor. Here she was hiding in the muggle world, her eyes all red and puffy from crying. He was, of course, too kind to comment on any of this, but she knew he knew why she had done all of this. Dumbledore was a smart and clever man, who had known her in her youth.

"I'm sure," he said taping the newspaper in front of him, "You know whom I came here to speak to you about."

Gwendolyn closed her eyes and slowly nodded her head, "I thought… for a moment… that you were-were him… I thought he might... but I guess…"

"So you haven't seen him? He hasn't come to find you?" Dumbledore said.

"Not since last time," she said carefully.

Dumbledore looked at her through his half-moon spectacles," I wasn't sure. I thought he might… It would be most appreciated, Gwendolyn, if you would contact us if he does. Could you do that?"

She paused, letting all her emotions run through her before she answered this request. There was a part of her - she was ashamed to admit it – that wanted to say no. A part of her that didn't want them to have him; she had to remind herself that he wasn't the boy she – thought – she had known anymore. That boy may never have existed.

With her eyes tightly closed in a vain attempt to hold back her tears she nodded, "Of course, sir… I mean Albus. Of course I will."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said gravely, "I know it has been hard for you, and now- unfortunately- I must ask of you one more thing. The papers, as I'm sure you have read, are labeling Mr. Potter as the chosen one. Whether that is true or not, now that Voldemort is back, he is most defiantly in danger."

"That poor boy," Gwendolyn said more to herself than to Dumbledore, "his poor parents… all those poor people- how could he-how could I not…" She trailed off and had to wipe away more tears then said to Albus, "Of course I'll help. I'll do anything you need me to do."

"What I need from you are your memories, my dear. You see what I think we need to do to help is learn more about Lord Voldemort, to look into his past, to rid us of him in the future. Since you have been close to young Mr. Riddle like no one else has, your memories could be most crucial to learning."

Gwendolyn paused. All her past, all those memories had been locked away for years. Locked in a place where she wouldn't have to look at them or think about them. Locked in a place where she wouldn't have to feel the pain. They had been locked there so long she wasn't sure she could handle bringing them out.

"I'm not so sure we were that close," she muttered, "but…"

How could I have been so thick? She asked herself. How could I have not seen what Tom Riddle would become? Why did I allow myself to fall for him, to be fooled by him? I use to see that darkness in his eyes… when I had that stopped? Why had I trusted him? Why had I loved him?

They always say there are two sides to every story.

"But," she repeated, "if you think it will help, then let's do it."

She was the other half of this story, and it was time that it was told.

A/N: I remembered what else I wanted to say. I may take a little while to update next, I have to go through two or three of the books to get the time line straight for this fic, please be patient, I will update as soon as possible. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.