Dealing with Danger
Chapter 29: Memories (Year 4)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 29: Memories
After seeing Luna off at the fireplace, Draco walked back upstairs to his room, humming "Scarborough Fair" under his breath.
Maybe we should have kissed after all, just to see the look on Nott’s face... but nah. Not worth it. Anyway, now I get to spend time with somebody else...
Neenie had told him about her meltdown a day or two ago, when Professor Dumbledore was at the Den, and he had understood. He’d been feeling similar lately — more irritable, more restless, more likely to snap at people or kick things.
But I just thought it was being away from the Den. Not that it isn’t, but it’s being away from Hermione, in particular. I don’t think we’ll get ill from being apart like Moony and Danger do, but we may get antsy. So we have to see each other and be together every few days.
Luna’s going to be losing her cat a lot until I go home again.
Draco frowned. Seeing Neenie again had brought her image into sharp focus in his mind, as had seeing and talking with Luna. But thoughts of the rest of the Pack and Pride, or of the Den, seemed scattered and unimportant. Other things and people were perfectly clear in his memory — he could practically count the towers on Hogwarts, or be able to tell what color Seamus Finnegan’s eyes were...
Not that I care, particularly. Does this mean something, or am I just being paranoid?
He pushed the door of his room open and smiled to see the calico cat on his windowsill, washing a paw. "Didn’t take you long," he said, closing the door behind him and walking toward his bed. "So, where shall we start?"
With a hiss, Neenie leapt from the windowsill to the bed, landing just where Draco had planned to fall onto it. He pulled himself upright again just in time and stared. Neenie’s teeth were bared, her fur bristling. "What’s wrong with you?"
Neenie made another leap, this one towards Draco’s chest. He caught her and supported her back legs, allowing her to climb onto his shoulder and rub her face against his ear. Don’t go near the bed. There’s something wrong with it.
"Something wrong like what? Snakes under it?"
No. But the sheets smell wrong. Like something burnt, like hair or feathers. I don’t like it.
"All right, I trust you." Draco frowned at the bed. "Why would my sheets smell wrong?"
Do we really need to answer that? Consider where you are.
"True." Draco made for the chair in the corner, then paused. "This is safe?"
Let me check. Neenie jumped from his shoulder onto the seat of the chair and sniffed at the cushions. She sneezed once, then looked at him and nodded. Draco sat down where she wasn’t, and she climbed onto his lap. It doesn’t smell like the bed, she said with a paw on his hand. Just dusty, is all.
Draco stroked her back with his other hand. "I think I’ll be sleeping sitting up tonight."
Neenie purred.
xXxXx
"Remus’ guess was entirely right," said Aletha. "Your symptoms start to show up around a day away from each other. Two days makes it worse, three days makes it much worse. I don’t recommend taking any four-day weekends."
"Not apart, at any rate," said Danger. "So it would be safe for me to be at the Den all day, even spend the night if I had to, but I should check in with Remus early the next morning if I want to stay totally healthy."
"Yes. I don’t know if there might be cumulative effects from repeated bouts of this, and I’d just as soon not find out."
"I’ll second that. So what’s the news at home?"
"Hermione’s due back sometime this afternoon, whenever Luna can bring her. You are aware we’re insane, letting her do this."
"We’ve just had the power of an overstressed magical bond very clearly demonstrated." Danger shivered. "Granted, their bond is of a different order than ours, but do you want to risk it?"
"No." Aletha shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. Especially with Draco beyond our reach." She sighed. "Sirius was saying the other day, if Narcissa was alive... but then we would never have had him in the first place, so it’s not worth talking about."
"Why Narcissa?"
"Well, even if the Ministry suspected abuse, which they do — groundlessly, of course, but try telling them that — if Narcissa was alive, she’d be Draco’s guardian automatically, with no need for a contract. Obviously, of course, she was his mother. But any first-degree blood relative would do. Even if he had to be removed from their custody, they would still have a say in where he went. The problem is that his father..."
Danger scowled. "Yes."
"And he’s an only child."
"Was an only child. He has Hermione now."
"That’s true, but she’s as much a minor as he is."
Danger went very still suddenly. "She’s a minor," she said. "But I’m not."
"But the bond wasn’t with you..."
"Doesn’t matter. Or it shouldn’t." Danger was starting to grin. "He’s blood to Hermione, he’s blood to me. Which means..."
Aletha returned the grin. "Which means we can tell the Ministry to go to hell."
"Please." Danger held up an admonishing finger. "Go to hell, please. We’ll be very polite about it."
"All right, let’s think." Aletha pushed aside the parchment holding the test results she and Danger had been discussing. "They probably won’t let him come home yet. Disproving the abuse allegation is going to take time. But we can get him away from the Notts if you designate another foster home."
"Hmm, let me think about it for a minute." Danger tilted her head to one side for all of a second. "Do you think he’d like Fireflower House?"
"I think he’d like it a lot better than Nott Manor." Aletha rolled her eyes. "Ruddy purebloods, no imagination at all."
"Probably been bred out over the centuries. Along with intelligence and politeness. Although I shouldn’t say bred... trained, maybe?"
"That’s more likely." Aletha traced a shape on the table. "You know, I think we have a fairly convincing argument for nurture over nature in the form of our little fox."
"But one for nature over nurture in the form of your loutish husband."
"You have a point there. Why don’t we just say that life is a wonderful and complicated thing and leave it at that."
"Works for me." Danger sighed happily. "We have other things to think about in any case."
"Like getting hold of Frank or Alice and asking very nicely if they’d put fresh sheets on the guest room bed."
"Precisely."
xXxXx
Sirius Apparated into the fringes of the Weasleys’ orchard, and was immediately sure he was in the right place. That solid whack was made by only one thing — a Beater’s bat coming into contact with a Bludger.
Whack. Pause. Whack. Pause. Whack.
He followed the sound towards the clearing in the middle of the orchard. As he got closer, he began to hear another sound accompanying the whacks. Someone was talking to herself, and judging by the tone, whatever she was saying was not making her happy.
He stopped just shy of the clearing, knowing that if he stepped out into view, the Bludger would see him as fair game. Besides, he wanted to watch this.
Aletha had her legs locked around her broom, allowing her to swing her bat two-handed. The Bludger looked rather wobbly on its nonexistent legs, but was coming after her gamely once more. She brought the bat around in a great sweeping rush and pelted the Bludger nearly to the trees at the other end of the clearing. "—flaming berk thinks he can do what he pleases just because he can buy the damned stuff—"
Whack.
"—completely inappropriate, not to mention wrong, and don’t even get me started on the dosage—"
Whack.
"—hope I see him at the other end of my wand sometime, they’ll be lucky if there’s enough left to charge—"
Sirius whistled, catching Aletha’s attention. She looked towards him, nodded, and spun back just in time to smash the Bludger away once more, then dived for the ground, where Sirius could see the box they kept the Den’s Quidditch equipment in. The Bludger went after Aletha again as she dismounted, but she dropped on top of it expertly, flattening it to the ground, then drew her wand and immobilized it with a spell lasting just long enough for her to get it into its box and close the lid.
"Harry said you’d gone out for a fly," said Sirius. "Said you seemed upset about something."
"Upset isn’t the word." Aletha shook her head, droplets of sweat flying from it. "I’m just sorry there’s no way we can prove this. It’d probably earn Nott a cell next to Malfoy if we could."
"What?"
"I found Hermione in my potions room after Luna brought her home today. She was poking through my ingredients. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me that while she was with Draco, she’d been able to smell something odd on his bedsheets, like burnt hair or feathers. And then she mentioned that Draco was complaining of not being able to remember things clearly."
"I don’t like the sound of this."
"Nor should you. There’s a potion Healers use to treat severely traumatized people, people who went through some horrific experience and are obsessed by it. The potion takes the memories that the person thinks about most and puts them at one remove, makes them a little more distant. Two of the main ingredients are singed pogrebin hair and the ashes of jobberknoll feathers. I was able to get some of it from the hospital, and Hermione identified its smell."
Sirius frowned, thinking it through. "Takes the memories that you think about the most and puts them at a distance. But Draco would be thinking most about us, about being home again..."
"Exactly. This damned stuff would make him try to stop thinking about us. But that’s not even what got me maddest." Aletha swung her bat at a nearby tree, shaking down several tufts of leaves. "I experimented with a set of our bedsheets and the vial I got from the hospital. I had to use ten drops before Hermione said it smelled like Draco’s did. Ten, Sirius. The maximum dose for use on adults is three."
Sirius stuck out his hand. "May I use that?" he said politely.
"Be my guest." Aletha handed over the Beater’s bat.
Sirius stormed over to the box holding the Bludger, kicked it open, and flicked off the restraints holding the black ball in place with the end of the bat. It rose up, hovered a moment, then zoomed towards him. Sirius pounded it away easily.
And the worst part is, I’m sure I know how Nott would justify this. "If the boy was abused, shouldn’t I be doing everything in my power to make this a happier place for him, to take his mind off his unfortunate past?"
He belted the Bludger again. Unfortunate past indeed. Wonder what kind of life your brat’s had. Probably worse memories in his past than in Draco’s.
"Hope I meet Nott in the dueling ring sometime," he grumbled, slamming the Bludger once more.
"Not before I do," said Aletha firmly. "I called it first."
"Fine, fine." Whack. "But I get what’s left of him."
"Which will be precisely nothing."
"Aww, you’re no fun." Whack.
"Never have been."
"Oh, I don’t know about that..."
xXxXx
The hearing on the tenth of July was rather anticlimactic. After everything he’d gone through with his first time at the Ministry, Remus rather expected to be greeted by Aurors watching him warily and a judge’s voice thundering condemnation. Instead, the hearing was private, held in Amelia Bones’ office, with only himself, Danger, and Madam Bones present. Remus suspected Dumbledore’s hand in it.
Madam Bones heard what they had to say, then chuckled deep in her throat. "I’ll find out who let this get as far as it has," she said. "Under the law, you can’t be committing a crime if you’re trying to stop one. Malfoy was trespassing and evading justice. You used what weapons you had available to stop him. And off the record, I think it’s no more than he deserves. You’re free to go."
It makes life easier, but I don’t know if it’s right, Remus said later as they walked down the street together.
Why should you be punished for what I did?
Oh, that’s right. Remus smiled sheepishly. I keep forgetting we’re not telling the true story.
Danger rolled her eyes. Only you.
xXxXx
Meghan sat on the den room floor with her legs extended fully to either side, leaning forward to read from the book on the floor.
Chapter 3. Intermediate Potion Making Techniques. Section 1: New Stirring Techniques.
A handwritten note at the bottom of the page caught her eye. She read it over twice, then got up and started through the kitchen, book in hand. "Mama Letha?" she called at the door of the potions room. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, you may, Pearl," answered her mother’s voice from inside the room. "You could even come in if you wanted to."
Meghan trotted inside, sniffing the fragrant air. "What’re you making?"
"A project for school. Is that what you wanted to ask?"
"No." Meghan proffered the book. "What does this mean, here at the bottom?"
Mama Letha took the book from her, looked at the place Meghan had indicated, and chuckled. "Oh, that. I wrote that in my fourth year. Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was an old wizard who was more interested in the theory behind defensive spells than in actually teaching them, so we spent a lot of time tracing Latin roots of things. I learned more Latin that year than I ever wanted to. And Professor Slughorn, who taught Potions, was a good professor, but he favored the Slytherins a lot."
Meghan perched on a stool, listening.
"One Slytherin boy in my year loved to talk. I think he was in love with the sound of his own voice. Professor Slughorn would just let him go on and on and on. I wanted to hit him or curse him, but I didn’t want to get in trouble for it. Finally, one day, I worked out a phrase in Latin that sounded like a curse, but wouldn’t actually do anything, and I would say it over and over when this boy would start jabbering. It kept me from losing a lot of points for Gryffindor."
"What does it mean?"
"Pueri stupidi sunt. Eos lapidate," recited Mama Letha. "Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them." She laughed. "Of course, I was also working out how I felt about your father at that point."
"Did you ever want to throw rocks at Dadfoot?"
"Constantly. Sometimes I still do."
xXxXx
Two weeks to the day after the first time he’d walked into the Offices of Wizarding Family Services, Draco Black walked into them again. Patroclus Nott walked beside him, his face very smooth.
"You wait here, Draco," he said, waving at a bank of chairs. "I must talk with the casewizard alone."
Draco sat down, forcing himself to sit still and not fidget. He wished he’d brought the Invisibility Cloak, but he hadn’t known he’d need it.
Besides, eavesdroppers never learn anything good. I’ll just wait.
While he waited, he thought about his latest dream with the Pack...
xXxXx
He was blowing off a little steam over what Nott was trying to do to him by yelling at Harry. "You’re supposed to be the one who attracts all the trouble! You’re supposed to have all the fuss made over you! You’re supposed to have people fighting and wanting you on their side! Not me! It’s like someone flipped a switch at the end of second year and I turned into the trouble magnet!"
"Well, I’d better flip the switch back, then," said Harry. "And I know just how to do it." He was grinning in his most Marauder way.
"How?" Draco asked warily.
"I’ll do the Trouble-Taking Dance."
"The what?"
Harry walked right up to Draco, looked him in the eye, and jumped straight up in the air. As he landed, he let out a yelp, and jumped again. And again, and again, all around Draco, howling and screeching as he went. "Ow, ooo, eee, aahh, awk, awk, awk, awk, eech, eech, ooog, ooog, ark, ark, awwwwww..."
The rest of the Pack had thought it was hilarious. According to his owl that morning, Harry had started teaching it to the Pride as well, and they had scared the hell out of Fred and George by doing the Trouble-Giving Dance around them — it was the same as the Trouble-Taking Dance, except that it was done silently.
They must have thought everyone had gone nuts. Jumping up and down all around them, not making a sound, and just staring at them...
xXxXx
Draco chuckled, then looked up as Nott walked back into the room, looking a bit rattled. That’s probably good for me. He stood up, stretching his back. I wonder if he knows I’ve been sleeping in the chair?
"Brilly says you haven’t been using your bed this last week or so, Draco."
That would be a yes. "Sometimes I don’t sleep well lying down, sir. It helps to sit up for a few nights."
"If you were unwell, you should have told me."
Draco gave in to a wicked urge. "It’s not quite unwell, sir. It’s just an oddity. It’s as if there are gaps in my memory. Blank spots, or not quite blank, but places where it isn’t well focused. Like a bad photograph. I was thinking of writing to my guardians about it, but I guess I forgot. Do you think I should see a Healer?"
He had the satisfaction of seeing Nott swallow ever so slightly. "No, I don’t think that will be necessary. A large change in your life can often affect your memory for a short while. I’m sure it will settle down soon."
I’m sure it will. Danger had told him, last Friday, what she and Letha had come up with, and he’d been more than happy to hear it.
"But we don’t know for sure if the bond will show up on standard lineage tests," Danger had warned. "It ought to, but we won’t know until we try it. And we can’t try it without both of us together, and since I’m not supposed to go there and you’re not supposed to come here..." She’d chuckled. "And I don’t trust anything we try here in our dreams, because what we want to happen would probably color the results. So we’ll just have to risk doing it for the first time there at the WFS offices."
Draco hoped fervently that what they wanted would color the results here too. Two weeks with the Notts had been enough for him. He would have liked to get away earlier, but this had been the only time the Pack had been able to schedule an appointment.
How do purebloods stand it? I’d think they’d all die of boredom. Doing anything vigorously seemed to be frowned upon by pureblood society, and doing most things at all was seen as rather vulgar. Sedentary pursuits like reading or playing an instrument were the only amusements that were actually approved of. No wonder Nott sneaked out to fly.
It depended a lot on the family, though. Draco had the impression, vague but persistent, that the Notts were not quite as pureblood or as old a family as they acted like. Social climbers, really. Trying to be more like what they think proper purebloods are like.
But it wouldn’t matter to him in just a few minutes. Or rather, it shouldn’t. Draco held his shoulders steady as they turned into a small room off one of the main hallways.
Letha and Danger smiled brightly at him, and Mr. Longbottom nodded. Draco gave them a little bow, keeping his eyes on them, and caught Danger’s wink as he did.
"All right, let’s get started," said Casewizard Curcio in a rather bored voice. "What is this new evidence you say you have that Master Black’s custody was improperly removed?"
"Casewizard, are you proficient with lineage spells?" asked Letha.
"I am." Curcio sounded vaguely offended by the question.
"Then would you mind casting one on my friend Mrs. Granger-Lupin and on Master Black?"
Curcio frowned. "Why?"
"The reason will become apparent. Would you please perform it?"
Draco stepped up to the table and pulled up his sleeve without having to be told. Danger was beside him, rolling back her own. As she laid her arm on the table, her fingers brushed his.
Hang in there, fox.
A sudden wave of hope rushed over Draco. If she could talk to him through touch like Neenie could, that must mean...
"Revele cognationem," intoned Curcio, waving his wand over their two arms.
A plume of bright red smoke issued from the tip of the wand and sank to wreath Danger’s arm and Draco’s. Draco wanted to grin, but contented himself with a surprised look, as if this wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. The one on Curcio’s face gave him an excellent template.
"As you see, the spell recognizes me as Master Black’s elder sister, which makes me his first-degree blood relation," said Danger briskly, removing her arm and dissipating the smoke. "As such, I believe I have final say over where he resides, unless I myself have been charged with abusing him, which I have not. I would like to request that he move immediately to Fireflower House, home of the Longbottom family."
"We’d be happy to have him," said Mr. Longbottom, standing up. "I’m willing to take him home with me right now."
Curcio and Nott both looked as if they’d just bitten into lemons. "Very well," said Curcio after a moment, in a tone which suggested he was fighting not to scream. "As long as Master Black does not object."
"Not at all, sir," said Draco, fixing his eyes on the casewizard’s face and putting on his most innocent look. "It’s perfectly fine with me."
Nott nodded curtly. "I’ll have your things sent along, then. I’m sorry to lose you, Draco. You’ve been an excellent houseguest, good company for my Theodore. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider staying?"
I’d rather live in a swamp. "Thank you, sir, but Mrs. Granger-Lupin wants me to go to the Longbottoms. I don’t want to disappoint her."
"I understand. As I said, you’ve been a good guest. Fortune smile on you."
"And on you, sir." Draco shook Nott’s hand, keeping a vague, childish smile plastered on his face.
If fortune smiles on me, I’ll never see you again.
xXxXx
A group of very dignified-looking young people marched into Fireflower House that afternoon. Harry and Ron were in the front of the double line, with Luna and Hermione right behind them, and Meghan and Ginny bringing up the rear.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," said Neville in a very posh accent, stepping out of a side room. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"We understand that you have a guest sojourning here," answered Harry in similar tones. "We wondered if we might be permitted the pleasure of a few words with him."
"I shall make inquiries. If you would be so kind as to wait here." Neville went up three of the gently curving stairs. "DRACO!"
"WHAT?" floated down from above.
"SOMEONE HERE TO SEE YOU!"
"TELL THEM I’M NOT HERE!"
Neville turned around and came down the three steps. "I’m terribly sorry, but the gentleman is not at home."
"Very well, we shall wait until he is. Where would it be best for us to wait?"
"I can escort you to a comfortable chamber, sir. And sir. And young misses." Neville bowed punctiliously. "If you would follow me."
The "comfortable chamber" was Neville’s bedroom, where the Longbottoms’ house-elf, Tapper, groaned as the Pride came in. "Master Neville, Tapper has just got your room straightened up!"
"We’ll try to keep it straight, Tapper," Neville promised as the Pride found seats.
"Oh yes, you will try," Tapper grumbled as he collected his cleaning materials. "You always try. And Tapper always ends up doing more cleaning because of your trying." He disappeared with a loud snap.
"Shall I fetch the gentleman, sir?" said Neville, reverting to his snooty butler mode.
"If you would be so kind." Harry had his nose so high in the air it was in danger of coming down on the other side of his head.
Neville stepped out of the room, and returned almost immediately, Draco behind him. "Here is the gentleman, sir."
"Where?" said Ron. "I don’t see anyone."
"I don’t see anyone either," said Ginny.
"I suppose it’s because he’s not here," said Luna. "What a pity."
"I wish he was here," said Meghan. "Then we could have fun again."
"But I suppose just wishing won’t do any good," finished Hermione.
Everyone sighed heavily.
Draco and Neville exchanged conspiratorial glances, then stepped out of the room together. "Ahoy there, Captain!" exclaimed Draco’s voice in the hall.
"Ahoy yourself," Neville answered. "What’re you doing here?"
"Mooching off your parents until the Ministry gets its head out of its arse."
"Going to have a long wait, then," Harry called.
"Even longer, now that Percy’s working for them," added Ron.
Meghan jumped up and ran into the hall, dragging the two boys into the room. "I’m glad you’re back," she said to Draco. "Harry picks on me."
"I pick on you too, runt." Draco grabbed Meghan around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. "Ahoy, Captain, look what I’ve captured!"
"Avast, ye swab," growled Neville in his best pirate voice. "Don’t ye know the best of the plunder goes to the Cap’n? This one’s mine!"
"Oh, Captain, save me from the scary pirate!" Meghan cooed in a syrupy voice as Draco set her down.
"That I shall, me darling — for I am a dreadful pirate, not merely a scary one!" Neville threw an arm around Meghan’s waist. "Any of ye landlubbers care to contest me claim on the wench?"
"Who’re you calling a landlubber?" protested Ron.
Hermione leaned over to him. "It’s ‘who be you,’" she whispered.
"Thanks." Ron grabbed her arm and pulled, tumbling her into his lap. She squealed. "This one be mine, Cap’n!"
"Oh-ho-ho, red hair," chuckled Harry, stalking Ginny, who shrank back, warding him off with trembling hands. "Me father had a taste for red hair. Shall I see if he were a wise man?"
"Only one left for me," said Draco in disappointed tones. "But wait — she be the finest of the lot! You all be blind, to pass by this beauty!" He swaggered up to Luna. "What say you, little lady? Would you care to be the wife of a pirate?"
Luna looked him up and down, then took his arms and arranged them so that he was holding them out stiffly at about mid-chest level. That done, she swooned into them artistically.
"We have triumphed!" shouted Neville, grinning. "The wenches be ours! To the ship, men! Follow me!"
They left the room at a gallop, boys dragging girls, girls trying to escape from boys, and it wasn’t until they were in sight of Neville’s room again (since it doubled as the ship) that Hermione shouted, "Wait!"
Everyone stopped.
"Unhand me, ruffian," she said loftily to Ron. "I would speak to your Captain."
"Oh, no, little lady," said Ron in an uneven pirate baritone. "If you be wishing to speak to the Captain, I must go with you, to protect you. For the Captain loves his ladies, he does."
"I can protect myself."
"Well, then, I’ll go along for the company."
Hermione snorted, but permitted him to accompany her to Neville. "Captain, I protest this shameful treatment of women," she said emphatically.
"Do ye now. And why might that be?"
"Because we would be pirates ourselves, if you would only ask us! You never had to kidnap us and carry us away — we would have come with you willingly!"
Neville looked taken aback. "Ye — ye would?"
"Of course we would," said Ginny. "We’ve always wanted to be pirates. But our parents wouldn’t let us."
Luna, who had fainted again as soon as they stopped, revived. "I can throw a grappling hook and fight with a cutlass," she said. "And sing ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.’"
"I want to learn how to buckle swashes," said Meghan. "Can you teach me, Captain?"
Neville frowned. "I must consult with me crew," he said. "Crew?"
The boys closed in. "No pirate ship has ever sailed with a crew of women," said Draco. "’Tis something entirely new."
"There be nothing wrong with new," said Harry. "They look like strapping, sturdy wenches to me." The girls giggled. "I say aye, let them sail with us."
"But will the ship hold so many?" Ron asked doubtfully. "Eight instead of four?"
"The Bounding Bedsheets is a sturdy craft," Neville declaimed. "She’ll hold any crew you may name." He turned around. "Ladies, your kind offer be accepted! From this day forth, we be pirates together! Hip hip—"
"Hooray!" shouted everyone.
"No!" Neville looked disgusted. "Not hooray! There’s no hooray in pirates! It’s huzzah! Now try it again. Hip hip—"
"Huzzah!"
"Hip hip—"
"Huzzah!"
"Hip hip—"
"Huzzah!"
The newly doubled crew of the Bounding Bedsheets scrambled aboard their vessel, Neville shouting out nautical-sounding orders.
"What does huzzah mean anyway?" Ron asked Harry under cover of the noise.
"Same thing as hooray."
"Thought so."
xXxXx
"Why Captain, anyway?" asked Ron later when they were in the back garden having a snack.
"He said I looked like Captain Von Trapp with my guitar." Neville lay full length along a bench, dangling his head off the edge to look at everyone upside down. "But I like being a pirate captain more."
"I’m glad," said Ginny. "Because if you’re Captain Von Trapp, and there are seven of us left..."
Everyone groaned. "No," said Ron. "Hell no."
"Besides, Meghan’s littlest, so she would have to be Gretl," said Luna. "And everybody knows Neville would want her to be Maria instead."
Draco snickered. "Look, he’s blushing."
"I am not blushing," said Neville firmly. "There’s just blood going to my head."
"That’s what a blush is," said Hermione.
"I’m still not blushing." Neville sat up. "See?"
"Ahh, you just thought about ice water," said Harry. "Not fair."
"All’s fair in love and war," said Meghan cheerily.
"And which one is this?" inquired Ginny.
This time there was no question. Neville was blushing.
xXxXx
Harry ran into the kitchen, grinning. "I finished it," he said.
"Finished what?" asked Aletha, looking around.
"This." Harry waved a slip of parchment in the air. "Just finished."
Sirius took it from him and looked it over. "Looks good," he said, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. "Our little Harry, all grown up and an Animagus. Who’d’ve thought?"
"You would," said Harry. "Back when you promised to teach us to do it."
"He’s got you there," said Aletha. "Harry, we’ve had a letter from Albus. He’s invited you to tea with him and an old friend, tomorrow afternoon. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but he very much wants you to come."
"Why wouldn’t I want to?"
"Just thought you might not want to be on your best behavior for too long," said Sirius smoothly. Aletha breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was up to Albus to tell Harry the true purpose of this visit, not them. "It might be a strain on you."
Harry glowered at him. "I can behave."
Aletha let her eyebrows climb towards her hairline. Sirius gave a loud, fake cough which sounded a lot like something else. Harry looked as if he was about to return the remark in kind, then, instead, stood up straighter and smiled. "My family is very well, sir, how is yours?"
The Blacks chuckled. "All right, now I believe you," said Sirius. "This is tomorrow afternoon, so make sure to clear your calendar."
"Right."
"I’ll have clean robes for you," said Aletha. "And you will wear them. And do your best with your hair — I’ll settle for the ‘breezy day’ look rather than ‘just got off my broom in a tornado.’"
"But I like that one better."
"I know you do. So did your father. Until a certain Lily Evans told him he had a fat head and he made her sick."
Harry stared. "She never."
"Oh, she did," said Sirius. "I was right there. He’d been hexing Snape—"
"He’d been?" inquired Aletha.
"All right, we’d been hexing Snape. And Lily walked up and told us off. What did she call him again? An arrogant, bullying..."
"Toerag." Aletha had to work hard to keep a smile off her face at Harry’s expression. He couldn’t have looked more horrified if they’d told him he was never allowed to play Quidditch again.
"Right. Toerag. And told him she wouldn’t go out with him if it was a choice between him and the giant squid."
Harry was staring from one of them to the other. "What did he do?" he finally managed to articulate.
"You mean when Lily told him that, or to Snape?"
"To Snape!"
"About the same as he ever did," said Sirius evasively.
"Disarmed him and made fun of him," said Aletha with a sigh. "Washed out his mouth with Scourgify. Lily showed up and yelled at them, Snape got his wand and cursed James back when he wasn’t looking — something I didn’t recognize, it cut his cheek open — and James hung Snape up in the air by an ankle." She glared at Sirius. "Again with the he — it wasn’t James who cast that Impediment Jinx, or that Body-Bind either. And maybe it was James who threatened to take Snape’s pants off him, but I didn’t notice you telling him to stop."
"Easy enough for you to act all righteous, but I didn’t hear you telling us to stop either!"
"As if you’d have listened! You were sixteen and so full of yourself I’m amazed you could even walk!"
"Full of — full of myself?" Sirius spluttered. "I was not!"
"You were. You and James strutted around like you owned the school — I know why now, you’d finished your Animagus work, you were running around with a werewolf, you thought you were invincible — but that translated into hexing people just for the fun of it, and that’s why I used to shout at you, because that wasn’t bloody funny!"
"So why the hell are you bringing it up now?"
"Because it happens to be part of the story, and I think Harry deserves to know!"
"Well, that worked out really well! He’s gone!"
Aletha looked around. Harry was indeed gone. She sagged against the wall, her head suddenly pounding.
I knew there was some reason we never got married when Lily and James did, she thought dully. Well, besides not having our first kiss until the day of their wedding. We just strike too many sparks — without someone else around, or two someone elses, we just fight all the time...
I suppose we would have worked it out some other way if we’d never had the Pack, but we do. Having just us here, alone together, is not going to work long-term.
She straightened her shoulders. So that’s why we have to work on getting Remus magical custody of Hermione. Because if he’s the official guardian of one child, they can’t very well claim he’s a danger to others. If we can get that custody claim recognized under magical law, he can come home, and everything will be all right again...
She wished she could believe it was that easy.
xXxXx
Harry didn’t stop running until he reached the Weasleys’ orchard. It was deserted — most of the Pride, he knew, was at the Burrow doing something elaborate to which neither he or Neville was invited. At the moment, he didn’t particularly care about that.
My dad threatened to take somebody’s pants off? I mean, it was Snape, but still. He threatened to take his pants off, in public? And hung him upside down in the air, and cursed him and made fun of him — and Padfoot did it too, and laughed, and thought it was funny...
I suppose it is funny. Sort of. But not. Not really.
Moony would have been there too. Probably reading, Harry thought bitterly, not getting involved. He knew the stories — Moony had been the prefect in their year, to try to get his friends to settle down, but it had never worked, mostly because, by Moony’s own admission, he had never been brave enough to confront them about anything...
He knew Snape hated him, and Padfoot, and Moony. Now he had a better understanding of why.
I think I’d hate somebody who did that to me.
He wanted to scream. No, he wanted to do something else. Something that came from deep inside...
He pulled the parchment out of his pocket, took a deep breath, and began to read aloud.
"Quia per circum vitri video, circi lumina viridantes mea coronit. Reno meus est furvus, et frons mea cicatrix fulgaris gerit. Corpus meus corpus lupi est, sed pectus meum pectus leonis est. Pugno populis meis fortiter, quod non dimittam illos qui mei sunt."
For one second after he’d finished reading, nothing happened. Then everything happened at once. The world grew about a foot, lost all its color, tilted forward, and gained about a million times more smells and sounds. He itched all over, but when he tried to scratch, it was his foot that came up and not his hand —
He didn’t have hands anymore. He had paws. Big, blunt-clawed paws, attached to furry legs, attached to a furry body. He nearly fell over trying to get a good look at himself. The spell had worked. He was an Animagus.
Like my dad.
Everything he’d been feeling before the spell had taken hold rushed back, and now he knew what to do about it. He tipped his nose back and howled, a long, lonely cry.
Nothing is the way I thought it was, and I don’t know what to do...
He slumped to the ground. His tail (he had a tail) gave a couple of desolate thumps, then lay still.
I always knew Dad and Padfoot hated Snape. I just never knew how much. Harry whined a little. How could they do that to anyone? Even Snape?
To make matters worse, his wolf form didn’t seem to understand the problem. Not-Pack punished. Good. Hunt now?
No, not hunt now, Harry told it savagely. Because the only thing I want to hunt is my own Pack-fathers.
The wolf was shocked. Hunting one’s own Packmates was not done, and hunting one’s elders in the Pack, doubly so.
But what if they do what isn’t Pack to do? What if they do wrong?
Challenge. Fight. Not hunt.
He could do that, Harry supposed. Except that he knew either Padfoot or Moony was far better than he with a wand — how could they not be? They’d had his whole life and more to practice. They’d never let him get a spell in edgewise, and if they did, it would be letting him, not because he’d actually bested them...
The wolf-brain processed the information Harry now had about his father and Padfoot. It was difficult. Wolves didn’t often think in terms of times long past. But finally it had something to offer. They were not-grown? it asked, offering the image of long-legged, adolescent wolves, clumsy and unsure of themselves. Something which, Harry realized with some humor, he was himself at the moment, since his wolf form reflected his human form.
Yes, he answered. Yes. They were not-grown. Not cubs, but not grown.
Not-grown do wrong because they do not know.
No, they knew. They did it on purpose.
Then to test the grown. To see if Not-Pack would fight back. To win mate. Many reasons.
Harry felt his tail thump the ground again. He’s right. I’m right. There could have been a lot of reasons why they did what they did. Maybe Snape deserved it, kind of. Maybe Dad was showing off for Mum. And maybe they were just sixteen and stupid.
Padfoot’s apologized to Snape for what he did in school, so he’s sorry. Dad was probably sorry later. And it’s not like I haven’t done stupid things because I thought I was funny.
He got to his feet and stretched. Reditio mihi, he thought carefully, and a moment later was staring at very brown dirt through the lenses of his glasses. He straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders.
"Did you see me, Dad?" he said quietly, looking up. "Did you see, Mum? I’m an Animagus now. I can do it. I can really do it." He laughed. "And I did it faster than you did, Dad. Faster than any of you."
It could have been just his imagination, but for one moment Harry thought he felt his pendants warm against his chest. And it could have been a trick of the patchy sunlight in among the trees, but the stag and the tiger did seem to be glowing, just the tiniest bit...
xXxXx
The next day, Harry Flooed to Professor Dumbledore’s office at the time on the invitation card. The old wizard greeted him politely. "We will be departing in half an hour for Horace Slughorn’s home, Harry. I asked you to come here first because there is much I wish to tell you before we go."
"Slughorn," said Harry slowly. "Wasn’t there a Professor Slughorn here..."
"When your parents and guardians attended Hogwarts, yes. Horace taught Potions here for many years, verging on fifty, I daresay. It was his retirement that left open the position which Professor Snape now occupies. He was also the Head of Slytherin House for many years."
Fifty years... head of Slytherin House... "Sir, does this have something to do with Voldemort?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Sirius will be pleased," he said. "I believe Remus now owes him money."
Harry grinned. "They bet on everything, don’t they?"
"Not quite everything, but the events on which they would not wager were few. Your mother and Alice Longbottom were less than amused with the odds being given on who would deliver her child first, for instance."
Harry snickered.
"But I digress. Yes, Harry, this has much to do with Voldemort." Dumbledore came around his desk and opened a cabinet near the door of his office, removing a stone basin from within it. His right hand looked better now, Harry noticed — he still favored it a bit, but a casual look wouldn’t tell anyone it had been injured.
Dumbledore set the basin on his desk. It was curiously carved, with runes around the edges, and about half-full of a silvery substance which moved as though simmering on a stove. Harry frowned. The thing looked familiar, but not as if he’d seen it before — more as if he’d heard a description somewhere, and it seemed to be in Hermione’s voice...
"Sir, is that a Pensieve?"
There was no doubt this time — Dumbledore was impressed. "It is, Harry. Have you seen one before?"
"No, sir. Hermione told us about them, though. They hold memories and thoughts, and let you look at them again, or put them together in different ways."
"Ah, Miss Granger-Lupin. An inquiring mind and a true heart in one body. I have no doubt the Sorting Hat had difficulty with her."
Harry glanced at that worthy object, sitting on its shelf behind the desk.
"As you so aptly put it, a Pensieve holds memories and allows one to look at them again. It can also allow us to travel into the memories of another, if we have those memories. And if we are sure that they have not been... altered."
"Can you alter a memory, sir?"
"You can try. But unless you are very skilled, the alterations will be obvious to anyone who views the memory." Dumbledore sighed, looking into the Pensieve. "Over the years, Harry, I have collected many memories having to do with the wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort. You know, I think, the name under which he was born."
"Yes, sir. Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"What, if anything, do you know of his life?"
"He grew up in a Muggle orphanage, sir, I think. His mother died just after he was born. That was why he had to stop opening the Chamber of Secrets, so he wouldn’t have to go back there for good when they closed Hogwarts."
"Precisely. And you know where he was Sorted, of course."
"Slytherin. So Professor Slughorn would have been his Head of House."
"Yes. Tom Riddle was a handsome, intelligent, ambitious young man, and a great favorite of Horace’s — I should tell you, Harry, that Horace Slughorn is not a bad man, but that he likes things his own way, and prefers comfort to austerity. He also likes to know, and be known by, people who matter. He will be delighted to meet you."
"Will he, sir?" Harry looked up at Dumbledore. He remembered a few people in first year... "Or will he be delighted to meet The Boy Who Lived?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Both, I think. He was very fond of your mother."
Harry nodded. "So did Professor Slughorn give you a memory about Voldemort?" he asked, looking into the Pensieve again.
"He did. After much persuasion."
"And you think he changed it."
"I am sure that it has been altered," said Dumbledore firmly. "Horace would never have told Tom Riddle, a prefect and one of his favorite students, that he would ‘go wrong.’ Indeed, few who knew him at that time would have predicted it."
"You would, sir," said Harry. "You didn’t trust him when he was opening the Chamber. You couldn’t do anything because you didn’t have any proof, but you suspected..." He trailed off. Dumbledore was looking rather oddly at him.
"That is quite true, Harry, but may I ask how you came by that knowledge?"
Oops. "Tom Riddle’s diary," Harry admitted. "I used it once, when Ginny had it. He showed me the night he framed Hagrid. You stopped him in the hall and asked him if he had anything to tell you."
"I see," said Dumbledore slowly. "Very well. Then you have experience traveling in the memories of others."
"Only a little, sir." Harry decided not to mention going inside Ron’s memory to see the prophecy Professor Trelawney had made. They didn’t need more complications at this point.
"Good." Dumbledore placed his wand against the surface of the thoughts in the Pensieve and waved it in a circle, drawing them into a cohesive ball. A glass beaker came out of his pocket, and he deposited them within, then removed a small vial with another silvery memory from another pocket. "You should have no trouble, then, exploring this memory with me."
Harry swallowed a little and stood up straighter. "I’m ready, sir."
"Excellent." Dumbledore emptied the memory into the Pensieve, tapping the bottom of the vial softly to encourage it, then touched his wand to its surface, making it swirl very fast. "Put your face into it, Harry. You will not be harmed."
Harry took a deep breath in any case before plunging his face into the silvery fluid.
When he reemerged a few minutes later, he was still confused. "What’s a Horcrux?"
"That, Harry, is what we must endeavor to find out."
As if he doesn’t know. But Harry kept his mouth shut. If Dumbledore wanted him to ask someone else about this, there was probably a good reason. He switched to another question. "Why would he change his memory like that?"
"Again, something I hope we can discover through the course of this afternoon, and quite possibly a more fruitful line of inquiry than the other. You see, if he did not want to show us his original answer to that question..."
"He won’t likely want to tell us now."
"You understand," said Dumbledore with a smile. "I am very pleased to have you by my side, Harry Potter."
Harry was certain his head had just swelled at least three sizes. Better watch out — I don’t want Cho telling me I make her sick. He frowned. I wonder if Cho would tell me that. I don’t know how she feels about that kind of thing... but I’m sure she would. And I’d stop right away if she did.
That is, if I did that kind of thing in the first place.
"How time has moved on," said Dumbledore, consulting a pocket watch. Harry sneaked a look at the face — it had little planets moving around the edge instead of numbers and an awful lot of hands. "We must be going. I am sure your manners are impeccable, and that you will not embarrass Professor Slughorn by asking him personal questions with someone else present."
Behave yourself, and don’t start on him until I leave, Harry translated. He grinned to himself. Working with Dumbledore wasn’t really that much different than working with Padfoot or Moony. "Yes, sir."
xXxXx
Horace Slughorn was rather fatter than he had been in the memory, not to mention completely bald, and his mustache was now silver rather than gingery blond, but other than that, he looked just the same. As Dumbledore had intimated, he was wringing Harry’s hand almost the instant Harry was out of the fireplace. "Harry Potter! Delighted to meet you, just delighted! Great Merlin, your father’s face to the life, except for the eyes... Lily Evans’ eyes..." He blinked his own rather prominent ones hard. "I knew her, m’boy, taught her seven years in Potions — one of the brightest students I ever had, such a charmer..."
Harry smiled. "Maybe you can tell me some stories about her, sir. My guardians tell me lots of things, but only Letha really knew my mum for most of their time at Hogwarts."
"Aletha Freeman, now there’s another name I knew well." Slughorn looked reminiscent as he led Harry and Dumbledore to the table. "I used to joke that there must have been a potions leak somewhere in Britain for a year or so, there was just a rash of talented, talented potion makers — and Muggleborn or half-blood, most of them. Isn’t that odd?"
"Not really," said Harry, his respect for the man dropping several notches.
Slughorn seemed to realize he had made a mistake, and immediately began spouting stories about the fine Muggleborn students he’d known, and how so many of them had gone on to do great things. Harry noticed that quite a lot of these great things were thanks to Slughorn, and that every person mentioned showed their gratitude in a very material way, whether it was tickets to Quidditch games, hampers of sweets, or inside information about Gringotts...
Harry had a cup of tea and a few sweet biscuits, Dumbledore had a cup of tea and a small slice of cake, Slughorn had several cups of tea and both biscuits and cake. Harry and Dumbledore did very little talking, and most of it was things like, "Yes?" and "I see," and "Oh, really?"
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, Dumbledore got up. "I wonder, Horace, if I might use your bathroom?"
"Of course, of course, down the hall and to the right, but you know that." Slughorn laughed. "You’ve been here before, it hasn’t been that long..."
The room was very quiet after Dumbledore had left. Harry sipped his tea, looking into the cup at the scattering of tea leaves on the bottom. They led his mind to Divination class, and from there to Ron’s experience with Professor Trelawney. For some reason, one line of the prophecy stuck in his head. Revenge and mercy wreak havoc alike...
Danger and Moony took revenge on Malfoy, with Danger biting him. And I know they wish they’d never done that. It’s wreaked enough havoc, that’s for sure. But mercy... how could mercy wreak havoc?
"You look just like your mother, staring into her cauldron," said Slughorn jovially. "Hoping to find life’s answers in your teacup? Taking Divination, perhaps?"
"No, sir," said Harry, looking up. "My friend Ron is, though, and he says it’s a bit dodgy."
Slughorn waved a thick hand. "Hard to tell, my boy, hard to tell... most people who claim to be Seers are frauds, of course, but you get a rare genuine one... what classes do you take, then, Harry?"
Harry listed off his classes and told Slughorn a bit about each one. Slughorn seemed genuinely interested, but Harry reminded himself of the man’s patronizing words about Muggleborns and half-bloods, and of Dumbledore’s warnings. Finally, as he wrapped up telling Slughorn about Charms, he found an opening.
"...so for the essay on Charmed objects, Hermione, she’s my sister — well, close enough, we’ve grown up together — anyway, she picked out something called a Pensieve, and she likes to tell people what she learns, even if they don’t want to hear it..."
Slughorn chuckled at Harry’s long-suffering tone. "I’ve known a few of those myself. Handy to have around when you need to know something, though."
Harry nodded. "And one of the things she told us was that memories in a Pensieve couldn’t be altered. That you could always tell if someone had tried to change a memory you were looking at. Do you think that’s true, sir?"
Slughorn stared at him, an expression of shock sliding onto his thick face. "Dumbledore’s shown you," he whispered, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to dab at his face. "Dumbledore’s shown you that memory. Hasn’t he?"
Harry ducked his head, feeling rather ashamed of himself — first, because his ruse had been so transparent, and second because this was clearly something about which Slughorn didn’t want to talk. "Yes, sir."
"It was obvious, wasn’t it?" Slughorn said with an air of dejection. "Obvious... it would have been even to a lesser wizard than Dumbledore...even to you, a half-trained boy..."
He stared into the air over the table. "You can have no idea, Harry, what it is to grow to be as old as I. Old enough to have a thousand regrets, a million things you wish you had done differently..."
Harry thought of his father hexing Snape, of Danger biting Malfoy, of his own rash chatter in first year Defense class. "I have a few," he said.
"You’ll have more." Slughorn sighed massively. It was like watching someone shake a mountain of pudding. "There are always things you don’t ever want to tell... things you’re ashamed of... things you’re afraid have done terrible harm."
"But if you don’t tell anyone, nothing can ever be fixed," said Harry. It was one of the Pack’s rules — if you made a mistake, tell someone. Punishment can wait. "You can never make up for it."
Slughorn shook his head. "It doesn’t matter, Harry, it doesn’t matter whether I tell anyone or not. Some things can never be repaired..."
He caught himself up hastily, but Harry could tell, could almost taste, that he might still be willing to talk. "Dumbledore doesn’t think so," he said quickly. "Dumbledore thinks it might still be fixed. And he always seems to know what to do."
"Yes, you’ve noticed that, have you." Slughorn’s tone was wry. "He believes the world rests on his shoulders, and for this part of it in any case, he’s not far wrong... he really thinks something could be done?" He peered at Harry intently. "He’s confided in you?"
"He said your memory might be the most important he’s ever collected." Dumbledore hadn’t said that straight out, but he’d certainly implied it, and it sounded like the kind of thing Slughorn enjoyed hearing. Sure enough, Slughorn straightened up, shrugging his shoulders in a self-satisfied kind of way. Harry could sense his pride, but worry and caution were starting to override it.
Time to bring out the big guns. Harry looked straight at Slughorn. "He told me it might help him get rid of Voldemort."
Slughorn jumped and made a squeak of protest. "He — you mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Really, Harry, you gave me such a start — don’t be silly, he’s gone. You of all people should know that — dead and gone these thirteen years..."
Harry shook his head. "He’s not dead," he said. "He’s still alive somewhere. He doesn’t have a body anymore, but he’s alive."
Slughorn looked horrified, but, Harry noted in a back corner of his mind, he showed no trace of surprise — it was as though he had been expecting something like this.
"I faced him," Harry went on. "He was at Hogwarts, possessing two of the teachers there, trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. He tried to kill me, but he couldn’t touch me without hurting himself."
"Couldn’t... couldn’t touch you?" Slughorn’s eyes were riveted on Harry’s face, flicking upwards every so often to the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
"It was my mum’s last gift to me," said Harry softly. "She died for me. Voldemort wasn’t planning to kill her, but she wouldn’t move — she wouldn’t get out of the way — so he killed her to get to me. That’s why I lived. Because she died."
Slughorn’s breathing was coming faster, he was twisting his hands in his lap. Harry licked his lips, scenting prey almost run to ground, preparing himself for the spring and the crunch of jaws... "You liked her, Professor, you told me that. Were you sad when you heard?"
"Sad isn’t the word," Slughorn whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. "I cried for a week... the war was over, people were celebrating everywhere, but I cried... just thinking of her dying like that, the last casualty of the war... all the others, I’ve done things for them, and they for me, but I could never do anything for her..."
The wolf pounced. "This is something you can do for her," said Harry quick as lightning, but soft as rain. "She died for me. She must have loved me. All the stories I know say she loved me. And you can help me, Professor." He kept his eyes — his mother’s eyes — fixed firmly on Slughorn’s. "I don’t know why Voldemort wants to kill me. But he does. And I don’t want to waste my mother’s gift. She gave me life. I don’t want to lose it."
There was a long moment of silence. Slughorn broke it. "How old are you, Harry?" he asked conversationally.
Harry’s heart sank. He’d failed. "Fourteen at the end of the month," he answered dismally.
"Fourteen. My goodness." Slughorn gave a weak chuckle. "You will be quite a man when you’re grown. Quite a man indeed." He drew a wand from his pocket and pointed it over his shoulder. A small glass vial with a stopper zoomed into his hand.
Wait — what’s he doing...?
Slughorn pulled the stopper out of the vial, placed the wand against his temple, and slowly drew it away. A silver strand of memory stuck to the wand’s tip. Harry watched it, fascinated. Was it possible...
Slughorn coiled the memory inside the vial and placed the stopper firmly in the neck. "Don’t think too badly of me, Harry," he said a bit plaintively, shaking his head hard as if trying to rid himself of an odd sensation. "He was just a young man like yourself — very like yourself. Personable, handsome, intelligent... too intelligent. I should have known, I should have seen where he was headed..."
"A lot of people didn’t see where he was headed, sir," said Harry, taking the vial from Slughorn and putting it carefully into his pocket. His insides seemed to be under the influence of a Wingardium Leviosa, while the rest of him was suffering from Rictusempra. "He’s very good at persuading people."
"True, true, I suppose I wasn’t the only one." Slughorn looked pensively at Harry’s pocket. "Well, what’s done is done. I only hope it can be of service to you." He looked around. "Where has Dumbledore got to?"
"Here I am, Horace, here I am," said Dumbledore cheerfully, reentering the room. "My apologies, but I was distracted on my way back to the table by your new collection of plants. Might I prevail upon you to show them to us?"
"By all means!" Slughorn, once again the jovial, beaming host, showed them not only the plants but almost the entire house, and it was dinner time and past it when Harry threw Floo powder into the fire. As the flames burned green, he looked back at Slughorn.
"Thank you, Professor," he said. "Thank you very much." He turned to the flames. "Headmaster’s office, Hogwarts!"
As he spun through the Floo, Harry kept one hand on the precious lump in the pocket of his robes.
xXxXx
"Harry, I must now ask you to make a difficult decision," said Dumbledore. They faced each other over Dumbledore’s desk, the vial with the memory and the empty Pensieve side by side on it. "If you wish it, I will allow you to witness this memory with me. However, you must realize that if its contents are what I suspect they are, Voldemort’s greatest secret will be known to us, and that he has killed before now to keep even a rumor of that secret from leaking out."
Harry shrugged. "He already wants to kill me, sir. I don’t see how it could make much difference."
"True, but here lies the catch. I would ask you to tell no one what you saw and heard. Not your parents, your siblings, or your closest friends. No one at all. Your parents have enough troubles of their own at the moment, and your siblings and friends are well-intentioned, but I am not convinced they are trustworthy."
Harry felt his stomach levitate again. "And you think I am?"
"I am sure you are. So. Will you see it and tell no one, or remain, for the moment, unaware?"
Harry looked at the memory. He’d worked hard for it, he deserved to see it... but half the fun of knowing anything was telling people about it, and talking about it late at night when you were supposed to be sleeping... and besides, if it was something about defeating Voldemort, it probably wouldn’t be much fun to know... and Dumbledore didn’t really want him knowing it yet, he was afraid for Harry, and Dumbledore was almost never afraid...
"Can I just know if it’s what you wanted, sir?" he asked, looking back up. "Can you look at it and tell me that?"
"Certainly." Dumbledore opened the vial and emptied the memory into the Pensieve. "I will be only a moment, Harry." He lowered his face into the basin and went completely still. Harry felt a strange urge to poke him and see if he’d react, but resisted.
I want to have one year when I don’t have to be The Boy Who Lived, he thought. One normal year. That’s all I ask. Maybe this can be it.
After a moment or two, Dumbledore lifted his face. "This is, indeed, what I sought, Harry," he said quietly. "Has your answer changed?"
Harry shook his head. "No, sir. If you don’t think I should see it, I don’t want to."
"I do not recall saying that I did not wish you to see the memory."
"No, but you meant it, sir. You’re afraid for me if I see it."
Dumbledore regarded him for a moment. "And you seemed to know Horace’s emotions quite clearly as well," he said quietly. "Tell me, Harry, how are your... private studies coming?"
"You mean the ones like my dad did? And Padfoot?"
"Yes, those."
Harry grinned. "I did it yesterday. It’s done."
Dumbledore nodded. "That explains a great deal. I would suggest that you pay attention to your sense of smell more in the coming years than you have hitherto. I doubt it will lead you wrongly."
My sense of smell? But it fit together... he could have been smelling those emotions from Slughorn, Moony and Padfoot certainly claimed they could smell more than most people, and they had always been disturbingly good at nosing out guilt among the cubs...
"I suggest you begin for home, Harry, you must be hungry," said Dumbledore, breaking into his thoughts. "I am sure they will have kept supper for you, but mothers are prone to worry, and yours more than most, perhaps, to lecture..."
Harry nodded ruefully and headed for Dumbledore’s fireplace. "Thank you for taking me to tea, sir," he said.
"Thank you for coming, Harry. Many times thanks."
The last thing Harry saw in the office was Dumbledore lowering his face once more into the Pensieve.
Author Notes:
Harry’s spell means: "Because I look through glass circles, circles surround my green eyes. My fur is black, and my brow bears the lightning scar. My body is a wolf’s body, but my heart is the heart of a lion. I fight bravely for my own people, for I will not abandon those who are mine."