Harry found himself, for the fourth time, inside somebody's memory, but for the first time it was his own. He was sitting in the Great Hall on the benches used during meals, but there were no tables. All the benches faced the teacher's table, where a large, elaborate casket lay open on the table, with four caskets on either side.
Harry looked around. He was at the bench in the very front on the right side of the Hall, and all the teachers sat on the benches to the left of him. On his right was Harry from the memory, looking almost eighteen. He was dressed completely in black with no Gryffindor colors. His face was unreadable, and his eyes, although facing the front, had a glazed look as if he didn’t see anything in front of him.
On Pensieve Harry’s right was Ron, wearing near identical clothes to Harry. His left arm was in bandages, and he sported a small cut on his left cheek. His face was blank save for his eyes, which looked red and swollen with unshed tears.
Hermione sat on Ron’s right. Her face was buried in Ron’s shoulder, and as a result her cries were muffled. She shook with every sob and she wouldn’t look at the coffins in front.
Harry realized the crowd seemed too small to be the whole school, especially since some people in the crowd weren’t even students, but Order members. Harry wondered where most of the students were. A group of Ministry figures sat with the teachers, with Amelia Bones sitting in the middle, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief periodically.
He was at a funeral, he knew that much. But what person, or people, died? How did they die? Was this after the final battle? It probably was, but Harry wasn’t sure.
Professor McGonagall walked up to the front, a black gown underneath her ink black robe. She turned slowly, almost with a robotic stiffness, to face the crowd. She took several deep breaths. When she spoke, her voice shook.
“There will be a brief time to come to the caskets before,” She stopped, taking another deep breath, “before the caskets are buried.” She stopped again, unable to go further. She stared at the back wall of the Great Hall as she walked to her seat.
The movement of the crowd broke the stillness that followed McGonagall’s speech. Harry saw his Pensieve self walk over toward Ron and Hermione. Instead of confronting the caskets, he turned to face himself, Ron, and Hermione, who were standing in a cluster.
“So...” Ron mumbled. “Should we go? To look, I mean?”
Hermione gasped, lifting her head from Ron’s shoulders. “I c-can’t. I j-just c-c-can’t.”
Ron didn’t push it, but held her closer. He closed his eyes, biting his lip. Pensieve Harry stood there for a moment before heading up toward the coffins, with current Harry following.
Harry wandered to the coffin on the far left. It held a first year girl, wearing a beautiful blue dress. Her blonde hair draped over her shoulders. Harry didn’t recognize her and couldn’t tell what house she belonged to. Harry looked at the next coffin and gasped.
Colin Creevey. Not Colin Creevey. A lump formed in Harry’s throat. He was a member of the DA. He had probably tried to stop a Death Eater during the attack…. Harry remembered how Colin idolized him. How he, Harry, would dismiss him. How much Colin irritated him…. Harry wiped his eyes and moved on.
Euan Abercrombie, the first year Gryffindor that Harry saw sorted in his fifth year, was dead. And so was a fourth year Slytherin boy.
Harry walked slowly to the casket in the center, which his Pensieve self stood in front of, hands resting on the casket, tears slowly falling down his cheek. Harry looked down, half-expecting who he would see in there, and hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t.
Albus Dumbledore, with his half-moon spectacles, long grey hair and beard, crooked nose, and midnight blue robes, looked very calm and peaceful, as if he were merely in a deep slumber that he could wake from at any moment. All anger Harry had at this man for the secrets, for being a major cause in Sirius’s death, was gone. He could practically hear Dumbledore whispering into his ear, “To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." Harry’s vision blurred and he wiped his tears away with his sleeve.
Then a reckless thought came to mind. This didn’t happen yet, none of this. All these people, none of them have to die. We could change this so that it never happens. Dumbledore doesn’t have to die. But even when Harry thought this, he knew it wasn’t true. Even if he didn’t remember this, he had lived the past fifty years. All of this was ancient history…unchangeable….
Harry tore his eyes away from Dumbledore, trying to distract himself, but his gaze landed on two other familiar figures. Ernie Macmillan and Seamus Finnigan, friends in his year and in the DA, had died too. Harry wanted to scream. Why had this happened to them? How did Voldemort managed to kill so many of the people he cared for?
Ron walked up to Pensieve Harry, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go visit Ginny in the Hospital Wing.”
The funeral faded around Harry. A new picture formed around him.
He was no longer at Hogwarts. Harry didn’t recognize where he was, except it looked to be in the Ministry of Magic. He was once again sitting next to himself, and his memory self didn’t look to be much older than in the last memory. He was sitting outside of a door, fidgeting in his seat. Harry noticed that his memory self would self-consciously adjust the long sleeve on his right arm.
The door opened, and a nervous looking Ron walked out. “How did it go?” Pensieve Harry asked.
“I don’t know. She kept me for a while. Do you think that’s good?” Ron asked. A female voice called for Harry beyond the door. “Good luck,” Ron said. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
Pensieve Harry nodded and walked to the door, and Harry slipped in just before his memory self shut the door. A witch sat at the desk. She had her brown hair pulled back into a bun, and she was sorting the sheets of parchment on her desk. She looked up when the door closed. “Harry Potter?”
“Yes,” Pensieve Harry said nervously. The witch gestured for him to sit down, which he did. Harry stood in the corner, watching from the back. This must be an interview for Auror training.
The witch shuffled through more parchments. “Good recommendations…several N.E.W.T.s, that’s good. A N.E.W.T. in all the required classes, am I correct?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
The woman turned her attention to another scroll. “A very impressive recommendation from Professor McGonagall, I see. Does she still teach Transfiguration?”
“Yes.”
The witch smiled. “Yes, I remember her.” She looked up at Pensieve Harry for the first time. “So what past experiences have you had that would make you suitable for the job of an Auror?”
“Well,” Pensieve Harry paused. “I’ve faced Voldemort-sorry.” He apologized as the witch cleared the ink she spilled at hearing the name. “I faced You-Know-Who five times, and defeated him last year. I, uh, competed in the Triwizard Tournament, too….” He trailed off. Harry thought he could have given a little more about his accomplishments, and he guessed Pensieve Harry felt the same way.
The witch scribbled some notes down. “What are your magical strengths?”
“Well, Defense Against the Dark Arts was my best subject. Oh, and I could cast a Patronus Spell in my third year. And I’ve started study on Occlumency in my fifth year, and continued it in my sixth and seventh year.”
“I see. Do you have good leadership skills?”
“Yeah, I was the leader of our Defense Against the Dark Arts club.”
“Can you follow instructions of others?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the ability to stay calm in difficult situations?”
“I think so, yeah.”
The witch smiled. “Well, Mr. Potter. That should be all. And I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you. If I’m right, this was all really just a formality.” She winked at him.
“Uh, thanks,” Pensieve Harry smiled. He turned to go.
The witch looked to be struggling with something. “Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” Harry from the memory turned around. “Sorry, this is rude of me, but do you, well, do you still have that scar?”
Harry watched as Pensive Harry grabbed his right forearm. Then he realized what the witch asked. “Oh, on my forehead? No, it disappeared after Vol- You-Know-Who fell.”
“Really? Fascinating….” She paused, gazing at Harry’s forehead almost in a trance. She snapped out of it. “Where are my manners today? Pardon me. Well, it was good to meet you, Mr. Potter.” She shook his hand.
The scene faded away, and Harry was transported to the next memory.
Harry found himself this time in the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione and Ron both sat on the couch, and Harry sat on the chair by the fire. Hermione was looking at a Daily Prophet article. Present Harry looked at the headline.
DEATH EATERS RAID MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Harry read the date of the article. February 20, 1997. This memory was from his sixth year, over halfway through the year.
A soft thud was heard at the window, causing the trio and Harry to turn around. Errol had crashed through the window, and was swaying dangerously. Ron ran to the window, opened it inside, and pulled Errol in before he could fall to the ground. He carried Errol to the couch and handed him to Hermione so he could read the note. The group was silent as Ron read the note aloud.
“Ron, we’ve just gotten word from the Ministry….”
His face turned pale, and he stared at the note in disbelief.
“Ron?” Harry asked. “What did it say?”
Ron opened his mouth in a silent scream. Hermione read over his shoulder and gasped. “Oh Ron I’m so sorry.”
“What?” Harry stood up. “What is it?”
“Percy’s dead.” Ron said. “So is Mad-Eye Moody. They died in the raid.”
This was the night of or after the raid, Harry realized.
“How could Voldemort get back into the Ministry of Magic after last year?” Hermione said. Harry was shocked that Ron didn’t react to hearing Voldemort’s name. She picked up the newspaper. “How could they let him do it again?” She flipped through the pages noisily, as if expecting the article to answer everything for her.
“He never came back,” Ron whispered. “Percy never came back to us. He never apologized to Mum and Dad.”
Past Harry bit his lip, looking down to the floor.
Hermione threw down the newspaper in defeat. “Dumbledore has to stop Voldemort soon, before this gets worse.”
Pensieve Harry looked up at this. “Dumbledore?”
“Well, yeah. Who else? I mean, yeah you’ve stopped him, Harry, but there’s no way that you can stop Voldemort now, you’re still in school.”
Past Harry didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at Hermione for a long time. “You don’t think I can beat him?”
Hermione was suprised at this. She chose her next words carefully. “Not now, no. After all, stopping him is one thing, but to actually defeat him is going to take a powerful wizard-“
“Are you saying that I’m not a powerful wizard?” Harry stood up, his voice getting louder.
Hermione sounded agitated. “Of course not! What is this all about, anyway?” Harry didn’t answer her. “Come on, Harry, do you really think you have to be the one to defeat him, do you?” She paused, hoping for an encouraging answer, which never came. “Harry? Do you really think that?”
Harry kept his eyes on the carpet, his arms crossed. “Is this what you’ve been freaking out about all year?” Hermione asked. “Harry, you can’t put that kind of pressure on yourself.”
“I have no choice,” Harry mumbled before turning his back to Hermione.
“W-what are you talking about?” Hermione asked. Ron watched intently, still looking very pale. “Harry?”
Harry turned slowly, and sat back down on the chair. “There’s something I didn’t tell you two, about the prophecy.”
“Wait,” Ron interrupted. “Didn’t Neville destroy it?”
Harry nodded. “But I heard what it said. Dumbledore showed me afterwards.” He closed his eyes, as if straining to remember something. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches….”
Harry heard his voice fade away as several memories assaulted him at once. He was back in Godric’s Hollow, standing outside of his bedroom door with a baby in his arms…he was on the Quidditch field in his sixth year. He held the Quidditch Cup high while Malfoy spat in the dirt behind him. Then he was in a dark alley, bending over Lupin’s corpse. Next he was at Ron and Hermione’s wedding.
Harry closed his eyes to the dizzying sight before him. Loud noises from the passing memories roared in his ears, and he covered them. His mind had so many questions and the Pensieve was trying to answer them all at once. He felt a rushing wind chill his arms. Colors flashed in front of his eyelids. He wanted it all to stop.
And then it did. The wind died down, all went dark, and the white noise was replaced with a silence that pressed on his eardrums. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and he looked around. He strained his ears for a sound, but heard nothing. It was way too quiet for a forest; he couldn’t hear any animals or signs of wildlife.
Then he heard something. There were two sets of footprints running not far from where he was. Harry turned toward where they were, his fear rising. He wasn’t sure if he should head toward them or not. He still had no idea where he was, or when.
Then Harry saw himself run through the trees and run right past him, panting. Without thinking, Harry ran after him. After a minute he started breathing heavily as he wrestled through the thick vegetation to keep up with himself. He heard the sounds of jinxes and curses being sent in different directions behind him and he could smell smoke. He would have screamed if he weren’t so out of breath.
The two of them reached an opening in the forest. Harry watched his memory self slow down and come to a stop in the middle of the opening. Harry collapsed on a rock at the edge of the circle where the trees continued.
His memory self clutched the stitch in his chest. He was panting, with sweat beads on his forehead, along with several cuts on his face and arms from the run through the forest. He was only one year older than Harry was now. He pulled out his wand, and looked wearily around the circle.
Without warning Pensieve Harry started screaming and clutching his right forearm. Harry forced his eyes shut and strained to cover his ears but it was no use. The scream shot through him. He felt like he, himself, was experiencing the pain. Then it stopped. Harry slowly opened his eyes.
His memory self was kneeling on the ground, gasping, and gazing with horror at his right arm. Harry looked too, and was terrified at what he saw. A large, black serpent tattoo had been burned into his future self’s right arm. Its head was at the wrist, with two long fangs lashing out. Its body coiled down to its tail, which went all the way down to the elbow.
“Like it, Potter?” A dark, menacing voice hissed inside the clearing. Harry turned to face the skeleton-white face that had just appeared out of the forest. Terror filled him like he never knew. He was completely unaware that he himself was in no danger while he stared into those horrible blood-red eyes.
“Incendio!” Lord Voldemort shouted. The two of them were surrounded by a circle of green fire. Harry could only see the outline of the two bodies through the thick black smoke. Breathing was becoming difficult, and the roaring of the flames made Lord Voldemort difficult to hear.
“That’s my gift to you, to make sure that you, and all who find your remains when this is over, will remember that Lord Voldemort cannot be stopped. Let those who look at your disfigured body know that there is no defeating me. You will be my most powerful message to the wizarding world. You should be honored, Harry.”
Harry saw the shadow of Lord Voldemort walk toward his slumped body. He lifted his wand. “Crucio!”
Hearing his own voice scream rattled Harry. He felt the memory of Voldemort’s torture in his bones as his scream died away. Harry saw himself shaking slightly inside the circle, but slowly stood up. He held his wand up, now in a dueling position.
Voldemort yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Harry watched the wand shoot into the flames, and a flaming wand landed close to his feet. The wand was soon ashes. His memory self was now unarmed. Voldemort laughed, raising the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck.
“Avada Kedarva!” A jet of light shot out of Voldemort’s wand, visible to Harry even through the flames. Before the spell was even halfway toward Pensieve Harry, he pulled another wand out of his pocket and shouted “Expelliarmus!”
Just as Harry remembered from his fourth year, the spells collided and formed a gold stream of light between the two now vibrating wands. Harry saw the two shadows start to rise slowly, and the web-like dome of gold light surrounded them all again. Harry gasped. He couldn’t believe that his future self would perform this magic again.
Voldemort seemed to finally get over his surprise. “That won’t work this time, Potter.” Harry watched with horror as Voldemort made to break the connection.
Then Harry shouted, “Avada Kedarva!” A jet of green light shot through the beam of gold light, striking Voldemort’s wand and engulfing his body. A scream of a dying phoenix echoed from everywhere, and the dome blazed with green light. Harry braced himself against the charge of power all around him. The light was blinding. He couldn’t see.
Then it was over. The dome disappeared, and all was dark except for the fire, which was now low enough for Harry to see the two bodies inside the circle. Harry sprang up and jumped over the circle of fire. He ran to his future body. Harry leaned over it. He checked for a pulse, but there was none. He wasn’t breathing. Harry began to panic. Something must have gone wrong. He wouldn’t live this time. Time would be rewritten.
He heard several footprints coming his way. He looked up. Professor McGonagall rushed over to his body, followed by Ron and Hermione. Harry moved out of the way just in time as McGonagall started examining him. She performed several spells in quick succession. The knot in Harry’s stomach loosened a little. He looked at where he had seen Lord Voldemort fall, then quickly turned away from his ashy remains.
Professor McGonagall gasped. Harry looked down at himself. Harry’s scars, both the lightning bolt on his forehead and the snake on his arm, were glowing. Then the both faded away. Harry’s throat tightened. There was still a faint outline of the horrid snake on his arm.