Harry wandered outside alone after dinner in the Great Hall. He found a quiet spot under the beech tree by the lake and sat down, thoughts of the days and weeks ahead swirling through his mind like a whirlwind.
He could not believe that Snape was dead, even though he had known from the moment he left Spinner’s End that the potions master had little chance of surviving Voldemort’s rage. A small part of him still hoped the potions master was alive, for reasons Harry was only beginning to understand. At times he wanted more than anything to take his revenge for the death of the headmaster; but then his thoughts turned to the three memories in his pocket, and he simply wanted to know why Snape had done what he did.
Harry was also struggling to understand another death: Draco Malfoy. It was unfathomable that Draco Malfoy was dead, and that he, Harry, was a suspect in his murder. A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that Draco wasn’t actually dead. Yet whenever he tried to really listen to what the voice was telling him, Harry found his thoughts clouding over, and he was unable to concentrate. He had been hit on the head hard during the fight at Spinner’s End, but he sometimes wondered if there was more to it than that.
Harry was having a difficult a time dealing with the loss of his two greatest enemies at Hogwarts. It was as if the focus of so much of his anger and hatred for the past six years had been unexpectedly taken from him, and Harry felt a hole inside of him where those feelings had always been. It made him feel ashamed and confused to have such thoughts, and he tried think about anything else but Snape, Malfoy, and Spinner’s End.
No further mention of him had appeared in the Daily Prophet, and Harry wondered if the Ministry was still planning on questioning him about the attack at the castle and Pansy Parkinson’s ridiculous accusation. He dreaded the thought of having to speak with Rufus Scrimgeour in particular, now that Dumbledore was dead. It was one thing to be labeled insane by the Daily Prophet but quite another to be suspected of murder by the Ministry. Harry worried that Scrimgeour would try to manipulate him as he had before, but with far more dire consequences now that Dumbledore was gone and unable to protect him.
Ron and Hermione had tried to take his mind off Snape and Scrimgeour and the Daily Prophet article by plunging into the search for the mysterious R.A.B. They had spent the past two days in the library, searching through books and records, trying to find someone whose initials matched those found in the locket. Harry half-heartedly went along, at first curious about the wizard who had apparently tricked Voldemort and stolen one of his Horcruxes. But as the days wore on, he grew less interested in R.A.B. and more concerned about the overwhelming task of finding the real locket, along with three other Horcruxes.
More than anything Harry thought about the three memories he kept in his pocket, and how he was going to view them. He desperately wanted to know what they would show him; he hoped they would at last reveal the truth about Snape. He didn’t think he could move forward without knowing what they contained, because he needed to understand the former potions master’s role in Dumbledore’s murder before he could even begin his hunt for the remaining pieces of Voldemort’s soul.
Harry sighed and laid back as he watched the giant squid wave its lazy tentacles in the evening breeze. Soon he heard footsteps behind him, and felt someone sit down next to him. It was Ginny, and she smiled sadly at him. “Hi,” she said softly.
“How’s Bill?” asked Harry, sitting up and looking at her with concern.
“He’s getting better,” she replied quietly. “Madam Pomfrey said he could come down for the funeral, and then go home.” She looked down at her hands. “We still don’t know what the effects will be, though.”
Harry put his arm around Ginny, and she leaned on his shoulder. For a while they sat in silence, holding each other as they watched the sun set slowly over the lake. After a while, Ginny spoke again.
“Have you watched Professor Dumbledore’s memories yet?” she asked curiously. Harry had told her about Snape and the glass vials; he had not yet told her about Dumbledore and the locket. He wanted Ginny to know the truth about Snape, but he wanted to protect her from the horrible knowledge of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
Harry shook his head in frustration. “No, not yet. I don’t want to ask McGonagall for the Pensieve. I know she’ll want to see them too, and I’m not ready to share them yet. The only other way I can think to get it is to steal it.”
Ginny turned and looked at him. “You don’t have to steal it, you just need to borrow it, like a library book. Think of it that way, and if McGonagall gives you a detention because you borrowed it without asking “ well, at least you saw them. It would be worth it.”
Harry narrowed his eyes and laughed. “Fred and George are a bad influence on you! Do you really think I should just take it “ I mean, borrow it?”
Ginny nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Those memories must be important for Dumbledore to leave them for you after his death.”
“I know,” said Harry, both dreading and anticipating what the Pensieve might reveal.
“Professor McGonagall was still in the Great Hall when I left,” continued Ginny, with a twinkle in her eye.
Harry smiled; he knew exactly what she was thinking. He stood and pulled out his wand, making up his mind. “Here goes then. I’m just borrowing it.” Pointing his wand at the topmost tower of the castle, he said, “Accio Pensieve!” and waited patiently.
Within moments the silver basin was flying through the sky toward the lake. Harry caught it from midair, and was knocked flat on his back, hitting the ground hard with an awkward grunt. Ginny burst out laughing. “It’s no Snitch, that’s for sure,” Harry said, laughing with her for the first time in days. “Come on, I know exactly where to go.”
Stashing the heavy basin in his book bag, he led her back to the castle and through the corridors to the seventh floor. Walking back and forth down the hallway, he thought about a room where he could use the Pensieve in secret, away from prying eyes. On his third pass, a door appeared, and together they entered the Room of Requirement.
They were standing in Professor Dumbledore’s office.
Harry stopped short and swallowed hard, gazing around the circular room. It was exactly like the headmaster’s office, from the silver instruments whirring on the table, to the portraits lining the wall, to the Sorting Hat lying on top of a shelf behind the large wooden desk. Glancing at Ginny, Harry smiled wistfully and led her inside.
He walked over to Dumbledore’s desk and placed the Pensieve next to a silver inkpot. After taking out the velvet bag containing the glass vials that Snape had given him in Spinner’s End, Harry paused. He did not know what the memories would show him, so he did not know which one he should choose first. He finally poured one into the basin and stirred it with his wand, hoping it was the right memory to start with.
“How does it work?” asked Ginny, leaning in curiously to examine the shining silvery substance swirling through the Pensieve. Harry pulled her back before she fell in; he wasn’t sure how to get himself out, let alone another person.
“You lean into it, its sort of like falling,” he said. “Ginny, I know you want to go too, but I really need you to stay. I ““
“No!” she interrupted, her eyes flashing. “I’m going with you. I have every right to know why Snape killed Professor Dumbledore ““
“Ginny,” he cut her off. “I know you do. But I’ve never done this by myself, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out. I need you here, just in case.”
She still looked determined to join him. “I don’t know how it works either,” she said somewhat resentfully. “If I go with you, we can figure it out together.”
Harry shook his head. “I really need to do this alone, and I need you here to make sure it’s safe. Please, Ginny.”
She finally sighed and nodded reluctantly. “I knew you were going to say something like that. I’ll stay, but I’m getting Ron and Hermione if something goes wrong and you’re not back in an hour.”
“Thank you,” said Harry, relieved that she was so willing to help. “All right then, here I go. See you soon.” Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the Pensieve.
* * *
Harry found himself falling through a dark night sky. He landed hard on the ground, and lay still for a moment, winded. Rising slowly, he glanced around and saw that he was in Hogsmeade. It was cold, dark, and raining, and he was standing in the middle of a mud puddle in front of the Hog’s Head Inn.
A man passed in front of him, and Harry immediately recognized Professor Dumbledore, though several years younger. Harry followed him into the Hog’s Head, shaking himself dry as he entered the dirty, stale-smelling pub.
“Good evening, Aberforth,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, smiling genially at the barman behind the counter. Harry frowned as he observed the two men: they looked remarkably similar, though there were still slight differences. The barman was also tall and thin, but his white hair was untrimmed and his beard grey. He had piercing green eyes, and scowled.
“Albus,” he acknowledged shortly. “Here to see the seer then?”
Dumbledore nodded. “I am. But I’d like a small brandy first.”
The barman snorted as he took out two dirty glasses and poured a drink for Dumbledore. “You’ll want something stronger once you meet this one. She’s a right piece of work.” He poured himself a glass of brandy as well.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Really? I would have thought better of the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney.” He raised his glass to the barman and took a small sip; the other man tipped his back and drained the glass.
“Blood isn’t everything,” the barman replied with a barking laugh. “We’re proof of that.” Harry realized with a start that this man was Professor Dumbledore’s brother. Harry had seen him in a picture of the Order, though the headmaster had only mentioned him once.
“Aberforth,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. “Why do you bring this up so often? We may be brothers, but we are also two completely different people who have chosen quite separate paths in life, neither one more worthy than the other.”
Aberforth shrugged inelegantly. “True. I’d like to think every family needs a wizard like me to show them the more colorful sides of life.”
“Indeed we do!” Dumbledore exclaimed, laughing merrily. “And your colorful sides have proven very useful to the Order. For that I could not be more grateful. Tell me, have you heard anything about the Potters lately?”
Harry started when he heard his name. He had already realized that this was the night Sybill Trelawney made the prophecy about his birth; he hadn’t realized his parents were already a part of the picture.
Aberforth shrugged as he began to wipe the bar with a discolored towel. “Voldemort sent his Death Eaters after them again last night, and they managed their third escape in as many tries. Word is he is extremely angry about this last one.”
“I imagine he would be,” replied Dumbledore thoughtfully. “The Potters have been remarkably lucky, and I am starting to wonder just how they have managed to avoid being killed so many times.”
Aberforth grinned, showing crooked teeth through his grey beard. “Do you know who was in charge?” he asked casually.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “No, but apparently you do, and apparently it’s important. All right then, tell me your great secret.”
“Pay up first,” said Aberforth, indicating the empty brandy glass.
“When you tell me who went after the Potters,” countered Dumbledore, leaning over the counter.
Aberforth snorted once more. “Fine. It was your favorite little potions prodigy, Severus Snape.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for payment. Harry stared at him in astonishment. Snape had been sent to kill his parents? And had failed?
“Of course.” Dumbledore stood up and pushed in his stool. “I should have guessed.” He looked at Aberforth’s hand and shook it, his eyes twinkling. “My thanks as payment, brother. You’ve done a good service for the Order. As always, I don’t know where you get your information, but it’s helped greatly.”
Aberforth stumped away. “You don’t want to know either,” he said over his shoulder. “Go interview your seer, you stingy old man. Maybe she’ll give you a prophecy.”
“Making predictions?” laughed Dumbledore. “Stick to what you know best. I’ll be down soon, I imagine.”
Harry followed Dumbledore up the stairs into a dark, narrow hallway. Dumbledore walked to the end of the hall and knocked smartly on the last door. A dreamy, ethereal voice called out “Come in,” and the headmaster entered a tiny room. Harry trailed behind, stumbling slightly as the door shut but he continued right through it.
“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore introduced himself to the woman in the room. Sybill Trelawney was sitting in a small rocking chair, draped in shawls. Her large glasses magnified her round eyes, making her appear startled. She had arranged the dingy room at the Hog’s Head much like her future classroom at Hogwarts: a roaring fire drenched the room with heat, various crystal balls and tea cups were scattered about the tables, and incense filled the room with the overpowering scent of lavender and sandalwood. Harry saw Dumbledore glance around the room and raise his eyebrows almost imperceptibly; Harry couldn’t help but grin at the headmaster’s response.
“Headmaster. I knew you would be arriving soon, of course,” said Trelawney dreamily, indicating the crystal ball on her table as she swirled a cup of tea.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Indeed,” he replied, and Harry heard the polite skepticism in his voice. “And do you know when I will be leaving?” Harry snorted to himself.
Trelawney gave Dumbledore a withering look, then returned to her tea leaves. “I only see what I need to see in the Beyond,” she said mysteriously.
Dumbledore helped himself to a chair at the table, nodding. “Of course. And the tea leaves “ are they showing you anything tonight?”
“Of course,” she replied, rising to join him at the table. “I see many things in my future. The hat foretells a new work situation.” Trelawney paused to show him the cup, but Dumbledore only raised his eyebrows again, and she continued somewhat nervously. “The chair represents an unexpected guest, while the giraffe standing on the chair points to a misunderstanding.”
“Regarding the work or the guest?” asked Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. Harry grinned: Trelawney’s reading sounded remarkably like something he and Ron would have made up for class.
Harry knew that Dumbledore had been reluctant to hire Trelawney even before meeting her, and she certainly wasn’t making a very good impression now. As he continued to subtly question her about the art of Divination, she continued to answer with mysterious magical references that made little sense and showed no real glimpse of the future. She also mentioned her great-great-grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, at least five times. Harry saw the exasperation on Dumbledore’s face, coupled with the smallest bit of disappointment.
Finally Dumbledore stood up to take his leave. “It has been a pleasure, Ms. Trelawney. I have enjoyed our meeting tremendously, but I’m afraid that I am unable to offer you the position at Hogwarts. I’m not sure Divination will remain a part of our curriculum. Thank you for your time, and please accept my best wishes for your success in the future.”
As Dumbledore turned to leave, Trelawney jumped up to stop him. Harry saw the desperate look in her eyes as she realized that she had not secured the job. “Wait!” she cried. “Let me do a tarot card reading for you. The cards speak strongly to me, they ““
She stopped abruptly, and Harry recognized the trance state that he had witnessed during his third year. Trelawney went rigid, her eyes rolling strangely behind her round glasses. When she spoke, it was in a deep voice.
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... “
Dumbledore whirled around, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. He strode back to Trelawney, who continued in her strange voice. Harry watched closely, fascinated even though Dumbledore had shown him this very scene in the Pensieve the previous year.
“And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”
Trelawney shuddered and took a deep breath, then continued as if nothing had happened. “ “ they speak to my Inner Eye. I can do a laying for you, show you your future path.” She was completely unaware of the prophecy she had just made. She went to the table and began to lay out her cards, beginning with the Page of Swords. Dumbledore stared at her, thunderstruck.
At that moment the door to the small room flew open, and Aberforth Dumbledore stomped in, holding a pale skinny man with limp black hair by his collar. He tossed the man roughly to the floor, and Harry was shocked to see a young Severus Snape. He had forgotten that Snape had overheard the prophecy, and been the one to send Voldemort after his parents. He clenched his fists as we watched the scene unfold.
“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Trelawney, her hands flying to her mouth. “What is he doing here?”
Dumbledore looked both angry and curious. “A good question,” he said softly. “Where did you find him?” Snape looked up at him, wide-eyed with both fear and defiance.
“I caught him outside the door, eavesdropping,” growled Aberforth. “He heard it all.” He gave his brother a pointed look, and Dumbledore nodded.
“I see,” he said, and turned to Trelawney. “I apologize for the rude interruption, Ms. Trelawney. Rest assured I will deal with it immediately.” He motioned to Aberforth to take Snape from the room, and began to leave.
Trelawney simply stood there, speechless. Dumbledore stopped at the doorway and smiled tightly at the puzzled Seer. “Please accept my offer of the position of Professor of Divination at Hogwarts. I hope that you will join our exceptional staff. I will await your owl.” He left rather abruptly, shutting the door behind him. Harry trailed him out.
Aberforth pushed Snape down the hallway to an empty room. Dumbledore followed behind him, and Harry entered to find Snape already sitting in a chair, white ropes binding him as Aberforth trained his wand loosely at Snape’s chest. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at his brother.
“Really, Aberforth, he’s a spy, not a killer,” he said reproachfully. He pulled up a second chair and sat down across from Snape. He looked for all the world far more ready for a pleasant conversation about socks than for an interrogation about spying.
“We don’t know that,” Aberforth replied darkly, though he backed off toward the door. Harry stood next to Aberforth, watching the confrontation, fascinated.
“Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was a slight edge to his voice.
“Headmaster,” Snape replied quietly, with only the faintest hint of a sneer.
“And what brings you to the Hog’s Head this rainy night?” continued Dumbledore, leaning back and placing his heads together near his chin.
Snape narrowed his eyes as if he were thinking. “I came to speak to you,” he finally answered.
“I hardly thought you wished to speak with Sybill Trelawney,” said Dumbledore lightly. “Although she certainly rose to the occasion tonight. So tell me “ why did you want to speak with me? Why did you follow me here tonight?” Dumbledore watched as Snape seemed to struggle with his words. Harry held his breath.
“I want to join the Order of the Phoenix,” Snape said, each word sounding more reluctant than the next. Aberforth snorted, and Harry muttered under his breath. Only Dumbledore did not seem surprised.
“You wish to join the Order of the Phoenix,” he repeated, leaning closer. “You would leave the ranks of the Death Eaters and turn against Voldemort?” Snape twitched and Dumbledore continued, piercing Snape with his blue eyes. “Why?”
Here was the question that Harry had been waiting for, the question that would finally explain why Snape had turned spy, why Dumbledore had trusted him, and perhaps even why Snape had turned and killed him. Harry stepped closer, and listened breathlessly for Snape’s answer.
* * *
A/N: I am so happy that the next few chapters sorted themselves out so quickly! It is amazing what not having constant access to a computer will do for your creativity. I can almost see why J.K.Rowling prefers a pen and paper, as my notepad didn’t crash once as I worked on this story. I hope you enjoyed your first look into the Pensieve; there is more to come!