xix. the collection of memories

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The door of the office opened.

"Hello, you two," said Moody. "Come in, then."

Matilda and Harry walked inside. She'd been inside Dumbledore's office many times before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous Headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently.

Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

"Harry!" said Fudge jovially, moving forwards. "How are you?"

Matilda stepped aside, avoiding Fudge.

"Fine," said Harry.

"We were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up in the grounds," said Fudge. "It was you who found him, was it not?"

"Yes," said Harry.

Deciding not to pretend that they hadn't heard everything said behind the closed door, Matilda spoke up, "Though in Harry's initial report he hadn't said anything about seeing Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?"

Dumbledore smiled at Matilda behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, well," said Fudge, looking embarrassed, "We're about to go for a short walk in the grounds if you'll excuse us... perhaps if you two just go back to your class –"

"We wanted to talk to you, Professor," Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look.

"Wait here for me," he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

They trooped out in silence past them and closed the door. After a minute or so, Harry and Matilda heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. Harry began to look around.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry greeted.

Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet and gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry as he approached it.

Matilda and Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. For several minutes, they sat and watched the old Headmasters and mistresses snoozing in their frames. Tilly began thinking about what she and Harry had just heard, and she watched him run his fingers over his scar.

"Is it still hurting?" Matilda asked.

Harry shook his head, "No, not anymore."

Matilda could see that Harry felt much calmer now that he was in Dumbledore's office. Matilda looked up at the walls behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword, with large rubies set into the hilt, which Matilda recognized as the one Harry had pulled out of the Sorting Hat in their second year.

Harry was gazing at the black cabinet behind them. A string of silver light shone through the unlatched door. He stood up, slowly approaching it, hesitantly pulling the door open. Matilda stood from her chair, curious.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge; runes and symbols that Matilda couldn't even recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, a sight she'd only ever seen illustrated in her books. It was hard to tell if the substance in the basin was liquid or gas. It was bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath the wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light-made liquid – or like wind-made solid. Matilda recognized it as a Pensieve, she'd never actually seen one in person, but she's ready about them plenty.

"What is it?" asked Harry, fascinated.

"A Pensieve," said Matilda. "I've never seen one in person though. Only ever read about them. wizards and witches store their memories here."

His head was submerged in the liquid – yet solid seeming substance, his hands gripped the side of the basin. Matilda but down on her thumbnail, looking around the room as she debated on stopping him. Finally, she decided against it, wanting to learn how the Pensieve works. And lucky her that Harry was here to act as a test mouse.

After a minute or so of Harry's face being fully submerged Matilda looked over, just to be sure that he was still breathing. She poked him lightly with her wand, no movement except for his grip tightening around the edges. She sighed, poking him again, only harder. Nothing.

The sound of steps approaching the door alerted her, and she bent down next to Harry, whispering, "Harry, come on up now..."

Harry didn't budge, "Bloody hell, Harry come up now, before we're caught."

Still nothing, and the door opened.

"Ah," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked over to Matilda trying to pull Harry up. "You've discovered the Pensieve."

Matilda glanced up, laughing nervously, "Yes, well, Harry seems to be a bit – well he seems to be a bit stuck."

Dumbledore chuckled, walking toward the cabinet, "Have you called to him?"

"Only about a million times," sighed Matilda. "He hasn't budged."

"Must be quite the memory he's witnessing," said Dumbledore, taking hold of Harry's shoulder. "Here, allow me."

Matilda backed away, allowing Dumbledore to try and pull Harry out of whatever trance this had put him in. He leaned down, whispering in his ear, telling him it's time to return to the office. Matilda watched him repeat the phrase about ten times before Harry began to twitch, his arms stiffening, and feet kicking out from under him until finally, his head flew out of the Pensieve. His breathing was heavy and jagged as he looked around the room with a frightened expression. Once he spotted Matilda though he tensed shoulder relaxed and he managed to slow his breathing.

"What was it like?" Matilda asked immediately. "What did you see? Did it hurt?"

"Professor," Harry gasped, ignoring Matilda's one thousand questions. "I know I shouldn't've – I didn't mean – the cabinet door was sort of open and –"

"I quite understand," said Dumbledore. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned Harry and Matilda to sit down opposite him.

They did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze.

"What's a Pensieve, Professor?" Harry asked.

"This right here is a Pensieve," said Dumbledore. "I sometimes find, and I am sure the both of you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

Matilda nodded, agreeing, meanwhile Harry sat still, unsure if he could relate.

"At these times," said Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand when they are in this form."

"How, how fascinating," said Matilda grinning. "Imagine how this could help you prepare for exams. Oh, this is splendid."

Dumbledore chuckled at Matilda's ramblings.

"You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?" Harry said, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.

He seemed to be having a much different reaction than Matilda.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me show you."

Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes, and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it – but then Matilda saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange, silvery white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Matilda, astonished, saw his own face swimming around the surface of the bowl.

Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would swirl for fragments of gold... and Matilda saw Harry's face change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth, and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly. "It's coming back... Karkaroff's too... stronger and clearer than ever..."

"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore sighed, "But never mind." He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry and Matilda, who was gaping at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. "I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly, I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.

Matilda shook her head.

"Don't be," she told him rather sternly. "Curiosity is not a sin."

"Matilda is correct," Dumbledore nodded. "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed..."

Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of around sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry, Matilda, or Professor Dumbledore. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it was coming from the depths of the stone basin: "He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday..."

"But why, Bertha," said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "Why did you have to follow him in the first place?"

"Bertha?" Matilda questioned, looking up at her. "As in Bertha Jorkins?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. "That was Bertha as I remember her at school."

The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck Matilda suddenly how very old he was looking. She knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow, she never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man. It scared her, the sudden realization did.

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."

"Yes," said Harry. "Professor – I was in Divination just now, and – er – I fell asleep."

He hesitated here, fearing he might be reprimanded, but Matilda scoffed rolling her eyes, "Please Harry, it's quite alright that you fell asleep during Divinations..."

Dumbledore nodded for him to continue.

"Well, I had a dream," said Harry. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail... you know who Wormtail –"

"I do know," said Dumbledore, promptly. "Please continue."

"Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake – there was a snake beside his chair. He said – he said he'd be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail – and my scar hurt," Harry said. "It woke me up, it hurt so badly."

Dumbledore merely looked at him.

"Er – that's all," said Harry.

"I see," said Dumbledore quietly. "I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"

"No, I – how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" said Harry, astonished.

"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay."

"Quite the common criminal aren't we, Albus," Matilda quipped.

Dumbledore chuckled as he stood up from behind his desk.

He began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Matilda couldn't make out anything clearly; it was merely a blur of color.

"Professor?" Harry said quietly, after a couple of minutes.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry.

"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.

"D'you – d'you know why my scar's hurting me?"

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that... It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"Like they're connected?" Matilda sat up straight in her chair.

"Exactly..." whispered Dumbledore.

"Wait...what?" Harry questioned, sounding panicked.

"Harry, you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."

"So you think... that dream... did it really happen?"

"It is possible," said Dumbledore. "I would say – probable. Harry – did you see Voldemort?"

"No," said Harry. "Just the back of his chair. But – there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But... but then how could he have held the wand?" Harry said slowly.

"How indeed?" muttered Dumbledore. "How indeed..."

Not one person spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, every now and then placing his wand tip to his temple, and adding another shining, silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

"Professor," Harry said at last, "Do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pensieve. "Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions."

"What is your suspicion?" Matilda asked the dreaded question.

Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older and wearier than ever.

"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "Were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch, too, has disappeared... within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, does not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry and Matilda. "These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees – as the two of you may have heard while waiting outside my office."

They nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Matilda felt as though they ought to go, but her curiosity held her in the chair.

"Professor?" Harry said again.

"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore.

"Er... could I ask you about... that court thing I was in... in the Pensieve?"

Matilda looked over suddenly.

"You could," said Dumbledore heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others... particularly now..."

"You know – you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well... were they talking about Neville's parents?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look.

"Has Neville never told you why he was brought up by his grandmother?" he said.

Harry shook his head, and Matilda's heart sank. Having grown up in the Wizarding World she'd known about the torture of the Longbottoms'. Having known the story, it was part of the reason Matilda chose to be so kind to Neville. He'd been through so much already, he didn't the weight of her torment.

"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," said Dumbledore. "His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard."

"So they're dead?" said Harry quietly.

"No," said Dumbledore, his voice full of bitterness, "They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

Times like this made Matilda grateful for her family – divorced parents and all. She couldn't imagine not having them in her life or them not knowing who she was. She reminded herself that she should write them soon.

"The Longbottoms were very popular," said Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was – given their condition – none too reliable."

"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" said Harry slowly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "As to that, I have no idea."

They sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl.

"Er," Harry said, "Mr. Bagman..."

"... has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Right," said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts. "And... er..."

But the Pensieve stopped Harry. Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.

"No more has Professor Snape," said Dumbledore.

Harry looked straight at Dumbledore, seeming to really think about what he was going to say next, "What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"

Matilda might have had a different reaction if she hadn't already known about Professor Snape. She wasn't supposed to know, which was why she'd never said that she knew. It was her first year, she was stuck in her dad's office during the Holidays, and she was bored, so bored. And so, she snooped. Getting into locked file cabinets quite easily, and she found a file on Severus Snape. Curious to learn more about her Professor, and to find out how she might win him over, she opened the locked file, easily, and read. Come to find out he was a Death Eater who Dumbledore had turned into a spy to work for the Ministry. Quickly, she closed the file and never spoke of seeing it after that.

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

Matilda knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Matilda it was time to go. She stood up, pulling Harry with her, and so did Dumbledore.

"Harry," he said, as Harry reached the door. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know when he is ready."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, turning to leave with Matilda.

"And –"

They looked back.

Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at Matilda for a moment before switching to Harry, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."

ϟ

Matilda had followed Harry to the Owlery where he quickly began writing to Sirius, telling him everything that happened today, even about his burning scar. Matilda was quiet as Harry scribbled onto the parchment, she didn't what to say. What did Harry want to hear? Certainly not that she'd known that Snape was a retired Death Eater and didn't tell him.

"Are you afraid?" asked Harry suddenly.

Matilda glanced up; she'd been picking at the coat of blue nail polish Luna had painted onto her nails the other night.

"Afraid of what?" she asked.

"The possibility of Voldemort returning..." he said quietly.

It was as if just the thought of Voldemort coming back was scarier to think about than him actually coming back. 

"I mean, sure," said Matilda with a shrug. "The thought of another war happening is enough to scare anyone."

Rueban Winters had never been one to sugarcoat how draining the war was when telling his daughters about it. Reminding them that there were death and sadness all throughout the wizarding world. It was a dark place, he'd tell them, that he never wanted to be again.

"But Voldemort himself doesn't scare you?" Harry tied the letter to Pluto's foot, sending her off.

"No, because what he stands for is much more frightening than he could ever be," said Matilda.

Harry nodded.

"Besides, his arch-nemesis was a child, how frightening can he be?" Matilda joked, attempting to lighten Harry's mood.

He chuckled, agreeing, and together they walked down to supper.

The feast was nothing short of what it usually was. The tables filled with every piece of food one could imagine. Arriving late, Matilda took a seat beside Padma who told her all about her tutoring session with Bentley Morgenstern in a hushed tone, seeing as they shared a table with him. Apparently, he'd brushed her hand with his when offering her a quill since she'd forgotten her own.

"You were going to be tutored, how do you forget a quill?" Cho Chang asked.

For the first time, Matilda agreed with her.

"I didn't actually forget it," Padma told them. "It's all part of my master plan."

"What plan?" asked Luna, biting into her cake.

"My plan to make Bentley Morgenstern fall in love with me," grinned Padma.

"You sound proper insane, you know that?" Matilda warned her. "Like, giving him a love potion, insane."

Padma rolled her eyes, changing the subject to the amount of homework she still had despite all the tutoring help. They began talking about studying, and the amount of time each of them will be spending in the library, except Matilda, who knew most of her exam prep time will be swapped with her helping to prepare Harry for the final task.

They spent a few hours in the common room. Padma and Luna playing Wizarding Chess, Matilda beside them, reading a book, and sitting on the floor below them, Claire Morgenstern painted Cho's nails with the newest color-changing polish, that changes based on the wearer's mood.

Cho was the first to excuse herself to bed after countless yawns. Luna was next, having beaten Padma three times in a row at chess, and Padma and Matilda, being the last two of the roommates left sitting across the fire.

"You seem distracted lately," Padma spoke carefully.

She didn't want to offend Matilda, as that wasn't her intention.

"Because I am," admitted Matilda, much to Padma's surprise. "I'm just worried is all."

"About Harry?" Padma asks.

"About everything," said Matilda.

Once she finally retired to her bed, Matilda found herself unable to fall asleep. She'd lied to Harry earlier, she was afraid of Voldemort's return, much more than she let on. But she wasn't afraid of dying by his hand. She was afraid of him killing Harry. 

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AN:// one more filler chapter before the action.

Sorry about the length. I know they're usually longer than this.