act two: little dark age
chapter forty-three

See, Daphne absolutely hated going into Dumbledore's office. Especially with her friends for two reasons, they never got out. She'd probably be sitting and standing there for hours on end before anything would happen or before any of them would actually leave. It was quite infuriating.

Daphne watched as Dumbledore entered the room. He paid her no mind as he looked over at the stone basin. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of Harry, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside him. Daphne was quick to walk over and pull Harry back from it as the boy looked beyond startled.

"Sorry about him, he has yet to learn wizarding rules of not to stick your head in foreign objects-" Daphne stuttered out rather quickly as she looked at the boy she had yanked from an unknown substance.

"Professor," Harry gasped out, "I know I shouldn't've — I didn't mean — the cabinet door was sort of open and —"

"I quite understand," Dumbledore simply smiled, 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 for the two to sit down opposite him.

Harry did so, staring at the stone basin in wonder and thinking about what had happened. Daphne was a little slower to sit as she leaned against the back of a chair. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze.

"What is it?" Harry asked, adjusting his glasses on his face as his voice was as shaky as his body was, almost as if he was cold.

"This? It is called a Pensieve," Dumbledore explained as he went on, "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

Daphne raised an eyebrow as she found herself fascinated by this, "You can remove your thoughts and put them in there? So, you're telling me, I can never forget what I'm doing?"

"Er," Harry muttered, who couldn't truthfully say that he had ever felt anything of the sort while looking at Daphne who was now trying to debate on buying a pevensie.

"At these times," Dumbledore went on, 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. In a way, yes, you could never forget, Daphne."

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

"That's awesome. Do all thoughts look like that? I want mine to look pretty as well," Daphne began to mess with the pendant around her neck, moving it back and forth on the chain.

"Certainly," Dumbledore gave a swift nod before going quiet as he stroked his beard before speaking, "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 they 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 Daphne, astonished, saw her own face swimming around the surface of the bowl alongside Harry's. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold . . . and they saw Harry's own face change smoothly into Snape's as Daphne disappeared, 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 . . ." Snape's voice immediately caused Daphne to cringe as her entire astonished mood became ruined.

"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, 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 looked quite embarrassed by the fact that he was caught snooping through the headmaster's things, merely because he had been caught.

Dumbledore shook his head, "Curiosity is not a sin," he continued, "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity . . . yes, indeed . . . I'm surprised Miss Black didn't have your head."

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 about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of the group of people that crowded around the bowl.

When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were 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," Dumbledore sighed sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"

"Bertha?" Harry whispered, looking up at her while clearly confused, "Is that — was that Bertha Jorkins?"

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, 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 the two teens suddenly how very old he was looking. Daphne wanted to make a joke but didn't. She knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but Harry somehow had never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.

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

"Yes," Harry looked at Daphne who told him to go first,"Professor — I was in Divination just now, and — er — I fell asleep." He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming.

Dumbledore merely looked intrigued, "Quite understandable. Continue."

"Well, I had a dream," Harry continued as he fiddled with his hands,"A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail .. . you know who Wormtail —"

"I do know," Dumbledore hummed 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 he'd talk about Daphne and something — and my scar hurt," Harry looked to be distressed, "It woke me up, it hurt so badly." Dumbledore merely looked at him.

"I've had something similar," Daphne muttered quietly, not wanting to alert Dumbledore that she was seeing things or that she was a seer.

"Er — that's all," Harry grew uncomfortable as he stammered over his words, looking back at Daphne who finally took a seat.

"I see," Dumbledore muttered quietly, thinking Harry's words through,"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?" Harry asked, astonished by the fact that Dumbledore knew such a thing.

"Don't act so surprised, it's Dumbledore for Godric's sake," Daphne muttered as she had to add her wit into the mix as she grinned ever so slightly.

"You two are not Sirius's only correspondent," Dumbledore seemed amused by this, "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."

Dumbledore got up and 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 Harry couldn't make out anything clearly and Daphne felt as if she was getting a migraine: It was merely a blur of color.

"Professor?" he spoke quietly, after a couple of minutes of silence after he found himself drifting off staring at the pevensie.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry,"My apologies," he spoke quietly, he sat back down at his desk.

"D'you — d'you know why my scar's hurting me?" Harry asked as he fumbled with his hands, almost like Daphne did in the past.

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."

"But . . . why?" Harry threw another question into the mix as he tried to fully understand everything that was happening to him.

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

"How lovely, well, on the brightside you are the brightside," Daphne joked as she poked Harry's forearm as she wriggled her eyebrows.

"So you think . . . that dream . . . did it really happen?" Harry's attitude changed from completely distressed to slightly distressed after hearing Daphne's joke.

"It is possible," Dumbledore bit on his lip, "I would say — probable. Harry — did you see Voldemort? Did you see Daphne there?"

"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? I saw something that looked like her - but I couldn't make it out..." Harry went on slowly.

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

Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while, leaving the room in quite the uncomfortable silence. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

Daphne felt as if she needed to fear for her safety. She didn't know things were getting this severe and this severe without any of them realizing it. She knew that she was in danger - but this was serious. If she was being closed in on and Harry saw Voldemort having her... she truly was fucked over.

"Professor," Harry spoke up at last, "do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore questioned, looking at Harry over the Pensieve.

It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given him on other occasions, and always made the group of friends feel as though Dumbledore was seeing right through them in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not. Fuck that eye, Daphne was internally panicking.

"Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions." Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever, clearly weighed down by the stress.

"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," Harry spoke firmly, "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 ... found dead. . . within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do 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.

"These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees — as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office," Dumbledore looked at the boy and at the girl, "Your father has kept a close eye on them. As well as tabs on you, Daphne."

"I know," Daphne pursed her lips in a thin line as she twisted her ring around her finger, "It's what he needs to do to believe I'm safe."

Harry nodded as he tried to gather his own thoughts. Daphne felt a pit in her stomach as silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Daphne's hands gripped the ends of her seat as she waited for someone to leave or Dumbledore to address her so that she could speak.

"Professor?" Harry broke the silence once again as he looked at the Professor in a curious manner.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore addressed the boy as he lifted his head.

"Er . . . could I ask you about . . . that court thing I was in . . . in the Pensieve?" Harry seemed to be stuck on the things he had seen, and he was curious to say the least.

"Wonderful topic," Daphne held up her fist as she moved it in the air before going silent again.

"You could," Dumbledore continued 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 has been brought up by his grandmother?"

Daphne knew the answer to that question. Only Daphne knew about what had happened to Neville's parents. No one else made an effort to know the boy or know his story, which was truly a sad thing in itself.

"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," Dumbledore continued, "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?" Harry seemed upset by this statement, as if hurting for Neville.

"No," Dumbledore huffed, his voice full of a bitterness the two had never heard there before, "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."

"Neville told me, and as mean as it sounds, death would've been a much easier and less painful outcome," Daphne looked over at Harry before adding, "But mercy wasn't what the Death Eaters were going for."

Harry sat there, horror-struck. He had never known . . . never, in four years, bothered to find out and it seemed to be catching up to him as he looked at Daphne, almost as if he had been affected by this.

"The Longbottoms were very popular," Dumbledore continued,"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?" Harry quipped as he adjusted his glasses once again while leaning forward.

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

Daphne sat with impeccable posture as she felt uncomfortable with the ongoing topics. It was clear that everyone was trying to sort out their own questions and outcomes but no one seemed to be on the same page which was a clear problem.

"Er," Harry stumbled out, "Mr. Bagman . . ."

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

"Right," Harry added 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 seemed to be asking his question for him.

Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry and Daphne. The girl seemed confused by this.

"No more has Professor Snape," Dumbledore gave the two a look.

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?" Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself. Now, Daphne, I know you wanted to talk as well."

Daphne swallowed thickly as she nodded while popping her fingers, "yes.. It's something similar to what Harry said Professor-"

"Is it about your visions, Daphne?" Clearly, the indication of shock on the female's face caused Dumbledore to explain, "Sirius, Remus, and your father have all let me in on it. I always had my suspicion it would be you."

Daphne mentally cursed out everyone as she placed on a fake smile, "Yes, well... I wanted to say that I fear something from Professor Moody. I've seen things... something isn't right with him. He killed Crouch, and I fear he's coming after me."

"Visions can be misleading," Dumbledore swiftly shut her down as he looked at her, "But if you keep having these suspicions... be wary."

"I have, since the summer, sir," Daphne bursted out as she became red in the face, "He knew about how I was tortured over the summer when only the people who were there knew. He's kept my brother from me. I don't see what you-"

"You are dismissed," Dumbledore looked at the girl through his half moon glasses with a dull expression, "Go on, you two."

"But," Daphne felt as Harry grabbed ahold of her as he rose to his feet as well to leave, clearly as confused about this as she was.

"No," Dumbledore gave her a firm look before saying, "Harry," he hummed as Harry reached the door with Daphne behind him, "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," Harry replied obediently, turning to go,"And —"

Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. Clearly not paying much attention to what the two had to say as Harry gently pushed Daphne through the door.

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a moment, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."