Obliviate: The untold story of JK Rowling

Chapter 9: The Truth

Jo's POV:

I land next to Dumbledore in the roaring Great Hall but my senses are dulled, even as the ash belches from the fireplace and falls into our hair, I feel nothing. Smoke shrouds us like a blanket and students run through us, screaming, to get away from the downpour. Dumbledore places a hand gently on my arm and points to the other side of the Hall by the Gryffindor table where I can see Hermione, Ron, Tilly, Harry and... me.

Purple rings droop under my eyes, which are dull and dark; their blue irises burnt out like old charcoal. My features look tired and grey, and nothing seems to hold my attention.

Dumbledore looks down at me, heavily, and I can't tell what is playing on his mind. He places a wrinkled hand on my shoulder and smiles mournfully before turning his attention back to the memory.

I jump from the bench and run towards to the door. 'Jo!' Harry shouts, and I turn.

My body is shaking and I can hardly stand as I stare back at him with bloodshot eyes, fearfully. How do I not remember this? Harry runs towards my convulsing body and shouts my name as I sag into his arms. He shakes me, trying desperately to rouse me.

But I do not stir, even when the room is loud with silence. Suddenly I scream.

'He who has cheated death will return to him a favour,' I choke out. 'He shall find a golden stone in a golden mirror, and with it he shall return to death a borrower.'

I listen carefully, slowly replaying each line of the prophecy over in my mind until it finishes with a huge gulp of air and a stunned lull in the humming noise of Hogwarts.

My brain fizzes with theories like Filibuster Fireworks, but I have no more time to think as Dumbledore has gripped my arm tightly and is pulling me back to reality. The night of the prophecy dissolves beneath me as I fall to the floor in the memory, and presently on the cold stone of the Headmaster's office.

*

The luminous white of the pensieve ripples on Dumbledore's beard; his glasses flashing as he glares down at the coiling silver in thought. It must be a minute or so until Dumbledore glances up again, and something glitches across his face, almost as if he had forgotten I was here.

'I think we should discuss the prophecy, Joanne. I have a few ideas in mind, and I would like to share them with you. Does that sound reasonable?' he enquires.

'Yes,' I say nervously.

Dumbledore claps his hands. 'Well then, have a seat,' indicating the rickety chair across from his desk, as he begins to pace.

The crisp echo of his striding accompanies the whirring of his magical instruments and the quiet muttering of the portraits. They talk in excited chatter, but cease when Dumbledore clears his throat.

'I believe the prophecy has a cast of two: The cheat, and the other who has wronged death.' He begins.

'Er, Professor?' I say, timidly, 'What about: "with it he shall return to death a borrower."'

Dumbledore moves a hand to clutch his beard. 'Yes, that is a possibility. Okay, a cast of three. But who?'

'Isn't it obvious?' I blurt out. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black can't seem to contain himself. 'Ungrateful children, always think their opinion is worth more than yours, that they alone have the power-'

'-Thank you, Phineas,' Dumbledore interrupts. He looks at me oddly, then arches an eyebrow and says, 'Go on.'

I sink a little lower in my seat; politeness hasn't always been my best trait.

'Well, the prophecy talks about "children of opposites, winter and summer, love and apathy". Harry was born in summer, and Voldemort was born in midwinter.' Dumbledore stares at me, but I continue. 'Harry is then full of love because his mother sacrificed herself to save him that night in Godric's Hollow. Voldemort was conceived under the affects of a love potion, which means he can never love, hence "apathy".'

Dumbledore opens his mouth to speak but I rush ahead, ideas spilling from my lips. 'The borrower then must be Nicolas Flamel, because the "golden stone" should be the Philosopher's stone. It says the cheat, this must be Harry, will "return to death a favour". The favour must have been life for Flamel, but he was never meant to live that long so the prophecy called it a "favour", and Nicolas a "borrower". A borrower of life.'

The room is silent now except for the tinkling of magical devices and the rhythmic beat of the clock. The portraits are staring at me unflinchingly, and Dumbledore has placed a hand on his desk as if to steady himself. I finish warily, 'So...er, Harry, or someone because of Harry, is going to destroy the Philosopher's stone and Nicolas Flamel will be "returned to death". He will die.'

Silence. Dumbledore begins to pace. 'Joanne, how did you come about this information?' He says calmly, but does not turn to look at me. The question poses a hint of danger, and I know I have let too much on. Dumbledore knows everything I have just told him is true, except for what I predicted, and perhaps this is what concerns him most. I squirm in my seat, the creaking of wood echoes around the office.

He looks at me. 'Joanne?' and something flashes across his face. Fear? Anger? Then it's gone.

'I...' I trail off. The truth is, Dumbledore knows as much about why I know these things as I do, which is nothing at all. 'I don't know, sir.'

He turns his back to me and slowly tugs a silver thought from his head, dropping it into the pensieve and swirling it with his wand. He breathes deeply and walks back to his chair. Dumbledore slumps into it but refuses to meet my gaze, his eyes wandering over every other inch of his office.

He sighs, then turns to me and smiles. 'If that is all then, Joanne. I shall see you when I see you, which is no doubt soon as we share the same walls.' He lifts his hand but not his head. 'If you would see yourself out.'

I stand and turn to leave. I walk to the door and turn the handle, but... I glance back to Dumbledore looking at his desk, his expression troubled. I steel myself for what I'm about to do.

'I don't know why I know what I do, I'm sorry,' I say quietly. 'But pushing me away or pretending that it never happened won't stop me from knowing it.' Dumbledore looks solemn and I quickly move my gaze to the floor, spluttering on. 'Some things I can't tell you.'

The room holds its breath. I look up at Dumbledore.

'But... some things, I will.'

Dumbledore regains a twinkle in his eyes and his expression changes to it's traditional curiosity.

I take out my wand. 'I can show you.'

**********

All the characters, apart from Jo, and the setting belong to JK Rowling.

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Sorry this chapter took so long to put up, I had the last week of school and the freedom of the summer holidays, and I have been writing a book reviewing blog! I also had massive writer's block and could not think of anything to type for days.

If you would be so wonderful to check out my blog, you can find it at alicegilham.wordpress.com x