Out of The Shadows (Golden Trio Era) {1}

The Pensieve

"I think, Harry, Mikayla, it is time to return to my office," A quiet voice said. The pair jumped, squeezing one another's hand and looked to the their left. There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on Harry's right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors and there was an Albus Dumbledore on Mikayla's left, looking right at them.  "Come," The Dumbledore on my left, he put his hand under Mikayla's elbow before reaching forward and grasping Harry's hand. Mikayla felt herself rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around me; for a moment, all was blackness, and then Mikayla felt as though I had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on her feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office.

The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of her, and Albus Dumbledore was standing in between the two young Gryffindors. "Professor," Mikayla gasped, "I know we shouldn't've—"  "We didn't mean—" Harry went on sheepishly. "—the cabinet door was sort of open and—"  "I quite understand," Dumbledore said, to the pair's surprise. 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 Harry and Mikayla to sit down opposite him. Harry moved first and Mikayla followed him. She looked at the stone basin as she sat down, the contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath my gaze.

"What is it?" Harry asked shakily. "This? It is called a Pensieve," Dumbledore informed them. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind." Mikayla nodded, not quite understanding, but knowing enough to relate. "Er," Harry grimaced. "At these times," Dumbledore gestured toward the Pensieve, "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." "You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?" Harry asked, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin. "Certainly," Dumbledore nodded. "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 Mikayla 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 Mikayla saw her and Harry's faces 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 pan for fragments of gold... and Harry saw their faces 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 halfmoon spectacles Mikayla and then 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," Mikayla mumbled while Harry said, "Sorry." Dumbledore shook his head. "Curiosity is not a sin," he said. "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 about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry and Mikayla, or Professor Dumbledore. 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 asked sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?" "Bertha?" Mikayla whispered, looking up at her. "Is that was that Bertha Jorkins?" "Yes," Dumbledore nodded, 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 Mikayla 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.

"So, Harry and Mikayla," Dumbledore said quietly. "Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something." "Yes," Harry nodded. "Professor, I was in Divination just now, and, er, I fell asleep." He hesitated here, bu Dumbledore merely said, "Quite understandable. Continue." "Well, I had a dream," Harry explained. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail... you know who Wormtail—" "I do know," Dumbledore said 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 and Mikayla 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," Harry said awkwardly. "I see," Dumbledore muttered 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?" Harry asked, astonished. "You two are not Sirius' only correspondent," Dumbledore said simply. "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 I couldn't make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color. "What about you Mikayla? Any strange visions?" Mikayla shook her head before Harry nudged her, "But I may have done something wrong. While I was in the lake I used my powers to keep an eye on Harry. Now I've been feeling a lot of vibrations, horrible ones, I got them right before Harry found Mr Crouch. I-I tried to warn him but I think I was hit by a temporary Babbling curse, because I couldn't speak. I've also been having horrible nightmares about this graveyard, in Little Hangleton. The only headstone I was able to make out was Gaunt. And someone screaming with a flash of green light." Mikayla fills in her Professor and Harry about her nightmares.

"Professor?" Harry spoke up 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? Or what is happening with Mikayla?" 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?" "Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," Dumbledore said. "That is no ordinary scar."