The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|96| Gaunt

"Let me say it! Every time we've come, you've always said the password," I said, jogging to the gargoyle that guards Professor Dumbledore's office.

Tonight was our first lesson with Dumbledore.

"Fine," Harry sighed.

"Acid Pops," I said with a smile. The gargoyle leapt aside, the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which we stepped, so that we were carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's office.

Harry knocked.

"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice.

"Good evening, Professor," I smiled as we walked into the office.

"Good evening, sir," said Harry.

"Ah, good evening, Harry, Maisey. Sit down," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?"

"Yes, thank you," I said as Harry said, "Yes, thanks, sir."

"You must have been busy, a detention under your belt already, Harry!"

"Er," began Harry awkwardly, but Dumbledore did not look too stern.

"I have arranged with Professor Snape that you will do your detention next Saturday instead."

"Right," said Harry.

"So," said Dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. "You both have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these— for want of a better word— lessons?"

"Yes, sir," we said.

"Well, I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you both fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information."

There was a pause.

"You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell us everything," said Harry. It was hard to keep a note of accusation from his voice. "Sir," he added.

"And so I did," said Dumbledore placidly. "I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" I said.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being— forgive me— rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"Sir," said Harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help us... survive?"

"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy— both prophecies," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the next day's weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you both to survive."

Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past me and Harry, who turned eagerly in his seat to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of us.

"You look worried."

"Our past experiences with the Pensieve didn't end up too well," I chuckled awkwardly.

"This time, you enter the Pensieve with me... and, even more unusually, with permission."

"Where are we going, sir?"