Curiosity

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter the book or movies and I do not make any profit from this.

Summary: Harry 'slips' into a pensieve and winds up in some serious trouble. Ginny, Hermione and Ron need to find a way to find him and bring him back...

Pairings: Harry/Ginny, James/Lily, Ron/Hermione

AN: Well, this is a Time Travel fic. However, I tried to put a bit of a different spin on the initial traveling in time moment. Hopefully it translates through and is liked. Hope you enjoy the fic! :D

~xx~

Sitting in the large comfortable chair, Harry looked around numbly at the strange objects that littered the room.

Sometimes it struck him just how amazing and impossible magic could be. He had never dreamed as a child that he would sitting in a castle, friends to: ghost's, owl's, witches and wizards. It had never even occurred to him that he would escape the Dursley's, his mind having been too young to understand a life outside his own, miserable existence. The sounds of the wind could faintly be heard through the closed windows, a small draft sneaking between the cracks of wood and stone. An owl flew past the window and disappeared from sight, the only evidence of its passing was a distant hoot.

Harry tapped the armrest impatiently as he waited. He had been sitting for almost twenty minutes and needed the free study period badly. He watched a few odd objects out of the corner of his eyes as he looked occasionally at the door, becoming more and more adventurous with his curiosity. The fact that the most interesting and rare objects in the world happened to be around him, seemingly beckoning him, seemed more than enough of an invitation.

He took one last look at the door before rising quietly.

The thought of making any sound and disturbing these amazing things seemed strange to Harry at the moment. Besides waking up one of the portraits wouldn't be the best idea. The portraits had been well informed on why they should sleep lightly and who to keep their eyes on for reporting later. He couldn't afford another strange rumor to pop up in the school, especially since he was so stressed with the onslaught of exams which had rushed upon him.

Harry wasn't quiet sure why the Headmistress had called him up; he hadn't fallen into any mischief lately. In fact, he had made a focused effort at staying of trouble and doing all of his homework. Ever since Professor Dumbledore had passed away he had tried to make his visits to the office as rare as possible. There was way too much of the old man still in every nook and cranny. Headmistress McGonagall was good, although, not as good as Dumbledore. But still good; strict and firm but with the atmosphere of a stern mother hen. Harry was just glad that it wasn't Umbridge. That didn't deaden the pain of Dumbledore's passing though; he would always be a sort of father/grandfatherly figure to him, even if he had an odd way of understanding things. Harry could almost imagine the old man pursing his fingers lightly and widening that bewitching smile as he offered a lemon drop. As a tribute to the old man, McGonagall had kept all of the odd trinkets and strange contraptions which had cluttered the office.

Suddenly Harry felt like crying; no not crying….like yelling. He wanted to break something, show his frustration, just do something instead of waiting and then talking to McGonagall like his world was fine and dandy. It was hard enough having Hermione and Ron pester him about how he was feeling, the last thing he needed was McGonagall. It was all he could do to contain his anger and pure disappointment when he thought of Snape.

Harry's eyes scoured the room for something to distract his mind. His eyes rested on a strange whirling object over by the wall.

Walking over to it he watched it for a second before deciding to investigate it further. The ball of metal whirled around a larger ball, hovering by invisible magic. Touching the big ball with his index finger, in-between the gap of the smaller ball, he gave a yelp as his hand touched the surface. It was hot, incredibly hot. Harry could already feel a blister form on his finger. Looking down at it he noticed a white spot forming where he had been burnt. He was used to pain, for the garden at the Dursley's was filled with thorns and ants. Still, he was shocked at the objects reaction to his probing.

Nursing his finger he caught the sight of another object out of the corner of his eye. Once again his curiosity got the better of him and he nearly forgot his throbbing finger. Turning quickly he walked over to it and stopped before the bowl. As if mesmerized he stared down at the pooling liquid that swirled like a dense mist. His eyes widened in realization as he understood what lay before him. The Pensieve of Headmistress McGonagall. Whatever had dragged McGonagall from the office had to have been serious because he didn't think that she would leave it out, so unattended. Even though the office was one of the most secure locations in the school, there was a sense of wariness and caution that every person now held. Even best friends couldn't help their suspicious thoughts from forming about each other.

Looking around numbly he peered at the door as if expecting the current Headmistress to come storming through. Although Harry had grown up around the woman, he hardly knew anything about her; not even who her parents were. Within the magical community, heritage was more important then names and something that each person either flaunted, hid or lied about. To think that within the swirling mist of the basin was the secrets to the woman's past. Even more exciting, her first meeting with Dumbledore. Just the thought of seeing his wise, ancient smile made his heart throb.

Peering closely at the swirling liquid he bit his lip in a decisive action. He was an honest boy -usually- and if he was going to fight the war, he needed to know all that he could about life before he came along. What secrets could be within the swirling mist? To think that the Death Eaters he had cursed and fought, may have attended school with McGonagall sent shivers up his spine. It would wipe the pride off their faces to have him recount something that was supposedly long forgotten.

Ignoring the dim pain in his finger he let himself be pulled into the swirling liquid of McGonagall's memories.

Harry landed with a thud on the ground.

Standing up shakily he brushed off the imaginary dust that coated his clothes. As he paused to listen he registered the fact that he could hear distant sobbing. Adjusting his glasses to fit properly on his face he surveyed the area. He was standing directly under a stand, the structure groaning with the weight of the people on top. An occasional thump of footsteps sounded as someone passed overhead.

He was slightly nervous about the structural integrity of the stand. Not that he was afraid, but the groans sounded both pained and exhausted. It wouldn't be long before it was either destroyed or rebuilt. Looking around nervously, he stepped out from underneath it, slipping under a beam to get to the side. A wonder of what time period he was in flittered over his mind as he walked dumbly. He could feel a prickle of anxiety as he thought of how he was going to eventually explain himself.

Peering through the curtain of beams and supports his eyes widened as he took in the familiar scene. The students, teachers and friends filed out mournfully from the area. Harry stumbled back a step as he saw the image of himself, wiping his eyes hurriedly and walking slowly away from the area. Harry could now understand why Dumbledore had pressed so intently on trying not to be seen when traveling in the past; it was a confusing thing. He tried not to swear as he thought of the meeting that he was sure to have any minute now with a certain Rufus Scrimgeour. Being slightly away from the group, he simply stood for a moment, soaking in the scene that he was seeing and the oppressive, tense and mournful atmosphere of the congregation.

He had to remember that he was bound to McGonagall's image and not his. He wished that he could follow himself and study the expressions of Rufus's face. He wanted to know what he looked like, whether his emotions showed as visibly as he dreaded that they did. However, he could only wait until he was forced to follow McGonagall and she wasn't even visible through the densely packed crowd.

Quickly dispersing, the crowd moved off, only a few stragglers left behind to pay their personal respects. The lone figure of Professor McGonagall stood beside a white tomb, startingly familiar to him. He nearly choked on a sob as his eyes studied the tomb for a second time. He could see that McGonagall was having the same trouble of controlling emotions as he was. Her shoulders occasionally heaved a great sigh, as if weighed down by an imaginary pressure. She looked older then he had remember, perhaps the stress of what she was facing had finally hit her.

Peering towards the forest he gave one last look to see if any of the centaurs had stayed behind, none had.

Swinging his head back to the beautiful tomb he wondered at the situation he was in. Not only did he have to watch the man die but he had to sit by and watch what should be a one time experience. He had been relieved at having left the funeral because he would never have to go through that kind of situation again. Now, he was sitting beside the tomb, watching the distant figure of himself as his Headmistress mourned silently.

A jerk pulled at his stomach and suddenly Harry felt as if he was being pulled in every direction, as if there was not enough of himself and that everything was too much. With a quick passing thought Harry realized that the next memory was coming. He looked desperately at McGonagall's face, one last time. Tears poured from her eyes and her old, weathered hands stood out starkly against her black garments. He knew he wouldn't forget that sight, the sensitivity and vulnerability was so bare, for just one moment.

Harry landed once again upon the hard floor and bit his lip in frustration. Looking around for the second time his face lit up in a smile as he recognized the place; the entrance to the Great Hall. He could hardly wait to pass through the hall unnoticed, to look upon Malfoy's sniveling face and feel pride in his eventual demise. Even to just see Ginny again, to watch her while she laughed and ate and did things that normal people do. He didn't laugh enough, perhaps it was why he was so noticeably different.

Remembering that he was still invisible to everyone he slipped in through the large doors and surveyed the room. Although he could not be seen he felt as if he was an intruder, someone not quite welcome. Staring numbly he studied each face for a few seconds. At the Gryffindor table, at the spot he, Ron and Hermione always occupied, an average looking mousy boy was sitting. Even the seat that Malfoy usually dominated was taken up by a burly, thickheaded girl that seemed intent upon shoveling in her dessert. It suddenly occurred to him that he knew none of them. It was as if he was in a completely different school.

His eye caught one peculiar object though, the sorting hat stood proudly on the stool, gazing over the line of first year students in front of it. Harry let a grin creep onto his face as he saw the nervous whisperings and looks from the tiny first years. He remembered how painful that wait had been for him. The beaten and worn hat wore a proud and slightly sadistic grin as it looked down upon the first years.

The hat started its annual song and Harry zoned out for a moment as he surveyed the tables. They seemed just like his where, all with their own stereotype and traditions. Banners were hung over every table, clearing making it simple for the student's to identify their houses. It made him grin at the obvious rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, each other glaring at the other and fighting for new, young recruits.

Harry hadn't noticed that they had moved onto sorting the students until one name jumped out at him rendering him completely speechless, Minerva McGonagall. Harry watched dumbfounded as a little girl walked slowly up to the stool. He couldn't believe it but she was kind of….adorable. He choked and spluttered as he thought this; he didn't think that it was possible for her to be….well cute. She wore a huge grin, not scared of the magical hat at all. Obviously she had been born with a Hermione-like confidence in herself and her intelligence.

Just before the sorting hat yelled out the house though he felt a familiar sensation pull at him again. It was time for a memory change. Taking stock of the room one last time, he nearly gasped at the familiar face at the teacher's table. Kind eyes, a warm smile and a long thin, white beard that flowed beneath the table. Dumbledore. Not yet a Headmaster but still a Professor.

Harry groaned as the image was torn from his sight and he hit the floor again. His arm hurt from the impact but he stood up eagerly.

Rows of books surrounded him. All had the old, faded and worn look of the Library. He had been in the section before, having used it in his desperate attempt to study. He knew this place well, how could he not. He walked around the bookcase and let the sun soak through him. Whispers filled his ears and he smiled at the way the librarian glared from behind her stack of books. It seemed that the library was never truly quiet.

He stopped suddenly, his heart thudding dangerously as he saw the group in front of him. McGonagall stood in front of a table which seated the infamous Marauders, each of them sweating and holding books in their hands (though some were upside down). Her stance was stern and slightly tense, while each boy held a confident, mischievous smile on their faces. He looked at his father, at the way the boy grinned at Sirius and the fact that there was no pain or hardship in that grin. He wanted to simply touch him, to know that he was really seeing his father, that he was really breathing and smiling and on the verge of laughing. But he knew that this was only a memory, a mere allusion. Even Peter, whom he longed to push and snarl at, would never react to his aggression.

Giving a gulp Harry watched numbly as Professor McGonagall spoke, "Mr. Black I am quite sure that stink bombs do not appear by themselves."

Sirius gave a shrug and grinned as he spoke, "Professor, I'm being completely honest! I have no idea how it got there."

He ran a hand threw his dark hair in a relaxed manner though Harry could see that a hand was shaking. He was breathing heavily, pretending to be reading from the upside book. Remus was trying to catch Sirius's attention, obviously indicating that his ploy really wasn't working.

As you can see, Professor, we've been studying Transfiguration the entire time. Isn't that right Remus?" Said James. When the boy's smile drifted off his face, he was struck by how similar they looked. The shock of black hair, the wide smile and the smallish frame. However, there was a kind of genuine happiness in the boy's eyes which differentiated them.

Remus nodded and cleared his throat before looking away, his brown short hair falling out of place. Harry frowned as he saw a small scar on the boy's neck, not visible unless searched for. McGonagall pursed her lips, made an effort to speak and then simply, sighed. She raised an eyebrow at the boys and turned stiffly, walking over to the bookshelves on the other side of the room. Harry was glad of that; it meant that he could stay close to his father. She was talking to the librarian who had given her a sour look at the interruption.

Trying to remain perfectly calm and at ease, the boys simultaneously let out their breaths. Remus quickly flipped Sirius's book, making sure it was the proper way around. The boy grinned stupidly at the gesture, realizing his foolishness.

Remus remained perfectly calm as he spoke, "I have no idea how you two got away with that…"

Harry glared dangerously as he saw Peter. With a sigh he felt a sinking disappointment at the fact that his hands would pass right through the rat's neck if he even tried to do away with him.

Peter looked over to the professor nervously before he spoke, "That was too close! What if you had been caught?"

"You guys worry way too much. Besides, it probably wouldn't have been as bad if you two had actually come." Said James.

"I really needed to study or else I'm going to fail Potions," Said Peter, looking miserable.

"Besides, both of you have pretty much secured Slytherin's win for the House Cup. I can't believe you'd let them win," Remus said while James and Sirius looked aghast.

"Let them win?" Said James, "Why do you think we just went through that elaborate prank. If they think they're so high and mighty just because of a few more points, then we're going to take them down a notch. Besides, pigs should be in their natural environment. Just like Slytherin's should be in a room that smells of dung."

"So you honestly thought that losing us more points would somehow secure our position as being better?"

"I told you it made no sense!" Said Sirius before turning to Remus, "See, this is exactly why we need you for our pranks. It's not like we have any common sense to fall back on."

Remus just rolled his eyes, "She's coming back anyways. Just keep your mouth's shut."

"Well, it seems that you two lied straight to my face," Said McGonagall, her expression fierce, "The Librarian just told me that you both only just flung yourselves in here before I arrived. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

The boys looked guilty, realizing that they were indeed going to be caught. Sirius spoke first, "I'm sorry, Professor. Is it detention then?"

Mcgonagall raised an eyebrow, "You both know the regular routine. Friday nights, 6 o'clock in my office."

They sighed in unison, both nodding. She looked at them one last time, pursing her lips, before turning quickly and storming out of the door.

He gasped, knowing that soon he would either be flung into another memory or pulled after her. Gripping onto the table, he clawed at it with all of his might. The memory screamed at him, shuddering at his resistance to its pull.

"Well, that's not too bad," He heard Sirius say as he held on for dear life, "It's only detention."

His happiness quickly turned to a sickening feeling in his stomach and Harry lurched forward painfully. Peering through his eyes he could see the lines of the memory grow blurry and distorted. The walls soon turned to a mixture of colour making Harry feel queasy. Giving a groan he could see stars dance over his vision as he held his stomach. Darkness engulfed his vision for a few seconds and a terrible feeling of absolute pain rippled through him like a thousand knives. The feeling of being torn from every side started again and he gave a choked scream as it reached his head. His skull felt like it was nearly bursting from the immense pressure applied to it. All of a sudden the feeling reversed and he could feel himself being seemingly put back together, every sense and feeling sudden become the focus of his attention. The feeling was not painful but also not in any way nice, it was uncomfortable.

Tears came to his eyes as the memory seemed to stretch him, pulling at every fiber of his being. He yelled at the feeling, so unwelcome and uncomfortable, although not painful. The objects remained as they were, not touched by his furious movements, remaining the same way as they had been in the memory.

The feeling subsided after a few excruciating moments and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Opening his eyes weakly he could see the blurry outline of the legs of the closest chair. He was hanging onto his chair for dear life, his arms throbbing and the sockets of his shoulder's screaming in pain. Harry watched in confusion as the shoes came towards him and stopped just in front of his face. His glasses slid further down his nose from the sweat. It was as if they were aware of his presence, but that was impossible as he was just an observer. Maybe this was part of the memory.

Deciding to risk it he looked up at the owner of the shoes. He was met by the face of James Potter looking straight down at him, his brown eyes wide with curiosity and confusion.

He heard a voice speak, "What the…"

Spots swam by in his eyes again and he let the darkness overtake him, the throb of his burnt finger turning into a distant pulse.

~xx~

AN: Well, I hope you've enjoyed this so far! I tried to put an original spin on the whole time travel idea, especially since they always seem to involve a time turner. I wanted McGonagall as a character to be fleshed out a bit more, which is why I included the other memories.

Thanks for reading.

Reviews welcome!