DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or locations in this story.

WARNING: This story focuses on a man/man romantic relationship. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read any further.

Albus Dumbledore stood by the ancient stone basin, gazing into the silvery abyss within. Harry snorted and decided it wasn't worth questioning his headmaster's order to dive into the basin, and did so. Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, bracing himself for the onslaught of emotion he knew he was about to face, and then followed. He felt himself falling through the depths of the substance that was neither liquid nor gas, swirling around him in bursts of silver and black.

Finally his feet met the ground and, motioning for Harry to follow him, he strode down a street he had not walked in many years, but had remembered every day of his life. Moments later, a foreboding brick building loomed out of the mist directly in front of them. Dumbledore suppressed a shiver as he followed a younger man, who bore a striking resemblance to him, through the front doors and into the lobby.

"Sir, who is that man?" Harry's question reminded Dumbledore that his student was with him.

"You don't recognize him?" Dumbledore teased with an amused glint in his eyes. "Look more closely and see if you can't tell me who he is."

Wishing Dumbledore could just give him a straight answer for once, Harry looked back towards the man they seemed to be following. Something about the man's stride and his proportions seemed familiar to Harry. When Harry caught a glimpse of the man's face, he had to stifle a gasp – if this man's hair was a little whiter and his beard a little longer, he would look just like…

"It's you, isn't it?" Harry's voice was full of excitement. "We're following a younger version of you!". Dumbledore's earlier amusement vanished, and he seemed more than ever to be an old man. Lines of weariness etched his face and bags were forming under his eyes.

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, "it's me." Harry hardly had time to ponder the sudden change in his professor's demeanor before the large oak doors in front of him opened to reveal a vast foyer with a black marble desk in the center. Two curved staircases stood like guards on either side leading to the upper levels. The furniture in the foyer was sparse, consisting only of a few spindly wooden chairs on the far side of the hall.

After a few moments, Harry turned his attention to the lady standing behind the desk. He hadn't noticed her at first because she almost blended in with her surroundings – she wore a pale gray blouse covered by a charcoal colored suit and a matching pencil skirt. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a sharp bun that did nothing to flatter her prominent nose and sunken cheekbones. Only her skin was light colored, looking almost like soymilk.

Harry turned to see that Dumbledore was also looking at the woman, but when Harry looked closer, he saw that his teacher's eyes were really somewhere else, lost in memories of a time long before Harry himself had been born.

As Dumbledore stepped through the polished oak doors and into the hall, he was swamped by memories. This was ironic, really, since he was technically in a memory, as was the function of the pensieve, but Dumbledore was remembering much more than just that day at the orphanage.

He followed the younger version of himself in a daze. He barely took any notice of the creaky stairs, the dark hallways, or the noises of rats scuttling around inside the walls. He was deaf to the sound of crying issuing from many of the rooms they'd passed. Finally, he and Harry were following the younger Dumbledore into one of the many rooms that lined the halls.

"Tom doesn't usually have visitors…" said the woman guiding them as she opened the door. Dumbledore froze in the doorway, images and voices crowding his mind as he laid eyes on the little boy who would grow into the man that would change everything. Then the younger Dumbledore spoke.

"Hello, Tom."

Harry stared at his professor, waiting for him to take the lead as the woman stepped out from behind the desk and led the younger Dumbledore towards one of the staircases. The Dumbledore Harry knew, however, seemed to be in a trance, swamped by memories that held roots in this dark, desolate orphanage. Not wanting to lose sight of the man they were following,

Harry gave Dumbledore a nudge and then took the lead himself. Harry kept close to his professor as the woman led them down a gray hallway – there was no color in this place. The floors and walls of the hallway were carpeted, giving the hall a muffled feeling. Still, Harry shivered as he picked up the scuttling noises and sharp squeaks of small rodents crawling through the walls, or the sound of sobbing not quite blocked out by the doors to some of the rooms they passed.

Lost in thought, Harry ran into the younger Dumbledore he had been following. He opened his mouth to apologize before realizing that he had passed right through the man as if he were a ghost. Of course, Harry thought, this is a memory. They can't see me here. He shook his head, resigned to all the mysteries of his world, and followed the man through the door into one of the many rooms lining the hallway.

While Harry and the older Dumbledore remained just inside the door, the man in the memory settled himself down on the bed across from where a little boy was sitting at his desk.

"Hello, Tom," said the man on the bed. As the boy, Tom, turned to face to man who had spoken, Harry was finally able to catch a glimpse of his face. He had pale white skin with a shock of dark hair. His eyes were deep and mysterious. His features held a maturity and sophistication seldom seen in children.

Harry watched as the man won over Tom's trust (setting fire to a wardrobe in the process), and listened as he explained Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to the young boy. Harry couldn't help feeling a twinge of anxiety – he didn't like some of the things the boy was saying.

"I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt… if I want…". Harry wondered why Dumbledore had ever wanted this boy to come to Hogwarts. Turning to ask his professor, he realized that though they had both entered the same memory in the pensieve, Dumbledore seemed to be lost in another.