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The winter sun warmed Emily's cheeks as she walked towards breakfast with Ron and Hermione, excitedly talking with Ron about the Apparition lesson sign-on sheet that had appeared in their Common Room that morning. He and Hermione still weren't talking to each other but at least they weren't avoiding each other as thoroughly as before the break. The snow was melted and the chill of the season was beginning to leave them in time with their return from Christmas Break; it was a small pleasure that made Emily smile. The halls were filled with chattering students, as yet unaware of whatever fresh wave of horror Voldemort had unleashed on them between the release of the Prophet yesterday and the one they expected to see at breakfast.
"I'm starved!" Ron cheered as they reached their table, sliding into his seat and wasting no time digging into the sausages.
Hermione ignored him and Emily rolled her eyes at the boy but joined him on the bench, each girl reaching out to the eggs and toast respectively.
"You're always hungry," Emily teased, grinning as Ron made a face at her and Hermione kept her eyes diverted yet again.
Not long into breakfast the owls arrived and Hermione received her customary Daily Prophet. Emily's eyes turned wary as she watched Hermione scan the paper. She swallowed her toast and addressed her.
"Anything?" she asked anxiously, watching closely for Hermione's expression, Ron nervously following her example. She didn't reply at first as her eyes continued to zoom over the paper before her shoulders dropped slightly in relief and she turned to the Girl Who Lived.
"Nothing this morning," Hermione assured her, settling the paper next to her breakfast plate and settling in to read it more thoroughly.
Emily's grim expression relaxed slightly at the news. Though she knew it was only a matter of time until Voldemort killed or kidnapped someone else and gained further notoriety in the Daily Prophet, it was a slight relief not to start the new term with another reminder of the snake. Then again, she continued, staring hard at her plate, he could just be planning something bigger which was really no relief at all.
"Don't forget your lesson tonight, Emily," Hermione said to her suddenly, not looking up from her paper.
"Meeting Dumbledore tonight at eight," Emily said, smiling when Hermione glanced up and nodded approvingly.
"When is he gonna start teaching you spells and tricks, though?" Ron asked, picking up a roll and biting into it. "I still reckon that would be more useful," he argued through his bite of bread.
Hermione's jaw clenched at his words as though she wanted to respond. She was still resolutely refusing to speak to him, though, which just made Emily feel uncomfortable.
"Actually, learning about him and how he became Voldemort is really useful too," Emily said, more for Hermione's benefit really and was rewarded when she saw the approving gleam in her friend's eyes before she turned back to the paper.
Ron grunted but turned back to his breakfast, Emily soon following after a comforting smile at her best female friend. It seemed to be for naught, though, as within five minutes of their wary truce there came a shrill cry of "Won-Won!" and Hermione's body tensed up and her mouth turned hard.
"I'm finished," she muttered with a fake smile and dropped the fork that was halfway to her mouth and turned to gather her bag.
Lavender reached them and fell onto Ron in a dramatic display of affection and kissed him thoroughly. Emily cringed, not sure if he'd had a full mouth of food or not but unwilling to think more fully on it. Ron looked to her for immediate help while his girlfriend turned suspicious eyes on both her and Hermione, clearly telling them to leave.
"Um, yeah, me too," Emily agreed with Hermione, quickly dropping her forkful of eggs and grabbing her bag to leave as well. "See you in class, Ron," she placated, smirking slightly when his betrayed eyes followed her out of her seat. "Hermione!" she called to her friend who was already halfway down the table. Hermione paused and turned around, a faint smile coming to her lips as her friend joined her and didn't leave her on her own.
The pair soon reached the doorway to the Great Hall where they bumped into Luna, as usual dreamily making her way to breakfast in her own time.
"Hey Luna!" Emily smiled, stopping to greet her friend. "I haven't seen you since before Christmas. How was your break?"
Luna smiled at the pair. "It was very good, thank you. Daddy and I went looking for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack for a week and we made a new exciting discovery —"
"Luna, there's no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Hermione interrupted exasperatedly.
"Of course there is," she responded lightly before turning back to Emily. "Daddy also got me some Destiny Dust for Christmas," she continued, lifting up a small draw-string bag on her chest, tied with a long cord to make a necklace. "It's quite extraordinary, actually. Little Perwinder Puffins live in it because it smells so good. It's called Destiny Dust because the Perwinder Puffins are always attracted to people with great destinies," she smiled dreamily, watching Emily with her large, unblinking eyes. Hermione opened her mouth to speak before Luna spoke again, side-tracking her. "Of course, I don't make the mistake that I have a great destiny, but it's said to bring luck and purpose to people anyway. I've already decided what I want to do when I graduate and having such a purpose is really very liberating," she smiled.
Emily smiled in response and quickly put a hand on Hermione's arm when she noticed the older girl go to contradict what Luna had said.
"That sounds like a great present, Luna," Emily indulged her, her smile widening when Luna's smile brightened at her.
"I think so," she said, looking down and fingering the opening of her bag full of Destiny Dust. "I think this would actually be a better present for you, Emily. You are the Chosen One, after all," she commented, smiling up at Emily before looking back down at her bag and opening it. Luna made an approving sound as she looked down into the contents of her draw-string bag and looked back up at Emily again and beamed. "The Perwinder Puffins are very active right now. They must sense you and your destiny," she complimented.
Emily scratched her head and smiled awkwardly.
"Thanks, Luna. I think."
"Can I see this Destiny Dust, Luna?" Hermione interjected, looking at the bag doubtfully.
Luna pulled the bag from her neck and held it out to Hermione. Hermione pulled the bag from her grasp and poked her nose inside, a frown appearing on her face before she looked back up at the pair.
"This is pixie dust, Luna," Hermione told her matter-of-factly.
"That's another name for it, yes," Luna agreed serenely, smiling still.
"No, Luna, this is just pixie dust. There's no such thing as Destiny Dust or Perwinder Puffins. It's just common pixie dust. No great destiny about it."
"Of course there is," Luna argued dreamily. Emily began to feel uncomfortable standing there between the arguing two; it was never fun to come between a dreamer and a realist.
"Emily, tell her there's no such thing," Hermione demanded, looking towards her suddenly wide-eyed friend. Luna's large grey eyes turned to her then, their perpetually surprised look just making Emily more uncomfortable.
"Erm, well I—I don't really know enough about it to say for sure," she tried, wincing slightly as Hermione looked at her in disapproval.
"Honestly, Emily," she muttered, turning her nose back into the bag. "There's no such thing so don't be rid-rid—" And she sneezed.
In a moment Hermione had inhaled some of the dust and expelled it just as quickly. The rush of air resulted in the shimmery dust blowing out of the bag. In her surprise, Hermione tipped the bag away from her to spare her face and jerked the dust directly onto her best friend.
"Oh, Emily! I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasped, her spare hand coming to cover her mouth. Emily stood still for a moment, her arms held out slightly from her body. She flicked her hands and a light sprinkling of the dust fell away from her. There was still a clear coating of it over her front and stuck in her hair, though.
"Ooh, that's good luck!"
Both girls turned to Luna who was watching the scene intently. Hermione's face immediately fell again as she looked at Luna and began apologising once more.
"Luna, I'm so very sorry," Hermione pleaded remorsefully. "This was a present from your father and I just ruined it! I'm so sorry!"
Luna turned to Hermione and smiled gently at her and pat her shoulder.
"It wasn't your fault, Hermione. The Perwinder Puffins were obviously more determined to get to Emily than I thought. Of course, they should have asked before they crawled up your nose but they aren't the most patient of creatures, after all."
"Of—of course," Hermione agreed hesitantly in her effort to make amends. "I really am very sorry, though," she repeated, remorsefully handing the now mostly empty bag back to Luna who replaced it around her neck happily. "I'll, ah, I'll get you some more," she promised.
"No need, Hermione," Luna smiled at her, patting the bag happily. "Daddy will be so pleased to hear about this. He might even write about it in the Quibbler! Do let me know if you have any great revelations, Emily. I'm hungry, though, so I'd better go and eat before the food disappears on me again. I'll see you later," she smiled and waved at them both happily before skipping off to the Ravenclaw table, not a care in the world.
"I am sorry," Hermione murmured to Emily as the pair began their walk to Charms. Emily was ruffling her hair in an effort to remove the dust from it and patting her robes down. She was successful in removing the majority of the dust but gave up in the end, not really that concerned.
"It's okay, Hermione," Emily reassured her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and scratching her suddenly itchy scalp, the dust most likely the culprit. "Besides, it's good luck, remember?" she teased, bumping shoulders with Hermione. Her friend cracked a smile at her and they returned to the easiness of before.
"Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for the murders he had not committed," Professor Dumbledore said, he and Emily reaching the end of their discussion on the latest memory they had seen; sixteen-year-old Voldemort meeting his uncle and the consequent murders of his father and paternal grandparents, and the framing of his uncle for the crimes. "But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part…"
Emily quietly watched as Dumbledore removed another crystal phial from a pocket inside his robes and struggled slightly to pour the memory into the Pensieve. Usually transfixed by the deceptively beautiful substance that flowed gracefully into the Pensieve, knowing that each one was the key to all Voldemort had done, this memory clung to the phial like a thick, clumpy yoghurt and Emily found herself wondering if memories ever went off. Dumbledore's words from earlier, though, had left her nervous and excited, the two emotions warring within her. She had to control herself from fidgeting on the spot.
He'd said this was one of the most important memories he had ever collected. This was it. This memory here was going to be the undoing of her enemy. It was almost surreal.
"This will not take long," Dumbledore said as he finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then…"
Dumbledore stepped back and gestured to the shallow stone basin within which the memory would play. Emily took a deep breath and locked eyes with her mentor for a moment before she turned her determined gaze on the Pensieve. Gryffindor courage flowed through her as she advanced. Reaching forward, she wrapped her hands around the outside and bent her head low to dip it through the silver surface.
Immediately Emily knew something was wrong. The coolness of the Pensieve was absent. Instead there was an immediate hotness, like she'd just lifted the lid to a cooking pot and stuck her head directly in the way of the steam. Emily tried to jerk backwards but was instead pulled forwards, her feet ripped out from under her. She saw swirls of dark colour contrasted by sudden shocks of white fog, a loud voice echoing around her "– you'll go wrong, boy, mark my words." The spinning briefly slowed down enough that she could make out the dungeon and what looked like a young Professor Slughorn and a table of male students in front of him, one of which Emily knew had to be her adversary, before the jerking began again. Like a Portkey, there was a hook-like feeling behind her naval as she was thrown around in a swirl of dark colour and white fog, muffled voices following her everywhere. She was beginning to panic so, with a great effort, Emily jerked herself away from the blurring colour and stifling heat and, in a heart-stopping moment, she hung in nothing – no colour, no sound, and no heat. Gasping loudly, Emily finally felt herself jerk away from the Pensieve, so forcefully that she lost her footing as she stumbled backwards and fell on her backside, barely managing to avoid smacking her head on the stone floor.
Emily groaned deeply and loudly, painfully rolling onto her side and pausing to quell the sudden nausea that overcame her. Her head pounded, her scar burned, her muscles strained and she felt an overall exhaustion she'd not felt since she was in the Hospital Wing recovering from the Ministry incident at the end of fifth year.
"My dear girl, are you alright?" Dumbledore called from above her.
Emily winced and squinted her eyes open as she sat up, feeling the old man's hand on her back offering assistance.
"There's definitely something wrong with that memory," she told him, turning to grimace at him. Her grimace immediately morphed into a shocked expression as she stared at the familiar man. "Professor…?" she murmured slowly in growing concern. "Please don't tell me…" she muttered, her face tortured. Dumbledore was familiar all right, but only because she'd seen this version in a memory that involved an eleven-year-old Voldemort.
"What is your name, dear girl? I must say, it's not every day I see a young woman jump out of a Pensieve. Perhaps you should sit down and tell me your story over a cup of tea," the young Dumbledore suggested, helping a now numb Emily stand and lead her to his desk, his long hair and beard a shocking auburn. Glancing around, Emily noticed she was clearly in the man's private room; it was cosy and there were no student desks anywhere. A small mercy, perhaps. Hitting those on her way out would have hurt.
The pair both settled and Dumbledore summoned an elf to order a tea tray.
"Now, my dear," Professor Dumbledore said, turning to the silent young woman with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning. You seem to know me and I find things will go most smoothly if I know you too," he smiled, reaching forward as the tea tray appeared and serving them both a cup.
Emily sighed and accepted her cup, holding it between her hands but not taking a sip, trying not to wince as her head and scar throbbed. She looked up at her future headmaster, at least dressed as flamboyantly as she remembered, and resigned herself.
"Sir, my name is Emily Potter, and I'm from January 1997."
There was a silence as Emily looked Dumbledore in the eye. His eyebrows rose higher than perhaps she'd ever seen them and he paused lifting his teacup to his lips.
"I see," he said.
Emily cringed.
"Perhaps you should start from the beginning," he suggested, finally taking a sip.
Emily at last allowed herself to groan and rub her face tiredly.
Why is it always me?