Characters not mine, friends. Sorry for the multiple update notifications on this chapter but this site is very new to me and technology is scary.

Albus softly gasped at what he saw in front of him. It was Godric's Hollow, but something about the houses was slightly different. The molding and paint all looked somewhat old-fashioned, as if he had traveled back in time a century. The street before him was barely recognizable, except for a house: Bathilda Bagshot's. The house still remained to this day. A boy with long brown hair, a boy who could not have been much older than Albus himself, headed to the door of the house, carrying a tray of baked goods. He knocked lightly.

"Dear boy, do come in," a voice sounded from the inside.

Albus cautiously followed the boy in. The house was standard Godric's Hollow fare, an old-fashioned parlor room with a fireplace and a library to the left of the entry hall. Yet the décor looked bizarre, lace covers and candles everywhere. The same voice called again.

"In the library, dear."

The brown haired boy went in, with Albus following closely behind. No one had noticed him yet, as if he were a ghost or had on his father's invisibility cloak.

The boy set down the baked goods in offering. "How are you, today, Professor Bagshot?" he asked politely, leaning back into his chair in a manner that suggested he had been there for tea before.

"Bathilda, dear. And well." She looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. "Now then, how are you doing?"

The boy's eyes flashed with an emotion that Albus could not quite read. Was it pain? Frustration? Clearly something had happened.

Bathilda Bagshot seemed to notice as well, because she quickly changed the subject. She picked up her cup of tea, taking a sip. "I am doing some rather complicated research on Incan magic for the next book. Did they ever teach you that sort of stuff at Hogwarts?"

So he had gone to Hogwarts, Albus thought, trying to figure out whose memory he was infiltrating. The boy looked rather young; he must have just graduated.

He answered softly, "No, they did not unfortunately."

"Pity. There is a lot of magic out there, Albus, and a lot of magic yet to be discovered."

Albus, the living, breathing Albus Potter, froze. Who was this boy in front of him? It only dawned on him when the boy responded.

"And not enough time to study it."

This was Albus Dumbledore. Once he focused on the boy's face, he could see enough similarities between him and the portraits of the wizard in Professor McGonagall's office and his father's study. He had heard so many stories about the famous wizard from his parents that to see him alive, and as a young man no less, was magical.

Albus listened eagerly at the entrance of the room as young Dumbledore talked to Bathilda Bagshot about classes, about plans he had made with a friend to travel the world after graduation, but as the conversation continued Dumbledore seemed to grow more and more tired and anxious.

"Dear, if you ever need…help, of any sort, please let me know. It should not be a boy's job to raise his little sister alone," Bathilda remarked.

Dumbledore's head snapped towards her. "I can take care of this myself." The tone was cold in a way that shocked Albus. His father had always described Dumbledore as a patient and kind man. Clearly, whatever had happened had deeply affected the wizard.

Just as Bathilda was about to respond, a voice sounded from another room in the house, "Auntie, would you like me to make more tea?"

"Dear, do come meet Albus!" Bathilda exclaimed with a smile as she eyed Dumbledore, whose shoulders were slumped as he looked at his teacup. A young man with mid-length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes entered the room. He was exceedingly handsome, with a noble air about him as he gracefully moved across the room. Albus could not help but be reminded of his best friend with a blush.

"Gellert, this is Albus. Albus, Gellert," Bathilda introduced. "Gellert Grindelwald is my niece. A talented young man, just like yourself."

Albus let out a gasp so loud he swore the inhabitants of the room looked his direction. Grindelwald? But of course. They had met here, after Dumbledore's seventh year. He could not help but feel that Grindelwald looked exceedingly normal— well, handsome—but relatively normal for someone who would become one of the greatest dark wizards of all time.

Dumbledore looked up from his teacup, making eye contact with the blonde-haired boy. When their eyes met, Dumbledore seemed to jump with a start, as if he had been burned. With a smile Gellert dipped his head politely, shaking young Dumbledore's hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I have heard many good things from my aunt."

Dumbledore took the man's hand, weakly responding, "And you."

Suddenly the room began to evaporate around Albus and the image of the two boys in front of him disappeared. Albus gasped for air as he pulled his head from the pensive. What on earth had he just seen? And why had he seen it? It seemed like too much of coincidence that he would stumble upon a pensive and see this memory a mere day after his conversations with Rose and Scorpius. Shaking his head, he made his way to the door, deciding he had had enough mystery for the day. He needed to find Scorpius. He would know what to make of this.

Albus headed towards the Great Hall. Sure enough, Scorpius was there, eating at Slytherin table with Zabini and Goyle, who both played quidditch alongside Albus. Nodding to his teammates in greeting, he motioned to his best friend. "We need to talk." Scorpius stared at him quizzically. "You will not believe what just happened."

Zabini and Goyle looked at the two boys and shrugged, continuing their conversation. Scorpius slowly got up from the bench, lazily grabbing his bag as he went.

"Can you be more slow," Albus muttered. His friend smiled wickedly. "I do it for you. What is it?"

And so Albus ramblingly explained what he had just seen. He could see Scorpius trying to follow along; the story did seem implausible, he figured.

"And there were more memories there?" Scorpius asked curiously, as Albus's narration came to a close.

Albus nodded, "I guess so. There were hundreds of vials."

Scorpius looked thoughtful. "Dumbledore must have stored some of his memories in the Room of Requirement. The ministry archived the memories recovered from the pensive in his office after his death. My father told me they were crucial in convicting Death Eaters after the War."

Albus continued his thought, "but why hide these ones? The memory was pretty harmless. What makes these memories so special?"

"The only way to figure out is to see what else is in those vials," Scorpius commented.

"I don't know. I barely have time as it is with classes and quidditch. I can't just sit all day going through Dumbledore's memories."

"Well, thanks to his," Scorpius pulled out the Advanced Potions textbook from his robes, "we have more time. Potions is a breeze with this book by your side."

Albus was still not sure what to make of that book and its mysterious owner. More questions were swirling in his head than answers. Questions about the book, the pensive, and the apparently complicated figure that was Albus Dumbledore. He nodded, "Fine. Saturday we'll do some exploring."

Scorpius grinned, hitting Albus on the shoulder. "Look at you, Potter. It sounds like you've found yourself a mystery." Albus grumbled, trying to hide the blush that had begun to paint his cheeks.

/

Friday afternoon Albus and Rose went to the library in search of books on the life of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. He had filled his cousin in on the strange memory he had seen, as well as the pensive in the Room of Requirement. Rose had tried to find the pensive later that day, but the room had only transformed into a massive closet. For some reason Albus was sure he would find the pensive again. Something in his gut told him so.

"Here is another biography on Grindelwald," Rose said, dragging a heavy-looking book from a shelf. "Maybe there is something in here that will better help us understand why this memory is so important."

They began working their way through the large stack of books they had found, every so often sharing a new fact. But whenever they found passages explaining the two wizards' friendship, the details about their first meeting were vague at best.

"There has got to be something we are missing," Albus sighed, running his hand through his unruly black hair, "or why else would those memories be hidden?"

Rose nodded. "And there's another question."

Albus looked at her curiously. She continued, "Why did you find it. The Room of Requirement shows us what we need. There has got to be some sort of information here that you need, whether you know it or not."

Albus sighed, running his hands through his hair again. Even though his Slytherin sensibilities loved a good riddle, he did not have the time right now to even begin to crack this one.

"Hey Rose, have you ever heard of a 'Half-blood Prince'?" Albus suddenly asked, figuring if he could not figure out the pensive mystery he may as well try this one.

Rose scrunched her nose. "I haven't, but there is nothing a little bit of library research can't fix. I'll do some looking around this evening."

"Thanks, Rosie, you're the best," Albus smiled. She huffed at his use of her childhood nickname and went back to her book.

Grabbing his bag, Albus headed towards the Slytherin common room. He had been so busy thinking about Dumbledore's pensive that he had barely had time to do his work.

When he got to the common room, the space was relatively empty. Albus settled into his favorite leather armchair in one of the corners and began his transfiguration homework. He had made it halfway through the reading when his mind started to wander towards Scorpius. And, of course, inevitably towards Scorpius's eyes, and the small smiles he would give rarely, like gifts, or the teasing grins. The way his body looked when he was shirtless and splayed out on his bed—Albus snapped out of the daydream and looked down at the book on his lap. This was going to be a long night. He had so much to do and way too many distractions.

He continued working. Although he could not tell what time it was in the Slytherin dungeon, he knew it must be late because the common room was empty, the upperclassmen having trickled to bed an hour or so ago. As he was about to move on to his Charms homework, the dungeon door opened abruptly and in walked Scorpius.

Immediately Albus knew something was up. Scorpius's usually impassive face had a look that could only be described as panicked. He was clutching a letter to his chest. As he saw Albus, he let out a weak greeting.

"What is it?" Albus asked immediately. "A letter from home?"

Scorpius nodded silently, slumping into a chair next to him. "He is sick again, but this time they think it could be fatal."

"I'm sorry." Albus knew he was referring to Lucius Malfoy, who was still serving his life sentence in Azkaban and whose health had been rapidly deteriorating for some time now.

Albus and Scorpius were both people who did not easily talk about their feelings. Maybe it was their guarded Slytherin nature, or the fact that they felt that none of their pain would ever rival the struggles their fathers had gone through to simply survive. Sure, as best friends they shared a lot with each other, certainly more than they did with anyone else. But Albus was always not sure what to say when the subject of Lucius Malfoy came up. There was part of him that deeply despised the man and all that he had done to hurt his father, but most of all what he had done to hurt Scorpius. The Malfoy name would forever be associated with Lucius's treachery.

But then the part of him that loved Scorpius, whether he liked it or not, would think about how this must feel, the conflicting emotions of not knowing how to react to news of his dying grandfather, who he had met only a couple times, but whose shadow loomed over the Malfoy family.

"What are you thinking?" Albus asked, looking at his friend who was now silently staring into the fire.

"That I hate him."

Albus watched Scorpius's face carefully. His expression had slipped back into guarded impassivity.

"But that he is family. And Salazar knows my family is small and selective enough as it is," Scorpius continued, as if talking to himself more than to his friend.

Albus could not even pretend that he knew what Scorpius was feeling. As much as he and Scorpius lived lives that sometimes had shockingly similar resonances, in this way his friend was alone. Albus's family was famous for all the right reasons. As much as he often wished his father and mother were not so noticeable, ultimately that fame brought the family privilege and respect. In the Weasley-Potter clan Albus was the closest thing to a disappointment, a Slytherin in a house of lions. He could not imagine what it meant to bear the name 'Malfoy,' and to look like the spitting image of your Death Eater grandfather.

Scorpius looked as if he was about to say something more to Albus, but shut his mouth. Albus turned to him. "Scor, let me know if you want to talk more. Ok?"

Scorpius nodded slightly, his face not betraying any emotion this time. They sat well into the night, Albus finishing his homework and Scorpius silently staring at the fireplace.

/

Albus woke up with a start. He was in his bed. When had he gone to bed? He was still wearing his clothing from the day before, his hair rumpled. Scorpius was digging for something in his trunk on the other side of the room. Pulling the Advanced Potions textbook out, he looked over at Albus with a smirk.

"Decided to join the land of the living, Potter?"

Scorpius seemed so relaxed that it was easy to forget how distraught he had been last night. "How did I even get to bed?" Albus asked, yawning. "Last thing I remember I was working on Charms."

"You fell asleep. So I carried you in," Scorpius shrugged. Albus felt a warm sensation spread from the top of his head to his stomach and lower still. Just the idea of Scorpius putting him to bed—the kindness behind the action and his hands on Albus—made him shiver. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of ripped blue jeans, much to Scorpius's horror. His friend still had a hard time understanding the utility of muggle clothing. "I'm heading to breakfast. Do you still want to figure out this pensive business tonight?"

"Of course," Scorpius said, facing the opposite direction. He pulled off his pajama shirt, exposing his back; his silver-white hair hung loosely down it. His body was slender and somewhat feminine in a way that made Albus want to touch him and feel his smooth skin. The curve of his lower back met shoulders that were slightly toned, and whose muscles rippled as he pulled on his clothing for the day. Albus gulped; yeah, he needed to get out of here.

/

At dinner that evening, Albus sat beside Scorpius, Zabini, and Iris Parkinson. The talk turned inevitably to quidditch, and the fact that their first match of the season was coming up next weekend. Zabini was a pretty talented Chaser, and always had a lot to say about strategy, but cared significantly less about schoolwork.

As people slowly began to leave dinner, Scorpius motioned towards Albus. "I think we're going to hit the library. See you later?"

The two friends headed towards the fifth floor. As they made their way in comfortable silence, Albus kept sneaking looks at his Scorpius, thinking about what he had been feeling this morning. His stomach felt hot again. Merlin, he needed to get over this bizarre yet over-powering attraction to his best friend.

The door appeared immediately as they turned the corner. For a moment Albus worried that the pensive would not be there, but sure enough a glow was emanating from the middle of the room. As the boys made their way over to sort through the vials, Scorpius turned to Albus. "What sort of memories should we be looking for?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Let's just see if we find anything unusual." Albus went from vial to vial, reading the tags, but each one seemed to be from the same summer, the summer after Dumbledore's seventh year at Hogwarts. From their research in the library, Rose had told him that Dumbledore had moved to Godric's Hollow that summer to take care of his sister Ariana after the death of his mother. That certainly explained the wizard's weariness. But what else was special about this summer? Albus was not quite sure, but he had a suspicion it had something to do with Grindelwald.

He picked up a vial next to the memory he had seen in Bathilda Bagshot's parlor. "Maybe this is in chronological order? Let's see what is next."

Scorpius nodded, as Albus poured the contents of the vial into the pensive. "Just place your head into..." Albus trailed off. Scorpius clearly already knew what he was doing because he was lowering his head into the pensive. Albus followed him, a rush of nerves hitting him as he wondered what they would see. And then there was darkness.

Liking the story so far? If so R&R because I am a lazy human and will only keep on writing this so long as there is interest. Plus, I'm a newbie fanfic writer and need love.