Great Loss, Greater Gain

Harry had been subdued during lunch, and the other students that had been sitting with him had been throwing him curious glances. Harry just couldn't tear his mind away from the images of his parents and Sirius and Remus and Pettigrew all happy and joking despite the circumstances. He had seen his parents before, sure, but to see them like this, his own age, alive and well and happy, before they had the weight of the war to carry on their shoulders, before they lost everything they held dear to them was a lot harder than Harry had ever imagined it to be.

There were three vials of the memories left. Only two had a letter. He picked up the next vial in order, and placed it on the desk. He stared at it, long and hard, wondering what kind of memory it held. Was it a happy memory? Or was it sad, as most of the other memories had been. Harry didn't want to dwell on it, so he carefully poured the silvery liquid into the Pensieve and slipped in.

-XXX-

They were in an unfamiliar room and it was dark. Harry wondered where they were, or if Dumbledore was even in the room. He stood patiently, until a flash of lightning outside illuminated the room for a brief moment. Dumbledore was leaning against the window frame across the room, staring out. There was a noise from another room and the door behind Harry opened. A woman walked through him as she entered the room, and Harry was going to protest but he didn't want to break the tense silence that pervaded the room.

"Albus," she said quietly. Harry didn't recognise the voice and moved around to see her face. He got a shock when he recognised the woman as being Bathilda Bagshot, albeit a slightly younger and very much alive version of her. Dumbledore didn't move. She slowly approached Dumbledore and put her hand on his arm.

"They're gone, Albus. There is nothing left," said Bagshot.

Wondering what she was talking about, Harry moved to the window and peered out. He felt his knees go weak and he sagged against the window frame. He was winded as though someone had hit him with a stunning spell. He recognised what they were looking at. The house diagonally across the street was in ruins, and the ruins were still smoking. Harry knew with a sinking heart that that house was the one he had lived in with his parents until the age of one. The house his parents had been murdered in. The house Voldemort had tried to kill him in and had failed. The event that seemed to have just happened.

"I need to go and check," said Dumbledore suddenly, making Harry jump.

"Albus, there is no point. Nothing could have survived that," said Bagshot.

"I need to see it for myself, Bathilda," snapped Dumbledore harshly, turning around and leaving. Harry followed.

"But what about the storm? It's dangerous to go out there now," said Bagshot as Dumbledore reached the door.

"I don't care," said Dumbledore and pushed out into the rain.

Harry didn't want to see the fresh ruins of his home, but a morbid curiosity overcame him and he followed Dumbledore into the storm. Bagshot had not been lying; the storm was bad. Harry was drenched in a matter of seconds, and Dumbledore's wet beard stuck to his robes. He paused outside the gate, and Harry caught up with him. Then Dumbledore pushed open the gate and walked across the garden to the front door. Harry took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and followed.

Inside, the house was a mess. The entrance hall opened into a lounge, and there were toys scattered across the floor, as though a child had been playing there recently. Harry spotted a miniature broomstick floating inches off the ground, bobbing and floating in the gust of wind that had followed Dumbledore through the door. Dumbledore only paused for a moment before making his way up the stairs. Harry hung back for as long as he could. He knew that his father had died on the stairs while trying to prevent Voldemort reaching him and his mother.

Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and knew Dumbledore had just discovered this too. Somehow, this gave Harry the strength he needed to go up the stairs too. He had been right; his father was lying on the top of the stairs, eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead into nothingness. There was a look of pure desperation and anger still plastered on his face. Dumbledore was leaning over him, and Harry watched as he gently closed his father's eyes.

Unable to bear it anymore, Dumbledore stood up and made his way towards a doorway at the end of the passage. Harry followed but froze at the doorway. The roof had been blasted off along with half the wall and the storm was blowing into the room. There was a baby in the cot, howling his head off. Harry knew he was looking at himself as a baby, and didn't have to look hard to see the open wound on his forehead that would quickly become his trademark scar.

But what drew Harry's eye was the woman lying on the floor in front of the cot. She was beautiful, even in death, and her bright red hair blew around her head. His mother. Lily. She had given her life willingly to save her little baby son's life. It was because of her pure and selfless sacrifice that Harry was alive, the reason for so many things happening throughout Harry's life. Even though she was dead, her spirit had resonated in every aspect of her son's life.

Harry and Dumbledore stood staring at the scene in front of them for a full minute before Dumbledore moved. He conjured a Patronus, a phoenix, and spoke to it.

"Hagrid, Lily and James are dead. Harry is still alive. I need you to rescue him before anyone else sees him. Take him to our pre-arranged location. Use any means necessary to get here. Hurry." He waved his wand and the phoenix flew off into the storm. Dumbledore took one last look at baby Harry and vanished.

-XXX-

When the world solidified again, they were standing in a narrow street. Dumbledore pushed open a door of a boarded up house. Inside was about a hundred witches and wizards. The low hum of whispered conversations died on their lips when they saw Dumbledore. Every face turned towards Dumbledore. Even Harry, standing behind Dumbledore, felt uncomfortable at the stares. Dumbledore didn't seem bothered.

"Lily and James Potter have been killed. Voldemort came to their home this evening and tried to kill the family, but Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse and Voldemort was destroyed," he said quietly.

There was a collective sigh of relief from the crowd. Smiles broke out on people's faces, others hugged each other, and some even broke down in sobs of joy. Someone broke out the champagne or Firewhiskey or Butterbeer and glasses were filled. There was not even a question and everyone raised their glasses to the air and spoke in unison. "To Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived."

Harry felt a pang of warmth wash over him. Had all of these people really honoured him like this? He wanted to say something, to thank these strangers, but he remembered that he was only in a memory. But this had happened.

Harry followed Dumbledore as he apperated into villages and towns and cities all over the country through the day, spreading the good news himself. He repeated the same message to the crowds that had somehow known to congregate, and they all reacted in the same way, with relief, sadness, joy, and mourning. Many had lost a friend or loved one to the war, and Harry could understand why some of them reacted the way they did.

Eventually, night fell again, and even though Dumbledore had only shown him a handful of meetings, Harry was getting tired. He was about to give up on this memory and pull out, when they apperated one last time.

This time, when the scenery took shape around him, Harry knew exactly where they were and what was about to happen. Privet Drive had changed very little in the sixteen years he had lived there. The rows of neat bushes and trimmed lawns were still as perfect as they always had been. There, on the corner, was the sign indicating they were on 'PRIVET DRIVE'. Harry looked down the road to number 4, and there, sitting on the low wall was a cat.

Harry watched as Dumbledore pulled out the deluminator he had given Ron, clicked it twelve times and all the street lights went off. The street was plunged into an eerie darkness. He followed Dumbledore as he made his way to number 4 and made himself comfortable on the wall next to the cat that was quickly transforming. Of course. Professor McGonagall.

Harry watched them as they conversed about the happenings of the day. She asked if the rumours were true, and choked back a sob when Dumbledore confirmed the worst. When Dumbledore revealed that Harry was going to live there with the Dursleys, McGonagall protested. Harry wanted to shout to Dumbledore to listen to McGonagall that she was the only one who saw sense, that if Harry had to live there he would be miserable, but Dumbledore insisted.

Just then a loud sound like a car backfiring echoed through the street and the other two looked up and down the street, but Harry looked into the sky, knowing what was about to happen. Sure enough, Hagrid came careening through the sky on a giant motorbike, Sirius Black's motorbike. The giant of a man clambered off the bike carrying a tiny bundle of blankets. Harry watched the baby version of himself being handed to Dumbledore, placed on the steps with a letter grasped in his tiny hands. Harry stared at himself for as long as he could, even as Dumbledore restored light to the street, until he vanished and Harry felt the familiar pull as the memory ended.

-XXX-

Harry was angry now. Angry that Dumbledore had left him in the destroyed house, that he left him at the Dursleys, that he hadn't checked up on him over the years at the Dursleys, that had used him as a piece in his game, that he had died and left him with a seemingly impossible task. Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had dealt with his feelings over these topics already. He had forgiven Dumbledore for his actions long ago. Now that he had seen some of the things that Dumbledore had experienced, Harry knew that Dumbledore was doing only what he thought was right.

The letter that accompanied the memory was very short, only a few lines.

Harry

I thought you needed to see what happened the night your parents died. Those four memories of the meetings were only a sample of the many that I went to that night. There was so much happiness and joy that night; I thought you deserved to know.

AD

A/N: I am so sorry for the very long delay in putting this chapter up, but I got distracted with other things. The story is nearly finished so I will hurry up and post the next one as soon as I can. Please feel free to post a review.