Warning: there will be torture in this chapter (the cruciatus curse mostly)
A/N: Thanks for waiting for this! I know it's been a while. I hope you enjoy, and reviews, as always, are appreciated!
Dumbledore strode into the Hospital Wing as Harry handed his breakfast tray to a bustling Madam Pomphrey.
"Good morning, Albus," said Madam Pomphrey crisply.
"Good morning, Poppy. I was wondering if I might have a word with Harry, and if he might take a walk up to my office."
Madam Pomphrey glanced critically over her patient and then gave Dumbledore a short nod. "Do not do anything foolish, Albus, and he'll be all right."
"You have my word," said Dumbledore solemnly.
Madam Pomphrey gave Harry one last inspecting glance and then withdrew from the ward.
Dumbledore turned to his student once they were alone. "You don't have to do this, Harry."
"I know."
"Are you sure you're ready to see it all again?"
"You said the longer I wait, the less chance I have of the memory working."
"You'll still know what happened if you just watch the isolated memory, not the full experience."
"It won't be my memory, though."
"No."
"I want…I want to know what it's like for them to talk to me. Not…not like when a dementor gets too close…"
Harry didn't raise his eyes as he felt a firm, comforting hand rest on his shoulder. He had the sense that though he'd never told Dumbledore what he heard around dementors, the headmaster had known. Perhaps Remus had told him, or perhaps it was just one of those things Dumbledore seemed to know without any explanation.
Dumbledore broke the silence gently. "If you are set on this, Harry, then we should be going. Can you manage the walk up to my office?"
Harry nodded and rose to his feet with only a little instability. Dumbledore's steadying hand rested reassuringly on Harry's back, guiding him out of the hospital wing, along the quiet journey through the Hogwarts hallways, and past the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.
Fawkes gave a gentle cry of welcome when he saw Harry, and Harry felt slightly less nauseous at the thought of what was to come as he felt the phoenix song wash over him.
Dumbledore's piercing gaze swept over Harry as he sank into the chair. "Are you in pain?"
"No, Sir. Just a little tired."
"It will get better."
Harry hesitated. "Sir…"
"Yes, Harry?"
The dread that had rested heavily in Harry's stomach over the past few weeks leaked into his voice as he admitted quietly, "Sometimes I feel like it won't."
Dumbledore drew up a chair opposite Harry and settled into it, meeting Harry's gaze with a mixture of fear and reassurance. "You don't think you'll recover?"
"It just feels like…" Harry struggled for the right words. "I don't know…I want to get better, but it's like that's only half my body, and the other half just wants it to…end."
Dumbledore reached out a hand and gently squeezed one of Harry's. "As long as you want to return to full health, I don't believe that any…subconscious or…leftover, if you will, desires will inhibit that."
"Do you think that's what this is, sir? The things I felt when…he had me…that are still there?"
Dumbledore sighed. "That is nothing more than a guess, I'm afraid. Time will prove me right or wrong. But either way, Harry, I really do believe that you will fully recover."
Harry felt the wave of warmth wash over him that he always associated with phoenix song.
Dumbledore gave his hand another gentle squeeze. "Are you ready?"
Harry nodded, and though the anxiety was still there, the dread of having to relive his torment, he felt a new feeling of resolve as well.
Dumbledore gently helped him to his feet and guided him over to the pensive.
"I have the memory from Professor Snape," said Dumbledore, holding up a vial of the familiar, silvery substance. "I'll show you how to add yours from before and during your…captivity. You'll see them all in a row of unbroken events, which will, hopefully, allow your mind to retrieve the memory Professor Snape took from you and it will return to you as part of your normal recollections."
Harry nodded.
"Now, if you would take out your wand, follow my example, and concentrate on the memory you want to withdraw from your mind."
"When should I start?"
"The moment of the invasion, I think."
Harry nodded again, his stomach tensing as he placed his wand to his temple and focused on the moment he knew Hogwarts was breached, allowing the memory to play out in his mind and, mimicking Dumbledore's movements, deposited the memory, along with those of his imprisonment, in the pensive. Dumbledore added the vial and looked back up to Harry.
"Do I have to watch it alone?" The words slipped from Harry's mouth before he could worry if they were childish or not.
Dumbledore's gaze was gentle over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "I will be with you the entire time, Harry, if that is what you wish. If, however, you would prefer me not to see, I understand as well, though…if at any moment, it becomes…too much, I might prefer to be there to take you away."
"I'd rather you were with me, sir."
"Then I promise to be next to you for all of it."
Harry nodded and Dumbledore gripped his shoulder firmly.
"Shall we?" Asked Dumbledore, gesturing to the pensive.
In response, Harry leaned forward and felt the familiar falling sensation as he entered the pensive.
After a moment of reorientation, Harry found himself, as he'd expected, on the Hogwarts grounds, the castle looming in a deceptive image of safety behind him. Students milled about, and the memory Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, laughing at something one of them had said.
Dumbledore appeared beside him a moment later.
"He'll arrive soon," said Harry softly. He felt Dumbledore's hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder.
"If at any moment this is too painful, Harry, we can return to my office," Dumbledore reminded him.
"Thanks, sir, but I think I'll be okay."
Dumbledore nodded, but kept his hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry felt a wave of residual panic as he heard the first screams and Death Eaters poured out of the castle, students scattering.
The memory Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands.
"Go, Harry!" Yelled Ron.
"What? No, I'm staying with you!"
"It's you they want!" Hermione cried, pushing Harry back and turning to face the oncoming Death Eaters.
But the argument was moot. The trio was surrounded within moments, each casting and deflecting spells with what now felt like the meager skills of five years of magical training.
Ron was a moment too late to block a stunning spell and fell to the ground. Harry and Hermione rushed to cover him, but a Death Eater's curse flung Hermione out of the entire circle, and another, taking the cue, did the same for Ron's limp body, leaving Harry alone. A Death Eater reached forward to grab Harry, but a cry from behind distracted him. The circle of Death Eaters facing outwards were beginning to fall.
Harry could make out Dumbledore casting well-aimed curses, felling Death Eaters with precise, controlled fury.
The Death Eater that had first tried to grab Harry reached out again, more desperate this time, but his hand was blocked a foot from Harry. Dumbledore had cast a protective shell around him.
The Death Eater snarled in frustration, but turned to face the new threat.
The flashes of light as curses were exchanged and blocked was almost dizzying, even under the bright June sun, and Harry remembered the helplessness he had felt, protected but trapped, unable to cast a spell to aid or defend Dumbledore.
Finally, Dumbledore fought his way to the center of the circle, standing beside Harry, deflecting curses and casting them from all directions. He dueled eleven at once, but Harry could believe the headmaster would win. That raw power. That precision and strategy. That righteous fury that seemed to warp the very air.
And then he appeared. Perhaps he had grown impatient with his followers. Perhaps he knew Dumbledore had arrived and feared he would lose his best chance to kill his target. Whatever the reason, Voldemort chose that moment to appear, and for the first time, Harry was afraid for Dumbledore.
The Death Eaters stepped back to make way for Voldemort, but they continued to fight without asking permission.
Harry knew there was only one way that this could end. He hesitated for only a few moments more before he flung himself beyond the protective barrier.
Harry heard Dumbledore's cry more clearly in the pensive than he had the first time.
The memory Harry's eyes closed in pain as Voldemort gripped him and his scar screamed. His hand was forced around a portkey, and the memory gave only a few more moments of Dumbledore frantically casting curses and a final desperate cry of "stay alive!"…and the Hogwarts grounds faded from view.
And then, the memory switched, and Harry saw himself lying in a dimly lit room, slowly regaining consciousness. Voldemort's snake-like face came into focus and (the real) Harry flinched. He felt Dumbledore grip both of his shoulders comfortingly, and Harry focused on the headmaster's presence as he relived scenes of Voldemort's torture. He watched the memory Harry writhe and scream and couldn't keep from shaking as his body remembered the agony it had felt and his mind remembered the desperation he'd felt, the desperation to die and have it over with.
"Are you in pain, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, his hand still resting on Harry's shoulder and feeling him shake.
Harry shook his head. Dumbledore seemed to believe him, but kept his hands on Harry's shoulders. The physical presence helped him remember what was real, and what was only memory.
Voldemort was speaking. "One would think that Dumbledore would have found a better champion. So many lives wasted on a hero too pathetic to defend himself…he must use human shields to survive every attack. But there is no one to die for you here, Harry…you are at my mercy. And you will die the moment I see fit to cast the curse."
"Too scared to try and kill me now?" The memory Harry asked, his voice barely audible and hoarse almost to the point of being unintelligible.
Voldemort laughed, a high, cold sound that had long ago become the background of Harry's nightmares. "We have plenty of time, Harry, and I admit I am…curious to see what kind of secrets Dumbledore has entrusted to your hopelessly unguarded mind."
The memory Harry flinched as Voldemort raised his wand again.
"Legilimens."
Harry and Dumbledore saw what Harry had seen, so the images flashed through Harry's memories, Voldemort searching carefully for anything with Dumbledore. He rifled through memories at a dizzying speed: Dumbledore comforting Harry in front of the mirror of Erised; Dumbledore sitting with Harry in the hospital wing at the end of first year; Dumbledore asking in second year if there was anything Harry wished to tell him, Harry keeping the voice of the basilisk to himself; their second end-of-year conversation as Dumbledore reassured Harry on his place in Gryffindor; Dumbledore offering a way to save Sirius at the end of third year; Dumbledore comforting Harry when Remus resigned; Dumbledore's loyal presence in Hagrid's cabin after the disastrous Rita Skeeter article; Dumbledore explaining Harry's dream to him after he passed out in divination; and Dumbledore's furious protection from Barty Crouch Jr. after the Triwizard Tournament and then gentle council after the interrogation. Voldemort paused to examine the memory of the invasion in June, and a tone of mockery invaded the pause as the memory Dumbledore cried out "stay alive!"
But the memory Harry seized on those two words and, though the action was invisible (certainly to the Harry and Dumbledore viewing the memory through the pensive), slipped a…conviction through Voldemort's occlumency barriers. Harry would only die with his own consent. It was a flimsy defense, a shot in the dark from a pain-weary body and a mind pressured nearly to the breaking point. But it would save Harry.
Voldemort rifled through a moment more before ending the connection, and the scene refocused on the room where the memory Harry lay face-down on the ground.
Voldemort stood over him, scowling. "Did Dumbledore see fit to entrust you with no information at all?"
The memory Harry did not respond. Voldemort hissed in impatience. "I asked you a question, Potter."
Still, Harry lay, unmoving. Voldemort flicked his wand, and within a moment the memory Harry was hovering, upright, in front of him.
"Perhaps you would respond better to a different form of persuasion?"
Voldemort flicked his wand again, and this time, the cruciatus curse allowed Harry to pass out.
When the blackness faded, it was Snape who stood over a prone Harry who was slowly, again, regaining consciousness.
Snape lodged a foot under the memory Harry's side and kicked him roughly onto his back.
"Up, Potter. The Dark Lord has…generously offered me the chance to…contribute to his efforts." Snape's voice was silky and dangerous, and Harry felt Dumbledore grip his shoulders more tightly.
The memory Harry had no fight left with which to respond and lay on his back, staring at the grimy ceiling.
"I said up, Potter," Snape snarled. He withdrew his wand slowly, for all appearances savoring the poorly concealed fear on Harry's face.
The memory Harry stood with difficulty and leaned heavily against the wall.
"The Dark Lord has informed me that, in order for him to kill you, you must…'ask for death' is how he put it, I believe." Snape's lip quirked up at that, as if he found the idea amusing.
The memory Harry's legs quivered, and he looked about to collapse. To Harry, watching from a different perspective, the utter lack of fight, the complete absence of any kind of insolence in the face of Snape pointing a wand in his face, prepared to do his worst, was more unnerving than his own screams had been just moments before. He'd heard the screams. He hadn't seen the look of hopelessness on his own face.
Snape paused for a moment, considering the boy in front of him. Then he murmured with quiet intensity, "Crucio."
Harry turned his eyes from his memory self writhing silently on the ground, his voice too damaged to scream, to Snape. He'd been in no position to see it before, but the man's mask of cruelty slipped for a moment, and he looked as agonized as the boy he was torturing. His stony expression re-asserted itself before he released the spell.
The memory Harry's breath was ragged and labored, and his limbs occasionally twitched, feeling the aftereffects of the cruciatus.
Snape sneered over him, "Really, Potter, if you cannot withstand this, I almost pity what you will feel when the Dark Lord decides that you will feel his full and uninhibited wrath. I imagine you will be less insolent—one would assume less arrogant, too, but perhaps that is hopeful to the point of foolishness on my part—with a fractured mind."
"Not…giving up…" Harry's voice was as pitiful as his statement was determined.
Harry was still on his back, looking at Snape with a feeble defiance. Snape raised his wand, but could not look Harry in the eye as he cast the cruciatus again.
Harry jerked and writhed under the curse again for a few moments, before the scene went black again. This time, it remained so.
Harry's breath caught as he heard a woman's voice out of the darkness.
"Harry….love…you have to keep fighting."
The memory Harry's hoarse and croaking voice coughed out roughly, "Mum?"
"Darling, you've been so brave. Just a little while longer. They're coming to save you."
"Harry, you must not give up. Not to him. The Order are just a little while away."
"Dad?"
"You've done beautifully, Harry. You're nearly there."
"Can you…take me?" The memory Harry pleaded.
"Not yet, darling."
"Stay for a while longer, son. We'll be here when you're ready."
"Can I see you?" The memory Harry's voice was stronger, as if it wasn't connected to his body as much and the damage it has suffered.
There was a pause, then the outlines and faces of James and Lily Potter came into focus. And Harry was…standing? Floating? It was disorienting, almost dizzying, and Harry was grateful for Dumbledore's grounding presence.
Lily spoke gently, reaching out a hand to her son's face. "You're the best of the two of us, Harry."
"Your mother's kindness and intelligence."
"Your father's fierce loyalty and spirit."
"Harry, listen. Every moment brings you closer to rescue. The Order is on their way. Snape won't kill you—he's stalling."
"It hurts as much when Snape curses me as when…he does."
Lily and James' faces contorted with a pain known only to parents watching their child suffer.
"I know, darling," said Lily softly. "But he's going to get you out of here—him and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order."
James looked cautiously to his wife. "Lily…you want to tell Snape something?"
Lily hesitated, then shook her head, her face hardened. "I'm here for Harry."
"It's okay, Mum. I can tell him." Harry—the real, not memory one—suddenly remembered what he'd felt in that moment. The desire to do one thing for his mother. He would never be able to show how much he loved her, but to do something, anything, for her was a lifeline in this hell.
Lily's expression softened as she turned to Harry. "I'm so proud of you. My kind, generous boy." Harry glowed in her praise, drinking it in. She continued gently, and Harry hung onto every syllable, trying to memorize the cadence of her voice, the pitch and rhythm, as if it might make her real even if he never saw her again. "If you're sure…tell him…that I forgive him."
Memory Harry nodded, not caring what it meant, only that it meant something to her.
His father spoke again. "Harry…you're going to survive this."
"You have to go back. He's almost lifted the curse." Lily sounded, for the first time, afraid.
The memory Harry flinched. "I…I can't. It'll destroy me."
James Potter spoke softly, but with a conviction that made Harry hold his breath. "I know you, Harry. You are not beaten. You will not be beaten. Not by Voldemort. You are going to live."
Harry found his voice, his eyes still drinking in the sight of his parents, knowing that in a few moments he would have to return to a world of pain and fear. He said the only thing that felt entirely true in that moment. "I love you."
Harry's face was wet with tears, tears he couldn't have either stopped or hidden, even if he wanted to. He felt Dumbledore's pressure on his shoulders increase.
"We've loved you your whole life, Harry."
"We'll always be there."
"Be strong, sweetheart."
And then they were gone, and the memory Harry lay gasping on the ground, tears mingled with the blood that wet the dusty floor beneath him.
His voice was, again, broken and hoarse. "I….she told me that she…forgives you."
Snape frowned in confusion, then lifted his wand again. "Legilimens."
The memory Harry cringed as Snape rifled through his recent memories and saw his parents talking to him, saw Lily's words.
Snape retreated from Harry's mind. He stood, pale-faced and shaking. And then, Harry's mind was torn apart as Snape invaded it once again, but this time with a dizzying ferocity.
The cruciatus was nothing compared to this. It was precise and reckless at the same time as Snape targeted memories with vicious accuracy, knowing which ones would hurt the most, but exploited them with a raw magical power and fury that had Harry, somehow, screaming again, despite his ravaged vocal cords.
And then he ripped the memory of Harry's parents from his mind with brutal force. Nothing gentle, like obliviate, but hacking, as though Snape were breaking off a piece of Harry's heart.
And memory Harry lay gasping on the ground. With a voice that sounded nothing like his own, a voice that was horribly even, despite the roughness of its tone from screaming, the memory Harry whispered, "Kill me."
That was when the numbness had start to set in, Harry remembered—that awful numbness that made death feel so inviting, because even the act of breathing was too much to contemplate.
Snape's features rearranged themselves, the almost-deranged fury of a few moments ago replaced by a cold, awful realization of what he'd done.
"There is nothing inside that mind worth looking at. I think it's time you were returned to the Dark Lord." Snape's voice was deceptively smooth and even.
Bellatrix's laugh greeted Harry and Dumbledore as the scene shifted again.
"Nearly there, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.
Harry nodded. He knew, in this scene, he would be rescued.
But in the meantime, Bellatrix was enjoying a bit of sport with Harry and her favorite silver knife.
"That will do, Bella," came Voldemort's amused voice. "He is mine to kill, and I'd hate for you to…accidently finish him off."
Giving the knife one last sadistic flick, she withdrew quietly to a corner.
The memory Harry lay in the middle of the room, not bothering to struggle to his feet. His arm was bleeding steadily, and he knew beneath the coating of red lay the outline of the dark mark, Bellatrix's idea of a joke.
"Get up, Potter."
The memory Harry did not move.
"Hmmm…have you learned nothing since the night in the graveyard, Harry? Obedience is a virtue…"
Still Harry did not move.
Voldemort flicked his wand, and Harry jerked upwards like a puppet. Voldemort strode carelessly forward and laid a finger casually on Harry's face, as he had done in the graveyard. But Harry did not scream, only twitched feebly.
Voldemort smirked. "I have only to touch you, and you experience a pain beyond what most humans can imagine. What chance did you have? Perhaps it is not your fault, though. It is Dumbledore, in the end, that set you up for this fate. He will be dead soon, as well. I admit I find it assuming to imagine the two of you determining blame, but neither of you will have the chance."
"Do you believe in the afterlife?" Harry's voice was utterly devoid of emotion, but the intent was obvious to both Harry and Dumbledore as they watched: he wanted to die. He was leading up to it, and only the last shred of instinct kept him from saying the words aloud in front of Voldemort.
Voldemort laughed. "You will find out soon, I suppose. But no, Potter, there is nothing after death…though I will never have to find out."
The memory Harry did not respond. Voldemort released the spell and Harry fell roughly to the ground.
"Say the words, Potter. Say them, and I will release you from this wretched state. Say 'I want to die.'"
The memory Harry stared at the ground at Voldemort's feet. He was ready to die. But he was not, perhaps, ready for Voldemort to kill him.
Voldemort lost patience. "Crucio!"
The memory Harry had hardly any strength left with which to move, and watching himself lie still under such intense pain was somehow worse than hearing the screams.
Then the door to the room blew apart and Dumbledore strode through, wand held aloft. "Enough!"
Voldemort's eyes widened, and he released Harry from the curse as he turned to duel Dumbledore.
The scene was fading, the memories that Harry had placed in the pensive were nearly finished.
"Let's go home, Harry," said the real Dumbledore, and Harry was surprised to hear the distinct waver in his voice.
Dumbledore gripped Harry's arm and the two of them rose from the pensive and the awful memories it held.
Dumbledore guided Harry to a chair, and he sank into it gratefully.
"He really didn't enjoy it."
Dumbledore frowned in confusion. He hadn't expected those to be Harry's first words after reliving his ordeal, but he remained quiet and let Harry continue.
"I was…so disoriented then, and…I don't know, I guess I thought that was just the real Snape the whole time, but now I can tell…something was off. He was just acting. With the cruciatus, anyway. He meant it…for the mind stuff."
Dumbledore sighed. "It was not quite as painful for him as it might have been for others, perhaps, but he hated every moment that he hurt you. Of that, I am sure. I am equally sure that what he did to your mind weighs heavily on his conscience, and that he values your forgiveness."
Harry nodded, but remained silent.
Dumbledore didn't press him to speak, and Harry eventually looked up, tears streaming freely down his face. "I…I remember. Them talking to me. And it's my own memory…"
Dumbledore's heart clenched and he knelt before Harry, pulling him into a gentle embrace.
When Harry's tears finally stopped, Dumbledore sat back into his chair and let the boy breathe for a few moments more.
"Thank you, Professor," said Harry quietly.
"I was only returning what was rightfully yours."
Harry didn't seem to hear him. "Their voices were different. Less…rushed. I mean, it was only a few minutes, but it was better than in the graveyard…or when the dementors get too close…"
Dumbledore remained quiet, happy that Harry was willing to talk.
"It's funny…seeing them wasn't a happy memory, exactly—I mean, I was
"It is often foolish to speculate, but…if you'd had the memory, do you think you would've told Professor Snape to…kill you?"
Harry considered that. "No. I don't think so. I mean, Voldemort made me…see their deaths over and over again, and that made the thought of dying…easier? If that makes sense. I knew they were waiting for me. But when they really spoke to me…they told me to keep going, and I'd have done anything to do as they asked…make them proud."
Fawkes sang a soft note that made the knot in Harry's heart unwind a little more.
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "They would have been proud even if you'd given up, Harry, but your mother was right. You have a life ahead of you that you have earned. You should not have had to—no one should have to earn that—but you have done so anyways…through paths that have let you appreciate, in ways that few can, how precious life is, and yet that death is nothing to fear."
Dumbledore let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "You are your parents' son, Harry—they were right about that. But you are also your own person. And that is the person Lily and James hoped for the night they died. You…could not have made them prouder if you had killed Voldemort himself in June. They are proud of you for simply being Harry, for your enormous capacity to love, your admirable ability to forgive, your courage and tenacity, and your willingness, every day, to shoulder burdens no man or woman should have to carry, and bear them with grace and kindness to others."
Fawkes echoed Dumbledore with another note. It added to the wave of emotion sweeping through him at the moment, rather than lessening it. Harry felt fresh tears fall down his cheeks, but made no move to stop them. After a long silence he looked up to Dumbledore, who sat observing him, evidence of tears on his own face.
Harry searched for the words to describe what he felt. "Seeing the memory didn't make it…hurt less. It still does. And I'm still going to miss all the things I should have had. But I'm not alone. They really are with me now, and I don't have to die to be with them again. It made that…numbness go away." Harry didn't remember having used that word in front of Dumbledore before, but the headmaster gave a solemn nod, understanding with a depth that made Harry think back to the family deaths and guilt the headmaster had described on their garden walk. Perhaps Dumbledore, too, had chosen the pain over that blanket of exhaustion that made any release so tempting. Quietly, he added, "When you first rescued me, you asked if Voldemort had used Dementors."
"I did."
An understanding beyond words passed between the two, a hundred years apart, but joined by the same kinds of sorrows, the same hope that the pain might lessen, and the knowledge that it is worth it to continue for the day that it will.
A/N: This is my first long-form fanfiction, and I'm only now realizing that my chapters have been, generally, a bit shorter than is traditional. This one was a bit longer, and I intend to continue that. I've learned a lot writing this story, about both fanfiction and longer stories in general, and though it's already longer than I had vaguely planned, it's demanding to be a longer story still. It won't be novel-length, but there will be a solid few chapters more to get everything wrapped up. And while we're on the subject, I do promise to see the story to its proper conclusion, with all the loose ends tied up! Thanks for all your kind and helpful reviews (the best combo!); they've easily been one of my favorite parts of writing this story. Until next time!