Chapter 3: A Pensieve, A Golden Mask, & A Lightning-Bolt Scar
Harry Potter had never witnessed anything so magical in his life. Up until now, magic was a word reserved for his spells or the strange creatures that lived in the forests around the Hulhome. For the first time, he applied that word to an entire place.
The sounds of waves against the rocky cliffside rang out as the light of the moon illuminated the sight before him. Great towers made of white marble and crystal caught his eye first as they towered above him. They reminded Harry of Muggle skyscrapers, only far more wondrous.
Streets paved with bricks of white, blue, and purple were lit by massive crystals which shined of light reflected by the moon. It was a city without a stain. A mythical place not even his childhood imagination could have conjured up.
He never felt his godfather put a hand on his shoulder. He was too preoccupied with what was in front of him. He did hear his voice as he spoke, "Welcome to Nal Noren, the home of the moon-elves."
And so, it was! They had Apparated into an entranceway. Even at this time of night the gates were flooded with elves with their pointed ears, pale skin, and mysterious yellow eyes that were so striking he could not help but stare. There were other magical beings of all kinds. Many looked towards him as they passed by. Elves with dark purple skin and deep burgundy eyes. Dwarves like Harry had met when his godfather and Uncle Remus took him to Germany to get his wand. There were humans, but they were vastly outnumbered. Still, Harry did not feel unwelcomed.
He was in a complete daze. His godfather had brought them to the gates and his feet carried him along without him even realizing it. An elf wearing robes obviously designed for dueling approached them. While he could feel his godfather tense up, Harry was in awe at how the elf was dressed. He had seen pictures of Aurors before. This was even cooler than that.
"What is your purpose for visiting our great city of Nal Noren on this night?"
Uncle Sirius had a piece of parchment ready. Harry tried to make out what it said, but only caught sight of a dark red seal with some kind of bird on it. The guard elf must have seen it as well because he stood aside in an instant to let them pass.
They entered the city together. Houses built with white, ornate wood and shops of all kinds lined the pristine streets. There were vendors selling every sort of magical good. One merchant had his wand in the air as a great trail of candy floss danced in a mesmerizing pattern. A stall close to them had dozens of caged fwoopers of all colors.
"You told me this wasn't an early birthday present!" Harry caught up with his godfather as they moved through the crowds together.
The man shot an unusually annoyed look back at Harry. "It's not a present. I told you. Today is serious. Just try and keep up, yes?"
Harry let out a sigh, "But look at this place! It's amazing! We have to bring Neville next time! And Uncle Remus!"
There was no response from his godfather and a pit grew in Harry's stomach. He had only ever seen him like this before on a few occasions. Once, it was last October. Sirius had been agitated all week. Finally on the night before Halloween, he snapped at Harry. He wasn't sure what he did, but he went to his room anyways. It was Uncle Remus who came to check on him and told him that it would be alright. Uncle Sirius apologized the next morning.
He was acting the same way. Here they were, in the most magical place Harry had ever seen, and his godfather was acting like he wanted to be anywhere else. His mind was racing as he followed Sirius's lead until they came to a tall tower made of brilliant, shining white marble. The sound of the crowd had faded. The streets here had far fewer occupations than the plazas they had walked through to get here.
There were two guards at the foot of the winding stairs case that spiraled up the tower. Sirius showed them the parchment as he did at the gates. This time Harry could make out the bird on the dark red seal. It was a phoenix. The guards silently stepped aside and together Harry and his godfather made their way to the top of the tower.
The stars were twinkling above Nal Noren. From the view on high, the crystal towers were like beacons against the night sky and dark ocean. Harry wondered if there was a better view of anything in any place in the world. It was silent as well. The crowds of market goers, like specs of dust, went unheard from his place far above them.
His attention turned to the doorway. Carved into two large doors were runes and symbols surrounding phases of the moon. Harry tried to make out some of the runes. He could not recall them from his schooling with Uncle Remus.
When the doors opened, they did so silently as to not disturb the silent world above the city. There in the doorway stood someone Harry did not expect.
His silver hair shone as brightly as the stars above. He was beaming at Harry, his wrinkled face looking oh-so-familiar the moment they made eye contact. On his face were half-moon glasses. He had a long, crooked nose. His robes were dark purple, and his hat was pointed like the wizards of old.
This was Albus Dumbledore. It could be nobody else.
"So – we meet again, Harry."
Harry felt as if an old friend was greeting him. It was strange, since before this moment he was certain he had never met the famous headmaster before.
"I – I don't think we've ever met, sir."
There was a twinkle in the Dumbledore's eyes as he approached Harry. "It was many years ago. You were much smaller then."
"Harry," Sirius interrupted. "This is Professor—"
"I know," Harry stopped his godfather before he could finish. "It is very good to meet you, Mr. uhh… Dumbledore — sir. I'm just a bit confused as to why we are here." He glanced back and forth between his godfather and the smiling old wizard.
"Sirius has enlisted me in a very important task. One that I thought would be best completed in Nal Noren and in this very tower."
Dumbledore stepped aside and urged Harry forward. The room at the top of the tower was dark and oddly small. There was very little light, except for what was emitting from something in the center of the room.
As Harry approached, the details became clear. A shallow marble basin was at the center of the circular chamber— with elvish carvings engraved into the sides. Among them were runes and symbols similar to what were etched into the doors. There was a silverly glow coming from inside the basin that illuminated the room. Inside was a strange substance. Not quite liquid, not quite gas. Sometimes it moved like water, other times like wind.
"A Pensieve," Dumbledore's voiced filled the chamber as the doors closed behind them. "The Elves were the first to master the great Memory Magics. I trained with them for many years. You could as well if Nal Noren inspires you like it did me. Many older Hogwarts students choose apprenticeships with the elves here or in their other ephemeral homes."
It was dark, but Harry's eyes lit up. "Really? Would I get to stay here during the schoolyear? Could I see the other elvish cities?"
"For a few—"
"Professor."
Harry and Dumbledore both turned to Sirius, who even in the dark Harry could tell wore the same sour look as before. Suddenly Harry felt nervous. Dumbledore had a calming aura to him, but the fact that he was standing in a dark room at the top of an Elvish tower in front of a strange magical device— the reality of his situation came to him all at once.
"Right," Dumbledore spoke as the three all leaned over the basin, "This is a Pensieve, Harry. Using this device one can view their memories as if they were standing in the very place they were happening. Now our memories as far from perfect, and sometimes we remember things not how they were but how we like to imagine them. Even if a Pensieve can only show our own, biased memories—it is still a powerful tool, and quite rare. Not many wizards or witches ever have the privilege to use such a device."
His heart was beating fast as he tried to comprehend the purpose of their visit. Before he could think any further, Uncle Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry," his voice was soothing now, "I always knew that one day I would have to tell you, well, as much as I could."
"You don't mean—"
"I do," his godfather's hand slipped away, and his tone turned solemn, "You will be thirteen next week. Then you will be off to Hogwarts. I won't be able to shield you from the truth. I need you to know about what happened to your parents. I want you to hear it, or rather see it, from me."
"They were killed."
The room was silent, and Harry's gaze was lost in the swirling light of the Pensieve. He did not want to look at either of the men standing next to him. "They were murdered," Harry corrected harshly, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named murdered them. And then I—"
"And then you lived," Dumbledore finished for him. Harry looked up to see the old man smiling at him reassuringly. "Do you know that I taught your father?"
"You did?"
"It was after he had left school. The war was just getting started. Your father was a great wizard and one of the best students I ever taught. He had a natural gift for magic—dueling especially."
"I love dueling," Harry was beaming back at Dumbledore now, "You can ask my godfather. I get the best marks in dueling."
With a swish of his wand, a worm-like wisp of light was pulled from Dumbledore's ear and floated above the Pensieve.
"Sirius and I both have things we wish to show you today. The most important thing is your parents—how they were. Their love and happiness."
Dumbledore glanced over to Sirius, who returned a nodded. They both looked at Harry as the headmaster continued to speak, "May I show you a memory, Harry? Of your father? It was one of our training sessions. The day he mastered a particularly—"
"Yes!" Harry could not hold back his excitement, "Please! I— I want to see!"
"Very well. All you need do is to look into the Pensieve."
Harry titled his head down. He watched as the wisp of light contacted the substance inside the basin. A blinding light filled the room. Only a blink of a moment had gone by, but he now found himself standing in a room of pure white. Sirius and Dumbledore were there. The Pensieve had disappeared entirely.
"Where are we?" Harry asked. His answer soon came to him. Like ink splattering onto blank parchment, a scene appeared before his eyes. They were now standing in a long hall. There was a dueling platform with an old, antiquated design. They must have been inside a manor. The ceiling was tall and expensive looking art hung from the walls.
"I'm ready to go again!"
Harry whirled around at the voice. At one end of the platform stood a man with black hair. His wand was up. He had a determined look upon his face. The realization happened in an instant.
"Dad," Harry managed to say in his shock.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "That's James," his godfather reassured him, "It's not like a painting. He can't hear you. Your hand will go right through him if you try and reach out. I know it's not exactly—"
"It's brilliant," he stammered out as his voice cracked, "That's my dad."
His Uncle Sirius kept his arm around him and pulled him closer. Then suddenly, a loud bang rang out as a nearly identical looking Dumbledore let loose a painful looking whipping spell. His father had tried to cast something. Whatever it was he was attempting to do, he failed. The whipping spell hit him square in the chest and he was thrown of the table.
"Dad!" Harry shrieked, starting to run before the other Dumbledore spoke, "It's only a memory. I wanted to show you this one in particular. Watch – here is a display of your father's finest quality."
He stood still and watched as his father laughed it off. The spell looked like it must have bloody hurt, but he was standing after a moment. Soon he was back on the dueling platform and urging Dumbledore to send another spell his way.
"James may have been a great wizard. That's not what made him a great man. He never gave up. No matter what the odds were or how many times he had failed. Your father always stood up."
Now Harry could make out the real Dumbledore from the memory's Dumbledore. He did look older now and a good bit frailer.
Catching him off guard again, another bang rang out in the hall of the manor. This time, his father waved his wand with confidence. Harry was unable to follow the swiftness of the complicated motion, but a purple shielding charm bubbled into existence from the tip of his wand.
The whipping curse burst across the dueling table! Then it clashed with the shield his dad had cast, and something strange happened. The purple shield absorbed and shrunk the whipping spell. It appeared as if time itself had slowed to a crawl inside the bubble. Then suddenly, the spell inside lashed back out with a loud bang!
Only now, it was not moving towards his father. The whipping spell instead flew back the way it came. The spell zoomed quickly down the dueling table. Finally, it collided with a shield Dumbledore had cast.
"A reversal charm," Harry exclaimed as a giddy smile took over his face.
"A difficult spell. Even some master duelists fail to learn it. The reversed spell is sent back to its caster with both the strength of the original caster, and the one reflecting it. The results can be quite devastating."
Harry managed to move his glued gaze off his father an unto the halls of the manor around him. Suddenly he noticed something quite curious. There were massive spots of white around the room. It was there in the inside of a picture frame. In other spots were entire walls of whiteness.
"What's wrong? Is the Pensieve broken?" Harry asked pointing at the white spaces.
Dumblelore let out a chuckle, "No, Harry. My memory is broken. Or rather— imperfect. I can't quite recall what that wall there looked like. Or the ceiling for that matter." They both looked up together and to Harry's surprise, endless white covered the entire ceiling. "Even your father as he looks now is only a reconstruction of what I remember him to be."
Harry was back to staring at his father. Sirius approached Dumbledore and they both looked towards Harry.
"How about I show you a memory of your mother? You were born in the middle of a war. Your parents moved around a lot to keep you safe. Still, we made memories together."
He gulped down hard as his godfather explained. He nodded his head, and soon Dumbledore had his wand to Sirius's temple and was explaining to him on what to think of as the old wizard drew a memory out. The scene around Harry faded. His father returning into nothingness and soon all around them was white again. The Pensieve had appeared. Dumbledore guided the loose memory strand into the basin, and new colors sprang to life around Harry.
This time they were in a quaint garden. Outside. The sun shined brightly and was almost as blinding as the splotches of white that dotted the scene. A modest-sized house stood over the garden. It reminded him of some of the houses he would see when going into town for his Quidditch league.
But not the house nor the plants nor the sun in the sky mattered when a flash of red caught Harry's attention. There, in a comfortable looking chair in the garden, sat his mother.
It was her. Pictures did not measure up to what appeared to be real before his eyes. He knew it was just a memory, but only for that first moment of seeing her did his mind trick him into thinking magic far beyond a Pensieve had taken place.
It was her bright green eyes that drew him in most. It was like looking into a mirror. It obvious that everything else he had gotten from his father. His mother had thick, dark red hair that fell onto her shoulders. She had a nose and face unlike Harry's— but it was familiar all the same.
"Mum," he said out loud. She would never hear it, but he had to call out if there was even a fraction of a chance that she would look his way. Suddenly, she turned. He almost gasped. After a moment he realized it was because someone else had entered the scene.
"He's really done in there. Who catches a cold this bad during the middle of summer?"
It was his godfather, but so much younger! He had only a few black markings, not like the man today who was covered in the striking tattoos. Harry knew that the memory took place in the middle of a war, which made the fact that Sirius looked much healthier back then all the worse. His godfather spoke little of his time in Azkaban. But it had happened despite Harry never hearing fully what those years entailed.
"Are you sure he wasn't hit by some curse? You wouldn't lie to me Sirius— would you?
"I solemnly swear—"
His mother let out a loud sigh and interrupted him, "Yes, yes. Come hold Harry for a bit. My arms are getting sore. We've been out here all day. Can't have him catching whatever James has."
His mother's voice! Her voice was nothing like he imagined. It was sad, but Harry could admit to himself that as a child he would dream about the sorts of people his parents were. How they acted and how the spoke. How they dressed and how they lived. Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus had told him so much about them, but getting to hear her speak, even if it was through an imperfect memory, went far beyond any story he had ever been told or dream he imagined up.
He watched as a young Sirius took the tiny, black-haired baby into his arms. It was a bit of a strange experience seeing yourself as baby, Harry thought. Even more strange, there was no scar on the forehead of the sleeping child.
"I wanted to show you this memory. It was one of the best days of my life," his godfather, his real godfather, spoke as they stood side by side watching the scene.
"This one? You are just in the garden with me and my Mum."
"Just listen," Uncle Sirius smiled down at him.
His mother got up to stretch her arms, and Sirius took the seat from here. He rocked younger Harry gently and ran a finger against the baby's cheek.
"I'll be leaving for a few weeks," Sirius told Lily as he held Harry, "Supposedly one of the Prewett brothers got caught up over in Falmouth. Place is over-ran with, well, you know. We're hoping we can find a way to get him out of there."
"You have to be careful. You have responsibilities now."
Sirius laughed. Harry had heard that laugh hundreds of times growing up. There he was, as a small infant, listening to Uncle Sirius laughing all those years ago.
"To who? Last time I checked it was just—"
"You are Harry's godfather. It's time to start acting like it."
The garden was silent for just a brief moment. Sirius suddenly shot up from the chair and was hovering over Lily with a beaming expression. Surprisingly he had held Harry perfectly still, and his infant-self was still fast asleep."
"I—I'm a… what?"
"You heard me, Sirius. We decided on it a few days ago. I know I haven't been—"
"I won't let you down. Lily. I promise. Truly. Anything Harry needs, anytime."
Now it was his mother's turn to laugh. She plucked the baby from his godfather's arms and took her place back in the seat. "You don't have to convince me. We picked you, after all."
"Why?" Sirius asked bluntly, leaning down next to the chair to be at eye level with his mother. "Not that I'm not thrilled. I'm bloody shaking for Merlin's sake. Just… why me? Why not Remus?"
"You are there when it matters. You always have been."
The young Sirius was pacing now. Back and forth through the garden with his hands on his head. He started rambling again. Harry was laughing now, and Dumbledore and Sirius joined in with him.
"You were nervous?" Harry asked as he looked up to the person that nervous man would eventually become.
"Like you couldn't imagine. We weren't that old, Harry. I took it seriously. Watch."
"I'm going to have to get married then as well."
His mother laughed a great laugh, filling the garden. The afternoon sun was beating down on her pale skin. Harry found it comforting. Even more so because at one point, he was there with them sleeping gently as they spoke in the garden.
"Why is Sirius Black suddenly insisting on becoming a married man?"
"Well, Harry ought to have a godmother. Works out well if the godfather and godmother are together. That way if anything ever happens there is no confusion. Merlin, I'm going to have to owl Marlene at this rate and beg her to take me back."
He was still rambling, but his mother's expression completely shifted. Around Harry, pieces of the memory began to fade.
"Dumbledore," Sirius approached the elderly wizard looking flustered.
But it was already happening around them. Trees turned to white and faded from existence. The colors of the flowers were sapped. Soon enough the memory was only of Sirius, Lily, and the young Harry she held in her arms. Around them was nothing but white emptiness. In this moments, Sirius's recollection of this moment was nothing but Lily and Harry in front of him.
"Sirius," his mother sounded like she was in pain.
"Stop it here, now."
"You don't know? Nobody told you?"
Sirius and his mother were staring at each other now.
"There's something I have to tell you, then."
Before the conversation could go further, the three figures faded into the nothingness around them as Dumbledore waved his wand and spoke an incantation. The Pensieve appeared, but Dumbledore did not move to draw another memory, and nobody spoke for a few moments.
"I should have let you see the rest of it. I just– "
"It's okay," Harry told his godfather sincerely. He was not quite sure he wanted to accept where the conversation between him and his mother had been heading. Just like when he was told the truth of his parents. The truth that he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He had never wanted to accept it, but the feeling as the words were spoken cemented the fact that all of it was true.
"You need to hear it." Uncle Sirius approached him and stood between Harry and the Pensieve. Dumbledore had backed off, holding his hands together and patiently allowing what was about to happen to flow naturally. "Your parents weren't the only one who died in the war. Many people, good people, lost their lives."
"I know," Harry stammered out. He felt uncomfortable that his godfather was trying to help him through this. "Uncle Remus told me stories—"
"These weren't just stories, Harry. These were people. Just like your parents. We lost so many that it's almost hard to remember them all. That's what happens during war. For how hard my life has been, and yours infinitely more, there were whole families wiped out. Not a single member left."
He lowered himself to be face-to-face with Harry. He had been growing tall this year, so his godfather no longer had to lower himself much to be at eye level with him. "Marlene McKinnon. That's who me and your mother were talking about. Her whole family – that family was wiped out completely by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. Not a single one to carry on the family name."
"You were going to marry her?"
Sirius showed him a weak smile, "No. Never in a million bloody years would Marlene have taken me. We dated in school, but she dumped me hard. Either way, it wasn't meant to be. Just like her family, she…"
He trailed off and Harry did not reply. He was not even sure what to say. His godfather must have caught on because he put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly.
"Is this hard to hear? About people who died in the war?"
"I guess," was his meek response. He could not find any other words to speak.
"Sirius," Harry and his godfather broke their gaze and looked across the white space. Dumbledore was approaching them slowly as his purple robes moved like waves. "Would you mind?"
He shook his head and backed up, and Harry approached the Pensieve to meet Dumbledore who had stepped up onto the other side.
"As Sirius was telling, we know this is a dark, painful subject. All three of us here were affected in so many ways by the tragedies of the war. But like us, this story belongs to you as well, Harry. We are here to show you the truths we know. To try and help you discover yours. Do you want to know more about what happened to your parents during the war?"
His life living with his aunt, uncle, and cousin was only a distant blur to him. Memories that sometimes seemed to belong to someone else. But one thing Harry could remember clearer than anything were the hours spent daydreaming about how his parents had lived. It was so strange, that in this moment he even had the faintest of doubts about wanting to know the full truth. Back then he would have done anything to know. Now he had the means to watch what had happened and he was contemplating about shutting down and going back to the Hulhome.
Harry drew in a breath and summoned a good bit of courage. "Show me."
"Some of what we wish to show you might be difficult—"
"I know."
He looked at Sirius for reassurance. He nodded back at Harry. He had only ever told him passing details about what had happened. Harry knew his parents, Sirius, and Remus fought in war. So did Neville's parents. His parents went mad from Death Eaters torturing them and Harry's were murdered by You-Know-Who.
When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned his wand on Harry – something happened. The Dark Lord was dead, and he had become the Boy-Who-Lived. It never felt real that wizards and witches all over had been telling that story when he was still a boy unaware of the existence of magic.
"We have both agreed to show you our memories from that time," Dumbledore interrupted his racing thoughts. "There are stories which are commonly told, but then there is the truth. What happened, what truly happened, we still have yet to figure out."
"What do you mean?" Harry shot a questioning look to both of them, "Everyone knows the story. That's what Uncle Remus and you both said. That's how it went. I was in my crib and—"
"Not quite, Harry," Sirius motioned to Dumbledore and a memory floated down into the basin.
Suddenly the space around him burst with shouting voices and hurried bodies. Harry was caught off guard when a large man moved right through him, as if he was not standing there at all. The room focused into existence. The ceilings were low, and the crooked wooden walls were filled with maps and pinned up parchment with faces and headlines.
"We've got Death Eaters spotted outside Upper Flagley!"
"That's up in Yorkshire, right?"
"Send Fenwick, he's been yammering' on all week about cursing some Death Eaters."
"Were they attacking Muggles or was there a fight?"
Shouting and yelling filled the space as wizards and witches of all sorts passed by around Harry. Many of the faces were unfamiliar, but then from across the room he made out two familiar faces.
"That's you and my Dad," he pointed out to Sirius who turned to see what Harry was looking at. Then he turned towards Dumbledore, "Where are we, Professor?"
Dumbledore emanated a proud look as he gazed across the crowd. He looked down at Harry and smiled, "Welcome to the first headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It was nothing more than an old building on the outskirts of Mould-on-the-Would. But, it became the meeting place for brave wizards and witches who were willing to fight the darkness."
At the front of the room was a younger Dumbledore. From the memory before, Harry could now tell him apart from the real one who stood beside him. Then a stream of questions flooded into in mind, "Where are all the Aurors? Didn't they fight in the war? What is the Order of the Phoenix?"
It was Sirius who spook at first, "When the fighting really began, the Aurors weren't the ones battling against the Death Eaters. It was the people you see here, the Order of the Phoenix."
"The Order of the Phoenix was started as a secret society. A group of individuals who would against the darkness when the Ministry would not," Dumbledore added in.
"Right," Sirius kept speaking, "When You-Know-Who was first gaining prominence, your father and I weren't even at Hogwarts yet. It started with the theft of some magical artifacts across England and Europe. The Ministry had Aurors after him, but they never caught him. Only a few accomplices. Then it all changed. When we in our lower years, it turned into attacks on Muggles. You-Know-Who became a household name, well – his real name, that is. Then just before graduation, it turned into a dark rebellion. The Death Eaters suddenly had allies in the Ministry. They never out-right declared themselves to him in the early days, but they pushed the agenda of non-confrontation within the Ministry."
"Non-confrontation?" Harry had a confused look. The room had grown somewhat quieter as members of the Order of the Phoniex were discussing who would be heading out to track down the Death Eaters in Upper Flagley.
"You-Know-Who was gaining popularity," Sirius spoke with a disgusted tone, "Families who cared about pure-blood status were slowly brought to his side. They couldn't get the entire Ministry on board with accepting a Dark Lord, but they could grind our government's response to a halt while the Death Eaters planned a coup."
Harry looked towards Dumbledore, "That's why the Order of the Phoniex was created, then."
"Precisely, Harry," the headmaster nodded as the three looked back towards the scene.
There was an argument taking place now that had the attention of everyone in the room. Somewhat unsurprising to Harry, it was a younger Sirius who all the eyes were focused on.
"We're members, all the same as the rest of you lot. James can cast a shield better than anyone here." The young Sirius shifted in place, glancing up at the man at the front of the room. "Err— except you Professor. I'd imagine, at least. Anyways, it's our time."
Harry heard a chuckle next to him. His godfather peered down at him, "I actually had forgotten about this completely. Sounded like a bit of a git in front of everyone."
Two red-headed men were now berating the other Sirius. His father joined in and started arguing against them. Soon enough to whole room was roaring with anger. No, Harry listened closer and could tell it wasn't anger. It was excitement or passion. The members of the Order of the Phoenix were ready to fight.
"Before this time in the war it had only been a few Muggle attacks, really. The big turning point was when a Muggle-born couple was attacked. That's what got James so adamant about joining. Your mother… he wanted to protect her — and people like her. It was your father who got us all into the Order of Phoenix."
"SILENCE!"
Everyone's attention turned to the front of the room. Even Harry, Sirius, and Dumbledore were glancing towards the voice that rang out over the rest. It was Dumbledore, wearing red robes and without a hat who addressed the room.
"Death Eaters have been spotted on the outskirts of Upper Flagley. We know the village lives together with a Muggle population, so we'll need to dispatch immediately. Gideon and Fabian, you will lead the first group with James, Sirius, Remus, Benjy, and Dorcas. Scout of the area and send Remus back with a report on the situation as soon as possible. Edgar I want a full run-down from the Ministry as soon as possible on activity there. Alastor – I need to speak with you."
The room erupted in chaos again as members responded to the orders Dumbledore had given. Harry watched as his father and Uncle Remus followed the two red-headed men as they bolted out of the room. Behind them, a young Uncle Remus followed. He looked so much different. Much younger, without the stress-lines or facial hair.
"Was there a battle?" Harry asked as he watched the memory play out around him.
"No, not on this day. There would be a battle in Upper Flagley, but it would not be until near the end of the war."
"You've got good memory," Sirius addressed the headmaster with a grin.
It must have been true, because unlike Sirius's memory with his mother in the garden, this memory had hardly any white spots missing. There were a few, some of the spots on the wall were left barren and white creeped into the corners of the room.
"I've had many years to think over the events of the war," Dumbledore was speaking slower and more solemnly than before, "I tried my very best to preserve what happened. Are you doing alright, Harry?"
He nodded, "Yes."
Sirius spoke up, "This was still the good part of the war. Well, relatively good. We all thought ourselves great heroes at the start. Fighting against the dark."
Harry shot a questioning look to his godfather. "You were heroes," he grew more frustrated at what Sirius had said, "You did fight the dark and you won!"
The room had cleared out now. It was silent except for Dumbledore and strange looking man who were speaking in hushed voices as they argued over something.
"It didn't feel that way, not after it got worse."
This time, Dumbledore pulled a memory from Sirius's head. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoniex faded away, and in its place was a village somewhere out in the countryside. The early morning light bathed the houses in pink and orange as the sun crept over the hills. There were splotches of white that never filled in—but also splotches of black across the sky. Great billows of smoke that rose up from across the village as the scene became clear.
"My dad!" Harry screeched out, rushing towards the figures who had appeared from nothingness. There he was again, his father. Only this time he was hardly conscious. A younger Sirius and another man Harry did not recognize were leaning him slowly down against the rocky wall of one of the cottages.
"We've got to get him out of here," the voice was familiar. Remus had appeared, look worse for wear, and was gazing up towards the smoke. "We can't be inhaling this for long. I'm going to cast a bubble-head charm for him."
"He can't Apparate like this. I don't even know if he can side-along," said that other man.
"I'll try with the wounds. Sirius, go look for help. McGonagall, Dorcas— anybody who can cast healing charms better than me."
Harry was shaking. A steady stream of dark, velvet-like blood poured from a wound his father was clutching on the side of his chest.
"A slicing charm," his godfather was at his side, "I'm sorry to show you this so suddenly, but there's not any… people— dead bodies. Nothing like that. We were careful… picked this one out to show you. Show you how bad war could be."
"Is he going to be okay?" Harry was still frazzled even after his godfather's explanation. Then the words sank in more. He wanted to be mad about how obvious it was that his Uncle Sirius did not want him seeing dead bodies. But that's what happened in war, right?
Seeing his father bleed out, he decided he did not care much for seeing more violence. This was enough. He felt queasy just watching the scene play out. It's just a memory. He let out a sigh and looked over towards Dumbledore.
He nodded at Harry, "This was all too frequent of an occurrence during the fighting. Your father was lucky he had your godfather and his companions at his side on this day. Friendship and love, Harry. That is what got us through the darkest times."
"But that didn't save everyone," his godfathers voice was shrill as he rebuked the headmaster, "The war was nearly lost in the later days. Men like Abraxas Malfoy left the Ministry to declare a new government. They demanded the Ministry either enforce their agenda of anti-Muggle-born hate or they would enact a forceful takeover."
The room faded out around them, Harry not noticing that Dumbledore had pulled another memory from Sirius's head until the white appeared once more. Soon colors returned, and the red glow of a fireplace illuminated a cozy looking sitting room.
"You were born during the lowest point of the war, Harry."
Figures appeared in the room. It was his mother, with an infant version of himself that was no longer mind-numbing to look at. There was his father next to her. His arms wrapped around his mother so naturally as they both looked down at Harry. Sirius and Remus were on a couch across the room. The flames from the fire casting lighting their faces up.
Behind his parents, in the shadows casted by the fire, was another man. He was standing above them and also looking down at Harry, but he had a puzzled grimace that Harry thought was strange. That man seemed so familiar. He was quite tall. His hair as black and as messy as his father's. His eyes, however, were a deep blue.
"Who's that back there?" Harry had to ask as the scene came into full view.
"Oh. Your uncle. He wasn't around for much of the war. Though I suppose he did show up when it mattered."
The scene was calming. With only the crackle of the fire filling the room. "Why? Why wasn't he there to fight before?" Harry had to ask. His curiosity was at its peak as he observed the similarities and differences his uncle had to his father.
"He was always a bit estranged for your grandparents. He had… different views about how the family should be run. You remember what happened to your aunt and cousin, yes?" Harry nodded. Sirius had told him the story about the fire that took the life of his aunt and newborn cousin. "Your uncle was never the same after that. He traveled the world for a while. James thought he had gone and gotten himself killed. But when we needed all the help we could get, he showed up."
"How did he die?" This question was much more morbid than the last. Harry remembered it was during the war, but he never learned the precise truth, "I mean— how exactly?"
"He was killed during one of the battles leading up to the end of the war. He was recruited to an advanced unit that was meant to take the fighting away from vulnerable citizens and to the front door of known Death Eater hideouts. Before they could even complete their first mission, they were sabotaged on arrival. We never figured out how, but suspected it was a mole within the Order. There were no survivors."
Harry was silent. The war truly had taken away all of his family. A dark thought rang through his head as he remembered an aunt, uncle, and cousin who still lived. He did not want to think it, but if a trade could ever have been made, his mother and father for them— even the uncle he never meet for them– he would do it without hesitation.
A door opened and the dark haze that had floated across his mind dissipated. A man entered the room. He looked very similar to Dumbledore. He had a long, wiry grey hair and a beard to match. Only shorter, with a rougher and more worn-down mood to him. Harry watched the various members of the room react as the older man took off a hat and clutched it to his chest.
"My brother," Dumbledore nodded towards the man, "His name is Aberforth. To this day he is still the owner and barman of the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade."
"Wait," Harry had to ask before the anything else happened, "Uncle Sirius said someone betrayed the Order of the Phoenix. Who was it?"
"Peter Petitgrew may have been the one who told the enemy of the advanced unit's deployment. But there were others in the Order who were less than honest with their intentions."
"Peter. My father's friend?"
He looked to his godfather, who had a painful look on his face. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, so he responded back, "Uncle Remus told me about him."
"Yes," Dumbledore continued, "Peter had a part to play in this story, for good and for evil."
"Evil, mostly," Sirius quipped back.
"But a part, nonetheless. This was a tumultuous time during the war. There was betrayal from both sides. The Death Eaters had their spies, and the Order had our own. "
Dumbledore let out a lengthy sigh before he continued, "The Ministry and the Order were at a major disagreement as to how the war was to be handled. On the other side of things, the pure bloods were having their own issues with their master. While a war raged on, it seemed his need for magical artifacts still had not be quenched. Our reports indicated that was his main concern, leaving the Death Eaters to wage the second half of the war themselves."
"What was he looking for?" Harry asked as he watched Aberforth greet the infant Harry by shaking his tiny hand and introducing himself oddly.
"That is what was most disturbing to me. He was looking for a way to unnaturally extend his life. To deny death itself, so that he may live beyond that bounds of the world we know. Dark lords and those who would do great evil onto their fellow man come and go with history, but those who seek the darkest powers of them all — that is what concerns me most of all. But as it were, the war was about to change. All thanks to you, Harry."
"Me?"
Just then, Aberforth stood and all the eyes on the room where on him.
"I've to make this quick," the man's voice with nothing like the headmaster's, "James. Lily. Do yourselves a favor and go far away. Any other country."
"What is it? Just tell us, Aberforth."
"Not in front of them," the man looked at the others in the room and even Harry could feel the tension building, "My brother sent me alone to make sure this gets to your ears."
"They are family," his father stood his ground again, "Whatever it is you need to say to us, you say to them."
"The reason you've been kept away, I'm supposed to tell you."
"Just tell us already!" Harry was taken back watching his father rise to anger, "I can't take it in this house anymore! Whatever reason we were sent away — I demand to know!"
Sirius and Remus exchanged looks. Harry watched his mother simply clutch the baby in her arms tighter. His uncle was behind her in the dark, watching the scene play out without a word as golden light from the fire illuminated the sides of his face.
Then, Aberforth spoke again.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live with the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…
When he finished, he simply pointed to the baby his mother held. To him.
"The prophecy."
"We never told it to you exactly, have we?"
Sirius's voice was quiet. The scene around them had completely turned white except for those sitting. His uncle was the last one to disappear, the splotches of white covering him until he was only a face that eventually popped out of existence.
"No – I… I never heard it fully. You showed me the paper once, though. The headline that said something about the prophecy being fulfilled."
"Towards the end of the fighting, very few people knew of the existence of the prophecy," Dumbledore spoke as the three were around the Pensieve once more, "But during the deposition hearings after the war, the wording of the prophecy became public knowledge. I was there when the prophecy was made, Harry. I knew the child which it spoke of was you. Thought I suppose it could have been another, I knew in my heart when the words were spoken that you were the prophesized child."
"That's why we were in hiding," Sirius told him, "Dumbledore was afraid that if others learned of the prophecy… that you and your mother and father would become You-Know-Who's primary targets."
"But he learned, didn't he?"
"He did," Dumbledore replied solemnly, "And so came the end of the war."
"What we want to show you next, Harry— it won't be easy."
Harry did not have time to think about the consequences of knowing. A story had just been told to him. It was his story and the story of his parents and the war. For so long it was only tiny details here and there from Sirius or Remus. But what was coming would be the end. Wouldn't it?
The strand of light which contained the memory was hovering above the basin. Harry took out his own wand as the two men watched him carefully. Harry lowered Sirius's memory in the substance below.
It was suddenly night. A harsh breeze cut through the trees and the moonlight illuminated the forest around them. There was a building. It was old and ornate. The carvings on the wood held runes and symbols that must have been from ancient wizards.
The doors opened, and there stood Sirius Black.
Harry only saw inside the building for a moment, and the world stopped as he got a fleeting look inside. Bodies. Not just one, but at least a dozen scattered about the large hall the doors lead to.
"What—" he started before realizing what this memory was. There, in the arms of Sirius Black, was Harry. He was paralyzed with fear when he realized what was upon the child's forehead.
A lightning bolt, still fresh and marked in blood.
"No." It was the only thing he could manage to say.
"This was the night it happened," Sirius spoke grimly, "I'm sorry you had to see it. But this was the night that you became the Boy-Who-Lived. It's difficult for me to watch. This was the night I made my greatest mistake."
Harry watched as a young Sirius clutched Harry to his chest. The young man was shaking, and Harry feared he would collapse at any moment. Then, he raised something up with his free hand.
It was a golden mask. Six great horns, like those of a nundu, protruded from each side of the mask. From the forehead, a great horn like that of a unicorn seemed almost out of place. Seven horns in total. The face of the mask was beastly, or even demonic when seen from the right angle. The young Sirius had the mask raised up and he stared face-to-face with the golden, unmoving visage.
"The mask belonged to Lord Voldemort."
It was like evil itself had escaped into the air. Harry had never heard the name out loud. Only in writing when he begged Uncle Remus to see it. You would be cursed if you spoke the name. His name. That's what the stories said. But it couldn't have been true. Dumbledore had said it just fine and after all— Harry knew how the story ended.
"This is where we decided to hide your parents. We knew there were spies within the Order, so the house at Godric's Hollow was passed over. We couldn't be too careful, we thought." Sirius joined him at his side. Harry was still unable to look away from the golden mask which reflected moonlight back onto the bleeding scar upon his forehead.
"We used the Fidelius charm. I was supposed to be the secret keeper, but everyone in the order knew I was your godfather and how close I was with your parents. We— shit— we picked Peter. Simple Peter, nobody would expect him. We found this church, must have been used by wizards of old. It was abandoned. Just at the edge of Godric's Hollow. We thought they would be so safe. So many layers of protection. But Peter— Worm-tail… Peter—"
"He betrayed my parents."
Harry had never seen his godfather unable to speak like this. This memory was nearly an out-of-body experience for Harry, but he imagined for his godfather it was a crushing weight. All these years, carrying it with him.
The younger Sirius lifted his wand and summoned his Patronus. A shaggy blue dog dashed through the woods, and the man crumpled to the ground with tiny Harry clutched to his chest. The older Sirius was not faring any better, facing away from the scene trying to collect himself.
The memory was unstable again, white patches moving in until the scene was just the church, Sirius, baby Harry, and a golden mask.
"It was over," Harry said out loud. It was the only comforting thought. His life had been ruined that day. So had Sirius's. But at the very least, the golden mask without anyone to wear it was proof. His breathing slowed and he managed to contain himself.
But just as Harry came to terms with the memory, the white suddenly shifted to black. The scene faded entirely, except for grieving Sirius. But when Harry looked at this face, there was nothing there. Faceless. Not eyes or mouth or nose. It shocked him and he almost wanted to scream, but he managed to clutch at Dumbledore's arm instead.
"What— what—"
"Ah," Dumbledore seemed shocked as well. He waved his wand and it all turned to white again, the memory fading completely. "Your godfather… what you saw was the results of a powerful memory charm."
"I don't get it," Harry looked over his shoulder and Sirius was wiping tears from his cheeks, still looking away from where they stood and perhaps unaware of what had just happened.
"The reason your godfather spent those years in Azkaban. He went after Peter for what he did to your parents that night. But it was a set up. One day I'm sure your god father will tell you exactly what we learned happened to him— but today is about you. And your story has not ended yet."
"Professor," Harry wanted to ask about Sirius but did not feel it was the right place, "What do you mean? You-Know-Who died. I know how it ended. He kill – killed my parents and tried to do the same to me. When he did, the spell rebounded and that was the end. The prophecy was fulfilled. Neither can live while the other survives. That's what it said."
Dumbledore pulled one final wisp of light from his temple. It floated into the basin, and they were once again looking at the night sky over Godric's Hollow. Only this time, there were no white blotches of missing memory. The headmaster had remembered this moment in perfect detail.
It was Dumbledore, in the garden of a cottage in the middle of the village. There were some robbed men on the ground with masks covering their faces. Enough of them that made Harry wonder what powerful spell Dumbledore had casted to defeat a whole slew of Death Eaters.
"That night at Godric's Hollow, all the forces of good and evil converged. Both sides were ready for the war to end in whatever way it might. But the most important event happened inside that church. Not even I was privy to the secret the Fidelius charm hid. Only three others besides your parents knew the secret."
"Me, Remus, and your uncle," his godfather interrupted as he joined them to gaze up at the night sky, "Peter, too, obviously, as the secret-keeper."
"But the secret was shared with many of Lord Voldemort's inner circle," Dumbledore spoke as he carried on. He stepped forward, standing side-by-side with the memory version of himself. Both gazed up at the night sky and coincidentally he was wearing the exact same outfit that night.
"Your parents held their ground and defended you for as long as they could against the onslaught of highly skilled Death Eaters. That's what we believe, anyways."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked as he looked at both Dumbledores standing together, "That's what happened, right?"
"That's the story the papers told. That's what parents tell their children at night before bed. In truth, no one was there in that church who lived to tell the tale. The only evidence we have of that what happened was the brief glimpse at the aftermath in Sirius's memory. We were never able to recover any bodies. The church burned down later that night."
"The spell – his spell rebounded. That's how the story ends."
"Harry," Dumbledore's eyes were soft, "I don't believe so."
The dark night sky felt endless in the moment, "You… don't?"
"Your mother—"
"No," Sirius interrupted. The headmaster and his godfather made eye contact and for a moment Harry thought there was about to be an argument. But Dumbledore nodded his head and then look back towards Harry.
"What?" Harry demanded, "Whatever it is—"
"Your mother used a very powerful magic to protect you, Harry. One so ancient and strong that no Dark Lord, however strong, could dare to defy it."
"What was the spell?"
Dumbledore approached him and raised his arm. A wrinkled finger pressed just above Harry's wrist, and then to his heart. "Love, Harry. Her sacrifice to save your life is what saved you that night. That is what I believe to be true."
"And, Lord Voldemort," he winced as he said the name, but the dead would not have power of him any longer. "That spell defeated him."
"In a way."
Harry suddenly felt small. Both Sirius and Dumbledore were giving him looks of pity and pain. The night was so quiet he could hear his own breathing, hear the beat of his heart as the thumping sped up in his chest. "Say it," Harry commanded, "Voldemort was killed. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived and the prophecy was fulfilled."
The night suddenly seemed darker.
"Harry—"
"No," he told Dumbledore, "You have to say it."
"His time studying, all the magical artifacts… he found a way, Harry. I'm so sorry."
When Harry looked up, a great shadow was speeding across the sky. The light from the moon and stars disappeared as the black consumed them all. It's only a memory. He repeated it again, but he knew the truth. He knew this had really taken place. The shadow above hovered in place over Godric's Hollow.
Then, for the first time in his life, Harry felt a twinge of pain coming from his scar.