* * * Underworld Explanations * * *

By now, Harry has had time to become pleasantly amazed at how thoroughly the vampire has ignored his bleeding arm… in favor of being downright friendly to the girl in his care. If he weren't seeing it, he never would have believed it. Because there's no doubt that the choice of their safety lies squarely in the hands of this very powerful undead being.

Who's surprisingly nice for a predator.

"Are you… not needing the distraction anymore?" Bella wonders, returning Harry's attention to the previous topic her companion didn't entirely answer. "You definitely seem better now."

Edward sighs, reluctant to venture here but knowing they all need to understand. "Yes and no. The bombardment I experienced upon arrival let up considerably the moment Albus took it on, though over time I can tell it will get worse again. It's because every foreign thought returns to the pensieve once it finishes processing through his brain. For me, this makes the difference between simultaneously hearing every memory screaming as loud and clear as it can to be heard above every other… and listening to them all play quietly, one at a time. The nice thing about single file presentation is that it has always been feasible to focus on something else, when none of those thoughts are ones I want to dwell upon. Thus at the moment: no, I'm not significantly in need of a distraction."

"However, the same is not true for Albus."

As every companion glances briefly over to the aged headmaster, a silent understanding passes between the two centenarians. Albus can see where this conversation is leading, very much including just how comprehensive of an explanation Edward will be able to give. About which I must confess significant curiosity, he in the vampire's gaze is also a question for him… another token of respect, he recognizes… and though he wants to object to the reveal Edward is offering to curtail, ultimately he must resign to admit that this is important for Harry to know. In case I won't ever get the chance to tell him myself.

Solemnly, Edward's attention diverts back to Bella just as hers turns concernedly back to him, brimming with a myriad of unspoken questions. He sighs. "It is the nature of most thoughts to be experienced from a first-person point of view…" he begins softly, "of which style all those from the pensieve are a prime example. Though under normal circumstances any foreign memory may be secondarily observed from a more detached perspective – simply by nature of knowing it is not yours to begin with – Voldemort's victims have not been granted that courtesy.

"Instead, through the conscious act of drinking his concoction, they've been forced to internally embrace every first-hand recollection – of how each of the persons in this lake were gruesomely murdered – as if it was their own. To actively receive any one of those memories into yourself, let alone all of them, is to initiate a significant and constant battle to keep from believing that it wasn't truly you who caused it all. It's enough to make any person go mad. I know. He's done it before. It's how he prefers to torture his victims… and, to a large degree, why he favors innocents.

"Particularly in the case of an untainted mind, considering the nature of these memories – it only takes one ingested thought to initiate the unconscionable struggle… to not believe that you were the mastermind behind all of this." His simple gesture indicates the limitlessly black expanse of the cavern. "Add to that the sheer volume of thoughts – and the reality they suggest is even more difficult to deny." His tone is grim.

Is anyone else noticing the vampiric parallel here? Albus wonders to himself, struggling to keep his attention upon the conversation rather than the very memories Edward is talking about. Replace 'thought' with 'life' … and what must it be like to suddenly inherit the unquenchable instinct to prey upon your neighbor? Inescapably maddening, it sounds like… until one entirely succumbs (immense sorrow)… which I imagine, according to necessity, wouldn't take very long. In which case… how is he not acting upon it, one way or another? Not attacking us? Suddenly Dumbledore cringes, as another devastating memory of – apparently himself, unforgivably causing someone's horrific mental torture – dregs up from his watering at the image, it's all he can do not to scramble away from the awful truth in front of him. Oh, the guilt! How can I not succumb to this?

"Even with forewarning, the effort it takes to resist such an intrusion is tremendous. Without that, none of his other victims even had a chance," Edward concludes quietly.

It sounds like he's talking from experience, Dumbledore tries to distract himself by studying the parallel. What kind of forewarning did he have as a vampire, I wonder? And what method does he have to resist?

"An innocent mind has everything to lose," Bella observes quietly.

"Yes." Edward's short reply closes the subject. Instantly her eyes snap to his, full of concern. Clearly his answer meant something bigger than she'd been thinking about.

From this simple exchange, Albus recognizes that Edward must have been similarly innocent… before he became a vampire. Ah, he perhaps the ability to hear thoughts acted as its own type of forewarning. Not that that makes an insatiable thirst any easier to bear. Maybe, it even makes it harder. How does he deal with it? It's pretty clear he doesn't like it.

"And so, for the moment:" Edward resumes, "Albus needs our dialogue much more than I do… particularly when it comes to gaining outside validation that Voldemort's thoughts are not his own. Every little bit helps, in that regard. Of course… it's also true that the longer it takes for him to process what's going through his mind – made slower via the distraction of our particularly fascinating conversation – the longer I'll have in this vicinity before it gets so loud again."

Thank you for that! Albus can't help but very much welcome the offered validation… even as his young companion reels from the shocking reality of Edward's now fully disclosed mental ability – that instantly gives substance to the information in a way Harry never would have guessed. Momentarily distracted by the intimidating revelation – Does that mean he can hear me, also? What has he heard already?! Everything about my bleeding arm! – at last, in complete nervousness (and honestly, what else can he do?), Harry forces himself to settle on simply being glad to encourage the enlightening exchange for his headmaster's benefit, along with an appreciation for the much fuller understanding.

With somewhat of a surprised disbelief etched all over her face, to fill the brief silence Bella ventures tentatively: "Does that mean it's okay to… make it fascinating?" To really be free with some of the higher-interest details? It's hard to believe, but Edward is obviously not trying to hide his talent from them, and they already know what he is. He's even filling in some of the leftover blanks. Maybe it's part of showing them… what he is not?

"If you'd like," Edward is curious as to what she has in mind.

"Wow," she breathes aloud to herself, still a little dumbfounded. She's never felt this free to simply talk about him in company. She smiles tentatively.

Wow is right, Albus silently agrees, at the welcoming scope of the conversation. This sense of freedom is far more than he would ever have imagined to experience from a member of so violently predatory a species. And yet… he keenly recalls that Edward hasn't even once looked at us as if we were food. Once again he can't but wonder… how can he not? I wonder what – or, who – he does look at in such a manner. His brow furrows in confusing but awed contemplation, not quite able to see how the pieces fit.

As easy as it would be to answer all of the headmaster's astute questions, Edward notes that they're also very helpful assets for him to have. Puzzling over the blaring contradiction is keeping his mind busy in a way that's truly useful when the conversation lulls; perhaps the offering of his simple explanation should wait. He's on the right track, at least… without being fearful about it, Edward acknowledges gratefully, also having the benefit of being quite engaging to follow. Very possibly his protégé won't be so far behind.

Finally breaking the short silence, Bella's low, soft voice is tentatively fraught with concern. "It doesn't… feel like that every time you walk into a city, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Edward's gentle voice comforts, "because they're all different voices. Apparently this high volume issue has everything to do with an unnatural quantity of the same voice making each of its thoughts rather impossible to ignore. It's not something I run into under normal circumstances."

"Good," she relaxes, grateful. I guess he didn't look like that walking through Volterra, or London, or Seattle either… so it must be true. "I'm glad," she sighs in relief.

Edward smiles back to her fondly. "Not that I would mind the volume so much if it were your voice."

At this, with a sudden shy but determined smile, Bella takes in a big breath and shouts "Hellooo!" to the silent cavern… only for the sound to fall eerily flat as the absence of echo returns a creepy vibe. Shuddering, but still undaunted in Edward's sturdy hands, defiantly she shouts once more into the darkness: "This place is Hell! You should be ashamed of yourself."

As if Voldemort could actually hear her, Edward's lips twitch into a wry smile, most definitely pleased that he cannot. "Not exactly your dream destination then," he offers lightly.

She rolls her eyes. "As if it's yours. At least I got to come along with you."

Edward frowns. "It would have been far safer for you to stay behind in Forks."

"And have you going through all this without me? Edward, I'd much rather be going through hell with you, than to have remained 'safe' sending you into it alone." She hesitates, before finishing the thought. "Been there, done that, got on the hit list."

His frown deepens.

Her expression turns apologetic. "I just hope we're not starting a trend for the next time we leave the country." Her brow wrinkles at the thought.

"Third time's the charm," he considers unhappily, not liking to think of what else could unpredictably go wrong, to bring Hell upon them. "I'll have to make sure it's something particularly enjoyable. And thoroughly secure," he mutters, wondering how he can make that happen for her, in the face of magic like this.

"So long as I'm with you, I'll be fine," she encourages.

His eyes narrow. "I'll question any definition of 'fine' that courts danger of this magnitude…" his voice picks up a hint of longing desperation, "when being with me is all it takes to get you, essentially: having to wait upon Charon to ferry you across the river Styx."

"It's not that bad. And he did it for a price," she remembers aloud, ignoring his pique. She's not about to let him start moping again. "Didn't he expect payment?" she challenges, unwilling to support his unfavorable comparison. "You can't honestly be like him without doing that."

Payment placed directly into a dead person's mouth, the wizards note with surprise… clearly recognizing what any such offering would naturally involve for a vampire. Certainly, that's not what she intended to suggest! Harry worries, so then… why did she even bring it up? Hmmm, Albus wonders curiously, could the tales of Charon really have been narratives of this species?

Edward's eyebrow raises at her nonchalance, before pursing his lips and deciding to play along. "Perhaps I should demand payment if you're going to insist on being in danger. Hmm, I'll have to think of something." Letting me give you a ring would be nice.

But Bella is clearly thinking along other lines. Scowling, she concludes that "It's not as if I have anything impressive to offer; the most exciting thing to my name is a rusty truck."

Briefly mulling over the idea, Edward recognizes this as a perfect opportunity for he or Rosalie to play under its hood, entirely with her permission. "You know, I think I'll take you up on that."

"What!" Bella exclaims in surprised disbelief. "You're kidding." She certainly had been.

Edward smiles a little, teasing her now. "Not at all. As much as it's a slow beast, at least I've had hope it could protect you in an accident. Don't worry; it'll be fine," he emphasizes the last word, to reflect her earlier meaning. Which means: there's actually no telling what state it will be in when you get it back.

"Don't hurt it," she warns him, but doesn't object. Clearly she knows she got herself into this one.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies innocently, his eyes dancing.

"Only because you don't sleep," she grumbles to herself, though everybody can hear.

He chuckles. "Bella, I promise to return it to you in proper working order," he assures her with solemn amusement, as his mind races through all the mostly invisible but highly valuable upgrades that definition will naturally include.

Eyes narrowing, Bella can't help but be skeptical. "Whose definition of working order?"

"Well," he teases her again, voice lightly entertained, "if I left it up to yours, I'd worry the thing might be falling dead as we speak."

Hmph, she resignedly objects, but only half-heartedly, not entirely able to hide her own smile. It's so nice to see him feeling lighthearted again, in this awful place.