Rachel: Ahhh! I updated, I updated! Lemme see it, lemme see it! *sounds like a grabby little two-year-old*

Uh...heh heh. ;)

Welllll...I had fun writing this one. Thanks to Celia for giving it the beta run-through. *g* Ooo, look, the title's special...it has cool accent aigus...*nods sagely*
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He wasn't sure what good would come from prying into his Headmaster's private thoughts. There was no telling what he would see; Harry did not know how to manipulate the Pensieve. Last year, when he had first fallen into Dumbledore's memories, he had not been able to control what he saw nor had he been able to pull himself away from the events in the bowl. Taking a shuddering breath, Harry pulled out his wand and tentatively touched the swirling, silver-white substance that glinted within the basin. The milky mist became as clear as glass, and suddenly reflected in it was a comfortably furnished office: there was Paul Ranone and Cornelius Fudge sitting behind his desk; Dumbledore was standing before the Minister in quite a relaxed manner. Harry heard the Headmaster speak, his voice echoing queerly: "The affairs of Hogwarts are solely my own, Cornelius, so long as no law is violated. I do hope you are not accusing me of any such thing..."

Harry hesitated and glanced up one more time to make sure the office really was empty. The portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing away in their frames; the patched and ragged Sorting Hat was silent. Only Fawkes moved, watching Harry with bright eyes. It's not right, thought Harry, but a sudden impulsive anger pushed reason out: And putting Percy in Azkaban was? With a sudden jerk he touched his nose to the cold stuff before he could lose his nerve. As Dumbledore's office lurched nauseatingly, he whispered in desperation, "Carmen Rysk."

Harry felt himself being pulled irresistibly into the Pensieve as the scene shifted before his eyes. He found himself on his back, staring up at a grey sky. Hard-driving rain pelted his face, but his glasses were untouched, allowing him to see clearly. Shaking his head, Harry got to his feet and looked about. He was in a slum greyer than the sky above, devoid of color and of life. Shabby, run-down apartments leaned towards each other, forming narrow, dark alleys. It was a depressing and eerie place.

Harry started when he saw a man wrapped in a long, dark cloak. A flash of silver beard peeped out from the deep folds. "Dumbledore?" Harry blurted out before realizing that this was an Albus Dumbledore from another time. He ran up next to the old wizard and peered into the hood. Yes, that was indeed the Headmaster, spectacles and all. He had a grim look on his face as he continued to walk, looking straight through Harry. "Where are you going?" asked Harry out loud, even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. A peal of thunder rent the air. Harry flinched and looked about again, falling into step beside Dumbledore.

Immediately after the thunder came a scream that was cut off with sickening abruptness, followed by a gunshot. Dumbledore whirled around, as did Harry. Further commotion came from the ominous space between two ramshackle buildings. Dumbledore quickly made for the raised voices, his hand fishing into his robes for his wand. Harry followed him. To Harry's amazement, the Headmaster entered the alleyway without hesitation. Reminding himself that all of this was a memory, and that if it was in Dumbledore's Pensieve everything must have turned out all right, Harry slipped into the alley, feeling sweat break out on his brow, mingling with the rain.

It was nearly pitch-black, but Harry's eyes soon adjusted to the dark. Wiping a piece of hair from his forehead Harry saw several shapes struggling deeper in the alley. One figure was lying still by the wall, blood pooling about it. A flash of lightening illuminated the scene briefly: a girl in ragged clothes fighting her way desperately through four full-grown men, screaming at the young man dying on the ground. "WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Even as she managed to knock one of the men unconscious, another pinned her against the wall by the throat.

"STOP!"

And everything did stop. Harry's breath caught as he looked back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster had thrown his hood back to reveal a face made terrible by anger, blue eyes blazing. A very real light surrounded his form as the old wizard seemed to grow, filling the alleyway, radiating an impossible power. His voice had been as loud as the thunder.

The girl was the only one not frozen for more than a second. She seized the opportunity and kicked the man holding her away, then ran straight at Harry. With a gasp he stumbled back before realizing that she could not see him, that she was reaching for a knife that had lay glinting at his feet. When the girl looked up her gaze met Harry's for a brief moment. He almost fell over: her eyes were grey, and by the otherworldly light that came from Dumbledore he could see that her hair, soaked through, was silver-blonde, tied back at the base of her neck.

Rysk.

The last thing Harry heard was a wordless, horrible cry, and the last thing he saw was a flash of green light spring forth from the girl's hand.

The world spun before his eyes until it ground to a stop, this time beneath a flawless blue sky. Harry stood among many witches and wizards, gathered about two closed coffins, each lying beside an open grave. Beside him stood Dumbledore, his blue eyes subdued and his aged face shrouded in sorrow. He wore black robes in place of his usual blue. Scanning the crowd, Harry saw Professor McGonagall, a younger Cornelius Fudge, Arthur Weasley...all dressed as befitted mourners. Harry looked back up at Dumbledore. "What happened?" he whispered.

Harry's eyes were drawn suddenly to one side of the circle. His jaw dropped. There, with his arms tied behind his back and guarded by several burly wizards, was Severus Snape. He could not have been a day over eighteen. His beetle-black eyes were focused on the coffins, his face inscrutable, yet Harry could see that young Snape was shaking. As two wizards and two witches stepped forward to levitate the dead to their final resting places, Snape suddenly burst out. "No!" he shrieked, "NO!" He tried to run to the graves; his guards caught his arms and he fell to his knees. "I didn't mean to!" he screamed, raising his face to the cruelly beautiful day, "It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME!" Through his long black hair Harry saw a horrible expression of anguish twisting Snape's face. The coffins floated into their graves. "NO!" Dirt and grass covered the holes in mere seconds. "NO!" Snape's hoarse voice broke on a wrenching sob. "Forgive me! Forgive--"

Young Snape fell over as one of his guards stunned him. The crowd began to disperse, murmuring, whispering. Harry stood frozen, staring at Snape's limp body on the ground, at the tears that streaked his pale face. A painful pity stirred within him, and it almost hurt to look away from his professor and run after Dumbledore. Another black figure had fallen into step beside the Headmaster, cloaked and hooded.

"You should not have come," murmured Dumbledore, almost too quietly for Harry to hear. A young woman's voice answered from within the hood, so cold that it was unnerving to hear. It was also unmistakable: this was Rysk, several years older.

"He was placed under the Imperius Curse by Voldemort and forced to kill them."

When Dumbledore replied his voice was heavy with impossible grief; its impact on Harry was equal to that of Snape's screams. "Understood, Carmen."

An impulse made Harry turn around to look at Snape again. The young man was being borne away in the opposite direction. His heart twisted again in curious sympathy. "Have you talked to him?" murmured Rysk.

Dumbledore's breath was unnecessarily deep. "I have."

"And?"

"He will not be convicted..."

Everything became a sickening blur once again. Harry gulped air as someone pulled him roughly away from the Pensieve. He looked up into the emotionless face of Professor 'Harrison'. Harry stumbled away, genuinely frightened, before realizing that his face was wet with tears. Rysk opened her mouth, but her sharp grey eyes jerked to the door of the office as voices sounded on the other side of it. With a quick wave of her hand the Pensieve and the glass vials flew back into their proper places and the doors of the cabinet swung shut.

"Professor!" said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows as he entered the office, followed by McGonagall. "A bit early to come out of hiding, don't you think?"

Hiding? What? Harry looked about wildly. Where had she come from?

"Potter here got a bit upset," replied the witch coolly, neatly explaining away his tears. Harry stared up at her, confused. Wasn't she going to tell? Wasn't she going to say something? "Figured I should come out before someone got hurt."

McGonagall looked sharply at Harry with concern. "Potter?"

Harry shook his head, trying to buy time and lie convincingly. "I'm fine, Professor. It was just...it was just Percy. They can't--"

"It'll be all right, Harry," said Dumbledore, but he gave Rysk a hard, searching look before sitting down. "Well," he went on calmly, "no help for it--cat's out of the bag."

Harry found himself drawing closer to McGonagall, preferring the Transfigurations professor to 'Harrison's' veiled but piercing scrutiny. "What cat?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore smiled with patient amusement. "I'd have thought you'd figured it out already, Harry. Mr. Henry was quite put out when you caught on."

"You mean that Fudge wants Ron's family..."

"Discredited, destroyed," supplied Rysk almost lazily, leaning back against the wall in a feline manner. Harry found himself staring at his strange teacher, his mind frantically working to piece together the fragments he had seen in the Pensieve.

"We can only do so much," said McGonagall with a glare at the younger one. "All we saw of Mr. Weasley was after Ranone had gone--with you, Potter. However, you..."

"I can save him," said Harry slowly.

"Not just him, Harry." Dumbledore had been watching from beneath hooded eyes. "You see, Arthur Weasley is to our faction of the Ministry what Cornelius Fudge is to the rest. He is one of the few strong strands in an otherwise weak web. If such an important strand snaps..."

A sick feeling suddenly twisted Harry's insides. "It wasn't just about me. It wasn't just me Voldemort wanted." He met Dumbledore's gaze with slow horror dawning on his face. "Ranone didn't just choose Percy to help him in randomly. He would have stunned him anyway; framed him. "He's after the Weasleys."

"Yes, Harry. Simply put."

Oh, God... The ghastly image of the Dark Mark hovering in the air above the Burrow burned itself across Harry's mind. A hand landed on his shoulder; he spun about. "We must win this trial, Potter." McGonagall's lips were thin. "Do you understand? Percy Weasley cannot be convicted."

Harry ran a hand through his unruly black hair and closed his eyes. Too much, it was all too much...

"What do I have to do?"

****

"He's smarter than I thought."

"There is more to Harry than meets the eye, Carmen."

Professor 'Harrison' shot a look at her mentor. "Rysk."

Dumbledore did not smile as he usually did at the younger one's correction. "I can only protect you for so long, Professor."

There were alone in the round office. McGonagall and Harry had left several minutes ago. Rysk stood behind Dumbledore's chair, stroking a sleeping Fawkes on his perch. She made no reply as she walked over to the Headmaster's shelf of instruments. The old wizard's eyes followed her. "Why, Carmen?" His quiet voice was laden with pain.

Rysk picked up a small golden weight. "Someone had to," she replied without turning around, just as softly, infinitely icy. A bitter laugh colored her words. "Besides...taste blood once..." She placed the weight on one end of a golden scale with careful deliberateness, then selected another.

"You betrayed me a second time."

"Not you." Clink. The scale tipped ever-so-slightly. "No matter what you might think."

"I am reluctant to sabotage the Ministry's investigation. They were alerted to an Unforgivable Curse being used."

Rysk paused. "Then don't. I can leave now and they'd never find me." She smiled thinly. "But then, who'll teach Potter to duel?"

Dumbledore sighed. "No, I will take steps to make sure you are not discovered. But..."

"I know. I'll have to leave as soon as the year's over."

Dumbledore stared at Rysk's back inscrutably. "I had hoped you would stay this time."

Rysk made a dry sort of chuckle. "Things fuck up like that, don't they?" Clink. "You were hoping something else, too, Dumbledore."

"Carmen."

"No." Rysk turned from the scale. Her grey eyes glittered. "No."

"You did not have to." For the first time anger became apparent in the Headmaster's voice. He rose from his chair. "You did not have to torture him."

"No, I didn't!" Rysk's hands clenched into tight, powerful fists, but just as quickly as her voice rose, it cooled. She crossed the space to Dumbledore's desk and leaned onto it, spreading her arms. "I didn't. And if I hadn't Black would have never lived to see Azkaban. Snape would have never become our spy if I hadn't. Potter would be fucking dead or worse right now if I hadn't." She hissed the words, sounding every bit the venomous serpent. For a long moment there was silence. Dumbledore held his former student's gaze. "I tasted blood, Dumbledore. I tasted blood, and it's too late. But I didn't turn. You just thank God for that."

"I do." Rysk stepped back from the sadness in Dumbledore's face as if she'd been burnt. Her eyes hardened before she turned away, back to balancing the weights.

"Sacrifices have to be made, Headmaster."

"I never meant for you to be one of them."

"That's what pisses you off, isn't it?" said Professor 'Harrison', coldly sarcastic. "You like to choose what's going to be sacrificed. Sorry, but I sacrificed myself." She suddenly laughed. "I didn't have a clue. I didn't know what would happen if I saved Black's life." Her voice dropped. "I didn't know that the Cruciatus looked like that." Clink. "Hey, you know whey the Ministry didn't make Obliviate the fourth Unforgivable? Because they use it every bloody day of their lives." The British curse sounded strange on her tongue. "Guess they're not that good at talking out of their asses." She stepped back from the scale, which favored one side slightly over the other.

"There." She delicately touched the underside of the heavier end. "Fudge." Her fingers gestured to the other side. "And you. Enter Potter." She placed one more golden nugget on the small platform. The scale teetered, then evened out, balancing on the fulcrum precariously. "Nasty bitch," she announced flatly. "One little tip..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Now you have two wild cards. Me." She scooped up one weight, then another. "And Malfoy Junior." She smiled cruelly before walking over and setting them on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster stared at her piercingly until she finally spoke. "You know I can't." Her voice was rich with layer upon layer of carefully hidden emotion. "He thinks he killed his parents all this time. What do you think he's going to do if he finds out? That you lied to him, that McGonagall lied to him, for sixteen years?"

"He will of course be angry, as is his right."

Rysk's eyebrows rose. "Angry?" Now she came around the desk until only a foot of space remained between her and the old wizard. "Angry. Dumbledore, he'll tear this whole fucking castle down, or kill everyone he sees trying." Her voice dropped low. "You know why he came onto our side in the first place. Now you want me to tell him the truth? He'll turn right around and--"

Dumbledore's voice shook with quiet conviction. "I have faith in Severus's heart."

"What are you willing to bet on it?" she hissed. When he did not reply she shook her head and turned away.

"You are afraid," said Dumbledore softly. "Your third betrayal. There is no sin in fear, but if you would continue his suffering for your own peace of mind--"

"I fear nothing," Rysk spat, whipping about, the rash streetgirl of so many years ago surfacing in her eyes.

"You fear for Sirius."

"Black has nothing to do with it." Carmen Rysk stared at her old teacher long and hard. What she said next made Dumbledore flinch. "I gave up every chance I had that day, Dumbledore. I could have been normal. I could have gone back, helped my homies up, lived a life. Now I'm bound to Black wizard through this...this life-debt magic." Her voice dropped to a whisper that filled the entire room, more startling and effective than any shout could have been. "I became worse than a murderer. For you, for your Order. So don't - you - talk - about - betrayal."

She stepped farther away with every word until her back was at the door. She sounded back in absolute control as she twisted the handle, as though she had never used that trembling, murderous tone. "We'll want to keep an eye on Henry. And we need Death Eaters. The more we find on Fudge's side the better. By the way, Potter was looking into your Pensieve."

With that she slipped quietly out. The Headmaster hefted the two weights she had left on his desk in his hand and stared at them for a long time before walking over to the secret door in the wall and making sure it was securely shut. It had been a while since Carmen had had to do things like hiding in closets, after all.

****

McGonagall watched as Potter climbed the stairs back to Gryffindor tower. Neither of them had said a word between here and the Headmaster's office. By some unspoken agreement he had continued on alone at this staircase, leaving Minerva to watch until he rounded a corner and disappeared.

The professor let out a sigh and put her fingers to her temples, where a devastating headache was brewing. She was grateful she would not have to witness the words exchanged between Dumbledore and his one-time protégé. Professor 'Harrison' had pointedly been avoiding contact with the Headmaster since the Alps incident, as the entire affair had come to be called, but the confrontation had to come sooner or later.

In all her long years, Professor McGonagall had learned that such things were as bitter as they were delayed.

Minerva had left Dumbledore to deal with Percy Weasley, deciding that finding out what Rysk was up to was just as important as dealing with the misled young man. After inquiring of her colleagues with no result, it finally struck McGonagall where Rysk must have gone. The certainty of the answer made her sick to her stomach. With hurried footsteps, clinging to what dignity she could, the McGonagall rushed down to the dungeons. A cold fist gripped her heart when she saw the door of the Death Eater's cell in existence.

Severus Snape was sitting next to the wizard's battered body, made grotesque by self-mutilation underneath the Cruciatus Curse, staring hollowly at the blood that continued to make its steady, nauseating way through the cracks in the floor. Minerva fell back against the wall, one hand over her mouth, transfixed against her will at the limbs that stuck at unnatural angles, at the bloodshot, empty eyes that rolled with each gasp for breath. Her wordless noise of horror brought Snape's head sharply up, but the Potions master's eyes were distant and broken. "I tried to stop her," he managed hoarsely, not bothering to push away the hair that fell before his face. McGonagall straightened on shaking legs, knowing that her face had drained of all color. She looked away from the twitching, pitiful mess on the cold stone.

"What happened? Why didn't anyone hear?" she demanded, her usually stern voice made weak by nausea.

"I...I..." For once, Snape was at a loss for words. "She stunned me...used a Silencing Charm...oh, God!" He finally seemed to come completely to and threw himself away from the Death Eater. McGonagall tried to calm him even as she herself struggled not to vomit with every whimpering, pathetic noise the tortured wizard made.

When Dumbledore came down, bringing Madam Pomfrey with him, Minerva had not the heart to lash the Headmaster as she had intended. The Headmaster stared at the broken thing that had once been a man with horror and then impossible grief in his eyes. "No..."

I told you so, McGonagall thought silently.

"I told you so," murmured McGonagall again, suppressing a shudder. She sighed through her nose and looked back over her shoulder at the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. Ah, Albus, couldn't you see? If she could torture and murder at the age of sixteen, she could do it again...