Chapter 22

Memories: Modified and Un

Harry sat for quite a while, thinking about Dumbledore's message and wondering what he had meant by some things. He knew that Dumbledore tended to speak rather symbolically sometimes but Harry usually at least understood what he meant. This time, though, the whole part about the dreams being messengers confused him a little bit. It wasn't that he did not understand the words, it just surprised him maybe more than confused him. He had understood, no he had been told by Dumbledore himself, that the headmaster did not believe in Divination. Yet, he was basically telling Harry that he should trust Trelawney's sort of magic. Well, okay, maybe that was reading more into the message than had been intended. Harry shook his head and stood up suddenly. He was quite hungry and as it was coming on toward dinner, he needed to do something about it.

He stared for a while at the contents of the refrigerator. He had the time tonight, maybe he would make something a little more difficult than just a sandwich. He grabbed a package of steak and then some salad. Yeah, that sounded really tasty. About one-half hour later, he was practically drooling as the steak finished cooking. It smelled fantastic. He had also hurriedly sliced some potatoes and thought they looked really good in the oven as well. He scooped everything onto a plate and grabbed a knife and fork out of the drawer. He glanced up at the clock above the table and drew a quick breath. He would have to eat in front of the television again. The nightly news was about to start.

Harry chewed happily as the opening music for the nightly news broadcast started a few minutes later. The first few stories were pretty routine - bank robberies, car chases, etc. It was not until the fourth story, right after the first set of commercials, that Harry's attention really shifted from his food to the screen.

"So fill us in about the case of the disappearing witnesses, Jane," said the anchorman, a smiling dark-haired man who Harry thought tried to be funny although he usually failed.

"Right, Stone. Over 20 people called into the London Police main office this afternoon, complaining of a series of loud explosions that sounded like they were right outside their windows. The police dispatched a team to investigate immediately and this reporter was not far behind them. However, by the time the police arrived, the ear-witnesses so to speak (oh, Harry thought, spare us the puns) refused to cooperate."

"What do you mean, Jane?"

"Well, let me give you an example. Excuse me Mr. Johnson, (the mike was shoved into the face of an elderly looking gentleman), you gave your name to the police when you called reporting a loud series of explosions out in the street. Could you tell us about these explosions, when they happened, and what you think they were?" It was the blank and rather confused look that drew Harry's interest. He had seen that look before, too many times.

"I didn't hear any explosions. No, I'm quite sure that there were no explosions. And I didn't call the police. Why would I do such a thing?" The man drifted away from the mike and the reporter, shaking his head in apparent confusion.

"Stone, this has been repeated with all 23 of the original callers. And there are no other witnesses in the neighborhood who seem willing to talk either. So, with nothing more to work with, the police have reluctantly had to abandon any sort of investigation." The camera then drew back to show rather shabby looking offices and a run-down pub lined along a dingy street with a few people with rather vague unconcerned looks on their faces milling about.

Harry knew that look. They had all been memory-charmed. Every one of them. They had the dreamy look of confusion that he had first seen on Lockhart's face in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. Then later, the owner of a campsite and his family had wished Harry and the Weasleys a Merry Christmas as they headed home after the Quidditch World Cup in August before his fourth year. Harry had since seen that same look of mild confusion on many faces, mostly Muggle, although the occasional wizard had had it done to them. There was no mistaking it. Once again, the Ministry of Magic had interfered to make sure that no hints of "strange goings-on" that could not be explained made it out into the general Muggle population.

He then came to the next obvious question. What were they covering up? What had the explosions been? Harry thought that the street they had shown looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place it. He tried to remember, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. The more he struggled to get a grip on the memory, the more it eluded him. He decided, however, that he would remember if he calmed his mind and allowed the thoughts to surface when they were ready. He decided that he would relax. There was not much he could do about it anyway. If the Ministry had been there, then things were under control. (He laughed softly. Yeah right!)

He went to bed early that night, mainly because he was tired from his late night the previous evening, but also because there was nothing on television to command his interest, and he found himself thinking more and more about Cassie and how he was going to see her the next day. It was somehow easier to think of her in the quiet, and so turned off the television and climbed into bed. He would definitely kiss her tomorrow. Definitely. After all, he told the butterflies in his stomach, he had not been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was nighttime. He and Ron were crouched in the corner under the invisibility cloak. Ron looked so very young. Harry supposed that if he could see himself, he would look the same. He recognized the surroundings as Hagrid's hut even though it was seen through the haziness of the cloak. Hagrid was looking terrified and Lucius Malfoy was standing too close to them for comfort. Dumbledore was talking to Fudge. "However, you will find that I will have only truly left this school when none here are loyal to me." It was suddenly two years later and the worry Harry had felt at that moment in Hagrid's hut was replaced by a suddenly multiplied agony that even now, two years later, caused his heart to almost stop completely in protest. "Every guest in this Hall will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. . . .Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry sat upright in bed, breathing hard. He hadn't thought about those horrible events of the third task for a while now. He didn't know what had made him think about those two events tonight. He did not really think that they had anything to do with each other and they seemed to have nothing to do with what he had been thinking about before he went to sleep. He lay back in bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling and quietly drifted back to sleep.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He remembered that night so well, but no wonder. He always laughed about this to himself. He had lived it twice. Sirius. Dumbledore giving him and Hermione the way to save his godfather. He remembered seeing Sirius for the first time in that Shrieking Shack, remembered the hatred he felt toward him - hatred that had in the course of one evening changed to a friendship. And, yes, he had come to love him. No Dumbledore had not been able to save Sirius that first night, but he had told them how. Harry remembered thinking that Dumbledore knew how to fix anything. Harry also remembered the first time he had ever heard his name, well, at least that he could remember. It had been that horrible night out in the hut on the rock when Vernon and Petunia and Dudley were running from his letters and then Hagrid had come, Hagrid who had rescued him from the Dursleys and changed his life. Hagrid had defended Dumbledore to Uncle Vernon who had called him a "crackpot old fool." But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER - INSULT-ALBUS - DUMBLEDORE - IN - FRONT - OF - ME!" Harry remembered that he had his turn later to defend Dumbledore, also. . . . No, that couldn't be, could it? Ginny. Oh, Ginny. She looked so fragile, so pale, laying there on the stone floor. "Don't be dead, please don't be dead!" Tom Riddle stood there, his face twisted and contorted with anger. And Harry was yelling: Sorry too disappoint you and all that but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you!!!! Tom Riddle was suddenly yelling very loudly "Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry woke for the second time that night, and found himself tangled in the sheets, fighting to reach his wand to protect himself against Voldemort. He had not thought about the Chamber of Secrets for a very long time. He smiled vaguely into the darkness. Ginny had been so young then, so awkward in her hero worship of him. She had grown a great deal in the past four years. He felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes and he blinked rapidly. He missed them all so much. He missed school. He loved Hogwarts. Oh, yes, he had gone through torture there, that was certain, but it had also been the source of some of his greatest joys. He closed his eyes again, remembering the moments before the first task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had thought then that he would rather be at Hogwarts facing dragons than back with the Dursleys. He still felt that way.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry saw in his mind's eye that time he had been in Dumbledore's office when Fudge was trying to arrest the headmaster. "Well- it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to -- what is the phrase? - come quietly." Harry was at the Ministry that horrible night. The fight had been going on for what felt like forever. Harry had been so certain that his death was eminent, and he didn't really mind. It would have been a release. "It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom." Dumbledore had rescued him, again, at a time Harry was not sure he wanted to be rescued. Then, Harry was standing in the ruined entry hall of the Ministry, being sent back to school via an unauthorized portkey that Dumbledore made of the wizard's head. "After that, I will need to return to my school." Harry had been too devastated to care that Dumbledore was coming back to Hogwarts. He felt again those feelings as he had thought earlier that year that he would be expelled from Hogwarts for good. He and Mr. Weasley had gone to the Ministry for Harry's hearing. Harry remembered . . . .

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry woke for the third time. He saw again in his mind when he Mr. Weasley had been walking toward the phone box . . . .And suddenly, Harry's panic flared in a sudden rush that made him nauseated.

That street, that street from the news the night before. Harry had been there. Often. It was a street that no one would ever suspect of leading to one of the main entrances to the Ministry of Magic. Oh! No wonder they had been so efficient at hushing up any explosions in that area. The Muggles were practically standing on top of the Ministry offices. What had been going on there? The ministry? Was it under attack? Certainly they would have protection, wouldn't they? Harry remembered that he had never had any difficulty getting into the Ministry, none at all. He remembered the phone box and thought that it was likely Voldemort could walk right into it, dial the number and tell the woman's voice that he was there to take over. The badge would come out and Harry could see it now: Lord Voldemort, Taking Over.



Harry got up, glancing through squinting eyes at the clock by his bed. No good. He grabbed his glasses. It was a little after 6 a.m. He just had to talk to Dumbledore. There was no other choice. He walked quickly out to the living room where Sir Lionel was sleeping in his frame. "Sir Lionel." The knight moved not at all. "Sir Lionel." Harry spoke a little louder. "Sir Lionel!" This time, the old knight jumped, falling off his low stool onto the floor in a loud crash of armor.

"What is it? What is it?" He was distinctly aggravated at being woken up, although Harry who watched him sleep all day every day could not understand why he was so angry. "You'd think he be grateful to have something to do" Harry muttered under his breath.

"I need you to take a message to Dumbledore. It's urgent." Harry tried to keep the panic under control, but his heart was beating very fast and the breathless quality to his voice betrayed his rapid breathing.

"Oh, Harry. I really shouldn't. Write him a note, as always."

"No, I need to tell him what I found out. I need him to make sure that the Ministry is secure. You need to tell him that Voldemort is trying to get into the Ministry, blowing things up and stuff. Maybe he doesn't know."

"I do not see that this is a matter of . . ."

"Look, Sir Lionel. I want you to go tell Dumbledore -"

Harry was going to continue explaining but suddenly Lionel was gone and Harry felt the nervous twistings of his insides increase. He hadn't even been able to get the whole message to Dumbledore, despite taking a huge risk with sending the portrait to begin with. Now Dumbledore would think he was over-reacting two days in a row. Great. Harry had a slight ache in his scar and he rubbed it absently. The dreams he had last night were not like the other two he could remember since he got here. These dreams were all things that he remembered. He had actually been there as everything in those dreams had happened. He relaxed a little. The memories were distinct and clear. They were not, could not possibly be, projected to him to trap him or confuse him. They were just memories. He was obviously more homesick than he realized.

It was only 15 minutes later that Sir Lionel returned with a response from Dumbledore.

"Harry. It is good to hear from you. I can understand your concern about the Ministry. It is true that some of Voldemort's followers have been concentrating their efforts there in London. It certainly appears that they are going to try to stage a violent attack against the Ministry in the very near future. Indeed, it is possible they may have gotten in last night were it not for two Aurors who happened to turn up at a convenient moment. Things are going the way I had hoped they would, Harry. It will not be very long now. I expect that I will be able to send for you in about two weeks or so. Please, do not worry yourself over the state of the Ministry. You keep doing exactly what you have been doing and I look forward to seeing you again in person, Harry."

Then, Sir Lionel said, "Really. I hope you thought that was worth it." He shot Harry a rather sharp sideways glance and promptly settled back down on his stool to sleep.

Harry, it was true, had not learned much about what had happened at the Ministry although he supposed that if Dumbledore hadn't said, it couldn't have been too important. He was glad to have a new time frame to work with, though. Two weeks was not unreasonable. He could live for two more weeks. And, he was especially pleased that Dumbledore told him to keep doing what he had been doing. A picture sprang to his mind of a very pretty face with blond hair and bright blue eyes, and Harry glancing at the clock realized he had a little more than 12 hours before he would be seeing her again. "Just following orders," he said to himself with a slight smile. "Must do my part for the War effort."