Silver Ice - Thank you! Ach, Ron is so clumsy. Hope you like the rest of this!

Sorry to leave on such a cliff-hanger! On with the show…

No element of the Harry Potter universe is mine. I am merely renting it and vandalising it slightly.

Harry couldn't help feeling very curious, as they were marched along the school corridors by a livid Madam Pomfrey. What would the Headmaster be like? Would he be back to normal or would he be just as Harry had last seen him: behaving in a way which defied logic or reason? Strange scenarios spun around in Harry's head and he barely paid attention to Ron muttering under his breath beside him or Hermione's agitated footsteps from behind him.

He was so buried inside his own head that he nearly walked into the back of Madam Pomfrey as they stopped outside Dumbledore's office. Madam Pomfrey's resultant glare was almost as bad as Snape's - and that was saying something. He heard Ron make some comment about the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office looking like the greasy Potions Master and had time to absent-mindedly smile before the angry witch next to him spoke the password.

"Chocolate frog!" Madam Pomfrey said it as though it was an obscenity so vile that flowers would wither before it.

The gargoyle jumped aside and the trio, trying to look suitably cowed, were led up the spiralling stairs to the Headmaster's office. Being an unholy hour, the Headmaster was nowhere to be seen and, without him, the office was strangely devoid of personality. Fawkes was on his perch, however, and he eyed Harry in the way a primary school teacher would eye a pencil sharpener full of snot.

I've been here so many times I might as well become a resident, thought Harry wryly. He glimpsed a pile of broken silver instruments on Dumbledore's desk, as if in the process of being repaired. He winced and made up his mind to apologise to the Headmaster as soon as possible: his guilt complex was already a step away from becoming an monstrous knot of legend - and he had no sword to cut through it.

"The Headmaster is not here at the moment," announced Madam Pomfrey. The trio wondered who she was speaking to, as the fact was too obvious to be worth mentioning. Any speculations were cut short when the mistress of the Hospital Wing continued to snarl at them. "I am going to fetch him and you are NOT, repeat NOT, to touch ANYTHING whilst you're waiting and you're NOT permitted to go ANYWHERE!"

She stormed out and the trio waited for the dust to settle.

"I think she overemphasised a bit," commented Hermione, who was the type of person to analyse dialogue in day-to-day situations as if it were a passage of text in a book.

"Um, yeah," said Ron, scratching the back of his head in a way that signalled his confusion (something the muggle-born witch beside him would say was perpetual). "Why should we go anywhere, anyway?"

"Hey, how about we have a look around?" suggested Harry tentatively. From long experience, he knew that if he said something tentatively, Hermione and Ron were less likely to argue with one another. It did, however, mean that he found it easier to argue with himself.

"Where?" Ron waved his arms around dramatically. His sable-haired friend saw his point: Dumbledore's office was like a display representing his mind - random clutter was everywhere.

Hermione was suddenly struck with inspiration. That is to say that a book with Inspiration inscribed on its cover in a curling, golden script suddenly toppled from a bookcase behind her and hit her on the head. Fate can have a sense of humour.

"The Pensieve!" she cried out abruptly.

Ron was blank for a second and then comprehension dawned. "That's a great idea! He'll probably have put the whole thing in there!"

"Um, I don't know," mumbled Harry as the other two members of the trio turned excitedly towards him, desperate to know where the treasure chest of Dumbledore's thoughts was.

Unpleasant memories of another occasion where he'd looked into a Pensieve without the owner's permission were surfacing in Harry's mind. He shivered as past almost enveloped him: sharp, black, cold eyes glittering with fury, boring into his soul as some of his faith in his father collapsed… What did Dumbledore's Pensieve conceal? The man was like the Chamber of Secrets personified: who knew what other things he knew that he'd never told Harry? And after the last secret the Headmaster had divulged to him, Harry was sure that he wanted to remain ignorant.

"Where is it, mate?" Ron said again. He didn't know why his friend was hesitating.

"Harry," said Hermione gently, persuasively. "We've got to find out what's going on. The Headmaster can't just vanish and then reappear with a baby-"

The memory of that fateful Quidditch match forced its way back into Harry's consciousness and he almost seemed to be gripping the Snitch again, looking through sheets of rain as the whole school sat stunned. Once again, he seemed to feel all the amazement and shock that moment had elicited.

Dumbledore in leather.

The thought stung him into action. He pointed at the cabinet where the Pensieve had been held - and was hopefully still held. Trying not to think of what would happen if Dumbledore burst in whilst the trio were probing his private memories, Harry helped the others get the Pensieve out of the cabinet and rest it on the desk. Then they stood, staring at the silvery ghostly surface of the Headmaster's memories, aware of the seriousness of what they were about to do.

"D'you think this really has anything to do with well… anything?" Ron said, taking the photo out of his pocket and making gestures in the air with it.

Harry stared at him as though he'd gone mad before remembering the photo. He shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe we'll find out in a sec though."

The trio turned, linked hands, took deep breaths and then simultaneously stared at the Pensieve. Under such scrutiny, the ghostly substance in the bowl swirled and began to form a picture.

"Ready?" asked Hermione. Harry doubted that she'd halt the 'mission' if he told her no.

"Yep," said Ron, now sounding a bit nervous.

They thrust their hands into the bowl and suddenly, they were being pulled into the thoughts of one of the greatest (and currently one of the most mysterious) men who'd ever lived - even if he did have such a ridiculously long full name.

Harry had the odd sensation that something had changed but he didn't know what. It was only when he realised that the Pensieve was now over the other side of the room, poking out of the cabinet slightly, that understanding came to him. This was Dumbledore's office - but in the past.

The stark differences between the office he'd just been in and the office he was in now were suddenly obvious. Firstly, the past office was somewhat tidier, as if the past Dumbledore had actually bothered to keep everything organised. Secondly - and this was the most striking difference - Dumbledore was present.

He was seated at his desk, scribbling away in his loopy handwriting on a piece of parchment, humming a small tune and chewing something the Boy-Who-Lived could only assume was Sherbert Lemon. The sense of rightness was almost physical; it hit Harry so abruptly. This was right. This was normal. There Dumbledore was in his normal robes, with his normal twinkle, radiating peace and security for miles around. Nothing looked about to go wrong.

"Oh!" exclaimed Ron, making Harry and Hermione jump. "We're so sorry sir, we didn't mean to-"

"Ron, this is the past!" snapped Hermione, frustrated by Ron's lack of intelligence. "He can't see or hear us!"

"Oh," Ron said again, looking slightly embarrassed. Then he said, "are you sure we haven't gone too far back? It doesn't look as though he's about to disappear."

Hermione drew herself up in irritation. "Oh? And how is someone who is about to disappear supposed to look?"

"Um…"

"Exactly."

The trio gazed at Dumbledore expectantly but he didn't seem about to do anything unusual. Harry was about to sigh with resignation - nothing was going to happen - when Hermione suddenly let out a shriek that could of shattered windows.

Ron leapt about six feet in the air and let out a whimper similar to the sound he'd produce when faced with an Acromantula. Harry felt his hair stand on end. The only person who didn't react was the Headmaster, who'd paused to load his quill with more ink.

"What the hell-?!" gasped Ron but Hermione answered him with a pointed finger.

Harry looked at Dumbledore's desk as directed but at first didn't see anything odd. It took a minute for his eyes to pick up on the glowing ball rolling slowly across the wood towards Dumbledore, who hadn't noticed it at all.

'Glowing ball' was a very vague description of what the trio saw. It was indeed spherical - but it's shape was distorted and seemed blurry compared to the rest of the memory they were in. It was a ball of impossibility, the very nature of reality crunched up into a small space. The eye couldn't focus properly and it seemed to be almost a miniature black hole, sucking in the world around it, leaving little holes in the fabric of reality. The trio stared at it in shock - and then the Headmaster noticed it.

If the situation hadn't been so serious, perhaps they would've laughed at the look on Dumbledore's face: it was a combination of disbelief, shock, surprise and confusion. He shot backwards from the desk and dropped the quill as the Impossibility rolled forward to rest in front of him. Then he leant forward with an expression of intense curiosity in his blue eyes and carefully prodded it with a finger.

Harry had time to wonder how anyone could possibly be that stupid before the world seemed to explode with light.