Disclaimer: Still borrowing from JKR.

Bottled Memories

Harry unpacked his trunk in his bedroom at the Dursleys'. When he finished, he sat on the end of the bed, restlessly twirling his wand between his fingers and pondering what he and Dumbledore had seen in their trips down Pensieve lane.

Voldemort began life as half-blood orphan, Tom Marvolo Riddle. By the time Tom was sorted into Slytherin House, he already had an impressive mastery of his magical power, and used it to torture fellow orphans at the orphanage. He quickly adopted the discriminatory attitude typical of his House: Pure wizard blood was the only kind that mattered. His lust for power grew when he discovered he was Salazar Slytherin's descendant, and he hated his Muggle father for being weak and worthless. He hated all other Muggles by association.

Tom learned how to open the Chamber of Secrets, hidden deep under Hogwarts. He released the monster that lived there, a deadly Basilisk, while still a young student at school. He murdered his Muggle father and grandparents when he was just a teenager. Dumbledore acknowledged him as possibly the most brilliant student to pass through Hogwarts' hallowed halls.

Harry was a good student, but he knew he wasn't brilliant. Thinking back over previous encounters he'd had with Voldemort, he'd been lucky to escape with his life. My odds are not good, he thought, vividly remembering the pain he'd endured. I can't depend on luck. This time I need a plan...

He stood, reaching for a small box from his desk. Professor McGonagall had given it to him while he was packing his trunk before Dumbledore's funeral.

"Potter," the new Headmistress had said, rapping sharply on his dormitory door. "I believe this is yours." She smiled sadly, handing him a large package. "Dumbledore always said he spent an inordinate amount of time returning this cloak to you, and your father before you.

"Please do not open it until you reach your aunt's house," she'd continued. "There are other items inside that Dumbledore wished you to have."

"Thank you Prof--er--Headmistress," Harry had replied, subdued. He'd tucked the box safely in his trunk, nestling it among the socks.

Now Harry untied the package and carefully unfolded the silvery Invisibility Cloak. Wrapped snugly in the folds of the cloak, Harry found a carved bowl he recognized immediately: Dumbledore's Pensieve. His hands shook a little as he set it on his desk. He went back to his cloak and found a small, highly-polished wooden box. Upon opening, he discovered it was filled with tiny phials and a piece of parchment. Picking it up, he instantly recognized Dumbledore's loopy handwriting.

Dearest Harry,

If you're reading this note, you know that I am gone. Please make use of the Pensieve and the memories I have stored for your use in the phials. You may also find it useful for storing your own memories you want to protect from prying minds, or to help order cluttered thoughts. Professor Slughorn will instruct you in its uses if you need assistance.

You may be seeing more of Fawkes as well. Phoenixes respect loyalty, and he has always responded well to you.

I'm sorry that our time together has been short. You are a remarkable young man, and it has been my pleasure to know you.

With deepest affection,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry's brow furrowed as he scanned the note again. He knuckled his eyes under his glasses before turning his attention to the phials' cryptic labels. As he sorted through them, he found a date that made his blood run cold. He took a deep breath to stop his hands from trembling as he inspected the little bottle, inscribed with his own initials, followed by the date of his parents' deaths.

Is this... mine? he wondered, feeling the bottle warm in his hand, watching the silvery fluid swirl. Dumbledore must have taken it that night...

He hesitated, looking from the phial to the Pensieve. Finally reaching a decision, he resolutely stacked the little bottles in the box and packed everything back in his trunk.

Not today.

Monday morning found Harry folding his socks. When he came to the mismatched set from Dobby the house-elf, he felt a familiar tremor. Magic? Dobby put magic in my socks? Puzzled, he set them aside and continued with his task. He gave the worn, over-sized clothing a loathing look.

He paused when he noticed another tremor. It was the jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him last Christmas. Was he sensing magic because they had used magic to knit? Or was there something more? He made a note to ask Hermione. She would know, after knitting all those elf hats. He set the jumper with the socks.

He turned to Hedwig, an owl treat extended in his fingers. "Hey girl, feel up to a little trip?" The owl shook herself, ruffling her feathers. Harry quickly scribbled a note and attached it to her leg. "Take this to Dobby at Hogwarts, then wait for his response. Be careful, girl," he said, opening his window. She stretched a wing to cuff him affectionately before launching herself through the portal.

Harry glanced worriedly at the empty sidewalk What if Ron and Hermione tried to Apparate here? No, Hermione would be smarter than that. She'd never seen the Dursleys' house, so she would not have a destination reference. He hoped Ron remembered the fireplace was blocked and not suitable for a Floo connection. They could take the Knight Bus, he supposed. Suddenly remembering the communication watch, he lunged for his trunk and began frantically digging for the package.

"I am such a bloody moron! I didn't even worry about a plan for getting Ron and Hermione here safely. How am I ever going to …"

He stopped, hearing quiet voices from outside. He cautiously approached the ledge, wand at the ready.

The sight that greeted him made him weak-kneed with relief. Mrs. Figg was leading Hermione and Ron to the Dursleys' front door, carrying one of her cats. Ginny trailed a few steps behind, her head swiveling like an tourist on holiday.

Harry tore down the stairs, wrenching the front door open before Hermione could ring the bell.

"Come in, don't stand out there like targets," Harry invited, shooing them through the front door.

Mrs. Figg declined. She said she had a potion simmering, and had to get back to stir in the beetle wings.

"Thank you Mrs. Figg. See you later," Hermione said, waving.

"My dad set it up for us to use her Floo," Ron explained as Harry shut the door behind them. "We're going to stay at her house. Bill set up some extra wards at her place while we're there, and the Ministry knows we're here, so they'll expect a few magical, ah, 'occurrences' in the neighborhood. We promised to keep it to a minimum, though."

"Dad didn't think your relatives would be too chuffed to have us move in for a week-long, co-ed magical slumber party," Ginny said with a wicked grin.

"It would almost be worth all these years of living here to see the looks on their faces when you announced that you're moving in with me," Harry said, chuckling.

Hermione made tsk-ing noises at them. "Let's just be nice. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, you know."

Ron looked puzzled. "What do you want flies for, Hermione?"

"It's just an expression, Ronald. Harry, could we meet your aunt, maybe sit down over a cup of tea and have a civil conversation?"

Harry shrugged and muttered, "Yeah, good luck with that." He reached behind his back to snag Ginny's wandering hand, which had been stealthily creeping under his shirt. He heard her snigger softly.

"Let's find Aunt Petunia and get this over with." Harry said. "Then maybe later we can go to Diagon Alley for supplies."

"Oooh Harry," Ginny purred in his ear. "Shopping? You really know how to get a girl excited."

Harry glanced down quickly, alarmed, yet intrigued, before noticing the teasing sparkle in her eyes. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Ron and Hermione ignored the pair, seating themselves at the table just as Aunt Petunia charged into the kitchen.

"What is the meaning of this?" Pentunia demanded.

Harry stiffened. "Aunt Petunia, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and my girlfriend, Ginny Weasley."

"Nice to meet you Mrs. Dursley," Hermione said, polite to a fault. "Could we bother you for some tea? We'd like to have a little chat."

Petunia glared suspiciously at them all before sitting at the table. Absently, she motioned to Harry, who had already filled the kettle for tea and set it on the stove. He gathered the rest of the tea things, smoothly efficient in his aunt's kitchen, accustomed as he was to working like a house-elf in it.

"Mrs. Dursley, Harry wants to visit his parents' graves," Ron said. "Where exactly would we go to find them?"

"Godric's Hollow," was Petunia's slow, almost unwilling response. "There is a family plot there."

"And where did Harry's parents live?"

"I never visited."

"Where did they work?"

"I really don't know," Petunia replied stiffly.

"So you have no idea what they did for a living?" Ron asked.

"No, of course not, and I don't care to know," Petunia snapped.

"Lily never mentioned a protection charm she might have used on Harry?"

"No."

Without breaking eye contact, Hermione scribbled on a piece of paper and passed it to Ron. He glanced at it, then asked another question.

"So where is the trunk you're keeping from Harry?"