Chapter 8

As she reached the door separating herself from the people waiting in the kitchen, Hermione froze. Ron felt her hand slip out of his and he watched as she placed it over the doorknob. He waited, patiently, as he watched her take a steadying breath, but she didn't turn the knob. His eyes darted down to her hand again, and he realized it was shaking. Without even thinking, he reached down and covered her hand with his own.

"It will be all right," Ron leaned forward and whispered in her ear. His hand still clasped on top of hers, he turned the knob and held the door open for her.

Hermione took a few tentative steps forward and blinked several times in an effort to become accustomed to the bright light of the kitchen. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the Weasleys, who were sitting together at the kitchen table. Molly looked as if she might have been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Hermione noticed Arthur was seated beside his wife, one arm draped over her shoulder, his free hand rested on top of his wife's in much the same way Ron's hand had rested on hers just moments ago. Bill was seated on the other side of his mother. He looked tired. And... there was something else. Something in his eyes when he looked up at her. Something she had never had directed at her before, but which she had seen directed at Harry on many occasions. Pity, she thought, wrinkling her nose up in disgust. I don't want you feeling sorry for me, her mind shouted. It will just make it worse.

Unable to bear the pain in their eyes any longer, Hermione looked away from the Weasleys and let her gaze fall on Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin, who were sitting directly across from them. Not you too, Hermione thought, as she saw the same pained expression plastered across Lupin's face. Her eyes immediately flicked to Moody, and she was relieved to see that he at least stared back without flinching. His face was set, as if it were carved out of stone. His expression revealed nothing about what he was thinking and she preferred it that way.

"How does Harry put up with this?" Hermione wondered. Then it suddenly hit her. She was guilty of this heinous offense. She had looked at Harry this way. She had felt badly for him. She had wanted to be there for him. She had wanted to comfort him after Sirius was killed. She had wanted to make him talk about it, thinking that it would make him feel better, only... Ron had stopped her. He knew, Hermione thought. I didn't understand, but Ron did. He knew it would just make Harry feel worse. I didn't scold him for it, did I? She took a moment to think back. OH NO! she silently groaned. I hate it when he's right. Now I'm going to have to apologize.

Hermione was dragged out of her silent musing, by the sound of something clunking down on the table in front of her. She looked up and realized Professor Dumbledore was standing in front of her. Where he had come from, she wasn't sure. She hadn't noticed he was in the room until now.

"Please sit, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, as he pulled out a chair and motioned for her to come forward.

Her eyes shifted to the chair, but she didn't move towards it. It wasn't a conscious decision to ignore him, so much as the fact she couldn't seem to remember how to walk.

She didn't realize her hands were shaking until she felt someone grab a hold of one of them and still it. Caught off guard, she was just about to twist around and see who it was when the answer came to her. It's Ron, of course, she told herself. He always knows what I need. Even before I know it myself.

Feeling comforted by his closeness, Hermione looked back up and met Dumbledore's gaze. "I regret that it this is necessary," Dumbledore said compassionately. " I know you'd like nothing more then to put the past few hours out of your mind, but I'm afraid I really do need to know exactly what happened to you today."

Still unable to speak, Hermione just nodded her head. There was a patient air about him. Hermione knew he'd let her take things at her own pace. She looked at the chair again, but she didn't want to sit down. She felt as if she'd have more control if she was standing. Dumbledore seemed to understand this, and he didn't press the matter any further. Something on the table caught her attention. Something... shiny. She immediately searched for the source, and her eyes widened as they fell on the shallow stone basin.

"Am I correct in assuming that you know what this is?" Dumbledore asked, prodding the silvery contents in the bowl with his wand and causing them to swirl.

"Y-yes," Hermione replied. "It's... a pensieve."

"And you know how it works?" he pressed on.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"Wicked," Ron said from behind her as he stepped forward to get a better look at the shimmering contents churning in the bowl on the table. "Are those your thoughts, Professor?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Memories, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore corrected Ron with a smile. "And yes, they are." Dumbledore piercing eyes studied Ron for a moment and then he beckoned him forward with the wave of his hand. "Come, I'll show you."

Ron looked down at Hermione for an instant and then his curiosity got the better of him. Not bothering to let go of her hand, Ron approached the table, dragging her along behind him. They watched together as Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand to his temple and then pulled it back, withdrawing a shimmering substance as he did so. The silver strand thinned the further Dumbledore's wand got from his temple and then it broke away completely and fell into the pensieve.

"That doesn't hurt, does it?" Ron asked, as he let go of Hermione's hand and unconsciously reached up to touch the recently acquired scars on his arm. Although healed, and slowly fading, he obviously hadn't forgotten how he obtained them.

"Not at all," Dumbledore replied. "It's quite safe," he assured Ron, motioning towards the pensieve. "Go ahead. Look inside."

Ron looked down into the stone bowl and was surprised to see that the silvery contents had vanished and had been replaced by an image. Leaning down for a better look, Ron realized he was looking into some sort of room. A room full of wizards, all of them wearing identical plum-colored robes. There was a chair in the center of the room. The armrests were covered with chains. There was someone sitting in that chair. Sitting on the very edge, as if he were trying not to sit in it at all. The room was lit only by the dim light of some torches, which made it hard to make out the features of the person in the chair.

"That's the Wizengamot," Ron said, studying the wizards seated on the benches that rose up before the man in the wooden chair. "Is this one of the trials Harry saw when he..." Ron began. "BLOODY HELL!" He leaned in closer. "Look, Hermione. That's Fudge there in the center and look who's sitting next to him, it's..."

"Umbridge," she finished in a disgusted tone. "Ron," Hermione said, as she wrinkled her face up in revulsion. "Look at the front row, there at the end, isn't that..."

"Percy!" Ron spat his name out as if the very word were poison.

"This... this is Harry's trial," Hermione said, staring down in disbelief.

"Would you like to view it from inside?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Hermione said, pulling her gaze off the pensive and standing upright. "I think we've seen enough."

Ron looked at the pensive eagerly for just a split second longer and then straightened up as well.

"Mr. Weasley, would you like to have a closer look?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eyes. Apparently the fact Hermione had answered for both of them hadn't gone unnoticed.

Ron glanced at Hermione quickly before answering. "No... er... thanks, but I reckon I already know how it turns out."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, reaching out to touch the image with the tip of his wand.

The moment he did the room dissolved back into the silvery-white substance and once again, started to churn about in the basin.

"You're going to do that to me, aren't you?" Hermione asked, as she met Dumbledore's penetrating gaze.

"Yes," he replied, his voice calm and surprisingly comforting.

"Will I remember any of what happened after you take the memory from me?" she questioned.

"Yes and no, "Dumbledore replied. "You will remember that you were taken. You will recall any strong emotions you had, such as fear. But you will no longer remember the details of what happened."

"Like a dream?" Ron asked.

"Yes, that is precisely what it is like," Dumbledore explained. "It is as if you have woken from a dream. You can vaguely recall what happened and how it made you feel, but within moments, the details are lost to you and soon you forget about them altogether."

"I don't want to forget," Hermione stated, catching nearly everyone gathered in the kitchen off guard. Everyone, except Dumbledore, that is. He studied her carefully. His intense azure eyes seem to bore into her soul, making her shift uncomfortably, but she didn't look away. It was Dumbledore that broke the connection, with a smile.

"I suspected you might feel that way," Dumbledore admitted. "If that is what you truly desire, I will return the memory when we are through," he assured her.

Hermione seemed to find that acceptable. She nodded silently.

"Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore asked, "You haven't by chance, had any Occlumency lessons from Mr. Potter, have you?"

"No, sir," Hermione replied, clearly not expecting that particular question. "Why?"

"I was just curious. You were aware of my presence just now, were you not?"

"You mean could I feel you?" Hermione asked. "No, not exactly."

"And yet you partitioned your mind," Dumbledore said, looking at her appraisingly.

"Come again?" Ron said. "She did what?"

"She divided her thoughts," Dumbledore explained. "In essence, it means that rather then trying to expel me from her mind, she simply threw up a barrier around the thoughts and memories she didn't want to share. It is the equivalent of a mental brick wall. Only in this case, the wall is reinforced by sheer willpower. You are a very... headstrong young woman," Dumbledore said, as his gaze fell on Hermione once more.

"You have no idea," Ron chuckled.

"It would have taken considerable effort to break through those barriers," Dumbledore continued. "I'm curious. Did you do that on purpose, or was it instinctual?"

"Both," Hermione replied. "I knew you were in my head, even though I couldn't really feel you. And I didn't want you seeing certain things, so I just... well,I don't know how to explain it really. I just sort of pushed them to the side and blocked them out. I figured if I couldn't see them, then you wouldn't be able to either. "

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Sure, I do it all the time with..." Catching herself midway though her sentence, Hermione froze. "Er... that is..."

"With whom?" Dumbledore pushed.

"Well... with... Professor Snape," she admitted.

"Bloody git." Hermione heard Ron muttered under his breath.

"Quite understandable," Dumbledore chuckled. "He must find that... vexing. What I meant to say was, did you do it today, when the Death Eaters questioned you?"

"Y-yes, I think so," Hermione said, thinking back. "Yes, there were definitely things I didn't want them to see."

"Did they manage to break through your barriers?"

"I... I don't know. I'm not sure any of them were even in my mind trying."

"You would have been able to tell," Dumbledore assured her. "If they had attempted to push past your barriers, that is. As I said, you are very... determined. Even though you are untrained, I suspect it would take a great deal of mental effort to see something you were purposely trying to shield from them. It would have been... painful."

"No, they didn't do that then. They did use a few unforgivables though."

"The Cruciatus Curse?" Dumbledore asked sadly.

"Y-yes," Hermione said, trying hard not to look at the strained faces of the adults seated around the table.

"You had already partitioned your mind, by that point?" Dumbledore questioned.

"I guess so."

"What does that matter?" Ron asked, as his face drained of color. "Bloody bastards!"

"RON!" Hermione said, jabbing him in the side with her elbow.

"They weren't trying to break through any barriers, they just wanted to hurt you," Ron fumed.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But the Cruciatus Curse is meant to do more than simply inflict pain. It is also meant to break the spirit of its victim. Even to shatter their mind in extreme cases." Dumbledore explained to Ron.

Like what happened to Neville's parents, Ron thought. The mental image of Hermione locked up in St. Mungo's with Lockhart and the Longbottoms was almost more then he could bear to think about, so he quickly forced the image out of his head.

"Partitioning your mind is an effective means of withstanding such torture. If one can separate their core self, and lock it away, it makes it easier to endure the degradation of being tortured. It also makes it possible to deceive your attackers. If done properly, they mistakenly believe they have broken you and crushed your will to fight them. They think you are defeated, when in reality, you are simply biding your time, waiting for the right opportunity to unleash your core self and resist them." Dumbledore explained.

"You did all that?" Ron asked Hermione, gaping at her in admiration.

"No," she replied, blushing under his intense scrutiny.

"But you did partition your mind?" Mad-Eye Moody asked.

Hermione jumped at the sound of his gruff voice, having nearly forgotten the others were still there.

"Let us see, shall we?" Dumbledore said, holding his wand up in front of him and looking at Hermione. "If you are ready, Miss Granger, I will extract the memory from you."

"Wait," Hermione cried, taking a step backwards and colliding with Ron who had been standing behind her. "Exactly how much of it are you going to take?" she questioned. "I... I... don't want you... um, well I...I said some things earlier today that I'm not exactly proud of, and they are... rather private, and I don't really want everyone," she felt her face flush as she glanced over at the group of adults seated around the table, "hearing them."

"Are you referring to your quarrel with Mr. Weasley this afternoon?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Y-yes," Hermione admitted, looking down at her feet, clearly embarrassed by the whole conversation.

"No need to go back all that far," Dumbledore assured her. "We'll just pick it up after that, shall we? Think about the moment you touched the portkey," Dumbledore said. "The moment you touched it and everything that happened immediately afterward. Pull that memory to the front of your mind. See it. Hear it. Feel it. Concentrate on that memory," Dumbledore instructed. "Can you see it in your mind?" he asked. "Can you feel it?

As he watched her, Ron noticed Hermione had closed her eyes and had started to shake. He was just about to reach out to her, when Dumbledore stopped him by silently shaking his head. Looking at her apprehensively, Ron took a step back and waited.

"Can you see it, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Where are you?" Dumbledore asked, as he silently approached her, and pointed his wand at her head.

"In... in a... a... cell," Hermione replied. "A cell... in a dark room. It's in a basement or a dungeon. I'm not sure which. The only way out is a rickety old staircase. There's a door at the top, but I can't see what's beyond. It's cold and drafty, and it smells of mold... and something else. Something I can't place."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, placing the tip of his wand against Hermione's temple and extracting a gossamer strand of memory from her mind. As the strand broke loose and fell into the pensieve, the contents swirled about madly and then an image began to form.

Hermione opened her eyes and gazed down into the bowl. She found the entire experience slightly disconcerting. At first, she didn't recognize the dark stone room. But then, as she studied it, she began to feel a strange sense of deja vu. It was almost as if the images were forming in her mind a second or two before she saw them in the pensieve. A single torch, that put off a dim sputtering light. She saw it in her mind an instant before it sprung to life in the image before her. The large cage in the middle of the room. That too was somehow vaguely familiar.

Prying her eyes off the iron bars of the cell, Hermione looked up at Dumbledore. "What now?" she asked.

"We watch," Dumbledore replied.

"All of you?" Hermione asked.

"If you prefer, I will watch it alone," Dumbledore said, leaning forward and preparing to plunge his head into the Pensieve.

"No, they should see it," Hermione said, looking at the group of people gathered around the table. "Ron too," she said, looking up into Dumbledore's eyes. "I want him to see it. He needs to see it."

Mrs. Weasley started to object, and then stopped herself. It was no use trying to shield Ron from this. Hermione would just tell him about it later. Better to have him watch first hand. With any luck, it might even drive out some of those reckless impulses that so often seem to lead to him nearly getting himself killed.

Dumbledore looked over at the Weasleys. When Molly nodded her consent, he turned back to the pensieve and plunged his head inside.

"There's no way we can all stick our heads in that thing," Ron said, as he watched the others rise from their seats and close in on the pensieve.

"All you have to do is touch him while he's looking in it," Hermione whispered as she rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly Ron, didn't you listen to Harry when he explained how it worked?"

"Of course I listened. But he never said that."

"Yes, he did."

"No, he didn't."

"Yes, he did," she insisted. "He told us that Professor Dumbledore and Snape both entered the memory by touching his arm."

"No, they pulled him out by touching his arm," Ron argued.

"But they entered it before they pulled him out, didn't they?"

"You two are worse than Mum and Dad," Bill snickered as he reached out to touch Dumbledore. "You must drive poor Harry mad."

"We do not," Ron protested.

"Actually he did say that..."

"Hermione! Now is not the time," Ron interjected.

"Ok, you're right," she admitted. "Come on, everyone else is already watching. Just touch him," she said as she reached out for Dumbledore's shoulder.