Hello, devoted readers (or reader, perhaps)! Sorry it's been a while; school's evil. Anyhoo, I've revamped the ENTIRE first part of the story, and written a lovely new chapter, going in a new direction. Go back and refresh thine memories with my newly-rewritten first chapters, then come on down here for chapter number 7!
+ Harry could hardly stand it. After Bill's wedding (which, thanks to Fleur, had been very much a fluff and flowers affair), he, Ron, and Hermione had been bundled off to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. This had seemed practical, at first, because the trio would need information for their journey that only the Order could provide. It was hard, though, being in that house that positively screamed Sirius' name and to keep trying, desperately, not to think of Dumbledore.
It was also hard to deal with how slowly the information was being doled. The Order was reluctant to let them go; Mrs. Weasley still wanted them in school, though she was in a minority. But, though the Order members acknowledged their right to hunt for Voldemort, they were unwilling to let them go, thinking them too young, too precious, to go.
Worse yet, whenever information WAS being given to them, someone always interrupted; it might be Mad-Eye, swishing an Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders and giving Arthur a meaningful look; often it was Lupin, looking more tired than Harry could ever remember seeing him, needing to be bandaged up lovingly by Tonks; or it might be Kingsley Shacklebolt, grave and somewhat sad, needing to speak with Mundungus privately.
One evening, somewhat to Harry's surprise, it was Professor McGonagall, bearing a package under her arm. Even more surprising, she signaled that it was Harry she wished to speak with.
Harry rose from the meeting table and followed his former Professor into the hall.
"I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to get away," she began. "There's been so much work to do, getting ready for a new year without...well"
Harry nodded.
"Anyway," McGonagall continued, perhaps a little sharply, as though she were fighting tears, "Professor Dumbledore left something to you, and I felt that it needed to be delivered in person"
She held the package she'd been carrying out to him.
Harry took it, bewildered. What would Dumbledore have left him? His collection of chocolate frog cards? A vial of Fawke's tears? Gryffindor's sword?
He realized that the box was not the right size for any of those things.
"Well, go on," said McGonagall impatiently when he just stood there, staring at the box blankly, "open it"
He did so, and as the wrapping came off, a familiar silver light began to peep through.
It was the Pensieve.
+ Harry could hardly stand it. After Bill's wedding (which, thanks to Fleur, had been very much a fluff and flowers affair), he, Ron, and Hermione had been bundled off to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. This had seemed practical, at first, because the trio would need information for their journey that only the Order could provide. It was hard, though, being in that house that positively screamed Sirius' name and to keep trying, desperately, not to think of Dumbledore.
It was also hard to deal with how slowly the information was being doled. The Order was reluctant to let them go; Mrs. Weasley still wanted them in school, though she was in a minority. But, though the Order members acknowledged their right to hunt for Voldemort, they were unwilling to let them go, thinking them too young, too precious, to go.
Worse yet, whenever information WAS being given to them, someone always interrupted; it might be Mad-Eye, swishing an Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders and giving Arthur a meaningful look; often it was Lupin, looking more tired than Harry could ever remember seeing him, needing to be bandaged up lovingly by Tonks; or it might be Kingsley Shacklebolt, grave and somewhat sad, needing to speak with Mundungus privately.
One evening, somewhat to Harry's surprise, it was Professor McGonagall, bearing a package under her arm. Even more surprising, she signaled that it was Harry she wished to speak with.
Harry rose from the meeting table and followed his former Professor into the hall.
"I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to get away," she began. "There's been so much work to do, getting ready for a new year without...well"
Harry nodded.
"Anyway," McGonagall continued, perhaps a little sharply, as though she were fighting tears, "Professor Dumbledore left something to you, and I felt that it needed to be delivered in person"
She held the package she'd been carrying out to him.
Harry took it, bewildered. What would Dumbledore have left him? His collection of chocolate frog cards? A vial of Fawke's tears? Gryffindor's sword?
He realized that the box was not the right size for any of those things.
"Well, go on," said McGonagall impatiently when he just stood there, staring at the box blankly, "open it"
He did so, and as the wrapping came off, a familiar silver light began to peep through.
It was the Pensieve.