Oowee.
Eight
King John Presbyter
Harry awoke to find Daisy sitting cross-legged in her pink golden snitch pajamas at the foot of his bed. She had drawn the curtains of his four-poster back, letting the Saturday morning sun filter in through the high window, and was reading her book and flossing her teeth concurrently.
"G'morning," said Daisy through a mouthful of fingers. "Ha' a good rest?" She balled her length of dental floss up and stuffed it into her breast pocket.
Harry sat up and reached onto his nightstand for his glasses. "Er, I suppose," he said. "Good morning—are you still reading that?"
"Yeah, it's not so bad," said Daisy, grabbing up her book and crawling forward to lie next to him. "Grettir's just killed a troll."
"Has he?" said Harry absently, watching her feet paddle in the air. "You don't need to finish it, you know. Mine had what we needed." The Saga of Oter Haldingsson was still in his bag, tucked away in the large pocket. He'd marked the page where the cup he thought might be the Goblet of Fire had been mentioned. And he had taken notes to show Professor Moody. Harry wriggled further out of his covers and stretched over the side of his bed to peer at the surrounding four-posters.
"The boys are all gone," said Daisy. "Seamus was last to leave. He just staggered down a moment ago. I reckon the clatter he made was what woke you."
"It couldn't have been you staring at me while I slept?" asked Harry, scratching the sleep from his eyes.
"I was just reading," said Daisy, rolling over onto her back and into his side. She stared up at him. Harry could see up her nostrils. "I'm not deranged. You had a long day, yesterday. I came to make sure you wouldn't oversleep. We've got detention today, you know." She waggled her eyebrows.
"Detention," repeated Harry. He flailed at his nightstand for his watch. "Daisy, it's nearly eleven! You should have woken me earlier."
"But you looked so very peaceful asleep like that," said Daisy, flopping over the other way. "And I wanted to see if I could find anything else in here." She lifted her book to show him a woodcut print of a tall, broad-chested man standing over a dead troll. "It's not fair that yours had the Goblet in it."
"Not fair?" said Harry. "What does it matter which one of us found it?"
"Because you're always the one figuring things out," said Daisy. "I wanted to do it for once." She sat up next to him, her hair fluttering, and narrowed her eyes. "Why did you take the skinny book and give me the big one? You know that you read faster than I do."
"You think I did it on purpose?" asked Harry.
"No," said Daisy. She puffed her cheeks. "It just always happens to fall that way." She gestured to her pajamas. "Look, why did I have to get pink ones and you got the green ones. Pink makes me look pale. Green matches my eyes." She pulled his arm from under the covers and held his sleeve to her cheek. "See?"
"I don't think Sirius knew that you didn't like pink," said Harry, rapping his knuckles against her forehead. "I don't think he's got much of a choice either, ordering things out of catalogs by owl. You'll want to swap, then?"
"No," grumbled Daisy. "I do like mine." She made a face at him. "Oh look here, I'm Harry Potter. I'm clever and sensible. Our godfather is on the run from the dementors, he can't take us shopping for birthday gifts." She shut her book and hopped off the bed. "Put yourself together. I'll wait for you in the common room."
Harry brought his school bag with him when they went down for breakfast.
The common room had been choked with students of all levels, either lounging and playing games with their friends or posted at worktables with quills and inkpots. Ron sat on some cushions with Seamus and Dean, beside the fireplace, animatedly ordering his pieces across his battered wizarding chessboard. Hermione was absent, but Daisy she said that she'd been up at dawn to get the best place at the library.
"So that's out," Daisy said, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she cantered down the staircase. "We put a foot in there and she'll have us."
"She'll have to come out when she gets hungry," said Harry, following after her. "Though I don't recall if she's gone on hunger strike yet."
"She was considering it," said Daisy. "When Sir Nicholas told her about the house-elves she thought about writing home for her mum to send barrels of hardtack and water through the post—as though she was living in a castle under siege."
Harry tried, but could not contain his smile. There were times when he thought Hermione should have been placed in Ravenclaw House, but her temerity and general unreasonableness in seeing matters that she cared about through to the end—even if it annoyed her friends and made her unbearable to be around—proved the Sorting Hat right time and again. And Harry found himself thinking that perhaps he should listen to his sister and give the girl a chance.
"I tell you, she makes it very hard to love—oof!"
Daisy had run headlong into a boy who'd been exiting the Great Hall, and Harry, distracted by thoughts of Hermione, had not reacted fast enough to catch her as she stumbled.
"All right there?" said Cedric Diggory, reaching out to grab Daisy's shoulder and steady her. "Oh, hello, Daisy, good morning." He tucked his newspaper under his arm and pulled her snarled robes straight. "There we are."
Daisy went scarlet. "All right," she said meekly, hurriedly stepping back to stand in line with Harry.
"All right, Harry," said Cedric. "Missed you at the World Cup. Was a good match." He glanced at Daisy, who had calmed from tomato red to merely blotchy and pink. "But I'm sure you've heard more than enough about that."
"Yeah," said Harry. He wasn't sure how to feel at the moment. Cedric was a fine enough fellow; he was mild, and tall, and didn't gloat when he won at Quidditch, but that was the extent of Harry's knowledge of him. He didn't understand which of those qualities caused girls to melt into piles of candle wax when they were around him. Evidently, Daisy was one such girl, and it was unsettling for him to see her go to mush when she had spent so much time climbing and crawling and brawling with him and Ron, as equals. Harry gave her a prod, noting how she jolted straight.
"How many O.W.L.s did you manage then, Cedric?" he asked.
"Eight," said Cedric a touch ruefully. "Stuffed Potions and Herbology something awful. Professor Sprout was not happy, I can tell you." Then he grinned and winked at Daisy. "Professor Snape was as delighted as I was, however. Could you imagine spending your last two years sweating over a cauldron with him at your back?"
"No!" said Daisy quickly, her voice uncommonly loud. "No, I think that would be dreadful."
Harry snorted, though it was more for his sister's reaction than Cedric's attempt at humor.
"I'll, er, see you two around then," said Cedric, as a trio of Hufflepuff Sixth Years came strolling out of the Great Hall. Harry didn't know them by name, but he thought he recognized one burly boy as a reserve on the house Quidditch team. A beater.
Cedric waved at them as the boy threw an arm over his shoulder and pulled him off. "We're going down to the lake. Hey, if you want, you can join us after you've got your breakfast."
Daisy turned slowly, her eyes stuck fast to the Hufflepuffs as they left.
"That was something," Harry murmured, coming up behind her. "Ron was right, wasn't he? You do fancy Diggory."
Daisy whirled and stamped gently on his foot. "Not another word!" she snapped.
Harry chuckled.
"It's not funny," said Daisy. "What do you reckon they're doing at the lake?" She crossed her arms. "He's not that good-looking anyhow. Or smart. He only got eight owls. Percy got all twelve."
"And how many will you get, do you imagine?" said a new, but familiar scornful voice. "Three? Or Four, if that oaf Hagrid can manage to swing it in your favor."
"Malfoy," growled Daisy. She went for her wand, but Harry caught her wrist as it dove for her pocket.
"Not before breakfast, Daisy," he muttered, holding her firmly. "And we've just wiggled out of detention. You want Snape to give us another?"
"You should listen to whatever it is he's whispering there," Malfoy continued. "Clearly he's got all the brains your family had left."
"Would you shut it," said Harry, peering over Daisy's head at the Slytherin. Unexpectedly, Malfoy was alone. No Crabbe. No Davis. No Goyle. She had her robes fastened at the neck and waist and was wearing her cloak over them, as though she'd just stumbled in from a blizzard. "Cold down there in the dungeons?"
Malfoy colored sharply, but said, "I haven't got Granger to keep me cozy like you do."
"I'm sure Goyle would do," said Harry, moving Daisy aside so he could face the offending girl. "If his speech pattern is any indication, he must have blood as thick as cold soup."
"At least it isn't mud," said Malfoy, her color still high.
"I don't see how slime is any better," said Harry, his lip curling.
"Mine's the same as yours," said Malfoy, her nostrils wide. "But they'll just keep stuffing filth in here until no one can tell the difference, won't they? Mudbloods like pretty Miss Cleverboots."
"Don't you—" Harry released Daisy, seething, and reached for his wand, but she stepped out in front of him. Daisy put her hand on his arm, looking up at him strangely.
"You're right, Harry," she said sharply. "She isn't worth it. Move along."
Surprised at his sister's sudden level-headedness, Harry's anger faded. He let his teeth click together and nodded.
Lyra Malfoy was left spluttering in the entrance hall.
"Prompt," said Mad-Eye Moody to the Potter twins. "Good. I would have handed you back to Professor Snape otherwise. Come along."
Grinning, the old man rolled his magical eye up into his skull and led them from the Defense classroom and into his office. It was a far cry from the portrait plastered powder room that Gilderoy Lockhart had used it for; the walls were now hung with bulging sacks and crowded shelves. Harry didn't recognize many of the objects on them, but he assumed they were tools used in Auror's work. There was something on a shelf that looked like a colossal spinning top—he knew that one, a sneakoscope—and a gold thing that looked like a set of television antennae, and a large gilded mirror, the glass swimming with shadows.
The professor had arranged two plain wooden chairs in front of his modest desk. Harry pulled one back for his sister and took the other. Beside the professor's desk, against the wall, was a broad dented trunk with seven keyholes. Professor Moody pulled a key ring from somewhere in the depths of his robes and unlocked the first three locks. The lid made a little hiss! as it opened. Moody gave it a gentle tap with his staff, and it jumped open to reveal a shallow space that held only one object, an empty stone basin.
Professor Moody leaned his staff against the wall and bent to pick the basin up out of the trunk. Harry tilted forward in his seat. The man was being uncharacteristically gentle with the thing.
"What's that?" said Daisy, voicing Harry's question for him.
"Pensieve," grunted Professor Moody, settling the basin at the center of his desk.
"Oh," said Daisy. She sucked her teeth. "What's that?"
"A very old thing that's good for keeping memories inside," said Professor Moody.
"Memories?" blurted Harry, examining the stone basin. "You can put memories in there?" It was a very neat thing. The stone was smooth and Harry could not see a single patch of graininess in it, even after adjusting his glasses. Runes were inscribed tidily all along the rim of the bowl.
Just his luck.
Wistful, Harry wondered if it was too late to take Hermione's advice and register for the Study of Ancient Runes.
Daisy had picked up on it as well, for she made her mouth tiny like a crab's and said, "What's the story with all these runes? Why can't wizards use English?"
"I'll just get my time-turner and letter manual and pop back to Ancient Greece then," said Professor Moody mockingly. He squinted at her with his real eye. "Old things have power, girl."
"What do they say then?" said Daisy. "If this one's yours you've got to know."
Mad-Eye Moody scowled at them. "It's a complex spell about thought." He pointed at some of the runes. "Purpose. Character. Experience. Suffering. Reason. Timeliness. And some malarkey in-between." He jabbed his knobby finger at different clusters of shapes, circling the bowl.
"And why is it empty?" asked Daisy. "Have you got nothing to think about?"
"Willful," growled Professor Moody. "And churlish." He sat heavily behind his desk. "It's empty so that the two of you might use it."
"Us?" asked Harry.
"Yes, you," said Professor Moody. "If you're to learn Occlumency, you'll need a place to deposit all of the thoughts that prevent you from focusing properly—until you've learned to focus on your own."
"I can focus," said Daisy.
"No," said Professor Moody, making a face at her, "you can't."
"Er, pardon," said Harry, raising his hand. "Occlumency is for keeping people out of your mind?"
"Probably shouldn't award house points for secret lessons, right?" said Professor Moody with a snort.
"How come Harry gets points?" asked Daisy peevishly. "I asked plenty of questions before he did."
"Yes, but you were too focused on being winsome, Miss Potter," said Professor Moody. "You'll get points when you take things more seriously."
Daisy narrowed her eyes but said, "All right."
"Now," began Professor Moody, reclining in his chair and shutting his real eye. The mad one spun to regard the twins. "There are two branches of mind magics that wizards study: Occlumency and Legilimency. Mr. Potter has rightly concluded that Occlumency is the art of occluding one's mind, Miss Potter can you hazard a guess at what Legilimency might be?"
"The art of mind-reading," said Daisy excitedly; she clapped her hands together. "You are going to teach us!"
"Have one phony house point." Moody's magical eye zipped to focus on her. "And you'll be teaching yourself. Everyone does it a little bit differently. Each person has his oddness of mind." He waved a hand. "But first... wizards who practice Legilimency—like Professor Snape—cannot read the minds of wizards who are proficient in Occlumency. The Legilimens uses his magic like a tentacle, feeling and probing for thoughts and emotions. Like your squid in the lake out there feeling around for food." Professor Moody raised a hand to gesture at the far wall. "And when he's got it... he sticks you with his sucker and pulls you right into his beak."
Harry thought the Auror might be able to see out into the Black Lake and was watching the squid dart about with his Mad-Eye.
"So if we've got Occlumency..." mused Daisy. "It'll be like he's feeling around in dark water and he won't find any fish to eat. And the fish are our thoughts."
"Precisely," said Professor Moody. "Take another point, girl."
Daisy sat up and flashed Harry a toothy smile. "That's two."
"Don't be boastful," said Moody gruffly. "Now, if you've got the natural talent for it or have built up the skill through long practice, Legilimency can be performed without a wand or incantation. That's how I use it. Just cast a line out to water and see who nibbles." He smirked. "The truly brash fish can't hardly contain themselves when they see the bait." Then he frowned. "Children muck it up, of course. Lots of duplicity in this castle. Raised emotions... never know when it's going to hook something important, though."
"Such as what?" asked Daisy.
"Such as a cheeky runt who wants to jinx a professor's toilet or... two girls casting nasty hexes upon one another."
"So that's how you got us!" said Daisy. "You knew what we were going to do before we could do it."
Moody's eye flicked to Harry, before returning to Daisy. "I knew what you were going to do as you did it. But your brother there was the one who stopped you and Miss Malfoy. I just got the other two louts."
"Oh," said Daisy; she bit her lip. "So you've got to be quick. This sounds difficult, Professor."
"It wouldn't be any advantage if it were simple," said Professor Moody. "Once you've got it, though, there are few, except the most powerful wizards, who can beat it."
"What about Occlumency?" asked Harry. "If the other one is feeling around for thoughts, how do you hide them away?"
"That's also complex," said Professor Moody. "And it also differs between individuals. The root of it is a clear and organized mind. If all of your thoughts and emotions are put away and tidy, and you know where to look for them when you need them, you won't have trouble storing or finding when the squid comes knocking."
"Finding?" asked Harry, his brow beetled. "Like a sending out a small fish to distract the squid from the big one?"
"Have a point," said Moody. He opened both eyes. "Imagine you've got a silly little man cornered in an alley, and he's thinking about blasting your leg off with a nasty curse. And you're thinking very loudly of ducking behind the dustbins to your left. And instead, you go...?"
"Right," answered Daisy.
"Right," said Mad-Eye Moody. "If only I'd thought of that, eh?" He thumped his wooden leg against his desk. "Would have saved me a lot of trouble with stairs."
Daisy snickered. "But why didn't you?"
"I wasn't very good at it then," said Professor Moody. "As I said, it's a difficult thing. Why don't you try to recall a time where the Headmaster has seemed out of sorts? Can you do it?"
"No," said Daisy.
Harry kept silent.
"It takes a lot to startle those fish," said Professor Moody. "He might be the best Occlumens there ever was, save for You-Know-Who. Wouldn't want to get caught between them two going at it."
"Professor Dumbledore is doing Occlumency all the time?" asked Harry. He rubbed at his chin. "Or he's got his head so well put together that he can do it very quickly."
"Which one is it, do you reckon?" asked Professor Moody.
"Er, the second," said Harry.
"The second," confirmed Professor Moody. He nodded at them. "Ready to try?"
"But how do we organize our minds?" asked Harry. "If we try now, it'll just be like it was before, with you reading our thoughts."
"I'll be doing nothing, Mr. Potter," said Professor Moody. "The two of you will practice on each other. And you need to understand what failure feels like first." He pulled his wand from under his robes. "The incantation is: Legilimens. Just a little jab of the wand, with the arm—not the hand, mind you—and you'll want to imagine what it feels like to invade someone's mind." He performed the wand motion for them. "And eye contact. Making and maintaining eye contact is important for beginners."
"All right," said Harry. He got out his wand and turned to face his sister. "I'll go first then."
"NO!" cried Daisy. She jumped from her rickety chair and whirled to face the professor. "If he does the legilithingy he'll be able to see in my head."
"Aye, that's the point, Miss Potter," said Professor Moody. "You've got to try to keep him out."
"But I can't!" said Daisy. "You said it yourself. We won't be able to. We'll fail."
"What is it that don't you want me to see?" asked Harry, still seated. He stared up at his twin, a wrinkle of concern and curiosity kindling inside him. Was she keeping more secrets? Even after she'd shared so much? "Daisy."
"No," mumbled Daisy. She grabbed the front of her robes and hid her face. "It's too embarrassing for you to see."
"Is it Cedric?" said Harry, standing. "Come on, Daisy, I don't care. You've got to fancy someone some time."
"I care," moaned Daisy, her face still hidden. Harry saw her ears go pink.
"Diggory?" said Mad-Eye Moody. He barked like a dog. "He is a fanciable fellow, I'll grant him that, but he's got too much space between his ears."
It didn't seem to help matters that Professor Moody had called Cedric good-looking. Daisy made a growl like a lion and balled up the fabric of her robes in her face. Harry shut his eyes and sat down with a sigh.
"Fine. Look, do me first," he said. "And I'll try to keep you out."
It took his sister a moment to gather herself and lower her robes from her face. And she was still slightly splotchy when she had. "Are you sure?" asked Daisy, worrying at her lip. "I don't want to make you if you don't want to."
"There's nothing in here that you can't see," said Harry, tapping his head with his wand. "I reckon you know most of it already."
That seemed to cheer her up, and she flopped back onto her chair beaming at him. "All right, I'll have a go." Daisy drew her wand and turned to face Professor Moody. "Like so, right?" she asked, making the jab with her arm.
Mad-Eye Moody grunted the affirmative and reclined in his chair once more, watching them.
Daisy pressed her lips into a line, nodding. "I can do it," she said. "I can do it."
Harry suppressed his smile, watching his sister psych herself up. It always took her a few tries to get her spells and charms done correctly, but he wasn't going to break her concentration by fooling with her.
"Yes, I can do it," said Daisy; she flicked her eyes to his. "Legilimens!"
Harry couldn't look anywhere else if he wanted to. The green of Daisy's eyes became sharp as cut emeralds. Her pupils were suddenly darker than the blackest night. Deeper than the far hollows of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry was six years old. He had just slogged in from school through the November fog. He opened the door to the mud room and let the skinny red dog in. 'You've got to be quiet or the matron will find us out.' The silly thing smiled up at him, its tongue lolling out.
There was thunder in the hall.
Harry's dog—for the thing was his now, even after only a few hours—had let out a yip and a howl at the sight of the cheese. 'Be quiet!' Oh, but his dog was too big. Where would he hide it? And the matron's thundering footsteps were coming closer. Be small. Why couldn't his dog have been small? He gathered the animal up from the floor and stuffed him behind his pillows and under his covers and jumped onto the bed and snatched up his newspaper and started to read it studiously.
'I've heard a sound,' came the matron's cold voice. 'Not more cats again, Harry?' The door was open and she came into his tiny bedroom. Don't move, dog! Harry hadn't gotten round to giving him a name yet. The thing was squirming underneath him.
'Up you get,' said the matron. She had her rusty bucket for catching unwanted animals in her hands.
'I haven't,' protested Harry. Stop wiggling. I wish you were small!
The matron yanked him by his arm from his bed and held him there, his toes barely touching the ground. 'How can you be such a wicked boy, Harry? How can you?' She threw the covers back. 'Let's get this beast out of here.'
But the giant red dog had become tiny. Small as a mouse.
'A rat!' shrieked the matron and dove with her bucket.
A flash of green.
Harry was crushed against the side of a weeping giant. His bed had collapsed into pieces. The giant's coat was the skin of a great brown elephant and was so voluminous that Harry could hardly distinguish the leather folds from the leather pockets. 'On'y a babe!' blubbered the giant. 'And I re-re-reckoned 'e coulda come ter live with m-m-me!'
And owl poked its head from the chest pocket on the giant's coat and pecked at Harry's nose.
'Is that an owl?' asked Harry, being slowly strangled by the giant. 'A real owl? In your pocket?'
'O'course it's an owl!' cried the giant. 'But you wouldn't know... all because...' And he broke into howls again. 'Yer father would have...'
'All right there,' said Harry, twisting in the giant's grip to pat him on the arm. 'It's all right. I'm well, Mr.?'
'Hagrid,' moaned the giant. 'Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'
'Keeper of who?' said Harry, stunned.
'Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,' said Mr. Hagrid. Suddenly Harry was free and the giant was digging in his coat. He came up with a letter and handed it to Harry.
Mr. H. Potter.
Bedroom near the washing machine.
Southwark Children's Home.
London Borough.
'What is this for?' said Harry, holding up the curious letter. The paper was thick and grainy—not at all like the paper in his books.
'It's yer letter of acceptance ter Hogwarts, Harry,' said Mr. Hagrid dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief that might have been a beach towel for a normal size fellow. 'Wanted ter deliver it myself. Seeing as I put yeh here.'
'And this Hogwarts is a school for wizards?' said Harry slowly, thinking of all the strange things he had done over the years. 'I'm a wizard? Like Merlin?'
'Nobody is a wizard like Merlin,' said Hagrid seriously, but he lifted a hand to ruffle Harry's already messy hair. 'But I reckon yeh'll do just fine wi' parents like yours.'
'My parents, too?' said Harry, his heart swelling. 'They were magic people? What happened to them?'
Mr. Hagrid's expression grew dark. 'I'd rather on'y tell it once, Harry, if yeh don' mind.' He stood in the tiny bedroom, his head squashed against the ceiling, and pulled out a frilly pink umbrella. 'We've still got to fetch yer sister.'
'My sister?' said Harry.
Calamitous joy.
A flash of black.
'Thirsty, thirsty,' sang the Sorting Hat. 'But bold. Not a drop of fear in you, yet. It'll come. It'll come. When you've seen what you can do. But where to put you? I fancy Ravenclaw, but that would be no good. And you do like... cats. Hmmm. GRYFFINDOR!'
Now blue.
Aragog was above him, and Harry was stroking the Acromantula's fine gray hairs. Watching. Counting the many milky white eyes and wondering at how fantastic magic was to create creatures like this.
'You are not afraid?' said the spider. 'Surrounded as you are?'
'Spiders aren't cruel if you don't provoke them to be,' said Harry, as Ron shivered beside him, tangled in webs. 'And they catch all sorts of bothersome things. I've got a spider back home, though he's small and not big and blind like you are.'
'I hear Hagrid in you,' said Aragog, pedipalps clicking. 'He is a good man. And so you must be, too. But begone! We do not speak of the You-Know-What in this wood.'
Green again.
Daisy was lying in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle was smoothing her hair. Ginny Weasley was face down in the gloom. The basilisk was dead on the ground, its mouth wide where Daisy had driven the Sword of Gryffindor through into its foul brain. The snake's fang was deep in her arm. The rage was in him.
'It's a pity,' said Riddle. 'She was tougher than she looked.' The memory of a boy grinned up at him.
Fawkes screamed.
Red.
The werewolf was on him, thrashing. It had hurt his sister. His sister. Smiling. Laughing. Her face like his. He was going to kill it. He would kill anything for her.
Anyone.
The blood in his mouth was hot. His hands were slick. He ripped and tore. It felt good. The knife fit well in his hand. He jammed it into the neck of the wolf again. Rage was in his smile.
Shame. "No," his own voice said, "No, don't look at that. I don't want to remember it. No. Don't. Stop."
"Sorry," whispered Daisy. She was kneeling beside his chair. His face was in her hands. His eyes felt hot. "Sorry, I won't do it again," she mumbled. "It was just so hard not to look..."
"You have to look!" roared Mad-Eye Moody. The Pensieve rattled on his desk as he threw his chair back and stood. Wooden leg scraping, he circled the table and grasped Harry by his shoulder, painfully pulling him straight. "Again! And again. Until they can't get it out of you! Until it doesn't break you."
"And you!" cried Mad-Eye Moody rounding on Daisy. "Excellent work." He grinned at her. "Take fifty points to Gryffindor."
"Was it supposed to be like that?" asked Daisy softly. "So easy?"
"I imagine you've got a knack for it, girl," said Professor Moody. He braced himself against his desk. "Didn't imagine you'd hold it for that long. Though I don't think Mr. Potter put up much resistance until the end there. Now. Again."
"No!" said Daisy. She stood to face the professor. "I won't."
"You won't?" Asked Mad-Eye Moody dangerously. "You'll be satisfied when creatures like Professor Snape pick your minds apart like candyfloss, will you?"
"Professor Snape wouldn't do that, he's a teacher," said Daisy. But Harry could tell by the expression on her face that she was unsure. And so was he. When Snape was looking, or Professor Moody for that matter, you could hardly tell that your mind was being opened up at all. They didn't make it obvious like Daisy had, pulling through memories and having a look. They grabbed what they wanted and left. Like the squid. Harry stood and grabbed Daisy's chair.
"Let's do it again," he said. "I'll try harder this time."
"There we are!" said Professor Moody; he clapped Harry hard on the shoulder. He pulled the Pensieve to the edge of his desk. "At the end. There was something you didn't want her to get at, wasn't there?"
Harry nodded.
"Excellent," said Professor Moody. "We'll keep that one." He gestured to the Pensieve. "The rest will go in here."
"Why wouldn't he put the bad one in there?" asked Daisy, peering at the empty basin. "It hurts him to remember it. The others weren't so bad."
"Motivation," said Professor Moody. He squinted at Harry. "We'll get all the distractions out, and have you see if you can keep your mind clear enough so that Miss Potter can't find your tasty little fish."
"How do I get the memories out?" asked Harry.
"Tidy little charm," said Moody. "Recall the memory; pull it to the front of your mind, and yank it out. Memoria carpe." He brought his wand to his temple, and Harry saw a glimmer of silver jump from the man's creased and wrinkled forehead and attach itself to the tip of his wand. Moody pulled and the bit of silver stretched into a fine glinting thread and came loose from his skin. "A memory." He dangled the thread before the twins, then raised his wand and let the memory seep back into the top of his head. "Give a try, Mr. Potter."
"Er."
"Give it a try."
Harry focused on the memory of Hagrid coming to retrieve him and Daisy from their muggle homes. He put his wand to his temple. He remembered the giant man's scent. Pipe tobacco, dog hair, and leather. He remembered Daisy's first shy look at him as they burst into the hut on in the rocks on the sea. Their first birthday cake together. Chocolate with green icing. "Memoria carpe."
And the memory was gone. Harry gave a jolt. He'd been remembering... Hagrid? Or was it a boat? Their ride across the Black Lake on their first evening at Hogwarts?
"You've got it, Potter, don't lose it now," came Professor Moody's voice from far away. "Into the Pensieve it goes. Come on."
Harry stared at his wand. There was a silver thread, just like the one the Auror had pulled from his head, dangling from the end. Harry crossed to the Pensieve and looked into the basin. "Er, just drop it in?" he asked. "Is there anything else I have to do?"
"No," said Professor Moody. "Shake it off, go on."
So Harry did. The thread swirled in the air for a moment, then settled at the bottom of the bowl becoming liquid. Harry squinted. Not quite liquid—maybe vapor? He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Perhaps both?
"Very good," said Professor Moody. "Now the rest."
"The rest?" said Harry. "Professor, it's odd. I know what that memory is, now, but I can't recall what happened in it. What happens if I can't get them back in my head. Or if the bowl spills?"
"If it spills," said Moody quietly. "Then you've lost them. But don't worry about getting them back in your head. They know where they belong. Or they will, once you've organized yourself."
"Can I try?" Daisy broke in. "I'd like to get some stuff out as well."
"Let's... hold off on mixing things, for now," said Professor Moody, shaking his head. "You'll have a try when it's your turn to defend yourself."
Harry was drenched in sweat and had a pounding headache by the end of their lesson.
But he had nearly done it. The last time Daisy had found the memory of him murdering Professor Lupin he had ripped it away from her just as the werewolf had charged him, replacing it with the memory of their first Christmas together at Hogwarts.
Harry had found it that it was easy to shove all of the innocuous thoughts and memories he had to the side. What he would like for lunch. Which books were his favorite. Football matches. All of the animals he'd managed to pet. He hadn't quite found how to put them all into specific places, but it was better than the stew of emotions he'd started with.
Summoning memories was more difficult. It was like trying to remember two things at once and felt like he was tearing his brain asunder every time he tried to remember one thing while Daisy was looking for something else.
"Ready for homework?" said Professor Moody.
"You can't be serious, Professor!" panted Daisy, similarly sweaty, flat in her chair. Her hair was scattered and damp on her forehead, thinly veiling her scar. "Haven't we done enough?"
"If you believe that this—" Moody waved dismissively between the twins. "—has been great progress, perhaps I should ask Professor Snape to assist us during the next lesson. And he won't be as kind as I've been. You have to work at it! Every. Day."
"What's the homework?" asked Harry, unbuttoning his robes and folding the heavy garment in his lap. His shirt was sticky down his chest and under his arms. Even his legs in his trousers were cold with sweat.
"Let's call it meditation," said Professor Moody.
"Meditation?" said Daisy, making a face. "Like sitting around on the floor and humming?"
Mad-Eye Moody twisted his lips. "Not like humming," he said. "You've got to practice at clearing your minds." He pointed at her. "Remember that it's your turn to defend yourself next week."
Daisy gave the professor a weak glare, but her ears went blotchy. "What have we got to do then?"
"Clear your minds! Focus on emptying them of all the pretty little nothings that children waste their capacity on. I want you to... chew your food properly." Moody nodded at them. "Yes, let's start there."
"Chew properly," said Daisy bewildered. "What does that mean?"
"It means that when you go to dinner tonight you won't be chattering and giggling." Moody fixed them with a serious look. "You'll stop thinking and just eat, slowly. Got it?"
"Got it," said Daisy, clearly still confused.
"Got it," said Harry, slightly less confused.
"What of the other thing?" asked Professor Moody. "You said that you'd found some information, Mr. Potter."
"Yeah," said Harry. He took the storybook with the girl on the cover from his bag and presented it to Professor Moody. "It's a story, but it's got a test with a cup of fire in it. And the hero's got to drink from it. He's got to drink the fire to get by."
"Bah!" Moody waved the book away. "You keep it. What have you figured then?"
Harry met the Auror's eyes. "Courage, determination, and sacrifice. That's what the Goblet of Fire tests. Whoever's got all three right can be selected."
"A sacrifice for what?" asked Professor Moody, studying him.
Harry dropped his gaze as a memory with twinkling eyes came barreling through the weary chambers of his mind.
"For the greater good."
