"Alright," Harry said. "Where do we begin?" He was sitting across from Draco in the same unused classroom that the Pensieve sat in.
"Try to block me," Draco said, and drew his wand. "Legilimens!"
Harry braced himself. Memories flooded his brain-- he was going to the first day of Muggle school in baggy old clothes of Dudley's and taped glasses; he was finding Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets; he was laughing with Ron and the rest of his mates in Gryffindor Tower.
"Owww," Harry said.
"Sorry," Draco replied. "You tried to Stupefy me."
"Did I?"
"Yeah." He shook it off. "Let's try again."
Draco gave a snort of laughter. "Those clothes were hideous."
"It's what my aunt and uncle dressed me in. They didn't think I was good enough for my own new clothes."
He cleared his throat. "Alright. Legilimens!"
Harry was riding a thestral across the sky; he was sitting across from Hermione, watching her study, wondering what it would be like to kiss her--
"Hey!" yelled Harry. Draco was laughing uncontrollably. "Potter," he said, "I don't believe it. I really don't believe it."
Harry blushed. "I was a little confused," he confessed. "After Cho--"
"She was pretty," Draco admitted. "So is Ginny. But neither one of them can match up to Hermione." He made a face. "She was terrible to play Quidditch against, though. Ruthless."
"I know what you mean," Harry said.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Malfoy," he said, exasperated.
"Come on. Again. Legilimens!"
Harry was sneaking out of the school through the secret passage; he was standing at the punch bowl at the Yule Ball with Parvati Patil; he was with Ginny, in the Gryffindor commonroom, sharing his first kiss with her. And then he was Draco, and he was showing off his new racing broom to Crabbe and Goyle; he was grinning as Umbridge made him a member of the Inquisitorial Squad; he had Hermione's hand and was leading her through the corridors, as she giggled furiously.
"Hey!" Draco said.
Harry laughed. "Oh, bloody hell. When was that memory?"
"Recently..."
They fell apart in laughter. "You know," Harry said, "you're not half bad for a Slytherin git."
"Thank you," Draco said earnestly. "I'm very handsome, too, or so they tell me."
Harry pelted him with a crumpled-up piece of parchment.
"Do you want to try Legilimency now?" Draco asked.
"Sure."
"It's actually quite simple." He proceeded to launch into a fifteen-minute explanation.
"Simple?"
"Well..."
Harry grinned.
"Just try it."
"Alright." He raised his wand. "Legilimens!"
A misty memory crept into his mind; Draco was about eight, sitting in his father's study.
"What have I told you," Lucius was saying, "about going out into the ornamental garden?"
"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly, his hands folded in his lap. "I got lost. I thought it was the way back to--"
"It doesn't matter why you were there," Lucius said acidly. "It only matters that you were there."
"Yes, Father."
"Stand up. It's time for your punishment."
Draco stood.
Lucius drew his wand. "Crucio!"
Draco fell to the ground, writhing and screaming. Lucius lifted his eyes to the great grandfather clock.
Narcissa entered the room. "Lucius! What--"
"Quiet, woman," he commanded, and Narcissa fell silent. Seconds ticked by, and Harry thought he could endure the memory no longer, but the minute hand finally moved, and Lucius gave Draco his reprieve.
Narcissa knelt at once and brought her son into her arms. He was crying wildly.
"Lucius, certainly you didn't need to--"
"It is the only way he will learn to respect power," Lucius said sharply, and strode out of the room.
When the memory disappeared and Harry was left staring back at the seventeen-year-old Draco, he felt sorry for him.
"I hate your father, Malfoy," Harry said.
"Yeah, I hate him too." Draco was looking at the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Draco shrugged, still avoiding Harry's gaze. "It's not your fault."
"I won't tell anyone," he promised.
He looked up. "I know."
"You have to mean them!" Bellatrix snarled, gripping Percy's wand arm by the wrist. "Every ounce of hate... you must summon it! You must thirst for pain!"
Percy squared himself against Natalya, who flashed her pale grin. "Crucio!"
Natalya flinched, but was able to resist the curse.
"Mean it, Weasley!"
Percy was annoyed, and he wished that Bellatrix would have been his opponent; then, he thought, this would be no problem at all.
"Focus!"
He did. Every ounce of pain he wanted to cause Bellatrix, he channeled into cursing Natalya. "Crucio!"
Her knees buckled and she cried out.
"Finite incantatem," Percy said at once.
"Good," Bellatrix said. "For now. We'll continue this in a moment." She stepped out of the room, where Lucius was waiting for her.
"Weasley." When she spoke, it was in a thick Russian accent. "You are a worthy adversary."
"We're on the same side," Percy replied, "or so they tell me."
She smiled. "I would like that."
Percy stared down at her. Briefly, he wondered where Penelope Clearwater was, and what she would think of this encounter. And then all thoughts vanished.
Voldemort sat, alone, in the dark basement of Hawkthorne, his long fingers holding up his bald head. He thought Harry had
been laughing. But now he was sad, and a bit angry. What had happened?
"Legilimens," he muttered softly, and his mind flickered; but nothing came. The only image was blank, black, empty.
He rose and went outside, where Pettigrew was being kept in a tiny cage, in rat form.
"Peter, Peter, Peter," he sighed, hooking a finger on the handle and lifting it up so that the rat was at eye level with him. "Have you ever had the feeling that you just needed to kill?"
The rat scurried in circles, and tried hiding itself in the corner of the cage.
"There is no escape," Voldemort said, "or can't you see?"
Squeaking, the rat buried its head in its hands.
Voldemort reached his long fingers through the bars of the cage, taking the rat's neck between his thumb and finger. "Sometimes," he said thoughtfully, "when people who ought to die cheat death, others have to be sacrificed in their place." He drew the rat out of the cage. It squirmed and wrestled, but could not escape Voldemort's grasp.
"Sometimes I just get restless," Voldemort concluded, and snapped Pettigrew's neck, purposely trodding on his dead rat form as he went back into the house.