Chapter 25) A Memory of Pain

Selected Listening: You've Haunted Me All My Life- Death Cab for Cutie

***Author's Note: Hi, all. Happy to announce that the playlists for each year are up on YouTube, and I will update them as I post new chapters. Here's the link should you enjoy listening: anastasiadumbledore/playlists ***

That evening, Anastasia returned to the common room and poured herself into studying alongside Hermione. She realized that if she crammed her head with facts and figures, spells and enchantments, she could avoid feeling as bad as she did about what happened at the Malfoys.

"You don't have to memorize the whole book tonight," Harry commented. Her eyes razed the pages like a starved human consumes a homecooked meal, searching for something to fill the hole in her mind and the emptiness in her heart.

"I'm behind anyway. I barely paid attention in class this semester. I need to review," she told herself. Hermione raised a critical eyebrow at her but said nothing.

"Behind? How can you be behind? Haven't you observed all these lessons anyway?" Ron asked.

Anastasia shook her head. She had told them about how she used to sneak around the castle under the invisibility cloak, watching. Harry forgave her for using his invisibility cloak without permission, he hadn't known it had existed then anyway.

"That doesn't mean I remember them all," she said, ignoring how watery her eyes were and refocusing on charms. She tried to avoid thinking about Draco's frightened stare as his father dragged him away, or how Narcissa mentioned that Anastasia wouldn't care for Albus after she remembered the catalyst for the obscurus.

Cheering charms were invented by Felix Summerbee in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century…intended to make the target feel elated.

"Anastasia, did something happen at lunch?" Hermione asked carefully. "Was Professor Dumbledore angry with you?"

Anastasia shook her head.

"I can't imagine Professor Dumbledore being angry with anyone about anything…" Harry mused, popping a Bertie Botts bean into his mouth.

"Yeah, well, you didn't see him after the dementors crashed the first quidditch game. Thought he was going to obliterate them," Ron said. Hermione winced and nodded.

"I wasn't with him, okay!" Anastasia broke. "I…I was invited to lunch at the Malfoys."

"What?!" Harry shouted.

"Blimey! That's where you went? And you're still alive?" Ron asked. Hermione had gone into shock, staring with her jaw hanging open.

"Narcissa invited me…they do this ridiculous formal dinner every year…and all Mr. Malfoy could do was spurt blood purist nonsense, and insult grandad, and talk about how he wanted Buckbeak dead, and then…"

"And then what?" Harry asked.

Anastasia couldn't tell the next part without sounding ridiculous or confirming what Draco had accused her of earlier…that she would run and tell her friends all about his family problems.

"It…it doesn't matter…I'm really exhausted…and I think I better turn in early…" she picked up her things, and put them in her bag, but as she packed up, Hermione regained her voice.

"Wait, did something happen with Draco?" she asked.

Anastasia picked up her bag and started towards the stairs muttering, "it doesn't matter."

"Anastasia, if bloody Malfoy did something to you, I swear I'll—" Harry began. She spiraled around.

"He didn't do anything to me Harry…we won't be talking for a while…or maybe ever…" she swallowed back her tears and ran to bed.

Anastasia rolled through a tumultuous sleep and encountered nightmare after nightmare. Ones about finding out what happened before her obscurus and hating Albus. Ones about becoming an obscurus again and hurting more people. Ones about watching her mother die at Voldemort's hands. Ones about her being a dementor and sucking the souls out of her friends and family before she could stop herself.

The next week passed like a prank candy illness. She seemed to carry a gruesome headache she could never get rid of. Oliver shouted at her regularly for having her head in the clouds and not the game. Draco had doubled down on his father's opinion of Buckbeak, and loudly made rude comments about how the "uncontrollable beast" deserved to die, right within Anastasia and Hermione's earshot. When Anastasia glared at him, he would always look back with a steely sneer that made her spine shiver.

Saturday afternoon marked their next trip to Hogsmeade. Ron had coerced Harry into using the invisibility cloak to sneak in again, and Hermione, anxious about Buckbeak's trial—which was happening that very same day—hadn't noticed. Ron and Harry were still only half-way speaking with her, due to Scabber's disappearance. So, Anastasia took it upon herself to accompany Hermione to Hogsmeade.

"No muggleborn student meeting today?" Anastasia asked, hoping it would cheer her up.

"No," Hermione said, "Justin's waiting to hear the results of the latest board meeting from Professor Burbage. He'll call us for a meeting when he knows."

Anastasia sighed. She knew it was near-hopeless for the petition to go through, but she had done all she could do now. There was nothing left but to wait.

It was an eventful afternoon. When Hermione and Anastasia exited Honeydukes, they found Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, sprinting back up the lane towards the school. Draco's hair was covered in muck, and they were shouting about seeing Harry's floating head near the Shrieking Shack.

The girls looked at each other in surprise.

"He's going to get into trouble," Hermione said, referring to Harry's recklessness.

"We better go," Anastasia said, and they departed for the castle. There, they found that Harry had reached the castle in time to look as if he never left, escaping with a harsh scolding from both Snape and Lupin. Hermione would have continued the lecture, but the tapping of two owls on the windowsill distracted them. One was Crenshaw, and the other was an owl Anastasia hadn't seen with a note for Hermione. She handed it to her and unwrapped her note from Crenshaw.

Dear Anastasia,

Please come to the headmaster's suite an hour earlier than usual for dinner tomorrow. I have something for you.

Grandad

Anastasia looked up to find Hermione teary-eyed.

"It didn't work…" she said, "Buckbeak's going to be executed…"

Anastasia comforted her for the rest of the evening.

When Anastasia arrived in the headmaster's suite, she found it empty, save for Fawkes, sitting on his drawing room perch, waiting for her.

"Where is he, Fawkes?" she asked the crimson bird.

Fawkes trilled and soared down the stairs to the office. Anastasia followed and found Albus examining vials on the penseive. The desk had been vanished away temporarily, and the penseive moved to the center of the room. Around the penseive, thick chalk lines radiated out like a star, to circles decorated with runes, all connected together like spokes on a wheel.

"Ah," Albus said, "you're here. Wonderful," he said, but it didn't sound too wonderful.

"Is it today?" Anastasia asked. "Can I really see my memory?"

Albus gave a solemn nod.

"Yes…today, I've decided, is the day. You deserve to know…everything."

Anastasia swallowed nervously.

"And the magic circle?"

Albus looked concernedly down at his lines and then back up to her.

"That's for in case…things go wrong…"

"You mean if my obscurus comes back?" she stated more than asked.

"It will hold you until I can call upon Newt…"

Anastasia took a deep breath, already her visions from the dementors were returning. She could see her attack on Flitwick and Albus. Today she would finally learn what drove her to the obscurus so long ago. Today she would learn what happened after her most cherished memory. She wondered if she would be the same person after. If she would be able to resurrect this self at all, or if it who she currently was would forever be a dream.

"Where do I stand?" she asked in as brave a voice as she could. Albus gestured to a rune in a circle at his feet. She took her place on the spot. He stood in one next to her and plucked a vial from his collection. He uncorked it and raised it above the basin.

"Grandad—" she interrupted.

"What, my child?" he asked, staring into her soul with solemn blue eyes.

"I know what I'm going to see is bad…you wouldn't have hidden it from me if it wasn't…If I don't come out of this," she said very seriously, "know that as of now, I love you, and you mean the world to me."

Albus frowned, tears in his eyes.

"And I you, little one."

In the penseive, Albus and Anastasia returned to that grassy hill, where a younger Anastasia lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, and laughing at the raindrops hitting her tongue.

"You there! First year!" The irritated voice called down the path. An older student, at least a sixth year, strutted from the castle with a Ravenclaw patch and a Head Boy badge flashing on his chest.

Young Anastasia sat up, her eyes tinged with fear, she rose and tried to run, but the boy pulled out his wand and cast—Petrificus totalus!

Young Anastasia froze. The boy levitated her back up the path.

"Not sure what you're thinking. First year Hufflepuffs are all in defense against the dark arts right now. Skipping core classes is a steep offense for first-years like you. No we can't have this. I'll take you to Sprout—" The boy waved his finger as he chastised.

And so little Anastasia was hovered all the way back to the school. The headboy met a Hufflepuff head girl in the front corridor and transferred her over.

"Found one of your first-years skipping class! Can you believe the nerve of some of them?"

The girl stopped, staring starkly at the young Anastasia.

"I've never seen this girl in my life," she uttered.

"What?" the boy asked. "She has a Hufflepuff uniform, she must be one of yours."

The Hufflepuff girl shook her head.

"I'm going to have to get Professor Sprout for this one," she said. "Could you fetch her for me?"

Present Anastasia felt lost as she watched the elder girl take her younger body all the way down the corridors to the kitchens. The prefect tickled the pear in the portrait, and Albus and Anastasia entered the Hufflepuff common room behind the memory of the girl.

The prefect undid young Anastasia's full body bind and sat her in a wooden chair, tied up with rope. The girl had dark hair and skin and keen expression.

"Alright, now I personally shook the hand of every first-year on day one, and I know by the Order of Merlin that I've never seen you. Who are you?"

Anastasia stared in shock at the Hufflepuff prefect.

"I-I" she stuttered there for a while, not answering. Anastasia did not expect to be caught, just to be out for a little while. Soon after, Sprout bustled in with the head boy.

"What's going on, Stephens?" Sprout asked. "Grayson said something about an unidentified student.

"This girl. She won't talk. She's not one of ours. Do you think she switched uniforms with someone?" The girl named Stephens answered.

Sprout walked to the girl and frowned at her acutely.

"Is this some sort of strange magic?" she asked. "Smaller than a first year. She looks like—no it can't be."

The professor now aimed her wand at Anastasia.

Reveal your secrets.

The magic ropes holding her to the chair disintegrated, but nothing happened to the young girl. Anastasia seemed robbed of her ability to speak.

"Only a girl…out with it now, or I'll have to get the headmaster."

Young Anastasia's eyes widened, she began to hyperventilate and shake her head. As she did, a group of students returned from their classes, opening the wide cask door into the room.

Anastasia sprinted away.

There was a cacophony of Get her! And Stop! as Albus and Anastasia watched her younger self dash down the hall, up the stairs, and to the main entrance of the headmaster's suite.

But when

Sherbet lemon! Anastasia shouted, and the spiral staircase ascended for her. She ascended, her pursuers lost far behind.

Present day Albus and Anastasia followed, bringing them to the exact place they stood in real life.

In front of his desk stood a furious, shaking Albus Dumbledore.

"Anastasia—you've gone too far."

"I wanted to go outside," she stammered.

"You purposefully disobeyed me!"

"Yes…it was just—"

"Let yourself be captured by students—"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Investigated by staff—"

"I..I swear I didn't mean to."

"And they will all need a thorough memory spell to forget your presence in this castle!" he yelled angrily.

"What, but why?" Anastasia asked.

"Do you think people will forget that an underage witch was seen running about? They'll question our security! They'll come expecting answers!"

"I-I didn't know,,,"

"It doesn't matter how much you know! Now I must use memory magic against my own staff and students! You ruined everything!"

"What? What are you doing?" Anastasia whispered.

Albus took her wrist and dragged her up the stairs quite forcefully to the headmaster's suite. He threw her into her chamber and slammed the door behind him.

Albus Dumbledore aimed his wand at the windows, he vanished those first, immersing them in darkness, save for the small torches that lined the wall. He vanished the shoes she stole. Finally, he vanished the door.

"No! NO!" she screamed. "How will I get out?"

"You weren't meant to get out!" Albus thundered "You were meant to stay in here for two more years! Only two more years, Anastasia! You couldn't listen!"

Anastasia ran to the wall and felt for where the glass panes had been.

"Please, please just give me the windows back, I'll be good. I need to see the sun…and the stars…I'll be good grandad…" Anastasia begged, turning to see his murderous glance.

"YOU'VE LOST THAT CHANCE! NOW THERE'S ONLY ONE WAY OUT OF THIS ROOM!"

And Albus vanished as well, leaving the girl with only the flickering torch light for company.

Present day Anastasia reached up to touch her face and found her cheeks damp.

"You left me all alone," she whispered. "No windows, no doors…not even Fawkes."

Present day Albus didn't speak, answering her in his silent shame.

The scene dispelled, and reformed, changed to the little girl sobbing helplessly on the bed. Present Anastasia ran to comfort the poor thing, but her hands only passed through her.

Soon young Anastasia's sobs turned to screams.

"LET ME OUT!" she yelled and ran, bashing herself against the wall. "LET ME OUT! GRANDAD! MINNIE! HAGRID! ANYONE!"

And then, a dark spark emanated from the girl's chest.

The girl, frightened, ran sobbing to her bed again.

Again, the scene reformed. A different day? A different hour? She couldn't tell.

Albus hand returned with a lunch tray.

"I realize you think I'm being hard on you but trust me that this is for the best."

He left the tray at the end of the bed and turned to go.

"Let me out." Anastasia whispered, her head tucked into the damp pillows.

"What was that?" Albus asked.

"Let me out!" Anastasia shot up. "Let me out now!"

"You know I can't do that right now—" Albus began.

"LET ME OUTTT!" young Anastasia shrieked, and as she did, a black shadow emerged from her body. It lashed out and attacked Albus, striking again and again with what looked like claws. Red gore spurted. The black shadow moved through the wall.

"Stop! Stop!" Present day Anastasia found herself shouting, but the scene changed before she could check on the bloodied mass of her father on the ground.

Then, they flew with the memory of the obscurus, launching itself across campus in dark, all-consuming victory.

It threw all the books in the library off the shelves, onto the heads of students.

It boiled over every single cauldron in the potions class, leaving students screaming every which way as skin and hair singed and burned.

It flew through the greenhouse, killing most the plants.

It sailed through the quidditch barracks, splintering every broom.

It found Flitwick in his classroom, and exploded the glass instrument in front of him, shards soaring into his face.

The obscurus finally seemed to tire and shrunk back into the body of the girl in the dark bedroom.

Albus, weak and trembling, bent to his elbows and cast a spell at Anastasia.

Immobilus obscurial.

Anastasia's body now hovered in an orb at the center of the room, tied to the walls by heavy chrome restraints.

The scene changed again. Albus, now bandaged, stood next to a severe Newt Scamander. It must have been a different day.

"This is my memory now," present day Albus whispered, one hand on her shoulder.

Newt Scamander walked around the hovering orb containing the child, examining it this way and that.

"Albus, this is horrible…she is your blood relation, is she not?" Newt asked. Albus hung his head sidelong.

"I don't know what to do, my friend. I've already had this happen once. Arianna was bad enough, even hers was controllable with the right supports. She only died due to complications…" he muttered.

"Complications, eh?" Newt asked suspiciously. Albus glared.

"Yes, complications. It was a stupefy that hit her, nothing more, but her body was already so weak, you know…Anastasia's magic grows stronger by the day…I don't know how long the wards will hold up."

Newt stared at the girl in the orb like a doctor with bad news.

"Albus…I stopped searching for the cure for obscurials. The last one I had…it was too difficult. Even Aurelius, soothed as it was…he still perished in the end."

Albus began pacing.

"I must do something. I cannot keep her here. She could hurt someone. I've even thought—" he could not finish his sentence.

"Thought what?" Newt asked.

"Should I put the girl out of her misery, Newt?" Albus asked, tears gleaming. "If she's truly destined for death, then what is the point of this pain?"

Newt stood dumbfounded. Present day Anastasia looked over her shoulder to find her father had closed his eyes, no longer able to watch.

"You wanted to kill me?" she asked. He didn't answer. Newt continued rambling.

"You mustn't. Albus I won't allow you, it's by your own hand that you've caused this. You cannot blame your family's past for the results. The making of this creature was entirely your own…The real question is why are you keeping a little girl inside the castle like a prison?" he asked, gesturing to the orb.

"I was tasked with protecting her," Albus murmured, arms folded across his stomach.

"Why must you protect her?" Newt asked. "What threat is there to her?"

Albus paused, took a deep breath, and told the truth.

"There is a prophecy that said those born at the end of July in the year 1980 would be able to defeat Voldemort, and if he should ever rise again—"

"Is there a chance of that happening?" Newt asked, eyes wide. "I thought we were done with evil wizards!"

Albus raised his hands and dropped them in a shrug of defeat.

"I am not certain…only with rare dark magic…some of which I'm almost certain Tom Riddle knew about—"

"And she is one of those children? Like the Potter chap?"

"Her birthday is June 5th—" Albus began.

"Then why are you bothered?" Newt demanded, tearing at his hair. "If she wasn't even born at the end of July—"

"…if Voldemort hadn't attacked her mother, she would have been."

Present day Anastasia felt her chest implode. She couldn't take it. This was why Albus was so worried about? This was why he hurt her beyond all consciousness? Because of a bloody dead wizard he was certain would come back to life one day? And a half-applicable prophecy?

The scene shifted again. The room lightened. The windows had returned, and so had the door. The passageway entrance leading to the second-floor knight appeared along the wall.

"You sure this will work, Newt?" Albus asked.

"Not at all…" Newt answered. "Anything is worth a shot."

Present Day Anastasia watched as her body was released from the orb and drifted down to the bed.

"Anastasia? Anastasia, you see? We've put everything back..." Albus began.

"But you said…you said I'm supposed to help defeat Voldemort—"

"Well, not necessarily—"

"You think he'll come back—"

"It's possible but—"

"And then I'll die—"

"No, not at all—"

"You said you'd put me out of my misery if the scary thing came back!" She yelled. "What does that mean? You're going to kill me? You're going to take the windows and doors away again? What's stopping you from doing that now?"

Another dark surge from her chest.

"Albus now…" Newt suggested.

Albus pulled out his wand and placed it on the girl's temple. He drew out a long line of silver thread that seemed to go on forever, piling into a vial like unicorn hair. At the same time, Newt blew on a special whistle, and a black orb began to float out of the child. Young Anastasia went limp, a kind of dull fuzziness in her eyes.

"There, there," Albus soothed, "everything is alright."

"Keep going," Newt said.

"You are safe," said Albus, "you are home. I would never hurt you. No one is going to come after you."

Albus kept telling her sweet little lies, until all the darkness came out of her body and landed in a special container that Newt capped with a golden lock.

The little girl seemed to wake up from a bad dream.

"Hello," she said, "who are you?" she asked the stranger, Newt Scamander. "Did I faint again, grandad?"

"You did," Albus said, "my friend was simply helping me."

"Yes," Newt said, delighted, "Yes! I believe we've done it indeed!"

"Done what?" Anastasia asked.

The memory diffused.

"Anastasia?" Albus gripped the thirteen-year-old's forearms, staring into her hazel eyes with his crystal blue ones. She fully realized where she was and what happened. Her true memories came rushing back, a tidal wave of hopelessness and fear. Fawkes cooed brilliantly from the corner.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly.

Anastasia felt the dull ache of the pain of her childhood weighing down on her—a night sky that would not lift. She pulled away from him.

"I—I need some space…"

And she made her way back to the common room, a little less innocent than she was before.